#rip George you would have loved the office

[plagued-corpse]

Day 2 of drawing a random jojo character every week

This weeks character was Geogre Joestar I!

I am unhappy with how his hand turned out but other wise I'd say it's pretty good.

[evidenceof]

i have just said something ridiculous to you

Joe Toye has a nice face, George thinks. Strong nose, strong brows, and a scowl that George realized he liked to earn. Miles deep into 2nd Battalion's march to Atlanta, George Luz hears an Irish song from across their frozen campground.

happiest holidays, @blood-mocha-latte, my hbo war 2025 secret santa baby!! ♡ crossing my fingers and hoping i did their voices/headspaces justice. this present is brought to you by equal parts mary oliver's 'i have just said,' that you love, and toye's atlanta march predicament™. i very humbly give to you my very first luztoye fic.

I have just said something ridiculous to you and in response, your glorious laughter. - 'I Have Just Said' by Mary Oliver

-----------------------------------

December 1, 1942 | 2330 hours Campgrounds, 38 miles from Fort Benning

The butter tastes like nothing on his frozen tongue. George winces at the thin oily film it leaves behind in his mouth after he swallows. Too fucking cold, everything was too fucking cold. A ragged chuckle saws its way through his throat while he watches Perco fight a losing battle against his hard slice of bread. Eventually, he rips it in half, elbow colliding with the tent wall and almost costing them their flimsy shelter. A hundred and fifteen miles and they had to survive off of stale bread and pats of butter.

“The way we live you’d think we’re already at the front of the fucking lines.” Perco’s voice was muffled under a thick scarf. “I don’t know what’s worse. This or shit on a shingle.”

“Come on, we got it made.” George lights a cigarette, and flicks off his lighter in an attempt to sweep away any talk of war. “Sightseeing the backcountry, free food, free clothes. These fuckin’ boots? Babies are the best in General Patton's Third Army, so I’ve heard.” His boot lands back on the cold ground with a pathetic thump from where he lifted it. 

“Aw, shut up, Luz.” Perco shoves him backwards, hard, half a slice of bread still in his hand, but with a grin already plastered on his face.

Just barely missing the tent wall, George regains his balance. “All right, all right. Jeez,” he laughs. He presses his hand on Perco’s head to push himself up, earning him a scowl. “Gonna go find a fire before this thing collapses on us.”

The flap of the tent all but snaps in half when he throws it open. Ice crackles down the drab green canvas like peanut brittle. Outside, cold air smacks against George’s face as he takes in the columns of tents around him that stand frosted and gleaming in the moonlight. The temperature had dropped earlier in the afternoon, but tomorrow promised worse terrain because, as far as George was concerned, God had abandoned 2nd Battalion specifically. Why else would they be the only ones walking all the way to fucking Atlanta? There's thirty eight more miles and not nearly enough bad Sobel impressions in George’s back pocket to last them that far.

With a single drag, he polishes off the remainder of his cigarette. Squinting, he spots Lip and Guarnere in the middle of what looks like an attempt at walking without having to bend their knees. Their frosty puffs of breath mirror the smoke he exhales. He sees Lip’s hand raise to greet him at the same time a bad tune cuts across the field, louder than the muffled grousing from inside the pup tents. Only George whips his head towards the direction of the sound.

“Luz, what’re you up to?” Lip’s voice is firm. George doesn’t see, but he hears the smile in it.

“Better not be doin’ anything fuckin’ stupid. I’m goddamn tired of that pansy chicken-shit officer breathing down my neck all fuckin’ day,” spits Guarnere, digging his hands deeper into his pockets. “Sobel, I mean. Winters ain’t no chicken-shit at least.”

George doesn't expect the polite chuckle from Lip who's quick to follow it up with a stern, “Bill.” At that, Guarnere raises an eyebrow like a demanding child, a look that George knows he never let his ma see. “But he’s right, keep your head outta trouble, Luz. Got enough to deal with while Toye’s relegated to K.P,” continues Lip with a grimace.

George tips his head in the direction of the broken Irish song still flitting in the air. “That him?” The scowl on Guarnere’s face is confirmation enough. “What’d he do?”

“Go ask him if you’re so fuckin’ curious,” Guarnere sneers. “Hey, I’m serious Luz. Give Sobel an excuse to take away passes and I’ll shove a trench knife up your ass.”

George knuckles his forehead to mock-salute Guarnere and gives Lip a wink. “I’ll behave for you, Bill,” he sing-songs. It only takes him a second to quash his finished cigarette under his boot before his feet start moving towards the sound almost involuntarily. He finds Toye hunched over a fire, chin resting on his legs that are folded in front of him. Even tucked into himself, there was something intimidating about his angles. It’s those goddamn broad shoulders of his, wide like no one’s business. Certainly not George’s. He doesn’t recognize the words Joe is singing but the tune’s familiar enough. Once or twice, he found himself straining to hear it in the Toccoa showers. It almost feels like a shame to put an end to it. Almost.

“Thought someone was dying. Your bad singing why they’re making you do this?” chides George, nudging Toye with his boot before he takes a seat on the ground. 

Toye clenches his jaw in acknowledgment, any lingering mirth vanishing from his face. “Luz,” says Toye, already exasperated. George watches him jab the weak fire with a stick. The orange glow casts shadows on his irritated face. Nothing quite like pissing off Joe Toye. He has a nice face, George thinks. Strong nose, strong brows, a scowl that George realized he liked to earn. Even with the darkness under his eyes, Toye looks sturdy.

“Aw, c’mon Toye. Not happy to see me?” His teeth chatter and Toye’s lip twitches into the beginnings of a smile. “Lighten up will ya?”

A gust of wind makes them both adjust their scarves. From under his own, Toye shakes his head before glaring at the stick in his hand. George can see him weighing out the pros and cons of throwing it into the pit. “I did. Look where that got me,” says Toye, eventually.

“Hey, least you’re warm right?” George smiles at him while dislodging a clump of dirt from the sole of his boot to throw in Toye’s direction. When it hits the side of his leg, Toye barely flinches. So it was like that, huh? George digs his heel into the hardened ground, dragging himself closer to Joe. “So what’d you do? You can trust me. Who the fuck am I gonna tell?”

Toye continues staring at the flames like they’d done something to offend him. When he doesn’t answer, George inches forward, tracking cold moisture and mud on his trousers. For a moment he’s convinced Toye isn’t paying attention, but George sees how his eye twitches in time with the sound of his ODs scritching against the ground.

“Toye. Toye. Toye. Joe Toye. C’mon, buddy. Tell good ol’ George,” he says, slightly out of breath as he continues to drag himself closer. 

Bright dots of orange float up into the inky blue night when Toye jostles the firewood with his stick. “Not sure you wanna know, Luz,” he says gravely. “What, you need new source material or something? Running out of punchlines?”

“Me? Nah. Been practicing my Strayer,” says George, grinning. He’s not sure if he imagines the little nod from Toye. “When I get that pitch perfect, it'll last us ’til we ship out at least. You’ll fuckin’ see.” There’s caked mud on the ass of his ODs, he feels it. But now Toye was in perfect prodding distance and that made the journey worth it. With his fist, George nudges him once, twice, but he still looks like a goddamn statue staring at the fire, unmoving. “C’mon Toye. What’d you do?”

Nothing prepares him for how quickly Toye swivels his body towards his. He’s so close that George feels his breath on his cheek when Toye says, “You really wanna know? How about you ask me nice, Luz? Throw in a little favor?”

“Like what…?” says George, schooling his face into seriousness. Were Toye’s lashes always this long? George swears he feels the phantom brush of them against his goddamn forehead. He isn’t proud of the way it makes him miss a beat or causes that slight tremble in his voice. Nothing he couldn’t chalk up to the cold, he thinks. And he fucking would, if anyone asks.

“Like take over with these fires for me, you fuckin’ idiot,” growls Toye in his usual low gravelly voice. The white of his teeth catches the corner of George’s eye, then the pink of his lower lip. Damn. It feels almost too late when Toye thwacks the long stick against George’s chest and he nearly falls backwards. “My arm’s falling asleep.”

Clearing his throat to pull himself together is a decision George regrets immediately. It’s raw and cold like the rest of him. But he can deal with the shards of glass lodged into his windpipe better than the fucking knots that just erupted in his stomach. What was with that? He swipes the stick and turns to face the fire so that Joe is just a smudge in his periphery. From a few feet away, he hears Lieb and Alley laughing mercilessly. The thought of them witnessing all that makes his face burn, but he reminds himself everyone’s huddled in their own pup tents.

Toye's voice, resigned now, floats from beside George suddenly. It’s soft from fatigue. “Kid wanted to know what it felt like,” he says but doesn't continue. 

“What what felt like?” George pokes the fire. There’s a hiss and crackle of wood before Toye replies.

“What it’s like to pick up a skirt,” mumbles Toye, sounding embarrassed, forgiving maybe. “Says he gets nervous easy. He’s a buddy of mine from Dog Company, knew him from Pennsylvania, worked the coal mines together. He’s… you know? All stiff-like. Kinda like—”

“Like Winters?” George answers. “The fuck is wrong with you people from Pennsylvania. You born with a complimentary stick up your ass or what?” George wonders if that was too much, but he hears a huff from beside him—a sound that, from his limited knowledge, is the closest thing Toye gets to laughing. There’s a giddiness in his chest that tells him he’s been wanting to hear that for a while.

“Yeah. Yeah, like Lieutenant Winters,” replies Toye, less grave now. George turns to find him smiling down at the ground almost sleepily. It triggers a fresh set of knots right below George’s belly. It makes sense that the guy would ask Toye, George decides. With a face like that, eyes like that, he could bring home just about anyone he wanted. “Tells me he gets jittery, that friend of mine. Loses his fucking words. Needs practice. Needs advice,” says Toye. 

“Just need a face like yours.” It tumbles out of George’s mouth automatically. God, he wanted to shove one of the burning logs down his throat. But if Toye heard, he didn’t show it. Recovering, George continues, “What’d you tell him?”

Calm as anything, Toye lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “I didn’t. Gave him a little practical exercise and pushed the guy against a wall,” he says with an even voice. From where he’s turned, the fire illuminates only a portion of his face. Even from a partial view, George could tell he wasn’t joking. Unsurprising; Toye rarely did. “Evans saw.”

“So he served you K.P. duty for jostling a guy? Sounds about right.” George laughs, imagining Evans’ prissy frown. “Your broads usually slam you against walls?”

As an answer, Toye smiles, all teeth, and George stops laughing. 

“It was nothing serious. Wanted to see how well he could come up with one of those lines of his in that position. Said he’s been practicing,” insists Toye. A tiny smirk tugs at the corner of his lip at the sudden shift in George’s face. “I was gentle though, but I think that was the problem. I, uh… I think he liked it.”

There was something about the image George couldn’t quite put together in his mind. He frowns. I think he liked it. 

“You shoulda seen Evans’ face. Kinda looks like yours right now actually, but less red,” Toye grins and George fights the urge to hide his head under his scarf. “Ripped my friend away from me and doled out the punishment. But really, the fucking kicker was him telling me to go see the chaplain. Fucking self-righteous asshole.”

“The chaplain? Since when the fuck do you need to—” Suddenly, it clicks in his mind, and he imagines the scene Evans must have walked into that night. Toye resting a hand against the wall beside the private’s face, the incline of his broad shoulders pointing inward, caging him. Gentle . Those big eyes and lashes too fucking close: Toye looking like the very picture of ease. Only in his head, George erases the face of the nameless PFC from Dog Company and replaces it with his own. Toye’s angles leaning towards him, lips inches away from his face, the feeling of his gravelly voice trailing from the tip of George’s nose all the way down under his shirt. He chokes a bit when he says, disbelieving, “No. Fuck, Toye. Nah, that ain’t right. What the fuck were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t,” says Toye tightly and looks up to glare at him. George can’t quite meet his eyes. “I was lightening up, remember?”

This close to the fire, George’s hands still feel like ice. “You’re insane, Joe. Fucking insane,” he says, trying to shake off the thought of Toye being close, peering up at a guy through his lashes like a dame. Suddenly, George’s trousers feel tight and his head was spinning in all possible directions.

“Didn’t hurt him. Was only trying to help. I was gentle, like I said,” Toye says lightly, voice already edged with sleep and without a trace of guilt. “Want a demonstration, Luz?”

“What, so you can get caught again? You plan on being K.P. until we’re shipped out?” George hears the higher register in his voice, and feels the way his heart rams against his sternum. He can’t look at Toye so he pokes the fire instead. A hot splinter flies onto his hand and he lets it sting, steering his full attention to the tiny patch of burning flesh.

Toye’s voice is thick with the lack of sleep, but more importantly is suddenly right behind George’s ear, brushing against the tiny hairs he didn’t know existed there. “I won’t tell if you don’t. I can keep a secret,” whispers Toye. George almost moans, but catches himself. It comes out a fumbling huff instead. The tightness of his trousers stop him from moving away.

