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scarletlizzard · 2 months

Text

Older

Music Series

Pairing: professor!Wanda x fem!Reader

Tags Minors DNI: older/younger (college), mommy kink, smut, choking, fingering & strap on use (R receiving), little overstimulation, praise or degradation kink? why not both, just shameless smut sorry

A/N: This is based on the song Older by Isabel LaRosa! This was requested. Thanks for reading, gladly appreciate any feedback. Thank you! 😊🩷

Masterlist

Wanda watches from her chair as you lean across the desk in front of her, your ass in the air with your skirt pulled down. Her hands reach out to caress your hips, touching the soft skin she can see. When her fingers reach your panties, she begins to pull them down, seeing a sticky string of wetness on your thigh.

"Please, Professor... I need you so bad," you moan and look back at her. Wanda stares in your eyes, her fingers dipping inside of you. You were soaking wet, and she knew it was all for her, your hot walls squeezing her fingers as she thrusted them inside you.

"Ohh, God! Miss Maximoff! " You moan again, Wanda feels herself becoming wetter as you push your hips back against her.

"Miss Maximoff..."

The image of you bent over her desk begins to fade.

"Miss Maximoff? " She hears your voice again.

Wanda blinks and clears her throat, her eyes meeting yours. Only this time, you're standing in front of her desk instead of lying across it. Students around the room were packing their bags and heading towards the door.

"Yes, Miss Y/L/N?" She asks and blinks a few more times, looking up from the papers she was supposed to be grading.

This had been happening more often the closer to the end of the semester came. Wanda was a professor at the university you attended. She had been a professor for a while now and absolutely loved her job, the life she was able to live with the money it paid, and being able to teach young minds. Every semester, she saw hundreds of faces, sometimes not being able to remember all of the names.

But then you walked in the first day of this spring semester with a cute smile on your face, eyes sparkling up at her as you greeted her.

Something about you and the way you acted towards her had Wanda questioning all of her morals.

To be fair, you couldn't help it... when you saw Wanda Maximoffs name on your schedule, you knew what you wanted. Your friends had told you all about her from when they took her class, and you'd seen her walking around campus before. She was exactly what you needed after failed relationship after relationship.

Someone older, someone as hot as she is.

So as the semester went on, you began wearing more revealing clothes, leaving very little to the imagination. At the end of every class, you would find yourself leaning over her desk, watching as Wanda struggled to keep eye contact with you.

"I don't think I really understood today's lesson. Do you think you could give me some extra help?" You would ask her, batting your eyelashes. Wanda swallowed hard and looked around the empty room, running a hand through her firey hair.

"My last class gets out at 3:30. You can meet me back here at 4." She said with a smile, muscle tensing in your grasp as you touched her arm.

"Thank you so much, Professor. .."

And that was how you started your extra 'tutoring' sessions with Wanda. Every day at 4, you would meet her in her class and shut the door behind you. You were a straight A student, clearly not needing any help, so the entire time was spent flirting and laughing, lots of lingering looks and touches.

As time went on, you couldn't help but stare at the ring on her finger. One afternoon, she caught you and gave a soft smile, finding herself needing to explain it to you. But as she opened her mouth, she realized you were her student and nothing more.

"It's complicated," she sighs, deciding not to share. You nod and rest your hand on top of hers, using your other hand to flip the pages of your book. She didn't move away.

'It's complicated' was good enough for you to want - no, need more from her.

So the next day you showed up to her classroom after hours, and when you shut the door, you strutted over to her where she sat at her desk.

"Hey Y/N, what -" Wanda said with an eyebrow raised. She watched as you moved between her and her desk, situating yourself between her legs.

"How long are we gonna play this game for?" You asked in a sultry voice, your hand playing with the top button of her blouse.

"Y/N... this is highly inappropriate. I-I don't know what you're talking about," she spoke sternly, but the look in her eyes and the way she didn't move away was all you needed to continue.

"I'm talking about where we pretend you don't want to fuck me." Your hands moved to the bottom of your skirt, fingers pulling the fabric slowly over the skin of your thighs. "Cmon, Wanda, I can be your little secret... I know you think about me. Do you imagine fucking me right here?" You asked and bite your lip, watching her hands ball into fists.

"I told you to call me Miss Maximoff." Wanda said, not denying a word you spoke.

You leaned forward, hands moved to rub her thighs as your lips touched her ear.

"I'd rather call you mommy..."

Wanda groaned at your words, and in a quick second, she had you bent over her desk, your hands behind your back as her hips pressed against your ass. A moan escaped your lips as your cheek hit the wooden surface. Your hips moved back against her, causing another low sound from Wandas throat.

Before she could do anything else, she quickly released you, panting from the sudden rush of adrenaline. Wanda runs a hand through her hair and straightens out your skirt, stepping away from you. You frown at her actions, hating the way her hands weren't on you anymore.

"You're my student, Y/N. I can't risk it," She said with a cold tone to you, eyes dark with lust.

"Only for a little longer!" You argued her, frowning and crossing your arms.

"You're too young," Wanda said softly and shook her head. Her fingers ran over her lips after she spoke.

You didn't have anything to say at that. You ran out of the room with tearful eyes and an ache in your stomach, not stopping when she called out your name.

That was two weeks ago, and you hadn't been back to her class after hours since. Though every morning Wanda greeted you with that charming fucking smile and a, "Good morning, Y/N," slipping off her tongue in the nicest voice.

Which brings you back to today, standing in front of her as she stared at you with those same dark eyes from two weeks ago. You raise an eyebrow at her demeanor.

"I just wanted to say thanks for all the..." You eye the students leaving the classroom. "...extra help this semester." You clear your throat and adjust the bag on your shoulder. Wanda nods slowly, the image of her fingers inside of you now stuck in her head.

"Of course, Miss Y/L/N. You're a very bright young lady, you know that? Wise beyond your years," Wanda says with a smile, and she truly meant it. You sigh softly with a nod and head towards the door as everyone else had left.

"I'd like to go over your final paper with you, if you don't mind?" You hear her say, and your heart begins to race.

"4?" You ask, turning your head to look at her. She nods.

***

You hear the wood creak as Wanda closes the door. The clicking of the lock makes you squeeze your thighs together as you sit in the chair she put in front of her desk.

You take in her appearance, a white blouse hugging her top and dark slacks on her lower half that she usually wore. She took her red hair out of the bun she had and let her hair fall down her shoulders. She always looks so effortlessly beautiful, always so perfect.

"Is something wrong with my paper?" You ask tentatively, watching her sit across the desk from you.

Wanda folds her hands together on the desk, studying your face carefully. "It was brilliant, Y/N. One of the best I received, actually," she chuckles a little. You blush at her praise and watch as her smile slides into a smirk.

"Thank you, Miss Maximoff." You swallow hard, feeling the tension between the two of you grow in the quiet room. You hear the clock on the wall behind Wanda ticking almost as loudly as your heart was beating in your ears.

"Since I'm no longer your teacher, you don't have to call me that," she says and leans back in her chair.

"Oh, so I can call you Wanda now?" You say playfully, taking in the way she slides the ring off her finger and puts it in a drawer of her desk.

"I'd rather you call me something else," Wanda says, and you can feel your body heat up, realizing she was quoting your last conversation.

You stand from your chair and walk around the desk, feeling her eyes on you as you do. "Something specific?" You tease, standing between her and her desk, once again.

"Are you going to make me ask?" She says and tilts her head, looking up to you. Her hands reach out to rest on your hips as she stands from the chair. It's your turn to look up to her.

"Maybe," you tease again with a shrug, a gasp leaving your mouth when she lifts you easily onto the desk.

Wanda puts herself between your legs, the space between the two of you filled with her presence. You could smell the expensive perfume she wore and the mint on her breath as she leaned in. She chuckles lowly at the goosebumps that arise on your arms.

"I'm not going to be the one begging," she whispers in your ear, a finger under your chin as she leans back and forces your head up.

The two of you lean in at the same time, lips moving in sync as your arms move to wrap around her. Her lips are softer than you could have ever imagined, and you could taste the mint you smelled earlier on her tongue as she explores your mouth.

"I've wanted to kiss you like this since the first time you walked in this room," Wanda groans into your mouth and you can only whine in reply as your hands move to unbutton her blouse.

Her hands make quick work of undoing your jeans, and you wish you hadn't stopped wearing skirts after she told you she couldn't be with you. But those thoughts are quickly replaced with watching Wanda slide your pants and panties down together.

Wanda can't help but moan quietly at the sight of your already wet thighs, sticky with your arousal just like in her dream. She looks in your eyes as two fingers press onto your clit, your mouth parting at the feeling.

"So wet for me already, and I haven't even done anything yet..." She sighs, rubbing circles as your hands grip desperately onto her now open shirt.

"Please, Miss Maximoff... I need you so bad," you moan her name. She almost thinks she's dreaming again until she slips her fingers inside of you, feeling your warm walls squeeze her fingers just as she thought they would. Even better than she imagined.

"What was that, baby?" Her fingers stay still inside of you, her eyes watching your red cheeks.

"Please... mommy?" You ask and bite your lip, her fingers suddenly moving inside of you was all you needed to know that was what she wanted to hear.

"You hear that? You hear how wet you are for me?" She asks, the filthy sounds of her fingers pumping in and out of you fill the empty room. "Fucking gorgeous sounds baby," Wanda groans at the feeling of you squeezing her fingers.

"Yes, mommy, I-I'm so wet for you! Your fingers feel so good," you moan and buck your hips pathetically against her hand.

"You feel so good clenching around my fingers, taking me so well, baby.. you gonna cum already huh?" Wanda says in a condescending tone with a smirk on her lips. Her fingers pick up pace, and you moan at the feeling of her knuckle deep inside of your pussy. The fingers you had imagined so many times inside of you, finally curling and drawing an orgasm out of you. Your body shakes as you come, stomach tightening as you soak her fingers.

"Fuck - Wanda!" You let out, feeling her fingers pump inside of you through your climax.

When she sees your body calm, Wanda removes her fingers, a whimper leaving your mouth as you clench around nothing. Your legs squeeze Wandas hips when she puts her fingers in front of your lips.

"Open up, sweetheart. Taste yourself, see how good mommy made you feel," she says and moves her other hand to cup under your chin.

You comply and open your mouth, sticking your tongue out. When she puts her fingers in your mouth, you suck hard and look up at her with innocent eyes. Batting your eyelashes, you lick between her fingers, a low moan illiciting from the back of her throat.

Something seemed to snap inside of Wanda as you did that, and she quickly removed them and lifted your shirt over your head before taking a step back. The fact that you weren't wearing a bra only drove Wanda more crazy.

"Turn around, baby, and stick your ass up... let me see that pretty pussy," she says with dark eyes, her hands unzipping her slacks to pull out a red strap. Your eyes widen at the sight and she chuckles. "It's okay sweetheart, you can take it. We'll make it fit, won't we?" She asks and watches as you nod and turn around.

You bend over the desk, lifting your ass up and looking back at her, always so fucking innocently. Wanda hums at the sight and guides her strap up and down your wet pussy, sliding part of it in easily.

"I've dreamed of this," she says, and you didn't know she literally had.

You grip onto the wood in front of you, eyes squeezing closed as she pushes herself deeper inside of you. Her hands rub your back and hips soothingly.

"Mommy -fuck- want to take all of you," you whimper out.

"Oh don't worry, sweetheart, you will," she coos and fills you up completely, the fabric of her pants rubbing against your ass as you push back onto her hips.

Once she's bottomed out, she reaches forward to grab your hands, placing them behind your back and holding them there tightly with one hand. Again, all too familiar from your last meeting with her, only this time you've gotten your way. Her hips begin to move slowly at first, but once your whimpers turn into moans, she can no longer hold back.

"This is all you wanted, isn't it, sweetheart? To be fucked and filled with mommys cock like a good little slut," Wanda breathes out as she rails into you.

"Yes, mommy! I-" You stop mid sentence and half moan half whine as your cheek rubs against the wood with every thrust, her hips hitting yours roughly. You clench around the length of her cock, every word driving you closer ro another orgasm.

With one hand holding yours behind your back, the other smacks your ass sharply. "You can't even talk, can you baby? Is mommy fucking you dumb? What happened to my smart girl?" She chuckles, again in a condescending tone.

But she wasn't wrong. You were at the point of whining, and gasping breathes with each thrust feeling deeper than the next. All your teasing and taunting Wanda through the semester, and this was all it took to finally shut you up.

Not that either of you would complain.

The desk scratches against the floor as she pounds into you, the sounds of the wood creaking underneath the weight of you and her fucking into your wet pussy fill the room, accompanied by your whimpers and half sentences.

"Feels so -"

Another moan.

"So, so good, mommy!"

Another whimper.

Wandas hand palms your ass cheek roughly before you feel her nails digging into your hips. She feels more resistance as she pumps in and out of you, your walls clenching tightly.

"You're close, aren't you, sweetheart?" She groans at the whimper that leaves your mouth, and she pushes herself harder into you. For a second, you feel like the desk would break. "Alright baby, you better be a good girl and cum for mommy..." She says and the praise is all you need to release all over Wandas strap, your wetness spreading and dripping onto your thighs.

