#so many things have ''ia'' at the end

[haru-chi]

No one can convince me now that both the timing of the manga and the anime episode tomorrow wasn't intentional :/

As a massage to confirm that the ring episode happened AFTER the current arc and what occur in the last two chapters ..

[salabanders]

Books aren't always reliable either. I mean... that one was drawn not as a mythological creature but the artist followed the written observation of the "species discoverer" without having seen themselves.

That's "fun" to see where we are back now. Especially when newspapers use AI as illustration too...

[rainingincale]

Should i just unfollow my ex-mp, because ngl I feel like im just torturing myself at this point

(Im seriously asking and you should tell me yes)

[neptuneiris]

could you pretend to be in love? (05/10)

The Challenge

pairing: modern!aemond × fem!reader (fake dating)

summary: new sensations envelop you when you are with Aemond, especially when you learn more details about his relationship with Alys and an unexpected news fills you with nerves.

word count: 6.6k

previous part • series masterlist

new chapter finally!

probably won't be as exciting as the other chapters, however...there is something here going on and I want you guys to figure it out in the comments and we'll see if you are catching what I am👀

the next chapter will be full of drama, believe me, so expect it to come very soon as I'm focusing on finishing writing this story without making new ones and considering I have no more fics pending, just this one🤗

now yes beautiful people, enjoy!

warnings: cursing, language, mentions of cheating.

@melsunshine @at-a-rax-ia @jxdegodfrey @ttkttt @yentroucnagol @kate-to-the-ki @iamavailablesstuff @bluerskiees @urmomsgirlfriend1 @toodlesxcuddles @rosie-posie08 @iloveallmyboys @bellaisasleep @deliaseastar @cupcakesminicakescupcakes @dixie-elocin @lilostif16 @wickedfrsgrl @a-beaverhausen @a-beaverhausen

The sound of birds in the distance reaches your ears.

Today the sky is cloudy, with no chance of rain, the temperature is pleasant and you are thankful that there are no intense sun rays burning your skin when you are outdoors.

You find yourself immersed in your physics homework, sitting on the bleachers of the sports field, where you can only hear the sound of the birds and also faintly the sound of the soccer team training.

You sit in tranquility, undisturbed and unobserved by anyone, when suddenly the sound of footsteps stepping on the metal bleachers pulls you out of your concentration.

You look up and see Aemond approaching, a small smile on his face. You return his greeting with a shy smile and make a small space beside you for him to take a seat.

Aemond plops down nonchalantly next to you, letting out a sigh, then curiously observes what you're doing on your lap.

"What are you doing?"

You deliberately ignore his question and instead, take a loose leaf you had tucked away among your folder, pick it up and hold it out to him, with a gentle yet expectant look.

Aemond takes it and frowns, reading what you've written on it, only getting more confused.

'Pride and Prejudice' by Jane Austen.

'Romeo and Juliet' by William Shakespeare.

"And what is this?"

"Have you already forgotten my conditions of the contract?" you tell him amused, "For every party I go with you to, you have to read one of my favorite books or watch one of my favorite movies or shows," you remind him, "So now, you have to pick one of these two of my favorite books."

Aemond rolls his eye with amusement.

"And why exactly do I have to pick one of these two? Don't they seem... repetitive and so usual?"

"That's what people always say, obviously they know these books by the title and their authors, but how many people actually read these books?" you look at him with your tone full of expectation, "I'm sure you haven't read either of them."

He shrugs indifferently, with his nonchalant air.

"So? There are movies," he says confused, "I haven't seen them either, but I know how they both end. In the end they both get married," he points to the title of 'Pride and Prejudice', "And here they both die together and their families stop being rivals," he points to 'Romeo and Juliet'.

You let out a small chuckle at his witty response, but you are not intimidated.

"Yes but there are a lot of things that in the movies they don't show, so... what will be your choice, Mr. Aemond?"

He lets out a laugh.

"Well, we'll see how this 'Romeo and Juliet' is," he decides.

"Perfect."

And when he least expects it, from your backpack you take the book, handing it to him with your clear satisfaction and he still confused but amused examines the book in his hands.

"Good, then give me the other one at once, because there's a new party on Saturday," he tells you, completely grabbing your attention.

You open your eyes wide and stare at him in disbelief and surprise.

"What? So soon?" you ask with clear irritation and disappointment in your look and tone.

"Why are you so disappointed? After all you come out on top too since I'm going to read two of your shitty boring books," he says as he raises them slightly in the air.

"My books aren't shitty and they aren't boring!" you exclaim indignantly giving him a gentle tap on the shoulder, "And it's okay, I just didn't think it would be so soon."

"We'll just go for a little while. Then we can both go get some dinner and I'll drop you off at your house early. Sound good?"

"Yeah, it's fine."

And as soon as you say that, you also hand him the second book with a good forced look, making Aemond laugh and take that book too.

"As much as I like seeing you with a wrinkled nose, take it off or it's going to stay that way," he says amused, crinkling it between his fingers briefly, making you laugh and you immediately move his hand away from your face.

Then he says goodbye to you, before getting up and heading off to his next class. And also not before telling you that he'll see you at lunch.

And as you watch him walk away, you tell yourself that these little interactions are part of pretending, since after all, the guys on the soccer team can see them clearly from this distance.

However, that slight fear returns to yourself that things may get more complicated than you expect.

Fortunately, the rest of the week goes smoothly, the teachers seem to be in a good mood and the homework is not heavy.

And you clearly continue to pretend along with Aemond.

Both he and you continue to act as usual, he is attentive and affectionate when you are together in full view of everyone at school. His gestures and looks full of complicity make you feel special, but at the same time remind you that it's all part of a game.

You also keep your word with Helaena, taking time to sit together for lunch at break time and occasionally Alysanne joins in as well, where you gradually start telling her about Cregan.

Until the day of the party arrives.

You tell your dad that you're going to a birthday celebration for a class friend, nothing big and everything quiet.

Then you opt for a pair of black pants, low-heeled ankle boots, a strappy blouse in a vibrant shade of cherry and a jacket to complement the outfit. And once you look in the mirror, you feel ready, although the nerves begin to settle in your stomach.

And of course, Aemond arrives promptly at your house.

His relaxed expression and smile greet you before you even get into the car. And driving to the party, the atmosphere is comfortable and calm.

And when you both arrive at the house where the party is, it's not a big, loud party like the previous one. But the atmosphere is full of energy, there is music, people dancing, drinks and cigarettes.

And you together with Aemond follow the same procedure to pretend to be a couple in love.

This time, you both decide to be more present with Aemond's friends. You sit between Trevor and Aemond, who immediately puts an arm around your shoulders, pulling you towards him, starting to make conversation with his friends.

And as always, he makes sure you're always included, just like during lunch in the cafeteria.

And while everyone is talking, the guys and Aemond make you laugh, feeling more and more comfortable with them. And as the night goes on, you realize how natural it feels to be next to Aemond, as if you fit perfectly into his world, at least for tonight.

When he at your side looks at you attentively and with some curiosity.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah," you nod nonchalantly, "Why?"

"Just asking," he shrugs, then lifts his hand and tucks a lock of your hair behind your ear, "Can I get you something to drink?"

You shake your head.

"I don't want to drink beer or anything like that."

"Then a soda? Or water?"

You let out a small laugh.

"Okay, soda's fine."

"Alright. I'll be back soon," he says then leaves a soft kiss on your forehead and gets up to head towards the kitchen.

He leaves for a moment and you are left talking to his friends, who are a lot of fun and in fact, because of them and Aemond, you begin to understand lacrosse as such, since that's all they talk about, besides their nonsense.

And also about some of the girls they like.

And also in that small moment that Aemond leaves, as you briefly observe the party around you, you see Alys with her group of friends in another corner.

You just casually watch them, you don't plan to give them any attention, but just as your eyes watch Alys, she watches you back.

And you are struck by how she says something to her friends with a smirk of superiority without taking her eyes off you and then everyone in her group watches you and laughs too.

You snort as you look away, as if you really care.

Aemond returns with your soda and only a glass of beer for himself, resuming conversation with both you and his friends, having a good time together.

Time passes and you feel the need to go to the bathroom, so you leave your now empty glass on the small table in the center.

"I'm going to go to the bathroom," you announce, catching his attention, starting to stretch a bit to get up.

"Do you want me to come with you?" he asks you thoughtfully, "I mean, wait for you outside."

"No need, don't worry. I'll be back soon," you assure him, standing up.

"Okay," he nods at you with a small smile.

With a nod, you walk away towards the second floor bathroom, where you'll mostly take a moment to recharge your batteries before heading back to the party.

Luckily the bathroom is empty and you do everything you need to do without pressure.

Then you take a deep breath, allow yourself a brief moment of calm before returning to the party, wash your hands and mentally go over how you should behave around Aemond in front of everyone.

As you exit the bathroom, just down the hall, you notice Alys' presence in the area near the stairs.

You think about just ignoring her and walking past her, but when her eyes watch you, as if she is waiting for you, a mischievous smile curves her lips and she turns fully towards you, giving you her full attention.

"What do we have here," she mutters sarcastically, moving towards you while holding a red plastic cup in her hand.

You watch her completely unconcerned and walk past her, as you don't plan on dealing with her right now or ever.

"How does it feel to be Aemond's new pet?" she asks with a mocking laugh, planting herself in front of you, stopping your steps, "Or did you just think you could replace me so easily?"

Your heart begins to pound in your chest, but you stand your ground, reminding yourself that you will not let his words affect you, as his expression is filled with disdain.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," you reply calmly, trying not to give her the pleasure of seeing you affected by her comments.

She glares at you, before a sly smile spreads across her face.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she says with false sympathy, "I really thought you knew."

You frown.

"He's always done this, ever since we started dating," she says, "When we'd break up, he'd date the first girl in front of him as a pathetic attempt to replace me and make me jealous, so you're not the first and won't be the last, sweetie," she tells you with a fake pout, feigning pity for you.

You fix your gaze on Alys, feeling a mixture of anger and frustration coursing through your body. Who does she think she is to talk to you like that?

"I don't need your false sympathy," you reply with determination, your voice resonating louder than you expected, "What Aemond and I have has nothing to do with you."

Alys rolls her eyes in exasperation, as if your words are irrelevant to her.

"Oh, please," she replies dismissively, "Don't lie to yourself. He's always been like that, he's just looking to distract himself and you're just the last in line," she points out to you irrelevantly, "When we broke up, he was crying like a baby for me, begging me to get back together."

Your heart clenches at her words, with a surge of emotions surging through your chest.

For a moment, doubt takes hold of you.

Did Aemond really do that? Was he so affected by their breakup?

You tell yourself that maybe if he hadn't, he would never have asked you to do this. But this was mostly so that Alys would stop making a fool of him at school by cheating on him, not to get his attention and make her jealous... right?

"I'm not surprised you don't know," she continues to tell you dismissively, "But do you really think he loves you? Please," she snorts derisively, "He'll dump you in a few weeks when I give him the slightest hope because he's still crazy about me," she says superiorly, "Look at you and look at me. I know what he's into and that's definitely not you, especially you."

You try to ignore the stinging pain and keep your composure, clenching your jaw.

"I don't care what happened between you," you reply bravely, even if your voice shakes a little, "Ours is different."

She lets out a mocking laugh.

"Oh you poor little thing, you're so naive."

"If that's all, thank you so much for that vital information for my life," you tell her just as mockingly, walking past her, determined to leave her behind.

But just as you pass by her side, Alys moves along with you and purposefully slams your shoulder and arm with brutality, causing the beer in her hand to spill in a dull motion onto your chest and clothes.

The cold, sticky liquid slides down your blouse and pants, leaving you drenched and shocked by the suddenness of the moment.

You feel the liquid soak through your clothes and a shiver runs down your back. And you look down, watching in disbelief as the drink spreads through your clothes.

Then you look back at Alys, who has a mocking, amused look on her face.

"Oh, gosh, how clumsy of me," Alys scoffs, her tone of voice full of fake concern, "I'm really sorry, it was an accident."

You take a deep breath to contain your frustration, but her words spark a small spark of anger inside you. How can she be so brazen?

"An accident?" you repeat, disbelief in your voice as you stare at her with a frown.

Alys just smiles mischievously, enjoying your discomfort and what she just did to you.

"Enjoy the party, honey. But first, maybe you should clean yourself up," she says before turning away, leaving you soaking wet and clearly feeling very proud.

