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1427 · 2 months

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When the Levee Breaks (pt. 5)

Daryl Dixon x OFC

Story Summary: The one in which a stripper that used to know Merle and Daryl shows up at the Atlanta camp. Daryl’s feelings are complicated but mostly he hates her, right?

Chapt Setting: The Farm/Woods

Chapt Warnings: pretty explicit drug use (meth), season 2 Daryl, degrading/sexist language (he’s starting to get better lol), SOPHIA CHAPTER (I think that deserves a warning)

Word Count: 2.7k

A/N: Daryl’s POV story. Daryl’s starting to be less of a dick, trying really hard to make it feel organic/make it make sense in the story. Idk. This chapter was really rough to write because… it made me sad. Also have no idea if it even makes sense (the hallucination bit, really hope it does) lol ALSO; I looked up some timeline stuff and i just?? Really thought Daryl was out there for days on his own? But apparently he wasn’t? We’re just gonna say that he is in this story. 🤷🏼‍♀️ I can only do so much when the timeline of TWD is fucking stupid sometimes. (I mean it. Come for me. Idc. Rick was in a coma for 59 days without food or water???!?!!!? Bye)

masterlist

17+ mdni (no smut in this one tho sorry)

Like fiberglass in my veins, it tears through me. Mellow, at first, almost think I should rail more before I can feel myself sweatin’. Different kinda sweat, comin’ from my fuckin’ soul.

Haven’t felt like I was doin’ something ‘wrong’ since I was little. That feeling that ch’ya get when you’re doin’ somethin’ ya know you’re not s’possed to. This ain’t the first time I done spazz, but maybe it’ll be the last. The anxiety about doin’ it goes away the second I feel the devil kick me through my nose to the back of my brain. Even though I know it’s comin’, it always feels like gettin’ skullfucked by satan.

Been out here for a day. I brought Merle’s shit with me because I decided to finally get rid of it somewhere. But I got somethin’ that needs doin’. And anyway, I got years of experience with ice. Not doin’ it. Sometimes doin’ it. Never let Merle know, he’d’ve made some big whoop ‘bout it. And everytime he’d gone and done more than he remembered, he woulda blamed me. Shit though, sometimes it was.

M’not like Merle and Beatle. Ain’t an addict. Can do shit and put it down. Always been able to put it down. Figured other people could too, that they just didn’t wanna. ‘m not sure, but still kinda think that.

Never felt fuckin’ guilty about it before, though. Fuckin’ Beatle. I’unno if it’s cuz I’d be done with her if she did the same shit, or if it’s cuz I know if she knew that I was - she’d be mad at me. Mad I didn’t invite ‘er.

But this shit ain’t for fuckin’ playtime. Only reason ‘m even doin’ it i’so I can find Sophia. So I can stay awake, focus, and get ‘er back. They use ta use this shit in war. War’s the reason methamphetamines even exist. Nazi’s? Hell, every single one of ‘em in WWII. Kamikazi’s loaded up, totally fuckin’ wasted outta their minds on crystal while they bolted ‘em in. Kept ‘em awake, kept ‘em happy, kept ‘em focused on the mission. Tha’s what I gotta do.

I can’t stop lookin’ til I find ‘er. Sophia. ‘m the only one that can, only one that knows how. And anymore, ‘m the only one that seems to give a shit. ‘Sides Carol. And Beatle. She wanted ta come. Told her she’d only slow me down. Distract me. Drawn more geeks. She woulda. Told her I didn’t need food either but she packed me some anyway. Knew I wasn’t gonna be hungry. Knew I was gonna use this dumb shit to help. But whatever.

Doesn’t matter what happens to me, right? My life’s not worth nothin’, not compared to that little girl. Now that her old man’s outta the picture she actually got a chance. Maybe not mucha one, not the way shit is these days. But she got ‘er mom. And ‘er mom can actually be ‘er mom now. Not scared of some piece’a shit prick that finally got what was comin’ to ‘im.

Man fuck that guy.

The trail I’m followin’ disappears so I backtrack to the mangroves where I found her doll and try to find another one.

I start to wonder what kinda old man Beatle had. What kinda mom? Startin’ ta realize I don’t know a damn thing about Beatle. I know she likes drinkin’, she likes laughin’, she likes fuckin’ with me. But…

Beatle keeps surprisin’ me. Not just because she let me hump her face a few days ago, the fact that she liked it, shit I haven’t even had a second to process that. Nah, more cuz she hasn’t brought it up. Hasn’t tried to hold my hand again. Hasn’t been annoyin’ me nearly as much. Not even at all, if ‘m honest.

My brain’s goin’ a million miles a fuckin’ second over Beatle and what happened between us. Not just the other night, but back then. Got questions that need answerin’ but she ain’t here. Try to keep myself occupied with trackin’ but it ain’t like trackin’ takes much thinkin’. Follow every trail I pick up, but none of ‘em lead me to Sophia.

I’d prob’ly start gettin’ really frustrated about this, but that’s what crystals good for. All the dopamine I need, and nothin’s annoyin’. Focus.

✨🏹

Bent branches, wilted leaves, mud impressions, walker guts. Trees and rocks and blood and mud and dirt and greens and browns and reds and blacks. And it’s dark and it’s light and it’s dark. And it smells fuckin’ rotten. Bent branches, wilted leaves, another trail, another dead end, another undead shithead. Bent branches, wilted leaves, mud impressions, Beatle.

How many times did I go into Merle’s bag and take the devils dick up my nose? Cuz Beatle’s standin’ here right in front of me. ‘Cept she’s all done up in makeup and glitter and her pupils are the size of dimes. Little pink crop top, tiniest pair’a daisy dukes I ever seen. ‘n she’s in my face sayin’ the shit I been thinkin’ about her sayin’ since that day she said it.

“I like you, Dar.”

“You like bein’ fucked up more.” I say it like I said it the last time.

“That’s not true! I mean - I like you, Daryl.” She steps closer, tries to put her hand on my cheek before I brush her off. She slumps back a little, turning away. “You like me, too. You said it.”

My hearts in my fuckin’ throat and I’m standin’ there, this can’t be fuckin’ happening. I know is’not but doesn’t make it feel any less real. “Tha’ was before I really knew ya, Beatle.”

Hate that I said that to ‘er. Did I really say that? Cuz maybe that’s how I felt. Hell, maybe that’s how I felt last week. But it ain’t fair. I don’t know her. Still. Now. Don’t know ‘er at all. Thought I did. Thought I understood what kinda girl did those kindsa things. Is that really what I said? Fuck.

She’s still turned away from me, but I walk the half circle around to look at her face. And she’s sobbing. Silently, trying to stay as still as possible. I… I don’t remember this part. Maybe I didn’t see it? Nah, I saw it. Just didn’t care. Didn’t wanna look at ‘er. Didn’t want to hear her lame ass confession. Especially after she’d brought up that I told ‘er I liked ‘er. She sniffles and wipes her face before she pulls a bubble pipe out of the waistband of her shorts and lights the bottom, starts smokin’ it. She asks if I want a hit, like last time.

I go to say no, but the words don’t come out. Instead my hand reaches for it. I look back up and Beatle’s dressed all different. Baggy jeans and a bikini top. That night. Fuck. Shit. I don’t want to relive that night.

“I promise, I won’t tell Merle.” She says, handing me her lighter. And I smoke it. Inhaling the vapor slowly like she had. “You gotta sip at it, like it’s a coffee and you’re drinking the air to see if it’s still too hot. Roll the bowl or it will burn.” I do it the way she says. She’s like ten years younger than me, but she looks at me - talks to me like it don’t matter. Like she don’t see it that way. Guess I don’t either, never really did.

I’d never wanted to smoke it before. But that night I wanted to. With her. Woulda done anything she’d asked that night ‘fore she ruined it. I ruined it. Til it got all fucked up an’ it was never the same again. Not the way I saw her, not the way she looked at me.

I’m goin’ through memories like they’re happening all over again. Feelin’ fuckin’ sick. I don’t wanna remember this.

I hand the pipe back to her and she asks, “How do you feel?”

“Fine.”

“Just fine?” She smiles.

“Good.” I clarify.

“Good.”

Don’t say it. Don’t say it. Don’t say it. “I think I like you, Beatle.”

She laughs too hard, “you think?” I feel myself getting sicker and angry again all at once.

I split in half. One half feelin’ those same feelings I felt. That this conceited fuckin’ bitch really acts like everyone likes her. I hear her words and it sounds like she’s sayin’ ‘well obviously’ - but the other halfa me hears it like a real question. Like she wanted ta know what I meant. I don’t remember how I responded then, but I can hear myself say it, “Self-obsessed cunt.”

Beatle laughs, “Is that what you like about me?”

My misunderstanding continues; Thought she was pickin’ on me. Makin’ funna me. All these years. All this time. Thought she was fuckin’ laughin’ at me. Never told a girl I liked her. Not that I never did like one, just never told ‘em. Not like some teenage fuckin’ confessional. And I do and what? she just laughs.

Shit.

Cuz inside ‘m screaming. Screamin’ at myself ta say somethin’ different. To jus’ tell her. She’s special, she’s exciting, and when she smiles at the shit I say it makes me feel like I’m the only one in the fuckin’ world to her. Tha’s what she wants ta here. Tha’s why she’s askin’.

“Nah. Forget it.” She nods, and I thought she did forget it. She forgot until she brings it up again in the memory I already re-lived.

Tha’s how I was so damn sure she didn’t give a single shit about if I liked her or not. Didn’t bring it up again for months. Didn’t give a single shit about me at all. Felt stupid for ever thinkin’ she might. Just a dumb crush on a dumb girl, and I forgot everything about it. An’ every little thing she did that made me like ‘er ended up as somethin’ else I hated. And every time I saw her after that she was fucked up on somethin’. Meth or booze or weed. Usually all three.

It comes at me like a fuckin’ freight train, her lips crashing into mine, but this time I want it. Don’t wanna stop kissin’ ‘er. Instead my arms move and I push her down to the ground. She’s wearing the crop top again, can tell she’d been cryin’. She’s layin’ there in the rocks lookin’ up at me and I flash back to the living room where this happened, where she’d told me she liked me back. I wanna beat the shit outta myself for makin’ her look like that.

How didn’t I see it?

I did see it. I just didn’t care. Thought I knew what kinda girl did those kinds’a things.

Wonderin’ what kind of old man she had. What kinda boyfriends before she met me. How maybe she’s just as fuckin’ scared’a feelin’ stuff as I am. How maybe it took her months to even get up the courage to tell me after I’d told ‘er never mind and slowly started to hate her. How many’a those drinks were for courage? How many’a those hits were cuz she was nervous?

Shit.

And she’s runnin’ away like she did then. Away from me an’ outta my life until a few weeks ago. I know it ain’t real but I run after her anyway. Screamin’ her name into the open air like maybe somehow I can change it if I can get her to come back. But she’s gone and ‘m still running tryin’ to find her. Screaming for her ‘til my throats hoarse.

‘Til the walkers hear me.

✨🏹

Andrea fuckin’ shot me. What is wrong with this fuckin’ group?

✨🏹

Beatle’s in the bedroom with me but I can’t look at ‘er. Don’t wanna. Feels like she knows what I was doin’ out in them woods without ‘er. Like she can see the dirty shit in my soul and for some reason it makes me ill. Can’t look at ‘er. Knowin’ I hurt ‘er like that all that time ago. Knowin’ it now like I ain’t ever known anything else.

It’s just me ‘n her and she doesn’t try to talk to me. Just lets me lay there hatin’ myself for all of it. Didn’t even find Sophia.

Spent a lot of my days in my life hatin’ myself. Thinkin’ I was good for nothin’. Now ‘m sure of it.

I feel the bed move under the weight of her. She hugs herself around me, and like some pathetic kid I fuckin’ cry. Don’t know if she can tell or not but she tries comforting me anyway. “It’s okay, Dar. You did your best.” Her voice… how could I have ever thought it was annoying? Her bein’ so nice just makes me hate myself more.

“Lea‘me alone, Beatle.” Shakin’ her arm out from around me. She gets off the bed and sits back in the chair she’d been in. God, I fuckin’ hate myself. Wanna scream No, come back. I didn’t mean it.

Still got question’s that need answerin’. This time Beatles right here, and I ain’t got nothin’ to lose. “Why were you naked in Merle’s room?” Grateful that she’s sittin’ behind me. Don’t think I could talk to ‘er ‘bout this stuff if she was lookin’ at me. Right now? If I saw her face? Don’t think I could talk at all.

She laughs. Fuck her stupid fuckin’ laugh. “I still can’t believe you think I fucked around with Merle.”

“Why not? Y’all hung out every other day.” My voice is sharp, feels like she’s laughin’ at me again. Always feels like everyone’s laughin’ at me.

“We all hung out every other day, Dar.”

“Stop callin’ me tha’.”

“I was carpet surfing. Your dumbass brother spilled all the schkag all over the damn place.”

Oh…. But, “Ya didn’t have any clothes on.”

“I never had any clothes on, Daryl. You sure I wasn’t just wearing something ‘slutty’? You know, like you always said I was? Cuz I don’t remember, but I’ve never been naked with Merle. Ever. Sounds fuckin’ gross.”

Oh.

It made sense. Makes so much sense, ‘specially now. She keeps talkin’ an’ ‘m grateful cuz if I tried to say anything else I’d start fuckin’ cryin’ again. “I liked you, man. I…” she stops herself. Wanna beg her to keep goin’ but I can’t.

Instead I ask ‘er the only question I got left, “Why’d ya leave, then? Ya left ‘n ya never came back.”

She’s silent for a long time. “When you and Merle moved, where’d you go?”

She did come back.

