#don't mind my terrible handwritting

[ghost--castle]

i ran out of ideas to draw so i ended up going on tumblr using my tablet as a mouse edit: apparently this is my 1000th post, wow 

[etfrin]

❝ꜱᴏᴜʟꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴄʀᴜꜱʜ❞ — chapter five | part two | coriolanus snow

「ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ:」 SFW | Dr. Gaul is her own warning, Coriolanus Snow is his own warning, mentions of Arachnes' death

「ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ:」 young! Coriolanus Snow x fem! Reader

「ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ:」 you meet Dr. Gaul and her snakes with Coryo at your side 🐍

「ᴀ/ɴ:」 here's part two!! Hope y'all enjoy it! Give me your feedback!

beta read by the AWESOME @nowitsmissing

series masterlist | navigation

Classes were dull. He couldn't stop thinking about the morning, Sejanus' tears, and Lucy Gray's smile. It felt like a terrible dream possible when sick. He hates how easily Sejanus will have his girl after Coryo makes sure she wins.

He hates how he will never have you. And another district girl will be brought to riches undeserving or maybe Sejanus will leave with her.

He hates how he sees himself in Sejanus. Sejanus' sobs are so similar to the tantrum Coriolanus had thrown when he was eight. The tears were the same as his, unable to stop. The pain is too much. Coriolanus’ tears were of shame of who his soulmate was. Sejanus’ tears were of fear that his soulmate might die in the arena.

He had to make sure Lucy Gray won in the arena. Not because he felt pity for his so-called friend but for the fact that this would ensure his victory over the Plinth Prize. Surely, mentoring the soulmate of the heir of Plinth's fortune would get him some kind of reward, at least from the kind, foolish Sejanus.

Coriolanus received a dismissal from his current history class as he was called to meet Dr. Gaul. It took him mere minutes to reach the lab of the Academy where she was temporarily stationed until the games ended. His proposal is in his satchel. He sees you there, waiting for him, and he pauses.

He soaks you in, ignoring the confusion in your eyes. He stomps on his heart that he feels broken because of how fast it is beating. And begins to walk towards you confidently, trying to channel annoyance and anger over your actions of yesterday. He failed miserably.

He mirrors the small smile you give him and he acknowledges last night by saying, “How's the day going for you, little thief?” He feels his worries fade away, the paranoia that you might have stolen his work gone as he hears you laugh at being called a thief.

“I wasn't confident enough to let you read it, and it felt rude to make you walk back to her lab to submit when I was on my way there anyways,” you explained instead, your eyes hoping for his understanding and forgiveness.

You answered his question as well, “It's been going well, I was nearly late for my classes.”

It's pathetic how easily he caved in. “It's fine,” he whispered, “maybe next time don't leave a note, so the culprit isn't more obvious.” Coriolanus Snow decided your giggle was the prettiest sound he had ever heard and his face burns as his mind repeats it. You give him a friendly swat on his arm and Snow lets himself grin. A real smile with teeth, not the perfect one designated for his classmates.

His proposal is forgotten in his bag as he and you enter the lab. He pulls you a bit closer to him, and a bit behind so he's a step ahead. Dr. Gaul was insane and Coriolanus couldn't help the feeling of being protective of you. He didn't want you to receive even a scratch while he was there.

Dr. Gaul greets you and the Coryo with a feral look in her eyes and her red-stained lips in a wild grin befitting animals. You politely greet her back and Coriolanus follows. Coriolanus swallows as he sees hundreds if not more rainbow-colored snakes in a tank.

“For the games?” He hears you ask.

Dr. Gaul replied, “We'll see, child. Now come forth.”

Coriolanus swallows and even though he shouldn't, he holds your hand, his fingers gripping yours and he walks forward, still keeping you a step behind.

The snakes hiss and move around the tank in swirls of color that hurt his eyes. But in the limited space, he could almost make out parchments with familiar handwriting. What was Dr. Gaul planning?

As if on cue, Dr. Gaul asked, “Which brings me to your proposal. I liked it. Who wrote it? Just you two? Or did your brassy friend weigh in before her throat was cut?”

Coriolanus is surprised by the small laugh you let out, and he sees the humor in Dr. Gauls’ eyes. “No ma'am, I am sure she was rather busy choking on blood. They were written by us,” you said.

“Is that so?” Gauls' voice is full of suspicion but it deters neither of you.

“Yes,” Coriolanus butts in. “Our proposals were written completely by us.”

“Well, let's read it again, shall we?” Dr. Gaul adds, “Unfortunately, my assistant lined this very case with it while I was having my lunch. Let's retrieve it, shall we?”

“Isn't it dangerous?” Coriolanus asked, his voice edged.

Dr. Gaul chuckled and explained, “They can’t see too well, and they hear even less,” said Dr. Gaul. “But they know you’re there. Snakes can smell you using their tongues, these mutts here more than others.” “If you’re familiar, if they have pleasant associations with your scent — a warm tank, for instance — they’ll ignore you. A new scent, something foreign, that would be a threat,” said Dr. Gaul. “You’d be on your own, little boy.”

He doesn't let the fear swallow him, not when he saw how eager you were to prove her suspicions wrong. He didn't want to take Dr. Gauls' words at face value but what else could he do? In no world, he would let you dip your hand into a pit of possibly venomous snakes. Not if he had a choice.

“Me first then,” he said, his voice filled with (fake) confidence.

He puts his hand inside the tank, trying not to shiver in disgust. The snakes ignore him, slithering around his hand as he wiggles through to pull out his proposal successfully. It was safe. Which means you could do the same as well. He hands his proposal to Dr. Gaul before stepping so you can repeat the action.

And you succeed as well with flying colors. You step back to stand beside Snow as Gaul holds both of your works. She raised an eyebrow impressed but Coriolanus can see the underlying disappointment and vows to never leave you alone in her presence.

Dr. Gaul said, “Well… I will try to implement both of your ideas for the Games as soon as possible. The victory tour and idea of what you called tesserae were impeccable. Same with your idea, Coriolanus Snow. I am proud to have you both as Capitol students. I am also looking forward to Arachnes’ funeral”

“Now leave,” Dr. Gaul dismissed, “It's time for my tea and crackers.”

Coriolanus couldn't walk out of there faster. Je catches you before you can walk away. Your actions tilted his reality, in so little time since the reaping day, you were changing every thought of his.

“Choking on blood?” He said, “So much for Arachne's 'family'.”

You raised an eyebrow, “There were people in the library and it was already a bad look that we weren't in our homes grieving or whatever.”

He frowned, “So that tear- those red eyes were fake?”

You looked around the hall, the students present were out of earshot. You pulled him closer by the collar and whispered,

“Guess your songbird isn't the only performer.”

Your lips were mere inches away from his. He could seal a kiss. He could take you- he processes your words and doesn't know how to react. You… you changed his whole reality, his perception of you with a sentence. Coriolanus Snow didn't know what to make of you anymore.

You pulled back (why, why, why) and handed him your proposal. “I need you to know, everything I wrote here is for Panem. Don't judge me too harshly.”

You were nothing like he thought of and you were laid bare as he read down your proposal, what you had planned for Arachnes’ funeral. And in his mind, he realized that perhaps. . .

You stopped being District a long time ago.

NEXT PART

[fioiswriting]

The sea and the fire

“Fire and water looked so lovely together. It was a pity they destroyed each other by nature.” - R.F Kuang

Summary : when you're married to your childhood sweetheart who becomes your enemy and you get lost in the terrible maze of politics.

[previous chapter] [masterlist]

Rating : None for now, will be explicit 18+ later MDNI

Pairing : Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon/Strong!niece!Reader (There will be some Cregan Stark x Reader later)

TW :  none for now except not proofread. TW will be added as the story progresses.

Words count : 4408

AN : Hi everyone!! I hope you're all doing well. So, MONTHS later, I've finally decided to post chapter 2. Sorry for the wait.

