#all of this is my own supposition | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

flowerandblood · 1 month

Text

The Fall from the Heavens (25)

[ canon • Aemond x Strong • niece female ]

[ warnings: angst, tension, anxiety, a lot of half-truths ]

[ description: A cool distance turns into friendship and more when two children see that they can find refuge and understanding in each other. However, naïve dreams collide with the reality in which every event has consequences and what once could have been love becomes a dark, newly painful obsession. Angst, sexual tension, obsession, violence, madness, very dark Aemond. ]

The story in this series is an alternate reality from the oneshot Stay and love, leave and die, in which Aemond reads the letters his niece has sent to him over the years. They are the same characters and it shows what would have happened between them − I have changed the background story from their childhood slightly for the sake of the plot.

Characters & Series Moodboard Lady Strong Moodboard Aemond & Lady Strong Moodboard Aemond & Lady Strong Childhood

Author note: For the purposes of this story, Lord Rodrik Arryn had a son and an heir, who in turn has a son of his own, to whom our Lady Strong was betrothed. I invented the lullaby in this chapter, so if you think it's weird, thank me, lol.

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

After what he heard, he just vomited, unable to stop the convulsions that were squeezing his stomach, the rapid pounding of his heart or his terrified, ragged breathing. He could feel tears of despair and fear running down his cheeks as he coughed once more, panting heavily over the vessel − he felt like his whole body was twitching.

You will betray her at the moment she trusts you the most.

You will achieve victory, but she will never let you touch herself again.

You will put your child inside me, your bastard son, who will rule Harrenhal after our death.

He felt his stomach twist again in pain at the mere memory – he leaned over the bowl, feeling the gag reflex shake his body once more, but nothing left his throat.

He cried out loudly as if he were a small child, covering his face with his hand, leaning over the table, thinking about how much he needed his wife right now.

How much he wanted to snuggle between her soft, sweet breasts, to feel her smooth, warm hands stroking his hair, her heart beating beneath his cheek.

He drew in a loud breath, reminding himself that he had left her alone and that any moment spent in this disgusting place could have been her last; he reached for the cup of wine, rinsed his mouth a few times and spat the contents into the bowl, washing his face with fresh water, trying to calm himself.

This was part of their game, he thought, feeling his terror slowly begin to be replaced by fury.

He was sure Larys Strong had made her say it because he wanted him to believe that what was to come was destiny, not his and his grandfather's plan.

They wanted to manipulate him, to force him to leave her, to strip her of his protection, to destroy her.

No, he thought.

He was no longer a small child.

He left the fortress feeling that he had again unwittingly become the cold, empty stone he had been for eight years when she had not been with him, recognising that he had to keep a cool head.

He could not allow himself to be weak now.

He knew that if he just looked at her, if he just saw her face again and remembered what that woman had said to him he would simply burst into sobs, so to her disappointment he pretended not to see her.

The journey to the Eyrie, although spent in full sun and short, was unbearable for him and dragged on endlessly; he felt that waves of thoughts, suppositions and versions of events flowed through his mind one after another, causing complete chaos in his head.

What if Rhaenyra did not agree despite his lie?

What if she agrees, but demands the head of his grandfather and mother?

Whoever he was, his grandfather was his kin, his blood; all his life he had fought for them and their rights even if he himself often despised him.

How should he behave in such a situation so as not to let her down?

To fight? Declare war on them? Let her decide for herself once again which side she would stand on this time?

He pressed his forehead to the front of his saddle, clenching his hands on the ropes he held in his fist, feeling that he was descending into madness.

As they landed in the valley below the fortress he slid off his saddle, thinking that he had to share his plan with her, lest she accidentally say something herself that might destroy their credibility.

"− uncle −" She began, walking towards him, her face all pink and sweaty from exertion, unruly strands of her hair clinging to her skin.

His heart pounded harder.

You will come back here to face your nephew and you will take me, because you will decide that I am similar to her enough to satisfy your pain and longing.

You will put your child inside me, your bastard son, who will rule Harrenhal after our death.

He swallowed loudly, feeling that his vision was blank, his hands clenched into fists.

"− we'll tell them you're expecting my child −" He said coolly, sidestepping her, heading ahead, wanting to get this over with as quickly as possible − he heard her draw in a loud breath as she moved immediately after him, terrified, trying to keep up with him.

"− what? − Aemond, we can't lie, not now −" She muttered, clearly terrified by this vision − he pressed his lips together into a thin line, furious that she was making this all even more difficult.

"− they must agree to our terms − I will not discuss my decisions with you −" He growled impatiently and stopped when her silhouette appeared in front of him – her palms slapped against his chest, a fury in her eyes that startled him.

"− you will − you don't know them as well as you do − Daemon can sense the lie, he will see it in your eyes − do you think that once they understand that you are manipulating them they will agree to whatever conditions you set for them? −" She asked with an irritation in her voice that he didn't like; he felt a cold sweat on his neck at the unbearable thought that she was partly right.

Fuck.

He stared at her for a moment, breathing heavily, feeling like he was about to faint, another disturbing thought flashed through his mind.

What had that whore said to her?

"− that fucking witch − what did she say to you? −" He asked uneasily, wanting to be sure she wasn't trying to manipulate his wife the way she was trying to manipulate him.

His Rheanys blinked rapidly and swallowed hard, as if his question made her uncomfortable − he felt an unpleasant twinge in his stomach at the sight.

"− that we should not return to Harrenhal − that I should watch out for myself and trust no one −" She muttered, and he felt his heart stop.

That we should not return to Harrenhal.

That I should watch out for myself and trust no one.

She warned her.

Why?

He felt that he understood absolutely none of this; the woman's behaviour seemed to make no sense to him, but that wasn't the worst of it.

The worst part was the thought that perhaps she really believed what she said.

That perhaps she really did see his betrayal and what he would do next in her dream or in the fire.

He stood watching her like a small, frightened child who was afraid to tell a parent that he had stolen and destroyed their favourite book unwillingly, who was afraid to admit his guilt for fear of punishment and what it entailed.

She must have seen what was happening to him in his gaze because she walked over to him and touched his upper arms, her scent, the smell of vanilla reached his nose.

"− husband, what happened? − if you have doubts, let's discuss everything − but please don't close yourself in the fortress of your mind −" She muttered pleadingly, her voice warm and calm, soothing, as if she understood that he was afraid.

That thought, the realisation that she knew him well enough that he couldn't hide from her what was happening inside him made him feel even worse.

He thought she would loathe him forever.

He swallowed hard as she cupped his cheeks between her hands and closed his eyes, feeling himself tremble all over, focusing only on her closeness.

"− uncle − look at me − I am your ally − I always have been −" She whispered tenderly making another wave of heat and fear surge through his body at the same time, causing something inside him to crack.

"You're your parents' child too. Just like me. What will you do when one of them demands the other's head?" He asked coldly, feeling his heart pounding like mad − he felt like he could hear in his ears the fast pumping of blood through his veins.

His wife furrowed her brows, shaking her head as if she did not understand what he had just said to her.

"− I will never agree to this − despite what your grandfather and your mother did to me, I will not agree for them to be harmed if you assure me to do the same − you know that I am not driven by revenge − and you? − you are the one who constantly doubts me, however, ever since I appeared in King's Landing you have been the one to let me down − yet I remain faithful to you − I chose you, uncle, when will you understand it? − when will you understand that there is no other way for me but by your side even if I come to burn? −"

She said in a trembling, angry, breaking voice from which a shiver ran down his back; he looked at her in disbelief feeling his body filled with guilt and shame.

You are the one who constantly doubts me, however, ever since I appeared in King's Landing you have been the one to let me down.

She was right.

She welcomed him with open arms despite the fact that he hadn't answered her letters for eight years; she didn't show him any kind of resentment, she didn't demand an apology from him, she lavished him with understanding and tenderness when he needed it, wanting to make things right.

It was he who betrayed her when Aegon became King.

It was his mother who forced her to drink the moon tea.

He was the one who made her try to take her own life.

He was the one who kept her locked up like a prisoner.

And yet, it was he who perpetually accused her in his head of the possibility of betrayal, as if he was just waiting for it.

For an excuse to decide that this was never going to succeed.

Despite this, she was now standing in front of him, being on his side, willing to fight alongside him for a future for them.

He felt a squeeze in his throat at this realisation, at the thought that there was never any other way for him than the one that would always lead him to her, to his beloved, to his friend.

To his Rheanys.

He lifted his hand, in some subconscious gesture of tenderness and closeness placing an unruly strand of her dark hair behind her ear, looking at her pretty face, at her bright, shining eyes, at her long lashes, at her swollen, moist lips − everything that belonged to him, that he could take every night.

He felt his manhood twitch in his breeches at the thought.

"Can I kiss you?" He heard her whisper and looked at her, seeing that she was staring at him exactly as she had then, that day when she had come to his chamber as a child, holding a small book clutched to her chest in her hands.

He leaned towards her without a word and closed his eyes, sighing in relief when her plump, soft lips pressed against his in a sweet, sticky kiss; she pulled away from him, stroking his cheeks and hair with her hands, but it wasn't enough for him.

"One more time."

He moaned into her mouth and locked her in the tight, strong embrace of his arms as her lips pressed against his again, this time as if she wanted to devour him, her wet, swollen lips sucking and licking him making him completely hard; he felt the lust, the hot feeling he shared with her shake his body as his eyes involuntarily filled with tears at the thought of what he had heard.

You will take me, because you will decide that I am similar to her enough to satisfy your pain and longing.

You will put your child inside me.

But he wanted her.

He wanted his childhood friend.

His lover, his companion, his joy.

She filled his heart with herself so much that there was no room in it for any Visenya.

"I love you." He muttered helplessly, feeling the words leave his throat without the participation of his free will. "I've always loved you."

He felt her gasp loudly at his words as her body trembled in his arms; his heart squeezed tight with pain as she wept quietly.

"− I feel that some weight has crushed you, my beloved − it covers you like a heavy black cloak − but I am by your side − I am with you − trust me − I know how to speak with them, I know them −" She mumbled out looking at him with a hot gaze full of affection from which he felt that nothing mattered anymore, that he couldn't fight himself or what only she could do.

He was completely helpless against her.

"− will you be by my side even when all is lost? − even if there is nothing left but darkness? −" He asked in a breaking voice, and she smiled, so sweetly, tenderly, joyfully that his hands clenched tighter on her body.

"− yes − don't go the path I could not follow − let me stay by your side − if I am to leave this world, I want to die in your arms −" She whispered softly, and he felt that it was over for him, that whatever he had been thinking about a moment ago, it didn't matter.

"− so be it − fall with me −" He breathed out, before his lips pressed greedily into hers, his fingers digging into the material of her leather coat enclosing her in his tight embrace, their tongues colliding with each other, licking with their soft sighs of pleasure.

He thought, panting hard into her throat, caressing her with a loud click of their saliva, that he could take her now, on the grass, in front of everyone, and fuck her so hard that the whole Eyrie would hear.

This, however, did not happen.

The sight of her would-be betrothed was the last thing he wanted to see − Ronnel Arryn seemed to him to be a boastful and self-obsessed man, focused only on the tonnage of his muscles and how he presented himself.

His grin full of mockery which he threw back at him, looking at the left side of his face made him involuntarily think how pleasant it would be to just slit his throat.

He remembered why they were actually there when they walked into the circular chamber where his uncle and half-sister were waiting for them − he pressed his lips into a thin line seeing that his sister-whore dared to wear his father's crown on her head.

He said nothing.

As his wife threw herself into her mother's arms, he glanced at Daemon; his uncle stood back leaning lazily against the wall, his chin lifted slightly in some sort of challenge, a lazy, mocking smirk on his face.

"Let's sit down." He heard his sister's voice at last, but he had no intention of obeying her orders; so he stood, looking at his uncle, who also had not moved from his place, stroking the handle of his Dark Sister thoughtfully.

"My husband has conveyed to me that my brother-usurper wants to pact over the succession of the throne he himself has unlawfully taken. I must admit that this is a quite ridiculous situation." Rheanrya began, and he rolled his eyes, feeling frustrated and impatient. His wife threw him a quick, frightened glance − he, however, just looked at her, letting her speak.

He decided that he would trust her.

His niece grunted loudly and looked at her mother, adjusting herself in her seat, tense.

"My uncle, Prince Aegon, had no choice. His mother is deeply convinced that her husband, my grandfather, and our King, revealed his final will to her before he died. She mentioned to my uncle about the Prince who was promised, about Aegon's dream. I think she misunderstood him, mother, I…" She paused as Rheanyra looked quickly in Daemon's direction − he and his wife exchanged quick, shocked glances between themselves.

He furrowed his brow, feeling discomfort in his pit, wondering what they knew that might have escaped his attention.

Her mother looked at her again, some strange glint in her gaze.

"Mother?"

"Aegon the Conqueror's Dream. A Song of Ice and Fire. This is the prophecy my father spoke to me about. Whatever Alicent heard, it did not apply to her firstborn son." She said in a trembling voice, as if it was obvious to her.

He felt rage at the thought that their father had shared with his daughter some prophecy, a future that was to befall their lineage, but did not consider them, his sons, worthy of the privilege.

Humiliation, shame and anger surged through his body making his words involuntarily leave his lips.

"You mean to say that our father only conveyed the contents of this prophecy to you, but you don't believe my mother that he could have passed on to her that he changed his mind regarding the succession?" He growled, his sister and uncle throwing him quick, warning glances.

"Calm down, nephew. You are speaking to the Queen." Daemon reminded him, and he looked at him with rage.

"She is not my Queen." He hissed, his hand sliding down to the hilt of his sword when he saw Daemon's fingers tighten around his Dark Sister.

"That's enough. We have met here because Aegon realises, as you do Mother, that his and your children's rights to the throne will be challenged, and the war will not end with your death." His wife interjected, startling him as did the rest of those gathered, his heart began to pound like mad.

What?

"Are you undermining Jace, my firstborn son's right to the throne?" Her mother asked in a trembling tone, clearly not believing what she was suggesting.

Her daughter drew in a loud breath and swallowed hard before answering her.

"He's a bastard, mother. Like me, Luke and Joffrey, he cannot inherit the throne. Will you cut off my tongue for those words? Will you deprive me of my head, father?"

He looked at her with his lips slightly parted, feeling that his mind was not yet able to comprehend fully what she had actually done.

She continued, however, as if the words were pouring out of her like a river.

"We just lie and lie and lie until in the end we ourselves don't know where the truth lies, but it is there somewhere, always, and sooner or later none of us will be able to deny it even if we beheaded all the men in the Seven Kingdoms."

He felt a surge of satisfaction and warm affection shake his body at her words, at her proof that she understood him, understood his pain, understood why her brothers could not be heirs to the throne.

How could he ever doubt her?

Her mother and stepfather seemed as shocked as he was, unable to get a word out.

"How dare you say such a thing? Your father, Laenor Velaryon, has recognised you and your brothers as his heirs. He gave you his name, he recognised you as his child in the eyes of the kingdom." Her mother muttered, clearly heartbroken that her own daughter was challenging her words.

"But the whole Kingdom knows, mother. Even if Jace were to sit on the throne after your death, his lineage will not be forgotten. Are you prepared to die knowing that neither he nor his children will ever be safe? That, like my uncle's coronation, his coronation would also be challenged by lords across the Kingdom?" She asked in pain, as if she herself could no longer bear what was happening, how far they had gone in pretending what was the truth and what was a lie.