The scrapping of the desk stops as she slows her thrusts, her hand releasing your hands from her grip. The two of you sit there for a moment breathing heavily, and Wanda leans forward to kiss your cheek.

"Such a good girl for me, you took me so well, baby... that's it. Just take a minute." Her hands move to lift you up, not removing the cock from inside of you. She sits down in her chair and brings you with her, sitting you in her lap.

"I-I can't take anymore," you breathe out and shake your head, wincing at the feeling of how full she felt inside of you, the way she stretched you out completely.

"Shhh," Wanda coos in a soothing voice, placing sweet kisses on your back and shoulder. "Just one more baby, one more for mommy. There you go, baby just like that," she says, guiding you to move your hips.

Any pain had quickly turned to pleasure as you moved in her lap, your back pressing against her front as you leaned back. Her hips met yours with every bounce, and you tears threatened to escape with how good you felt.

"Such a good girl for mommy, aren't you?" She asks, you feel her left hand grope your breasts, fingers squeezing your nipple as her right hand moves up your side slowly, gripping your throat.

"Y-Yes, mommy, just for you. I'm -oh fuck- I'm so close," you whine as her fingers squeeze either side of your neck. You feel the air escape your throat just enough to feel your chest tighten.

Wanda moans at the feeling of your pulse quicken under her thumb. She was practically holding you up at this point. Your head falls back onto her shoulder, and her left hand moves down to rub your swollen clit. You let out a gasp at the pleasure of the overstimulation of it all.

"That's it, baby, just like that. You're doing so good for mommy," she praises in your ear, her lips moving against the skin just underneath. Wandas hips move more roughly up into you, her grip tightening around your throat.

Your hands move up to grip onto her arm, nails digging into the sleeves of her shirt as she forces another orgasm out of you.

"Mommy, I'm coming!" You whine as your body trembles against her, your legs failing you as she holds you up tightly in her lap.

"Fuck sweetheart, just-just hold on mommy's gonna cum too," Wanda groans against your neck and continues to pound into you from underneath you as she chases her own high. You were beyond overstimulated at this point, and the tears that threatened to fall from earlier flowed freely down your cheeks now.

Wandas thrusts begin to waver, and as she moans against your skin, her hand squeezes your throat again, the muscles in her arm tensing as she comes.

She removes her hand from your throat and clit and instead wraps her arms around you securely. You bury your face against her neck, feeling vulnerable and exposed as you sit naked in her lap. Wanda had taken any weight you carried off your shoulders, you had never felt more relaxed or well-fucked in your life.

You feel her lips kiss your cheek, and you respond by peppering her neck and jaw with kisses back.

"You okay, darling?" Wanda asks, her voice soft. You could see a bright smile on her face as you look up at her and nod. "Use your words."

"Yes... never felt better." You sigh contently and smile back at her, leaning over to kiss her on the lips.

Wanda helps you off of her strap, your legs weak underneath you as you reach for your shirt as she tucks the strap back into her pants. She reaches out to grab your panties and jeans.

"I don't want you to clean yourself off until you get home. Understand?" She asks with a smirk as she pulls your pants over your wet and sticky thighs. "I want you to think about me for the rest of the night," Wanda whispers and buttons your jeans, pulling up the zipper. You stand uncomfortably but nod, the thought and feeling only making your stomach burn all over again.

You look at Wanda and take in the sight of the smirk on her red, swollen lips, her red hair cascading down to lay on her breasts that peak through her open blouse. Her hands move to button up the shirt, but the sight of her empty ring finger reminds you of a certain fact.

"Will I see you again?" You ask, not being able to hide the disappointment on your face. The smile that takes over her face is enough to relax the features on your own.

"We've got all summer," she chuckles, her hands cupping your cheeks as she kisses your forehead.

Someone older was definitely what you needed.

And having Wanda for the summer? You would do everything prove to her that age was just a number, and figure out just how 'complicated' her marriage was. Because when she walked out of the classroom with you next to her, she left the ring in the drawer of the desk she had just fucked you on.

#marvel #elizabeth olsen #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #wanda x you #wanda x fem!reader #teacher wanda #mommy wanda #Spotify

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ghostlygeto · 9 months

Text

let me be your mirror | astarion

pairing: astarion x gn!tav / reader

warnings: spoilers for early romance w astarion, fluff, kind of follows canon dialogue, reader pining hard, reader is an artist this has been done with this exact scenario surely, astarion calls reader “darling”, “my sweet”, also “dove” which isn’t canon, reader and astarion aren’t really together but i mean. yeah they are. not proof read!!!!!

word count: 1.1k

you had been drawing astarion for much longer than you’d care to admit. though the dates scribbled on the bottom of each page betrayed you, exposing that you had drawn astarion close to every day for a month.

it started off innocently, you drew all of your party members when you had first met them. you were stressed and overwhelmed with your situation at hand, the tadpole snugly sat behind your eye squirming to remind you of your devastating truth: you’d soon become a mindflayer if you couldn’t find a cure. on nights you couldn’t sleep or mornings you’d woken up early, you found yourself drawing. it had always been a way you’d let off your steam, now was no exception.

when the stress of your situation died down, as did your drawings of your now friends. you had a couple day’s worth of gale and lae’zel, and probably a week of shadowheart. but astarion? it seemed every time your tool of choice hit the paper he had been the outcome.

you weren’t ashamed of it by any means. astarion is a gorgeous man, blood sucking monster or not. his eyes captivated you (as proven by the amount of drawings of them alone), and his voice had your attention like no other. if the nature of things were any different, you might be willing to confess you were in love with him.

so when the night came and everyone had fallen asleep but the two of you, and astarion had let it slip that he hadn’t seen his reflection in two hundred years, your heart broke. he didn’t know the way his curls hooked around his ears, or the way the corners of his mouth would turn up ever so slightly when he’d successfully kill a goblin. and his eyes, gods his eyes. you’d have to be dense to miss the way they light up at the very sight of you. knowing he didn’t get to enjoy the very things you adore about him devastated you.

“what color were they before?” you asked, arms wrapped tightly around your legs to hug them close to your chest. “your eyes, before you were turned.” your cheek pressed against your knee as you looked to him.

“my eyes?” astarion sounded surprised you’d asked him such a thing. “i don’t..i don’t remember.”

that felt like the final nail in your coffin. your heart ached more for him now that it had before, if that were even possible. if he didn’t remember his eye color, his hair color was probably long forgotten as well. it felt impossible to wrap your head around, you knew the shade of your eyes and tone of your hair by heart. the idea of forgetting it, well, you were sure you’d have to be dead to forget.

“what’s going on in that head of yours, darling?” his tone almost made you forget your sadness. it seemed anytime he spoke to you now his words were laced with honey, drawing you in and sticking to you.

“you haven’t seen yourself in two decades,” you repeat his previous words back to him, “you hardly remember your own face, is that not the least bit devastating to you?”

astarion hesitated before replying to you, trying to chose his words carefully. “of course it is. but there’s nothing i can do to change it, so why bother being upset?”

you chewed the inside of your cheek. of course you had the solution. you had probably close to twenty drawings of his face alone that could provide him some solace about the entire thing. but what if he thought you were weird for it? none of them knew of your little hobby, he could expose it to the others and they could cast you out for invading their privacy. and well, your infatuation toward him was nothing short of romantic. you weren’t sure he needed to know that, but exposing your drawings to him would make it clear.

“i can feel your tadpole wriggling around, what’s wrong, my sweet?” his voice sent a shiver down your spine before you finally managed to speak.

“let me be your mirror,” you offered, raising your head from your knees. you could practically see his thought process, and you didn’t miss the small smirk on his face. “what do you want to know?”

“i want to know what the world sees when it looks at me,” astarion held his usual cocky tone for a moment, but for a second it faultered. “what you see.”

“close your eyes,” he obeyed, wondering what it was exactly you were making him close them for. it wasn’t until he heard shuffling in your tent beside him that he opened them and called out to you confused.

“what are you doing? what in your tent could ever allow you to be my mirror?”

“hush, would you?” you roll your eyes at him as you step out from your shelter and back toward him. you took a deep breath before sitting back down next to him, offering him the pile of papers. “here.”

for the first time since you had met him, astarion was speechless. he wasn’t sure what he was expecting from you, maybe a few put together compliments for him to tease you about before leaving the conversation at that. but this? he had no idea that you could draw, let alone that you’d use such a talent to draw someone like him.

“i know it might be weird, sorry,” you hide your face from him, afraid of his reaction. “i’m sure it might not be comforting to know someone you had barely known until recently has been drawing you for-”

“i don’t find it weird,” he interrupted you, gently grabbing your chin with his pointer finger and thumb, “look at me,” guiding your eyes to his, astarion offered you a smile. not a cocky smile or his usual smirk, but rather a real smile. one you weren’t sure you’d seen from him before. “thank you…for this. they’re beautiful. and i…i could never express my gratitude to you,”

you removed your chin from his hold and waved your hand at him, dismissing his words. “don’t say all that astarion. you make an amazing muse, it’d be criminal of me to not make use of that.” you chose to pretend the burning in your cheeks had been from the fire and not the blooming embarrassment.

“criminal, hm?” it didn’t take long for the astarion you had grown attached to to return, smirk plastered on his face. he leaned forward to press his forehead to yours before speaking again, his voice low and almost sultry, “well we wouldn’t want you to get arrested again, now would we, dove?”

“you ruined the moment, astarion,” you huff, pulling your legs back to your chest to rest your head on your knees again. “it’s getting late. we should sleep.”

astarion nodded, standing from his place and offering you his hand to help you up. “yes, i’d hate for a lack of sleep to ruin your muse,” he teased again, handing you back your drawings. “i’ll see you in the morning, darling.”

reblogs, comments, and likes appreciated !!

#astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion baldurs gate #baldurs gate x reader #mine !!#bg3 x reader #astarion fic #astarion drabble #astarion fluff

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luveline · 6 months

Note

Hello! I just want to start off by saying you're an absolutely amazing writer! I've been reading your blog for two years now, I believe, or something very close to it, and I still find myself awestruck by your talent when I check your blog, which is pretty much daily!

If you're up for the prompt and if you're not too swamped with requests, could I ask for a blurb with bombshell reader x Spencer? Maybe reader makes him something really sincere and handmade? Maybe a baked good or a knitted sweater? No special occasion needed, just because he deserves it 😋

Thank you for sharing your works with us! Be well and remember to take breaks! Love you Jade!!

Thank you my love, that is so kind! Love you♡

You feel sleek walking into the office that morning. Fitted clothes steamed and pressed, hair freshly upkept at the salon the previous weekend, nails manicured, smile primly painted, you look perfect.

But that's not what you're excited about.

Spencer lounges cross-legged at his desk, a book in his lap, surprisingly broad shoulders hunched as he reads at a more natural pace than usual. His desk is cluttered in organised chaos, books lining the partition that separate his desk from Derek's and Emily's, strange knickknacks scattered. There's a bunch of bright squishy things from Penelope, an upside down umbrella statue lined with hair elastics, and, cutest of all, his two photo frames. One of him holding baby Henry, and one of you. You and him, of course, but mostly you in the frame, closer, smiling like you love him as you angle the camera back in a well meaning and misaligned self portrait.

You do love him. He hasn't caught on yet, is all.

"Spencer," you greet, hoping he won't jump. He flinches minutely and lifts his head to yours, closing the book against his hand. "Sorry, I was trying to make it so you didn't jump."

"My fault." He rubs his eyes. "Just been reading this book for so long it's messing with me."

The book, of which he's told you about in detail, is about a documentary, which is in turn about a bunch of dark, ever-changing rooms, hallways and tunnels from within a house. The line between what's fiction within fiction blurs, and it's actually pretty scary if he's to be believed. "I've never seen you take so long reading one book, even if it is eight hundred pages," you say teasingly, letting the handle of your handbag slip down your shoulder.

"The point is suspense," he says, eyes following your fingers where they dive into your bag. "Which needs time to build. What are they?"

"These are for you, handsome."

"You already gave me a present," he says quizzically.

His birthday was a few days ago, and he's right. "These aren't for your birthday, Spence."

He cracks the lid off of the tupperware on side at a time like he's scared he'll ruin the sweet treats within. You've made him fresh baked shortbread biscuits dipped in dark-chocolate and topped with sparse coconut shavings.

"What are these?" he asks.

You both know that he knows they're cookies, so you answer the unasked question instead. "I wanted to make them for you. I think you'll like them, they're a little rich but the coconut helps even it out. You don't have to try them now or anything–"

"Can I?" he asks, lips quirked into a gentle pout.

"Sure." You hide your nerves as he bites into one, the cookie itself breaking softly, crumbs falling into his waiting hand. "They're messy. Should've warned you."

He puts the uneaten half back in the tupperware and places it atop his closed book on the desk. He's nodding as he stands, arms quick over your shoulders. You can hear him swallow, his voice mildly hoarse as he says, "They're so nice," he praises, clearing his throat, "I think I swallowed too fast." His laugh warms your ear. "I can't believe you made those. How long did it take you?"

"Not that long," you say, beaming as he pulls away. "I knew you'd like them."

"It helps that you made them." He holds your elbow. "I don't know how to say thanks."

You raise your cheek. "Only if you want."

He kisses your cheek. You smile like a fool and giggle much the same, reaching around his arms to nab a cookie for yourself. They'd tasted nice last night when you tried them, but they're perfect after Spencer's praise.