[About this story This fanfiction is inspired by an RP I started with my girlfriend (@irmawrites, go check her work) in early 2023, which is still ongoing. My girlfriend writes for her OC (who is the daughter of Viserys and Alicent) as well as for Aemond and Cregan, while I write for my OC (who is the daughter of Rhaenyra) as well as for Aegon and Cole mostly. This fanfiction doesn't cover exactly the same events, I've changed some things, added some others and omitted some. But it follows the main storyline. The character of Irma is a nod to my girlfriend and is based on another of her OCs (Alicent's niece). I'm keen to turn this story into fanfiction and I hope you'll like it! ❤️ I know there's a ton of fanfiction out there based on the Aemond x Rhaenyra's daughter trope. If you don't like it, if you feel uncomfortable, or if you've read too much of it, I'd suggest you read another fanfiction written by one of the many talented authors on this platform ❤️ The story will unfold in several arcs, with the first arc building up the relationship between the reader and Aemond. The tone is therefore lighter. The following arcs (which I can't wait to get to!!) will gradually introduce a lot more angst (my favourite thing to write). The tone will be radically different. Overall, the fanfiction will sometimes be based on elements of the book, and sometimes on the show, with my own interpretations. Please bear in mind that my dialogue will sound very "modern" because I struggle to write medieval dialogue in English, as it's not my mother tongue.]

Also English is not my first language, so sorry for the grammar mistakes !! 

After all that talk, ENJOY <3

Chapter 2 : Familiarity

There was a sense of renewed familiarity. 

You had regained your childhood bedroom and with it your landmarks. Of course, you still missed Dragonstone. And that could seem strange to some - Dragonstone was just a damp cave, a pile of stones perched on a rock. You were in King's Landing, now. You lived in opulence, in a royal comfort unmatched by the perch above the sea where you had spent most of your youth. 

But Dragonstone had a charm you couldn't find in King's Landing. Perhaps it was the stillness of the library where you spent all your time, lost among the scrolls of parchment and the thick tomes, or perhaps it was the sound of the crashing waves that rocked you on stormy nights, you weren't sure.

But somehow a sense of familiarity had returned. Your old room hadn't changed much, despite Alicent's questionable alterations to the decoration of the Red Keep. You had found an old toy in the shape of a dragon, and even some old paper on which you had practised your precise handwriting under the strict gaze of a stern Septa when you were a child. It was a memory frozen in time, a kind of testimony to the past. A room that reflected the little girl you were when you left King's Landing.

But perhaps you could change it to your liking, to reflect the young woman you had become. Perhaps it was a way of keeping you occupied before you left again. After all, your mother had promised that your stay would only be temporary. Just time to sort out some inheritance issues. Time to try and heal your family's wounds. Time to secure your family's future. As if the hope of you all rested on your shoulders; the only guarantee that your family wouldn't descend into a bloody escalation, or something like that. 

And yet, even though you'd only been here a short time, you'd already gotten into trouble, and it was Aemond himself who had to rescue you. You hated the idea.

You hated the fact that he'd come to your aid.

You hated the fact that you owed him, that you were indebted to him.

Fortunately, your little escapade hadn't been reported - you didn't want to disappoint your mother, or see the reproachful look on her face, even though you were aware that she might not be in the best position to make a comment. You were close to your mother. You were her eldest. You were her only daughter. She cherished and loved you, and you knew you could share everything with her. But you cherished your secret freedom, and you feared that her concern for her only daughter would give her the bad idea of assigning you closer supervision.

You didn't need a chaperone. You valued what little freedom your condition as a daughter afforded you.

As you slipped under the sheets, your thoughts kept returning to Aemond. The way he'd protected you, the way he'd carried you on his shoulder - it was humiliating, you weren't an object. And the way you had planted a kiss on his cheek. An impulsive act. A foolish act. You had to admit that you weren't averse to doing it again.

It just didn't make sense. Why had he come looking for you when he'd never answered your letters? He'd probably felt superior, after calling you and your brothers bastards, he'd probably decided you weren't good enough to be his friend anymore.  All this time, all these years, you'd been waiting for a word from him - a mere reply to the letters you'd sent. It never came. You concluded that your friendship had ended, in silence, after all you had done for him; after reassuring him, after holding his hand while the maester tried to repair the broken flesh on his face as best he could.

Had he really been your friend for even one day, or had it all been a facade, a role he'd played? Had he ever been sincere?

You were furious.

Rhaenyra had stroked your hair through every disappointment that gripped your heart like the loving mother she was. Daemon - Daemon had soothed you in his own way, telling you again and again that Aemond wasn't a good man, and that you would save your heart by forgetting him.

But now he had come looking for you. Something had changed. He had taken a step in your direction. You were lost. You were angry, but it was not just anger. There was something else underneath that pile of confusion and resentment. His approach unsettled you. Every step he took towards you, every word he said, sent a whirlwind of conflicting emotions through you. A burning curiosity. An irresistible attraction. 

You hated yourself for thinking it, but maybe your betrothal wasn't such a bad idea. Maybe you could retrieve the complicity of your childhood.

Maybe it had never really disappeared.

In the early hours of the morning, the smell of warm bread tickled your nose even before you felt the warmth of the sun's rays through your chamber window. You rolled onto your side to steal a few more minutes of comfort, stifling a grunt into your pillow. You waited fatefully for the moment when Celia or Jeyne would come and wake you.

"Wake up you lazy groundhog, you've got things to tell me!" 

But the high-pitched, overly cheerful voice that echoed around your room wasn't Celia's, and it certainly wasn't Jeyne's. You sat up immediately, as if someone had thrown a bucket of water over you, your fingers rubbing your tired eyes to make sure you weren't dreaming. 

Irma Hightower was standing in your room, in a gown more extravagant than ever. You wanted to throw yourself into her arms.

"It was usually me who overslept in the morning and you who had to wake me up," Irma exclaimed, placing the tray she carried awkwardly under her arm on the table with a loud clatter, causing the tea to overflow from the cup and drip onto the wooden table. "But I reckon that sneaking out seems tiring." She punctuated his remark with a knowing wink before dusting off her dress as if she'd just worked in the straw or done the most strenuous physical labour in the world.

Still too sleepy to make sense of your friend's words, you frowned as you looked around for your two handmaidens, the ones who woke you up every morning, helped you get dressed and brought you your meal. "Where are -"

"I dismissed them for the rest of the morning," Irma replied without letting you finish the sentence. That explained the tray and the near disaster. "But here's your breakfast. Gods, did you know a tray was thatheavy? " She paused briefly, barely giving you time to wake up properly.

Irma Hightower was a tornado. She swept away everything in her path - she carried away hearts and minds with equal ease, leaving a whirlwind of chaos behind her. Wherever she went, she stirred the air with unbridled energy, forcing others to adapt to her frenetic pace or be wiped out by her determination. But it would be a lie to say you weren't happy to see her. You sat down on the edge of the bed and stretched, your arms reaching for the ceiling before tilting your head to one side. A smile curved the corner of your lips as you watched your friend. You wondered what Irma was doing in your room in the early hours of the morning, especially when, last you heard, she was supposed to be in Oldtown furthering her education. 

To tell the truth, you might have had an idea why she was here. You just didn't want to subject yourself to your friend's interrogation - some secrets should remain your secrets.

And what you'd done yesterday was one of them.

"'So?" she asked with a mixture of overflowing curiosity and impetuosity, her brown curls twirling around her face.

"So what?" you sighed as you went behind your dressing screen to remove your nightgown. You slipped into a flowing ocean-blue dress adorned with pearls and embroidery - one of your favourite gowns, a creation that reminded you of your favourite element: the sea. 

Unlike your brothers, you weren't made of fire and blood. You were made of sea and storm, and you knew deep down that this was perhaps hypocritical - your own appearance reminded you of it every day. But it was what your heart had always told you, and you'd come to believe it, too. The feeling of your feet in the water and the breeze on your face, its salty taste against your lips, was the one that brought you the most comfort. 

"So what happened yesterday ?” Irma insisted. Her voice grew impatient. "I saw you.”

But you ignored her, busy wriggling to reach the lacing at the back of your dress. In vain. You weren't flexible enough. "Since you've decided to play the handmaid today, help me get dressed," you replied, appearing on one side of the screen, your hands gripping the fabric tightly, your back to her. Irma rose with a long sigh - it was just for show, you knew - and came over to you. You smiled mischievously. You had to admit that you enjoyed seeing her in this role, so opposite to who she really was. You wondered what her time in Oldtown had been like; whether she'd been treated like the spoilt brat she truly was, or whether, on the contrary, she'd had to learn patience, faith and discipline - all qualities that didn't characterise her. 

"I could actually keep you as my lady in waiting, you know. You'd be good for that. Forced to follow me everywhere, I'd love that." 

You didn't need to see her to know that she rolled her eyes. " I am the Queen's niece. I was made for more than that."

