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illdowhatiwantthanks · 1 month

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The Spaghetti Squash (The Surprise, Part 12)

Emily Prentiss x fem!reader Warnings: pregnancy times, established relationship, literally so much fluff, just fluff on fluff on fluff, some explicit language (please let me know if I've missed anything!) Word count: 1.4k

Summary: As your pregnancy progresses, Emily starts to feel disconnected from the experience, sad that she can't feel what you're feeling. She tries to control what she can, but you help her see that letting go isn't the worst thing in the world.

Week 22: The Spaghetti Squash

“What about that one, Em? It’s pretty.”

You pointed to Emily’s laptop screen, at a nice, oval crib, made of natural wood. Very modern looking.

“Honey, I don’t care if it’s pretty. I care that it’s safe.”

“Well, I care if it's pretty. Click on it and see!” you badgered her, yawning.

You leaned heavily on Emily’s shoulder, trying hard to keep your eyes open. You’d been scrolling through baby site after baby site for nearly two hours now, checking things off Emily’s ridiculously extensive shopping list. Normally, you’d be interested. The problem was that Emily had to do a solid half hour of research into each and every item.

“Bossy…” Emily mumbled, lifting up her arm so you could snuggle into her chest. She scrolled through the page, looking at all of the crib’s features.

“Look!” You pointed at the screen. “It converts to a toddler bed and a kid bed. So it can grow up with her.”

“And it’s GreenGuard Gold Certified!”

“Wow.” Your voice dripped with sarcasm. “Adorable.”

“Hey,” she protested, pinching the skin under your arm. You squirmed and giggled. “I’m keeping him safe. You can keep him cute.”

You yawned again, shutting your eyes for a moment and sinking into her.

“Y/N,” Emily cooed, cupping your cheek and rubbing her thumb against it. “Stay awake, baby. You promised we’d get through five things tonight.”

You groaned, noncommittal.

“Y/N,” she prompted again, this time patting your face lightly.

“I didn’t know it was gonna take literal hours…” you grumbled.

“Here,” she said, lifting you up a bit and kissing your cheek. “You can pick what we look for next. Something fun.”

You squinted at her.

Her eyes were huge, and she had that hopeful, pleading half-smile that she knew would get you to do anything. As a final blow, she bit the corner of her lip. Fuck. She was just too irresistible, it wasn’t fair.

“Ugh. Fine.” You stretched and sat up as Emily placed the laptop in your hands.

“What do you want to look for?” she asked, looping her arm around yours and rubbing her thumb against your bare skin. She placed a quick kiss on your shoulder and nuzzled into your neck.

“Crib sheets?” you suggested, perking up. “I found a brand I really like.”

“Are they–”

“Green, gold, whatever-the-fuck certified?”

She blushed a bit. “Yes,” she said softly.

At this rate, you'd spend another hour and a half with Emily deep-diving on crib sheets.

“Emily,” you sighed, turning to look at her. “You are the love of my life and the mother of my child and I love you more than breathing. But for fuck’s sake, you’ve gotta cool it a little bit.”

Her eyes turned a little sad, a little embarrassed.

You continued, a bit softer now. “I know it’s just because you love her and you want to keep her safe. And I know it’s hard for you right now because I’m the one who’s carrying and I can feel her moving and this is the only thing you can control. But, baby, I promise you that a couple of 100% organic cotton crib sheets that might not have that super special certification aren’t gonna kill her.”

Emily was quiet. You turned to hold her face in your hands, tracing her angles, all her lines–you knew them better than you knew your own body. She smiled a little as you brushed her hair out of her face and kissed her forehead.

“Maybe you should be a profiler,” she chuckled, leaning into you and looking at the website you’d pulled up. “Goddamn.”

“Sorry,” you said, drawing her to your chest and tucking her head under your chin. “That was a little harsh.”

“No, you’re right.” Emily exhaled deeply and nodded. “Alright, let’s see these sheets.”

Your stomach did a little flip, excited to share one of your finds with Emily. So far, she’d picked most of the things, and you’d let her, knowing that the lack of control was hard for her.

“Okay.” You scrolled and clicked on a crib sheet, crisp white and covered with tiny dinosaurs. “I mean, look! It’s got little brontosauruses!”

In a rare show of letting go, Emily squeezed your arm and said, “Add it to the cart.”

“Really!?” you squealed.

“Yeah, of course, honey. It's cute.”

You kept scrolling, but Emily stopped your wrist. “Oh, baby, look at that one! It’s got bananas!”

“Adding it,” you decided with a dramatic click.

After a few more minutes of looking through crib sheets, you’d placed your order and shut the laptop for the evening, proud to have made it through all five of Emily’s predetermined list items. You knew you both needed to go to bed, but you were just so comfy sprawled on the couch. Emily’s head rested on your baby bump, and you carded your fingers through her hair.

“I’m sorry I’ve been so controlling about the shopping,” she whispered out of the blue.

“It’s okay, honey,” you said, softly massaging her head.

“No, it’s not,” she sighed. “I didn’t realize I wasn’t letting you pick anything.”

“Em, I promise it’s okay.”

She didn’t answer, instead running her hands along the side of your belly, as if feeling for something, anything.

“Has he been moving tonight?” she asked, her voice almost sad.

“Mmhm.” You hated to see her sad. You wished so desperately that she could feel what you were feeling. You didn’t want her to feel left out of the pregnancy. You didn’t want her to feel any less the baby’s mom than you were.

“Tell me what it feels like.”

You thought for a moment. “Mm… kind of like butterflies. Or, like, when you’re nervous and your stomach does a flip.”

She was quiet again, and you pulled her face up to your chest, pressing kisses to the top of her head. “It’s gonna be okay, Em. You’re her mom, too.”

“I know,” she mumbled.

“You know, I think the baby can feel you.”

“What?” She lifted her head a bit, looking at you quizzically.

“Maybe you can’t feel her yet, but I bet she can feel you. She can hear you, and I read today that babies feel their mom’s emotions.”

Emily looked up at you, her eyes shining a bit.

“I always feel happy and safe and loved when you’re with me. And that’s what she feels, too. She can hear you and she feels those things when you’re around because I feel them. So she knows you’re here. She can feel you.”

Emily blinked back a few tears and pressed her face to your stomach, planting a few kisses on your baby bump.

“I love you,” she whispered to your stomach, and you thought you might cry, too.

“Can you hear me, little one? I love you. Maman loves you so much.”

You let out a shaky breath, trying not to cry, trying (and mostly failing) not to let your overwhelming love for this woman turn you into an absolute puddle. For neither the first time nor the last, you were utterly flabbergasted that this was your life. That there was a baby inside you, growing strong and healthy. That the baby would have two moms, something you’d never thought possible when you were growing up, imagining your future. And, best of all, that you had Emily. Sweet, strong, beautiful Emily. Who loved you so well. Who made you so happy you sometimes thought you'd explode with it. How did you get so lucky? How was it that, despite it all, despite all the tragedies, big and small, along the way, you’d somehow stumbled into a life so good that it was, quite literally, beyond your wildest dreams?

“I love you, Em,” you blurted out, unable to stop yourself or stop the tears from brimming in your eyes.

She looked up at you, and you could tell she was happy, truly happy. And if you could do nothing else in your entire life except make this woman happy, you’d die satisfied.

She sat up a bit, pulling on the collar of your shirt to draw you into a kiss. A soft kiss, one that you melted into, one that reminded you of your very first. All butterflies and excitement for what was to come.

“I love you, too,” she said, pressing her forehead to yours. “So much.”

#emily prentiss #emily prentiss x fem!reader #emily prentiss fanfic #emily prentiss imagine #emily prentiss fluff #emily prentiss x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic

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pinkpigtailsprincess · 2 months

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𝜗𝜚 ݁ ˖ Summer Glow up: creating new habits 🎀⭐️ *࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ!

Hi Dolls!! Welcome Back 2 Dollies 2 Months of Summer Glow Up !! 🎀⭐️ Today im gonna talk all about implementing brand new habits in my life !!

> Hobbies !! 🎀

> Academics !! 📒

> Beauty Care !! 🧖‍♀️

> Scheduling !! ☀️

> Taking Baby Steps !! 🛼

❤︎ ໋𓈒 Hobbies!! 🎀

…: This Summer I Plan on Taking up Some brand New Hobbies to keep my self busy and learn about brand new things bc everyday is useful!! and so i can use my time more wisely some hobbies i have in mind are…

- Yoga

- Painting

- Creative Writing

- Learning Japanese + Spanish

- Reading

- Puzzles!

- Blogging

- Learning To Code

- Doll Collecting

- Book Collecting

- Sewing + Crocheting

- Digital Art

- Piano

and obvii im already a blogger but i still added it anyways i will watching videos on how to get into these hobbies and videos on learning Spanish and more Japanese, also fun fact i’ve actually been studying Japanese sine 2021 but i stopped bc it got to hard but im starting back up!! anyways, after i watch the videos im gonna set up a financial list bc i have the fund all of these but its okay bc i can easily get money!! 🎀

❤︎ ໋𓈒 Academics !! 🎀

More Goals of mine are to raise my grades in an academic space bc i do have decent grades but i wanna aim higher and have PERFECT Grades so in turn that means i must study more and have more discipline and not so irresponsible with my time!! and i also wanna study subjects outside of school bc its always good to learn something new!! now for learning tips so far i have..

- Flash Cards

- Practice Methods

- Teaching Someone Else

- Trying to explain it to a 5 yr old

- Study a Week Before

- watch ted talks on topics

- SLEEP

- write out notes

Now i Also Have a list of subjects i want to learn about!!

- drawing facial expressions + bodies

- Sewing Stiches + How to Hem and Crochet

- How 2 Draw Bodies + Poses

- Full Anatomy 4 Both Genders

- Japanese + Spanish + French + ASL

- Color Theory

- Learning Cursive + Improving Handwriting

- Expanding Vocabulary

- Religious Cults

- Case and Law

- Poison and Toxicology

- Astronomy

- Medical Surgical Instruments

- Matriarchal Societies

- Socialism Societies

Now i definitely won’t be able to do all of this all at once bc it would definitely we too stressful so im gonna choose as least 2-3 to start with and study them and just learn! 🎀🧁

❤︎ ໋𓈒 Beauty Care !! 🐬

📧: Now I already have my regular beauty care regime skin,hair,eyebrows,eyelashes etc. but im also more focused on getting weekly treatments & weekly beauty care habits like…

- Nails

- Hair

- Eyelashes

- Face Mask

- Hand + Foot Mask

And i wanna try and find people in my city that can do this especially for nails bc i would go to the nail salon but i feel like they won’t be able to do it exactly how i want it to be !!!

❤︎ ໋𓈒 Scheduling !! ⭐️

Now That im gonna be so busy i need to make sure i also stay organized with my time so it doesn’t lead to stress so ill have my regular school classes on my regular schedule then making dedicated hours to studying Things i wanna learn about + Language Learning!

My Workouts are always early morning before school in the evening hours before i got to bed so i won’t have to worry about that affecting my academics. With my Hobbies i feel like only some of them really need scheduling so ill also make time dedicated to those as well !!!!

Beauty Maintenance will probably always be on weekends for the stuff that weekly/bi weekly like face masks,manipedis,hair etc!!

and last but definitely not least!!

❤︎ ໋𓈒 Taking Baby Steps !! ⭐️

This whole process is still all new too me so i’ll definitely only be doing a little at a time and working my way up and i get more familiar with the change in my daily life and i won’t pressure my self to complete everything extremely quickly and just take my time with everything! bye bye dolls tysm 4 keeping up with me while doing this kisses 4 all of u!!! 🎀⭐️

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 9 months

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When The World Is Crashing Down [Chapter 5: Turn Off The Lights And Turn Off The Shyness]

Series summary: Your family is House Celtigar, one of Rhaenyra’s wealthiest allies. In the aftermath of Rook’s Rest, Aemond unknowingly conscripts you to save his brother’s life. Now you are in the liar of the enemy, but your loyalties are quickly shifting…

Chapter warnings: Language, warfare, Otto being the worst (per usual), violence, serious injury, cryptic Helaena prophecies, alcoholism/addiction, references to sexual content including noncon (18+), dragons, demented flirting, a late-night surprise, Larys Strong returns. 😞

Series title is a lyric from: “7 Minutes In Heaven” by Fall Out Boy.

Chapter title is a lyric from: “Of All The Gin Joints In All The World” by Fall Out Boy.

Word count: 6.3k.

Link to chapter list: HERE.

Taglist (more in comments): @tinykryptonitewerewolf @lauraneedstochill @not-a-glad-gladiator @daenysx @babyblue711 @arcielee @at-a-rax-ia @bhanclegane @jvpit3rs @padfooteyes @marvelescvpe @travelingmypassion @darkenchantress @yeahright0h @poohxlove @trifoliumviridi @bloodyflowerrr @fan-goddess @devynsficrecs @flowerpotmage @thelittleswanao3 @seabasscevans @hiraethrhapsody @libroparaiso @echos-muses @st-eve-barnes @chattylurker @lm-txles @vagharnaur @moonlightfoxx @storiumemporium @insabecs @heliosscribbles @beautifulsweetschaos @namelesslosers @partnerincrime0 @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @marbles-posts @imsolence @maidmerrymint @backyardfolklore @nimaharchive @anxiousdaemon @under-the-aspen-tree @amiraisgoingthruit @dd122004dd @randomdragonfires @jetblack4real @joliettes

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged! 🥰💜

The sun would burn him, but moonlight is kind. You’re on the balcony of Aegon’s bedchamber, two chairs, two cups of wine, another full pitcher on the table between you, a glass bottle of warm rose oil like amber, like gold, freckled with curled ruby petals. You’re dressed in your usual attire, simple designs and neutral colors, greys and creams and dusky pinks; tonight your gown is a flat, inky blue that matches the night sky. Aegon is wearing his unpretentious cotton trousers—stained with splotches of pomegranate juice, his recompense before you allowed him the wine—and a tiny braid in his shaggy, silver hair.

