#mentone house | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

chilling-seavey · 1 month

Text

Blue Moon Motel (gr63)

↳ A/N I can't thank you all enough for your lovely words on my first piece of George writing I posted here. Your welcome into the F1 side of Tumblr has been so incredibly kind. Please take this heartbreaking story as my thank you <3

↳ Inspired By Blue Moon Motel by Nicole Dollanganger

↳ Summary: George has decided that his affair with you needs to end but he takes you out for one last night before saying goodbye.

↳ Pairings: George Russell x Fem!Reader (NO use of y/n)

↳ Word Count: 8.0k

↳ Warnings: 18+, smut, cheating (George is having an ongoing affair with the reader, gf is unnamed), use of explicit language, fucking without feelings (or so they think), oral (f receiving), choking, spanking, some biting, hair pulling, use of derogatory names (slut etc.), unprotected sex

G: Booked a hotel room tonight. You free?

Your favourite kind of text. You knew well what he was asking for and you lifted your phone from your desk to answer;

-Always free for you and I wanted to talk to you about something anyway. Time and place?

G: I need to talk to you too...and I need to fuck you. 7pm. Blue Moon Motel. I’ll wait for you in the lobby?

-Sounds good. See you then ;)

It wasn’t uncommon for George to book rooms when he needed you and couldn’t get the house to himself. He always booked mid-range where the rooms were nice but the place wasn’t expensive, something located farther out of Monaco and towards Menton in the south of France so chances of getting caught by paparazzi was slimmer. He couldn’t take any chances when you weren’t his girlfriend. The world didn’t know her yet but she didn’t know you and that would have been the main issue if he was caught by the press sneaking you into a five star hotel.

Regardless, you dressed in your best lingerie and a short dress overtop before calling a cab to the motel. It was a hot day in the south of France and the evening didn’t do much to lessen the humidity, the moment you stepped out of the cab you felt your skin flush under the heat. George was waiting in the lobby as promised, identity hidden behind sunglasses and a casual outfit, and he stood up when he saw you. He glanced around as you approached each other to make sure no one was paying much attention before leaning in to kiss you quickly.

“You look great.” he complimented quietly before taking your hand.

“So do you.” you smiled softly, letting him lead you towards the elevators as he tucked his sunglasses in the collar of his shirt.

George seemed more nervous than normal and you watched as he eyed the numbers on the elevator ticking up to your floor, his hand still snug in yours and his weight shifting from side to side ever so slightly.

“What’s up?” you asked, tugging on his hand to bring his attention to you.

He glanced at you with surprised blue eyes but shrugged as the elevator doors slid open, “Nothing.”

“You said you wanted to talk about something in your text.” you stated as he pulled you down the hallway to the room.

George stopped outside a door and swiped the key before glancing back at you, “Fucking first. Talking after.”

You couldn’t get a rebuttal out before he was sweeping you right off your feet and into his arms like a bride. You shrieked in surprise but tossed your arms around his shoulders and kissed his jaw through your excited giggles as he carried you into the hotel room.

“What a gentleman.” you whispered against his cheek.

“Only the best for you.” George gushed, finding your lips with his as he kicked the door closed behind the two of you.

He gently let you slip from his arms onto the ground of the small hotel room foyer, your feet landing silently on the carpet as your lips lingered on each others and you swallowed him up in your arms. George’s arms slid around your waist and pulled you impossibly closer by your waist until you were pressed flush up against him. You could feel the bulge in his jeans against your body and you tangled your hand in the back of his hair to pull his lips off of yours for a moment. His eyes lingered on yours, pupils already dilated and soft breaths falling from pink lips. The way he looked at you could make your knees weak and you scratched your fingers through the back of his hair for a moment.

“Have you been hard all day?”

George groaned lightly at your bluntness, licking his lips as he stared at you, “Most of the day.”

“And thinking of me?”

“Yeah.” George bit back a little smirk, his hands sliding from your hips to your ass and he grabbed two snug handfuls.

You brushed your nose against his and let your lips connect again, lingering there a moment before you both inhaled sharply and tilted your heads to turn it deeper. His fingers inched up the hem of your short dress as his lips distracted themselves with yours and when your dress was up around your waist, he slapped his hand down hard against your bare ass.

You tugged at his hair to strengthen your kiss and his tongue swiped over your bottom lip, shooting shivers down your spine. You opened up for him and his tongue pushed its way into your mouth as he backed you up against the doorway to the bathroom. Your hands dragged down his chest and worked to blindly unbutton his shirt quickly as he slid a hand between your legs. His fingers made you shiver under his touch, gasping out of your kiss as his lips moved down your neck and his fingers drew slow stripes over your panties.

“Have you been wet all day?” George taunted against your ear, pushing your question back at you.

“Just about.” you laughed lightly, dragging your hands down his abs.

“Wanna shower with me?” he asked, his eyes focusing on your lips in your close proximity, sliding his hands around your waist to pull you right up against his jeans.

Your hands teased the hem of his pants, “Of course.”

George shrugged off his shirt and tossed it to the floor before his hand found its way around your throat and pulled your mouth back onto his. Your hands memorized his body, over his shoulders and arms and bare chest, finally returning to his jeans to pop the button and slide your hand down the front.

George moaned into your kiss, moulding his tongue against yours as he kept you pressed up against the doorframe and you palmed him strongly down his pants. His hands shimmied up your dress and lifted it over your head to drop to the floor before returning your mouth to his hungry kisses. The quiet hotel room filled with the sound of your sloppy kisses and you grabbed him by the back of his neck and pulled him after you into the bathroom.

George’s large hands soaked up your body in the black lace, lingering at your chest before sliding over your hips and ass, breathing into your mouth, “Christ, you’re so fucking sexy.”

You bit at his bottom lip, urging a moan from him while you shoved his jeans down his legs and he kicked his shoes off and then his jeans followed, tossed back out into the hotel room foyer. Your kisses were turning feverous, desperation growing as clothes were stripped and passion increasing with the fiery touch of hands on skin. George’s lips moved down your neck and his right hand pushed down the front of your underwear. It was only then that you noticed the bracelet missing from his wrist. The bracelet that matched his girlfriend’s.

“Where’s your bracelet?” you asked quietly, watching him kiss at your neck through the mirror.

His fingers kept up slow stripes over your cunt as his face lifted from your neck and his eyes found yours, “I’m yours tonight. No one else’s.”

Your heart skipped a beat and you pulled his lips back on yours with a feverous desire that made him chuckle lightly. His fingers worked a bit faster between your legs, finally rubbing lazily at your clit until you were grinding onto his hand.

“I need you.” you breathed into his mouth, pulling lightly at his hair to keep his lips on yours. “Please, sir.”

A soft groan came from George’s throat and he yanked your panties down your thighs.

“Strip.” he ordered.

You did as told while he turned on the shower and set it to a comfortable temperature, turning back to you only to find you naked and waiting. Your hands were on your chest, tweaking at your hardening nipples, and George smacked your hands away.

“Lemmy see your pretty tits.”

You bit your lip at his vulgarity, always liking to see how filthy his usual polite and gentlemanly demeanor could turn. His hands were on you in an instant, forcing you to lean back against the bathroom counter as his mouth found your left breast first, tonguing at your nipple before sucking at it for a moment and doing the same to the opposite one. The tent in his boxers was massive and you played with the thick shape of his dick through the fabric ever so gently as he licked back up your neck and nipped at your earlobe.

“Feel how fucking hard you make me, baby?” George whispered. “Just need to fuck you so bad.”

“So do it.” you taunted.

“In the shower, pretty little whore. Gonna show you what I’ve been thinking about all day.”

He left you with a spank as you slunk past him and helped yourself to the warm shower. You held your head back under the stream of water and soaked yourself up as George watched for a moment from in front of the counter. He dropped his underwear and you gave him a little show as he stroked himself off a little, his eyes lingering on the water cascading down your bare body and over every curve. You let your hands trail your figure until he was stepping in behind you and taking your place.

“Little slut…putting on a show for me, huh?” George breathed against your ear as his hands rubbed over your hips. You could feel his dick pressed up against your ass and you pushed back on him impatiently.

He adjusted the stream of water, soaking both of you, before shifting it to the side again and ran a hand over his wet hair. He bent you forward and you set your hands flat against the tile wall, ass out and back slightly arched, and he slapped his hand down against your flesh. You gasped lightly, the water on your skin only increasing the sound of his spanks as he did it again.

“Fuck me.” you choked out. “Please just fuck me, sir.”

George shuffled up behind you and you spread your feet slightly to give him room to tuck himself between your legs. The feeling of his dick grazing over your folds had you fluttering and he could feel it, his hand sliding up your spine to tangle in your hair as his other slowly pushed himself inside you.

Your mouth dropped open as the stretch, easing back on him so he bottomed out quicker, and your eyes fell shut as he filled you completely. George groaned lowly, gripping your wet hair in one hand and your hip in the other, focusing on the limited space between you and how he fit inside you so perfectly.

He stayed still for a moment as if to compose himself but you started fucking yourself back onto him, rocking forward and back in messy motions to get him going, only making yourself moan desperately.

George slapped his hand down against your ass, “Yeah. That’s my girl.”

His praise made you flush pink and you groaned excitedly as he yanked at your hair and shoved right into you. You gasped, grabbing onto the shower wall the best you could as he started thrusting into you, giving you everything before pulling out almost all the way and then moving back in.

“Oh my God.” you breathed, “Shit...you’re so fucking big-”

“Yeah?” George chuckled against your neck, keeping up his strong steady thrusts, “Where do you feel me?”

“So deep.” you groaned softly.

“Yeah?” George tightened his grip in your hair and picked up speed, shoving into you a bit faster.

“Oh God.” you cried, hands streaking down the shower wall as he fucked you harder and you couldn’t help but push back on him in time with his motions.

“Good girl.” George spanked you again before grabbing a handful of your ass and made sure you were pulled open so he could fit in as deep as he could go. The warm water only increased the sound of his skin slapping against yours, his hands holding you in place so he could fuck you how he wanted and you shoved back on him each time. “God, you’re such a fucking slut.”

“George-” you cried out as he slid his hand around the front of your neck and then really started going to town, shoving into you roughly until you were falling silent.

“Good girl.” he growled against your ear. “Take it. Fucking take it.”

You squealed softly, hands squeaking against the tile wall in your desperate attempt to keep yourself steady, “Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah-”

His fingers pushed their way into your mouth to keep you quiet and you moaned around them, eyes falling shut as he had his way with you and was nearly choking you with his two fingers. But he slowed down almost just as quickly, making you whine around his fingers as he went back to strong deep thrusts that pushed you to slump forward against the shower wall again. His hand slid down your neck and grabbed your breast in his palm before finding your hip.

“I love this fucking pussy.” George breathed, bending over you to kiss between your shoulder blades as he thrusted into you slowly but strongly, guiding your hips with his hands. His eyes dropped between you to watch as he pushed inside you and rolled your hips back onto him each time, creating a perfect rhythm with your wet bodies. He gripped the flesh of your hip so tightly you were sure he was going to leave bruises, fingers pressing into your skin as he tugged you back on his dick again and again.

He stretched you out so well and it always managed to take your breath away no matter how many times you had snuck off together. The warm water only added to the sensations, slicking you up so as he sped up the small hotel bathroom was filling with the steady slap of his skin on yours. Faster, faster, faster, George’s hands gripped tighter to your waist and you could only bend over more for him, slumping against the wall as he shoved deep inside you again and again until all you could do was take it.

“Please.” you sobbed, “Please don’t stop!”

