#what good is a language degree if you can't use it?
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it all fades to nothing (when I look at him)
Pairing: Toto Wolff x fem!reader
Words: 2787
Warnings: mentions of childhood trauma, mentions of emotional abuse, slut shaming, Google translated German
A/N: @kostasstsimikass and I started talking about Toto being your +1 to a wedding, and it got a little out of hand
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When the wedding invitation came in, your first instinct was to say no. There was no way you were about to subject yourself to a public humiliation willingly. However, the longer you thought about it, the more guilt churned in your stomach. It wasn’t just anyone- not some vague acquaintance or a cousin thrice removed. It was the person you had come to see as a brother. His parents, your aunt and uncle, had been there for you and had taken you into their home when it all had gone to hell. So, suffice to say you couldn’t not go, and a phone call with your cousin made it even more clear that both him and his bride-to-be wanted you there.
Your boyfriend had smiled, wrapping his arms around your waist as he read the invitation over your shoulder. The man loved a wedding –loved any excuse to get dressed to the nines and, in turn, spoil you with a pretty new dress or a piece of jewellery. It’s up to you, liebling, he’d said, but I know you will never forgive yourself for not going.
You hated how well he knew you. You hadn’t been together long in the grand scheme of things, although it felt like you had known him all your life.
“Does this mean I get to spoil you?” Toto asked after you had filled out the rsvp.
“Knowing who will probably be in attendance, I don’t know whether to give you full rein or tell you no,” you replied, doubt tightening itself into a knot that sat heavy in your stomach.
“You know how little I care about their opinions when it comes to you, liebling. If anything, it makes me want to spoil you more.”
You did know how little he thought of them, disgusted by the way they had treated you –they being your parents, who had practically thrown you out of their house when you switched mayors your first year in University and pursued a career in law rather than medicine like your father had wanted you to so you could eventually take over the family practice. And a small part of you, a petty part, wanted nothing more than to show up dripping in Toto’s adoration as you showed off your combined wealth. Yet the majority of you was too scared to be branded the common whore again, the way they had when you were in your teens. Rationally speaking you knew it shouldn’t matter what they thought of you, after all they had made it abundantly clear they did not love you, but even after all these years that inner child still craved their approval.
“I’ll think about it,” you eventually agreed.
After a long phone call with your aunt, and later with your grandmother, you met him halfway: you’d pay for the dress and shoes, but Toto could buy you whatever jewellery he wanted. The grin he had given you when you set the terms of the agreement was truly a tribute to his last name and made you a tiny bit nervous that he would buy you a necklace with 50 separate sapphires or something ostentatious like that. Then again, Toto had impeccable taste so why should you be worried? The only clue you gave him was a photo of the colour of your dress –a stunning burgundy that reminded you of the blood oranges you would eat every time the two of you were in Italy. On his part, Toto gave you no clues as to what he had bought you until it was the day of the wedding. Your cousin was getting married in Tuscany and had offered the both of you a room in the villa they had rented for the wedding party. You were about to get ready after having breakfast on the little balcony of your room when Toto stopped you.
“I have something for you, liebling,” he said, pulling you onto his lap as he produced two jewellery boxes.
“Toto…” you said, not finishing your sentence. You felt him smile against your skin as he kissed your cheek.
“Open it,” he murmured. Opening the largest box first, you gasped quietly when you saw the dainty gold chain with two baguette cut diamonds –one along the length of the chain and the other vertically in the centre. You had a feeling that the stones would sit on the two places along your clavicle Toto loved to shower you with kisses and love bites. His habit of marking you had almost gotten the both of you in trouble on numerous occasions before you went public with your relationship, and even after it was often met with the unmistakable giggle of Lewis and a knowing look from Valtteri.
They glittered beautifully in the sun as you let the chain run through your fingers, your head filled with memories of the two of you in various hotel beds across the world. You just knew it would compliment your dress beautifully.
“You spoil me,” you muttered, running a finger along the length of the chain.
“Mm, good,” Toto replied, sliding the second box in front of you. You threw him a glare that you only half meant, and opened the box. Inside was a gold ring with three diamonds in the same cut as the necklace. The stones were held in place by two gold bands, making it appear as if the stones were floating. It was undeniably stunning and the set had probably cost him a pretty penny.
Toto took the ring out of the box and slid it onto the middle finger of your left hand –a secret fuck you to your parents.
“Eines Tages wird das ein Ehering sein, meine Liebe,” he murmured in your ear as you both admired the way the stones caught the mid-morning light. Although your German had vastly improved ever since joining the Mercedes’ legal team back in 2021, it wasn’t enough to fully understand the words that sat heavy in your heart; even if you didn’t understand him word for word, the sentiment wasn’t lost on you. It felt like a promise, almost an oath. A year ago it would have terrified you, sent you running for the hills, but right now it filled you with so much love that you thought you could burst. You studied his face while he sipped the last of his espresso, admiring the lines framing his eyes and smile, hair still messy from where you’d tugged on it last night when it hit you square in the chest: you’d give up everything if it meant having him forever.
Untangling yourself from him and the emotions that formed a lump in your throat, you excused yourself to get ready. Toto kissed the top of your head when he passed behind you ten minutes later to get in the shower as you sat down at the vanity to do your makeup and style your hair, deciding it would be easier to pull it back in a low bun. You slipped on the dress, running your hands over the silk material as you admired the way it hugged your curves in the mirror. Toto stopped buttoning his shirt to admire you. He came to stand behind you, peppering kisses down your neck and shoulder.
“You look absolutely breathtaking, schatz,” he said, leaving a final kiss behind your ear. You felt your cheeks heat up at his praise as you turned to look at him.
“Help me with the necklace, please?”
Toto happily obliged, his large hands deftly clasping the chain, kissing the top of your spine. The tiny gesture sent a shiver down you as his hands came to rest on your hips. You looked at him in your shared reflection in the mirror.
“Toto..” you warned him, but your voice was devoid of any real threat. He smirked a wolfish grin that had become his trademark over the years, but moved away from you. The look he gave you as he finished getting ready left no room for misunderstandings: at the end of the evening you were his to do with as he pleased.
+
The ceremony had been beautiful, the display of such unfiltered love and adoration between two people had left you feeling emotionally raw. There had been several moments throughout the years where you had felt unworthy of such love. It had taken you nearly a decade of therapy and experiencing unconditional love to realise your views on reality had been skewed because of the way your parents had treated you. Toto handing you a flute of champagne pulled you from your thoughts.
“Are you okay, schatzi?” he asked, his eyes glued to yours. He knew exactly what had happened with your parents. During those long nights dealing with the FIA back in 2021, you had spent a lot of time together going over what had happened in Bahrain and combing through the rule book. Toto was a great observer, and while at the time you detested it, he had figured you out in an instant. He had been the first man who allowed you to open up while being there every step of the way. It had been so hard to be vulnerable, the damage done throughout the years making it near impossible.
“Yes. No. I will be,” you replied, pulling him down for a brief kiss, not trusting yourself to say the words bubbling up in your throat –that you couldn’t stop thinking about tying you to him for forever. This was not the place nor the time to do so, this was supposed to be a moment to celebrate your cousin and his wife.
Toto smiled at you, eyes soft and full of his love for you, and kissed you back as he murmured an ich liebe dich against your lips. You couldn’t help but laugh as you watched him get pulled away by your cousins a moment later to discuss either a business opportunity of some sorts or golf, although that quickly faltered when your eyes met your mothers’.
“Here we go,” you muttered, downing your champagne in the hopes it would provide the courage and patience you would need in order to deal with her and your father.
“Mother,” you gave as a greeting when she approached you. Anxiety gripped your insides, but you steeled yourself, not wanting to give her the satisfaction of knowing she still held a shred of power over you.
“Well, if it isn’t the prodigal daughter,” she all but sneered. Her face was a tight mask of pleasantries but her voice betrayed her disgust.
“Oh no, see, that's where you’re mistaken. In order for me to be the prodigal daughter I would have had to come back home with my tail between my legs; show remorse for my transgressions. And if there’s anything I’m not, it’s remorseful for prioritising my own happiness over yours.”
You could see your rebuttal took the wind out of her sails. She had anticipated you crumbling under her thinly veiled attack on your character, and had this encounter taken place three years ago or maybe even a year ago, you would have.
“Your sharp tongue was always the thing that got you in trouble. No wonder you’re alone wearing cheap clothes and fake diamonds. There’s no man who would want a woman like you,” your father commented. It was a loaded comment, not only meant to degrade your intellect but also a way of framing you the way he had done when you were a teenager: a woman owning her sensuality and her sexuality could never be anything other than a slut in his eyes.
There was no denying that his words hurt; he always knew just where to hit to knock you down. You could feel the anger simmering in your veins, trying your hardest to keep your cool and not give them the satisfaction of knowing they could still affect you. The scent of Toto’s cologne, the brush of cotton against your exposed back and the warmth of his hand on your hip as he came standing behind you was enough to ground you. Even if he was behind you, his presence felt like a shield against their vitriol. Of course his height helped in that sense; even in your heels, you just about reached his shoulder.
“Everything alright, liebling?” Toto asked quietly, giving your hip a squeeze. You rested your hand on top of his, giving a squeeze in return as an answer and straightened up, rolling your shoulders back. You saw recognition flicker across their faces when it dawned on them who he was and what he was to you.
“My sharp tongue landed me my dream job as in-house counsel at Mercedes AMG Petronas F1, it got me a boyfriend who looks at me as if I am made to be worshipped. I don’t think he’d take kindly to the accusation that he buys me fake diamonds,” you said, your voice even and ice cold. It was the voice you usually reserved for dealing with stupid men in legal battles. Toto chuckled behind you, breaking the tension in your body. You were sure your parents were about to protest, make up excuses as to why you didn’t deserve any of the accolades behind your name, how dating a man twenty years your senior was more evidence for this. You didn’t want to hear it, no longer cared for what they thought of you. You had never been good enough for them, there was always something that displeased them; if it weren’t your grades, it was the way you dressed, how you flirted with a waiter, that you ate too much or too little. Something clicked inside your brain, a final piece of the puzzle that you had been looking for all those years: You were done trying to appease them, realising you never would get their approval –realising you didn’t want their approval, not anymore. The only person whose opinion mattered loved you unconditionally despite all your flaws and frayed edges, he could read you like an open book and knew just what you needed without you having to say the words out loud.
“If you’ll excuse us,” you interrupted your father’s spluttering, turning around to face Toto who just smirked at you, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. Both his hands rested on your lower back now as he leant down to kiss you. It was both so tender and so filthy and full of promise for later that it left you light-headed.
“Wanna get out of here, schatzi?” he murmured. You nodded and let him lead you outside, leaving your parents seething behind you.
Outside, you took deep, gulping breaths, tears burning behind closed eyes. They weren’t tears of sadness or grief, but you felt… Relief. Even though it hurt to have to hear those words, you were relieved you could finally stand up to them. You could feel the last rays of sunlight on your face as the sun slipped lower behind the rolling hills of the Tuscan landscape, painting the sky with hues of lavender and peachy pinks. It mirrored the way Toto’s words and actions warmed your soul.
“You did so good, am so proud of you my love,” Toto said softly, hugging your back to his front as he shielded you from prying eyes inside the ballroom. He kept whispering his praise and love for you, the words washing over you like a balm for your still healing heart.
“I love you so much, liebling,” he said, brushing a finger against your cheek as you turned to look at him. His expression was so open, so full of adoration, it squeezed your heart seeing him this way and cemented the feeling that he was the one you wanted to spend forever with.
“I know it’s unbecoming to discuss this at someone else’s wedding, and maybe this is all the emotions of today speaking,” you started after a moment of silence, “but I can’t imagine life without you. If-.. If you were to ask, I’d say yes,” you all but whispered. Toto didn’t reply to your admission, not with words at least. He tilted your face up, brushing his lips against yours as he whispered i love yous in between kisses. That was all the reassurance you needed that he felt the same way about you. A tiny voice in the back of your mind whispered that it probably wouldn’t be long before he’d give you a new piece of jewellery to symbolise just how much, to serve as a permanent reminder of his love for you, to make you his and him yours.
This fic was meant to be a Toto supporting his girlfriend as she deals with her shitty parents, but it somehow ended up being strangely cathartic? (this is still a work of fiction, don't worry about me) It got a little out of hand and I am not entirely sure of the flow of this fic, but I also know I need to set it free because I could nitpick this thing apart for all of eternity. Please let me know what you think, your comments truly feed the fanfic goblins in my brain
For anyone else who recognises themselves in this fic, I am sorry you had to deal with that, know that you are loved and worthy and good enough 😘
click here for more of my work
#f1 fanfic#toto wolff x reader#toto wolff x you#toto wolff fanfic#toto wolff oneshot#did I throw every single essay word I remembered from my uni days into this fic? ...maybe#what good is a language degree if you can't use it?
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Heylo my maggotsies... I'm sorry to do this but I have a thing that I really, really need to do (thank you Ash for helping me realise that) but I'm terrified to. so well. I'm going to make one of the posts (Neil reblogged me a couple of days ago so I feel pretty safe making one now since he only lurks by once in two weeks so this is as good a time as it gets to make a post and not expect many notes, yes I'm an overthinker and I'm actually scared of this getting notes).
Sigh. Here goes.
...I'm scared of even typing it.
Nope okay I can do this let's go.
If this post gets 1k notes, I'll look up jobs in design and film making that don't need a college degree.
2k notes, I'll sign up for an Alliance Francaise course so I can have another language on my CV, and I'll find a course that teaches me how to use design software.
5k, I'll look up distance learning alternatives, because just talking about physical college yesterday made me spend the whole morning and afternoon today in and out of nightmares screaming. Fuck.
10k, I'll tell my mum that I can't do the offline college. She's been talking to me about it, but I've been dodging because I'm not well-off and I really need to be earning and idk how to do that without college and I feel so guilty.
15k, I'll officially back out from the college (does that count as dropping out, if it hasn't begun? maybe half. i am a college and a half dropout, my 11th grade self would hate me and my 10th grade self would refuse to believe it).
I don't know what I'll do then. I don't know how to live as trans here in India, I don't know how to earn enough to be able to help my family, I don't know what I'm good at and I'm so fucking terrified. But. I spoke to @random-doctor-on-the-internet last night (I love you Ash you're such a fucking amazing human) and they made me realise that well maybe landing in a hospital with steroids to relieve an allergy attack because of exam stress isn't normal and so.
Well. Here I am. I know I can't do it, but I'm scared to risk everything, it's just not something people do here, dropping out. But also (TW s**cide statistics mentioned below the cut)... And so I've just. Got to do it, got to save myself and say no to college (cue say no to school, kids joke). Somehow be brave enough. And yeah.
To quote a financial express article: "In an alarming situation, a total of 7,62,648 suicides were reported in India between 2018 to 2022, Of this student suicides account for 7.6% at 59,239". Maybe if more people did say fuck you to the system here, that wouldn't be the case. That number could have been 59,240 (aside from everyone who wasn't counted and hushed up), that could have been me, and I don't want to put myself in that situation again. You know? Yeah.
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Represention of Autistic Frustration in Laios Dungeon Meshi
Like many other autistic people, I related strongly to Laios Touden while reading Dungeon Meshi. This post isn't going to spend time disputing whether he displays autistic traits or not—while I could do that, I want to focus on why specifically his portrayal struck a chord with me in a way the writing of most other autistic-coded characters has not.
Disclaimer: as the above suggests, this post is strongly informed by my own experiences as an autistic person, as well as the experiences of my neurodivergent friends with whom I have spoken about this subject. I want to clarify that in no way am I asserting my personal experience to be some Universal Autistic Experience. This post is about why Laios' character feels distinct and significant to me in regard to autistic representation, and while I'm at it, I do feel that I have interesting things to say about autistic representation in media generally. This also got a bit long, so I'm sticking it under a read more. Spoilers for up to the end of chapter 88 below.
