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saintrosalyn · 19 days ago

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BIRD DOG - JAILBIRD PART TWO

Part One

Description: Simon’s determined to retrieve his jailbird.

Word count: 4.5k

TW: Parolee! Reader (guys we’ve graduated to parole), stalking, reader is kept as vague as possible, sexual favors in exchange for money, groping, Ghost is a creep (graduated from perv lmao), p in v, oral (m! receiving), p in v, mention of breeding kink, creampie, possessiveness, dub-con, somewhat edited.

Notes: It’s finally done! This took longer than I anticipated since I deviated from the OG plan and was a bit of a stinker to write but it's done. I hope everyone enjoys it! I’ve absolutely loved reading all the comments, asks, and reblogs. Such positive feedback is what led me to posting part two honestly. I'm currently working on the last part of JB so expect that soon💖. Feedback is always appreciated but never expected. Let me know if I missed any tags. Enjoy :)

Also I've never done a tag list before so apologies if it didn't work or I missed anyone😭. Please let me know if the link to part one doesn't work either, this is the first time I'm using Tumblr on my laptop I usually use my phone.

You got used to the slight tremor in your hands, the parting kiss alcoholism left with you, but the violent shaking as you attempted to click the lock of the hotel door closed was difficult for even you to handle. You longed to feel that familiar burn of self-destruction but the only place that would have you end up is back in prison. Parole violation. It was too soon to resort to such dramatic measures, instead you quietly paced your small room, double checking that you clicked the deadbolt shut, closing the curtains as tight as they could go, anything to try and soothe your rising anxiety.

Talking yourself away from the edge again and again until you could finally sit down on the stiff mattress. Every time you managed to calm your heart you blinked and saw that room again. You saw those pictures again.

He-Simon.

You swallowed, forcing yourself to take deep, slow, breaths.

After sleeping together, after discovering the skeleton in his closet, you swallowed the bile in your throat and kissed his jaw. He made dinner which you smiled over and forced into your mouth, every bite downed with a sip of water. The two of you went to bed, your eyes darting to that door, now left open enough you could see a glimpse of his homemade wallpaper. He kept an arm draped over you and fell asleep.

Then you left.

Barefoot, not knowing where your shoes had been placed in your need to-

Jesus Christ you had slept with the man.

You barely made it to the bathroom, puking mostly water and yellowed acid up. It made your eyes water and nose run, blowing it in a piece of toilet paper, flushing it down. There was little comfort to be found in the distance you put between you and him.

Going on foot wasn’t the brightest idea, but risking stealing Simon’s car and having him call the cops on you was foolish even for you. That and you didn’t want the man any angrier at you than you expected he was going to be. You only got so far before you found yourself on the wrong side of town. You had never been in the area before, but you knew the type. Women posted on every corner, bars on the windows, broken glass and sticky residue staining the sidewalks. It didn’t take you long to find the kind of man you needed. Trading a handjob for a bus fare, a blowjob for a new pair of shoes, and a pitiful two minutes of dry thrusting for a hotel room.

Back to your ways. Different city, different time, same person. A bird incapable of changing its tune.

You needed a real job. A record stood in your way of that, but surely there had to be something, anything, that would pay enough for you to keep a roof over your head without having to sell more of yourself.

You needed a job, but you needed space more. As much as you could get. Immigration was out, no one wanted to host a felon, and you were limited to a certain area before your parole officer got testy with you. Fuck. A big cage, that’s what you were trapped in. One you could never get free from.

Your family. Your past. Your cell. Your city. Your whole fucking life, one cage after another. Freedom a concept rather than a reality. Simon could use it against you. He knew of your limits, hell, you fucking told him yourself over a phone call before you got released. Outlined every fucking sentence of where you could and couldn’t go. He knew all of it.

Taking another deep breath you forced your body to lie on the bed, you needed to calm down. You needed to think clearly and come up with a plan. Simon was still asleep in bed, he didn’t know where you were, you were fine.

You were fine.

A good night’s sleep. That’s what you needed. Not likely with how wound tight you were. But you had to try. Anything to escape the panic squeezing your lungs.

___

It took four hours of staring blankly at a dark ceiling, on the edge of a panic attack the entire time, before your body gave in and let you sleep. It was light, but it was enough of a break in your consciousness. The sun was what woke you, shining on your eyes and causing you to squint. Your anxiety a gentle heart palpitation rather than the full blown panic it was last night, exhaustion dulling its edge.

The first thing you did was go business to business looking for a place that was hiring. Most required a resume, those you didn’t even give a second glance (as they no doubt did background checks). It took all of the day before you found a shitty pub that only asked if you were old enough to drink. With a nod of your head an apron was shoved into your hands, and you were bussing for your first shift.

The owner, a balding man who smelled like cigarettes and wore a sweat-stained wife beater, paid you cash. Enough that you were able to buy another night to cover your hotel room and not much else. You walked back to your temporary home, eyes darting to every tall man who crossed the street. For once, you were grateful Simon was such a large man. It would make him easier to spot in a crowd, the orange of a tiger’s fur stark against a green jungle.

When you returned back to your room, it was easy to explain the movement of your things. Hotels had housekeepers. You wouldn’t have even noticed it if it weren’t for your paranoid state. It wasn’t until you went to the bathroom, eager to wash away the grease and grime of the pub, that you noticed a small picture sitting face-down on the bathroom counter. Flipping it over revealed you. You, asleep in your shitty hotel bed, close-up, taken from inside.

You were barely able to flip the toilet lid up before you lost your stomach contents. Vile burning the back of your throat was nothing in comparison to the panic that burned through your veins.

He was inside your hotel room. He was inside your hotel room last night with you.

You barely managed to stand, legs shaking, leaving the bathroom you noticed other signs of his arrival. Dirty tracks that were much too large. The blinds wide-open even though you were sure you closed them before you went to sleep. A single dog tag resting underneath your pillow. It’s owner’s name mocking you.

Riley.

___

He left you more presents. Vestiges of him ever present in your life. It didn’t matter where you went, how many hotels you hopped, how many jobs you changed, he always found you. Truthfully, the both of you knew this song and dance could only go on for so long. You were low on cash and stuck orbiting around the same small area. Days bled into weeks bled into months. Fear gave way to anger. Anger that he wouldn’t leave you alone. Anger that he wouldn’t let you delude yourself into thinking you had found a safe space that he could not intrude on.

On your nth hotel, you decided you were staying. Simon be damned. He obviously had no intentions of killing you just yet, content in tormentation. That and there were only so many jobs willing to pay under-the-table. You needed to save up enough cash to prove that you had a steady place to live, a recommendation from your parole officer. This flightiness made the law suspicious at best and nervous at worst.

You found your way back to the pub, who upgraded you to server. On the wrong side of town its patrons weren’t the best. But they tipped decent enough and if they got too handsy the owner always stepped in. A few pinches on the ass were worth a steady income. You’ve given a lot more of yourself for less.

Perhaps, that was your mistake, you got too comfortable with a wild animal. So sure that your exotic pet would not bite.

The first time you saw him, you thought it was a mistake. Despite his size Simon was able to go about your life as he pleased without you catching even a glimpse of him. Hell, you knew he could stalk you without you being aware of him at all (your prison stint was proof enough of that), he just chose not to. You shouldn’t have been surprised that his behavior would escalate.

You were standing, dead on your feet after your shift working on three hours of sleep, waiting for the bus. And there he was. Across the street, large frame leaning against a wall, arms crossed. When you did a double glance, you were able to make out the tell-tale scars across his face. Then the bus came. It was a coin toss, boarding the bus. A part of you wanted to flee, figuring he could easily cross the street and board the same bus as you, but the alternative was worse. Let it pass and walk home alone. In the dark. With a predator at your heels.

No.

Better to have people around you. Safety in numbers and all that.

The next day, he did it again. And again. And again. Each time coming closer and closer. Until one day you saw his large frame coming up the steps of the bus. You practically vibrated from anxiety in your seat, unshed tears blurring your vision as you stared straight ahead. The black blur of his jacket, the soft squeak of his boots as he moved closer and closer, until he took the seat right behind you.

You didn’t move. Frozen. Fight or flight. Fight or flight. Fight or flight. Or,

Fright.

Until the bus moved and the decision was made for you. Only you couldn’t convince your muscles to move, stuck staring dead ahead. Willing the bus driving to glance in the mirror back at you. Willing the other passengers to notice how close the man behind you was sitting (close enough to feel his breath against your ear, close enough to smell the tobacco on his breath). But this was the last bus and everyone was too tired to notice. A herd of diurnal prey vs a nocturnal predator. It was clear who had the advantage.

You missed your stop. And the one after that. It wasn’t until you felt a violent shake on your shoulder that you jolted out of your trance, eyes darting up… to the bus driver.

“Las’ stop miss. Gotta’ get off.” His voice firm. How long had he been calling out to you?

Giving a jerky nod you looked behind you, but Simon was gone.

___

It didn't stop there. Not that you expected it would, but fucking forgive you for having a little hope in life. Simon took to following a few steps behind you wherever you went. Sitting behind you on the bus. Sitting in the back of the pub, nursing beer after beer. Sometimes he had another man with him. But mostly he was alone. His eyes never left you. For weeks it went on. For weeks you felt his constant presence.

The presents never stopped either. Photos of you, gifts for you (lingerie and cigarettes, the same shade of nail polish he gave you while you were in prison), things of his. He never relented. You never shook that feeling of being watched. You never could get rid of that pit of anxiety in your stomach. Exhaustion was starting to settle heavy in your bones. Give up. Give in. Give yourself to him.

The temptation was intense. You just wanted to be done with it all. Let him do what he wanted with you. At this point, even death would be better than another day of constant anxiety. (Pursuit predator exhausting his prey, closing in).

And then he was gone.

His absence was glaringly obvious on the first day, enough so that you thought for sure that you were going to die soon. Simon had reached some kind of breaking point. But you didn’t. And you didn’t see Simon.

There were no presents left for you. No signs of his stalking. No evidence that he was ever in your life at all. It was such a sudden and stark change that if it weren’t for his dog tag you would have thought you dreamed the whole thing. But he was gone.

A day passed.

Then another.

And another.

The knot in your stomach slowly unworked itself. The tension ever present in your shoulders finally loosened. Weeks passed by. Then months. A part of you still worried. In prison there were times where Simon would go silent for months, but he always came back. And he always made sure to make up for lost times. More gifts, more phone calls, longer visits. It seemed that your anxiety was slowly chipped away, yet it was also slowly building itself back up again.

But Simon stayed gone. More importantly, a date had been set for you to become a truly free woman. No parole. No restrictions. A chance to leave the country. A chance to truly be free.

A chance to slip away from Simon.

___

When a police officer knocked on your door, you had to fight back the panic.

You haven’t done anything wrong.

It wasn’t until you were sitting across from your lawyer did you truly began to realize the situation you were in. His words sounded so far away, so garbled. As if you were trapped underwater, in a fishbowl, letting the world happen around you as you tapped at the glass.

“...Do you understand the situation you’re in?...Enough drugs to get an intent to distribute…a passport…tickets to another country…”

How did you get here?

“Are you listening to me?”

You snapped back to reality, the familiar cold cuffs biting into your wrists.

“Do they have to keep these on me?”

Your lawyer let out a sigh. “Don’t worry about the damn cuffs right now.”

Easy for him to say, he wasn’t the one wearing the damn cuffs.

“They’re distracting.”

He ignored you. “They have you on video buying a plane ticket out of the country.”

You nodded. He didn’t mention the fact that your parole would’ve been up by then. Nothing wrong. You didn’t do anything wrong.

“They found enough cocaine in your hotel room to get intent to sell. With the plane ticket, and your erratic behavior after you got out of prison, things don’t look good for you.”

“It’s not mine I-” Your voice cracked and you cleared your throat, talking so quietly, trying to hold back tears. “I swear.”

Your lawyer didn’t look convinced. “That defense won’t hold up in court.”

He ran his hands through his hair. “Look, I was able to cut a deal for you. It’s better than prison. They’ll tag you-”

Dog tags flickered in your mind. “Huh?”

“House arrest.”

“Oh.”

“You won’t be able to use a hotel, you’ll have to go back to the original residence you reported when you got out of prison.”

"What?” Alarm bells rang through your sluggish thoughts.

Your lawyer sick of you interrupting him, bulldozed on. “Listen to me. I don’t know why they’re offering this to you, but you won’t get a second chance at this. Confess your crime. They’ll confine you to your house for three years and serve parole in tandem. You’ll only serve a year of parole once you’re out.”

Three years. Three years stuck at Simon’s house. Three years with Simon.

“What happens if I don’t take it.”

“You’ll go back to prison. Given you’ve already been, they'll try for maximum. You could be looking at twenty years, ten if you’re lucky. Life on parole.”

Walk into the tiger’s den or let him continue the chase.

How did you get here?

___

They put the ankle monitor on at Simon’s house, now your house you suppose. A part of you had wanted to tell them to take you back to prison instead. But you knew the reality of your situation. Simon would just do the same thing he did before. Get videos of you, pictures of you, he could still watch you in your cell. He would still visit you. And that’s just what he would do while you were in prison, what would happen when you were released again? You were never going to be able to escape him. At least this way you would be more comfortable.

A gilded cage.

Simon talked to the officers, but he seemed to make even them nervous, as they all but ran out of the house. You watched as they shut the door behind them, alone in a room with Simon for the first time in a long time.

How did you get here?

Simon put his hand on the back of your neck, before gliding it upwards jerking your head back. Your eyes met his, and he was smiling.

“Hello, bird.”

“Simon.”

He shuddered when you called his name.

“Missed you.”

“Don’t know how, you never left me.”

He grinned, boyish and proud of himself, “Never.”