“Why’d ya leave, Beatle?” Doesn’t matter where Merle and I went. She’s avoidin’ the question.

“Got sober. After that night… with you. Wanted to get sober. Wanted to…” she don’t say the rest but she don’t need to. I got it. Fuck, my heart can’t take it.

“Cuz I said ya liked gettin’ fucked up more than ya liked me.” It ain’t a question. I know.

“Think it was more the other thing you said.”

Tha’ was before I really knew ya, Beatle. I can still taste the words. “Shouldn’t’a said that to ya.” My voice is barely a whisper.

She gets back up on the bed and puts her arm around me again, this time I don’t shake her away. Her voice, so close to my ear, “I didn’t want to tell you that I came back. I didn’t want you to know that I got sober for you.”

What? “Why not?”

“Wasn’t sure you’d care. And if you did… I didn’t want you to have all the what-ifs in your head that I have in mine.”

She hugs herself into me so tight it’s hard to breathe, and she tells me, “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

I feel guilty, can’t take any of that back. Can’t make any of it better. I don’t deserve this. Her. After all the nasty shit I ever thought about her. After what I did to her the other night. I can’t bring myself to tell her to leave cuz I know she wants to be here. Don’t wanna make her cry again.

So I let her hold me. Even though I don’t fuckin’ deserve it.

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon fanfiction #twd daryl #daryl fanfiction #the walking dead daryl #daryl dixon x oc #daryl dixon imagine

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aliasrocket · 10 months

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hi !!

i really don't want to sound like a pick me (if this is sounding pick me-ish im so sorry) but would you be able write an nsfw imagine/drabble of rocket x reader with a big bust and reader is insecure about the stretch marks/purple lines on her boobs (idk if anyone else has those but my stretch marks go purple ??) ?

Omg yes of course babes!! Also I did some research, purple stretch marks are normal. I hope this helped!!

Since I’ve already exposed myself on the fic opposite of this, I hope you can forgive me if anything is inaccurate. Nsfw ahead!

masterlist ! / request stuff <3 / art/fanfic commissions !

“Do they hurt?”

That was the first thing that left him when he lifted your shirt over your head.

“No! No, not—not at all,” you stammered, your own embarrassment creating lumps in your throat for the words to trip over. “Well, sometimes when I run, but—”

“Can I … touch ‘em?”

You froze. Your lips parted, but no sound came out. At least, not at first.

“You … do you like them?”

“Of course I like them,” he scoffed. His hand hovered over the sides, careful not to make any contact as his touch seemed to ghost your sensitive skin. “They’re so … big.”

“But they’ve got stretch marks everywhere.”

“So?” Rocket frowned. “They look so soft to touch.”

“You can touch them,” you said softly, moving your arms away so as to permit him to do the very thing he asked to.

His hand barely covered your breast, but his grip was still taut nonetheless when he gave an experiment squeeze. His hand slid over to your nipple and he began to rub it between his fingers, soon giving it a pinch and eliciting a yelp from you.

“You like that, princess?” Rocket breathed huskily as he bent down to your ear.

“I do … uh, Rocket …”

“Hm?”

“It’s really okay if they look weird, you know.”

Rocket withdrew from the side of your face to look into your eyes with bewilderment in his own. He waited for a moment, as if there was a punchline to wait for, but none came.

“It looks a little painful, but they’re not weird, baby. I know what weird looks like and this is the absolute opposite of that,” Rocket reasoned softly.

You averted your gaze, feeling your cheeks warm and your lips crumple under the weight of your own shame.

“Let me prove it to you.”

Rocket’s head sank to one of your breasts, his tongue swirling around your nipple before he took it in his mouth and making you squeal from the sensation. The other hand switched from squeezing and groping to playing with your nub once more.

“Rocket,” you moaned.

His lips parted from your nipple with a pop and you mewled. “So damn pretty for me baby … especially these two …”

“Rocket …” you protested in a shaky voice, but it was barely even a protest when it was more of a whine for more.

“Aw, is my baby getting impatient?”

#ask request #rocket raccoon #guardians of the galaxy #gotg #rocket raccoon x you #gotg vol 3 #rocket gotg #rocket raccoon x reader #gotg fanfiction #rocket x reader #rocket x you #gotg rocket #rocket raccoon fanfic #rocket raccoon fanfiction #rocket raccoon imagine #.alias.inbox.request.#.alias.drabbles.imagines.

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morallyinept · 4 months

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A full transcribe of MARCUS PIKE'S dialogue/lines from the TV show THE MENTALIST

Includes full dialogue, and dialogue from any deleted/additional scenes available.

I've created this as a point of reference when writing for Pedro's characters, and I hope you find it useful. Even if you just want to read the dialogue. 🖤

FULL MASTERLIST OF PEDRO CHARACTERS DIALOGUE

☝🏻Dialogue has been fully transcribed by myself using reference to original scripts (if available), audio subtitles and using my own two ears. Therefore, mistakes can be made, however I have tried to be as fully accurate as I can. If you spot an obvious mistake, please kindly let me know. Where audio is not clear, I have marked with *inaudible* Scenes are separated for ease of reference.

FULL SCRIPT DIALOGUE: (ALL EPISODES - MARCUS WAS IN 6 EPISODES IN SEASON 6 AND 1 EPISODE IN SEASON 7)

EP 16, S6 VIOLETS

Mrs Hennigan, why was your husband trying to save this painting in particular?

We’ll do our best to get it back for you.

I’m special agent Marcus Pike, this is agent Searles. You’re… Patrick Jane, right? Abbot’s guy?

What makes you say that?

Sure. I’ve heard good things about you. We’d be happy to have your input. These guys, they’re… they’re really good. And our cases don’t usually lead to homicide.

__________________

Art thieves used to be about sneaking. Night time break-ins. Not anymore. The new generation prefers guns. This guy is the leader. He does the talking, runs the show. But until yesterday morning, he’s never killed anybody. They’ve done about six jobs between Dallas and Phoenix in the last two years, taking down about one hundred million worth in art and artefacts.

Stolen art can take a long time to sell. So our guess is they’re sitting on a lot of the art, including the paintings from yesterday's heist.

Well, they’ve only slipped up once. We found a glove a few blocks from a gallery they robbed in Phoenix. We managed to get a partial print and we got a hit. Aaron Polaski. Time for armed robbery and battery, he’s also the former middleweight boxing champ at Fulsom prison.

Yeah, we brought him in for questioning but he lawyered up quick and told the CIP. These guys are pros.

We do, but nothings popped. Doesn't seem to have a lot of friends. He hangs out a lot at a bar on sixth street.

So, how do we do that?

I don’t know what any of that means.

__________________

I always feel a little bit like Aladdin right here.

It’s stolen.

Sometimes we just get part of a haul. We sit on the art so the crooks don’t know we have a lead and we keep it here while we investigate the rest of it.

Well, we keep a pretty tight lid. Our own secret museum.

No. Just, once or twice…

Well, I-I don’t wanna second guess you, Mr Jane, but if you wanna use these paintings as bait, the guy running this crew knows a lot about art, he’ll know this stuff is stolen.

__________________

We ready?

What the hell’s that?

He asked him for some napkins, so?

__________________

No, he's gonna do it… watch.

There you go.

__________________

Pass the rice, please.

It’s a drug forfeiture. On loan from the DEA. So, what’s the story with Jane and Lisbon?

No, I mean are they in a relationship? A couple?

It’s going good. You got a nice red cross.

Yeah.

__________________

This is Pike.

Okay, well, we, uh… we shut down the inside cameras, so you don’t have to worry about any more prying eyes, and just so you know there is someone outside the house, we’re guessing it’s another one of McCabe’s crew.

No, we’ve got eyes on ‘em. Don’t worry. You’re safe. I wouldn’t lie to you.

Well you’re… you were real good.

Well, that’s a shame. There’s a pretty good diner just down the street from you. Biscuits and gravy, if that’s your thing.

Alright, well what about pancakes?

They have about six kinds; chocolate chip, banana, all that good stuff.

Maybe, just a… little bit. I can have some sent over to you.

No, you’re right I won’t tease you anymore. I won’t even mention the waffles.

Right, well I don’t know what a canape is, but bon appetit. Goodnight, Lisbon.

__________________

This is the part I don’t understand; we’re not gonna rob the museum?

Why not? I mean, he robs the paintings from the museum, we catch them red handed, case closed. We all go home.

Then why is he at the museum with Jane?

__________________

How is it?

You probably like that Chicago style stuff, right?

Hmm… I'm not really in the mood for pizza. You know what sounds good? Those pancakes we were talking about before.

Do you wanna go?

Yeah. Dinner is the best time for breakfast. What do you say?

Look, if you don’t wanna go, just say so. We’re cool. It’s good, but I like you, and I think you’re a hell of a good looking woman and I’d love to get to know you better.

Let’s go.

__________________

Uh… well, uh… Y-you-

__________________

EP 18 S6 FOREST GREEN

Hey.

Coffee?

I made you breakfast.

Well when there’s a guest, I like to make a fuss.

Yeah?

It’s just work stuff. Listen, I was wondering if we could get dinner tonight? Or… is that weird because we went out last night? Is-is two nights in a row weird?

Okay, good. I’ll make a reservation.

Well, like I said, I like to make a fuss.

Yeah.

__________________

I came looking for you, but they said you’re still in the woods. I’m disappointed.

No problem. What’s holding you up?

Have your people tried accessing a forestry satellite? They’re imaging that area all the time looking for fire outbreaks.

I used one once to find a guy who was running with some stolen Frederick Remmingtons.

Bye.

__________________

No, it’s okay. I took another girl out to dinner last night instead.

Yeah.

Gladys. Eg-Eg-Egbert.

It’s the best I could do in the spur of the moment.

Oh, well, I’m glad. I’m a lousy liar, so you’re right. Actually, there’s uh, something I wanted to tell you.

That work stuff, it’s actually a promotion. The Bureau is forming a task force to deal with international art theft. It’ll be working with Scotland Yard and a few other agencies. Long story short, they, uh, they-they want me to run it. Yeah, but they want me to run it from DC.

So, I’m telling them no.

Well, I’m allowed.

I’m not a kid. I’ve been married and divorced. I know when something’s real. And when it could get serious. I feel that way about us. Do you… feel that way?

Look, one thing I know is that when you feel that way about someone, you gotta hang on ‘cause… because it doesn't happen very often.

I know. It’s okay.

What if you came with me?

I’m asking what if we went to DC, you and me, together? What do you think of that, Teresa?

__________________

EP 19 S6 BROWN EYED GIRLS

You fell asleep.

So listen, urm… turns out my old band’s playing a gig downtown tonight. Do you wanna go?

I never told you I was in a band?

Bass. Vocals.

Yeah?

Okay then. We need a cab.

Was that “do you like butter with your popcorn” or “will you come with me to DC?”

I understand, a hundred per cent. Take your time, there’s no deadline.

You’re welcome.

Go ahead.

__________________

I got some Thai from that place over on South Congress.

I know.

Not really, I have an ulterior motive. Just trying to make DC look attractive.

Yeah… yeah…

__________________

Hey.

Guess what? That show we missed the other night. They’re playing another one in forty-five minutes, we can catch it if… if you guys are done?

See ya, Patrick.

__________________

Am I interrupting?

I heard about your grand jury. I’m pulling for you. But I think you did what any good father and husband would do.

__________________

EP 20 S6 II TOVOLO BIANCO

Oh. Oh look, Casablanca’s on. “Here’s looking at you, kid.” You know Bogart made that line up? It wasn’t in the script.

What? Are you serious?

This is not an old movie! This is a classic, you gotta watch this. You’re gonna love it.

Is everything okay?

Well, Teresa, I may not be able to read minds like Jane, but even I can tell when something’s going on.

Do you wanna talk about it?

Just wanna say that I know that moving to DC is a big thing and it might raise issues you don’t feel totally comfortable talking to me about, but I just want you to know it’s okay. You go through whatever process you need to, just… let me know when you make a decision. I’ll be here.

Well, various things, but basically it’s a love story about a woman who has to choose between two men. There’s also a baseball game on.

Yeah, let’s do that.

__________________

Jane?

Yeah. Teresa! It’s, uh… It’s Jane…

__________________

EP 21 S6 BLACK HEARTS

So… what are you thinking?

Well, Abbot’s right, it’s a great job. And Don’s the best.

Look, Teresa. I’ve been patient. But… I kind of went out on a limb for you. Pushed Don to pass on other candidates so that I could have you with me in DC. I mean, I know it’s a big decision, but it’s a decision you need to make.

__________________

There you are. Ready to go?

Look, about, uh, DC. I know it’s a lot to take in and I didn’t mean to pressure you.

Yeah, I did. Maybe a little. But, it’s your life and… I just wanna be a part of it.

Are you sure?

Wow…. wow, I wish we were somewhere more romantic, but… but what the hell. Will you marry me?

Don’t freak out.

I know, I know. You need time to think about it.

There’s no pressure, okay?

You’re a tough date. Have you told Jane that you’re leaving yet?

Oh. He’ll understand.

I’ll be downstairs.

__________________

EP 22 S6 BLUE BIRD

Hey, sweetheart, How are ya?

Yes!

Okay. Alright, alright. Text me your flight information and I’ll be there. Teresa, it’s gonna be great, you’re gonna love the neighbourhood. It’s-it’s full of restaurants, your favourite kind, I got a number to an excellent… (fades out)

__________________

EP 1 S7 NOTHING BUT BLUE SKIES

Jane.

I was, uh, looking for Teresa.

Yeah, she probably is.

It’s for an undercover thing. So, it’s, uh… you and her.

I know. I know that. So do you have a plan?

Well, I was offering her a life. A home, a family if she wanted one. A future. Have you thought about any of that?

Well, what are you offering her? I mean, other than Patrick Jane?