You don't even know what to do, feeling this way leaves you paralyzed for a moment, until you finally make your way back to the bathroom.

At the sink you further wet your clothes with water, which looks worse, but at least you won't stink of beer.

Drops of beer also splashed into your hair, so you wipe that off as well, feeling the humiliation wash over you and you don't even know exactly why.

But you do.

You look down at your ruined booties too, soaked from the front with beer and water.

The skin on your chest and collarbone feels chuckling from the beer, so you wipe it off too, when suddenly, there's a knock on the door.

"One moment!" you exclaim grumpily, still cleaning yourself.

"Y/N?"

You hear Aemond's worried voice outside.

"Fuck," you curse in a whisper.

"Are you okay?"

You bite the inside of your cheek and let out a long breath, already having the idea that you won't be able to hide this from him.

You were only supposed to come to the bathroom and you've already been late, of course he must have sensed something was wrong and come looking for you.

You leave the wet towel in the sink and open the door, where Aemond instantly notices you and opens his eye wide, seeing your clothes and some of your soaked hair.

"What happened?" he asks worriedly, moving quickly towards you, examining you.

You struggle to keep your composure, but can't, a bad mood overcomes you and you make your displeasure clear.

"Alys threw her drink on me," you finally say, stepping aside to let him go into the bathroom with you, reaching back for the damp towel to clean your skin.

Surprise crosses your face before it morphs into an expression of restrained fury and disbelief.

"What?"

You hiss, looking in the mirror at yourself as you wipe your sticky skin.

"Did she say something to you?" he asks, his voice serious but full of concern.

You let out a gesture of disbelief.

"She said things many things," you say seriously, not watching him for a moment, trying to dry your hair with the towel.

Aemond frowns, clearly annoyed.

He walks over to you and takes the towel from your hands, stopping your attempt to dry your hair. His gaze meets yours through the mirror, searching for answers.

"What things did dhe say?"

You sigh, feeling the weight of the situation on your shoulders.

"It doesn't matter, she just said bullshit," you reply evasively, looking away.

Aemond watches your face, urgently wanting you to look him in the eye, but you don't, you avoid his gaze and are obviously annoyed with the situation, which he doesn't blame you for.

He's annoyed too, because he knew he should have been near you to protect you if Alys is in the same place as the two of you.

He sighs in frustration, feeling the weight of responsibility on his shoulders, watching your soaked clothes and how you continue to clean yourself.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs sincerely, his voice full of regret, "You shouldn't have gone through this. She's totally out of her mind."

You remain silent for a moment, fighting the emotions that threaten to overwhelm you. As he looks at you with anguish and regret for not protecting you from Alys' comments and actions.

"It's not your fault," you finally say in a serious voice, still not looking at him, then set the damp towel down on the sink and inhale softly, "Can you take me home?"

Aemond nods, feeling guilty.

"Sure," he murmurs, "But first... you can put on my jacket," he says as he starts to take it off, "I'll be waiting outside."

He takes it off and gently hands it to you, his hand brushing against yours with a gesture of tenderness.

"Thanks," you murmur.

He exits the bathroom, closes the door and you remove your blouse and soaked jacket, leaving your bra down and immediately wrap his jacket around you, zipping it up almost to your throat.

With your clothes in your hands, you walk out of the bathroom and Aemond watches you silently, attentive and concerned, with a sadness and frustration in his eye that he can't hide.

He hates your distance.

A few moments ago the two of you were having a good time and now that Alys has done this... he hates that you are apart from him.

You both return to the party and Aemond doesn't even say goodbye to his friends, thinking he'll text them later, grabbing your shoulder and walking out of the house with you.

Together, you walk to his car in silence, where he doesn't dare to say a single word to you and you don't really want to talk either.

And all the way to your house, that nagging feeling doesn't leave your system.

But is it specifically because Alys spilled her drink on you or is it the interesting information she shared with you about Aemond?

You don't.

But you do.

Aemond tried to talk to you about what happened but you wouldn't let him.

You feel it's something you shouldn't make a big deal about. After all, he and you are not really 'dating'. So before he dropped you off at your house, you just reassured him that everything was fine and nothing more.

Now it's your father who drops you off at school on this day and you head towards your locker, immersed for a moment in thought.

You carelessly take your backpack off your shoulders to open it at the same time you open your locker, but as you do so, a polaroid falls to the floor.

You frown and bend down to pick it up, confused, since it's not yours.

And as you look at it, your heart begins to beat too hard in your chest as you see a picture of Aemond and Alys as if at a school dance or a party, both of them hugging.

But that's not what catches your attention, what does is seeing how there's is a picture of your face overlaid over where Alys' face should be, indicating just that, her replacement, a second place or temporary substitute.

But the thing about you and Aemond is not real.

So... why are you so affected by something you know isn't real?

It's a question that haunts your mind as you struggle to maintain your composure, beginning to tremble and feel your breathing heavy.

You swallow hard and press your lips together, when just then, you hear it...the giggles.

You raise your gaze and in the distance, you see Alys with her friends watching in your direction and laughing, clearly mocking you.

Although your relationship with Aemond is fake, the pain you feel at this moment is real.

And before you can react, Aemond's voice is suddenly heard.

"Hey, I was—

You turn your head towards him instantly and your eyes meet his, but his words hang in the air the moment he sees what you hold in your hands.

His soft expression slowly transforms from confusion to fury as he sees the picture. His whole face hardens completely and he purses his lips.

And sure enough, it's a matter of him realizing what's happening, as he hears Alys and her friends' laughter and looks in their direction, hardening his gaze even more.

"Aemond—

You try to speak but he instantly walks over to where Alys is standing without saying a word to you, taking the picture from your hands.

Your heart beats harder, opening your eyes wide and you want to walk towards him, to stop him, but somehow, you are paralyzed and you don't know exactly why.

Tension begins to feel in the air and you feel like your heart will burst out of your chest at any moment.

Aemond arrives in front of Alys with a determined look, his jaw tense and his fists clenched at his side. Instead of shouting, however, his voice is firm and controlled.

"From now on, I don't ever want to see you keep bothering my girlfriend with your fucking little girl pranks again, do you understand me?" he says angrily to then throw the photo at her.

The photo hits her face lightly and Alys looks up at him, surprised by the sudden intensity of his voice and his movements.

Instead of showing fear, however, her face hardens with an expression of disdain and disbelief.

"Oh, look who thinks he's the hero," she replies with her cynical smile, trying to hide her discomfort behind her façade of superiority, "I didn't know you had to protect your little girlfriend, Aemond. And come on, we were just joking."

Aemond clenches his fists, his jaw tense with frustration. But he continues to maintain his composure, his eye fixed on hers with determination.

"Oh yeah? You were just joking?" he repeats, "And the party thing on Saturday was a fucking joke too?"

Her face tenses slightly at the mention of the party, her smile fading momentarily before her regains his composure.

"That was an accident—

"Yeah, right. Everything to you is an accident, something you didn't meant to do, something that got out of hand. How could I not know about that, right? It's always the same fucking story with you."

She purses her lips.

"Who the fuck do you think you are to talk to me like that—

"Leave me and my girlfriend alone," he tells her slowly and clearly, "I'm not going to tell you again and I don't want to know that you're doing your shitty jokes again," he warns her, making it clear with his tone that he's not willing to tolerate her childish games anymore.

Alys recoils slightly at the annoyance and determination in his voice, her confidence waning slightly.

And before she can say anything else, Aemond turns and walks back along with you.

The students around you are still fully attentive to the confrontation, shocked and delighted by the drama, while you watch Aemond in awe of the way he has defended you.

"Come on," he murmurs to you in a softer, gentler way, closing your locker door and taking your hand, leading you with him away from the watchful eyes.

After what happened, he takes you with him to a nearby empty classroom and once inside, he gently closes the door behind him and turns to look at you, his expression attentive and full of concern.

He doesn't say anything right away and you just bite the inside of your cheek and lower your gaze, not knowing exactly what to say or what to do.

Until he exhales deeply, releasing the tension built up in his shoulders.

"Are you okay?" he asks, his voice soft and comforting as he watches you intently.

You nod slightly, though your hands still tremble slightly.

"I'm fine," you reply, trying to sound unconcerned.

He sighs, tearing his gaze away from yours for a moment.

"I'm so sorry. I-I didn't... I didn't expect something like this to happen. And she..." he runs a hand across his forehead in frustration, "It's not fair for you to be dealing with this."

"You have nothing to apologize for, Aemond," you tell him softly and sincerely, "But thank you for standing up for me."

He sighs.

"And you don't have to thank me, Y/N. It was the least I could do. But I promise you this is the last time something like this happens."

"You can't control what Alys does or doesn't do."

He exhales again.

"I know, but we never agreed that you would go through these bad times in the contract."

"Hey," you take a step towards him, your gaze soft as you see the frustration and worry on his face, starting to get upset, "Aemond," you call his name in a calm manner, "It's okay. I'm fine. Yes, the party thing and today was difficult but..." you shrug, "I'm fine. It's nothing I can't handle."

Still the worry doesn't leave his face.

"Are you sure? At the party you were upset and I don't blame you, but I don't want this to affect between us. You were distant and now...

His words float in the air and you try to place a small, comforting smile in his direction, though it appears more of a grimace.

"We're fine," you assure him softly.

His gaze reflects a mixture of relief, watching you without another word, then briefly glancing around.

And then an idea seems to cross his mind and he watches you again, attentive.

"What do you say we skip this first class?"

"What?" you immediately inquire.

"I know you don't like skipping classes but just one missed class isn't going to hurt you."

You frown.

"And what do you want to do?"

He shrugs.

"Just talk."

You bite your lower lip, hesitant.

But it's only enough to see the look on Aemond's face and his posture, utterly determined and solely waiting for you, that you finally let out a resigned sigh and nod.

Soon the two of you are sitting in the bleachers, with almost no one around, just the cheerleading squad training in the corner of the huge soccer and lacrosse field.

The atmosphere is quiet and you like that, just like the last time you were here and he chose the book of 'Romeo and Juliet' to read.

And once both of you are silent, just looking around and feeling each other's presence, Aemond decides to speak.

"What did Alys say to you at that party?"

He dares in asking, his gaze searching yours with a mixture of curiosity and concern, while you remain silent for a moment, not expecting that he would try to bring up the subject again.

And inevitably Alys' words echo in your mind, leaving a bitter taste in your mouth.

And you don't understand why.

You don't understand why you feel this unpleasant sensation when you remember her words.

"Well, she wasn't very nice..." you're silent for a moment, "Actually she wasn't at all but..." you lick your lips and avert your gaze from him, focusing on the lacrosse field, "She called me... your new pet, a new pathetic attempt to replace her."

He frowns, his gaze hardening as he hears your words, incredulous and annoyed. And he doesn't need to say anything, his face speaks for itself.

"She said you did that all the time when you both broke up... you know," you clear your throat, "Going out with other girls to make her jealous so she'd come back to you. That I was just a distraction and that pretty soon you'd drop me the moment she gave you the slightest hope of getting back together."

His lips tighten into a line, closing his eye for a moment and shaking his head, still intent on your words. And you prepare to say the next thing more softly and tactfully.

"She also said that you cried to her and begged her to come back this last time you both broke up."

He snorts, more incredulous than ever.

"Of course she said that."

And before he can speak further, you feel the need to clarify your behavior a bit.

"I always acted with her as if we were a real couple," you clarify, "I wasn't bothered by what she said," what a fucking lie, "What bothered me was her talking to me that way and throwing her drink on me."

"No, no, it's okay, I understand that," he assures you instantly, in a soft voice, "But everything she said to you is not true."

You watch him with your parted lips, slightly surprised and beginning to feel your heart knot.

"It isn't?"

"No," he says more firmly, incredulous, "It's true that I begged her to get back together, but that was a while ago, practically in the beginning of our relationship when it was fun for her to break up and come back," he explains to you, serious and honest with his words, "I was crazy about her, I even grew to love her and gave her all of me. But I was just a fucking child experiencing his first love... and that wasn't enough for her."

His confession takes your breath away for a moment, revealing a vulnerability you didn't expect, watching his serious and frustrated face clearly from what happened at the party and an hour ago at your locker.

You have no idea what to say, not wanting to minimize his feelings from that time nor now by saying the wrong thing.

"It's also not true that I was dating other girls to make her jealous to get her to come back to me, I-I..." he shakes his head, "I've never been like that. And you're certainly no distraction or... my new pet," he says with distaste.

