#but we know he is sometimes …. mentally elsewhere

[pentragonart]

dos this still count as Olruggiomemes?

[avatar-anna]

i’ve been thinking about hockeyrry lately and then i see this…. now all i can think about is hockeyrry having an argument with yn and having to do promo after a game, when all he really wants to do is find his gf and make up with cuddles and kisses :(((

this turned out to be a lot longer and not the short/cute little blurb i initially planned. enjoy more shenanigans from hockey harry and skater reader!

Hockey player! Harry x Figure Skater! Reader

"So, Harry, what are your thoughts on the team's performance tonight?"

You watched the screen in front of you begrudgingly, sticking your spoon in your bowl of ice cream and eating it, perhaps a little too aggressively. But you didn't change the channel, not wanting to miss a moment of Harry on camera, no matter how much he drove you crazy sometimes.

The fight had been brief, but arguments were something you and Harry were rather good at, and this one was no different. Harry ended up leaving for his game in a huff as you rolled your eyes at his back, and even though you were more than slightly pissed off, you sat down to watch his game on TV anyway.

His team won, but barely. Harry's mind was clearly elsewhere—he took more penalties than necessary and even more checks against the boards, each slam of his body against the plexiglass making you tense up. He clearly had been in two places at once, and for that, you felt guilty. Your argument wasn't inconsequential, and you intended to finish it less intensely when he came home, but now that you'd simmered a bit you regretted fighting with Harry right before he left, as it clearly affected his performance on the ice tonight.

"Obviously, we didn't play our best," Harry said into the interviewer's microphone. "I'm certainly disappointed in myself. In more ways than one."

His poor eyes were tired, bags hanging beneath them, his nose red and irritated. And his voice was hoarse too, unlike the way it normally was when he first woke up in the morning. From that to his pale skin, you could've sworn Harry had gotten sick in the few hours he'd been gone.

"How do you unwind after a game that was tough both physically and mentally like tonight?"

Harry rubbed a tired hand over his entire face. He was polite, but you could tell a post-game interview was the last place he wanted to be. "Erm, just go home. Rest, meditate, I guess."

"Meditate? You meditate? Can you walk us through that process?"

"Uh..." You watched Harry visibly deflate on camera but stay where he was. With a sniffle, he continued. "There's not much to it. Just measured breathing, peace and quiet, and going to bed early."

"Well, we won't keep you from your post-game meditation, Harry. Just one last question!"

You watched the interview wrap up and the sports channel switch over to a broadcast of a different game. Waiting for him to come home, you began to prepare for bed. You set out Harry's softest sweats and favorite crew neck, put new essential oils in the diffuser by his bed, and a new box of tissues along with a steaming mug of tea. You were almost positive he was sick, and when Harry was sick...he became something of a little baby. But he was your baby to take care of, even if you had just been arguing a few hours ago.

A little while later, the lock clicked and the sound of shuffling feet echoed through the apartment. A cough and a sniffle followed, and you could already picture his curls flopping against Harry's forehead clumsily as he rubbed his hand against his nose, the green of his eyes bright against tired redness.

"Y/n?" he called. "I'm sorry about our fight earlier. I know we left things on a sour note, but can we press pause on it for now and pick it up on it in a few days? I'm not feeling—"

"It's fine, H," you said, appearing from your bedroom. Your eyes softened as you took in his rumpled suit, the jacket slung over his arm in a heap. "Why didn't you tell me you were coming down with something?"

Harry shrugged. "I didn't know I was. It was just a little throat scratch when I left here, and then—"

He stopped to cough, and you could see him wince as if it hurt his chest. Taking the jacket and duffle bag off his shoulder, you set it down and took his hand, squeezing it as the coughing fit ended. You pulled him down the hall toward your bedroom, ignoring his questions and protests until they stopped when you finally reached the threshold.

"What's all this?" Harry asked, hooded eyes sleepily scanning everything you'd set up.

"Change. Lie down. I'll bring dinner in a few minutes."

"For me?" he said, a little smirk stretching across his face. "You never cook."

"Don't get too excited, it's canned soup," you said, feeling flustered beneath his stare all of a sudden.

You did things for Harry, of course you did. Was it a bad thing that he seemed surprised that you wanted to take care of him? A few years ago, sure, but things were different now. It was only occasionally now that you found him irritating. He was only teasing you, and honestly, you would've done the same if the roles were reversed.

Leaving Harry to change, you got started on heating up his soup. He probably should've had something more substantial than soup from a can, but you hadn't completely ruled out him having the flu yet and wanted to air on the side of caution.

Once everything was set—hot soup, a cup of tea, and some medicine all arranged on a tray—you brought it to the bedroom and set it on Harry's lap. He smiled tiredly at you, mumbling his thanks before digging in. You watched him eat, unsure of what else you should do in the meantime. Harry had asked when he came home to press pause on the argument you'd had before his game, but now you didn't know what to say, argument or otherwise. You wondered if the silence between you and him was only awkward in your mind and not his, or if he was merely hiding his frustration from earlier with you while you doted on him. You didn't want to pick up where the two of you had left off before his game, but it didn't seem right to leave things unfinished, unresolved. Harry certainly didn't seem to notice or betray his own emotions as he sipped on his tea and sniffled between bites of his dinner.

"I'll get you some more blankets."

Before he could respond, you were off the bed, shuffling down the hallway toward the closet where the extra linens were kept.

You felt like you had to keep busy. You told Harry the argument was forgotten, but you couldn't help but feel as though there were words left unspoken between the two of you. And perhaps part of you felt guilty too. The argument started out as a heated discussion, but you let your temper get the best of you, so instead of getting to the bottom of things, you ended up yelling and taunting and refusing to listen. Harry hadn't been a saint in any of it either, you both had a competitive streak, and that extended to disagreements. But this was different. You were so caught up in your frustration you didn't even notice your boyfriend was sick.

Shaking your head, you grabbed the extra blankets and went back into the bedroom.

Not saying a word, you took the tray and set it on the nightstand on Harry's side of the bed. You wrapped him up with more blankets, piling them on until only his face peeked through. Harry grinned at you, his nose and cheeks rosy and eyes only slightly drooping from fatigue. You ignored him, making sure he was properly wrapped before pressing a hand to his forehead to check for fever.

"You're fussing," Harry said, his voice only slightly teasing. "You never fuss."

"Shut up," you muttered, turning around on your heel and taking the tray out of the room.

"Don't be long!" he called, and you could practically feel the grin as you walked away.

Harry was right, of course. You were fussing. Perhaps you were trying to make up for the things you said earlier, for picking a fight with him when you knew he had to leave for his game, though that had been precisely the problem.

Proud didn't even begin to cover how you felt regarding his career. Harry worked so hard, had come so far in such a short period. In what felt like a quick few years, he had become a superstar on the ice, taking the NHL by storm and absolutely dominating his competition. Harry deserved every bit of praise from reporters and journalists, every standing ovation from adoring fans, every interaction from young hockey players who looked up to him. No one deserved it more than Harry, but the bigger he became, the more famous he got, it seemed as though he had less and less time for you.

You knew that being in a relationship with him wouldn't be a walk in the park, you were familiar with the traveling and the long seasons and everything else that came with being in a semi-long distance relationship with an athlete. You and Harry had been together since college, you'd done it and survived it, but this...this was completely different.

The minor leagues were manageable. Harry had a busier schedule than he did in school, but the two of you made it work. When he made it to the NHL, you realized that busy didn't even begin to cover it. Press conferences before games, interviews after games, sponsorship deals, longer seasons, charity games, international tournaments—all of it was one big whirlwind that hit your relationship before you could blink. And you would've been able to withstand all of it if you could see him just a little bit more.

That had been the crux of your argument. You hadn't planned on fighting with Harry about it while he was on his way out to get to the arena, but he'd mentioned being home late to do a couple extra interviews, and you just couldn't hold it in anymore.

Returning to your bedroom, you started getting ready for bed. A freshly washed face, brushed teeth, and one of Harry's old university sweatshirts later, and you were sliding into your side, back facing Harry. You could feel him, feel the heat of all those blankets you'd wrapped around him. But you could feel the heavy weight of his stare too, as if he was wordlessly trying to get you to turn around.

"I'm sensing this is some form of punishment," he said. His voice didn't sound as scratchy as it had been when he came home, which you took as a good sign.

"What is?" you asked.

"You wrapping me like a burrito. I can't hold you like this."

You smiled, the image of him frowning down at the plethora of blankets you swaddled him in appearing in your mind.

"You were shivering."

"Was I? I can't recall," Harry said. "I feel like I'm in a furnace now, though."

"That's good. Your fever probably broke."

"You know, as much as I love talking to the back of your lovely head, I'd appreciate it a lot more if I could talk to your even lovelier face."

Taking your time, you rolled over, making sure he saw the amusement on your face. The grin on his own merely brightened, and you hoped he didn't notice you blush.

"Flattery won't get you out of those blankets, Styles," you finally said.

"No, but maybe it'll get you in them with me, soon-to-be-Styles."

Your hand went reflexively to your left hand to fiddle with your engagement ring. You hadn't had it long, but fiddling with it quickly became a habit you intended to keep. The proposal had been a surprise, but it felt right at the same time, as if without really needing to say it, you and Harry were both ready to take that next step. And you couldn't lie, Harry had done an immaculate job with the ring even though you'd never really mentioned what you might be interested in. It was emerald cut, a classic in your opinion, but a light green sapphire instead of a diamond in the middle. "I don't know, you mentioned something about blood diamonds a few months ago and thought you might appreciate something different," Harry had said by way of explanation.

You used to find it annoying—frustrating, even—how much Harry seemed to know you, but the night he proposed—at home after spending a whole afternoon together that he'd planned from start to finish—you thought he was nothing short of perfect.

"Are we okay?" you asked out of the blue, though not really. Thinking about the proposal, the wedding, made you realize that maybe you shouldn't go to bed with an unresolved argument with your fiance.

Harry sighed. "I hope so. I'm sorry. I should've realized how lonely you've been lately. I know this...lifestyle...isn't always the easiest to live with."

You shook your head. "I shouldn't have unloaded on you right before you left. I know how important it is to have a clear head before a game."

"You're important to me, Y/n," he said. Harry struggled for a moment as he tried to free an arm from his blanket cocoon, muttering to himself about your hidden talent for blanket wrapping. You let out a watery laugh as you watched him struggle, then helped him peel the blankets back until he was entirely free. Sitting up, Harry pulled you to him, his hand cupping your cheek. "Now, where were we?"

"Allegedly, I'm important to you," you said, the corner of your mouth tipping up.

"Glad you're in higher spirits," Harry murmured, his thumb grazing your cheekbone. His eyes flitted over your face as if he could read everything you weren't saying, and you were sure he did. He had a knack for that kind of thing. "I should know how much time I've been taking away from you. From us. I'm sorry."

"I know you don't have much control over your game schedule, but I just feel like never see you anymore. I just want—I just want more time with you, that's all. I'm sorry it came out the way it did."

Harry shook his head, used to your tendency to hold your feelings in until they barreled out of you. It was something you were working on, you were only thankful Harry stuck around long enough until you figured it out.

"I know you are. I'm glad you told me, though. Or yelled it at me."

Face flushing, you said, "Sorry. I'm...working on it."

"I know," Harry said, chuckling as he kissed your cheek. "But I don't mind. I love fighting with you."

"I'm so glad," you mumbled.

Laying Harry back down across the bed, you wrapped your arms around him. You kissed his cheek and his neck, his skin warm but not feverish. The skin of his cheek was soft against your lips, making you nuzzle your nose deeper into him. Your legs tangled with his as Harry nestled deeper into your arms. Easing up just a little, you leaned back enough to run a hand through his hair, making sure your nails scratched against his scalp the way he liked it.

"Mm. This is almost better than makeup sex," he murmured.

Leaning forward, you nipped at the shell of Harry's ear. "I'll keep that in mind."

"Hey. I said almost."

You chuckled quietly in his ear before placing another little kiss to his temple. Nudging him with his nose one more time, you said, "Maybe after the playoff season is over, we can go somewhere. Somewhere warm. Maybe even tropical. You can take some time off once the season is officially over, right?"

"I do love seeing you in a bikini—Ow! What? You want me to lie?" Harry said, crying out when you pinched his side.

"You're such a guy sometimes, I swear," you grumbled.

Harry's face split into a grin, and you could feel it as you kept nuzzling his cheek. "So I find my fiance attractive. Since when is that a crime?"

"Someone's feeling better all of a sudden." You began to untangle yourself from Harry, but he held you in place. When you tried to wriggle away from him, he held you in place, wrapping around you like moss on a limb until he had you pinned to the mattress.

"Don't act like you don't like it," he said. "Or that you don't think the same things about me."

"Aren't you sick? Go to sleep!" you said, trying not to smile as he began to kiss you all over just like you'd been doing to him.

"Admit it or you're not getting a vacation," he taunted, his kisses along your neck becoming longer, more languid.