“You wanna cum, baby girl?” George breathed, his words almost muffled by the shower and the wet clapping of his skin on yours.

“Yessir.” you whimpered.

“Yeah?” he taunted through his teeth, “You think you deserve to cum? Beg.”

“Please, please, please make me cum.” you cried, tears brimming in your eyes at the overwhelm.

His left hand gathered your wrists under his grasp and pinned your hands to the shower wall as his right kept you close so he could keep pounding into you. The restraint of it all had you whining loudly, head tilting back until the stream from the shower hit your chest and he spanked you hard.

“Please, sir!” you nearly shrieked, feeling your stomach ache with need. “Please, I wanna cum for you!”

“You’re gonna cum when I tell you.” George ordered.

“Yeah.” you whined in tired agreement, already starting to feel your muscles clenching around him in desperation.

“Good girl.” George fucked into you harder, letting his teeth find your shoulder as he chased his orgasm and his hand that had been holding yours against the wall found your hair again and gave it a good yank.

You cried out, welcoming his lips on your neck as he groaned against your flushed skin and your legs were starting to tremble. You bit down on your bottom lip, fucking yourself back on him as you tried to hold yourself back the best you could until he gave you permission. It was one of the things he liked best about you; you always listened. It's what you were there for, after all; to give him what he wanted.

“Ready, baby girl?” George whispered against your ear. “Cum with me.”

“Yes. Come inside me.” you begged shakily, desperate to finish him off, “Please, sir. Please, I want it.”

“That’s my girl. Listen to you fucking beg. Ready?” George panted as he let go of your hair and gripped your hips and fucked you harder and rougher as his groans moulded into pitchy moans and you could feel him twitching inside you. “Now. Cum.”

In seconds, with one more rough tug of your body back onto him, he came deep inside you, grunting lowly against your skin and digging his nails down into your flesh.

“Oh God…” you whined breathily, squealing in overwhelm as you came with him, vision blurring around the edges as he shot pleasure through every nerve in your body. You could only sob out a few more “yeses” through it, pulsing down around him as he gave you a few lazy thrusts through his heavy breaths and small groans.

He kept his hands on your hips as he pulled out slowly, watching the thick white cream drip filthily out of you and onto the shower floor to be washed away by the water. He smacked his hand down on your ass before sliding a hand between your legs to finger the rest of his cum back inside you, making sure to graze his thumb over your clit to make you flinch.

“That’s my good girl.” George praised, his voice drowned out by the water but he gently pulled you from the wall so your back was pressed up to his chest. He rested your head back against his shoulder so he could look at your face as your wet chest heaved with breathlessness.

Your eyes lingered on his features, how the water cascaded down his cheeks and soaked his hair over his forehead…you could have stayed there forever with his arms around your waist and his body pressed up to yours. His lips found your jaw and left a soft kiss there before focusing back on your face and let a little smirk tug at his mouth.

“Your makeup is ruined.” he whispered.

“Mm…whose fault is that?” you laughed lightly.

“Yours. For begging for it.” George teased.

He slid his hands into yours and you laced your fingers together, letting the water run over the both of you for a moment as he held you against his chest and left kisses over your neck. After a moment he turned you around to face him and he wiped the streaked mascara from your cheeks and under your eyes and brushed your wet hair from your face. You couldn’t help but notice how his eyes lingered on you, taking in your face and your body like you were unfamiliar to him, his large hands not leaving your skin for long if at all.

“We can’t see each other anymore.”

The words he spoke were gentle in tone but felt like they were physically stabbed right through your lungs. Your eyebrows furrowed a moment as you stared at him and his downcast gaze, your hands resting haphazardly against his chest.

“What?” you breathed out.

George sighed and reached behind you to turn off the shower and he grabbed a towel from the rack to wrap around your shoulders before he explained himself, “I just…don’t think that this is fair to anyone anymore.”

“It was never fair to anyone...George...what-” you took a moment to try and gather your thoughts, “What is making you say this? Does she know about us?”

“No. No, she doesn’t.”

“Then what?” you shivered slightly under his hazy gaze and the water that was drying over your bare skin. He didn’t answer for a moment so you added a, “Huh?”

“Baby,” George sighed, reaching to rub the towel over your arms to warm you up.

“Don’t ‘baby’ me.” you spoke softly, voice quivering, as you stepped out of the shower and onto the bathmat over the floor.

George followed and you glanced at his reflection through the mirror as you dried yourself off and gave a few extra swipes between your legs, mopping up the warm cum that was still slowly dripping out of you. George trailed his hand down your spine as he grabbed a second towel for himself, “I really like being with you.”

You didn’t answer him, simply dried yourself off beside him in silence.

“I just…we can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep this a secret any longer…not with Alex and Lando and whoever else knowing now…and we’re getting far too risky…”

You wrapped the towel around your body and faced him with a flat expression, “So what the fuck is this? This hotel room? Fucking me raw in the shower?”

“I wanted to make our last night special.” George shrugged, tracing your collarbones with his hand. The hand that was missing the bracelet. “Because I know you have feelings for-“

“Stop. Don’t.” you cut him off. “Don’t say that shit.”

George stayed quiet for a moment.

So did you.

“Let me give you one night.” he finally whispered. “One night where I’m yours. Only yours. I don’t want to end like this…in an argument…we deserve better after these last few months.”

You just stared to the side, trying to keep the tears from spilling; not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing he was breaking your heart.

George’s hand slid up the side of your neck and took your chin in his grasp to turn you to face him. “Look at me.” he spoke gently.

You slowly raised your eyes to his. He was standing so closely you could almost feel his warm breath on your cheek and his lashes brushed over your cheek. His lips ghosted yours and you habitually let yours linger on his in a feather soft hesitant kiss. The hotel room was silent as his lips shifted smoother onto yours, capturing them in an ever so gentle kiss that made butterflies flutter in your stomach. George’s hand on your chin guided you through another faint kiss as if testing the waters and you couldn’t help but give into him. You always gave into him.

Your hands slid up his bare chest and around his shoulders, welcoming his slow passionate kisses as his tongue found its way into your mouth. George moved slowly, grabbing the towel that was wrapped around you and pulled it from your body and onto the floor. With his hands on your bare skin, the fire of his touch was back in full force and you couldn’t help but shuffle closer to him.

George nipped teasingly at your bottom lip between kisses as his large hands slid down your back and to your ass and finally to your thighs. He crouched down just enough to lift you right up off the ground and into his arms all without breaking your deep kisses. Your legs wrapped around his waist with ease, tangling your fingers in the back of his hair to keep his lips on yours, and he carried you out of the bathroom and over to the king size bed.

Freshly showered and skin still pink from the hot water and the warm up you had, George knelt up on the end of the bed and then leaned forward to gently lay you down on the mattress, following right after you to keep his lips on yours. His hands shuffled under the back of your head and he fanned out your damp hair over the pillows as his lips moved down your neck. His touch alone was electrifying and he cradled the back of your neck as his lips left open mouthed kisses over your warm skin. His hands followed his lips, trailing down your shoulders and collarbones and down to your chest, kissing and groping and licking at your flesh until your breathing was starting to fall heavy.

“Your tits look so fucking pretty tonight, baby.” George breathed, nearly nuzzling himself between them as his hands worked them gently. Your soft gasp when his thumb grazed your nipple had him smirking and he sucked over one and then the other, teasing them with his teeth until they were nice and hard and your hand was finding its way into his damp hair. “God, you’re gorgeous.”

You sighed shakily as he continued down your body, kissing wetly down to your bellybutton and over your hips, slowing tauntingly as his hands spread your legs for him. You watched him carefully as he situated himself between your legs and linked his arms under your thighs, letting a thick string of drool fall from his lips and onto your folds. George’s tongue followed it, brushing ever so gently over your body but still made you flinch and grab his hair.

He pulled back, soaking up how you looked spread for him, pussy still wet from his prior attack on your body and the faint signs of bruising over your hips had him biting back a smirk. He trailed a finger down over your folds, watching your wetness cling to his finger and he spread you open to see the traces of white left behind inside you and slowly dripping out still. George groaned lowly and kept you spread between two fingers so he could slip his tongue inside you teasingly. You gasped lightly but he pulled back just as quickly, kissing over your cunt until you were starting to grind up against his face, desperate for his touch.

Whimpering quietly, you kept one hand tangled in his hair and rolled your hips against his face and he just opened up wider for you, giving you sloppy open mouthed kisses with just enough tongue to have you quivering with desire.

“Please, sir.” you whimpered ever so quietly, staring down at him with a pretty pout that made him shutter.

He hummed, sliding his tongue up between your legs before pushing it inside you slowly.

“Yeah.” you breathed out, letting your body focus on him and nothing but the pleasure he so easily could give you.

George fucked you slowly with his tongue, lapping up your arousal and his own cum that was still left over from your hookup in the shower. He did so without hesitation, moaning softly against your skin as he nuzzled his face deeper between your thighs and ate you out like heaven. He worked slowly, licking and slurping and savouring each and every part of you until your head was falling back against the pillows with bliss.

The hotel room was perfectly silent, almost eerily silent, except for the faint sound of traffic outside behind your heavy breaths and his wet tongue. George kept his eyes on you, keeping your lips spread so his tongue could have easy access and he dragged it up and down your folds slowly and then faster and faster to make you squirm.

“Sir-“ you shuttered, grinding up against his face some more. “Please-“

His hands kept you in place by your thigh and your lower stomach, holding you down on the mattress as he had you as he pleased. Usually your hookups were rushed and quiet and often mostly about him - your purpose after all was to give him the sexual pleasure she couldn’t - but this time, he took his time with you, reaching every single nerve in your body without even touching your clit yet. You felt on fire, breathless, blissful, and hungry for more of him. You couldn’t think about the fact that this was your last time when he could so easily melt you down with a flick of his tongue.

George’s large hands moved to your thighs and pushed you open wider, feet flat on the bed and legs parted nice and far to keep you spread wide for him.

“Look at this gorgeous fucking pussy.” George breathed, leaving taunting kisses over your inner thighs before brushing his nose ever so gently against your cunt. “You’re so fucking wet, baby. Who did this to you?”

“Always you, sir.” you whispered, massaging your one hand through his damp hair.

He chuckled against you, the vibrations felt right up against your body and you inhaled sharply, especially as he finally dragged his tongue over your clit. You whimpered loudly, scrunching your eyes closed.

“Good girl. Feel it.”

His tongue dragged in slow stripes over your clit, just enough to make you squirm, rutting up against his face again. Your whimpers turned him on like you wouldn’t believe and he groaned against you as his tongue lapped at your wetness and he shook his head deeper to make a mess of it all.

“Oh God-“ you breathed to the ceiling.

His right hand slid up your body, right between your breasts, and finally to your mouth and he pushed two fingers past your lips. You sucked on them gladly as his tongue worked between your legs in slow gentle motions that made you drip.

“Say my name.” George ordered, his voice deep against your wet flesh.

“Sir-“

“No, baby. Say my name.”

Butterflies filled your body as his fingers pulled from your mouth with perfect wet suction and you let your lips bless the name you craved, “George.”

“That’s it.”

He was breaking all the rules.

“Want you to moan my name tonight, baby.”

He was breaking the rules that he put in place. The rules that kept that strong divider between your physical relationship from being anywhere near romantic.

George slid his wet fingers down your folds and pushed one inside you, groaning as he watched your head fall back against the bed and your chest rose with a shaky inhale.

“That’s my girl.” he praised, fucking you slowly with his middle finger as his tongue teased your clit. “Just feel it.”