When her fingers became tangled in the lacing of your dress, she spoke again, her voice caressing the back of your ear as she tugged at the lacing with a little more force: "You haven't answered my question."

How could you forget that Irma was so perceptive? And above all, how could you forget that when Irma wanted something, it was impossible for her not to get it? You weren't going to get away. She would insist, until you fell for her angelic pout and her round eyes that tried to win you over.

It reminded you of your shared youth - the times you spent together, swapping secrets and gossip, talking about your joys and sorrows. You had been inseparable before you were forced to return to Dragonstone, and she to Oldtown. 

"Nothing happened. At least nothing like you may think," you admitted, turning to smooth the front of your dress. You whirled around, the fabric rising gently around you like a bluish wave. "How do I look?"

"I wouldn't describe being carried around like a sack of flour on your dark uncle's shoulder as nothing. Especially in your family." 

Irma inspected your outfit, her eyes expertly examining you from top to bottom and then from bottom to top, looking for the slightest detail that would have spoiled her work. She brushed away a stray strand of hair that had fallen across your face.

"Did he kiss you?" Her eyebrows arched, her mouth forming a playful pout of false surprise. She was clearly determined to decipher your every secret, to expose them. You hesitated for a moment, to cast doubt, to let her imagine more - but you were afraid of the repercussions this might have on you. You weren't sure that Irma knew how to hold her tongue. And you didn't want to risk exposing yourself to Aemond's irritation over false rumours. Not when you'd planned to play with him a bit; to prove to him that you had the upper hand, that you could have him wrapped around your little finger and drive him mad. You were still suspicious of him. You hadn't really figured him out yet. You just knew he'd changed since the last time you'd seen him, but you weren't sure how much.

"No, he didn't kiss me," you repeated, putting the same emphasis on the word as your friend. You walked over to the table to sip your still steaming cup of tea. You could feel Irma's round eyes on your back - she was waiting for you to say more. She probably had a dozen unanswered questions: why had Aemond brought you back like this? Where had you been? Who had you been with? What had you done? But you didn't answer right away, biting into the crusty bread.

"He just... came to fetch me," you finally admitted between two bites, your mouth half full - it was a far cry from the princess manners in which you'd been raised. Sitting on your bed, Irma stared at you with her brown eyes - the same as her aunt's. "I was with Aegon. In King's Landing. And I got lost."

That was enough. Irma didn't need to know everything; after all, it wasn't a lie if you only omitted certain details that you deemed relatively unimportant.

Or that Irma didn't need to know.

But the revelation provoked a silence. Your friend didn't answer immediately. Her eyes narrowed, revealing a fine line between her eyebrows, and her lips pursed into a bitter pout. She looked troubled, her fingers twitching in her lap. "I didn't know you were close to Aegon."

If you didn't know her so well, you wouldn't have detected the note of reproach in her voice. Was it jealousy? Was your friend jealous of the time you spent with Aegon?

You weren't sure you understood. He was married - and more importantly, as you remembered, Irma hated him for his debauchery and the alcohol he drank to excess. 

But this was no time to argue, and you preferred to play it safe. There would be plenty of time for your investigation later, when Irma's suspicions would be at rest. "He's my uncle and... he suggested he show me the streets of King's Landing because I was feeling bored." 

And the idea seemed liberating at the time. A moment of stolen freedom, away from the court, away from your duties. Where you were no longer the model princess, the paragon of virtue, but just another girl, lost in anonymity. You weren't sure she understood - she'd always loved the court, the gowns and the politics. You too, of course. It would be a lie to say you weren't made for it; for the life your status as a princess could offer you. You cherished the comforts and loved the responsibilities that came with your role. But sometimes those same responsibilities – and duty above all - stifled you. You needed solitude. To be somewhere else.

"It's dangerous. You could have been harmed!" Irma said, crossing her arms over her chest with an air of concern and annoyance. "You can't just follow a man like Aegon into the city," she sighed.

Some truth was hidden in her words, and you were aware of your lack of rationality, of the stupidity of your foolishness. The danger you had put yourself in, too, for if Aemond hadn't intervened... You didn't want to think about it. The dirty hands and lecherous looks those men gave you still made you shudder. All those risks for an illusory feeling of freedom, wasn't it a high price to pay?

Aemond had come for you. The humiliation still burned on your cheeks. 

"Lost in your thoughts?" Irma asked impatiently, offering you her arm as if she'd waited too long for you to come out of your reverie, "thinking about your Prince Charming again?"

You gave her a little tap on the arm, your eyes raised to the sky at the broad smile that stretched her lips, but you accepted her invitation anyway. "Fine, let's go. I heard that they are training this morning. And I know you're not indifferent to Dornish charm." You winked at her. And arm in arm, you and Irma walked through the corridors of the Red Keep towards the courtyard.

Aemond's movements were precise and swift. Faced with Ser Criston's Morningstar, he moved skilfully, as nimble as a cat. You leaned against the parapet of the ramparts; your eyes riveted on the two silhouettes that seemed to be dancing in the courtyard amidst the small crowd that had gathered around them. Irma didn't miss a moment of the spectacle, and you wondered if there was a man she didn't find charming.  Aemond, probably.  You knew she didn't bear any affection for him - he was too serious, too stern. Too scary, too.

"Did you get tired of Oldtown, is that why you're here?" you asked teasingly, glancing briefly at Irma.

She leaned towards you as if to share a secret, not taking her eyes off the show the two men were offering. "They didn't want me anymore," she confided. "I used to drive the maesters and the septas mad. It was amusing."

You should have known better. Irma was too stubborn and brash to be around men and women who had dedicated their lives to knowledge. She was intelligent, there was no denying that, but she lacked the patience and diligence that the study of texts demanded. Though she had spent her childhood in King's Landing, perfecting her courtly education at her aunt's side, her rebellious attitude had sent her straight back to Oldtown. And then, she had threatened the Maesters and the Septas - she belonged at Court and she was convinced of it.

"And how is Daeron?" 

"As courteous and charming as ever," she replied. 

Aemond disarmed Cole and everyone applauded; including Jace and Luke, who you could recognise in the crowd. Your betrothed's eyes shifted from the spot he was staring at in the crowd - your brothers? - and looked up at you for a moment. You wondered if Aemond had seen you, if he had felt your gaze on him, and if that was why he had become fiercer in his attacks. A strange sensation arose in your belly, as if a swarm of butterflies were fluttering in your stomach, making your heart beat faster.  You forced yourself to suppress your emotions, which you blamed on all the time you'd spent away from Dragonstone. You refused to admit that it was Aemond's gaze that you sought more than any other, especially after the events of the previous day. Especially when you could still feel his skin against yours, his firm hands around your body, his face just a few inches from yours.

You wondered what had possessed you to kiss him on the cheek. 

You wanted to play with him, that was certain. But you refused to subject your heart to the whims of love. Not after the heartache you'd felt when you found out he'd forgotten you so easily.

It was nothing serious.

You met Aemond's gaze. The intensity of his lilac eye had this very capacity to send shivers down your spine.  He didn't even crack a smile, and looked away as if nothing had happened.

"I'll see you later," Irma said, squeezing your arm, before turning on her heels to - presumably - find some male company. Once you were alone, you walked down the steps that led from the ramparts to the courtyard. Your steps instinctively brought you to where Aemond was standing, ready to sheathe his sword.

If he seemed surprised to see you, he didn't show it. His icy eye rested on you, unreadable as ever.

"Lady Strong."

"We should talk," you began, ignoring the unpleasant way he had just addressed you. Lady Strong. The nickname left a sting of humiliation, and under normal circumstances you would have reacted. You would have defended yourself, you would have thought of something witty to retort - but today you had decided to take a step towards peace. You had decided to show that you hadn't come here with any animosity, even though everything inside you was screaming to make him swallow his insolence.

"There is nothing to talk about," he replied mechanically. Cold. Distant. Disinterested. Syllables sharp and icy. 

But yes, there were a thousand things to talk about; the betrothal that would lead to your certain future marriage, the events of yesterday, the letters he had never answered, his hostile and cold attitude towards you. There were all these things and more, but neither of you seemed to know how or where to begin.

"About yesterday -"

"I haven't spoken a word to anyone. Your little secret is safe with me. You can rest assured, niece."

That's not what you meant. It wasn't that you wanted to talk about - it was everything around it; it was the reasons, it was how he had found out, it was the consequences, it was the kiss on his cheek, it was the thick tension between you that you were sure he had felt too. It was all these things.

