#Smart ALM

[smart-factory-solutions]

What is Asset Management Software? An In-Depth Look at the Must-Have Features and How SmartALM Can Help Your Business?

In today's fast-paced business environment, managing and optimizing assets is no longer a simple task. Whether you’re dealing with IT infrastructure, machinery, equipment, or even intangible assets like software, maintaining control over the lifecycle of each asset is crucial. This is where asset management software comes into play.

In this blog, we’ll discuss what asset management software is, the necessary features it should include, and how a comprehensive solution like Smart Asset Lifecycle Management (SmartALM) can help streamline operations, boost efficiency, and ensure compliance.

What is Asset Management Software?

Asset management software is a technology solution designed to manage, and optimize the utilization of an organization’s assets throughout their lifecycle. The software provides a centralized platform to monitor asset performance, manage maintenance schedules, handle renewals, and ensure compliance with regulatory requirements.

Asset management software can be used across various industries, from IT and manufacturing to healthcare and finance. Its primary goal is to help organizations maximize asset performance, reduce costs, and make informed decisions regarding asset acquisition, maintenance, and disposal.

With automation and real-time data insights, this type of software helps businesses reduce downtime, optimize asset utilization, and prolong asset life, ultimately improving the bottom line.

Essential Features of Asset Management Software

When choosing an asset management solution, it’s essential to ensure that it offers a comprehensive set of features that can manage the full asset lifecycle. Here are some key features to look for:

1. Bar Code & QR Code System

With barcode or QR code scanning capabilities, it becomes easy to scan assets and retrieve up-to-date information, reducing the need for manual record-keeping and minimizing errors.

2. Lifecycle Management

Managing an asset’s lifecycle—from acquisition to disposal—is fundamental. Effective software should track each asset’s entire history, including purchase, deployment, usage, maintenance, and eventual decommissioning or disposal. This level of insight allows businesses to make better decisions on when to replace or upgrade assets, saving both time and money.

3. Warranty and Insurance Management

Keeping track of warranty expiration dates and insurance coverage for each asset can be a daunting task, especially for large enterprises. Asset management software simplifies this process by tracking warranty and insurance details, ensuring you never miss a renewal or coverage deadline. This not only saves time but also helps mitigate risks and manage claims more efficiently.

4. Regulatory Compliance and Audit Trails

Many industries have strict regulatory requirements related to asset management, especially in sectors like healthcare, manufacturing, and finance. Asset management software helps organizations stay compliant by maintaining detailed audit trails of every asset transaction. This ensures transparency and makes it easy to demonstrate compliance during audits.

5. Centralized Data and Integrations

The ability to centralize all asset-related information in one platform is another must-have feature. An efficient asset management software should integrate seamlessly with other systems like ERP (Enterprise Resource Planning) or CRM (Customer Relationship Management) platforms, allowing for a more streamlined workflow. This eliminates the need for disparate systems and reduces data silos.

6. Custom Notifications and Reporting

Each business has unique requirements, and asset management software should provide customizable notifications and reports. Whether it’s notifying you about upcoming maintenance, insurance renewals, or performance issues, customizable alerts ensure you stay proactive. Additionally, detailed reporting capabilities offer insights that can guide decision-making and asset optimization.

7. Role-Based Access Control

In large organizations, different departments may need varying levels of access to asset information. Role-based access control allows administrators to assign permissions based on roles, ensuring that sensitive data is only accessible to authorized personnel. This feature enhances security and ensures that the right people have access to the right information.

8. Ticketing and Issue Management

Managing asset-related issues such as repair requests or maintenance tickets is crucial for smooth operations. Asset management software with built-in ticketing and issue management systems allows users to log and track issues efficiently, ensuring timely resolutions and minimal downtime.

How SmartALM Can Help Your Business

Now that we’ve covered the essential features of asset management software, let’s talk about how Smart Asset Lifecycle Management (SmartALM) stands out as a comprehensive solution that can address your business’s asset management needs.

SmartALM is designed to offer a complete solution for managing assets, providing not only the necessary features but also advanced capabilities that allow businesses to optimize asset performance and streamline operations. It centralizes asset data, automates workflows, and ensures your assets are always in optimal condition—making it a smart choice for organizations looking to improve efficiency and reduce costs.

Key Benefits of SmartALM

● Automated Workflows:

SmartALM streamlines asset management by automating workflows, helping businesses reduce manual tasks and increase operational efficiency.

● Service and Warranty Management:

With SmartALM, you can easily track service and warranty details for all your assets, ensuring timely maintenance and mitigating risks related to missed warranties or insurance expirations.

● Regulatory Compliance and Audit Trails:

SmartALM helps you stay compliant by maintaining detailed audit trails for every asset transaction, making regulatory compliance effortless.

● Custom Notifications:

Set custom notifications to keep you informed about important asset-related events like upcoming maintenance or expiring warranties.

● Role-Based Access Control:

With role-based access, SmartALM ensures that each user has access only to the information and controls relevant to their role, enhancing both security and usability.

● Ticket Management:

SmartALM’s integrated ticketing system helps manage and resolve asset-related issues more effectively, minimizing downtime and keeping your assets running smoothly.

SmartALM’s Advanced Features in Action

Let’s take a closer look at how SmartALM delivers on the essential features outlined earlier:

● Full Asset Lifecycle History:

Track every asset from acquisition to disposal. With SmartALM’s comprehensive history tracking, you gain full visibility into every stage of an asset’s lifecycle, enabling better decision-making and performance optimization.

● Barcode and QR Code Integration:

Easily track and manage assets with SmartALM’s barcode and QR code integration. Scan assets to retrieve real-time data on maintenance, usage, and condition—cutting down on manual processes and increasing efficiency.

● Centralized Data Management:

SmartALM integrates with other business systems, allowing you to centralize all asset-related data in one place. This integration ensures smoother workflows, reduced data silos, and improved decision-making across departments.

Choosing the right asset management software is crucial for businesses that want to stay competitive, reduce operational costs, and maximize asset performance. With its robust features, SmartALM offers a comprehensive solution for managing assets from acquisition to disposal.

In case you wish to monitor your digital assets, it is the right time to book an appointment with the experts. We encourage you to reach the experts at Smart Factory Solutions for demo.

[whitexwolfxx310]

|| Baby Mine ||

Pairing: Bucky x female reader || Bucky x y/n

Summary: Bucky comes home from from a mission and finds you sick. You make an appointment at the medical bay expecting a routine visit only to find out some pretty surprising news.

Warnings: Unplanned pregnancy, minor talk of options pertaining to, morning sickness, a disgusting amount of fluff, and a small sprinkle of spice at the end just because I felt like it.

Word Count: 3323

A/Ns: First and foremost, I would like to apologize for my hiatus. It was not intended and I hit a writers block. With that being said, I do have a decent amount in my drafts and have been working on getting some new things out there!

I would like to say a special thank you to @lil-darhk who gave me some encouraging words that I really needed to hear & helped get me back on here. ♥️

This is a ONE SHOT. This is not part of my BBWWS. I am still working on that but this is something I have been thinking of for a while and just felt like writing about. I know that a pregnancy troupe is not for everyone. (Personally, I love it and I'm not sure if I will write it into my other storyline.) SO because of that....I give you this. I hope you all enjoy it because the idea of Daddy Bucky to me is just 🤌🏻💋

Waking up to the smell of fresh ground coffee was always a tall tale sign of Bucky being home. Missions can be unpredictable. He can be gone for a few days, to a few weeks, and sometimes even months at a time. Luckily, this time he had only been gone about a month and a half.

Excitement took over as you forego your usual procrastinating in bed stretch to run out of the bedroom. Opening the door, the aroma was heavenly- as if a coffee shop had replaced your kitchen overnight. But your eyes immediately fixed on Bucky who was wearing a smirk while plating two separate stacks of pancakes.

“Breakfast, doll?” His voice as smooth as the warm syrup flowing down from those pancake stacks.

Running and jumping to wrap your arms around his neck was your response. Bucky chuckled, holding both arms out wider so he didn’t drop the plates. He put them down gently onto the counter so that his arms would now be only consumed with you.

“I missed you too.” You don’t have to look up from being buried in his chest to know that he’s smiling, it’s in the lighthearted tone of his voice.

Leaning back slightly with his arms still holding you, he looks into your eyes and plants a petal soft kiss on your lips.

“How come you didn’t wake me up when you got in?” You frown slightly looking up at him.

He shakes his head slightly and shrugs, “You just looked so… peaceful. I couldn’t bare to wake you up. At least, not without sustenance,” Bucky laughs.

Shifting your eyes from Bucky to the pancakes and back, your lips tug in each corner. “Smart man.”

His cooking always felt like home. It was filling, delicious, and you could almost taste the love it was made it with. “Mm,” the small noise escapes low in your throat as you take the last bite. Looking across the kitchen table, Bucky is slumped in his chair, arms folded with a warm smile as he watches you. “What?” The question comes out as a half joke and half concern.

Shaking his head slightly the smile grew. “Nothing, doll. Just missed you is all.” Leaning forward, Bucky rests his elbows on the table continuing to stare a tad bit more than normal.

“You’re acting weird.” You say, adjusting in your seat feeling slightly awkward.

“So what have you been up to while I was away?” He completely ignored your statement, asking an easy and lighthearted question.

“Um..” you start, breakfast starting to feel suddenly heavy in your stomach. “I uh-“ your teeth start to clench down as you swallow hard at the pooling saliva in your mouth. “I went out with Nat-“ your brows furrowed, starting to have difficulty with getting the words out. Bucky’s face quickly contorts to concern as you continue to fight the inevitable. “and her sister for some…s-some drinks-“ the word makes you gag.

Almost as if you channeled some super soldier serum, you pushed back from the table and ran- praying that the pressure of your hand over your mouth will be enough insurance to get to the toilet. It barely was. Breakfast came back up violently, loudly as you kneeled in front of the porcelain king. Even when you thought there couldn’t possibly be anything else to throw up, your stomach wrung on itself, forcing up every last drop of bile.

Breathing heavily into the bowl, skin now glistening with cooling sweat, you realize that your hair has been pulled out of your face. Your eyesight, now no longer blurry, sees Bucky sitting next to you; his right hand holding your hair back in a make shift ponytail and his left hand on the nape of your neck, the coolness of his metal hand being your favorite thing in the world at the moment.

“I’m sorry…” your sob echoed lightly in the toilet. “I’ve never been hung over like this before,” you sit back on your knees, grabbing some tissues to wipe your mouth. You bring yourself to look up at him through hooded and puffy red eyes, feeling instantly embarrassed. Bucky gives you a small reassuring smile as his hand gently rubs up and down your back.

“I’ve had the Russians drink me under the table a few times too. C’mon…” He helps you off of the floor, “let’s get you cleaned up.”

A warm bath, some fresh comfy clothes and a plain cup of tea seemed to make the nausea subside.

“I knew I shouldn’t have drank last night,” you say, looking into the lightly steaming mug. “My stomach hasn’t felt right in a few weeks. I actually have an appointment this afternoon in the medical bay, but I didn’t know you would be home. I can cancel it-”

“What time is your appointment?” He cuts you off,

“Um,” you look towards the wall and squint at the clock. “Actually in 45 minutes,” you laugh softly at the realization.

“Do you want me to go with you?” He offers.

“And miss your debriefing? Why, Sargent Barnes, that’s highly unlike you.” Even with not feeling great you can’t help but give him shit. This is the normal

Shaking his head softly he lets out a small laugh. “Alright,” he puts his hands up in a surrendering gesture, “but call me if anything comes up, okay? I’m worried about you.” Bucky’s voice is soft and sincere as he leans in and plants a small kiss on your forehead. His eyes hesitate, locking on yours for a moment. Leaning back in, he presses his lips to yours. “I love you. So much,”

“Love you more, Bucky.” You smile back up at him.

Sitting on the exam table in nothing but a medical gown, you swing your legs gently back and forth while gently nibbling the tip of your thumb as you wait for the provider.

You jump at the sudden knock at the door. In walks the new physicians assistant for The Compound, a young and beautiful woman who looked like she was straight out of school.

“Hi! My names Bree and I’ll be working with you today. According to the nurse who did your intake, you’re here for-“ she scrolls through your electronic chart on a tablet, “some abdominal issues. Tell me about that,” she sits down on a stool, listening intently.

“It’s.. really not a big deal,” you start, she keeps quiet waiting for you to explain in more detail. “I don’t know,” you start to fumble with a few loose strands of hair. “I’ve just felt this sort of… heaviness? It hasn’t gone away and is just always sort of there?” Your voice is unsure, feeling self conscious as you describe this silly little symptom that you felt the need to make an appointment for. “This morning I got sick. Well, I went out drinking last night, so I’m assuming I’m a little hung over.” Your words start to sound like your rambling.

“Hmm,” Bree says in response. “When was your last period?”

“Um,” the gears start turning in your head as you try to backdate events, plans that had been interrupted because of aunt flow. “About 4 months ago?” It probably wasn’t on purpose, but you could see the clinicians eyebrow raise a centimeter in question. “It’s not what you think!” You quickly try to defend, “I’m on the pill! My periods have always been irregular which is part of the reason I’m on birth control in the first place.”

“Okay,” she responds, skeptical. “And you take the pill religiously?”

“Yes,”

“Everyday?”

“Yeah…”

“At the same time?” Bree’s eyebrow inclines just a little more.

“Well,” now she has you questioning everything that you’ve said. “I always have an alarm on my phone and try to take it the same time everyday.” That makes you feel better, justified.

“Have you been sick recently? Aside from this morning, any need for any prescriptions, antibiotics?”

“I had bronchitis, but that was… god months ago?”

“Okay,” she says flatly, “so we’ll just go ahead and do a minor work up to see if we can figure out what’s going on. The first thing I want to do though, is a pregnancy test.” Even though you could feel your face change, Bree quickly added, “Routine stuff. It’s one of the bases that we always cover early on.”

You suddenly become hyper focused on the urine sample you left on the counter top, as asked by the nurse. Bree takes out a small, flat test from a nearby drawer and uses a pipette to transfer the fluid.

It could have been 30 seconds or 20 minutes, but the idea that pregnancy was even a remote possibility has your insides feeling like they’re folding in on themselves.

“Okay so,” Bree starts, getting your attention. “The test did in fact, come out positive. Since your cycles have been irregular, I’d like to do an ultrasound to see how far along you are and then we can talk about options. Just go ahead and lay back on the table, feet in the stirrups.”

"Positive?" You repeat. "But... What? How?" It comes out breathless.

"Well, sometimes antibiotics can actually cancel out the effects of birth control. We try to advise women to not be sexually active as the body might seize the opportunity to ovulate and result in an unplanned pregnancy. How about we just take a look and go from there, okay?" Bree says just a little too cheerfully as she pats the stirrups.

Following her directions is the only thing you’re able to focus on. Going through the motions of laying down, putting your feet up and opening your legs. Bree’s voice is a murmur mixed with a high pitch ringing as you look up at the ceiling tiles, counting each spect while she sets up the portable sono machine.