“I look like your house’s sigil,” Aegon says as he massages rose oil onto his forearms, his palms moving in large sloppy circles over a patchwork of scar tissue; you would do a better job, but he says he wants to learn how to care for his wounds on his own. His dragon ring—gold wings, jade eyes—gleams in the cool, ghostly moonshine. His words are teasing, but his tone is dark, troubled, weary. “Some red, some white. All ugly.”

You smile. You aren’t agreeing, just playing along. “Our motto is better than our flag.”

“I might have been inebriated during that lesson.”

“Perpetual Resurrection.”

Aegon looks at you, confounded. “Quite the mouthful.”

“Crabs molt throughout their lifetime. They crack their own skins open and climb out. If they get stuck, they die. If they get attacked before their new shell hardens, they die. But if they live…they’re a brand new version of themselves. Larger, wiser, more powerful.”

“Spiders,” Aegon says. “You’re trying to placate me with some rousing metaphor about what are essentially aquatic spiders.”

“They’re tasty too,” you say, grinning. “Especially when their shells are still soft. The cooks would serve them fried and us kids would sit around the table ripping the legs free and throwing them at each other.”

“What, you can eat the crab whole?!”

“Yes. Once the faces are cut off and the organs scooped out.”

He pretends to be repulsed by you. “Harrowing. Revolting. This is why Targaryens have always refused to breed with your kind.”

It’s funny, but it isn’t, because it’s a little too close to what you’re both thinking. Under the moonlight, you watch Aegon with the words caged behind your teeth: What do you want most? Who are you in your bones? Where would we be if the world wasn’t crashing down around us?

He slathers rose oil on his scarred right cheek—carelessly, distractedly—and accidentally pokes himself in the eye. “Ow.”

You ask: “Why do you want to do that yourself now?”

“To prove I can. To feel ever so slightly less like an invalid.” He takes a swig of his wine and gazes out over the nightscape ocean, stars in the sky, stars reflected on waves. “I am a study in irony. I spent my whole life waiting for it to be over. I poisoned myself, wasted years, resisted any semblance of usefulness. And now I finally have things I want to accomplish, I finally have reasons to live…and I’m trapped in the flesh of some pathetic, deformed, calamitously weak stranger.” He shakes his head, despondent, still not looking at you. “I can have a body that works. I can have a soul. But I can’t have both at the same time. It’s so fucking unfair.”

“I like you exactly as you are. Body and soul.”

“Everything I own, everything I’m given…” He stares down at his palms, open and empty. “It is destroyed, gets killed, goes mad. I ruin causes. I ruin people. I couldn’t do that to you.”

“I think I’m going to be ruined either way. I’d rather you be the one responsible.”

“Angel,” he says, low and serious. And now his gaze comes back to meet yours. “Who are you supposed to marry?”

You don’t want to tell him. You don’t want it to be true. Your voice is a whisper, almost lost in the night wind. “Cregan Stark.”

His eyes shoot wide, not just startled but terrified. “Stark?!”

You nod miserably. “My father took me and my sisters to Winterfell as part of a trade mission. Cregan decided he wanted me. I never encouraged it, I never desired it, I swear I didn’t—”

“No, I believe you,” Aegon says. He swallows a gulp of wine noisily, his hand shaking. “You were right. I can’t touch him. I can’t stop it. Not unless I win.”

“You don’t want the Iron Throne,” you tell Aegon, already knowing it’s true.

He snorts, a harsh derisive sound. “Who would?”

“Lots of people, I think. But not you or Rhaenyra.”

This intrigues him. “She doesn’t want it either?”

“Not from what I’ve seen and heard. Or, at least, she didn’t until Luke was killed. It changed her. I’m still not convinced she wants to be the queen, but she wants vengeance. And absolute power is a sure path to it.” And so the suffering continues, it goes around and around like a wheel, it is a debt that is never satisfied but only spread like plague.

“I don’t understand why Aemond did that,” Aegon says. His words are hushed, like he’s never spoken them to anyone but you and never will. “When he returned from Storm’s End, I held a feast for him. I had to, someone had to, someone had to pretend it was a victory instead of a murder. But it didn’t make any sense. Arrax was an inconvenience, not a threat. Luke was far more valuable as a hostage than a corpse. Aemond has always been the disciplined brother, the strategic one. I won’t claim to be clever. But I can’t find any strategy in what happened there.”

“Aemond has a temper. He is haunted, I believe. He is not above reckless fury.”

“No, evidently not.” Aegon sighs and rakes his fingers through his hair; again, his dragon ring glints under the moonlight, silver reflected off gold. “I’ll try to win,” he says. “For my family. For you.” Then he smirks, a grim attempt at humor. “Though I pity Cregan Stark for the paradise I will deprive him of.”

You do not return Aegon’s smile. “Don’t have too much pity for him. I have no expertise and I’m scared to death of it. I’d probably end up hiding under his bed, gripping the legs for dear life. He’d have to drag me out and tie me down.”

Aegon is alarmed; his storm-blue eyes are now focused, seeking. He is aware that he has wandered into a quagmire. He treads carefully. “When you say no expertise, you mean…none at all?”

“None.”

“But what about all of those anatomically-correct cock illustrations in your medical books?”

Another joke you can’t bring yourself to laugh at. You drink your wine to stop your lips from quivering, smooth the silk of your gown with a trembling hand. You see it no matter where you look: the pool of red on Theodora’s bedsheets, the dawning and inescapable realization on her face. This is her life now. This will always be her life.

Aegon says gently: “You have no expectation of pleasure.”

“It seems…inherently violent. For the woman. Even if it isn’t meant to be. Being overpowered, being invaded. The man decides when and how it happens. The woman endures.”

Aegon stares at you—biting his full lower lip, deeply somber—but doesn’t speak. He gives you the impression of someone with so many thoughts swimming around in his skull he is struggling to choose just one.

You smile dimly. “I’m sorry. I’ve made you sad.”

“I’m, um…” Aegon pauses to collect himself; he drains his wine cup and sets it back on the table. He is uncharacteristically cautious, like he thinks one unwise word will break the spell of whatever exists between you, this temptation, this need. “I’m saddened by the fact that you think of it that way. Because it doesn’t have to be…distasteful. Frightening. Coerced. It shouldn’t be, in fact.”

“I suppose I’ll find out if the Blacks win this war and Cregan Stark comes to claim me.”

Again, Aegon is exceptionally circumspect. “You’ve never wanted any man?”

“No. Never. Not in that way. Until…” You look at him, willing him to understand. I want you, but I’m so goddamn afraid to. I’m afraid of this world, I’m afraid there’s no hope left in it.

Slowly, Aegon smiles, soft and warm. And without any grasping, animalistic greed, he reaches over to rest a palm on your thigh, night-dark silk draped over skin that doesn’t flinch away from him, doesn’t even have to fight the instinct to. You place a hand on his. Your fingertips trace the gold wings of the green-eyed dragon ring he never takes off. And it is sealed like a covenant under the stars, this allegiance that neither of you could begin to explain to anyone else.

Footsteps are coming through Aegon’s bedchamber, heavy and purposeful. Otto Hightower appears in the balcony doorway. He fills the space like storm clouds flood a clear sky, like blood saturates linen. “You’re getting fat,” he tells Aegon gruffly.

“You’re getting ever more wrinkly and close to the afterlife.”

Otto glances to where Aegon’s hand still rests on your thigh and snaps: “If you’re well enough for that, perhaps you would deign to join us in the council chamber. You could shock everyone by actually acting like a king.”