He thought that he himself would not have put into words better what he thought and acknowledged with pride that his wife was a great speaker.

That even he would have hesitated and reconsidered what she had said if he had heard the arguments spoken in this way.

"I know what humiliation you experienced, mother, and how much suffering you endured. Believe me that I did too. I, too, do not believe my grandfather would change his mind on his deathbed. I did not and do not recognise Aegon as King, nor have I ever called him that or given him the honour he deserves.

However, if we do not find an agreement, war will break out not only in the Realm, but in our family. This is what King Viserys wanted to prevent at the last supper before his death. Mother, after all, you are siblings. Your brother, though a traitor, extends his hand, he is ready to relinquish the crown he stole from you."

An awkward silence fell; Rhaenyra looked over her shoulder at her husband, apparently seeking his advice. His uncle stared at her with clenched lips, clearly believing that she should fight for her rights no matter what − even at the cost of war.

His half-sister looked at her daughter again and swallowed hard.

"I can consider the terms my husband has conveyed to me, but I also have my conditions. I will agree that it is your children who will inherit the Iron Throne, and you will be named as ruler-regents only if there are two kings, and you will be one of them.

You and your husband will share the power of the Kingdom equally and neither of you will sit on the throne or wear the crown. Aegon the Conqueror's crown and my father's crown will be kept in the treasury.

In addition, my husband and I will sit on the Small Council, and deprived of their seats will be your grandfather and Alicent. In addition, Otto Hightower will be stripped of all other functions and privileges and will reside under our oversight in King's Landing.

Jace will inherit Dragonstone as my first-born son. If no male heir is born to you, the official heirs will be the children from my and my uncle's marriage, pureblood Targaryens."

He stared at her wide-eyed, feeling the cold sweat on his back, his heart pounding like mad as his mind tried to quickly analyse what he had heard.

I will agree that it is your children who will inherit the Iron Throne, and you will only become ruler-regent if there are two kings, and you will be one of them.

You and your husband will share power in the kingdom equally and neither of you will sit on the throne or wear the crown. Aegon the Conqueror's crown and my father's crown will be kept in the treasury.

She wanted the kingdom to be ruled by two kings.

She wanted him and her daughter to have the same title, the same privileges.

He saw his niece look at him, her eyes big with terror, filled with fear of how he would react.

No, he thought.

She was no longer her daughter.

She was no longer a bastard.

She was his wife.

When he had covered her shoulders with the cloak with his family crest she had officially taken his name, and who her father was no longer mattered.

Although he knew that the name her mother had given her was different, to him she was Rhaenys.

Rhaenys Targaryen.

His childhood friend, a woman he trusted, respected, loved, whose opinion and letters he had held deep in his heart for years, whom he would have consulted if he had become king-regent anyway.

The thought that she would stand by his side, that she would help him carry this burden, that she would be like a second, necessary pillar to support the whole crumbling structure that was their family, filled him, to his surprise, not with frustration but relief.

He nodded his head.

His wife sighed quietly, looking at him with hope, turning her gaze to her mother. Rhaenyra's eyes welled with tears of grief and sorrow as she nodded, sealing her decision.

She had agreed.

Gods, she agreed.

"Pass on my words to my brother. Let him know that this is not just about my pride, but about the welfare of the Kingdom and our family. That I respect my father's will and hope that he will do the same." She said dispassionately and he nodded, feeling his whole body quiver with emotion, his hands clasped behind his back clenched into fists.

"You are surely exhausted. My cousin has prepared chambers for you where you can rest to set off on your return journey as we will tomorrow morning. Let us have supper together. I have been separated from my one daughter for too long." She said matter-of-factly and he swallowed hard feeling that he had completely frozen.

No.

None of them could stay here.

He couldn't propose that they fly to King's Landing knowing that they would surely disagree, so in desperation he proposed something that shocked everyone, including himself.

"No." He said coolly. "We'll spend the night in Dragonstone."

His niece beamed all over, her cheek blushing with happiness, as if she didn't believe his words.

"Do you mean it?" She asked sweetly like a little child to whom he had just given a wonderful surprise.

He felt a squeeze in his throat at the thought.

"Yes." He replied calmly, glancing at his uncle, who was squinting, watching him intently. "As an expression of my goodwill."

Daemon tapped the tip of his tongue against the wall of his cheek and hummed under his breath, a tense silence fell between them.

His wife was right.

He had the feeling that his gaze was piercing him to the core.

He muttered under his breath and looked at his wife − Rhaenyra, like his niece, seemed shocked by his proposal, but also pleased at the prospect of her daughter returning to her family home, if only for a while.

"Well…I see no objection. Daemon?" She asked her husband, who looked at his daughter. Apparently, something in her pleading gaze made him decide to remain silent for the time being, as he merely nodded his head in wordless agreement.

He closed his eyes and sighed quietly in relief, feeling a huge stone fall from his heart.

He stepped back, allowing Rhaenyra to leave, just behind her the room left Daemon throwing him one vigilant, mocking look telling him that he knew there was something more behind his words.

His wife, however, overwhelmed by excitement and joy, seemed not to notice it − she ran to him and snuggled into him, clasping her hands on his back, his arms immediately enclosing her in a tight, secure embrace.

He hadn't betrayed her.

He would never betray her.

So why did he feel so guilty?

"There are no words in which I can describe my gratitude to you. "She whispered, burying her face in his chest; he sighed heavily, pressing his lips to the top of her head, stroking her soft hair and neck with his fingers.

"I'm proud of you." He said calmly wanting her to know that he admired what she had done, the calmness in which she had presented his side's reasons while showing understanding and respect for her mother's rights and heritage.

He thanked the gods that he knew when to shut his mouth.

She looked at him and smiled shyly, as if his words surprised and embarrassed her. She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him, pressing her soft lips to his, and he murmured low, feeling a tightness in his throat.

He should tell her, he thought with pain, but he didn't know how.

He didn't want to spoil this beautiful moment.

So he kept silent, but the guilt, the fact that he was hiding something from her, pressed down on his shoulders like a huge burden, through which he could experience neither relief nor satisfaction that Rhaenyra had agreed to their terms.

He never expected to fly through the skies beside Larax, Caraxes and Syrax, to ever see Dragonstone, to propose a journey there of his own accord.

He felt shame filling him.

As he and his wife stepped inside their fortress, where their children were already waiting for them, an awkward silence ensued. Jace and Luke stood behind a large stone table that resembled the shape of all of Westeros, looking at him in disbelief and horror. He shuddered when he saw that Rhaena was the first to rush ahead, sidestepping him and her father, enclosing his wife in a sincere, tender embrace.

"I'm so happy you're alive." She muttered in a breaking voice – his niece stroked her back with a smile.

"Me too." He heard her whisper.

After a moment, Baela joined them, throwing him a cold, warning glance along the way, from which he only rolled his eyes. He looked again at Luke, who swallowed hard and lowered his gaze, clearly unable to bear his presence.

He felt disgusted at the sight of them, two boys with cheeks flushed from shame, who knew full well that they did not and should not have any claim to the throne.

He grinned involuntarily at the thought, seeing how pale Jace was, that he understood for certain that their presence meant he would officially cease to be his mother's heir.

Satisfaction as sweet as poison coursed through his veins at the thought.

Jace drew in a breath at the sight of his grimace, his hands clenched into fists as if he felt like lashing out at him − he flinched when Daemon stepped in front of him, standing between them and shook his head.

Jace swallowed hard, furious, lowering his gaze to the stone floor beneath his feet.

None of them came up to greet his niece; only little Joffrey ran up to her and burst into tears screaming that she had left them alone.

They resented her for the side she had chosen in their minds.

She was the only reason they were both still alive, he thought with a sneer.

His half-sister, seeing the look on his face and sensing the tension that reigned around them, decided to take pity on them and suggested that they make themselves comfortable in the chamber that had previously belonged to his wife.

He accepted her words with relief.

As they stepped inside he felt a squeeze in his throat − her quarters were modest, filled with her scent, the windows of her room facing the open sea, the sound of which he could clearly hear. He walked deeper in, looking around her chests of drawers and wardrobes, her wooden bookcases filled to the brim with books, before his gaze finally settled on an ornate oak desk.

He swallowed hard imagining her seated figure bent over parchment.

"− is this here? −" He asked casually, running his fingers over the table top, noticing with a pained heart that it was dusty.

A sign of how long she had not been here.

His niece looked at him surprised and blushed, as if the mere mention embarrassed her.

"− yes −"

He sat down in the chair she sat in every time she wished to convey her thoughts to him, to put them on paper, which then flew all the way to King's Landing to reach his hands. He glanced towards the windows, wondering how many times she had deliberated on choosing the right words while observing exactly the same view.

He thought he was touched.

"− we should rest, husband − if that's what you wish, we'll have supper alone −" She said softly, her voice trembling with excitement and joy.

She couldn't believe she was home again.

He nodded, not knowing what more he could answer.

He had felt the tension all evening; his wife had shown him various books she had read over the years, which she had told him about in her letters. He tried to listen to her and nod, stroking her arm with the tips of his fingers as she sat beside him, flicking through page after page of one of the volumes, looking for the quote she had mentioned to him. Her question pulled him out of his musings.

"− uncle − will you tell me what troubles you? −"

He looked at her horrified and swallowed with difficulty − he only grunted, not knowing what he should answer like a child caught in the act.

"I'm tired." He replied acknowledging that this was partly true. She nodded in understanding, he closed his eyelids as her hand gently stroked his cheek.

"Let's go to bed."

He wasn't going to fight her.

He wanted to leave this place as soon as possible and get away from Daemon's disturbing gaze.

His wife pressed her lips together, seeing that he had put a dagger under his pillow before he lay down − however, she said nothing, knowing he might trust her, but certainly not her family.

He lay down beside her, sighing heavily, and closed his eyes, figuring that perhaps when he woke up the next day and realised that tragedy had been avoided due to his decision, his conscience would have a little more mercy for him.

He murmured contentedly as he felt her arms embrace him, cuddling his face between her breasts, the warmth of her body, her scent filling his entire lungs. He tightened his hands on her back, trying to focus only on the touch of her hands, on her fingers combing gently through his hair, on the lullaby she hummed softly under her breath, and from which his eyelids grew heavier and heavier.

When the moon rises

over the dark sky

When you hear from afar

my bitter cry

Know that I long

When the sun rises

over the bright sky

When you hear from afar

my joyful cry

Know that I'm home

And then sleep fell over him.

His lips clung to her soft, long neck, sweaty from exertion, heavy, drawn-out sighs full of pleasure left his lips as his hips with sure, deep, quick thrusts pounded again and again into her hot, fleshy interior.

"− forgive me − I've missed you − oh, my sweetest −" He breathed out, quickening his pace, sinking his nose into her dark curls, her moans muffled by the pillow she was cuddling her face into. Her body, though different, was just as warm, her scent, though different, was similar to hers.

It didn't matter to him, because she was there for him, because she had forgiven him.

"− I love you − oh fuck, Rhaenys −" He muttered, clenching his eyes, coming inside her at last, experiencing such immense relief that he cursed for another moment, rocking his hips inside her. He swallowed hard, worried that she wasn't saying anything, his fingers took strands of her hair from her face wanting to see her eyes and then he saw it.

Green irises, luscious as grass.

"− is it true? − is she carrying your child? −" He heard her voice as if from afar and suddenly he was standing in front of her in his chamber in King's Landing, feeling his heart pounding like mad, a cold sweat running down his back.

He felt a strong gag reflex and held it back with the remnants of his strong will.

He couldn't get anything out of himself.

What had he done?

"− answer me − is she carrying your child? −" His wife, his Rhaenys muttered in a voice breaking with pain and despair, her cheeks red from tears, her eyebrows arched in rage, in her gaze something he feared most.

Disgust.

"− I − I don't know −" He mumbled, trying to remember what had actually happened, how he could have done it when, after all, he had promised himself it would never, never happen.

He thought about how he hadn't touched her in so long, how he had missed her so much.

When she discovered that he had hidden the truth from her, what his grandfather had planned, that he knew what could have happened to them in the Eyrie but hadn't told her, she hadn't slept in his chamber, hadn't eaten supper with him, hadn't spoken to him or looked at him even though he had tried so hard to please her.

"− don't you know? − don't you know if you put your bastard inside her? −" She mumbled and burst out into a loud, miserable sob, hiding her face in her hands − he looked at her, panting hard, shaking all over, not knowing what he was supposed to say, what he was supposed to do.

"− HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME!? −" She almost screamed, falling to her knees as if without strength, whining loudly like some kind of animal, her whole being trembling and twitching in convulsions − he approached her quickly, kneeling beside her, trying to touch her, but she pushed him away.

"− my beloved − please − I was possessed by madness, I swear − I − I thought it was you −" He muttered, not knowing how he could explain such a betrayal, such humiliation she suffered because of him.

"− you thought it was me? − you fucked another woman and thought it was me? − gods, Aemond, don't touch me! − don't touch me −" She howled, her voice at once enraged, full of pain, suffering and grief, her eyes red with tears, her whole body quivering.

He was the reason for this.

He had done this to her.

"− my Prince − my Prince, quickly, your wife! −" He heard someone shout – he shuddered as he sat by the fireplace, gazing in horror at the figure of the guard who had rushed into his chamber.

As he stepped out into the corridor he heard someone's loud sobs and screams tearing at his heart; as he ran inside he froze noticing the figure of Rheaenyra kneeling on the floor, covering her mouth with her hand − his wife, and her daughter, was hanging from a rope tied to the frame of her bed, which was tightened around her neck, her dark hair covering her bowed head, her feet not touching the floor.

He ran to her trying to lift her, trying to pull her down, but he knew, felt, that it was too late, her body cold, numb, empty.

His face sank into her flesh covered only by the material of her nightgown muffling his loud, desperate scream.

"Uncle! Uncle, please, wake up!"

He opened his eyes and pulled himself up to sit down, panting heavily, feeling his heart pounding like mad – he could see nothing through the tears that one by one ran down his face, his body twitching all over in convulsions as if it had gone into a state of absolute panic.

"− easy, my love − breathe −" He heard someone's voice beside him, her voice – he looked at her as if he didn't recognise her, her eyes wide in terror, her hand stroking his shoulder reassuringly.

"− Rhaenys − Rhaenys −" He mumbled out like a small child calling out to its mother, bursting into sobs of relief and terror that shook his body − he snuggled into her breast, clasping his fingers on her back so tightly that she hissed in pain – however, she did not push him away and her arms enclosed him in a tight, secure embrace.

"− I'm here, my love − I'm here −" She whispered, again and again placing warm, moist kisses on the top of his head, combing her fingers through his hair.

For a moment he merely wept and quivered, unable to catch his breath, trying to calm himself, listening to her whisper, breathing in her scent, enjoying her closeness, the touch of her hand.

It seemed to him that it was hours before he began to breathe normally, before he realised that all he had seen was just a nightmare, that he was lying with his wife in her bed in Dragonstone.

That all was not yet lost.

He swallowed hard and clenched his eyes shut.

