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guiltyasdave · 1 month

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help me hold onto you

pairing: Logan Howlett/Wolverine x mutant! f!reader

word count: ~3.5k

summary: Logan deals with feeling guilty after he's accidentally cut you with his claws in his sleep.

warnings/tags: explicit smut (-> 18+ only!), able-bodied reader, reader has hair that can be pulled, no use of y/n, Logan lifts reader up but he's superhumanly strong, so-, graphic description of an injury, graphic description of violence, angst, nightmares, Logan's pov, fighting as foreplay, unprotected p in v, rough sex, biting, praise kink, a lot of animalistic behavior due to their mutations, like they're just a little... primal, it's cute i swear, also reader looks like a human being it's just the mannerisms, fluff

a/n: guess i'm a multi fandom writer now? this literally came to me in a fever dream, very much like the logan brainrot itself lol. this is my first time writing for the man, after watching the movies - also for the first time - last week, so please be gentle with me <3 something very similar happens in the origins movie and i wanted them to explore that more, but alas, i had to do it myself.

massive thanks to @kiwisbell for assuring me that this idea isn't terrible and for freaking out about logan with me in general, to @catchallfangirl for coming up with the whole cat theme and for being so supportive, to @sizzlingcloudmentality for matching my freak and taking the cat theme to the next level, for helping me plot and for being an amazing beta reader, and to @javier-pena for listening to me rant about this idea and being so lovely and supportive <3

dividers by @saradika-graphics who is a queen <3

notifications blog -> @guiltyasdavenotifs & full masterlist -> here

Most nights, Logan sleeps easier when you’re in bed with him. Your body pressed against his, your skin soft and warm against his bare chest. One of his thighs between your legs where you’ve wrapped yourself around him, your touch moving over his torso aimlessly, fingers curling into his chest hair, your hands kneading his flesh in your sleep. The soothing little purrs that emit from your chest when you’re sound asleep. None of it bothers him, no matter how many times it disturbs his own rest.

It keeps him grounded, feeling you next to him. He’d rather spend the whole night somewhere in that haze between waking and sleeping, listening to your sounds, your breath fanning against his skin, than being pulled under into the depths of his subconsciousness.

He’d rather open his eyes to see you disentangling your limbs from his, stretching your whole body, arching against him as you yawn.

He’d rather greet you with a smiling “Good morning, kitten,” waiting for that adorable little crease to appear between your brows when you pout up at him.

“Did I do it again?”

He doesn’t hide his grin as he nods, growing wider when you flop back against the cushions with a groan.

“What exactly?”

“All of it.”

Your sorry comes out muffled as you hide your face behind your hands.

“It’s okay,” he says, leaning over you to pull your hands away and kiss the pout off your lips. Caressing that spot under your chin with two fingers, watching you go all soft, baring your throat to him. “I like it.”

He would much rather wake up like this.

But it’s been a long week and he’s exhausted. Exhausted enough to get lulled into a deep sleep, encased in the safe cloud of your warm body against his and your touch on his skin. Exhausted enough to dream. And his dreams are not a safe place.

His eyes fly open with a shout, his whole body jolting upwards, every muscle pulled taut. He doesn’t even register the claws shooting out between his knuckles, all of his instincts screaming at him to fight.

He’s only faintly aware of the sudden yelp of pain from beside him, the movement of something jerking away from him.

“Logan,” your voice rings through the buzzing in his ears. Smaller hands landing on his shoulders, fighting to hold him steady.

It takes a few disoriented blinks before he recognizes the familiar bedroom, a few more deep breaths to stop his body from shaking. To clear the fog in his head enough to understand what you’re saying.

“It’s me, Logan. You’re safe, everyone’s safe, it’s okay.”

His eyes find yours in the semi-darkness. Wide with worry, but firmly trained on his face, repeating that everything’s okay. He finally registers the familiar weight of you straddling him, understands that it’s your fingers digging into his shoulders.

He’s still panting, not daring to look away from your face again. The one tether that keeps him from getting lost in his mind again.

“Are you with me?” you ask, your voice softer now.

He manages a nod, tries to smile, to wipe the deep worry of your face, but he’s not sure if his mouth even twitches.

As the feeling slowly returns to his body, he notices something else. A kind of wetness, warm and sticky where your right hand is connected to his skin. The unmistakable tang of iron in the air. He stretches to turn on a bedside lamp, jostling you along with his movement. A quiet whimper hits his ears, so low that he’s sure you tried to suppress it.

With a new kind of panic surging through him, he grabs hold of your arm, bringing it to his eye level.

Three scratches ooze in deep red, just beneath your wrist. It forces a gasp from him, eyes dancing frantically between the wounds on your arm and your face. How much blood did you lose already while you were busy helping him? As if he deserved it.

“Fuck, I’m— I’m so sorry baby, we gotta—” He stumbles over his own words, grasping at you almost blindly, panicked tears blurring his vision. He did this.

“Logan,” you say, still so inexplicably calm. “It’s fine. Look. It’s fine.”

You gently pry his fingers off your arm and bring your wrist up to your mouth. Your tongue darts out, drawing long licks against your marred skin, collecting the blood and gliding over the cuts in your flesh.

It pains him to watch, but it’s the least he can do. The least he owes you. He watches you clean the blood off, watches as the wounds start shrinking at the touch of your saliva, as the skin smoothes over before his very eyes until there’s only three thin marks left, a shade lighter than the rest of your skin.

“Look,” you tell him again, extending your arm towards him. “I told you it’s okay.”

He knows you can do this, of course he does. Has watched you multiple times, his fascination with your powers never wavering. How fluidly you move, how quick you attack, how skilled you are at surviving. You just never had to survive him.

You lean down on top of him until your whole torso rests on his, your thighs still on either side of him, burrowing your head into his chest. “Which war did you dream about?” you ask quietly.

Most of the time, the dreams don’t grant him the mercy to zero in on one single memory. It’s a constant stream, one fight after the other, until all he knows is shouting, fighting, blood and death.

“All of them.”

You sigh deeply, your breath cool against his sweat-dampened skin. Raising your head a little, you start placing kisses on his chest, pressing your lips into his skin where you can feel the faint beating of his heart.

“I wish I could kiss this better, too,” you mumble.

He chuckles humorlessly, one hand reaching into your hair to scratch at your scalp. You shudder at the touch, an approving little purr traveling up your throat.

“It’s okay now,” he mutters, leaning in to inhale the scent of your hair. “Just— I’m really sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

It sounds so simple, falling from your lips like this. But it’s no match for the aching guilt that’s already eating at him, the questions of what if that start swirling through his mind.

Your body is growing heavier on top of him as you relax, your breaths evening out and your eyelids fluttering shut. It soothes him, has his own breathing slowing down, but he can’t risk falling asleep again. Not like this, not with your body so close to his.

“What are you— Logan?” comes your instant protest when he moves you to your side of the mattress, your eyes flying back open, wide and mildly confused.

“I could’ve killed you,” he mutters. It could have happened so easily. Just a little deeper, just a slightly different spot.

“No, you couldn’t,” you quip, arching an eyebrow at him. “Cats have nine lives, remember?” You sneak another quick kiss on his chest before finding his gaze again, a teasing smile on your lips. “Even kittens.”

It’s an attempt to lighten the mood, to make him laugh. He knows that. You hate the pet name he’s given you.

“And you’re not gonna waste one on me,” he grits out.

Hurt flashes over your face, more pain in your eyes than when there was an actual wound on your arm.

“It wouldn’t be—”

“Don’t you dare say it wouldn’t be a waste.”

The words come out as a low growl, aggressive enough to send most anyone running. You don’t run.

Your animal doesn’t like it when he growls at you. He can feel the tension rolling off of you, your hair probably standing on end. Gritting your teeth, you take a deep breath, release your fingers’ grip from digging into the sheets.

“Let’s talk about it in the morning,” you tell him, resignation in your voice.

Your eyes fall shut again, your head for once resting on your own pillow instead of his chest. He misses the weight of it instantly. You doze off quickly, your hands still pawing weakly at his side, like your body can’t help it. He almost pulls you closer himself.

While you sleep, Logan forces his own eyes to stay wide open, staring unseeingly into the darkness.

It’s a quiet day. You had tried talking to him, tried to convince him that it’s okay, that it’s fine. He can’t keep listening to you insisting that him almost killing you is no big deal. He should have known, should have been more aware of the risk instead of letting himself get lost in the blissful sensation of your body curled around his every night. You’ve trusted him so completely, only for him to let you down.

Just like he always does, the voice in his head whispers.

No matter how many times you swear that you can take care of yourself, he should still be protecting you, not actively putting you in danger while you’re fucking asleep. It’s happened once now, so it can happen again, and he knows that he could never forgive himself.

He knows that he’s hurting your feelings. Sees how your brows knit together when he barely kisses you back throughout the day. How you bite your lip when the way you’re butting your head against his doesn’t make him chuckle like it usually does.

He should be angry at himself. He is. But you shouldn’t be the one to catch the brunt of it, and it makes him feel even worse. You always say that he should talk about his feelings more, that it would help to let them out. He suspects that you’re right. He just doesn’t know how.

By evening, you’ve grown uncharacteristically quiet, but he keeps catching your burning glares at him when you think he isn’t looking. Finally, after you’ve stared at him for what felt like an eternity and he’s pointedly ignored you, you seem to snap.

“Can you stop it?!” It leaves your mouth in a hiss, triggering his instincts before the words even register in his brain.

“Stop what?” he growls back.

Your fingers curl as a low snarl escapes you. Normally, neither of you lets your animalistic side take over like that. Normally, you’re good at soothing each other.

But tonight, he can feel the energy crackle between you, the tension begging to be released.

“You know what! This fucking— sulking or whatever it is you think you’re doing!”

He rises to his feet, pulling up to his full height. One of your hands twitches.

“I’m not—”

You charge at him with an angry shout before another word can leave his mouth. You’re on him in a flash, grabbing onto his arm and letting your momentum carry you until you’re behind him, your nails digging into his shoulders until you’re perched on his backside.

Whipping his head around, he bares his teeth at you, growls rumbling in his chest. You angrily hiss in his face and swing a hand at him in return, leaving angry red scratches down his cheek. They heal and fade as quickly as they came, but a triumphant grin flashes over your features regardless.

“Come on, Logan,” you breathe into his ear. The edge in your voice sends fire straight through him. “Fight. You’re not gonna break me.” Your canines nip at his earlobe, somewhere between affectionate and challenging.

He tries shaking you off, but your grip on him only tightens. He collects a fist of your hair instead, pulling harshly to keep your teeth away from his throat.

“Enough,” he grits, trying desperately to regain control, to become more human again, to smother the primal need to match your aggression.

He finally grabs hold of one of your hands as well and manages to rip you off his back and in front of him, holding on tight to your upper arms to keep you in place. You’re snarling and twisting in his hold, but he doesn’t let up.

“Enough,” he repeats, searching your wild eyes. Your movements slow down a fraction, giving him a moment of hope, before you surge forward and bury your teeth in his lower lip. It hurts like hell and he can taste blood on his tongue instantly.

“Fight me,” you demand again, baring your teeth at him.

He pulls you back by your hair with a roar, gathers both your wrists in one large hand and holds you steady. You could still break free if you wanted to, he thinks. He might be stronger than you, but your movements turn almost liquid when you want to escape, he’s watched it more than once.

The pain in his lip has already subsided, but his blood is still coating your mouth, a stark contrast against the white shimmer of your teeth.

“Are you done?” His voice is harsh, his jaw clenched, carefully keeping the desire to strike back at bay.

You deflate a little, some of the wildness draining from you before his eyes.

“I just— I’m not fragile, I don’t want you to be scared of— of touching me.” Your voice grows small at the end and he’s horrified to see wetness glistening in your eyes.

The fight mode leaves him as fast as it came, replaced with the overwhelming urge to care, to protect what’s his. His pack, in a way.

He gathers you into his arms, curling himself around you. It feels good to hold you close again. Breathing you in deeply, he smells the adrenaline still oozing from you, hears the rapid beating of your heart. But mostly, it’s your unique scent, one that he thinks he could recognize anywhere. His tether to this world.

“I’m sorry, kitten. I’m not scared of touching you,” he mumbles into your hair.

You sniffle against his chest, but when you finally raise your head to look at him, new determination is glinting in your eyes.

“Prove it,” you coo, tracing the shape of his lips with one fingertip. “Please.”

That he can do. He nips at your finger playfully, your responding giggle the best sound he’s heard all day, before he shoves it out of the way to connect his lips with yours. It’s rough, a clashing of teeth and tongues, the tension that has been building and warping all day finally finding a release.

You gasp into his mouth when his tongue moves against yours, your hands pulling at his hair, needing him closer and closer still, never close enough. His groan at the taste of you travels through you both as he’s grasping at your clothes.

He longs for your warm skin under his palms, longs for how you lean into his touch so needy all the damn time. You pull away with a moan, helping him to pull your sweater over your head and stepping out of your jeans as he sheds his flannel.

You bring both hands up to cup his face, to search his eyes. “Don’t be gentle,” you plead, “please, I need—”

You don’t have to keep talking for him to understand what you need. I’m not scared of touching you.

With a growl, his hands find your hips, holding you tight as he’s walking you backwards until your ass connects with the backside of the couch. He crowds you in, paws at every inch of bare skin he can reach, his cock already hard and aching at your soft warmth and the sweet mewls that tumble from your lips.

Hitching one of your legs up to open you for him, he grinds himself against your barely covered center. A keening sound escapes you at the friction from his jeans against your sensitive flesh and he allows himself a grin.

“Feels good, kitten?”

You nod mindlessly, holding onto him and rocking your hips against his while you’re letting him move you however he sees fit.

“Do you want more?”

“Please, Logan.”

You sound so sweet when you’re like this, when you put your body into his hands. I’m not scared of touching you.

Setting your leg back down, he watches with hunger as you hastily take off your underwear while he pulls the white tank top over his head and opens his belt buckle. He could swear that your pupils dilate a fraction at the sound of it, filling him with a possessive sense of pride.

As soon as his jeans hit the floor, he’s all over you again, palming the weight of your breasts, tugging and pinching at your nipples as he swallows down your mewls. You’re soaking wet already, covering his cock in your slick as he nudges against your folds. He’s impatient to feel you all around him, to sink into you, to stake his claim again and again and again.

He normally works you open longer, gives you more time to prepare, but your impatience is just as apparent as his own, with the way you whine and plead for him, your fingers digging into his flesh, trying to pull him nearer.

He follows your pull, pressing your backside into the couch once more as he crowds your space. Leaning in, he kisses you deeply, licking into your mouth, one hand buried in your hair and holding you close.

“I love you,” he breathes against your lips as he lets go of you. I’m not scared of touching you.

You smile softly, echoing the sentiment back at him.

