#Country Flags (Pt. 2)

[b14augrana]

Ad Astra Per Aspera

Your story goes deeper than what meets Alexia’s eye

Alexia Putellas x teen!reader

pt. 2 masterlist

Warnings: this story contains depictions of alcoholism, adultery, and familial issues. read at your own discretion. aditionally, alexia is pretty mean in this and there wont be a happy ending for a few parts 😬

A/N: massive thank you to this request for the amazing idea 🫶🏼. r is 18 y/o but still going under teen!reader. this is going to be multiple parts because theres so much i could do for this request that i find impossible to fit into one part and write to a good standard, so here you go!

The Stands

Football unites the world. It brings people, cities, and countries together, like nothing else.

You’ve seen it happen in your beautiful hometown of Barcelona — all you can see during the hours leading up to any match set to be played in the Camp Nou is red and blue in the sky. Blaugrana painted the streets below, and the entire city came alive with the commotion from the stadium.

You spent your entire childhood being part of the roaring atmosphere, waving your Barça flag proudly in the air alongside every other flag and wearing the infamous colours across your chest.

Most of all, you prayed with every bit of faith in you, that one day you’d be on the pitch, playing for the club of your dreams.

Everyone in the crowd had their own individual life. There could be a single mother, a lawyer who used up his last days of leave to attend the match, a young boy with his father, an elderly person on an outing with his wife, someone from abroad who’s spent thousands and travelled for hours to watch their favourite player in real life.

11 players could bring together almost 100,000 people just to watch them kick a ball around, and you wanted to have the same effect. You wanted to be so good at football and have the ability to transform a simple sport about kicking a ball around into 90 minutes of entertainment, performance, art. You wanted to do it with Barcelona.

You trained meticulously for months. You passed your small, worn out ball against the same fence in your backyard, you practiced your touch by juggling until the frustration made you storm away in tears and you learned new skills and used your own shoes as cones to pose as defenders and dribble around.

When you went to the Camp Nou to trial for the renowned La Masia academy, you were little and clutching your FC Barcelona backpack for support. The stadium already looked so big when you were up in the stands, but when it was empty and you were actually on the pitch, it was even bigger. You were stood on the same grass as your idols that once had the same dream as you, and that was unbelievable.

The start of your journey as a player at FC Barcelona had begun.

Day after day, you woke up early for training. Your siblings were never awake at that time, so the rare moment of peaceful alone time with your mother was something you looked forward to every morning.

She drove you to the La Masia facilities and then picked you up at sunset. Sometimes, when she had to work late, you and some of your teammates would go to the park and play with the other local kids until your parents came.

Those were the same teammates that you got promoted to the B team with, and the evening 5-a-side games in the park never stopped. They were your best friends — you all shared a common dream of getting to the first team and playing in big tournaments and winning titles, and even though you realistically wouldn’t all be able to do that, no one ever stopped believing that one day it would happen.

As you grew up and your career just started to take off, things started to change. Not just in football, but your life off the pitch too. All at the age of thirteen.

Your father started coming home late. As if your mother was stupid, he’d waltz into the house in the middle of the night, claiming he had to stay a little late because a last minute meeting was called or he lost track of the time. The mild arguments started, and when the late arrivals became more frequent, your mother’s suspicions grew stronger.

One night, it came to a halt. Just when you stopped expecting it, he came home at his regular time; half past six. The only difference was, he didn’t look happy to be home at all. A frown tainted his face ans there was something off-putting about his demeanour. Soon, it all made sense.

You watched from around the corner, your head barely peeking out. Your dad shrugged his blazer off, and you noticed the way his mouth twitched as if hesitating to say something. Once he spoke, a big part of you wished he hesitated a bit more and realised down the line that he was making a bad decision, but it was too late.

The reason he was working late, the secrecy, the floral smells that lingered on his shirts; he was never working overtime, the floral smells were not from the diffuser in the office, and he did have something to hide.

It was called infidelity.

Your siblings emerged from their rooms as soon as the cacophonous yelling started, and you were quick to usher them away from the arguing.

The reality of how bad the situation really was hadn’t yet settled in, but you knew the outcome wasn’t going to be good.

Your youngest brother complained about his rumbling stomach, and the other two were quick to jump on the hunger train. For a moment you were stumped, because you didn’t want to go into the kitchen where the argument was taking place and get dragged into it, so your solution was grabbing a €50 bill and sneaking out to the nearest restaurant.

You were the oldest of four kids. After you was one of two boys, Lorenzo, and then the twins, Magdalene and Dani. They shared the same passion for football as you, and your fondest memories consisted on being in the stands of Camp Nou with them.

All of you snagged a table in a cozy restaurant, one you were familiar with due to going there multiple times with the rest of your family.

The hour you spent in that restaurant with your siblings turned out to be the last hour of a carefree life you’d get to indulge in.

The Pitch

You turned 18 last week, but you got promoted to the first team last month. The headlines painted you as an emblem of success for Barça’s youth programme, the future captain of the first team, and there were all these opinions flying around about you as a player. The opinion that mattered most, though, was that of your captain.

You and Alexia Putellas didn’t get along. Her opinion on you was nothing short of disapproving, and she let you know of that as you arrived at practice.

“(Y/N),” the woman said, her voice holding notes of irritation as she approached you. You looked at her, preparing yourself for the inevitable lecture.

“You’re late again. You might be young, but over here you’re the same as all of us no matter your age, which means getting to training at the same time as us,” she berated you, her hands set on her hips and her eyebrows furled in annoyance.

“Look, captain, I had to–” you started, but your explanation was cut short by Alexia.

“I don’t have time for your excuses. Do better next time, or you’re sitting out of practice entirely. Go run your laps,” she snarled, dismissing you with a wave of her hand.

You could only watch in anger as she stormed away while the others looked at you sympathetically, and you bit your tongue as you walked to the locker room and dumped your bag in your cubby.

She belittled you in every interaction you two had, which was a shame because you really liked her beforehand. In fact, you looked up to her, and you looked forward to being captained by her, but now it was hell on earth every time you entered the gates and met her scrutinising gaze.

Training was nothing special. It was the same old passing drills, small-sided games, shooting and free kick practice, and then before you knew it, home time.

You slung your bag over your shoulder and left before Alexia could stop you and give you yet another lecture. After stopping at the primary school to pick up Magdalene and Dani, you three drove to the middle school to pick up Lorenzo. Barcelona rush hour was rife around the time you picked up your siblings, so you spent another half an hour stuck in traffic until you finally got home.

All you wanted was your bed, and a nap. Still, you dragged yourself to the kitchen to make something quick for dinner so it was ready for your siblings when they were hungry, and then you tidied up in the living room.

Ever since your dad left, your mother was a wreck, leaving you as the successor to her caretaking duties of the kids. She was never a drinker, but after he left, she found herself depending on alcohol for a quick escape.

It was nice for a little bit; a short break from the world that always ended too soon. She kept chasing and chasing that relief until she was in too deep, and it was never enough. The bottles multiplied, the cans lined the rubbish bins, the stench polluted the air that once smelled of a fresh vanilla essence, and she became latched onto it.

You blamed your father for it all, because it was his unchastity that motivated every drink. Your mother was a beautiful woman who loved her family more than herself.

That was what ruined her.

“Hermana, hermana,” Magdalene spoke, tugging on the sleeve of your shirt. You looked down just as you turned off the stove, and she rubbed her stomach, “I’m hungry.”

“Okay hermanita, ask the boys if they’re hungry, please,” you replied, smiling at her. She nodded and ran to their bedrooms, and soon they all emerged from around the corner.

After scooping generous amounts of macaroni and cheese onto their plates, you put some onto your plate and sat down with your siblings to eat. Together, you all talked about your busy days and they listened to you tell them all about your training. They loved hearing your stories about Barça, and every time, Magdalene and Dani would ask you to continue your stories until they fell asleep.

Tonight was no different as you tiptoed out of the twins’ bedroom, gently shutting the door behind you. As much as you loved sleeping after a long day, part of you also dreaded it, because it meant starting a new day and facing Alexia.

When you woke up, it was to gentle knocking on your bedroom door. You were awake enough to comprehend the quiet pattering of footsteps across your hardwood floors, and when tiny hands grazed your skin, you jolted awake. “Hermana, time to wake up! School time!” Magdalene chimed.

So your morning routine began.

With one sock and half your jacket over your head, you made three lunches for the kids right after making their breakfast. Your mother slowly slumped out of her bedroom, wrapping her robe tight around her.

“Bon día,” she mumbled, a smile on her face. With a glance over your shoulder, you acknowledged her before going back to slicing two oranges.

“Morning, mamá,” your siblings responded quietly, shoving food into their mouths to avoid speaking any further. She sat on the couch, sighing deeply.

As she walked past you, you could immediately recognise the stench of alcohol — no surprises there. Years ago, she would’ve smelled like warm musky perfume, not the pungent smell of chemicals.

“Can you make me something, hija? ‘M very hungry,” she said to you, looking your way. You kept your head down, sealing the lunchboxes and cleaning up the counter.

“No, ma, I have things to do. Make your own breakfast,” you responded coldly, “Hermanita, pequeños, bring your dishes here.”

Your siblings scrambled from the table with their empty plates, giving them a quick wash before retreating to their rooms to get their uniform on. On the couch, your mother was still begging for food.

“Hija.. I’m hungry,” the woman slurred.

“Mamá, I have to get your kids to school and go to my own job, which my captain is already angry at me for being late because I have to drive them all around Barna,” you hissed.

“Then I have to come home and make dinner after cleaning your mess. You can make your own breakfast, for once!”

You always felt bad for yelling at your mum, but your life was hard enough with trying to get to work and drop off your three siblings in time while worrying about making your mum a meal.

You had a chance at life. You had a chance to succeed, and you weren’t going to waste it. You weren’t going to rely on a man to look after you in the future until he turns around and wants to look after another woman, leaving you damned.

“Bye, mamá,” you grumbled, grabbing your keys from the bench and swooping your boot bag up from the floor.

It was Dani’s turn to pick which song to play on the radio on the drive to school. He chose a very popular song within your siblings; ‘Me Gustas Tu’. The song had been broadcasted on the radio one day, and everyone seemed to love it. Their favourite part of car rides to school was winding the windows down and singing as loud as they’d like.

Somehow, amongst your father leaving and your mother’s new habits, your siblings were always happy, and that’s what you admired most about them. Maybe they were unaware of the harsh reality, but they were still naïve and unscathed by everything that happened.

It was almost 9:30 in the morning when you started making your way to the training pitch. Mentally, you were preparing yourself for the big lecture you were about to get from Alexia and seriously didn’t need, but physically, you looked unbothered if not a bit tense in the shoulders.

You almost tripped on your way out of the car as you rushed around to get your gear. Walking into training everyday just to get yelled at by Alexia was never nice, but you were used to it. Unfortunately.

That wasn’t the sort of relationship a captain should have with one of her players. It was almost like she despised you, and if she had her way, you probably would’ve been off the team within the first week.

Sure enough, when you appeared on the pitch, the first thing you heard was the low whispers beside you.

���…She’s irresponsible and doesn’t belong on the first team. Being late once, I understand, but multiple times? Her excuses are not good enough–”

“Excuses? Ale, you’ve never let her explain herself.”

“There shouldn’t be any need for excuses anyways, because she shouldn’t be late at all. If she wants to take her time and be let off easy like a child, send her back to the B team. Look, she isn’t even here yet.”

“She is, though. Look behind you.”

The woman turned around, her glare settling on you and being as cold as ever. She spun her whole body around and folded her arms across her chest, her frown heavy.

You sighed, looking down to your feet. It made you feel even worse that you couldn’t help it, and you couldn’t explain it to her either, because that action had potential to get your siblings taken away.

“Drop your bag, get comfortable. You’re not training today,” she snapped.

Your heart sunk. You fought to fend off any tears from forming on your waterline as you nodded, raising your head slightly.

“Listen, (Y/N). This team is everything to me. I have lots of respect for the people who coach us and come here to be coached. You, showing up late? That shows a lack of respect for those people. You’re lazy, unorganised, irresponsible–”

Irresponsible was untrue. If anything, you were the most responsible person you’ve ever known, but Alexia didn’t know that because she didn’t care to know you.

