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flowerandblood · 8 months

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The Vanity and Variability (4)

[ Jane Austen • Aemond x Baratheon • female ]

[ warnings: fingering, kissing, masturbation, smut, sexual tension, angst, mention of trauma ]

[ description: Despite coming from a family with royal blood, Aemond is forced because of his brother’s debts to choose one of the daughters of the famously wealthy general, Borros Baratheon, as his wife to save his family from bankruptcy. When he arrives to make his choice he is distraught and discouraged, made all the more so by watching from the sidelines his youngest daughter, who seems more intrigued by his dog than her possible future husband. Slow burn, sexual tension, regency and Jane Austen prose vibe, vain, self-righteous Aemond. ]

A story which is an alternative universe of The Impossbile Choice taking place in regency times (1805-1815). The characters are all the same as in the main series, however, for obvious reasons they will behave differently and experience things differently from medieval times. You can read this without having to delve into the main series.

Aemond & Miss Baratheon & Vhagar Moodboard

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Previous and next chapters: Masterlist

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She didn't suspect it was possible, but after the ball and the brief exchange of words that took place between them, the relationship between her and their guest had warmed significantly in her eyes. She no longer avoided him or held a grudge against him, they even exchanged short, polite pleasantries sometimes when they passed each other at home.

They occasionally came across each other during their long walks and usually then, to her surprise, Mr Targaryen did not avoid her by continuing on his way, but turned back with her, accompanying her silently on her way. Sometimes she dared to ask him one or two questions that she felt did not invade his privacy, but would allow her to learn something about him.

"Do you miss London, sir?" She asked one day, walking beside him with her hands folded behind her back, mimicking his gesture, and he hummed under his breath, looking around at the fields spread out before them, thinking over her question.

"I don't know. Maybe." He said in an absent voice, sunk in his thoughts. His answer surprised her, as she was sure he was going to start talking about what comforts he wouldn't experience here awaited him in London or that his family was waiting for him there.

However, he didn't elaborate on the subject, so she decided not to tire him out or draw anything out of him, recognising that friends should be protective of each other and understand one another.

The thought that a thread of understanding and a kind of mutual concern had been established between them pleased her, as she was no longer uncomfortable in his presence, able to place him at last in her mind as someone who was now part of her home.

She shuddered when she suddenly heard his low, thoughtful voice, not looking at her as the words left his lips.

"Where is your mother buried?"

She glanced at him astonished, feeling some kind of discomfort and pain at her mention. She lowered her gaze, sighing heavily.

"She's buried in the cemetery right behind the church. We're not far away, I can show you what a beautiful headstone our father ordered for her, if you like." She said softly, lifting her gaze to him uncertainly, convinced that he would refuse, that he had only asked her out of pure courtesy.

He, however, hummed under his breath and nodded.

For this reason, they turned onto a different road than usual, leading through the woods to the back of the cemetery. They entered its grounds through a side wicket, rows of old tombstones overgrown with ivy surrounded by the sunlight falling on them through the leaves of the trees. It was beautiful weather, perfect for melancholic walks in such places.

As promised, she stepped into one of the side alleys and stopped in front of a gravestone with a large statue of an angel with a woman's face, looking upwards with a raised hand.

She lowered her gaze, looking down at her fingers and saw out of the corner of her eye how, standing beside her, he made the sign of the cross and folded his hands in front of him, closing his eye, sinking apparently in prayer.

It made her heart warm to see this, feeling somehow that he was showing her mother respect in this way.

From the situation in the church, his approach was more gentle.

She closed her eyes, also deciding to pray, hearing the pleasant rustling of leaves and birdsong all around her.

She thought she wanted to pray for him.

So she asked her mother, who she believed was in heaven, to take care of him, to help him understand himself and make the right choice. That she would guide him as she had guided her through the difficult moments of his life, that she would watch over him in danger and moments of doubt.

She opened her eyes, feeling her heart warm at the thought, and looked at him, his cool, impenetrable gaze fixed on her. He lowered his head, clearly feeling that an awkward silence had fallen between them that he should break, but as usual he struggled to engage in a light, non-committal discussion.

"Please, sir. Don't worry about it. We don't need to talk. You don't even know how happy I am to have been able to come here with you." She said lightly, making the sign of the cross in front of the statue once more and turned away, walking slowly back the way she had come, turning to follow him with a smile over her shoulder.

He merely murmured and moved behind her, catching up with her step, looking around, admiring the beautiful old tombstones. She thought she felt some strange kind of peace in his company, quieting herself completely and appreciating that he was more careful with his words with her.

As they began to approach towards her house he countered that he would take another walk alone, and she nodded, moving away without a word.

He always did this so no one would see them coming back together.

He didn't want her sisters to torment her again.

He was really trying to be her friend and this thought filled her with a warm, pleasant feeling.

As soon as she stepped inside and pulled off her coat, Floris ran up to her, furrowing her brow.

"Have you seen Mr Targaryen? Are you trying to take him for yourself again?" She asked, looking at her reproachfully, Maris leaned out of the living room, listening to the whole exchange of words intently.

"No, I was at the cemetery. I didn't see him." She lied easily, recognising that the last person she intended to confide in was Floris.

Later that day, Cassandra and Ellyn insisted on arranging a walk into town together to take advantage of the fine weather, having heard rumours earlier that there were some lovely new dresses in Mrs Thomson's shop. To her surprise, after much persuasion, not only her brother but Mr Targaryen himself agreed.

Not wanting to frustrate her sisters and listen to the remarks that all his attention was focused on her she walked at the very end, looking around with a gentle smile, somehow happy and reassured that only she knew their little secret.

They were friends.

She saw him glance over his shoulder once in a while, seemingly just looking at the sights around him, but his gaze would focus on her for a moment, just for a moment, as if he wanted to see if she was suffering greatly from having to adapt to her sisters' moods.

The other thing that pleased her greatly was the apparent warming of his relationship with her brother. They often chatted in the sitting room away from the girls, sitting side by side at a small table discussing military and historical literature, which they both devoured in vast quantities, and she thought with amusement that if Royce had not been a man but one of her sisters, Mr Targaryen would have married him.

When they arrived at last they came upon a regiment of soldiers, among whom she immediately spotted Colonel Strong. She looked away, embarrassed by his words at the ball.

He had told her then, after their first dance, that she was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen and he would be most reluctant to let her out of his arms. If Mr Targaryen had not interfered, she would have burned with shame.

How could he say such a thing to a girl he was seeing for the first time in his life?

She swallowed loudly and forced herself to smile when she saw him pull off his cap and approach her with a smile, bowing at the waist, and she nodded in front of him, noticing out of the corner of her eye the impatient gaze of Mr Targaryen and Royce in their direction.

She thought he had told her brother of his doubts about him.

"Miss Baratheon. What a wonderful coincidence. I was thinking of you." He said calmly, a gentle, serene smile on his face, but there was something in the way he phrased the sentence, in the look in his eyes that made her uncomfortable.

"Mr Strong. It's pleasure to see you too." She replied as warmly as she could, her sisters looking at her curiously from afar, laughing, probably thinking that some sort of flirtation was just taking place between them.

Her gaze turned to Mr Targaryen, his face expressing strained indifference, his lips tightened, the gaze of his healthy eye directed straight at Colonel Strong.

"I see that you and Mr Targaryen are close." He said lightly, and she immediately turned her face towards him, embarrassed, ready to deny it right away. "If I were you, however, I would not trust him. Everyone knows why he came here, and what he has been doing in London so far with the Countess Rivers."

She swallowed loudly, freezing with her mouth half-open, her voice trapped in her throat. She shook her head, blinking rapidly, trying to put any kind of smile on her face that would hide how horrified she was by his words, how hard her heart began to pound.

"I'm afraid I don't understand what you mean." She said softly, her voice trembling slightly, and hearing this he lowered his gaze and smiled in such an omniscient way that she realised he had drawn exactly the reaction he wanted from her.

"It was a scandalous affair. A much older woman who probably killed her husband to be with her lover and heir to a fortune. Well, the fortune is admittedly gone, but he still has his title and princely blood. He wanted very much to marry her, but did not get permission to do so. His grandfather decided they needed money." He told his story calmly, as if he were spinning some dull tale that might not interest her.

She felt pain, disappointment, regret, her brow furrowed in disbelief, her throat squeezed so tightly that for a moment she had trouble breathing. She looked towards Mr Targaryen, when their eyes met she saw that there was concern on his face.

She turned to face Colonel Strong again, swallowing with difficulty, and she grunted, holding back tears that were rising under her eyelids.

"How would I know if these were not only cruel accusations on your part?" She asked in a trembling voice, looking at him defiantly, clinging to the hope that he simply wanted to destroy his image in her eyes. He, however, chuckled under his breath, folding his hands behind him, turning his head curiously.

"I think many people can confirm that they heard disturbing noises from the rooms they locked themselves in during the balls in London. Though I assume an innocent creature such as yourself might not know what that means or what it entails." He said softly, and she felt a single, solitary tear of cruel disappointment and pain run down her cheek.

She didn't know what to do with what she was feeling, so she just turned tense and headed for home, heedless of her sisters' calls.

When she heard someone following her, she sped up her stride, not turning around, afraid of who she would see.

