#amy march hurt/comfort

[imkittyjustkitty]

💤 — Fluffuly #4

— prompt : the one and only @fluffuly2022

— pairings : Amy March x Reader

Amy rests on your chest, her head rising and falling as you breath. One of your arms are wrapped around her torso, holding her close as you lie together, while the other gently cards through her soft hair.

Your voices are soft as you talk about whatever comes to mind, the conversation dancing across topics such as Amy's family, your favourite time of day, her favourite colours (which are any of the ones you tend to wear frequently), or your favourite memories (you stand by the fact that it's the day you met her, and hers is one when she was equal and loved in the eyes of her sisters).

Eventually, the conversation seems to drift to heavier topics, from the time Amy fell in the lake, and how it terrified her to the bone, to your shared fear of the outside world. For now, there's still an air of comfort in the air, no matter the past, you and Amy are lying together in each-others arms.

But the energy in the room shifts, and you can tell Amy is thinking about something that upsets her, in a way you have only caught glimpses of in the past.

"Y/N," Her eyes peer up at your face, "If... if there were someone prettier, smarter, more successful than I, someone braver than I, would you choose them over me?"

Your face falls into a frown, your hand halting it's actions in Amy's hair as you look down at her face, which holds an unreadable expression.

"What do you mean, Amy?"

Amy sighs, burying her head in the crook of your neck to avoid eye contact.

"What I mean is, there's plenty others girls... ones with far more success than I."

Your heart breaks a little as you finally catch on to what Amy's getting at.

"Hey, no," Your hands go back to playing with her hair and rubbing her back in an attempt to comfort her, "I would never choose anyone over you."

You feel Amy nod, followed by the sound of her sniffling and the feeling of teardrops dropping onto your chest.

You try not to cry with her as you hold her impossibly closer, whispering softly to her about everything you love about her, lulling her into sleep, and it's not long until you fall asleep too, to only the sounds of Amy's soft breaths and rising and falling chest against yours.

It crosses your mind that this conversation clearly isn't over and that Amy will need more reassurances, but for now, you lay in eachother's arms, calm and in love.

You take a deep breath as tendrils of tiredness tempt you closer and closer to sleep. Before your let yourself fall into slumber, you whisper one last thing to your love.

“I could never settle for anyone else, Amy, you’re my one and only.”

[lauraneedstochill]

My first choice (part 2/2)

summary: Aemond thinks you are way too good to be Aegon’s best friend. But you are enough for the one-eye prince to fall in love with.

pairing: Aemond Targaryen and F!Reader words: ~ 8500 (this is why I divided it into 2 parts lmao)

warnings: friends to lovers, more angst (death of a parent, attempted harassment), hurt/comfort, an embarrassing amount of softness, Aegon is the smartest one for once (and I’m trashing Jason Lannister again!) author’s note: this is heavily inspired by “Little women” (2019) and Amy March in particular (read the rest of my long-ass explanation in part 1). again, I apologize for the angst! it gets worse before it gets better

 Part 2. In a room full of art I stare at you

It's hard to pinpoint the exact moment you fell in love with Aemond. Maybe you were too blind to notice until it was too late or maybe you were doomed from the start. From the moment when the boy, who everyone deemed to be intimidating and reclusive, bent down to you to offer help without any hesitation. The second-born son of the King, tall and close-mouthed, surely had more important things to do than waste time on a strange girl crying over her stupid dress — and yet, he only showed you solicitude, asking for nothing in return.

You thought that mayhaps you owed him, and were seeking the opportunity to return the favor. Or at least that’s how you tried to justify the fact that you were looking for him every chance you got. You often found a reason to chat with Aemond during dinners and feasts, feeling bad for him spending time on his own — and you learned that he was very easy to talk to. You made sure to visit the training yard if he was there and sometimes stayed to watch him train for hours, even — or especially — when everyone else already left. His tenacity and strength had certain allure but under all those layers, you saw a lonely boy whose only friend was probably his dragon.

Despite the circumstances and his preferred solitude, Aemond never rejected your company, however sudden it might have been. Even when Aegon foolishly suggested playing hide and seek one evening, bored out of his mind, and you busted into the library and stumbled upon Aemond, who looked like he had no interest in silly games. And yet, when you awkwardly asked for the best place to hide at, he guided you to the enclosed area of the reading room. It was dimly lit by just a few candles and, somewhere between feeling uncomfortable and getting scared, you reached for his hand. He didn’t pull away. Furthermore, he stayed with you and cheered you up with stories about Old Valyria, making you forget about any childish fears.

As the two of you have grown older, you often heard people being frightened by Aemond’s disposition but you found there to be no ground for that. He’s never been rude to you nor had he lost his temper, regardless of circumstances — and the day you saw him without the eyepatch for the first time was the prime example of that. It was getting late and Aegon had too much to drink and, while running around in a drunken stupor, he cut his hand somewhere in the yard. Luckily, the wound wasn’t too deep but he was bleeding and refused to get help, against your best wishes. He was babbling that scars adorn a man — and then, in an attempt to escape you chasing him, he barged into Aemond’s chambers. You ran in merely a second after, with explanations at the ready, and were met with his younger brother standing there, looking startled. It took you a second to realize he wasn’t wearing his eyepatch.

“My scar will be easier to hide,” Aegon giggled, not recognizing the gravity of the situation.

It was the only time you had to make an effort not to slap him in the face. You thought it was mostly a secondhand embarrassment, which was part of the experience of being Aegon’s friend, but the look on Aemond’s face, hurt and humiliated, also made your heart ache.

“His scar is a reminder of his bravery and the strength of his character that he should only be proud of,” you gave Aegon a death stare. “Yours will be a reminder of your idiocy.”

It seemed to work as his smile vanished and he even muttered an apology, leaving hurriedly to call for the maester. When you turned to Aemond, he already had his eyepatch on, and you fought the urge to come and take him by the hand again. You didn’t want to bother him at such a late hour, so you opted to offer an apology, too, and leave him be.

“His behavior was unworthy. But I meant what I said,” you turned to Aemond on your way out. “And the sapphire looks very pretty,” you could swear you saw a trace of a smile on his face but you chose not to think much of it.

With every encounter, sudden or not, and every conversation, most of which were too short for your liking, you were making more room for Aemond in your heart. You should’ve known you were a lost cause when you actually told yourself — out loud, with hands grabbing the edges of your table — “I will not fall in love with him.” At that point, you already did. He always worked so hard to be seen — and you only had eyes for him all along.

You hid your true feelings well enough for anyone to take notice — but your father was no fool. He also knew better than to meddle with whatever your thinking process was. So he watched from afar for quite some time, until you started catching his curious glances on you every time you went to talk to Aemond. Predictably, after yet another feast he could not resist bringing up the topic.

“Did the royal menace have too many cups of wine again? Haven’t seen him this evening,” he adored Aegon whole-heartedly, and you suspected that their shared love for crude humor was the main reason for that. You didn’t mind.

“Wasn’t that many, actually,” you chuckled. “But he asked me and Aemond to help him to his chambers, said he wasn’t in the mood today.”

“Well, you seem to really enjoy Aemond’s company. I assume that the feeling is mutual?” he looked expressively at you.

Your face grew hot at his words. You also felt your heart break just a little.

“We are merely friends,” you told him, your smile too tense to be believable.

There was a shadow of concern in your father’s gaze, followed by a sad sigh.

“You will let me know if anything changes, though?” he mustered a smile in return and his was much brighter than yours.

“You will be the first one to know,” you promised as he came closer to bring you into a bear hug. You never spoke of it again.

Surprisingly, the only other person who seemed to have suspicions about the nature of your and Aemond’s relationship was his father, the King. You didn’t think he was aware of your existence, and even when your friendship with Aegon grew stronger and you became a regular guest at the castle, you soon realized Viserys barely paid any mind to his younger kids’ whereabouts. You would catch a glimpse of him in the halls and curtsy out of politeness but didn’t expect him to notice. You got too comfortable with his absence — so much so, that one day, when Aegon was carrying your supplies and humorously complained about the lack of art in the castle, you blithely suggested painting a portrait of the King. The last thing you expected was for said man to step out of the corner.

“I would be delighted,” he cut right to the chase. “Lady Y/N, isn’t it?”

He didn’t look scary up close, his face wrinkled and a tad too tired, but quite benevolent. He simply asked if you would be content with drawing him on the Iron Throne and you agreed, just as easily. Truth be told, you didn’t think he would follow up on his offer — being the King and all that, but he sent a carriage down to fetch you literally the next day. Viserys took the task with juvenile ardor, bombarding you with questions — what pose to take, what paint do you use, how quickly will it dry and how did you learn to draw. After he was satisfied with the answers, he changed the subject.

“My wife considers you to have a positive influence on my eldest son,” he pointed out with ill-concealed interest.

“I deeply appreciate her trust but I believe that he is capable of changing on his own,” you corrected him courtly.

“You don’t give yourself enough credit,” he disagreed with a mischievous grin. “I’ve only heard good words about your guidance. It seems that you rein him back so easily, you would’ve made for a fine wife.”

You silently groaned at his comment.

“Your grace, I can assure you, our relationship is strictly of a friendly nature.”

“Oh, I know, I have seen you two,” he said, laughing, and when you peered at him, you saw that it wasn’t his usual uncomfortable-looking crooked grin but an actual genuine laugh.

“Shall you ever lay an eye on any other of my sons,” Viserys continued, much to your surprise. “Do not hesitate to tell me,” and his face suggested he knew more than he was letting on.

You ducked behind the canvas so he didn’t see your heated cheeks.

His suggestion lodged in your memory and even though you wouldn’t dare to actually approach the King, you held out hope that maybe he would give Aemond a similar hint. But months passed, Viserys’s condition drastically worsened, and for whatever reason, he never mended the relationship with his children. And eventually, your hope was gone.

You didn’t lie to Aemond when you told him about having power over who you love. But you failed to mention that said power has its limits — and doesn’t guarantee that your feelings won’t be one-sided. You learned that lesson the hard way when you had to face up to the reality you were in. Your love for Aemond seemed to be as infinite as the ocean — and you had to fit it in a fragile vessel of your heart. At first, you felt the waves raging at the mere glance of his, at every gesture of his goodwill or just upon hearing his voice. The storm of your feelings would splash over the rocks of your self-control but you survived the roaring torrent of love, time after time. The rough ocean grew calm over the years as you came to terms with being in love with someone who didn’t love you back.

You did choose to harbor feelings for Aemond, and you had no regrets about that. But when adulthood came with its own responsibilities that you had to focus on, all your energy was put into finding a husband. You were aware that your choice would have a major impact on your family as their stability depended on it. You approached the issue in a cold-hearted manner, prioritizing the duty above all else. Mayhaps, you were too calculated in your pursuit, and that was how you ended up accepting the courtship of a man who had nothing to give but his wealth.

When it comes to Jason, he never ceases to evoke a few feelings, too, but none of them are pleasant. His arrogance is the first thing that catches the eye — he’s wrapped in it and wears it with pride as if it’s another title of his. You often have to bite your tongue and fake a smile in response to his dismissive remarks and borderline vulgar comments. It doesn’t help that his self-esteem is inflated beyond your comprehension, and if only he could put his own face on their House's sigil, he would. You are grateful that he keeps his hands to himself but you notice him getting quite handsy with the maids, and it gives you an unsettling feeling. His behavior is so disdainful and frivolous, you have no doubts that once you are married, you will be merely an accessory to him, a pretty wife to show off to his friends without taking your opinion into account. Showing off is the one thing he does best — and each time you can’t help but compare him to Aemond who doesn’t even know how to take a compliment. You find yourself thinking about the prince every time Jason comes by, and these thoughts help you get through tiresome promenades with the lord and endure boring dinners with him.

But after your last conversation with Aemond, you force yourself to stop thinking about him altogether. That decision is remorseless but you believe it’s for the better — or at least that’s what you convince yourself to think after you run out of the garden and into your carriage, only caring about getting home as soon as possible. You pretend that nothing happened, lying to your parents that the prince was too busy and you had to return earlier than planned. And then you lock yourself in your chambers, with hand clamped over your mouth to muffle the sound of crying. A small part of you hopes that Aemond will come to you the same day and explain himself. But he doesn’t. When you don’t hear from him for another two days, you come to the conclusion that he regretted his sudden outburst. And that his words actually held no meaning.

Cutting Aemond out of your life does seem to be attainable with some time, and you perceive it as just another task, another skill you can master. But getting him out of your head seems like an impossible goal from the start. You are so used to keeping memories of him, cherishing each and every one, you can’t just erase them all at once. You try your best, you do so with ferocious persistence, but there’s always some annoying little reminder ready to surface and catch you off guard at the most inopportune moment.

It gets even harder when four days later you find yourself sitting next to Jason who is even more presumptuous than usual. At this point, you feel like your nerves are at the limit, so you can’t even find it in yourself to keep up the act. You push your food around the plate, jumping from one pointless thought to another: the tasteless meal, the barely visible crack in your cup, the revolting tone of the lord’s voice. You feel your mother staring at you, clearly displeased with your attitude, yet Jason is oblivious, too wrapped up in bragging about his winery — or whatever else he is talking about, you have no idea because you stopped paying attention about twenty minutes ago.

You think if you stay by his side any longer, you will be physically sick.

So you get up from the table — may be a bit too dramatic for your own liking — and muster out a weak excuse:

“My apologies, I am in need of fresh air.”

You leave before anyone has a chance to stop you.

It seems like an act of disobedience but there’s so much freedom in it, you feel that you can finally take a breath. And you do exactly that once you reach the balcony, several corridors away from the dining hall that felt stuffed with Jason’s ego. As you stand there, soaking up the last rays of the sun, you can’t ignore the obvious question — how is it even possible to marry someone you absolutely cannot tolerate. You never had illusions about the nature of your relationship with him but you at least hoped there would be some ground to build your future on. At yet, right now it looks like you are trying to lay a foundation in the quicksand. For a man of a noble lineage, Jason knows too little of what nobility actually is, and you have enough self-respect to not give him explanations. The prospect of marrying him makes your duty feel like a burden, and you contemplate if you should even take the risk.

You are lost in your thoughts until you hear a thin voice:

“Do you know where the sun lands?”

You turn to find your sister Alyna standing at the door, in her long white nightgown and barefoot, her eyes unnaturally large for her baby-like face. She always talks like that, too thoughtful for her young age, and sometimes she reminds you of Helaena. There you go, another connection to Aemond.

“I do not, my sweetling. Wherever that place is, it’s a well-guarded secret,” you comb her curly hair with your fingers as her curious eyes study your face.

“Maybe it doesn't want to be seen,” she deduces. “Just like you don't.”

Her ability to get straight to the point sometimes blindsides you. It’s also quite liberating to talk to someone who hasn’t yet learned the skill of pretense, and she may be the only sibling of yours with no ulterior motives or hidden agenda. Alyna tilts her head, signaling that she isn’t enjoying your touch anymore — and when you remove your hand, she says, out of the blue:

“Just like Ser Lannister doesn’t.”

You stare at her in bewilderment, and only then notice that the hallway behind her is empty. It dawns on you that Alyna’s nanny Dorea is nowhere to be found. She is only a couple of years older than you, meek and quiet, her trusting nature ever so defenseless — but she is also very pretty. Too pretty for her own good, as your mother likes to say.

You feel a wave of nausea again. This time, it’s followed by a sense of dread curdling in your stomach.

“What did he do?” your voice comes out unusually calm, in striking contrast with how you are really feeling.

“I heard him talking to Dorea outside my chambers. I wanted to join the conversation but he asked me to leave,” her brows slightly furrow. “He said there are some things I am not supposed to see.”

It may be the first thing you and Jason can agree on, you think. It is also the only thing because you certainly will never agree to marry him — and that realization frees you of any false politeness and self-restraint.

“What are those things?” Alyna naively asks, shifting from one foot to the other.

“I shall go and ask him,” you pat her on the cheek. “But you stay here, alright? I will be back before you know it.”

Usually, it would take about a minute to reach your sister’s chambers, but you cover the distance twice as fast. You are a couple of feet away when you hear muffled voices — one is demanding, the other one is scared, and both are well-known to you. You grasp the situation in no time and run to quickly open the door. When you walk in, you feel a flare-up of anger at the sight: Jason grabbed Dorea by the hips, trying to pull her closer, as she weakly protests, her palms pushing at his chest in an attempt to get away. The squeak of the door makes them turn their heads to you, and you see the distressed look on the nanny’s face.

And then their gazes fall behind your back, and Dorea gets horrified.

You easily guess the reason for that — your younger sister isn’t very good at following orders. So Alyna mumbles, standing next to you and looking at her nanny:

“I do not think she likes it.”

“Neither do I,” you throw Jason a baleful stare. “Let her go and get out.”

He removes his hands — so carelessly, it almost seems like he’s offended by your suggestion of his wrongdoing. Dorea immediately comes to your side, ashamed and distraught.

“Did he hurt you?” you inquire, helping to adjust her dress.

“Lady Y/N, I think you misinterpreted — ” Jason tries to say but you shut him off.

“I am not talking to you,” you scowl in his direction. Your face softens when you ask Dorea again: “Are you hurt?”

She shakes her head, sheepishly trying to explain:

“I didn’t do anything, I-I didn’t want to, and he said... He said he is a lord and I sh-should be flattered.”

Not only did Jason has the audacity to pull that off but he also wanted to do so at your little sister’s chambers — and you simmer at the thought.

“I believe you,” you gently stroke her shoulder. “I promise you will never see him again.”

“These are some unrealistic expectations,” Jason sneers, walking to you but his grin dies down when you look at him again.

“I know your opinion of women isn’t very high — trust me, the feeling is mutual — but you cannot seriously believe you will fool me,” you sense that now he isn’t pleased with your attitude but you don’t care. “When I told you to get out, I meant it. You are not welcome in this house.”

“That doesn’t sound like a wise decision to make if we are to be wed,” Jason contemptuously hisses.

“Then I guess the wedding is off,” you glare defiance at him. “But whoever you end up marrying, I hope she outlives you. Just so she can spit on your grave,” the last part is meant only for him to hear.

And he definitely does as his face reddens with rage. Jason roughly grabs you by the hand, and your nose fills with the stench of wine when he speaks:

“You are in no position to make demands,” he drawls. “Your family is in debt up to its ears, you little halfwit, so I suggest you choose your words very carefully.”

While he doesn’t see it, Alyna looks between you two, and, out of the corner of your eye, you notice her frowning. She doesn’t do well with conflicts as they upset her deeply, which can only trigger one reaction. Before you can say anything, a high-pitched scream shatters the room, echoing through the whole house.

Jason removes his hand within a second, looking shocked, but Alyna stands innocently with her mouth closed as if nothing happened. Your parents come to her chambers in the blink of an eye.

“What is wrong?” your mother looks at you all uncomprehendingly.

“Ser Lannister got lost,” you cooly explain. “He is already leaving.”

“And why is that?” your father glares at him with suspicion.

You want to spare Dorea the humiliation so you pause for a moment, trying to come up with an excuse. But Alyna has no understanding of what a maiden’s honor is — and she loudly proclaims:

“Ser Lannister was touching Dorea, and she didn't like it.”

No one in the room needs an explanation for that.

“You shameless scoundrel!” your father roars at Jason, who unsurprisingly isn’t as courageous as before.

“Ser, there clearly has been a mistake — ”

“It was a mistake to let you in,” your father rudely interrupts him. “You won’t set foot in my house ever again. Get out of here before I make you!”

Jason doesn’t need to be told twice and storms out of the room as your father’s gaze follows him. He stands with hands clenched into fists, his nostrils flaring with anger.

“Pompous jerk,” he mumbles under his breath. “And to think that I was willing to give him my daughter’s hand...!” his voice breaks, hoarse with ire, and you notice a vein pop on his forehead. You have never seen him so furious.

“He’s been dealt with,” you cautiously say to ease the tension. “That shouldn’t be a cause for your concern anymore.”

He turns to you, his eyes bloodshot and breathing heavy. As you step closer, you hear whistling sounds with his every breath, and his gaze gets absent. You realize that something is wrong as he opens his mouth to speak but no sound comes out.

“Father, are you alright?”

He places a hand over his heart, trying to inhale, a look of fear in his eyes. The chain of events is too sudden to comprehend: his breathing begins to wheeze as he squirms, falls flat on his back and convulses.

And then your evening turns out to be way worse than you could’ve ever imagined. A week later Aegon wakes up at an ungodly hour — and he’s fueled by sole determination to put an end to everyone’s misery. Surely, he must be the only sane person in his house since all his family members seem to be oblivious to what is going on between you and Aemond. Aegon, however, can use his eyes for their intended purpose — and it is clear as day to him that you and his brother are in love with each other.

He caught on to that pretty fast, although the signs were not that obvious at first: you often smile to people purely out of politeness and Aemond may not show his true feelings even under threat of death. So Aegon kept secretly observing you two, taking note of fleeting glances and light touches, of the way you would relax in Aemond’s presence, the way he was always too eager to help you with whatever you needed, and how you two would gravitate toward each other. Both his brother and his best friend were annoyingly stubborn about making their own decisions so Aegon didn’t mean to interrupt — or at least he tried not to. But when your evident mutual pining stretched into years, Aegon started losing his patience.

In the beginning, he initiated small things, asking Aemond to come and greet you (“Oh, I just woke up! And you are already dressed for the occasion”), to deliver you his hand-written message (“Yes, it is incredibly important and I trust no one but you!” — it was his doodling of Aemond), to keep you company during the feast while Aegon stepped out for a moment (he didn’t come back). He asked him to switch places at dinner (so you and Aemond could sit together), to help find the books you wanted (“All those years of you reading should be good for something”), to pick up the portrait of his children (“They are your nephews, is it so hard?! No, I am not being dramatic!”). A couple of times he even pretended to be way more drunk than he actually was just so you and Aemond could help him to his chambers and spend some time alone in the process. None of that worked. At some point, he seriously contemplated locking you both in a room but then came to the conclusion that you would rather team up to find a way out than confess your feelings. Truly, it seemed hopeless, and Aegon thought that maybe he should give up.

But as of recently he couldn’t help but notice that something was clearly off between you and Aemond, although the younger prince refused to talk about it, and you simply stopped visiting the castle. He decided to give it a day or two, hoping that you would sort things out and refusing to even consider the opposite. A week passed and nothing changed, and Aegon cannot bear looking at Aemond’s sour face any longer. So the older prince comes up with a plan.