Oh, I'll be getting my vacation, you thought. Whether you played into Harry's hands tonight or not, you knew you had him wrapped around your finger.

When Harry raised his head and his gaze finally met yours, you raised a single brow. "Oh, don't give me that look, princess. I don't scare that easily, you know that," he said, though when your brow arched just a little bit higher, he sighed and pressed one last kiss to your forehead. "Fine then. I guess I'll just have to live with the fact that I find you more attractive than you do me."

"Oh brother," you groaned as you leaned across Harry to turn the lamp on his nightstand off.

Harry's only response was a very pointed sniff into the dark, which made you roll your eyes.

It was quiet as the both of you settled down. It was clear Harry expended the little energy he had, as the sniffles and coughs came back a few minutes after you turned the lights off. Shuffling back over to him, you snuck a hand under his shirt and began running it gently up and down his back. Once again carding your other hand through his hair, you felt him relax a little.

You exhaled deeply, settling in close to Harry and cuddling into the warmth of his body. "Get some rest, H," you murmured, your hand still moving steadily along his back.

You stayed awake until Harry's breaths evened and slowed as he began to snore softly. Your own eyes began to droop, comforted by your fiance's closeness and the resolution you'd been seeking since he'd stormed out of the house earlier today.

It could be worse, you supposed. Of all the people in the world to argue with, you were happy Harry was the one. If this was the outcome every time—minus Harry's illness, of course—you couldn't help but look forward to the rest of your life with him.

[rassvetsky]

would literally lose my fucking mind if you wrote carmy like touch starved, idk maybe everyone is staying after to celebrate something and he’s dragging you into his office to eat you out with absolutely zero shame because he needs it so bad

your wish is my lifelong quest i love you, hope i did it at least some justice loml

Carry You Away With Me

carmen "carmy" berzatto x fem!reader

He looked sheepish for a moment, lips curling into a grin for another split second before returning to his natural expression, eyes finding yours and locking you into his gaze. "Do you think anyone would notice if I took you elsewhere right now?"

[4k] | chef ill be honest with you this is just porn, needy!carmy (he's fucking adorable), office sex if that's even a term, established relationship, cunningulus, unprotected sex, cum-play. my apologies to the church

reblog and/or like for a kiss, feedback much appreciated! not proofread.

It was around 11 when you returned to the restaurant with a bottle of champagne cradled in your arms, watching as Gary and Tina pushed a few tables together to make a bigger one for the rest. Eating together wasn't a rare occurrence, but it often only happened an hour before service in the morning— dinners were mostly had at home or skipped altogether, depending on the importance one put into their health. But tonight called for an after-hours get-together, one that Sydney and Marcus pushed for when Ebraheim showed up in the morning with the latest issue of Gastronomica, featuring a very familiar name this time around— Carmen Berzatto.

"You know— I bet you can like, make it to a Vogue issue sometime later on, too."

"That's not exactly food-related."

"I'm just saying, dream high and—"

The few clinks of a spoon against the glass cut Fak right off and Carmen made a mental note to thank god for that later on, his gaze lifting from the long, full table that everyone was surrounding to the source of the sound; the now-empty champagne glass that Richie held.

"Can we all take a moment to stop stuffing our faces with this whatever-the-fuck it is to congratulate my cousin right here?" he spoke up, bringing a smile to your lips as you reached for Carmen's hand from under the table and muttered out "chou à la crème", another dish that Marcus had been experimenting with lately. A short chuckle left Carmen's lips when he vaguely heard what you said, and he gave your hand a firm, appreciative squeeze before rubbing his thumb along the back of your palm. "Gastronomica isn't just any magazine. I think it's supposed to be one of the good ones, like—"

"—the Vogue of food!"

"Maybe! Who knows, anyway— really, I'm proud of this mess of a man and you all should be, too." and maybe this was the most affection that Richie could whip out in public, but it was more than enough— because despite his hate for having the spotlight directly on him, Carmen was currently busy offering a smile to Richie, which the other reciprocated shortly before sitting back down, his quiet little hum of affection drowned out by the mutterings of 'cheers' along with the clink of everyone's glasses.

Proud was an understatement for this little dysfunctional found-family.

But you knew Carmen, you knew that he'd much rather skip on the compliments and pats to the shoulder; and you were way too sure that he'd need a moment to himself sooner or later. That moment came almost fifteen minutes after, when everyone split themselves into a few groups of completely different conversations, scooped up chocolate sauce and cream and small pieces of the delicate pastry got left behind on the empty plates— you felt Carmy's fingers wrapping around your upper thigh, concealed by the dimmed out lights and the table.

"S'up?" you returned your attention to him upon feeling his fingers tapping along to some nonexistent rhythm on your clothed skin, not too invested in the story Richie was busy telling everybody with the loudest voice he could muster to begin with.

He looked sheepish for a moment, lips curling into a grin for another split second before returning to his natural expression, eyes finding yours and locking you into his gaze. "Do you think anyone would notice if I took you elsewhere right now?"

"Elsewhere?"

"Not too far, jus' my office. For a couple of minutes at most." he leaned in closer to your ear just so you could hear him over the 2012's pop playlist Manny whipped out earlier, a completely mesmerizing turn of events when he started singing along to a random Katy Perry song— but that leaning closer action proved Carmen to be just another self-saboteur because he was feeling specifically out of place all day and to feel your perfume so close was a pull with a force out of this world. He couldn't pull back away then, couldn't return to his own chair and you had no choice but to push him away manually. "I promise."

"Any ulterior motives I should be aware of?" you grinned, letting your fingers curl right over his own on your thigh— and making a mental note to ease him into the habit of using hand moisturizers regularly sometime, upon the roughed up feel of his skin.

"You wound me, baby." his expression seemed to linger over offense, but his eyes told a completely different story; and before you knew it, he was pushing his chair back to get up, patting Gary's shoulder on his way to the back of house, a momentary turn of his head just so he could silently tell you to follow with his eyes.

And that, you did, despite the raised eyebrows of Richie's that you met along the way.

The kitchen smelled like a different kind of citrus, one that only belonged in dishwashing detergents as you maneuvered through the stations, cleaned up from the day's worth of filth. From your peripheral vision, you noticed Carmen reaching behind to undo the strings of his navy apron, leaving out the top string that he'd have to pull over his head until you could catch up and he could get to the office. His shirt was, again, as pristine as ever and it was a work of magic how he managed to come back home with a perfectly clean white t-shirt each day, if not for a few little drops here and there.

Finally, he pushed open the door of his office for you and you stepped in, finding your way to his desk in the darkness to flip the switch of the small light that illuminated the paperwork mostly. When your eyes found him again, the apron was long gone— tucked away in a corner, folded, although not so neatly. "Happy now?"

Instead of a reply, he just plopped down on the old, squeaky chair by the desk, thighs spread and arms wide open to make space for you. You took the offer right away, seating yourself on one of his thighs but still balancing yourself on your feet too, in order to not just dump your whole body weight on him and potentially numb out his leg. He couldn't care less, as he wrapped himself around you tightly and pulled you closer. "I don't really give a shit about Gastronomica."

"I figured," you mumbled against the material of his shirt, lungs filling in with a scent that only he could carry— a surprisingly pleasant mix of cigarettes, sweat, and gravy. It belonged to him, at least. "When's the last time you gave a shit about anyone's opinion outside of here, anyway?"

A soft hum left his lips, one that feigned agreement— but he wasn't paying much attention to what you've been saying to begin with, mind all muddied with specific moments in time that included you. Come to think of it, he'd been like this all day, even when Richie jokingly smacked him across the face with the magazine or when Tina elbowed him while he was trying to explain why she had to strain the mixture twice to get a flowing consistency— on the back of his mind, there was always you; always the lack of time he got to spend with you when the rush hour got too much to bear and he couldn't bring himself to lift an arm when he came back home to you.

When was the last time he properly touched you, took his time to memorize all the little ridges and beauty spots across your body, he couldn't remember.

So as you spoke, listing out all the reasons why he should be proud of himself for all the accomplishments, Carmen's arm curled around your waist and his fingers found your thighs again, the warmth of his palm seeping through the material of your leggings and from the way they teased upwards, you knew where this was going. "... that you managed to turn— are you not listening?"

His smile was so smug that you wanted to either kiss, or slap him. "Not really. But go on."

"Carmy, if you actually think that I'll do anything non-churchy with you here while everyone's literally twenty feet away, you're so wrong." you breathed out, because that's all you could do when his lips ghosted over the side of yours, before trailing down to where your jawline met your neck. He only hummed as a reply, clearly not giving a shit about your opinion either at that moment— but to say that you weren't enjoying the attention would be a blatant lie.

His fingertips traced the seams outlining your underwear through the extra layer of fabric while his lips latched to your neck, finally, with his warm breath hitting against the sensitive skin and the usual wet nature of his kisses leaving behind a glistening spot of adoration. You leaned into it, rather shamelessly— legs parting and fingers carding through the locks on the nape of his neck, and that only encouraged him further, causing him to whisper out a curse and a few sloppy words of praise. "Just let me, hm? Please?"

The sense of desperation in his tone was enough to push back any words of disagreement that you could blurt out at that moment. You knew you had to power through, it would be so embarrassing and disrespectful to let him have his way with you right here, while everyone else was still at the FOH— but the way his palm covered your clothed core and his fingertips teased the slight outline of your slit, all while his pretty lips were oh so busy whispering absolute filth in your ear was slowly taking away all the care you had in the world. "Carm— not a good idea."

"You weren't saying that last week, right here," two weeks ago, to be exact, but you couldn't blame him for not being able to tell time apart. "Had to cover your mouth and all, s'loud for me—"

"You're getting carried away." you chuckled, the deepest of breaths still not enough for the capacity of your lungs as you tugged on his locks slightly, prying him off of your skin just so you could get a look at him.

"Let me carry you away with me. Please, fuck— I can't think of anything else when you're on my mind." he pulled away a little from your neck, eyes of pristine skies staring right at your soul with the expression of a kicked puppy— he knew exactly how to get his way when he was miserable like that. His fingers were still against your heat, expecting permission. "Ten minutes only, just let me touch you."

You could recognize that tone, that incurability way too well— it was often reserved for nights shared between hushed whispers of promises, where he was too needy to form a single thought and all he could do was to cover your body with his and curl onto you, to feel your warmth against himself and to be one body and one soul for an hour. Uncommon in nature, even rarer to take place in a room that he reserved for professional affairs only— but the heart wants what it wants.

To his surprise, you suddenly pushed your lips against his— letting his fever take over you as well, with your hands clutching onto his shoulders and hair. You could hear the slight groan escaping his lips when his fingers breached under the tight waistband of your leggings, pushing the material down slightly with the bend of his wrist before turning his hand a little to tug it all downwards, urging you up on your feet. You got up from where you were seated, now standing between his legs with your back bent just so your lips would be on his, but he broke the kiss with a smile that took over when he finally pulled down both articles of clothing at the same time. Your back straightened when he managed to push them both down to your ankles, your hands on his shoulders to help with your balance as you stepped out of them, feeling his moist lips over your abdomen for a second before he pushed you backwards slightly, towards the desk.

He took that momentary advantage to get up on his feet and pin you right in between his own body and the desk, hands blindly pushing the loose folders to the side. You felt too exposed when his palms gripped the underside of your thighs just to prop you up on the desk, lips finding and panting against yours, a clear indication of his need seeping through the way he tugged and nibbled before his tongue found its way to caress yours.

There was nothing nice about it, but you couldn't bring yourself to care— not when he whispered your name against the plush of your lips so sweetly when your fist closed around his hair, not when he didn't even know what to do with his hands; grabbing, fondling at every inch of your skin that he could reach shakily. He pulled you flush against his body, letting you get a feel of the harsh dark denim against your bare center and you had to bite into his lower lip to stay quiet, ultimately earning a groan from him when his hands slipped under your shirt.

"Bear," you whispered out, his lips chasing yours when you pulled away to speak— which made you chuckle quietly, as he looked at you again. "Ten minutes."

"Ten minutes," he parroted, the usually wide eyes of his now hooded, pupils blown out as if he was looking right at the sun. When you reached in to kiss him again, you couldn't catch him fast enough— he was already holding onto your thighs to crouch down, looking up at you with a Cheshire grin when you spread your legs a little further apart, a force of habit.

Leaning back on your palms against the desk as much as the cramped space could allow, you took a deep breath— but it wasn't enough to prepare you for what came next when his tongue trailed a bold line across your slit, spreading your folds apart gently. It was a pleasant routine, one that you never quite got used to; because when he was down on his knees with his tongue tracing abstract shapes across your clit in a teasing manner, it was all about you and to think that a guy who often rushed things and went through life at a 2x pace would slow down just to put all of his attention on your pleasure only was more delightful than any compliment one could attain.