"No one's ever baked something for me before," he admits, the two of you standing much too close considering the setting. "I mean, there really wasn't a reason?"

"No, Spence. I was watching some TV last night when I started thinking about you, and I recently got that cookbook, you remember? That was one of the dessert recipes. I had to make two batches because I put too much butter in the first try and they spread flat as a nickel."

He smiles at your misfortune. "What?" you ask. "What's funny about that?"

"It's not funny. You made me cookies and when they went wrong you made me more. I don't know what I–" His hand flirts with your elbow, index finger moving with a mind of its own, tickling you through your thin blouse. "You're amazing."

"You make me really happy." You look down at his hand where it draws a line. "It makes me happy to be able to do something for you."

Spencer can evidently see you turning shy, and he's a sweetheart, so he rescues you from your timidity with a life jacket. "Is there anything you can't do?"

"Not that I've found so far, handsome. Why, did you have something in mind?"

He makes a big and genuine laugh, grabbing two cookies and forcing one into your hand. "You have to eat your share before Emily gets here." He nudges your hand up with his. "Go on. I'm not in the mood to share with anyone but you."

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader

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russellsppttemplates · 1 month

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Can i request Lando with bookworm!reader and he constantly buys books for reader and always takes pictures of her whilst she reads and one day he like goes through her wish list and buys a bunch of books from it to surprise her

note: this is the dream, okay? okay

"Do you remember if I've bought this one before?", Lando asked Max as walked along the bookshop.

"You've bought her so many I can't remember - you posted a picture of her reading in the jpg account, maybe we can check in the shelf?", he suggested, getting his phone from his pocket and zooming in on the pictures.

"Well? Do you see it in there?", Lando asked as he tried to balance the books he was sure you didn't have yet, a little impatient because Max was taking so long.

"It's not easy to go through all the pictures! There are hundreds of them, just this week you posted what? Four pictures of her reading by the bookshelves alone, it takes time to analyse them!", Max defended himself.

"Look how pretty she is", Lando cooed as he looked at Max's phone, "whipped much?", Max teased him, "I don't care what you say, and I'm not seeing the book, so I'm getting it for her", Lando stated.

"Let me take a picture of you and your new book, baby", Lando cooed, kissing up your thighs as you lay on the sofa. He was resting his head on your thighs, one of your hands holding a book while the other played with his hair, all while he was fiddling with his camera and sending the latest photos to his phone so he could sort through them while you read the book that had arrived yesterday in the mail.

"I have no make-up on, Lando, and I'm barely dressed", you blushed, looking at his t-shirt you were wearing along with a lacy number for your panties, "I'll keep everything covered, I don't want anyone to see what's for my eyes only", he smirked, changing the camera settings and snapping a couple of photos of his favourite view.

"Is this Y/N's letter for Santa? It's still a bit early for that", Jon chuckled as Lando asked him to hold his phone with a notes app titled "Y/N's wishlist".

"It's her wishlist for books she wants to read, and I'm surprising her when she comes home today from her work trip!", Lando smiled, "I'll put them in the basket and you'll make them off, okay?", Lando checked before he began looking for the ones he knew by heart.

"You have two books that are the same here", Jon pointed out, "no, it's not", Lando said as his trainer quirked a brow, "it's not like that, that is; this is a special edition one with pretty pages, they have doodles on them and I know she won't buy it for herself so I'm going to", he smiled.

"You'd think someone dating you would ask for expensive jewelry or bags", Jon chuckled, knowing you weren't with Lando for the money, but he couldn't help but diss at some of the relationships he had seen at the paddock over the years.

"Y/N is not like everyone else - Oh, this one is out already? This is going to be an even bugger surprise then! C'mon, Jon, there are still about ten books left to find!", Lando urged him.

(Thank you for sending this in ✨️)

#lando norris blurb #inês writes blurbs #f1 blurb #f1 x reader

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vivwritesfics · 3 months

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Amortentia

One particularly bad crash lands her in hospital, out for the count. Max, Lando and Charles visit her every single day. While she's out the reader lives several different lives. The one thing they all have in common? Her boys

Max Verstappen x Reader, Lando Norris x reader, Charles Leclerc x reader

The First Part The Third Part

Huge thanks to @amatswimming @landossainz and @honkyscats for all your guys help on this one! It wouldn't have been possible without you

Her car had gone into the barrier two weeks ago, and the boys hadn't left her side. She hadn't yet woken up, and Lando, Max and Charles were trying their best to be patient. But they missed her so damn much.

Lando dropped his bag by feet. It made an audible thud. "What the hell have you got there?" Asked Max as he sat back in the one seat available in the room. Charles was sat on the floor, visibly distressed.

"You remember she made us watch Harry Potter maybe a hundred times?" Lando asked as he unzipped his bag. He pulled out a book.

"You brought those all the way from Monaco?" Max asked as he took the the philosophers stone from Lando's hands.

He nodded his head. "Of course I did," he said, pulling out the rest of the box set. First editions. They had been incredibly expensive, but it was worth it.

Charles looked up, his eyes bloodshot.

"I was thinking we could try reading them to her. It might wake her up, or something," Lando continued.

Max looked across the room, looking straight into Charles' eyes. "You wanna read it, Charlie?" He asked, holding the book out towards him.

Charles nodded his head. He took the book from Max's hands and opened it to the first page. He looked at Y/N as her chest gently rose and fell, and began reading.

***

He was back, and he wanted Charles. The only place he was safe was Hogwarts, but even that wasn't a guarantee anymore.

Just the year before in the triwizard tournament Charles saw him return. He was the only one meant to be there in the graveyard, not Pierre. Pierre didn't have to die, and it was all his fault. He'd been killed, and his assailant didn't care.

Returning to Hogwarts for his fifth year, Charles was terrified. Professor Hamilton believed him though, and that was the most important thing. There were people, like his housemate Carlos, who didn't believe him, but Lando, Y/N and Max did, and that was the most important thing.

Max had been the only one of their quartet receiving copies of the Daily Prophet through the summer, he was the only one seeing what Bernie Ecclestone, the minister for magic, was saying. Awful, terrible things that Charles couldn't defend.

When he arrived at Hogwarts, Y/N was the first to throw her arms around him. She squeezed him and Charles wrapped his arms around her. This was the only comfort he allowed himself at this point. She was the only comfort he allowed himself at this point.

Max and Lando stood behind her, Max in his green tie and Lando in his yellow one. They offered him sympathetic smile as he looked up from her shoulder. "Come and have something to eat," she said quietly and pulled him into the great hall.

The whispers started as Charles walked between the tables, heading to his house table. Y/N went with him. She ignored her own house, left Lando to walk back to their table on his own, as she sat with Charles.

Nobody said anything to him at dinner, not unless they wanted to deal with the wrath of his Hufflepuff best friend. It was when he got to his common room, when Y/N wasn't there, that people started.

Carlos was the first to approach him. "My mother says you're lying," he said, cutting through the noise in the common room. All conversation stopped as they stared between the two.

"You listen to everything your mother says, do you?" Charles challenged, annoyance instantly bubbling up inside of him. He couldn't make Carlos believe, he knew. But Carlos didn't see the things he saw every time he shut his eyes.

***

Professor Danica Patrick was new to the staff, the new defence against the dark arts teacher. And she was the worst. She smiled at her fifth year class in a sickly sweet way, but it was patronising. "Ordinary Wizarding Levels. OWLS," she said as she pointed to her blackboard. "This is what my class will be all about. In here I will be preparing you for your OWLS."

Y/N frowned as she looked at Charles sat beside her. He too was frowning as he patted his wand in his pocket. "So, we're not learning how to defend ourselves?" Y/N called as she turned her attention to Professor Patrick.

Professor Patrick didn't let that smile drop from her face. In fact, she smiled wider, but it was only more patronising. "Miss L/N, what could you possibly need to defend yourself from?" She asked as she walked over to her desk.

It wasn't Y/N that answered her. No, Charles piped up. "Oh, I don't know, maybe Jos?" He suggested, but it wasn't in a friendly manner. No, Charles was clearly pissed.

Professor Patrick cleared her throat and sat on her desk. "Mr Leclerc, I can assure you that Jos has not returned." Y/N couldn't help but turn to Max, who's knuckles were white as he gripped his quill. "The minister has stated-"

"I don't care what the minister has said," Charles suddenly said. "How do you think Pierre Gasly died?" He challenged.

The smile finally dropped from Professor Patrick's face. But she quickly replaced it with one filled with sorrow. "Mr Gasly's death was a tragic accident," she said slowly.

This only further fuelled the rage in Charles. "It wasn't an accident!" He suddenly shouted as he stood up. "I was there with Jules in the graveyard. I watched him die." His voice cracked at the end and Y/N grabbed a hold of his arm, pulling him back into his seat.

"Detention."

"Fuck," Charles whispered under his breath.

After weeks and weeks of Professor Patricks useless lessons, Y/N knew he had to do something. "Jos is back," she said as she led Lando, Max and Charles into the Hufflepuff common room. "If professor Patrick isn't going to teach us to defend ourselves, we need to find somebody who will."

All eyes turned to Charles. He looked between his friends, eyes going wide as he held up his hands. "I can't," he said as he stepped back with his hands up.

"Yes you can, Charlie," Y/N insisted as she walked towards him. "I mean, who else? You're the only one of us who has faced any real danger before."

"Yeah," Max agreed as he stepped forward, stepping inline with Y/N. "We've all see what you can do in that Ferrari."

Suddenly Y/N turned to him. "What did you just say?" She asked him.

Max rolled his eyes. "C'mon Y/N. You were there! You must remember when he saved himself and Jules from the dementors."

Suddenly she was very short of breath. "That's not what you said," she said as she sat on the sofa in the Hufflepuff common room. "Why are you talking about Ferraris?"

Lando, Max and Charles ignored her. Or they couldn't hear her.

"What if we got together a group of students who want to learn from you? Would you teach then?" Lando asked as he sat beside Y/N, his arm on the sofa behind her.

"Nobody wants to learn from me," Charles said as he sat on the window ledge.

Y/N looked up at him, all thoughts of Ferraris leaving her mind. They were wizards and witches, not race car drivers. "I do," she said to him. "I bet half the people in the common room do."

Nobody else in the Hufflepuff common room agreed, but mainly because they weren't listening. But Lando stepped up. "I do too," he said as he sat up straighter. "And I know Max does."

Max grinned at his best friend. Of all of the people in Fifth year, Max wasn't one who needed Charles to teach him. He was brilliant in his own right, he just hadn't had a chance to prove it yet.

"Are you sure?" Charles asked as he looked directly at Max.

It was a tricky subject. The person that they wanted to defend themselves from was Max's father. But he didn't want anything to do with his 'blood traitor' son. Max wanted to fight him now. It had taken him a while to come around to it, hadn't wanted to believe his father was bad. But, after spending the last four years at Hogwarts, everything hit him all at once. His father was bad, dangerous, and Max wanted to be the one to stop him.

Max nodded is head and they began drawing up plans. Weeks later they were in Hogsmede, gathered in the forgotten Hogs Head pub. It was surprising the amount of students that showed up. Even Carlos Sainz was there, asking Charles about the night that Pierre died.

After a rousing speech that, upon reflection, was more frightening than encouraging, they had a plethora of students signing up. And then they just needed somewhere to practice their magic, somewhere Professor Patrick wouldn't find them.

It was Oscar Piastri, a young Ravenclaw that found them somewhere to practice. Daniel Ricciardo, Lando and Y/N's housemate, had been hunting him down, trying to get him to do his homework, so Oscar hid himself away in a room he had never seen before. That was because, most of the time, the door wasn't there.

"Brilliant, Osc," Y/N said when he showed the group. The door to the room of requirement opened and she led them in, Charles close behind her.

Every other day a large group of students met in the room of requirements. Under Charles's leadership they practiced spells, learnt how to defend themselves. Charles taught new spells, such as the Patronus charm, and allowed them to practice on each other.

There was one particularly brilliant moment where Lando and Max stood opposite each other, ready to practice the stunning spell, stupefy. Lando was filled with far too much confidence, and Max knocked him down a couple of pegs. Lando's sisters giggled as he got up and walked over. "I let him do that," he muttered as he straightened out his uniform.

Charles had a favourite student. Of course it was Y/N. A few of the other students noticed that he spent the most time with her, holding her wand in the right position as he had her practice the charm his body pressed against hers.

But, at the stares of the other students, they stepped apart and cleared their throats.

Before long Christmas was rolling around. Y/N knew how much Charles wanted to stay at Hogwarts. As he said his goodbyes to his other students, she hung back, looked at the pictures they had stuck up.

There was one of Pierre, smiling down at them. Next to him was Professor Hamilton's original group, Hamilton's army. They could see Professor Alonso in the picture, along with Professor Rosberg, Professor Vettel and Professor Button.

"What're you still doing here?" Charles asked as he approached her. He stood himself behind her and looked at the pictures over her shoulder. Pierre was a hero, Charles made sure everybody knew it.

Y/N turned to him. "I know you don't want to go home," she said, stood so close they were chest to chest.

A sad smile crossed Charles's face. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her flush against him. "None of this would have been possible without you," he said as he looked around the room of requirement. "You're wonderful."