A surprised squeak escapes you when he turns you around suddenly, bending you over the back of the couch. He lines himself up at your dripping entrance, desperate to fill you up, to give you what you’re craving.

“Not gentle?” he rasps once more, one hand curling around your neck from behind, both in reassurance and dominance.

“Not gentle,” comes your breathy answer. It breaks off into a shriek of a moan when he slams into you with one long thrust, stretching your tight walls around his length. The sting of his sudden intrusion has to hurt at least a little, but you push back against him eagerly, his name falling from your lips like a prayer.

Logan holds himself still for a moment, mesmerized by the sight of your squirming body and your needy little sounds, before he pulls out almost entirely, only to push back in forcefully. Your toes barely reach the floor with how far he’s bent you over, lifting you into the air with every harsh thrust, but he’s holding you steady with ease, both hands possessively spanning over your waist, positioning you exactly where he wants you.

“Taking me so fucking well, like you were made for me,” he growls, gently scratching over your back with his nails. You arch up to chase his touch, tightening around him, almost purring with pleasure. Wetness pours out of you, coating his cock. I’m not scared of touching you. Not when it feels this good.

“M–more, please,” you whine, blindly reaching backwards to him.

He leans over you, cages you in, his arms on either side of you, his breath hot against your skin. His teeth sink into the back of your neck, not so deep as to draw blood, but enough that he knows the indents will stay there for quite some time.

Your whole body goes limp at the sensation, a surprised mewl escaping you as you clench around him wildly.

“Fuck,” he breathes, his own hips stuttering, “give it to me kitten, come on—”

He reaches around your hip, fingers teasing through your slick folds and up to your clit, rubbing with slight pressure as he keeps pistoning into your heat.

“Logan—” you gasp, getting almost impossibly tight, before you shatter around him. He keeps thrusting into you, keeps up his ministrations on your clit, until the pulsing of your cunt around him sends him over the edge as well. He spills his release deep inside of you, the thought of leaving a part of him with you always filling him with a primal satisfaction.

Pulling you up instantly, he gathers you in his arms, your body soft and pliant against his chest. Walking around the couch and sinking into the cushions to lie down, he gently moves you until your weight is resting on top of him, his embrace wrapping around you.

You stir a little, needing a moment to take in your position. The look of uncertainty that you give him damn near breaks his heart. “Is this okay?” You sound uncertain, too.

God, he’s such an idiot.

“Yeah, kitten. It’s— fuck, of course it’s okay.”

thank you so so much for reading! i hope you enjoyed, and if you did, a comment or a reblog would absolutely make my day :)

#logan howlett #wolverine #james logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #logan howlett x female reader #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #wolverine x female reader #x men #hugh jackman #logan howlett fanfiction #janas fics

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skiiyoomin · 4 months

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hello! i’m not sure if you’re taking reqs so if not feel free to skip this! i was wondering if we can get a oneshot of bakugo x reader except reader is a famous jpop idol (or even a global pop star) and bakugo is a pro hero. how the rest plays out can totally be up to you but i thought this would be a unique pairing. :)

ʚCont: pro hero! Bakugou x idol! reader, inspo from the met gala, gn! reader, swearing cause its bakugou

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a/n Hi hi! Yes my reqs are open so feel free to ask as much as you´d like! I looove the idea, its literally one of my fave tropes. It´s a little short but I thought it was a cute way to start a possible relationship between bakugo and reader :>

Bakugou hated attending these events. The constant flashing of camera lights, the stuffiness of his suit, the obnoxious voices of paparazzi begging him to look their way. It was exhausting.

But alas, as one of the top heroes, he had to show his face more often than he´d like to and make small talk with people he could care less about. At least he´d get a few free drinks and food for the night.

As he finished walking down the red carpet and away from the dizzying lights, a figure smaller than his own bumped into him. And Bakugou in his very characteristic fashion, was ready to threat whoever wasn´t watching their step. "Oi, watch where you´re-"

The words died in his throat when his ruby eyes landed on your own. You had to be the most beautiful person he had ever seen. The luxurious fabric of your extravagant clothes complimented your features and sitted on the curves of your body just right. He realizes he was staring more than he should when your silky voice reached his ears.

"I´m so sorry!! It´s just it´s a bit hard to walk in these clothes" You admit with an embarrsed chuckle. He tsks, though there was no real annoyance directed towards you. "Can´t believe they´re making you wear something you can´t even walk in"

You chuckle feeling flattered by the concerns from someone who was so notorious for being abrasive...and devilishly handsome. "Yeah, well, you know, practicality isn´t really on top of their priority list."

To the surprise of the both of you, he holds his arm out. "What table are you assigned in?" God it took everything in him not to sweep you off your feet with the way your doe eyes were marveling up at him. You link your arm around his own. "Table three"

He hums in acknowledgement, though deep down he felt his heart hammering in his chest like a teenage boy. "Good, at least there will be a pretty face sitting with me"

It was embarrassing how quickly heat rose to your cheeks from such a common and simple compliment you heard quite often. Though it felt so different hearing it slip from his tongue. It felt genuine.

The picture you had portrayed of the pro hero Dynamight completely shattered the longer you spent the night engaged in conversation with him. He too, felt any prejudices he may have held against you for being an idol slip away. Conversation rolled easily between you two as if you had been friends for years, and for the first time in a very long time, you both truly enjoyed being there.

Of course, it didn´t make it any less exhausting. The proof being written all over your energy drained face by the time the clock struck 12 PM. Lucky you, Bakugou had a knack for being observant, so it didn´t take long before he realized how fatigued you felt, and truthfully, he wasn´t doing much better than you. He was just better at hiding it.

"Let me drive you home" It wasn´t a question, and it´s not like you had the energy to retaliate. You let him place a warm calloused hand on your waist while he led you to his car. The drive back to your home felt like it went by in a flash, though it must be because you were fast asleep.

His heart clenched when he gazed at your soft features while you were deep in slumber. But alas, the last thing he wanted was to overstep boundaries, so, albeit begrudgingly, he reached out and shook your shoulder.

"Hey, wake up, we´re here"

Your dark lashes fluttered against your cheeks before your eyelids slowly opened. It took you a long moment to gather your surroundings, but once you realized, your lips formed into a small `o´.

Bakugou thought it was a crime to look so adorable, but it´s not like he would ever tell you that. "C´mon, i´ll help you upstairs"

Once again, his hands felt just right against your body when he aided you in walking properly to your home. Everything felt like a fever dream. The way he respectfully removed any excessive fabric of clothing or the way he helped you into your bed in a surprisingly soft manner for someone so rough.

But you realized how real it was when you spotted a little note sticked to your fridge the next morning with beautifully neat handwriting saying:

"Text me xxx-xx-xx-xx"

And if anyone had seen the wide grin that spread across your face, they would have called you a simp. Maybe you were.

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its-actually-minicika · 2 years

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Letters Perished in Dried Ink (18+)

Pairing: Aemond x Reader;

Warnings: vivid descriptions of male masurbation, slight angst, a lot of lousy grandpas who have and will continue to butt into your situationship with Aemond;

Word Count: 6.5k;

Author's Note: I struggled with major writer's block this month. I suppose it happens to the best of us :") While I'm still working on the three fics I promised you guys, have this tiny one-shot to make up for the lack of updates ♡

I tried to be poetic. Alas, I miserably failed. See you in the next update (which is going to hopefully present much better)!

How could a misunderstanding ruin everything seven years of love has built?

Her steady hand reached for the quill, and the girl settled her feather over the small and modest piece of paper. For two, mayhaps three seconds she paused, thinking well on what she would like most adherently to convey.

Her eyes glossed over with the swirl of mischief, and the Lady smiled to herself, while expelling a tantalising and brisk breath.

To my dearest, Aemond

While I was afraid that my time in King’s Landing would change the perception I had of my homeland, I must admit that I was wrong. I might push as far as to say that everything remains the same; not a change since I last saw it. My chamber, with the dolls I left on the goose-stuffed pillows, the training grounds – none the grander as the ones in the Red Keep, mind you –, and the large halls of Riverrun… all seemingly frozen in place.

Albeit the doors feel smaller now, and I can reach without the help of a stool where I once could not, I find that I am underwhelmed, and dangerously melancholic over the time I spent in your company, which accounted for so much of my early girlhood.

Grandfather has taken to my return quite well. He is still bedridden, but somehow more vivacious that his blood is nearer yet.

I look at the portraits that adorn the walls of our darkened castle, and sometimes think back to my elder brothers. I think grandfather does so, as well.

But such terrible quarrels have no place in my dull writings! This new life isn’t as tedious as I make it out to be. I was acquainted with my Septa, though much of my education will be taken care of by grandsire now. Yesterday I walked the grounds for hours on end, and managed to spot some old and familiar faces. I had forgotten how kind the riverlords can be.

One thing that must be noted – and recognised as quite peculiar – is how quiet it is here. Naturally, there is no active Court to gossip and flaunt back their wealth and actions.

You would like it here.

And I’ll say this much: I’d like it better if you were here, too.

I end my musings with burning questions, that you simply must answer in your next correspondence:

First and foremost, how have you been? Secondly, how are our good Queen and King? Word reached the Trident that your father’s fallen sick, and so I pray piously without stray that he recovers well and quickly. Thirdly, how is sweet Helaena fairing? Last I heard of her, the babe was close to being born.

I readily await for your reply, and urge you to make haste with it!

Until then I remain, as always,

Your inquisitive and loyal friend

His eye trails over the slight curve of her writing. And the Prince catches himself smiling, humming in admission at her carefully picked-out words.

He notices, with great perplexion, that despite his hardest efforts of stifling such impropriety, the ache inside his chest arouses. His heartbeat hammers out of him, granting a slight tremor in his lax and calloused hand.

And he stands this way, hovering over the pristine parchment, whilst bringing his hand out to pinch the bridge of his nose – rub his throbbing blinder with the back end of his hand. His broad chest heaves with every laboured exhale, and Aemond sighs with proper longing.

To my good friend,

I hope this letter finds you in good health, and in higher spirits than the day you wrote to me. It is very unlike you to barely fill a page. I expect your next communication to hold greater details of your life in the Riverlands.

King’s Landing is the same as you remember. Smells like shit and feels like shit, especially now, as I'm denied from the raptures of your company.

My routine too, remains identical. I am seated next to Aegon when we break fast as of late, and I must stress how greatly I preferred my view beforehand.

I report with great sorrow that hardly any intelligent conversation has been had since your swift departure. I'm left longing at the dinner table, for your calculated thoughts, for your sweet melodic voice, and for our elbows to be lightly touching.

Mother is overwhelmed with higher duties of the Court. I try to help her as best I can, with whatever tasks she may yet entrust me with. I lack the patience to sit idly, and so I’ve taken to Aegon’s share of duties. I fulfil them better than he ever could, and the exercise proves itself useful: for I scarcely find the time to think of you throughout the day.

The nights and morrows are harder yet, as my thoughts reach out to you, wondering helplessly how you spend your better days, so painfully far from me.

A dozen maesters tend to Viserys, each saying he will get better as time has its murky say. Yet ‘til that “eventual better” makes itself known to us all, he nurses his body with milk of the poppy, and lets mother do all his work.

Helaena is well. She dreamt the babe would be a boy, and already settled on a name for him. She wishes to call him Maelor, something that hasn’t been rebuked by Aegon.

She misses you greatly. As do I.

As does Vhagar.

The Red Keep feels empty without your fits of laughter.

Beckon your reply quickly.

Your most dutiful servant,

Aemond

A little over a week had passed since his Lady’s last reply. One week and four full days, to be exact... though Aemond would never own up to counting.

His sour mood grew to exceed all expectations, and the Prince bit his tongue through most of dinner, barely uttering a single word. His quiet nature wasn’t something to be troubled of, but even his drunk-out-of-his-mind brother noticed something had been irking him.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so brooding, brother.” Aegon voiced out his concern, after another hefty gulp of alcohol. An impish grin spread across his puffy face, and Viserys’ first-born son leaned over in his chair to soothe him. “Am I right to assume that this has something to do with the lack of reply from a certain lady of the Riverlands?”

A low growl etched from deep within the youth’s throat. Aemond regarded Aegon with a cutting look, and extended his arm forward to grip the base of the wine pouch. He took a moment to ponder on the gaucherie of getting drunk, but settled on thrusting himself to the momentary relief that a hazy mind could offer.

Briskly, he took a swing of the burning liquor, and disregarded the way in which his mother absent-mindedly glared at him.

A loud snicker echoed through the quiet room, and Aegon clasped his hands together, pouting acutely at his brother's actions. “I’ll take that as a yes, then.”

A knot of heartfelt disregard tightened in Aemond’s throat, and his fist clenched painfully right above the wooden table. His free hand gripped the handle of the knife with a knowledge untoward, and the Prince shared a look with his elder brother, while rotating the blade about.

“Careful, Aegon. There are plenty of sharp objects around this table. And you haven’t been spotted in the training yard for quite some time."

His purple eyes widened to rounded specs of unreliant fear. Still he put on a lazy smile, and merely shrugged his shoulders. Aegon’s mouth opened again, threatening to spew out words that would grant no happy ending to their cosy dinnertime.

Eventually, it was Alicent’s glacial tone that interrupted their clash of wits.

“Boys,” She warned them both, not even bothering to look at them, “That is enough.”

Aegon’s mouth slouched childishly, and the man scoffed in rebuttal, while pointing at his rowdy sibling. “I was merely expressing my concern for Aemond, mother. He’s been very affected, now that his lady love abandoned him.”

Immediately Aemond rebuked his cutlery, and in the span of a single second, the Prince latched onto his berating brother. A dangerous look drew across his Targaryen features, making them all the sharper and unforgiving. Woefully he gripped his collar, hoisting him off the ground with an unnatural and vexing ease, and settled on squeezing Aegon’s gorget as he muttered to him darkly. “Either keep quiet on your own accord, or I’ll gladly silence you.”

Four white cloaks swarmed around them, and Otto Hightower nearly screamed, but the brawl reached an early end as the elder nodded rapidly at Aemond, and the latter loosened the hold he had over his bouchered vest.

“Seven Hells…” Aegon had cursed, mumbling lowly whilst feeling his neck for any sores, “Didn’t know it was such a delicate subject.”

Throwing a jaded look around the table, the One-Eyed Prince clenched his jaw.

He frowned deeply, and let out a tired hum at the notion of his sister’s face, so shocked and confused by his sudden outburst. As he felt his own grow numb, no doubt reddened by the scene he’d single-handedly played out, Aemond’s lips pursed to a tight, embarrassed line.

Whilst his hands itched him in shame, and his eye desperately avoided his mother’s, the young man instead focused on the erotic tapestries that adorned the stone-hedged walls.

His lone orb remained fixated on their arched positions, but, as his brother laughed again, Aemond begrudgingly returned his stare.