“Well,” George tries to say. His zipper brushes against his skivvies and he almost jumps. If not for the jacket, the tented crotch area of his trousers would be on full display. Christ, he hopes Toye’s sleep-deprived enough to forget all this by the end of the march. “I can’t.” 

Toye laughs, fully now. George feels it on his nape, the hahas hitting his skin like long-burning coals. God, it felt good. 

“I’ll try it on you one day, Luz,” says Toye. George isn’t sure if he imagines Toye’s palm resting on his hip. It's too much and he feels like passing out. All the blood from his brain seems pool to right down into his crotch. It was getting harder to think, let alone respond. 

“You’re funny,” manages George eventually. Toye’s breath smells like Juicy Fruit, sweet.

“Yeah? I like surprising people like that,” says Toye, like a purr. When he moves away, Toye keeps the smile fixed on his face. The missing pressure of his hand leaves a cold mark on George’s side. So that was real. The affirmation only intensifies the heat below his stomach.

“You make a habit of shoving enlisted men against walls?” breathes George. It feels too good to keep this line of conversation going, everything in his body says so. But George couldn’t trust himself or his faculties. He was still thinking of Juicy Fruit in his mouth.

“Among other things.” Toye smirks lazily at him, and tilts his head up at the sky. George tells himself it’s the fatigue and the proximity to smoke that makes every word Toye says sound flirtatious. This fucking march had everyone acting strange, especially him.

“You are insane,” he says again, voice trembling. No way in hell was this guy a fairy. Didn’t fucking look like one anyway, all broad shouldered and angular. Nothing about him swished: not his fucking voice, or his fucking hips. Shit just don’t add up like that. But neither did the tightness in his OD trousers that didn't feel like it would disappear fast enough.

“A compliment coming from you, George.” Toye buries his face in his palms. “Fuck, I’m tired,” he says, the words drawn out of him like an exhale.

George watches his body sway slightly, tipping almost imperceptibly in and out of consciousness. “You sleep at all Joe?” Toye yawns as an answer; it shudders through him. He was just tired and spread thin, George thinks, they all were. And that got you acting different, that got you acting abnormal.

“No. But Evans still has it out for me. He’s lurking somewhere,” Toye says, not looking up from where George thinks he’s already fallen half asleep. The sharp angles of Toye’s shoulders droop, sagging under the weight of a second day without sleep. George lights another cigarette, finally, to keep his hands from doing something really fucking stupid like throwing a blanket over Toye and shoving his head onto his lap. Shit that guy from Dog Company can’t do, he thinks, feeling an odd barb of possessiveness while looking at Toye’s drooping head.

“Hey, I got this, all right?” argues George, gesturing at the growing fire.

“Shut up, Luz. I’m not looking for handouts.” But Toye’s voice dips in volume, belying the stubbornness in it.

“C’mon, Joe. You can’t be the only one handing out favors from the goodness of your heart,” George offers something like understanding. From his palms, Toye glances up at him, questioning. He’d look almost offended if he didn’t look so soft.

“Twenty minutes. Sleep. We got thirty-eight miles left in the morning and you look like shit,” continues George. Toye’s gaze doesn’t move away from him. So he stares back, feeling a little selfish, tracing Toye’s dark lashes and pink lips with his eyes. He wonders if they’ll ever get to sit this close again. “I’m saying if Evans comes around, I’ll charm him for ya.”

“Yeah?” says Toye, still looking at George, a small smile hooked on his lips. The sounds of the camp feel like they’ve all but disappeared. “Yeah. You’re good at that.”

His cigarette burns down to the filter but George continues to suck on it, unable to fish it out with his shaking hands that he’s hidden in his jacket pockets. They’re warm now, so it couldn’t have been the cold causing the trembling. He can still feel Toye’s laugh ricocheting on his neck.

Toye breaks their little staring contest and faces the fire. “Fine, twenty minutes.” 

“Sure buddy.” George watches Toye’s chin droop down onto his chest and his eyes flutter shut, lashes twitching. He’s asleep immediately. When he’s sure Toye was out cold, George fishes out a blanket from his pack and drapes the whole thing across Toye’s shoulders with a gentleness he didn’t know he had. “Take as long as you like.”

[darlingofvalyria]

❝I am not a Valyrian Sex God.❞

part 03 | pucker up, buttercup

chapter summary:

[ The line of friendship dances in uncertain waters when you and Aemond play the fake dating game a little too well. Helaena reveals much more than meets the eye to Aegon, and vice versa. Oh, and Alys. Hi Alys! ]

[ 5,399 ] [ series masterlist ] | best friend's brother!aemond targaryen x f!reader, ft. cregan stark x f!reader & aemond targaryen x alys rivers,

contains— mostly fluff, a wee bit angsty, a little smutty - profanity, i swear a lot sorry too shhshs - no use of y/n - no gods, no kings, no betas.

a/n— thank you so much for the love this little fic is getting so far!! it truly warms my heart that you people enjoy my twisty, crackpot humour and my version of a modern au for these characters!! as much as i am grateful for george for making these characters and these stories, i have to say what propelled me to write is the beautiful community i found. truly, from the bottom of my heart. ❥ fandom is built on community. i would not have had the courage to start writing fanfiction again if not for ya'll. so thank you so much. for the consumers and the creators. you, us, are the beating heart of fandom. please take care of each other. + comment, reblog & like at will, mwa ♡

"Please tell me I haven't inhaled so much drugs in my system that I am hallucinating our— and I say this with a lot love, okay you know what? No. Our Nasty Little Bitch of A Grudge Holder we call, lovingly, a brother, is not dating the hottest friend you have? Hel? The hottest friend you told me if I ever came anywhere near, you'd rip me a new asshole? How is Aemond's asshole still intact?? Or does our brother just have a gaping fun-house slide down there? Hello? Hellooo, pay attention to meee. This is so rude, why didn't I call Daeron?"

"Because Daeron knows nothing and I know everything?" Hel snorts, finishing up re-naming Aemond's contact from CURRENT DUMB BRO to NASTY LITTLE BITCH OF A GRUDGE HOLDER, before turning to Aegon on her laptop.

Like she predicted, Aegon is already pouting, leaning back on what Helaena remembers is their grandfather's rum-coloured leather office chair. In his office. In Oldtown.

After a quick stint in Ibiza, it seems Helaena's brother had found himself back in the country, and worse— back in their grandfather's office. Without him in it.

"Grandpa's going to kill you." Helaena snorts. "How'd you even get inside his house?"

"This is not the first time I have been faced with a locked door, baby sister."

"You broke a window didn't you?"

"I really, really had to piss."

She rolls her eyes. Hard. "You are a boy. You can literally just pee anywhere."

Aegon flutters a gasp and a hand over his chest. "Excuse me? I may have a penis, but that does not mean I have to be uncouth. For shame, Helaena. Also disgusting. But that's not why I called." He steeples his fingers as he leans forward, pressing his elbows against the nice mahogany desk. "What the fuck is happening over there? I'll be there by tomorrow and I'd like to know what the fuck is happening before I start—" he wiggles his eyebrows salaciously, " — shaking things up."

A dark look crosses Helaena's usually amiable pretty face that has Aegon leaning back. "If you do anything— and I mean anything — to ruin what I have going on, Mother may help you for I certainly won't. The Stranger will look like an old friend, Egg, don't you fucking dare."

"What the fuck," Aegon exhales, wide-eyed and horrified. "Have you been watching M. Night Shyamalan movies again?"

"No," she lies. "I'm doing this for my OTP."

 "Oh my god, you're the one who roped them together?" Aegon strangles a sigh. "Lae-lae, we've talked about this. No matter how much you think they're cute, Aemond—"

"— Aemond and Alys broke up."

"Then they'll be together again before the weekend's out." Aegon rolls his eyes. "It's Aemond."

"Not like this." Hel shakes her head. "I got her to agree, Egg. And they're like... Gods, the pictures don't do them justice. They're magnetic. They make plans at the apartment, Aemond is there all the time— my OTP is happening."

"You are playing god between two people you care about."

"What else am I supposed to do?! They're obviously so hot for each other, and now that Alys is out of the picture, and she's there, right in front of him, Egg, you should see how it is between them. The energy. It's crackling. They have inside jokes, they're so comfortable with each other, and I will have the most beautiful nephew and niece—"

"—Helaena Targaryen," Aegon admonishes with finality. Hel quiets. Often times, the siblings forget Aegon is quintessentially the oldest sibling. They had never been close to their father's actual firstborn— the age gap is wide and there's just... too much complicated family fissures in between that it feels awkward, even when they're relationship is okay, to interact or consider Rhaenyra anything past a cousin you see every other holiday because you have to, much less now that their father's dead — so Aegon is their big brother.

And though they see it in bits, in flung comet pieces that you see preciously once every few hundred years— the vibe of big brother grasps the edges and reminds the younger siblings.

Sure, he's a dick. Sure, he's a whore. Sure, he's their mother's least and most favourite headache— but Aegon is their big brother.

"You cannot play puppeteer like this. This can blow up in their faces. And they care for each other. Their friends. If this blows up in their faces, it is going to hurt."

"I know that," Helaena says quietly, pout pinched but face mostly cleared. "You don't think I don't know?"

"I think you've already outweighed your chances and your choosing a possibility."

Helaena looks truly scolded at that point, and it juts a guilt down Aegon's stomach. But Aegon likes you. Maybe not like in the way that his brother likes you— in that intense, possessive way he gets with people and things he care about because there are so few of them — but he likes you. And he loves Aemond on a bad day, and likes him on a good one.

And Aegon knows, as a superior power about crashing and burning, that this is going to hurt both of you in ways that he truly doesn't think Helaena understands.

Because he isn't blind (as his brother) (bad joke?) (probably) to what he sees in Aemond's gaze when it looks at you. Sure it's possessive, sure it's the same way he looks at most people he keeps close to his heart.

But he was the one who saw how Aemond looked at you before Alys came into the picture. Before it morphed into nothing but platonic; morphed close to how he looks at Helaena. In that soft, I'm So Glad This Person Exists I Would Kill Literally Everyone For Them.

Aegon always thought he looked at you like he wanted to devour you. Etch you into his skin until your shape is in red marks across white plane. He looked at you like I Would Kill Myself If You Asked.

It was the possibility of devotion dipped in insanity. Aemond had so few things, much less people, who so vocally, physically, and emotionally cared for him without addendums.

The only real reason he never did anything before was because you were Helaena's best friend. Helaena loved you. And he couldn't destroy that alongside the fact that you might leave his side.

And then Alys happened and that focal point moved.

Aegon knew his brother. Not as intensely, and maybe that's the reason he could see it. To see clearly past the intensity and recognise its edges. Aegon knew his brother in his marrow.

"When this crashes and burns—"

"If!" Helaena quips stubbornly. "If it crashes and burns. Come home. You'll see, Egg. Aemond just needs to see."

"And what if she doesn't reciprocate, Lae-lae? She's not hard to love, and this is Aemond." Even Helaena knows his feelings, once taken root in whatever form, can blossom.

Helaena smiles softly. "Come home. You'll see. I can see it. I've seen it. The possibility of them, and it's so pretty, Egg."

It's really not all that pretty, fake dating.

Maybe it could be, but Aemond Targaryen is such an ass.

"This is not like The Devil Wears Prada fashion montage," you grumble, pinching off the big, 60s, yellow sunglasses off your nose to glare pointedly at the man sat on lounge chair. "All the zippers and tugging— this is not as pretty! And I look ridiculous! I don't wear dresses like these, Aemy!"

"You don't look ridiculous, you look like my girlfriend." He makes his emphasis with an inch raised eyebrow and pouty lips twitching not to laugh. "That's the point, is it not?"

You make a drawl huff. It's not just that his words were right— that's what the past hour has been, roaming around all these big named fashion brands where the staff just knows Aemond Targaryen, if not just by him sauntering in with all the swagger of an asshole you'd walk the other side of the street to ignore, then by the flash of his black card (or three, 'cause what the fuck is money to Targaryens holy shit) — but the way he's sitting as he appraises every look he's chosen for you.

He's lax, as could be in his usually perfect posture, with his hips in the middle, and one leg braced down whilst the other is raised to his other thigh. A confident man's sitting position, with an arm over the length of the sofa, balancing a champagne a trying-to-suppress-her-giddiness staff gave him.

At your disapproved glare— down on your nose at him because you're standing over him, lording over him, as he's sitting down — and he's smirking up at you. As if the power dynamics don't shift by whoever is looming over the other.

Aemond doesn't need to stand to make you feel all fluttery with a smirk and a strong gaze against your body. His eyes gaze from the bottom of your heeled toes, slow, slow, slow, until it reached the top of your head.

Surely you've only imagined his gaze lingering on certain parts of you that now felt hot and tingly.

Surely.

"Plus," he continues with a hum. A sip of champagne. "Isn't this your idea?"