You let out a long breath.

"I'm sorry," you say softly, "She said it in a way that made me believe her. I don't know what I was thinking," you say sincerely, "And I'm also sorry she made you feel that way," you mumble, feeling a lump in your throat.

"Don't worry, it's okay," he says softly, with a bitter little smile and his gaze lowered.

He shakes his head regretfully, as if he's remembering a past he'd rather forget and you feel guilty.

"It's just..." he starts to say, "Why would I want to go back to her if she cheated on me?" he asks incredulously, "She was the one who cried and begged to get back together this last time. And you know why? Because I found her fucking that guy in her car after she told me she was feeling sick and didn't feel like seeing me or going out with me."

Fuck.

His words echo in your mind, bringing with them a wave of sadness and empathy, definitely not expecting to hear that.

You never knew how it was that Alys cheated on Aemond, it only began to be said that it was with a college guy, but it was never said under what circumstances exactly she cheated on him.

You feel a sharp pang in your chest and suddenly feel outraged at what he had to endure, that she betrayed his trust in that horrible way.

How could she do that to him?

You don't have a heart made of stone to put a person through that.

You feel grateful that he shared this with you. It just shows you the level of trust you both have built. And you take a moment before you speak, trying to find the right words.

And the first thing you do is raise your hand and place it on top of his.

"I'm so sorry," you say softly, sincerely, "I'm so sorry you went through that. You didn't deserve it."

"You don't have to apologize, Y/N," he replies gently, accepting your touch, "None of it was your fault."

Then he sighs and you realize there's a weight to his words, a pain he's carried with him for some time.

"It's just... "he continues speaking, his voice heavy with mixed emotions, "Even if this thing between the two of us was real, why do this? Why tell these lies and want to hurt you with her cruel words and actions? Why won't she let me move on?"

You press your lips together and your heart clenches as you listen to his anguish.

"Maybe she's still in love with you," you mutter, trying to find a reason, "In her own twisted way."

He shakes his head, incredulous.

"This isn't love. It wasn't before and it isn't now. She just wants to have me eating out of the palm of her hand, like always."

His words are blunt and make you feel even more helpless about the situation.

And there's really nothing you can do, you can only be here for him, listen to him, support him in whatever he needs and be... his friend, like you've really been all this time, putting aside your facade of a girlfriend in love.

Right?

He lets out another sigh, this time heavier than the previous ones, and then leans against the metal of the bleachers behind you, leaning back.

You think he will let go of your hand, but he pulls you along with him, both of you close, shoulder to shoulder, both of you suddenly falling silent, saying nothing more, just staring at the horizon.

Until he speaks again.

"I don't want to think about it anymore," he says as he watches you and you look back at him almost instantly, feeling his thumb gently caress the back of your hand, sending a kind of electricity through your body.

And you propose the first thing that comes to mind.

"Do you want to listen to music until the next class starts?" you say in a soft voice and he nods immediately.

You take your headphones from your backpack, your phone and settle back down next to him, handing him an earphone and then you play your Spotify playlist with the songs you keep listening to lately.

You don't even know if he also likes the same style of music as you, but he doesn't complain or say anything to you the moment you start playing The 1997, Harry Styles, The Weeknd, Chase Atlantic, Cigarettes After Sex and Lana del Rey.

Until he closes his eyes and suddenly uses you as a pillow, dropping his head on your shoulder, immediately this catching your attention and feeling a strange sensation in your lower stomach.

Despite being surprised and feeling confused for a moment, you do absolutely nothing to push him away and after a moment of hesitation, you slowly drop your head on top of his as well.

He doesn't open his eye or say anything to you, he just settles in better and then you both get very still, continuing to listen to music.

And you can't help but wonder; are the two of you even pretending now?

You honestly don't know.

"We have a problem."

That's the first thing Aemond says to you on a Tuesday morning when he stops by to drive you to school.

Immediately this catches your attention and you look at him slightly concerned, closing the passenger seat door to the side of you and watch him completely attentively.

"What's wrong?"

"My mom knows about you."

Shit.

Your whole body tenses and you watch him with your eyes wide open in surprise.

"And of course, she wants to meet you."

Oh shit.

"B-but...

You try to speak, not finding the right words watching him confused, not understanding anything and Aemond helps you with that as soon as he sees your completely disbelieving and surprised face.

"Aegon told her," he lets you know, "The fucking cunt talked out of turn and before he knew it, I'd already told her everything."

Oh God.

"And what did she tell you?" you ask, feeling a knot in your stomach.

"She wants you to go to dinner Friday night."

He tells you in a soft voice and looking just as worried as you do, still trying to convey calm.

"I told her I'd talk to you about it, but..." he lets out a resigned sigh, "I know her. And she won't leave me alone until she meets you. She's really nice, I swear, she's the sweetest person and... I know we agreed not to involve families but I had nothing to do with this."

Your mind is spinning as you finish processing the information, feeling an unexpected uneasiness and anxiety.

The mere thought of meeting Aemond's mom already makes you feel nauseous from the same nerves. However, you empathize with him, as this wasn't something he planned and it was by third parties who think he and you are actually dating.

But still, you feel incredibly nervous and the day hasn't even come close.

"I get it," you mumble, trying to hide your nervousness, licking your lips, then looking at him hesitantly, "You want me to?"

Aemond averts his gaze from you, running a hand over his face, not knowing exactly what to say to you, as you wait for his thoughtful response.

Until he lets out a long breath and moves a little closer towards you, placing his hand on top of yours.

"I know this is a lot to ask, especially after we agreed not to do this," he tells you softly, "And my mother is insistent, I do want you to meet her, but... if you don't want to do it, it's totally fine with me," he assures you, "The least I want to do is pressure you into doing something you're not comfortable with."

His words comfort you a little, but you still feel the nervousness wash over you, as well as feel a slight pang of guilt.

You bite your lower lip, struggling with your own emotions and thoughts.

"It's just that I feel remorseful that I'm going to meet her and she's going to meet me when this isn't real," you say in a sad, worried tone.

"I know," he says with compression, holding his hand tighter with yours, "Me too but you won't have to do this again. I'll take care of it, I promise."

You let out a long breath you too, lowering your gaze to the clasped hands in your lap as you feel Aemond's attentive and concerned gaze on you.

"All right," you finally reply, "If it's important to you and your mother, I'll handle it."

"Are you sure? You can tell me no and I'll understand."

"No, don't worry," you assure him, "I will."

He smiles softly at you with gratitude, but also with a hint of concern in his eye.

"Thank you. I really appreciate it."

And despite your own misgivings, you return the small smile.

"It's okay, really. I just... need a little time to think."

Aemond nods, understanding.

"Sure."

general taglist:

[what-eats-owls]

a point about the IA situation that I cannot make on twitter without death threats

Like many authors, I have complicated feelings about the IA lawsuit. IA has a whole raft of incredibly invaluable services, that's not in dispute. The current eBook licensing structure is also clearly not sustainable. Neither was IA's National Emergency Library, which was unrestricted lending of unlicensed digital copies. There are some thoughtful posts about how their argument to authors, "you'll be paid in exposure," is not especially compelling.

But I'm not here to discuss that; I'm here to talk about the licensing. TL;DR I don't want my work being fed into an AI or put on the blockchain, and to enforce that, you need a license.

So, here's the thing. IA's argument for the NEL boils down to "if we possess a physical copy of the book we should be able to do what we want" and that's frankly unserious. (Compare: Crypto Bros who thought spending $3 million on a single copy of a Dune artbook meant they owned the copyright.) Their claim is that by scanning a physical copy of the book and compiling the scans into a digital edition, that is sufficiently transformative to be considered fair use.

What that gives them is something that functions almost identically to an eBook, without the limitations (or financial obligations) of an eBook license. And I'm sure some of you are thinking, "so what, you lose six cents, get over yourself," but this isn't actually about the money. It's about what they can do with the scans.

A license grants them the right to use the work in specific, limited ways. It also bars them from using it in ways that aren't prescribed.

For example, what if IA decides to expand their current blockchain projects and commit their scanned book collections to the blockchain "for preservation"? Or what if IA decides to let AI scrapers train on the scanned text? One of their archivists sees AI art as a "toy" and "fears [AI art] will be scorned by the industry's gatekeeping types."

Bluntly, an unlicensed, unrestricted collection seems to be what they're gunning for. (Wonky but informative thread from a lawyer with a focus on IP; this cuts to the pertinent part, but the whole thing's good reading.) The Authors Guild is in no way unbiased here, but in the fifth paragraph of this press release, they claim that they offered to help IA work out a licensing agreement back in 2017, and got stonewalled. (They also repeat this claim on Twitter here.)

At the end of the day, I don't want the IA to fold; I don't think anyone does. As a matter of fact, I'd be open to offering them an extremely cheap license for Controlled Digital Lending. (And revamping eBook library licensing while we're at it.) I think there's a lot of opportunity for everyone to win there. But IA needs to recognize that licenses exist for a reason, not just as a cash grab, and authors have the right to say how their work is used, just like any artist.

[vivwritesfics]

👹👹👹👹❤️❤️

Hello love

I am justxgonna straight to the point

Mick ❤️

Just think after mick likes wins a race or when he finally gets to get back in the car

Reader is very proud of course

Nwo mick wants to celebrate 👹

And tgey either have very loud sex in the car (mick car) or in the drivers room.

Now this will VE like a bit out in public but he has the consent of tge reader

You can either choose to make someone catch them (mick ia both so proud of himself for making his girl be so damn loud) or they don't fez caught cause mick loves his girl and is not about to let anybody see his previous girl

Hopefully any of this makes Ny sense lol

❤️❤️

Glad i saved this bc now i can manifest

Warnings: Smut, Semi public sex, p in v

F1 Masterlist

The year was 2025, and Mick was driving for Mercedes. He was so fucking happy. Thank God Lewis made the move to Mercedes.

Mercedes won a few races in 2024, but not many. Max still came out as world champion. That surprised nobody, though. But it gave Mercedes a good indicator of what to work on for 2025.

It was Micks first pole position of his Formula One career. He made it count. He led the Grand Prix for several laps before being overtaken when he pitted. But then he got the lead of the race back and held it to the end. He'd won. He'd converted the first pole of his career to his first win.

He couldn't help but think of his father as he stood on the podium.

After the podium, he couldn't help but think if his girl. She was so fucking proud of him, and she showed him. She showed him just how proud she was.

Taking his hand he led her back to his drivers room. It wasn't often he was disturbed in there; he could fuck her as hard as she wanted it (which was pretty goddamn hard).

As soon as he got her into his drivers room, Micks lips were on hers. He had her pressed against the wall as they pulled each others clothes off.

In no time at all, Mick had her on the sofa, screaming his name at the top of her lungs. Her body rocked with his thrusts, the sheer strength of it managing to move the sofa. It hit the temporary wall of the drivers room, shaking the entire things.

"Thats it, baby," Mick whispered as he gripped her hips, thrusting into her.

"Holy fuck, Mick!" She screamed, and pride bloomed in his chest.

They might have known that everybody still in the Mercedes garage could hear them. If they did know, they didn't care. The entirety of the Mercedes garage heard the way she screamed his name, as they made the drivers room shake.

They rolled their eyes and held their headphones tighter to their heads.

[lewkwoodnco]

the tortured poets department - george karim x reader

George stiffened and shut his eyes regretfully as if he couldn’t bear to see that look on her face. A faint flush started creeping up his throat, peeking out from behind his starchy collar. “Don’t,” he whispered.

“Tell me,” she pressed, taking yet another step closer until their noses were barely an inch apart, “who else is going to know me? Truly know me?”

He let go of the breath he was holding and it fluttered across her cheek like the ghost of a kiss. They were venturing into intolerably intimate territory, and she could feel her pulse racing under the distracted brush of his thumb on her wrist.

a/n - HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH thats it thats the a/n also happy birthday to ali hadji-hesmati ia m NOT late shut up

tropes/warnings - slight nsfw towards the end (idk tho??), angst (what else is new lmao), tw slight mention of suicide, ft locklyle wedding (a bit) happy ending tho, i am very sick wrote this entirely on my phone and cannot be held accountable for any of this

word count - 3.7k!

TAGLIST | MASTERLIST

Who uses typewriters anyway?

That was what she had mouthed at her friend from across the Fittes office. They were brand new hires; scribes assigned to different researchers under an apprenticeship programme. Things were off to a rougher start than she had expected. From what she could see, her friend had been assigned to a perfectly normal-looking researcher who, now that introductions were complete, was explaining his filing system to her.