Well I was upstairs, giving a deposition. I thought I would say hi. Stupid idea.

Anyway, It’s good to see you, Teresa.

Jane.

__________________

FULL MASTERLIST OF PEDRO CHARACTERS DIALOGUE

#pedro pascal #marcus pike #pedro pascal characters #marcus pike the mentalist #the mentalist #PPCU #marcus pike dialogue

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ewanmitchellcrumbs · 8 months

Note

Let's spread some positivity! Tag some of your fellow content creators here and let them know why they are absolutely amazing!❤️

This is a really sweet idea. I'm going to put my list below a cut, because it will be long.

@em-writes-stuff-sometimes - honestly, Em's fan fiction is better than actual published books I've read. You should be doing this professionally, bub, not publishing it for free for us morons on Tumblr. I'm forever amazed that someone with your brain wants to pal around with an idiot like me.

@valeskafics - your tenacity and the sheer volume with which you are able to write will never cease to amaze me. You're a powerhouse, Babybel. You don't have a masterlist, you have a fucking library, it's incredible.

@barbiedragon - your modern Daemon has me in a chokehold. You're also one of the few writers flying the flag for Vizzy 3 and I gobble up everything you write for him like I'm a shark and you've put chum in the water. Can't wait for Kinktober to see what you create!

The rest of this list is just ordered by date of when I followed the person, and expresses no particular favourtism:

@flowerpotmage - not quite so active in fandom anymore, but they're one of the few writers giving gender neutral readers some much needed representation, and their Aemond and Daemon fics are amazing.

@paintb0x - an amazing artist - some of the best I have seen for Ewan and his characters.

@sapphire-writes - I love Jo's modern AUs and her ability to put my heart through the wringer!

@timetravelingpenguin1066 - Eli is one of the sweetest people I've ever met. An incredible gif maker and a great fic writer.

@aemondx - Sili's gifs are wonderful and the kindness she dedicates to this fandom by making icons and headers for people is admirable.

@alicentive - Killy's gifs are insane and I love that she writes for the characters that don't get as much attention from fandom.

@marthawrites - Midnight Passages, you will always be famous.

@exitpursuedbyavulcan - Studious, my beloved. UPDATE WHEN? (sorry)

@targaryenrealnessdarling - I would die for Liz. She's not just an insanely talented writer, but an all round amazing person too, she makes this fandom a much nicer place to be.

@st-eve-barnes - Eve is out here giving the Aegon girlies the content they desperately need. I love her Aemond fics too!

@bottlesandbarricades - one of the funniest fuckers I've ever had the pleasure of speaking too. Only has one fic, but it's a banger, and her edits are unmatched. I will never get over space buns Aemond.

@toms-cherry-trees - more content for Peaky Blinders than HotD, but the Aemond fic is gold.

@just-some-random-blogger - a Daemon girlie, we love to see it! If entertaining reblogs were an Olympic sport then Hani is taking home the gold. Her fics are bonkers, and I love them.

@humanpurposes - Gee's writing is top notch, some of the best Aemond fics I've ever read.

@assortedseaglass - Hilde is one of my favourite writers. Ever. She could write instructions on how to put together IKEA furniture and I'd eat it up, she's that good.

@oneeyedvisenya - another of my favourite Aemond writers. Education is one of my top five fics of all time. So well written.

@lya-dustin - the speed with which Juli produces chapters is mindblowing. All Is Bliss is a great series.

I can only tag 20 accounts at a time, so I shall continue this in a reblog. I wasn't lying in previous ask, when I said my appreciation post would be phonebook sized.

#asked and answered

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nerdieforpedro · 1 month

Note

🦴

🍓

🥤

Please!

🦴 = a piece of media that inspires my writing?

Not really one set piece. More like music in general does. I often listen to lofi beats when writing or my writing playlist to set the mood of what I’m trying to write. Or it could be music I’m listening to in the car or waiting somewhere could lead to some bullet points that become a fic. 😆

🍓= what led me to write fanfic in the first place?

Going deep here aren’t you Em? 👀 lol I’ve enjoyed writing since I was little as an extension of my love of reading. First with poems and the anime fanfiction when I actually watch more anime. Now I read more manga and don’t write fanfiction about it. If one squints on A03 - I may have dabbled in Marvel characters and actors for a short time. 🫢 The took a long pause as life happened. Sometime last year as my mental health improved so did my love of writing and I hyper focused on Pedro Pascal so here we are. 🤣 I write more the better my mood is. Maybe a bit too much background 😵

🥤= recommend and author or fic you love

Ugh just one? Dammit. 😒 I shall not! I’ll do eight because there are no favorites! Only peeps we support! And I can’t really call any of them number one I enjoy them all too much. 🥰

1. @morallyinept Pretty much anything you read of Jett’s will be beautiful, sensual, take you to a far away place or have needing to remove clothing - possibly from reading the same fic. 😆 She covers a wide variety of Pedro characters and is a wealth of knowledge on them. She also is just really talented and sweet.

2. @maggiemayhemnj Sure Ms. Payday doesn’t have a long Masterlist but every fic on there is worth reading for her turns of phases, vivid descriptions and her love of both Joel and Ezra. 💕

3. @megamindsecretlair One of my fellow black writers who keeps readers thirsty and eager for more with her Sam, Bucky and Loki series (all of which I need to catch up on or finish 👀) and is a hilarious person as she is kind.

4. @soft-girl-musings Another fellow black writer who’s “Perhaps, Perhaps, Perhaps” 1920’s or 40’s (I’m not great with telling time obviously 🙄 ) has me wondering what’s going to happen next, what is going on in that club and where else am I going to see curly haired Marcello is going to pop up at. 🤣

5. @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin The Mistress of Agnst. Her masterlist is for those who aren’t afraid to explore the darker side and stories that may not have happy endings but you’ll still feel satisfied that to finished it. To feel another type of satisfaction, you’ll need to read her smut and seek your other completion there. ☺️ You’ll be thankful for both rides.

6. @pedroshotwifey A newer moot to me who has equal parts smut, agnst and dabs of darkness in there. What can I say? I like dark fics if they’re just right. Like I like my crime dramas and cop procederals. 🤣 She and I have a good time supporting each other and exchanging thots. Her “To The Flame” series has set the reader up for what may be a spectacular fall or maybe she’ll find her way out? Only she knows.

7. @magpiepills Ezra’s second wife (because @morallyinept is his first wife and I think @maggiemayhemnj is the paramour - because it sounds fancy) The amount of filthy things she’s had him do both with one arm and two is something everyone should read twice. I also especially enjoyed her fic “Aquarius” which a whore version of Javier Peña that spoke strongly to me. Or maybe parts of me, let’s not split hairs. 🤭

8. @angelofsmalldeath-codeine She’ll say she’s not a writer. BUT as all writers know, we don’t do very well if someone isn’t reading stuff we toss out into the ether. Hemmy is as supportive as they come, reblogging and offering many a thot as both the High Chancellor of the Horny Delegation and as a friend. ❤️ Plus she supports my very soft bois Dieter and Javi G. 😆 She I think was one of the main reasons I wrote more of “Weddings 101 with Dieter.” She asked me something along the lines of, “is there more to this? This is a very cool or unique premise.” As she well knows, just tell me I did something well and I’m happy as a pearl in a clam. 🤣

Fanfic author ask game

Thanks for the ask Em! Just know I pretty much write paragraphs because I gotta explain. 🤭 I’m Nerdie and I’m wordy. 😚 I had to make one bad joke. You have to be able to tell it’s me.

#fanfic authors #fanfic author ask game #fanfiction #such fun #i wanted to make sure I answered as best I could #there’s so many more writers I could mention #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction

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radioisntdead · 2 months

Text

Good evening folks! Happy to have you join us this fine evening!

I'm Ace and I write for the fandoms I like! At the moment it's just hazbin hotel and Stardew valley but many more may appear! Might do something with my OCs as well if some of y'all would like to see that? I may produce some fanart if I get around to it!

↓Rules for requesting, Master list and info below ↓

I'll write:

°°Hazbin hotel Masterlist°°

[NOT YET MADE] °°Stardew valley masterlist°°

Canon x reader

A lil' bit of Canon x Canon [Can be Platonic or romantic] [For example Hazbin hotel found family headcanons]

Headcanons

One shots

Angst, fluff and all that good stuff!

[Readers will typically be gender neutral unless specified otherwise]

Alastor [Platonic or romantic] [He will be kept on the Aroace spectrum]

[Hazbin hotel] I'll write for:

Angel dust [Platonic, if asked for romantic it'll be male reader only as he's canonically gay according to the wiki, for platonic though the reader can be anything]

Rosie [Platonic or romantic]

Husk [Platonic or romantic]

Charlie [Platonic]

Vaggie [Platonic]

Niffty [Platonic]

Susan [Platonic]

Sir Pentious [Platonic or romantic]

Vox [Platonic or romantic]

Velvette [Platonic or romantic]

Valentino [Neither Platonic or romantic I'll only write about him if you wanna beat him up, I DO NOT LIKE THIS MAN, We bully him on this blog]

Lute [Platonic or romantic]

If you don't see a character you want me to write about on this list feel free to ask! I may have forgotten em' or I may make an exception to writing them! [This may not always be the case though! I retain the right to say no]

Emily [Platonic]

[Stardew valley] I'll write for

Sebastian [Platonic or romantic]

Sam (Platonic or romantic]

Abigail [Platonic or romantic]

Alex [Platonic or romantic]

Haley [platonic or romantic]

Harvey [platonic or romantic]

Elliot [Platonic or romantic]

Penny [platonic or romantic]

Leah [Platonic or romantic]

Shane [platonic or romantic]

Maru [Platonic or romantic)

Robin [platonic]

Evelyn [Platonic]

George [Platonic]

Krobus [platonic]

The children [ Platonic, found family]

Things I won't write:

Smut, Most content involving Angel dust will more then likely have some suggestive bits because it's Angel dust, but other then that, I refuse to write smut, I can and will pull out the holy water.

And that's about it, If I need too I'll add more!

Anything involving Valentino in a positive lighting, there is a good reason that man is in hell.

Clint in a romantic lighting, I'll write him a redemption arc but not much else.

Brief guidelines for requesting:

Also if anyway wonders what the little character I doodle sometimes when responding to asks it's my funky lil' Sona that is very much Alastor inspired {The deer obsession I have does NOT help}

Please be respectful, be as feral as you want but please treat me like a human being.

Please keep the cannibalistic requests somewhat sane, I'm not writing you getting eaten, the regenerating reader one doesn't count because the reader can regenerate immediately.

Respect boundaries if I have stated I will not write something do not push on it, thank you!

Her mouth privileges gets revoked in doodles

.........

Thank you for joining us! We hope to see you again soon!

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x you

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flower-cage · 1 year

Text

The Wolf and The Dragon | Chapter Five

by @flower-cage

Once again beta'd by the wonderful @em-writes-stuff-sometimes

Aemond Targaryen x Stark!Reader

Summary: The war between the Greens and the Blacks has begun and the youngest of the Stark heirs is sent on a secret mission to King's Landing. In its course, she will learn to accept the power that was never meant to be hers and the love she never thought she deserved.

Chapter Five: Dragonstone

Chapter summary: Together with the Prince and Ser Criston, in the aftermath of your vile actions, you undertake the final steps in your perilous mission.

Words: 6,157

Warnings: 18+ only; sexually suggestive content, violence, gore, mentions of blood, cursing.

Although this chapter does not contain explicit smut, later chapters will. Minors do not interact.

Your thumbs twist along one another, your leg bounces when you are seated, your digits tap any and all surfaces they can reach. That is how you await an order of execution to come knocking at your chamber’s door - but it never comes. You tense in the short moments the Queen Mother crosses your path in the corridors, awaiting her scolding, her disapproval, but it too never comes. You await snide comments reminding you of your lack of composure, your absolute discourtesy. You await Ser Criston’s animosity and the Lord Hand’s snubbing. You await even the stroke of lethal metal in the hour of the owl.

But none of it ever comes.

As though your deleterious thoughts insistently pursue you through the winding passages of the Red Keep, you walk with a fast gait and a posture inflexible, ears finely attuned to the voices which echo off the thick walls. You hope that your uncongenial disposition will scare away unwanted attention, for you wish not to discover what sentiments the nobility harbors for your terrible acts of incivility. Even when you shudder at the sight of a member of the court, however, it is your shame, not the consequences you expect to suffer, that devours you from within.

“And what the fuck have you just done?”

His words loop in your mind freely, trampling over any other thoughts and manifesting the same ice-cold repugnance that had consumed you at their original declaration. A foul sensation pierces your gut and suffocates you in self-disgust time after time. In all their unfounded malice, his words hold still one accursed truth: you had submitted to the behavior you so passionately condemn, to his infantile eruptions of bad temperament. A pitiful victim to your damaged ego, courtesy of his adamant rejections, you had surrendered to unruly vitriol and inadvertently confirmed his assumptions of treason and ineptitude.

“And when that threatens to fail, you lash out like a child.”

Your own words, spoken in moments of furious passion and etched with spiteful judgment, now mock you seven-fold. If he were a child, what were you?

This enclave of fear against shame that rages within you pitches also cowardice against bravery. In bursts of courage, you find yourself outside his door, in the dead of the night when the dark shields your insecurities from unfriendly eyes, and after hours of peaceful solitude have granted you empowerment. Every time, your fist is the first to rise to the challenge, inches from the dark wood, only to fall back to your side when your heart catches up with your mind and you become frozen with trepidation - or is it shame?

And so, when your head hits your pillows, the brave has already given way to the coward, and your wish for closure and repentance has once more given in to your fragilized pride. When the sun rises each following morrow, it takes you into steering clear of his path, for the light of day too cruelly exposes your humiliation.