The thing that stands out most to me in regard to Laios' characterisation is the open anger he displays when someone points out his inability to read other people. This comes up prominently in his interactions with "Shuro" (Toshiro Nakamoto):
The frustration pictured above (Laios continuing to physically tussle with Toshiro, using crude language toward him) becomes even more notable when you remember that this is Laios, who, outside of these interactions, is not easily fazed and often exists as a lighthearted contrast to the rest of the cast. Then we get to Laios' nightmare.
In Falin's words: "Nightmares love emotional wounds. Wounds you hold in your heart. Things that give you stress, or things that were traumatic for you. They aggravate memories like that and cause the dreamer to have terrible dreams." (chapter 42, page 10.) (damn. i'm properly citing for this post and everything.)
Thus, Laios' nightmare establishes an important fact: even if he is unable to recognise social blunders while he's making them, he's at least subconsciously aware that other people operate on a different wavelength to him, and that he's an outsider in many of his social circles (both past and present). His dream-father's disparaging words stress the impact this has had upon his ability to live up to the expectations set out for him, and we also get a panel of kids who smirk at him (presumably former bullies to some degree). Toshiro's appearance only hammers home how much Laios is still both humiliated and angered by his misunderstanding of their relationship.
I've thought a lot about anger as concomitant to the autistic experience. When autistic representation portrays ostracization, it's generally from an angle of the autistic character being upset at how conforming to neurotypical norms doesn't come easily to them; as a result, they express a desire to 'get better' at meeting neurotypical standards, a desire to become more 'normal' (whether the writing implies this is a good thing or not). In contrast, not once does Laios go, "I need to perform better in my social interactions, and try to care less about monsters, because that's what other people find weird." His frustration is directed outward rather than inward, and as a result, it's the people around him who are framed as nonsensical.
The Winged Lion starts delineating Laios' anger, and Laios' reaction is to think to himself, "It can sense all my thoughts, huh?" (chapter 88, page 16.) This is the scene that really resonated with me. I'm not saying I have never felt the desire to conform to neurotypical norms that is borne from insecurity, but primarily, I know that I don't want to work toward becoming 'normal'—I don't want to change myself for people who follow rules I find nonsensical. It's the difference between, "Oh god, why can't I get it," and, "WHY CAN'T YOU GET IT?" (phrasing here courtesy of my friend Miles @dogwoodbite). And for me personally, Dungeon Meshi is the first time I've seen this frustration and the resultant voluntary isolation from other people portrayed in media so candidly. Laios' anger is not downplayed or written to be easily palatable, either.
The culmination of Laios' frustrations in this scene wherein we learn that Laios has fantasised about "a pack of monsters attacking a village" drives home just how alienated he really feels. I need not go into his wish to become a monster himself, redolent of how many autistic people identify/have identified with non-humans to some degree as a result of a percieved disconnect from society (when I was younger, I wanted to be a robot. I still kind of do.)
Obviously, wishing death upon other people is a weighty thing, but the unfiltered nature of this page is what deeply resonated with me. The Winged Lion is laying Laios' deepest and most transgressive desires bare, and they are desires that are a product of lifelong ostracization by others (whether intentional or unintentional). This is the brand of anger I'm familiar with, and that my neurodivergent friends express being familiar with, but that I haven't seen portrayed in writing so explicitly before—in fact, it surprised me because most well-meaning autistic representation I've experienced veers toward infantilisation in trying make the autistic character's struggles easy for neurotypicals to sympathise with.
Let's also not neglect the symbolism inherent to Laios' daydream. "A pack of monsters attacking a village". Functionally, monsters are Laios' special interest—he percieves everything first and foremost through his passion for monsters. His daydream of monsters attacking—killing—humans, is fundamentally a daydream of the world he understands (monsters) overthrowing the world that is so illogical to him, that has repeatedly shunned him (other people). I joked to my friends that it's an autistic power fantasy, and it actually sort of is. And in it, his identity is aligned with that of the monsters, while his anger manifests in a palpable dissociation from the rest of humanity. This is one manga page. It's brief. It's also very, very raw to me. I think about it often.
To conclude, I love Laios Dungeon Meshi. This portrayal of open frustration in an autistic character meant a lot to me, and I hope I've sufficiently outlined why. Also, feel free to recommend media with autistic representation in the notes if you've read this far—I would really like to see if there is more of this nature. Thank you for reading. I'm very tired and should probably sleep now.
#dungeon meshi#dunmeshi#laios touden#shuro#toshiro nakamoto#the winged lion#autistic#autism#clay writes#i GUESS#this was so spur of the moment. im so busy right now i dont have time to be analysing laios touden#i wuont angry autistic rep..
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Hello this is just to say that I am very interested in that post you mentioned maybe making about indirect communication!
So to define Direct and Indirect communication with a pair of examples real fast:
Direct communication: "Hey, can you do the dishes?"
Indirect communication: "There's dishes in the sink." (Please wash them.)
Indirect communication tends to trip a lot of ND, but especially Autistic people up because the implied request in the parentheses... doesn't always come through. So you don't do the dishes, and the Indirect communicator gets frustrated because they thought they had made that request perfectly clearly.
Which, in their defense, they did!
...in their micro-cultural language.
See, the actual purpose of Indirect Communication is to provide some extra verbal personal space and non-aggression measures in micro-cultures where people's personal autonomy has been compromised but there is also a high degree of understood social context.
Hm.
That's a weird sentence. Let's try some more examples.
Indirect communication is most common in places or situations where people's ability to stay in their own lane is compromised, but everyone also shares the same base knowledge of what's going on.
One example is in large cities, where people are PHYSICALLY up in each other's personal space because they're physically crowded. So cities have etiquette like "Don't make eye contact on public transit unless you actually need to address someone", so that, if people can't stop violating your personal space, they can at least signal non-aggression and give you some privacy. People raised in large cities, or who have lived there for a while all learn these unspoken rules by trial and error, some of us with more errors and trials than others.
Thus, in physically compact situations, "There's dishes in the sink" means "There's dishes in the sink." (I trust that you are already familiar with the social rules that dictate that dishes need to be done, and assume the reason you haven't done them is because you haven't seen the sink yet. I won't insult your intelligence by elaborating on the Do The Dishes Rule, because I know you are smart <3)
Speaking of Privacy, the other place indirect communication is common is in situations where people have Limited Privacy and thus everyone knows what's going on with them, and they know what's going on with everyone else, whether they want to or not. Close-knit families and religious communities often have this shared no-privacy pool, but it can also happen with you and two roommates in a 100sq ft apartment, or on a research vessel in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. Since y'all are up in each other's business, indirect communication is there to prevent hostility in close quarters.
This, in a low-privacy situation, "There's dishes in the sink." means
"There's dishes in the sink." (I know you are a good and responsible roommate who is maybe a little forgetful, and I trust you to have enough context from living in the live feed of everyone's life to know that I need them done. I won't insult you by suggesting your motivation was malicious in any way, and i trust you to do them <3)
So, to an indirect communicator, that was a perfectly clear request to do the dishes because OF COURSE you'd know what they meant- literally everyone else they deal with is in on this shared knowledge of social rules and daily updates. And not elaborating on that request is an affectionate sign of trust in your competence.
Except, you know.
You're not.
So, you try to explain to your indie friend that "There's dishes in the sink." only sounds like an observation, and your brain will not auto-fill in the request like theirs does, so if you want me to do the dishes, just ask with words, okay?
And your indie friend understands this! but then instead of going "Hey, can you do the dishes?" they instead don't say ANYTHING until they're really frustrated with the state of the kitchen, and communicate VERY directly at you, and with great anger.
What happened?
So remember how indirect communication exists to prevent hostility and violence? That's because the threat of hostility and violence is VERY, VERY REAL.
Like you, your indirect communication friend made some mistakes while learning The Unsaid Rules and How To Use The Shared Information Pool, and the social hammer came down on them HARD. Ostracization, ridicule, maybe even actual, psychical harm. So they grew very, very afraid of violating those secret rules, and doubly so with people they like, so your indirect communication friend is facing this HUGE EMOTIONAL BLOCK when it comes to directly communicating with you, because to someone who grew up with their boundaries compromised and the threat of hostility if they violate the communication rules, communicating directly with someone they love feels really, really, really mean and they don't want to hurt or lose you.
For real, "Hey, please do the dishes" sounds like "Hey, please do the dishes." (You fucking moron who doesn't give a shit about our home and probably hates me) to them, and they don't want to talk like that to you. It's like how we never like picking the mean dialogue option in video games.
So instead they... just don't say anything at all, rather than risk a potential confrontation, and then the dishes don't get done and it turns into a REAL confrontation.
What a headache.
So what are we gonna do?
Well, you can't control your friend's actions, emotional reactions or interpersonal skills, but you can manage yours, and you're gonna have to meet them halfway, and it's gonna feel like training a skittish cat that coming out from under the couch is safe. Several-pronged approach:
DO NOT PUNISH BEHAVIOR YOU WANT TO SEE. When your friend does manage to say "Hey, please do the dishes?" don't go "UUUUGH IN A MINUTE." even if you are in the middle of something else and their timing sucks, which is probably does. Stick to either neutral responses ("Cool, let me finish this paragraph and I'll get on that") to positive responses ("Oh, sure! Thanks for letting me know!")
REWARD THE BEHAVIOR YOU WANT TO SEE. -and then actually go do the dishes to demonstrate that this approach not only is safe, it's effective.
Also, praise your friend when they do a good job communicating with you. "Hey, thanks for actually asking me to do the dishes, that was really helpful." or "You're doing a great job navigating and giving me directions, this is much less stressful than the GPS" or "Thanks for being honest about how I was annoying you and bringing it up before it became a huge issue."
This will kind of feel like you're an actor on sesame street teaching big bird how to say please and thank you, but honestly? that was the age most of us learned our communication skills, and we return to that teaching method because BY GOD IT WORKS.
MODEL THE BEHAVIORS YOU WANT TO SEE.
Humans learn by copying, so lead by example with the kind of communication that helps you, and explain why it helps. "Hey friend, a question so I can schedule some stuff- Do you have any plans this weekend I should know about, or am I clear to paint the bathroom?"
This is the one that sucks but YOU GOTTA MEET THEM HALFWAY AND LEARN ABOUT THE CONTEXT POOL.
Can't make everyone learn, and Indirect communication has it's uses (especially in modern jobs and social media), so you gotta learn their style too.
I literally have a discord server that's just me where I keep notes on the life events and conditions of my friends, coworkers, neighbors and loved ones because I know I won't remember that shit, but they will kind of expect me to, and it's been a lifesaver in both not blundering into social faux pas, and actually getting around my crap memory to know them better.
You can also model hybrid communication and practice your indirect skills by using an indirect request opener, but then saying the rest of the implied context aloud: "Hey, there's dishes in the sink. I know you'll do that ASAP because you're cool, I just wanted to make sure you knew they were there and needed to be washed, thanks <3"
Accept that some people aren't gonna change for reasons that are beyond their control and probably have nothing to do with you, and decide what you're willing to invest in learning to deal with them.
I still have to play 5D words chess with my mother-in-law, who was raised in a close-physical-space-AND-no-privacy culture and is an excruciatingly anxious indirect communicator as a result. I can't make her go to therapy for the anxiety, and until she does, her ability to communicate effectively probably won't improve. It's got nothing to do with me, even if I'm the person she's most frequently at odds with.
As a result, I have extremely limited contact with her. I don't see her for more than a few hours at a time, when we have an activity to do together, and only a handful of times a year. More than that, and I get brainworms by proxy, so for my sanity, I've limited what I am willing to do with her.
Maybe your indirect communicator is someone worth effectively learning a second language for, like a lover. Maybe they're someone you can cut out of your life entirely without issue, like a manger at a retail job you can quit. You'll have to decide.
Anyway, that's my raised-bilingual ADHD/Autism Direct/indirect communicator ramble, hope it helps.
#Long post#communication skills#Note: I'm not a therapist#I just live this experience#so take this with a handful of salt#but this has worked for me
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100 Degrees
bottom!ftm Miguel x top!masc reader
🕷️ Word Count: 1,467 🕷️
AFAB Language Used
CW: Dub-Con, Masturbation, Womb Fucking, Creampie, Breeding, Pregnancy & Lactation Mention, Squirting
“Look, Miguel,” You trace your fingers along the bulge in his stomach. “Look how deep I am inside you..”
Miguel whimpers. You’re not even fully inside yet. “Keep going..”
You ease yourself further in, your cock kissing his cervix. “Can't go any further, my love.”
“Please..” He whines.
You ram into his cervix and force your way inside his womb. Miguel’s eyes shoot open. There's a familiar, although amplified, feeling in his between his legs. He woke up from a wet dream. Right when it was getting good…He sighs and slowly brings his hand down to his pussy, sliding it down his chest and to his lower stomach. He twitches. He doesn't know what, but his lower stomach is sensitive. Just touching it is making him feel good. He circles his fingers around the area, moaning and shivering. He could come just from doing this. He covers his mouth to stay quiet, he doesn't want to wake you up. He pushes down and suddenly electricity runs through his body and he squirts. Holy fuck. He came so hard just from touching his womb. How erotic. It wasn't enough though. He wants– needs more. He needs you. He needs to make that dream a reality. If touching his womb made him feel that good, how would it feel if you penetrated it?
He sits up in his bed. The two of you are only roommates. You don't have a romantic relationship and he has no idea how you feel about him but he's so desperate and horny that he doesn't even care. He hurries out of his room and goes to yours. He knocks on the door rapidly, the sounds wake you up. You get out of bed and open the door. “Miguel? Are you okay?”
“I need your help.” He says. “I- I need you to fuck me.”
Your eyes widen. Did you hear that correctly? “Are you drunk?”
He should be able to say no, him being drunk is impossible but for some reason he doesn't feel like he's sober. “Please.”
You bring him into your room and sit him down on your bed. “I’ll get you some water.” You say before leaving.
He makes an almost growl-like sound before lying down on your bed. He’s so horny right now he can't even think straight. He pulls off his boxers and goes to masturbate. If he were in his right mind, he wouldn't be doing this. He just can't sit still. He needs to pleasure himself.
You walk into the room with a glass of water and turn the lights on. You pause when you see the sight in front of you. Miguel’s pussy is on display for you and yet something else seems to catch your attention. There's a marking on his stomach. A…A womb tattoo. Has he always had that? You don't know but oh God is it sexy. You place the water on your desk and walk towards him. “Miguel…when’d you get this done?” You ask, pointing at his tattoo. You’re almost mesmerized by it. You want to touch it…You reach your hand over to do so but stop yourself. He looks down at the new addition to his skin in surprise. How did that even happen?
“Touch it..” He says. With his permission, you eagerly go and touch it. Miguel moans in response, his body shaking. “More..”
You watch his face with wide eyes as you continue touching the tattoo. You're making him feel this good and you're only touching him. You mutter a curse under your breath. This is so hot. Just like his body, in both ways. Now that you think about it, he's almost burning hot. You pull your hand away, making him whine, and bring it to his forehead. Does he have a fever? He grabs you by the collar and brings you into a heated kiss. Again, in both ways. He definitely has a fever or something of the sort. You find yourself losing focus and reason the longer the kiss goes on. You're getting hornier and hornier, so horny that it hurts. You have to fuck him.
You pull away from the kiss and take your clothes off, getting Miguel excited. You climb onto the bed and spread his legs apart. As you ease yourself inside him, you start to become even more aroused. He’s so fucking wet and so fucking warm. He’s almost like an oven. An oven with wet, creamy, and soft walls. You grit your teeth as you move further inside of him and hit his cervix. Normally, you would stop there and ask if he's okay, if it hurt him, but nothing is normal right now. Instead, you keep going. You start ramming into it to force it open. Miguel lets out loud and high pitched moans, squirting when you enter his womb. You start fucking him like an animal in heat, fucking him with the intention of breeding him. Miguel digs his nails into your back and throws his head back. This is what he needed. He cries out your name in a guttural tone, tears flowing down his cheeks.
“Ha- harder!” He begs, nails so deep in your skin that you start to bleed. You don't even feel any pain.
“Gonna knock you up ‘n make you have my kids–” You promise.
“Yes~! Gimme your babies~!”