On the other hand, the first thing her oddly intense researcher had asked was if she knew how to use a typewriter. She had laughed, thinking it was a joke, before very quickly realising that he was being perfectly serious. He started explaining how the contraption worked far too quickly for her to catch anything, and she had taken the chance to shoot her friend a look.

“L/N?”

She whipped her head back around, immediately apologetic. “Sorry. I think I get how it works now.” Really, it was just bad luck that she had gotten the short end of the stick.

The next thing she learnt, over many months, was how to pick up on and decrypt George’s nonverbal cues. Namely, knowing what his every sigh, muttering or frown meant. While it had felt frustrating similar to banging her head against a wall in the beginning, he started to grow on her. Learning how George Karim ticked was like figuring out an intriguing puzzle all on her own. Besides, he wasn’t unkind. He could be understanding, so long as he had the patience for it on that particular day.

But there were times when she decided that no, he wasn’t all that compassionate of a coworker. Particularly on nights when he’d have her write up chapters worth of research summarised from his scrawled notes. And woe betide her should she make one too many mistakes.

Who the hell uses typewriters anyway?

"Do you ever think about leaving Fittes?"

Her typing stopped abruptly, her flickering train of thought completely demolished by George's appalling suggestion. They were sitting at their adjacent desks at the Fittes office, her typing up the previous night's case report while George twiddled his thumbs and fiddled with a pen in increasingly creative ways.

"Leave? And go where?"

She followed the line of his hateful stare towards one of the thick metal doors along the corridor which led to a more restricted part of the offices. Like most others, she felt no pressing inclination to snoop around and stumble upon information she would rather not find. But for someone like George, she could practically see how it gnawed at him - libraries of secrets just begging to be known.

Her gaze flitted anxiously between his face and the door. It was both a frightening and thrilling thing when George decided to put his mind to something, using his brain at its full capacity in some sincerely earnest hunt for knowledge. It was also the thing that was going to get him killed sooner or later, mesmerising as he was. It. Mesmerising as it was.

"Start our own agency. Play by our rules."

She laughed nervously, too artificial even for her own ears as she wrung her stiff hands. George's voice had a distant quality to it that told her he was on the way to making some very bad decisions if she didn't step in soon. "Oh, George, you say the…the darnedest things. You're no Tom Rotwell, you know."

"You're not Marissa Fittes yourself, either."

"Rude."

His gaze flickered to her at that, the barest hint of a smile ghosting his lips as the tension in his shoulders dissolved. She visibly relaxed as well, satisfied that it would be a decent while before he once again latched onto this bizarre notion.

Which was why his abrupt switch in employment to some small, crumbling agency had left her more than shell-shocked. Coming into work on a normal, gloomy Monday and seeing George's desk cleared out and painfully sterile of the ideas and theories he buzzed with left her feeling lost at sea in the worst way. And he didn't bother to reach out to her either - not a call, not a letter, not a visit.

That is, not a visit until he turned up at her door in the middle of the night, pale as the Visitors that skulked outside her door.

"Sorry.”

For one stupidly miraculous moment, she thought he might be apologising for a month’s worth of grey days and sleepless nights.

“I know it’s late, but I think I left my typewriter here."

She felt stupidly disappointed.

"You're making a mess of my - what are you doing?"

George had located his otherwise untouched typewriter positioned at one corner of her dining table and was now furiously typing away, a sickly, pallid sheen to his forehead.

"Don't worry, I'll be qui -"

"Karim."

His typing faltered, and for once he had the decency to look marginally embarrassed.

“Sit down. Start from the beginning.”

So he did. He told her everything about some Type Two case at 62 Sheen Road, short of coming out and saying that he had put his associates' lives in danger, but she could hear it in his voice. It was an almost welcome return to the old days of picking out the relevant parts while his mind ran ahead at the speed of light; so much to think and agonise over. When his voice finally started to run thin, she fetched him a cup of tea, taking a moment to process it all.

"Okay, so, if I have this right, none of this is your fault. No - don't argue with me. Drink your tea. You told him to wait, that you needed more time.“

He mumbled something incoherent as he pulled off his glasses, dragging a hand across his eyes, looking far too young and worn. He glanced up to meet her gaze, the look on his face as much of a wreck as the rest of him. He looked down again, staring at his hands splayed on her dining table. George never was one for letting his feelings show, let alone hysterics, and it rubbed at something raw to see him spiralling this badly.

“They’d be better off with a researcher who could actually do his job.”

She suppressed the overwhelming urge to roll her eyes.

“Oh, please, this has nothing to do with being altruistic. This is just you trying to punish yourself over something that isn’t even your fault.”

He showed no sign of having heard her. She sighed and slid into the seat next to his, her fingers nearly brushing his.

“Look - what's done is done. Possibly the worst thing you could do now is leave them in the lurch like this. Of course, it's not going to be smooth sailing throughout, but you made a commitment, so for the love of God keep your head up and stick it through.” She reached out to loosely cover his wrist. “Okay?”

George stayed silent but glanced up at her. Okay. She pulled her hand away. He finished the last of his tea and stood.

“I should get going, I suppose.”

She looked out the window, eyeing the eerie green glow of the ghost lamps critically. “It’s a bit late, don’t you think? Not very safe.”

“I have my rapier on me.”

The corners of her mouth tightened.

“I’d feel better if you left in the morning.”

And so they ended up in her living room, him sitting on the floor and her sitting on the couch, dragging her fingers through his soft curls. They talked about everything and nothing, like the recent layoffs at Rotwell’s and what George’s new associates were like. He made them sound marvellous. It was obvious why he’d leave Fittes. Why he’d leave her.

“The three of us…we live at 35 Portland Row.”

“Mhm.”

“And there’s this doughnut shop down the street from there.”

She lightly scraped his scalp teasingly.

“So that’s why you left.”

She could feel him smile despite himself.

“We should go, someday. You’d love it.”

A vision trickled into her imagination - she and George standing at the end of some empty cobblestoned road with soft, pillowy doughnuts dripping sugar down their knuckles, sprinkles melting into their fingerprints. It’s evening, and the sun is almost painfully intense, beating down a lovely glow over the scene. She’s distantly aware of the impending danger of the rapidly approaching nighttime, but for now, George is standing in front of her in a soft shirt, the edges of his face kind and blunt, the almost permanent furrow of his brow melted away in the liquid sun, reaching out to swipe a thumb at the corner of her mouth -

“Get some rest.” Her voice was thick with a longing for such golden yet treacherously illusory days. George leaned back, resting his head on the couch with half-lidded eyes, his breathing evening out as he drifted off. She gently slipped her fingers out of his hair. She gently pulled his glasses off but before she could put them someplace safe, she was out like a light herself.

She had a fitful sleep and blearily woke up a few hours later, George’s head an oddly comforting weight against her knee. She groggily pulled herself up and tossed a blanket at the figure slumped against her couch before fetching a glass of water and some paracetamol.

Shortly after, George lurched awake like he was sweating out a fever, heart thudding and eyes restless. He groaned, no doubt wincing at the pounding behind his eyes. He caught sight of the water and medicine placed next to him but looked away after a moment of consideration. She raised her eyebrows pointedly, knowing only too well the kind of hell his overactive mind was capable of putting him through.

“How’s your head?”

She hadn’t meant to sound that sarcastic, but it was enough for him to get the hint. He relented, taking a sip of water and then one of the pills just for good measure.

"Good. Now go home and get some proper rest, you moron."

She watched him stumble down the road till he turned the corner, trying to hide how shaken she was by his panic. She sighed wearily. Only a month at Lockwood & Co. and already he would be a desperate wreck without them. She turned back inside, trying to ignore how empty her dining table looked without his typewriter and how vacant she felt without that flimsy excuse for him to see her again.

Years passed. She and George somewhat kept in touch, but it had still been extremely startling when Lockwood & Co. reached out to her with plans to expose her employer, Marissa Fittes. Amongst the tragedy of Portland Row being reduced to rubble, Kipps nearly dying and the Skull almost moving on, unemployment was the least of her concerns.

Still, it wasn’t all sad once Lucy had proposed to Lockwood after one too many failed attempts by the latter party. They had planned a relatively intimate affair, only inviting some old friends of the ex-Fittes employees of the group.  

They held it at an inexpensive banquet hall just a few minutes away from Portland Row. Lucy looked gorgeous and glowing with happiness under the gentle warm lighting, and Lockwood looked dashing in a suit not much more formal than his regular one. He spent the majority of the reception denying that he had teared up at the first glimpse of Lucy at the end of the aisle, insisting that his best man was a pathological liar.

After the main event, the guests milled around, having drinks, and occasionally congratulating the happy couple. As expected, Lockwood became very drunk very quickly, enough to pull out some terribly nonsensical yet oddly stirring comment.

“Here’s to the first day of the rest of our lives.”

She glanced across at George. He met her eye. They immediately looked away. She could have sworn she felt a hitch of some breath between them. She felt the prickle of tears behind her eyes. Lucy was desperately trying to shut up an overly emotional and hence overly talkative Lockwood who looked ready to launch into a speech no one asked for.

“That’s enough now, or we’ll have Kipps bawling all through dinner.”

It wasn’t exactly a sit-down dinner, though there was appropriate seating. Half of the guests were eating and the other half were having fun with some party games. She was watching Holly struggle at Twister when she felt someone slide into the seat next to hers - namely, the best man, George.

“Hey.”

She grinned, flushed from the champagne she had been sipping all evening. “Hey.”

“Having fun?”

“Lots.”

He couldn’t help but return her smile, looking a little tipsy himself. “I can tell.”

They ate in silence for a while, only the tinny sound of the radio’s strain and cheers from the party games filling the space between them.

“I think I missed you at the bouquet toss earlier.”

She nearly swallowed her spoon. He had noticed? He noticed her? She didn't know how to tell him that she couldn't see herself marrying anyone that wasn't him. How could she wake up every day knowing her better half was somewhere out there miles away, wondering if he wished for someone as moron-shaped as her?

“Oh, well, that’s not really my thing. More of a bridesmaid than a bride.”

She resumed eating, presuming that line of conversation to be over until she noticed he was still looking at her strangely, his cutlery stationary in his hands. Her chewing slowed in an attempt at dignity.

“…what?”

He lifted her right hand off her knife, making her heart thud dangerously. Wordlessly, he pulled off the sapphire ring on her middle finger and oh-so-delicately slid it onto her ring finger instead.

“I think you’d make a wonderful bride.”

She stared at the ring, speechless. It wasn’t a proposal, but it wasn’t nothing either. Maybe…maybe this was a second chance at something. Maybe he wouldn’t screw this up this time.

He almost reluctantly relinquished his grip on her hand. She didn’t dare meet his eye. Even his voice, quiet yet slightly rough, felt unbearable to hear.

“Were you mad? When I left without telling you?”

She had waited months to hear those words.

“I wished you'd talked to me about it first. Just...just to make sure your head was screwed on straight.”

He nodded, and they returned to their food, the silence a lot less giddily amicable now.

“So, would you have - “

“Absolutely not. God, no. I would have told you to stay ten feet away from Anthony Lockwood at all times.”

They looked over to where Lucy was helping Lockwood sit down, having unfortunately thrown his back out at Limbo. She winced. “He’s such a wild card.”

“I suppose I am too.”

She turned, curious, and he looked as though he regretted letting that slip out. Her voice dropped, taking on a softer edge.

“Not to me. Not when it’s you.”

He stared at her like there was something bloodied and hungry behind his eyes. She felt this twinge of something in her chest. Oh, how could she bear this? How could she bear him?

Sometimes, part of her wished she were a book - one completely enthralling and riveting, chock-full of secrets eager to slip out and lose themselves in thin air. Perhaps that was just a manifestation of her paralysing desire to be known and to be known by him.

“I should go,” George was saying as he finished up the last of his food. He stood, wiping his mouth, wandering off to find his coat. Maybe it was the liquor or the unfamiliar buzz of hope in the air tonight, but there was some odd tone of finality to his voice. She watched him leave, chewing her food thoughtfully, not feeling very hungry anymore.

As the minutes trickled by, it began to feel exhausting to be surrounded by so many happy couples, happy people, all that revolting joy and merriment. Only a short while after George had left, she located her own coat and weeded Lucy out of a throng of people doing the Macarena.

“I think I might head out now. Congratulations once again, Luce.”

“You too? Aww, thanks. Have you decided about the job offer from Madison?”