“Just a little pressure,” she says, guiding the wand like probe, looking at the screen. “Okay. So, judging from the size… I’d say you’re close to about 9 weeks, give or take a bit. Do you want to hear the heartbeat?” She asks, sweetly. And it’s the first time you’re able to look at her since lying down. Bree patiently waits for your answer with a warm smile. You reluctantly nod your head.

The room fills with soft, muffled whooshing. “It’s so fast. I-is that okay? Is everything okay?” You’re searching her face for any hint of something being wrong. In return, Bree just nods gently as she keeps her smile, still examining the screen.

“A fetus’ heartbeat is a lot quicker than ours. Everything looks perfect actually. Would you… like to see?”

“Yes, please.” You didn't hesitate with your answer this time.

The screen gets tilted towards you and your eyes start darting all around looking for the baby. Your baby. At first you don't see anything. It doesn't look like photos you've seen on Instagram of pregnancy announcements. But then, in the middle of what looks like a black balloon, is a bean with limbs. In the center of this bean is a lively flicker. Bree uses her index finger to point to the screen.

"There's the fetus' arms and legs," she points to the extremities, "and here," her finger gently taps on the pulsing center, "is the heart."

The whooshing matches the pace of the flicker; lub-dub, lub-dub, lub-dub. Hearing the heartbeat in synch with the pulsing on the screen causes your own heartbeat to match for a moment.

So this is love.

After a moment, Bree removes the probe and rips a paper from the ultrasound machine. "Here's some pictures for you," she hands them to you as you sit up on the bed. "I want to see you back here in three weeks for another check up... unless you want to discuss other options?" You shake your head. "Do you have any questions for me?"

“No, not right now.” You’re solely focused on the pictures now in your hand. Even though the image is burned into your brain, holding a physical copy has some how made it more real.

The rest of the afternoon was a whirlwind. There was no possible way that you’re actually pregnant. Even with the new noticeable symptoms and bathroom counter littered in double pink lined tests, it still seemed so unbelievable. That’s not even the hardest part. How am I going to tell Bucky?

Just as the reality starts to set in of having to tell the other adult who is directly involved, the front door to the apartment opens.

"Hey, doll!" Bucky calls loudly from the hallway, the thumping of his boots following his voice. "Sorry that the meeting ran late. I figured we could order in tonight. What about that Thai place you like?" He waits for a response while buzzing around the kitchen, no doubt making himself coffee for the dozenth time today. "Doll?" The question echoes through the quiet apartment.

"I'm in here," you acknowledge softly from the living room couch. Bucky pokes his head out from the hallway, breathing a sigh of relief.

"There you are," he starts walking towards you. "If you tell me what you would like for dinner, I'll call it in and then-" his voice and steps stop abruptly. "Hey... you okay?"

"Uh, yeah. Yeah, I'm okay." You answer, obviously distracted.

"That doesn't sound too convincing," Bucky hesitated, looking you over and taking a few steps closer.

"I-I have to tell you something." Your tone is soft, scared. You’re fidgeting with the edges of your sweater sleeves.

“Is it something the doctor said?” His voice is softer now, reluctant and afraid. While his piercing, cerulean blue eyes continue to search yours for the answer, wide and terrified.

“I-“

Should I have gotten balloons? Made him open a box with one of the pregnancy tests or a cute onesie inside? Bake a damn cake?

“Y/n?!” Bucky didn’t yell but definitely had to get your attention. “You’re scaring me. What’s going on?!” He pleaded. Why were the words so difficult to say? Maybe because it hasn’t been said out loud yet. Or that it’s still so shocking. Or maybe that verbalizing it will just make it that more real. You turn on your heels and run to the bathroom.

“Y/n!!” He calls after you, but you know he’ll be just a few steps behind.

Picking up a handful of the positive tests off of the vanity counter with your heartbeat pounding in your ears in combination with his heavy footsteps getting closer.

“Seriously! What is going on-“ Bucky is flustered as he steps into the entryway and stops abruptly at the sight of you facing him, holding the tests fanned out.

“I’m pregnant.” There it is. You’re holding your breath, waiting to see what he’ll say. Aside from contraceptives, you’ve never had any kind of discussions pertaining to a family.

His face softens as he takes a step forward, his eyes hyper fixated on all the double pink lines. Bucky’s chest rises and falls deeply now. “You’re… pregnant? Not sick?” He asks to clarify, being cautious.

“Morning sickness, apparently”, a small laugh escapes and it surprises you. “But other than that, I’m fine. We’re fine.”

The ‘we’re’ part catches his attention. He’s looking into your eyes once again, searching. But, for what?

“Is this… something you want? With… me?” He suddenly sounds so adolescent and anxious. Who can blame him? This took you both completely by surprise. Knowing Bucky, he would support you in whatever you wanted. Whatever decision you thought was best for you, your body, your health in every aspect, he would respect and advocate for. He is being cautious with his response to the news until he knows what your decision is.

Putting the tests down, you take both of his hands into yours and take a deep breath.

“Bucky, if you had asked me this morning, I wouldn’t have known what our future would hold. But knowing what I know now… I want this baby. I want to be a mom and for us to be a family. That being said, I know that this is something that we never talked about. If this isn’t something you want, I underst-“

You’re suddenly cut off by his lips pressing into yours. It feels like a weight has been lifted as Bucky’s arms gently wrap around you to bring you closer. Kissing becomes increasingly difficult around giggles and the obnoxiously big smiles you’re both wearing.

When your lips finally part, Bucky’s eyebrows are raised in excitement. His eyes are darting around your torso as if the news would suddenly show physical changes on your body.

“I can’t believe it…” he breathes, “I actually get the chance to be a Dad-” The word comes out almost as a choked sob. My heart.

Reaching into your back pocket, you pull out the ultrasound Bree had given to you earlier, holding it up for him to see.

"Look, our baby's first photo!"

Bucky takes the picture as gently as if someone were handing him an actual newborn baby. He just stares, probably confused as to what he was looking at similarly to you just a few hours ago.

"I know it doesn't really look like anything right now- but I go back in a few weeks and-"

"Are you kidding?" He looks up from the black and white photo to meet your eyes, a watery sheen coating his own. "This is the most amazing thing I have ever seen in my life." Bucky says softly, as if to himself, looking back down at the picture. And he's smiling. A genuine, heartfelt smile.

That night was the closest he had ever held you in his arms. The two of you made up for lost conversations and started planning for your future and what it held as you laid in bed. Bucky talked about how he wanted to build a crib instead of buying one and was curious what the appropriate amount of time was to wait until you could both start telling everyone. Excitement was an understatement for this man.

"Can I go with you to your next appointment?" He asked, in a hopeful tone as his fingers traced along smooth, soft circles around your belly button. You giggle, wincing at one specific caress.

"Hey! That tickles! But, of course you can. You can come to all of them. I was... kinda hoping you would?" In return, your tone holds the same anticipation.

"I wouldn't miss it." Bucky's palm flattens against your belly as he places a kiss against your temple.

"Don't get used to that," You say looking down. "We're going to start growing and getting bigger any day now." You fake a frown, although there is a small part of you that isn't necessarily faking.

"Hmm." A low hum vibrates from the back of Bucky's throat as he shifts his body down along yours.

His fingertips skim the hem of your sleep shirt before pulling it up and exposing your stomach. The coolness of the air makes your abdomen tighten, but is soon replaced with petal soft kisses. "When you say 'grow', I hope you mean grow more beautiful by the day." Each firm press of his lips feels like its igniting your skin on fire with the newfound sensitivity. Your toes start to dig down into the mattress.

"Because, y/n..." Bucky repositions himself onto his knees, one now conveniently pressed in-between your legs. The pressure alone makes your heart rate spike and has you borderline panting. He hovers over you, "There isn't anything in this world I find more beautiful or more attractive than my girl carrying my child." He holds your gaze, intense and primal- more than you've ever seen.

"Do you understand?" Bucky asks with a raised brow. You nod hastily and he grins in response. "Good girl. Now, let's see if those rumors about hyper sensitivity are true. Judging by how you're writhing under me and the wet spot on my knee... I'm really going to enjoy the next few months."

If you enjoyed this, please check out my masterlist! Requests are open!

@peaches1958 @aquabrie @elsie-bells @pono-pura-vida @redbloodedgurl @almosttoopizza @beware-my-thorns @prettylittlepluviophile @annoyinglythoughtfuldestiny @calwitch @ozwriterchick @roofwitty779 @lessersole @lil-darhk @agoddoesnotplead @saranghaey @erinallene @mrsvxder @elizabeth916 @cjand10 @bucky-barnes-lover @skyf-7

[lauraneedstochill]

Confess the longing you are dreaming of

summary: Aemond thinks the woman he has to marry is the most impudent and unsufferable he’s ever met. He’s also never wanted anyone so badly. pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Martell!reader (third person, no mention of Y/N) warnings: bantering and teasing, mentions of unpleasant sexual experience, praise kink (guess who’s got it), a dollop of softness, mild smut (... for starters ;) author’s note: couldn’t get the idea out of my head and spent a few sleepless nights writing this. I imagine her brothers as Pedro Pascal and Oscar Isaac ✨ words: ~8000 song inspo: Hozier — Better love

>>> Aemond isn’t present when the idea is voiced the first time — he has a hunch that his grandsire is to blame for that. No doubt, Otto was the one to plan it out, come up with arguments served with his persuasive tone. He’s always loved to make arrangements and strike deals, each one of them to play into his hands, and Aemond hates the thought of being just another pawn of his.

He is blindsided at the breakfast but it’s made sound carelessly mundane — as Otto puts down his cup, he throws him the proposal, the way one would leniently throw alms to the poor. And Aemond thinks he must’ve heard him wrong.

“Marry me to... Who?” the prince asks, hardly covering his surprise.

His grandsire directs his gaze at him, the old man’s mouth twitching into a condescending smile. Since Otto isn’t keen on idle talk, he tells him plainly:

“You’ve long been of age, Aemond, you know that,” his knife scratches the plate as he cuts the meat, his eyes not moving from the prince. “House Martell holds power, and we’ll be fortunate to have such allies. Besides,” he pauses to take a bite, and Aemond gets annoyed at waiting; Otto chews, then adds, “I’ve only heard good things about your bride-to-be. Wouldn’t you confirm, Ser Criston?”

The mention of the knight is unexpected to them both — Aemond turns his head to meet Ser Criston’s puzzled look. But the brunet effortlessly copes with his emotions:

“We met when she was just a kid. But I knew she’d grow into a fine lady,” he easily agrees. Mayhaps, too easily for Aemond’s liking so he makes a note to talk about it later on.

His grandsire only lets out a pleased hum. “Well, I’m under the impression she will make a good match for our prince,” and Aemond feels that Otto carefully picks each word, “She’s said to be both beautiful and smart, and known for being quite independent,” he’s usually so stingy with his praise, it’s worth its weight in gold.

But that is not what Aemond hears. The choice was made for him, and his rejection of it makes him paint a portrait less alluring — a pompous wayward woman raised in the traditions that are starkly different from his; and yet, it is expected of him to accept it freely. His wounded ego simmers at the thought.

“I’d add another word to that,” Aegon chimes in, half-drunk already, “Everyone knows the Martells to also be promisc—”

“Look who’s talking,” Otto glares at him, and Aegon shuts his mouth.

The word is left unsaid, only the meaning of it isn’t hard to guess, and Aemond feels embarrassment creeping up his cheeks and weighting down his chest. He deems himself an educated man, well-read and eager to put his knowledge to the test, but he has yet to learn of carnal pleasures. A memory is clawing out: him, ten-and-three and plied with wine, laid on a bed that smelled of sweat, a naked woman next to him. Despite her tireless attempts, he wanted none of it, and the repulsion made him sick — and then it made him hate the act itself.

He did go to the brothel through the years, tried watching, touching, looked at bodies of all sorts, only it felt like putting paint over a rotten wall. He felt constrained, and lacking in some way (perhaps, in many), and more so awfully incomplete. Not once he sensed a spark, a pleasure he would crave, and no amount of effort could help him fill the emptiness inside.

He quells the feeling, pushes in indifference instead, and glances briefly at his mother. She meets his eye but only grants him a faint smile, her own gaze lacking any protest.

“Her brothers wrote that they would visit in a fortnight,” Alicent peacefully explains. “It is our duty to ensure a royal welcome.”

“Brothers?” Helaena blithely chirps. “How many does she have?”

“Four but only two of them are coming,” Otto tells her softly, then looks at Aemond, adding in a voice more wily. “I am convinced they really want to see whom their dear sister is about to marry.”

He doesn’t spell it out but the implication can’t be clearer — Aemond must play the part and make a good impression. As if impressing just one stranger wasn’t tedious enough.

As if he isn’t vexed already by how unsuitable he finds her.

>>> Frustration grows in Aemond with each day, takes roots, and clogs up all his thoughts. Some other man would’ve been glad — he often heard that the Martells are quite the lovers. He can’t admit it to himself how much he’s bothered by his own misfortunes on the love field.

He bottles his emotions up and doesn’t utter any word of discontent, nor does he ever speak of the awaited visit. Although he makes just one exception.

“My grandsire mentioned that you knew her,” he reminds Ser Criston one day after training.

The knight nods. “I crossed paths with Quentyn, he’s the oldest. She used to come to watch us train.”

“What was she like?” Aemond carefully wonders.

Ser Criston ponders for a minute, polishing his sword. “She was a quiet little girl, kept to herself. A lot of boys were always chasing after her, and she paid them all no mind,” he smiles at the memory. “But I remember one of them who was... particularly pesky. His charms didn’t work on her so he got offended, rude, followed her around. She tolerated him for over a month. One morning, he was hassling her in the training yard, and she just took a spear laying nearby — and smacked him with no warning,” he shakes his head but it’s apparent that he isn’t judging. “She didn’t use the pointy end but she got him good. And then she told him that next time he would think twice about his actions. She was impressive for a ten-year-old,” he muses and puts the sword away, then turns to Aemond, giving him a wistful stare. “Frankly, I think that you will like her.”

He does, for just a second, as his mind rushes to paint the image of a fearless little girl; and then he mercilessly wipes that image off. Maybe in other circumstances, he could’ve found amusement in that story, but Aemond only huffs and thinks back to the list of all her traits he prematurely made up. He adds “rebellious” to that list, and his self-doubt is a venom that clouds his judgment. He’s in no rush to find a cure.

>>> Their ship arrives a few hours earlier than planned — and after the dock watchers break the news, the bustle begins. Maids, servants, guards all run and faff about the castle, the dining hall gets filled with smells and noises, plates and dishes clanking.

Aemond is not excited in the slightest.

He dresses up reluctantly, each piece of clothes only dampening his mood that’s been already sour for the past two weeks. He all but drags his feet into the dining hall and by the time he reaches it, he looks so grim that one may think the prince’s preparing for his death, no less.

The minutes fly too quickly for his liking — they barely have time to sit, his mother nervously toying with the tablecloth already, and then the guards rush to announce the guests. Surprisingly, she’s not among them. The prince thinks he should be relieved; deep down, there is a splash of worry fizzling in him.