You press down on his womb, causing him to come again. You come shortly after, shooting a huge load straight into his womb. Miguel shivers like a cat before grabbing your arms and moving you onto your back. He straddles your hips and looks down at you with a slutty grin on his face. Half of the tattoo is glowing. It looks…like a sort of meter? The lower part of it is glowing while the rest isn't. Almost like it's measuring something. Or like it's…filling up?
He grips your shoulders and starts riding you, his eyes rolling to the back of his skull. He almost looks like a succubus. Everything about this is so erotic. The sticky and sloppy sounds of your cock in his pussy, his loud and slutty moans, and his tattoo. It's all so fucking hot. Even the room is hot. Your eyes wander to his breasts and his hardened nipples. You wonder how his milk would taste…
You prop yourself upwards and bring yourself to his chest. You suck on his nipple, trying fruitlessly to get milk. Miguel’s movements slow down thanks to you desperately sucking on one of his sensitive parts. You pull away with a frown. “Gonna get these full of milk..” You murmur. Miguel leans in to kiss you, riding you at a slower pace. You reciprocate it passionately. Your hands find their purpose massaging his soft breasts. He moans into the kiss, walls squeezing your cock tightly as he gets close to another orgasm.
Miguel pulls away from the kiss and returns his previous pace. He keeps moving even as he comes. He’d usually be passed out by now but he has more energy than ever. You grab his waist and switch positions again. You take his legs and fold him in half, plowing his pussy aggressively. The look on your face is primal, like a hungry wolf. You chase your orgasm, determined to fill him up with your cum and get him pregnant.
Your thrusts slow down but remain rough as you get closer to your peak. Miguel can tell you're about to come. He’s grinning so widely. He can't wait to have your baby. You finally stop, pumping him full of another load. His body relaxes, finally satiated. This time you can see the tattoo fill up, it fills up the same way you would pour liquid into a glass. It's glowing completely red now. You go to touch it but it disappears.
You blink a few times. “..Miguel?” You look down at him. You remember everything that happened but now you're back to normal. You’re a little freaked out and very concerned for Miguel.
He looks embarrassed. He turns his head to the side. “I…I want to keep it..” He mumbles, referring to the baby he’ll probably be having.
“..Me too.” You feel relieved that everything was consensual. You're kind of excited to raise a baby with him, even though you're completely unprepared.
Miguel sees you sitting on the couch, scrolling on your phone. He walks over to you with a look on his face that says he's about to tell you something exciting. You look up at him and put your phone away. He climbs onto your lap. “Remember when you wanted to drink my milk?”
You look at him with an excited expression. “Are you saying..?”
He lifts his shirt up and holds up his breasts. “Drink up.” He grins.
#wicks🕯works#top male reader#male reader#afab character#ftm character#🕯️spider man#🕯️marvel#🕯️miguel o'hara#miguel x reader#miguel x male reader#miguel o'hara smut#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel o'hara x male reader#sub miguel o'hara#across the spiderverse x male reader#spiderverse x male reader
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bff!roommate!simon comes home from deployment. it is the first time that either of you feel the distance thousands of miles can bring.
more bff!roommate!simon (part 10/?)
word count: 3.4k
cw: mature language and content, suggestive language and content, aNgSt, mean!simon, mentions of simon's canon trauma, military service criticism, pet names (luv, kitty), vague smut (18+) ⚠️🔞
large blocks of italicized text are flashbacks.
she hasn't called.
it was something that simon realized only a week in. normally, he spent his evenings sheltered in his room, his earbuds in, your voice on the other end. even if he didn't talk, you spoke. normally, you would tell him about your day; about the customer that gave you a hefty tip, the kids that left the tables a sticky mess, the meal you made that you think he would like. simon listened, and he would close his eyes and let the lull of your voice put him to sleep. sometimes, it was the next best thing to get him rest; it was impossible to know the comfort of you in your bed across from him when he was so far away.
more recently, those calls had become something else. you would still tell him the same stories, but sometimes your voice would drop a few degrees lower, and you would ask him if he was thinking about you--about all of you. and there simon would be, a pathetic, choking mess as he fucked himself to soft sound of your voice on the other end--so good, simon, miss you so much, need you, need you--can't wait for you to come home, n-need to feel you--
but it was quiet now. there was no one calling him, no one leaving him texts that he couldn't wait to read in the morning. his phone was silent; but the thoughts in his head were not.
the inevitable loneliness faded to anger after the weeks apart; his sergeants were quick to learn to stay out of his way. there was to be no conversation, no jokes, no playful banter before and after their ops. there was complete silence, because if they spoke about anything other then their direct objective, simon was an unleashed dog, and no one wanted to be on the spitting end of his berating.
he thought about you even when he wasn't supposed to. when he was supposed to be focused, when he was supposed to have his eyes on the target, sweeping the horizon--you were there, behind his eyes. remembering the look on your face before he had left.
the gloss of your eyes. the tears that collected at the edges. the drawing in of your knees to your chest, the tremble of your pouty lip. the stain that he was leaving on you--he didn't even have it in him to turn around and tell you that he was sorry.
he was sorry. the things you asked for weren't unreasonable--you wanted answers. you wanted him to tell you what this was, what this would be. it wasn't enough anymore to pretend this wasn't real. the reality was that there was no one else--and his eyes had yet to go anywhere else since the first moment he tasted your sweet cunt. he knew, deep down, that this possessiveness had started long before that--when you were just kids, holding onto each other for some kind of comfort away from what waited for you at home.
you cradled his head in your lap. a damp towel was in one hand, the other holding his trembling face to your chest. when you pulled the towel back, you flinched at the sight of blood.
"simon? y-you...y-you wanna talk about it?"
all he could was shake his head. you picked him up, sitting him back gently against the bench, and you used the towel to wipe at the blood drying under his nose. his eyes were red with the tears he wanted to cry, but he held them back, swallowing them down.
you leaned in, looking down as you rested your forehead against his.
"what was it this time? was it tommy?"
when he just shrugged, you reached down, smoothing your hand over his. his hands were smooth, soft--they had not seen the other side yet.
"n-no one's gonna be at my place," you whispered. "why don't you stay tonight?"
you ate instant noodles on the roof that evening, your head leaning on his shoulder as you both looked out into the dreary city. there were dark clouds overhead, and you knew it would rain tomorrow. fitting, and you hoped then that it might wash away the pain of yesterday.
it was the first night that simon was encased by silence. on his back beside you on your twin bed, staring up at the ceiling as he thought about how he might explain the bruises on his face when he went to his classes the next day--about what he might say this time.
when he turned his head, there you were. eyes closed, face pressed into your pillow as you breathed gently. real. alive. here. some kind of respite that he didn't think he deserved.
the papers he had taken were burning a hole in his desk at home--just waiting for his signature. it was time to take control. to take his life back. that was the only way that he could keep this, whatever it was--this was the only way that he could protect you. protect himself. protect tommy, his mother, his sanity.
the only thing he prayed for that night was that you would forgive him when he left you behind.
you had always been his. you belonged to him. and he could keep pushing you away, but it wouldn't erase the fact that he lived in your bones and you under his skin, and whatever this was meant forever.
and simon wouldn't fucking die--no matter how hard they tried--and he needed to fix this.
but he was angry. and half of him came from something else. something not real. something sour. something that bled dark, not red but black, poison. sometimes he could feel that half of him right under his tongue. he could taste it, the sour and rot that part of him was made of, and he could feel it multiplying under his skin like mold.
he would never be rid of this kind. he couldn't throw away half of himself without losing all of himself; and normally, simon could swallow this down, keep it underneath, but fuck, it's coming, going to be fuckin' sick, it's coming--
when he saw her, he just took her. glaring at her under a dark mask didn't deter her, and when she kept pushing, he let her. he let her follow him home, let her through the threshold of a space that had only ever belonged to someone else.
he let her in. he let her in. he let her in.
she didn't taste like you. she was too loud. her voice was too shrill, moans that made him flinch rather than relax. between her thighs, it wasn't the same--it wasn't warm like it was with you. she was wet, dripping actually, but she smelled like something else. foreign. poison.
her eyes were too wet, too harsh, a glare there that didn't belong. this was wrong, it felt wrong, but he was so angry, and he needed something to bite. maybe something to tear about, he wasn't exactly sure, but as soon as he had her here, under him, knees pressed to her chest as she let him fuck her senseless, he realized that it was painful.
there was a disconnect between what was real and what was not. it was so real with you, and now he just felt so far away from himself. he felt like someone else. and he thought, he really thought, that the other half of him was so fucking real that it would come easy.
to hurt. to inflict pain. to growl and claw and take and eat, shouldn't this be easy? pain was in his genes, it was a part of him. trauma ran in his blood and into his veins, and when his heart pumped, it trickled into every soft place that lived and breathed inside of him.
isn't it? isn't this a part of me? why does it hurt? why doesn't it feel good? why is it worse, why does this hurt, why can't i breathe--
the front door shut behind you. you let out a shaky sigh, shrugging off your jacket and putting your bag down. you tossed everything onto the kitchen table, and just as you went to put your shoes away by the door, you noticed something out of place.
simon's boots were haphazardly tossed beside the shoe bench, laces hurriedly untied, one boot fallen onto its side. strange, and it stood out to you because simon wasn't someone who didn't put things away where they should be. he was adamant about this practice. but the strangest thing was the pair of shoes thrown beside them--heeled suede boots, with a pointed toe.
but they didn't belong to you.
you froze, your lips parting when you heard the shuffle of noise behind a closed door. you stepped backwards in the foyer, your back hitting the wall, and you put your hand over your stomach, suddenly feeling like heaving.
simon had come home; and there was someone else here with him.
your entire body suddenly felt hot, on fire. you looked towards the window, the one that faced the street, and when your vision went blurry, you realized there were tears coming down your face. the heat must've been your falling heart--it was dropping, fast, sliding down your chest and into your stomach, and it was like the acid there was crawling right back up your throat. you couldn't see anymore, warm tears wetting your cheeks and gathering in your mouth and staining your jaw and your neck.
simon had come home--and there was someone else here with him.
it had felt so real. hadn't it been real? wasn't this real? wasn't he real? weren't you real? this was real--it was fucking real.
right?
you hurried. you went right for your bedroom, shoving the door open, and you frantically went for your closet, pushing it open and scrambling for one of your bags. you tossed items off the shelves, blind through your tears, and as you grabbed one that hid behind a box of your memories, the lid popped off of it, its contents spilling onto the floor. you stepped over polaroid pictures, over moments captured in time, and you couldn't focus on them because you were blind--the tears just wouldn't stop, they won't stop, please stop.
you tossed the bag onto the bed, ripping the zipper open, and you flung the drawers open, just scooping handfuls of your clothes into the bag. whatever would fit--anything you could pick up until the bag was full, until you could barely force the zipper closed and swing the bag over your shoulder. you looked around the room frantically, looking for any essentials you might need, and you froze when you heard voices outside your door, the padding of more than one pair of feet. simon's footsteps were easy to point out, but then there was a lighter pair, a voice a little high-pitched wafting after his own.
suddenly, the idea of running away, of crying--it felt so stupid. he wasn't your boyfriend. he wasn't your lover, not your significant other, there was nothing that tied you together. the string you always thought that connected you wasn't that at all; simon had you on a leash, and you just hadn't realized he just let go.
he leaves me behind. he always leaves me behind.
there was nothing in those dark eyes that belonged to you. there was nothing here in this apartment that told you otherwise. separate rooms, separate things--you were just two people that lived in the same place, so what if he eats my cunt and puts his fingers inside of me and calls me a good girl? he's not mine, not mine, he doesn't belong to me.
and the only thing worse than the truth of it was that you belonged to him. and he had ruined you for anyone else.
the door swung open. you stopped moving, your hands shaking as you turned towards the sound of it. you knew how it looked--the bag over your shoulder, a few cherished knickknacks cradled in the other arm. the red in your eyes, the tears on your face--the rawness of your sadness so exposed and so there, right in his face, right where he could see you.
he was dressed down, sweats pulled on haphazard, a wrinkled shirt pulled on so hastily that he hadn't realized it was inside-out. and that fucking mask, crooked and damp on his sweaty face. he was gripping your doorknob tight in one fist, his knuckles white from how hard he held it.
"oi," he looked around your room. disheveled, messier than usual. ransacked drawers from your frantic packing, items knocked over as you searched for your precious possessions. "wot's this?"
you swallowed.
"i'm...i'm going on...on a trip. i..." you tried to laugh through your tears, "i thought i told you. i-i must've forgot."
"'cause i just got home," he muttered, stepping into your room. you stepped back at that. simon had been in your room before, of course he had. but something wasn't the same. something was different, and now instead of feeling like every corner of your apartment was safe, it felt like he was invading this place. he was too big, the room was too small, the distance between you was too short. you were suffocating. you couldn't breathe. and when he reached over and snatched the bag off your shoulder, you flinched.
when simon met his own eyes in the mirror, he nearly choked. he didn't recognize himself. the eyes that stared back at him didn't belong to him. not simon, not ghost, not the someone he pretended to be--no. no, no, no--that isn't me--i'm not like him--not him, not him, not him, anything but him.
he dropped your bag, holding out his hand suddenly. he was careful, slow, as if he might startle you, and you stepped back again, shaking your head.
"kitty--"
"don't!" you cried, and the yell of your own voice startled you, so much that you put a shaking hand over your mouth. you looked away from him. "d-don't call me that."
and just like that, he felt it. the spool of thread, cut. the line connecting you--severed. the apartment you had made a home, the sacred door that you hadn't opened to anyone, fuck, it was gone so quick. the years of trust, the undeniable bond, just gone, it was gone, how the fuck was that possible?
had it really been that easy? had this thing between you that had been so real been so fucking delicate?
your hands were shaking. trembling, and it was hard to read the papers that you held, and it was even harder to read them when the tears you shed was making the ink bleed.
your bedroom door creaked, and you looked up. simon ran an uneasy hand through his hair when he realized what you were holding. his signature so clear at the bottom, and all he had to do was walk back into the recruiting office. he didn't want to take anything with him--he didn't have any possessions, nothing he needed to pack away.
nothing he needed to pack away. nothing he needed to pack away. nothing he needed to pack away, nothing, nothing, nothing.
"when were you going to tell me?" you asked, but it was more of a strained whisper. you let the papers slip back into their place, and when you met his eyes, he was sympathetic, but you knew that look. you weren't going to change his mind about this. it was all made up.
"i...i-i hadn't thought about it. i...no, i just...i don't know."
he swallowed hard, rubbing the back of his neck. he was uncomfortable, but he came closer, settling onto the ground beside you, sitting just next to you.
"when...when are you leaving?"
a beat. and then, "in a few days."
you looked down at your hands, and as you watched them continue to shake, simon reached over, putting his own hand over them and clasping them together, stilling you. just like that, so easy--how much power did he hold over you?
"b-but...but why?"
"need to do this. not just for me," he murmured. "not just for tommy. not just...for mum. you. have you seen the fuckin' news? haven't you seen what's going on?"
and what about what went on behind your closed doors? his own? simon gets to decide to be hero when the real war is right here, right under his fucking nose?
selfish. he's so selfish. i hate him. i hate him. i hate him.
"so...what?" you breathed. "those...those towers get hit, so that means i-i have to lose something, too?"
he turned to face you, frowning. "don't say that. that isn't...that's not what this is. i need to do something. i can't...i can't just keep watching this happen. it's not right." he squeezed your hand. "i can do something about this. i can help."
you had no idea simon had suddenly become some kind of martyr. that he suddenly felt some kind of obligation to saving the world.
he was your world. weren't you his?
"'m gonna come back," he said softly, but it didn't feel like a promise.
it just felt like goodbye.
he was calling your name, but you pretended not to hear. her boots were gone, but the trace of something unfamiliar still lingered in the air. you grabbed your purse, the keys jingling, and just as you were going to move again, reality hit him.
i'm going to lose her. i'm going to lose her if i don't say something.
"would y'just let me fuckin' say something?!"
the sharpness of his voice stopped you, and you turned to face him, your bottom lip trembling.
