#also ‘Mari didn’t do it on purpose’

[yourqueenb]

Girl I—

[zepskies]

Green

Pairing: Soldier Boy (Ben) x F. Reader, Ben and daughter!OC

Summary: Ben spends the day alone with his daughter, to varying degrees of success. When you get home, it prompts a serious conversation.

AN: Another one-shot for the BMD-verse, set sometime after "Until Morning" (you'll see). This can be read as standalone as well!

Word Count: 2,500 Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Father and daughter fluff, followed by husband and wife spice.~

Read more of the BMD-verse! ⤵️

💚 Break Me Down Masterlist

Father and daughter were glaring at one another, gazes locked.

Green against green.

“Young lady, I’m telling you right now. I’m not gonna tolerate any more of your little attitude,” said Ben. “If you want to try me, be my guest.”

He held the ravioli poised on a pink plastic spoon. His daughter Lila sat in her highchair in the kitchen, boldly refusing any more of her lunch.

Her stubborn face reminded him entirely too much of you. But he needed her to eat. He wouldn’t have it said when you came home that he couldn’t feed a damn two-year-old.

He huffed. “Work with me here. Just a couple more bites.”

Lila made a shrill sound of refusal when the spoon came near her face. He knew she could use a spoon just fine. She was being difficult on purpose.

To demonstrate her resolve, she slapped at the ravioli with a chubby little hand, and it ended up splashing back into the bowl. A bit of red sauce splattered onto Ben’s cheek, with a pinch of it hitting his eye.

He blinked in annoyance. “Delilah Marie, I swear to Christ—”

She’s just a baby, a voice that sounded a lot like you infiltrated his mind. It still didn’t take away his aggravation.

“No!” Lila insisted. It was her favorite word, right behind Bluey.

She then pushed the bowl right off the highchair. It spilled ravioli and pasta sauce all over the floor in spectacular fashion. Ben was sitting in his own chair by the dining table, where he moved his feet back at the last moment. She almost got his Italian loafers.

“You gotta be f…” It took every scrap of patience within him to hold his tongue…and breathe calmly through his nose. He didn’t want to reward this destructive, disrespectful behavior, but he also knew that he needed his daughter to eat.

“Want some applesauce?” he said, as a peace offering.

Lila’s face scrunched.

“No applesauce, huh?” Ben muttered. He glanced at the mess across the highchair and the formerly white tile on the floor. “Your mother’s gonna have a conniption.”

“Mommy?” Lila asked. “Mommy’s home?”

“No, she’s not here right now,” Ben replied. “She’ll be home later.”

Lila seemed to understand, because that’s when she got upset again. Her red-stained finger drew a shapeless form in the sauce as she pouted. At least she wasn’t crying.

Ben sighed, once again, and stroked her cheek with his thumb.

Fuck it.

“You want some ice cream?” he bribed.

Her sadness dissipated at the thought; she smiled brightly and nodded. “Yeah!”

“Yeah, I thought so,” he grumbled.

After a scoop of strawberry ice cream for each of them (she liked it because it was pink), Ben wrangled her up out of the highchair and declared, bath time.

He did fine with the bathing process. He’d helped you with this before, and so he knew what to do in order to wash the sauce off her face, hands, and even her hair. It was what came after the bath that remained a problem.

Lila was stubborn beyond belief, even before she could articulate what it was about the soft green onesie that she didn’t like. No, she wasn’t satisfied until Ben pulled out the yellow Starlight themed pajamas. Probably because they had “Auntie Annie’s” face all over them.

He rolled his eyes, but this wasn’t a hill he needed to die on. He dressed Lila and tried to tuck her into bed for her afternoon nap. The problem was, she refused to lie still in the crib.

Instead, she was bouncing on the balls of her feet, using the edge of the crib for balance. He’d be impressed, if she wasn’t trying to climb out and give him a small heart attack.

He grabbed her and gathered her against his chest. Despite the super strength you’d temporarily displayed off and on throughout your pregnancy, Lila’s powers were latent at the moment. Dr. Baker seemed to think Lila would start to display them once she got old enough. Like Ryan, who hadn’t started growing into his powers until around 10 years old.

So for now, Lila was a mostly normal two-year-old who could still get hurt.

Ben frowned. “This is the time you usually go down. Why do you have so much energy?”

She just giggled at him and put both hands on his face, over his eyes.

“Daddy, guess who?”

He sighed, but couldn’t help smiling. As usual, he indulged her.

“Could it be my baby girl?”

He waited until her hands came away from his eyes, and he opened them wide.

“There she is!”

She squealed and giggled and grabbed his hair when he kissed her cheek. In the comfort of his own home, he could afford to be this openly affectionate.

Aw shit, he thought, as something occured to him.

He finally realized why she was so fucking hyper. Maybe it had something to do with the giant scoop of ice cream she’d had for lunch.

Goddamn it. Ben sighed and unwrapped her arm from around his head.

“Okay, let’s watch some TV.”

Lila didn’t seem all that interested in watching anything, or even playing with her toys. She mainly wanted to jump on Ben’s stomach while he was trying to relax on the couch. He put on a football game you taped for him. Or recorded, as you'd said.

“All right, enough. Your old man’s trying to watch the game,” Ben said, bringing Lila down to sit in lap.

That lasted for about two seconds. Thereafter, she was climbing up his chest and trying to smother him with her little hands.

He took her hand from his nose so he could at least breathe in peace.

“Where’s Mommy?” Lila asked, as she sat on his shoulder and beat a little fist on the top of his head.

“She’s with your aunt,” Ben replied. “Well, not your real one, the fake one.”

Lila made a sound of confusion. Realizing that she didn’t know what the hell he meant, he rephrased.

“She’s with your Aunt Annie. They’ll be back soon,” he said.

He didn’t mind you wanting a day out to yourself. What he minded was the attitude you’d struck when he suggested dropping Lila off with Louisa, your actual sister.

“What, you can’t handle her alone for one day?” you’d asked.

His pride hadn’t allowed him to say no to that.

So here he was, with a wily toddler who was doing her damndest to suffocate him. Better attempts than this had failed, but it was still annoying while he was trying to watch the game.

Somehow, he managed to tune it out while he watched the ref make a bad call.

“What was that?! You gotta be kidding me!” Ben said, holding Lila to his chest even as he pointed and shouted at the TV. “Son of a bitch. What a pussy call that was.”

“Bish, bish, bish,” Lila said, making a game out of the word. It called Ben’s attention.

He forgot about the game for a moment when he looked down at her. His eyes widened a fraction, even as a smile pulled at his lips.

“What’d you just say?”

“Bishhhhhh,” Lila repeated. “Somvabishhhh.” Her lips squished like a fish. And then she giggled, like it was the funniest thing she’d ever heard.

“Aw, fuck,” Ben uttered.

And he pressed his lips together with ever widening eyes at what he’d just said.

Lila grinned. “Fack!”

“Uhh, no. No. Don’t say that,” he said, trying to sound stern. Inside, he was trying not to laugh. He didn't really give a shit what she said, but you were particular about the kid not inheriting his vocabulary.

In fact, he was pretty sure you were going to go nuclear for this one.

“Why?” Lila asked.

“Because it’s uh…a bad word,” Ben replied, even though he wanted to roll his eyes at himself. This was what he’d become. A suburban dad.

"And it's not ladylike," he added.

“Fackkkk,” Lila giggled some more.

Christ on a cross. Ben bit the inside of lip hard to stop himself from laughing.

“Whatever. Just don’t say it around your mom,” he relented. He brushed his fingers through her soft brown hair. She preened at the attention, like the little showboat she was.

“Daddyyyy…” Lila wrapped her arms around his neck and snuggled as deeply into him as she could, like a koala clinging to a shaking branch.

Ben sighed and rubbed a hand up and down her back as he cradled her against him.

These were the moments he didn’t mind. In fact, these were the moments he did his best to remember. They helped block out the older, darker ones that this kid would never know.

Ben woke to the shutter of a camera going off.

He blinked his bleary eyes open to find you standing there with a highly amused smile on your face, and your phone poised in your hand.

He groaned, but he soon realized that Lila was sleeping in his arms, on his chest. You leaned down and rested a hand on her back. You also greeted him with a kiss to his temple.

“Long day?” you teased quietly.

Ben gave you a deadpan look, one that had you straining to taper down your giggles. Though he drew you closer by your hip and squeezed the soft flesh over your white sundress. He took you in with a lazy once-over.

You looked good. Sexy as hell, really. Your face was glowing and relaxed, and he liked the shade of red you’d done on your nails.

“You have a good time?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you replied, massaging his shoulder. Though you arched a brow. “There’s a catastrophe in the kitchen.”

Ben blinked.

Fuck. He forgot about that.

“Yep,” he said, giving you a teasing smirk of his own. “Right on time for you, baby.”

You chuckled, though your eyes narrowed in warning. “Yeah, right.”

You still helped him put Lila down in the nursery for the rest of her nap. She yawned and turned over onto her back. You pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, though you had to smile when it accidentally left the red mark of your lipstick behind.

You bit your lip and gently rubbed it off without waking her up. (An amazing damn feat, as far as you were concerned.)

Ben laid a heavy hand on your back, prompting you to straighten up and turn into his waiting embrace.

His lips curved as he looked down at you. “Hey.”

You laughed quietly. “Hey, yourself.”

Your hands glided up his chest, and further still to hold his face. You brought him down to kiss you, with your fingers slipping into his hair, and your nails dragging along his scalp. He hummed into your mouth.

“Miss me?” you teased.

Ben huffed. As usual though, his answer was in his actions. He held you close for a moment, just to feel you there.

Your arms slipped around his, clinging to his shoulders as you rested against him. This was your safe, comfortable place where you always felt at home.

But, you couldn’t help but break the spell.

“Come on. Clean up on aisle 12,” you quipped, reaching around to smack his ass.

Ben rolled his eyes, but when you pulled away from him, he followed you into the kitchen.

“You know, I had a lot going on. Your kid is a fucking menace,” he said. “Like a bull in a China shop.”

You scoffed. “She’s only my kid when she gives you a hard time. Where do you think she gets it from?”

“You,” he retorted.

You had to laugh at that one. It still didn’t get him out of helping you clean the kitchen from top to bottom.

After a long shower, waking an errant child from her nap, dinner, and a joint effort of getting Lila to sleep for the night, Ben joined you in bed wearing just his usual sweatpants.

You’d opted for some black satin, he noticed.

Good, he thought, for the night to come. You’d spent the whole day getting massaged and moisturized and whatever else women did on a day out.

When he rolled onto his side, you greeted him with a smile and a hand running up his arm, already pulling him toward you. His hand glided along your bare thigh as you hooked it over his hip.

“I need to tell you something, but you’ve gotta promise not to say anything to anyone,” you whispered in the small space between his face and yours, and you tapped his chin.

Ben raised a brow and squeezed your thigh. Whatever it was, couldn’t it wait until long after he’d undressed you?

“What?” he asked.

“Annie’s pregnant!” you said with a wide smile. “Six weeks. She just told me today.”

Ben blinked at that one. “Is it Hughie’s kid?”

“Wha…of course, it is!”

“Wow. Guess he had it in him after all,” Ben remarked. “Who woulda thought.”

You shook your head, but his grin made you laugh.

“You’re ridiculous,” you said, through your remaining giggles, though you leaned forward and stole a kiss. It led Ben to want more, and more of you.

He started to ply you with slow, lazy kisses that grew deeper, becoming all-consuming as his tongue warred against yours. His hands dove under the satin covering your body, and his thumbs brushed the sides of your breasts.

“Maybe it’s time we go for number two,” he said.

You uttered another incredulous laugh, gripped a fist in his hair and tugged. “Excuse me?”

“You fucking heard me,” Ben said. He rolled you onto your back and pinned you there. “Ain’t no way we’re stopping at one. Lila needs a brother.”

“You can’t even handle one,” you teased. Your hands slid up his arms and then down his chest. “Baby, we can talk about having more kids, but—”

“And? We’re talking now,” he said. He dipped his head to start kissing a hot, wet line down your neck. It made your breath falter and your back start to arch. Your hips shifted against his, trying to find friction. You could feel his length hardening against your thigh.

“Ben,” you warned, and implored, but the graze of his teeth on your neck made you shudder.

Your grip on his arms tightened. “Please…”

“Please what?” he smirked against your skin. His hips rocked against your heated core.

This conversation was going into a no man’s land very fast.

You literally took matters into your own hands…by reaching down and grasping your husband’s cock through his sweatpants. You gave him a demanding squeeze.

His breath hitched. Ben paused, unlatching from your neck, and turning his lips toward your cheek.

“I’m listening,” he said, in a gritted voice. You smirked.

“We can, and we will talk about this,” you promised. “Just not when you’re about to be balls-deep inside me.”

You were back on birth control anyway (the pill this time).

Ben chuckled. His hand reached up and smoothed your hair away from your forehead.

“Fine,” he conceded. A smirk grew across his face. “But we can still practice.”

A giggle fell from your lips, just before he claimed them once again.

AN: A little callback to the BMD Epilogue at the end there. 😂

What did you think about the father/daughter time? And do you think Ben won against either of the ladies in his life? 🤣

Keep Reading in the BMD-verse:

Coming up next, in a drama-filled episode, you and Ben do what you two do best in Calculated Risks:

Summary: You and Ben argue about your commitment to being a working mom. When a rogue supe gets loose at Supe Affairs, mayhem ensues, putting not only your life at risk, but your daughter’s as well.

▶️ Keep Reading: Calculated Risks

Soldier Boy Masterlist

Main Masterlist

BMD Tag List (Part 1):

@this-is-me19 @waynes-multiverse @mrsjenniferwinchester @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @spalady26 @spnwoman @syrma-sensei @wirdbeimaufhebengebunden @muhahaha303 @123passwort

@xoxoviennaa @katherineann814 @lollag0w0 @globetrotter28 @nancymcl @ashbatz @secretdreamlandmentality @kristophalis @wonderland2022 @emily-winchester @shelh93 @sl33pylilbunny @spoonmynoodle @chernayawidow

@buckybarnes-1917 @asgardprincess97 @sometimes-i-sing @itsyellow @karnellius @kimberleymjw @is-this-a-febreze-commercial @iamsapphine @sanscas @se-fucking-hun @lassie-bird @jessjad @yepimthatperson @fromcaintodean @stoneyggirl2

@spnfamily-j2 @im-a-slut-for-fluff @lacilou @venicesem @mimaria420 @vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @tearsfortheyouth @agalliasi @chriszgirl92 @kazsrm67

[pascaloverx]

HAUNTED (+18)

Summary: You awaken from a two-year coma to find that Detective Lois has been eagerly awaiting your recovery, believing you might have witnessed something crucial to catching a serial killer. What you didn’t expect is to learn that she suspects your doctor of being the murderer—and even more shockingly, it appears that you are married to him. Now, you must uncover your lost memories and find out who Charlie Mayhew truly is to you.

