#writing math formulas as a love language

[kyurwn]

i would write a math formula expressing my love for you

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

1968 [Chapter 5: Artemis, Goddess Of The Hunt]

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

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

Word Count: 6.6k

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“So you smoked grass in college,” Aegon says, pondering you with glazed eyes as he slurps his cherry-flavored Mr. Misty. You’re in Biloxi, Mississippi where Aemond is making speeches and meeting with locals to commemorate the first summer of the beaches being desegregated after a decade of peaceful protests and violent white supremacist backlash. Route 90 runs right along the sand dunes. If you walked out of this Dairy Queen, you could look south and see the Gulf of Mexico, placid dark ripples gleaming with moonshine. “And swore, and had a boyfriend, and presumably, what, did shots? Skipped class on occasion?”

“Yeah,” you admit, smiling sheepishly, remembering. You stretch out your fingers. “I chewed gum, I talked during mass. And I loved black nail polish. The nuns would beat my knuckles with rulers, I always had bruises. I wore these flowing skirts down to my ankles and knee-high boots. My hair was a mess, long and blowing around everywhere. My friends and I would do each other’s makeup, silver glitter and purple shadow, pencil on a ridiculous amount of eyeliner and then smudge it out. If you saw a photo you wouldn’t recognize me.”

Aegon takes a drag on his Lucky Strike cigarette, weightless smoke and the tired yellowish haze of florescent lights. Buffalo Springfield’s For What It’s Worth is playing from the Zenith radio on the counter by the cash register. “I’d recognize you.”

“I used to skip this one class all the time. The professor was a demon. I could do the math, but not the way he wanted me to. Right solution, wrong steps, I don’t know. I learned it differently in high school, and I couldn’t figure out the formula he wanted me to use. So he’d mark everything a zero even if my answer was correct. I couldn’t stand that bastard. Then the nuns kept catching me sunbathing on the quad when I was supposed to be in Matrices and Vector Spaces. I racked up so many demerits they were going to revoke my weekend pass, and then I wouldn’t be able to go into the city with my friends. So I stole the demerit book and burned it up on the stove in my dorm. Almost set the whole building on fire.”

Aegon is laughing. “You did not. Not you, not perfect ever-obedient Miss America!”

“I did. I really did.” You sip your own Mr. Misty, lemon-lime. Across the restaurant, Criston and Fosco are eating banana splits—dripping chocolate syrup and melted ice cream all over their table—and passionately debating who is going to end up in the World Series; Criston favors the Cardinals and the Orioles, Fosco says the Red Sox and the Cubs. The rest of the Targaryen family is back at the hotel watching news coverage of the Republican National Convention, something you can only stomach so much of, Otto’s cynical commentary, Aemond’s remaining eye fixed fiercely on the screen as he nips at an Old Fashioned. “I was wild back then.”

“And you gave it all up to be Aemond’s first lady.”

You think back to where it started: palm trees, salt water, alligators in drainage ditches. “My father grew up in a shack outside of Tallahassee. No electricity, no running water, he dropped out of school in eighth grade to help take care of his siblings when his mom died. They moved south to live with their aunt in Tampa, and my father wound up in Tarpon Springs working as a sea sponge diver.”

Aegon’s eyebrows rise, like he thinks you’re teasing him. “Sea sponges…?”

“I’m serious! It paid better than picking oranges or sweeping up in a factory. It’s dangerous. You have to wear this heavy rubber suit and walk around on the ocean floor, sometimes 50 feet or more below the surface.”

“What do people do with sea sponges?”

“Oh right, you would be unfamiliar. You’re supposed to clean yourself with them, like a loofah. Soap? Water? Ringing any bells?”

He chuckles and rolls his eyes. “You’re a very mean person. Aren’t you supposed to be setting an example for the merciful wives and daughters of this great nation?”

“Painters and potters buy sponges too. And some women use them as contraceptives. You can soak them in lemon juice and then shove them up there and it kills sperm.”

“I suddenly have great appreciation for the sea sponge industry. God bless the sea sponges.”

“So my father spent a few years diving, and he fell in love with a girl who worked at one of the shops he sold sponges to. That was my mother. They got married when he had absolutely nothing, and by their fifth anniversary he had his own fleet of boats, a gift shop, and a processing and shipping facility, all of which they owned jointly. They just opened the Spongeorama Sponge Factory this past April, a cute little tourist trap. But my point is that they were partners from the start. My father listens to my mother, and she works alongside him, and it was never like what I’ve seen from my friends’ parents: dad at the office 80 hours a week, mom at home strung out on Valium, just these…deeply separate, cold planets locked in orbit but never touching each other. I knew I didn’t want that. I wanted a husband who was building something I could be a part of. I wanted a man who respected me.”

Aegon watches you as he lights a fresh cigarette, not saying what you imagine he wants to: And how is that working out? He puffs on his Lucky Strike a few times and then offers it to you. You aren’t supposed to smoke, not even tobacco—it’s not ladylike, it’s masculine, it’s subversive—but you take it and hold it between your index and middle fingers, inhaling an ashy bitterness that blood learns to crave. The bracelets on your wrist jangle, thin silver chains that match the diamonds in your ears. Your dress is mint green, your hair in your signature Brigitte Bardot-inspired updo. Aegon is wearing a black t-shirt with The Who stamped across the front. When you pass the cigarette back to him, Aegon asks: “What music did you listen to? The Stones, The Animals?”

“Yeah. And Hendrix, The Kinks, Aretha Franklin…”

“Phil Ochs?”

“I love him. He’s got a song about Mississippi, you know.”

“Oh, I’m aware. It’s one of my favorites.”

“And I’m currently getting a little obsessed with Loretta Lynn. She’s so angry!”

“She’s sanctimonious, that’s what she is. Always bitching about men.”

“Six kids and an alcoholic husband will do that to someone.”

Aegon winces, and then you realize what you’ve said. Loretta Lynn sounds a lot like Mimi. He finishes his Mr. Misty and then fidgets restlessly with his white cardboard cup, spinning it around by the straw. You feel bad, though you shouldn’t. You wouldn’t have a month ago.

“Aegon,” you say gently, and he reluctantly looks up at you, sunburned cheeks, blonde hair shagging over his eyes. “Why do you ignore your children? They’re interesting, they’re fun. Violeta invited me to help her make cakes with her Easy-Bake Oven last week. And Cosmo…he’s so clever. But it’s like he doesn’t know who you are. He might actually think Fosco’s his dad.”

Aegon takes one last drag off his cigarette and discards the end of it in his Mr. Misty cup. Now he’s fiddling with it again, avoiding your gaze. “I don’t have much to offer them.”

“I think you do.”

“No you don’t.”

“I do,” you insist. “You can be kind of nice sometimes.”

He frowns, staring out the window. You know he can’t see anything but darkness and streetlights. “I should have been the one to go to Vietnam. If somebody had to get shot at so Aemond could be president, I was the right choice. No one would miss me. No one would mourn me. Daeron didn’t deserve that. But I was too old, so Otto and my father got him to enlist. Now he’s in the jungle and my mother has nightmares about Western Union telegrams. If I was the son over there, I think she’d sleep easier.”

I’m glad you’re still here, you think. Instead you say: “Your children need you.”

“No they don’t. Between me and Mimi, they’re better off as orphans. Helaena and Fosco can be their parents. Maybe they’ll have a fighting chance.”

The glass door opens, and a man walks into the Dairy Queen with his two sons scampering behind him, all with sandy flip flops and carrying fishing rods. The dad is at least six feet tall and brawny, and wearing a Wallace For President baseball cap. You and Aegon both notice it, then share an amused, disparaging glance. You mouth: Imbecile bigot. The man continues to the cash register and orders two chocolate shakes and a root beer float. At their own table, Criston is mopping up melted ice cream with napkins and telling Fosco to stop being such a pig.

“Me?!” Fosco says. “You are the pig, that spot there is your ice cream, do not blame your failings on poor Fosco. I have already let you drag me to this terrible state and never once complained about the fried food or the mosquitos. And that thing out there is not a real beach. The water is still and brown, brown!”

“For once in your life, pretend you have a work ethic and help me clean up the table.”

“You are being very anti-immigrant right now, do you know that?”

Aegon begins singing, ostensibly to himself. “Here’s to the state of Mississippi, for underneath her borders, the devil draws no lines.”

“Aegon, no,” you whisper, petrified. You know this song. You know where he’s going.

He’s beaming as he continues: “If you drag her muddy rivers, nameless bodies you will find.”

Now the man in the Wallace hat is looking at Aegon. His sons are happily gulping down their chocolate shakes. Criston and Fosco, still bickering, haven’t noticed yet.

“Oh, the fat trees of the forest have hid a thousand crimes.”

“Aegon, don’t,” you plead quietly. “He’ll murder you.”

“The calendar is lyin’ when it reads the present time.”

“Hey,” calls the man in the Wallace For President hat. “You got a problem, boy?”

Aegon drums his palms on the tabletop as he sings, loudly now: “Oh, here’s to the land you’ve torn out the heart of, Mississippi find yourself another country to be part of!”

In seconds, the man has crossed the room, grabbed Aegon by the collar of his t-shirt, yanked him out of his chair and struck him across the face: closed fist, lethal intent, the sick wet sound of bones on flesh. Aegon’s nose gushes, his lip splits open, but he isn’t flinching away, he isn’t afraid. He’s yowling like a rabid animal and clawing, kicking, swinging at the giant who’s ensnared him. You are screaming as you leap to your feet, your chair falling over and clattering on the floor behind you. The man’s sons are hooting joyously. “Git him, Paw!” one of them shouts.

“Criston?!” you shriek, but he and Fosco are already here, tugging at the man’s massive arms and beating on his back, trying to untangle him from Aegon.

“Stop!” Criston roars. “You don’t want to hurt him! He’s a Targaryen!”

“A Targaryen, huh?” the man says as he steps away, wiping the blood from his knuckles on his tattered white t-shirt, stained with fish guts. “All the better. I wish that bullet they put in Aemond woulda been just another inch to the left. Directly through the aorta.”

Aegon lunges at the man again, hissing, fists swinging. Fosco yanks him back.

“Are you gonna call someone or not?!” Criston snaps at the girl behind the cash register, but she only gives him a steely glare in return. This is Wallace country. There’s a reason why it took four years after the Civil Rights Act of 1964 to finally desegregate the beaches.

“We should go,” you tell Criston softly.

“Yes, we will leave now,” Fosco says, hauling Aegon towards the front door. Then, to the cashier: “Thank you for the ice cream, but it was not very good. If you are ever in Italy, try the gelato. You will learn so much.”

“I can’t wait ‘til November,” the man gloats, ominous, threatening. His sons are standing tall and proud beside him. “When Aemond loses, you can all cart your asses back to Europe. We don’t want you here. America ain’t for people like you.”

“It literally is,” you say, unable to stop yourself. “It’s on the Statue of Liberty.”

“Yeah, where do you think your ancestors came from?!” Aegon yells at the man. “Are you a Seminole, pal? I didn’t think so—!” Fosco and Criston lug him through the doorway before more punches can be thrown.

Outside—under stars and streetlights and a full moon—Aegon burst out laughing. This is when he feels alive; this is when the blood in his veins turns to wave and riptides. You didn’t think to grab napkins from the table, so you wipe the blood off his face with your bare hand, assessing the damage. He’ll be fine; swollen and sore, but fine.

“You’re insane, you know that?” you say. “You could have been killed.”