“I haven’t written back yet, but I think I’m going to turn them down. I was thinking about talking to Lockwood someday to see if he could take on one more employee. Plus, Madison’s a bit far out, and I’m pretty comfortable where I am.”

“Good. George might have just offed himself if it weren’t for his course at Edinburgh. I mean,” Lucy tripped over her words over the stunned look on her face, “I’m sure he was just kidding.”

“Hang on. Edinburgh?”

“Yeah. For his supervisor training. Did he not tell you? I thought for sure he…”

Lucy’s words muffled into oblivion and bled into some horrible ringing sound. Her mouth felt painfully dry. No. This couldn’t be happening.

“…he wanted to wait till after the wedding to tell Lockwood. Didn’t want to put a damper on things. Don’t get me wrong - I’m just as cut up about it, but…” They looked over to where Lockwood was watching the limbo game from afar with a forlorn expression. “…you know Lockwood.”

“What the hell, George.”

He jumped, freezing with his hand buried deep in his pocket, tediously hunting for his keys. She had managed to catch him at the front porch of Portland Row, looking especially guilty under the tepid glow of the ghost lamps.

“You’re training to become a supervisor?”

His face briefly twisted in annoyance. The audacity. “I told Lucy in confidence -“

“When were you going to tell me, Karim? Or were you just going to let me find out all on my own, like last time?” She wanted to laugh cruelly. There was nothing merciful about this knife in her chest. “I mean, why do this? Why lead me on and make me feel things and give me hope?”

“When have I ever led you on?”

“Then what was all that with my ring? Huh?” Tears sprang to her eyes once again, hot and shameful, stinging like a caustic disinfectant to an open wound. She felt so, so stupid.

“You said you didn’t care.”

“I did care!” she snapped. “Of course I fucking cared. I don’t think I could have stopped myself from caring, not when I know you like the back of my hand.”

“But you don’t care. No - tomorrow you’re going to board a train and move out of my reach and meet someone new to soothe the turmoil in your head and you won’t feel my heart bleeding for you. And if you’re very, very lucky, you might find some semblance of happiness -“

“I weigh you down!” The tirade died at her lips. Fury lined every shadow, every crevice of George’s face. He spat his words out with such venom, utter distaste. “I weigh you down…like a child. You pick me up when I fall down and kiss it better because that’s the kind of person you are. I can’t sentence you to a lifetime of running around trying to save me. I won’t do it. I’ll find someone else.”

A burden. He looked through her eyes and all he saw was a shrivelled excuse of a companion, dragging her into his depths of despair. She’d be lying if she said she never felt suffocated by his baggage. But there were some burdens you didn’t mind shouldering, not when you loved them so tenderly.

After all, who was going to unravel his every pause, stutter, sigh, and ache as she did?

“But who else is going to decode you like I do?”

George stiffened and shut his eyes regretfully as if he couldn’t bear to see that look on her face. A faint flush started creeping up his throat, peeking out from behind his starchy collar. “Don’t,” he whispered.

“Tell me,” she pressed, taking yet another step closer until their noses were barely an inch apart, “who else is going to know me? Truly know me?”

He let go of the breath he was holding and it fluttered across her cheek like the ghost of a kiss. They were venturing into intolerably intimate territory, and she could feel her pulse racing under the distracted brush of his thumb on her wrist.

There was a brooding, resigned look in his eye as if whatever he had been running from had finally caught up to him. He bowed his head and their foreheads touched. Her arms nervously reached around his neck, his hands on her waist steadying her as if to keep their balance on whatever strand of peace the moment had proffered them.

Her lips hovered over his shoulder, clavicle and jaw. She felt him reflexively tighten and loosen his grip, restless fingers fiddling with the folds of her dress and how they wrapped around her body. She brushed against the shell of his ear and felt a shiver run up his spine.

“Who else is going to hold you…like me?”

He turned a fraction and she briefly registered the lack of hesitation in his dark eyes before he finally closed the last of the gap between them. He pressed his lips to hers, soft yet intentional. He tasted like champagne and smoke and promises long-forgotten yet unbroken. It was a dizzying sort of relief to feel that years-old desperate want coiled inside finally melt through arms and fingertips buzzing with curiosity.

After that first touch, it felt as though they couldn’t get close enough, let alone pull themselves apart and have the brisk evening air rush in and nip at sensitive skin. She heard the doorknob rattle as George fumbled with it. After a short struggle, they stumbled into a nearly pitch-dark Portland Row, urgently shucking off each other’s coats and scarves. Her mind was running a mile a minute, her scalp tingling with electricity; white noise over the scrape of his teeth against her skittering pulse.

Her thoughts fragmented. At Fittes. In his room. In her apartment. His typewriter sitting glossy, polished, untouched, maddening -

George Karim was the most affected prick she had the misfortune of knowing. It was bad, bad luck that she was so irrevocably tied to him.

TAGLIST: @cielooci @mohinithoughts @neewtmas @snoopyluver20 @ell0ra-br3kk3r @ahead-fullofdreams @elenianag080 @avdiobliss @mischivana @mitskiswift99

[borzoilover69]

ULTIMATE JAKE: an idea and an execution

 iA I Aka the post where borzoi talks to the crowd how awesome Lord Jake English is, the guy that everyones seen around, but have no idea who he is. Pull up a chair, this will get long. 

If Ultimate Dirk can be summarised by the mask of tragedy in theatre, LE Jake, AKA Ultimate Jake, could be summarised by the mask of comedy. I’ve barely read HS2, but from what I can see, Dirk wants to make a serious nitty gritty tragedy of serious and epic proportions. But he tries so hard that he ends up making it almost laughable.

Jake wants to make a thighslapper huckshaw comedy where everyones having a grand old time but  there is such deep and hollow tragedy hidden within the folds of all those pretty smiles.

If anything they abide a lot by aristotles theory on comedy and tragedy. While tragedy imitates men better than average, comedy parodies those who are worse.

Aristotle stated that those of a more serious type that may have once been inclined to celebrate the actions of great heroes in poetry and prose turn to tragedy, while those who’ve been dishonourable, humbled, turn to comedy. It comes down to duality, tragedy viewing duality as a fatal contradiction forever a fault in things, while comedy views it as natural, but something that everyone must live with the best they can, enjoy.  Do you see where I’m going here? Dirk, who praised Aristotle and read the epics turned to tragedy. Jake, dishonourable and hiding from those who he care about, turning to comedy. They line up well with the cognitive psychology of the tragedy and comedy visions, which you should totally look into when you can. 

Tragedy is idealistic, stubborn and serious. They long for something higher and greater than common existence. They value heroism, hierarchy, and finality. 

Comedy is pragmatic, adaptable, and playful. They consider the self, comfortable in their own skin. They’re anti-heroes, valuing situation-based ethics and reversal.

With that out of the way, lets keep to philosophy like it’s a boat in the atlantic. If Dirks look in life upon going ult is one of pessimistic realism, Jake is an absurdist.

If life is a cruel joke to jake, and it has been, then in his ultimate form hes acknowledged it, and given the cruel void, hes decided to seek out his own meaning. And it just so happens to be his best friend.

Misc details

- Capitalist

- He wears old 3D movie glasses because he’s that idiot. 

- He collects a lot of things. He has plenty of things hes shot killed and stuffed in his collection. 

You could say he’s rather past oriented, taking care to document it all out of interest and perhaps a subconcious pursuit to figure out the future.

- Very apathetic. He may be charming, but he’s still a jackass. He thinks existence itself is funny, he’s an absurdist; but he’s also a guy who realises he’s been kicked to the curb too many times and started shooting people. - His crew consists of John/June, (in place of rose. They have a lot of movie nights!), Karkat, and one (1) dead dave.

And finally some thoughts about ult Dirkjake: Maybe Dirk wants Jake to just kill him. It’s a game of cat and mouse, and perhaps it’s love for someone who deems himself unworthy, no, incapable of doing so. What better love than to kill someone? To trust and know they will kill you. Feeling safe in the knowledge they’ve known you in every universe and are here to kill you. Not that Jake would let him. I like them.. I think it’s my fave brand of dirkjake besides the original.. they’re dysfunctional, intolerable, and they hate each other, but it’s just interesting. For better or for worse, they’re stuck, and they’re not afraid of the fact they suck. If anything, it’d spur them to be worse.

“Oh yeah. I find the other guy fucking annoying and I’d gladly take a moment to rip his guts out and walk him around a tree until they’re all out and he's calling me every bad name he can think of, but if anyone tries doing this shit with him without my consent, I’m going to be hells of more pissed off.”

Look. It’s funny in the way that realistically, they could probably do a lot of damage to everyone else but due to the fact they know the other guy exists, they’re too busy trying to kick the others ankles out and then beating each other up to become dangerous.

Oh you bet your nanny it’s the gayest most fucked up kismesis known to man. Ultimate Dirk hates LE Jake, because he doesn’t give a damn. Because Jake makes him feel things he denies feeling. And that ridiculously, somewhere in paradox space, Jake went ultimate and decided he was going to man up and pursue Dirk to the ends of the universe. Ultimately: “My soul is bound to you in explicable ways. Our bonds cross the multiverse and wherever you are, somewhere I am by your side. Even in a hundred universes, maybe even a million. I will still find you.”

Perhaps the greatest thing and a closing note is that given they are the ascended versions of themselves, they’re aware of the fact that they’re aware of every time the other guy screwed them over, kicked them in the balls, etc. But they’re also able to see everything else. So what’s with a little hatelove eh?

[pandorasprongs]

CHAPTER FIVE | this is what it feels like.

'it's nice to have a friend' masterlist + playlist | previous chapter

PAIRING: jamie tartt x fem!reader

WORD COUNT: 5.0k

SUMMARY: reader is starting to forgive jamie, even going to a charity gala together.

WARNINGS: language, mentions of what happened in amsterdam

A/N: yay! welcome back to me, i guess HAHAHA sorry for going ia for how many months, life just got in the way and i wasn’t able to make time for writing. i’m a bit rusty at this, but this is an extra long chapter and is mostly fluffy (at least, imo), so i hope you guys enjoyed it! we’re down to the last two (maybe three?) chapters of our story, which i hope you all will like :) see you then and thank you again for waiting!

Your relationship with Jamie did start getting better. Slowly, but surely. It wasn't the same as the past few months, though. That repair of your relationship was built on denial and was bound to come crashing down like it did. 

You were still talking, but he wasn't coming over every weekend anymore. He was the one who suggested it too, so you wouldn't feel pressured to decide if you forgive him just yet. He wasn't pushing for an immediate answer either and he was making that clear with how he was acting.

He sometimes sends you a message just to check in and your replies were short, but not apathetic. You'd do the same too, usually after his matches, specifically when it ended on a loss, since most of them were as of recent. What was it, seven matches at this point?

The loss at the Man City game was especially painful, but after you saw the article about Zava's retirement, you had hoped that some part of Jamie was relieved about it all.

Your suspicions are confirmed when you hear Jamie knocking at your door. You open it and instantly get blinded by the light. "Fucking hell."

"Shit, sorry," Jamie exclaims, shutting off his headlamp. Once the light is gone, you finally get a clearer look at the footballer. He was in a grey hoodie which was starting to get all sweaty, and was currently jogging in place. "Went out for a workout with Roy before dinner, and we went pretty far. He already went home though."

You knew where Jamie lived and if he had run that entire length, you don't know how he's not passed out at your doorstep. "Congrats, I think. Why'd you pass by?"

"I wanted to see you," he answered, a little out of breath. You'd be lying if you said your heart didn't skip at that. "If that's not weird."

"No, it's not," you answered quickly, a smile creeping on your face. "D'you wanna come in? I made some pasta if you haven't eaten yet." You offer without thinking but don't retract it in any way. Things like these would help you bond again right? And after seeing Jamie give you a genuine smile and a soft look with his eyes, your worries instantly dissipate.

So now you're having dinner with Jamie and barely any words are spoken, until he mentions, "I'm going to Amsterdam in a couple of weeks. We're having a friendly against Ajax."

"Amsterdam?" Maybe you should've hidden the worry in your voice better.

As far as you know, Jamie had a complicated relationship with that place. You don't know what happened, never wanting to press for too many details, but the first time he went there with his dad, your best friend came home a shell of himself.

—

You headed over there the moment your mom told you he was back and while you half-expected Georgie to turn you away in case his dad was still there, what you ended up seeing was worse. You found Jamie lying down in his bed, just staring at his ceiling. When you called out to him, he made no move to acknowledge that he had heard you.

