#amir locke

[chaddavisphotography]

February 8, 2022 - Minneapolis — Protesters march through Downtown Minneapolis after demanding the Mayor resign following the Minneapolis Police shooting death of Amir Locke during a no-knock search warrant.

#Amir #Amir Locke #Downtown Minneapolis #FUCK BANKS #Graffiti #Locke #March #Minneapolis #Minneapolis Police #Minnesota #Protest

[midnightfunk]

One Texas man, Marvin Guy, is facing charges, including capital murder, after an officer was killed and three others were shot during a 2014 no-knock raid at his home in Killeen. Guy was sleeping when officers smashed his window and slammed a battering ram into his front door. He said he thought he was being robbed and fired a gun through the broken window. Police had suspected that Guy, who had an extensive criminal history, was selling drugs, but no drugs were found in his home. Police said they found trace amounts of a white powder in his car, records show.

Survivors of raids have said they feared that intruders were breaking into their homes. In Louisville, Breonna Taylor’s boyfriend said he fired at police because he didn’t know who was storming the apartment.

Tamika Palmer, Taylor’s mother, said she blames the judge who signed the warrant that led to her daughter’s death as much as she blames the police.

“We know that [police] are not doing the work to get these warrants, that they’re not doing what needs to be done,” she said. “Why would you want to sign your name on that? Why wouldn’t you want to make sure, ‘Let me just take a day or two to make sure you’ve done what you need to.’ … It’s insane, it’s lazy.”

#no-knock raids #acab #washington post #wapo #broken doors #jenn abelson #nicole dungca #american justice system #breonna taylor #amir locke #police forced-entry #campaign zero #aiyana jones #marvin guy

[antifahq]

#antifahq #acab #Amir Locke #killed in nine seconds #Minneapolis Police Department

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Napoleonville [Chapter 9: Clarence House]

Series Summary: The year is 1988. The town is Napoleonville, Louisiana. You are a small business owner in need of some stress relief. Aemond is a stranger with a taste for domination. But as his secrets are revealed, this casual arrangement becomes something more volatile than either of you could have ever imagined.

Chapter Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), dom/sub dynamics, smoking, drinking, drugs, Adventures with Aegon (ft. Sunfyre the Ferret), Willis Warning, infidelity, kids, parenthood, and no more hints for you, start reading!!!

Word Count: 8.9k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Taglist: @marvelescvpe @toodlesxcuddles @era127 @at-a-rax-ia @0eessirk8 @arcielee @dd122004dd @humanpurposes @taredhunter @tinykryptonitewerewolf @partnerincrime0 @dr-aegon @persephonerinyes @namelesslosers @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @daenysx @gemini-mama @chattylurker @moonlightfoxx @huramuna @britt-mf @myspotofcraziness @padfooteyes @targaryenbarbie @trifoliumviridi @joliettes @darkenchantress @florent1s @babyblue711 @minttea07 @libroparaiso @bluerskiees @herfantasyworldd @elizarbell @urmomsgirlfriend1 @fudge13 @strangersunghoon @wickedfrsgrl

Only 1 chapter left!!! 🥰🧁

He returns in an afternoon of inescapable golden sunlight, hot and muggy, bumble bees and ladybugs wheeling lazily above tall grass, cumulus clouds like tufts of cotton in a sky the color of Aemond’s eye. You hear him talking to Cadi—she’s out in the front yard making mud pies, earth for sugar and sprinkles of stray pelican feathers—and then the weight of his footsteps on the sinking, sloping porch. He opens the door, never locked, and walks through the living room into the kitchen. From behind, his arms circle around your waist; and you’ve missed him so much—dreaming of waves and storms, chains and blood—that you have nothing for him but softness, gentle smiles and a voice hushed with relief.

“How was Norway?” you ask as you roll out dough on the counter. You’re making a buttermilk pie.

“Fine,” Aemond says, resting his chin on your shoulder. But he sounds tired, low.

You turn around to look at him, raising your fingertips to his unscarred right cheek; he won’t tolerate you touching the left. You leave a dusting of flour across his skin like snow, which you have never seen in person and likely never will. The air conditioner is humming. The little pink Panasonic boombox is playing Africa by Toto. “Did something happen?”

“I just missed you.” Then he brightens. “But I was greeted by some very welcome news when I got back to the house this morning.” He’s wearing his neon teal duffle bag. He drops it to the floor and unzips it; inside you glimpse several Nintendo game cartridges, presumably for Cadi. And you think: I’m always here making things, he’s always bringing them from far away. Aemond takes two small dark blue booklets out of a pocket in the inner lining of the duffle bag and gives them to you. On the front of each is embossed in gold lettering, along with an emblem of a bald eagle: Passport, United States of America.

“…Aemond?!”

“There’s one for you and one for Cadi. I submitted the forms a month ago, but even with expedited processing it took this long. Ridiculous. What does the government do all day besides hunt down social programs to defund?”

“But…but…” You open one of the booklets. A photograph of your own face gazes back at you, serious and serene, taken against the white wall of your bedroom before you knew about Aemond being a Targaryen, or Christabel, or Amir’s exodus to San Franscisco, or the profound futility of everything, it seems. “How…?”

“I took the pictures, obviously. The rest was easy enough to find. You store birth certificates and social security cards the same place where you keep the business records that Amir showed me. Typically people have to go to a passport agency in person, but Criston and I have ways around that. Your signature might have been forged on the applications…but I suspect you won’t be filing any police reports.” Aemond grins, pleased with himself. “I wanted it to be a surprise.”

“It’s definitely surprising.” You stare down at the passports, amazed. “Aemond…this is a lot. But you already know that.”

“The whole time I was gone, I was wishing you could be there too. And now I can take you anywhere.”

Your heart is pounding, helpless childlike exhilaration. “Where are we going?”

“Clarence House in London.”

London: it’s another world, a distant planet, a constellation whose name you don’t know, the lost city of Atlantis.“Clarence House? Is that a hotel?”

“It’s a royal residence,” Aemond says, amused. “It’s officially the home of the Queen Mother, but the whole family goes to Balmoral in Scotland every summer, and while they’re gone they often rent out one wing to guests, not just anyone, trusted people like distant cousins or longtime, aristocratic friends. And the Targaryens…”

“You’re marrying Christabel, and she’s nobility. So you’re basically nobility now too.”

“Yes,” Aemond admits, a little guiltily, perhaps. “But you’re the person I’m inviting.”

“And Cadi.”

Now he’s genuinely puzzled. “Of course. We couldn’t leave her behind.”

Maybe I can handle this. Maybe I can make this work.

And you climb onto your tiptoes to circle your arms around the back of his neck, embracing him, thanking him, thinking: Christabel will have his ring, his last name, his family’s mansion, his acquiescent kiss at the altar of the Chapel of Saint Honoratus of Amiens…but I have what he’s made of, dreams, soul, bones in the abyss of an ocean of blood. Maybe that’s enough.

Maybe.

~~~~~~~~~~

First class, cheerful stewardesses, an array of magazines purchased from a gift shop in New Orleans International Airport: the National Enquirer and Food & Wine for you, The Face and Smithsonian for Aemond, and National Geographic Kids and Zoobooks for Cadi. The Zoobooks animal this month is the eagle, how quintessentially American. You are served antipasto Italiano, shrimp cocktail, Perrier, and champagne (Cadi gets a Shirley Temple) over the Atlantic Ocean. Aemond shows you and Cadi how to chew gum to pop your ears as the pressure builds to pain. When there is turbulence and he leans in close to tell you everything is fine, Aemond smells like Wrigley’s Doublemint, cologne, Marlboro cigarettes like the logo on his red and white jacket. You press your palm to the cool window, and clouds float by through the gaps between your fingers. The world is older than anything you could fathom; the world is brand new.

There is a black limousine waiting outside Terminal 3 of Heathrow Airport. The driver gets out to load the sparse luggage: Aemond’s teal duffle bag, a frayed and battered rolling suitcase that you borrowed from your mother, a Super Mario Bros. backpack that you found for Cadi at Kmart. Aemond doesn’t have much time to spare, only 4 days, practically a long weekend; but it feels like an eternity stretches out in front of you as the limousine zooms through the narrow, winding streets of downtown London, Starship’s We Built This City piping from the radio. You have never had more than a few uninterrupted hours with Aemond before. Now you will have a hundred.

The London air is cool, grey, misty; fresh rainwater bleeds into puddles, dark pools of mirrorlike reflections. With the windows rolled down and clean slate-colored air unfurling in your lungs, Aemond points to the landmarks you pass: Gunnersbury Park, Chiswick House and its gardens, cathedrals, museums, shopping districts, centuries-old cemeteries, stations of the London Underground, the River Thames, Hyde Park, the Ritz Hotel, Buckingham Palace, Saint James’ Palace, and at last Clarence House. It is a boxy white four-story townhouse with columns at the entranceway that remind you of the Targaryens’ estate on the shore of Lake Verret, the beautiful yet temporary home they call The Last Desire.

Aemond says that the entire first floor will be yours for the duration of your stay. There is the Lancaster Room, red and gold, and the Morning Room of creams and weak watery blue. There is the Library, the Dining Room, and the vibrantly pink Horse Corridor named for its ample equine paintings and sculptures; Cadi immediately proclaims this to be the best part of the house. She lingers in the hallway examining the art pieces as you and Aemond proceed to the Garden Room, which looks out upon a sea of lavender and shrubs meticulously shaped into a maze no higher than your waist. It has a golden harp and a grand piano, and a vast bed large enough for at least five people, in your estimation. I wonder if Aemond has ever tried that, you think distractedly. I wonder if there are temptations I can’t satisfy for him.

“You and Cadi can have this room,” Aemond says. He keeps wincing and bringing his hand up to the left side of his face; you doubt he’s even aware of it. “I’ll sleep on one of the couches.” Of course he will; Cadi thinks you’re just friends, and she’s aware he’s getting married to someone else. He knew exactly what it would mean when he bought a passport for her. “Queen Elizabeth and her husband Philip lived here before she ascended to the throne. They loved it so much that at first they refused to move to Buckingham Palace, which is the traditional residence of the reigning monarch. But their insolence was worn down. No one gets to break the rules.”

I shouldn’t be in this place, you keep thinking as you gaze around at the portraits on the wall, the stiff unnatural photographs of royals, the vases, the chandeliers, the fireplaces, the plush intricate rugs, the garden on the other side of the windows. People like me don’t belong here. “Aemond, are you alright?”

“It’s my eye,” he confesses with an uneasy, apologetic smirk. “Sometimes flights…the altitude changes…it aggravates the nerve damage. It’s like needles in my skull. But I’ll be okay.”

“You fly a lot for work, don’t you?” You hurt yourself for Viserys, in body and soul.

“I do,” he agrees. He unzips his duffle bag and produces a bottle of Percocet. “Why do you think I carry these around?”

“Take one,” you say. “Lie down, rest. Cadi and I can entertain ourselves for a few hours.”

He’s relieved, he’s grateful. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. You can even borrow the bed.”

“Back between your sheets, huh?” Aemond says, in pain but smiling through it. He draws a semicircle from the part in your hair down to your chin, a weightless sweep of his fingertips like a kind breeze. “You are incurable. You can’t resist me.”

“I have my own scheme in mind.”

“Do you?”

“Yes.” You grab the front of his Marlboro jacket, appropriate for the overcast London weather. He belongs here, this house, this city, this way of life. He wasn’t made for the primordial heat of the swamplands. You fold into him, close enough to tease, to quicken his heartbeat and momentarily clear the wounded furrows from his brow. “I want my pillows to smell like you. I want to breathe you in all night. It’s how I sleep best.”

“I’ll try not to disappoint,” Aemond says, a little stunned; but he’s elated too. For a moment, you’ve distracted him from his suffering entirely. “I’ll roll around all over them. I will mar the bedding irrevocably, the Queen Mother will never invite me back.” And he watches as you leave, his gaze transfixed and meditative and—more than anything else—hopeful.

“Hey, honey,” you say when you find Cadi in the Horse Corridor, poking a 100-year-old oil painting that she is definitely not supposed to be touching. “Let’s go explore and grab some dinner. Aemond isn’t feeling great, but we’ll hang out with him later.”

“Is it his face?”

You are startled. She knows so much. “Yeah, actually, it is.”

“He showed me,” Cadi says casually, still peering up at the horse; and you remember the day when he took her out to the front yard after she said she wished you were more like her friends’ mothers. “He even let me touch it. Radical, right? It’s so gross, but super cool too.”

Aemond couldn’t stand for me to see how he was maimed, but he forced himself to endure it for Cadi. “What did he tell you?”

“That I should appreciate having a good mom, because not all parents treat their kids right. He said his dad let his eye get crushed. And he told me he’d bet $1 million that you’d snap someone’s neck if they hurt me like that.”

You reach out to skim your fingers through her dark disheveled hair, smiling faintly, fondly. Cadi doesn’t seem to mind. “He wasn’t wrong.”

“Can we get fish and chips?”

“Totally. I have 50 British pounds in my wallet, I assume that’s enough for dinner.”

“Wow! How much is 50 pounds in dollars?”

“I have no idea,” you say. “Let’s go spend them.”

~~~~~~~~~~

In the evenings, you, Cadi, and Aemond gather around the television in the Lancaster Room and help yourself to the extensive VHS collection stocked for guests. You let Cadi pick: Raiders Of The Lost Ark, The Terminator, Firestarter, the Karate Kid, Aliens. You make popcorn in the extravagant kitchen in the basement of Clarence House and the three of you devour bowlfuls of it as you giggle on the couch, engulfed with throw pillows and playfully kicking at each other beneath the blankets. One night at Cadi’s request you bake Betty Crocker’s Party Rainbow Chip cupcakes with mix purchased at a Tesco down the street; on another you make hot chocolate to sip from antique tea cups. Each day, Aemond has new destinations picked out to tour. You ride the Underground like true Londoners to the Hampton Court Palace, the British Museum, Westminster Abbey, the Natural History Museum, Big Ben, Trafalgar Square, Tower Bridge, the National Gallery, the Kew Gardens, Imperial College where Aemond received the petroleum engineering degree he never wanted.