"Yes, but—"

"Didn't you tell me that I should prepare the kind of outfits that Aemond Targaryen's girlfriend would wear—"

 "Yes, but I—"

He leans forward, taking pleasure in arguing with you, as he settles his elbows on his knees, pressing both of his feet flat on the tile. He's looking up, still, but his eyes are intense and the corner of his mouth is twitching from a grin he's trying to fight.

"And even when I told you that didn't matter, that whatever you wore would be fine, you insisted?"

"Because I thought it'd be fun!" you growl and he falls in faint, amused laughter. His eye is sparkling and there's a joy to him that makes you giddy. You truly have missed Aemond as you know him. "Because I wanted a fun dress-up montage, but nothing about this is fun! Why are you choosing so many goddamned zippers, and they're all so fucking tight?"

You plop beside him, stealing his champagne. Staff look away, trying not to ogle too much between you two. As you take sips of his drink, his hand, still over the sofa's arm, begin drawing idle circles on your exposed shoulders. It warms you and calms you down, melting further in the seat beside him.

"I liked the dresses," he finally murmurs. "The ones before this. The flowy fabric ones."

"Those are summer dresses," you say though don't know why.

"Hm," he hums. "You look pretty in them."

You look up at him and he's looking at you, a small smile on his face. The proximity is too near to be proper but not near enough if you're fake dating. You study his silver lashes and the scarred flesh.

"Thanks."

"We'll get them. Is that alright with you?"

You snort softly. "You're paying, Aemy. You can do whatever you want. Can't believe this is how your dates with Alys usually went."

Hatching plans meant unloading information about his former relationship with her. Going through their relationship so you could understand it better, better proportioned the good and the bad, and secretly, make him see the red flags that should jump out in clear, plastic red.

"Not at first." He's looking away now, but his finger is still drawing circles. There's a wistful tone to his voice, like seeing through a dream and a memory. "But when it got... bad, it seemed like the only time we weren't fighting was when we were in public. Almost subconsciously, whenever things got tensed, I'd offer to take us out. Do anything outside of our bubble. Money isn't an issue, and before Alys said she felt like a... cheap whore than a girlfriend, buying things for her, spending time looking through things to wear, to match almost, was safe."

"Gift Giving," you mutter with a nod. He turns.

"What was that?"

"A love language." He cocks his head. You sigh. "I mean it's stupid and not really theoretically accurate, but for fun, there's five types of love languages. People do this test thing and sort of box up the kind of love language you want to receive and what you give— but truly, in my opinion, a true kind of love demands all five for it to work."

He hums, intrigued. "And what are the five?"

"Words of Affirmation, Quality Time, Physical Touch, Acts of Service, Gift Giving. But, you know, all of those should be given by a partner, in increments they can do for you. There shouldn't be a boxed fixture of what your relationship could be."

You shrug, standing up and stretching. You don't see him looking at you in the way that he has been for the past few days, and he doesn't know the tingles and feelings you keep between a smile and a sigh.

"Love looks different for everyone but it should have the same concept."

"And what concept is that?"

You turn to him, smiling. "That if you truly love someone, you can try anything. Love doesn't demand things that you do for the simple reason that you love the person enough."

"Love can be complicated," he says, and he's not arguing, not really. He isn't begging for you to understand. He is simply saying.

"Love can," you agree. "As most things are complicated. But it doesn't have to hurt."

It's a boundary line, the way he blinks, remembering why you're here together, why he gets to touch you in intimate ways, why he gets to pay for clothes, why you spend this time with him. A jolt. A shock.

You don't press and he doesn't retreat. The line exists not just to remind, but to stabilise any projections. Any dangerous tones.

You simply smile, nodding at the time. "Dinner date, babycakes. We can't be late for reservations."

"We can be late for a few minutes," he says, remembering echoes of how Alys sometimes got late. It isn't really her fault; there are days when she's too busy at the law firm, too busy with a meeting or two, or still finishing up her makeup because she doesn't like going to dinner in her work clothes.

"Sure, but we're here together and I know how much you hate being late." You snort.

"I don't hate it."

"Sure, but you got that eye twitch you do when you're annoyed," you tease, tapping your own eye before you wink at him and skip away.

For the past few days since the bar incident, by your suggestion, you and Aemond had pour out the intricacies of how Aemond and Alys' relationship worked whilst hiding your true intention of making him see its faults and corners, and at the same time, continue on with the charade of dating him.

It's been a packed week or so, going to your shifts at the bar, meeting with Cregan once and a while (boy had been busy, and he found the entire thing with Aemond incredibly hilarious).

You answered no question mark in regards on who the hand was, only sent a winky face or a kiss blowing emoji. You continue to post minute representations of your no-longer-single status in brief intervals, making sure that you never name him. You never publicly give him a recognisable body.

But for those that knew, knew.

It really wasn't that hard. There were only so much pale, toned hands, so much body builds you can hide with your hand covering his general face that you can hide without people making smart guesses. There wasn't a lot of pale, toned people around you after all.

But in your refusal to name him, the question continues, and so does Alys silent observation of every post. The only story she had liked had been the very first one.

You often wonder what she thinks, before your mind is devoured once again with everything else.

To be fair, as often as you had both been seeing each other lately— and it has been the most often you have been seeing of him — there were still things outside of Aemond and Helaena plans. And Aemond still had UNI to focus on.

"You know, I often forget you're still in university," you say now, comfortably warm in Aemond's car. All fresh leather seat and crisp new car smell despite knowing that Aemond's had this unit now for at least a year. He maybe rich, but he knew what he liked and took care of them.

He shoots you a quizzical look before looking back at the road. The city is bathed in a gorgeous stream of oranges and pinks, tie-dying glass buildings and bustle of city roads. When you look at him, you smile softly at how pretty the light hits him.

"Why is that? Do I look that young?"

"Your vibe is so old man on a nine to three, cigar breaks by four, and whiskey sours by seven pm."

He makes a disgruntled sound at the back of his throat. You laugh. "I would like to think it's my altruistic classicism. A timeless endeavour."

"Sure, old man," you tease then sigh. "Reality is, I'm so much older than you. I'm hanging out with a child. On my free day. Is this what it means to reach low status?"

"I am not a child." His reply is sharp, cutting, almost offended.

"You're in college."

"And of legal age? You're only four years older."

"Oh, right."

"What?"

You smirk at his dark look. "You like 'em way older."

His face, much like his gaze, heats up. You're imaging it when the ride turns red, the car slows to a stop, and he is looking at your lips. Surely it was, because you got transfixed with the way his tongue darts out to wet his lips. A slow, tantalising movement.

It feels like an eternity stretched within three seconds. The light turns green and both of you turn away.

Well, there's been that. A few times. But it doesn't mean anything. Aemond is in that transition of trying to rid himself of bad habits, of being freshly single once again, and you know he and Alys get in on frequently. This had been a conversation a few days back, on a couch, smell of grease and pizza around the room while Murder She Wrote played in the background.

"Wait, wait, wait." You sat up, folding your legs underneath your butt, and giving Aemond your full attention with a little 'o' in your mouth.

"Wait!" Helaena calls playfully from her sway to the bathroom. "Imma pee!"

"Take care, my beloved!" you call back, before turning to Aemond with a big, Cheshire grin.

"Can we not dwell on it?" He's flustered but is trying not to show it, looking back to the TV as if he understood why there's a body on the plane.

But wine has been had, spilled and shared, and it's enough for you to grab that fluster and the topic, and smirked.

"No, no, we will talk about it. We shall! We must! Do you mean to tell me that by the end of it, most of the time, you two were just boning? Is Aemy, one of my favourite people in the world, a Valyrian Sex God?? Oh my god??"

"I am not a Valyrian Sex God."

"Okay, girly pop, please." You raised a hand in a 'talk to the hand' motion and he was smiling at you, entranced and frustrated. "Women talk, Aemy!"

There was a flush and Helaena came back. Wine did things to Helaena, and she was stumbling and giggling as she flopped behind you, turning around and encasing you in a koala hug.

"Women talk, baby bro." Helaena nodded sagely. "Even I try not to listen, they talk, alas."

"And Alys has said those hips—"  You pointed a j'accuse finger at his hips, then his mouth. "—and that tongue has done things that can make the Maiden blush."

Helaena groaned behind you're back, a slew of 'ew's escaping her mouth. And you were still being playful, teasing, but Aemond was looking at you, though scarlet, with a deepened expression.

And at that moment, both of you were thinking the same thing.

His chin brushing your thighs, your sighs like music to his ears, and his tongue making you scream.

Warmth pooled, twin expressions share a gaze. Hunger, desire, shame.

The connection was destroyed when Helaena abruptly jolted and fell down the carpet. Because she was holding onto you, you got pulled with her.

"Are you okay??" Aemond asked.

Hel gasped. "I thought I saw Bobby. I think I squished Bobby."

You shook your head. "You didn't. Bobby is spry. Bobby knows to move away."

Aemond's confused face peered down at both of you. "Who's Bobby?"

"The local spider that lives here."

"Of course." And he smiled.

You smiled back.

Helaena giggled beside you but when you ask her, she only shook her head.

And the silence that lulls in the car is like both of you reaching the very same memory and having to sit through the stifle of that drunken interaction about his sex life. He coughs, you let out a breathy giggle.

"I should admit something," he says, parking the car in front of the restaurant. Dusk is settling, sunset in bright red and orange turning to a cool blue and pretty lavender— and when you turn to him after getting out of the car, coddling your jacket close to your body, he looks nervy. Apologetic, almost.

"What? What'd you do?"

He bites his bottom lip. "I know something about this restaurant."

"I would assume. You chose it." Your eyes narrow, giving the black-out floor to ceiling windows a look. The Painted Table is lit up in a scrawled font on top of it.

You step inside, not bothering to turn to his call of your name, and is submerged by the restaurant's vibe. It's a darkened place with meaningful lighting but a casual air, a bar on the side, and an upbeat jazzy music dancing in the air — it looks good. The place smelled delicious.

Nothing about it sparked familiarity to you, but the anticipation from that look of guilt on his face brought you to a high-strung, so when he calls your name again, just behind you, you turn.

"Is this where you had your first date with Alys?"

He shakes his head. "No. No, but—"

"Aemond?"

The voice is familiar, and you don't stop enough to think before you're turning to the low, clear voice that's just a hint of husky, and Alys' green eyes go wide at your appearance.

She's dressed nice, dressed to go out in a black dress dipping low and fabric tangled around her body to show off her curves. Her inky hair was swept to one side and her mouth was bloodred.

Alys Rivers, owner of Aemond's firsts. The woman he seemingly can't let go off.

You smile. It feels fake. "Oh. Hi Alys."

Her shock staves off into a genuine smile that makes you guilty. "Hi, my love. I see you two are together. Always attached at the hip. Dinner?"

Before you nod— or maybe strangle Aemond — he comes forward, taking your hand in the process and lacing it. He's looking at her as if he's setting a challenge when Alys' eyes fall on your intertwined hands.

"Yes," he says. "We are."

"Well... that's good. This place is great. I—" Someone calls her name, she turns back. You shoot Aemond a withering glare you hope conveys how much you're going to beat his ass after this. She turns back, smiling still. There's a pinch between her eyes but it's gone by the third blink. "Well, I have to go. I'll see you both soon, okay?" She turns to you, stepping forward, not minding the Targaryen beside you. "Especially you. We haven't hung out in a while."

"That's true, I've missed you, you crazy witch." And she laughs and you smile, because you genuinely consider Alys to be one of your friends. Not maybe as deeply as Helaena's, or as close, but Alys was an amazing person and you enjoy her company.

Plus, right now the one you're angry about it solely the man holding your hand.

Alys turns to Aemond, and he stiffens. Between them is a complicated look. So many things unsaid, before her smirk softens. "It's nice to see you too, Aemond."

And she turns away, walking back to her table, to her date, when you tug him with you to the bar. As you order a dry martini, he speaks. Calm and soft.

"You're mad at me."

"You knew she was going to be here." You turn to him, arching an eyebrow, hating the way your chest pangs. "You stalked her and brought us here because you wanted to use me."

He shifts, face crumples at the word 'use' and calls your name in a plead. "It's not like that."

You snort, taking a sip of your drink when it arrives. "Don't lie."

"Okay. Yes, I did. I... I made an impulsive decision because I wanted to see how she could go on a date as if we were nothing." Bitterness cripples his words, the smirk on his lips is ironic and darkened in hurt. Your heart hurts for him, but you can't give him a pass just like that. He hurt you too.

"You could've told me."

He raises an eyebrow. "You would be okay with this?"

Your own smile is ironic and darkened by hurt. "You're already using me, Aemy. That was the deal I agreed, for Hel. It would at least lick the wound to have been in the know, and not, you know, got shot in the face with it."

At the first part of your tirade, he looked like he wanted to argue with the using part, but the realisation weighs him because it is true. To him, he is using you. And it's a cheap shot on your part because you were also doing this for him, out of your own free will.

You sigh when he turns away, guilt dipping low.

"You're such a dumbass."

He hums in agreement.

