#she doesn't actually have this mount yet.

[sezja]

Glamtober Day 3: Match Your Mount

Grey with purple stripes? Why, this one's easy!

[cregansdingdong]

ɢᴜᴀʀᴅᴇᴅ.

Aemond Targaryen x Baratheon!Wife!reader | no use of y/n | warnings: he does get snappy for a second so very slight angst, his boo thang doesn't tolerate that so don't worry, period-typical misogyny, gets a tiny bit suggestive at the end but nothing crazy hes eating her coochie out off camera; lovers spat but he can't resist her this is so Honeymoon by lana del ray also love and war by Fleurie

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Aemond was not a man of many words. His wife knew that upon their marriage. She knew he had a fortress around his heart and his mind in order to better protect himself, and it wasn’t something she took complete offense to—there was no point in taking it personally; the walls would not come down because they took vows in front of the High Septon. Day by day, she would have to chip at him, speck by speck, brick by brick, until all that was left…well, she had yet to figure that part out. But still, she persevered. Their nuptials were built on a political agreement in the night—like everything else among the highborns—her father brutally negotiating his terms to bend the knee to King Aegon. She remembered what it felt like being stirred out of her sleep by her handmaiden, dressing in the dark to make an appearance for their princely guest. There had been little explanation at the moment, and even her sisters hadn’t a clue.

Until they saw him. One-eyed and formidable; standing there, the silver-haired Targaryen Prince didn’t need to do much to strike fear in the hearts of Borros Baratheon’s five daughters. Lined up like prized cattle, they waited for him to take his pick. She thought he’d pick Cassandra—the son they’d create together would most likely be the heir of the Stormlands. That was the smart choice. Instead, as she stared ahead humiliatingly, a gaze of amethyst locked onto the slope of her shoulder, trailing the silhouette of where her jaw met her neck. Her throat. It was predatory, almost, the way he inspected her. A viper choosing the most appetizing little mammal it could find. Then he approached her, somehow even taller than he seemed—he stood close enough that she could feel the heat of him emanating into her chilled skin, his even breath fanning lightly against her cheek. “This one.”

The words were so final. There was no arguing, no further negotiations to be made. He’d chosen her. That was all. A year passed, and it was a long one. His betrothed did her best to ignore the whispers of the men of her father’s court. One-eyed Kinslayer, they’d say, the youngest is his bride. He’ll come to claim her soon. The day did arrive when the Targaryen prince returned on dragonback to collect what he was entitled to. There had only been the bare warning of a raven just a day before, leaving her enough time to decide what she wanted to take to King’s Landing and send her trunks ahead. Vhagar arrived after dawn, her rider as stoic and unyielding as he’d been the last time they met. Saying goodbye to her sisters was difficult, but she managed, remembering the very firm prompt Lord Baratheon had given her about crying in front of the prince. And she didn’t, despite the indignation that came with being sold like a broodmare. Her entire life she’d known her birth would only be useful as a bridge between Houses—but being a bride of war felt shameful, vile, and held no pleasantries.

Meeting the dragon churned her stomach terribly. Other than a few of the quiet shushes in High Valyrian, Aemond hadn’t said much during the exchange. The ancient beasts hadn’t cared to eat her, thankfully. The first hurdle was over with. She rode on the back of Vhagar that morning—which was somehow more terrifying than it sounded…and a tad humiliating for how long it took her to actually climb to the mount. She’d expected him to rush her, to make a comment, but he remained silent and unusually patient. The journey itself felt longer than it was, her fists clenched around the hem of his doublet, but it was over soon enough. They’d married within the week, barely having said a word to each other. Every day after that was a power struggle. Aemond must’ve thought she’d be meek, or perhaps quiet, but he’d been either sorely mistaken or genuinely misled. But the deed was done, the marriage consummated thoroughly. He made his bed and he had to lie in it. Whatever the case was, their shared chambers—his idea—worked dually as a bedroom and a battlefield. While she was successful at times in penetrating his armor, the circumstances did not change even after half a year of marriage.

“What is wrong now?” She hummed, watching him stare down into the flames of the lit hearth, hands pensively behind his back. She knew his habits like they were imprinted in her skin. He only stood like that when something was bothering him. Her embroidery was paused in her lap as she waited. Aemond turned his head slightly, his eye flicking over to her. He said nothing for a few more moments, as if he was debating entertaining such a question at all. Sometimes he liked when she pushed at him. She wasn’t sure if this was that sort of evening. “Nothing you need to concern yourself with, wife.” There wasn’t as much bite to his words as she expected there would be, but if he wanted to start, she would finish. “I would like to concern myself, thank you, lest you go blind staring into the fire before our anniversary. What has you in such a foul mood, husband?”  She puts her craft down on the table, staring at him impatiently. He stiffened at her words, and she knew then that she struck a nerve. It seems to work though. Aemond’s features harden, the slightest bit of the real him seeping through his endless stoicism. “Small Council.” Was all he said. She gets the gist of it. “I see. Would you like to share anything else?”

“No.”

Something about the blatant rejection thrilled her. She was no fool as to what probably happened—the King was drunk, angry, or plainly at odds with whatever it was that her husband and the rest were trying to suggest to him. She’d heard from the Dowager Queen they had begun talks of making a match for young Jahaera. Aemond was a hard man to read, but he wasn’t completely indecipherable. “I’m going to offer you my council then.” She doesn’t wait for him to respond, legs uncrossing upon her standing. He doesn’t move as she strides toward the fireplace, as unyielding as she’d been the moment she entered the sept and became his wife. “His Grace, the King, is courageous and inspiring. He’s a man of the finest breeding and a formidable, yet merciful, attentive ruler–”

“If you’re going to give council that I did not ask for, at least speak plainly.” He grumbles, irritation emitting from his poreless face. “In this room, it is only you and I, and neither of us wish to lie. I care not to hear compliments of my brother fall from the lips of my wife.” She considers her words for a few moments. “Alright. The King is a drunk who lives in his own world—but he is still the King, and that means the ideas of his advisors can be very easily dismissed by a mere word if he so wishes. Attempting to speak sense into him, or to convince him, will never work when he has such power.” 

“If you’re suggesting I play into his drunk delusions, I will not.” He scoffs, eye narrowed in reproach. She tries not to get angry right away. “That is not what I’m suggesting. Before you so rudely interrupted me, I was going to say that your best chance is convincing the second highest person in the realm. The Queen.”

“This is a matter between men. Helaena is just as much in her own deluded world as he is—worse, even. She is dreaming her life away. Speaking to her is not unlike catching a cloud, wife.” Aemond says, walls coming back up to ignore her again. His coldness returns in an instant. “Your council has proven useless as I knew it would be. You should return to your embroidery.” And now she was angry. “We’re the perfect pair then, aren’t we, my prince? You dismiss me as Aegon dismisses you.” Her words came out like a challenge, daring him perhaps to actually consider what it was she was trying to say. He reacts accordingly. A long, slender hand wraps itself around her arm in an inflexible grip, yanking her to him seemingly to remind her of their roles. It didn’t hurt. The words were gritted from between his teeth. “What did you say to me, wife?”

“You heard me. Your unwillingness to accept another perspective of how to get what you want will be your downfall. And to think I was almost about to offer to speak to Helaena on your behalf. Perhaps she is a cloud to you, husband, but she’s quite tangible if you treat her like a human being.” She huffs. Aemond pauses at that, in thought as his hand loosens ever so slightly. “I should bend you over my knee for speaking to me that way—you’re lucky I’m not in the mood for it. Talk to Helaena then. Tell her Aegon is behaving like a stubborn fool and convince her that the Lannisters are the strongest choice for Jahaera if she cannot produce another male heir—I’m not asking.” His gaze stared down into her face, imploring her to refuse and see what was going to happen.

“Is my husband demanding my help?” She grins, something absolutely infuriating to him. Help. He loathed that word. “You said it yourself. You’re not asking. My idea must truly be valuable to you—my bond with Helaena even more so. I thought it was a matter between men?” The taunt in her voice was exhaled against every nerve in his body urging him to act. To show her how maddening she was. To fuck the teasing out of her right there beside the fireplace. He was itching to have her do as he wished, and to do with her as he wanted. “You’re testing my patience.” He warns, something uncompromising burning behind his eyes. So different, and yet exactly the same. His wife leaned in closer, undeterred. “If you’re not willing to say please verbally, husband, you can do it another way. Or, of course, you can hurry along to the next council meeting if you’re so eager to be at Aegon’s mercy. What will it be?”

“Another way?” He murmured, eyes locked down at the juncture of her throat. “Hmm. It seems we’ve come to an understanding, wife. Lift your skirts.”

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[quill-beetlewing]

I've just re-read the short lived duel that Aeneas and Achilles have in Book 20 of the Iliad and it's actually the most hilarious fucking thing.

So it starts out with Apollo disguising himself as Lycaon, one of Priam's many sons, and telling to have a go at Achilles. Keep in mind that this is post-Patroclus Achilles. Aka: berserk Achilles. Aka: so fucking mad he would fight a literal river Achilles.

Aeneas, who is capable of critical thinking, says he doubts he can actually take him on. He also references a time when he was herding cattle on Mount Ida and Achilles ambushed him, adding that the only reason he survived then was because Zeus gave him enough strength to book it (cracking up the official times that he's been saved by a god from certain death to 3, you go dude!).

However, after a bit of back and forth and a ton of hyping up on Apollo's part, Aeneas decides to try anyway.

Like, what could possibly go wrong?

Achilles notices Aeneas charging at him and he begins to taunt him. It's something among the lines of: "I'm sorry, are you, background trojan character #61, actually gonna try and beat me? And then what? Do you think that Priam will reward you in some way? Maybe making you king after him? Well it's BULLSHIT, because Priam fucked so much that your chances of succeeding him are basically 0. Ahah. Loser."

Now, you'd think that maybe Aeneas got enraged at the comment and attacked him, or maybe he even got scared and backed down, but NOPE. What does Aeneas do?

Well, first of all, he insults Achilles' insults, comparing his bickering to that of a child. Literally, "I heard third graders do better than that." And then he decides to list his and Hector's entire fucking family tree.

You know that part of the Bible that's like "this guy sired this other guy, and this other guy sired yet another guy" and so on? It's basically that.

So after he's done with all that, Aeneas states that while he'd love to have a battle of insults with Achilles, because according to him he's actually very good at insulting people (his words, not mine), they should probably throw hands now. Achilles agrees.

The duel is shortlived and Aeneas gets his ass handed to him. Badly. As expected. And he's about die when ✨️POV shift✨️ we're not on Olympus where Poseidon, Hera and Athena are watching this absolute train wreck go down.

Poseidon, pitying Aeneas, suddenly goes on a rant. It's something among the lines of: "come on guys, look at him, he's just a little guy! He literally has no stakes in this war, he doesn't deserve to die here! He even gives us lots of gifts and sacrifices, he's literally such a nice guy. How can we do this to him!?

...oh and also he's part of some prophecy, Zeus would get mad if he died."

The fact that the way it's worded makes it sound like Aeneas being part of a literal prophecy is an afterthought to him absolutely floors me, Poseidon is literally just attached to a random dude that's fighting on the opposite side to his because he thinks he's nice.

After all that Hera is pretty unimpressed and states that she really doesn't care if our man lives or dies as neither her or Athena have ever saved a Trojan from death, she however adds that Poseidon is free to do whatever he wants.

The literal moment Hera stops talking, Poseidon lunges down from Olympus and onto the battlefield to look for the two combatants. When he does, he saves Aeneas like only he can do.

You know how when Diomedes first tries to kill Aeneas, Aphrodite gently folds her hands around him to shield him? There's none of that here. Poseidon just runs up to him and literally flings the motherfucker.

It literally says that he flies "high in the air". It's like a Looney Toons sketch.

So Aeneas lands and, while he's obviously a bit dazed, Poseidon proceeds to call him a madman and essentially tells him to never do something stupid like that again and just wait until Achilles is dead, then he'll be able to murder Achaeans to his heart's content. Aeneas is fine with that.

Achilles, who just saw his opponent just get yeeted into the fucking sky, just shrugs and goes "welp, guess that guy's off limits, I'm gonna go kill someone else now I guess lol".

This entire scene is pure fucking gold and the fact that I've literally never seen anyone talk about it just breaks my heart.

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

Longtime reader and fan (thank you for existing and sharing your writing!) first time asker, prompted by watching the movie The Martian: what if the team went on a mission out in space, during the war or after, and accidentally left someone behind on a planet? I can't decide who it would be worse for it to happen to, and whether being able to morph would really be helpful. Maybe it's a funny no-big when you have alien space travel, I suppose

Ooh, I think it all depends on who got left behind.

Ax: We know from canon that he can get by while stranded on an alien planet without either dying or losing his mind. That said, Ax also desperately needs company and doesn't do well alone. When he's stuck in the Dome ship, he gets to the point of hallucinations and memory problems from the isolation (MM4). So Ax would probably figure out how to get a potato farm or other food supply going — he's very good at cobbling together solutions from limited technology — and he would be able to fix things that went wrong for a time.

But Ax better find that Rover and get it talking to an Earth satellite as fast as he can, if he's the one stranded. And he hopefully wouldn't make a mistake that results in it frying. If he does, then Ax would have the greatest risk of just losing the plot. That could mean falling into a depression so bad he stops maintaining his food supply, becoming so anxious he can't do EVAs anymore, developing psychosis and losing track of reality, or any number of other ways that his brain could start eating itself. But if he does end up with any kind of major overwhelming stressor, then he's probably screwed. It's not like there's a way to do therapy through a 2-message-an-hour Rover running on Morse code, and I doubt(?) NASA would've sent antidepressants in their limited weight supply.

Jake: Would go the same way as Ax, but a lot faster. He wouldn't consider himself worth risking others' lives to rescue, he wouldn't have the necessary mental flexibility to engineer himself a long-term survival solution, and he wouldn't be able to remain sane with no one to talk to. I don't think he'd actually die by suicide. I think he'd just curl up in bed and eat 3x a day until he ran out of MREs, and then gradually slip away.

Marco: Easily the best equipped to survive over a year alone on Mars. Name puns aside, he's the most Mark Watney-ish of the Animorphs. He can laugh as he's crying, he can entertain himself, he can think through problems quickly, and he can charm the media of planet Earth enough to convince NASA to mount a rescue expedition.

Marco would start talking to himself the moment he wakes up alone, and he wouldn't stop talking until he was finally back on the spaceship. He'd try so hard to be cool and tough in the logs, insisting on not really being scared, not really being hungry or in pain, until you could almost believe him. If something breaks, Marco will take it apart and fix it. If he risks dying in the process of fixing the broken water purifier or oxygen system, then he's going to run straight at it with manic determination to make his death at least entertaining for the folks at home.

Of course, Marco might also be the most upsetting one for the other Animorphs to realize they've left behind. Rather than trying to make the others feel better about having made an honest mistake in the process of trying to save their own lives, he'd be making jokes about how he was five minutes late for the school bus and yet they still left him on the field trip, or he knew that Jake found him annoying but never realized he was that annoying. Which would only make the whole team feel way worse about the fact that they left him for dead and nearly let him die for real.

Cassie: Would do all the science she could, with the opportunity she'd been given. She would carefully log the rock samples she found, take extensive notes on her processes, and use up every single sample container and scrap of disc space she had left on her observations. Then she'd go out somewhere beautiful, eat one last MRE and watch one last Earthrise, and take off her helmet.