You were fourteen and uncomfortable with emotions, but you knew you needed to do something for him. You made multiple attempts to try and get a verbal response from Jamie, but it fell on deaf ears.

It was only when you asked if you could lie down next to him did he finally move. He turned to face the wall and his back towards you, but you didn't say anything about it. Instead, you wrapped your arms around him.

"If you don't want to talk about what happened, it's okay," you whispered. "I'll just stay here with you."

In one swift move, Jamie turned around and pulled you into a hug. It was almost instinct that you pulled him closer.

You don't really know how long you stayed like that, but it was long enough that you started to get sleepy and eventually drifted off. The next morning, you woke up in an empty bed. Your grogginess quickly turned into confusion.

It would've turned into panic soon if Jamie hadn't walked back into the room as he dried his hair with his towel.

"Oh, you're awake," He said softly. From his voice alone, you wouldn't have been able to tell that he spent that night crying, if not for the bags under his eyes betraying him. The swelling had gone down from the cold water, but the redness was still there.

You don't say anything at first, unsure of how to proceed. But Jamie breaks the tension by asking, "Do you wanna have breakfast before you go back? Smelled mum's cooking from the hallway.”

"Okay." Jamie pulls you up from the bed but doesn't let go of your hand as you head down the stairs. He squeezed it tightly as you walked into the kitchen, his own way of saying thank you.

—

That's how the two of you always were. Talking about your feelings was never a strong suit, but that didn't mean you weren't there for one another. It's how you dealt with hard times as kids, but maybe it was time to ditch that as adults. Or at the least, work on expressing yourselves better.

As if Jamie could read your mind, he gives you a reassuring look, "I don't really think about that trip anymore. Don't really remember much of it either. I just remember the second time. When we were 16 right?"

"Oh yeah," You chuckle at the reminder. Jamie's mom had planned a trip for the two of them to Amsterdam and your parents just happened to also be figuring our your own summer holiday plans. 

The five of you spent a week there going on tours, visiting museums, and all the usual tourist activities. One of the pictures you still had of you and Jamie was one your dad took when you visited some tulip fields. Jamie had his arm around your waist and both of you were holding stroopwafels, impatiently waiting to eat them. 

A group of old ladies passed by as the photo was being taken and thought you were a young couple, which both of you were quick to deny. Things were only awkward for about twenty minutes till Jamie started chasing after your stroopwafel because he had already finished his.

"That was pretty fun, wasn't it?"

"Mhm," Jamie says as he continues to eat. "I still remember all the facts you made me memorize. Might try and annoy Roy with them."

The two of you continued to talk that night and for the first time since that night in Nelson Road, being with Jamie didn't put a pit in your stomach. There was no longer a nagging voice in your head reminding you of the past or the rising feeling of resentment when he'd joke about the past few years. Instead, you were just content and happy to be there with him.

When you finished your meals, you suddenly got a waft of Jamie and almost gagged. "Oh my God, you definitely need to shower."

Jamie pulled his hoodie up to his nose and cringed. "Right. I guess I should head home now."

"No. I am not letting you out into the streets of London smelling like that. You can shower here," you offer and without giving Jamie a chance to respond, you start walking over to the bathroom.

Jamie lagged behind a bit but caught up as you pulled an extra towel from the cabinet. "You can go to the guest room for spare clothes. Dad leaves a bunch of them here when they come over. Oh, and slippers too if you want to give your feet a rest." The footballer gratefully takes the towel and heads into the bathroom. 

When you hear the water start, you move to walk back to the living room when you pass by your bookshelf once again, the empty spaces between your books glaring at you. You head into your room and open your closet to pull out the pictures. You pick up the one from Amsterdam, from your graduation, and from your 10th birthday, and scatter them around the shelf.

You go get ready for bed and change into your pajamas before going back to the living room to wait for Jamie. After 30 minutes — or an episode and a half, — you hear him call out your name.

You find Jamie in the hallway in one of your dad's giant grey shirts and sweatpants. When you approach, he finally asks, "Have these always been here?"

He points towards the frames and you realize that despite the number of times Jamie's been in your flat, he's never looked at the top of your bookshelf.

"I put them there pretty recently." You admit before turning towards the footballer. 

Jamie catches your eyes and seems to be debating whether to say something. He finally speaks up, "So I take it you've..." but he trails off, leaving you to finish it.

"I forgive you. Well, I think I’m starting to," you start. "I guess these past few months, I've been compartmentalizing my anger towards you and that wasn't fair. I know neither of us is particularly good at expressing our feelings, but we should've talked about this back when we saw each other again. That's my fault, I admit and I'm sorry. But I'm happy now, spending time with you and I don't have this sinking feeling that it'll all go to shit anymore. So yeah, I think I forgive you, Jamie."

You give him a wide smile and before you know it, Jamie wraps his arms around you tightly. Your smile only grows wider as you pull him closer. 

This is what you've missed all these years. Being so comfortable and safe with Jamie, that him randomly hugging you doesn't take you by surprise anymore. You're content and happy. And you have Jamie, your Jamie, back.

He breaks apart from you and the two of you walk back to the living room, the sitcom still playing on the TV. You expected him to make his exit by now, but seeing as you've just made up, Jamie felt confident enough to stick around a bit longer. He takes a seat across from you on the couch. Maybe it was because he was fresh out of the shower and no longer wearing sticky clothes, but he felt freer than ever.

Jamie glanced down at his phone at notifications from the team group chat and suddenly remembered another reason why he passed by your apartment. "Are you doing anything Friday?"

The last time Jamie asked you that, it ended with one of the worst outbursts you've ever let out, but you tried not to be reminded of that. Besides, you trusted that he'd keep his word; he wouldn't break your heart once again.

"Not really. My lectures are all in the morning that day. Why?"

"There's this charity ball that my boss does every year and I was looking for a plus one," Jamie explained slowly, before turning to you to see your reaction. "If you want. You know, as friends."

You don't know what stunned you more: the way your heart swelled when Jamie asked you to go with him to an event or the sinking feeling that appeared when he added the 'as friends' part. All this tension and ghosting these past few weeks made you forget all about those pesky, jittery feelings that you still had for him, but now that the dust had settled, they were coming back.

You try to ignore it, just for this moment, and prepare to answer him. But the more you thought about this "charity gala," the more you realized what you were about to agree to.

"Wait, is this the thing where people bid on football players for dates?" You remember seeing an article on it a few years back where three women got into a bidding war for Jamie. "Fucking hell, if you're just doing this to stage another bidding war for you, then—"

"No! 'Course not! You kept saying before how you want a reason to dress up!" Jamie's quick to defend himself and you fall back into your seat. "Plus, I can't have Richard setting me up on yet another disastrous date, I just can't." 

You say nothing, absorbing his plea, but then watch as Jamie's expression turns mischievous. He teasingly asks, "Why? Would you actually bid on me? You're already spending time with me for free." He playfully elbows you and you take in a whiff of the lavender-scented body wash you kept in the guest bathroom.

You roll your eyes and cross your arms. "Christ, and they should be paying me for it, too." You reply, but you avoid eye contact with Jamie knowing how easily you'd break into laughter if you did.

"Fine, I'll go with you." You finally agree and before Jamie can celebrate your response, you add on. "But, you owe me a date, too. To Liv's wedding."

Jamie takes a second to reply, and you worry your usage of the word "date" threw him off. But quickly enough, his mischievous smile returns and he agrees, "Alright, it's a deal."

Neither of you mention the gala again till Jamie finally decides he has to get going — "It'll be worse for me if Roy gets to my house and I'm not there," — and says he'll send you the formal invite when he gets home.

It only sinks in when you're getting ready for bed that you're actually going to a formal gala. With Jamie. As his (friendly) date. Next week. What a way to start the new era of your friendship, right?

You wonder how exactly he'd introduce you to the rest of the people there. As his childhood friend? His date? Every option made you feel jittery inside, and you have a hard time accepting that it's possible you're falling for Jamie once again. 

The first time you ever found him attractive was at the ripe age of 16, after locking eyes with him when he was celebrating one of his team's wins. It was that summer of growth spurts and you started to see what everyone else did; Jamie Tartt, your best friend, was fucking fit. It only took a year till you fully accepted it, but ultimately decided to never act on it. Well, aside from that one time, which neither of you brought up again after the morning after.

It took another two years before you gave up on those feelings and buried them deep down, or at least tried to. But allowing Jamie's friendship back into your life brought those feelings back up to the surface. 

So, the week went by quickly and you were now waiting in your apartment in a cropped silk camisole, high-waisted black trousers, and wedge heels that Liv let you borrow, pacing a hole into your floor. All you did with your hair was pin the side bangs away from your face and you hope that's enough.

You hear a knock on your door and you almost trip on the bottom of your pants to open it. You find Jamie in an almost identical outfit to the one he used for his date before, except in a different color. His hair had been slicked back, reminiscent of his older hairstyle but the highlights made the look pop more.

When his eyes land on you, Jamie takes a second to scan you before exclaiming, "Fucking hell."

With a teasing tone to try and make yourself feel more at ease, you ask, "Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

Jamie looks back up at your eyes and smiles, "You look great." You don't detect a hint of banter from the guy which makes you feel warm inside, until he adds, "Though, I half expected you to wear your dress from our year 12 formal."

"Jamie, I swear I can still find something else to do tonight." You threaten but are unable to stop the smile creeping up on your face.

Jamie just chuckles and takes hold of your hand as if it's the most natural thing in the world. "Come on," He realizes what he's just done and pauses to see your reaction, but when you tighten your grip on his hand, he continues, "Need to get there early so they don't swarm me for pictures." You roll your eyes as the two of you head out of the building.

You actually did get to the venue quite early, since the photographers were still setting up the booth and so the two of you walk over to two ladies, one of whom you recognize as Keeley Jones. After he introduces you, — as his friend and plus one, no mention of the word "date" — you soon find out that the taller one is Rebecca Welton, the owner of AFC Richmond.

"Wow, so you two practically control Jamie's career. Blink twice if you need me to take him off your hands." You lean in towards the two of them but speak loud enough for Jamie to hear and he pulls you back to his side as you laugh. The two women chuckle and share a look between them that you don’t know them well enough to understand, so instead you brush it off.

Jamie gets called for photos and Rebecca leaves to greet the guests heading inside the venue, so you're left standing with the PR manager of the team. As you watch Jamie cycle through various poses, Keeley leans in to ask you, "So, how long have you known him?"

"Well, I met Jamie when I was seven, but when I went off to uni and he joined Man City, we kind of drifted apart and didn't really talk for the next few years." That was basically the truth, anyway. "But I went to one of the Richmond games and we bumped into each other."

"Well, I'm glad the two of you met again. Honestly, Jamie's become much more tame recently. He hasn't had any Twitter feuds or issues in weeks. Makes my job a lot easier." You chuckle, knowing that instead of fighting back, Jamie ends up just complaining about it to you. She adds, "You must be a good influence on him."

"People have been saying exactly that since we were kids, so maybe it is true." You reply and Keeley gives you a wide grin.

When you head into the venue, there are already a few guests settling down in the area. You recognize some of them as footballers, — both from AFC Richmond and other teams, even some retired ones — business owners who are trying out being philanthropists, and people you've seen on magazine covers. 

You were less uncomfortable than you expected because everyone's attention was on Jamie. You stood by him while he greeted a bunch of people and continued to introduce you as his plus one. You hated crowds when you were kids and Jamie knew that, so he'd always check on you if you wanted to go to your seats ahead of him. You'd shake your head every time because you've already had years to get over that fear. Plus, everyone had been nice so far and more polite than you expected rich people to be.

Everyone finally decides to leave Jamie alone and the two of you head to your table, where some of his teammates are already seated and chatting amongst themselves. You recognized them immediately: Sam Obisanya, Dani Rojas, Isaac McAdoo, Colin Hughes, and Richard Montlaur. Without Jamie even having to introduce you to them, Dani had already asked what your name was.

“What a lovely name! I’m Dani.” You shake the hand he offered you, as the other players start to welcome you as well. They were so warm and kind, that it’s no wonder Jamie had gotten so much better during his time at Richmond. It seemed their energy was so infectious that it was rubbing off on Jamie.

Though, it could be a bit overwhelming too, as they all wanted to have a conversation with you. Someone had asked, “Tell me more about growing up with Jamie,” while someone else chimed in, “Do you think there’s a correlation between your genes and how well you can shoot a penalty? Because Colin here…” and somewhere in the mix, you hear, “That’s a lovely bag you have. Where’d you get that?”