You're aware of a gaze from the tables, somewhere in the ocean of jazz music and chatter, Alys is looking, and you kinda wanna make this good for him. You were already here after all.

Your hand reaches his jaw, sliding across his neck until you reach his nape and fingers tangle with the baby hairs there. His hair had been wrapped into a bun. Sleek and fluffy.

He turns to you, to your touch, in shock. "What are you—"

"Try not to look so surprised," you whisper, stepping close to him until your noses are bumping. "We're supposed to be dating."

And then you slant your mouth against his.

TAGGED: @fan-goddess @snh96 @valeskafics @opheliaas-stuff @tempo-rary-fix @fantasticpeaceharmony @diannnnsss @iamavailablesstuff @spinachtz @at-a-rax-ia @bespinnn @tsujifreya @moonlightfoxx @kemillyfreitas @joyouart @bananzaa @honey-on-mars @alexa4040 @cinnamonbambii @wintrr13 @wxb-slingrr @astroswift @queenofshinigamis @helaenaluvr @kaetastic @jxdegodfrey @laniii-on-your-left @watercolorskyy @snowprincesa1 @gemini-mama

[live-laugh-lenney]

loving the dad george content but what would arthur be like as a dad??

i was waiting for this to come in, hahaha. :')) we need to go into more detail on this trope like we did with girl-dad!george. i think it's a desperate need, too... i can already feel my mind racing with ideas...

"how?"

"arthur, for god sake, do you really need me to answer that?"

he gulps back the thick lump in his throat that sat low, head aching and he felt constricted and tight with the headphones that hung around his neck, the main channel video he was editing going long forgotten about on his screen. and she can see the colour of his cheeks vanish. and she was thankful he was sat down because she was certain he would have passed out once she told him the news.

she didn't want to take the test at his place... but it was a burden on her mind as the pregnancy test box sat in her handbag, hanging on the back of the chair tucked underneath his desk in his bedroom, and she just needed an answer. having felt sick for the last few weeks, waking up feeling nauseous and unable to keep her breakfast down her, it was either a serious matter of needing a doctor to take a look at her or she had fallen pregnant... she wanted it to be the former but she had a gut feeling it was the latter.

"but-"

"i know. we were careful."

and they always were.

he had a stack of condoms in his bedside table for when they got a little carried away. she was on the pill.

except that one night, coming home from a party thrown to celebrate a birthday, where they stumbled into his flat drunk and desperate for each other, ripping off their clothes and leaving a trail right up to his bedroom door. it was quick, lust-filled, drunk. neither one of them in the mood for foreplay. she didn't remember reaching for protection, she didn't remember him taking a moment to wrap himself up, she didn't remember sliding it on for him or watching him take it off... so she wholeheartedly trusted her own protection to save her.

she knew it had to have been that night.

the dates matched.

"we clearly weren't that night," she adds, "arthur-"

"i don't- i- yn, i don't know how to be a dad."

"and you think i know how to be a mum? arthur, in case it didn't occur to you but, i don't have kids. i've never been a parent before either," she hisses at him from his office doorway and he digs the heels of his hands into his eyes, "christ, i'm just as scared as you right now. and i think i deserve to be-"

"it's a two person situation, yn," he claims, sticking two fingers up in her direction and she frowns, "i don't deserve to be scared?"

"yeah but you're not the one who has to go through the chances, are you? you'll still remain you where i'll look like i've stolen a watermelon from the supermarket," she grumbles lowly and he lets out a slight snicker; the light tension that was building had seemingly fizzled out, the initial shock still lingering in the air but it was something he could ignore, "it's not funny!"

"a watermelon?"

"it's the first thing that came to mind," she sighs heavily and puffs out a long breath from within her chest, "you're not going to throw up at any given moment because a smell puts you off. you're not going to have hormone changes and cry at stupid things. you won't get fat or start to waddle because you can't walk properly. you don't even have to push them out of a tight hole that's not big enough."

he sets his hands down on the arms of his chair and pushes himself out from underneath his desk, standing to his feet with his arms stretched out in her direction, and he takes her hands tightly in his own.

"i get that, i do," he hums softly, stroking a knuckle with his thumb and using his other hand to pull her into his chest, "but that doesn't mean my feels are invalid. i'm a support system for you in a situation that i've never had to deal with before."

she wraps her arms around his waist and buries her face into the tee draping down his chest, the smell soothing the butterflies that were fluttering around in her stomach - the one thing she panicked would happen never did and it put her mind at ease.

"yeah, okay, but you won't get fat, arthur," she grumbles.

"you won't be fat though," he assures her, pressing a kiss to her head, "you'll be carrying a baby. our baby. making sure they're growing and that they're healthy. you're a home, keeping them safe, looking after them."

they stand there in silence, swaying from side to side, seconds going by and she truly felt like they could work everything out together. as a team.

"you're not upset?"

he pulls away and looks down at her, shaking his head, "why on earth would i be upset?"

"because we never spoke about this. we're not even married. we don't live together," she looks up at him and makes eye contact with him, "i know it's not ideal and-"

"i'm scared, i'm not upset," he interrupted and smiles down at her, "we've got nine months to figure everything out. i'd say that's enough time."

and, of course, he spent nine months reading all the baby books and reading things online. buying book after book from amazon and creating a good pile on his bedside table that he read before they went to bed, reading out different facts and important things so that he could involve yn in his learning. asking all the right questions at their midwife appointments. asking his mum and his step-mum all the right things to understand what could happen during her labour and what he could do to make things easier. and he's so proud to talk about it when people ask him. xx

[tellyouily]

you can hear it in the silence

dnf - tooth-rotting fluff - 886 words

aka. the fluffiest fluff that ever fluffed :)

-

Lately, they’ve taken to sleeping in George’s room.

Which makes no sense, really, considering Dream’s bed is bigger, softer and the room itself closer to the main part of the house. Not to mention that his AC actually works like it’s supposed to and his curtains actually close all the way.

All of this, and they have still ended up under George’s covers every night for the last couple of weeks.

Like with most things these days, they can blame it on work.

George’s office is where most of the coding happens, because he is the one doing most of the coding, and it is conveniently located right next to his bedroom. So when Dream comes in at night, so tired he could fall asleep standing up, to pull George with him to bed, then well, it’s whatever bed is closest.

Not that Dream minds. He likes George’s room, even if it’s bare and boring. He also likes George, and sleeping next to him, and maybe those two facts outweigh everything else. Just maybe.

George who is all soft limbs and no sharp edges, and smells like home and is somehow always warmer than Dream is.

The truth is that he is the only person Dream can share a bed with and actually sleep better because of it. Whose breathing and tossing and turning lulls him to sleep rather than annoy him.

So yeah, Dream is fine with anywhere, any bed, so long as it’s the two of them in it together.

It is an early morning in the third week that the room thing becomes an issue.

The sound of birds chirping is usually pleasant… except when it’s the sound that wakes you up. Before sunrise. Slowly, Dream gets pulled from the comfortable depths of sleep, his face buried halfway in George’s hair.

Some quick deduction tells him that the birds are most likely sitting in the tree right outside of the window, and that there is nothing he can do to fix it. Great.

George stirs in his arms. “Can they shut up?” He mumbles.

A smile makes its way onto Dream’s lips, despite his weariness.

“No,” he answers helpfully.

Somehow, each little tweet seems to be getting louder, more incessant, and Dream knows they need to move to a different room. They have slept a handful of hours at most.

“My room?” He offers, pressing a kiss to George’s shoulder. “Should be more quiet.”

George groans, rolling over and burrowing his face in the crook of Dream’s neck. It makes his skin buzz gently when George says, “Too far.”

It’s really not far at all but he decides not to go down that road now. They can talk technicalities about  the distances in this house when the day starts for real, not when the need for sleep is weighing so heavily on them both. On George especially, apparently.

Dream noses at his hair. “My office then. It’s closer.”

No response, but he feels George’s hand slide up his chest over his t-shirt.

“Come on, baby,” Dream coaxes, taking the hand and lifting it off of him as he starts to sit up.

George groans, but starts to do the same. At about half the pace. Dream smiles at him fondly.

You would think he was being forced to do the most laborious task on planet earth with how much effort it seems to take him to move from lying down in the comfy bed to standing upright on the floor. Dream can’t really blame him, though; it felt a little bit like being ripped from a nice dream for him, too.

“Alright, I love you, let’s go,” he says, heading for the door and pulling George along behind him by the hand. He looks tousled in the best way, all sleepy and annoyed.

The hallway and the stairs are mostly dark, still. The light is that weird shade of grayish blue, and he wonders fleetingly if George sees it the same way.

Downstairs, George lets out a small scoff. “Why’d you say I love you?” He asks, rubbing at his eye with his free hand. “So dumb.”

Dream smiles, pushing at his office door. “‘Cause I love you.”

George scoffs again, but he doesn’t say anything else, which says enough in itself. Inside, it’s pitch black, and quiet. Completely quiet.

He lets go of George’s hand and puts a hand on his back instead, guiding him onto the bed before climbing in after him. He has never been more grateful that he keeps this bed fully made.

They settle down in the exact same position from before, with Dream closest to the wall and George in his arms, pressed as close as he can get. For a few moments it’s just their breathing and their heartbeats slowing in the silence.

“Better?” Dream asks, his voice a murmur.

George hums in agreement. Then, just a softly, “Love you.”

Dream smiles into the darkness, closing his eyes. He listens to George’s breaths evening out, the soft sounds of skin against fabric every time they shift in the sheets they’re sharing. Holding him close like this, just existing in the boyish and familiar smell of his shampoo and day-old aftershave, Dream feels like he is already dreaming.

Sleep washes over him like a ray of sunlight.

[thefrontofmymind]

Proof Positive 6

a/n: me uploading another part of this? who would have thought? (seriously though im sorry life got in the way quite badly ://)

series masterlist

You could hear chatter through the other end of the phone as Ross excused himself from the greenroom in whatever venue they were playing that night.

"How are you and the little 'un?" He asked in a gentle tone that echoed through the cinder block hallway he was standing in.

"We're good! Baby's the size of a strawberry now!" You answered excitedly. You never thought you'd be the person to track every day of your pregnancy, but when you got that first notification from your app saying your baby was the size of an orange seed, you couldn't help but get stirred by the fact that there was a real, living human growing inside of you.

A baby that was half you and half Ross—a pairing you never even thought about, but now your heart grew fonder with every shy smile, kiss, and tender hand touch.

"How was the show last night?"

"Oh, brilliant!" Ross exclaimed. You loved hearing him so animated when talking about his work. It reminded you of when you first met him, a bright-eyed twenty-four-year-old just starting to tackle the world.

"Wish you were here though...miss you so much..." he finished his spiel.

"Just think, when you get back to London, we'll be far along enough to tell everyone," you said with a smile.

"Can't wait to tell the guys, they'll shit!"

You heard some kind of shuffle on the phone; you could just make out the words.

"Can't wait to tell us what?" George's voice. Unmistakable.

Crap!

"Um..." Ross chuckled. "Uh.."

You couldn't help but laugh through the phone at Ross' attempts to string at least one sentence together.

"Seriously! What?!"

You might just have a way out of this. Maybe.

"Give George the phone," you told Ross, calm and collected.

You heard another shuffle as the phone was handed off.

"Hi...who's this?" George asked in a cautious voice.

"It's me!" You answered.

"Oh, hi! How are you going?" He asked, now excited. "What do you and Ross want to tell us all, then?"

"Well..." You trailed off, not quite sure how to word it. "Me and Ross... are me and Ross."

"Oh shit!" George laughed. then directed his attention to Ross, who was standing frozen in front of him. "You dog! How long has this been going on?"

"A couple months," Ross replied to him.

A notification came through on your laptop in front of you, an email with a subject line that started with "URGENT!"

"Okay, I gotta go, I have to get back to work."

"Alright, I'll hand you back to your boyfriend," George said with a grin, that even though you couldn't see it, you knew it was there.

"Gotta go, love you," you said once Ross was back on the phone.

"Love you too! see you in 3 weeks!"