“Pardon me.” He muttered coldly, whilst giving a slight bow to the silent gathering, and, with one elegant but hurried movement, grabbed the full cask of wine, as he turned tautly to retreat to his chambers.

He swallowed thickly at his swift undoing, and chastised himself for losing touch with what was proper and allowed. His long fingers clasped painfully behind his back, digging at the flesh of his calloused palms, making him click his tongue in disarray; he notices, mayhaps too late, that all his blood had run elsewhere – thus the man takes wider steps to reach the confinements of his room, and lets out a choked-out breath, as the clogged air of his chamber finally hits his nose.

Methodical, aware and present, he sets the wine aside from him, pouring himself a generous cup, and fiddles with the expensive sheets that lay across his wooden table. His hand stumbles over the ink bottle, and the Prince levels out his rapid breathing, preparing himself to write again.

To My Lady,

A gulp of the liquid courage is all he needs to decidedly settle his red feather over the wilted paper.

Your lack of response to my latest confession irks me to no bitter end. I am a patient man, but I will not be denied entrance to your life. I will not have you refuse me the candour of communication.

Not when I spent my entire life waiting submissively by your side.

If your perpetual silence is owed to something I said, or something you’ve heard about me, I demand that you scorn me for it. Write a lengthy paragraph of all my near and far shortcomings, as you so often did when we were children. I promise to make a praying altar of that letter, grovel over it and at your feet, until my indiscretion should be forgiven.

Do not attempt to drive me away with petty ignoring. Such a feat is beneath you.

Another gulp of bitter wine is what allows his hand to flow more freely.

I confess that days and nights I have spent laying restlessly in bed, praying to the Seven to grant me passage to a single thought of yours. I ached to hear your words and feel your voice touch me so deeply. I am afraid I became brazen and unkind in the tortures of your absence.

I lest conclude that this should be a leisure letter to write – words should come easily, and in short, it should be simple for me to tell you how desperately happy I was to open your communication, and see your sweet and narrow writing.

Aemond halts his hurried musings, and encouraged by the hotness of the room, thinks back on the sinful indulgence he’d committed with her letter.

How he kissed over the parchment a million times thereafter, and how he licked at its bent corners, shuddering at the thought that her hand had ghosted over – perhaps even rested on – the marginal and flimsy paper.

He abjures his thoughts to the back of his mind, and lets out a low curse at the throb that forms over his missing eye.

A Prince should never bow, nor beg, nor relent. Yet here I stand, forever obediently at your beck and call, begging you to write again.

His patch fell heavily upon his skin. The nerves of his face stung the stimulated bit of skin, and Aemond huffed out an exacerbated breath, as he decidedly yanked the blinder away from his handsome face.

My duties at Court make it such that it is impossible for me to leave the proximities of King’s Landing. But should you make the mistake of not replying to me again, I’ll have no choice but to mount Vhagar and fly over to you myself.

… So reign your anger on me, should you need to. And just grant me with a quick reply.

Aemond.

Not even bothering to read it over, the man reached for the stamp she gifted him, inspecting its sapphire hilt with a scorned look over his face, and an angry furrow to his brow. His tongue poked the inside of his cheek, as he passively set the hilt aside.

His next movements were slow, methodical – Aemond folded the paper in half, and poured the hot wax over it; grabbing the stamp, and lowering it on the paper, allowing the Targaryen seal to leave its mundane mark behind.

Harsh thoughts swirled inside his head, and the Prince lowered the parchment, promising to send word out on the morrow, and personally deliver his Lady the much-improved, insistent letter.

‘The best of friends for seven years,’ he scoffed bitterly to himself, recalling the oath they’d made each other.

He wouldn’t allow her to walk away. He wouldn’t allow her to forget about him. And he would force her to look at him, and explain the means of her reaping silence.

The gentle rays of morning wash themselves over his handsome features. The heatwaves of summer lick over his translucent skin, and the golden rays of daybreak thread themselves into his silver hair.

Aemond groaned in roaring anguish, as he ran a calloused hand up and over his throbbing cheek.

The discarded eyepatch, now resting on the floor. The littered parchments, still laying on his table. The lone letter, which had been written so angrily, just to be resentfully abandoned as his ire simmered down the night before.

Each object served as a dull and pained reminder of his lack of princely conduct, of the effects of the wine… of her brazen and determined silence.

The Prince bit over his lower lip, and fluttered his eyelid tightly shut. Enwrapped in his fine silks, and under the comforts of his chambers, he allowed his mind to lead to her again. To the image of her sprawled-out form, waiting for him inside his bed.

He sighs deeply, and questions his sanity – or lack thereof –, his patience, his virtue. What he wrote in his confessions was the fair and honest truth – In the few moments of solitude that he grantedly took for himself, the riverlander scarcely ever left his thoughts.

Aemond writhed into the mattress, and peeled the cover away from his heated body. He needn’t have looked down upon him to see the quaint trailing effect that his friend had had on him; but he did, and in the process, hastily pulled his throbbing cock out of his breeches, to begin to pump himself – mayhaps relieve the stress and anger that ruled over his very being.

A tender hiss escaped his lips, as his movements sped up in pace. The Crown Prince bit over his lower lip, and a shaky hand came to rest over his parted mouth, to dull the shameful and alluding sounds that escaped his burning throat.

He ran his thumb over the leaking tip, gathering up his seed in singular and striking swipes, guiding the clear droplets of liquid to trail towards his aching stones, and coat over his impressive length.

A low grunt slipped past his hand, and Aemond sank his teeth into the tender flesh, stifling down any further moan or laboured breath.

"F-Fuck… my Lady…"

His back shuddered from the blinding pleasure, and his free hand came to rummage under his pillows in the most desperate of searches.

His eye opened but for a moment, as his digits grazed the bent edges of the first letter she'd addressed him – the one he'd cherished with ample reverence, and secretly carried with him to every place he went.

His lilac orb trailed over the contents of the wilting parchment, which by then he knew by heart, but stopped at the very beginning of her scattered and bereft writing.

'To my dearest, Aemond' – either by crude mistake or heinous design, she'd flicked her wrist right after dearest, drawing out a bold and elongated pause, that hence consumed his wakened days.

It must have taken her no more than seconds to descend her quill upon the page, yet for Aemond, the mundane piece of calligraphy became his most burdensome slither of hope.

Before he could catch himself in his lustful daze, the Prince brought the letter to his lips, and kissed over the dried ink with devotion untoward, accelerating his ministrations as he pressed into it harder.

He pictured her alone and writing, enraptured by the dead of night, dressed up in her modest nightdress, and her hair loose from her bun. She must have made some able pauses, to glance up at the moon, perhaps, or sigh in puckered concentration.

Had she shared with him everything that was on her mind back then? Or did she hold her secrets in, choosing instead to only hint at all that they had left unspoken?

Did she also think of him, as he nightly thought of her, and in her attempts to clear her head, brought her hand out to her ruddy pearl? And did she dare to rub it gently as sinful fantasies of him emerged?

Did he plague her every thought – visited them, at the very least, nestling inside her mind, as she so oftenly did to him?

His unanswered plethora of questions only fed into his fire. His hips began to move languidly against his hand, and the familiar licks of release beckoned in his tired loins. But fucking his hand would never come close to how he envisioned fucking her would be like. How tight and welcoming her cunt must be, how she herself was so untouched, so pure, unaware of the pleasures he alone could make her go through.

How breathlessly she’d gasp against him, and leave her lascivious mark over his skin, in the form of clawed-out patterns, adorning his pale and muscled back. He would return her favour in kind, pressing himself deeper inside her, molding her warmth to the shape of his cock, leaving bruising kisses over her breasts and neck and claiming her – over and over, again and again.

His. His, his, his and his alone.

Propriety be damned, he’d have her. Ensure she’d never leave his bed thereafter.

She’d make for a fantastic mother, he caught himself thinking with abhorrence, and a new heat wave of pleasure enveloped his arched, unyielding back.

His despair reached new peaks of torture, as his mind led him to the memory of her crouching form, playing with Helaena’s twins, with such a pliant and kind smile upon her agonizing lips. How she’d chase them through the royal gardens, how the sun would catch her hair aflame…

Often during the long nights of winter, he’d shut himself inside his chambers, and touch himself repeatedly with the oils gifted from Aegon – with only that specific recollection playing tricks inside his mind.

Whilst elating her as his wife inside his head, the man slumped further into the bed, focusing on working his shaft up and down in blinding delight.

Her voice, her laughter, her handwriting and eyes – so wide and curious and always ready to look upon him, to really see him for who he was. She’d been the only one who never glanced directly at his scar. She’d focus in on his remaining eye, and listen to what he had to say. Intently. Remarkably so. She would remember his favourite book, the passages he’d read her last, and would partake in conversation – urging him to share his thoughts.

His climax neared him closer still, and Viserys’s second son focused on fucking his fist at a wilder pace than done before. Droplets of precum rolled down his cock, as forming sweat coated his brow. A final swipe of his rough thumb over the tip of his manhood, and a tender caress of his tightened stones was all it took for the man to drive himself over the edge, and feel the warmth inside his chest spread across his lower body.

He hissed painfully into the open letter, spending all over his chest and stomach and spilling her name from his parted lips.

He heaved out one breath after the other, and gingerly ran his hand over the written testament of her thoughts. He wanted to curse the Gods for making him so, for giving him the thirst for knowledge of a man fitting his station, but the crass bashfulness of a ruddy stable boy.

For the first time in his life, Aemond wished he were born different. A softer and more patient man, who’d find himself worthy of her; one more handsome, courageous and outspoken – a man who could express his feelings, without so much as a second thought, who didn't allow hesitation and carelessness to break his strengthened up resolve.

He ached to tell her all the things he’d left unsaid, when he saw her leave his sight. That she was lovely and brave and better than anything he deserved. That he was twisted, crooked, wrong – but not so wrong that he couldn’t pull himself together into some semblance of a man for her. That without exactly meaning to, he’d begun to lean on her, to look for her, to need her near.

That love within him laced with doubt. Longing with predestined pain. That he prayed night after night, obsessively, tentatively, that she’d grant him passage into her life again – that whatever held her from speaking to him would absolve itself with time, and he’d finally be free again.

Free to love her from afar, to revel in the bottled hope she’d grant him with the lightest touch, the faintest smile, and the most mundane of glances.

To delve further into the sweet delusion that mayhaps she'd learn to love him. That somehow he’d be deemed to be enough.

As he stood there, unmoving in his very bed, his warm seed rolled off his stomach, staining onto the silken sheets. A long sigh escaped his lips, and Aemond propped himself onto his elbow, cleaning the mess he’d left behind.

His want for her ran hard and deep, and the Crown Prince tensed once more, feeling his stomach tighten in such familiar hot knots of pleasure, that his cock went stiff again. He hummed in admission of his solitary fate and reached for the sinful oils with a shaky and extended hand. Through the musings of a quiet moan, he aligned his hips to his waiting hand, preparing to grant himself the second peak of his cursed and debauchered morning.

Alas, a lacklustre knock put an end to his self-indulgence, and Aemond stifled back a groan. He swallowed up his lust with haste, pushing himself back into his linen breeches and off the ruined satin bed – running a hand through the forming mats of his silver hair, to make himself seem more presentable.

Frustration and madness welled up within him, but he merely sucked in an irritated breath, whilst grabbing forth a shirt to adequately front himself.

“Yes, what is it?” His shaky voice barks out for him. He listens intently for any noise outside his door, and a great displeasure settles in his gut, as the voice of a servant boy echoes through the quiet walls.

“A letter for you, Your Grace. I beg your pardon for disrupting you –”

Readily he jumps out of his bed. And as if burned, as if possessed, Aemond opens the door with a readiness unperturbed, descending his anger onto the poor, expecting boy. The letter rests upon a silver platter, shaken with the messenger’s panicked voice. The Tully emblem that seals over a vast calligraphy drives the Prince to the brink of hysteria, and the Targaryen grabs a hold of the boy’s bouched shirt, pushing him further down into the hall.

“When.” He questions breathlessly, “When did the letter arrive.”

“L-Last night, Your Grace – near the hour of the wolf –”

A feral scowl settles over his sharp features. Aemond takes a step forward, tightening his fist over the cheap material, and calmly professes to the whimpering boy.

“For waiting so long to bring it to me, I should have you flogged and executed.”

The child's blabbering reaches deafened ears, as Aemond reaches for the letter crassly presented to him, and offers the youth a pressing look.

“Get out of my sight, before I should make the call of feeding you to my dragon.”

A clumsy courtesy is followed by a tantalised “Your Grace”. The echo of footsteps gets lost through the depths of the narrow hallway, and the man hums absentmindedly, before shutting himself inside his room again.

He wants to rip the envelope in a violent and perusing fashion, but his first instinct is to trail over the paper gently, to run his digits where her hands had been, to touch the edges of her writings with such a desire to be close to her that it scared him.

In a slow and gentle act, he peeled her seal away from the pesky parchment, and sucked in a hectic breath, as he scanned the contents he’d so longly dreamt about.

His hope shattered as rapidly as it came. And Aemond nearly ripped the letter, as his heart clenched painfully inside his chest.

To Aemond,

I thought about what I might say, and word it out in such a way that won’t leave you perplexed or angered.

I think it’s best for us to move along, and stop with these childish musings, that have hence occupied our time since I moved from the Red Keep.

I will forever cherish our acquaintanceship and hold your friendship in the highest regard. But I am a woman grown now – you, a man in all his right –, and we must both start to think about the survival of our families.

Please do not send me any more letters, as I won’t reply to them, and focus instead on your best interests.

The Lady Tully of Riverrun

His feet carried him close to his bed, as he grabbed a hold of her first note. Desperately, he began searching for differences – in the means that it was written, in the handwriting he’s known since his early adolescence, in the marginal and flimsy paper.

The sting of rejection fell heavily over his shoulders, but rationale trumped his crushed spirits – for there must have been something, anything inside the new communication, that would explain its fabrication.

It was impossible those were her words. She’d never been a jousting woman – never regarded her tens of suitors as less than wanting, for the simple fact she didn’t desire them. She would have let him down more softly. She wouldn’t throw away his company.

Contentment can emerge in the quietness of separation, but their friendship endured years of scorn from the gossips of the Court. Her good opinion of him just couldn’t have changed so suddenly.

A final reach entered his mind, as he folded the paper roughly, and settled it atop his table.

If those were truly her words within that letter, and she wanted him to keep his distance, she’d have to tell him to his face.

More than a week had passed since she’d sent him her first letter. A week since she’d awaited his reply, inquiring every messenger within the castle on the arrival of a straying raven, all the way from the Red Keep.

In spite of her avid efforts, each day repeated the same encounter without so much of a hitch – the scrawny boys shaking their heads, as they ceaselessly informed her that nothing addressed to her has reached the tower of the West Wing.

