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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 4 months

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1968 [Chapter 12: Aphrodite, Goddess Of Love] [Series Finale]

A/N: Surprise!!! A new chapter from Maggie?? On a Thursday?? I was just too excited to wait! Please enjoy the final installment of 1968 🥰💜

Series Summary: Aemond is embroiled in a fierce battle to secure the Democratic Party nomination and defeat his archnemesis, Richard Nixon, in the presidential election. You are his wife of two years and wholeheartedly indoctrinated into the Targaryen political dynasty. But you have an archnemesis of your own: Aemond’s chronically delinquent brother Aegon.

Series Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, character deaths, New Jersey, age-gap relationships, drinking, smoking, drugs, pregnancy and childbirth, kids with weird Greek names, historical topics including war and discrimination, math.

Word Count: 6k

💜 All of my writing can be found HERE! 💜

The sun is rising, and all the guests have dissipated like morning stars. You and Aegon are sitting across from each other at the table in the kitchenette of your suite, cool grey morning light slanting into the silence, confetti on the floor, broken glass, crumbs from the catered appetizers—gyros, hummus, pita, mini spanakopitas, baklava—stomped into the carpet, spots that are soggy with spilled champagne. The Plaza might have to replace it. Outside, rain falls in a mist. Your makeup is smudged; your hair is falling out of its clips and pins. Aemond is waiting, standing with his back to the wall and his arms crossed over his chest, blonde hair slicked back, blue suit, prosthetic eye filling the void in his skull. You know what happens next, but you can’t bring yourself to rise, to speak, to set it into motion. You stare down at the lines in the palm of your uninjured hand and think of the ropes of a sailboat, the invisible strings of gravity that enchain the universe.

Aegon swipes at his eyes: bloodshot, vacant, continuously streaming tears. “I’m gonna go back to Yuma.”

You look up at him, startled. “Right now?”

“Right now,” Aemond agrees from the wall.

Aegon begs you in a hoarse whisper, eyes dark and glistening like the Atlantic at night: “Come with me.”

Your hands shaking, your voice splintering. “I can’t, Aegon. I can’t.”

He drums his knuckles on the table, gets up from his chair, rushes to you before Aemond can stop him. He’s holding you, his lips to your forehead, the salt of his tears on your cheeks and your lips, like the ocean is bleeding out of him, like he’ll drown you. “I’m sorry,” he says, breath catching in his throat, his pores hemorrhaging smoke, horror, rum, ruin.

Once you pushed Aegon away, hated him, stained him with your husband’s blood. Now your fingernails hook like claws into his army jacket and cling there, frantic and childlike. “Not yet, please, Aegon, don’t go, please don’t go.”

“I have to, I’m sorry.”

“Aegon, no–”

“I’m so fucking sorry.” He’s sobbing, he’s trembling, he’s gone. The doorway is empty like an unfinished sentence, like a myth no one remembers. The silence floods back into the rain-grey November air. The room is cold like a mausoleum. You touch your own face: tears Aegon left there, muscles and nerves dead beneath your skin, disbelief you sink through like the sea, waiting to hit the floor deep with the silt of rocks and wreckage and bones.

He’s gone? He’s really gone?

Aemond stalks over to the table, smirking, radiant, his hands in the pockets of his suit; he takes his time, he savors it. He’s never been higher. He was right all along. He can’t be killed, he is destined to be the president. It is God’s will. “Get ready,” Aemond says. “I have a victory speech to make.”

~~~~~~~~~~

He heads west on Route 70, billboards and drive-thrus, toll booths and reflective green mile markers, the kids fighting over who gets to pick the radio station from the back of the Dodge A-100 that Otto had hastily procured, handing over the keys as Aegon rolled his suitcase out of the Plaza Hotel. That first night they stop in Wheeling, Ohio, and the kids have startlingly little resistance to this upheaval. They can’t find much to complain about. A road trip with Dad and only Dad, no journalists badgering them for photos or quotes, no orders barked from Otto or Aemond, no exacting campaign itinerary, no scripted propriety, Mountain Dew spills on the carpet, Pizza Hut boxes on cheap springy motel mattresses.

“What do you think about all this?” Aegon asks Orion when the younger ones have dozed off: Cosmo and Thaddeus on one bed, Violeta in another, Spiro lounging across the threadbare sofa with a copy of The Fellowship of the Ring resting open on his chest.

Orion shrugs, that adolescent aversion to vulnerability, like the whole world is out to shake you down for evidence of the defections you’re so convinced define you. “It’s cool, I guess. It’s like an adventure. And we’ll get to see you a lot more.”

“Yeah you will,” Aegon promises. He feels sick: no booze, no pills, the grease of pepperoni churning in his belly. “And I’m never gonna be the way I was before.”

The bathroom is tiny and spartan, white porcelain, black specks of mildew. When he’s done showering, Aegon wipes the fog off the mirror with his fist. In Ancient Greece, a shaved head was the mark of a slave; it was meant to strip the man of his past, to make him brand new. He remembers Aemond saying this one afternoon as they were all out sailing at Asteria, Aegon sprawled on his back and drinking rum from the bottle as beams of sunlight refracted through the glass, Aemond leafing through one of his history books, Helaena throwing bits of pita to the seagulls, Daeron peering through his telescope for glimpses of dolphins, sharks, bobbing treasure from shipwrecks, imagined enemy vessels. Aegon thinks as he studies his reflection under the harsh fluorescent lights—crinkles by his eyes, skin ravaged by years of careless sunburn—that he wouldn’t mind not having a past. He opens his shaving kit and takes out the straight razor he never uses, shears off his tangled, windswept locks of blonde hair, smiles when the kids laugh and call him Yul Brynner the next morning over breakfast at the diner beside the motel, blueberry pancakes and toast wet with egg yolks. He’s not brand new; it’s impossible to be. But he’s getting closer.

The Fort Yuma Indian Reservation has grown during the Kennedy and Johnson years. The tribe now enjoys a steady income from numerous projects, including the leasing of farmland, a convenience store, a casino and resort, and an RV park. The school has been rebuilt—bigger, more modern, air conditioning, hallelujah—since Aegon was first exiled here twenty years ago, but several of the employees have familiar faces, and the current principal was once an English teacher assigned to be his mentor, a different lifetime, an ancient myth.

“You look good,” Artie says as he descends the concrete front steps on an afternoon in mid-November, 75 degrees, bright cerulean sky, no clouds. He takes Aegon’s outstretched hand and shakes it. “Kind of fat, but good. You still play guitar?”

“I do, yeah. I have one in the back of my van right now.”

Artie glances at the giggling, waving children behind the glass windows. “Jesus Pleasus, how many kids you got?”

Aegon chuckles. “Five, I think.”

“Five! Well, they’re welcome to attend here, if you want them to be where you are.”

“That’s a very generous offer. They’ve never gone to a real school before. They had private tutors in New Jersey.”

“What a great way to raise jackasses, if you ask me.” Artie gives him a stern look over, wrinkled brow, narrowed brown eyes. “You sober?”

“No pills, no drinking, occasional weed.”

“Goddamn, that’s a lot better than I expected.”

“Hey Artie?”

“Uh huh.”

“Would you happen to need a math teacher?”

Artie studies him thoughtfully. “I mean, we’re always looking for qualified math and science people. They leave the quickest, those aerospace and electronics companies over in California pay too much. Why? You know someone?”

“I used to,” Aegon says, then motions for his kids to get out of the van. Artie lets them eat ice cream in the cafeteria while Aegon signs his contract.

He’s in Yuma for three weeks before he meets a girl. Her name is Rachel, and she’s a dream that walked out of the Summer Of Love: hair down to her waist, boots to her knees, handknit vests, chipped nail polish and teasing smiles, a taste for sun and smoking. At night they sit under the stars behind Aegon’s bungalow out in the desert, roasting marshmallows and hotdogs with the kids, Aegon strumming his guitar, Rachel playing her harmonica, a few homely adopted mutts loping around instead of purebred Alopekis. She likes him, this boyish sunbeam of a man who always seems just a little lost, a little sad. She might even love him.

And yet there are ghosts, beasts, threads the fates have not yet severed. One night in January after the kids have gone to sleep, Aegon is flipping through television channels as Rachel returns to the couch with a bowl full of Jiffy Pop, plops down onto the cushions, curls up against him. Aegon stumbles upon CBS Evening News, a clip from the inauguration, and his words vanish mid-sentence, his eyes—an opaque, stormy, melancholic sort of blue—growing wide. He doesn’t change the channel. He doesn’t move at all.

“What?” Rachel asks. On the screen is a clip of President Targaryen being sworn in, his wife at his side and cradling the Bible in her hands. She’s wearing Oscar de la Renta—a powder blue wool coat that matches her husband’s tie—and a stately new hairstyle that is very distinctly inspired by Jackie Kennedy. Her smile is serene and dignified, if perhaps a bit remote. She could be a marble statue in a garden or a museum. It must be a lot of pressure for her, Rachel thinks. To live up to being the partner of a man that remarkable. “Aegon? Baby, are you okay?”

After a long time Aegon says, very softly, like it’s only to himself: “He made her cut her hair.”

Rachel stares mystified at the television and then turns back to Aegon. “What happened with her?” Something must have. He looks staggered, he looks haunted, he looks like someone Medusa turned to stone. Rachel knows about who Aegon is, of course, everyone does; but he never wants to talk about it. When people mention his family, Aegon smiles politely and then changes the subject. When they ask about his sister-in-law, he says he needs a cigarette and walks out of the room. She sent him a beautiful, shimmering gold acoustic Gibson guitar for Christmas; the first lady’s name was on the return address. To Rachel’s knowledge, Aegon never thanked her.

Aegon shakes his head, and Rachel can’t tell if that means the story is too long or too short, unrealized potential, loose kaleidoscopic strands of stardust, infinitesimal moments that wouldn’t have meaning to anyone else. “Nothing.” Then he resumes switching channels: I Dream of Jeannie, Bewitched, the Newlywed Game.

~~~~~~~~~~

Your parents fly north for the inauguration, so proud, so effusive, interviewed by every major news network. Business is booming at the Spongeorama Sponge Factory back in Tarpon Springs. They are seated between Alicent and Ludwika’s mother Elzbieta, newly arrived from Poland. LBJ and Lady Bird are cordial but uncharacteristically understated, retreating back to their home state of Texas like kicked dogs. All the defeated adversaries of the campaign trail attend to show their support, to wordlessly plead for a long-awaited national reconciliation. George Wallace won’t meet your eyes. Richard Nixon whispers through your hair as he clasps your scarred hand: “Aemond could never have done this without you.”