“…I can’t expect you to represent our club and our city on big stages if you can’t even come to training on time. You aren’t FC Barcelona material, and unless things change, you never will be.”

Your lip quivered as your body aligned to bolt for the locker room as soon as she left you alone, away from the watchful eyes that surveyed you in pity when had you arrived. Alexia turned on her heel and stormed away past Mapi, whom she was talking to previously.

She left you in her wake, crestfallen and misunderstood, defeated by circumstances beyond your control.

[narcoticv3nus]

Can We Stay Awhile? ♡ Simon “Ghost” Riley

summary: a heartfelt farewell between Simon and you, where your unspoken emotions and a tender embrace define your parting; despite promises to keep in touch, you part with unexpressed feelings and missed opportunities. tags/trigger warnings: sfw, f!reader, emotional goodbye, sadness/heartache, longing and separation, maybe unrequited love, tis’ sad wc: 2.2k

pt.1 ･ pt. 2 ･ pt.3

“You didn’t have to do this for me, y’know…” You gaze idly out the window, the outside world zipping past in a glaucous haze.

“I know,” he answers, his voice one could describe as only tristful. You smile softly, watching him as he shifts uncomfortably underneath your stare.

So why are you? You wanted to ask, yet held your tongue so as not to ruin the peaceful mood by forcing him into a confession. Sometimes, you wonder if pushing him will bring him closer or turn him away. You knew he was a tough nut to crack, and so were you; opening up took time, but time was running thin.

Darkness covered the outside world, with only the faintest hint of the sun's early light slipping through the morning mist that gently clung to your window—a somber, overcast blanket draped over the sky, a common sight in this country. And yet, you couldn’t help but feel it somehow mirrored the escalating tension in the air.

You were finally leaving.

Simon was the first to offer to drive you to the airport, despite knowing that you had to leave early in the morning. His constant willingness to go out of his way for you always stood out. Even when you tried to decline his offer, he insisted on being there for you. Simon wasn't the type to be openly affectionate, so you perceived his actions as expressing his care and concern for you.

And yet, he hadn’t spoken a word until now, only answering in grunts or shakes of his head. You could tell just by a glance that he was hurt even if his face remained stoic and his body motionless.

"We'll keep in touch," you assured, your words tinged with empathy. However, Simon's frustration only intensified.

As you stared at him, hoping for a response, you couldn't help but admire his striking features. You recalled the moment when he took off his mask in front of you for the first time, and how his satisfied smile lit up his face as he saw your reaction. "And I promise to find the time to come and see you," you whispered, feeling a little disheartened by his silence.

“Mhm,” he grunted, his fingers flexing against the steering wheel.

“I don’t get it,” you huff, your eyes narrowing in irritation. “You travel for work all the time.”

“M’ not upset.” He sighs, never taking his eyes off the road ahead. “Not wit’ you, anyway.”

“Oh,” you say rather dumbly, slumping back into your seat. “Then, why—”

“I just…” he sighs again; a moment passes as he attempts to turn his thoughts into words. “Do I have tuh say it? Ya know how I feel about ya’.” The resignation in his voice was palpable as if he was waving up a white flag in surrender.

“I know,” you sympathize, feeling the total weight of what’s to come. “I’m sorry, Simon, I–”

“Dun’t apologize,” he cuts you off abruptly. He clears his throat before softening his tone. “S’not yer fault, love.”

“I know, I just wish that…” You close your mouth, struggling to find the right words. “I wish we got to spend more time together, that’s all.”

“Aye,” he swallows, jerking his head in a nodding motion. “Me too.”

He couldn't quite explain the thoughts and feelings swirling around in his head. It was a flurry of emotions. Simon wasn't good at them and never had been. He could handle a gun better than expressing his feelings, but you were different. Everything was different with you.

Silence again dominates the scene, leaving an air of melancholy and awkwardness. You turn the music dial to drown it out, and he silently thanks you. For once, he is content with not speaking. He doesn’t want to fight or argue. He wants to savor his limited time, even though it does little to soothe the ache in his chest.

Watching the front of the airport come into view, you struggled to express your gratitude. "Thanks for driving me," you finally managed to say, the words stuck in your throat as if they were hesitant to leave.

“Don’t mention it…” He trailed off weakly, feeling a mix of disappointment and frustration welling up inside of him. The airport grew closer and closer, the white concrete building standing out in the darkness like a beacon.

Simon pulled his vehicle into the drop-off lane, his grip on the steering wheel tight and strained. The engine hummed to a halt as the car stopped, but neither of you had yet to exit.

“I have to go now,” you said, looking at him, eyes wide and searching his face for a reaction. “I’ll miss you.”

His eyes met yours, and you saw so many emotions flicker within his gaze: sadness, anger, and something else that bordered on resignation. “Yeah… me too.” He muttered gruffly, trying to keep his emotions under control.

A beat of silence passed between you both, the air heavy with unsaid words and unexpressed feelings. “Be safe,” Simon finally spoke again, his tone curt and somewhat hoarse.

“I’ll try,” you quipped, reaching for even the tiniest crumb of humor, your lips quivering into a small smile, yet your eyes betrayed you, your face remained atrabilious.

His lips twitched involuntarily, almost mirroring the hint of a smile. “Don’t try,” he said, his voice tinged with wryness. “Ya’ know how I worry ‘bout ya.”

Simon knew that you were trying to lighten the mood and shield him from your emotions, as well as protecting yourself. However, he saw through your brave facade and could see the sadness in your eyes despite your forced smile.

“I know,” you grinned, huffing a short breath of laughter. “But I’ll update you; tell you what I’m doing and where I’m going.” You reassured, fighting back the urge to hold his hand. “I’ll come back, I promise.” You repeated, more serious this time.

His gaze softened a hint, a flicker of vulnerability passing over his rugged features. “Y’better,” he grumbled, the hint of teasing in his voice belied by a hint of desperation.

Simon leaned back in his seat, taking a moment to look at you, at how your hair frames your face, the slight tremble in your lip, and the shine in your eyes.

“I’ll be waitin’ for ya’,” he said, his voice quieter now. “Just… take care of yourself, arright?”

“I will,” you nod, your gaze finding his lips for a moment before meeting his eyes again. You shoot him one final smile before opening the passenger door and stepping outside.

You wait outside for Simon to open his trunk and collect your suitcases. The weather has warmed, but the brumous winds haven’t lost their bite.

He silently steps out, closing the driver's door before going to the back, opening the trunk, and unloading your suitcases. His movements are mechanical, his mind preoccupied with the idea that you’ll be gone soon.

As Simon silently loads the suitcases into your waiting hands, his gaze shifts back and forth to the airport entrance. The soft morning sun begins to emerge, casting a warm glow on your face, and Simon feels a pang of longing in his heart as he takes in the sight.

“Goodbye, Simon.” Your lip wobbles as you reach to hold him by his face, leaning forward and placing a chaste peck on his cheek.

“I’ll talk to you soon,” you whispered as you pulled away, holding up your heavy luggage with a grunt. “Thanks for everything.” You bit your lip, choking back your tears as they warmed your eyes.

He struggled to swallow, feeling the constriction in his throat as he bid you farewell. He couldn't move, feeling rooted to the ground for a brief moment. His muscles tensed like coiled springs as a swarm of thoughts invaded his mind, gripping him in a vice of unease.

He suddenly reached out as you were about to turn away, gently grabbing your wrist. “Wait,”

He pulled you back to him, his other hand moving to the nape of your neck as he enveloped you in a fierce embrace. He pressed you against him, his arms wrapping around you tightly, desperate and protective.

Simon buried his face in your hair, inhaling your scent and committing it to memory. Pressure built in his chest, and the dam started to crack for the first time in a while.

You were left speechless by his spontaneous act of affection, your body frozen still in shock before you let go of your bags, uncaring how they fell as you threw your arms around his shoulders, smushing your cheek into his shoulder as your feet lifted from the ground. You squeezed him tightly, his skin dampening as you silently cried.

Simon's fingertips grasped the fabric of your shirt, clinging tightly to his grip on you, verging on possessiveness as his body slightly quivered while he rested his chin against the top of your head.

He was engulfed in a wistful trance, feeling like a mighty tide was pulling him under. However, amidst it all, a profound and overwhelming sense of emptiness washed over him at the mere thought of your departure.

Reluctantly, you slowly released your tight hold on him, allowing your toes to barely touch the solid ground. His arms still wrapped around your lower back as your hand came to rest upon his chest. You giggled, delicately dabbing away the moisture underneath your eyes, followed by a wet sniffle.

His intense gaze locked firmly on yours, carefully examining the contours of your face. He observed the gentle flutter of your eyelashes as you tried to blink away your tears and noticed how your lips slightly parted as if they had a thousand and one unspoken words waiting to be said. Your faces were so close that your noses almost touched, the warmth of your breath mingling in the small space between you.

He longed to bridge the gap between you, to take your face in his hands and claim your lips fervently. Instead, he settled to rest his forehead against yours in a silent display of affection.

“Off with you,” he whispered, pulling away with a tight-lipped smile.

With a sense of hesitation, he slowly withdrew his hands from your body, and the lingering sensation of his touch left behind a profound and tangible sense of emptiness. He wanted to say so many things. Stay, don’t go. I’m a fool. I’m in love, and I’m scared. But none of them escaped his lips.

Instead, all he said was, “Give me a ring when ya’ land, arrite?”

"Of course," you whispered back hoarsely, your voice barely audible above the ambient noise. You nodded slowly before letting your heels touch back to the concrete with a sharp click, its sound echoing through the bustling street.

As you turned to leave, with his help, you gathered your belongings. You expressed a gentle and definitive thank you before pivoting away, leaving him in the background as you walked towards the front. Before entering, you looked back, offering a slightly awkward wave as a final goodbye.

He remained still beside the car, observing as the space between you widened with each stride. Folding his arms across his chest, he took several deep breaths to control himself. With a feeble wave, he leaned against the car, his emotions hidden behind a carefully constructed mask of stoicism.

His eyes remained fixated on the door through which you disappeared as if expecting you to come walking back at any moment. However, reality soon sank in, and he knew he had to accept that you were gone. Still, he lingered for a few moments longer, his mind replaying the scene repeatedly.

He tightly pressed his lips together, grinding his teeth and clenching his jaw, battling the tumultuous thoughts that were tearing him apart from the inside.

Eventually, he pushed himself away from the car before returning inside.

As he fumbled with the controls, attempting to resume the music to fill the void of silence, he became aware that your Bluetooth had disconnected. Agitated, he swallowed hard and swiftly shifted the car into drive, eager to return home.

The drive back seemed to stretch endlessly, with a profound silence suffocating him. Not one stray thought crossed his mind as he drove, his entire concentration fixed on the road ahead. The sky gradually shifted from a foggy blue to a soft glow, the gradual light of dawn revealing a world emerging from its slumber.

As you settled into your seat and the airplane ascended into the sky, you gazed out of the vacant window, observing the somber clouds gliding past. You pressed the heel of your palm against your quivering lips, struggling to contain the wrecked sob welling up inside you.

Throughout the flight, you only wanted to turn your brain off, sleep away from this mess, and pretend it didn't happen. Simon was just a man who made your time a little more worthwhile; it was simply an enjoyable experience and nothing more.

As soon as you stepped off the plane, however, you felt the overwhelming urge to reach out and hear his voice. You couldn't deny your deep longing for him despite trying to maintain your composure and pride. How much you missed him was almost painful, especially considering you had never established an official relationship. Yet you were caught up in tears over someone who had never been yours.

A sense of desperation washed over you as you reached for the phone. You dialed the number Simon had left, anticipation building as the phone rang once, twice, and again. Your hope dwindled with each unanswered ring as he failed to pick up. He never answered. And he never called you back.

NEXT → main masterlist, rules

[twisted-turtels]

Crossed Paths (Pt.1)

Farleigh Start x black!fem!oc

Author’s note: this is so random of me. Welcome to my new fixation, Farleigh Start from Saltburn. I wonder how long this story will last lol.

969 words is crazy i dont even write this much for my classes lol. it takes me days to get to 1000 words.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Crossed Paths

“Mama, there is no need to worry about me. You don’t trust me?” Jordan says. “It’s not that I don’t trust you. I don't trust the rest of the world. You're my baby, and you’re leaving me. Going all the way across the world!” Monica, Jordan’s mom, exclaims.