He is unexpectedly the first one at the breakfast table and everyone who walks in shoots him a surprised glance. They are amazed even more to see that Aegon isn’t drinking which is as rare as a miracle. Aemond comes last and he is the only one who doesn’t notice the change, too wrapped up in his thoughts. Another thing that goes unnoticed is the gleam of sadness on their mother’s face.

Five minutes in, Aegon clears his throat to attract everyone’s attention.

“So, I was thinking,” he drawls loudly.

“That does not sound good,” Otto mutters, unimpressed, which Aegon chooses to ignore and continues.

“Lady Baratheon’s poor taste in men shouldn’t be an obstacle in our way of reaching the grand goal.”

“Which is...?” Otto asks while the younger prince doesn’t move an ear.

“To find a lady worthy of my brother, of course!” Aegon tries his best to say it with a straight face.

Aemond spares him a glance:

“I didn’t know you took much interest in that.”

“I always have your best interest in mind,” Aegon slaps him on the shoulder earning a disgruntled hum in return.

“I was just thinking if we should go over the list of requirements once more,” Aegon suggests.

“I don’t have a li— ”

“Of course you do!” another slap. “At the very least, she should be of a noble kind. Am I right?”

“Sure,” Aemond absentmindedly agrees.

“And we are definitely looking for someone who is keen on reading.”

“Yes,” Aemond rolls his eye and looks at his plate, already showing no interest in the conversation. That is exactly what Aegon wants — and he starts talking a bit faster:

“Someone with a flexible nature...”

“U-hmm.”

“And with a kind heart...”

“Yes.”

“A great listener...”

“Uh-huh”

“Who will attend to your every need...”

“Sure.”

“And may even be of indescribable beauty...”

“Hmm.”

“...And you will still be miserable because you love Y/N.”

“Yes,” Aemond says without thinking — and then it’s too late to take his word back because everyone’s eyes are already on him. When he turns to his brother, Aegon has a shit-eating grin on his face:

“You are welcome.”

Alicent looks genuinely confused:

“Aemond, but why haven’t you mentioned it?”

“I’ve been asking myself the same question for years,” Aegon snorts, and Otto raises an eyebrow.

“Years?” his grandsire questions.

“I almost gave up on him,” Aegon keeps talking while his brother just sits there, eye glued to the table.

“She was the one who drew the portrait of our father,” Helaena cheerfully speaks up. “And he kept it.”

“He did,” Alicent nods and gives her son a sympathetic look. “Aemond, she is an admirable young lady. No one would have spoken against it if only you — ”

“It doesn’t matter now,” Aemond cuts her off, averting his gaze. “She is to be betrothed to Ser Lannister, and I do not intend to ruin her plans.”

“You cannot be serious!” Aegon pinches the bridge of his nose. “Shall you find the courage to propose, she will immediately reject him!”

“She already did,” Alicent avows, to everyone’s surprise.

Aemond looks up at his mother in an instant:

“Did she?” he asks in disbelief.

Alicent gives him a wan smile:

“A week ago, yes. It is rumored that his behavior... left much to be desired,” she explains half-heartedly. Her face, however, doesn’t show any signs of happiness.

“That seemed like a reason to celebrate but it doesn’t sound like it,” Aegon looks at her questioningly, and Aemond tenses up in anticipation.

Alicent dithers as her face falls, eyes getting woeful and voice feeble:

“Her father fell ill that very day. Some say he got too upset with the whole situation, and I...,” she takes a deep breath. “I received a message this morning. He passed away three nights ago.”

Everyone falls silent, their faces showing shock that is quickly replaced by sadness.

“Seven hells,” Aegon mumbles.

Aemond doesn’t utter a word, feeling his heart sinking. He knows that you’ve always been your father’s daughter, and the prince cannot even begin to imagine how heartbroken you are right now. He should’ve been there for you, he thinks, full with remorse and guilt.

“You should go,” Aegon turns to him, not a hint of jesting in his voice. “We may give her some time to grieve, but I will gladly take Sunfyre out for — ”

“Why would you need to?” Aemond gives him a puzzled look. “I can take Vhagar.”

Aegon emits a long-drawn groan and says to no one in particular:

“And to think he is the smartest one? I am having doubts”, he then glances at Aemond with reproach. “I am sure her mourning family will not at all get terrified at the sight of your monstrous dragon.”

His brother mulls over the idea.

“It is not safe to fly drunk.”

“I will be stone-cold sober.”

“You believe both of us will fit into the saddle?” 

“We will fit just fine, can you stop with your excuses?! I am being reasonable for once, and you are making me regret it!”

“I don’t think it would be wise,” Otto cuts in their bickering, and both princes turn to him.

He holds pause with a blank stare before a sly smile crawls out on his face.

“I would rather recommend the prince goes right away. We don’t want her family to make any rushed decisions,” their grandsire advises, earning a sign of relief from Aegon, who jumps out of his chair.

“We’re leaving this very second! Do I need to drag you out of your —”

“You do not,” Aemond stands up in a hurry — and then Aegon still grabs him by the hand, pulling his brother out of the room.

Alicent gazes fondly after them.

“It was very kind of you,” she says to her father without looking at him.

Otto thinks that, with how well you’ve been handling Aegon, marrying you to Aemond would be a blessing. Because gods know, he is fed up with them both.

On their way to the Dragonpit Aegon can barely hold back his excitement but his brother’s mind is clearly elsewhere. The older prince lets Aemond take time to gather his thoughts and doesn’t bother him along the road. But once they reach the cavernous building and both pop out of the carriage, Aegon decides some encouragement would be fitting. 

“Have I ever told you how I met Y/N? That day at the feast?”

Mentioning your name always works wonders — Aemond turns to him in a flash.

“I was jesting around and she was the only one who didn’t laugh at my jokes. At all. Just stood there with a straight face and ignored me. Can you imagine?” 

Aemond does know the unimpressed look you usually give Aegon, and it causes him to let out a dull chuckle.

“Took me good five minutes to even make her smile — and, frankly, my success didn’t last very long. Pretty sure half of my jokes landed flat. But you know what was the real issue?” Aegon’s smile is melancholic. “Most of the evening she kept asking about you.”

Aemond looks like the very epitome of heartbreak. Not only was he blind, he was also an idiot, he realizes.

“I know, I should’ve told you sooner,” Aegon gives him an apologetic look.

Aemond shakes his head:

“I should’ve told her sooner.”

“Well, it’s only been what, seven years?” his brother chortles weakly while the dragon keepers finally bring out Sunfyre, and the dragon casts Aemond a curious look.

Aegon approaches the beast first, running his hand over the scales that shine bright in the sunlight, and the prince can never get tired of that blinding beauty. But his excitement mingles with another feeling.

“I value Y/N’s friendship, you do know that, right?” he squints at Aemond, who simply nods.

“This is my way of saying that if you mess it up, I might push you off my dragon on our way back,” Aegon casually remarks, grabbing the rope to climb up.

Aemond falters with answering, reluctant to admit:

“There is a chance that I already messed it up.”

Aegon looks down at his brother and gives him a stern glare:

“Unmess it, then.” You don’t remember much from the past week, your days and nights blurred into one another. The only thing that stays on your mind is your father’s face — you can still see it so clearly, with his gentle gaze and his every wrinkle, the corners of his mouth always upturn like he’s a second away from smiling. You also remember how that face contorted in pain, how his body stiffened, and that scene plays on repeat in your head, over and over. And then there are only pieces of memories, torn and mushed together, and you can’t find it in yourself to sort them out.

You spend all your time at your father’s bedside, with a string of never-ending prayers falling from your lips. They don’t seem to help — and nor do the maester’s efforts, and you lose hope with each passing minute. As hours fly, you get a very bad feeling that soon turns into blood-curdling awareness. Deep down, you know what’s to come, and you hate yourself for it. You think you will never stop crying but by the time the maester declares your father’s demise, there are no tears left. Death has many faces — none of them looked at you with mercy.

Your mother wails, overtaken by despair, your sisters don’t leave her side, eyes puffy and full of sorrow, and you are sure that you look the same — yet you feel completely empty. There’s a cleft in a place of your heart, and all the feelings seemed to flow out, leaving you drained and emotionless, but it brings you no relief. Everything in your house reminds you of your father, his presence tangible in the rooms and in the halls, his image still as clear as a reflection in the mirror. The memories of him crawl out of every corner, seep from under the doors, fall on you along with the dust you brush off his things that you can’t make yourself take away.

Stacks of hardcovers with bookmarks in the middle.

The unfinished cup of wine.

The long grey coat hanging on the back of his chair.

Piles of letters left unanswered.

Parchments, ink and a quill that he will never use again.

All the pieces of him that you can’t look at, don’t want to look at — yet it’s all you see, and there’s is no hiding from it. You feel trapped in your own house, and you wait for the walls to collapse so maybe under the weight of them you will find some peace. You are restless in your grief, you are drowning in it.

The day of the funeral leaves a blank space in your memory, void of colors and sounds apart from everyone’s crying. The ceremony is rushed and there is only a handful of family members since your mother couldn’t bring herself to tell everyone yet. You don’t blame her for it — you think she’s too afraid to say it out loud, afraid that speaking the words will make them real, and she’ll have to finally accept his death. You have no problem with acceptance, you just don’t know how to move on. How to stay strong when you are shattered beyond repair.

Your home now feels like a coffin but everyone expects you to be in charge, so you force yourself to. Merely an hour after his body was buried in soil wet with rain, you find yourself sorting out his papers. You look through his diary, his scribbled notes, the calculations he made in attempts to stabilize the emptying coffers. He’s always been the responsible one, keeping count and cutting costs, planning for the future — and yet he’s been robbed of it. None of it makes sense to you and your father isn’t there to teach you. You clench your teeth in frustration, and it makes you want to put your head through a wall.

You push through the second and the third day. You give orders to the maids, who walk on eggshells around the house, sharing concerned looks. You take it upon yourself to bring meals to your mother and all but spoon-feed her so she at least will have some energy to get up from bed. She doesn’t — while you want nothing more than to get away. You’ve had a fair share of responsibilities your entire life but now there’s an abundance of them and it puts you in a chokehold, and you are all alone in your discomfort which brings you no respite at all.

On the fourth day you wake up feeling like the walls are closing in and you can’t breathe, the need to leave anchoring in your lungs. You don’t want to waste another second as you put on a coat right on top of your nightgown, frightened that each moment of stalling might lead to you being dragged into the same routine again. But the house is asleep, and the sun has barely risen when you tiptoe out of your room. You only wake up one maid, telling her you’ll go for a walk so your sudden absence doesn’t come off as a deed of cruelty.

You step outside and close the door behind your back, taking a slow, deep inhale. And just when the guilt is about to sneak up on you — you dart off into the morning fog.

The air is fresh and cooling against your skin as you run away from your house and through the trees, not minding the branches or the damp ground. You breathe the crisp air in, and it makes your body feel weightless, and you speed up, leaving no chance for the responsibilities to catch up with you. Patches of the forest, splattered with all shades of green, bushes and weeds that graze your knees — you pay them no attention as your feet carry you further away, up the hill, to the most remote place you can think of. You don’t know how long it takes for you to reach the narrow wooden bridge and cross the remaining field that ends with a cliff, but when you finally do, your feet ache and your lungs burn and you gulp air.

The sky is draped by the light layer of clouds but the blue of it stretches as far as the eyes can reach, and the movement of the sea can be seen in the distance. The morning is still with silence and it welcomes you, the fresh breeze encircling your body. The feeling of it isn’t gentle as the wind instantly bites every part of your skin that is covered with sweat. You should’ve worn thicker layers, you shouldn’t have rushed, maybe you shouldn’t have come at all — but you are too tired of thinking, of restrictions. Of yourself.

You let the cold seep in and pierce you to the marrow as you watch the waves meeting the horizon. You then close your eyes, hands coming up to cross over your chest. It’s an oblivion of some sort — with no demands and no tears, it’s only you and the wind. The empty space around you matches the emptiness in your heart, and the beating of it sounds like a hollow note. You feel nothing, you feel numb, but it’s so tranquilizing, you can’t help but give in, just to stop brooding for a few minutes — or maybe hours, you care not.

In this state of torpor, you almost miss the sound of wings cutting through the air. When you open your eyes, you only catch a shadow hidden by the clouds and a glimpse of gold but it’s still enough to guess. Sunfyre. At any other time, Aegon’s visit would’ve brought you joy yet right now it feels useless against the doldrums of your soul. At least your sisters will be happy to see him, you think, not having the slightest desire to move from your spot. The wind is now howling, the grass is rustling — and then the small measured sound joins the melody of nature. It sounds like someone’s approaching but their step is nearly noiseless. There is only one person who walks like that, and the realization brings you out of your trance.

You turn to Aemond before he can say anything, your gaze meeting his, and he immediately stands still. The distance between you is just like before, and you only now grasp the amount of time that has passed. You haven’t seen him in two weeks — and so much has changed, and nothing is the same — but when you look at Aemond, at every painfully familiar feature of his, your heart twinges. You really, really missed him, and it’s the first thing you feel in fourteen days.

He notes your lack of protest and hesitantly comes toward you, only pausing when he’s at arm’s length. His cheeks are flushed pink from the wind, the collar of his coat raised to the angles of his jaw.

“I didn’t want you to be alone,” his tone is filled with sadness. “Even if you despise me.”

“I could never,” you mirror the words he once said but your voice comes out too quiet and blank.

There is only compassion and understanding in his gaze, and you are hungry for both, so you don’t break eye contact. He doesn’t, either, and reaches out a hand — it moves to your shoulder as he says:

“Y/N, I am so sor— ” when his fingers come in contact with you, Aemond suddenly stops talking, and his eye darts to your arm. There is a flicker of confusion on his face that quickly turns into worry.

“You are freezing,” he breathes out, and his worry grows stronger in an instant.

Aemond cautiously guides his hand up and down your arm — you see the movement, clear as day, but you don't feel it at all.

“I didn’t really notice,” you mumble.

You want to tell him that staying with your family drove you up the wall, that you lost sleep and the nights bring you no rest, that you accept your emptiness and loathe it. But the wind is still howling, your mind is clouded with exhaustion, and you are afraid that Aemond will get angry at you.

Instead, he pleads:

“Let me take you home,” he continues caressing your arm. “Please, let’s go back. You can’t — ”

“I don’t want to,” you retort, and all the unsaid words bubble up and pour out. “I could not stay there any longer, it was all too much, I needed a break, I — it just made me feel like...,” your skin finally absorbs the heat of his touch which sends goosebumps down your spine, and you get short of breath.

“Like I wanted to disappear,” you say, voice barely above the whisper.

Your confession hangs in the air, and you catch that same unreadable emotion in his eye. Three heartbeats later Aemond removes his hand, and the absence of it threatens to strip you of your short-lived comfort. But then he unbuttons his coat — and opens his arms to you:

“Disappear here.”

His words break the ice of your numbness, filling your lungs with air — so much of it, you almost feel light-headed. You are cold, and you are lonely, and you missed him. In a heartbeat you fall into his embrace, with the same force one may plummet down from a cliff — only instead of waves, you are welcomed by his warmth, and you instantly sink into it.

Aemond takes you under his coat, gently putting it over your body, and then holds you tight. You instinctively wrap your hands around his waist, nestling against his chest. Your cold palms glide over his shirt, and Aemond involuntarily shivers but doesn’t budge. He starts slowly stroking your back, and you soak up the calmness that radiates off him. His touch is soothing, quieting your mind, and you lose yourself in the serenity that it brings. 

You are both lost in time, standing quietly, as your body gradually warms up and relaxes. You listen to his heartbeat, the rhythm of it even and lulling, and it makes you feel at peace.

When Aemond looks at you clinging to him, his heart swells with so much love, he can barely contain it.

“How are you feeling?” he asks softly.

“I don’t know,” you sigh. “It all happened so fast, I didn’t know what to do. I still don’t. Everyone expects something from me now and I... I wish he was still here.”

“Your father was the kindest man I have ever met,” his voice is laced with sorrow. “I am so sorry you had to go through that. I should’ve come sooner but I only found out this morning.”

“And you came,” you remark delicately. “It’s all that matters.”

You snuggle up to him even more and relish in the feeling of his body close to yours, finding solace in it. You let yourself forget about everything else in the world, comforted by his kindness as he shields you from all the worries and the troubles of life.

“Whose idea was it to take Sunfyre?”

“Aegon’s,” the prince chuckles. “He was very persuasive, I’ll give him that.”

“Is he waiting for you on the hill?”

“He went to see your family, offer his condolences. And maybe complain a little since he didn’t particularly enjoy the flight.”

You try imagining the two of them squeezed into the saddle, and you know Aemond must’ve teased Aegon all the way to your house. You feel the tickling of laughter in your throat but it doesn’t go higher and then dissolves. Still, it’s a start.

“How much do you regret agreeing to that?”

Aemond pauses — and then his low voice vines through your hair:

“Right now, I don’t.”

You feel his heart skipping a beat, and for some reason, his pulse speeds up. You wonder what the reason may be, and your cheeks heat up when you are struck by the answer you can’t dare to hope for.

Or maybe you can.

“I’m not marrying Ser Lannister,” you blurt out, your own chest vibrating with anxiety. 

Aemond pulls away just a bit, only to have a look at you.

“I heard about that,” he reveals. “He was never a good — ”

“You are under no obligation to say anything or do anything,” you cut him off, nervously lowering your gaze, because if he tries to pity you it will break your heart all over again, and you cannot bear it right now. “I just... I knew I would never love him. So I believe it’s only for the best.”

You keep babbling, but he hardly listens, his eye fixed on your face. Aemond isn’t sure you fully allow yourself to be this vulnerable with anyone. But it’s his favorite side of yours — with your bashful sincerity, your overly complicated explanations that he understands with ease, your habit of talking with hands, with your searching gaze and your eyes bright with life. It’s all the little things that he adores.

It’s what makes his feelings finally spill over.

“...But we don’t need to talk about it, you don’t need to say anyth— ”

His touch is so gentle, you barely register when Aemond puts a finger beneath your chin, lifting your head to look at him — and then suddenly his lips cover yours. His mouth is even warmer than his hands, and he gives you a couple of seconds to make sure you won’t pull away. And then he starts kissing you, slowly and steadily, in a way you could only dream of.

Aemond gently cradles your head, his lips are soft and ardent — they meld with yours, and time freezes and sounds fade as you melt into the kiss, into his touch. And at that moment nothing else matters. You are wrapped in his tenderness, the ocean of feelings flooding your body, and he enters your heart like he owns it. He always did.

Aemond is the one to break the kiss, sensing that you are gasping for air. You slowly open your eyes in a daze, as if you’ve been awoken from a dream.

“I will take care of everything,” he affirms, his mouth still only a couple of inches away. “You do not have to worry about a thing.”

One of your hands moved on top of his chest, and you feel that his heart rate is back to normal. The pounding of it pulls you back to reality.

“You mean that?” you whisper. “Aemond, I don’t have that much to offer.”

He brushes a strand of hair from your face and leaves a trail of light kisses up to your temple.

“You have everything a man can wish for,” he reassures you, and his gaze finds yours again. “Everything I have ever wished for.”

The prince takes your face between his hands, and his thumbs follow the contours of your cheeks.

“Even in a room full of art I can only look at you,” Aemond murmurs, his words are flamelike and go straight to your heart, making it flutter.

Only now you notice that the sun emerged from the clouds, and the golden light illuminates everything around you. You bask in it as well as in Aemond’s affection — and he makes you feel seen, safe, cared for. Loved.

“That was very poetic of you,” you tilt your head and lean closer to him.

“I agree with poets on one thing — we have no control over who we love. But I have never regretted loving you,” he can’t stop himself from placing a kiss on the edge of your mouth. “And if I had to choose, it would still be you.”

When you meet his gaze, this time you read it with ease — and you are sure it’s a mere reflection of your own. An overwhelming feeling sweeps over and spreads through you. But the ocean is calm, and you are not cold anymore — and Aemond does love you, after all.

You feel your mouth quirk in a smile, genuine and a very happy one. Aemond presses his forehead to yours and promises:

“From now on, you will always be my first choice,” and then you see him trailing for your lips.

And you believe him.

the taglist: @greenowlfactif, @mischiefmanaged71, @pasta-rask, @imjustboredso, @iiamthehybrid, @m00n5t0n3, @crispmarshmallow, @bellaisasleep, @aemondssuit, @ipadkidsworld, @itisjustwhatitis, @maximizedrhythms, @fckwritersblock, @hiatuswhore, @fantasyreader130, @bibli0thecary, @teapartydreams, @kyuupidwrites, @thelittleswanao3 (I couldn't tag some of you for whatever reason, so I'll just message you guys)

yep, it's me again!

the title is someone’s quote (I have no idea where it's from, pls help a girl out)

“Disappear here” are Jonathan Carroll’s words that have been engraved in my memory for years and they just popped into my head while I was writing in a haste and only then I realized wait, technically it's a quote, you can’t do that?! but guess what, I already did! I also tried to rephrase these two words but it looked weird so I’m letting you know that I suck as a writer

the bit when she babbles and he looks smitten with her — I couldn't help but think of that scene from “North and South” (it screams Aemond to me!)

I imagined the cliff to look like this 🍃

I originally planned to turn the romance down just a notch ’cause I already have 4 sappy fics and I wanted this one to be more “realistic” but… oh well, me and romance go hand in hand, apparently.

you will see this version of Aegon more often because I enjoyed it immensely!

what do you guys think? I truly hope that wasn’t disappointing! comments and opinions are VERY welcome! 🥺 ✨ my masterlist English is not my first language, so feel free to message me if you spot any major mistakes!

