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oh-koenig-my-koenig · 6 months ago

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It's the parts of König that she didn't see

a/n: I worked on this special for quite some time and it's finally time to get a glimpse of what was going on in metalhead!könig's head during his time with reader... a little thank you to all the peeps who have kept up with the series and a little summary before we head into the last few chapters <3 (i added links to the chapters as well where the situations took place that i'm referring to)

(the usual CWs apply: age gap 25/41; MDNI, nsfw, lots of smut, fluff and a bit of angst)

the part before: saying goodbye

It's the parts of König that she didn't see. From the first moment on when they met.

How he was kneading his fingers before he just blurted out the comment, complimenting her on the shirt she was wearing, there in the bar.

The surprise when she approached him again, to talk. The thinly veiled flirty-ness on both sides that didn't quite register in his mind.

The little shock shooting through him when he realised that she was that much younger than him. His thoughts racing to find a way to gracefully navigate the situation while the sound of her cheery voice seeped into him.

Giving her his number when he offered to take her to a concert because she had nobody else to go with, thinking she would surely have forgotten about it by the next day.

The surprise on his face when she actually sent him a message in the morning.

The surprise growing when she didn't stop texting him, after she fixed the thing with going to the concert together. The pictures she sent him, just telling him about her day.

A little ding from his phone every now and then. The disappointment he tried to not feel when it was another email and not a message from her.

When he went to the drugstore before the concert, to pick up condoms, because the ones he still had at home weren't any good anymore.

It isn't even a date, we are just going to a concert. Because she didn't have anybody else to go with.

He felt himself going a little crazy over this. Cursing himself out because he was a 41 year old man anxious about buying condoms. Sure, not because of what other people might think while he purchased them. But overthinking what the younger woman he was going on a date with (that wasn't a date) might think.

Unsure if she would even consider him in that way. He didn't really trust his gut, the little voice in his head that reassured him that she was surely flirting with him over text. Better to be prepared, right?

The way his mind went blank when he saw her again, picking her up for the concert. She was really pretty in her outfit, but the thing that took his breath away was her disarming smile with which she beamed up at him.

She was tiny. In his mind she was tiny. A grown ass woman, sure, but compared to him everybody was small and dainty. And she seemed even more so.

And he saw that every time he looked at her. He always had to look down, but there she was. Cheery and yapping about her day. Looking up at him every so often, just having a normal conversation. And he couldn't fathom how that happened.

How his heart sank when he nudged her playfully while they were waiting in line at the bar. Which made her almost topple over. Fuck.

Her reassuring smile. "I don’t break that easily." The realisation on her face when she heard how that sounded. She was so easy to read, like an open book.

The one part of him wanted to find whoever tried to break her before. The other part wanted to break her himself. Just a little bit. See hot tears stream down her cheeks as she came on his dick. Make her scream for him. Feel her body writhing against his.

Verdammt. He shook his head, making those intrusive thoughts go away, but they kept pestering him.

When he put an arm around her shoulders, more reflex than anything really, shielding her off from the other people in the crowd bumping into her.

He almost pulled back, the nervous feeling of uncertainty licking up his spine, when he realised what he was doing. But then she leaned into him. Relief flooded him, his hand coming to lie on her hip.

Her shoulders didn't even reach his pecs, her head grazing over one of them, when she looked up at him. And for a moment, he felt like the unsure guy again that he once was. The huge grin on her face pushed that feeling away, the spark in her eyes, the excitement in her expression infecting him instantly.

"Thank you for taking me to the concert."

"You're so very welcome."

And he told himself right there and then that it didn't matter the slightest what came out of this. Seeing her get excited over being at the concert had already made it more than worth it tagging along. And he hadn’t been at one in so long, he had forgotten how fun it is.

He was willing his thoughts to stay platonic when he had her on his shoulders so she could see the band onstage better. Her skirt inevitably riding up, his fingers digging into her supple thighs to steady her and the warmth of her clothed pussy against the back of his neck. Trying to think about anything else but his head between her thighs and failing miserably.

When she very obviously tried to rile him up as he was taking her home afterwards, pulling out the "old man"-card again which clearly was a jab at his age. And he tried to ignore it. Trying to ignore the tension too that he felt, in case it was just him getting the wrong idea.

But then she dropped the b-word. Brat.

One banter led to another, and the banter led to her lips on his. Oh fuck, her soft moans. That he swallowed up with each kiss. She tasted so fucking good, the slight hint of beer that they both drank not able to drown out her taste.

Pulling her into him, her taking a seat in his lap. When she grinded down on him, no force in the world would have been able to conceal his erection, but he still tried to keep calm. To not lose his mind which was costing every ounce of restraint he could muster.

When she invited him up to his apartment, the innuendo clear, he had to double-check. “Are you sure you want this?”

That sweet "yes please" from her lips while she stared into his eyes and he couldn't find anything but want in them was finally enough to convince him that he wasn't dreaming.

Him not being able to stop grinning the whole day after dropping her off at work the next morning. Getting lost in the thoughts of her.

How her smaller body felt against his. Her soft thighs and tummy against his hard muscles. The way she shivered against his lips, coming down from her orgasm. Her taste in his mouth. He just wanted to go down on her again.

He also fit into her, perfectly. Sinking into her pussy, slowly, squeezing him tight. But he fit somehow.

His need to fuck her harder when he planned to do her slow and sweet. Her permission to not hold back, repeating how she won't break easily, dismantling his resolve.

Her moans when he pounded into her. His fucking name on her lips as he pressed her down into the mattress and she came again. He just wanted her to say it over and over as her eyes rolled back in pleasure.

Anticipating her messages all day long. Only a few of them. Trying not to feel the disappointment that was slowly sinking in.

He did what he always did when he couldn't drown out the voice in his head. Working out until his muscles hurt more than whatever was plaguing him. The dark screams from his headphones boomed in his ears while he upped the speed on the treadmill.

Still not able to forget how his name sounded on her lips. How her hands grabbed him. How her body...

He shook his head. No, he had to forget about that, or else he would go crazy.

Maybe it just had been a one-time thing for her?

Maybe she regrets it now? Maybe she thought about the age difference again and changed her mind? Which is fine, of course.

Maybe he did something wrong? Maybe he came on too strong still, despite making sure how she felt every step of the way. Asking if he could wake her up with his mouth. Something that made him curse himself out now.

He finally got the courage to text her about it. And she wanted to meet him, drive around in his car.

When he saw the look on her face as she waited for him on the curb in front of her apartment building. She wore her feelings on her sleeve and he could see the guilty conscience from a mile away. Which made him crack a joke, just to see her smile again.

“König Private Chauffeur inc. – at your service.” And it worked to make her laugh as she got in the passenger seat.

Her explanations how she has been held up with work made him feel better, at ease, although the little voice in his head still didn't shut up entirely. He even confessed that he hadn't been dating the last few years. Explaining his insecurities away, more to himself really, like it made any difference. This whole thing never had been about him, she had just been busy with work, all the doubts only had been in his head. Overthinking it all.

When she reassured him that she didn’t regret it and that it wasn’t anything he did. The blush on her face as she told him that she had indeed enjoyed it very much.

Oh, his ego almost couldn’t take it, and he knew he was getting cocky, unable to hide it, teasing her about it just a little bit. Needing to hear again how she couldn’t stop thinking about it either.

How she teased him in retaliation, her lips on his neck, her hand in his lap, so brazen. “Need you deep inside me.” His restraint snapping in an instant because the imagination alone drove him crazy.

The picture she sent him of her tits, earliest in the morning the next day. He probably never received a better Good Morning text.

Like he wasn't already awake, lying in bed, his morning wood straining against the boxer shorts, only made worse because first thing he thought about was how he fucked her on the backseat of his car. And he wasn’t planning to do anything about it, the thought alone making him feel dirty…

Yet he reciprocated her gesture and sent her a pic of his junk, safely tucked away in his boxers. Her naughty messages coaxing him to do something about his hard-on, he let her instructions guide him until he made a total mess. Sexting, something he never did before either.

He then took the chance to invite her to his place in the evening.

Which led to him taking the cover off the mirror on the ceiling in his bedroom. He often thought it was really unnecessary that he put that there. Not today though, with the prospect of fucking her on his bed.

He was standing on the mattress, polishing the reflective surface, making sure it's spotless. Grinning to himself thinking about her face when she sees it. Her face looking up at the mirrored image as he went down on her. Seeing what he got to see. Oh yeah, it had totally been worth it, just for that.

The way she looked standing there in his living room, in her casual comfy clothes. Stretching to get one of the books on the higher up shelves. Almost prompting him to help her, but he didn't. Because she surely would have asked. And he didn't wanna invade her space, even though she was traipsing around in his.

The incredulous look on her face as he unpacked the Asian take-out he ordered for them. When she realised that he actually considered her dietary preferences, which didn't make him feel good about it, but rather made him think. Who had made her feel like she wasn't a priority before?

Content with seeing her munch on a spring roll. Knowing that he fed her, even if he didn't cook it himself. The little pang of possessiveness spreading through his chest. Telling him that he was already too deep into it, but he didn't want it to stop either.

The way his heart jumped when she laughed at one of his stupid jokes. Which made him want to grin back at her. And make another joke, just to do it all again.

He didn't know when the last time was that he laughed that much.

Oh and the filthy nasty hard sex. His need to take her in every room in his house, on every possible surface there was. Starting at the bar in his party room, propped over the sturdy wooden furniture. In his bed, in the shower. On the counter in his kitchen. Then in his bed again.

After they spent the whole weekend together, he didn't want to have her leave, but he also knew it would've been ridiculous to have her stay, so she went home again.

When he called her because she couldn't sleep and he just needed to hear her voice. And he would have been content with that, but he could have never refused when she asked him to help her come. Guiding her through it with whispered instructions, her sweet sounds and choked moans spurring him on as well.

When he came over to her apartment, and she had cooked for him. And she showed him the games on her computer and he couldn’t stop teasing her while she was ingame. Getting her to be more open with him, to tell him what she liked, building a trust between them.

When he broke the bed fucking her the next moment and he asked her to stay at his place, the shame and guilty conscience of destroying her furniture with his thrusts (ugh) were driving his offer. Not thinking about other implications or what it would mean to have her stay with him.

For example, that she would see his reading glasses. That he totally wasn’t hiding from her. But she didn’t mind them at all, quite the contrary, if the way she dropped to her knees was any indication.

When he tied her to his bed then, he made her come over and over again. Wringing orgasms from her body, reading her every move, as she writhed, crying out. Her sounds getting muffled by the panties he stuffed between her lips, shutting her bratty mouth up in the best way. Worshipping her the way he knew how to while at the same time punishing her for mouthing off at him. When he finally sank into her, he loosened the cuffs, her pussy warm and tight around him, her thighs shaking, her frame shivering as she pulled him in. Her lips pressed to his, their chests up against each other, the skin sweaty, but he just needed her closer.

Pushing into her, he was so close already, then she looked up at him, that familiar expression on her face as her mouth dropped open. He was done for, even before that image and the feel of her underneath him burned into his mind.

And it didn’t help when she asked him if they could do it without a condom. His brain almost short-circuited, when he hadn’t allowed himself to be that close with anybody in quite some time, not dating somebody exclusively as they put it, and he entirely lost it as she sank down on his length. Her warmth and wetness around his dick was divine, and he just desperately tried not to burst with how she was squeezing him.

The soft look on her face, the way her breath caught in her throat… Fuck, she was too beautiful.

She weaseled her way into his life and he unintentionally welcomed her with open arms, because he didn't have any defenses against her bubbly nature and her genuine smile. Like a bright beam of sunshine that was tickling his nose. Getting closer and closer until it felt unnatural to not have her by his side.

And he still couldn't believe that she just saw him.

She didn't say anything. But he could tell that she knew. Ever since they talked about his work, well, he talked mostly and she listened. Soaked in the little bits and pieces about him that he dropped while talking. She just saw him, without even knowing his real name.

He kind of was waiting for her to pack up and leave, but she didn't. She didn't run away when he had bad days. The ones with the night terrors too. They were few and far between while being with her, and most days he even managed to get out of his slump, so she probably didn't notice.

Except for that one time, when he snapped at her, though he didn’t even mean too, mad at himself, not at her, and he saw the expression on her face fall before she practically fled the room. On those days it was hard for him not to hate himself.

Running after her, apologising. And when her arms closed around his waist, her head rested on his chest, and she told him everything was okay, he could almost believe it.

She fell asleep on him, after they fucked. Her eyebrows were turned up, his face turned in his direction like she was looking at him, but her lids were closed, her breath steady, just the tiniest of snores dropping from her lips.

His hands pushing her hair back, his fingers caressing her cheek, so soft. She was so soft and warm against him. So alive.

That thought flipped the switch in him.

The cold feeling of dread gripped him from beneath, like icy flames licking up his body as the familiar sensation set in. He tried to breathe through it, not to wake her up. Softly caressing down her back. Pulling her a little closer against his chest, suppressing a shiver.

He thought, he could do it. Maybe he would be strong enough this time, to not go down that spiral. But the thought of leaving somebody behind still scared him too much.

Fuck, that's why he stopped. Stopped building connections to people. It had been a conscious decision, and an easy one at that. Not relying on anybody else, and more importantly, not having anybody rely on him.

What could he give her anyway? Other than a few orgasms.

She made the house feel lively, although it was a little messier. Leaving her things in his space. Bringing her kitty with her, the rascal turning everything inside out.

Sitting beside him on the couch. And it still felt like his space.

She managed to drag him outside, not just for walks in the greenery. She made feel him lively too.

This much younger woman. Warm, soft and tiny against his chest. Who fit so perfectly against him, like a puzzle piece. Who looked like she was smiling, even in her sleep. So alive.

He shouldn't have let it come this far. He has to leave either way, going on the next mission, and he can't have her waiting for him. It wouldn't be fair to her. She shouldn’t wait for him, and she shouldn't grief if he didn't return.

It hasn't even been a month, it will be okay.

She's gonna be okay. In the long run, she's gonna be okay. Maybe find somebody who was better suited for her. Younger. With less baggage. Somebody who was easier to love. Who deserved her.

So, he needed to say goodbye, even if it will make him miserable.

Hearing her cry through the door after he ended things made him wanna burst through it, for a moment at least. A pang of regret cutting through the resolve he had built, but he still left.

Driving home in silence, not daring to listen to music. The playlist she put together of their favourite songs still opened on his phone, and he closed the app instead of pressing play.