“Ma, you know this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. I have never left this country, and I get the chance to study at one of the oldest and most prestigious universities for free! There’s nothing to worry about,” Jordan explains, “Listen, I’m about to pull up to my apartment, or shall I say ‘flat’ as the Englishmen describe it. I’ll talk to you later. Goodnighhhht.”

“Goodnight, baby, I love you. Don’t go crazy over there now!” Monica hangs up.

Jordan gets out of her taxi and takes in her surroundings. University of Oxford, I can’t believe I made it. Jordan clumsily gathers her luggage from the taxi (It’s a lot of stuff) and walks towards the entrance to her accommodation. As she struggles to make sure none of her luggage falls, she accidentally bumps into a tall figure. 

“Fuck.”

“Oh shit, I am so sorry!” Jordan looks up and exclaims. She sees a tall, pretty, light-skinned man staring down at his now-stained shirt. He’s black, she thinks. “Yes, and so is my shirt,” the man says sarcastically. “Oh, I did not realize I said that out loud. I’m sorry again. I’m kind of struggling, and I guess I wasn't paying-” she tries to explain, “You’re American?” the man interrupts. “Um, yeah, I just got in today, if you can’t tell. I’m here for an exchange program,” she continued. “Not many of us here. Listen, don’t worry about the shirt. I hope to see you around, but I gotta be somewhere soon,” the man quickly says and walks off. 

“For sure,” Jordan trails off, saying before she looks at her bags, I guess I will take this up myself. “Ugh!” she groans.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jordan sits in her flat and looks at the now unpacked space. I did a great job. I think I'm gonna put a Texas flag on my wall, too. She slumps down on the couch and looks at the flyer on her coffee table. ‘Undergraduate Social! 5 PM,’ it reads. “I guess I can attempt to socialize,” Jordan looks down at her watch, “One hour to get ready, but I don’t have to be there at exactly 5 pm though,” Jordan thinks aloud. I wonder if I’ll see the man from earlier? 

After freshening up, Jordan gathered her keys and wallet and went to the social. She entered the student union and noticed it bustling with students and professors. While looking around, she subconsciously looks for the man she met earlier.  Not many black students, she notes. She takes the time to go up to different organization tables and gather information. As she moves from table to table, she feels a delicate hand tap her shoulder. Jordan turns around and notices a blonde girl standing in front of her. 

“Hello!” the blonde girl exclaims.

“Hello?” Jordan questions.

“Sorry for the abruptness, but I just wanted to introduce myself. You seemed lost. My name is Venetia, and I wanted to ask, are you American?”

“Uh yeah, I am. I’m from Texas, actually.” Jordan explains.

“That’s really cool. There aren't many Americans here. I do know another one, though, who just happens to be my cousin. Would you like to meet him?”

I do need friends, so it wouldn't hurt.

“I don’t mind that at all. Lead the way. Also, my name is Jordan, by the way.”

“What a lovely name. Follow me!” Venetia instructs. 

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

“Boys, I would like you to meet Jordan! She’s American just like you, Farleigh!” Venetia exclaims

Jordan stares at the tall man. “Oh, we’ve met Vee. She’s the one who spilled tea on my shirt.” Farleigh explains with a stoic look on his face.

Jordan stares at her feet sheepishly, “Yeah, really sorry about that.”

Farleigh stared the girl down until he smirked, “I’m just playing; it wasn’t a big deal. It's nice to put a pretty name to a pretty face, though.”

He just called me pretty.

“Ignore Farleigh, he’s a little jokester. Aren’t you cousin?” Venetia teasingly asks as Farleigh rolls his eyes. “Anyway, this is my brother, Felix,” Venetia gestures to another tall, handsome man. Are all British men above 6 feet and handsome?

“Hello. Sorry for my sister practically dragging you over here,” Felix jokes.

“I did not drag her over here!” Venetia exclaims

“Haha, it’s okay. I need to put myself out there more honestly, don’t want to be alone during my time here.” Jordan reassures.

“How about I get your phone number?” Farleigh blurts out, he then corrects himself, “ How about we all get your number so we can continue hanging out more? Obviously, I don’t want to be the only American in the group.”

“I thought you would never ask,” Jordan pulls out her phone to notice it’s dead, “Oops, phone is dead. Let me just write it down.” There is no paper. “Can I see your hand?” Jordan asks Farleigh while taking out a pen. Jordan softly holds Farleigh’s hand and writes down her number, “You can pass this on to the rest of them,” Jordan smiles at Farleigh. 

“It was really nice meeting y'all, but I have to get ready for the first day, so I’ll see y'all later,” Jordan waves and walks off.

Oh my god, when did I get so bold?

The group looks at each other in astonishment as Jordan walks away. “Ooh, Farleigh, she gave you her number,” Venetia teases. “She gave it to all of us,” Farleigh defends himself. 

“She says y’all,” Felix points out. “That’s so Texas of her.” He jokes. 

[marthawrites]

A Game of Chase

Modern Aemond Targaryen x fem reader

Word count: 5.7k+

Can be read as a stand alone, but reads best as pt 2 to Pretty Girl

About: You and your best friend go out to a local event. While there, Aemond, surprisingly, makes an appearance. With quick wit you pretend like it's your first time meeting. Equally quick and curious, he plays along. A game of chase ends up with some unexpected aftershocks.

Includes: About half plot and porn. Explicit sexual content! Rough!Aemond with themes of jealousy, possessiveness, and obsession. Sexual/tension, fingering, blowjob, p in v, and a sweet ending.

Note: Hello lovely reader! I had to return to this AU - just had to! One day I will learn to not be a wordy bitch but today is not that day. Reader is nondescript and implied to be 21+ due to alcohol consumption. As always, it is my highest hope that you enjoy this story! ♥

-

The city below sparked with life in every corner and lane. You leaned on the balcony's railing and looked over the last remains of sunset: spilled watercolors across a slowly dimming sky. As the last rays of sun disappeared, spring's chill swirled through the air making you wish you wore a jacket over your black evening dress. 

"Christ. If we're out here any longer my nipples are gonna jab through this dress," your best friend, Rebecca, said with a noticeable shiver. "Shit, girl! Let's go inside." She hooked an arm through yours and turned to guide you both inside where it was much warmer. She looked gorgeous tonight in a mauve dress, silver heels, and silver jewelry. It all accented the lovely hue of her hair and skin; strands of hair loose to frame her classic face. Her seemingly effortless femininity always had you jealous. She was much more "girly girl" than you, and you relied on her often.

"No leather jackets and no jeans! And oh my God none of your combat boots! This is a formal event. Not one of your creepy bonfire circles with gas station beer." Rebecca had told you earlier with a dramatic roll of her eyes, humor clear on her face. "Who knows. Maybe you'll find someone to put your last hook up to shame," she winked.

There was no way you weren't going to tell her about Aemond. Except, much to her dismay, you didn't tell her tell her; just the bare bones of it. You met a guy through work, hit it off, and ended up getting laid after he took you out. 

She wanted the deets. You were keeping your mouth shut. She hated you. 

You didn't even mention his name! With it being unique you knew she'd do some serious digging – and you already did. Local cryptids had a bigger digital footprint than him. Considering the day and age, maybe it should have been a red flag… Bec wouldn't let you live that down.

"Will you shut up about that?" You laughed. "Okay okay. I'll skip my favorite jacket and boots too. Only, and only, because I just got a fresh pedi. You can take my lipstick and eyeliner out of my cold dead hands though," you threatened.

"Those are your trademarks and we both know it. Besides, you look hot with it. Black dress and… black heels too. Your strappy ones!" You let her pick your outfit. When it was time to leave you looked good.

Bec was the only person who could play with you like a human barbie. You two went through high school together – and all the awkwardness that brought – and even college. You'd been through thick and thin and you loved her more than anyone else. You two even used each other to learn how to kiss. A truly fun and silly experience in hindsight.

This event happened twice a year. Music was huge in the area. More specifically, classic music. The university had one of the best programs in the country and was widely respected for it. At a young age your love for the violin blossomed into something truly spectacular. While it fell to the back burner during college, it remained a cherished hobby. Bec's skill was her voice. It earned her lead soprano. She was ethereal. Listening to her in the choir – whether part of the group, doing a solo, or singing with any of the other leads – was something to behold.

"I'm so glad you were able to come out tonight. It just wouldn't be the same without you," you told her as you both walked away from the bar with drinks in hand.

"Trust. I wouldn't miss it. Hubs can handle things for one night," she laughed even as her eyes rolled in feigned annoyance. She smirked and sipped her beverage.

Everyone seemed to be dressed in their finest. Dresses, suits, and glittering jewelry sparkled beneath the ornate lighting. Various perfumes and colognes hung in the air to create an atmosphere of intimacy. Some of the attendees looked young enough to have just graduated high school while others were grayed and wrinkled with time. The common thread of everyone was their love for music. It was truly a treat.

"I'm constantly shocked at how young the freshmen look every year. Look at them. Babies!" You exclaimed, tilting your head in the direction of a small group of friends who probably couldn't even buy alcohol yet. It prompted you to your drink; an accidental gulp instead of a sip.

In the theme of the event, music played over the speakers which seemed to bring everyone closer.

You two made your way to a bar table by the facade window. The soft lighting and twinkling accents brought out a pink in both of your cheeks that only fine liquor could coax.

"I wish you'd tell me more about your mystery man! Honestly I'm starting to think it was that cute coworker of yours who I like to make eyes at. He's a blusher! You know you could tell me if it was him, right?" She teased you easily.

You gasped. "Oh, wow! You truly have so little faith in me? I wouldn't hook up with your boyfriend," you laughed, unable to keep your mock shock up for long. "You know, it's starting to be more fun holding this over your head than actually giving you all the dirty details." You chased the thin straw of your drink, flashing her a tauntingly playful expression.

She'd just opened her mouth to retort when something else caught her attention. "Oh my God no way," she slammed her free hand atop the table in surprise. "I didn't think he'd come! Here I thought he was way too cool and too busy to make an appearance."

You snorted a laugh as Bec started waving an arm to beckon him over. "Another boyfriend? Sheesh." You teased. She was happily married and you only liked to flick her shit.

"Hey! Yeah, you! I'm so glad you came. Come over here and meet my girl. Y/N, this is Aemond. Aemond, this is Y/N."

Holy shit. Holy shit holy shit holy shit.

Bec kept talking, explaining how she knew both of you. You, her best friend since high school. Him, a piano enthusiast who'd taken the university's classes multiple times purely for pleasure. Her voice droned. You heard none of it. Not with Aemond standing there, hand in one of his pockets, drink in the other, looking like that.

Was it even legal for a man to look so fucking good? He looked absolutely stunning. The three-piece suit he donned had to be specially tailored for him because there was no way a regular suit could fit him like that. Black, charcoal, and deep green; it made his naturally silver-white hair and fair skin all the more stark. The subtle pinstripes of his pants and coat elongated his already tall frame, and the tip of his pointed shoes were in a single direction: you.

With Bec introducing, you had fleeting seconds to decide how you'd react to this. "Aemond," you said his name like it was the first time you'd tested it on your tongue. "Nice to meet you.” You sipped to hide smirking lips. Quiet mischief danced behind your eyes. ‘Play with me,’ they said. ‘You feeling it?’ they taunted.

“Hmm,” Aemond hummed while looking over you like he might have recognized you from somewhere. “I thought perhaps we had a class together. But, I don’t think so. Those aren’t pianist hands,” he said, tiny dimples betraying his restrained smirk.

“Ha!” Bec all but snorted. “No. No no no. She does not. She’s a ranger of our lovely national park and she plays the fiddle for Bigfoot.”

Aemond blinked, taken back.

“What the hell, Bec!” You blushed, embarrassment waving up in you like a tide. “You can’t just go telling people that all willy-nilly!” Despite the embarrassment, you laughed, as did Rebecca, and some of the palpable tension between you and Aemond melted. Perhaps she’d done you two tricksters more of a favor than you realized.

“This is Bigfoot country, is it not? I’m into cryptids,” Aemond replied smoothly. “Wasn’t sure I’d be able to make it tonight. But, now I’m glad I did,” he added in that same tone, taking an extra moment to glance over you appreciatively. “Becca’s hard to miss, but it was you who called me over here from across the floor.”