While Jamie was enjoying watching his favorite person interact with his favorite group of people, he started to notice how tense you were becoming, despite the plastered smile on your face. He reached out to grab your hand as he interrupts all the conversations with, “Alright, alright, I think the programs about to start. Let’s stop bothering my date for now, yeah?”

Date. The word alone sent chills down your spine. Even more so when you turned to look him in the eyes, and he had a look of concern that only you could’ve detected. You breathe a sigh of relief and give him a comforting look, which allows him to relax, too.

You both turn towards the stage as Rebecca, along with Ted, their coach, walk up to the mic. They start with the basic pleasantries, thanking everyone for coming, with Ted’s occasional funny chime-ins. As they segue into the auction itself, you can hear your own table come back to life. The teammates started to tease one another when Colin turns to you, “Oi, looks like you’ll have to put up a fight for Jamie tonight.” He nods towards the table behind yours, and you spot a familiar looking lady, smiling at the man beside you. It’s only when Jamie groans that you realize who it is: the old woman who was one of three people in Jamie’s “bidding war” two years ago.

“Oh my god,” you’re unable to stifle your laughter and instead turn away to try and hide it. “You know what, I think I’m fine going home alone, Jamie. This isn’t the first time you’ve gone off at a party to get lucky, so go have fun!” You tease him, but instead, he turns to you with a desperate look in his eyes.

“Please, don’t do this to me, (Y/N). Make sure you win.”

You scoff and lean in, “Who says I’m even bidding tonight? I’m not even tenured, Jamie. How much money do you think I have?”

Jamie pleads once more, “Please. I’ll pay you back in full and you can pick all the movies we watch for the rest of the month. Anything, come on.” You sigh and finally give in to his puppy dog eyes. 

You give him a slight nod and he quietly thanks you, as Ted starts to introduce the team. “Let’s start the auction with one of our striking strikers, Mr. Jamie Tartt!”

Jamie gets up and walks over to the stage, and it’s only then you realize he had been holding your hand this entire time.

Ted rests a comforting hand on his shoulder, but before Richmond’s coach can even start the bidding, you hear a loud voice behind you exclaim, “Five thousand pounds!”

You have to hold in your chuckle as you turn to Jamie who is now desperately staring at you. You raise your paddle high enough and shout, “Six thousand pounds!”

“Oh, and another bid from Mr. Tartt’s lovely date tonight. Can anyone match that, do I hear seven thousand?” The lady once again raises her paddle.

“Eight thousand!” You exclaim once more, as Jamie lets out a sigh of relief.

This back and forth goes on for a while, up until the final bid (from you, unfortunately) of fifteen thousand pounds. The football player finally allows himself to relax and with one final slap on the back from his coach, makes his way back to you.

“Thank you,” he whispers, squeezing your shoulder as he gives you a quick hug and sits down. You playfully roll your eyes, but give him a small smile back. A few more rounds of bidding take place until Jamie leans back into you. “You feel like going on that date now?”

You turn to him confused, “Like, right now? We’re in the middle of the program.”

Jamie shrugs, “We’re done with our part now and gave out a good amount for the charity. Most of them won’t even notice us leave, come on,” He takes hold of your hand, and as if on cue, activating those butterflies in your stomach, yet again. “Unless you want to bid on someone else tonight, which in that case, I didn’t know you had that in you.”

You roll your eyes but eventually agree. You say your short goodbyes to everyone at the table and Jamie leads you to Rebecca and Ted, who, after Coach Beard — you believed his name was? — had taken over for him, was currently gorging on the appetizers.

“Hey boss, Ted, we’re heading out early, but see you both on Monday.” Jamie quickly explains, still not having let go of your hand. You’re starting to wonder if he’ll ever notice or has just grown used to it like he was before.

“That’s no problem, Jamie, see you and thank you for coming!” Rebecca directed that last comment towards you and you give her a big smile. But his coach wipes his mouth with his table napkin and stands up to greet you anyway.

“Well, I can’t let you go off yet without introducing me to this lovely lady.” Ted reaches out to shake your hand and you take it quickly before he leans to whisper to Jamie, but loud enough for you to hear. “Is this her?”

“Jamie Tartt, do you talk about me to your coach?” You ask teasingly, but instead of his usual reaction of fake annoyance, he turns away shyly.

Ted replies for him instead, saying, “Oh well, not all the time. I usually have to pry it out of him, too.” He nudges the football player, who finally decides that it is definitely time for you two to leave. He leads you out of there and the pair of you walk back to his car in a comfortable silence.

You may not have realized it till now, but the inside of the venue was the stuffiest place you’ve been to in a while. Sure, the people were nice, but the mixing of colognes and posh accents was starting to get to you. Before you can thank Jamie for getting you out of there, he’s rifling around his jacket for something.

“I, uh, found something in some of my old stuff. Was planning to give it to you before we left, but I… got distracted,” you try and ignore the warm feeling creeping up on your cheeks as he says that and instead watch Jamie turn back towards you, pull out your hand, and place an item on your palm. “Here.”

You look down to find a small plastic ring with a “gem” in an obnoxious pink color. You chuckle as you’re reminded of the toy rings Jamie would give you on your birthday as kids, till you realize… you’ve been missing one of them since you moved out.

“Wait, is this…” You start and look back up at Jamie, who has a sheepish look on his face. Definitely doesn’t fit him.

“Yeah, I forgot to tell you because well, we weren’t really talking all these years, but I went by your house a few days before you left for uni, but you weren’t home and so I went to your room and saw that lined up with the rest of them on your drawer. I thought you were crazy for keeping them all those years, and I wanted to mess with you, so I… took one of them, hoping you’d notice. You never did though, so now I look kinda stupid.” He explained guiltily, but you could only laugh.

“I thought it just fell into the trash when I was moving out. If you wanted me to notice you taking something, you should’ve taken my shoes or something. Why the ring?” You lean onto the side of his car, and Jamie joins you on your right.

He shrugs and swipes his hair back, “I don’t know. We were going our separate ways and you were going all the way to Wales for so long. I realized it was going to be a while before we saw each other again. I thought, maybe if you’d realize it was missing and wanted to go looking for it, you’d always have a reason to go back to me.”

You feel a heavy weight on your chest as the last part sinks in. After everything that’s happened, it had never occurred to you that even at one point, Jamie was afraid of losing you too.

You sit in that silence for a while before you decide to rest your head on Jamie’s shoulder, in one way telling him, I would always go back to you. He got the message.

“I know it doesn’t go with your usual outfit choices now, but I just thought you’d want it back anyway.” He whispers, causing a smile to form on your face.

“Thank you, Jamie.” You look back up at him, his face softening at the sight of yours. “You wanna go on that date now?” You straighten back up and take his hand in yours this time. “What does the legendary Jamie Tartt have planned for this one?”

Jamie looks around and spots a bike rental on the other side of the car park. You didn’t even have to ask to know what he was thinking. “Race you back to that ice cream shop across your flat. Last one there has to pay.” 

“What kind of date is that, Tartt?!” You exclaim, as he drags you across the street.

If there’s one thing you knew about Jamie, it was that he was a sore loser. So after you dropped your bikes in front of your flat and were massaging your calves waiting for your sundaes, this may have been the happiest you’ve seen him lose at something in your whole life.

TAGLIST: @moonflowersandsparkles @faith-alons26 @rexorangecouny @aiyaiy @thegirlthatwantedtowrite @giggling-sewer-ginger @katdahlali @higherthanheroes @guccilongboard @alipap3 @rockchickrebel @ellietartt @shineforever19 @skewedcherries @jamietarttdodo @meg-ro @deepdarkvelvet @taytaylala12 @loveforaugust @crownofdecitreadingrespectfully @dickgraysonspersonalwhore @jess4rush @scaramou @rae4725 @oxxolovemelikeyoudooxxo (couldn't tag you for some reason?)

[ukfrislandembassy]

One thing that stands out to me about the shift to an entirely open syllable canon in Austronesian in general (and Oceanic in particular) is just how obviously recent it is in so many of these languages.

Of course, this isn't true in all cases, Polynesian seems to have lost coda consonants fairly early on (though of course they show up in passives in -ia and abstract nouns in -anga, so they were definitely still around when those forms underwent univerbation).

But others really show some narrow margins, particularly when paragoge is involved rather than coda deletion. In Roviana on the Solomons, for instance, paragoge clearly must have taken place after the lenis reflexes of other stops underwent lenition. Indeed, the Waterhouse dictionary gives a nice Roviana-exclusive doublet ŋuzapa/ŋuvasa 'wash' which showcases this nicely.

In still other instances, the split ends up just being so razor-thin that you can imagine this change having happened within the past couple of generations even. Most stiking in this instance is the split between Uneapa Bali and Vitu, where paragoge is basically the only thing distinguishing these two languages, to the extent that they get a single chared sketch grammar in the Routledge handbook on Oceanic languages; see doublets such as Uneapa Bali rumaka 'house', boroko 'pig', ɣuzaŋa 'rain', maɣuripi 'alive' vs. Vitu ruma, boro, ɣuza, maɣuri 'ibid.' (POc *Rumaq, *boRok, *qusaŋ, *maqurip). A similar hair-thin split based on paragoge occurs with Talaud as well.

I do wonder what this means for any discussion of the notion of 'drift' in contexts such as these. Of course the notion s first of all an identification of a common trend rather than an actual meaningful historical claim, so I don't think it's necessarily an issue to say that some Austronesian languages shift to an open syllable canon later than others. But it's definitely somewhat troublesome for the idea that this could have been a contact effect with non-Austronesian languages (particularly with paragoge), because many of these languages have been around in the areas they currently inhabit for a good while longer than the sound changes would suggest per this hypothesis.

[dittydipity]

what is kagepro? - a quick guide

you may be seeing the word "kagepro" around a whole bunch, especially during august, but what the hell is it?

you may have heard or seen something from kagepro without realizing it! you know that vocaloid song, kagerou daze, about the kids who get hit by a truck and are stuck in a timeloop of saving each other? that's actually one of the songs from kagepro.

kagepro, short for the kagerou project, is a series created by vocaloid composer jin (also known as shizen no teki-p). it's a mixed media series that has music, manga, an anime, movie, a radio talk show, books, etc but i’ll try to keep it simple!

basic premise: people who die on 8/15 are taken to another world called the kagerou daze and if they return to the real world, they will have gained a “snake ability” that will turn their eyes red when used. a group of teens that have these abilities form a little gang but are thrown into an endless timeloop.

THE MEDIA

if you want to get into it, there’s a bunch of different ways you can do it, but do keep in mind: each form of media is NOT just a different adaptation of the story.

kagepro is a timeloop story, and each form of media is actually a different timeline (or “route”). the music videos, the anime, the manga, the books - each one is only a piece of the whole story. that’s why many people may have seen the anime, mekakucity actors, and gotten super confused because the anime is actually one of the last routes haha.

but the order of media that has been generally agreed upon to be the most coherent is music videos -> manga -> light novels -> anime

a lot of kagepro media, esp the light novels and manga, are hard to find since they’re almost entirely out of print, but there’s translations or e-book versions of them available, or if you skip them there’s summaries that people have made. you can also ask me if you want :]

music videos

i’ve actually made a couple playlists for the songs! one is in release order and the other is in story chronological order (mostly).

release order: - i tried to get all the original ia/miku versions of the songs with the original pv if there was one - a couple might be a little out of order since some songs came out together in the same album

this is the order that fans got the music, so if you want to try to figure things out and put things together the way we did you can go with this order!

chronological order: - tried to grab some english covers where i could, but if you don’t like eng covers there are plenty of noneng covers or you can use the videos from the other playlist. there's plenty of really great covers out there! - exceptions to the “chronological”: children record acts as the cover/opening song for the series and summertime record is the ending song for the series - some songs aren’t in here bc they’re not part of the music route (they’re mostly from the newer albums and are kinda like ‘epilogue’ songs after the ending of the anime/good ending or are songs made for the anime)

THE STORY

if you don't want to go through all the media yourself, here’s a video explaining the whole story by breadbox/david toth! he also has other really great kagepro videos

[a bit of an extra] a very common misconception about the story/mechanics: people do not have to die in pairs or with somebody else on 8/15 to enter the daze. i didn’t realize this myself until super recently

all in all, the kagerou project is a story about finding strength and support from the people around you, moving on to look towards the future, and overcoming trauma.

there’s definitely other people who have also made guides or summaries or videos that are much better and cover much more than i did, but i hope this was a decent introduction!

feel free to reach out and/or ask me anything! i'm sure there are also plenty of people who would be willing to help newcomers understand kagepro as well :]

happy kagerou day!