You took a step towards him. Suddenly you felt yourself bubbling. And as if you'd grown wings, you closed the distance between you without looking away.

"Why?" you asked, your tone more urgent. You wanted to push him over the edge. You wanted him to admit what you knew for a fact that he would never be able to. "You could expose me. Tell everyone about my little escapades. Make me lose all credibility. End our betrothal." You paused, leaning your body towards him, your warmth mingling with his.

You felt him hold his breath. He tensed, straightening his neck, tilting his head slightly to the side to watch you.

"Why exactly would I do that, Lady Strong?"

Because you hate me, you were tempted to reply. Because you hate me, just as you hate my brothers. Because you cut me off all those years ago, without a word. And despite all the affinities that could bring you together, despite the fond memories of your shared childhood and your closeness, despite the love you harboured for him, you were loyal to your siblings, like he was to his. Whatever you did, you would always be associated with them. Your family. So wasn't it normal for him to see you as an extension of the hatred he felt for them?

At your silence, he continued, this time in High Valyrian: "I am not the one who despises the other. You know that."

Hate was nothing more than a form of passion.

But you weren't sure it was hate you felt for Aemond - no, the hate would come later, stronger, hotter than ever.  For now, you felt disappointment and a form of betrayal after the friendship that had bound you together for more than a decade. 

"I am not the one who is determined to make you my enemy." 

Enemy, like water to fire. Trying to destroy each other by nature.

"And yet, you treat me like one," you replied. Sharpness staining your voice. 

He let out a hm. He was still staring at you; the sensation was almost disturbing. He took a step in your direction, violating your breathing space. You had to lift your head to maintain eye contact. Then he leaned towards you, the corner of his lips turned up slightly in a smirk.

"I wouldn't have come to rescue you if you were my enemy."

The words barely out of his mouth, he straightened and took a step back, giving you the courtesy to walk away as your cheeks turned red. You didn't need him to remind you of what had happened yesterday. The memory was still frozen in your mind, clear and intact. The ghost of his touch like a burn. You wondered if he felt the same; if he thought about your lips on his cheek, if they had left an invisible, indelible mark on his skin, like his fingers on yours.

You had to change the subject. Quickly. Before you got caught at your own game. 

Your hand came to rest on the hilt of his sword on the table beside the training area. You lifted it. It felt heavy in your hand, still warm from Aemond's grip.

It was strange, this power in your hand. A weapon that could take a life. Too big and unsuitable for your delicate fingers, but fascinating. 

"Teach me."

"No," he replied immediately, following your every move with his icy gaze, as if he feared you might hurt yourself. You rested the heavy sword on the wooden table before turning. You approached him again.

"Daemon taught me how to use a dagger. At least he taught me where to aim to hurt." You flatten your hand against his chest, just below his ribcage. His body stiffens beneath your palm. "He said it was to protect me from dangerous men." Your gaze travelled from your hand to his eyes.

Aemond chuckled. He didn't try to push you away. On the contrary, he kept your hand pressed against him. His fingers wrapped around your wrist, and he guided your hand to his jugular, where you could feel his heart throbbing against your fingertips.

"First lesson: that is where you aim to kill." Caught off guard, you tried to withdraw your hand, but Aemond held it in place, your fingertips on his skin, your eyes both searching and challenging each other. The air was charged. Tense. Like a cloud before a storm. You held your breath. "But you wouldn't dare hurt a fly."

He released your wrist and gripped your chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing you to step back until your back hit the table. He leaned in. His face so close to yours that you could almost feel his warm breath melting into yours. A few inches and you could close the gap between your lips. A few inches and -

"Well, niece. I hope to see you for dinner. And, of course, I expect you to behave."

With that he released you. With that, he turned on his heel. 

He stopped. And without looking back, he added: "And please. Don't make a habit of me saving you. 

Well, you were evenly matched.

[folkloresthings]

thinking about fernando & reader who also loves flowers. imagine him coming home from a triple header to the house looking vibrant & beautiful & it warms his heart that the house feels truly like a home ❤️ i could also see reader sending his favorite flowers to his hotel when he’s away too & writing him cute notes to go along with them

FULL BLOOM. ❨ fernando alonso x florist!reader ❩

"statistically, eighty-eight percent of men don't receive flowers until their funeral."

it was what you had said to fernando during your first date, as an explanation for the bouquet you had just handed him. he had brought you some roses, too, but they were nothing compared to the coordinated bundle you had brought. though stunned, a smile crept onto his lips.

you were a florist, he discovered, and owned a little shop just down the street from his favourite coffee shop -- where you had met just days before, bumping into each other accidentally and ending in exchanging phone numbers. it made sense, now. your perfume was slightly floral, and your whole demeanour seemed to fit your occupation. soft, pretty, elegant.

it took three months into the relationship for fernando to give up on bringing you flowers, his often falling short of the ones you created every day. you didn't mind -- you worked with the plants all day long; you had enough to last you a lifetime. other presents ensued: chocolates, jewellery, trinkets that reminded him of you. still, you kept bringing him bouquets. he loved the new decoration of his house, suddenly much brighter than it had ever been. little pieces of you at home with him.

"you may as well move in." fernando shrugged one day, glancing at your personal touches across the rooms. "you stay here when i'm at races, and i don't like it when you leave."

it was an easy decision in the end, and most of your belongings already lived in his house. once you had settled and the space became shared, what was once fernando's bachelor pad became a home. every other day, you arrived home from work with a new bunch of flowers. and every time, fernando would sit down and listen to you list off what each one meant.

"i thought it could use a little sprucing up," you told him when he came home to carefully chosen flowers littered from room to room. fernando only crossed the room to kiss you, squashing the roses in your hands between you both.

only when he went away for races without you did he realise just how much he appreciated your floral arrangements brightening up his days. at home, even when you weren't around, he could look to one of the vases and think of you. two days into his time in jeddah and he was almost sick with missing you. the time difference made it difficult to keep up with calls, one of you just waking as the other fell to sleep.

fernando was dragging his feet back from a terrible qualifying session, pushing past the team to get to his hotel room as quickly as he could. he didn't want to talk to the press, he didn't want to see the engineers, he didn't want to hang out with the other drivers. he just wanted you.

his tiredness almost had him miss the delivery sat on the table of his suite as he locked the door behind him. a stunning bouquet of flowers in the centre, basking the room in a new light. tucked inside was a small envelope and he recognised your handwriting straight away.

"edelweiss for courage. lavender to keep you calm. and tulips, for my love for you."

fernando felt himself relax, as if you had just wrapped your arms around him and held him close. he smiled to himself, grinning like an idiot all alone, and flipped the card in his hands.

"a little bit of home to keep close by."

a little bit of home, he thought, running his fingers over the delicate petals he knows you probably spent an hour arranging. a little bit of you with him, even while you were so far away.

[createdbytragedy]

FLOWERS FOR ME?

🍒 ‧₊˚🖇️✩ ‧₊˚ 🐇 ໒꒱Beautiful flowers for a beautiful boy

Pairing: Choi Beomgyu x Reader Genre: Drabble, fluff Inspired by this: Picture of Beomgyu

A/N: Don't mind me. Its just my warm up to get back to writing. srsly, i don't know why i bother doing polls when i'm just gonna write when the motivation strikes. sorry about that, jellies but i have a lot of free time this week so i'll probably be able to post at least 2 fics and a few drabbles. love you, bye

🍒 ‧₊˚🖇️✩ ‧₊˚ 🐇 ໒꒱

"Oh, those are for me?," Beomgyu's eyes grew wide in delight, reaching out to retrieve the bouquet of roses from the staff. The roses were wrapped in a brown paper with a silk red ribbon at the end to match the flowers. And it smelled great. The fresh essence of flowers mixed with a gracious tender scent he recognized all too well. Beomgyu examined the flowers, a smile tugging on his lips. He picked up the little light pink card tugged between the beds of flowers that has his name labelled on it. "Hey, what's that? is that from moa?," Soobin appeared, almost startling Beomgyu as he tried to look at the flowers in his hands. Beomgyu frowned, facing the other side to keep the flowers away from his uninvited friend. He wasn't in a mood to share happiness right now," No, its from (y/n)," "(y/n)?," Soobin repeated ," no wonder you're so stingy about it" And with that, he left Beomgyu alone, letting him appreciate your gift in peace. As Soobin exits the door, Beomgyu resumed his actions, carefully holding the bouquet with one hand and the card with another. His previous smile returned as he took a quick look at it. Beomgyu immediately recognized your neat handwriting, scribbled with a black pen. It read :-

Beautiful flowers for a beautiful boy I hope you like it Love, (y/n) And there was a small heart drawn beside it. Beomgyu was, joyous, to say the least. His thoughts immediately went to you, how you would look when you chose the flowers for him, the way your brows would furrow in concentration when you wrote the note and the thing that made his heart skip a beat was the fact that during all that, you were thinking of him. He felt a sense of satisfaction knowing he was on your mind even when you were apart. And, somehow, the flowers were so.....you. It smelled like you for some reason and beomgyu can't help but bring them to his nose every now and then to inhale what seemed like a part of you. God, now, he missed you terribly.