Tobias: Probably second-best equipped psychologically to spend all that time in survival mode. Like Ax, Tobias is prone to mental illness and so risks not being able to keep going through all the relentless misery and stress, but Tobias is also a solitary creature at heart. And Tobias isn't afraid to do what it takes to survive, as long as he's not hurting anyone else in the process. So he wouldn't make contacting Earth a priority (except to make it clear that he needs rescue) and he would be okay with a tiny trickle of communication with his fellow humans that eventually gets cut off.

However, Tobias is also a lot more... rigid in planning, I guess? He doesn't have Ax's or Marco's "try anything" attitude. He makes rules for himself, and then he follows them, even to the point of risking death. He tends to obsess over taking the right course of action no matter what, and spends a ton of time considering what right would be in any given situation. Like, he's got more functional fixedness than Marco or Cassie, which could be bad if his only option for survival is to make a sock and a paperback book cover into a makeshift CO2 filter. So I think Tobias would handle the isolation best of anyone on the team, but risks not handling the 40,000 random engineering problems that come from using a tent meant for 6 people over 2 weeks as a home for 18 months.

Tobias would also be extremely upsetting for the other Animorphs to have left behind. His role on the team is classic break the cutie, where anything bad happening to him is utterly devastating for all his friends in a way it wouldn't be to have Rachel or Jake suffer a similar fate. If there's anyone that the team would risk cannibalism and death to return to Mars for, it's him.

Rachel: It's hard to say if impulsivity is more of a bonus or a drawback here. Rachel has never taken anything lying down in her life, ever, and she'd be offended by the idea of some stupid dusty planet getting the better of her. She would fight with every iota of her being to survive, fighting airlock failure and potato rot and oxygen leaks and water system clogs.

But. Impulsivity. If that means she tries anything, tries everything, until a solution works, then excellent. If that means she gets fed up with the process of survival, less good. If that means she says screw it and eats when she's hungry, doubleplusungood.

[howdoesagrapewrites]

𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧 𝐉𝐚𝐰𝐬 𝐕 ✴️

Taglist: @faespace @baellabass @ejs398

Plot: Imagine being the legitimized bastard of Daemon Targaryen, and having a very devoted family.

Cw: incest/targcest, yandere/lovesick behavior, unhealthy relationships, platonic and romantic yanderes, not everyone is romantically involved with reader, yandere EVERYONE x reader, sexual content, no actual smut, mentions of noncon

>Alicent and her children had been guarding your sleep the whole night, the night of the king's passing

>Aemond saw his mother just observe you while displaying an unreadable expression, he prides himself with being able to decipher people and use it to his benefit, but this time, his mother seemed out of reach to him. If he had to guess, she was attempting to treat you like a pawn, trying to dehumanize you to gain control over the political situation, and she was failing

>For his part, his thoughts while observing you, were much tainted he was watching your chest rise with every breath, examining your boobs and how they would slightly change shape when you laid on your back, much rounder. He would love if his mother and sister left to grope and caress, even just over the cloth, even for just a minute. Just a minute to smell your skin, your natural scent now free of the perfumes you would wear to fit in court

>He would love to have a minute, but he wants a whole life, Aemond is sure not even growing old with you would leave him satisfied, he would look for you again

>He wondered what would you think of him, he has a plethora of fantasies depending on your reactions. The most obvious one, disgust. He would cage you his his arms, hold your wrists with one hand while using the other to rid you of the bothersome clothing, sucking and biting at your neck, then your niples. You resist, but he is able to bring you pleasure regardless, some of your screams turn into moans and by the time he's kissing below your navel and starting to use a finger to play with your slit, your pleas of "no" and "please do not" are almost automatic, you do want him to go down on you, but you continue to chant the words as if to preserve what's left of purity

>But that fantasy would soon get old, he wished to exert power over you, yet have you willingly submit

>If you could only look at him the same way that you used to while consoling him over his lack of a mount

>Helaena was there as well, Jahaera and Jahaerys had been brought by her, but taken to bed by the maids in no time

>Helaena sung intelligible songs while playing with the threads in-between her fingers, for the little audible parts, Aemond heard the songs speak of dragons, swords, fire and blood

>His mother had arranged for Aegon to usurp the throne, he would never say this out loud, he knows his brother is a usurper, but he encourages this, as he wants the strong bastards away from the line of succession as one can be. Better off dead, but that's too much to ask

>Everything was in place, except for the king. Aegon was missing, «of course Aegon was missing» he thought

>Otto wanted to send ser Criston to find him, but Alicent protested it would leave you alone. They went back and forth until Otto said they would entrust Daeron with your guard. Aemond rolled his eye.

>Helaena had left without him noticing, possibly to mother the twins and whatnot

>He was in his mother's chambers, Otto alongside her, discussing the future of the realm. «This is the real small council» he said to himself

>"I will find Aegon, mother" said Aemond

>"That is already taken care of, Ser Criston will not rest until-" Otto spoke

>"He doesn't know where Aegon is, I do"

>"Then speak at once, boy" Aemond grimaced at the words of his grandsire

>"I am not to speak, I am to search, this is matter that requires involvement" he paused "But I want something"

>"We shall send Ser Criston, you will join if he fails"

>"And waste all that time? He may be as well as dead halfway through ser Criston's crusade"

>"Name your prize" Otto replied, breathing defeat in every syllable

>"You will hear it after" Aemond saw Otto arch an eyebrow and open his mouth to speak "Do not worry, I have no interest on the crown, or land, or titles, I would have acted before had been that my goal" His mother urged him to speak, but he had to remain silent, he was sure she would understand

>Him and the royal guard were underdressed in rags to blend in, Aemond wore a cape to cover his silver mane

>He had to endure the obnoxious Cole knocking on every brothel door like he was a lost peasant

>He was very uncomfortable when he found the madam of that one place, staying stiff and shivering under his cold facade

>He thanked the seven you could not see him like that, weak

>Once they found the White Worm, she said the prince would be handed over a ridiculous sum that they bargained

>But before they could leave with Aegon, he remembered something. The White Worm weaves silk through far and wide in the realm. The White Worm who is the paramour of the prince of the city, the White Worm that could have been your mother

>Aemond would order extra vigilance on you that night, while Misarya was known to be a slimy, untrustworthy woman, she had never been known to betray Daemon, or to betray gold for that matter, and Daemon was not going to skimp on you

>He had to say he was anything but surprised when he learned of that idiotic scheme of his brother to leave the city. Aemond imagined he'd waste his small fortune on whores as soon as he arrived, feast with men who are just waiting for him to surrender his better judgement to a glass of wine, then steal whatever is left. He always thought Aegon would likely die with his pants on his knees, possible covered in vomit and other fluids, choking on a chicken bone, or something as meaningless as a cherry pit, his women would steal his gold and he'd die slowly, lonely, pathetically, he had to say the idea did not displeased him too much

>But then, he could only cash his prize if he retrieved him, in one piece no less

>Aegon had returned, being almost locked up in his chambers, and the death of Viserys continued a secret to the world until the preparations for Aegon's ascension were finished. By the third day, the corpse of his father started to stink, he had already been rotting in life, and death was not stopping that. He looked at the king, he found him graceless, he had nothing, he was an absent king and absent father, Aemond would do better if he had the chance

>A couple hours after Aegon's arrival, you had woken up, almost immediately you were taken from your room and (to your perspective) randomly put on another, the maids insisted it was for your safety, and you decided to not waste a breath asking them questions that were for someone else. You wanted to see Alicent, and you wanted to see Viserys

>No one would give you answers, and you had no way of communicating with your family, not your father or even your family in the castle, for that matter, you only had ser Criston as a form of familiarity, not even your usual maids were to be seen anywhere. Even though you did not wish to think of it, it was probably because Aegon had chosen them to place his "affections"

>The second night you were awake and isolated, you commanded sir Criston to come into your room and talk to you, give you whatever detail of information he had. He refused again and again, with excuses of how he answered to the queen only, how he was to the door to protect you, how it was improper

>But he ended up giving in

>He told you all he could say, was that the king had died, and that now a conflict of ink and ravens was arising

>You wept the lost of your uncle, and (awkwardly) ser Criston put a hand on your shoulder, ghosting over it. And he told you to fear not, you were in good hands

>You wanted to believe him, you did

>Back to Aemond, he had come to speak with his mother as soon as he was done arranging your room transfer. He felt accomplished by commanding, especially when commanding for your well-being. Alicent knew what Aemond would ask for, and she had tried to ready herself to hear it

>"I want lady Y/N, wed her to me" he did little to stop the smile growing on his lips

>Alicent could have said many things, but she just asked her son one thing. "Do you understand the consequences, Aemond?"

>He nodded, he did not care, if the consequences of taking you were fire and blood, so be it. Never in the seven kingdoms had existed a more lovely lady, and Aemond was only blind in one eye

>He wanted to marry her before Aegon's crowning, and he had threatened to get the supreme septon to do it in secret if he had to, he was smart, and knew it was just a matter of time before Daemon and Rhaenyra caught wind of everything, and he will not lose you

>Daeron had come to face him, Aemond never thought he had the balls to do it

>Whining about his lack of honor, how he was stealing their cousin, dragging them when she was practically engaged to him already

>Aemond let his anger simmer, he smiled while the boiling blood warmed his body, the delicious liquid reminding he was alive, he lived for the taste of rage, his or from others

>"Worry not, little brother, you can now take your vows as a white cloak, so you can become my wife's sworn sword and stand behind her door when she and I share our bedchamber"

>Daeron reached for his sword, he did the same

>"Uh uh, are you sure?" He teased while Daeron seemed on the verge of tears (sadness, ire, who knows)

>His younger brother simply walked away from him, in shame

>You were losing your mind in confusion, and no tantrums from you were enough for the servants to let you leave your chambers to visit Viserys' corpse

>So imagine your surprise when the maids came with shiny new silks, to dress you for your wedding day

>Two ladies, one named Olivya Swann and one named Celesse Hightower, announced themselves as your new ladies in waiting. They said your measures were needed to confect a wedding gown for you, you refused to strip until they spoke and told you what was going on, you felt bad for them, as they were clearly not the ones to blame for the mayhem

>It took a while, the maids genuinely did not know much, the orders came from above and they obeyed. But it was Celesse who finally broke down. They were sent to aid the preparations for your wedding to prince Aemond

>You had to sit down on the bed, your head was spinning around, now there was nothing to do, you were a prisoner in King's Landing. And it was easy to put two and two together, they were not planning to bend the knee to Rhaenyra, and you were there as a pawn in their twisted game of chess

>You yelled at the women to leave you alone, and despite their attempts to calm you down, you ordered them to go. You knew they would come back later, but you simply could not stand there like nothing was happening

>How could Alicent allow this? If they wanted to marry you to the greens, why Aemond? It was clear you and Daeron had far more in common, and comments were made about betrothing you to him, why Aemond?

>Aemond was cruel, and you could never decipher what he wanted from you, he took pleasure on hurting your family, and you were further perplexed on why would he want to marry a bastard

>Maybe he was being forced to marry you too, it would have made you almost sympathetic if it were not for his previous actions

>You tried to sleep, you layed fully dressed on the bed without covering yourself with the blankets

>You dreamt of nothing, and were awaken once again by the maids looking to measure you

>They came in, and helped you undress as to avoid the measures be altered by the thick of your clothing

>You were sleepy and docile, allowing them to carefully place the meter in your waist, bust, hips and shoulders, they also measured your arms

>Olivya presented you with squares of several luxury fabrics, one stack was several shades of white, and the other was a similar amount of shades of green.

>You did not let the opportunity slip, this would probably be the one choice you would have on your marriage

>You made your ladies show you each and every square of fabric, you took all the time in the world. Finally, the chosen ones were pearl white with emerald and laurel green. The colors reminded you of your dragon, you missed him so much, but the gods only know where he could be, he was too large for the dragonpit and therefore set free, he would have come to your calling once you left with your family, that was what was supposed to happen

>You spent three more days locked away, at least you had Olivya and Celesse now. Celesse came from Oldtown, she was the daughter of Hobert Hightower, you made her tell you stories of Daeron, as you were unable to see him. You fondly smiled when thinking of him, your dragon knight

>Olivya was from the stormlands, but she had been raised in King's Landing, as her uncle was serving in court, and she was brought to keep company to princess Helaena

>You told them of Pentos, then of Dragonstone, you told them of your little brothers, so small and cute, you also told them about dragons, you told them about your home, in all its meaning

>Three days after the measuring, the wedding gown was ready, you were amazed, and wondered how many people had been working in full speed in order to complete such an intricate piece in so little time. There was pearls and little gems embroided in the translucent sleeves, a green dress, a beautiful Hightower green dress

>Celesse spoke highly of your soon-to-be husband, telling tales of his skill with the sword and his intelligence

>Olivya told you you would enjoy married life, that the prince was a fine suitor with "admirable manners"

>You remained silent, luckily, your saddened face was covered by a white veil

>What you saw could hardly be called a ceremony, there was Alicent, Aemond and a septon. You slowly walked towards the altar, and recited the vows you had learned when fantasizing as a little girl, none of your fantasies happened this way

>Like always, Aemond was unreadable, and you did not care to try to read him anymore

>There was no feast, no celebration, nothing remotely similar to the wedding ceremony of a prince

>Like everything around the castle, it was rushed, poorly done and with second intentions behind it

>You struggled to look at Alicent, she was dear to you once, but now you debate whether should you trust her

>During the dreaded wedding night, you expected Aemond to humiliate you, to take you by force and call you names, to degrade you

>Anxiety pooled in your stomach, and your eyes burned as you tried to hold tears in

>But instead, he kissed your hand and laid next to you, not even touching you

>You must disgust him, he was forced to marry you, and he has no interest in you, you thought you found yourself in the position of Rhea Royce

>But you could speak plainly to Aemond, you always had

>"An unconsummated marriage can be easily annulled" you pointed out

>"You don't sound at all aroused with the idea, you appear hardly seductive" Aemond replied

>Aemond sat down on the bed, you copied him

>"I am not Aegon, I found screams for help less than enticing. Besides, you would never love me if I raped you" he stated as if he was talking about his day

>"Who says I love you now?" Maybe you should have not been so bold, but you were

>"We are married, you'll learn to do it eventually"

>"As humble as ever. Then let me ask why I should I love you, and you are free not to"

>"I love you, Y/N" you could feel the scorching heat coming from his eye, the sapphire shone in the candlelight. You were speechless, it would have been hard to believe if he wasn't gazing at you so intensely, he carefully took your hand in his

>"You have not acted as such" was the only thing you thought to answer

>"I am not Daeron" your eyes widen in shame. It is not unfaithfulness, yet shame makes you feel as if it is "But again, you have not treated me like you treated Daeron, have you?" He knew what he was doing to you

>"He never called me a bastard"

>Despite the topics of conversation, you both remained calmed, vulnerable in the cocoon of the sheets, your hand was still intertwined with his

>"Neither have I" he squeezed your hand a little

>"But you continue to humiliate Jace, Luke and Joffrey for it"

>"And I paid with my eye. And with you" you look at him confused after he says that, so he continues "After I bonded with Vhagar, you pushed me away, you never forgave me for it"

>"You never asked for forgiveness"