"Miss Baratheon. Wait." She heard Mr Targaryen's concerned voice behind her as he tried to level with her step, but she moved away from him immediately when he tried to come closer.

"Did he bother you again? Did he say something inappropriate?" He asked, grabbing her slightly by her arm, wanting to stop her, she however broke away from him aggressively, pushing him back.

"Did he say something inappropriate? A lot of things. About you, sir." She said angrily and they both stopped, breathing loudly, his gaze expressing consternation.

"He told me that you have a good friend in London." She whispered, swallowing loudly, tears one after another running down her cheeks. She looked away, glancing at the fields around them, shrugging her shoulders in a gesture of helplessness.

"It's in the past." She heard his terrified, throaty voice; she knew he was afraid of what she would do with this information. "I have nothing in common with her anymore."

She involuntarily laughed despairingly through her tears at his words, looking at him with raised eyebrows, he was paler than usual, looking at her pleadingly, his lips parted slightly.

"Do you think that is enough? That you would say that you no longer have anything in common with her? What would you say if you found out that Cassandra, Ellyn or Floris had a lover before you came here, on top of that, one you would have the pleasure of seeing among society after marrying them? I will tell you what you would say, sir." She said in a shaky voice, stepping closer to him, he pressed his lips together, swallowing with difficulty, she had the feeling that he himself was on the verge of crying for some reason.

"You would say that they are ungodly harlots unworthy of one look from you, unworthy to have any gentleman as their husband. You would say so because that is the way this world is made, that a man can take what he wants and a woman must wait until someone finally desires her, but in a way that does not deprive her of her honour and her dignity. However, you will not direct this same contempt towards yourself, you will not say that you are ashamed, you will not admit to my father that you are unworthy of his daughters, you will only stand proudly and say that this is the past. A past that would destroy any woman in your position!" She shouted desperately in his face, sobbing loudly, she heard a quiet moan leave his lips at her words, a single tear ran down his cheek.

"I am ashamed." He mumbled in a trembling voice, as if only now the weight of his actions and their significance had overwhelmed him, and she shook her head, distraught and disappointed.

"It's not enough." She mumbled with difficulty and turned, his angry, distraught voice reaching her from behind her.

"Were you as harsh towards your father?"

She felt something inside her freeze, she stopped and turned her pale face towards him. Only seeing the look on her face did his eye widen in horror, understanding what a mistake he had made, how he had misjudged the situation.

"What?" She choked out with a groan of despair, looking at him with her mouth wide open.

He swallowed loudly and shook his head, thus showing her that he would say nothing more, that he was wrong, that if he could he would take back his words spoken in despair and anger.

"What are you talking about, sir?" She asked him louder, feeling the anger rising within her, her heart pounding like mad.

"You should not hear this from me." He mumbled, lowering his gaze, another tear running down his face, his lower lip trembling, his healthy eye open wide.

"BUT I HEARD IT FROM YOU!" She cried out in a breaking voice, putting her hand over her mouth, trying to calm the convulsions of sobs that were breaking out of her throat.

He looked at her, trembling as she did, looking at her pleadingly, shaking his head.

She turned and simply ran away from him and from what she had found out.

Her father moved after her, seeing the state in which she ran into their house, followed her upstairs and knocked on her door. She locked herself up, sitting down by her bed and crying loudly.

"My darling, what has happened? Did someone hurt you? Please, open the door." He said pleadingly, knocking loudly, and she hid her head between her knees and cried further.

Her father had a lover.

A lover he certainly hid from them in London.

How could he?

Did he no longer love her mother?

Had he forgotten her?

She didn't leave her room all day, refusing to eat or drink. She refused to speak or see anyone, sad and depressed, not even Royce's voice compelled her to open up to him.

Late in the evening, lying in her bed in only her nightgown, she heard the sound of a door opening, someone's footsteps and rustling. She glanced behind her and saw that there was a letter lying on the floor beneath her door.

She swallowed loudly, guessing who the sender was, and wondered for a moment whether she should just tear it up and throw it away. However, she decided after a moment that everyone had a right to defend themselves.

She rose from the bedclothes and walked over to the envelope, grasping it in her hands, returning to her bed with it.

It was not sealed.

She opened it and took out two sheets of paper fully filled with small, masculine writing.

Miss Baratheon, I cannot describe how ashamed I feel after what happened today during our walk. I don't even know where to begin, so I will perhaps start with Colonel Strong's words about me, which, sadly, I must admit, are true. Over the past two years I have in fact had an intimate relationship with Countess Rivers. I write about this, as I have already mentioned, with great shame and regret, as this relationship on my part was an expression of my boyish helplessness. In my position, with my appearance, of which you are well aware, the interest of a beautiful and mature woman was something I thought I might never experience again in my life. This, of course, is no excuse, however, now, writing to you, I understand that there were no deep feelings behind my action, but the need to be desired, just as a child desires to be seen and noticed by a parent. I now recognise the deplorable nature of my actions and am ashamed of them, but what happened is irretrievably lost, as is my reputation in your eyes. I also want to make it clear that I deserve to be reprimanded as cruelly as you have inflicted on me and, in a way, I appreciate your honesty and directness, characteristic of a friend, which I am afraid you no longer consider me to be, all the more so after what I said about your father. Here, I must admit, I have nothing to defend myself. My behaviour and my words were shameful and disrespectful, all the more so when you look at the care with which your father welcomed me into your home despite the fact that I had come here to, let us be honest, beg for his daughters' dowry. However, I want to ask you not to lose your good opinion of him. I firmly believe that his decisions are dictated by not destroying your domestic tranquillity and the memory of your mother with another woman who would take her place at his side. After his words, which he has shared with me, I believe that in his eyes there is no one who can fill the void in his heart after his loss of her, and that his behaviour, understandably causing you pain and bringing you disappointment, is due to his loneliness. I have never before met a parent who loved his children so dearly. Even I, as a complete stranger to him, must admit with shame that Mr Baratheon pays more attention to me than my own father. You asked me some time ago if I missed London, but I was ashamed to answer you at the time that I did not. I only miss my mother and my younger brother, with whom, thank God, I maintain regular correspondence. To conclude this letter and my pathetic tale, I would like to apologise to you and assure you that I will understand if you tell your father about everything, I am ready to give him all the necessary explanations for my disgraceful behaviour. I also want to assure you that this is indeed the end of that unfortunate relationship for me and I have no intention of continuing it. I only dare to ask you to pray to God for my broken, empty soul. With sincerest affection Aemond

She read his letter several times, choking on her own tears, pressing her lips together to keep from making a sound. She felt hundreds of feelings at once, joy, grief, sympathy, sadness, relief, pain.

Reading his words, she felt as if he had poured his thoughts onto paper for her, let her into his mind, which had remained closed to others, laid himself bare to her.

Although she still felt disappointed, knowing that he was willing to open up to her, that he explained everything to her and apologised made her feel a little better.

She thought that he was now sitting alone in his room, broken and frightened, thinking for certain that she hated him, where in fact he had never seemed closer to her before.

She rose slowly, turning the key quietly in the lock and opened the door, looking around. She closed it behind her and ran barefoot to the other side of the corridor, careful of the bits of wooden floor that always creaked, and knocked on his door, wrapped only in her thin shawl.

She heard Vhagar rise from her place, and then someone's quiet footsteps. The door opened and he was standing in front of her in only his chemise and black trousers with braces, looking at her in disbelief, she noticed that his long white hair was already loose and she felt ashamed at the sight. She swallowed quietly, looking at him uncertainly.

"May I come in?" She whispered and he nodded quickly, leaning out and looking around to see if anyone had seen them, closing the door behind her.

Vhagar ran up to her merrily wagging her tail, wanting to start barking with happiness, but they both hushed her, Mr Targaryen ordering her to lie back in her place by his bed.

They looked at each other uncertainly at last, an uncomfortable, heavy silence around them.

"Have you read my letter?" He asked uncertainly, placing his hands behind him, looking to the side, moving his lower lip anxiously in an involuntary, nervous gesture.

"Yes." She whispered quietly, looking at her fingers, then back at him.

"I won't tell my father about anything." She added, and he looked at her with disbelief mixed with relief. He swallowed loudly, letting the air out quietly.

"Thank you."

They looked at each other in a silence even more awkward than before, having been in private with each other in a closed room for too long to consider it consistent with good manners, even more so when she was in such a negligee.

For some reason, however, she didn't want to leave.

She felt an overpowering shame and warmth at the thought that she wanted to stay by his side.

"If you wish, I can stay by your side tonight so you don't feel so lonely." She whispered quietly and it was only when these words, in her mind innocent, left her lips that she realised how ambiguous they sounded.

She saw his pupil dilate; he was looking at her with his lips slightly parted. She was sure he would answer her that it was inappropriate and thank her for her concern, but he said something completely different.

"If anyone catches us, you'll have to become my wife. You know that, don't you?" He asked lowly, and she felt heat between her thighs and some kind of pulsing, her cheeks flushed.

She thought he was just teasing her, that he would never propose to her.

"Hmm." He hummed under his breath as he approached her slowly, extending his hand to her. She grasped it tentatively and he led her to his bed.