The silence was eerie, feeling almost suffocating when he sat in his living room. The room where they spent so much time. His mind wasn’t able to focus on the book he tried to read, his thoughts always coming back to her. In her apartment. With her new bed.

He sighed and went upstairs to his bedroom, getting his clothes off, when the hair tie she lent him fell out of his pocket. He picked it up and just looked at the little thing.

Fuck. I'm such an asshole.

With a groan, he laid down, trying to find some sleep, the thing that lulled him in being her scent that still lingered on the sheets. He should have changed them, was the last thing on his mind before he fell asleep.

So, he went on the mission. Like he had always done. Gone for weeks and months at a time.

Yet this time he took something from home with himself. Because everything reminded him of her... His favourite songs intertwined with the memory of her singing or humming along when they listened to them.

Remembering that she used his shampoo for a while, how his scent would be all over her, but still sweeter, more herself. He sighed and washed his hair, damning the shampoo and himself. Putting it in a ponytail, with the hair tie she gave him.

Smoking a cigarette. A bad habit that he had under wraps most of the time but couldn't shake when he was on duty. Remembering the one cigarette they shared, in front of the bar where they first met.

More than once he caught himself looking at a picture of her on his phone. At pictures of them together. And their similarities became as obvious as the differences he had used to convince himself.

His mind revolved around her whenever he had a moment to himself. Wondering how she was doing. If she thought of him as well. Probably not.

He thought it would have been a distraction to know that she would be waiting for him at home. That the responsibility of staying alive would have been too much.

Seeing the relieve on his family's faces every time he returned broke his heart. He didn't die, this time. Not returning anymore after his grandma died and barely having anybody to care for him in his new surroundings freed him from that.

And she would have brought that back. Or at least so he thought. Knowing that there wouldn't be anybody waiting at home, it made him more reckless. It didn't matter anyway if he lived or died. And while that thought soothed him before, it made him all the more anxious and bitter now.

When a grenade exploded just a little too close to him, it threw him back against a wall and his senses blurred for a moment. The dizzy darkness in front of his eyes vanished and the ringing in his ears turned into her laughter, and he knew that he was fucked.

One evening, after one too many glasses he finally confided in someone. Horangi just laughed and patted his back. "You're in love, my friend.", he simply said. The younger man who had an eye for what's going on always told him plainly how he sees it.

"I guess I am. And I fucked it up." Telling Horangi about how he broke up with her, and he just shook his head.

"Of course. You always find a way to destroy things most efficiently.", he said, not an ounce of judgment in his voice.

König scoffed, taking another drink. "Thanks, just what I needed to hear."

Horangi pulled up an eyebrow, the look on his face alone calling him out on his shit.

"Yeah, yeah, don't look at me like that.", König grumbled. He finished his drink, getting up to finally head to bed.

Horangi's hand held him back.

"You want her back?"

"I don't think she will take me back."

"That's not what I was asking, dipshit."

König sighed. "I want her back.", he said, the thought sobering him a little.

"Then you at least gotta try."

Another pat on the back and König makes his way to his room. Only one thought on his mind.

I gotta at least try.

for the sake of completeness: the Masterlist and the next part: returning home

also sorry it took me so long to update, i finally finished my degree which took more brainpower and time than anticipated :') i hope you understand <3 thanks for reading and tune in soon for the return of the king - i will try to update within the week <3

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deer-head-xiris · 2 months ago

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dtfpeta · 1 year ago

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Domesticity with Price...

(a/n: yes I want to make my lover a home cooked meal. yes I want him to wrap his arms around me while I cook. also I was this close to putting nsfw but I may just make a part two)

tags: husband!price, fluff, mentions of pregnancy, f!reader

Word Count: 1.8k __________

Price who comes home to his doting wife standing in front of the stove. A roaring pot of boiling water being salted by your delicate hands which form a harsh pinch on the granules before releasing them into the porcelain dish.

He watches from the door as you slowly canter your hips, humming along to the soft melody of Al Green from your distant record player. His cheeks contort with a smile when he hears your abysmal attempt to recall the lyrics. Startling you out of your unaware serenade when his hands catch in the fabric of your dress to wrap around your waist.

"Smells good." He comments regarding the dish. His face is buried in the side of your neck, breathing in the scent of garlic, rosemary, and other spices that coat the house in its aroma. Your own fragrance of vanilla overwhelms his senses as he sighs into the crook of your neck.

"It's not nice to sneak up on someone like that..." You chastise, knowing the irony that lies in your statement being as stealth is not something your husband is unaccustomed to. "Could've burned myself." You add, half-heartedly scolding and rolling your eyes as his arms tighten their purchase on your hips.

On the stove lies a pot boiling with its now added component of rigatoni. To its side is a sizzling pan that has been providing the house with its encapsulating smell. John eyes the skillet. The melted butter works to caramelize the now translucent onions coated in sparse flakes of red pepper and rosemary. A wooden spatula wielded in your hand stirs the minced garlic cloves, doing your best to prevent their quick to burn nature.

Price loves your cooking and you love to cook for him. Seeing as his face melts into bliss when he tastes what magic you have cast on something as simple as a chicken pot pie. Or the way his eyes bulge when you reveal that a dish he has been scarfing down like a starved dog over the past several months contains mushrooms.

Ever since that day, he has not once argued about an ingredient in your cooking. Even as he eyes the tomato sauce being added to the pan, knowing he is going to suffer a severe case of heartburn but almost welcoming it, as he knows it will accompany an array of flavors he will be holding up his plate for more of.

"M'sorry love." He relishes. "Been looking forward to this all day. N' watching you from the door just made me miss ya' even more."

You scoff at his cheesy comment, placing your left hand to rest on his forearm that is draped around you as your right stirs at the still hard noodles.

You lay your utensil down and lean back into his embrace. Closing your eyes as you feel your bodies link together like a puzzle. One piece being a head taller than the other, but fitting together nonetheless. You sway with your husband to the tempo of the song playing in the background. His body is warm against your back, being stripped of his tactical gear and left in a black cotton shirt tucked into the waist of his same toned cargo pants, the legs of which are folded above his combat boots.

"How was work?" You ask, eyes still closed and body entangled in him. He regards your question with a low hum, feet lightly stepping side to side.

"Hm, the usual. Told some of the boys we could treat em' to dinner sometime. Be nice to get together, maybe show you off a lil'?"

He lightly pinches at your sides while pulling you closer to him. The scruff of his beard dances against your skin as he attacks your neck in quickly scattered kisses.

"John!" You laugh while attempting to distance yourself from his assault. Only to be swiftly turned around where you find his blue eyes smiling fondly at you. The warm tinted light from a nearby lamp casts soft shadows on the crows feet that crinkle near his eyes. The edges of his smile lines sharpening the more he beams at you.

There's not a place on Earth he would rather be.

For the longest, he distanced himself from love. Only finding that unachievable compromises would be asked of him, and due to his work, he was never able to fulfill those wishes. It only put a strain on his and his partners' relationship. He learned to deal with the lack of intimate companionship over the years. Just having the bond of his brothers in arms till he would return to his empty flat and scrounge up whatever microwaveable dish hadn't gone freezer burnt or remnants of leftovers left in his barren refrigerator. Until he met someone he could incorporate into the unpredictable schedule of his life.

The first time you cooked for him he was floored. Joking about how he'd have to hire you as his personal chef and saying how he could only dream of coming home to this every week. You had brought the ingredients to his apartment, insisting that you would treat him to a hot meal if he helped you, which he gladly agreed to. He stood slicing carrots and celery while you stirred a pot of chicken stock, placing sprigs of thyme and bay leaves into the broth as the chicken roasted in the oven, soon to be shredded and added to the pot. Said pot being three times bigger than your head.

"You trying to feed the whole squadron?" He'd teased. To which you only responded with a light snicker, knowing that in making such a large portion would provide him with leftovers for the rest of the week-and then some.

Several years later you now stood in your shared home, a simple wedding band adorning the both of you two's hands. Price's socks litter the shared space until you have to reprimand him to pick them up. Him responding with his own accusations of how you frequently leave your bra on the couch as well as your adversity to keep your hair ties in one place. What can you say, it's just more convenient when they're around the house.

The two of you's cleaning habits aren't the only thing that could use work though. The decorations are an obvious clash of one person who enhances the space with homely, comforting pieces, and another who has a hard time letting go of secondhand artifacts. And after Price's constant defense of his 'live laugh love' banner hanging on the wall of the kitchen, you began to give in to the cliché relic.

A more than familiar tune begins to play from the record player.

"Oh my God" Price's teeth shine through his grin as he picks up on the melody as well. It's the song you shared your first dance together to.

His coordinated hands move to your hips, your own responding by wrapping around his neck. You gaze up at him. The quickening of your heart makes its frequent appearance as he looks down at you. The butterflies you feel every time you look at him have yet to diminish their strength over the years. Even as you heard stories of the dreaded period following the honeymoon phase where couples do nothing but bicker, your heart remained the same.

The only thing you can focus on is his hickory-toned voice humming to the lyrics of the track. The vibration rumbles through his chest, making its way to your ear resting upon him. He sways with your body against his until you are replicating the dance from that night. Since that night he has always made it apparent you were his first priority. He protects and serves you, as you have brought a peace to his life he didn't think was possible.

"Y'know on my way home," he began "saw this woman with her kid. Maybe 5 years old. He was sitting on a bench while she was on the ground tying his shoe. He was swinging his leg, reading some comic book to her. Poor lasses feet barely touched the ground!" He lets out a breathy laugh before pausing for a moment. "Just got me thinking."

"About?"

"Bein' a dad." He stated, kissing the temple of your face. "Making you a mum."

You smiled into his chest. John knew you wanted kids, and he did too. The time just never found itself convenient. And even now there are uncertainties, but the knowledge you have that John would be an excellent father left you planting seedlings of the idea in his head when you had the chance. Passing by a pair of cute baby shoes in the store. The ring of adolescent laughter when you'd visit the aquarium. Or even a dress you would buy, waiting for your husband to compliment it before mentioning the garment worked as a maternity piece too.

Something had been pulling at his paternal strings lately, however. He yearned to fill the house with the both of your makings. Leaving your marks in its foundation. Whether that be with the rug you both haggled for at the flea market. The broken spring of your living room couch, product of an intense wrestling match between you two. (In which both parties were considered victorious by the end.) Or the poolhouse-toned blue paint that made its acquaintance on the crown molding of your bedroom wall. (Also caused by some spout of play fighting or whatever attempt Price had to get his hands on you.)

You leaned back to search his face, only finding a look of great fondness pulling at his features. Your palms came to cradle the sides of his face before a smile stretched on your own.

"Yeah. I think I'd like that." You brought his lips to yours, embracing him in a tender touch as you laughed into the kiss. Your hold on one another tightened. Knowing that Price was ready to take such a giant step now made you giddy as you imagined him holding his future child, playing make-believe with them, and cleaning up their bumps and bruises from playing in the yard.

"Can't believe you're saying yes to a baby before a dog, John." You both laughed before you turned your head at the smell of burnt garlic.

"Shit!" You quickly grabbed a wooden spoon to stir at the red mixture before turning the stove off.

"Don't tell me you lost your touch already, sweetheart?"

"You were distracting me." You declare, pointing your spatula at the towering man. "Just get the bowls from the cabinet and set the table, yeah?"

"Of course, hun." He mocked.

You glared a burning look into the back of his before he did as instructed, your temper cooling as you poured the pot of soft noodles into a strainer.

You and John were able to turn a house into your home. Soon the floor and walls would be sheathed in memories of your family. One of the first being your dinner of a burnt tomato rigatoni pasta.

#call of duty #john price #captain price x reader #price x reader #john price x reader #price mw2

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warningsine · 8 months ago

Text

Living online means never quite understanding what’s happening to you at a given moment. Why these search results? Why this product recommendation? There is a feeling—often warranted, sometimes conspiracy-minded—that we are constantly manipulated by platforms and websites.

So-called dark patterns, deceptive bits of web design that can trick people into certain choices online, make it harder to unsubscribe from a scammy or unwanted newsletter; they nudge us into purchases. Algorithms optimized for engagement shape what we see on social media and can goad us into participation by showing us things that are likely to provoke strong emotional responses. But although we know that all of this is happening in aggregate, it’s hard to know specifically how large technology companies exert their influence over our lives.

This week, Wired published a story by the former FTC attorney Megan Gray that illustrates the dynamic in a nutshell. The op-ed argued that Google alters user searches to include more lucrative keywords. For example, Google is said to surreptitiously replace a query for “children’s clothing” with “NIKOLAI-brand kidswear” on the back end in order to direct users to lucrative shopping links on the results page. It’s an alarming allegation, and Ned Adriance, a spokesperson for Google, told me that it’s “flat-out false.” Gray, who is also a former vice president of the Google Search competitor DuckDuckGo, had seemingly misinterpreted a chart that was briefly presented during the company’s ongoing U.S. et al v. Google trial, in which the company is defending itself against charges that it violated federal antitrust law. (That chart, according to Adriance, represents a “phrase match” feature that the company uses for its ads product; “Google does not delete queries and replace them with ones that monetize better as the opinion piece suggests, and the organic results you see in Search are not affected by our ads systems,” he said.)

Gray told me, “I stand by my larger point—the Google Search team and Google ad team worked together to secretly boost commercial queries, which triggered more ads and thus revenue. Google isn’t contesting this, as far as I know.” In a statement, Chelsea Russo, another Google spokesperson, reiterated that the company’s products do not work this way and cited testimony from Google VP Jerry Dischler that “the organic team does not take data from the ads team in order to affect its ranking and affect its result.” Wired did not respond to a request for comment. Last night, the publication removed the story from its website, noting that it does not meet Wired’s editorial standards.

It’s hard to know what to make of these competing statements. Gray’s specific facts may be wrong, but the broader concerns about Google’s business—that it makes monetization decisions that could lead the product to feel less useful or enjoyable—form the heart of the government’s case against the company. None of this is easy to untangle in plain English—in fact, that’s the whole point of the trial. For most of us, evidence about Big Tech’s products tends to be anecdotal or fuzzy—more vibes-based than factual. Google may not be altering billions of queries in the manner that the Wired story suggests, but the company is constantly tweaking and ranking what we see, while injecting ads and proprietary widgets into our feed, thereby altering our experience. And so we end up saying that Google Search is less useful now or that shopping on Amazon has gotten worse. These tools are so embedded in our lives that we feel acutely that something is off, even if we can’t put our finger on the technical problem.