>"And I will not, not for what I did, but perhaps the way I did it"

>You and your husband talked for what it felt like days, for what it felt like years of lost time

>By the hour of the nightingale, you felt like you married one man and now lay with another. Despite his hardened exterior, you now smile at Aemond the way you did once when you were children

>"We still have time to make this wedding night exciting, my lady wife" he smiled mischievously, you looked at him with slight distrust, hoping he was not expecting sex after all that heartfelt talk "would do me the honor of flying with me?" You smiled

>"Dagahrion is not here"

>"There's plenty of room in Vhagar, I ride the largest dragon in the world"

>"You clearly have not seen mine lately" you teased

>"I suppose we'll have to clear that matter once he returns"

>You dressed up and sneaked into the dragonpit, this kind of mischief made you think of happier days, made you forget about the mess

>You missed Vhagar, she used to be Laena's, and she remembered you

>You rode with Aemond until sunrise, in that moment it was just the three of you. No marriage, no usurpation, no conflicts, nothing but the wind in your faces

>Until you had to come back, and you found the preparations for Aegon's coronation being set in place

>"This is outrageous, disgraceful, illicit! This is simply- this is bullshit, Aemond!" You shouted to him once alone "Aegon will be the worst king since Maegor and you know that"

>"I am not the one who sat him on that throne, don't you shout at me for it"

>"It's true, but you are not doing anything to stop it, Rhaenyra should be crowned"

>"Of, course, then Jacaerys Strong can become protector of the realm" he snickered sarcastically

>"May his father be Ser Harwin, Laenor or the damn mushroom, we are sure he is of Rhaenyra and that is what matters"

>"If he was born of Rhaenyra's husband then it truly would not matter if his sire is mushroom or whoever may he be, he is a bastard"

>"So am I! Appoint me leader of the bastard council If you want, because I will defend his claim to the throne, Rhaenyra is the heir and you and I know Aegon is a depraved drunk"

>"Bastard or not, you are my wife, and I will not argue anymore, you are mine now. And when you are called, I want you pretty and smiling when witnessing his coronation, because your husband says so" you had not even realized when he had caged you against the wall, his eyes burning with rage. No trace left of the man you spent last night with

>"Yes, my prince" was all you said. He nodded, kissed your forehead and left the room

>Your father used to call the court "the nest of vipers" and now you understand, the only way to survive was playing their game

>You called in for Olivya and Celesse. Told them to dress you and arrange you to attend Aegon's coronation

>You were pleasant, smiling when you had to, staying right at your husband's side, one may think of you as tame

>You even let Aemond fancy himself your hero, standing before you when Meleys interrumpted the ceremony

>Rhaenys looked at you, you knew she could not steal you away from this, so in her eyes, you imagined her apology

>You decided you will come back to your family, and so, after Aegon's coronation, you told Alicent you needed to go to the Sept, being so throughly shaken. As Aemond said you needed to be guarded all day long, you asked for Daeron to accompany you. Aemond would have never allowed it, but Aemond was not there, he was with the small council talking about recruiting the loyalty of different houses

>Once in the Sept, after praying, you looked at Daeron, it pained you to ask

>"Do you love me, Daeron?"

>"You are married to my brother, my lady"

>"We know what happened. And I did not ask you that"

>"It is improper for us to talk this way"

>You felt rejected, but once again asked "Do you love me, Daeron?"

>"I do" he bashfully responded

>"Enough to run away with me?"

>"Don't make me choose between honor and love"

>"I fear I have to"

>"Enough to run away with you"

>"Then meet me at the dragonpit at the hour of the bat"

>"Y/N, please-"

>"I will run regardless, but I would rather you are with me"

>You rose from your knees looking at him

>He came closer, your lips were near, but not touching, you could feel his breath

>"Kiss me once we're far away, do whatever you desire then" you say before leaving the Sept

>You decided to wait in the library until it was time to go, on your way, ser Criston asked if he could scort you there, you were reluctant, but skillfully lied and said it would be a pleasure

>"My lady, may I speak plainly to you?"

>"You have my permission"

>"I saw you asked for prince Daeron to accompany you in your prayers. Please don't look for him, he loves you, my lady" he made a melancholic pause, and again, his hand ghosted over your shoulder, his face close to yours "And noble ladies only run away with the knights in tales and songs"

>"I understand"

>Ser Criston's words left you with a strange feeling, he seemed sincere, did he know something you did not? Maybe you should wait before running, maybe you should find a better way to do it

>But you remained firm, and slipped out of bed once Aemond was asleep

>You went to the dragonpit, singing to the dragons, and hoping for Dagahrion to come back, if not, you'd have to leave on Tessarion

>You heard steps, thinking it was the dragonkeepers, you hid

>"Riñaaa~" you heard Aemond's voice, and you feared. You don't know if he would be capable of doing you harm, but you'd rather keep wondering

>His voice kept chasing you, in a mocking tone

>Until he finally found you

>You were a the center, and you felt the gazes of the dragons, but by far the fiercest one was Aemond's

>He pressed you against the wall, his sword unsheathed

>His body was pressed against yours, you felt him practically vibrating with wrath

>"I have wanted you for years, yet I held back, I was patient and devoted, and you run away at the first chance you get" he spat

>"I guess we had a rocky two-day marriage" if you were dying, you were doing it with your head high

>"I should have broke you, but I was a fool" it was all tension, you did not know if he would snap, or when would he, and kill you or gravely injure you

>He grabbed your face with his sword still pressing and threatening to break your skin

>He kissed you roughly, like he wanted to mark you as well as harm you, like he was tasting both heaven and steel

>When you were recovering your breath, you spoke "will you slay me?"

>"I will take you back and treat you like the backstabbing bastard cunt you are, the way I should always have" you knew this was probably the last time you will be like this, unbroken, whole

>You missed him back, tasting all the poison inside him, it was messy, rough, teeth crashing, you took him like he was your last breath. You were just saving courage

>All that could be heard was your labored breathing, Aemond's sword never moving. You felt an ache in your chest, you were scared. You wished for the mother, the celestial mother, the one that never left you, unlike every other woman you had though of as a mother. You wished for your father, although violent and rude, unpredictable and sour, he loved you with his whole heart, body and soul

>Maybe you were just going to make a fool of yourself, you hoped so, that Aemond would just laugh at you

>You took a breath of the second-hand air, smoky and anything but clean, and when your lungs were full, you screamed so loud your throat felt raspy

>"Dracarys!"

>Dragons obey their masters, and Dagahrion was not here, so it would work, supposedly

>The last thing you saw was the startled face of your husband when all the dragons around you spat scorching hot fire and burned both bodies

>Less than an hour later, prince Daeron found your remains. Some dragonkeepers said your voice commanded all the dragons to attack, others say that it was impossible, that it must have been Vhagar trying to kill you by Aemond's command, accidentally getting caught in-between

>The death of lady Y/N Targaryen, daughter of prince Daemon Targaryen, [allegedly] at hands of her own husband, Aemond Targaryen made the dance of dragons a conflict of fire and blood

[galacticsuperstitions]

the minds of a lab at three different points (LONG rambling under the cut)

I am constantly in awe of the analyses people put out about Arknights on this website. I feel like my own interpretations are somewhat lacking as a result, but I was confident enough to post this, at least. I've had this idea for a long time now, I think since Lone Trail released, but I've only been able to make the time for it now.

Rhine Lab has so many fucked up elements and people involved in it that it's actually impressive. They were really gunning for "most unethical scientific consortium" reward. Really, though, it's just the result of Kristen gunning for her parents' wishes. All of the directors want something and all of those somethings are different.

Things I want to mention or just feel proud of (allowing myself this because of how long this took):

-I was originally planning on crossing out Saria's surname to reflect that we still don't know what it is in canon, but I don't know why whoever has this poster would do that, so I just kept it in. Hermon refers to Mount Hermon, which Saria's name apparently derives from. Technically, her name here is the same thing twice. Oh well.

-I don't know who this poster belongs to. It's just in some Rhine Lab tech's personal desk, I guess? Doesn't explain the doodles, though. Maybe they were bored and feeling spiteful about the potential job insecurity of your boss being comatose in space.

-I realized only while making this post that I made Saria's, Muelsyse's, and Jara's doodles reference Kristen, yet Kristen's only references herself and her parents. Completely unintentional, but appropriate nonetheless.

-I am so happy with how the poster came out. It makes up for how hard I had to fight Canva for it to come out like that. Here it is in full if you want to look at it closely for whatever reason. (writing an actual description for this thing was fun!)

-Andenate doesn't actually have a face under the sticky note. That's why he's still Mike Wazowski'd in the poster png. I didn't feel like drawing one since it wouldn't be shown in the finished pieces anyway. His jacket is just the same as Magallan's.

-Ifrit's picture board was a literal last-minute addition. It's why the images are sketches rather than being in the lineless style of the poster. It feels fitting, though, so I'm keeping it that way. Seeing Ifrit all grown up and doing so well in Lone Trail was wonderful. There's something in her being happy and healthy and also surrounded by not just her loved ones and friends from Rhine Lab, but also people outside of it. She's cultivated her life to be as fulfilling as she wants it to be, and while there is still room to grow, she has plenty of support and insight from others for it to do so. I may be misrepresenting her a bit (the sleepiness doesn't help), but man. I love Ifrit. She's so cool.

[moongumi]

⁀➷ ∵  ❝under the allure❞

⟶ adler goes on an unexpected blind date that doesn't end how he expected

⟶ cw. MDNI, smut, age-gap, use of 'kid', lots of cussing, unprotected sex, oral, lots of kissing

⟶ wc. 5.7k

⟶ note. little bitta something i just wanted to write before i go through more chapters of 'with your heart in a headlock', enjoy, i didn't really check this over it was a pure 1 siting smut

Adler doesn’t expect himself to actually go through with it but after focusing on his entire career on Perseus and practically growing an obsession to it he felt lost after it was all over. Everyone tells him to go out and live, live his life but how is a man like Russell Adler meant to know how to live a normal fucking life. It’s not like he hasn’t tried before, he was married once—had children and well, it didn’t work out for him. He always chose the job over it all.

He knew at least that he could pretend to be normal until the next huge threat needed to be neutralised and he could return to his normal routine of tracking down his enemies.

Yet, it wasn’t unlike Woods to poke and pry at Adler’s patience. “How about you go on a date?”

Adler had a displeased expression on his face, lighting his cigarette before he turned to Woods with a grimace. “Are you kidding?”

“Nope.” Woods drank his beer. On his side his good friend Mason came back after getting more drinks for the table. “I’m serious, let loose.”

“You’re one to talk,” Mason chirped as he sat down next to Woods in the booth. He pushes a drink towards the youngest at the table who catches it with ease.

“Thanks.” Adler said.

Mason took a swig of his beer before placing his drink back on the coaster, pointing his finger towards Adler. “I was the one who came up with the idea.”

Adler looked over at the pair with a confused expression. “What idea?”

“The blind date.”

Wood lets out a sound, before he snapped his fingers, “Right, I forgot to mention that—it’s a blind date, plus it’s already been booked, surprise!”

“What?” Adler’s eye twitched under his shades. He could feel a vein about to pop in his head from the thought of going on a blind date set up by Mason of all people.

Mason who had an excited look on his face, smiled at Adler. “Look, I already set it up and you’d be a right asshole for not showing up.”

Adler could’ve easy rejected even the idea of it but he felt in the moment that he had nothing else to do, better than another day drinking with these two. “Who is it?”

Mason does a fist pump after Adler basically assured that he was going on that date. “Just someone I know.” He had this sneaky expression on his face, one that Adler did not like.

“Woah, is it one of ya’ girls?” Woods asked, with a teasing tone. Referencing the fact that Mason had his way with women and well, he goes through them like he does pints of beer.

Adler groaned at the idea, the ashes of his cigarette peppering down onto the table messily.

“Hey, I promise you she isn’t one of those girls. I mean she’s cute and all.” The look on Mason’s face merely tells Adler that the girl could be one of his girls, had just hadn’t gotten around to it just yet.

Adler sighed, “She doesn’t know about our line of work?”

“Nope,” Mason reassured. “She’s a friend of a friend’s.”

༝

Russell Adler sat in a cafe, way too early for his date tapping away his cigarette against the edge of the ash tray. He hasn’t ordered anything, no drinks or desserts yet. He doesn’t actually know what to order and well, doesn’t want to seem like an asshole—eating before his date arrived.

His date was arriving after her job, after 4 pm, Mason mentioned. 

Adler’s eyes watched the television hanging from a mount on the ceiling in the small cafe, some more things about the Cold War, wherever Adler went he can’t seem to escape the job or the itch to do more about the state of the world.

He doesn’t even notice when you arrived.

You wrote down the cafe Mason mentioned, it was far from your job and well, you had a take a few trains to get here. You would have rather preferred it to be closer for convince but you couldn’t be picky.

You were also late, a lot later than the date was intended for. You even doubted that he would still be there.

So you felt a sense of relief walking into the very busy cafe seeing the man you’re supposed to meet still there, and he didn’t look annoyed at all.

He had his jacket off, resting it over the back of the chair next to him. He wore his sunglasses, Mason mentioned to find a man wearing umber tone aviators, light brown hair and a scarred face. You even recalled over the phone Mason reluctantly asking about the scars.

“He’s got a few scars, if it scares you—“

You scoffed, walking around in your small apartment. 

“Why would a few scars scare me, Alex?”

“You’d be surprised.” 

The scars on his face, there’s many and they were deep yet somehow even from a distance you felt like they suited him—even added to the appeal of him. He stood out in the cafe, something about him. The allure, his nonchalant way of sitting—

“Hi, sorry I’m late,” You said, pulling out the chair slightly squinting when it squeak a little too loudly. “Trains were packed after work.”

Adler gives you a tight-lipped smile, “No worries, I haven’t been waiting long.”

Which was a lie, he had been waiting over an hour but he wasn’t keeping track. Maybe the employees at the cafe were eyeing him up wondering when he was going to order.

You felt awkward, immediately as you sat down. Unsure of what to say to the older man.

“Mason—“

“I—oh, you go ahead.” You almost interrupted him, god, could this not get more awkward.

Adler didn’t seem to care much about the awkward silences or the lack of social skills. You weren’t usually a nervous person, maybe it was just him making you feel this way—you didn’t know much about him at all.

“Mason never mentioned your age.” 

You blinked for a moment, in shock. Mason really didn’t mention anything to him at all. “Oh, uhm, I’m twenty-five.”

“Shit,” Adler sighed, pressing his almost finished cigarette into the ashtray as his other hand came up to his face. He rubbed his eyes under his glasses. “He said you’ve be younger but not—“

You immediately felt the need to explain yourself. “Mason mentioned your age and I don’t mind—“

“Yeah? You’re a lot younger than I am.”

You shrugged, before you drew a menu from the basket on the right of you and looked at the menu for what you wanted in hopes he would continue the date anyway. “Like I said, it’s not a big deal.”

Adler was reluctant, the age thing. A girl half his age, what the hell was he doing messing with this kind of thing.

Adler watched the way you bite your bottom lip whilst you turned the pages of the menu until your eyes would light up at what you wanted.

“Let me order, I come here often.”

Adler nodded, leaning back in his seat. “Sure thing.” He wasn’t usually the type to wonder what others thought of him but he even had a glance around to see what other people would think. What would his ex-wife even think of him right now. But it shouldn’t matter, even if he didn’t want to—he was enjoying it.