Her brothers walk in calmly in a cloud of servants bearing gifts. Their kinship is immediately clear — both tall, broad-shouldered, and dark-haired, self-confidence subsisting in their every step. The oldest is distinguished by a touch of gray in his short beard, his gaze more focused, a slight smile plastered on his face. The other one shamelessly stares at every maid his eyes can catch.

“Your grace, it is a pleasure to finally meet you,” Quentyn reaches their table first, and Alicent walks down to greet them. He keeps his distance and his smile, his tone is measured. “We were so sad to learn that the King has fallen sick. But I can tell the Kingdom is in great hands. And —”

“Women’s hands do have a healing touch,” Oberyn smoothly interrupts, his accent a bit thicker, his voice honeyed. “I will prefer a Queen over a King at any given day. Unless, of course, your husband can compete with you in beauty... I somehow doubt that.”

A shade of disapproval grazes Quentyn’s face but Alicent is too amazed to notice. The compliment may come off as blunt but she still takes it well, her smile embarrassed yet sincere.

“I hope you will enjoy your stay,” she tells them humbly, then looks over the crowd. “But may I ask where is the lady we’ve been waiting for?”

“She made a stop on our way to catch up with an old friend,” Quentyn answers, ready to explain, “It’s been years since we’ve met Ser —”

“Still can’t believe he is the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard,” Oberyn chuckles. “I think it’s all the armor that makes it look like he poses a threat. But you may reconsider if you see him in the nude.”

This time, the older brother glares at him with warning, and there’s a lull in their conversation, while Aemond’s struggling to hear what made his mother’s cheeks so red, his mind nervously preoccupied with someone else —

her laughter enters first.

It’s bright and joyful, a sound so lovely it might be enough to crack up his restraint. But then he spots her, and it feels like his whole body flares up at the sight.

She’s walking with her hand under Ser Criston’s arm, and Aemond’s never seen a dress that covers so much but hides so little. It’s muted orange, floor-length, made of sumptuous silk, with two long slits along the sides, curves of her thighs beguilingly seen through. Her neck and arms aren’t covered, and the material is intricately stitched around her waist to show a few more glimpses of her sun-kissed skin. The waves of her long hair fall on her shoulders and frame her face, each feature of it striking but her lips stand out the most — full, plump, and reddish. Not once before Aemond found the thought of being kissed so tempting.

She doesn’t even turn her head to look at him. She’s talking to Ser Criston quietly, and he’s engaged in conversation, unusually relaxed. Their difference in age is obvious, and the knight seems like just another relative of hers, but an uneasy feeling still leaves a bite on Aemond’s chest. He can’t imagine her so carefree — so beaming and compliant — by his side. His jealousy tastes bitter like a stale wine.

He hears his brother let out a short laugh. “It’s not like they were fucking,” Aegon carelessly notes. “Please ease your outrage before she runs away.”

“I don’t remember asking for advice,” Aemond snarls.

“You do look like you need it,” the blond comments, then goes back to drinking.

She gracefully approaches them, her voice melodic like a murmur of a river. “Forgive me, your grace, for being late, I haven’t seen Ser Criston in some time,” she tells his mother. “He was once a dear friend of mine.”

“I only helped to shush away a few of your admirers,” the knight cackles, earning a smile from her.

“I hope you are making use of all his talents,” she says to the Queen, making her face flush right away.

She delicately moves on to another topic. “It is a pleasure to have you here, you must be tired from taking such a long trip.”

“We found it quite enjoyable,” Quentyn remarks politely. “The beautiful sights along the way are worth the journey, and your city has some great views too.”

“Can’t say I’ve heard great things about your food,” Oberyn grins. “Hence why we took the liberty to bring some of our own,” he signals to the nearest servant, who runs to open one of the trunks they carried. “The dornish fruits are also my sister’s weak spot.”

“As if you don’t gorge yourself on them!” she jests, letting go of Ser Criston’s arm at last. “My brother is a glutton, your grace, please excuse his manners in advance.”

“You can call me Alicent,” his mother corrects her warmly. “Only seems fair to continue this discussion at the table,” she slightly moves away to let the girl go first.

Aemond unintentionally stiffens and only when he stands up from his chair to greet her, she finally does look at him. In contrast to her countenance, her gaze is dark and piercing, and the prince is staggered by how unreadable it is. Her brothers glance at Aemond briefly — Quentyn is pensive, while Oberyn looks like he wants to bite his head off; neither says a word.

She’s seated to his right, and she leaves behind a trail of scent — apples and plums, and he can’t help but catch the movement of her hips under the flowing dress. The words all mash and fall apart, and he can’t pick a single one to strike up a conversation.

Aegon is sitting next to her, and his patience only lasts a minute. “Never knew Ser Criston was such a ladies' man.”

“I’m sure he succeeded on that front but we are merely good friends,” she answers calmly, keeping her eyes on servants bringing fruits — blood oranges and pomegranates, robust grapes, and ripened cherries.

“You two seemed more than friendly,” Aegon presses, his tone evidently taunting.

She picks a golden apricot and runs her thumb over its fragrant surface. “Maybe it’s the wine that makes you see things,” she rebuts and takes a bite out of the fruit, a drop of juice risking to escape her mouth but she wipes it swiftly with her finger. She catches Aemond looking, and his cheeks heat up.

“We’ve never seen him in the company of a woman,” the older prince points out, filling up his cup once more.

She takes out the kernel and eats up the fruit, her mouth glistens. “Aren’t the knights of the Kingsguard forbidden to marry?”

“Never stopped them from bedding whoever they like,” Aegon remarks crudely, and Aemond is thankful that their mother is too preoccupied with Oberyn’s tireless chatting.

“Maybe some men have the decency to follow orders,” she responds, unbothered, taking a cherry and clasping it with her lips. Aegon doesn’t seem to notice and only gulps the wine and rolls his eyes. Aemond can’t look away.

“Aren’t you Martells known for not following the rules? I thought unruly was in your house’s motto,” Aegon argues, a corner of his mouth curled in a smirk.

She takes another cherry, the third in a row, her lips already stained with juice. “I think you keep getting your facts wrong,” she brushes him off, and Aegon goes to object some more but spills the wine right on his shirt. The displeased cry brings Aemond out of his trance.

“He tends to do that when he’s drunk,” the one-eyed prince coolly interjects.

Her eyes flicker to him, then she fully turns her head. “So you can actually talk,” her teasing comes off soft but her gaze still burns. “It’s good to know.”

“You seemed preoccupied with someone else,” he musters an excuse.

“Do you expect your wife to never speak to other men?” her voice almost betrays her disenchantment.

“No,” Aemond quickly answers, caught unawares by how strained his thinking process is. “She— you are free to choose your friends, of course.”

“I’m flattered,” her tone suggesting otherwise, “Not that I would ask for anyone’s approval,” she reaches for a plum; he closes his eye with a sigh.

Aegon comes to stand in between them on the pretext of needing another carafe of wine: “I didn’t mean to interrupt your friendly bickering, please continue.”

“It seems like Aemond isn’t in the mood for talking,” she doesn’t look at him, the tip of her tongue darting to lick her finger. “And I am never in the mood for begging.”

“My brother’s hospitality leaves much to be desired,” Aegon takes a sip. “So I regret the disappointment you are soon to suffer,” his hand falls on her chair. “But if you ever wish to be... well satisfied, all you have to do is ask me”.

It’s hard to tell if Aegon’s actually that drunk or merely provoking (or if he’s got a death wish, Aemond wonders).

She replies without much thought. “Well, if I ever find myself in need of...,” she trails off with a smile but her gaze gets harsh — her words then follow, “My choice won’t fall on you,” the smirk falls off Aegon’s face, and she glances straight at Aemond, adding, “I like them taller.”

But her straightforwardness is met with his resistance, with the deep-rooted unacceptance of his lurking needs. He adds “indecent” to the list, and they speak no more.

>>> Her boldness doesn’t pose a problem to anyone but him. To his surprise (or more so to his shock), his mother gives in first.

The morning can’t come fast enough for Aemond after he spends the night tossing and turning. A few hours later he rushes to the garden for a walk, overwhelmed by restlessness his training didn’t help him cope with. That’s when he sees it — a spot of yellow shining through the trees. He somehow knows it’s her without further confirmation but still, his feet carry him on.

Her dress is vivid like a field of marigolds, her hair plaited, wrists adorned with golden bracelets. He slackens pace and peers into her — and he wants nothing more than to drink her up, her whole appearance is the sweetest nectar... Until he hears another sound and realizes she is not alone, and it’s his mother sitting by her side, wrapped in her favorite green and, unexpectedly, in glee. He can’t remember when he saw her laugh like this — out loud, giggling, tears at the corners of her eyes are not from sadness but from joy.

“My dear, that is so improper! Did he apologize at least?” Alicent inquires with a smile.

“Oberyn rarely does,” she tells her serenely. “His lover looked way more ashamed. I hope each of your rooms has locks, gods know I don’t want to walk in on him again.”

Unlike his mother who is covered by the shade of trees, she’s bathing in the sun, the soft light caressing her skin, and Aemond’s eye greedily follows every ray. In barely a minute he feels warm all over.

“I hope that Aemond’s chambers got locks too,” she adds all of a sudden, a bit louder, and his chest is splashed with cold.

His eye moves to her face, and she’s already looking at him, direct and daring. He knows he’s hidden by the trees but there’s no hiding from her gaze.

Aemond turns away and steps back in haste, his abashment mixed with grievance at her implication. He believes someone like her would never lust for him, and her jokes at his expense not only hurt but prompt his resentment to grow stronger. He adds “deceptive” to the portrait of her he is so adamantly set on painting.

>>> She wins Helaena’s heart with ease. His sister fondly compliments her brooch — a little poppy made out of gold — and she gifts it to Helaena the same day. The silver-haired princess grabs at chance to show her own collection, and they spend the day looking through the jewels spread over the floor, sitting right there and equally amused.

And that’s how Aemond finds them. He only planned to see his nephews but hearing her voice coming from Helaena’s chambers makes him slow his step.

“... And this one he gave me for my latest name day,” Helaena babbles cheerfully.

“Aemond clearly spoils you,” she laughs without a shade of envy. “As he should!”

“He is very kind at heart,” Helaena eagerly assures her. “You will be happy with him, I am certain of it.”

There is a pause that makes him feel uneasy, makes him sneak up closer to the room.

“I do believe he’s not an evil man,” she finally says, “Maybe he just wasn’t made for marriage.”

Surely she can’t see him through the door but he can swear that he feels her gaze, like a silent challenge, a hidden mocking. He barges in without a knock.

Helaena beams. “We were just talking about you!”

His sister’s dress is milky blue, modestly pretty, and loosely fitted. It’s also treacherously pale compared to the liquid gold the Martell girl is dressed in. She’s sitting with her feet under her thighs, the bending of her back is bare and in plain sight. He should’ve walked away the second he heard the sound of her voice because not looking at her seems impossible.

“Oh, you came to see the twins? They are with Aegon but I can call— No, I will bring them back myself,” Helaena springs to her feet, rosy-cheeked and smiley, and leaves the room before Aemond can protest. And then it’s just the two of them.

He takes a breath and makes an effort, with his jaw tense and his blood rising, to drag his eye away from her. It feels as pointless as ignoring sunlight in an open field on a summer day. Only her beauty is more brazen — and so is her wit.

“I take it, gold isn’t your favorite color,” she speaks up with an impish tone. “Would be a bad idea to wear it on our wedding then.”

She never comes too close, always just a little out of reach, and yet he feels as if her presence grips him, weakening his will. He doesn’t want to be with her until he is — and then he has no wish to leave.

It scares Aemond as much as it spikes his anger.

“Why did you agree to come?” he bristles.

“You are not asking about your sister’s chambers, are you?” she clarifies, and he hears her smiling.

He tells himself he only needs to cast a glance to check.

He does — he meets her gaze — her earrings catch the sunlight and cast a trail of glares — the scattering of specks play on her skin, her neck and collarbones, sneak to her upper chest — his own is heaving. His struggle only lasts a moment but it leaves him short of breath. He isn’t looking anymore, his eye trying to discern the pattern on the drapes behind her.

“Our marriage, how do you benefit from it?” he hates how hard it is to control his voice.

And how she watches him intently without giving him a clue of what’s on her mind.

“I plan on visiting my family a couple of times a year. It will be easier to do on dragon back,” she doesn’t sound spiteful when she says it but her words still sting.

He can’t stop an image flashing through his mind: her on top of Vhagar, lungs full of air, pressed to him. It’s tempting — to have her in his hands, and yet the vision is too intangible to cling to. Instead, he thinks that in just three days she learned to play him like a harp, his years' worth of self-control is merely a sand castle against the tide of her sharp tongue.

He only snickers dryly at her reply, then they both hear the sound of running footsteps. Jaehaera and Jaehaerys rush to greet him — but almost instantly abandon, the kids' attention drawn to the shining golden dress.

He thinks “unruly” suits her better than does “pompous”. He comes up with a fake excuse to leave; the image of her stays with him.

>>> He picks more adjectives as the week goes on — she’s audacious, disobedient, wanton. She moves around the castle as if she owns every room she’s in. She wears less, and even on rare occasions when she doesn’t, her defiance more than compensates for it. She never shies away from a deep neckline, nor does she feel the need to hold back her resounding laughs. Her jewelry clinks, each of her dresses is brighter than the other, but it’s her wicked mouth his eye always falls on first.

More times than not, Aemond can’t tear his gaze away, each meal for him now both a torture and a feast.

He watches as she parts her lips, puts them around a luscious grape, a cherry, or a peach, she swipes her tongue to lick up every running drop, savoring its tang — and keeps eye contact with him. He barely can taste the food he’s eating, and no wine can quench his thirst, his body flooding with a feeling he can’t define, his heart adrift.

He tries to fight it off with all our strength. He scratches off “unruly” to write down “unabashed” instead.

But then the dinner comes, and even though he’s never had a taste for sweets, he thinks he’d eat them from her lips (deep down, he wants to). The lies he tells himself are brittle like the flesh of fruits under her teeth.

>>> He comes to think “insufferable” fits her the best. That thought rings in his head while he is standing in the stable, his eye on anything but her. He was informed she wished to pick a horse, and he begrudgingly agreed to come, only to keep up the pretense.

What turns out to be much harder is for him to keep restraint. The dress she’s wearing might as well be a chemise — it’s just as light and white, and much to his discomfort, it also tirelessly risks hiking up to expose more of her legs.

Discomfort, mayhaps, isn’t the right word for it.

He stays out of her way but, unsurprisingly, he ends up looking — at how she walks, spring in her step, swinging her hips. She gives each horse a piece of apple and feeds them by hand, strokes their muzzles, and then she mounts and rides them, one by one. She grabs the reins, her foot easily finds the stirrup, and as she swings her leg over the saddle, her dress slips up, showing a few inches of her skin.

He swallows thickly, glances more intently — over her dainty ankles, bending of her knees, he notes how smooth her skin is, soaking up the sun. Her dress then billows slightly, and his eye glides higher, hungry, follows up the contour of her thighs that bounce a little as the horse gallops.

He feels it blooming — a sensation with no name that travels from the lower chest down to his very navel, then spreads and tightens all that’s underneath.