Then he’s gone, taking those last echoes of the moment with him.

~~~~~~~~~~

“They know she’s here,” Larys Strong says. His audience is gathered around the table: Otto, Criston, Daeron, Grand Maester Orwyle, Tyland Lannister, Jasper Wylde, the knights of the Kingsguard, Aegon slumped way down in his seat and you beside him feeling his forehead worriedly for fever. Because Aegon and Daeron are in attendance, the council chamber is one chair short. Aemond has elected to be the person to stand; he lurks, severe and silent, in a corner of the room half-lit by torchlight. Daeron is dressed in a vibrant teal, Aegon in black; Aemond wears green, dark and brooding like envy.

Criston Cole asks: “How is that possible?”

Otto sighs irritably, rubbing his forehead. “We have spies. I’m sure Rhaenyra does as well.”

“Someone apparently glimpsed the prince regent…um…” Larys searches for the diplomatic word. “Escorting her through the streets of King’s Landing.”

“Dragging is what he did,” Aegon says, glaring at Aemond. “Abducting. Attacking. Imprisoning.” Aemond, arms crossed over his chest, studies his boots and pretends not to have heard him.

Larys continues: “The Blacks don’t believe that she is here of her own volition.”

Otto’s eyes narrow. “What, they think we’ve detained her as some sort of…healer? Hostage?”

“No, my lord,” Larys says, hesitantly, awkwardly. “They don’t imagine the king’s motivations to be that honorable.”

Otto is losing his patience. “Meaning?”

Larys toys with his restless, rodentlike hands. “They think she is being…violated.”

A stilted, scandalized hush falls over the table. “Good,” Aegon says, invoking gasps and gapes. “If Green supporters believe her to be my captive, they won’t harm her. And if the Blacks think she is being held here against her will, she would be safe with them as well. No matter who wins, she is not in danger.”

“That is hardly beneficial for your own reputation, Your Grace,” Tyland Lannister says.

Aegon grins beneath cold eyes; he shows his teeth like a wolf, like a dragon. “Was my reputation so pristine to begin with, Lord Lannister?”

“No, perhaps not,” Tyland mumbles. Still, he should not have said it aloud. Otto huffs another sigh and rolls his eyes.

“So you intend to keep a Celtigar daughter in your service?” Otto says to Aegon.

“I have no doubts concerning her loyalty.”

Larys adds: “My lord, I must say, I cannot see a tactical advantage in her saving the king’s life if she retains any loyalty to Rhaenyra’s cause.”

“Then why save him at all? Why bother? He was lying there half-dead, soon to be properly dead, and she brought him back practically singlehandedly. Why?”

“Mercy,” Aemond says quietly from the corner, and everyone turns to look at him. “Many people have none of it. She perhaps has too much. And now they have grown…” He gestures vaguely, perhaps bashfully. “Attached to each other.”

Jasper Wylde is dismayed. “But the king has a wife.”

Daeron snickers. “Yes, and that has always proved to be such a deterrent in the past.”

“Daeron,” Aegon cautions mildly.

The youngest Targaryen brother obediently sobers and shows the palms of his hands in contrition. “My apologies.” He hides his face with a slurp of his wine cup.

“And what about Cregan Stark?!” Otto exclaims. “You’d encourage his outrage, his Northerner savagery? Seven hells, he thinks you’re spending your days raping his betrothed, do you imagine that will not invoke fiercer wrath, put all of us at greater risk?!”

“Lord Stark was never a reachable ally to our cause, in my estimation,” Larys says calmly.

“That’s not the point, Larys! The point is—!”

“I can offer you something in return for the heightened danger you have assumed,” you interrupt, and these men stare at you as if suddenly remembering that you are here in the room with them, not a phantom or a myth or a cautionary tale but someone real. Aegon glances over, one eyebrow raised on his drawn, perspiring face. He doesn’t know what you’re going to say either.

Otto peers menacingly across the table. “What could you possibly have to barter with? The king is well enough now. He will live with or without you.”

“I have information. I know the workings of Rhaenyra’s council in the leadup to Rook’s Rest.”

“You attended her council meetings?”

“No, but I spent evenings with my father and brothers as they discussed them.”

Otto sits back in his chair, pondering you. After a moment, he nods. “Go on then.”

“I want one concession before I reveal what I know.”

“Besides being permitted indefinite room and board in the Red Keep, which you are in no way entitled to?”

“Not negotiable,” Aegon says.

Otto chuckles, humorless, incredulous, shaking his head. “Fucking insane. Alright. What is it you want, girl?”

“If any member of House Celtigar is taken captive, I want them to be given the opportunity to swear fealty to King Aegon and receive a full pardon for their sins. If they refuse, they are to go to the Night’s Watch, not the scaffold.”

“That’s your price? That’s it?”

“Yes.”

Otto is amused. “Nothing for you? No gold, no land?”

“No.” The prospect hadn’t even occurred to you.

“Not very self-serving. So unlike a Celtigar.” Otto grins, not kindly at all. “Your terms are accepted.”

You begin. “The Greens possess great wealth, now split for safekeeping between Oldtown, Casterly Rock, and the Iron Bank of Braavos. But Rhaenyra’s funds are far more finite. My father has enriched her coffers in part with taxes placed upon houses of the Crownlands. You are always seeking new allies, people you can turn from her side to yours, Corlys Velaryon, the Dragonseeds. Thus far, you have been unsuccessful.” Otto frowns, but he is listening. “I know there are families who have compelling grievances concerning my father’s taxes. Families who have become disenchanted with Rhaenyra’s leadership…or lack thereof, they might say. Rosby, Stokeworth, Cave, Langward, Bourney, Boggs, Hardy, Chyttering. Probably others as well now. They occupy a tactically significant position, being so near to Dragonstone and Driftmark. And I believe if you wrote to them, they would answer.”

“I’ll send ravens,” Otto says. He marvels at you, like a puzzlingly strange creature, a luminescent fang-toothed fish from the depths of the ocean, a direwolf from beyond the Wall. “You don’t want your side to win this war?”

“I want the killing to stop. For both sides.”

“Well, you won’t get that. The bitch will never surrender. That hope died with little Luke Strong.” Otto glowers bitterly at where Aemond stands in the shadowy corner, but he addresses you. “That is your impression as well? She was entertaining the possibility of a truce before he died at Storm’s End?”

You steal a glimpse of Aemond, and you are struck by an unexpected stab of sympathy for him, compassion that feels like a betrayal of your knowledge of the torture he had planned for you. But what is there to say but the truth? “Rhaenyra was considering it very seriously. She and Daemon quarreled over the subject.”

“Of course they did.” Otto looks at Criston, then back to Aemond. “When are you leaving?”

“Soon,” Criston answers for the prince regent. “Very soon.”

“Not soon enough,” Otto spits like venom, and everyone else averts their eyes.

“My lord,” Larys intercedes. “There is one more matter to discuss, and I believe it will be of great interest to His Grace the king.”

Aegon is struggling to concentrate. He blinks groggily at the Master of Whisperers, his brow creased with pain. You smooth his damp, white-blond hair back from his face, threading his braid through your fingertips; you refill his wine cup and give it to him. When Aegon lifts it to his lips, his hands shake so badly he spills scarlet beads like blood down his chin. He wipes them away with his sleeve. Grand Maester Orwyle offers him a small glass bottle of milk of the poppy, but Aegon refuses it.

“Is he alright?” Daeron mutters to you.

“He’s fine. He’s tired, that’s all.”

“Waste no time, Lord Larys,” Aegon says. “I fear Grandsire’s ire has exhausted me. He’s more ferocious than a dragon. We should find a saddle that fits, perhaps Criston could ride him to the Riverlands.”

“Keep guzzling wine, I’m sure that will improve your condition,” Otto bites back.

Larys continues: “It concerns Rook’s Rest.”

Now he has everyone’s attention. “What about Rook’s Rest?” Aegon says. Instinctively, he’s begun twisting the golden dragon ring on his left hand.

“I received word one hour ago that the Blacks have retaken it.”

“What?!” Otto shouts; the rest of the table is in uproar. Criston stands and goes to conspire with Aemond in the corner of the council chamber, urgent indecipherable whispers.

“Sunfyre,” Aegon says frantically. “I have to go to him, I have to get him out—”

“He is already gone, Your Grace,” Larys replies.

“Gone…?”

“Lord Walys Mooton went down to the beach to slay the dragon once his men had taken the castle. He was burned alive.”

“Perfect,” Daeron says, beaming radiantly.

“Lord Mooton’s men fled for their lives, and when they returned, Sunfyre had disappeared. He could not be found anywhere in the vicinity of Rook’s Rest. Moreover, his footprints in the sand stopped abruptly. Which means he must have departed—”

“Into the water…?” Tyland Lannister says, perplexed.

“No,” Larys corrects him. “Into the sky.”

“Sunfyre is flying again?” Aegon asks, his face childlike, astonished.

“That’s impossible,” Criston says. “His wing was broken, I saw it.”

Larys drums his fingers on the tabletop. “I cannot conceive of any other explanation.”

“Then he’ll find me.” Aegon smiles. Sweat snakes down his temples; his face is white, bloodless, barren like the moon. “When Sunfyre is ready, he’ll find me and we’ll be together again.”

“Oh, thank the gods,” Otto exhales. “The Old, the New, that ghastly Drowned one…” He waves a hand at you. “And do you have any to add, Lady Celtigar? Some crab deity your traitorous people worship?”

“I regret to disappoint you, my lord. To my knowledge we have none.”

“Three useable dragons,” Otto says, mostly to himself. “Three is good. With three, we have a chance. And if I can recruit Vermithor or Silverwing…”

“I should go with you when you and Criston march north,” Daeron tells Aemond.

“No,” Aemond returns immediately.

“If you’re going after Daemon, you could use me,” Daeron insists. “Tessarion and I can help.”

“You are needed in the Reach with Lord Ormund Hightower.”

“You just want him all to yourself,” Daeron realizes, exasperated. “You want to be able to say that you were the person to neutralize the Blacks’ greatest asset, that you won the war—!”

Criston says: “He’s not going on some suicide mission chasing Daemon and Caraxes all over the Riverlands. He’s staying with me and the army. He’s using Vhagar logically, responsibly. Right, Aemond?”

“Of course,” Aemond answers, entirely toneless.

Otto whirls to Aegon. “And when will you be able to fight again? Soon, I hope. Surely the culmination of your existence is not one single instance of utility before lapsing back into being some drunken, idiot degenerate.”

In reply, Aegon moans and crumples to the floor. Grand Maester Orwyle and the men of the Kingsguard rush to him, but Criston gets there first; when you cannot rouse the king, Criston throws him over one shoulder—increasingly difficult with each pound Aegon gains, softness and health that you consider a great victory—and ferries him back to bed. As you follow after them, you hesitate in the doorway of the council chamber. Now that Criston is gone, Otto has crossed the room and pinned Aemond to the wall. His large hands, heavy with rings, are pressed to Aemond’s chest; his face is snarling, wicked, callous.

“You have to fix this. You have to end it.”

“I know,” Aemond replies softly.

“Everything that’s happened is your fault.”

“I know,” Aemond says again, then rips free from Otto’s grasp and flees the room.

~~~~~~~~~~

Two days later, Criston leads his army out of the city. They will meet reinforcements on the road between the capital and the Riverlands. There is infantry on foot and cavalry on horses; above them in a blue sky cluttered with vast, cottony clouds are Aemond and Vhagar. As they head north, Daeron and Tessarion fly south towards the Reach to rejoin Ormund Hightower and his men. In Winterfell, Cregan Stark is receiving word of where (and with whom) his betrothed currently resides. At Harrenhal, Daemon and Nettles are kindling rumors like dry wood in a fire. On Dragonstone, Rhaenyra is nursing her rage and paranoia like a hungry child, like a wounded man who has milk of the poppy poured down his throat. And you remain static here in King’s Landing, anchored, steadfast, something immoveable like the ocean or the shore it meets.

You can see Aegon’s bedchamber windows from the beach. You keep glancing up at them, though you know he won’t be there; the sunlight is too harsh today, the potential damage to his skin too great. In a month, he may be able to venture outside as he used to. In two or three, he might be able to fight again. He might be able to kill more than just one errant Norcross boy who dared to touch you.

“Helaena wouldn’t come down to join us?” you ask Autumn. You’re walking with her in the surf, the hems of your held aloft so the froth of the waves can wash over your ankles. Perhaps ten yards away and out of earshot, Alicent is kneeling in the sand and playing with Jaehaera and Maelor. They are her great comfort now; they are not the only purpose she has left, but they are the kindest. Their tiny hands are preoccupied with building a sandcastle and adorning it with seashells, pebbles, shards of driftwood, strings of seaweed like green ribbons. You’ve started to notice how much Jaehaera resembles Aegon, his murky blue eyes and his high cheekbones and his gentleness that no one else seems to recognize. You’ve started to see him everywhere you look.

Autumn shrugs, her face apologetic. Her hair is more than just copper in the afternoon daylight; it is fire, it is blood. “I really tried. You know how she is.”

“I’ll visit her afterwards.”

“She unnerves me,” Autumn says, stroking her round belly and shuddering. She earns her keep here by helping to look after Helaena, Jaehaera, and Maelor. Aegon treats Autumn the same way he treats his wife and children, which is to say he generally ignores her; on the rare occasion he is subjected to her presence for more than a fleeting moment, he becomes uneasy, irritable. Autumn does not appear to be offended. She says this is the best job she’s ever had. “She’s always muttering the strangest things. Caterpillars and crabs and dragons and only the gods know what else. Yesterday she told me not to dance with the half-year queen. What the fuck does that mean?”

“Helaena’s a bit different,” you admit.

“She’s inbred, that’s what she is. I can’t imagine what those kids are going to grow up to be like. A brother and sister for parents? It’s a wonder they don’t have feathers or tails.” Autumn taps the swell of her belly. “At least this one—if it’s a Targaryen after all—has had its bloodline thoroughly diluted.”

You watch her standing there in the fiery late-afternoon light, this body that has comforted, consoled, satisfied, suffered, known so many men. “What does it feel like?” you ask quietly.

“What? Being with child?”

“No, the…um…the act that led to it.”

“Oh, yes.” Autumn stretches with her hands on the small of her back and smiles vaguely, nostalgically. “That’s the strange thing. It can feel like heaven or hell or nothing at all. If the man knows what he’s doing, and cares enough to try, he can make it better for you.”

“Better how?”

She furrows her brow, shoots you a skeptical sideways glance. She is aware that you are inexperienced, but the extent of your blind spots continuously shock her. It occurs to you that perhaps naivety is a privilege; some cannot recall a time before they were acquainted with truths of the world that others consider forbidden. “You know. He’ll use his hands or his mouth to get you ready. Or better yet, both at once.”

“Ready,” you repeat, not understanding.

“Well, you see…” Autumn takes a moment to decide how best to explain. “Men change when they are aroused, yes? Women do the same. It takes longer, and it is not always so obvious. But it is vital. The more ready you are, the more comfortably he will fit inside you.”

“And what if he doesn’t get you ready? If he doesn’t have the skill, or he doesn’t believe it’s necessary, or he doesn’t even know that’s something women require?” Or he just wants to hurt you. He just wants to watch you bleed like something he goes into the woods to kill and gut and devour.

Autumn smirks cynically. “That depends.”

“On what?”

“The sizes involved. Some men are bigger than others, and women have different dimensions as well. Couples can be well-matched or not. Sometimes it isn’t too bad. Sometimes it feels like you’re being ripped apart. And that doesn’t necessarily stop after the first time either.”

“And you can’t say no.”

“You can say no all you want. But he doesn’t have to listen.”

You peer out over Blackwater Bay, sunbeams flashing on wave crests and gulls swooping in the reddening sky. But you don’t really see it. What you see are fingerprints of dirt or ash on your thighs, snow in your hair, books laden with dust, fur coats and evergreen trees, rust-stains of blood on bedsheets.

“I’ve heard that Lord Stark is a very large man,” Autumn nudges. She knows, everyone knows.

“He’s massive,” you say forlornly. “He’s taller than Aemond and twice as broad.”

“The king isn’t so big,” she says, pretending that the thought has just popped into her mind, as if she hasn’t noticed the way you and Aegon look at each other, speak to each other, find excuses to touch each other.

“No,” you agree in a whisper.

“And he’s not a brute. I can’t fairly speak to his skill, I never had him anywhere close to sober. But he has no appetite for women’s pain. That’s a valuable gem in a man, it’s like stumbling across a ruby or a pearl.”

You nod; but you don’t want to think about Autumn lying with Aegon. You don’t want to think about the child they might share. In a world so dark, it seems cruel to begrudge people creating life where none existed before. But when you picture Aegon touching someone else, that darkness seeps in through your skin like rain soaks the earth and can’t find its way out. “We’re going to the library together tomorrow, aren’t we?”

Autumn groans. “Did I agree to that? I don’t believe I did.”

She did not, this is true; you badgered, she deflected. “You’ll enjoy it.”

“I am illiterate.”

“I told you. I’ll teach you how to read.”

“Why would I want to stare at ink marks in a book all day when I could be outside in the sunshine listening to the ocean and herding inbred little freaks like sheep?”

“Because books can take you anywhere,” you say.

“I like where I am. I’ve never seen anyplace better.”

“Okay, Autumn,” you concede, smiling. “I’ll ask again tomorrow. Hopefully you’ll change your mind.”

“Say hello to Helaena for me,” she says, meandering back towards Alicent and the children. Her footprints in the sand are erased when the gurgling waves roll over them. “Maybe one of those fancy books can help you translate lunacy into the Common Tongue.”

Upstairs in her bedchamber, Helaena is standing in front of an open window. It doesn’t offer a view of the ocean; it is positioned over a courtyard of sandstone and chatting courtiers. Helaena does not seem to hear them. She gazes out into the sunset, celestial rage on her impassive face.

“He’s leaving soon,” she says, not turning to look at you.

“Who, Helaena? Aemond? He left days ago. He’s already gone, he’s on his way to the Riverlands. But he’ll be back soon.” You don’t know if that’s true—it probably isn’t, in fact—but you’re certain that Helaena misses him. Her children do too; he is more of a father to them than Aegon has ever been, not in body but in soul.

She only repeats: “He’s leaving soon.”

“Helaena, what—?”

“He’ll leave you. Then you’ll leave him. He’ll make you.”