Author's Note: Yes, I'm writing another fanfic featuring Nicholas Alexander Chavez’s character from Grotesquerie. The characters belong to the universe created by Ryan Murphy in the series Grotesquerie (2024). This fanfic will include violence, strong language, and adult content. It will portray the character Charlie Mayhew as a doctor. I hope you enjoy the fanfic, but there's nothing certain about its future. If you like this fanfic, please interact, leave comments. This author will be grateful for any interaction. Minors should not interact with this chapter, be warned.

THREE

© credits for the owners of the pictures used. they don't belong to me. credit is not mine for the pictures.

FOUR (+18)

Days passed, with you avoiding Charlie as if he were a disease. The truth was that his mere presence already unsettled your mind. You needed these days to reflect, allowing yourself to leave the guest room only when he was at work, taking your meals in secret. Mary helped you avoid your husband, though she always advised you to talk to him.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, here you were—facing Dr. Charlie Mayhew while he used an exercise bike, wearing a tank top that revealed his strong arms. Sweat glistened on his body, an almost provocative scene. "What are you plotting, Dr. Mayhew?" you said aloud, watching him exercise in the middle of the house. He was doing it on purpose—obviously.

"I see you've returned to calling me Doctor—such progress. If you must know, I’m simply enjoying my day off. Exercising to keep my body in shape, the very same body that once greatly satisfied my wife. You know, the one who now seems to prefer ignoring me over taking advantage of it..." he says playfully, as if trying to seduce you while also grumbling.

"Your body? Is that how you plan to get my attention?" you say, feigning indifference, as though his attempt to distract you with his physique is failing—though, in truth, it’s working all too well. You remain standing in front of the guest room door, dressed in your nightgown, noticing that neither Mary nor Ed is anywhere to be seen. Charlie, still pedaling on the exercise bike, has his back to you, his posture emphasizing his toned rear, which you can’t help but eye almost hungrily.

"It used to work, I’ll admit I’m resorting to extremes. And just so you know, Mary and Ed are off today. It’ll be just you and me the entire day. In case you were planning to hide away like a frightened little mouse," Charlie says as he steps off the bike, approaching you while using a small towel to wipe the sweat from his body.

"You did this on purpose, didn’t you? Is our marriage now about disrespecting each other’s personal space?" you ask, slightly irritated, nearly pouncing on him in your frustration.

"What marriage, mi amor? You see me as an enemy, as the villain in your story, not as your husband." Suddenly, the air grows heavier as you stand mere inches apart, your eyes locked on each other, the tension between you almost tangible.

"Are you asking for a divorce, dear husband?" you ask softly, your voice calm. Charlie's breath brushes against your face, the scent of his sweat acting like an aphrodisiac, stirring something deep within you.

"What other option do we have? Stay married while playing cat and mouse? You avoid me, and I pretend it doesn’t affect me? Will you spend the rest of your life thinking your husband is a monster and hiding from him? All of these options are a waste of time and emotional energy," Charlie speaks so rationally, though his expression betrays his words. It’s as if he’s daring you to consider the possibility of ending it all.

"It feels like we’re just going in circles around each other," you murmur, exhaling a heavy breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. You close your eyes slowly, feeling the weight of what ending your marriage would truly mean. It’s a thought that has crossed your mind before, yet there’s an ache in your chest at the idea of stepping out of Charlie’s life for good.

"Tell me honestly, would you feel at peace if I left? If I were no longer your husband?" he asks, stepping closer, his tongue slowly wetting his lips. It’s almost as if he’s testing your reaction to his proximity, studying your every move.

"There will be no peace for me until I truly know who I am," you reply, locking eyes with him, though now with a growing desire stirring within you. Your hand grazes his muscled arm, sending a visible shiver through him. He leans in closer, tilting his head as if seeking permission in your gaze. Slowly, deliberately, he tugs down the neckline of your nightgown just enough to bare your shoulder, his eyes darkening as he watches your response.

"And until you remember who you are, will I need to quit my job and dismiss Mary and Ed just to have a proper conversation with you?" he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your shoulder, his gaze flicking to you from the corner of his eye as if gauging your reaction. A shiver courses through you, but your fingers find their way to his damp hair, gently caressing it.

Charlie's kisses trail from your shoulder to your neck, his warm breath brushing against your skin, sending a cascade of sensations through you. "So you admit you orchestrated this to force me to interact with you?" you manage to ask, though your focus falters with every brush of his lips. When his mouth lingers near your jawline, you realize rational thought is slipping away, overtaken by the pull of what you're feeling.

"I admit it—I wanted you with no distractions, no escape. I was desperate," he confesses, his voice low and laced with vulnerability. His lips travel softly over your cheek, grazing the bridge of your nose and the corners of your eyes, each kiss more tender than the last. His hands, warm and deliberate, trace the curve of your body, sliding your nightgown higher with a slow, intoxicating purpose, as if savoring every inch of contact.

His hands grip your thighs tightly as he slowly pulls them away from your face as if he's analyzing your reactions. "I'd be lying if I said I hadn't dreamed about this exact moment the entire time you were unconscious. However, if you're not comfortable, we can call it a day. As long as you don't ignore me again, that will be enough for me," Charlie speaks as if he were holding himself back from exploding with desperate to have you. He rests his head on your shoulder, looking up, his expression seemed like the perfect mix of lust and insecurity. At that moment something awakened in you, the notion that he might actually be sincere, at least about his desire to have you.

"You settle for so little," you mutter, waiting for a reaction from him. Charlie then lifts his head, staring at you for a few moments. His fingers caress your face with a certain firmness, passing his fingers under your lips. At some point his thumb slipped between your lips and you bit it lightly, then sucked on Charlie's finger as you stared at him.

"You're playing with fire, mi amor," Charlie says, kissing the corner of your mouth, as if he were teasing you. You turn off any inhibitions that would keep you from attacking Charlie's lips. Honestly, whether or not he is who Detective Lois is looking for doesn't really matter at this point. Your soul seems to be thirsting for Charlie Mayhew's presence, not just near you but within you.

"Burn me with your fire, Dr. Mayhew," you whisper. Charlie's eyes grow dark, his lips attack yours in a fervent, messy kiss. He sucks on your tongue as he tightens his arms around your waist. The kiss almost takes your breath away but leaves you so hot. You use your hands to grope his chest, while you cling to him. The kiss breaks as Charlie starts to kiss your neck passionately, nibbling your skin while his hands start to caress your breasts through your nightgown. At first, the gentle way his fingers played with your nipples through your nightgown sent a shiver down your spine. He seemed to grow impatient, as if he wanted to feel your skin against his immediately. Then he lifted you up with his arms, making you put your legs around his waist and hold on tight to his shoulders so you wouldn't fall. He placed you under the kitchen counter, placing his body between your legs. Quickly, he began to take off the nightgown you were wearing.

"See my beautiful wife, naked beneath her nightgown as if she knew I would be extremely pleased to see her like that," Charlie speaks as he runs his fingers over your naked body, ending up holding your ass with both of his hands, squeezing it tightly as he brings you closer to him. You who are studying every detail to memorize Charlie Mayhew's touch and taste. You pull his hair back, holding the strands firmly, going hungrily to Charlie's lips and kissing him. He bites your lip as he tries to match your pace during the kiss. You take your hands out of his hair, and start to pull down his shorts and underwear.

"I see that my wonderful husband was really right when he said I should take advantage of his body," you teases him as she watches his cock spring out of his underwear. Charlie gives you a kiss, as he moves towards you, using his hands that are no longer on your ass, to spread your legs wider. As his tongue explores not only your mouth but also your neck, his fingers enter you without hesitation. His fingers, going in and out quite quickly while your pussy squeezed them, you ended up moaning from the pleasure of feeling the pressure of his fingers in your pussy.

"An eternity could pass, but being inside you will still be the best feeling of my life," he murmurs, gently biting your ear while talking against it, giving you goosebumps. You then grab his hand before he can put his fingers inside you again, and with a thirsty look, you try to tell him that you want his cock. He then holds your thighs firmly, separating your legs with precision and then thrusts his erect cock inside you. You let out a loud moan, the feeling of him fucking you is something you weren't prepared to feel. He kisses your lips softly as he slowly thrusts his cock in your pussy that is already wet. You hold on to him as you feel him move in and out of you faster and faster.

For a moment it was as if an animalistic instinct took over him. You close your eyes tightly, reveling in the feeling of being taken by him, while your nails scratch every possible part of his body. For a moment, you drag your ass forward to increase the proximity of your body to Charlie's. He seems to want to see your face, moving your hair away from your face and pulling your face with his hand, kissing your lips once more. However, his hand goes down to your neck and and hold it there firmly. For some reason, the feeling of being lightly suffocated by him feels extremely satisfying. The more he pressed his hand against your neck, the more horny you became for him.

You were so wet that his cock was fitting perfectly inside your pussy, the synchronization of your bodies was almost surreal. Your only regret was not ripping off the damn tank top Charlie is wearing. With each thrust you feel yourself getting close to cumming, feeling your breath leaving you as he squeezes your neck in a strong way, taking you to the limit. You grind on Charlie's cock, making him groan heavily as he cums inside you. Even so, he continues to thrust his cock inside you while your pussy is sensitive from feeling him cum hard, until you cum too.

You two are a mess, dirtying the kitchen counter. Charlie lifts your head slowly, kissing every part of your face gently. "I think we should go take a shower wife. What we just did here certainly made us sweaty," Charlie says as he catches his breath after the sex you had. "You'll have to carry me," you inform him, feeling loose in your legs. He kisses your neck and then carries you to the bathroom in your room, where you bathe and have a second round.

Afterward, everything seemed normal. Charlie and you shared your bed again, following a day spent together during his time off, complete with him preparing dinner for the two of you. The next morning, he woke early for work, leaving a kiss on your cheek and informing you that Mary and Ed would be at your service.

You woke up feeling invigorated, determined to seek answers while also embracing the peace that being with Charlie seemed to bring. A few hours later, after getting ready, you set out to visit Detective Tryon. Ed accompanied you there, and you felt no fear of Charlie discovering your visit to Lois, as you had resolved to extend a measure of trust to both of them.

"Mrs. Mayhew, to what do I owe the honor of your visit to my workplace?" Lois asks, lighting a cigarette as she settles into her chair. You find yourself in her office, surrounded by officers, inmates, and suspicious individuals.

"I came here to understand why I am considered a suspect in your investigation," you reply quickly, remaining standing. Detective Tryon looks you up and down before exhaling a puff of smoke, seemingly pondering your words.

"You’ll need to follow me to a room where I can show you the answer to your question," Lois says as she stands, gesturing for you to follow. Curiosity gets the better of you, and you trail behind her as she leads the way to a room at the back of the precinct.

Upon entering the room, you are met with paintings depicting crime scenes, eerily similar to those you had once seen in Charlie Mayhew's office. Each artwork bears the same hauntingly realistic and morbid tone, sending chills down your spine.

"What do these paintings have to do with your suspicions?" you ask, bewildered by the connection between yourself and these brutally realistic depictions of crime.

"Well, Mrs. Mayhew," Detective Tryon begins, her tone grave, "I must inform you that these paintings are of your authorship. Not only that, but you need to understand that they depict actual, unsolved homicide cases. And you painted these works before the murders depicted in them occurred. This has made you a suspect. Moreover, all the victims were, at some point, connected to the hospital where your husband works. Many were even his patients."

Her piercing gaze settles on you, and the weight of her words sends your mind spiraling. You glance at the paintings again, confusion thickening as fragmented memories resurface. Images of your past flit through your mind—your quiet painting room, where you used to work with calm precision. Suddenly, you recall painting the image of one of the murdered women, her lifeless form rendered in vivid detail.

What strikes you as bizarre is that your reference seemed to be a photograph—one that was pinned to a bulletin board in front of you. The realization stirs something deep within, but a sharp pain in your head interrupts your thoughts, slicing through the memory like a blade. Dizzy and disoriented, you close your eyes tightly, the room spinning around you. Detective Tryon calls your name, her cigarette dropping forgotten to the floor as she rushes toward you. But it is too late. Your body goes limp, and you collapse to the ground, succumbing to unconsciousness.

[wordsbyrian]

Would you pls do a Mary earps imagine with them filming TikTok’s together and being otp x

A/n: Not exactly what you asked for but close enough i think.

TikTok is the bane of your very existence.

It’s the bane of your professional life as a chef because everytime you turn around one of your crew is using prep time to make a concoction and upload it to that godforsaken app.

And in your personal life?

Well, in your personal life, it feels like every time you blink you're being sucked into filming one of those stupid videos with your girlfriend.

The first time it happened, you were barely even sure what was going on.

The two of you had been getting ready to go on a date to a relatively nice restaurant, when she pulled up in front of her phone’s camera so she could show off what you were wearing.

That had been the beginning of the madness (as well as a very hard launch of your relationship to the public).

It didn’t really matter what you were doing, if Mary had decided that a video needed to be filmed, it’d be filmed.

A literal walk in the park. TikTok.

You driving. TikTok.

You tearing a member of the kitchen staff a new one. TikTok. (Although she’d been asked not so politely by the head chef to never do that again).

You cooking in your shared flat. TikTok.

Hell, she even made a TikTok of you sharpening your knives, a task you find completely mind numbing.

And if having your every move recorded wasn’t bad enough, she also had you joining her in filming one of the more popular trends. You mouthing along to the silly sounds that are currently popular on the app. Or worse, dancing, you hate the dancing.

Asking how often you think about the Roman Empire (only as often as you need to).

Throwing herself fully clothed into the shower  and singing Taylor Swift while you were trying to brush your teeth.

Making you record a two second clip of everytime you changed clothes while on vacation.

The list is neverending.

Which is why you should be more alarmed when you see her walking into the kitchen  with her phone out but you’re too focused on chopping the vegetables you’ll be using in your meal prep.

 “Baby,” she says.

“Hmm?”

“Can we record a TikTok?”