[littlexscarletxwitch]

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ 𝗺'𝘀 𝗺𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁

Fluff: ♡ | Angst - Hurt/comfort: ☁️ | Smut: ღ | Headcanons: ⊹˖⁺ | Humor: ッ | Spicy but safe for work: SFW | Based on songs: ♫

Dating Florence Pugh be like {⊹˖⁺, ♡}

Imagine meeting Florence Pugh at a pub {SFW}

I know you (part 1) {♡, ☁️} | You know her (part 2) {♡, ☁️}

Being Raffie's best friend and Florence's partner {♡,⊹˖⁺}

Midnight rain {☁️, ♫}

I'll have your babies {♡}

Imagine being childhood friends with Florence Pugh {♡, ⊹˖⁺}

Missing her {♡}

Florence's short hair {ღ}

Little Daisy {♡, ღ}

Let me take care of you {♡}

When in doubt {♡}

Best Christmas ever {♡}

My knight in shining armour {♡}

Nurse Flo {♡}

Broken rule {♡}

Take a hint {♡}

You stupid bitch {♡, ☁️, ♫}

Jealousy (part 1) {♡} | I'm all yours (part 2) {ღ}

You poor little thing {ღ}

Our little Robin {♡}

You already know what to do, sweet girl {ღ}

Little secret {♡}

Same shade of green (part 1) {♡} | A different shade (part 2) {♡}

Mine {SFW}

Imagine late night drives with Florence {SFW}

Endgame {♡, ♫}

Good morning {ღ, ♡}

Tulips {☁️}

Different timezone {♡, ☁️, ♫}

Heartbeat {♡, ☁️}

Surprise! {♡}

Pinky promise {♡}

My good girl {♡, ღ}

Who the fuck are you? {♡}

You're fucking my guitarist {♡, ღ}

Breathing {♡}

𝖆𝖒𝖞 𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖈𝖍

In love with Amy March {♡, ⊹˖⁺}

I'm not talking about Laurie {♡}

Like a french model {♡, SFW}

𝖞𝖊𝖑𝖊𝖓𝖆 𝖇𝖊𝖑𝖔𝖛𝖆

Yelena and Wanda are besties {♡, ⊹˖⁺}

Good job, pretty girl {♡}

Her new mission {ღ}

Hold me without hurting me {♡, ☁️, ♫}

No control {ღ}

Won't let anyone hurt you {☁️, ღ}

Say yes to heaven, say yes to me {☁️, ♡, ♫}

Fuck it, it's fine {ღ, ☁️, ♫}

I really fucking like you {♡, ☁️}

𝖜𝖆𝖓𝖉𝖆 𝖒𝖆𝖝𝖎𝖒𝖔𝖋𝖋

Yelena and Wanda are besties {♡, ⊹˖⁺}

Insatiable {ღ}

Fix it {☁️, ♫}

𝖓𝖆𝖙𝖆𝖘𝖍𝖆 𝖗𝖔𝖒𝖆𝖓𝖔𝖋𝖋

Spider bite {♡}

Insatiable {ღ}

𝖘𝖈𝖆𝖗𝖑𝖊𝖙𝖙 𝖏𝖔𝖍𝖆𝖓𝖘𝖘𝖔𝖓

I'm fucking turning into Pinocchio {ッ}

𝖐𝖆𝖙𝖊 𝖇𝖎𝖘𝖍𝖔𝖕

So tired {ღ}

[more coming soon…]

NONE OF MY WORKS CAN BE TRANSLATED, REPOSTED OR STEAL.

[radiowallet]

Eyes Open - Chapter 8

Pairing: Marcus Moreno x Amy Oliver (ofc) Summary: It seems silly to wait a whole week. WC: 2.1K Warnings: 18+ MDNI Canon-typical violence, talk of police work, a blatant show of testosterone, blood, injuries, kissing, making-out, dry humping, a smidge of dirty talk hurt/comfort, slow burn, yearning, idiots friends to lovers, financial stressors, second chance romance, workplace romance (sort of), older love interest, single parents, DID I MENTION THE YEARNING?

Series Masterlist II Main Masterlist II Marcus Moreno Masterlist

Cross-Posted to AO3

Part 7 >>> Part 9

For any new writing follow @radiowallet-writes and turn on notifications.

------

Marcus checks his reflection in the window of Amy’s apartment building one last time, happy to see the swelling around his eye is finally starting to go down. He slips his glasses back on, and checks again, relieved that the black plastic hides the worst of the damage. He must have been something terrible to look at earlier, super strength helping to dull the pain but doing little to hide the gruesome sight of his late-night scuffle. Still, he was pleased with the way the purple had already faded to something more grey, content that the bruise would mostly be gone by morning. 

Amy had been justifiably upset when they left the dark confines of the evidence locker, the bright fluorescent light of the precinct giving her a much better view of the damage done. He had tried to wave it off again, making a half-hearted joke about ‘seeing the other guy’ but she refused to laugh, instead marching him straight back to the bathroom, stopping only long enough to grab the first-aid kit from her desk.

“You can tell me what happened now, or I can just read it in the report that hits my desk Monday morning,” she warned, her sharp tone an odd match to the gentle way she cleaned his wounds. It was clear she’d had practice, and he had to fight back the wave of jealousy that her hands had touched anyone else with the same soft touch. 

“I miscalculated. I thought Miracle was on his way. Plus I didn’t know Baldwin was still working the case.” 

“He sweet-talked Special Crimes. Bought himself a little bit of time.” 

It was almost bolstering to hear that Derek was just as desperate as Marcus to put a stop to all of this, even if their methods were so mismatched. Perhaps success wasn’t so far out of reach despite the loss they took today. 

“And who made mincemeat out of your face?”

Marcus winced as Amy pressed a cotton ball of alcohol to the worst of his cuts, but she paid him little mind, still waiting for an answer to her question. 

“The guy down in holding cell 4.” 

She grew quiet after that, her movements slowing just enough to catch his attention. Marcus took care to grab her hands and hold them tight, waiting for her to say out loud what he already knew. 

“Amy?”

“…he’ll make bail.” 

He nodded, “I’m counting on it.”

It was wrong. Dangerous, even. Stupidly so. It seemed Amy agreed, echoing her plea from earlier, all but begging him to be careful. It had seemed like a good opportunity to kiss her again, and so he did, cupping her cheek to keep her close, as he stole the taste of stale coffee from her lips. When it became apparent neither of them wanted to pull away, laughter broke out between them again, the joyful sound helping to ease the tension that refused to part from this day. After that, Amy suggested he swing by after she got Harris down for bed. 

“Seems silly to wait a whole week.”

Marcus couldn’t agree more. 

Amy’s home feels just as cozy as it did the week prior, the lights dimmed low and the balcony door cracked open, letting a late spring breeze blow through. They settle together on the couch, curled into each other, the last of the wine Marcus brought Thursday split between them, the sound of the city keeping them company in place of the scratch of Amy’s records. 

He's quick to take advantage of the newest state of their relationship, resting the curve of his palm along the bend in her knee, and thrilling at the shade of pink creeping up her cheeks. Not to be outdone, Amy leans over to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, giggling at the tickle of his mustache. He steals one of his own before pulling back, just enough for her to settle into his side, her head finding the space between his shoulder and neck. 

“What did you and Harris get up to tonight?”

“Had pizza over at Christine’s then came back home for a few cuddles before bedtime,” she shrugs, a generous sip of wine chasing her answer. “I always say I don’t hate these Saturday shifts until I get home and realize how much time I’ve missed with her.”

“You’re doing great,” Marcus asserts, but without even looking he can see the roll of her eyes and the frown on her face. “You are,” he says again because she is and he means it. 

He knows that guilt just as well as Amy does. That all-too-familiar foe that lingers at the back of his mind, a consistent and constant worry that one parent isn’t enough, could never be enough. He wishes there was a way to wipe it from her mind and put her heart at ease, but Marcus knows that the only solution is to remind her again and again. 

And so he does. 

“You are.”  

He feels her nod, a soft brush of her fingers along his chin before settling back onto his thigh, enough of a cue for him to change the subject. 

“How mad was Baldwin after I left today?”

“Oh, he quieted down not long after,” she hums, her smirk hidden behind her wine glass. “I think your mere presence is a trigger for him these days.”

Marcus can’t help but grin, something like victory blooming in his chest. He lets out a sharp laugh and squeezes Amy’s knee in reply. “Who’s gonna break the news that he’s about to see a whole lot more of me?” 

He’s only half-joking, his lips finding the crown of Amy’s head, breathing in the sweet scent of her shampoo. It feels almost like a dream – one he had been so reluctant even to consider – and the long list of reasons why seemed so stupid with the weight of her resting against him.

“Maybe we just let him figure it out on his own,” Amy offers, the tips of her fingers drumming a pattern out on Marcus’s thigh. It’s slight, the small wave of nerves shifting out of her. It feels like she needs room – or maybe it’s time – to parse through her words, and Marcus is content to wait for her. 

“I just…,” she starts, her breathing shaky along the rim of her glass. “I don’t want things to change.”

He presses another kiss into the crown of her head, this time holding his lips there for her to feel the intent behind them. “It won’t.”

She’s quiet in the wake of his reassurance, leaning deeper into his embrace, her fingers finally stilling where they rest on his leg.

“So you’ll still pop in to awkwardly flirt while I slip you police reports and suspect lists?”

This earns her an amused snort and another kiss, this one to her temple, his lips lingering on the small patch of skin. The feel of it sends a wave of pleasure to the base of his spine, something warm and heady pooling low in his gut. He hums, the sound rough and deep at the back of his throat, the hand on her knee curling tighter to ground him in this moment. He swallows around it, finding his own voice, but just barely.

“My flirting wasn’t that awkward.”

Amy tilts her head to brush her lips along the underside of his chin, her lips parting enough for him to feel her breathe out her gentle tease. 

“Debatable.”

Things fall into place quickly after that. Wine glasses find their way to the coffee table, Amy turning up and around, all of her settling in his lap. Marcus takes care to hold her steady, wrapping his hands around the slip of her waist, eyes finding hers as she leans in for a kiss. She gives just as openly now as she did the first time they kissed, her lips smooth where they meet his own. He parts them easily, his tongue melting into hers, the taste of her better than he remembered. 

Amy is warm and heavy on top of him, one hand curled into his hair, the other clinging to the back of his neck. Marcus almost feels helpless, gripping tighter to her waistline and pulling her closer and closer still, until he swears he can feel the beat of her heart against his own. The heat between them burns brighter, and with it, his hunger for her. He thrusts up, just once, dragging a moan from her between her lips. He swallows the sound, and trades her one of his own, letting the whole of it fill her up. 

Their kisses only grow more frantic from there, a messy press of lips lost in the sound of breathless sighs and hushed pleas. They move together, hips grinding up and down, not nearly enough but still so much in the heat of the moment. Marcus breaks first, gasping for air as his lips pull away. He doesn’t go far, knocking his glasses off and burying his face in the curve of her neck, teeth and tongue finding the salty sting of her skin. 

“M-Marcus…I…it’s been so… so l-long….” Her voice is a whisper, strangled and panting in his ear. It's like music, and he can’t help but bite down harder, officially marking her as his. Amy’s words break off, her hips canting down to meet his own. 

“Shhh, I know. I know,” he promises, soothing the hair off her forehead, refusing to stop even as she presses her lips to his cheek, her mewls almost silent as tries and fails to beg for more. 

It’s intoxicating, knowing he’s making her feel so good; so good he’s stealing the words from her lips, and replacing them with only the pleasure of his touch. He feels light-headed, dizzy, almost lost, his thrusts frenzied but not without purpose. With each drag of his hips, bright white bursts across his vision, his cock painfully hard beneath the weight of Amy. But he doesn’t care. 

Fuck, how he doesn’t care.

All he cares about is how she whispers in his ear, her nails biting into his skin, pleading for him to keep going. As if he would dare to stop. He holds tight to her waist, wondering selfishly if she’ll bruise, pulling and pushing her into him as hard as he can. She winds her arms around his neck, muffling her cries in the turn of his neck. He can only guess at how close she is by the tremor in her muscles, legs and arms shaking where they’re wrapped around him. Already he’s thinking of the next time he has her like this, hungry to hear how loud she can be when given the freedom. How exquisite she’ll sound when she breaks around him, and he’ll take care to put her back together. 

For now, he’s happy, feverishly so, everything falling by the wayside as she gasps out his name, her body locking tight as her orgasm crashes into her. He talks her through the height of it, coaxing every ounce of pleasure from her that he can. 

“I’ve got you. I’m here,” Marcus repeats over and over, in awe at how she chases the wave of relief, seemingly desperate to hold on to how good it all feels. He grabs her chin, guiding her mouth to his with a skilled hand, swallowing the last of the quiet gasps she sets free, until finally, she falls against his chest, completely spent, sated. 

Carefully, her body pliant and her breathing even, he tucks her beneath his chin, another kiss gifted to the crown of her head. 

“What about…” she starts, her hips dipping forward to meet his erection, but he shakes his head and holds her steady.

“I just wanted to take care of you.”

She takes the admission in stride, her lips pressing to the hollow dip in his throat, her fingers finding a home where his hair curls at the nape of his neck. He thinks maybe he could fall asleep here, the twist of their bodies tangled on her couch, the city sounds floating in through the dark night, Amy’s warmth enough to keep any chill at bay. 

But neither of them are want for a night on a couch, and it isn’t long before she’s sliding away from him, casting a quick glance down the hall, ensuring the door to Harris’s room is still closed tight. Satisfied with what she sees, Amy turns her attention back to Marcus, her cheeks flushed and her eyes dark. He can’t help himself, pulling her in for another kiss, the palm of his hand cradling her cheek, and holding her close even as their kiss breaks apart. 

“I think I like this thing we’ve started,” Marcus whispers, the tips of his fingers finding the patch of skin beneath her shirt, the small of her back tacky with the lightest sheen of sweat.  

And then, after a pause, Amy whispers, “Please, be careful.”

And Marcus knew. Without even asking, he knew. 

Be careful with me. With us. Please. 

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

Part 7 >>> Part 9

For any new writing follow @radiowallet-writes and turn on notifications.

A/N: Would it be a story I wrote if I didn't include my favorite thing in the whole world? Surely not. What can I say? Your girl loves some dry humping.

Big huge thanks to @jazzelsaur who had to listen to me after I wrote this about how fucking hot I accidentally got myself. Who I would be if I couldn't whore around in her DM's?????

[justmeandmyships]

Oh wait a damn minute...

With my last post of my pity party i realized something. Please bare with me...

As we know little women (1994) was one of the movies inspirations for season 4. Of course most of us pointed out the parallel between Jo-Laurie- Amy with El-Mike-Will. because in both cases there are siblings in a romantic triangle with their childhood friend. In both cases there’s a trip, complicated feelings and stuff that I don’t want to detail now.

But at first I thought the inspiration they took it was: Mike and Will going on a trip and they realizing their feelings to one another just like Amy and Laurie did after Jo rejected him. But what if they actually uses as inspiration that iconic confession that Laurie did to Jo.

Yes. That Iconic love confession that we AmyxLaurie shippers have to fight even to this day because JoxLaurie shipper don’t let go of it. Laurie told Jo he loved her. He even was devastated after her rejection. He scaped to Europe and drawn himself in alcohol and lost all purpose for his life. This is when he finds Amy and they become closer with heart to heart conversation. He even said some hurtful things to her like when he asked her to marry her just because he knows he must married with one of the March sisters.

Now here is where my mind makes the connection (keep in mind that as writers inspirations from movies and shows don’t need to be literal.):

1. Mike told El he loves her with a “speech” just like Laurie did to Jo. He (Laurie) even said that they being together was something that everybody EXPECTED, so they MUST BE TOGETHER. He never talked about Jo’s dreams or vision for her life. His speech was basically focused on what He NEEDED. What HE DID. Sounds familiar? For me it does because if we see Mike’s speech gravities about the words Needs and how HE SEES El. Even if he said he loves her regardless of her powers Laurie also said he would still love Jo even if she didn’t fulfill his needs and was so opposed to his life style.

2. Both Mike and Laurie said hurtful things to Will/Amy. Mike said that meeting El was the day his life started and that was the time that Will life became an eternal hell. He said that in front of Will and knowing damn well how it affected him because Mike’s has comforted Will in the past, so he knows. That was just cruel.

The same goes for Laurie. In this version (because it’s not included on the books) he said to Amy that basically they should marry because he’s is rich and she’s ambitious and he has always known that he will marry a March sister. That’s hurtful because Amy is nothing but ambitious and she has always loved him and he basically saying “yeah I would marry you because I couldn’t have your sister” it’s mean as fuck.

3. Both Will/Amy went to a trip that helps them to figure out their feelings and communicate them to the audience: From Amy sides (in this version) it was kinda of always hinted that she had feelings for Laurie since she was a kid but she resigned herself to never go deeper on it because she knew Laurie loved Jo and Jo was her sister (familiar huh?) but YEARS (remember this it will be important later) after she meets Laurie again in Europe, she finds out that her feelings for him are heavy (cough another coincidence with Will) but she doesn’t tell him, she actually rejected his cruel proposal but we as an audience are told that she rejected the proposal of another man who was richer than Laurie. That let us know that she indeed fell for him (even though this movie didn’t invested too much in them and just show us their little talks).

In Will’s case you already know they let us know about his feelings with his painting and the van scene. I don’t want to talk about it, I am still emotional. But you know what I’m talking about.

But why is interesting these connections? Simple because Laurie and Amy as Will and Mike didn’t end their trip well. Not really. But after Laurie awful proposal to Amy, he realized that his feelings for Jo were never that real. He realized that his feelings for Amy were something more... a true love nothing else. He said to her “now i realized that it wasn’t your family what i wanted. It’s you who I love.” And before that he finds out who he was beyond Jo, beyond Amy, beyond love and that’s when he was ready to understand his feelings.

In the movies this happens within a few months or weeks i don’t recall but the trip when Amy and Laurie found each other happened YEARS AFTER LAURIE’s CONFESSION AND JO’s REJECTION. So in that order of ideas, We already have the trip but we haven’t had the time jump and the discovering of who is Mike besides relationships. And we know for a fact that next season will be a time jump, isn’t it? So my guess is that next season milkshake will fall apart just like Jo and Laurie. Perhaps El will break up with Mike and this Will help him to figure out who he is and that will allow him to understand his feelings too but also please take note that Laurie was full on denial of his feelings for Amy, at least Mike acknowledge that he fears of loosing Will and we also know that Mike KNOWS that painting was for Will because Eleven told him he painted for someone he likes. It’s possible that Mike it’s just “trying to keep things normal” like Finn said, because Mike doesn’t know what to do with his feelings and Will’s feelings. Remember that he grow up in an homophobic house.

This explains everything for me. From the awkward hug to the monologue and why the Duffers chose to make it as corny and cringe because they are even going on a deeper length than little women because at least Laurie speech was super emotional and it is hard not to feel bad for him. But Mike wasn’t and it wasn’t even focused on Mike at all. They’re basically implying that Mike is struggling with himself and perhaps already in love with Will unlike Laurie.

This already too long but I will say one last thing and it is that one of the first thing Laurie said after to Jo it’s that he understand now that she was right. On the books even said that he now knows that his love was switched and understands that he always LOVED JO AS A SISTER.

Anyway... i hope you can understand me because this was too long and a mess. I might change my mind later. I’m going through all stages of grief

[aubeystawby]

꒰ you can call me aubrey ꒱

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[whoslaurapalmer]

lulu watches doctor who; night terrors, the girl who waited ⚔️

no big deal but the girl who waited came into my house and murdered me in cold blood and i will never recover. oh my godddddd

-okay so i’m getting back to watching episodes closer together which i’m very happy about bc i feel like. having such a huge space between watching the past four episodes has made me, not keep all the characterization beats right in my head and like i’m going to miss something and not link things together right bc i’m not watching them as closely as i did for ten and i am very terrified of that!!!! -well! doing my best. anyway

-boy is it a gut punch that like. the first episode right after ‘amy has a child under very traumatic circumstances who is then taken from her, realizes this woman she knows is the grown up version of her daughter, and there’s no way she’s ever going to be able to actually raise her daughter in any way and has to just. keep going’ is ‘well it’s scared small child time!’ - :( -it doesn’t like. get brought up in the episode bc eleven is the one interacting with george and not amy but. i’m thinking it -especially bc claire not being able to have kids. is some rather big foreshadowing -that was also the moment in this episode where i was like ‘ohhhhhh this isn’t a child-pov horror. this is an adult-pov horror’ -it kind of wound up being both, though! -‘eleven’s overall series tone is a horror story’ marches on.........

-eleven and amy and rory all interviewing the residents is so cute omg look at them go

-that guy playing the dad looks like somebody. who is he. -oh he’s mr. young in gomens!!! knew he was familiar. good for him

-rory going ‘we’re dead. AGAIN!’ he’s getting savvy

-is anyone else absolutely dying for what the plot of ‘snow white and the seven keys to doomsday’ is -also i’ve been replaying link to the past with the seven princesses of heart maidens so. rotating link to the past and snow white around in my brain -it’s not my fault so many other games including kh did the ‘there are seven girls who are for plot du jour reasons magic-important and we’re gonna kidnap them and you have to go try and get them’ yknow -anyway. i’m imagining snow white with a sword going around and dungeon crawling castles and getting the keys to prevent doomsday and of course rescuing some princesses along the way

-the landlord getting turned into wood. was fucked up. a+ -the overall feel of this one was a little like fear her? (i really liked fear her, btw) even with the alien-ness of it all, the core of it is still a child’s fear of being hurt by a parent and those fears coming to physical life in some way, and being comforted by a parent that they’re loved and safe where they are and as they are. very different ways between episodes though but still 

-oh this is where the tick tock thing comes from! -the spirit of it is spooky. and like, yes, lake silencio is looming over us all as the end of the season approaches. but like. was it needed? ......eh??? -personally no i don’t think so because by god is the audience aware. maybe it makes more sense like. with a week in between episodes to keep the reminder but we did JUST see it again at the end of the previous episode so it’s not like. you’re gonna forget in a week. so i think it’s pushy  -but it’s not. terrible. i guess

-alright okay okay the girl who waited holy shit -just to get this out of the way first it was a smidge uncomfy with the quarantine talk in the existing state of 2022 but thankfully it did not last long -i love the white, though. very uncanny. very good

-it’s tough bc like. i don’t like the emphasis on amy saying ‘save me.’ on her having to wait. of accepting that she’d wait and not try and find a way out herself. on relying on someone to come get her, as an adult -on everybody writing amy into corners where she has to be rescued, honestly -but! by god this episode DELIVERS on even deconstructing that too

-because amy did wait. not just here. all the time. amy is always waiting for the doctor. she’s been waiting since she was just a little girl in a garden waiting for a friend to take her away to someplace new bc she was lonely. amy is always still that little girl in the garden, left behind and angry and bitey and covering it up -and she had to wait in demon’s run. and she had to wait for the doctor to find melody. and she always has to wait for the doctor to come get her, because of the doctor’s failures, she has to wait for the doctor to fix his mistakes that have put her in danger -and she gets tired of it!!! of course she does!!!! 36 years alone with some robots!! she knows time is passing differently but it still hurts. it’s still passing for her and she has to experience every second of it -so she does stop waiting. she has to. she has to fight bc amy is all amy has. and she gets angry and bitter! and fed up!!