Jackie Kennedy’s chosen cause as first lady was the restoration of the White House, Lady Bird’s was environmental protection. You want to visit schools and help teach math to little kids, but Aemond decides it would be more politically expedient for you to be seen tending to wounded veterans of Vietnam; so you spend many of your days in hospitals, inhaling charred flesh and Lysol and dying flowers and blood. The Japanese ambassador bows lower to you than he does to Aemond. The prime minister of France tries (unsuccessfully) to flirt with you. Athenagoras I of Constantinople, the Archbishop of the Greek Orthodox Church, brings you a komboskini he has blessed. Reprieves come in slivers like a disappearing moon: lunches with Fosco–carpaccio, caprese, bolognese, polenta–and drinks with Ludwika, always something with rum, something that tastes like Aegon. You dream of incubators and arterial spray, stitches and scars and crimson bandages, the flash of blades, the thunder of bullets; but the would-be assassins go to prison and no one else ever tries. You are Persephone in the Underworld. You are Io in the wilderness.

You are just beginning to panic about what you’ll do when your tiny pink birth control pills run out when Fosco shows up to one of your lunches with a paper bag full of familiar circular packets. “I have been informed that I am to be your dealer,” he says, grinning. “I will be back with more in six months. I told the doctor they were for my mistress. I don’t even have a mistress! Isn’t this exciting? I am like a secret agent. I am the Italian James Bond. The name’s Viviani, Fosco Viviani.”

“Aegon asked you to do this?”

“Well, he did not ask, exactly. I do not think I was allowed to say no.”

You hide the paper bag in the Louis Vuitton purse Ludwika bought you, so thankful you don’t have words for it, missing Aegon like Orpheus missed Eurydice, searching through the shade-haunted grey haze of the Underworld for her.

“It was odd,” Fosco says quietly, delicately. “He did not want to know anything about you. He asked if you needed anything else that I was aware of, I said no, and then he hung up when I started to tell him about Christmas dinner.”

You remember Aegon’s words, ghosts from where Long Beach Island meets the Atlantic Ocean: Mimi wasn’t as strong as you. Maybe what Aegon didn’t say is that he isn’t either. You imagine the fates snipping threads, the memoryless oblivion offered by the River Lethe, moons becoming greater and lesser. He has to try to forget you. You have to let him.

On Valentine’s Day weekend, Daeron comes home. He and John McCain are the last two men freed from the prisoner of war camp known as the Hanoi Hilton. When he steps off the plane, Daeron is carrying with him, of all things, a single white rat in a wire cage. The first question he asks, after being engulfed in embraces from Alicent, Criston, and Fosco, is: “Where’s Aegon?” And he knows from the stilted, piecemeal explanations he receives that something has happened. You take Daeron to breakfast the next morning, and you don’t tell him everything, but you tell him enough. He spends a month recuperating at Asteria, then follows Zephyr, the god of the west wind, across the country to Arizona.

Aegon didn’t send you anything for Christmas, and he didn’t respond to the guitar you gifted him with Ludwika’s assistance. But on July 13th, a green envelope arrives in your mail basket with no return address. You open it to find a greeting card with an exuberant cow on the front. Inside, the original message—You’re mooooooving on up in the world! Happy retirement!—has been crossed out with black ink. You laugh, your first real laugh in weeks, and then read what Aegon has written in his chaotic, scribbling penmanship:

I thought this was blank :)

Hope you’re doing okay. You look great on tv.

Then there is an expanse of open white space, like a weighty hesitation. There’s no signature, but there is one final note like a postscript.

Thank you for the guitar, but please don’t send anything else. It fucks me up, you know?

Yes, you do know. Aegon never calls you, but Cosmo does. Once or twice a week he dials your private line at the White House–Aegon must have asked Fosco for it–and tells you all about his new life in Yuma, his school, his friends, the dogs, the desert. Aegon’s met someone named Rachel; Cosmo mentions her intermittently yet with unmistakable fondness: “Rachel makes the best s’mores,” “Rachel told me about seeing Jimi Hendrix at Woodstock,” “Rachel took us to pick pumpkins for Halloween.” You’re glad Cosmo calls, and you’re glad he’s happy; but afterwards you always feel so indescribably, irredeemably sad.

You sneak your pills and avoid Aemond as much as you can, something that becomes easier as he spends long hours reviewing briefs in the Oval Office, preparing speeches, meeting foreign dignitaries, strategizing with his cabinet, and scheming against his conservative foes across the nation, a faction soon led by California governor Ronald Reagan. You stand perfectly still as designers alter Chanel and Yves Saint Laurent and Givenchy to fit you like woolen armor. You strike up a chaste, harmless flirtation with a Secret Service agent from Atlanta named Nathaniel, not because he reminds you of Aegon—Nate is 6’4, 250 pounds, and a former Navy SEAL—but because he listens, because he is kind. He gives you riveting summaries of films and books that are considered too scandalous for you to be seen enjoying. He makes fun of your matronly skirt suits. He takes you to get lemon-lime Mr. Mistys at Dairy Queen. He massages your scarred hand with rose oil.

In May of 1969, Aemond voices support for university students across the nation protesting in favor of increased Black faculty and Africana Studies courses. In July, the Apollo 11 mission lands the first men on the moon, effectively ending the Space Race with an American victory. In September, Lieutenant William Calley receives a sentence of life in prison for his role in the My Lai Massacre the previous year. In November, the Rolling Stones release a new album entitled Let It Bleed. Ludwika gives you the record for Christmas along with an array of perfumes and lipsticks, all extravagantly packaged in a pink Gucci gift box. Your favorite song is Gimme Shelter. You listen to it at dusk in the Jacqueline Kennedy Garden, your chair facing west, taking slow drags off Lucky Strike cigarettes that Nate buys for you, embers glowing as the sun disappears.

“What’s out there?” Nate asks you one night with a slinky half-grin, and then when you don’t immediately answer: “You’re always looking that way. What are you looking for?”

You don’t know what to tell him. Nothing. Everything. Something that almost happened. And slowly, under a lavender twilight peppered with the remote glimmers of constellations—stars that cannot be changed, disasters predestined since before you were born—Nate’s smile dies, and he never asks again.

~~~~~~~~~~

Three time zones away, Aegon’s hair grows out and he gets his ears re-pierced, tiny gold hoops that make him think of wedding rings. Rachel pretends she doesn’t want to get married. Aegon doesn’t offer. Once in a while after the kids have gone to bed, he climbs into the hammock in the backyard and smokes a joint, staring absently into the east as the new Rolling Stones album spins on the record player. Aegon’s favorite song is You Can’t Always Get What You Want. Rachel stands at the telescope they set up for the kids—Cosmo’s idea—and stargazes, making her way down a checklist of visible celestial objects.

One night Aegon asks as she’s squinting through the eyepiece: “Where’s Jupiter?”

Rachel glances over at him, then points up at the indigo sky. “It’s that one, the really bright spot near Perseus. Why?”

Aegon shrugs, exhaling smoke. “No reason,” he says; but he’s still looking at Jupiter, wounded, stoned wonder floating on the surface of his watery eyes.

Daeron settles down in Yuma and buys a ranch. He does some work at the VA Hospital a few hours away in Tucson, some white water rafting on the Colorado River, some hiking in the Kofa National Wildlife Refuge, a whole lot of roughhousing with his niece and nephews. John McCain, now a war hero and national celebrity, is always calling to see if Daeron has decided to run for office yet. A few times a year, they receive visitors from the East Coast: Alicent, Criston, Ludwika, Helaena, Fosco, and their three children. The president and first lady are not mentioned unless by accident. The kids adore their grandmother, and she loves them back, although Alicent never learns to appreciate Tessarion the rat and refuses to hold her. In 1970, Helaena and Fosco have one last baby, a daughter they name Marina after Mimi. Life goes on, but the ghosts remain.

On a chilly evening in January of 1972, Aegon is flipping through television channels when he lands on an NBC segment about First Lady Targaryen touring the Walter Reed National Military Medical Center in Bethesda, Maryland. “That’s so fucked up,” Aegon murmurs as she calmly soothes the suffering of mutilated men, and his voice is dark with scorching, clandestine fury. He gestures to the screen with the remote control. “She hates hospitals. He makes her do things that hurt her. He does it just to prove he can.”

Rachel says as she stands in the threshold between the living room and the kitchen, a question she has finally worked up the courage to ask: “No one is ever going to be able to compare to her, right?”

Aegon opens his mouth to protest, and then closes it again. And something washes over him like waves of the ocean, sun on sand, poison in the blood and the lungs, myths that carve themselves into your bones so deep you can see the red of the marrow underneath. He replies truthfully, his eyes still on the screen: “Right.”

Rachel packs her bags. Aegon gets up to help her. He feels it’s the least he can do.

~~~~~~~~~~

When you and Aemond return to Asteria for summer vacations, the seaside Targaryen compound is full of ghosts. You catch glimpses of Mimi stumbling up staircases, Cosmo trotting after you as you turn corners, Aegon smoking a joint under the statue of Zeus in Helaena’s garden. You open cabinets and bottles of his pills fall out. You see Sunfyre bobbing abandoned in the boathouse. The basement is just as Aegon left it. Sometimes you go down there and stand on the green shag carpet in the hushed, cool, damp emptiness, not knowing what you’re waiting for, staring at the wall until someone comes to look for you.

“What’s in these?” Nate asks one afternoon, snatching a notebook off the shelf. “Oh wow, look!” He shows you messy sketches in black ink, cartoon versions of the stories of Greek gods and goddesses, myths reimagined. “Who do you think drew them?”

“Maybe Daeron,” you reply, but it wasn’t him. You’d know Aegon’s handwriting anywhere. Nate leafs through a bunch of the notebooks, booming laughter—he especially enjoys that Poseidon has been characterized as a sexually insatiable dolphin—and reading his favorite parts out loud to you. One notebook is only half-full; the last few pages are covered with drawings of tiny cows, telephones with long spiral cords, the moon in all its phases. You tear these out to keep.

On each July 13th, there is a card with no return address waiting in your mail basket at the White House, always featuring a jovial cow, always making you smile. You entrust Nate with the task of hiding the notebook pages and greeting cards away somewhere safe, an arrangement he honors like an oath.

Every so often, when you feel lethal bitterness kindling, you are struck by the inspiration to find Aemond’s Ouija board. It must be here in the White House someplace, but you can’t figure out where. You search the bedrooms, rummage through closets, climb into the oak cabinets beneath bathroom sinks; you scrabble around like a rodent under the cover of darkness while Aemond is away on state visits and campaign rallies for fellow Democrats. Maybe he makes secret stops in Tacoma or Seattle. If he does, you don’t care. You’d rather Aemond be there than here.