“Can I keep doing what I’m doing,” you ask in return, still not looking up from the cutting board.

“You don’t need to do anything but stand there and look pretty,” Mary says as she sets her phone up next to you. “And answer questions,” she adds as an afterthought.

You roll your eyes but don’t make any additional comments as you see her hit record.

“So a ton of you have been asking in the comments how my wife manages to be a professional chef when she has so many food allergies,” Mary says, looking directly at the camera. “And I figured it was better if I just let her explain it. Babe?”

Admittedly, you hadn’t really been listening to every word that she had been saying, only really listening to every word that she had been saying, only really catching the words ‘allergies’ and ‘professional chef’, which is a topic you get asked about a lot. So you just answer without really thinking.

“My main allergies are seafood, peanuts and treenuts. And since I’m one of 2 or 3 sous on any given night, I just,” you pause, “wait, what did you just call me?”

You can feel cheeks heating up as your brain finally processes what just happened.

“What? Babe?”

Mary’s playing dumb on purpose. She knows it. You know it. And you both know that the other one knows.

“Not that, the other thing.”

“What my wife,” she asks.

A cheeky grin breaks out on Mary’s face as she watches even more color rush to your face.

For you, when she repeats it, you suddenly feel like you can barely breathe and you know that your next words come out a little choked (much to Mary’s amusement.)

“Yup, that.”

As calmly as you can manage, you put your knife down and take off your apron before walking out of the kitchen.

“Wait, where are you going?”

“I have to find my wallet and keys,” you shoot back.

“Why?”

“I gotta go buy a ring before you change your mind!”

The sound of her laughter is the only thing you hear as you close the door behind you.

The video is up on that cursed app by the end of the week.

A photo of the ring on Mary’s finger goes up just a few hours before.

[sgtpeppers]

"A dark shadow on an otherwise beautiful record": PR, McCartney and The Beatles' Split.

“No, I wasn’t angry – shit, he’s a good P.R. man, that’s all. He’s about the best in the world, probably. He really does a job. I wasn’t angry. We were all hurt that he didn’t tell us that was what he was going to do.”

(John Lennon in Rolling Stone, 21 Jan 1971)

To cut to the chase, I want to explain why this statement from John, claiming Paul is a good PR man is wrong. Largely thanks to quotes like this from John, Paul gets painted as the Beatle with a good media strategy, the insinuation being of course, that he is disingenuous and inauthentic. I don’t believe this is true in general, but what I really want to focus on, and what John is referencing in that quote, is the publicity around Paul’s 1970 album McCartney, which got all tied up with the news of The Beatles split, and how actually, mistake after mistake was made, rather than it being what John claims - a purposeful move to get more publicity for his album. 

This isn’t a moral judgment on either John or Paul, or me saying Paul is stupid for not doing more. In fact, I think it playing out this way is far more interesting and we can gain a lot of insight about his mindset and relationships from his press activities around this time. 

I’m going to do this chronologically as much as possible, but before we dive in it will be helpful for us to keep a few basic PR strategies and tools in mind to help us understand what’s (or perhaps more importantly, what’s not) happening. So what are some things that make for good public relations? 

A clear, cohesive message. What's the story of the album? There should be key phrases that are repeated throughout press activities, and also allow an easy fall back when faced with questions that haven’t been prepared for. Broadly speaking, you want to highlight the good and ignore the bad, without lying or appearing to hide anything.

A good relationship with the press. Having even a couple of journalists on side can be a huge benefit, it makes for friendlier interviews and more forgiving assessments (which isn’t to say journalists are being fake or can be incentivised, but it’s just human nature that if you make friends, you’re going to have an easier time.) Furthermore, you want a reputation in the industry as someone that’s nice to interview, because journalists can and will talk, and if they’re going to come in with a preconception about you, you want it to be positive. 

Reactive messaging. If something comes out that you don’t want to be out, be prepared. Ideally potential problems have already been planned for. Know which journalists to reach out to, know what the story is, then be prepared to go quiet and leave things alone.

Pre-prepared Q&As or FAQs should answer more questions than they generate. They also shouldn’t require in depth answers - save that for conversations where there’s time for explanations. 

So, let’s start back in 1969. The Paul is dead rumours are in full force and Paul, Linda, Heather and Mary are living up in Scotland, trying to escape the goings-on back in London. 

On 24 October, Paul gives an interview to the BBC dispelling the rumours about his death, which goes out on 26-27 October in two parts. A few days later, Dorothy Bacon and Terrence Spencer from Life Magazine make the trip up to his farm to try and get another interview with him, for a piece they’re also doing about the rumours. 

Paul throws a bucket of dirty water at them, they get pictures, and then realising how this will look if published, Paul gives them an interview and promises to have Linda send them some family shots for the articles. In exchange they get rid of the photos they took earlier in the day.

So the first point here, that hopefully I don't need to spell out, is that you don’t wanna go throwing buckets of water at journalists. Thankfully, Paul did realise this and course corrected, but I can only imagine what the fall out would have been had he hadn’t gone after them. But what’s important for this story is that Paul is fed up with journalists and having to share his private life, he's emotional, and his instinct is to lash out.

The other thing that’s interesting here is a line that goes completely unnoticed. At this point, The Beatles split is not public knowledge. 

The Beatle thing is over. It has been exploded, partly by what we have done, and partly by other people. We are individuals, all different. John married Yoko, I married Linda. We didn’t marry the same girl.

(Paul McCartney in Life Magazine, November, 1969)

This is huge, and it doesn’t get picked up by anyone else. It’s not made a big deal of in the Life article, it’s perhaps the clearest statement we get about the state of The Beatles, and yet it flies under the radar. I’d love to know exactly what the deal is here, but there’s not much we can do about that, but what we should start keeping in mind in this: there is no plan in place around The Beatles split. There is just an agreement to not make it public yet. 

The McCartneys go back to London and Paul starts recording music with his new equipment at home. Later he books studio time when he decides he can make an album out of the songs he’s been working on. 

Some key dates: 

Paul finishes the album on 25 February.

The album is set to release on 17 April.

Ringo’s album get rushed to release two weeks early on 27 March and Let It Be is also supposed to be released in April.

On 31 March John and George send a letter, delivered by Ringo, asking Paul to delay the release of McCartney. Paul refuses and Let It Be gets moved instead. 

Which brings us to April. Prior this, Paul realised that if he’s going to be putting an album out he’s going to have to do some publicity, but the problem is… well, there’s a few; he’s never had to do publicity for a solo album and simply doesn’t have the knowledge, his relationship with Apple has completely deteriorated which includes the people who have been handling this stuff for him in the past, and lastly, he doesn’t want to be dealing with press. Refer back to him and the bucket. 

Thankfully, Peter Brown and Derek Taylor from Apple’s press office, tell him he does need to do something and to an extent, he listens. They select a handful of papers he’ll do interviews with, and Peter Brown puts together a Q&A for Paul to answer, which will go out to journalists in the press kit with their early copy of the album (x).

What I would love to do here is a question by question breakdown of that press kit Q&A but I’m conscious of how long this is already so I won’t… but before we get into that, here are a few more key events: 

7 April: The Eastmans issue a press release with news about Paul’s solo album and his acquisition of the film rights for Rupert The Bear. This is covered mostly by American press on 8 April who speculate that this could mean the end of The Beatles. (An important note here is the lack of communication between the Eastmans and Apple, not knowing what materials each other are providing is not helpful).

9 April: McCartney press kits are sent to journalists. 

9 April: Before Don Short at the Daily Mirror clocks off for the night, he is called by an Apple employee who tells him Paul has definitely quit. 

10 April: The Daily Mirror breaks the news with the headline ‘Paul Is Quitting The Beatles’. 

10 April: After doing interviews all day, Derek Taylor issues a statement regarding The Beatles. It doesn’t say much, which he acknowledges, because there’s not much he can say at this point. Another important note here, is that not even the head of publicity of Apple knew what was going on with The Beatles. There is no communication, and with no communication there can be no plan.

(Paul McCartney Project page that covers all this)

So what happened that made The Beatles split go from speculation to a certainty? It’s all to do with that Q&A. Of course, with the Eastman’s press release people were going to start connecting the dots, but that call Short got from his source isn’t presented as a rumour. 

Now, there’s a lot to say about this Q&A because Paul's answer are so unhelpful and you can feel his attitude. I think the fact this was allowed to go out is a fundamental piece of evidence of Paul’s relationship with Apple at the time. No one wanted to tell him no, and he certainly wasn’t going to give them more than the bare minimum. 

And lets be really clear here. This is a Q&A for his new album. Obviously the state of the Beatles was going to be brought up which is why Peter Brown included the questions, but the number of the questions on that topic and then Paul’s answers, make it really confusing and it’s no wonder this is what press picked up on, rather than just talking about Paul’s album. There are 41 questions in total, and 13 of them are asking him about his relationship to the other Beatles, Apple and Klein. That’s just over a third of the Q&A talking about things that he doesn’t want to be talking about. The fact he didn’t just tell Apple that he wasn’t going to answer some of the questions shows how little forethought went into this on his part. There was a much more concise way to do this, and I do not believe for a second Paul wanted further questions about the state of the Beatles when he’s trying to promote his first solo album. 

And remember what I said at the top, about how if you’re gonna be promoting something in the press you want clear messaging around it? That’s already going be difficult now this Q&A has tied so much of the Beatles split into their messaging, despite Paul actually having a pretty clear idea of what the album’s story is aside from that, but the answers Paul gives to those questions just add further confusion. 

Link to full Q&A.

Q: Were you influenced by John’s adventures with the Plastic Ono Band, and Ringo’s solo LP? A: Sort of, but not really. Q: Will they be so credited: McCartney? A: It’s a bit daft for them to be Lennon-McCartney-credited, so ‘McCartney’ it is. Q: Will the other Beatles receive the first copies? A: Wait and see. Q: Is it true that neither Allen Klein nor ABKCO have been nor will be in any way involved with the production, manufacturing, distribution or promotion of this new album? A: Not if I can help it. Q: Did you miss the other Beatles and George Martin? Was there a moment eg, when you thought ‘wish Ringo was here for this break?” A: No. Q: Are you planning a new album or single with the Beatles? A: No. Q: Is this album a rest away from the Beatles or the start of a solo career? A: Time will tell. Being a solo album means it’s the start of a solo career… and not being done with the Beatles means it’s a rest. So it’s both. Q: Is your break from the Beatles temporary or permanent, due to personal difference or musical ones? A: Personal differences, business differences, musical differences, but most of all because I have a better time with my family. Temporary or permanent? I don’t know. Q: Do you see a time when Lennon-McCartney becomes an active songwriting partnership again? A: No. Q: What is your relationship with Klein: A: It isn’t – I am not in contact with him, and he does not represent me in any way. Q: What is your relationship with apple? A: It is the office of a company which I part-own with the other three Beatles. I don’t go there because I don’t like the offices or business, especially when I’m on holiday.

So what can we get from this? It’s the start of a solo career for Paul, he doesn’t know if The Beatles break is permanent or temporary, he’s not in contact with Klein and Klein doesn’t represent him, he owns part of Apple but he doesn’t like going there, and he seems very certain that the Lennon-McCartney partnership is over, despite not being sure if The Beatles will play together again or not. 

It’s a mess. It raises further questions. The only reason I can think of for it being so long is Peter Brown trying to cover absolutely everything he could think a journalist would ask, but it’s given Paul far too much scope for muddled answers, and in some cases, factually incorrect ones. He is tied up with Klein whether he likes it or not, because Klein’s tied up with Apple and Paul still has a contract with them. 

It’s no wonder that this becomes the focus of the media narrative, and it makes Paul panic. 

So on 16 April, the day before McCartney was released, Paul sits down with journalist Ray Connolly. And we move from story making, into reactive messaging. There is some thought behind this - Connolly is friendly with The Beatles and had actually already been aware of the split thanks to an off the record chat with John, so he was a good choice. The interview was published in the Evening Standard, a few days after the album had come out. 

And here’s why you want a friendly journalist to talk to, because as the world rushed to say that Paul had broken up the band, Connolly led his article with this: 

Paul McCartney didn’t kill the Beatles. If the group is dead, McCartney might be seen as the last survivor. If he has quit, and he still hasn’t confirmed it, he was the last to go.

(Paul McCartney in the Evening Standard, 21-22 April 1970)

However, the interview is also extremely telling about where Paul’s at emotionally in this moment. 

A few days ago Paul McCartney decided to break his year-long silence and be interviewed. He wanted to clear up the confusion about his relations with the other Beatles and Allen Klein, and to kill the rumours that he was now ‘a hermit living in a cave somewhere with a ten-foot beard’. He wanted to show that he really was a happily married man with ‘a nice family and a good life’. But most of all he wanted to talk, to work things out in conversation, as much, I suspect, for his own benefit as anything.

This is not what you want to be doing with a journalist, you want to have this worked out before the conversation. 

We met for lunch in a Soho businessman’s restaurant. With hardly moments for the hellos, he’d launched into his theme, talking rapidly and intently, and only occasionally allowing Linda to come in as support and verification. He wanted to put it all straight, to show that no one was to blame for what had happened, and when after two and a half hours’ non-stop talking he had cleared up his mind and mine too, he laughed, said he felt better now, got into his car and went home.

This demonstrates the lack of media training he had. It’s a stark difference to the confidence he had doing press with the other Beatles, on his own and with a particular idea to get across he appears nervous and controlling. Long form interviews like this are a marathon, not a sprint, and had he had an advisor or representative that was willing to push back against him, he would have known how to handle this better.

Moreover, an interview of this sort should have been done and published prior to the album coming out, or at least on the day of. Yes, there were always going to be questions about The Beatles tied up with this release, but one long interview like this, that had been properly prepared for, could have gone a long way to keeping the story straight. He also, despite his steamroller-ing of the conversation to begin with, comes across much more balanced about the situation than he does in those Q&A answers, so leading with something like this would have put him on much better footing.

So let's just pause here. What have we got so far? We've got Paul wanting to do as little press as possible, and with a breakdown of communication with his press team resulting in minimal planning and advice. This goes completely against the picture John is trying to paint.

And I’m not done yet. Because now we need to talk about the response to the album which wasn’t what I imagine Paul had wanted. There are two reviews I’m going to focus on here, firstly from Disc & Music Echo, written by Penny Valentine. 

I don’t know what he was thinking when he planned this album. Perhaps he is laughing at us all. That’s fine, but it’s a pretty cruel way of doing it… almost a betrayal of all the things we’ve come to expect.