At last, and very slowly, she revolves like the stripe of shadow across a sundial. In her cupped palms is a butterfly, shimmering gold wings and spiderlike black legs. It takes flight, flutters aimlessly through the vermillion air, escapes out the open window.

~~~~~~~~~~

A peculiar twist of fate: his palm on your forehead, his whispers through your hair. Now he is the one who has stolen into your bed when the moon and stars hang high in the darkness outside. There is a noise somewhere beyond him, disembodied and hazy, that reminds you of torrential rain: omnipresent, thunderous.

“Angel,” Aegon is saying. “Wake up. Please wake up. I have to go.”

Go? Go where? You murmur, still half-asleep: “You can’t leave.” He isn’t strong enough yet. He can’t fight, he can’t run.

“I have to. They’re here.”

“Who…?”

The answer comes from the sounds that you are only now awake enough to understand: screaming, pounding boots, slamming doors, the ravenous crackling of fire, the shrieking of dragons. You have learned all of their unearthly voices. That’s not Vhagar or Tessarion or Sunfyre or Dreamfyre… It flashes by your windows, a comet of gold and flames.

You bolt out of bed. “Rhaenyra—?!”

“Rhaenyra, Syrax, Daemon, Caraxes.”

Daemon shouldn’t be here. He should be losing battles to Aemond and Criston. “But he’s at Harrenhal!”

“Not anymore.” Aegon takes your hand and pulls you out into the hallway, the hem of your nightgown billowing around your legs, his short silver hair flying behind him. There are servants and guards rushing by you, weeping, shouting, searching for places to hide. Grand Maester Orwyle ambles towards the rookery to send out ravens. Several rooms away, you can hear Helaena wailing and Autumn trying to soothe her. Larys Strong intercepts Aegon and gives him a hooded cloak; Aegon yanks it over his bare, mutilated chest, whimpering as the rapid movement strains the red-and-ivory disarray of scar tissue that used to be his skin. “You have everything?” he asks Larys hoarsely. You notice now that the Master of Whisperers has a satchel slung over one shoulder.

“Yes, Your Grace. Milk of the poppy, rose oil, the crown.”

“Wine?”

Larys produces a bottle. Aegon gulps down half of it, then passes the rest to you. You hesitate before finishing the wine, red like the sigil of House Celtigar, like fire, like blood. “They are closing all roads out of the city,” Larys tells Aegon, speaking swiftly. “King’s Landing will be taken. We will surrender. We cannot fight a dragon, let alone two.”

“Aemond and Criston—?”

“Daemon must have outflanked them.”

Aegon grabs your hand again and does not let go as he trails Larys through corridors and down claustrophobically tight spiral staircases. “The roads are blocked,” Aegon explains to you breathlessly. “But there are secret passageways beneath the castle. I know them. Larys knows them. Daemon probably knows them too, but he has other places to be.”

And through a window of a staircase, you see him: Caraxes spiraled around the apex of the Tower of the Hand, screaming fire into the sky before descending the length of the tower towards the hoards of hysterical courtiers fleeing below, his claws jostling loose bricks that rain down on them.

The bottom of the stairwell opens up into a large, dusty, dirt-floored chamber with stone tunnels leading in every direction like spokes of a wheel. Alicent is there, sobbing wildly, and so is Otto. Otto is telling Jaehaera that she must be a brave little girl and go with Sir Willis Fell. Alicent is giving little Maelor over to Sir Rickard Thorne, your once-alleged-kinfolk. The child is panicked and crying, flushed face and white hair. Aegon glances at the scene and then keeps moving, towing you along with him.

“Princess Jaehaera will go to Storm’s End,” Larys says. “Prince Maelor will go to Oldtown. They face execution if they stay. We must risk smuggling them out of the city.”

“What about Aegon?” you ask as the three of you hasten into a corridor thick with cobwebs and illuminated by torchlight. The stone ceiling is arched and perhaps seven feet tall; faintly, you can still hear the muffled turmoil of King’s Landing falling to Rhaenyra and Daemon.

“I’m going Dragonstone.” And it does not elude you that he didn’t say we. “If Rhaenyra is here, that likely means Dragonstone is vacant. I will go to the Crownlands families that you believe to be willing to betray her and beg them for support. I will take Dragonstone and prepare a counterassault from there. Hopefully Sunfyre will find me. Hopefully I’m not killed on the way.”

“Okay,” you say. “I’m going too.”

“You’re staying in King’s Landing.”

“No.” You stop dead, wrenching your hand out of Aegon’s. “No, what if you get hurt, or sick, or what if you get really bad again—?!”

“Listen!” he shouts with dire intensity, his eyes wide and pleading in the torchlight. “I can’t protect you. I can’t even protect myself. There could be bandits on the road, there could be Black soldiers, there could be animals, there could be fucking anything. I can’t take you with me. I don’t know if I’ll be able to get to Dragonstone. But I know if I stay here Rhaenyra will murder me. I don’t have a choice. I have one option, and it’s not good. But you’ll be safe in King’s Landing.”

“Aegon, no—”

“The Blacks don’t think you’re here by choice. They think I’ve imprisoned you. Tell them that’s what happened and they will welcome you back. Your family will protect you.”

“Aegon, please don’t—”

His palm on your cheek, his braid coming unraveled in his hair. “You will wait out the war with them. And when it’s over I’ll find you.” Tears glistening in his eyes, his voice going soft and tender. “If I’m still alive, I’ll find you. I swear to all the gods I will.”

He’s leaving. He’s really leaving. “What can I do?” you ask, your words strangled; your throat is burning, your eyes wet. “What can I do to help you?”

And you expect him to say things you already know: Don’t tell anyone where I’ve gone. Don’t tell anyone what you’ve heard in the Greens’ council meetings. Instead, Aegon grins as he says: “Try to get one of your three superfluous sisters to seduce Cregan Stark.”

You laugh, the sound echoing off ancient, filthy stones.

“My mother and Otto are waiting for you. You will be with them when they are taken to Rhaenyra. They are high-ranking prisoners of war, they will be spared the brutality of the Black soldiers and so will you. They will corroborate that you were my captive.”

“I understand.”

“I have to go now,” Aegon says like an apology, swiping tears from your face with his thumbs. He breaks away from you and follows Larys Strong down the tunnel. They are shadows under the torchlight, cloaks and whispers.

“Aegon,” you call after him, and he stops. I never told you what I wanted. I never told you what I feel for you. “What if I never see you again?”

You don’t know what you want him to do or say. There’s nothing that could make this right. But he soars back to you, takes you roughly and desperately, buries his hands in your hair and kisses you deeply, tasting like wine and heat and the smoke filling the world outside. He means for it to be quick, but he can’t stop. His tongue darts between your lips, his hips press to yours, you arch into him wanting more, infinitely more.

What was I so afraid of? you think dizzily. How could I be afraid of anything with him?

“Your Grace,” Larys appeals regretfully. “Please. We don’t have much time.”

Aegon twists off his dragon ring—gold wings, jade eyes—and slips it onto your left hand. And you’re still staring down at it, mystified, as Aegon disentangles himself from you and vanishes into the darkness.

#aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii #aegon targaryen #aegon targaryen ii #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon ii x y/n #aegon x reader #aegon ii x you #aegon ii fic #aegon ii x reader #aegon targaryen ii x you #aegon targaryen x you #aegon ii targaryen x reader

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tarjapearce · 1 year

Text

Bad Teachings (Pt. 4)

WARNINGS: Nerd talk, Miguel into Work Mode, Relationship Building, Slow Burn, mild fluff, awkward meetings, british slang, mutual help.

Summary: A little peek into Miguel's daily life. Returning favors, rocky starts.

Pt. 5

Hope you like <3

Pairings: Miguel x Fem!Reader

The alarm beeped, and you rose from bed. You'd usually sleep in late and just chill the evening away if you had the free time for it, if not, you'd work ahead to declutter your to-do list. Something that adult life had taught you was to make the most out of your time and keep a balance between resting and work life.

You washed your teeth and showered, adding a mental note to buy more shampoo and conditioner later. Fifteen minutes after you came out, and did a brief skin care routine to finally get ready. You changed into some baby blue high waisted jeans, a white tank top and cardigan along some white espadrilles. You packed in some work tools such as your laptop, an usb docking station and your usb's.

Need you at 9-

Miguel had texted you around 10 pm, and now you were on your way to his home.

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

You knocked on the door and held the two cup holders tightly as your working bag hung on your shoulder. The heavy yet familiar steps approached and soon, the door was open, revealing a sleepy looking Miguel, black sweatpants and robe on. A smear of toothpaste foam on his chin. Baggy eyes are a bit more prominent.

"Coffee?" you smiled sympathetically as he let you in. You then offered a napkin

"Clean your chin." He did with a grunt and took a sip of the coffee.

"Didn't know how you liked it, so I just got it plain with two pieces of sugar."

"It's good, thanks." He mumbled and rubbed his face, tiredly.

Now that your hormones were under control, you actually paid attention to your surroundings, the floor was covered in marble-like textured tiles, and the walls were painted in a soft cream. The overall layout displayed before you.

You were standing in a soft rug, to remove all dirt from outside, to your right there was a small hall and a door at the bottom, the broom peeking out made you guess that it was the cleaning supplies storage, if you walked straight, you'd find the dining table and behind it, the kitchen, a small breakfast island separating the spaces.

Oddly enough the chairs underneath looked as if they hadn't been used in a while, they looked almost brand new except for one that had child-like doodles on it, in different colors. If you walked to the right of the dining table, you'd find the living room.

An L shaped couch along a dark wooden coffee table, a tv set with some shelves full of books and few portraits on each side of it. There was a wall dividing the livingroom and the bedrooms, as another one limited the kitchen, creating another hall between.

The windows in the dining room and his bedroom were made out of thick glass, letting enough natural light to illuminate the spaces. However they were both covered by curtains. Miguel rubbed his eyes as he guided you to your work station. meaning, the dining room. Paper files spreaded all over the glass table.

"You'll work with these. Easy task. Each file is labeled with a letter, the main information is tagged in capital letters, the sub files, or the one related to the main file, are tagged in lowercase letters and a number, it dictates the page." He pointed to the bottom corner of the pages

"But, the lazy ass people I work with just gave me this bundle of papers." He sighed and put on his lenses once more.

"Once you are done organizing, hand them over to me. I need to revise which ones are outdated."

"Wait, so you're working with obsolete information?"

"No, with projects that should have been revised a week ago but were never revised due them being incomplete. Tal Vez una junta y un memo hacen que estos pendejos trabajen bien." He grumbled the last part more to himself than anyone else.

You didn't want to add to his stress, so you picked up the loose paper sheets in the file. He gulped the last remains of caffeine in his cup as you sipped yours.

"Excuse me." You put your work bag on a chair and soon began to follow instructions.

"If you're stuck in something, tell me. I'll be in the living room. " Your paper cup was taken from your hands and he sipped it, then walked back to the living room with a tiny smirk. You were about to protest, but seeing coffee had gotten him a bit more alive, your lips remained shut.

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

The only sounds in the room were either you flipping and organizing pages or him typing away on the keyboard. A bird chirping somewhere occasionally, or some faint music from a neighbor. You had glanced his way a couple of times, only to find him buried in his work, his figure was something impossible to miss. His lower lip jutted as his brow furrowed as he looked at the screen.

You on the other hand had organized one complete file, it was a short one. And from what you could read, it was about recreating a Japanese pink strawberry in some labs to see if it was feasible enough to start commercializing them. Miguel had done the whole research by himself.

"Y'know? I apologize for giving your intelligence little credit."

He looked at you with a quirked eyebrow

"Did you just call me stupid?"

"W-What? No! No. I didn't mean it like that. Like, I knew you were smart, but, this is a whole new level of smart."

He just chuckled and continued his work.

"Seems you're easy to impress."

"No, it means I just need to increase my standards. And I don't even ask for much really."

He stretched and yawned before taking some papers.

"And what are those?"

You stared at him, a bit taken aback that he would actually ask such trivialities.

"Well... I like a man that knows what he wants. Honest, loyal, not a clown but neither a stuck up guy, someone smart that can teach me stuff, in the same way that is willing to learn about new experiences. Sure of himself, someone I can trust and vice versa, good at communication and someone that has gotten over his ex. Or at least do not repeat patterns that they used to do with their ex."

He huffed at the last bit in mirth.

"Good luck with the last one."

"Yeah, That's why I don't head first into it. And the one that kind of met those requirements had to leave to another country" you shrugged and started on the second file.

"But yeah, anyway. I'm impressed that you alone lead these sorts of investigations. Not a good team player?" you smirked and he shook his head.

"Not really. "

"Oh... Well, sometimes it is more about the people you work with than the job itself, I guess."

He stared at you, eyes full of quiet wonder, but the beeping of his phone interrupted his train of thoughts.

"Hold on, gotta pick up"

You nodded and continued your work. He disappeared into his bedroom.

The second file was about rectifying the propension of field corn in getting infected by fungus. And the third one was about creating a substance or reactive that could reveal any anomalies in pregnant animals raised in captivity to preserve the species. The more you read about said files the more your admiration grew. And so the need to make things right.

"Feeling hungry?" He spoke from the hall, the clock had ticked 12 midday. You both were so engrossed in your respective works that you forgot about time.

"Uh, a little."

You kept organizing files and separating the projects, reading and learning about them on the go.

"What do you wanna eat?"

"You're ordering or cooking?"

"Ordering."

"Uh, a poke bowl sounds nice."

"A what?" He scrunched his nose and you giggled.

"It's a hawaiian dish made out of raw marinated fish and veggies or rice. Quite nutritious and delicious."

"Sounds nice, except for the raw fish."