As he shows you the classrooms where he attended lectures and seminars—you aren’t sure what the difference is, though you can sense that there is one—Aemond doesn’t talk about math or oil drilling. Instead, he tells you and Cadi about the people he learned about in the history classes he managed to slip into his exacting schedule like splinters into flesh: Sir Harold Gillies who pioneered plastic surgery in his treatment of World War I veterans, Phillis Wheatley who was enslaved as a child and became a renowned poet and abolitionist, Boudicca who led a rebellion against the Roman invaders and upon her defeat succumbed to some tragic, enigmatic doom. Aemond loves stories like this, you can see the light that sparks into the crystalline blue of his right eye. There is nothing he deems more heroic than people who took circumstances beyond their control and made something worthwhile out of them.

The night before the flight back to New Orleans, you’re staring at the crown molding of the Garden Room as Cadi snores softly from the other end of the massive bed and silvery moonlight covers the world. You can’t stop your thoughts from roiling like the North Sea; you can’t stop thinking about desks and chairs and books and clever blue-blooded girls jotting down in their notebooks not cake orders but mathematical equations or dates of conquest. When you breathe in the smoke and cologne Aemond left on your pillows, it tastes dark and forbidden. You climb out of the bed, roomy Bob Dylan t-shirt, pink cotton shorts, hair loose and wild, bare feet.

He is outside pacing around the sundial in the center of the garden, puffing on a Marlboro cigarette and pondering the full moon. “Can’t sleep?” Aemond asks, exhaling smoke as he glances over at you.

“You must think I’m stupid.”

“What?” He stops pacing. “Why?”

“Imperial College,” you say. “And the sorts of people who go to places like that. You must have known a lot of women who could recite Shakespear and name all the kings of England, all of Jupiter’s moons. Things I never learned. Things that I have no use for. I don’t write books or design machines or study the secrets of the universe. I bake cupcakes.”

“And they’re brilliant,” Aemond says, smiling. “I don’t think you’re stupid.”

“No?”

“No,” Aemond insists. “I think that if you’d been born where I was, you would have done far more with it.”

“Aemond…” You walk across the wet cobblestones to meet him by the sundial. It’s been raining again. The night air is chilly, foggy, painting you with goosebumps. “You still have time to become who you want to be.”

“No. I don’t.”

It’s coming from somewhere, distant but still audible, a parked car or a nearby building: Kyrie by Mr. Mister. Aemond chuckles, flicks the end of his cigarette into the lavender bushes—surely against the rules—and takes your hands in his.

“I remember this,” he says as he dances with you slowly, clumsily; you don’t know the steps. Still, you don’t want him to stop. “In your kitchen.”

He remembers everything. “Right before we went to Olive Garden for the first time.”

He sighs, pretending to be exasperated. “Of course that’s the part you committed to memory.”

“I’ve held onto a few other details too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Like how small the back seat of your Audi Quattro is.”

“A limousine would be far more comfortable. I should invest in one.”

You laugh as he twirls you and you trip over your own feet; he pulls you upright before you can fall to the slick cobblestones. And you think: This is real. No matter what happens between him and anyone else, what we have is safe and extraordinary and real.

“I’m glad you’re here, Cupcake,” Aemond murmurs through your hair, holding you without seeking more. “You and Cadi.”

You want him again, or you’re so close to wanting him that the line is less of a boundary than a quagmire, indistinct edges and quicksand that can drag you down to drown in it. “I never knew that this was possible. Thank you, Aemond.”

“It can be like this all the time.”

Not all the time, you think, knowing that there will always be Jade Dragon, the Targaryens, the stock market, the world, the past and the future, Christabel. But some of it.

Is that enough?

~~~~~~~~~~

Willis agreed to you and Aemond taking Cadi out of the country on one condition: that you return her to him the second you arrive back in Napoleonville. It’s late Tuesday afternoon when the plane’s wheels hit the runway and squeal to a halt. Aemond has left his red Audi in the Park-and-Ride lot. You collect the car and soar west on Route 10 into the red-gold horizon, chasing the setting sun.

“Daddy!” Cadi bellows when she throws open the front door of the Assumption Parish Sheriff’s Office, waving his gift bag excitedly. Inside is a refrigerator magnet, several packages of McVitie’s Digestives in different flavors, and a miniature red-coated Queen’s Guard to keep on his desk, perpetually covered with disorganized papers and crumbs from innumerable desserts. From her poster on the wall, Heather Locklear simpers at you. At the center of the dartboard, poor Tommy Lee is impaled in four different places.

“Comment ca va, cherie?!” Willis opens his arms to hug Cadi when she barrels into him. He guffaws, his eyes are shiny; he has missed her. “Ya had a real good time, I reckon?”

“It was totally tubular. But I’m glad I’m home now. Can I get a horse? His name is Patches and I love him.”

“Huh? What the hell ya need a horse for?” He peeks around Cadi to look at you, a curious blue gaze beneath the thick dark bangs of his mullet. “What’s she talkin’ ‘bout, sugar?”

Beside you, Aemond groans irritably. Then you hear a voice from one of the holding cells, almost always empty: “Hey, cake lady.”

“Aegon?!” you and Aemond say at once, and sure enough, when you check the last holding cell there he is: unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt, blue shorts, rainbow flip flops, hair like he’s been in a hurricane, a new eyebrow piercing.

Aemond asks Willis: “What did he do?”

Willis picks up a clipboard from his cluttered desk and begins reading. “Possession with intent to distribute cocaine—”

“I told you, I wasn’t distributing anything! It was for me!”

“Aegon, shut up,” Aemond pleads.

“Possession with intent to distribute marijuana, possession of drug paraphernalia, possession of methamphetamine less than 28 grams, operatin’ a vehicle while intoxicated, possession of MDMA, possession of alcoholic beverages in a motor vehicle, operatin’ a vehicle with a suspended license, resistin’ an officer…” Willis flips the page. “Speedin’, reckless drivin’, disturbin’ the peace while in an intoxicated condition, possession with intent to distribute Xanax, theft—”

“What the hell did you steal?!” Aemond demands.

“Burritos. I forgot my wallet at home.” Now Aegon is indignant. “But I saidI’d get them back! They didn’t need to call anybody about it!”

“Aegon, Taco Bell does not offer payment plans!”

“I can release him to ya, I guess,” Willis tells Aemond in a slow drawl.

“I really appreciate that. I’m so sorry about him, I’m absolutely mortified, I’ll pay whatever fines you want—”

“Wait, no,” Aegon says, panicked. His hands are gripped around the iron bars. “I don’t want to leave.”

Aemond stares at him. “You’re asking to stay in jail…?”

“I can’t go home. Stephanie’s there.”

“Of course she’s there. You knew she was flying in for the wedding.”

“Please let me stay here until she goes back to Monaco.”

“Definitely not. How’s everything else?”

“There’s something wrong with one of the Lake Verret rigs. Viserys mentioned a…a…I don’t remember, a dirt dump or something.”

“A mud pump?!”

“Yeah! That’s it. That’s what he said. It exploded.”

“Fuck,” Aemond hisses, then remembers that Cadi’s still there. She gives him a sly grin. You messed up, she means. Aemond looks to you, apologetic, disappointed. “I’m going to have to drop you off and then head straight home. There are messes to be mopped up.”

“No,” Aegon moans as Willis unlocks the holding cell and then wrestles him out of it when Aegon resists. “No, I’m a felon! I’m a danger to the public!”

“Don’t,” Aemond snaps, and this time his brother listens.

You say goodbye to Cadi—she barely notices—but as you go to follow Aemond and Aegon out of the Sheriff’s Office, she has a question. “Aemond?”

He stops. “Yeah, Cadi?”

“Can I go to the wedding?”

“Weddin’?!” Willis exclaims. “Already?!”

“Not mine,” you say.

“You really want to go?” Aemond asks Cadi with some reticence. But he seems to be considering it.

“Well, yeah. Mom said she and Amir are going. You’ll be there. Lots of cake will be there. And I’ve never been to a wedding before. I want to see what it’s like.”

Aemond turns to you, then to Willis, searching for permission. “It’s alright with me,” Willis says. “As long as someone there is keepin’ an eye on her.”

“It’s your choice,” you tell Cadi. “If you’re interested, I have no objections. But you have to be nice to Christabel.”

“Christabel?!” Willis says.

“That’s Aemond’s fiancée.” And there is a collective uncomfortable silence: Willis nodding slowly as he squints at you, Cadi chewing on her thumbnail, Aemond looking down at his Adidas sneakers, Aegon staring vacuously at the Heather Locklear poster on the wall.

With Aegon squeezed into the back seat, Aemond drops you off at the home Cadi calls the Fall-Down House. The new house hasn’t closed yet, but probably will in the next week. The adolescent gator is sunbathing in the last of the daylight in one corner of the yard; you can hear the pink Panasonic boombox inside playing Another One Bites The Dust.

“Ho, you’re back!” Amir cries, jubilant. He hugs you energetically, staining you with the flour on his hands; he’s been watching the bakery while you’ve been gone and keeping every cent of the profits in recognition of his labor, as agreed upon. “How was London?”

You give him his souvenir: a purple t-shirt with Princess Diana’s face on it. “Rainy. Wonderful.”

“Did you have any kinky sex in the royal grandma’s bed?”

“No,” you say, laughing. “But it was…I don’t know how to describe it. Calm. Normal. Easy. Like we could live that way forever.”

“So you’ve decided to be his Camilla.”

“Some moments I have. Other times I haven’t. But more and more, I just…” You try to decide what you mean. “The thought of giving him up feels impossible. And Christabel…they’re so distant with each other, so disconnected, so platonic. Their relationship doesn’t feel real. Maybe I can ignore it. Maybe this is the best I can hope for.”

Amir pushes his tortoiseshell glasses up the bridge of his nose and raises an eyebrow. “It might feel more real in three days.”

The rehearsal dinner is on Friday; the wedding is only 24 hours later.

~~~~~~~~~~

“You really should consider writing a cookbook, dear,” Alicent says from where she sits across from you. The dining room table is covered with flickering pink candles, bouquets of wildflowers, drinks garnished with cotton candy and Pop Rocks. Balloons bump against the ceilings, their long ribbons streaming down like the tentacles of a jellyfish. The stereo is thumping out Caught Up In You by 38 Special. Everything is pink and red: the colors of love. Yet just like at the engagement party, no one is talking about the couple getting married tomorrow. You could almost forget that there’s going to be a wedding. That makes it easier; and if denial is the terrain you live on now, so be it. That is far less agonizing than the alternative.

“Oh, no,” you demur, taking a sip of a cotton candy cocktail. You exchange a glance with Aemond, sitting several seats down from his mother. He is in a suit—black and white, fitted, faultless—and smiling, proud of you. “A book?! I couldn’t. Not in a million years.” I never even finished high school English.

“But all of my friends from home are captivated by your recipes, darling, and it would be so much easier if I could simply send them a copy of a cookbook rather than trying to describe every dish to them! Please consider it. Do you promise?”

“That I’ll think about it? Not too taxing a commitment. I suppose so.”

“Good,” Alicent chirps, then turns to whisper something to Criston, who drapes an arm briefly across her shoulders and gives her a reassuring little embrace. Amir is chatting with Aemond about San Franscisco. Christabel is talking to Helaena, who has been forced into a voluminous, magenta taffeta dress that she clearly despises; her chameleon Dreamfyre lurches around the table, occasionally stealing tastes of people’s food. Daeron, with Tessarion perched on the back of his chair, is trying to discuss something called seismic testing results with Viserys but getting ignored. Viserys is deep in conversation with Christabel’s father, the marquess, a large loud man whose booming voice drowns out everyone else. The two of them seem delighted, celebratory, very much in their own world. Their schemes have come at last to fruition. Christabel has several younger sisters in attendance—her bridesmaids—but no mother. You gather from pieces of dialogue you’ve overheard that her mother died when she was a child, a terrible and irreparable loss. Otto is so bored he’s flipping through a picture book about Kiribati. Aegon’s wife, Princess Stephanie of Monaco, is a headstrong, charismatic, and rather critical woman with short dark hair. She notifies Aegon each and every time he fails her, which happens frequently: You’re using the wrong fork. You missed a button on your shirt. You haven’t fucked me properly in over two years. You didn’t send flowers to my grandma’s funeral. This is evidently Aegon’s worst nightmare; he has disappeared upstairs in an effort to escape her.

Dinner is finished, and dessert has been brought by the servants. It turned out more like a crepe cake than a Napoleon cake—the layers of puff pastry didn’t want to fluff up as much as they should have—but no one seems to notice. This time, you and Amir knew the dress code expectations. You are both wearing black to fade into the backdrop like shadows, like distant memories. You are invited guests, but you are also locals, inferiors, recipients of charity.

“Where’s Aegon?” Helaena says. “He has to try this cake, it’s delicious! The cherry jam cuts the heaviness of the cream and pastry dough and makes it a perfect dessert for summer! And the color is delightful! It looks just like blood!”

“Where the hell is he?” Viserys demands, looking around, twisting in his chair. “It’s his brother’s rehearsal dinner, for Christ’s sake. One night of this importance and he can’t handle it? I swear to God, if he’s snorting or smoking anything up there I’ll have him committed to an institution—”

“I’ll find him,” you offer as you stand from the table. You have to visit the bathroom anyway, too many glitzy pink cocktails; two birds, one stone. You depart from the table and Aemond’s gaze follows you, a low heat that is building towards incineration, a baiting promise of dark euphoria that you can no longer pretend you don’t want desperately, defenselessly. Christabel gives you a sweet little wave. She is dripping in gold—dress, heels, jewelry—and seems happier tonight, more self-assured. Perhaps with the wedding so close, her trepidation concerning Aemond’s commitment has evaporated. Surely it is too late to call off the ceremony now. Tonight they feast, tomorrow they recite their vows, and then…

But no, you don’t think about the honeymoon. You will not allow yourself to. It can’t exist to you, and that is how you’ll survive this. Christabel will be in one universe, you in another, two timelines that never cross like something out of Star Trek. And the way she and Aemond interact is so impersonal, so untactile, that it is not so difficult to treat anything beyond chaste pecks on cheeks as an impossibility.

At the top of the staircase, Vhagar is lurking. She wags her long twiglike tail when she sees you and licks the knuckles of your left hand. You give her a pat on the head—and then several more when she whines as you try to leave—then at last she lopes off down the hallway.

Aegon is exactly where you’d assumed he’d be. He’s in his bedroom hunched over his computer and hammering furiously at the keyboard. There’s white powder on his fingers and in his thin mustache. On the screen, bizarrely, is what appears to be neon green grass and an ox-drawn wagon like the ones from the pioneer days. Sunfyre the ferret is stretched out across the bed napping, his angular face resting on his paws.