"I know," she mused and laid her head against his shoulder. "I don't want to go home either," she said, her eyes shutting.

Charles gently rocked her from side to side. He kept her tucked against him and leaned down to kiss her head. But that wasn't enough for Y/N. She lifted her head from his shoulder and wrapped her arms around his neck. She rose onto her tiptoes and pressed his lips to hers.

***

It took a matter of days for Charles to get to the Order of the Phoenix. It was his favourite of the Harry Potter books, the one he read with the most passion.

Lando and Max stayed and listened to him for most of it. But they sometimes went home, fed their cats and got on with things. He stayed with her through this though, under the promise that Max was going to read the next set of books to her.

"What house would you be in?" He asked the boys as they walked into the hospital room. The last book was open in his lap and he had taken a break from reading.

Lando shrugged his shoulders as he sat on her bed. "Y/N always says I'd be in Hufflepuff with her," he said as he patted her leg.

"Slytherin," Max answered and Charles and Lando gave him a look. "What? They don't have to be the bad guys! They just happen to be the bad guys."

"I'd be in Gryffindor," Charles said confidently. He began reading again, and Max and Lando were only happy to listen. Max was going to read the next set of books to her, they'd decided.

They listened until Charles finished the book. That was when they sent him home to finally have a shower. "Goodbye chérie," he said and kissed her head. "I'll be back soon."

Permanent Taglist: @biancathecool @rewmuslupin @prettiest-at-the-party @hellowgoodbye @minkyungseokie @formulaal @darleneslane @hiireadstuff @urfavnoirette @goldenharrysworld @andydrysdalerogers @hrts4scarr @llando4norris

Taglist: @hollie911

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teejaystumbles · 3 months

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Against all odds (a dreamling drabble)

(a 1989 comics AU where Dream does not go meet Hob despite being free)

Dream stares at the sleeping form of Hob Gadling and feels guilty.

He hadn’t gone to their centennial meeting. Despite having escaped Burgess’ cage and having recovered his tools, Dream has not met Hob at their appointed date at the White Horse.

He knows Hob waited for him. Waited until the day had gone and turned to night, after the clock had struck midnight and announced their date over. Dream knows this because he had stood, watching, for as long as the man waited inside the White Horse Inn.

He is not proud of this.

If he examines his reasons for not entering the Inn, keeping watch from the other side of the street instead, he draws a blank.

Dream does not know why he did not go inside, he knows he froze at the sight of the closed door, the cramped space indoors he could see through the glass (glass, why so much glass everywhere). He had stepped back and waited for his unease to lift, and when that did not happen he had waited for Hob to leave so Dream might meet him outside, but the man did not leave the Inn until the owner practically threw him out on the street, long after midnight. Dream had stepped forward then, only to watch his old acquaintance break down against the building wall and sob.

Why did Dream not go to him then? Why did he step back into the shadows and watch Hob drag himself up to his feet with a whimper and stumble down the street, hand trailing the wall for support. The only answer Dream can come up with is a supremely uncomfortable one.

He is a coward.

When it comes to relationships, Dream’s track record is disastrous, a fact that he is very aware of. He left Hob in 1889 with cutting words and no promise to return. Hob should by rights be angry at Dream, should be less trusting that he would show. But still the man waited for him at their next appointment, as if he had known Dream’s words to be products of his rage and not vows he would keep. Even if he doesn’t know it, Hob was right to expect Dream to not simply terminate their arrangement. Because here Dream stands, at the foot of Hob’s bed, watching the man sleep, too scared of a smug ‘I-knew-you’d-see-sense’ to dare approach him while awake.

Hob had slowly made his way home, unaware of Dream following him, drawn to him like there was a string tying them to each other. By then Dream felt like the point where he could make himself known had passed, but he hadn’t been able to leave. He kept trailing after Hob, into his small two-room apartment; had watched him shed only his shoes and then stood in the shadows of his curtains while Hob took out a small leather-bound book and pen and started to write. Dream had felt like a ghost, a nightmare watcher haunting his victim. He had carefully reigned in any stray trickles of his power to not make himself known or Hob uncomfortable in his invisible presence. After a few minutes Hob had stopped writing and sighed. Then he wiped his hands over his face tiredly and went to bed, not bothering to get out of his clothes.

Dream stands beside the table with the book now. The pages are still open. His eyes seek out the words unbidden, unable to resist the pull of the written word. He knows he is breaking a lot of taboos this evening. He is invading his friend’s privacy most thoroughly. The knowledge does not stop him from reading what Hob has written.

June 7th 8th, 1989

He didn’t come. The bastard really didn’t come. I can’t believe it. I was so sure he would show. That he was just angry, prideful and stubborn as he is, but surely a hundred years would be long enough to calm down?

Apparently they weren’t. I sat there, at our table at the White Horse, drinking one whiskey after the other, waiting like an idiot until they threw me out, and he didn’t show.

Do you even remember me? Or did you cut me from your memory, like you promised to cut all our ties, the night you left me standing in the rain? Have I left any impact at all on your immortal life that is probably much longer than my own? Surely it must be obvious to you that you have impacted my life more than anyone else. You are the only one who knows me, who knows Hob Gadling, the rough, foolish mercenary who bragged about never dying. Who raised himself from the dirt of the poor just to fall back down again, deeper than ever before. Rise and fall, and rise again only to be put in my place by you again - and rightfully so.

In 1889 I had finally managed to find some middle ground, feeling safe enough to finally be honest with you - at least partially. And it all blew up in my face.

I should have known, really. Your relaxed smiles for the last centuries were too good to be true. I shouldn’t have trusted my gut and spilled some of the beans. But it had been lonely the last few decades and I thought we had reached an understanding. I thought I knew you, if not as well as you have to know me by now, but enough to take that leap of faith.

I leapt. And you let me fall I fell again. I should be used to it by now, one might think. But when it’s you nothing is simple and the stakes are so much higher.Do you know what you mean to me? Your name is written on a wall inside my heart and I don’t think that any amount of alcohol can wash it away. And I don’t even know it. I don’t know your name but it’s in there, and it’s not coming off. I know. I tried. Although it hurts that you stood me up, I believe that you’ll come back to meet me one day. I will believe in you, no matter what. I have to, for there is no other constant in my life but you. I have to hope.

‘You’re the only one who really knew me at all, and you coming back to me is against all odds, but it’s a chance I’ve got to take’, like Phil says.

Dream does not know who Phil is, but a quick glance at the general human subconscious reveals the quoted words as part of a song by an artist Hob seems to be referring to. Dream perceives the song’s lyrics and its general feeling and swallows heavily. It appears to be an apt choice for Hob’s current emotional state. He reads the last few words while the notes of the song linger in his mind.

So I’ll be here when you’re ready. I hope you know how to find me when they inevitably tear the old place down, but I guess you do. I hope so. I really hope so. I just want to know that you’re okay. I need to know that I’m not alone. There are others like me, I’ve met some. But it’s not the same. No one is like you. No one is as

Please come back

The words cut off abruptly, Hob having clearly been too tired to write more. Dream’s newly reclaimed powers put everything in much sharper relief. Shutting off the flow of emotions from the subconscious comes both easier and harder somehow. Pulling himself back into this singular humanoid shape at Hob’s bedside takes a particular effort he had forgotten since he furnished his ruby. It is not hard, but a task he has to accustom himself to again. Dream pauses for several minutes, quite literally collecting himself, unsure of his next actions.

He looks at Hob again. His face is slack in his sleep, relaxed and calm. Dream only glances at Hob’s dreams to ascertain if they are calm or troubled but finds nothing too upsetting. He does not want to intrude further than he already has so he keeps himself from viewing his friend’s dreams.

His friend. Friend. The word that had sent Dream running in affront a century ago. Despite himself, struck by a sudden urge to talk to Hob, Dream inhales sharply and silently sits down on the chair in front of the open notebook. He carefully picks up the pen and sets it to the empty paper below Hob’s own words.

My friend.

I apologise for missing our meeting

I owe you more than one apology. You were correct in your assessment the last time we met. I was am lonely. With one word you dismantled my defences and left me too vulnerable to bear at the time. I was rude to you, and I regretted my words as soon as I had left you. However, as you well know, I am a prideful, stubborn being. Strange, to be able to admit it so easily now. I’ve always known it, and you’re not the first to call me out on it, but of course I would never have allowed anyone who talked to me like that to speak to me again. So I told you I’d leave you, not able to accept that you were, ARE, my friend.

And that I need you, like you need me

I have not forgotten you, Hob Gadling. I do not forget anyone. You are cradled in the vastness of my being like every other mind, your story preserved for all time. This, of course, you cannot know, as I have never introduced myself to you. Again, something I’d like to apologise for. I will, however, endeavour to give you my name in person, and soon.

I would have done so today yesterday, but. For some reason I cannot name I felt unable to approach you or enter our usual meeting place. I know you waited and I am deeply sorry for troubling you.

You have indeed made an impact on my life. Maybe not in the same way I did on yours, but nonetheless our meetings have become something I look forward to. You surely wonder why I never told you who I am. I was not able to admit it a hundred years ago, but to meet you, who knows nothing of my role and my duties, is freeing in a way nothing else is in my existence. You look upon me as your friend, and nothing else. You cannot imagine how much I enjoy the time spent in your presence, listening to your accounts of the last century.

I could not

I was unable to experience much of human history over the last century. This has left me with a certain uneasiness in regards to humanity. I would humbly ask for your patience, once again. As I am trying to gather the courage find the time to gather the courage to meet you in person. Perhaps this book can provide a form of communication, for the time being.

Sincerely, your old friend

Dream drops the pen like it’s burning his fingers and rises swiftly, stepping back from the table and notebook before he can rip out the page he has written in a fit of panic. He has revealed far more than he intended to but it is only fair to leave Hob these words, after what he has put him through.

Dream allows himself one last look at Hob, still sleeping peacefully, before returning back to the Dreaming. There is much to think about. His reluctance to interact with humanity cannot stand if he is to perform his function. Walking with Death has helped him put things in perspective again but he still fears. What? What does he have to fear? He has no need for humans liking him. As he examines his feelings and his earlier short interactions with humans on his way to the White Horse, Dream realises that he does not care about all humans. He only cares about how Hob perceives him.

Perhaps knowing that he had to introduce himself this time, clearly owing it to his friend, Dream had been afraid of losing Hob’s easy camaraderie. Surely exposing himself as Endless will have a pruning effect on Hob’s relaxed and friendly demeanour. Dream does not want that. But perhaps… No. He will wait for Hob’s reply in his notebook, if it comes. Should he choose to answer Dream, he will then decide how to proceed further. Surely any speculation right now is fruitless.

Trying to put the matter out of his mind for now, Dream goes to resume his work. He is aware enough to know that fear of Hob’s reaction was not the only reason he didn’t enter the White Horse. He needs to work through some things. Perhaps some new nightmares made of planes of suffocating glass will help him put some things behind him.

[Spoiler: of course they won’t, oh honey 🥺]

Part 2

#my friends and I used to write to each other in notebooks and exchange it back and forth #(that was before mobile phones so it was the ancient way of texting your bff the random shit you think of at night)#I will probably write more for this #dreamling #the sandman fanfiction #teejay writes #1989 au

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acheronist · 19 days

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to the ghost of henry peglar, congrats on writing your poem down 177 years ago!!!

to the actual academic scholars who have studied the pages before me....

so I took the royal museum greenwich's scan of the poem page (which is available online hereeee) and screwed around with its light levels in photoshop until henry's script was darkened enough to see more clearly. then I digitally traced over the darkened letters as best as I could, while also trying to discern his handwriting, and type up how I was reading it & this process took me about a week to get done between like... living my regular day to day life lmao.......

so when it WAS done, the final isabel acheronist peglar papers ["the open C"] transcript seemed a bit different than how I remembered the readily available russell potter transcript going ? (the poem is on the last two pages of that pdf for those of you who don't spend a billion hours a week looking at it btw)

it felt like I was getting more/different information out of it, compared to the potter transcript, which was kind of stressing me out honestly. so THEN I compared mine with barry cornwall's original poem and found more words that matched up? particularly in the second and third stanzas?

so!!!!! almost two hundred years later here's what I've landed on:

April 21 1847 the C the C the open ) ( it grew so fresh the Ever free the Ever free the Ever free without it without it covered it will Run to Earth above Re gions Round I love the C I love the C when I whare & I wish to be with and and silence whare Never go if a sailor should a Come and Make the meek What matter what matter Come Ride Or Sleep there was shores white and of red morn at the noisy hours knew I was ever near I was Born the [...] in felt Unto the Maid the wale the young dolphin ...... yet thes back of gold the Call of gods When I was on Old England Shore I like the young C more and more oftentimes time flew to a sweltering place like a bird thats seeks it mother Case and ware she was bird oft to me for have I loved a young and Hopen C

so then after going thru All Of That, I wanted to have a version of the original poem with parts that Henry did remember clearly highlighted for comparison purposes:

I know it's a popular theory that Henry was writing a dirty parody of the original poem? which if true, is funny as hell. me when i have to write cheeky victorian porn before i die.