"Haha, don't worry, there is a place that sells them with other cooked protein. I highly recommend the salmon glazed one. My treat"

"No. You got me coffee in the morning. We're even."

"Alright. Lemme get you the place´s number."

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

"So... how do you eat this?" You grabbed the chopsticks and grabbed a piece of glazed salmon.

"Just like that. Give it a try. " you smiled as your hand passed his packed chopsticks. He stared at them for a second and sighed.

"Please?

"If you just wanna laugh at me, say it"

You couldn't help but chuckle and shake your head.

"Pfft. It took me a while to get used to them too. But yeah, this will be funny."

"Sólo porque me lo pides de por favor..."

You always gave him a confused look whenever he spoke in what you could guess whas his mother language. He ripped the small package open and separated the sticks.

"Now, put the lower stick between your thumb and index finger, like tha- , No, no. Yes! Like that! And the other one must be held by the thumb and the middle finger"

There were two main emotions going through his face, frustration and determination. It turned into complete frustration when the small piece of protein fell off his chopsticks.

"It's fine if you don't get it at the first one. Takes a bit of practice." You handed him a plastic fork and smiled, he took it with a light scowl as you kept eating with the chopsticks.

"Besides, once you master them you can eat anything with it. Even snacks so your fingers don't get all... sticky."

"I'm staying with forks and knives, thanks."

You both couldn't help but chuckle.

"What has been the most difficult project to you, so far?"

"The ADA reactive in animals."

"Anomaly Detector Algorithm, right?" The corner of his lips curved slightly upwards at your response.

"Glad to see you're doing your homework, guapa."

"Your work is interesting. By the way, the Corn Field Fungus one is incomplete. Couldn't find the other pages"

He shrugged and finished eating.

"Not my fault. They are not doing their job properly, so of course it was incomplete."

"Sounds... stressing. Your job I mean."

"It is when incompetent people are in charge of things they shouldn't be. But when people know what they are doing, it's different."

"So, basically your job is modifying DNA from things to make things better or create alternative solutions if things don't get better?"

"Simple as that" He nodded, "We gotta check those files before creating the digital copy"

He stood and you quickly finished up your meal, smearing some sauce on your chin, you were about to retrieve the empty plastic bowl to put it in the trash when he cupped your face with a single hand and pulled it gently towards him. He used a napkin to clean the smear and nodded.

"That's better. Get to work" He went back to his work spot and so did you, after cleaning the table. Cheeks flushing.

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

"I'll send you the first transcribed file, so you can check it out as I'm finishing the third one."

"Sure."

He stretched once more to then give the last sip from another mug of coffee. The man lived on caffeine, or he was beyond exhausted and coffee kept him up. You had your work tools out. The noises of your typing mixed with his, almost as fast as he was.

"Want more coffee?" You offered as his eyes drooped.

"Not really. Can't surpass my fifth one."

"Then you should rest your eyes a bit. Take a break of five."

"We're almost done."

"That's precisely why you need five minutes off. Is the light bothering you?"

"A little"

He rubbed his eyes as he pinched his nose bridge. Gruff voice coming as a rough whisper as you turned the unnecessary lights off, leaving the living room's on only. Then you soaked a clean handkerchief with cold water and returned to his side.

"Here." you offered the cold and wet piece of cloth with a small smile. "Close your eyes and put it on."

He didn't seem convinced that it would do anything, but your willingness to alleviate his distress made him take the cloth and put it on his eyes. He exhaled at the coolness the item provided.

You sat next to him and continued your job, as quietly as you possibly could. Even after the five minutes passed, you didn't move him. He was exhausted. The living room was lit enough to give you a small glimpse of what the shelves had.

Books on Genetics, probably from college, maths, engineering, some spanish titles you quite didn't understand. What threw you off guard was some children's book and stories in one space of the shelf.

Titles like "El Principito", "Cuentos Por Teléfono" "A Bear Called Paddington '' among others with colorful pictures of dinosaurs, soccer balls and some tattered coloring books.

Your eyes squinted as they settled for a portrait, It was a little girl, Black hair as Miguel's combed in a high ponytail as a red headband adorned her front section of the head, keeping the smaller and wild hairs under control. Her smile was cheerful as she held a golden trophy with a soccer player motif on top.

The words "Mi Sol" written in the left corner. The only picture of her in the portraits Miguel jerked awake and your eyes were casted back to the screen.

"Feel better?" He just nodded and exhaled.

"Here's the other two files" You mumbled and passed the usb to him, his large hand covering yours for a second. You waited as his eyes dragged across his screen.

Eyes going from squinting, frowning to widen gently. He gave you a rusty smile.

"Good job."

"Thanks. Glad to help." your smile was genuine, almost smug. You exhaled, relieved. Clock ticking 7 pm.

"Is there anything else you need help with?"

" All done.Thanks."

"Alright, I shall get going then. It's getting late"

"Then, Stay." You looked at him with a pout.

"As much as I'd like to, you are exhausted, slept on the couch for more than five minutes, you need sleep."

It was his turn to give you a smug smile and you rolled your eyes.

"And stop drinking that much caffeine. You'll get a heart attack."

"A myth, by the way. Five cups is fine"

"If you say so"

Smiling, you put your tools back in your work bag and went for the door, he followed you.

"Thanks for the help"

"Anytime." You nodded.

He just stood on the doorframe, watching you as your nerves rioted inside you, was he expecting a hug? a kiss goodbye? You didn't know.

"Uh, Bye then. Don't forget to sleep" You ended up waving, unsure of giving a more intimate farewell. He seemed amused at your choice.

"Pasa linda noche, muñeca" You heard him mutter before the elevator's door closed.

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

Your elevator's door slid open, revealing the ever long hallway, work bag slinging on your left shoulder as your keys tinkered upon grabbing them. You tried to open the door but to your little surprise the door wouldn't budge. You groaned in annoyance as you pushed, to no avail. All happiness from a good deed done, drained away.

"Fuck." You heaved as you tried once more and failed. Taking your phone out, you recorded a small video for evidence, to send it to the landlord.

No matter how much you pushed the door, or turned the key, the door was stuck. You couldn't help but kick it, but regretted it instantly. Shoes too soft against a sturdy metal door.

"Fuck!" you whined, both in pain and exasperated.

"Seems ya could use some help"

British deep voice from behind you

"Be my guest. This thing wouldn't budge."

"Been having troubles with it too?"

"I already sent the evidence to Mr. Cufton. Hopefully he will fix the damn thing for real this time."

"I'm sure the bloke will be buzzin' when he sees it"

Hobbie stepped closer and took the keys. He turned them around a couple of times and pushed against the door with all his might.

"Goddamn..." Your eyes widened as he opened the door for you, he seemed unfazed, almost used to it.

"Thanks, Hobie."

"No problem." He stepped out of your apartment with his hands stuck in the pockets of his jacket.

"Have a good night." He nodded your way with a lax smile, you closed the door and opened it a couple of times to make sure it would work in the morning.

You prepared the food for the week, your clothes and a small presentation that was sent to you to be corrected last minute.

And soon went to sleep.

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

You were having a bad day as it is, the door was jammed again and made you get one hour late since Mr. Cufton barely replied your way, and had another neighbor help you out. Traffic was insane, and when you got to your office, ready to start your day, the usb storage box wasn't in your tote bag.

Panic surged through you as your hands frantically searched for the small plastic box. You not only had a couple of months worth of work in them, but also some other coworker projects that would be presented in a couple of days.

It didn't help that the newest client was bitching about the little flow of movement her new beauty products' line was receiving. The responsibility falls directly on your both superiors and you.

Then, your superiors reprimanding you for not having the usb on hand to show the manager the newest projects to be soon developed in the firm and Mr. Cufton announced the door wouldn't be replaced until next week. As soon as 5 pm ticked in, you bolted out the place.

You couldn't help but cry out of frustration, however a ding on your phone prevented you from weeping in the parking lot.

I believe this is yours?-

He had sent the image of the usb box you had looked up. In all your haste, you had barely thought of it staying behind at Miguel's.

Forgot to mention this in the morning-.

Of course he would. He was super busy. You couldn't help but actually cry, relieved that at least one of your problems, one of the biggest problems was solved.

-You literally just saved my ass from being fired... Thank you so much. I'll pick it up at your place. Is that ok?

Give me your location, I'm not home yet.-

Stuck in traffic.-

-Neither do I, but I'll be there in 15 minutes.

You shared your home location, and drove home. Traffic only held you back for five minutes. You parked the car in the usual numbered spot assigned with your apartment number. Then took the elevator, work tote bag in hand, face still red from your previous crying, and finally you managed to get home and let Miguel know you were already there and your apartment number.

You knew you had to open the door to at least put your things away, and make yourself look less beaten up by life. Sadly there was no Hobie or the other friendly neighbor to help you out. The only times you saw Hobie was around seven or eight pm, and there was no sign of the other guy. You prepared mentally to struggle against an inanimate object.

First time was worthless, the second time was even worse. You had only slammed your body against it, earning another pain in your tender shoulder's muscles. Just when you were going to try a third time, Miguel called you from the hallway. You were on the verge of tears again, your face flushed like a tomato.

"You ok?"

You shook your head as you tried your best to keep the tears inside.

"Shitty day but, you saved my ass, again."

"What's wrong with the door?"

"It's stuck and the landlord will replace it until next week. Got an hour late at job because I got trapped inside" your voice was the first thing in breaking.

Miguel stared at you for a moment and then put his things down on the floor with a sigh. He rolled up his sleeves and grabbed your keys that felt tiny on his large hands. He could feel the weight of the door against the doorframe, knowing that if he was too rough, the whole door would cave in and make the problem worse.

He just stared at it's structure for some minutes, evaluating what could be wrong with it.

The elevator dinged open, revealing Hobie with a bag of groceries. He entered his apartment to drop the bags and then came your way. Eyeing the situation from afar.

"You gotta push against it, mate" He wore ripped jeans, his red boots, a sleeveless and irregular neck shaped shirt and studded bracelets.

Miguel acknowledged him with a glance before focusing on the door again.

"That's probably what messed up the hinges last night."

Hobie's eyebrow quirked as he deadpanned.

"If I push the door open, the whole thing will cave in and it'll make everything worse" Miguel spoke as he gently took the doorknob and pulled back, the door creaked but it didn't cave in, but it fell back on the floor with a metallic thud.

Miguel looked at the back of the door and grunted.

"That's the problem. Hinges are rusted, and the screws are loose."

"Hobie? Could I borrow your tools for a second?"

"Haven't unpacked them yet, birdie"

If there was a staring contest, you were sure it was a tie. Miguel's ever present frown deepened slightly as Hobie gave him a complete poker face. Tension in the air, you saw your other friendly neighbor coming through the elevator with his dog.

"It's okay, I'll ask him." You smiled nervously at him and approached your neighbor to ask him for some tools.

Hobie huffed with a slight smirk at Miguel

"Good luck with that dead naff door, mate. Imma leg out."

He turned around and left, giving a quiet smile your way.

"Charming" he mumbled once he was out of hearing

"Told you to be nice. He helped me out last night." you gave the screwdrivers to him, "Need any help?"

"I'm good. Yo me encargo"

"Yeah, Y'know I might start learning spanish cause... I don't understand what you're saying sometimes"

He smiled mischievously as he effortlessly held the door and began screwing it back to its place.

"What's the fun in that then?"

"I mean, for all I know you could be making fun of me or worse" you spoke as you picked up his belongings and yours to take them inside.

" Or worse? Hm... probably"

"You're mean. But I'm grateful you're helping me out. Again."

"At this point I'll start keeping tabs."

"Ouch."

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

Miguel fixed your door, but explained to you it was a temporary solution, lucky you'd know how to fix it in case another incident happened.

"Here" you gave him a glass of water as he looked around, taking in your surroundings. He then gave you the storage box.

"What happened today?" he drank from the glass

"Oh... uh, I told you shitty day. Got trapped here, got an hour late at work, the client was pissed she wasn't getting the numbers right of her products, blamed my boss and me," you sighed, annoyed

"Then the manager scolded me for not having the data on hand, cause it's in one of these little things, then the landlord told me my door is getting replaced next week, traffic and the door. But now, at least three of those issues are solved."

You slumped on the couch. exhausted

"Sorry for always dragging you to help me around"

"You apologize too much. "

You were about to open your mouth to apologize but remained shut. His frown decreased a bit and his face relaxed.

"Gotta go"

"Sure, Thanks for the help. I really appreciate it."

"De nada, hermosa"

"Might call you one day to help me out with some furniture that needs to be assembled"

He deadpanned and you giggled.

"Of course I am joking. I know you are really busy."

He picked up his things and you went to the door with him.

"Might do some time for that"

"Really? I might prepare something to eat then. Or maybe you could show me some cooking skills"

"I'll think about it"

You nodded with a bashful smile.

"Thanks, Miguel."

"See you"

You closed the door, it didn't lock you up this time.

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

Tal Vez una junta y un memo hacen que estos pendejos trabajen bien.- Maybe a meeting and a memo will make these fuckers to work properly

Sólo porque me lo pides de por favor.. - Only cause you're asking nicely

El Principito - The Little Prince