Simon kissed you then, feeling far more familiar than he should’ve for a man you’ve only had sex with once. You turned, hoping to relieve some of the pressure in your neck, Simon’s hand stayed instead wrapping around your throat. He gave an experimental squeeze, making you whimper, before he released you.

“Gonna’ be good’ fer me?” He rasped.

You thought about it for a moment, and he let you, time frozen mid-air. But you had been running for so long. And you were so tired. Fight or flight. Fight or flight. Fight or flight. Or,

Surrender.

You had to stand on the tips of your toes to press your lips against his, white flag given. That’s all it took for the dam to break. Simon let out a growl and slammed you into the nearest wall, cradling your head so it didn’t bang against the wall with the force. His body caged you in as he deepened the kiss. You had forgotten just how intense it was to be so close to Simon.

He filled your senses. You breathed him in, you tasted him, you heard his soft grunts against your lips, felt the rough edge of his jeans as he ground himself against you, watched as his blonde eyelashes fluttered open until he was staring at you. Always watching. Even in these moments.

Simon’s hand gripped your ass, grinding you harder against him, moaning from the friction.

“You owe’ me somethin’ birdie. Made your fiance wait so long. Such a fuckin’ tease.” He growled in your ear before fisting your shirt in two hands, ripping it with ease. Hands squeezing your bare tits so tight you expected to find bruises tomorrow.

Confusion knitted your brows together before he shoved you to your knees and you came face to face with his crotch.

How did you get here?

Your hands shook as you undid the button on his jeans, the zipper loud in between Simon and your panting. He helped you pull his jeans down his thighs, his cock dropping out, hard and angry.

Fuck.

You had forgotten just how big the man was down below. Time distorting the memory enough you had convinced yourself that he was average and you were just desperate that night. You were wrong of course. The man was hung as a fucking horse.

It had been awhile since you gave a blowjob. The steady pay the pub provided, the tips you made, pawning a few of Simon’s gifts and you had earned enough to not necessitate them. Not that it would help in this situation. Simon was big enough that all your previous tricks were rather useless. You weren’t even sure if you could open your mouth wide enough to take him, let alone take him down your throat. Your poor poor throat.

Tentatively, you leaned forward and gave the head a gentle kiss, glancing up and meeting Simon’s eyes. Your gaze left his, feeling suddenly shy despite the situation you were in. Pre dribbled and you used the chance to rub it along his sensitive head with your thumb. You gathered as much spit on your tongue licking the underside of his cock, pushing it all the way up until it pressed against his stomach. He groaned, hand resting on the back of your head.

With his dick out of the way, you used your other hand to caress his balls before pressing soft kisses to them. You replaced your hand with your mouth, sucking and swirling your tongue, using your hands to work his cock while you gave your attention elsewhere. His balls were much easier to fit in your mouth, but you could only delay the inevitable so long.

You pulled away fully, his cock falling under the weight of itself. The easy part done, now it was time for the hard part. Your gag reflex was not going to be happy. Bracing your hands against his thick thighs, feeling his muscles flex underneath your fingertips, you pressed your lips against the tip of his cock again, parting the seam of your mouth and letting him slowly slip in. Your tongue lying flat as he invaded your mouth.

Inch by overwhelming inch.

Before you had thought he was overwhelming, it was nowhere near as overwhelming as having his dick in your mouth. Gone were the lingering scents of tobacco and liquor. The outside world stripped away until just the man was left. Until only Simon’s musk filled your nose, wrinkling it as you took him a little deeper. Your jaw already ached from how wide you were stretching it.

Tired of your pace, Simon began to use your head as leverage as he pushed you further down, nails pressing crescents into his skin as you forced your body to relax. You quickly moved your hands back to the base of his length, stopping him from pushing you any further. Twisting your wrists to placate him enough to let you keep them there. Sucking to increase the pressure.

Simon moaned, hands going from gripping your head, to resting. Letting you work.

You took a deep breath through your nose as you began to work him in earnest. Swirling your tongue over the head of his cocked you began to bob faster and faster, unable to stop the lewd gurgling noises as the back of him hit your throat. His hands were at your head again, pushing himself further down your throat and back again. Setting his pace.

This wasn’t a blowjob he was fucking your throat. Using you. His dick twitched in his mouth before he pulled out, as you took in huge gulps of breath. Body hunching in on itself. You felt vulnerable like this. Kneeling in front of him, the top half of you completely nude.

You didn’t get much time to collect yourself before you were pulled to your feet, turned so that your back was pressed against his front, hands bracing against the wall.

Simon kissed your neck, hooking his hands on your pants and jerking them down. They caught on your ankle monitor but he just tore them off, seams ripping. Your underwear was torn with a satisfying rip, before you felt the tip of his bare cock pressing against your hole. He thrusted against your slit, gathering your own slick before he reached a hand down, dragging his dick back before it caught on your hole.

You couldn’t help but whine at the stretch of him, un-prepped. He didn’t stop until his hips met yours, large hands bruising. He paused, leaning his weight onto you, sighing. As if being buried to the hilt in your cunt was the reprieve he had been looking for all his life.

“Missed her’ too. Did she mis’ me?” His voice was hoarse against your ear.

“Huh?”

He removed one hand from your hip bringing it to your clit, brushing one large knuckle against it, causing your knees to buckle. Simon chuckled, easily holding your weight against him.

“Don’ worry, won’ ever leave you for this long again Birdie.”

Simon licked your cheek causing you to try and jerk away from him, before the rough pad of his finger began to circle your clit, your pussy clenching around him almost painfully, grinding his hips into yours as if trying to fuck you deeper somehow. He pulled out before snapping into you. Again and again, hand never leaving your clit.

“Simon! Simon please! Don’t stop!” You couldn’t help but cry, bucking back against him as you felt an orgasm build quickly, faster than one had ever built before.

He growled into your ear. “Ain’t ever gonna run again Bird.”

You nodded your head, trying to do everything in your power to appease him to keep doing what he was doing. To keep thrusting. To keep his hand on your clit. To lick you again. Anything. Everything. You wanted him to consume you wholly.

“Ain’t gonna run no’ more. Ain’t gonna leave the house till everyon’ knows you’re mine.”

His hand left your clit, causing you to whine in protest, cradling your stomach.

“Say it. Tell the whole fuckin’ world who you belong too.”

“You Simon! YoU! Simon! Simon please…plea-” You were babbling, until finally his hand went back to your clit.

“Don’t forget it.”

You came, cunt desperately clutching his cock, squealing as Simon didn’t even slow his thrusts. He pushed you through one orgasm onto the edge of overstimulation as he finally came with a grunt inside of you. He didn’t pull out, keeping his seed nuzzled safely near your womb.

You slumped against his arms, panting softly as the reality of your situation began to wash over you, naked except for the ankle monitor.

How did you get here?

It didn’t matter, because all roads led to Simon.

Tag list: @Sweetlike-sugarplum, @thatpersonamedrook, @aphinthestars, @misscaller06, @shushyoudontknowme, @youknowits-derea, @succubusvalentine, @sundaescreamcheese

#simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #ghost #ghost x you #simon ghost riley x reader #Simon is such a meanie #He's gonna give reader an ulcer fr

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chompe-diem · 2 years ago

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AS IF THE WHOLE DEAD FATHER-ALIVE SON REUNION AND THE ACE VALIDATION WASNT ENOUGH. NOW POK'S TALKING ABOUT HIS DAD BEING A FIRST GEN IN SOLACE????????

#is that a liveblog i see?#i'm going Actually start crying. for real #ive been close but not enough to push me over the edge this whole scene but this? this might be it folks #being poc from an immigrated family i just. agh

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batboyblog · 5 months ago

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Senate Elections 2024!

At the Start of the year I made a post about the US Senate elections this year. However a lot has changed since then (not just that) So I thought I'd make a new version.

How successful a President Kamala Harris is able to be will come down to who controls congress. A Republican House or Senate could frustrate many of the important agenda items Harris wants to get done. Also the Senate is key to appointing Judges, right now many America's rights are being decided in the courts where Trump and Republican appointed Judges are consistently ruling against trans rights, voting rights, abortion rights etc. Any hope of a smooth pipe line of Harris judges depends on the Senate. Senate Control hangs by a knife's edge, there are 6 soft blue seats we have to hold onto, two swing seats Dems are defending, and two soft red seats we can pick up, you can make all the difference!

If you don't live in one of the states below but want to help, you can Donate to the DSCC or sign up to phone bank with the Democrats

Arizona

Ruben Gallego (Hold)

Winning Arizona will be key to the outcome of the 2024 Presidential election. Congressman Ruben Gallego was a leader in the effort to replace Democrat turned Independent Senator Sinema with a real Democrat. Gallego was raised by a single mother, went to Harvard, and is a Marine combat vet. First elected to the Arizona State House in 2010 he advocated for immigrant rights. He was elected to Congress in 2014. Since coming to Congress Gallego has been a progressive voice, gaining attention for blunt attacks on the Trump administration. Republicans nominated around former TV host and conspiracy theorist Kari Lake. Lake rose to become a Republican star by supporting conspiracy theories about the 2020 election and Covid. Lake ran for Arizona Governor in 2022 and after losing to Democrat Katie Hobbs she refused to concede and still maintains she won and is the rightful Governor of Arizona. Lake has called Democrats "Demonic", totally opposes abortion in all cases, and is the self proclaimed "Trump candidate". If Gallego is elected not only will he be a reliable Democratic vote and Progressive vote in the Senate, he'd be the first Hispanic to represent Arizona in the Senate, ever. If you live in Arizona please make sure you vote, but more if you have any time between now and November, volunteer to help Gallego! and if you don't live there you can still give.

VOTE VOLUNTEER DONATE SHOP

Florida

Debbie Mucarsel-Powell (Flip)

Florida's current Republican senator, Rick Scott, has spent his first term in Congress being one of the most extreme Republicans. Scott has pushed to defund education, roll back Social Security and Medicare, attacked trans rights, and wants to ban Abortion in all cases. Rick Scott is the wealthiest member of Congress and also was in involved in the largest case of Medicare fraud in US history. Scott challenged Mitch McConnell for the leadership of the Senate GOP getting support from extremists like Ted Cruz, Josh Hawley, and JD Vance, and now is running to replace McConnell. Scott won in 2018 with less than 10,000 votes. The Democrat is former Congresswoman Debbie Mucarsel-Powell. When she was elected to Congress in 2018 she became the first South American born immigrant and first person of Ecuadorian heritage to be elected to Congress. In Congress Mucarsel-Powell was a member of the Progressive caucus, she fought to expand medicare, and secured $200 million for Everglades restoration. After a narrow defeat in 2020 Mucarsel-Powell joined the gun control advocacy group Giffords to fight for gun control a personal issue for her. If you're in Florida please make sure you vote, and volunteer to help remove one of the most extreme Senators. Everyone else give what you can.

VOTE VOLUNTEER DONATE

Maryland

Angela Alsobrooks (Hold)

Maryland is normally an easy Democratic win but two-term Republican former Governor Larry Hogan announced he was running, turning what should be an easy race for Democrats into a real fight. Hogan is trying to sell himself as a Trump septic moderate, but he's endorsed by Trump, JD Vance, and Mitch McConnell. Hogan spent his final year as Governor frustrating Democratic efforts to protect abortion, legalize marijuana, and take serious action on climate change. In the Senate he'll be a vote in the pocket of Republican leadership. The Democrat is Angela Alsobrooks, the executive of Prince George's County. As County Executive Alsobrooks got high marks for her response to Covid. She's worked to expand pre-K to all students in the county, as well expanding health care access including mental health access. As a candidate for Senate Alsobrooks has been a strong supporter of Abortion rights, pushing for more action on gun violence, and has been a strong supporter of LGBT rights her whole political life. After Vice-President Harris left the Senate there were no black women represented in the upper house. Together with Delaware's Lisa Blunt Rochester Alsobrooks could make history, if both are elected this year it'll be the first time ever that two black women have served at the same time in the US Senate. If you're in Maryland make sure to get out to vote, to volunteer as much as you're able, and everyone give whatever you can to protect abortion rights and support progressive black women!

VOTE VOLUNTEER DONATE SHOP

Michigan

Elissa Slotkin (Hold)

Michigan is a critical 2024 swing state. Congresswoman Elissa Slotkin is running to replace retiring Senator Debbie Stabenow. Slotkin worked for the CIA, the State Department, and the Department of Defense rising to be an Assistant Secretary of Defense under President Obama. She is fluent in Arabic and Swahili. First elected to Congress in 2018 Slotkin won and has been re-elected repeatedly to represent a swing district, becoming the first Democrat elected there since 1998. In Congress Slotkin has supported gun control, and ending money in politics. Her national security experience made her an important voice pushing for the first impeachment of Trump in 2019. She gained national attention for holding open town halls on her choice to vote to impeach Trump facing down Republican protesters. In her run for Senate Slotkin has continued to stress her support for gun legislation, ending money in politics and stresses protecting the right to choose. Republicans have consolidated around former Congressman Mike Rogers. Rogers retired to Florida after his time in the House only moving back last year to run for Senate. During his time in Congress Rogers tried twice to ban the abortion pill mifepristone. Rogers is endorsed by Trump and controversial former Detroit Police Chief James Craig. If you're in Michigan vote to protect the right to choose and stop a Trump Republican, and make sure to volunteer as much as you can, and every give what you can to help win this key swing state.