But (serious voice) something about that hadn't ever seemed exactly right to me... IN MY HEART it seems more realistic that around 1847 he (and also by extension, the whole surviving expedition crew) were starting to experience confusion / brain fog symptoms from being ummmm quite physically unwell. the lead poisoning/scurvy combo would have severe effects on the brain's ability to function properly, and I started to wonder if Henry was trying to test his memory somehow? So he picked a widely known and popular Victorian era poem about being a sailor to see how much he could recall??? and he then got a little whimsical with it, and wrote in his own words to fill in the portions he couldn't fully recall, because it's his own diary and likely didn't expect anyone else to ever read it, much less have it turn into ONE of TWO surviving sources about the expedition?????

like... idk... this is probably the work of someone in the exact moment as they were starting to realize how bad things were, and then was trying to cope by using poetry. and That hurts my feelings enough as it is, but going through it was also just a very weird and haunting experience....... like, I can recognize all these tiny details in this dead guy's script and handwriting now. and to read his own account of his life in his own words, what stood out to him and what he recalled, what he wanted people in the future to know about him? insane. it literally felt like i was getting haunted by him for no reason. on top of knowing that Someone (#teamarmitage) loved this guy enough to keep his memory protected and safe, even though They Were So Totally Fucked And Going To Die There, unknowing if they'd ever be found again........

SIGHING + SIGHING + SIGHING + SIGHING + CRYING A BIT HONESTLY

anyways thanks for reading this all. I don't think that this is revolutionary franklin expedition news by any means, and idk if there's a better different transcript somewhere that i've not found that already covers all this? but it's consumed a lot of my life lately lol and i wanted to share. because its the anniversary of henry writing it, and it felt...... important....? 💌....????

#📜#henry peglar #this is my crazy person post i wanted to make two weeks ago #i really did do my best to follow his hand btw but let's all read this expecting a few mistakes #franklin expedition #peglar papers

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emmettworld · 2 months

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hello, my beloved whump community. this is Emmett. but you probably know me better as this blog:

or you may remember the blog before that:

you may have even been here since this blog:

...i'm not taking you farther than that. xD

my account was terminated without any warning today. March 25, 2024. all of my blogs are gone and i have lost everything i have on them. you won't even be able to see any comments or reblogs for me on any of your posts.

if you have commissioned me over Tumblr DMs and not Discord, please contact me here. i did not have a copy of my commission list saved. i do not know who hasn't paid and who already has. i do not remember who was on the list. i do not want anyone to be cheated out of their money.

i have no idea why this happened. i was not doing anything that could justify my account being terminated with no warning or explanation. i'm so paranoid about it that i won't even type the blog names; that's why they're images instead.

but at this point, most of you know the type of whump creator i am. one who creates whatever he wants, no matter how disturbing or explicit it may be. one who loves creating whump and content in general of the Not Safe For This Website kind.

getting one of my blogs flagged, and now losing everything, is not going to stop me. i'm not going anywhere. but i am going to be changing my approach to posting content.

this is my Language Key. i will be using a system of emojis for tagging instead of words, so please read this before you go on my blog and know which tags you need to block.

if you need to block my blog for any reason, go ahead. i don't want to disturb anyone by showing up in the tags.

all of my artwork that is Not Safe For This Website will be linked to an external storage website, MEGA. it is completely free to view and you do not need an account. there will be no cropped previews unless they are 100% Safe For This Website.

all of my writing that is Not Safe For This Website will be linked directly to where i post it on my AO3. it is completely free to view and you do not need an account. there will be no writing put under a read more unless it is 100% Safe For This Website.

trust me, i'll have a better pinned post up at some point explaining who i am and my multiverse of AUs, series, and OCs, and links to my commission page, and my Ko-Fi...and i'll do my best to finish the masterlists and, once again, build myself up from the ground up...

but i'm exhausted. i never saw this coming, and it's made me realize just how unsafe i am. i lost so much content that was only posted on Tumblr and not saved anywhere else.

believe me when i say that i am fucking devastated.

but i'm not going anywhere. i will die with this site when it eventually goes down, and not because it tried to kill me.

that being said, you can find me here on Cohost, which is where i'll migrate to when this place dies or where i'll communicate if i happen to get IP address banned (probably without warning) or something that prevents me from coming back.

if you don't want to refollow me here, i totally understand. i can't say how grateful i am to everyone who does, but like...i get it. it's tedious having to refollow me all the time, never knowing when a blog (or full ass account) is going to suddenly disappear. if you want to get off this crazy, unpredictable ride now, i don't blame you.

and if you decide to stick around, for however long, thank you. this day has been one of my worst nightmares and i don't think i would be handling this with nearly as much grace if it were not for my friends and everyone on my Discord server (which, by the way, is the only safe place where i share everything uncensored).

they were my first line of communication. they helped me get the word out. they rallied for me and kept me from having one massive breakdown over this, so my heartfelt thanks go out to them.

i'm using the whump community tags in hopes that more people will see this. i had hundreds of followers on my last blog, more than a thousand on the blog before that...i know this isn't going to reach everyone, but i hope it will reach some people.

thank you so much for reblogging this to help spread the word if you do. and thank you for reading. ❤️

#whump #whumplr #whump community #whump art #whump writing #whump creators #whump blogs #emmettworld

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thefallennightmare · 7 months

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Miracle-three

(gif created by me, the fallen nightmare. feel free to use, simply give credit)

Pairings: Noah Sebastian x Reader

Warnings/Tropes: forced proximity, slight enemies to lovers, slow burn, smut, angst, fluff, mentions of death, and swearing.

Summary: Reader is the merch girl for Bad Omens. It wasn't what she wanted to do with her life but when her mother got sick with Alzheimer's, reader took a job where she could to help with the costs. She thought it would be a one-time gig but the longer she was on the road with them, the harder she fell for Noah Sebastian; even if he wanted nothing to do with her. She needed a miracle to save her mom and her future.

Author Note: I forgot how much I hate slow burns. So we'll see how long it lasts. Tags are open if anyone is interested!

Tags: @ada-clarence @nonamessblog @thescarlettvvitch @malice-ov-mercy @crimson-calligraphyx @theoneandonlykymberlee @yumikitten @blackveilomens @cherrymedicine13

A yawn fell from my lips as I snuggled deeper into the bed, a blanket wrapped around me like a cacoon to keep in the warmth. It was my first day off in four days and with the constant traveling; I was relishing being able to sleep in an actual bed. The bunks on the tour bus weren't terrible but with Bryan's snoring I was thankful for the quiet night of sleep ahead. The sun was setting, the orange glow painting over the walls of the room, and I only left the bed to go to the bathroom or grab my room service. The entire day was dreading tomorrow because that's when I had to send Lana her first paycheck and I was about three hundred dollars short.

My mom had been doing great, even remembering who I was when we talked on the phone. Something about hearing my voice but not seeing my face must have helped. It warmed my heart that we had conversations about things like we used too before she got sick.

I could explain to Lana the situation. I'm sure she would understand.

Somehow I doubted that which is why I was heavily researching my idea, wondering what the risks were and if the payout was worth it. Everyone online who had a page said they could pay for things they wouldn't have with a regular job. I would have my own rules and wouldn't worry about sharing it with a partner. I could post what I wanted whenever I wanted. The only risky thing would be someone recognizing me and with who I worked for, I wasn't completely sold on the idea yet.

"I don't have to show my face," I told myself as I sat up, deciding pretty hastily.

Desperation made people do drastic things and starting an Only Fans was my last resort; I had no other options.

The phone on my camera wouldn't do and I sucked in my bottom lip, wondering if what I was about to do was a good idea. I needed a better camera and set up while also having a credit card with a high enough limit, though it was for emergencies.

Isn't this one? Think of it as an investment.

Agreeing with the voice in my mind, I scrambled out of bed and quickly stepped into a pair of black sweats and hoodie to match. I cringed when I noticed myself in the mirror and made quick work to make myself look somewhat presentable.

The walk to the nearest store was only a few minutes, and I enjoyed the sounds of the hustle bustle of the city as people walked passed me, their own ideas for the night fueling them. I knew little about cameras and thought about asking Bryan some advice but knowing I might have to tell him why I needed one didn't sit well with me

As I was leaving the store, two bags in hand and $500 more in debt, I felt my phone buzz in my pocket and when I read the message, I couldn't help but let out a groan.

Davis, yet again, was inviting me out to dinner tonight with him and the crew. I ignored his first two because I really had plans to lie in bed all day. Now, the only thing I wanted to do was get my profile set up and start posting so I could make money as soon as I could. Plus, Noah was avoiding me ever since the night of the first show when Jolly caught us together. Nothing happened but to Noah, it was as if they caught us fucking.

The thought caused a flush to creep to my cheeks as another text came in.

Davis: If money is an issue, it's on the crew tonight. The last few days have been crazy and we want a night out to relax.

It was true; every show this tour is sold out which made for a crazy night. Everyone in the band and crew were exhausted so a night out was something we all needed.

Me: I'm already out, where should I meet you guys?

Davis: there's this Mexican restaurant right around the block from the hotel. Meet in an hour?

Perfect amount of time to set up and record my first video. I never was a modest person, even if I never had a boyfriend. A few hookups here and there gave me some experience, but I also knew what my body liked, hence me bringing a few differnt kinds of toys with me. After the first tour, I realized how lonely I got out on the road.

I refused to prove Noah right I was only here to fuck someone; which was not true. But that didn't mean I couldn't think of a certain tattooed vocalist while I filmed, right?

An hour and fifteen minutes and red flushed cheeks later, I was practically running out of the hotel to make it in time to the restaurant. As usual, I was running late, but that was because it took me some time to figure out how to edit and post the video to my page. What I filmed wasn't exactly raunchy but just enough to keep people wanting to come back.

I was in a rush to get to the restaurant that I nearly missed the body that I collided in. Strong arms wrap around me to keep me steady as I looked up into those dark eyes that haunted me every second of every day. My heart fell deep into the pits of my stomach as embarrassment filled my veins, knowing that face was the reason for my orgasm less than an hour ago.

Noah gave me a look as slowly removed his arms from me, Jolly and Folio standing on either side of him.

"Where's the fire, angel?" He asked while drinking in the sight of me with a wide grin.

In my pussy.

He was wearing a grey sweater; the hood pulled up over his head and white hat. I cursed my vagina as it throbbed at the sight of him and my pet name.

"Uh, I was meeting Davis and others for dinner," I pointed behind me, stuttering over my words a bit.

Jolly smiled. "We're headed there too. Care if we walk with you?"

Him and Folio, not at all. Noah, yes I minded.

I didn't appreciate him acting different around me when we were alone as opposed to when people were around us.

"Nope," I smiled.

The four of us walked quietly to the restaurant with Folio next to me, Jolly and Noah behind us. Folio bumped his shoulder with me which made me peer up at him.

"I feel like I haven't seen you in a while. Outside of work," he said.

I gave a half shrug. "Just been keeping to myself the last few days."

"Does that have anything to do with," Folio threw a thumb over his shoulder towards Noah.

"No," I said a little too quickly, afraid as if he could see in my mind what I had been doing back in my room. "I forgot how busy life on the road is, that's all."

"What did he do to make you avoid him?" he asked, seeing right through my lie.

This caused Noah to step closer to the two of us, forcing his way between Folio and I.

"I didn't do anything," Noah defended.

My body was still buzzing post orgasm so having him this close to made my stomach flutter and head hazy.

"Right," I muttered under my breath and gave myself some space from him, allowing Jolly to take my spot next to Noah.

"Did we do anything to put you off?" Jolly asked.

I shook my head. "No, not at all. Everyone has been nice. I meant what I said, I've just been tired."

Noah peered over at me past Jolly, something unreadable on his face, but said nothing while we turned the block, the restaurant coming into view. Davis, Byran, Matt, and Nick Ruffilo were already seated at a table outside as we walked up. My phone buzzed in my pocket and as I saw yet another notification from Only Fans, I didn't realize that the only open seat was next to Noah.

Cursing under my breath, I sat tentatively next to him and pocketed my phone, not wanting him to peak over my shoulder and see the notification.

I had a few new subscribers which meant people were paying for my content. Maybe soon things will start picking up and I wouldn't have to worry as much.

The server came over to take our order and I frowned at Matt as he ordered a pitcher of beer for all of us to share.

"Can I have a water and four chicken tacos please?" I asked with a smile.

"You don't want a beer?" Matt asked.

I shook my head. "I don't drink; well much anyway. I do for special occasions but not really feeling like it right now."

Noah muttered something under his breath, and my eyes snapped over to him.

"Care to share what you mumbling under your breath?"

"You seemed pretty into it last tour in Chicago," he didn't bother to look away from his phone.

I stared at him with my jaw slack, upset for him bringing up that night but also amazed that he remembered that. With the way his jaw ticked and his hand gripped around his phone, it was clear he thought of that night often. I got drunk after a show because the guy I'd been talking to all night and flirting with was actually married. His wife was the reason why he was at the show in the first place but decided to hang out at the merch booth instead.

"Is that why you're such a dick to me?" I wondered.

Thankfully, the server had left, so they didn't have to watch us bicker but for the rest of the guys at the table, it didn't save them.

"You guys get drunk all the time. The one night I did, you hold it against me? For what?" I snapped.

I wasn't yelling but the table next to us spared us a few glances of concern.

"We don't need someone to carry us from the venue to the hotel, three blocks," Noah finally met my gaze.