Aegon pats your cheek twice and grins, blood on his teeth. “The world would keep spinning, little Io.” Then he starts walking back towards the White House Hotel.

~~~~~~~~~~

When the four of you arrive at your suite, Aemond, Otto, Ludwika, and Alicent are still gathered around the television. The nannies have taken the children to bed. Helaena is reading The Bell Jar in an armchair in the corner of the room. Mimi is passed out on the couch, several empty glasses on the coffee table. ABC is showing a clip they recorded earlier today of Ludwika travelling with Aemond’s retinue after he made an impassioned speech condemning the lack of recognition of the evils of slavery at Beauvoir, the historic home of former Confederate president Jefferson Davis. The reporter is asking Ludwika what she thinks makes Aemond a better presidential candidate than Eugene McCarthy, as McCarthy shares many of the same policy positions and has an additional 15 years of political experience.

“This McCarthy is not a real man,” Ludwika responds, her face stony and mistrustful. “He reminds me of the communists back in my country. Did you know he met with Che Guevara in New York City a few years ago? Why would he do such a thing?”

Now, Otto turns to her in this hotel room. “I love you.”

Ludwika takes a sip of her martini. “I want another Gucci bag.”

“Yes, yes. Tomorrow, my dear.”

“What happened to you?” Aemond asks his brother, half-exasperated and half-concerned. Criston has fetched a washcloth from the bathroom for Aegon to hold against his bleeding lip and nose. Aemond is still wearing his blue suit from a long day of campaigning, but he’s taken out his eye and put on his eyepatch. His gaze flicks from Aegon’s face to the blood still coating your left hand. On the couch, Mimi’s bare foot twitches but she doesn’t wake up.

“There was a Wallace supporter at the Dairy Queen,” you say. “Aegon felt inspired to defend you.”

Aemond chuckles. “Did you win?” he asks Aegon.

“I would have if the guy wasn’t two of me.”

On the television screen, Richard Nixon is accepting his party’s nomination for president at the Republican National Convention in Miami, Florida.

“He’s a buffoon,” Otto sneers. “So awkward and undignified. Look at him sweating! Look at those ridiculous jowls! And he comes from nothing. His family is trash.”

“Americans love a rags to riches story,” you say. And then, somewhat randomly: “He loves his wife. He proposed to Pat on their very first date, and she said no. So he drove her to dates with other men for years until she finally reconsidered. He said it was love at first sight. He’s never had a mistress. And jowls or no jowls, his family adores him.”

Aegon turns to you, still clutching the washcloth against his face. “Really?”

You nod. “That’s the sort of thing the women talk about.”

There’s a knock at the door. You all look at each other, confounded; no one has ordered room service, no one is expecting any visitors, and the nannies have keys in the event of an emergency. Fosco is closest to the door, so he opens it. A man in uniform is standing there with a golden Western Union telegram in his hands. Alicent screams and collapses. Criston bolts to her.

“It’s okay,” you say. “He’s not dead. Whatever happened, Daeron’s not dead.”

Otto crinkles his brow at you. “How do you know?”

“Because if he was killed, there would be a priest here too.” They always send a priest when the boy is dead. Aegon glances at you, eyes wet and fearful.

“Ma’am,” the soldier—a major you see now, spotting the golden oak leaves—says to Alicent as he removes his cap. “I regret to inform you that your son Daeron was missing in action for several weeks, and we’ve just received confirmation that he’s being held as a prisoner of war in Hỏa Lò Prison.”

“He’s in the Hanoi Hilton?!” Otto exclaims. “Oh, fuck those people and their swamp, how did Kennedy ever think we had something to gain from getting tangled up in that mess?”

“But he’s alive?” Aemond says. “He’s unharmed?”

“Yes sir,” the captain replies. “It is our understanding that he is in good condition. The North Vietnamese are aware that he is a very valuable prisoner, like Admiral McCain’s son John. He’ll be used in negotiations. He is of far more use to them alive than dead.”

“So we can get Daeron back,” Aegon says. “I mean, we have to be able to, right? Aemond’s running for president, he’ll probably win in November, we have millions of dollars, we can spring one man out of some third-world jail, right?”

The captain continues: “Tomorrow when your family returns to New Jersey, the Joint Chiefs of Staff will be there to discuss next steps with you. I’m afraid I’m only authorized to give you the news as it was relayed to me.” He entrusts the telegram to Otto, who rapidly opens it and stares down at the mechanical typewriter words.

“I have to pray,” Alicent says suddenly. “Helaena, will you pray with me? There’s a Greek church down the road. Holy Trinity, I think it’s called.”

Obediently, Helaena joins her mother and follows her to the doorway. Criston leaves with them. Otto gives his new wife a harsh, meaningful stare. Ludwika, an ardent yet covert atheist, sighs irritably. “Wait. I want to pray too,” she says, and vanishes with them into the hall.

As the captain departs, Mimi sits up on the couch, blinking, groggy. “What? What happened?”

“Go with Alicent,” Otto tells her. “She’s headed downstairs.”

“What? Why…?”

“Just go!” he barks.

Mimi staggers to her feet and hobbles out of the hotel room, her sundress—patterned with forget-me-nots—billowing around her. The only people left are Otto, Aemond, Fosco, Aegon, and you. The fact that you are the sole woman permitted to remain here feels intentional.

After a moment, Otto speaks. “You know, John McCain has famously refused to be released from the Hanoi Hilton until all the men imprisoned before him have been freed. He doesn’t want special treatment. And that’s a very noble thing to do, don’t you think? It has endeared him and the McCains to the public.”

Aemond and Otto are looking at each other, communicating in a silent language not of letters or accents but colors: red ambition, green hunger, grey impassionate morality. Fosco is observing them uneasily. Aemond says at last: “Daeron wants to help this family.”

“You’re not going to try to get him out.” Aegon realizes.

Aemond turns to him, businesslike, vague distant sympathy. “It’s only until November.”

“No, you know people!” Aegon explodes. “You pick up the phone, you call in every favor, you get him out of there now! You have no idea if he has another three months, you don’t know what kind of shape he’s in! They could be dislocating his arms or chopping off his fingers right now, they could be starving him, they could be beating him, you can’t just leave him there!”

“It’s not your decision. It could have been, had you accepted your role as the eldest son. But you didn’t. So it’s my job to handle these things. You don’t get to hate me for making choices you were too cowardly too take responsibility for.”

“But Daeron could die,” Aegon says, his voice going brittle.

“Any of us could die. We’re in a very dangerous line of work. Greatness killed Lincoln, Garfield, McKinley, Huey Long, Medgar Evers, John F. Kennedy, Malcolm X, Vernon Dahmer, Martin Luther King Jr., does that mean we should all give up the fight? Of course not. The work isn’t finished. We have to keep going.”

“Will you stop pretending this is about America?! This is about you wanting to be president, and everything you’ve ever done has been in pursuit of that trophy, and you keep shoving new people into the line of fire and it’s not right!”

“Aegon,” Otto says calmly. “It’s unlikely we’d be able to get him out before the election anyway. Negotiations take time. But if Aemond wins in November, he’ll be in a very advantageous position. The North Vietnamese aren’t stupid. They wouldn’t kill the brother of a U.S. president. They don’t want their vile little corner of the world flattened by nukes.”

“Still, it feels so wrong to leave a brother in peril,” Fosco says. “It is unnatural. Of course Aegon will be upset. We could at least see what a deal to get Daeron released would entail, maybe his arrival home would be a good headline—”

“And who the fuck asked you?” Otto demands, and Fosco goes quiet.

“Okay, then tell Mom,” Aegon says to Aemond. “Tell her you’re going to pretend Daeron made some self-sacrificial vow not to come home until all the other POWs can too. Tell her you’re going to let him get tortured for a few months before you take this seriously.”

Aemond replies cooly: “Why would you want to upset her? She can’t change it. You’ll only make her suffering worse.”

“What do you think?” Otto asks you, and you know that he isn’t seeking counsel. He’s summoning you like a dog to perform a trick, like an actor to recite a line. He’s waiting for you to say that it’s a smart strategy, because it is. He’s waiting for you to bend to Aemond’s will as your station requires you to, as moons are bound to their planets.

“I think it’s wrong,” you murmur; and Aemond is thunderstruck by your treason.

Without another word, you walk into the bathroom, turn on the sink, and gaze down at Aegon’s blood on your palm. For some reason, it’s very difficult to bring yourself to wash it away.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s mid-August now, the world painted in goldenrod yellow and sky blue. The Democratic National Convention is in two weeks. You and Aemond are posing on the beach at Asteria, surrounded by an adoring gaggle of journalists who are snapping photographs and jotting down quotes on their notepads. You’re sitting demurely on a sand dune, you’re building sandcastles with the children you borrowed from Aegon and Helaena, you’re flying kites, you’re gazing confidently into the sunlit horizon where a glorious new age is surely dawning.

“Mr. Targaryen, what is it that makes your partnership so successful?” a journalist asks as flashbulbs pulse like lightning. “What do you think is the most crucial characteristic to have in a wife?”

Aemond doesn’t need to consider this before he answers. He always has his compliment picked out. “Loyalty,” your husband says. “Not just to me or to the Targaryen family, but to our shared cause. This year has been indescribably difficult for me and my wife. I announced my candidacy, we embarked on a strenuous national campaign that we’re currently only halfway through, I barely survived a brutal assassination attempt in May, in July we lost our first child to hyaline membrane disease after he was born six weeks prematurely, and at the beginning of this month we learned that my youngest brother Daeron was taken by the North Vietnamese as a prisoner of war. To find the strength not just to get out of bed in the morning, not just to be there for me and this family in our personal lives, but to tirelessly traverse the country with me inspiring Americans to believe in a better future…it’s absolutely remarkable. I’m in awe of her. And when she is the first lady of the United States, she will continue to amaze us all with her unwavering faith and dedication.”

There are whistles and cheers and strobing flashbulbs. You smile—elegant, soft, practiced—as Aemond rests a hand firmly on your waist. You lean into him, feeling out-of-place, bewildered that you’ve ever slept with him, full of dull panic that soon you’ll have to again.

“How about you, Mrs. Targaryen?” another reporter asks. “Same question, essentially. What is the trait that you most admire in your husband?”

And in the cascading clicks of photographs being captured, your mind goes entirely blank. You can think of so many other people—Aegon, Ari, Alicent, Daeron, Fosco, Cosmo—but not Aemond. It’s like you’ve blocked him out somehow, like he’s a sketch you erased. But you can’t hesitate. You can’t let the uncertainty read on your face. You begin speaking without knowing where you’re going, something that is rare for you. “Aemond is the most tenacious person I’ve ever met. When he has a goal in mind, nothing can stop him.” You pause, and there are a few awkward chuckles from the journalists. You swiftly recover. “He never stops learning. He always knows the right thing to do or say. And what he wants more than anything is to serve the American people. Aemond won’t disappoint you. He’s not capable of it. He will do whatever it takes to make this country more prosperous, more peaceful, and more free.”

There are applause and gracious thank yous, but Aemond gives you a look—just for a second, just long enough that you can catch it—that warns you to get it together. Fifteen minutes later, he and the flock of reporters are headed to one of the guest houses to conduct a long-form interview. This will be the bulk of the article; you will appear in one or two photos, you will supply a few quotes. The rest of the story is Aemond. You are an accessory, like a belt or a bracelet. He’s the person who picks you out of a drawer each morning and wears you until you go out of fashion.

Released from your obligations, you return to the main house and disappear into your upstairs bathroom. You are there for fifteen minutes and emerge rattled, routed. You pace aimlessly around your bedroom for a while, then try again; still no luck. You go back outside and stare blankly at the ocean, wondering what you’re going to do. Down on the beach, Fosco is teaching the kids how to yo-yo. Ludwika is sunbathing in a bikini.

“What’s wrong with you?”

You whirl to see Aegon, popping a Valium into his mouth and washing it down with a splash of straight rum from a coffee mug. “Huh? Nothing. I’m great.”

“No, something’s wrong. You look lost. You look like me.”

You gaze out over the ocean again, chewing your lower lip.

Aegon snickers, fascinated, sensing a scandal. “What did you do?”

Your eyes drift to him. “You can’t make fun of me.”

“Okay. I won’t.”

There is a long, heavy lull before you answer. When you speak, it’s all in a rush, like you can’t unburden yourself of the words fast enough. “I put a tampon in and I can’t get it out.”

Aegon immediately breaks his promise and cackles. “You did what?!” Then he tries to be serious. “Wait. Sorry. Uh, really?”

You’re on the verge of tears. “I’ve been bleeding since I had the baby, and I hate using tampons, I almost never do, but Aemond wanted me to wear this dress for the photoshoot and it’s super gauzy and from certain angles I felt like I could see the pad bulge when I checked in the mirror, so I put a tampon in for the first time in probably a year. I’m not even supposed to be using them for another few weeks because my uterus isn’t healed all the way or whatever. And now I can’t get it out and it’s been in there for like six hours and I’m scared I’m going to get an infection and die in the most pointless, humiliating way imaginable.”

“Okay, calm down, calm down,” Aegon says. “There’s no string?”

“No, I’ve checked multiple times. It must be a defective one and they forgot to put a string in it at the factory and I didn’t notice, or the string somehow got tucked under it, I don’t know, but I can’t get it out, it’s like…the angle isn’t right. I can just barely feel it with my fingertips, but I can’t grab it. I’m going to have to go to the hospital to get it taken out, but I’m scared word will spread and journalists will show up to get photos when I leave and then everyone will be asking me why I was at the emergency room to begin with and I’m going to have to make up something and…and…” You can’t talk anymore. There are other reasons why you don’t want to go to the hospital. You haven’t stepped foot in one since Ari died; the thought makes you feel like you are looking down to see blood on your thighs all over again, like you’ll never have enough air in your lungs.

“Did you bleed through it? Because that should help it slide out easier.”

“I don’t know,” you moan miserably. “I mean, I guess I did, because there was blood when I checked a few minutes ago. I had to stuff my underwear with toilet paper.”

“Why didn’t you just tell Aemond you couldn’t wear this dress?”

You give him an impatient glance. “I’m tired of having the same conversation.” When do you think you’ll be done bleeding? When do you think it’ll be time to start trying again?

Aegon sighs. “Do you want me to get it out for you?”

“Please stop. I’m really panicking here.”

“I’m not joking.”

You stare at him. “You can’t be serious.”

“I have fished many objects out of many orifices, you cannot shock me. I am unshockable.”

“I’d rather walk down to the sand right now and strangle myself with Fosco’s yo-yo.”

“Okay. So who are you gonna ask to drive you to the hospital?”

You hesitate.

“I’d offer to do it,” Aegon says, grinning, holding up his mug. “But I’m in no condition to drive.”

“But you are in the proper condition to extract a rogue tampon, huh?”

“Two minutes tops. That’s a guarantee. My personal best is fifteen seconds. And that was for a lost condom, much trickier to locate than a tampon.”

Perhaps paradoxically, the more you consider his offer, the more tempting it seems. No complicated trip and cover story? Over in just a few minutes? “If you ever tell anyone about this, I will never forgive you. I will hate you forever.”

Aegon taunts: “I thought you already hated me.”

You aren’t sure what you feel for him, but it’s certainly not hate. Not anymore. “Where would we do it?”

“In my office. And by that I mean my basement.”

“Your filthy, disease-ridden basement? On your shag carpet full of crabs?”

“You’re in luck,” he jokes. “My crab exterminator service just came by yesterday.”

You exhale in a low, despairing groan.

“Hey, would you rather do it on the dining room table? I’m game. Your choice.”

You watch the seagulls swooping in the afternoon air, the banners of sailboats on the glittering water. “Okay. The basement.”

You walk with Aegon to the house and—after ensuring that no one is around to notice—sneak with him down the creaking basement steps, the door locked behind you. Aegon is darting around; he sets a small trashcan by the carpet and tosses you two towels, then goes to wash his hands in his tiny bathroom, not nearly enough room for someone to stretch out across the linoleum floor.

You’re surveying the scene nervously. “I don’t want to get blood all over your stuff.”

“You’re the cleanest thing that’s ever been on that carpet. Lie down.”

You place one towel on the green shag carpet, then whisk off your panties, discard the bloody knot of toilet paper in the trashcan, and pull the skirt of your dress up around your waist so it’s out of the way. Then you sit down and drape the second towel over your thighs so you’re hidden from him, like you’re about to be examined by a doctor. Your heart is thumping, but you don’t exactly feel like you want to stop. It’s more exhilarating than fear, you think; it is forbidden, it is shameful, it is a microscopic betrayal of Aemond that he’ll never know about.

Aegon moseys out of the bathroom, flicking drops of water from his hands. He wears one of his usual counterculture uniforms: a frayed green army jacket with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, khaki shorts, tan moccasins. He kicks them off before he kneels on the shag carpet. He checks the clock on the wall. “2:07. I promised two minutes max. Let’s see how I do. Ready?”

You rest the back of your head on your linked hands, raise your knees, take a deep and unsteady breath. “Ready.”

But he can see that you’re shaking. “Hey,” Aegon says kindly, pressing his hand down on the towel so you’re covered. “Do you want me to go to the hospital with you? I’ll try to distract people. I’ll pretend I’m having a seizure or something.”

“No, I’m okay,” you insist. “I just want it out. I want this over with.”

“Got it.” And then he begins. He stares at the wall to his left, not looking at you, navigating by feel. You feel the pressure of two fingers, a stretching that is not entirely unpleasant. He’s warm and careful, strangely unobtrusive. Still, you suck in a breath and shift on the carpet. “Shh, shh, shh,” Aegon whispers, skimming his other hand up and down the inside of your thigh, and shiver like you’ve never felt before rolls backwards up the length of your spine. “Relax. You alright?”

“Fine. Totally fine.”

“Oh yeah, it’s definitely in there,” Aegon says. His brow is creased with comprehension. “No string…you’re right, it must either be tangled up somehow or it never had one to begin with. Maybe you accidentally inserted it upside down.”

“Now you insult my intelligence. As if I’m not embarrassed enough.”

“I should have put on a record to set the mood. What gets you going, Marvin Gaye? Elvis?”

“The seductive voice of Richard Milhous Nixon. Maybe you can get him on the phone.”

Aegon laughs hysterically. His fingertips push the tampon against your cervix and you yelp. “Sorry, sorry, my mistake,” Aegon says. There are beads of sweat on his forehead, on his temples; now his eyes are squeezed shut. “I’m gonna try to wiggle it out…”

As he works, there are sensations you can’t quite explain: a very slow-building indistinct desire, a loosening, a readying, a drop in your belly when you think about the fact that he’s the one touching you. Then he happens to press in just the right spot and there is a sudden pang of real pleasure—craving, aching, a deep red flare of previously unfathomable temptation—and you instinctively reach for him. You hand meets his forearm, and for the first time since he started Aegon looks at your face, alarmed, afraid that he’s hurt you again. But once your eyes meet you’re both trapped there, and you can’t pretend you’re not, his fingers still inside you, his pulse racing, a rivulet of sweat snaking down the side of his face, his eyes an opaque murky blue like water you’re desperate to claw your way into. You know what you want to tell him, but the words are impossible. Don’t stop. Come closer.

Aegon clears his throat, forces himself to look away, and at last dislodges the tampon. It appears dark and bloody in his grasp. “No string,” he confirms, holding it up and turning it so you can see. “Factory reject.”

“Just like you.”

He glances at the clock. “2:09. I delivered precisely what was promised.” He chucks the tampon into the trashcan and then grins as he helps pull you upright with his clean hand. “So do you like to cuddle afterwards, or…?”

You’re giggling, covering your flushed face. “Shut up.”

“Personally, I enjoy being ridden into the ground and then called a good boy.”

“Go away.” You nod to where he disposed of the tampon and say before stopping to think: “You’re not going to keep that under your ashtray too?”

Aegon freezes and blinks at you. He smiles slowly, cautiously. “No, I think that would be a little unorthodox, even for me.” He pitches you a clean washcloth from the bathroom closet. “That should get you upstairs.”

“Thanks.” You shove it between your legs and rise to your feet, smoothing the skirt of your dress. “I owe you something. I’m not sure what, but I’ll figure it out.”

“Hey,” Aegon says, and waits for you to turn to him. “Maybe I’m not that bad.”

“Maybe,” you agree thoughtfully.

Just before you hurry upstairs, you steal a glimpse of Aegon in the bathroom, the door kicked only half-closed. He has turned on the water, but he’s not using it yet. Aegon is staring down at the blood on his hand, half-dried scarlet impermanent ink.

~~~~~~~~~~

Hi, it’s me again. I’m in solitary confinement. There’s a guy in the cell next to mine; we talk to each other with a modified version of Morse code. Tap tap tap on the wall, he taps back, etcetera etcetera, you get the idea. You’re not going to believe this, but he says his name is John McCain. Well, actually, he told me his name is Jobm McCbin, but I think that’s because I translated the taps wrong. I might be in the Hanoi Hilton, but at least they have me in the VIP section! Hahaha.

Every few hours the guards show up to do a very impressive magic trick: they wave their batons like wands, I turn black and blue. Sometimes one of my teeth even disappears. Isn’t that something? Houdini would love it. There’s a rat that I’m making friends with. I give her nibbles of my stale bread, she gives me someone to talk to. She’s good company. I’ve named her Tessarion.