"what do you want from me, simon?" you breathed. "what the fuck do you want from me? i-i...i didn't ask for this."
"luv--" he came closer, and you sobbed when he gripped both sides of your head. his fingers tangled in your hair, holding you tight, firm.
solid. grounding.
"it's okay," you shook your head. you smiled through your tears, blinking through them, meeting his eyes. "simon, it's okay...it's...it's my fault..."
"..wot?"
"i wanted more," you whispered. the tears were wetting his hands, and as much as he tried to wipe them away, more kept falling. "i wanted more, and i..." you laughed a little, but there was no humor in it. just sadness, echoing and hollow, just how you felt inside. you lifted a shoulder in a defeated shrug. "it's never been that way."
simon shook his head. "no. kitty, 's not true--"
"you've never fought for this before, simon, don't start begging now," you gasped. "just don't. you leave me behind. that's my fucking fate with you, getting left behind, and i keep thinking you'll change, but you won't--"
"that's not--!"
"you won't change, simon!" you cried, choking on it, and you were so sad, and for something that supposedly wasn't real, it felt like a gaping wound, something splitting apart his skin and crawling from the inside-out. "you...you won't change...but it's okay...s-simon, it's okay..." you tried to smile again. "i've always known. i-i think i've just...i've always known..."
the glass around him shattered when you spoke again.
"i-i've always...i-i...i think i've always been yours," your voice was so soft. it was the pain of accepting a truth you never wanted. "a-and...and you've never been mine."
it wasn't true. that wasn't true. you had no idea what kind of things you held over him. you had no idea the power you had, the kind of things that your touch made him feel. you had no idea how tightly he was bound--he had no room to breathe.
if this wasn't love, if this wasn't the kind of pain that love brought, then what the fuck is this? isn't this real? aren't we real?
but half of simon was poison. and when you left, it was quiet. there was no one to hear him scream. there was no one to take the glass out of his mouth, the shards of them that he swallowed, to watch the black of his blood choke him.
when he looked in the mirror again, he recognized those eyes. he had been too afraid to see them for what they were before, but now he knew who those eyes belonged to, and he thought it would be easier to cut them out than look at his reflection again.
a dream, a nightmare, not reality.
left behind.
always yours. and never mine.
#simon ghost riley#simon riley#simon ghost riley x reader#simon riley x reader#simon riley x you#ghost mw2#ghost cod#ghost call of duty#ghost mwii#ghost x reader#cod#call of duty#simon riley smut#simon ghost riley smut
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Disclaimer: This is all for fun and I love Minho. He's just my little guy with the love language of cooking for his members, making sure they're wellfed and paying for their food without caring about the price. He helps them with dance and looks for things they ask him to look for. He loves cats and plays with the strays. I love my little guy, so this is just for fun!!
*I paraphrased some of these, and used my own translations for some (I mean technically translations are always paraphrasing, right?), so these might not be his exact words (they're not. He said them in Korean, I wrote them in English).
#maja talks#stray kids#lee know#all for fun no harm!!!!#he loves his members and they love him and i love him#maja asks
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i've been seeing ai takes that i actually agree with and have been saying for months get notes so i want to throw my hat into the ring.
so i think there are two main distinct problems with "ai," which exist kind of in opposition to each other. the first happens when ai is good at what it's supposed to do, and the second happens when it's bad at it.
the first is well-exemplified by ai visual art. now, there are a lot of arguments about the quality of ai visual art, about how it's soulless, or cliche, or whatever, and to those i say: do you think ai art is going to be replacing monet and picasso? do you think those pieces are going in museums? no. they are going to be replacing soulless dreck like corporate logos, the sprites for low-rent edugames, and book covers with that stupid cartoon art style made in canva. the kind of art that everyone thinks of as soulless and worthless anyway. the kind of art that keeps people with art degrees actually employed.
this is a problem of automation. while ai art certainly has its flaws and failings, the main issue with it is that it's good enough to replace crap art that no one does by choice. which is a problem of capitalism. in a society where people don't have to sell their labor to survive, machines performing labor more efficiently so humans don't have to is a boon! this is i think more obviously true for, like, manufacturing than for art - nobody wants to be the guy putting eyelets in shoes all day, and everybody needs shoes, whereas a lot of people want to draw their whole lives, and nobody needs visual art (not the way they need shoes) - but i think that it's still true that in a perfect world, ai art would be a net boon, because giving people without the skill to actually draw the ability to visualize the things they see inside their head is... good? wider access to beauty and the ability to create it is good? it's not necessary, it's not vital, but it is cool. the issue is that we live in a society where that also takes food out of people's mouths.
but the second problem is the much scarier one, imo, and it's what happens when ai is bad. in the current discourse, that's exemplified by chatgpt and other large language models. as much hand-wringing as there has been about chatgpt replacing writers, it's much worse at imitating human-written text than, say, midjourney is at imitating human-made art. it can imitate style well, which means that it can successfully replace text that has no meaningful semantic content - cover letters, online ads, clickbait articles, the kind of stuff that says nothing and exists to exist. but because it can't evaluate what's true, or even keep straight what it said thirty seconds ago, it can't meaningfully replace a human writer. it will honestly probably never be able to unless they change how they train it, because the way LLMs work is so antithetical to how language and writing actually works.
the issue is that people think it can. which means they use it to do stuff it's not equipped for. at best, what you end up with is a lot of very poorly written children's books selling on amazon for $3. this is a shitty scam, but is mostly harmless. the behind the bastards episode on this has a pretty solid description of what that looks like right now, although they also do a lot of pretty pointless fearmongering about the death of art and the death of media literacy and saving the children. (incidentally, the "comics" described demonstrate the ways in which ai art has the same weaknesses as ai text - both are incapable of consistency or narrative. it's just that visual art doesn't necessarily need those things to be useful as art, and text (often) does). like, overall, the existence of these kids book scams are bad? but they're a gnat bite.
to find the worst case scenario of LLM misuse, you don't even have to leave the amazon kindle section. you don't even have to stop looking at scam books. all you have to do is change from looking at kids books to foraging guides. i'm not exaggerating when i say that in terms of texts whose factuality has direct consequences, foraging guides are up there with building safety regulations. if a foraging guide has incorrect information in it, people who use that foraging guide will die. that's all there is to it. there is no antidote to amanita phalloides poisoning, only supportive care, and even if you survive, you will need a liver transplant.
the problem here is that sometimes it's important for text to be factually accurate. openart isn't marketed as photographic software, and even though people do use it to lie, they have also been using photoshop to do that for decades, and before that it was scissors and paintbrushes. chatgpt and its ilk are sometimes marketed as fact-finding software, search engine assistants and writing assistants. and this is dangerous. because while people have been lying intentionally for decades, the level of misinformation potentially provided by chatgpt is unprecedented. and then there are people like the foraging book scammers who aren't lying on purpose, but rather not caring about the truth content of their output. obviously this happens in real life - the kids book scam i mentioned earlier is just an update of a non-ai scam involving ghostwriters - but it's much easier to pull off, and unlike lying for personal gain, which will always happen no matter how difficult it is, lying out of laziness is motivated by, well, the ease of the lie.* if it takes fifteen minutes and a chatgpt account to pump out fake foraging books for a quick buck, people will do it.
*also part of this is how easy it is to make things look like high effort professional content - people who are lying out of laziness often do it in ways that are obviously identifiable, and LLMs might make it easier to pass basic professionalism scans.
and honestly i don't think LLMs are the biggest problem that machine learning/ai creates here. while the ai foraging books are, well, really, really bad, most of the problem content generated by chatgpt is more on the level of scam children's books. the entire time that the internet has been shitting itself about ai art and LLM's i've been pulling my hair out about the kinds of priorities people have, because corporations have been using ai to sort the resumes of job applicants for years, and it turns out the ai is racist. there are all sorts of ways machine learning algorithms have been integrated into daily life over the past decade: predictive policing, self-driving cars, and even the youtube algorithm. and all of these are much more dangerous (in most cases) than chatgpt. it makes me insane that just because ai art and LLMs happen to touch on things that most internet users are familiar with the working of, people are freaking out about it because it's the death of art or whatever, when they should have been freaking out about the robot telling the cops to kick people's faces in.
(not to mention the environmental impact of all this crap.)
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Hello hello! This is Relating to the prison au and the idea suddenly came to me but how would it differ if the mc was a a lot younger like an intern? I tried searching more if it was even allowed to be a med student intern in a prison but I dunno I just thought it was a neat idea, like if she appeared like an optimistic platonic younger sister more than a romantic interest? Aaaa sorry English isn't my first language I hope the idea got through ^^'
I want to congratulate you, anon... you're the first person in a long time to ask something related to prison au that has never been asked before!
Sans: Unfortunately, he'll be even worse. More manipulative, more possessive... more evil. With an older Mc he might see her as easy to manipulate, but he still absolutely views her as her own person- he'd do bad stuff but he (at least) would still respect her opinions and choices. When she's young, he does not respect her opinions and choices. She's just a kid who doesn't know better, someone who needs him to make the big decisions on her behalf.
The worst part is, once he attaches, he sees her like a little sister. It really fucks up his mind- all of those messy, dark, painful feelings about Papyrus, all that unresolved grief from losing one younger sibling... he doesn't care what happens to anyone. Or anything. So long as he doesn't lose any more family.
He's kind to her; oh-so-kind, a sweet and goofy older brother figure who makes terrible puns and chats to her for hours about her favourite videogames. But he's a terrifying empty creature, and he's absolutely going to use her youth and inexperience to his advantage, to make her trust him more than everyone else. Nothing is off the table.
Red: Red adores her. Much like Sans, he ends up in something of a 'big brother' role- the difference is that Red's connection with her is a lot healthier and gentler, with a decent amount of friendly 'fighting' (tossing harmless insults at each other). He turns into a different person around her; he minds his language somewhat, he manages his temper better, although he teases her his teasing never has any venom and he'll drop jokes that upset her. He was built to be a big brother, and he misses his Papyrus a lot- it feels good to have a bond like that with someone again.
(Speaking of Papyrus- he loves Mc too. He sees the effect she has on Red and he absolutely wants to encourage the positive growth. Also... he always wanted a younger sibling.)
Red makes jokes about giving her contraband or getting her in trouble, and her presence in his life has put her firmly on the inmate no-touch list. Red may be a criminal, and he may associate with people who have done terrible things... but he reserves the worst of the worst punishments for those who hurt kids, and his family. Let alone both.
She's been adopted by the mob.
Skull: Skull's intense feelings about Mc in the prison aus aren't really specifically romantic or platonic in the first place. It's his Soul crying out for love and connection after so long alone. They're just Skull Feelings- so a platonic Mc would see the same degree of insanity, desperation and clinginess from our darling cannibal as her older nurse counterpart.
But... I think he would be a bit better with her, overall. Mc being noticeably younger, in his eyes, makes her more 'fragile'- both emotionally and physically. That nagging thought of i need to be careful and responsible would centre him a little more, make him more aware, gentle and slow. In the same way he wouldn't want to frighten a small child, he doesn't want to frighten her; he moves like hes trying not to spook away a small animal. He'd be better at smiling.
... He would still get moments where he can't help himself. Moments where he snaps out of restraints and grabs her, moments where he attacks other staff for getting too close to her. But he tries.
#llamagines#prison au#i can never escape it#not that im complaining#love this au#sans 24/7 manages his image so she'll always come to him first... he's so silly and easy to speak to#she tells him everything and he 'tells her everything' too#meanwhile red is like ''hey shortie. short lil hobbit. you keep talkin' to me like that and ill put knives in your bag to get you fired.''
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Heat Kills
Plot: Reader has an heatstroke caused by an intensive workout.
Maya Bishop x Carina DeLuca x reader
You can't stand the heat; you’ve hated it since you were little, always. When summer came, you were happy just because school was over but, at the same time, you hated the forty degrees you had to endure every single day.
Then you became a professional soccer player and, having always played on teams up north, you never felt as hot as you did this season with the OL Reign. Although the Seattle Women's soccer Team has been a great benefit in your career, this scorching heat is truly terrible, especially since you are not used to it.
A small sigh leaves your lips as you grab your water bottle and tuck it into your backpack, ready to face a scorching workout in the ten o'clock morning sun.
"Good morning Bella, where are you going?" Carina hugs you from behind, her breasts pressing against your back as she fondles your butt with an amused smirk on her face.
"Car I'm on my way to practice and I'm already late ... as much as I would like to slam you against this table, unfortunately I can't."
You turn around, staying in her arms and kissing the tip of her nose with a smile.
Carina pouts, and after a few seconds, just long enough for her brain to work and understand what you've just told her, her gaze changes to a frown of confusion and concern at the same time.
"The weather alert has been issued, didn't you see it Bambina? You can't train in this heat, it's going to be 104° F out there..."
You sigh and shake your head slightly. You knew this conversation would happen, and you also know how it will end. Probably with a gorgeous, sexy Italian doctor very pissed off at you.
"Car, I can't miss another workout. Less than two weeks ago I was sick and couldn't train for almost a whole week, I can't miss any more days. I have to earn my place on the team, you know it's important to me…like this"
Carina shakes her head several times, hard. She tortures her lower lip, clenching it between her teeth, and although you find it very sexy, the particularly pissed off look on the Italian's face gives you pause to comment on how hot she is when she does this.
"You'll get sick if you run in this heat. They can't make you train with a weather alert, è sconsiderato e stupido. Cazzo."
Your lovely girl rants in her native language, and you foolishly fail to control yourself and let your eyes wander to the clock hanging on the wall behind the angry doctor.
You had never done that before.
"Are you really thinking you're going to be late? No way, you can't really think about going y/n. Ugh, who am I kidding? Of course you want to go, sometimes I think you're worse than Maya...you know what, fai come ti pare."
"Carina, wait-"
Before you can even try to stop her and reason with her, the brunette locks herself in your bedroom slamming the door and making the whole apartment shake.
You know her, you know that she just has to let the pissing go now. So, despite the knot in your stomach from the fight and with the excuse of giving her the space she needs, you bend down to pick up your duffel bag and then leave the apartment, stuffing your car keys into the left pocket of your shorts, ready to head to the soccer field.
.........................................................................................
After only an hour and a half of practice, you realize you've screwed up big time when you start to lose all feeling in your body and feel like you're floating on air. Your teammates are no better off than you are.
You cast a glance at Coach Harvey, praying that she will notice the terrible condition you are in but you doubt it. After all, she is sitting in the shade and with all this heat you doubt she is really watching you. At least, not today.
The ball is put back in the middle, after Clarke has scored one of her famous goals, and the coach blows her whistle. You run nonstop to get to Clarke's side; you cross the half-court line and are careful not to be offside as you pass the ball between you over and over again.
You don't know how but suddenly you are no longer in control of your body and your right foot ends up over the ball instead of to the side. In less than a second, you find yourself on the ground groaning in pain as soon as you hit the ground.
"Fuck."
You snort, wrinkling your nose and taking the hand offered to you without even understanding who is offering it to you. Octavia gives you a smile, although she can't really hide the worry on her face.
She helps you to your feet and puts a hand on your shoulder.
"You don't look so good, are you okay?"
Meanwhile, the other girls have taken the opportunity there to take a break and drink some water, and you don't blame them, especially considering that you still have another hour of training ahead of you.
Octavia Blake is many things but she is definitely not a quitter. Never.
"You're really hot y/n, are you sure you feel good?"
You don't answer her, you don't feel good at all, and you can't even understand her.
"I don't think Carina and Maya would agree, you know? I'll take you to them."
You don't really understand what she is saying, not at all. The heat clouds your mind; you run a hand over your forehead, you have the impression that you are dripping with sweat but actually you are not, your hand is completely dry when you pull it back.
Not good, not good at all. A cold shiver runs down your spine as you lean against Octavia making her support you even more and she is the one who supports you even more.
From that moment until she takes you to Station 19, you don't notice anything, just her shaking you from time to time as you go, calling your name several times as you continue to lose consciousness. The only time you realize you are at the station is when Andy and Vic help Octavia get you out of the car.
They’re probably calling your name but you can't answer; honestly, you don't even know how you are there, really.