You do not see him again on the days that succeed your return from the Neck. You had neither shared words on the flight back, nor when you presented yourselves to the Queen Mother upon arrival. The War Council had not been summoned since your departure, each Lord having now been sent back to their own House seats to set forth preparations for war. Reserved for you is the tormenting task of waiting. Though you try keeping busy with visiting the Grand Maester, looking to be of aid, he quickly becomes exasperated with your insistences and most diplomatically dismisses you.

“I thank you for your dutifulness, my Lady,” he had smiled sympathetically, pushing you gently towards the exit of his study, “I will see you in a few days' time when all of this greenery has turned dust.”

To no avail, you search for books, instruments, arms, anything you could disguise as a critical element for your journey to the ancient island-seat of the House of the Dragon. In the end, it serves to prove only that, no matter your efforts, your mind - insistent in assigning him such high priority - is repeatedly envenomed by the infuriating Prince Aemond. Such are the lengths you take to deviate from his path that it is only at the stables at dusk on the seventh day that you are finally in his presence.

You secure your cloak around your neck, your bow to your back, and your travel bag to the back of your stallion. Ser Criston revises the steps the three of you have diligently delineated and, though it helps mute your far more injurious thoughts, it does not cease them - not when the royal root of your distress stands present.

Reserved as usual, the Prince graces the knight with no more than nods and hums of pure courtesy. He does not look at you, as half the times you have been in his company. And yet, when you envision his commonly fervent looks, you shudder. There was never a balance, a common ground - whether violent or awed, he had only ever cast you ardent gazes. Either he did not look at you, or he attempted to set your soul aflame.

Every part of you tenses in his company, despite his ordinary demeanor. As a measure to remain calm, you focus fiercely on Ser Criston, only to inadvertently heed naught but your own desperate reprimands to cease all thoughts about Prince Aemond.

“I advise we refrain from using our titles,” you hear, managing to catch the last of his directives. “We cannot be too careful.”

Too soon, however, the knight leaves you to retrieve the dragon poison the maesters have concocted, the weapon which will dictate your victory if effective. His back retreats slowly into the receding light and your eyes remain glued to it as much as they are able. Though the Prince refuses still to regard you, you cannot bring yourself to watch anything else now that your chief distraction has abandoned you. How could you not, when he has incessantly haunted your dreams and your musings?

He looks rightfully in place next to his stallion - both graceful, robust forces, one’s white mane complementing the other’s. As he secures his own in his usual method, your imagination paints the picture of his cloak hood forced back by the wind, silver hair flowing wildly like his horse’s, catching moonlight and stealing your breaths.

Whether it is the strenuous passage of time, or the weighty silence, or your flesh, exhausted from the burning and cooling of your greatly fluctuating emotions; whether it is the coward seeking to pretend amiability or the brave wishing to make peace; something compels you to release all your discomfiture. You choose to accept it, whatever it truly is, for it promises to liberate you from your self-inflicted torment. And you take the opportunity in this raw, perhaps momentary freedom to test the waters and evoke the tenderness of which you knew him capable.

“My Prince?” you try. To your surprise, he turns to face you fully, readily. “If I may-”

“My name,” he commands. “You ought to familiarize yourself with it.”

Not unlike most of your exchanges, his eye seeks to hold you, penetrate you, burn through your dignity to force your submission. Even in your resignation, it is against your nature to allow it, to surrender.

“If I may, pl-”

“Say it,” he orders.

In your hesitation, he steps closer - always seeking to subjugate you with his towering presence, always to no avail when you are engulfed by his sharp and sweet scent of sandalwood. With no allowance on your part, your nose draws in more of the air between you, made warm with his proximity and satiating an innate obsession you knew not. His fragrance has become intimately familiar and too quickly synonymous with passion, though you remain ignorant of how this came to pass. It makes your flesh thrum - his scent, his warmth, and perhaps the effort with which you refrain from reaching for him and ceasing the final distance between you.

The thought, the pull, invades you with such abruption you whip your head back in utter scandalization. With eyes wide, mouth parted ghastly, you look at him finally to meet his leering countenance.

“Say it,” he presses still, so remarkably close, voice luring you into obedience.

“Aemond,” you manage a whisper.

The shape of his name on your lips captures his attention, darkening his eye, and his evident appetence goads him yet closer. The width of a single, fine hair is all that separates you, but his energy is so palpable you feel him flush against you. Emboldened by your influence, encouraged by your undeniable cravings, your wayward fingers reach around his shoulders to pull on the bindings that secure his silver hair. A low grunt like a thunderous purr rumbles out of him.

“Your Valyrian hair might denounce us-” you gasp when his hands take your waist. “If I may, please… Aemond.”

The parting of his lips evinces the effect you intended to have when your grip tightens on his strands. He tilts his head further down as you resume your indecent ministrations. Expert and swift is your work, made easier by the lushness of his hair even as your eyes veer to remain locked in his.

It is unclear whether each pull brings your faces yet closer, inch by inch, or if it is you who leans, but soon the intimacy is such that your eyelids become heavy, guiding your sight toward the pink flesh that glistens just out of reach of taste.

“Why do I remain standing?” The question tumbles out in a whisper, unprecedented; your mind incongruous with your heart. You nearly berate yourself for the disruption, though he softly smirks and incites you to elaborate. “Why haven’t I been denounced for my behavior?”

His humming fills your ears to the brim, tingling with its low vibrations and more finely attuning you to him. Even from behind half-shut lids, he contemplates your question, hiding its answer just behind the soft glinting of his eye and stowing it between his lips. A hand lets go of its grip on your body to brush the side of your neck. His calloused digits turn your skin rough in goosebumps as they journey upward, and he breaks away from your gaze to appreciate the pattern he leaves behind. Your chest burns with the toil of constraining your gulps of air, the unbridled beatings of your heart, the anticipation of his every move. Every second is addictive in its raw, ardent adrenaline until his fingers lodge against the curve of your jaw, where days prior they had touched with brutality.

As though he shares your thoughts, his own jaw sets into a stern place you know too well. In the blink of an eye, his face falls back into disregard, and the dizzying spell of attraction is broken. You think he traps something there too, in the taut clench of his teeth, perhaps something he had nearly set free.

“Aemond,” you whisper as he retreats, as your arms fall limply from his shoulders, but the word no longer holds the same effect.

Your every muscle aches when you finally come to a stop. Every inch of skin is covered in a viscous layer of sweat. It gathers on the edges of your brows, at the tip of the fine hairs framing your face. Its droplets roll down your neck, making the path they touch both tacky and ticklish. Your legs more than any other part of you sting from having clung to your horse so firmly. The beast itself huffs violently and you pat its neck, appreciative of its tremendous efforts. Had there been a faster, more furtive way, you would have willingly spared it. When your feet hit the ground, your knees almost give in to fatigue but Shadow’s firm bearing saves you from a disgraceful fall. She too pants loudly in her exertion, though she is quick to vanish between the trees, to no doubt chase after supper.

Indeed, the hour of the wolf merely threatens departure, the sunlight still a couple of hours away from washing over a starless night sky, the crisp, dewy air burning still from throat to chest. In these last moments of darkness, your small company seeks refuge in the woods just off Duskendale, at the exact midpoint of your perilous journey. In a clearing dwarfed by shrubbery, you build a small fire, and you soon sit about it, having fed and refreshed the horses, to share a quiet meal.

Shadow returns to join you, eventually, with a disfigured, unrecognizable creature pierced by her teeth. She settles across from you, on the other side of the fire, and too close to Criston for his liking. He shuffles farther as she proceeds to devour its flesh, blood splattering as organs are brutally yanked from the carcass. He regards his dry jerky mistrustfully, utterly repulsed, and you chuckle when he drops it back into his bag, defeated.

“Anyone else in your family have one?” he tilts his head toward her, untroubled by your amusement.

“Only I,” you tell him. “My father meant for her to be Cregan’s at the time.” You look at your direwolf, ever present, ever faithful, and cannot fathom carrying out this mission without her. More than your protector, she has become your strength, your friend, your home. “But she chose me instead.”

He hums exaggeratedly, knowingly, and raises his brows in a pretense of great surprise.

“I’ve heard a similar tale before,” he over–enunciates, looking unblinkingly at Prince Aemond as if the very emphasis of his gaze would erupt a response.

You follow his train of sight, but the man beside you gapes into the flames with his only eye - the one which remained after his own beast had chosen him. In the dark, they lick his skin rapidly, contouring his acute angles in blood-red hues. His iris glints like a ruby as it reflects the crimson glow and his blushing lips turn ruddy under the blazing lights. And though it paints him truly beautiful, ethereal even, it is a thought you entertain only absentmindedly. Rather, free of any sense of decency, you revisit the images of those lips as they had appeared mere inches from yours. In your mind’s eye, you see every curve and incline, every shade of pink, every fine hair and fading sun freckle.

“Can’t imagine your brother was any pleased about that,” the knight addresses you before you get trapped in a trance. He smiles like he understands precisely what had transpired between the Stark siblings nearly fifteen years in the past - like he had priorly watched the severance of familial bond. “I’m sure it’s been isolating.”

He regards the Prince still, and you understand clearly that he does not, indeed, speak of you. This time, the latter meets his mischievous brown eyes in stern warning.

Cregan had been twice your age the day your direwolf became yours. She was not yet fully grown when she walked out of the Wolfwoods in the company of your father, but in all the majesty of her raven fur and sapphire eyes, she was the amazement of all who had the privilege to lay eyes on her. And yet, all that had been beautiful turned terrifying when your brother approached, and she bared her menacing teeth.

Dark and broad and scruff like a true Stark he was already. Proudly he strode toward her as a king strides to his throne, as if that pinnacle of power had always been his to claim. In your brazen innocence, you swung yourself between them when your father’s fist clenched on his sword. But Shadow did not retaliate against the sudden move. From that day onward your friendship only grew, whereas the bond with your brother never bloomed.

“Not close to your siblings, huh?” Criston’s question is so attuned to your thoughts, for a heartbeat you believe to have vocalized them.

How could you have been? Your sisters had been betrothed and dispatched to be raised by their future families by the time you learned to read. Cregan never forgot the loss of Shadow to you, and your father never bothered to correct his remoteness.

“I have a good relationship with my brother Rickard,” you tell him instead, “despite our age difference.”

Always a diplomat - the Stark brother with the auburn-colored curls and the soft smile - he had slowly though surely assumed the role of the older brother as you grew into your maiden years. If Cregan is known to don the outward, boisterous charisma inherent in a great leader, Rickard possesses the quiet confidence of a mentor, one you cherish greatly.

Ser Criston is the first to drift off after you offer to keep the first watch. He does not show further interest in your upbringing, and you, in your turn, prefer the company of the crackling logs as they char beside you. Evidently, Aemond preserves his quietness, also watching wistfully as ambers leap out of the flames.

There is a mystifying quality to the dark, specifically that which lingers late at night before the break of day. Inexplicably, it promises salvation; it promises protection. It erases your anguish and warrants your vulnerability as it seduces you with the prospect of forgiveness. And thus once more you find yourself yearning for repentance because the night veils your insecurities.

As you often do - as you can never refrain from doing - you watch him. For perhaps the first time you think you see him for all that he is; not a Prince of the Realm, or Aemond One-Eye, the Kinslayer, a second son, a dragon rider, but a man both whole and fragmented. You wonder if the night permits also the naked truths of the world, for under your eyes he has never looked so mundane, so grounded and connected to the physical realm in which you all dwell. There is no pretense of superiority where he simply sits in silence, no violent anger you hear belongs to the blood of the dragon, only a man who gets distracted by the alluring movements of the fire, who tires, who feels. Though to you his beauty and his essence will always be innately empyreal, he has revealed to you in short-lived moments of tenderness that his heart does remain human.

“Aemond,” you breathe, you choose the brave to speak. When he looks at you his eye is quick to soften, and you suspect it is the glittering of your own which elicits so. “I wish to apologize,” you gulp, “for my behavior… of earlier.”

Your clumsiness of speech evinces the burden of your humiliation, but each uttering that is unaccompanied by harsh retaliation frees you of whatever weighs on your heart, compelling you to continue.

“It was most unbecoming of me to defy and- and harass you, my liege Prince. And I greatly regret it.”

He does not grant you a reply, allowing you with his compassionate regard the floor so you may confess in this single moment of defenselessness all that you have previously inhibited.

“But I beg you,” your voice trembles, you grasp his hand where it rests on his bent knee, clutching his fingers as if that might urge him to comply, “to accept me not as your enemy, not as someone who aspires to usurp you of your station or your commendations,” you sniffle, containing your tears as you hold his unwavering, penetrating look, “but as a friend.”

He exhales, then, breaking from your insistent eyes and staring instead at your joined hands as though he cannot bear being the target of anything other than your spite.

“You might realize we have more in common than it seems,” you whisper, leaning in to recapture his attention, “and that’s a good thing.”

His eye meets yours briefly, and he turns his palm in your hold to take your trembling fingers. When his thumb strokes over your knuckles, your breath hitches.

“Why do you insist on my approval?” he murmurs gently.

It takes you off guard, his question, but most jarring is the softness he chooses to maintain. He does not mock your offering of peace, does not take the chance to humiliate you further as you debase yourself. And you find you lack an answer despite the parting of your lips.

“Very well,” he acquiesces, sighing resolutely. “I shall grant you pardon.”

He rises before you can properly express your gratitude, and pulls on your joined hands so that you follow him.

“But only,” there is a glint in his eye you know well to be mischief, and it tugs a smile on your lips, “if you teach me how to beat you… in the dark.”

A relieved chuckle leaves you, and with it does the tension that had tightened the muscles on your shoulders.