"Counting down the days!" You replied, hanging up and getting back to work.

~~~

You’d lived in a bubble, really. It was almost like it wasn’t all quite real yet. You weren’t showing, and no one—well, barely anyone—knew. You tried not to think of this mess you and Ross had made, but with a random fleeting thought over one weekend, your palms gained a clammy sheen that you couldn’t get rid of.

You always tried to keep your head straight in times of stress; you were a pragmatist at heart, and as often as you could get lost in nihilism veiled as just being "realistic," you just wanted to rip the bandaid off and get everything out in the open to deal with the consequences, whatever they may be.

You sipped your takeaway coffee as you entered the Dirty Hits offices—decaf, unfortunately—and said a bright ‘good morning’ to the people you passed. You had a small desk by a window facing the street, which the miniature monstera plant sitting on a stack of some old quarterly reports loved when the sun was angled so perfectly to warm it every morning.

You could feel yourself shaking deep within your bones. You’d never been someone who got so wrapped up in the romance of the moment, but now, looking back, you realised you’d done just that. 

Today, you were exactly thirteen weeks along. It was now much less risky to start telling people, namely yours and Ross’ employer, Jamie. 

You had a direct view of him from your ergonomic desk chair, through the glass door of his office.

Rip the bandaid.

You stood quickly, like if you were to think about it too long, your legs would stop you, and strided to his office. With a gentle knock, you opened the door and leaned into the room.

“Could we have a quick chat? If you’re not busy.”

His face brightened when he saw you; he was always happy to see you, and you him. There was a certain bond between the two of you. It came down to faith and loyalty to each other. He’d given you a chance to pretty much build this entire label with him from the ground up, and you’d put your faith in him—and the band you’ve known all this time—that it would be a worthy investment. And in all these years, you’ve never strayed and been rewarded greatly for it—even more than Jamie even knew, well, for the next couple minutes anyway.

“How’ve you been, love? How was LA? I meant to shoot you a text, but I was busy with the girls this weekend, you know?” He rambled.

“It was good, Coachella was great.” You moved to sit in one of the plush leather—or was it a well-made pleather?—chairs in front of his pinewood desk.

“Didn’t get into too much trouble, then?”

You let out a chuckle. “No, no, not at all.” You let out a sigh. “There is something I need to bring up with you…”

A look of concern spread across his face. “What’s going on? Did something happen?”

“Um…” You let out a sigh. “I’m…having a baby.”

“Holy shit!” He smiled and bounced out of his seat and around his desk to give you a tight hug. “Congratulations!”

“Thank you,” you beamed back.

“Who’s the father? If you don’t mind me asking.” He scuttled back to his comfy swivel chair. “Or is it a ‘you’re doing it on your own’ sort of thing?”

You could feel heat travelling up your chest, your neck, your ears, and settling in your cheeks.

“That’s the bit that’s a bit... difficult,” you slowly sputtered out.

“Oh, do you now know who the father is? Sorry.”

“No, I know who it is.” Rip the bandaid. “It’s Ross.”

Jamie didn’t say anything for a moment, but you could see the cogs turning in his head behind his eyes, processing the information.

“Like…” He mimed playing a bass. “Our Ross?”

“Yeah,” you answered awkwardly. “We’ve been together for a little bit now, just keeping it quiet. But I’ll be showing soon, so...”

A smile stretched across his face. “I’m very happy for the two of you. Really.”

“Thanks,” you smiled back.

[countrymusiclover]

2 - George

Part 3

The Texas Tire Family

Tags - @supernaturalgirl30 @bvbwestfall @bubble-blu @patriciaplictisita

“Hello Georgie, Y/n.” Sheldon replied with a nod towards us. Biting my lip I knew this conversation would be interesting. 

Georgie raised his hand correcting him. “It's just George now.

“Fine, George. No, I don't like it-- Georgie.” Sheldon huffed, reminding me of when he was little. 

Moving my eyes over to the other guy standing behind him, he looked like a scientist because he was wearing glasses and was nervous when he extended his hand. “Hey, I'm Leonard. I'm here for-for no reason.”

Georgie shakes his hand seeing he was nervous so I stepped up shaking his hand with a smile. “Hi Leonard, I’m Y/n. His wife.” 

“What do you want, Sheldon?” Georgie grumbled walking around the countertop picking up some papers. Leaning my back against the desk I watched the girls from inside our office messing around with some games on the computer. 

“Why aren't you returning my phone calls?” Sheldon asked, crossing his arms over his chest. 

My husband raised a brow, flipping them some papers, sending me an annoyed look. “You're supposed to be the smart one; you figure it out.”

Leonard hinted. “He's not that kind of smart. You might want to give him a hint.” 

“We haven't talked in over ten years, and now that you need something, you think you can just show up at my store? Well, let's just drop everything to accommodate Sheldon.” Georgie mocked his childhood where I have to hold my tongue and not jump in agreement with him. Georgie and I had to fill the big shoes of being adults which wasn’t easy. 

Sheldon scoffed, glancing at me. “Nice try, but I am not a gullible little boy anymore. I can recognize sarcasm.” 

“Mom, can we have money to go to the mail?” Aurora opened the door standing in front of the four of us. She was wearing some ripped up jeans and a shirt that said Texas football. She had her hair up in separate ponytails falling over her shoulders. 

Turning around to face her I looped my fingers in the belt loops of my jeans. “Sure I guess. Just be sure to keep an eye on your sister. Oh and tell her I will get her a new phone tomorrow at some point.” Reaching into my jacket I handed her a twenty. 

“Thanks, mom. Hi Uncle Sheldon.” Aurora waved at him. 

He nods at her. “Hello Aurora.” 

The office door opened with jingling my car keys in her hands riding on a skateboard we had gotten her for Christmas a year ago. “Woah I got’em! Let’s go Rora…oh hi mom, dad, uncle Sheldon.” 

“Evelyn Cooper!” Georgie sent her a warning look crossing his arms with his head raised a little in the air. She looked up to her father a lot more than Rora does. Aurora looks up to me compared to her but she loved her aunt Missy.

Eve hands him the keys looking sadly at her shoes. “Sorry dad.” 

“It appears that the youngest child takes after you Georgie. Has Aurora taken Y/n’s intelligence?” Sheldon questions us looking between the pair. 

“Sheldon.” Leonard grumbled to his friend sensing the uncomfortable feeling we were getting from his question. 

The former child genius went silent for a moment.”What it is a scientific question. I wish to know if one of them is smarter than the other. I mean it still baffles me that I was born a genius and my sister poses an average intelligence at best.” 

“So can we go now or…” Eve pointed towards the door with her thumb over shoulder standing beside her older sister. 

Waving my right hand I shoved them off before things got more complicated. With the Cooper boys back together there was a positive possibility that there would be a fight between them. “Absolutely go go girls. Just text us when you are done and then we will come get you when we are done.” The girls left the store so the four of us entered the office, closing the door. 

“Hold up. I-I'm confused. You didn't want me at your wedding, but now that Mom won't come, you want me there.” Georgie was sitting back in his computer chair and his feet were on the desk eyeing his brother flat out confused. 

His younger brother gave him a half compliment. “I know you don't hear this a lot, but that is exactly right. Good job.” 

“Not helping, Sheldon.” Leonard spoke up.

Knitting my brows together I pressed my index finger to my temple grumbling. “Same old Sheldon.” 

“Listen here, you want me at your wedding, all you got to do is ask nicely.” Georgie rose to his feet leaning his hands on the desk so he was eye level with him. 

Sheldon replied simply. “Georgie.” 

“George.” Georgie cut him off with a smirk on his face. 

Sheldon grumbled under his breath, annoyed at him acting like a child. “I would like you at my wedding.” 

“Thank you, Sheldon. That is so nice to hear. But I would rather swallow a pregnant wildcat and crap out a litter of kittens.” Georgie put a hand over his heart where I hit him in the arm. He glared at me watching me cover my face with my hand grumbling. 

Sheldon stomped out of the store with Leonard. “It is fitting that you got into tires, because you are tiresome.” Turning back towards my husband I couldn’t believe that Sheldon wanted us to come to his wedding when we haven’t talked with him since his father died. 

3 Years After Texas Romance 

Bursting into the hospital with little baby Aurora in my arms and Evelyn in her stroller that he was pushing her in. Georgie and I had finally made it through traffic and to the hospital. Mary had called us and said that something was wrong with my father in law. It wasn’t the first time we had been called to the hospital for him…but it would be the last. “Mom, where is he? Where’s dad?”

“He’s in surgery at the moment.” She was sitting in a chair sniffing through tears. Connie was sitting beside her and the twins on the other side of her. 

Sitting down across from them I hold Aurora on my lap with Georgie standing in front of all of us. I could see his entire body stiffen against the silence so we could only hear the sounds of beeping and some patients coughing. “Georgie don’t worry he’s gonna get through this.”

“Mommy I gotta go to the bathroom.” Aurora calls to me with me looking at her sleeping sister by my side.

Getting to my feet I took her hand in mine standing in front of my husband before leading her down the hallway to the bathroom. The sudden car ride didn’t leave us time to let the kids get ready. “I’ll be back, Rora needs the bathroom.” He nodded watching us walk away. 

Leaning against the wall I waited for my daughter to get done which was only a few seconds before I heard some shoes shrieking on the tile floor. “Y/n!” Missy ran forward to me when I heard the bathroom door open. 

“Aunt Missy.” Aurora replied. 

Turning to face my sister in law I could see that she was crying and that meant either something good had happened or the other option. “Missy, what happened. What did the doctors say about your dad?” 

“They said…said he…he won’t..” She couldn’t finish the sentence before flinging her arms around me where I stumbled backwards in my boots to catch her sobbing form. “He’s gone!”

Wrapping my arms around her shaking form I rested my head on top of hers. She clutched my shirt in her hands and we remained this way for a long while. Intertwining her hand with mine, my other held my daughters returning the girls to the lobby. "Georgie…" I rushed forward towards my husband wrapping my arms around him. 

"I can't believe he's gone.." He mumbled into my shoulder burying his face there sobbing. Gripping his shoulders it took me a second to really process that his father had passed away. He was always the one to tell me that Georgie and I were good together and that we would be good parents. I just hoped we could make him proud. 

Comments really appreciated ❤️

[latristereina]

Two months after Dad died, Al admitted in the safety of the therapist’s office what I must have always known: He never had any intention of marrying me. What he wanted was out. And that’s what he got. He got out. I watched him walk into the light of the California sun without so much as a glance back. Later the same day, he flew to the safety of New York, the George Washington Bridge, his driver, Luke, and his dog, Lucky, waiting at Snedens Landing. This is what remains of Al Pacino.

1. Eight pink slips from the Shangri-La Hotel in 1987, saying, ‘Call from Al.’

2. A page ripped out of a book with the sheet music to ‘All I Have to Do Is Dream,’ inscribed ‘To Di’ at the top of the page, ‘Love Al’ at the bottom.

3. One happy-birthday note card, with ‘Love Al’ written on it.

4. A handwritten letter from December 1989: ‘Dear Di, I am feeling uncomfortably lonely more than I have in many, many moons. I don’t know why this is so. It’s perhaps being in a foreign country and not being able to speak the language; you could say that’s one of the reasons. But mainly it’s being away from you and what we have together. As I’m writing this letter I’m sitting in an outside café in Rome, it’s pouring rain. I’m looking onto a beautiful square with a church talking to myself. I’ve got my hands folded as if in prayer. But in the middle of my hands is a little tape recorder. So it looks like I’m talking to my fingers. That’s the way it looks. If only I could dictate this letter without moving my lips. Just trying to tell you I miss you, ‘darlin’. In a sort of roundabout way it seems. I will get back to you. Love, Al.’

5. A note on a torn piece of paper: ‘Diane, Andy, me, and Don went to a restaurant in Mondello. I will call you with the name of the joint. Sit tight be right. Don’t fight. Love Al, Your friend.’

6. January 29, 1992, handwritten: ‘Dear Di. I heard that Anna Strasberg talked to you on the phone and may have mentioned something about my sending regards or some such amenity. Never did I do that. I would never use such a coy approach to trying to communicate with you. It’s unbearable to think that you would get that impression. I need no go between if I want to contact you. I apologize for having put you through this note. L. Al Pacino.’

7. August 19, 1995, on Chal stationery, typed: ‘Dear Di, Thank you for your very beautiful note about Lucky. Your warm words, thoughts, and deep understanding of my relationship with Lucky made me feel not alone. Thank you. Meanwhile, I heard about your mother and the news was upsetting to me. I send to you my thoughts and hopes for her recovery. I know it’s very difficult. It’s seriously a hard life, and that’s all there is to it. I feel now, of course, helpless to do anything for you except to let you know that I have some understanding for what you’re going through. Once again, thank you for your note. It helped me. My thoughts are with you, and I think about you often. Love, Al.’

- Then Again Diane Keaton

[greymouse42]

working on replying to previous adventures, but have some silliness while you wait

12, 32, and 39 for Mal

and 1 for Hemlock - what are we tossing from bg3 because they're your blorbo and you can make the rules.

Welcome to "mouse answers silly questions," where every question apparently has strikethrough bonus content.

12. Crack headcanon

If Jan weren't right in front of him, he'd also be on Team “Would tap Myles without a second thought.” actually I don't think this is even a hot take, lol. I can do better:

Alana Lyons, his detective partner, is engaged in constant, brutal, and quiet office warfare at all times to fend off all the young single ladies in the LAPD and court system, because Malachi by some genetic stroke of luck has the George of the Jungle(1997) effect on women until the moment he opens his mouth. Whenever he pisses her off, Lyons lets one through her blockade and Mal loses a half a day of work.

(In the post-breakup 2013-2015 span of time, sometimes he didn't open his mouth fast enough and he'd get strong-armed into going on a date. The mornings after those were usually the highlight of Lyons' week.)

32. Something guaranteed to make them smile/laugh

Poorly-timed, deadpanned Dad-jokes. The worse the timing and caliber of joke, the better. The deadpan-straight delivery is also very important to get an actual laugh out of him.

Successfully bluescreening Jan.

39. Favorite game

Boring answer? Coup. (RIP Mal you would've loved Among Us with the Knockoff Mystery Gang)

Fun answer: “Look at me.”

1. Canon I outright reject (Hemlock)

BG3 only has 3 options for Paladin Oaths (Devotion/Ancients/Vengeance) and while I think that's perfectly reasonable for a video game, none of those really fit Hem.

I think they were always destined to break their Oath around when they did (end of Act 1) regardless of what the Oath actually was, but if I had complete control over canon, they'd be an Oath of Redemption paladin (with the oathbreaking violations being Innocence & Patience) rather than Oath of Devotion.

[dontforgetoctober3rd]

Spillways (Chapter 2) A Gilded Age fanfic

(The title is taken from one of my favorite Ghost songs, which is about confronting old wounds and pain in order to heal so you can move forward.)

Faceclaims for George and Randolph Stewart

Contents: Prologue, Chapter 1

Word count: 1441

Summary: All of New York society is in a tizzy over the news: The Earl of Galloway is in town with his son, the 30 year old (bachelor) Randolph.  Marriage-minded mamas are on the prowl but the Earl and his son eschew most of the lavish parties and teas they’re invited to...except to a certain tea with Agnes Van Rhijn and her niece, Marian.

Rating: Everyone (Ratings will be *by chapter*, so subsequent installments might differ in their rating.)

Author's Notes: This is a canon-divergence story beginning a few months from episode 5 of Season 2. This is obviously not going to be historically accurate, also I'm from America and I've only gleaned a cursory knowledge of the Scottish peerage from my reading and basically am just using the titles, locations and names as vehicles for these characters please just go with it lmao

DISCLAIMER: I am not affiliated with The Gilded Age in any way beyond being a fan, I do not own the Gilded Age characters nor am I using them for any commercial purposes or making money from this, this is just basically word fanart of the show

Lovely divider is by @muchomago

—Five months ago—

Every time the letter came, she set it aside.  As usual, she waited for Peggy to finish up for the day before dealing with it herself.  Just seeing his name made her blood boil every time.  Not even bothering to open it to read, same as all the others, Agnes Van Rhijn angrily ripped up the letter from George Stewart. 

Since the death of her husband Arnold many years ago, the letters had begun coming regularly, like a bad case of the influenza.  Instructing the servants to always throw out the letters from this George Stewart would have invited gossip, the last thing she wanted.  She suspected Bannister already knew but he would never be so crass as to divulge Agnes’s history with the man to the rest of the servants. 

 “It is another solicitation for patronage.  From Scotland, this one.” she had said in the beginning, in a noncommittal manner, to hide her anger.  Bannister had merely nodded.

She had never written back (she refused to give him the satisfaction) but he had kept at it, sending a letter yet again.  And Again.  She tore up his letters.  Again and again.   Today was different, however.  The sting of the reminder, the annoyance of it, his sheer audacity to keep trying to communicate…it mocked her now more than ever.  Really, after Marian’s humiliating betrayal of having secured employment at a school and then for it all to become known at Dashiell’s welcoming tea the other week… she had had enough.  No more.

With an efficiency she hadn’t possessed since boarding school, Agnes sat at her desk and smoothed out a crisp sheet of paper and quickly dipped her pen several times before beginning to write.  Peggy would have been unable to properly convey the seething hatred she felt, this written rebuke to George Stewart must come from herself.

Agnes scribbled furiously, almost missing the inkwell several times, managing three sheets before finally packaging them in a sturdy envelope.  Bannister was instructed to see it reached the Post Office Department steamboat before it left the harbor that week.  

Enough was enough.

Let that wretched letter I got today be the last I ever hear from him…Agnes thought to herself. 

—-- Present Day—--

“Father, I don’t see the issue.  Marian Brook is from a great family.” Randolph Stewart stood before his father in their suite’s parlor, having just relayed his intention to call on Marian.

Lord George Stewart was not pleased.  “Her breeding is not the issue.  I did not bring you here with me to go prowling around for women.  You’re to shadow me as I look over my investments in lumber and petrol-driven carts. Your future sources of additional income when you become Lord, might I remind you.”

Randolph was indignant.  “Marian Brook is not the type of woman one goes ‘prowling’ for!  Do not speak in such a way.”

“I will speak as I please.” 

“Oh? What of your business with Mrs. Van Rhijn?  It's quite rich of you to be berating me for calling on a lady when it is the sole reason we have sailed to the states.”

“I am not berating you.  Furthermore, I am not going to call on Agnes Van Rhijn, I am going to meet with her.  It’s a very crucial difference and not at all social, there’s no comparing the two situations.”

“So you say.”

“ENOUGH.  Enough.” George huffed.  “I am not going to bicker with my own son about this! We have several business meetings to attend to.  You will not have time for your little tea with Miss Brook.”

“Oh, but you will have time for yours with Mrs. Van Rhijn?”

“I do not have a meeting with her yet but I will soon. I will figure out a way, never you mind.”

“Hmm.  I am still going to the tea with Miss Brook.” Randolph said.

“As I have stated several times now, though, that is quite enough.  I do not have to explain myself to you and you’re not to dismiss any of our appointments for something frivolous.  You will do as I say.”

“Or what?” Randolph smirked.  He knew where this argument was headed. His father would eventually give in, as he usually did these days.

Ever since their shouting match the day before George had finally received a response from Agnes, Randolph felt closer to his goal: living life on his own terms.  

After they had ceased their screaming in that fight, Randolph had threatened to leave forever.  He had said he would not return even if George would pass away.  It would put the Earldom of Galloway in the uncomfortable position of trying to wrangle their new Earl back to Scotland while having a chosen family member looking after their holdings, like a common steward.

Randolph didn’t know what this Agnes Van Rhijn had written to his father, but after reading that letter he was a changed man.  An out of character, sincere apology was given to him by his father the next morning.  No longer did he bark orders at his son or moan about his many projects for the betterment of the poor.  George Stewart’s contempt for Randolph’s hunger to change things in society seemed to have evaporated.  He still made cutting remarks, yes, but as one would after reading a particularly bad book or having sat through a very boring play and not as if helping the less fortunate was something…revolting.

George Stewart had begun to finally behave like father, a person that Randolph admired instead of growing to hate.  Better late than never, he supposed.

As for himself, Randolph felt changed as well.  He could finally see that something horrible had eaten away at his father for many years and caused him much anguish.  That had been the source of his anger and bitterness, and he had finally made a decision to confront it by coming to America.

Randolph was proud.  He planned to thank Agnes Van Rhijn in person, even if she had no clue what her letter had accomplished, but he had another idea..one that could very well make Marian’s aunt direct her fury to him.

“You know, father, you could come with me.  To this tea.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Father…if you must meet with Mrs. Van Rhijn, why not come with me?  I can send a note to Miss Brook and ask for our upcoming visit to be at their home on 61st Street.”

“An Earl does not just foist himself upon events he is not invited to!  It is unseemly!  Where are your senses?”

“An Earl should also not deny so many invitations to promenade or dine.  Accepting only the one to Mrs. Astor’s luncheon hardly seems proper to me.  People might think we lack the funds to socialize around town as befits our station.” Randolph said idly, fiddling with a flower arrangement on a nearby table. “I can ask Miss Brook to send a formal invitation and include you on it.”

“Are you mad?  Agnes Van Rhijn will never agree to it.” George stated. 

“Yet Miss Brook was at a school, teaching a class on watercolors.  I’m told her aunt wasn’t agreeable at first but eventually caved to the idea.” 

George Stewart still was not persuaded. “If Agnes is as I remember her, she rules her house with an iron fist.  Miss Brook would have better luck trying to part the red sea.”

“Miss Brook will do it, I know she can.” Randolph insisted. “So, shall I do it?  Send her a note?”

When George remained silent, Randolph knew he had to go in for the kill.

“Of course, if you’d rather people think our family are paupers and can’t afford to-”

“Fine!  Fine. Very well. Send the girl the note.” George said dismissively, rubbing his temples.

Randolph walked over, taking his father’s shoulder.  “Father, you needn’t act as if you’re about to have your teeth pulled.  Whatever this business you have with Agnes Van Rhijn is about, I’m sure that facing the issue head on is better than letting it fester any further.”

George covered his son’s hand on his shoulder with his own.  “Randolph…you cannot know the shame it brings me.  I don’t know if I can do this.” 

“Of course you can!  I will be there with you.” 

George Stewart smiled briefly before standing from his chair, shuffling his suit before heading to their balcony.

Randolph felt elated.  He was going to see Marian again and his father might finally get closure for whatever was plaguing him. It seemed too good to be true.  Hopefully Agnes Van Rhijn was more accommodating when Marian came to her about this invitation. 

NEXT: Chapter 3

[mickgaydolenz]

hiiiiii Asia. ive been so busy experiencing an actual social life and having very lgbt things happening to me that my interest in studying has dipped by a scary amount. like yeah im gaining unlimited rizz right now because of my Venus return… but ive been getting too lazy and hedonistic out here so im struggling 🥲 rip in peace to me ig

but if im not gonna do studying then i should at least keep up my interest by studying other charts. ive pretty much exhausted the boys — unless something in the astro weather occurs onto Micky, there’s not much left to share. of course though if i find anything new to me you know i’ll message you straight away 🫶🏻

so instead of the guys, i hear people around here like this band called “the beatles”. i don’t know much about them so forgive me that i won’t be able to go in-depth with it (beatlemaniacs do your thing), but i’ll share some astro observations anyways:

Paul’s chart goes crazy with the 3H & 4H stelliums — majority of them in Gemini; as a Gemini stellium myself i bet either of two things: 1. once you get him talking he never shuts the fuck up, or 2. doesn’t talk unless it’s to provide information (😔🤚🏻 guilty as charged officer). only his Jupiter (+ asteroid Hygeia) are in Cancer in his 4H. his Moon, Mars, Pluto and asteroid Chiron are in the 6H ruled by Leo, so his normal life is always entertaining yet risky… perhaps at the cost of his fame. his 8H, 9H and 10H are all empty.

John has a 6H stellium, primarily in Libra, as his Venus and Neptune (+ asteroid Chariklo) are in Virgo, which i think is definitely where his personal philosophy stems from; Libra is all about balance, peace and relationships, while Virgo is all about practicality, routine and health. his 1H has his Jupiter, Saturn and Uranus all in Taurus. his Aquarius Moon resides in the 11H and his Scorpio Mercury resides in his 7H — absolute weird girl energy. i took a skim of the aspects and they’re a lot of squares jumping out, so lots of conflict between wants and needs. he has an empty 3H and 8H.

George has a 1H Scorpio Moon, which is a great start /sc. his asteroid Psyche also resides in his 1H… i sense a moody bitch in our midst. interestingly it’s hard to pinpoint a stellium for him, i would say his 4H and 9H, which both houses dual two different signs; it’s giving confusion and contradictions. his Pisces Sun and Aquarius Mercury reside in the 4H, his Pisces Venus residing in the 5H, his Capricorn Mars residing in the 3H, his Jupiter and Pluto residing in the 9H, and his Saturn and Uranus (+ Vertex) residing in the 8H. he has an empty 2H and 7H — he has no Sagittarius placements either.

Ringo has a 5H stellium, mostly in Leo, as his asteroid Chiron is in Cancer; his Moon, Mercury, Mars and Pluto reside there, which makes him sound like so much fun honestly, but might be an egomaniac at points (it happens to the best of all Leo placements — esp the Pluto Leo boomer generation lol). his Sun and Venus in Cancer reside in the 4H, his Virgo Neptune in the 6H, his Jupiter and Saturn in Taurus in the 1H, and Taurus Uranus in the 2H. he has his 8H and 10H empty, and he has no Scorpio placements.

i hope this satisfies you all. peace and love on planet earth ✌🏻💖 !!

kale i am so, so, so, so happy for you and your social life popping off (ESPECIALLY THE LGBTQ THINGS <3 <3)!!!!!! i can not stress how happy this makes me enough, like yes go out and fucking SLAY kale you deserve it!!

also god fucking bless you for providing me an astro fix, i actually am very fucking impressed with how well all of these track tbh (i'm not a super fan by any stretch of the imagination, but these seem so accurate to me). also can relate to the whole you and paul talking forever and ever amen because once i get going i'm unstoppable too dude

[camoooh]

Got tagged by @guywiththeroses (thank you ily) to answer some questions lets fuckin goooo 🤙

1. If you were to attend a costume party tonight, what or whom would you go as?

hmm. probably 80's boy george because hello, fun