In the spring of 1972, you find the Ouija board in a drawer of the Resolute desk, where Aemond conducts official business in the Oval Office. “Oh, that is insane,” you say to yourself as you slide it out. You mean to burn it in your bedroom fireplace, then think again. On the back of the board, the inscription has faded, as if traced by Aemond’s fingertips again and again.

If I destroy this, what will he do to Aegon and his children? What will he do to me?

You place the Ouija board back where you found it, slide the drawer shut, and crawl into bed, besieged by dreams of smoke and rum and the rumbling bass of Season Of The Witch.

Aemond’s national approval rating hovers between 55-70%—far about the historical average, although he never stops pining for an heir and proper first family to maximize his allure—until May of 1972, when the tide begins to turn. The treaty formally ending U.S. involvement in the war was signed back in early 1969, but the hasty troop withdrawal left capitalist South Vietnam vulnerable, and now it is being invaded by the communists backed by China and Russia. The Fall of Saigon is immortalized in the evening news, printed on the covers of newspapers; people who once collaborated with the Americans are shot dead in the streets. Refugees flee west to Laos and Cambodia and Thailand, east on makeshift rafts into the ocean. The few that Aemond manages to hurriedly admit into the U.S. inspire racism and xenophobia from suburbanites. Many of the hippies have grown up, had children, gotten jobs, settled down with credit cards and mortgages. Protestors march with signs out on Pennsylvania Avenue: America abandons her allies! Our global reputation is in peril! Will the communists invade here next? What did my son die for?

“They wanted me to end it,” Aemond marvels as he gazes out the White House windows. “They begged for me to end it, and now look at them. Ungrateful imbecile bastards.”

And you give him a rare piece of advice that he listens to: “You should call LBJ.”

On his ranch fifty miles outside of Austin, Texas, Lyndon Baines Johnson is dying of heart failure. Still, he smokes more or less constantly, and refuses to adhere to the diet Lady Bird fretfully lectures their chefs about. He has grown his grey hair long and sits for as many interviews as he can, desperate to salvage his legacy and remind people of the things he did right: civil rights legislation, the War On Poverty, rising from a poor farming family to the Oval Office. He knows exactly what it feels like to be hated for having no good options. He says gruffly through the phone: “The Vietnam War needed to end, Aemond. It had to happen. But someone has to pay for it, too. That’s your job now. Take the fall, and the country survives. Plenty of people still love you. And I’m proud of you, son. I know it ain’t easy, believe me. But I’m real proud.”

Still, Aemond fights. He can’t help it. It’s all he’s ever known.

He campaigns at a murderous pace, and you have to follow him across the nation. Perhaps intentionally, there are no campaign stops in Arizona. Aemond does very well, but Ronald Reagan does better; he’s quick and he’s cutting, but he’s also funny, and grandfatherly, and warm, and God knows the American people could use some of that after the past decade. He characterizes Aemond’s policy regarding Vietnam as “peace without honor.” He calls Aemond short-sighted about a dozen times, a jab his supporters guffaw at. He says the United States has surrendered its rightful place as the leader of the free world. His wife Nancy—his second wife—is vehemently opposed to recreational drugs and other supposed moral crimes including abortion and premarital sex. You hate her, and she hates you right back, though in a perfectly pleasant, ever-smiling, mid-century housewife sort of way. Reagan’s disciples call you a whore. Aemond gets the newspapers still loyal to him to publish scathing denials. You aren’t exactly sure why he does this; no comment at all would almost certainly be wiser politically, as Otto advises. But Aemond does it anyway, with deep trenches of violent determination knit into his scarred brow.

The 1972 presidential election is held on Tuesday, November 7th. It is not until the early hours of the morning on Wednesday the 8th that Aemond learns he has narrowly lost. It couldn’t possibly be construed as your fault; he wins Florida by a greater margin than he had in 1968. As the sun rises in a bright, cloudless sky, Aemond’s entourage clears out of the Lincoln Sitting Room, leaving the two of you alone with the droning television. Aemond is sipping an Old Fashioned on one end of the couch. You light yourself a Lucky Strike cigarette on the other. For once, Aemond doesn’t seem to mind.

“You know,” Aemond muses after a while. “Ronald Reagan is divorced.”

Your heart is racing; you aren’t sure what he’s offering. You’re petrified to say the wrong thing and change his mind. “Yeah, he is.”

Aemond nods, twirling his Old Fashioned so the ice cubes clink against the misty glass, not looking at you. “I think I’ll marry Alys and adopt the boy.”