He is so deep in his enthrallment, he doesn’t hear the steps approaching until there’s someone standing next to him. Quentyn stays silent for a minute, throwing him a sideways glance.

“My sister’s always been terribly picky,” the man says out of the blue, “And usually it’s hard to meet all of her demands,” — it doesn’t seem like it’s the horses he is talking of. The vagueness of it makes Aemond focus as he takes his eye off her but Quentyn doesn’t elaborate, giving him a smile instead. “I do admit, your patience is commendable. Some other man would’ve already interfered just to wrap the process up.”

“I was under the impression she doesn’t need anyone’s help,” Aemond replies evasively.

“You guessed it right,” Quentyn titters, his tone veiled with the same unclear meaning when he adds, “The only thing left for us all is to accept it,” and with that, he goes to join his sister.

When Aemond — tamely, almost yielding — takes a peek at her, his gaze collides with Oberyn’s who clearly watched them talk. Unlike his older brother, he prefers to stay away, but the mischief in him pairs really well with danger. He grants Aemond a nod, switching attention back to her, his threats unspoken for the meantime.

For just a second, it gives Aemond pause as he finds it odd that no one brings up their wedding, and no announcements have been made ever since she came. He doesn’t mull over it for long because her laughter interrupts his thoughts (or maybe he just yearns for any chance to look at her). She rides around the yard, her hair floating in the wind, a little breathless but breathtaking, her lips enticing and her curves making his throat dry.

He tries to ground himself, to look for explanations, for some reprieve from the entrancing spell he’s under — he’s never been so close to losing reason —

out of the corner of his eye, he sees a couple of guards dropping their gaze in poor attempts to stop themselves from gawking; it reins his passion, bringing back his jealousy instead. He’s way too used to seeing himself unworthy to even entertain the thought of having her, and his denial prickles. He wants to burn his feelings out, and anger helps with that — it breaks out and engulfs him fast, hardening both his heart and gaze.

“Quentyn is the friendliest of the two, and you couldn’t hold a conversation?” Aegon appears out of nowhere, seemingly displeased despite the bottle in his hand. “Must you always be so gruff? I stayed behind in hopes you’d make it work!” he waves at Oberyn then glares at Aemond, waiting for a reply. “Are you pretending to be deaf or...?”

“Must she test my patience?” Aemond mutters, his tone not jealous but exasperated, his eye boring into her, “Putting herself out like that for all the men to see.”

Aegon being speechless is a rare sight. He cannot fathom it at first, looking from Aemond back to her, confusion sobering him up. And then he grins, realization creeping up on him; there are some things he’s always quick to notice.

“It’s funny that you say that,” he leans in to tell him and catches Aemond’s gaze, “Since it’s just you who’s staring,” Aegon pats him on the back and leaves to greet her brothers.

Aemond tries to choke it down — his irritation and his shame combined, but it’s too much for him to handle, his head and heart clearly in conflict. He doesn’t wait for her to make a choice, retiring without sparing her a glance (a fear nibs at him that if he looks at her once more, he will stay rooted to the ground).

He doesn’t leave his chambers for the remainder of the day, dining all alone and fuming all the same. He’s usually good at curbing his emotions but he is having trouble understanding them, wanting nothing more than to erase all memories of her. But even in his solitude, he catches himself thinking — about her cunning smile and swaying hips, her eyes on him, his hands wanting to roam and touch and —

Aemond shoves unwanted thoughts away and goes to bed earlier than usual. He remains steadfast in his resolve to find some peace, he makes a conscious effort to shift his focus to all the boring, random things his mind can come up with until he is too tired to care.

But then he falls asleep, and his subconscious welcomes her. He sees her right before his eye in that obscenely short white dress, there are no people in the yard, her tantalizing moves all meant for him. She hops off her black horse and walks to him without a single word — anticipation makes him drop his guard and hold his breath — and then he feels her lips on his, her body pressing into him, his hunger for her ruining his self-control, the kiss is searing, suffocating, driving him insane, his fingers pulling up her dress —

he wakes up painfully aroused.

He lays in bed, his heartbeat rushing, his breathing ragged, and vision blurred. While he’s still grasping for the remnants of his dream, he sneaks his hand into his breeches, wishing he could rip her dress off and sheath himself inside her, spread her on his bed, and drink every salacious sound she makes... It only takes him a few strokes to spill over his fingers; he can’t remember if he’s ever reached his peak so fast.

And only then, as he comes down from his high, it hits him, like lightning in the dark — in spite of her remarks, her audacity, her dresses, and every cruel adjective he’s found for her, he’s never wanted anyone so badly. Aemond sits up abruptly, his sleep gone, giving way to stubbornness that comes hand in hand with reticence. He persuades himself that he’ll suppress this — the spark, the pleasure that he craves, and he won’t be a slave to his desires.

He’ll rid himself of feelings, of this lust. Inevitably it will wane.

>>> It doesn’t.

Desire is a guest that never leaves, unwanted but demanding space, attention, time. It slips into his thoughts the moment he wakes up, it whispers in his ears, never giving up, it’s layered in between his clothes and his skin. He hides it well from everyone; it lodges deeper into him.

Desire is a cherry in her mouth, each fruit she bites in, savors, drinks the juice from. He doesn’t want to watch — he can’t take his eye off her, caught in his fervor like in undertow, the flavor of her lips the only one he truly yearns for.

Desire bruises more than does a hit, cuts deeper than a blade, and there’s no weapon he can fight it off with. His training brings him no relief, and he can’t sweat it out or wash it off him, and even while he soaking in a bath, it feels like longing only rises back with steam.

Desire waits for him at night, stands by his bed, slides right under the covers with him. He dreams of her, and in those dreams, her body sings under his every touch, trembles from his praise, his hands and mouth paint her with marks and kisses. He wakes up with his chest aflame and out of breath, and then it takes all of his willpower not to crawl to her.

It staggering how much he really wants her, and he hates himself for it.

>>> It’s been three weeks and they have barely shared a word. He does his best to cut down their encounters and avoid her, he doesn’t argue and takes no offense, he hopes that if he pulls back just enough she will give up and let him be.

Aemond spends his evenings in the study, his table piled with books, and for a couple of hours, it does help to take his mind off things. The night already steals in while he’s searching through the shelves for scrolls, too caught up in the process to pick up the creaking of his door.

Her gaze nearly scalds him. He only looks up out of surprise — and then he freezes at the spot, his heart a stone that plummets to his stomach.

Out of everything she’s worn, this dress might be the one to bring him to his knees — the cutting out the front so low, his eye falls in the hollow between her breasts; he envies fervently the golden chain that rests there. He takes in her whole body, bare arms, and flaunting forms, all clad in deep dark green. He’s never seen her pick that color (and he can’t help but think she put it on for him).

He’s brought back from his stupor when their eyes meet — and startled by the determination in her gaze.

“Ser Criston told me that you missed your training,” she stately starts walking toward him, “Quite a few times this week.”

“I found myself preoccupied with other things,” he clears his throat and clasps his hands behind his back, the scrolls forgotten.

“With reading, I assume?” she almost sounds aggrieved (he wants to ask what else she’d rather have him do) but then her tone gets jaunty. “Would you mind if I join?”

“Actually, I would,” Aemond takes his eye off her, his coldness feigned. “I’d like to avoid distractions.”

And more than anything, he would like for her to leave; she’s not the one to give up so easily. “Maybe we can learn some things together?” she nonchalantly insists, and that ambiguity — deliberate or not — leaves his face suffused with pink.

“I highly doubt you take interest in the things I study,” he manages, his crudeness biting his own tongue.

She only sneers, already nearing his table. “You surely rush to judgment.”

“And I am never wrong.” (Although he’s been wrong once before.)

“That’s very humble of you.” (And she’s tenacious with her intent to prove him wrong again.)

“I am surprised you know that word,” he replies too hastily — and instantly regrets his outburst.

And his attempts to get away from her could’ve been valiant, but only left him feeling like a coward.

She’s got enough courage to spare. “Oh, my apologies, did I strike a nerve?” her hip grazes a stack of books. “You sound so displeased with my behavior,” she puts her hands right on his table, her cleavage in full view.

“You interrupted my studies,” he’s looking only at her face.

“Just this one time,” she clears up, her sly smile is a dare, “Sounds like you have quite a few complaints.”

Damned be her dress and the day he laid his eye on her. “It’s clear as day that we have nothing in common,” he hisses, her persistence molding his anger. “From your bawdy humor to your reckless behavior and your...,” he struggles to push the word through his mouth, “vulgar dresses — everything suggests that we will never make a good couple.”

He catches a gleam in her gaze but it’s not threatening nor hurt — and when the corners of her mouth curl up, her face expression actually looks amused. “I didn’t realize my presence tormented you that much,” she crosses arms over her chest, her hands under her breasts; he looks away that very instant. “So will it please you if I take my vulgar dresses and go back home and leave you be?”

He wants to say it will — he’s thought of it for days — but now he isn’t sure. The dreams he has of her will hardly be enough as every image he collected has got nothing on the real form.

“Is there anything that does?” she asks him suddenly and takes a step in his direction, and then another one.

Belatedly, he realizes that he’s backed against the wall. The air in the room heats up, and Aemond moves back to his table, fingers holding to its edge to find some balance. “...Does what?”

“Please you,” she swiftly clarifies, now standing at arm’s length.

“That isn’t any of your concern,” he wants to glance away and yet, his eye is drawn to her.

“I am inclined to disagree,” her lips stretch into a smile. “Shouldn’t a wife know how to make her husband feel good?”

“We are not married yet,” he tries to argue weakly.

“I’d like to learn beforehand,” but her assertiveness works quicker than his doubts.

The time is still, and seconds drag like hours. His heart leaps at the thought of being all alone with her, his concentration crumbling, his self-restraint already hanging by a thread.

“The way you look at me suggests you aren’t averse to the idea,” she tells him in a low voice, her eyes two glowing embers. Aemond gulps, she deftly rounds the table. “You act so cold and so collected,” she muses, coming closer, and he helplessly steps back. “But I am yet to meet a man who would deny himself the pleasure of laying with a woman,” her voice is warm and warming; his legs bump into the chair, prompting him to sit.

He hesitates for barely a moment but his quick reaction fails him because the next thing he knows, she’s standing next to him, her golden chain casting a blinding glint — he blinks — and then she’s straddling him, her thighs on either side of his.

Aemond’s mouth falls slack as he becomes aware: to lift her he will have to touch her. He glances down at her legs that sneaked out through the long slits of her dress, all bare to the very hips before him.

“I wonder if you are too spoiled by the attention of the ladies? Mayhaps you’ve got so satiated, the intimacy doesn’t bring you any joy,” she runs her fingers up his chest.

He only finds it in himself to shake his head. She isn’t satisfied with that reaction. “Or do you simply find it boring and have a taste for something else?”

Objection bubbles in his throat but he gets no chance to voice it — he barely registers a clinking sound before he feels cold steel pressed under his chin, her fingers wrapped around the hilt of his own dagger. He meant to leave it at the training yard but it completely slipped his mind.

“Does this work better? I’ve heard that you Targaryens have peculiar tastes,” her other hand lands on his shoulder, his chest is stirring with emotions he can’t read.

“That’s not— No,” he mumbles, his voice raw, the weight and feeling of her body overwhelming.

She cocks her brow at him in disbelief. “No? So it’s just plain old satiation then?” she makes no attempt to press the blade but her questions do get pushy. “Must be so hard when women throw themselves at you ever since you were... What was it, ten? Twelve years of age?”

He would expect her to sound teasing — instead, he hears disappointment. That’s the reaction he is used to getting.

“My brother took me to a pleasure house when I was ten-and-three. He said it’s time to get it wet,” he forces out, “And it was...,” awful and humiliating, something he wishes to forget, “...Not what you are describing.”

Her face expression changes — first surprised, then splashed with sadness, and her every feature softens. Aemond sees her opening her mouth to speak but he averts his gaze, abasement scrabbling at him. His eye falls closed, and he keeps thinking that now she will get up and leave, and there won’t be any wedding, and he’s got no reason to get so overly upset already, and —

she sheathes his dagger without a word, the unexpected movement making him breathe out.

And then she dips her head down, and her lips fall on his jaw. Aemond inhales sharply. Her mouth feels softer than it was in all his dreams, and she plants kisses down his throat, moving to the part of it the blade was pressed to. He doesn’t know where to put his hands while hers lock nimbly around his neck.

She pulls back slowly, and he dares to look at her again, trying to catch the merest shadow of pretense but there is none.

“I am truly sorry that you had to go through that,” she tells him quietly. “Have you tried some more since then?”

“I did,” his answer comes off hurried, blank, “I... I am aware of how the act is done.”

“How the act is done? Aemond, that doesn’t sound enjoyable at all,” she pouts, then gently caresses his face, her voice a tender whisper when she adds, “But it should be.”

He stiffens, waiting for the discomfort to wake up, for the aversion to coil his guts, to trigger the jarring need to move away. None of that happens. Instead, he feels her fingers running through his hair, a calming motion bringing only comfort, her every touch relieving tightness in his chest.

“You seem too tense... We have to work on that,” she joyfully murmurs. “Unless, of course, my worry causes you distress,” her fingers stop, “Do you want me to leave, my prince?”

“No,” he rasps, he almost pleads, “D-don’t.”

She hums with satisfaction, bringing her hands down to unclasp his leather doublet, knowing she won’t meet any resistance. He should resent her for this but he doesn’t (he didn’t and he won’t). The air lays cold over his shirt, and Aemond shivers; she moves her fingers down his firm chest with an unspoken admiration.

“Tell me how it usually goes,” she inquires, one of her hands finding its way back to his silver locks. “Do you find pleasure in undressing them?”

Her warmth envelopes him, scented with cinnamon and peaches. “They come without much clothes,” Aemond blurts out, earning another hum from her.

“And what about you?” she glances curiously at him.

“I don’t... I don’t like them touching me,” he timidly avows, and saying it to her does bring somewhat of a relief.

With both of her hands, she cradles his face, thumbs gently contouring his cheeks — he all but melts into her palms. “And yet you are so responsive to the touch,” her voice praises, “So pretty.”

She leans in again, leaving a kiss at the hollow of his throat — and then her mouth travels up, ardent and steady, and he squirms in place. Not out of discomfort.

“You are not supposed to rush it if you want it to feel good,” she whispers in his ear and moves back to catch his gaze. “You never rush into fighting so why love making should be any different?”

Astonishment brightens his face, and she chuckles lightly. “I must confess, I did enjoy watching you train, even though you never noticed. The way you move and twirl your sword,” she’s recollecting breathy, “You are so lithe and fast and so resistant... An infatuating sight.”

She holds his gaze and lifts her hand — he follows it, unblinking, until it finds one of the straps — she hooks it with her fingers. “Fairly soon it made me wonder how would your hands feel... on me,” his heart jolts at her words.

Slowly, she moves the strap aside, baring her breast for him; Aemond’s breathing hitches. She takes his hand in hers, planting a kiss over his knuckles — and then lets his fingers graze her naked skin.