That’s changing. In the past month, thanks to a series of antitrust actions on behalf of the federal government, hard evidence of the ways that Silicon Valley’s biggest companies are wielding their influence is trickling out. Google’s trial is under way, and while the tech giant is trying to keep testimony locked down, the past four weeks have helped illustrate—via internal company documents and slide decks like the one cited by Wired—how Google has used its war chest to broker deals and dominate the search market. Perhaps the specifics of Gray’s essay were off, but we have learned, for instance, how company executives considered adjusting Google’s products to lead to more “monetizable queries.” And just last week, the Federal Trade Commission filed a lawsuit against Amazon alleging anticompetitive practices. (Amazon has called the suit “misguided.”)

Filings related to that suit have delivered a staggering revelation concerning a secretive Amazon algorithm code-named Project Nessie. The particulars of Nessie were heavily redacted in the public complaint, but this week The Wall Street Journal revealed details of the program. According to the unredacted complaint, a copy of which I have also viewed, Nessie—which is no longer in use—monitored industry prices of specific goods to determine whether competitors were algorithmically matching Amazon’s prices. In the event that competitors were, Nessie would exploit this by systematically raising prices on goods across Amazon, encouraging its competitors to follow suit. Amazon, via the algorithm, knew that it would be able to charge more on its own site, because it didn’t have to worry about being undercut elsewhere, thereby making the broader online shopping experience worse for everyone. An Amazon spokesperson told the Journal that the FTC is mischaracterizing the tool, and suggested that Nessie was a way to monitor competitor pricing and keep price-matching algorithms from dropping prices to unsustainable levels (the company did not respond to my request for comment).

In the FTC’s telling, Project Nessie demonstrates the sheer scope of Amazon’s power in online markets. The project arguably amounted to a form of unilateral price fixing, where Amazon essentially goaded its competitors into acting like cartel members without even knowing they’d done so—all while raising prices on consumers. It’s an astonishing form of influence, powered by behind-the-scenes technology.

The government will need to prove whether this type of algorithmic influence is illegal. But even putting legality aside, Project Nessie is a sterling example of the way that Big Tech has supercharged capitalistic tendencies and manipulated markets in unnatural and opaque ways. It demonstrates the muscle that a company can throw around when it has consolidated its position in a given sector. The complaint alleges that Amazon’s reach and logistics capabilities force third-party sellers to offer products on Amazon and for lower prices than other retailers. Once it captured a significant share of the retail market, Amazon was allegedly able to use algorithmic tools such as Nessie to drive prices up for specific products, boosting revenues and manipulating competitors.

Reading about Project Nessie, I was surprised to feel a sense of relief. In recent years, customer-satisfaction ratings have dipped among Amazon shoppers who have cited delivery disruptions, an explosion of third-party sellers, and poor-quality products as reasons for frustration. In my own life and among friends and relatives, there has been a growing feeling that shopping on the platform has become a slog, with fewer deals and far more junk to sift through. Again, these feelings tend to occupy vibe territory: Amazon’s bigness seems stifling or grating in ways that aren’t always easy to explain. But Nessie offers a partial explanation for this frustration, as do revelations about Google’s various product adjustments. We have the sense that we’re being manipulated because, well, we are. It’s a bit like feeling vaguely sick, going to the doctor, and receiving a blood-test result confirming that, yes, the malaise you experienced is actually an iron deficiency. It is the catharsis of, at long last, receiving a diagnosis.

This is the true power of the surge in anti-monopoly litigation. (According to experts in the field, September was “the most extraordinary month they have ever seen in antitrust.”) Whether or not any of these lawsuits results in corporate breakups or lasting change, they are, effectively, an MRI of our sprawling digital economy—a forensic look at what these larger-than-life technology companies are really doing, and how they are exerting their influence and causing damage. It is confirmation that what so many of us have felt—that the platforms dictating our online experiences are behaving unnaturally and manipulatively—is not merely a paranoid delusion, but the effect of an asymmetrical relationship between the giants of scale and us, the users.

In recent years, it’s been harder to love the internet, a miracle of connectivity that feels ever more bloated, stagnant, commercialized, and junkified. We are just now starting to understand the specifics of this transformation—the true influence of Silicon Valley’s vise grip on our lives. It turns out that the slow rot we might feel isn’t just in our heads, after all.

#technology #internet

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mistydeyes · 1 year ago

Note

Cigarette smoke w ghost ?

Thank you sm for submitting! This just screamed Simon (ngl half of the prompts are just made for him)

link to the prompt list and 1k celebration!

prompt: cigarette smoke - you share a cigarette (and exchange indirect kisses) while on patrol

pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x gn!reader (codename: Nightshade)

warnings: swearing

┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊

"Ghost, Nightshade, you're up," Gaz said as he sat on the safehouse's ratty couch and closed his eyes. Soap followed soon after and went into the makeshift kitchen to prepare some lackluster dinner. You nodded to Ghost as he grabbed his freshly cleaned weapon. "Cleaning time is over, Lt." you commented as he shook his head. You grabbed your weapon off the table and followed the tall man out the door. Night patrol was one of the worst tasks. You would rather clean the entire weapons cache over walking around and checking the tree line. The continuous security was more a formality at this point but still, your Captain made sure everyone had the opportunity to get some fresh air.

You walked in step with Ghost, minimizing the amount of conversation and providing an extra set of eyes around the darkened home. Patrol usually lasted about an hour which gave the next group enough time to rest, eat, or just do anything else besides remaining vigilant. By your fifth lap, you were essentially over the whole thing. You reached into your tac vest and pulled out your last cigarette and flicked your lighter. Ghost's eyes flew to yours as he gruffly commanded, "Night, put that shit out." "Lt. we walk in the same pattern, if anyone were to ambush us I'm sure you'd subdue them before I could even drop my cig," you replied and blew a puff of smoke in his face. The air smelled of smoke and pine as he looked at you in vague annoyance. You continued walking as you could feel his eyes follow the slow pull of the cigarette from your lips and the exhale of smoke. "Hand it over," he said almost in a whisper and you smiled as your fingers brushed in the passing.

You scanned the tree line and through the corner of your eye, you could see him roughly push the edge of his balaclava up and hold the cigarette in between his pale lips. Something was intimate about the moment, seeing him inhale and hold the smoke in his mouth. "Watch the trees and not me, Sgt." he corrected and you could feel your cheeks slightly warm. "Here," he said and passed it back over to you. As you put it up to your lips, you could almost taste his lips on yours as you inhaled the tobacco. You smiled as you blew out into the cold night air, there was something so cliche about sharing an indirect kiss like this. Eventually after a few more passes and vigilant glances, you had finished the cigarette and allowed Ghost to scorch it out with his calloused hands. You continued in silence as the hour was almost up before someone spoke again. "Was that one of mine?" he asked and this time it was more of a question instead of a sarcastic accusation. "Contrary to popular belief, Ghost," you said as he looked at you under the glow of the moonlight, "other people can purchase Marlboro Golds."

#task force 141 x reader #task force 141 #cod x reader #call of duty modern warfare #izzie is drawing #cod mwii #modern warfare 2 #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #call of duty #mw2 imagine #madebyizzie #mw2 #izzie is writing #izzie celebrates 1k

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e-dubbc11 · 2 months ago

Note

Hi, Ericca! 😘 I was looking your prompt lists, and was thinking how about: "your scream is kind of cute I’m sorry." With Billy from the spooky prompts list?

Love ya girl, I know it takes a lot of energy to write, so take your time.

🍁📚🐈‍⬛🔮🦉👻

My dear Katherine,

Thank you for being such a good friend to me, for sending this in and for participating in my follower celebration. I love you to pieces and I hope you like what I did here 💜 Thank you again my friend!

There’s still time to join the celebration. I’ll leave the link HERE

Scream

Photos are not mine. They are courtesy of Pinterest/Google.

Pairing: Billy Russo x F! Reader

Warnings: A few swear words, small jump scare but mostly fluffy bunnies and unicorns. And alluding to smexy time.

Word Count: 1.5K-ish

Summary: You and Billy are looking for very specific costumes to wear to a Halloween party

As always, thank you for reading! I appreciate it so much and comments, reblogs are welcome and encouraged. Don’t be shy to tell me your favorite part. 💕💕 💕

“We don’t have a yard, sweet girl. Where are we gonna put that?” Asked Billy, pointing at the giant 12-foot skeleton. “And I can justify a LOT of purchases, but I can’t justify that and only keep it out for Halloween.”

Pleading with him, you said, “But it doesn’t have to be JUST for Halloween! We can put strings of lights on him for Christmas time and a Santa hat, bunny ears for Easter, ooh an Uncle Sam hat for 4th of July! It will fit inside the penthouse, pleeeeeeease!”

You knew he wasn’t buying it but he really loved to watch you beg.

“We’re supposed to be looking for costumes, baby.” Said Billy.

Defeated, you hung your head and replied, “Okaaaaaay. Can I look around on this side for a few more minutes and I’ll meet you on the other side where the costumes are? Pleeeeeease?”

Looking up into his onyx colored eyes, you playfully batted your eyelashes at him. Billy’s lips curled into a slight smile and he slowly shook his head. You knew he would do anything for you and if you wanted to stay there all day, he would do it and he’d do it happily.

If it put a smile on your face, then it was all worth it to him.

Playfully, he rolled his eyes and said, “Alright, beautiful. Come find me when you’re done, ok?”

Biting back a smile, you said “Thank you, handsome. I won’t take too long.”

Billy placed his hand on the small of your back, guided you closer to him and softly touched his lips to yours. He tasted like raw sugar and black coffee as the bristles of his beard tickled your chin.

The woody fragrance of his cologne rushed past your nose as you caught the top notes of lavender, bergamot, cardamom, and violet leaf. His scent was addictive, you couldn’t get enough and almost made you not want to walk away from him.

“You better not. I’ll come find you if you’re gone too long.” Joked Billy with a wink.

He kissed you on the forehead and you watched him walk over to the other side of the store. For the Halloween party, you were doing a couple’s costume. Billy’s costume was easy enough; he was going to be Joe DiMaggio but you were going as Marilyn Monroe and needed to find the perfect white dress and wig.

The two of you had already been to three stores looking for the perfect dress but none of them had one so you just needed a little bit of a break before starting to look again.

This shop had everything from table cloths, dishes, unique candy bowls, to gorgeous centerpieces and candelabras. Halloween style wreaths and lawn decorations were at the front of the store. This place had everything you could possibly want to decorate the house for Halloween.

Billy did have a point about the larger decorations. No one in Manhattan had a lawn or a balcony big enough to put some of these. The penthouse did have nice high ceilings and the 12-foot skeleton would definitely fit inside but he had to say “no” sometimes.

Meticulously, you combed over what seemed like every decoration they had in the shop and after looking at your watch, you realized that you had been looking around for 30 minutes and wouldn’t be surprised if Billy left. You told him you would only be gone for a few minutes.

Rushing over to the other side, you found the store owner.

“Excuse me, sir. Have you seen my boyfriend by any chance? He’s tall, handsome with dark brown hair and brown eyes?” You asked.

He smiled and asked you, “Is your name, y/n?”

You nodded.

“He’s around somewhere, Miss. But he did leave this for you to try on. He mentioned the two of you were going to a party dressed as Marilyn and Joe DiMaggio.” He said.

It looked exactly like the one she wore in The Seven Year Itch. An ivory halter style, plunging neckline cocktail dress with a softly pleated skirt; a small neat bow was tied on the side at the waist and reached to about mid-calf; it was perfect. You delicately ran your fingers over the smooth fabric as a slight smile stretched across your lips.

Billy found the dress you wanted.

“It’s beautiful.” You said.

The owner replied, “I knew I had one. It’s pretty much an exact replica. Go try it on and I’ll see if I can find him for ya.”

You thanked him, picked up the dress off of the counter and headed for the fitting room. After pulling up the zipper and fastening the buttons behind your neck, you stood in front of the mirror for a few minutes, twirling and looking at yourself from different angles just in complete awe of how gorgeous the dress was; you felt confident and beautiful in it.

The owner called out to you again.

“Miss, there is a 3-way mirror out here if you’d like to get a better look.” He said.

Making one small adjustment before exiting the dressing room, you slid the curtain to one side and came face to face with a figure in the Ghostface mask and black robe from the movie Scream and scream you did which probably could have been heard by everyone walking by outside.

A muffled laugh could be heard from behind the mask. You knew that laugh. “It’s just me, baby. It’s just me!” Said Billy, trying to stop himself from laughing as he took off the mask.

You playfully slapped him on the shoulder.

“BILLY!! You scared the shit outta me!!” You yelled.

The smile he had on his face stretched from ear to ear.

“I can see that, sweet girl. I told you I’d come find you if you were gone too long.” Said Billy.

As you tried to catch your breath, you felt like your heart was in your throat and it was also beating rapidly. You could feel your chest expand and contract in conjunction with your shallow breathing.

“YOU are not funny, Billy Russo!” You yelled, turned on your heels and walked back into the fitting room to take the dress off, closing the curtain in his face.

Billy stood outside the fitting room as you changed, apologizing profusely but you ignored him and after you changed back into your clothes, you continued to ignore him.

Silently, he took the dress from your arms and paid for it along with the baseball uniform costume he found. All he needed now was a DiMaggio jersey.

“Did he make you a part of his little prank?” You asked the owner, trying to bite back your smile.

He nodded. You could tell he felt a little bad; you did let out a scream loud enough to wake the dead.

“Well…thank you for the dress. It’s perfect.” You said softly.

You knew it was just a joke but that didn’t make it any less humiliating and on the way home, you gave Billy the silent treatment.

“You gonna give me the silent treatment all the way home, baby?” Asked Billy, stealing glances at you as he drove. “Come on, my love. I said I was sorry.”

With a scowl on your face, you continued to look out at the city patrons quickly whirring by on the busy New York City sidewalks.

The elevator ride up to the penthouse was quiet. Billy didn’t like it when you were mad at him but you weren’t exactly mad, you were mostly embarrassed and to get scared all the way down to your soul like that was mortifying more than anything, especially in front of strangers.

“Thank you for my dress, Billy.” You suddenly said after a long period of silence.

Billy tossed the garment bags with the costumes in it onto a chair and replied with a warm smile, “You’re welcome, sweet girl. Ya done bein’ mad at me?”