And that’s how you learn that what Aegon said in the doorway of a hospital room four and half years ago was true, no impassioned declarations, no gratitude, only grudges that have grown quiet and cold and dormant. At last, Aemond is done with you.

~~~~~~~~~~

Otto, glowering spitefully, getaway car procurement extraordinaire, hands you the keys to a green Chevy Nova. On the front steps of the White House, you say goodbye to a palpably heartbroken Nate. He gives you the notebook pages and greetings cards. You give him a kiss on the cheek, a parting stain of red lipstick. But instead of blood, the color makes you think of cherry-flavored Mr. Mistys, the Lucky Strike logo, roses, sunburn, firelight, the rust-hued earth of the desert. You duck into the Nova and start driving.

The East Coast unfolds into the Midwest and then turns jagged as you hit the Rocky Mountains. At a gas station in Albuquerque, New Mexico, you toss your remaining birth control pills—still squirreled away in a box of hollowed-out tampons—into a trash bin. At a McDonald’s in Asher, Arizona, just forty minutes outside of Yuma, you stop to get a large Coca-Cola and touch up your makeup in the bathroom mirror: black eyeliner, gold shadow, both as heavy as you want them to be. You stroll back to your Nova under a radiant November sky that feels like summer, smiling to yourself. The hem of your roomy, floral skirt billows around your brown leather boots in the desert wind. Your earrings are small, glinting gold hoops. Your white tank top is simple and hand-crocheted, found at a yard sale in Amarillo, Texas; but your sunglasses are Bugatti, a gift from Ludwika.

You park outside the only school on the Fort Yuma Indian Reservation and go inside to the front office. The secretary says distractedly: “Can I help you, ma’am?” Then she does a double take. “Oh, I’m sorry, dear, do I…do I know you from somewhere…?”

“You might,” you say, pushing your sunglasses up into your hair. It’s only shoulder-length now, but growing, and wild from the wind. “I was hoping to find Mr. Targaryen, does he still work here?”

“He sure does, but he doesn’t like anyone calling him that.”

Of course he wouldn’t. “Just Aegon then. Which classroom is…?”

But before you can finish your question, and before she can answer, you hear echoing through the labyrinthian hallways the start of Creedence Clearwater Revival’s Bad Moon Rising, not just an acoustic guitar but bass and drums too.

“I see the bad moon a-risin’

I see trouble on the way

I see earthquakes and lightnin’

I see bad times today

Don’t go around tonight

Well it’s bound to take your life

There’s a bad moon on the rise.”

The secretary laughs, keeping rhythm with taps of her pencil on her desk. “I guess you can find him on your own, can’t ya?”

Yes, you can. You follow the music through long empty corridors, wondering where all the students are. You drag your fingertips—black polish, chipped around the edges—along grooves in the cinder block walls that have been painted over with vibrant murals. The song is getting louder, and now you hear other noises too, an ocean of energetic voices and squealing chairs.

“I hear hurricanes a-blowin’

I know the end is comin’ soon

I fear rivers over flowin’

I hear the voice of rage and ruin

Don’t go around tonight

Well it’s bound to take your life

There’s a bad moon on the rise, alright!”

You step into the cafeteria, raucous with students swapping pudding cups and bags of chips. Many of them are watching the stage, clapping along, playing their own imaginary guitars. Aegon is there strumming the sparkling gold guitar you sent him for Christmas back in 1968. He hasn’t seen you yet; he’s grinning at the kids up on the stage with him—his fellow bandmates, his fledgling rockstars—and leaning back from the mic to give them pointers. But Cosmo has. He flies out of his seat and crashes into you, now nearly ten years old, long blonde hair, a Rolling Stones t-shirt.

“You’re back!” he bellows over the music as you hug him. Teachers chatting amongst themselves by the wall give you curious glances.

“Yeah, kiddo. I am.”

“For a visit?”

“Maybe for a little longer than that.”

“Yay!” he shouts, jumping up and down.

You look back to Aegon, and now his eyes catch on yours: instantaneous recognition, disbelief, amazement. He’s just like you remember him; he’s just like he is in your dreams. You raise an eyebrow and wave tentatively. His own words surface in your skull like swimming up through cool, sunlit water: What are we gonna do about it? And Aegon smiles, the god of light, music, healing, truth.

Now his tiny bandmates are yelling at him, irate. He’s still plucking at his guitar on autopilot, but he’s missed his cue to sing the last verse. He shakes off his astonishment and continues, beaming, watching you.

“Hope you got your things together

Hope you are quite prepared to die

Looks like we’re in for nasty weather

One eye is taken for an eye

Well don’t go around tonight

Well it’s bound to take your life

There’s a bad moon on the rise.”

Cosmo sprints back to his lunch to stop a friend from seizing his unguarded Ding Dongs.

“Don’t come around tonight

Well it’s bound to take your life

There’s a bad moon on the rise.”

Aegon gives his guitar a final few strums as the cafeteria erupts into cheers and applause. His bandmates bow to their audience as Aegon takes off his guitar, leaps down from the stage, runs to you as children twist in their seats to stare. He’s wearing khaki shorts, tan moccasins, a half-unbuttoned white shirt that actually fits him, dog tags with Daeron’s name on them. He’s so afraid to ask the question; he’s terrified you won’t say the right answer. “Io…what the hell are you doing here?”

You shrug, casual, teasing. “Didn’t like where I was. Thought I’d try someplace new.”

He touches your face to make sure you’re real, marveling at you, his voice going hushed. “We’ve lost so much time.”

“Don’t worry. Your life’s only half over.”

Aegon laughs, eyes shining. “I’m really, really looking forward to the rest of it.”

You can feel the smile on his lips as he kisses you; you can hear a quiet, kind melody that fills the universe, the sound of all the chains of gravity breaking and moons drifting free from their planets.

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

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astrogre · 9 months

Text

What gifts to buy for each Venus sign

Christmas is among us, my favourite season and time of the year. Venus is the planet of love, by nature it can display what we like to receive from others but if you don’t know their Venus or the house it’s in you can try to look at the persons Sun sign instead but Venus is ideal.

A gift based on their:

Sun sign will make them feel seen and like you know them well, it will be a gift they may appreciate

Venus sign is all they’ve ever desired it’s the pinnacle of their ideal gift. Especially as Venus represents how we like to receive and experience love

Aries/ 1H Venus

Gym membership, running shoes, thrill seeking experiences like tickets to bungee jumping, rock climbing, a skydiving event, gym outfit, tickets to their favourite artist, tickets to festival, cool lighter, archery classes, tickets to sports games, a shirt with their teams logo or merch from their favourite artists, scissors set, cooking tools, hair styling products like hairspray, hair dye, Fitbit/apple watch, knives set, sports gear, heavy bass headphones, tickets for those room smashing experiences, take them clay pigeon shooting, family destroying board games like Risk or Catan, diy tattoo kit, diy piercing kit, theme park tickets.

Aries Venus are by nature thrill seekers, Aries is ruled by the head and has 1st house influences, they can certainly appreciate something that ignites passion, they are impulsive and quick by nature to pursue what they desire. They need gifts that match their decisive nature and to let out that pent up energy they have in them, I honestly think experiences are the best for them. Or a box of hair dye for their impulsive moments

Taurus/ 2H Venus

Hire a chef or take them to a really good restaurant for a 5 course meal that serves orgasmic food and has impeccable visuals/atmosphere OR you can even arrange a 7 course homemade meal with the finest of recipes! , fine jewellery adorned with a gemstone, culinary experiences, cooking classes, kitchenware, go to fragrantica.com and find a high quality perfume to give, premium home decor, art, antique items, antique furniture, comfortable cosy clothing, hot water bottle, gardening tools, plants, selection of seeds for their garden, diffuser, essential oils, desserts like baklava/ferro rocher, luxury goods, wellness retreat subscription, day at the spa, tea set, comfy velvet winter pillows and bed sheets

Oh my Taurus natives, they know how to break a bank for Christmas and if not they can enjoy luxury on a budget! They enjoy the finer things of life of course Venus ruled, they know how to induge in pleasures and satisfaction. Due to the earthy influence they have a green finger and a natural affinity with plants and gardening, they may love flowers or want to grow plants themselves. Taurus venuses are rather easy to gift, if you know them they usually have a vice, it may be sleep, food or pure laziness, get them something according to their vice and they will treasure it.

Gemini/ 3H Venus

Really cool stationary, Spotify subscription, comedy show tickets, books from their favourite genre, a notebook, Grammarly subscription, cards against humanity board game, Duolingo subscription, multiplayer games, home kit recording studio, language learning stuff, calligraphy classes, kindle, portable car charger, Bluetooth speaker, karaoke machine, suitcase, travel accessories, a musical instrument, sealing wax kit, creative hobby supplies, microphone, podcasting equipment, audio editing software, a car, vr headset, Nintendo online subscription, Netflix/HBO/youtube/crunchyroll subscription

Gemini rules communication, short journeys and social engagement. Blessing these natives with tools to enhance their pleasant hobbies will make them swoon in gratitude, if you want to get them something make it engaging and whimsical. These natives are ruled by mercury and always welcome something that requires the mind.

Cancer/ 4H Venus

A cooking set, baking set, comfort food, commission artwork of the family, family photos, some really nice home decor, a keepsake/musical box adorned with velvets and soft materials that will store sentimental objects, a locket necklace, family recipe book make a recipe book of all their favourite foods and some foods you know they’d like, soft fluffy blanket, the family heirloom, hand crafted quilt, hand painted ceramic mug, animal crossing game, sims 4 game, games relating to the home, bring and fly in family that are far away as a surprise and cook their favourite meal together, household utilities, lush bath products, a personal chef for a day, a personal butler for a day, custom family tree art, ancestry DNA kit (please be careful though once you use them they keep your data and if they get hacked your information is out there), home movie night, comfy slippers and pyjamas, family board games, this christmas make them Christmas dinner this time.

Cancer rules the home and there’s nothing more appreciated by a cancer Venus than things that remind them of this. They are by nature expressive and nurturing, this time let them be pampered!

Leo/ 5H Venus

Hair care products, gift card for their favorite store, make them an edit no joke like a TikTok edit that makes them look really cool, one of those light up mirrors or a pretty handheld one if they don’t have one already, book them a photoshoot together if they don’t like the camera maybe post them on your social media and show affection for these bold natives, theatre tickets, bold sunglasses, luxury watch, good jewellery, VIP experiences like backstage passes or reservation to exclusive invite only restaurants, designer clothing that is a prestigious brand they love, commission style artwork, make them a playlist of songs that reminds you of them, fine wine, personalised fragrance creation that allows them to create their own signature fragrance, personalised makeup makeover, hire a stylist for them

A perfect gift for Leo’s need to have an element of self expression, luxury and incorporate their personality that garners attention from peers. They need a gift that makes them feel special, something tailored specifically for them that cannot be gifted to anyone else. Personalised gifts do well either this placement too. When I think of these natives I just think of that Meghan Trainor music video “Me Too” watch that and you’ll get their vibe.

Virgo/ 6H Venus

Skincare products, a blender for smoothies, lots of cleaning products, multi purpose aesthetic storage containers, Quora or chat gpt subscription (these guys like to be well informed), give them scientifically researched bath products that have all that vitamin breakdown qualities, make them a notion template to help them plan, quality office supplies like a desk organiser or chair, practical fitness gear like a yoga mat, a fitness tracker, get them a personal nutritionist, tailored meal prep services, bookshelf organiser system, a stylish briefcase, home office makeover (BUT PLEASE GET THEIR PERMISSION FIRST), online course subscription, digital subscription to news feed, you can never go wrong with practical things, an ikea haul, Costco membership, minimalist decor, multi vitamins, a precision watch, set of labelling and sorting tools, a neat tidy chess board, get them a nice little pet, honestly for some reason whenever I think of Virgos I think of matcha. Get them something matcha based.

Virgo Venus natives need gifts that resemble their routine and organisation, they can be rather difficult to purchase for since they have such a specific taste in mind. Gift cards are practical for them but they really need something that allows them to be more prepared. Take them out for comparison price shopping like say if you want to get them a sofa tell them you’ll take them out to Costco, Amazon, ikea, and compare the best ones. They are also very clean and efficient.