Aegon whirls around to face you. He is wearing a lime green satin suit but has forgotten to put on a shirt under it. “What? What? What do you want? I’m playing Oregon Trail. I have dysentery.”

“You have what…? Never mind, it’s not important. You need to come downstairs and eat some dessert. People are wondering where you are.”

“I’m busy.”

“If you don’t make an appearance on your own, Viserys will come looking for you. Also there are some Cap’n Crunch treats I left on the kitchen counter that you might be interested in.”

“Consider me tempted. I’ll be down momentarily.”

“You better be,” you tell Aegon, then retrace your steps back to the kitchen. Amir and Christabel are both there getting cans of Pepsi from the fridge and making very cumbersome small talk…or perhaps only Amir thinks it is that much of a burden. Christabel is chattering blithely away about different types of wildflowers. He gives you a look like Oh thank God, an excuse to escape and wastes no time heading back to the dining room.

“Did you notice what’s playing now?” he asks you just before he vanishes, then points towards the stereo in the grand foyer. You listen; it’s Money For Nothing by Dire Straits. “You think they know this song is about class warfare?”

“You should tell them,” you joke.

“Yeah, if I want to end up on Unsolved Mysteries.” Then Amir is gone.

“How are you doing?” you ask Christabel to be polite. You open the refrigerator and start hunting for your own can of Pepsi. “Excited? Nervous? You seem a little more relaxed than the last time I saw you. Are the wedding jitters finally dissipating?”

“They are,” she says, and when you glance back at her she is wearing a bashful sort of smile. It’s not an expression you can read. You resume digging through the refrigerator for a can of Pepsi; Amir and Christabel might have taken the last ones.

“That’s good,” you say noncommittally, hoping she’ll leave. But Christabel doesn’t leave. She seems to have something she needs to say. Just as you spy a lone can of Pepsi at the very back of the refrigerator and lean in to grab it, she proceeds to unburden herself.

“Well, you know, I was so concerned about me and Aemond before. I had no conviction that he especially liked me, and we never had anything to talk about, and he was so dreadfully undemonstrative…I was just beside myself, truly. I didn’t know what to do. But I feel much better about everything now. Norway was so good for us.”

Norway?

You close the refrigerator, your ice-cold Pepsi can clutched in your hand. You’re going cold all over. Slowly, you turn towards Christabel, glittering in her gold dress.

Norway???

“He took you on the North Sea trip.” You hear the words, but it doesn’t feel like you’ve said them. They sound flat and dazed.

“It’s a bit of a secret,” Christabel says; and again, her smile has no cruelty or sharp awareness in it, but her cheeks are pink. She’s blushing. What does she have to be embarrassed about? “My father doesn’t know. He wouldn’t approve. But I just felt…I felt ready, you know? I’m sure you understand what I mean. You aren’t so clinical and aloof about everything. I had to know if Aemond and I really had something between us before we got married.”

“You felt…ready?” Ready for what? Ready for WHAT, Christabel?

“I asked Aemond to take me with him. I begged, actually.” She giggles. “I won’t try to be proud about it! And finally he said yes. We stayed at a lovely hotel in Bergen, and during the day he would have to fly by helicopter out to the rigs, but at night…”

You’re staring blankly at her. You can’t believe what you think she’s going to say. Surely it must be something else, anything else—

“It wasn’t my plan to ever be intimate with a man before marriage, but sometimes…things change. Minds change, circumstances change. And I knew I wanted it. And it went so well! Now what do I have to be nervous about? All the uncertainties are resolved. Now we just sign the paperwork and start our lives together.”

He took her to Norway.

He slept with her in Norway.

“I hope it was just as good for him,” Christabel muses, a compulsive sort of oversharing. But she has had a few cocktails and she thinks you’re nonjudgemental and there’s probably not a single other soul she feels she can be truthful with…so why not the girl who got knocked up at prom and had a baby at seventeen? Surely she’s in no position to judge. “It’ll be even better once we can…you know. When we’re officially trying for a baby and there’s no need to worry about any precautions. I want Aemond to enjoy himself as much as possible. I want to be a good wife to him.”

You feel dizzy; you feel violently ill. And now you see everything: Aemond kissing her with his mouth open and ravenous, his hands between her legs, his hips pressed to hers, peeling off her clothes and learning how to make her moan, make her wet, make her come, and you think of how careful he must have been with her, a girl with no past, no ex-husband, no childbirth that nearly killed her, no stretchmarks and no baggage, just a smooth pristine rivulet of flesh that was so pure and uncontaminated it was weightless, and you can hear—though you don’t want to, though it feels like it will kill you—how tender he was, how encouraging, not a dominant who drinks down fantasies like a vampire sustained by blood but just a man, and a man who has at last found a woman he doesn’t need to grab, bite, bruise, handcuff to a bedpost to feel satisfied with.

He took her to Norway and he never told me.

You are saying something, and Christabel is nodding appreciatively, accepting the sage wisdom of a tarnished life. Your words don’t matter. They are folktales and charms, the croaks of bullfrogs, the whispers of the wind through Spanish moss, the Morse code of ripples in the water of the bayou. You are a novelty and your counsel is a souvenir; one day when she is living in California or Argentina or Australia or Alaska or her ancestral castle back in the U.K., Christabel will tell Aemond’s children: Once I met a nice single mom from Napoleonville Louisiana, and she told me to follow my heart and not let anyone shame me for wanting to be close with my soon-to-be husband.

Vhagar trots into the kitchen and begins nudging her massive head against Christabel’s bare knees. “Hi, big girl!” Christabel coos as she pets the blue merle Great Dane, clearly accustomed to this. “Who’s a giant gorgeous girl? You are!”

What did I expect? I knew they were getting married. I knew they were going to sleep together.

Yes, you knew it, but you hadn’t felt it, and now you have.

I can’t do this, you realize. I thought I could but I can’t.

“Christabel?” Alicent is calling like a windchime. “Darling, there are just a few more things we have to discuss before tomorrow, will you come back to the table please?”

“On my way!” Christabel replies obediently, and she gives you a quick, impulsive hug before vanishing.

I’m going to be sick. I’m going to have a heart attack. I’m going to drop dead right in the middle of this fucking kitchen.

Leaving your can of Pepsi forgotten on the countertop, you escape to the living room and then out the French doors into the garden. You run past the pool all the way to the pond full of multicolored fish you once hadn’t known were koi. You drop to your knees, then lie down on the cold cobblestones, and when it hits you again—Aemond touching her, Aemond loving her—you rupture into sobs that are breathless and shuddering. You try to stifle the noise with your palms; you clasp them over your mouth and smother your wails. It feels like you’re being ripped apart; it feels like you’re in labor, but there is no end, no consolation of a new life, no point at which your body chooses whether you live or die. It is only a razored wheel that turns in you again and again and again, shredding muscle and splitting bones.

There is a hand on your shoulder; someone is patting it awkwardly. You look up to see Aegon standing there. “Sorry,” he says. “You look…not good.”

“I’m really not good. I’m fucking terrible.” Your face is soaked and stinging with tears, your voice is strangled.

“Do you want some coke?”

“No, Aegon.”

“Do you want a ride home?”

“From you? Yeah, for sure, getting impaled by a stop sign would be a great next move for me.”

“I’m totally fine to drive.”

“Can you just pull Amir aside without anyone else noticing and tell him to say his goodbyes and then meet me in the driveway, please? He drove me here. I need him to take me home.”

“Okay,” Aegon says, and then: “Thanks for the Cap’n Crunch Treats. Thanks for remembering something I like and caring enough to bring more. No one really does that around here.” And he’s gone before you can think of a reply.

To get to the driveway without going though the house, you climb over a 5-foot wrought iron fence swarmed with rosebushes and ivy, no easy feat in a black Kmart dress and matching ballet flats. You acquire a dozen shallow gashes on your hands and forearms, but make it to the Ford Escort just in time for Amir to meet you under the full, cloudless moon, tossing his car keys from one hand to the other.

“What did—?” Then he sees your face. He gasps, knowing how bad it is. He’s never seen you like this. He didn’t know it was possible for you to look like this. He unlocks the Ford Escort and joins you inside, turning the key in the ignition. “What the fuck did Aemond do to you?!”

“I have to go home. It’s over, it’s over, I can’t do this.”

Amir is spinning out of the driveway. “Did he hurt you, did he—?!”

“He fucked Christabel in Norway,” you say, sobbing uncontrollably. “And I know I have no right to be jealous, I know we don’t have a conventional relationship, I thought I could handle this but I can’t. I can’t stop picturing him with her, and hearing it, and I…I…I don’t understand why this hurts so goddamn bad.”

“Babe,” Amir says gently, a palm on your trembling thigh. “You’re in love with him. That’s why.”

“This is killing me,” you whisper. You’re shaking all over. You feel like you’re battling for every breath.

Your best friend—your only friend—is quiet for a long time. “Don’t go tomorrow,” Amir finally says. “You don’t need to see the wedding. You shouldn’t put yourself through that. I’ll go, I can handle the cake alone, especially if Cadi’s with me to help with carrying plates and stuff.”

You don’t say anything. You stare out the nightscape window and mop tears from your face with McDonald’s napkins you find in Amir’s glovebox.

“Did you hear me? I don’t think you should go to the wedding tomorrow.”

“I won’t,” you agree hoarsely. “I can’t watch them have my wedding.”

“Willis is dropping Cadi off in the morning, right? I’ll pick her and the cake up from your house and bring her back when it’s over. You can tell her whatever you want…you have another cake order to work on, you’re sick, you’re injured, your mom needs a ride to the doctor, whatever.”

“Okay,” you whimper.

“Hey, look at me.”

You do, sniffling, shivering, in agony.

“You don’t deserve this. You deserve better than this.”

I don’t think I do. I think if I did, it would have happened by now. But you know Amir will not accept this answer. “Okay,” you say again, trying to make yourself believe it.

In the gravel driveway of your sinking house, Amir asks if you want him to say. You tell him no, you want to be alone, you have to think, you have to plan. Really, you just don’t want anyone to see you this shattered. It’s humiliating, it’s like you’re an animal, like something less than human needing to licks its wounds in a dark place. You walk into the Fall-Down House and flip on the kitchen light, artificial yellow luminance. You don’t start the air conditioner. You don’t touch the Panasonic boombox. You stand there mindlessly in the sounds of the bayou: cicada screams, owl hoots, the far-away hissing of gators. The wedding cake is in the refrigerator, banana bread, cream cheese frosting, a kaleidoscope of wildflowers painted by Amir’s expert hand. He’s leaving. Aemond’s leaving. Everyone is leaving.

There are tires crunching on gravel in the driveway, there are footsteps on the sloping porch. He is able to yank the door open because you never lock it. He blows in like a storm that kills.

“What the hell happened?!” Aemond shouts. “Why did you leave?! You didn’t even have the decency to say goodbye to me—”

“You took her to Norway.”

Aemond’s face goes from furious to lost. “Why would she tell you that?”

Not That’s not true, not Let me explain, not It didn’t mean anything. Your stomach sinks, a basket full of stones. “Because she thinks I’m her friend.”

“It wasn’t…” Aemond sighs. “It was a last-minute thing, and it was her idea. She really, really wanted to go to Norway, and I figured…you know…what’s the difference between the wedding night and a few weeks before it? So yeah, it happened—”

“Oh God,” you whisper, starting to sob again.

“And then I came home to your house, to your doorstep, because I missed you the entire time. The entire time, every hour, every minute, and there are no exceptions, okay, are you listening to me? I took her to Norway because I had to. I took you and Cadi to Clarence House because I wanted to. What I do with her is a reflex, an obligation, I’m on autopilot, I’m thinking of you to get myself hard, I don’t know how else to express to you how completely different these situation are in every single goddamn way.”

“She said it was good,” you say huskily, tears snaking down your cheeks that are raw from trying to dab them dry.

“Of course it was good for her!” Aemond flings back. “I’ve had a lot of casual sex, I know how to make women come, it’s a math equation, it doesn’t mean we’re soulmates!”

“I know I have no claim to you, but I…” You gaze out the kitchen window, dark and still, nothing to see but stars and lighting bugs. “I can’t do this.”

Aemond asks, kindly now: “What do you want?”

I want to not have to beg you to choose me. “I want this to be over.”

“No,” he says, panicking. “No you don’t.”

“I do.”

“You’re going to give this up as soon as it gets painful? I’m not worth fighting for, what I can do for you and Cadi isn’t worth a little pain? Because I’m no stranger to it either. You think I’m not hurting, you think nothing ever keeps me awake at night?”

“You could leave your prison any time you want to. But instead you built a brand new one around me.”

“You don’t understand what the kind of responsibility I’m beholden to feels like.”

“Yeah, a town named after Napoleon is the right place for you,” you seethe, enraged. “You’ve felt so fucking small your whole life that now you’re starving for what it tastes like to be in control. But I can’t let you destroy me. I can’t let my daughter grow up watching me settle for less than I need from a man. She’ll learn to live the same way.”

“I can’t believe you’re doing this.”

“Aemond,” you say, and you wait until he looks at you. “Do you really want children?”

When he answers, his voice frayed and his right eye misty. “I love Cadi.”

“That’s not what I asked. Do you want children of your own with Christabel?”

“I have to,” he says, miserable.

“No,” you plead. “You cannot have a baby with that girl. You can’t, Aemond. You are going to ruin so many lives, not just your own.”

“I have to,” he says again.

“Then get out. Viserys owns you, and Viserys wouldn’t want you here. He would want you back at the mansion impregnating your child bride.”

“She’s a legal adult, she’s 19, and she wants me, she begs for me, I’m not twisting her arm—”

“Then go!” you roar, striking him hard, both palms to his chest. Aemond doesn’t budge. “Get out, go home, go have kids you won’t give a fuck about just like Viserys never cared about you. Go repeat the cycle all over again. I’m done. I can’t be a part of it.”

“I won’t be like him,” Aemond swears.

“You will be. You already are.” You shove him again, but still, Aemond doesn’t move. You know what he’s waiting for, you know the right word to say. But you can’t get it to launch from your lips; it catches in your throat like a blade through the windpipe. “Get out!”

Your fingers hook into the lapels of his black suit jacket and stay there; you can’t let go. You’re both breathing heavily; you can hear it, you can feel the heat in the air. You keep his jacket gripped in your hands, he can move no closer, no farther away. When he leans into you, you breathe in his smoke and cologne; when his hands cradle your face, you feel the benevolent power that once gave you peace.