VOTE VOLUNTEER DONATE SHOP

Montana

Jon Tester (Re-elect)

Normally deep red Montana represents one of the hardest Senate seats for Democrats to hang onto. Jon Tester is the only Democrat to hold statewide office or represent Montana in Congress. Elected narrowly in 2006 Tester has beaten the odds time and time again and is trying again. In his time in the Senate Tester has been a consistent voice for small farmers and local businesses against big corporations and mega companies. Tester has fought against corruption and for openness, and is one of the most effective members of Congress consistently having the most bills past into law of any member of Congress. Republicans have embraced an ultra wealthy former CEO, Tim Sheehy as their nominee to unseat Tester. Sheehy was caught lying about being shot in Afghanistan as a Navy SEAL, when he in fact accidentally shot himself at Glacier National Park in Montana. Past his embarrassing war wound story, Sheehy is an ultra rich CEO who has spent 2 million of his own money on the race so far. Sheehy has been endorsed by Trump, and Marjorie Taylor Greene. Sheehy wants to ban all abortion, repeal Obamacare, and remove any limits on gun ownership, despite having shot himself. If you can only donate to two races, this and Ohio are the most important, if you can only donate to one? flip a coin. Everyone in Montana make sure you get out to vote and just as important volunteer, there will be no Presidential or Governor or any other campaign to help Tester along its all on him, and everyone give what you can.

VOTE VOLUNTEER DONATE SHOP

Nevada

Jacky Rosen (Re-elect)

Nevada is a critical swing state in the 2024 election. Jacky Rosen first came to Congress flipping a Red House seat in 2016 and then unseating a Republican Senator in 2018. Since coming to Congress Rosen has been a champion for turning Nevada into a clean energy leader. She's also has helped pass gun control legislation and is a fierce advocate the right to choose. Republicans have nominated Army veteran and conservative influencer Sam Brown to run against Rosen. Brown unsuccessfully ran in a Republican primary for the Texas State House in 2014, and for the Republican nomination for US Senate in Nevada in 2022. Now with the endorsement of Donald Trump Brown finally managed to win a primary. Sam Brown is the only Republican candidate Trump mentioned in his 92 minute convention speech at the RNC. Brown wants to roll back Nevada's Green energy progress and boost fossil fuels, he also wants to roll back any and all restrictions on guns. If you're in Nevada make sure to get out and vote, and volunteer to keep this key Senate seat out of the hands of a Trump Republican. Everyone else give what you can.

VOTE VOLUNTEER DONATE SHOP

Ohio

Sherrod Brown (Re-elect)

Ohio is one of the hardest senate seats for Democrats to defend this year. Senator Sherrod Brown has been the only statewide elected Democrat in Ohio since 2011. First elected to Congress in 1992 and to the Senate in 2006 Brown has defied the odds by being a popular Progressive in an ever more Red state. Brown consistently ranks along side Bernie Sanders and Elizabeth Warren as one of the most left wing Senators. From his first days in Congress Brown refused the Congressional health plan, repeatedly introducing single payer health care bills going back to the 1990s. Brown has been a proud and consistent ally of Unions, particularly the UAW, and tough on banks and big business. Republicans have nominated used car salesman and crypto enthusiast Bernie Moreno. Moreno is a weirdo, he accused LGBT activists of a "radical agenda of indoctrination" and then got caught looking for "men for 1-on-1 sex" on AdultFriendFinder. Moreno supports a federal abortion ban, has been sued by former employees for wage thief and discrimination, and wants to end birth right citizenship. Moreno has been endorsed by Turning Point USA, Donald Trump Jr., Vivek Ramaswamy, Kari Lake, Ted Cruz, JD Vance, and of course Donald Trump. If you're in Ohio make sure you get out to vote, and volunteer to support a great Senator. Everyone outside of Ohio give what you can, if you can only donate to two campaigns this and Montana need it the most, if you can only give to one, flip a coin.

VOTE VOLUNTEER DONATE SHOP

Pennsylvania

Bob Casey (Re-elect)

Pennsylvania is a key swing state in the 2024 Presidential election. Bob Casey was first elected to the Senate in 2006 defeating right wing extremist Rick Santorum by the largest margin in state history. Starting his career as a moderate to conservative Democrat Casey has become a strong advocate for gun control since 2012 voting for every gun control measure to reach the Senate. Casey also made strong opposition to the Trump administration a cornerstone of time in office. While personally pro-life, Casey has endorsed the right to choose and voted codify abortion rights. Casey has been a leading critic of corporate greed during the inflation and authored a bill to ban shrinkflation. Republicans have nominated multi-millionaire former CEO and Bush administration official David McCormick. McCormick served in the Treasury under George W. Bush, his wife worked at the NSC under Trump. He lived in Westport, Connecticut as the CEO of an investment management firm, till he decided he wanted to be a US Senator in 2022 and he moved to Pennsylvania. He lost the 2022 GOP primary to Dr. Oz and is giving another go in 2024. McCormick is endorsed by George W. Bush, Mitch McConnell, Rick Santorum, Karl Rove, Doug Mastriano, Jim Jordan, and of course Donald Trump. If you're in Pennsylvania make sure you get out to vote, and to volunteer to keep Pennsylvania blue. Everyone else give what you can.

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Texas

Colin Allred (Flip)

Texas Senator Ted Cruz might be the most hated man in politics. Since his election in 2012 Cruz has been on a single minded mission to be totally unlikeable. Shutting down the government under President Obama, endorsing Trump after Trump insulted his wife, supporting Trump's efforts to overturn the 2020 election, fleeing his state to go on vacation in Mexico after an ice storm and power outage (and abandoning his dog), blaming the Uvalde school shooting on video games, yes Ted Cruz really has done it all. Cruz is one of the most right wing members of the Senate and a loud Trump supporter. Last election in 2018 Cruz barely hung onto his seat and Democrats are hoping with 6 more years of radicalism Texans are ready for change. Democrats have nominated Congressman Colin Allred. Allred is a former professional footballer, played Linebacker for the Tennessee Titans. After football Allred went to law school, and got a job with the Obama Administration. In 2018 he won an upset victory unseating an 11 term Republican in a district that had been Republican since 1968. In Congress Allred fought for gun reform, to keep down the price of proscription drugs, and invest in American infrastructure. In his run for Senate he's standing up for the right to choose against one of the most radically anti-abortion Republicans in the country. If you're in Texas make sure you vote and volunteer to give Ted Cruz the boot, and everyone give what you can to get Blue Texas.

VOTE VOLUNTEER DONATE SHOP

Wisconsin

Tammy Baldwin (Re-elect)

Wisconsin is a critical swing state in the 2024 Presidential election. Senator Tammy Baldwin is a historic trailblazer, when she was first elected to Congress in 1998 she was the first woman to ever represent Wisconsin in Congress, the first open Lesbian elected to Congress, and the first openly gay non-incumbent to be elected to Congress. She co-founded the Congressional LGBTQ+ Equality Caucus. When she was elected to the US Senate in 2012 she was the first and is still the only openly gay person ever elected to the Senate. Past her advocacy for LGBT rights Baldwin has been a progressive her whole time in Congress endorsing single-payer health care, and being a strong voice for abortion rights. Republicans are supporting a California bank owner and weirdo named Eric Hovde. Strange mustache owner Hovde has attacked trans kids, flip flopped on abortion (totally against, now open to some abortion), and insulted farmers as "not hardworking" and thats why the retirement age should be 72. If you're in Wisconsin make sure to vote and volunteer to protect a progressive trailblazer and stop a California weirdo banker. Everyone else give what you can.

VOTE VOLUNTEER DONATE SHOP

Where ever you live in the US there is a critical race happening, so please check out ways to Volunteer and where ever you live there are options to phone bank text bank write letters or postcards to voters (postcards 2) but like I said wherever you are there are local candidates who need your help, and if you live in any of these critical states please give your time and energy.

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latenightdaydreams · 6 months ago

Note

College AU König. 7 minutes in heaven. König is an awkward immigrant student🇦🇹 and reader is an inexperienced nerd🤓.

THANKS

7 Minutes in Heaven

MDNI🔞

Master List

>cw: fem/afab, peer pressure, kissing, oral, finger

1.7k word count

König has not had an easy time making friends since moving to attend college. His Austrian accent is still thick, and he’s not exactly the most approachable person being 6’10. When he was invited to a house party, he went.

As he steps into the home, he looks around at everyone there, noticing the small cliques that form in each room of the house. He steps into one room where it looks like people are simply sitting around. Taking a seat on the edge of a couch, he looks down and notices you; the girl from his sociology class. You’re wearing your hair down and a semi form fitting dress. He’s used to seeing you with a ponytail and baggy clothes.

You smile up at König and greet him with a small wave. He reciprocates and looks down at your body before looking away quickly. In the corner, a girl named Martha sits up. “Let's play truth or dare.”

“That’s some kid shit.” Aaron speaks up, and she throws an empty bottle at him.

“Shut up. It would be fun.” She turns to Eric. “Truth or dare.”

“Dare.”

“I dare you to…” She stalls, struggling to come up with something to do.

Aaron laughs. “See, I fucking told you.”

Martha’s eyes fall on you and König, sitting close together. The tall weird Austrian kid and the dork that never shows up to anything. She didn’t even notice the two of you, or even who would have invited either of you. She points to you.

“Truth or dare?”

You freeze. König looks down at you, awaiting your answer. “I-uh, truth?”

A loud unison ‘boo’ rings out around the room. “Don’t be that person.” Aaron says.

König can see the nervous look on your face. He knows you don’t have very high social standing. He wonders if you’ll give into peer pressure, or stick by your original answer. Although, he can’t really blame you if you cave. He would.

“Okay, dare.”

A mischievous smile came across Martha’s face as you picked dare. “Okay, I dare you and König to kiss in the closet for seven minutes.”

“This isn’t seven minutes in heaven, dumb ass,” Aaron snaps at Martha.

“But it’s a fucking dare!” She quickly says back through gritting teeth.

The entire room has a smirk on their face. They watch the both of you closely to see how you’ll react. König looks at Marth before looking down at you, looking absolutely mortified. Your mouth opens, but no words fall out.

“You don’t have to—” König begins before getting cut off.

“She either does the dare or has to take three shots.”

Since you don’t drink, you agree. “Okay.” You look up at König. “If it’s okay with you?”

König nods, almost too eagerly. Standing as you do. Martha opens the closet door and pulls a string to turn a small light on inside. The closet is spacious for a closet, but not when you’re stuffed in with boxes and a giant man.

“Seven minutes, I better hear some fucking kissing!” Marth closes the door and sets a timer on her phone.

You stand there, swallowing hard as you gaze up at König. He’s already looking down at you, biting his lower lip feeling a rush of emotions. While he is nervous and feels awkward being put on the spot, he really wouldn’t mind being able to kiss you. Others may overlook you due to the way you place academics above a social life, but he can see how truly attractive you are.

“We don’t really have to kiss if you don’t want to.” König leans down to whisper in your ear so the others don’t hear.

His Austrian accent sends a tingle throughout your body, you find his accent so attractive. You’ve always had a thing for tall blondes, the accent just adds to it all. While you’re nervous, you don’t want to pass this up.

“I just haven’t really… done this.” You say meekly as you fidget with your fingers.

“It’s okay, I really haven't either.” He says with a chuckle.

The both of you stand there for a while not really doing anything. In König’s mind, time is ticking by and you’re too short to really make the first move. He has to, so König leans down and places a short peck on your lips to break the ice.

You’re pleasantly surprised as he kisses you. He smiles down at you as he sees the small smirk on the corner of your lips. One hand raises up and caresses the side of your face.

“Was that, okay?”

“Yeah.” A giggle escapes you. Your eyes fall to his lips and you wrap your arm around his neck, pulling him back into a kiss.

König bends down to reach you and kiss you again. Your lips lock as your eyes flutter shut. A few small pecks before König realizes that this will kill his back. “May I pick you up?”

“Uh, yeah.”

König’s hands move down to your thighs, your skin so soft and silk in the palm of his hands as he lifts you up. He presses you against a wall and you smile with a soft laugh. His hands rest on your ass, feeling the soft fabric of your cotton underwear.

Your lips meet again, his lips are thin but soft against your own. His mouth opens and you follow his lead. Tongues gently meeting and swirling around one another. König’s fingers slightly dig into your skin as he begins to get excited. His cock slowly gets hard in his pants, your lips pillowy and you taste so sweet.

König pulls away, “Can I kiss…other places?” His pale blue eyes trail down from your lips to your neck.

“You can.”

König wastes no time moving back into pepper kisses down your neck. His lips leaving wet kisses behind. He lightly bites your neck and you moan softly. You can feel yourself getting wet, every little kiss or scrape of his teeth sends deep tingles down your whole body. Your mind wanders off to thoughts of what his body might look like, feel like; craving his touch more than anything.

“You feel so nice in my hands.” He whispers. The thought of going further with you consumes him. There is a part of him that’s worried that you’ll reject him, but he’s already here with you so why not try?

König lowers you back down so your feet touch the floor, he kneels before you. You gaze into his blue eyes questioning what he is doing when you feel his hand creep up the inside of your thigh. Goosebumps cover your body. He looks at you as if asking for permission to continue. When you don’t stop him, he takes that as a yes.

You feel his fingers brush against the wet patch on your underwear, the soft touch sending a wave of excitement through your whole body. His finger hooks the fabric to the side and slips two fingers under, caressing your folds.

He looks at your face to see your reaction as he slips one finger into your pussy. Your jaw drops feeling his thick finger slowly move in and out of you. “König…” His name slips from your lips so softly.

“Shh.” König leans in to kiss you in a way to muffle your moans so those in the room outside the door don’t hear you. The both of you aren’t aware of how much time you have left, so König moves quickly in enjoying your body. An additional finger slips into you, filling your tight little cunt. Your eyes flutter and your hands hold his muscular arms tightly.

“I want you to cum.” König says in a hushed tone as he drops lower, lifting your dress over his head.

Your eyes go wide and you laugh out of surprise. “König!” You chuckle.