She could feel her heart pounding, how inappropriate what they were doing now was, but all she wanted was to be by his side on this difficult day, she herself not wanting to be alone after what she had found out, which she could not share with any one else.

She lay down on the edge of the bed, sliding under the sheets, lying with her back to him, looking towards the window, seeing the clear shape of a crescent moon and stars.

She swallowed hard and shuddered when she felt him lay down behind her.

He did not touch her.

His warm breath was wrapping around her neck, making goosebumps run down her spine, something inside her clenched pleasurably again, she felt her whole body tense up.

What was happening to her?

She pressed her fingers against the fabric of the sheet, clenching her thighs and rubbing them against each other. She drew in the air with difficulty when she felt how her movement made a wave of pleasure pass through her, some kind of sticky wetness running down her skin.

She wasn't sure if she would be able to fall asleep.

She shuddered when she heard him twist behind her and grunt quietly, sensing for certain that she was awake.

"Can't you fall asleep?" He whispered, though they both knew that those few minutes were too soon for either of them to fall asleep, even more so in these conditions.

She swallowed quietly, gathering her courage and turned onto her back, turning her gaze towards him, surprise painted on his face that she dared to move so close to him.

"I think I should go back to my room after all." She said quietly, softly, fiddling with the string from the tying of her nightgown in a nervous gesture. She saw him looking at her intensely and swallowed hard before he managed to force anything out.

"Why?" He asked uncertainly and she felt heat spreading through her body, she had the feeling that her cheeks were burning. They stared at each other for a moment, both breathing heavily through their noses, as if they had just run somewhere very fast.

"I feel uncomfortable. I'm tense and I'm warm." She said embarrassedly, lowering her gaze, clenching her thighs once more, feeling something inside her pulse again as she said this.

She saw his gaze escape greedily downwards feeling her move under the sheets, saw his lips part slightly. When his gaze returned to her face he was looking at her in a way that sent shivers through her.

It seemed to her that his iris was completely black.

"Where?" He asked in a strangely determined, sharp manner in which there was no aggression but some kind of excitement, through which her chest rose and fell rapidly, she clenched her fingers in her palms, unable to look away from him.

"What do you ask, sir?" She muttered in a trembling, uncertain voice, feeling as if her heart would leap out of her chest, the place between her thighs pulsed and clenched, strangely hot and wet, she even felt a kind of discomfort and pain.

He was silent for a long moment, just looking at her as if he was fighting with himself, knowing that what he would say would be less than appropriate.

"I'm asking about where you feel tense." He whispered, squeezing his lower lip involuntarily as he said the words, they stared at each other with wide eyes, no longer breathing through their noses, but through their mouths.

She furrowed her eyebrows as if in worry, blinking rapidly, the feeling between her legs seemed unbearable to her. She thought she shouldn't tell him about it, but some strange feminine conviction told her that he knew perfectly well what was happening to her and that was what excited him the most.

She realised that she had never known such a feeling before, it was only his closeness that affected her in this way. However, she didn't know why this was happening or what to do to feel relief.

"Down. It's like a tickle." She mumbled out with difficulty, embarrassed, lowering her gaze as she felt a shudder run through his whole body, fingers of his hand that lay next to her began to rub against each other in an anxious, impatient gesture.

"It tickles you very much?" He asked in a strangely weak, quiet, hoarse voice from which a shiver went through her whole body, her thighs clenched tightly, she could feel the wet stain on her nightgown under her buttocks. She only nodded her head, helpless, feeling that she was about to cry.

She heard him swallow his saliva loudly.

"Do you want me to show you how you can relieve yourself?" He asked in a trembling voice so quietly that she barely heard him. She drew in the air loudly, not daring to look at him, she was so hot she could feel droplets of sweat running down her back, her heart was beating so hard she had a feeling he could hear it.

"How would you show it to me?" She choked out with difficulty, heard the quiet click of his tongue as he licked his lips, not taking his eyes off her.

"I would direct your hand. There's nothing to be ashamed of. It's natural." He whispered, as if trying to convince not only her but himself that this inopportune, ambiguous conversation should be happening at all.

She breathed loudly through her mouth, undecided, wanting it and at the same time wondering if she should just run away. She recognised, however, that even if she ran away the feeling between her thighs would remain and she wouldn't know what to do with it. She thought that if he was merely to guide her own hand, to help her like a true friend, then perhaps there was nothing wrong with that.

She nodded her head.

She heard him sigh loudly in disbelief, his large, trembling hand lifted and placed on her own. For a moment he just stroked her warm skin with his thumb, as if to reassure her.

"If you feel uncomfortable, say so, and we'll stop. All right?" He asked in a trembling, low voice, moving a little closer to her, and she just nodded quickly, unable to look at his face, all red with embarrassment.

She had the feeling that her mind was foggy, that she wasn't thinking soberly, the only thing she was able to focus on was that unbearable tension between her legs.

They both drew in a loud breath as his hand slid down a little, pulling the material of her nightdress up so that her naked body was touching the bedclothes. She could feel it, however they were both covered by the duvet and could not see anything, so she did not feel completely exposed and tried to reassure herself with this thought.

She swallowed loudly when she felt his hand on hers again, this time he lifted her with a soft, respectful movement and together with his he slid her lower and lower until she reached her place of suffering.

As they both felt how hot and wet she was they let out a pathetic, high-pitched sigh on the verge of a moan, she felt his quick breath on her face, involuntarily his nose pressed against her hot cheek, and she pressed her temple against his forehead, seeking protection, help, safety.

Neither of them said anything when his fingers sank her hand into her own juices, intertwined their fingertips so that his skin ran over them too, a low moan came from his throat, as if what they were doing was causing him as much pain as it was causing her.

She began to breathe faster and faster and closed her eyes as, with each, circular movement he forced her fingers to make, trailing them around the spot from which the waves of pleasure were passing through her, her insides pulsed more and more, her heart pounding so fast she felt like she was about to die.

It wasn't until he hushed her, running his nose along her cheek that she realised that a quiet, helpless whines had begun to come from her mouth, her thighs spread apart in some natural reflex, her body arching backwards and pushing against their entwined hands with every shiver of heat that flowed through her as he teased her pearl again.

"− I − I can't −" She mewled helplessly as she felt the tickling between her legs become unbearable, she felt like her whole body was on fire, her hips began to move to the movements of their fingers, searching for any source of more intense rubbing. She moaned in surprise when she felt his lips on her neck, placing shameless, slow, wet kisses on her skin.

"− just a moment longer − hold on − shhh −" He whispered and she felt his words, the touch of his lips between her legs, felt something approaching, that something was about to happen to her, she pulled her hand away from his and pressed his fingers to her womanhood, wanting to feel him, him, him.

They both stifled surprised, excited moans, his kisses on her neck increasingly pawsome, he sucked her skin between his lips, leaving sticky, wet marks on her, she held her hand on his wrist as his fingers massaged her with a sure, intense motion with the loud, embarrassing click of her moisture.

"− please − oh, God −" Broke out from her mouth like a plea as she furrowed her eyebrows, feeling something like pain from the tension, and then suddenly came complete relief and relaxation, a hot, tickling pleasure she hadn't known before in her life spilled over her insides, shaking her body, her mouth open wide in a sigh of relief and bliss, his fingers carried her through her elation with slow, steady movements.

"− that's it −" He praised her, kissing her higher and higher, his lips clinging to her jaw just below her ear. "− that's it −"

She felt as if she had suddenly become lighter, her body soft and numb, her walls pulsing pleasurably, slower and slower, until her breathing had calmed completely. She felt his hand from between her thighs lay on her womb.

She opened her eyes, as if suddenly brought back to reality, hearing only his loud, anxious breathing against her ear. She turned her face towards him and felt herself shudder when she met his gaze so close to hers, something in his eyes that made her hot.

Desire.

Before she had time to say or do anything his mouth was already on hers, throbbing, thirsty, swollen, wet, her fingers tightening on his hair, letting him slide his tongue deep down her throat.

She had a feeling that this one kiss was more lewd than anything they had done a moment ago.

They pulled away from each other, looking at each other in horror, as if only now realising what had happened between them. Only then did what they had known all along come over them like a blade cut.

Overpowering shame.

She pulled herself together suddenly, adjusting her chemise, breathing hard, she saw him rise quickly to sit down, looking at her with parted lips, terrified.

He was afraid she would tell her father about what they had done.

"I will not tell anyone about this. Please, forgive me, sir −"

"− I −" He began, but she would not let him finish.

"− but I'm afraid we can no longer be friends." She mumbled out and literally ran out of his room with tears in her eyes, opening her door and locking it behind her, turning it with the key.

She laid down on her bed and began to cry loudly, terrified and shaken, hugging her face into her pillow, only now understanding what she had done and what consequences it might have.

She felt like a sinner and a harlot, a shameless empty girl from whom God and the whole world would now turn away.

She knew that from now on she would be cursed and stigmatised.

That if anyone found out about this, no self-respecting man would ever want her as his wife.

_____

Taglist 1

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masonmyluv · 7 months

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Part 1

A/N: I really hope you will all like this story. It’s my first pretty long story (it will have around 10 parts, so stay tuned ;) ) that I’m posting here. You can also find the story on my wattpad account (username: tmrxlover_writer).