"Cuentos Por Teléfono- Telephone Tales (Highly recommended btw <3 By Gianni Rodari)

Mi Sol - My Sun

Pasa linda noche, muñeca- Have a nice night, doll

Yo me encargo - I've got this

De nada, hermosa - You're welcome, beautiful

Taglist ❤️

@vyxvi

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

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x reader #atsv miguel #female reader #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o'hara fluff #miguel ohara x you #miguel o’hara fanfiction #miguel spiderman #miguel x reader #miguel spiderverse #miguel x you #slow burn #Rocky start with Hobie

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cupidastrology · 7 months

Text

𝓥𝓮𝓷𝓾𝓼 𝓲𝓷 𝓢𝓬𝓸𝓻𝓹𝓲𝓸 𖤓 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓫𝓮𝓪𝓾𝓽𝔂 𝓸𝓯 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓮𝓷𝓭 ☆ 𝓱𝓸𝓻𝓸𝓼𝓬𝓸𝓹𝓮

associate this major transit horoscope with your big 3 or natal venus ︎ ♀︎ in scorpio ♏︎ through your birth chart. you may also associate with any positions in scorpio.

☆☆☆

venus ︎ ♀︎ in scorpio ♏︎ is all about darkness coming to light, but also about letting it all die for new flowers to bloom. this is a time of massive change and it all has to do with letting go of what is not working for you anymore. venus ︎ ♀︎ is our planet of love, and when scorpio is involved, we understand the importance of dark romance and the strength of love ties.

scorpio ♏︎ has a lot to do with releasing, big transformations that heavily involve death, and it can showcase the stubborn emotions involved with not wanting to let go. the test of scorpio ♏︎ associating with love, aka planet venus ︎ ♀︎, is that sometimes what we love must be released for brand new opportunities and experiences.

this can connect to growing out of an old shell, home, or persona you thought was you for long term. it is time to grow out of the old skin and into a new one; you will go through emotional blockages that are only there because you allow them to be there. this means that stubbornness is likely in this transit.

you love life is also affected, hence scorpio ♏︎ associating with the planet of relationships. this can constitute to a humanly relationship, or a relationship with an item you protect dearly and really "ride or die" for. you may see events where romance becomes dark, toxic, and no longer stable emotionally. its important here that the traits of venus ︎ ♀︎ in scorpio ♏︎ are acknowledged, meaning that it is necessary to let go emotionally if a connection is draining your spirit.

you may also be going through a period of solitude. venus ︎ ♀︎ in libra's ♎︎ transit prior may have shown you the desire for more balance in a connection, and now you're looking to a renewal with love. this is very present in this transit as-well.

scorpio ♏︎ is the sign of sleep, of silence, and of a confidence that is not expressed extrovertedly. its important to connect with silence, loneliness, and lots of rest around this time. if you are focusing on a huge project, don't beat yourself up on the long term thinking and planning.

to summarize this transit, read the list below:

1. take care of your stomach, and of what you consume due to emotions - you are to feel out all that is needed at this time, a breakup, a big change in the home, or letting go a connection. don't fall into any addictions.

2. a need for self care is needed - scorpio ♏︎ rules the internal organs, but mainly the genitals and reproductive system. be aware of what you are placing into your body, who you let into your bed, and what you are consuming. a fasting, new exercise, or letting go of bad habits with food will be felt.

3. this is a perfect time to grow a end of the year board - this transit will awaken more emotional and vulnerable emotions, so this can be channeled towards a incoming year mood board. trash any papers, notes, or affirmations you have made for brand new ones.

#astrology #aries #libra #taurus #virgo #pisces #aquarius #astrology signs #capricorn #astrology readings #horoscope

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cellythefloshie · 1 year

Text

;; Look At My Face

Summary: Dunn is livid after a high hit leaves him bloodied. You are able to bring him some comfort after a concussion spotter has him removed from the game. Kinks & TW: Hurt/Comfort. Notes: Reader is a medical resident/intern for the Seattle Kraken Organization, this would make her 24+. If this was going to be anything more than a short one-shot I would spend more time researching the NHL concussion protocols so you get a lot of generalization. I am also in no way a medical professional - my knowledge goes as far as basic first aid. AND yes I spent a good 20 minutes studying the different members of NHL medical teams just for 700 words. We're lucky I wanted to keep this shorter. Inspired By: This Gif Set. And the incident from the Ducks vs Seattle games on 2023-03-07. Word Count: 708

The hit from Max Comtois had been high. His shoulder collided with Vince Dunn square in the face and down onto the ice where he lay still until his slow-moving body had lifted itself from the ice. Everyone had seen it. Well, everyone except the officials. The crowd was left roaring in disapproval, and Vince? He was livid. Skating back to the bench, where the trainers waited to get a good look at the damage done, he spewed profanities. He let out a few choice words, coward and fuck among them as he smacked his stick against the boards in protest. It was only then the referees made a call - but the hall wasn’t against Comtois for his high hit. No, it was against Vince for his unsportsmanlike conduct.

Vince was in the box for a limited time before he was removed from the box, and sent down the tunnel to you and the rest of the medical team that waited for him. The concussion spotter had seen something, and he would have to spend the rest of the game away from the ice. He was still fueled with anger as he trudged down the hallway. He was met by the team’s primary care physician, who sat Vince down and began to go through their set checklist laid out by the NHL’s concussion protocol.

As a medical resident welcomed onto the team’s medical staff in an intern capacity - one of the NHL’s desperate attempts to assure more women were involved and represented in hockey - you stood by, filled out the needed paperwork and did as you were told. This was a huge learning opportunity for you, and you hoped to one day return to the organization in a physician role - so you refused to do anything to fuck things up.

“Stay with him,” the physician told you when he completed his list, “if there are any changes page me - and get that cut clean up.”

It was a simple enough task, and you accepted it with a nod. Pulling on a pair of gloves you stepped in front of Vince who sat still half-dressed in his equipment in his stall. He had hoped to return to the game, but you were sure the clock was creeping onto its final minutes. You cleaned him up in silence, your eyes carefully examining the shallow cut on the bridge of his nose. His visor had cut through the skin on impact, sending blood streaming down his face.

“You won’t need stitches,” you assured him after a moment, your careful touch wiping the blood away with some gauze and antiseptic.

“Thanks, Doc,” he muttered his tone calmer than it had been when he had first entered the room - but his look of frustration remained.

You could see it in the tension of his jaw and in the glassiness of his eyes. Vince looked to be on the verge of tears. Not because he was in pain, but because he was frustrated. The officials had missed another blatant call. Not only was it missed it had sent him back to the locker room, he could miss games because of it.

It left him sighing in his seat in front of you, his bright eyes blinking slowly to keep even a single tear from falling. Then, came something that surprised you. Vince was leaning in, defeated, and his forehead came to rest against the curves of your waist. You could feel his hot breath washing over you through your team-branded polo, and it was followed by the touch of his hands. They stroked over the breath of one of your thighs, a hand on each side as his arms came to wrap around your leg. It was an innocent thing, an action born from the need for calm, the need for comfort.

It was a comfort you provided, letting him hold you, and you had even lost yourself in the tender moment as you raised a hand to stroke through the curls of his sweat-drenched hair. The two of you remained there until your phone vibrated against your hip, a silent reminder that he was now cleared to go home.

#vince dunn #nhl rpf #nhl hockey #nhl imagine #rpf #hockey rpf #hockey players #hockey imagines #vince dunn fanfic

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boxingcleverrr · 11 months

Text

So with the mind-boggling hilarity of people feeling the need to defend taking care of their skin, I wanted to do an update of my original skincare post. That I of course can't find, presently, as the search function on this site is still useless!

First of all, come to terms with the fact that you are walking around with a giant organ on the outside of your body (ahurhurhur).

Yes, preventing skin cancer is priority one when it comes to your dermis. Sunscreen isn't the only defense, having skin with a healthy moisture barrier is part of that prevention as well. ALSO, one thing a lot of those posts desperately yelping "It'S nOt BeAuTy StAnDaRdS!" leave out is, uh, the scary shit that can happen to your skin when you're elderly. Your skin WILL get thinner, that's just aging. Taking care of it now (keeping it stretchy and moisturized) gives it a better chance of not being paper-thin, to the point that the person taking care of you has to be mindful not to freaking tear it off of you just helping you get dressed.

If you have a strong stomach, go ahead and read some stories from hospice and other types of elder care workers. There's a whole contraption for lowering people down slowly if they're about to fall, all to prevent skin splitting or sloughing off.

Age spots are beautiful. Care-worn wrinkles and laugh lines are beautiful. Your arm skin sloughing off like a glove is not.

Fucking moisturize.

Is a side effect of that care often fewer of those lines? Sure, MAYBE, sometimes. It also doesn't at ALL require 18 expensive steps. Even before I left my job I was mainly using the best I could find for the least amount of money. Almost everything listed I've been using for over a year at least! Aldi-brand skincare is amazingly quality, as you'll see.

Washing:

Lacura Foaming Gel Cleanser: Super gentle and nice for a daily face wash. When I want to use it as a makeup-remover, I'll pump it into a super-soft sea sponge so I can scrub a bit more, albeit gently.

I don't get big breakouts much at this point (regular cleansing and moisturizing will usually chill your skin out eventually re: feeling the need to over-produce oil). But I do keep some Neutrogena Face Wash around for when I get breakouts anywhere, maybe a handful of times a month.

I don't know how much benefit I REALLY see from toner, as far as my pores. They seem fine! Mostly I just loooove the feeling of swiping it on fresh from the fridge, and the coolness does calm down the skin and sooth any puffiness. I still make my own Rosewater Toner with wilting discount grocery store roses and a few drops of lavender oil.

Goops:

Lacura Day And/Or Night Creams: These are SO AFFORDABLE (I'm using Amazon links for ease of reference, they are WAY cheaper directly from Aldi) and make your skin feel like butter. After washing and toning one or the other is what I glop on next, and a little goes a long way. Night cream is important because the skin under your eyes especially is so super thin, it needs that protection as we get older. But eye creams tend to be STUPID EXPENSIVE. Lacura is around $4 at Aldi and I legit see very little difference between it and the unsustainably expensive ones I've tried in the past.

Ponds Dry Skin Cream: The old reliable. I have used it since I was 19 and Oprah said it was good, lol. If you use nothing else on your face, use this (but also sunscreeen, dear gods). After Day or Night cream, this comes next.

A good rule of thumb for all moisturizers is that you don't want it to disappear into your skin immediately OR stay too greasy. As I've gotten older, this one sits on my skin longer, so I tend to only use it at night in the summer. Once it gets cold and dry out, though, morning and night baby.

Vaseline Cocoa Radiant: For the all-over-rest-of-me, you really can't beat it. After every shower or bath, all over everything, damnit. LUBE YOUR DERM.

Oil:

Olive Oil Squalane: My last step of the night is topping my face with a good Squalane before bed. My old job discontinued the one I swear by, pictured above, which, I have no idea why? It feels soooo nice and I saw such good results in the winter especially. I bought up a bunch of bottles from work before it disappeared, haha but there are soooo many options out there for a lot of different prices. Basically you want the main ingredients to be Olive Oil & Herbs, usually Rosemary.

Treat Yourself Tier:

Innersense Harmonic Treatment Oil: I was given a gift card to them for my birthday last year, and yeah they're reeeeeally wom-wom and a little insufferable in their marketing, and they're expensive. HOWEVER, this stuff is infuriatingly great? Nothing was helping my dry scalp until this. I use it instead of the Squalane maybe once a week on my face as well, and it definitely clears up any redness or irritation right away. How dare it be good and also $25 an ounce. But if you can treat yourself, why not!

Dead Sea Mud Masks: Masks are FUN, damnit. If you can ignore all the annoying "detoxing" claims and blah blah, it is a fact that mud masks can really flush out those pores. And they feel nice!

General Habits:

Wash Your Pillowcases: They're full of your face goo, skin cells, and slobber. Not only good for your skin, but just nice. Wash your sheets/bedding more regularly in general, if you're like me then I know you're not doing it enough. Make the change to fragrance-free detergent now if you haven't already, that shit could start bothering your skin at ANY time. My mother never had a problem with good ol' Tide, until she turned 60 and suddenly ANY fragranced soaps made her skin explode.

Wash Your Makeup Tools: Same as above, I regularly gross myself out watching all the GUNK that's stored in the pretty pink makeup brushes.

Wash Hats, Headbands, Etc: Hopefully the pattern is sinking in. If it touches your skin regularly? It should be washed regularly. It's easy to remember that your clothes do, of course, but there's so many other things as well that are fulla your skin cells, various products, pollution, and sebum. Scientists could probably clone you with access to the inner band of your favorite hat alone.

SUN SCREEN: EVERY TIME YOU GO OUT IN VIEW OF THE FIRE ORB. Sensitive face/skin? Baby sunscreen. I know texture is a big thing for people, but there are lots of different brands out there that have lots of different textures, ingredients, scents, etc. Don't give up on it just because Coppertone makes you break out, you owe it to yourself to find the thing that works for you. Skin cancer is a bitch that spares no one, not even Hugh Nicest Man Ever Jackman.

Drink Water: You know it, I know it, same as above, find the way to get regular hydration in that works for you. I personally like making my own fruity flavored syrups to dash in things. Hydrated skin begins from within, blah blah blah.

Vitamins: Take a multi-vitamin, get your vitamin D. The sun is not BEAMING VITAMINS INTO YOUR PORES, it synthesis it. A quick google will tell you that 8-10 minutes in the sun A DAY is all you need. So don't let anyone tell you BUT YOUR VITAMIN D!!!!!!! when you're layering on your sun screen. Take your vitamins, get a teaspoon of sun regularly, and then GOOP UP.