“I’m afraid I’ve brought only my bow,” you say, wiping the wetness on your eyes when they threaten to spill over, “for the sake of stealth and secrecy.”

“Funnily enough,” he responds, a smirk widening on his face as he reaches with both hands for the back of his head, “I thought the same.”

In a swift motion, he pulls two fine daggers from his back.

You know you should deny him. From head to toe, your body begs you to lay back down and rest. You know you will regret it at sunset, but when he extends you his beautiful knife, you take it anyway.

“Seldom will you have to fight in complete darkness,” you pant, “even so, if you learn to rely on your other senses, you will have an advantage.”

You deflect each of Aemond’s strikes, a feat more difficult now that you engage in close combat. The blunt side of your daggers meet every few seconds as he quickly learns to retaliate your movements.

“Attune your ears to your opponent’s breath and steps,” you advise him, breaking his quick series of advances with a few of your own, “the reverberations of their sword - all of which will denounce their position.”

“Allow your enemy the first attack, so you may learn their patterns and anticipate their moves.”

“But above all-” you sidestep his next blow, where he expects you to meet blade for blade, to position yourself instead on his blind side. “Beware of your weaknesses.-“

He turns to keep you on his good side - dagger first, torso second - but it is too late; you duck well in advance, anticipating his reaction, and land a swift kick to the backs of his knees, causing his fall.

“For those will be their strength.”

You press the dulled steel to his neck and pin his body to the ground as you had the first time you faced one another in the training yard. And much like the last time, your noses brush when you first settle atop him, and his heated scent, spiced sandalwood made earthy with his exertion, is just as dizzying. He huffs, annoyed at being beaten yet again, but unlike the time he had lunged at you to seek revenge - and perhaps your death - the dim moonlight now reveals a toothy grin. It too traps you in a dazed state of mind and you fail to thus conclude your lesson.

“You positioned yourself on my blind side,” he concludes for you, groaning, “and used my height against myself.”

He allows you neither a response nor a reaction, for just as swift as you had been, he hooks a hand behind your knee and throws his body against yours to take over your position.

“But you forget that I am stronger,” his grin turns triumphant, devilishly triumphant, as he takes in your widened eyes, your parted lips, “and have not yet yielded.”

He holds your wrists to the ground above your head and his torso presses against yours, from his chest to his pelvis, where he kneels between your legs. Your mind has not been freed of its foggy prison despite his abrupt movement, and every point of contact between you is turned tender, hyper-sensitive to his every movement. His position of power where he towers over you, where he pins you at the same time down and against his body, for once electrifies you not with anger but with excitement… with want.

So it is a purely physical reaction when your eyesight descends to watch his flushed lips, making your own tingle with the effort it takes not to lunge and take them. Your insides coil when you go to meet his gaze once again, only to find it, too, fixed to your lips.

It is of their own accord that your eyelids flutter shut when he nudges your nose with his. His cupid’s bow is sharp when you let it pry your lips open, his bottom lip tastes salty when he lodges it between yours. And when his warm, warm tongue slides so slowly against yours, your jaw melts apart, allowing him deeper, allowing you to sink further into your hazy deliverance.

You can scantily reciprocate it - his tortuous, lustful, lewd licks. You can only let him do as he pleases. You can do nothing more than sluggishly burn and melt like molten lava, surrendering to the excruciating strokes of his honeyed, warm tongue. It licks its heat into you as if his very dragonfire is what drips from his mouth into yours, scorching your insides with desire as it descends into your most intimate parts, as they hum in delight. Its every caress is charged with a sensation so delectable your own slick muscle sits soft and still, stunned.

And you love it.

His torso presses against yours - as do his hands, his mouth, his heart. Your legs tremble as they yearn to spread for him further. And when you think you cannot bear any more of his touches, he rolls his body against yours, dragging his stiffened member against your clothed yet craving core. The lecherous movement forces a startled moan from your lips and too soon you both reel back from one another, parting just as easily as you had joined.

He looks at you wide-eyed and mouth parted as if taken aback by his own actions, though he does not take initiative to change your indecent position. His chest moves up and down in accordance with yours.

“My Prince,” you pant, “we shouldn’t-“

You cannot force the words out, for they get trapped in your throat. Your body loathes you. It aches for him madly with its every fiber and it loathes you for driving him away. But your head has finally caught up with your heart, and your Stark honor stubbornly stands its ground, even if hanging by a thread, compelling you to get a hold of your improper desires.

Aemond nods at your plea, slowly then rapidly as if amid the gesture he realizes the insanity of your activities. He helps you to your feet, and you both stand there, avoiding eye contact as dawn approaches.

“Forgive me-” he starts, but you shake your head before he can finish.

“It’s as much my fault as it is yours,” you attempt to appease him, appease the situation. “The rush of peril will do that to anyone.”

He never agrees, not as you walk back to your makeshift camp, not before he drifts off on the ground by your side.

The sun had almost made its way to the peak of its trajectory when Ser Criston relieved you of your appointed duty. You had watched it ascend over the twisted trunks attentively so that your tired eyes remained vigilant, only to fall into deep slumber the very moment it was granted. When he addressed you again, the sunlight was already scarce and you had time but for a stretch and a bite before you departed.

Once more the three of you rode fast under the light of the moon, under the shading of your hoods. As you approached the shores of Cracklaw Point, the winds gained an icy bite which you welcomed to refresh your fatigued muscles. After all, horse riding was merely the first physical adversity you would have to endure in this perilous quest.

Rowing had not been much easier, but at least your legs had gotten a chance at rest. With your wolf guarding the horses ashore, you were free to take to the ocean. The canoe your small party fitted into had been courtesy of the Master of Whispers and his muted men, hidden in the bushes with two oars. The dark waters of the Blackwater Bay shimmered in the light of the stars and, as Aemond had suggested, its waves were not nearly as vigorous as those of the open sea, permitting you a swift sail to the rocky coast ahead.

Most difficult had been securing your wooden vessel to a stony wall that would not part it in half when the waves rocked it back and forth, and climbing the menacing slope with a large bag of dusty poison strapped to your back. You had located an incline shorter than most, but its fall promised fatality all the same.

The Prince had taken the lead, his torso knotted to one end of a sturdy rope and yours to the second, to fix stepping screws and safety cords along your ascent. The motion of the sea had left you less nauseated than this uncertain, upward trek. You envied Criston, who served merely as a grounding weight for the swinging rowboat below.

“Do you see that pointed summit?” Aemond had asked when you finally reached the peak. “‘Tis a volcano. Dragons will often rest at the grassy fields by its base, where it’s warmest.”

When you offered him round, fearful eyes, he chuckled.

“During the daytime,” he added. “At night they’ll seek shelter within the ground. You’ll be safe.”

Thus he had sprinted the opposite way, splitting from you to scatter poison at the very cavernous nesting place of the winged beasts before you could question his surety.

Now, you are beyond ready to leave this somber, humid island. Nothing about it invites you to stay any longer than you absolutely must - not its howling winds, not its steep slopes, and certainly not the looming threat of untamed dragons. You surmise that is what the stronghold of the enemy is supposed to feel like - uninviting. Each second stretches by as you sit on the muddy grass, at the top of a hill, waiting for Aemond to return. You cast a silent prayer for him as your ever-treacherous mind paints pictures of him getting devoured or burnt alive deep within the somber caves of Dragonstone. The thought is one you would have embraced - and even entertained - a few days back, even if deep down you had never wished for his demise. But right now, as the damp chill of the Blackwater is windblown into your bones, you wish for nothing other than his heated touch, his dragonfire.

They don’t astound you any longer - these indecent thoughts that overwhelm you without warning - and you try no longer to escape them or deny their existence. In fact, you delight in their indulgence. You delight in reliving them. The mere remembrance of his lips on yours and his slick tongue slipping between them is enough to protect you from the humid cold.

You spot him when he is halfway up the hill, running towards you, large steps climbing quickly up the slope and braided hair catching the moonlight. You rise to your feet before he meets you.

What does it mean for you? To have admitted to these feelings? You find nothing is of certainty but your craving for him.

“Sorry it took me so long,” he pants when he finally reaches you.

He goes on to comment on the intricacy of the mazes that are the dragon caves within the hills, but you get yourself trapped in your own musings. The humidity sticks to his skin, gifting him an alluring glow, and a drop of sweat unlatches from the fine hairs that escape his coiffure. Attentively you follow it with your gaze as it rolls down his glistening skin, curving around his jaw to move down his neck.

It drives you to thirst.

You take too long to look up when he turns back to you, so when you meet his eye it dons already that vehemence you know so well.

Not a single bone in you wishes to inhibit yourself any longer. You had contained your anger before him only to have it explode monumentally. You had stifled your vilest reflections only to exploit the opportunity of physical violence the first chance given. The control over your luscious musings is fast fading. You are exhausted of all the pretense, the weight of duty and honor, the weight of repression.

“Aemond,” you plead, wishing he would simply understand.

You want to lean as he had, lodge your lips on his as he did, and commit him to taste. But you find yourself rooted to the spot, aching, as instinct fights logic, as desire fights morality. Your flesh burns with the urge to throw yourself in his embrace yet it freezes in fear of dishonor.

Against all odds your hand finds his chest, his own fingers clasp onto your elbow. When you think you can finally break through the invisible barrier that restrains your ardors, however, you spot a distinguishable glimmer of silver at the foot of the hill. Aemond turns to look for the source of your distraction.

“Daemon,” he spits.

The Rogue Prince. He approaches like a villain in a novel, stomping leisurely in the night with his Dark Sister in hand. You know him as well as the entire Realm - the proud, callous, viciously barbaric brother of the late Viserys I, now husband to the former heir.

Aemond pulls out his sharp daggers, his disposition starkly contrasting to just seconds ago when he reached for you so softly.

“Aemond,” you hiss, pulling on his arm in vain. “Let us go - we can make it to the boat in time.”

He hesitates to turn and follow you, but when he does comply, Prince Daemon recaptures his attention.

“Nephew!” he roars. “Did little Luke take your stones as well as your eye?”

You lose him in a heartbeat, to a juvenile taunt no less, as he storms down the hillside to meet his uncle. In your desperation, you take your bow to release an arrow against the older Prince, but it merely catches his shoulder. Though he grunts a curse and breaks it off at the root, it does nothing to deter him. As you raise a second arrow, the Princes meet, and you cannot assume the risk of it hitting the wrong one.

So you run.

Aimless, you dart off to where their blades viciously bounce off one another. And then, just before your very eyes, Aemond falls. As Dark Sister rises above him, glinting, you are drained of all warmth.

How would you relay to his mother you had let him perish?

There is no option, naught to do but to protect him. You don’t think as you holler at Daemon the Rogue, nor when you throw your body against his piercing blade. Though the pain of its cut steals your breath, stinging maddeningly where it opens a gruesome gash beneath your collarbones, shoulder to shoulder, you still land a hit so harsh against his jaw that you are unsure whether it breaks his face or your knuckles. You are happy to watch his head hit a rock hidden in the grass before you too hit the ground.

A guttural grunt leaves you as the pain truly registers. Even in your state of shock, its sting immobilizes your arms, its throb hammering, blinding, deafening. And wet. You are quickly drenched in your own blood. You feel it slide between your shirt and your leather tunic, drip down your sides, pool in the hollow of your throat as it gushes and gushes from within you like the mouth of a river.

“You fucking fool,” Aemond snarls above you, quick to tear his undershirt and wrap it tightly around your wound to constrict the blood loss. You have not the strength to bite back. When he notices this, his incensed demeanor turns desperate.

He carries you over to the cliff you had climbed. Tying your body to his, he makes it to the boat. How swiftly this happens, you cannot gauge. You can no longer comprehend the passage of time.

His chest on your back, his scent in your head, the lull of the sea invite you to doze. Absent-mindedly, you hear Aemond urge you to keep your eyes open. But his voice is too sweet. It too tantalizes you to welcome sleep.

And so you do.

A/N: yay, we're halfway through! I know posting this on a random Wednesday at midnight is a dumb move, but I couldn't hold it any longer...

Taglist in comments.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen fic #hotd fics #hotd fic #aemond targaryen x stark!reader #aemond fanfic #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen x reader fanfic #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen x you

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em-writes-stuff-sometimes · 1 year

Text

terms of endearment │ Daemon Targaryen x Niece!Reader

“The marriage between the second daughter of King Viserys I and his own brother, Prince Daemon, raised eyebrows upon its first announcement. Many assumed the match would echo the Rogue Prince’s unfortunate first union with the late Lady Rhea, despite his wish for a Valyrian bride being, finally, fulfilled. It surprised all who took witness to see the intensity of Daemon’s devotion to his second wife, a regard that would persist through a long and happy union between uncle and niece.”

- ‘Fire & Blood, Being a History of the Targaryen Kings of Westeros’ by Archmaester Gyldayn

The story of Prince Daemon Targaryen and his brother’s second-born daughter, as told through the many terms of endearment he calls her by.