König lifts your right leg and places it over his shoulder, just getting lost in the moment. You’ve never had someone lick your pussy before so when you felt his warm, fat tongue swipe across your cunt, you let out the most pathetic whimper König has ever heard.

His tongue flicks back and forth of your clit, sucking slightly as it begins to grow from the stimulation. While he sucks his tongue swirls in circles around the delicate bud. Your legs twitch rapidly in reaction, head dropping back against the wall as your hands rest on his head through the dress’s fabric.

“That feels amazing.” You quietly whimper.

On the other side of the door Martha looks at her phone watching the second tick down until it’s time to let you out. The room is full of people laughing and drinking. Most people forgot that you two even went in there.

Once time runs out, Marth opens the door. The room instantly falls silent as they all see your face twisted in pleasure with König on his knees between your legs, one of his hands reaching up and squeezing your breast.

Your eyes shoot open and make eye contact with Martha. You push König’s head away from you in a panic. He pulls his head out from underneath your dress, looking up to you, he can see the look of terror on your face. Realizing what was going on he drops, stands up and wipes his face, turning to see Martha and a whole room of people with grins.

“You know that you’re supposed to kiss her mouth, not her pussy lips, right?” Aaron shouts, teasing the two of you.

König’s face turns red as he lets you leave the closet first. You clear your throat and look at the room of people. Most have gone back to their own personal conversations, but a few still watch you and laugh at the fact you and König were basically fucking in the closet. Embarrassment leaves you frozen until König’s fingers intertwine with yours and pull you away. He leads you out of the house and away from the party.

Standing outside he turns to you, still licking his lips to taste you. “Do you want to come to my dorm? We can continue?” He looks down at your dainty hand on his own.

“Let’s go.”

König smiles at you accepting his offer, he knows that you’re feeling this connection. As if you’ve both known each other for years. He turns and walks with you to his dorm, his mind going over everything he wants to do to you.

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frostedmagnolias · 2 months ago

Text

Dress

c. 1858

“Blue, pink, and green plaid silk taffeta dress. Bodice has scalloped neckline to waist and a hook-and-eye front closure. Collar, inner bodice, and undersleeves are made of white muslin trimmed with eyelet embroidery. Two-tiered pagoda sleeves are edged with blue and black silk fringe and two rows of scalloped taffeta at the top of the sleeve. Full gathered skirt with self-piping at waist. Bodice and sleeves lined with brown glazed cotton. This dress was worn by Matilda Bamburger Stein (1831-1919), who was born in Germany and immigrated to America in order to marry.”

Maryland Center for History and Culture

#1850s #plaid #fashion history #historical fashion #history of fashion #dress history #frostedmagnolias

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menlove · 2 months ago

Note

hey can you please explain it to us? like how are we supposed to just understand? why would a large ethnic minority vote for an open racist who hates them? this is not intuitive

wasn't trying to imply you're just supposed to understand- sorry, it's just always a lil bit of a uh bitter inducing moment when this topic comes up bc it makes it really obvious that a lot of people just don't engage w the latine community

but basically, most latines are conservative christian. usually catholic (my family isn't catholic, though my grandmother was raised that way). a solid majority of them are one issue voters, usually on the issue of abortion because many catholics & conservative christians are one issue abortion voters.

there's also the immigration issue. a lot of these conservative latines do in fact care about better immigration reform, but a lot of them also have this attitude of "I did it legally, so why can't you?" so they don't even see themselves as a PART of the group being targeted. and if they do and they take issue with it, they tend to go "okay, but the republicans agree with me on everything else and I can't in good moral conscience vote for the other party who disagrees with everything I stand for as a moral christian"

and while many latines have voted blue over immigration in the past, harris leaned pretty heavily right on the immigration issue so it's like. to them. are you choosing the guy who agrees with you on everything but immigration, or the woman who disagrees with you on everything Including immigration?

and then you also have to get into the race of it all because race is beyond complicated in this case. non-black latines sit in a weird in between space with whiteness. to the right, we're white when we're Good. to the left, we're white when it's a Problem. whiteness is conditional. and this is the case for many demographics, but it's especially relevant here. when people sit on that edge of whiteness, they WILL throw each other and other minorities under the bus to earn the protection of whiteness. so you know. behave, vote red, show yourselves to be moral, legal citizens, and MAYBE you'll be granted the protection of being considered white in america. and we aren't. but that doesn't stop people from trying. even taking my dad as an example, I grew up with him talking about how much he hated white people. today, he's out here calling himself a proud white man who voted for trump. it's conditional. and people know whiteness is a protection. naturally, this leads to a lot of antiblackness in the community as well as just racism in general.

it just boils down to latines by and large being conservative christian/catholic and voting based on that rather than viewing themselves a minority race. and being way way more split on the immigration issue than people might imagine, because I've absolutely heard it parroted time and time again that "I got here legally, so can they"

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meazalykov · 3 months ago

Text

fifth language

esmee brugts x quadrilingual!reader

summary: you want to speak your girlfriend's language, even if its a challenge

you sit on the edge of the bed, the soft light from the bedside lamp casting a warm glow over the room. it’s a peaceful evening, one of the rare ones where both you and esmee aren’t completely drained after training or traveling for games.

the calm feels nice, but there’s a tension humming underneath your skin, a thought you’ve been turning over in your head for weeks now.

esmee’s beside you, propped up against the pillows, her phone in hand as she scrolls through something. her relaxed posture is in stark contrast to the way your body feels—stiff, on edge. you glance at her, taking in the soft lines of her face, the curve of her lips as she reads something that makes her smile faintly.

you’ve always admired how easygoing she is, how she never seems to let anything faze her. it’s part of what drew you to her in the first place.

you and esmee had been teammates at barcelona for just over a year now, but you’d been dating for about seven months. things between the two of you had developed naturally, the chemistry on the field translating seamlessly off of it.

being with her felt like finding something you didn’t even know you were missing—a sense of calm, a sense of being understood in ways that didn’t need words.

except now, words were exactly what you needed.

you clear your throat softly, trying to find the right way to bring it up. the thought has been sitting with you for a while, but you’ve hesitated, unsure of how she’d react.

"hey," you say quietly, breaking the silence. esmee looks over at you, her blue eyes soft with affection and curiosity. she raises an eyebrow as if to say,

“what’s up?”

you shift a little, turning to face her more directly.

"i’ve been thinking about something, and i... i wanted to talk to you about it."

her expression turns more serious, though the warmth in her gaze never fades. she sets her phone down on the nightstand and gives you her full attention.

"okay, what is it?"

you take a deep breath, the words feeling heavy on your tongue even though they shouldn’t. it’s not that it’s a bad thing—it’s just something you’re unsure how she’ll respond to.

"i’ve been thinking about learning dutch."

for a moment, there’s silence, and you watch as her expression shifts, processing what you’ve said. her brows knit together slightly, and she tilts her head, studying you.

"learning dutch? why?"

you bite your lip, trying to put your thoughts into words that will make sense.

"well, i mean, you’re dutch, and i just... i feel like it’d be nice to speak your language. it’s a part of who you are, and i want to understand that part of you better. plus, we already speak english most of the time, es... i don’t know, it feels right, you know?"

esmee’s expression softens, but there’s still a flicker of concern in her eyes.

"babe, you already speak four languages. isn’t that enough? i don’t want you to overwhelm yourself. we get along just fine in english."

you know she means well, and she’s right—learning a fifth language on top of everything else you’ve got going on is a lot. there’s something deeper driving you, something that goes beyond the surface level of just wanting to understand her better. it’s tied to who you are, how you’ve always been.

being the daughter of german immigrants, you grew up in a household where both german and english were spoken interchangeably. your parents had always made it a priority for you to be fluent in both, ensuring you could connect with your heritage while also thriving in america.

you did. from a young age, you were always a bit of an overachiever, always pushing yourself to excel—whether it was in school, in sports, or in learning new things.

that drive had followed you through your entire career, from your early days in youth leagues to your time at lyon, where you spent two seasons honing your skills in france. at just 17, moving to a new country, immersing yourself in a new language and culture—it had been daunting, but you’d thrived.

you picked up french quickly, out of necessity at first, but then out of a desire to truly integrate yourself into the team, the culture, the city.

by the time you left lyon at 19, french felt as natural to you as english and german. when you made the move to barcelona, you knew the same determination would carry you through learning spanish.

it had. within five months of joining the club, you were conversing fluently with your teammates, navigating life in a new country with a sense of confidence and ease.

now, sitting here with esmee, the thought of adding a fifth language to your brain felt... different. it wasn’t out of necessity. it wasn’t even really out of practicality. it was something you wanted to do because it mattered to you—because esmee mattered to you.

"i know it’s a lot," you admit, rubbing the back of your neck.

"but it’s important to me. i just... i feel like if i can speak to you in dutch, in your language, it’s a way of connecting with you on a deeper level."

esmee sighs softly, her hand reaching out to take yours. her fingers are warm, reassuring.

"you’re always doing this," she says, her tone light but tinged with affection.

"pushing yourself to do more, to be more. and while i love that about you, i don’t want you to burn yourself out."

you offer her a small smile, squeezing her hand.

"i’m not going to burn out. i’ll take it slow. i just... i want to be able to speak to you in dutch, even if it takes time."

there’s a pause, and you can tell she’s thinking it over. finally, she lets out a breath and nods.

"okay. if it’s something you really want, i’m not going to stop you. but promise me you won’t stress yourself out over it. learning a fifth language is... well, it’s a lot, babe. i can barely speak three."

you laugh softly, leaning your head against her shoulder.

"i know. i’m used to ‘a lot,’ remember?"

she chuckles, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

"yeah, that’s true. you’re always going above and beyond. but just... promise me you’ll take it easy, okay?"

you nod, relaxing into her embrace. "i promise."

over the next few months, you begin your journey into learning dutch. you start with the basics—greetings, simple phrases, and common words. esmee helps when she can, correcting your pronunciation, giving you pointers, for the most part, you rely on language apps.

it’s slow going at first, as expected. dutch is a tricky language, with its own set of rules and nuances that make it difficult to pick up quickly. you’re determined, and after a while, you start to see progress.

simple conversations with esmee become a little easier, even if they’re stilted and peppered with mistakes.

you take pride in those small victories—being able to ask her how her day was, or tell her something funny that happened during training.

esmee always responds with encouragement, even when you stumble over words or struggle to remember certain phrases.

as the months go on, the pressure you’ve been putting on yourself starts to build. speaking four languages had always felt like second nature to you, but dutch... dutch was different. no matter how much you practiced, it never felt like enough.

you weren’t picking it up as quickly as you had with french or spanish, and that frustrated you.

one night, after a particularly long day at training, you find yourself sitting at the kitchen table, staring down at your notebook full of dutch phrases. the words blur together, your mind foggy from exhaustion.

you’ve been at this for six months now, and while you’ve made progress, you still feel miles away from being able to hold a proper conversation in dutch.

esmee walks into the kitchen, her curly hair damp from the shower, and notices the frown on your face.

"hey," she says softly, coming over to sit beside you.

"what’s wrong?"

you sigh, closing the notebook and rubbing your temples. "i don’t know. i’m just... frustrated. i’ve been trying so hard. esmee, is my dutch good? be honest. i still feel like i can barely speak dutch."

esmee frowns, her hand resting on your arm.

"babe, you’ve made so much progress. you’ve learned more in six months than most people do in years."

"it doesn’t feel like it," you mutter, leaning back in your chair.

"i can’t even hold a full conversation with you without messing up. it’s like my brain just... shuts down."

she gives you a sympathetic smile, her thumb rubbing gentle circles on your arm.

“maybe it’s because you’re pushing yourself too hard. you’ve already got so much on your plate at barcelona, and learning a fifth language is... well, it’s a lot, y/n. no one expects you to be perfect at it, least of all me."

"i know," you sigh, running a hand through your hair. "but i want to be able to speak it fluently. i want to be able to talk to you in dutch, not just stumble through broken sentences."

esmee’s expression softens and she leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek.

"i appreciate that you’re doing this for me, but you don’t need to be fluent in dutch to make me feel loved or understood. we already have that. the language thing... it’s a nice bonus, but it’s not necessary."

you glance at her, feeling a wave of guilt settle in your chest.

"i know it’s not necessary, but... i just want to do this. it feels like... i don’t know, like i’m proving something to myself, too. if i can master this, then… like… i don’t know."

she gives you a knowing look, her eyes soft with understanding.

"you’ve always been an overachiever," she says with a small smile.

"always pushing yourself to be the best at everything you do. but sometimes... you need to give yourself a break. learning five languages isn’t something most people can do. it’s okay if you don’t get it right away."

you swallow hard, her words hitting a little too close to home. you’ve always been like this—setting high expectations for yourself, pushing yourself to meet them, and then feeling disappointed when you fall short.

it’s something that’s driven your career to where it is now, but it’s also something that can be exhausting.

"maybe you’re right," you say quietly, leaning your head against her shoulder.

"i just... i want to be good at it. i want to do this for you."

she wraps her arm around you, pulling you closer.

"and i love you for that. but you don’t have to stress yourself out over it. i’m proud of you no matter what, whether you can speak dutch or not."

you close your eyes, letting her words sink in. she’s right, of course. you’ve been pushing yourself too hard, setting impossible expectations for something that doesn’t need to be perfect.

"okay," you say softly. "i’ll try to chill out a little."

esmee laughs gently, pressing a kiss to your temple.