Pictures are from Pinterest, the filter is Cinnamon on Polarr.

Warnings: none

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Another day at Uni after he just scored his first La Liga goal . He was buzzing, but had to be on time for classes. He was sure the whole university will congratulate him. Being famous was difficult when you just wanted to be a normal student.

"Our boy Fermin is back!"

You looked up from your notes to see Fermin being congratulated by the whole class. People hugging him, patting him on the back. "Thanks man" he kept saying, trying to make his way to his place. He just wanted the class to begin so everyone could leave him alone. "Hey" he said, sitting next to you. "Hi" you replied quietly. Being the shy nerdy girl was bad enough when you were sitting near the hot athletic guy. You asked yourself multiple times why did he choose to sit near you in the first year. There were a lot of empty places, but he chose the second row in the front, exactly near you. "Anything that I missed?" He asked, looking at your notes. He always admired your beautiful handwriting and how organised you were, so he knew where to choose to sit at your first class together. Surely not the guy with only a piece of paper and a pen, but rather the girl surrounded by books, coloured pencils and a cup of coffee. He didn't have the balls to ask you to get coffee in the morning, even though he wasn't drinking it, he would offer to come along with you.

"Erm...not really. We talked about more practical stuff. I made some notes if you want to take a picture or something" you offered shyly. You never ever gave your notes to anyone because they were just some lazy asses who didn't care about anything, but you were here to learn. You wanted to be a physiotherapist. They were here just to get a diploma. Not Fermin though. He was passionate about the subject, even though he missed a lot of classes because of his packed schedule. You were willing to help him because he showed interest. And appreciated your work too.

"Thanks. Actually I had an idea, I mean a proposal" he said. "I'm quite behind with everything, so I was wondering if you'd like to meet somewhere and help me catch up? It's okay if you don't want to" he said nervously. Why the heck was he nervous? He scored his first goal in freaking La Liga and was nervous talking to a girl he's seen almost every day in 3 years. You thought about his idea, you wanted to help him, but you weren't the person to meet up in random places to study. You liked the confined space of your room and desk, and maybe the library or the coffee shop, when you had to do computer work.

"I don't want to sound... uhh... like I'm inviting myself" he said blushing as if reading your mind. "But I can come to your place, if that's okay with you". "I... uhh" you rambled on, but the professor was already in class, ready to read one of his boring presentations for 2 hours. You barely paid attention to what he was saying, debating whether to accept Fermin's idea or not, while drawing random patterns on your copybook. Fermin noticed you zooming out so he scribbled something down on his own copybook. He nudged you so you could read what he wrote.

It's okay. It was just an idea :)

You shook your head, writing under his: we talk after the class.

For the rest of the class, you took notes, while Fermin tried paying attention, but his mind kept drifting off somewhere else. What if he overstepped with all this I-can-come-to-your-place-to-study thing and you would think he's weird? He face palmed himself for that, but you were his only hope to pass the exams this semester. The professor finally ended the class and you started packing your bag. Neither of you spoke until you were out of the class.

"Listen I—"

"It's okay if—"

You both stopped mid sentence and chuckled. "You first" he encouraged. "So, I think it's okay for you to come. I live alone anyway. Just tell me when it's okay with you". Fermin couldn't believe what he was hearing. You never ever invited someone over and he could respect that it was your safe place and he didn't want to intrude. "Are you sure it's okay?" He asked and you nodded. "Okay, let me see. Actually I'll text you the day before because I'll have some recovery trainings and I'll be free to come" he said. "I know it's difficult to put up with me" he chuckled nervously. "It's okay. It's not like I'm a party animal or anything" you said. "Okay... I'll let you know soon. Bye. And thank you" he said, climbing into his car. He thought of offering you a car ride, but maybe it was too much overstepping in one day, so he just waved at you and you waved back to him.

When you arrived home, you thought about this day. What the heck was today? Of course you gave him your notes pretty often, but him to come here to study? That was a whole new level.

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Hope you like it 🤍

Feedback is appreciated 😊

#fermin lopez fluff #fermin lopez #fermin lopez marin #fermin lopez smut #football imagine

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morsking · 10 months

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there has been a thematic thread linking marisbury's vision for humanity's future to kirschtaria's own desire to elevate humanity and protect the crypters, and morgan's own effort to protect the land of britain that contains the memories she made as aesc alongside the original tam lin and uther. this also reflects in artoria caster's existence post-avalon le fae as a simulacrum of the actual artoria caster that died in the lostbelt, preserved and embodied by artoria avalon so in some way the memory of that girl who remembered only sadness could be embraced by happiness. additionally, meltryllis in SE.RA.PH. breaching time and space to protect fujimaru is also a link in this chain. morgan's summer form, waking up after her spirit origin manifested her memories of being aesc, makes mention of the butterfly's dream: a philosophical thought musing that there is a transient boundary between dreams and reality.

the chinese philosopher chuang tzu once dreamt he was a butterfly, untethered and free to float in the air. he woke up questioning whether he dreamed he was a butterfly, or whether the butterfly was dreaming it was him. reality can feel like a dream, and a dream can feel more real than anything, underscoring how transience is an unavoidable part of the human condition. people will live their dreams and watch them end from the moment they are born to the day they die, and heroic spirits are the same because humanity lives every day chasing its dreams and heroic spirits are those dreams.

but starting with marisbury, we contend with the idea that sometimes, the dreamer does not wish for the dream to end. if dreams are transient because the dreamer must wake, then the only way to preserve the dream is if the dreamer fades away into the dream instead. marisbury seemingly committed suicide to preserve the animusphere grand order. meltryllis burned through the remnants of her existence to protect her memories of her timeline's fujimaru by saving them in their own. kirschtaria, already at death's door, stayed alive only to ensure his ideal and his friends could survive beyond his death, his soul being described as a bird taking flight with caeneus chasing in tow as he dies. morgan sacrificed being aesc so the land of britain could survive, and wiped her own memories of totorot and mash so they wouldn't be erased from existence for being time paradoxes. artoria caster used her entire life force to forge excalibur so the time she treasured could live on with her friends in chaldea as they fought to save proper human history, and themselves, from the rampage of cernunnos's corpse.

on top of all of that, there have been very cryptic visuals associating mash and butterflies since fgo's first opening. "shikisai" had the visual of a butterfly floating in ruins, and "yakudou" has a shot of mash's gaze following a butterfly flying into the sky. the butterfly is her guide, leading the way to the end of her dream. kinoko nasu himself once shared that cosmos in the lostbelt is a story about accepting that ends will come, and thus the butterfly is the lesson that she must take to heart to grow into a person who can claim what the purpose she chose is without shame or hesitation as the end draws near. this is something she did once saving fujimaru from goetia's ars almadel salomonis at the end of observer in timeless temple. and i would not be surprised if she did the same against marisbury at the end of cosmos in the lostbelt (which has yet to finish, as paper moon's trailer demonstrates having it be part of the chapter's title).

but what is the dream she is dreaming that is inevitably coming to an end that she will choose to protect at the cost of her place in it? if you've been reading this far, then the answer should be obvious.

but nasu wouldn't be much of a romantic if he believed an end is all you could really look forward to. the journey is far more important than the destination, because it's the only thing that can give the end meaning, as romani archaman rightly puts in his final conversation with mash. you can only extrapolate the significance of something after it's already over. not at the start, not in the middle of it, and not at when it's over, but at the moment that lies beyond the end of the dream.

and when a dream ends, that is the moment when another begins.

#long post #fgo spoilers

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gretavanlace · 11 months

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Poppins (part 7)

Jake Kiszka x reader

18+ only! Minors do not interact!

Warnings: graphic sexual content, angst, depression, alcohol abuse, cheating, illusions to physical violence, language, drug use (weed, calm down), masturbation, oral sex (f/rec), shitty editing (as always), etc

“It fucked me up.” Jake confesses, passing the dwindling blunt over to you, staring up at the curling smoke as it dances above your heads.

If someone had told you that your night would end lying beside Jake on your living room floor, head and heart still reeling from a most exquisite orgasm and the taste of his own still satiating your appetite for him, you’d have suggested they consider penning fictional novels.

And yet, here you are, and here he is, and it’s bordering on perfect…save for the remembrance of pain that washes the edges of his words in black.

Refusing to tell the story that wasn’t his, he’d decided to quell your interest with one that he felt worthy of sharing.

“She wouldn’t tell the truth. Not at first. Which was a betrayal in and of itself. I thought, who the fuck are you to deny me what I’m entitled to? You know? I deserved the truth…that belonged to me.” He watches you draw in a lungful of smoke and then brushes an errant lock of hair out of your face.

“You did deserve that.” You agree softly on the exhale, avoiding eye contact so as not to break whatever spell has been cast over the two of you to loosen his tongue. “We all deserve that. Truth. Though we so often don’t get it.”

He sighs to let you know he’s heard you, and that he knows you’re right. “I could smell it on her. The deceit hung in her hair like campfire, lingering in her space - sickeningly sweet perfume. It gave me a headache. Every time she touched me it was like swallowing a rock, and she just kept feeding them to me. Jagged pebble after pebble until I was completely weighed down with whatever it was she had done.”