Libra Venus/ 7H Venus

Trending Make up like the fenty hot chocolit heat lip gloss, Korean skincare products, beautiful piece of art, a wedding ring 😏, bouquet of flowers, take them to a beautiful botanical garden, fashionable accessories like a silk scarf, books and courses on design, take them to a couples romantic date, a couples workshop, write them a love letter, museum date, tickets to an art exhibition, fine dining, an astrology synastry reading, if they’re single set up a blind date with someone who you KNOW they would like (make sure they’re handsome/pretty), couples retreat, love coach Patreon subscription, pottery/painting classes, relationship podcast subscription, relationship psychology books, fine fragrance/cologne

Libra is ruled by Venus and 7th house, all things related to love beauty and pleasure align with this native, even if they are single they have a natural gift for delving into relationships. Make sure that whatever gift you give them it is pleasing and sensual

Scorpio/ 8H Venus

Intimate gifts, a psychological crime documentary playlist like Epstein island documentary or YouTubers who speak of renowned cult leaders, personalised astrology reading, a dark seductive fragrance, dark artwork, dominance and submission guide book, shadow work journal with a lock on it, dark poetry and literature, escape room adventure tickets, monopoly game, dungeons and dragons game equipment, bdsm accessories, personalised erotic art, leather/latex clothing, bonding activities, empowering books like 48 Laws of Power, martial arts training, taxidermy, personal development workshops, intense workout equipment like a punching bag, chess, daggers, locks on their door or for their belongings like installing a lock for their drawers, buy them a ring camera and subscription, wine tasting experience

Give them something sultry and deep, it has to be psychological and empowering. They are not impressed by superficial gifts that mean nothing to them. They really like gifts that allow them to explore their nature and the darker aspects of existence.

Sagittarius/ 9H Venus

A scratch off map that allows you to scratch off countries you’ve been to, a surprise holiday where you take them abroad, Duolingo subscription, a wanderlust journal for them to document their experiences, passport accessories, an electric guitar, drums, take them to a fireworks display or do one at home for them, a telescope, a drone, binoculars, philosophical books or religious books based on their own beliefs and religion, running shoes, horse riding in the sunset experience, musical instruments, motivational and positive affirmations book or make some for them yourself, a book collection of all their motivational and positive messages they have said, a compass, pay for their tuition for a course they’ve always wanted, traveling stuff like suitcases, pillow for travelling, a portable flask, a disposable camera, a Polaroid camera, a tent, tickets to a cultural festival, hiking gear, skiing gear, camping gear, sketchbook, a donation in their name

Sagittarius Venus and 9H venuses love the concept of exploration whether it be in the mind or physically, the best gift you could give them is one that allows them to take in so much culture, information and experiences.

Capricorn/ 10H Venus

Customisable credit card (CUCU is a good site for this), a nice power suit like business attire, vintage pocket calculator, cufflinks or a tie, formal shoes, pay for their CV to be analysed by professionals in their industry, elegant timeless clothing and jewellery, make them business cards, get them a corporate slave (an assistant will do), pay for business class flights for their next trip abroad, project management courses, tickets to Ted Talk event, take them to and big them up at networking and entrepreneurial opportunities, a sleek desk, submit their work for trophies and awards, quality furniture, Starbucks or their fave coffee place gift cards, a fountain pen, personalised desk name plate, professional photoshoot, designer accessories like a Swiss watch, leather wallet, cheque book, pay for a professional calligrapher to design their signature, time management software

Our sweet cap Venuses and 10Hers need their professional acknowledgment, give them anything timeless and a way for them to better themselves. They love being the best of the best so give them things that support their ambitions.

Aquarius/ 11H Venus

A 3D printer, high tech phone, a gamer console, smart home device like Alexa, chat gpt subscription, AI art pieces of them, rubix cube, VR headset, bespoke one of a kind art piece, tickets to a science technology conference or musem, networking events, phone case, futuristic home decor, membership to an niche club their interested in, mini indoor garden like a plant terrarium, pay for an astronomy stargazing experience for them, alt clothing, goal setting journal, a camaraderie for their friendships can be a bracelet for an example, tickets to a unique workshop according to their niche interests, video editing software, a unique invention prototype for the industry their interested in say if it were cars then a mini Tesla or something, volunteer together, design software, film festival tickets, social cause merchandise, unique fashion piece, astronomy kit, an AI boyfriend or girlfriend, take them a Ted talk.

Always remember the specific niche interests of these natives they like things that are very niche and so sometimes asking them is actually the best thing to do. But make sure it’s something they’re passionate about not all of these natives live tech but they certainly are innovative.

Pisces/ 12H Venus

Seashell necklace, watercolour paints, fantasy book collection, their favourite mangas, handmade artwork, stained glass window art, dream interpretation book, flowerpedia book, vinyls, yoga mat, contact lenses, tickets to their favourite artist like mitski or the sort, create a playlist for them that’s about fantasy and imagination, they might like Disney consider taking them to Disneyland, windchime, subscription to mindfulness app, astrology book, go to the aquarium together, windchimes, art supplies, a dream journal, sound healing instruments, pay for their spiritual retreat, zen garden decor, a mystical music box, water fountain, take them to a mesmerising body of water, prayer mats, diary, write them a heartfelt letter of how amazing they are, take them to a nature retreat, wearable art

Dreamy imaginative gifts would be perfect for these people, they need gifts that allow them to appreciate their escape world where they have a reality that’s just better than here. Give them things that are as beautiful as their inner world.

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uknowmesblog · 1 month

Text

Ah, ah, I am an awful person for taking so long to write again.

Guilty as charged, I had a hell of week and It's still going strong. Pray for my soul, I have flour in my nose.

!!TW!!

FOUL language, kind off groping/pawing. Soft punisment. Virgin Reader. (I m a sucker for this trope and I won't be sorry)

No minors pls, I can't deal with this.

Also, does anyone know how to do a materialist? I m not the smartest 🤓

Oh what a debriefing it was, hands on you all the time. Small whispers almost passed without a second thought, your pussy literally weeping every time Johnny threw one of his panty-melting smile. You left the space dizzy, barely remembering where is that damned room you we're assigned, your mind a battle ground between hating the situation you are in and enjoying all the attention you could get.

Male attention wasn't a thing in your life, your dad scarring them like he was a rabid dog. No one will touch the daughter of a high military rank man, risking to dissappear like dust in wind out of nowhere.

And when you grew up? Your mind was already made, you would grow old with lots of cats and maybe a parrot just for the effect. Lost was the idea of even a fuck, your virginity now collecting dust figuratively.

Now two men, three if you take in consideration Price who's smirking from time to time, gave you more attention and more touches than you could register in your slow mind. (If you'll have awareness, you would count four.)

"Jesus christ" You sighed, closing your door and resting your forehead against it, cool wood taking the edge off a bit. After diner you had plans, something soft for your first night ready. Nothing scandalous, just taking a break.

═════ ◈ ═════

Dinner passed fast, you had some kind chicken and mashed potatoes. Good enough to not starve, you almost had a tantrum over the fact there wasn't dessert but one glare from Ghost had you bite your tongue. His baklava rised over his nose, scarred full lips staying flat as you glared at your food.

You listened as everyone was moving around their rooms until silence enveloped the whole space and you gracefully tiptoed outside, finding a spot concealed in shadows under the full moon.

It's cold, your fingers tightened around the pack of smokes as you seated yourself on some sort of decorative rock. A military base with decorative rocks, making you snort as your lips wrapped around a cigarette. You didn't smoke in a while, deciding is way too expensive and your budget was tight as a nun's ass. But now you had enough to live off a while, maybe two months at best.

Your new salary sounds good on paper, but it is worthy to risk your whole life for extra money? You don't have an answer as you look at the sky, lips puffin a cigarette. Your eyes fall on your phone, distracted by the sound of it, not hearing the silent men with a skull baklava approaching you.

One palm wrapped around your mouth, the other gripping your wrist making you drop your phone on the floor.

"Shh, it's jus' me" He whispered, hot breath fanning against your neck. You tried to wiggle out of his grasp, but he only tightened his hold on you. You huffed annoyed, his low and raspy chuckle making you shiver.

"You are such an annoying little doll, aren't you?" His hand leave your mouth, wrapping around your throat. "So mouthy, so bratty" his hand travelled further down, making your breath hitch.

"Now keep it nice and quiet for me luv, your punishment will be easy tonight"

His fingers cupped your cunt over your pants, making you yelp and trash. He slapped it twice stopping you yelp, stopping all the movements.

"Stay still, you won't want Johnny to hear you, he will be between these pretty thighs s'fast you will cum before even thinking about it."

Your eyes rolled back, his fingers dropping under your waistband and finding your dripping pussy welcoming all hot and bothered.

One finger gingerly rubbing your clit, your breath coming out panting. This is so wrong, deep in your mind you know this is power imbalance and he shouldn't be doing this.

You should stop this, you should cry for help.

But a depraved part in you it's enjoying the way his fingers are working you higher and higher, so close to -

"No, not tonight ' He retreated himself so fast, like you are burning and he just got some of it.

"W-what?" You blinked, confused and worked up.

"Good girls receive pleasure, brats receive the punishment. " The audacity of this man, made you open your mouth instantly.

"Isn't like I can touch myself?"

"You could do that and receive a worde punishment " He looked at you with that impassive face, the only thing showing his sick pleasure it's the bulge that was showing off a lil too much.

"And trust me I will now" He grunted, tilting his head.

"You can't be serious, you can't just ban masturbating"

"Watch me, if you want me to finish what I started, you can beg tomorrow on your knees." He turned around, leaving you flustered and confused. Red cheeks, eyes ready to shed tears and a pussy leaking wetness ready to be stuffed.

Your plan just backfired, you need to find something new thats sure!

@brxghtlxghtz @niresenrab @nes-kopi @chickennn-soupp @clear-your-mind-and-dream

Its short ik ik, Don't kill me.

I had some time today at work and I said why not? I need a break from life.

#soap #call of duty x y/n #ghoap x reader #141 x reader #captain john price #ghostsoap reader #poly 141 x reader #tf 141 x reader #gaz garrick #ghost cod #call of duty

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azulock · 8 months

Note

If you haven’t done them already could I please request Oliver’s love languages?

I was thinking of how long it was gonna take for someone to show up with this specific request, seems I got my answer right away, thanks for the request nonnie, here we go!

5 Love Languages Oliver Aiku

1st. Physical Touch

The world's biggest koala, he can be incredibly clingy. He loves closeness, loves touching, loves skin to skin contact. And while yes, it is a sexual thing, it's also not just that. He needs to feel you close, to share body heat, to cuddle up to you so he can be happy. Tho, he might knead a tit or maybe an asscheek like a stress ball while cuddling, he means no harm, he does it without thinking. Also, hope you like pda, cause this fucker does not care, you could even leave him painted in lipstick, he'd wear it with pride.

2nd. Words of Affirmation

Yes, words are cheap, and his can be worth cents, but not always. He says things with surprising ease, and sure, sometimes his words are said with less than true intentions, but when he really feels it they can be pretty damn honest. When he really loves someone he has no problem saying it, even in public he feels no need to bite his tongue. Matter of fact, he has no problem saying "I love you" first, the issue is gonna be making him shut up afterward.

3rd. Quality Time

Big believer that you gotta make time to spend together doing something - anything - no matter how busy your schedule is. He is happy with just cuddling up to watch a movie, anything is good. And he is gonna make an effort, even if he is tired and jetlagged as fuck, when he loves someone, he will find the energy for it. And in truth, it's not just because of you, but for himself too. He needs attention like he needs water to live, so of course he's gonna make an effort.