[phneltwrites]

On Smut Writing

hey if you're a young royals writer and you struggle to write smut but you want to, I'm happy to chat. We can talk through your idea and discuss strategies. (ofc if you never want to then that's fine too!)

Otherwise also big recommend on this very old essay (like so old it both uses and defines the word slash): here

Also, here is a brief summary of my personal method. These tips also work for: action scenes, dance scenes, and dream sequences

figure out my zing (what is zing? read the essay)

put that at the centre of a mindmap

get mindmapping, build out the branches until I feel like I have a good sense of the major components of what makes that particular zing work

Give the characters a goal or need that must be met by the scene

unlearn shame and embrace joy. If time does not permit to unlearn shame and embrace joy, you can substitute by covering your screen while you write or playing music really loudly

write. Whenever the fic gets stuck, go back to the mindmap and pick a new branch. Put your zing at the centre of every paragraph

for tips on the writing, also refer to essay above

General smut writing tips:

focus on the sensation, not the choreography

give the scene structure. build towards something and then have a denouement

characters gotta want something at the beginning of the scene that is not an orgasm. At the end of the scene they should have it or be on the path to it

Drive plot through action. Remove dialogue and discussion and show those elements through touch

pick your terminology set and don't be afraid of repeating those words

Example below with nsfw text (though please don't be reading this at work I'm not responsible for that)

ok here's an example of how I put that into action for my fic 'I didn't just come here to dance' wherein Simon wears a plug to the club

my zing is sex toys worn under clothing

my mindmap

sorry this is terrible to read my handwriting is and has always been awful.

But here there's a few things that are on the mindmap. I've got public, sensation, discovery, denial, comeplay, and play, with their little branches off of them. Some of this is written as I go, some of it is omitted and included in the writing depending. It's a guideline

4. ok gonna be real this scene has less of a clear goal cause it's written to prompt, but here Simon has a goal of driving Wille out of his mind and Wille has the goal of showing Simon how much his mind was blown. So that's trust and partnership and communication.

But fr. ex in a longer fic I wrote, I put in a scene scene to show that Simon is feeling disconnected and frustrated and trying to distract himself from his uncomfortable feelings (not about Wille) through sex. So Simon has a goal and Wilhelm has a goal of taking care of Simon and they both can't get exactly what they want.

5. we keep working on this one! Sometimes I stare out the window at the mountains while I'm writing a smut scene so I don't see what my fingers are doing

6. but now I've got: a scene about trust and communication where there's a sex toy. Denial is a key component so they're in a situation where they can't just leave. But they're also going to be distracted so it needs to be a situation where they aren't focused on something else. So now they're at the club with a promise to a friend to stick it out. Voila! A fic.

[goodluckclove]

I've been meaning to say something. (100 follower hot take)

Hey! Thanks for stopping by. I hope you've had a nice day. Why don't you rest with me for a while? I made some chocolate chip cookies - with shortening instead of butter, so they're very soft and very chocolatey. I made way too many and they aren't my wife's favorite, so I could use some help in eating them.

You're probably a writer, right? Or maybe you think about how you could be. Browse the tags here, or on other social media platforms. Maybe you used to write stories as a kid. I bet those were fun. Teachers might've thought they were impressive, or they dissected them line by line until the words didn't make sense in your head anymore. Either way, if you're here you're probably here for a reason.

(rant alert)

I dipped a toe in online writing communities on and off. My last attempt was forty-five minutes scrolling through the writing hashtag on Youtube Shorts (so TikTok, I guess? I don't know). I didn't like it. I really didn't. The thing that sticks out the strongest in my mind is one particular video where a woman claims that every story needs a second act plot twist.

Huh? Every story? All of them? Why? Since when? Who are you? What qualifications do you have to make a statement like that?

That's the common thread that makes a lot of writing spaces very uncomfortable for me. Successful writers are really only successful in their genre and for the given moment, so they don't have that much objective authority in the craft. And yet I see a lot of people deciding the things that you can't do in writing. Or the things you have to do, and how you have to do them. It was so much of Writeblr at first glance that I almost dipped out once again. I didn't, though, and I'm glad I didn't because now I get to watch some of the next great storytellers from across the world grow and examine and forge their way forward.

No one can teach you how to write. No, that's not true. Teachers teach literacy. Handwriting. Typing maybe - do schools still teach typing? Let me try saying it in a different way - no one, not one single person on this goddamned planet, has the right to tell you how to make a story.

I was supposed to get my MFA in creative writing before my first breakdown. My uncle stayed in the program I was meant to be in, and a few years after I dropped out he graduated. Recently I had the thought to look up his thesis novella, and as I searched I found myself regretting my decision to leave school. If I stayed and got to develop my writing in an actual class, with other writers and a knowledgeable professor, how much further along would I be than where I am right now?

It was bad. His novella was terrible. It was so bad I had a small existential crisis for, like, three days. He spent so much money on years and years of professional education and came out with a truly soulless story that read as if you prompted an AI to write the next Great American Novel. So if you think you need a writing degree to be a legitimate author, it could help connections-wise, but it ultimately won't be the thing that does the work for you.

Not all advice I see online on writing is bad. I find the people who are able to capture the "I" statements of therapy and phrase advice as things that have worked for them, or things that they personally enjoy, to be fine. Some writing advice can spark inspiration.

But if someone is the type of person to boil every story down to troupes and cliches, and then immediately say that every story that uses the trait they don't like is automatically bad for everyone? I'm dropping the kindness for a second - that's trash. That's a trash take and I see far too many writers use it as a reason to stop before they begin.

I don't like whump. I say my reasons in previous posts if you go back through my blog. But you will never hear me say that any story with whump in it is bad, because I don't know that. You might prove me wrong. I am an adult human being and I have the humility to admit that I can like something I didn't expect to. I genuinely enjoy the direction of The Human Centipede (only the first one) and if you cringed just now that probably means you haven't seen it.

There are so many types of books and movies and plays and comics out there. To enjoy a specific genre is fine, to ignore the existence of everything else is a really, really, really odd thing to do. Maybe someone will hate your story because they think everything should be Neil Gaiman, and therefore have no way to understand your epistolary high-Western. You are not the wrong end of that situation just for existing.

And at there is a definite threshold on how many writing tips you can gather before they stop being useful. If you find them interesting, that's one thing. That's fine. But if the culture of creativity online has made you feel like you need to educate yourself on every possible angle before you can write a story, you are actively harming yourself.

Imagine taking the level of structure you put on yourself in that way and putting it on children playing pretend in the backyard. Oh, Susie, don't you know that it's overdone for your Kitsune have dead parents? Xyler, shouldn't you ask someone else before you decide how Spiderman would react to this? It would make no sense and they do not need it. Kids will make a whole world out of nothing and it's the most fucked thing in my heart that at some point they get access to Reddit and dipshits start insisting that's wrong.

They aren't wrong and you aren't either. Your favorite creative influencer can't tell you your story, strangers on the internet can't tell you your story, your teachers and loved ones can't tell you your story. They can influence it, but they can't write it honestly the way you can.

You do that. That's the thing you do.

Man that makes me upset. I can't tell you how to make a story, either. If anyone sends me asks for writing advice the most I'll do is say what I've done before hopping into your DMs and starting a direct conversation. it's so personal to each individual artist, and I'd like to think that the people selling these classes and software and promoting these platforms haven't thought about that before. Otherwise it does feel manipulative. If you have a willingness to practice and imagine and really experiment with the possibilities, you are ready to write your story.

And if it doesn't work? Try again. That's what you do.

Stephen King has written roughly a thousand books and maybe five of them have decent endings. He is unimaginably successful.