Since then she’d sent out two more hurried manuscripts, despite never once being graced with a reply. All hope seemed lost when she’d woken up that very day and was still met with livid silence.

Through all their years of rapid friendship, Aemond had never ignored her so. As she cut into her plate, the Lady gnawed at her bottom lip, thinking hard on what possibly could have happened to make him turn so cold towards her.

If her status quo were any different, she’d have taken the Red Fork road on horseback, to reach King’s Landing, and confront her oldest friend on the reasons for his dreaded silence.

But her grandsire had fallen ill, and little to no progress was made on his state of brittle health. Her duty thus assigned her to the Riverlands, despite her need of seeing him.

“You have been very quiet, sweet girl.” The husky voice of Grover Tully echoed through the silent chamber. The girl’s cutlery stilled upon the half-full plate, and her eyes raised from her lap, clashing with the stilling blueness, the knowing assessment of his own.

“Apologies, grandfather,” She uttered rapidly with a forced smile upon her face, “My mind was otherwise engaged.”

“As it has been for the past week.” He concluded with a quirked-up brow. The softness in his gaze enveloped her, giving her a rapid sense of security, and her grandfather coughed in the back of his hand, drawing a pattern over the motifs of their tablecloth.

“I suppose I miss some aspects of King’s Landing. I have spent most of my youth there… – though the Riverlands are just as beautiful.” She was quick to intervene.

“Is King’s Landing all that you miss, or is it a certain boy from there?”

Her bright orbs widened with her grandfather’s suggestive tone, and her cheeks reddened in place, as her voice denied it brashly, “Certainly not, I – Aemond and I are friends.”

“It might seem like a long while has passed since then, but I’ve also been young once.”

When her reply was met with sarcasm, she swallowed thickly and drove on, “We are… really good friends, but that is all.” Once again, her stare dissolved, “Though… I’m not sure we’re exactly friends anymore.”

A knowing look adorned his face, and Grover turned his attention to the family crest above their heads. He took a while to pounder, thinking longly on a vast reply, but he eventually nodded to her, and graced the child with an unperturbed, brilliant smile. “I’m sure the Prince is very busy – as are you, my sweet child. Men, and young men especially…” He muttered the latter of his teachings, “Aren’t exactly prone to sentimentality. Not in the way that women are.”

Her lips pursed into a tight line, as his words rang in her ears.

But not Aemond, she wanted to say. He was hardly like the other men she knew – he could be kind and good and comforting. He cared for her, and for their friendship. He wouldn’t just ignore her, just for the sake of not being overly attached to writing.

Although she couldn’t possibly say such a thing – for then her grandsire’s teasing would have been a certain. The girl made herself busy cutting up a piece of meat in carefully drawn-out halves, until she beckoned a reply.

“Indeed. … You’re right, I should stop being so concerned.” She strained herself to answer him. The older man hummed disconcerted, and returned upon his plating. They continued eating in silence, till he mauled himself to tell her.

“... I know how hard this is for you. But our family depends on you. I had to bring you back to Riverrun, to get the other Lords used to the image of a woman in our ancestral seat.”

“Gods, of course, grandfather – and for that, I’m more than thankful.”

Grover raised a shaky hand, and cut her off with a gentle smile, “You do understand… as much as we both hate the idea, I’ll have to soon match you with someone.”

She gripped the goblet of wine before her, and wet her lips with the bitter liquor. “... Of course I do. It is my duty.”

“Your claim will be stronger with an able man around. And if the Gods are good and you also bear a son…”

“I know.” She sighed into the ample cup, “My claim would be thus undisputed.”

“Aemond was not the right match for you.”

The girl bit over her lower lip, wanting to both negate her feelings, and contest upon his honoured values. But she simply nodded to the greying Lord before her and offered a lacklustre smile.

“Perhaps a change of scenery will do you good. I was thinking that you might like the Reach better than the Riverlands... Lyonel Tyrell is an especially kind and thoughtful host.”

A relocation was the last thing on her mind, no doubt, but the Bliss of Riverrun turned her attention to the latter of his eversion.

“Visit the Reach? You think of marrying me off to the boy of Highgarden? … He’s not yet fourteen.”

Silence washed over their council.

“Boys grow swiftly into men. I'm assured he'll be a good one for you."

“He’s a child.”

“You’re seventeen.”

“It still makes for quite the difference.”

“You won’t have to mother children until he’ll also come of age. It gives you three more years of freedom – other ladies would kill for a faction of what you have.”

“I don’t like the finality of your words."

A long and pressing breath beleft his pale and tired lips.

“I couldn’t send you to the North. Jason Lannister has no sons. The Greyjoys are ghastly savages.” As he presented her his trail of thought, Grover Tully shook his head, “And the Targaryens…”

“You’re childhood friends with King Viserys. A match would not befall our rank." She slipped and added restlessly, much like a frail and foolish child. Even before he could answer her, his granddaughter raised her hand, as she brushed off her latter thought. “A succession crisis will ensue.” The young woman muttered in his stead.

“I’m old – I’ve seen disputes start from less. But here we’re talking of the Iron Throne.”

“You think a war is in its midst.”

A cutting silence washed over them. Grover lifted first from the dinner table and breathed in an anxious breath.

“I pray for the sake of the Realm that such a thing will not take root.”

The languid fires of their threshold illuminated her conflicted face.

“Then it’s a good thing Aemond didn't bother to reply to my letters.”

For but a second, Grover’s face was etched with guilt.

“We all have to protect our own.” Sometimes the means in which we do it are less honourable than we'd wish to.

For all that was worth on that rousy and portentous night, her fate had been agreed upon. And ever the loyal and oppressed servant, the young lady of the Riverlands left with the first callings of dawn, for the impetuous and striking gardens, which were kept inside the Reach.

She would then leave, with her soul and heart all torn to pieces – yet still completely unaware that she’d never see Aemond again.

Never, at the very least, to how she’d known him to have been.

His wide and calculated steps led him to the stronghold’s gates. So easily it came for him to pass the cluttered training grounds, and disregard Ser Criston Cole with a mere shake of his head.

Above all else, he thought it then, he needed to feel his love again. He needed to hold her near once more, and ask all the outlandish questions he endured inside his head, counting for so much of his weakened days. He needed to reach a resolution, after being disregarded for so long. He needed the closure that her voice could offer him, that her mouth would utter out – that this had all been a grave mistake on her behalf, that the note never belonged to her, that she loved him as he loved her, and had merely been scared of it.

His morning session could very well await him, as he so viciously awaited the perfect chance to get away.

Two days away from the arrival of the pesky letter, Aemond had finally managed to slither unperturbed from his neat and tidy prison. Neither his mother nor grandsire had caught him in the act of it, Aegon had been too drunk to notice him dress up for a morning ride, and Helaena had solely clicked her tongue and scowled at him.

As he anxiously secured the belts of his dragon’s saddle, the man hummed in disarray – Riverrun was but a short flight away, but the despair he felt to hold her inside his arms again trumped over his better senses.

With any luck, he figured, she should still be found in bed. His love had never been an early riser, and she loathed getting out of bed in the damning morning light.

He didn’t waste time figuring out pleasantries to share with Grover – much less the words needed to explain his unprompted visit.

His sole purpose was to get to her, ask for her hand, make her his wife and forever be done with it.

He had the biggest claim to her – a Prince bonded with the largest dragon in the world, the one who’d seen and grown with her so many years inside the Keep.

The command of flying was given to his formidable dragon, and the Prince took off for the Trident's three heads.

Hopefulness emerged with unforsaked determination – but as his actions would dictate him from then on out, his efforts would be all for nought, torn apart in stinging vain.

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bloatedandalone04 · 10 months

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Wrapped Around Your Finger - Part 0.5

Series Masterlist | Original Fic

➪in which you are days away from starting your program and anakin gets used to tour life without you by befriending the sometimes overly-flirty photographer.

PSA: strongly suggested to read the warnings before proceeding.

WC; 3.6k | Do not repost this anywhere, reblogs are fine ♡ | THANK YOU FOR 4K FOLLOWERS MWAH

You throw your bag onto your twin sized bed with a huff.

After sitting through a two and a half hour seminar about your program, you left that building knowing nothing more about it than you did a week ago. You didn’t even get to meet your instructor, despite being informed that he would try and make it to the orientation day.

Alas, he was a no show, and you really hope he is more professional than this first impression of him.

You sit next to your bag and play with the zipper for a bit as you glance around the room. It was nice, sure, but you quickly discovered that nothing compared to the room you shared with Anakin back in your apartment. Having just your things on one side of the room looked wrong. Your books on the shelf looked wrong without having his sheet music next to them. Your cardigan that was hung up in the wardrobe looked wrong without one of Anakin’s leather jackets next to it. Even your bed looked wrong since it wasn’t big enough to hold more than one person comfortably.

Sure, Anakin’s bunk on the bus was a lot smaller, but it still felt more right than sleeping by yourself does.

You bite down on your lip as you pull out your phone and check the time.

Since it had been a few days since you last saw him, the time zone difference between you and Anakin was going to be a bit difficult to figure out. He was in Norway now, so thankfully there was only an hour difference, and you were able to figure out what he could possibly be doing right now.

It was nearing six PM now, and he and the guys would be set to be on stage within another hour or so, and you really wanted to talk to him.

Your fingers play with the thread on your blanket as your free hand types out a quick message.

Ani, I miss you. Are you able to talk for a second?

And you were barely able to swipe out of the text app before he was calling you. Bringing your phone up to your ear, you greet him with a dumb smile painted on your lips, “Hi, Ani,”

You hear him sigh quietly as you pull at the thread some more. “Hi, baby,” he says back and your smile only grows. “I miss you, too. So fucking much, I’m going insane.”

You laugh and move to sit further back on your bed, bringing your knees up to your chest with a shake of your head. “No, you’re out touring the world. You’ll forget all about me soon enough,”

Anakin laughed and the sound had your body tingling. “Yeah, and I’ll also become the next president. Add that to the list of things that will never happen,” he says and you blush a bit as you lean back against your pillow. “How was that orientation thing? Is your instructor nice?”

You chew on your chapped lip as you debate on whether or not you should tell him that you had a pretty bad day now or after he was done with the show. You didn’t want him worrying about you before he was supposed to go on stage, and you also didn’t want to come off as some sad girl who had a shitty day just because she wasn’t able to spend it with her boyfriend.

“It was fine,” you answer and pull the blanket up from its spot at the end of the bed. You loosely throw it over your legs and resume pulling at the threads. “A bit boring, but that was to be expected, I guess. I met this guy who is in the same program as me and we made plans to get coffee at some point. His name is Evan. And my instructor was a no show, so I didn’t get to meet him.”

You hear muffled sounds coming from his end before he was mumbling an, “Oh, that’s….professional,”

You laugh quietly, looking over at the curtain covered window with a soft sigh. “I really do miss you, Ani,”

He had only been gone a few days, but you couldn’t remember a time you felt this fucking lonely. You felt a bit pathetic, but could you really be blamed?

“I miss you, too, princess,” he said just as quietly, and it felt like the two of you fell into your own little world. “It’s weird not having my cheerleader waiting backstage for me.”

You groan and lean back against the headboard. “Don’t remind me,” you mumble. “I can only imagine all the girls who would swap places with me right now to be your cheerleader, and how many think I’m fucking stupid for being here and not with you.”

“Hey,” he scolded. “You are not stupid. I’ve said it so many times now, but I’ll gladly say it again; I’m fucking proud of you. You deserve to be there rather than stuck backstage while I’m off living my life. Think of all that will come from this, all the opportunities that will be thrown at you. You should be excited, ‘cause I know I am.”

“I’m excited,” you promised, bringing your hand up to chew on your fingernail. “I’m just lonely and missing you. I’ll be fine.”

“You just need to find something to do,” he suggested. “Your classes start in a few days, right? Go sightseeing or meet up with your classmates. Oh, I know, go see that big fucking clock.”

You laugh loudly, and you knew he was probably smiling right now at his successful attempt to cheer you up. “The Big Ben?”

“Whatever its name is,”

You laugh again and drop your hand. “Ani, that’s like a two and a half hour drive from me,”

“Take one of those fancy trains,”

“You’re too much,”

“You love me,”

“I do,” you agree. “I love you a lot.”

He laughed and the sweet sound had you smiling. “I love you a lot more,”

Another location officially crossed off the list.

Anakin was a sweaty mess as he handed his guitar off to one of the stage guys before making his way to the exit. Before he could make it very far he felt a hand wrap around his forearm and pull him off to the side to where the speakers were. “Hey!” Liz beamed, grinning up at him and holding her camera close to her chest. “You were amazing!”

This was the second night in a row that she had stopped him from leaving to congratulate him, and the second time he was instantly reminded of you.

Liz’s skin was slightly sweaty but it was nothing compared to his own, and Anakin smiled at her as he put a few feet of distance between them. “Thanks,” he said. “You got some nice shots?”

“Of course I did,” she rolled her eyes playfully. “All my shots of you are nice.”

Anakin’s smile faded a bit as he took a hand towel from one of the stage guys and wiped away the sweat from the back of his neck. There was that weird feeling again. Was she being flirty or just trying to hype up someone she considered a client? “Is that right?” He asked, watching as she nodded and bit down on her lip. His eyes instinctively flickered to her mouth and he straightened up once he caught himself. “Well, I can’t wait to see them.”

When he turned to leave again, her hand reached out and grasped his bicep, her palm fully covering your initial as she moved to stand in front of him again. “I can show you some now, if you want?” She offered, making him hold back a cringe as he tried to think of a way to nicely reject her.

He feels his phone buzz in his pocket and his face relaxes slightly when he reads your text.

Princess: I miss you already. Can we facetime after your show?

His heart skipped a beat at the fact that, despite you not even being here, you were able to save him from this interaction. “I can’t,” he said and looked up at her. “I’m gonna call Y/n as soon as I get back to the bus.”

Her face fell a bit as she backed away. “Oh, right,” she mumbled. “You and your girlfriend are so cute. How long have you two been together?”

“Five years in a few weeks,” he answered, fighting off a dumb grin as he thought about his milestone with you.

“Wow,” she lifted both brows as she gave him a forced grin. “You were just kids when you met then.”

Anakin furrowed his brows as he pocketed his phone again. “I guess,”

He hadn’t really given it much thought. Yeah, you two met when you were super young, and you still are young now and have lasted longer than most couples in their thirties, so he wasn’t really seeing the point she was trying to get at.

“Anyway, I don’t want to keep her waiting,” he trailed off, watching as she nodded.

“Oh, sure,”’ she shrugged. “Have a good night, Anakin.”

“You too,” he replied, already walking away and towards the parking lot door.

He was barely inside the bus before he was calling you, his tired eyes staring back at him as he waited for you to pick up. “Ani,” you nearly gasped when you did answer, your big smile making his own form.