Part I: The Princess and the Rogue Masterlist Part II: The Mother and the Warrior Masterlist

'terms of endearment' Alternate Universe blurbs

original version of gevivys (beauty)

#terms of endearment │ daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen fanfiction #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen x you #daemon targaryen x smut #daemon targaryen x oc #daemon x reader #daemon x oc #daemon x you #daemon targaryen x targaryen!reader #daemon targaryen x f!reader #targaryen!reader #f!reader #em-writes-stuff-sometimes masterlists

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pluvialpoet · 1 year

Text

ashes & embers // chapter 1

summary: forced to enter a loveless marriage- built solely upon deceit- you can’t help but wonder if lust is the only thing keeping the flame of your marriage ablaze. As the years slowly pass, you begin to question how long your union will prosper without the presence of love, and what will become of the smoldering spark of desire when it fades away to nothing more than ashes and embers?

pairing: daemon targaryen x fem!reader

warnings: canon spoilers, implied targcest, and brief mention of physical abuse

word count: 7,751

series masterlist

The silence that falls over those in attendance is overwhelming. Breaths tangle with outrage and eyes widen in fear. Anger, shock, and horror cloud the air, but not a single soul dare to utter a word. They all lack the courage to voice their apparent indignation for the man before them- the traitor whose cocky grin and unapologetic gaze taunts them to speak. While the nothingness that suffocates the room like a heavy blanket of fog causes onlookers to shift uncomfortably- waiting and waiting and waiting for the crown they answer to to speak- Daemon rejoices in their unease. Despite the years spent away, it felt like no time had passed at all- for the sheep still answer to their shepherd, and their shepherd still held the rogue in a regard so high that he could nearly reach out and steal the stars straight from the sky, thanks to the height of the pedestal he’d been placed upon.

In a mock show of good faith, he takes a knee and offers his crown to the man who presently occupies the royal seat of iron. The gesture is for show, and both of them know it. For as much that has changed in the years they’ve been apart, one thing seems to have remained the same- Daemon will never submit or surrender. He is still a wolf trapped within the same pen as the shepherd's beloved sheep, and Viserys knows that if he doesn’t separate them, there will be bloodshed.

“Leave us.”

{continue reading on ao3}

series taglist: @becauseicantthinkwritings @sadroses98 @vile-villain6661 @hc-geralt-23 @beggarsnotchoose

tagging a few angels I admire, that might be interested: @em-writes-stuff-sometimes @mypoisonedvine

Send me a message to be on the taglist!

buy me a ko-fi!

#daemon targaryen #daemon targayen imagine #daemon targaryen smut #daemon targaryen fanfic #daemon targaryen fanfiction #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen x fem!reader #daemon targaryen x you #daemon targaryen x y/n #hotd #hotd imagine #hotd smut #hotd fanfic #hotd fanfiction #house of the dragon #house of the dragon imagine #house of the dragon smut #house of the dragon fanfic #house of the dragon fanfiction

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mango-bango-bby · 1 year

Note

Hi mango!

Ok, so hear me out! Reader x dabi or shigaraki whichever you prefer (love em both). I want the reader to be deaf mute ( like nishimiya from the silent voice). Reader was their childhood friend. Both dabi and shiggy had troubled childhoods, but they liked the reader; they played together and stuff; she was very sweet, and caring and always helped them when they got hurt. And eventually they develop a little crush on her or vice versa. They even give her a gift /souvenirs which the reader holds very dear to her. Now, it's been years since the incidents that changed dabi/ shiggy's lives and one day, out of the blue, they see the reader! Reader is the same as she was before. They might even find out the reader hasn’t forgotten about toya/ tenko and still have their souvenir. How do you think they'll feel? And what are they gonna do? I would love some fluff, angst and a smidge of smut too!

I know it's a lot to ask so I wouldn’t be mad if you didn’t wanna do it! Anyways, keep up the great work!

♡ Childhood Friend ♡

(A/N: Reminder that I am not deaf nor mute so if anything I wrote was offensive or wrong,,, I’m so sorry!!! I hope you like this, choose to do Shigaraki because I barely ever see childhood friend fics with Shigaraki so I thought I would write one!! I did love writing this though, I think I might do a part two💞)

Content Warning ⚠️: Yandere, stalking, mentions of spoilers, deaf/mute reader, insecure Shigaraki :(

Summary: Shigaraki sees you, his childhood friend, after years (Yan!Shigaraki x GN!reader)

Masterlist ➸ ♡

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Tomura couldn’t lie if he said he still didn’t think about you. He wonders sometimes what you would think about what he had become. Even though he hasn’t seen you for so many years. You lived next door to him as a child. You two were around the same age so you two often played through the fences.

You would comfort him after his father would hurt him, you would comfort him when he cried. You would write that everything was going to be okay and pass the paper you wrote it on under the fence.

You would hold his hand through a gap in the fence. He even has memories of you giving him flowers through the fence which he would then hide under his bed in a collection. He remembers finding a star keychain on the side walk and giving it to you, he remembers you squealing in delight writing out that you loved it.

Tomura wonders if you know what happened that day. He wonders if you heard it, even saw it. Or perhaps it just seemed as if him and his entire family just disappeared without a trace.

He sometimes looks at himself and wonders, “What would Y/n think of you if they saw you now?” He would ask himself. Although he thought you were a simply a memory now.

That was until now though. He felt as if he couldn’t move. It couldn’t be you. Could it? It’s not impossible. Tomura continues to stare as you walk. You look the same, just grown. He remembers having a puppy crush on you as a child, her remembers blushing when you held his hands or when you smiled at him. He had to say now, seeing you now, you are absolutely gorgeous.

He continues to watch from a safe distance as not to scare you off. That’s when he sees it, that little star keychain. The one with beads, and those small plastic stars that he had given to you so long ago. It’s pretty worn because of how old it is, although it seems as if you’ve been taking good care of it. It hangs onto your bag. It seems as if you’re going to work or you’re about to go to work.

Tomura follows you into the small cafe you walk into, keeping his head down as if to not show his identity. However it was hard to see him anyways through the oversized black hoodie he wore.

He wanted to hide his identity not only because he’s a villain. But he was a little bit worried that you would recognize him. He wanted you to remember him but he almost didn’t. He was worried you’d be disappointed with who he is now or he even worries you might think he looks scary or disturbing.

He stays silent, watching you write out your order. It seems to be a regular drink for you. He smiles a bit at your drink choice. Of course you would choose something so sweet, he remembers how much you loved sweets even as a kid.

Tomura just wants to keep following you. So he does. Nothing wrong with catching up with an old friend right? He follows you home that night, seeing the apartment you live in seemingly by yourself.

He also finds your social media accounts, he stares at your photos that you’ve posted. He reads all the captions as well. He wonders if you really remember him. Maybe he needs to introduce himself to you. Or perhaps he could keep watching you for a while. Most likely the latter. For now at least.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Thank you for reading, darling!!

#yandere bnha #the angst in this post #yandere shigaraki x reader #yandere shigaraki #yandere!shigaraki #yandere tomura #yandere tomura x reader #yandere!tomura

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specialbrewbutterbeer · 2 years

Text

Back In North Island | Pt.1 (Bradshaw!Reader)

Word Count: 4241

TW: A bit of angst, a bit of fun, mentions a dead parent or two

AN: I really enjoyed writing this (to my normal followers, soz I'll be posting the normal stuff when I get back into the groove for it, but for now I'm doing this to indulge the need to write. I have a second part otw but I need some feedback and any suggestions are very welcome! (As are requests for this!)

REQUESTS (OPEN)

MASTERLIST

"I can't believe you're really still angry at him." She spoke, her dark hair falling over her face as she played with her beer mat.

"I can't believe you're dressed like that and in this bar-" He said, rolling his eyes at his sister. She was wearing a slightly cropped white ribbed vest and straight legged blue jeans, and an old scuffed up pair of chelsea boots.

"Oh shut up Brad, I'm not a teenager- and as if it's your business what I wear anyway!" She laughed and adjusted the hem of her top.

"Why are you here anyway? I thought you were-" He paused for a second. "Actually, no- I have had no idea where you've been for months?" He gave her a small shove. "Don't do that to me!"

"You always could have asked? It's not the stone age, we have this thing called a phone nowadays." She laughed at him.

"I did Sandy!" He shook his head and scowled mockingly.

"Okay- fine. I've been, I don't know-" Sandy shrugged. "Around?"

"I don't think I even wanna know." Rooster sighed and took a sip from his drink.

"Are you ever gonna get off my back?" She asked.

"No- it's my job to piss you off. What kind of big brother would I be if you didn't hate me sometimes?" He drank and looked around the bar.

"Aww- I could never hate you Brad-" She laughed and put an arm around her brother. Rooster smiled and rolled his eyes once again. "Oh- my god! So you can smile?" She laughed and roughed up his hair and he shrugged her off- they still acted like children.

"But you really do mean you're still mad?" She settled back down onto her barstool.

"Yes- he too four years off of my career that I'm never gonna get back." Rooster nodded.

"Just for that?" She tilted her head.

"Four years Sandy- that's a long time in any line of work. And for no good reason." Raised an eyebrow and motioned with his hand, frustrated.

"When was the last time you even saw him?" She asked, and got no response, Bradley just stared away from her with gritted teeth. "I haven't spoken to him since Mom's funeral. I don't think I'd know what to say anymore." She spoke.

"I never stopped you talking to him." Her brother said through his teeth.

"I know. I just- I didn't know how to bridge the gap- and I was always gonna follow your lead." She smiled.

"Let's talk about something else? Please?" He asked and turned back to her.

"Okay. Like what?" She sighed and asked.

"Like, why you're here?" He smiled.

"I don't like being in the house alone." She hesitated before she answered.

"What?" He asked like she was joking.

"I don't like being there without you, all the pictures of Mom, and Dad. It just feels like a sad place to me. It's somewhere that's filled with memories I missed out on, like it's someone else's house. But I don't wanna take em down- that just feels wrong. So if I have somewhere else to be- I will be there." She admitted, and earned a sad and sorry look from her brother. "And I'm here because I can be. I heard you were coming down here for some training, so I thought I'd pass by and say hello." She tried to perk herself up

"Right-" He nodded.

"Don't look so sorry for me- please, it makes me look all soft." She swatted her hand in the air.

"Christ- okay." He put his hands up defensively. They weren't great at the heart to heart conversations. They had been when they were closer, but they'd grown apart over the years.

"You gonna introduce me to all your friends or what?" She asked and looked over at the rest of the pilots playing pool across the bar.

"I wouldn't call all of them friends-" Rooster shook his head.

"Hi!" She hopped off of her chair and called with a sweet grin.

"Okay then-" He raised his eyebrows and followed- all too used to his little sister's energy and antics.

"If you flirt with any of these guys- I will kill you." Bradley leant down and whispered to her as they walked over.

"What about the lady? That means she's all mine then, eh?" She laughed, teasing him. He just rolled his eyes again. He thought she was funny really but he wasn't gonna let her know that.

"My, my, who do we have here?" One of them, a taller man, with dark hair and a sort of arrogance to him, asked, leaning on his pool cue.

"Hangman- everyone- this is my baby sister, Sandy." He spoke, slightly apprehensively, as though he thought he were making a mistake.

There was a ripple of hellos and such forth as hangman rounded the table and stood next to them, leaning back now on the pool table. Phoenix also stood by, as did Bob and Coyote. Names which she learned as Bradley pointed them out for her.

"You're his sister?" Hangman asked. "Neither of you was adopted?" She raised her eyebrow, with a smile and shook her head. "Cos you're much better looking than him, let me say that." Hangman laughed, and Sandy did too.

"No- exactly the same blood in our veins." She grinned and hooked her arm through her brothers, pulling him to her side. "Eh?" She laughed and looked up at him.

"She was born on our kitchen floor- she's been trouble since day one." He shrugged.

"He loves me really." She smiled, and continued to chat with the group for a while, Hangman and Coyote brought over some more drinks and she definitely got a few looks from Hangman and some of the others that her brother didn't appreciate.

She was sat chatting with Phoenix, bored with teasing her brother by being flirtatious with his male colleagues, and wanting some real conversation when her brother sat himself down beside them, waiting for his turn at the pool table again, as Coyote agonised over his shot.

Sandy turned at looked at him, perched on the arm of the chair Phoenix was sat on.

"You've really gotta lighten up-" She laughed.

"Huh?" He looked up, shaken out of his focus.

"You've got that stupid serious look on your face again-" She smiled and he looked up at her with a blank expression.

She kept her smile and stood her ground, watching his moustache twitch as he tried not to smile or laugh.

"Well- shit." He spoke slowly and let a grin form on his face. "I suppose that just won't do." He stood, leaning his cue against the table and walking off.

Sandy rolled her eyes, then looked back at Phoenix who gave her a questioning look.

"I'll show you serious, baby!" He called back in his showman's voice.

He unplugged the jukebox, and the whole bar groaned as the music faltered and stopped. But quickly, the tinkle of the piano started up.

A grin started on Sandy's face as she lead Phoenix over to the piano. She put a hand on her brother's shoulder.

"You're missing something." She spoke, mockingly, knowing the script.

"Am I?" He grinned. "Apparently I'm missing something?" He looked up at Phoenix with a cheesy grin. "Well- might you assist me, baby sister?"

It was her turn to roll her eyes, as she fought a melancholy smile and replaced it with an amused grin. She looked over his shoulder and took his sunglasses off of his shirt, where they hung, unfolded the legs and placed them on his face before patting him on the head.

"You're ready maestro, for your big performance." She stiffled a giggle as she spoke. They'd been doing this one since they were kids. But she knew the first song he always played. She slunk back as the other pilots and patrons gathered around and the first few notes started to play. She couldn't be in there with so many people and listen to it.

She slipped out the door and leant back on the frame, taking in big gulps of air as she let her smile fall.

She heard the first words come spilling from her brother's mouth, in that showy booming way they always did. He could be playful when he wanted to be. She missed that.

But this song, as much as he loved it, she hated. She was so resentful toward this song. It was a part of their dad, a man she had never known. She'd used to sing it with them, but as she grew older she felt like it was something that wasn't hers. It was her brother's and their dad's song. She never heard it from him, she never would. It was too sad and to detached from her. It felt invasive to be a part of. Like claiming something that wasn't her own.

She bit her lip and laughed as the chorus came and everyone sang along. She felt silly, standing out there alone. She sighed and let her head lean to the side. She closed her eyes for a moment and just allowed herself to breath. She didn't want to go back in with puffy eyes.