I'm rambling now. I think I got that out of my system. I was really worried to say this out of fear of being too weird or somehow reverse-gatekeeping so hard that it circles back into also being a bad thing. I've just spoken to a lot of people who I still think of throughout my day, and I truly ache for them to get past the fear of creation. Because it's worth it. It's worth it and it's fun, even when it's messy and you're tired.

Let it Be just came on. Beatles. I haven't listened to The Beatles in a long time. Feels a little apropos.

I love you, reader. Reader, Writer, Colleague. Take care of yourself. Especially the little you, still sitting there in the backyard of your soul, bathing in the sun with their bare feet in the damp earth.

Consider joining them, maybe.

[pacifymebby]

I love Bonnie gold with my entire heart and I was thinking about how he would write the sweetest love letters for his darling dove and how he'd make sure that she's the only one to ever see it but then I remembered that he can't even read then I get all sad because he would've written the most beautiful letter for his girl and probably rip out poems for her too if he saw one he really liked or made him think of her and probably just sit under the stars with like a lantern or something and read books together with her and gently bring her back to camp in such a nice and soft way as to not wake her up or he'd probably sit on some fancy ass couch and have his girl lay on him and just read for a while (she reads to him and they fall asleep there) while his dad is trying to adjust to living in a mansion instead of his caravan and just so happens to find them in the living room in front of the barely lit fireplace and he'd probably just throw some more wood in the fire to make sure that they'd stay warm through out the night out of habit and throw a blanket over them too and place a bookmark in the book that they were reading and place it on the coffee table and tell his maid to not worry about them(I have no doubt in my mind that the golds are so nice to their help, y'know kinda like what tommy and frances but like better) and goes to sleep himself or maybe when Bonnie is training in his personal gym she's on the side looking at him and just reading to him or writing down whatever he has on his mind for him and they work as a team for whenever they write their own poems or stories or just to get their thoughts out (y'know kinda like a therapeutic quality time with each other) and I just love the idea of what would have happened if the golds lived to see their mansion get built and to actually live in it and how that'd be like for them and how they'd feel about it and how they'd grow from there 😭

The gold's has been on my mind oh my god!!!!

They DESERVED to live!!! 😫🤧

okay this has been sitting in my inbox for awhile i am SO sorry!!!

I'm obsessed with this and your ask bought me to literal tears holy fuck :') the image of them falling asleep together on the sofa and Aberama finding them and putting a blanket over them and saving their place with a little bookmark oh my god. I died. This is the future those men deserved, this is what we deserved to get to see for them!!!!

Also to add, imagine teaching Bonnie to read, he's really shy about it or maybe a little proud and doesnt want to feel like your charity case so you make a deal, you'll teach him to read and he'll teach you to fight/ shoot etc. Him sitting with you and concentrating so hard when you're teaching him the letters. His fucking terrible handwriting and him getting so frustrated when he compares it to yours. You getting frustrated when you can't immediately master the skills he's teaching you. Both of you being so gentle and encouraging to one another "don't worry, it'll come to you with practice"

[stitchwraith-stingers]

HI FOP OC!!!!! MEET PERCI WINTERWISH!!!!!!!! I don't like how her hair turned out but it's ok!!!!!! bio under cut Incase you can't read my handwriting!!!!! AAAAA I LOVE HER

perci is a young (26 in human years) fairy who's just started the godparenting kick, her past godkid was trixie tang (2002-2004) and her current godkid is jasmine tran (2032-present day)

she can be seen as slightly overbearing but is just trying her best to steer the kids away from making terrible decisions, of course sometimes her negotiations don't work or she actually suggests the worse wish, she's has alot of irrational fears but likes to listen to her kids talk their heads off, not the best at life advice herself and tries to strike up conversations based off random thoughts she has

During her stay with trixie she disguised herself as a poodle and trixie would take her everywhere, including school, as her pet, she didn't mind it at all but thought the collar was a little bit toooo tight (and they couldnt change the diamonds to pearls)

and with jasmine shes mostly a squirrel, she likes to observe her from afar and follow along with her (i.e watching her from a giant tree that's Infront of her class, jasmine would make a specific hand gesture so she could poof when she's outside, she jumps from branch to branch if there is any while going home, etc)

perci doesn't like to disguise herself as inanimate objects as she feels like becoming animals makes her more approachable and makes it easier to bonds to form, she is trying out a human disguise after noticing coswan and wanting to try it but isnt too keen on doing that often unless she has to have a chaperone

She likes sweaters, plushies and wearing pearls, is just trying her best... She speaks in a way that's like "listen you don't have to do this" and it accidentally comes off as her being too nudgey, I think that should be it?

In tobyverse she isn't jasmines godparent cuz I feel like ppl would find that unnecessary (jasmines already happy) <- no one cares

[mossfeathers]

Have you ever considered... Grian x Bigb x Etho? Snowhearts if you will. Bigb has two hands after all. Etho has the two somewhere nearby so he can have someone to talk to while he works. While neither understand redstone that well, they both do their best to provide advice or just someone to talk to. Grian sets up the dates for the three. They don't typically work out as planned, but there's fun in that unpredictability that Bigb and Etho enjoy. Bigb initates the cuddling piles. He tries to do it whenever they're in one of the other bases, but Grian and Etho don't mind when they end up snuggling in a secluded place outside.

Omg anon thank you SO much for introducing this idea, my new favorite thing. This is probably the best thing anyone has ever mentioned in my vicinity ever?? I'm taking the context as a bigb-in-hermitcraft au. I am obsessed. Bigb and Grian know how to bake relatively well but Etho only knows the basics of cooking so they have baking dates where everything goes wrong in all the right ways. Prank dates where they go and poke fun at Cleo, probably. Sometimes when they're all hanging out together Bigb will go silent for a bit and just listen, the other two notice but it's ok since they're together and that's what matters. I actually just *had* to do some really silly doodles of them (my handwriting is terrible so image descriptions + what the writing says in alt)

[iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia]

How do you think the M6 would react to a lying MC? Whether it’s to them or some one else is up to you or how extreme the lie is. Thank you, Arcana Headcannon Jesus <3

The Arcana HCs: M6 and the lies MC tries to tell them

~ oh boy, i did not expect being called Arcana Headcannon Jesus to hit my religious trauma like that, that was a vibe check lol

considering how in the stories MC tends to omit the truth at worst and be painfully blunt at best, i'm going to write them as a terrible liar just as a personal design choice. and also because it makes me laugh. thanks for the prompt, anon, i hope it makes you smile! - brainrot ~

Julian

You can totally read his handwriting

You love it when he writes you love letters, they warm your heart, but truthfully you can only make out maybe a quarter of the words on the page

But you can't tell him that because you don't want him to feel like all that beautiful poetry went to waste

At least you think it was poetry

You're running some errands, does he need anything?

Ah, a list of obscure medical devices. Which may or may not be available. And he wrote it down for you, how sweet!

You're so busy trying to decipher the ink blotches that you don't notice his smirk

He totally believes you can read his writing, and all the words on the paper are totally not made up medical jargon

He never says anything because he lives for the moment he can bend over your shoulder and murmur the words he wrote into your quickly reddening ear

Asra

You don't mind the questionable objects they bring into the shop without warning at all

Nope, not the bidet-shaped flamethrower

Or the screeching rattle he replaced the shop's front door bell with that makes every incoming customer jump

Or their favorite painting containing colors that the human eye was not intended to see, prominently hung on your kitchen wall

Or the jar of kool-aid pickled garlic, which he still can't open even though it's been slowly emitting a toxic stench for the last month, and which he refuses to part with because he hasn't been able to try it yet

They love you, but they love pranking you too, and seeing your reactions makes them giggle

He would never cause you any harm though

Which is why their collection of poison spitting cacti stays in a pocket realm, next to the void that wouldn't stop teaching the stove salamander explosive curse words

Nadia

You know royal etiquette like it's second nature

You know all the titles there are, you never get things like pontifex and praetor and procurator mixed up

The table place settings make total sense, who wouldn't use a slightly different type of fork to eat every kind of dish?