-“and there he is. the voice of god.” -amy laying into the doctor. goddamn -that that’s what she calls him. that eleven is that. that he can be a god-like figure and also, he’s currently a disembodied voice out of rory’s glasses

-and that time MATTERS. because this is still amy. this is still our amy!! it is!!! 36 years later this is still our amy!!!! it’s not this amy and our amy it’s amy!!!!! and she doesn’t want that time and those years and what it meant to her, to be taken away. -“i will not help her.” do you help your past self? at the cost of your present and all you went through? -it’s terrible!!!! you should want to stop your suffering. because you could, you can, now. but all that you went through? all that made you this you, the now you, that’s still just as important as a younger you? that has as much value as younger you did, because this is still you? you lose that. it’s like it never happened, because it didn’t happen. like it can just be looked over, like all this hurt can just be wiped away when it’s you now

-ugggggg shit fuck i get it. okay. yeah alright i see the appeal of day of the doctor. i do -but it’s you. why wouldn’t you help you, if you could? if you had the opportunity to be that kind to yourself? -but there are some things you can’t, you know? there are some things you can’t change. some things can’t be stopped, some things can’t be erased, some things can only be moved forward from -where’s that tumblr comic where it’s like. if you could go back and stop yourself from doing a terrible thing. would you. because now you know better, because you learned what the consequences were. if you went back and stopped it and never learned, would you know better. would you still have the knowledge. do you go back and do you possibly become a lesser version of yourself. do you go forward and do better, be better -i don’t know, admittedly there’s a lot here -and it’s not like.........the time war is a true parallel to eleven’s complete lack of time management and amy suffering for it for her entire life, including 36 extra years that exist now -so like.......amy helping herself, is that amy helping herself or is it letting eleven off the hook? -of course they all remember everything, they saw older amy, they know it happened. no one’s really off the hook, honestly -when amy wakes up she wants to know where her older self is

-“time is rewritten.” “that’s good, isn’t it?” screeching. absolutely screeching

-i mean in terms of a tv show episode structure, of course they have to rewrite the older amy. like, to move forward in the show with both amys, or just older amy, that’s........a big ask. it’s a lot -what’s the best solution, here? for amy? -it is to rewrite time. it is to help your past self. -of course they wouldn’t be able to bring older amy along. of course not. -there’s a lot in here and i’m still not done unpacking it probably but i’m. tired of rolling it around

-anyway there’s also a lot to say about rory’s place in this, too -“are they happy?” “oh rory, trust you to think of that. i think they’re happy to be alive. better than the alternative.” -rory’s always thinking of other people and their happiness, and eleven is like........charmed and frustrated by it. bc it’s.......... -like in the pandorica opens/the big bang, eleven being charmed and exasperated by rory’s insistence on staying with amy. of course it’s something he’d do. rory is that kind -the doctor always does what’s right. these are things the doctor would do. but they are things the doctor is not doing.  they are things the doctor does differently. they are things that eleven, after ten, is seeing differently -eleven is very scared of being human like ten was, of allowing, obvious, overt emotion, of being too involved, there is always a distance between him and even the people he loves, even between him and amy (which i will briefly address at the end of this post) (but also a possessiveness, too. also a selfishness) -but he’s also.........he’s got it in the other direction too. he doesn’t want to get too close and he wants to protect them and it’s turned eleven a little, cruel.

-rory is a better being than the doctor. -and christ almighty they fucking did it. was i not literally just wondering if they were doing ‘is rory being made into a doctor. is rory better.’ -“this isn’t fair. you’re turning me into you.” - :(((((((((((((((((((( -that’s one of those heartbreaking lines that’s always going to stick with me -many companions wind up turning into shades of the doctor. (at all times i am never over everybody threatening genocide in journey’s end and ten going ‘oh shit’) but not in a way they’re always.........consciously aware of -but rory is!! and this isn’t the first time rory’s called eleven out for it, he did it in venice too -but he even defends the doctor, too. rory is not immune. “the doctor just got the timing a bit off.”

-anyway rory having to let go of older amy, older amy telling him not to let her in. yep that hurt

-i do like seeing rory being so important to amy. like. actually seeing them matter to each other -waiting for rory is..........unlike waiting for the doctor. because rory means something different to amy than the doctor does. i don’t really have any big thoughts here -i can say that i feel like amy revolves too much around the doctor but it’s really that way for every companion so i’m just. throwing my hands up at this point i guess idk -i think she specifically is defined by her relationship to the doctor, and to rory, in a way that is.........very present in this episode in a good way and a bad way but again. literally every female companion is to some extent defined by her relationship to the doctor, in some way, but amy isn’t shown pieces of a life that exist without them, like other companions and their families, but i’m still, throwing my hands up right now

-oh, shit. i’m gonna have to watch pond life, aren’t i

-anyway, additional observations --

-amy’s phone by the dvds.......what dvds do they watch.........inquiring minds want to know who picks the movies on tardis movie night (-it has to be amy.)

-hey remember when sarah jane got stuck behind a door and separated from four and male companion du jour. (oh that’s very specific. I KNOW WHAT I’M REMEMBERING) what was that, ark in space??

-a+ for eleven in glasses. a+ for rory in glasses. i love a good glasses

-amy: i named the robot rory me: wow, amy wilson’d a hand bot

-the doctor is a coop vs AMY GOT STUCK IN THE BLACK LODGE -THIS IS A LODGE. THIS IS A L O D G E -there was a venus statue and we’ve got one predominate color and a person stuck there with themselves and sort-of doppelganger robots for years, and years, and years -i don’t know what to do with this information or where to go with it but that was a lodge.

-at all times i am rolling the master around in my head like a sad little convenience store hot dog so of course i was thinking ‘simm!master makes the tardis into a paradox machine’ vs ‘eleven willingly causes a paradox so that he can save amy’ -it is a SIN that eleven never got to interact with a master. an absolute shame. a gross injustice.

-yeah there is again a very sharp cruelness in eleven lately -how he handled amy’s ganger, destroying the cybermen to make a point, shutting the door on older!amy (and the emphasis on this amy and our amy) -yes i also think there’s been like. a very forced distance between eleven and amy, in particular, very recently in these episodes, like eleven is forcing himself to not get too close to her, asking rory for permission to hug her -eleven really is PAINFULLY AWARE of what has happened to amy is all his fault, amy even CALLED HIM OUT ON IT and how can you let go of the people you love but how can you keep hurting them? yeah i got into this up there -but yeah! how can he still let them go? what’s the alternative? you don’t hurt anybody but you’re alone. (-oh, that is coming for eleven though, isn’t it. my vague sense of ‘i am aware of pieces of eleven’s shenanigans but not everything’ is tingling)

-anyway god complex is next and boy howdy. am i excited

[rottentiger-art]

I have no creativity so I'll just take prompts from this list, 2, 9 and 10 and any you wanna use for Amy/Laurie please !!!

2. “open your mouth for me”, 9. “you take me so well” and 10. “spread your legs wider”. Nice choices!

Her Tutor [Amy March x Theodore Laurie Laurence] +18 MDNI

Story under the cut

The first time Laurie has made love to her it has been so sweet, he’s been so gentle and considerate with her, it has hurt a little, but not as much as she thought it would, it was more of an initial uncomfortable feeling, until it wasn’t.  And Amy has thanked Laurie for it, she knew if it weren’t for his soothing words and comforting attentions that eased the worries and tenseness out of her, it would have been exactly as Aunt March has described it to her.

She had gone to sleep overjoyed, happily tangled with her love, already excited for the future sweet nights she would spend with her husband, she could ask for anything more.

But oh, her sweet Laurie had so much more to show her.

Their first nights had remained what could be described as lovemaking, but each time he would get bolder, between his endless declarations of love he’d smuggle some lewd words from time to time, observant to her very reaction. Her surprised gasps and blushing face could have discouraged him, but the telltale shudder and tightening of her walls around him gave her away. She enjoyed his boldness. As shy as she seemed in their intimacy, she was a curious thing, always eager to learn and try new things, craving for it. If her dear husband wanted to be her tutor in the ways of passion, how could she deny him? She would gladly take his hand and let him lead her into that glorious path, there was no one she trusted more than him for it.

And he seemed too eager to settle into his teaching role, giving instructions here and there, careful to not push her too much. When she was ready, he’d propose some new… experiments. New ways to find pleasure.

“Spread your legs wider” he said, sitting on a chair, facing the bed as she pleasured herself. He wanted to see her fall apart by her own hand before he’d join her. Contrasting her nudity, he was still fully clothed, his hand rubbing the tent on his crotch over his trousers. The motion making her dizzy with arousal. Her face was flushed, not only for pleasure, but for the initial awkwardness, this way, he had a full view of her most intimate part, she knew it was silly, as he had seen it before, had touched it and tonight, he had said he wanted to taste it, but she couldn’t help but feel so timid about it. All this nervousness, as excited as she was, was making it hard for her to finish, starting to feel frustrating, and he soon took notice.

“Do you need any help, dear? Do you want me to-?”

“Yes, please” she interrupted, removing her hand, and laying back down, making him chuckle “. I’m sorry”

“Shh, none of that, we can try again another time, perhaps?” she nodded “very well… may I…? I think I want to taste you now, is that alright, dolcezza?” she nodded again.

He kissed her nose, then her lips and so on, he left kisses all over her body on his way down, making her shiver with anticipation, till his face was between her legs. There he kissed each thigh and looking back up at her, she supported herself on her elbows to meet his gaze.

“You can still say no, I won’t be mad, I promise”

“I want you to” she found her voice again, putting as much confidence as she could in her voice, she didn’t want him to stop now, and she knew he would if he sensed she wasn’t sure about this.

Convinced, he focused his attention back to the treasure before him. Delicately, he spread her folds with two fingers, before running his tongue through her entrance to her little nub, that glorious spot they discovered together. Such simple action was enough to drive a breathy moan from her. He continued to lick her, drink from her. Pleasure shooting through her with every flick oh his tongue, the orgasm she left incomplete waking once again, low in her belly, extraordinarily fast. She wondered absently what she tasted like, by the looks of him and his increasing enthusiasm, it certainly wasn’t unpleasant.

Delicate was no longer an appropriate to describe what Laurie was doing to her now. He wasn’t tasting her; he was outright devouring her. Between licks he would suck on her clit, the more he did it, the harder it was for her to keep her eyes open, being quiet was an impossible task.

“Open your mouth for me” Laurie said, and she obeyed. She felt something touch her lips, stroking them lovingly and then enter her mouth. It was his thumb, she recognized. He has done this before, and she knew why.

Amy closed her mouth around it, the flat of her tongue running over it, making sure to leave it wet enough when Laurie brought it back between her legs.

When his hands joined his mouth, she felt back on the bed, suddenly too much. His thumb ran circles on her clit while his tongue went back to her entrance, fucking her with it, letting out pleased sounds. Later his fingers replaced him there as well, he pushed on in first, crooking it to caress her on her sweet spot, tongue going back to play with her clit.  Her hand found its way to his head on its own accord, out of instinct, pushing him closed to her, if possible. Her legs clamped around his head and her arched as she came, letting out a moan that sounded too much like his name, it came from deep in her chest. Laurie kept licking, softer, letting her ride out her orgasm, knees shacking over his shoulders.

He kissed her thighs again, then climbed back on top of her, settling between her legs, but made no effort to take of his clothes, instead kissed her lips, softly, waiting for her to come back from whenever she went after such an intense orgasm.

When her breathing went back to normal, she opened her eyes and smiled at him and pulled him back for another kiss, arms around his neck.

“I want-” Amy said, hands pulling on his shirt.

“Who am I to deny you, vita mia?” he complied, making quick work of his clothes.

Once he was as naked as her, he returned to her arms and wrap her in his, not giving her nearly enough time to appreciate his body like he had hers. But she’d forgive him this time, the way he was kissing her now showed his urgency, his need to be inside her. That and the way his hands gripped her thighs to push them apart and settle himself back between them. Later, she thought, we’ll do this again and then I’ll be the one fully clothed and the one tasting him. Contented with her own promise, she returned his kiss.

She felt him pushing against her entrance, slipping inside easily. He moaned with relief against her lips, she with delight. She was full again, it felt as if she had waited an eternity, she could only assume he felt the same way. They stayed flushed together for a moment, his dark sun kissed skin contrasting perfectly with her pale and pink skin.

He pulled out slowly, and the back in, he repeated the motions over and over, each time with more intensity. Still, not too harsh, not too much. It occurred to her he was restraining himself, still unsure if she was ready for more.

“Please. Please, my lord” she breathed in his ear “, don’t hold back”

The pet name made him grin, exhilaration visible in his eyes. Giving her one last peck, he got to his knees, both hands grabbed her thighs decisively, he pulled out again, slow, and then slammed back in.

“Oh!”

He did it again.

“Oh, Laurie!”

And again and again, his thrusts became harder and faster, her hands holding for dear life to the sheets, she could feel her breast bouncing from the force. Still, the change did not come unwelcomed.

“More, more!”

Somehow her legs ended on Laurie’s shoulders again, a completely different position yet similar effect: making her see stars.

“Ti senti così bene, mi prendi così bene, amore” Laurie groaned, his voice barely audible over the sound of their flesh clashing together, so he spoke louder next “. Ti piace? Ti piace quando ti scopo da sciocca?”

Try as she might, she could not focus on translating whatever he was saying, some words she wasn’t even sure he had ever taught her. She nodded nevertheless, willing to agree to anything he’d ask right now, her mind far too gone. She wasn’t even sure if he was aware of the language switch. How could he? Surely, he was as affected as her? Even so, it wasn’t the words that stirred something low in her belly, but the way he pronounced them, his native tongue never failed to make her weak.

“Laurie, Laurie” she prayed “. Oh, please! Laurie!”

She wasn’t sure what she was asking for, only felt confident he’d understand. And somehow, he did, one of his hands left her thigh to rub her sensitive nub. He bent down to keep whispering sweet nothings in her ear, not stopping his thrusts. Her thighs were nearly toughing her breasts, she knew she’d be sore after, the burning already starting in her muscles, but she could not care less now, now everything that mattered was the building heat inside her, the delightful pulsing between her legs, the curling of her toes and the quivering of her walls. Way too soon she was coming again, head throw back and mouth open. No sound came out, her breath caught in her throat. She pulled away his hand when she could take no more.

Her undoing seemed to bring out his as well, his movements became erratic, his breathing raspy against her ear. His hands dropped her legs and landed on each side of her face, caging her under him. One, two, three harsh thrusts after and he came as well with a hoarse moan, burying his cock in her cunt and his head in her golden hair. She could feel him twitching as he filled her with his seed.

He slowly slipped out and rolled them over, so that she was the one resting on top of him now. They should get up and clean themselves before they fell asleep, she knew, but every single limb refused to move. It was still too early for sleep. She closed her eyes blissfully as Laurie pressed his lips against her temple and his fingers massaged her scalp. She felt delightfully sore, her hair was no doubt tangle, and she would have to deal with it before going to sleep, but for now she decided to let herself enjoy the post coital bliss.

“Are you alright?”

“Hm?” she asked, slightly startled. Tsk, nearly fell asleep.

“I wasn’t too harsh, was I?”

Bless him, Amy thought, always caring for me.

“You were pleasantly harsh, I assure you, I’m perfectly fine”

He kissed her nose and got up from the bed in all his glory. That kept her awake.

“Where are you going, my lord?” she missed him already.

“I’m going to fill the tub with warm water, we could use a bath”

“We?” they had never done that before. Oh, how lovely, the warm would sooth her aching body, and she would not need to part from his arms. Now she was definitely awake, she may fall asleep in the tub, but she would make it there.

“Yes, dolcezza. Unless you have any objection to that”

“None at all!” she exclaimed, rising to her knees on the bed and lifting to her arms in his direction “Only that you do not leave me alone, I’m so cold already”

“Oh, dear, lets remedy that. Immediately!” He took her in her arms and together they went.

Amy giggled as he carried her away.

After, as they laid together under the water and Laurie massaged all the sore spots in her body, Amy sighed, such a peaceful ending to such a euphoric night.

[leadingladylibrary]

🌿 ARCHIVE MASTERLIST 🐈

☀ = fluff 🌨 = hurt/comfort 🗲 = angst

the marauders

lost, but not gone — lily evans 🗲

decoration — lily evans ☀

stargazing sapphics — marlene mckinnon ☀

party !! — platonic marauders + co ☀

oh to be in love — lily evans ☀

ourselves — lily evans 🌨☀

graduation baking — lily evans ☀

mornings — sirius black ☀

wedding plans — marlene mckinnon ☀

"quick, kiss me!" — sirius black ☀

little women

your love like no other — jo march ☀

soft — amy march ☀

pretty, smart, and successful — amy march 🌨

there's a hole in my dress, dear meg — meg march ☀

agent carter

i'm here — peggy carter 🌨

hatchetfield universe

missing — ethan green 🗲

missed calls — ethan green 🗲

slumber — alice woodward ☀

freedom — lex foster ☀

stranger things

worry — robin buckley 🌨

rabbits & girlfriends — robin buckley ☀

sketches — robin buckley ☀

the hunger games

i'd meet the sea chapter 1 — finnick odair 🗲

i'd meet the sea chapter 2 — finnick odair ☀

[imkittyjustkitty]

✂︎ - - - - - - - - - Kitty's Reader Insert Masterlist - - - - - - - - - - -

Below the cut are links to my writings for ; Marauders Era , Agent Carter , the Hatchetfield Universe , Little women , Stranger Things

— Marauders Era

Marauders + Co. ;

♡ — Party !! 852 words ; fluff ; gn!reader ; pride 2022 (celebration) Getting ready for a party with the marauders girls

Lily Evans ;

♡ — Lost , But Not Gone 786 words ; angst ; fem!reader ; standalone She wasn't a man and neither were you, and in the time you two were so dearly and wholly in love, it couldn’t be safe.

♡ — Decoration 714 words ; fluff ; gn!reader ; pride 2022 (cup-cake decoration) It's Dorcas and Marlene's one year anniversary of being together, so Dorcas asks her friends, including you and your girlfriend Lily, to help her organise a beautiful anniversary date for her and Marlene

♡ — Oh to be in Love 412 words ; fluff ; gn!reader ; pride 2022 (holding hands) Lily loves you, in ways she can't put into words.

♡ — Ourselves • MtF!Lily 1178 words ; angst → fluff ; ftm!reader ; pride 2022 (anniversary) Coming out is hard, especially when you struggle with communication and your partner also has something they're struggling with telling you.

♡ — Graduation Baking 375 words ; fluff ; gn!reader ; fluffuly 2022 (cooking/baking) Lily, who only likes baking small things like cookies and cupcakes, bakes something bigger with you

Marlene Mckinnon ;

♡ — Stargazing Sapphics 1492 words ; angst → fluff ; fem!reader ; pride 2022 (the night sky) You don't think your best friend will ever love you the way you love her, but it shows that perhaps you may be quite mistaken.

♡ — Wedding Plans | Royal!au 639 words ; fluff ; pride 2022 (party games) Your friend and girlfriend are trying to convince you to join them in crashing all of your respective weddings

Sirius Black ;

♡ — Mornings 200 words ; fluff ; gn!reader ; fluffuly 2022 (bed rest) Sleeping peacefully with Sirius in the early hours of the morning

♡ — "Quick, kiss me!" 150 words ; fluff ; gn!reader ; fluffuly 2022 (soft kiss) Established relationship fluff <3

— Agent Carter

Peggy Carter ;

♡ — I'm Here 1119 words : hurt/comfort ; fem!reader ; pride 2022 (strength) Nothing went right today, anything that could possibly go wrong, did. It's all too much and all that you want is for your girlfriend to hold you in her arms and comfort you, to promise that everything will be alright.

— Hatchetfield Universe

Alice Woodward ;

♡ — Slumber 779 words ; fluff ; gn!reader ; pride 2022 (accidentally falling asleep together) It's almost the end of the school day and you're so ready to just lie down and fall asleep, and it seems that so is Alice.

Ethan Green ;

♡ — Missing 902 words ; angst ; gn!reader ; pride 2022 (envy) It's been more than a day since you've last heard from your best friend Ethan, or from anyone for that matter. Something's not right.

♡ — Missed Calls — Part 2 to 'Missing' 1564 words ; angst ; gn!reader ; pride 2022 (rain) How many times did you call how many different people? Someone of sound mind would probably say too many. Or in other words, all the instances in which no one answered your calls, and why they didn't.

Lex Foster ;

♡ — Freedom 480 words ; fluff ; gn!reader ; fluffuly 2022 ("i could kiss you right now") The future you three have planned for eachother is finally coming together, and Lex can't quite wrap her head around how they got to lucky enough to have you.

— Little Women

Jo March ;

♡ — Your Love Like No Other 324 words ; fluff ; gn!reader ; pride 2022 (love letter) You're in love with Jo March and it's a beautiful warmth you've never felt before.

Amy March ;

♡ — Soft 599 words ; fluff ; gn!reader ; pride 2022 (sleepover) Just fluffy first kiss with Amy March <3

♡ — Pretty, Smart, and Successful 476 words ; hurt/comfort ; gn!reader ; fluffuly 2022 (the one and only) Amy's scared that you might leave her for someone who she thinks is better than her.

Meg March ;

♡ — there's a hole in my dress, dear meg 507 words ; fluff ; fem!reader ; oneshot You tell a (not so) thrilling story of how you ripped a hole in your dress

— Stranger Things

Robin Buckley ;

♡ — Worry | Spiderman!Robin 489 words ; hurt/comfort ; pride 2022 (superhero) You know what your girlfriend does is important, but you can't help but get scared that something might happen to her.

♡ — Rabbits & Girlfriends 474 words ; fluff ; fluffuly 2022 (soft touch) You and Robin spend quality time together, as she tells you stories, and as you hold her hands that you love so much

♡ — Sketches 467 words ; fluff ; fluffuly 2022 (diary) Spending time at the park with your friends and girlfriend

[hellsitesonlybookclub]

Little Women, Louisa May Alcott

Chapters 9-10

IX.

MEG GOES TO VANITY FAIR.

"I do think it was the most fortunate thing in the world that those children should have the measles just now," said Meg, one April day, as she stood packing the "go abroady" trunk in her room, surrounded by her sisters.

"And so nice of Annie Moffat not to forget her promise. A whole fortnight of fun will be regularly splendid," replied Jo, looking like a windmill, as she folded skirts with her long arms.

105 "And such lovely weather; I'm so glad of that," added Beth, tidily sorting neck and hair ribbons in her best box, lent for the great occasion.