You don't know how much time has passed, but you only begin to understand what is going on around you because of your Italian girlfriend's warm hands caressing your face.
"Bambina, bambina look at me. Are you okay? Can you hear me?"
Carina swipes a strand of wet hair from your forehead, bringing it behind your ear. The doctor pulls a small flashlight out of her gown, turns it on and holds it in front of your eyes while she holds your head still.
"Y/n, follow the light, honey. Follow the light, okay?"
You wrinkle your nose, and the nausea you have been feeling up to this point only increases as you are blinded by the flashlight.
You scan Carina with one arm, turn onto your side and vomit all the contents of your stomach onto the floor.
Carina strokes your back, trying to give you as much comfort as she can, while Andy shoves an IV of cold fluids into you.
"Andy, call Maya. I think the heat stroke is a lo worse than I thought. She's not even sweating..."
As soon as Carina sees Andy running down the hall to find your firegirl, she immediately turns to you and takes the thermometer out of Vic's hands. She sticks it in your mouth, even though you are not very cooperative, and waits for you to make the sound to check your temperature: 104° F.
Carina gasps and her heart stops for a few seconds; she is more than aware that such a temperature is very dangerous and could even make you convulse.
You start sobbing and try to reach Carina with clumsy and uncoordinated movements, seeking the comfort of a hug. You feel so bad that you do not realize what you are doing; it is as if you have no control over your body. Your confused state only makes the doctor more concerned.
"Bella we can't, your temperature is too high."
Carina bites her lip, trying not to cry. She wants to hold you in her arms but she can’t.
"Car..."
Carina feels her heart stop when suddenly your eyes roll back and your body is suddenly shaken by convulsions.
"Damn it, no no no. Come back to me, Bella.”
Carina turns you on your side, pulling up the arms of the cot and takes care of your head.
"Vic, give her a 12-mg Diazepam drip!"
Vic goes to the station's medical supplies in a flash and rummages around until she finds what Carina asked for. She prepares the solution and inserts the IV into your left arm, which Carina says is your best arm for targeting veins.
In less than three minutes your body has stopped moving. Carina pulls your hair back from in front of your face and leaves a kiss on your forehead before unwinding the IV bag a bit to check the speed at which the drug is being administered.
"Carina!"
Maya Bishop, Captain of Station 19 as well as your girlfriend, comes running up to you. Concern fills her blue eyes that you love so much.
"What happened? Andy told me you were with her but she didn't tell me what it was about..."
Maya takes your hand between her own wincing in shock when she feels how much heat your skin is giving off.
"Shit, she's burning up. We have to get her to Grey's Sloan."
Carina and Maya exchange a glances. Carina twists her lower lip between her teeth and runs a hand through her hair. Both you and the blonde know that this gesture indicates that the brunette is very worried about something.
"No, you know how much she hates Bella hospitals. We can't, we can't do that to her. Let's take her to your office and use your shower to cool her down."
Maya leans over to take you in her arms but Carina stops her, shaking her head firmly.
"You have to be very careful Maya, we shouldn't even be moving her but we need to get her temperature down quickly. She had a seizure and I'm afraid she may still have another one.”
Carina whispers, her voice breaking as she thinks back to the feeling of a few moments ago. Maya takes a deep breath; she doesn't think she has ever been so scared in her entire life. She barely nods, taking you in her arms with such gentleness that she is surprised herself. Maya walks down the corridor to the door of her own office; Carina opens the door for you, and as soon as you cross the threshold, she closes it again.
The blonde firefighter lays you down on her bed, paying special attention to your head as Carina kneels beside you. She puts two fingers on your right wrist to check your pulse while looking at the clock on the wall.
"Pulse is dropping, we need to cool her down now, Maya-“
"Shit, she's seizing. Maya, help me!"
Carina turns you onto your side, removing the pillow from under your head and being very careful about the arm in which the IV needle is still stuck .
"Maya, Maya I need you to focus amore mio. She needs you; Maya look at me" Carina groans in frustration and concern for the blonde, watching her stand absolutely still in front of this horrible sight, "Maya!"
The firefighter blinks a few times before recovering from her shocked state and jumping into action. She lifts everything around that could hurt you and helps Carina hold you on your side so you don't choke on your own tongue.
It takes a good three interminable minutes before the seizure is over and Maya and Carina's arms ache from the force they had to use to hold you down.
"We're running out of time," Carina says, starting to remove off every layer of clothing but your underwear before taking you into her arms. Maya looks like a machine, she does everything Carina tells her to do - like turn on the shower, for example - but her eyes are blank, the Italian knows very well that the blonde is not in a good headspace right now but now the priority, as much as it hurts her to have to necessarily choose between the two of you, is you.
Maya turns on the tub's faucet and waits for it to fill. Carina steps in and slowly and gently losers you into the tub. You gasp, your eyes jerking open as your body feels the excessive change in temperature. A whimper escapes your lips as you try to pull away from the icy grip but firm hands hold you down, whispering excuses you don't want to hear right now.
"N-no, f-cold. I-I don't want to."
Chills run down your spine, making you whimper softly as you try to pulls your girls closer to you.
"I know Amore, I know... Shh, it's okay. You'll get better, you'll get better."
Carina rubs your back, somehow trying to comfort you without giving you too much heat.
The Italian puts her hand on your forehead, feeling that your temperature has dropped a bit.
"Maya I'm cold, I'm cold, I don't want to do this anymore. Please, I don't want to do this anymore."
The fever makes you start cry and your body is shaken by sobs that only make you feel worse.
Her name spoken by you make out of the near catatonic state she has been in.
“Baby, you need to calm down, this is not good for you okay? I promise it will be over soon but this way you are putting to much strain on your heart love. Please calm down."
Maya takes your hand and brings it to her own chest for you to follow her breathing and you do, unconsciously and maybe out of habit, but you do.
Carina keeps an eye on your heartbeat the whole time; her fingers never leaving your pulse for a moment, and her heart only seems to start beating again only when your pulse slows down and becomes stable again, at least for your current condition.
More than twenty minutes pass in the freezing water before you are finally covered with at least a T-shirt and then placed on the bed in Maya's office. Under cooling blankets, contrary to what you would have liked. Your mind is clearer and Carina and Maya are very relieved about that.
"What happened?"
Your voice is barely more than a whisper. You are struggling to find the words and your mouth feels as if it is stuck. It is also exhausting to talk right now, you can barely move your head towards them to look into their eyes as you speak.
"Heat stroke, Octavia brought you here Bella. You've had two convulsive episodes from a high fever. It's down now, but you're not out of the woods yet, so you need to rest."
Carina strokes your face as she points to the IV in your arm. As soon as you see it, you panic. You sit up and scratch your arm to pull the IV out. Under normal circumstances, you would think before you act but now, the delirium of heatstroke is just flying the last neurons you had.
"No no no, the press will go crazy with this news. I can't stay in the hospital, I have to get out of here; an OL soccer player in the hospital for heat stroke, n-"
Maya grabs your face and, to your and Carina's surprise, slaps you. Not so hard that it really hurts, but hard enough to bring you back to reality.
Although shock, fever, and heat stroke cloud your mind, you recognize where you are in a few moments.
"Oh...we're in your office."
You place the hand you were about to use to remove your IV at your side and give them a small apologetic smile.
"It's okay Bella, now get some rest. I'd like to keep you here a little longer for observation. We’ll take you home tonight, if all goes as it should."
Carina leans over you and plants a kiss on your lips, followed soon after by Maya.
"Now Maya and I will talk, you rest. Oh, and don't even think you've escaped the lecture. It’s waiting for you as soon as you feel better.”
Carina smiles at you with a wink and then leaves the office followed by Maya. Not before the latter mimics you an "I love you" with her lips and mentally asks you to pray for her. Surely, Carina won't let her get over the slap she gave you a few minutes ago.
Hey, thanks for reading. I know it's not much and it’s not that good but it's better than nothing, right? Write a comment and tell me what you think. Have a nice day!
p.s: I wrote this because it's like thirty-five degrees in Italy and I'm dying :)
Buy me a coffee ☕️
Taglist: @mmmmokdok @chaekhan @blackhill2245 @melatonindaydreamz @foggytidalwavefun @sevnheaven @budoxinha @gayshyandreadytocry @lighthousekiller @m456300 @blitzar-3 @in-love-with-heda @idontknownemore @lesbianbabe @speedup500 @differentranchempathfestival @mebeingthatbitch @jemilyswife @yuleni18 @whyamihere2673 @reggierizzoli
#wlw#maya bishop x reader#maya x carina x reader#carina deluca#maya bishop#carina deluca x reader#octavia blake#clarke griffin#station 19#soccer
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We light the way (Aemond Targaryen x Reader)
Summary: House Hightower doesn't have dragons. But they have a magic of their own.
Warnings: Canon typical violence and language. Dialogue lifted from the show. Strong!Reader
A/N: I intended to finish the bingo, so I prompted myself: Aemond + witness + friends to lovers.
The magic had always been there. It was in his blood. It had always been. When Aemond was four years old, he had woken up in the middle of the night, screaming in terrible agony. Years later, with greater pains to serve as reference, he would compare it to the loss of his eye.
The wet nurse that tended to him and his siblings had burst into the room to find him clutching his arm to his chest, but was unable to identify what was wrong with him. She had called for help, and soon, the Queen and the Maester had been roused.
“This is most unusual.” The Maester pressed down on the inside of his forearm, and it had felt as if a thousand needles were digging on his skin. Aemond screamed. “I can't see any wound, nor has he have a fever.”
His mother stepped closer, a grim expression on her face. Her eyes were worried.
“Aemond, love. Tell me what's wrong.” She gently cradled his face, examining him frantically.
“Mother, make it stop! Make it stop!”
Alicent's gaze drifted downwards. On Aemond's inner arm, in green ink, there were letters appearing in a pretty, feminine handwriting. Aemond did not know how to read yet, but whatever it said, it was not good. It wasn't normal. Words did not suddenly appear on people's skin.
“Out! Everyone out!” She yelled, so forcefully for the normally polite Queen, that the Maester and the wet nurse scrambled to obey without questioning her decision. When they left, she brushed his hair back from his face and hugged him very tight, until the hurt went away.
Aemond looked down. The letters had stopped appearing on his skin, and now, words in green ink remained.
“What does it say, Mother?”
“Stop hurting my brothers.” Alicent’s face scrunched up, as if about to cry. She took a deep breath.
“Why is it here?” Aemond pointed angrily at his arm. Like any boy of four years old, pain and tiredness made him cranky. “What is going on?”
His mother looked at a loss for words. When he was older, she would tell him she was not too sure how to explain it, and had merely used her own father's version of the tale to make Aemond understand.
“Our family is different, love. Do you remember our words?” She gently scratched his scalp in the way he liked.
“Fire and blood.” Aemond nuzzled his face on her stomach, hiding.
“My words. Grandsire's words.” Her voice held a certain degree of annoyance.
“We light the way.”
“That's correct. We light the way, just as the Seven do for House Hightower.” She gently grabbed Aemond's forearm, and traced the letters. He shivered. “For some of us, the special ones, they light the way towards our destiny.”
“My destiny is hurting someone's brothers?”
“No.” Alicent laughed. “Your destiny is the person who will say those words to you. The words are how you will identify your soulmate. No one else, except us special Hightowers can see them.”
“Not even her?”
“Not even her. But she will have a mark like yours.”
“And she won't be able to see it?”
“No.” Alicent smiled. “You are very lucky, you know? Other Hightowers get less clear marks.”
“What do yours say?”
“I have no words, but a red thread.” And she lifted her finger, showing how a string of wool wrapped around it, and pooled, crimson red, on the floor.
During the coming weeks, Aemond watched. His mother's red thread twisted around hallways and stairs, passing over torches and bathing rooms, like blood flowing down the walls of the Red Keep. His sister, Rhaenyra, held the other end. Aemond realized then that if he wanted his soulmate, he would have to tie her securely to him, for a mark did not ensure anything.
Aegon and Helaena had no marks. Nor did anyone else outside his mother and Rhaenyra.
♧
The first thing Aemond noticed about you, upon meeting you, was that you were loud. You came into the world crying. No, wailing. As he stood near the birthing chamber, by his mother's side, he felt confused.
“Are all babies this loud?” He asked her. Alicent frowned. The cries sounded much more pained than it was normal for a babe, but Aemond did not figure that out until he was older.
His father had ordered that every member of the family had to be present during the birth of Rhaenyra's first babe. On the floor, Helaena was chasing a caterpillar, as Aegon played dragons and knights with one of the guards. His father was silently praying.
Aemond and his mother were sitting by a window, trying to ignore the screams. After enduring almost six hours of Rhaenyra’s agonized sounds, and now hearing the babe, Aemond had come to a decision. He would not have children once he found his woman, for it sounded hurtful to her and if she was meant to be his, then Aemond could not allow any harm to befall her.
“Not always.” Mother answered, with a wince. And then, another wail could be heard, joining yours.
“The Princess has birthed twins!” The midwife announced, joyfully. “A girl and a boy.”
King Viserys stood, clapping.
“Can we see them?”
“Of course, Your Grace.” The midwife opened the door a bit further, allowing them to step in. Aemond, curious about the babes, was the first to approach. They were so tiny but…
“Your hair is brown.” He said to one of them, perplexed. Aemond carefully rubbed the babe's hair, trying to get the grime out. Then, he turned towards the midwife, accusingly. “You didn't clean them properly.”
His father's and Rhaenyra's smiles froze.
“She is not dirty.” Rhaenyra said, shortly. “She is like that, and she is perfect.”
Aemond frowned. He wanted to ask his mother how it could be, that the babe had hair different from her parents. But his mother squeezed his hand, harshly, and Aemond understood that she did not want him to ask that.
He looked at the babe. At you. You were rather pretty.
“She is pretty. Though she is tiny. I expect she will grow.” He gave a questioning glance towards Rhaenyra, who looked unsure. She didn't seem to like Aemond's questions, but he was at that age.
The terrible twos had turned into the horrible threes, and the curious fours. Right now, he was just entering the questioning fives. It would be an affliction that would follow him for the rest of his life.
“Of course she will. And you will protect your niece, won't you?” His father ordered, and Aemond nodded solemnly. He would.
Aemond failed to notice then, but on your arm, in childish black letters, the proclamation of the color of your hair was plain to see.
♧
Lady Laena's funeral had put you in a melancholic mood. Just like Jace, you were old enough to see the truth of your parentage and were mourning Ser Harwin. You thought it stupid, having to attend a funeral for a woman that you never met, while your father's charred remains were put to rest at Harrenhall without even his brother's attendance.
If it were you burying one of your brothers, you would have been inconsolable. You didn't understand why Lord Larys wasn't.
Watching Lady Laena's remains go back into the sea made you think of your father, and it was all so sad, you had started crying right along with Baela and Rhaela. Your uncle, Aegon, had laughed at you, commenting on your weakness for crying for a stranger, which only made you sob harder.
It was only natural that you had sought the comfort of your other half during the night. As of late, your mother insisted that Jace and you should be in separated rooms. She had said something about how improper it was, since you were growing older. You had not understood that either.
You had gone to him in the middle of the night, and fell asleep hugging him close. Jace was a source of comfort despite being younger than you. Your mother often said that you had to protect him, being the eldest, but Jace always said that he was going to protect you because he was going to be King.
“Jace, Jace.” A voice interrupted your slumber, and you felt the warmth pulling away. You held it tighter, refusing to let go.
“Jace, wake up. Wake up.” The voice insisted, and you pried your eyes open to see Baela's face staring down at you. The sight confused you, and you squinted at her. She was starting to tear up, and Jace still gave no sign of waking up. You shook him hard.
Jace mumbled something.
“Someone stole Vhagar.” Baela said, more urgently. It prompted your brother to sit up fully, jerking you upwards too.
“What?”
You did not hesitate. You jumped out of bed, put on your slippers and went to wake Luke.
After that, it was chaos. Vhagar's roars could be heard clearly in the distance, and you ran into Aemond slipping inside the castle, fully dressed. You did not need further explanations.