You hummed softly, one hand still gripping his hair as your other reached behind you to fist the pillow. You let your eyes close, forcing yourself to feel it; each of his slow pumps of his finger and the sensations of his tongue edging you on. He added a second finger, making you gasp shakily and you bit down on your bottom lip through it.

“You don’t need to be quiet, sweetheart.” he whispered. “I want to hear you.”

He curled his fingers up, grazing your g-spot with ease, and you whimpered out his name, “Oh...George-”

“Good girl.” he praised, eyes staring up at you as he found a steady pace, flicking his fingers faster deep inside you as he tongued at your clit.

“Oh my God.” you whined, squirming under his control.

George’s free hand held you down by your hip, massaging over your flesh as he worked you closer, keeping his consistent pace even when your legs started to tremble. It wasn’t taking him long to get you there between the skill he housed and the fact that he had already had you once that night.

“George.” you whimpered. “George. George. George- fuck-”

He couldn’t get enough of the sound of his name when it was moaned by you, falling from your parted lips like heaven. There was nothing you wanted more than him...then to have him...to moan his name to the ceiling for the rest of time. It was overwhelming - he was overwhelming - and you pulled at his damp hair as you felt your stomach tighten, squealing quietly through the hotel room as he worked you right up to orgasm.

But then he stopped. And pulled his fingers out. And left you pulsing with need to finish.

You could only whimper out a “No” as he sat back from you.

George shushed you sweetly, pushing your legs back against your chest as he shuffled closer on his knees, “I got you. I’ll let you cum, baby. Just need to fuck you first.”

He leaned over you and you let your legs link over his arms, staring at his pretty face as he licked three fingers and slid them down your body. He slicked them up your dripping cunt, smearing your arousal and his spit some more before guiding the tip of his dick between your lips.

“Shit, I can feel your fucking heartbeat, baby girl.” George chuckled slowly, sliding the shaft of his dick up between your folds to slick himself up.

You held onto his biceps, staring wide-eyed up at his face with your lip in anticipation between your teeth as he teased you with gentle touches. He was so hard and it only made you wetter by the second, breathing out a pleading, “Please” just before he gave you what you wanted and slowly slipped inside you.

His dark eyes stared down at you as your mouth fell open in time with him and he stretched you out so nicely it always felt like your first time. Your nails dug lightly into his biceps and he set his hands on either side of your head as he bottomed out with a small groan. With how folded in half you were, he had to push down into you almost, situating himself on top of you until he was flush up against you and so deep you swore you could feel him in every nerve in your body. You shuttered.

“Good?” he asked quietly.

You nodded.

George leaned down to kiss you, sharing soft closed mouthed kisses as he got started; pulling back and pushing into you in lazy thrusts. You hummed shakily, already having been so close that this was only bringing your orgasm closer. His eyes were locked on yours, his large hands gripping the sheets on either side of you as he found a good pace, giving you quick curling thrusts nice and deep.

“G-George-” you moaned shakily, his name just tumbling from your lips without thought, eyes staring right up into his.

“That’s my girl.” he praised softly. “I want you to feel it.”

You whimpered softly, moving your hands from his arms to the backs of your thighs to hold your legs back farther, eyes finding the limited space between you to watch him thrust into you. You couldn’t hold back the habitual moan that the sight forced from your chest, listening to how wet you were as he fucked into you with filthy sounds of his thighs against your skin. George leaned down closer, biting at your bottom lip messily behind your shared heavy breathing and his passionate thrusts and you opened up to let your lips lock with his in sloppy kisses.

Your nails dragged over his hips, trying to follow his motions to savour it if at all, moaning and whining into his mouth. George broke your kiss as he grabbed your left leg and pushed it out, spreading you wider with his fingers digging into the flesh of your thigh and he picked up speed, fucking into you quicker to make you shriek.

“Geo-rge- fuck!” you gasped shakily, tossing your head back against the bed.

“Good girl. Good fucking girl.” George praised lowly, really pulling back to shove into you strongly again and again as he pulled your right leg up to his shoulder.

He used the spring of the mattress to his advantage, shoving you down by your thigh just enough for you to be pushed back into each quick thrust. You were falling breathless, gasping and moaning under him as your fingers twisted in the sheets above your head.

“Oh my God, oh my God!”

“Watch.” George ordered breathlessly, grabbing a handful of your damp hair to raise your head up and you stared down your body as he fucked you into the white sheets.

“Baby.” you whimpered, toes curling in the air as he had you as he wanted you. “I’m gonna cum.”

“Yeah?” His hand moved from your hair to your throat, squeezing his fingers around it until you were whimpering and your eyes were nearly rolling back.

“George-” you cried shakily, clawing at his shoulders to try and cling onto him, feeling your whole body tingling with pleasure. “Holy...fuck…”

“That’s it. That’s my good girl.” he praised tauntingly.

You couldn’t help but let your mind whirl at his words. He had never been soft and possessive with you. His girl? You could have melted. It was easy to get caught up in it, his warm hands and pretty face and eyes that seemed to look at you like you were everything he ever wanted. But maybe that was just the bliss that coursed through his veins with him balls deep inside you until all you could think about was him. All you could ever think about was him.

He made you cum in seconds. He knew your body too well, even if you were only together for his physical gain. His hand around your throat squeezed you just enough for your cheeks to redden and his fingers pressed bruises into your thighs as he held your shuttering body down against the bed.

You knew perfectly well he liked it loud and honestly you couldn’t help it anyway as your head tossed back against the bed and you cried and moaned his name to the ceiling until it nearly echoed off the walls. You knew better than to leave marks on him so you could only tug at his messy brown hair still damp from the shower, hearing him groan intoxicatingly above you as your body pulsed and squeezed around him.

The moment you managed to barely take a breath, he was pulling out of you and grabbing your arm to flip you over onto your stomach.

“George-”

He slapped your ass hard and then shoved back inside you.

The action had you groaning loudly, clutching the sheets in your fists, “George-”

“Take it.” he ordered. “I know you can take more.”

He leaned right down over you with his forearms on either side of your body and started bucking into you quickly, forcing a shaky groan from your throat as your eyes fluttered shut. He was breathing hard against your ear, panting and grunting softly as the bed creaked underneath him with how rough he was taking it. Flat down against the bed, your eyes were nearly rolling back, fisting the sheets in your hands as your sensitive body welcomed him all.

“You’re mine, aren’t you?” George growled against your ear.

“Uh huh.” you nodded quickly as his fingers found their way into your mouth.

“Yeah, you’re fucking mine.” George licked up your neck, shooting shivers down your spine and he sunk his teeth down into your flesh where your neck met your shoulder.

He kept his fingers in your mouth, his other hand gripping tightly to the sheets beside you, smothering his moans into your neck, as he fucked you harder until you were crying out. You felt completely on fire, tugging at the sheets and drooling around his two fingers in your mouth as his body made perfect filthy music with yours.

“Fuck, you’re so tight, baby, I’m gonna fucking cum.” George breathed against your ear.

“Please.” you whined.

“You want it?” George chuckled darkly, pulling his fingers from your mouth to grab a fistful of your hair and yanked on it just enough to make you shriek, “Where do you want it?”

“I-Inside me.” you begged. “Cum inside me...one last time, George. Please.”

George’s jaw clenched and he groaned against your cheek, fucking into you rougher until the headboard was nearly hitting the wall.

“Oh my God!” you squealed, yanking at the sheets as you felt your third high of the night approaching. “Don’t stop, don’t stop! Please, please, please-“

“Jesus Christ, baby.” George hissed, “Almost there. Shit.”

He slid his hand around the front of your neck, pulling your chest off the bed to find your lips with his as he finished you both off. You tried to focus, tried to engrain the feeling of his hands on you and his breath against your skin and his deep moans against your ear; tried to remember how he made you feel lightheaded when you came, how he felt around your clenching muscles as he twitched and came inside you, how it felt to be finished and filled by him until he was sighing shakily into your neck.

There was a momentary silence. The hotel room was perfectly silent except for your heavy breathing.

George dusted a kiss over your neck and moved his hand from your throat and carefully pulled out of you. He helped you onto your back, making sure your hair was brushed off your face, and he stared at you for a moment. You stared back. Memorizing. Trying to remember the feelings that were already starting to fade with the pleasure.

He shifted off of you and onto the bed beside you, moving enough to untuck the sheets and pull them up around both of your naked and flushed bodies. You rolled onto your side to face the window and he shuffled up behind you, draping a heavy arm around your waist.

Silence.

Your heart was racing in your chest as you stared blankly out the window across the room, the moon still low over the horizon but it was bright behind the buildings of Menton. You could see it clearly in the sky and you focused on it to try and ignore the ache in your heart. George’s hand was pressed to your stomach to hold you close and you blinked away the tears forming in your eyes as you set your hand over his.

His lips brushed over your shoulder and left soft kisses in their wake. It was almost serene. Almost like it was where you were meant to be; in his arms. He was already in your heart.

The reality of your situation felt like a never ending weight on your chest, crushing and suffocating, and there was nothing you could do about it.

George held you for an hour.

It wasn’t often that you stayed together after you hooked up - after all, you were only ever there for the sex - but the way he lingered made your heart hurt worse. Part of you wished he would just go. His thumb rubbed gentle patterns back and forth over your stomach and his breath felt warm against your back right between your shoulder blades. You wanted to cry. You wanted him to leave already so you could cry.

“George.”

Your voice was wavering.

He shifted slightly behind you so he could lean up on his arm to look at you. He could see the tears in your eyes despite how you tried to look as nonchalant as possible.

“What is it?” he asked softly, raising his hand from your waist to brush over your cheek.

You took all your courage to make your final request, your final attempt, “Break up with her.”

George sighed softly, “I can’t.”

You kept your stare straight out the window, “Why?”

“I love her.” he said without a thought.

You bit your lip. George rested his hand on your shoulder and kissed your bare skin.

“Do you not love me?” you asked, your quiet voice trembling in fear of his response to the question you knew you had to ask.

“I…” George thought now, trying to word his response, “I love you in a different way.”

You exhaled deeply.

Silence.

“I need to go.” George finally whispered.

“Where?” you asked.

“We just shouldn’t drag this out.” he replied.

You didn’t reply. You knew where he was going to go anyway. Who he was going to see. You nodded.

There was a pause. You could feel his eyes on you.

After a moment, when it was obvious you weren’t going to say anything else, he shifted away from you and got out of bed. You heard him walk a few paces away and start to get dressed. You could see him in the dark reflection of the open window; his silhouette pulling his boxers on and then his jeans. You heard the zip of the zipper and the shuffle of the button being done up. Each quiet second, each muted sound of his clothing returning to his body made your heart ache.

“I already paid for the room so you can stay here tonight if you want.” George said gently, “Order room service…anything you want…it’ll all go to my card.”

You didn’t want room service. You didn’t want a hotel room. You just wanted him.

You could barely reply with an “Okay.”

George stared at you as he buttoned up his shirt, eyebrows furrowed in slight concern as he stared at your curled up body under the white hotel sheets. You looked small in the king size bed. He spoke your name softly and when you made no move to answer, he walked around to the side of the bed, standing between you and the moon. He crouched down to look at you and you bit your lip under his stare.

“Don’t cry, okay? Please.” he whispered, noticing the shimmer of your eyes.

You pulled the sheets higher to hide your face from him when you couldn’t hold back a tear that seeped into the white fabric with ease. You held your breath.

“Why can’t it be me?” you whimpered ever so softly.

Part of you wished he didn’t hear your pathetic pleas but he did. George sighed and ran a tired and stressed hand over his face.