You ordered him a red velvet cake and an americano, something about how he seemed like he didn’t enjoy drinking sweet drinks. You weren’t wrong, Adler did only drink black coffee.

“So what do you do?”

Right, he was expecting this kind of question but he hasn’t exactly prepared a lie.

“I’m ex-military, retired now.” It wasn’t a lie but he kept a lot of the truth.

You hummed sipping on your warm latte. “Retired so young.”

“Young,” He laughs, “I’m old, kiddo, old enough to retire.”

“People don’t retire in their forties unless they made enough money,” You said, tapping your feet against the floor. “Plus, you shouldn’t call me kiddo—if you’re interested in me that way…”

Right. Adler cleared his throat, hiding the way what you meant made him feel. He shuffled in his seat.

“I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.”

He didn’t exactly get a photo of what his date would look like or even description from your assumption. Not even a taste of the personality. You leaned across the seat feeling slightly less awkward as the date goes on. “Hm, what exactly made you agree to this anyway, seeing as Alex didn’t tell you a thing about me.” You giggled slightly at the end, not even on purpose.

Adler could guess that you knew Mason well enough to be on first name basis. You were pretty, he wondered how Mason hadn’t already got his hands on you.

He didn’t know if he should tell you the truth or make up something pretty to make you feel good about yourself.

“I didn’t have anything else to do.”

You shrugged, seemingly unfazed. “At least you’re honest.”

Adler takes a sip of the americano, it tastes really bad but he doesn’t make it noticeable. “What kinda’ job did you come from?”

“Oh, I work in a cafe—kinda funny seeing as we’re in one now,” You mentioned. “If we’re being honest, I wouldn’t have chosen a cafe for a first date, you also don’t seem like the type to hang in cafes anyway.”

“You’re not wrong, I’m glad we can both be true to ourselves.”

You’ve almost finished your drink at this point and well, you can see that he’d barely drank his. His eyes even behind the almost opaque sunglasses you could tell he was focused more on the television behind you than you.

You kicked your feet under the table, brushing your bare leg against his trousered ones. “Let’s go then, maybe a walk will do us well.”

༝

Adler doesn’t remember what a real date is supposed to feel like but even now he could tell it was a strange situation. The pair walked side by side.

He wasn’t sure if he was willingly to commit anything to this, to you. He could feel you brushing your arm against him walking closer to him to avoid bumping into anyone else on the sidewalk as he was approaching a nice park. It was winter, very cold.

He held his arm out for you, almost instantly you looped your arm around his biceps holding your body against him for warmth.

“Seems like some men don’t understand that they don’t own the sidewalk.”

Adler chuckles slightly at your complaints. He could smell the faintness of your perfume, it smelt nice—he couldn’t complain. He also can’t deny the fact that you were attractive, by all means, Mason seemed to only know pretty girls but they tend to lack anything more.

You appreciated him accepting your want of physical touch. You recalled your phone call with Mason.

“Is this guy your friend?”

Mason hums, before he responded. “Yeah, I’ve known him a while.”

“What have you told him about me?”

He laughed, “Nothing, surprise him.”

“That’s a terrible idea, this is going to be awful.”

He clicks his tongue, feeling the need to ask, “You sure you’re alright with it, he’s a lot older than ya’.”

“You’re a lot older than me, Alex.

He laughed again, “Yeah, but you’re not interested in me.”

“Yeah, ‘cause you’re annoying.”

Mason scoffed, “Well, he’s definitely not an annoying guy, he can just be a little…different.”

“What kind of different?”

You can tell Adler was a very calm individual, he tends to take control of situations. If he was in the military he must’ve been a good rank and well he ended up with scars like that on his face yet he’s alive—says a lot about him.

You were facing his scarred side, and just something inside you wanted to feel them. Caress those deep edges of his skin—

“Wondering how I got ‘em?”

You snapped out of it, letting out a soft chuckle. “I was but, you don’t have to tell me.”

He seemed to like that answer. You two stayed quiet as you walked towards a frozen lake, a few people were seen skating across. 

Adler watched the way your face lights up seeing the skaters. You released him and walked up towards the edge of the lake.

“Seems fun, didn’t bring my skates though.”

Adler chuckles, “You don’t want to see me skating.”

You liked how he was joking around with you, it felt natural. “I doubt you’re that bad.”

“You don’t wanna’ see an old man like me skating like that.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes, “You’re not that old. You seem capable.”

Adler was merely pretending to seem like the average man his age. Of course he was capable, the things he did for his country proved that.

“So, how’d you know him?”

You looked back at the older man, with your brows furrowed. “Who, Alex?”

“Yeah.”

You hummed, “Family friend, I have an older brother.” Short and sweet. 

“Do you enjoy your job then?” Seems like Adler had the hang of the whole, small talk thing and you merely entertained it as you continued to walk toward somewhere you could possibly sit at.

“Not particularly, I just do it—for now,” You said. “I’d prefer something more exciting, maybe I should join the military—“

“Don’t.” Adler interrupted, cutting you off with a stern look. “It’s not worth it.”

“You did it, you’re telling me there nothing about it you enjoyed?”

“That’s personal preference,” He explained. “There’s a lotta’ things better for you to do.”

You stopped in your tracks, “Or are you doubting my capabilities? Maybe I’d be a great spy or something.”

Adler chuckles, even if the slightest sense of his serious tone was still prevalent. “Sounds like something you could do.”

“I’d do you.” The words came out of your mouth faster than you could stop it. Your hand reached up and covered your mouth.

Adler lets out a short chuckle, slightly like a scoff. “Jesus, you’re just like Mason.”

“Woah, I’m not a man-whore like him.” You act offended.

Adler raised his hand, shaking his head. “That’s not what I meant, you’re straightforward like him not the other thing.”

You breathed out, pouting instead. “Whatever.”

Adler could tell you were joking around with him but he still felt a pang of guilt. He followed you as you sat down in front of a fountain.

He sat down next to you, his thigh brushing against your leg. He now notices how short your skirt was, a lot shorter now that it’s ridden up your legs.

He noticed the way your tights had little snags in them, maybe from a long days work. This makes him wonder if you were wearing your work uniform underneath—get your head out of the gutter, why was he thinking of this?

You could tell he was looking, at your clothes at the slightest peeks of your skin. You bit the dried skin off your lips before talking to him.

You leaned back, your hands rested against the cold concrete of the fountain. “I don’t expect you to think this date was amazing.”

“It was great.”

That sly smirk on his face.

“Don’t lie, not all dates go well—sometimes first dates just suck.” Your age was definitely playing a part in this, the way you talked about how casual dates were too. It was nothing like how Adler had experienced it when he was younger.

He then thought if there even was a chance he would have a second date with you—if he even had the time, seeing as the Cold War was only nearing it’s end and he would be needed. He didn’t have all the time in the world as he had played it off like he did, he wasn’t really a mere retired man.

In a selfish way he wanted to see you, know more about you and see the way your cheeks reddened whenever he’d catch your excited gaze.

The way you bite your lips waiting for his response. Like you were just begging for his attention.

Your soft hand come to rest onto of his rough, aged hand. Your fingers feel at his callouses and the lines of his palms underneath. He could tell you felt a lot more comfortable with him, being close to him and actually being able to tell if he liked you.

He did like you but he can’t just forget that he liked a lot of things in the past but the job always came first—or well, he always chose it.

“I know what you’re thinking.” Your voice was soft, lingering with disappointment.

Adler’s eyes looked for your expression, he can’t tell what you’re thinking when you’re looking down avoiding his gaze like that. Yet, he entertained the thought. “What am I thinking?”

“That this isn’t going to work out, ‘cause you’re not willing to commit to it—‘cause I’m too young—“

“That’s not the reason—“

You don’t let him speak. “It doesn’t have to be serious. I don’t need it to be, this could last one night, a few weeks or months—even a year, Russell.”

Adler sighed, reaching into his pocket for another cigarette at the idea.

“You’ve not been on a date recently have you? Girls these days don’t all need someone to marry them,” You continued, attempting to convince him further. 

It was quiet clear to him now. What you wanted from this. He can’t deny, it was something he wanted but felt like he couldn’t get it without the entire ordeal—your words made him feel like it was valid to imagine it being much more casual.

“A little fun won’t hurt anyone.” Your voice lingered in his ears

༝

He was easy to convince after that. You felt an even strange sense of giddiness managing to make his fold so easily, he seemed like a tough nut to crack.

He wasn’t a tough one to deal with when you had him in your small apartment. On one of the armchairs you had recently bought after needing somewhere nice to read your books.

His pants were hung off his legs as he sat on the fresh chenille cushion, his head thrown back against the back of the chair.

You were on your knees, a hand against the inner part of his thigh and the older holding onto the base of him with a hard grip.

His rough hand held onto your hair like a ponytail to the side of your head, exposing your neck and allowing him to get a better view of your actions. He groaned when he looks back at you with his full attention.

You stopped when he looked away, when he threw his head back in pleasure—to toy with him. You smiled at him, even innocently before prying your lips apart with the tip of his throbbing cock. Your wet lips glide over the slick skin, wrapping those pretty painted lips over it.

He gripped your hair harder forcing you to crane your neck up at him. God, your knees hurt in this position but the fact that between all of that you were getting warmer and wetter by the second couldn’t be denied.

His cock, hot and red slide down the flatness of your tongue to the deeper parts of your throat—you were good, you knew how to handle it. Easily taking him deeper than he expected or even had experienced. He let out the most erotic sounds you’ve heard.

Maybe you did like them older. And the way he still had his aviators on, it was like a power display or something.

“Holy fuck,” He moaned, reaching his other hand down towards your jaw and cheek. He holds your pretty face between his fingers and squeeze them to pucker your lips pulling you away from his cock. “Enough of me.”

You wanted to keep going, to see how long he could hold off—it was like a test. You wanted to prove to yourself you could make a man like him come undone.

Your eyes looked at him through those thick lashes, practically begging for him to handle you. He drew you in with his grip against your cheeks towards his face. His hot breath against your swollen lips.

“What a pretty girl.”

You bit your lips, leaning into him wanting to taste him. He held you back making you whine at him. “Mean.”

He chuckles darkly. He’s the one to make the move, he leaned in and pressed his lips against yours.

Those scarred lips taste like heaven, a heaven one could only reach from crawling through hell. It burns so good.

You taste the dew from his tongue, rolling yours against his as if you could become one with him. His lips were so soft even with the scars, you could feel them and it added to the danger of it all.

The roughness and sloppiness of the kiss had his glasses sliding around, you reached your hand up and pushes his glasses off his face, it falling somewhere behind him.

You practically whimper against him. He released his grip on your cheeks, his hands finding their comfort in your waist gripping you closer to him.

He basically pulled you onto his lap. His bare skin rubbing against your tights, you could feel his erection—hot and leaking against the risen parts of your skirt. Your ass was hanging out of them, one of his hands reached down to grip onto it pulling you into a rolling motion against his groin.

“Fuck, keep doing that.” You almost melt against him. The only thing separating his cock from your core was the thin layers of the thighs and your thong.

He gripped the tights so hard they start to snag and rip against his fingers. He toyed with the flimsy and barely existent fabric of your thong. “What kinda’ girl wears a fucking thong to work?”

“A girl like me.”

He groans, ripping your tights even more. “You don’t mind right?”

“No,” You whimper against his lips. “Do whatever you want.”

With the tights out of the way there wasn’t much in his way. His fingers danced on your hot lips, fondling them and feeling at the warm skin. He felt it now, how wet you were.

“You’re this fucking wet already, holy shit.” Even he’s surprised. He pulled away from your lips, peering over to look at the way your cheeks giggled when starts to move his fingers.

“When’s the last time you fucked a girl my age, Russell?” You teased. “We all get this wet.”

His fingers pressed harder feeling the raw skin hidden between the folds, it felt like fire under his touch. “Holy fuck—you’re so fucking wet.”

He pushes his fingers past the fabric of the thong pushing it away. With the pressure the top of it pulls harder against your clit and adds to the experience. You moaned when he pushes his fingers inside, they slipped in so easy even he let out a deep sound from it.

“You don’t need much prep, do ya’?”

You shake your head, pressing your lips against his scarred cheek. “I like it when it hurts a little.”

“Holy fuck.”

His fingers were all the way in, curling and looking for where it feels the best for you. He doesn’t struggle to find it. Your face contorts with pleasure, nearly drooling against his face.

“Fuck, it feels good.”

Adler hummed, continuing to add another finger to the mix. “Good, tell me what you like, pretty girl.”

“I like everything you do, Russell.”

He turned his face towards your lips, capturing you into another deep kiss. The angle of it and the pressure. Your hands rested atop his shoulder, allowing you to roll your lips into his fingers.

You turned your head, deepening the kiss ever so slightly. “I want your cock.”

“Always so upfront, huh?”

“I know what I want.” You stated, reaching in front of you to undo your uniform. The buttons come undone easily and you merely leave it on.

Your breasts look like they are threatening to escape that tight bra, Adler reached over with one hand to cup your breast squeezing them between his fingers. His eyes glued to the way they bounce and the way your face reacts to his touch. He slipped his fingers under the fabric to feel at your nipples, hard just for him.

“Anywhere on your body that isn’t perfect?”

You rolled your eyes, he really did know the right things to say. “You haven’t even felt how good I can make you feel, Adler.”

He groans at that, especially at your soft hands reaching down back to his throbbing cock. It’s neglected but for a man his age—he didn’t struggle keeping it hard. You shouldn’t really be surprised, he’s different from most men.

“You sure about this?”

You nodded, biting your bottom lips now he realised it was your habit. “If I wasn’t, you wouldn’t be in my apartment.”

༝

Things may have gotten a lot more intense on the bed. You knew you should’ve started trying to kiss him on the bed but it was sort of fun leading him to your bedroom, swaying your hips on purpose.

You stripped down to nothing and laid on the bed awaiting your prize.

“Don’t ask if I’m sure again, you know my answer.” You stated, seeing that look on his face as he takes off his shirt. 

The older man laughs, tossing his clothes and climbing onto the bed and over your body. “How’d you know I’d ask that?”

“Gut-feeling.”

You laid back, feeling his hand gently come up to grasp your cheeks before he pressed his lips against yours again. His kisses were so intense and full of meaning. He desired you so much and you could just tell by the way it felt like he never wanted it to end.

He tastes and explores you with so much experience. His other hand drawing your hips against his harshly.

Your hand reached down towards his cock, grabbing it’s shaft and you pumped it to warm it up again—he only got slightly soft but you also just wanted to touch him.

His hand on your face felt so gentle compared to the way he kissed you like he was hungry—he moved his lips down towards your neck, pressing heavy and wet kisses against the skin, those are definitely going to leave a mark.

Your back arches off the soft bed that had too many pillows and blankets. You didn’t care in this moment what was going to get spoiled, fuck all that. You had your eye on one thing only, Russell Adler.

You drew his cock towards your entrance, rubbing it’s swollen tip against your wet lips prying them apart. Your slick covering his cock with ease, you can feel him trying to hold back. “No need to rush…this is my favourite part.”

You loved the burn on the way in, especially from a cock so thick and heavy like his. 