"I wish I was going to have a fine time, and wear all these nice things," said Amy, with her mouth full of pins, as she artistically replenished her sister's cushion.

"I wish you were all going; but, as you can't, I shall keep my adventures to tell you when I come back. I'm sure it's the least I can do, when you have been so kind, lending me things, and helping me get ready," said Meg, glancing round the room at the very simple outfit, which seemed nearly perfect in their eyes.

"What did mother give you out of the treasure-box?" asked Amy, who had not been present at the opening of a certain cedar chest, in which Mrs. March kept a few relics of past splendor, as gifts for her girls when the proper time came.

"A pair of silk stockings, that pretty carved fan, and a lovely blue sash. I wanted the violet silk; but there isn't time to make it over, so I must be contented with my old tarlatan."

"It will look nicely over my new muslin skirt, and the sash will set it off beautifully. I wish I hadn't smashed my coral bracelet, for you might have had it," said Jo, who loved to give and lend, but whose possessions were usually too dilapidated to be of much use.

"There is a lovely old-fashioned pearl set in the treasure-box; but mother said real flowers were the prettiest ornament for a young girl, and Laurie promised to send me all I want," replied Meg. "Now, let me see; there's my new gray walking-suit—just curl up the feather in my hat, Beth,—then my poplin, for Sunday, and the small party,—it looks heavy for spring, doesn't it? The violet silk would be so nice; oh, dear!"

"Never mind; you've got the tarlatan for the big party, and you always look like an angel in white," said Amy, brooding over the little store of finery in which her soul delighted.

"It isn't low-necked, and it doesn't sweep enough, but it will have to do. My blue house-dress looks so well, turned and freshly trimmed, that I feel as if I'd got a new one. My silk sacque isn't a bit the fashion, and my bonnet doesn't look like Sallie's; I didn't 106 like to say anything, but I was sadly disappointed in my umbrella. I told mother black, with a white handle, but she forgot, and bought a green one, with a yellowish handle. It's strong and neat, so I ought not to complain, but I know I shall feel ashamed of it beside Annie's silk one with a gold top," sighed Meg, surveying the little umbrella with great disfavor.

"Change it," advised Jo.

"I won't be so silly, or hurt Marmee's feelings, when she took so much pains to get my things. It's a nonsensical notion of mine, and I'm not going to give up to it. My silk stockings and two pairs of new gloves are my comfort. You are a dear, to lend me yours, Jo. I feel so rich, and sort of elegant, with two new pairs, and the old ones cleaned up for common;" and Meg took a refreshing peep at her glove-box.

"Annie Moffat has blue and pink bows on her night-caps; would you put some on mine?" she asked, as Beth brought up a pile of snowy muslins, fresh from Hannah's hands.

"No, I wouldn't; for the smart caps won't match the plain gowns, without any trimming on them. Poor folks shouldn't rig," said Jo decidedly.

"I wonder if I shall ever be happy enough to have real lace on my clothes, and bows on my caps?" said Meg impatiently.

"You said the other day that you'd be perfectly happy if you could only go to Annie Moffat's," observed Beth, in her quiet way.

"So I did! Well, I am happy, and I won't fret; but it does seem as if the more one gets the more one wants, doesn't it? There, now, the trays are ready, and everything in but my ball-dress, which I shall leave for mother to pack," said Meg, cheering up, as she glanced from the half-filled trunk to the many-times pressed and mended white tarlatan, which she called her "ball-dress," with an important air.

The next day was fine, and Meg departed, in style, for a fortnight of novelty and pleasure. Mrs. March had consented to the visit rather reluctantly, fearing that Margaret would come back more discontented than she went. But she had begged so hard, and Sallie had promised to take good care of her, and a little pleasure seemed 107 so delightful after a winter of irksome work, that the mother yielded, and the daughter went to take her first taste of fashionable life.

The Moffats were very fashionable, and simple Meg was rather daunted, at first, by the splendor of the house and the elegance of its occupants. But they were kindly people, in spite of the frivolous life they led, and soon put their guest at her ease. Perhaps Meg felt, without understanding why, that they were not particularly cultivated or intelligent people, and that all their gilding could not quite conceal the ordinary material of which they were made. It certainly was agreeable to fare sumptuously, drive in a fine carriage, wear her best frock every day, and do nothing but enjoy herself. It suited her exactly; and soon she began to imitate the manners and conversation of those about her; to put on little airs and graces, use French phrases, crimp her hair, take in her dresses, and talk about the fashions as well as she could. The more she saw of Annie Moffat's pretty things, the more she envied her, and sighed to be rich. Home now looked bare and dismal as she thought of it, work grew harder than ever, and she felt that she was a very destitute and much-injured girl, in spite of the new gloves and silk stockings.

She had not much time for repining, however, for the three young girls were busily employed in "having a good time." They shopped, walked, rode, and called all day; went to theatres and operas, or frolicked at home in the evening; for Annie had many friends, and knew how to entertain them. Her older sisters were very fine young ladies, and one was engaged, which was extremely interesting and romantic, Meg thought. Mr. Moffat was a fat, jolly old gentleman, who knew her father; and Mrs. Moffat, a fat, jolly old lady, who took as great a fancy to Meg as her daughter had done. Every one petted her; and "Daisy," as they called her, was in a fair way to have her head turned.

When the evening for the "small party" came, she found that the poplin wouldn't do at all, for the other girls were putting on thin dresses, and making themselves very fine indeed; so out came the tarlatan, looking older, limper, and shabbier than ever beside Sallie's crisp new one. Meg saw the girls glance at it and then at one another, and her cheeks began to burn, for, with all her gentleness, she 108 was very proud. No one said a word about it, but Sallie offered to dress her hair, and Annie to tie her sash, and Belle, the engaged sister, praised her white arms; but in their kindness Meg saw only pity for her poverty, and her heart felt very heavy as she stood by herself, while the others laughed, chattered, and flew about like gauzy butterflies. The hard, bitter feeling was getting pretty bad, when the maid brought in a box of flowers. Before she could speak, Annie had the cover off, and all were exclaiming at the lovely roses, heath, and fern within.

"It's for Belle, of course; George always sends her some, but these are altogether ravishing," cried Annie, with a great sniff.

"They are for Miss March, the man said. And here's a note," put in the maid, holding it to Meg.

"What fun! Who are they from? Didn't know you had a lover," cried the girls, fluttering about Meg in a high state of curiosity and surprise.

"The note is from mother, and the flowers from Laurie," said Meg simply, yet much gratified that he had not forgotten her.

"Oh, indeed!" said Annie, with a funny look, as Meg slipped the note into her pocket, as a sort of talisman against envy, vanity, and false pride; for the few loving words had done her good, and the flowers cheered her up by their beauty.

Feeling almost happy again, she laid by a few ferns and roses for herself, and quickly made up the rest in dainty bouquets for the breasts, hair, or skirts of her friends, offering them so prettily that Clara, the elder sister, told her she was "the sweetest little thing she ever saw;" and they looked quite charmed with her small attention. Somehow the kind act finished her despondency; and when all the rest went to show themselves to Mrs. Moffat, she saw a happy, bright-eyed face in the mirror, as she laid her ferns against her rippling hair, and fastened the roses in the dress that didn't strike her as so very shabby now.

She enjoyed herself very much that evening, for she danced to her heart's content; every one was very kind, and she had three compliments. Annie made her sing, and some one said she had a remarkably fine voice; Major Lincoln asked who "the fresh little girl, with 109 the beautiful eyes," was; and Mr. Moffat insisted on dancing with her, because she "didn't dawdle, but had some spring in her," as he gracefully expressed it. So, altogether, she had a very nice time, till she overheard a bit of a conversation, which disturbed her extremely. She was sitting just inside the conservatory, waiting for her partner to bring her an ice, when she heard a voice ask, on the other side of the flowery wall,—

"How old is he?"

"Sixteen or seventeen, I should say," replied another voice.

"It would be a grand thing for one of those girls, wouldn't it? Sallie says they are very intimate now, and the old man quite dotes on them."

"Mrs M. has made her plans, I dare say, and will play her cards well, early as it is. The girl evidently doesn't think of it yet," said Mrs. Moffat.

"She told that fib about her mamma, as if she did know, and colored up when the flowers came, quite prettily. Poor thing! she'd be so nice if she was only got up in style. Do you think she'd be offended if we offered to lend her a dress for Thursday?" asked another voice.

"She's proud, but I don't believe she'd mind, for that dowdy tarlatan is all she has got. She may tear it to-night, and that will be a good excuse for offering a decent one."

"We'll see. I shall ask young Laurence, as a compliment to her, and we'll have fun about it afterward."

Here Meg's partner appeared, to find her looking much flushed and rather agitated. She was proud, and her pride was useful just then, for it helped her hide her mortification, anger, and disgust at what she had just heard; for, innocent and unsuspicious as she was, she could not help understanding the gossip of her friends. She tried to forget it, but could not, and kept repeating to herself, "Mrs. M. has made her plans," "that fib about her mamma," and "dowdy tarlatan," till she was ready to cry, and rush home to tell her troubles and ask for advice. As that was impossible, she did her best to seem gay; and, being rather excited, she succeeded so well that no one dreamed what an effort she was making. She was very glad when it was all over, and she was quiet in her bed, where she could think and wonder 110 and fume till her head ached and her hot cheeks were cooled by a few natural tears. Those foolish, yet well-meant words, had opened a new world to Meg, and much disturbed the peace of the old one, in which, till now, she had lived as happily as a child. Her innocent friendship with Laurie was spoilt by the silly speeches she had overheard; her faith in her mother was a little shaken by the worldly plans attributed to her by Mrs. Moffat, who judged others by herself; and the sensible resolution to be contented with the simple wardrobe which suited a poor man's daughter, was weakened by the unnecessary pity of girls who thought a shabby dress one of the greatest calamities under heaven.

Poor Meg had a restless night, and got up heavy-eyed, unhappy, half resentful toward her friends, and half ashamed of herself for not speaking out frankly, and setting everything right. Everybody dawdled 111 that morning, and it was noon before the girls found energy enough even to take up their worsted work. Something in the manner of her friends struck Meg at once; they treated her with more respect, she thought; took quite a tender interest in what she said, and looked at her with eyes that plainly betrayed curiosity. All this surprised and flattered her, though she did not understand it till Miss Belle looked up from her writing, and said, with a sentimental air,—

"Daisy, dear, I've sent an invitation to your friend, Mr. Laurence, for Thursday. We should like to know him, and it's only a proper compliment to you."

Meg colored, but a mischievous fancy to tease the girls made her reply demurely,—

"You are very kind, but I'm afraid he won't come."

"Why not, chérie?" asked Miss Belle.

"He's too old."

"My child, what do you mean? What is his age, I beg to know!" cried Miss Clara.

"Nearly seventy, I believe," answered Meg, counting stitches, to hide the merriment in her eyes.

"You sly creature! Of course we meant the young man," exclaimed Miss Belle, laughing.

"There isn't any; Laurie is only a little boy," and Meg laughed also at the queer look which the sisters exchanged as she thus described her supposed lover.

"About your age," Nan said.

"Nearer my sister Jo's; I am seventeen in August," returned Meg, tossing her head.

"It's very nice of him to send you flowers, isn't it?" said Annie, looking wise about nothing.

"Yes, he often does, to all of us; for their house is full, and we are so fond of them. My mother and old Mr. Laurence are friends, you know, so it is quite natural that we children should play together;" and Meg hoped they would say no more.

"It's evident Daisy isn't out yet," said Miss Clara to Belle, with a nod.

112 "Quite a pastoral state of innocence all round," returned Miss Belle, with a shrug.

"I'm going out to get some little matters for my girls; can I do anything for you, young ladies?" asked Mrs. Moffat, lumbering in, like an elephant, in silk and lace.

"No, thank you, ma'am," replied Sallie. "I've got my new pink silk for Thursday, and don't want a thing."

"Nor I,—" began Meg, but stopped, because it occurred to her that she did want several things, and could not have them.

"What shall you wear?" asked Sallie.

"My old white one again, if I can mend it fit to be seen; it got sadly torn last night," said Meg, trying to speak quite easily, but feeling very uncomfortable.

"Why don't you send home for another?" said Sallie, who was not an observing young lady.

"I haven't got any other." It cost Meg an effort to say that, but Sallie did not see it, and exclaimed, in amiable surprise,—

"Only that? How funny—" She did not finish her speech, for Belle shook her head at her, and broke in, saying kindly,—

"Not at all; where is the use of having a lot of dresses when she isn't out? There's no need of sending home, Daisy, even if you had a dozen, for I've got a sweet blue silk laid away, which I've outgrown, and you shall wear it, to please me, won't you, dear?"

"You are very kind, but I don't mind my old dress, if you don't; it does well enough for a little girl like me," said Meg.

"Now do let me please myself by dressing you up in style. I admire to do it, and you'd be a regular little beauty, with a touch here and there. I sha'n't let any one see you till you are done, and then we'll burst upon them like Cinderella and her godmother, going to the ball," said Belle, in her persuasive tone.

Meg couldn't refuse the offer so kindly made, for a desire to see if she would be "a little beauty" after touching up, caused her to accept, and forget all her former uncomfortable feelings towards the Moffats.

On the Thursday evening, Belle shut herself up with her maid; and, between them, they turned Meg into a fine lady. They crimped 113 and curled her hair, they polished her neck and arms with some fragrant powder, touched her lips with coralline salve, to make them redder, and Hortense would have added "a soupçon of rouge," if Meg had not rebelled. They laced her into a sky-blue dress, which was so tight she could hardly breathe, and so low in the neck that modest Meg blushed at herself in the mirror. A set of silver filagree was added, bracelets, necklace, brooch, and even ear-rings, for Hortense tied them on, with a bit of pink silk, which did not show. A cluster of tea-rosebuds at the bosom, and a ruche, reconciled Meg to the display of her pretty white shoulders, and a pair of high-heeled blue silk boots satisfied the last wish of her heart. A laced handkerchief, a plumy fan, and a bouquet in a silver holder finished her off; and Miss Belle surveyed her with the satisfaction of a little girl with a newly dressed doll.

"Mademoiselle is charmante, très jolie, is she not?" cried Hortense, clasping her hands in an affected rapture.

"Come and show yourself," said Miss Belle, leading the way to the room where the others were waiting.

As Meg went rustling after, with her long skirts trailing, her ear-rings tinkling, her curls waving, and her heart beating, she felt as if her "fun" had really begun at last, for the mirror had plainly told her that she was "a little beauty." Her friends repeated the pleasing phrase enthusiastically; and, for several minutes, she stood, like the jackdaw in the fable, enjoying her borrowed plumes, while the rest chattered like a party of magpies.

"While I dress, do you drill her, Nan, in the management of her skirt, and those French heels, or she will trip herself up. Take your silver butterfly, and catch up that long curl on the left side of her head, Clara, and don't any of you disturb the charming work of my hands," said Belle, as she hurried away, looking well pleased with her success.

"I'm afraid to go down, I feel so queer and stiff and half-dressed," said Meg to Sallie, as the bell rang, and Mrs. Moffat sent to ask the young ladies to appear at once.

"You don't look a bit like yourself, but you are very nice. I'm nowhere beside you, for Belle has heaps of taste, and you're quite 114 French, I assure you. Let your flowers hang; don't be so careful of them, and be sure you don't trip," returned Sallie, trying not to care that Meg was prettier than herself.

Keeping that warning carefully in mind, Margaret got safely down stairs, and sailed into the drawing-rooms, where the Moffats and a few early guests were assembled. She very soon discovered that there is a charm about fine clothes which attracts a certain class of people, and secures their respect. Several young ladies, who had taken no notice of her before, were very affectionate all of a sudden; several young gentlemen, who had only stared at her at the other party, now not only stared, but asked to be introduced, and said all manner of foolish but agreeable things to her; and several old ladies, who sat on sofas, and criticised the rest of the party, inquired who she was, with an air of interest. She heard Mrs. Moffat reply to one of them,—

115 "Daisy March—father a colonel in the army—one of our first families, but reverses of fortune, you know; intimate friends of the Laurences; sweet creature, I assure you; my Ned is quite wild about her."

"Dear me!" said the old lady, putting up her glass for another observation of Meg, who tried to look as if she had not heard, and been rather shocked at Mrs. Moffat's fibs.

The "queer feeling" did not pass away, but she imagined herself acting the new part of fine lady, and so got on pretty well, though the tight dress gave her a side-ache, the train kept getting under her feet, and she was in constant fear lest her ear-rings should fly off, and get lost or broken. She was flirting her fan and laughing at the feeble jokes of a young gentleman who tried to be witty, when she suddenly stopped laughing and looked confused; for, just opposite, she saw Laurie. He was staring at her with undisguised surprise, and disapproval also, she thought; for, though he bowed and smiled, yet something in his honest eyes made her blush, and wish she had her old dress on. To complete her confusion, she saw Belle nudge Annie, and both glance from her to Laurie, who, she was happy to see, looked unusually boyish and shy.

"Silly creatures, to put such thoughts into my head! I won't care for it, or let it change me a bit," thought Meg, and rustled across the room to shake hands with her friend.

"I'm glad you came, I was afraid you wouldn't," she said, with her most grown-up air.

"Jo wanted me to come, and tell her how you looked, so I did;" answered Laurie, without turning his eyes upon her, though he half smiled at her maternal tone.

"What shall you tell her?" asked Meg, full of curiosity to know his opinion of her, yet feeling ill at ease with him, for the first time.

"I shall say I didn't know you; for you look so grown-up, and unlike yourself, I'm quite afraid of you," he said, fumbling at his glove-button.

"How absurd of you! The girls dressed me up for fun, and I rather like it. Wouldn't Jo stare if she saw me?" said Meg, bent on making him say whether he thought her improved or not.

116 "Yes, I think she would," returned Laurie gravely.

"Don't you like me so?" asked Meg.

"No, I don't," was the blunt reply.

"Why not?" in an anxious tone.

He glanced at her frizzled head, bare shoulders, and fantastically trimmed dress, with an expression that abashed her more than his answer, which had not a particle of his usual politeness about it.

"I don't like fuss and feathers."

That was altogether too much from a lad younger than herself; and Meg walked away, saying petulantly,—

"You are the rudest boy I ever saw."

Feeling very much ruffled, she went and stood at a quiet window, to cool her cheeks, for the tight dress gave her an uncomfortably brilliant color. As she stood there, Major Lincoln passed by; and, a minute after, she heard him saying to his mother,—

"They are making a fool of that little girl; I wanted you to see her, but they have spoilt her entirely; she's nothing but a doll, to-night."

"Oh, dear!" sighed Meg; "I wish I'd been sensible, and worn my own things; then I should not have disgusted other people, or felt so uncomfortable and ashamed myself."

She leaned her forehead on the cool pane, and stood half hidden by the curtains, never minding that her favorite waltz had begun, till some one touched her; and, turning, she saw Laurie, looking penitent, as he said, with his very best bow, and his hand out,—

"Please forgive my rudeness, and come and dance with me."

"I'm afraid it will be too disagreeable to you," said Meg, trying to look offended, and failing entirely.

"Not a bit of it; I'm dying to do it. Come, I'll be good; I don't like your gown, but I do think you are—just splendid;" and he waved his hands, as if words failed to express his admiration.

Meg smiled and relented, and whispered, as they stood waiting to catch the time,—

"Take care my skirt don't trip you up; it's the plague of my life, and I was a goose to wear it."

"Pin it round your neck, and then it will be useful," said Laurie, 117 looking down at the little blue boots, which he evidently approved of.

Away they went, fleetly and gracefully; for, having practised at home, they were well matched, and the blithe young couple were a pleasant sight to see, as they twirled merrily round and round, feeling more friendly than ever after their small tiff.

"Laurie, I want you to do me a favor; will you?" said Meg, as he stood fanning her, when her breath gave out, which it did very soon, though she would not own why.

"Won't I!" said Laurie, with alacrity.

"Please don't tell them at home about my dress to-night. They won't understand the joke, and it will worry mother."

"Then why did you do it?" said Laurie's eyes, so plainly that Meg hastily added,—

"I shall tell them, myself, all about it, and ''fess' to mother how silly I've been. But I'd rather do it myself; so you'll not tell, will you?"

"I give you my word I won't; only what shall I say when they ask me?"

"Just say I looked pretty well, and was having a good time."

"I'll say the first, with all my heart; but how about the other? You don't look as if you were having a good time; are you?" and Laurie looked at her with an expression which made her answer, in a whisper,—

"No; not just now. Don't think I'm horrid; I only wanted a little fun, but this sort doesn't pay, I find, and I'm getting tired of it."

"Here comes Ned Moffat; what does he want?" said Laurie, knitting his black brows, as if he did not regard his young host in the light of a pleasant addition to the party.

"He put his name down for three dances, and I suppose he's coming for them. What a bore!" said Meg, assuming a languid air, which amused Laurie immensely.

He did not speak to her again till supper-time, when he saw her drinking champagne with Ned and his friend Fisher, who were behaving "like a pair of fools," as Laurie said to himself, for he felt 118 a brotherly sort of right to watch over the Marches, and fight their battles whenever a defender was needed.

"You'll have a splitting headache to-morrow, if you drink much of that. I wouldn't Meg; your mother doesn't like it, you know," he whispered, leaning over her chair, as Ned turned to refill her glass, and Fisher stooped to pick up her fan.

"I'm not Meg, to-night; I'm 'a doll,' who does all sorts of crazy things. To-morrow I shall put away my 'fuss and feathers,' and be desperately good again," she answered, with an affected little laugh.

119 "Wish to-morrow was here, then," muttered Laurie, walking off, ill-pleased at the change he saw in her.

Meg danced and flirted, chattered and giggled, as the other girls did; after supper she undertook the German, and blundered through it, nearly upsetting her partner with her long skirt, and romping in a way that scandalized Laurie, who looked on and meditated a lecture. But he got no chance to deliver it, for Meg kept away from him till he came to say good-night.

"Remember!" she said, trying to smile, for the splitting headache had already begun.

"Silence à la mort," replied Laurie, with a melodramatic flourish, as he went away.

This little bit of by-play excited Annie's curiosity; but Meg was too tired for gossip, and went to bed, feeling as if she had been to a masquerade, and hadn't enjoyed herself as much as she expected. She was sick all the next day, and on Saturday went home, quite used up with her fortnight's fun, and feeling that she had "sat in the lap of luxury" long enough.