His prose is somehow prettier when he’s describing something ugly.

You can help it no longer, your hand finds his chest. You want to hold him, to soothe him against your breast like a distressed child. “Jake, I’m so sorry.”

He laughs it off, which only makes you hurt worse for him. “Long time ago, babe. She told me, eventually. Told me there had been someone else. Gave me that ‘it only happened once’ bullshit. But she wouldn’t tell me who. I suppose I hated her the most for that. By keeping that from me, she was choosing him, again. Or, at least that’s how it felt at the time. It’s stupid, looking back.”

“No,” you argue with quiet conviction. “It isn’t stupid, Jake. It isn’t.”

The blunt is cashed, and he drops it into his leftover tea with a hissing sizzle, and then relaxes back down onto the rug.

“I asked her to leave. She cried. I cried. She packed a bag and walked out the door. Came back for the rest of her shit later on, and that was that.”

This last bit has truly astounded you. “You lived together?”

“Mhmm,” he hums, folding his hands together over his chest. “If you can call it that, really. You know how often I’m gone.”

“That’s no excuse.” You feel murderous toward this mirage of a woman whom you’ve never met.

“Didn’t say it was.” He points out before continuing. “So, like I said…it fucked me up. Bailed on a bunch of gigs, wouldn’t get out of bed unless it was to wander my drunk ass down the street for a fresh bottle. Stopped showering, couldn’t sleep, all that shit. I forgot about her fish and accidentally let him die. Still feel bad about that one.”

You listen silently. Maybe he needs this…each spoken word feels like it's brand new on his tongue, as if he’s never opened up with such candor about these things hidden. And if he needs a mindful ear and an open heart, you will gladly give that to him. Tonight, and always.

“Josh showed up, because of course he did.” He huffs a breath of a laugh and shakes his head, searching out patterns in your popcorn ceiling. “Asshole beat on the door for an hour before I sobered up enough to hear him. Then beat on it for another hour until I finally hated the noise enough to answer.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you watch him run through imaginary chords along his chest, a habit that presents itself when he’s nervous or angry. Right now, you imagine he’s a bit of both.

“He made me get up and shower. Wouldn’t shut the fuck up until I had. Cleaned up the trash that had piled itself up in disgusting mountains around my bed. I’ll never forget that. Walking into my room and seeing those trash bags. Five of them just completely crammed to hell and back full. That’s what it took. Those bags. Who was this? This guy who sleeps with trash and whiskey bottles and doesn’t shower, right? One of the most astonishing realizations of my life and I made it with a filthy towel that had been lying on my bathroom floor for god knows how long wrapped around my waist.”

Your heart aches painfully for him. You can’t even begin to equate that scenario with the beautiful, cocky, brilliant, man before you. Still, you’ve never felt closer to him, it’s like he’s unlocked a door and invited you inside. Except this time, he isn’t giving you the shiny tour. Now you’ve been ushered in and he’s letting you peek into the junk drawer.

“It only got worse from there. He combed the knots out of my hair…took him forever, and it made me feel loved and like shit all at once. Fucking prick ordered me to strip my bed while he threw the windows open.” He makes prick sound like a term of endearment. “Then he just came out with it. Just fuckin’ said it while he tromped around cleaning like he owned the place.”

You wait while, presumably, he gathers his thoughts, or maybe his wits, or perhaps both…but you don’t push. As far as you’re concerned, you’d lie on this floor with him and wait forever, just so he never feels as lonely as he must’ve felt then.

“He said,” he waves a hand above your heads as though setting the scene. But really, you know this to be a strange quirk of his, this slightly theatrical flare that colors his words when he’s recounting his twin. “Jake, this might be terrible fucking timing, but we’re gonna do this now. You’re going to hate me, and that scares the shit outta me, but you deserve to know, and you deserve to hear it from me.”

“I knew right then, the second he said that, but I waited because….” His hand drops and reaches for your own, warm and tight in grip, like those confident handshakes that seem so important to some “I guess I waited because I didn’t want to know. Two extra seconds of blissful ignorance was too tempting to let go of. Doubt I even got two, seemed more like a fraction of a second before he was out with it. ‘It was me’, that’s all he said because he knew that’s all he had to say. He understood that on some level, I’d probably known all along.”

As difficult as it had been to equate Jake with the melted down version of himself he had described, imagining Josh - all love, sunny smiles, and sweet sentiment - caring so little about his brother’s heart, is impossible. It had to have been some imposter standing in Joshua’s shoes; a monster tucked away inside his brain steering him headlong into cruel flippancy.

It makes you angry. What a foreign feeling when it comes to these two. “It was horrible, what he did to you.” There are worse things bitten back on your tongue.

He’s playing with your fingers now, turning them this way and that, inspecting them as if they’re much more interesting than you’ve ever thought them to be. “Like I told you before, he was drunk and she was somethin’ else. She had the sweetest voice…always sounded like she’d swallowed a bit of helium. It used to drive me crazy, that cotton candy voice of hers.”

A pang of jealousy, unwelcome and unwanted, creeps to life inside you, but you hide it well - you think.

“He earned points,” he continues on. “By telling me…and she was right not to tell me. I don’t know what would have happened if I’d heard it from anyone but him. And hearing her say it? That she’d fucked my brother - with that voice of hers, all honey and sugar dripping all over his name, I think it might have killed me.”

It dawns on you, suddenly and sickeningly, “Is that what I am? What this is? You loved her, and you believe he loves me, so you’ve found an angle? Are you using me to break his heart the way he broke yours?”

The very thought makes your stomach tighten and twist around itself.

Somehow, he knows - how does he always seem to know? - and he places his wide, warm palm across your navel gently and then rolls atop you, nudging the tip of your nose with the tip of his own, an innocent Eskimo kiss that sets your pulse wild.

“You aren’t a pawn in some bullshit game between brothers, poppins. Far from it. But I’ll play with you anyway if you’d like.”

Fuck, the cashmere of his voice, the way it billows into the night like a gauzy curtain flutters in a summer breeze. Vocal chords oscillating as his guitar strings do, humming straight into your heart.

You shove aside all the need he has once again flickered to life inside you and ask, “What happened then?” Your question is meek, as if you’re afraid of the answer.

“After he told me, you mean?” He murmurs against your neck…mouth hot and wet as it searches for places that will make you sigh.

“I kicked his ass wearing only a towel, which didn’t stay on long, so you can imagine how that must’ve looked.”

An unexpected laugh responds to his unexpected joke and you watch him soften…he loves your voice, too. Maybe not as much as he had loved hers, but there is an undeniable affection there that will do just fine for you.

“I made an even worse mistake, as I am so often wont to do. In some ridiculous quest for revenge, I made it even worse.”

He sounds loathsome of himself, so you stroke through his hair, comforting him, loving him this way. Still, you can sense the book closing, he has talked enough for tonight. The wound reopened, split apart and bleeding.

You cauterize it with a joke, just to hear that gentle chuckle of his. “So, no naked grudge match carried out in your depression room? Oh, the disappointment is crushing, Jakey.”

You’re gifted with the laugh you’d so hoped for. “No, babe, that definitely happened. But if you ever feel the need to retell that story, have mercy on me and leave that part out.”

A quiet descends around you like a comforting caul…dragging you back down into the blissful trenches where there is only him. Only Jake.

No peculiar sibling rivalry. No strange twin bond that you’ll never begin to understand. No confusion. No complications…

But never no Josh. Even when there is only Jake, there is still Josh. He lingers in your peripheral vision, a blurry specter watching, reminding. The same way Jacob floats about in your heart when Josh’s hands and eyes are on you.

Jake speaks into the hush first. “You heard me when I said you aren’t a pawn in some fucked up game, right?” His hand is trailing down, down, down, now…tucking itself between your legs, playing with you idly over your panties that are still damp from the last time he decided to grace you with his touch. “I mean, you really heard me, right?”

“Yeah,” it rides out on a feathery moan as your legs spread further apart for him.

“Yeah?” He’s satisfied with your answer, and taunting you a bit now. Sweetly mocking how lost you seem to already be.

“Jake…” it’s a whimper and you don’t care.

“I suppose this is alright, don’t you think, poppins? If I touch you here? Done it before, haven’t I? And he has too, hasn’t he, babe?” He doesn’t pause for your answer. “Playing field’ll stay nice and even, even if I make you cum in these pretty wet panties, won’t it?”

Your hand has wrapped itself around his wrist, urging him to keep going. “If it isn’t a game between the two of you, why is there a field?”

“That’s such an excellent point, baby doll.” He breathes, soft and slow, against the shell of your ear. “Fuck keeping things even, yeah? How about something new? Would you like that, hmm? If I did something new to you?”

“Don’t tease me,” you whine, devoid of absolutely any shame. “Just do it, Jake, please.”

You don’t even know what you’re begging for, nor do you care.

“Do what, babe?” His fingers are inching under the lace you wish would disappear. “What if I make my way down?” Those same fingers are now tapping against your lips. You lap over them and he groans at the curl of your tongue before he’s walking down your body with them like two tiny legs. “What if I just kiss my way down until my face is between these pretty thighs and my mouth is against your sweet little cunt.”