He presses a gentle kiss against your chest craning his neck down to watch the entry. You pressed his tip harder between your legs, feeling him enter slowly—agonisingly slowly. 

The stretching burn, your warmth cascading onto him. He rested his head against your chest right between your breasts as his breathing intensified. “Jesus fuck.”

His cock stretches you further, he seemed to be unable to hold back after a few seconds of your slow teasing. He pushed his hips ever so slightly making you moan out. “Ugh, fuck.”

You didn’t stop him. His lips pressed against your chest, moving to encase your nipples in his mouth as he fucks his cock into you. He finally buried himself balls deep inside and rests for a moment to catch his breath.

You chuckle, feeling the centre of your pelvis swell and warm up from the pleasure. “You done there old man?”

He scoffs with a chuckle, “You doubting me?”

He pulled out nearly all the way before pushing himself back in with speed, taking your breath away. You choke on your words and only pathetic whimpers left your lips as he settles into an unforgivable rhythm. Maybe he also knew a thing or two about fucking.

He gripped one of your legs and threw it over his shoulder to deepen his depth pressing his palm to the under side of your thigh to force it higher, resting the other on his hips as he drove into your core with his pace.

He rested on his forearm on the side of your face, watching every twist and curl of your face, every bead of sweat that fell from your forehead and neck. He wanted to see what he was doing to you.

“Hm, do you like that, does it feel good?”

You slobbered your words knowing he was teasing you. “Fuck you, of course it feels good!” You were practically crying out the last words.

He could feel it, you getting close. He removed his hand from thigh bringing it to your already punished centre, he places his thumb against your most sensitive bud—rolling it with his large digit with confidence.

He could feel your clenches, you couldn’t even lie and tell him you weren’t close. You were even grateful you didn’t have to tell him, cry out to him that you were going to come.

Your abused hole told him enough, spluttering and making pathetic noises on it’s own. He couldn’t even pretend it wasn’t making him so fucking close too, all of it, your face, the way your body reacts to the tiniest touches from him.

He pressed his face against the side of yours, “Come on, pretty girl, come for me.”

He didn’t have to ask again. You released one last whimper, lips quivering and brows stitching together as you came undone, the heat from your stomach spreads all over your body making you shake as you felt the burn build inside of your most sensitive parts.

It felt even better to feel the way he fucked you even harder then, to catch his own release. The way he pressed his lips aggressively and hungrily against yours, tongue basically fucking your mouth at the same time.

Your hands pawed and gripped at his back, leaving marks indefinitely.

His hand on your clit moved up, feeling at the divots in your hips, the curve of your waist towards the swell of your breasts before he rests it back at your jaw holding it delicately.

He fucks his cock into your oversensitive hole, you could feel him blowing his load deep inside of you. It felt so wrong to love how it felt.

He pulled away, resting his forehead against yours after he finished—he pulled out his cock gently as it began to soften.

You were breathing heavily, chest heaving up and down. You could see the sweat on his skin and his perfect hair now messy and greasier.

He looked down between your legs at the mess, the cum spilling out of you. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

You were guessing the mistakes made during the haze of pleasure had finally caught up to him. You sat up, breast wriggling around as you did. “Don’t worry about it, that won’t happen.”

He knew what you were referring to, it lessened the worry—he didn’t need more children right now. He still felt guilty, he should’ve been more careful.

He began to sit up, but you reached over and grabbed his forearm. He looked back with a confused expression, “Gotta’ clean you up.”

“No.”

He looked even more confused, “What? You’re not one for aftercare and pillow talk?” 

Adler just had to joke, somewhat of a dig at your age too after your little nick name for him.

You smiled, pursing your lips before your shrugged, “Not particularly but I had other thoughts in mind, old man.”

You pushed him back, forcing him onto his back over the bed. You jumped over him even with your thighs leaking with his fluids. You pressed your lips against his, “More.”

“Gods sake, I’m not like the guys your age.” Adler said between your lips even he had to know when to feel inadequate.

You pulled back, you don’t believe him, “I can wait for your buddy to get ready again.”

༝

And you did, for a couple hours after that anyway. Even Adler didn’t expect himself to be able to go on for so many rounds but he did pass out right after the last one.

“I really can’t go again, kid.”

“Shouldn’t say that to someone you just fucked.”

Adler grimaced, “Sorry, force of habit.”

He was knocked out and you hopped out of bed, ready to clean yourself up. You did manage to tuck him into your bed comfortably.

You reached your bathroom and cleaned up then looking out towards the door to check if he was still sleeping. Very much, sound asleep.

You pulled out one of your drawers and pulled on the hole on the backboard, reaching inside you grabbed a phone.

14 missed calls.

Of course. You sighed. You take the phone in your hand and walk out towards the bedroom again but going straight towards your living room and out the balcony. In the cold rough winter air your shorts and tank top served no purpose of keeping you warm at all, only for slight modesty if a neighbour was to see you.

You dialled the number back, it answers immediately.

“Did you do it?”

You leaned against the cold bar of your balcony looking down on the main road.. “Not yet.”

“What’s taking so long?”

You rolled your eyes, looking around. “These things take time.”

“Yeah? And all this time you were fucking him.” His accent thick, hopefully no one can hear him.

“You sound jealous.” You spot him, a few cars down the road with his windows down and an arm out tapping away his cigarette ashes. “Just part of the gig.”

“Sure, whatever you say—get it done.” His voice deadpanned, “The trash is stinking up my boot.”

He hangs up, leaving you to face the freezing temperates and the weight of what stands between that you will choose to do.

[the-fandom-is-now-my-life]

The idea that future Leo and mc having bouts of "was that past Leo just now??? Smh" is SO funny to me like

Imagine past Leo keeps coming back to take a look at his future, and it's starting to piss Leo off like ??? Man he just wants to cuddle with his wife after work, and now there's this little shit coming in to steal his cuddles AND he's treating his wife semi poorly??? (Future Leo can't fathom that it's his own damn self that's the problem LMFAO)

Future Leo starts to leave notes and passive aggressive comments on his body so past Leo can find it. Past Leo doesn't know what's going on but every time he goes to the future he keeps finding angrier and angrier notes (first it's "treat her well, you're a guest here" and "you love her more than life itself even if you don't know it yet" but after a few rounds he gets impatient and starts going nuclear "listen you little shit you make my wife uncomfortable again I'll remember this shit and shave your head in the past" "get the fuck out and leave me alone I'm gonna make you binge eat and make you fat")

Imagine future Leo being so pissed off about the "stolen" time that he insists that he gets EXTRA loving from his wife for it (it's really not that bad, he's just being dramatic again) and whoops it looks like all those extra rounds have gotten his darling wife pregnant 🥴🥴🥴

if past Leo manages to come back in the middle of a sesh with a very obviously pregnant mc he might just have a heart attack then and there pp

The diabolical streamer might be peeking into the future too much

Leo has gotten used to popping to the future for a little while. Leo is neither used to the interruptions to his life and very upset about it

Wc: 1,6K

Notes: nah but he would actually die jsjsjsj he knew he was married to her but not that he was that down bad! This was so fun to write

Cw: she/her for the reader, implications of sex and Leo comes when his future version has sex with his wife

Leo recognizes he can be hard to get along with most of the time, he is snarky, snoops around for secrets and extorts people with them, can be cruel, among many other things. But he never expected to say that he got himself fed up with his existence.

He seems to be getting on his last nerve, Leo notes at the greenish bruises on his midriff while changing clothes after bathing. He once again visited the birdpond even if his trip was a rather short one as Sho pulled him away when he (or rather whatever consciousness from his future self he had in his body) started hitting and scratching himself on the stomach.

Sitting down on his bed, he starts spending cream on the small wounds, he would hate to have any sort of scar.

“And you want to go back tomorrow after that?” Sho asks besides him, watching the reddish and purple splotches and thin red lines across his abdomen.

“Well, yeah, I want to see what number will be drawn on the influencer gala” he says, as nonchalant as ever, as if whatever damage he did to himself was nothing more than a light annoyance.

“You are crazy, dude”

“Hush, I'm learning a TikTok dance”

And as he said, that night as soon as Alan turned off his light they both sneaked off to the hedge maze centered around the birdpond.

“So, you remember what we are doing?”

“10 minutes in and I take you off. If you start hitting yourself I'm just allowed to hold you but not lift you”

“Good! If I see one more bruise and it will be all your fault, m'kay?”

“Hey, no, wait-!” But before he is able to complain he already dipped his head underwater.

Already used to the ache inside his lungs and the feeling of drowning, it doesn't take him much longer to settle on the current situation.

There is a colorful movie playing on the 65 inches mounted tv and he feels a comfortable weight on his lap. When he looks down he sees your head on his chest and legs thrown over his own, most of the weight must be from the sleeping toddler on your legs. A string of spit threatening to spill on his leg makes Leo recoil away violently, almost making you fall off the sofa and your daughter too.

Now awake and in a bad mood Emmy pouts and kicks her little legs “Daddy!” she waddles towards him so he would pick her up and lull her to sleep as always.

With the same coldness as you remember his first year version having, he spits venom at the, honestly quite messy, child “Don't even touch me, you have spit and sugar all over yourself, you are going to mess my clothes” and he barricades himself inside the bathroom, leaving you to calm down an upset toddler.

Hidden away inside the bathroom, he sits down on the bathtub rim and swipes around his phone, looking at his TikTok account and looking for videos that are around 10 years old. For once he curses being so active in social media as when he reaches his current year Sho was pulling him up to the past.

“So? Anything good?”

“Hardly anything and her kid almost slobbers all over me”

“I think that is also your child, dude”

‘stupid child’ Adult Leo growls mentally. Each and every time his past himself would rudely interrupt in his few soft domestic hours he has with his family and treat them like shit his head would be splitting down the middle with an unbearable headache, no matter what he took or if he drank water he would have to sit down for hours until it passed. Luckily his wife and daughter would comfort him while they watched tv with very low volume.

Wobbling out of the bathroom and aiming for the modular sofa he whines for any scrap of affection he believes he is entitled to “LI, Emmy, let's watch a movie, daddy doesn't feel good”

Plopping down on ‘his’ side of the sofa he just noticed Emmy was too busy getting calmed down to watch a movie with her dad.

“What happened, Emmy? Want to tell me while we watch Cinderella?” and even after attempting to bribe her with her favorite movie she just looks the other way with a pout before stomping towards her room, slamming the door.

Noticing your husband was back you smile, a part in relief of not having to take care of your toddler alone and another part of mocking delight “Emilia is very angry at you because your past self told her you weren't going to carry her because she was dirty and was going to mess your clothes”

Mortified, Leo grasps his forehead, he doesn't remember himself as one to be that mean to kids. When he feels you sit next to him and hug his shoulder he starts acting for affection and attention.

“That stupid brat is going to make my baby hate me”

“honey, that brat is you”

The attempt at reasoning with him is met with more whining. After years of marriage he learned that there wasn't anything he couldn't get from you with enough whining “my head hurts” he digs himself a space on your clavicle “I just want to sit down and enjoy myself with my family but now I can't even do that”

Combing some fly away hairs and planting a kiss on his helix honeyed words lure him closer “Emmy might not want to be close to you now but why don't we have some personal time together”

And with a devilish smile his hands dip down your back and butt while his mouth attached itself to whatever patch of skin he can get close to.

Family vlogs are something Leo found himself doing weekly, complying with his fans' demands. There is rarely anything interesting, sometimes doctor's visits, minor sickness, projects he had to say nothing about yet still hype, that sort of day to day things.

After going over a possible trip to Spain for a gaming convention he was invited to, Leo looks over the most frequent questions of the last vlog. He is so thankful that he coded a bot to group comments with the same or similar key words.

“So, for the last question… YN they are asking if you were hungry when we filmed the last video, they say you were scrolling UberEATS for a while”

You shrug while playing with your phone, not paying him much mind “well, when I was pregnant with Emmy I was pretty hungry, it is normal that I would be now too”

It is hardly one second before his usual fake smile dropped, eyes wide and mouth slightly agape. In an attempt to turn off the video his hands fiddle with the button but it takes a few extra seconds than he expected. It is going to look awkward when he uploads it but why act as if he has ever cared about it and more so especially now?

The last few seconds it's possible to hear an ‘are you serious?’

His fans did go wild in the comment section after he posted

Leo_simp76: damn, he is locked down for real, let's cry simps

User_8274849: He already had a kid and is married, did you truly think he was free???

Leo_simp76: I would delulu into thinking he got babytrapped and was going to leave her!!

T.B.d.e: wasn't his child's first birthday one week ago?? How did she let him hit it?

Leo_simp76: I would let him as soon as I could stand. If anything it's weird it took that long!!

The last day before he took a break from looking into the future,as soon as he dips his head down to the water the usual annoyance in his lungs is overpowered by a different kind of ache caused by breathlessness like in Gym class.

“Leo, stop teasing~” a breathy moan begs from beneath him. Looking down he finds his hand snug against the column of your neck, lips connected to your skin just below your collarbone.

You were splayed under him, legs hugging his hips and one arm drawing figures on his biceps. Bodies close enough to notice your swollen stomach against his abdomen. Thankfully enough you had your eyes closed shut and couldn't notice the switch.

He on a technical level guessed this future version of himself and you fucked (as awkward as that image is for him) there was Emilia, or Emmy, that looked very much like him and you; when he snooped around he found condoms and there were multiple pregnancy tests in the en suite bathroom. But he had never barged in during the act.

Such a great fucking time he gets in, balls deep inside the nerd and an orgasm threatening to wreck him. Or so he would think if a wave of dopamine didn't swallow him whole in the same breath.

Quickly he leaves the water, if Sho had to say he almost looked horrified, eyes wide, breathing quickly, face red and… oh, he was just suddenly horny. Any teasing he might have wanted to do is cut short with Leo's nasty side eye but no explanations.

On the other side of the timeline there is a married couple with a sulking husband.

“Are you feeling alright?” opening your eyes you manage to see a very clearly upset Leo resting his forehead against your sternum and a hand on your breast.

“I can't even have sex with my wife without that brat ruining it”

“What? He was here just now?!”

“Once again, I didn't get to enjoy it”

“Wait a second! I'm still sensitive! ~~!”

[bosbas]

Chapter 3: they say looks can kill and I might try

series masterlist previous part || next part

pairing: colin bridgerton x enemy!fem!reader WC: 3.4k words

Warnings: period-typical gender roles, a small part of the dialogue is in French, Colin being mean, reader being mean, perhaps some historical inaccuracies (idk if the royal opera house was actually called that in 1816 IM SORRY)

Summary: It took precisely two days in England for you to utterly despise Colin Bridgerton. It took him approximately twelve hours after that to hate you right back. But he doesn't care that you're the only person in the ton who doesn't like him. You're set to marry someone else anyway, right?

April 23, 1816 – It seems Lady Violet Bridgerton and Lady Catherine Montclair have become fast friends. This author, ever intrigued by the comings and goings of the Montclairs in London's high society, cannot help but ponder: Is there a union on the horizon? Does the blossoming friendship between Lady Montclair and Lady Bridgerton hint at an impending marriage, or are they simply two kindred spirits enjoying each other's company, with no matrimonial plans for their children?

Your mother had taken quite a liking to Lady Bridgerton. In truth, you mostly didn’t mind. Contrary to what Lady Whistledown was telling the ton, your mother wasn’t particularly interested in marrying you off to a Bridgerton. In fact, the only time she wasn’t trying to marry you off was when she was with Lady Bridgerton. It was a breath of fresh air, to say the least.