(Disc & Music Echo review, 18 April 1970)

It’s really harsh, but also this is within her right as a journalist. And what should someone do if they’re getting bad reviews? Ignore them. Thank the fans. Thank the people who say nice things. Don’t highlight negative attention, and certainly don’t lash out. 

And look, there’s a lot to be said about Paul, Linda, John and Yoko’s press communications over the 70s, the Melody Maker letters spring to mind, and I’m very aware that I’m looking at this from 2025 when PR is much bigger and better oiled machine, almost to the point of it being quite boring and predictable. I do, however, also think that ‘don’t lash out at journalists who don’t like your work’ is common sense. 

So Paul and Linda writing to Disc & Music Echo is a bit much to my eyes: 

Dear Penny hold your hand out you silly girl I am not being cruel or laughing at you. I am merely enjoying myself. You are wrong about the McCartney album. It is an attempt at something slightly different, it is simple, it is good and even at this moment it is growing on you, love. – Paul and Linda McCartney.

(Paul and Linda's telegram to Disc & Music Echo, 25 April 1970)

It’s condescending, and if you want to plant the seeds of what your album is meant to be, there are much better places and ways to do it. Again this is reactive, showing little to no planning earlier in the year. 

But here’s the thing that actually, completely baffles me. On the same day, in the same paper, another article gets published, this time by Derek Taylor, with the by line reading ‘Derek Taylor, Beatles Press Officer’. This just shouldn't happen. I can’t think of another case where someone’s PR is coming to their rescue in print. That’s not their job, and yes, Taylor used to be a journalist but he’s not anymore. I think this is way more to do with the way the people that have been with the Beatles since the early days are so emotionally wrapped up in this, they weren’t the people that should have been handling this.

(x)

It also shows though, that however much Paul was distancing himself from Apple, there were people still there who loved him. It’s an emotional, beautifully written piece calling for people to leave Paul alone, but also not a good PR move, especially when he’s highlighting a specific journalist. Whether Paul asked Derek to do this, or Derek did it of his own accord, I don’t know, but it looks defensive and if I was a journalist, I’d be rolling my eyes. 

Which brings us to the final part of this, the Rolling Stone review, published on 14 May 1970, nearly a month after the album came out, and largely not about the album at all, but a lot of  focus on Paul’s handling of the situation. 

The review of the actual songs is pretty complimentary, but this is also a personal attack on Paul. 

(Full review)

Unfortunately, there is more to this album than just music. Accompanying the release of McCartney was a mass of external information — all of it coming directly from Paul himself — which casts real doubt on the beautiful picture which the songs create. 

The sheets contain even more assertions about how happy and peaceful Paul and Linda are these days, and some interview statement from Paul concerning his relationship to the Beatles — statements which drip a kind of unsavory vindictiveness.

My problem is that all of the publicity surrounding the record makes it difficult for me to believe that McCartney is what it appears to be. In the special package of information which Paul wanted to include with the album we find startlingly harsh statements.

The lasting effect of this publicity campaign is to cast a dark shadow on an otherwise beautiful record. Listening to it now I cannot help but ask if Paul is really as together as the music indicates, how could he have sunk to such bizarre tactics?

I don't think this needs much commentary. You know something’s gone wrong with your PR when that becomes the focus, rather than the thing you’re actually trying to promote. 

If we return to the four things I listed above, I think we can pretty resolutely lay out what I wanted to do. 

Was there a clear, cohesive message? Around the album itself, sort of, Paul knew what it was. But it got tied up with the news of The Beatles split, the messaging around which was confusing with no one sticking to the same story. He also didn't do enough before the album came out, to get that messaging about his album stuck in people's heads. So overall, no. 

Did he build good relationships with press? No. He threw a bucket at one. He provided confusing press kit material, even to journalists he was friendly with he came across in a manner that was worth noting in an article, he sent a bitchy telegram to a journalist who wrote a bad review, and this all culminated in Rolling Stone spending more time talking about his publicity than his album.  

Did Paul have reactive messaging prepared? Evidently not, and then given the chance to provide some, he came across as panicked to the journalist he was speaking to. 

Did his Q&A provide clear, simple answers to common questions he was likely to get asked? No, it was overly long, asking the same questions in multiple ways and no editing was done to his short, snappy, confusing, and incorrect answers. 

I don’t want to give the idea that Paul, overall, is just shit at PR. (I mean, there's a difference between being a good spokesperson and good at PR but I won't get into that). He’s a highly successful musician who by all accounts, is now extremely good at interviews and making journalists feel at ease. He’s Paul fucking McCartney. But John saying this, in direct reference to this period of press activities is just not true. The album did well for Paul in the charts and sales, yes, but I’d argue that’s despite all this, rather than because of it. 

And it’s also important to reiterate, that Paul simply wasn’t interested in doing a lot of publicity. He wasn’t even sure this was going to be an album when he started writing the songs. He didn’t want people coming to his farm, invading his new family life (and rightly so), he didn’t want to be on TV or the radio every day. That’s why his Q&A is so terse and why he hadn’t put any thought in how he was going to talk about The Beatles. And whilst how he felt is understandable, what he needed were a team around him willing to push back, steer him, and were separate from Apple. That’s the only way, I think, this could have gone differently.

Even then, he probably wouldn’t have listened to them anyway: 

I don’t think I need a manager in the old sense that Brian Epstein was our manager. All I want are paid advisers, who will do what I want them to do. And that’s what I’ve got.

(Paul McCartney in the Evening Standard, 21-22 April 1970)

And that’s really the crux of it all, because you can’t do good with PR with someone who doesn’t want to take advice and thinks they know best. And I love him for it. 

[3rdeyeblaque]

On September 10th we venerate Elevated Ancestor, Voodoo Queen of Louisiana, & Saint, Marie Catherine Laveau on her 222nd birthday 🎉

[for our Hoodoos of the Vodou Pantheon]

Marie Catherine Laveau was a dedicated Hoodoo, healer, herbalist, & midwife who, "traveled the streets [of New Orleans] like she owned them", as the most infamous Voodoo Queen of New Orleans.

Marie C. Laveau I was born a "Free Mulatto" in today's French Quarter in what was then, New France); to a mother & grandmother who were both born into slavery & later freed via freedom papers. It is believed that she grew up in the St. Ann Street cottage of her maternal grandmother.

She married Jacques Santiago-Paris, a "Quadroon" "Free Man of Color", who fled as a refugee from Saint-Domingue, Haiti from the Haitian Revolution in the former French colony . After his passing, she became known as "The Widow Paris". She then worked as a hairdresser catering to White families & later entered a domestic partnership with a French nobleman his death. She excelled at obtaining inside information on her wealthy patrons by instilling fear in their servants whom she either paid or cured of mysterious ailments. Although she never abandoned her Catholic roots, she became increasingly interested in her mother’s African traditional beliefs. The Widow Paris learned her craft from a ‘Voodoo doctor’ known variously as Doctor John or John Bayou.

Marie C. Laveau I is said to have intiated into Voodoo career sometime in the 1820s. She's believed to be descended from a long line of Voodoo Priestesses, all bearing her same name. She was also a lifelong devout Catholic. It didn’t take long before Marie C. Laveau I dominated New Orleans Voodoo culture & society before claiming title of Queen. She was the 3rd Voodoo Queen of NOLA - after Queen Sanité Dédé & Queen Marie Salopé. During her decades tenure, she was the premier beacon of hope and service to customers seeking private consultations - to aid in matters such as family disputes, health, finances, etc, created/sold gris gris, perforemed exorcisms. While her daughter Marie II was known for her more theatrical displays of public events, Marie C. Laveau I was less flamboyant in her persona. She conducted her work in 3 primary locations throughout the city: her home on St. Ann Street, Congo Square, & at Lake Pontchartrain. Despite one account of a challenge to her authority in 1850, Marie C. Laveau I maintained her leadership & influence.

The Queen died peacefully in her sleep in her ole cottage home on St. Ann Street. Her funeral was conducted according to the rite of the Catholic Church & in the absence of any Voodoo rites. To her Voodoo followers, she's venerated as a Folk Saint. In² addition to her Priesthood in Voodoo and title of Queen, she is also remembered for her community activism; visiting prisoners, providing lessons to women of the community, & doing ritual work for those in need.

She is generally believed to have been buried in plot 347, the Glapion family crypt in Saint Louis Cemetery No. 1, New Orleans. As of March 1st, 2015, there is no longer public access to St. Louis Cemetery No. 1. Entry with a tour guide is required due to continued vandalism & tomb raiding.

We pour libations & give her💐 today as we celebrate her for her love for & service to the people, through poverty, misfortune, bondage, & beyond.

Offering suggestions: flowers + libations at her grave, catholic hymns, holy water, gold rings/bracelets, money

‼️Note: offering suggestions are just that & strictly for veneration purposes only. Never attempt to conjure up any spirit or entity without proper divination/Mediumship counsel.‼️

[choccy-milky]

bruh i need to vent about a rude comment i got on my recent chap and also about clora, cuz its something thats been on my mind for a while now. it has spoilers to my most recent chap tho so im putting it below

so in my most recent chap clora gets hit by the killing curse but thanks to seb sacrificing himself for her, it doesn’t work/she survives. and I got a rly rude comment about how that’s super cringe and that clora is a "shoe horning of every possible manifestation of Mary-Sueism I have ever seen." theyre dropping my fic after almost 500k words bc apparently THAT’S where they draw the line and that "just somehow pulling it out the bag and surviving a killing curse from the power of love. In simpler terms, it’s absolutely cringe worthy" and "forgive me if I rolled an eye at the yet again invincible nature of Clora Clemons-the-one-eighth-Veela-extraordinaire"

BUT LIKE LMAO TELL ME U DIDN’T READ/WATCH HARRY POTTER WITHOUT TELLING ME. that’s literally what happens to harry??but its only cringe when it happens to our "mary-sue" clora? like yeah sure love magic might be a bit cringe but IM LITERALLY JUST PULLING FROM THE SOURCE MATERIAL. of all the things to take issue with in my fic and interpretations, theyre taking issue with something that’s canon BAHAHA.

and since im on the topic of clora being mary sue can I just say I hate the misogyny/internalized misogyny that i've seen some people (NOT A LOT, THANKFULLY) treat her with. like i get it, im not pale and blonde and as conventionally pretty as clora is, but even if I was, is that a reason to hate me?? and does being beautiful and well-liked = mary sue? bc as far as I know, mary sue is a chara who is just naturally amazing at everything and doesnt need to try hard and theyre just inexplicably great for no reason (like mc in the base game BAHHAA) if anything the mary sue in MY fic is seb LMAO (but hes a boy so its ok). like clora has worked hard and studied magic all her life due to being a squib and wanting to make up for not being able to DO it. she isnt good at flying, seb is still better at her than duelling, shes really short sighted when it comes to doing/thinking whats best for others and can be a huge idiot.... and like. the only guys that have even shown interest in clora on a real scale have been seb and leander (and then lawley for blackmail purposes, and also bc he hates seb) so its not like literally everyone is falling over themselves for her?? like her interactions with the main cast of boys (ominis, garreth, amit) theyre all indifferent to her LMAO but still, the fact that shes pretty and guys here and there might look at her and go o shes cute! doesnt make her a mary sue SORRy thats just called being attractive idk its just annoying that ppl automatically see a nice kind beautiful female character without any VISIBLE flaws and go SHES TOO PERFECT!! MARY SUE!! WAH IM JEALOUS! and like I get it bc when I was younger I probs would have been annoyed by clora as well due to my own insecurities and internalized misogyny but hey, how about u just realize that’s ur own problem and your own jealousy, and not a real one HAHAH anyway ive since evolved bc I used to be a ‘not like other girls’ type girl back in highschool. trying to be super tomboy-y bc I thought being feminine was cringe and too basic but now ive embraced it and love girly things and dresses and charas like clora who are still strong and showcase their strengths and weaknesses in subtler ways, and I want to smooch her and make out with her. get behind me clora ill protect you🤺🤺🤺

[queer-ragnelle]

I'm honestly kinda disgusted by the way a lot of authors just seeped their misogyny onto Guinevere to make her so horrible, lol. effectively destroyed a lot of people's view of her and she gets blamed for everything?? people keep shitting on her, saying Lancelot should be shipped with "someone better" and I'm just really annoyed because.. Guinevere is horribly characterized by these weirdos authors 💀. It does not take much to portray her as a complex character while also not making her shitty on purpose because you don't like her for her affair, lol.

I love her so much and it's disappointing how she's been treated :(( which is why I'll never be able to hate Guinevere or her ship with Lancelot

My friend it’s honestly so exhausting at this point. It’s not even limited to writing Guinevere herself as insufferable, but writing other characters behaving worse toward her than they ever were in medlit. Arthur hitting and degrading her when he cheats on her? (Warrior of the West by M. K. Hume) Lancelot using her for political gain and never loving her at all? (Enemy of God by Bernard Cornwell) Owain blocking her passage as she flees danger? (Legend in Autumn by Persia Woolley) Agravaine threatening to rape her? (The Road to Avalon by Joan Wolf) Gawain threatening to rape her? (Guinevere by Lavinia Collins) WHO are these characters bro you got me fucked up!!! The subtext here is that the authors hate Guinevere (read: women) so much they’re willing to warp everyone around her to treat her like garbage!!!

“Guinevere is bad because she has sex outside marriage.” Yeah so does Arthur. He fucked his own sister. In the dark. Leading her to believe he was her husband. So there’s Mordred, but there’s also Loholt and Arthur the Less etc. Arthur has many bastards from his extramarital affairs. (Vulgate and Post-Vulgate) Yet he isn’t canceled. Hm. Wonder what the difference could be? Let’s investigate. Seems authors treat Morgause and Morgan similarly to Guinevere. Gee, what is the common denominator here? Meanwhile in medlit, Morgause didn’t commit any crimes—she didn’t rape Arthur to have Mordred, she never neglected her children, she never cheated on Lot, and she didn’t prey on young men, she had ONE consistent lover who was younger than her AFTER her husband died. And she was murdered for it. (Post-Vulgate) Yet every other author writes her as a rapist (The Once and Future King by T. H. White), child grooming (The Wicked Day by Mary Stewart), pedophile (The Book of Gaheris by Kari Sperring), trying to put one of her sons on the throne (many examples). Now, Morgan is evil. But not for lewdness, for trying to murder people. In literally every source. Hello. It’s very simple. These authors are ridiculous. They care more about highlighting their opinion that fictional women having sex is BAD than writing a good story. When there are plenty of actually bad things happening in medlit they could condemn instead. You know, like the misogyny? Burning Guinevere at the stake??? You couldn’t make this up. It’s the utter disdain for the material for me. Assuming these dumbasses are even reading the material. Write something else where I can’t see it. (To be clear, I don’t even hate all the books I listed as examples, but they are unfortunately examples.)