I'm no expert, just someone with a mother & grandmother who greatly regret/regretted their lack of skin care as younger women. My mom is 75 and she has lines and spots, and she's beautiful! But her skin can tear after a clumsy trip into a door frame. She's listening to her dermatologist now to the letter, and I too would like to avoid that as much as possible! We all deserve to like how our spongy flesh prisons feel.

#blathering #still get skincare asks #still get annoyed when people think all you need is sunscreen to avoid cancer and psoriasis #skinnnnnnn

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kissmethroughthebone · 4 months

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The Holidays were a mess!

Sometimes I date people and they make it seem like they have some big surprise in store for me, and then they don't.

Like this passing Christmas, my wishlist was very simple:

Lab-grown gemstones (if one really bothered to search, I could've gotten like 10 sapphires, 10 rubies and 5 other gemstones for the price of an average Shake Shack order from gemsngems)

Sapphire or emerald ring (even broke people can get this; Etsy has sapphire and emerald rings for 30 bucks. Are they doublets [a.k.a. a gemstone sat upon a thin later of glass]? Yes. But are they nice, pretty, cheap and what I want? Yes. Or even a lab grown one would've been dirt cheap.)

A blanket...... yep, that's it. A blanket. An UGG blanket would've been amazing but frankly all blankets are good. Hard to mess up. Like, under 30 bucks, really.

A massage oil candle. As in the brands where you get a candle that, when lit, slowly melts into a skin-safe warm body oil. Sexy AND comforting, works for both self-care and intimacy with someone. 35$ maximum, but some sold for as low at 15$ for guaranteed high quality massage oil.

Easy enough list, right? Even a man working at Amazon could do this.

And what I actually got:

Excuses.

I almost did get a massage oil candle, but it was my last fling's shoddy attempt at making one... ah yes, a man who could've spent like, 15 bucks, decided that an empty no-spout pasta jar with untested-for-skin-safety heated up shea butter and lavender oil, with a wick in it, was what I deserved...... after being great all year to him.

Why didn't I get it, you ask? Well, let's just say men don't like it when you hold them accountable for things they attempted that made them deserving to be on a registry somewhere. Thankfully, I have hands. He didn't want these hands moisturized even when I almost lacked the sense to forgive him! (I was in a haze and hardly had anyone around me, of course I was almost gonna go back to an abuser!)

Meanwhile he still blew tons of money on board games and comic books.

The ethical anti-consumer organic product naturalista in me is flattered, but ultimately not at all impressed.

Ha! Funny how last year I discussed with others openly on my social media page that a man who spends more on himself, than you, is a man who underprioritizes you.

And the men on my roster, (consisting of my Recent Ex Boyfriend, who let's call L, and my recent fling, let's call M,) agreed, and promised to do better.

It paused temporarily! L stopped with the Bape hoodie obsession of his for a bit and promised more high end dates. (He promised that when we broke up too, since men always try when they know they're gonna lose you for good and will pull out all stops.) M temporarily paused (or hid better) his obsession with wasting cash on rare comic books he never reads online.

And then it happened again. Suddenly everyone has rhinestone hoodies and the limited edition Resident Evil comic books, but no money for a real date, or to pick me up from anywhere but a BART station.

Whew, chile. The ghetto. The ghettoooooo.

My fault for dating broke niggas with issues.

All good though. I'll tighten the fuck up!

I am meant for ubers, galas, chaffeurs, high end events and success! Bills paid! Not... that lame shit!

Low tier men are good for smaller expenses, or tasks; small bills, little hair treatments, maybe a dress or shoes. Some jewelry if in budget! But, talk to them scarcely and show there's always better out there for you and that they have to impress you. Always. Or else, its not worthwhile to see them!

Mid tier men are good for actual life investments: carpet cleaning services, construction, vector control, taxes, actual real gemstone jewelry, subscription services, buying a car or jewelry, and more.

High tier men are good for LIFE in general; industry things, housing things, anything ever on this planet. Ever. They'll always do it.

I keep sympathizing with men and/or letting them get away with things, instead of utilizing them as stepping stones for what I want.

Since you give too much to a man and they get comfortable and stop trying.

Fuck that, I need all my niggas to be working and crying over the idea of losing me! Heart panging in their chest, bent at the knees sobbing, since another man is taking me out to a high end dinner after treating me to some earrings.

I love doing that to men, so much. Always.

Anyway, just reminding myself I got everything to thrive and have no need for a man to survive.

I have a well paying job, a nice mind and a beautiful face and body. I always get what I want. Always. Amen. Thanks and peace out yall!

#black sugar baby #sugar heaux #hypergamous black women

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thescrumblingmidwife · 9 months

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Are charcoal pads actually safe? They seem like the kind of thing to be revealed to be detrimental in like 40 years. My favorite brand just started using charcoal and I don’t know how to feel about it.

Hi Anon,

Not gonna lie, I had to do some digging for this one. I know putting charcoal in everything is very *in* right now, and it's usually unregulated and sometimes potentially problematic (for instance, don't ingest charcoal if you take any medications! It interferes with the absorption of medications). But I had never heard of charcoal pads, so thanks for bringing it to my attention.

MENSTRUAL PRODUCT SAFETY

Menstrual products are regulated by the FDA (Food and Drug Administration) as medical devices. The FDA does not require manufacturers to label ingredients, nor do they ban the use of known harmful products, and there is no safety standard that needs to be met. The labels "organic" and "all natural" are advertising and not statement of fact. Testing that has been done to check for harmful products has been done by watchdog agencies and independent researchers.

Here's a good rundown:

What is known is that a lot of menstrual products do contain harsh chemicals that are better avoided. Most fall below the threshold of increasing cancer and non-cancer health risks, but a few chemicals to be on the lookout for are benzene, n-heptane and 1,4-dioxane. (Lin et al., 2020), as these can increase cancer risk. Chlorine and other chemicals can cause irritation of the vuvla. Also problematic is the use of phthalates, which are endocrine disrupters (can mess with your hormones) (Gao et al., 2020). Another problem is polyfluoroalkyl substances (PFAS), or "forever chemicals," which show up in a lot of products, and never leave your body. The New York Times recently did a testing of 44 products to check for problematic chemicals, and they found that PFAS are present in most products in at least very small amounts, although the lowest levels were found in period underwear and medical-grade silicone inserts.

So, our starting point is that commercially available disposable pads and tampons are already something to be concerned about, because no one in any position of power is doing much to make sure they're safe. They touch mucous membranes, which means there is potential for significant absorption. We can talk in a minute about how to choose the safest products from what's out there.

But let's get back to charcoal!

The purported purpose of the charcoal is to cut down on "period odor," which is not something people around you can detect. This is a case of advertising convincing you there's a problem so they can sell you a solution. The company that manufactures these pads, Kimberly-Clark, does supply ingredient lists and their stated purpose on their website. (It's not clear if this is the entire ingredient list, but it's something.) Interestingly, the function of charcoal is listed only as "A colorant used to color a material." Nothing about odor absorption. The charcoal doesn't come into contact with the vulvar skin or vaginal mucosa, so I don't think the charcoal itself poses much of a risk. I suspect this is more a case of fad-based misleading advertising. Will they harm you? Probably not. Will they do something magical and new? Probably not.

The one upside may be that the use of charcoal in menstrual products reflects manufacturer's response to the market demanding products with more "natural" ingredients and fewer harsh chemicals. But this is something that should be tested.

Yikes, that was a lot.

SO WHAT'S SAFE?

It's important to note that none of the chemical levels in any of these products are so bad that you're going to get cancer from wearing a single pad. The most common risk is vulvar irritation from harsh chemicals. The scariest (but rarer) risk is cumulative exposure over a long period of time for a marginally increased risk of some health issues.

But here are some tips for picking the safest products for your body:

Use a medical-grade silicone insert/menstrual cup (like a Diva cup).

Use reusable period underwear or pads from a reputable brand, like Thinx, and wash them before you use them.

If using disposable pads or tampons, absolutely avoid any with fragrances.

Use the lowest possible absorbency you need - the higher the absorbency, the more the material has been treated.

Try using disposable incontinence pads instead of menstrual pads, as these had lower rates of PFAS and chemicals.

Although there's no way to guarantee it's truthful, try to stick to brands and products that are generally chlorine-free. cotton-based, etc.

If you experience any irritation, redness, or sensitivity, try a new product!

And for those charcoal pads - they don't strike me as being any worse for you than the rest of the Kotex's fragrance-free lineup. It's not as problematic as swallowing charcoal or rubbing the dentin off your teeth with it. You may be right that in 15 years we'll have realized this was like that time we were putting radium in everything, but I doubt it?

Sources:

Lin, N., Ding, N., Meza-Wilson, E., Manuradha Devasurendra, A., Godwin, C., Kyun Park, S., & Batterman, S. (2020). Volatile organic compounds in feminine hygiene products sold in the US market: A survey of products and health risks. Environment International, 144, 105740. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.envint.2020.105740

Gao, C. J., Wang, F., Shen, H. M., Kannan, K., & Guo, Y. (2020). Feminine hygiene products-A neglected source of phthalate exposure in women. Environmental Science & Technology, 54(2), 930–937. https://doi.org/10.1021/acs.est.9b03927

#menstrual health #menstrual products #menstruation #period products #sanitary pads #feminine products #menstrual cup #period underwear

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naijaorganic · 2 years

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Picking Right Ingredients Before Purchasing An Organic Face Wash

Do you ever check the key ingredients when buying an organic face cleanser? If not, then here are the reasons that will make you want to do so. Read more.

Cleansing is an integral step in our skin treatment. Perfect cleansing can be a blessing for your skin as it removes dirt and dead skin cells. We often end up buying the best face cleanser for oily skin but what we ignore is its ingredients.

Ingredients Working Best For Acne-Prone Skin

We trust an organic face wash to give a gentle solution for all our skin problems. There are tons of herbal plans that have a soft, cleansing property. Organics are becoming progressively famous. Furthermore, individuals know the threats associated with direct chemical exposure.

1. Cucumber

Cucumber has an ideal composition for producing the best face wash for oily skin. The cucurbitacin and lutein present in it reduce the skin’s melanin content. Moreover, it helps in skin hyperpigmentation and ultimately decreases dark spots. By exhibiting free radical scavenging properties, cucumber is the perfect ingredient your acne-prone skin needs.

2. Neem and Turmeric

Neem is an excellent agent for cleaning impurities and penetrating deep within the skin. On the other hand, turmeric possesses antibacterial properties that kills microbes. Hence, the combinative brilliance of neem & turmeric face wash makes it suitable for acne-prone skin. Vitamin E in neem acts as an emollient that helps in rejuvenating skin cells.

3. Sandalwood

Sandalwood ranks among other natural skin care products that heal acne-prone skin. It has been a proven ingredient for treating tons of skin conditions such as acne, psoriasis, and eczema.

Ingredients Working Best For Dry Skin

1. Honey

Other potent ingredients loaded with proteins, vitamins and organic acids heal dry skin. The anti-microbial properties of honey make it a perfect fit for a natural face wash for dry skin.

2. Saffron

Undoubtedly, saffron makes the best face wash for dry skin. It consists of anti-oxidant properties that have active components such as crocetin. Thus, your dry skin remains forever young with this magical ingredient.

3. Lemon

Finally, on our list of organic skin care products in India comes lemon. It is an essential ingredient that helps in the deep cleansing of the skin. Natural acids in lemon lighten age spots.

Conclusion

Your worries to find certified organic skin care products in India have now got a closure. Naija Organic prides itself on offering the best Ecocert organic cosmos certified at reasonable prices. So, visit their website and order your favourite organic products today.

#organic products for skin #best natural skin care products #organic face products #best natural beauty products #natural skin products #organic skincare products #organic skin care brands #best organic skin care products #organic hair care products #best natural skin products #herbal products for skin care #best organic brand for skin care in india #certified organic skin care brands in india #indian organic chemical free organic products in Bangalore #indian organic chemical free organic products list #indian organic chemical free organic products in india #best chemical free cosmotic brands in india

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themomsandthecity · 7 months

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Are European Baby Formulas *Really* Better Than Ones Made in the US?