“It was so cruel of you to rob me of my pleasure,” she laments, but he can barely hear a thing, his eye wide as he fixes on the soft swell of her breast, on how her nipple peaks so eagerly under his touch.

She guides his hand over her chest, down to her ribs and waist, letting him brush her every curve, placing his fingers firmly on her hip. And then she reaches for his other hand and lowers the other strap; his body trembles. The layers of his reticence are all peeled at once, leaving his desire raw and undisguised, unshackled. He’s drawn to fondle, clutch at her plump breasts but her grip is tight and taunting, not letting his fingers roam free.

Still, when both his hands sink into her hips, he realizes that he’s getting harder by the second.

It doesn’t go unnoticed by her. With a controlled, torturously slow move she drags her clothed core over his straining cock. His mouth stays closed but there’s a sound — a muffled moan caught in his throat.

“Doesn’t this feel good?” she teases, lightly tugging on his hair, her lips reaching the column of his neck. “With how much you read, I hoped you’d be more generous with words,” each of her kisses weightless like a drop of rain but then her mouth finds a spot below his ear and suckles at it, pulling a whimper from his chest.

He thinks he should... his mind goes blank after another movement of her hips, and she picks up the pace, merciless and sensuous. He tries biting down his moans but only hurts his mouth. She notices, her rapt eyes on him, and puts her finger on his lower lip:

“Please, don’t be shy with me,” she coos, her gentle touch soothing his bitten flesh, “Our desires coincide,” she earnestly affirms him — and the spark erupts and drags him into pure bliss.

He feels that his arousal leaks, his breeches way too tight to hide it, his fingers dig into her supple skin, but she gives no complaints. He watches breathlessly through his hooded eyelid as she grinds against him, then looks over her bouncing breasts, her nipples pebbled, and the pressure curls somewhere down his spine. She peppers him with kisses — the angles of his face, neck, everything that she can reach, except for his desirous mouth. And yet the softness of her lips and hands, her skin that’s draped with the redolent scent, the rhythm of her hips all bring him closer to the edge.

Her forehead is pressed to his, their lips an inch away but never fully touching. “Let go for me,” she says against his mouth, “My handsome, fierce dragon.”

That does it for him. He harshly presses her to him, then shudders with a strangled moan and comes undone, his eye squeezed shut as her name quivers in his mouth. The pleasure whirls him in and leaves him drained and stunned, a little bit light-headed.

It takes Aemond a minute to recover before he finds her gaze again — and in another minute he discerns her shallow breaths, her parted lips, brows slightly furrowed. He wants to ask her if she reached her peak, if he can help her with it —

but she pulls back.

She stands up and only briefly grabs his shoulder, steadying herself, then promptly puts the straps back on, fixing her dress. He wants to lend a hand but she moves it away, leaning in to lightly caress his face. “No, you don’t get to have me yet. I want you to admit it first, to say that you want me,” her words are laced with dignity but cooling to his mind.

She steps back, cruelly fast, the only consolation is her naughty tone. “Until then, I have to satisfy myself some other way. But I will think of you while doing it, my dear prince,” she promises, a ghost of a smile on her lips, and then walks out without looking back.

The silence feels unwelcome in the room and hangs over the ceiling like a cloud, but Aemond he is too dazed to move, spent and perplexed to wrap his head around it.

Desire, it seems, has come to stay.

But it’s not the only thing he’s feeling.

✧... YES, there will be a second part, it’s already in the works! ✧ and yes, I didn’t bother to rename Pedro’s character 'cause I adore Oberyn sue me

✧ just to clarify, I usually age Aemond up to 20 (or however old Ewan looks to you ;) ✧ I got inspired after watching the video for ROSALÍA’s “La Fama” (give it a watch, she is soooo 🥵) but I only found it because of this gorgeous gifset so shout-out to OP for giving me inspiration

✧ my recent fic (couples who kill together, stay together 🔥) ✧ my masterlist

thank you @amiraisgoingthruit for letting me tag you in every silly story of mine, hope you’ll like this one (if anyone else wants to be tagged, don’t be shy)

English is not my first language, so feel free to message me if you spot any major mistakes. reblogs and comments are very much appreciated!

[catsgut]

Torturous//bully!weasley twins x afab!reader

CW: mentions past bullying, reader is a hufflepuff and goes through puberty summer before 7th year. Later on, this story will contain dark content such as nonconsensual sex, abuse, and manipulation. Read at your own risk!

word count: 1k

Never in your life did you think you would turn into the young woman you were today. Sure, you weren’t as beautiful as your mother (although she would say differently), but you were impressed with how you filled out the summer before your last year at Hogwarts. It wasn’t unknown that you were a late bloomer, but better late than never, right?

Maybe you would even find yourself a boyfriend, you thought as you finished packing your suitcase. It was the night before you left home for school. You never got over the excitement of getting to finally see your friends again and your favorite professors.

With a squeal, you rolled into bed and coved the majority of your face. Staring up at your ceiling, a feeling of dread washed over you. The twins. How could you forget? The thought of your peaceful summer coming to an end made you sigh. They were your worst nightmare. That’s the one thing you were worried about and it was enough to even make you reconsider going this year. But alas, it was your last year. Just one more and you would be free from the tortures they put you through… forever.

You giggled softly as one of your friends pointed as Charlie, a cute boy in your house passed by your cart. He smiled at you and continued to make his way down the train. “You look good!” she said, wiggling her eyebrows. “I see your chest finally grew in,” her comment made you blush as you rolled your eyes. “Not as much as moms…. but I’m glad I finally look a little more my age,” you agreed, thoughts drifting back to Charlie. Maybe he would notice? You hoped.. he might even think you were cute and ask you on a date! I mean, you were both Hufflepuffs. The thought was enough to boost your confidence a little. A date with the cutest boy in your house, a girl could dream!

Your day dream was cut short by a hand snapping in front of your dazed face. “Wake up, love,” the deep voice spoke in your ear. You turned your head in horror to see the red head smirk. “Pleasure seeing you again, ay?” Fred teased and you scooted back towards the window. “Go away,” was all you managed to squeak out before he laughed. Winking at you, he followed his brother down the aisle. You grimaced.

“You have got to stand up for yourself this year! It’s bad enough you let them torment you, but this year will be different. You can’t let the bullying happen anymore, y/n….” but you weren’t listening to her, only thinking about how uncomfortable you felt with his face next to your head. It wasn't the first time Fred had gotten in your face, usually to spew nasty words at you, but it was the first time you felt a burn in your lower stomach. You weren’t sure what it was, maybe how much taller and muscular he was now or the fact that he finally got a much needed haircut, but the feeling slowly pooled up inside your underwear. “This year will be different for sure,” you mumbled as the train's horn shot through the air.

Later that night as you ate dinner after the sorting hat ceremony, your eyes drifted back over to where Fred and George were sitting. The both of them were laughing with some sixth-year Gryffindor; she was twirling her hair and giggling in between them. You almost felt jealous of her, but chalked it up to you never really catching the eye of any boy your age. Actually, the twins were the only ones who ever gave you any kind of attention. 'Just the shitty kind,' you grumbled to yourself. Deciding it would be smart to have an early night, so you left the Hufflepuff table and made your way to your common room.

The empty walls were cold and the air almost felt damp from the pouring rain outside. You shivered and hugged your arms around your freezing body, feeling the goosebumps littering your arms. It almost hurt; it felt like your body was in fight or flight by the way your heart was racing. You were actuall starting to get nervous as the feeli-

"Hello there,' a voice said in your left ear, making you quickly turn your head. Nothing. "Over here," it said again to your right. There they stood leaning against each other. "i'll say, y/n... you've grown," George chuckled and made a point to look at your chest. Fred snickered and walked forward taking a handful of your hair. "We missed you, love," he said using the nickname he's always called you. You rolled your eyes, "I'm sure you did, Fred, but now isn't the time." you tried to sound unintimidated, but you were sure they saw right past that.

Your hand came up to grab Fred's wrist, but George caught it before you could. "Watch yourself, we just wanted to say hello," he spoke sternly with amusement in his eyes. Fred tugged your hair a bit to the side before letting go. "George and I were bored all summer without little y/n to keep us company. I'm excited for all the fun the three of us will be having... especially now that you've finally grown into a young woman," he winked and the two of them made their way towards their common room, leaving you sweating despite the air's temperature.

Laying in bed that night you wondered what the twins had meant. Sure they messed with you every year, but something about their tone scared you even more than usual. What had you going through puberty have anything to do with it. You had a feeling they had something sinister planned, and with a gulp you rolled over and tucked the blanket up over your head. 'This year will be different. This year will be different,' you chanted over and over till you fell asleep while down in the Gryffindor common rooms, the twins smiled knowingly at each other. They finally had their toy back in their grasp, only they were going to end this year with a bang.

Thank you for reading! I'm excited to continue this story!! i’m having fun with it:)

[justawritterwithideas]

Boy Wonder and the Rockstar | s.r

✩ next part ✩

summary: Spencer and Y/N meet in college after a book search, creating a friendship where opposites attract. But Spencer has to move across the country to pursue his happiness and completely loses contact with Y/N. What if fate decides it's time to meet after 15 years and with a crazy stalker in between? Spencer won't lose to fate again and will do anything in his power to protect Y/N.

warnings: mentions of death, alcohol, drugs, strong vocabulary, as well as talk of heartbreak, disappointment and arguments. It also contains content regarding CM season 13, so it clearly contains spoilers. this is a spencer reid x famous!reader story.

this will be a small series of chapters so here are the general precautions of the series, each chapter will have its own precautions. !!!

words: 3,909 words.

a/n: hey! here alme with a little series i've been planning for a couple of weeks now. as you may know, i've been talking about the spencer reid x famous!reader relationship but as hayley williams, so i decided to set myself the challenge and write a little series called "boy wonder and the rockstar", so i hope you like it. i haven't planned how many chapters it will have yet but i don't want to make it too long, and also patience with each chapter. so, I don't want to make it longer and I'll leave you the first chapter. thank you. ♡

𝟎.𝟏: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐲 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐮𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐠𝐫𝐮𝐦𝐩𝐲.

Spencer always lived under the stigma of being a child genius. His I.Q. was 187, he could read 20,000 words per minute and had an eidetic memory.

Everyone around him told him what to do, from his mother, to his "friends," to his teachers, to his neighbors.

"Hey Spencer, with that brain of yours you could make it in the government" "Spencer you could be part of NASA" "Spencer you could be a mathematical genius like Einstein!" "Spencer you're going to get into the CIA!"

"And where are you going to go to college? Because you know Harvard is already a lock for you" "I bet you'll go to YALE, that's where all the smart ones go" "Princeton is an excellent choice for you!" "MIT could open a lot of doors for you"

Spencer this, Spencer that.

But no one really thought about what Spencer wanted. Maybe he wanted to be a magician and make children happy with his tricks. Maybe he wanted to be a trapeze artist, or a fireman, or an astronaut, or just an ice cream man.

All these expectations of Spencer reached a point where he didn't even know what he wanted in life. He lived under the shadow of the expectations and visions people had placed on him, and he didn't want to let them down. He was just a kid, a kid scared of adult life who had to impose himself because others imposed it on him.

That's how his brain made him skip grades, have to enter high school at age 12, and have to suffer a lot of abuse from the grown-ups for just being a boy genius.

Spencer sometimes wished he could make his brain disappear and have a normal one. Then he could have normal friends, go to a normal school, have a relationship, experience the problems people his age have, and be able to feel the phases of adolescence like any other kid.

But things were not like that.

He had to live the life he had been dealt, with his genius brain and the damn adult problems at 13.

CalTech was a new life he had to accept, but it wasn't as bad as the one he had before. His mind was kept busy for a long period.

He was forced to grow up around books full of equations, chemical elements and mathematical problems, managing at 16 to get his first college degree, which was Mathematics, and the following year to get a PhD in it. But he did not dislike this.

But as they say it is never enough, he kept on studying until he was 21. Thanks to this, he became a doctor of two more degrees, Chemistry and Engineering, in addition to Psychology, Sociology and Criminology.

His social life at the university was not so hectic, in fact, he only stood out for the fact that he was a boy genius, and that was it. To other people, he was a person like any other.

Until one autumn day, in the middle of his 19 years and studying psychology, his paths were interrupted by crossing that of others, and that, probably, is the person who changed his life the last years of college.

It was an ordinary day in the university library. Spencer had been rereading an encyclopedia of human anatomy for two hours. Why you may wonder, well, it was his way of killing time during his free time.

Acquiring knowledge was the best way to keep his brain fed and occupied, according to the boy.

He had eaten his sandwich a couple of minutes ago and let his brain feed on information at that moment, trying to persuade his intrusive thoughts at that minute. Through the pages you could see the muscular system, focusing on the leg and foot areas.

To be honest, it looked quite interesting.

That day, leaves were beginning to fall from the trees, filling the ground with their autumn colors; there was a gentle cool breeze, a strong smell of wet dirt and people were crowded in the warmer areas of the campus. It was no surprise to anyone that the library was one of the most crowded areas, the vast majority of people were gathered around the tables as large college texts lay open on them.

Spencer was sure he had seen more than one student curse at the fact that they couldn't find what they were looking for, and then walk out of the room in exhaustion. It wasn't the first time someone had cursed his name because they found themselves reading the text they were looking for and, besides, they weren't able to approach and ask for it.

He could believe it was cowardly on their part, maybe they were too shy to be able to do it or it was an excuse to put off studying what they were looking for. Even though he considered that the The study methods they had were not very good and, if they started studying earlier, they could increase their grad-

"Excuse me."

A voice interrupted the conversation Spencer was having with himself, pushing away his intrusive thoughts that were beginning to take over his mind. The young man's head turned and he saw a girl, perhaps his age, staring at the encyclopedia in front of him.

"I asked Miss Wellington about the Rouviére and Delmas encyclopedia of human anatomy, and well..." The girl looked over Spencer's shoulder. "She told me that maybe the boy sitting at the back table had it. There are no other tables in the back and you're the only guy sitting here, so I think my deduction is correct and you have it."

"Y-yes, this is the encyclopedia you're looking for." Spencer admitted, looking at the young woman.

More than looking at her, he was admiring her. She was wearing a red skirt and hoodie with some embroidered words on it, her legs were also wearing dark leggings and some rather damaged black converses, over it she was carrying another coat and a backpack; her arms were loaded with medical and anatomy books, plus her hair was disheveled.

"Great! Must be my lucky day that a cute guy has it." Her books fell onto the table and she sat down next to Spencer.

The boy could smell the scent of tobacco and mint mixed with the scent of cherry perfume.

"May I see?" Spencer turned to look at her and, even though he was reading that book first, his head nodded. "Fine! I just want to see..." The sound of the leaves was rapid, as if a fan was moving them. "This... Nervous system."

Suddenly, and as if by magic, a notebook appeared in front of them both and quickly the girl was beginning to write on the blank sheets, even though to Spencer it looked more like a scribble than a resume as such.

"Shit, what is this?" the girl paused to read more closely. "In the central axon, the electrical signal is converted into a chemical signal, and then releases the chemical signal with chemical messengers called neur-neurotransmitters." The sound of the pencil falling on the table made the boy startle.