You arched a brow at his forwardness. “Wow. Uhm… I didn’t notice you at all,” you quipped cheekily before taking the last swill of your beverage.

Bec rolled her eyes. “Oh, please, Aemond. You’re gonna have to try harder than that. My girl here isn’t quite so easy.”

A genuine smile flashed across his features to brighten his eye. “Right. I’ll have to try harder for that one,” he said amusingly.

“Well. I feel a second one calling my name. Catch you later, Becs,” you said before turning, doing your absolute best (and somehow succeeding) to not flick another glance to the Targaryen tech giant who stood tall and wonderfully imposing next to your best friend. Would he still smell like clean laundry as he did the last time you two were together? Or would he perhaps carry the faintest aromas of shared perfumes, cigarette smoke, and cool night spring air? You dared not glance over your shoulder. You couldn’t be certain, but you swore his gaze trailed after you until you disappeared into the crowd.

An hour passed and you didn’t see either of them. The crowd was growing looser; people mingled like old friends. Karaoke replaced the overhead music and with it brought a fresh batch of excitement and silliness. The entire vibe of the place slowly shifted and you found yourself happily chatting with strangers like they were long lost college, or even high school, friends. 

It was during that occasion you finally caught sight of him again. You were buzzed – happy – talking to a dark haired man with a dazzling smile. Each time he did his entire face lit up and sent the corners of his eyes crinkling. He was playing the charm game very well. If you didn’t already have secret plans to leave with Aemond, he very well might have talked you out of your pretty black dress. Aemond didn’t know that, of course, and when you could still see him at the edge of your peripheral you knew the little game just went up a notch.

Another hour passed in the blink of an eye. Bec had to leave – turns out her hubs couldn’t handle everything on his own for a night. The dark-haired man, while attractive and sweet, wasn’t what you had in mind. Once you finally managed to slide away from him you sat at the bar. You’d been standing most of the night and your feet were starting to ache in the heels you rarely wore. The bartender handed you your final drink for the night. You sat alone. Relaxed. Content to people watch as the event resembled more of a high-end bar at this hour.

Again, from the corner of your eye, you saw Aemond linger just there. Just at the edge of your vision. Playing. Teasing – a silent stalk. However, you pretended like you didn’t. You slowly traced the rim of your glass, attention elsewhere. With one leg crossed over the other you leisurely bounced your foot at the ankle, the heel of your shoe tapping against the heel of your foot. Quiet. Confident. Even if Aemond hadn't already known you he would have been drawn to you. It was the tiny knowing smirk at the outermost edge of your mouth that really called to him. ‘I see you,’ it said. ‘What are you going to do?’ it purred.

“Is this seat taken?” Aemond’s smooth voice came from beside you.

With a shake of your head you answered, “it wasn’t. But I think it is now.” Your pretty eyes lingered over him and you just now noticed the three headed dragon tassel he wore on his collar. The buttons of his cuffs were the same three headed dragon. Half of his hair was pulled back and secured into a bun at the back of his head, and you wanted nothing more than to loosen it and let the strands fall over your hand. 

“Good,” he all but purred, leaning in a little closer than was truly necessary. “Hm… I don’t know what it is about you, pretty girl, but there’s something about you that keeps pulling me in.”

“Bold of you to say to someone you’ve just met,” you replied through a laugh, giving him a sly side glance from beneath your lashes.

“Perhaps,” he said quickly, leaning on the bar as he stood between you and the empty stool at your side. “But, I think you’ve been eyeing me all night too. Unable to truly lose track of me in this crowd,” his voice was a low rumble and it sent a shudder of excitement all up and down your spine.

“What makes you think that? This is the first time I’ve seen you since Bec introduced us. Honestly, I thought you left.”

He chuffed amusedly. “Sure, okay,” he started. “Is that why you can’t quite look me in the eyes? Or why you let that man paw all over you once you knew I was there? Or… why you only came here once it was empty and I was there?” He tilted his head slightly, just slight, as he spoke; smug condescendence angled his jaw.

It took everything you had to steady the excitement in your voice. “You’re very observant, Aemond,” his name dripped like honey from your tongue. “What do you plan to do with all those observations, hm?”

“Lots,” he answered lowly, triumphantly. “Let’s get out of here.”

Giddiness bubbled up from your core. Before you could stop yourself, you answered, “no. I don’t think so.” The change of his expression filled you with victory. This was your game and you were still playing by your own rules even if that meant making them up as you went. “Here is my offer, Mr. Targaryen. I’m leaving. You will give me your number and if I’m feeling up to it, I’ll text you my address.” The pupil of his good eye expanded; black swallowing violet. You wanted to cheer. He wasn’t expecting this, you thought. “Take it or leave it. If you leave it… I have another number to fall back on.”

“Give me your phone,” he said, posture and jaw tight. You did. He tapped his thumbs a few times on the screen before handing it back. 

As soon as you had your phone back you stood. “That’s what I thought,” you told him softly, smugly, not giving him a chance to reply before walking towards the exit.

Game over. You won.

Truthfully you would have left with him immediately, but your house was a mess and you weren't going to invite him over to this. It took perhaps twenty minutes to give the entry way, living room, and kitchen a quick clean sweep. From there, it took maybe half the time to shove everything out of place in your bedroom in your closet. You’d properly tidy later. But now? No. The only thing on your mind was the look on Aemond’s face when you laid out your terms for the night.

You texted him your address and nothing else. Now, it was your turn to wait.

Barely ten minutes passed before a knock sounded at your door. Peeking out from behind a curtain you saw it was Aemond. A secret smile plastered on your face and you wondered what he’d been doing for the last half hour. It took at least fifteen minutes to get to the event hall, so he must have already been out driving in the general direction. Either that, or, he broke every traffic rule to get to you in record time. You opened the door only to be shoved back inside, door slamming closed behind both of you. A sound between a gasp and strangled moan broke from you beneath his kiss as his hands were all all over you at once; sliding, groping, pressing.

“Did you have fun with your little game?” He asked hot against your mouth. You were trapped between the back of your couch and his looming form. The furniture was the first thing to get in the way of your eager bodies.

Your breath shuddered, chest rising and falling above the black neckline of your dress. “Aemond,” you managed to whisper hoarsely. Nothing else formed on your tongue before it was against Aemond’s for a second time.

“I could have had that entire fucking hall dismissed in an instant. You know that, right?” You didn’t ask how or why because you didn’t fucking care. Not now. Not with his mouth on yours, and his hands squeezing your hips and waist, his thigh between your legs. “And then you force me to stalk you around the crowd. Watch you flirt so easily with other men. Watch weaker men stare after you like sniveling piglets.” His teeth sunk into your neck until you yelped, body squirming against his.

“Oh my god,” you whimpered, head buzzing with a hundred different things all at once. Heat flooded your core. Thrill webbed throughout all your senses until you were keenly aware of even the tips of your fingers, toes, and ears. He bit again, softer this time, making his way down the length of your neck to your collarbone. “I didn’t think you’d play along for as long as you did,” you simpered, hands rubbing up the sides of his smooth face until your fingers were tangled in his silken hair.

Both his hands pressed up your ribs until the weight of your breasts sat upon them. You couldn’t see from your angle, but he was biting and sucking little hickeys all down your skin. “Do you think that dark-haired man would have tried as hard as he did… pathetic, really… if you were already marked by my teeth, hm?” As if to make his point even clearer, he drew in a mouthful of your soft cleavage and worked it until you yelped, forcefully pulling his head back with a wet pop. A dark bruise was already forming; the deepest one yet.

“What the hell? You’re fucking crazy,” you moaned, breathlessly looking down at him, arousal turning your blood to fire. “Is that what this is about? Me flirting with that guy?” Your face bloomed with heat.

“If I knew you were going to be there you’d have been on my arm the whole night. Fun as it was, pretty girl, I wanted to gouge the eyes out of every man who looked at you for too long.” He was hard inside his pants, painfully trapped inside the confines of the fine material.

Aemond didn’t strike you as the possessive type. It shocked you. Even scared you a little. “Holy shit, Aem,” you said, trying to catch your breath from the assault of his hands, mouth, and intentions. “I just thought we were having fun. With you only being here for a visit I didn’t think it was anything serious, ya know? Fuck.” Your hands fell from his hair to instead push yours back.

“At first I thought so too,” he replied, voice and body language softer now. “I was immediately drawn to you. As soon as you opened the door at your ranger cabin in your dorky uniform...,” he kissed you again, gentle and easy. He felt you melt into and against him. “Distance doesn’t matter to me. In another time my family would be kings,” he smirked, holding your face between his hands to read it.

“If you are a king or a prince –” you teased, playfully mocking the old timey titles, “ – then let me be your queen or your princess.” Your hands trailed down the sides of his biceps, across the front of his chest, down the plane of his abdomen. His intensity could surely frighten other women away, but you found yourself drawn to it. A fire burned beneath his skin and you wanted nothing more than to feel its heat against your own.

Aemond read you well, eyes squinting down at you as you traced and caressed over his clothed form. Something in his gaze shifted, then. A game of his own, you recognized.

His turn.

“Would he have been able to excite you like this?” Your dress had bunched up high around your thighs and he took full advantage of it. With his question he trailed the tips of his fingers over the front of your clothed cunt. Your warmth tingled his fingertips. “Could he have gotten this pussy so wet?” He asked, slipping his touch beneath the front of your panties to your bare folds. “Hm?” He inquired, the pads of two easily sliding up your slit and to your clit where he rubbed small, firm circles. You were soaked.

You jolted, legs tightening. “Aem…,” you warbled, back arching. Your body was desperate for him. One of your hands lowered to the wrist he was using to tease you, eyes looking up at him in a silent plea. “No,” you answered. “He couldn’t.” You squeezed your hand around his wrist, then, urging his fingers to slide into you.

A satisfied growl rumbled in his throat at the combination of your admission and grip. “I didn’t think so…,” he cooed, following your touch as he pushed a long slender finger into your body. “I missed this pussy,” he admitted, bending his head to catch your pleased sigh in a kiss. He swirled and pressed along your walls, reveling in the way you felt around him and the muffled sounds you made.

By now your alcohol buzz was gone and you were entirely drunk on Aemond. He spun you in a whirlwind and you were at his mercy. It was when he pushed a second finger into you that you broke the kiss, unable to hold back the moan he pulled from you. “They feel so good…,” Aemond-drunk and pleasure-drunk; the night was just beginning.

“There,” he said as your eyes fluttered and struggled to stay even half open. “Cum on these fingers so we can take this pretty dress off.” He pumped both in and out of you with added fervor, now, relishing just how fucking wet you were. There was no denying or hiding the sloppy little sounds that came from between your thighs. Those, mixed with your continued pleasured whimpers, made for a delicious melody that made Aemond’s cock throb.

“O-oh..! Right there, just like that! Please…,” you whispered as if in prayer. Your hand squeezed tighter around his wrist as he fucked his fingers into you at that same wonderful angle and pace. Even without your pleas he could tell you were close. Your cunt squeezed around him a little tighter, hips squirming, grinding down on his hand for added pressure. You dipped your head into his chest, hips rolling with his pace, and it was when he squeezed a third inside you that you absolutely lost it. Orgasm washed over you in lovely waves of bliss. You trembled; walls clamped around him rhythmically. You panted. Blissed out and ready for another.

As soon as you came down from your natural high Aemond helped you out of your clothes. Dress, bra, panties. They were all tossed aside somewhere in your living room.

Then, it was your turn to help him out of his own clothing. “Fuck, you have beautiful tits,” he said as he stood in front of you in only his briefs. He bent down to lick and kiss over them appreciatively, holding the soft mounds in his hands. 

You giggled at the tickling sensation it gave your sensitive skin. “My room is down this way,” you said with a tilt of your head, taking his hand and leading him through the kitchen, down a short hallway, and into your room. It was only illuminated by an essential oil diffuser which glowed with a soft pink. It steadily misted with a heady mix of oils. 

Once there it was your turn to have your hands all over him. You trailed along every bit of him that you could. From his shoulders, to his arms, across the patch of hair along the center of his chest, and down his lean abdomen, until your fingers hooked beneath the hem of his briefs. You pushed him further into your room until the backs of his legs hit the outside of your bed. 