"− there's something − there's something I want to tell you −"

216 notes · View notes

transmutationisms · 11 months

Note

thots on astrology? related, thoughts on mbti?

k i like that you guys just pop in my inbox from time to time and invite me to run my mouth about topics and concepts. like truly what else is this website for.

anyway astrology (& sorry, most of what i know here pertains specifically to europe in the middle ages onward) is genuinely such a bizarro historical case of a science whose core epistemological presupposition (a geocentrist and specifically anthropocentrist cosmology) has completely fallen out of favour in both popular and professional discourse, and i don't think most people appreciate how weird it is for astrology to continue existing with this degree of popular and mainstream participation lol. like most fringe science actually bothers to have some semblence of its own reactionary epistemology to fall back on; astrology just doesn't seem to care. it would be like if the medical guilds fully endorsed the position that blood is circulated in the human body by the heart, but then also recommended as treatments for clotting disorders medical practices that only make sense on the supposition that the liver is the origin of all blood and is continuously creating more of it. like no other science that i can think of tries to have it both ways to the extent astrology does. like, one reason phrenology and eugenics are bad comparison points here is because they're very much copacetic with post-enlightenment naturalism and evolutionary transpositions in the social sciences. astrology, like, intellectually is not and yet here it is anyway. ideology innit.

anyhow i assume the reason you asked about this in conjunction with mbti is because today's astrology is largely purporting to provide psychological analysis and is therefore more similar to a system like mbti than to the historical use of star-reading as a predictive science. obviously both astrology and mbti are deeply reactionary in this respect and belong to a larger trend toward attempting to categorise, measure, and taxonomise the psyche, tho an important difference here is that mbti has hereditarian elements, which no form of astrology that i know of does. i think astrology's shift in the personal-psychological direction has to do with a few different factors, including medical astrological practice (orthodox in the european middle ages, then varying degrees of heterodox from the early modern period onward) and self-help movements in the 20th century.

but in any case it, mbti, and similar attempts at psychometry are, like, staggeringly essentialist in conception and practice, and i do think their current popularity reflects some deeply reactionary tendencies amongst people who often (not always) consider themselves otherwise progressive or leftist. it's honestly kind of worrisome how many people will jump on a project that explicitly aims to define static and immutable human 'types' as long as it's dressed in quasi-spiritual or psy-scientific terminology. like i do think we all need to pause and think about the ideological ends and consequences of how we talk about each other and our bodies, minds, and birth circumstances 😵‍💫

#astrology

846 notes · View notes

snarkylinda · 10 days

Text

I am seeing suppositions for UnSub!Reid on the revival and, as fun as the concept sounds like, I would actually hate to see it on the actual show. Why? Simple really.

I don't want my favorite character to die.

Like I think some forget this is not a shonen anime- if Spencer comits crimes he wouldn't had an redemption arc and then come back to his found family with a hot new look- he would just be killed. Point blank. Every single UnSub that was shown in CM no matter their intentions, or their motives, were either sent to Jail for eternity or killed off. And like what is the thing they constantly repeat all the time about Unsubs that already went to Jail? They won't go back. So they either kill themselves or get the cops to do it for them. You can guess what I am implying here.

Spencer was never a really morally gray character. He has his own agendas and his own way to tackle issues in manners that other members of the team never would- but he is geniuly a good hearted man. Him caring for SOME Unsubs wasn't him going full "oh yeah they were right to murder those people because... society™" he just felt bad for them. He is utterly compassionate. Being a total bitch that makes questionable decisions doesn't makes him gray- it makes him human. Even at his lowest, when he DID hurt other humans beings (emphasis on hurt, not kill) he got terrified, he insolated himself from his team and subconsciously convinced himself he was better off left to rot. He felt regret over the thought his actions could had caused fucking Cat to have an spontaneous abortion. FUCKING CAT.

Spencer was put through the ringer but his heart of gold remained, for him to go full Joker out of nowhere only to get killed off and be forevermore remembered as "that Genious cop that started up really sweet but then shit happened and he fell off the badgon." would be an fucking insult to anyone that ever cared about his character for fucking 20 years and a really weird, offending move that I hope they never ever think about pulling.

#i am really passionatuve about this twink can you tell #criminal minds #spencer reid

93 notes · View notes

stinkysam · 6 months

Text

Buggy the Clown - It's getting expensive.

Warning : spoilers for opla only

Genre : fluff

Synopsis : “Ok, so funny thought based off of sugar daddy! reader but imagine when buggy joins the cross guild and reader just looks at crocodile and Mihawk for a minute before asking buggy, if they need to pay them as well. Because reader can tell that Mihawk and crocodile are expensive bishes. It would be funny watching all their reactions to this especially crocodile and Mihawk since someone is offering to spoil them because I can see crocodile immediately going no in the most deadpan voice and I'm cackling over it.” - anon

Reader : male (you/yours)

A/N : Part ONE

Buggy didn't really want you to meet them. Despite acting like they were all good friends in front of you, he knew they would very quickly reveal the truth if you ever met them.

Yet, this day had to happen.

“God, you have a lot of people working for you now.” You said with a smile, looking at all the pirates wearing his Jolly Roger happily.

Buggy puffed his chest proudly, laughing a bit.

“Of course. That's only what I deserve !”

You grin and nod, walking inside the ship to get to his quarters. As you get in, you spot them. Mihawk and Crocodile.

“Shit.” Buggy thought.

You stared at them, Buggy pushing you forward in hope to get you to his quarters but you refused to walk. Their bounty appeared before your eyes.

Crocodile 1,965,000,000 berries.

Mihawk 3,590,000,000 berries.

A total of 8,744,000,000 berries with Buggy.

Damn.

“Do I have to pay them as well ?” You ask with curiosity, eyes shining, pointing to Mihawk and Crocodile as you walk toward them.

“What !?” Buggy yelled, stopping you from walking further as Crocodile raised an eyebrow, Mihawk staring at you too surprised to say anything.

“Pay us ?” They thought.

“Why would you pay them !?” Buggy whispers-yelled to you.

“Aren't they with you ?” You simply replied, not caring about being discreet.

That's where it clicked for them. You were Buggy's… boyfriend / sugar daddy.

“No.” Said Crocodile. “We aren't.” His tone was cold, almost disgusted by your supposition.

“This is just a partnership.” Added Mihawk but you stared at him as if it didn't clear anything up and he sighed already tired by this conversation. “It's just an organization.”

“Oh.” You tilted your head to the side. “I thought you were all a thing.” You laughed. “That would've been expensive, ahah !”

“We gathered.” Said Mihawk, walking away. He had heard enough, and didn't want to inflict himself with you two any longer.

Buggy grabbed you by the collar, shaking you roughly while crying, yelling unintelligible things.

“Huh ? I don't understand what you're saying…” You said, which seemed to make things worse. Thought you managed to catch the essence “Me with them ? Scary.”

“Alright, alright. Let's go.” You say, now pushing him to his quarters, Buggy too upset about what you thought to walk on his own.

You continued pushing him until you arrived in his room and as soon as you closed the door Buggy yelled, falling on you with all his weight, making you fall on the bed.

“I lied !” He sobbed, throwing his hands in the air before grabbing you by the shoulders and shaking you. “They're not my subordinates !”

You blinked. That, you had guessed.

“We're even less a fucking thing !” He yelled now angry before returning to his sobbing state, grabbing you by the collar once again.

“They accepted me as the leader but I don't know why !”

“They-”

“They beat me up after the Cross Guild pamphlet got out ! As if I had a say in it !” He exclaimed. “And they beat me up again after seeing the ship ! They hung my head on Crocodile's hook by the hair !” He sobbed again, trying to make you understand the true dynamic between them, rubbing his face against your shirt, smearing snot and tears over it. “All that because they didn't like the ship my subordinates maaade ! It wasn't my fault they got carried away, these dumbasses ! I almost got sold into slavery ! Me !”

“What !? Are you okay ?” You asked, grabbing his face.

“I'm fine.” He sniffed. “I need more than that to be killed !” He smiled confidently through the tears.

“I'm gonna have a talk with them.” You announced, pushing him away and standing up, ready to walk out before Buggy grabbed you, pulling you back down.

“No !” He pleaded sobbing again. “They'll do the same to you ! Don't you understand !?”

You sighed. He was right. They are pirates after all. And a bit unpredictable at that.

“Buggy… Be careful.” You said, grabbing his face again.

“Tell that to the idiots who made the pamphlet and the ship ! I swear I wasn't behind it !”

“Okay, okay, I get it.” You kissed his forehead, wrapping your arms around him.

“What do you want to do then ?” You ask, fingers combing through his long hair.

“This is nice here.” He replied, rubbing his cheek against you. “Let's stay here.”

“Okay.”

For a moment, you two say nothing, enjoying each other's presence and closeness, the silence only broken by his sniffing.

“You really thought I was seeing other people ?”

You shrugged.

“Not really. But since they work with you and as you told me you were the bestest of friends, I thought maybe it was like a pack.”

“A pack !?”

“Yeah. Take one, get two more.”

“We aren't a deal you can buy !”

“I kind of bought you. ‘Buy my time’ you said. And I did.” You kissed the top of his head and he grimaced, annoyed.

“That's different.”

“Not really.”

#male reader #m!reader #one piece #one piece live action #one piece x male reader #opla #one piece imagine #one piece x reader #one piece live action imagine #one piece live action x male reader #opla imagine #opla x male reader #opla buggy #buggy the clown #buggy the clown x reader #buggy the clown imagine #buggy the clown x male reader #buggy x reader

212 notes · View notes

karasuno-writings · 2 months

Text

DRUNKEN CONFESSIONS - KUROO TETSUROU

WARNINGS → ALCOHOL MENTIONS, DRUNK PEOPLE, TIMESKIP HAIKYUU CHARACTERS DRINKING. It is nothing too wild but if the subject of alcohol makes you uncomfortable then this might not be for you!

So a friend and I were talking about how much and what type of alcoholic drinks the Haikyuu characters would like (time-skip ofc) ! And we came to the conclusion that Kuroo does not drink often so he is a light drinker and WILL get riled up easily, SO, here we have a drunk-lovestruck Kuroo.

DRUNK KUROO HEADCANONS

He does not drink too often but once he starts drinking he just keeps the inertia without even noticing it (drinks start passing way too easily)

He feels responsible for those around him EVEN when he is drunk, so he will try to drunkenly take care of people

Since we know he is a nerd that cares about his health I feel like he does not love soda so he’d rather have his drinks with sparkling water, lots of ice and lemon or he opts for a beer instead

He gets super sweet when drunk, and while usually smug he somehow gets more easily flustered

He blushes a lot when drunk, it's super easy to make him flush

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

In Kenma’s living room the movie that ran in the background seemed to serve as white noise to Yaku, Kuroo and Kenma, who were reminiscing on the old days while each tended to their own business.

“I cannot believe you have not asked Y/N out yet” Yaku exclaimed with a slight chuckle “It has been, what? Two years since that New Year’s party”

Kuroo grunted, burying his head on his hands “I knoooow, but it feels like we have known each other since forever, I do not want to make things uncomfortable all of a sudden”

Without looking up from his phone Kenma rolled his eyes before raising his eyebrows, “You know they most definitely feel the same as you…right?”

“Yes…but also no; not for sure! I can’t make such a rash dentition based only on suppositions” Kuroo answered, while Kenma shrugged.

“Anyways, we have not done anything all together since then! Why don’t we plan a get-together! Whatdya think Kenma '' Yaku elbowed him, while looking at the spacious living room and garden, managing to get his attention.

Kenma only chuckled and shook his head, “Yeah Kuroo, your place seems just right for such an occasion”

Squinting his eyes playfully at his childhood friend the wild haired boy could only nod “Fine fine, we can do it at my place; but you gotta come help me set things up”

“Deal” Kenma answered with a smug smile

……………………………………………

After a long day of work you are finally home, after taking off your shoes and practically throwing away your bag, you find yourself slouching on the living room couch, finally able to check out the messages that you had not been able to answer before. You scroll absentmindedly through the several work group-chats that you could never bother yourself to answer, until a name catches your eye.

Tetsu: “Please do tell me if you are free that day then! It will be fun!”

Your heart skipped a bit, it had been almost a month since you last saw your old friend at a cafe, meeting up regularly seemed to be harder these days, still, you always managed to keep up. A smile and a slight flush plastered across your face, wondering whatever could he mean by that last message. Waiting no further, you open the conversation:

Tetsu: “Hiya Y/N! It’s been a while huh? How fast time flies by”

Tetsu: “Anyways, Yaku and I were talking about highschool and decided it would be fun to see everyone once more!”

Tetsu: “Since Knema absolutely refused to lend his house for a hangout I decided to let everyone crash at my place for the evening!”

Tetsu: “We agreed on Friday night! Everyone is cited at 8:00 pm but you can come have lunch before everyone gets here ;)”

Tetsu: “Kenma might get here for lunch too hehe”

Tetsu: “Please do tell me if you are free that day then! It will be fun!”

You shook your head endearingly. While not what you expected, seeing your old friends from the Nekoma did sound like a fun plan, and you did happen to be free this Friday.

Y/N: “Hiya Tetsu!”

Y/N: “I DO happen to be free this Friday! So count me in :D”

Y/N: “I’ll bring some drinks too!”

You immediately noticed his status changing to “online”, a small smile across your face; of course he would still be up this late.

Tetsu: “Eyyyy I’ll look forward to it”

Tetsu: “See you soon then! Take care!”

Standing up, you stretch your arms from side to side, and blinking slowly you walk to your room. Turning the lights off you look at the messages once more before falling asleep

………………………………….

Kuroo paced back and forth between the kitchen and the living room, eyes focused on the floor while his hands were crossed over his chest. Kenma could only follow him with his eyes while tapping his foot, a soft almost-smile on his lips, he would be concerned if he didn’t know his friend any better.

Kuroo huffed and sat down next to Kenma. As if in cue you opened the door; making him stand up immediately to walk up to you. “I’m back!” you smiled, holding up bags filled with snacks, beer and some liquor as if showing them off.

“You really should have let me come with you” Kuroo smiled, taking the bags off your hands. You shook your head, helping him place the items on the counter “What if something came up? Or someone arrived early? It’s fine, relax! Have a beer!” You handed a cold can to him, turning then to Kenma, “Want one Kenma?” He shook his head, reaching over for an apple-flavored hard-seltzer “Thanks Y/N” You shrugged and grabbed a drink for yourself, holding it up for a toast.

Kuroo stared at the can on his hand, then raised an eyebrow at you, “We starting this early? Tsk, how unhealthy Y/N” he chuckled before opening his can and accepting your toast. Kuroo gulped on the drink almost as if second hand, while not a heavy drinker, the bitter taste had grown on him after several after-work meetups with his coworkers, and he figured there was nothing better to freshen up on that hot evening than a cold can of beer.

“Cheers!”

A little while after your friends started arriving at the house, having not only invited the old Nekoma team and some classmates, but also old friends such as those from the Karasuno and Fukurodani, Kuroo lost sight of both Kenma and you.

Bokuto, on the other hand, seemed adamant to make him drink as much as humanly possible, by handing him several drinks that he swore he had just concocted himsel for the two of them, giving him no time to process before the glass was up to his lips and…was that vodka or rum? And why was it going down his throat with such ease now?

“How do you like that one huh?” Bokuto smiled before giving the glass a big chugg, wiping the remaining drink off his lips with his hand. Kuroo chuckled in response, patting his friend in the back “Easy now…Though I do like them a little more bitter”

Bokuto squinted his eyes at him before frowning “Can’t you say you liked it for once? Fine, next one will be it!” and without a second to spare he left off for the kitchen once more.

Kuroo was starting to feel a bit more relaxed, albeit light-headed, he blinked slowly trying to find you, he had not seen you since Hinata, Yaichi and Yamaguchi had swooped you to talk to them. Walking around he high-fived Kai and suddenly he heard you laugh somewhere outside on the garden. As soon as he stepped out he could see you sitting on the grass, amid a group of people, all sitting on a circle around a bunch of cards.