Allow me to make something absolutely fucking clear.

I would very much like to be rescued.

[endless-ineffabilities]

Maroon (part three)

modern!Aemond Targaryen x f!reader

You were standin' hollow-eyed in the hallway Carnations you had thought were roses, that's us

a/n: proposed ages of the characters in this series - Viserys (64), Daemon (55), Alicent (53), Rhaenyra (44), Aemond (26), Helaena (25), Daeron (22), Aegon (30), Lucerys (22), Jacaerys (25), Joffrey (15), Alys (35) ---- as much as I'd like to pretend this took 5 minutes... heh. The Math simply wasn't Mathing for a long while. Anywho, just thought I'd write this in since I've aged up the characters.

Also - with all the time I've spent on this fic, I've decided to ultimately restructure part three. So part four will cover the night of the Dragonstone ball, where it's all about to go down.

themes/warnings: angst!, mutual pining, jealous!Aemond, language, description of accident/injury, Aemond in his stalker era

word count: 8.7k

series masterlist ▪︎ main masterlist

Everything that occurs leading up to the Dragonstone ball - the outcome of the accident, Aemond struggling with his current state, and the reader left hoping for a love, that perhaps, never truly was.

Lucerys Velaryon has already garnered quite the reputation, at only 22 years old. 

A darling of the masses, everyone loved the young heir to Driftmark, a great company built by his grandfather, the notorious shipping tycoon, Corlys Velaryon.

But having the name Velaryon is a double-edged sword for Luke.

It only increases his privilege and prestige, already being a Targaryen on his mother’s side. Luke is set for life; he has everything he could ever need at his disposal. As a young boy, he has always enjoyed cars. Tinkering with them under the guidance of his father Laenor, as well as his uncle Daemon. Luke got himself into kart racing at the age of 9. Illegal street racing, much to his mother’s disappointment, at the age of 14. And just recently, he has been competing in Formula 2 division racing.

From the outside, he is just like any other boy. Apart from the fact that his family is literally worth billions, that is. 

But Luke has never been content. He has never been self-assured, borne out of the truth, one that everyone simply chooses not to mention, that Laenor Velaryon is not his true father. That he is a bastard, and therefore, not the rightful heir to Driftmark. He has always known this, despite his mother’s pleas otherwise. He knows this each time he hears the employees of Driftmark whisper amongst themselves after he passes by. Whenever he is invited to sit in the council meeting of the company, he feels his true status in how the shareholders disregard his opinions like he’s just some intern.

He grew up amidst the tension between himself and his brothers, and their young uncles, especially Aemond. When Aemond and Lucerys were growing up together, they simply did not learn to exist well around one another. Luke had bullied his young uncle long ago - an act of rebellion, of a boy growing up with resentment in his bones -  when Aemond had been weak and scrawny as a child. Aemond retaliated in kind; but he finally matured and found some inner calm in his mid-twenties. A year or two before you met him.

Luke's uneasiness has only worsened, now that he is nearly set to take his place on Driftmark. Since his family hails from Valyria, everyone expects them to uphold the tradition of only passing down inheritance to rightful heirs. Never bastard children or outliers.

But what the hell. Luke has never been one to follow the rules. His very existence does not abide by them, so why should he?

The night of the accident, Luke had to sit in yet another board meeting for the company. This time, Aemond was there too. Only he was treated as he should, being a Targaryen. Like someone capable, someone worthy. 

It should not have made any difference, really. Luke thought he was used to it all by now - the stares, the hushed whispers, the poorly masked scorn. They think Aegon or Aemond to be more competent. If the board had their way, it would not be Luke who would inherit Driftmark. Perhaps, his grandfather’s brother, Vaemond. Or hell, even his cousins Baela and Rhaena, though they never expressed any interest in the business.

Anyone but Luke.

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

As a child, Aemond Targaryen saw himself as some kind of a ghost. A spectre simply moving around his family, their company, their horde of sycophants. Not the first to be considered. Not the designated heir to anything. The second son of the owner and chief executive of Dragonstone, and his much younger, barely beloved second wife.

Once upon a time, his father Viserys had been well and truly happy. 

He was married to the love of his life, Aemma, and they had a lovely daughter who was loved by all due to her charm and fiery nature. 

When Aemma passed in childbirth, Viserys had been near inconsolable. But he could not remain so for very long. Soon enough, his board of trustees, his advisors, urged him to remarry. He did not have an heir yet after all, and as per tradition, he soon needed to have a son so that he might raise him to become the next CEO and owner of their business empire.

But Viserys decided to essentially bypass such tradition, for less than a year after his wife’s passing, he had publicly announced his only daughter as his successor. It did not matter what the board of trustees or the shareholders preferred. They may have considerable sway over the affairs of the company, but in the end, the word of Viserys prevails.

And so Aemond and his three siblings have been pushed to the periphery. Not that they ever stood a chance anyway. In the end, their father will always uphold his precious Rhaenyra over them. Their mother plays the part of a mere trophy wife, though she is a noble Hightower herself, having to feign contentment in spite of all the times she and her children are slighted. 

Aemond thought himself calmer now, and matured. Painstakingly made every effort to be far from that weak boy who had no place anywhere. He is still unsure if he likes the person that he is, and perhaps he never has. But he morphed - or masked - this self-loathing into an unfailing desire to do better, to be better. He’s always wanted more. And he has learned to be strong for his mother, his sister. Himself. 

And now, you. How unpredictable you had been, bursting into his life like the Dornish comet of ‘07. He knew early on that you liked him, sort of, with how your eyes would dart back and forth to his direction whenever he’s in the room. 

It made him uneasy, at first, when his looks developed in such a way that garnered him plenty of attention. The spectre of the city turned ‘Prince of the city’, a strapping young man who can have anyone he wishes. 

But, funnily enough, all those socialites, models, glorified urban princesses with millionaire parents, Aegon’s harem of traditionally near-perfect friends from Lys that he often offers - none of them ever stood a chance to you, his sister Helaena’s earnest, gentle, and quick-witted best friend. 

Aemond would be lying if he said he fell for you immediately. It would be far from his nature to do such a thing. But he had, slowly, found himself enveloped in your light, and only feeling warm, only feeling home - only feeling like he could truly love himself - when you look at him with those soul-piercing eyes of yours. Maybe he isn’t so bad after all, if you can see him in the way you do. And he trusts your judgement; when you profess to want him in turn,  then he must be worth more than he thinks.

But the night of the accident, his forsaken shadow seemed to envelop him like an old friend. One that he can never shake. His anger, his darkness. He had long buried the Aemond Targaryen who frequently got into fistfights. The Aemond who deliberately ordered the expulsion of certain people he simply did not like from the employ of their company. The Aemond who chose to openly mock the truth of his raven-haired cousins’ parentage.

That night, that Aemond resurfaced, and with dire consequences. 

The night of the accident, four months before the Dragonstone ball

The storm had begun just before the board meeting ended. Heavy rain spattered against the Driftmark tower, with the night sky illuminated by streaks of lightning.

Aemond and Lucerys were coming to a head at the council table, and the other members were having to intervene at multiple points, just to mitigate the rising tension. The storm brewing inside the young men’s hearts could easily rival the one threatening to flood the streets.

Lucerys repeatedly interrupted Aemond’s suggestions, having grown tired of his own being cast aside by everyone else. 

“Wait for your turn to speak, my Strong nephew.” Aemond smoothly countered when he did not get to finish addressing Vaemond Velaryon.

“I didn’t think what you were saying was particularly important, uncle.” Luke retaliated in kind.

“Hmm. Some things never change, it seems. You still don’t know your place.”

“My place will soon be the highest seat of Driftmark. And you will still be grandfather’s second son, a mere placeholder at Dragonstone.”

“Please, sirs,” the meeting director complained. “We must get on with more urgent matters.”

Aemond and Luke barely contribute for the remaining minutes, opting to glare and sneer at each other from across the table.

But their council tiffs would not end up being the most unpleasant occurrence for that night. As if the storm also cast its darkness over their reasoning, they soon found themselves racing towards Gods Eye.

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

It was meant to be a game. A show of bravado. Two young men, though in their depths still wounded boys, found themselves spewing offenses in an attempt to lower the other.

“You might inherit Driftmark, but everyone knows the truth, plain as day. You will always be a bastard.”

“Sure, but I am still more than you. What have you ever truly accomplished, uncle? Poor y/n, if she’s fallen for your tricks. Does she know who you truly are? She’s too bloody good for you.”

When Luke raised the challenge of racing to the edge of the cliff of Gods Eye, Aemond grasped at the opportunity to humiliate his nephew. To prove all of his claims to be wrong.

It might have been either one of them, or both, who deigned to edge their car close to the other’s, trying to veer it off course. Just a little nudge to make it spin out of the road.

But the turbulent weather was strong, causing mud and water to pool along the gravel. When the cars collided, Aemond’s took the brunt of the hit. Before he could even register the impact, his car was already spinning right towards the treeline. 

Luke had veered off road, his car rotating upside down. His right leg suffered from multiple fractures, including a busted knee cap.

But Aemond… 

His screams resounded despite the ceaseless pattering of rain, louder than even the roaring thunder overhead. A shard of glass had been wedged deep on one side of his face, splitting the flesh open. 

So much blood had pooled into his one remaining eye, that he feared he went entirely blind. The memory of your face flashed across his mind, and he despaired at the thought of never being able to see you again.

Later in the operating room, when the full extent of his injuries was delineated to him, Aemond thought that perhaps, it is you who would never want to see him again.

Why would you, with what has now become of his appearance?

Two months before the Dragonstone ball

You’re finding it hard not to keep tabs on Aemond, still asking Helaena every now and then if he’s really alright. To which she always responds with some version of “He’s okay. He just needs some time.”

Time. That’s fine. You suppose that the accident must have shaken him up, enough to cause him to go into hiding and to avoid everyone.

Unfortunately… painfully, including you. 

You find your mind drifting back to him every day - during your lectures, at work, at home, whenever you’re spending time with Helaena and you’re trying so hard to simply not just pester her about her brother. 

You think back to those secret moments you shared in crowded rooms, up in their penthouse, whenever Aegon would throw a party. Back then, you did not know one another yet, not really. But he would sit on the couch adjacent to yours, shoot you a smile, and silently keep you company while you wait for Helaena to return. He did so because he could sense that you were anxious, and that loud gatherings aren’t really your thing, as he revealed to you when you were… dating. As short of a time as that might have been. 

Gradually, you got to know him, in all those rare moments. His knowing, mischievous smiles. The subtitles nuances in his expression. His calculated manner of speaking.

You knew him, you had him, you lost him. Well, you do still know him - he is your friend, is he not? But it just as well could have been the end, the night of the accident. He has become a kind of spectre to you, leaving you yearning for what could have been. 

Weekends offer some respite from the whole ordeal of having to miss him. Your job at the bookstore allows you to just sit in silence, entertain customers once in a while, and bury your nose in your book-of-the-week.

Once in a while, a friend even drops by. This time, Jace burst through the entryway, bell chiming in his wake, beaming with a brown takeaway bag in one hand.

“Hey, stranger,” you put down your novel, and leave your post on the counter to greet your dear friend with a tight hug. Jace takes note of the fact that your smile doesn’t reach your eyes, and his spirits sink. But he immediately gets to work on making you feel better.

“I’d say you’re going to love me for this, but you probably do already,” he says, presenting you with the paper bag.

“Don’t be so sure,” you jokingly say, narrowing your eyes at him, before peering inside, hit with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and pastries.

You shrug, starting to dig in with no hesitation. “Actually, good of you to be sure.”

He laughs as you drop the bag on the counter, and rip it open to reveal all the goods. He takes his own coffee and leans closer to have a bite of the profiterole you eagerly wave in front of his face.

“Thanks,” you manage to puff out, with a mouthful of pastry. 

“Anytime, sweet.” Jace swallows, giving you a once over. “How are you holding up?”

It’s hard to act all nonchalant when he gives me those puppy-dog eyes. Jace’s innate sincerity almost makes you want to just cave in and vent all about Aemond.  “Nice of you to be concerned, but it’s not like I was the one who got into an accident.”

“I know, sassy, but I also know that you and Aemond were… you have seen him recently, no?” he asks, sounding certain of the answer to his question, which downright confuses you.

“No,” you shake your head. “Along with the rest of the city, I haven’t seen nor heard anything from him.”

“Really?” he remarks, incredulous.

“Come on, Jace,” you take a comforting sip of coffee, still warm. “You know this. He doesn’t want to see me.”

“Huh,” his head tilts back slightly as he mulls over your response. “It’s just…”

“What?”

“I could’ve sworn that was his car parked across the street. Right outside.” he says, jutting his thumb over his shoulder. You freeze, but your eyes are drawn straight toward the shop windows.

“That’s not - ,” That’s not possible, you want to say. But your feet already drag you to the edge of the shop, with Jace in tow. “Which one is his?” you ask, knowing Aemond’s got quite a few cars, privileged boy that he is. Your voice comes out in a hushed tone, as if you don’t want Aemond himself to hear. Ridiculous, you chide yourself, it probably isn’t even him.

“That silver Jaguar idling on the curb,” Jace answers, and you see it. Slantwise on the opposite side of the road, stopped right before the bus stop across the bookshop.

“Are you sure?”What the hell could he be here for? You didn’t want to admit it, but you feel the hope right in your bones. You want him here, of course. You want him to come see you.

“Yes,” Jace easily replies. “There’s only one vehicle in the city with that personalized plate."

Before you can stop yourself, you take a tentative step outside, hand still on the shop door.. I’m sure he can see me, if he’s really there.

The windows of the Jaguar have the darkest tint, making it nearly impossible to see inside. 

“That’s him,” Jace says from behind you. “He doesn’t let anyone else drive his cars. I even thought he was already inside the shop when I arrived.”

“Well shit,” you breathe, your heart racing in your chest. “What do I do?”

“What is he doing?”

“Fuck it.” You only manage to take a step forward on the sidewalk before the car roars to life, engine purring smoothly. Aemond maneuvers the car from its spot and leaves, driving right past you, a cloud of leaves and dust billowing all around.

“What the fuck?” Jace scoffs, thoughtfully waving his arm around to keep the dust from your face. “What is he on?”

“Aemond,” his name escapes your lips in a soft whisper. A silent plea that will never reach him, but you say it all the same. That it doesn’t matter to you, whatever state he is in after the accident. That even though he chose Alys over you, you can understand, or at least try to. He is still the same boy who captured your heart not so long ago. 

But why did he just leave? What is he so scared of?

“Come on,” Jace says, holding the door open for you. “Your coffee’s getting cold.”

When you go past the entryway, you turn on your heel and hang up the ‘On a break. Come back soon’ sign on the door. Sighing heavily, you shrug at Jace, “What a day, huh. You sure know how to bring drama with you.”

Jace only smiles, well-used to your banter, “How is this my fault?”

“I dunno,” you raise your hands, and walk back to the counter. You’re not sure how you feel at the moment - anxious, worried, disappointed? It’s all up in a haze since Aemond suspiciously drove off, and so, you can’t control the flood of dry sarcasm spilling out of you. Like some kind of coping mechanism. “You must have called Aemond here, so you two can drive my poor heart into a frenzy. Like I don’t already have a lot on my plate.”

“Oh yeah, definitely.” Jace slowly nods, playing along. “Aemond hasn’t even spoken to me since everything went down. But I definitely sought him out today, and definitely forced him to watch you from out there in his car like some obsessed creep.”

“I knew it!”

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

Fifteen minutes into your impromptu break, the tone has lightened to some degree, and you sit at a corner table with Jace, sipping the remains of your coffee.

After a lot more banter, and catching up about Luke, Joff, and the rest of his family - those who can still tolerate your presence,that is - Jace finds you staring blankly at a bookshelf. “Hey,” he says, “I don’t think my uncle is hiding in between those books.”

“Ha-ha.”

“Anyway, enough about him, eh?” Jace offers, taking your hand from across the table. “I actually wanted to ask you something.”

You squeeze his hand in return, staring back into his doe brown eyes, “Yeah?”

“Seeing as Aemond isn’t taking you to the Dragonstone ball,” he pauses, gauging your reaction. He decides that it’s all good when you remain impassive, “How would you like to come with me instead? I did mean to ask you, you know, but dear uncle beat me to it.”