“I wasn’t…THAT mad at you.” You said, shyly.

“Your fiery glare suggests otherwise, my love.” Said Billy, pulling you in close by the waist.

Hesitantly, you snaked your arms around his neck as your nails gently scratched the back of his head.

“I’m sorry, handsome. You really got me good and I guess I was just embarrassed.” You said, averting his gaze.

You could feel him smiling down at you.

“Look at me, sweet girl.” He purred. “I just think your scream is kind of cute, I’m sorry.” He shrugged.

The corners of your mouth slowly curled into a smile.

“You are so full of shit, Billy. I’m already in love with you so you don’t have to make up bullshit like ‘your scream is kind of cute’ to get me to fall for you, ya know.” You said with a chuckle.

His lips were suddenly on yours, crushing them and his kisses were all tongue and teeth as you felt a tremor of pleasure in between your thighs. Billy nipped at the soft skin of your neck, making the hair on the back of your neck stand on end.

He whispered against your mouth, “I love you too, baby. And I really do think your scream is cute.” Biting down on his lower lip, his gaze raked over you as he asked, “So do you think I could make you scream in a…different way?”

As you clenched your thighs together, you drew in a sharp breath, kissed him again and replied, “I thought you’d never ask.”

Tag List: @wheresthesunshinesblog @idaoftheburningmind @rafaelakelley @fakehappy27 @snowkestrel @music-indie-tv @kayhi808 @munsonownsmyass @gijos @fictional-hooman @nutmeg17 @k-marzolf @vaguekayla @rosaleenablack @danzer8705 @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @mysteriouslydeafeningwerewolf @aoi-targaryen @rachlovesactors @qu1etwolf

Others that might enjoy: @itwasthereaminuteago @fluffyprettykitty @jvanilly @ittybxttykxttytxtty @imagine-a-fictional-boyfriend @mrsbillyrusso @colereads

If you’d like to be added (or removed from) my tag list(s) for the ever so handsome Billy Russo, just let me know and thank you again for reading! 💕💕💕 If I tagged you but you didn’t want to be, just let me know and I’ll never do it again.

#billy russo #billy russo x reader #billy russo fanfic #billy russo imagine #billy russo x female reader #billy russo x you #billy russo fluff #ericca answers #ericca’s 500 follower celebration

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 1 year ago

Text

When The World Is Crashing Down [Chapter 7: Keep Quiet, Nothing Comes As Easy As You]

A/N: Hello everyone! Thank you so much for reading and loving this fic. 🥰 We are now officially halfway done with WTWICD, can you believe it?! I hope you enjoy Chapter 7. 💜

Series summary: Your family is House Celtigar, one of Rhaenyra’s wealthiest allies. In the aftermath of Rook’s Rest, Aemond unknowingly conscripts you to save his brother’s life. Now you are in the liar of the enemy, but your loyalties are quickly shifting…

Chapter warnings: Language, warfare, violence, the smallfolk having a bad time everywhere you look, Aemond being a menace, serious injury, alcoholism/addiction, references to sexual content (18+), discussions of pregnancy/babies, dragons, murder, some new perspectives! 🥰

Series title is a lyric from: “7 Minutes In Heaven” by Fall Out Boy.

Chapter title is a lyric from: “Nobody Puts Baby In The Corner” by Fall Out Boy.

Word count: 6k.

Link to chapter list: HERE.

Taglist (more in comments): @tinykryptonitewerewolf @lauraneedstochill @not-a-glad-gladiator @daenysx @babyblue711 @arcielee @at-a-rax-ia @bhanclegane @jvpit3rs @padfooteyes @marvelescvpe @travelingmypassion @darkenchantress @yeahright0h @poohxlove @trifoliumviridi @bloodyflowerrr @fan-goddess @devynsficrecs @flowerpotmage @thelittleswanao3 @seabasscevans @hiraethrhapsody @libroparaiso @echos-muses @st-eve-barnes @chattylurker @lm-txles @vagharnaur @moonlightfoxx @storiumemporium @insabecs @heliosscribbles @beautifulsweetschaos @namelesslosers @partnerincrime0 @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @yawneneytiri @marbles-posts @imsolence @maidmerrymint @backyardfolklore @nimaharchive @anxiousdaemon @under-the-aspen-tree @amiraisgoingthruit @dd122004dd @randomdragonfires @jetblack4real @joliettes

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged! 🥰💜

In the Eyrie, Rhaena is praying for one of the three dragon eggs in her keeping to hatch. In the shadowy ruins of Harrenhal, Daemon and Nettles are bathing in rooms thick with steam, while outside by the lakeshore Baela brings plump goats to Moondancer. In King’s Landing, Rhaenyra’s Master of Coin Bartimos Celtigar is levying heavy taxes on the smallfolk: taxes on wine, taxes on ale, taxes on inn beds and shop goods, even taxes on the bittersweet parody of love purchased in brothels, taxes on every possible distraction from the ceaseless bloodletting that has infected the world like plague. In the North, Cregan Stark is following the Kingsroad towards Moat Cailin and imagining what you will say to him when you are rescued from the clutches of the Usurper: Oh my love, my champion, my savior, my lord. But south in the Reach, Daeron is flying.

Tessarion’s scales are a blue sheen like light on the ocean; the flapping of her wings is a deafening, roaring wind. She is nimble in the air, lethally quick, banking seamlessly when Daeron asks her to turn towards the Hogs Head, an inn from which torrents of men and women run shrieking. They do not run fast enough. Tessarion’s flames are an electrifying cobalt blue like lightning. Flesh melts away, bones are charred black, screams evaporate as lungs are singed, consumed, destroyed. Daeron’s own lungs work perfectly fine; he is cackling, almost loud enough to hear over the wings and inferno of his dragon. After the inn, Tessarion burns the sept, the marketplace, the castle that is the seat of the disloyal House Caswell. There is a stone bridge, after which the town is named, traversing the Mander River. People are fleeing across it. There are children on the bridge, but this does not stop Daeron. Maelor was a child when these traitors ripped him apart with their bare hands. Jaehaerys was a child, and so is Jaehaera, who may be alive in Storm’s End or may be dead but in any case has suffered the decimation of her family, her brothers and her mother and her grandsire. Daeron is burning Bitterbridge for the Greens, yes. But he is also doing it for himself. And in the wake of Tessarion’s fire, Lord Ormund Hightower’s forces pour into the rubble of the town to seize whatever treasures it has left.

In the Riverlands, Aemond and Vhagar are setting fields of wheat ablaze and incinerating cattle, pigs, sheep, forests that can no longer be used by the Blacks and their supporters for timber. In the Citadel, white ravens are being sent out to the great houses of Westeros to proclaim the end of summer. And on Dragonstone, the Beggar King heals.

He spars with guards that Larys found, is tended by maesters that Larys recruited from the turncoat houses of the Crownlands, rules over a microcosm kingdom that Larys built for him. Aegon tires quickly, sleeps often, aches and collapses and bleeds, gets sunburned when he is outside too long on those rare clear days. But he always rises again. “Perpetual Resurrection,” he says, grinning through the pain when you caution him to be patient, to be careful. “I’m not dying. I’m becoming brand new.”

You hunt for softshell crabs together on the rocky shoreline, fill a basket with them, bring them to the cooks to serve the skeleton crew of the castle for supper. You walk through the gardens, a pine-smelling woodland of towering coniferous trees, thorny rose bushes, blood-red cranberries, indelicate creatures that can thrive in the thin, inhospitable earth here. You study the books of the castle library—an impossibly vast, ancient collection, safeguarding texts from Old Valyria—while Aegon swims in the ocean with Sunfyre, laughing and diving as the dragon glides around him in large, lazy circles. Sunfyre can fly, but only a very short distance at a time; he is ungainly when he walks on land with his improperly-healed right wing. But in the water, he and Aegon are both unbroken again. Soon they will be ready for battle. Soon they will have to leave this island, this mist-and-smoke haven, to rejoin the war effort; soon they will have to leave you.

You crave Aegon like some people need wine, rum, gin, gold, power, violence, milk of the poppy. He is ecstasy, he is consolation, he is a spell. He is your home; and any place you’ve ever mistaken for home was only an echo of the truth that you would one day find him. Even on that very first night, as the storm raged outside, you whispered to Aegon when you both woke long before sunrise: “I want you again.”

“You’ll be sore,” he warned, a warm murmur against your forehead. “We can wait. I can wait.” But already his hands were moving, and your thighs were opening, and he followed your body and your words when they told him yes, now, and tomorrow, and the day after that, and the next day too.

You smile when Aegon calls you insatiable, but you know that’s not quite it.

You are acutely aware that nothing lasts forever, not even him, not even you.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Are the days getting shorter?” you ask, your bare feet ankle-deep in wet sand. Sunfyre is out in the waves eating dolphins; a slippery-looking grey tail hangs from his snaggletoothed jaw.

“I think you just want the nights to be longer.” Aegon winks up at you. His head is in your lap, his arms linked around your waist. You are weaving his little braid for him. His hair is just above shoulder-length and as choppy as ever. He periodically takes his dagger to it and hacks away haphazardly, determined to never look like Aemond, Daeron, Daemon, his father. He burrows into the softness of your belly and shuts his eyes. “Perhaps winter is coming.”

In more ways than one, you think bleakly, picturing Cregan Stark on the Kingsroad with snow in his long dark hair and dirt on his hands. “We should ask Lord Larys if he’s heard anything.” As the Citadel—and most of the rest of Westeros—believes Dragonstone to be unoccupied, they would not have sent a white raven here. But several times each week Larys receives visitors from Eagle Harbor, and they bring him rumors in exchange for gold coins and promises that when Aegon once again sits the Iron Throne, their faithfulness will be generously rewarded.

Aegon hums agreeably; he is dozing. After a moment he says: “I keep dreaming of her.”

“Who?”

“Helaena,” Aegon says, his voice lethargic and eyes still closed. “She brings me things. Butterflies, crabs, snakes. Things that are reborn. She puts them in my hands or in my bed and won’t take them away when I ask her to. She keeps telling me: Don’t fall, don’t fall.”

You finish Aegon’s braid and comb his unruly hair back with your fingers, soothing him, listening to him. You try not to think of the way Helaena died, crushed and hemorrhaging on golden sandstone. Instead, you picture her living: strange yet gentle, tragic but kind. You see her children as well, white-haired and beautiful and doted on not by their parents but by Alicent and Otto and you…and Aemond. You remember Aemond’s quiet resentment, his simmering and dangerous envy. You recall Aegon’s half-flippant accusation: You’re always developing attachments to things that are mine. Targaryens have wed brothers to sisters since long before the Conquest, but that doesn’t mean they always got the combination quite right. “Aegon, was Aemond…was he in love with Helaena? Did he desire her?”

“No. Not like that. He cared for her, but I don’t believe he had any lust for Helaena. He just thought he would have been a better husband to her than I was. That he would have caused her less misery. That he was more worthy of carrying on the bloodline, of being the children’s father. And he was right, of course.”

“What happened to Helaena is not your fault,” you say. “And neither is what happened to Jaehaerys or Maelor.”

“I’m glad Daeron burned them all,” Aegon says quietly, meaning the people of Bitterbridge, a tale ferried to Larys from one of his numerous, nameless informants.

“I know you are, Aegon.” You can’t bring yourself to agree with him. Does one dead child bring back another? Does each swatch of flesh burned away from a supporter of Rhaenyra replace one that was sheared off the bones of a Green? No, of course not, but the wheel goes around and around and around.

In the sky, another sort of wheel: a sun that burns cool and muted behind a thicket of iron-colored clouds. High above where you and Aegon are entwined on the beach, something crosses in front of the shrouded sun, casting an impossibly large shadow. You gasp; at the sound, Aegon bolts upright onto his palms and knees and follows your gaze. There is a profound, archaic rumbling, something old and intractable like thunder, earthquakes, floodwaters rising.

A dragon, you know immediately. You try frantically to determine whether you recognize its voice. Too large to be Tessarion or Syrax, too deep a roar to be Caraxes. Sheepstealer?? Vermithor?? But no, you have heard this beast before after all, it’s—

“Vhagar!” Aegon shouts, and scrambles to his feet. As the massive swamp-green dragon disappears behind the castle, soaring rather sluggishly, Aegon sprints as fast as he can up the stone steps towards the entranceway. You follow Aegon into Dragonstone and there the visitor meets you both, sailing down a staircase with eerie lightness, his boots hardly making a sound, his long silver hair secured in a single thick braid. Larys arrives as well and stands in the dreary, torchlit chamber, appearing as he always does: face servile and tactfully intrigued, hands laced together overtop the handle of his cane, back stooped as if to make himself smaller, less threatening, more invisible.

“I got to thinking you might be here,” Aemond tells Aegon. He sounds pleasantly surprised. “You look better.” Then he notices you. “Oh. Perhaps that accounts for some of it.”

“Where’s Criston?” Aegon asks. Meanderingly, so it is sufficiently subtle, he takes several steps until he has placed himself between you and Aemond.

“Somewhere near Saltpans.”

“You left him?” Aegon is incredulous, furious.

“Temporarily,” Aemond says. “It is not the first time. Between battles Vhagar and I raze the farms and villages of the Riverlands. Criston and his men are more than capable of fending for themselves. I’ll be back in a day.”

“You’re supposed to stay with Criston,” Aegon insists, speaking slowly and deliberately as if to a child who might have difficulty understanding. “You promised that you would. The war is on the battlefield, not on goddamn farms.”

“And what feeds Rhaenyra’s forces? Is it not grain and cattle? And so if I destroy their food supply—while our own soldiers are still receiving regular shipments from the Westerlands and the Reach—am I not inflicting catastrophic damage to the Blacks?”

“You’re burning…civilian property?” you say to Aemond. “You’re killing women and children and old people? You’re laying waste their homesteads?”

“It’s total war.” Aemond stares at you defiantly; there is no suggestion of self-doubt in his face. “It is a well-documented strategy employed across continents and centuries. We kill soldiers on the battlefield. We endanger their families back home. Many men will desert to return to their imperiled wives and children. Others will starve. All are broken. All are rendered ineffectual to our enemy’s cause. And thus we will triumph.”

You and Aegon gape at him, not knowing what to say, not knowing what is right or wrong in a world where children are slaughtered and grown men murder with impunity. When will this war be over? How can we end it? Will any of our souls survive the choices we’ve made with our backs to the wall?