The girls and Aemond traded insults. Then, they were coming at him and they were rolling on the ground. Aemond made mention of your parentage, egging on Jace and Luke. You were too horrified to do anything but scream. You would have done nothing, four against one already seeming unfair without your intervention, if Aemond had not started choking Luke.
“Stop hurting my brothers!” You screamed, launching yourself at him. Then there was a rock, and a dagger, and you had given Luke an opening, and Aemond was screaming in agony.
The sight of his maimed eye made you shriek louder. There was so much blood, and you pressed your hands on it, as you had seen the Kingsguard do when someone was injured. Aemond slapped you, wailing.
“I am trying to help!” You said, stubbornly. Your tiny hands went to grab for his eye again, but Ser Harold was entering and removing you from him. For the first time, you looked down and realized your nightgown was soaked in blood. You started sobbing harder.
You had to be carried back into the hall, nearly catatonic. When your grandfather took in the sight of Aemond and you, he demanded answers. He started to yell, and gesture at the Kingsguards, only frightening you more.
Finally, your mother appeared, and you rushed to her, grabbing fistfuls of her dress with blood soaked hands.
“What happened?” Your mother picked you up, examining you closely. “Why is my daughter not being tended to?” She asked the Maester.
“Luke and Jace are hurt.” You cried.
“Show me.” Your mother said to the boys. Then, she scowled and repeated. “Why are my children not being tended to?”
Queen Alicent laughed. It was an ugly, grating sound.
“Who did this?”
“They attacked me!” Aemond complained.
“He attacked Baela.”
“He broke Luke's nose.”
“He stole my mother's dragon!”
Everyone was talking at the same time, making a terrible noise that didn't allow the King's words to carry. Even the Queen was screaming, until…
“He called us bastards!”
“Aemond… I will have the truth of what happened. Now.” Your Grandsire said, creeping towards Aemond. You felt a bit bad for him, being reprimanded by his father after losing his eye.
“What else is there to hear?” Queen Alicent sounded exasperated. “Your son has been maimed. Her son is responsible.”
You flinched. She sounded so angry. Your hand reached for Luke's, holding him close. You were afraid he might be hurt by the Queen.
“It was a regrettable accident.”
“Accident? The Prince Lucerys brought a blade to the ambush.” The Queen pointed at Luke, harshly. You whimpered. “He meant to kill my son.”
“It was my sons who were attacked and forced to defend themselves. Vile insults were levied against them.” Your mother stepped in front of Luke, Jace and you.
“What insults?” The Queen seemed distracted by something Aemond was muttering to her. They were too far away for you to hear, but by the way his lips moved, you thought it was something similar to “Mine… She… mine.”
“The legitimacy of my children’s birth was put loudly to question.”
Queen Alicent was starting to turn very pale. You doubted it was because of your mother's words. It was no secret to anyone that Jace, Luke and you were not Velaryons. You did not look the part. At all. It was no wonder that someone had finally said it to your face.
“What?” Your grandsire's eyes widened. Had he not known? You didn't understand why he was so angry.
“He called us bastards.”
“My sons are in line to inherit the Iron Throne, Your Grace. This is the highest of treasons. Prince Aemond must be sharply questioned so we might learn where he heard such slanders.” Your mother quickly interjected. Queen Alicent looked about to lose her mind.
“Over an insult?” Alicent sounded odd. Her mind was clearly elsewhere, but she kept arguing. “My son has lost an eye.”
The King started interrogating Aemond, but you were focused on something else. The Queen, despite still defending Aemond, had her eyes fixed on you. At first, you thought she was looking at Luke, but then you realized she was focused on your arm. Or your sleeve. Uncomfortable, you tugged your sleeve down. She was probably looking at the blood in your hands.
Slowly, very slowly, she was creeping closer. Her hand reached forward as if to grab you when Aegon spoke. “We know, Father. Everybody knows. Just look at them.”
More recriminations were to follow. Your mother, noticing Alicent's attention was on you, shoved you back behind her.
“This interminable infighting must cease!” The King proclaimed, loudly. His eyes darted from your uncles towards you and your brothers. Even at such a young age, you could feel something was irreparably broken between your mother and the Queen. Luke and Aemond too had broken their bond beyond repair. “All of you! We are family! Now make your apologies and show good will to one another. Your father, your grandsire, your king demands it!”
Jace looked perplexed, as did Aegon. To them, the request sounded as unreasonable as it did to you, despite their short ages. You knew then you would never be a family again.
“That is insufficient. Aemond has been damaged, permanently, My King. Good will cannot make him whole.” The Queen complained, her brown eyes narrowing.
“I know, Alicent, but I cannot restore his eye.” Your grandsire sounded exhausted.
“No because it’s been taken.” Alicent answered. You shifted in your place, ignoring Jace's hands urging you to stay as you were. You felt dirty, hands and sleeves covered in Aemond's blood. It was sticky and it smelt bad.
“What would you have me do?” The King’s tone was exasperated, but cautious. He could sense there was something else at play, that the Queen would not allow the slight to go unpunished. Aemond, in the corner, was unusually quiet.
You squirmed even more into place. Jace squeezed your hand in warning. The Queen looked like a wolf about to pounce, and it scared you. You feared of what she could do to Luke.
But instead, her eyes darted to you again.
“There is a debt to be paid.” You felt as if her words were being spoken directly to you. “I shall have one of her son’s eyes in return.
You gave a horrified gasp. Your mother looked ready to gut Alicent. Murmuring broke out across the room, everyone speaking at once. Luke hid between Jace and you.
“My dear wife.”
“He is your son, Viserys. Your blood.” Alicent's eyes were watery with just indignation. She was about to cry out of sheer frustration.
“Do not… allow your temper to guide your judgment.”
“If the King will not give me his eye, then I want her daughter. Who will marry Aemond like this? It will mean the loss of his ability with his sword, ladies will not want him.” She spoke hurriedly, as if afraid that if she let anyone get a word in, no one would listen to her. Alicent's voice raised. “I want her betrothed to Aemond. She will return to the Red Keep immediately. I do not want Princess Rhaenyra to find a way to damage that too.”
“My King, surely no one would reject a Prince of the blood.” Your mother said, weakly. Her hand clutched at your shoulder, fisting in your nightgown. You risked a look at your grandsire. He looked thoughtful.
“Ser Criston… Bring me the girl!” The Queen ordered, and Ser Criston took a step towards you. You cowered.
“That will not be necessary.” Your grandsire said. “Girl, come.”
Your brothers cried out. Aemond's face stretched into a satisfied smirk. Aegon looked bored, and your cousins horrified. None of that you took notice, but your mother. She was making a wounded, hurt noise. It sounded much like a wail. Her hand around your shoulder tightened. Daemon leaned in and whispered something to her, making her grip loosen.
“Go.” Daemon said, shoving you slightly. “Go to your Grandsire.”
And so you went. Up close, King Viserys was much more intimidating. There was a certain stench around him, of flesh rotting, that not even the medicine could mask. You lowered your eyes, staring at your slippers.
“Do not be afraid, child.” He gently tilted your chin up with a finger. “Look at me.”
You obeyed. He examined your face curiously. One of his hands grasped your forearm, and he looked at your hands as well. Self-conscious about the dirt and the blood, you made your hands into tiny fists, before relaxing them.
“Why are you covered in blood, but your cousins and brothers are not?”
“I tried to help him, Your Grace.” You answered, truthfully. You had thought you were really helping then. The answer seemed to please him.
“You are a good girl. You wish to help, and you will.” Viserys smiled. He seemed glad to have found the answer to his troubles almost accidentally. “Your marriage with your Uncle will unify both sides of the family. Go with him.”
Without any other choice, you went to stand beside Aemond. His eye was swollen and shut by stitches. He stared at you with his good eye, before his hand shut like a vice around your wrist.
Like your grandsire, Aemond forced your arm up. But instead of examining your hand, he looked at the inside of your forearm. You didn't see anything, but he seemed pleased. He grabbed a handkerchief and wiped your hand clean. Then, he grabbed your other hand and cleaned it too.
“You are mine. Mine, you understand?” He squeezed your wrist, sharply.
You nodded, eyes filling with tears.
“Yes, Uncle.”
“Do not mourn me, Mother.” Aemond said, slipping your hand in his. He looked at Alicent, evenly. “It was a fair exchange. I may have lost an eye… but I gained a dragon.”
“This proceeding is to an end. Whoever questions the legitimacy of Princess Rhaenyra’s children again will lose their tongue.”
And then, Queen Alicent was leading you out of the room with her family, a firm hand between your shoulder blades and the looming shade of Ser Criston behind you. You tried to look back, go to your mother, but you only managed to see the desperation on her face as Daemon led her and your siblings out of the room.
She would fight for you. You knew she would. This was only temporary.
♧
Alicent sighed, tiredly. She had just put you to bed on the loveseat inside her rooms. She was too afraid of Rhaenyra whisking you away in the middle of the night to do otherwise. You had taken a long time to settle. Poor thing that you were, you had been crying silently as the maids made you bathe and found you a clean nightgown.
Alicent was sharply reminded of when she was told she would marry the King. She had been afraid too. Terrified, in fact. Back then, Viserys had seemed like such an imposing man, and he had not been kind to her. As the sickness got the better of her, Alicent felt a secret pleasure at seeing him humbled. She actually enjoyed doing her duty and caring for him, if only because she could remind herself he was weak. The cruel man who had hurt her now had started to rely increasingly on her. Her stomach twisted in dark satisfaction. Not so great now, huh?
That was not the point. It was for the best, Alicent tried telling herself. You would be happy with Aemond. This was nothing like her situation. The gods had made Aemond and you perfect for one another. You just had to get used to him first.
Alicent had been older, though. You were a girl not yet flowered. And she had her father at court. Alicent had never wanted to go to him, but she had had the option.
You had no one. And you knew it. You had sobbed quietly into your pillow as Alicent whispered reassurances and rubbed your back. When you had finally calmed down, you had given her big pleading eyes and asked for her to allow you to say goodbye. She had felt as if she was the worst person in Westeros.
“The Hand, Your Grace.” The voice startled her. She looked up to find her father already in the room.
“Say your piece.”
“Now, what piece is that?” Her father raised his eyebrows.
“I’ve conducted myself in a manner… unbefitting my station. I lost composure and made a scene.”
“All true.” But despite his words, Otto sounded amused.
“I disgraced myself.” Alicent went on, unsure of what he was thinking. She disliked that he was so difficult to read. She could never tell if he was about to reprimand her or congratulate her. “But it was necessary. The girl is…”
“I have never seen that side of you, my daughter. I even doubted its existence.” Otto's reply was calm and measured, but there was a hint of pride in his eyes.
“It was an ugly thing. I regret it.” Separating a mother from her daughter, no matter how wretched the mother was…. You would need Rhaenyra, in the years to come. You would flower, grow, need to be told about heirs and taught womanly things. But Rhaenyra would have never allowed you to come, if Alicent had not forced her hand. She would not understand. She was not a Hightower.
This was best. No matter how lonely you got, you would always have Aemond.
Yet Alicent remembered her own maiden years without a mother, and her heart hurt. You would be lost at court. You were a child. But just as Rhaenyra had not spared Aemond, she could not spare you.
“We play an ugly game. And now, for the first time, I see that you have the determination to win it.” Her father spoke, and it was then she realized they were having two different conversations.
“No, Father. That's not why…” Alicent sighed. Sometimes, it was better that certain things were seen rather than told. “Get up. Come.”
She led him towards where you peacefully slept. Her father remained puzzled.
“Alicent…”
And it was then that you rolled onto your side, showing the inside of your arm. In scraggly, black letters, the insult remained exactly the same as it had been spoken aloud. “Your hair is brown.”
Otto staggered back.
“You see, now?” Alicent asked him, voice wavering. “I had to take her. I had to, Father. Right? She is Aemond's. Rhaenyra already took so much from him, I couldn't let her have her, too.”
“You did the right thing.” Otto squeezed her shoulder, as he bent down to cover you more with the furs. “She is his, yes. But she will also prove invaluable in the years to come.”
“How so? Preventing war?”
“She will sit on the Iron Throne. Why should a man rule, if she was born first?” Her father smirked. “Keep a grip on your passions. And I promise you, in time, you and I together will prevail. What that rogue Aemond has done in winning Vhagar and her to our side… The boy was right. It’s worth a thousand times the price he paid.”
♧
Aemond had found he did not like his soulmate very much. You were shy and easily frightened, and you spent most of your days crying in the corners.
You were little, his mother said. It was normal that you were taking your time to adjust.
This was nothing like Aemond expected. You being his seemed like a great jape. You cried at everything and managed to be more annoying than Aegon. Then, there was the fact of your parentage. Why would he be cursed with a bastard for a soulmate? Had he slighted the Seven in some way?
“Stop crying.” He snapped at you. “You look like a fool.”
You sniffled, quietly. Helaena had invited you to go catching bugs with her, but you had started sobbing when the first caterpillar was placed on your arm. Aemond had to intercede, pulling you aside, but you had only cried harder. If there was something in which you resembled Rhaenyra, it was in the fact that you always made your displeasure known.
The only time you seemed at peace was with a book in your hands. His mother had noticed that particular miracle when one afternoon, upset at Aegon tugging on your dark braids, you had disappeared. Alicent had been frantic, sending servants to turn the Red Keep upside down in your search. She had found you by accident, sitting in the library with a book open on your lap, comically large for your childish body. The attempt at self soothing had been noted and tucked away to ruminate later on.
“Aemond.” His mother said, sharply. He sighed. It wasn't like he tried to scare you on purpose. Just that Aemond was not too sure what to do with you. Girls were not his primary concern, but he supposed you were to be endured.
Later that day, his mother pulled him aside.
“If you treat her cruelly, she will grow to resent you.” He was too young to catch it then, but there was a glimmer in Alicent’s eyes that indicated she spoke out of personal experience. “This is not how you win her over.”
“She is mine, though.” Aemond scowled. There was no need to win you over. His father had already ordered your marriage to him. Not even Princess Rhaenyra could oppose it.
Besides, you were a bastard. It was obvious to anyone with eyes. You should be grateful Aemond paid you any sort of attention, even if it was negative. When you grew older, and your strong features made themselves even more known, no one would want you.
You were the lucky one. Not him.
“Soulmarks do not ensure anything.” His mother said, her tone turning slightly less patient.
“But father gave her to me.”
His mother looked up, as if begging to the Seven Heavens for fortitude.
“Betrothals and marriages can be annulled by a King.” Aemond frowned. Why would his father change his mind? “Or a Queen.”
“Oh.” Aemond had not considered that possibility. He would have to ensure the two of you were married by the time your mother took the crown. And hopefully, if he could manage, get a babe too. That would be much harder to annul.
“You need to make her want to stay.” His mother had a point there. It was a much simpler solution than what Aemond was concocting. There was only the issue of how. Aemond had no clue what to do with girls, and you cried so much it was off-putting.
“How?”
“Be kind. She is lonely here. She needs a friend.”
He found you crying again the next day. You had scrapped your knee on the dragonpit, after visiting your growing dragon. You were inconsolable, face covered with snot and eyes swollen from so much crying.
Aemond would have scoffed at your weakness, were it not for the lingering memory of his mother’s words.
He fetched water and a clean linen, and kneeled in front of you. Big, teary eyes stared down in confusion. Your dark eyelashes, clumped together with tears, and another reminder of your bastardy, fluttered. You gave a few harsh blinks.
“The King gave me you.” Aemond enunciated, slowly. He wanted to make sure you understood his meaning. “You are mine to guard and protect. And to care for.”
Your dark eyes, pretty for a bastard, widened. You pulled your leg back, but Aemond made sure to hold your knee firmly, and continued tending to your injury.
“Nothing bad will happen to you. I ride Vhagar, the biggest dragon in existence.”
That didn't seem to reassure you much, either. You flinched as if hurt by the thought of Vhagar. Probably scared, remembering exactly how he had won her.
Aemond tried to recall what normal girls liked. Helaena was no use, but of the few times he had crossed paths with his other nieces, he had a lasting impression of romantic gestures and delusions.