I want him. I need him. Not forever, no, I understand that’s not possible. But just for right now.

You look up at him and Aemond kisses you, his lips and tongue claiming you like untouched land; he puts down roots, he slits the jugulars of trespassers.

Here. Now.

You drag him down with you. When you drop to the floor, you strike the back of your skull against the scuffed, sloping wood and bite back a yelp.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Aemond says, though it isn’t his fault; he reaches for your head and cushions it with his right hand. “Are you okay?”

“I’m okay.” You’re tearing open his white shirt; tiny translucent buttons go flying in every direction. Your palms glide over his chest, up to his throat, to his jaw, to knot in his hair. He reaches beneath your dress to slide off your panties, then buries his fingers between your legs. You moan helplessly, needfully, spreading your thighs wider for him. No man has ever been able to do this to you before: to make you forget everything, to make you feel—if only for a moment—beloved, worthy, chosen. He’s kissing you like he knows this is the last time. You’re touching the left side of his face and he doesn’t even notice, he won’t realize until later that there was a time when he was cured.

Aemond pulls his wallet out of the pocket of his suit pants, flips it open, and roots through it until he finds a condom. He starts to rip it open, moving with desperate speed, dire impatience.

“No, don’t,” you say. “Please don’t. I want all of you.” And I won’t get another chance.

He exhales in deep, ecstatic relief; he wants it too. You’re soaked, you’re ready, you’re aching for him like mending bones. He eases himself into you, gasping, and you are stunned by how good it feels already, how close you are, every rope of nerves and muscle glimmering with an opening heat that builds higher and higher, the reverse of a tornado finally touching down on earth. His hands are linked with yours and pinned to the floor above your head; he’s kissing you, he’s moaning into you, he thrusts deeper and harder when you beg him to do it.

Aemond untangles one hand from yours and reaches low to stroke you. Your fingers find his again and catch him, capture him, bring his hand back to the floor where it can be entwined with yours and his weight can hold it to the scraped wood. “I don’t need it, I’m close. Stay here. Stay with me.”

“I’m here,” he whispers, panting; and the friction of his body against yours overtakes you, and when you come it is blinding, bone-breaking, a whirlpool that traps you for what feels like over a minute, soaring highs punctuated by the illusion of fading over and over again until you think you can’t stand it, and only then does it end, Aemond collapsing on the floor beside you covered in your sweat and your wetness, you feeling the remnants of him bleeding down your bare thighs.

You drag yourself upright—muscles sore in your belly and back and thighs—and roll onto your knees so you can stagger to your feet. You tug on your panties so he doesn’t drip out of you onto the floor. Then you straighten the skirt of your black dress, turn on the little pink Panasonic boombox—it’s a U2 song, Where The Streets Have No Name—and begin washing a muffin tin that was left in the sink.

Aemond stands up and runs a hand through his hair, getting his bearings. He looks down at his pants and fixes his zipper and belt. He tries to close his shirt and then remembers you tore off the buttons. They lie scattered across the floor, useless.

As you scrub the muffin tin, you hear Aemond’s footsteps behind you. His palms begin at the small of your back and then skate around your waist to encircle you.

“Stop,” you tell him; and immediately his hands fall away. Aemond waits for you to say more, but you don’t. You don’t even look at him.

He walks to where the kitchen becomes the living room—you can tell by the creaks in the floor—and again, he waits. After a while he says: “I’ll call you when the new house is ready.”

“No. Have Criston handle it. I don’t ever want to talk to you again.”

“You get that I’m in love with you, right?” Aemond forces out, and when at last you turn to him there is the metallic glistening of tears on his right cheek. “I never feel this way about anyone. I don’t know how to handle it, I didn’t even know it was possible. But it’s true.”

“It’s not enough,” you say simply, and resume scrubbing the muffin tin.

He waits in silence, thirty seconds, a minute, two minutes. Then the door opens and shuts—like the jaws of a beast—and he’s gone.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond x you #aemond one eye #aemond x reader #aemond #aemond fanfiction #hotd aemond

[swapper]

Late Night Jog

In the cool, dark embrace of the night, I found myself pounding the pavement, my feet rhythmically hitting the ground with each stride. It was an ordinary evening jog, or so I thought. Little did I know that this run would turn my world upside down most thrillingly and sensually imaginable.As I rounded a corner, I collided with someone. It was my neighbour, Amir, the epitome of a Greek god with a chiselled jawline and a sculpted body that glistened with sweat. The impact was electrifying, and for a moment, time seemed to slow down as we locked eyes.

Apologies and heartbeats intertwined, something inexplicable happened. It felt like our souls intertwined as if a cosmic force pulled us together and triggered a mysterious phenomenon. The next thing I knew, I was standing there, bewildered, in Amir's stunning body, and Max stood in mine, looking equally bewildered.

My former body seemed to regain its senses first, as it darted away with a quick confused apology. I ran my new hands through Max's short, damp hair, trying to make sense of what had just happened. The realization hit me like a thunderbolt—I was trapped in this incredibly hot and muscular body.

Feeling the power and strength in every movement, I flexed my new muscles. The sensation was beyond anything I had experienced before, every fibre alive with energy and vitality. The sweat clung to my skin, accentuating every curve and sinew, heat radiating from my body and I couldn't help but revel in the intensity of the moment.

Drawing a deep breath, I lifted my top, exposing my now six-pack abs, each ridge highlighted by the moon's glow. The sensation of the cool night air against my exposed skin sent shivers down my spine, and I marvelled at the sight of my own body, transformed into something I had only dreamed of. Feeling alive and daring, I couldn't resist but indulge in a display of my newfound strength. My arms rose, and I flexed, watching the muscles swell and contract with each movement under my control. I smelled the musk emitting from my body which a so erotic I could only imagine in my dreams. The feeling of power coursing through me was intoxicating, and I could hardly believe that this was now my reality.

As the initial shock subsided, I noticed I was sporting a full raging hardon visible through my shorts. I started rubbing it with one hand and the other hand feeling my pecs and abs. I could only moan softly as intense pleasure hit me as I stroked my rock-hard cock.

Amir in my old body looking equally confused but also slightly amused. It seemed he was enjoying the situation too. With a cocky grin, I decided to make the most of this incredible opportunity. I reached out to Amir, now in my body, grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him closer. Our eyes met, and in that instant, I pushed him down towards my crotch. He kneeled and pressed his face deep into my crotch, feeling dampness and the sweat of my balls. he rubbed his nose along the bulge of my cock. as he reached the top I pushed the waistband down and pulled my raging cock and plunged it into his mouth. I could almost feel the sensations running through my body as he kept sucking my monster of a cock. I kept face fucking him until I couldn't resist myself and I closed my eyes and moaned with each wave of pleasure as I unleashed torrents of cum in his throat. As my orgasm resided I pulled him up and kissed him deep only to have a taste of this body's cum. After that, I said “See you around” and start jogging again.

I don't know how this happens or if this will happen again but I am going to enjoy Amir's body to its fullest.

#male body possession #male body swap #male body switch #male possession #male transformation #hypnokink #film911 #malebodyswap #body swap #body switch

[intersectionalpraxis]

In the same breath earlier today, Netanyahu declared that not only does Israel refuse to ceasefire yet again; that even in the event they destroy Hamas -because that's apparently why they're massacring Palestinian civillians -they intend to re-occupy and militarily CONTROL Gaza.

Israel has ZERO intentions of stopping settling and colonizing Historic Palestine. While Israel increases it's violence in West Bank (recently killing a 19 year old teen named Amir al-Qaisi, who succumbed to his wounds at a hospital - and continuing to DESTROY roads and infrastructure in Jenin), we know what this is all about.

Israeli military has killed over 11,000 Palestinian people at places of refuge; have bombed areas they said were SAFE; and because they want THEIR hostages released (despite refusing to admit a bomb they released killed dozens of them), they're killing innocent Palestinian civilians mercilessly -make no mistake -their focus on Hamas is itself a rather obvious shield to this mass genocide.

I'd like to remind folks that Israel has 1000s of innocent Palestinian children, youths, men, and women in THEIR prisons -the sheer DOUBLE STANDARDS of holding hostages in their prison system; brutalizing, isolating, humiliating, and locking away Palestinian people from their families and loved ones most of the time permanently, all while calling Palestine a terrorist state.

This is on purpose. This has always been apart of a larger Zionist agenda. And it has continued to get worse.

To quote Norwegian doctor, Dr. Mads Gilbert, from an Al Jazeera update earlier today, who has regularly worked in Gaza, speaks about how staff and patients in hospitals are left with absolutely NOTHING. He says:

"I'm sick and tired of these [Israeli] claims that there are Hamas command centre's [in hospitals]," and that "We have never seen it. We've never seen high-ranking Hamas people in Al-Shifa. We've been able to roam freely."

I find it so insidious how Israel, despite committing war crimes and ethnic cleansing in plain sight, is still trying to gloss over the severity of the situations they have created and reinforced for decades. I find it horrifying to see their officials continue to gaslight the international community, and to normalize occupation, apartheid, violence, colonialism, and setterlism.

Palestinian people STILL don't have access to clean water (or if they do, it is very little) -they have been resorting to drinking sea water. They are running out of or haven't had access to necessities. Even a loaf of bread is a luxury. 7/18 ambulances are operating in Gaza city. Palestinian people who are wounded/injured can't be reached, and the vehicles themselves KEEP being targeted by Israeli military.

Israel is on a rampage and we all need to keep posting, attending sit-ins and protests, do all we can to make an impact because this is has reached beyond a dystopic point.

From the river to the sea, Palestine will be free

#feminist #feminism #israel is an apartheid state #palestine #freepalastine🇵🇸 #free gaza #free palestine #social justice #israel is committing genocide #israeli propaganda #gaza strikes #gazaunderfire #gazaunderattack #settler colonialism #genocide #settler violence

[desert-fern]

A Gun Amongst Daggers - Jake “Hangman” Seresin X Fem!Navy Seal Reader

Part 16: Mark My Words

Summary: When Jake meets a woman at the Hard Deck, the last thing he expects is for her to be a Navy Seal. And not just any Seal, the Commander of Seal Team 3. She’s beautiful, smart, dangerous, and everything about her just makes him want to get close. Her name? Bear. When the Seals need backup, Cyclone puts the Daggers on their radar and now, Jake has to work with Bear and her team, all the while trying to stay professional. Can he do it? Or will he end up falling for the Navy sniper and mission Commander?

Image warning for Blood

*Image is, once again, not mine*

A/N: Chapter title borrowed from Faouzia’s song This Mountain

MINORS DO NOT ENGAGE! 18+ ONLY. MINORS & BLOGS WITH NO AGE/EMPTY BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED.

Warnings: blood, descriptions of death, death threats, discussion of wounds, mention of stitches, passing out, mentions of torture, discussion of infection, killing, basically a lot of death/death adjacent stuff. If I missed something, please let me know.

A/N: This is another minors fuck off chapter. I will block anyone under 18 who interacts with this chapter given the nature of the material. I don’t care if you watch gory movies on the weekend, this is some murdery content. Thank you :)

Word Count: 6.3k

Masterlist >> Part 15 >> Part 17

===

Bear waited until the lone man arrived to bring her food and water to put her plan into action. She would eat the meager food they brought her, drink the water, and slowly psych herself up for the fight that was going to come. The fight that she would bring to them. Sure she was the first and only Navy Seal to ever be captured, but they would remember her as the one who came back looking like she’d dragged every last devil back through Hell with her.

She clutched the key in her hand, waiting for her moment. It came minutes later when the man came back to cuff her again. Bear didn’t let him get that far. The minute he got close enough to her, Bear pulled herself up. Her hands found purchase against the chains holding her inches off the ground and she pulled. Hard. Her muscles screamed as she forced herself up into the air, her thighs wrapping around his head and she squeezed tightly.

He thrashed, clawing at her legs as he fought desperately for breath, but Bear was determined. She clenched the muscles tighter, forcing the air he craved to remain trapped in his throat as he struggled against her grip. Bear’s body was begging her to stop, to let him go, but her will was stronger than the pain flaring in her mind and she held him there until the insurgent slumped against her leg unconscious.

A soft thump was the only noise that came from her cell as she let his body drop to the floor. Lowering her legs sent fire through her nerves and Bear had to do so in intervals as she tried not to cry out from the toll her body was unwillingly paying.

The key. This was her next move. Bear’s mind was solely focused on getting free. Nothing else mattered right now. It was like her movements had been listed down: Lower legs. Catch breath. Unlock cuffs. Get Amir. Get out. That list echoed in her head in the same tattoo of her heart beat in her ears. This was it.

Her arm moved stiltedly, stiff from her lack of movement and aching from her feat of strength not moments ago, but Bear grit her teeth and carefully brought the key close to the lock on the other cuff.

But it fumbled in her palms and Bear swore silently. Dropping that key would be a death sentence for not just her, but also Amir. That little boy risked his life for her and she would not do him a disservice and die before she got him out. Slowing a little, she tried again, this time she was successful in unlocking the cuff, sliding to the floor as the chains clinked above her seated form

Everything hurt. Her body, her mind, and everything in between. Even breathing deeply pulled at barely-formed scabs over her ribs and abdomen, but if Bear had been able to block out the savagery that had to endure for her to be wounded in this way, then she could do her best to dull the pain. She could worry about it later, when she was safe or when she was dead. Either way, Bear had nothing left to lose and everything, her freedom included, to gain.

Glancing to her left, Bear’s eyes fell upon the unconscious man who lay silently in the same lump he’d fallen into. He was an immediate priority; if she left him, he could and would alert the others to her escape, but if she killed him now, her disappearance would be safe for a little longer.

The choice was easy. He would die quietly.

Bear reached for him, ignoring the cuts tearing open as she did so, and pulled his unconscious form closer to where she sat. Two hands found his jaw and a sharp and sudden twist led to a sickening crack filling the air as Bear snapped his neck. As she sat there, she knew deep down that this would be the only body that fell without a fight. Without blood, without the screams and cries of dying men that had haunted her every waking step since she had first enlisted.

“Come on. This is to go home, to see Jake and the others again,” she muttered to herself, swiping a grimy and bloodied hand over her face. “Don’t give them a reason to doubt you.” A few deep breaths later, Bear felt her heart slow down, bringing herself back down into the calm that she had always attributed to her helmet. This time, there was no safety net, just her and the men who wanted her dead. “Come on Bear. You got out before. You can do it again.”