Snorting, you grabbed the next card, a queen of hearts, slamming it on top of Hinata’s game. “Gotcha! Drink up!”. Right as you smiled triumphantly, the orange-haired boy smirked and with a jump he slammed his remaining cards, a pair of aces. “NUh-uh! I win! You drink”

Grunting, you grab your can and chug half of it with a slight wince; as soon as you put it down, wiping your mouth with your sleeve, you see Kuroo standing on the doorframe, looking straight at you. “Fine! But I cannot drink nother alone…Tetshuurou! Help me out willya!” The way you slightly slurred your words made him smile, knowing that you’ve already had your few share of drinks.

“Are you trying to get me drunk knucklehead?” He chuckled walking up to you, holding his hand out to help you stand. You gladly accepted it, laughing and pulling him down to join your game. “EY!” He exclaimed as he fell next to you, face flushing thanks to the sudden closeness and the boost of the alcohol, I-uhh…okay fine fine!” He raised up both hands in defeat, laughing, and helped you finish the contents of your drink. He elbowed you playfully, “If you feel dizzy or nauseous tell me, I do not want you feeling like shit in the morning” You raised your eyebrows, and nodded before smiling at him, “Will doooo!”

As you kept on playing, and losing, and making him drink half of your punishments, he noticed your laugh became more boisterous, smiling at the way you talked, the way you smiled and got angry when you lost. He blinked slowly, his eyes lagging slightly as he turned to look into the house, surely Yaku would make sure no one did something stupid right? He could definitely relax, not that he had a choice now that the room around him seemed to float.

Suddenly you stood up and he noticed you motioning him to follow, making him spring up a little too fast and a little too suddenly, loosing his balance slightly, making you hold him closer to stop him from tumbling back down. His heart started beating faster cause, have you always smelled this good? But also, wasn't he supposed to be the one taking care of you?

“Are you feeling alrght Tetsu?” you tilted your head, closing your eyes slowly, wondering whether you had divided evenly the last few drinks.

“Whatdya mean! I’m…jus-t fine” He answered, feeling the heat rise up to his face.

“Let's get you some fresh air” As you felt him tumble a little you grabbed his arm in order to guide him into the front door of the house, where there seemed to be less bustling, eyes wide open he let you drag him away before he could process what was happening.

You sat him down on the steps, “Don’t move from here”, you left for a few moments before coming back with a glass of water and a bowl filled with snacks “Here you go”, you set down next to him.

“Thanks” He shot you a sincere smile, softening his gaze as he noticed you smiling back before grabbing some of the snacks you had just brought. His shoulders dropped, fuck alcohol and the things it did to his head, cause how could he resist any longer? “Yo-ou look gorg-geous…and I jus-st donnot know howto tell you whatya mean to me”

You turned to face him, eyes wide-open, “I swear if you are saying this only cause you’re drunk I-”

“Ipromiseitisnotlikethat” Before you could continue Kuroo interjected, grabbing both your hands on his, “I know thi-is not ideal…I ju-ust…shit…I cannot think straight anymore” he shook his head before letting it drop backwards

You chuckled, rubbing the back of his hand with your thumb, face flushed “YOu really mean it then?”

“Fuck, yes I-do! For a-while now” He grunted, before tilting his head raising his eyebrows and pouting slightly at you “Wouldya be convinced…if I saa-id it again tmorrow?”

“I feel the same you know…still, that would be nice” You smiled, resting your head on his shoulder, handing him more water

“Itsa promise then” He smiled, feeling some of the tension falling off his shoulders, because he knew he had meant every word of it, and knowing you might feel the same made his heart pound on his chest, sure that tomorrow he would trully show you what you really meant to him.

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu imagines #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu kuroo #kuroo tetsurou #kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsuro x reader

79 notes · View notes

bluegalaxygirl · 21 days

Text

Undercover (Bad Batch X Reader) P2

Plot: Reader goes undercover at a prestigious event, her job is mainly to gather intel while the batch keeps watch.

Warning: Bad language, Drinking and Violence

Reader is female (sorry), Established relationship, Poly relationship between reader and each member of the batch. There's some brother moments and banter between the clones but no Clone X Clone stuff.

Language list

P1 - P3 - P4 - P5 - P6 - P7

Taking your glass you down the rest of your drink before placing it on the bar and sneaking away from the still bickering bartenders "Good luck with those idiots around him" Crosshair groans in your ear as you turn to look over at your target and his friends, knowing you have to get his attention you walk right up to the group to stand next to your target "Senator Cheesho, I'm so sorry to interrupt but i was hoping to have a moment of your time" The group stops talking to look you up and down, some seeming annoyed that you interrupted while other looked amused, your target Antart Cheesho on the other hand gives you a fake smile and turns to fully face you, his eyes look your over with slight supposition but that soon fades turning into genuine happiness "Do not worry, the conversation was dragging on anyway" Antart waves his hand giving his friends a silent order to go away, with some sighs and groans the group walks off going to talk to other people or to grab another drink, it surprises you since they all seemed quiet close so for the senator to treat them so openly like nuisances was unexpected but it works in your favor so your not going to complain. "How may i help you, young lady?" With his full attention now you a smile forms on your face as you bow slightly "I'm F/N F/LN, an Anthropologist at Yavin Prime, I first wanted to thank you for inviting my Boss, but he couldn't make it, so they sent me instead. I've heard a bit about this building and its history but i wanted to know more, who better than the man who owns it"

He thinks for a second making you panic a little before snapping his fingers seeming to finally catch on to something "Oh yes, Mister Dune, are you one of his students?" He asks testing your knowledge to see if your telling the truth. Mister Dune was someone who was supposed to come but couldn't make it so Tech and Hunter decided you would take his place, you studied the man just in case you get asked questions so its easy for you to answer, with a raised eyebrow you tilt your head to the side acting confused "Students? Dune may be a teacher of sorts but he's way too busy for an actual class, I'm one of his collages… To be honest" You let out a laugh stepping closer you starting to whisper, the man leans in hoping to hear what you have to say with a smirk "I wasn't hand-picked or anything, Dune just through his and who ever it hit ended up going" Antart lets out a laugh leaning back and gripping his side, pulling back you let out a giggle glad that he took your lie, after calming down the man holds out his hand for you to take hoping to lead you somewhere "It would be my honor to tell you about this place and its rich history but i think it would be more beneficial if i give you a tour" A growl in your ear indicated Crosshair isn't happy about this, his job is to watch over you and the hall, he can't do that if your not in sight "Get him to stay" His snake like voice runs through you, you feel his tense state just from his tone "As much as i would love that, wouldn't it be inappropriate to see a Senator going off alone with a woman" You state gripping onto your clutch bag in order to calm your nerves, Antart lets out a small chuckle shaking his head at you while muttering under his breath "It wouldn't be the first time" You pretended you didn't hear it but the comment does make your heart beat much faster hoping he wasn't intending to do anything if alone, you wanted information but you weren't about to sell yourself out for it.

Antart holds his hand out more to you hoping you will take up his offer without asking again, his eyes plead with you silently begging, despite your chest feeling tight and your heart telling you no, you need the information, you need him to talk so you reach your hand out to take his only to stop half-way when Crosshair's dangerous growl sounds in your ear. "No, don't go with him" The snipers angry voice sends a shiver down your spine and you can tell by the slight shake in his voice that he has an itchy trigger finger. The need of the mission comes first and it seems the Senator won't give any info while staying here so you give a small smile before taking his hand, a big grin forms on the man's face as he pulls your arm to link with his before starting to walk off. "Y/N, What the Krif? .. Hunter, she's going off with the Senator.. Alone" Crosshair whispers trying to control his anger before contacting Hunter hoping for some help or backup in getting you to stop or rethink this before your out of sight. "What? Y/n i told you to get his attention not go off with him" Hunter growls into your ear, you so desperately want to answer back, say your sorry but also state that this is the only way you'll get info out of him. "Osik, Ok, Crosshair stay where you are for now, keep a look out for the other targets and any trouble. Y/n stick to the halls don't go into any rooms with him and back out if you need too. The two of you are to stay in contact with each other at all times and Y/n be careful, if she goes dark, Cross you find her." Hearing the order you slightly nod mainly to yourself just as Antart walks you through a set of doors and into a long hallway.

The floor is now a hard dark wood making your heals click and echo through the empty pace, one of the white long walls is filled completely with paintings and photos, all framed in different colors and shaped frames not one looking the same as far as you can see, while the other wall has a few doors and lamps. "Wrecker and i are at the basement but its locked" Hunter continues as a groan is heard behind him from Wrecker "I could just kick it open" The big guy groans again clearly unhappy about not being able to break things "No, we can't let anyone know where here… Tech and Echo are still shifting through all the data and trying to gain access to the basement for us, once we have everything we need be ready to head out." Hunter orders earning conformation from everyone who can answer, the com chatter starts to fade away leaving only you and Crosshair on the same channel as the others switch over to another so you can work without all the chatter. "What do you see?" The sniper asks still pissed about you going off alone "That's a lot of photos and paintings, is this wall only dedicated to this building?" You ask Antart who nods stopping at the largest fame on the wall, a large blueprint of the first ever finished floor plan but it looks nothing like the building now "Not all of it, some sections are of the process of making material's for this place, photos of the families that lived and owned it. My favorite has always been the original floor plan though, mainly because its what this building should have looked like" Nodding you look over the blueprint seeing it's much taller than the building actually is and has the addition of a swimming pool. "So, was it time and money that was the problem or structural issues?" You ask earning a very big grin from the senator who happily answers your questions while guiding you along the wall of photos and paintings.

The tour had a lot more detail than you expected from him, it seems getting him alone was a great idea after all, he talks more passionately and less formal than back in the hall, he also let your arm go seeming uninterested in any kind of physical touch with you and more interested in showing off his smarts. The real him was now in front of you, everything outside seemed to just be an act, he seems comfortable with you now so you started to ask more and more questions slowly opening him up to where he let slip a few secrets. "Sorry, i hope i'm not boring you" Antart nervously laughs while rubbing the back of his head, its taken a while but your now at the end of the hall of pictures leaving your brain almost wrecked as if you've been listening to Tech ramble for hours but you shake it off giving him a smile "No of course not, I'm actually enjoying myself. Thank you" Antart seems to brighten up at this letting out a small laugh while rubbing his arm lightly "I'm glad most people take the first chance to run off back to the party… Your different though, maybe it's your perfection but i hope you can help me out" A pit forms in your stomach at his words as the man steps closer to you making you want to step back and away from him but you manage to force your body to stay still "I know this party is supposed to be a annual gathering but its actually a secret a fund-raiser" Antart whispers while looking around checking that no one is around to hear it. "A fund-raiser?" You ask in confusion wondering two main things, one, why is this such a secret? and two, if it is a fund-raiser event why are there were no auctions or money boxes for donations? With a shy look the man rubs the back of his neck while turning to fully face you "W-well, i hate to say it but yes… I-i want to keep this secret but-"

Antart quickly grabs your arm making you gasp in surprise as the man speed walks through another set off doors leading into another hallway "Come, i want to show you something" You try to pull away but surprisingly his grip is very strong unwilling to let you go in his heist to get to where he wants to go "Cyare, you ok? what going on? where are you?" Cross yells out clearly starting to be on the move to come and get you but with your quick thinking manages to stop both men even if just for a moment "I can walk, you don't need to drag me. I'm happy to go just tell me where" You state trying to keep your voice calm and collected but there's still a slight shakiness, the Senators eyes widen in surprise suddenly aware of what he's done to make you uncomfortable while quickly letting go of your arm and stopping in his tracks "S-sorry, i didn't mean too, are you ok?" Antart asks seeming genuinely concerned "I'm fine, you didn't hurt me just gave me a shock is all" You sigh managing to calm your nerves "Get out of there, He's too grabby and who knows where he's taking you" Cross growls seeming to have stopped where he is instead of coming to get you, it's a relief since your finally getting somewhere and you don't want anyone to ruin it. "I'm really sorry… It's been so long since anyone has taken an interest in this stuff, its normally just politics and Peace talks, i can't remember the last time i could openly indulge in my hobby" With a sweet smile you place your hand on his shoulder "Its fine, I like that your so passionate about history, people and places. It's a hobby i think you shouldn't have to hide, especially in a place like this, in a building so old and rich with echos of the past, I'd love to see what you want to show me. So where are we going?"

Your question immediately brightens the man up but earns a groan from Crosshair who isn't happy about you getting further and further away from him but at the same time he knows your skilled and that you can handle yourself, taking your hand the Senator brings it to his lips placing a light kiss on your knuckles "Thank you but you'll have to wait and see my dear. I want to share something with you, something i haven't shown anyone before but i think you more than anyone would appreciate it as much as i do." Gently pulling you along this time you follow despite the sigh in your ear from Cross along with some shuffling that sounds like he's laying back down to take his snipping position again "I don't like this. Remember don't go into a room with him" you let out a simple "Ok" mainly to Crosshair but the man your walking with gives you a nod thinking your talking to him, your ok wasn't good enough for your sniper though who lets out a frustrated sigh "I mean it Cyare, I can't see you, I don't fully know where you are or how long it will take to back you up so just.. be careful and stay in contact" Your heart pounds at hearing his concern, a mixture of sadness and yet love overcomes you, grateful that he cares for you but also sad at how he's feeling. "I will… I'm sure i will love whatever it is you have to show me" You didn't mean to say those two words out loud but luckily you managed to work it into a way that didn't sound odd, Antart nods happily leading you through the halls while Cross lets out a small chuckle knowing you slipped up "Am i too distracting pretty girl? Let's call this pay back for before… Flirting to with other guys to get what you want" Cross whispers sending a shiver down your spine "Going off alone with a man… I was going to make you pay later but if you don't behave I'll start now"

Biting your lip, your cheeks start to heat up hoping and praying that he doesn't do this now, if he does its going to be almost impossible to act normal. "I'll find you once this mission is over with pretty girl and when i do… your all mine" The slight growl in his voice makes you gulp and bite the inside of your cheek in order to hold back a needy whimper, a part of you wants that so badly while the other is telling you to get to work, luckily it isn't too long before Antart stops in front of a large set of doors and pushes them open revealing a very dark room. He lets go of your hand and steps in to flick the light switch on which brightens up the room showing bookshelves of old and new books lining the walls, long glass cases line the way down to a large window with red curtains covering it, blocking out any and all light but what really catches your eye is the large handcrafted model of the building exactly like the blueprints from before showed. "Do you like it?" Your snapped out of your slight shock with a jump your eyes meeting Antart's overly joyful face "Y-yea… I'm just shocked at how detailed it is, its exactly like the blueprint, why would you hide this away? Why are the curtains closed?" You ask refusing to step into the room, the senator raises an eyebrow looking between you and the model building before taking a step closer to the model "You really are an export, seeing it all from there" The man ignores your question instead he flips a switch on the table the model is standing on making the lights inside the model light up "I'm sorry. i don't understand, if your so passionate about this then why are you hiding it?" You ask crossing your arms over your chest, the pit inside your stomach opens up again while your mind tries to put the pieces of the puzzle together.