4th. Acts of Devotion

Funny enough, he actually does all those boring but functional things. It's just that he doesn't do them because he loves you, he does them just because that's how he is - he'd do those things for himself, his friends, his teammates. Look at how the U20 team trusted his decisions and relied on him, because despite his flaws he is a reliable person. So, he does the things out of practicality. Tho, this means he won't think of what you specifically need, you can just ask him for help, he's gonna whine the whole time but he will do it.

5th. Gift Giving

His brain doesn't have the "looked at this thing and thought of you" neural pathway, so gifts only really cross his mind when his phone calendar tells him your birthday is coming in a week. And even then he's gonna drag Sendo to go with him to find a gift. You can ask him to buy you something, spending is not the problem, but he really won't think about it if left by himself. He is also very prone to forgetting important dates, thank god for smartphones.

tag me in: @tinnaagine @loser-vxbez @kiurona @bentolover @bevernats @weirdbutpr3tty @ada7201 @vollereix @rinitosh @kum1ko-chan @wishiknewwhatiwasdoingwithmylife @qichun @true-latverian-baklava @oliveraikusweatyshirt

#blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #oliver aiku x reader #oliver aiku #aiku oliver

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mangom00n · 4 months

Text

Types of people: pastries

Croissant: Dependable, has a comforting presence. Knows everyone and is well liked by all. Always has a drink in their hand.

Eclair: Elegant, poised, very stylish. A bit high maintenance, but you love them so it's no problem. Smiles with their eyes.

Cream puff: Good with kids, controlled chaos. A bit of a mess but you love them all the same. Has a contagious laugh.

Macaron: Confident in a likable way, always has a joke at the ready. Love language is gift giving. Content to chill in any situation.

Baklava: Always smells amazing, great taste in music. Flirty personality, frequently late to events, prankster. Bro is cool as fuck.

#tag yourself #types of people #tag game #pastries

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im-notbean · 1 year

Text

Headcannons of; Quackity x Greek! Male! Reader

On god bro. I just really want somebody who speaks Greek on the QSMP. So in orderto cure this fantasy of mine I have now created this, sorry if you dont like the fact that Y/N is greek but I had to do it. Sooner or later okay-

⚠︎ Warning ⚠︎

Swearing

Some cultural things you might not understand

Might not be accurate to the cannon QSMP

This post has both Q!Quackity and CC!Quackity

Grammar mistakes

Characters might be a bit off to you

Mentions of Homophobia

Author kinda pools info about greek food-

If anything bothers you from above please, don't read!

CC!Quackity

・Your accent>>>>>>

・I'm sorry but he just loves it, especially when you pronounce certain words.

・Like saying yogurt and bread shit like that you know?

・If you say Alex in greek he gets scared- (Άλεξ [Álex] might not be accurate lol)

・Praise. Him. In. Greek.

・He get's so mad if you don't, goes full on Mexican on your ass-

・Quackity definitely respects your boundaries, so he'd ok with you not wanting to be public about your guy's relationship

・Especially with Twitter and shit (I refuse to call Twitter "X")

・Makes the funniest jokes and yall know those corny ass pick up lines

・Like "I wish you were my Xbox, cause I wanna play you all~~ night ♡"

・He definitely does those daily

・He can't cook for shit, so you have banned him from the kitchen

・It's always akward explaning that to your parents...

・Quackity loves it when you cook for him

・Especially Greek deserts (I'm just gonna fanboy over greek food for a hot minutes)

・Like tiramisu or like those almond cookies

・OR FUCKING BAKLAVA

・OR EVEN LOUKOUMADES

・Incase you don't know what I'm fanboying over, Tiramisu is an Italian dish so I'm not gonna go over it in much detail

・Basically a layered desert with espresso innit

・Baklava is one of the MOST iconic Greek deserts, it's layered with phyllo pastery, melted butter, and nuts!

・The most common are pistachios and walnuts by the way and theirs a layer of cinnamon-orange syrup pored over it once it is baked!

・Loukoumades are the Greek version of fried dough, their normally topped with honey, cinnamon, and walnuts.

・Anyway...

・He loves then sm

・If yall decide to make your relationship public, he wants you to decide how to do it.

・I personally believe you take over his stream one day as his "Special Guest"

・A cooking stream because y'know- it's iconic

・Your baking a classic greek disk.

・Gyro (Pronouced Yee-ro by the way)

・Basically Gyro is a dish that is a mix of lamb and beef (sometimes chicken too) that is made to fill pita bread.

・The sauce that is paired with is called tzatziki (it's really fucking good.) it normally has tomatos and onions and paied with greek fries.

・So your cooking the meat and stuff and Quackity just comes up behind you and you turn around right cause you know he's their

・So quickly, you bend down and kiss him.

・A little smooch before you kick him out th kitchen-

Q!Quackity

・You guys met on the train to the island.

・He tried talking to you but he seriously could not understand you, it wasas if you were speaking another language.

・When the government had paired people up, you didn't get a partner :(

・You also didn't really want an egg either, but you didn't mind babysitting them!

・Phil is so greatful for this-

・Quackity had heard about your egg sitting and decided to leave Tillin (I think i butchered this ngl) in your care

・Tillin loved you, she also liked the fact that she could understand you and offered as a translator.

・When Quackity came back he was surprised to see his own child translating what you were saying

・Once the new members joined you were assined partners with Tubbo (I am not sure if the new members have assigned parners ngl so...also are we getting new members today?)

・(Not even joking- ANYWAY LMAO)

・So y'know how Tubbo can get info out of Curchuro (prob butchered that again lol)

・You can do it also, sence your the only person on the server who can speak greek and not English he thinks the info he tells you is safe.

・You get Tillin to translate to Tubbo about what Curchuro tells you >:D

・Quackity learns about this and then he realized what the fuck is happening

・The he realized one day, you were gone.

・Along with the eggs.

・He never realized how much he liked you until you left...

・Quackity tried looking for you and the eggs

・But he never got far

・Tubbo also tried to help look for you, to no avail

・Not gonna lie, you and Phil got locked in a cage togther 😂

#im-notbean #dream smp #dsmp #dsmp quackity #quackity #qsmp #qsmpblr #qsmp headcanons #qsmp quackity #quackity x reader #x reader #y/n #x male reader #male reader #quackity x male reader #quackity headcannons #q!quackity #quackity x you #quackity x y/n

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vidavalor · 4 months

Note

So I’ve been thinking about your metatron is Satan theory and how Crowley, the Angels and Adam see what they expect to see and idly wondering if it’s sort of the same for all demons. We have multiple versions of Crowley and Bildad, and lots of theories as to why, but what if it’s as simple as the various characters see what they expect and so we the viewer see variations? Beez getting a new face may throw a spanner into that idea but it just seems to me that if this is the plot twist in season three then the different versions of Crowley may be a clue… anyhow your meta was brilliant and wanted to toss my poorly thought out 1am musings at you to see what you thought.

Hi there @thavron! Hope you're having a great weekend so far. 💕I've been thinking again about bees a bit as a result of your ask so there is baklava for a honeyed dessert. Love your thoughts-- they've been tickling my brain for a few days now. 😊

If you're meaning: do we all sometimes see people as we want them to be or who we think they are, rather than who they actually are... then, yes, I would say that fits in with the recognition themes the show has going on.

To an extent, we all do this, right? And the show about angels and demons is really about the messy and amazing business of being a person. All the angels and demons are people, just like the humans. We all put on a performance in society to some extent. Our clothes, our grooming choices, how we speak, how we walk, eye contact, body language-- all of this is a performance. It's a construct that we get up every morning and do. Awhile back, we were looking at the choices David Tennant is making when it comes to Crowley's walk in different time periods-- especially when Crowley takes the stage to help Aziraphale in 1941-- and how the walk is representative of how comfortable he feels in society in different eras. That's just one aspect of things but, yeah, we're all showing one face to the world as a whole but those we let in often get to see another one.

I think that, for the most part, this holds true with angels and demons. Satan is an exception to the rule because he's Satan and actually evil so he is capable of the dubious kind of magic that the other characters don't really do. Satan will possess someone without consent, for instance. It's not hard to see that he would steal someone's physical appearance to mask his own as he already stole the voice of Freddie Mercury in S1 (which I also think is another clue to the idea that it's not actually The Metatron at the end of S2, as we've seen Satan do something like this before already.)

I think that the rest of the demons see what we see when they look at one another, on a physical appearance level. As you pointed out, Crowley can see that Beez has a new face in S2 so Crowley sees Beez's physical presentation as how we see Beez's physical presentation. He also can recognize Shax when she's bouncing around humanoid forms outside the bookshop in the mid-part of the season. There are different versions of Crowley because Crowley has lived on Earth forever and is just blending in with different societies (and he also gets bored lol.) I think that's one aspect of the recognition theme in the show because what we see when we look at each other and how that informs our ability to recognize ourselves seems like a big thing in the story.

I think S2 is talking about recognition on several different levels. We have recognition in terms of how every character on the show is really desperate for someone to tell them that they're good and that they're doing a good job. Beez's only solo scene in the whole season is actually about that and it parallels Aziraphale's anger, embarrassment, and frustration over Heaven's treatment of him. Everyone's a bit Norman from S1 who wanted a watch and some kind words and to bugger off and go tend to some marigolds but whose company wouldn't let him go and dragged him into a paintball Armageddon lol.

It's only natural to want recognition, really, as we all want to be noticed and seen for what we do, but it also underscores a bigger theme of that how we see ourselves can impact our ability to fully see others... but also how if we open ourselves up and allow room for curiosity and empathy, our ability to see others as they are allows for more open, honest, communication... and how that's good for all of us. That way lies peace-- both inner peace and peace with others.

In almost every major scene in S2, at least one character is trying to recognize at least one other one in some way and it's often literally recognizing the person. There is no one character in the series who is flawless at this and that's because they're all people representing us and none of us are flawless at this, are we? At recognizing ourselves or at fully seeing others at times without our own bullshit getting in the way? Even those of us who consciously try to be open, empathetic people struggle with this because we're people. The angels and demons are no better or worse than any of the humans and their story is actually about the messy but amazing business of being a person, which they all are.

If and how the characters recognize others around them in S2 reflects how those characters see themselves and the world around them. It's a matter of perspective and it's not one-sided because how we present ourselves to the world reflects what we're willing to share and sets up expectations that some others might take at face value but that might not be true. Other, more open-minded people might be able to see through those walls, though, if they're in a place to do so.

Ineffable Bureaucracy are the cleanest example of this (and one of the funniest) because here you have in Gabriel a character that you don't expect would be as open-minded as he is. In a lot of scenes in S1, we saw him putting on airs to cover up his curiosity and empathy as a means to survive. Yet, he has one of the smoothest recognition challenges in S2.

At first, he doesn't recognize Beez with their new face but, once it's established that this is the being he likes greatly, he doesn't think twice about it. Gabriel looks like the kind of guy who would care about appearance of others because he's a bit vain about his own but he literally could give a fuck that his partner changed up their face because what matters to him more is that it was the same person inside.

The guy who seems like the shallowest character on the show-- and, in some ways, is-- is actually also one of the least shallow. He also knew without question that he could trust Aziraphale and Crowley and went to them for help intuitively, even without consciously remembering them. Gabriel is actually a pretty good judge of character, all things considered. In S2, we learn more about him and as the characters recognize that he might not be quite who they thought he was, it's on us to see that we can think that, too. Our perspectives can evolve with a bit of empathy.