"good. you’re amazing, y/n, and i don’t want you to forget that."

masterlist

#esmee brugts #woso fanfics #woso x reader #woso community #barcelona femeni #fc barcelona #oranjeleeuwinnen

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dorothylarouge · 3 months ago

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Dorothy's Big List of Comic Book Recs - DC Comics Edition

I often get asks about getting into comic books, and how daunting it seems, given the huge back catalog of titles and issues available. I'm here to tell you it doesn't have to be scary! From miniseries that act as good introductions to characters to runs on ongoing titles by individual creators that serve on jumping-on points, there's lots of ways to get into comics without having to have a lot of background knowledge, and I'm going to give you a lot of potential places to start. Please note that this post only covers DC Comics; Marvel and indie lists will follow! Also note that I haven't read everything, and I won't recommend something I haven't read, so a few runs or books some consider must-reads may not be on here. This is based purely on books I have read and enjoy, and that I think are suitable for new readers. I'm also not including books from the Milestone and Wildstorm imprints as they're kind of a separate sphere to me, although some Vertigo books may be included.

SUPERMAN

All-Star Superman by Grant Morrison and Frank Quitely: This is the book that made me a Superman fan. It is an out-of-continuity celebration of Superman and his world, and an exploration of why Superman as a character has endured for nearly a century.

Superman For All Seasons by Jeph Loeb and Tim Sale: A gorgeously-illustrated and Americana-flavored recounting of Superman's early years in Metropolis, anchored narratively by the changing of the seasons.

Superman: Birthright by Mark Waid and Lenil Francis Yu: For my money, the definitive origin story for Superman. Great characterization of the entire supporting cast, including Lex Luthor, make this a perfect entry point into the character and his world.

Action Comics (1939) and Superman (1939) by Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster: The earliest Superman stories are still really great, and have a populist edge that many later stories sanded down. They're pulpy and fun and I recommend them!

Action Comics (2011) by Grant Morrison: This run spans issues 1-18, plus a special issue 0, of the series launched as part of DC's mostly-failed 2011 reboot, and covers Superman's early years in this continuity. The early issues bring back some of the edge that was present in the Golden Age comics, and the rest of the run is solid stuff as well. Morrison always comes highly recommended.

Superman: Red and Blue: An athology series that focuses on a broad sampling of Superman's world and supporting cast, written and drawn by various creators.

Action Comics (1939) by Geoff Johns: Specifically, I would say that issues 855 to 870 are a good span to be checking out for Geoff Johns' run on the book. These include some great stories focusing on classic Superman villains such as Bizarro, Toyman, and Brainiac.

Superman Smashes the Klan by Gene Luen Yang and Guruhiru: An adaptation of a classic Superman radio story set in the 1940s and focusing on Superman's place as an immigration narrative. And Superman gets to rough up some Klansmen!

Man and Superman by Marv Wolfman and Claudio Castellini: Another story of Superman's early years, this one focusing on his struggles to adapt to life in the big city after moving from Smallville, as well as his first encounters with Lois Lane and Lex Luthor.

Superman: Up in the Sky by Tom King and Andy Kubert: A lovely self-contained story which demonstrates just how far Superman will go to save a single life.

Superman (1939) by Elliot S! Maggin: This mammoth run spans issues 247 to 400 of the classic title, and includes some fantastic stories such as "Must There Be a Superman?" (issue 247), "The Greatest Green Lantern of All" (issue 257), and "The Living Legends of Superman" (issue 400)

Superman (1939), Adventure Comics (1938) and Action Comics (1939) by Mort Weisinger: This run spans a lot of the Silver Age era of Superman, including Action Comics #241-392, Superman #120-231, and Adventure Comics #247-396. It's a lot of issues, but in those days you can mostly read them in any order since they're pretty self-contained. This run includes a lot of classic villains and stories, as well as the earliest adventures of the Legion of Super-Heroes.

Supergirl: Woman of Tomorrow by Tom King and Bliquis Evely: A spacefaring take on a True Grit-style western with gorgeous art, and a definitive story for the Girl of Steel.

Superman’s Pal, Jimmy Olsen (2019) by Matt Fraction and Steve Liber: a madcap romp and a delightful sendup of Silver Age weirdness.

BATMAN

Batman: The Long Halloween and Batman: Dark Victory by Jeph Loeb and Tim Sale: Another Loeb/Sale joint, focusing on Batman's earlier years and the transition of Gotham's underworld from the mob to a coterie of costumed kooks.

Arkham Asylum: A Serious House on Serious Earth by Grant Morrison and Dave McKean: An examination of the facility housing Batman's rogues, and what those rogues symbolize in his world.

Batman (1940) by Dennis O'Neil: This is a classic run which re-established a dark tone for the Dark Knight which has endured to this day. The run spans Batman #224-268, along with a handful of issues of Detective Comics. Among the major developments of this run are the introduction of Ra's al Ghul and his daughter Talia.

Batman: A Lonely Place of Dying by Marv Wolfman, George Perez, and Jim Aparo: The definitive story about why Batman needs Robin. Read it in trade since the story spans both the Batman and New Titans titles.

Batman by Grant Morrison: I'm hesitant to include this because it delves so deep into Batman lore, but it really is essential reading, introducing Damian Wayne along with other concepts. Please do disregard Morrison's frankly appalling characterization of Talia. Read in omnibus format as the run spans multiple titles.

Batman: The Killing Joke by Alan Moore and Brian Bolland: It's cliche at this point but the story still is fantastic and one of the best Joker stories ever written.

Batman: No Man's Land: An epic storyline across many titles dealing with Gotham being cut off from the US after a massive earthquake and Batman's efforts to keep the peace in an abandoned city. Read in trade format.

Batman (2011) by Scott Snyder: This run spans issues 1 through 51 of the New 52 relaunch, and introduces concepts such as the Court of Owls. It's a fun run, including a brief period where Jim Gordon acts as Batman.

Batwoman (2011) by J.H. Williams III and W. Hayden Blackman: A gorgeously-illustrated book about Batman's cousin and her adventures as the Batwoman. Worth reading for the art alone.

Nightwing (1996) by Chuck Dixon: Dixon's a tool but this is still the definitive Nightwing run. This run includes volume 1 of Nightwing, a 4-issue mini, as well as issues 1-70 of volume 2, which establishes Dick's home base of Bludhaven as well as his rogues' gallery.

Detective Comics (1937) by Paul Dini: This run spans issues 821 to 852, and features some great stories by one of the great Batman writers and a co-creator of the classic animated series.

Robin (2021) by Joshua Williamson: A great run that helps to flesh out Damian Wayne's place in the DC Universe.

The Boy Wonder by Juni Ba: A great story with gorgeous art that focuses on Damian Wayne and his relationships with the other members of the Batman Family.

Batgirl (2000): The first series to focus on a Batgirl, specifically Cassandra Cain, the best Batgirl, as she struggles to adapt to life after an abusive childhood being raised as an assassin.

WONDER WOMAN

Wonder Woman (2006) by Gail Simone: Simone's run is the longest that a woman has ever written comics' premiere female superhero, and it's just good comic book fun. The run spans issues 14 to 44.

Wonder Woman (1987) by Phil Jimenez: Jimenez's childhood love of Wonder Woman shines through in his run, which placed a renewed focus on Diana's supporting cast and especially her family. The run spans issues 164 to 188.

Wonder Woman (1942) and Sensation Comics (1942) by William Moulton Marston: Wonder Woman's creator laid down the basics of the character and her world, and those early Golden Age stories are still a great read. They're fun, engaging - and more than a little kinky with hindsight.

Wonder Woman (1987) by Greg Rucka: In the early 21st century, Greg Rucka was The Guy for writing female superheroes, and his run on Wonder Woman is great. It features Diana becoming an ambassador, writing a book, fighting Medusa, and matching wits with Veronica Cale, her own Lex Luthor. The run spans 196-226. I must also mention Wonder Woman: The Hiketeia, also by Rucka, which is a Greek tragedy where Diana finds herself torn between duty and justice.

Wonder Woman Historia: The Amazons by Kelly Sue DeConnick: A beautifully-illustrated story of the Amazons and the Greek goddesses, which lays the foundations for Wonder Woman's world.

Wonder Woman (1987) by George Perez: This run reintroduced Diana after Crisis on Infinite Earths, and the first 25 issues feature Perez's simply-unmatched artwork. The whole run spans the first 62 issues of the book, and serves as a blueprint for most subsequent takes on the character.

THE FLASH

Flash Comics (1940) and All-Flash (1941): The Golden Age Flash and his early stories by his creator Gardner Fox. Must-read if you're interested in Jay Garrick, the first Flash.

Showcase #4, 8, and 13, and The Flash (1959): The Silver Age Flash, Barry Allen, made his debut and early adventures here. Much of the art is by the great Carmine Infantino, and Gardner Fox returned to write some stories. The whole concept of the multiverse debuted in this run.

The Flash (1987) by Mark Waid (as well as Grant Morrison and Mark Millar): This run starts in issue 62 and lasts until 162, with a brief run by Grant Morrison and Mark Millar towards the end. This run is the definitive Flash run, focusing on Barry Allen's protege Wally West maturing in the role of the Flash and establishing himself as the true fastest man alive.

The Flash (1987) by Geoff Johns: This run spans issues 164 to 225, and refocuses the Flash's traditional rogues' gallery, offering modern origins for many of them, while also introducing new foes like Girder, Blacksmith, and a new Reverse-Flash.

The Flash (2016) by Joshua Williamson: This run spans issues 1-88, as well as 750 to 762 of the relaunched volume 1 of the book. I hate the recentering of Barry Allen from 2009 to 2019, but Williamson's run is the most tolerable, and serves as a love letter to the Flash, while also setting the stage for Wally to return as the primary holder of the mantle.

The Flash (2023) by Simon Spurrier: The current run of the Flash, it focuses on Wally as the main Flash and the Flash Family as an ensemble. The extended first arc features a threat to time itself, and goes into some really surreal and experimental territory for a Flash book.

Impulse (1995) by Mark Waid, et al.: A more lighthearted and comedic companion book to Waid's run on Flash, this book focuses on Bart Allen, Barry's grandson, who was raised in the future and has the attention span of a goldfish, as well as his relationship with the zen guru of speed, Max Mercury.

GREEN LANTERN

The Green Lantern (2018) by Grant Morrison: A police procedural starring Hal Jordan that gets into some pretty freaky territory, with gorgeous interiors by Liam Sharp.

Green Lanterns (2016) by Sam Humphries: A buddy cop type title focusing on the team of Simon Baz and Jessica Cruz. Humphries' run spans the first 32 issues of the book.

Far Sector by N.K. Jemisin and Jamal Campbell: A murder mystery in space which establishes a new Green Lantern, Jo Mullein. Super easy to get ahold of since it was rereleased as part of DC's Compact Comics line of $9.99 trades.

Green Lantern/Green Arrow (1970) by Dennis O'Neil and Neal Adams: This run brought a social conscience to comics as Green Arrow was reinvented as a left-winger and a man of the 60s counterculture, joining Green Lantern on a quest across America. The run spans issues 76 to 89 of the book.

Green Lantern (1990) by Ron Marz. Marz's run starts in issue 48, and sees the Green Lantern paragon Hal Jordan descend into darkness before being replaced as defender of Earth by Kyle Rayner. The run lasts until issue 125, and as Kyle is my favorite Lantern I have a fondness for it.

Green Lantern (2005) 1-67 and (2011) 0-20 by Geoff Johns: Johns brought Hal Jordan back as the main GL, and his run expanded the world of Green Lantern by introducing the emotional spectrum. His run is the basis for most Green Lantern lore going forward, and is pretty essential reading.

Green Lantern: War Journal by Phillip Kennedy Johnson and Montos: A 12-issue series featuring John Stewart as he ventures into space to fight a dark force corrupting life in the galaxy. The new definitive John Stewart run.

TEAMS AND TEAM-UPS

JLA by Grant Morrison, Mark Waid, Joe Kelly, et al.: This was a back-to-basics approach to the Justice League with a core group of characters. Morrison's run on the book is probably the best, but Waid and Kelly also bring in some good stories.

Justice League of America (2007) by Brad Meltzer and Dwayne McDuffie: Another relaunch of the time, this time with a large roster inspired by the classic 1970s era of the League. Some great stories in this run, including a crossover with the Milestone characters.

JSA (1999) by Geoff Johns, Paul Levitz: The first team in comics was relaunched in the 90s by Geoff Johns, who established the Justice Society as a family first, later bringing in the Marvel Family for some great stories fleshing out Black Adam's character.

Justice Society of America (2007) by Geoff Johns: Johns' second run on the JSA is a continuation of the first, with a focus on legacy and new heroes reclaiming the mantles of Golden Age heroes. Introduces the delightful Maxine Hunkel as the wind-powered Cyclone.

New Teen Titans by Marv Wolfman and George Perez: Lightning in a bottle. This book likely saved DC after the disastrous DC Implosion. The best Titans run of all time, quality of art and writing that has never been recaptured with this team. If you loved the cartoon as a kid you will love this book.

Young Justice by Peter David and Todd Nauck: For all intents and purposes, the Teen Titans for the 90s generation. Funny, heartfelt, with great cartoony art by Nauck.

Doom Patrol (1987) by Grant Morrison, Rachel Pollack: A truly, wonderfully weird tale of the most off-beat superheroes of all, with themes of identity, life, and art woven throughout.

The Terrifics by Jeff Lemire, Gene Luen Yang: At a time when Marvel was treating the Fantastic Four like dirt, DC put out their own version, which captures the wonderous adventure of a Silver Age science fiction book with some great character work from a great core cast. A thoroughly underrated title.

Suicide Squad (1987) by John Ostrander: An often darkly-humorous book about a team of second-string supervillains coerced into doing the government's dirty work. The definitive Suicide Squad run.

Villains United (2005), Secret Six (2006), and Secret Six (2008) by Gail Simone: A group of supervillains forced together by circumstance and find themselves working together as mercenaries. A real found family of freaks type of situation.

Legion of Super-Heroes by Paul Levitz and Keith Giffen: This run spans issues 282 to 313 of the 1980 book, and 1 to 63 of the 1984 book. Includes some of the greatest Legion stories, including the Great Darkness Saga.