“Baby,” he murmured, walking past the couch and heading straight towards his bunk. “You look so pretty.”

You look down at yourself and laugh before shaking your head. “I’m wearing pajamas, Anakin,”

“You’re wearing my shirt,” he pointed out. “You look so fucking hot.”

You blush a bit and he wants nothing more than to be with you right now. He wants to see that pretty blush of yours in person. “Don’t say that to me,” you begged, scrunching your brow cutely. “I refuse to be turned on when you’re not here.”

Anakin smirks as he passes his bunk and enters the bathroom. “Have you had to touch yourself yet?” He shamelessly asked as he locked the door and leaned against the sink.

“Anakin,” you blush even more as you sit up against your headboard. “I have a roommate.”

“Is she there with you right now?”

“No,”

“Then what’s the problem?” He asked as he used one hand to strip himself of his shirt. “Come on, princess, imagine how good I’d be making you feel if I was there right now.”

He watches as you bite down harshly on your bottom lip. “Ani,”

“Imagine how good my fingers make you feel,” he continued, watching the way your eyes filled with lust.

“Anakin,” you warned. “I swear.”

He smirked a bit, dropping his shirt to the floor. “I miss you, baby,” he murmured, his eyes following the curve of your jaw as you turned to hide your face in your pillow. “It’s not the same without you here.”

You whined a bit as you lifted your head. “London is fucking boring without you. Imagine all the fun we’d be having right now,”

“I’m sure we’d be having a lot of fun,” came his dirty remark and you quickly broke eye contact again. “Quit looking away, baby, I wanna see your pretty face.”

“I can’t look at you when you say those things to me,” you confessed, turning back to face him with a blush covering your cheeks.

“Okay, okay, I’ll stop. Tell me about your day,” he says as he unzips his jeans with his free hand.

You light up at that. “I ended up texting that guy I told you about, Evan? We did the campus tour together and got drinks from this really cute coffee shop that’s right next to my dorm. You’d love it, Ani, they had so many flavors,”

Anakin smiled at that, happy you had already made a friend and found a place to go to in between classes. “That’s awesome,” he said. “I wish I was there with you. Maybe we’ll go to London together one day and you can show me the shop.”

“Yes,” came your immediate response. “Absolutely, let’s do that.”

He shook his head as he rids himself of his jeans. You’re cute,”

“I know,” you beam. “How was the show? I’m so sad I missed it.”

Anakin kicked his clothing into a pile in the corner of the small room. “It was good. Liz said she got some good shots of us that she’ll send later. You wanna see them too?”

“Always,” you scoff then smile. “How is everyone? How’s Theo?”

“Everyone’s doing well,” he answered. “Theo is…honestly doing a really bad job at hiding how nervous he is about his mom. Vin and I told him that we’re here if he needs anything, but he always just brushes us off. He’s distant whenever we’re not on stage together.”

Your brows furrow a bit as you slouch back against your headboard. “His mom is sick, Ani…and he’s not with her. Yeah, his sister is, but he’s the oldest and has been with her the longest. I can’t imagine what he’s going through,”

“Yeah, but I just wish he would talk to me, you know? I’ve known him since I was sixteen. It feels like he’s slipping away from us,” he vented as he propped his phone up on the sink and looked at himself in the mirror.

“Maybe being on stage is his escape,” you offer. “He’s going through a lot right now, Ani. Give him time, he’ll come around.”

Anakin tore his eyes away from the mirror and looked back at you. You were always so kind and rational and always thought about everyone else’s feelings before you spoke. You really are too sweet for your own good. “What would I do without you?” He honestly asked and you smiled at him.

“You’d probably be as miserable as I would be without you,”

And he knew you were right.

“Hey, Anakin!” Liz greeted and pulled him into a hug, surprising him with the sudden display of affection. He stumbled back a bit, nearly bumping into one of the stage crew members as he did so.

“Hey,” he said back, returning the hug briefly before placing his hands on her hips and gently pushing her away from him.

She kept her hands on his shoulders as she asked, “Did you get the photos from last night? I didn’t even need to edit these ones, they came out perfect,”

They really did look great. And you made sure to let him know just how good he looked in your message back to him when he forwarded the email to you before he went to bed last night.

“Yeah, they look awesome,” he said as he stepped away from her. “Though I’m sure that has more to do with the camera and the person behind it.”

Liz rolled her eyes as she pulled out her phone. “When will you learn how to take a compliment?” Then she lifted her phone and pointed it right at him, and he had no time at all to realize what she was doing before he heard the sound of a picture being taken. She clicked on the image and showed it to him, “See? You can’t take a bad photo, even when you don’t realize one is being taken.”

Anakin laughed and shook his head a bit. “Okay, point taken, you can delete that now,”

But she just turned off her phone and pocketed it without deleting the photo. “We should do something together soon,” she suggested and he was about to gently turn her down when she added, “You, me, Vinny and Theo. I want to get to know my clients. Maybe we’ll work together more in the future, you know, after the tour.”

That wouldn’t be a bad idea, right? It might be nice to have a friendship with someone who knows how to work a camera, and Liz really did. Her work was amazing and she never failed to make Anakin feel as desired as he supposedly was by millions of people.

“Yeah, for sure,” he agreed, then thought about another way she could take photos for him. “Maybe Y/n and I will hire you for our wedding.” It was a joke, the photographer part, definitely not the wedding part. He knew he will be marrying you someday, and he honestly couldn’t fucking for the day you become his wife, but there is also lots of time for that later, when you are both ready.

The joke definitely went over her head. “Oh, you two are engaged?”

He fucking wished.

“No, we’re not,” he said, somewhat disappointedly. Just because you were waiting to get married doesn’t mean you were waiting to be engaged. Anakin also knew that he wouldn’t be able to hold off on asking you that question for much longer. “Not yet, anyway.”

She gave him a smile that looked a little forced. “You two are serious then, huh?”

He furrowed his brows as he leaned against the speaker backstage. This was always your spot, and he was missing you a little extra right now. God, he had no idea how he was supposed to make it another two weeks without you, then two months without you after that.

“Yeah,” he trailed off. He thought she would’ve known by now how serious you and he are. Sure, you were basically kids when you met, but he knew from that first day that you were the only girl for him, and that fact was still true to this day. “Four years in, you get to be pretty serious.”

She nodded and moved closer to him, her natural flirty personality coming out in full swing as she smirked up at him. “That’s too bad,” she hummed, running a red painted nail up his sleeve of tattoos. “I’d say I’m happy for you, but then I’d be lying. You seem like a great guy, Anakin. It’s too bad you were taken off the market when you were so young.”

He had no idea how to respond to that. She was definitely flirting with him, but he didn’t see the harm in it as long as he didn’t flirt back, and he had no intention in doing that anyway. Physically he was here, but his heart and mind were back in London with you.

You were probably pacing around your dorm room right, nervous and scared about starting the program tomorrow. He hadn’t spoken to you since last night, where he ranted about how much he missed you, then listened to the way you talked dirty to him until he had no choice but to get himself off while he was still on FaceTime with you.

You told him that you would’ve helped him clean up the mess he made if you were there with him, and he had to wrap the call up pretty quickly after that as he could feel himself getting hard again and didn’t want the guys to get annoyed with him for being in the bathroom for too long.

While his hand didn’t feel even close to how you did, he’d definitely be calling you again after tonight’s show.

“Thanks, Liz, but I was a massive band geek back then and Y/n was this perfect, straight A student who I had no business asking out, let alone talking to,” he reminisced back to his high school days with you.

“But you did,” she sounded almost bored, but he wasn’t really paying much attention to her tone at this point. He never focused on much else when the topic of the conversation was you.

“Yeah, I did,” he confirmed, looking down at her with a dumb, love-struck grin. “Best decision of my life.”

She rolled her eyes and stepped away from him. “See, that’s what I’m talking about. I was convinced there were no more good guys left in the world, and now here you are, so in love with your high school sweetheart it’s almost disgusting,”

He laughed and crossed his arms. “You’re not the first person to call me and my relationship that,”

Liz sighed as she gazed up at him. “I can only hope that I find a guy as nice as you soon,” she mumbled. “I mean, I’m twenty seven, I should be married by now. I’m so far behind.”

Anakin felt bad for her, and he supposed that was what she was trying to do after bringing up the topic of relationships. “You’ll find someone,” he assured her. “And you’re not behind. You’re a successful photographer, you’re nice, you’re pretty…anyone would be lucky to have you.”

She looked up at him with slightly darker eyes and he stood up a bit straighter, afraid he went too far with that one. “You think I’m pretty?”

He definitely went too far with that one, but he also didn’t want to ruin her newfound confidence. “Yeah,” he answered with a nod, wanting to either escape this conversation or change the subject entirely. “I’m sure I’m not the first person to tell you that.”

Liz shook her head and bit down on her lip. “No, but you’re the first person I believe,”

She reached out to him and only got to trace the newer ink on his wrist before he was pulling away. “Really?” He laughed and backed away. “I’m sorry to hear that. Anyway, I should help set up for tonight. Apparently all the tickets were sold for this venue, so it’ll be packed. You think you can keep up with everyone?”

Liz smirked as she nodded, “I think I can manage,”

166 notes · View notes

crimsonkenjii-writes · 2 years

Text

Take Your Child to Work Day

Tomioka Giyuu x Wife!Reader • Kimetsu Gakuen AU

Synopsis: You and Giyuu couldn’t find a babysitter in time so Giyuu opted out to taking his son to work with him

A/N: I had Dad!Giyuu brain rot so then drew Giyuu reading to his son and then I thought of this idea as I was drawing so now I'm writing it lol

CW: none just fluff ♡

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

“Are you really sure you're okay with that? Would the school be okay with that??” You ask your husband, taking another glance down at your phone to catch the time. You both needed to leave the house soon to get to work. However, you couldn’t leave your son home alone. He was too young to be left in the empty house unmonitored. But calling off of work wasn’t an option either. Your husband had offered to take his son to work with him.

“I mean, its a school. Its always filled with kids. I'm sure they won’t mind, especially if I explain what happened. The babysitter called last minute saying she got sick and couldn’t come today, its no one’s fault.”

You place your hand on top of your child’s head, still feeling worried about the time crunch and who would watch over your son. “Hmmm I guess. You sure he’ll have a spot to sit down and stayed entertained?”

“I’m sure.” Your husband responds, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth to reassure you that everything would turn out just fine. You smile back at him, looking at the time once more and taking note that you both didn’t really have much of an option anyways. You bend down to reach your child’s gaze, cupping his chubby cheeks into your palms.

“Okay, Sweetie. You’re going to be going to work with your Papa today. Make sure to behave and do what Papa says, alright?”

A wide grin appears on your child’s face, excited at the fact he’d get to spend all day with his dad. You start to place kisses all across his face, squeezing his cheeks and telling him how much you’ll miss him and to have an amazing day. Standing back up to place a kiss on Giyuu’s lips.

“Okay, I got to start heading out, take care. I’ll see you both later.” Giyuu gives you a goodbye as you rush out the door. Now looking down to his boy who already had his arms outstretched for his father. Giyuu bends down to grab ahold of him and lift him into his arms.

“We’re going to have a lot of fun today! Lets pack you a lunch super quick and then head out, okay?”

Giyuu’s larger hand held onto his son’s much tinier hand as they both walked onto the campus. Giyuu having to take much shorter strides for his son’s shorter legs to keep up.

“Here’s the plan, I’m gonna take you to the teacher’s office and you can sit at my desk. I have plenty of paper and markers there for you to draw with. I’ll also try and snatch some crayons from Uzui’s class if you’d like. But I’m going to have to be in the gym for my classes, okay? I wont be next to you all day, but I’ll still be here. You okay with that?”

“Yes, I’m okay with it!” Your boy cheered out, excited to be at his father’s desk. Already imaging to pretend to be his father at the desk and feel like a real teacher.

Giyuu walked into the teacher’s office, deep down hoping no one would be there to question why he had brought his child to work. But alas, almost every teacher was still at their desks, organizing through papers and planners to prepare for the day. He slightly grimaced to himself to see the full room.

“Oh, Tomioka-san! You’re here, you’re later than usual.” Kanae beams out. Her eyes slowly scan down to see a much smaller looking Giyuu attached to his leg. Her eyes instantly light up as she gets up from her seat. “Oh my goodness!! Tomioka-san! Is this your little boy?! He’s looks just like you, he’s so adorable!” Giyuu swallows, knowing that Kanae’s voice had reached the rest of the teachers and all heads turned to him instantly. Kanae resting her hands on her knees as she bent down to greet his son.

“Nice to meet you, Little Tomioka! I’m Kanae!” She smiles brightly. Your son starts to grow shy and clings on more to his father as he mumbles out a hello.

“Tomioka! You brought your son?!” Rengoku’s voice booms loudly standing up from his desk to catch a glimpse. Giyuu simply nods as Kanae straightens out her posture, “May I ask why?” She asks Giyuu.

“My wife and I couldn’t find a babysitter. The one we hired called in last minute apologizing that she couldn’t make it because she got sick. So I decided to take him with me.”

“Where the hell are you gonna keep him?” Sanemi asks aggressively, his intimidating eyes glaring at Giyuu. Arms crossed over his chest as he stayed seated in his chair, spun around to be facing the two.

“At my desk, of course.” He answers coolly. He looks over at Uzui was was curiously peering over the desks to get a look at Giyuu’s son. “Uzui, would it be alright if my son borrowed some crayons from the art room?” The tall man nods in agreement, a small smile on his face. He had to admit, a little version of Tomioka was indeed adorable. Even if he wasn’t the best of friends with his father, he wouldn’t deny a young child some crayons to help keep them occupied.

Rengoku walks over, standing beside Kanae to greet your child. A smile a lot bigger than his usual one making his eyes crinkle with joy. He voice booming out loudly as he greeted the small boy. Your son jumps, scared off by his voice and hides more behind Giyuu’s legs. Rengoku apologizes and kneels down, lowering his voice and hold out his hand for your son.

“Its Uncle Rengoku,” Giyuu calls out to his son. “You’ve both met before, though I’m sure you were too little to remember. No need to be so shy, say hi.” He pats the top of his child’s head to help reassure him. Now that your son was looking at him, he remembers a vague memory of hair that looked like fire. Still too shy, he waves hello from behind his father. Rengoku lets out a laugh, finding the boy adorable.

“He’s just as reserved as you!” Rengoku speaks as he stands back up. Giyuu lets out a small puff of air through his noise, a small smile as he looks down at his son.

“I have my free period first thing, I could keep your son companied while you’re teaching your class, Tomioka-San.” Kanae speaks out.