“My prince, you chose an excellent time to pay us a visit,” Larys offers diplomatically. “I have just received news that may be of interest to you. And you can bring it back to Sir Criston and his men when you return to the Riverlands tomorrow.”

“What news?” Aegon asks.

“Wait,” Aemond says; and he smiles, dark and hungry like a wolf, like a dragon. “I want to see the place where my ancestors made their war plans. I want to sit in Rhaenyra’s chair.”

On the top floor of the Stone Drum, the main keep of Dragonstone that booms and growls during storms, servants light the candles beneath the Painted Table and bring wine, ale, bread, cheese, honeycomb, jam, candied walnuts, red cherries and violet grapes. The map of Westeros, older than the Conquest, is striped with snakes of fiery luminance like lava. Aegon twists the gold dragon ring on his finger, its jade eyes sparkling. You gave it back to him the day after you arrived on Dragonstone; he says that when he wins the war, he will have a matching piece made for you, but with a crab in place of a dragon.

Larys cautions before he begins: “I cannot tell you the perfect truth. I can only tell you what I’ve heard from the whispers that make their way to me.”

“And what have you heard?” Aemond says. Aegon glances petulantly at him, as if debating whether to remind his brother that a prince regent is not quite a king.

“The Dragonseeds known as Hugh Hammer and Ulf the White—and with them, Vermithor and Silverwing—have officially declared for the Greens.”

“Yes!” Aegon beams and raises his wine cup. He refuses milk of the poppy, even on his worst days; he does not want to be senseless, he does not want to leave you unprotected. But he drinks red wine often and grows ill if he is without it for long. Aemond is laughing victoriously. The brothers are momentarily united.

“There was a battle at Tumbleton in the Reach,” Larys continues. “Lord Ormund Hightower was slain by Roddy the Ruin who, allegedly, managed the feat after one of his arms was severed clean from his body. These Northmen are formidable beasts, to be sure.”

Aegon looks at you, a fleeting, fearful look.

“The people of Tumbleton believed the battle to be over, but then Vermithor and Silverwing joined Tessarion in torching the city. All the Blacks’ commanders were killed, along with most of their soldiers. And the city was sacked. There are reports of looting and…well, all manner of indecencies being committed against the civilians of Tumbleton, mostly women and children. Even septas and silent sisters.”

Now an awkward silence settles over the Painted Table. Ruin, heartbreak, agony, death; but somebody else’s. It could have been yours instead. Perhaps tomorrow it will be. Perhaps there is no end to suffering, only a reallocation of it to people who you do not know, do not love. Perhaps the debt can never be satisfied but only passed to another.

Larys goes on: “The people of King’s Landing are petrified that the Greens and their dragons will descend upon them and subject the capital to the same atrocities that Tumbleton experienced. Rhaenyra had to order the gold cloaks to seal the city gates to keep her supposedly loyal subjects inside.”

“The smallfolk’s support for her continues to weaken?” Aemond says.

“It does more than weaken. Many people there detest her. Bartimos Celtigar has imposed heavy taxes upon the city. The smallfolk fear that Daemon has abandoned Rhaenyra, and therefore that they cannot expect protection from Caraxes and Sheepstealer. And…” Larys peers around the Painted Table apologetically.

“…And?” Aegon presses.

“Rhaenyra’s youngest son…Viserys…” Larys sighs, an anemic, perfunctory breed of sympathy. “He is dead. Of illness, it seems. The luckless lad.”

“He was always sickly,” you say, remembering his unwaveringly watery eyes and dripping nose. And you almost say Poor Rhaenyra, but then you remember how the Blacks celebrated Maelor’s death with cheers and rare, bloody boar meat.

“Yes,” Larys concurs. “That is what the people believe, that he perished due to natural causes.”

Aemond is watching the Master of Whisperers closely. “What does Rhaenyra think caused it?”

“She suspects poison,” Larys tells him. “She is convinced of poison, I should say. She raved and she threatened and she spewed accusations. She executed a dozen people, none of whom could be connected to the death of the boy with any certainty. The smallfolk feel she has gone mad. And there is one more crime the people have branded her with.” Larys turns to you.

Your heard pounds wildly, hot blood thuds in your ears. “Has something happened to Everett—?”

“Not him. The Celtigars themselves are safe from her wrath. Bartimos is too near to the throne, and Rhaenyra trusts him. But the servant girl—Autumn, you called her—she went into labor a month early and was delivered of a boy.” Now Larys’ eyes flick to Aegon, whose face goes pale and panicked. “A boy with blue eyes and silver hair.”

Aemond rocks back in his chair and shakes his head.

“Oh,” Aegon moans. “Oh.” He clutches his chest with one hand and looks to you. He says weakly: “I’m so sorry, Angel. It didn’t mean anything. The child…it…it will never really be mine—”

“It won’t be anyone’s,” Larys says. “Rhaenyra had him run through with a sword.”

“What?!” Aemond exclaims. “A baby? An infant? In her own castle, in the Red Keep?”

You are horrified. “Did Autumn witness this?”

“I’m not certain, my lady,” Larys replies. “What I have heard is that Rhaenyra proclaimed it vengeance for agents of the Greens murdering her youngest son. She declared all bastards of the Usurper to be enemies of the realm and thus sentenced to death. She has offered rewards for anyone who brings a white-haired child to her for execution. And the smallfolk are absolutely, viciously appalled by her. The Street of Silk in particular is rife with people plotting the so-called queen’s downfall. She is surrounded by enemies. And she has only two male heirs left.”

“Two more than Aegon,” Aemond mutters.

“Is Autumn alright?” you ask Larys. “Did Rhaenyra harm her?”

“Your brother Everett attempted to advocate for Autumn and the child. He was ignored; your father and eldest brother were vehemently in support of the murder. Shortly after the baby was killed, Autumn disappeared from King’s Landing. I’m sure Everett facilitated this escape. No one knows her present whereabouts.”

“She’s just gone? No signs whatsoever?”

“Nobody ever knows anything.” Aemond waves at Aegon. “They think he’s in Dorne.”

“Seven hells,” Aegon whispers, rubbing his face with his hands.

“Rhaenyra is destroying herself,” you say. “She is doing the work for us. If you try to take King’s Landing with dragonfire raining down on Green supporters who are effectively held captive, there will be ill-will against you in the capital that will last for generations. But if they overthrow Rhaenyra on their own, you can reclaim the city bloodlessly.”

Larys taps his fingers meditatively against the Painted Table. “I do wonder if Daemon would intervene to support her. His present motivations are…somewhat nebulous. To Blacks and Greens alike. But he controls their most powerful assets.”

“You haven’t crossed paths with Caraxes and Sheepstealer in Riverlands, I assume?” Aegon asks Aemond.

“No. We are locked in a dance of sorts. I’m not certain that Vhagar can win against two dragons of that size; they must know that it is almost certain that at least one of them would be killed in the struggle even if they defeated me. This Nettles girl’s dragon riding skills are unclear. Perhaps Daemon is training her, perhaps he is now sufficiently attached that he does not want her in combat. So we avoid each other. But when the girl is gone—when Daemon tires of her, or when Rhaenyra sends assassins to murder her, or when she is removed from the board by some other means—I will meet Daemon in battle and end him.”

“Your priority is protecting Criston,” Aegon orders; but there is trepidation in his large, ocean-blue eyes, there is defenseless worry there. “Wherever Criston goes, you go with him. I’ll be ready to fight again soon. I’ll be able to help you.”

“Daemon is mine. I want to face him alone.”

“I am the king!” Aegon thunders, and you can see the strength leaving him like birds taking flight from cold, bare winter trees. “You will not behave recklessly. You will not abandon Criston. We are winning in the Reach, and we are winning in King’s Landing without even being there, and we will win in the Riverlands too if you don’t sabotage us with your relentless fucking pride.”

You and Larys study Aemond. He examines the flame-colored light of the Painted Table, tracing the etchings of rivers and mountains with his fingertips. “Fine,” he concedes, very quietly.

“And one more thing,” Aegon tells his brother.

With great reluctance, Aemond meets his gaze. “Yes?”

“If you have the opportunity to burn Cregan Stark, take it.”

~~~~~~~~~~

When Aegon collapses into the bed you share, you curl up against his scarred chest, listen to his heartbeat, breathe in heat and rose oil and the salt of the ocean. He does not ask you what is wrong. He does not speak of Autumn or her child, his child, no matter how indifferent or remorseful he might have been. He holds you knowing that there is nothing he can say to make the world whole again. He can only rest until he is well enough to fly into battle, where he might be further maimed or taken captive or murdered. And what then? What was this all for?

“Somewhere there are people just living,” you marvel. “They’re reading books, they’re having supper, they’re getting married, they’re tending to their crops and their animals. And none of them are thinking about war or massacres or dragonfire.”

“Yes,” Aegon says simply, pulling you in closer, one palm pressed to the small of your back and the other brushing your hair away from your face so he can kiss you, soft and slow. “But they’re not us.”

When Aegon is on the edge of sleep, you tell him that you love him, as you do each day. He has not heard it enough in his life; you are trying to remedy that now. And as always, Aegon does not say it back. Instead, he murmurs something in High Valyrian that you cannot understand. Now you commit it to memory, repeating it silently to yourself again and again until Aegon is sleeping deeply and you can rise from the bed without disturbing him. You go to your writing desk and scribble it down on a small piece of parchment: the way this word sounds in the letters of the Common Tongue. You have no way to translate it. There are books written in High Valyrian in the castle library, but you do not know the alphabet of the language, and you have yet to find a text that can teach it to you. When you ask Aegon for lessons, he demurs and says that he doesn’t know High Valyrian well enough to teach you. You think he just wants a way to say things you won’t be able to comprehend. You squirrel the parchment away in the pocket of your gown and slip out of the bedchamber you share with Aegon.

It is far too early for your mind to stop racing, only sunset. You wander down halls of shifting shadows and iron dragons, fantastically high ceilings and narrow slits of windows. Questions fill your skull like rushing blood in the chambers of a heart: Where is Autumn? Is she alright? Is she safe? Is Everett, is Jaehaera, is Alicent? Are Criston and Daeron? Are any of us?

When you cross through the doorway and onto a balcony that overlooks the ocean, Aemond is to your left. He is nursing a cup of wine and leaning over the stone wall that separates you from a long, treacherous fall onto black rocks that jut out of the sea like the hilts of daggers from a corpse’s back. You whirl away from him and towards the craggy staircase that leads down to the beach.

“Now you’re going to pretend you didn’t see me?” Aemond calls out.

You halt mid-step, consider it, then return to him. “You’re just so undistinguished in appearance. So easy to miss.”

He gives you one of his enigmatic, teasing smirks. His hair blows in the breeze that tastes like salt and sulfur and mist. He wears a dark, lush green. Then he peers avoidantly down into his wine. “I…I don’t think I ever adequately apologized for what transpired regarding the brothel. The Pink Pearl.”

“You didn’t.”

“It is a place…” Aemond pauses. He chooses his words cautiously, like handling something that could easily break, a glass goblet, an egg, a butterfly in an open palm. “It is a place that I associate with great unpleasantness. I made assumptions about where your loyalties lied. I felt that you had hurt me, that you had caused me to suffer. And I wanted you to suffer in return.”

“It was a horrific thing to do,” you say pitilessly. “It was cruel. It was evil.”

“Yes, I’m aware of that now. That’s why I’m apologizing.”

“Then do it properly.”

“I’m sorry,” Aemond says. It takes some effort. “I was wrong.”

“You were.”

“And I’m glad Aegon was able to haul himself out of bed to rescue you. It’s not often that he gets to be the noble brother, the gallant one.”

“It happens more often than you’d think.”

Aemond raises his eyebrow. Beneath his eyepatch, you know, is a winter-cold sapphire in a bed of mangled flesh, a treasure steeped in corruption. “How long have you been here?”

“Two months.” No, more than that. “Two and a half, or thereabouts.”

“And I assume there has been no shortage of…horizontal activities with my brother.”

“Not exclusively horizontal,” you snap, to make him regret being so forward, to make him uncomfortable. “We are more inventive than that.”

It works; Aemond flushes a gory mottled pink. Still he manages: “And you have not yet conceived?”

You glare at him, ice and fire at once. “No.”

“Why do you think that is?”

You shrug, exasperated, dismissive. “Aegon has been through so much physical trauma, perhaps he is no longer capable of having children. Perhaps I never was. Perhaps it will happen in a month or six months or a year. Perhaps it is not meant for us. Only the gods know.”

“You aren’t at all concerned?”

In truth, no; you are so consumed by whether Aegon will survive the war with any vestige of humanity intact that anything beyond this seems hopelessly distant, a constellation, a shadow on the moon, the silvery gleam of a comet. “It’s not something I spend much time thinking about.”

“It should be,” Aemond insists. “If the Greens expect men to go to war for us, for women to give up their husbands and sons to us, we should have a stable succession to offer them in return. Jaehaerys and Maelor are gone. Jaehaera is a girl and cannot inherit even if she is alive and well in Storm’s End. Aegon needs an heir.”

“Aren’t you next in line for the throne, Aemond?” you say cuttingly. “And isn’t that the role you believe yourself best suited for? Being king? Proving how worthy you were all along?”

He is uneasy, perhaps ashamed, evading your eyes. “Regrettably, I cannot begin trying for my own sons until the war is over and I marry Borros Baratheon’s daughter, as I pledged to in return for his support for our side. Daeron will not be able to marry for several years. In the meantime, there is this…disquieting lack of certainty. To complicate matters, Aegon has bastards in King’s Landing, I’m sure. The red-haired girl was far from the first whore to lie with him. If he does not have a trueborn son, claimants will appear to challenge mine or Daeron’s for the throne.”

You search yourself—unspoken longing and ancient cobwebbed fears—for any desire for a child of your own. You cannot find it. You are fond of children, you find fulfillment in caring for them, but the need to carry and deliver one yourself? It is not something you can remember ever yearning for. It always felt like yet another way in which your body would be used to further some man’s legacy, to give him pleasure at your expense. “Can you tell me what this means?” you ask, handing Aemond the folded piece of parchment that you’d tucked into the pocket of your gown. He takes it with one long, lithe hand. “I’ve probably spelled it wrong. I’ve never seen it written, only heard it spoken aloud.”

Aemond opens the parchment. His river-blue eye narrows; thoughtful creases appear in his brow. “Aegon has said this? To you?”

“More than once.”

“What prompted it?”

“Does your translation depend upon the context?”

“Hm.” Aemond skates his thumbprint over the dried black ink. Then he looks at you. “It means: To your misfortune.”

The alarm must show on your face.

“Not like a threat,” Aemond clarifies. “It is a common expression. It suggests that someone has entrusted something of value to the undeserving. It implies naivety. Unwise benevolence. But it is certainly not malicious. It is usually said fondly, like a backhanded compliment.” He returns the parchment to you. You rip it over and over again until it is only scraps that vanish in the wind, Aegon’s voice speaking to you: I ruin causes. I ruin people.

“Why did you kill Luke?” you ask Aemond, not accusingly but with hushed, weary wonder. “There was very little strategic advantage in it. There was great peril as a result. Rhaenyra will never surrender, never negotiate. You will forever be known as a kinslayer. You could have taken him captive. You could have humiliated him, you could have shown the world how weak he was. Why did you have to kill him?”

Aemond says nothing for a long time. He stares out over the ocean where the sun is setting, dolphin fins cut in swift arcs through the surf, Sunfyre dozes on wet sand, the sky glows dream-lavender and blood orange. He sips his wine and contemplates things that are mysteries to you. Aemond keeps his thoughts like untrustworthy animals: in cages, in darkness, turning fierce and feral, snapping jaws and rattling chains. At last he says: “They’re all dead anyway. They were from the moment Aegon was born and my father refused to name him the heir. It’s all of them or all of us. You think there is any scenario in which Aegon reigns as king while Rhaenyra’s children survive? No, no. Someone will always be willing to fight and die for them. Just like Green loyalists would have been willing to fight for Jaehaerys and Maelor.” Something shifts in his face like the breaking of a wave, and for a second you can glimpse the deep well of dark, helpless misery inside him, filling up drop by drop since he was a boy. Then Aemond is steely again. “Luke had to die. So did Jace and Rhaenys and that eternally sniffling toddler Viserys. And all the other Blacks will follow. Unless you care to see Aegon’s blood spilled. And mine, and Daeron’s.”

“No,” you say softly, an agonized little whisper that understands, that surrenders. “No, that cannot happen.”

Aemond takes another swallow of his wine and drums his fingertips restlessly against the cup. “Any heir our side puts forth must have undisputed parentage and Valyrian features. Aegon’s wife is dead. He can marry you. You are a Celtigar, you share our blood, you carry the memories of silver hair and rare magic in the marrow of your bones. These attributes are dormant in you, yet could be passed on to a child. A son of yours could secure the succession and one day inherit the Iron Throne. But the father has to be a Targaryen.”

You turn to Aemond, perplexed and wary. His wording is strange. “Well, it has to be Aegon.”

Aemond is impatient, irritated. You have not been keeping up. He says, his eye on the darkening horizon: “There are other Targaryens.”

You stare at him. You don’t understand, you don’t understand, and then suddenly you do. “What?”

This is not the reaction Aemond had hoped for. He gulps down the last of his wine, leaves the cup on the stone wall, storms down the staircase to reunite with Vhagar and resume burning the noncombatants of the Riverlands to ash.