Benedict was lovely, as was Eloise. The trouble, as always, came in the form of Colin Bridgerton. Typical.

Since your mother’s newfound friendship with Lady Violet, you found yourself thrust into Colin Bridgerton's company at every event. It was ghastly. Even being near him had your heart rate speeding up. You had to make a conscious effort not to grind your teeth and clench your fists every time he spoke. 

You weren’t quite sure when it happened, but it seemed that Colin Bridgerton had abandoned all pretense of gentlemanly conduct and settled for matching your disdain. You couldn’t say you were surprised. It was exactly what you expected of him, after all.

Tonight had been particularly taxing. Anthony Bridgerton was hosting a ball, which meant that your mother had strong-armed you into spending the entire night with the Bridgertons—when you weren’t with Lord Barlow, that is. You hadn’t minded much at the beginning, enjoying the respite from your mother practically auctioning you off for a dance now that you were courting the Duke. 

Yet, Colin seemed to have made it his singular mission to vex you constantly. Sly glances and biting remarks had escalated to a glass of water “inexplicably” pouring down the front of your dress. Thankfully, the dark blue of your gown successfully camouflaged any stain, but your patience was wearing perilously thin.

To be fair, you had insulted his intelligence, unprovoked, about three or four times before he spilled the glass of water on you. And not-so-subtly called him a “sale enfoiré” (dirty bastard). But still, he was infuriating, and he had been equally as bad all night. 

Currently, you were standing side by side, a simmering tension palpable in the air between you. A fragile truce had been brokered by the stern words of your elder sister, Charlotte, but the desire to spark an argument with Colin was ever-present.

He crossed his arms, and you couldn’t help but be acutely aware of his shoulder touching yours. The closeness of his touch sent a jolt through you, an unwelcome sensation that only added to your mounting frustration.

Colin Bridgerton was not the sort of man you liked, let alone respected, you reminded yourself. You were not particularly interested in engaging with a man who viewed you as merely a dowry with a womb. 

And yet, you couldn’t help yourself. At every chance you got, you couldn’t resist the urge to show him just how much you disliked him. You might have been embarrassed by your childish actions if he weren’t also an instigator.  

“You’ve only danced with the Duke once tonight, Lady Montclair” he commented, his tone dripping with a hint of mockery as he kept his gaze fixed elsewhere. “Has he bored you already with his talk about his family’s estate? Or is that exactly what you’re after?”

You held back a groan. He was particularly relentless tonight, wasn’t he?

“I can assure you, Mr. Bridgerton, the Duke and I engage in far more stimulating conversations than you might imagine,” you retorted, a flash of defiance in your eyes. “Certainly more engaging than your exchange with Miss Abernathy, I'd venture to say. Although her substantial dowry must have held some interest for you, I presume?”

“We were talking about my travels to India, if you must know,” he drawled, the challenge evident in his tone. “Not that you and the Duke would have much to speak about in that regard, given he’s never been.”

You scoffed. “I should hope I would be able to talk about it, Mr. Bridgerton; I spent three years living in India.”

Colin huffed, annoyed that he had forgotten that small detail. It took everything in you not to turn and face him right then, wanting to bask in the fact that you had bested him yet again. 

“Well, I fear the Duke would have been bored regardless. Look at him now, speaking with Miss Barrington. He certainly did not look that entertained when speaking with you.”

You glanced over at Lord Barlow. It was true, he was smiling at something Miss Barrington had said, but it wasn’t like he never smiled around you. You knew Colin was just winding you up, trying to get a reaction out of you.

“I see he's asked her to dance. Do you think he'll ask you for another, or has he had enough of you for tonight?”

Your fists clenched. The snide looks and snarky comments and even the water on your dress you could deal with. But you knew that you had to marry to secure your future, and Colin's thinly veiled jabs struck a nerve.

You turned to look at him slightly, finding his gaze still on your suitor across the ballroom. Perfect. You shifted closer to him, momentarily taken aback by the intense sound of your heartbeat in your ears. But you ignored it, much like you ignored his sharp inhale as you moved closer. 

With a deliberate motion, you lifted your foot and brought it down on top of his with as much strength as you could muster. The impact was immediate, a sharp jolt of pain shooting through Colin as he fought to stifle a cry.

He staggered forward, lifting his injured foot off the ground and feeling the throbbing of his toes he knew would last for days. Colin’s eyes watered with the effort of standing up, and you could do nothing but smile.

Oh, how he wished to wipe that triumphant expression from your face. He probably deserved your wrath at this point, given his behavior, but dear Lord did you have to make it so painful?

Gingerly, he lowered his injured foot to the ground, his breath catching in a subdued groan as he sought to regain his balance amidst the lingering ache.

“Lady Montclair, I’m sure you’ll excuse me,” Colin managed through gritted teeth, the pain in his foot now a throbbing ache. “I believe I must go tend to my foot, which has been inexplicably injured,” he finished weakly.

You cooed at him, mock concern in your voice. “Oh, Mr. Bridgerton, how dreadful! Pray do take care of yourself. We wouldn't want any lasting damage, now would we?”

He shot a glower in your direction, his eyes practically sparking with irritation as he searched for the nearest exit so he could return to the comfort of the Bridgerton carriage.

“If my toes are broken you’ll never hear the end of it,” he threatened. 

“Let us all hope the injury is not so grave, then,” you replied smugly, not the slightest bit bothered that he was in pain. 

And as much as you were infuriating and annoying and even slightly murderous, Colin found himself sad to be leaving your side. Even as he limped toward the exit, he missed your presence beside him. He probably just enjoyed a rivalry with someone who wasn’t related to him, he reasoned. It kept his mind sharp and his days entertaining. No other reason.

---

May 2, 1816 – Though the dowager Viscountess Violet Bridgerton and Countess Catherine Montclair remain friends, the hope for a union between the two families might be fading, if it was ever present. Lady Y/N Montclair has been spending quite a bit of time with Lord Arthur Barlow, and even this author knows a Duke is a better match than a Bridgerton, highly esteemed as their family might be.

Today was one of the rare occasions where you could simply enjoy yourself. The Duke and Duchess of Hastings were hosting an intimate garden party, and Lord Barlow was not in attendance. Although you were a tad disappointed, given that the two of you got along quite well, it did mean you could take a break from the pursuit of a husband for one afternoon. 

Which is why you were sitting next to Eloise, gently rocking Caroline Basset to sleep as you discussed your marriage prospects. 

“Your parents really delayed your coming out so you could marry an Englishman?” Eloise asked, shocked. “What could compel them to be so cruel toward you? The men of the ton are not the sort to write home about, I can assure you.”

You laughed, amused by Eloise’s aversion to marriage. Well, aversion to marriage in the way that you knew it to be. She was so refreshing to speak with: Eloise had rejected two marriage proposals already simply because she didn’t like her suitors. Truthfully it was not something you had previously thought was possible.  

“The Duke is not so bad that I would dread marrying him!” you giggled. “And he is fairly handsome, too.”

“The best of a bad bunch, it seems,” teased Eloise, sensing the beginnings of fondness in your voice.

How on earth was Colin related to her? Or any of the Bridgertons, really? Eloise was lovely, and it remained a mystery how she and Colin could share any parentage at all.

Your thoughts were interrupted by Daphne and Simon, who stood in the garden and tapped on a glass to address their guests. Not wanting baby Caroline to wake up, you stood up carefully and made your way across the garden to the nurses. 

“And we also have some news to share,” Daphne announced excitedly.

You turned around to face the Duchess after successfully handing Caroline off to a nurse and groaned involuntarily as you saw Colin already standing next to you. Unfortunately, it was far too late to move without causing a commotion, and you did not hate Colin so much as to disrespect Daphne to avoid him. 

Your peaceful, somewhat liberating afternoon came crashing down five seconds after being in Colin Bridgerton’s presence. You were instantly irritated by everything about him. Irritated by his signet ring glinting in the sunlight, by his windblown hair landing perfectly on his face, and by his small smile toward you when he saw you standing next to him, 

Most of all, you were irritated with yourself for noticing every little detail about him. You were trying to listen to Daphne, but his breathing was so loud, so close to your ear that you found it impossible. It was ridiculous, you knew. And you also knew it was only irritating you because you hated him. But it didn’t stop you from absolutely loathing the way Colin Bridgerton breathed. 

You felt anger rising in your chest as more time went on, his chest rising and falling evenly, and the words came out of your mouth before you could stop them. 

“Stop breathing. I’m trying to listen to your sister,” you hissed. 

“Stop breathing?” he whispered back, incredulous. “Do you suggest I stop entirely and fall dead right at this very moment?”

“I wouldn’t be opposed,” you shot back.

“It would certainly be on your conscience, then. Or perhaps you don’t have one. I wouldn’t be surprised,” he whispered back angrily.

And then suddenly, everyone was clapping and cheering, and neither of you had any idea what for. You looked around dumbly, trying to figure out what exactly had been said while mentally berating yourself for picking a fight with Colin, who also seemed confused by all the commotion.

Gregory walked up to Colin, clapping him on the back and punching him on the arm. 

“We’re going to be uncles once again! D’you reckon I’ll be the godfather this time around?”

“Not a chance,” Colin responded jovially, having realized that Daphne had announced a pregnancy.

Gregory moaned in disappointment and walked away to speak with Simon, surely to convince him of his candidacy as a godfather, but Colin turned to you, a raging fire in his eyes. 

“You couldn’t have waited ten more seconds before asking me to 'stop breathing'?” he all but spat.

You cringed, feeling a twinge of guilt in the pit of your stomach as you watched Colin walk away to speak with his sister. You deserved his wrath just this once. Perhaps you’d take the day off from antagonizing him, more for Daphne’s sake than anything else.

---

May 11, 1816 – Siena Rosso, esteemed opera singer and previously a regular performer at the Royal Opera House, has returned to Mayfair after two years away. This author has learned that the Montclairs have been invited to watch from Lady Danbury’s box…

You rubbed your eyes and sighed deeply, already dreading the three-hour-long opera ahead of you as you watched Siena Rosso emerge and begin singing. 

Your mother turned around in her seat with a frown, leaning over to you. “Y/N,” she scolded softly. “Ce n'est pas digne d'une dame.” (That’s unladylike)

You rolled your eyes once she turned around again. Usually, you were not opposed to going to the opera, finding the story compelling and the music beautiful, but tonight all you were looking forward to were the closing curtains. 

Lady Whistledown had failed to mention that the Bridgertons would be in Lady Danbury’s box tonight, too, and you were upset that you would have to spend the evening sitting next to Colin. Of course, Louis had gotten out of coming tonight, as had Benedict, and you simply assumed Colin would do the same. But no, he had shown up looking disconcertingly good and sat right next to you. 

On top of being forced to spend the evening alongside your least favorite member of the ton, you were completely exhausted. Having come to terms with the reality that you would probably be engaged to be married in a few weeks, you had been unable to sleep and opted to go to your spot in the garden to look at the stars instead. Although it had been soothing, seeing the twinkling lights and being reminded of every version of you who had looked up at these same stars, you were now bone-tired and fighting off sleep. 

You couldn’t even muster the energy to spite Colin in some form or another. All your energy was focused on staying awake and fighting against your eyelids as they periodically shuttered closed. 

You had been hoping that, if anything, sitting next to Colin and inevitably trading insults with him would keep you awake, but he was being uncharacteristically mellow tonight. And you were nothing if not suspicious. In the time you had known him, he had always attempted at least one conversation-turned-argument within five minutes of seeing you. 

Whatever the reason for his silence was, you were grateful. Perhaps his streak of combativeness was coming to an end and you could go back to silently loathing him. You hoped so. It had certainly been easier that way.

It would have been easier if you didn’t hate him at all, actually. And sometimes you did wish you could set aside your contempt toward each other and at least be civil. But then you remembered the biting words you heard in Lady Danbury’s hallway.

They were etched into your memory, replaying in your mind when you saw Colin being particularly sweet to one of his nieces or laughing with his brothers and you were tempted to forget the reason you hated him in the first place. 

…I suppose it depends on her dowry. The larger the dowry the more I’m willing to overlook… I’m sure you could get away with anything with any of these girls, though I suggest picking one that’s got good hips.

Even just remembering the words made you want to strangle Colin. Colin Bridgerton and Nigel Berbrooke clearly had no respect for you and saw your worth as directly proportional to your dowry, so why should you have any respect for them?

Quite interestingly, you had not seen Nigel since that fateful night. But you didn’t dwell on it too much. Dealing with one of them was already more than enough for you.

Siena’s aria ended, and you realized you had not been paying attention in the slightest. However, you were not as bothered as you would usually be by your lack of attention. The music had become softer and lower, and you could hardly keep your eyes open. It wouldn’t hurt to close them for a short while, right? Siena wasn’t even performing, and you were sitting behind your mother, free from her prying eyes.

An hour later, Colin turned to look at you, sleeping peacefully, for what might have been the four-hundredth time. Your hand was supporting your head, your lips parted softly as you breathed deeply, and he just stared.

He had seen you laughing and smiling around other people, but this was the first time he had been so close to you without you glaring or frowning at him, and it was far more important to him than anything happening onstage. 

In a few moments, you would wake up and remind him exactly why he disliked you, but for now, he could just enjoy this moment of peace.

A soft snore left your lips, and Colin nervously glanced toward your mother, hoping she hadn’t heard. He knew the countess would be upset if she realized her daughter was asleep at the opera, and he prayed your snore had been an isolated incident.

But to no avail; you let out another snore, slightly louder than the last, and Colin tensed. Your mother, along with his, seemed too enthralled in the opera to notice yet, but he suspected the snoring would only get worse.

Logically, Colin knew he had to do something. As much as he hated you– or rather hated that you hated him– he knew it would be cruel to let you face your mother’s wrath when you were clearly exhausted. But he couldn’t very well start being nice to you right now, after weeks of feuding. 

He was far too proud to admit it to anyone, but you had gotten to him. You brought out the worst in him. Or maybe he brought out the worst in himself, and you were only there to see it. He felt slightly guilty at how aggressively he reacted at Daphne’s garden party, not to mention every other time he had made a disparaging comment about you. But the guilt quickly evaporated every time you replied with an equally disparaging comment.

After a moment, and another snore, Colin settled for reaching over and pinching your bicep to wake you up. You startled awake, almost yelping in pain and looking around in confusion. 

Fully awake now, your eyes narrowed as you saw Colin smirking at you, his hand near your arm giving you a very clear idea of who had woken you up. 

“Good morning, Lady Montclair. It’s nice of you to join us. There’s an opera happening at the minute, in case you hadn’t noticed,” he said sarcastically.

You clenched your fists, eyes glancing at your mother as she dabbed at her eyes after what Colin could only imagine was a very emotional aria. After a deep breath, you crossed your arms and slumped back in your seat, defeated.

“Like you’re any better. I doubt you’ve paid attention at the opera a single time in your life,” you finally whispered back, stifling a yawn.

As you sat glowering, Colin thought that it might be impossible for the two of you to be in a room without arguing. However, at least Colin had made sure that you had plenty of reasons to hate him. He might not have known why you disliked him at first, but he certainly knew now, and that was a far better feeling than wondering what he did wrong.