Carmen's fingertips were perhaps digging into the skin of your thighs a bit too hard, but could you possibly complain? The tip of his tongue dipped between your folds to spread your essence upwards, a mix of his saliva and your wetness covering your clit when he closed his lips around it and sucked— letting out a blissed groan, one that he'd scold you for if you were the culprit. You could only imagine how hard he must've been at that moment, he was always a sucker for situations like this, with the thrill of doing something so forbidden, right where he could be caught and your taste on his tongue, thighs on either side of his shoulders.

Imagining it didn't help your situation at all, it was hard to focus on one coherent thought when he kept flicking his tongue over your sensitive bundle of nerves but you forced through— with the thought of the blunt tip of his length all flushed and leaking in your palm, curses leaving his soft lips whenever your fingers got a bit too tight around the girth. He liked it when you put your focus there, tip of your tongue tracing the slit and leaving kisses over it while the rest of your palm jerked him off— firm and slow.

And you'd always let your lips stray when he got close, deciding to suddenly bite into the skin of his inner thighs or to lightly trace his perineum with your tongue, just to have him reduced to a writhing, whining mess with not enough air to survive in his lungs. He'd spill onto your fingers and you'd clean him up right away, moving your way upwards with wet little kisses until you reached his lips. And he was one dirty fucker because tasting himself on you when you kissed him all sloppily was probably one of his favorite things in the world.

Drowned out in all the thoughts, you didn't notice how close you were until your thighs were shaking around his shoulders, and he finally added his fingers into the mix then— his middle and ring fingers easily breaching through, grazing all of your sensitive spots from the inside. You had to press your palm against your mouth to not let a sound then, when your climax finally hit you, and you'd probably slide right off the table with how quaky your whole body was at that moment if it wasn't for Carmen's strong grip on your body, holding you right where you belong.

The position was a bit merciless on his legs so far but he made it up to his feet again, giving you a light peck on your lips before his fingers found his mouth, his tongue circling the digits to clean them up as he stared right at you, into your soul. He pulled them out with a slight pop, and licked his lips clean. "How long did we take?"

"I don't know," you panted out. "I was busy imagining the way you come."

His light laughter brought a tender, yet bittersweet ache to your heart. "Fuck, you get off to that?" and you could tell him all about just how beautiful he was, and how much it turned you on to see him blissed out in pleasure— but you didn't know if your lung capacity allowed for it at that moment, as being quiet came with the benefit of holding your breath for longer than you should. "Tell me more."

You giggled against his lips when he braced himself on the desk with his two hands holding onto the edge on both sides of your thighs. Both of your hands moved down to the front of his pants, too fucked out to care about timing as you palmed him through the material just to see that grin on his lips falter. "I'm gonna make you jack off and watch sometime." you mumbled, slowly pulling the zipper down after setting him free from the belt and the button. He hummed, forehead to forehead, before reaching for another little peck.

"As much as I don't see why I should jack off while you're in front of me," he spoke, a sharp intake of breath cutting his line of thought halfway through when your fingers finally wrapped around his cock. "but— shit, if you're into that… Only if you do it w'me, though. I wanna watch too."

"You don't get to watch." you sighed, bringing him closer with your legs to line his length up with your entrance. "You're just gonna sit there and come on your hand like a loser."

Carmen couldn't help the short snort that left him. "Are you even capable of being mean to me?"

"Mm-hm, I'm very mean when I wanna be." and right after that, his tip slid right into your cavern, pulling a deep exhale from both of you when he pushed a bit deeper. His lips found yours, mostly to keep the noises at bay while his hips rolled into yours, grinding against you before retreating a little, only to push in harder this time around.

You felt so full and blessed that you didn't even have to imagine anything to get lost in the feeling.

His pants slid further downwards with each thrust until they pooled around his ankles and your thighs wrapped tighter around his body, trapping him in. His arms were so delicately wrapped around your waist that you had to hold onto him with your whole remaining power to not slide further towards the wall, but he couldn't exactly notice that when he was feeling so damn lucky, whole length wrapped in a warmth beyond his comprehension.

And again, you couldn't blame him, because neither of you managed to notice when the skin slapping against skin got a bit too loud, and your lips pulled away from his just to breathe out the filthiest little nothings, like how much you needed him to fill you right up to the brim. "Fuck, give it to me." your hips met his thrusts half-way through when you pushed yourself against him. "Carmy, come inside me, please."

"Yeah? Are you gonna take it all?" his voice sounded broken, and his fingers would surely leave imprints on your hips with how tight his grip was. "Won't let you waste a drop, baby. I won't."

Somehow, through how feral he was with the way you were begging him, the responsible side came forward and captured your lips in his again— because while his team was full of respectful people, they were also little shits who would never live it down if they heard those beautiful sounds that escaped your lips with each hit of his blunt head against your sweet spot. The thought somehow egged him on further— he couldn't exactly decide if he was too possessive to let anyone hear or if he was possessive enough to make sure everyone knew he belonged to you, but at that moment, both of those thoughts turned him on too much, enough for him to feel his high approaching. And judging by the way your walls cramped down on him tighter with each passing second, you weren't too far behind.

You could feel yourself gushing around him, coating both of you in your essence beyond simple cleaning, but that was a matter to worry about later, not when the love of your life was balls-deep inside of you, his rough grunts right against your ear when he reached to press his lips right below it. "Close?" he mumbled, and even though your mind was too busy to hear and comprehend him properly, you nodded— feeling his arms wrapping around you tighter, pulling you closer to the warmth his body provided. And while as much as you'd like to keep this going for longer, witnessing his pace falter and voice break as he moaned out your name, filling you up in the most delicious way slowly was enough to have your eyes roll to the back of your head in pleasure, and to have the knot finally snap.

Your whole body was buzzing, shaky even when he held you so tight against his chest as if you'd vanish right there and then— something that he always did after sex, no matter the circumstance. You giggled wearily against his shoulder, leaving a few kisses here and there before he pulled away slightly to pull you into a kiss— nothing like the ones you shared in the past minutes, this one was all sweet and loving. "Might drip if I pull out."

"You can't stay there forever, Carm."

"Oh, but I want to." he huffed out but still moved to slowly pull out of you anyway, having you both hiss in sensitivity and just like he thought, his come was ready to spill all over the place. Quick-thinker in nature, he caught his seed with his fingers right before they could go further, pushing them back into you just to hear you gasp— and slap his shoulder playfully.

"You're a fucking freak."

"Shut up— round two at my place? Kinda wanna see where that watching me jerk off fantasy of yours might lead us."

a/n: once again i could be easily manipulated into breaking into your house with a part two, who knows

also @carmensberzattos consider this a marriage proposal

[grllmx]

"Ragatha in Wonderland"

🌻 Them side by side for height difference 🌻

Heya!! Y'all wouldn't mind some info dump, would ya?

But before I share my thoughts and ideas for this au, note that I am making this all for fun and that I am only merging two concepts at once because they sound fun in my head!

-- So without further ado, let's start shall we?

Ragatha in Wonderland is a fun silly lil' au I thought about in my spare time (Though I am aware that I'm not the only person who had similar ideas) buuut! Here's my take on how this concept goes ~

💜🟣🎀- - - - - RAGATHA IN WONDERLAND - - - - -🎀🟣💜

🌻 Wonderland is similar yet different from the Circus. Many possibilities await in this newly found land, but wait... How odd, suddenly everyone and everything is of new variation! Did things really stay the same? Are things different? It's a confusing world that warped and transformed the original digital land into something new. New places to explore, new outfits! New concepts... New people? It seems everything changed. Perhaps even... True death is possible now.

Ragatha - Plays the role as Alice. Confused and bewildered at first but Ragatha progressively adapts to the world and the surroundings around her. Acts like herself for the first portions of the story but as she dwells longer in this 'wonderland' she loses herself, her identity, as if the place was sucking out all of 'her'. She'll meet a lot of familiar faces. She feels comforted, knowing that she isn't alone in this newly found world but little does she know - they are not what she seemed.

Jax - The white rabbit leading Ragatha to wonderland. Jax was the one who dragged her in this, so Ragatha's first instincts was to follow him, hoping he knows where the exit is. Though he often plays tricks, teasing and playing with Ragatha's head whenever given the chance. Maybe he doesn't sound like a reliable shoulder to lean on, but he is Ragatha's key in terms of escaping wonderland.

Gangle - Starring as the mouse and the dormouse. The first person (other than Jax) Ragatha meets in wonderland. Gangle is skittish and has an extreme fear of cats. She does not like hearing or mentioning them, her mouse-like features says so otherwise. Though, in later unfortunate events, Ragatha scares her by mentioning, you guess it, cats. And then flees elsewhere.

Zooble - Following the (possibly tobacco) smoke trails, enters in the wise caterpillar. Meeting for the first time was not fun, in Ragatha's case mostly. Zooble asks Ragatha a lot of questions, typically centering around herself which gradually starts her descend into madness. Zooble's questions hit hard for Ragatha, making her realize a lot of things and learn more about the world. Though one question stuck the most, "who are YOU?"

Caine - The Hatter/Mad hatter. Need I say more? Hehe, anyways... Caine, alongside Bubble, is notably the most mad or insane person living in wonderland. Always yapping about random things (Riddles, jokes, factual statement... you name it) that can either be truth or made up, which Ragatha can't tell the difference of since they are always so surreal and deranged, or in other words, utter nonsense! He is another character that made Ragatha's mental state and mindset deteriorate. (Ragatha wishes to never meet him again)

Pomni - It's Pomni! Though, something is off... Pomni's role is the Cheshire cat. She's willing to help Ragatha escape, even suggesting ideas that felt to be possible, but are things really that easy? No, of course not! She is a red herring, a person filled with mischief that fools and plays with her victims until she deems them boring. Ragatha meets Pomni in the woods right after she ran away from Caine, and just like Jax, Pomni plays with Ragatha's head. But eventually helps her out and leads her to the kingdom's garden.

Kinger - Sometimes, a king is fit to be queen. Kinger is the Queen of Hearts, a short tempered, bossy but childish queen. After first meeting, Ragatha didn't deem Kinger as a threat at first, even playing a simple game of croquet with him. But as she starves and remembers that hunger was present in this land, she secretly ate the queen's well-known 'tarts'. This resulted into the seething rage of Kinger, declaring a court trial in which Ragatha was later proven to be 'guilty'. Hence, "OFF WITH HER HEAD!"

🌻 So, spoiler alert -- Just like in original tales and stories inspired by Alice in Wonderland, this was all in Ragatha's head, a dream! I'm debating to either turn this into a comic or not, because I think it helps further explain my ideas, but who knows? Maybe with the right motivation and energy, I might do it.

Thank you for reading! Have a nice day/night 🌻

[verinarin]

First time requesting 😭 but anw sleepy cuddles with veritas? not yet officially an item but reader is always very very very clingy to him whenever they’re sleepy and he just finds it ridiculously endearing and realizes he has a thing for them a lot against all odds

this!!, since we all know Veritas has an interesting way to show how he cares about others (lovingly criticise them), he definitely is the type to show that he cares rather than just blatantly say it

fluff | Veritas’ sleepy TA that keeps sleeping on the job; he doesn’t mind the occasional rest though-

You have always been the type of person who likes to do practically everything on the floor or lying down, even though Veritas has given you your desk in his vast office you can’t help but end up scattering the countless mathematical questions and formulas on the floor

You’re his current and only TA, he entrusted you to help him grade his students and sometimes cover for him if he’s needed elsewhere so it is no secret to anyone that your daily activities mostly consist of working in his office, today was no different

Even though Veritas is currently needed to delegate for the IPC, his job as a scholar can’t be postponed, so here are you late at night preparing the materials for tomorrow in case he asks you to cover for him again, his students don’t mind his absence anyways, they even rejoice every time you’re covering for him

Feeling restless on the floor you decide to close your eyes, perhaps taking a simple power nap before resuming your work would energise you, so you simply lay on the floor with papers scattered around you, using your arms as a makeshift pillow, forgetting the fact that you hadn’t set your 30 minutes alarm-

Hours pass by as you sleep blissfully unaware that you have just arrived back at his office, his face paints a picture of a distraught expression. His faithful assistant sleeping soundlessly on the floor, he took mental notes to put carpet on the floor tomorrow so you could comfortably work in the position you like the most

He simply sighed as he sat down beside you, carefully lifting your head and placing it on his thigh, his eyes scanned the papers around you, seemingly impressed by your preparation. He took multiple papers and carefully reviewed them, while doing so he can’t help but play with your hair, it seems that you have overworked yourself since you aren’t aware of your current position

After approximately 45 minutes you slowly regain your consciousness, the first thing you feel his fingers running through your hair, you flutter your eyes open to reveal Veritas idly reading the materials you prepared, “Oh someone decides to wake up,” he scoffs

You quickly straighten your body feeling rather embarrassed at the position you are in, “How long did I fall asleep on your lap ?” you ask, your hand holding the back of your neck as you meekly smile

“Approximately 45 minutes, I’m the one who situated your head on my lap. Hope you’re not uncomfortable by my gesture,” he replies, putting your papers back on the floor as his eyes turn towards you

“Of course not it’s just embarrassing,” you laugh, suddenly you feel his hand grasping your wrist, pulling you in. Your head lands straight to his chest, while his other hand swiftly lift you to his lap via your waist, “You can continue to rest, while I review your work,” he candidly replies

Your face turns into an indescribable hue of red, he finds this to be endearing. You may not realise it but you have this tendency to accidentally fall asleep against him while waiting for his assessment of your work, you like to mumble things like how warm he is or how comfortable he is.