She glanced at her feet, catching sight of her bare toes against the concrete floor and groaned. She’d forgotten that the laces had been taken from her after she had escaped momentarily weeks earlier. A wry chuckle escaped her lips as Bear remembered how the man she attacked had screamed as she leapt atop him, strangling him with the bootlace. It hadn’t been the smartest choice in hindsight but it had proved that her will to fight was still intact.

Back to the boots. Bear’s eyes fell upon the form of the man she’d just killed, particularly the boots on his feet. They’d be big, but they were better than nothing.

She had to move quickly now. Someone would notice that the man hadn’t returned and she’d be killed on sight if they caught her over his body. Well they’d kill her regardless, but Bear really didn’t feel like going down this soon.

Bracing her hand against the wall, Bear made to stand up, but she was so overcome with dizziness as she did that it sent her staggering back into the wall, a hand thrown over her eyes to block out the starbursts that exploded in her vision field. She’d passed out enough times to recognize the feeling; her stomach lurching, the sudden headache, and the tunnel vision had all plagued her numerous times. Yet she knew she had to move now. Adrenaline would combat this feeling, erase it like it was never there.

So she took a step off the wall, hand clenched around the knife she’d pulled from her dead captor and crept out the open door, sticking close to the corridor walls. Her heart pounded in her chest, nearly deafening as she slowly wandered through the compound, slipping closer and closer to freedom. Bear hadn’t made it far before a shout sounded down the hall. Someone had discovered her absence, the dead body and now her timeline had been shortened far faster than she had anticipated. “Fuck. Goddamn fuckers couldn’t be lazy for once?”

Her curses were cut short as footsteps raced closer to where she stood and Bear ducked around a corner, praying that he wouldn’t turn. His boots slammed against the concrete floor and despite her hopes, he turned the corner.

Bear pounced once he’d passed her, fists finding homes in his flank. He stumbled, his hand fumbling for his gun as he turned to face Bear. Two quick kicks to his knees had him screaming in pain as the sound of cracking bones filled the narrow hallway. She watched him fall, snatching the gun from him before landing another kick to his chest. Bear stood over him, chest heaving as she leveled the gun at his head. A single shot that echoed loudly was all it took to paint the floor and lower walls with blood and flesh.

She had caught him completely by surprise, rendered him unable to fight back in moments and killed him before he could become aware of what was happening. He hadn’t been able to land a single blow, and how could he? Bear fought with everything she had because she had nothing left to lose. That little detail made her dangerous, far more dangerous than any of her captors could imagine.

But she couldn’t dwell on this fact now, she had to move quickly. The gunshot’s echo had alerted her captors to her location. That, combined with the shout of alarm from earlier, had made it so every man in the compound knew what was happening. So Bear ran, gun in hand, searching for any advantage in this fight. Her ribs ached with every breath, every step sent shockwaves up her body, but slowing down meant death, and Bear would rather spend every minute of her life making it up to Jake than never seeing him again. So she pushed through the pain, dug deep into her training, and ran faster.

A pair of men cut her off, sending her skidding to a stop as she fired off a shot through the heart of one man. He fell to the ground, blood splattering over the floor and over his companion.

The man left standing swore, raising his weapon and firing off shots in her direction as Bear raced for the safety of the hallway she had just left. Her back slammed into the wall, knocking the air from her lungs as she angled the metal of the gun around the corner to catch sight of her opponent. A shot whizzed past her hand and Bear withdrew her weapon as a hail of bullets embedded themselves into the wall a short distance away from her. “Of course that motherfucker has a semiauto and dip shit number one only had a pistol. Why not?” She muttered angrily, drawing in a sharp breath and steeling herself.

She had one chance to get this right.

Hauling herself up, Bear found her mind replaying a memory of Jake laughing. If she died now, at least she had that. One final breath in before Bear left the safety of the hall, darting out from her hiding spot, weapon drawn and firing as she moved across the space. Two bullets slammed into his neck and chest, spraying blood as the second man went down in a blaze of bullets fired into the air. One caught Bear, grazing the length of her forearm, splitting the bruised and dirty skin open to reveal the scarlet blood that began to drip to the ground.

She hissed, biting deep into her cheek to prevent herself from making some noise in response to the sudden pain. Bear hurried to his fallen body, prying the gun from his hands and tearing a strip of fabric off of his shirt. She swore as his eyes opened weakly at her touch and the ferocity that Bear snatched his weapon from him. It was nothing that a third shot to the head couldn’t solve, and Bear found herself slipping down the hall once more with a newer and more powerful weapon.

She was caught in a maze. Hallways ran in all directions and if it weren’t for the gore smeared across both herself and the paths she’d left, Bear would have no idea where she had previously been. When she had escaped earlier, she had done so as she was being brought back to her cell. Now, she had no idea where she was.

“Fuckity fuck fuck,” Bear singsonged, glancing over her shoulder. She continued forward before finally finding a small room with a table and chair. It was empty, but the cover wasn’t what had caught her eye. Up in the ceiling, a tile had been removed, creating a hole just big enough for her to slip through. A sniper’s perch.

It was perfect.

Squeezing into the gap wasn’t easy. Bear’s shoulders caught more than once against the edges of the space, and when she did manage to fix that problem, the sharp plaster scraped up her sides as she pulled herself up. Up in the ceiling, Bear paused, listening for any sign of the men following her. Distant shouts could be heard, but she seemed to be safe for the moment. Bear lay on her stomach, checking the clip and counting the bullets that remained. The total wasn’t what she’d hoped for, far less in fact, but if she did her job right, she could make it work.

Blowing out a breath, Bear drew the pistol she’d pulled off the second man she’d killed and fired a few shots into the wall of the corridor. Her vantage point allowed her to see straight down the only hallway into the little room and it was the best place to set a trap.

Her lure worked and it wasn’t long before seven men came barreling down the hallway towards the room she was hiding in. All seven were armed and from what Bear could tell as she hunkered down, they were poorly trained. Despite having weapons, none of the men had a gun up and ready to fire. She shrugged to herself, that was their own fault. These poor bastards had no idea who they’d trapped. She had killed al-Hameed, pointed her weapon at his head and fired. One bullet. Barely half a second of thought needed.

The man at the front of the group, large and built like a tank, had nearly reached the threshold of the room. He was shouting something in Urdu, head turning to look behind him at his compatriots, giving the Seal hidden in the ceiling the perfect shot.

Bear lined up her shot on the larger man. He’d been the one hurting her, the one taking a sickening pleasure in her pain. She snorted, he had been so eager to inflict pain that he seemed to have forgotten how to endure it.

Oh well.

A bullet flew from the gap in the ceiling, punching through his skull just above his ear. Blood sprayed from the exit wound, stopping the other six men dead in their tracks as they watched their leader crumple to the ground, eyes wide in the way only a sudden death could create.

A heart beat of silence filled the small area before bullets began flying into the room, completely missing the opening in the ceiling. Round after round slammed into the wall, the table and nearly everything else except her. The men began advancing, still firing as they moved in a rough approximation of the way her Seals moved. But it was clumsy, the men were unprepared, and Bear was both faster and a far better shot. All six were dead in under a minute, their corpses falling to the ground with sickening thuds as blood pooled on the floor under them.

She paused, listening for any sign of more men approaching. All Bear could hear was her heart beat in her ears and the buzzing of the shitty fluorescent lights, but she waited a few more minutes before slipping from her hiding place. Bear crept down the hall, weapon raised. The only sound now was the soft toe ‘tap’ of the too big boots and her own haggard breathing. Saif, the man who’d appointed himself as the de facto leader, kept an office not far from a break room.

It was to her benefit that the men she’d killed were blabber mouths. They never shut up, not even while Saif or the tank-like man were torturing her, and while deep in her memories, Bear had still caught enough tidbits about the compound layout to take a stab at navigating it on her own.

None of her captors counted on her learning from her mistakes. They had all thought that she would fold, that she would break under their pressure. Bear had laughed in their faces, even now, as she stalked across the concrete floor, the only thing in her mind was “I am going home. Even if I have to drag you all to Hell first.”

And she delivered on that promise. Each step pained her and while Bear could feel her strength fading, feel the warmth of the cuts in her skin, she kept going. This wasn’t done until both she and Amir walked out in one piece.

===

Fighting her way through the last few men, Bear hobbled towards the “office” door. The makeshift leader had holed himself up in there and Bear wasn’t going to leave until he too was dead. She felt the blood of those she’d killed drying on her skin, her own wounds weeping their own tears of blood and pus. They’d been infected for a while, but had been the least of her worries as she fought on. Turning a corner, Bear found herself right outside his office, breathing hard. One last man stood between her and her freedom. One more fight.

She yanked the door open, surprising Saif as he stood in the middle of the room, his weapon abandoned on the desk a few feet away. Bear had her weapon up and pointed it at him, prompting him to raise his hands in surrender. She approached cautiously one step at a time, but as she passed him, a hand reached out and grabbed her hair, sending her stumbling back towards Saif. Fuck.

Bear struggled, a hand lashing out to hit Saif in the jaw hard enough to make him grunt in pain and loosen his grip. He was bigger, far bigger than her and stronger, using both to his advantage as he regained his grip and hauled Bear back towards the door. “Let me go!” Bear yelled, kicking her feet out.

A boot caught his knee, making him stumble and release her hair and Bear spun to face him. Her gun had hit the ground when she had been pulled back and it now lay innocuously on the cement floor between the two of them. Saif met her gaze and lunged for the weapon, swearing in Arabic as Bear kicked it under his desk. She lunged at him, striking a blow to his sternum and leaving him gasping for breath.

But he recovered quickly, almost too quickly and Bear grunted as his meaty fist slammed into her side as he pushed her towards the wall opposite the door. She was nearly helpless to fight back as she was pushed away from both the door and her weapon. Bear’s back hit the wall, the force making her teeth rattle.

Saif swung at her again and Bear ducked. His fist went careening into the wall with a sicking crack that had him shouted in pain and Bear kicked at him. One kick connected with his knee, sending him down into his other knee whereupon Bear grabbed the back of his head, but she was shaken off and Said grabbed her arms, tossing her into the corner.

Bear hit the ground hard. A yelp sounded when her shoulder connected with the bookshelf, making her eyes water. She grunted and stared him down as he stood shakily and stormed towards her, intent on killing her. She rose, grimacing at the ache in her bones, and ducked under a punch aimed for her head. She found herself behind him and just like her second kill, slammed her fists into his flank. Saif stumbled, now off balance and Bear jumped on him. She rained blows down on his face and body with such speed that Saif couldn’t fight her off, but was shoved off by a flailing arm.

Bear ran, ducking behind his desk and watched in defiance as Saif bore down upon her. Her hand found purchase on the gun sitting on his desk and before Saif even had a chance to raise his hand up, Bear fired two shots off, dropping him to the floor. Rounding the desk, Bear stood over him, taking notice of the bullet wounds in his shoulder and chest, the gun now aimed at his head. She crouched beside him and in shaky Arabic, Bear managed to say “I killed al-Hameed and I would do it again” before firing the last bullet in the chamber into his skull.

Blood splattered the bottom of the walls, the floor and Bear herself, but it was only added to the rest of her. Finally, it was over. Finally she had time to figure all of this out, learn who was selling information to Saif and his merry band of idiots. “I guess that’s that then,” she mumbled, groaning as she stood. The empty gun was placed back on the desk and Bear began to look at the myriad of papers strewn over the desk and the floor.

Her vision went blurry and Bear quickly sat down, placing her head between her knees. The sheer amount of adrenaline that had run through her veins not moments earlier was slowly beginning to drop and Bear found herself in a precarious situation. She grit her teeth and stood slowly, her hands out to brace herself on the edge of the desk. A few deep breaths were blown out and Bear’s vision cleared little by little until she could continue to take stock of the papers scattered about the room.

Sitting on a chair nearby, was a plastic bag full of what looked like tools. Bear dumped them out, cringing at the sound of metal hitting the cement floor when it echoed through the room. Bear began to stack up the papers and started to pile them into the bag, scanning the documents.

Photocopies and printouts of classified information, the ones she had used for the preparation of her team, littered the desk and she could only assume more were in the bag. These documents had guided the movements and actions of the Navy Seals and the Dagger pilots during the conduction of Operation Hellfire and only her team had access to the uncensored documents.

Bear’s mind raced as she ran through the names of her people, trying desperately to find a connection. It didn’t make sense. Her team was loyal. They had always been. Unless… no, it couldn’t be Colton. He had been a supporter of hers since she’d taken command. “But his documents had gone missing,” the little voice in her head told her.

Someone had made Jake’s plane go down. Bear might not understand planes, but what she had seen in the sky moments before the missile had… That wasn’t normal. “Fuck!” Bear yelled, slamming her hand against the desktop. “That motherfucker!”

The sudden burst of noise caused a small squeak to sound, and Bear froze, her weapon drawn and pointed towards the source: a cabinet on the far side of the room. “Who’s there?” she demanded, as she crept closer. “Amir?” Another squeak. “It’s Bear.”

Slowly the door opened and Bear saw Amir folded up inside, tears running down his face. Bear’s heart sank and she lowered her gun, placing it on the floor within reach. She reached for him, falling back as the little boy rushed into her arms, sobbing. “I’ve got you kiddo,” Bear mumbled, rubbing her hand up and down his back, trying to offer comfort despite being covered in blood and dirt, all the while looking like she lost a fight with a wolverine. For the second time since meeting Amir, Bear swore to protect him until he was home safe. Wherever that was.

They sat like that for a while, until Amir looked up at her with tear-filled eyes. “Safe?”

She nodded, shifting her weight back to better support him. “Do you know where the medicine is?” She asked slowly, watching her words register.

He nodded. “Can you show me?”

“Yes.”

Bear stood slowly, hefting Amir onto a hip. “Which way?”

The little boy pointed to the left and Bear made her way over to the door, pausing to steady herself as dizziness overtook her. The adrenaline was slowly wearing off and all of her pain was returning in full force. But she carried Amir through the silent halls, covering his eyes when the evidence of her brutality was splashed across the floors. Bear didn’t need him seeing that, not when he had likely already heard the cries.

Amir was silent the whole way, pointing silently in the directions she needed to go, and slowly but surely, Bear walked through the doorway, nearly sagging to the floor in her exhaustion. But she persevered.

Grabbing the lone medical kit, she cleaned her wounds as best she could before dressing them, and stitching up the ones that required it, before finding a ragged pillow. “Amir,” she called gently and watched him make his way over to her. “I need to sleep. Can you wake me up if someone comes?”