—

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[therealdesastrffxiv]

I submitted a suggestion to FFXIV Forums

HERE IT IS:

"I adore FFXIV, but one of the things in this game that is extremely grating is the how alt-unfriendly it is.

I realize people use the excuse of 'we can use all jobs on one character', but that honestly does not appeal to me in the slightest. Most jobs do not work for my character, who I write stories about and roleplay. This same situation applies to most glams, pets, and mounts.

The ironic thing is, I would do far, far more in this game if only it were more alt friendly. I would likely actually try to dive into more extreme PvE content, but as it stands now, it simply is not worth it. A lot of content just does not fit for this character, yet she is meant to remain my main, and I want to do the content on her.

I do not have enough time or want to level up and get through the story on every single alt I want to write a story about, and to have to grind everything out a second time, it makes collecting in this game for people like me pointless.

Therefore, I propose an idea: All mounts should be shared. All hairstyles should be shared. All minions should be shared. In the case of glams, might I suggest a special storage chest that is account bound, allowing you to swap glams to your alt? Quite like 'transmog collections' in other games (and mounts/pets being shared in general).

If the above is considered unreasonable - I think it is fair to at least say we could farm everything multiple times, BUT on a main which then could provide the item to the alt.

Example: A glam drops, you can only use it on one character, but you can transfer it to a different character even if it doesn't apply to the one you got it on.

Example 2: I get a mount drop on this character, don't really want it on this one, put it in my chest to give it to an alt.

Example 3: I have a mount collected already, but get another drop, so transfer it to a different character.

Example 3 would also encourage people to farm even more, because there would be a point to getting multiple drops, as we'd be able to give them to alts.

Please at least consider something like an account bound chest, thank you!"

THOSE WHO WANT ALT FRIENDLINESS IN THE GAME - We'd have to bring it up on the forums, or get the word out there more via Twitter. I use the hashtag #altfriendlyxiv or #altfriendlyffxiv.

Something as simple as being able to mail alts & all shop items being account bound rather than just the non-holiday mounts would be great, in the very least. (Aside from the boosts, obviously.)

The suggestion I had someone leave on the forums is linked here.

[vanillablankcanvas]

Part 6 Trolls Headcanons/ Theories/ Thoughts/ Ideas

Part1 Part2 Part3 Part4 Part5 Part7 Part8 Part9 Part10

Trolls - having an egg on the way is known as an 'Eggnancy" 😂

BroZone - when the brothers weren't sure how to reconnect, they ended up playing rummy together.

Bruce - has attempted to set up John Dory on a date with Brandy's sister.

Bruce - kept having kids because he and Brandy wanted at least one daughter. When they finally had LaBreezy they decided to stop.

Bruce - learned to surf to get Brandy's attention when they first met. Ended up falling in love with surfing before Brandy fell for him. 😁

Clay - the Putt-Putt Trolls didn't have a sad book club as they had no books! After the reunion Clay was very excited about the vast new collection of books he could get his hands on!

Clay - finds out that he was Poppy's favourite Brozone member when she was little and doesn't he just boast about it any chance he gets!

Clay - for Clay to finally forgive John Dory, JD agreed to perform for the brothers+Poppy and Viva in ONLY the funderdrawers. "Do you feel like you're having 76% more fun yet John? Cause I am!" *Camera snap*

John Dory - he doesn't let it show but his ears are constantly twitching to check for danger, a side effect of living in the wilderness alone for so long.

John Dory - sworn off ever having children.

John Dory - pretty scrappy at self defence, can hold his own when boxing.

Floyd - did a few red carpet appearances during his solo era, he felt very out of place. @ssippingwaterfalls 💕

Floyd - after the Mount Rageous incident he gets a little bit reckless without realizing it. He has an "I just survived death so cliff jumping isn't scary anymore' kinda attitude.

Floyd - can read palms and tarot cards.

Branch - Kismet were the ones that originally got him hooked on ring pops.

Branch - learns phrases in other languages to build relationships with subgenre tribes of Trolls. E.g the K-Pop and Reggaeton Trolls.

Branch - started building the bunker while he was still living in the group home with other Trollings.

Poppy - wishes that Branch would initiate physical contact more often.

Viva - calls the older brothers Mr.Bruce and Mr.JD (Clay told her to)

Rhonda - when she was a baby she was more like a big suitcase than a vehicle.

Bonus

Cooper - is actually smarter and more capable than he let's on (quote from Brooklyn 99, "If people knew how smart I was it would be harder to control them.")

[yanderes-galore]

Aemond vs Lucerys hcs? Romantic (assuming this is enough info-)

Oh dear... sorry if things seem OOC, here you go! I'm still new to writing ASOIAF. Please take note of trigger warnings, this is ASOIAF after all.

I'm an Aemond fan and prefer him but I put this man through hell in this.

Yandere! Aemond Targaryen vs Lucerys Velaryon

Pairing: Romantic - Rivalry

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Canon divergent time-line where Lucerys isn't dead (Dance is either postponed or doesn't happen), Obsession, Violence, Manipulation, Threats, Betrothal, Age Gap Aemond (I think he'd be like 25/26 in this if you and Lucerys are about 18/19), Medieval relationship dynamic (Although you aren't implied to be Targaryen), Swearing, Possessive behavior, Forced affection (From Aemond), Mature themes, Attempted murder/Dueling, Kidnapping mention, Dark themes and unhealthy dynamics, Dubious relationships.

A rivalry such as this is definitely volatile.

The two have an evident history with each other ever since they were young.

After all, Lucerys took Aemond's eye.

Ever since then the two haven't gotten along.

They most likely never will due to their different sides and past.

You throw in betrothal? You're asking for fights.

Imagine if Lucerys and you are betrothed as ordered by Rhaenyra.

Despite this, Aemond still finds himself fond of you.

Probably has for years.

You've always been adorable to him, yet it angers him that you've been betrothed to the bastard or took his eye.

Lucerys just seems to take everything from him.

It doesn't help that you may also be fond of Lucerys, you aren't marrying him just for duty, but also because of your own feelings.

Aemond has admittedly thought of ways to cancel your betrothal.

He has often asked his mother Alicent to convince Rhaenyra of changing things.

Yet nothing comes of it as both you and Lucerys seem happy.

Which causes Aemond to seethe.

Lucerys is no doubt aware of Aemond's fondness towards you.

It's hard to ignore when the Targaryen's peering eye lingers on you.

Lucerys no doubt dislikes the thought of Aemond trying to separate you both.

Lucerys does not wish to fight his uncle, especially over you.

To Lucerys, the betrothal is final.

You want this, he wants this, that's how it should be.

Yet Lucerys still has to deal with Aemond courting you right up until wedding day.

He's laying the charm on thick, trying his best to make you rethink your agreement with Lucerys.

Lucerys doesn't let Aemond's words sway you.

Your fiancé always manages to catch Aemond trying to court you, pinning you to a wall to try and seduce you.

This always ends in a fight, Lucerys telling off Aemond to stop his advances.

But both of their obsessions only seem to grow.

There's a good chance even after the wedding is official Aemond may just crash it.

That or try to force a conflict between Lucerys, perhaps even suggesting a duel for your hand.

Both men are quite possessive of you and the idea of marrying you.

Even to the point of threats and violence.

Want to make this even worse?

Bring the dragons into it.

Vhagar can sense Aemond's distress towards being unable to have you.

His draconic mount often ends up hearing his complaints when she rests.

Arrax notices the irritation of his own rider towards Aemond's courting.

The dragon often tries to encourage his rider to keep fighting for you.

But it appears their feud just keep sparking up flames.

There's many ways this could end.

One of them kills the other... Aemond kidnaps you... etc...

The two dragons think their riders will resolve this on their own.

But it seems their rivalry will only end in fire and blood.

By the end of it only time will tell who actually gets your hand in marriage.

[queenshelby]

Our Little Secret (Part 41)

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Warning: Infidelity, Age-Gap,

Once Cillian and Amanda settled down in the living room with a glass of wine each, Amanda asked what it was that made him upset. The fact that he had invited her in after all she did was surprising to her and she knew that there must have been something that was troubling him.  She watched him as he sat down on the couch, his shoulders slouched and his eyes distant as he took a long sip of his wine.

"Cillian, is everything okay?" Amanda asked tentatively, not wanting to intrude but still feeling concerned for him.

Cillian let out a deep sigh before finally speaking. "No, it's not. But, it doesn't matter, really,"  Cillian replied, his voice laced with a hint of sadness and disappointment.

"What happened?" Amanda asked, concerned and confused about the sadness in his eyes, which she hadn't seen before.

"I proposed to Y/N tonight, but she said no," Cillian admitted, his voice somber and tinged with disappointment. "Well, she didn't say yes, you know. She just said she needed time,"  Cillian added, trying to lighten the mood, but Amanda could tell that he was deeply hurt by your refusal.

"Why did she say no?" Amanda asked, genuinely curious about the situation and trying to understand why Y/N would refuse such a proposal.

"She said she wasn't ready for it yet. And I get that, I really do. But, I guess we are just on different wavelengths sometimes and I don't actually think that she wants to be with me as much as I want to be with her, which is really fucking difficult for me to deal with," Cillian  continued, looking down at his wine glass with a mixture of sadness and frustration.

"I'm sorry," Amanda said, her voice soft and sympathetic as she reached out to take his hand in hers.

Cillian looked up at her and gave a small smile before nodding. "Yeah, it is. But, what can you do, right? I love her, and I just have to keep going and hope that she comes around eventually."

"Cillian, this might sound harsh, but you do realize that she is very young still.  She probably just wants to experience life a little more before settling down, don't you think?" Amanda asked, squeezing Cillian's hand reassuringly.

"I know, I know. But the thing is, I'm not getting any younger. And I don't want to wait around for her to be ready. I want to start a life with her now," Cillian replied, his voice tinged with frustration.

"You can't force her to be with you though and I am not saying that this is what you are doing, but perhaps she feels a little overwhelmed by it all. She just a baby too and this can really be hard on a young woman like her," Amanda tried to reassure him, but it only made Cillian feel more frustrated.

"I'm not trying to force her. She just wants to take it slow and that's perfectly fine, I get that. I love her, and I want her to be happy. But at the same time, I just want her to show some kind of commitment," Cillian admitted, as he ran his hand through his hair in frustration. "She doesn't want to go to these fucking Award shows with me in a few weeks' time, making excuses and I honestly feel that it is because of the age difference between us. Maybe she is embarrassed or maybe she is reevaluating her life choices. I don't fucking know,"  Cillian said, his frustration mounting as he took a deep breath and downed the rest of his wine.

Amanda listened intently, feeling a strange sense of understanding towards you while, at the same time, seeing an opportunity here for herself, to get what she wanted. 

"She's a silly girl then, Cillian. Most women I know would give anything for an opportunity to be by your site," she thus said carefully and with a gentle voice while Cillian topped up his wineglass, filling to the brim. 

"Maybe you are right. Maybe she is simply too young," Cillian said, his voice tinged with a hint of sadness. "Or maybe she is just too afraid to tell me that she would much rather be with someone in their twenties, instead of someone who is pushing fifty. It would make fucking sense you know."

Amanda sighed nervously before responding. "I am sorry to say but, yes, it does make sense . I mean, I'm not saying that you are old or anything, Cillian, but she is much younger than you and she might fear the social stigma that comes with being in a relationship with an older man. It's not uncommon," Amanda explained, trying to soften the blow of her words.

"But then again, she is clearly blind if she  can't see what an amazing man you are," Amanda added, squeezing Cillian's hand reassuringly.

Cillian looked at her, a mixture of sadness and gratitude in his eyes. "Thanks, Am," he said softly.

"What are you thanking me for?" Amanda asked, genuinely puzzled.

"For listening to me rambling on about this," Cillian said, his voice barely above a whisper while Amanda caressed his hand and he did not pull away, his mind slightly hazy from how quickly he had consumed the wine. 

She smiled, before leaning closer to him and whispered in his ear: "I could do a lot more than that for you. In fact, I reckon I can make you forget all about her." 

Cillian looked at her, his eyes narrowing in confusion before Amanda reached up, taking his face in her hands.

Her lips then met his in a soft, slow kiss, a shock rippling through him as he let her continue. It felt wrong, and yet, for some reason, the kiss alone caused him to feel a stirring in his groin that he hadn't expected.

This was the woman who had spiked his drink, almost destroyed his relationship with you and still held feelings for him, but in that moment, none of it mattered. The taste of her lips pressing against his and the way her fingers were gently caressing his cheek, it was all just too much to ignore.

Cillian's breath hitched as he felt her tongue trace along the seam of his lips, asking for permission to enter.

He hesitated for a moment, his thoughts consumed by the guilt of what he was about to do. But when Amanda pulled back, looked at him with those big, pleading eyes and whispered his name again, he was lost.

Without a second thought, Cillian parted his lips and met her tongue with his own in a passionate, all-consuming kiss. He could feel the warmth of her body pressed against his, the softness of her breasts against his chest, and the way she moaned gently as he deepened the kiss.

"Am, we can't," Cillian whispered, his voice hoarse. He had never thought he would find himself in this situation, kissing his ex-girlfriend while in a relationship with someone else. 

Amanda pulled back from the kiss, her eyes sparkling with desire as she looked up at him. "Do you want me, Cillian?" she asked, her voice low and sultry.

Cillian hesitated for a moment before nodding.

"Yes. Yes, I want you," he admitted, his voice laced with guilt and desire.

Amanda smiled, her eyes sparkling with pleasure as she stood up, pulling Cillian up with her.

"Come on then," she said, leading him upstairs to his bedroom .

As they walked, Cillian couldn't help but feel a sense of shame and guilt wash over him. He knew that what he was doing was wrong, but he couldn't resist the pull Amanda had on him in that moment. 

When they reached his bedroom, Amanda turned to him, her eyes smoldering with desire as she stepped closer to him, pressing herself against him. She reached up, running her fingers through his hair as she kissed him deeply.

Her hand then moved straight to his crotch , and she could feel the hardness that begged to be released from the confines of his jeans.

"Fuck, Amanda," Cillian groaned as she squeezed him firmly, her touch sending ripples of pleasure straight through him.

With deft fingers, Amanda unbuckled his belt, undoing the buttons of his jeans before slowly pulling down the zipper.

She reached in, wrapping her hand around his cock, feeling him twitch and jerk in her hand.

"Bend over the bed ," Cillian growled, his voice low and husky as he pushed Amanda gently towards the bed.

Amanda obeyed, bending over the edge of the bed and looking back at him with a sultry look in her eyes.

Cillian didn't hesitate, pulling her pants down to her thighs and exposing her bare ass. He could see the glistening wetness between her legs and knew that she was ready for him.

He reached forward, running his hand over her ass before parting her thighs further.

" You're soaked," he groaned, his voice filled with lust as he pressed a finger against her opening, feeling her wetness coat his fingers.

Amanda moaned, pushing back against him as she felt his finger slip inside of her.

"Cillian, please," she begged, her voice low and needy. "I really need your cock inside of me right now."

Cillian didn't need to be told twice. He stepped forward, lining himself up with her wetness before thrusting into her with one deep, firm stroke. Amanda cried out, her body tensing as she took him inside her.

Cillian gripped her hips, pulling back before driving into her again and again, harder and faster. Amanda pushed back against him, meeting him stroke for stroke as she moaned and gasped, begging for more.