And nothing entertains you more than petty politics, nothing at all

In fact, you don't even find Nadia's highly accomplished family remotely intimidating

They're perfectly normal people, just like you, and you are just like them, every move is graceful and your clothes are always pristine

Nadia adores your spirited approach and will happily move purposefully slowly at the dinner table so you know which fork to grab and how to eat the complicated dishes that get served

According to her, you know what you're doing better than anyone else does

Muriel

You can reach and lift anything he can, no problem

You just need a little more time, but you'll get it

You can get the fallen tree split up for firewood and carted into storage, no biggie

Okay so the sun is setting now and you started before lunch and it never takes him longer than half an hour, but you took a lot of breaks okay

But if he wants to spend time with you that badly, he can help a little

Now you just need to lift those bowls down to eat, you've got this, you're a good climber

You never develop any suspicions around why daily necessities always end up on the top shelves, or why Muriel is so open to you helping with outside chores

He likes being needed

The face you make when you're frustrated is adorable

And he loves that you will never admit it

Portia

Please, you can absolutely keep up with her energy levels

Walking to the palace to get a shopping list

And trekking down into the city and through the floating market, the center marketplace, and the south end market to get everything

All to climb back up countless stairs with all your purchases

And walk through all the hallways to give everything to the multitude of requesters

And then back to the cottage for the evening

So you can cook the big evening meal and sweep and mop the floors and spend a few hours weeding the garden

And then all the way back out to the Rowdy Raven for a night of drinking and dancing

And then all the way back home so you can go to bed

She never pressures you to join her, but she always invites you

Hey, she likes spending time with you and you're cute when you're flushed

Lucio

You believe all his tall tales, they're so realistic

Dove to the depths of the ocean and defeated a giant minnow? Totally

Took out a thousand trained killers with one swipe of his mighty gauntlet? Mmmhm

Climbed to the top of the highest mountain to pluck some stars from the sky, which is how he got these diamonds? Of course

He can go days without eating or drinking and never crave sustenance? That tracks, he doesn't have a gluttonous bone in his body

He knows he can be narcissistic sometimes, but he's not *that* delusional

But he likes seeing your little smile as you indulge his fantasies, because you do it out of love and not mockery

And maybe he likes pretending just for a minute that what he's saying is true

[renneedsahobbytbh]

Made a guide for drawing hands to refer back to later and thought I'd share (:

If you can't read my terrible handwriting, the main points are:

Remember to always use circles as a base for connection points. (wrist to hand, etc)

Two arcs (one smaller) should span the hand and act as borders for the fingers and palm.

Keep the lines of the palm in mind, the thumb should be drawn with a curl into the palm.

Fingers have three point (excluding the knuckles) + nails

It's all about angles.

Don't bother drawing every single finger, most of them hide behind the others anyway.

[travellingwiththedead]

IwtV s2e3 rewatch notes

Because once again everything is happening so much and I need to take notes xD

(spoilers for show and books behind the read more)

So Daniel is allowed to leave the penthouse, didn't seem like it before. Is this a test to see what he'll do?

My man your handwriting is as bad as mine xD

"Where is the coven now(maybe)??? Today? Cell phone, Google, CCTV. SAN FRANCISCO, Polynesean Mary. Playboy Magazine. Alice. They'll come for Lenora and Kate next. nee (use??) Lestat as a doorstop/CLAUDIA!. MARA'S CAB. COKE BETTY GRABLE. THIS TIME I WONT SAVE YOUR LIFE"

so, "Raglan James". Why that character? If it is him. I guess can't have Mr. Superior General running around spying on vampires in Dubai but...this guy? So if it it's really Raglan my guess is he's not really Talamasca any longer and he's spying on vampires because he's looking for one recless enough to do the thing. And he thinks Daniel is his best bet on getting the intel.

"You're not the first to attempt this, Mr. Molloy. I could give you the names of four others who have and they're all dead. Or undead." Yeah, that tends to happen when you lot tangle with the vampires xD

"How many Rashids, Rahid?" I guess poor Real Rashid can be glad Daniel's not calling him Renfield LOL

"They are peaceful beings"....who eat people. My dear Real Rashid, I don't think that word means what you think it means xD

Armand stop making heart eyes at Daniel (actually don't xD)

Blenders mention (also they're not trying to sell them to you, you little gremlin, because you already bought so many xD)

Still very much "Sure, Jan" about Armand's story about how he met Lestat. I mean, he's clearly telling it with the agenda of making himself look better, understandable. But also he's making Nicki out to be some little fling Lestat didn't care about and he hates Gabrielle so much he's not even mentioning her. Sure, Jan xD

But dang every one is acting their hearts out and they're all so fabulously good at it.

You know the one thing really in character for Lestat in Armand's story? Dragging around a whole ass crucifix to make a point xD

Armand's definition of unharmed is as bad as Rashid's definition of peaceful LOL

"You led him there so he could destroy it." Hit the nail right on the head. Armand wants to get rid of the Children of Darkness? Oh look, a vampire who doesn't obey the rules and can help him with that. He wants to get rid of the Theatre de Vampires? Oh, look, a Louis.....

Still so amusing how Lestat's hair in Armand's story is always on point and how it's mostly terrible when Louis hallucinates him xD

I'm guessing these be their laws in Latin, my Latin is rusty and I never was much good at it but

looks like "III. Nullus lamia vampiris debet scibere historiam" for example and google translate says that's "No one should know the history of vampires" so....

I still think the whole sexual assault thing with Claudia is unnecessary. Bad choice to do that, imho.

It's so heart breaking to see how much Claudia wants to belong with the Theatre coven. Vampires are still arseholes and always will be.

When's a door not a door? xD sorry, but that's basically my only thought about Armand's entry there.

Not Louis taking a picture to see if Lestat's actually there or not.

I feel like it's a bad idea to open a chat conversation with Daniel when the vampires can read his mind. Seems like a sure way to be found out....

Louis getting philosophical and Daniel just hammering at buttons because his computer is being taken over is funny, ok? xD

Those Talamaska files are interesting. "PC Members Extinct 1556-1949", "Armand (Arun Amadeo)".

Hm, I feel like talking loud enough for Sartre to be annoyed by it about killing people seems like it's breaking your laws a lot, Armand LOL

Also Dream Lestat is being a right bitch, it's hilarious.

Louis, darling, you're losing it, you need therapy

How about telling Claudia they're all on to you? Would be a good idea before she joins their coven, one would think...

Why is Santiago's last name Windsor? xD like no, he does not look like a Windsor. I thought he was one of the one name gang, like Madonna LOL

And the Talamasca just spoiled Daniel about what will happen to the Theatre, rude xD

Of course Armand would make it out to have been Santiago who demanded he take out Louis. Sure, Jan.

So fucking dramatic to take Louis into the sewers and threaten him and then actually do nothing at all to him.

Louis, you really should not be turned on by people who just said they should kill you, dear xD

Yeah, casting Claudia as the baby is not fucked up, at all....

EDIT: also apparently this Theatre coven doesn't wall people up, they put them in the morgue fridges xD (which usually are one big fridge inside instead of many little ones but I guess they'll not do that here....)

over all, very fun episode, and stellar performances from the whole cast but especially Assad and Jacob.

[zirosisblog]

Some doodles and stuff I made of my son in September! It's old, but I thought I'd post it bc I'm very proud of him. It's just some of my headcanons for him after ocarina of time. Also, I love drawing his nose.

He has such a cool nose.

Don't mind my terrible handwriting.

[dnovep]

noah is gay!!!! tell us all about it :3!!

tysm for asking, let's talk about it!! ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ bearing in mind i just woke up & my memory of anything not right in front of me ('the dream thieves' is in my hands rn) is nyot good sooo sorry for any glaring errors 😬