Sitting on the edge he pulled you to him by your waist, coaxing you to stand between his parted legs. He unabashedly bit into the meat of your hip. One of his hands reached behind you to squeeze your asscheek, giving it a firm smack. 

You jumped at the combination, goosebumps racing to the top of your skin. "My turn to make you feel good…," you grinned, tugging the bun at the back of his head so he was forced to look up at you. "How dare you look so fucking good in a suit. It's really not even fair. Pinstripes, really? And your three headed dragons? It should be me who is green with jealousy over all the women who were checking you out."

Whether you were merely teasing or being wholly serious, Aemond didn't care. You had taken control of the flow once again. He let you have it, let you hold onto the reins if only for a moment. He loved seeing you like this. The faintest hint of pink shone in his cheeks at your compliment.

Releasing his hair you sunk down to your knees. You kissed the flat of his abdomen, beneath his navel, nipping the skin there as your hands pulled the front of his briefs down. He groaned in relief when his cock finally sprang free. Too long had it been solid and trapped; the generous size of him aching to be released for longer than he cared to admit. "So big…," you praised, idly stroking him as you looked up at him.

Seeing you so eager on your knees snapped something in him, and any chance of playing nice broke as soon as your warm tongue swiped along the underside of his shaft. "That's right," he muttered through a pleased groan. "It's like you forgot how fucking good this cock made you feel. Making me play along with your silly game," he tutted, seizing a handful of your hair in his fist. "Parading around like you weren't already mine…," his voice dark, dangerous. "You need to be reminded, pretty girl. Of whose you are, and of how good only my cock can make you feel."

Your belly flipped at the change of his demeanor. The way his eye pulled you into the void of its blackness. You looked up at him like the little doe you were. With his help, and in a single shared motion, you raked his undergarment down his legs to throw it aside. His hand was still knotted in your hair and, using that, he pulled your mouth to his cock until he hit your gag reflex.

Instantly you choked. He fucking groaned as your throat constricted around him. Saliva pooled in your mouth. Your hands gripped over his thighs, fingernails digging into the lean muscle there. He lifted your head up only to do it once more; slower, more deliberate, savoring the sensation of your mouth around him for the first time. And a third time, too. After a moment both his hands lifted your head off him, smiling softly. It wasn't what you expected. It was the gentlest he'd been since arriving. "Too much? Or are you okay?"

It was the sincerity in which he spoke that made you want to slap him, kiss him, and jump on him. All at once. Instead of any of those, you laughed. You wiped away some smeared mascara from under your eyes and nodded, unable to stop laughing. "Surprising, yeah. But, I'm okay. Thanks for checking."

He smirked. That asshole. "Good," he replied, leaning back on one hand while spreading his legs wider apart. "You don't have to be easy with me."

You didn't have anything to say, simply scooted closer into him and looked up at him with those big doe eyes smeared with the night's makeup. You took him in your mouth once again – on your own terms this time. His hand rested lightly at the back of your head in an attempt to keep your hair from falling in your face. You sucked more of him in, then pulled back, plunging forward once again to swallow yet even more of his length.

A truly delectable groan rumbled out from Aemond's throat. He couldn't help it. Your mouth felt so fucking good. He looked down at you, glaring, while a pleasured grin spread across his face; the black of his eye making it all the more lecherous. "Fuck. 'M not gonna last long if you keep doing that."

"Good," you shot back in the same manner of his. "You deserve to cum for playing my silly little game." You didn't go easy on him. Lewd glugs and hot pants filled your room; his hisses and gasps accented the depravity. Saliva drooled helplessly from your mouth and made it all the more sloppy. When your hand moved to cup and massage along his balls you were surprised to feel those already coated in your saliva.

"I'm close… gonna be good and swallow me whole?" He moaned, length somehow getting even fucking harder if that was even possible.

You weren't stopping to say anything back. Your other hand gripped onto whatever wasn't in your mouth and stroked along him firmly, still rolling his sack in your other. He took that as a yes.

The would-be Targaryen prince erupted down your throat with a string of muttered curses and praises. His lean body flexed and shuddered, toes twitching and curling as he rode the waves of climax. His hand had never clenched your hair again, yet it fell heavily like it was tired from holding a fist. "Christ, woman," he breathed, glowing. 

You stood and wiped the back of your hand across your mouth. "Yeah," you replied dreamily as you plopped onto your back atop the bed; grinning like the sloppy blowjob gave you as much pleasure as it did him. Or, perhaps it was merely pride.

Both of you stayed like that for a minute – catching your breath. He rolled over. Those slim hips fit easily between your thighs as his hands planted heavily beside your head. A sly grin graced his chiseled features.

"You're already hard again?"

"Can't help it, pretty girl. You're too sexy," he answered, lining himself up with your eager opening. He wasted little time in pushing into you, hissing at the sensation. "God you're so fucking wet from sucking me off."

The stretch of your body around his girth stole your breath. He stilled to let your walls accommodate his size. "You're right. How could I have forgotten how good this cock makes me feel?" You whined up at him, spine arching beneath him tantalizingly. You were more than slick enough for his intrusion, and now you were full. Absolutely full of him. Slowly, he pulled out. Easily, he pushed back in. Your breath turned ragged and quick, lovely pressure building in your core until it moaned out of your red-smeared lips. "Shit, yes," you whimpered, nails digging into his back.

Leaning up, Aemond grabbed both of your ankles in a single hand and threw them over a shoulder. The new angle sent him railing toward your belly button. His cockhead dragged against that deep, deliciously sensitive spot, over and over, your pussy hot and perfect for his ravaging. "Taking me sooo well…," he praised between slapping skin and your cries of bliss. The palm of his free hand pushed down and splayed wide over your low belly; claiming and intensifying your pleasure.

The added pressure sent fire blazing through your senses. Orgasm consumed you quickly and harshly, and you squeezed the sheets in tight fists as he fucked you through it. The edge of your vision blurred with ecstasy.

"Fuck, yes," Aemond panted, sweat glistening on his brow. "Feel so fuckin' good squeezing me like that." His length harded like iron yet again, balls tightening in preparation for a second release. His pace grew sloppier as he chased his high.

"Fill me up, Aem," you cooed up at him, nodding fervently. "Do it, fill me up." Your voice broke off into syllables and mutters, eyes desperate.

Hearing that was all he needed. He twitched inside you, spilling ropes of his seed deep and shallow alike inside your greedy cunt. Finally, with his firm chest heaving, he let go of your ankles and eased out of you. He flopped onto his back beside you, grinning like a fool. "Alright, babe, you're on water and cleaning duty this time."

You giggled. Actually giggled. "In a minute." You laid on your side and cuddled against him, laying your head on his chest – his heart thumping powerfully below your cheek. A contented silence settled over both of you. He stroked your hair, and you his torso. Once his pulse calmed you leaned up and smiled at him. "That was seriously amazing, the fuck?" you said with a satisfied blush. On your dresser was a pile of clean washcloths you forgot to put away. You used one on yourself and tossed another to Aemond. "Be right back." You put on a new t-shirt and underwear before leaving.

When you came back with water and snacks, Aemond was already browsing through your Netflix. "It's all murder docs and shitty reality tv," he teased.

"Oh shut up," you retorted, rolling your eyes. "Here I brought you snacks and you're talking shit."

"Thanks," he said appreciatively. When you laid by him it was his turn to cuddle into you. 

Eventually you decided on a horror movie neither of you had seen but agreed looked either really good or hilariously bad.

He stayed the night, and there may or may not have been a third round before sleep finally settled over your pleasantly exhausted bodies.

-

thank you for reading! if you enjoyed, please consider a follow and reblog as I have plans to create and share more writings ♥

here is my masterlist

taglist: @melsunshine  @iiamthehybrid  @arcielee  @nina2697 @darylandbethfanforever9 @sahvlren @targaryenbrainrot @bellaisasleep @watercolorskyy @ruby-dragon @aemonds-fire @meggiemay82 @doublesparrows @silverwinged @nikstrange @tssf-imagines

To be added or removed, please let me know!

[webby-mogai]

wartroject / warject

[pt: wartroject / warject /end pt]

an introject formed because of a war/is sourced from a war.

eventroject / eventject

[pt: eventroject / eventject /end pt]

a introject sourced around a event, typically a large event effecting their community, country, culture, ect.

Name + definition by anon, ID help from Lucien, original introject flag by localhazard, flags by me.

[flag 1 id: 9 striped horizontal flag. 2nd, 4th, 6th, and 8th stripes are thinner than the rest. the colors from top to bottom are dark brown, brown, light brown, pale green, half dark green half desaturated green (split in the middle), pale green, teal, desaturated green, dark desaturated green. in the center is a diamond, half dark green half desaturated green, in the center of the diamond is a desaturated light green symbol similar looking to an atom. /end id]

[flag 2 id: 9 striped horizontal flag. 2nd, 4th, 6th, and 8th stripes are thinner than the rest. the colors from top to bottom are dark teal, teal, pale blue, white, half dark green half desaturated green (split in the middle), pale pink, pink, red, dark red. In the center is a diamond, half dark green half desaturated green, in the center of the diamond is an off white symbol similar looking to an atom. /end id]

[trohmantics]

Where My Demons Hide pt 2; chapter one

Masterlist

Italics represents Korean

Pairing: BTS × Named female character (poly)

Genre: Zombie apocalypse, horror, found family-ish?

Rating: MATURE; MINORS DNI

Warnings: Each chapter will have blood, death, and weapons in them. Triggers will be noted in each chapter. In this chapter, Skyler draws a weapon on JK, cursing, begging, just a mention of past child abuse.

REQUESTS: OPEN

A/N: it's taken a little longer than I anticipated, as I had surgery. Thankfully I'm now on the mend and back to writing! Just as a warning, the timeline and ages of BTS aren't entirely accurate. This is set in present day, COVID never happened, but the outbreak starts like COVID. BTS are between 24-29, with Skyler being 24.

As always, constructive feedback is always appreciated! Feel free to send me questions, theories, drabble requests, etc.

****Emergency Presidential Announcement****

The screen shows the president behind his desk, visibly upset and shaken. The room was dim, the American flag backdrop looking hastily hung. The room itself seemed in disarray, and the few visible people seemingly paying it no mind, similar looks as the president evident on their faces.

The camera slowly zoomed in, capturing the look of defeat in the president's face. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, possibly to steady himself, before looking back at the camera.

“My fellow Americans, I come to you tonight with an urgency that I have never felt before. A darkness has spread across our great nation and the world, a darkness I never imagined could manifest in such a horrifying form. A highly contagious virus, originating from a research facility overseas, has escaped containment. Initially, it was believed to be a flu-like illness, but we were wrong—so tragically wrong. As we tried to contain it, we discovered a little more about it. A few days ago, it started turning the infected into something inhuman, something monstrous. It spread rapidly through direct contact, and even air in some cases. Countries once regarded as our allies are now battling for survival, their militaries reduced to mere shadows of their former selves. We received reports of mass casualties and chaos in cities across the globe—from London to Tokyo, from Berlin to Moscow. Nations have fallen, one after the other, succumbing to this unprecedented horror. Here in the United States, our military bravely engaged in containment efforts, but they too were overwhelmed. Major cities have become battlegrounds, while rural areas fall victim to panic and despair. We have lost our way. I stand before you now to share that, despite our best efforts, we are no longer in control. This is not a moment for false hope. There is no miraculous vaccine on the horizon, no hero rising to save us. My heart is heavy as I convey to you that we have reached a point of no return. The government can no longer guarantee your safety. We cannot shield you from what is out there anymore.”

The president’s voice cracks, tears welling up in his eyes. He looks directly into the camera, the weight of his words hanging heavily in the air before continuing.

“I urge you—please, take this time to say goodbye to your loved ones. Hold them close. Tell them you love them. Share memories. Share comfort. If you believe, pray; pray for your families and friends, and pray for all of humanity. For the reality we face is one that few can endure. We are on the brink of something unimaginable. I can only express my profound sadness for all that we are losing and for all that has already been taken from us.”

The screen splits, one side with distressing images of chaos: panicked citizens, military troops overwhelmed, infected individuals staggering through the streets, the flickering lights of cities succumbing to darkness. The screen returns fully to the president, now visibly breaking down, struggling to maintain composure.

“Please, in these final moments, remember the good times-the laughter, the love. Know that you are not alone, even in this despair. As we face the end, know that my thoughts are with you, my fellow Americans.”