~~~~~~~~~~

He finds her at the shore of the Gods Eye, rippling blue like a vast mirror. The Isle of Faces—forbidden, undiscoverable—is a faint mirage in the distance. Moondancer is circling overhead. Baela is perched on a large rock by the water’s edge and fishing; she is intrigued by tales of the strange creatures that dwell here, the hungry currents, the way this corner of the world has only a translucent, threadbare veil between our world and the realm of spirits, ghosts, demons. She has always been curious and bold by nature. She has always been his most beloved child.

“You found your way out of Nettles’ bed,” Baela pitches, a jest but not a judgment. She is already developing an appetite of her own that renders monogamy woefully lacking. She mourns Jace, but not the woman she would have had to pretend to be for him. “I’m shocked.”

Daemon smirks, tilting his head to the side like a wolf does as it’s listening. “You know how sheets have a way of getting tangled. Around ankles, around wrists…sometimes it is difficult to free oneself.”

“You were fighting hard, I’m sure.”

“Yes, all morning.”

Baela chuckles, reels in her fishing line, recasts it. She cares deeply for Rhaenyra and is loyal to her still, but Baela shares her father’s pathological aversion to weakness. She feels that Rhaenyra has driven Daemon away with her moodiness, her melancholy, her unmooring from the fearless, ardent woman she once was. Daemon says that being with Nettles is like being with a young Rhaenyra again. It would not be just to condemn him for seeking out what Rhaenyra took from him and has no intention of returning.

Daemon says: “I want you to go to Dragonstone.”

Baela is aghast, betrayed. “You are getting rid of me?”

“I am entrusting you with a vital enterprise.”

Now she is intrigued. Now she is considering it.

“Moondancer is too small to fight Vhagar, Tessarion, Vermithor, or Silverwing,” Daemon says. “If Caraxes and Sheepstealer meet Vhagar in battle, you cannot go with us. Nor should we leave you here unprotected. And I know you have been impatient for an opportunity to play a more…consequential role in the war.”

“I long to be useful,” Baela agrees. “More than anything.”

“Go to Dragonstone,” Daemon says. “It is vacant, it is safe. But it must remain under the Blacks’ control. Patrol it and ensure the Greens do not try to take the island and find riders for Grey Ghost or the Cannibal. Rhaenyra will return to Dragonstone if she is ever forced out of King’s Landing. I have tasked you with making it ready for her.”

“And I have permission to execute any traitors who might appear there?”

“Yes. You may swing the sword yourself. Or feed them to Moondancer, whichever you prefer.”

Baela smiles, a slow, toothy grin that spreads across her face like plague, like fire. “When can I leave?”

#aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen #aegon ii #aegon targaryen ii #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x reader #aegon ii x y/n #aegon ii x you #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon ii x reader

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heartfeltcherie · 4 months ago

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Hi, I was wondering if you could do a Lucifer x Reader one-shot inspired by the song 'Starlight' by Taylor Swift?

— i hope this suffices!

☾. °. ࿐ ` , •

you were dressed up to the nines; a lavender dress that suited you so perfectly it was like it was made for you.

at least, that’s what lucifer thought.

as you stood at the top of the lounge area on the second floor looking down, lucifer swore his eyes were in the shape of hearts. you looked so beautiful, so ethereal as you cascaded down the stairs.

“ducky…” lucifer spoke up. “you look… y-you look… so beautiful” you let out a giggle at how adorably awkward the king of hell was. as soon as you got to the bottom of the stairs, you grabbed both sides of your dress in a curtsy. “your grace”

lucifer chuckled at you, giving you a bow while at the same time taking your hand in his and pressing his lips gently against your knuckles “you know there’s no need for formalities, sweetie” you giggled as you felt your face heat up. “i know. but i figured the moment called for some”

“you know what else this moment calls for?”

“hm?”

lucifer guides you by your hand to the middle of the room. and with a little bit of magic, a slow but sweet melody begins playing, the lights dim and suddenly you’re not at the hotel anymore. instead, you’re transported to somewhere magical where it’s just your beloved king and yourself. your hand is on his shoulder while his takes purchase on your hip and your free hands clasp each other.

he leads you all around the room, your dress swaying so effortlessly and when we twirls you, you feel like a princess.

in which this case, you are.

“you know, luci, if this is your attempt at courting me, you’re doing a pretty good job at it” lucifer lets out a low hum. “i’ll keep that in mind” he twirls you under his hand again before reeling you back in and dipping you so effortlessly. and he holds you there for a moment, long enough that you both look into each other’s eyes and you swear you see his eyes gleam while he knows that you’ve got the prettiest eyes he’s ever seen.

he brings you both back up, your arms now going around his neck while his go around your waist.

“maybe it’s about time i bring the little black box out of hiding. what do you think?” lucifer asks and you feel your heart jump. your eyes dart between his left and right eye, looking for any signs that it’s just him being silly.

he’s serious.

“i think… i think you already know my answer, my handsome angel”

“then i can’t wait to put the ring on your finger when i ask you to be mine forever, dovey”

he leans in for a kiss and you happily reciprocate. he’ holding onto your sides as if he’s scared you’ll disappear while your fingers are going into his blonde locks.

the melody in the background continues to play and you both know one thing; that you’re love was made of starlight.

tags; @crystalrayn @drxgonspine @alastorthirsty @speedycoffeedelight

comments/reblogs are appreciated! ♡ let me know if you wanna be added to the taglist!

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#❥ lexi’s daydreams #hazbin hotel #lucifer morningstar hazbin hotel #lucifer hazbin hotel #lucifer morningstar x you #lucifer morningstar fanfiction #lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer morningstar imagine #lucifer imagine #lucifer x you #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer x reader #lucifer morningstar #hazbin lucifer #hazbin hotel fluff #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel imagine #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin hotel x reader

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bogkeep · 6 months ago

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some time ago i watched This Video about ergodic literature and got inspired to get the book S. by jj abrams & doug dorst. i've finally started reading it and i have Thoughts

the video i linked shows and explains the premise of the book, but here's the tl;dr - two students(ish) are writing annotations in the margins of a novel called 'ship of theseus' by mysterious author V M Straka while passing it back and forth. they are getting to know each other as well as trying to solve the mystery of Straka. it's a non-linear epistolary story told through a footnotes, scribbled comments, and inserts such as postcards et cetera.

there's a couple reason this book caught my eye in particular:

- i love "two people getting to know each other through letters/accidental text messages/notes" trope. it may just be the internet denizen in me but i'm a sucker for characters who get to know each other through text.

- immediately intruiged by the mystery author's name, Straka - it means magpie in czech, so i feel like i'm getting a head start on the mystery because i'm the specialest little boy in the world!!!!

- it looks cool as hell

(i purchased a used copy that was apparently a library copy so it feels extra Authentic hehe)

ANYWAY i'm still very early in, but i have many impressions to chew on already. first off, i really love the whole premise/medium, and it looks Really Good. there's a lot of really cool details that make it look authentic (if we ignore the COMICALLY LARGE MARGINS) - the book absolutely looks like something i could find in my grandparents' bookshelf. the comments being written in different colours of pen to signal when in the chronology they were written is very good. everything is pointing to a Very Fun and Immersive reading experience.

howeverrrrrrrrrr

while i Am having fun so far, there's also a lot of details that keep shaking my suspension of disbelief. like i am trying my best to hold on to it - im accepting the Comically Large Margins and the silly premise that these two people absolutely had to pass the book back and forth to communicate. like i am fully on board with that. it's just... i feel like this book is trying to Appear more clever than it actually is?

i think maybe the main problem for Me Specifically is that it's pretending to be a book written by a Probably European author and translated to english, but S. was so obviously written/created by americans and not intended to be read by someone who knows any of the languages they're dragging into this.

i was correct in assuming Straka is meant to be czech, as ship of theseus was originally written in czech - but it's weird to me that the narrative is completely uninterested in like... the original? there is a foreword by the translator, who goes on and on about the mysterious circumstances under which v m straka died, but the fact that the original language is czech is mentioned in a *footnote*. i would think a foreword by a translator would, realistically, say more about their credentials or their actual process of translating. or is that weird??? i took a class in classical literature in uni where that's kind of a big deal so maybe i'm biased???

BUT ALSO the fact that straka's identity is So very mysterious and very possibly a pseudonym... if you're like, genuinely trying to untangle this mystery, wouldn't you make a note about the meaning of the name??? like wouldn't you put a picture of a magpie on your conspiracy board about it?? Straka is absolutely a valid czech surname because most czech surnames are seemingly random nouns or adjectives, but if you think it's a pseudonym then someone made a very deliberate choice!!!! HELLO!!!!!!

then they listed the names of people who are thought to possibly be v m straka (of varying nationalities), and like okay maybe i'm nitpicking but i has to take a pen and fix some of them. they used SOME special letters for some of the names but very sporadically - they wrote vaclav instead of václav, and ekstrom instead of ekström... like at least be consistent if you're going to ignore special letters!

the worst language offender by far is this:

if you want "the monkey dances" it's "opice tancuje". you could also do "opičí tanec" for "the monkey's dance". this particular abomination is causing me physical pain.

one of the first inserts i ran into was a letter written in swedish + a direct translation:

GUESS WHAT I CAN READ SWEDISH TOO... i can't tell if the "original" letter is supposed to be the swedish or the english one - while the swedish seems to be grammatically correct (I THINK), it extremely reads as Something Written In English And Getting As Directly Translated To Swedish As Possible. it reads very stilted and oddly phrased. i get the impression i'm not actually supposed to be able to understand it, it's just here for Flavour, and that's fine! this one i can easily justify as the swedish being the in universe translation.

here's another very small thing that made me sigh very deeply

"at what point does this book stop being straka's alone & become *theirs*?" THE BOOK IS CALLED SHIP OF THESEUS. AREN'T YOU GUYS DOING LITERARY ANALYSIS OVER HERE??? IT'S THE FIRST CHAPTER AND YOU'RE JUST SPELLING OUT THE PREMISE TO ME TO THE POINT OF CONDESCENSION.

like. okay. maybe not everyone knows what the ship of theseus refers to (also i want to point out it feels like a very english language phrase to me. it Does exist in czech but it doesn't sound like a good or catchy title i think) - but i really do feel like two university students doing a deep dive into this book + author would 100% analyse the meaning of the title, that's like 101 level stuff!! this comment would be so easy to save - just have Mr Black Pen add a quippy comment about this being a bit on the nose, or pointing out the aptness or irony of the title, Anything. it would add so much to the believability for me.

like i didn't study literature at a higher education level so maybe i'm completely off base, but i DID study art history, and it seems almost absurd to me that these characters are doing so much digging and mystery solving about the author's mysterious past and rereading all of his books to find out more... and not engage with the basicest basics such as, the original text(s) pre-translation, possible cultural contexts, tHE TITLE... why are they drawing connections from choices made BY THE TRANSLATOR that absolutely would not be there in the original czech!! !!???!!!????!!

anyway my biggest actual problem so far is that i'm really struggling to read the actual ship of theseus. i have fun reading the annotations, but the actual book... i am Struggling. i've never been any good at reading ~*The Classics*~ so it might just not be my vibe, but i'm not sure if TOS is even a Good Book? like in this universe it's Allegedly a classic and very iconic or whatever. and obviously it's a challenge to write A Classic that makes its mark on history. and gods know there's discourse about whether or not The Classics are actually good books and that's way above my paygrade. but idk i couldn't get through chapter 1 without skimming through it because it kept boring me so bad.

i suspect i might just, keep reading the annotations storyline and not bother too much with the 'book' part of the book. i genuinely wanna see where the story goes!! despite my complaints i Am sold on the emotional core of it.

i think the premise rules so hard but i really feel like the authors are too monolingual and american and maybe haven't read that many books????? i can't speak on the latter but the former.............. maybe im the one who's too european

#haiz reads things #S.#i might add to this post we'll see #i really want to like this book

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heartshapedbubble · 1 year ago

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HELLO EVERFYNYAN

can i request ganji and aesop with a modern s/o hcs who listens to lofi and/or rnb to help them unwind after a match? just like helps their mind and body slow down after such a high-stress and high-tension situation..