"Nervous system?"

"That's right, I have a lecture in three days and I'm still trying to associate concepts in the nervous system. Like my nervous system isn't nervous anymore."

Spencer chuckled to himself, the girl had a funny sense of humor.

"In fact, when the brain interprets that we are in danger, it produces a rush of adrenaline that activates the heart and muscles to place them on alert, but if prolonged, it can lead to health problems such as cardiovascular disease like heart attack and is associated with hypertension and arrhythmias and is the enhancer of other cardiovascular risk factors." Spencer turned to look at the girl, who looked quite interested in what he was saying, jotting everything down in her notebook. "But it's not that your nervous system is 'nervous', it's that it interprets that it's in danger and so it sends that kind of stimulus to your body that makes you anxious."

"I see you know about the nervous system, much more than I do." The girl scanned him from head to toe. "Are you a medical student?"

"No, CalTech doesn't have a medical degree, but I am a doctor." The boy admitted.

"How old are you?"

"Nineteen."

"Shit, and you already have a doctorate?"

"Actually I have three."

Silence stretched between the two, caused by the woman's shock.

"Are you some kind of alien or is your brain too big that it stores more information than I can retain?"

"Well, I have an IQ of 187 so I can read 20,000 words per minute, plus I have eidetic memory. But I prefer the concept of being more advanced than others."

The girl stared at him.

But to his surprise, the young woman only let out a giggle.

"You're funny, I like it." No one had ever told Spencer that he was funny. In fact, he thought that adjective didn't directly relate to him. "I'm Y/N, Y/N L/N."

"Spencer...Spencer Reid." Y/N denied.

"No, you're not Spencer."

"Excuse me?"

"You're Dr. Spencer Reid." Spencer smiled, she was right. "Well, it's nice to meet you, dr. Reid."

"Nice to meet you, Miss L/N." They both smiled.

"Well, now that I know your name, dr. Reid, we can start our friendship."

Spencer never thought making friends was so easy, even though he knew it was because the girl had gone to the trouble of calling herself his "friend," without even knowing him.

But that didn't bother him, in fact, he found it nice that someone had decided to be his friend.

Overnight, Spencer's evenings began to become more colorful, smelling of tobacco and mint, and filled with questions from Y/N, his new friend.

Although, at first, Spencer didn't seem comfortable around the girl, he quickly got used to it. He had learned several things about Y/N over the days, such as that she was a medical student at Pasadena City College, a college a couple of blocks from CalTech; she was the youngest in the family and had an older brother who had been diagnosed with leukemia a couple of years ago.

He had also learned that she was very into fashion, lived in an apartment complex nearby, smoked a couple of years ago, and only liked menthol tobacco cigarettes. Her favorite color was orange, but she didn't think it looked good on her, and she didn't see herself going to medical school, but she wanted to be a singer.

The first time Spencer heard Y/N sing was during a kermes in Pasadena City, she had been invited to sing on behalf of the medical school. Spencer never liked the idea of being around so many people, let alone at a kermes which was as unsanitary as possible, but his new "best friend" had begged him to go.

He couldn't say no.

He remembered perfectly how her hands shook with nerves, how she bit her lip as she cleared her throat and watched her bandmates, aka Y/N's other friends, rehearse with their instruments.

He knew she had practiced for this moment a bunch of times, had more than once arrived at Spencer's dorm wet from head to toe from running in the rain after a rehearsal, and hummed the songs under her breath every time they studied together in the library.

She was more than ready, but her own fears sometimes made her afraid of her talent.

Reid's eyes were on her, smiling confidently to convey that feeling as a guitar began to play the first chords, and announced the start of her performance.

Spencer didn't know what song it was, he wasn't even sure if the song was to his taste, but when he heard Y/N's voice he knew it had become his favorite song.

“Her name is Noelle

I have a dream about her, she rings my bell

I got gym class in half an hour

And, oh, how she rocks

In Keds and tube socks

But she doesn't know who I am

And she doesn't give a damn about me”

Their gaze was on each other, as if they were the only ones in that large space. The few times the eye contact was broken was when Y/N closed her eyes.

The song ended successfully and an avalanche of applause greeted Y/N, who thanked the audience for their attention. Soon another band filled the stage and for a few seconds, Spencer lost sight of Y/N. He wanted to tell her how great she had turned out, how all her effort and practice had made everything come out perfectly and that she looked like a total rockstar on stage.

"Spence! How was it, did you like it?" Y/N hugged the boy's arm, who turned to look at her with a sweet smile on his face.

"It was amazing, Y/N. Everyone loved it." Affirmed the boy.

"I was so nervous, I was so afraid it wouldn't go well, but I saw you there, and I felt like I could do it. You're my lucky charm, Spencie."

Spencer felt something jump in his chest.

"Let's get something to eat, I'm dying for some corn-dogs." Said the opposite.

"Y-yeah, let's get something to eat, my treat."

The day Spencer was accepted into the FBI academy was probably the most bittersweet day of his entire life.

At 22 years old, and in the middle of finishing his college semester for what felt like the fifth time, a letter arrived in his dorm room.

A letter of acceptance.

He could feel that all his hard work had been rewarded by whoever was up there. He quickly put on his sneakers and ran a marathon to the medical building at Pasadena City College.

His best friend's short red hair he could quickly visualize as he saw her smoking by the entrance, she seemed to be listening to something on her MP4 and bobbing her head to the beat of-who-knows-what song.

"Y/N! Y/N!" Spencer's voice sounded agitated, trying to get her best friend's attention.

The, now, redhead removed her earpiece and turned to see the tall boy running towards her.

"Spence?" From her mouth came the tobacco smoke, causing her to let the cigarette burn between her fingers.

"I made it, I got into the academy!"

The two big hazel eyes made contact with those of the girl, who dropped the cigarette to the sidewalk and hugged her friend tightly.

"I can't believe it, Spence! You did it! You did it! My goodness, I couldn't be prouder!" The younger girl began to do some jumping jacks as she didn't let go of her grip on his embrace.

"Thank you, Y/N. I couldn't have done it without you, you were the one who stuck with me through this whole process."

"You don't have to thank me, dorkie. I knew you'd make it, they couldn't leave out a genius like you." Soon they both disengaged from the embrace and the girl looked at the boy's face. "W-where is the academy? Tell me."

"I don't know, I-I didn't fully read the letter." He admitted embarrassed.

"Then read it! Go on." The girl took him by the arm and forced him to sit down on the faculty stairs.

Slowly, Spencer began to read the letter while Y/N listened intently to every word.

"The course begins on September 23rd of the current year in..." A pause.

Y/N looked at Spencer, who had stopped reading the letter.

"Where, Spence, what does it say?"

"The course begins September 23rd of the current year in Quantico, Virginia."

Y/N felt like a bucket of cold water had just been dropped on her.

Quantico? That was on the other side of the country!

"Q-quantico? Spence, that's on the other side of the-"

"Country, I know Y/N. I-I... I can't do it, I can't."

"What the fuck are you talking about!" The girl stood up startled, looking accusingly at her best friend. "No, I refuse. You have to do it, it's your dream, Spence! What you've always wanted for the last three years that I've known you, I refuse to let you back down now, I won't allow it!"

Spencer looked up from the letter, watching Y/N who was looking at him with her face burning with anger.

"You know I can't do that, what's going to happen to my mom? You know what's going on with her and her schizophrenia, I can't leave her alone."

"She would want you to go, Spence. Her happiness is where yours is, you know she'll be able to do it, there are plenty of options to help her." A long silence settled between the two of them.

Spencer didn't want to leave California, he didn't want to leave his mother or Y/N, he couldn't.

"Spencer Reid, I know what you're thinking right now, but I won't let you let this opportunity pass you by. You have dreamed of this exact moment for years, for as long as I have known you you have always wanted to go to the academy and you have done everything in your power to do so. Now they are offering it to you on a silver platter, you have to do it, there is nothing more you can do here in California. You've already studied all the existing careers in the world, you've already done what anyone in 50 years would have done and at your short 22 years you're already a doctor of three careers." The girl settled back down beside him, letting her icy hand wrap around Spencer's warm one. "You can't just limit yourself to staying here just because you have an engagement, the world has to know who Dr. Spencer Reid is like I know him, you have to go."

Spencer drew an elongated smile, feeling his body fill with that feeling of sadness that pervaded him from head to toe.

The redhead's words were true, it was his dream. But he didn't want to leave the only thing that made him happy on the other side of the country, he would love to carry it in his pocket to Virginia and have his dose of serotonin after each day.

He didn't want to stop smelling her tobacco and minty breath, the cherry smell coming off her clothes and the blueberry smell coming off her hair. He wanted to keep seeing the reddish locks of hair on his clothes and the cheesy paper notes in his pockets every time they met. He wanted to keep listening to the music on Y/N's MP4 every time he went to her apartment and drink coffee with lots of sugar that she made for him, keep hearing her voice in the shower and get biology questions at three in the morning every time she had a test.

He wanted to go to thrift stores to try on printed T-shirts and watch Y/N's camera fill up with pictures of the two of them, keep going to her shows with her band and eat frozen pizza after every gig.

He wanted to keep being with her.

But if she was letting him go, then he had to let her go too.

"I think I can go on living without hearing your bad jokes." Spencer's words lifted Y/N's spirits, who gave him a playful smile.

"Hey! My jokes are the best, last time you laughed for two hours."

"Because it was stupid."

They both laughed, letting the tension of the moment go with the last echo of their laughter.

"So you'll go across the country to make me proud?"

"Yes, I'll go make you proud."

Y/N's arms wrapped around Spencer's body, resting her head in the space of his shoulder and chin.

"I'm glad you didn't make a dumb decision."

Staying here with you isn't a dumb decision, Spencer thought.

They both pulled apart.

"Well, screw the skeleton. Let's go to the library and write your answer."

The girl's small hand imprisoned the boy's large hand, guiding him to the library to write what would be Spencer's fate.

The flight from California to Washington was five hours.

Five hours where Spencer and Y/N would be separated, and they would have to accept that fate had something different in store for the two of them.

Despite California being a sunny paradise, that day he wanted to keep the two friends company as they said goodbye at the airport.

"You already know my number, you know you can call me whenever you want." Commented the girl, who was in charge of carrying the book she had given him to read during the trip.

"I'm not such a fan of technology, you know that."

"There are pay phones over there too, Spence. It only costs a couple of cents to call me, plus they must have landlines there, and you have my email." The girl stopped in front of the door that separated goodbyes with new beginnings. "And if not, you can send me a letter. You know my address."

"A letter doesn't sound bad at all, in fact, for centuries, it was one of the most widely used means of communication by human civilizations since man began to write and whose importance transcended nations. The oldest courier service ever found was in Egypt in 2400 B.C. and in 1840, Sir Rowland Hill created the first postage stamp, which was called Penny Black, which was a profile drawing of Queen Victoria of England that had the rate 'One Penny' written on it."

"Oh Spence, I'm going to miss your fun facts about absurdly boring things." Commented the girl before she could hug him.

Spencer felt his heart clench.

"I'll miss you listening to me." They both turned in an embrace so tight it could take all the oxygen out of their bodies.

Neither wanted to be the first to say goodbye, neither was ready to leave the other. Their hearts were bound together like puzzle pieces, and just as when you lose one, the puzzle will no longer be complete.

"Now, you must go, your flight is about to leave." Y/N commented, separating from the young man as she wiped away the small tear that escaped from her eyes. "Miss me a lot, huh? And show off how pretty your best friend is."

"Always. Remember that wherever you are, whatever you do or whoever you're with, you'll always be in my heart."

A pout settled in Y/N's mouth, who felt like she was letting a part of her go with Spencer.

"Don't forget about me, because I will never forget about you." Demanded the girl, who was pushing the boy to go for his flight.

"It's impossible for me to forget you, I have an eidetic memory." He said laughing, waving goodbye as he received the book the girl handed him.

The two met in a final embrace, where Spencer could smell the girl's cherry and menthol tobacco scent for the last time.

"Write me!" Y/N vociferated, waving goodbye to the boy who nodded and disappeared behind the airport doors.

Y/N and Spencer didn't know that at that moment fate would place them on trial, causing their paths to diverge for many years until, magically, they would come together again.

“When two souls are meant to meet, fate brings worlds closer, erases distances, joins paths and defies the impossible.” Anonymous.

@alexa-33 | @ahhhhyesk | @imthefuckingleader | @narmothewraith | @kneelforloki | @niyahwhoreworld | @lexie0037 | @deadunicorn159 | @corpsebridenightamare | @preciousbabypeter | @sakuramadae | @zzz000eee | @runefirestarter | @sebastiansstanswhore | @whateverrrrrrrrs | @xsarcasticwriterx | @chris-seb-marvel | @bellaramseygfsblog | @lillysbigwilly | @dezibou | @astrophileous | @ily2lia | @sophiario | @valenftcrush | @oxace-of-heartsxo | @spencerrxids | @w31rdg1rl | @ineedsomezzz | @yeehawbitchs

If you like it, don't forget to like and repost it.

a lot of love, alme. ❀

[miss-oranje-disco-dancer]

tear you apart

pairing: carlos x umbrella employee! reader

tags/cws: gunplay, oral m! receiving (at gunpoint), g in v (gun in vag), incredibly dubcon/possibly noncon, threats, degradation

summary: after carlos finds out the truth about umbrella's involvement in the raccoon city incident, he confronts a former colleague... with a gun, but make it sexy?

a/n: technically verging on dark content due to, well, the whole gun thing, but it's closer to pwp than anything and it's not as dark as it sounds (but still read at your own risk)

div creds to @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

wc: 1.6k

tags: @vaaaaaiolet @leonfucker3000 @rigorwhoring @withonly-sweetheart

Carlos walks into your office with a fire in his eyes that you've never seen before — pure vitriol. Each stride he takes towards you comes with a purpose.

He keeps his composure, stays silent and stoic, until the door is closed behind him, and he stands in front of it with his arms crossed over his chest disapprovingly.

"You knew about this," he says, "and you just let it happen?"

"Knew about what?"

"Everything— Raccoon City, the G-virus, those creatures running around and eating people, the fact that one hundred thousand people died because of us?"

"Whoa, hold on, what do you mean 'because of us'?"

"Umbrella did this, and we worked for them."

"No, the Birkins did this. It's not all of Umbrella's fault that this happened."

"You didn't answer my question before."

"What question?"

"Did you know about the G-virus?”

"Yes. I knew it existed, but I didn't know this would happen, nobody knew this would happen."

"But you knew it could happen?"

"In theory—"

"No, not in theory! People died. I almost died."

"I'm glad you're alive… and I'm not happy that people had to die."

"Bullshit. You know what I think?"

"What do you think?"

"I think you're a cold-hearted bitch who doesn't give a fuck about human lives."

"Excuse me?"

"No, I won't."

He steps closer, closer, closer, forcing you to step back until you reach the edge of your desk. You stand there for a moment in silence, his large frame caging you in. You can see him hesitate briefly before grabbing a handgun from his holster.