“That would be great, thank you.” Giyuu answers. He grabs a hold of his son’s hand and guides him over to his desk, lifting him to set him in his chair. “I have to get going real soon, okay? Kanae-san will keep you company for now. I’ll miss you, be good, okay?” Giyuu places a kiss on his sons forehead before heading out of the office to the gym.

The whistle screeches loudly as Giyuu blew air into it.

“No resting! Keep running! Looking at you, Agatsuma!”

The yellow haired boy groans, huffing out loudly as he tried to pick his pace back up to a jog again. It was already second period, meaning its already be a little over an hour since Giyuu had seen his son. He knew he would be alright, but his mind still wandered, hoping he was gleefully coloring on the spare papers on his desk. Kanae was a very nice women and very good with children, he knew she’d be able to soothe him if he did start to get anxious. Though it was second period, meaning she probably had headed to her class already. He hoped his son wasn’t too lonely now. There should at least be another teacher in the room, right? Hopefully no one too intimidating… Giyuu shudders at the thought of his poor son having to be alone in a room with Shinazugawa. Hopefully Rengoku had his second period as his free period.

“Tomioka!!” A voice shouts out behind him. Giyuu turns to see Sanemi walking into the gym, his son on his hip with tears rolling down his red cheeks. His little fists rubbing his puffy eyes.

“What happened?” Giyuu asks concerned, his attention no longer on his students as he reached out for his upset son. “You didn’t scare him, did you?”

“Asshole, I’m actually great with kids. I have a ton of younger siblings you know. Your kid was just crying ‘cause he missed you. Couldn’t get him to quiet down, all he did was ask for you.” Sanemi looks at your son as he passes him on to Giyuu. Maybe his mind was playing tricks on him, but Sanemi actually looked concerned for the young boy. Maybe Sanemi really was a lot softer than Giyuu thought.

“ ‘M sorry, Papa. I just missed you…” your son hiccuped out through sobs, his small fists now clinging on to Giyuu’s track suit as he buried his face into his father’s chest. Giyuu combed his fingers through his son’s hair to help soothe him. “It’s okay, I’m here now. You can just stay in the gym with me, you can sit on the bleachers.” He brings his attention back to Sanemi who’s eyes were still trained on the boy. “Thank you for bringing him, Shinazugawa.” Sanemi nods, eyes darting back to Giyuu’s son. Satisfied to see that he’s finally calmed down and starts to walk out of the gym.

“Tomioka-Sensei!!!” A student yells loudly, “Is that your son?!” Giyuu suddenly remembers that he in the middle of a class. None of the students were doing their laps anymore and were all sparkling with joy as they eyed the small boy in his arms.

“I didn’t tell any of you to stop running!” He shouts at the students. They all jump at his command and go back to their physical activities.

The bell rings and all the students immediately run up to Giyuu who was standing beside his son who was sat on the bleachers, little legs swaying happily.

“Tomioka-Sensei! Your son is so cute!” A dark red headed boy chimes out first. His maroon eyes sparkling with joy as he stared at the little version of Giyuu.

“Kamado, what have I told you about those earrings?” Giyuu scolds.

“I apologize! They’re my father’s! But can I say hi to your son? Please?!” He beams, barely able to contain his excitement. His other friends gathered behind him, most of them also looking eager to say hello. Giyuu sighs in defeat, “Yes, but don’t bombard him, he can get shy.” Giyuu turns over, holding out his hand for his son to call him over. His son hops to his feet and runs to grab ahold of his father’s hand. His little eyes peering up at the students gleaming at him. Tanjiro gets down on his knee to get eye level with the boy, a sweet smile on his face as he speaks gently.

“Hi, Tomioka-kun! How are you? Happy to be at work with your Papa?”

Your son smiles at the mention of his father and nods excitedly. Tanjiro can feel his heart being squeezed, he found him just too adorable. Reminding him of his baby siblings back at home. Nezuko next to her brother, peering happily at the young boy also seeing her own younger siblings in him. Bringing her hand to pat the top of your son’s head.

“Tomioka-Sensei, I didn’t know you had a wife and family.” Zenitsu lets out quietly. He found his son adorable, but felt too nervous to get any closer. The boy with the unbuttoned shirt next to him just staring in silence with a certain twinkle in his green eyes. A girl with a ponytail on one side of her head with an adorable butterfly clip standing along with the group of kids but looking more spaced out than the rest. And finally another girl with inky black pig tails and blue eyes looking excited beside her. Though stepping closer to also greet the young boy, crouching down besides the Kamado siblings.

“Your son looks just like you, he’s super cute!” The girl chimes out.

“Thank you, Kanzaki.” Giyuu responds, peering down at his son. He looked a lot more comfortable with this crowd. Most likely because they were much closer to his age compared to a room full of adults. Giyuu cant help but smile to himself, watching his son enjoying the attention he was receiving.

Finally back home after a long day, Giyuu sighs as he opens the door with his son on his hip. You were already home and started on dinner, immediately wiping your hands on a towel to meet your two favorite boys at the door.

“How was it?” You ask excitedly, reaching out your arms for your son was doing the same for you and calling out "Mama". Immediately kissing his soft cheeks and squeezing him tight to you in a warm hug. Leaning over to give Giyuu his greeting kiss.

“It went well, the teachers were helpful and cared for him when they could. Though he did cry when Shinazugawa was with him.”

You gasp, “Oh no, did he scare him? He can be pretty intense sometimes…” you loved Sanemi but even you had to admit he can be scary to look at.

“No, he’s actually really good with kids. He was crying because he missed me. It was probably scary for him in such a big, unfamiliar building without his Papa.” Giyuu smiles at his son, moving some stray hairs out of his face. “Right? Uncle Shinazugawa was nice? You were just missing me?”

Your son nods at Giyuu’s words, remembering how nice the white haired man was. Remembering how he doodled funny images onto the paper with him. How his grip was too strong he ended up breaking half the crayons. Remembering how when he started to cry that he brought him into an embrace and rocked him to try and soothe him. His thumb wiping away tears that continuously rolled down his cheeks.

“Shinazugawa brought him to me in the middle of my class and all the students were staring.” Giyuu adds on. “It was too hot out so we had class inside so he was able to sit on the bleachers. Not much else happened after that. Just more teachers and students greeting him and telling me how identical we look.”

You smile at your husband, “That’s great to hear. I’m glad it all worked out. Now let me continue with dinner, you two must be hungry, I know I am!” You set your son down and walk back to the kitchen, Giyuu following behind you to help wherever he could.

#baby Tomioka looks super chubby in the drawing #but I think its cute #anyways dad!Giyuu brain rot everyone #I’ll post the full drawing later bevause I need to be asleep #i did not mean to stay up this late writing this fic lmao #if I stopped it would have stayed a WIP forever lolol #i also feel like im not accurate about Japanese schools at all in this #but its fine cuz baby Tomioka is the main focus anyways lol #tomioka giyuu x reader #kny fanfic #kny x reader #tomioka giyuu drabble #kny imagines #giyuu imagines #giyuu x you #giyuu x y/n

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warwickroyals · 3 months

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Sunderland's Royal Jewel Vault (34/∞) ♛

↬ The Duchess of Sherbourne's Scroll Tiara

On their wedding day, it's customary for a royal bride to don a tiara. Anticipation and mystery surround the bride-to-be's wedding jewels just as much as her wedding dress. Throughout the twenty-first century, the opportunity to wear tiaras has dwindled. Royal weddings are one of the last remaining venues for a jaw-dropping tiara moment. When Shelby Elizabeth Sykes became engaged to Prince Henry of Sunderland in early 2019, speculation ramped up once again. Would the bride choose something borrowed from her future in-laws as previous royal brides have done? Or would she take the modern route and opt for something new as the Duchess of Woodbine had back in 2006? As the wedding day drew closer bookies placed their bets and eagle-eyed royal watchers zeroed in on St. John's Caphel. Shelby, a thirty-four-year-old marketing executive, was older than her sisters-law at the times of their weddings and many hoped she would wear a tiara with a bit more weight. Others argued that a smaller tiara was more in line with Shelby's personal style. Many predictions were tossed around but none were correct. Ultimately Shelby got a cross between something borrowed, old, and new. The tiara is an amalgamation of three anthemion and scroll elements from the jewelry collection of Queen Alexandra, which dates back to the 1870s. Following the wedding, the royal family described the tiara on their website: This diamond and platinum tiara was lent to the Duchess by His Majesty the King [ . . . ] The tiara is formed of three open-work scroll motifs which originally belonged to His Majesty's Great-great-grandmother, Queen Alexandra. The tiara was designed by Prince Henry and re-modelled by the Crown Jeweller. The jewels of Sunderland's longest-serving queen consort are major heirlooms and some have suggested that this was King Louis V's way of voicing his approval of his newest daughter-in-law. However, more critical commentators have suggested the recycled jewel might reflect Louis's changing attitude towards jewellery, and how it should be doled out. By 2019, two royal duchesses had left the royal family, one through retirement and the other through divorce. The position of Tatiana, Princess of Danforth, was also shaky following the death of her husband the previous year. Not giving the new Duchess of Sherbourne a substantial tiara from the vault ensures legacy tiaras won't leave the main family; while skirting the costs of commissioning a new tiara. It's been alleged that Shelby wasn't gifted her second tiara until the King and Queen were certain she had "staying power" a year after the wedding. In the years following her wedding, Shelby has worn her scroll and anthemion tiara consistently, but with mixed reactions. The tiara remains controversial among many royal watchers due to its cobbled-together profile. Over the years, criticisms from royal watchers have piled up on social media and online comment sections. Here is a selection of commentary from the online Forum Sunderland's Royal Tea:

The Duchess works so hard and frequently represents the family, it's a shame they still haven't given her a worthy tiara. She's such a classy and elegant lady. How on earth did she get saddled with this Franken? It seems a waste of priceless jewels to have them used so artlessly. Prince Henry is adorable, alas, like so many others in his family, he's inherited ye ol' tin eye when it comes to altering jewellery. Queen Anne was really the last of a generation. Unlike Courtney, the dignified Shelby did not voice any of the disappointment we would have all felt so she has my full respect. The lovely Princess Jacqueline had the best wedding ensemble of HMTK's children, with an excellent gown and a beaut tiara w/ family significance. Tatiana had a boring gown but also an excellent tiara. Courtney's dress and tiara were M-O-R (middle of the road). But poor Shelby, the only one with a happy, drama-free marriage, had a meh gown and a HEDIOUS tiara. I weep for her. RE: The lovely Prin . . . IMHO Shelby got the best deal of the four: a happy marriage with a loving husband who is alive and mentally sound (no smoking or drugs!!) + a sweet little girl w/ one on the way! RE: IMHO Shelby go. . . She kept her man and caused the least trouble, that's why she's our fav 😊

Regardless of the opinions on Shelby's wedding tiara, it remains her most worn tiara to this day. It is unlikely she will be granted another tiara in the near future.

#warwick.jewels #✨#ts4 #ts4 story #ts4 royal #ts4 storytelling #ts4 edit #ts4 royal legacy #ts4 legacy #ts4 royalty #ts4 monarchy #ts4 screenshots

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gren-arlio · 4 months

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So. Let me tell y'all about a guy named Camus. And a girl named Lala. And other folk. Welcome to Episode 14 of Waku Puyo Extras.

(Ah, back at it again writing these things.)

Hey guys, Gren here, and welcome to Episode 14 of Waku Puyo Extras, a series where I cover basically random stuff about Puyo and Madou as a whole. The Waku part is just because my brand is a single game I translate.

As my free time gets smaller and smaller, the drive to show off cool stuff remains about the same. Thank goodness school is over soon. I'm still alive, don't worry.

Finals and AP Exams are very much happening, so I'm spending that time studying. I'm hoping I pass.

Now, you would expect me to write about PPPP (P⁴ as I call it, Puzzle Pop in other locations) since it released and has a ton of stuff, notably well written characters. But alas:

I'm an Android user. Can't play it.

Frankly, at the moment, I'm not too interested in it right now.

So, the last episode was about Draco, that famous lass. What about this time? Well, since 80% of my work here is Madou related, why not give a showcase of some of the lesser known characters as a whole? Manga and novel stuff included.

With that, hope you enjoy. Also I said a bigger post is coming soon and drop it a literal month later. Damn.

So, Who ARE These Guys?

If you're not familiar with these characters, I honestly don't blame you. These guys are considered kinda niche in the franchise, but are more well known than some guys. I could mention Hanzo and no one besides people who played the game he's from or read the wiki would know him. Oh, or maybe Skeleton-D if we wanted to.

For now, I'll just cover the people have at the very least some stuff about them.

We'll begin with Camus, easily the most recognizable one that we'll be covering today. I swear if he was in Puyo now, he'd be so damn popular.

(From the manual of the Mega Drive release of Madou 1. Notable for being one of the very few times Camus is drawn with the teenage Arle and Lala, both 16, making Camus 18 in this.)

The man, or rather boy, in that photo is the fabled Camus of the Sable Ord- I mean Madou Monogatari 1, both on the SEGA Mega Drive and Game Gear. Since this is a game where Arle is in kindergarten, Camus is her senior. Yeah, senior is the word for this one. He's notable for being the only person to get a perfect score on his exams, that lucky bastard.

Oh yeah he's also like 8 years old for the record in that

In the game, he's both helps you and hinders you for different reasons. Sometimes he's very nice and teaches you things, and other times he's taking stuff from you for playing the game for longer than three hours.

However, at the end of the game (Where he also might help you depending on some stuff), it turns out he was an illusion all along, which is always...fun, you know? That one guy who's been helping you out turns out to not even be real, least in the Game Gear version of things.

Honestly? He's a pretty interesting guy in the game. Arle holds him with some respect, and Lala quite literally has a massive crush on the guy that she's willing to show. Unfortunately.

(Things are really serious in the Kindergarten Exam Fandom...)

He can come off as rude but at the very least he means well. And my goodness, his theme in the game is good.

youtube

Underrated gem.

Now, up until a while ago, I kinda thought that'd be the only games he was in, a grand total of 2 whole games. However, by doing this for...a year now, turns out that there IS one more appearance of Camus, presumably to be 18 in the game because...Well, Arle is a teenager there.

Arle Man'Yuki. Or Arle's Travel Log.

Now if I'll be honest, I STILL dunno all too much about the game, despite doing an entire episode on it. The game is super text-heavy, so I don't know EVERYTHING besides some of the Japanese history involved with it. (Crazy how the Heian Era is now some JJK meme. Time is a fun concept.)

Here, Camus has taken the role of the leader of the Shinsengumi, Kondo Isami. It's a long story, so... I'll just link my own work here. (I FINALLY LEARNED HOW TO PUT LINKS IN MY TEXT...)

I never covered Camus extensively in that game due to his admittedly small role in that game, but he's a fairly upstanding guy. Schezo works under him as the vice leader. Ain't that cool?

Check it out if you're curious about that, some basic Japanese history that may be a tad inaccurate, or JUMP HERO.