“Oh god, Jake, please…” you’re shoving at his shoulders now as he grins through a bite to your throat. “Please!”

He’s at your breasts all at once, tugging your shirt as he had before until you pull it off. That mouth you’re aching so badly for, closes around your nipple, sucking as his teeth sink in deeply enough to make you squirm away.

“Does that hurt?” He pants through licks and suckles that threaten to tear you into the tiniest of pieces.

“No.”

“Then lie fucking still.” The way it trips off his delectable tongue, heated and unwavering, causes you to clench around nothing.

You do as you’re told and pray silently for him to make his way lower and lower.

Like the deity he seems to be, he hears your prayers and answers them by dipping down to lavish an open mouthed kiss upon you, savoring you through the soaked material that once served as underwear, but has now been demoted to an annoyance to be dealt with.

The moment his lips meet silk, he pulls back as if you’ve burnt him, fingertips to his gorgeous mouth like he can’t believe this is real. Coincidentally, neither can you.

“Let me see, poppins,” his chest heaves with every word, fighting to be heard. “Show me where you want my mouth, pretty girl.”

Yanking your panties to the side you once again begin to beg. You can’t seem to help it, and he seems to like that very much.

“There?” He offers that conspiring, lopsided smirk. “And what should I do with my mouth right there, babe? Would you like a little kiss?”

With a growl that sounds like you’re little more than a feral cat mouthing off, your hands fist in his hair and yank him in with force that catches him off guard enough that he loses balance and sort of falls into place, groaning vibrations against your cunt until they spark and sizzle down to your toes.

He strokes the flat of his tongue over your clit, once, twice, three times, then rolls onto his back, taking you with him.

With you now perched and writhing above him, he spanks your thigh, and, with his eyes blazing up at you, sends you reeling with a gravelly “Well, c’mon then, Mary Poppins…feed it to me.”

You’ve been known to do a stupid thing a time or two, but never anything as stupid as wasting time when Jake is asking for something as depraved as what he happens to be asking for now. To that end, you lower yourself down, head falling back to cry out to a god you think you might not even believe in, when he yanks you down completely.

There’s no way he can breathe, but the way he is sucking you in, there’s no way he cares. Praise and pleas for more muffle against you, as does his drawn out moan when he tugs his cock free and wraps a fist around it.

Tongue fucking inside you now, perfect nose brushing rhythmically over your swollen clit, your hips begin to chase it now all on their own.

He nods in urgent approval and sends his fist flying over his cock faster as your toes sweep over the muscles flexing and pumping wildly in his arm.

Growls and groans of lust and exertion press inside you as he drags you closer and closer to that bright and stunning end. Hands in his hair, you let him take you there. Though you might be steering the ship, he is the sea upon which you sail.

“Cum with me, fuck Jake, please please please, I want it, want it so bad…” have you even made a sound at all? You can’t be sure until you feel him nod again beneath you, his free arm wrapping around your waist to pull you down even closer, like he wants to get lost and disappear inside you.

He has built a shimmering, iridescent world, all for you, but you don’t step into it alone. He goes along, reaching up to grab your hand with a barely discernible gasp of your name, just to save you from feeling lonely in your heaven.

Somehow, when the blurry haze begins to clear your head, you’re on your back again, quietly sobbing for air as your body trembles with divine aftershocks.

“You’re fucking beautiful,” he wonders almost silently…face pink and shining with you and breathtaking. “God, you make my chest ache. It hurts to look at you, sometimes.”

Shying away from his worshipful prose, you feel around for your shirt, eyes watching his mouth. You adored it before, and now you’d simply lay down and die for it without thought.

You clean him up. Carefully dragging cotton over his hand, stomach and belt where he has spilled and made an indulgent mess…you contemplate using your mouth, but think maybe the moment has passed.

A comfortable, nearly domestic, quiet takes over until finally, you ask him to stay.

He declines with sweet kisses upon your cheek, and lets you in on another secret - he’s leaving to pay a visit to his favorite tree in the park. He plans to sit a while, as it’s where he does some of his best thinking.

You don’t ask what he plans to think about beneath an old sugar maple at close to four in the morning. Maybe you’d like to know, you figure, but maybe you shouldn’t.

The morning finds you showered and a least somewhat put together, wandering through the very same park. Meandering towards the rusty back and forth creak of a swing set.

Josh waits just where he said he’d be when he’d phoned to ask you to join them.

Looking casual and clean in crisp joggers and a band T that you know, without a doubt, smells of fabric softener - he is relaxed back against a bench, contently watching Lil’s ponytail fly as she chases around with her tiny companion - a friend from the neighborhood. He’s the sweetest thing who is almost always happy to let Lily boss him a bit. They often remind you of what the twins must’ve been like as children.

You slide into position beside Josh and he ponders as if you’ve been conversing for hours. “Remember what that was like? Just running to run? Look how happy she is.”

His question is rhetorical, his smile sly, when he turns his attention to your face. “Look how happy you are, sweetheart. You’re glowing. Is it safe to assume that my lesser half paid you a visit last night?”

You feel your lips part stupidly in shock.

“He called me this morning, just after I called you.” He shrugs casually. “Told me he was around and that the two of you talked. I know what ‘talking’ means when it comes to Jacob.”

You shake it off, grounding yourself by watching his lovely daughter rather than the twinkling accusations in his eyes. “We did talk.”

“Amongst other things, I’m sure.” He blows right by his own comment and leans in a little closer. “Do you think less of me now? Now that you know exactly what I did to him? Because you should.”

“No.” You answer without hesitation, and truthfully. “And he said he did something even worse, so it seems to me like you two are even.”

“Even?” There’s a disgruntled edge to his tone, but instinctively, you understand that his disgust is centered squarely upon himself. “We’ll never be even. Not after what he gave me to make things right.”

You squint into his eyes, trying to piece together the puzzle. “And how did he make whatever it was he did, right? What did he give you?”

He allows you to stare a while and then gives you your answer by shifting his gaze to the tiny beauty laughing in the sandbox.

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starartist · 7 months

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Guys, let's all pretend Kataang never happened. Let's pretend like Zutara was always meant to happen🫧. Because it would be better for everyone, for us and for the story itself. We all know what a fighter Katara is and that she was literally the best waterbender in the world, and that she always stood up for herself🌙. And we all know how that all went down and it's like her character and her fighting spirit disappeared the moment she became Aang's trophy wife🙄. Katara lost herself and what she fought for and became Aang's house wife who keeps quiet and doesn't get involved in politics and stops fighting and becomes a healer. Okay, Katara is a healer but she's also a fighter, that's her meaning, she said it herself. And how did it all happen? The Avatar writers forgot what Katara's purpose was and literally dropped her. It's very sad because her character could have progressed so much and realistically we all imagine Katara in the future as the most powerful waterbender, a real fighter and a successful Politician and ambassador of the water tribe🌊. And I really don't know how Aang and Katara ended up together when Katara was playing mother all the time? (because Aang is the main character and he has to get a girl he likes, of course that's the only reason🥲) . Really, who would have thought that a girl like Katara would choose a younger, bald, immature boy, who is kidding us😂. I think that if Katara ended up with Zuko her character would progress a lot more, really Zuko and her would continue to fight together, and improve each other, Katara would even most likely be a water tribe ambassador and continue to be involved in politics and she would become the Fire Lady🔥. It would be such a good and powerful continuation of her story and it would be a real Katara fighter and ruler as we all know her, she would remain worthy of herself and her views. That's the real Kataraa and her character✨️. That's why I'm part of the Zutara community and that's how it will be❤️‍🔥. So let's pretend that Zutara happened and that Katara stayed true to herself . Pleaseeee🫶

And to remind you how hot she looks in a fire nation outfit, just imagine her as the Fire Lady.

(okay, I got an idea for the next drawing, expect it soon😂)

#zutara #atla #zuko x katara #avatar last airbender #katara #zuko #avatar #atla zuko #atla katara #avatar the last airbender #katara x zuko #zuko and katara #fire nation #fire lady katara

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joons · 9 months

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i finally got to see reinventing elvis, and a detail that really broke my heart was how steve binder described the first time the special was screened for elvis. with the memphis mafia in the room, the room was quiet because elvis wasn't saying anything, and no one would respond until they knew what elvis' thoughts were. after the screening, elvis asked everyone to leave except him and steve, and he immediately relaxed and watched the whole thing again, enthusing to steve about everything they'd managed to achieve, laughing and cheering and clapping for the crew and himself. i--

one thing that draws me so much to elvis and his story is this idea of your identity becoming fractured, how you always have to see yourself through the eyes of an audience. for elvis, his first audiences during childhood were his bullies and his mother. for everyone else, he slipped under the radar, until music gave him the strength to be himself. that uncertainty and anxiety that came from revealing yourself to others never left him and became worse the more his music became the way to protect his mother and family from poverty forever. he had to choose between providing for others and expressing himself. and if a bully or a critic didn't have what it took to silence him, then his own need to protect and nurture others did. just knuckle down, make the bad movie, take care of everyone who depends on you. and as his fame grew, the audiences he needed to protect and please grew more numerous and varied; they were teenage girls and mini-rockers who thought he'd sold out in the army and distinguished vegas crowds and politicians and his friends who were also employees who were also snitching to the colonel. not only is it a panopticon existence, but there's nowhere to rest without gladys, no single person he can shelter his complete self inside. he would share his feelings only if he trusted that you wouldn't laugh or be cruel. and it was very difficult to keep track of what parts of him each audience liked, whether he was allowed to cry in front of these guys, whether they'd laugh at him for knowing classical music, whether his interests would bore someone to tears. he couldn't tell them how important this special was to him, how relieved and proud he was of it. because that relief and pride felt too fragile to be shared except with the person beside him that he knew felt it too. (binder talked about how miserably nervous he was because he was having his own doubts about whether what he'd made was any good at all.)

i wonder if that was part of why he loved giving other people his time. that one-on-one connection gave others HIS audience, a happy one, where he could reassure them and take pride in them and build them up in a way he very rarely got back. he did stuff like that all the time, praying with people, giving them advice, sharing private jokes, asking about their lives. it's like he was taking in all the criticism and all the love he might get from his own audiences and reflecting it back very gently on someone else, just the two of them, so they knew he was being sincere, hoping someone would bridge that connection with him, that they would realize they didn't have to "act" for him, so he could let his guard down too, even just for a moment. he didn't ask for much more, but he deserved that full feeling of safety and belonging.