“Oh.” Your hand loosens around his a bit, as you take in his words. “Well, I mean I would love to but - ”

Jace adds quickly, as if he is already reading the thoughts whirring through your mind. “No pretenses about it, I assure you. I’m not expecting anything else. Just that you honour me by being my partner to the ball.”

“Mmm,” your shoulders relax, and you find yourself smiling at Jace’s heartfelt nature. One that immediately warmed you to him when you first met. “Partners, huh?”

His tongue makes a clicking sound in confirmation. “What do you say?” 

“Jace,” you start, weighing the options in your mind. “I would go with you, of course - ”

“That settles it then.”

“- but I just… I don’t know, if… Aemond does not want to see me, maybe I shouldn’t just show up at the ball?”

Jace rolls his eyes, “He doesn’t own the bloody ball, you know. He can’t control whether you come or not.” He leans in, voice lowering like he’s sharing a devious ploy, “Besides, if he doesn’t want to see you, then why would he be loitering across the street simply to watch you through the shop windows? Let’s be real now, eh?”

Fair point. You reply, “Far be it from me to know what he’s up to.”

“So come to the ball with me and ask him yourself. I’ll even back you up. With my own pitchfork and everything.” The way his eyes blaze in excitement sparks something in you. Being around Jace is always fun, like you’re free to do anything - you could even cause any kind of trouble and he would only be cheering you on. 

If only… if only you liked him the way you do a certain someone, then you might actually have a greater sense of calm. Your self-doubt might be assuaged, your days brighter. 

But no. It is Aemond who fills your wandering thoughts. Aemond who haunts your sleepless nights. It was him who nearly made your heart stop that night on their rooftop, who laughed with you and held you close when you were a fumbling, wine-stained mess. 

Perhaps unfortunately so… it is Aemond whom you love.

That realization makes you straighten in your seat, scaring some sense back into you. Fuck, what am I even thinking? It’s Jace right in front of me. Jace who is asking me to the ball. 

“You got yourself a deal, mister,” you playfully hold your hand out for him to shake.

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

Later that night, the Targaryen penthouse in the Crownlands Tower is relatively quiet. Most of the family is away, save for Helaena, their housekeeper Talia…

… and Aemond, who sits in front of his desk, staring at the object atop it which is aglow under lamplight. His eye drifts to the metal surface of the lampshade itself, and he sees it. A scar stretched from his forehead to his cheekbone, with its edges tinged with maroon. 

Revolting. It’ll take some time to heal, they all say. Well it’s been two long fucking months, and it doesn’t feel any better. Nothing feels right.

It isn’t fair, his mother wailed upon seeing him. None of this is. It was the rogue Lucerys’ fault, she insisted, for egging Aemond to go on a damned speed chase in the middle of fucking storm.

His father Viserys merely appraised him for a long moment, before mumbling something that sounded like, “I am sorry this happened, but you’ll be alright”. Then to his mother, “Lucerys is injured as well. This is what they’ve always done, as you know. Luke and Aemond don’t really get along but they’re grown now.”

He added with a warning gaze to Aemond, “They have to learn to be civil to one another. We are all family, after all.”

“Family,” Alicent spat the word like a curse. “Family should not be the cause of grievous harm.”

Aemond remembers the shrug that Viserys did. It is a gesture he has seen endlessly, it might even be the first thing he remembers of his father. All of his pains, and his achievements will always be met with a nonchalant gesture. Some father he is.

There’s only one thing that would make Aemond feel better in this moment, and even that, he cannot allow himself to have. He shall not present himself, this self, to you. He looks at his reflection and he hates what he sees. Perhaps he always has. But he also learned to love himself around you. How easy it can be, like second nature. 

Maybe he was drawn to the fact that you are not from his world, with all its intrigue and playacting. How you choose not to perceive status as a tool, and how you can be kind to anyone. You, the girl who always keeps a book in her bag, even at parties, even if she most likely won’t have time to read it. Just in case, you had said, you never know. You, though very well-mannered, called one of Helaena’s so-called friends a “spoiled cunt”, when you heard her making nasty jokes at Helaena’s expense behind her back.

“Sorry you had to hear that,” you had said to Aemond in a grumbling tone, still quite irate, when you found out that he was just in the library adjacent to their living room. “They were just being so… so…”

“Fucking rude?” he finished your thought, his dimples showing in amusement when your eyes widened. “Don’t worry, doll. Maybe I would have done the same. Though that Beatrice would never say shit about Helaena in front of me, seeing as she tried to claw off my jacket once. Her fake nail got caught in the leather. Her attempt at seduction, I suppose.”

Your mouth fell open, then closed once more. You were at a loss. Your blood was just boiling at having to confront Beatrice, who has thankfully left the penthouse, and now Aemond is standing in front of you. Aemond, sharing some story, in good humour. About some girl trying to get with him, and failing. Later on, you will find yourself jumping in frustration in your living room, thinking how in the hell your mind must have short-circuited because you responded with, “It’s a good thing I keep my fingernails trimmed and plain then.”

It was Aemond's turn to stand there, lips parted in surprise at your sudden show of audacity. Where has this girl been hiding all this time? Or has she always been this way? Then your face morphs into one of shock, and you remain still, waiting for some other pin to drop. Something to distract Aemond so you can mumble some excuse and run away. Aemond observes the minute changes in your expression, like you’re struggling to get your bearings, and he finds it all endearing.

Suddenly, the door you had been leaning against is pried open, making you take a step closer to Aemond. An unruly, blonde mop of hair that can only belong to Aegon pokes itself inside, “What are you nerds doing in the damn library?”, then he turns on his heel letting the door slowly close on its hinges, “Never mind, I’m gonna get a drink!”

At the exact same time, you and Aemond burst out in a fit of laughter, the pure and melodic sound of it echoing throughout the room. The very first time that Aemond witnessed you laughing freely in front of him, and his thoughts would later drift back to this moment. To the way your eyes lit up, how your teeth clamped down on your bottom lip to keep from laughing harder, and how your dainty hand clasped his forearm, holding on to him for a while.

He did not know then, not yet at least, that he had started falling for you.

When your desire had become apparent, you did not attempt to cross a line. Correctly inferring that Aemond valued his solitude, you became content with admiring him from afar, treasuring every small interaction. 

Everyone keeps remarking at how different he is around you, and maybe you do not realize the truth of their claims, because you had never seen him… like this. So broken. His mask of composure torn to shreds.

No longer the caring, attentive, and self-assured Aemond you claimed to desire. 

“Aemond?” Helaena's voice drifts from his door, which is opened narrowly. She silently lets herself inside when he does not respond.

“Care for some dinner?” she asks, her gentle voice almost breaking through Aemond’s resolve. Perhaps it might have been able to, but not anymore.

“No, I’m not hungry.” Aemond answers, barely audible.

“Right.” Helaena doesn’t press further; she knows that nothing will shake her brother while he’s in such a state, so she tries to bring up something else. Something that might get his attention. “So, I, uh… y/n just called me.”

Helaena notices Aemond slightly tense up at the mention of your name. So that’s what it takes, she thinks.

“Aemond,” she steps closer, now standing beside his chair. “Why were you outside the bookstore where she works?”

Aemond shuts his eyes. Of course you had seen him. And he saw you, clear as day. Beautiful as ever. With bloody Jace right next to you, laughing while sharing some coffee he had brought. 

“She misses you, you know,” Helaena says, and the words drive straight through Aemond’s heart. “I really think you just should speak to her.”

“Hmm.”

“What are you even afraid of?”

A long pause, as Helaena waits for a reply. Fidgeting with the edge of her sweater, she begins to say something more, when Aemond finally says, in a muffled, reluctant tone, “She deserves better.”

“Of course she does!” Helaena perches on the edge of Aemond’s desk, and his eye drifts over her for just a second, before looking down at the object again. “So call her and - ”

“Better than me.” Aemond clarifies, croaking the final word as if in pain.

“Oh, Aemond.” Helaena’s lifts an arm in an attempt to offer comfort, but Aemond instinctively flinches.

“No.” He breathes. “I can’t.”

Helaena nods in understanding, though her heart aches at the sight of her brother like this. She looks to the side, and sees the journal-seeming object sitting on his brother’s desk. The thing he seems to be staring at. 

Helaena lets her fingers run over the smooth forest green cover, and she instantly recognizes it to be Valyrian leather. A rare commodity, so this must not be just any ordinary journal.

“May I?” she whispers, to which her brother shrugs in response.

She gently pries open the leather clasp, and she sees a dedication on the first page, in a swooping scrawl that can only be Aemond’s. Some special ink was used, staining the page with a deep shade of maroon. It reads in High Valyrian, their native language - Ñuha prūmia iksis aōhon.

“I meant to give that to her… before…”

My heart is yours.

“Aemond-” Helaena mutters, her mind stuck on the words, and she knows exactly who they are meant for.

Aemond abruptly rises from his seat, and puts on his black coat, “Just put that back where you found it.” Reaching for something else on his desk, he puts it on his face to conceal his deformity.

Before her brother reaches the door, Helaena manages to voice out, “Where are you going?”

“Away.”

Two weeks before the Dragonstone ball

The accident finally seems to have departed from the mainstream, turning into fodder for small talk as all sensational news pieces do. 

Unsurprisingly, despite the tragic event, excitement abounds. The city is buzzing in anticipation. Everyone is already poring over the main list of attendees which has been made public online. You only glanced at it once to confirm that you are on the list as Jace’s partner, but something else catches your attention. You immediately close the tab in your browser after you read - Aemond Targaryen - and across from his name, as his designated partner - Alys Rivers.

“For fuck’s sake,” you sigh, biting your lip. You opt to open Youtube, but immediately your homepage reminds you of your recent activities. Not stalking, no. Just some curious research. Aemond has never been one to give interviews. That’s more in Aegon’s wheelhouse. Daeron especially, since he also works as a model, gracing the front cover of Vogue thrice already at only 22. 

When Aegon graces the headlines, it’s most likely due to some disorderly conduct at a high-class party or a local dive bar. True to his brand, there is no in-between when it comes to Aegon. It’s either go big or go home. Which usually means he ends up drunk on the sidewalk, having to call Aemond to pick him up and give him a ride without letting their parents know.

But they always find out, of course. It’s hard to be discreet when you’re one of the most recognizable faces in the country.

As for Aemond, you’ve always found it hard to find even a single crumb of him from the internet. Save for a couple of sightings, including those of him and Alys Rivers, and clippings from the few times when he would speak in press conferences on behalf of Dragonstone. But even those were kept mostly private, and not freely available on Youtube. 

As it happens, there have been some rumours of Aemond allegedly coming into blows with the Duke of Lannister and his entourage, after humiliating the man’s sister. Onlookers claimed that they saw the poor girl coming onto Aemond at some party in Pentos, flirting with him. Apparently, he was far from welcoming of her affections. There were some pictures of the fight, or at least, that’s what people say. You were not in the loop when the news spread, sitting through a lecture. Any trace of such pictures quickly vanished from the internet. The Targaryens are always on the lookout to protect their precious image, but they’ve never done anything so methodical when it comes to such occurrences, such as Aegon’s countless mishaps. 

Aemond does have an Instagram profile. You asked him about it once, ages ago, even before your brief - what would you call it… Tryst? Dating period? Well, whatever it was, it’s all done for now.

“Was it your idea to have a profile anyway?” you asked him, after he had playfully teased you about stalking him. That was the only verified account of Aemond’s that you found, complete with the blue tick. His profile was empty, and the following list was at a whopping zero. Though of course, he had about 3.7 million followers, just waiting for the moment that he would choose to do anything on the site.

“Yeah, I suppose.” Aemond looked down and smiled, and you did not know it, but he found himself feeling warm due to the interest you were giving him. He’s confident about nearly everything, but when on the receiving end of attention from the woman he secretly longed for, he felt almost shy. “It was mostly due to the fact that I wanted to have one sole verified account online. I’ve heard talks of impersonators sending people messages and all that. Fucking annoying.”

“Ah, yeah.” You did not tell him, of course, but you knew of those fake accounts, having clicked on several slightly convincing ones to see if they were actually his. But none of them matched. You found yourself muttering, “He would never post that.”

“Didn’t hurt that I got to look through your pictures, too, love.” He smirked then, regaining his confidence. 

You nearly melted into a puddle on the fancy designer-carpeted floors of their apartment, right then and there.

That doesn’t matter now. You sigh, slamming your laptop shut. Instead you choose to dramatically jump onto your bed and growl your frustrations out onto a pillow. 

You roll over, amused at the whole thing. The digital alarm clock Helaena gave you reads 6:32 pm, it’s a Friday night, and you’re left with nothing to do. You’ve already finished the majority of your exams, and for the next month or two, you’re free to go on holiday and do whatever you wish.

But what? You finally decide to give Helaena a call, and reach for your phone on the nightstand. But right then, it lights up. ‘Hel’s Bells’ is calling you. An inside joke the two of you came up with about a week after you met.

“Speak of the devil,” you smile, and press accept. “Hel! I hope you’re just about as bored as I am.”

She laughs on the other end, “I don’t even have time to be bored. Mother has us doing all these preparations for the ball.”

“Do you need any help? I’m no expert at pomp and pageantry but I’ll do my best.” She had just stayed at your apartment a few nights ago for a sleepover, and you noticed that she was careful when mentioning anything about the ball. Trying not to stray into Aemond and Alys territory for your sake, you assumed.

“Sure, come over whenever you want. I don’t really have any idea what it’s all for, but hey, at least we get to put on fancy dresses and look pretty.”

“Oh, you always look pretty,” you say sincerely. 

“Thank you, doll,” she says, before sighing dramatically. “Anyway, I actually called to tell you something. You’re going to come over to our place on Sunday night. We’re throwing a little party.”

“A party, huh.” Will Aemond be there, you wanted to ask, but held back. 

You haven’t seen him for the last three months, after the fateful night of the accident. There was that incident when he parked outside the bookstore, but it was barely anything. 

Word on the street is that the ‘Prince of the city’ had gone into hiding, as comical as that sounds to you. For what exactly? There has been speculation - perhaps he was left horribly disfigured from the accident, which is also why there isn’t any trace of the alleged pictures taken of him in Pentos. But Helaena immediately dissuaded that notion. My brother is not disfigured, she insisted when you brought it up, he’s simply recovering.

If Aemond wants to keep things to himself, then he has the right to do so. He would tell you if he wanted. Call you, send you a message. Anything. 

“A party,” Helaena repeats. “It’ll be for our inner circle. Which includes you, of course. A little prequel to the ball, so everyone can catch up with each other.”

“Aegon’s idea?” you guessed with a wry smile. 

“There might be a direct correlation there, yeah,” Helaena laughs. “Anyway, come over! Since you’re coming with Jace to the ball, then we have to plan everything for you, too! What colour dress do you want to wear? Well, there is a theme but we’ll work with that. Mum assigned a stylist and hairdresser for me, which means they’re for you too and - ”

“Hel, I don’t really need - ”

Then she says something that puts a stop to your protest. “Oh, Aemond won’t know what’ll hit him.”

“Huh.” The thought of seeing Aemond again gives you a surge of excitement. And nervousness. Your yearning for him reawakens, but it never truly left.

Having made her point, Helaena knows she’s got you hook, line and sinker. “I’ll expect you in the next hour.”

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

Sunday came rolling over soon enough, and the party at the Targaryen penthouse is well under way.

The ballroom on the 2nd floor is packed, filled with people whom you either don’t know or barely recognize. Of course, it wouldn’t be complete without some snooty heirs and heiresses who would openly regard you with what could be confusion or derision. Until a Targaryen or Velaryon would approach you and eagerly whisk you away in conversation.

“Who is she?” you hear someone say when Jace takes your hand and directs you to sit on the couch with him and Daeron. “Why is Jace so close to her? And what on earth is she wearing?”

Unfazed by it all, and already used to such comments, you smile sweetly in that girl’s direction and greet her with a friendly, “Hi, how are you doing?”, without giving her a chance to respond.

Jace watches the exchange proudly. As you sit down, he says, “Aegon invited her, I think. I don’t really know, I don’t like her much.”

“How come?” you jest. “You two have so much in common. Heirs to the kingdom and all that.” Your sarcasm again comes out of you in waves, trying to temper your nerves. You look around the room, though it is not the first time you’ve scanned through everything. 