"What do you have there?" you ask, not intending to be coy. You know what it is, but you pray somehow your senses are failing you. 

"I used this in Raccoon City, to kill innocent people who were in the wrong place at the wrong time and got infected. Now, I'm gonna kill someone who's guilty."

"You don't have to do that, Carlos. You care about people, right? I'm a person, too. And I know you're mad, and I'm really sorry, okay? Please just don't– don't kill me."

"Why shouldn't I?"

"I'll do whatever you ask."

He doesn't ask for anything per se, at least, not verbally. He gestures to you with the gun, then to the floor. Get on your knees, he means.

"Like this?" you ask, terrified as you kneel before him.

"Don't act like you haven't done this before."

Your cheeks burn. Of course you've done this before, you're an adult woman who sleeps with men, most people like you have been in this position before — the gun pointed at you is the only new addition. You shouldn't be so embarrassed.

"You don't expect me to believe that you got this job because you're just so smart and capable, do you?"

"I didn't—" you begin to protest.

"I wouldn't talk if I were you."

"Yes, sir."

For the first time today his face shows something other than rage — pride, satisfaction.

"Normally, I'd call you a good girl, but I don't think you deserve that title, do you?"

He waits. It was a question.

“No, sir."

"What do you think you deserve?"

"Is this a trick question?"

He sighs as he unbuckles his belt as if he's punishing himself somehow by doing this.

He slaps you on the cheek with his cock and says, "Make it good. Suck it like your life depends on it. 'Cause it does."

You're not new to the act itself, but past lovers — not that you could call Carlos a lover — have not been as well-endowed. But desperation makes you bold so you take as much as you can, almost more than you can, and get a little more than halfway before you start to choke. Spit covers your chin and tears paint your face but instead of showing you a shred of sympathy, Carlos takes his left hand — his right remains holding the gun, albeit with a lazier grip — and places it on the back of your head, forcing you down further, until your nose meets his abdomen and you can feel him in your throat. You'd be impressed with yourself in any other situation (you'd also smack him on the thigh as hard as possible for doing that without asking), but this isn't the time for pride.

For a moment, you think that the gun was all a distraction, just some added pizzazz, and he’s actually going to kill you by plugging your airways. In reality, he won't let you die of asphyxiation and waste the opportunity to drag this out — whatever this is. 

Carlos pulls out abruptly, slaps you on the cheek with his dick again for good measure before telling you to stand up.

Your knees ache from being forced against the tile, so you're a little wobbly when you do.

The gun is still in his hands, so you do as you're told – and quickly. You're nervous in a way he's never seen before. You're far from meek, you never let any of the men you both worked with treat you as anything other than an equal. Carlos once admired you for your confidence and determination.

"If you had asked me a month ago how I felt about you, I would've said I looked up to you," he says with genuine disappointment in the reality that has crumbled around him like the city itself did only a few weeks before.

"I'm sorry," you say.

"Show me how sorry you are. Because I don't believe that shit for a second."

He doesn't give you any instructions this time because it's not your turn to act. He takes control, yanks your skirt down and rips your stockings.

"Hope that wasn't too expensive," he says.

It was, but you decide it's better to keep quiet about that.

"You know what I think about you now?"

"No, I don't."

"I think all those guys who called you a whore were right. I think you're wet right now."

The worst thing is that you are wet. It's not the act itself but the fact that Carlos, a guy you've crushed on for ages, is paying attention to you. You've liked him since the first time he stood up for you at work. He was the only guy who cared that you were getting harassed. Once, when a coworker called you a whore, Carlos took him by the collar and slammed him against the wall. You'd be lying if you said that 'grateful' was the only thing you felt in that moment. It was hot as fuck to watch him fight for you. Now you're the object of his wrath, now he's the one calling you a whore. Yet, all you can think when he's manhandling you is that you've never been this close to him, never felt his touch like this – you want more.

He pulls your panties to the side and swipes two fingers down your slit, and you try to hold back moans that your body desperately wants to let out. You can't hide your arousal entirely – your wetness gives you away.

"You got all wet from me pointing a gun at you?" He's somewhat curious, maybe a bit turned on, but hides behind a mask of disgust.

"Answer me," he says, grabbing your chin and forcing your eyes to meet his.

"Yes… I did," you whisper, fearing someone will hear you, despite the building being empty.

"Since I'm feeling generous, I'll help out."

He examines the gun in his hand, and at first you're terrified. He's going to kill you, you're sure of it. You feel a little stupid - but mostly relieved - when you realize he's putting the safety on. He's still a good man under it all.

He snaps you out of those thoughts with two thick fingers shoved inside you, no warning, no preparation. It's startling, but not displeasurable. You hope he mistakes your whimpers for noises of pain or fear, rather than the stifled moans that they really are. Then there's a third finger, a stretch, you wish he was preparing you for his cock, which you've already had a taste of, but it's for the other thing he's packing — the gun.

It feels unlike anything else. A mixture of pain and pleasure, though the second comes when he starts playing with your clit, nonchalantly, pretending it's an accident, a coincidence, not like he actually wants to see you cum. You should be horrified at the situation, but you can’t shake the excitement you feel when you realize that he wants to see you cum. He wants you. 

Could you cum with a gun inside you? It depends on whether Carlos' thumb is rubbing your clit with increased determination, and it is. So, with only a shred of shame, you cum, calling out his name, and the look on his face says he's almost impressed.

You expect he'll want you to return the favor somehow, maybe he'll want you on your knees again, maybe he'll even fuck you if you're lucky. But, to your dismay, he wipes his gun off on his pants and puts it back in its holster before walking towards the door.

"Wait— where are you going?" you call after him, pulling up your half-torn skirt.

"Home?" he says as if it's obvious. "Did you really think I was going to kill you?"

"Yes."

"That'd be a little hypocritical, don't you think?"

"Well, thank you… for not doing that, I guess, and just so you know, I really am sorry…"

"I know," he says with confidence, leaving you alone to ponder what the fuck just happened.

[gingergofastboatsmojito]

It actually means conscious VS unconscious

And Storer did it again, he was metaphorically saying what he was doing and put it out there, in plain sight.

I already went over this point in several posts actually because it was pretty obvious to me that their only issue was definitely not communication, that was just the visible tip of their iceberg. It was deeper than that because communication is never a cause per se, it's always a consequence of multiple other factors, so I knew it was about the REASON behind it and whether they are aware of that or not, whether they wanna be aware of it or not, whether they are ready for that or not, etc. CC vs UC. So I elaborated on all those topics previously:

What matters is the people

Stuck in the mud

Inside Carmy's mind

Recycle / Repurpose

Purpuse, chef!

Never apologize

The trap

I now realize that I had missed that Storer put it out there, in plain sight in that scene above, which BTW was one of the few semi-Sydcarmy moments we were given this season, or as I call it: ALMS.

Anyway... The point is that Sydney said that what was killing them (she referred to the operation but I refer to the Sydcarmy dynamic, that's the metaphor) was the "bad communication" between FOH and BOH, in other words: between CC/UC or Conscious and Unconscious or subconscious if you will, because info always permeates from one to the other.

So this takes us back to the fact that until they don't consciously realize and put in the front of their minds THE REASON why they are doing all of this, they won't be able to communicate properly and efficiently, and therefore they will not understand each other and what's even worse, they will definitely not find in themselves the strength to carry on and to endure this battle.

Because let's face it, every day in that restaurant, chasing a star is like going to war and it would be anyway even if they were going through a honeymoon phase. Chasing a Michelin star is no easy task for anyone and it always takes its toll on the team, that is why it's so elite. Not everyone can do it. Yet everyone who has done it ends up learning the same lesson: IT CAN'T BE DONE UNLESS YOU HAVE A BIGGER PURPOSE. Some get lost along the way, and the star kills them because they never find a bigger purpose than the star/s itself as I mentioned here.

I trust Sydcarmy will find a way to make conscious of their real purpose which is obviously THEM/EACH OTHER as I mentioned in all those 7 posts above.

They are actually doing this to show how much they love each other. It's their way of showing their affection for each other. It's also how they communicate.

It would be easier to just say so and go out on a date and maybe give each other simple presents like a playlist, flowers, a cologne... but not for them. Nope. They are "special".

For her, it didn't start that way, though. It morphed into it along the way. Originally for Syd that star was some sort of personal victory and vindication after her Sheridan Rd's trauma fiasco. Later on, when she started suspecting that she may have started falling for Carmy, around the time C showed up, she had to shove that suspicion very deep into her UC, meaning, never let it out, DENY IT, because otherwise she was gonna get hurt. She's too smart and too much of an emotionally avoidant G WOMAN for that. She would never let that happen if she could avoid it prevent it.

For Carmy that was the reason from day one two, though. Right after she said that was what she wanted. But as I mentioned here, that was not his goal at first:

But this is where they are now and they should honor it and be honest about it, even get nasty if they must, ARGUE about it if that's what it takes for them to really get it. I'm sure that S4 will be all about it because they have reached the breaking point already → The crying game

Or should I say breakthrough?

Yeah, I will go for breakthrough. S4 is gonna be all about Sydcarmy. Get ready, truthers. There's no way but up from here because S3 was:

The end of Carmen Berzatto.

Remember to follow my tag #Gingerpovs 💋

[virtualgirladv]

You are cute in ways that make me get goosebumps. You are cute in ways that make me melt. Everything about you is just- So, so precious. The way you style your hair, your voice, your online antics, your stories, your bashful fashion sense, your laugh, way you act like you can't alm and then you practically sing as you talk about your worldbuilding- You're more than cute. You're dangerous. Cute enough to melt me, smart enough to take advantage of the fact~

+ss+JD's+D+sjsj$j$j$j$+

[razmerry]

Drawtectives: Orc Lore... 2!!!!

My first Drawtectives orc lore post that I made 2 years got over 600 notes, and I always intended to compile one for the second season. I just needed to rewatch all of it first! This one includes more general information about the Drawtectives world than the first did, cause it’s really fun. 

Part 1

Episode 1:

- York has become a male model! Good job, king

- Extra world lore: Boogle, Bamerica (where engineers drive the train)

Episode 2:

- Common knowledge in the orc tribes is that the one thing you can’t fight is death - it gets you in the end

- “There’s always time for the east” - a classic Northern tribes quote

- Extra world lore: Pollywood, gredit cards, Zac Giraffe, Belp, Bi-Fi, Halloween is canon!

Episode 3:

- No one has ever reported back after confronting a wild train

- Reconfirmed: the roughly cuboid shape of wild cats, including tigers which have a Garfield-like appearance

- One of the only comics in the Northern tribe was Cashews by Barles Pört, featuring Sneppy 

- Things York can write: eat my butt, wow now thatsa potata, Sneppy

- York doesn’t talk about his #1 and #2 weirdest days: “too weird”

- York is “a very social creature” according to Rose; all he needs are friends and food

Episode 4:

- Confirmed for the third time: York is a math guy

- York is big enough that he has a high drink tolerance

Episode 5:

- The “Ren Faire Las Vegas” is a story in the Northern tribe told to children, about a magical place with heroes and knights and glitter; York hoped to see it someday

       - Which included the hero “Belvis Breseley” and his many disciples

       - Interestingly, the Benaissance appears to possibly be etymologically linked to this “Ren Faire”, when the famous turtle painter Michaelango lived

- A classic game from the Northern tribes called “Lift It”: where you have a heavy object and see if you can lift it

Episode 6:

- It takes York a few seconds to transform between “Fight Mode” and “Show Mode”

- More Cashews lore: the lead character is Barley Brown

- Another newspaper comic: Beefcliff, which is apparently spelled differently in other locations

- BC also exists: unclear if this is our world’s or simply a coincidence

- Wild trains enjoy bones: new, old, yours, doesn’t matter to the train

- It’s speculated that trains evolved from wild bikes, with some diverging evolutionary lines including trucks

- Wild trains have feline ears and tails; if the ears are in the alert position, the train has now targeted you

- “Life is a railroad, and I’m going to ride it ‘till my stop”: a line from the hit group Bascal Blatts

- An interesting thing to note: synthetic trains are built in the image of wild trains

- York lost 17 of his cousins to wild train attacks; so York has approximately 35 cousins according to him (and I trust his math)

- Wild trains have a “burning inferno” as well as a mouth-eye, and the tail can be used somewhat like a blade

- Stripes on the side of the wild train help it blend in with tallgrass environments

- Horse Pope: holy figure? Into gambling? Oversees soups?

- York: sometimes known as “The Terror of the Northern Tribes”

- York has a net worth of about 6 million bones in his bank, although it’s unclear what the exchange rate is to Bamerican dollars

Episode 7:

- Bibby Joey: creator of the famous song “Scenes from an Italian Restaurant”

- BUNO!

- Eugino, a popular card game (Eugene-Oh?)

- I’m not writing down the rest of those board game puns

- The only game played in the Northern Tribes was “rock hit”, where you threw rocks at another rock in the air and see which rock survived; perhaps Lift It was more of a personal challenge

- There are no tables in the Northern Tribes

- Eugene’s favorite karaoke song is “I Need A Villain” by Donnie Byler, featured in Grek 2

Episode 8:

- York is the smart one, according to Rose: “he thinks the loudest”

- He’s also bad with faces and voices according to Rose; reconfirmed from S1E5

- I just really like that he was 100% convinced that Alm and All were different people

- Phone-bone, apparently

Episode 9:

- I enjoy the two-part confirmation that Northern Tribes orcs have southern accents

- “Joe Beans” is not a traditional orcish name

- Not everyone knows that the Northern Tribes have a monarchy

- “Orcish size” drinks are in a bucket, evidently they are literally sand buckets

- Jancy came to York’s first modeling show :,)

- York once tried to arm-wrestle a snake

- Wonderful film by Studio Jiggly: Ghosted Over There

Episode 10:

- No lore just solving the case!!

Episode 11:

- York’s favorite action hero is Ben Ception, who enters people’s dreams

- List of the months: Febicember, Smarch, Mapril, Junary, and Bachtober

- York’s powerful… stream gives him time to get his arms warmed up for a fight

- Another social media app; Binstagram

- “Lofty goals do lead to existential horrors” - daily quote by Rose

[ce-heich-ce]

I love and hate Shin Megami Tensei 1 so much because its such a game. (long text coming up)

On battles it uses this smart system where they cant fit too many enemies on screen, so the game puts only 1 type of enemy on regular encounters with a number of icons on top of it representing how many enemies are in that group, which is cool, its a smart way of fitting more enemies per battle and you can also know if any of them got hit with a status effects because the icon of the enemy you hit also changes. Now, you might be wondering how you choose which of those enemies and you actually don't, whenever you attack with a single target attack or ability the target is chosen at random, which is a real pain because these enemies come out in numbers of at most 9 per encounter, so hitting the same target twice is hard, you only attack multiple enemies on weapons or spells that target groups of enemies and for the player character that is only reserved for guns and spell stones that you have to buy (and don't do much damage unless you level his magic stat, which is mostly pointless because he can't use magic), with maybe some weapons that attack more than once, not every enemy, but attacking more than once gives you a better chance to do so. Only special battles against bosses or demon tamers have more than 1 type of enemy but there you just choose which group you get to target.