"It does seem pleasant to be quiet, and not have company manners on all the time. Home is a nice place, though it isn't splendid," said Meg, looking about her with a restful expression, as she sat with her mother and Jo on the Sunday evening.

"I'm glad to hear you say so, dear, for I was afraid home would seem dull and poor to you, after your fine quarters," replied her mother, who had given her many anxious looks that day; for motherly eyes are quick to see any change in children's faces.

Meg had told her adventures gayly, and said over and over what a charming time she had had; but something still seemed to weigh upon her spirits, and, when the younger girls were gone to bed, she sat thoughtfully staring at the fire, saying little, and looking worried. As the clock struck nine, and Jo proposed bed, Meg suddenly left her chair, and, taking Beth's stool, leaned her elbows on her mother's knee, saying bravely,—

"Marmee, I want to ''fess.'"

"I thought so; what is it, dear?"

"Shall I go away?" asked Jo discreetly.

120 "Of course not; don't I always tell you everything? I was ashamed to speak of it before the children, but I want you to know all the dreadful things I did at the Moffat's."

"We are prepared," said Mrs. March, smiling, but looking a little anxious.

"I told you they dressed me up, but I didn't tell you that they powdered and squeezed and frizzled, and made me look like a fashion-plate. Laurie thought I wasn't proper; I know he did, though he didn't say so, and one man called me 'a doll.' I knew it was silly, but they flattered me, and said I was a beauty, and quantities of nonsense, so I let them make a fool of me."

"Is that all?" asked Jo, as Mrs. March looked silently at the downcast face of her pretty daughter, and could not find it in her heart to blame her little follies.

"No; I drank champagne and romped and tried to flirt, and was altogether abominable," said Meg self-reproachfully.

"There is something more, I think;" and Mrs. March smoothed the soft cheek, which suddenly grew rosy, as Meg answered slowly,—

"Yes; it's very silly, but I want to tell it, because I hate to have people say and think such things about us and Laurie."

Then she told the various bits of gossip she had heard at the Moffats; and, as she spoke, Jo saw her mother fold her lips tightly, as if ill pleased that such ideas should be put into Meg's innocent mind.

"Well, if that isn't the greatest rubbish I ever heard," cried Jo indignantly. "Why didn't you pop out and tell them so, on the spot?"

"I couldn't, it was so embarrassing for me. I couldn't help hearing, at first, and then I was so angry and ashamed, I didn't remember that I ought to go away."

"Just wait till I see Annie Moffat, and I'll show you how to settle such ridiculous stuff. The idea of having 'plans,' and being kind to Laurie, because he's rich, and may marry us by and by! Won't he shout, when I tell him what those silly things say about us poor children?" and Jo laughed, as if, on second thoughts, the thing struck her as a good joke.

121 "If you tell Laurie, I'll never forgive you! She mustn't, must she, mother?" said Meg, looking distressed.

"No; never repeat that foolish gossip, and forget it as soon as you can," said Mrs. March gravely. "I was very unwise to let you go among people of whom I know so little,—kind, I dare say, but worldly, ill-bred, and full of these vulgar ideas about young people. I am more sorry than I can express for the mischief this visit may have done you, Meg."

"Don't be sorry, I won't let it hurt me; I'll forget all the bad, and remember only the good; for I did enjoy a great deal, and thank you very much for letting me go. I'll not be sentimental or dissatisfied, mother; I know I'm a silly little girl, and I'll stay with you till I'm fit to take care of myself. But it is nice to be praised and admired, and I can't help saying I like it," said Meg, looking half ashamed of the confession.

"That is perfectly natural, and quite harmless, if the liking does not become a passion, and lead one to do foolish or unmaidenly things. Learn to know and value the praise which is worth having, and to excite the admiration of excellent people by being modest as well as pretty, Meg."

Margaret sat thinking a moment, while Jo stood with her hands behind her, looking both interested and a little perplexed; for it was a new thing to see Meg blushing and talking about admiration, lovers, and things of that sort; and Jo felt as if, during that fortnight, her sister had grown up amazingly, and was drifting away from her into a world where she could not follow.

"Mother, do you have 'plans,' as Mrs. Moffat said?" asked Meg bashfully.

"Yes, my dear, I have a great many; all mothers do, but mine differ somewhat from Mrs. Moffat's, I suspect. I will tell you some of them, for the time has come when a word may set this romantic little head and heart of yours right, on a very serious subject. You are young, Meg, but not too young to understand me; and mothers' lips are the fittest to speak of such things to girls like you. Jo, your turn will come in time, perhaps, so listen to my 'plans,' and help me carry them out, if they are good."

122 Jo went and sat on one arm of the chair, looking as if she thought they were about to join in some very solemn affair. Holding a hand of each, and watching the two young faces wistfully, Mrs. March said, in her serious yet cheery way,—

"I want my daughters to be beautiful, accomplished, and good; to be admired, loved, and respected; to have a happy youth, to be well and wisely married, and to lead useful, pleasant lives, with as little care and sorrow to try them as God sees fit to send. To be loved and chosen by a good man is the best and sweetest thing which can happen to a woman; and I sincerely hope my girls may know this beautiful experience. It is natural to think of it, Meg; right to hope and wait for it, and wise to prepare for it; so that, when the 123 happy time comes, you may feel ready for the duties and worthy of the joy. My dear girls, I am ambitious for you, but not to have you make a dash in the world,—marry rich men merely because they are rich, or have splendid houses, which are not homes because love is wanting. Money is a needful and precious thing,—and, when well used, a noble thing,—but I never want you to think it is the first or only prize to strive for. I'd rather see you poor men's wives, if you were happy, beloved, contented, than queens on thrones, without self-respect and peace."

"Poor girls don't stand any chance, Belle says, unless they put themselves forward," sighed Meg.

"Then we'll be old maids," said Jo stoutly.

"Right, Jo; better be happy old maids than unhappy wives, or unmaidenly girls, running about to find husbands," said Mrs. March decidedly. "Don't be troubled, Meg; poverty seldom daunts a sincere lover. Some of the best and most honored women I know were poor girls, but so love-worthy that they were not allowed to be old maids. Leave these things to time; make this home happy, so that you may be fit for homes of your own, if they are offered you, and contented here if they are not. One thing remember, my girls: mother is always ready to be your confidant, father to be your friend; and both of us trust and hope that our daughters, whether married or single, will be the pride and comfort of our lives."

"We will, Marmee, we will!" cried both, with all their hearts, as she bade them good-night.

X.

THE P. C. AND P. O.

As spring came on, a new set of amusements became the fashion, and the lengthening days gave long afternoons for work and play of all sorts. The garden had to be put in order, and each sister had a quarter of the little plot to do what she liked with. Hannah used to say, "I'd know which each of them gardings belonged to, ef I see 'em in Chiny;" and so she might, for the girls' tastes differed as much as their characters. Meg's had roses and heliotrope, myrtle, and a little orange-tree in it. Jo's bed was never alike two seasons, for she was always trying experiments; this year it was to be a plantation of sun-flowers, the seeds of which cheerful and aspiring plant were to feed "Aunt Cockle-top" and her family of chicks. Beth had old-fashioned, fragrant flowers in her garden,—sweet peas and mignonette, larkspur, pinks, pansies, and southernwood, with chickweed for the bird, and catnip for the pussies. Amy had a bower in hers,—rather small and earwiggy, but very pretty to look at,—with honeysuckles and morning-glories hanging their colored horns and bells in graceful wreaths all over it; tall, white lilies, delicate ferns, and as many brilliant, picturesque plants as would consent to blossom there.

Gardening, walks, rows on the river, and flower-hunts employed the fine days; and for rainy ones, they had house diversions,—some old, some new,—all more or less original. One of these was the "P. C."; for, as secret societies were the fashion, it was thought proper to have one; and, as all of the girls admired Dickens, they called themselves the Pickwick Club. With a few interruptions, they had kept this up for a year, and met every Saturday evening in the big garret, on which occasions the ceremonies were as follows: Three chairs were arranged in a row before a table, on which was a lamp, also four white badges, with a big "P. C." in different colors on each, 125 and the weekly newspaper, called "The Pickwick Portfolio," to which all contributed something; while Jo, who revelled in pens and ink, was the editor. At seven o'clock, the four members ascended to the club-room, tied their badges round their heads, and took their seats with great solemnity. Meg, as the eldest, was Samuel Pickwick; Jo, being of a literary turn, Augustus Snodgrass; Beth, because she was round and rosy, Tracy Tupman, and Amy, who was always trying to do what she couldn't, was Nathaniel Winkle. Pickwick, the president, read the paper, which was filled with original tales, poetry, local news, funny advertisements, and hints, in which they good-naturedly reminded each other of their faults and short-comings.

On one occasion, Mr. Pickwick put on a pair of spectacles without any glasses, rapped upon the table, hemmed, and, having stared hard at Mr. Snodgrass, who was tilting back in his chair, till he arranged himself properly, began to read:—

126

"The Pickwick Portfolio."

MAY 20, 18—

Poet's Corner.

ANNIVERSARY ODE.

Again we meet to celebrate

With badge and solemn rite,

Our fifty-second anniversary,

In Pickwick Hall, to-night.

We all are here in perfect health,

None gone from our small band;

Again we see each well-known face,

And press each friendly hand.

Our Pickwick, always at his post,

With reverence we greet,

As, spectacles on nose, he reads

Our well-filled weekly sheet.

Although he suffers from a cold,

We joy to hear him speak,

For words of wisdom from him fall,

In spite of croak or squeak.

Old six-foot Snodgrass looms on high,

With elephantine grace,

And beams upon the company,

With brown and jovial face.

Poetic fire lights up his eye,

He struggles 'gainst his lot.

Behold ambition on his brow,

And on his nose a blot!

Next our peaceful Tupman comes,

So rosy, plump, and sweet.

Who chokes with laughter at the puns,

And tumbles off his seat.

Prim little Winkle too is here,

With every hair in place,

A model of propriety,

Though he hates to wash his face.

The year is gone, we still unite

To joke and laugh and read,

And tread the path of literature

That doth to glory lead.

Long may our paper prosper well,

Our club unbroken be,

And coming years their blessings pour

On the useful, gay "P. C."

A. Snodgrass.

THE MASKED MARRIAGE.

A TALE OF VENICE.

Gondola after gondola swept up to the marble steps, and left its lovely load to swell the brilliant throng that filled the stately halls of Count de Adelon. Knights and ladies, elves and pages, monks and flower-girls, all mingled gayly in the dance. Sweet voices and rich melody filled the air; and so with mirth and music the masquerade went on.

127 "Has your Highness seen the Lady Viola to-night?" asked a gallant troubadour of the fairy queen who floated down the hall upon his arm.

"Yes; is she not lovely, though so sad! Her dress is well chosen, too, for in a week she weds Count Antonio, whom she passionately hates."

"By my faith, I envy him. Yonder he comes, arrayed like a bridegroom, except the black mask. When that is off we shall see how he regards the fair maid whose heart he cannot win, though her stern father bestows her hand," returned the troubadour.

"'Tis whispered that she loves the young English artist who haunts her steps, and is spurned by the old count," said the lady, as they joined the dance.

The revel was at its height when a priest appeared, and, withdrawing the young pair to an alcove hung with purple velvet, he motioned them to kneel. Instant silence fell upon the gay throng; and not a sound, but the dash of fountains or the rustle of orange-groves sleeping in the moonlight, broke the hush, as Count de Adelon spoke thus:—

"My lords and ladies, pardon the ruse by which I have gathered you here to witness the marriage of my daughter. Father, we wait your services."

All eyes turned toward the bridal party, and a low murmur of amazement went through the throng, for neither bride nor groom removed their masks. Curiosity and wonder possessed all hearts, but respect restrained all tongues till the holy rite was over. Then the eager spectators gathered round the count, demanding an explanation.

"Gladly would I give it if I could; but I only know that it was the whim of my timid Viola, and I yielded to it. Now, my children, let the play end. Unmask, and receive my blessing."

But neither bent the knee; for the young bridegroom replied, in a tone that startled all listeners, as the mask fell, disclosing the noble face of Ferdinand Devereux, the artist lover; and, leaning on the breast where now flashed the star of an English earl, was the lovely Viola, radiant with joy and beauty.

"My lord, you scornfully bade me claim your daughter when I could boast as high a name and vast a fortune as the Count Antonio. I can do more; for even your ambitious soul cannot refuse the Earl of Devereux and De Vere, when he gives his ancient name and boundless wealth in return for the beloved hand of this fair lady, now my wife."

The count stood like one changed to stone; and, turning to the bewildered crowd, Ferdinand added, with a gay smile of triumph, "To you, my gallant friends, I can only wish that your wooing may prosper as mine has done; and that you may all win as fair a bride as I have, by this masked marriage."

S. Pickwick.

Why is the P. C. like the Tower of Babel? It is full of unruly members.

THE HISTORY OF A SQUASH.

Once upon a time a farmer planted a little seed in his garden, and after a while it sprouted and became a vine, and bore many squashes. One day in October, when they were ripe, he picked one and took it to market. A grocer-man bought and put it in his shop. That same morning, a little girl, in a brown hat and blue dress, with a round face and snub nose, went and bought it for her mother. She lugged it home, cut it up, and boiled it in the big pot; mashed some of it, with salt and butter, for dinner; and to the rest she added a pint of milk, two eggs, four spoons of sugar, nutmeg, 128 and some crackers; put it in a deep dish, and baked it till it was brown and nice; and next day it was eaten by a family named March.

T. Tupman.

Mr. Pickwick, Sir:—

I address you upon the subject of sin the sinner I mean is a man named Winkle who makes trouble in his club by laughing and sometimes won't write his piece in this fine paper I hope you will pardon his badness and let him send a French fable because he can't write out of his head as he has so many lessons to do and no brains in future I will try to take time by the fetlock and prepare some work which will be all commy la fo that means all right I am in haste as it is nearly school time

Yours respectably,

N. Winkle.

[The above is a manly and handsome acknowledgment of past misdemeanors. If our young friend studied punctuation, it would be well.]

A SAD ACCIDENT.

On Friday last, we were startled by a violent shock in our basement, followed by cries of distress. On rushing, in a body, to the cellar, we discovered our beloved President prostrate upon the floor, having tripped and fallen while getting wood for domestic purposes. A perfect scene of ruin met our eyes; for in his fall Mr. Pickwick had plunged his head and shoulders into a tub of water, upset a keg of soft soap upon his manly form, and torn his garments badly. On being removed from this perilous situation, it was discovered that he had suffered no injury but several bruises; and, we are happy to add, is now doing well.

Ed.

THE PUBLIC BEREAVEMENT.

It is our painful duty to record the sudden and mysterious disappearance of our cherished friend, Mrs. Snowball Pat Paw. This lovely and beloved cat was the pet of a large circle of warm and admiring friends; for her beauty attracted all eyes, her graces and virtues endeared her to all hearts, and her loss is deeply felt by the whole community.

When last seen, she was sitting at the gate, watching the butcher's cart; and it is feared that some villain, tempted by her charms, basely stole her. Weeks have passed, but no trace of her has been discovered; and we relinquish all hope, tie a black ribbon to her basket, set aside her dish, and weep for her as one lost to us forever.

A sympathizing friend sends the following gem:—

A LAMENT

FOR S. B. PAT PAW.

We mourn the loss of our little pet,

And sigh o'er her hapless fate,

For never more by the fire she'll sit,

Nor play by the old green gate.

The little grave where her infant sleeps,

Is 'neath the chestnut tree;

But o'er her grave we may not weep,

We know not where it may be.

Her empty bed, her idle ball,

Will never see her more;

No gentle tap, no loving purr

Is heard at the parlor-door.

129 Another cat comes after her mice,

A cat with a dirty face;

But she does not hunt as our darling did,

Nor play with her airy grace.

Her stealthy paws tread the very hall

Where Snowball used to play,

But she only spits at the dogs our pet

So gallantly drove away.

She is useful and mild, and does her best,

But she is not fair to see;

And we cannot give her your place, dear,

Nor worship her as we worship thee.

A. S.

ADVERTISEMENTS.

Miss Oranthy Bluggage, the accomplished Strong-Minded Lecturer, will deliver her famous Lecture on "Woman and Her Position," at Pickwick Hall, next Saturday Evening, after the usual performances.

A Weekly Meeting will be held at Kitchen Place, to teach young ladies how to cook. Hannah Brown will preside; and all are invited to attend.

The Dustpan Society will meet on Wednesday next, and parade in the upper story of the Club House. All members to appear in uniform and shoulder their brooms at nine precisely.

Mrs. Beth Bouncer will open her new assortment of Doll's Millinery next week. The latest Paris Fashions have arrived, and orders are respectfully solicited.

A New Play will appear at the Barnville Theatre, in the course of a few weeks, which will surpass anything ever seen on the American stage. "The Greek Slave, or Constantine the Avenger," is the name of this thrilling drama!!!

HINTS.

If S. P. didn't use so much soap on his hands, he wouldn't always be late at breakfast. A. S. is requested not to whistle in the street. T. T. please don't forget Amy's napkin. N. W. must not fret because his dress has not nine tucks.

WEEKLY REPORT.

Meg—Good. Jo—Bad. Beth—Very good. Amy—Middling.

130 As the President finished reading the paper (which I beg leave to assure my readers is a bona fide copy of one written by bona fide girls once upon a time), a round of applause followed, and then Mr. Snodgrass rose to make a proposition.

"Mr. President and gentlemen," he began, assuming a parliamentary attitude and tone, "I wish to propose the admission of a new member,—one who highly deserves the honor, would be deeply grateful for it, and would add immensely to the spirit of the club, the literary value of the paper, and be no end jolly and nice. I propose Mr. Theodore Laurence as an honorary member of the P. C. Come now, do have him."

Jo's sudden change of tone made the girls laugh; but all looked rather anxious, and no one said a word, as Snodgrass took his seat.

"We'll put it to vote," said the President. "All in favor of this motion please to manifest it by saying 'Ay.'"

A loud response from Snodgrass, followed, to everybody's surprise, by a timid one from Beth.

"Contrary minded say 'No.'"

Meg and Amy were contrary minded; and Mr. Winkle rose to say, with great elegance, "We don't wish any boys; they only joke and bounce about. This is a ladies' club, and we wish to be private and proper."

"I'm afraid he'll laugh at our paper, and make fun of us afterward," observed Pickwick, pulling the little curl on her forehead, as she always did when doubtful.

Up rose Snodgrass, very much in earnest. "Sir, I give you my word as a gentleman, Laurie won't do anything of the sort. He likes to write, and he'll give a tone to our contributions, and keep us from being sentimental, don't you see? We can do so little for him, and he does so much for us, I think the least we can do is to offer him a place here, and make him welcome if he comes."

This artful allusion to benefits conferred brought Tupman to his feet, looking as if he had quite made up his mind.

"Yes, we ought to do it, even if we are afraid. I say he may come, and his grandpa, too, if he likes."

This spirited burst from Beth electrified the club, and Jo left her 131 seat to shake hands approvingly. "Now then, vote again. Everybody remember it's our Laurie, and say 'Ay!'" cried Snodgrass excitedly.

"Ay! ay! ay!" replied three voices at once.

"Good! Bless you! Now, as there's nothing like 'taking time by the fetlock,' as Winkle characteristically observes, allow me to present the new member;" and, to the dismay of the rest of the club, Jo threw open the door of the closet, and displayed Laurie sitting on a rag-bag, flushed and twinkling with suppressed laughter.

"You rogue! you traitor! Jo, how could you?" cried the three girls, as Snodgrass led her friend triumphantly forth; and, producing both a chair and a badge, installed him in a jiffy.

"The coolness of you two rascals is amazing," began Mr. Pickwick, trying to get up an awful frown, and only succeeding in producing an amiable smile. But the new member was equal to the occasion; and, rising, with a grateful salutation to the Chair, said, in the most engaging manner, "Mr. President and ladies,—I beg pardon, gentlemen,—allow me to introduce myself as Sam Weller, the very humble servant of the club."

"Good! good!" cried Jo, pounding with the handle of the old warming-pan on which she leaned.

"My faithful friend and noble patron," continued Laurie, with a wave of the hand, "who has so flatteringly presented me, is not to be blamed for the base stratagem of to-night. I planned it, and she only gave in after lots of teasing."

"Come now, don't lay it all on yourself; you know I proposed the cupboard," broke in Snodgrass, who was enjoying the joke amazingly.

"Never you mind what she says. I'm the wretch that did it, sir," said the new member, with a Welleresque nod to Mr. Pickwick. "But on my honor, I never will do so again, and henceforth dewote myself to the interest of this immortal club."

"Hear! hear!" cried Jo, clashing the lid of the warming-pan like a cymbal.

"Go on, go on!" added Winkle and Tupman, while the President bowed benignly.

"I merely wish to say, that as a slight token of my gratitude for the honor done me, and as a means of promoting friendly relations between adjoining nations, I have set up a post-office in the hedge in the lower corner of the garden; a fine, spacious building, with padlocks on the doors, and every convenience for the mails,—also the females, if I may be allowed the expression. It's the old martin-house; but I've stopped up the door, and made the roof open, so it will hold all sorts of things, and save our valuable time. Letters, manuscripts, books, and bundles can be passed in there; and, as each nation has a key, it will be uncommonly nice, I fancy. Allow me to 133 present the club key; and, with many thanks for your favor, take my seat."

Great applause as Mr. Weller deposited a little key on the table, and subsided; the warming-pan clashed and waved wildly, and it was some time before order could be restored. A long discussion followed, and every one came out surprising, for every one did her best; so it was an unusually lively meeting, and did not adjourn till a late hour, when it broke up with three shrill cheers for the new member.

No one ever regretted the admittance of Sam Weller, for a more devoted, well-behaved, and jovial member no club could have. He certainly did add "spirit" to the meetings, and "a tone" to the paper; for his orations convulsed his hearers, and his contributions were excellent, being patriotic, classical, comical, or dramatic, but never sentimental. Jo regarded them as worthy of Bacon, Milton, or Shakespeare; and remodelled her own works with good effect, she thought.

The P. O. was a capital little institution, and flourished wonderfully, for nearly as many queer things passed through it as through the real office. Tragedies and cravats, poetry and pickles, garden-seeds and long letters, music and gingerbread, rubbers, invitations, scoldings and puppies. The old gentleman liked the fun, and amused himself by sending odd bundles, mysterious messages, and funny telegrams; and his gardener, who was smitten with Hannah's charms, actually sent a love-letter to Jo's care. How they laughed when the secret came out, never dreaming how many love-letters that little post-office would hold in the years to come!