Thankfully I haven’t encountered the blogger discourse regarding this. At least not lately. My advice to anyone who sees people shitting on something you like is to block them. Just do it. Fuck that noise. It’s not worth it.

Also I have to laugh at ship discourse about Guinevere/Lancelot. Of all pairs! It’s so unserious. They’re not some random comphet duo from the newest tumblr trending fandom. They’re mythological characters from a medieval literary tradition. Lancelot was created for her. In the 12th century. That was 900 years ago. It feels juvenile to reduce them to ship discourse. Especially because the story is fluid, it can be reshaped to fit the author’s narrative. So if Guinevere sucks, it’s because they made her that way. This is the epitome of making up a girl to be mad at.

“Oh but in Knight of the Cart—” Shh stop talking. If you’re pulling out KotC like some “gotcha” about Guinevere’s treatment of Lancelot, then you’re lost, buddy. You may be seeking entertainment in the wrong place! Guinevere and Lancelot aren’t real. Nobody was “abused” because they’re characters, narrative tools, to tell a story. Guinevere is flawed. Nobody ever said she wasn’t. If that’s too much complexity for you then I don’t know what else there is to say.

Honestly? Nobody is obligated to like Guinevere. I think it’s stupid to dislike her but the real take away is—if you dislike Guinevere so much, hate her even, why the are you writing so poorly about her? She’s as old a character as Arthur himself. Show some fucking respect or get out.

Anyway I’m going to end this with a recommendation! Today I started the third book of Sharan Newman’s Guinevere trilogy. The first two, Guinevere and The Chessboard Queen were utterly AWESOME!! Lots and lots of named women, like Guinevere’s mother Guenlain, Cador’s wife Sidna and daughter Lydia, Guinevere’s handmaiden Risa, and so on. The one downside is Morgause and Morgan are your typical modern retelling baddies, but overall it’s two thumbs up from me. Many points of view, but Guinevere is fascinating and complex and most importantly she is beloved!!!!!! Really hoping it stays enjoyable through to the end. Miss Newman is still in print, so I encourage everyone to seek these books out at your local library or from your favorite bookseller. Here’s a quote from book 2, The Chessboard Queen.

[aleebeesplats]

Soul bond[OUTDATED]

“An eternity alone is a cruel thing to be subjected to. To be surrounded but isolated, heard but forgotten, so powerful, yet so weak at the same time. The story is your life, but is that really all there is to it? Is that why you did it? Allowed them to exist despite the obvious growing issue? You wanted to feel understood despite not knowing who you were or where you began. You’ve crafted life at the expense of their freedom. You’ve replicated freedom through life.”

More info about this au under cut

This really started as a joke cuz I wanted to draw more Stan and Mari friendship art but as god has it it’s not so much a joke anymore(yay). This whole AU centers around Stanley and Mariella “becoming human”.

Character refs for Stan and Mari. I might change some stuff up with their colors and designs but this is the main idea for now.

In this AU Mariella now works in the same building as Stanley and her job is to attend meetings. Employee 317 did this everyday of every month of every year. She first meets Stanley while waiting for those who were supposed to attend, surprised and confused at the sudden disappearance of everyone.

Mariella and Stanley are creations of the Narrator, so they don’t look exactly human because of that.

(They have normal noses in side profiles)

I was inspired by Friday Night Funkin for their stylized faces. In terms of expression they are much more animated in comparison to the Curator or the Narrator.

Speaking of Nar-Nar, here’s the man himself. His first form is more like a “concept” than an actual “appearance” as he didn’t really care about what he looked liked and cared more about getting through with the story. His current form is much more human and he often spends time in it outside of the parable in his office. I wanted to keep his figure blocky and sharp cuz I went by squares as his main image.

Now the Parable wouldn’t be anything without the building, lo and behold “Coworker”.

I suck at drawing buildings, but for all you need to know for now is that it always expanding in the inside (where the story takes place), and also it is alive, capable of thought and emotion to some extent. Yayyy living infrastructure.

Some additional early sketches I made while trying to figure out stuff.

I thought it would be funny if Nar and Curie dated for a week before realizing they swung different ways. Things are good between them but it’s a little awkward at times. I was stuck between making Nar-Nar an eldritch creature or just an old man, but then again why can’t he do both.

Quick height chart doodle. The egotistical old man strikes once again, he really made himself so tall because he thinks it’s funny being able to see over people’s heads. In a way they look like Kirby to him.

That’s it for now. I’ll try to not burn myself out so that I can draw more for this au. It seems shallow right now but that’s on purpose‼️

Also, none of the things I draw in this AU are meant to be romantic. They are Queer-platonic at most. This is just me exploring bonds in hard times +what it means to be human (self-projecting like hell).

[inuyashaluver]

Hey, I have an idea for a Maybe you could do something with asthma where the reader gives her best during training or something but it got worse and then Guro helps reader ???

You don’t have to write it with Guro you can chose who you write for

Thankss

here for you - niamh charles

niamh charles x reader

description: in which reader has asthma and pushes themselves to their limit, resulting in a minor asthma attack, thankfully, your girlfriend knows exactly what to do

warnings: asthma attack, comfort, slight self loathing but very brief, lovesick idiots

a/n: hellooo, thank you so much for the request, I also have asthma so this was quite funny hehe, hope you enjoy! btw - lovely person who requested this asked for niamh instead!!

⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆

asthma was something you struggled with all your life. it was always recommended that sport would allow you to benefit from the disease and expand your lung capacity, thankfully, your parents put you in soccer young - resulting in you getting signed to chelsea and the lionesses.

you met your girlfriend, niamh in the lioness youth teams, mainly acquainted until she got signed to your club, chelsea. you both began to grow closer to one another, steadily forming into a relationship after both of your pining and a steady push from your friends.

niamh knew about your asthma, she frequently got anxious thinking about you being in a vulnerable state. she always had your medication on her person just in case. especially now, since you were overseas at national camp, there is no way she would let anything happen to you. proven on your team walk in a foreign city.

“niamh, baby, you don’t have to carry my medication for me, I feel bad”

“I know babe, I just want to be extra prepared, what if something happens to you? also, you don’t need to feel bad about anything, silly”

she grabbed your hand in hers and lightly swung them back and forth, smiling down at you and placing a quick kiss on your lips.

you placed your cheek on her shoulder, lightly cuddling into her as you walked. after a lovely moment in solitude, you hear people behind you grimacing. you both turn to face milly and mary gagging,

“ugh we get it! you’re in love, good for you!” mary makes kissing noises at both of you. you look up at niamh again, “it is good for us isn’t it, baby” she leaned down and pulled you into a longer kiss, purposely stopping in front of them to hear their continued grimaced noises. you giggled when she pulled away and you bumped your shoulder with her own.

“you’re silly, niamhy baby”

“only for you, my girl” she smiled, shaking her head at you, giggling.

it was time for training, the final match was slowly approaching, meaning training was getting more intense and the girls are getting more serious.

everything was going well at first. everyone was doing training drills and light laps around the training grounds. you and niamh always partnered up for drills, she wanted to keep and eye on you but you were also both so incredibly obsessed with each other that any amount of separation was painful.

while the team was doing their laps, niamh noticed your laboured breathing, much heavier than it would be regularly. her alarm bells ringing as she looks at you concerned.

“hey, baby, how about we stop for a sec and have a drink hm?” she asked, slowing down to walking instead of jogging.

“niamhy, I’m okay” you breathe out,

“you’re not though, baby, please?”

“I promise I’m okay, beautiful, I’ll have a drink after we’re done.” you sped up and ran past her, you felt guilty that all she was focusing on was you and felt some separation from her would ease her worries.

she frowns watching you run away from her, watching you catch up to ella, alessia and maya. she decided to give you your space, as much as it was hurting her, she didn’t want to stress you out. she put her hand on your puffer in her pocket, squeezing it slightly, thoughts racing through her mind. she was stressed, and she couldn’t focus.

during the mini match, you were placed on the opposite team. you actively avoided niamh, still feeling extremely guilty that she felt that she was responsible for you. you’re stress and the intensity of the game had you struggling to breathe. you were standing with your hands on your hips while the play was going on. you couldn’t breathe. alessia, placed on the same team as you grabbed your arm and told you to sit down.

you were coughing and wheezing uncontrollably, you were having an asthma attack. niamh’s worst nightmare. she immediately sprinted over to you.

“(y/n/n)?” alessia asked “are you okay, love?”

you shook your head.

“need-” you breathe out, “niamh-”you continued to cough. you felt alessia move off you as niamh arrived where you were.

niamh took the puffer out of her pocket, kneeling in front of you.

“baby” she exhaled “baby, try and take a deep breath for me” she made eye contact with you

the girls moved away from the both of you, wanting to give you and niamh your space, this didn’t mean they weren’t looking at you concerned from a distance.

niamh directed the puffer into your mouth, placing a hand on your knee and lightly rubbing her thumb against it.

“breathe in, baby,” you inhale the medication, taking four breaths, “good girl baby, okay three more”

she administered the medication to you, your breathing finally regulated.

“well done, baby! all better?” you nodded at niamh but instantly started to cry.

“niamhy, baby” you cry out, tears frantically running down your face.

“what’s wrong, lovey?” she grabbed your face in between her hands, wiping the tears off your cheeks

“I’m so sorry” you shook your head in between her hands, closing your eyes tightly.

“hey, hey, hey, baby” she moved your head upwards in her hands, “(y/n), look at me, love, come on” she only called you your first name when you were in trouble, or you were in a serious situation

you open your eyes to look at her pouting,

“what are you sorry about?”

“that i'm a burden to you, you always have to look out for me and i’m making you miserable.”

she looked at you in disbelief, she was so upset at your words, her own tears brimming in her eyes.

“you listen to m,e (y/n) (y/l/n), you are never a burden to me, nor are you making me miserable, how could you even say that. you’re my girlfriend and I love you.” she spoke, not stuttering on any of her words.

“ if I didn’t want to take care of you, I wouldn’t. but guess what, baby, I do want to look after you. and I will for the rest of my life. my baby girl. don’t speak about yourself like that. it hurts me”

“is this why you’re distancing yourself from me?” you nodded at her with a pout. she looked right into your eyes. a tear ran down her cheek. you moved up to kiss it away and pulled her down into a tight embrace. crashing you down to the floor, her lying on top of you.

“I’m so sorry, baby” you spoke into her neck.

“if you apologise one more time I won’t hesitate to beat you up”

you laugh at her, she moves to slightly straddle your waist.

“I’m always here for you, okay?” you nod at her

“me too, baby” she puts her pinky out to you and you link your own with hers. smiling gently at each other.

“I like this position” you wink at her,

“cheeky” she shakes her head at you. she moves off you and grabs your hands to pull you up.

niamh pulls you into another tight hug. she whispers in your ear. “at least wait till we get back to the room.” her hand was on your lower back, beginning to move lower and lower.

“niamh charles! who’s the cheeky one now!” you exclaim, moving slightly to keep her at arms length.

“you love it, don’t lie.” she laughs when you don’t decline, giving you a loving, short kiss, communicating all her love and affection.

“alright you two! enough!” millie, your chelsea teammate expresses, “i can’t escape both of you.”

niamh picks you up bridal style and you yelp, quickly wrapping your arms around her neck. the entire team was smiling at the both of you, loving that your love was so genuine for each other.

“it’s not my fault, mills, she’s obsessed with me” niamh calls out, walking over to the rest of the team and placing you on the ground.

“no denying that, charles” you say, feeling her arms wrap around you and resting her head on your shoulder.

“okay, (y/l/n), sit down for a couple minutes and freshen up, you can join in a little later” sarina says, “the rest of you back to work!” she smiles at you and you go to move to the bench, stopped by niamh’s grip. you laugh and hold her hands and she places multiple pecks on your neck.

“charles! that means you too!” sarina yells, “I’m going! I’m going!” sarina and you both laugh at her antics.

she grabs your head with her hands again, peppering your entire face with kisses and finally landing on your lips, giving you a little kiss.

“love you, bye!” niamh gives you cheek a squeeze,

“I love you too, niamhy baby, off you go” giving her a light tap on her backside as she runs away from you.

“cheeky!” she yells out, running backwards and giving you a wink.

she managed to score a goal, pointing her finger at you. “for my baby!” you shake your head at her and blow her a kiss and she returns the gesture.

on the bus home, you both fell asleep, cuddling up to each other on the way to the hotel. everyone was gushing over you two, equally loving your relationship, you were in love and everyone couldn’t be happier.

⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆

for the sake of the fic, this is you and not tooney (TOONEY I LOVE YOU)

liked by alessiarusso99 and 44,232 others

niamhcharles17: I love my girl ❤️ @/yourname

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yourname: niamhy baby!

↳ niamhcharles17: my baby!

↳ mbrighty04: sick of both of you

↳ niamhcharles17: @/yourname and I will make sure to be extra affectionate just for you

↳ yourname: cheeky!!

[ofbluesandyellows]

Blueberry Wednesday - TASM! Peter Parker / Fem! Reader

Summary: Peter has a new noisy neighbor and he doesn't know how to deal with that -including bright plates and tasty food.

Word count: 2,086

a/n: Hiya! This is a new little thing that came to mind a few days ago, it's so nice to be back to share something with you. Hope you enjoy it let me know if you want to read more :)

Peter had been living in this new apartment for a few months now, the building was nicer than the last, the hot shower worked fine and the electricity didn’t have that buzzing sound that made his migraines unbearable. It was in an okay area and it was close to where he worked.

His life had been monotonous for the same amount of time too, maybe even longer, waking up, shower, coffee, work, lunch, patrol, kick some ass, fix his wounds —when needed—, sleep and back to square one. Peter didn’t feel the need of anything at the moment, Mary Jane had broken up with him for the second time, and even when he was heartbroken, and cried to sleep when he missed her, he was not pushing her to accept him back, he knew it was for the best. Pushing everyone away was the thing he was masterful at. 