“I’d much prefer your company,” Jace easily says, then notices your divided attention. “He isn’t here.”

In a transparent attempt at surprise, you ask,“Who?”

Daeron overhears the exchange, after his friend stands up to get a drink. “Aemond’s not here, y/n. At least I haven’t seen him. Last I heard he was holed up in our holiday estate in Pentos.”

“Oh.” Your face visibly falls. You didn’t know what to expect, really. Of course Aemond would  not just show up at this party after avoiding everyone for too long.

“He will be at the Dragonstone ball though,” Daeron pats your knee in sympathy. “He might be going through some shit, but mum would lynch him if he misses that event.”

Jace and Daeron continue to look at you, seeing if they need to offer more comfort, and you can’t stand it. “Alright, you two. Thanks for… I don’t know… but this is a party! We should just go and have fun. No need to be concerned about me and…” You choke up at his name, negating your false show of indifference. 

“Okay,” Jace says, saving you from saying anything further. “How about I get you a drink, hmm?”

“Yeah,” you say, but something crosses your mind. You stand at the same time as Jace, grabbing his arm, “Actually, I’ll go get some air first.”

“Are you alright?” This time, Jace’s sincere gaze is not enough to distract you from that familiar gnawing ache.

“I am,” you smile placatingly. “I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

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

Aemond Targaryen, contrary to what everyone in the party believes, is no longer wasting his days in Pentos. 

He had slipped back into the city earlier that night, and in the safety of their 7-floor penthouse. Right in time for the revelry. He has no intention of making an appearance, but when Helaena let it slip that you would be attending, he could not help himself.

The fact that you would be under the same roof was enough to get Aemond to scurry back home. While he might not be ready to show himself just yet, there are methods which allow him to see you. Watch you.

Helaena would probably smack him upside the head, if she found out. That not only had Aemond come back without telling her, but also that he is watching her friend through the CCTV cameras littered throughout the penthouse. 

Perhaps it is unsavoury, and you might cross your arms and huff at him if you found out. Oh, what I would give to see that in person. But he’ll take what he can get. Do what he must. To still have you, still see you. 

His left knuckle is taut, still bandaged and bruised from his recent activities. Luckily, the stitches on his face had not come loose and the medical treatment his mother is putting him through has done considerable wonders. What would you think, I wonder, if you saw me like this, my love.

His laptop is propped up on his desk, right next to the green journal he means to give you. On the screen, he watches as you trail Helaena for a while. As you sit alone, watching everything unfold. As Jace comes for you, and you sit together on a couch. Too close. Too comfortable for Aemond’s liking. Is something going on between you and my fucking Strong nephew? 

When news reached him that you would be coming to the ball with Jace, Aemond had broken something. He can barely remember what it was, just the sound of it shattering against the wall. A wine bottle? A vase? A mirror? Whatever it was sent his company fleeing from their table, and Criston had rushed forward to make sure that he wasn’t harmed.

Aemond glares at the screen you walk after Jace and whisper something close to his ear. 

Jace regards you for a long while. He better not…

But then you nod and smile, stepping away from him. Aemond finds himself breathing a sigh of relief, predictably, and he almost snorts at his own reaction. 

You walk out of the ballroom, and Aemond has to switch between cameras to follow your path. You pause down the hallway, and lean next to the wall.

What are you doing, ñuha jorrāelagon?

Seemingly decided on something, you swing the door to the staircase, forgoing the elevator. The cameras on each landing track you as you continue to climb upward, panting slightly when you finally reach the entrance to the rooftop.

You take slow, sure steps toward the golden railing. For a moment, you just stand there, seemingly watching the city below.

I have to see you. I have to try. In a split decision, Aemond slinkers out of his room, the party below still unaware of his presence. 

Then he heads up the flight of stairs as you had done, feeling more apprehensive with each step. What do I even say to you? Do you still want to see me? He finally reaches the final landing, and heart in his throat, he pries the door open as silently as possible.

You no longer stand at the railing. Instead, he spies you sitting on the plush seat the two of you shared on that one night. Facing away from the entrance, looking up at the stars. 

Aemond knows that isn’t as it was before. He cannot simply approach you and watch as your eyes immediately welcome the sight of him. It’s not the same, and it is all his fault. He wonders if your heart might still race because of him, or will it have become cold, after all this time?

He draws closer, with each footstep uncertain. But your pull is stronger, taking precedence over all of his worries. 

“I miss you,” is all he can bring himself to say, throwing caution to the wind. You freeze at the sound of his voice. 

Then a shiver runs up his spine as it dawns on him - in his haste to see you, he left his eyepatch in his room below.

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

I must be dreaming. The hairs along your arms stand in your shock, and you keep both hands flat on the seat to keep you steady. 

Is it… You start to turn back, but cease all movement when Aemond pleads, “Don’t. Please don’t turn around.”

“Aemond?” your voice is shaky, and you feel a tear threaten to escape. “They said… we all thought…”

“They do not know that I am back yet,” he answers. “Just you.”

“Oh.” Your head is still turned to the side, and you have to fight the urge to simply rise from your seat and face him. You exhale, trying to calm down. When that doesn’t work, you lean back against the seat, and force yourself to count the windows on the building down the road. 

6… 7… 8… 

But the sudden feeling of his hands on your shoulders makes you lose all train of thought.

“Did you miss me?” Aemond asks, standing right behind your seat now, his sweater grazing the back of your head.

Your mind is flooded with thoughts of all that happened between the two of you - the beginning, the brief affair, the end. Is it the end? 

Answer him. “Did I miss you?” you bite your lip, and your brows scrunch in frustration. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

Your expletive makes Aemond take a step back. “I-I’m sorry…”

“I’ve been so worried about you, Aemond!” Your hands bunch up into fists beside you. You did not realize you had all this pent up anger, with the past few months being spent pining. Longing. Yearning. Like some silly little fool. When he didn’t even make any effort to reach out to you, and the most you got from him was that episode outside the bookstore.

“Oh yeah, and what the hell were you doing outside my place of work?” you stand then, and lean against the railing in front of you, careful not to turn and catch a glimpse of him. “You wanted to speak to me? Well, why didn’t you just do that?” You can feel your erratic heartbeat pounding in your chest, and for a moment you become afraid that it might just stop altogether. 

“I did want to speak to you. To see you.” Aemond sighs heavily. “I always want to see you, my darling. You’re all I’ve ever thought about since - ”

“Yeah, right. I bet you did.” You threw the offhand accusation over your shoulder.

“I did,” Aemond swears. “I miss you every day, I -”

His voice is softer than before, and kind of nervous. Your resolve is at risk of breaking, because… Why does Aemond sound… broken?

He finishes, “I just needed some time.”

There are so many more that you want to ask him - What really happened in that accident? Where have you been all this time? What is going on with you and Alys? Where do we truly stand?

But instead you mutter the one thing you are most certain of, “I miss you too.”

Aemond breathes a sigh of relief. He moves to stand behind you, and steps closer. 

Closer. You don’t dare move a muscle, because you just might turn around and forget about his request. He moves closer, until his chest is pressed against you from behind. Closer, until his hands squeeze both of yours on the railing.

You feel Aemond rest his face on your shoulder, inhaling deeply. At this point, he is practically enveloping you. Each breath he takes warms your neck. His thumbs run over your knuckles, and he says, “Are you still angry at me?”

“Should I be?” You lean your head back to rest on his right shoulder. From the corner of your eye, he looks as he always has. Almost ethereal, with his silver-blonde Targaryen hair and sharp, defined features. 

Aemond moves his head slightly toward the left, careful not to reveal the ruined side to you, when he feels your wandering gaze. 

“Please don’t be angry with me,” he pleads. You hum in affirmation, and in a lower voice, he purrs, “Close your eyes, darling.”

You try to ask why, but then you feel his lips lightly press against the nook between your neck and your shoulders. Your eyes flutter shut on their own goddamn volition.

His mouth parts even more, before coming down once again and nipping at your skin. His arms wrap themselves around your waist, and his hold tightens until your entire body is flush against him.

Still, you haven’t seen all of him. 

Your hand reaches up to touch him, and your fingertips graze the side of his face. When your thumb runs over a bit of what must be raised flesh, like some partially healed lesion, Aemond jumps away. At once, you feel the cool evening air hit you, the warmth of his embrace having gone.

“What is - ” you start to ask.

“It’s nothing.”

“Aemond…” you hesitate. What could possibly be so terrible, he won’t even allow me to look at him? “If anything happened to the way you look… it wouldn’t matter to me. You would still be the same boy that I lo - ” The words hitch in your throat, their sentiment heavier than anything you’ve ever said. 

Everything is at a standstill. Aemond does not say a single word, but you know that he understood what you were trying to say. He must.

And how can I even gauge his reaction when I can’t even look at him?

“Aemond?” 

Much to your surprise, his voice is already farther away when he responds with a hurried, “I’ll see you at the ball.” 

You swiftly turn around in your disbelief. Did he just fucking leave? 

The door to the penthouse shuts behind him, and you are left dumbfounded at his actions. The old Aemond would have never done that to you, but what do you know?

Perhaps my Aemond is truly gone.

The ball is coming up next!!! Reader may finally learn to let go of Aemond, or at least give him what he wants - a whole lot of space and time.

Also, reminder - Aemond's injury is still pretty fresh, considering the damage. So no, he hasn't stuck a sapphire in there yet. Imagine how little Aemond looked in episode 7, with angry stitches running down his face, but a bit more healed. His eye socket is still sewn shut, and it still causes him much pain, so go easy on our boy, y'all.

taglist still has some spots left! I've managed to continue it in the comments 🖤

and I would LOVE to hear your thoughts on this, and what you're hoping to read in the next part!!!

Series taglist: @caught-in-the-afterglow @aemondtargaryensrider @punggo66 @dollfaceyourfear @candypurplebutterfly @moonmaiden1996 @mxrgodsstuff @lolitaisreal @blue-serendipity @melsunshine @thejanecampaign @fxngsfxgxrty @padfooteyes @msmarvel-19 @tempo-rary-fix @lauraneedstochill @julczimozart @sarcasticfangirl @witchyvik @pyjama-shorts @bellaisasleep @zillahvathek @thincrusttheworks @krispold @yougotthatlove @raging-panda @fleetingly-artistic @throughgoeshamilton @polireader @katsav17 @minttea07 @kravitzwhore @meggiemay82 @hedonefox @daenysx @schniiipsel @namoreno @afro-hispwriter @aemondswifeisme @emcharra @malfoytargaryen @iiamthehybrid @fullmetalriotts @kellzlib @justsumtuffstuff @daydreamy-me @yentroucnagol @kezibear @queenofshinigamis @paprikaquinn

[mouwrites]

Heyy I love yourrr writing soo muchhh and I wanted to ask if you could write a Kyle x y/n like the first moment when Kyle is going to have a crush on her 😍I would love that !!

I’m very glad you like my writing!! Here you go!

Word count: 682

South Park - Kyle Falls for You

You were totally lost. The numbers on the whiteboard might as well have been in another language; you couldn’t make anything of them, despite your valiant efforts to follow along throughout the entire class period.

You sighed, slumping forward in defeat. You rested your head on your palm, tilting it slightly to the side as you eased into the pose.

Your eyes landed on the paper next to your own. You idly watched the pencil scribble numbers down rapidly, circling one number in particular.

The teacher loudly announced the answer. It was the same number that your neighbor had circled on the page.

In a burst of shock (and perhaps a little frustration) you exclaimed:

“How did you do that?!”

You felt your cheeks turn pink. Luckily it wasn’t loud enough for the whole class to hear, but unfortunately it was loud enough to reach this brainiac’s ears.

To your surprise, he started talking back. “Oh, I just used the formula. You find the a and the b by looking at the dimensions of the shape…”

Quickly blinking away your initial shock, you followed along with his explanation. It actually made more sense than anything the teacher had been saying for the past hour, and, trying it yourself, you were able to get the same answer!

“Ha!” You beamed at your page. Then you turned your smile to your benefactor. “Thanks!”

He barely even looked at you. He just bobbed his head in acknowledgement, returning to his own work. You were too happy to interpret this as rudeness, so you went to your own work gratefully.

Kyle twisted the lock on his locker, carefully inputting the combination to unlock it. But the second he removed the lock, the door flew open on its own, papers and textbooks spilling everywhere. It had entirely emptied out onto the linoleum floor of the hallway; the only thing remaining inside was a rather large coat. Kyle knew that coat.

“Cartman..!” He fumed, slamming the locker door shut with force.

He was already almost late to class; the hallways were practically empty. He threw the coat as far as his arms would let him before stooping down to attempt to gather his things.

He was surprised to see the majority of them already gathered in a pair of hands that seemed vaguely familiar. He followed the arms to a face that, again, gave him a strange sense of recognition.

The hands jutted out, offering the stack of pages and books to him. He reluctantly accepted them.

“Thanks,” he said slowly, dividing his attention between this person and his locker as he stowed the supplies.

Their face wasn’t unpleasant to look at. No, not at all. With e/c eyes and h/c hair, Kyle might’ve actually said that this person was… attractive.

Ultimately, it was their smile that did it. “That’s for helping me in math today,” they jested with a twinkle in their eye.

Kyle stared dumbly. So that’s where he’d seen them before! He wondered why he hadn’t noticed them then; they were certainly more eye-catching than anyone else at school, now that he was looking at them.

A little laugh filled his ears. Oh no. His heart officially melted.

“Uh, we should probably get to class now.”

“C… class. Right.”

They cocked an eyebrow. “Yeah… class.” With an amused smile, they shut his locker for him and turned around, hurrying away to their own class.

With a sinking feeling, Kyle realized he was about to miss an important chance. “Wait! What’s your name?”

They turned their head just enough to call over their shoulder.

“Y/n!”

“Y/n,” he repeated quietly to himself. “I’m Kyle!”

He watched them disappear around a corner. His eyes flicked to Cartman’s coat on the ground. Maybe he wouldn’t have to throttle him after all…

His heart was hammering, and he was certain that his cheeks were darker than their usual tone. He didn’t mind, though. Just to have met this wonderful person… it was worth all of it.

The bell rang.

On second thought, Cartman was dead meat.

Thank you for your request! And thank you for reading, take care you sweethearts <33

(divider by saradika)

[tofulikesmala]

hii!! how are you? i hope good, could you write a draken x fem reader, maybe smut if you feel comfortable with it, where reader is a shy nerd and since she met draken she changed completely and you do the rest!! sorry for bad english but its not much first language!!😭

At the flip of a coin

Draken x fem reader

author notes: hello, thank you for requesting! Unfortunately, I am a MINOR, so I don’t write smut. I apologize for the inconvenience. ANDAHHHB I TOOK SO LONG TO WRITE THIS IM SOS SORRY

It was time for midterms. Again. This time, Draken finally mustered enough motivation to study for it the first time in his life. The cold breeze of the aircon caused his long hair to sway a little. The quietness of the library was in contrast to the noisy environment of the Tokyo manji gang. Observing the tables—which were mostly packed with people, he sat himself down at a table which only had one person.

You watched as this tall and muscular guy sat down on your table. Looking back at the three assignments that was due the next day, you sighed. Well, you can’t do anything about it, might as well not complain, it’ll be beneficial for you anyways! Hey, it might even teach you to write faster! Looking at the guy who was flipping through his notebook, creases forming on his eyebrow, glaring at his notebook as he scowled. PleasedonttalktomePleasedonttalktomePleasedonttalktome

Placing his very clean textbook on the table, he begun flipping through the pages, not understanding a single thing at all. Staring at the girl in front of him, he sighed, before nudging her and placed his textbook in front of her. “Hey, if you can, can you explain what it’s trying to say?” The girl took some time to process his words, but after that she read the pages of the textbook, flipping here and there quickly. “This is my curriculum for next year…but be glad I still studied one year ahead.” She mumbled quietly. Draken jaw internally dropped. Which motherfucker would want to study a year ahead? The girl sitting in front of him, apparently. The girl started mumbling words Draken couldn’t even make up. “Can you speak up. You’re too soft.” A tinge of red appeared on her cheeks as she cleared her throat. “Alright….sorry…” Speaking a little louder, she explained the formulas, how to solve it, scribbling all over his textbook. Draken had to stretch his ears to be as long as a Buddha’s in order to hear her clearly. But Draken didn’t ask her to speak louder, since she seemed to have social anxiety. Shaking her leg, hand shaky, eh Draken decided not to push any further. After like half an hour of explaining the chapters tested for the exam, she put down her pen and sighed. “W-well, I hope you understood everything…..sorry if my explanation isn’t the best, I’m not very good at teaching, I mean I can understand the topic but I just can’t teach I’m really weird and all, so sorry. I’m so bad at teaching I hope you understood if it was too complicated just tell me….” As the girl went on and on, her voice got softer and softer, until she stopped speaking all together. “It was great, thanks.” Draken replied. The girl blushed a deeper shade of red. “T-thanks, it means a lot….” “Let’s be friends. You can help me with math and shit.” A deeper shade of red appeared on her cheeks. Friends….? Dang, she didn’t have a lot of that…. “I take that as a yes.” Draken stared at her before packing his things and walking away.