[izzielizzie]

i don't understand how amy is your favorite march sister... she contributed nothing. and she was just so annoying. she ruined joe and laurie

okay so i have a rant about this: Amy March is arguably the most changed character in the book right after her husband.

when the book starts she's twelve. what twelve year old is anything other than annoying? she lives in the shadow of the beautiful Meg, the talented Jo, and the kind Beth. And this is the 1860s. she's expected to be kind, and docile, and selfless. but she's not. she's just like any other twelve year old: she's bold and she has dreams and she knows what she wants. she's a little harsh about it sometimes yes, and her big words border on silly - "they label you when you don't have money" - but again she's twelve.

would we really be seeing Amy March as a bitch if this exact book was published in this time period? no. we'd be praising her, shouting yes queen! every time she stood up for herself. she'd be a role model for every twelve year old girl living today.

and she's way more introspective than we give her credit for. she's not shallow. she was able to realize that she's "a little goose" in the first chapter. and she vowed to change that. she gave up the one thing she wanted: colored pencils. just so her mother would have more perfume.

and the thing about Amy? she follows through with her vow in the first chapter. and it shows through the rest of the book. Meg still wants pretty things, and it carries on into her marriage. Jo is still a tomboy, she still flies out at people when she's mad. Beth never got over being shy.

but Amy became so selfless. she left to live with Aunt March because Beth was sick and her sisters had no one to help and she knew that she'd be nothing but a nuisance at home. of course she whined about it. she was thirteen and scared. and she acknowledged that she was hurting Jo by going to Europe, but Jo said it was fine. how was she supposed to know otherwise if Jo was so good at hiding it and her parents were telling her to go?

and the biggest thing? she never got to say goodbye to her sister. and do you know how old she was? twenty two. she was across the world after realizing that she would never be able to achieve her dream and here she is, getting a letter from her family telling her that her sister - her best friend, her confidant, her role model - is dead. and she accepted it. she didn't hold a deep resentment towards Meg and Jo for getting to say goodbye to their most beloved sister. she didn't hate the world. she carried on. she got married. she went home. she did the only thing that was acceptable for her at the time after everything she wanted in her life was taken away.

and as for Jo and Laurie, (and i know that so many people love them so this is kind of controversial) they were never going to be together. They're too similar and they always argue and Jo was never attracted to him.

but Amy and Laurie? they just make sense. Laurie has always cared for Amy. he rescued her when she fell in the pond. he defended her to Jo all the time even though he was Jo's friend. he promised to visit her when she was staying with Aunt March at Plumfield. he comforted her in Europe.

and Amy pushed him to do better, and to be better. she pointed out his flaws and helped him see that he was disappointing everyone. and even at his worst she cared for him.

Jo loved Laurie as a friend. but when things got serious and real, she stepped back. it's not a bad thing, she knew her boundaries, but her boundaries - like her dreams - never aligned with Laurie's. Laurie was a crowd pleaser, wanting to play music and have fun. Amy was a matriarch through and through. she basked in the light of being a hostess. she wanted the latest clothes. she thrived when given the chance to plan things.

Laurie and Amy were the popular couple because they were so compatible, so in sync. Amy was happiest when she was Mrs. Lawrence, planning parties and charity events, teaching the children of the Bhaer School how to paint.

and Laurie - just like Jo had predicted - was happy with someone who wasn't Jo. He was happy with Amy.

[applebutter-and-cinnamon]

Mrs. Laurence

Summary:

Laurie and Amy get married in a cute wedding with a short reception in France. In their bedroom that night, Amy learns what it means to be married to a man who loves her the way that he does.or"I love you Amy Laurence. It's only ever been you. I wish there was some way that I could go back and erase the pain that I put you through, that I know still hurts you. But, I can't. Instead I promise you this: I will spend the rest of my life trying to make it up to you and trying to be a man that is worthy of the love from you."

Warnings: NSFW or Smut. Please only read if you are 18+

Originally Posted on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/38508508

Amy wasn't sure what sort of wedding she would have. She'd dreamed of it many times and tried her hardest to picture the style of the gown she would wear, the color of the flowers that decorated her hair, most importantly, what her groom would look like. The picture, unlike her many paintings, never formed completely in her mind. When she had been courting Fred she'd tried to imagine him waiting for her at the end of the aisle, but his hair always seemed to change and his shoulders always seemed just too broad. 

She hadn't believed Laurie the first time he had told her he wanted to marry her, not with his, "You know why," sentiments. It wasn't until he had returned, despite his pride, to her side when Sweet Beth had passed that she had begun to believe him. There was still part of her, sitting at the dinner reception following their short, sweet wedding that was skeptical that he truly wanted her. 

It made sense to her now why she couldn't picture her wedding. She had never thought that she would be married away from her family to Theodore Laurence. She had never let herself get carried away to that, regardless of how desperately she loved him. Aunt March had been there, escorted by Mr. Laurence, both of whom were shining with approval. Aunt March's approval stemmed from the fact that Amy had done her diligence in finding a man who was wealthy enough to support her family, though she would never admit to Laurie that he had earned that approval. Mr. Laurence had always had a softness that extended to Amy. He had yet to fully forgive Jo for hurting Laurie the way that she had, but he had enjoyed watching Amy grow into the woman she had always said that she would become. 

They had gathered back at the hotel to share a small dinner that was full of smiles and soft conversation. Laurie had never strayed too far from Amy. She was grateful for his attentiveness but marveled at it's appearance, as if she would be the one that would walk away from him.

"A toast," Mr. Laurence announced, raising his glass in the air, "to the new Mrs. Laurence! She's everything I ever could've hoped for my grandson."

Everyone toasted around them while Amy gave him a soft smile. Laurie leaned over to her and gave her a chaste kiss to her head which did nothing for the redness that she was attempting to keep at bay. She had a hard time meeting his gaze tonight, it was so filled with too much for her to decipher. 

Aunt March stood from her seat, "Congratulations, but I'm afraid it's time for me to retire for the evening." Amy rose from her seat to help her, "Go sit back down, I'm fine." Aunt March whispered to her giving her a soft pat on her arm. 

Amy turned to return to her seat to find Laurie standing, waiting for her, "Shall we retire as well? It's getting quite late."

Her stomach was alive with butterflies and she fought to keep her hands from shaking. She nodded her agreement and gave a brief goodnight to those who were gathered for them. 

Laurie extended his arm to her, leading her through the bustle of the hotel lobby to the 4th floor where his private rooms were. He opened the door without flourish. It didn't look unlike the room she had been staying in with Aunt March, aside from the very large bed in the middle of the room. It was covered in a beautiful blue comforter that did wonders against the dark wood of the bed frame. There were two large double-doors that led out to a balcony that overlooked the garden at the back of the hotel. 

Her things had already been brought from Aunt March's room and they lay next to his suitcase. It appears they hadn't been unpacked as they were planning to leave in two days to return home to her family. 

She had walked to the middle of the room and was standing there not quite sure what she should do next. Laurie was leaning back against the door, amused at his usually confident wife. 

"I think," he began, holding his smile back, "that I'll have a shower. Will you be alright by yourself for a bit?" 

Amy cleared the nerves from her throat, "Yes."

He looked at her oddly before disappearing into the washroom. She exhaled loudly as the door shut with a click, wringing her hands out as she began to pace. She knew that there were certain marital acts that normally occurred the night of the wedding but she didn't know exactly what that entailed. She could feign confidence if she knew what to expect but the uncertainty of it all caused her pale skin to flush with anxiety. She was grateful to Laurie for the time alone to compose herself. 

She turned to her bags and pulled out her white sleeping gown. She jumped a bit as the water in the shower turned on and listened for the scrape of the curtain that confirmed his entrance into it. She struggled out of her dress, looking back she'd wonder how she had managed to get out of it by herself, and slipped into the sleeping gown. She also put on a large velvet robe that she assumed, based off of the cologne smell that lingered there, was Laurie's to give herself some modesty. 

Amy sat down on the bench in front of the large vanity table. Her brushes and combs had been unpacked unlike the rest of her things. She looked at herself in the mirror to calm herself and then raised her arms to begin taking the pins out of her hair. It took a while as each strand of hair she pulled free seemed to have another pin attached to it, by the time she had pulled the last one she heard the water turn off. She quickly brushed her long, blonde hair free of any tangles and listened to Laurie shuffling around. She wondered briefly, if he was nervous as she was?

The door opened softly. She heard Laurie's voice before she saw him, "Have you seen my ro-"

He cut off quickly and she turned sheepishly to see him but any words she had thought to say escaped her when she saw him. In the absence of his robe he had pulled on the same trousers he had word during their wedding, but had neglected to wear a shirt. His curly hair was still wet and the droplets fell from the ends of it down his muscled chest. She had seen him shirtless before when they had all gone swimming at the beach but this was different. They were alone and there wasn't a societal reason for her to look away. She followed one of those droplets with her eyes down his chest towards his trousers where it disappeared into the loosely undone laces. 

Amy felt her face heat for an entirely different reason. She drug her eyes back up to his face to find it a little flushed as well as he took her in. She hadn't tied his robe and it hung open on her revealing the sleeping gown beneath. Her long blonde hair fell to the middle of her back and held some of the curl it had been forced into while in her bun. 

She started to take his robe off, "I'm sorry, you can have it-"

She began but was cut off by Laurie who's voice came out deep and low, "No, please, you're more than welcome to it whenever you'd like."

"Alright," her own voice came out as a whisper. She was unable to make it be any different as her eyes finally met his for the first time that evening. They were dark and hungry the way that they took her in. She stood from the bench turning to face him, standing still and letting him have his fill and still unsure of doing anything else. She reached up to gather all of her hair and pulled it all to one side over her right shoulder. 

Her movement seemed to break him of whatever trance he had been in and he walked to stand in front of her, lifting his hand to cup her face. He tilted her head up slightly giving him a perfect view of her face, "You're so incredibly beautiful."

She grabbed his arm and tilted her face into his hand, nuzzling into the warmth that he provided, "I'm glad you think so, Laurie."

He shook his head, "Don't call me Laurie right now."

She looked at him blankly and a brief glimmer of hurt flashed in her eyes, "Why not?" She asked him sharply.

Laurie's eyes softened from their hot gaze, "There you are," he cleared his throat again, "Laurie is what you call me when everyone else is around us. I don't want to be reminded of others when I'm with you."

Her eyebrow arched, "Well what shall I call you? I'm not calling you Teddy."

He shook his head and pulled back from her catching her hand in his own, "Amy," he said softly, "You can't possibly still think me to be infatuated with your sister?"

She avoided his eyes then and looked away from him, "She was your first love and it's hard to imagine that kind of loyalty ever vanishes."

"Darling," he tried to pull her face to look at him but she moved her head away. He stepped towards her then, one arm going around her lower waist and the other hand reaching to caress her neck, "The love I had for Jo was a childhood crush that I tried to make into something more. Believe me when I tell you that I did not know true love until I saw you again that day when you jumped from your carriage. You taught me what true, real love is and what it is like to experience it."

She met his gaze now and her heart jumped at the honesty in them.

"When you turned me down, I went to London, not to try to heal my ego as I did when Jo damaged it but to become the man I knew you deserved. If I couldn't have you, I wanted to become someone that you would be proud to associate yourself with, whether as a friend or someone that you used to know. I wanted you to be happy, regardless of myself."

"When Beth died," he paused a moment now, the grief making itself real in the tears that sprung from his eyes, "I knew that she would be furious with me if I didn't go to check on you. I never allowed myself to hope that you might have feelings for me. But then you did and I- I have never felt so bittersweet in my life. To lose what seemed a sister and to be gifted such a magnificent love."

Amy reached up to wipe the tears from his cheeks. He held them there taking the hand off of her neck and pressing a kiss to the inside of her palm. 

"I love you Amy Laurence. It's only ever been you. I wish there was some way that I could go back and erase the pain that I put you through, that I know still hurts you. But, I can't. Instead I promise you this: I will spend the rest of my life trying to make it up to you and trying to be a man that is worthy of the love from you."

She was the one crying now and he pulled her close to him, wrapping his arms around her in a tight hug. She laid her head on his shoulder for a moment, trying to regain her breathing. 

She pulled away putting her hands on his cheeks and looked at him square in his eyes, "Listen to me Theo-Theodore Laurence," her breathing was still shaking from the tears that ran down her face and his hands gripped tightly at her waist when he saw them, "You already are the man that is worthy of love, whether it be mine or your grandfather's or Jo's. I wish you could see yourself the way i do. I love you. I love you so much it feels like my heart could sink from the weight of it. I know I may not be so eloquent as Jo, as good as Beth, or as sensitive as Meg but I promise that I will love you every day, regardless of my frustration for you."

He laughed at that and bent to put his forehead against hers, sharing her air. She reached up and pushed her lips against his in the third kiss of her life. He kissed her back sweetly and entangled his hands in her hair. 

Amy slid her hands from his face down to his bare chest and let them rest there, feeling the beat of his heart directly beneath her fingertips. She pulled away from him, ignoring his affronted look, "You still haven't told me what to call you."

He shook his head at her laughing softly and looked away, feigning intense concentration, "Laurie for when we are in public, Mr. Laurence for when you are frustrated, and well," He grew quiet and a blush took over his cheeks.

"Yes?" She prompted.

He forced his eyes back to hers, "Well, I liked it when you called me Theo, no one has ever called me that. Even my grandfather calls me Theodore."

She smirked at him, "Theo? Not, My Lord or something fitting for your station?"

His eyes darkened at her words and before she had time to understand what that meant his lips were back on hers. He swept his tongue over her mouth and pinched at her bum softly causing her lips to open in a gasp. He took the opportunity and swept into her mouth, exploring the entirety of it. 

Amy felt like she was on fire and she felt the burning spread to her lower belly. She grabbed on to his trousers, needing something to keep her on the ground. His arm around her waist was the only thing keeping her from falling over.

He pulled away from her, gasping, "Please feel free to call me Theo or My Lord as is strikes your fancy."

She nodded, still slightly dazed from the kiss. 

Laurie's face lightened into a mischievous smile and before she had time to question him, Laurie had lifted her up into his arms. She quickly wrapped her legs around him to keep from falling. She was at eye-level in this position with him and he leaned in as if to kiss her but went down into the crook of her neck. He placed soft kisses trailing from her jaw to the joining of her neck and shoulder. She tilted her head to give him better access and gasped as his mouth opened, sucking at the sensitive skin there. 

Her hands worked independently of her and slid their way into his soft, curls pushing him to stay there. He was a man starved, licking and sucking at the skin until her heart felt it might burst and she squirmed in his arms. He let up for a second and she thought he might stop, but he bent back down and bit her in the same spot. She let out a quiet moan and tightened her hands in his hair.

He let out a loud groan at the feeling and pulled away from her neck, looking in her eyes. The burning in her lower belly increased at the dark hunger that was running rampant in his eyes. He was completely unashamed with how he looked at her. Amy felt some of her confidence return as she realized that she was the reason he looked like that. She kept her eyes on him and pulled his hair tight again, experimenting. His eyes fell shut and she was rewarded with the same masculine, dark groan from him. She giggled, pleased with herself. 

His eyes snapped back open at the sound and he tightened his grip on her legs. He put his mouth on hers, kissing away her smile and began moving them around the room. She was confused until she felt the soft cushion of the bed. He laid her down with heartbreaking gentleness, bending his body down with hers. His lips pressed kisses all over her face, down her neck and to the neckline of her sleeping gown. He straightened, pulling her into a sitting position and pushed the robe down off of her shoulders. She shifted letting him pull it away from her completely and watched as he tossed it across the room. 

Amy couldn't shake the realization of how exposed she was to him without the robe to cover her, without a corset or any layers, the gown clung to all of the parts of her body that only she had seen. She looked up at Laurie, he still had the same hungry look in his eyes but they didn't roam her body, instead they stared directly into her own. They studied her face for a moment before he knelt between her legs and rested his arms on either side of her body. In her sitting position and his kneeling one they were once again at eye level. 

"Has anyone ever explained what happens on the wedding night?" He asked her, gently. 

Amy swallowed hard, "Sort of, I know there are certain marital activities and that I'm supposed to enjoy them, but Meg never explained further than that."

He gave her a broad smile and caressed her arm gently, "Yes, Meg's right, they should be very enjoyable. Will you trust me to lead you through them?"

Amy was certain after what they had just been doing that she would trust him to do anything he wanted, but she answered him anyway, "Yes, I trust you My Lord."

His other hand tightened in the sheets at her words and his eyes went back to that very, dark color that seemed to be coming and going, "Amy, it's very important that you tell me if you're enjoying yourself. If at any point you start to feel uncomfortable or in pain, I need you to tell me." Amy was sure she had never seen him this serious before.

She nodded.

He surged forward and captured her lips again. Exploring her mouth and nibbling on her lips. She wasn't sure that she would ever be able to stop herself from kissing him, she'd happily give up all other responsibilities in order to spend every day like this, with his lips against hers, feeding the fire that was growing inside of her. 

He crawled over top of her and she let him push her back into the mattress. She wrapped her hands around him and let her hands explore the grooves of his chest. His forearms were braced on either side of her, she let one of her hands linger over to it and squeezed it slightly. He rumbled a laugh at that but she found that she didn't particularly care and let herself indulge in the firm muscle she felt there. 

He pulled away from her mouth and she huffed at the loss of him. He smiled, shaking his head at her complaint, "Can I take this off of you?" He asked her. 

"Yes," her voice was airy and lower than she had ever heard it before. 

His eyes left her and he grabbed the hem of the gown pushing it up her thighs. She shivered at the feeling of his hands sliding up her skin into an untouched area of her body. Laurie noticed the shiver and seemed to her, to make sure his hands stuck to the skin that was becoming more visible, sliding up her hips to her ribs to the sides of her breasts. She raised her arms and allowed him to pull the fabric over her head, completely bare to him. 

Laurie moaned at the sight of her. She felt like she should cover herself up but she didn't want to stop the way that Laurie was looking at her. His eyes touched her more intimately than his hands had as they traveled over the entire course of her body. He seemed content to stay there for the rest of the night but she was frustrated with his lack of movement. She slid both hands into his hair gripping it tightly and pushed his lips into hers, moaning as they made contact with each other. 

Laurie growled into her mouth and his hands seemed to be everywhere all at once. One of them reached to massage her breast and pulled slightly on her nipple. She arched into him and gasped into his mouth. He stopped kissing her and through himself down to her breast. He kept massaging the one in his hand and leaned his head over the other. He waited until she made eye contact with him and then put his mouth around her breast, sucking harshly at it. 

She squirmed against him, needing more and less at the same time. Her nails were digging into the skin of his bicep but he didn't seem to be upset by it. He gently bit the nipple that was in his mouth and she moaned loudly, her waist jumping and trying to find his own. He pulled off of her breast and began placing gentle kissed down her stomach. He was still kneeling on the floor and pulled his hands away from her to spread her legs wider. 

His kisses trailed down her right leg into the soft, inside where the sensitive skin was. He sucked at the skin there, leaving behind a red mark. Amy sat straight up when she felt his breath directly between her legs. He was already looking at her, almost expecting her reaction, "Trust me." He cooed and continued his assault on the inside of her thighs. 

She laid back down and forced a deep inhale. She missed the feeling of him on top of her and the warmth of his skin now that she was able to feel the chill of the room. She stared at the ceiling, too nervous to look down to see what he was doing between her legs. 

She squirmed when she felt his breath again, but he reached with one hand and grabbed onto hers. Her hand gripped his tightly as he pressed an open kiss right in the middle of her thighs. All of her the air in her lungs whooshed out. Laurie used his other arm to pin her hips to the bed and began to lick and suck, making loud slurping noises fill the air. Amy felt like she was going to explode, completely oblivious to the sighs and moans she was releasing into the air. 

It felt good, better than anything she had experienced before. She tried to buck her hips to get his mouth back to where she wanted it but his arm held her in position. Laurie seemed content to take his time and was very much ignoring the squirms of his new wife, "Laurie, please." She ground out. 

He stopped completely and sat back to look at her, "I thought we agreed that wasn't what you were to call me."

Amy was breathing heavily and felt like sobbing at the lack of attention she was getting. She needed his mouth back, "I'm sorry, My Lord. Please, please, please put your mouth back, please." Amy knew the way she was begging wasn't the ladylike person she had shaped herself into, but she couldn't find it in herself to care. 

Laurie had completely frozen at her words and looked torn about something, but she squirmed and he pulled himself out of it, "Good girl, Amy, that's my good girl." 

She lost it as his words and gave a high-pitched, breathy moan. He sucked harshly and licked with a new fervor, never coming up for air, "Oh God, Theo, I'm-" She never got to finish as all of her nerves were bathed in white-hot fire. She felt her body shake and her eyes rolled back into her head, her heart beat heavily in her chest. She felt like a million ocean waves had just crested over her. She clenched around air and felt an emptiness inside her.

She felt herself settle back into her body and felt him licking gently still. She pushed him away gently and he sat back on his heels, wiping his face on his arm. His eyes were half-lidded and he moved to stand, "Would you lay in the middle of the bed, Sweetheart?" His voice was husky and the words came out in almost a growl, but she did as he asked. Her legs barely able to sustain the weight of her body. 

She settled in and watched as he undid the rest of his laces and pushed the trousers off of his waist. She heard them fall into a heap on the floor but couldn't get herself to look away from him. She followed the v of his body to where he stood hard and erect. He crawled to her on the bed and she almost exploded at the sight of him. He settled himself in between her legs and paused for a second, clearing his throat, "This might hurt so I need you to be clear with me about what you're feeling."

He looked nervous, which considering everything he just made her feel she couldn't even begin to fathom. She pushed herself into a sitting position and pulled him into a gentle kiss, tasting herself on his tongue. She pulled away and laid herself down on the bed, "I trust you."

He took a breath and braced himself on one arm above her. She raised her legs to be on either side of his body and wrapped them around him. He used one hand to guide himself and pushed gently inside of her. She tensed for a minute and he paused his movement. She was expecting it to hurt, but it only seemed to make the fire inside of her burn hotter. She used her legs to push him deeper inside of her. He groaned as he slide in and in and in. 

It didn't hurt, but she still asked him to pause for a minute while she adjusted to the stretch of him. He placed gentle kisses along her neck while he waited and she slid her fingers through his curls. When the flame inside of her felt hot again she asked him to move. 

He pulled out slightly and pushed back in, creating a slow rhythm that she followed with a gentle rocking of her hips. She had never felt so full and warm. He was everywhere and his scent enveloped her. She wanted nothing more than to remain in his arms, in his bed. Their bed. She loved it but she felt her body ache for more, "More, please."