Suddenly, a loud crash is heard off-camera and the president’s expression shifts from sorrow to terror. The broadcast begins to flicker and distort. Screams echo in the background, and the camera shakes violently. The president stumbles back, eyes wide with fear, before the transmission is abruptly ended.

The screen goes black, power shutting off. A chilling silence fills the air, broken only by  distant sounds of chaos—snarls of the infected, sirens, screams, and the distant roar of flames.

_______

Four months. Four months since that final broadcast. Four months since civilization collapsed. Four months of doing whatever it takes to survive. 

After society collapsed, Skyler spent a week in her apartment, rationing her canned goods and bottled water. Eventually her resources started to run out, causing her to leave safety and stealthily make her way to town, where she found an abundance of weapons, clothing, and freeze-dried food. There was also a lot of survival gear.

Despite all the racism and sexist attitudes she received for being half Korean and a woman, Skyler had never been more thankful to live in a small conservative area as she had been in that moment. 

Now, four months later, she was miles away from the area. She hoped if she could get to her grandparents farm, where she would have all the tools and resources to survive on her own, that she would flourish. Maybe, if she was lucky, she would also find her younger brother there. She wouldn't get her hopes up, though. 

Skyler pulled her shoulder length brown hair into a low ponytail so her hair would stay out of her face. The last thing she needed was to have a blindspot. She pulled on her hunting clothes as well as her steel toe waterproof boots. 

She secured her crossbow across her back, and kept two pistols with silencers in their holsters. She also had a machete she kept on her right side at all times, and a few knives in her bag for skinning/scaling, gutting, and cutting meat. 

She finished getting dressed, and her items together. She was running low on food, and she knew there were a few outdoor stores in this new town where she could scour in hopes of food and supplies.

She was grateful to find a small secure building to use as a hideout for a few days before continuing on. 

___

Skyler's journey to the outdoor stores was unsuccessful. Two were burnt down, and the third was crumbling, zombies stalking the area. She was disappointed, but decided to look somewhere else to get a few days worth of supplies.

She stayed in the shadows, succeeding in avoiding the zombies as she found a small store. 

It looked to be old, one that probably existed there longer than she had been alive, and was in what most would deem a poor area. It would most likely have the necessities and no more. It definitely wouldn't have the survival gear that she was hoping for, but she could at least get some food and a few bottles of water until she could find somewhere with survival items.

It was easy to get in, no locks or blockages. After a quick sweep, Skyler found that it was all clear.

She began putting non-perishable food in her pack, attempting to steer away from cans as they take up too much room and are heavier. She stuffed her bag with small packets of tuna and chicken, jerky and other dried meats, and meat sticks. She also grabbed a few ramen packs that she knew she could eat dry. 

Skyler headed to the back, kneeling to look at options for water, thinking of maybe grabbing a few larger bottles, when she just barely heard the front door close. Her pulse quickened, and she was on high alert, searching for anywhere she could exit unseen. 

Luck was not on her side.

While kneeling, she could just make out black hair over the tops of the shelves. She heard heavy breathing, as if whoever came in was finally able to breathe. She and the unknown person were silent and unmoving for what felt like hours, before they started to slowly move. 

Skyler slowly moved, staying low to the ground, leaving her bag. She didn't want to, but if she couldn't scare whoever it was away or agree to go their separate ways peacefully, she would have no choice but to kill them. Humans were just as dangerous as the dead these days. 

Both silently moved through the store, Skyler catching up enough to see that the unknown visitor was a young man with shaggy hair, and a tattooed sleeve. She quietly readied her crossbow.

He stopped at her pack, head tilting slightly, as Skyler pressed the top of the loaded bow into his back and retreated a few steps. The young man stiffened and quickly raised his hands, chest heaving in fear. 

“Turn around.” Skyler instructed, her voice not wavering. 

He stood still for a moment, before slowly turning. 

The first thing Skyler noticed was his eyes. While they held fear, she noted in another time they must have been lively and full of happiness. 

She noted a lip ring on his lower lip, and paired with the tattoos he would have looked intimidating, if not for his boyish looks and fear in his eyes.

“I mean no harm! I was just- we ran into a small horde and I got separated from my friends!”

Skyler stared at him in disbelief. Of all the people for him to run into, he runs into someone who can speak Korean? 

Should she be willing to speak to him, help him in his little quest? He seemed friendly despite the fear, and it would be easy to help. Besides, Skyler is so lonely…

On the other hand, if she helped, he could be a hindrance. He didn't seem to have any weapons or supplies, and fending for someone else as well as herself could lead to her demise. Besides, what would happen if they found his friends? Best case she walks away, all alone again.

While arguing the pros and cons of speaking his native tongue and helping, he took her silence as not understanding him. 

He tried speaking in broken English.

“I.. not bad? Just, alone? No, lost! Friends away from-” 

“Shut up.” Skyler interrupted, startling herself with how standoffish she was being. Bow slightly lowering. “I don't know what the fuck you're saying. You,” she pointed at him and then the door, “Need to leave. Now.”

“I don't.. I not mean? No hurting you! Just need help find friends! Monsters ran me here.” He said desperately. “You know BTS? I'm Jungkook!”

Skyler looked him up and down, sure, she had heard of BTS on the radio before the outbreak, she didn't live under a rock. However, she never looked into them, only ever hearing one or two songs on the radio. 

“Who the fuck is BTS?” Skyler said, still trying to get him to leave. “Look dude, I don't care who you are. You need to get the fuck out. Now.”

She grabbed the shoulder of his shirt and moved him in front of her, pushing him towards the door. 

Jungkook dropped to the floor bowing and holding her pant leg, sobbing and begging in a mixture of broken English and Korean.

“Please! I just…I need help. Please help me. Don't put me alone. I'm alone and I miss my brothers!  Please, I don't want to die.”

Skyler's heart stopped and she seemed to forget how to breathe as she took in the scene in front of her. Instead of seeing Jungkook, she was back in the past, to her brother begging her not to leave him alone with their abusive parents, pleading to take him with her when she was made to leave the final time. 

She left out a shuddering breath and turned her head, blinking back the hot tears that formed in her eyes. She put the bow on her back, and slyly knelt down to grab Jungkooks hands, helping him stand again. She dropped his hands as soon as he was fully standing. 

He looked at her with wide, fearful eyes, ready to have to go alone. 

Skyler scanned his face, her heart clenching every time she thought of leaving him behind. She took another deep breath, slowly letting it out. She couldn't trust him fully, but she could try to help him. Maybe she would just need to keep a distance, in case he dies or wants her gone if they find his friends.  

“I'll help you” 

[pineapplerightsideupcake]

You Don’t Care About Palestine and I Can Prove It (pt 2)

“Ahah! Mask off Zionist moment!” “Secret conservative!” “You admit that you just don’t care if Palestinians die!”

Got that out of your system? Good. Because my hatred for the modern left is only out done by my hatred of the modern right.

I care a great deal more than you probably do about dead Palestinians and that’s exactly what I’m here to prove. That all the people shouting “Zionist scum” aren’t the heroes they think they are. I don’t justify the actions of Israel’s government but we’ll get to that when I’m done explaining how stupid you are.

In part one I explored how the modern western left is completely ignorant on the complexities of one of the most complicated geo political issues of our time.

Now let’s talk about how they just don’t even understand conflict. Or war. Or militaries. Or propaganda.

On Oct 7th 2023 Hamas terrorists attacked, raped, and killed in excess of 1200 civilians. That happened. They took civilian hostages.

No government on EARTH would allow itself to be attacked and not retaliate. No government on EARTH wouldn’t demand hostages back. No military on EARTH would allow ceasefire before it had them back. Any of you old enough to recall 9/11 should damn well know that.

Guess what kiddos? War is hell. When war happens when armed conflict begins civilians always die. Often in great numbers.

Do you think Allied bombs in WWII had special civilian avoiding technology? Do you think the “rape of Berlin” is a quirky name? Do you think our drone strikes care if they hit a school?

“Well it SHOULDNT be okay!” I hear you yell.

Excellent! Fantastic! I couldn’t agree more! War is bad. It is started by violent men far away from the fighting and enacted on the bodies of women and children and the boys we send to tear each other apart.

Now that we agree civilian casualties are bad and war is also bad I have two questions.

1) please present your plan for a peaceful alternative to war that doesn’t result in the peaceful nation state being instantly annihilated by less peaceful states and submit it to get your Nobel Peace Prize

2) ask yourself why the first time you’ve ever cared even a tiny bit about the consequences of terrorism and war is when it involves the worlds only Jewish country?

Because if what bothered you was civilian casualties you’d be equally appalled at Hamas. If dead babies made you sad you’d post more than incidentally about all the deaths caused by your own western countries.

“What Israel is doing is wrong!”

YES.

War is terrible. It is awful and I don’t condone it. Every military on earth exists to kill and destroy. Every military since our ancestors learned to hit each other with sharp rocks has existed to kill babies and set homes on fire and rape and pillage. They do it while laughing.

But you didn’t care before Jews did it back.

You want ethical war like you want ethical porn and ethical meat. You want something that only exists as horrible and exploitative made palatable to your sensibilities.

You want a ceasefire but have no plans for how to get back hostages. You want to dismantle Israel but you don’t know how to do it or what the consequences would be.

You know about nothing and care about nothing until it is trendy. Then you swap out your Ukrainian flags for Palestinian flags and buy pride flags made in sweat shops. And when the dopamine hits stop and Palestine needs to rebuild? When the ceasefire comes and the hard work starts you will lose interest like you always do.

[mariana-oconnor]

Wisteria Lodge pt 2

Right, so thinking about it since last time I came up with some other reasons, like maybe Mr Garcia was scared of something coming for him and that was why he asked Mr Scott Eccles over for a few nights. Or alternatively, it was a pure coincidence that he asked him over and then someone from his past turned up and threatened him. But why did the whole household disappear overnight. They must have some connection.

Anyway, now I am free for the evening, onto the actual reading. When last we left off, Mr Scott Eccles had woken up after utterly missing his chance at a booty call to find himself abandoned and needing to do the walk of shame.

"I called at Allan Brothers', the chief land agents in the village, and found that it was from this firm that the villa had been rented."

This seems pretty extreme, although I guess what has happened is quite extreme. And if it had happened to me, I'd be all over the internet trying to work out what had happened to everyone. I'd probably at least think of asking the next door neighbours if they knew what was going on. It's different in a time with servants and stuff, though. You'd expect the servants to still be there, even if the owner has gone out or to work or whatever. Still 'no one was in when I woke up so I went to the estate agent...

He does then go to the mutual friend who introduced them - and also the Spanish embassy - which again, seems a bit like overkill. I don't think I'd go to the Spanish embassy, not if I still had all my stuff. If it seemed weird and suspicious enough I might report them to the police as missing, but then maybe they have a good reason. idk.

"My only desire is to help the law in every possible way.” “I am sure of it, Mr. Scott Eccles—I am sure of it,” said Inspector Gregson in a very amiable tone.

Is that amiable as in appeasing, or amiable as in believing? I'm not sure I'd believe all of that, although it does fall into the realm of too weird and unhelpful a story to be faked. If you're going to invent a story about how you're not a murderer when you really are, you want it to sound more plausible.

“What do you say to that, Mr. Baynes?” The country detective was a stout, puffy, red man, whose face was only redeemed from grossness by two extraordinarily bright eyes, almost hidden behind the heavy creases of cheek and brow. With a slow smile he drew a folded and discoloured scrap of paper from his pocket.

Ah, Watson, you're back in fine form with your descriptions of police officers, no animal imagery here, but at least you managed to convey your utter disgust at his appearance. Bravo.

"The note is written upon ordinary cream-laid paper without watermark. It is a quarter-sheet. The paper is cut off in two snips with a short-bladed scissors. It has been folded over three times and sealed with purple wax, put on hurriedly and pressed down with some flat oval object. It is addressed to Mr. Garcia, Wisteria Lodge. It says: “Our own colours, green and white. Green open, white shut. Main stair, first corridor, seventh right, green baize. Godspeed. — D.

What a very specific and detailed description of the note. Purple wax is particularly extra of them, I have to say. And not in keeping with the colour scheme.