Lord Beezlebub also shows that they can be good at recognizing truth in others, too. One of the best moments of recognition in S2 is when Beez sees Gabriel's vanity for the loneliness that it masks when he takes them to see the statue of himself. Most of us, honestly, would probably run screaming from a guy who took us to show us art of himself and bragged about how beautiful it was but Beez gets it. They see Gabriel then even more than he sees himself a bit. They see that he really took them here because the statue is all he feels he is to people and he's being crushed under the weight of being revered like a god by humans and angels alike. He's just a lonely dude with no friends and more heart than he lets on.

The statue scene is also the punchline to the joke started earlier in the season during The Resurrectionist minisode, though, right?It calls back to Crowley saying that Gabriel probably came to the statue to "stare at it for hours" and "marvel at his own beauty." Crowley wasn't wrong, exactly, but he also wasn't fully correct, either. He didn't understand totally why Gabriel might really come to the statue, which Beez later would understand.

Crowley is one of the best judges of character in the series but S2 showed just how much his blindspot is his trauma, like it is for a lot of people. Crowley took almost the whole season to see Gabriel for who he is and he had reason to distrust him, sure. His fear of the situation is reasonable and understandable but it also shows a narrowed perspective. It showed how it was hard for Crowley to admit to himself that maybe Gabriel has been as trapped as he and Aziraphale have been-- that maybe he's as much of a victim and a survivor of all of this as they are-- because they've spent so long ascribing blame to him instead of considering that maybe he, also, had no way out. Recognizing Gabriel means Crowley recognizing and dealing with aspects of his trauma that he'd sometimes rather avoid, which made it harder and caused it to take longer for the two of them to get to a point of actually talking. When they do, we see them recognizing each other's suffering and showing each other empathy. The end of S1 is Crowley spitting hellfire in Gabriel's face but the end of S2 is just him all ugh ok fine...

Growth lol.

We also see how history can provide context that can inform the ability to recognize others as well. Aziraphale has a longer, more complicated history with Gabriel than Crowley does. Aziraphale had more reason to suspect that there could be more to Gabriel than he always let everyone see, especially since there are a couple of scenes in S1 without Crowley but between just Gabriel and Aziraphale (the sushi restaurant and the Sandalphon exchange at the bookshop) where it seems like Gabriel is trying to protect Aziraphale as best he knows how and that Aziraphale seems aware that he's trying to do that. It's how Aziraphale arrives first at "I don't think he has any friends" and thinking that Gabriel needed him and Crowley, especially since he had shown up alone and vulnerable.

Aziraphale also sees the benefit of trying to get Gabriel and Crowley to talk to one another-- not in a would-benefit-Heaven-and-Hell sort of way, just in the sense that they are more alike than they realize and had been through similar things. That's a form of recognition as well-- acknowledgement of a person's pain and needs when they've not had that from others. Aziraphale is proven correct and his ability to see both Crowley and Gabriel for who they are and who they can be is admirable and shows his empathy and open-mindedness.

But mah point is that it's scene after scene of recognition... Gabriel's entire plot. Muriel shows up at the door, doesn't recognize Aziraphale. Crowley can't remember (or chooses to pretend he can't remember) Furfur and Saraqael. Michael almost recognizes Gabriel in the bookshop. Shax is desperate for Satan's recognition for her job performance-- but also for Crowley's attention. Mr. Brown of Brown's World of Carpets wants everyone to see him as a leader. Maggie feels unlovable and just wants Nina to notice her, all while failing to recognize that what Nina wants is for someone to notice that she's in pain and to lend her support... this is all off of the end of S1 and the body swap plot in which Crowley and Aziraphale literally stayed alive by being able to recognize one another on different levels so astutely that they could impersonate one another. (Another hint, imho, that maybe the mirrored end of S2 might feature another character who seems like one character we know but who is actually another with The Metatron-is-actually-Satan idea.)

Even the little moments of the season have recognition woven into them. Do we know a Jim?, Maggie and Nina's first scene is kicked off by Nina recognizing Maggie as a regular and remembering her coffee order...

Maybe the sweetest moment of the whole season is a scene highlighting Aziraphale's struggles with reconciling his own needs in the face of having been taught he's not to want anything for himself and Crowley recognizing that struggle and supporting Aziraphale by telling him he's already perfect as he is. Damn straight I'm including the gifs I love this damn scene lol..

But the big scene that parallels the arrival of "The Metatron" in The Final 15 is the angels failing to recognize Bildad the Shuite coming through the door, right?

When Crowley comes in as Bildad the Shuite to the group scene in the Job minisode, Gabriel, Michael and the other angels fail to recognize Bildad as Crowley entirely because of the things Crowley later explained to Muriel as his analogy around bees. The idea is that context, imagination and ego inform our ability to recognize someone (and also ourselves.)

Contextually, it made more sense to the angels in that moment for Bildad to be some weird human than it did for him to be a demon working to save the lives of Job's children. This is one of the main reasons why the angels don't recognize Crowley-- they simply don't see a scenario where there would be someone to recognize. It's just like how Michael initially doesn't assume that the person who comes through the door in 2.06 could be anyone they should care about-- because they're on Earth, in a bookshop that is open to the public, so the unexpected person who came through the door must be a human person shopping for books.

Context also includes appearance and one of the things I loved about the other angels failing to realize that they know Bildad is how it contrasts with my favorite bit of recognition in S2-- Aziraphale instantly recognizing Crowley from a distance, after over 500 years, and with Crowley looking completely different. The second Aziraphale actually looks at the demon he's telling to avaunt! on outta there, he knows it's Crowley. The jump from the Crowley of The Flood to Bildad the Shuite is huge. Crowley even has sunglasses on for the first time chronologically in the scene and Aziraphale's just like "it's you." He would recognize the love of his life anywhere.

As far as the ego part goes, all Gabriel cared about in the Job minisode was a scenario that didn't undermine him and which got all the boxes checked on their assignment so when Crowley and Aziraphale present him with that, Gabriel is happy to shut down any minor opposition to the truth to go with what he is presented with-- in large part because of ego. Aziraphale and Crowley flatter Gabriel into submission to their plan. Gabriel eats it up and because he has the power in the scene, Michael's suspicions are not given credence for more than a moment.

Michael also lacks the imagination to figure out what could actually be going on and takes what they're told is the truth too easily because, like most know-it-alls, they actually don't really feel like they know anything. They defaulted to Gabriel's "they can come at any size" comment so easily not just because he had the power in the scene but because they suddenly doubted themselves and let someone else tell them how they were to think.

Michael's lack of imagination and tendency towards purely literal thinking is also on display when they are shown to not understand Crowley's shoes joke. They sense shenanigans are afoot but don't exactly know how and they also seek to look impressive to the boss so they jump in that "'Shuite', of course, means 'from the land of 'Shua'," which is correct. It does mean that. Michael is not wrong but they just are so sheltered by life in Heaven and so lacking in imagination that they also lack sense of humor enough to hear the homophony in Shuite/Shoes. The only angel who gets the joke is, of course, Aziraphale.

So, a lack of imagination (which is also a lack of big picture and creative thinking), a reliance upon context, and the perils of ego are why the angels didn't recognize Bildad as Crowley in 2500 BC and are also what Crowley is explaining to Muriel with his bees analogy.

It wouldn't actually occur to the angels as possible that there could just be a demon roaming around in Heaven because they're all too caught up in themselves to consider the possibility, right? To admit that it's possible is to admit that maybe they themselves are fallible and don't know everything. Angels are taught that they are near to perfection and should behave in that way so it's hard to think of themselves as having weaknesses that might need to be addressed. They all know they do have them but they can't admit it or they're admitting at failing to live up to the impossible standards of Heaven.

Many of us have trouble admitting that the point is that we're all here to learn and be curious and we aren't meant to know everything and that things would be less fun if we did. We struggle to admit when we've gotten something-- or someone-- wrong. People who have an inability to see a bigger picture are also sometimes blocked from doing so by their own trauma and issues-- as Crowley himself proves.

Sometimes, people just aren't that imaginative or haven't had the opportunity to use their imagination, as Crowley sees in the angels. The point is that none of us are perfect in our ability to recognize ourselves and those around us. If we all just continue to try to do so and keep a curious, open mind about each other, though, it leads to more peace for everyone. It means we're talking to each other more, which is the healthy way forward.

So, if the whole season is using these characters to talk about our ability to see ourselves and others and if it has us watch scene after scene of recognition or lack thereof between the characters where we feel like these characters might not know what's up but we sure do, right?...

...we knew Gabriel was telling the truth about his memory loss... we knew the Inspector Constable at the door was the angel from the Job minisode... we recognized Lord Beezlebub with a new face... we definitely knew who came through the door and called himself "Bildad the Shuite"...

...wouldn't it then be a kicker if the end of that season is to prove the point by showing us that we're all actually as infallible as these characters are? That we're all bees, too?

And how would they do that?

Possibly by presenting us with a character we think we can recognize but which, if we look a little closer, we might realize is not quite who he seems to be.

#ineffable husbands #good omens #crowley #aziraphale #aziracrow #good omens 2 #good omens meta #good omens theory

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that-one-i-think · 3 months

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I just realized that the only lore I have given Liochat has just been depressing backstory and power leveling him to make sure he isn't Mary suing about. SO TIME FOR DUMB SMALL HEADCANNONS! (Also, comment anyone's that y'all think fit the character and I will yay or neigh it)

- Liochant is practically illiterate. Even in his native tongue he has trouble reading. He is fixing this by learning with Alina and Lilith

- Before learning Ru'aun modesty culture, the only reason Liochant dressed modestly was due to the fact that he has tattoos. If he had the choice the man would be in crop tops.

- He cannot fire a bow accurately to save his life but can throw knives with great precision.

- He is the type to be chilly at anything below 75 degrees.

-Due to being left unsupervised as a child at moments, he soon found out how to deal with being bitten by a snake, the hard way.

- He can speak three languages. Common (Ru'aun), Havasean (Tu'la Common), and Solnaese (Tu'la Desert language).

- He had never seen snow in person before coming to Ru'aun and it bewildered him.

- His favorite dessert is baklava because he absolutely loves honey.

- He promised Lilith to give her a tattoo when she is an adult and is now wondering how he is going to break it to Aphmau and Garroth

- He is unnerved by rabbits and they kind of freak him out.

- His eyes are black but have flecks of gold curtosey of his meif'wa parent.

- Had to stop from headbutting others in the guard academy because in Tu'la it is common practice to headbutt your opponent as a sign of no hard feelings, similar to cats.

- Attended a Church of Irene service once and found it aggressively boring. The majority of the guards in/from the guard academy believe he is just atheist when in reality he worships Menphia

-EYE LINER KING

#aphblr #aphmau #aphverse #aphmau mcd #mcd #minecraft diaries #mcd for my sunlight

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microtyalm13 · 4 months

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What are your ocs favorite types of foods?

yippiee 🎉🎉

gavriil. — food does nothing for him, and so usually he doesn't want to waste resources that someone else might need. but if you were to really insist or cook something specifically for him: he prefers very spicy and savory food. something hearty and nourishing. also a fan of korean cuisine bc of his frequent visits to vivian (and vivian's habit of cooking for several people) where they often eat budae-jjigae or jukkumi.