#elvis presley #reinventing elvis #meta #i am LONGING too much this night #we all fracture and hide and we are all loved

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thelostgirl21 · 8 months

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Oh. My. God.

Hugh... Hugh, you are awesome...

I was watching an interview they made with Hugh, Cassie and Graham where they asked Hugh "Does music play a part in you developing your characters?"

He answered that it was a conversation that he and Cassie had actually had, because they'd both made a bit of a playlist for theirs, and he'd been listening to Jobriath to help get himself in the mood.

And when he said that, I went "Wait, hold on..." because I remembered there was another interview - where they'd asked him if the actors had any say when it came to choosing the wig their character would wear - where Hugh mentioned that yeah, they did, and that he'd wanted his looks to be a bit inspired by '70s Glam Rock...

Guys...

Jobriath was the 1st openly gay Glam Rock artist, whose career suffered a major backlash from homophobic audiences (from what I understand, the way his publicist chose to exploit his sexuality as a marketing tool didn't help), that sadly died of AIDS back in 1983 (at age 36).

He played in the musical "Hair", and here is how he looked back then...

But the picture that fucking killed me, however, is this one...

Because, I mean...

Another interesting fact: His birth name was actually Bruce Wayne Campbell.

He changed it to Jobriath Salisbury after deserting from the US Army.

They eventually did find him and arrest him, though, and he spent about 6 months in a military psychiatric hospital after suffering a breakdown.

Just thinking about poor Radovid attempting to run away from the Redanian court, only to be pulled right back in, and definitely looking right in the verge of a breakdown here...

(I'm hoping Radovid's story get a happier ending than what happened to Jobriath IRL, though...)

One of his songs is actually called "Take Me I'm Yours"...

And it's totally worth a listen!

youtube

Baby, you just amaze me and daze me

You're the blind spot in my consciousness

C'mon and forsake me and break me

And drink the blood of my obsessiveness

Make me cry out and die out

Of love for this world's fallacy

Refuse me diffuse me

To the corners of the galaxy

Take me I'm yours

Take me take me I'm yours

Take me I'm yours

I can't say if this particular song was a part of Hugh's playlist when developing the character, but...

... suddenly feels like an even more inspired line to me.

There are other songs and lyrics from Jobriath that do give me some solid Radskier feels...

Ex:

I've always wanted a movie queen

To call my very own

That bright and shining star

I've worshipped from afar

Came to earth to be with me tonight

I've always wanted a superstar

To cherish as my own

But so high in the sky

I never dared to try

To take the steps that I can take with you tonight

So basically, Hugh Skinner was offered to play a gay Prince/King on a major fantasy show...

And apparently, thought that he'd take the opportunity to draw inspiration from, and subtly pay homage to, a near-forgotten gay cultural icon.

And it's perfect!

#Hugh Skinner #Radovid #Radskier #Jaskier #Jobriath #The Witcher #My Posts #My Thoughts #On this absolutely amazing human being!#And wonderful queer character...

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hatsalad · 6 days

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I really do feel like Colin should have found out about Whistledown before proposing. One, because I know that this was a change made just to add more drama and it was something I was kinda dreading before S3 dropped. But also because I think it would have really added to their relationship if even after finding out about Whistledown, he still wants to make it work with Penelope and he makes that decision with all the information he needs. In the end, he still chooses her.

And I think it would then make a future confrontation between him and Eloise all the more interesting. Like Eloise confronts her brother about marrying Penelope because she truly cares for him and doesn't want to see him hurt again, so she reveals LW to him expecting him to be disbelieving, to be hurt and defensive. But instead, all he says to her is "I know."

She then finds out that not only did Colin propose to her already knowing this information, but that him and Penelope have already had a sit down and a serious conversation about it. They've already discussed the pros and cons of LW. The good and the bad Penelope has done with her, the people she has hurt. What Penelope plans to do with LW in the future to learn from her mistakes. That Colin hasn't given Penelope forgiveness or absolution, but understanding and acceptance that this is what she has done and said. That he still wants her in his life. Perhaps it's this conversation between her and Colin that finally makes her go and have her own serious conversation with Penelope.

There's also the fact that I genuinely thought that Colin was going to figure it all out on his own, or at least that Penelope was hiding something serious from everyone. Like S2 built up Colin now being less susceptible to being tricked and him being the one to find out about the rubies. And so with all the promos of Colin going to be Pens courting tutor, I was like "okay so because he's now spending so much of his time with Pen and truly getting to know her now. He's gonna start noticing these inconsistencies in her stories and that she's sneaking off somewhere." Like I think it would have been a good way to continue his character from S2 and draw back to the idea that Penelope's escapades as LW hinge on her invisibility to the ton but now Colin is really starting to truly see her. He follows her to the church and discovers her secret not because he's possessively looking to see if she's meeting up with a lover but because he's worried about what she's hiding and what she's up to... and also just his own curiosity.

It's something I'm genuinely disappointed with in the new season and I don't know how I feel about the obvious blow out that's gonna happen in part 2. There's something about the idea of Colin only finding out about LW because Eloise tells him before they get married that just doesn't sit right with me. Colin already being in the know in the books before he proposed is just the better option in my opinion.

#bridgerton #polin #penelope x colin #penelope featherington #colin bridgerton #bridgerton season 3 #polin bridgerton #me #lady whistledown #bridgerton s3 #eloise bridgerton

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kochi999 · 18 days

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I always draw only Arcade porn, but today I really thought about "why I like Arcade" and drew it seriously.

Below is the monstrosity I drew on pixiv. I haven't scrutinized the document after the English translation, so it's probably weird.

　My shit-decker feelings (mainly inferiority complex) for Dr. Arcade have finally calmed down after about 10 months of falling for him, so here's one thing I'd like to summarize (give birth to) why I can't help but have such a fussy heart for this guy. I guess the screen turns red when I put my feelings into it. I know it's not popular to capture long sentences nowadays, but it's the last time I'm drawing, so forgive me, I don't have anywhere else to put it.

　I've tried to put all the elements of why I like this guy so much into this one picture, but the part that people who don't know me won't get from the picture and the part that made me fall for that point in the first place is that this guy is officially gay. The other deciding factor that drove me crazy was the fact that there is an ending where he commits suicide by circumcision for the sake of his own pride.

　This guy, who had been running away from the secret of his origins, who was worried and lost, who couldn't tell anyone about the secret of his life, who couldn't make up his mind in that ephemeral world, who had been moping and sulking until he was 35 years old, makes a decision based on the words of a random courier (the main character) and chooses to live while helping others with his special skills, He can either choose to live for his father's redemption, or he can choose neither and be enslaved until he commits suicide. How can you come up with such a setting? The game is so full of elements that mess with our emotions that I can't help but project myself onto the brain-destroyed (physical) courier and the brain-destroyed (metaphorical) me.

↓I can't help but project myself onto him. 　Why is Arcades set up as gay? It's just a setting that has nothing to do with the story. It is really a mystery. Why did they set him up that way? Is it because he doesn't know his father's face and is a fatherfucker? It's a wise decision. Thanks to you, a lot of nerdy women have been swamped. The fact that a man of such a serious character and nature was naturally homosex active drives me crazy again. There is also the mysterious statement that he had a few boyfriends in the past, but that doesn't play into the main story at all. Are you saying that I couldn't even confide my origins to my boyfriends? I wouldn't mind having a boyfriend who confided in a past man about his origins…and then they finally broke up because they couldn't share their life together, but he never revealed the secret of his origins to anyone…that would be fine. I'm a big fan.