I have a feeling that the green and white are going to be associated with something I have no knowledge of, a badge or flag of some Spanish political movement or other. I also feel like the mixed race cook is going to be important in some way, but I don't know enough about the politics of Spain and its colonial empire at the end of the 19th century to make any guesses.

Green baize is a snooker/billiards table, though, usually. The open and shut might be shutters painted in different colours as some sort of signal to people outside (or an indication of the house Garcia is supposed to go to, but there would have to have been previous instructions in that case, because otherwise it could be any house in the country.)

These are clearly directions and instructions. I kind of want Aloysius Garcia to be an assassin now, and these are indications of where he can find his next hit. But why they would specify a snooker table, I don't know. Although there were probably card tables lined with green baize as well. It is the fabric, rather than the table itself.

But clearly he was killed either because of following these instructions or before he could follow them.

“I'm bound to say that I make nothing of the note except that there was something on hand, and that a woman, as usual, was at the bottom of it.”

Once again, we have feminine handwriting. And, as a woman, I don't know whether to be amused, proud, or insulted that apparently we're at the bottom of everything. All three, I suppose.

“As to Garcia,” said Gregson, “that is easily answered. He was found dead this morning upon Oxshott Common, nearly a mile from his home. His head had been smashed to pulp by heavy blows of a sandbag or some such instrument, which had crushed rather than wounded."

If his head has been bashed in that badly, how sure are you that it's Mr Garcia at all? Who identified the body? I mean, if you were an assassin bumping people off, it would be terribly convenient if people just happened to mistake the body of your victim for you. Terribly convenient.

"...but his assailant had gone on beating him long after he was dead. It was a most furious assault."

Either a crime committed with absolute rage and no forethought or the complete opposite where the beating continued specifically until the body was unrecognisable.

“This is very painful—very painful and terrible,” said Mr. Scott Eccles in a querulous voice, “but it is really uncommonly hard on me. I had nothing to do with my host going off upon a nocturnal excursion and meeting so sad an end. How do I come to be mixed up with the case?”

Sir? Sir? Excuse me. A man is dead, sir.

Wow... Yeah, this is very hard for you. So very hard for you. I'm glad you didn't get laid last night, Mr Scott Eccles. You did not deserve it. Even if Mr Garcia is secretly an assassin for a group of Spanish revolutionaries, you did not deserve the hot assassin sex. Nope. 'How do you come to be mixed up in the case?' Maybe because you were sleeping in his house and were one of the last people to see him alive? (If he's dead. Not convinced on that point.

“The only document found in the pocket of the deceased was a letter from you saying that you would be with him on the night of his death. It was the envelope of this letter which gave us the dead man's name and address."

Yep, they got his ID from a letter in his pocket. Got to love policing before the days of DNA and fingerprinting. A+ identification methodology right there. No way that could be anyone but Aloysius Garcia.

Also, I am amused by the idea that someone deliberately set up Mr Scott Eccles for this. It's not nice, no, but eh the guy's a bit of a pompous racist asshole, and I doubt he's actually going to be charged with anything. They identified a man from a letter in his pocket after all, clearly they will believe anything.

“He had been there since one o'clock. There was rain about that time, and his death had certainly been before the rain.” “But that is perfectly impossible, Mr. Baynes,” cried our client. “His voice is unmistakable. I could swear to it that it was he who addressed me in my bedroom at that very hour.”

And there's the random one am booty call coming into play. Of course we have no evidence it was one am other than the reported word of the possibly late Mr Aloysius Garcia himself. Making Mr Scott Eccles' role in all of this that of impossible alibi to a dead man.

And is his voice really unmistakeable, or does he just have a Spanish accent? If three men with Spanish accents spoke to you in the dark would you be able to pick out Mr Garcia? I don't trust you to be able to do that.

“There were,” said he, “one or two very remarkable things. Perhaps when I have finished at the police-station you would care to come out and give me your opinion of them.”

I am irritated now because I want to know what these things are, but at the same time I am very impressed with Mr Baynes for not doing the thing I always yell at fictional detectives for doing and revealing key evidence in front of suspects. So... Fine. You win this one. I will be patient.

“I can make nothing of this mystification of Scott Eccles.”

Mystification is an excellent word. If this were a modern novel that would be the title: The Mystification of Scott Eccles.

"There is, on the face of it, something unnatural about this strange and sudden friendship between the young Spaniard and Scott Eccles."

Homophobic!

I know Mr Scott Eccles is kind of a dud, but everyone is someone's type. You can't just assume that because Mr Garcia was hot and young he wouldn't be into that.

Although, yeah, it probably was Victorian Catfish. Which leaves me in two minds. On one hand - hot Spanish assassin... undeniably cool. On the other hand - preying on the closeted gays... not cool. Even if Mr Scott Eccles is a Tory. You can't just have different rules for Tories, as much as you may want them.

"He called upon Eccles at the other end of London on the very day after he first met him, and he kept in close touch with him until he got him down to Esher. Now, what did he want with Eccles? What could Eccles supply?"

"I see no charm in the man. He is not particulary intelligent—not a man likely to be congenial to a quick-witted Latin."

So stereotypical. I've said it before - you can't know what a person's type is just by looking at them. And let's not kinkshame Mr Garcia for what he was into.

"He is the very type of conventional British respectability, and the very man as a witness to impress another Briton. You saw yourself how neither of the inspectors dreamed of questioning his statement, extraordinary as it was.”

Honestly, I wasn't going to question it either, but mostly because of narrative reasons and because the guy just seems too boring to be able to come up with anything halfway as interesting on his own. But I don't think I'd take anything that came out of his mouth as true. Honest, maybe, but factually accurate? Definitely seems the kind of guy to quote opinion as fact.

“Well, my dear fellow, we have already arrived at the conclusion that the massage received by Garcia at dinner was an appointment or an assignation."

I know 'massage' is a typo, but it fits in so well with everything else, that I must point it out.

"As the number of large houses close to Oxshott must be limited, I adopted the obvious method of sending to the agents mentioned by Scott Eccles and obtaining a list of them."

I was so distracted by the illicit romance of it all, that I didn't even think about the size of the house. Seven doors along a corridor is a big house, and if it does have a billiards table, then that's a sign of a big house as well.

Of course, Garcia would still have needed to know where he was going. There are six people in Holmes' list.

I kind of hope it's Ffolliott, just because of the three double letters in his name. But The Dingle and Purdley Place are excellent names, too. As is Nether Walsling. And I didn't even notice that Mr Hynes Hynes is called Mr Hynes Hynes... is that another typo or is he just so good they named him twice? And a Justice of the Peace (or at least I assume that's what JP stands for). Yeah, I take it back. I want it to be Mr Hynes Hynes. And is he the body that was found or is it actually Mr Garcia?

None of the names seems Spanish in origin, but we've already established that the writer of the note was English. Do any of the titles seem like they might be involved in some sort of Spanish political intrigue? The Lord perhaps? He'd be in the House of Lords, so politically involved in the UK. The Justice of the Peace could definitely be involved in something, but probably not internationally. I doubt the reverend is involved in politics, but there's always a chance of someone having turned to the church for redemption after a life of crime. Though Spain is a Catholic country in the main part, especially at this time, afaik, so it would be unusual for someone of that background to turn CofE. Not impossible, but unusual.

Maybe Spain has nothing to do with any of it, though. The colours definitely seemed like a hint towards something, though and political affiliation was the only thing my mind could come up with. If it's just the colours of the shutters in the house then why 'our own colours'? Also, if someone can open and close the shutters of a house, that means an inside person.

"...a fit setting for the wild common over which our road passed and the tragic goal to which it led us."

Is that the tragedy that has already occurred, or is there more tragedy yet to come? Watson?

Also, what was that extra evidence, Mr Baynes? Very rude leaving us hanging like that.

Holmes is of course, right. I am theorising without enough data. I need to put the Spanish thing and any ideas of political motivation aside. While I doubt it's going to be as simple as a clandestine affair, it probably won't be a secret revolutionary group enacting assassinations on foreign ground in order to foment rebellion. Although such things aren't entirely without precedence in the Holmes canon.

And it's entirely possible that we're supposed to accept at face value that the dead guy actually is Aloysius Garcia even if his face was beaten to a pulp and their only evidence of his identity is a letter in his pocket. I know that's been used as a form of identification before and been accurate, and it annoyed me then, too.

Getting away with murder would have been so easy in Victorian times. Just make sure the body is unrecognisable and leave a note on it with your own name and address before disappearing into the night. No one would even think to look for you again.

[anonymousartist]

RWBY AU - Beacon Athletic Academy pt 2 -JNPR

Jaune - Based off of French patron saint Joan of Arc, so definitely from France. I also don’t think he was naturally gifted at anything but dance, but he hides it because his ancestors before him were all good at other sports. (Not that dance isn’t manly, it’s incredibly difficult. I just think his sisters would have taken him to dance lessons)

Nora - Valkyrie is a female warrior from Norse mythology, so it makes sense that Nora’s from Norway. She somehow made her way to Ren’s village, but I think she spent her early like in Norway. Plus she’s based on Thor ⚡️⚡️

Pyrrha - Pyrrha, in Greek Mythology, was the daughter of Epimetheus and Pandora, Epimethus being a Greek Titan God, and Pandora a human. Nikos is also a Greek name, making Pyrrha obviously Greek. Plus she’s based on Achilles. I also feel like she became an Olympic gold medalist before attending Beacon, so she’s well known throughout the academy.

Ren - Ren in Japanese means Lotus, so I think Ren primarily has Japanese roots. However, he and his family lived in a more remote area, outside of their original city, so I headcannon they moved to a small village in a country like Mongolia, but he is originally from Japan. Edit - it was pointed out to me that Ren was based on Mulan! Totally forgot about that somehow! I added the Chinese flag as well because he would definitely also be Chinese!

💛🧡❤️💚

[missyourflight]

some stuff i read and watched in june:

taskmaster (s1-5): haven't done an early seasons rewatch in so long, s4 and 5 are basically perfect 2 me. incredible that mark watson manages to be both my favourite type of taskmaster guy (hopelessly despairing) and also nearly won the thing lol. nish forever obviously

silo: got well into this! probably at some point apple will stop throwing millions at sci-fi shows but i'm going to enjoy their folly in the meantime

mission: impossible ii: hadn't seen this one! the weakest of the lot but the john woo of it all is undeniable

mission: impossible iii: PSH outrageously good as the villain, hi keri russell

mission: impossible - ghost protocol: so much fun, especially the sequences where you can see brad bird's animation brain going

mission: impossible - rogue nation: ILSA my beloved, the opera sequence is so gorgeous, no notes!

mission: impossible - fallout: it's good when henry cavill reloads his arms, it's better when tom cruise is sprinting around london rooftops and breaking his ankle etc, my most basic trait is that i Love when they're in london like oooh tate modern. anyway i'm very ready for dead reckoning

asteroid city: the bits about making art really got to me! the vending machines were cool!

joint security area: crash landing on you prepared me for this, blank check weren't lying when they said it was homoerotic, song kang-ho forever etc

dodie smith, the town in bloom: the most delightful narrative voice i've read in Ages and v funny. easy to sell me on 1920s theatrical shenanigans

k patrick, mrs s: So hot and butch, i liked the butch friendship stuff almost more than the sex stuff. more sexy lesbian novels Please

kj charles, the secret lives of country gentlemen: another winner from KJC, my most reliable romantic comfort reads. this time it's smugglers!

alice slater, death of a bookseller: sticky little thriller about being poisoned by true crime, great sense of place, So many pints of dark fruits

laura kay, wild things: bisexual disaster in love with her best friend, tragically very me- and also george russell-coded, god i want to swim in a pond again

SOME STUFF I SAW AT ROCK WERCHTER

the dj on the first nigt who played a mash up of i'm gonna be (500 miles) into temperature and then the 1d cover of one way or another into little lion man (deeply cursed fandom flashbacks etc)

weyes blood with candelabras and glowing hearts and amazing adam curtis projections on the big screen behind her

king princess sending the gay girls of belgium absolutely wild - "you wanna hear a sad lesbian song?"

matty healy is a dickhead but he's very good at being the frontman of the 1975. like if ben whishaw was straight and kind of disgusting

stormzy!!! literally the rain was pouring during blinded by your grace pt 2

mumford and sons - this whole festival was like being borne back ceaseless into the past but the cave still fucks me up, marcus really in his ken marino era, face-wise