He raised his head from where it had been in her neck and chuckled darkly, "Always so polite for me, Mrs. Laurence. Are you sure?" He asked her, honesty shining through.

Her heart fluttered with love for him, "I'm sure, My Lord."

She loved his reaction to this particular name and it seemed he did to as she felt him twitch inside of her. Instead of tensing like he normally did, he braced his legs against the bed and started entering her faster and harder than before. She moaned as he went deeper inside her than before, scratching at his back through the pleasure of it. He was groaning into her neck which left his exposed to her and she reached up to give him a taste of his own medicine, biting at the sensitive flesh of his neck. 

"Oh, fuck Amy," He growled and slammed his hips against hers so hard that the headboard of the bed started slamming against the wall. 

She couldn't keep going much longer, she felt that familiar fire burn in her. "Theo, please," She moaned. 

He seemed to figure out what was going on and slipped his hand between them to that place between her legs. He rubbed small, fast circles against her and she broke. She arched her chest into him and exploded with his name screaming from her lips. He sped up and tensed, twitching inside of her. He followed behind her, groaning his pleasure into her neck as he slumped over on her. 

They were both breathing heavily and Amy was sure she couldn't take any more. Laurie pulled out of her and she whimpered at the empty feeling he left behind. He laid down on the bed next to her and pulled her limp body into his arms. She laid her head on his chest and threw a leg over his wanting that close connection that they had to last. She could hear his heart racing in her ear and he was looking down at her with eyes filled with awe.

"So that's marital activities." She said.

Laurie erupted in laughter and she giggled as her head bounced lightly against his shaking chest.

"Yes, those are marital activities." He confirmed giving her a sweet kiss. 

She turned in his arms so that she was laying on her stomach to get a better look at his face. She reached and pushed back a curl that had fallen into his face and looked at him for a long minute. 

Laurie could practically hear her thoughts spinning in her head, "What is it?"

She bit her lip and Laurie had to hold himself back from sucking that lip into his mouth. She looked away from him and her cheeks flushed, causing his entire focus to be on whatever she was about to say, "It's just," she trailed off for a second, "how long do we have to wait to do it again?"

Amy watched her husband's expression change back into that dark look she was beginning to grow quite fond of and a small smirk grew on his face, "What am I going to do with you, Mrs. Laurence?"

Amy could think of a few things. 

[marvels-writings]

Choices

Yelena Belova Masterlist

Requested by Anon: How about Yelena and R getting in an argument and Nat comforts reader and they cuddle platonically but Yelena comes in the room and sees them in bed together and is fuming and lots of angst and maybe Yelena says something like “I’ve been second best to Nat my entire life” like how Amy March said that to Laurie

Word Count: 2.5k (longish and angsty)

A/N: I love love LOVED writing this, I love this scene from little women and I adored including it in this fic, i genuinely think you’re going to love it

"Hey baby," You greeted, smiling when you saw your girlfriend standing on the balcony of your room. Yelena hummed in response, her shoulder leaning against the door frame. She didn't turn around to face you, her gaze fixed on the cars outside.

Frowning at her lack of response, you walked over to where she was standing. The cold breeze danced along with the curtains, flowing near your bare feet. Goosebumps formed along your skin, you tried to put your feet in the sun to warm them up.

Yelena remained silent, watching you fidget beside her. Her eyes shifted to where your hand was fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. Her gaze trailed up to the bandaged gash on your arm, staring at the spots of blood seeping through. She blinked in surprise when you spoke, interrupting the silence.

"Is something wrong?" You asked timidly, trying to play off your injury.

You turned slightly so she couldn't see your arm. Her eyes met yours, raising an eyebrow at the question. You sighed, running your hand lightly over the bandage on your arm.

"Lena, it's fine." You assured her, trying to smile up at her. You hoped it might be enough to crack even the smallest of smiles out of her. But she remained cold, staring at your injury. You held your arm behind her back, moving a step closer to her.

"It's fine." You tried again, reaching your healthy hand forwards to take hers. Yelena flinched away as if you'd burned her, taking in a harsh breath before moving away from you. She huffed as she sat down on the bed, turning to look down at her hands. You slowly moved to sit beside her, opening your mouth to speak before you heard her voice.

"It's not fine." She muttered angrily, quiet enough that you had to strain to hear her. Sitting down next to her, you moved your left arm away so she couldn't see it. You tried to take her hand again, sighing as she moved away from you as quickly as before.

"It was just an accident." You tried, hoping she would see the situation the way you saw it. But she didn't, frowning and turning her head to glare at you. You winced under her gaze, biting your lip tightly before looking away.

It truly was an accident. You were training with knives, Natasha was teaching you close combat. You didn't know how it happened, one moment you were training with her, the next she was clutching a towel tightly to your forearm and calling medical over to you.

Yelena hadn't been there, busy on a mission while you were bleeding. She only saw you now, having heard about the incident from Natasha the second she arrived. She didn't go to see you, rather returning to the room you shared with her, staring out the balcony.

"There shouldn't be accidents where you get hurt," Yelena whispered angrily, her voice lower than you were used to hearing it. She hurried off the bed, pacing in front of the bed, her hands hastily pulling out the ponytail in her hair before retying it.

"Lena," You tried again, hoping the nickname you called her by might soften her. "Accidents happen, it's alright."

Her glare towards you hardened, her hands running through the tangled hair in her ponytail. Your comment made it worse, you winced as she stopped pacing. A lecture on your safety began, all over again. Another lecture on how you were careless with your safety, reckless for no cause, getting hurt for no reason.

You thought there might eventually be a time when you'd get enough of these lectures. But after every single incident, every mission has gone slightly south. Worry was fine, even overprotectiveness, but this? This was exhausting.

"I don't need my flaws to be pointed out all the time." You hissed, interrupting her heated rant about your flaws. She flinched at your tone, frowning and stepping back from you. Her arms crossed over her chest defensively, tilting her head in anger.

"If there weren't so many," Yelena said, raising her eyebrow. Words spilled from her before she had a chance to stop them. Regrets always came before she could stop them.

"I wouldn't have to."

You drew back, your harsh facade falling at her words. Turning away from her, your arms wrapped tightly around your midsection, hiding the flaws you were so sure she hated. You recoiled into yourself, clenching your jaw as if her words had physically hurt you.

Getting up, you quickly tried to leave the room, missing the way she had regretted her words and tried to follow you out. In your haste to leave, you didn't notice the tears in her eyes were identical to yours. The door slammed shut behind you as you hurried away from her.

Your feet padded across the ground, nearing the door to Natasha's room. Unsure where else to go, you fidgeted with the hem of your shirt as you thought it over. There wasn't anywhere else in the compound you wanted to go. anywhere else you would face pity and questions, this was the only place devoid of either.

Raising your hand to knock, you moved back in surprise when the door opened. Your eyes widened when Natasha stood there, concerned and a little worried at your state. Without needing an explanation, she opened the door wider for you to come in.

Grateful for the silence, you stepped inside, fidgeting nervously in the center of her room. The redhead closed the door behind her with a soft click, waiting for you to explain. She sat down on the bed, leaning back against the headboard, patting the space next to her.

"What happened?"

It was all it took for explanations and apologies to fall from you. You sat down beside her only to be clutching onto her while you held your tears back. Words and hopes continued to spill even while she tried to comfort you. Her touch and her words helped you calm down enough to see the situation.

You weren't at fault, not entirely, Yelena should have backed off when she saw you were upset. This wasn't an issue big enough to fight over, let alone leave her over. You wanted to make up with her, but her words still rang in your mind when you tried to leave Nat's room.

Instead, you stayed the night, seeking comfort in your friend rather than Yelena. Her hands ran through your hair as you slept, providing you with the comfort you needed to soothe you from your nightmares. All the while you found some peace, Yelena remained alone.

The bed was far too empty without you for her to even consider resting in it. She wouldn't let herself outside the room, scared she might see you again. Scared you might say something which would hurt her far more than she hurt you.

It was never her intention to hurt you, let alone make you upset enough to leave. She could hardly help it when you were hurt, let alone when she wasn't there with you. a part of her was always scared that her abrupt absences would eventually force you away from her.

Her absence was solely to clear her past, it was never more important than you. It was that she found it hard to rest when there was still something to be done to relieve her of the chains of her past. She couldn't find it in herself to live in this delightful dream of love you created when she still saw herself as a monster.

Apologies still needed to be made. Not now, not when she could barely look herself in the mirror, not when you didn't even wish to be in her presence. For the morning she would wait, till she could share her fears without the worry of your absence.

As the morning light leaked into her room, she met it with a sense of dread. Yelena dragged her feet over to your room, fidgeting with her shirt as she stood in front of Natasha's closed door. She knew it was where you would go, where you would seek comfort when she wasn't there.

It hurt sometimes, to see you so comfortable with her, to see you care for her so much. But she always passed it off as a close friendship, knowing she would always be the one you seek. She licked her lips, knocking lightly on the door, waiting for you to answer.

Moments of silence passed, bringing her into more nervousness. She listened for any sign you were there, the rustling of bed sheets, the sound of your footsteps. Silence, even as she knocked a second time. A part of her was scared she had hurt you too badly.

Nothing could hurt her more than seeing you seek solace in Natasha's touch, seeing you wrapped in her arms, breathing on her neck. You wanted to be there, leaving Yelena to be with her. It hurt more than the words she said to you

You stirred at the disturbance, groggily pulling away from the arms holding you. A frown covered your face when you noticed it wasn't Yelena holding you. Moving away from Natasha, you rubbed your eyes while you looked around the room. Your gaze landed on your girlfriend, a smile almost forming before you saw her heartbroken expression.

"You went to her?" She asked, her voice just above a whisper. Her words, yet simple, were laced with insecurity which was rooted long before she met you. An insecurity that she would always be the second choice, that everyone would choose her sister over herself.

"Lena," You began, throwing the covers off the bed, moving towards her. She raised a hand, stopping your motions as a troubled expression passed her face. Shaking her head, she moved nearer to the door, away from you. You frowned, walking towards her, whispering her nickname as a soft prayer.

"Don't call me that," Yelena said angrily, her eyes snapping up to yours. They softened for a moment, seeing the hurt in your expression. She came to apologize to you, ready to beg for you to stay with her. Seeing you with Natasha, pushed all of her good intentions to the back of her mind.

You licked your lips, glancing from Natasha to your girlfriend, you hoped you could still call her that. You knew she came here to apologize, you could see it in the way she shifted her feet, not wanting to leave before finishing what she came here to do. You reached a hand towards her, hoping she would take it. She pulled away from you as if you'd burned her.

"Stop doing this to me." She muttered, shifting away from you. You frowned your hand coming up to brush her cheek. Her head leaned away from you, her hand coming up to yours, holding it at a distance from her skin. You tilted your head curiously at her words, guilt still gleaming in your eyes.

"Doing what?"

"This," Yelena gestured to your hand reaching out to her, pulling away from you. "Pretending you love me when you want her."

She thought your love was fake, where you never pretended, you never lied to her, not once, not even when you were sure the truth would hurt her. She had been fed enough lies to last lifetimes, you didn't add to that. Now she thought you were pretending to love her when everything was true.

She doubted it, your bright grins, your assurances of your love, your words, your actions, everything. The breakfast in beds, the nights you'd spent awake while she was working just because you didn't want her to be alone. The hours you'd spent worrying when she went on missions because you weren't there to protect her.

How could she doubt you?

“I’ve been second best to Natasha my entire life." Yelena continued, almost oblivious to your stare. Her hand ran through her rough ponytail, her gaze flitting from you to her sister. The redhead sat on the bed, looking disheveled, her eyes staring down at the sheets. Catching her gaze, she hurried out of the room, giving you some privacy

"I don't want you to pretend you chose me instead of her." She said, licking her lips as she backed away from you. The silence in the room prolonged as she waited for you to speak. A part of her was hoping you would argue with her, tell her that you chose her first.

But as your silence continued, she began to doubt herself. She watched your expressions closely, wishing to read your thoughts rather than wait for you to voice them. Your emotions were hidden from her, conflict showing across on your face yet your true intentions even she could not read. She began to leave you to your silence when you took her hand.

"Wait," You whispered, her wrist grasped tightly in your hand. You knew she could break free of your grip and leave if that was what she wanted. But she didn't, she stood there, her back turned to you, waiting for you to fight to stay.

"You aren't second to Natasha," You began, furrowing your brows as you tried to compose your thoughts. "I only came to her because I was scared of losing you."

At your words, Yelena slowly turned around, her emerald eyes raking over your features, trying to spot a lie. You let her search, knowing she would find nothing but the truth. You tugged her closer to you, a faint smile crossing your lips when she let you.

"Lena, falling in love with you was never a choice," You said, reaching for her other hand and pulling her closer. Her eyes met yours, a genuine smile crossing your face when she didn't look away. Your thumbs ran across the skin of her knuckles, feeling the skin under your fingertips.

"Staying with you is a choice I will always make."

Her fingertips trailed up your arms, a smile gracing her lips, her hands coming up to your shoulders before tugging you closer to her. Your arms wrapped around her waist as she buried her face in your neck. Your words had calmed even the greatest of her insecurities. Your touch brought her most golden desires to life.

There was much to talk over, many storms to calm, but for now, you could find salvation at this moment. You knew she forgave you, and would never doubt your love for her again. You never had a reason to doubt her, you never will, not as long as you could feel her care for you.

You could feel it when she breathed in your scent, her lips meeting the base of your neck. Your skin burned under her touch with such a warmth you had never felt before. The feeling new but in no way unwelcome, her touch reassuring your safety and her love. She showed you she loved you with the way her lips danced over yours, the way her hands tugged you closer to her, all because you chose her.

A/N: I know it’s been a while since i updated, but i put loads of effort into this, comments and reblogs are FABULOUS! Please tell me what you think of this

Tag List: @capcarolsdanver, @versdan, @lesbian-girls-wayhaught, @lovebotlarson, @dhengkt, @hstoria, @natasha-danvers, @veryfunnyal, @xxxtwilightaxelxxx , @ophelias-heart , @never-didbefore , @justarandomhumanhere, @the-most-unicorn-of-them-all , @thatssocamryn , @lesbian-x-blackwidow , @marvelbbyx , @wlw-imaginesss , @hcartbyheart​ , @summergeezburr​ , @imnotasuperhero , @a-stressedstudent , @aaron-despair , @rooskaya-yelena , @dynnealberto , @thewitchandtheassassin , @wannabe-fic-reader , @izalesbean, @higherfurther-romanova , @natalia-quinzel , @blackxwidowsxwife , @studies-styles , @procrastinatingsapphictrash , @mxxnmocha , @ladyeliot , @wandavixen , @blurryylines , @thewidowsghost , @wlwlovesreading let me know if you’d like to be in any of my tag lists!

[ofbuttsandbombs]

Back in 2016, Friends was the first sitcom I ever watched. It was funny and distracting and I had just begun college and my course was regarded as one of the toughest and my daily commute was over three hours total and I was little more than a tittering ball of stress and nerves.

I started watching Friends because, well, everybody was, and I needed to something to do on the train, bus and taxi that I had I to take to reach my uni.

Thus began my foray into the world of television.

I tore through the 'classics'. How I Met Your Mother and The Office and Scrubs and Parks and Rec and Modern Family and Community (interspersed between the rare non-sitcom like Once Upon A Time and Game of Thrones and The Americans) and then the newer ones too, Superstore and The Good Place and Schitt's Creek and of course, Brooklyn Nine-Nine.

I loved all of them. I still do. Something about the format of sitcoms is so comforting and entertaining to me. I loved them all equally, and I tore through each like I was getting paid for it.

An innocuous remark made by my best friend in the beginning of 2018 changed the course of my life.

"You've watched Brooklyn Nine-Nine, right? Rosa's bachelorette was so cool. If I ever get married, you better do something like that for me."

I couldn't remember Rosa's bachelorette. Watching nearly 50 shows over the past 2 years will jumble some stuff up for you.

"I'll keep that in mind," I told her, and when I went home, I typed in Rosa Diaz Bachelorette into the YouTube search bar.

That, my friends, was the beginning of the end.

I laughed through the bachelorette clip on YouTube. I laughed through the various compilations I saw next, as YouTube did its job of sucking me into a never ending video watching hell hole, the kind that ends with you watching Find Out How Many Cockroach Legs Are in a Bar of Chocolate at 3 AM.(in my case, it was something like Jake and Amy Turning Each Other On for 8 Minutes)

And for the very first time in my life, I decided to rewatch a show.

I've never rewatched any show. Not before then, and not now. Only one show has recieved that honour, and it is B99. I don't know what happened on this first rewatch. Suddenly, Noice became a part of my vocabulary, Title of your Sex Tape jokes were sprinkled into every conversation and Jake and Amy decided to march their way into my clown heart and brain and never left.

This random show hit me with an obsession so hard I couldn't think of anything else. If someone calculated how many hours I've spent daydreaming about Jake and Amy, my mother would probably burst into tears for "wasting my time and putting my future in jeopardy."

The last three years are a blur of studying, stressing and Brooklyn Nine Nine. I was at an internet-less nature camp during the Great Cancellation Saga of 2018, and came back home to the news that b99 had been cancelled and picked up again. I thanked my lucky stars I had missed it. I would not have dealt well with the cancellation news.

In the end of 2018, when multiple rewatches of Johnny and Dora and HalloVeen couldn't satisfy my brain's constant yearning for a hit of Peraltiago, I turned to fanfiction.

I've never looked back.

And now, after three seasons of watching live, after too much discourse about many things, after three years of drooling over Andy, after a gazillion months of hiatus- here we are.

The end of the end.

Obviously, I am sad and scared and angry and miserable and in denial and excited and on the edge of my seat and upset. I'd rather wait 10 years for a new season than have to deal with the fact that I'll never get to see a new episode. I'm just gonna wallow in my misery today. Because, yeah, we'll still have 8 seasons to re-watch, and so many fics to re-read but also, the series finale is upon us, and Brooklyn Nine-Nine is finally coming to an end.

It's hard to come to terms with this fact even when we all knew this day would come. But here it is at last, and we cannot do anything, except be sad and hurt and excited and also celebrate this funny little show that introduced us to a whole new world, to new people, to new friends. And though this chapter is now closing, it's always gonna be a part of my story.

I am so grateful to the various blogs on here that I could always count on for my daily dose of b99. The HCs and ficlets have really kept me going.

I will be incapacitated for today and for the better part of next week, if not longer. Off to wallow some more,

-A.

[lukesmachete]

info dump abt the blog

a lil more abt me

i’m a minor, i use he/him, i play the piano, fictional characters are my escape from the painful reality by getting so immersed in their painful reality i forget abt the real one

i don’t really feel comfortable using my real name on here so just call me luke

dni: incest/pedo shippers, negan apologists, ne*gie shippers, proship, all the usual dni’s

edit acc: @lmsedits

what i’ll write (note that i’m an extremely slow writer pls forgive me for that):

♥️ - canon x canon ships

♦️ - x reader (reader gender doesn’t matter unless specified, might be bad)

♠️ - platonic ONLY

(platonic is always open for any character listed here)

intense (like fights or other stuff like the 10 of hearts game)

angst

hurt/comfort

hurt/no comfort

fluff

aus

headcanons (bulleted list)

death

fics w/o any real plot (character dependent)

drabbles (100-400 words)

ficlets (500-1000 words)

oneshots (1100-3000 words, will prolly change the max)

what i won’t write:

suicide/self harm (thoughts are ok as long as it’s not too graphic)

sexual content

very detailed gore (unless it’s negan)

incest

pedophilia

aging up characters so they can get with adults (i.e making carl 18 so ce*an isn’t pedo)

fandom list & the characters i’ll write for:

~~ the walking dead (tv) ~~

glenn rhee (♥️ (x maggie only))

maggie rhee (♥️ (x glenn only))

hershel rhee (♠️)

enid rhee (♥️, ♦️)

tara chambler (♥️, ♦️(f reader only))

carl grimes (♥️, ♦️)

rick grimes (♥️, ♦️)

judith grimes (♠️)

michonne hawthorne (♥️, ♦️)

daryl dixon (♠️)

paul ‘jesus’ rovia (♥️, ♦️(m reader only))

aaron raleigh (♥️, ♦️(m reader only))

rosita espinosa (♥️, ♦️)

alden sutton (♠️)

ron anderson (♥️)

~~ alice in borderland ~~

arisu ryohei (♠️)

usagi yuzuha (♠️)

chishiya shuntaro (♦️)

tatta kodai (♠️)

kuina hikari (♦️)

karube daikichi (♦️(f & gn reader only))

chota segawa (♠️)

takeru danma | hatter (♥️)

morizono aguni (♥️)

other beach executives depending on the fic

~~ brooklyn nine-nine ~~

jake peralta (♥️)

rosa diaz (♦️)

amy santiago (♥️)

raymond holt (♥️)

kevin cozner (♥️)

terry jeffords (♠️)

charles boyle (♠️)

gina linetti (♦️)

norm scully (♠️)

michael hitchcock (♠️)

~~ squid game ~~

seong gi-hun (♠️)

ali abdul (♠️)

hwang jun-ho (♦️)

hwang in-ho | the frontman (♠️)

kang sae-byeok (♥️, ♦️)

ji-yeong (♥️)

~~ the walking dead (game) ~~

clementine (♥️, ♦️)

louis (♥️, ♦️)

javier garcia (♥️, ♦️)

gabe garcia (♥️, ♦️)

mariana garcia (♠️)

lee everett (♠️)

luke (♥️, ♦️)

paul ‘jesus’ monroe (♥️, ♦️(m reader only))

~~ all of us are dead ~~

lee su-hyeok (♥️, ♦️)

lee cheong-san (♠️)

choi nam-ra (♥️)

yang dae-su (♠️)

basically every other major character except gwi-nam

~~ gravity falls ~~

dipper pines (♠️)

mabel pines (♠️)

stanley pines (♠️)

the author | stanford pines (♠️)

wendy corduroy (♦️)

soos ramirez (♥️)

robbie valentino (♠️)

waddles the pig (♠️)

melody (♥️)

bill cipher (weirdmageddon only)

requests must include:

character(s), fandom, relationships, plot

what au it is (if an au)

if reader insert, the reader’s gender, what they’re like, their relationship dynamic w other characters, etc (note that i’m not experienced in any way at reader insert)

further details abt the story is much appreciated

last updated: march 5, 2022