2. What are your choice of toppings on a hamburger? And do you prefer gas or charcoal grilling?

whatever's going really, i like lots of sauces, gotta have lettuce and tomato on it too. i love cheese but it doesn't like me so probably not that, rip. and gas/charcoal like what's better for cooking with or for the taste? i wouldn't know the difference for either tbh

3. You are chosen to have lunch with the President. The condition is you only get to ask one question. What do you ask?

no question, just a staring contest. he who wins, takes the oval office. i'm your president now, i'm going to fix it all (i don't even live in the U.S)

4. It’s your first day of vacation, what are you doing?

making sure the car has petrol, worrying I've left something behind, figuring out the layout of the building, finding all the exits

5. What is your concession stand must-have at the movies?

Nothing, i used to smuggle in my own stuff

6. Which do you dislike most: pop-up ads or spam email?

spam emails die quietly in my inbox that i never check. pop ups count as jump scares and make me violent

7. What do you think Captain Hook’s name was before he had a hook for a hand?

Captain gurrrl what shampoo do you use, your hair is luscious

8. Rock, paper, or scissors?

rock

9. How long was it from ‘the first date’ until the proposal of marriage? How long until the wedding?

i have never been engaged/ married

10. Which is worse, being in a place that is too loud, or too quiet?

Both can be equally as awful depending on my mood

11. What is one quality that you really appreciate in a person?

noticing and remembering small details

12. At the good old general store, what particular kind of candy would you expect to be in the big jar at the counter?

this post is very american but growing up in england it was always a big ole jar of humbugs

13. What is the most distinguishing landmark in your city?

the volcano probably

14. Everyone hears discussions that they consider boring. What topic can put you to sleep quicker than any other?

Agreeing with Dane on this one, celebrity gossip switches off my brain so fast. i don't care

15. How many times did it take you to pass your drivers test?

in NZ there's three exams to get your license, your learners (like a written exam) which i passed first time, restricted license (can drive but within curfew and no passengers) i had to take 3 times, and full license (go for it, no restrictions) which i passed first time. i taught myself to drive so i'm not surprised it took a few attempts

16. If you had to have the same topping on your vanilla ice cream for the rest of your life, what topping would you choose?

not really a sweet/ ice cream person but i think strawberries would be good with it, or fruit in general

17. What food item would need to be removed from the market altogether in order for you to live a healthier, longer life?

tbh my diet isn't what's stopping me from living a long healthy life, its cigarettes

18. You are offered an envelope that you know contains $50. You are then told that you may either keep it or exchange it for another envelope that may contain $500 or may be empty. Do you keep the first envelope, or do you take your chances with the second?

eh fuck it take the chance, go for the $500

19. If you had to choose, which would you give up: TV, or internet?

i already don't watch tv, i just stream everything, so give up tv i guess

20. Who is your dream girl or boy from movies/tv?

tbh i don't really have one? i always just look at characters and go yeah wow they're cool i'd like to be buddies with them

21. Have you ever met a celebrity?

nope

22. What kind of lunch box did you have as a kid?

didn't eat lunch, the times i did have food it was just loose in my school bag lmao

23. What would you rather have, a nanny, a housekeeper, a cook, or a chauffeur?

a cook, i hate cooking with a passion, need someone to make sure i eat right

24. Would you rather be trapped in an elevator, or stuck in traffic?

traffic, easy, you've got music and a comfy seat, and lots of people in the same situation, its chill. stuck in a lift? i'm laying on the floor and accepting my fate. this is how i die

25. Lets say a brick fell on your foot, and your kid is standing right next to you, what is your ‘cleaned up’ swear word?

I will straight up swear in front of a child, they'll live. but sometimes its fun to blurt out random words that aren't even relevant, like "mozzarella!" or "traffic cone" or "Azerbaijan" (the last one i've used a lot recently it's just satisfying to say)

this was fun, i tag @echoanddust and whoever else wants to join 🤙

[bllsbailey]

Elon Musk Savages Woke 'Star Wars' Producer Kathleen Kennedy—'She’s More Deadly Than the Death Star!'

It’s always fun to check out the social media posts of Elon Musk, the billionaire Twitter/X owner and CEO of both Tesla and SpaceX, because you never know what he‘s going to say next, and—even though he has not declared that is a Republican or a conservative—he’s likely these days to send the woke crowd into paroxysms of whining. 

His latest target is Lucasfilm president Kathleen Kennedy,

who has turned the once-beloved "Star Wars" franchise into a series of poorly-performing streaming shows and films that emphasize gender politics over, you know, plot and interesting storylines. As we’ve been reporting at RedState, the latest disastrous output—"The Acolyte"—features lesbian witches who procreate by using the Force. I know “Star Wars” is a fantasy, but I’m betting that’s not a thing in any universe.

Musk weighed in with his usual savage humor, liking a post that ripped Kennedy and adding, “She’s more deadly than the Death Star!”

He wasn’t done, however, and on Saturday, he was at it again:

"Kathleen Kennedy is super bigoted against men." Oof. The truth hurts.

Brandon Morse, Brad Slager, and other RedState writers have written extensively on just how bad “The Acolyte” is; here’s a sample:

Think I'll skip this one:

Creator of Disney's 'The Acolyte' Tries Denying the Woke Content That Was Originally Celebrated

'Non-Binary' Star of 'The Acolyte' Has Total Meltdown, Writes Woke 'Diss Track' of Star Wars Fans

Star Wars Is Now Lesbian Space Witches...I'm Not Kidding

Kennedy, however, is unapologetic:

Kennedy — who has been president of Lucasfilm since Disney bought the film and production company founded by “Star Wars” creator George Lucas in 2012 — has defended her decision to name Leslye Headland to direct “The Acolyte,” which is currently streaming on Disney+… Headland, the first woman to create a TV series for the franchise, has sought to make “The Acolyte” more diverse by casting minority actors including Amandla Stenberg, who identified as nonbinary and gay, and Korean star Lee Jung-jae. The narrative in “The Acolyte” that has raised hackles implies that powerful witches belonging to an all-female coven — led by Mother Aniseya, played by actress Jodie Turner-Smith — used the force to generate female offspring that star as the twin main characters, played by Amandla Stenberg.

Yeah, that sounds like a promising storyline. Not.

Artists should be able to make films about what moves them, and nobody is arguing that LGTBQ topics should be banned; if people want to see such fare, there’s a place for that. Where Kennedy—and Disney as a whole—has failed is by injecting controversial gender theories in almost everything they put out these days. Of course the original “Star Wars” movies had a heavily male fanbase—it had lightsabers, pretty women, dastardly villains, and spaceships; what’s not to like? The problem with the new Disney and Kathleen Kennedy approach is that they imply through their words and actions that there is something wrong with that. 

But there’s not. There is plenty of content out there that draws more female viewers than males—I don’t spend any of my time watching Hallmark movies or “Real Housewives of Whatever”; that fare doesn’t interest me in the slightest, and that’s fine. But imagine if they started a WWE storyline in the latest “Little Women" adaptation (sure to be staring Keira Knightley), that wouldn’t make sense, right? Cut from lovely ladies in their finery discussing their emotions to sweaty men fighting in a cage? I’m guessing that would not be a box-office winner.

Once again, Musk is able to sum up a topic with just a few words. He must be doing something right—he has 188 million followers. It’s posts like these that show the reason why.

Twitter/X under Musk has freed itself from the shackles of its former censorship regime—but that’s not true of all the Big Tech Thought Police. They routinely try to demonetize us, censor us, or shadow-ban our content.

One way we fight this relentless onslaught is through our VIP program.

Consider becoming a member today; you'll not only be supporting independent journalism, but you'll also get access to VIP stories, videos, and content not available to non-members—and most importantly IMHO, you'll get to participate in our raucous discussion boards.

Remember that a Gold-level account gets you access to all of our sister sites in Townhall Media: PJ Media, Twitchy, Hot Air, Bearing Arms, and Townhall.com.

If you're already a VIP member, all of us here at RedState are deeply grateful for your support. If you'd like to do more, you can give someone a gift membership (you just need their email address).

Use code SAVEAMERICA for a mighty 50% discount. Thank you for participating in the fight for truth at this crucial time!

[bruhstation]

it’s been a hot while since I touched my cstm x limbus company AU doc but RAMBLE UNDER THE CUT TIME

to put it simply. edward’s literary basis, george orwell’s 1984, is a what-if speculative dystopian science fiction novel set in an alternate reality where theres an ongoing international scale war between three superstates and the uk (now called airstrip one) has dissolved into a totalitarianism superstate under the rule of “big brother”, a mysterious faceless cult of personality. history is rewritten by the ministry of truth. people that oppose the party will be brought to the ministry of love and be psychologically tormented to make them “love” the big brother. the protagonist and his lover, who both worked for the ministry of truth and secretly wished for liberation, got trapped by a fake resistance group formed by an undercover member of the thought police. they were brought to the ministry of love and tormented. the ending is really… not very hopeful. it showcases how the protagonist is not as special as the readers were led to believe (his status as the protagonist would make one think he’s special and will lead some kind of revolution) and that anyone who claims “I’m built different” really are susceptible to propaganda THIS IS WHAT YOUNGER LCB EDWARD WAS LIKE BEFORE HE MELLOWED OUT AND JOINED LIMBUS COMPANY

1984 is a pretty heavy book and uhhhhhh tying back to edward in the limbus company AU it might not sound fitting to the source material but this is LCB AU so his story has to change to fit the setting. ok. august 2023 me was onto something related to edward and his old age and how he simultaneously wanted to be more useful and live a normal life even outside the nest without the risk of being ripped to shreds by The Head THE PROJECT MOON WORLD IS INSANE OKAY LIKE ALL FREAKY THINGS CONSIDERED

choosing “the little prince” as gordon’s literary basis makes me kinda sad. the little prince is about an innocent young prince living in a small asteroid who ventures from planet to planet. he recounted his life story to the narrator whose plane crashed at the sahara desert. he met a vain rose whom he tended and cared for but soon left it after feeling that she had only used her. he then visits various planets each inhabited by an adult, each adult showing the darker yet realistic sides of grown-ups either disillusioned or carried away by their own hubris. the prince finally visited earth, the largest planet he’s ever visited, and encountered many things there such as a garden of roses and a sly fox, and eventually, the narrator. the ending of the book is also quite sad but it’s one of the most memorable literature from my childhood

antoine de saint exupery brings up the idea that adults aren’t as enlightened as children? adults are too busy about real pressing issues such as work and money while the most serious issue children face is trying to find someone who’d understand their drawings or what their intentions are.

SO. BACK TO LCB GORDON BEFORE I START GOING CRAZY if you read the lcb backstory I showed here you can tie the themes of loss of innocence and having to grow up quickly due to the tragedies he’s faced (N corp always taking everything man he was literally just a kid) like he lived a comfortable privileged life with his family before N corp’s raid. then gordon has to learn how to fend for himself from scratch and is faced with how the world doesn’t care even when he’s just a child. he learns about the real world in the city like how fixer offices operate and realized that he lived comfortably before because his parents were sucking up to the head and now he (and scott) is in the position of the very people his family has taken advantage of. womp womp

the literary basis aren’t straightforward or a blatant adaptation of the books, just like how limbus company is with their literary references. it’s like, oh here’s a literature, how can I take major bits of these stories and work them into my post apocalyptic dystopian world as one big homage. that’s how I roll in the lcb AU too

also cosmo if you’re getting into literature please read albert camus’ “the stranger” and herman hesse’s “demian”. also tetsuko kuroyanagi’s “totto-chan” and johanna spyri’s “heidi”. my bad atp I’ll just recommend every single book I’ve read

assorted 2x3x4 stuff from a few months ago (except the last one! it’s recent! it’s a limbus company AU I’m working on)

also a small life update under the cut

Keep reading

[alaffy]

Nancy Drew, Ex.1x05 – The Case of the Wayward Spirit

Yeah, the characters are growing on me a little bit more.  But, at the moment, I love Victoria.  The actress, Liza Lapira, is really great. I mean, I’m glad that Lapira ended up as part of the main cast on another show, but I would have loved to see her pop up on this show more often.  Of course, I am assuming that nothing happens to the character this season (I just read that Victoria was in one season, not what happened to the character).

Well, we’re just jumping right into it this episode.  Tiffany, who’s possessed George’s body, goes back to Tiffany’s home.  There she cuts her her/George’s finger with a razor and writes “I know” on the bathroom mirror.  Fun times.  (Bye the bye, prop department needs better flake blood.  That is clearly paint).  

The next morning, Nancy is thinking about her next steps.  Clearly Lucy wanted her to find the photo, which means Nancy needs to find out why.  She decides the only thing she can do is talk to Karen.  Apparently, Nancy is going by the Riverdale method of investigation. (You live in a small town; you literally can talk to anyone else.  Someone will know).  Of course, Nancy is thwarted by the evils of…leaving a message (Seriously, everyone screens their calls.  Leave a message).  