“It just…it just won’t work. In another life maybe.”

You whimpered, “Was I only ever a meaningless fuck to you?”

George’s silence was your answer and despite his hesitation to deny your statement, you couldn’t hold back your sob.

George breathed your name and tried to reach for you, resting his hand against your hair to try and get you to look at him, to try and console you, to try and convince himself that he was doing the right thing.

“Just go.” you said flatly behind the sheets.

He paused.

“George.” you said as strongly as you could possibly muster. “Please leave.”

The weight of his hand lifted from your shoulder and the shadow of his body that the moonlight cast over you faded with his footsteps. His car keys were lifted from the table. The door opened. The door shut.

The very second silence fell and the reality of your loneliness pressed on your naked body, you burst into tears. He left you. He left you like it was easy. Like the last few months and all your nights together and whispered blissful words meant nothing to him.

But what did you expect when you were the side piece anyway. You were never his first choice. And you never would be.

When the sun rose, it woke you at daybreak. The curtains were still open so the room brightened as the horizon was pooling with light. You squinted in the brightness and rolled over in the frightfully empty king size bed. The sheets lingered ever so faintly with the smell of him. Your skin was bruised by his touches. Your mind was plagued by the sound of his praise through his moans.

That’s my girl.

You grabbed your phone to find no missed messages but a single notification.

georgerussell63 posted a photo

You opened it.

You let Instagram load.

Your breath froze your lungs like ice.

It felt like a dagger had lodged itself right in your chest and you could feel each layer of skin and muscle tearing and aching around the blade. It was a picture of him with her…and sickening caption stating how much he adored her…how much he loved her…how much he was wholeheartedly dedicated and wanted to show her off to the world.

He broke your heart to go public with her.

It shouldn’t have hurt you when your entire situation was based on lies and adultery but it was true. You had fallen in love with him over the few short months you had in secrecy. You had fallen in love with him and the little grain of rice sized life that was growing inside you.

You wanted to tell him that night. You wanted to tell him that you were pregnant and it was his and this was his way out. But why would you tell the man who didn’t love you that you carried your shared future inside your body? You couldn’t force him to love you. And you couldn’t force him to love a baby conceived from a relationship of deceit.

369 notes · View notes

misguidedasgardian · 2 years

Text

The course of nature (Negan x Fem!Reader)

MASTERLIST

Pairing: Negan x Fem!Reader

Warnings: mentions of Negan’s brutality, cursing, implied coercion and kidnapping, smut, breeding kink, Negan’s filthy mouth, implied reader x daryl, forced breeding, unprotected sex, mentons of polygamy, (c’mon guys, everything related to Negan in the Sanctuary) might miss some warnings.

+18 MINORS DNI

TWD Era: Alexandria, Negan Era, (season 7)

Notes: Seeing Negan saying, “Oh my, look at this little Angel!” and grabbing Judith from her crib did something to me, and here it is

He took a long sigh as he watched Alexandria disappear in the rearview mirror. He didn’t know why, he didn’t understand it, but Negan felt something bitter inside of him… he had a tangy flavor in his mouth even though he still had the taste of the lemonade that Olivia woman made for him. He contemplated the reason behind his bitterness… jealousy? And he came to the conclusion that under all the mockery that subdued Carl to… about killing him and Rick and moving into the suburbs, having his “summer home” there… There was some truth about it, a dark, deep desire.

The pretty house in the suburbs, drinking lemonade on the porch rocking in a comfortable chair, children laughing and running around… and a baby, his baby. For a second he let his mind wander, thinking it was his baby he was cuddling against his chest, dark locks, big chestnut eyes just like his looking up at him from the comfort of his chest… Oh my, it was a nice dream… a dream he could make happen he only needed to take care of Rick, Carl, and… well…

He had 6 wives, he had to replace some of them along the way, the last one he lost had to be replaced by you. Oh how much he enjoyed the look of desperation on Rick's face when he made clear that he would take everything and everyone he liked, and his gloved finger pointed at you.

Especially Daryl, that deranged maniac, his future soldier, the way he leaped and came at him like a beast ready to rip his yugular, only stopping when he made Arat point a gun to your pretty little head. Oh how he enjoyed that.

He wondered if you were the one that warmed his bed every night and warmed his cock every mornin’. He also wondered if that is what made it so easy for you to comply with him.

“Become my wife or I’ll go back to that little town of yours and bash little Daryl’s head in and I’ll rub your face in his brains” It went something like that. You did shed a few tears the first time he had you, but oh how you squeezed him inside your tight walls when he made you cum again and again in his big fat cock. He made it up to you, he made sure of it. He took his time breaking you in until you were looking back at him not with fear or hate but with a complacent look on your beautiful eyes and a shy smile on your delicious lips. He had even disregarded his other wifes, sharing his bed only with you. Because when he was fucking you he was fucking with Prick-Rick, and with Shit-head-Daryl and because fucking the enemy had always been a huge turn on for him.

With his wives he constantly used protection, or made sure that they took contraceptive drugs, or he used the old method of pulling out, it was actually a miracle that he hadn't knocked someone up yet.

But now he found himself in the want for it… the desire… he couldn’t quite pinpointed it, it was a need so primal inside of him…

Having Judith in his arms changed something inside of him. And in his mind everything became clearer when he revived a conversation he had had with his sweet Lucille, a conversation they held about having kids… He wanted a kid with her so badly… But she was gone

He stood in the doorframe of the lounge, looking at his wives. He came in so silently they didn’t notice him standing there, so he watched every single one of them. Who could be the one to carry his litter? he wondered

Amber? God no, she would drown that poor babe in booze inside of her. Tanya? poor thing, she wasn’t his favorite, far from it, he only married her to make someone fall in line. Who was that dark haired one? He couldn't quite remember.

He regretted Sherry to be gone, gods she was a beauty, his favorite, not very smart, but enough smart to survive in this world

Frankie? perhaps? She was a good candidate. She was the only one who found him staring and gave him a sweet little smile. She was smoking hot

But he kept walking, to reach the room you cornered yourself in. To his surprise it was open, he found you crossed legged on the bed, reading a book. You weren’t wearing any of the nice black dresses he lent you, no, you were insistent on wearing those run down jeans and flannel, the ones you were wearing the day he grabbed you. He had them washed and all, but still…

“Killed any of my family members today?” you ask bitterly. Of course you noticed him without even looking, you were beyond comprehension for him

“Not yet… but there's plenty of day left” he mocked, well he did kill that traitor, but he didn’t count, he thought, he did however take only 25% of what he said he was going to take from your group. Everything inside of his head today was you. That’s when you looked up to him with a frown on your beautiful face.

It was you

You were hot as hell, smart as his best man, and he has seen you taking walkers one by one with that ax so beautifully, almost like you were dancing. You got the looks, the brains, and the strength, bonus points for being part of Prick-Rick’s little possie

“I’m so stressed…” he whined with a smirk, “I need something, someone to relieve it…”, he knew you knew what that meant, and he chuckled when you raised your face to look at him with a tired look on your face but smiling widely

“You are a horndog” you mocked, and he nodded slowly, with smirk on his face

Even if the beginning of your “relationship” had a rocky start, you enjoyed fucking him as much as he enjoyed fucking you. leaving behind the coercion this became like a treat, something enjoyable for the two of you. You weren’t afraid to ask things of him, and he wasn’t against trying new things, so you begun to have a strange friends with benefits kind of arrangement, where the sex became so fucking hot for the both of you, and the pillow talk afterwards became something as enjoyable as the multiple orgasms he took from you each round.

“I can’t marry you” you answered, but before he could threaten you again you explain, “but I can be your mistress” you offered, at first he seemed offended by what you implied, but when he saw you were serious, his frown turned into an amused grin

“My mistress?”

“See, it’s like being your friend…” you explain, “you come to me, pamper me, I screw you good, you talk to me about your problems and then you leave”

“So what’s the difference between becoming my wife?” he asked then

“Just the title” being someone’s wife meant something to you, it was too important, too permanent, so you hoped he indulged you, “you have wives, you don’t have mistresses” you turn this into making him think it was about some childish jealousy. So you felt relieved when he smiled wickedly

“Oh I see, you are looking for exclusivity” he teased, and you congratulated yourself for the sheepishly smile and the lower of your eyesight that made him believe he had nailed his suspicion

He let you guide him towards his room, you already knew he preferred to fuck you in his huge bed and silky sheets

Even if at first this man scared the living shit out of you, and you know he was perfectly capable of making good on his threats and killing your family… despite all of that… he was an amazing lover. He fucked you so good it made you shake on his hold, and in your head you justified it, “if you fuck him good he is going to take off the heat on your loved ones” he was going to leave them alone if you pleased him.

His greedy hands were on you in a second, the gloved one leaving goosebumps in your skin, he got rid of your flannel and then admired your chest clad in lingerie. He got rid of your jeans and shoes, to leave you only in underwear. With those out of the way he let you push him back into the bed. His signature bat was forgotten on the floor, just like his leather jacket, he was only in his simple cotton white t-shirt and jeans..

You managed to straddle him, loving the way he would fight you just enough for you to realize he was the one in control, but relenting after a little while, everything with Negan was like that. you moaned when you felt the roughness of his denim against the soft skin of the inside of your thighs, bucking your hips just a little bit to enjoy the friction. He grunted under you, with that big smiles of him, looking at you with big shiny eyes

“Fuck you are beautiful” he grunted, and you felt your cheeks heated, you accomodated yourself down his legs, so you’d have the space to remove his jeans just enough so you’d release his lenght, you leaned in, wanting to taste him, wanting to choke on his thick cock, but he stopped you

“Fuck I need to bury myself in that pussy” he demanded, grabbing you by the neck and make you rose yourself up until you were face to face. You only moaned, “you ready baby?” he asked teasingly. His hand sneaking down your body until his fingers teased your entrance, making you moan when he found you embarrassingly wet, dripping almost. He chuckled darkly, giving you that look again

“Fuck” he grunted, “you are soaking wet” he only moved the g tring he made you wear aside, an easy acces, he seemed to be in a hurry, he wanted you now, fast.

“For you” you admitted, leaning down to catch his mouth on yours, you kissed him roughly, with need, and he answered just the same, wanting to devour you. He accommodated you on top of him and you let him adjust you and him until the tip of his cock was placed in your entrance, and you did the rest, lowering your hips, impaling yourself on him.

The stretch still burned, but you would be lying if you say you didn’t just loved the way it felt, his thick length opening you up for him, it was always a tight fit

“Jeesus FUCK” he almost yelled, making you sneak a giggle between your wanting moans. He was so deep inside you you could feel him on your belly. It wasn't long before he playfully slapped your ass, encouraging you to ride him, and you started a soft but decisive sway, it was slow but determined, feeling every ridge and vein on his cock inside your tight walls.

“Mmmm Negan”, you moaned, snapping your hips back and forth. His hands grabbed your tits, squeezing them over the transparent fabric of your bra

“Fuck I love it when you moan my name” he graoned, his hands firmly on your hips, helping you set the unforgiving pace, “You are so hot” it was unusual for him to compliment you that much, so you just ignored it, he probably didn’t mean it. He had six wives, so you didn’t tend to take anything he told you seriously. So you just enjoyed riding him, building your own orgasm, it came slowly, like strong waves crushing on the shore, making your eyes roll to the back of your head as your hands grabbed the white t shirt he was wearing tightly, threatening to rip it off of him

“Damn girl” he grunted, “Are you using me to get off? that’s how it feels like” you only giggled, riding your climax slowly, feeling incredibly sensitive.