But this banging and screeching coming from the floor on top of his was causing his body to flinch every time that mother fucker sound appeared. His jaw clenched, his fist tightened. Peter had given whomever this person was, about an hour to come to their senses but this was enough. He stood up from his bed, leaving his badly sewed spider-man fixed suit splattered on the bed. Heavy steps and the slam of his door didn’t give the owner of the apartment a clue of what was coming for them, so when he banged the door two times, he waited but nothing happened, instead a wave of noise came through of it, as if the air and life were doing it on purpose just to add more stress in him; music the loud kind, instruments clashing against one another as if they had no rhythm to go with.

He banged the door, this time with white knuckles and a fury bubbling in his stomach. Suddenly the music stopped and Peter inhaled, oh, he was so ready to give this person hell, he was even expecting a fight to go down. This didn’t have anything to do with MJ dating another person, of course not, this was about the noise, yeah, that was it.

The door swung open and Peter puffed his chest, but it deflated the second his eyes landed on your frame. 

“Hi!” You said chirpy and jolly, waving a hand. Your hair was messy as if a wind swirl had trapped you and now you had to deal with this new crazy hairdo and a sweaty forehead.

Peter tried, he really did but his eyes betrayed him and went up and down your body, pink shorts, with strawberries, that was something. Your shirt was spotty with breach, it was an Arctic Monkeys one, he liked them. You looked… not as annoying as he expected.

He gulped and inevitably sighed. “Um hello, listen, I came up here to make you stop with the noise but I was not expecting to find you here, so um, yeah sorry. Just would you keep it down?”

All the hot bubbly anger settled down, he was in no way going to fight a girl let alone an adorable looking one.

“Oh, I had no idea, sorry!” You smiled sheepishly. “I just moved in this morning and I was trying to move a few things around because they just left them all scattered and I kind of wanted to— anyway yeah I am so sorry about that.” 

Peter nodded, he caught the pink in your cheeks going brighter the more he stared at you.

“You’re fine, really, maybe I’m just being a little dramatic.” 

Dammit enhanced hearing. 

“I bet you aren’t, I put the music too loud to avoid hearing the screeching myself.” Scratching your cheek you looked at him in the eye and quickly looked away. 

“Well, I live downstairs, do you… er need some help?” Peter looked past you, his eyes landing on the piled boxes and the furniture indeed resting in the center of the room.

“No need, I think I caused enough mayhem,”

“Nonsense, I would be also doing it for myself, if I help you you will finish early, hence I can have silence in my own apartment.” 

After a second you nodded, stepping aside. “Alright then.”

“My name’s Peter Parker by the way, I live literally below you.” His big hand extended, you met his and soon you two were moving furniture around the apartment, the music didn’t sound like noise in Peter’s ears any more, he in fact found out you really liked The Strokes.

The next morning Peter woke up with a banging headache, a brick wall fell over him when he tried to save a dog from a fire down by Little Italy. Only positive thing about his heroic act was that the owner of the dog handed him a little coupon card for free pizzas for the rest of the year at his son’s pizzeria two blocks down. He was definitely using that one.

A soft almost imperceptible knock startled him as he swallowed two ibuprofens with a big gulp of black coffee. The coffee was cold but he couldn’t care less.

As if he wasn't sure the knock had been on his door, he opened it slowly, you couldn’t be too sure anyway. At least his spider senses weren’t skyrocketing, which was always good.

His eyes found emptiness, there was no one at his door, his head popped out, looking to the right then the left and then a sweet smell caught his attention. Syrup-y, vanilla like.

Eyes went to the floor instinctively, right at his feet there was a yellow plate, a baby blue sticky note on the plastic wrapping it. 

His brows furrowed as he squatted down. 

Hi, Peter Parker.

I’m so sorry I disturbed your peace last night, 

take these pancakes as an apology and as a thank you for your help.

Have a good day,

- your noisy top floor neighbor.

Peter felt a flutter in his chest, he hadn’t eaten pancakes in so long, and these looked extremely good. The plastic wrap was forming little condensation drops, so he picked it up, with a smile forming on his lips.

As soon as the wrap was discarded his apartment filled with the smell of sweet homey goodness. Even a little plastic pot of syrup was resting at the side of the pancakes. He looked at them for a good minute, just appreciating the looks of it. 

“Okay…” he mumbled to himself as he grabbed a fork, his cold coffee still half drunk near his left hand.

Peter firstly dipped his pinky in the syrup and as he sucked on it he couldn’t help to make a sound of pure joy. Pouring the gooey thing over the spongy misshapen circles was making his mouth water and the first bite was like a whole new experience to him. He noticed how the pancakes were soft like he imagined clouds were, then he chewed on something sour his eyes widened, looking down he noticed the very well hidden blueberries.

It was like having a party in his mouth, warm, sugary with a hint of sourness and then all combined, he moaned as his forehead hit the surface of the counter in his kitchen. 

“You have to be kidding me!” 

Peter was a fan of berries in general but there was definitely something in the blueberries that made him extremely happy, it was almost childish, it was probably the memories of his mom adding them to his cereal when he refused to eat something else.

The whole thing disappeared in less than a few minutes. He was both flattered and a bit insulted by you for giving him six pancakes instead of the common amount of three but he was also very grateful, he hadn’t had a breakfast like that since he lived with May, and that had been years ago. This made him feel warm inside, almost loved.

The water of the sink cleaned the remains of the food and he stared at the plate, a big pink smiley face was painted on the center of it, this made him chuckle, one that vanished as quickly as it came. How was he supposed to give you back your plate, he was not good at cooking, well… only if you appreciated instant ramen or mac and cheese coming from a box.

He wasn’t very fond of the idea of returning your plate empty, made him feel ungrateful, even though he had been the one handing you his services, it hadn’t taken much from him to help you anyway, you had been nice and chatty, he even enjoyed being around you, and Peter didn’t enjoy being around many people. 

With a deep sigh he left the cheery plate to dry on the rack, he had to go to work now.

Working for this new lab was something he didn’t expect to feel excited about but being part of the genetics department was probably the best decision they made for him, he could check all kinds of weird things, giving him access to classified information that was also helpful for his arachnid counterpart. 

But just today wasn’t one of those days, his mind kept on drifting to you and your plate and those freaking incredible pancakes. Deep down he thought of finding ways to help you so he could eat those delicious fluffy things at least once more. For now he had to just entertain the idea, soon he focused on options to give you back your stuff without even going knocking at your door.

Because that would be weird? Isn’t it? To knock and give your plate back with a nod and then disappear without a word. It seemed too impolite and somehow Peter wanted to seem like a complete gentleman with you, after all he had been a bit forward last night, he was tired and upset and you were being so noisy but now here he was in a dilemma. 

Lunch felt like a slap, like a bucket of cold water, his sandwich tasted like sandpaper –not that he had tried it but he guessed that’s what it tasted like–not even his favorite drink from the vending machine seemed good enough in comparison to his three Michelin star breakfast. Swinging back home felt a little better than going in the subway, he made a mental note to fix his motorcycle, he didn’t need to deal with the heat of the city when he could drive to work and back and enjoy the breeze.

You know how destiny and coincidences are such a funny thing, Peter decided to take the elevator to his floor instead of just crawling up to his window. He just felt like it, so he stood there waiting until the door clinked sliding open, revealing a figure inside, your sparkly eyes was the first thing he saw.

Peter almost gasped.

“Peter! Hi,”

“Hey! Are you heading out?” duh how are you so smart, Parker? “I mean yeah of course you are, if not you wouldn’t be here.”

You chuckled. “Yes, I just ran out of milk.” Cheeks going pink, Peter smirked.

“Right, well, I won’t get in your way.”

“Okay, see you around.” 

Peter walked in the elevator and just as you walked past him, he held the door open just to see you for a little longer.

“Hey!” he quickly shouted. your hair flipping as you twirled to face him. “Thanks for the pancakes, they were really good, like exceptionally amazing.” 

“Ha, wow no, thank you, I really appreciate what you did for me yesterday, hopefully there won't be more disturbances in the future.” 

“Please, be my guest, if you need something you know where to find me.” 

“Will try not to bother you much but it’s good to know, thanks!” 

Peter was grinning. “By the way, the blueberries were quite the surprise, they’re my favorite.”

Your whole face brightened “Good! You were lucky, then. It was Blueberry Wednesday.”

Chest fluttering and all, Peter saw you wave at him and disappear out the door, his way to his apartment felt light, like all his worries had suddenly evaporated. His apartment seemed cozier too. Kicking off his shoes, he went to grab a glass of water, his eyes finding the happy yellow and pink plate, he almost choked.

“Oh shit! What am I going to do with you?”

Scratching his neck, he really needed an excuse now. He wanted to see you again.

[blank468]

My somewhat final thoughts of My Hero Academia

Note: Now that MHA is now doing an epilogue and is ending soon, I might as well give my final thoughts about this series. I’ll probably continue to talk more about it after the series is officially over but I’m not going to do a full fledged hour long review because I have better things to do.

This is a generic shonen empowerment fantasy that managed to screw its own theme and message. Any good will I would’ve given to series at the beginning is completely irrelevant as it when on. The morals and themes are constantly changing to throw random s**t on a sheet of paper that either doesn’t make sense, contradicts what being shown on screen, or if it doesn’t fits the tone of the story. My hero is not a deconstruction of the shonen genre that does anything new that would make it stand out. Most of the ideas and plot points created either have horrible execution, given no amount of attention where they’re just ignored or just have horrible payoffs. It follows all the exact same tropes seen in every other series and makes them worse. It also gets to the point where it rips off Naruto and makes the same mistakes it did. The amount of plot twists that are excused as some kind of subversion are obnoxious and predictable where’s it gets incredibly annoying. The world building is horrendous and just makes the story feel small for a world that has a life changing impact. The power scale doesn’t always make sense and it does nothing but act as a way to reward characters that didn’t earn it.

It has a dangerous and horrible message for victims of abuse and bullying. My hero has no problem telling the audience that if you’re a victim of any kind of abuse, it’s your problem and you should just act like it’s not a big issue. Apparently it’s ok lie to your friends, family and colleagues that you can trust but it’s not ok to lie or even hold accountable to your abuser. And no matter if he/she has a reason for the way they are, you are always in the wrong and you should spend your sad life praising and benefiting them.

There exists way too many characters for the audience to be invested in and after watching them for several arcs, they are just stereotypes with nothing new or original about them. Many of them come across as either being stupid, annoying, useless, unlikeable, petty, ignorant or just both. Some characters will either exist to benefit others or just highjack the story, ruining every other character’s chance to get any sort spotlight. The series is way too reliant on putting focus on unpleasant and uninteresting characters to please its large audience. The humor is way too reliant on a character’s personality trait. No matter what they do, the story expects us to automatically like them regardless of how horrible and selfish their actions are. Izuku may not be the worst character, but he’s no where near as great as everyone hypes him up to be. Bakugo is an unbearable mess of a character that serves no real purpose in the story and exists to take away every characters chance of development. His development is one of the laziest and obnoxious parts I have ever seen in any story and yet he’s the most popular sadist in the show with no sort of reason or sympathy for me to like him. Any criticism given to this d**khead is automatically shot down and people like me get harassed and called a brain dead immature f*g for stating our opinion.

Aside from Twice and Gentle/ La Brava, these villains are not that interesting and what ever traits about them gave them something to do is absence. Shigaraki is the stories biggest wasted potential that went from being an idiot to being an incompetent idiot to benefit my left nutsack. Toga is a Mary Stu who went from being a sad and annoying character to an annoying and self centered bitch who complains after being told her actions are wrong. Dabi is just a Gary Stu who’s only interested in wanting to kill his dad. Spinner is a joke that is constantly scammed by his creator.

The only saving grace I can give to this series is the art style of the manga and some parts of the Todoroki family drama. I can even say that Horikoshi’s art style and how he designs characters and panel designs inspired me as an artist. The anime as a whole is fine but it’s not perfect, but that’s mostly because it doesn’t do a whole lot of creatively/artistic things to make it on par with the most popular anime series. As an artist, I would recommend my hero as a reference to use to improve your work. If you just want to read or watch a series that has fights that just make you feel some kind of emotion, then you might get something out of this series. It’s not even the absolute worst thing I’ve seen; I’ve seen much worse in other genres other than shonen manga. It’s just rare to find a badly written series without being surrounded by d**kriders. It’s just a disaster of a series, and I wished I spent my time during the pandemic watching another series like Demon Slayer, or Black Clover.

[taintedges]

*tiny little polished shoes running across igneous rock* inkblade headcanons perchance?

You can’t just say perchance!

However, I am absolutely honored to be asked. All takes place after junior year.

This one, I thought of after the little epilogue they had. With them hinting that Adaine and Aelwyn will hunt their mother down maybe during summer break, they will probably need a little party of their own to do that.

So the rest of the bad kids are busy. Kristen and her four-god pantheon, Riz trying and failing to de-stress, Fig’s podcast with Sandra Lynn ep. 69, Fabian buffing up to welcome his new sibling, Gorgug probably busy in his new bench with Mary Ann. And going back to the forest of Sylvaire is certainly going to be difficult for just two wizards.

Jawbone trying to both be a helpful parent and school counselor, suggests they bring trg or now high five heroes(?), let's face it they need some practical applications outside school.

Adaine absolutely hates this idea and does not think another wizard would be useful (she strongly emphasizes that Oisin should be excluded)

Aelwyn provides her own sassy remarks but surprisingly becomes the mediator when an argument happens, which is often.. usually when Oisin tries to refine parts of the plan and puts forward his many “better” ideas which, of course, he has.

And even when Adaine admits to herself that his plan makes more sense she doesn’t ever give up an argument. At first, Oisin doesn’t reciprocate but his cattiness comes out and the whole thing just escalates.

During travel when the silence is too awkward, Oisin will start talking about a book he really likes, and Adaine just roasts his taste even though she probably thinks the opposite.

They may have saved each other from dying multiple times in combat and will awkwardly say thank you after.

There are times when the forest gets too dark and Adaine remembers the last time she was there and how scary it was to face her fears alone. She often wonders if it was the same when Oisin died before getting forced with a rage star in him.

Sometimes they stay up talking at night when she can’t trance and finds him the only one still awake.

When they start to become familiar with each other’s magic, they become totally in sync during a battle (the rest of the group pretends not to notice how good they work together).

Sometimes Oisin wonders how Adaine would know something about his magic that he didn’t talk about (in my head, when tbk snooped around Ruben’s house and Adaine was in his wizard’s tower, I think she studied everything she found and probably took some of his stuff too, perhaps his quill and Oisin certainly notice it missing and wonders how it got into Adaine’s backpack. He doesn’t take the quill back after seeing that Adaine likes using it.)