He deems this as you being half asleep and lacking the comprehension to know what’s real and what’s not, so he never bothered to tell you this. He likes to act dumb when you wake up in a daze, not knowing you were cuddling his arm earlier, “Is something the matter ? speak if there is something on your mind,”

You can’t help but stumble upon your words not knowing what to say, “You overstimulated that brain of yours, best for you to rest and to stop wasting my time by uttering inaudible words,” he scoffs as he pats your head, his eyes still trained on your work

[hongtiddiez]

my stand in final thoughts, feelings, etc.

what an absolute ride of a show. what a series of ups and downs and downs and downs and up.

i think what i find so charming about this show is that it really exemplifies what it means to be human. each character was flawed in their own way and each made mistakes that at the end of the day were just human mistakes. no one felt like a mustache twirling villain but rather a flawed human being that got caught up in something bigger than themselves, or caught up in their own ego, hubris, etc.

in a show that was clearly framed to be about second chances i really did not expect the wide array of examples of different second chances in life - the obvious being joe and ming, but then there was joe and new!joe's mother, ming and his mother, tong and may, joe and sol, etc. almost everyone experienced a second chance of some kind with one another. almost all second chances worked out towards a positive outcome but i respect that some were neutral outcomes at best; a total reset. a second chance doesn't always mean total forgiveness and absolution but rather a new slate to try again and i really appreciate that MSI made it a point to showcase that.

i am also once again grateful that the show did not fall into the evil mother trope. i was gritting my teeth waiting to see what became of ming's mom and in the end both she and joe's mom were parents doing their best, wanting the best for their children, and stumbling along the way - another perfect example of humanity.

i couldn't even come to fully hate tong by the end. the industry inflated his ego, he felt indestructible, he was able to get anything he wanted with his connections, and he allowed that confidence to turn to hubris and got involved in something far bigger than himself. a scared, cornered beast will almost always lash out and at the end of the day tong was lashing out for any chance of survival. he needed a wake up call of catastrophic proportions to get his head on straight but throughout the show they did show us reminders of how much he loved may, little glimmers of who he was behind all of that, and by the end when he was able to find peace those traits shone through again.

and with ming i appreciated that he still felt like the same person. he was still an asshole, still rough around the edges, still who he was at the beginning of the show but his efforts were channeled elsewhere, his priorities changed, and he learned what he truly values out of life. joe didn't magically change ming, but he did alter his perspective and give him so much to consider.

i still cannot fathom the pain joe has to go through every day looking in the mirror and knowing he will never see his face looking back at him. the show teased little peeks of the affect this would have on his mental health and i wish it had maybe delved into that more but mental health is always a slippery slope.

for the grit and darkness of the show the ending felt a little too fairy tale for me but i was also kind of hoping joe didn't come back. i know, horrible of me, but if i was him? i don't think i would've come back. he had to be so, so tired and he'd been through so much, that part of me wanted to see that happen as a final nail in the coffin, a message that sometimes death comes for us no matter how hard we try to run from it, and sometimes death is a kindness at the end of a long and painful journey.

idk i'm also a slut for angst so ignore me.

i wasn't mad at the ending by any means, i enjoyed the little nods to potential side couples, i loved seeing things come full circle, loved joe's realization that while HE always saw himself as a stand in or someone overlooked everyone else remembers his past self fondly and he made an impression on them. in the end, so much of joe's self worth issues were his own insecurities exacerbated by ming's emotional abuse.

that being said, don't forget to tell people in your life how much they mean to you. it can mean a lot more to them than you can imagine.

definitely think MSI is my fav bl of 2024 so far, it was something unique and a little darker, more mature, all things i've been craving for a while.

[bengiyo]

Don't Care for an Old Man's Underwear Ep 10 Stray Thoughts

This watch made possible thanks to @isaksbestpillow.

Last time, Hasegawa had the baseball team talk to Kakeru about why he felt uncomfortable with them. Over a series of conversations, the guys came to a better understanding about how their behavior made others uncomfortable, and realized that sometimes those behaviors make them uncomfortable too. On top of that, we got to see the baseball team mingle with Kakeru's girl friends. Elsewhere, Moe asked Makoto to go with Mika to the concert. Mika shared with Makoto that when she was in a dark place, RANDOM gave her something fun as a mental break and helped her make it through. Makoto listened closely and came to the fantastic analysis that RANDOM is the Okita family's benefactor. He had a great time at the concert with Mika, let her hang out with her fellow fans after the concert, did some research on his new bias, and then finally shared his research with Mika. They had a fantastic night, and met their kids on the way home. They invited Daichi and Madoka to hang out with them, and then Madoka proposed to Daichi in front of the Okita family. They later went to tell Daichi's mom and it was beautiful. I cried. We left at the family waiting to hear from Madoka, who went home to tell his family.

Oh no. Mihoko is definitely talking to Daichi's dad.

The costuming here feels intentional. Daichi and Makoto have come so far together that it feels like they're on the same page with their clothes looking so similar in color scheme.

Also, Makoto has become such a better listener. He can respond in compassionate ways to Daichi now that is supported by the earnestness he's always had.

I just love how thoughtful Makoto has become.

Kakeru looks so much more relaxed these days. He's having big youth moments.

Aw, Makoto was trying on the makeup trivia, and they dunked on my man.

Madoka succeeded!!! 🎉

Is Daichi's dad back to be homophobic? Sir, do you realize you are in the penultimate episode of the improving yourself and unlearning toxic masculinity show?

I am mad. I like Makoto slowing down to think about how best to support Daichi here.

I am with the makeup rival that they may be unintentionally encouraging Shizuka to change herself for her romantic interests.

Sir, your intellectualized homophobia is not cute.

I remain a fan of Haranishi.

Mika is such a good mom. I love the way she listens to Kakeru and gets him to the emotional core of his feelings. I also like that she doesn't disguise that some things aren't easy.

I will never forget Daichi. It's so rare that the characters can tell you how their own internalized homophobia cripples them in front of their relatives.

Yes, Kakeru! Tell him to meddle!

Well well well, Kakeru, look at you taking your own advice.

Wow, this man has gone too far. Do not talk to someone else's kid this way.

Yes, Makoto. Please go kick this man's ass.

This is such a difficult episode. There really is nothing you can say to someone to remove the infection of internalized homophobia. It's so upsetting because we learn shame at home. That's what this man put into his son. He is so rude, and I need him to have his ass handed to him pronto.

This was such a great episode reflecting on where we all fit into the society. I keep thinking about the scene about the colleague of theirs who got downsized. We contort ourselves to fit in only to be discarded when we're no longer useful, and then we lose our spouses.

I'm looking forward to the conclusion of this show, but I know I will miss it so dearly.

[its-time-to-write]

ch. 3 - hustling for the good life

table of contents comments and tags give me serotonin otherwise i look like this 🫨

it could be love

“God, why did you let me do that?” Natalie groans as she clomps into your room. “I feel like I got hit by a truck.”

You grin as you continue putting on makeup. “As if I can control anything you do.”

“You’re my boss,” she grumbles, “You’re literally supposed to be in charge of me.”

You open your mouth to disagree, but are interrupted by a knock at the door. 

Natalie jumps. “Oh shit, I forgot Keeley’s coming over.”

“Lucky for you, I didn’t. Why do you think I’m so put together right now? I’d way rather be in my pajamas.”

Nat waves her hand as she heads for the door. “Nah, she wouldn’t care. Hey Keels!”

“Hi babe!” says a grinning Keeley. “Brought you coffee.”

“You’re a lifesaver,” Natalie groans. “Fuck me, that’s amazing.”

“I’m almost ready,” you call from the bathroom, “and then we can sit on the couch.”

“Take your time!” Keeley calls back.

You make your way to where she and Natalie are seated.

“Thanks for doing this, love,” Keeley says. “I haven’t done many interviews, so when your PR firm asked me to do one with you all freelance-like, I said yes before I had time to worry about being rusty!”

You laugh and say, “No worries. It’s nice your boss lets you do other things like this.”

“Oh yeah, Rebecca’s great,” she agrees. “And she’s a really big fan. She’s been following you ever since your first album came out. Think most of the team have, actually. The boys think you’re fit. I even caught Roy listening to your new album the other day!” She laughs. “That’s my boyfriend. He’s one of the coaches at Richmond. Oh my god, you don’t know what Richmond is, do you?” she asks in response to your vague confusion.

“I know Richmond the place, I just don’t know about whatever it is you’re saying. I assume it’s football?”

Keeley nods. “Yeah, they’re not half bad actually. Mostly. Well, they still struggle sometimes, but Jamie’s a ringer. He’s got half of Europe swooning over him.”

Right. Jamie. That must be the same Jamie you met last night. You make a mental note to google Jamie Richmond football later.

“You’re going to have to come to a match before you go back to America. You’re here for a month, yeah? That’s plenty of time to get you in. And don’t be intimidated by Rebecca, she acts all scary but she’ll be over the fucking moon to meet you!”

—

Keeley was not joking about Rebecca. She is tall with perfect hair and makeup, with posture that most chiropractors would envy. She sneaks you in the back of Nelson Road Stadium almost a week later for what she says is “proper football.”

It’s certainly entertaining. Jamie at least looks like he has total control of the field at all times, scoring two goals that keep Richmond at a tie with the opposing team. He can fake out other players and communicate with the other Richmond boys in a way that’s almost like a dance. You wonder what he would look like at the party the other night, and if his rhythm translates elsewhere.

The match is over, and Rebecca asks if you’d like a tour of the building. 

“We can wait up here in the box until everyone else clears out,” she says. “Or we can sneak into my office and raid the snacks I have hidden.”

“Snacks,” you reply immediately. “Definitely snacks.”

—

The trip to Rebecca’s office is one filled with giggles as the four of you do your best to make it through the building without anyone recognizing you. Your hat is pulled low over your eyes as Rebecca drags Keeley, Keeley pulls you, and you lock hands with Natalie.

You peek in the locker room on the way to the stairs and catch a glimpse of Jamie. You can tell it’s him by the hair. He’s shaking the shoulders of a grinning Sam Obisanya. You smile and continue on your way.

Rebecca locks the door behind you and kicks off her shoes with a sigh. “Oh it’s been a good day,” she says.

Keeley’s rummaging through Rebecca’s drawers and throwing snacks to you and Natalie on the couch. 

“Every day we don’t lose is a good day,” Keeley explains. “We’ve had this killer tie streak going, and the team hates it but I think it’s better than losing all the time.”

You nod and say, “I get that. Wouldn’t fly where I’m from, but I get it.”

You pass a good half-hour talking and eating, and it feels nice to be with people who don’t give much of a shit who you are. Keeley’s exposing Rebecca for having a consensual workplace relationship while telling stories of when she and Natalie were first starting out and sharing a flat with four other girls. 

“Fucking wild,” Natalie says with a shake of her head. “What my parents were thinking when they let me move to England at that age, I don’t know.”

You all dissolve into a fit of giggles, and almost miss the knock at the door. Rebecca catches it and calls, “Who is it?”

Probably Roy, Keeley mouths.

“It’s Jamie,” says Jamie. “Wanted to see if Keeley’s with you.”

You exchange looks as you silently debate whether or not to open the door. 

“Is now a bad time?” Jamie asks, voice muffled. “I can come back later. Keeley, if you are in there, Roy’s being a prick about dinner tonight, so can you tell him to fuck off and stop being a grumpy old twat? Fucking annoying. And I wanted to ask if you have any more parties with that one girl we were talking about? Anyway, I-” 

He’s cut off by Keeley unlocking the door and swinging it open. 

“Oh hi Keeley. Ladies.” Jamie’s cheeks grow bright pink to match the tips of your ears.

Fuck, when was the last time someone made you fucking blush? If you had to guess, probably Kyle Sandoval in high school, inspiration for your debut album and, apparently, Jamie’s favorite song. 

You’re so caught up in your reverie that you miss Jamie and Keeley’s conversation, only tuning in when Jamie says goodbye to you by name. You say bye in the softest, most not-you voice ever and pretend to ignore Natalies subtle jab into your side.

You allow yourself exactly fifteen seconds to watch him as he walks away, hair still damp from the shower.

Oh shit. Oh shit, this is so not good.

Keeley shuts the door behind her and zeroes in on you.

“So, what’d you think?” she asks with far too much glee.

She knows NOTHING, you remind yourself.

You feign ignorance. “About..?”

Natalie rolls her eyes and smacks your arm. “About JAMIE, you dumb bitch! You’re totally into him.”

Rebecca perks up and asks, “Ooh, have you two met before? Because I honestly could see you two together. The footballer and the singer,” she says, spreading her hands in the air like her words are written in the sky.