But that wasn’t in Negan's plans….

He grabbed you by the hips, leaning up so fast you didn’t know what was happening until your back touched the mattress, he had turned you over to regain his full control. You didn't have time to ponder, he started railing you rougher than before, the metal head of the bed banged against the concrete wall. Your hand traveled to his back, your nails sinking into his skin, wanting to have something to hold on to. He slammed his hips into your roughly, hearing like he was applauding, his skin against yours.

“Negan,'' you called, slowing down on your climax, but he is still thrusting against you, grunting like a wounded animal. He didn’t pay attention to you, too focused on chasing his own release. You slapped his shoulder, like asking for a timeout, and just then he looked down at you, smirking

“What is it?” he asked

“You are not wearing a condom, you need to pull out” you whined. He only smirked, chuckling darkly in your ear making the little hairs at the back of your head stand up. He didn’t stop, in fact, he fucked you ever rougher, making you whine, your eyes rolling tot he back of your head at the hardness of his thrusts, and in a second, you forgot all about protection, you only cared to reach that second orgasm before he finished

“Oh fuck” you moaned, scratching his back with your nails, your legs chained around his hips, encouraging him. With one graze of the tip of his cock in your special spot did the trick, you cum, hard, your walls strangled his length, making him grunt, stilling deep inside of you, filling you up nicely with his cum.

He dropped his weight on top of you, his heavy breathing on your neck, he hugged you tightly against him, still inside of you, you both regained your breaths slowly. You caressed his sweaty back and he seemed to purr in your ear

“Fuck you are so sweet baby” he murmured. One of the things you enjoyed most about him was that he was a cuddler, he loved the contact after sex. He dropped lazy kisses along your jaw and cheek, nuzzling the skin with his nose

“Negan” you whispered, wanting to drift to sleep even though it was still a gray light outside

“You ok?” he asked against your ear, you just nodded, “That was intense”

“It was amazing,” you whispered. He slowly took himself off of you. You winced when you felt his cock slip off of you, his cum trickling down your thighs. The sensation didn’t last long, he was there, grabbing you and encouraging you to sneak under the covers. He was still dressed, but that didn’t matter, he spooned you, making you feel safe and comfortable between his strong arms. He kissed the top of your head and led you to a dreamless sleep.

“Negan…” he mumbled, oh how much he loved the fear he inspired in his… subjects

“Hey doc” he followed with his eyes the young woman that left the consult bowing her head in his direction. He waited until she completely left the medical room and closed the door behind her, “I’m glad you are finding yourself at home” he smiled at him

“I’m glad I’m here, you know I’m an obstetrician and this girls… need help”

“I’m happy to know saviors are reproducing” he said, genuinely pleased, “speaking of which” the doctor then eyed him suspiciously, “One of my wives, but she’ll tell you otherwise… is going to come here, asking you for a day-after pill” he said slowly and in a dangerous whisper, not losing for a second his intimidating eye contact

“Ok…” he muttered

“You are going to give her a fake” he said gravelly

“I don’t understand…she is going to ask for a contraceptive pill, and you want me to give her a placebo? a fake?”

“See, doc? you are smart” he chuckled, placing his hand on the man’s shoulder and squeezing dangerously

“You want her to get pregnant?” Negan gave him a serious look, the one that made the doc shiver

“Do you get my meaning?” he asked then, he nodded

“Yes Sir” he then smiled, pleased

“If you give her the real deal, I will know” he muttered, swinging Lucille until she perched on his shoulder

“Ok Sir” he mumbled, nodding

“We need to repopulate the earth” he said matter-of-factly, “That is the course of nature after all”

next part here

#misguidedtwd #negan #negan smut #negan x you #negan x reader #the walking dead #twd negan #jeffrey dean morgan #twd fanfiction

2K notes · View notes

copperbadge · 1 year

Text

Whenever I think about “mental images” or “a song stuck in your head” these days, I think about aphantasia and how that impacts perception. (Aphantasia is the condition of not seeing images or hearing sounds in your head -- most of the population does, but those with aphantasia do not, or do to a very diminished degree.)

I’ve talked about how I don’t have locked mental images of my characters or their homes and such. Things can move around as needed -- like a sofa can move across a room, or a lamp might change tables, depending on what the action needs. I assumed nobody actually had mental images, it was just an agreed-upon method of describing nonvisual imagination. Having found that’s not the case at roughly the same time as I was diagnosed with ADHD (a few months apart) I think about it a lot.

Recently I was playing with form and picked up the thread of an idea I’ve had for years, which is to write a novel as if it were a guidebook to the place you’re reading the novel about (I’m sure it’s been done before, and Italo Calvino has done something like it with Invisible Cities, I just think it would be fun to try). It occurred to me that while I don’t visualize things in terms of furniture in a living room or where people are in a space, I do have a firm and unchanging idea of what a city as a whole looks like, including some mental images.

Even before visiting Menton Garavan, where Fons-Askaz is located in an alternate world, I definitely knew what went where in Fons-Askaz. I know what the harbor and coastline are shaped like, where most of the local residential housing versus the tourist housing is, how the main street is shaped and where several landmarks sit along it, their names and what purpose they serve. I know where the one really divey dive bar is. And I do see images of all of them, but only partial -- specific angles of sight, mainly (I can see both main entrances to the pedestrian shopping area called the Promenade, but not most of the Prom itself, for example).

When I considered this, I realized I could do it to a limited extent for Galia also, and for other fictional places I’ve written about, like Lea from Six Harvests or Low Ferry from Nameless. I could draw rough maps of most of those places -- I don’t have the map itself in my head, but rather a combination of non-visual knowledge and a series of vague mental snapshots. I don’t know the actual layout of the palace, but I know what it looks like from the train station and I know what I would see standing at the windows in Gregory and Eddie’s apartment. I can see about three different views of Wild Mayer’s farm in Six Harvests, and I know the layout of Lea’s main street. It’s like for every fictional city or town that I’ve written about, I have a series of mental postcard images.

I have no idea why, or what it means. Probably it’s just that like many neurodiverse people I navigate by landmark, and I live in a city so recognizing urban landmarks and “views” is vital. I don’t need to “navigate” my apartment so I don’t care where the sofa is, but I have to know what the neighborhood looks like when we’re getting close to my bus stop so I know when to ring the bell to get off.

Possibly it means I should have become an urban planner.

Kind of fun, anyway, now that I’ve figured out I can do it. I can’t really “walk around” Fons-Askaz, but I can do a sort of flyover.

#shivadhverse #aphantasia #sam has adhd #archive

175 notes · View notes

scotianostra · 3 months

Text

On February 3rd 1700, a fire broke out on the north side of Cowgate in Edinburgh's Old Town.

From there the flames spread and burnt down the close and its close surroundings, including the merchant’s Exchange building, where the Three Sister bar now is.

The fire extended rapidly up hill to involve the tall tenements on the south and east sides of Parliament Square. One, fifteen storeys high, the tallest building in Edinburgh, was reduced to a heap of ashes and ‘made a prodigious blaze"

The buildings were densely occupied and about three or four hundred families lost their homes, including many notables such as the President of Parliament, the President of the Court of Session and other Lords, lawyers, clerks and poorer families. Several lives were lost and a great number seriously injured.

Offices of businesses were destroyed including the recently opened Bank of Scotland – the only bank in Scotland at that time. Mercifully the Parliament Hall and St Giles escaped major damage. The Advocates, who lost their library in the fire, were given space in the Laigh Hall below Parliament House.

Although it escaped major damage the fire allowed the council to rebuild the Parliament “in a uniform style of architecture” regulating the buildings appearance to prevent fire. The rest of the close was given a grand entry and the courtyard was rebuilt uniformly with a continuous arcade along the front.

Cassells Old & New wrote this short account bout the Parliament building:

This magnificent hall and the buildings connected with it had a narrow escape in the “Great Fire” of 1700. It broke out in Lord Crossrig’s lodging, at Mr. John Buchan’s, near the meal-market, on a night in February; and Duncan Forbes of Culloden asserts in a letter to his brother the colonel, that he never beheld a more vehement fire; that 400 families were burned out, and that from the Cowgate upwards to the High Street scarcely one stone was left upon another.

A broadsheet entitled Fire! Fire! stated that the fire had been started by someone throwing a bottle of whisky into an open hearth.. The fire engines were of little or no use, water being scarce and the old closes so narrow that they could not gain access. As mentoned in Cassells. Duncan Forbes wrote to his brother that it was the greatest fire he ever saw ‘notwithstanding I saw London burne’, It reads;

All the pryde of Edenr. is sunk; from the Cowgate to the High Street all is burnt, and hardly one stone left upon another…the Parliament House very hardly escapt; all Registers confounded; Clerks Chambers, and processes, in such confusion, that the Lords and Officers of State are just now mett at Rosse’s Taverne, in order to adjourneing the Sessione by reason of the disorder…twenty thousand hands flitting ther trash they know not wher…These babells, of ten and fourteen story high, are down to the Ground, and their fall’s very terrible….This Epitome of dissolution I send you, without saying any more, but that the Lord is angry with us, and I see no intercessor.

Of course the clergy couldn't let this go without blaming someone, preaching sermons in which they attributed the fire to God’s punishment for the wickedness of the populace. The Town Council also took to preaching and on 4th December 1702 introduced an ‘Act anent suppressing Immoralities,’ which contained the following:-

…considering the great growth of immoralities within the City and Suburbs, and the fearful rebukes of God, by a dreadful Fire in Parliament Close….which happened about midnight upon 3rd February 1700….also, remembering the terrible Fire….on the north side of the Lawn market….28 October 1701 with several lives lost. Likewise reflecting upon other Tokens of God’s wrath lately come upon us… We…being moved with the zeal of God….do in the Lord’s strength resolve to be more watchful over our hearts and ways than formerly; And each of us in our several capacities, to reprove vice with due zeal and prudence as we shall have occasion…. under penalty of Twenty Merks Scots.

The height of the new tenements was restricted to eleven storeys rather than the fifteen storeys of their predecessors but even so Tobias Smollett writing in 1770 observed that ‘I cannot view it without horror; that is, the dreadful situation of all the families above, in case the common stair-case should be rendered impassable by a fire in the lower stories’.

The council's supposed "fireproofing" of the Parliament meant little as 124 years later a large section of the High Street went up in flames in "The Great Fire"

#edinburgh #scotland #scottish #old town #cowgate #fire

34 notes · View notes

footballfanficwriter · 10 months

Text

Questions pt 2

Summary:where the reader is on an interview and she gets asked questions about Jude

"Welcome y/n Bellingham, how are you today?"

"I'm good, how are you?

I'm great, thank you ,so a lot has been going on in your life recently"

"Yeah, it's been a lot"

"With your husband being transferd to Real Madrid, the hate comments he's been getting from liverpool fans , just recently celebrating his birthday, your new movie that's just dropped and the new magazine cover that's got everyone talking ,aswell as your kids adapting to the new situation, how has it all been for you?"

"Uhhmm, it's been a lot I'm not gonna lie, when Jude came to me and told me that Madrid had made him an offer I lost it ofcourse, because it's Madrid you know he sat on it long and hard and made the decision and we knew it was going to be tough and we prepared ourselves,

as for the hate comments Liverpool fans have been throwing at him

I just feel like they should honestly mind their own business cause, it doesn't concern then nor does it affect their way of living , Jude made a decision that he thinks is going to benefit him and make him stronger as a football player and I'll support it, the fans or other people weren't considered when this decision was made

"And how did you celebrate his Birthday?"