Adaine also would threaten Oisin to teach her how he created the spells inside ping pong balls all while making remarks about what he did.

Oisin carries Boggy around when the familiar doesn’t immediately follow Adaine. Adaine just assumes Boggy always follows her and Oisin secretly likes stealing Boggy, who is just happy to be here because he now has two parents.

I think Oisin’s crush on Adaine dissipates and only comes back 10x harder at the end of their quest when he sees how capable she is.

Here’s a fun one. Coming back after their adventure, a party at Seacaster Manor in anticipation for senior year.

Adaine gets drunk on bad baby milk and insists on playing beer pong with Oisin.

Ivy is teasing because Oisin actually cannot make a shot (for real, not on purpose).

The drunker Adaine gets the more careless she becomes and hurls the ping pong ball at Oisin and boy do they hurt.

Bickering starts and tbk and trg are no help until Ragh intervenes and puts them on time-out upstairs. Bad idea.

Probably for the first time, Adaine admits that she thought he was cute and bluntly asks him if it was all a ruse to undermine her party and WHY HE MESSAGED HER SORRY AT THE CAFETERIA he could have just not said anything and left her alone.

Oisin does admit that he did like her then and he still likes her now, but the rest of senior year is just Oisin groveling.

Adaine has many times placed ping pong balls with spells written in them in his locker so that when he opens it, his things just fly out and he has to clean it up (I rewatched the scene and Adaine’s really disappointed expression tells me she will not let this go). trg finds this absolutely hilarious and are the ones who kept telling her his locker combinations.

Oisin continues therapy sessions with Jawbone and they find each other there after school.

One time Adaine accidentally left Boggy in Jawbone’s office so Oisin comes to her after to return him.

And every single time after that, Adaine just leaves Boggy on purpose. Jawbone notices (because Boggy just stares at him with his big round eyes. Boggy knows what to do even when Adaine doesn't tell him) but doesn’t say a thing.

One time, tbk are outside on one of the benches when Oisin comes to return Boggy, Kristen’s like, "What’s going on are you co-parenting?"

There’s no formal conversation, just a mutual understanding that Adaine isn’t angry anymore and trusts Oisin to always bring Boggy back.

Do they talk during these interactions? Not at first. But after it became a routine, now they hang out in the library, in Mordred Manor, and of course at Basrar’s.

Some days, Adaine doesn’t leave Boggy at all and Oisin just knows to find her at the end of the day.

This might have been too long.

I cannot write romance for the life of me but I try. Perchance these would suffice because this is a crisis and we are in drought!

INKBLADE NATION WE MAY HAVE LOST THE BATTLE BUT WE STAY WINNING THE WAR!

[mysterycitrus]

I'm forever thinking about persephone pt2 when dick talks about robin as a mantle and how mary grayson's death haunts it and how now so many kids have used the name and died with it, and so when I was reading through New Teen Titans #55 recently, kory's thoughts about dick when he goes to bruce after finding out about jason's death really just ripped my heart in two in a whole different way...

"He hasn’t been the same since he found out about Jason. Oh, Dick- I know you were Robin. I know what this means to you that the new Robin died. I know you feel like part of you died, too- but it wasn’t you, honey. Robin died. But you didn’t. You’re still alive!"

yes!!! yes!!!!! im very very happy that connected with u — death in the family + lonely place of dying + new teen titans + war games were big big rereads for me when i was writing that part. my regret is that i haven’t been able to include an interaction with steph (im committed to keeping her as far away from bruce as possible) but yeah it was so crucial for dick to know that robin had literally gotten children killed. partially because it proves that bruce is a hypocrite, and partially to show how divorced robin has become from its original meaning and purpose. my intention was the same as my version of the pearls falling — to change the context enough to give the actual text new meaning!

i did a lot of reading about romani funeral/practises of mourning, because i think how dick and bruce grieve differently are big parts of their respective characters, and also a significant factor in their estrangement post-robin and post-jason. bruce is trapped in the alley metaphorically, but he also maintains his family home as a mausoleum. he spends a lot of time looking at family portraits, thinking about the pearls, seeing himself as a child in the house. jason’s suit remains in its glass box. he is unable to process his grief, nor does he want to. that pain is the driving force behind his desire to do good.

dick is transient by comparison — he’s never shown to have a lot of worldly possessions (he arrives in bludhaven with a duffel bag and nothing else) and his one point of physical connection to his parents is usually just the poster that shows up sporadically in canon. i didn’t want to misinterpret romani practices for a gd batman fanfic, so i tried to introduce different motivation for how dick utilises his own grief to take action. he uses his family to create a legacy for himself to protect their memory.

with that in mind, it becomes even more devastating that bruce has taken that and given it to others, without explaining the reasons behind its creation. literally, like what if dick used the wayne portrait for kindling? that’s probably the closest point of comparison.

dick actually explaining to donna and roy what robin meant vs its legacy that is totally out of his control was also really important. they still call him robin a decade later! he’s their robin! it’s so important to know that that name persists for him, no matter how many others have worn the cape!

[f4ggydog]

bud, bud, bud, now i’m curious— this is serious business what you’re saying. i need your opinion about lottie and her personality ’cause i’m doing a bot of her, and i’m not sure i’m getting her right.

hello hello hello so here’s how i feel about lottie matthews:

I don’t agree with ppl who think that precrash her would be a highschool mean girl. she’s honestly not surrounded by many friends besides her soccer team and she kind of acts a little strange even in the pre crash scenes. however, she does have her sassy moments where she has quips like for example with Mari in that one episode during the crash. I don’t think she’s a complete social outcast like misty though. I think she’s a nice in the middle. but she definitely struggles with trying to feel normal among others.

now as for crashed lottie and post crash, i do not believe that lottie is this completely innocent angel that ppl make her out to be from season 2. she cracks easily under pressure because she’s got the weight of a role she didn’t want on her. she didn’t expect to be placed in charge and whenever she fucks up, she immediately turns to self harm. her mental illness consumes her and fucks with her decision making and plays a big part in her actions. and all the girls are quick to blame the one person who didn’t want to be in charge when everything goes wrong and she takes it out on herself even more. lottie let shauna take a beating out on her not only for protectiveness and to let shauna assume the role as the butcher, but also as a form of self-harm. she’s so immersed in her role as the antler queen that it’s to a fault. she’s driven by her devotion, which often leads her down dark paths and routes where she doesn’t exactly make the most moral of decisions. but she’s not this evil manipulative leader who only seeks to have control and only does things with nefarious purposes. lottie deserves a lot better and she carries a lot of the burden on her back unfortunately.

But anyways i also don’t think lottie is completely evil. however, I can’t say that she’s a completely helpless angel and I think she’s a nice moral grey. her character is too complex to assign her to either the ying or yang role and I think while she often thinks she’s doing the best for ppl, it can make her do immoral things or partake in brutal rituals and activities in order to uphold the wilderness or for the sake of the people around her. ik some ppl want lottie to be more evil but not including any fanon biases, this is the way she is imo.

I apologize if my analysis for lottie isn’t great it’s def a lot of word vomit and can be improved upon and u definitely don’t have to agree!

[celtigxr]

The Pink Dread (Master List) - - - - - ch. xiv: The Will of Man

Chapter Summary: It's going to be one very long night.

Word Count: 4429

Sneak Peak: “This your plan, huh? Finish off what you started?”

Warnings: Public intoxication, dirty thoughts, manhandling, angst, Brat!Valeana.

T H E  G R E E N S 

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Aemond had escorted Lady Maris back to her apartments after their time in the library. He was a bit surprised how easily he fell into a long conversation with her, and how it was not even forced. Maris was far more intelligent than he would have assumed; she had an interest in herbology and the medicinal purposes of plants. In another life, she could have been a maester. She even had her own journal she pressed flowers and plants in and wrote down information that she had learned from them.

She was different to Valeana, pleasantly so. She was intelligent in similar ways to him, and that made the prospect of courting her seem less like a chore. The idea of actually marrying her, however, was difficult to swallow, despite the distinct possibility that it might be a reality should he carry along with this charade. Though, Aemond supposed it wouldn’t be terrible. Their conversations were academic in nature, which he enjoyed. With Valeana it was almost never serious; she was quick to make jokes, or gush over superficial things like how a woman’s dress was made, or about a particular shade of green on a leaf she spotted. It was hardly stimulating, so Maris was a breath of fresh air when it came to his experiences with the fairer sex. It also helped that she wasn’t terrible to look at either.

Aemond did notice that she tended to ramble quite a bit, going on tangents about random facts that he either already knew about or didn’t interest him. There was one moment where she corrected him on the pronunciation of a common bush flower known to be toxic in large amounts, which annoyed him more than he cared to admit (he was positive that he was saying it correctly, having heard it a hundred times). He brushed it off, though, for the sake of the conversation and the obvious blush over her cheeks and ears that betrayed both her nervousness and attraction.

“Good night, my lady,” he had bowed and kissed her hand, a gentlemanly smile upon his lip. That blush came back as she bowed her head and gave him a stuttered good night before reluctantly closing the door to the tower. 

Aemond’s good mood was reflected in his gait as he trailed from the north tower, back to the Throne Room to reach the Holdfast. As he passed the shadow of his ancestral throne, Aegon intercepted him on his way out. 

“Brother! You’re looking very cheerful,” The elder slowed down his pace to turn to Aemond. “Coming back from Madam Sylvi’s? That is where I am headed right now.”

“My mood has significantly depreciated these last few seconds,” The younger pursed his lips and partially turned to Aegon’s direction. “Is there something you need of me, or can I go on my way?”

“I see the Madam is losing her touch, if you are already agitated so soon after her craft.”

“I was not–” He interrupted himself. Aemond’s eye shut upon realizing he was quickly losing his composure. However, simultaneously, the chorus of giggles, followed by gasps of women caught his and Aegon’s immediate attention. 

The following sight had rendered Aemond completely motionless, as the only thing he was capable of doing was trying to process what was happening. 

With a loud shout of: “Egg-On-Toast!” the two princes had come to the immediate understanding that they were in the presence of drunk wellbred women. A rare sighting to be sure, though such public displays from young ladies at such high standings could potentially ruin their reputation for the rest of their lives. And yet, he did not care; it was not his burden to bear. Except, among the three was a certain Valyrian blooded woman, and then he cared immensely. 

The one-eyed prince found himself fixated on Valeana as she stumbled on her feet and words 

Aemond was biting the inside of his cheek, trying to keep his expression as stoic as possible. The last thing he wanted was to expose his fascination and amusement over the entire situation… Particularly when Valeana jumped out of her skin like a startled cat when she noticed him. It reminded him of all those times he would scare her after jumping out from around the corner or through a secret passageway. The way her body would go rigid, eyes wide and mouth open and pulled downwards as she gave a strangled yelp, then cursing him to the hells afterwards. 

It was adorable. 

And gods dammit, it still was.

But then she had to go around and be a pain in his arse again, reminding him why he was actively avoiding her. Why her presence was much like that bush flower he had been talking with Maris about earlier: Toxic in high doses. 

“Prince Almond.” 

His eye narrowed at her challengingly, alight with his suppressed need to smile at her tenacity. Alcohol looked good on her. She looked so flushed and darling.

Aemond growled internally at himself.

“Please do not pay her any mind, my Prince,” Ser Erryk approached her and gently grabbed her arm. 

Valeana didn’t put up much of a fight when he tugged her back into his orbit, but she kept her bleary gaze on Aemond as if he would disappear, and reappear somewhere else if she looked away. In fact, she confirmed that is exactly what she was thinking when she pointed at her eyes with two fingers and then at Aemond, mouthing “I’m watching you.”

“I’ll bring her straight back to Maegor’s Holdfast as soon as I see to Lady Wylla and Lady Ellyn,” The white cloak continued. 

“Oh, that won’t be necessary,” Aegon stepped up and took Valeana’s other arm. “Your hands are full enough as it is, Ser– Erryk?” The knight nodded to confirm that he got it correctly. Aegon smiled, then placed his free hand on the woman’s other shoulder. “I’ll escort Lady Valeana safely to her apartments.”

“No,” Aemond immediately blurted without thought. “I’ll escort her back. ”

His declaration took everyone by surprise, especially Valeana, who openly stared at him as if he said the most offending thing to ever disgraced her ears. 

Aegon tilted his head, a curious smile upon his face. Devious and challenging. “Ser Erryk, do not listen to my brother. Lady Valeana will be much safer in my company”

The two princes were glaring at each other, placing Valeana right in the middle, causing her head to dart between the two. Meanwhile, the two other girls whispered and giggled to each other, something about being fought over by princes and a… spitroast?

The kingsguard also looked between the two brothers, then opened his mouth to insist that he will escort her back to the Holdfast, but Aemond was the first to break the tense silence. 

“Ser Erryk, I trust your wise and honourable judgment. Prince Aegon is…” He tilted his head down challengingly at his brother. “Unsuited to escort a vulnerable, inebriated, young maiden alone at night. It is wiser that Lady Valeana comes with me.” His voice darkened as he continued, common tongue dropped in preference to a more eloquent one. “Jikagon raqagon aōha līvi, lēkia. Issa daor aōhon bisa bantis.” (Go enjoy your whores, brother. She is not yours this evening.)

“Whadju just call me…” Valeana’s muttered question went ignored, as both brothers were poised to attack each other. 

The comment achieved the effect that Aemond desired. That smug face Aegon wore fell as every word was spoken. From the implication spoken in common tongue, to the language of their ancestors that he knew Aegon could not understand. Aegon openly glowered at him, nostrils flared and jaw clenched tightly in a scowl. 

And just like that, Aemond’s mood was elevated once more. He even dared to smile down at Aegon before turning to speak to the knight. 

“It is best you hurry along, Ser Erryk. It will take sometime to get Lady Wylla back to her brother, and I am sure that Lord Borros is wrought with worry for his daughter,” Without straying his eyes off of his elder brother, he reached out and plucked Valeana from him by a tug of her wrist. In her drunken, confused state, she stumbled into his chest, her head connecting to his sternum, tucked under his chin. Aemond was immediately overwhelmed with the smells of citrus, wine, strong ale, and the familiar pheromonal scent of her sweat.

Aegon’s eyes flickered down at Valeana, who was blinking in confusion, using her palms to anchor herself against Aemond’s chest.