PUP - i do believe if this tour doesn't kill you, i will to be a wholly perfect song, they had a trans flag on stage, best vibes of the festival

sigur ros - sometimes you just want to be in a massive barn with thousands of people with your faces turned up in the dark feeling like you're inside the sound somehow

muse - fucking incredible live band still!! every time i'm see them i'm floored by how hot chris the bassist is and then i forget about it and then i see them again and i'm poleaxed etc. they had a tech meltdown during knights of cydonia at the encore so we got showbiz instead!!

christine and the queens - beautiful and terrible as the dawn

jacob collier - asked if we wanted to get funky then put on a special hat, bit george russell-coded in the face

arctic monkeys - sometimes you just want to be in a field with one of your oldest friends singing the songs of your youth!! i love the 70s act actually! there are so many sexy songs on AM!! the skies finally cleared for the beautiful full moon, thank you belgium, good night

[auddacity]

Survey I did on friends about geography :>

So, lately I've been geeking over like, geography (except capitals, fuck capitals) and I rlly wanted to like survey how much people i knew knew about em for like, fun HAHA. Since the school year just ended, I had time :3

I picked 7 countries (can't be territories etc.) from each continent except Antarctica from most to least popular (imo) and asked people to self-evaluate how well they knew them!! I know this isn't statistically unbiased or something because I didn't choose randomly but FUCK THAT

Each country would have 2 questions like this:

I got like 17 responses in under a day (tysmmm!! idc if it's 'too little') and instantly went into analysis hehe (note that most if not ALL the respondents were Asian so there might be a bias but BLEGH >:P)

I turned the answers into a numeric value that I could process:

Yes - 2 pts Sorta - 1 pts No - 0 pts

So obvious stuff: Europe and Asia were the most identifiable, while North America (central if we're bein honest) was the least Surprisingly (at least to me), people recognize country names wayyyy more than flags (which in retrospect, yea but). The flag was equally (if not MORE*) recognized only when:

it was a well-known country (South Korea*, UK)

it had a unique flag (Nepal*, Antigua and Barbuda)

If we subtract the score a country got from its name to its flag, many have an average difference of at least 5+, with the most being Samoa 🇼🇸 (19), Haiti 🇭🇹 (15), and Fiji 🇫🇯 (14).

Looking at continents, the same can be said with Africa (10.7), North America (9.1), and Oceania (9) having the largest differences. It's prolly cuz people know countries like Kenya and Fiji and exist but are dumbfounded to realize they had flags?!?! TL;DR: i did not know that people legit didn't know flagss prolly cuz they heard countries from passing only which is mostly through their name. I'd love to dissect this more but I'm very lazy and this draft got deleted midway??? tumblr???? so I'll send the excel file below for y'all to see if you guys are interested :]

[tmsbooks]

World Building Questions to help you fill in some blanks : pt. 2

Part .1 >>>

21. Does your world have any unique instruments? What are they similar to in the real world?

22. What are some common household pests? Are they bugs, or rodents? How do people deal with them being in their homes?

23. Do any homes still have dirt flooring? What's a common type of building structure made out of? Stone? Wood? Metal?

24. How do people receive world or town news? Via word of mouth, paper, electronics?

25. Describe how one might travel across the country. Describe how someone gets their groceries, do they grow most of it or do they buy it all?

26. How affordable are the following items : a kitchen knife, a plush doll, a glass bottle, a watch, a novel, a backpack, a travel ticket, a boat, a home, an outdoor pool, a card game, a flower bouquet, a hat, a map?

27. How common are meat eaters, omnivores, vegetarians, vegans, etc. In your world? Do certain lands have a culture built around this or is it all up to the individual?

28. Are there dress codes for schools? Everyday life?

29. What is the most popular form of religion in your world's land? Describe it in general, then list things that may be unorthodox or stray someone away from this particular belief system.

30. How advanced is medicine in your world to take care of a broken leg? Is there a potential for amputation? Or can a leg be healed exceptionally fast?

31. Make a restaurant/tavern menu. What is something your character would order? What would you, yourself order?

32. Are libraries available for the public, or are they privatized?

33. How do the seasons change in your world? Are there more than four? Do they change depending on your character's location? How might your character deal with hot weather vs cold weather?

34. Are the following things commonly taught : swimming, reading, writing, singing, dancing, cooking, bartering, woodworking, metalworking, electrical tasks, hunting, gathering?

35. Do countries or towns have their own flags? Describe or draw out what a few might look like.

36. Are wars common? What causes them, or what has caused ones in the past? How did it affect the people? The land? The world maps?

37. Does your world have unexplored land? Or has everywhere been settled on? How far along is ocean/sea research? How far along is space travel?

38. Are there any banned religions? Banned magical practices? Banned teachings? Banned events?

39. What are some internal biases that your main characters have? Are they working to fix this, or are they stuck in their ways?

40. What is a common allergy - to a plant, to a food? How can one deal with an allergic reaction? Do they have medicine to help alleviate symptoms, or might someone die due to a severe attack?

[feelkindadizzy]

PT: 🎊✨️🦜🎶🌤🇬🇹🌤🎶🦜✨️🎊 》 🇬🇹✨️ Guatemalan Miku ✨️🇬🇹 《 END PT

ID from ALT: Hatsune Miku dressed in a Guatemalan dress with blue and pink flowers embroidered on it and sandals with pink laces, along with a long pink ribbon interwoven through her blue/teal braided hair. She has her hair loops (from her original design) colored differently to look like beaded hoops as earrings. The national bird of Guatemala on branches with various colored flowers and a wreath of laurel on each side framing Miku and the Guatemalan flag behind her in the centre. END ID

PT: Had to hop onto the miku trend where ppl are drawing her from different countries (this trend is LITERALLY so sweet??? I LOVE IT SM) 🫶😋🌈🎶🌎✨️‼️

Here's my take on Guatemalan Miku as a guatemalan myself !! 🥰✨️🇬🇹🌤 (I HAVENT SEEN A GUATE MIKU SO I HAD TO ☝️😼)

(totally didn't listen to a LOT of marimba shigualita while making this 😝🎶🌤). END PT

ID: A simple figure flapping their arms surrounded by hearts. END ID

PT: HAVE A LOVELY DAY/NIGHT YALL !! 🇬🇹🎊 END PT

ID: 1. A simple figure looking up with very large eyes and smiling. 2. A simple figure smiling and holding their hand out toward the viewer. END ID

🎊✨️🦜🎶🌤🇬🇹🌤🎶🦜✨️🎊

》 🇬🇹✨️ Guatemalan Miku ✨️🇬🇹 《

Had to hop onto the miku trend where ppl are drawing her from different countries (this trend is LITERALLY so sweet??? I LOVE IT SM) 🫶😋🌈🎶🌎✨️‼️

Here's my take on Guatemalan Miku as a guatemalan myself !! 🥰✨️🇬🇹🌤 (I HAVENT SEEN A GUATE MIKU SO I HAD TO ☝️😼)

(totally didn't listen to a LOT of marimba shigualita while making this 😝🎶🌤)

HAVE A LOVELY DAY/NIGHT YALL !! 🇬🇹🎊

[arpov-blog-blog]

..."Biden Leads in 2 New Polls - Yes, there are polls showing Trump ahead. But there are also these other polls released in the past week: (Biden-Trump):

44%-43% - Morning Consult (new today, 5 pt Biden gain in past month)

43%-42% - TIPP (new today, 3 pt Biden gain from last month’s poll)

44%-44% - Economist/YouGov

36%-36% - AP/NORC

40%-40% - Impact Research/GSG battleground state poll (link)

Morning Consult’s just released weekly tracking poll found something that we’ve been discussing as the likely scenario this spring - that as the campaigns turn on, and it becomes clear it is Biden-Trump, a big chunk of Biden’s wandering base will come home. We will then we have a campaign to go get the rest and hopefully go beyond it and get to 55.

Biden retakes lead from Trump: Biden leads Trump, the likeliest Republican presidential nominee for 2024, by 1 percentage point (44% to 43%) in our latest national tracking survey. It’s Biden’s first lead over Trump since early January, and is driven by coalescence among the voters who backed him last time around: 85% of Biden 2020 voters say they’d vote for him if the election were today, the largest share since early September.

As I keep writing what the polls are finding is a close, competitive election. Trump does not definitively lead. He is a far weaker candidate than in 2020. We should not red wave this election as we did 2022. We know from public and private polling that when voters are informed about Biden’s accomplishments, his numbers go up. When voters are informed about Trump’s awfulness his numbers go down. Consumer sentiment is rising, the economy is remains historically strong. Since Dobbs we’ve been winning elections all across the country and Republicans have struggled. Together, we’ve built the most powerful grassroots machine the Democratic Party has ever had. For all these reasons, and the many I discuss below, I am deeply optimistic about winning this November. For remember:

Joe Biden is a good President. The country is better off. The Democratic Party is strong and winning elections all across the country. And they have Trump, the most unfit person to ever run for President in our all history.

Hopium is hope with a plan. We don’t just hope elections will go well, we do the work to make it so. Our work, together, and the work of millions of other proud patriots across the country, is what is pushing Democratic performance in election after election to the upper end of what’s possible. If we keep our heads down and keep doing the work we should have the election we all want to have this November. Let’s raise the flag - for freedom, for democracy, for America - and go win this thing together"

[greensparty]

This Month in History - November

There’s quite a few pop culture landmark anniversaries this month, here are a few:

Nov. 2, 1992: Harvest Moon released

In Nov. 1992, Neil Young’s 19th studio album was released. The 90s was a really great era for Old Neil and this was actually one of my favorites from that prolific era. It has a real classic folk rock sound that harkens back to Old Neil’s best 70s work. Still sounds timeless. Happy 30th HM!

Nov. 2, 2007: American Gangster opens

In Nov. 2007, Ridley Scott’s crime saga was released. Here is my piece I wrote in 2017. Happy 15 AG!

Nov. 3, 2017: Last Flag Flying opens

In Nov. 2017, Richard Linklater’s pseudo-sequel to The Last Detail was released. It at once a road movie, a comedy about men of a certain age, a commentary on both Vietnam and Iraq Wars, and an anti-war / pro-military statement! Bravo to the cast, especially Bryan Cranston! Here is my movie review from 2017. Happy 5 LFF!

Nov. 6, 2012: Music From Another Dimension released

In Nov. 2012, Aerosmith’s 15th studio album was released. Here is my piece I wrote in 2017. Happy 10 MFAD!

Nov. 8, 2002: Far From Heaven opens

In Nov. 2002, Todd Haynes’ magnum opus was released. Here is my piece I wrote in 2017. Happy 20th FFH!

Nov. 9, 2007: No Country for Old Men opens

In Nov. 2007, the Coen brothers’ adaptation of Cormac McCarthy was released. Here is my piece I wrote in 2017. Happy 15 NCFOM!

Nov. 16, 1977: Close Encounters of the Third Kind opens

In Nov. 1977, Steven Spielberg’s sci-fi epic was released. Here is my piece I wrote in 2017. Happy 45th CEOTTK!

Nov. 18, 1992: Malcolm X opens

In Nov. 1992, Spike Lee’s biopic of Malcolm X was released. Here is my piece I wrote in 2017. Happy 30th MX!

Nov. 18, 2002: Brainwashed released

In Nov. 2002, George Harrison’s final album was released posthumously. Here is my piece I wrote in 2017. Happy 20th Brainwashed!

Nov. 25, 1987: Planes, Trains and Automobiles opens

In Nov. 1987, the greatest Thanksgiving movie of all time was released. Here is my piece I wrote in 2017. Happy 35th PT&A!

Nov. 30, 1982: Thriller released

In Nov. 1982, Michael Jackson’s greatest album was released. Here is my piece I wrote in 2017. Happy 40th Thriller!

[makeshift-sims]

Country Flags (Pt. 2)

Base Game Compatible

§100 each

Decorations > Wall Decorations

6 new swatches: Columbia, Venezuela, Brazil, Chile, Argentina, Peru

This was my first Anon ask who wanted more country flags with a South American focus. I’ve made two separate downloads available in the download link, one for just the six new flags and a merged version of this part and part one.

Thanks Anon for the ask! I’m always open to doing more!

Download on Patreon (free)