Ok, so George is wondering if they have any smaller band aids at the restaurant…because she woke up and her finger was all bloody.  Where’d she wake up at?  Like we saw she has a home, so why wouldn’t she fix her finger there?  Anyway, a guy comes in asking if they can cater the Hudson’s charity event, held in Tiffany’s honor, at the last minute.  Which, George says yes.  

George gets a call from Ryan, demanding to know why she was in his house list night.  Of course, George doesn’t know what he’s talking about.   That is, until he mentions a message written in blood.  George looks at her finger and quickly ends the call.  

Nancy goes to the police station to talk to Karen, who isn’t in.  Long story short, Nancy finds out that they may be opening a case into Tiffany’s death because of what her father said about the autopsy.  Nancy isn’t able to find out more, however, as she gets texts from both Ace and Bess, asking her to come to The Claw as George is acting strange.  

Nancy goes to The Claw and is told that George cut her hand while preparing food and, long story short, locked herself in her office.  Nancy tries to talk to George, but all George does is make a guttural…noise.  Nancy is able to force open the door and the three of them see George sitting on the floor.  She’s got a bunch of photos around her of herself and she’s basically scratching her face out of the picture.  

They get George out of the office and she sits at the table, staring blankly.  Nancy wonders what might be causing this; Bess realizes George may be possessed.  And, again long story short, they check George’s locker and find the mirror she was supposed to put on Tiffany’s body.  I mean, I understand why Nancy wants to be skeptical; but at this point….

Meanwhile, Nick comes into The Claw looking for Ace.  He knows that Ace and Laura are close (not sure how, but ok).  He tells Ace about how Laura broke into his loft and stole the hard drive.  Now, as the box was meant for Nick, the drive probably was as well, and Nick wants Ace to help get it back.  Nearby, George/Tiffany turns to pay attention to the conversation.  The movement makes Nick notice George is there.

Nancy and Bess come out of the back, and they all watch George get up and start to rip at a paper with Tiffany’s picture on it.  Nick wonders what’s going on and Bess tells him that George is possessed by Tiffany. Nick says that’s impossible; but as he says that he notices that George looks like she’s trying to take a ring on and off, just like Tiffany did when she was upset.  Bess shows George the mirror, but all Tiffany sees is herself. Nancy has a hunch and takes a photo of George with her phone.  She shows Tiffany and Tiffany faints, leaving George in control of her body.  

Of course, George doesn’t remember anything about it.  But then she sees the cut on her hand, and she realizes that something’s wrong.  The others tell her that she’s possessed by Tiffany, and they show her what she did to the pictures (well, Nick still doesn’t quite believe).  Anyway, Nancy suggests they take her home and, maybe, they can talk to her mom.  

We learn that George is pretty much the breadwinner of the family and has two younger, much younger, sisters. When it comes to the spiritual, George’s mom clearly has a lot of knowledge.  George’s mother, Victoria, needs George to explain everything that’s been going on.  Bess shows Victoria the picture and she asks George why Tiffany would hate her so much. George admits to the affair, which is really bad for George as it’s clear that the ghost’s anger towards George will…look, Tiffany may have found a new body and George may no longer exist soon.

But, because the plot has to move on, George’s mom and Bess will be working on a way to get Tiffany’s spirit out of George’s body.  Meanwhile, George and everyone else (including Nick) will be working the catering event.  Nancy is told to call Victoria the moment Tiffany’s spirit comes out (which probably won’t be long considering where they’re going).  I’m sure Nancy won’t take this as an opportunity to find out what happened the night Tiffany died.  

So, the dude that hired them, Owen is there to help them (and cause tension between Nancy and Nick). Also, damn dude, I know your jealous; but maybe this isn’t the time for loud noises and unnerving stares.  

Nancy follows George out into the garden to hands out hors d’oeuvres and to watch George; all while acting normal.  That is until she hears the creepy children and sees something clearly buried in the yard. She goes over to the pile and starts to pull out the pink dress; until she’s grabbed by a hand.  She pulls away and stumbles back into Karen.  Nancy looks back and the mound of dirt is gone. Nancy shows Karen the picture of Karen and Lucy together and demands to know why Karen lied.  Karen said it’s because of guilt.  They were best friends until after a party during their junior year; at which point Lucy pulled away.  Some kind of underground thing and Lucy is why Karen became a cop.  We…we’re not supposed to trust Karen, are we.

And then Owen swoops in, in a business suit.  Oh, I guess he’s rich…he’s a Hudson, isn’t he?  Oh, no, he’s a Marvin (and I think we just found where Bess is going to get her DNA sample).  

Back in the kitchen, we find out that Ace has gotten the drive, but Laura has come with it.  Laura says that Tiffany was collecting evidence to take the Hudson’s down, but then stopped talking about it.  Nick believes that Tiffany was protecting Laura that’s why she gave him the drive, but Laura counters that it was in a place that Laura would know to find it.  Ace suggests working together, but Laura makes it clear she’s only there to get the password. One more try and she’s locked out. Ace suggests to Nick they ask George; which Nick thinks is crazy (And I’m with Nick.  Not because I don’t know George is possessed, but because this can go really bad, really fast).  

Ah, so Owen is our exposition guy this episode.  Ryan meets up with Owen to talk about a deal they had.  However, Owen isn’t so sure as he checked with Ryan’s father; who tells Owen that Ryan has lost the Hudson corporation hundreds of millions of dollars; basically, Ryan’s fortune at Hudson’s.  Rayn says he’s on his way to making it back, but Owen won’t take the risk.

Meanwhile, George sees Ryan and that’s enough to make Tiffany possess her again.  Tiffany grabs a knife off a table and heads to where Ryan is, making sure she’s not seen.  But then she sees her clothes in a van and stops.  

Ace, Nick, and Nancy realize George is missing.  They call Bess, who’s bringing Victoria, and they go to look for George.  Well, Ace almost does; but he sees Laura.  She starts to dance with him (uh, there’s dancing at the party.  This isn’t some random thing) and asks what he was saying about her sister.  He tries to pretend he didn’t say anything important, but she knows he’s lying.  She wants him to tell her everything.  She may want to sit down first.  

Beth comes but without Victoria.  She runs into Lisbeth, the woman Bess was interested in a few episodes ago.  Long story short, Bess gives Lisbeth her number. Then Bess sees George has changed into one of Tiffany’s dresses and is walking around with a large knife in her hand. Bess makes some…well she says she has to go and goes running into the kitchen.  Nancy sees her and asks where Victoria is.  Bess lets her know Victoria is on the way and that George is clearly possessed.  Nancy says she’s going to text Ace to let him know and go find Tiffany to get her answers.

Tiffany is walking down the stairs towards Ryan.  Ryan runs up to her, thinking it’s George, and demands to know why she’s there. Tiffany lets him know she knows about the waitress and kisses him.  Ryan is upset because there are people there….who clearly haven’t seen a thing even though Ryan and Tiffany are right in the middle of them all.  As this is a show that has the supernatural in it, I’m going to assume that’s what’s going on.  Nancy runs up to them and tells Ryan that someone is looking for him inside; giving him a chance to escape.  Nancy then says that people are looking for Tiffany and leads her away.  

So, they go into the kitchen and, well, Nancy is trying to get Tiffany to tell her about the night she died.  Victoria has arrived and she’s getting ready to get Tiffany out of George’s body.  And Tiffany has no idea that she’s dead and in the wrong body.  Then, Nick comes in the room.  Taking a chance, Nick asks if Tiffany knows him.  This seems to be enough for Tiffany to, well she starts playing with a ring on her finger indicating that she’s upset.  And, so, Nick now Knows Tiffany is in the body.  And, Tiffany, it seems is starting to realize that something is wrong; but doesn’t accept she’s dead or murdered.

At this point, Ace and Laura run into the room.  Laura realizes that her sister is in there and tells Tiffany that they’re going to help her.  Of course, Bess says the worst thing possible and tells Laura they are banishing Tiffany’s spirit (Why not just tell her they’re helping her find peace?).  Laura tells Tiffany that she’s in the body of the woman who slept with her husband (basically, she deserves to keep the body?) and then knocks over the incense that is needed for the ritual.  Laura tells Tiffany to run, and she does; just after she grabs the knife she had put down.  Laura tries to go with her, but Ace grabs her.  

Tiffany runs down the hall and into Ryan, who manhandles her into a room.  He’s pissed because he knows if his father finds out about what happened in the garden, that Ryan will be disowned.  George is able to break free for a moment and ask for help, but then Tiffany takes control again.  Nancy and Victoria burst into the room and Victoria tells Tiffany to leave George. Ryan, not knowing what’s going on, thinks Victoria is talking to him and decides to go.  

So, everyone else comes into the room and they start the ritual.  Nancy promises to find Tiffany’s killer.  Nick promises as well and promises to stay with Tiffany until the ritual is over.  Tiffany makes Nick promise he will keep Laura safe, and he agrees.  Then, she says Dantes.  And then she is gone.

George wakes up on the floor.  At which point Victoria makes one of the best exits ever.  Nancy asks if Nick is ok.  He says he is and that he understood Tiffany’s message.  Nancy understands this means he has to go.  George asks if Nancy got what she wanted.  Nancy says she did because George didn’t die.  I don’t think George really believed her.  Bess wants George to spill her trauma, but George is like it was horrible and no.  

Nancy realizes that if ghosts work on pure emotion, that means Lucy was attached to something. Nancy looks at the picture of Karen and Lucy.  Lying on the ground, under Karen’s feet, is a poster.    

Meanwhile, Ace and Nick are able to convince Laura to give them the drive.  She trusts Ace, but it’s clear that she’s not happy with the situation (to be fair, she just lost her sister a second time).  

Nancy sees Owen and, long story short, he’s into real estate and construction.  She wants to know if he still wants to make himself useful and they leave together.  Of course, Nick and Ace see them leave and Nick is jealous.  

Ace and Nick go to The Claw. Ace is worried Laura will not forgive him.  Nick is sympathetic, but also knows they need to get into the files first.  The password is Dantes, the first book Tiffany gave Nick.  And, holy hell, there’s a lot of info.  Of course, the biggest worry is that some of the documents are signed by Owen.  Nick calls Nancy, but she declines it.  

She’s at a construction site where Owen is getting her something to dig a hole at her old high school. Um, she’s trying to unearth a time capsule.  

At the end, Bess sends a message to Lisbeth to get dinner with her.  George is depressed and traumatized.   Nancy goes through the time capsule and finds a DVD.  On the DVD, there a shot of Lucy and a young man.  The disc starts to skip back and forth and the name Ryan is heard. So, Ryan may have something to do with Lucy’s death?

[nyxonlive]

"origami" hcs

❣ contains cc! dream, cc! george, cc! wilbur, cc! karl, cc! quackity, cc! niki, cc! sapnap, cc! technoblade ❀ genre: fluff

☻ dream ☻ ❥ birds birds birds ❥ you guys will have so much fun with it, just laughing while folding the pieces neatly ❥ if he somehow tears the paper he will just freak out, but you told him it's alright and show the box of papers (idk how to explain this but u get it) ❥ he would display it in your bedroom ❥ "look baby, i did it" (carefully shows you the green origami bird he made"

✩ george ✩ ❥ butterflies 1000% ❥ he would just see you so focused on a piece of paper and ended up joining you ❥ you explained to him you were making origami butterflies his face would just light up asking you if he can join ❥ would be confused at first but you teach him and he carefully follows it ❥ "should we hang this little butterfly in our room love?"

♪ wilbur ♪ ❥ would beg you to make an origami ninja star ❥ he would just have so much fun making it with you and playing with it ❥ tightly folded the paper so it doesn't go loose ❥ would happily show chat what you guys created ❥ "darling look" (ends up throwing the star in the air)

✦ karl ✦ ❥ you would ask him if he wants to create an origami penguin with you ❥ would instantly say yes just admiring how you neatly fold the paper being focused on your work ❥ imagine him doing an origami heart while you're making your penguin ❥ would display hang it on his office telling chat how beautiful and focused you are when you were making it ❥ "chat look! my baby made this isn't it cool?"

☀ quackity ☀ ❥ would ask you to teach him how to make a sword (yeah you heard me right an origami sword) ❥ you can see how he looks so hyped when you agreed ❥ may get a little frustrated when he doesn't know what he's doing ❥ hyped to show chat even though it looks a little crooked ❥" chat look i fucking did this, my amore taught me"

♡ nihachu ♡ ❥ you would make her a flower bouquet (it's a little hard but for niki you'll do anything) ❥ would see you focused on something (getting frustrated in the way) so she asked if you're alright ❥ you would give her the neatly made origami and her eyes would just lit up ❥ would hug you and will kiss your cheeks muttering "thank you" ❥ "thank you, love! it looks so pretty"

♨ sapnap ♨ ❥ would make a fire origami with you ❥ would help you on the way ripping some pieces ❥ would just be so thankful you're teaching him to do this ❥ would love it (because he spent his time with you) ❥ "baby it looks so cool, you're so talented"

♛ technoblade ♛ ❥ you would make an origami crown for him ❥ casually watching you while you're making it ❥ would praise you and admire you ❥ would talk about history or will make jokes that cracks you up making the paper crumble a little bit ❥ " i forgot how talented you are darling."