The Senator turns the smile on his face fading into an angry frown "I've had some trouble in the past, I may be a senator but that doesn't give me enough power to do what i want. This building was supposed to be something great, the biggest, brightest shining star of the city, my goal is to make it what it should have been but the council shut down my idea, saying it would cost too much and that I've spent enough already." Antart turns back to his model building running a finger over the detailed brick and tiny stain glass windows "They said i spent too much in this already but its only a small stepping stone to making this building what it should be, they said if i could make the money back within a few months then they would give me the go ahead. Those LYING BASTARDS… i paid them that money back, and they still denied me" You jump as the man slams his fist down on the table starting to breath heavy, surprise runs though you realizing that if he is working for the separatists then he's doing it for a building of all things, risking the lives of his people and those who work with him just for a building. That shock soon turns into anger as the man continues to rant but your mind blocks it out starting to see red while your fists turn white at your side, the clutch bag in your hand threatening to break under your grip and your teeth clench shut so hard the muscles in your jaw are starting to hurt. "Pretty girl… Cyare.. Y/N" Crosshair whispers before almost yelling into your ear making you jump and snap out of your anger filled state, luckily Antart was still ranting about the council so didn't notice or pay you any attention.

Letting out a breath you look around trying to get your bearing before replaying to Crosshair "I'm ok" You whisper knowing the senator won't hear you due to his own loud voice "Osik, get your head in the game you can't zone out like that" His angry voice brings you fully back to reality seeing the senator still yelling his back facing you, giving you time to calm down but that doesn't last long as Echo's voice comes through the com making you slight jump once again "Y/N, Crosshair please tell me you have something, there's hardly anything here" His frustrated voice makes your heart sink knowing right away there isn't enough to stay but theres enough not to leave yet "We have a few transactions for metals which are used to make weapons, some of which where shipped from separatists planets but its not enough to confirm that Senator Cheesho is working with them" Tech corrects his normal calming and straight forward voice bringing a lightness to the stressful situation helping to calm you nerves at least a little. "We might be on to something" Crosshair answers for you but since Antart is still ranting loudly you manage to whisper hoping to guild the two in the right direction "Reconstruction denial" Your words cause a curious hum from Echo soon following by the sound of turning and clicking "Wow, your right, there's a lot of angry emails between Senator Cheesho and the council, it seems he took money out of the budget and was forced to pay it back… although looking through his records i don't see any money transactions to the council, not from any of his accounts anyway"

Crosshair lets out a small chuckle a clear smirk in his voice "Under the table then, it's also what he's currently ranting about, the council not giving him permission to use funding for his pet project" Biting your tongue you force yourself not to laugh mainly because you are currently watching a grown man yell and scream about how life is so unfair while owning several homes, businesses and is a part of the senate. "Hunter?" You ask hoping they have at least found something, the mans anger is getting out of hand and you can tell he's going to start breaking things soon so you don't want to be around for that "The basement is blocking all communications, Hunter will contact us every 5 minutes, if not then we are to head over but so far things have been going smoothly, there's one room they can't gain access too due to a code we can't find but the other rooms do have some evidence that will prove useful" Tech answers sounding quite confident in what the other two have found "Not enough" Echo groans clearly done with this mission and at this point your feeling the same but you can push more, maybe even get that code for the locked door, if its not in the system than the senator is probably the only one with it, he's vulnerable right now and seems to trust you so if you choose your words carefully maybe you can get him to slip up. "I'm on it" You state letting them know your getting back to work, walking into the room you make your way over to the angry Senator seeing him gripping onto the table with his back still turned to you, panting in anger he spits out curses and insults under his breath trying to catch his breath in order to continue his angry outburst. "I understand your anger, this is an amazing project that can't just be shoved under the rug. For them to just shove it aside is.. It makes me believe they really don't understand the importance of history and society, yes it would cost money and time but in the end… wouldn't it be worth it?" You state managing to calm the man down at least enough to stop yelling and start to bring his breathing back to normal.

#imagine #polly relationship #bad batch #the bad batch #bad batch x reader #the bad batch x reader #Bad batch x reader poly #hunter x reader #crosshair x reader #tech x reader #wrecker x reader #echo x reader #clone force 99 #Clone force 99 x reader

72 notes · View notes

mtkay13 · 3 months

Text

The peach blossoms are blooming

Lol @the fancy title, haha. Yesterday I promised "two hoboxu's today!" but I'm an inconsistant liar so the second is today and not yesterday, HAH.

Anyway, another painting of my very beloved; more about this piece below!

So aside of the obvious joke, what I really wanted to work on and represent on this picture is, as the title makes it clearer, grief, and what it looks like for ZZS.

The idea came from imagining ZZS setting off, happy with his disguise, and passing by a peach tree orchards and seeing all the peach blossoms blooming, and what it would entail.

...So let's talk about what TYK is about again, shall we?

(usual caveat: those are my thoughts and interpretations etc etc)

Little is known of the four years that separate the end of QY and the beginning of TYK. Even less is obviously stated when it comes to the reasons why ZZS has put in the nails, besides the obvious "requirement to leave Tian Chuang" part.

So, trying to leave all headcanons and other suppositions aside, and looking at what the text gives us, one of the main "storylines" of ZZS' personal journey across both books seems to be: dealing with the loss of LJX, first of their relationship, and later, of LJX entirely.

>I'm going to boldly announce that (I think) TYK is in great parts a story about getting over grief, or rather, properly living with grief.

Needless to say that it is clear that ZZS has a bunch of issues he's dealing with, including "the void after meeting your goals; what's next?" and some form of burnout from completely over-exerting himself and going way beyond what he thought he could sustain mentally; but also. Four years after he lost LJX, ZZS is still deeply grieving. Still seeing him in crowds, still thinking about him frequently, still hallucinating him, dreaming of him. He couldn't resist taking in ZCL because ZCL reminded him of LJX. Nearly every single thought of his own past ends up rooting back to LJX.

The first time he mentions LJX's name out loud in TYK, chapter 41, is the first time he mentions it at all in four years, and to quote the text:

Speaking out his name hadn't been that big of a deal, in the end; it had only felt like something had been pulled out of his chest—like he was now missing a piece, like it left behind an empty void.

(TYK ch41, TL by me)

The next scene is when it hits ZZS that he's going to die; from that moment on, ZZS starts feeling stupid, ZZS slowly starts wanting to find a solution, influenced by WKX... and the story culminates with ZZS making the opposite decision that he made in QY: instead of risking never seeing WKX alive again, and against WKX's decision, he goes to meet him, unlike LJX whom he was too scared to go meet, and lost forever without even saying goodbye.

>I think that ZZS essentially took the nails because he couldn't manage to live with that grief, basically. (I know, I KNOW there are other reasons, but for the sake of analyzing this theme, I find interesting to look at it from this angle; how the narrative shifts towards ZZS putting in the efforts to stay alive at the exact same times he starts letting go of LJX literally.) And then, as he learns, as he rediscovers life differently, the story becomes about getting free from the nails, about actially living with that grief rather than dying because of it.

*coughs* so, hum, yes. This is what I wanted to represent. What grief looks like, at this stage of melancholic, happy, self-deprecating acceptance of freedom through death—freedom of the burden of grief and guilt. It's a bittersweet feeling, but the way I see it, he smiles out of what he thinks is inner peace, resignation, and once again, self-deprecation.

I would go even deeper, in that ZZS' relationship to death with regards to LJX is quite complex and difficult, given how he was told by LJX himself that he ought to die for what he's done (or misunderstood LJX saying so), but that's a whole other can of worms and I don't have the brain juice to go there again (since it wouldn't even be the first time iirc). SO YEAH, again, grief, but ZZS style: turned into a bit of a melancholic, silly, but gentle joke, and with a smile on the face. On brand with TYK as well.

Cheers!

#tian ya ke #zhou zishu #liang jiuxiao #tyk #zzs #meta #qi ye

128 notes · View notes

deimos-awaits · 1 month

Text

Dreams of the Chaptermaster

My first little writing from Artificer Siderénia Teleiótita

Artificer Siderénia Teleiótita did not know where he was. This deeply concerned the Chaptermaster of the Ironsong, in a way the few other things did. He almost always knew at the very least where he was or what made his surroundings. To be so unprepared and unknowing of either was troubling. He was not wearing his armor that much he was sure of. The comfortable feeling of tons of ceramite was gone from his chest. It made them feel rather light and airy. The area around them was light and fragrant. Though covered in such a deep smoke or mist that it was hard to tell where anything was really. It reminded him of one of the poetdens on his homeworld of Astraea, at least on the side that devoted itself to the arts.

It took less than a minute for him to take stock of himself. He seemed to be wearing the robes and tunics common on the more wealthy parts of Astraea. He would rather have been in one of the old jumpsuits he had long grown accustomed to wearing. Further he wished that he had a mechandrite harness or any of his armor. Artificer Siderénia felt naked without it, especially without any knowledge exactly of where they were. The last thing that he could remember was celebrating a successful campaign against an eldar craftworld force with the Knightly House of Phobos and the First Deimos Explorator Fleet. The celebration was a subbed event, the heads of the three organizations, themself representing the Ironsong Chapter of Astartes, though he did indulge in specially acquired Fenrisian Ale. Maybe that was the mistake, and the ale imbibed by the sons of Russ. Warpcraft was his second supposition as to what was occurring though he was hoping that wasn't the case. The third most likely situation was he was dreaming.

Artificer Siderénia took one more moment to examine the air around him. It resembled the smoke clouds more often found on the poetdens of Astraea though unlike there, where a simple wave of the hand would result in more clear air with the incense brushing away and the ability to see whatever poet was crooning against the sound of brasswind instruments. He strode forward, though they were unable to out which direction they had initially started facing. Siderénia was confident enough though that the ground beneath was made of marble or some other similar stone. He bent down to feel it and it was as smooth and cold as they would otherwise expect. The smooth surface indicated some form of polishing and the as of yet unidentified light source seemed to confirm it was white stone with gold veining. Artificer Siderénia could Even see his own well kept beard and violet eyes in the reflection from the stone.It felt truly like he was in one of the more gaudy Emperor forsaken poetden. Upon recalling the simple fact about his homeworld’s musical traditions, a soft melody began to play in the air.

It sounded wrong, as if there was a faint hint of static with what was normally a live performance. The melody itself was strange and Artificer Siderénia did his best to try to appraise it before approaching. It seemed to be a strange melange of the work songs of his youth and the more restful ballads of a poetden though he could not make out any district words that either might have. He was put on high alert no matter where he was it was trying to put him at ease and failing.

If only he had his Omnissian power axe.

He was not often given to strong emotions, moderation and balance was after all key to his chapter's survival and thriving but he yearned for it now in this strange place. If this was the result of any of the Magi of Deimos they would learn why to never do this again. With little emotion visible he began to move towards whatever source of the music he could find. Damn Magos Aleph-Gimmel Bellerov-2.0 and her Fenrisian ale for addling their head enough they could not remember where they were. With a simple breath he moved forward, less a man moving forward but a rumbling mountain of steel, flesh, and ceramite moving forward in thundering footsteps. He never was one for subtly though there was an itching in the back of his head that wished that was more the case.

Artificer Siderénia kept walking until the smoke began to clear and his surroundings seemed to take a more solid form. The room they found themselves in was a similar amalgamation of all the poetdens he had ever been in. There was a stage at the edge of his vision where there was a youth of indeterminate gender - not uncommon on Astraea - crooning into a microphone hanging from the ceiling, tables spread out with small arrangements of flowers on them, gilded seats and incense burning everywhere. The song that youth with light hair and even paler skin was crooning was strangely difficult to focus on. There was also no band visible behind them to give the backing music. Dream or warpcraft Siderénia decided. Perhaps both. He was leaning towards dream given how most of the seats and tables present seemed suited to accommodate a man of his size and build and although that was not uncommon on Astraea due to it being his chapters homeworld but all of them being his size or larger? Strange.

He began to walk towards the youth on the stage. The fact that the youth either did not notice him despite seemingly being the only other person in the room or did not care that a nine foot tall transhuman was approaching was troubling. It was further troubling that the youth only had one breast whose swell was visible under their tunic. Warpcraft of what flavor was quickly becoming obvious to him.

Could he use any of the chairs here as a welcome? Were the chairs also similarly tainted? What would he have to do in order to escape this place? His thoughts began to march through his head in ordered fashion trying to discern exactly how to leave this warp spawned nightmare. The Ruinous Powers would not have him.

Siderénia was so focused on that he didn't notice at first the clapping congratulating the Youth's latest unintelligible song. The Youth took a bow before returning to croon in some language that was definitely no form of Gothic Siderénia had ever heard. He turned to see the source and perhaps find any other person here to find a giant of a man even by the standards of the Astartes. He has the same white hair as Siderénia, like the marbled floor and matching violet eyes. Siderénia’s hearts felt as if they had just stopped.

He yearned once more that he had his power axe.

It was impossible to deny who was sitting in front of him and Siderénia would not even begin to attempt to. The other man laughed. The laugh was far similar to the music playing. It was a thousand desires and dreams fulfilled all at once, and ten thousand desires left aching.

A few moments passed between them again with the smell of incense and the crooning threatening to overtake all of the senses. Siderénia simply stared, a gaze that in most cases would have caused any member of the Ironsong Chapter to shrink. The other person simply laughed again. “Hello darling. Are you enjoying the performance?”

Artificer Siderénia simply stared over more at the man begging the Emperor to be wrong about who this was.

“Well. Aren't you going to say something?” The other figure asked as if the few seconds, maybe even a minute, if that at most, of silence had begun already to bore him. The voice was similar enough to the laughing that it made him want to talk and respond. It was oozing with joy.

“No.”

The other man's broad smile seemed to twitch for a second. “Oh come on, Siderénia, you know you brought yourself here, won't you as least ask who I am? This is modeled after your homeworld after all.”

Siderénia glanced at the crooning Youth. Their performance though still entirely musical had begun to verge into a style that would have never been accepted on Astraea, Even given their relatively progressive standards. He looked back at the figure lounging in front of him. The tunic the other was wearing seemed to be made out of snake skin. “What would you have me say Fulgrim, snake, Gorgonbane?”

The Primarch of the Third Legion's face, Artificer Siderénia Teleiótita own Primarch, laughed again though there was no mirth this time. “First Rylanor, now you. Oh darling, darling. " Fulgrim tuted at him as if he was a child. "When I heard the little whispers the Imperium had decided to make a new chapter with my geneseed I just had to watch you know. It was so fascinating to watch you all grow.”

Artificer Siderénia Teleiótita stood as impassively and emotionless as any proud son of Ferrus Manus would. His chapter claimed their descent from the Gorgon. Now would be no different. “I hope you are disappointed.”

“Disappointed? Oh my dear son, Siderénia, I'm far from it. Your precious Ironsong has been an exemplary finishing force! And while the art you make tends to be more subdued, that can be fixed in time! I'm sure I can find a place for all mechanists.”

“No.” the world around Siderénia began to shudder and shake. It was like a hololith losing connection.

“No? Again that's really quite Dornian or even rather like… you haven't even heard my offer.”

“Snake, I want nothing of what you offer me.” Siderénia Teleiótita count feel the tug within him to submit to his primarch and do whatever the demon and but the chaptermaster held firm.

“I am your father,” Fulgrim stood now white hair cascading down in an impossibly beautiful wave. “I know what you have gotten up to with those Magi-”

Siderénia Teleiótita, against his better judgment, stepped forward and grabbed a chair as he did so. It was no Omnissian axe but it would have to do. “You are not my father. He is buried in Astraea’s soil, and though you are my primarch my allegiance is to the Emperor and Ferrus Manus.”