Calm. Be calm. You scrunch your nose. “I mean, we sort of talked at Isaac’s. He seemed nice, I guess. But it was dark and we didn’t really talk about much, and it takes a lot more than that for me to like someone.”

“But you think he’s fit,” Keeley interjects. “I saw you check him out as he walked away.”

“And you were blushing,” Natalie adds. “You totally were. I saw your ears and they were bright red.”

You shrug. “Alright, I’ll admit he’s attractive. But come on, he’s just another pretty, famous face. He’s probably on his way to have a one-night stand with some model then fall asleep dreaming about how glad he is that he has no commitment in his life. Or, he acts like the perfect boyfriend while cheating the whole time, then breaks it up when the public starts losing interest. It happens all the time. I’m not interested in that right now, plus I’m only here for a month. Then I go back home and start touring around the world. That’s some major commitment. Tell me, what footballer wants a girl like that?”

There’s a pause as Rebecca and Keeley look at each other, then back to you. “Jamie,” they say in unison. “Jamie would want that.”

table of contents

[angelisgonnastartchangingurls]

alice on a wednesday

annie found alice to be impossibly glamorous. she was a woman in her mid-forties. an artist of some note (annie had googled) and a professor at a local university. she had a personality that was somehow both bubbly and cool. she had very good posture and was an engaged conversationalist. she often asked annie about herself as often as she talked about herself, and annie, bamboozled by her bright eyes and alien beauty, shared too much.

"how are you? how's ryan?" alice asked inquiring after annie's boyfriend.

"he's okay, i think?" annie said. "he seems really distracted with work lately."

"a.k.a. you're not fucking," alice said.

annie chuckled and tried to regain some professional composure. "it's okay. it's fine."

"annie, honestly, it's not," alice said. "you're a woman in your prime and he should be getting you off a few times a day, lest you seek pleasure elsewhere."

"i wouldn't do that," annie said.

"i would," alice said. "and i would not feel guilty."

annie had not been surprised to learn that alice had never managed to make a long term relationship work. but romance never much concerned her. alice's worries and annoyances fell into two categories:

her mother, a wild russian immigrant who was perpetually causing trouble and

her own neurological health

alice was a brain cancer survivor, and told annie when they met that in a sort of spiritual, kooky way, she believed maintenance of her mental health was key to staying in remission. annie said that medically, she couldn't really agree, but liked the notion of it.

a side effect of alice's brain surgery was that she'd lost the ability to raise the volume of her voice -- she spoke at just above a whisper. she mitigated this condition by using a wireless lapel microphone and a little box-sized amplifier she kept in her purse and set on the table in front of annie during their sessions. it lent her voice a lightly robotic quality that annie found oddly soothing.

she asked alice if she'd ever been unfaithful in a way that had hurt anyone.

"i don't think i hurt them in a way that was unfair," alice said. "sooner or later, the people who stay in my life as friends or fuck buddies or what have you learn to travel at my speed. and why shouldn't they? it's a fun speed."

"but early on, some hearts get a little bruised and beaten."

"yes," she admitted. "when i was 17 years old, i slept with my boyfriend's older sister, and i remember he was pretty mad about that," she said. "he beat the shit out of her."

"oh, fuck," annie said. she didn't swear around most of her patients but alice never clocked it.

"yeah, i got violent with him after that, clawed him up," she said, laughing. "i still keep in touch with the sister. they made up, it's all okay."

"i mean, is it?" annie asked.

"who knows," she said. "you have a brother, right?"

"yes," annie said, impressed at alice's recall.

"robbie," alice said. "i assume you have never competed with robbie over a woman."

annie laughed. "no. i mean, that must be very rare. unless you have more histories with siblings?"

alice grinned her catlike grin. "not negative stuff no, but I have in fact had sex with two sets of twins. two women, two men."

"yikes," annie said. "i mean, not to sound judge-y. i can't imagine having sex in front of robbie."

alice laughed. "i'm basically an only child, so i don't know. i think it's different with twins. they're copies of each other. and the women, like it or not but we live in a society that sexualizes female twins so by the time i met them they had a lot of experience with each other."

"huh," annie said.

"it's initially sort of gross but when you get down to it, i don't know," alice smiled. "kinda hot."

"what did you mean when you say you're basically an only child?"

"i never told you about amanda?"

"no," annie said, fairly confident. sometimes she forgot things her patients talked about, but not alice.

"when i was 15, my aunt killed herself," alice said.

"oh god," i said. "your mom's side?"

"no, my dad's sister-in-law," she said. "his brother's wife. and you know, that was crazy, so my uncle and his daughter who was 17, they came to live with us for a year. they moved from israel."

"that must have been a series of shocks for them," annie observed.

"yeah, i mean, my cousin amanda just did coke and fucked guys in my room, but it did feel like having a sister for a while."

"in your room?"

"yeah in my room, in my bed. i used to find like, thongs and condoms in my bed."

"i don't know what it's like to have a sister, either," annie said. "but i don't think it's like that."

annie went to ryan's apartment after work. he talked to her in an almost uninterrupted stream for an hour about things going on at work until, her relentless ability to pay attention nearly failing her, she stood in his kitchen and pulled her skirt and panties off. he stopped talking and stared at her exposed bush. "hey," he said.

"hey," annie said. "fuck me."

"ok," he said.

he took her over the sink, roughly, like animals, his fingers on her clit, his lips on her neck. he was a little soft at first, like he'd forgotten how to get hard in the two weeks or so since they'd last had a vanilla, post-date screw. but all annie had to do was get a little vocal. "i'm so fucking wet," she told him, and felt him stiffen right up.

they came at the same time, annie's contracting pussy pushing his cum out around the base of his shaft. she felt it between her thighs and heard it hitting the tile floor. as she pulled away and turned to kiss him she touched herself and brought her fingers to her lips. his eyes lit up. she had him back, at least for a while.

she spent the rest of the evening in a blouse and panties, sharing a joint with ryan, watching TV with him, and then mounting him again on his couch. she didn't take her panties off this time, just pulled them aside. sometimes uncomfortable, but very effective when one wanted to feel particularly slutty. she put her tits in his mouth, bounced to orgasm on his cock, and then sat on his thighs and stroked his cum out onto her bush. cleaning herself up in the bathroom she laughed imagining telling alice about it. she was sure she'd approve.

[msmargaretmurry]

I'm not a Caps follower but I tend to keep a closer eye on the guys who have struggled with their health (mental and physical), and I have the utmost respect for Kuzy, with how open he has been about his struggles and what he's needed to do to cope, especially in this shitty, shitty culture (SO many of the problems these guys face go right back to the culture and its expected/encouraged behaviors.) It's sad to see the Caps drop him like that, but I'm telling myself that if this is how they're treating him, they likely aren't going to be the right team to give him the support he needs, and maybe the next team that picks him up will. I'm rooting for him.

i mean, i don't think the caps are just "dropping him like that." and i'm not just saying that because i'm a caps fan — i definitely think they, like all teams, have had times when they've handled their players poorly — but this is a different kind of situation. i think you're right that the caps aren't the team for kuzy right now, not because they're unwilling to support him, but because he has said, multiple times, that he wants and needs a change of scenery and a fresh start. it would be cruel of the capitals not to give him that at this point. we can quibble over whether this is the best way to go about that (i certainly have mixed feelings about it) but i do think that it's a more complicated situation than just dropping him.

kuzy has been saying for a while now that he wants a change of scenery and a second chance somewhere else. he has reportedly been asking for a trade for a couple of seasons now — i say reportedly because the source is a bit iffy, but it seems at least somewhat true — and the caps have been trying to find a deal that works for both him and them since at least last summer. when he came back from the assistance program, the caps gm spoke with kuzy and his representatives, and what it sounds like to me is that kuzy really wanted that change of scenery as soon as possible. putting him on waivers is the fastest way to make that happen.

trades can take time to put together, especially if they've been shopping him for a while and nothing has worked out. waivers mean another team can claim him while giving up nothing, or if no one claims him, there's a spot for him in hershey. (and if he doesn't want to go to hershey — which is ftr one of the bests spot to be in the ahl. their facilities are better than some nhl teams' facilities — he has the option not to report, which would probably mean suspending his contract, which could get messy, but the caps could also agree to loan him elsewhere.)

this is clearly not a move that the caps made lightly. they are, like all teams, imperfect at player management, but they also are, at the very least, pretty damn loyal to that remaining core of 2018 players. they know how caps fans feel about kuzy. maclellan has said they're willing to retain some of his salary as part of a deal to move him; he has said he can see a scenario where he comes back to the capitals once he gets himself sorted out. but kuzy has made it very clear that he does not feel like he is mentally or emotionally able to do that sorting out in washington. i don't think that necessarily is a knock against the caps. sometimes when you hit rock bottom you really do just need a change of scenery to be able to heal.

anyway. i'm sad about it, because it's sad, but i also feel complicated about it, because people are complicated, and it's a complicated situation. but above all i am rooting for kuzy, and i really hope this helps him find a place where he can get that fresh start.

[mangoshorthand]

https://www.tumblr.com/mangoshorthand/744233438604853248/httpswwwtumblrcommangoshorthand7439174121294

it was a random hookup with a family friend. we haven’t really spoken since so i don’t have the option of talking through with him. but it’s nice to know that this is just a common bodily thing and not me. so thank you.

Ah, that is difficult and probably contributed to the way you're feeling. There isn't enough of a level of intimate comfort to have built reassurance that it's really not you. Despite this however, I do promise it's not you. He's probably feeling embarrassed too.

And yes, honestly, it is just a physiological quirk. Sometimes there are reasons behind it (e.g. whiskey dick, lifestyle issues etc) but at other times it's just random and it's never to do with not being into their partner. You can pretty much guarantee, if he's trying to stuff it into you, he wants to. 😉

This has got me thinking about how Five would act in this situation if you're interested. So I present to you and the amassed pervs of Tumblr, something I never thought I'd write about:

Five Hargreeves in: The Curious Case of the Disappearing Erection

I can imagine him getting past 30 in the younger body and then noticing the lack of solid iron boners and the return of whiskey dick after he's had a drink.

He's like: "Ah shit, this again?"

He can scent it coming in the air. The return of phantom boner-failure is on the horizon.

Flashbacks to roughly 25 years in which he'd have to stop sex to try and rub some life into his dick, like he's hoping if he rubs it right a kindly genie will pop out and grant him the wish of a dick that cooperates.

It didn't happen often, but it happened enough to be familiar. He probably never realised it was normal, (there weren't exactly other men to talk to unti he was in his 50s).

I think there are few men who don't personify their dicks to some extent, and Five is no different. I can see him having sex with this girl he really wants and loves (you, if you want to imagine it as such), and then, lo and behold, his dick starts to nope out.

'Don't you dare,' he'd mentally warn his waning penis, 'we've been looking forward to this, asshole!'

But alas, his penis would pay no heed.

No matter how valiantly Five tried, no matter that you look so hot he's had trouble keeping his dick in his pants all afternoon, it has, in fact, chosen this moment to give up the ghost.

So he stops and eats pussy. He loves eating pussy so if anything's going to get him back up, it's that, and he may as well give you some pleasure with his mouth given that he's failing elsewhere.

But now he's so in his own head that maintaining even a partial boner is impossible, let alone allowing him to get into the pussy-eating.

By this point you've noticed something's up and you ask him what's wrong.

He tries to shrug it off and make you come, but you're persistent.

Eventually he says: "I got a problem down here."

Once you realise what he means, you try to tease some life into it, but he's self conscious by this point so it's a self-defeating exercise.

Eventually you give up, but you can sense his embarrassment so you're like: "don't worry, we can try again later."

(You're also feeling pretty self conscious and insecure yourself but you don't want to let on and make him feel worse).

You come to hold each other and stsy silent for a few minutes. Five's irrationally angry with himself and you're trying to talk yourself out of feeling like it's your fault.

Eventually, Five apologises. You can barely tell him he has nothing to apologise for before he's launched into a rant:

"All day I've been half hard looking at you, and now my dick gives up? You've been walking around in those tight pants and bending over and driving me crazy only for me to fuck it up now?"

You hug him harder, both because of the unfair self-blame and because he's unconsciously put your fears to rest.

With some more reassurance, he starts to see the humor in the situation, and then he grumbles off to make you both a coffee.

By the time he's back in bed with a cup of his favourite drug, he's talking about how later on he'll fuck you so silly that you'll forget all about this.

[stardust948]

Brave is the heart that loves WIP snippet

CW: Bullying

The bell rang and the girls were ushered into separate lines. After grabbing her lunch bag from the cubby area, Azula followed the line to the cafeteria. It was huge! And very noisy. There were rows and rows of tables full of kids eating lunch and talking. Further back was a long table filled with trays of food adults were handling out. Beside it was a glass box stuffed with cookies, crackers, and other sweets.

Azula craned her neck over the crowd and looked for her friends and brother. They had to be here somewhere! Azula trilled a couple of times then listened closely for a response. A couple of classmates beside her giggled.