"Cillian, harder," she panted, her voice thick with desire. "Fuck me harder."

Cillian obliged, his hips pounding against her as he gripped her hips, holding her in place. He could feel every inch of her tight pussy wrapped around him, could feel the way it gripped him and pulsed around him, milking him for every inch.

He could feel the tension building inside of him, the tightness in his balls and the tingling heat at the base of his spine.

Amanda was moaning, her cries of pleasure getting louder as she begged for more.

"Fuck, Cillian, harder," she screamed, pushing back against him as he slammed his cock into her.

He could feel his orgasm building, the tightness in his balls getting stronger as he pounded into her. He could feel every inch of her pussy, gripping him so tightly that he could barely move.

"Come for me.

I want to feel you milk my cock," Cillian grunted, his thrusts getting more erratic and his pace quickening.

Amanda cried out, her body shaking as she felt her orgasm tearing through her, making her pussy clench around Cillian's cock. She could feel the warmth spreading through her, making her legs shake and her whole body tremble.

Cillian could feel it too. He could feel Amanda's pussy contracting around his cock, and it was almost too much.

With one final, powerful thrust, Cillian came hard, his seed spilling deep inside of her as he groaned loudly, his body shuddering with pleasure.

They stayed there for a moment, panting and gasping as they tried to catch their breath. Cillian's legs were trembling, and he slowly pulled out of Amanda, watching as his cum ran down her thighs.

"Fuck," Cillian managed to say, his voice low with instant regret.

He quickly pulled up his pants, while Amanda slowly turned around and sat on the edge of the bed, visibly shaken by the suddenness of the situation.

"I'm sorry," Cillian said, his voice filled with shame and guilt. "I shouldn't have done that."

Amanda looked away, her eyes avoiding his. "No, it's fine," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

But it clearly wasn't fine. There was an awkward tension between them now, a tension that hadn't been there before.

Cillian felt like a weight had settled on his chest, crushing him with the guilt and shame of what he had just done. He couldn't believe that he had cheated on you, the woman he loved. It had been a moment of weakness, a moment of pure sexual desire and lust, but that didn't make it any better.

Cillian looked over at Amanda, her eyes still avoid his as she sat there, a quiet but studdle smile playing on her face.

"It was just sex, Cillian," Amanda said quietly, looking up at him with a seductive smile. "Don't beat yourself up over it." Amanda's words were like a balm to Cillian's guilty conscience, but only for a moment. He knew that what he had done was wrong, and there was no sugar-coating it.

"Easy for you to say," Cillian said, snapping at her, before he turned away from her, trying to collect himself.

"Listen, I won't tell if you don't. She doesn't need to know about this," Amanda said before deciding that it was time for her to leave. "I should go,"  she added, standing up and pulling up her pants. "And I won't say a word about this to anyone."

Cillian nodded, still feeling the weight of guilt and shame crushing him. He watched as Amanda walked out of his bedroom, her hips swaying seductively as she left.

He let out a deep sigh and ran his hands through his hair, feeling a mix of emotions coursing through him. He loved you, but he couldn't deny the thrill he had just experienced with Amanda.

"You are so fucked," he muttered to himself, collapsing onto his bed.

He lay there for a long time, staring up at the ceiling, feeling the weight of his guilt pressing down on him.

Cillian knew that what he had done was wrong. Cheating on you was something he had never thought he would do, and yet, here he was, feeling like a complete and utter bastard for doing just that.

As the night wore on, Amanda's words continued to play on his mind. "It was just sex, Cillian. Don't beat yourself up over it.

Amanda's words echoed in Cillian's mind, taunting him. He wanted to believe that it was just a moment of weakness, a slip-up that didn't mean anything. But the guilt he felt told him otherwise.

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[dingodad]

does every planet with sapient life have a first guardian, or only planets destined to play The Game?

if every sapient planet capable of playing The Game has a first guardian, do you think HIC had to kill those first guardians? do you think she also has a trophy mount of all the first guardians she killed, a la jake "poppop" harley?

do you think deltritus will have a first guardian, manufactured or otherwise?

does gracillia have a first guardian, and if it doesnt, what would it look like if it did?

the word is that "Every planet destined for intelligent life" has a first guardian. this has commonly been reinterpreted as only including planets that will play host to sessions of Sburb, partially because we observe that first guardians are born from ectobiology and arrive on their homeworlds via frog temple meteor, but I've never been enticed by this reasoning because you have to remember that ectobiology is pretty much just supposed to mimic genuine biology. all of the comic's protagonists being created ectobiologically doesn't mean that's how ALL humans are born, so it's not particularly out there to suggest that most first guardians come into being through some natural means as well. in fact the linked page even tells us "each has a unique, circuitous origin through the knots of paradox space", without mentioning ectobiology specifically, so the door is wide open for first guardians to be created by other means.

that being said this page does also tell us that a first guardian "facilitate[s] the planet's ultimate purpose", and knowing what we know about Homestuck's cosmology it doesn't seem like a huge leap to presume that the ultimate purpose of most intelligent life IS the creation of new universes via Sburb. but given that most of the first guardians we're aware of - like most organisms in general - are kind of just stupid animals with no broader awareness of their purpose, it's a little difficult to believe that Becquerel or GCat were actually able to deliberately guide the Earth in any particular direction. so there's a strong argument to be made that all these things go hand in hand but it's far from concrete. and it's interesting to think about edge cases. like, those countless worlds which had presumably yet to fulfil their ultimate purpose when the Tumor blew up.

i think the trolls probably do encounter a lot of first guardians in their space conquest, but I doubt it's the Condesce who personally has to deal with any of them, since her initial visits to alien worlds are usually "cordial" and full-scale invasion doesn't take place until after she's left. I have actually put thought into this before cus if we run with the assumption that most first guardians are in fact just animals then the fact that the Alternian military has an entire arm dedicated to animal communion kind of makes the process of subduing one into a total joke LOL. Tavros and Condy never had even a little bit of trouble taking control of Becquerel or GCat. it feels super plausible that this was even part of the reason the Cavalreapers were established in the first place.

Deltritus I honestly think is a tossup. Dirk is very obviously already Doc Scratching it up in terms of the planet literally having a guardian (with Rose and Terezi as second guardians/aunties) so a highly involved first guardian would be pretty much redundant. but with Dirk trying to replicate the key elements of Homestuck it wouldn't surprise me if creating one of those was also in his agenda, and if Deltritus IS heading toward a Sburb session for real then the established pattern would seem to dictate that they'll end up getting a first guardian anyway. all depends on whether the story wants to dedicate any time to that concept, and at this stage they could take it or leave it.

Gracilia does have a first guardian. I don't know if the trolls have ever come across it though. at the very least it wasn't a significant factor in colonisation. Becquerel was willing to sacrifice himself to blow up one meteor to save Jade but even that's really just because he was an especially loyal creature. can you really imagine he would become relevant if flying saucers descended upon London or something. imagine if the first guardian of Earth was like, a whale. how long would it take aliens to realise that the Earth happened to have ONE teleporting whale using space powers to warp krill into its mouth or whatever. this is basically what we're looking at with Gracilia's first guardian

[seramilla]

So Emily after sneaking into hell to find her mother realizes it was a bad idea. Things are so much more chaotic and we'll worse than she thought she gets attacked though is able to escape unharmed and is having a bad time wondering if she should go back to heaven before suddenly she gets hit a by a dart and fall unconscious. She is waking up in a room tied to a chair hearing to women talking in Spanish about what they should do with the angel on is wearing a lab coat with glasses the other a crop top and pony tail. Once they notice Emily has come to they talk demanding to know what Emily was here to do and refusing the answer of looking for her mother. Clara (Emily doesn't know any names yet) threatens to torture her to get the answer out trying to seem though before Odette tells her they aren't both for ethical reasons and the whole torture doesn't work reason. (It doesn't look it up.) Clara wouldn't have she doesn't have the heart to actually hurt Emily but Emily doesn't know that. Emily insists that she is looking for her mom who fell thousands of years ago and the girls continue to not believe her. Finally Carmilla shows up she was in a meeting when she learned her girls caught an Angel and only just now got out to see this angel who they think is a spy. Carmilla doesn't recognize her at first and like her daughters assumes she is lying until Emily says her mothers name is Carmilla. (Emily doesn't know Carmilla's name at this point since the girls call her mom and mama)

Carmilla looks at this woman that her girls have brought before her, shocked and overcome with emotion. Never in all her years of being an overlord has she ever witnessed something like this. An angel, who had been waltzing around Hell and asking questions, as if every second in this place didn't mount the danger for a stranger such as herself tenfold.

It's even worse...so much worse, because she is practically a carbon copy of...her. Sera. Her long lost love. The resemblance is uncanny. Like if she reaches out and touches those freckled cheeks, she will feel the cool and familiar softness of Sera's face against her palm. Could she be...could Sera have moved on? Without her? Then why is this person here, asking for a "Carmilla?" Asking for her?

"Run this by me one more time, Emily," Carmilla says, even her one remaining virtue of patience being tested by this girl's wild story. "You left Heaven, of your own free will, to come look for this Carmilla? Why in all the realms would you do that? Without an entourage or escort? What business could a young angel like you have with a demon?"

Emily looks down. Poking her fingers together, like she's ashamed to have been caught. Ashamed to be breaking one of Heaven's greatest taboos. She should be ashamed, but for some reason, despite the danger, and how utterly careless this young woman is being, Carmilla can't bring herself to push the matter further.

"Like I told your daughters..." Emily begins, motioning to Clara and Odette, who are watching curiously from the sidelines. "I am looking for my mother. She's a fallen angel. Named Carmilla. She was pushed out a long time ago...I just wanted to see if she's still alive...and let her know that my other mother misses her very much."

Carmilla takes a deep breath. Lets it out slowly. No, her other mother couldn't possibly be...

"And what is your other parent's name?" Carmilla asks, already anticipating the answer.

"She is the High Seraphim, Sera. I was conceived right before Carmilla fell. I don't even know if she realizes I exist."

Sera...Emily...Seraphim. Leave it to Sera, but her naming scheme is predictable, if nothing else. Oh, holy fucking Hell, how had Carmilla not realized this sooner?

Carmilla turns around. Clara and Odette look on in concern as Carmilla takes her face into her claws, holding her cheeks as she tries desperately not to show how startled she is. Emily...her and Sera's daughter...here with her now...with her and Sera's other children...

She turns back around to look at Clara and Odette. Her other girls appear to have come to the same conclusion, their startled and shocked expressions giving away everything they must be feeling inside. She's never hidden Sera's name from them. She'd always wanted her girls to know where they came from. Had told them everything a long time ago.

Their mother is also Sera, because Carmilla had also Fallen while pregnant. So this Emily person is their other sister...which means Sera is alive and well. Heaven hadn't found out about their relationship and punished her, too. Oh, thank her lucky stars for that.

Carmilla turns to Emily. Her face has suddenly changed from stern and concerned, to warm and inviting. There are tears in her eyes. Emily tilts her head, wondering if she'd said something to upset the older woman.

"Are you okay?" Emily asks, genuinely remorseful. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you sad. Do you want me to leave?"

Carmilla shakes her head. She's smiling now.

"No. I'm all right. Please, don't go. I'm just so...happy!"

Emily does look confused now, but also curious. What is this overlord getting at?

"It's just that...my name is Carmilla. I'm the only one I know of in this entire city. Most people change their names when they come here, but I didn't. And I think, based on everything you've said, that I'm the one you seek. Sera was my partner...for many hundreds, thousands of years. She was pregnant when I fell. I think you might be...I hope beyond hope that you are mine."

Emily's eyes widen. She looks at Carmilla, like her eyes might pop out of her head at any moment. Then she is the one crying. Big, drippy, snotty tears. Completely unafraid of how she looks before these complete strangers...in front of her mother.

"Carmilla!...Mama! Are you certain?"

"I think so, mija."

"Ma-Mama!" Emily throws herself at Carmilla, hugging her so tightly, Carmilla thinks her spine might crack. Emily is bawling now. She puts her head on Emily's quaking head, feeling her move up to be closer against her front. "I can't believe I finally found you. Mom...Sera...she will be so happy! I don't even know you, but...I'm sorry I came here alone, but she missed you so much! And I just wanted to meet you!"

Carmilla strokes Emily's hair, as the small angel cries into her chest. "Sshh, it's okay, mija. Everything is all right. I forgive you. Everything will be all right."

[starlene]

Anne of the Island Book Club: Chapter 9

As someone else already noted, this book is not the least bit concerned about the lectures the characters attend or the things they're learning there. So, as a 21st century reader, I really have no idea how their lesson plans and lectures look like. Very different from anything I or my friends have experienced, I'm sure. Likely also pretty strict and boring to our modern-day eyes – or maybe that's just the stereotypical view I have of education in the olden days?

Thinking about education in the late 19th century got me curious, so I looked a little bit into the history of women's higher education in Canada. The first Canadian college to award a Bachelor's degree to a woman was Mount Allison in 1875. Wikipedia says Redmond College is based on Dalhousie University, where a female student first earned her Bachelor's degree in 1885. A timeline that's been put up in the Anne of Green Gables Wiki says Anne went to Redmond College in 1883–87. So she and her girlfriends were true trailblazers indeed!

Though of course, I don't think anyone's saying Montgomery meant to set Anne of the Island exactly between 1883 and 1887 when she was writing it; the wiki timeline comes from starting with Rilla of Ingleside and figuring it out backwards. I wonder if she had an exact timeframe in mind at all? Based on the mention of a biograph in Stella's letter, I assume the book must be set a decade later than the wiki timeline, at the very least.

~

The 1921 Finnish translation I'm reading just plain omits Charlie Sloane proposing to Anne! Looking at the Gutenberg text and the Finnish translation side by side is the first time I've ever heard of that. I can deal with the translator adding all manner of weird little details, but this is an actual plot point and I can't understand why she's chosen to cut it.

In any case, I'm sorry to find out that Charlie doesn't take Anne's rejection in a gentlemanly manner. He must be completely obtuse, or else fully blinded by his love – the entire college is shipping Anne and Gilbert at this point, and Anne herself feels she's never given Charlie encouragement, and yet, he's sure enough that she likes him back that he both dares to propose and dares to become angry when she says no. I hope he does better in his studies than in his social life.

[Edited to add:] All this talk of suitors and proposals has made the following line from Rose's mother in Titanic loop in my head: "The purpose of university is to find a suitable husband. Rose has already done that." So far, this book is not doing a great job proving her wrong.

~

"Of course, we would have to have a housekeeper and I have one ready on the spot" – how times have changed! Of course, it's because of patriarchal notions relating to chastity and modesty and whatnot that the girls have to have a housekeeper, and I'm glad that's a thing of the past now. But from a, well, housekeeping standpoint... I wish I had a housekeeper back when I was in school. I wish I had a housekeeper right now! But all I have is an old and partially broken vacuum cleaner. Though, to be fair, I don't believe Anne and co. had any electric appliances at all, so I guess it's not all bad, living housekeeper-less in the modern day.

~

Further translation notes: the Finnish translation specifies that the "lanky, brainy Freshie" who visits Anne "finds no greater enjoyment in life than higher mathematics" (= "hekkumoi korkeammassa matematiikassa.") Good for him! He won't be able to win Anne's heart, but at least he'll always have mathematics.