Fulgrim’s languid and easy attitude had swung towards anger and frustration. The entire poetden seemed to flicker into static. “I do not know by what Warpcraft you think you can escape but you will see,” and the human form he was talking fell away to reveal the demon prince beneath. Writhing scales and four arms reaching towards the all too human history master. “You are my children, you are not his!” one of Fulgrim's claws scratched his chin.

The Youth began to scramble and run off of the stage as the dream world was shaking.

Siderénia Teleiótita had no idea what Warpcraft was happening either. As far as he was aware no one even remotely close to them had access to warpcraft. He swung the chair at the daemon primarch ready to fight to his last here.

Then his eyes shot open.

Siderénia Teleiótita’s hearts were pounding and he was covered in sweat.

A familiar, though a tad forgettable Magos of Deimos, loomed over him. “Artificer Siderénia Teleiótita! Are you alright? Your heart beats were elevated, I was simply coming to ask for your presence at a meeting with the local planetary governor.”

Artificer Siderénia Teleiótita simply looked up at the Magos Tsephor-10.54 and attributed the headache to hangover as that dream faded almost instantly from memory. The rather fat techpriest had the strange ability to be almost forgettable while also unnerving. “I am fine. Aid me in putting on my armor and I will be there promptly.”

Siderénia Teleiótita did not notice the new scar on his chin.

#ironsong chapter #siderénia teleiótita #fulgrim #i guess I never thought id actually tag him #tsephor #techpriests writting #that's just me writing tag

55 notes · View notes

adore-laur · 6 months

Text

GOLD RUSH: PART TWO

— part one

——

Harry doesn't want to let go. He hasn't been this close to you since what feels like a lifetime ago. After a grueling year of separation, considerate greeting hugs and instinctual touches that respected boundaries can't hold a candle to this moment.

He can feel your heartbeat. The organ that once beat fiercely for him is now pounding against his own, its unsteady pulse fueling him with love.

Who is he kidding? He has always loved you. Even when you screamed at him on the other line, poisonous words creeping into every crack of his heart, he still couldn't bear the thought of never having a place in your life again. Even if that place wasn't beside you anymore.

You told him you were proud of him a mere minute ago. It was a simple statement but also a diminutive glance into your mind. What do you think about when you're pressed against him, aware of his hands on your back and the kisses left on your head? What feelings do they ignite? All Harry wants is to spread you open and lay your cards on the table, both the good and the bad ones, and just talk to you. He only sees you a handful of times a month, so the questions that have been piling in his throat beg to spill out.

He fears his patchwork heart would also spill out onto the floor, and you'd see how miserably he's been coping. Mentally draining months were spent mending the broken relationship. Yet, the last and largest shard that couldn't piece it together again was the one that was simply the dying relationship itself.

A year should be enough time to get over someone, but when that someone is his ex-wife and the mother of his beautiful child, he reminds himself that time never stops in moments of hurt. His personal life and career had to chug along even when the train constantly veered off the tracks.

The regret he feels for not putting his family first kills him inside every time he opens your door to take his daughter for half the week. It's never enough time, and to see you for much less weighs heavily on his soul. The haunting supposition of being unable to notice every tiny detail about you one day is the nail in his coffin. He remembers opening the door a few months ago to find you with shorter hair. It shouldn't have affected him the way it did, and he couldn't help but think that you probably would've asked for his opinion on it if you were still together.

He also hasn't kissed you or had sex with you in over a year. There have been no romantic dates or nights cuddled in bed, limbs tangled like the wilting vines of your love. He has not held your hand or watched you be a mother except for fleeting moments. He doesn't want those things with anyone else, so why can't you forgive him? Why can't you revive your love for him?

Harry knows asking for a revival of love is irrational.

"When do you need to be on stage?" Your voice reaches him, warm like melted honey and gentle like a balm that heals his wounds.

"Doesn't matter," he says, fixing the twisted strap of your dress. "I can be a little late."

You step away from the hug, and he feels an ache in his chest due to the loss of physical contact. "No, you can't."

He tilts his head to the side and smirks. "Says who? It's my show."

You narrow your eyes dubiously, but they slowly soften when they drift downward and take in his outfit. He'd be lying if he said he didn't plan a revealing outfit just because you were coming.

"You look handsome."

Handsome. When was the last time you called him that? He can't remember, but the word sends a tidal wave of shivers rolling across his body.

"Thank you. You look lovely, as always. How've you been?"

"Fine. Work keeps me busy." Something nearby clatters to the floor, and you nod your head toward the culprit, who has a guilty expression. "Her too."

"Not overworking yourself, are you?" Harry asks. God knows he's seen you at your worst because of it.

"Not as much as you. I still worry about you with all this traveling."

He stuffs his hands into his pockets while moving closer to you. "Yeah? You worry about me?"

You nod and look past his shoulder. He misses when you didn't shy under his gaze. "But the videos I see ease my worries. I know you're safe and having fun."

He clears his throat and asks, "What videos?"

There's a heavy lull of silence before you say, "Ones of you performing. They pop up on social media all the time. You're pretty famous if you didn't know."

He ignores your teasing because he's grasping at straws, needing to know if you still keep up with him like he does with you. "And you watch them?"

"Yeah," you say, nervously touching your earlobe. "It's hard not to with those outfits and how happy you look, you know?" You point to your daughter and add, "She loves to watch them too."

Harry roughly swallows and curls his hands into fists. Your admittance makes the ache in his heart grow tenfold. He never would have guessed.

Someone suddenly knocks loudly on the dressing room door, making him flinch. "Harry, we need to start heading to the stage! Right now, preferably!"

With a sigh, he heads over to the connected bathroom to grab his mic pack and in-ears, but not before crouching in front of his daughter. "Hey, Dad has to go," he tells her. "Gonna stay with Mama and watch me?"

She nods and lifts her arms. He picks her up before setting her on his hip and swaying her. "Do I look okay?" he murmurs.

"Mm-hmm," she hums, grabbing at the silk material of his vest.

"Good." He kisses her forehead and then rests his own against hers. "I love you, all right? Dance your heart out for me."

She impatiently squirms in his arms. He sets her down so she can play with the toys you brought and then moves to quickly fix his hair in the mirror. He can already tell tonight is going be one of his favorite shows, and it has everything to do with the fact that his two favorite people will be in the audience.

After he puts his in-ears in, he shuts the bathroom light off and shakes his arms to get any remaining pre-show jitters out. He looks at you the entire time, watching you glance around his dressing room like it's an art gallery. All of his vulnerable belongings are out in the open and on display—his shirts you used to wear stuffed in his duffel bag, printed pictures of his daughter tucked into the mesh pocket of his suitcase, and a pack of diapers he had delivered earlier today in case you forgot or ran out.

Most vulnerable, however, is his wedding ring right next to the microphone that you're about to grab for him. It's the same ring he kisses every night before he goes on stage, never having gotten rid of it because it's one of the only things he has left of the love you once had for him.

You freeze, your hand hovering over the microphone. The color drains from Harry’s face as he stands there, dreading your reaction.

"Harry..." Your voice is weakened with a certain sadness that could break him if he let it.

People gather in the room, trying to get him to start heading to the stage, but he's stuck in place. Paralyzed from fear. Everything is a blur around him, and all he can focus on is the shake of your hand when you pick up the damned ring that was cursed from the beginning. You set it in your open palm, then stare at him with a slightly parted mouth and confusion swimming in your eyes.

Harry then makes a stupid fucking mistake.

He rushes toward you, grasps your cheeks, and smears his lips over yours with pitiful desperation. His eyebrows pinch painfully, and he lets out a muted sob when you don't return the kiss. Your hands push against his chest, making him stumble back.

There's no time to apologize since he's immediately being escorted out the door and down the hallway toward the stage. He wants to look back, but he knows the expression on your face will tell him all he needs to know.

You don't love him anymore.

——

#harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #harry styles angst #harry styles au #harry styles #adore-laur #gold rush series

104 notes · View notes

ewanmitchellcrumbs · 11 months

Note

Ok so how about Rhaenyra x Harwin’s wife!reader being gay at Court and confusing the fuck out of everyone who were expecting them to hate each other.

I just know there'd be a polycule if he had been married lol

I wanted to squeeze this into Pride month, but time was not on my side. Anyway, thank you for your request. I've altered it slightly to fit my WLW agenda, but I hope you enjoy it all the same!

Warnings: Allusions to smut, but nothing too spicy. Mentions of character death. Word count: ~700

You’d never liked to share. It had been something you had learned to do because you had to. If you wanted the affection of your Princess, you’d have to accept that the Commander of the City Watch desired her too. Rhaenyra was all too eager to please you both, and so you’d settled into an arrangement which allowed for her to entertain the both of you.

By day you were the dutiful wife of Ser Harwin Strong and lady in waiting to Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen. By night you were tangled between Rhaenyra’s sheets, a deep seated ache of satisfaction settling within you as you watched her fall apart around your tongue and fingers. That was unless it was his night, and then you’d go to sleep alone, pushing down the acrid sensation of jealousy that rose within your throat, threatening to suffocate you.

It wasn’t that you minded Rhaenyra being with Harwin; your marriage to him was purely out of convenience, an alliance to placate the Strong family’s desire for him to finally settle down, and to avert suspicion of the close nature of both your relationships with the Targaryen Princess. Who would dare to question Rhaenyra spending so much time with her lady in waiting? And who could deny your lord husband for simply wishing to be in the presence of his lady wife? You felt no envy when it came to your husband, you didn’t love him, but there was plenty when it came to Rhaenyra. She’d never fully be yours.

You had done your duty in giving Harwin children - another ruse to avoid supposition - and birthed him a son and a daughter. You loved your children dearly, but had taken no joy in the act of creating them. Harwin’s body felt wrong against your own, it was hard where Rhaenyra was soft. The familiar scent of rosewater and dragon smoke you’d come to love was nowhere to be found in his natural musk. You were grateful to have struck an agreement with him upon the birth of your second daughter that no further marital visits between the two of you were necessary.

Rhaenyra’s own children bore no resemblance to Laenor, which was both amusing and unsurprising to you. You and your husband kept her so busy, she scarcely had time to couple with her own, but you had the distinct impression that she had no desire to, and neither did he. You’d overheard the whispers at court; your children and hers could have been siblings. Essentially, they were, but that was something you’d never admit aloud, and neither would she.

It is a bright, warm day and you are basking in the rosy glow of having your Princess all to yourself. Harwin has been called away to deal with a matter at Harrenhal, leaving you and Rhaenyra alone. The pair of you have spent the afternoon enjoying the Red Keep’s gardens and sipping on light peach wine, the effects of which have made you feel carefree, lightheaded and more than a little careless in the familiarity of your interactions.

You are oblivious to the pointed stares of those seated around the dining table as you wrap your lips around Rhaenyra’s fingers, lapping the viscous liquid from the tips of them as she laughs softly while hand feeding you honeyed fruits. The sweetness envelopes your tongue, causing you to emit a satisfied “mmm”, as she watches you, a hunger that you know all too well lighting up her vibrant blue eyes.

The two of you giggle recklessly as you stumble towards her quarters, not caring who sees as you haphazardly pluck at the lacing of each other’s gowns. You make no effort to be quiet when the pair of you writhe against each other, hot and sticky, as the humid air clings to every naked curve put on display. A desperate clash of lips, teeth and tongue that leaves you both exhausted but happily sated.

It is only when the morning comes and brings with it the arrival of the news of the fire at Harrenhal that your demeanour becomes more subdued. You fight the urge to smile at the revelation of your husband’s death, horrible though it is, you have never liked to share.

#rhaenyra targaryen #rhaenyra targaryen x reader #rhaenyra targaryen smut #house of the dragon #hotd #hotd smut #rhaenyra targaryen fan fiction #rhaenyra targaryen fanfiction #rhaenyra targaryen fan fic #rhaenyra targaryen fanfic #hotd fan fiction #hotd fanfiction #hotd fan fic #hotd fanfic

369 notes · View notes

favvn · 2 months

Text

Once again, I am dissecting words, but the parallels and implications they hold are just.... too compelling. For the sake of this meta/commentary, I am taking the episode as it is played out before the reveal, wherein Spock truly believes he has killed Kirk. All of this is centered on Spock's pledge before the ceremony and his rejection of the Vulcan blessing and how those things are linked together by his life.

When T'Pau sees that Spock has brought two humans along with him to his marriage-or-challenge, she initially questions him about it with the implication that no outsiders are allowed to bear witness to the ceremony. But Spock declares them his friends, prompting T'Pau to say, "Thee names these outworlders "friends." How does thee pledge their behavior?"

Spock replies, "With my life, T'Pau."

Spock essentially vows that, should Kirk or McCoy completely desecrate their customs, he will pay for it with his own life. (It is, of course, unclear that if by doing so Spock is to die outright or that the rest of his life would be spent back on Vulcan under service to T'Pau or something of that nature. Regardless of the difference, it's still a kind of death for Spock to be limited to his home planet, away from the very people he has chosen as his friends.) The converse of this means that Spock has such complete trust in both Kirk and McCoy that he can offer his life as collateral for their behavior. What a bond! Wow!

The only one to die in the ceremony, as it turns out, is Kirk.

Now, this is what gets to me: between the Vulcan blessing--"live long and prosper"--and Spock's refusal of it, is the very thing Spock pledged earlier for the sake of his friends, his life. Now that Kirk--his friend--is dead, he rejects a blessing that speaks to the future. He has unknowingly kept his initial pledge after all: his life for his friend's sake, but it is now in reverse. Spock pledged his life for his friends, but now that one of them is dead by his own hands, so goes his life.

(Like. Had the episode taken the events to a negative conclusion, Spock won't prosper because he has killed his captain. Starfleet is hardly going to excuse the death of a captain due to a ritual they will have never heard of nor would Spock wish to speak of it, so Spock will be put on trial for his captain's death, and he would plead guilty to boot. Whatever punishment would await him, he'd take wholeheartedly, which would alter the rest of his future as a consequence. To say nothing of if it would later crack through his Vulcan training and leave him grappling with terribly strong and terribly dire emotions. But this is all supposition / I need to look for the fanfics about a tragic end to Amok Time. Or add it to my to-write/daydream about list shfgbdhjk.)

#star trek tos #amok time #spock #there's just too damn much to chew on with this show #very very addicting for my brain. getting to draw connections. parse out meaning from fragments. absolute brain food.#ntm.... the pledging of one's life.... marriage vows..... hmmm #another pin in the “spirk got married in amok time” board #trek meta

45 notes · View notes

ingravinoveritas · 4 months

Note

I just want to say I love your blog- I came across it last night and completely went down the rabbit hole and completely convinced of the MS/DT love. I wanted to know what you thought of this video

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZT8p7x9jV/

Even the mere mention of his name that is not appearing to be about Michael Sheen, David makes it about him and lights up. What do you think about how David reacts in interviews, shows etc where either David brings him up on his own or he comes up and he reacts? I see his demeanor change almost instantly. I feel that people don’t see as much of this coming from David and even though it’s not as obvious as Michael, it’s really there.

Hi there! Well thank you so much for the kind words about my blog--I'm always happy to know folks like what I am doing and are enjoying my ridiculous posts. I really appreciate it!

That video you linked to is a great one, and one I have talked about previously on my blog. I'll put my gifs up here so we have a visual reference:

The first thing (of course) that stood out to me was this random fan mentioning his friend, and immediately David thought of Michael. Because there are a lot of Michaels in the world, after all. Michael Caine. Michael Myers. George Michael, even. And yet David's mind went straight to Michael Sheen--his Michael--and that seems so telling.