"We couldn't really feed him junk food and cake and all that because he'd already been to Greece and France, but we had a mini family get together with the kids and his parents, brother and best friends and I think he enjoyed it, he looked grateful"

"That sounds nice and what about the 2 new projects that you've recently dropped, tell us about those"

"Well firstly, time was tight, we needed to work fast, because with the move that was happening, the kids and Jude not being able to play in the Euro Qualifications, I was living according to a schedule for three months, everything was scheduled, from family time, bath time ,dinner, I hardly got to see my husband through the three months but in the magazine it's something I menton aswell like being a working football wife with kids does take a strain on you and your family, but if things are done in a certain way everything works out"

"So in the magazine you talk about you life as a working football wife with children"

"Yes because most football wives just become stay at home moms, and I'm not saying that's a bad thing just that it's a very brave thing to do"

"Why don't you want to become a stay at home mom, I mean I know if I had that opportunity I would take it"

"Firstly it's because I would become bored out of my mind if I did, I've got ADHD, so I can't focus on the same thing over and over again and also because I'm plan B"

"What do you mean you're plan B?"

"I mean that a lot of the times you see football players getting hurt and having serious injuries that nearly ended their careers, I obviously don't want that for Jude but, I lie awake at night thinking what if he got really hurt and he had to quit, it would kill me ofcourse, but we'd lose everything that's in our name and the Bills for whatever the injury would be would be very high, I don't want to be taking out loans on my house just to pay for medical Bill's, so that's why I'm plan B"

"That is a very smart way of thinking, And did you have a say in the Transfer to Madrid"

"Yes, I did we sat down together, talked it out, for a long time it was a very had decision to make considering all the other clubs that were interested in Him especially because Liverpool made their offer first and when we got the offer we wanted to see how it would impact us as a family and the impact it would have on our children"

"Speaking of your children, how are they adapting to the new change?"

" they are excited, already they are definitely taking it better than I thought they would, they can't wait to learn how to speak Spanish"

"So in another interview, your husband shared a fatherhood story about Lelani can you give us a Motherhood story that you remember"

"Uhmm Jabilo,one of my sons loves helping out wherever he can, whether it's in the Garden, the kitchen, the living room, just anywhere he can help he wants to help, but he also loves to climb things, so on one of my day offs he got sick, so sick he couldn't go to school and he stayed in bed, it wasn't until I fed him and gave him some medicine, he started running around the house for no reason at all, then I had and idea to make cookies hoping it would calm him down, so I placed out all the ingredients on the counter to make it easier for me and all, then all of a sudden I get a call from Jude checking up on him and the mistake I made is that I left the kitchen, when I come back after the call my bowl was on the floor, with butter, sugar and an egg and an egg shell, with Jabilo just sitting on the floor, bowl in between his legs and him attempting to mix everything with his hands, while at the same time he's covered in flour , when I asked him, what he was doing he said "helping you momma" I know I should've been mad but my heart wouldn't let me"

"And your other son?"

"Jordan, is a very quiet kid, he keeps to himself if he doesn't know you, but he's one of the those people to be comfortable with people close to him like family and friends

But when he is comfortable around you he's the comedian of the family, he'd tell ridiculously funny jokes and make impressions of famous people it scares me sometimes, but I see Jordan as the creative one out of all three of my children and not because he draws on my walls, but because, for his birthday we got him this thick notepad with colors and crayons to draw on and he protects those with his life, everyone in the house knows not to touch them, only he can touch them and if you do, he throws tantrums, but he's stopped with it now so"

"Well Y/N thank you so much for your time and telling us a little about your life

"Yeah no problem, thank you so much

84 notes · View notes

eretzyisrael · 3 months

Text

Blood libels began with the 1840 Damascus Affair

Blood libels are again being levelled at Jews in the current climate of antisemitism, resurgent from the Israel-Hamas war. Charging Jews with the false accusation that they used the blood of Christian children for their religious rituals has a long history in the Christian world. But the first blood libel to penetrate the Muslim world – also spread by Christians – occurred in 1840, and was to lead to dozens more in the Ottoman empire, and also the first international Jewish attempt to fight it. Rabbi Menachem Levine writes for Aish (with thanks: Edna):

Jewish prisoner preparing his defence

The Damascus Affair of 1840 was an infamous blood libel that became international news and led to one of the first instances in which Jewish communities around the world worked together to demand justice for another Jewish community. The Damascus blood libel is recognized as one of the turning points of modern Jewish history when world Jewry realized the importance of uniting to advocate for each other.

On February 5, 1840, Father Thomas, an Italian Friar of the Capuchin Order who lived in Damascus, disappeared with his Muslim servant Ibrahim Amara. They were assumed murdered, possibly by businessmen with whom Thomas had had shady dealings or by a Muslim who was infuriated by an insult to Islam that Father Thomas had uttered.

But the Jews were to bear the blame as the Capuchin friars began spreading rumors that the Jews had murdered the two men to use their blood for Passover. This led to one of history’s most famous blood libels, the Damascus Blood Libel, better known as the Damascus Affair of 1840.

Read article in full

In his article for Dorot journal (Summer 2021) Alain Farhi has more detail on the malign role played by the French consul in Beirut, Ulysse Ratti-Menton, and the Jewish families accused of the murder:

Ratti-Menton convinced Sherif Pasha that the Jews were responsible for the alleged ritual murders and, as a result, was given full investigative powers. RattiMenton, based on an extracted confession from a barber (Salomon Negrin) of complicity but not participation, rounded up eight Jewish men including Salomon Hayek; Murad el-Fattal; Jacob Antebi, the chief rabbi of Damascus; Aaron Harari; Aaron Stambouli; Joseph Lañado; Moses Abulafia; Moses Salonicli and Aslan Farhi (son of Raphael), Joseph and Murad Farhi. They were arrested and harshly interrogated by Jean-Baptiste Beaudin, a French diplomat seeking more confessions.

Rabbi Antebi and Lañado died under torture while Abulafia converted to Islam to avoid death. On February 14, Raphael El Mouallem Farhi, banker and head of the Farhi families of Damascus, was placed under house arrest with his servants in a government house for 90 days. On March 23, 1840, Mayer Farhi (my direct ancestor) was arrested and imprisoned. He was 55 years old and had an estimated 500,000 piasters net worth. The ghurush or piaster is the Arabic spelling of the kuruş which was the currency of the Ottoman Empire. A bribe of 24,400 piasters (£244) was offered by his wife Deborah to spare him 1,000 lashes of flagellation in prison.

Ratti-Menton published in European newspapers the alleged confessions. In the meantime, the Muslim population raided the Jobar synagogue, destroyed sefarim and attacked properties in the Jewish Quarter. Finally, the Ottoman police intervened to stop the Muslim attacks on Jewish residents.

Read article in full

#Antisemitism #Jews of Syria

20 notes · View notes

salantami · 9 days

Text

The daily alley

Menton in France Menton is a town on the French Riviera between Monaco and the Italian Riviera, which is a short drive from Monaco. Menton weaves parts of France and Italy within it and this is reflected both in the Italian architecture that can be seen in this beautiful French town, in the colors of the houses, in the cuisine in the markets and more.

Photo credit :

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Mary Quincy (@mary_quincy)

instagram

#Instagram

8 notes · View notes

greenlyren12 · 1 year

Text

Treasure

Chapter IV

Find Chapter III here

Aemond Targaryen x Reader

warnings: mentons of violence

word count: 2.4k

Summary: The Prince's gift.02

A/N: As of now, this will be the conclusion to the story. Though if i have motivation in the future maybe i'll post some more of this au. Feedback is appreciated as always! <3

How much time had it past, you did not have a clue. For once, the clock had seemed to slow down, each hand etching into the wood below, refusing to tick again. As if the Seven had heard your most sacred wish, obligations trailed somewhere far behind. The sun sank into the horizon, crimson drowning the atmosphere. The Prince’s chambers beamed in oranges, contrasting the viridescent cushion you sat on. Hands clasped comfortably in your lap, you gazed down. The flush never leaving your face.

Aemond wanted you painted.

Forever ingrained in canvas, your spirit eternal. Even after decades, when he would be remembered as the Regal Prince who flew the largest dragon in the world, diamonds embedded in his eye and you, no one. It would still be you who was immortalized on the hemp, in his wish. With each attentive brush stroke, the older man painted you in full. From head to toe, melancholy in your look, wearing the shades of House Hightower, a dragon between your breasts. The artist trembled with each move, in all probability due to being fiercely instructed by Aemond. He had not met your gaze once, though you scarcely looked at him.

A deep sense of sadness gloomed inside of you still. Forced to look at the Prince, unmoving. As if you had grown roots into the ground below, your eyes never leaving his. Realization had dawned upon you. Without the presence of his intoxicating touch, with a clear mind, you pondered at the misery of a situation you had in front of you. Both of you had given up reason for pleasure. With no conversation, no words needed you latched to each other’s beings. You never asked him, never asked anything. Terrified of what you’d hear, of the feelings which seemed eternalized in your core. But the Prince was so sweet and you never wondered, what was his life now?

How did he turn into the cunning man he was today, for you knew the pain needed for such transformation. Feeling responsible for your abstinence in his life, your fingers twitched in pain. For not being there to caress his right cheek, the one with your favorite freckle. Which was now gone, as most of him was. His face was a mask now, accented with leather.

You imagined him small, fair and ivory in the tragic Castle.

Aemond was already of age, waiting to be betrothed. His hand was a crucial political chess piece, which would not be given easily. Even you knew this not to be true, you still wondered. Did he feel for you as deeply as you did? You knew it wouldn’t matter, you were a mere lamb in the dragon’s grasp, and the lamb was foolish.

However life decided to twist itself, for him to be yours was unimaginable. You always knew that, yet it still stayed as a lump in your sore throat. It would fester there forever, you thought.

Your life was of no amount, your existence’s only purpose to be a tool. A clog in his machine.

It was your wish for this night to be stretched into infinity, for you did not know when you would have this luxury ever again. A tear formed in the bottom of your eye, silently falling to its death on your lap.

Aemond’s face perked up, so adept to the slightest change in your behavior. His fingers dug into the rests of the chair, what was the reason for your sadness? The Prince had studied you for hours, committing every curve, every crevice to memory.

The tragic sorrow that filled him, the guilt put daggers in his heart. He had trouble remembering your face after all those years. He remembered everything else, every touch and every braid. The kind words you did not spare him but gift, all of the history books you used to read to him. The ring of your laughter still sounded in his ears. You were the beacon which showed him the path, that he was human, deserving of respect. For that, you deserved everything that he so badly wanted to give you.

He lied in the dark a lot, at night remembering the day you separated at Driftmark. At first it was sorrow, then it was anger which was easier to process. How could you abandon him?

In his sleepless nights you flashed between dreams and memories, deformed by childhood innocence. The fear of not remembering you correctly, it gnawed at him. You were an all too perfect part of his youth, too good for his now darkened mind.

The thought of seeing you again seemed all too impossible with each passing day and faith had left him a long time ago.

Regardless you stood there now, in the flesh. Living and breathing, so reactive to every single one of his touches. As a harp you sang with every tug he pulled on your soul. He had you between his claws, repercussions be damned, you would not disappear again. For he could not bear it.

And he would put you on hemp for infinity, to forever have you in his hold. He would not forget again, he could not.

Now a tear glistened down your cheek, that was to be fixed immediately.

“Leave us.” Aemond put all his gathered sorrow into the command.