Time Skip. The young couple falls in love…

Dating Draken while being shy and nerdy would include….

Due to your shy personality, he feels an even more overwhelming sense of protectiveness over you

bring you to meet toman when your comfortable, of course

would 100% bonk anyone on the head if they try to make a dirty joke, he’d rather keep your innocence

A lot of times you rant about the topic your interested in to draken, although he doesn’t know what your talking about 90% of the time, he’ll listen anyways

remembers the stuff you rant about. He would see something related and would be like “hey don’t you like this”

very caring, protective and accepting! 10/10

if anyone bullies you, he’d beat them up, immediately

You groaned as your classmates who are a waste of oxygen forcefully pushed you against the locker again, slamming a hand beside you, causing all your books from your hand to fall to the ground. The smirk on his face only grew wider at your scared expression. What’s he gonna do next, beat you up? Like every other day? “If it isn’t the ner-” blood splattered on your cheek as your classmate fell onto the floor, blood trickling down your nose. Huh? What just happened? A tall figure loomed over you, as he placed his hands on your shoulders, a gentle but firm voice rang out. “Are you alright? Are you hurt anywhere?” You nodded your head, you were perfectly fine, after all. Draken nodded, before straddling the guy and beating the shit out of him, saying some curse words you didn’t even know, spitting insults here and there. As you were bullied quite frequently, more beating occurred. More shouts. More blood. More gore. More swears. Of course, it started to affect you in some way!

Three missing assignments, two exams, and 7 worksheets to complete by tomorrow. You were pissed. Very pissed. Things really decided not to go your way. You were sick, absent for only TWO days, and your asshole of a teacher decided to release all the homework that was meant for like, a fucking week. You weren’t even given an extension! Oh the urge to stab a knife into your teachers stomach and twist it, see her beg for mercy as more blood flowed out— “Ah!” You collapsed to the floor, scraping your knees on wooden floor somehow. “Oh! Isn’t this the WHORE who’s dating Draken? How did you even pull him, he’s so out of your league! Hahahah! I know, maybe it’s because you’re such a SLUT!” Of all days, she decided to piss you off today. Fuck. You were so done. Standing up, you launched right at her, pushing her onto the ground as you slammed her head against the locker. Screams sounded as both her and your classmates were shocked. Several others from other classes begun peeping their heads in, curious about the commotion. Grabbing her hair, you forcefully lifted her head, before slamming her head down again. You’ve seen draken do it many times, it was pretty easy to imitate. You lifted up her head tearing her hair. “I hope you get raped. Multiple times.” Taking your scissors, you brought it to her stomach, running the blade through her clothes. “I’m gonna make sure all the yellow fat from your stomach flows out.” Pressing a bit harder, the girl screamed and kicked, but the immense unknown strength from your body kept her down. Blood began to flow, but before you could continue, somebody picked you up, throwing away the scissors from your hands and pulling you into a hug. As you the scent of Draken’s shampoo filled your nose, you relaxed and leaned into his arms.

Draken went to the classroom too because, firstly, it’s your classroom, secondly, there was screaming.

But instead, he found you slamming your bully’s head on the floor, blood spilling everywhere.

He knew you would usually cower behind your own hands, but this time you didn’t even flinch.

“W-wha…?” Draken is SO confused, what happened to his cutie potootie pookie wookie sweet honey bear gentle girlfriend?

he can’t even MOVE. That’s until you started going a little too far

Back at the brothel, Draken used some wet wipes to gently scrub off the blood off your face. “So…who taught you all that….?” “You…?” You replied bluntly. Draken gulped. Guess there’s no turning back now

[ilyfootball]

hello! I was wondering if you could perchance write a story about teenaged ronaldo tutoring you? Thanks

I apologize for any bad grammar since english is not my first language

Warnings: None

Summary : Your boyfriend tries to help you with math but you just don't get it 😞

You find yourself slumped against the worn-out cushions of the old couch in Cristiano’s living room, your gaze flickering between the math textbook in your lap and the sunlight streaming in through the window. The afternoon beams dance around the room, warming your skin, but your mind is miles away—anywhere but here, in this moment.

“Okay, let’s start with the quadratic formula,” Cristiano says, his voice a warm, inviting melody that you might usually enjoy, but right now, it fades into a background hum. He sits across from you, tall and relaxed, his curly hair catching the light just right, making him look almost ethereal. You catch the faint blush spreading across his cheeks—something you adore about him, even if it’s just from a bit of exertion from trying to teach you math.

“Do you remember it?” He flashes his crooked smile, his brown eyes sparkling with hope and the tiniest hint of mischief.

The crooked teeth, once a source of embarrassment for him, now seem to be part of his charm, the way they frame his smile when he’s nervous or uncertain. You can’t help but love him for it even more. But despite the charm he brings, your attention remains scattered. You bite your lip, pretending to concentrate while your thoughts drift elsewhere.

“Um… well, sort of?” you reply, glancing at the clock on the wall as if it holds the answer to your problems instead of your math book.

“Okay, let me simplify this,” he says, his patience evident even when your lack of focus threatens to unravel his efforts. He leans forward, elbow on his knee, intertwining your fingers with his. The warmth of his hand sends a comforting wave over you, but your mind still wanders.

“Really? I don’t think I’m cut out for this,” you mumble, your voice just above a whisper. You sway your fingers playfully within his grasp, finding the connection much more appealing than the algebra in front of you.

Cristiano raises an eyebrow, concern flickering across his face. “But you’re so close.” He doesn’t let go; instead, he squeezes your hand a little tighter. “Just think of it as a fun little puzzle. You like puzzles, right?”

You roll your eyes, resisting a playful smile. “Fun? More like torture.”

He chuckles lightly, tilting his head as if gathering confidence. “Come on, you can’t hate math as much as you say. Remember that time we figured out how many cupcakes we could fit in that little box for the school bake sale? That was math.”

Your mind momentarily flashes back to that day: Bright, sugary cupcakes piled neatly into a cardboard box, laughter ringing out as you and Cristiano tried to sneak an extra one each. “Okay, fine, I guess that was kind of fun,” you admit, breaking through your unyielding mood. “But only because of the cupcakes."

“See? There’s a silver lining,” he pushes, his eyes sparkling playfully. “And if you can remember the context, you can remember formulas! Give it another shot.”

You take a deep breath and try to focus, tracing your finger absentmindedly over his knuckles while your eyes dance over the page. The numbers blur, but Cristiano patiently guides you through. “Alright, so the quadratic formula goes: x equals negative b plus or minus the square root of b squared minus four ac all divided by two a…”

He makes it sound simple, and for a moment, you consider it. Then you feel your eyelids droop again. You blink rapidly, determined not to zone out this time, but soon find yourself entranced by the way his curls bounce as he excitedly explains.

“Did you get that part?” he asks, peering into your eyes with utter concentration that makes you painfully aware of your distraction.

You manage a half-hearted nod. “Mhm.”

“No you didn't.” he furrows his brow, and you can’t tell if he’s amused or slightly exasperated. “You’re daydreaming again, aren’t you?”

You pout playfully, holding his hand tighter. “Alright, maybe just a little. But can you blame me? You’re much more interesting than math.” You softly blow a stray curl away from his forehead, causing him to flush even deeper.

“Okay, well how about we take a break?” Cristiano suggests, his kind demeanor resurfacing after your little moment. “We can go grab ice cream or something. Math can wait, right?”

You beam, feeling the tension release. “Ice cream sounds perfect right now. Can we get chocolate sauce? With sprinkles?”

“Of course!” he laughs, and you suddenly feel a wave of relief wash over you. With that, you both rise from the couch, leaving the textbooks behind and stepping out into the sun, hand in hand as the world outside feels much sweeter than any numbers could ever promise.

[renren-006]

The thought keeping my mind running at the moment is a Sierra Six x Sierra Seven blurb/quick one shot that's these two internationally known killers/spies/however we want to categorize them who can take out anyone flawlessly with no trace struggling to help Claire on some algebra homework or something. Like imagine these two trying to figure out how SAT prep works and how to use the quadratic formula, because I'm pretty sure there would be more frustration and absolutely confusion shared between the two of them than in this little teenagers mind.

Homework Problems | Sierra Seven x F! Reader

Word Count: 955 A/N: I really hope you like it! feel free to send me any request for myre Sierra Six stories id love to write them!!!

You were an international spy, not many things puzzled you. Today was when you learned that math was the one thing that would puzzle you. As you sat at the kitchen table next to Claire the numbers scribbled on the page were like a foreign language to you, and you knew many. 

“This...Claire what the hell is this” You asked, eyebrows furrowed together. Claire looked up at you with the most amused look on her face.

“Seven, this is...this is math,” Claire said, giving you a questioning look, “you do know..”

“Yes, i know what math is...I just haven't done it in a very long time”

“So you don't calculate an angle before you shoot?” Claire asked. 

“Claire be honest with me, do I look like I calculate things,” You asked. Claire thought for a moment before responding.  “When it comes to Six, yes,” She told you, glancing outside to the x-spy patiently waiting in the yard for Claire's dog, Fitz, to go to the bathroom.

“Besides Six,” I asked her, still looking back at the puzzling numbers on the page. 

“Umm I don't know, I mean when you and Six saved me it seemed like you did,” she told you, referring to the time you saved her and shot a guy just by looking into a mirror. You shook your head. 

“Honestly Claire Its muscle memory now, I fight because I know how to fight, this domestic life it’s different, its a new thing ill have to learn,” You told her honestly, “But this, me you, and Six that I know how to do that, but math and homework and school its all-new”

“I know,” She told you, “Thank you for being here for me”

“oh sweetheart, of course, I'm uh your mom now so I have got to take care of my family, and don't think Six doesn't check the house three times before we go to bed, just to make sure you safe,” You told her, “Now, tell me how to do this math”

“Well it's for this test called the SAT and I have to like solve it and find the answer” Claire explained after the smile left her face. 

“Textbook?” you asked. Claire nodded her head. 

“I have one” She exclaimed.

"Why don't you grab it,” You told her calmly

“Right,” She said and marched off to her room to find the math textbook. 

“Six?” You asked, Six strutted over to you his face lazy and he finally looked calm.  "Yes," he answered, a questioning look on his face.

“Do you know algebra?” You asked. 

“Not really, haven't done that in a few years,” Six said. 

“Well, Claire is studying for..the SAT I think and I have no idea what math is involved with it,” You told him. Six scratched his head.

“Shit i knew this was something we would have to do” He said.

“And this just slipped your mind?” You asked, He nodded.

“I was going to mention it but she never came to us...” Six replied a hand ran over his face and an exaggerated sigh left his lips.

“Wait, you're telling me, essentially our daughter didn't come to us for homework help?” You asked, “We are failing as parents Court,” You said. 

"Hey, y/n we are doing perfectly well under these....did you just say, parents?" He asked you.

"Well, I mean yea? Look at us Court? I care about Claire so much and all I want is a normal life for her and to not have to look over my shoulder anymore." you told him.

"I want that too," he said pulling you in. "Now, let's try and figure out these math homework things so that we can better help her," he said laughing and pulling away. Claire re-entered the room, with a knowing and happy look as she sat between the two of you.

"Now I have to solve this thing called the quadratic formula," Clair said flipping to the page with the unknown language you still wouldn't decipher.

"what the....Claire do you want my head to explode?" you asked her.

"haha I don't think Seven can comprehend math," Court said, laughing with Claire.

"And you can?" you ased your counter part.

"...no," he said, the silence before his answer made Clair bust out even more in laughter having tears spill from her eyes.

"Omg if I had known asking my parents to help with math would lead to none of us knowing I would have just gone to get tutoring," she said in between bursts of laughter.

"I'm sorry kiddo, I mean really I don't remember much math from that far back," you said, thinking back to the years when you were her age. You had been convicted of arson before graduating and math was the last thing on your mind in prison. You had met Court not too long afterward being around 20 or so, and math was the last thing on your mind at the academy.

"y and b.....wait why the hell are there letters I thought math was all numbers and shit?" Court asked Claire breaking you from your thoughts.

"oh...yea I guess they have letters as substitutes for numbers"

"that is not logical," Court said, he pushed the book away with a grumble, "You said you could go to tutoring?"

"Yea they have a tutoring center at school," she said.

"I think they will be better helped than us with this...quadrophonic equation shit"

"It's quadratic," she said snarkily.

"Whatever, it's bullshit," Court said with a grumble.

"Okay why don't we stop with math and move on to something else," you said directing the conversation away from the frustrations of math.

[kissagii]

revolve around you

inumaki x reader for @https-true-egoist's "love me not" collab

cw: fluff, classmates to lovers, gn reader, 0.7k words

The worst part of attending Jujutsu Tech High School was easily the general academics. It was a specialized school, and with the students spending so much time running from place to place fighting curses, there was really no time for the studies of a typical high schooler.

That's where you came in: academically inclined (at least, more so than your peers) and willing to lend a helping hand where your underqualified teachers failed.

Today's task, teaching Inumaki the lovely mess that is solids of revolution. In your mind, they're not that bad... until they are.

You use your pencil to trace over the haphazard graph you drew on the paper - "So, basically, it's just a bunch of circles. We know how to do circles. All we need is the radius, and we get that by looking at our y-values and their distance from the line we're rotating it around."

Inumaki nods, scribbling down a few things on his paper, then showing you the work. His handwriting is impeccable, and he seems to understand thus far. Outer radius: sinx+1 ; Inner radius: cosx + 1

"Yeah, that's right, so then we make our area formulas."

Inumaki writes down the formulas. You give him a nod in approval, then continue.

"And once we've got that, all we have to do is integrate and plug it into a calculator. I'll let you do that?" Inumaki gives you a nod, beginning to push the buttons on his calculator. You, having noted down the answer on your own homework, take the moment to admire him.

He's beautifully focused on the task at hand, lovely lavender eyes flitting between his handwritten work and the computing machine in his hand. Though he was never the best in mathematics, he was determined, and that made him easily your favorite to work with. Hell, he was probably your favorite of all the second years, a beautiful balance of playful and sincere. And oh so beautiful.

"Tuna?" He asks, prodding your hand. On his paper is a large boxed answer, 29.608. Not the answer you had written down.

You do a double take at the work on your own page - your final answer reading 17.771. Despite the conflicting answers, the work on his paper reads exactly the same as yours. Strange. "Uh... that's not what I got... but your integral looks good so maybe one of us plugged something in wrong? Let me try again."

When you pick up your calculator, you don't plug in numbers. Instead of the integral function, you click alpha-lock.

"Here, I think this is how it's supposed to be."

When you show him your calculator, written on the screen in place of an equation is a simple phrase.

Will you go out with me

The silver-haired boy in front of you immediately perks up. Any tiredness that came along with math was banished from his body, eyes sparkling as he picked up his own calculator with a grin.

Salmon!

Though he stays silent, you can practically hear his exclamation, the factorial symbol giving it adorable energy. You know he can type out words just fine, but the usage of his onigiri language makes you crack a grin. It's just so very him. And the fact that he returns your feelings has your heart reeling.

He beams at you, making a little heart with his hands, and you beam right back.

"You're so cute, you know that?" You ask with a little laugh, cheeks warming because he's just so lovable.

He makes a face of pondering, before nodding. "Salmon!"

For just a moment you forget your math homework, the test coming up, and the early February chill in the room. Because you've got yourself a personal little sun, a sparkling boy that speaks in foods and would defend you to the death.