I also have a tag on my blog for the many instances of David and Michael bringing each other up when the other isn't there, as that is also one of my favorite things. There are a lot of wonderful examples there, but I think one that is really worth checking out is a podcast David was on two years ago with fellow actor Paapa Essiedu. Paapa brought up Michael earlier in the interview, but later on it's David who brings him up, and there is such impossible fondness in his voice when he talks about him.

(I think this also ties into something I've discussed a few times on my blog, which is David feeling more comfortable opening up when doing an audio interview where we can't see him, versus a video interview where we can. A supposition that rings particularly true in the case of David's own podcast episode where he interviewed Michael in 2019.)

One of the most memorable things David said in the interview with Michael is, "You're an honest version of how I'm feeling." Five years ago, this seemed especially true because David was so much more reserved than Michael--less obvious, as you said--but in no way did that mean his feelings were less strong. What we see now in David's reactions when Michael is brought up--that shift in demeanor, that complete softness he emanates in a way he doesn't with others--is the externalization of something that was always there on the inside.

In that vein, I want to make sure your second Ask doesn't go unaddressed, as the NTAs are another vivid example of David's softness around Michael, and to date, still one of the most special nights in the fandom. I've written about a lot of my thoughts on it in detail, so I invite you to check out my #NTA Awards 2021 tag for a whole lot of analysis and discourse.

I hope this helps to answer your questions. Thanks for writing in! x

#killerqueen-82 #reply post #david tennant #soft scottish hipster gigolo #michael sheen #welsh seduction machine #david is definitely more subtle than Michael #but he knows how to speak volumes without saying a word #one very visible example is how often he physically leans in to Michael #which we don't seem to see him do with a lot of people #he seeks comfort from Michael #so much warmth and affection #beautiful #a friendship that's become something more #i don't know if i believe in fate but i believe in them #basingstoke comic con 2023 #ineffable lovers #discourse #gifs by me

47 notes · View notes

blurredcolour · 4 months

Text

I Wish You Love | Part Five

I Wish You Love Masterlist

Lewis Nixon x Housemaid!Female Reader

You and Lewis make the most of your time together before he returns to America to do his best to free himself to spend his future at your side.

Warnings: Angst, Class Divide, Discussion of Divorce, Lots of Kissing, Sexual Tension and Innuendos, Language, Smoking, Alcohol Consumption, Inevitable Historical and Military Inaccuracies, Mature/Explicit Themes - 18+ ONLY.

Author's Note: I am a lying liar who lies - there are now six parts because Lewis and his darling do not know how to leave me alone. Reader's nationality is British and liberties have been taken in describing her background and family life for the sake of plot. No physical descriptions or y/n used. A good portion of this fic will be letter-based. This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the HBO series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within.

Word Count: 5393

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

Returning home shortly before noon the next day, you could not help the fond shake of your head to see Lewis’s borrowed car already parked at the curb outside your flat building. The lovely, impatient man was early, of course. Early enough to see you tired, sweaty, and underdressed once again. You wanted to be annoyed with him, yet you could not find it within yourself to summon any emotion other than amused affection. Stepping into the building, you were in the process of fishing your keys from your handbag when a stunningly familiar voice carrying through the door halted your movements.

“And so that was your plan all along?”

Johnny. Your twin brother, physically absent from your life, existing only in intermittent letters, for years. Much longer than the just war, with your mutual need for employment to support your father had driven you both from home in 1934. A lot was made of some sort of intuition that was supposed to exist between twins, that as they had shared a womb, they surely shared a lot more, but his return home today was a complete shock that had you frozen in place in the hall. The next words out of his mouth did nothing to encourage you to proceed inside.

“You’ve permitted a married man to seduce your daughter, your sweet pea.” He spat, an unfamiliar ugliness in his tone. The comment was certainly directed at your father, but Lewis was undoubtedly in the room, and he confirmed your supposition as he spoke up.

“I would ask you not to insult your sister’s honor, it has been, and remains, utterly unimpeachable.”

“Bloody hell you sure speak like one of them…”

“Johnathon you will mind your tongue. I understand that you have lived differently for quite some time now, but I will not tolerate that sort of language or disrespect in this home.”

Your eyes widened as you heard your father raise his voice, something that happened so infrequently that you could count the sum total of such occasions on the fingers of your own two hands.

“I am quite satisfied,” Your father continued, “with the correspondence between Captain Nixon and his solicitor. I find his intentions for your sister, my daughter, to be completely honourable and I thoroughly encourage them. She has never been happier, Johnny, and if you cannot manage to smile for her when she comes through that door any moment now then you’d better go for a walk until you find a way to.”

Tensing at the thought of your brother angrily storming out of the flat, and right into you, you crept backwards and down the hall toward the stairs leading up to the higher floors, obscuring yourself behind the landing to wait. To see if he was indeed so against the idea of you being happy with Lewis that he would rob you of a reunion with him then. You waited nearly five minutes, which felt like an eternity, until you heard Mrs. Stokes and her herd of children leaving their flat a few stories up, tromping down the staircase towards your hiding place. Johnny had remained inside, there had been no further shouting – at least none that you could hear at this distance.

Taking a fortifying breath, you pulled your keys from your handbag and headed into the apartment, smiling softly as your father and Lewis were chatting in the sitting room. “Good afternoon you two.”

“Well look at you, sis.” Johnny spoke from the doorway to the kitchen, and it was not hard to present a face of shock, for in place of a gangly sixteen-year-old boy, there was a rugged twenty-five-year-old man standing there, grinning at you.

“Johnny!?” You gasped, dropping your handbag as you rushed forward to hug him, squealing as he hauled you off your feet, his time with the 78th Infantry having made him unspeakably strong.

“Blimey you really have gone yellow haven’t you.” He teased and you smacked him affectionately as he set you back on the ground gently. “I’ve heard it goes away after a few months, don’t get your you-know-what’s in a twist.”

“Can we please stop talking about my underclothes and talk about when you got home?” You glanced at Lewis, feeling rather embarrassed to have your knickers discussed in front of him, but he was smiling warmly, unfazed.

“This morning on the first train from London. I gather we’re going out for dinner later?”

“Absolutely, I am looking forward to taking all three of you out together.” Lewis nodded firmly and you smiled at him fondly, vaguely aware of your brother’s scrutinizing gaze upon your face in your periphery.

“We were going to go out for the afternoon, but you just got back and–”

“Go on sis, I hear he’s only in town a few days and you’ll have to put up with me for a lot longer than that. Go have fun, I’ll see you for dinner.”

Hugging him tightly once more, you then kissed Lewis’s cheek quickly before going to get changed into something suitable for a drive and a picnic before the pair of you made your way out to the car, leaving your brother and father to catch up.

“You two look nothing alike you know, I’d never have guessed that you were twins…” Lewis teased as he opened the car door for you.

“That’s what fraternal means – not identical.” You shook your head fondly, hesitating a moment, an apology for your brother’s behaviour dangling on the tip of your tongue.

“Well either way, he loves you very much and that’s all I could ask for on your behalf.” He nodded, eyes widening as you grabbed his face and kissed him soundly, your heart swelling almost painfully inside your ribcage.

His hands planted on your hips, holding tightly but letting you direct the kiss, lips parting compliantly at the tentative swipe of your tongue against his bottom lip. Losing your nerve, particularly in full view of the front window of the flat, you stopped short of sliding your tongue to his, but still felt a rush of pride tingle through you at the ruddy hue to his cheeks as you pulled back from his mouth.

“I’m not entirely certain what I did to earn that but…you’re welcome.” He grinned cockily and your jaw dropped at his impertinence before you laughed brightly, shaking your head as you slid into the car, happy to leave him wondering.

Glancing at the backseat, you raised an eyebrow curiously at the picnic basket and blankets there, wondering just what Lewis had planned for the afternoon.

“No peeking.” He smirked, sliding his arm around your waist to pull you close across the bench seat once he’d started the car, pulling his hand back to shift the car into gear.

“Might I know where we are going?” You asked curiously, resting your chin on his shoulder to look at him playfully as he headed down the lane.

“I thought I might show you where I lived while I was in England – well not the actual house, we’ve given it back to the Wills family, but the town.”

“I’d like that very much.” You nodded firmly, turning to look out the windshield as he headed out on the road out of town.

“We will have to drive past Lydiard, unless you’d like me to take the long way?” He glanced at you, and you shook your head quickly.

“No, it’s alright, I suppose I will eventually pass it at some point, I’d much rather it be with you.”

His hand squeezed your knee affectionately, fingers lingering on your bare skin when he found no interfering stockings until he was forced to employ it again in changing gears as he sped up as you left Swindon behind. You had somewhat bemoaned the difficulty related to finding stockings lately, but as his fingertips idly caressed the side of your knee, suddenly you really didn’t mind very much at all.

As the pair of you drove past the tree-lined drive leading towards Lydiard House, you swallowed to see a series of guards posted at the road, finding the sight altogether unwelcoming and eliminating any last bit of nostalgia you may have felt for the place you had called home for a decade.

“I would bet it feels an awful lot like a prison for the St Johns and the rest of the staff, too.” Lewis muttered and you nodded quickly.

“I have to say I certainly do not miss working fifteen hours a day. Free time in the evenings, it’s been quite a revelation.”

Lewis grinned at you softly, squeezing his hand that had promptly returned to your knee. “I told you that you were much better suited to this life.”

“You did, yes. Thank you.” You pressed a careful kiss to his cheek, paying closer attention to your surroundings as you neared Aldbourne, a town you’d rarely had occasion to visit previously.

Lewis took you on a small tour, pointing out the Nissen huts, or Quonsets as he called them, where the enlisted men had stayed before swinging by Littlecote House where he had been billeted. He regaled you with funny stories from training and that one time his closest friend Dick had been forced to upend his mattress to get him out of bed after a very intense night of celebration. Circling back to the centre of the village, he parked in front of a small bakery, opposite the village green.

“We just need to pick up our dessert and then we’ll be ready for lunch?”

You nodded warmly, sliding out of the car with him as he led you into the shop. It smelled positively divine inside, all sorts of sweets in the display cases.

“I’m here to pick up an order for Nixon?” Lewis smiled and the girl behind the counter looked up with wide eyes.

“Leftenant! We didn’t think we’d see any of you boys back here again.” She smiled up at him brightly, fairly batting her eyelashes at him.

“Just wanted to be sure my girl had a chance to try the best lardy cake in all of England.” He smiled smoothly, looking to you warmly.

Swallowing tightly, you could not help but notice the way the girl’s face fell as he tugged you closer.

“Anything you’d think your father and brother would like as a souvenir of our travels?”

Normally you would have refused, been stubborn and reticent in the face of his generosity, but there was something about the way the girl was throwing daggers at you as she retrieved a box with his name on it from under the counter that emboldened you.

“Perhaps a few imperial cookies?” You looked up at him hopefully and he rewarded you with a quick peck to the cheek.

“A dozen of the imperial cookies as well please.”

“Of course, leftentant.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, fighting the impulse to correct her sharply as you felt rather territorial about that title – more precisely that pronunciation of that title. You waited quietly as she packed a box of the cookies and Lewis paid the total. You were more than a little relieved to say your goodbyes and leave the shop, baked goods in hand, and retrieve the picnic supplies from the car.

“Can I help you carry something?”

Lewis paused a moment before passing you the blankets, taking the boxes from the bakery and the rather heavy looking basket himself.

“You know I packed artillery shells for the past seven months, I am not helpless.” You teased as you followed him across the street onto the village green.

“Just because you can, darling, doesn’t mean you are expected to.” He replied with a smirk, waiting for you to unfurl the blankets on the ground before the pair of you settled in.

“So long as you remember that I am not helpless, Lewis.” You replied firmly, watching him unearth several packets of sandwiches, some fruit, and a bottle of lemonade from the basket along with glasses to drink from.

“I assure you I would never dream of considering you helpless. After all you rescued a drowning dog from a lake while wearing a full-length dress.” He grinned, popping the seal on the bottle to fill you a glass. “Climbed the highlands to procure me heather and grouse feathers, poured TNT and lifted artillery shells, served a certain honorable without murdering her for her deplorable behavior…” His tone had started off teasing but as he set the glass in your outstretched hand his face grew serious. “No darling, if anything I really quite admire you.”

Ducking your head shyly you took a sip of the tart liquid, enjoying the way it sparkled on your tongue. The pair of you picnicked happily in the sunshine, demolishing most of the sandwiches and fruit before Lewis unboxed the cake.

“The best in England, you say?” You grinned, peering at it curiously.

“Well, all of us in the 506th would certainly say that, but I wonder what a real Englishwoman will say.” He smirked, using a knife from the picnic basket to cut a slice, holding it out for you to take a bite.

Looking to his expectant face before glancing back down at the outstretched piece of cake, you leaned in to take a bite, holding your hand in front of your mouth as you sat up to chew thoughtfully. As the flavour of it spread across your tongue, you began to nod happily.

“Oh wow, that’s probably the best I’ve ever eaten as well.” You agreed once you swallowed your mouthful.

Lewis beamed happily before taking the next bite from the piece still in his grasp, leaning back onto his forearm lazily as you prepped another slice for yourself, trying not to spend too long drinking in the length of his body in such an enticing pose. Looking around the village square instead, you smiled.

“It’s so peaceful now, I can only imagine the havoc you all wreaked.” You laughed softly and he chuckled.

“Havoc is an excellent choice of word, darling…”

After you’d both eaten your fill, you carefully packed up the remnants into the basket, setting the bakery boxes aside to take home for your father and Johnny to have a go at them. The shadows began to creep across the grass and a glance at your utilitarian wristwatch told you it was nearly four-thirty. Lewis suddenly sat up, drawing your gaze as he fidgeted slightly before shifting closer to you.

“Darling I…know I can’t make as much of a fuss about this as I’d like to but… We’ve been talking an awful lot about the future and what it might look like, and it would be a mistake if I didn’t make it official. Or as official as I am able, at this point.”

You held your breath, focusing intently as you did your best to hear him over the rushing of blood in your ears.

“Would you do me the honor of wearing this ring as a promise of my intention to marry you?” He produced a velvet box from his pocket, opening the lid to reveal a ring very much to your taste, not too many stones, in the metal of your choice, showing just how closely he had been paying attention to your preferences yesterday.

“Lewis…” You exhaled in awe and looked to him, eyes wide with wonder. “Yes…I of course…” You smiled, finding your eyes suddenly blurred by tears as he pulled you into his warm embrace.

“I thought…you’d maybe want to wear it on your right hand and then…when I get the divorce finalized, I’ll write you right away and then you can put it on your left, like a proper engagement ring.” He murmured against your cheek, and you smiled so broadly it made your jaw ache.

“I love you so very much, Lewis Nixon.” You shifted back to kiss him warmly, sighing against his lips as his fingers slid up your neck to cup your jaw.

“I love you too, darling.” He replied once you’d parted for breath, and he plucked the ring from its box to slide it onto the fourth finger of your right hand. “This is only the beginning.”

If only you’d known how seriously Lewis would take that statement. The baked goods immediately followed by a lavish dinner went a long way to easing your brother’s concerns and then all too soon Lewis had to return to France for his boat home. It was exceedingly difficult to see him go, though it was a relief to know you that, at least this time, you were not sending him off to combat.

It was not long after his departure, however, that your father began to receive regular wire transfers to cover rent and other necessities. Your father feigned innocence, though you did not believe him for one moment, as Lewis would not have known the necessary sum otherwise. You took to a letter to chastise Lewis, albeit lovingly.