　Please, give me an Arcadian ex-career selection setting. What kind of guy she was dating and at what age, and if possible, her favorite position, etc. No, that's too much to ask. I'll have dinner with that. I'm ready to eat. I'll cook a pot of rice for now. Give me that. Give me a piece of Arcadian life. I don't care if it's too late. Give it to me. Hey. If, at the height of the drama, there are now statements like, "Actually, Nate, the fourth master, was in that movie," then why not have a leak that says, "Actually, that was Arcade's ex-boyfriend," or "Actually, that man at Navarro base is Arcade's father. Give it to me. I'm sure you have some secret settings that you can't reveal to the public anyway. Give it to me. Give it to me in a fanzine. Please. I don't care if it's a fabrication by a fan, please give me a doujinshi of Arcades' ex-boyfriend…someone please draw me a doujinshi…I'll do anything…tumbler prohibits sexually explicit pictures, so if you can, please draw me a sexually explicit picture on pixiv. I don't care if it's a cartoon. I have two new friends on pixiv recently. Thank you I love you and I won't miss you.

#arcade gannon #fnv #fallout fanart #fallout nv #fallout new vegas

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probably-writing-x · 1 year

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Who Needs To Know? - Part 2

Summary: It was the typical story wasn’t it? The Kook girl and the Pogue that she shouldn’t fall for. Even worse when that Pogue is the absolute epitome of everything your parents hated. But there was just something in that grin, wasn’t there?

Warnings: Cursing, I think that’s it???

Author’s Note: This is such a fun story to write so thank you to everyone that was asking for a part 2 - I hope you enjoy !! Please send in any requests you might have / any questions for me

Not my gif

“Alright, you wanna try again or are you done?” JJ asks, swimming over to you with ease, holding his forearms up onto the board.

You two had spent the morning, since the sun was just rising, with JJ trying to teach you to surf. You’d stood up for less than five seconds, and had spent the majority of the time catapulting below the surface when the waves crashed over you. He hadn’t lost his patience like you thought he would, and everytime, he’d swam over, helped you get back onto the board, and never been too far from your side.

“I’m so cold,” You shiver, your legs dangling from either side of the board as you sat bobbing over the surface.

He laughs, running a hand over your leg, “Alright, let’s get out, I can’t send you home with hypothermia.”

JJ holds the board and pulls you in behind him, holding out a hand to help you off. He was such a gentleman with you that it still managed to surprise you.

“Okay, so what we’ve learnt, is that you’re still a little bit of a Kook with surfing like that,” He grins, grabbing your towel and his from the pile of your things on the sand.

You hit his arm, “Hey, I thought I did well for my first lesson.”

He hums, leaning into you until his lips are centimetres from yours, “Only because you had a crush on your intructor.”

“No I think he’s pretty full of himself actually,” You raise your brows, JJ silencing you with a kiss to your lips, one that injects some much needed warmth back into you.

You shiver as you pull your top and shorts back on, your fingers tingling as the warmth draws back to them.

“Here, take this,” JJ reaches his hoodie out to you, pulling it over your head until he sees your face poke out from the other side.

Your hair is damp and sticking down against your head, your eyes tired this early in the morning, your lips a little chapped in the air. It’s in moments like that when JJ realises how he feels for you must be the closest to love that he’s ever felt. To him, you were everything.

“Stealing your clothes? That seems a bit official for us,” You cock a brow, pulling the sleeves over your arms as the baggy material drops low over you.

“Oh don’t be fooled, I give one to all my ladies.”

“Fuck you.”

He can’t ever let you be mad at him, instead choosing to wrap his arms around you and kiss at your jaw and neck until you’re giggling in his grip. But it’s terminated too early as you hear the all too familiar alarm ringing out from your phone, telling you to go home before your parents realised you’d even left.

“Come on, I’ll walk you back,” And he slips his hand into yours - the perfect fit in their mismatched size.

~~~

JJ’s at the chateau for the majority of the rest of the day, counting down the minutes until he could see you. The rest had noticed it too, the way his nose was buried more in his phone recently, and he’d found more excuses than ever to not be hanging out with them.

“What do you think JJ? Smoke boat and beers?” John B cuts into his thoughts and JJ looks up from the loose thread he’d been pulling at on the couch.

“I can’t tonight,” JJ shakes his head, chewing at his lips as if it wasn’t the most obvious trait of his nerves.

“Are you kidding?” Kie laughs, “Since when did you have so many plans without us?”

“I’m just busy!” He stands up and goes to grab one of the beer cans from the cooler, “And I’m here now aren’t I?”

“And he’s defensive too,” Pope raises his brows, “Something you need to tell us Jay?”

He looks at them all, their eyes burning into him, and scratches the back of his neck, swallowing down the nerves in his throat, “What are you talking about?”

“Is there a girl?” John B gasps, standing up to join the blonde, wrapping an arm around him and clapping his chest, “Is our little JJ in love?”

JJ ducks out of his grasp, shoving John B away from him, “Relax man, it’s nothing.”

The other three all exchange a knowing look but JJ chooses to ignore it, picking up his phone and seeing a text from you instead -

So I’m being forced into going to a party at the beach tonight, any chance you can get the pogues to come too?

“Hey, what about a party tonight?”

~~~

The beach is already flooding with people by the time you get there, instantly being spotted by Topper who waves you over. He’s got a can in his hand for you already, a grin on his face.

“I’m surprised you weren’t too busy for us,” He quips, slinging an arm over you.

“Yeah, I guess I could just about fit you into my schedule.”

It was true, since you and JJ had started seeing each other, you spent nearly all of the time that you could with each other - every night when everyone else was asleep, every early morning, every day you could spend in quiet corners of the island without prying eyes. It could only be you two when you were together, and you made the most of all of the time you could.

“Come on, Kelce and the rest are over here,” He guides you through with a hand on your back, slightly too low so it makes you hyperaware of the contact.

The rest of your friends were crowded around one side of the huge bonfire, all revelling in the heat and cheering at Kelce finishing off his drink. Across the flames you can see John B stood pouring out a can into a red solo cup. He hands it down to the blonde sat on a log just in front of him. His hair is pulled back from his face with the bandana looping around his skull, a hooded flannel around his shoulders that you were sure you would inevitably steal.

When you stand on the other side of the fire, his eyes look up to you instantly. JJ tries to hide the obvious brightness now covering his face, and tries to avoid looking at you for too long, but he can’t ever seem to take his eyes away from you.

It’s then that his eyes fall to Topper, now stood with his arm still on your back, too close to you to be natural. You see JJ’s jaw clench and unclench.

“You got a problem pogue?” Topper calls over to him, lifting his cup in the direction of JJ and his friends.

JJ smirks, piercing his lips and shaking his head, “Nothing.”

You take the opportunity to step away from Topper’s touch, making it as subtle as you can. JJ stifles a laugh, looking down at the sand and smiling to himself.

Eventually, your friends all disperse within the party. John B and Pope go to find Kiara and get distracted before they can come back, Topper and Kelce head off with Sarah and the girls to find more drinks. And so it’s just you and JJ sat on opposite sides of the fire, waiting to finally be yourselves with each other.

“Seems like you and Topper are getting on well,” He raises his brows.

JJ wasn’t the type to get mad about it, he found it funnier more than anything - he knew you weren’t looking at anyone else but him.

“Oh yeah, totally,” You smirk, “He seems to be a big fan of you too.”

“Maybe we should give him a show, just to remind him whose girl you are,” JJ quips, leaning forward a little like he is desperate to get closer to you.

“Whose girl I am? Really?” You shake your head, “That’s the route you want to go down?”

He laughs at you, the kind that brightens his eyes. It’s the face you want to kiss.

John B walks over with Pope and Kie, placing an arm in front of them to stop them in their tracks, “Are we interrupting something?”

You and JJ both look up and he scratches the back of his neck like he’s got to find some way of getting back into the mode of lying to them.

“No, just waiting for you guys to come back,” He clears his throat, “I don't know about (Y/N), uh," Another cough, "Hey Kie, did you get more drinks?"

You look at him and can't help but laugh, and in the moment, lying seems pointless, "You're seriously this bad at this?"

JJ looks at you with a flash of panic over his eyes, "I-"

"Oh my god you're terrible," You shake your head, "You're telling me they've believed you lying to them all this time and you're that bad at it?"

He narrows his eyes at you like he's sure you've lost your mind.

"Okay so we definitely were interrupting…" Pope cuts in, "What the fuck is happening? Is this a bit?"

JJ looks at you and then at his friends, "(Y/N)'s my girlfriend."

All three of them look at him and look back at you, and then again in the same order, the pieces fitting together. John B points a finger between the two of you, "Are you kidding?"

"Yeah, no offence JJ but you two are like polar opposites," Kie points out, "And (Y/N), are you sure?"

You laugh and shrug your shoulders, "He's not so bad."

"Alright enough of the questions," JJ stands up, finishing off the rest of his drink before crossing over to you, "We're getting out of here."

He grabs your hand and pulls you up next to him, and you'd be stupid to object. It’s like his eyes were made to solely be on yours, his hands made to only roam your body, his lips just for you. Different sides of the island and somehow you’d never met someone who you’d been so drawn to, so determined to never lose. It felt comforting to no longer, in some way, have to do that completely behind closed doors.

“So are your friends going to hate me now that they know I’m the one using up all of your time?” You ask him as the two of you walk off of the beach.

JJ laughs, “They’ll come around, you have a way of convincing Pogues to like you.”

He wraps his arms around you from behind and kisses your temple, leaving his lips lingering there.

“Okay, so as much as your friends now know, my parents still don’t,” You point out, leaning your head into his, “So where to now?”

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