He nodded, grinning at her. “I can!”

The enthusiasm made Bear chuckle. “Okay.” She grabbed her weapon and propped herself up against the wall, pillow under her head, before passing out. She slept on and off, starting at random noises before drifting off once more.

Her dreams were strange, likely delusions brought on by infection, but it was jarring nonetheless. It was like she had fallen into her memories once more, except they weren’t memories. Jake hadn’t kissed her. At no point had she woken up to him trailing kisses down her body, and aside from that one night at the beach, she hadn’t been held in his strong arms. Her subconscious was playing tricks on her, she thought distantly.

Bear spent five days in the silent compound, trying to heal as much as she could before what would be a long journey back to Riyadh. Back to safety, Bug, her team, the Daggers, and her Jake. So she rested. Gaining strength.

On day six, she and Amir packed up a truck with all the supplies they’d need for the trip as her fever broke late in the day.

On day seven, they headed out, away from the compound in the middle of the Arabian desert.

===

It had been over 20 days since Bear was captured, four days of driving towards Riyadh, trying desperately to make it there in one piece. Supplies were low, and Bear poured the last of the fuel into the gas tank as she scanned the documents open on the edge of the truck. She was ready to move on, when a partial doodle in the corner caught her eye and Bear suddenly realized just who was responsible for her capture. The person that had sent the message to her eventual captors about Jake’s plane and the missiles.

Hazard.

That motherfucker.

Suddenly it was like Bear’s blood turned to very gasoline she’d just poured into the truck. The fury that raced through her took light like a wildfire and she was ready. Ready to prove to that son of a bitch why she was in charge. Why Hazard never had a chance at leadership.

God help him when she found him and whoever else was involved. There would be nothing left.

===

Hours later, the truck stalled and Bear swore. “We might have to walk, bud,” she told Amir.

The little boy gave her a look and Bear chuckled. “Come on, we won’t have to walk far.”

She was right. Two hours later, the sun had just begun to set when Bear and Amir walked hand in hand towards the gate in front of Riyadh Air Base. The guard at the front froze when he saw her approach, immediately radioing for a medic.

“Ma’am. Ma’am. I’m going to need some ID,” he told her.

Bear fixed him with a flat stare. “I would normally have it on me, except I was captured and held by terrorists for the better part of a month. So I’m sorry, but I don’t have any.”

The guard just blinked at her in surprise. “I-I…”

“Save it,” she snapped. “Just tell me where the Seals are meeting and get someone who speaks Arabic over here so they can take the kid to get checked out. Am I clear?”

“Yes Ma’am.”

A few moments passed then a medic came running over, crouching before Amir and speaking to him quietly. He looked at Bear, who smiled at him, nodding. It must have been what he needed, because he went happily with the medic, chattering the whole way.

Bear watched them leave, before turning to the guard. “What room?”

“Same as usual. Do you need an escort?”

The guard had taken note of Bear’s appearance and was concerned. She was covered in bandages, bruises spattered across her body like a messed up Jackson Pollock, while simultaneously being covered in dirt and grime. Bear looked like Death. But the anger she had tamped down around Amir came flooding right back to her, a boomerang ricocheting around her body as adrenaline pumped through her. “I think I can manage. Thank you.” Her words were clipped and short.

“Okay. Have a nice night ma’am,” the guard told her timidly.

“Oh I plan to,” Bear mumbled under her breath. She shifted the bag of papers to her other hand and stormed off towards the meeting room, ignoring the looks of surprise from those on base. She had a mission to complete.

===

Outside the door, Bear could hear Bug talking loudly over a room full of people. It made her smile hearing her friend’s voice once more, but unfortunately, she couldn’t find it within herself to give two shits about anyone other than Hazard right now. He would pay for what he had done. She had proof and she would make him pay.

Steeling herself, Bear knocked on the door. Silence filled the room and she could hear a pilot inside asking who was there. Bear said nothing, waiting for the door to open. Flare pulled it open moments later and the room went still. Looks of absolute shock and horror were splashed across the faces of everyone in the room as they took her in. The youngest lieutenant stood with her mouth agape, a combination of relief and something else filling her eyes and drew itself on her face like a toddler’s finger painting.

But Bear wasn’t looking at them or her lieutenant. She had pinned Hazard to his spot, pushing past Flare as she advanced on him. He was deathly afraid. Hazard’s face had gone as white as a sheet, and he scrambled backwards, but Bear kept moving forwards. She knew that she looked like Hell, she felt like it, but nothing compared to the all-encompassing fury that seeped from every pore of her body. She was visibly shaking, trembling with rage for everything that she had been put through because of this man. This coward who could barely look her in the eye. “Surprise Hazard,” she said calmly.

He flinched but didn’t reply. He was staring at the floor, not meeting her stare or the curious looks from the others in the room.

“Oh come on Hazard. Aren’t you happy to see me?” Bear knew she was toying with him, but why shouldn’t she? After everything she had been through, why shouldn’t she mess with the man who was responsible for so much pain? “I’m thrilled to see you.”

“Bear…?” Bug spoke up, and you could hear the confusion in her voice. “What’s going on?”

“What’s going on? Well Bug, I’m so glad you asked!” The venom in her words was nauseating and Bear let a wide smile overtake her face. “I’m sure you have all put together that something was a little off on this mission. How exactly did we lose drone imaging? Why did al-Hameed know to be in his bunker in the middle of the night? How did the enemy know where we were when the rescue mission was ordered? A lot of strange questions I’m sure you all had.”

A few nods and mumbles broke out, that they had thought that it was almost too perfect of a coincidence. “We have, but we established that there was a mole in our team,” Bug informed her CO, ignoring the shocked yells of the pilots in the room, who’d been unaware of this fact until now. “What does Hazard have to do wi- oh.”

“Yeah. Oh. Our friend here is a traitor, one of a few actually. He has been in contact with members of the IJU. The same people that held me for two weeks and tortured me for information on who killed al-Hameed,” Bear announced. She was purposefully playing up the theatrics because she had been through too much to give a shit about handling this diplomatically.

Bug’s face went white. “What?” she asked in a strangled gasp, eyes flicking to Hazard. “Is this true?”

“No! She’s crazy!” Hazard cried out, his eyes flicking to the others in the room, pleading for sympathy, but he found none. “She doesn’t even have proof!”

Bear smirked, and if that sight didn’t send chills down the spine of everyone in the room. “Oh Hazard. When will you learn that I always have proof?” And with that, Bear dropped the plastic bag full of bloodstain papers on the table. “Saif sends his regards. You know, at least he did before I shot him.”

Hazard stared at her. Whether it was in shock, horror, or fear, she didn’t know and Bear couldn’t find it within her to care. “You crazy bitch!” he finally shouted. “You aren’t fit to lead! You fucked Harris to get this job! IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN MINE!” He roared at her, the duality of the man before them finally revealing its true colors. “You got people killed!”

The smug look on Bear’s face fell away and Hazard was face to face with the glare Bear only ever reserved for those who truly deserved it. The last man to face it had nearly shit himself before running away. “Ohoho. So I’m a slut, who fucked my boss to get promoted over you? Have you ever considered that you are too pathetic to ever have the patience and the skills to lead a team?” Her words held a rage so barely contained that the room dropped in temperature at the ice in her tone. “That you would be such a failure, you would lead your team to their death because of your temperament and incessant need to be right? NO. YOU DIDN’T.”

A deadly pause filled the room and Bear grabbed the front of Hazard’s uniform, pulling his face to hers. “I got people killed?” Her next question was barely audible, but the answer seemed to echo through the room that now felt cramped with the size of Bear’s rage. “I didn’t alert a terrorist to the location of locals friendly with the Navy. I didn’t sell out a drone crew giving us surveillance of our targets. I didn’t alert al-Hameed of our location prompting him to hide in a bunker with roaming death squads wandering around resulting in the deaths of TWO Seals. YOU did that! Not me, you and your cronies who were a hell of a lot smarter than you when covering their tracks, you sick fuck!

The room watched as she let go of his shirt, shoving him back towards the wall. Hazard hit the drywall behind him, palms pressing against it like he was bracing for a punch that didn’t come. He glared at the woman in front of him, looking like one of the Furies, soaked in sweat, cut, bruised, and covered in old blood. She looked like Hell had come to drag him below and for once in this encounter Hazard felt fear. His wide eyes glanced around the room as his colleagues stared at him in disdain. All of this for what? A million dollars? The possibility of leading a team that would never have followed him because Bear was smarter than Saif, smarter than al-Hameed, and if they were both dead by Bear’ hand then what fate would befall him?

Would she kill him as easily as the others? He hoped so. She would give him mercy because that was who she was. His colleagues on the other hand, they wouldn’t be so forgiving. Bug alone would rip him apart for what his actions had put the team through and he knew that with all his heart. She would not be so kind. But Jake then. The fucking Ken doll that had tripped him up more than once. Bear had been distracted by him, and led them the wrong way because of him. Hazard chanced a look over at Hangman and shut his eyes at the sight. Bear didn’t see him, how could she? This fucking G.I. Joe had his eyes fixed on her back, cataloging every wound, every bruise and the fire in the other man’s eyes swore to inflict the same if he ever was caught alone.

And Flare who stood staring him down with vindication shooting from her eyes. She had spent too long fending Hazard off, trying to protect herself and do the right thing, but this snake had tried too hard and succeeded too often for her to resist. Mei watched him like everyone else was, with hatred, disdain, betrayal so clearly evident that it nearly made him grin. Suddenly, Colton wasn’t afraid of Bear anymore. She couldn’t do a thing with this many witnesses, especially if his loyalists remained undetected.

Her next words cut thickly through the monologue racing through his head. “You’re so fucking lucky that Harris will be dealing with you because if it were up to me,” Bear spat, pausing to draw the gun from her waistband that somehow no one had noticed. She raised it, pressing the barrel to Hazard’s temple, staring him dead in the eyes, relishing in the sudden and new burst of fear that erupted in his eyes. “Because then the last thing you’d ever see would be my gun between your fucking eyes and the Devil waiting to drag you to Hell because he knows I’m fucking worse. Get the FUCK out of my sight, you miserable excuse for a man!”

The room then exploded into action. Flare and Bug stepped towards Bear, while others went for Hazard, trying to draw him out of harm’s way. “Get. Out. Of. My. Shot,” Bear spoke through a clenched jaw. She was addressing no one in particular, just speaking the words aloud and praying that Hazard gave her a reason. Just a single, tiny reason to snap and paint his blood on the wall behind him.

“You fucking bitch!” Hazard couldn’t seem to keep his mouth shut, and he taunted Bear from the other side of the room.

Bear stepped around Fireball, the gun still trained on Hazard. “Want to say that again? Didn’t think so.”

“You can’t kill me!”

There it was. Her reason. She just had to pull the trigger and it would be over. Her nightmare would end. Bear could sleep soundly at night knowing that Hazard was never coming back, could never harm her. “Oh Hazard, that’s where you’re wrong,” Bear snapped. “I have killed so many men in the last week that you will be nothing more than just another body dropped.”

Hazard scrambled backwards from her, tripping over a chair in his efforts to get away. “Check the bag. All my proof is there. Bug, command is still yours because I am not anywhere near the right mindset to lead,” Bear ordered.

She had lowered the gun, dropping it on the table to be snatched up by someone. Who? She didn’t know or care, but Bear had made her choice. Murder wasn’t the play here. Leave him alive. Let him rot in a cell and be pressed for information on the IJU. She’d never have to see him again and his life was over.

It had all been over the second she came through the door.

Bug sprang into action. “Shrike, Fireball take Hazard away. I want answers. The rest of you, leave and do not speak a word of this. I will have your job and your heads if you fucking try me.”

The room emptied quickly, like rats fleeing from a flood. Bear collapsed into a chair, the adrenaline leaving her body in a breath. Bug had gone to supervise Shrike and Fireball, leaving Bear alone. Or so she thought. “Bear.” That voice. God, Bear had only heard that voice in her memories for the longest time and it somehow felt like heaven and hell all at once. “Teddy.”

“Flyboy,” she croaked, turning in her seat to face him. “You’re alive.”

“So are you.”

“Takes a lot to kill me apparently. Can… can you help me to medical?” Bear spoke in a quiet voice. “I really need help.”

Jake nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat as he took Bear in. She was covered in blood, grime, and who knows what else. Her hair was stringy and just as filthy as the rest of her, but her face, her face was still the same. Definitely more tired, the weariness he’d noted when he first saw her was in bloom all over her body. It pained him to see her like this. Yet, despite everything, Bear was somehow the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. An avenging angel in the middle of a conference room, watching him and asking for help. How could he ever say no?

“Jake?”

“Yeah Teddy?”

“Help.” And Jake sprang into action as Bear tumbled off the chair, passing out in his arms.

===

A/N: 🫣🫣 Am I still in trouble? Big thank you to @startrekfangirl2233 @sarahsmi13s or proof reading/yelling at me for that ending. And thank you to @dakotakazansky or helping me work in a new plot line halfway through the series!

Taglist: @horseshoegirl @roosters-girl @lovinglyeternal @lavenderbradshaw @roosterforme @bobby-r2d2-floyd @bradleybeachbabe @footprintsinthesxnd @twsssmlmaa @fandomxpreferences @dempy @gizmodear @fighterpilothoe @chaoticassidy @eli2447 @iwantmyredvelvetcupcake @djs8891 @rhirhikingston @sisterslytherinog @impossiblebagelcowboyfreak @sgt-barnesveins @taytaylala12 @urmom-999 @formulapierre @pinkpantheris @havlindzk @a-beaverhausen @killcomet @buxkybarnez @topgunruinedme @hangmanscoming @smoothdogsgirl @a-court-of-roscoe-and-baby

#a gun amonst daggers #jake hangman seresin x reader #bear and hangman #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin imagine #top gun maverick #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin fanfiction #jake seresin x oc #top gun maverick imagine #top gun maverick fanfiction #hangman fanfiction #jake seresin series

[kit-williams]

Pastel Bats

@bispecsual @egrets-not-regrets @moodymisty @bleedingichorhearts @liar-anubiass-blog

There were pastel bats upon the walls... this was your new home as you looked down at the infant drinking from the bottle. The room was bright with soft yellow walls and cute looking animals painted upon them. Your humming paused for only a moment and you swear you can hear a distant scream. You look to the large door. You were well fed... you were safe in the nursery... and that was alright. "Such a big boy you are Amir." You coo down to the grey eyed baby.