“What was that?”

“What?”

“That weird noise you made.”

“It wasn’t a noise. It’s a homing call, obviously.” Azula said matter-of-factly and flicked her bane.

“Is she stupid?” a boy whispered, causing the others to laugh.

Azula bristled. “Hey-“

“Inside voices, children.” The teacher scolded.

Azula flared her nostrils and focused hard to keep her flames under control. Finally, they made it to their seats. Thankfully, the rude group of boys were seated elsewhere. Azula took a deep breath then mentally rehearsed the introductions she practice.  

“Hi! I’m Azula! I’m from Arrowwood!”

The group of girls across from her gave Azula a weird look.

“Uh hi… I was kind of in the middle of talking to Jia.”

Azula’s cheeks heated up. “Oh. S-Sorry.”

“It’s no problem!” Jia said brightly. “This is Liena and Shu!”

Azula gave them a wide toothy smile, not noticing the girls’ slight recoil. “Hello. What’s your favorite color?”

Jia answered first. “I really like pur-“

“Mine’s blue! Cause my name means blue fire and Daddy calls me Blueberry!”

“Oh, cool…”

“Do you have any pets? We have three chickens and a cat named Druk we rescued from a storm. He hangs around the chicken coop and we hunt mice together sometimes. Zuzu really wants a duck too but Mama said-“

“Azula, maybe we should eat lunch now.” Liena interrupted.

“Uh, okay.”

Azula shakily opened her lunch bag as the others showed off their lunches. She didn’t know why her heart was beating so fast or why the girls looked at her like that. Did she say something wrong? She thought she mastered human speech by now.

 Azula really wished her friends and brother was here. She hated that stupid teacher for making Katara sit somewhere else. Her mood brighten when she saw what Daddy packed her.

“What did your mom pack for lunch, Azula?”

“Daddy packed rabbits! Two of them!”

They were roasted with the limbs and heads removed, but Daddy left in the bones just the way she liked it. Azula finished off the first one in no time then licked the bones while purring. She’ll save them for the bus ride home later. When Azula started on the second rabbit, she suddenly realized the cafeteria was quieter.

“What?” Azula licked her lips then held out the rabbit to Jia. “Did you want to share?”

The girls gasped and tears rolled down Jia’s cheeks. “Poor bunny! How could you?!”

Liena and Shu hugged Jia and shot Azula dirty glares. She jerked back, confused. It was cooked so there shouldn’t be a problem. Seconds later, Azula’s sensitive ears picked up whispered conversations around her.

“She ate the rabbit whole!”

“Even my dad doesn’t eat that much in one sitting. And he’s huge!”

“Did you hear her growling? Haha what a freak!”

Azula felt sick. She threw the rest of her lunch into the trash then ran to the bathroom. Azula didn’t even noticed that she past Katara’s table or heard her friend call her name. The second she closed the stall door, tears poured down.

[thoughtsonhurtandcomfort]

Continued from this

Author's Notes: gonna see where this Cloe story takes me

Content Warnings: winged whumpee, captivity, broken bones, recovery, reluctant caretaker, mentions of death, 'it' as a pronoun

----

This morning when Galea left home Cloe was still asleep. But when she returns midday he's finally awake, lying on his back and staring up at the high ceiling. When she enters he carefully sits up.

Galea shuts the door a little too hard and Cloe jumps. He holds his splinted arm protectively and keeps his head down.

"I'm not going to hurt you," Galea says, not to comfort him but because it's a fact. She hands up each of her weapons one by one and removes her outer layer.

"Am I yours now?" Cloe asks cautiously.

"Just for today."

"Then what?"

It should be easy to tell him, but Galea hesitates. In the silence Cloe draws his own conclusion.

"Then I go back to him?"

"Not exactly."

"Please tell me," Cloe pleads, eyes welling with tears. "Why am I here? Why bother patching me up if he's just going to hurt me again?"

Galea isn't sure herself. She makes a mental note to stop sitting at Omeron's table. It will save her a lot of future trouble.

"He plans to get rid of you," she says bluntly, seeing no point in sugarcoating it. "He gave you to me for the day to try out. That's all."

Suddenly Cloe is very pale and still.

"Get rid of me," he quietly says to himself. "How?"

"Come on, you don't really want to know."

"He's going to throw me off the mountain." It isn't a question.

Galea frowns. "How did you know that?"

Cloe pulls Galea's cloak tight around himself. He's shaking and staring blankly ahead.

"We find them sometimes, you know. The ones who get dropped. We find their bodies on the ground or caught on branches. They're so shattered and bloody sometimes we can't even tell who it is."

A chill runs through Galea at the mental image that conjures.

"I don't want my family to find me like that," Cloe continues softly. "If he's going to kill me, fine, but please...not like that. Anything else. Please."

"It's not up to me," Galea says.

But as she says it, she considers...maybe it could be up to her. She has no use for Cloe, but has no doubt Omeron would let her keep him if she asked. Maybe she could give him some dignity in death. Even the hawks and falcons her people keep as companions are given that, while the small-wings are discarded like spoiled meat.

Cloe is now fully enveloped in the cloak, hiding his face while he cries. Galea offers no comfort, but does set a jug of water and a plate of fruit and nuts out for him before she leaves.

-

"So," Omeron begins. Galea can hear the smirk in his voice before she even looks at him. "What do you think?"

"Nothing yet," she answers coolly, "it's too damaged to do anything."

Omeron scoffs. "If it can walk it can work."

"With one arm?"

"Yeah, who cares?" Omeron leans in, a wicked grin on his face. "Don't tell me you're getting soft, Gal - "

In an instant she has his head pinned to the table and one of his fingers in her hand, pulled back just far enough to hurt.

"Go ahead," she dares him, "say that again. You don't need this finger, right?"

She bends it further and Omeron yells.

"Okay, okay! Come on, I was joking! Let me go!"

Galea keeps him like that another moment. She bets he never gave in when Cloe begged. Picking on something so small and helpless...coward.

Finally she releases him. He sits quickly sits up and scoots away from her, shaking out his hand and laughing nervously.

"How about I let you keep it another few days?" he offers.

Galea doubts a few more days will make her decide to keep the small-wing. But she has already made up her mind that Cloe is never going back to Omeron. She tells herself this isn't sympathy, but spite towards the boastful warrior who gets his kicks torturing things weaker than him.

"Deal," she says, turning back to her dinner. Omeron wisely takes his meal elsewhere.

[panharmonium]

What do you think about this: "Kakashi was never interested in Sasuke as an individual, he only projected himself into him and saw a smaller version of himself on Sasuke, Sasuke was never Sasuke to him, just a little Kakashi". I wanted to know your opinion because I miss your meta posts and I feel like lately people are hating Kakashi for things that aren't real :/, also you are really good at explaining and I feel that both characters need love

Hello! Thanks for the question!

The answer to "what do i think about this" is, honestly, that I don't think about it X) I watched the whole show without engaging with the fandom at all (for fear of spoilers, initially), so I was able to experience it without being exposed to anyone else's thoughts, and now that I'm done I generally still avoid poking around, because devoting mental energy to opinions that I find bizarre/not supported by the text doesn't enhance my fandom experience.

Kakashi and Sasuke's relationship is one of the most compelling things about the series to me. I was very surprised when I finished the show/manga and first exposed myself to the fandom only to find so few people invested in them, but at this point I've (mostly) stopped asking myself "what show was everyone else watching" and just settled into enjoying the show that I watched, because that's more fun for me. I can't convince people not to dislike Kakashi if that's what they want to do. I do find it a little weird, because I don't think that's what the story is asking from us, but as long as people mind their business and aren't bugging me on my own blog, they're free to do what they want.

I know it can be frustrating when there are people hating various characters for "things that aren't real," but the fact that these criticisms aren't "real" is precisely why I generally avoid engaging with them. For Kakashi, specifically, there are certain things people can say that will immediately make me stop taking them seriously - "projecting" is one. "Bootlicking" is another, but again, these terms are so wildly inaccurate that I'm not interested in talking about them. The manga and the show are easily accessible; if people want to rewatch/re-read them, they can.

In general, I just prefer to avoid engaging with most of the fandom negativity I see. I think overall most of the rancor I've stumbled across boils down to people engaging with the story in very ungenerous ways, if that makes sense, and that's not how I prefer to read/watch things. Like - back when I was still in the middle of watching the show, I remember someone sent me a message saying that they loved seeing me talk about the story with earnestness/joy, and it was such a lovely message to receive, but it also made me pause and wonder for a second if this was really an uncommon enough thing to be remarked upon. Wouldn't that be the default? Aren't we all here because we love the story and the characters so much? But the truth is that sometimes it does feel like large chunks of fandom spaces (not just Naruto, I mean; I've certainly experienced this elsewhere) are very focused on being negative about "things that aren't real," as you said. Like - people calling Sakura "abusive" for bopping Naruto on the head when he says something rude, when this is not something the text is even remotely trying to say about her. People writing off Jiraiya's entire storyline because of the non-consensual spying on women - which, yes, of course, is disgusting and wrong. Obviously. I am very aware of that. However, I can simultaneously recognize that the story isn't really interested in that or intending me to read it like that; the voyeurism is written as a joke (yes, I understand how gross that is) and there are a hundred potential personal and/or patriarchal and/or genre-related and/or cultural factors that may have gone into Kishimoto writing this particular fail. If I want to understand and appreciate what the story was ACTUALLY trying to communicate with Jiraiya (that he's an idealist who gave up on the world when everything went wrong, who turned to shallow pleasures of the flesh to distract him from the pain of his disillusionment, and who was finally restored to his former faith after meeting Naruto), then I have to mindfully set the voyeurism aside and go, "This writer wrote a gross thing, and I recognize that, but I'm also not going to fixate on it, because I can simultaneously appreciate/find meaning in what he was really trying to say."

I think some of the Kakashi complaints out there very much fall under this umbrella. If I have to see one more person frothing at the mouth about Kakashi briefly tying Sasuke (a qualified ninja who has already demonstrated his ability to escape rope restraints and whom Kakashi has been individually mentoring, sparring against, and connecting with for a month) to a tree for approximately sixty seconds - honestly. I don't know how to tell people they're missing the point, so I don't bother.

Ultimately, the fact of the matter is that people are entitled to dislike any character that they want, even for contrived reasons. As long as they're doing their own thing in their own space and letting me do my thing in mine, we're good.

[chaifootsteps]

I really feel you & anon about KenDraws - when the first allegations about poor workplace treatment came out I thought maybe it was a case of poor management over malicious mismanagement; that a new indie studio had hired a lot of people out of college and not supported them properly or set unrealistic deadlines and failed to account for the fact that people have to work multiple jobs to support themselves (though the sharing of Erin's medical info always disgusted me and there's no way anyone can 'two sides' that imo) - i.e. it was stuff they could learn from and get better about, but for me KenDraws' account was the straw that broke the camel's back.

My jaw was on the floor learning KenDraws was the one who suggested Alastor stay at the hotel for his own entertainment, because that's part of the inciting incident and setup of the whole show. It's the kind of idea and dynamic that you'd expect the creator to come up with and come up with first, and be thought out as part of the story going forwards.

And to credit such an integral part of the show, plus several jokes, as 'additional writing'??? That is not additional writing, that is concept writing and script writing. It really made me mad to see how much of a struggle it was to get even that bare minimum of credit when Viv dropped so many ideas and lines that weren't her idea into the final pilot and covered it up with 'that was early draft stuff/we changed things around'. Reading the Discord logs it's blatantly not that, and if I can get ad hominem for a second there's a really maddening 'I'm too lazy and untalented to come up with this on my own, please help me' wheedling tone in Viv's messages to Ken - the whole 'I'm good at this and not that' thing especially. If you aren't good at it then either focus the pilot around your supposed strengths or credit your co-writers properly! Anyone whose had someone lazy or untalented sponge off them knows how uncomfortable and annoying it is to be stuck with someone like Viv as a boss. It feels like the main reason Brandon gets to be credited as a writer is because he's already a 'name' but anyone Viv considers beneath her it's free game to steal their ideas and fail to credit them when they provide her massive amounts of help because she knows her fandom will merrily throw them under the bus with a minimum amount of prompting from her, and sometimes none at all.

It's why I'm so glad to see Ashley and Michael thrive outside her shadow. I've seen mixed opinions on Faustisse and I'm not up to date with that, but I did see the screenshots about the issues she had getting paid and assuming that's Viv she's talking about, no one deserves to be exploited like that.

Viv mistreats the talent, they go elsewhere - and they don't stop being better than Viv at the thing she's failing so hard at rn. I'm so glad to see the rest of the indie animation scene supporting each other so much: I think this is the sense of community people wished for when Helluva started and why the biggest scandal to hit the fandom felt like it was when the pilot VAs got dropped so unceremoniously. It's just partly a community of people who got burned working for Viv who now have a perfect mental model of what they don't want in their working lives so they can make something better. I hope all the best for the people she's hurt & used

I don't have a think to add to this, Anon. This is absolutely beautiful and well said.