xiaolong. — fish soups with\and garlic bread. he's a great cook... <З he also LOVES oranges and mandarines\tangerines and truly believes that peeling oranges for someone is a love language in itself. also loves puer! especially with jasmine and a little bit of lemon. dabbles in baking so will have you taste tasting his stuff quite often since he's not much of a sweet tooth.

taisya\tasechka. — just like his creator, he gains nothing from food, but he's ready to eat anything you give him. a micheline meal, a cloud of dust, a pair of old socks. anything. any thi ng. he's like a dog that's addicted to eating cigarette butts off the sidewalk.

derzena. — very easy! moose meat, tea mushroom and cod. and, well, men of course, but it's more of a 🎀little treat🎀 for her rather than a full on meal. she also grows her own tea fungus in her home and probably has some sort of makeshift garden where she grows vegetables. she's a big woman, needs to eat a lot. usually makes soups or goulashes. <]

veniamin. — expensive liquor and cigarettes. 🧍‍♂️ alright he also has a massive fucking sweet tooth. sooo... baklava, rahat-lokum, pişmaniye, and pastila. his previous followers used to brings him sweets and alcohol as offerings. right now if anything makes him at least a little excited - it's trying new sweets or just buying a whole lot of his favorites and eating all of them in one sitting.

livy. — medium or small game like rabbits, capercaillies or roe deers. and tree sap. as a treat. he's not picky, like at all. always open to trying something new even if he doesn't like the smell or the look of it. and has a pretty bad memory so probably gets mild poisoning every month or so because he keeps eating poisonous mushrooms and caterpillars that are DEFINITELY don't want to be ingested and make it VERY clear by looking weird as hell.

#microtya's kids #microtya: gavriil #microtya: xiaolong #microtya: taisya #microtya: derzena #microtya: veniamin #microtya: livy #microtya: vivian

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david-goldrock · 2 months

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Charbu Darbu

youtube

Let's start with explaining the arabic in this song:

Charbu Darbu: an Israeli mis-saying of the arabic Charb WaDarb: meaning War and path, or more figuratively, a strong strike

Kalb: meaning dog, a curse

Kul Kalb Biji Yomo: every dog has its day, meaning everyone will get what they deserve (negative)

Kachbot: bitches

Wallah: And Allah, used as I swear to God

Abu Ali: the father of Ali, meaning one who tries to deter by making a frightening impression that is not real

Katla: Lynch

Rabak: your god, used as in ecstasy, extreme readiness

Abu Baklawa: The father of a baklava, a dimminishing derogatory name for an arab commander (sometimes, the hamas commander responsible for the sharing of Baklavas when jews are murdered)

Now Military language:

Golani, Nachal, Shirion, Giv'ati, Handasa, Isuf, Kfir, Totchanim, Tzanchanim, Duvdevan, Karakal, Bardelas, Magav - military divisions

Marking Xs on the weapon: an army habit of marking an X for every kill done with a weapon

Writing names on the shells: an army habit of writing names, jokes, or curses on outgoing shells

The Gaza envelope: the Israeli cities and kibbutzim near Gaza

Jewish info:

Amalek: One of the worst opponents of the jewish people, known for attacking the elderly, the weak, the children, the bodies that remain after battle etc., with a commandment to erase their decedents

Now for the translation:

One, two, shoot! One, two, shoot! Two, shoot! One, two yeah... Attention Listen Stilla I'm not kidding with you yeah, yay, ey, yeah

A bunch of fucker rats coming out of the tunnel (tunnel : Mechila) Doing an Abu Ali, you idiots, Wallah (my) word there will be no forgiveness (forgiveness : Mechila) Who do you think you are that you come here and shout Palestine for free (as in free of charge)? *spits* You decedents of Amalek! hop - sabotage!

Left, right, left, how the country as a whole is on (army) uniforms from the Galilee to Eylat (the entire length of the country) (Male) warriors (Female) warriors, Duvdevan and Magav, Karakal, Bardelas We have brought the entire army upon you and I swear there will be no forgiveness *spits* You decedents of Amalek! All the units ready? Attention!

Golani (One, two, shoot!) People from the Nachal (One, two, shoot!) Shirion (One, two, shoot!) Where's Giv'ati? (One, two, shoot!) Navy, Air Force (Attention!) Totchanim, Tzanchanim (Attention!) All units in the IDF are in the mood for a Charbu Darbu on your head (Pow, pow, pow!)

Golani (One, two, shoot!) People from the Nachal (One, two, shoot!) Shirion (One, two, shoot!) Where's Giv'ati? (One, two, shoot!) All the units in the air (Attention!) Handasa Isuf and Kfir (Attention!) All the IDF units are coming for a Charbu Darbu on their heads wai wai

Prepare the ass because it's the air force Feeling the vibration all the way to Tel Aviv All the girls are giving the soldiers looks And the guy from the news (Dani Kushmaro- a beautiful news anchor) suddenly looks gorgeous to me They are shouting at me Palestine (for) free But for some reason it sounds like a holiday sale Half a minute and the whole country is on (army) uniforms In the reserves, in the draft, everyone (One, two, shoot!)

For mom and dad! All of my fellas are on the front One for grandma and grandpa! Writing names on the shells For the kid in the Gaza envelope Upper Galilee and the center also Everyone's ready for a Katla, Rabak, Rabak All the units ready?

Another X on the weapon For Kul Kalb Biji Yomo Wait till we drop a rain on you, Kachbot Kul Kalb Biji Yomo Everyone who planned, everyone who supported, everyone who committed, everyone who murdered Kul Kalb Biji Yomo You got into trouble Kul Kalb Biji Yomo Did you hear? Kul Kalb Biji Yomo Nasrallah Kul Kalb Biji Yomo Muhamad Deif Kul Kalb Biji Yomo Haniya Kul Kalb Biji Yomo Abu Bakalwa Kul Kalb Biji Yomo Mecha-Bella Chadid (Mechabela sounds like hebrew for female terrorist- mechabelet) Dua lipa Mia Kalifa Kul Kalb Biji Yomo All the IDF units are coming for a Charbu Darbu on their heads wai wai

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haichihiro · 1 year

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SoapGhost fic shotgunning cigarettes?

a/n: i like the way you think anon. hope you enjoy your little heart out.

warnings: smoking, suggestive, kissing, hinted pricegaz!, drinking, that’s it i think?? nothing crazy just two sexy men who are down bad for each other.

It was nice having nights like this. The task force, 141 crew had successfully completed their mission and were able to have some deserved time away from the usual chaos. Luckily everyone had made it back in one piece, a few new scars here and there, but the job was done. The boys were currently all seated in a booth at some local bar that was nearby. Already having a few rounds of drinks the atmosphere buzzing with life all around them.

Price and Gaz were sitting side by side while Soap was sat next to Ghost. It seemed to always work out that way. Soap gravitates towards his lieutenant, how could he not? He looked up to the man— quite literally— but seriously, he had admiration for the masked man. The booth was a bit tight now that he thought about it, or maybe it was just because he was sat next to one of the biggest guys he knows. Of course, Soap wasn’t so little himself. Their thighs were pressed together, sometimes it felt like Ghost was pressing himself closer to him, maybe it was just the buzz of the beer that was clouding Soaps mind.

“Not to get sappy, but you did good out there lads. Proud to have you boys on the team.” Prices voice getting his attention back, his mind was too busy spacing out about the man next to him.

They all nodded their head in approval, appreciating their Captains words after a long and strenuous mission. They needed this. Needed time away. Needed some normality. That closeness…

“You’re proud of me, old man?” Gaz’s voice chirped playfully at his captain, only receiving a grumble from John, and knowing eyes that made Gaz’s lips quirk into a smirk. Soaps eyes diverted from them, feeling like he was intruding on their moment for some reason… He slightly turned his body to Ghost, his body language stoic as always.

“Got ourselves another win huh, L.t?” Soap voiced out, deciding to try and have a go at a conversation with Ghost. They would speak here and there but not in places like this, not this close to each other, this was different.

Ghost craned his neck towards Soap, giving him a small nod.

“You did good, sergeant.” Was all was said as he got him from his seat, walking out from the booth as he gave Price a pat on the shoulder, a muffled, ‘gonna have a smoke’ was barely made out by Soap before the large figure walked away and disappeared into the crowd.

Soap felt a sharp sting in his chest, an unfamiliar burn, something he wish he didn’t feel. His usual confidence felt like it depleted in that moment, the alcohol was definitely getting to him.

“What are you waiting for, mate?” Kyle spoke up with that same knowing smirk from earlier.

“What?”

“You know what. Go ahead, you won’t be missed.” He chuckled out, making Soap shake his head as he got up from his seat. Kyle was a smart ass.

Soap pushed through the clouds, eyes wandering around trying to see if he’d noticed a 6’4 man in a skull mask. He had eventually made it all the way to the back of the building, the exit sign glowing red above him. Opening the door, the cool breeze instantly hit him as he stepped outside. It was a small alleyway, the moon illuminating the small space. The smell of nicotine was strong, making Soaps head move into a certain direction that so happened to be where Ghost was standing. Tall frame leaning up against the brick wall of the building. Cigarette in hand. His baklava pulled up to the bridge of his nose, scarred lips on display.

“Not havin’ fun, L.t?” He questioned, his voice with a hint of playfulness.

“Hm, you know I don’t like big crowds.” Soap only nodded as he made his way over to his lieutenant. Pressing his own back against the wall as he just stood in silence. Soap didn’t do silence that much. He was very talkative— all the time in fact— but right now, his words fell short of him. Something about Ghost— No, Simon, had his heart racing.

“Can I?” Johnny’s voice came out more softer than usual, as he turned his up to look at Simon, gesturing to the cigarette in his glove covered hand.

Simon only nodded, handing the cigarette to him, eyes never leaving Johnnys face as he took a long drag before he held it back towards him.

“So, if you don’t like this sort of thing. What do you like, L.t?” He questioned with a playful smirk rising on his face as he crossed his arms looking up at Simon.

“You ask a lot of questions, sergeant.” Simon grumbled out, smoke falling from his lips as he spoke.

“Fuck you, sir.”

“Hm, wouldn’t you like that?”

Johnnys ears perked up at that. It’s like his body instantly sobered up. He felt a familiar ache in the pit of his stomach. He wasn’t just hearing things was he?

“Never seen you so quiet before… You want another?” Simons voice bringing him back to reality, his face felt hot, a bit embarrassed he got taken off guard by that. It was so out of the blue. Johnny always felt like his feelings were one sided but something was different.

“Yeah, yeah sure..” His voice trailed off, his hand reaching out for the cigarette, only to get his hand pushed away, his brows furrowed in confusion. Simon pushed himself off the wall, taking a step closer to Johnny, very close, closer than usual.

“L.t? What are you doin’—“

Simons hand gripped Johnnys chin, his hold on him was firm. Johnnys eyes widened as he watched Simon take a big drag, before unexpectedly pulling his lips close to his, exhaling the smoke right into his mouth. Johnnys hand gripped at Simons hips, steadying himself from the pull, feeling his mind go hazy from the feel of his lieutenants lips on his own. He felt hot. His chest burned, not just from the smoke, but from his heart bursting from this action alone. Their lips disconnected, a small pant leaving Johnny as he blew out the smoke from his own mouth. His chin still in Simons hold.

“That was a big one. Knew you could take it well.” Simon spoke, thumb caressing the Scotsman chin softly. Johnnys fingers dug into Simons hips, pulling him against his own, his jeans feeling suddenly tighter.

“I can take— I can take anything you throw at me, sir.” His voice came out more shaky than he intended, not wanting to show how delirious he already was about his lieutenant.

“Hm, yeah? Bet you can.” Simon smirked before taking another big drag of his cigarette before chucking the bud to the ground. Now both his hands cupping Johnnys face before he pressed another opened mouth kiss to his, blowing the smoke inside his mouth.

Once again, Johnnys head fell back against the brick wall as the smoke left his lungs and into the night sky. He suddenly felt a soft kiss being placed along side his neck. A hum leaving his lips instead now.

“Does this answer your question, Johnny?” Simons voice said along side his neck, kissing down Johnnys jaw now.

“What quest— hm, question?”

“About what I like, sergeant.”

Johnny could barely stay coherent with what was happening right now. But he was enjoying every single second of it.

“You. I like you. Jus’ like this.” Simons voice whispered out, before his lips captured Johnnys into another kiss. This one deep, rough, desperate, his gloved hands gripped the sides of Johnnys neck. Hips pressed closed to one another.

The rest of the night continued just like this, limbs intertwined and lips pressed close. Just another win for the two soldiers.

‿‿‿ ‿‿‿‿ ‿‿‿‿ ‿‿‿‿ ‿‿‿‿

this was longer than i anticipated but— i tried my best!! i haven’t wrote soapghost before but i hope i did them justice. love ya’ll. <3

#captain price #ghost mw2 #gaz mw2 #simon ghost riley #john price #mw2 fanfic #ghost x soap #soap call of duty #soapghost #gaz x reader #konig x reader #konig cod #captain soap mactavish #john mactavish

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