How a gummy smile is around the teat of the bottle as he slams his little feet against the padded floor of the playpen. No longer content on being contained by any sort of bed for a less active baby... no no the small boy had decided that standing was fun and had taken one to many tumbles on his head meaning he had to go see the doctor.

His eyes still wet from his most recent crying fit as he was a needy little thing with such big demands who liked bananas and didn't like green beans... he wanted to be held to fall asleep... and... you just find yourself holding the little boy with the odd growths on his skin... his mouth hurting because he's teething... and he still growing. You just sigh picking up the impatient to grow up little man to go see the doctor.

You watch Anrir Nor work as the two servo skulls fluttered about... one above Amir just out of reach of his grabby little hands trying to pull on the cabling and thrash it around when he does succeed making the cutes little gurgles. The other keeping notes as you watch the robotic limbs on his back move to grab things or seem to move in an almost behavioral tick.

"Any worrying things you'd like to bring up today." He says akin to how a pediatrician would ask you wonder if he says it on purpose or is simply saying it to make fun of you.

"He's scratching a bit and causing cuts but... other wise it's fine."

You watch him sit Amir up as he listens to his hearts. His eyes closing as he listens. "The scratching is from the subdermal growth of black carapace so its normal." He says with medical precision.

----

That was weeks ago... as you lay in the playpen that you laid with Amir as you and the others here followed protocol and the kids were asleep... they just fell asleep so quickly... it didn't work on you. You had to sing to Amir to get him to settle in his little pod to let whatever was in there to work on him.

There are pastel bats upon the walls... food's run out and the door is locked so tightly as there was a pressure leak outside of this safe haven in hell. You were all going to starve to death looking at the pastel animals upon the walls....

----

"His egg doner died today." Anrir says muttering softly as he continues to check over Amir and give him his shots.

"Oh that's not... good?" You say unuse to him talking to you.

"Yes... but you seem to like Amir so how about a proposition?" He says and you see the wickedness of his grin and all you could think to say was...

"What is the offer?"

----

You killed someone today... he was trying to break one of the pods. You had enough strength to do something about it. You wandered over to Amir's pod to sing to him... ignoring the way how someone... or some others were shamelessly ripping into the body... you sang to him to drown out the sounds... you sang to him as someone came by with cooked meat... and bought into the lie of them finding some... it gave you enough strength to draw... and all your numb mind could draw were those damned pastel bats...

----

"What if I just tell you what you'll get out of it?" Anrir says which that dangerous purr... you shifted as you had learned... or well it was a rumor that this man was also the head of the warband you found yourself in service to. You watch him brush some of that silky black hair behind his ear. "You may talk freely if you need to hear me say that."

"I mean I'd like to hear that too but what do you want from me?"

"Your body my dear."

----

You stopped leaving Amir's side as you hardly had any strength left to do so... you were being fed enough to stay alive... just barely. Someone came by to say that there were people outside and it might be a few more days before they could leave... that or they could just be telling you how you were next to be eaten... you didn't know any more.

----

He told you what he wanted with medical precision as you feel the marker tip tickling your skin and the metal appendages on his back caging you in. But you'd get better rations... you'd get better things... better treatment... it was all very tempting... all for the low low price of your body.

"Why... what do you get out of this?" You ask the black eyed man who looked surprised you even asked.

"Do you want the long answer or the the short answer?"

You broke eye contact with him for a moment as you thought before speaking, "Long?"

"The short version of the long answer is... I'm tired of watching the legion that I love fall apart via treachery and cowardness. Your corpse emperor isn't the answer but neither is the Four. And loyalty is a fickle thing..."

"So you're raising those who would be loyal to you?"

He grinned so wickedly, "Smart girl. Plus I can instill them the meaning of the legion! While fixing a few things that... lets say our environment was lacking at crucial stages of development."

"Giving them something you lacked?"

"Exactly."

"Didn't know childhood development was part of your education."

"Its not I ordained myself to learn it after I decided to say 'fuck it' to my last warband. So... what do you say?"

----

You should have said yes... you think as you stare at the sleeping little boy... the only thing you latched onto in this hell that you were dragged into screaming. Given a baby boy to keep alive and told your survival was tied to his development.

The boom of the bolter causes you to jump as you feel something splatter against your back as red paints the glass of the pods and you struggle to sit up. You see the midnight blue armor something different from the soft pastels around.

"Aww you left a list of his likes." The skull faced mask looks down at you with glowing red eyes. "But did you think of my offer dear?"

You try to say something which causes him to lean in before picking you up and hearing you whisper. "Yes"

#warhammer 40k #night lords #infants #Zhur is an evil genius #his breakthrough is very good for those who have aspirations for the old ways #apothecary #apothecary night lord #This was suppose to be normal horror #but it veered into yandere #I think its yandere #I wrote this at midnight and I need to be in bed for work tomorrow #Oc: Amir #oc: anrir nor #space marines

[genderfluid-strawberry-of-doom]

i reread hammer of thor and i decided to list out some stuff i feel has been overlooked by the fandom

and stuff that hasn't been overlooked (at all) but i HAVE to mention it anyway. because reasons

also it's not THAT long of a post but it's pretty long so i put a cut there

nobody ever mentions the 'thinking cup' like whyyy

alex fierro the cheetah and weasel :)

"the gender thing wasn't what surprised me. what surprised me was the way my impression of alex had slingshot and the emotions that had stirred up"

magnus mentioning that he had been stuck in one gender his whole life and that it didn't bother him except the way it was worded made it seem like he was unsure about it jsfjfisfidgkgd

i don't think it's overlooked but the scene in which magnus is watching alex eat and halfborn goes "there's no shame in being attracted magnus" and he CHOKES

(not overlooked at all but) HEARTH'S POSESSIVENESS OVER BLITZ <333

(DEFINITELY not overlooked but) "buddy" *proceeds to take hearth's hands in his own*, "what is wrong with my elf" 😭😭

inge being fucking abused by alderman?? she was beaten??? and the iron on the door locks is harmful and extremely painful to hulder??? THAT ASSHOLE ALDERMAN

(in context to inge explaining that alderman kept a patch of wilderness in his backyard bc hulder need wilderness to live and so that he can 'hire' more help) "she said hire. i heard catch" BITCH-

the fucking wergild. i have a lot of thoughts about that and all of them involve alderman dying

also hearth's mom doesn't really seem like much of a good person either? she didn't stop alderman from being abusive towards hearth or the house staff AND she literally just cared about her reputation. maybe she wasn't as bad as her husband but she was still pretty bad (parallels there between hearth and alex)

also parallels between hearth trying to stop alderman from taking andvari's ring and trying to "pull his dad out from a hole deeper than andvari's" and magnus trying to save randolph from falling into the hole in the ground that led to helheim-

hearth and samirah's dynamic?? they've already had a fight and patched up AND were stuck together during the utgard lanes chapters. soooo a lot

also hearth and alex's brief interactions lol

"just, you know, a little respect" "for the girl with the sharp wire? no problem" "there was nothing confusing abt the smile she gave me. it warmed up the office by about five degrees" I LOVE THEM A TOTALLY NORMAL AMOUNT

amir fadlan. AMIR FADLAN EVERYBODY <333

samirah being a girlboss. samirah handling all the stress. samirah trying to show her true self to amir. samirah braving everything put in her way with courage. just samirah <3 <3 (everybody in the whole universe should be in awe of her btw)

the scene in which they're sitting on stanley (the eight-legged horse) and magnus is nervous to hold on to alex but she just takes his hands and puts them around her waist <3

for some reason i had assumed alex had cut magnus's hair for the first time in the woods but no. it was blitz? hm

magnus's casual mention about utgard loki being attractive ajsfjfsi

taylor swift being dwarf music and prince being giant music?? (and that giant named tiny being obsessed with elvis)

an alex speech pattern which isn't much of a pattern but it repeated twice in the book: once she said (in response to hearth signing something she didn't understand. this was around the time when she and samirah revealed that alex would be taking samirah's place) "yes alex. thank you alex for being so brave and heroic." and then the other time (in the end when magnus is visiting her in her room and picks up one of her pottery projects) "no you can't touch it magnus. thanks for asking magnus" idk i just think it's cool

the trophy wife thing. sif deserves better tbh

"a girl who was rocking that wedding dress"

alex straightening magnus's tie or smth and magnus's inner monologue going "she still smells like wood smoke. why does she still smell like a campfire?"

samirah's wedding outfit?? (sounds gorgeous tbh. except for the hood which) also i have a related question. is the hood in place of hijab thing disrespectful? /gen

sif and alex dynamic <3

sif's gifts to hearth (pouch of rowan runes) and alex (golden garrote)

alex and most other shapeshifters make random animal noises and shapeshift to random animals when they're nervous

halfborn's "death and glory," mallory's "kill everyone," and tj's "charge" aksfkfiovdm. and the way magnus just becomes so much stronger when he sees his friends-

the scene at the end of the marriage battle thing when alex is all concerned because she thinks magnus doesn't believe that she was just pretending to be under loki's control and sHE'S TRYING TO CONVINCE HIM AND HE SQUEEZES HER HAND JDFJSFKFK THIS SCENE IS NOT TALKED ABOUT ENOUGH

alex canonically calling magnus "sunshiny" and RESPECTING AND ADMIRING HIM AND HIS HEALING POWERS. they make me weak

samirah and magnus's dynamic is not given enough love. they are figuratively SIBLINGS and that level of closeness is not recognized by the fandom enough

(also not really about the book but. the UK cover of 'hammer of thor' depicts samirah with half of her hair falling out of her hijab. which. who tf designed these covers?? like somebody needs to give them a good throttling)

there's probably more that i don't remember but okay here have this for now :)

#yeah half of these are just fierrochase. don't judge me ok #magnus chase #alex fierro #samirah al abbas #hearthstone mcga #hearth mcga #blitzen mcga #blitz mcga #mallory keen #halfborn gunderson #tj mcga #thomas jefferson jr #amir fadlan #fierrochase #magnus chase and the gods of asgard #mcatgoa #mcga #hammer of thor

[chaddavisphotography]

Protests continue for the 10th day after the Minneapolis Police Officer shooting death of Amir Locke on February 2, 2022. Chants of "Say His Name! Amir Locke!" echoed through Uptown as about a hundred moved up and down Lake Street leaving behind graffiti in protest.

#Amir #Amir Locke #Graffiti #Locke #March #Minneapolis #Protest #Uptown

[nightingaleif]

Nightingale-IF

genre: YA, drama, romance, mystery, urban fantasy, monsters, private academy

Inspiration: Wednesday, Monsterhearts, Euphoria, Locke and Key

Your family name is known for all the wrong reasons. Still, much shock spreads when you are brought before the authorities. The charge? Attempted manslaughter.

The father you have so reviled for his neglect proves useful. He pulls strings and calls for favours and within a fortnight, the charges are dropped.

But you can't stay at home, where you will forever be seen as the kid who got away with murder. Instead, your father sends you off -whether you want to or not- to the Obsidian Academy, which he also attended at your age.

The Obsidian Academy is grim and dark, as if from a whole other era. The residents of the halls are just as peculiar and secretive. Why does your roommate have scratch marks on their wall? Is it your idea or does the Queen Bee have concerningly sharp fangs? And why does everyone keep calling you a 'nightingale'?

Don't get too comfortable yet. For a dark force roams these halls. More and more bodies wind up dead and who knows who will be next? With your reputation and the disappearances starting just when you arrived, you are at the top of everyone's list...

Nightingale is rated 18+ for inappropriate language, sexual themes, use of substances, depictions of violence. (More will be added to the list of trigger warnings as I add more scenes)

FEATURES

Solve a murder mystery with twists and turns. Supernatural of not, the threat of the serial killer is true and ever present. Everyone is in danger. Everyone is a suspect. Even you.

Delve into the secrets of the Obsidian Academy and its residents. Young adults are a mess. Monsters even more so. You would be wise to watch your step, lest the Lady of the Night sinks her fangs in you. Unless you want that of course.

Discover your past. What is your father hiding from you? What happened to your mother? Why do some teachers look upon you with such recognition in their eyes? And what happened that fateful night when you almost claimed a life?Find out what a nightingale is. What it means for you, your relation to the creatures of the night and your fate.

Romance a variety of characters! From the cheery roommate, who mysteriously disappears every full moon, to the Queen Bee whose fangs scare and thrill you, to your guardian angel with horns and even the guy you almost murdered!

Romantic Options

The Roommate: Mace/Macy Walker (gender selectable)

M has welcomed you with open arms into the Obsidian Academy- and into their room. You are sharing a dorm room and so far they have gone out of their way to make your arrival as comfortable as possible. They seem determined to initiate you into their ever growing circle of friends.

Yet the claw marks on the walls imply there is a wilder side to them.

The Queen Bee: Claudia/Claude Fairmont (gender selectable)

C has not spared you a glance. Then again they seem to barely notice anyone but themself. If anything, they seem to dislike you just a little bit more than most. C waltzes around like they own the place and judging by the way everyone bends over to satisfy their whims, they just might be. They grin often and every time they do, you can't resist the urge to let your eyes wander down to their sharp fangs.

Why do they look at you like they know you?

The One You Almost Killed: Amir/Amara Sharma (gender selectable)

The two of you were close. Or your families were at least. Up until now anyway.

The fateful night itself is a blur, but the next morning is clear. You were behind bars and Amir was in the hospital. Bleeding, torn apart, disfigured by your hands.

You thought you would never see him again. Yet here he is. At the Obsidian Academy. Sharing a desk with you.

You are fucking doomed.

The Bodyguard: Lucian/Lucia Winchester (gender selectable)

Despite your repeated protests, you did not arrive to the Obsidian Academy on your own. Your father sent a bodyguard alongside you to guard your every step. You have known L for years, but it has only recently dawned on you how little you know about them. They remain your distant, silent guardian angel.

Though he may be the opposite of one.

Asks: Open!

Demo: Soon...

#interactive fiction #interactive game #if wip #mystery #romance #Monsterhearts #twine game #twine interactive fiction #twine wip #twine if #if games #Werewolves #vampire #fallen angels #dark academia #dark acadamia aesthetic

[ownedbythescribe]

Wanderer/Scaramouche | Heard Wish

ıllı Synopsis: Short Crack Sequel to Small Wish

ıllı Genre: Fluff, Romance

ıllı Notes: Gender Neutral Reader

ıllı A/N: I had been thinking of a short sequel to the ‘Small Wish’ I wrote for Tighnari. Thank you @koukiasterin for the idea! Please enjoy! Also something to post before the Tighnari one.