I scoffed, completely baffled this was why he was such an asshole towards me. Because I got drunk last tour and he had to carry me back to the hotel?

"You're fucking unbelievable, Noah." I shook my head and turned away from him.

If I wasn't starving, I would head back to the hotel. But I already ordered and didn't want my food to go to waste.

Folio, who was sitting on my other side, looked at me with sympathetic eyes and gave my knee a squeeze underneath the table. The rest of dinner passed by with Noah and I not speaking another word to each other while the others chatted amongst themselves. I ate my food and sipped at my water in peace, checking my phone every now and then to see if Lana had texted me back. It was almost eight in the evening, and I debated on wondering if it was too late to call to talk to my mom when my phone rang.

Excusing myself from the table, I walked down the block to answer the call. It was a fast phone call, my mom being too exhausted to talk. Instead, I caught up with Lana.

"Alright, well let me know how she is in the morning. I'll be in the bus for half of the day so I can talk with her," I sighed.

"I will, dear. She's so exhausted from today. I looked through some photo albums with her to help her remember but nothing. There was nothing in her eyes."

I swallowed the lump in my throat and nodded even though Lana couldn't see.

"Yeah, those vacant eyes. It's been happening a lot lately."

There was a lot of rustling on Lana's end before her soft voice came through. "I promise you. She's in good hands. When she remembers things, we have a lot in common."

That made me smile.

"Good. And I'll send you the first payment tomorrow," I said much to my dismay.

"No rush, dear."

We talked for a few more minutes before I hung up, suddenly exhausted and wanting nothing more than to crawl into bed for the rest of the night. When I returned to the table, I halted seeing that only Noah sat there. He heard me walk up and handed me my to go box of leftover food.

"The bill's been taking care of," he said.

I didn't meet his gaze, still upset with him, as I snatched the box out of his hand.

"Don't worry, I didn't flirt with anyone to get free food."

Noah sighed then pushed himself out of his chair, immediately towering over me.

"Do you always have to talk with such an attitude," he gritted out through clenched teeth.

I stood toe to toe with him. "Only for you, baby."

The pet name was supposed to come out as playful, no meaning behind it. But with the way Noah's eyes flashed and a low noise vibrated from his throat, I knew it had the opposite effect on him. His tongue rolled over his bottom lip and I wanted nothing more that to taste them.

"Can I walk you back to the hotel?" Noah asked.

Unbelievable.

"Oh, now that no one is around you act like you give a shit?" I snarled.

He raised his hands. "I'm trying to be nice, Y/N."

"Here's a piece of advice," I snatched my purse from the table, "If you want to be nice to me, stop doing it when we're alone. It makes me think you're embarrassed to be seen with me."

Noah's face fell and began shaking his head. "It's not that."

"Oh, right? It was because of that night in Chicago where you had to carry me back to the hotel. News flash, Noah. I didn't fucking ask you too. So do me a favor, unless it deals with work, don't talk to me the rest of the time were on tour."

Not bothering to listen to him come up with another excuse, I turned on my heels and stomped back towards the hotel.

#noah sebastian #noah sebastian and reader #noah sebastian x reader #noah sebastian reader insert #noah sebastian smut #forced proximity #enemies to lovers #slow burn

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cdragons · 5 months

Text

Bound by Embroidered Chains - Aemond Targaryen x Seamstress!OC x Jacaerys Velaryon - Chapter One

Prologue

Summary: Dragons have a habit in hoarding the prettiest of jewels, and pearls are of no exceptions.

Warnings- MDNI 18+ Obsessive Behavior (we all knew this was coming), tiny!Aemond is delulu, tiny!Jace is delulu, Dark Themes, not betaread we burn like Harrenhal, etc. Also translations for Valyrian will be added at the bottom! Also I used an online translator for the High Valyrian, so it may not be great 🫠

Author's Note: Hello everyone! Thank you all so much for the amazing support for this story's prologue, I did NOT expect so many positive reviews! I'm sorry this took so long, but I had a ton of applications and finals. But since I am on winter break, hopefully I will be able to upload more fics! Happy Holidays and big shoutout to @valeskafics, who continues to be the HOTD fanfic writing ICON that we all know and love! If you liked reading this work, reblog and comment if you want to be tagged in future installments of this work! Also I apologize for any grammatical errors, I wanted to post this as soon as possible.

You have known your entire life that you were going to be one of the many seamstresses that serviced the Royal Family.

By the age of three, your mother would teach you how to begin your very first stitches, which soon shifted to learning the most complicated patterns of embroidery. You still remember the tears in her eyes as you presented the silk-woven handkerchief that had lovely little purple and blue flowers embroidered on the borders for her birthday. Your face flushed to an almost too bright red when she insisted on showing all the other royal seamstresses and tailors your first handkerchief. But it made you smile in remembering how big her smile was that week, as she was so pleased by how much you’ve progressed at such a young age.

When you were only six, your mother had begun to teach you how to properly extract the dye from beautiful flowers and the scales of brightly-colored insects. So skilled and nimble were your fingers that you even gave your childhood playmate, Aemond Targaryen, a thick green wool cloak with green and silver dragon embroidery. The cloak’s wool had been dyed by your hand with copious amounts of goldenrod and indigo flowers. You then carefully stitched silk to line the inside of the cloak to prevent him from overheating, as even the harshest winters in the Crownlands were hardly anything compared to the summers in the North. It had caught you off-guard in the almost too-tight embrace he locked you in, but you eagerly reciprocated as you could tell he appreciated the gift more than words could describe.

It was not just a gift for is name-day from a childhood companion, but also a way to reassure him that he will one day have a dragon. And even if the gods do not grant him worthy in their eyes, he would always be considered a prince worthy of the Targaryen name in yours. After all, there were not many princes that would willingly spend all their free time with a lowly seamstress’ daughter – even if the supposed seamstress that was your mother was so heavily favored by the Queen.

“Pearl,” came a voice with a tone far too serious despite its youth, “what are you doing in the Godswood?”

You lifted your head from old tome you were studying, only to see a young boy of only nine name-days, that stood as straight as one of the stone pillars that stood in the Sept of Baelor. His white locks nearly blinded you with how the sunshine seemed to reflect on them.

“Well my prince, as you can clearly see, I have decided to take advantage of this fine day to do a bit of studying of my own.” You lifted the near ancient tome on your lap to show him the title, Myths and Legends of the Jade Seas.

Whatever outwardly beauty the book possessed had long diminished, the spine was bent from the hundreds of hours spent looking through its contents and the letters were near faded to a dull grey as the pages yellowed from age. But the colors of the ink remained as vibrant as when they were first painted on the frail sheets, accompanied by beautiful imagery of magical dragons and elusive mermaids. The details were so fine and intricate that it felt as if you only needed to touch the ink in order to be transported into the stories. You remembered how you begged either your mother or father to read it to you every night, as utterly transfixed by the colors back then as you remained so now.

“You are more than welcome to join me, but if – and only if – you share one of those apples hiding in your knapsack.”

Finally showing an expression appropriate for his age, the young prince reached in his pouch to show two gorgeous apples – the skin was practically gleaming in the sun as your mouth watered for its taste. Aemond handed one to you as he sat by your side underneath the plentiful shade of the heart tree. Scooting over to make room on the overgrown root you sat on, you eagerly showed him strange text.

“Look Aemond!” you exclaimed as you shoved the book to his nose. “This book says that there were dragons in Yi Ti! Isn’t that amazing?”

Aemond looked at you as if you had suddenly grown two heads and five eyes. “How can there be dragons in Yi Ti? All the dragons save the ones in the dragonpit and the rocky shores of Dragonstone had perished in The Doom that sunk Valyria. Everyone knows that pearl.”

“These dragons are different! According to my kepa, Yi Ti dragons don’t even need wings to fly!”

The young prince rolled his eyes at that. “How could they fly if they don’t have wings? Even Carraxes the Blood Wrym has wings, and he looks like an overgrown red snake.” Honestly, his pearl could be so silly. “Besides, what would your father know? He’s a bastard from the Iron Islands, that’s nowhere near the Jade Seas.”

Now it was your turn to roll your eyes. “He heard so on his travels with Lord Velaryon and Prince Laenor! Apparently, these dragons use magic and live in the ocean. And they don’t even breathe fire! They make it rain and control the oceans!”

“…Pearl, I think you’ve been spending too much time making those dyes. The fumes must have gotten to your head.”

You openly gaped at your friend’s comment, completely in shock for how blatantly he dismissed you. It made you want to pound your fists on his person until he took it back. So naturally, you did just that.

“Aemond Targaryen, you take that back right now!” you shrieked. Although your actions told otherwise, the smile on your face showed that you took no true offense to his words. If anything, it pleased you to know that you could still make the stone-faced prince giggle as a boy should at his age.

“Never!”

As the two of you giggled and played, several pairs of wandering eyes spied and grimaced at the distasteful display. Although your friendship with the next generation of the royal family was no secret, much of the court disapproved of how highly the royal family thought of you and Prince Aemond’s friendship. After all, he was the second born prince of House Targaryen, born of King Viserys and Queen Alicent. By the time the Targaryen prince could toddle, great things were expected from him. From a very early age, he immersed himself in his studies befitting of a prince of Westeros. You, on the other hand, were only the daughter of a seamstress and a bastard knight who became a lord of a holding so minor that it had no name. You only skills were that you could make pretty dye, and stitch pretty pictures with a needle and thread.

But he always treated you kindly and defended you whenever his eldest brother decided to use you as his latest target for mockery. You were a precious pearl – his precious pearl – Aegon may be his brother, but he could never love Aegon as much as he loved you. True, your father being a bastard did you no favors in the Red Keep’s court, but Aemond would never tell you that himself. Instead, he openly acknowledged his bravery and commended his loyalty to the Crown. After all, how many bastards can boast that they saved the Lord Corlys Velaryon, holder of the Driftwood Throne, from a siege of pirates during one of the lord’s many voyages to Essos?

In turn, you always made sure to provide comfort and support whenever his brother and nephews decided to pick on him. Without fail, he would seek out your company – his eyes red and puffy, while his cheeks were wet from hastily wiped tears. You would take his hands and the two of you would venture out to the library’s more secluded sections. You made sure to pack whatever you have been working on with you. While you were glad that he came to you for comfort, it would do little good for either of you if you were to be punished for not completing whatever tasks your mother assigned you.

“Who cares if you don’t have a dragon?” you once asked him as the two of you laid next to each other, surrounded by books. “There are plenty members of the Targaryen line that did not have dragons, but they still lived out important lives in serving their family however they could. King Jaehaerys was considered a great ruler for how he served the realm– not for riding Vermithor. And even if you had a dragon, is that all you wish to be known for? Your grandfather, Baelon the Brave, was wise and beloved by the small folk for how he tried to make their lives easier. But all he is known for in history books is how he burned down Dorne with Vhagar.”

“Better to be known for a dragon than to disappear, not being known for anything – not even a dragon worthy of the Targaryen name.”

Sitting up against a bookshelf, you repositioned Aemond to lie his head on your thighs. Luckily the candlelight made the area dark enough so that you wouldn’t see his ears turning red. Instead, he buried his face in the soft cotton of your blue tunic as you stroked his soft silver white locks. Although his heart was beating erratically, your sweet scent along with your body’s suppleness was enough to take away any ire left in him.

“Stop that,” you ordered, “you will not be forgotten, don’t be so dramatic.” Eyes softening at his tense shoulders, you eased on the sternness of your tone. “Nyke pendagon iksā brilliant. Eman dōrī rhēdan anyone else qilōni kostagon ȳdragon Valyrio Eglie hae sȳrī hae ao. Kostā solve problems bona aegon ēza trouble lēda during aōha lessons lēda se Giēñatī. Aemond, iksā ñuha sȳrje raqiros. Gaomagon daor ivestragon kesā sagon daor rūnas.”

You pretended not to notice how tightly he clenched your dress as you ignored the how warm the spot where his hot tears grew.

As you continued to stroke his hair, Aemond made a silent vow that when he finally claimed a dragon, you would be the first person he would ride it with. He thought about how his bastard nephews would always try to take you from him, especially Jace, how he despised that boy. No, your touches would belong to him, and only him. Your sweet words and kind demeanor were his to cherish. You were his pearl – his pearl – and no one else’s, especially not the pretend Targaryen that was Jacaerys Strong.

Yes, it pleased Aemond to know that he was your best friend. But sometimes it frustrated him in how you refused to take him seriously as a man. For example, he once announced that when he claimed his dragon, he would finally be a noble dragon knight who would protect you from the most vicious of beasts. No matter how he insisted on his sincerity, you only rolled your eyes at the proclamation. You told him that you had no need for a knight, let alone a dragon knight. You had your dearest kepa for protection, and there was no finer knight in all the Seven Kingdoms in your eyes. So silly was his pearl indeed.

“Ashi’!” a new voice called out, interrupting the comfortable silence between him and his pearl. It belonged to the king’s eldest grandson, Prince Jacaerys Strong Velaryon, heir to the Iron Throne after his mother, Princess Rhaenyra. “Your mother is looking for you! She said that she needs your help with Mother’s clothes!”