“When we are older, we will marry, and I shall be very kind. You will love me very much and you will never be alone again.” Aemond rubbed your kneecap, gently.
Your jaw was hanging open, but you didn't even make a peep. He sighed, exhausted again. You were stubborn, so there was no point in expecting you to… Aemond was unable to finish the train of thought. His mind had gone blank.
Your arms were around him and you were not letting go.
♧
It spirals, after that. You are quiet, the consequence of a childhood spent near Jacaerys, Aegon and Lucerys. They seemed to have much louder voices than you. Yet, at the same time, you are always making yourself known.
Be it a hand curling around his wrist to drag him to the kitchens to try the newest lemon cakes, or a swift tug to his jerkin to get Aemond to pay attention, your feelings are loud and clear.
Aemond has never been particularly playful or fond of the outdoors. He much prefers studying philosophy and history. At two and ten years of age, it is a bit late for him to take part in childish games like monsters and maidens or come-into-my-castle, but you are younger than he by a few years, so he accepts his fate easily enough. You will grow out of it, Aemond muses, and it's not entirely unpleasant to be the one that causes you to shriek in laughter.
Besides, it's not like the two of you only do things that please you. Often, you curl with him near the fire, a book in your hands, while Aemond studies his lessons. Aemond finds your weight against his side comforting, and he feels a vicious sort of pleasure at enjoying something you used to do with your twin.
He might not be able to take Lucery's eye. He might never manage to hurt Jacaerys. But Aemond will take their sister, make no mistake. Soon, the day will come that they visit the Red Keep and something will happen, and you will run to Aemond's arms for comfort. Not theirs. And it will be all the vindication he needs, watching those stupid Strong boys gape at their beloved sister’s preference.
You have been growing well. He is satisfied to notice that you have intelligent eyes and that you take well to your lessons. You curtsy and dance as well as a lady of twice your age, your manners are pleasing, and you know the Seven Pointed Star by heart. Once could almost forget you are a bastard and not a miniature copy of Alicent, with how often you have taken to following her around.
Aemond is not a fool. His grandfather has taken an unusual liking to you, and is frequently imparting lessons. His mother pays you more attention than she does to Helaena. It may be guilt on his mother's part, but his grandsire does not have such qualms. He is no woman. They are grooming you to rule.
“Aemond!” You run towards him, excitedly. “I want to go riding. Can we?”
“I don't know, Princess.” He smirks. One thing he likes about being older than you is the ability to lord his knowledge over you. You get so huffy and pouty, it makes him understand why Aegon enjoyed teasing him so much. He would never be as cruel to you, though. You are too sweet for it. “Can we?”
“You know what I meant!” You scowl at him. Your limbs seem to be vibrating with the force of will it takes not to stomp your foot like a commoner.
“Of course we can. You have a dragon and I do too, we are both very proficient…” Aemond teases, enjoying the way your face scrunches up in displeasure at the knowledge you will have to bend.
“May we!” Your voice raises slightly. “Mean!”
Aemond waits a moment, letting the suspense build. Your lower lip trembles, fighting the urge to pout.
“Please?” You say, brown eyes pleading. It doesn't bother him as it used to, your darker features. Aemond has found there is a certain beauty in your hair and eyes. Besides, Aegon has told him that the women at the Riverlands are much more pretty than those of House Targaryen. If he was not jesting, you would grow into a beautiful woman thanks to your Strong blood.
“Fine. We will go.” He is careful to keep his tone gruff, as if he was doing you some great favor. In truth, Aemond enjoys the activity as much as you do. He has to be careful, with your dragon and you being smaller than Vhagar and him, but it is fun to race you. He even lets you win, sometimes.
Sometimes, though, you win fair and square. It's very troubling. You have started to become distracting, and too often Aemond thinks of how pretty you look with the blue backdrop, riding a dragon like a true Targaryen. It's then that you take advantage and push your dragon further, faster, until you surpass him and Aemond shakes himself out of the spell you cast on him.
He wonders if kissing is as pleasant as Aegon says it is. Your clever mouth looks soft, and Aemond knows you would yield to him easily. He is very curious about how your hair would feel on his hands, and how it would look coming undone from your braids.
A joyful little sound brings him out of his contemplation. You are hiking up your skirts and breaking into a sprint.
“Last one there carries the books for a whole week!”
“Oh, you are on.” And he is running after you, hot on your heels, as if he were a boy once more.
♧
Alicent can't sleep. The storm raging outside keeps her awake, pacing. Viserys is getting worse with every day that passes, and she fears she is living on borrowed time.
Will Rhaenyra kill Aegon? Even with the betrothal of Aemond to you, Alicent doubts she will stand down. The letters that have come are few and far in between, getting even more spaced out now that you are happier and Rhaenyra is having Daemon's children.
Jacaerys is the only one who keeps a steady stream of communication with you. Alicent is guilty of reading his letters. She has committed that particular sin various times. Among the tales of your week and the recounting of how much you miss your other half, there are some troubling thoughts. Has mother replaced me? Does she not love me anymore? Will you too forget about me?
He tries being reassuring, but he knows the truth. Just as Alicent does too. Rhaenyra hates being anything but the center of attention. She had been a regular mother to you, but she cannot stand the influence Alicent is having on your life, nor can she tolerate that you are happy with it. If you wrote tales of your unhappiness, of your unwillingness to marry Aemond, Rhaenyra would be loving and supportive. But you are too honest for that.
At first, Alicent had taken to mothering you as a way of atoning for her sins. She had dragged you away from home when you were a child. She had gifted you to Aemond. It had been her fault that her father decided you would sit on the Iron Throne after Rhaenyra was dead.
But now, caring for you comes naturally. You were an easy child. Sweet natured, and starved for affection. You were not like Helaena. Instead, you enjoyed placing ribbons in your hair and trying on new dresses, and you were actually interested when Alicent spoke of the Faith.
Most of all, though, you loved Aemond with all your heart. You followed him everywhere, be it cheering for him in the stands as he trained, or helping him get to his chambers when the pain in his eye turned into a migraine. It made Alicent love you even more.
There were times, though, when your love for Aemond turned problematic. Suspecting tonight was one of those times, Alicent decided to stop her senseless pacing and go check on you.
The guards stationed outside your hallway squirmed in their posts when confronted with the sight of Alicent.
“Let me guess.” She said, tiredly. “The Princess is not in her rooms.”
“No, Your Grace.” One of them said, lowering his head in shame. Alicent fought the urge to scream at their incompetence. How could one girl, barely two and ten, manage to slip past two guards? Alicent loved you like you were her own, but you were just too much like Rhaenyra sometimes.
“Thank you.” Alicent inwardly was cursing up a storm. She knew exactly where you were.
It was not long before she found herself outside Aemond's chambers. This set of guards looked more grim.
“Do not tell me. The Princess is inside.” Alicent asked, flatly. The guards only stepped aside, curtsying to her.
The bed was too small to hold both of you comfortably, so you were laying on your sides. Aemond was not wearing his eye patch, and Alicent thought him asleep. Your head was resting on his shoulder, half squeezed against his arm in a position that could not be comfortable for your neck.
Both of you still had your nightclothes on. Alicent could have danced in relief. She had enough as it was with Aegon to add you two to the list.
“Mother.” Aemond whispered, very quietly. He had you hugged to him, and now that she looked more closely, Alicent could tell he was rubbing your back up and down. She wondered how long he had been standing guard.
“You are five and ten. She has already flowered. This has to stop.” She whisper-shouted.
“I am not going to dishonor her, mother, for the Seven's sake! I am not Aegon.” Aemond whisper-shouted back, being careful not to move you.
“What are you doing, then?” She placed her hands on her hips and looked down at your sleeping form. While it was true that you were entirely dressed, the way Aemond held you lately was less friendly and more of a lover's embrace.
You sighed in your sleep, sweetly, and hid your face against his neck. Both of them went quiet for a few seconds.
Only when you were settled again, Aemond dared to speak.
“The same as always. She was scared. She used to climb in with…”
Alicent rolled her eyes. She had heard the same excuse too many times to count.
“Prince Jacaerys, I know. Just as I have known since you were ten, but neither of you is a child any longer.”
“Mother…”
“What will the maids think come the morrow? The guards? They will see her coming out of your quarters. You can't keep doing this. I have tolerated it far too long.” The guards already knew. Used as they were at keeping their King's secrets, no one had thought to speak yet. They, too, believed it was harmless behavior. But both of you were getting older and Alicent feared the day when Aemond's hands turned from consoling to groping, and your soft little hugs turned into passionate embraces.
“It's entirely innocent, Mother, I swear.” Aemond looks vaguely offended by the thought and Alicent has to steady herself because of the audacity of this child! No, she was surely atoning for all her past deeds with the two of you. Aegon was sent to taunt her with her failures as a mother, and the two of you were destined to remind her of Rhaenyra and her failures as a friend. Thank the Gods Helaena was normal, in comparison.“I wouldn't touch her like that. I don't intend to hurt her.”
Alicent stopped her complaint before it left her mouth. Surprise made her eyes go wide. Then, with her softest voice, she tried to fix this.
“It's… Oh, Aemond. It's not meant to be hurtful.” Poor child. Who had told him intercourse was meant to hurt? Alicent had kept her woes in that area strictly to herself. Aegon and Rhaenyra flaunted loudly that they enjoyed it very much. So why was Aemond so afraid?
“But it hurts you. It hurts Helaena. It hurts the girls Aegon…”
She deflated. So worried had Alicent been about precocious youths, she had never stopped to think about how she had never explained to them what the marital duties were. Painful. Hurtful. Alicent could not deny that. Men did not care for the pleasure of women and were it not for the fact that she had been friends with Rhaenyra once, Alicent would think it hurtful by nature too. It was not meant to be that way, even if she herself had not experienced the pleasure people went on and on about.
Alicent had to reassure Aemond. It was vital that once he married, he produced heirs. His grandsire's plan depended on it. That would not be achieved if he was afraid of touching you. Besides, your situation was different. You were marrying your soulmate. Your other half.
She felt utterly unable to help Aemond realize it was not meant to be hurtful, but magical and blessed by the Gods. Her father was better suited to giving this talk than her. He was the one who had actually married his destined partner.
Sometimes, she wondered if you two were a way for the Seven to fix history. When you did willful, reckless things with no care for your reputation, she could see Rhaenyra running around the Red Keep, despite the different coloring. And when Aemond, dutiful, serious Aemond, got all uppity about the topics and scandalized himself, it was as if looking at herself during the past.
Alicent would never say it out loud, but she liked your coloring. When she looked at you from a certain light, she could pretend you were Rhaenyra and hers. And when Aemond chased you around, long silver hair at his back, she could almost pretend it was the two of them again, racing in the hallways of the Red Keep.
We light the way indeed. The Gods could be very cruel.
No, Alicent thought bitterly, she had lacked the necessary parts to keep her soulmate by her side. Let her father take this one.
“It does. But you will not be rough with her. It will feel pleasant, and that is why it is so dangerous. She will not want you to stop, you will not want to, either.” She keeps her tone reassuring. Aemond looked fully offended now, a fierce scowl on his face. As if he were being accused of a terrible crime.
“Of course I wouldn't be rough with her. She is mine.” He scoffed, all haughty. Alicent fought the urge to laugh. Boys. Always so dramatic. She much preferred mothering Helaena and you than this. It was almost easy in comparison.
“And you are hers?” She teased.
“I am.” Aemond seemed amused by the reference to wedding vows, lips twitching with the urge to smile. He fought it because Gods forbid he let his mother know he thought her witty.
“Good.” Alicent smiled. “Have you kissed?”
“Mother!” Aemond shook his head, turning red as a tomato.“I am waiting for her to be ready. She flowered so recently…”
“That is very kind.” More kindness than she had been afforded by her husband. Aemond must be smitten.
Alicent decides then she will speak to Viserys about expediting the wedding. And get her father to teach the both of you about marital duties. She does not want to risk the both of you siring a bastard. Not on her watch.
#aemond targaryen x reader#prince aemond x reader#aemond x reader#aemond x fem!reader#aemond x you#prince aemond x you#aemond x y/n#aemond x fem!oc#aemond x oc#aemond targaryen x oc#aemond targaryen x you#prince aemond#aemond targaryen fic#aemond targaryen#aemond fanfiction#hotd aemond#hotd x reader#hotd x you#aemond targaryen x female reader#aemond targaryen x y/n#aemond targaryen x fem!oc#aemond one eye#aemond fluff#aemond fic#asoiaf fanfic#asoif/got#hotd fanfic
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mesmerised ☆
summary: in which you and jude go on your first vacation together and hes mesmerised at how amazing you look in a bikini and can't keep his hands off you....
masterlist
warnings: SMUT (18+), fluff, language
authors note: my first ever smut fic,y/n is on pill, I'll improve over time I promise lmao, enjoy🫣
________________
the sound of the jet landing in the 30 degree heat of ibiza disturbed you from sleeping comfortably on top of your boyfriends toned chest, while his hand rested softly on your butt.
"we're here love" your boyfriend spoke, as you lifted your head off his chest.
"wow it's bright" you smiled with your sleepy eyes.
"i cant wait for this break with you, our first holiday together" you looked up and smiled to your boyfriend, as he leaned in and gave your smooth lips a peck and wrapped his arms around you as you leaned into him.
as you stepped off the jet the heat shocked you, it was like being hit by fire. you had your bag in your hand and the other on the barrier going down the stairs with jude waiting at the bottom for you with a smile on his face.
as you got into the taxi to take you to the resort, you couldn't stop starting at your boyfriend, and how lucky you was to have him in your life, he was truly perfect for you.
jude placed a hand on your thigh and squeezed it and gave your hand a kiss.
"so what are we doing when we get there?" you lifted your leg over his and began a conversation.
"pool? beach? jet ski?" he glanced at you waiting for an answer.
"maybe pool? first day means more chill day in my opinion" you answered.
____________
when the car pulled up to the resort your mouth gasped at how beautiful it was, waterfalls, palm trees, it was perfect.
you both got your suitcases and made your way into reception and the cool breeze of air con hit you and cooled you both down and you both giggled.
"hello sir are you staying with us?" the receptionist asked
"hi I have a booking, under the name bellingham for two for a week" your boyfriend said running his hands through his hair.
once she had sorted everything out she then gave the room key to jude, and wished for the both to have a nice relaxing stay.
"also can I just say, what a lovely couple you two make" the receptionist looked at you both and complimented.
you both thanked her and looked at each other with a squinting face then smiled.
you made your way up to the room and on the bed was "welcome y/n and jude" and you couldn't help but awe.
"j i love it here already" you walked over to your man and wrapped your arms around his neck and gave him kisses all over his face as his hands lent down to your lower back.
"we need to enjoy it in the best way possible" he winked at you and slapped your bum and started laughing.
"oh shush you" as you rolled your eyes and walked over to you suitcase to grab a bikini.
you decided to go for a red rose colour which had a good chain on the front of the bottom. your favourite one.
you where nervous, even though you and jude had been together now for 6 months he had still never seen you in a bikini, thoughts where rushing through your head, but you stuck to thinking of the positives.
you put your hair up into a curly pony tail as it was way to hot to have it down and put some sunglasses on your head and touched up on your makeup.
as you left the bathroom, he was just sat on the end of the bed in his trunks on his phone, and as he heard you come out he laid his eyes onto you.
his mouth dropped as he placed his phone on the bed and told you to go over to him.
"oh my god" he said, he couldn't stop looking at you, he was mesmerised.
"why are you this beautiful? give me a spin" he told you as you gave him a little twirl.
you placed your arms on his shoulders as your legs where in between his as he sat down and his hands laid on your bum, and he kept giving it a squeeze every few seconds.
you leant in and gave him many pecks on his lips. as you where about to let go, he pulled you in for more and more. until his big hands met the bikini tie at your back.
you stopped him, and removed his hands away from yours.
"erm what are you doing?" he asked confusingly.
"later jude, i promise." you told him and he kept his patience.
you both made your way down to the pool area and placed your towels down on one of the little canopy huts which where comfier than sun beds.
alls you wanted to do was have a little nap before you maybe wanted to get in the pool with the sun shining on you.