While his subsequent responses acknowledged your wishes, they also cleverly shifted the focus to seeking your approval of potential homes and venues for your inevitable nuptials. It was late January of 1946 when a large trunk arrived by courier when you finally received the news you had been long awaiting. Johnny was at work, your father at the pub. You were enjoying a rare moment at home alone after finishing work for the day, having kept a small roster of clients to accumulate pocket money to spend on previously frivolous things like skin care and hair cuts.

Signing the receipt slip, you had the delivery man set it in the living room before kneeling to open it, gasping at the neatly folded piles of clothing contained within. Laying atop were two envelopes, one letter-sized and another legal-sized. You quickly retrieved the letter, assuming it would contain the most explanation, and sliced it open with your trusty butter knife.

It was fortunate that you were the only one at home, for the childish squeal you let out as you fell onto the sofa would have been a mortifying thing for anyone else to witness. Fumbling slightly, fingers made clumsy with glee, you took the ring from your right hand and quickly slid it onto your left where it truly belonged, holding it up to admire it proudly. Glancing at the watch on the same wrist, you sat up, realizing you still had time to send your reply and grabbed your handbag and overcoat, dashing out the door and down the lane to the post office.

It took a bit of explanation from the clerk, it being your first telegram after all, but you managed to condense your words to keep the entire process affordable.

The next few weeks were a flurry of activity, with Lewis’s reply arriving by cable the next day that he would be in London mid-February. You employed the services of a local seamstress, as ordered, to have your trousseau properly fitted. Lewis proved yet again that he had paid attention, having sent a few dresses and ensembles in ivory and white to choose from – and mercifully nothing so ostentatious as a full wedding gown. You were able to give ample notice to your clients and you’d already procured a passport – thankfully you’d started that process in September of the previous year. Using your accumulated ration coupons, you purchased a swimming costume and an irresistibly fine nightgown for your wedding night.

It felt like no time at all before the three of you were stepping into the suite at the Ritz that Lewis had reserved for you to get ready for your wedding that evening, and the rest of your family to stay the night before returning to Swindon on the morning train while the pair of you headed out on your honeymoon. You were startled to find a young woman waiting for you there.

“Good afternoon miss, sirs. My name is Sara. Mr. Nixon has sent me to assist you in getting ready. He asked me to give you this before you could protest.” She held out an envelope of telltale Ritz stationery and you took it with a fond sigh, following her into the room where the bellhop deposited your trunk.

Huffing in bemused annoyance, you quickly turned your attention back to Sara, working with her to hang up your outfit for the impending ceremony before looking over the selection of ‘decorations.’ Lewis had sent several sets of jewelry for you to choose from and after some deliberation you eventually settled on one before submitting yourself to Sara’s talents as she saw to your hair. Mercifully, all rumours had proven true, and the yellow hue had vanished from your skin and hair, returning you to your normal appearance. Your diligent use of skin care had also gone a long way to soften the callouses of your work-roughened hands and by the time Sara was through with you, you almost didn’t recognize yourself.

Stepping out to where Johnny and your father were waiting in their new suits, purchased with a hoarding of ration coupons and Johnny’s excellent wages from his new post at the Great Western Railway, the three of you gawked openly at one another.

“Well, we certainly clean up nice, aye?” Your father grinned.

“You look pretty as a picture, sis.” Johnny grinned and pulled you in for a hug just as Sara hurried out with a small bouquet of white roses.

“Don’t forget these, miss. Your car to the embassy is waiting downstairs.”

You took it carefully and smiled to her. “Thank you so very much for your assistance, Sara, I really appreciate it.”

“Oh, my pleasure miss.” She blushed prettily, bowing her head shyly. “I’ll see to it that your trunk is moved to Mr. Nixon’s suite with the rest of your luggage. Congratulations.”

You parted with your thanks before heading downstairs, trying not to roll your eyes when you found the waiting car was a Rolls Royce. You really might have to murder him at the end of that aisle. Climbing in carefully, the three of you drove to number one Grosvenor Square, the address of the American Embassy. It had been Lewis’s idea of course, and only possible given that he personally knew the ambassador Mr. Harriman.

It was his hope that it would ease your immigration to the United States, to be technically married on American soil, while still being able to have Johnny and your father in attendance. The building was rather imposing as you climbed out of the car, thanking the driver as he held the door, not at all what you would have imagined for your wedding. Then again, you’d never imagined marrying an American divorcé set to inherit a great fortune one day, either.

Surrendering your coats to one of the ambassadorial staff, you took a moment to compose yourself as Johnny stepped into the reception room, nodding to your father when you were ready before the doors were opened and you made slow progress down the aisle, allowing for the extra time it took him to manipulate his prosthetic leg with each step. You were pleased Lewis had chosen a smaller room, there were not that many people in attendance, really just the ambassador and his wife, your small family, and Lewis and yourself. But as you walked down the short aisle towards the man waiting for you in black tie with the officiant at his side you were certain nothing had ever been more perfect in your entire life.

Your father shook Lewis’s hand before giving you a quick peck on the cheek, ambling over to his chair as Lewis took your arm in turn. He leaned in to whisper warmly in your ear.

“You look incredible, darling.”

Swallowing tightly, you whispered back. “You are lucky there are too many witnesses to commit manslaughter here.”

He barely contained his laughter.

The ceremony was sweet and simple. The signing of the licence took a little extra time as you also completed your immigration application at the same time, with his excellency Mr. Harriman signing as a sponsor – a breathtaking honour which you were quite certain you would never be able to fully process. Lewis had also clearly bought the wedding bands at the same time as the engagement ring as they all looked quite smart next to one another once placed on your respective fingers.

The intensity of Lewis’s eyes on yours as the officiant pronounced you man and wife had you feeling rather apprehensive of the kiss he was about the lay on you, a kiss you were admittedly no less desperate for after nearly six months, but reticent to share in front of an audience. To your surprise, and slight disappointment, it was a soft and utterly appropriate kiss that only left you wanting more as the small group of attendees applauded your finally-accomplished-union.

Bestowing the bouquet upon the ambassador’s wife insistently, in gratitude, you finally allowed Lewis to pull you down to the separate car waiting to take the pair of you back to the hotel where the four of you would celebrate in a private dining room. The driver had barely closed the door before Lewis was pulling you close, at last delivering the thorough conquering of your mouth you had been yearning for as you clung to his coat, not wanting to ruin his styled hair.

“I have missed you far too much, darling.” He whispered against your lips as the driver pulled the car into traffic. “How will I ever repay your patience with me?”

“Do not remind me of balances and things owing, Lewis, I’m in a good mood.” You teased fondly. “You will meet my rage tomorrow when we’re stuck on a boat together for days on end. Tonight is for celebration only.”

He responded with a lopsided grin as his gaze traversed your face, expression fading slowly to one of seriousness before he kissed you fiercely once more, hands sliding dangerously close to your carefully pinned hair. You pulled back quickly with a pout.

“You can ruin that later.” You panted a little and he pressed his face against the crook of your shoulder.

“I will ruin more than your hair later.” He spoke, breath skating along your skin, making you shudder for many reasons. “Darling, are you certain this is not your murder plot unfurling right before my eyes?” He lifted his eyes to look up at you with a pained expression, your fingers reaching out to cup his cheek sympathetically as the car pulled up outside the hotel.

Summoning the strength to compose yourselves as the driver came around to open the door, you stepped out carefully and took Lewis’s arm to head inside, rather enjoying the way people glanced at the pair of you approvingly.

A small feast of beef wellington, Victoria sponge, and tea with milk and sugar – among other delights – awaited you all back at the Ritz. Lewis was barely able to keep his hands from ensnaring yours, his knee from pressing against your thigh, from feeding you bites of food proudly. He did an amiable job of getting to know Johnny better this time despite his distraction, the previous adversarial tension having evaporated from your brother with the arrival of the divorce decree several weeks ago. Lewis took great interest in Johnny’s employment and the topic of conversation devolved into a rather intense debate about railways…even as Lewis began to pull the hem of your dress higher beneath the tablecloth with tantalizingly bold fingertips. Eventually your father dragged a very stuffed and well-liquored Johnny off to bed, freeing the two of you from the obligation of entertaining them any longer at which point Lewis lifted your left hand to press a kiss to the rings on your finger.

“Well, Mrs. Nixon.”

You smiled shyly, but delightedly, to hear your new title from his lips. “Well, Mr. Nixon.”

“Fait accompli. At last.”

Nodding warmly, you leaned in to kiss him gently, giggling as he tasted of icing sugar and strawberry jam from his last bite of cake. “We should let them in here to clean up.”

“Are you propositioning me, Mrs. Nixon?” He teased as he stood, sliding his arm around your waist as you stood in turn.

“No!” You squeaked in self-defence, though you were more than a little enticed by his earlier promises from the car.

“Then allow me to proposition you, I would very much like to see what you’re wearing underneath this lovely outfit.”

“Mr. Nixon!” You feigned shock even as you pulled him out of the private dining room to head up to your shared suite.

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

Read Part Six

I Wish You Love Masterlist

Tag list: @ronsparky, @fuckoffthanos, @bcon24, @gretagerwigsmuse

#lewis nixon x reader #lewis nixon imagines #lewis nixon imagine #band of brothers x reader #band of brothers imagines #band of brothers imagine #hbo war fic #lewis nixon #band of brothers #easy company

49 notes · View notes

literary-illuminati · 3 months

Text

2024 Book Review #11 – The Maya (10th Edition) by Michael D. Coe and Stephen Houston

My second proper history book of the year, and significantly better than the first! This existed on the happy intersection of ‘the r/AskHistorian’s big list of recommenced works on Goodreads’ and ‘stuff my public library inexplicably has a copy of’. It’s dense and more than a bit dry reading, enough that I read it over the course of a week as a side-dish to more digestible fiction. Still, fascinating read, and a book that left more far better informed about the subject than when I started it.

The book is more or less what it says on the tin – a survey of the history of the Maya (or at least the current state of what’s known about it). The book opens with an explanation of the Maya language family, the relevant geography, the characteristics of the high- and lowlands, and the division into northern, central and southern area the field seems to use generally. The better part of it is then arranged chronologically, beginning with the Archaic Period, through the Pre-Classic and Classic, then then Collapse and the Post-Classic. The Spanish Conquest and history since gets a very abbreviated epilogue, ending with a few micro-anthropologies of different contemporary villages and then a five-page travellers’ guide to the most important sites and how to access them.

It’s all, as I said, quite dense – the sort of book where every paragraph adds at least one new important fact and very little time is spent on repetition or review. Combined with the usually very dry, expository tone, it feels much more like a textbook to be read with a lecturer or group to break down and dig into each section than something that was really written to be read alone and for pleasure. Which you know, makes sense, given that this is the tenth edition of a book originally written several decades before I was born.

Now, I say this is a history book, but that’s honestly a bit of a kludge – better to say it’s an archaeology book or, failing that, about anthropology and historiography. There is very little narativizing, and it is very much told from the point of view of the present. That is, the sections are organized chronologically, but within them the unit of analysis is the archaeological site, with every supposition explained as emerging from the analysis of some ruin or artifact or fragment of text. Far more time is spent on the architecture and layout of Mayan cities than the people who actually lived within them, simply because the author’s have so much more to say about them.

It’s only really in the chapters on the Classic (and, to a much lesser extent, post-classic) periods that the book goes from theorizing about building and pottery styles to speaking more confidently about royal courts and high politics and dynastic grandeur, and above all the attempts to give specific particular people a sense of personality and personal biographies that you generally expect out of a pop history book. Which does make sense, given that those are the only periods where we really have enough textual evidence to confidently name and ascribe significance to any particular people – overwhelmingly dynasts and war-leaders, because of course those are the (almost invariably) men who constructed stelae and covered the walls of temples with testaments of their own greatness.

This means that you do get more of a look into nuts and bolts of knowledge production that you do in most histories – a passage about the development of chocolate drinks as elite consumption is framed with the discovery of cocoa residue on preclassic ceramic vessels, one about human sacrifice by the discovery of skeletal remains in cenotes near major architectural sites, that sort of thing. Similarly, just about every single discovery or theory is credited to one or a few specific academics who initially made it. Which will be either incredibly interesting or the dullest thing in the world, depending on one’s tastes.

The text is mostly incredibly dry and expository in tone, which makes the points where a real sense of personality and subjective opinion leaks through interesting. And endearing, at least to me, but I just find there to be something instantly likeable about the sort of academic myopia which considers human sacrifice and mass famine from the point of view of the universe but is roused to passionate rage by suburban sprawl building over unexamined archaeological sites.

I knew little enough about the specifics of Maya civilization going into this that just relaying everything that struck me reading this would turn this review into a novella. But the way that lowland urbanization and agriculture were based around, not rivers like just about every other culture I’ve read on, but cenotes (and artificially constructed simulacra thereof) in the limestone to capture enough rainwater to last through the dry season was just fascinating. The fact that, the region’s reputation for inexhaustible lushness notwithstanding, the soil the Maya relied upon was very thin and in most cases totally degraded after just a few years of agriculture as well. (Speaking of, the theorizing about how diet changed over the ages and how this related to population movements and density was just fascinating).

The book really wasn’t that interested in the specifics of mythology or divine pantheons beyond how they showed up on engravings and ornamentation – there’s no bestiary of gods or anything – but there’s enough of that ornamentation for it to be a recurring topic anyway. I admit I still find the fact that there’s this great primordial pre-classic god-monster which in the modern era is just called ‘Principle Bird Deity’ deeply amusing.

The book is deeply interested in the Maya calendar and time-keeping. Along with the monumental architecture it’s pretty clearly the thing that the authors find most impressive and awe-inspiring about Classical Mayan culture. There’s enough time dedicated to explaining it that I even pretty much understood how the different counts and levels of timekeeping interacted by the end of the book.

One beat the book kept coming back to (which I admit suits my biases quite well) is that there’s just no sense in the Maya were ever isolated or pristine. Cultural influence coming down from the Valley of Mexico waxed and waned, but on some level it was constant – Mesoamerica was a coherent cultural unit, and the similarities in philosophy and culture (not to mention material goods) between cultures within it are too blatant to ignore. The book theorizes that the population levels reached in the Yucatan before the Spanish Conquest really couldn’t have been supported by local maize agriculture, and instead cities were probably sustained by harvesting and exporting from the salt flats (among the best in the Americas) they controlled access to.

Even beyond trade, there’s several points where ruling dynasties were toppled or installed by armies ranging down from Mexico. The Olmecs and Toltecs make repeated appearances. Even the conquistadors conquest of the Highlands was really only possible because the few hundred Spaniards who got all the credit were marching alongside several thousand indigenous allies.

Speaking of – it’s really only an aside to an epilogue, but given I mostly know the Anglo-American history here, it did kind of strike me how...traditionally imperialist the Spanish were, compared to the more-or-less explicitly genocidal rhetoric I’m used to. If you were an indigenous potentate or ruler enthusiastically selling out to the Spanish Crown was significantly more likely to actually work out for you than trusting a treaty with the US of A, anyway (well, for a while. Smallpox comes for everyone),

Then again, the book does mention that the newly independent Mexican and Central American states in the 19th century were actually significantly worse for the Maya than the Bourbons had been (with things reaching their nadir with the genocidal violence of the 1980s in Guatemala), so maybe that’s it.

Anyway, the book is illustrated, and absolutely chock full of truly beautiful photography and prints on just about every other page. Even if you never actually read it, it would be a great coffee table book.

#book review #history #The Maya #Michael D. Coe #stephen houston

33 notes · View notes