HARROOOO ^_^ of course!!!!!

ganji gupta and aesop carl with an s/o who listens to rnb/lofi hcs🏏⚰️

ganji gupta🏏

ganji is not someone who's ultra picky about music tbh

like, if something is new to him he might be confused or intrigued at first, but he comes to terms with it quite quickly

when it's you who's relaxing after a match, then he always tags along😭 just spawns in your room and plops down on the bed by your side, inching closer to you and fulfilling his duty of The Big Spoon™

he doesn't even notice when you turn on the music tbh??? like he's so accustomed to the already relaxing atmosphere of your room that the noise just blends in

the fact that he's half asleep from the second he lays near you really doesn't help it

you'll have to point it out to him.... he's a bit eepy but he will comment on the music, saying it's quite good

he likes old rnb the most! he really, really likes the gospel/soul roots it has. something leaning towards jazz, like sade, might really suit him

not a music nerd as expected so if you go on and show him some streams/playlist he won't say much other than "mhm/nice/yeah?/that's neat" etc. but he still enjoys the quality time

+ and the fact that you're showing him something you're passionate about :)))))))) he's always willing to learn even if he doesn't have much knowledge on music in the first place

for him, as long as it sounds pleasant to his ears, it's good music

aesop carl⚰️

aesop, on the other hand, is VERY picky

he doesn't listen to music much but when he does, everything has to be perfect. noise cancelling headphones? on. equalizer? adjusted to a T. volume? not too loud, but not too quiet either.

in conclusion he's not a fan of anything loud lol. i do think that, out of music, he would really like classical music (i'd say like...romanticism or classicism? maybe add a few modern composers into the mix) and goth music (bauhaus enjoyer aesop real don't @ me) .... you can't really miss with good old dvořak and goth music, on the other hand, is quite calming to him, he really enjoys the vocals and the lyricism

so he'll come into your room, finally finding enough strength to tag along with you after a match, and actually be pleasantly suprised!

might not fit his style or his usual repertoire, but he has to admit it's quite calming

and it does put him at ease of some kind... i mean, it can't be bad if it's not extremely loud, right?

i think he might like reading with lo-fi in the background cccc:

when he's not using his trusty headphones he prefers analog music... poor aesop will go and ask you if there's any purchaseable lo-fi vinyls out there lol

he'd be very interested in exchanging music recommendations w/ you!!! link him some of your favourite songs and he'll hand you some of his favourite vinyls/lps c:

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canonicallyobserving911 · 9 months ago

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Buck & Eddie: 5 unresolved items from season 6

There were several things in season 6 that were left unresolved including some that happened between Buck and Eddie. These are items they never discussed and IMO, it’s possible they might resurface in season 7 and present the small amount of angst that’s been mentioned by OS and RG during their recent interviews.

Full Disclosure: When season 6 ended, I like many other viewers, absolutely LOATHED the way Buck’s and Eddie’s endings were handled since they were both shoehorned into relationships with one-dimensional love interests the same way they had been at the end of season 4. The constant delays of Buddie going CANON was just 🙄 and at the time, I took a step back because it felt like all the metaphors, callbacks, foreshadowing and hindsight that happened during the first 13 episodes were replaced with a forced narrative. Characters were retconned too so they could fit into some “metaphorical FOX procedural drama box” and it frustrated me. After 6x18 aired, I took a couple of weeks to formulate my overall thoughts on the season and I completed 15 Constructive Criticisms posts to move past my frustrations. Additionally, I started writing a massive multi-chapter fanfic to unravel the mess that was season 6 and I must admit, doing so helped because I was able to put some of the messy pieces to that unfinished puzzle of a season together.

Now... back to the regularly scheduled programming…

This post highlights the 5 things IMO that are still in play that didn’t get resolved last season and I’ve included details about them below. Since season 7 is shortened and only has 10 episodes, it’s possible none of the things listed will be revisited but it’s also possible they will.

Before I get started, here’s a quick reminder, Buck and Eddie didn’t discuss any of the things listed in CANON.

1. The Donation

Other than 6x7 when Eddie heard about Buck’s sperm donation for the first time at the firehouse, in 6x9 when they were on the four-way call when he responded to Chimney and said, “I don’t know… it kind of feels weird to congratulate him” and in 6x10 when he replied to Buck and said, “Sounds like your family had your back on the whole donation thing. That’s definitely progress” (notice he NEVER said he had Buck’s back on it and also his facial expressions in 6x9 after Buck’s announcement showed he wasn’t too thrilled about it) Buck and Eddie never discussed it. Therefore, it is possible there could be some angst coming from it when the Buckley family’s other “deep dark family secret” (related post linked here) is revealed during or after Madney’s wedding.

Furthermore, Maddie’s NEVER SAID ANYTHING ABOUT BUCK’S SPERM DONATION in CANON and every time it was mentioned in 6x10, it happened right after she left the room to check on Jee-Yun. It’s obvious she knows about it since Chimney spoke up and said something to rebut Sang’s comment regarding a man raising another man’s child. Another point to make about the whole “Meet the Parents” saga in 6x10 is the audience never saw Maddie converse with Sang and based on BTS information for season 7, it appears Sang, Albert nor Albert’s mom will be in attendance at the wedding. 👀

[FTR, I still don’t believe Connor and Kameron’s baby is biologically Buck's and I will stand on this hill, even if I have to stand alone, until there’s a blood test proving he is related to the baby (post linked here).]

2. The Onesie

At the end of 6x9, Buck was asleep and he left the LAFD onesie he purchased sitting on top of his nightstand and it was right after the “Santa Ana Winds” ended. However, there are two important things that should be remembered.

First, it has an LAFD logo on it which means it’s important to Buck because as he told Maddie in 2x18, "Being a firefighter is MY LIFE! It’s the only thing I’ve ever done that was important and that mattered, ok?"

Why is this important?

It’s important because BUCK IDENTIFIES HIMSELF AS A FIREFIGHTER and after all these years he still hasn’t figured out firefighting is what he does. Eddie knows Buck’s more than a firefighter especially since he knows and loves him to his CORE! Also, if Buck believed the biological relation wasn't important, then he could have just bought a regular onesie from Target or Wal-Mart, right? Yes!

Second, in 6x17, Kameron stayed with Buck for several days which means if he wanted to, he could have given it to her as a gift but he didn’t. Therefore, it’s possible it might come back into play after 7x5 when Connor and Kameron are supposed to show up again (OS mentioned Buck being a sperm donor for his friends won’t resurface until after the first five episodes). Additionally, after 6A, the narrative could have changed since the onesie wasn’t seen again and that could be due to all the audience backlash that happened after it was over.

Viewers didn’t like the jokes about Buck’s "swimmers" or the lack of his "alone time" and all the other ways the storyline was fumbled. By the start of 6B, the show tried to make the audience believe Buck understood he was the "donor not the dad" 👀.

If the actual onesie doesn’t make a reappearance, then I believe the ramifications associated with the way Buck identifies himself will and it could be a point of contention between him and Eddie since Eddie was the one who told him in 4x14, “You act like you’re expendable... but you’re wrong”.

3. Buck’s Death

At the end of 6x18, it appeared as if Buck still hadn’t dealt with the fact that he DIED and it’s possible nobody else has either, especially Eddie, Maddie, Bobby and their found family. Reminder, Maddie and Bobby both said, “Buck, you died!” and when they said it, Buck became frustrated.

However, when Eddie said, “You died Buck!”, he stopped and listened but the way Eddie said it was different for A LOT OF REASONS (post linked here). After Eddie asked if he was allowed to ask how he was, Buck replied, “Honestly Eddie… I don’t know” but they have yet to have a full CANON conversation about the effects of it the same way they haven’t discussed any of their other shared traumas.

Additionally, during that conversation, they briefly discussed the shooting but they didn't fully talk about it other than Buck asking Eddie what he remembered. It’s another important and shared traumatic event that’s happened between them but like the well, the hostage situation and Eddie's breakdown, they still have yet to discuss it. Buck seemed to be a little upset by the fact that Eddie “said” he didn’t remember anything other than the searing pain he felt in his shoulder (I believe he remembers more than he said he does).

Buck's response was, “Is that it?” as if to say, “You don’t remember me crawling underneath a firetruck, pulling you out, picking you up and putting you inside of the truck? You don't remember me holding a gauze to your wound and asking you to stay with me? You don't remember asking me if I was hurt? Because I WAS!” Also, it was kind of like Buck’s heart broke because Eddie “said” he doesn’t "really" remember it while Buck can’t forget the way his heart fell out of his chest that day when he saw the love of his life bleeding out in the middle of the street.

Also, Eddie’s still waiting for Buck to talk about the fact that he died. Reminder, Eddie's heart fell out of his chest too and he yelled at the hospital staff and told them to "Do More!" Even though they briefly discussed it while they were in the cemetery in 6x15, BUCK STILL HASN’T DEALT WITH IT YET! If he would have gone to therapy instead of whatever he was doing with the DeAtH dOuLa, then maybe he would have dealt with it by now.

4. Buck’s Couch

Full Disclosure: Like so many viewers, I was pissed at the end of the season when Buck asked N to help him pick out a new couch because it didn’t make any sense and the truth is IT STILL DOESN’T but hindsight is 20/20 and I do believe the couch was still there for a reason. IMO, it has everything to do with what could happen between Buck and Eddie in season 7.

Please note, these are my observations and interpretations about what I believe the destruction of Buck’s couch represented.

After Margaret bought Buck a new couch at the end of 6x11, beginning in 6x12, the show spent a lot of time showing how uncomfortable it was for Buck whenever he tried to rest on it. Also, they AVOIDED showing it in a lot of other scenes even though Buck’s previous couch (the black leather one), when he still had it, could always be seen in the frame (post linked here). However, the orange couch wasn’t fully seen until 6x18 before Kameron gave birth on it.

IMO, her giving birth on the couch Buck's mother purchased represented a lot of things including Buck’s idea of the life he always believed he was supposed to have. Reminder, he gave his sperm (I don’t think the baby is his but let’s roll with this idea for a moment) to Connor (a former roommate) so him and his wife could have a baby even though Connor and Buck hadn’t seen each other in years.

He met him while they were in Peru and the only reason Buck ended up in L.A. was because Connor suggested he move with him and his friends because they were “kind of like a family”. Also, he said Buck has a good heart and that was the reason why he wanted him to be their donor but reminder, the reasons why he said he chose him aren’t hereditary.

It appears the way Connor presented himself in 6x4, with a wife and in search of that "missing" piece (a baby) is exactly what Buck’s always wanted and that’s what his couch represented. Let's be real, Connor manipulated Buck and they aren’t friends because if they were, wouldn’t he have invited Buck to the wedding or kept in contact with him over those three years? It kind of seemed like he wanted to rub his nose in the fact that he finally settled down while Buck was still living the bachelor life (not really because he already has his own family with Eddie and Chris, he just hasn't realized it yet).

The issue with Buck’s couches was he’s wanted his own family for years but the way his life has been presented, it appears he believes no one wants to build a life or a family with him and that's why he gave away a piece of himself. In doing so, he was trying to fix the issues he may have seen in Connor's and Kameron's marriage since it was barely hanging on by a thread. Reminder, Connor let his pregnant wife leave and he didn’t try to reconcile with her. Also, Buck never said why he didn’t want to turn them down when he was talking to Hen even though he should have.

I believe the destruction of Buck’s couch with the birth of the baby on it was about more than the couch itself. It was destroyed and unsalvageable because THE DREAM OR IDEA Buck’s always believed he was supposed to have got destroyed when he gave his sperm away. Also, the couch was his MOTHER’S idea of the life she wants him to have instead of the life he wants to have for himself, hence the reason why he told her he would get a couch when he was ready but she ignored him and bought him one anyway.

His "destroyed couch" illustrated the image Buck’s had in his mind of the life and the family he thought he was supposed to want for years, (i.e., a wife and a child) is no longer applicable because his family will include a husband, EDDIE and their son, CHRIS.

Reminder, there was a lot of talk about the types of family in 6B and they all related to Buck's idea of a family. In 6x10, Buck told Bobby and Eddie, “It kind of felt like we were an actual family” but then Eddie replied, “You are an actual family”. Also, in 6x13 when they went to play poker, Eddie responded to Buck while they were walking through the kitchen and said, “It’s a different kind of family” and later in the same episode, Chimney said to Maddie, Athena and Bobby, “Every family is different” but they were talking about Buck because Maddie said she would be furious with Buck if he did what Rhonda Fitzsimmons did when she used her nephew to gain access to Maddie's and Chimney's home.

5. Eddie’s Couch

Eddie’s blue couch has always been Buck’s couch too and if it wasn’t going to be Buck's anymore, then something would have happened to it or Eddie would have bought a new one like he did at the end of season 2. But Eddie didn’t and only Buck’s couch got DESTROYED at the end of season 6👀.

Reminder, in 6x9 Eddie was shown sleeping on it, in 6x12 Buck was shown sleeping on it and Chris was shown sleeping on it in 6x15.

Eddie didn’t get the blue couch until season 3 and the couch he had in season 2 was gray (post linked here). It’s evident Buck still hasn’t figured out Eddie’s couch is also his even though he does know he’s not a guest there.

Therefore, Eddie’s couch and everything it represents for Buck, i.e., a romantic relationship, family and fatherhood will be in play until Buck realizes it or until Eddie explains it to him.

Will the small amount of angst Buck and Eddie experience in season 7 revolve around these 5 unresolved items or others? Only the showrunner, writers and producers know the answer to that question.