“Alright!” When you stood from you spot, you made sure to brush away any dirt or debris left on your skirts. You gathered your mother’s book in both arms when you made your way to the prince. “But why did my muña not send one of her attendants instead? It would not have been difficult to find me. Everyone knows that I enjoy reading under the Hearts Tree in the Godswood during my spare time. Are you not busy with your own duties, my prince?”

Straightening his posture to appear taller, Jace did his best to sound as authoritative as his father had taught him. “I just finished my lessons for the morning, and I volunteered to escort you. Besides, I figured that it would do me some good in practicing escorting you. I’ll need to do it in the future when I am king after my mother.” His round freckled cheeks reddened to a rosy hue at that last part.

Not at all catching the terribly obvious implication, you shrugged off his words as you figured that he meant that he was using you as practice for whichever future noble lady he would court in the future. However, the suggestion was not at all lost on your friend, who was still sitting on the overgrown root, glaring at his eldest nephew with a fury that rivaled the Great Doom that sunk Valyria.

“Well, we should be on our way then. Come on Aemond, we should get going!” You held out your held for your friend to hold on to, but were quickly interrupted by the brown-haired Targaryen at the side.

“He can’t! I mean-” stammered Jace as did his best in thinking of an excuse, “-I’m afraid my uncle cannot join us. You see, um – his mother, the Queen, requested his presence in her solar.”

“I’m sure my mother won’t mind waiting for a few moments while I join you in escorting my pearl to her favorite friend, nephew.” This wasn’t a lie on Aemond’s part. While he didn’t like the idea in keeping his mother waiting for him, he despised the thought of you being alone with the Strong Knight’s eldest bastard even more. Besides, his mother adored you as if you were her own daughter. It would have gone without saying that she would be happy with her son spending time with her best friend’s daughter.

“But why would you want to risk it, uncle?” Jacaerys wasn’t going to let his selfish uncle hog all of your attention. You were his friend too! It wasn’t fair that he had find crumbs of your time and affections, while his uncle got to feast on your smiles and laughter. He had spent hours with the dragon keepers of the dragonpit to help him train Vermax, all so that he could finally show you how close he was in riding him! But you were always too busy comforting his stupid dragonless uncle!

Enough was enough. Jacaerys may have been a Velaryon like his father, but he was also a Targaryen like his mother. It was he who carried the dragon’s blood, and dragons took what they desired or felt what they deserved. And he desrved to be with you more than Aemond.

“It’s alright Aemond, we’ll talk more later! Let’s go Jace, we shouldn’t keep our mothers waiting any more than we have.” Grabbing his hand before walking out of the gardens, you weren’t able to see the younger prince throw a triumphant smirk to his uncle before once more facing you with the story of how Luke accidentally got egg in his hair.

Watching his literal bastard of a nephew walk hand-in-hand away with his pearl, Aemond Targaryen felt his fury grow more potent with each step. He hated that you called his nephew by his nickname, all while he had none. What’s worse was the fact that you allowed him to refer to you as “Ashi.” What a ridiculous name, only a lowborn such as his nephew would refer to someone as precious as you as something as study and simple like “Ashi.” You were a pearl – his pearl, in fact. A fact that he felt was important to emphasize as he watched your head being thrown back in laughter. His anger grew to an all-time high when he watched you ruffle Jacaery’s hair with abundant affection.

Not wanting to make a scene, he walked to his mother’s chambers in fuming silence. While her presence wasn’t yours, maybe he could think of a plan to get you away from his whore of a sister and her illegitimate offspring.

If worse comes to worst, he might need to recruit his sister to his cause. He knew that Helaena would especially be thrilled in receiving your presence. You were the only one besides your parents that did not treat his beloved sister like an oddity. If you were not with Aemond, you were often found stitching with the young princess. It seemed that you were the only person in the entire world that could get her to smile.

Such a sweet girl, his pearl. Someone so kind was not meant to endure the presence of lowly bastards – even if they did technically carry royal blood.

He needed to come up with something fast.

Translations:

“Nyke pendagon iksā brilliant. Eman dōrī rhēdan anyone else qilōni kostagon ȳdragon Valyrio Eglie hae sȳrī hae ao. Kostā solve problems bona aegon ēza trouble lēda during aōha lessons lēda se Giēñatī. Aemond, iksā ñuha sȳrje raqiros. Gaomagon daor ivestragon kesā sagon daor rūnas.” - “You’re brilliant. I’ve never met anyone else who can speak such fluent High Valyrian, especially at your age. You can solve problems that Aegon has trouble with during your lessons with the Maester. Aemond, you are my best friend. Don’t say that you will be forgotten.”

Tagging:

@valeskafics, @faesspace, @aphroditesmoon, @dreaming-for-an-escape, @nellychick, @asa-do-your-thing, @arcielee, @bellamys-girl1, @immyowndefender, @xxlovingfandomsxx, @elinedjarin, @meg-egg-blog, @marvelescape, @mandiiblanche, @lokiofasgard12, @boxedpandas, @anewpersonthatexists, @toodlesxcuddles, @mckiquinn, @cvspians, @aemondslove

#house of the dragon #hotd #hotd au #house of the dragon x you #house of the dragon fic #house of the dragon x reader #house of the dragon x oc #jacaerys velaryon x reader #jacaerys velaryon x oc #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x oc #jacaerys x reader #jacaerys x oc #aemond x reader #aemond x oc #reader insert

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dirigibleplumbing · 2 months

Text

If you're like me, sometimes you need the full text of Civil-War-era Tony's letter to Steve in the event of his death from "What If? Fallen Son" (2009). So here it is in its entirety!

If you notice any typos on my part, please let me know.

I put line breaks wherever the text was broken up, either by being in different sections of a panel or different panels/pages. I preserved the ellipses, though I didn't double them (in many cases a section of text would end in "..." and then the next section would also begin with "..."). I also didn't double up line breaks and ellipses.

Steve, I hope you never have to read this, old friend, because if you do, it means something terrible has happened. It means I'm dead. I suppose it shouldn't come as much of a surprise, really. During my years as Iron Man, I've racked up hundreds of enemies who wanted to do me in… and after recent events, probably a few old friends who feel the same. It's funny, though. I always prided myself on being a futurist--constantly thinking a leap ahead of everyone else. Apparently, that leap wasn't nearly far enough. But this letter is about looking forward--not back. It doesn't matter what killed me. All that matters is what happens next… and the legacy I've left behind. I'm not talking about Iron Man, either. The suit is nothing without the right man inside… and there aren't many I'd trust to pilot. Rhodey. Pepper. Happy. Maybe Jarvis… though he was never really the hero-type. And you, Steve. Whether you believe it or not, I always trusted you. Even during the darkest days--during the war--I never stopped believing in you. No one did. But like I said, this isn't about choosing a new Iron Man. There was a world before him, and there will be one after. This is about my ideas--the plans and inventions that I hoped would make the world a better place. This is about making sure those things don't fall into the wrong hands. I don't even want to imagine the suffering that could cause… That's where you come in it. I need your help, Steve. I need you to keep an eye on things now that I can't anymore--which is a lot to ask, I know, after what I've put you through. Still you're the only one I trust to make certain everything I was working for doesn't fall apart without me… and to ensure that the threats that I wasn't around to predict… don't end up blindsiding us in my absence. Our war may be over, Steve, but we both know that it won't be the last one. When the time comes, the world will still need heroes. And when the fighting is over and history is written… I can only hope that we will be remembered as more than just heroes. I hope that we will be remembered as I will always remember us… As friends.

And the typeface used in the comic is--or is very close to--Lucida Handwriting Light, which used to come free with a lot of Microsoft products.

I also have a rough mock-up of the entire letter.

#what if? fallen son #marvel #marvel 616 #616 #resources #reference #tony stark #iron man #captain america #steve rogers #posts I created #marvel civil war #616 civil war #civil war 616

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one-flower-one-sword · 4 months

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"Gege, don't panic just yet. I'll repeat those words to you. Give them a listen."

"...Alright," Xie Lian said.

Hua Cheng's memory was exceptional, and he clearly and precisely repeated the words as soon as they left the area where the corpse-eating rats had gathered. Xie Lian stared intently at his lips as he pronounced a series of moderately paced and somewhat bizarre-sounding phrases. The words had a strange, ancient rhythm to them. Hearing them spoken with such steady control through Hua Cheng's lips made the notes deep, beautiful, and pleasing to the ears.

TGCF Volume 5, page 343

Mu Qing rolled all the silk veils into a ball and tossed them to the side, his veins popping slightly. "How would I know? Because all your clothes, accessories, and daily living needs were my responsibility back then. I washed for you, I mended for you - and every item in your wardrobe was unique. These statues are too detailed - everything is there, exactly the same, completely! When I saw those clothes, of course I knew which face they would have!"

TGCF Volume 6, page 50

For he had remembered something else: the tale of the red-clad ghost who set hundreds of civil and martial temples ablaze. Hua Cheng became famous overnight when he defeated thirty-three heavenly officials and obliterated every single one of their temples and shrines across the entirety of the Mortal Realm.

Xie Lian had long forgotten how many heavenly officials had fought him over that blessed land; their titles, their faces, and even the words they said were lost to him. He could only vaguely recall that there were about thirty of them.

TGCF Volume 8, page 24

Was thinking about Hua Cheng's memory while rereading these scenes and how he appears to basically have perfect recall. Yes, we know he can "record" things with his butterflies, but he only seems to be doing so during strategic moments. If he had recorded what the corpse-eating rats were saying, there would have been no need for him to repeat their words himself, but he does. And they were words in a language he could read but not understand when spoken, and he only heard them spoken once and when there was no reason for him to memorize them. And yet he can recall them perfectly.

Xie Lian wonders if the extreme accuracy of the statues' details is because the sculptor's mind was so filled with images of him and only him, and while that's not wrong, I do think it's remarkable that Hua Cheng was able to remember all those intricate details. After all, they're from a time where he mostly was only able to watch over Xie Lian from afar, and even when they were close for once, it was usually during very stressful circumstances. Yet years later, he can still recreate it all perfectly, to a point that, according to Xie Lian, not even Xianle's most renowned sculptors were able to.

Same with the thirty-three heavenly officials - Hua Cheng was a ghost fire during that time and again it were very stressful circumstances where he was actively trying to defend Xie Lian with what little power he had. And yet, even years later, even after he was almost dispersed as Wu Ming and out of his mind, he can apparently recall every single one of their faces and knows exactly who was there. It's a stark contrast to how Xie Lian has no idea anymore even how many there were, much less their names and faces.

Of course, at this point it's been several hundred years, so that's not surprising. Still, there are many moments like these where Xie Lian is confused and taken aback by Hua Cheng's strong reaction to things he himself can barely remember and often doesn't even really think about anymore. That's a multi-layered issue of course - for one thing, trauma messes with memory, and Xie Lian himself has stated things like that he'd rather remember the delicious meat bun he ate the day before than how he'd been trampled to death years ago. For another, Hua Cheng has reason to cling to those memories Xie Lian would rather forget because of his immense anger on Xie Lian's behalf.

This doesn't explain moments like with the corpse-eating rats though, since like previously stated there was no reason for Hua Cheng to actively try and memorize what they were saying. It can thus be extrapolated from these examples that he always remembers everything this precisely, whether he wants to or not, even if he only heard or saw it once, and no matter how much time has passed since then.

On the one hand, this would evidently serve him very well in cases like his worship of Xie Lian or his goals in aiding and protecting him. On the other, this would mean that every moment of suffering he went through - or that Xie Lian went through, which to Hua Cheng is the worst kind of suffering - will forever be present in his mind in perfect detail. To him, it will always be as if it happened just yesterday. Even if he wanted to, he couldn't forget, because there's no "off setting" to his perfect memory, it's always "on" and can't be overwritten.

I think this might also be a small but not insignificant part of what makes up Hua Cheng's palpable intensity and sharpness, and also contributes to the strong emotions he surpresses beneath his controlled exterior.

#tgcf #rereading tgcf #hua cheng

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avocado-writing · 2 years

Text

I gave this one a little bit of a different set up but hopefully it still hits the spot!

Tagging: @sinfulrefugy @venusthepirate @lunarpansexual @wanderedaway

thank you bullet-train-2022 for the gif!

Reblogs appreciated, Requests open - let me know if you want to be tagged for future works!

Okay, really, you shouldn’t have gone on the date with him in the first place.

Hooking up with people in this business is a bad idea. Especially when you have the same handlers. Conflict of interest and all that. But he was charming, and your curiosity was piqued.

So you’d let Tangerine take you out for dinner. And it was nice! Lovely, actually. He was a good conversationalist. He listened to you, asked you questions, grinned whenever he gently teased you. And maybe you’d kissed him goodnight. With tongues.

And then maybe you’d realised it was sort of a bad idea, and that you’d always be gunning for the same jobs, and letting someone in always meant weakness.

So.

Maybe you hadn’t returned his texts or calls after that first night.

You expected it to be over and done with. That he’d give up easily. After all, there was nothing that special about you.

Why would he want to fight for you?

Then you’d found the book.

It was meant to be an easy job. Big house, minimal security. An MP who’d pissed off one too many people. Your gun was silenced, your steps were quiet.

And there he was. Already lying dead in his bedroom.

To say you were furious was an understatement. This was your job! You knew the mark of a professional assassin all too well. Clean shot to the back of the head.