[notyour-valentine]

A Fair Exchange XXXIII ~ Aemond Targaryen x Reader/OC (Angst)

[Navigation] [Moonboard Masterlist] [House of the Dragon Masterlist]

All my writing is produced by an adult and created with an adult audience in mind (18/21+). You are responsible for your own media consumption. I do not consent to my work being translated, copied or posted elsewhere on this platform or any other.

Summary: Sometimes you have to take what you get to get out at all costs

Warning: bullying, blood, mention and threat of violence and death, mutilation, mention of torture and death, childbirth, injury, misogyny. Expect canon conforming tone and language. (18/21+)

[Series Masterlist]

Previously

Part XXXIII

The hand was clasped tightly around her face, sealing her lips before any cry of terror or fear could escape her.

Before her subconscious could decide how to fight back, she heard the hissing in her ear.

“Do not scream!”, Aemond hissed.

Aemond.

Sheer confusion erased any fear for Lucerys and Jaehaera from her body. Did he know? Had he planned all this?

She had counted on him in this, in all this. Could he have gone behind her back, allied with Dorne and risen against her and Luke?

But no, whatever happened to Luke had happened to Jaehaera too and there was no way Aemond would risk the girl, right? Right?

“You can’t scream!”, Aemond told her, his breathing ragged as if he too was thinking in overtime. “Nod and I’ll let you go.”

She gave a single shaking nod and he released his hold just slightly, only a finger width and ready to clasp down at the first second she betrayed her word.

“What are you doing?”, she hissed.

As soon as a sound passed her lips he jolted, nearly silencing her once more.

“Whatever is going on, they can’t know we know.”

“What?”, she asked, but it was only the first of a thousand questions.

Slowly, but cautiously, he released her from his grip, and she spun around to face.

“Aemond, what is happening?”, she asked, glancing at Luke for a split second before looking back at him. “I can’t wake them!”

“I don’t know.”, he admitted, his eye as wide and alert as her own. “I don’t know, but whatever is going on, went wrong, at least for now.”

“How?”, she asked, rushing over to Luke’s side, brushing strands of dark hair from his forehead, checking he was breathing once again.

He was slow and steady, as if he was asleep.

Aemond shook his head just slightly as he bent over Jaehaera. He must’ve carried the girl in and placed her onto the bed.

“There is no way someone would harm them and leave us out. Either all of us, or the two of you, or Jaehaera and me. This doesn’t make sense.”

She tried to follow him, but no coherent thought would form inside her, as any attempt was poisoned by fear for her brother.

Aemond however, was going through all options in mumbles.

“Not the water, I drank that. Jaehaera wouldn’t have the watered wine. No way it was the fruit.”

“What are you doing?”, she asked.

“It must be poison.”

“Poison?”, she gasped, clasping a hand over her mouth.

He gave a single nod as he reached for the side of Jaehaera’s neck, feeling her pulse before doing the same on Luke’s wrist, a line of thought between his brow.

The urgent yet structured certainty in which he moved was all she could cling to lest she be drowned in her fear and terror.

“But then they need a Maester - but if it came through food, we can’t trust the cook, and if we can’t trust the cook or the servants, then we can’t trust the Maester?”

Aemond shook his head, before continuing in his mental search for the reason.

“It has to have come with dinner, but you had the soup too?”

She nodded.

“Then it can’t be the soup. Has Luke had the honeyed milk?”

She didn’t answer, as she sat down on the edge of the bed.

The rush of fear had come so quickly and so forcefully, it had wiped away all the drowsiness she had felt before.

“Aemond, the soup…”

“You had the soup too. If it was enough for Luke, it was enough for you. You’re about his size.”, he said, waving it off.

“Maybe but -”

“No but!”, he cut her short.

“No listen!”, she insisted, grabbing his arm and turning him to face him.

“For my eye, when I was sick, they gave me sweetsleep. Over and over, day and night and the Maester had to up the dosage several times to the point everyone became concerned!”

The realisation made his lips part.

“Whoever did this, couldn’t know that.”, he mumbled.

She nodded eagerly.

“And they took great care to make sure Jaehaera had her own portion.”

If she had eaten the one meant for Luke or her, it would have been enough to kill her.

“Sweetsleep,”, Aemond mumbled. “That won’t kill them, or if it would, it would have done so by now.”

That was little comfort, but comfort still.

“But why would someone want us asleep?”, she asked him.

“To make us easier to kill.”, Aemond said without hesitation, as she could see the wheels turning in his head.

Now it was her turn to shake her head.

“If they wanted us dead, they could have killed us with the same dish they wanted to put us to sleep, or strangled us in our beds. Why this? Why now?”

She thought she saw the hint of realisation on his face, but then she had one herself.

“Guest right!”, she remembered, grabbing his arm. “They can’t kill us here because of guest right. The Dornish obey your Seven, but all Gods punish those who break guest right.”

Aemond took two paces backwards, as if wanting to assess all he had before him, Luke and Jaehaera unconscious, her half frantic, half determined.

“They needed us unconscious, but didn’t want us dead. And the only reason to put us to sleep is to move us, but where? And why? Why this? Why now?”, he asked, shaking his head. “Why the change?”

“Why do you think there was a change?”, she wanted to know.

“Because otherwise they would have done so already. They’ve had ample chances.”

“Who cares?”, she snapped. “We have to get help, we have to get out!”

She knew, she knew right from the beginning that this was bad, that Dorne was no place for dragons. They had to get out, they had to get home, somehow.

“We don’t stand a chance at success if we don’t know what we are up against.”, Aemond insisted.

Did his useless lectures have no end?, she thought, exasperated, but there was something about it that rang true.

If this was Lord Uller’s work, they had the chance to turn to the Prince, but would Lord Uller or anyone else attempt such a thing without his knowledge?

If Aemond was right, and someone wanted to move them, they couldn’t do it without carrying four unconscious people past palace guards. No, they had to know!

The thought made her blood turn to ice, the only reason her rage didn’t boil over.

She had never before longed more for Tyseleys - if only he were here, she’d turn them all to ash and make them rue the day they had even dreamed of this.

“They want to turn us from bonds to hostages.”, he stated, “But it doesn’t make sense. Maybe, for Luke, but not for you, not me either.”

“What do you mean?”, she asked. What did Luke have that made him a better hostage than her or Aemond? It was beyond strange for him to put her brother above himself, even above her.

“I suggested Jace as a bond in your stead.”

“What?”, she snapped, feeling the muscles in her stomach clench. “How dare you suggest such a thing? You do not command him - he’s the Prince of Dragonstone!”

Jace was the heir to the Iron Throne - and Aemond was what? The Queen’s second brother? With half a dozen heirs before him?”

“Exactly!”, he hissed. “At least for your kind, he is. But either way, he is an heir. And your brother somehow swindled his way to the place as heir to Driftmark, but that’s no exchange for Jace.”

She had trouble catching up, trying to comprehend his words and follow his line of thought as she recalled anything and everything she had heard and seen in the preparation and during her stay in Dorne, anything that was suspicious, anything that didn’t seem right, even if she couldn’t place it. Anything…anything.

“If they wanted to harm a cause, especially yours, they needed only wait until Jace and you traded places. He is the heir, more so than Luke. Far more than any of us, a more valuable hostage than we are.”

At that moment, the realisation hit her with the force of a crushing wave.

“Aemond!”, she gasped, grabbing his sleeve with such force, she nearly lost her balance as he steadied her, reaching for her elbows.

“It’s not about heirs! Heirs are not what they wanted…”

She was so out of breath, she choked on her own words.

“What?”, he asked. “This is an attempt at destabilising us, either our causes or our family all together and what better way to do that than he-”

“No!”, she insisted, shaking her head. “You were still a prisoner, you didn’t know, but they didn’t ask for Jace, or for Luke when it comes to it!”

“What?”, he asked, frowning once more.

“They asked for us!”, she insisted, as she reached for his face, her mind racing so fast her tongue had trouble filtering out what it needed to form a sentence.

She cupped his face and made him look at her.

“Dorne suggested us, you and me. And Rhaenys, and Helaena and Daemon.”

Aemond nodded.

“Three consorts, Rhaenyra’s, Aegon’s and Corly’s. Instead, they got two children.”

“No-”

How couldn’t he see? How could he be so foolish, so stuck in this game of houses and heirs that the Andals and First Men played? They were neither, they were the blood of Old Valyria in which houses and birth mattered less.

The Westerosi played their game of thrones with houses, births, claims and marriages, but the Valyrians conquered not with politics, but with fire and blood.

“Aemond - it’s not about heirs.”, she told him, more certain than she had ever been in her entire life.

“This, whatever it is, is about dragons.”

~

For once all the thousand thoughts that ran through his mind since the discovery of all this stood still.

Dragons.

A part of him wanted to deny it, wanted to argue succession and rank and tradition, but what if it was dragons?

What if it never was about him or her or the consorts?

Helaena, Daemon, Rhaenys. Her and him.

Dreamfyre, Caraxes, Meleys, Tyseleys and Vhagar.

The five largest ridden Targaryen dragons - three of them battle hardened.

Without them, only Rhaenyra remained, and novice dragonriders, and none of them had ever seen battle.

Fuck.

It left him with more questions than answers, but either way, she was right in one thing.

This was not the time for politics. Even if he did not know what was happening, he knew staying here and waiting to find out wouldn't be the smartest way of action.

No, they could ask questions later. For now they had to get out.

Out of this palace, out of Sunspear. Maybe even out of Dorne.

"We need to leave!", He ordered her, already mentally going through everything useful they might have in this apartment, and any possible route they could take, trying to remember anything he had ever seen, learned or known of this place.

He reached behind him and tossed her a pair of Lucerys trousers.

It was unseemly for a lady, but practical for an escape.

He had to think - and think practically. Jaehaera needed more than her nightgown and so he reached into her clothes and pulled out a durable dress and a pair of shoes as well as a cloak, then he rummaged around his own things.

No weapons, but he still had the stupid fruit knife from the bowl, which was better than nothing.

Still, they had let him keep the water skin which he filled to the point of overflowing before strapping it to his belt.

It was painfully little - a dark cloak, some water and a fruit knife.

But what else could be of use?

He entered her bedroom without question, and began to look through her clothes for anything that could be sold or pawned, anything that shone and sparkled, stuffing her jewellery into his pocket before leaving the fruit and packing up the baked goods for some nourishment.

As he did, he prayed they would get a chance to eat them.

When he returned to Lucerys chamber, he saw that she had fully changed into some of her brother's clothes.

Although she had been changed, Jaehaera showed no sign of waking.

For a moment she left him as she ran back into her room, returning with a few items of her own strapped over her shoulder in a make-shift sea sack.

She wore leather boots, and he recognised them as her dragon riding boots. Just why she had brought them to Dorne he did not know, but he wasn't ready to ask.

In her hands she held a long piece of silk, which looked as if it had once been the cape of a dress she had torn.

"Why do you need that?", He hissed.

"To make a carrier for Jaehaera!", She whispered, her eye wide.

For a moment Aemond's face scrunched up in disgust.

That was the way of the poor folk, the farmer's wives who carried their offspring on their back or on their chest.

It wasn't suitable for a Princess, either to wear, or to be carried in it.

Although he had to concede that maybe the extraordinary circumstances provided allowances. Just this once.

He watched her quickly tie the two pieces together in a sailor's knot, turning them into a longer piece of fabric.

Where she had learned to place it around her back, or how to wrap it, he did not know, nor did he ask, but he helped her place the still sleeping and limp Jaehaera to her front as she began to wrap her up.

She was a little too old for this, but it made it easier to carry her and kept her hands free.

"I know where we may be able to get out!", He hissed, grabbing her hand and wanting to pull her forward as soon as she had tightened the final knot.

"You can't mean to leave Luke!", She argued, all colour leaving from her face.

"We can't wake him!", Aemond reminded her.

"But you can carry him!", She argued as if it was the most obvious thing in the world for him to throw his wretched nephew over his shoulder and carry him across half of Sunspear.

"I need to be agile enough to fight.", He argued.

Her look went from confused, to pure fury as she lifted her chin to glare at him.

He expected rage, fury or even an attack, and while he understood that it wasn't easy for her to leave her brother behind, she would have to understand that this was a necessary sacrifice.

"How dare you even suggest leaving him behind!", She snarled as she backed away, putting Lucerys body between them. "You wish us to leave him behind?"

"I wish us to be alive at the end of this!", He argued.

"Well I will not go without my brother!", She snapped.

"Even if it means making escape damn near impossible?"

Aemond couldn't believe she chose to be complicated about this - at a time at this. He wasn’t a small child like Jaehaera who could be easily carried. Carrying him would mean he would be severely limited in his mobility, to fight, to guide, to lead.

If Lucerys was half a man he would understand why they had chosen to leave him behind.

"Look me in the eyes and answer that question yourself!", She snarled under her breath.