"put this on me please j" you told him giving him the bottle of sun cream so he could do your back.
he rubbed it in smoothly and then suddenly stopped.
"i cant wait to rip this off you tonight babe" he whispered down your ear sending shivers up your spine and you jokingly slapped his muscular thighs.
once he was done, you laid back and relaxed, and had an hours sleep, with your boy leaning on your chest with his hand round you waist, which done you well as you where tired from the early flight.
you woke up by the sound of a big splash in the pool, you leaned up to see jude in the pool shaking the water off his hair.
"you getting in with me?" he spoke splashing water up to you.
"fine, but I'm not getting my hair wet!" you told him and made your way down to the pool steps.
he was waiting for you at the bottom and as you got in you wrapped your legs around his waist and arms around his neck as his hands roamed around your silk body.
"living the best live out here aren't we" you said and he nodded pouting his lips. you leaned in and pressed a long peck onto his smooth lips.
"well someone wants all the kisses today" you said laughing.
"could you blame me?" he smirked.
you purposely fixed your bikini top and shown him half of your boob to tease him.
"oops sorry about that" you giggled sarcastically.
"no not funny let's go" he said seriously.
he lifted you out of the pool and got all of your stuff.
as you got back to the room he only said four words to you, "in the shower now" licking his lips.
"ok sir" you spoke, trying to annoy him.
he put the shower on a medium temperature and you both got in.
he started pressing kisses all over your neck, then chest and then thighs, making your eyes roll back.
he placed his hands around you neck and lifted your face up and wasted no time and kissed you passionately as the water fell on your face and he then slipped his tongue into your mouth.
as his tongue danced away in your mouth, his teeth bit on your bottom lip and he grabbed your bum.
"wanted to do this all day" he smirked at you, placing his hands on your bikini top tie.
he undone the tie eagerly, like there was no tomorrow.
he threw the top on the floor and cupped both of your breasts and licked.
your hands met his shorts and you began untying him, until he sprung free.
"in your mouth now please baby" he wanted it bad, and you could tell.
you did what he said, and got down on to your knees and places your hands on his hips, you firstly licked his tip, and then took his length into your mouth. you gradually took him in and out and you could hear his moans as his hands ran through your hair.
"y/n im gonna come" he told you, warning you.
you picked up the pace until you could feel him come in you, and you swallowed it.
you stood up, and all you could feel was his hands run down to your waist and he pulled your pants down.
"i need you jude, like right now" you begged him.
he didn't waist any time, just like you didn't when he was begging you before, so he eagerly bent you over and felt all over your body.
he placed his finger on your clit and rubbed it until you moaned.
"please jude, i need you" you begged more.
a moment had past, and he was inside of you, you forgot how good he felt, how big he felt inside of you. he started off at a slow pace and then picked it up when he could see that you needed it quicker.
moans where leaving your lips faster than your heartbeat.
"j, im gonna come" you told him as you held on to you boobs as they where annoying you.
"come on my length baby" he said to you.
he then went quicker until you did, and he did likewise, and you then slowly reached your orgasm.
you where both breathing heavily, as he slowly and gently pulled out of you. you have to admit shower sex was one of your favourite.
"happy now?" you looked at him and smiled.
"round two now?" he looked at you.
"oh piss off" you said laughing and cleaning you both up, and also the shower.
you both took it in turns to have a shower and clean up and you both got into bed and snuggled up.
"thanks for the best first day, I love you so much" you kissed him.
"I love you more and more"
the end🤭
if you have any tips for my writing, pls always msg them 🫧
#explore#explorepage#jude bellingham imagines#jude bellingham fics#judebellingham stories#jude bellingham#jude bellingham smut#explore more
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Pose Reference Resources
I promised Dia (aka aerequets) that I will make a collection of pose references in the reply of one of her art posts, and then I completely forgot about it. Until now. I'm sorry for my bad memory.
So, yeah, better late than never I guess?
The pose collection I use the most is no longer free. They used to let you download a whole album (more than 8GB worth of data) to use offline, but now you have to pay $40/package or $200 for full sets. I still have the zip file for a very old version of theirs, but I can't legally share it. So, let's skip to the other options.
1/ First, you heard of those 3D dolls program that let you model your own reference pose? This one is an online one and for free, the whole ordeal. Of course since it's online and free, you can't save your model for next time, and it costs quite a lot of time to set the model up. So, you should take as much screenshots in as many tricky angles as you need once you done with the setting. Best using for complicated scenes where those below don't have what you need already available.
2/ This one is free and in 3D, you can rotate the model to any angle that you need. The only set back is the numbers of poses are quite limited. This one is best for using as a basic blocks then build up what you want to draw, or just as a practice to improve your understanding of human anatomy.
3/ This one is free for personal uses and the pose collection is massive. The setbacks are the language barrier (it's in Japanese, English is sometimes tag-a-long) and you have to search through their pages for what you need. The pics for each pose is static but they are in different angle in almost 360 degrees. There are many 2-person and 3-person poses too. Great for illustration inspiration.
4/ This one will only show reference photos of human head, at whatever angle you rotate the model. The web interface is easy to use. There are options like searching based on gender, ages, emotions, glasses, facial hair or not, etc. Good for practicing face drawing.
5/ This one will show reference photos for human body parts, at whatever angle you rotate the model, read the instructions for how to do it. The web interface is quite hard to use at first, just tinkering around for a bit, and you will be fine. There are options like searching based on gender and which particular parts that you need refs for. Good for that moment when you go "huh? how is this <body part> will look in this <situation>????"
6/ This one will only show reference photos of animal heads, and only the head, at whatever angle you rotate the model. The accurate skull refencence list is their best point. There are enough common species in the drop down list. Tbh, I don't use this much because I often need refs for the whole animal most of the time. But it's best for furry artists, I guess?
7/ Real model photos. They sell pose reference in themed packs, but there are enough free packs to use as drawing practice too.
8/ This is the best for general background reference. Lots of options. Not really good for very specific location results, but good for random background in drawings.
9/ Lastly, for specific objects or background references at strange angles, I often search for 3D models on this site then take screenshots of whatever I need.
That's all, folks. Hope this list can help ease some of the struggles that we will encounter on our quest of learning the art of drawing things 😂
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Favourite Series Part 1
🌙 - all time favourite
✔️ - completed series
👩🏻💻 - ongoing series
1. Mutual Help by @personasintro 🌙👩🏻💻
synopsis: in order for you to pretend to be his girlfriend, he helps you with your sexual desires ⏤ he calls it a mutual help
genre: fluff, angst, smut, slow burn, fake dating au
2. Our Time by @taestefully-in-luv 🌙👩🏻💻
summary: After an accident and being in a coma for three months, you finally wake. But the last nine years of your life have been completely erased. You rely on none other than your best friend, Jungkook, to help regain your memories and yourself. But what happens when the truth of your missing time starts unraveling and it isn’t all it’s made out to be?
genre: Darker themes, crime au, mystery, fluff, heavy angst, smut, amnesia au. Best friends to ???
3. Clash by @matchagator 🌙👩🏻💻
summary: You're a new resident in your very first apartment excited to enjoy the simple life of adulthood. Unfortunately for you, you continue to run into unruly neighbors no matter how much you try to keep to yourself.
genre: Slice of Life | Neighbors
4. Bad Decision by @alphabetboyluvr 🌙👩🏻💻
synopsis: ready to make some bad decision?
genre: strangers to friends to lovers - slow burn
5. Long way home by @sparklingchim ✔️
synopsis: jungkook's life makes an 180 degree turn when he's suddenly a single dad and while you're trying to help him come accustomed to the new circumstances, your long-standing friendship takes new turns as well.
genre: single dad jk, boxer!jk friends to lovers, !angst!
6. Day by day by @hansolmates ✔️
summary: a series of drabbles about two best friends raising a child together
genre/warnings: dilf!jungkook x best friend!reader (f) angst, longing, pining, mc is a homebody, unrequited love (or is it?), potential idiots 2 lovers, best friends 2 lovers, but there’s a poopy ex-girlfriend, potential toxic relationship, alcohol use, explicit language, eventual fluff, eventual smut summary; a series of drabbles about two best friends raising a child together.
7. A little taste by @jeonqkooks 🌙👩🏻💻
synopsis: It all started with a little oral fixation...
genre: established relationship, mainly smut - everything is basically pwp, some fluff here and there
8. Practice by @chryblossomjjk ✔️
genre: fuckboy!jk x inexperienced reader. m/18+ | college au, fwb, smut, fluff, angst
9. For me by @personasintro 🌙👩🏻💻
summary: A collection of drabbles accompanied with dilf!jk
genre: dilf au, enemies to lovers au, neighbors au | fluff, angst, smut
10. All I want by @sxtaep 👩🏻💻
synopsis: You fall into the temptation of fucking your best friend, aka the biggest fuckboy on campus.
genre: fluff, smut
11. Always you by @taestefully-in-luv ✔️
summary: You and Jungkook have been best friends since freshmen year of college, there’s a lot of unsaid feelings and tension but neither make a move. what happens when his friend Taehyung (also your crush) needs a fake girlfriend?
genre: friends to lovers, idiots to lovers, roommate au, college au, SMUT (starting ch2), fluff, angst (in later chapters) slight crack
12. Red by @taestefully-in-luv ✔️
summary: You drunkenly sleep with your ex-boyfriend, Jungkook. Can’t be that bad right? Unless he gets you pregnant.
genre: FLUFF, smut, angst:(( pregnancy au
13. Rule #5 by @taestefully-in-luv ✔️
summary: You strike up a fwb deal with your good friend Jungkook after kissing him one night after a dare. But you have rules…5 of them to be exact and it seems Jungkook doesn’t want to follow any of them.
genre: fwb, friends to ???, fluff, angst, smut
14. Runaway by @archivedkookie 👩🏻💻
summary: When your best friend's brother, your first-ever crush, offers to help you explore your sexual desires, you just can't refuse. Especially when it's someone as irresistible as Jeon Jungkook.
genre: best friend’s brother au, fwb (they’re not rlly friends tho), 4 years age gap, smut, angst, fluff, slow burn
15. As we were by @archivedkookie 👩🏻💻
summary: Your husband Jungkook was your life, your reason to breathe. And when he cheats on you with another woman, it leaves you to wonder parts of yourself you were to afraid to get to know.
genre: divorce au, infidelity au, eventual smut, heavy angst, mutual pining
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fresh new watcher/listener headcanon: they do better when the opposite sense is completely taken out of the picture
like u give a watcher noise-cancelling headphones and suddenly they gain a +14 to perception, they see Every Detail and can see up to like a billion miles away from where they're standing, everything that makes up everything down to the molecule if they squint, in a fight they're so good at tracking how their opponent swings and makes the smallest, most minute of eye movements that it basically looks like they're predicting their opponent's movements just from analysing what they're already doing down to an insane degree. all you gotta do to make a listener unable to hear you is, well, not talk. that aint gonna work here. you're communicating through body language and overly-expressive looks? the watchers read it like its (very literally) its own language. reading lips is a breeze. passing notes in the back of the class ain't gonna work here.
on the other hand, give a listener a blindfold and they become acutely aware of the Exact BPM of Everyone Within A Billion Mile Radius. watchers, when they are not using their ability to literally see everything everywhere all at once, can be hidden from. you plant yourself behind a big enough tree and you're damn near invisible. hiding from a listener in this state is impossible. both literally and figuratively- give a listener a blindfold and make 'em interrogate someone, they're able to hear every vocal inflection, every hesitation, every cutoff, and will probably instantly know whether youre lying or not. their fighting style becomes completely reactive- with a fast enough reaction time (and lets be real theyre mildly immortal pseudo-gods, their reaction time is fast enough) they can hear the sound of an arrow cutting through the air and dodge it without even looking. they can catch blades on their own weapons and are the master of side-stepping out of the way when someone tries to stab them from behind like the cool kids they are
i feel like if you pitted them in a fight against each other, they'd be insufferable to one another but absolutely enthralling to watch from the outside. i'd like to think that watchers are very formal, since they have that whole lawful evil type nonsense going on, so the way they fight is very by-the-books, won't break rules, fights like they're being scored type beat. on the other hand, listeners are, again, purely reactive. they are impulse-driven chaos mongerers, and thus they fight dirty. below the belt? low-hanging fruit? sounds good to them. they'd go for an easy shot in the Nether region, if you know what i mean (jimmy and grian are exceptions; they purposely act the opposite of what they're meant to because they're sort of just Like That tbh)
but yeah, they'd be SO annoying to one another. the watcher keeps having to parry the listener's bs blows (which annoys the listener to no end because the POINT of those shots is that you DON'T SEE THEM COMING!!), keeps trying to land hits but is evaded at the exact last second, probably on purpose just to make the watcher mad. like, the listener hears the sword coming at them from a mile away but doesn't dodge until the last possible moment just so the watcher can see how small a distance they missed by. but then the listener tries to make shots of their own and they're blocked halfway through the swing. the listener barely even comes close to hitting them because the watcher is predicting the damn future or something stupid like that, making it impossible for them to do anything unless they move like an absolute maniac so the watcher can't predict them. similarly, the only way the watcher can land anything is by exclusively using fake-outs, which just feels wrong.
honestly, i'm imagining a spar between martyn and pearl like this. they're so silly i think they would lightheartedly get on each other's nerves in this way until the fight is abruptly ended by pearl kicking martyn in the nether because yes, she fights by the rules, and it was a spar with no rules so. hey. fair game.
#this is absolutely a crackfic im going to write by the way#that last paragraph? yeah#it's just funny#limited life#evo smp#watchers#listeners#listener martyn#watcher pearl#watcher grian#listener jimmy#martyn inthelittlewood#inthelittlewood#pearlescentmoon#jimmy solidarity#solidaritygaming#grian#trafficblr
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15 questions, 15 people
Thx for the tag @marauders-everything2
Starting a new post, it was too long. Slightly modified some questions.
1. Are you named after anyone?
Nope.
2. When was the last time you cried?
Don't remember, probably yesterday.
3. Do you want to have kids?
No thanks :)
4. What sports do/have you played?
My parents tried putting me in a bunch of shit when I was younger so I've done: swimming (for some years, still not great at it lol), surfing (quit after like 2 months), kizomba dance (hated it), another type of dance, contemporary dance (I liked it but the place closed), and we went skiing several times (which I love). If horseriding counts, I did that for a year. Currently not doing any.
5. Do you use sarcasm?
Yeah, sometimes. But I'm also quite direct and straightforward. Only "straight" I am.
6. What's the first thing you notice about someone?
Their fashion style. I love going up to strangers to compliment their outfits!
7. What's your eye colour?
Dark brown.
8. Movies with sad or happy endings?
I love movies with uncertain, ambiguous endings, in which the meaning is up for debate (like Inception).
9. What talents do you have?
Fast at absorbing information (sometimes), hypercreativity, great at bullshitting in academic tests/essays, good at making accents and voices, ummm... Can't remember more.
10. Where would you like to live?
New Zealand. It's pretty and one of the least problematic English-speaking countries (wanna live somewhere where English is the official language).
11. What are your hobbies?
Writing fanfiction and original stories (more like my passion), playing The Sims 4, drawing digitally (haven't in a while though), singing?
12. Do you have any pets?
My parents have 3 dogs (no breed) and koi fish. I want a cat :')
13. How tall are you?
165 cm or 5'5" for the Americans.
14. Favourite subject in school?
At college. Don't really like any of my current classes. Ig English C1.2 because we studied the Broadway play Hamilton. Although I haven't learned anything new.
15. What is your dream job?
Writer/author, would also like to do voice acting. Maybe a psychologist too, haven't decided if I'll take a second college degree.
No pressure tags: @siriuslystarbucks @starsandmoonys @whoopsiesnodaisies @star4daisy @starchaser-lily @half-cold-coffee @cazzythefrogking @starsarestories @my-beloved-fandoms @my-castles-crumbling @reggiecantswimm @artbyace @literallytoogaytofunction @rosemelodyshah @theres-an-endless-starry-sky
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