And, sitting innocently next to the body was the book. The fucking book.

You’d been talking about your favourite novels on your date. You’d innocently mentioned that North and South had a special place in your heart. And there it was, plain as day, right next to your mark. Looked like a pretty old copy, too. The sort that could have gone for a couple of hundred from a proper collector.

Or maybe a quid from a charity shop, if they didn’t know what they had.

There was no way it wasn’t for you. So you picked it up and checked the cover.

Call me, sweetheart.

- T

You fought the urge to throw the thing across the room. Instead, you shoved it into your bag and left.

It really was a nice version. But you pouted as you read every page, knowing who’d left it for you. You did pick up your phone, though. Look at his contact information. Hovered your thumbs over the keyboard ready to fire off something scathing to him.

You sent no texts. You dialled no calls.

Rather, you went on your next job a week later and found the exact same thing.

Gang leader. Nasty piece of work. Lying in a pool of his own blood. A small pack of very expensive cigars resting nearby.

Bastard. He knew you were trying to quit.

You remember him offering you a cigarette on your date. You said no, but reached out and took a drag from his own, held between his fingers. He’d licked his lips like he wanted to devour you.

You found a woman cowering in a wardrobe. She let out a little squeak when you threw it open, clamping her hands over her mouth too late.

“Oi, love. Did you see who killed him? Was it a fucker with jewellery and a moustache out of a seventies’ porno?”

She managed to nod. You sighed, knocked her out, and went on your way. There was a note in the cigar box.

I know you’re getting these.

- T

You chain smoke them over the next couple of days. Bit of a waste, really.

The third job is your last straw, though. When you find everyone that you’re meant to take out at the casino already dead. He can’t have been that far in front of you. There are still lit cigarettes burning in ash trays.

On the craps table there’s a set of candles. Your eyebrows shoot up. Sandalwood.

The restaurant you’d gone to smelled of sandalwood. You’d said you liked it. He’d remembered.

Fucker.

Relenting, you leave the scene and head to a nearby alley. Quiet. Shadowy. You unlock your phone and airdrop him your location.

You see Tangerine silhouetted not five minutes later. The man fucking struts - struts! - towards you, cocky as anything.

“What are you fucking playing at?” you snap, furious.

“Oh, alright darling. Hello to you too.”

“Don’t ‘darling’ me!” you’re nearly snarling now, jabbing your finger into his chest. “Why do you keep nicking my jobs? They’re my jobs!”

“Didn’t see your name on the contract, love. Open to anyone in the company.”

You want to slap him. You flex your fingers, getting ready to square up.

But fuck. He is so handsome. In the low light of the alleyway every stupidly perfect angle of his face is lit like he’s a piece of art.

The two of you stare at each other for a long, long moment.

Then, in the blink of an eye, your mouths are on each other.

With a strength he didn’t quite expect you push him up against the brick wall opposite, hands grabbing his collar, lips working against his. His tongue presses against yours in a passionate movement and you eke a groan of pleasure from him.

He’s so fucking frustrating.

And you fucking love it.

You go on the date he begs of you the next night. And this time, you do text him back.

#tangerine x reader #tangerine x you #tangerine x y/n #tangerine bullet train #bullet train fanfic #tangerine and lemon #bullet train x reader #request

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newtthetranswriter · 9 months

Note

Hello dear, I've got an idea again!

Could you do a Aziraphale x Reader , where reader wrote their own book and the first person who should read it, is him?

While reading he notice that the story is about falling in love with someone 'angelic', and as he noticed that the story is a secret love confession for him, he's getting so emotional

Have a great day/evening and stay hydrated please <3

A/n: Welcome back, I had fun writing this, and I hope you like it. You also have a great day/evening and remember to eat something. Requests are still open so if you have any more fun ideas don’t be afraid to send them in.

Word count: 1322

Paring: Aziraphale x gn! reader

I truly enjoyed books, and so did my angel friend Aziraphale. That’s why I thought the best way to confess my love to the white haired angel would be to write him a book. Now I didn’t just write ‘I love you, Aziraphale’ in a book, that would be too easy and I wanted to have a little fun with it. I also have loved allegories for the longest time and thought it would be a great story telling tool to get my point across. So I wrote a book and made sure he would get the first copy, signed by me of course.

Walking into A.Z. Fell and Co. I couldn’t hide my smile as I called out for my favorite angel. “Aziraphale, where are you? I have something for you.” I was greeted by Aziraphale walking down the stairs setting down the book he had in his hands.

“Hello, Y/n. What have you brought?” He asked, voice laced with curiosity. He motioned me towards two chairs sitting close to his desk, offering me a seat.

I declined the offer with a simple shake of my head. “It’s okay. I just stopped by to give you this. You know I’ve been working on this book and it’s officially finished and so I thought I would hand over a signed first edition to my favorite book worm in person.” I said with a smile, passing the angel the book.

He inspected the cover, smiling at the title Love beyond Heaven followed by my name at the bottom. “It is truly spectacular, I can’t wait to read it. Thank you, for such a thoughtful gift.” He said, running his hand over the cover. I just nodded in response, wishing him farewell and asking that he calls to tell me what he thinks when he finishes it. I didn’t want to wait around, the nerves had set in realizing that I had actually just handed over my confession to one of my best friends.

P.o.V to Aziraphale reading the book

The angel watched as his friend left his shop in a hurry, while it was odd that they didn’t at least stay for a cup of tea he brushed it off as them having other things to do and had just stopped by to give him the book. He smiled to himself as took the book and sat at his desk ready to read the lovely words his friend had put together. Having been friends for a while, and knowing Y/n’s taste in books he wasn’t shocked to see that they had written a romance novel, and thought it was just that. A normal romance novel that has probably been written hundreds of times over with different characters and settings, but boy was he wrong.

Upon opening the book he was surprised to see that unlike most books this one lacked a dedication page, and the promised signature was not on the first couple pages. Brushing it off as maybe Y/n had actually forgotten to sign the book in their excitement to give it to him, so he decided to keep reading and asking them to sign it later when they spoke next.

He started reading, the book seemed straight forward, the main character falling for their best friend. He got through the first few chapters before he noticed one detail that he had previously brushed aside. The best friend was described as ‘angelic’ and having a fascination with the way the world around them works. What brought this to his attention was it was just revealed the angelic best friend owned a gaming store that featured the first edition of many video games and board games from throughout history. He couldn’t help but notice some similarities between himself and the main character, but again thought it must just be coincidence.

As the angel read on he began noticing more and more similarities between the book and real life. For example, main character had gotten sick and pushed themself to far eventually passing out in front of their best friend who then spent days nursing them back to health in the apartment above the game shop, much like he had done for Y/n shortly after the pandemic hit and they had denied for days that they didn’t have covid. Another shared experience with the characters of the book was spending weekends enjoying eachothers company with tea and a good book, only in the story it was calm video games instead of a large novel.

It kept going, Aziraphale kept piecing together that this book was based on real life, and apparently an allegory of his friendship with the shy human. The only thing that confused him was as far as he knew Y/n didn’t feel that way about him. Sure he loved everything about them, like how they are truly fascinated by his massive book collection, and how they enjoy bugging Crowley just to see the demon upset. The angel wasn’t ready to admit it but he was deeply in love with Y/n and he hoped that the implications of the book were correct. That the sweet playful human Loved him back.

When he reached the last page of the final chapter he was truly astonished to see that it had ended with the main character admitting their feelings with a custom video game. It couldn’t be a coincidence that Y/n wrote this book to end in such a way, and then give the first copy to him. He flipped the page one last time to find the missing dedication page and the handwritten note from Y/n on the last page of the book.

The dedication read ‘This book is dedicated to my best friend, Aziraphale. Without him I would have never had the courage to write this book.’ The angel couldn’t hold back a smile as he read that. One of his best friends wrote a book and dedicated it to him. He then looked down at the handwritten note that took up half the page.

‘Dear Aziraphale, I can’t begin to explain how much you mean to me. Spending rainy days reading and drinking tea with you are some of my favorite days. I don’t know what I would do without you, you mean everything to me. I hope by the time you reach this point of the book you’ve already figured it out. But I guess I’ll say it anyway. I love you, Aziraphale. I love how you collect so many books because you truly love to see the inner workings of the human mind. I love that you enjoy food even if you don’t need it, I love that you don’t fault me for being human. You bring me so much joy and I hope you understand that. I mean this with every fiber of my being you are the best thing to ever happen to me, Again I Love You, Aziraphale.’ - Love Y/n

The angel smiled to himself. He was amazed at how thoughtful you had been. You wrote an entire book just to tell him how you feel. He would treasure this forever. It is now his most prized possession, no other book will ever compare. Without putting much thought into what time of day it was or what Y/n might be up to he immediately dialed the number he had memorized since it was given to him.

P.o.V back to Y/n

I was awoken to the sound of my phone ringing on my nightstand. I looked briefly at the clock, seeing that it was nearly 3 in the morning, before answering, ready to yell at whoever woke me up. But I didn’t get the chance, before I could open my mouth to start yelling I heard the four words I had dreamt of hearing for so long.

“I love you too.”

#good omens x reader #good omens 2 #aziraphale x reader #aziraphale #go aziraphale #good omens

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happyk44 · 8 months

Text

hermes is on vacation so nico gets some mortal substitute familiar with demigods and the greek pantheon as his doctor and when he calls him up for a visit, dude's like "well hermes didn't really tell me what was up with you because. you know. doctor/patient confidentiality. but he did tell me that if my gut instinct is "you're too young to have that" i should remember that you are apparently over a hundred years old, and if i don't believe that, i should remember he looks like a 25 year old twink but is old enough that he can describe my great grandfather's penis to me in detail. so! what's up with you"

and nico just pulls out this binder from his backpack, slaps it onto the desk and opens it up. the first page is a print out from a powerpoint presentation, the title reading "What Is Wrong With Nico", a subtitle of "aka the old man bones are old man boning", with a smaller subtitle several spaces below reading "current as of: right the fuck now"

the next page is four tables under the title "Ways He Is Broken". the tables depict:

his current diagnosis and the date of diagnosis

his current medications, the amount, and to what problem they correspond

things he's already been tested for that didn't pan out and why he was tested for them

previous medications he was on, the amount and why he was taking them (also includes current meds where the amount was changed)

the next page is titled "How The Fuck Is He Not Dead" and then a bullet pointed list summarizing all his traumas and other minor shit he's been through that has been attached as the cause(s) behind his issues, so like sandwiched between "nearly suffocated to death while trapped in a jar" and "had to shadowtravel across the atlantic ocean with a giant statue and two other people (prior limit was myself going from new york to illinois)" there's a point stating "fell over on the crows nest of a flying boat and dislocated my wrist". next to each bullet point there are coloured dots going to the left. some bullet points only have one, some have two - they are all colour coded to correspond to the ailment(s) in which they apply.

the next page is called "What Is He Up To These Days" and it's just a long list detailing all his diagnosed symptoms - again little circles beside each point to colour code to the corresponding ailment. the column next to it is labelled "new symptoms" and consists of three bullet points: getting dizzy when i stand up, started two months ago once a week, now every time i stand; migraines are back, made me cry in the shower last night, need new meds probably; and, got hit in the rib by a hydra's tail last month, reset my rib myself and eating ambrosia squares, but still hurts really bad, don't think it's healing right

the next page is "What Could Kill Him So Don't Use It*" and it's just a few columns labelled "pet allergies" "food allergies" "drug allergies" "magic allergies" "other allergies" and the only one that has something included is food allergies and it's just the bullet point "garlic intolerant but he's fucking italian so he doesn't care". in the footnotes at the bottom of that page is the asterix relating back to the title saying "Don't fucking give him cigarettes. he is an idiot and he will ask but they do not work and they never worked and he refuses to listen to me when i tell him this. DO NOT LET HIM HAVE CIGARETTES"

it is very clear this page was filled out by Hermes himself

his interim mortal doctor reads carefully each page, glancing once at nico when he gets to Hermes' footnote, before closing the binder. "you're how old?"

"technically 17, chronologically one hundred and something, i dunno i can't do math and i don't remember what my dad put on my cake this year"

"Right. okay." the mortal doctor presses his hands together and to his lips watching nico carefully then lowering his hands to smooth across the desk "have you ever thought about maybe just sitting on a couch and never leaving your house again"

"yeah, i tried that but i get restless, and also i like helping people if they need it and they ask. hermes tells me i should be more selfish then locks me to a chair, but he's also the one who taught me how to pick locks so i can get out pretty easily. honestly don't know why he keeps trying. even if i didn't know how to pick the lock, i'm pretty good at dislocating my joints on purpose too so i can always just get out that way."

the increasingly stressed out doctor just hums quietly. then, "okay! first i'm going to check your rib, and then we're gonna talk about you getting a 24 hour caregiver because you clearly do not understand limits and need someone who does"

#apparenrtly garlic intolerance is a very real thing lmao #it's caused by not having the right enzymes to break the garlic down - like lactose intolerance i think?#i was thinking about making it a garlic allergy but then i was like nah i can't be that mean to him #initially tho i was gonna go with a drug allergy and make it some common 1940s drug but then i remembered smoking was a thing lolll #based on a thought i had about making this exact powerpoint #nico di angelo #happy talks pjo

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