Also the encounter rate is a pain, during the first hours of the game its random how frequent and how unlikely you are to enter a battle, sometimes they appear every few steps and then you can run around tokyo for a while with no enemies showing up, even im dungeons it becomes as random, but then you get to the second part of the game and now you get battles every few steps everywhere, which sucks because you're no longer stuck to following roads in tokyo, you can go anywhere plot allows you to but exploring is unwise because thats when enemies appear in large numbers and you just got there so enemies are stronger than you at that point.

Some dungeons have some traps, like floors that teleport you randomly, make you fall to a floor below, one way doors, spinning floors, poison or even curses depending on your luck stat but they're honestly not that frequent as trapped chests that explode and take 25% of health of EVERY character in your party, that is the worse and it happens very often later in the game.

Something I do like and appreciate is that the game has a big number of enemies you get to fight with their own types and origins (though a lot reuse sprites with different colours and some modifications to turn them into something else) and thanks to the demon negotiation system you can talk to them and get a few good outcomes, like having them join you, give money, go away or give you items and since enemies are different they react accordingly depending on your friendly or hostile approach to them.

Getting to use most of the enemies you find is cool too because you have an infinite amount of teams you can make with them and whenever you get tired or don't like one of them you can fuse them to get something different, sometimes a better one or a worse one and sometimes ones you don't encounter naturally, making them even rarer and worth trying.

Having alignments define how the story goes is kind of cool, depending on your choices and interactions with demons you can shift to law or chaos and some plot points later in the story reflect that, like some demons helping you out while others impede your quest, getting alignment specific gear and demon allies, etc, which is good because it gives you an incentive to replay the game.

the final part of the game fucking sucks though, plot happens and now the final area is a giant maze with towns at each opposite side and up to 5 floors with corridors and enemies and you can't really go anywhere else at that point, so depending on your alignment you'll have to fight through 5 to 10 floors to reach the end, which feels almost like a chore.

[hirokiyuu]

Hello! Saw your last post and got me thinking: What do you think Vace and Lin would be like as parents? I imagine that fatherhood wouldn't come to him as easily, but I think he would earnestly try to be better than both his parents 😁

oh yeah absolutely i think post therapy vace is a better dad than his family (low bar) and i think in therapy he has like the self awareness? to try and push past that

actually therapy vace is very fun in general bc like. i think one of vace's qualities regardless of therapy is how he pushes himself to be The Best it's just like a reframing of what The Best is u kno. there's a reason his cards are vace's confidence u kno. and that confidence is in some ways genuinely earned like!!! he IS the best soldier on the helio!!! like!!!! he has all those awards and he's very smart and like. it makes sense!!!

but then he goes to therapy and he starts like. reframing some of his stuff re:being Good and like what it means to be not just Good At Things but a Good Person and like. thats so much more difficult for him u kno in ways that other stuff wouldnt necessarily be. esp bc a lot of the stuff involved is like, him moving to be more vulnerable and show weakness and forgive ppl and those are not things he's good at naturally which is like. just very fun wwww

the reason i bring this up re:his parenting: i dont think he'd want to be a parent until he's really dealt with a lot of the worst of his shit. he mentions this in his 100 right: he's aware his whole thing comes from his dad who he has an IMMESNELY complicated rship w/. (i say this bc like. in his 50 he mentions hating his dad right. and yet he still has a picture of him u kno. lmfao. god) i dont think he'd ever want to subject his kids to what he went thru. i think he's aware of what he's done and how much worse he could've been u kno. the monster under the bed is who he is without sol

and even then it still takes work u kno. this comes up in the endcards abt how on his worst days he's still just like he was and how it takes times to break past that and find someone to meet him halfway. i have him meet lin when he's like early 30's bc i really do think it takes him a Long Fucking Time to hit a point like that. a lot of relationships. u kno. takes Work. takes time.

BUT THE POINT OF THIS.... to answer your actual q..........

i do actually think vace is a pretty good dad in these circumstances! i think he's protective and caring and i think in context w/rship with lin especially where he's got a partner that's good at reframing issues from "you versus me" to "you and me against the problem" it helps him get in that mindset with kids as well u kno.

i think tho in some ways he's better w/them when they're little GLKHSDLKGH i think he might be a bit overprotective when theyre older. i am shy talkign abt lin but im even shyer talking abt the fankids i made for them but i DO think its immensely funny for him to have his daughter hit adolescence and be like. ok im not calling u daddy anymore. and not bc she's embarrassed abt being a daddys girl or antying she just needs him to realize shes practically an ADULT NOW (vace meanwhile is there like. you are Not an adult jesus christ)

ok thats the serious analysis now here is my stuff thats for Me (sparkle emojis) ive talked abt this with alm before and in some ways i think vace is the parent the kids rely on for most every day stuff bc i do think he spoils his kids a little u kno. daughter shows up asking for a snack and he Prepares something for her meanwhile lin is like (gets smth preprepared from the fridge or tells her to wait for mealtime) takes them shopping teaches them to tie their shoes all that kind of stuff u kno

lin meanwhile is like...... practical wwww ive talked abt this in other places but he has difficulty with people sometimes bc of his augment. he's not great at comforting tbh! i think if the kids are upset adn htey want hugs abt it they go to vace. lin tho i think is the parent they turn towards for more serious stuff? bc vace despite everything still is very emotional while lin is very Not that u kno. so they can be like. uh. papa. ive fucked up. and lin is like (guy whose response to literally Everyhting is How Do We Fix This) How Do We F

in some ways as well i think the kids and lin grow closer as they get older. not to say i think they necessarily grow Away from vace but the way you interact w/small kids versus when u interact w/older ones means i think vace would do better w/the really younger ones while there'd be a bit of disconnect btwn them and lin until they're older u kno. lin is bad at mirroring and coddling and part of the thing abt his rship w/vace is it does help him get better at dealing w/other ppl w/strong emotions, part of that also relies on vace understnading that lin is trying u kno. and that's not a capacity kids really have at such young ages?

overall tho. i do think they are pretty good parents wwwww vace does hover too much but lin i think helps him dial it back wwww and lin struggles more at first but he gets there. their kids i think grow up well! and that's what matters!

[good-beans]

Ok, I'm in the mood for some funny ranting, so Rudolf and M*neta for the character breakdown 😂

Character asks about such amazing characters! Thanks...

-How I feel about this character: ARGH they were so close to having something good and then didn't!! He’s the kind of character where they pull the twist and you’re like “woah! He was good all along! And was planning this from the beginning! How cool and smart and dramatic of him 🥺🤩” then like five minutes later when you actually try and work out the logistics of the plan you go

-All the people I ship romantically with this character: I couldn’t decide between Jedah or Mycen for the funniest answer...

-My non-romantic OTP for this character: Well is should have been Berkut – I genuinely think the story could have gone the same and we could’ve had the same power-hungry, arrogant, crazed Berkut except at least one person showed him the most basic of care this time. A cool parent/child team taking on the battlefield would be so great and narratively fulfilling in an fe game like that! It literally could have all been exactly the same but the writers decided to make Rudolf lame and fuck up Berkut in one fell sweep...

-My unpopular opinion about this character: I’m glad he’s that ugly because it explains why Walhart is the way that he is despite having Alm and Celica’s pretty genes in his bloodline 👍

-One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon: He made any fucking sense!! Maybe my real unpopular opinion is that I think his plan had real potential. The first time I played it actually did convince me (and then I thought about it for more than two minutes.) A plot twist like that would have shaken the story if it, you know, actually worked

-How I feel about this character: My body physically shrivels up in pain each time I see him 👍

-All the people I ship romantically with this character: Uhhhh does the Heights Alliance garbage can count? Ships always work better when each member is very similar :)

-My non-romantic OTP for this character: AU where Kendo is part of 1A and instead of smacking the shit out of Monoma for being annoying she just decks Mineta every time he’s creepy and actually they’re not even friends she just beats him up with a giant fist every time he’s disgusting

-My unpopular opinion about this character: Okay wait this is a half-real answer but I actually think a grape-themed hero would be so cute! The concept of a fruit-themed bnha kid (who’s the tiniest in the class, just a lil guy!)  would have been SO adorable 🍇 ... But instead we just got a perv in a diaper :((

-One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon: Can you imagine if after establishing what a creep he was, Aizawa was just like “real heroes respect women” and then expels him no questions asked. Midoriya could even go on a whole anime monologue with the epic ost in the background about the true heroics of not being nasty to women. He’d write something in his notebook about it. It’d be great.

[arcstral]

PRELUDE & ENGAGEMENTS.   

His hand flexed and with it rippled a curious mark.

Across his palm a pirouette of white shaped like a curl reflected the stylized motif belonged to air. So far as a few whimsical spirits decided- corralling men and women into arbitrary types as best suited to their game- this designation at least was apt even if only by coincidence. A king was a wind that unfurled across his kingdom and carried with him the seeds of hope, spreading them to the furthest fields, helping to till the hard soil that composed the most frozen hearts among his citizens. An even truer King was proven not in his ability to prevent disasters, but in how he adapted to them. These were not lessons Marth would be slated to forget even with an anomaly or two to push the mind’s limits. After all; not everyday could one profess to know the lives of mice and to match their heights at that.  .  .

But he lingered little on those details. From the wood of the foyer the smart click of his shoes made a different sound as they clapped onto solid marble. Like this jarring transition from one stage to the next the passing of one year had lead so unmistakably into another. Already he sat on the high curve of his third Ethereal Ball, a fact that presented him not only with another opportunity for joy, but one with which to gratefully share. A serene sort of confidence had enveloped the young Hero-King in its embrace into his blossoming adulthood. Now he could attest that it was also born of different things.

His clear gaze searched for a man and a woman, for their particular inks of blue, and between the pauses offered his smile to any welcome friend who passed his way.

FLOWERS.

  i.   * Air:  1/1     (  Alm  )

  ii.   Earth:  1/1   (  Ephraim  )

  iii.   Fire:  1/1   (  Michalis  )

  iv.   Lightning:  1/1   (  Tiki  )

  v.   Water:  1/1   (  F!Alear  )

INTERACTIONS.  Not Accepting!

[just-absolutely-super]

Mayl: so Roll and Mega or off being hopelessly in love

Lan: yup. I'm happy for them, but it's getting tiring of seeing them lovey dovey alm the time.

Mayl: do you think Megaman would have confessed to Roll some other time or way if he didn't accidentally do it though a pun?

Lan: hmm....

Mayl: ??

Lan: nah. He's too much of a dork to do it any other way

Mayl: Well, if he hadn't have done it, I know Roll would have confessed first

Lan: And would have failed

Mayl: I don't know, Roll's pretty direct at times

Lan: And Megaman can be pretty dense at times. He may be smart but even he didn't realize Roll was hardcore flirting with him before they started dating

Mayl: So being dense is a Hikari boy trait?

Lan: What's that supposed to mean?

Mayl: Oh nothing...

[grandsonoflightike]

Battle Against Creepy Alfonse and Creepy Veronica Part 9: Light Kliff's 2nd Contract - Chapter 5: Battle To End The Sadness

(Background song is  Those Who Challenge Gods from Fire Emblem Echoes: Shadows of Valentia.)

Light Kliff says “Creepy Alfonse, They have made it.”

“Yes and they will face all 6 of us together.” Creepy Alfonse says.

“Creepy Alfonse, You will lose!  So that we can break this contract of Sadness on these Heroes!” Light Alm shouts.

“Agreed.  We admit it’s our fault that Light Kliff and Light Faye are like this but We were so focused on each other that we didn’t think to notice them but they also didn’t try to bring it up. I remember it now.” Light Celica says.

Light Alm Shouts “Yeah, That is why Contract-Bound Heroes will be freed!”

Light Faye says “You seem awfully confident about what you said, Light Celi...”

Light Kliff and Light Faye Then Groan in Pain and say “You’re Right.”

“Light Kliff and Light Faye, By The Will Of The Contract, I order you to kill the Subspace Order of The Heroes.” Creepy Alfonse says.

“As you command, Creepy Alfonse.” Light Kliff and Light Faye say at once in a trance.

“So We now know that his Will of the Contract of Creepy Alfonse allows him to tell those who he has contracted to attack the Subspace Order Of Heroes even when they didn’t get the full experience at first.” Subspace Alfonse says.

“Time to finish this!” Light Alm says.

The Fifth and Final Battle begins and, After a Long Hard Fought Battle, The Subspace Order Of Heroes wins breaking the Contract-Bound Heroes free from The Contract Of Sadness.

“This can’t be.” Creepy Alfonse says.

Light Priam, Light Rey, And Light Linda start to vanish into orbs.  Then Subspace Aereon grabs the orbs and puts them in his Bredaliks.  He shoots them out of it and they become members of THe Order of Heroes.

“Brother, Mother, And Father, Do you know the truth now?” Light Male Robin says.

“Yeah.  We do.” The Three Of Them say.

Light Kliff becomes his normal self.  Light Faye becomes her normal self but also a second version of her appears and it is called Witch Light Faye.

“You are me of the future?” Normal Light Faye asks Witch Light Faye.

“Yeah.  I am your future with your true love of Light Kliff.” WItch Light Faye Replies.

Light Kliff says “Yes that is who that is.”

Light Alm says “You knew already without a second version that you ended up with Light Faye and didn’t tell anyone.”

“I thought someone of the future would have known.” Light Kliff answers.

“How can that be when we didn’t know who the mother is of the mage child of you and that mother, that becomes my advisor?” Light Alm says.

Witch Light Faye says “He is right, Light Kliff.  We told him not to mention who I am when he left the town to become Light Alm’s Advisor.  We also should have told someone at the party that we gotten together.”

Light Kliff says “Yeah. I’m sorry that our sadness caused this contract to happen.”

Creepy Alfonse says “Yeah, My Contracts feed off the emotions of the main hero on my side.”

“I can’t believe you just revealed that knowledge to us, Creepy Alfonse.” Subspace Anna says.

“That wasn’t very smart.”  Subspace Sharena says.

“Shut up. I rather you know that my contracts feeds off emotions because that feeding also gives me power.” Creepy Alfonse says.

He then vanishes. At the Subspace Order Of Heroes Castle, Demonic Grey Loki is being confronted by a certain Fellow Controller.

Subspace Thorr says “He must be stopped by the order of Our Hero god, Demonic Grey Loki.”

Demonic Grey Loki says “Yeah I will.  I also must defeat Creepy Loki.”

Subspace Thorr says “Good. Though there is something you should know.  She is from the same CreepyPasta Version Of The BU as Creepy Alfonse And Creepy Veronica. The Creepy Fire Emblem Characters must be stopped.”

“I understand. I will stop them.” Demonic Grey Loki says.

TBC...

[raeyapper]

PERCABETH PERCY IS SMART HE IS JUST LOW SELF ESTEEM BUT ALSO A DUMBASS AND ANNABETH IS WILLING TO COMMIT WAR CRIMES FOR FUN STOP SAYING ANNABETH IS SMART AND PERCY IS DUMB THEY ARE BOTH SMART AND DUMB YOU ARE ALM THE DUMBASSES. but yea merthur too.

merthur.