[wvyld]

having realized I accidently made my SW look a whole lot like Kira Carsen, what if they were siblings?

I was already changing things around with the AU storyline there, so that's fun for giving me some direction from that standpoint. I've not reread the old notes I made about this (they are scattered all over the place, so, well) but Cayr was meant to:

be from a minor Sith family

have a lot of siblings

be a weak force user

The old-old concept had her be good at technical, ritualistic Force magic, but so many characters here already covered that, so I moved her into a more politics & logistic focused POV — have her rely on the slave rebelion in the Korriban tombs to gain advantage, have her get attached, have her then be half-foot in the rich & powerful world of Sith, but still tied, through her past and rising levels of guilt to the opposite of that — have her be attached to having wealth and power and be the very lies lies lies everywhere character, and then have it all collapse — have her make a choice. (she'd go the light side route, politically, and maybe go full idealist — though she would stick to DS force stuff)

Have her be Kira's (twin?) sister would be — well, good opportunity for where that choice could be? But; the child of the emperor stuff & Wrath plot. Cayr wasn't meant to be the Wrath-Wrath; that'd be Trachei, her Sith pureblood ex-girlfriend (who she was trying to kill for some form of betrayal?) and if I'm sticking with that, then that works: she's on the sidelines, the power behind the throne of the events that happen, she can kind of slide around the children plotline.

Having her be a powerful force user — and how that'd come about, is, if I have her be born so (have the children thing work on her, have her stay and so on) then there is no reason for her to stick around on Korriban for so long; her and Trachei could switch places, plot-wise, though Trachei wouldn't stick around either — she'd have her family's connections to get a master and go to DK, do politics & party there, then get pulled into the plot by revange reasons and the IA plotline of DK getting shot at — which would be very interesting, actually, and more removed from stuff that Khadeh would already cover, so, might be good actually?

The alternative plotline for this, would be to keep things as they were — she was born a weak force user, children stuff, sister vanishes, weird mystery, slave rebelion connections — she'd get Khadeh (in exchange for whatever) to do the ritual; get the power and do her stuff at more equal level with Trachei — have her catch the attention of the Emperor, because she shouldn't have this kind of power, and also there are some traces of his type of Sith Magic there, what is that — that'd be conflict, it could end with her defecting to the Republic like her sister — though that wouldn't be a geniue defection, just survival.

[chubbydino]

fic writer interview (thanks @toppamplemousse)

How many works do you have on ao3?

62 lol

What’s your total word count?

2,564,696

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

fool's gold (of course)

mr. invisible and the thing (still shocking to me)

phantoms and pencil marks

drunk on just being there

i'll race you for pinks

my avengers era is truly over 😭

Do you respond to comments? Why/ why not?

not usually - i think my readers would rather me publish a new chapter every few days than reply to comments :)

What's the fic you've written with the angstiest ending?

divinity. or concatenation.

What's the fic you've written with the happiest ending?

mr. invisible and the thing probably. i had to force it so it still makes me lol that people love it so much 😂

Do you write crossovers?

if F1/F2/F3 in FG count as a crossover haha

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

yep. mostly just ridiculous uncalled for comments because people didn't like how things went or didn't read the tags.

Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

not really. only for character development--it feels really repetitive pretty much always

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

yes. someone was reposting FG on wattpad and people have stolen parts of my fics for "collections" they post on other sites without crediting authors.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

several people have asked me but i don't allow it with rpf. too dangerous.

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

kind of? i posted rp archives but i don't think i'd do too well with co authoring even though i love(ed) rping

What's your all-time favourite ship?

hm. stucky probably. i've been in my feels about them lately.

What's a WIP that you want to finish but don't think you ever will?

i started a maxiel fic from the perspective of max's cats but it was boring. loved the concept tho

What are your writing strengths?

angst and dialogue probably.

What are your writing weaknesses?

happy endings lol

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

for f1 rpf specifically it feels inauthentic to write without it. i don't think my translations are always accurate (sorry french speakers) but most f1 drivers don't speak english as a first language so i lean on my friends and readers who speak other langauges to help with translations if there's time. for example, the scene with esteban, pierre, and charles at the restaurant before the french gp in FG was only possible because a GROUP of french speakers debated over the proper dialogue.

What was the first fandom you wrote for?

supernatural on deviantart lmfao. then terra nova, then marvel.

What's a fandom/ship you haven't written for yet but want to?

hmmm. loscar for some reason? or a real charlos-only fic.

What's your favourite fic you've written?

fool's gold was really special, but concatenation, divinity, and HLS have spots in my heart. ia slo thinks about two of you, two of me a lot.

[velvet-vox]

Oropo; the ideology of power behind being god: Part 1

This is for @secret-engima .

One of the things villains tend to do or want in fiction is becoming god or just having a god complex due to their insane power (examples down below):

Bill Chyper, big nihilist with unimaginable godlike powers that uses them for his own amusement and entertainment.

Flowey, a time resetting rogue experiment that wants to become god through manipulation and brute force.

The solver of the absolute fabric, the mechanical equivalent of the antichrist in his show, who plays himself up as the god of his universe.

All of these baddies have in common their insane power level as their main feature and seek to cultivate said characteristic in different ways.

Bill Chyper is a multi dimensional super being that burned down his own world and seeks to do it again in a new one to satisfy his sense of boredom caused by his insane godly powers; Bill, although probably quite sadistic by nature considering the fact that he destroyed his own world, sees himself as a God, but doesn't think to highly of said title nor does he seek even more power and just limits himself to benefitting from its advantages.

Flowey is actually the reincarnated body of a traumatized, dead child that has risen to the temporary god of his world through the ability of rewinding time, and wished to gain even more power through the absorption of souls, so that he could finally break free from his unchanging existence and solitude. In his case, although Flowey already had the powers of a god, but didn't view himself as one so he decided to gain even more power than the one he had.

The Absolute Solver, (this part will be reviewed at a later date) although very mysterious and with an ongoing story going on, seems like a shared IA eldritch entity that can have various hosts each and every one active at the same time with a priority system and has an hive mind identity of his own that gives it a shaky sense of self and seeks to spread that self across the universe with his reality warping powers. The solver is portrayed as the devil while being viewed as god by the human researchers and this leads to an interesting dichotomy in the solver's sense of self.

But while all of this is pretty interesting on its own, I believe there is one villain who took the idea of power and becoming god and took it to a whole new level by building an entire philosophy, ideology and theology around it.

And that villain is none other than the Eliotrope Oropo from Wakfu, the main antagonist of season 3.

For starters even though Oropo in the actual season isn't as competently written as Nox and Qilby, the idea that he had baked into his DNA would have made him by far my favourite Wakfu antagonist, and one of said unique ideas that make Oropo so different from many other fictional villains is his unique spin on the "I want to become/am a god" baddie mindset that he has developed.

You see, from the very start Oropo is an extremely powerful being but not an omnipotent one like Bill, more in line with the base form Absolute Solver and seeks to gain more power like Flowey.

But where he starts to differentiate himself from the others is the complex world view that he develops around the idea of power and godliness. You see, Oropo is a clone of the main character of the show that had his entire race of copies sent back in time to the beginning of everything and had to watch every single one of his siblings die with the gods being uncaring to their situation which sparked in him the idea to replace them. But while a normal person would think that he'd limit himself to just obtain more power and then become the only god of the world, what actually happens is that, in an attempt to prove himself better than the gods, he builds his own new pantheon made out of abandoned demigods, and builds up a tower meant to represent his doctrine from which he'll replace the gods once the time loop ends.

And that's what's really fascinating about Oropo, it's his complex idea of what being a god is like; he doesn't limit himself to just being powerful or gaining more power to obtain everything he wants, no, he has to build a pantheon, a doctrine, his own mythology and have other people who share his ideology to rule alongside him in the hierarchy that he has envisioned complete with his own set of rules and roles which must be obeyed by everyone.

Next part>>>>

[lunarleonardo]

More fics where shuichi gets experimented on and my life is yours

O_o oh trust me I would LOVE to write that. Im a huuuge fan of things like dragon fics, mer fics and vampire fics. And also analog horror-esque fics those are always a 10/10

The reason I haven't written anything like that is because, one, I'm a coward 4_4 and two, I always have a harder time working out endings for those kinds of fics. I always write with an ending in mind (not including IA cough), and so I've never gotten around to it because I've always been able to figure out an ending for the stuff I write a lot easier. It's also a matter of not knowing what setting I want to use, too many ideas hitting me at once with one concept, my problem with every fic somehow turning into a crossover au with either rottmnt or mha (or on some occasions, both or more).... yeah it gets a little chaotic xD

Once I finish Love Letter, I'll try and open up my pool of things I'm comfortable posting. I did start posting on ao3 as "exposure therapy" for my social anxiety, after all ó_ó and if the internet can handle the insanity that came from Motive 5, then fuck it I'm turning Shuichi into a dragon! And we'll hit him with the Eldtrich Horror too because why not ^_^ !!!

but yeah we'll see ^^ ! I will keep this declaration in mind thank you

[eorzeashan]

Long time no swtor thinkpiece, but.

Thinking about Eight in the IA class story and then who he is post-Alliance; going from a bold, daring and casually ambitious wildcard to someone who feels as if he's lost most of his zeal to become rather...listless. Empty. Not to say that he isn't fulfilled by his work in the Alliance (who all make exceptions to have him do anything but murder all day) but he starts picking up more mundane activities like, peeling potatoes for the Alliance cantina, or doing minor tasks that don't involve much thought on his own volition-- a stark change from a man who only cared about his blade and who it fell on. It's like he's been soundly defeated by the circumstances surrounding him.

Then there's the issue of his companions, who only knew him as their cunning leader who stopped at nothing to achieve his goals, even using some of them in the process, who now appears to be an entirely different person. One who quietly fades into the background, instead of being in the thick of it. He's changed.

His skills haven't waned, but his voice is flat, his eyes without gleam, his all consuming desire that drove him to accomplish the impossible by the day naught but simmering ashes by the time they reunite with him in KOTXX. He even apologizes to some, without explanation. This distresses Vector, in particular, who witnessed the worst of his sides way back in the day. "It's not me you should apologize to, Agent." Vector can only quietly say, "I have never held you in ill regard for the choices you've made, anathema as they were to my principles." It's a conversation that peters off, but one that Eight never had, never had soon enough --his firm refusal to rectify or acknowledge that Vector could choose him over his own ideals is one that gnaws at him on the inside for years, on his own belief that people cannot change what they truly believe in, and so there is no point in trying to make amends for what bridges he burns in the pursuit of his own wishes. This, and many other denials, compound over the years into a rather hurtful self-made solitude that follows him long into the Alliance. (A mother will never give up her son. There is no other way. I cannot change my nature as a weapon. Their rejection of me is something I must accept.) A punishment, but for who?

Perhaps he still feels he's failed the last mission Keeper entrusted to him. The one that asked him to become a real, living person, and not just a sword dressed in imperial colors.

Eight spirals during the events of the Eternal Empire. He watches his downfall happen in real time. There's little he does about it. His home is gone, as are the people he fought for--Keeper, Watcher 2, Intelligence--and this new age is only filled with allies he cuts down faster than he can imprint their names into his memory. He's alone in this fight at the behest of others who do choose their ideals over him, who, in the end, turn away in fear and disgust when he bloodies his blade in their name. He makes no effort afterwards to right his image in their minds. He plays the villain, if others will not. For the first time, he tires of killing.

This leaves him alone, an outcast even among friends. Eventually, amongst the ruin their failed Alliance leaves in its wake, someone asks why things turned out this way; his lack of a will in the greater fight comes to light and sets several alarm bells off. Lana reduces his duties on the battlefield. Others, out of shared guilt and a fear of the bloodshed he wreaked on their orders, give him a wide berth to live normally for a while. It's not much and does little to his disillusionment and estrangement with his allies, but...it's a start.

Eight the Assassin turns into just Eight. And Eight the former agent, ex-Cipher, killer extraordinaire who never once dreamed of the stars, turns into someone who quietly watches the sun set on a world he barely recognizes,l but still stays up to see it, potato peeler in hand.