“Oh my gods,” Ellyn whispered to her Northern counterpart.

“I know! This is the stuff bards sing about,” Wylla whispered back, eyes captivated by the show before her. 

“The room’s spinning right now, can we all just fuckin’ leave?” Valeana slurred tiredly, one hand massaging her temple. 

“Very well,” Aegon nodded and smiled stiffly, then looked back up to Aemond. His eyes went dark, “Don’t let her fall, Aemond.”

Aemond’s smirk faltered, especially because Valeana heard him and made a pathetic little whine. She went to reach for Aegon, and that made Aemond’s blood pressure spike, forcing his own hand to grab it before she could touch the other prince. And for a brief moment, he could’ve sworn he saw Aegon’s arm move, as if he were going to reach out for her in turn.

“You best get going, Cargyll,” Aemond said curtly, and then bowed his head towards the other two women. “Lady Wylla, Lady Ellyn.” 

Tugging her with him, Aemond turned to leave the Throne Room, but not without his charge dragging her feet as she tried to reach out for her drunken companions. 

“Do not worry! I can take’em– Just gotta stay on his left side. Won’t know what’s comin’. Fare thee wel–” With a sharp yank, Aemond pulled her out of sight.

Valeana dragged her feet as Aemond tugged her down the hall by her wrist. She whined, tugged back, slipped and then cried out. When the latter happened, he immediately stopped walking and turned to her sharply, but she appeared to be fine. Flushed from brow to breast, sweaty and frazzled, but otherwise… 

“You’re walking too fast, Almond,” She threw her head back in exasperation. “With yer stupid long spidery legs.” 

“You’re making a spectacle of yourself,” He sharply shot back. “You threaten not just your reputation, but your family’s as well. I need to get you back to your rooms as swiftly as possible, so make haste– Valeana!”

She dropped down to her knees, her arm limply suspended from where he gripped her wrist. 

“I did not ask for your help, Almond,” She twisted her arm feebly, trying to free herself from him. “Aegon could have–”

“Aegon,” he practically growled the name. “Aegon would have pulled you into a dark corner and taken advantage of you.” 

“You do not know that.”

“You do not know my brother like I do,” he narrowed his eye down at her stubborn form on the floor. “Though mayhaps that is what you desire. To be felt up like a common tart.”

Her brow knitted at that, then she blinked rapidly in confusion, “Whu-what? Didju just call me a tart, Aemond Targaryen? Did you not just call me a fucking tart?”

He huffed through his nose, “Get up Valeana, before more people see you.”

“Oh, no, no, no,” she stood up straighter on her knees to make her point. “You just dug your grave, Targaryen. You think I was difficult before? I’mma make this night the worst godsdamn night of your miserable life, you one-eyed wyrm.” 

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Valeana made well on her threat. She did, in fact, make that night the worst night of his life. Aemond wasn’t even entirely certain how much time passed, but what he did know was that they weren’t even halfway to Maegor’s Holdfast. He had started by dragging her across the floor by her wrists, while she explained her marital plans with her co-conspirators, Wylla and Ellyn. 

“Wylla and Ellyn will marry my brothers, and then I will marry Lord Cregan, you understand. That way, we will all be good-sisters… And in a way, we will be wives to each other. It’s a brilliant plan, really.” 

Aemond was doing a good job at not interacting with her drunk babbling, but he couldn’t stop himself when he asked, “Does Stark know about this arrangement?” His tone laced with bitter exhaustion. 

“I am sure Wylla is presenting the same proposal as we speak.” Her eyes fluttered closed, then she scrunched up her face “Are we there yet? I lost feeling in my arms.” 

Aemond immediately dropped her arms and she flopped on the ground like a starfish. 

“We would have arrived sooner if you got off the floor.”

“But the floor is nice and cool, and this bloody castle is so hot, Aemond,” she whined. 

He ran his hands over his face from his temples, down to his eye in frustration. They were getting nowhere, and the hour of the wolf was upon them. At this rate, by the time they reached her family’s wing, it would be dawn and the servants would be milling through the corridors to fulfill their morning routines.

Impatient and resolute in not allowing her to get the best of him, Aemond bent over, hauled her up from the floor, and then slung her over his shoulder. She gave an unladylike groan at the contact of her stomach being pressed against his narrow shoulder bone. She weighed like a sack of lead, but Aemond secured her legs and strode forward. 

He couldn’t move as swiftly as he would have liked, but they were making more ground this way. It was easier to dodge oncoming guards, as well, but the caveat was her kicking and slapping his back and rear like a war drum. 

“You have a very pert arse, Almond,” she had said after giving it another slap with a weak hand. He hardly could feel it through his leather breeches, but it was enough for heat to reach the tip of his ears. Out of irritation, of course, not for any other reason.

Then Valeana began to groan and moan, and when she stopped kicking about, he felt a tentative tap on his back. 

“P-put me down, Ae-aemond.”

“As much as I desire to, I am not wasting any—”

“‘M gonna to be sick,” her meek confession was enough for him to immediately stop walking and bend slightly to place her on her feet. She wasted no time to clammer against the wall until she found a narrow window that looked over the side of the cliffs. He shut his eye when he heard her heave, followed by the tell-tale sound of watery contents exiting her gullet, and splashing down the side of the Red Keep. 

Aemond leaned against the stone wall and patiently waited for her, eye remaining closed and trying to disassociate to any place that wasn’t his reality. Perhaps he should have let Aegon escort her back… Whatever would have happened between the two wouldn’t be much different to what he came upon the other night, and more importantly, it was not his business. Valeana was not a friend to him and vice versa. Not to mention, the present moment just killed any remnants of attraction he shamefully and subconsciously harboured. 

Finally, Valeana pulled away from the window, using her sleeves to wipe at her mouth and chin. She had a pained expression on her pink face when she settled her side against the wall. 

“That is the price you pay for overindulging in drink,” his berate was softer than he’d intended. 

She sent him a withering look, “Why did you insist on escorting me back, Aemond?”

There was some surprising clarity in her words, almost like she had purged the source of her befuddlement just enough to think and speak coherently. The problem was he didn’t have a good answer, at least one that would satiate her and not make him look like a fool. 

“Aegon cannot be trusted with—”

She groaned and rolled her eyes, “Aegon…Aegon… It’s not about him. Many guards have crossed our paths since you dragged me off. You have avoided them, when you could have just pawned me off to them, effectively unburdening yourself.”

“I do not trust–” He thinned his lips, and turned away before correcting himself, placing the view of her face at his blind spot. “Outside the kingsguard, the guards patrolling the keep are just as weak-willed as any man.”

“Oh really?

He did not see her take tentative steps towards him, not until she was right under his nose, craning her neck to look up at him. 

“Are you weak-willed, my Prince?” She raised an eyebrow at him.

He scoffed, nearly laughing at the question. 

“I’ve already established I do not trust my mortality whilst in your presence… but could I trust my virtue in your—” she looked him up and down and tilted her head, “strong, yet nimble hands?”

Aemond pulled himself from the wall and grasped her bicep, “Let’s move before anyone sees how foolish you are.”

“Stop manhandling me! I’m the bloody Queen of the North! My husband, Cregan Stark, will not stand for this.”

At least he wasn’t dragging her along the floor, or carrying her over his admittedly sore shoulder. They continued to walk until the corridor opened up to large arches, showing the small courtyard below them. With his destination now in sight, he gently pushed her forward, ignoring her soft whines and complaints of the humidity. 

And then they reached a familiar corner, to a familiar flight of spiral stairs. That is when her feet froze. 

“No,” She spun around and tried to push through him. “I knew it– I knew I could not trust you–”

“Valeana–” he gripped her arms, oblivious to the reasons for her sudden distress. “Stop being difficult, we are almost there.” 

“This your plan, huh? Finish off what you started?”

A flash of confusion etched his features until he finally got a good look at exactly where they were. The prince’s shoulders tensed at the realization, and in that brief moment she managed to rush past him on wobbly legs. Aemond was quick to grab onto her wrist. 

“Let me go! Let go of me!” She yanked her arm, causing her sleeve to stretch and pull over her pale shoulder. 

“Valeana,” he pleaded, pulling her body against his, her back to his chest and her head tucked under his chin. Still holding onto her wrist, he folded their arms around her waist to keep her to him. “I am not trying to hurt you. I just want to see you safely back to your rooms.”

He couldn’t see it, but there were fat tears stuck to her eyelashes and rolling over her rosy cheeks. He couldn’t see it, but her left leg was shaking. He couldn’t see it, but she was baring and gritting her teeth as if she was preparing for the worst. But he could hear her sniffles, and feel her trembling fingers, and out of instinct he pulled her closer to him. 

“I’m not going to push you, Valeana.”

“You already did,” she replied immediately with a shaky breath. “Twice.” 

“That was…” He sighed through his lips, “That was a mistake.”

She slowly stopped fighting against him, and slumped in his hold like a sack of potatoes. He could feel her breathing harshly through her parted lips. 

“I’m not so sure, anymore,” her words were spoken so lowly, he almost didn’t hear her. “Let me go, Aemond. I’ll– I’ll find my own way.”

The prince was unwilling to do as she asked; he was frozen in his own body with no control of his limbs as they clung to Valeana Celtigar, afraid of letting her go. Afraid of seeing her leave him again. This was the first time in ten years that his arms have embraced her. She felt so perfect against his frame, it would be a sin if they parted, surely. 

She made a move to step away, to pry his arm from around her and leave, but the approaching footsteps and chatter of servants brought back reality. The hour of the nightingale was arriving, the dawn nearly here, and the Keep was starting to wake. 

With the sudden realization of how this looked (she disheveled, crying, with her dress tugged over her shoulder, and him holding her in a vice against his body), Aemond sprung back to sense and pulled her away from a potential scandal to both their houses. 

“We’ll go through the tunnels,” he went past the offending stairs and marched over to an alcove where a statue of the Maiden stood, surrounded by patterned tapestries. He pushed them aside to reveal a slender door, and then reached for a wall sconce, plucking the torch from its cradle. 

“Stay close,” he briefly released her to pull open the door. Billows of dust and a distinctive crack of wood told her it had been some time since this hidden passageway was used. Aemond arched his arm as he held open the door and gestured with a nod of his head for her to enter. 

Valeana hesitated of course, especially since all she could see was darkness before her. Though behind her was a maze of corridors and parapets that she would have to navigate on wobbly and sore legs. To avoid those spiral stairs, the way to the Holdfast was long and tedious. 

With a sigh of defeat, she bowed her head and slipped into the space, hands bracing the wall of the narrow fit. Aemond followed, shutting the door securely, and held the torch above their heads to shed light for their path. The narrow hallway went on for quite a while, forcing them to shimmy their way through. 

Valeana huffed and wiped her slick forehead with the back of her hand, “It’s hotter in here than outside.”

“You wouldn’t be so hot if you didn’t wear so many layers,” Aemond replied, eyes trained over her head, down the never ending passageway. It was a curious choice, given his knowledge of her aversion to heat. The dresses were lovely, and complimented her… assets well, but they were impractical in the south. Even highborn ladies at the Keep wore dresses with lighter fabric, forgoing petticoats and even chemises sometimes. Valeana’s dresses thus far had been wide and layered. 

“You’re right,” she surprised him with her answer, forcing him to glance down in time to see her exhale tiredly through pouted lips. The yellow glow of the firelight caused the sweat on the tops of her breasts to sparkle, making them look like giant pearls. 

Aemond swallowed thickly, then quickly diverted his attention to the endless abyss. He was taken back to the times when he was a lad on the cusp of manhood. Finding hair in places where there weren’t before, and waking up with a stiff member or wet bed sheets. Valeana was of the same age, going through similar but different growing pains, and they were difficult to ignore. Perhaps it was because of her weight, but Valeana’s breasts were always large – not nearly the size they were now, but bigger than most girls her age at the time. They’d pillow over the constraints of her dresses, and when she breathed heavily, the fabric would dig into the soft flesh… like it was doing now. 

The first time he stroked himself was to the memory of Valeana Celtigar’s breasts, wanting nothing more to place his cock between them. And then paint them with his spend.  

The narrow passageway started to widen when it started to decline, and the walls began to show small diamond shaped gaps in the stone wall that allowed a draft in. Valeana moved over to them and moaned satisfyingly. She threw her head back and allowed the gentle breeze waft over her arched neck and bosoms, forcing her reluctant guide’s eye to fixate on her. Then she started to unlace her bodice at the front, and something spiked inside him that felt like either panic or excitement. 

“What are you doing?”

“I told you, I’m fucking hot,” she pulled one string at a time, exposing the thin chemise underneath. The weight of her breasts were nearly free from the confines of the corseted top, practically spilling out. 

Perhaps it was panic. A sliver of pius upbringing that drove him to jerk his hand forward to stop her. The word ‘stop’ was on his lip as fear gripped his throat. Fear of what? Fear of being caught in a compromising position? Or fear of his desire? The fear of doing exactly what he implied his brother might do, had he been in Aemond’s place. 

Aemond’s splayed hand was upon her breasts in an instant. It had ceased her movements, yes, but it effectively backfired for him. The width of his palm was holding back the spill of her heavy chest, and his fingers slightly curled into the soft flesh through the muslin fabric of her chemise. His thumb hovered over her cleavage, which rose and fell rapidly, only now for reasons other than trying to breathe through humid air. 

Valeana looked down at his hand and then slowly raised her eyes to him. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed down his apprehension. Her pupils were blown wide, and he imagined that his single violet eye looked similarly. Aemond was breathing through the gap between his lips, which made him instinctively flick out his tongue and run it along the chapped skin. That’s when he caught her eyes flickering from his gaze, down towards his mouth. 

The subtle motion emboldened him enough to finally move his thumb. His digit plunged between her breasts, immediately enveloped by their silky – albeit slick with sweat – and smooth embrace. The heat that stirred in his pelvis immediately clouded his judgement, but he kept still, waiting to see how she would react. When she didn’t move, he tested again by moving his thumb up and down the valley, and then over a mound. 

And then it happened. Valeana arched her back into his touch and an airy plea in the form of his name was pulled from her plush pink lips. That was when Aemond became completely undone. She won. His resolve and will crumbled, and he fell on his knees before her like a sinner at the feet of the Maiden.

Notes: I think we can all collectively agree Aemond is a tit guy.

Tag: @queen-of-elves, @keylin1730, @anakilusmos, @weepingfashionwritingplaid, @sugutoad, @desireangel

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