I live my life by the Reddit Click Theory (something I just now invented on the spot), which states: the number of clicks it takes to get to a piece of information on Reddit is directly correlated with its status as a conspiracy theory. One click? You're probably safe. Five clicks? You're in anti-vaxxer territory. Anyway, as I Googled "best baby formula" to feed my twin boys, Reddit threads professing the life-altering magic of HiPP, Holle, Kendamil, and other European baby formulas kept rising to the top. Upon further research, it became clear that there is a fairly sizable faction of parents who prefer the standards of European Union baby formulas to American recipes. "We dug into this trend in 2019, prior to the infant formula shortage," says Dina DiMaggio, MD, FAAP, medical research director at Bobbie Labs, an offshoot of the organic formula brand that supports research on infant feeding. "Our research, which focused on New York City-based parents, found that 20 percent of families were using illegally imported European infant formulas [bought through unregulated third-party websites]." Parents who utilize EU formulas regularly cite that the EU has stricter standards for baby formulas than in the United States, with non-GMO, grass-fed dairy, and organic ingredients being frequently thrown around. If you look at third-party sites, this is echoed in the reviews, which bemoan the use of corn syrup, pesticides, and sugar levels in American formulas. "The rise in this trend came while consumers were beginning to understand the difference between EU and US regulations in other product categories," says Dr. DiMaggio. "Just as people were taking a closer look at what was in the products they were purchasing for themselves, it's natural that they started to do the same for their babies." What Are the Main Differences Between EU and US Formulas? In scrutinizing labels, I found that both EU and US formulas contain the same key ingredients: a milk source (usually from cows; though sometimes sensitive formulas are made from goat's milk), lactose, vegetable oils, and whey protein. As with labels for personal care products, ingredients for baby formulas are listed with the ingredient that's in the largest quantity in the formula at the front of the label. Related: The Best Baby Formula of 2023, According to Reviewers Largely, the differences between formulas can be attributed to requirements that the Food and Drug Administration - which regulates baby formula in the United States - sets for brands to meet versus what the EU requires its formulas to meet. "Both the FDA and European Union have specific and strict standards for infant formula with nutrient requirements and labeling laws," says Anthony Porto, MD, FAAP, MPH, Chief Medical Director at Bobbie Labs. Let's take a closer look at where the regulating bodies' standards differ, shall we? 1. DHA The EU requires DHA - an omega-3 fatty acid that plays an important structural role for brain, skin, and eye development - to be between 20 to 50 milligrams per 100 calories; however, the FDA and US formulas have no DHA requirement. Though, importantly, many formula companies in the U.S. still enhance their formulas with DHA. 2. Carb Sources There are also differences in sugar in the varying formulas. "The EU also has a limit on how much of the carb source can come from an alternative sugar source other than lactose, which is the sugar found in breastmilk," says Dr. Porto. 3. Iron Most US formulas include more iron than formulas made in Europe.This is because the FDA requires US formulas to meet certain requirements for the level of 30 nutrients, one of them being iron. Formulas in the US are fortified with iron at 12 mg/dL. Okay, So What Should I Buy? Which formula to buy for your babe is a deeply personal decision. "It's important to remember that both US and European formulas provide safe and healthy nutrition for… https://www.popsugar.com/family/european-vs-american-formula-49314493?utm_source=dlvr.it&utm_medium=tumblr

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sapphicscholar · 1 year

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Fic Preview:

It’s only 5am, and Cat’s already having a nightmare of a day.

Kara has been trying to convince Cat that it’s healthier to name the root causes of her anger than to loathe the whole world and everyone in it for all the inconveniences they force her to endure—though the latter method has worked out just fine for her for the past fifty years—so Cat mentally ticks off everything and everyone she might rightfully blame for this morning. The meteorologists for failing to accurately predict the severity of the winter storm. The conveners of the Women in Media winter gala for planning an event so close to Christmas in Metropolis of all the godforsaken, blizzard-riddled, Lois-infested places. David for taking Carter even further north on some winter father-son bonding trip, as if he ever gave a shit when Carter was young and desperately wanted a second parent’s love. The airline for not having developed the technology to take off and land a plane in a bit of powder. And, really, how hard can it be?

Naming them doesn’t seem to change anything beyond focusing Cat’s anger into a fine point. So she adds Kara’s insipid, millennial brand of “self-care” and “best practices for emotional well-being” to her list of hatred.

But Kara herself…well, perhaps she can fix this whole thing.

Cat has her phone in her hand and Kara’s contact information pulled up before she can consider that Kara may not want to hear from her after the gala or, more importantly, that 5am might be an early wakeup call for a superhero who’d been fighting some giant slug monster in National City half the night. Then again, Kara always seems chipper enough at CatCo in the mornings. Cat hasn’t yet asked outright if she doesn’t need to sleep. She thinks that might just be the final straw that takes her jealousy from petty to deeply justified. A metabolism the speed of light, a complete and total lack of aging, and no need for sleep? No, Cat simply couldn’t bear that knowledge.

“Cat?” Kara’s voice comes out raspy, and Cat ignores the twinge of want that leaves her skin prickling. She long ago stopped pretending like there was nothing between them, but unlike some people, she’s mature enough not to act on it. Mixing business and pleasure has been, well, deeply pleasurable in the past, but it’s also been messy enough to have her name splattered across tabloids for months, and Kara doesn’t deserve that. Even if saving Kara in the long run had meant, well, it really doesn’t matter.

“They’ve cancelled all the flights out of Metropolis,” Cat says.

Read the rest on AO3!

#supergirl #fanfic #supercat #cat grant #Kara danvers #exchange fic #ao3feed

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ladyelainehilfur · 2 years

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Weaktober Day 8: Rot

Why was there no one there? Lily checked her watch. It was 4 PM, just as advertised on the flier she saw posted on the cafeteria bulletin board. She’d never thought of gardening as a hobby, but she needed to fill out her resume and truth be told, she wanted to make some friends too. No thugs were likely to sign up for planting baby corn and green beans, so Lily took her chances and marked the date.

She peered inside the school’s brand new glass greenhouse. They’d finally got funding for it, so it stood where the sparse grounds of the gardening club used to be. Inside, there were rows of plants but no humans in sight. The sun outside was harsh and the glass was cool to the touch, so she let herself in and hoped she wasn’t breaking any rules.

The scent of well-nourished plant life and wet, damp earth instantly enveloped her. It was warm but not as overbearing as the non-stop heat outside the glass enclosure. The green of the vegetation was vivid and Lily could understand how someone could feel passionately about taking care of plants.

She walked around for a minute, admiring the vibrant flowers and young, green fruit until she heard a humming. It was only for a few seconds, but she quickly surmised whoever had organized the meeting was at the very back of the greenhouse. It was a guy for sure, but Lily couldn’t think of any boy at her school who’d be caught dead gardening.

Slinking towards the rear end of the structure, Lily grew increasingly nervous. She was the only one there aside from this person. What if he was a creep and was luring girls just like her to their abrupt and bloody deaths? There had to be at least ten feet of nice soft soil where he could hide her body.

Lily shook her head. She had to stop letting her imagination run away like that or she might accidentally manifest her nightmares.

In front of her was a ceiling to floor curtain of vines isolating her and whoever was behind the green draping. She took a deep breath and brushed the vines aside to see who she was about to deal with.

For one thing, it wasn’t a serial killer. Lily didn’t think many serial killers would so carefully measure out tubes of water to dole out to each potted blossom of flowers hanging from wooden hand-made racks. The boy watering the plants was tall, really tall. Lily’s eyebrows rose, noticing his handsome facial features and subdued, lopsided smile. He had a pale complexion, shiny brown hair, and golden amber eyes. That portion of the greenhouse received a lot of light from the midday sun so a warm, pale glow was cast on his skin, making him appear ethereal. Whoever he was, he was altogether gorgeous.

Lily angled her head to get a better look.

Hm.

No.

No, he was definitely taken.

He noticed her standing there and visibly lit up. “Hi!” He put down his metal watering can and took off his gloves, clapping any dust off his hands and walking towards her. “Are you here for the club?”

Armed with the knowledge someone like him would never be into her, Lily didn’t trip over her words like she might’ve. “Yes! I saw the poster on the bulletin and thought I’d drop by.”

Stephen grinned. “Yeah? I told Gray old-fashioned advertising works.” He held out his hand. “I’m Stephen, by the way.”

“Lily,” she replied, shaking his hand. His hands were larger than hers and his fingers were slender, almost graceful. He was really attractive.

Lily looked behind him. “What were you doing just now?”

Stephen glanced backward. “I was planting our new batch of perennials for the spring. Do you want to help?”

She wasn’t dressed to garden, but she agreed. He talked her through the information: “We have peonies this year. They like their space so we’re going to supplant them as soon as they start growing saplings. The other members wanted foxgloves or german chamomile, but it was my turn to pick the flowers and I’ve been liking pink lately.” He smiled and Lily smiled back, utterly won over by his honesty. He continued explaining and Lily was listening but her mind kept veering as she took more notes about him. The way Stephen spoke was eloquent, slow but not patronizing. He talked with his hands, not wildly, but in gentle movements. She squinted at the massive mattress pin fastened onto his pants, wondering what was up with that.

He handed her a small packet of seeds. “With that out of the way, let’s get these guys to their new homes.”

She thought they were going to be working with the hanging pots, but Stephen led her to a small patch at the corner of the greenhouse, empty and ready for new inhabitants. Crouched next to each other, they used tiny shovels to create shallow wells in the soil. While they did this, they talked about school and the classes they wanted to take when they got to high school. Conversation with Stephen was easy and Lily was taken aback by how funny he was. They compared class ranks, Lily being in the top 5% while Stephen floundered somewhere in the middle. He brushed off her arguments about him seeming really smart, but Lily thought he was probably low-balling his grades on purpose. He had to be. Nothing about him screamed academic slacker.

They took pinches of seeds between their fingers and pressed them into the dirt, then covered them back up. After, they went to unravel a large hose placed on the greenhouse’s wall so they could water the new plants all at once. Stephen noticed her fumbling with the hose’s mechanism and placed his hands over hers, guiding her hold on the hose to adjust it to the correct setting. His fingers gently laced between hers, letting her figure it out gradually instead of forcing her to keep up with him.

And even though she knew he was taken, just knew it, she couldn’t help blushing.

“Can I ask why you started the club?” she asked, a few minutes after they finished their work and were resting on benches, drinking juice boxes Stephen brought.

“The school was offered a grant if we created a successful greenhouse,” he said. “I was put in charge of promotion this year since our membership had been dwindling. It’s honestly just me and two or three other members now.”

She frowned. “How come no one else stepped up? Why’d it have to be you?”

He shrugged. “Why not? I think letting people know about the club is easy. Getting them to stay is the hard part.”

No, it’s not, Lily thought. If digging a couple holes was all it took to be near someone like Stephen for two hours, her classmates would be flocking to the greenhouse. She squeezed the juice box, internally debating whether she wanted to help bring in more members or gatekeep so she could have Stephen’s undivided attention. She was being silly. Stephen was taken. Stephen was taken. Stephen’s heart one hundred percent belonged to someone else and he was ta--

“I knew you’d be here.” Her head whipped up as another person walked through the curtain of vines and she began to wonder if being ridiculously good-looking was a prerequisite for joining the club. That was the real reason they had such low membership. This boy was about her height, with ash-colored hair and the most striking purple eyes Lily had ever seen. If Stephen was handsome, this guy was just straight-up pretty. It was actually baffling.

Stephen waved at the boy, whose frown flickered into a small smile before morphing back into appearing thoroughly nettled. He crossed his arms and looked at Lily, shaking his head. “He got you too, huh?”

Lily blushed. “What do you mean?”

The boy probed Stephen’s backpack to pick out his own juicebox then sat on Lily’s other side as if being next to Stephen would give him something he didn’t want. “If you haven’t figured it out by now, Stephen is deceptively charming.”

“I wouldn’t use ‘deceptively’, exactly,” Lily said. She was emboldened when he peered at her curiously. “I mean, I joined this club on my own. It’s nice to meet you, by the way. I’m Lily.”

“Gray Yeon,” he said. Lily liked his voice. It was soft but underlined with tired sarcasm. He pointed a finger at Stephen. "He's a good person but a rotten gardener.”

“But at least I’m wicked sexy,” Stephen joked.

“But at least you’re wicked sexy,” Gray sighed, sounding exhausted. He sucked his juicebox dry and chucked it in the recycling bin next to the compost drums. He stood up and slung Stephen’s back pack over his shoulder before giving Lily an apologetic look. “Sorry but we’ve got to cut the meeting short. He’s got tutoring and he forgets unless I’m here to drag him out.”

Lily stood up as well. “No, it’s not a problem! It was really nice meeting you two!” She threw away her juicebox and followed the two outside. Stephen locked the doors of the greenhouse and thanked Lily for coming to the meeting. The two boys started walking away but Lily’s curiosity got the best of her so she blurted out, “Why do you need tutoring? I-I can help you if it’s with english or science.”

Gray and Stephen paused, sharing a look before Gray decided to answer. “Don’t worry. Stephen’s not the brightest, but he’s a pretty good tutor.”

Stephen laughed and Lily’s ears turned red, embarrassed by her assumptions. Again, why would someone like Stephen need her help? She wished she’d turn into sand so the wind would carry her away.

“Thanks for the offer though. Maybe I’ll take it up sometime,” Stephen said, grinning. “See you tomorrow?”

“See ya,” she said, waving at them. The tutoring center was in the opposite direction of her bus stop, so that was where they parted ways. Lily was still reeling from humiliation, but looking back at their retreating figures, she thought joining the club wasn’t a bad idea after all.

#weaktober #weaktober day 8 #weak hero #webtoon #lily nam #gray yeon #stephen ahn

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