Birds of Prey (1999) by Gail Simone: This run covers issues 56 to 108, and focuses on female heroes kicking ass, basically Charlie's Angels with superheroes.

Batman/Superman: World's Finest by Mark Waid and Dan Mora: A team-up book between Batman, Superman, and the DC Universe, set earlier in their careers.

Justice League International (1987) by Keith Giffen, J.M. DeMatteis, and Kevin Maguire: As much a workplace comedy as a superhero book, this is a very different take on the Justice League, from the time when "bwa-ha-ha" ruled the DCU.

THE FOURTH WORLD

The Fourth World Epic by Jack Kirby: Read in omnibus or trade format. The first stories of the Fourth World from the King of Comics, Jack Kirby. The story spans Kirby's run on Superman's Pal Jimmy Olsen, The New Gods, The Forever People, and Mister Miracle, and ends in The Hunger Dogs.

Orion (2000) by Walt Simonson: A follow-up to Jack Kirby's epic, this book focuses on Orion, the son of Darkseid, and his quest to vanquish his father once and for all.

Bug! the Adventures of Forager by Lee Allred and Mike Allred: With Mike Allred's striking artwork, this book serves as a love letter to Kirby's time at DC Comics.

Mister Miracle (2017) by Tom King and Mitch Gerads: A slightly-psychedelic take on the Fourth World, focusing on Scott Free and his family with the backdrop of a bloody war unfolding between New Genesis and Apokolips

New Gods (1989) by Mark Evanier: This was a return to form for the New Gods, who hadn't had a lot of new stories to themselves since Kirby left DC, and it's a great read.

AND THE REST

Green Arrow: The Longbow Hunters (1987) and Green Arrow (1988) issues 1-80, by Mike Grell: Probably the definitive Green Arrow run. Political, edgy, and mature.

Animal Man (1988) by Grant Morrison: A fun and surreal series of adventures featuring one of the DCU's unsung heroes.

Booster Gold (1986) by Dan Jurgens: A Reagan-era story of a money-obsessed celebrity superhero rediscovering the altruistic spirit of a true hero buried deep within him.

Zatanna: Bring Down the House by Mariko Tamaki and Javier Rodriguez: A quest through the realms of magic as a reluctant witch gets caught in the crossfire of a mystical war.

Amethyst, Princess of Gemworld (1983, 1985, and 1987): For fans of magical girls and sword and sorcery, this is a must-read. A girl from Earth discovers she is the princess of a mystical realm and embarks on a quest to save it.

The Question (1987) by Dennis O'Neil: A grounded, philosophical story of a man trying his best to make things better in a city abandoned to corruption and decay.

Monkey Prince by Gene Luen Yang and Bernard Chang: Drawing on Chinese mythology, this book focuses on an unlikely superhero with connections to the monkey king, Sun Wukong.

Blue Beetle (2006) by John Rogers and Keith Giffen: Giffen leaves after issue 10, but Rogers continues until issue 25, and the rest of the volume is pretty decent as well. It establishes Jaime Reyes as the Blue Beetle, and if the cards had been better he could have easily become DC's answer to Spider-Man. Ah, well. It's always nice when he gets a book, and this is probably the best one.

Galaxy: The Prettiest Star by Jadzia Axelrod and Jess Taylor: a YA graphic novel featuring a transgender alien princess. What's not to like?

Hawkworld (1989 and 1990): A science fiction epic of Thanagar, world of the hawks. A great read on its own, but it unfortunately did a lot of damage to the continuity of the Hawkman family of characters.

Hawkgirl (2023) by Jadzia Axelrod and Amancay Nahuelpan: A fun little miniseries focusing on Kendra Saunders moving to Metropolis and having to deal with the trauma and hardship of her past. Guest starring Galaxy from that other book!

Starman (1994) by James Robinson: A grungy, Gen X book about legacy and what we leave behind, with plenty of hooks for the new reader to investigate regarding the Golden Age superheroes.

The Power of Shazam! by Jerry Ordway: The post-Crisis take on Captain Marvel and the Marvel family. A great read, and the last great run for the classic versions of these characters.

Sandman (1989) by Neil Gaiman. Obligatory Neil Gaiman is a piece of shit out of the way, his Sandman book is a beautiful and at times horrifying read, and its importance as a story manages to outweigh my disdain for its creator.

Swamp Thing (1982) by Alan Moore and Steve Bissette: Moore's run begins in issue 19 and ends in issue 64. This is the definitive Swamp Thing run, which set the standard for all to follow. It's a creepy and often touching story which remains some of Moore's best work in the medium.

#comics #long post

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rheanyraaaa · 2 months ago

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Water Lilly (Part 1)

Robb Stark x Frey!Reader (F)

Enemies To lovers

Summary: Y/N Frey (reader) is the youngest daughter of Walder Frey, her mother being just another woman who died in childbirth, here she learns about her union with Robb Stark, King of the North, and she’s more then displeased of the sudden arrangement, but when she looks into his eyes for the first time. Now that’s something.

warnings: alcohol consumption, forced marriage

i fear i don’t know what i’m doing ISNT PROOFREAD also switched out from “You/your “ pronouns and “She/Her”

this was all pre written in my notes w my OC’s name and without “Y/N”/ & or You so i apologise if u do see a random girls name that’s not Y/N or You lmao (unless you’re your actual name) x

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Y/N stirred awake, blotches of orange and pink sunlight spilling into the room through the curtains, she fluttered her eyelids as she made sense of her surrounds as always, this was the cold, stone room she called home. The bed was cold and stiff, much like the Twins, but the warmth of morning softened the chill in the air. She lay there for a moment, blinking up at the heavy wooden beams on the ceiling, and sighed deeply. She missed Dorne. The dusty winds and golden sands, the gardens that spilled over with sweet-scented blooms, and the warm laughter that lingered in the air, all of it was so different from the grim and graying walls of her father’s keep.

She was born in the river lands in the Twins to her mother, Lady Frey, who unfortunately passed away from childbirth, another forgotten face who lost their battle on the battlefield of the bed. As a youngling, Walder Frey sent her of to Dorne, where her mother had been born and brought up. Though, technically her mother was of Myrish descent, who just happened to be one of those descendants of immigrants who crossed the narrow sea for work. That’s how Y/N’s mothers side ended up in Dorne with no actual dorneish blood. Y/N was mixed, which was uncommon in Westeros, since Essosi’s and Westerosi’s did not mix all the well, and it was worse when Y/N’s features took favour to her mother, atleast she didn’t look as boring or unappetising as her sisters (though Roslin has always been beautiful.)

She sat up, wrapping her arms around herself as a handmaid poked her head through the door. “Good morning, my lady,” the maid greeted with a small bow. “Shall I draw your bath?”

Y/N nodded, her thoughts drifting as the maids bustled around, bringing in buckets of steaming water. The scent of lavender and rosemary filled the air, oh that was her favourite scent in the morning. Two maids helped her undress, and she sank into the tub, sighing as the warm water soothed her.

As one of the maids gently poured water over her shoulders, Irene spoke, almost to herself. “I was happier in Dorne,” she murmured, trailing her fingers through the water. “I want to go back there someday. To see my family again, to be… me again.” She looked down, smiling wistfully. “I was freer there, you know?”

One of the older maids, Meg, nodded with a sympathetic smile as she rinsed your hair. “Aye, my lady. They say Dorne has a way of bringing out the heart in people. But your father has his reasons for wanting you here.”

“He always has his reasons,” You said softly, her voice edged with resignation. She leaned back, letting the maids scrub the last traces of sleep from her limbs.

“You’re still Frey dearie. You’d never stay in Dorne for too long, though it’s built you, made you smarter.” Meg cheerily said, scrubbing and Y/N’s hair, throwing whatever ointments. Y/N hummed to this, she’s still Frey, the reason why she lingered in Dorne until her thirteenth was quite the random decision.

The other handmaiden, Nora, much younger and atleast 17 said to Y/N, “My lady, there’s talks about Lady Stark coming over here, apparently she’s looking for a bride for her son.” She spoke excitedly, washing at your arms.

“Stark? Northerner? he must be a rugged beast with no sense at all, must be another one of those brutes they breed up there.” You replied quickly, to think that a Stark would want to marry a Frey was also unbelievable, who would want to marry a big wolf?

“Your father’s picking between your sisters, then they have to be confirmed by my Lady Catelyn.” Meg continued, as you let them condition your hair and add some extra oils and essences to your bath time.

You nodded, not that you cared… well you thought it was interesting for one of them to ask for a hand in marriage, “What’s the reason for the marriage?” You asked, looking down in the soapy water.

“The crossing or something like that, they need it for the war.” Meg rattled on, scrubbing the last parts of you before preparing a towel for you.

“Of course.” You muttered, still sleepy from the terrible cold, wet night you all suffered from. “What’s the boy’s name?” You asked, less then cheery.

“Robb Stark? something like that. He’s know as the Young wolf, rides a wolf into battle, turns into one in the night. I think it’s a load of rubbish, but I do hear he’s handsome.” Nora spoke, rattling on about this Robb Stark and what good features he has and how much he resembles his Tully mother.

“Perhaps you have a chance though my lady.” Meg said calmly. As she was drying you off and wrapping yourself in a thick robe. “Lady Y/N,” she began, helping with the braid of her damp hair. “Your father could choose you, this rugged beast of a man could be your escape.”

“And leave you all behind? I doubt it.” You rolled your eyes at their failure at convincing you.

“It’s merely a suggesting. Do take it lightly.” Meg replied, trying to please you.

Y/N allowed the maids to dry her off, the steam from the bath still clinging to her skin, making the chill of the Twins feel sharper. She was dressed in a simple gown of dusky blue wool, plain but fitted, with embroidered vines of silver along the cuffs and neckline. Her hair had been braided into a crown, a few tendrils curling loose around her face, softening her expression as she wrapped herself in a fur cloak. She was ready to brave the drafts that snuck through the old stone walls.

As she made her way through the winding halls, Nora fell into step beside her. They walked slowly, their footsteps echoing off the stone, and Y/N’s voice was almost a whisper as they resumed their conversation.

“So, Lady Stark is truly searching for a wife for her son?” Y/N asked, her voice threaded with curiosity and a hint of skepticism. “Does she think it so simple to find one of us willing to move to the North? Nonetheless with this war, any one of us be part of it?”

Nora gave a soft laugh. “It seems your father thinks it’s simple enough,” she replied, glancing at Y/N. “But yes, word has it she wants a match to strengthen the ties between the North and the Riverlands. They say Robb Stark needs someone who’ll bring loyalty and strength to his cause, but also it’s an agreement for the crossing that will help him win the war”

“Loyalty and strength,” You mused, a smirk playing at your lips. “I wonder if Lady Stark knows much of the Freys.”

Nora chuckled at that, shaking her head. “Perhaps she only hears what she wishes. But you might surprise her, my lady. You’ve a spirit that could suit the North well. They say it takes a certain fire to keep warm in those freezing castles.”

You paused by an arched window, looking out over the river winding far below. The day was clear, and the wind swept in with a sharp bite, carrying the faint scent of damp earth and cold water. You wrapped your cloak tighter around yourself. “I wonder if he’s anything like her, Robb Stark,” You murmured, almost to yourself. “I’ve heard Lady Stark is as proud and steadfast as the North itself.”

Perhaps,” Nora replied, leaning against the wall beside you. “But I’ve also heard he has some of his father in him. An honorable man, loyal to a fault, like Eddard Stark. A woman could do worse.”

“Could she?” You asked, turning away from the view with a sigh. “The North is distant, Nora. Cold. Unyielding. I’ve only known heat and light, gardens that stretch as far as you can see. Here, it’s all stone, and there, well, it’s ice, isn’t it?”

Nora gave you a sympathetic look, but before she could reply, a loud, impatient voice interrupted them.

“Y/N!”

They turned to see your half-brother, Merrett Frey, striding toward them, his expression bored and slightly sour. Merrett was a portly man with thin hair and a perpetually furrowed brow, looking as though everything he saw annoyed him.

“Y/N” he repeated, glancing from her to Nora, “Father wants to see you. Now.”

Your lips pressed into a thin line, though you masked your annoyance quickly. “Did he say why?”

Merrett shrugged, clearly uninterested in details. “Something about a match. Said he wants you in the hall at once.”

Y/N exchanged a glance with Nora, a mix of dread and resignation in her eyes. “So it begins,” she muttered under her breath before she straightened, squaring her shoulders.

“Very well, Merrett,” she replied coolly, giving a final look out the window, as though Dorne lay somewhere beyond, waiting for her. “Lead the way.”

And with that, she followed her brother down the winding corridors, a feeling like ice settling over her heart.

The great hall of the Twins was dark and drafty as Irene entered, her cloak trailing behind her like a shadow. Walder Frey sat at the high table, hunched over with age, his piercing eyes watching her approach. He gave her a thin, sly smile, a glint of satisfaction in his gaze that made her stomach twist. Around him, a few of her siblings and half-siblings lingered, pretending to be occupied with anything other than her arrival.

She stopped before him, lifting her chin defiantly.

“Y/N,” he began without ceremony, his voice as thin and cutting as the river wind. “I’ve struck a deal with Catelyn Stark, and I’ll hear no argument. You’ll be marrying Robb Stark, the Young Wolf, and doing your duty as a Frey. Our alliance with the Starks strengthens us. You should be proud.” He then took a chug out of his red wine.

You felt your throat tighten, her voice sticking as she forced herself to speak. “Father, surely… surely there’s someone else more suited to this—“

Walder’s eyes narrowed. “You’ll be good because I say so. We’ve not been offered a match like this, not in a long time. A wolf from Winterfell, boy or not, could make you a queen if you play it right. But you’re to do as I command,” he said, his tone turning as cold as steel.