OK SO

wait i'm going to grab the first book send me luck i don't get dizzy getting out of bed too quick hahah

ok i got all 3 other books from the series we're in business baby

1. barrington whelk, family, & his alive days:

resentful, entitled, angry, lonely whelk is like that for a lot of obvious reasons but is also a mirror to noah. even after he was murdered brutally noah still loves glitter in snow globes & blue's spiky hair & playing with ronan. despite all the voices he hears whelk is alone & separate from his coworkers, noah is part of a family (even if not all of him is really there). tl;dr whelk is a reversing mirror to noah - & both are gay! comp het in an all-boys school for kids of rich & successful parents who stereotypically demand success & the perfect-seeming life (declan and the ashleys, get high grades or you're out, how much do those uniforms cost per year?). the czernys seem lovely at noah's funeral but who knows what pressures noah felt from them/school teachers/society or how much or little they acknowledged the existence of non-cishet identities. cabeswater takes adam's control over himself, his security in his own body, "I sacrifice myself." next to that, adam giving up everything, noah says "I almost woke up Cabeswater, we were close enough to do that." it's less how 'close' they were & actually how much whelk valued noah, reciprocated or not. or, this is noah talking, maybe noah thought they nearly woke up cabeswater, thought they were close enough to do that, but whelk didn't care enough for it to do that. noah makes excuses for whelk killing him (with crushing parallels to things people say in real life for people they love who hurt them). i'm including this whole paragraph because there's more here: ""You don't understand," Noah whispered. Blue was afraid he would disappear. This, she understood, had been a secret, carried inside him for seven years [since he died], and he still didn't want to confess it. "He was upset. He'd lost everything. If he'd been thinking straight, I don't he would've... he didn't mean to... we were friends like - are you afraid of Gansey?"" in the 7 years after he killed noah whelk didn't let himself miss him until it looks like he's going to die (neeve, ritual) at which point the guilt & all the good things about noah hits him & he feels "this terrible weight". of course all of this could be platonic but yeah it's just fun in a really heartbreaking & tragic way to think that they had Something almost romantic. "It was a strange, old expression, one that Whelk hadn't heard since his own days at Aglionby, when he, too, had been tight as ticks with his room-mate Czerny. [and they were room-mates!] He felt a hollowness inside him, like he was hungry, like he should've stayed home and drunk more to commemorate this miserable day." "Only Whelk and Czerny, treasure hunters and troublemakers, cared about [St Mark's Day's] existence." "Czerny and Whelk had returned, a half-dozen times, taking readings (next to the circle, there were six different numbers in Czerny's handwriting), digging in the dirt for possible artefacts, watching overnight for signs of supernatural activity." "All Whelk could find out was that the line loved reciprocity and sacrifice, but that was frustratingly vague." before whelk's family lost all their money him & noah kept pushing the ritual to wake the ley line back, there wasn't a desperate need (& maybe they liked staying there together overnight, taking readings, chatting). whelk's second girlfriend was "technically" noah's girlfriend.

2. adam vs whelk:

adam kills whelk. "[To Noah] Adam said, rather more ferocious than he'd been a moment before, "A friend wouldn't kill you."" whelk's ambition & the value he put on his family's good standing & his obsession after his dad's arrested and his family loses their money vs adam's ambition & the value he puts on improving his own good standing & his obsessive drive to push himself forward and up. "Adam had several things he thought about saying, but when he opened his mouth, it was none of those things. "Why Noah?" he asked. "Why not someone horrible?" Whelk closed his eyes for a bare second. "I'm not having this conversation. Why are you here?"" whelk hears 'voices' from his deal with cabeswater, adam sees 'ghosts' from his deal with cabeswater.

[when noah slips from time does that mean whelk does too?? or does he come back to life, if he never killed noah?? or does everything stay the same & they just fill in gaps where noah was to make it make sense???]

3. ronan & noah & The Secret.

"Noah said to Ronan, "I know why you're mad." Ronan sneered at him, but his pulse heaved. "Tell me then, Prophet." Noah said, "It's not my job to tell other people's secrets."" (this quote is so interesting - whose secret is it?? does he mean he can't tell ronan his own secret? or future!ronan's secret? someone else's??) [i could add more here about ronan & noah & cabeswater & cars, noah's red mustang, & both being gay but it's been nearly 90 mins & i'm getting sleepy again]

4. noah dies so gansey lives,

noah & whelk die vs adam & ronan live, whelk kills noah, adam saves ronan (& vice versa).

5. the blue kiss:

noah died when he was 17 - still learning about himself, still ("technically") dating a girl, so it makes sense that his ghost is still stuck in that mindset. maybe it's too early for him to realise he liked girls as friends, not romantically, maybe it's denial, maybe he never gets to work that out about himself. comp het, pressures of being in a rich family sent to a fancy & demanding school. offers to kiss blue if she's "curious" about how it feels, rubs the mark on his cheek from where whelk killed him before he does. the first kiss is a mess, the second is "a lot like kissing a dishwasher". "Blue squinted. "Are you sure you've done this before?" "Hey!" he protested. "It's weird for me, cause it's you." "Well, it's weird for me because it's you.""We can stop." "Maybe we should." then he refers to how kisses look in movies & says to imagine & copy those movie kisses - ok comp het, ok playing the part. after the 3rd kiss, "His smudge had got very dark, and he was cold enough that she shivered. Blue gave him a watery smile. "That was super nice." He shrugged, eyes doleful, shoulders curled in on themselves. He was fading. It wasn't that she could see through him. It was that it was hard to remember what he looked like, even while she was looking at him. When he turned his head, she saw him swallow. He mumbled, "I'd ask you out, if I was alive." Nothing was fair."

i listened to my noah playlist while writing this so shameless plug:

(i don't think maggie wrote him as gay, this is just fun playing about a character i love hahah)

[drawing-way-outside-the-lines]

Seven '7ven' Blackwood McKinney

Voice Claim: (Jacob Elordi) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r2r7wV5C9sg&ab_channel=WMagazine

Partner(s): None. Parents: Adrian Blackwood & Raven McKinney. Kids: Technically he has a bunch, but the only ones he really relates to is Sky & Imogen. Age: Immortal, but translates to mid-late 20's Birthday: 7th of January. Height: 185cm (6ft) Body type: Skinny, but with some muscle tone.     Eye color: Light blue-gray, with a tiny bit of brown around the iris. Classification: (Immortal) Demon. Known powers: Possession, shape shifting, Invisibility, healing by touch. Non-Corporeal Form/Ghostly form (being able to appear as a ghost) Evasion (The user can’t be tracked down, all the traces of their passing disappear or are ignored: fallen hair, blood, skin particles, etc. will dissipate into dust and no scent is given off, unless he wishes to. Telepaths find it extremely hard to find the Evader’s brainwaves.) Telepathy (The power to mentally receive and/or transmit information.)

About: ~ Melancholic, Restless, Brooding, Lazy, Sarcastic, Emotional, Irresponsible, Anti-Social, Distracted, Imaginative, Observant, Reflective, Fearless, Honest, Reckless, Strange, Clumsy, Stubborn, Disorganized, And Mischievous. ~ Has big hands for his body ~ Sexuality Omnisexual (Attracted equally to all human beings (men, women, transexuals, etc.) … A person who can be sexually attracted to anyone and anything, from men/women/everything in … and also non-human animals and inanimate objects) ~ Has thick black hair ~ Has a few black tattoos on various body parts, also two fairly hidden. ~ Half Irish. ~ Has a bit of a British accent. ~ Can Shapeshift to a black fox. ~ Very Anti-Social, doesn't like meeting new people. ~ Does a lot of drugs. ~ Parties a lot. ~ People often call him grumpy, but he really isn't, he's just often stuck in his own world, and quite brooding. ~ Smells like Opium. ~ Dislikes modern pop music. ~ Terrible cook. ~ Likes to hang out with two of his sisters, the rest of his rather large sibling flock he barely stays in contact with. ~ Has an okay relationship to both his parents on the other hand. ~ Doesn't talk much. ~ Loves to stay at home, listening to loud music, not talking to anyone for days. ~ Sleeps a lot. ~ Plays a lot of video games, suck at it. ~ Has a scar on his lip, he got beaten up when he was a very young kid, by some bully, who lived to regret it. ~ Has several piercings in his ears. ~ Very much a rebel. Doesn’t like authorities. ~ Feels everything quite intense. ~ Loves night time, the moon, drugs, pancakes, black eyeshadow, kittens, being left alone, fluffy pillows, sleeping, pizza, minty food, strawberry marshmallows, cold mornings, Synth wave, fog and rain. ~ Always wears some sort of baggy clothes. ~ Really hard to read. Seven's tag Seven's house/home Handwriting/ask answer pic:

One song to describe him: Labyrinth - Still Don't Know My name

Personal play list: 1. Jefferson Airplane - White Rabbit 2. Cream - White Room 3. Thompson Twins - Hold Me Now 4. The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band - Suppose They Give A War And No One Comes 5. Bronski Beat - Small Town Boy 6. MGMT - Little Dark Age 7. The Cure - Just Like Heaven 8. David Bowie - Ashes To Ashes 9. The Doors - End Of The Night 10. Tame Impala - New Person Same Old Mistakes 11. Pixies - Where Is My Mind 12. Kavinsky - Nightcall 13. Joy Division - Love Will Tear Us Apart 14. The Cure - A Forest 15. Duran Duran - Save A Prayer