"C'mon, I think we've done enough math for one day. Let's go get something warm to drink," You suggest, more than ready to put the subject behind you. There's something far better you could be doing with your time anyways - a date with Toge. A proper date.

"TUNA!" He cries triumphantly, before neatening up his papers and stuffing them into his bag.

It's unreal to you that you're about to go out with Inumaki. Spending time with all your classmates is one thing, but together? Just the two of you? And romantically? You dreamed about it, sure, but never thought it'd happen.

And little do you know, Toge's thinking the same thing - how could he have been so lucky as to land a treasure like you?

if this does well before the 14th i'll write a part two with the date itself :3

[peachycrime]

SLK or Spider/Kiri/Lo'ak Headcanons

idk what these will be about tbh i’m just writing as i think of stuff lmao

Kiri had a phase where she was convinced she was a witch because everywhere she went an animal would just waddle up to her

Spider, Lo’ak and Jake talk to babies like they’re grown people, like no baby talk and it’s hilarious

Lo’ak was once holding a baby, and you know how you hold them high in the air and they’re above you? Yea they were having a moment and then the little creature threw up all over his shirt and started giggling right after

“Dude seriously? we were having a moment wtf” it took everything in him not to just drop the baby

Lo’ak would copy everything Jake did as a kid, his lil mini me fr

Lo’ak’s first words were either dad or Teyam

Spider and Lo’ak both have severe anger issues and lord knows what would happen if they ever turned on eachother abt that anger

Lo'ak is always reprimanded about the things he does, gets yelled at and gets in trouble in situations where he isn't truly at fault. Authority figures never let him explain himself and always assume he's lying or trying to makes excuses and they expect him to just take it and move on. He does, but all that annoyance and anger at a situation he can't help tends to come back up a lot.

With Spider on the other hand, adults can never seem to shut up with their backhanded comments,

"you're nicer than i thought you'd be considering your dad"

"Oh wow you're so smart I didn't think you'd get it'

"You look just like him" (in a bad way)

"Oh you're good at this, who would've thought"

All this stuff and he can't really say anything because he'd be proving them right. So he stays silent, doesn't argue back and boy does he hate it.

One time Neytiri made a comment on the wrong day at the wrong time and he honestly considered violence before he just silently walked out of the room. He definitely punches and breaks stuff but he tries to restrain himself which adds to the pent up anger

They've both used that anger on their bullies, Spider broke the guys nose and dislocated his shoulder by pulling it up his back and making him promise to never show his face again

Lo'ak just went straight to the punches, broke the dudes nose and left him slack jawed

So if you ever catch them in a slightly off mood and you even try to talk to them or act any sort of way, you're getting sent to the nurse. I'm sorry i don't make these rules

Kiri is the mediator, she doesn't want to be but she sometimes ends up being the most rational because when she's upset, anger isn't her default unlike the other two

Lo'ak collects comic books, Jake started the obsession and he went wild. Have a comic or manga you wanna borrow? Vintage or not it's probably in his room somewhere

Spider is a math genius, the formulas are just free balling in his head and it makes it easy for him.

He's also a literature enthusiast but has a hard time expressing his own ideas on paper, great public speaker though

Lo'ak definitely over analyzes his favorite characters, gets sad and cries silently abt it

Kiri is an all around science nerd, she goes to class just because she enjoys helping out w hands on science stuff, most of the content isn't new for her

Kiri despises chemistry, she understands it but finds it uninteresting. Ofc biology and botany are where it’s at

All language nerds

All great at physical education, i mean like the actually science behind the body, they have all the muscle names memorized etc

Kiri is their little jewel, Lo’ak especially, he tries to make it the least obvious but Spider definitely tells her how much Lo’ak cherishes her

Spider is very open with his affections, he just doesn’t feel the need to hide it, they live that loves that about him

Spider and Neteyam know how to cook a mean meal, put them in a kitchen together and you’re literally drooling at the smell

Spider is a spicy food enthusiast right along with Jake and Neytiri

Kiri has had a cat for 4 years, Jake has only known for 2 years because he used to be terrified of them and Kiri didn’t want him to freak out

He now carries said cat like it’s his mini purse

I’m all out

i’ll be delivering some locorro crumbs soon!

[treasure-goblin]

I am tumblr jailed so I decided to ask you,

What's is the favorite matter (math, english, technology...) of all the Links ?

(Au questions)

Thank you for the ask!! I've answered one similar to it here, so I'll take this opportunity to talk about the Zeldas.

Artemis enjoys her sports the most. She competes in multiple times at a time but does fencing most often, and it's her favorite.

Sun enjoys art and art history the most because she loves to create things and experiment with new methods and mediums.

Lullaby prefers math. It's something where all the rules and formulas stay the same, no matter what the problem is. Although she greatly enjoys her piano lessons as well.

Dusk and Fable both enjoy reading, but Fable likes fantasy more, and Dusk typically picks out a history book of some kind. Historical fiction is her personal choice, but the two swap stories on occasion.

Dawn enjoys Hylian studies and takes other language classes as extracurriculars. Aurora enjoys writing and often brings short stories she wrote for their teacher.

Dot likes craft time, but also enjoys reading. Four keeps to himself often, so she enjoys those times to just exist near him. Someone once falsely assumed she has a crush on him because of this behavior, but it turned out that Dot just saw Four alone and didn't like that, so she changed it.

Flora loves the science experiments they do in class. She's often begging the teacher to let her help and for new things to try, so their class gets to do really cool science experiments because of her eagerness.

Tetra likes recess. Not because she's necessarily bad at school, but she just prefers her pirate time with Wind.

Again, thank you for the ask!! <3

[schumi-nadal]

Twenty Questions for Fic Writers

Thank you @yoellglia, @shambolicchaos and @rafasbiscuits for tagging me (I'm very late, but you're used to it), I love reading your answers and more, I love reading your works, please go on with writing sweeties ♥

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

I have eight works but two of them are just translations of two so my works.

Ce que la vie nous prend/What life takes from us (Titanic 1997 & Titanic 2012)

Not just a game (FR)/Not just a game (ENG) (Formula 1 RPF)

I will always believe in you (Tennis RPF)

Caught in the storm (Tennis RPF)

And baby makes three (Tennis RPF)

It's just a bad day, not a bad life (Tennis RPF)

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

Wait, I need to do maths? 😫

114859 words if I'm correct and if my phone works 🧐

3. What fandoms do you write for?

I wrote a Titanic fic and a Formula 1 RPF fic an eternity ago (I really need to post the next chapters btw), some Tennis RPF too and I just started writing a MotoGP RPF oneshot.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Not just a game (ENG) - 80 kudos

Caught in the storm - 37 kudos

Not just a game (FR) - 29 kudos

I will always believe in you - 25 kudos

And baby makes three - 18 kudos

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Yes, I always do! I write fics in small fandoms, we are a family so of course i'm answering to everyone! ❤

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Didn't finish it yet but probably: Ce que la vie nous prend/What life takes from us.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I don't know... maybe Caught in the storm. 🤔

8. Do you get hate on fics?

The only hate I get is from me Never, my readers are the best! ❤

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I tried, but I just can't, even if I'm the first one to read smut. 😂

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

Well, Ce que la vie nous prend/What life takes from us is a crossover with the Titanic 1997 movie and the Titanic 2012 minseries. But it was not crazy I guess.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Nope, who would want to steal my garbage? 😂

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes. By myselft. That's it.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

No, but I would love to if someone wants! 👀

14. What’s your all time favourite ship?

Well, I wrote a lot about Casper and Matteo (Ruudettini) power and at the moment everything is about Fabio and Marc (Mabio supremacy) BUT my all time favorite ship will always be Drarry (yeah, nothing to do with what I'm writing 😭).

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I WILL FINISH MY WORKS IN PROGRESS, IT'S A PROMISE!

16. What are your writing strengths?

Knowing that people enjoy what I'm writing is my biggest strenght 🥰

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I am unpredictable and irregular: a day, I can write 6-7 pages in a row in a few hours and the day after, I'm just staring at a blank page. 🥴

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I love it, I do it in English when I translate my works haha.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

First since I start writing for myself in middle school was a Bleach think. 🤣

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

I don't really know, I love my writing for Ce que la vie nous prend/What life takes from us but Not just a game holds a special place in my heart too and I need to finish those works fr. 🤩

Tagging: Nobody, i'm so late doing it so I don't even remember who already did it 😂 but if you want to do it, feel free to tag me!

[serendertothesquad]

Seren's Studies: Tiny Time Travel And What It Takes From Odd Squad

I didn't think I'd have to write two "Odd Squad knockoff???" essays within the span of a month. But lo and behold, an announcement came, left like a Black Friday sale, and then got extended as it was heavily promoted by PBS Kids up the wazoo.

I talk, of course, about their newest short-form series, Tiny Time Travel.

You might be wondering, "Okay, I can see one resemblance to Odd Squad...but is that really enough to compare it to a decade-old franchise?" And oh. Ohhh! I would say NAY. N A Y .

Because I've seen all the episodes of it. And I'm about to lay everything down on the line when it comes to how it's Odd Squad's adopted child.

Not a knockoff, mind you. This isn't Fear and Loathing in Wordsville 2: Electric Boogaloo.

Below the break. Chop chop. Time can only keep moving forward in the real world, sadly.

Let's start with a rundown for the uninitiated, because I guarantee hardly any of you have heard of this series.

Tiny Time Travel is a short-form series created by Tim McKeon, most famous for being a co-creator of Odd Squad. Unlike Odd Squad, it's under the banners of Marobru Productions, a prodco based in New York, and Easy as Pie Productions, a prodco based in Georgia. (Tim had his own prodco in the form of Hundredth Town Productions, along with Adam Peltzman, the other co-creator of Odd Squad. He doesn't own EAPP.) The series consists of 12 episodes, with no further seasons planned.

As for the premise...see if this rings a bell, hmm?

We have two 11-year-old boys, Tyler and Tony, the former of who invents a time machine that can send them both back and forward only a few hours at a time in order to help people in their town.

You see? All it took was the one whole entire sentence and the one whole entire screencap.

The Odd Squad episode "6:00 to 6:05" was, to absolutely no one's surprise, written by Tim McKeon. Much like Tyler and Tony's time-traveling tales, it involves Olive and Otto using Oscar's Before-Now-Machine to travel backwards by 5 minutes from 6:05 PM to 6:00 PM in order to stop dinosaurs from breaking out of their room and destroying what has to be Oprah's 1,000th Headquarters.

While the tale of Tiny Time Travel runs much deeper than an episode they copied the formula from, it's safe to say that Tim likely looked at this episode for inspiration for the series, among others. Odd Squad is more abundant with time travel than Precure is with kaijus, having several episodes about it and at least one movie. Really, if you're a writer in the TV industry, it's hard to get to a point where any ideas based around a concept you love that are posed in a writers' room are shut down on sight. Tim managed to do that single-handedly and still flipped the bird as a creator by inserting time travel as a solution in the Season 3 finale. In the industry, they call that abuse of power. In the Odd Squad branch, they call that "bending the rules just this one time".

The episodes of Tiny Time Travel range greatly in terms of plot, because each episode focuses on a different client person that Tyler and Tony help. And I use the term "plot" very loosely, because while My Little Pony: Tell Your Tale can stuff lore into 5 minutes (to...varying degrees of success), Tiny Time Travel...doesn't. It's not as lore-filled as Odd Squad and isn't even half as crazy because it's purely episodic. About the craziest thing I've seen is the neurodivergent and Hmong rep, and after watching Jelly, Ben and Pogo, that surprises me next to none. (And Odd Squad, because it's got rep up and down both streets.)

There's also the matter of differing morals. While Odd Squad teaches about mathematics, and later STEM stuff, Tiny Time Travel teaches more about social language and language in general, in a way that isn't really as seamless as Odd Squad. When creating Odd Squad, there was intent to hide the lessons so kids can watch the show and not have the math be in-your-face and up-your-butt. Tiny Time Travel is far more in-your-face and up-your-butt about the lessons by a complete longshot, which I personally can't really fault it for because 5 minutes can only get you so far. (If anything, I'll fault PBS execs, because that method of delivering morals has been standard since the 90s. But I digress. I can spew about PBS later.)

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

So I might as well address the elephant in the room: is Tiny Time Travel an Odd Squad knockoff?

Short answer: no.

There's a lot of Odd Squad influence within it, in terms of humor, characters (Samira reminds me a hell of a lot of Polly Graph, and that's not even getting into the alliterative naming of the two protags) and general vibe, which is quite common with two pieces of media that share a creator. I'd also throw in that it's made in, and features, New York as a setting, which is where the Odd Squad pilot takes place, but that's a little irrelevant.

However, it's important to note that "inspired by" and "ripping off" are two very distinct things.

Take Wordsville, just as an example. Which I'm bringing up because, y'know, Odd Squad has more knockoffs than I've had good nights of sleep, but anyway. Wordsville is, as discussed before, a complete bonafide knockoff. It bounds over "inspired by" and goes straight into "I wanna watch you bleed!" territory by basically being Odd Squad but with a coat of literacy and digitization on it. Tiny Time Travel, by contrast, has very few straight similarities to Odd Squad. There's the alliterative names of Tyler and Tony, the inclusion of time travel (with limitations), similar music (thanks to Paul Buckley coming back on board), and a specific brand of humor that is pulled off well. But they are very few and far between, and there are far more differences. Tim looked to Odd Squad for inspiration, but he didn't seek to create a whole entire ripoff of Odd Squad. (Knowing PBS, though...maybe an Odd Squad ripoff was what they wanted originally. Wouldn't be the first time network execs made a request to Tim only for him to find a compromise.)

Likewise, another thing that sets Triple-T apart is how it was made. You're gonna wanna sit down for this one if you aren't sittin' already, because the amount of irony could probably level the planet.

If you're one of the old-timers of the Odd Squad fandom who qualifies for a senior's discount and Medicare, you're probably well-aware of Tim McKeon's absolute adoration for time travel, something that leaks into Odd Squad just as much as it leaks into his personal media preferences. Like I said, the franchise has had a ton of time-travel-related material, so much so that any ideas involving it were barred from the writers' room. All of it pretty much came from Tim McKeon's love of the concept. (And his love of pies. That too. Though whether that came from the prodco or from Tim himself remains up in the air. And yes, Triple-T does mention pie in one episode. And toast, believe it or not!)

Tiny Time Travel is basically what would happen if Tim flipped both birds at whatever writer bopped him with a newspaper and said "no more time travel episodes", and he made an entire series out of it with both government money and our money. It's like if you had a fanseries idea, money, enough passion, money, good connections, and money, and you turned it into a show. That's what Tiny Time Travel is. It's purely, unequivocally, a passion project for Tim.

Of course, there's also the underlying, less moral side to its making, in that it was made in order to fill a quota of PBS to get at least 25 new shows out by end of year. But this is one of the ones that's definitely filled with more quality. Let's be honest, the question of "am I gonna grow up to be a rebel leader and save humanity" is not something you'd find in typical PBS Kids fare. (And it also somehow passed S&P. But Odd Squad has over 70 questionable moments in the series alone -- and yes, I've counted -- so it's clear the rules of S&P don't apply to the god that is Tim McKeon. He flips the bird at that too.)

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

So overall, Tiny Time Travel is one hell of a short-form series. City Island threw me for a loop a couple years back based on the object show comparisons alone (and when you get Adam Katz himself to recognize that shit, you're nigh-unstoppable), and this series threw me for a loop similarly just due to the sheer premise and near-immaculate quality.

Odd Squad was, on all accounts, a major influence in Triple-T's making, to such an extent where there's a cameo of two agents walking in the background that someone managed to spot long before I got to the "Tennis Talk" episode that featured the cameo to begin with. The show's cute, it's sweet, it's got hella good rep, and it's short enough to please attention spans around the world. (Or at least in 'Murica. And maybe some parts of Canada.) It wholeheartedly has the Seren seal of approval, and if you're tired of waiting for Odd Squad UK in 8 months like I am, this will tide you over in the meantime.

As for whether it'll get a Season 2...after "Surprise Party", I can't see that happening. Unlike with Odd Squad, which is constantly under the threat of cancellation, Tim had a chance to end the show on his own terms without PBS giving it the sharpest axe in the shed, and he wrapped it up beautifully. It doesn't need a second season. It's beautiful as it is. Keep it as a one-hit wonder. (And preserve it, because otherwise it'll become lost media by the time half the century is up.)