The painter almost jumped from his seat, whether it was from happiness or terror, or both, you did not know. He gathered his supplies as fast as he could, dropping a tube in the process. Aemond’s icy eye pierced through his being, if it was possible, fumes would come out of his nostrils. He left the canvas in the center of the room, unfinished.

The man hurriedly egressed the Prince’s apartments.

You felt for him, for Aemond’s cruelty was unnecessary. The front he put up, you understood only to an extent.

It was the first time you avoided his look, which was now softened. Something tugged at his chest, mouth forming a tight line.

“Are you scared of me?” What was supposed to be an accusation seemed too blue. The insecurity clear behind his tone. Even with you, the instinct was to attack.

“No,” You met his eye.

“You just seem all too changed, Aemond.”

He remained seated, as did you. Distance was needed for a comprehensive conversation, a fact you both respected.

The hurt was clear on his face and silence followed.

“It is only natural, time has not been kind to both of us.” You comforted him.

“Rhaenyra is said to leave for Dragonstone soon.”

A knife in your throat, why had you not been informed? Why so soon, again? Your head grew heavier, how could you be made to leave, now, with him in front of you. A finger cracked in your lap. You were too tired of this. A soulless gaze, you stayed still.

“You will remain here.”

“And how exactly?” Anger poisoned your mind now, you had no right to be angry at him.

“I do not know, as of yet.” Defeat in his voice.

“You cannot leave me.” He said, as if to prove a point.

“Aemond, I could be killed for this.” A dangerous truth you whispered.

He elegantly stood from his chair, three long strides and he was in front of you, unbelievable hurt in his eyes. The Prince did not possess the strength to hide in front of you, not now.

You slowly got up from the cushions, inadvertently picking at your cuticles.

“You know I would never let that happen.” He got a hold of yours arms, squeezing you for reassurance.

You were not certain of what he was searching for in your gaze, but he was frantic.

“You won’t be able to protect me forever, Aemond.” You refused to meet his eye, it was unbearable to tell him the truth as it was.

“Look at me.” What would usually be a command was now a plea. His grasp on your arms got stronger. You made him feel a child again, helpless. Kicked into the corner without an escape. If it wasn’t you, he would’ve hated you.

“I won’t allow you to leave again.” Inability made him agitated. He was the all powerful Second Son, how could life refuse him in such a way.

“I am not a dragon to claim!” You yelled into his face, tears prickling into the corner of your eyes. A palm on his chest, you tried to push for the sake of space, to able to breathe.

“I have been tossed around all my life, I have no agency of my own being. You and your own kind have taken my existence from my own hands. You will not imprison me in your life as everyone else has. I will not be your whore until the end of my days. I cannot be your secret, I cannot allow myself that. All of the little effect I have left on my being, I will not allow you to drown it out. For all the love I bear for you, the Seven will never forgive me nor will I, but how could I leave you alone when we were so little?” You were unable to breathe now.

His usual wide eye was now half closed, looking at yours distressed face. Such misery, you had not seen on his features before.

Aemond embraced you, no distance was allowed, you pressed into his body as if you were going to become one, sobs choking you.

“Believe me, you have been in my prayers since we were mere children. It is my most sacred wish to be yours, but your love will kill me.” A faint whisper in his milk hair, you nuzzled further into his neck.

You were squeezed under his touch. A sound escaped him which you thought you would never hear.

A quiet sob escaped past Aemond Targaryen’s lips.

You heart sank and you tugged on his locks.

“Oh, my love.” You whispered against his ear, tears staining his neck.

He pulled away, gently caressing your check and pressing his forehead on your own. Nudging his nose against yours.

“Until my last breath, even if it means my life, you will not be harmed, even if you do not want it. I will never allow it. My heart is yours.”

Secret vows spoken beneath the all judging night sky, vows no one else would ever hear.

You looked him in the eye, saying all which you could not utter. A kiss you gifted him, with all your love you had for him, gratitude and awe. Cupping his right cheek, your thumb got dangerously close to the outline of his eyepatch. Instead of putting it away, he got a hold of your wrist, pushing it further into his burning flesh.

This was different to your previous kisses, it was sincere and raw. No teeth dragged across skin nor tongues fought. It was closest you would get to becoming one, almost. A reassuring palm steadied you on the back of your neck. The taste of salt was clear on your lips.

“You’re the flower I gifted to you all those years ago, I will preserve you until my last day. Between the pages if that is what you want, even if it means you’re not a part of my life.” He whispered into your lips, a sparkle of a tear fell down his cheek.

“Hold me, like you once did.” You thought such vulnerability was impossible for him.

A chocked chuckle escaped past your throat and you looked up at him, eyelashes glistening from the tears.

“You are no longer little Aemond.” The boy who used to look up to you, one head below was gone.

“But you will forever be my Aemond.”

Such a beautiful, rare, genuine smile beamed at you from above. You swore you could see stars in his eye.

Underestimating your own power, your hands quickly fell to his waist, gripping, you tried to pick him up. Miserably failing, you barely managed to lift his heels.

A carefree laugh filled the room, reminding you of your childhood days.

“What are you doing?” Clearly puzzled by your actions, he laughed, gripping your shoulders.

“You wanted to be held my Prince, did you not?” You humored him.

In an instant, Aemond regained his footing and grabbed you below the knees and waist, carrying you to the armchair. He took his time, to smile and marvel at you. Even for one night, you would live like you wished to.

He placed you onto his lap and you pressed palms against his chest.

You intently looked at his covered eye.

Tugging at the golden clasp which held together his leather shirt you gazed at him with doe eyes.

“I want to see you.” You intently looked at the eyepatch.

“All of you.”

Aemond adverted your eyes, smile forming into a reluctant line.

You reached out to your favorite side of his face.

“I used to hold you here all that time ago,” you swiped below the rim of the leather, “do not deny me, please.”

Meeting your warm eyes, he slowly nodded.

You reached out with your other hand, biting your lower lip. Carefully pulling the fabric away, afraid of tugging on his beautiful hair. You pulled back to fully take him in.

He was mesmerizing.

Lips parted in wonder, eyes wide, you unabashedly stared.

He was oh so fair, facing away from you, his regal nose in all its beauty, the scar danced across his face, with deep shades of crimson. In the hollow of his eye socket laid the sky which slept above the blackwater at night. Deep cobalt, with white specks reflecting the candles in the room.

A sapphire for a treasure, you thought.

He looked so young beneath you, closest to what you remembered of him. Fragments of shy smiles and gentle caresses.

“I missed you.” You finally broke the silence, which deafened him with each second passing.

His eyes snapped to you, his thumb gently brushed against your waist, unsure still.

You gently grabbed his face by the sides and sank down, giving him a wishful kiss above his bad eye.

“My Aemond.” You whispered.

Resting your head on the side of his face, taking his smell in, you sighed.

“I love you.” The Prince whispered, only for your ears to hear.

#house of the dragon aemond #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #aemond x reader #aemond fic #aemond the kinslayer #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen fic #aemond targaryen x you #house of the dragon #game of thrones

109 notes · View notes

thethirdromana · 1 year

Text

What are Dorian's vices, anyway?

The short answer is that Wilde doesn't tell us; he leaves us to fill in the gaps with whatever we choose to imagine. In Basil's speech, in particular, there's a lot of rumour and innuendo - "a tarnished name"; "his dreadful end".

Dorian, on the other hand, is more willing to call a spade a spade, and spells out some of the things that Basil only alludes to.

Here's my attempt to create a list of Dorian's crimes from the information that we're given. Or, in some cases, "crimes."

Seducing virginal or married women

you were a man whom no pure-minded girl should be allowed to know, and whom no chaste woman should sit in the same room with

When you met Lady Gwendolen, not a breath of scandal had ever touched her. Is there a single decent woman in London now who would drive with her in the park? Why, even her children are not allowed to live with her.

Lord Gloucester was one of my greatest friends at Oxford. He showed me a letter that his wife had written to him when she was dying alone in her villa at Mentone. Your name was implicated in the most terrible confession I ever read.

One of the things that could cause a woman to lose custody of her children after a divorce in Victorian England is if she had been known to have committed adultery. It's possible that Basil is alluding to sexual assault, but he could also be referring to entirely consensual relationships.

Spending time with the lower classes, including sex workers

What about Lord Kent’s only son and his career? I met his father yesterday in St. James’s Street. He seemed broken with shame and sorrow.

If Kent’s silly son takes his wife from the streets, what is that to me?

I think it's fair to assume that Dorian introduced Kent to his wife, or at least took him into the setting where they met.

Encouraging his friends to spend too much and come by their money dishonestly

What about Adrian Singleton and his dreadful end?

If Adrian Singleton writes his friend’s name across a bill, am I his keeper?

Adrian Singleton has been trying to steal from his friends to cover his bills, and somehow this is Dorian's fault. Perhaps because he sets a standard for fashionable society, and it costs a fortune to keep up with him?

Spending time in dodgy places, possibly taking drugs

stories that you have been seen creeping at dawn out of dreadful houses and slinking in disguise into the foulest dens in London

Again, it's speculation, but this has an opium-den vibe to me.

Possibly homosexuality

Why is your friendship so fatal to young men? There was that wretched boy in the Guards who committed suicide. You were his great friend.

There was Sir Henry Ashton, who had to leave England with a tarnished name.

What about the young Duke of Perth? What sort of life has he got now? What gentleman would associate with him?

You ask me about Henry Ashton and young Perth. Did I teach the one his vices, and the other his debauchery?

We get no details for any of these, except "vices" and "debauchery", and that they are all young men. Rumours of homosexuality were the kind of thing that might cause someone to flee the country - such as Lord Arthur Somerset after the 1889 Cleveland Street scandal, in which police uncovered a male brothel in London.

#dorian gray weekly #chapter 12 #chapter xii

51 notes · View notes

fruit-salad-ship · 1 year

Note

Do Plum and Grey know Peach has an issue with face blindness and if so, how did they find out?

Oh they fully know. She never once mentioned it first though.

Plum spotted it in the Ranger academy, but thought it was just a nervous quirk or way to disarm people at first. Peach watched feet and hands, not peoples faces. Sure she'd look at you when you spoke but if you showed up, first thing she'd do was look at your shoes, never the face. She'd slip up and use the wrong names too when busy or distracted, even when staring someone in the face. Plum assumed she was being rude, not outside of the possible reasoning considering she was a stroppy teen back then. She never got an answer as to why at that point.

Grey and her studied together after that, way back when, and he noticed she would turn her head to someone but not actually look at them. She'd hear someone coming before she'd see them. As she was so good at recognising pokemon, and so bad at social situations, he figured it wasnt anything dubious or unusual, just a personlaity tick. 3-4 years later it came up when she used the wrong name for one of their associates. Several at an event all in lab coats, over for a conference, she would mix them up a lot. He suggested she should get her eyes checked, maybe she was sturgging to see. It was only then that she mentoned she had trouble telling people apart in unfamiliar situations. She expressed that he was easy to pick out however, due to size, gait, and smell. Voices of course help, but if its busy or theres a lot going on, things get more difficult. She also noted that Val helped her a lot with the issue. When plum returned, peach had by this point developed a lot of methods to combat the issue. So much so the ranger hardly noticed the same tells she once knew from when they trained at the academy together. They had all but vanished, all bar one, the shoe check. once their rivalry grew and the relationship started to get a little less hostile at times, she mentioned it, the unbreakable habit. Peach did not inform her of the reason for it, just quietly took note that Plum had alwasy seen it and never said anything. Once they got together Grey mentioned something in a passing comment in the house, and plum picked up on him hinting that she couldnt see who people were. dug further, and ended up finding out via him that she was pretty blind to human features. They kind of never stuck in her head. It became very clear why peach was alwasy so happy to make special essential oil mixes for plum, she was using the smell to identify her far easier. she did the same thing for Grey. In fact those who recieved one were all important to her, and no two were ever the same. Now they all know, peach has grown with it and is able to work around it, but it does lead her to be very nervous in big crowds, unable to see who shes standing near. Expressions she gets, and sure she'll see what you look like, but it just doesnt stick at all, and sometimes recalling those features is hard for her. Thanks to Val however, she can retain memories well, as she can project an image into her trainers head, or a name should peach forget who's who.