She opened them, and her heart just about stopped.

Surely not.

Was the world determined to absolutely break her tonight? Maybe.

And it was working.

There he was. Pete 'Maverick' Mitchell. Why he was anywhere near here she didn't know but he clearly was.

"Fuck- off..." She whispered under her breath, this couldn't be true.

She squinted, it was definitely him. Looking in through an open door, she followed his gaze. Bradley.

She almost called out to him but got all choked up before she could, and she watched him walk away.

She shook herself out of it and went back inside. She pushed her way through to her brother, which was difficult, the place was heaving. But she did reach him, just as the song finished with a cheer. He'd never noticed she had been furthur than a few meters from him, thankfully.

"Hey-" She leant down and put her hands on his shoulders as he laughed.

"You good?" He asked, looking back over his shoulder, immediately recognizing that his sister was a bit off. She just smiled and nodded.

"I'm good. I just gotta go- Text me when you're not busy, I promise I'll reply this time." Sandy spoke before holding his face in her hands, one on his chin and jaw and the other on his forehead, and tilting to the side, and kissing his cheek, like their Mom had always done to embarrass them in front of their friends, and now using it as her own goodbye for her brother. She ruffled his hair and laughed before retreating.

"Will do- See ya sis!" He rolled his eyes and put his thoughts back to the piano.

She made her way back outside, having grabbed her jacket and slinging it over her arm. She ran around the side of the building where she had seen Maverick head for, just in time to see his motorbike disappear over the crest of the road.

She didn't know quite what to do.

She groaned. She'd have to call in some favours.

Bradley had always hated that she got involved with pilots- mainly because they were mostly ones that he knew and flew with. But could she help it? She came to visit him sometimes, she went out to a bar and got hit on by his colleagues. She did it to annoy him sometimes, but sometimes she really did just like em. She wasn't massively interested in settling down either- so the occasional short term boyfriend, one night stand or date was ideal, especially when she was younger. She just never found anyone she liked enough to stick with, and she was fine with that, her life was fine the way it was in terms of love.

But now it was all quite handy. She asked around a little and got an address to where someone thought he might be if he were at North Island. Thankfully it was off base accomodation, for the instructors, as that's what she was guessing he was here for, so not hard to get to.

She punched the address into the Uber app and was soon stood at the end of the street.

She looked up it and spotted the motorbike. Exactly as she remembered it.

She walked up to it, and circled it, looking at all the scratches and even a sticker she had put on it as a kid. She remembered doing it, with her 'Uncle Mav' crouched down with her, a big stupid grin on his face like he always had with them as kids. She had pressed it on, with a little help to get the air bubbles out, and it had been a triumphant moment for her. Then she'd been put on his shoulders and they'd paraded around the house shouting about it.

It was just a little hello kitty sticker, but it was as well looked after as the others. Not peeling or much discolored, even after all these years.

She looked back at the house she was stood outside of. She took a step towards the door- and hesitated before stepping back again.

She paced, too nervous to go and knock. And finally just sat down on the kurb, put her head in her hands and let her jacket fall onto the floor beside her.

She sat there, her head swimming, which probably wasn't helped by the drinking she had been doing- although she was by no means drunk.

She suddenly felt a presence beside her.

"Since when did you cry, little girl?" She heard in the most comforting and familiar voice she could imagine.

She looked up and stood quickly, wiping the tears from her eyes. She just wrapped her arms around him and nearly forgot to breath.

"Hey-" He laughed. "You good?" He asked.

"No!" She pulled away. "I haven't seen you in like- fifteen years! You can't just ask me if I'm good!" She exclaimed.

"Alright-" He laughed gently and pulled her back in. "What are you crying on my doorstep for anyway?" He asked.

"I'm not crying." She mumbled.

"Can I help you anyway?" He spoke gently.

"No. I just missed you." She shook her head. "I saw you at the bar and-"

"Followed me home?" He cut in.

"No- I asked around." She laughed.

"I think that's probably more illegal-" He smiled.

"Since when did you care about legality?" She cocked an eyebrow up at him, though he wasn't much taller than her.

"That's fair." Maverick nodded. "I missed you too- but I thought you and your brother weren't talking to me?" This time he raised an eyebrow.

"He isn't. I just didn't want to make him mad- but fuck that." He spoke.

"Alright-" Mav gave a smile. "Let's walk- come on." He spoke, picking up her jacket from the floor and holding out his arm.

"So- how've you been? I can't keep an eye on you, I can't just pull your records." He laughed.

"Oh, I've been okay. Spent most of my time pissing my brother off- but we get along fine. I still live at the house- but it's weird, I don't like it there. I don't think I've spent more than a month total in it alone, in the last... Three years?" Sandy explained.

"What? Why not?" He looked confused.

"It's just kinda sad- without Mom and with all the pictures up of Dad and you and everything. It's like living in someone elses house. But I can't sell it or take anything down, that just feels wrong- and my brother would feel awful about it." She continued.

"Oh-" He nodded, understanding somewhat. "You work? Got a boyfriend? What else is going on?" He moved on.

"I work at bar back at home- have done for a few years now. No boyfriend, no husband, no kids. Still just Sandy Bradshaw." She nodded. "You really haven't missed out on much."

"I've missed out on plenty." Maverick spoke with a sort of sadness.

"What about you Mav? What have I missed out on?" She asked.

"Not much. Just been getting myself in trouble- as usual." He gave his signature smile.

"I can believe that." She nodded and gave a laugh. They walked down the street, slowly and chatted, caught up. She wasn't surprised he was still just a Capitain- if he couldn't fly he'd have no reason for living.

"What are you doing round here anyway? I know Bradley's been called back for- more training? He couldn't tell me. That got anything to do with this?" She asked.

"Uh- yeah." He nodded. "They want me to be an instructor- Narrow all those guys down to a team of six." He explained.

"Oh- Are you and Brad gonna be okay with that?" She asked, becoming serious for a moment.

"I don't know- We'll have to be." He shrugged.

"Every so often we talk about you- I always try and get him to let the past be the past- but he's stubborn." She spoke.

"We'll manage." Mav said nonchalantly- but it was very clear it was weighing on him.

"I really resent my brother sometimes, you know." She spoke after a moment of quiet. "Being round here reminds me of it. Makes me think of Dad." She suddenly spoke with a melancholy that was unusual of her.

"I wish you'd have met him." Maverick nodded and put an arm around her.

"I think my brother forgets that I didn't, that he got four years, and I got pictures. When I think of Nick 'Goose' Bradshaw, the word 'Dad' flashes up and yet- It feels like it's Bradley's Dad not mine. He has memories, Great Balls of Fire" She laughed. "He even looks like him. Our Dad barely even knew I existed-"

"But do you know how excited he was?" Mav cut her off, eager to let her know she had something, even something small. "He was crazy about you- and he didn't even know you yet." He grinned.

"Really?" She seemed surprised.

"Yeah- Here, look." He stopped and pulled out his phone. He scrolled through it and found a photograph of a photograph, which he pulled up and showed her. It was of her Mom and Dad. Her Mom with just a little bump and her Dad with his arm around her, leaning down to kiss it. 'Baby Bradshaw 2.0' was written down the side in biro, in her Dad's handwriting.

"And he was convinced you were gonna be a little girl, he was excited about that-" Maverick smiled at her. "He talked about doing all the stuff Dad's do with their daughters- said you weren't gonna be allowed a boyfriend till you were fourty five." They both laughed. "He's always with you kid. Don't worry about that. He's looking down on us, and your Mom too."

"Is Brad like him?" She asked, but continued before Mav could reply. "Cos I think Dad was probably less angry than he is. He's always smiling, in all the pictures." She looked out at their surroundings, almost nervous.

"Yeah- I think so. You are too- you laugh the same as him." Mav smiled and nudged her playfully. "But Bradley has more to be mad about I guess."

"What? You pulling his papers? Mom and Dad not being around?" She asked and Mav shrugged a little. "I'm mad about Mom and Dad too- and I'm mad at him for being mad at you!" She let out a frustrated laugh. "The best thing you ever did was pulling his application!"

"You might have to explain that-" He asked.

"I was fourteen, he was eighteen, Mom had just died. Where was I gonna go? Our grandparents? They were all too old to look after me by then. I know he wasn't thinking about that at the time- but he was leaving me out in cold if he went." She spoke with frustration.

"I would have made sure you weren't out on your own. I was never gonna let either of you go without." Mav shook his head.

"What I ended up with was four more years with my brother. And they were good years- we were as close as we ever were. You gave me that, but Brad being so mad at you, took you away. You're the closest thing I ever actually had to a dad in my life." Mav stopped and just stared at her. "I lost that when Brad stopped talking to you."

"I'm sorry- I should have tried harder to reach out to you, I didn't think-" Mav frowned and spoke entirely sincerely.

"Oh shush- I should have too." She shook her head and smiled. "He can't get that mad at me. I'm just glad I grew a pair and decided to talk again."

"So am I, kid. So am I." Mav decided to move the conversation on. "You never thought about joining up? Like your brother?"

"No- flying terrifies me!" She laughed. "It never appealed anyway-" Mav nodded.

"Right- okay." He smiled. "Kinda glad about that actually- you'd have had it tough, I've heard how the girls get treated in the academy-" Sandy bit her lip and tried not smile. "What's that look for?" He gave a confused and slight laugh.

"I wasn't totally removed from it- Uh-" She hesitated for a moment. "I've got a bit of a reputation; actually it's not much different from yours-" She laughed and hid her face for a moment.

"Oh god-" Mav looked away, apprehensive of what she was gonna say but having a good idea- he couldn't help but laugh a bit.

"You can't be mad at me for it though-"

"No- I haven't heard it yet, I won't be." He laughed, squeezing the girl a little, his arm still around her.

"I used to go visit Brad, in the academy, then at Top Gun, whenever he was in the country- and you know- I'd go out to a bar or two, and maybe there were a few pilots about..."

"Sandy-" Mav shook his head.

"What was I supposed to do? Say no when a guy hit on me? Just because they were a pilot? And they knew my brother?" She laughed. "Besides, it pissed Bradley off and I enjoyed myself. Never did any harm! Well, apart from-" she stopped.

"What?" Mav asked.

"I think I should stop talking now- I don't like that look." She grinned as Maverick looked more apprehensive than he ever had.

"What look? This is just what I look like!" They both laughed. "Finish the sentence-"

"They started calling me 'Bunny'." She rolled her eyes and hesitated but eventually said.

"Like...?" Mav asked hoping it wasn't going to be the explanation it most likely was going to be.

"Like Playboy-" She laughed.

"Okay- now I'm mad- on behalf of your Dad and Brother- I'm mad." Mav shook his head and kinda laughed.

"I thought it was funny at the time- but I look back on it now and wish I'd not let them call me that- I don't regret the rest of it though." She laughed and Mav shook his head.

"No wonder Bradley was pissed off-" He spoke.

"Yeah, but you, of all people, cannot be mad at me." She looked up at him.

"Yeah- alright, that's fair." He reasoned.

"I've heard way more than I ever wanted to about you." She laughed and scrunched up her nose.

"Yeah- sorry about that." Mav laughed at her reaction.

"But- yeah, I was young and dumb and having plenty of fun. Done more than my fair share of sneaking out of windows." She grinned. "I am still young, dumb and having fun-"

"If any of my pilots get their hands on you- I will be sending them on an exercise that they won't be coming back from." He said, too seriously.

"Oh my god- You and Brad are too much of the same-" She laughed heartily.

"It's getting late- you got somewhere to stay?" He asked, looking around as the sun was sinking well below the horizon.

"Yeah- for the couple nights- then I'm supposed to be heading home." She nodded.

"You good to get there?" She nodded again.

"I'll grab an Uber."

"Right- I'll wait with you till it gets here-" He spoke and she started tapping in the details into her phone.

"Mav?" She asked, looking up when she was done.

"Yeah?" He spoke gently.

"I still want you in my life. I've only got you and Bradley- I'm glad I came and found you today, but, I don't want this to be it." She explained.

"Here, give me your phone." He spoke and she handed it over. He typed a few things in and handed it back.

"That's my phone number, you message me whenever you want- if you ever need anything or just to talk- whatever- Alright?" He asked. She nodded and engulfed him in a big hug.

"Thank you." She bit her cheek to stop herself tearing up, again. Soon her Uber was coming along the street. She waved goodbye and jumped in, though she didn't want to.

She looked down at her phone screen-

He'd named himself 'Uncle Mav' in her phone.

#nick bradshaw #nick goose bradshaw #bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster #goose #top gun maverick #topgun #top gun #pete maverick mitchell #pete mitchell #maverick #fic #Bradshaw!reader #sister!reader

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sanjisblackasswife · 1 year

Text

You can Support Me on Kofi!

Patreon for the Adult Art

Hey look! It’s a

Masterlist

Read Below the Cut Before Proceeding!

Small Intro IG: Im 23. I’m a Female and I’m Straight. Hello.

I write NSFW & SFW content and have them labeled on the title !

I will not write: Piss play, rape, incest, furry stuff, Alpha/Omega verse, and will ABSOLUTELY NOT write anything that disrespects God/other religions

Please only use my ask box for request or genuine questions

I don’t do emergency request

I will write for other fandoms besides One Piece! An example (but not limited to): Jujustu Kaisen, Naruto, Fire Force, Gangsta, etc

I mostly write for POC/Black Fem Readers but it’s not limited most of the time. Any girl can read. Sometimes I’ll put “Black Fem Reader in Mind”

If you request something please give me time :( I can only write so much in a day.

I hate like 99% of ships people have made in all fandoms so please don’t tell me yours, and if you ask me opinions on them I will be brutally honest with it.