#buddie #eddie diaz #evan buckley #christopher diaz #the buckley diaz family #buckley diaz family #911 abc #911 meta #911 on abc #911 season 7 #911 season 7 speculation #911 speculation #ryan guzman #oliver stark #anti connor and kameron #anti marisol #anti natalia dollenmeyer #anti eddiemarisol #anti bucktalia

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namelessalessandra · 2 years ago

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The song to my heart

Lando Norris x Reader

Plot: you and Lando have been friends for a while, but what happens when one night you dress up to go to the karaoke?

Warnings: none really, except for Lando wearing that shirt 🥵 plus English is not my first language so there could be some mistakes

ATTENTION: if you are Italian or you speak/understand Italian, you can now preorder my book, I’ll leave you the link: Bounded Souls

-Could you close my dress?- I ask to Pietra, who’s behind me doing her hair. She puts the brush on the cabinet and quickly turns to me with a smile.

-You look really good!- she comments after zipping the dress. I fix my hair on my shoulders and turn to look at her feeling my heart in my throat. I sketch a smile. It’s just a night out, it will be me, her, Max and Lando, but we decided to go big and getting well dressed so I wore my last purchase: a black, silky dress, long to just above the knees, and on the bodice some silver glitters cover the seams of the bust embellishing the whole thing. I matched some stockings with glitters, a silver pochette and a pair of black heels with some bows on the front made with glitter that look like the ones on the dress.

-You look really good too- I respond admiring her. She opted for a red dress with a slit on the right side of the skirt. She curled her long blonde hair and put a red lipstick that matches the color of the dress.

-Which bag do you think I should wear?- she asks taking two bags to show me. The first one is black, really simple, the second one is golden and covered in glitters. I indicate the second one without hesitating and she laughs.

-I won’t be the only one fully glittered tonight- I joke shrugging and she nods in agreement. We’re interrupted by Max’s voice calling for Pietra and she goes to him. I take the opportunity to focus on my makeup, I decided to keep it simple and on the shades of nude. When the blonde comes back I’m ready so I leave her some space to finish preparing herself and I spray myself some perfume before reaching Max and Lando in the other room.

-Hey guys- I call them to have their attention before making a pirouette. Max is live but still turns to me and smiles whistling.

-You look really good, (Y/N)!- he exclaims but soon he goes back to his live. He’s not ready yet so I roll my eyes. I see Lando getting up from the bed and coming closer to me. He wears a black shirt slightly opened on his chest, from where a silver chain shows up, and some black trousers. He smiles at me and I feel my cheeks getting hotter. I’ve had a crush on him for a while. We met thanks to Pietra, when she started dating Max she always brought me with them and the same goes for Lando, so we became friends. It’s just that with time I started paying attention to his attentions, his manners and the beautiful person that he is, and I fell in love. Pietra knows it, but I don’t know if Max or the concerned one know it too.

-You look beautiful, darling- he comments letting his gaze wander all over my body. I smile protruding me to kiss his cheek. Despite my heels I’m still a few centimetres lower than him. Lando moves his hands on my waist and I feel how warm they are through the thin fabric of my dress.

-You look really good too- I compliment soon after, but we’re interrupted by Max who laughs before turning to us.

-The chat says you two would be a cute couple- he makes fun of us. My eyes widen and I’m sure my cheeks are getting redder. Lando smiles, he’s embarrassed too, and gets away from me.

-Go get ready instead of bothering- he scolds him, I hurry to get away from the part of the room that the camera covers and seat on the bed.

-You take my place? I was about to finish a game- Max asks getting up from his seat. Lando takes his place and let’s him go away. I’m on the phone while Lando ends the game that Max started, silence reigns for a while.

-(Y/N), honey, why don’t you come here?- the driver asks out of the blue. I turn to look at him with wide eyes. He’s looking at me waiting but I shake my head.

-No, Lando. You know it’s not the case- I try to refuse but he moves his seat to turn to me and hands me out.

-come on, let’s entertain Max’s fans while he’s away! We’ll say so many bad things about him- he insists and so I give up. I get up and go to him, he taps on his leg. It’s not the first time I sit on his lap, since he’s made me feel at my ease since the first time we met, but doing it in front of a camera and millions of people makes me a little uncomfortable. Slowly I sit down, being careful to hold my weight on my feet and not on him.

-Relax, everything’s okay- he whispers in my ear and moves a hand to my hip, caressing it with delicacy. I sit better on him making myself comfortable, with my arm I surround his shoulders to keep my balance and he kisses my cheek.

-Your perfumes is really good- he comments making me laugh, I turn to the screen to look at the comments in the chat. Many people are making questions to Lando about the next race, some ask what are we going to do so elegant and others ask if we’re a couple. I hear Lando read one of the questions with low voice, while absent-mindedly caressing my hip.

-We’re going out for dinner, but nothing important. We only dressed up because Pietra and she made us do it- Lando jokes pointing at me with the hand that’s not on my hip. I burst out laughing looking at him and quickly turn to look at the screen.

-We just took advantage of the thing, guys they’re happier the us girls to dress up elegantly- I say, nodding with my head to give more credibility to my words. Lando tickles the hip he was caressing before ad I start laughing and moving over him. I’m about to fall, so he immediately stops and holds me by the waist to stabilise me and I get comfortable again.

-You’re too cute, are you sure you’re not a couple?- the question is read by Lando in that exact moment and I widen my eyes in shock. I feel my cheeks burning again and I look myself on screen. I’m blushing. Lando smiles mischievously while looking at me from the video.

-Here I am! We can end the live- Max interrupts the moment entering from the door and I sigh in relief.

-We’re not together guys, we’re just friends- I hear my hear sink to my stomach at Lando’s words, but I foce myself to smile and nod with my head to agree with him. I get up from his legs and leave the two guys to close their live while I get my blazer on. It’s black like my dress but it has silvers strass here and there. When the boys join us, we all go out together and drive to the pub.

The pub has a karaoke area, some round tables are scattered throughout the room and it’s almost full. As soon as the door closes behind us the heat surrounds me, I feel Lando put a hand on my back while he leans towards me

-what do you think, do you like it?- he asks in my ear, I nod with my head before looking at him. I smile and he reciprocates. Max, who booked, talks to the waiter and gets us to our table. Pietra and I sit between the two guys, Max takes place beside her and Lando next to me.

-Let me help you- the driver says when he sees me trying to take off my jacket, and without even waiting for an answer he gets up and takes it off of my shoulders. My hair slides around my face while I thank him. Lando places my jacket on my seat and then sits again. Pietra and Max are sharing a menù to decide what to order so I take one too. I let my gaze flow on all the dishes available, indecisively.

-Do you already know what to order?- Lando’s voice distracts me from my thought, I notice that he’s gotten closer to me and he’s talking in my ear. I shake my head to say no while someone goes on stage to sing.

-No, and you?- I ask softly, he points one very tempting dish with a finger

-even though this one looks really good too- he then comments pointing another one, so I decide to remove any doubt

-I can order this one and we can share, if you want?- I ask taking my eyes off of the paper to look at him. He nods going back to sit normally and when the waiter arrives we give our orders. Soon after Max and Lando start a conversation, so Pietra and I do the same, and when the boy next to me leans to say something to Max I feel his hand resting on my leg. I lose a beat and my heart goes up to my throat. Then I remember his words at the end of the live and I force myself to not think strange ideas. Pietra sees the driver’s gesture and looks at me trying to hide a smile. I wish to tell her not to be fooled, because Lando does not see me the same way that I see him, but it’s not appropriate to do it when he’s that close to me. Max bursts out laughing and Lando leans with his back to the chair without removing his hand from my leg.

-How about singing?- Pietra asks to get us involved in the conversation, Max leans to kiss her temple and says that it’s a great idea so she quickly starts talking again: -I have in idea! Let’s do duets! Max and I will sing a song, and you, (Y/N) will sing with Lando! We record it and let the followers decide who wins!- she proposes. The boys immediately agree to her idea and start making fun of each other. Our orders arrive while Pietra and Lando put our names in line for karaoke.

-Is everything alright?- Max asks while we’re alone, I turn to him and nod. I can’t obviously say to him that his best friend is taking my breath away since the night started, can I?

-Yes, I’m just a little nervous because of the karaoke. I don’t really like singing in front of people- I joke and he laughs nodding with his head.

-Lucky you, Lando is really good at catching attention, so even if you were the worst fool he would find a way not to make you feel embarrassed- he tries to reassure me and I nod in agreement. The other two come back to the table so we start eating. We take some pictures and videos, but mainly we enjoy our dinner talking. When our turn to sing at the karaoke arrives, Lando takes my hand taking me on stage. We take our microphones while I hear the first notes of the song that he chose. I can’t help but laugh. Friday from Riton starts and Lando sings the chorus. Pietra holds her phone and starts recording so I put the mic closer to my lips and start singing the verse. Lando widens his eyes in surprise when he hears my voice, but then quickly goes back to moving and clapping his hands in time.

Lando and I move around the small stage, he takes my hand and turns me around while he sings the chorus. We have fun like two crazy people and everyone in the room sings with us or clap their hands in time. At the end of the song Lando takes my hand intertwining our fingers and then raises them up as if we had won a prize. We bow to the audience and then go back to our table.

-(Y/N) I didn’t know you can sing that well!- Max exclaims when we go back, I laugh to hide my embarrassment.

-that’s true! We’re going to tear you guys up!- Lando exclaims still amused by the song. Max and Pietra sing their song and, just like my friend did for me, I take the phone to record them.

-They’re never going to win- Lando’s voice resonates at the end of the song while I stop the video. I look at him and start laughing, and then i agree. Pietra posts both our videos and the competition begins, in the mean time we enjoy the rest of our dinner.

When the night’s over and we leave the pub, the air outside is fresher. I squeeze in my blazer surrounding my hips with my arms. Pietra puts an arm on my shoulders

-did you have fun?- she asks happily, I nod leaning against her and we walk together. Max and Lando are a little further ahead talking to each other.

-He didn’t look away from you all night, not even for one second- my friend says whispering, obviously she’s talking about Lando. I sigh, the sentence at the end of the live still resonates in my head. I tell her everything with low voice to not let the boys hear us since they’re pretty close.

-He’s just an idiot, he’s a man. They need more time to understand things- she funnily murmurs and lets me go because we arrived to our car.

-Are you staying at our place?- the blonde girl asks me when we’re in the car, I shake my head.

-No, I don’t even have clothes to change- I respond so she only nods.

-I take her home. After leaving you guys, obviously. In this way you’ll have time to do things I don’t want to hear- Lando jokes, earning embarrassed reproaches from the blonde girl. Max drives till their house and gives the keys of his car to his friend. I greet both of them and sit beside Lando, who immediately turns the hearings and the engine on.

-Did you have fun?- he asks, more to have a conversation than anything else. I nod while setting on the seat and yawn.

-Very much, and you?- I quickly ask, Lando gives me a look and soon after goes back to watching the street. He smiles

-yes, even though there’s one thing that I would rather change- he answers moving his hands on the wheel. He looks a little nervous. I frown, confused.

-What? The food? Did you not like it?- I ask worried, he shakes his head

-No, it’s not the food- he quickly answers, he brakes at a traffic light and looks at me again. He takes a deep breath.

-Us two- he then says and, for the second time tonight, my heart breaks. The traffic light goes green and Lando strarts driving again, only to turn and stop outside my house. I hurry to open the car door without looking at him because I would burst into tears, I already feel my eyes pinching.

-(Y/N)- Lando calls me when I’m about to exit. I stop but I don’t dare turning. The door half open.

-I’m sorry if you wanted someone else instead of me. Maybe next time you can invite her before Pietra and Max ask me, so I won’t intrude- my voice breaks at the end of my sentence and I would love to slap myself.

-What?- Lando asks confused, I get out of the car quickly, to avoid humiliating myself even more and walk to the front door. I look into my purse, searching for the keys but they end up falling on the floor so I kneel to take them. That’s when Lando’s hand rests on mine stopping me.

-If you had given me time to explain myself, you would have realised that I suck at declaring myself. When I said I would’ve changed us two, I meant that…- he stops to take a deep breath and then starts talking again: -that tonight I wanted you to be more than a friend- he ends while taking my purse and my keys. We get up, his eyes chained to mine, making it almost hard to breath. Is this really happening?

-I wanted to tell the chat that you’re my girlfriend, I wanted to kiss you at the end of our song because your voice is beautiful and if we win that competition is just because of you, and I wanted to keep you closer because even sitting next to me you’re still too far away from me- he murmurs in an insecure voice, moves one step towards me and I raise a hand to caress his cheek.

-When we walk and I keep a hand on your back, it’s not just because I don’t want to lose you in the crowd, but because I need to keep you close. When I ask you to come play golf with me, Max and Pietra, even though I know that you girls won’t play but only watch us play, it’s because I want to have you in my life and I wish it was the same for you- Lando stops again to take another deep breath.

-(Y/N), if you don’t feel the same I don’t care. We can pretend that nothing happened and just be friends. But if there is even just a small, remote possibility that you want the same that I want…- I interrupt him because I don’t think I could handle any more from him tonight, I make our lips touch in a delicate kiss. Lando holds my waist sighing in my mouth and everything seems to finally go to the right place. When we separate, our eyes meet again and I can’t help but laugh.

-I guess Pietra was right then, you just needed time because you’re a man- I joke, his laugh breaks the silence and it’s one of the most beautiful sounds I have ever heard. I kiss his cheek, still incredulous for his words, and he holds me a little more against himself.

-I was afraid that Max was making my head whip up and that by confessing my feelings I could’ve ruined everything, but it wasn’t the case- he explains. So Max knew too. Now all the jokes and glances make sense.

-No, it wasn’t- I repeat his words, Lando doesn’t stop smiling while kissing me again.

-What do you think if next time we go out alone? Just you and me- he proposes immediately after, my confirmation arrives maybe too quickly but he doesn’t seem to bother

-Now I better go, before some fan of yours see us- I whisper after a while. His arms still holding me close to him. A part of me doesn’t want to let him go, but it will be better to keep everything private for a little while.

-See you tomorrow?- Lando asks with low voice, I nod with my head before kissing him again

-Yes, but you have to let me go now- I whisper, he sighs annoyed but lets me go and we separate.

-Be ready for breakfast, I’ll take you out- he tells making a big step behind. I move my head up and down to accept and open the door. I stand on the threshold to watch him get in the car and greet him with my hand when he starts it, then close the door as he leaves. All I have to do is go to sleep and hope that tomorrow comes early.

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