And err...that's every game he's from. Yeah, he's in a grand total of what, three games? It's not much but it's still something. He's a very cool lad.

-----

Wait, who's Lala?

I'm glad you asked, me. Lalah is a character from Mobile Suit Gundam that works with Char after he...well, this is a Madou blog. If only I could talk to you about Gundam. But alas.

Lala is ACTUALLY a girl who's the same age as Arle, and the girl who's madly in love with Camus...as I've told before. But she does have a little more than just that, don't worry.

In the Game Gear version at least, she sneaks into the tower Arle went into to graduate, upset that she wasn't the one to take the exam, but rather Arle. And yes. She broke a brick wall to get to her.

(A 6 year old is stronger than any of us. LMK if you can run into a brick wall just fine.)

Now if I had to describe her, it'd be "Arrogant but funny as hell". Because she's arrogant but funny as hell. Arle calls Lala her BFF, to which she doesn't take that reply nicely and says they ain't BFF'S, they ain't even friends. Straight hater energy. (She wasn't able to take the exam due to a cold.)

Camus appears to stop her from interfering, and she goes on this tangent about how wonderful he is, and how he always eluded her... and chases him, as shown more above.

Things start to get funky when you get deeper into the tower, as Lala makes a literal trap hole, and Arle falls down. However, Lala is mad that she fell and NOT Camus, leading him to appear in the floor above and basically say "Idiot. I'm not falling for that." and she continues to chase him.

Her reign of terror ends when Camus SEALS HER AWAY for the rest of the game. But she's okay after it all don't worry. Arle summed it up the best way I could. She ends up fine after the end of the game, however.

Lala also appears in Chaotic Final Exam too, now 16, but honestly...it's one of the games where I know next to nothing about it. Apologies. Just know that she's there and not Camus. (Though with the style of how the game looks...probably for the better.)

She's just overall what we call in the industry... a girlfail. She tries her absolute best but fails so, so much that I can't help but laugh at her and pity her at the same time.

-----

I have no cool segway into this section. Introducing... Rasp.

You might've seen them around if you've checked my blog here or there as a front page image for my works.

And you'd be right. Rasp is from the Waku Waku Puyo Puyo Manga, a brand new character just made for the thing. They're basically a minion who mostly impede the way for Schezo and Rulue. I say "they" because, well, Rasp is genderless.

Fun fact: Their salary is unknown, but they apparently get paid more than a Manga artist, so take that as how you will.

Rasp does appear frequently throughout the volumes, and does indeed fight Schezo. While they do lose, at least they looked pretty cool while doing so.

-----

Lightning Round:

Now these devilish goofballs are folks I want to show...but don't have much info on them just yet. Or there wasn't that much to begin with.

Septem:

(Creatura...La creature 98...)

Septem is another genderless character from the series, coming from Arle no Bouken, a game I know next to nothing about. All I know from it is them and that they cling to Arle like a sister. I love them.

This is absolutely one character I wish I knew more on, since she's much more developed as a character...I just don't know much about Arle no Bouken.

Dark Witch:

(What is this, a doppelganger bargain sale?)

Now she has a little more to her that I DO know but it's nothing spectacular.

Planned to be in Puyo N but was scrapped due to the idea of her being too serious, which is quite the reason for Puyo, but appears in Comet Summoner anyways as a final boss.

You can even play as her, and fight Witch herself and beat her... and possessing her. Kinda, sorta.

Runelord:

(Dweeb appeared in one game and changed a man)

Runelord is an odd case, because some of his lore is stuck onto True Madou Monogatari, which in of itself...is kinda iffy lore wise. And also really long.

In Madou S? Wants Schezo to be the next successor, he says no, fight happens, Schezo wins but is affected anyways. Apparently he was beaten by Lagnus, but that comes from True Madou, so the accuracy of the Canon can be very much debated. It all depends if you think it's Canon or not.

-----

And honestly, that'll be all for this time around. Apologies this took so long. Life's been quite the journey. Graduation's happening soon, and finals are happening soon. The list goes on. I'm hoping I get by through the school year, but alas, I'm happy you read this.

Adios.

#Youtube #puyo puyo #madou monogatari #schezo puyo puyo #sega #waku waku puyo puyo dungeon #witch puyo puyo #arle puyo puyo #Hoping to get these less known guys out there for the people who dunno

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nonbinary-octopus · 4 months

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Our apartment staircase is missing a handrail. It's sort of got one, but only on the lower half and it's the kind that's more "don't fall off" than "don't fall down". There ought to be one on the other side against the wall, and going all the way up, for actual support.

In our discussions before moving in, we were told it should be installed by the time we moved in

it was not. the reasoning was that apparently our desire for it to be a proper length (as the ones in our previous apartment had not been, ending too soon on both the upward and downward sides) combined with the stairs not being split into two smaller sets of stairs, meant that sourcing a long enough handrail was proving difficult.

They had it on order at Lowes! we were told. It just isn't here yet!

For three and a half months, we were told this. Today I went to enquire again, and was told that, alas, their vendor has an order at Lowes for this and other stuff, and Lowes isn't gonna deliver it until the whole order is ready, and it was supposed to be ready a few weeks ago but hasn't been yet...

I mentioned that one of my roommates fell the other day, at the top of the stairs because there isn't even the partial support railing there. Fortunately, my roommate is uninjured, but we'd really like to avoid that happening again.

And I asked for a date when we could expect a railing.

The manager hemmed and hawed a little, really can't predict when Lowes will deliver, but! She'll call the head maintenance guy and see if he can get one from one of the apartments that's currently empty ("as a stopgap?" I asked. "until the full size one gets here?")

Half an hour later, he’d arrived to badly install it

first thing he said to me was "how'd you manage to fall?" which is a great start, heavy sarcasm

He was going to put the railing at about shoulder height, until I pointed out that it was way higher than the other rail, at which point he looked at me and said in a you're full of shit and I hate you voice "you want it that low?"

yes, I said, because that side was at a reasonable height

so he lowered it to just above that, no checking beyond eyeballing it and asking me in a very impatient tone if it was about right

he would've attached the middle support at a height that would've put the top at about ankle height if I hadn't pointed out it was nowhere near parallel. At this point I was thinking "If I were doing this, I'd measure, and also check where the studs were," but he was very clearly in a bad mood and wouldn't take that suggestion well (he's never taken feedback well, even when it's very helpful such as "you're caught on that thing." He'd rather struggle on his own I guess. or in this case do an extremely negligent lackluster job)

so I resigned myself to fixing it later and watched him finish putting it up poorly

It's still not parallel, by the way. I measured after he left, and the bottom is four or five inches higher (relative to the steps) than the top. It's also still higher than the other rail.

and it doesn't reach the top of the stairs either. In the last apartment, at least the railing ended at the end of the steps (for proper support it should extend beyond the top stair a bit). This time, it ended two or three steps down.

also the screws holding bottom support piece to the wall weren’t fully in, and a gentle tug on the railing was enough to pull them out entirely.

and I didn't take a picture of this, but one of the screws in the top support was just placed in a hole, not doing anything whatsoever. I watched him realize this and leave it there.

So, after he left, I took some pics to document how shittily he'd slapped the railing onto the wall, and then took it down to reattach properly later today. Honestly the way it was attached was more of a hazard than not having one at all, so it’s not staying like that even temporarily

#original #he also did not do anything about the holes he put in the wall at shoulder height

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blackbutlerfandomnerddomain · 8 months

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Hi, I'm Brazilian and I apologize for any mistakes. I just want to think a bit more about a shipp that I haven't seen much of and that is simply living in my mind without paying rent. First poly years, Ace × Deuce × Epel × Jack (× Sebek? I've always seen some discussion about whether he's part of poly or not, so I'll leave it up to you). We need to talk more about them.

I AGREE!

I KNOW YOU MAY OF NOT BEEN ASKING FOR HEADCANONS BUT HERE!!

Ace was honestly the first to fell first and was not ready for the feels

He tried to shoot himself out of this feelings but alas, he just feel deeper with every day of the week

He gets so red his freckles (I headcanon he has so many freckles) just disappear away from view

When they started dating he was the most anxious about date plans cause he wants to impress all of them but not mess up with so much of him trying to stay cool

Sometimes he would be so cocky and vague he would end up blurting out if he wants a date or a kiss

Deuce was more so the one who noticed he wanted to date all five of them

Was he still a blushing mess after realizing he has crushes on all of his best friends? Oh for sure

I'm talking it was difficult for him to walk back his dorm with Ace without the urge to hold his hand, actually looked away from Jack during club cause he's so attractive, laughed way too hard at a joke Epel said during classes, was so spaced when hanging out with Sebek he was almost left behind, was far too eager to lead Ortho back to his dorm, etc.

He daydreamed a lot

While Ace was nervous of not screwing up, he's more nervous of what to do

Dude he had to hide his tail or else everyone had to watch him make small tornados from how much his tail wags

He does not know who he fell first out of the others

While everyone's freaking out on dates and feels he was the one who made the actual moves of asking people out

...Okay he wasn't actually asking them out but instead asking them to hangout

He loves cuddling them before and after dating

Epel was one of those lovesick fools who was doodling on their homework and sighing dreamingly while looking out the window

He thinks no one can tell, but Vil and Rook were more than aware

He makes pies for all of them, apple and pear, as a "random act or kindness" or "I made leftovers, so here"

Took him the longest to accept he's in love cause he thought it made him less manly and be seen as needing saving by some strong looking men

As soon as he realized he is in love he immidentally went to Silver, Lilia, and of course Malleus begging for advice

Lilia's like "I owe Idia some money-"

He was the most like "I must shout it to the world" but gets all kinds of red in the face when seeing any of their faces

The most romantic

Out of all of them, he's the one who had the longest loading of what he's feeling and what he should do with it

All he knew looking at them and talking to them makes his fire flicker and roar even when he's away from them

Unlike all of them he was the one who was fast to asking out, holding hands, and even kisses

Ignihyde got real used to Ortho zipping around the halls with glee and high pitched noises

Big spoon(s): Jack, Sebek, Epel Small spoon(s): Deuce, Ortho, Ace Not 100% set in stone as it depends on who sleeps first/last

Main cooks are Sebek, Epel, and Deuce

These songs fit them so I made a playlist

Yall I actually shipped this in my beginning until I got deeper into the story and lore and certain ships accidentally clouded it, the closet of this OT4/OT5/OT6 again are poly ships like the Kalim Harem or even just random smaller polys

So if you wanna ask more boo, go right ahead!

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louisisalarrie · 3 months

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Why isn't Louis playing Reading/Leeds, the most famous indie music festival in the world and one in his home country? These Euro festivals aren't raising his profile much.

Helloooooo anon! This wasn’t gonna be a welcome to the show, but alas, I got ahead of myself and time to burn before the next band bumps in. So, welcome to the show!

I would love to see him play Reading/Leeds, and think that he would fit really well into the 2024 lineup in terms of genre and level of fame. I think he’d love to play them too. It is definitely a shame. However, he is playing at Victorious Festival in Portsmouth, UK, at the same time as Reading/Leeds, which has a very cool lineup (IDLES, Snow Patrol, Fatboy Slim, Pixies etc.) too that he fits well in. So we should be excited for that too!

Sometimes it’s easy to get carried away with the names of festivals, also. While Victorious definitely is smaller, it’s not far off the capacity of Reading/Leeds.

Expected capacity for 2024 is:

- Reading/Leeds = over 200,000 over the whole weekend

- Victorious Festival = roughly 170,000 over the whole weekend

Honourable mentions of 2024:

- Coachella = 250,000, only sold around 200,000, down by roughly 14%-17% since 2023

- Glastonbury = 210,000 capacity, over 200,000 sold (with complaints and major issues with overcrowding this year)

So, while it’s smaller than the bigger names, the lineup is still fantastic and at a reasonable size.

You’ve also gotta remember that before the current festival even goes ahead, the organisers are already locking in tentative headliners and smaller artists for the next year. Festivals particularly are booked ridiculously in advance, much like stadium tours, to really gauge ticket sales, expected gross, capacity, and delivered fees for the artists and what they can offer them. So, even if louis’ managers pitched him for Reading/Leeds/Glasto last year, and the festival organisers maybe wanted to put a hold on him but not confirm due to current negotiations with other artists and their desired curated lineup, there is very little point for Louis’ team to just sit and hold out hope they’ll confirm him and miss out on other opportunities. Hell, he’s probably turned down a bunch of smaller festivals in hopes of the bigger ones, but getting an official offer from Victorious, he’s not gonna decline that to wait and see what happens with the bigger festivals. It’s a silly business mistake.

Plus, these offers all have expiry dates. If his manager/booking agent is pushing for an answer from Leeds/Glasto/Reading and still not getting one, because the offer from Victorious is about to expire with an already desirable delivered fee, well, he’s gonna take it. And idk, maybe he got declined from the bigger festivals for whatever reason too (I don’t see why), but shit happens.

Anyway, in terms of euro festivals, he’s been confirmed to play Zurich Openair in Switzerland on the 24th, which is still the same time as Reading/Leeds is on (and Victorious, but he’s only playing the Friday obviously). So he’s nabbed two festivals, with Zurich Openair also having high profile artists (Macklemore, Armin Van Buuren, Milky Chance etc.), in 2 different countries, with different demographics and genre diversity. Which is sick!

So, I mean, hopefully he gets nabbed for next year (even if he takes time off, I doubt he’ll turn down those festivals), and for now, he’s proving himself and securing his footing in the festival industry. Hell, there are a heap of artists that, while they do tour, stick to festivals and get picked for festivals due to proving their pull at said festivals, exclusivity arrangements, etc., and so this will, in the long term, be great for him.

It’s easy to fall down certain rabbit holes of “he deserves the big shows, he’s not getting enough attention” etc. and comparing him to Harry/other artists, but his career progression, in my opinion and from what I’ve seen by others, is going well and smoothly and safely. Which, ya know, his team aren’t taking huge risks, and I think they could sometimes be more ambitious, but he is getting more opportunities and even just over FITFWT, he has grown heaaaaps. I’d like to trust that his team is pitching him for the bigger festivals/lineups, im sure they are, but it’s just… is what it is.

Taking these Euro festival opportunities is all about securing a tighter, smaller growth, as opposed to shoving him onto big stages and hoping for the best. He’s just not there yet. But his fan to artist relationship relies on a close knit bond and loyalty, which is very unique these days, and will continue to build slowly but with a hell of a lot of strength behind him. It’s just different fan dynamics to many other artists.

So, I dunno, I hope this helps and clears things up a bit! I think these euro festivals are gonna do wonders for him. Faith in the Future, baby.

Thanks for the chats!