I'll see you all in the next essay. Seren out!

[keybladespirit]

Trans Sitcom Pilot Ending

I've had this idea for a while. You know those sitcoms that are like, highly kid focused but made for all ages and there's this general formula of conflicts that lend themselvs to different kinds of life lessons depending on if the viewer is a kids or a parent? And it's all like, so sweet and wholesome that it's kinda diabetes-inducing to watch? Think Full House or Boy Meets World or anything like that.

I had an idea for a one of those. Specifically a one of those where the main characters as a single trans woman and her trans son. Out of a desire to see it exist in some form, I wrote the scene that I've had in my head ever since I thought of it.

Couple notes:

For... very personal reasons that I do not want to get into, it is very important to me that the son's deadname is Bethany Jane and it's equally important that he use his initials as his new name for a while.

In my head, there's a specific point where he picks a permanent new name, and I would want it to be a moment that emphasizes that there is a continuing story despite most episodes individually adhering to a very loose "Status Quo Is God" format.

In my head, Claire is depicted in the present by a trans woman, but by both a cis boy and a cis girl in flashbacks to her childhood. Namely, the visual language of her flashbacks would be that the boy plays her in painful memories and the girl in happy or neutral ones.

Claire: Listen Betha- actually, do you have a new name? It's okay if you don't. BJ: You can call me BJ for now, mom. Claire: Okay. BJ, I'm not mad at you. I'm actually very proud of you. It's just... well I thought I'd made it clear that I'd love you no matter what. That I don't need you to be my daughter if you don't want to be. That's why I told you about my childhood. BJ: That's not it mom. I knew you'd accept me, it's just... well I thought I could tough it out. Let you live out your girlhood through me for a little while. Claire: Now where did you get that idea? BJ: Cal told me! Claire: I knew that boy was bad news. audience laughter BJ: But mom, he was right! He did the math and said you waited until you were 26. I could wait until I'm 16, easy! I can do all the girly things you wish you could have done and then- Claire: BJ, that's not how- BJ: Mooom listen, I just... Cal said that's what he's doing for his dad. He knows he's a boy and he knows his dad never got to- Claire: BJ, shush. Let me talk. It's true that I started transitioning at 26, but I knew I wanted to for a long time before that. Before I even knew I could. You're lucky to know at your age that what I did is even possible. I don't want you to be "the girl I never got to be" or any of that nonsense. I want you to be happy. That's all. audience awww BJ: Thanks mom. I'm sorry I lied. Claire: That's okay. I love you, son. BJ: I love you too mom. they hug another big aww from the audience fade to black credits roll

This is never gonna get made, lol. But maybe I'll finish writing the pilot someday.

[meetaethere]

"Footsteps Through Time: A Tale of my life story, from childhood to adulthood"

I burst into the city called Lapu-Lapu like a firecracker on the sixth of February. My parents and their language barrier did not stop them from starting their factory, and I came as their product, a girl who is their little ball of energy into the world. A girl who loves eating and playing. A child who is easy-go-lucky and easy going. A girl named SOPHIA D. SUH

As a child, I was very naughty; I was always on the move and getting into all sorts of problems or chaos. From skipping class just to play with my neighbors to having a lot of wounds, I am often scolded by my mother because of that.My childhood was a tapestry of vibrant experiences, woven with the threads of love, laughter, and endless curiosity.

School was a mixed bag for me; while I excelled in subjects that sparked my interest, like sports and recess, I struggled to sit still long enough to make it through a math class without doodling on my notebooks or desk. My classmates often described me as "absent" and "always excused.". I was a dreamer, always lost in my thoughts, imagining new worlds and possibilities that lay just beyond the horizon. My interests expanded beyond the classroom. I became involved in extracurricular activities by joining the school's sports writing press conference. I discovered a passion for writing, both through words and performance, and found that I had a knack for captivating an audience.

Being a child before was really hard since it was hard for me to make friends because I am shy and lonely. As a kid, it was always a big deal for me not to make any friends because it showed how friendly and approachable I was. But I was thankful for my friends who approached me before, because without them, I may have been a loner. I played with them in school, like playing Chinese garter or patintero, or just talking to our favorite movie or film. I joined my school's sports club, where softball drew my attention. I got to go to City Palaro and CVIRAA, which I joined for at least 2 years. I never got to join sports after that because of my age, but I definitely learned a great lesson from my elementary days. 

As I entered my teenage years, my goal or interest in achieving something small or big grew. I sometimes spent my time studying for an upcoming exam or quiz. My parents encouraged me to do whatever I wanted, and they will still support me in whatever I choose. But it is my choice to pressure myself because I want to. I believe that excellency can make people amazed at me.High school brought its own set of challenges and triumphs. The waters of adolescence, trying to find my place in the world while staying true to myself. I made lifelong friends, shared countless laughs and tears, and learned valuable lessons about friendship, love, and loss. I may have lost a few friends, but I gained more friends through the years of growing up.

But life wasn't always easy. My family faced its fair share of challenges, from financial hardships to personal struggles. I have to pick up some trash in the garbage to sell just to buy my sister her formula. I was really having a hard time before. Yet, through it all, we remained united, drawing strength from each other and the love that bound us together.

Senior high school was a blur of late-night studies and the kind of friendship that lasts a lifetime. I chose Accountancy, Business, and Management (ABM) because it is related to the course I want to pursue in college, which is tourism. I have a thing for adventure; my dream was to get through different kinds of countries to go and travel there with my family, friends, and my future husband and kids. My senior year culminated in a whirlwind of emotions as I am preparing to graduate and embark on the next chapter of my life. I have to say goodbye to friends and teachers who have become like family, knowing that I am leaving behind a chapter of my life that has shaped me in ways I could never have imagined. The senior high school year was a time of growth, learning, and self-discovery. It was a time when I learned the value of hard work, dedication, and perseverance—lessons that would serve me well in the years to come.

I threw myself into school life, joining the Supreme Student Government, the Red Cross, and a lot of other activities that I can think of. I was a good student, though not exceptional. I excelled in subjects like PE and science but struggled with math and Filipino. Despite this, I was determined to do well, pushing myself to study harder and seek help when needed.I made a conscious effort to prioritize my personal life by making time for family and friends and pursuing hobbies that brought me joy. As school progressed, I found myself reflecting on the journey that had brought me to this point. I thought about the friendships I had formed, the challenges I had overcome, and the lessons I had learned along the way. I realized how much I had grown, both academically and personally, and I felt a sense of pride in all that I had accomplished.

[moon-lv3r]

studying with you ~🍊

🦋 category: established relationship, fluff, one-shot

🦋 characters: narancia

🦋 summary: the year end tests are coming right up and you still haven't got the hang of a math topic, worse still, your boyfriend is an idiot when it comes to math and his friend, fugo, is too busy to be tutoring the both of you (reader is not a stand user)

🦋 warnings: nil

🦋 notes: so im in kind of a bad mental head space and i need things to help distract myself so i figured that i should try and write an one-shot for my beloved comfort character <3 hopefully it helps to clear my head bc everything has been shit. also i am too lazy to proof read so deal with the grammatical errors, english isnt my first language

“I hate this!” You whined as you flipped through your notebook filled with numbers and formulas. Math was never easy to revise for and you were just getting really stressed out. Having a dumbass for a boyfriend doesn’t make it better, but at least he could make you laugh.

“Eh I’ve failed this topic like a hundred times! Fugo keeps explaining it to me but I don’t get it. What is a minor sector?” Narancia whined along. “Can’t you just get a ruler and measure around it?”

You would’ve burst out laughing if it wasn’t for the fact that you two were in a library and the librarian just so happened to be a cranky old man. Narancia always called him the “balding old fart” and said that Mista probably has the same hairstyle as the old fart. “That’s not how math works Narancia, or else I wouldn’t be in school.”

You have always been the top student in your class but recent stress has taken a toll on you. Sleepless nights, inability to focus, terrible headaches were all draining you. It was hard keeping up with expectations. Narancia was the only person that would let you relax and make you feel comfortable, which was the reason why the both of you were a thing. He just made you so happy.

The clock ticks while you and Narancia continued reading. Narancia was only three pages in when he gave up for good and took a short nap. His brain never works well with him. You have been doing math questions and checking the answers, each time you got a question wrong was an ego-crushing moment. You just felt like you weren’t good enough.

“Eh y/n, I just realised you haven’t eaten anything, how about we head over to the canteen for a break?” Narancia yawned, you didn’t even realised that he had woken up.

“Bu—”

“No buts y/n! We are taking a break!” He cut you off while gently shutting your book and quietly making your way out. There was no way you were going to study alone so you decided to follow. There were barely anyone at the canteen so the queues were short and you were able to get your lunch rather quickly.

It took you a while to realise that Narancia only asked for a break because he noticed that you have been pushing yourself too hard and started to skip meals in order to study. This boy never fails to bring a smile up on your face.

Narancia decided that it would be a good time to ramble on and on about his life while eating three packets of snacks, all at once. He loved mixing up his snacks. “And there was this one time when Gio—”

The ringing of the school bell ended Narancia’s sentence before he could even finish. This was usually the timing when all of the students having extra lessons get released. Narancia looked mad while you laughed, urging him to continue. “Wait I forgot what I wanted to say… Damn it! Piece of shit!” Narancia swore loudly.

People started to fill the canteen and many of them had heard Narancia cursing loudly, sending judging looks towards the both of you. Most of the students found Narancia and Fugo weird anyway. Their style was enough to ensure that the people at school would make fun of them. They were also friends with Giorno, another student with weird style and skipped school for a whole week. Nobody believed that they were in the mafia until they were spotted with Bruno Bucciarati, the leader of Passione.

You decided to quickly finish your meal and head back towards your dorm with Narancia happily skipping his way with you. He was such a smiley boy. Your dorm was on one of the lower levels so it didn’t take long for the both of you to arrive. The moment you opened your door and entered, Narancia immediately jumped onto the couch. “So soft,” he mumbled while grinning.

He looked like a sweet gentle boy right there and then, completely different from his first day of school. A group of boys started making fun of him for being small and scrawny, thinking he would be an easy target, but somehow, those boys ended up getting shot in the leg after Narancia muttered something along the lines of “Aerosmith”. Fugo started lecturing him about using “stands” in public. You had no idea what all of that meant. Either way, the school deemed Narancia as innocent since they didn’t find any evidence of Narancia owning a gun. Those boys stayed the furthest away from Narancia after that. If somebody told you that you could be dating a boy who magically got people shot, you wouldn’t have brought it.

“Ghirga!” You shouted, “our exams are starting.” Narancia never liked it when someone called him by his surname.

“Oi y/n don’t call me that!” He retaliated. “Dumb (your surname).”

“Says the one with 0 out of 10 for a math test,” you replied.

“How am I supposed to know what is y=mx+c?” Narancia immediately defended himself from your sudden insult at his intelligence.

“Mhm,” you mumbled. “Come here Narancia, I am going to teach you.”

Narancia reluctantly got off your couch and joined you at the coffee table. He looked extremely focus while you taught him some math. Math was that one subject that seems to be impossible to understand but you always managed to understand it just a bit, enough to top your class. He “huh-ed” at almost everything and asked more questions rather than solving any. You were very patient however, telling him formulas, giving him tips, and even ways to remember formulas easily. Narancia seemed to be the type to learn better if you let him learn at his own pace and include funny things while teaching.

“Ah so y=mx+c is the formula for gradient?” Narancia asked.

“Not just any line,” you replied. “You need to be specific.”

“Straight lines! Because Bucciarati and Abbacchio are not straight so y=mx+c wouldn’t apply to them!” Narancia finished.

“That’s right!” You smiled. “You’re so smart Narancia, I knew you would get it!”

Narancia smiled back, “you sound just like Fugo. You know, I think you might be a better teacher. Fugo isn’t as good as you when it comes to teaching.”

“I am telling Fugo,” you chanted, trying to exit your dorm to look for Fugo. It was obviously a joke but you loved to tease that idiot.

“Wa— Get back! Y/n no—” Narancia practically jumped and chased after you. “Fugo’ll kill me!”

He fell for it.

“Come and get me then!” You panted as the both of you ran around your dorm, being careful enough not to topple anything over. It had caught you completely off-guard when Narancia jumped you from behind, tackling you onto the soft ground while giggling.

“Got you y/n,” Narancia grinned proudly. “Please don’t tell Fugo I said that.”

“Don’t worry I won’t,” you reassured him.

The very next day, Fugo was confused as to why you were laughing so hard when you, him and Narancia were all having breakfast together at the canteen. Giorno was confused as well when he joined you three for lunch.

Neither you nor Narancia ever told Fugo about what Narancia had said. Even Giorno was in on the joke after a while, Fugo remained clueless. Nevertheless, at least Narancia’s math improved. Even though he still failed the math exam.

[just-miru]

guess who will apply for the faculty of letters?

(/pos)

putting it under cut because i am sure i would reach the tag limit again if i were to write everything in the tags afaghaha

y'all!!! i finally made up my silly mind and i am so happy adfaghajka!!!!

originally, i wanted to go to med school since i was little, because i wanted to help people, and the only option i knew was medicine.

but i failed to realise some things until later last summer (still better later than never, i guess)

for one, i value my free time a lot, and by going to med school i would have kissed it goodbye adfagahha- not only that, but while i like biology and anatomy, i just can't see myself spending hours upon hours trying to memorise everything, word by word (teachers are very strict there, from what i've heard. not to mention chemistry is also pretty important there, and i absolutely despise it afgahah-)

then i decided to go for the polytechnic university (idk if that's how it translates-), because after 6 years I've finally started to like mathematics (it's so fun imo adfagahhajja), but once again i failed to realise something - even tho rn i manage way better than i did in the last few years, i still miss a lot of pretty basic yet important info-

my math teacher always makes fun of me (light-heartedly) because sometimes i solve pretty hard problems only to then mess up a simple exercise, and that only because i didn't know the formula which i should have used afgaha-

and like- i can't really go to that university where is expected of me to already know all that stuff, ya know? and it's not like i can go over 6 years of info in only 6 months either adfagaha

some people even suggested i should go for the architecture university, since i draw and stuff. i took into consider that option, but it's still a hard no for me.

for once, if we're talking about architecture, we're talking about a pretty stiff, lifeless way to draw, ya know? it won't allow me to play with shapes and fluidity much/the way i want, and these are pretty much the only reasons i love drawing in the first place-

not to mention drawing is, for me, the only activity that i do for fun, as well as the only activity i do simply because i want to. if it were to slowly become something i have to do, i would start hating it (as it happened with most things in school-).

also, i only like drawing people anyway, and it's not something i want to make a career out of, so yeah-

anyway, here's where the good part begins!!

these past few months, but especially after messing around with silly analysis of Jekyll and Hyde: the gothic musical thriller and making silly posts about that, and also after starting to mess around with song lyrics, i realised i can do the same thing with the books i had to read for school?? that was a big revelation to me afagaha

honestly it helped me a lot when i started to treat them as silly fandoms, instead of books i have to read for an exam. and then, after realising how cool the books actually are (despite all the mysoginy and sexism present in most of them - they're old books after all), i also realised how much i actually love writing essays about them!! to write those essays i must analyse the characters, find parallels, explain the symbolism of certain scenes!!! all the good stuff hehe

i still struggle with putting my thoughts into words, (but not as much as i do in english - romanian is my native language after all afaghahs), but boy once i have everything clear in my mind-

for the exam i will take this summer, an essay must have 400 words at least. meanwhile, my essays have at least 400 words when i am not even half way through- so that wouldn't be a problem. it's actually really good! i really like playing around with silly words hehe

so yeah, going to the faculty of letters might be perfect for me, because that's pretty much all i have to do! read silly books and write essays about them hehe

there's still a problem tho- i still struggle with starting to read books, even if i want to. but, hopefully, since i will be starting therapy soon, i will be able to talk about it with a professional who might also prescribe me some medicamentation, or over all help me find a way to beat the silly executive disfunction adagha-

also! i still don't know what i want to do, speaking in terms of career, but i know this faculty can open some doors, so i have options to choose something i would like.

what i also like is that this faculty allows me a fair amount of free time, so i can also look for a part time job somewhere. in case this faculty proves to not be as perfect for me as i thought, i will have a job assured until I find something else

ngl it's all very messy afaghaja, but hopefully everything will turn out ok in the end hehe