You opened your mouth to protest further, but his stare silenced you. Your voice faded, her gaze lowering. You realized then, painfully, that you had no choice.

“Yes, Father,” she murmured, her voice resigned. “As you wish.”

He grunted, satisfied. “Good girl. Go on, then. I expect you’ll be a dutiful wife.”

Days later, Y/N stood in her chamber at the Twins, a quiet stillness surrounding her as she prepared for the wedding. She thought back to Lady Catelyn’s gaze when they first met sharp and cool. Catelyn had looked her over with an assessing eye, her expression revealing nothing as she took in Y/N’s every detail, from her posture to her expression. Y/N could practically feel the weight of Catelyn’s silent judgment, her assessment of whether Y/N would be fit to stand beside her son in both marriage and war. After what seemed an eternity, Lady Stark had finally given a curt nod, deeming her acceptable.

You slipped into your wedding gown, a simple yet beautiful piece the seamstresses had hurriedly prepared. It was made of silken ivory, with long, elegant sleeves that flowed to your wrists, and a fitted bodice embroidered with delicate silver leaves. The gown was free of unnecessary adornment, simple yet striking, with a modest neckline and a trailing skirt that whispered over the stone floor behind you.

Your hair, braided the southern way, with a shimmering veil falling infront of your face and behind you, covering up the meek expression you held.

“You’re shining.” Nora spoke sadly, knowing this was probably the last time they’d see eachother. Her voice soft and filled with acceptance.

Meg, the older maid who had helped raise you, stepped forward as well, her eyes misty with emotion. “Be strong, my dear. You’re braver than you think.” She reached out and gave your hands a squeeze.

“Il miss you both,” A knot in your stomach tightened, this was really it. You bid your goodbyes before making your way down the hall outside, your father taking your arm with that wretched grin he always had on, the doors opening, the Stark flag hoisted alongside your own one, you didn’t dare look up from your feet, the chill air hitting you immediately as you were clutching at your fathers arms before he let you go and you had met with what looks to be Robb Stark.

You couldn’t really see him well with the veil and you’re sure he couldn’t see your face at all. A moment later after the septa spoke, he removed the veil over your face, and his eyes.. something in it softened, they were pools of dark blue, and you swear you felt your heart thump a little faster. He was rugged yet handsome, with the wolf emblem on him, you saw him quickly look at someone else, rather this other young lady before looking back at you, that lady having a rather solemn look on her face. You knew straight away that was his lover, and this would be even more complex then you had anticipated. You said your vows and shared a kiss, your lips much softer against his chapped ones, but perhaps you felt that warmth again. Maybe this could work, or maybe you were doomed to fail.

——————————————————————————

tags!!! (Tell me if you want to be tagged in pt2)

@samieree @maysileeewrites

#asoiaf #robb stark #robb stark imagines #robb stark x reader #robb stark x y/n #robb stark x frey reader

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mossymandibles · 6 months ago

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Vveashuls, one of the ✨sophont✨ species I made for Mors Astra.

These will be some residents for Marrowtide or the Shades that live alongside the Myce.

They actually immigrated towards the northern hemispheres from Zenith a long time ago during the construction of Piranesi’s Fever, which they helped build with the Humans and the Myce.

A little more about them under the cut

They’re said to be descendants of a race of dwarf Furies, an old world species that was considered to be lesser than simply because their wings were made of ‘living flesh’ instead of feathers. The other Furies would keep them under their thumb with indentured servitude, pretending there was a mutual exchange where the Vveashuls would recieve their protection; After all, the southern hemispheres of Mors Astra were legendary for bigger and more fearsome beings and beasts. The Vveashul felt they were bound to be at the bottom of the food chain if not for their relationship to the Furies that ruled Zenith.

The protection of the Furies came with a heavy cost though, heavy enough to finally drive the Vveashul to brave crossing the seas and travel along the edge of Hellmouth in order to find this so-called resting place of Yvishnir, where the Furies wouldn’t dare fly to.

#spec bio #hallowed carrion #vveashul #I was trying to come up with all these clever names for them #vveashul is just fun to say #reference thing for Myce will be next hopefully

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 9 months ago

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1968 [Chapter 3: Hermes, God Of Thieves]

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

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

Word Count: 4.5k

Tagging: @arcielee @huramuna @glasscandlegrenades @gemmagirlss1 @humanpurposes @mariahossain @marvelescvpe @darkenchantress @aemondssapphirebussy @haslysl @bearwithegg @beautifulsweetschaos @travelingmypassion @althea-tavalas @chucklefak @serving-targaryen-realness @chaoticallywriting @moonfllowerr @rafeism @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @herfantasyworldd @mangosmootji @sunnysideaeggs

💜 All of my writing can be found HERE! 💜

They say it’s the most dangerous job in Vietnam. That’s why I wanted to do it.

Chinooks transport men and equipment, Cobras are gunships, Jolly Green Giants are used in search-and-rescue missions. But the Loach—Light Observation Helicopter—is a scout. We have to fly low enough to spot fresh footprints in mud, glints of sunlit metal, blooms of firelight from smoldering cigarettes in the primordial maze of the jungle. And when you go looking for the enemy, sometimes that’s exactly who you find. U.S. Army regulations decree that each Loach must be inspected after 300 hours of flight time, but they rarely make it that long. I’ve been shot down twice already. You roll out of the wreckage, grab your buddies, and book it out of the area before the Vietcong kill you, or worse: drag you back to the Hanoi Hilton so you can die slow.

Currently we’re just north of Pleiku, coasting close enough to the treetops that I could reach out and touch them. I’m in the back seat with my M16, no door between me and the outside world, my hair tied back with a green bandana, the wind hot and sticky. It’s so fucking humid here. Why can’t the communists be trying to take over Malta or Sweden or Monterey Bay, California?

It was the old men who suggested I might be of greatest service to the family by enlisting. I was 25, newly graduated from Columbia Law—a family tradition—and dreading the desk job that awaited me at the Department of Justice. Some people are born to type their lives away in some leather-upholstered office with a view of Pennsylvania Avenue, but not me, and I know this like I know the sun or the stars, ancient truths that can never be changed. And so when Otto and Viserys sat me down—my father had only had one stroke by that point, and was still relatively involved in the day-to-day minutia of putting a Targaryen in the White House—and said Aemond having a brother in Vietnam would make him more relatable, more sympathetic, more noble, not an observer to the carnage of the war but a fellow victim of it…I told them I’d go.

Everyone needs a project. If you don’t have something to distract you from the futility of human existence, it’ll break you in half. I have the Loach. Otto and Viserys, both immigrants ineligible to serve as president of the United States, have their shared ambition of getting their bloodlines in the Oval Office. Aemond has his legacy. My mother has her children, and Criston has my mother. Helaena has her gardens, her bugs, quiet gentle things that she tends with her own thorn-pricked hands. Aegon doesn’t have a project, he never really has, and it’s driven him to the cliff’s edge of insanity. See what I mean?

Anyway, let me tell you something about Vietnam. The Army gives us all the steak, beer, and cigarettes we can handle, but I’d kill for a lemon-lime Mr. Misty—

“Daeron, get down!” the guy to my left screams over the noise of the rotors. His name is Richie Swindell, and he’s from Omaha, Nebraska, and now he’s plummeting out of the helicopter as bullets riddle his chest. I duck low and cover my head as we spiral sideways into the trees, snapping branches, shredding leaves like confetti. I can hear the pilot yelling something, but I can’t tell what. When we hit the earth, the lightweight aluminum skin of the Loach does exactly what it’s supposed to, crumpling to absorb the shock of the collision and reduce trauma to us mortals inside. I scramble out of the rubble on my hands and knees and go to check on the pilot, but it’s too late. He’s already being hauled out by the Vietcong and gets a bullet to the brain. I reach back into the ruins of the Loach to grab my M16, but there are hands around my ankles yanking me out. And now I’m next, and there’s nowhere left to run, and I’m hoping Criston will be there to hold my mother when she gets the Western Union telegram.

One of the soldiers shouts and stops the others, shoving them aside to get a better look at me. With the barrel of his AK-47, supplied by either China or the Russians, he prods at the patch displaying my last name: Targaryen. His compatriots don’t seem impressed. Again, he batters my nametag, speaking to them in Vietnamese.

He knows who I am, I realize. He knows Aemond is running for president.

Now there is a hell of a lot of excitement. The men are talking rapidly amongst themselves, marveling at me, poking and examining me. Then two of them grab me by the arms. I look to the soldier who knows English, at least enough of it to read those nine fated letters. He smiles at me, not like a friend. Like a wolf baring its teeth.

He says: “It is okay, Targaryen boy. We just have some questions for you.”