#anon #answered #louisisalarrie chats

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arminreindl · 1 year

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Baru iylwenpeny: The Last Baru

Happy to announce that there's just been a major new publication for mekosuchines. The Alcoota Baru, which I briefly touched upon in my post on the genus, has finally been named. The new name, Baru iylwenpeny (pronounced eel-OON-bin-yah), derives from the Eastern Anmatyerr dialect (part of the Arrernte language) and means "good at hunting". A name that seems quite fitting when you look at the skull.

As a reminder, this animal stems from the Alcoota Fossil Site in Australia and dates to the Late Miocene, making it the youngest of the three recognized Baru species.

Previously this species was already referred to as being "the most robust Baru" and they weren't kidding. This thing looks more like something out of the Cretaceous than an animal that lived a mere 8 million years ago.

The morphology is interesting in many ways. Many of the ridges that are so prominent in Baru wickeni and less developed in Baru darrowi are absent. The seventh and eight tooth are so close they theres basically no space. Instead of four teeth like other Baru it has five in each premaxilla and the nasals reach the nares, like in Baru wickeni but unlike in Baru darrowi. The teeth also show the same small serrations as Baru darrowi and, unlike either of the other species, the jaws appear much less wavy not because they are but because the first festoon of the maxilla is followed up by a second one so developed it makes the first look almost flat. It's a fascinating mosaic of characters that makes its relation to the other species a puzzling question. You'd think that the ridges for instance point at it being derived? After all wouldn't it make sense? Baru wickeni had the most developed rigdes, Baru darrowi smaller ones and Baru iylwenpeny none. Plus, the teeth of Baru wickeni are smooth unlike those of later forms. Yet at the same time.... The fact that it has five teeth instead of four and the fact that the nasals reach the nares are both ancestral traits, so you'd expect it to be closer to the base.

Left: Baru wickeni Right: Baru darrowi

Well, while I think this isn't going to be the final place of this species among Baru, the most recent phylogenetic analysis suggests that Baru iylwenpeny was weirdly enough the basalmost species. Which means that it must have split from the other two species at the latest during the Late Oligocene and outlived the both of them without us ever knowing.

The paper also discusses how these animals may have gone extinct. If you look back at Kalthifrons, you might remember how I mentioned that mekosuchines kinda had a drop in diversity when transitioning from the Miocene to Pliocene. While the new paper avoids calling this a drop in diversity, it does highlight that there certainly was a turnover in fauna. The reason is an old enemy of mekosuchines. Climate. Yates and colleagues suggest that Australia was hit by an especially nasty dry period at the end of the Miocene, severe enough to drive Baru to its death but not severe enough to whipe out all mekosuchines. And after Baru was gone, Kalthifrons and Paludirex moved into the open niche.

There's also a final little piece of information that's not focused on yet really fascinating. Baru iylwenpeny had a friend. At least one other croc lived at the Alcoota site during the Late Miocene and tho it hasn't been studied in full yet, one thing is apparently known. It was a relative to the Bullock Creek taxon that coexisted with Baru darrowi and a relative to "Baru" huberi, the small croc that coexisted with Baru wickeni. This grouping has yet to be given a name, but its fascinating to me that each Baru species seemingly coexisted with a much smaller mekosuchine. Alas, like Baru this lineage seems to have fallen victim to climate change.

Baru wickeni and "Baru" huberi, in truth an unnamed genus.

The paper is accessible here for those that wan't to dive deeper into the matter. I'll also be working on an updated size chart, this time featuring all three species of Baru, tho I can already tell you that despite being more robust its surprisingly not that much larger.

The last Baru (Crocodylia, Mekosuchinae): a new species of ‘cleaver‐headed crocodile’ from central Australia and the turnover of crocodylians during the Late Miocene in Australia (wiley.com)

#baru #baru iylwenpeny #alcoota baru #alcoota fossil site #miocene #paleontology #palaeoblr #crocs #crocodile #mekosuchinae #paleontology news #prehistory

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king-bumis-armpit · 5 months

Text

The Promise of Dessert

Written for Maiko Week 2024 – Parents

Summary: Zuko and Mai talk about having kids for the first time. Such a serious conversation can only be had with a plate of fruit tarts. Guest starring: chef Tom-Tom.

Author’s Note: This is very contradictory to the fic I posted yesterday, lol! They exist in separate timelines. Maybe OOC. Mai and Zuko have a very open and honest conversation. In my head this takes place before the Promise comics and very near the end of the show, but Tom-Tom is slightly aged up. But it could also take place after they get back together. Dealer’s choice ;)

Also, thank you to everyone who commented on any of my posts! I had never really written fanfic and published it before this week and you have all been so nice and encouraging. I’m out of pre-written posts and this might be the last thing I put up this week <3

TW: Very brief mention of infertility and a difficult pregnancy. It’s mostly fluff.

WC: 2,177

Mai shivered in the evening air. Where was your fire bending boyfriend when you needed him? She was walking home after spending the day with Ty Lee, and she felt completely drained.

It was fun and all, but truthfully Mai had been ready to leave much earlier than Ty Lee allowed. She loved her friend, but the acrobat was a bit much sometimes. They were hanging out with the other Kyoshi Warriors– many of whom Mai had also come to like– but they were not a quiet bunch. Mai had stayed up late last night visiting Zuko at the palace and she desperately needed a rest.

She had tried to leave at dinner time, but Suki guilted her into eating with them. And afterwards, Ty Lee insisted that Mai test her Pai Sho skills against Misaki, who was the best on Kyoshi Island apparently. Then, for some very important reason unfathomable to Mai, Kaori, another one of the girls, urgently needed to learn how to put her hair into symmetrical buns. That lesson took quite a long time, so when they finished Mai was sure that she was free. But alas! Hiro– or maybe Hina (Mai was still learning everyone’s name)– wanted knife throwing tips. By the time Mai was able to go, the sun was going down.

She yawned and stretched before entering her home. On the floor was a piece of paper. Mai thought it was odd, but she had half a mind to ignore it before she realized it bore her name. Raising an eyebrow, she picked it up, but all it said was, “Go to kitchen.” The handwriting looked like Zuko’s. She pursed her lips. That man and his notes.

Still, she was slightly more awake than before and she complied with the request. She pushed open the door and, sure enough, there he was. Zuko stood in his casual robes and apron of all things. He didn’t notice her at first because he was talking to Tom-Tom, who sat on the counter, also in an apron and covered in flour. Tom-Tom laughed at whatever Zuko was saying, and Zuko ruffled his hair affectionately.

Mai felt her heart do an odd sort of somersault. The scene was so domestic… She could almost imagine their future. There was no banishment anymore, or war, or pain. Just the people she loved.

Tom-Tom spotted her first. “Mai!” He jumped down and ran to hug her. She patted his head affectionately, as he gazed up at her. “Zuko and I made fruit tarts for you! Just don’t look in the trash. We messed up a lot of times. But this batch is perfect!”

Her little brother took her hand, and guided her to the kitchen table. It was much smaller than the one in their formal dining room, but it felt more intimate. Mai cast her eyes to Zuko, who was watching her with a sappy grin. “Welcome home,” he said, and she felt her cheeks flush.

“Thank you,” she replied, before turning her attention to the tarts. Some of them were burnt on the outside, and a few were a bit lacking in the titular fruit. Mai suspected that the boys had been overconfident on their first go and wasted supplies. But, to her, they were the most exquisite desserts she had ever received. “These look delicious! I didn’t know you two had it in you.” She gave Tom-Tom a peck on the forehead. “Thank you so much, I can’t wait to try one.”

Tom-Tom beamed up at her proudly. “You should try…” he furrowed his brow in concentration and examined the fruits of his labor intently. “This one.” He pointed to the one that had the most fruit and the least charring.

Mai picked it up gratefully and took a bite. “It’s so good! You could be quite the chef one day.”

Zuko had been watching her affectionately, but he pouted at that. “Hey! What about me?”

She laughed and walked over to kiss his cheek. “You too, of course. But I would rather you keep our Nation running.” He smirked and wrapped her in a quick embrace.

Then, he pulled out a chair from the table for her, and the three of them sat. Zuko and Tom-Tom also ate a fruit tart each, but Mai could tell that they had been sampling their wares before her arrival.

Michi appeared to take Tom-Tom to bed, and she gave Mai a cheerful look on her way out. Mai didn’t know how to feel about it. She assumed her mother wouldn’t be so at ease with her daughter’s boyfriend being over so late if he wasn’t royalty.

Zuko seemed to sense he was losing her to her thoughts, and he cleared his throat. “Your little brother’s a good kid. At first I was worried about spending so much time with him… I’m not really used to children. I thought maybe he would cry or need your mom or something.”

Mai chuckled. “He’s five now, Zuko. He still gets upset sometimes, but he’s not in diapers. What even inspired your joint mission?”

Pink dusted Zuko’s cheeks and he gazed very intently at the table before them. “I was thinking about all of the things that I knew made you happy. Both Tom-Tom and fruit tarts were on the list.”

“Were you making this list for a particular reason?” she asked.

The smile left his eyes, and he turned his gaze back to her. He grasped her hands tightly in his own. “I was thinking about all of the things you do for me. I couldn’t stop thinking about… when we were at the Boiling Rock…” he swallowed hard. “You risked your life for me, and I left you there.” His voice was heavy with regret.

“Oh Zuko,” Mai brought her hand to his cheek. “You don’t always have to be the hero. Let me save you sometimes. It’s my honor,” she teased.

Zuko smiled again, but it was smaller than before. He always carried too much guilt. “Either way, I wanted to thank you. You are– in the most literal sense– my hero. I wanted to make you your favorite foods, but I decided to start with fruit tarts. And I figured that if I enlisted Tom-Tom’s help, we could bond a little. I intend on being in your lives for a very long time.”

The thought filled Mai with a pleasant sort of warmth. She was getting drowsy again, but she didn’t want to go to sleep anymore. “When I saw you two together, I have to admit it made me really happy. Three of us sitting here together might be my best memory in this house.”

Zuko nodded in agreement. “It felt like we were a family.”

Mai wasn’t sure she was ready for this conversation. She deflected, “We already are a family.”

His brow furrowed. “Yes, but I meant… it almost felt like we were parents.”

Mai hummed noncommittally, but it was too late. Zuko latched onto the notion.

After a few minutes of silence, he added in a small voice. “Would you ever want to have kids? With me?”

Mai thought that she did, but should she say it? What if she changed her mind later? “Well, we’ll have to. Won’t we? For the sake of the bloodline?”

Zuko flinched. “I was actually thinking about this– oh! Uh. Not in a weird way.” He turned as red as the strawberries on the table before them. “I mean… my advisors may have mentioned it. They don’t like that Azula is my only other young relative. But I was thinking, if you don’t want kids, we could choose a different royal family. Or maybe form a new type of government all together.”

Mai’s jaw nearly dropped. “Wouldn’t it be easier to find another woman?”

“Another woman?” Zuko sounded painfully confused.

“You know, women. About half of the population?”

Zuko rolled his eyes. “I get the picture, but why should I find another one?”

Mai crossed her arms. In truth, he was being very sweet, but he was on the verge of promising something too big. “It would be a whole lot easier to marry someone else than construct a new government. Are you stupid?”

“That is not an option.” Uh oh, Zuko was using his grouchy voice. In particular, the voice he typically reserved for people who insulted her. Ironic. He seemed to realize how intense his tone was. “I mean unless you don’t want to marry me! Or be with me… Um… But if you do, want to be with me, like at all, I would strongly prefer that option.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, clearly frustrated by his inability to speak his mind.

Mai looked at him incredulously. “Of course I want to be with you. We were just talking about how I almost died for you.”

Zuko’s eye twitched. “Then why doesn’t that settle it?! I don’t care how many advisors or Ozai loyalists or reactionaries I have to knock down. If you don’t want kids, then we won’t have kids. Look at my family’s history! It’s probably time we put someone else in charge. My lineage or bloodline or whatever means nothing to me! I want a family with you, even that means just the two of us.”

Mai knew she was just being obstinate now, but wanted to poke him one last time. “And why am I so special? You can’t make a promise like this without really thinking it through.” she deadpanned.

Zuko was practically smoking at this point. “Mai, I have thought about it! It’s because I love you! Because you understand me like no one else in the world. Because I’m pretty sure I need you to survive. During my banishment, I would think about you and sometimes I would worry that we would reunite, but it would all be wrong. You wouldn’t like me anymore, or we wouldn’t have that same innate understanding of each other from when we were kids. But, we did.” He was looking at her like she was a miracle. “We both changed so much, but you still get me. You listen to my stupid outbursts and you manage to make sense of them. You keep me in line when I’m being unreasonable. I only feel this safe with you and Uncle. I need you.”

He was starting to tear up, and Mai realized that she felt safe with him too. He was her safe harbor in the world around them. She actually had thought about having kids with Zuko. She always vaguely wanted to. Now that he had given her the option, she knew for sure. This man would do anything for her comfort, including put his own desires aside. She could trust him with her future.

“I want one. Or maybe two,” she blurted out.

“What? Fruit tarts?” Zuko asked, caught completely unawares.

“No– I mean maybe– but that’s obviously not what I meant, you big idiot.”

“Oh!” A grin split Zuko’s face from ear-to-ear. “Hold on, why did you make me say all that stuff about our other options? I thought you were about to dump me. That was terrifying.”

“Well, I wasn’t entirely sure. I liked the idea of having kids, but Mom had a really rough go of it with Tom-Tom. It took her years to get pregnant again and it was not an easy time. And, if I changed my mind or we couldn’t, I didn’t want to give you that hope and take it away.”

Zuko wrapped an arm around her. “You are always free to change your mind. I will never take that choice away. And if you can’t get pregnant, then we’ll cross that bridge when we get there. But no new women, please.”

Mai laughed. “Deal. Honestly, hearing you say all that sappy stuff…” Zuko frowned, wondering how she would finish that thought. “It made me feel safe too. I think… I feel safe enough to see our future.” And then a thought occurred to her, “Our distant future. Right?”

Zuko laughed and nodded fervently. “Yes, let’s try to reach a more manageable level of assassination attempts before we start planning in earnest.”

Mai tried to reply, but a yawn escaped instead. Zuko looked at her sympathetically. “I’m sorry to keep you up so late. I thought Tom-Tom and I would learn faster. I told Ty Lee to keep you busy until I sent her a message.” That explains a lot, Mai thought. They stored the extra tarts for the next day, and Zuko walked Mai to her room. They shared an almost uncharacteristically chaste kiss before parting ways. They had been very vulnerable with each other, and they needed some time apart to recover.

But the promise of such a bright future, however distant, buoyed Zuko’s step on his short walk home. One day, they might be parents. And their family would be full of love, hope, and fruit tarts.

#atla maiko #mai #zuko #atla mai #atla zuko #maiko #atla #avatar the last airbender #mai x zuko #zuko x mai #maikoweek2024 #maiko week 2024 #zumai #Tom-Tom

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