Theres work arounds.

#fruit salad

41 notes · View notes

mask131 · 1 year

Text

Cold Winter: Heimdall

HEIMDALL

Category: Norse mythology

Heimdall (or Heimdallr if you want to stick more to the original Old Norse spelling) is one of the most famous Norse gods, frequently popping up alongside other iconic Norse gods such as Odin, Tyr, Thor or Loki. But in truth… Heimdallr is a very mysterious figure full of enigmas and that we haven’t entirely deciphered yet. Let’s take a look, shall we? And as usual, we’ll take a look at the Eddas.

THE POETIC EDDA

We know from the first of the Eddas that Heimdall dwells in Himinbjörg, a well-built house where he joyfully drinks mead and “holds sway over men”. Heimdall is described as the “watchman of the gods” or the “warder of heaven” – a thing that Loki uses against him during the flyting of the gods, claiming that Heimdallr was condemned to a “hateful life” as the watchman of the gods, who will forever have a “muddy back”. Described as the brightest/whitest of all the Aesir, and clearly depicted in stories as living among them, he is yet said to own the gift of foresight “just like the Vanir”. And it is this gift of foresight that apparently led him to suggest the idea, when Thor’s hammer got stolen by a jötunn wanting Freyja in marriage, to disguise Thor AS Freyja… Yep, this whole thing was Heimdall’s idea.

When Odin consults an undead völva to obtain knowledge of the future, she describes to him Ragnarök and mentons that Heimdallr will play a role in it – it is said that when the “sons of Mim dance” and when Yggdrasil starts burning, Heimdall will raise his horn, Gjallarhorn, and blow it so loudly even the dead in Hel will quake in fear (Gjallarhorn seemingly meaning “the horn of Gjöll”, which is one of the underworld-rivers of Norse mythology). And then comes a strange passage of her prophecies where she says that Heimdall’s horn (or “hearing” depending on the translation) is hidden under Yggdrasil – and it seems to be linked to a pledge (or wager) made by Odin and to a mighty stream/muddy torrent/foamy river-fall, which itself is tied to the pledge of Odin… It is overall a very strange passage that confused many scholars. For some it simply means that the horn is hidden near the underworld river it bears the name of ; for others it means that Heimdall left his ear in one of the rivers under Yggdrasil the same way Odin sacrificed one of his eyes in Mimir’s well… And just as mysterious are actually the opening lines of the völva’s prophecy, when she asks for all “the holy races/sacred children”, born out of Heimdall’s sons both high and low/great and small, to be silent and listen to her. What are those “children-races” of Heimdall? Well… for some people it might be humanity.

For you see, there is a tale in the Poetic Edda called the “Rigsmal” about a god of the Aesir called Rigr (or Rig). Rig is an old, wise, mighty and strong god. As he was walking on a seashore, he came to the farm-hut owned by a couple known as Ai and Edda (Great-Grandfather and Great-Grandmother). They offered him shelter, and a meal of poor, rough food. That very night Rigr slept in the couple’s bed, right between the two, and then left in the morning. Nine months later Edda had a son, who was swarthy/dark-colored. He was named “Thraell” (thrall/serf/slave), and he grew up strong but ugly. He married Thir (slave girl/bondswoman) and they had twelve sons and nine daughters, all named after ugliness and swarthiness. From them came the lowest of humanity’s social class: the serfs. When Rigr later encountered a pleasant house inhabited by farmers/craftsmen, Afi and Amma (grandfather and grandmother), he repeated the process – except that they gave him a meal of good food, and their son born nine months later had a ruddy complexion. Named Karl (churl/freeman), he married Snör (“daughter-in-law”) and they had twelve sons and ten daughters, all named after neatness and good quality. From them came the free farmers, the craftsmen and the herdsmen. Rigr finally performed his strange sleeping-rite on a third couple: Fadir and Modir (Father and Mother) who lived in a mansion and offered the god a splendid and excellent meal. Their child was blond, bright white in color, and named Jarl (earl/noble). When Jarl was grown up enough to start handling weapons, hawks, hounds and horses Rigr returned and the claimed the boy as his son – he gave him his own name, Rig, made him his heir, taught him the secret of the runes and advised him to seek lordship. Jarl conquered eighteen wealthy regions, married Erna (“brisk”) daughter of Hersir (“lord”) and had twelve sons, all given noble names meaning “son” – and they were the ancestors of the warrior-nobility of the Old Norse.

Why am I telling you this tale? Because the prose introduction to this part of the Poetic Edda claims that Rigr is none other than Heimdall. Such an angle thus would explain the völva’s words earlier as designing Heimdall as the “ancestor of humanity”, and by extension there would be a whole poetic signification of Heimdall being “warden of both gods and men”. And it is all fine and good but… scholars have actually started to wonder if this prose introduction to the poem wasn’t an old misunderstanding. After all, the prose introduction itself presents this tale as being “old” and its very presence is here to explain to the modern readers that the previous generations who told the tale of “Rigr” really meant “Heimdall”. But… when one looks at the story, Rigr seems rather to be Odin. A god wandering on earth among men, taking on a different name and identity… a “builder of world” creating an entire society through his actions… a god who favors warriors and nobility, and who teaches RUNES out all things to a human! In fact, later in the story, the youngest son of Rigr, named Konr, is described as becoming an expert not just as rune-craft but also at other forms of magic, such as being able to understand the speech of birds, to quench fire or heal minds – which in turns, gives him the title of “Rigr”. All these powers are clearly those of Odin, who like Konr (who “inherits” is name) is a warrior-sorcerer. So… Did ancient people mixed the gods together? Was the tale wrongly attributed to Heimdall when it was Odin’s? Or… is it possible that the “original” Heimdall, Rigr, was somehow “absorbed” by Odin? It is a common theory among Norse scholars, that most of the Aesir gods either were aspects of Odin that separated themselves from him OR that instead Odin as a mythological figure built itself by absorbing the other gods of the pantheon… Anyway.

THE PROSE EDDA

The Poetic Edda leaves us with a strange deity. Between the divine and the human, the celestial and the chthonic, the Aesir and the Vanir, Heimdall is an ambiguous figure… What did the Prose Edda made out of him? How did it build Heimdall as a more “understandable” character?

Well, Heimdall is described in there as the “white As” (As as in, the singular of Aesir), a great and holy god with teeth of gold, also called “Hallinskidi”, “Vindhler” and “Gullintanni” and who was birthed by nine maidens, all sisters. Yep, all nine of them gave birth to him – they are his Nine Mothers. The dwelling of Heimdall, Himinbjörg, is said to be near Bifröst, the rainbow-bridge allowing entrance into Asgard, the domain of the gods. In fact, if he lives there it is because of his job as watchman of the gods: he guards the Bifröst bridge from the jötnar by sitting every day on its edge. It is said that Heimdall requires “less sleep than a bird”, that he can see through night as if it was bright day – and that over a hundred leagues. His hearing is also extraordinary as he can hear “the grass growing on earth, the wool growing on the sheep, and all things louder”. He owns Gjallarhorn, a horn that is so loud it is heard across all the Nine Worlds when blown. He has a horse named Gulltoppr, and it is said that the head is often referred to as “Heimdall’s sword”.

He is called “son of Odin”, “Loki’s enemy” and “recoverer of Freyja’s necklace”. Indeed, it is known that Heimdallr fought against Loki for Freyja’s legendary necklace, Brisingamen – the “famed rainbow defender, ready in wisdom” battled against “Farbauti’s sin-sly offspring” at Singasteinn, the “singing stone/chanting stone”… Oh, and did I mention they were both in the shape of seals? Unfortunately we don’t know more about this mythological event, merely talked about in references, so it is unclear how both of them turned into sea animals or how Freyja’s necklace ended up in such a strange situation.

What we know however is what will happen to him at Ragnarök: as the enemies of the gods will gather on the plain known as Vidrigr, Heimdall will blow into Gjallarhorn, which will awake all of the gods and prompt them to gather at an exceptional thing (a “thing” being an Old Norse judiciary and political gathering, a reunion of the entire community to take decisions impacting it). It said that when the gods will fight their enemies, Heimdall will have to face Loki and they will kill each-other – but Heimdall will raise his horn and blow it once more… when Yggdrasil, after the battle, will be devoured by the flames.

- - - - - -

And this is it. This is all we know about Heimdall – and people have been trying to solve the puzzle that he is for a VERY long time.

One element that has been put forward is Heimdall’s liminal nature. He is a guardian of border and frontiers, a watchman over a bridge – and if he is Rigr, he first manifests in the story on a sea-coast and then travel through roads. All are liminal places, and Heimdall is even the one who’s horn will announce the start of Ragnarök, THE biggest transitional event of all Norse mythology.

Another theory that has been put forward is that Heimdall is some sort of ram-god. Indeed, people have pointed out that several of the god’s alternate names, “Heimdali” and “Hallinskidi” both are used to designate ram and sheep ; this, added to an insistence in describing the god’s teeth (who are apparently made of gold), the fact he is said able to hear “the wool growing on the sheep”, and the link between head and sword were all used as proof of his ram connection (not only is the head said to be “Heimdall’s sword”, there are also talks in Prose Edda of a sword called “Vindhler’s helmet-filler”, which basically means “Heimdall’s head”… and the “sword” of a ram is his horns, that he bears on his head.

But one of the biggest mysteries of Heimdall is without a doubt his Nine Mothers. In the Poetic Edda, Heimdallr is described as the son of nine mothers who were all sisters, a claim taken back in the Prose Edda (which adds that the father was Odin). There is a certain poem that is often invoked as describing the true identity of Heimdall’s Nine Mothers – it is the “Völuspa hin skamma”, but note that if I did not include it in my main look at Heimdall it is because nowhere in this poem is Heimdall named in one way or another. The poem merely tells the birth of a “mighty god” from nine sisters, and how the boy-god grew up strong nourished by “the strength of the earth”, “the ice-cold sea” and the blood swine or boar. The Nine Mothers are here described as jötunn maidens who gave birth “at the edge of the world”, and each is given a name: Angeyja, Atla, Eistla, Eyrgjafa, Gjalp, Greip, Imdr, Jarnsaxa and Ulfrun. This entire description has notably led people to believe that the Nine Mothers of Heimdallr are actually the same as the “nine daughters” of Aegir and Ran, a duo of jötnar sea-gods who had birthed nine jötunn maidens personifying the waves (even though they are given different names than those listed above).

But this just muddles further the complex heritage of Heimdall… Descendant of jötnar, and yet counted among the Aesir, and yet said to have the powers of the Vanir… He basically bears the traits of all three divine groups of Norse mythology. And no, him being called a son of Odin doesn’t clarify anything because that’s done in the Prose Edda – and the Prose Edda turned basically all of the Aesir into sons of Odin. Just like Tyr – who went from the son of a jötunn in the Poetic to a son of Odin in the Prose.

#cold winter #norse mythology #norse gods #heimdall #heimdallr

24 notes · View notes