I don’t Write nsfw pertaining more than 2 people

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I also don’t gaf if you don’t agree with my HC…I just…bro go write em yourself I’m not writing these for you.

Please don’t trauma dump on me…just don’t I’m not a therapist.

If you want something specific BE SPECIFIC

I don’t really care for dark content(?) I’m not really sure what it is exactly it is (because I’m stupid) so if your request dark content lmk and if I feel uncomfortable with it lmk lol

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If your share repost/blog my writing please give credit!

I really only write female x male NSFW. (I will however write fxf or mxm platonically) That’s just personal preference and what I feel best writing :) please respect that decision.

I don’t do character x character writing unless it’s canon (…or if it’s eren and Mikasa i—)

I do NOT age up characters for nsfw writing. If they’re not canonically already an adult or have a pre timeskip I’m not doing that. I’ll do SFW ones though!

I do have to right to not write for a character I just simply don’t like so don’t get mad if I don’t.

Remember: this is mf FAN FICTION no writing. Just a bunch of ideas I have in my weird head so if u don’t like or agree with it dip.

I’ll keep this rule list updated when I can if new stuff comes up. I’m relatively new on here so bare with me :(

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morallyinept · 1 month

Text

A full transcribe of JAVIER PEÑA'S dialogue/lines from the TV show NARCOS.

S1/E4 - THE PALACE IN FLAMES

Includes full dialogue, and dialogue from any deleted/additional scenes available.

I've created this as a point of reference when writing for Pedro's characters, and I hope you find it useful. Even if you just want to read the dialogue. 🖤

FULL MASTERLIST OF PEDRO CHARACTERS DIALOGUE

FULL SCRIPT DIALOGUE:

Murphy, join the party, huh?

What’s wrong?

You gotta let it go, man. There’s good that came out of this.

No, we didn’t kill him… Escobar did. And now we get to go after that motherfucker. Look on the brightside, huh?

__________________

Our government will provide money, men, weapons-

Let me take care of that.

__________________

All due respect, but Colombian cocaine has killed more Americans than Soviet Troops.

__________________

Yeah, it’s a fucking joke.

The CNP has zero chance of capturing him with that bullshit.

Use what little we got to try and even the odds.

__________________

(In Spanish) Thank you for seeing me, General.

(In Spanish) With all due respect, General Jaramillo, I propose Horacio Carrillo.

(In Spanish) Well, I don’t want him to follow. I want him to lead. Go ahead.

__________________

I fucked up.

No, Jaramillo’s sending a message. He’s telling me I got his price wrong. He’s setting Carillo up for failure, and when he does fail, he’ll fire him for incompetence, and me and you, we lose the only cop we can trust.

Nice to meet you.

No, actually, I’m CIA. But that’s classified, so don’t tell anybody. I’m here to hunt communists and prevent a Marxist invasion from Cuba. The janitor thing, what, that was you?

No, it’s just a cover.

Mm-hm.

Perfect.

__________________

The only way to surprise him is an aerial assault.

Just remember that you wanted all in.

__________________

Fuck.

Jaramillo’s running the show. He’s pissed we only gave him a hundred grand. He’s not letting us make any copies of anything.

None of it can leave the room.

Ellis McPickle?

Take ‘em.

Just stuff ‘em down your pants.

Do you want to catch Pablo or not?

Because they’ll suspect me. They won’t suspect you.

They’re not gonna search a white boy, okay? You’re a guest in their country.

Just do it.

Sometimes you gotta do bad things to catch bad people.

__________________

(In Spanish) These are from the narcos’ accounts in Miami. A cashier’s check payable to Ellis McPickle.

(In Spanish) Obviously, it’s an alias. No Colombian would go by the name “Ellis McPickle.”

(In Spanish) A gringo?

(In Spanish) What’s his name?

(In Spanish) Suárez, do you ever worry what will happen to you if Pablo finds out that you work both sides?

(In Spanish) Yeah? Then prove it. What else can you tell me about McPickle?

__________________

A friend of mine told me about this place, I’ve never been here before. You know I’m serious.

Oh my God, that’s Freckles. I know her.

Or should we say McPickle?

(In Spanish) Hi Vanessa.

__________________

Have a seat, Barry.

You seem awful relaxed for someone who’s facing life in the clink.

Yeah, according to the records, you made stops in Cuba and Nicaragua.

An ex-CIA man making stops in communist countries with or without cocaine, that would be considered treason by the US Justice Department, wouldn’t it?

Using Cuba and Nicaragua as refuelling stops for coke shipments, that’s treason and trafficking.

That’s right.

Yeah? What’s that?

__________________

Holy shit.

Wati, wait, wait. No. This leaks wide and Barry Seal is a dead man. We gotta be careful.

I have a code of ethics when it comes to informants.

You know, I wouldn’t judge Carillo.

You had a partner killed. He’s had a dozen.

__________________

Motherfucker! I told you we had to be careful. You got Barry Seal killed.

You’re responsible for his death, asshole.

__________________

(In Spanish) There’s no way out, Carlitos. You're going to Disneyland.

__________________

I am. Well, what have we here?

__________________

Well, come on in.

Put the gun away. Put it away. She told me who she is. Put the gun away.

Murphy… calm down.

Your wife brought her to me.

Because she can prove that Pablo was behind the palace siege.

__________________

Well, she’s M-19. Noonan would have to turn her over to the Colombian military and then she gets disappeared. I’d like to avoid another Barry Seal situation.

Look, all she did was warn us. She’s not on anybody’s radar. She’s not involved in anything.

__________________

Was it a coincidence the extradition evidence against him was destroyed?

We have a confidential informant.

No, I am not.

__________________

FULL MASTERLIST OF PEDRO CHARACTERS DIALOGUE

#pedro pascal #javier peña #javier pena #pedro pascal characters #javier pena narcos #javier pena dialogue #pedro pascal character dialogue

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ewanmitchellcrumbs · 1 year

Note

Can I confess something? Ugh, but I fucking love Aemond x Vhagar. Would die if you wrote some Vhagond smut.

You got it, dude.

How to Bang Your Dragon

Paring: Aemond x Vhagar Warnings: Smut, bestiality. Word count: ~1500

DISCLAIMER: This fic is intended as a joke between the author and their mutuals. This is in no way intended to be taken seriously. It will not be added to my masterlist or cross posted to A03. The author in no way condones bestiality. If you are easily offended, please do not click 'read more'.

Credit to @em-writes-stuff-sometimes for sending in this horrifying request. Artwork credit to the insanely talented and unhinged @osferthsbussy

Aemond had always been drawn to dragons. Throughout his childhood he’d longed for one, bitter at the fact that the egg placed in his cradle when he was born had never hatched. He was seemingly unable to bond with any of the unclaimed beasts that resided within the Dragonpit. He looked on in envy as his brother, Aegon, rode Sunfyre. Even his moonstruck sister, Helaena, had Dreamfyre.

It enraged Aemond that his bastard nephews Jacaerys and Lucerys had Vermax and Arrax. They weren’t even of pure Valyrian blood - how was it possible that their hatchlings had accepted them so readily? Little Joffrey’s egg had hatched too, giving him Tyraxes. Aemond lamented the unfairness of it all. It did not seem right that a Targaryen prince should be denied the simple pleasure of dragon riding.

Dragons fascinated him in a way that he could never quite put his finger on. To all those around him, his behaviour seemed obsessive. His brother and nephews even went as far as to play a cruel prank on him by leading him to the Dragonpit under the premise of having found him a dragon of his own, only to then present him with a pig. Still, this did not deter his ambition. He set about learning everything there was to know about these majestic creatures. He read every book that the Red Keep’s library had to offer and even asked the maesters to acquire more from Old Town once he’d exhausted what was immediately available to him.

The night following Laena Velaryon’s death is a night that will remain as his fondest memory. The vision of Vhagar flying high above Dragonstone, now riderless, had taken his breath away. As he’d watched her land on a nearby cliff edge, it was as if something he was powerless to resist drew him to her.

He’d been fearful on first approach; Vhagar was the largest dragon in the world, and she could end his life with a single snap of her jaws. However, when she didn’t balk at his approach, his confidence blossomed. A peculiar sensation he’d never experienced before had spread throughout his body, aiding his next actions.

“Vhagar, lykirī!” he’d commanded, ordering the gargantuan reptile before him to be calm as she rumbled a growl at him. “Dohaerās, Vhagar!” he’d shouted to be heard, ordering her to obey him.

His skin had broken out into gooseflesh upon first touching the rough scales of her expansive back. He was propelled by excitement as he’d scaled the enormity of her, before finally settling into her saddle. His heart was racing so hard he feared it may burst from his chest. However, a death on dragonback would be a worthwhile one.

“Sōvēs,” Aemond ordered, causing Vhagar to beat her enormous wings, taking to the air. She was now his and nothing would change that. He felt unstoppable. He felt a kinship with Vhagar that he’d never experienced with anyone else.

“Sesīr kipi!” he’d urged her forward, whooping and laughing as she’d soared through the clouds. He had never experienced exhilaration like it. Finally, he was a dragonrider - and not just any dragonrider. He had the most powerful dragon in the world.

The price he’d paid for her that night had been costly, but it mattered not to Aemond. He may have lost an eye, but he’d gained his soulmate. He’d gladly give up any number of appendages if it meant he got to keep his beloved Vhagar.

The day of his thirteenth name day, Aegon had taken Aemond to a pleasure house in the Silk Streets.

“Time to get it wet,” Aegon had smirked.

Aemond had been horrified, but went along with it anyway, he felt pressured and did not want to add to the long list of things that Aegon already teased him for.

However, as the whore above him had moaned and rolled her hips, Aemond had laid there motionless. He did not feel anything. Surely this was not normal? He should feel pleasure.

It was then the realisation hit him. The only time he’d ever felt what he was supposed to be feeling in this moment was when he was with Vhagar.

Aemond felt mortified by this fact. Such feelings for a being that was not human were an abomination. He had buried those feelings deep, ignoring the flutter in his chest and the swelling between his legs whenever he was in his dragon’s presence.

As the years passed and temptation grew harder to resist, Aemond reasoned that Vhagar must feel the same way for him. Surely there must have been a reason she’d allowed a mere boy to claim her? She was the largest dragon in the world and had carried the infamous Visenya Targaryen upon her back. There was no way she would have allowed him to claim her if the attraction was not mutual.

The first time that Aemond had tried to couple with Vhagar had been unsuccessful. She’d roared in protest, almost crushing him underfoot.

He’d left her, knowing he’d done something wrong. He revisited his research in the library, focusing specifically on dragon anatomy and was determined that, if he were to try again, he would be prepared.

Which brings him to the present moment. He stands beneath Vhagar, his stiff cock in his hand and a pail of oil at his feet. The kitchen staff had given him an odd look when he’d asked for so much, but thankfully his status had allowed him to forego too many prodding questions.

“Rȳbās,” he says gently to Vhagar, dipping the hand not holding his prick into the oil and beginning to massage her cloaca.

He knows from having read about dragon anatomy that this is the chamber into which the intestinal, urinary, and genital tracts open. It will not open without stimulation if he is to have access to the part he desires most.

As he continues to rub at Vhagar, she rumbles in approval, the vent opening and allowing Aemond’s questing hand inside.

He pumps lazily at his cock at the sensation of how cold and wet she feels. So different to that of a human female cunny, yet so much more appealing.

When Aemond feels he has provided enough attention to the area, he grips the underside of Vhagar, hauling himself up so that he is suspended upside down, holding onto her underside with both hands and feet and slides himself home.

He grunts as his aching member is swallowed whole by the enormity of the opening. He has to thrust wildly to gain any sort of friction and yet the sensation is absolutely divine. He has never known ecstasy like it.

It is only when Vhagar elicits an angry snort that he remembers that this experience should be for her pleasure too. Aemond knows that there is a bundle of nerves at the apex of a woman’s sex which allows for her to feel exquisite sexual pleasure. He has learned from his extensive research that dragons possess two of these.

He swivels his hips from side to side as he continues to thrust, with the aim to try and hit both, wanting Vhagar to feel every bit as good as he does.

“Māzīs,” he coos to her, his thrusts becoming sloppy as he nears his own end.

He gasps, dropping down to the floor when he hears the tittering laugh of his brother, Aegon.

“I knew it!” Aegon gloats, a smirk on his face that suggests he finds the entire situation entertaining.

Aemond says nothing, staring angrily at Aegon for ruining his orgasm. He stuffs his oily cock back into his breeches.

“Jace and I always used to joke that you loved dragons so much because you wanted to fuck one,” Aegons says with a smirk. “Now I know it was not a joke. Who’s the depraved one now, brother?”

“Shut up!” Aemond hisses. “You would not understand… What Vhagar and I have is beyond the realm of human comprehension. This is what true love is!”

“You are deluded,” Aegon scoffs. “And I cannot wait to tell mother all about her favourite son’s adventures with his dear old dragon. Perhaps I will no longer seem so bad.”

Aemond stares in horror as Aegon walks away. Alicent cannot know of what he has done; she would put a stop to it. She’d never allow him to be with Vhagar.

Panic stricken, Aemond knows he must escape if his relationship with his beloved is to continue.

Hastily, he mounts Vhagar - this time on her back - and gives the command to fly. They do not descend until they have reached a land that is far out of reach from the interference of his family.

There he is able to finish what he started. His orgasm is earth shattering as he spends inside of Vhagar with a loud groan. Though he knows it is an impossibility for him to impregnate her, he cannot help but think she would hatch him the most beautiful dragon-children.

As Aemond drifts off into a satisfied slumber, lulled by the feeling of his dragon’s hardened skin against his cheek, he cannot help but think that if their love is wrong, then he never wants to be right.

#aemond targaryen #house of the dragon

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