For the first time since this nightmare started, her voice was calm, deadly calm and yet in them lay not only her own certainty but an order.

And he obeyed, lifting his gaze to meet her eyes, the human and the dragon one.

She saw no reason to hide her lost eye, opting instead to wear it with pride.

Because to her sacrificing an eye for her brother was a mark of honour.

"If we fail because of him -", he spat.

"You go with both of us or with none!", she stated firmly, making it beyond clear that he would either have to drag his wretched nephew or leave his eldest niece.

The only way she would go with him unless he brought her brother was if she was unconscious herself and he couldn't hope to carry both his nieces out that way.

No, he needed her, if only to help with Jaehaera.

But Luke was a liability.

Either way, it was a high price - either carry him or leave her.

"Fine.", He spat, reaching for his nephew.

He wasn't nearly as tall as him, but seemed to weigh a ton as he threw him over his back, feeling his useless, limp body as a dead weight on his shoulders - now not just metaphorical as it had been previously.

Just his luck.

They made a sorry lot, both the two of them in dark cloaks, with a fruit knife and a small bundle each, both carrying another person.

Aemond led her down the stairs into the small garden, making sure to keep their shadows hidden as he tried to make out the shapes in the darkness that may search for them.

“Where are we going?”, she asked in a whisper.

His mind had been racing faster than a warhorse driven into battle, remembering the books he had read about Dorne, about their culture and architecture.

“There are three gates to and from the castle.”, Aemond remembered. The main gate, the sea gate and another smaller one to the north.

“They will all be sealed and guarded.”, she argued. “There has to be another way out - what about the tunnels they built during the war?”

To slip away from dragons, he remembered. They would be there, possibly even beneath their feet, but they couldn’t be sure. And if they did find one, they were just as likely to get lost as they were to get out.

But maybe if they found an entrance closer to the sea-side. Then they could follow the smell of the air and the sound of the waves.

She shook her head at his suggestion.

“I don’t want to go underground.”

“This isn’t about comfort!”, he argued, but there was something about that idea which made him uneasy as well. But that only left one other option, one more suitable to dragons, although its task would be made easier with wings.

“If we cannot go through the walls, and we cannot go under them, there is only one other way.”, he mumbled, glancing upward.

“Over?”, she asked.

His idea may seem half mad, but the longer Aemond considered it, the more he liked the thought.

There was the older part of the city structure, from before Nymeria had come with her thousand ships.

To accommodate her and her people they had expanded the city with an outer, Rhoynish ring, even taking down a part of the wall that would lay between the castle and the city to serve as cheap and available material. The walls to the city were far lower than the walls to the sea.

And while that city was filled with people that could wake and discover them, with guards that patrolled the streets, it provided more options to hide, more places to bend into, more possible escapes.

At least more than the sea did.

“Come!”, he hissed, grateful for his memory of architecture which allowed him to lead them through the mostly deserted corridors to the north eastern part of the castle where he remembered to have seen just that phenomenon of the lowered stones. .

Still, the journey seemed endless to him.

There were guards on the towers, but no more than usual. Whatever they were planning, they expected it to go smoothly, without fearing an attack, at least not one from the outside.

That once more created more questions than answers but he didn’t have time to worry about that, not while he had to get them out.

Carrying Lucerys over his shoulders wasn’t as exhausting as he feared. He was still half a boy after all, but it slowed his movement and limited his agility. It also made it more difficult to completely disappear into the shadows.

The four of them, with the two unconscious, made for a slow and clumsy beast.

And the fact that they had to pause, had to hide on the seemingly endless journey through the halls made his worry bubble up - but he couldn’t let it get the better of him.

He had to focus, to rely on his wits and his training. It was his duty to get them out safe, and that he would do, like any good commander and captain.

It was his duty and he had trained for it almost his entire life.

Then, finally, his goal came into view. The north-eastern walls towards the city, closer to the servant’s quarters and storage units. Less shiny, less large, less guarded.

And with much lower walls, without the strongly guarded towers that led to the sea.

Dumping Lucerys on the white sand stone, grey in the night air, he glanced around, rolling his shoulders.

It wasn’t like it was unbearable, but he still felt the strain of it, and lamented it more since he would most likely need his strength.

She crouched down beside her brother, cupping his face to check his breathing as she had done regularly with Jaehaera.

He was still asleep, and so Aemond paid him little regard as he was pleased to realise there was some shadow that fell over this part of the wall that would shroud them from moonlight.

So they had the place, and the disguise - all they needed were the means, as even this more narrow wall was still far too steep to jump.

“We need to find some rope.”, Aemond whispered, wondering where to get it…the guard tower? Or maybe the servant’s quarters below.

Still, no one had rope just laying about. He should have considered that before bringing them here.

“Not necessarily”, she whispered, shrugging off her coat.

“Do you wish to tie coats together like some jailbreaker from the stories?”, Aemond asked in disbelief. That would never work. The knots would loosen and the fabric would tear.

She shook her head and began to undo the knots that held Jaehaera to her.

“This is silk.”, she told him.

“And?”

He had no patience for gowns and pretty dresses at the best of times but now was a decidedly inappropriate time to discuss it.

She scoffed and shook her head.

“Silk is stronger than silk, and more durable too. The Empire of Yi-Ti uses it not only in their sails but also in the silk ropes their priests use to climb their silver-head mountains.”

“You know of the Empire of Yi-Ti?”, he asked.

Of all things to bet on, his niece's education was not one of them.

“Course.”, she said, “Ever since my grandsire sailed there in his youth, he included silk in the weaving of our sails in a similar way.”

Corlys.

His experience had more weight, still, Aemond wasn’t keen to find out if her dress really did stand the test of the material.

His uncertainty was clearly visible on his face.

“You know little about fabric it seems.”, she sneered, letting the fabric pool at her feet. Given the lengths of the two parts of the former came linked together it created about ten feet in length. If it held.

“It will hold.”, she said, her voice filled with certainty. “Silk can carry more than cotton can. Far more. Don’t they have that written in your smart books?”

Aemond had neither the mind nor patience to argue, and instead only watched her.

“How do you intend to do this?”, he asked.

“I’ll go first. To make sure if it holds”, she began as her fingers twisted and coiled the fabric into knots he had seen sailors do at the docks of King’s Landing.

She moved with a certainty as if she had done this a hundred times before, testing the knot before looping the rope around a merlon and leaning her weight in.

He couldn’t blame her for her desire to leave.

“Here!”, she whispered, showing him how to loop the short end of the rope around his hand. “Brace yourself against the wall with your foot.”

“And you’ll go down?”, he asked.

“I weigh less than Luke. You are the strongest. I’ll test the rope, then I’ll come up and we can lower Luke down. I’ll untie him and then we will do the same with Jaehaera.”

“And then?”

It seemed risky but somewhat logical, but then they were at an impasse.

“We’ll see.”, she whispered.

Aemond felt his heart thunder in his chest as she tied a knot around her waist, one he hoped would stand the test of their weight.

For a split second she looked down into the darkness and then she disappeared over the other side of the wall.

He expected the strain to be more than it was, most was held by the merlon on the battlement.

Aemond arched his neck to watch her as best he could, but there was little he could see, and so he listened for any sound of her slipping, or worse, falling.

But after what felt like an eternity, he could see her hands appear on the top of the wall again.

He wanted to reach for her and help her up, but he didn’t dare let go of his end of the rope.

She sat on the edge catching her breath for a moment.

“It’s fine. There are no guards, at least none I can see. And there is a dried up fountain just there. We can hide Luke and Jaehaera behind it while we come down.”, she said.

“Who taught you to climb with a rope?”, he asked.

“I am not much good.”, she admitted as she undid the rope around her waist and tied it around Luke’s.

“But we are sailors, as well as dragonriders. And Baela likes climbing the cliffs of Dragonstone and Driftmark.”

Aemond could have scolded her for such unsuitable activities, playing around with sailors and scrambling up rocks instead of more appropriate pursuits, but he held his tongue.

At least it was something and it was working.

They hoisted Luke up to the edge of the wall and he held the rope right as she rolled him off of the edge.

The rope strained, as he let it go bit by bit. His nephew seemed to increase tenfold. And then the rope had no more to give, but given what it looked like, Lucerys was already either laying on the bottom or with his feet just brushing it.

“I’ll go down and untie him. Do you think you can hold that too?”

“I’ll have to, won’t I?”, he grumbled.

There was little arguing with that.

She met his eyes in the darkness and for once he imagined he saw a little spark of fear in it.

“I’ll be as quick as I can.”, she promised.

“Be safe too.”

It wouldn’t do for her to rush and slip, crushing herself at the bottom. That would leave them stranded there, and him and Jaehaera up here.

No, they, the two of them, somehow had to make it work. And they would.

They had to.

The strain of supporting two bodies instead of one was noticeable but she made good of her promise. And then the strain disappeared entirely as she untied Luke’s body from the rope.

The few minutes he had to wait all alone were worse, making him miss the teeth gritting strain of supporting both their bodies. Doing nothing was far more distressing than doing too much.

She returned a few moments later, making the ascent a third time this night, breathing even heavier than before.

“Right. Jaehaera now.”, she said.

With the silks in use, they had to make do with tying her cloak around her body and fastening it with a belt. It created a pouch in which Jaehaera could lie against her chest as she went down once more.

As discussed, Aemond now threw their two small bags of items down, hoping she would catch them. Either way, they didn’t make much noise.

A little while later she was at the top again.

“Now you.”, she said.

“Me?”, Aemond asked. “You can’t hold me.”

“With the rocks, I could.”, she argued, as she, like she had done on each ascent, checked if the fabric had begun to grow frail thanks to the stone.

Whatever she saw seemed to please her.

“Go, the rope is secured.”

He wanted to protest, but he thought of Jaehaera down there all alone. They needed protection too.

“Be right behind me.”, he asked, demanding her affirmation before he made his own way to the end.

He knew how to climb rope, though he wasn’t nearly as quick as she had been, at least in his head his descent took forever.

Once down he said a prayer of thanks as he took in his surroundings.

There was the dried up old fountain and behind it he could just barely make out the shapes of Lucerys and Jaehaera, while this area was otherwise mostly deserted.

Why would anyone be here? The gate was on the other side, and so they were faced by the backs of houses, whose narrow Dornish windows were too high up to spot them.

Three were down, one to go.

When he looked up, his heart skipped a beat.

Their loyal makeshift rope had disappeared.

What in seven hells was happening? Where was she?

Aemond took a few steps back to try and see any sight of what may have happened to delay her - but he saw no sight of guards or torches.

Don’t let her play the hero!, he thought.

Although it was just the kind of foolish thing to do, just like stabbing her own eye out to protect her brother.

But from down here he could do nothing - he couldn’t shout to draw attention to himself, nor could he get up there and see what was happening.

If he had thought waiting was bad, this was torture.

Just as he felt he may explode, he saw the shadows moving at the top of the wall, and saw as she slowly made her descent, but instead of using one rope, she was using two, or that was what it looked like at first until he got a closer look.

Instead of securing the rope with a tight knot around the merlon, she had only looped it around it, tying it to her body with both ends.

But doing that made no sense, as if halved the length of the rope, making it impossible for her to reach the bottom safely with this now limited range.

What was she thinking?

Just like he had expected, little past half way, a good eight feet above the ground, she was left dangling.

A fall from that height could shatter her legs or break her neck.

Could, but not necessarily would.

“Aemond?”, she whispered, craning her neck to look at him.

“I’m here.”, he assured her, touching the wall with one hand as she looked up.

He wouldn’t be able to catch her, but he could help her break her fall. And yet there was neither time nor the option of assuring her.

She would just have to trust him.

He gave a nod, and saw the glimmer of her dragon eye shine before she focussed her attention on one of the knots that held one end of the rope to her waist.

She worked at it for a seeming eternity before she released it.

It hissed upward as her weight sent her body soaring down.

At the very last second she had kicked herself off of the wall so as not to scrape against the stone.

Within the blink of an eye he felt the force of her body hit him, as he wrapped his arms around whichever part of her he could grab, mostly her legs and her hips.

Her fall sent them both backward, knocking them into the dirt.

She landed on top of him, just as he had intended, as they hit the ground with a painful thump.

But Aemond hadn’t felt or heard a crack, and that was the greatest relief. And she seemed fine too, exhausted and panting for air, but fine.

Given the circumstances that was more than he could have ever hoped to ask for.

“Well done.”, he told her, his hands slowly releasing the tight grip he had held on her legs and hips, but remained in place on her body.

For a few racing heartbeats they just lay there, with him staring up at the wall that now separated them from the palace of Sunspear.

It felt like there was half a lifetime between them now and the version of them that had bickered about Jaehaera, but Aemond wasn’t as foolish to think this was anything but the beginning.

They needed answers, and more urgently, a way out. Out of the Sunspear, out of Dorne.

And they had to find it quickly. It wouldn’t be long before their absence would be noted.

~

Part XXXIV is coming soon

Thank you so much for reading! I'd love to hear your thoughts xx

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