Guess I’ll be checking into the Hanoi Hilton after all.

~~~~~~~~~~

You wake up to Aegon strumming an acoustic guitar and singing Johnny Cash. The guitar must be new. The one he left at Asteria is plain maple wood and covered in stickers; this unfamiliar instrument is a vivid, Caribbean blue and has Gibson written across the headstock.

“I hear the train a-comin’, it’s rolling ‘round the bend

And I ain’t seen the sunshine since I don’t know when

I’m stuck in Folsom Prison, and time keeps draggin’ on…”

“Let me die. I’m ready to go.”

Aegon laughs, setting his new guitar aside.

“Is Ari okay?”

“Yeah, he’s doing great. And I got the stuff you asked for.”

Sure enough, there are three roomy sundresses hanging from the coatrack—you wanted to have options in case you had trouble finding one that fit correctly, though you gave Aegon a general neighborhood for sizes—as well as an array of cosmetics on the nightstand, including a bottle of shimmering champagne-colored nail polish. “I’m really impressed. You barely forgot anything. Though I will look odd with blush but no foundation.”

“Ohhhhh. Fuck.”

“And this isn’t human shampoo. It’s for dogs. That’s why it has a mastiff on the label.”

“I thought it looked like you,” Aegon says, smirking mischievously.

“Well, thanks for trying.”

“And I found this at the gift shop.” He tosses a card at you like a frisbee. You open the envelope to see a cartoon cow on the front, black and white and wearing a huge copper bell and a party hat. Inside is printed: May your graduation be legenDAIRY! Aegon has crossed it out and written instead I thought this was blank…congrats on the new calf! followed by his illegible scribble of a signature.

“A cow,” you say, smiling despite yourself. “Because I’m Io.”

“You’ve got about a million of those pouring in from all over the country. Congratulations cards, get well soon cards, we really hope your husband gets elected so we aren’t consumed by nuclear Armageddon cards. And then Richard Nixon sent a pipe bomb.”

You set Aegon’s card on your nightstand, half-open so it will stay standing upright. Then you drink the apple juice from the tray the nurses left for you. “Aemond’s not here yet?”

“Uh, no, not yet,” Aegon says vaguely, kicking his feet up on the ottoman. He’s been shopping for himself too. He’s wearing a denim jacket over a black The Kinks t-shirt, ripped jeans, moccasins. He uses the remote to turn on the television: The Dating Game. “So, what did you study in college? You went to Manhattanville, right?”

You chuckle, shaking your head. “You really don’t listen when I talk, do you?”

“I try not to.”

“Yes, I went to Manhattanville. And I studied math.”

“No way. You didn’t major in math.”

“Women can’t do math?” you tease. “That’s sexist.”

“I didn’t say women can’t do math. I’m saying there’s no way your parents sent you to a housewife factory like Manhattanville College of the Sacred Heart to get a math degree.”

“They didn’t, which is why my bachelor’s is in math education. So half-math, half-kid stuff. Makes it a little more…domestic.”

“Cool. Teach me math.”

“What, really?”

“Yeah. Really.” He digs around in the pockets of his jeans until he finds a receipt, then locates a pen in the nightstand drawer. He hands both to you and then stands so he can watch over your shoulder as you work. You can smell him: cigarette smoke, rum, the cool grey rain that is falling outside. It drips off his hair, carelessly slicked back from his face.

“What’s something you don’t know how to do?” you ask, expecting to get an answer like exponents or calculating the volume of a pyramid.

“Uh. Long division.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Going all the way back to 4th grade. Alright then.” You begin writing. “So let’s take a large number—this year, 1968—and divide it by…hm…how many kids you have. So five.”

Aegon whistles. “Five kids. Goddamn.”

“Yes, and you probably couldn’t name them, but there are indeed five. Trust me, I’ve counted.”

“Okay, this is the part I don’t get. Five goes into 19 almost four times. But there’s no way to say almost four.”

“There certainly is not. Five goes into 19 three times, so we put a three up top and then subtract 15 from 19. We get four, drop down the six from 1968, and now we’re dividing 46 by five.”

“Nine.”

“Right. Five times nine is 45. So the nine goes up top and we subtract 45 from 46.”

“45 is basically 46. Let’s call it a day. Close enough.”

“No,” you insist. “We get one, then drop down the eight from 1968, which makes 18.”

“And five goes into 18 three times.”

“Where’s the three go?”

“Up top,” Aegon says, observing fixedly.

“And then we subtract…”

“15 from 18, which is three. So the answer is 393.3.”

“Wrong. Loser.”

“What! How am I wrong?!”

“You don’t just put the three after the decimal,” you say. “You drop down a zero—”

“A zero?! Where the fuck did a zero come from?”

“From the fact that 1968 is a whole number, so it’s actually 1968.0.”

“Oh.” Aegon blinks a few times. “Gotcha.”

“Add the zero after the three to get 30—”

“And 30 divided by five is six. So the answer is 393.6.”

“I am so proud. You are officially as smart as an average nine-year-old.”

He takes the receipt from you and studies it. “This was super enlightening.”

“You want to try calculus now?”

He cackles and sinks back into his plush salmon pink armchair, his miniature dominion in your hospital room kingdom. “You like teaching?”

“I love it,” you admit. “I had to do a semester of student teaching the spring before I graduated, and at first I was kind of petrified. But the kids are so hilarious and interesting and full of excitement about everything, and they’re sweet in totally unexpected ways. They’d chatter all through a lesson and make me want to jump out a five-story window, and then bring me some of their Easter candy. That’s when I realized they weren’t trying to torture me. They’re just kids.”

Aegon is meditative. “Yeah, kids are fun.”

“I wasn’t aware you had much interest in them.”

“No, I do.” And something about the way he says it makes you feel bad for taking the shot. He runs his fingers through his hair, perhaps debating how much he wants to share. “You know Viserys made us all do these little missions after college so we could learn about the real world, right?”

“Right.” Daeron spent his on lobster boats up in Maine, Helaena learned horticulture in France, Aemond helped register voters in Mississippi and Alabama. You can’t recall ever hearing about Aegon’s.

“I got sent to Yuma, Arizona to teach on the reservation there. When I stepped off the bus, I thought it was hell on earth. And then when my time was up I didn’t want to leave.”

“What did you teach?” And then you add: “Hopefully not math.”

“No, definitely not math,” he says, smiling but distant, remembering. “English. Books, poems, all that. But my favorite thing to do was take a song and break it down line by line, really get them curious about what the author was thinking. And then of course we’d all sing it together. I’d play guitar, they’d run around jumping on the furniture, it was a good time.”

“But you couldn’t stay.”

“No,” he sighs. “I had to come back here so I could get dragged kicking and screaming through law school and then married off.”

“And elected mayor of Trenton,” you say, trying to make him laugh. It works.

“Oh God, we are not talking about that. Most miserable two years of my life.”

“So far.”

“Yeah. If Aemond wins and makes me the attorney general, that might be worse.”

“Knock knock!” comes a cheerful trill from the doorway, and then Alicent and Mimi rush in. They descend upon your hospital bed, cooing and soothing, squeezing your hands and trying to smooth your untamed hair.

“What did it feel like?” Mimi is morbidly fascinated, swaying a little, eyes bleary with gin. “When they were digging around in there?”

“Well, obviously she was sedated, hon,” Aegon says, a bit impatiently. He and Mimi share a nod in greeting, no warmth, no depth. You wonder what it must be like for someone you spent so much time tangled up with to become a stranger.

“Oh, darling, I barely recognize you!” Alicent says. “You poor thing, you must be in such awful pain. I’ve never seen you like this before. Your face, your hair…”

Aegon gives her a quick, disapproving look and then lights a cigarette of the traditional variety. He puffs on it as he gazes at the window, like he’s counting the raindrops on the glass.

“I’m feeling a lot better now,” you assure Alicent.

Her eyes flick down to your belly, still swollen beneath your blankets. “Will it scar terribly, do you think?”

You shrug; you haven’t thought much about that part yet. “It’s a battle scar. Aemond gets them in the real world, I get them in here. Same war, different arenas.” You peek out into the hallway. “Is Aemond…is he with you…?”

“He wanted to be,” Alicent says, like it’s a consolation. “But, Washington, you know…the primary there is so close. So, so close. He kept saying that he and Humphrey were neck and neck, and they still are, I believe. Every vote counts, and he’s campaigning all over the Puget Sound.”

“He’s still in Washington?” Your voice is flat with disbelief, with disapproval.

“He wishes he could be here with you and the baby,” Alicent insists, stroking your hair. “I’m sure he’ll fly back as soon as he’s able. But he’s thinking of you so, so much. That’s why he let me and Mimi leave this morning.”

“Right,” you reply numbly. And then you remember what you’re supposed to say. “The election is important. It affects everyone, our son included. For the greater good, personal sacrifices are necessary.”

“We saw him,” Alicent tells you, radiant with joy. “Aristos Apollo.”

“So precious,” Mimi says. “But so small! And trapped in that hideous machine! We could only see him through those little round windows.”

Aegon casts her a violent glare. You are alarmed. “He’s not in an incubator?”

“They have him in a…what was it called, Mimi?” Alicent asks. Mimi has nothing useful to contribute. “A hyperbaric chamber, I think. To help him get more oxygen.”

“But he’s fine,” Aegon says firmly, giving his wife and mother a warning. “Didn’t the doctor say it was a precaution?”

“He did, he did,” Alicent promises you. “Yes, just a precaution, that’s what we were told. The doctor has been trying to reach Aemond, apparently, but since he landed in Washington, he’s never in one place for long…”

“We should buy gifts for the baby,” Mimi says excitedly. “Adorable hats and shirts and trousers. Although even the tiniest clothes might be too big for him right now.”

“Yes, gifts! We must shop for gifts. Oh, it’s all been such a whirlwind. We hurried off the plane to come straight here, love,” Alicent tells you. “Can Mimi and I get you something for dinner?”

“Sure, sure.” You are distracted, still thinking of Ari. “Anything is fine. Wherever you end up.”

“Would you like me to bring a priest to pray with you? Saint Nicholas Church is right around the corner.”

You smile. “That’s very kind, but I think I’d prefer some books.”

“Baby clothes, dinner, and books. We can do that. Can’t we, Mimi?”

“We absolutely can,” Mimi agrees with tipsy, girlish enthusiasm.

As an afterthought, Alicent says: “Aegon, have you been here all this time? You must be exhausted. We’re going to book a suite at the Plaza, there will be plenty of room for you too. We can drop you off there on our way to go shopping, if you’d like.”

“I’ll stay,” he says softly, watching the rain again.

Alicent’s brow furrows; her dark doe-like eyes are puzzled. “Alright, dear.” Then she and Mimi disappear into the hall.

“Is he really okay?” you ask Aegon when they’re gone.

“Yes. That’s exactly what the doctor told me, just a precaution. I wouldn’t lie to you.”

“Aegon,” you say, and don’t continue until he meets your eyes. “Why are you still here?”

He lights a fresh cigarette. “I don’t think you should be alone.”

“I’m not alone anymore. Alicent visits me, Mimi visits me.”

“Yeah, but you feel like you have to put on a show for them. Play the perfect Targaryen wife with all that stoic, dignified, unshakable faith. You hate me, so there isn’t as much pressure.”

“I don’t hate you, Aegon.”

“Yes you do. You always have. You don’t have to be polite about it.”

“Well…I have valid reasons to hate you.”

He smiles, exhaling smoke. “Right.”

“And you hate me too.”

Now he shrugs, avoiding your gaze. “Everybody worships you, everybody thinks I’m a waste of chromosomes, is it really that hard to psychoanalyze?”

“No one worships me. They worship Aemond.”

“But you’re a package deal. Jack and Jackie, Franklin and Eleanor.”

You trace the lines in your palm with a fingertip, not knowing what to say. You’re so close to Aemond, so inseparable, and yet so vastly far. “Will you wheel me downstairs to see Ari after dinner?” It’s best to go at night when there are less staff around to try to stop you.

“Sure. You want a Mr. Misty?”

“Yeah. Lemon-lime.” That’s what he brought you last time, and it wasn’t bad for a cardboard cup of florescent green sugar water.

“Got it,” Aegon says, and leaves you alone.

You look at the phone on your nightstand. You’ve tried to call Aemond to no avail, though you spoke to Criston twice; on both occasions he said Aemond was in the middle of an interview. It’s understandable that you would have difficulty getting ahold of your husband while he’s off campaigning, leaping from town to town like an electric current. There’s nothing unusual about it at all. But Aemond could call you anytime he likes. You haven’t moved; he knows exactly where you are.

You keep staring at the phone. It doesn’t ring.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s night again, and you swim up from morphine-soft dreams into your hospital room, dark except for the flashing color of the television, low volume, NBC news. Aegon is curled up in the chair he’s claimed, snoring and half-covered with a cheap, pale blue hospital blanket. And it’s a strange feeling—a foreign language, a new religion—to realize that you’re relieved to see he’s still here, that there’s a comfort in it, a safety.

Suddenly, Aemond is on the television screen. You sit up in bed as gingerly as you can, leaning in, listening close. He’s rarely looked better: blue suit, prosthetic eye, rested and measured and sharp. He’s giving a speech at the Hotel Sorrento in Seattle, three hours behind the time you’re living in on the East Coast. Flanking him on the stage are Criston, Otto, Helaena, Fosco, the eight charming children. Five-year-old Cosmo keeps waving at the camera.

“Right now, my wife and newborn son are at Mount Sinai Hospital in New York City,” Aemond says, beaming, and the audience whistles and cheers. You should smile, but you can’t. He’s not supposed to be there. He’s supposed to be on his way home. “But tonight I’m here with all of you, fighting with everything I’m made of to win the great state of Washington. And I won’t leave until the job is done, because I know the greatest act of devotion that any of us can show our children is to ensure they grow up in a better America than the one we find ourselves in today…”

You look over at Aegon and see that his glassy eyes are open, watching the television just like you are. You don’t know how long he’s been awake. The two of you exchange a glance, and there is a silent, shared recognition of what won’t be said. You can’t criticize your husband. Aegon isn’t going to kick you while you’re down. You are grateful for this. It is a conviction he has only recently acquired.

Aegon pulls his blanket up to his chin and rolls over, turning away from you. You close your eyes and dream of being a child back in Tarpon Springs, mesmerized as you watch Greek sponge divers emerge from the bubbling depths in their suits of rubber armor.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s the afternoon of the 13th. The Washington State Democratic Convention is being held tonight, and so win or lose Aemond will be walking into Mount Sinai Hospital tomorrow. He has to, he doesn’t have a choice. He’ll have no excuse to be anywhere else, and journalists will be swarming at the entranceway like bull sharks in the Gulf of Mexico.

It’s raining again. You’re reading one of the books that Alicent brought you, Dr. Spock’s Baby and Child Care. You had been meaning to get a copy before you were consumed by Aemond’s campaign and then his near-assassination, his maiming, his fleeting brush with oblivion. Aegon is cross-legged in the salmon pink armchair and plucking lazily at his guitar, singing so low no one outside the room would be able to hear him. It’s a Rolling Stones song, slow and mournful.

“You don’t know what’s going on

You’ve been away for far too long

You can’t come back and think you are still mine.”

As you flip a page and raindrops patter gently against the window, you find yourself thinking how easy this is, your hair undone and your feet bare, no photos to take or lines to remember, no practiced smiles, no overwrought itineraries, only compassion that is quiet and small and real.

“Well, baby, baby, baby, you’re out of time

I said, baby, baby, baby, you’re out of time…”

Aegon abruptly stops playing, cutting off with a twang. You look up at him. He’s gazing back with eyes that are filling up his face, glistening with horror. You turn to find out what he’s seen. There’s a doctor standing in the doorway, but he’s not alone. There’s a Greek Orthodox priest with him.

“Mrs. Targaryen,” the doctor begins, then glances to the priest. The holy man—black robes, gold chains, clasping a komboskini like the one Aemond keeps in a box on his writing desk at Asteria, stained with his own blood—gives an encouraging nod. “We’ve tried to reach your husband. We’ve called his hotel in Tacoma several times, but the senator must be out campaigning, and…” Again, he looks to the priest. Aegon is setting his guitar on the floor, covering his mouth with his hands.

Ari. Too early, too fragile, too defenseless in a world full of wolves.

Your words come out in a whisper. “He’s gone, isn’t he?”

“We must remember, child,” the priest tells you, vague patronizing pity. “That the Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away, but what is lost to us in this life is never truly gone. Those we love wait for us on the other side in paradise—”

“Please leave. I don’t want to talk to a priest. I don’t want to talk to anyone.”

I just gave birth to him. I just started to believe he was mine.

The doctor begins: “Ma’am, I’m so sorry to have to deliver this news—”

“I don’t want to talk to anyone, I want to be alone. So please leave,” you beg, your voice breaking. “I want to be alone. Please leave me alone.”

The doctor looks to Aegon. A man’s permission is sought. “Go,” Aegon manages, raspy and strangled, and the doctor obeys.

“God bless you and your husband, Mrs. Targaryen,” the priest says as he departs with a swift bow. You can’t reply. You’re biting back sobs as the tears begin to slither down your cheeks, scalding and furious, not just grief but the bottomless rage of Nemesis.

Aegon is watching you, not knowing what to do, not knowing what you need.

Aemond would want you to be stoic. Aemond would want you to have faith, forbearance, grace. “It is God’s will.”

“Hey.” Aegon reaches across the space between you, grabs your hand, holds it so tightly your bones ache. Still, you wouldn’t want him to let go. “You’re allowed to be fucked up about this. I am too.”

When your eyes drift to him, they are glaring and heartsick and poisonous. “Where’s Aemond?” Why isn’t he here?

Aegon sighs deeply and picks up the phone with his free hand. He spins the rotary dial with his index finger and then holds the handset to his ear. He waits as it rings. “Pantages Theater, Tacoma, Washington,” he tells the operator. A minute or more crawls by. “I need to speak to Senator Targaryen immediately. Yes, I know there’s a convention underway there, that’s why I’m calling you. Go get him.” More minutes, eternal, terrible beyond description. “What do you mean you can’t find him?!” Aegon snaps. “Okay, give me someone else. Anyone travelling with him. Criston Cole, Fosco Viviani, Otto Hightower, Helaena Targaryen. Hurry up. Let’s go.”

Outside the rain grows heavy and loud; it falls in sheets against the misty windows. In the distance, thunder growls.

“Hi, Criston, it’s me. He needs to come home now. Right now.”

Aegon closes his eyes. Criston must be arguing with him.

“No, you don’t understand,” Aegon says, forcing the words to leave his lips and ride the wires to the West Coast, to where the sun sets, to where the future is dawning. He’s still holding your hand. “Aemond doesn’t have a son anymore.”

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