ıllı Part 1: Wanderer/Scaramouche - Small Wish

'Not to interrupt this ending, (Y/N), but you might want to tell Tighnari that you're a living person. I think you spook the living mushrooms out of him after Little Collei asked who he was talking to from your last visit.' Nahida urged. You blinked owlishly at her words before shouting at Wanderer to wait for you as you rushed back to your shared room to change.

Wanderer raised an eyebrow at your antics but waited for you to come back. It had not been long, but the moment you came out, he thought to himself how lucky he was to be your lover.

“You’re dressed fashionably? Off to somewhere?” He asked, mildly concerned about your getup. You combed the stray hair back and relayed the Dendro Archon’s message earlier. He scoffed and held your waist to his, nuzzling his head to the nape of your neck. You flushed red at the affection.

“Don’t worry, I’ll come back soon enough. I’ll also visit the Aranaras on the way.” You whispered, the soft tone lacing your voice melting him. It took a few seconds before he let go.

��I’ll come with you to Vanarana. I hope the stupid blue vegetable won’t toss my hat again to Archon knows where.” He groaned, already imagining how Ararycan would appear from behind and grab his hat. The Aranara had a strange attachment to his hat and loved to play frisbee with it. You lightly chuckled before kissing his cheeks and pulling him out of the house.

After locking the door, Wanderer insisted that he would accompany you to the entrance of the city before going to the Sanctuary of Surasthana. You sulked and informed him there was no need, but could you blame the man? He did not want to part from you after your reconciliation. If he was given a choice, he would rather spend it on your lap, lazing like a cat. Oh, how he wished he was one.

“All right. I’ll go back here after my talk with Tighnari then we can go together to Vanarana. I’ll see you later, Kuni. Love you!” You grinned, sprinting away before he could even react. However, you knew that your words alone flustered him to Celestia. It was an amusing sight.

The path from Sumeru City to Gandharva Ville was short. It only took nearly an hour and a half to reach it on foot. The moment you entered the village, you were greeted by an elder and a mercenary. You immediately inquired about the availability of the Forest Watcher. This caught the attention of a forest ranger by the name of Amir.

“You’re looking for our Forest Watchleader? May I kindly ask what business you have with him?” He asked. You sheepishly smiled and replied that you were a friend he made outside of Sumeru and forgot to send him a letter that you would be visiting for a couple of days.

“If I really liked it here, I might even settle down in Sumeru City. So… Is he here?” You hoped, fidgeting with the creases of your clothes. Amir, who appeared relieved, led you to his hut.

Tighnari had just finished his report and was about to head out to check on the village’s supplies when he saw Amir escorting you to his place. He froze. Remembering Collei’s words, he squinted his eyes and examined your visage for any peculiar traits that caused the others not to see you. However, there was nothing. Not to mention, Amir was animatedly talking to you.

‘Just what the heck is happening?!’ He exhausted.

At the corner of your eyes, you noticed Tighnari’s strange gaze. It took a few seconds to understand what was happening, and when you recalled the Dendro Archon’s words, you chuckled lightly.

“Tighnari! It’s been so long. How are you doing these days?” You feigned innocence. Tighnari glared at you, but you remained unfazed, even challenging the fennec fox to figure things out. Amir saw the apprehension and was about to say something when Tighnari pulled you inside his hut and informed the forest ranger he would take it from there. Amir reluctantly left.

“Hmm? Nothing’s changed since the last time I visited. Oh, wait. Reports about Withering Zone. Interesting.” You mumbled. Tighnari coughed and your attention was on him again.

“You’re… not a ghost, are you? A vengeful spirit or something more? Please tell me why you’re hunting this village. Although I doubt you’re really a supernatural being, but I can’t assume.” He voiced. You sat down by his chair and grinned.

“So what if I am a ghost? What will you do, Forest Watcher?” You asked menacingly. The hairs on Tighnari’s neck stood up, chilled by your voice, but he noticed something in your eyes. There was mirth.

“Oh, come on. You’re better than that. Now, what are you really?” He pushed. You laughed and relayed what happened the past days excluding your lover’s past. It was better to keep that to yourself. After all, Wanderer did not want others to fuss or pity him for what happened.

Tighnari, finally understanding the situation, let out a loud sigh of relief. It was good you were not a ghost or something, else he might have to call an exorcist from Liyue. That would have been embarrassing on his part. He plopped down on his bed and asked if you had gotten used to your body. A wry smile marred your face. You confessed that it was strange to feel your limbs and not have the light feeling you had as a spirit. It would definitely take time to get used to it.

“I’m just happy that I have someone by my side to help me adjust. Although, he can get a bit snarky with people. He’s still cute though!” You claimed, giggling at the thought of a certain purple head.

Tighnari shook his head at your lovestruck visage before asking where you were heading after this. Pulled out of your stupor, you informed him of your planned itinerary. He hummed in acknowledgment before standing up to hand you a summary of the report he made on the Withering Zones.

“I hope this isn’t a problem. Do you mind if you give it to Lesser Lord Kusanali? It might help the Aranaras if you break this out to them in simpler terms.” He urged. You did not mind helping him out, so you placed it in your bag and prepared to leave. It was when you noticed two Aranaras beside him. You paused.

‘What the… I thought they fear you!? Is this a new development?’ You thought. They were charmed by his swishing tail. These Aranaras, really.

“So that’s how it is.” You let out loud.

“Is there a problem, (Y/N)?” Tighnari queried.

“No, no. Just an interesting finding on my part. Anyways, I have to go now, ‘Nari! Do tell Little Collei that I’m not a ghost. Hahaha! Don’t miss me too much!” You boldly stated. The fennec fox lightly hit your head with the scroll he was holding, flustered at your words. You sheepishly grinned before leaving, feeling happy that everything was cleared up.

‘How do I make Kuni wear cat ears and tail for my experiment? I don’t know what to bribe him. Maybe a kiss?’ You cheekily thought, already curious about the outcome of the experiment you wished to conduct with him and the Aranara. From afar, you could hear a light laugh coming from a certain Archon.

“The heck are you laughing at, Buer?”

“Nothing. Just a curious mind I heard. Ah! Please don’t put it there. I still have to make adjustments to that portion.”

Please do not copy or repost my stories, but notes and reblogs are always appreciated!

#genshin impact #genshin #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #wanderer #scaramouche #wanderer x reader #wanderer x yn #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche x yn #fluff #romance

[david-goldrock]

The following is a song I love

It's a song about stereotypes and embracing complexities

the stereotypes are Israeli stereotypes, so near the ones that won't make sense, imma put an explanation in squigely brackets

[Verse 1] How easy it is to flow with the brain in automatic conditioning that do not require you to work hard Only to tag and bark, incite and sacrifice (something to a god) To the rating idols (also fake gods), items with full strength Everything is already arranged in our heads drawer by drawer- No, we cannot allow reality to prevent us from seeing that

Every leftist is a traitor Every Arab is a suicide terrorist Every haredi (ultra-Orthodox) robes in daylight {the Haredi population in Israel is often criticized for taking egregious amounts of money while they don't serve in the army and many don't work, that is often called שוד = robbery in daylight} And all the settlers murdered Rabin {After the assassination of former prime minister Yitzhak Rabin, many settlers were blamed for the assassination, both because they were a part of the demonstrations against him and the fact Yigal Amir, the assassinator, was a settler} All of Tel Aviv is vegan {Tel Aviv is the city with the most vegans in the world} All of Netivot is traditional- down to earth {I don't know this stereotype tbh} All the religious are primitive with a tassel and while doing so, they erased Darwin

[Chorus] Do not lock me up in any cage Don't summarize me on Wikipedia I am everything, I am nothing Infinite light clothed in a body So don't lock me up in any cage

[House 2] Call me Don Quixote who dares to challenge Put a bounty on my head and a guillotine in the square The demons their time had passed And the king is naked Erase everything you knew about me until today No, I am not the settler, not a representative of God Not a dos (slur for religious people) that excludes women Not a bridge between the sectors {Hanan Ben-Ari, the singer and songwriter, is often called "a bridge between the (secular and religious) sectors" because he is a figure both sectors feel attached and connected to} May The sectors burn, May the prejudices burn And everyone will have a chance to write their own story

Because if everything is visible and known in advance cliché by cliché No, we cannot allow reality to prevent us from seeing that Every Mizrahi is oppressed, Every secular is a dirty infidel All the women should be in the kitchen And all the Russians are in love with Stalin {which is the wildest stereotype on the list because, come on, they hate him so much} All the endings have ended {a hebrew saying meaning all hope is lost, a sentiment the singer despises} Every member of the Knesset is a pot of vermin All Ethiopians run (well) and those who don't, sing with Raychel {a joke about people who say they are not racist, and then talk about the Idan Raychel project, in which many ethiopian jews sang with him.}

[Chorus] Do not lock me up in any cage Don't summarize me on Wikipedia I am everything, I am nothing Infinite light clothed in a body So don't lock me up in any cage

[bridge] A day will come one day A day will come one day

[chorus/outro] A day will come and you will not be lock me up in any cage You won't summarize me on Wikipedia I am everything, I am nothing I came naked and I such I will return So don't put me in any cage Do not put me in any cage

This is just for the irony

#טאמבלר ישראלי #טמבלר ישראלי #ישראל #ישראלבלר #ישראלים #עם ישראל חי #עברית #חרבות ברזל #ישר #ישראבלר #ישרבלר #musician #israel #acoustic #new music #songs #music video #tunes #musica #music #Youtube

[glove1]

Hello, I was wondering if you could do a sfw fic with cypher and a fem wife reader where she very obviously has a thing for his hands and maybe him teasing her about it

Thank you for reading my request, have a nice day!

It’s so cute and wholesome I couldn’t wait to write it!! Of course I can do this for you anon, it would be my pleasure :)

Keep Your Hand in Mine (Female Reader)

Cypher x Reader fluff

Words: 894

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You were perfectly positioned. Your legs were curled up underneath you, a blanket sprawled on your lap and legs, and a good book in your hands. You read in the warm glow of your fairy lights that you begged your husband to put up for the, as he puts in air quotes, “aesthetic”. You let out a small sigh as you turn the page, your arm rising from its comfortable position against the side of the couch as you flip the fragile paper to uncover unread words. You lean your head on your hand as you continue to read. A sudden dip in the soft cushion makes you glance over to see a smiling face holding a steaming cup of your favorite tea. You give him a small smile and close your book, making sure the book mark is in its place. You carefully take the hot mug into your small hands and give an excited smile as you stare at the amber liquid. You can hear your husband chuckle at your antics as you take a small sip. The burn never felt so good and you let out a small mewl in delight. His chuckle deepens with your mewl.

“My love, the sounds you make are so cute.” He says as he nuzzles into your neck. The tickle of his stubble makes you scrunch your nose trying to hide your tickle spot. You pull away from him and look into his deep brown eyes. His head falls since you moved away from him making him fall into your lap. You giggle as you set the steaming cup on the small side table, being careful not to spill it. Amir readjusts and is facing upward, his head still in your lap. You look down at him softly, your hands making their way to his hair to play with his dark brown locks. He closes his eyes in delight and almost purrs.

“And you say my sounds are odd, you’re literally purring Amir.” You point out. His face quickly bunches together, his eyebrows knitting and his eyes opening. A playful smile adorns his face.

“None like you my love, my life.” He says as he gets up and makes himself comfortable next to you. He places an arm behind you pulling you into his chest. You lean in and take one of his hands into both of yours.

You then start your little routine. You measure your hand against his, noting how small yours is in comparison. He slightly curls the tops of his fingers to meet yours. You then take every single finger and rub them, giving each one a personal message. He leans his head back on the couch, fully sinking into the hand massage. You carefully put that hand down and pick up his other one and do the same routine.

“My love.” Amir groans out. His voice gravely due to him being so relaxed. You let out a small hum to let him know you are listening. “Why do you play with my hands so much?” He questions. You smile to yourself and play with his wedding ring, slowly turning it around his finger. The gold shining brightly even in the warm light.

“I play with your hands because I like them.” You answer innocently. He raises his head up and gives you a questioning look. You give him a soft, adoring look back. Looking at him like he is the best thing in the world. His eyes soften and he takes one of his hands from you and places it on the side of your face, cupping it slightly. You lean into his touch, your eyes still full of love for your husband. He then melts under your gaze.

“‘Because I like them’.” He says in a higher voice slightly mocking you. You giggle and look down, your hands finding the other one. He also chuckles and tries to find your eyes again.

“I do Amir. I love your hands. I don’t know why but…” your sentence drifts away as you carefully take his other hand into yours again. Your fingers gently circle the callouses he has gained from work. They work their way around to different scars we has adorned on his skin, your fingers rubbing them slightly almost trying to get them healed. You look back up at him and find his face giving you a look that you know very well. One that says ‘continue your sentence please’. You give him a small smile and continue while looking into his brown eyes.

“But I love them. And I love you.” You lean in and give him a peck on the lips. He smiles against your peck and leans in a bit more to try and get more of your kiss. You pull back and feel his other hand come up to your face to cup the other cheek. You then put one of your hands on his wrist, gently wrapping your small fingers around. He slightly squishes your face between his hands which makes you giggle and him chuckle at your now squeezed face.

“Ah my love.” He calls as he lets go of your face. Your face almost looks disappointed, missing his warmth. He then quickly gives you a peck on your lips making you smile. “What did I do to deserve a wife like you.”

#valorant #x reader #valorant cypher #cypher x reader #fluff #sfw

[naddpod-encounter-tourney]

Option 1:

Enemy: Rusgak and Yugo

Episode: Frostwind’s Mandatory Celebration of Maximum Luminosity: A Somber Festival

Time: 1:14:17-1:40:25

Finish: none! That’s a TPK, baby! (Moonshine gets Yugo)

Notes: Amir turns heel. Jake sees red. Murph ends up fighting himself to save Christmas. Paw Paw is the only survivor.

Propaganda: From @misslevel: Most iconic moment is def right after Yugo turns on the party, downs Hardwon, sees Moonshine about to push him out the window, and then Amir (despite having needed to be prompted by Murph about his cunning action hide every single time previously) remembers to say “wait, can’t I hide?” King of tactical combat.

Option 2:

Enemy: Callista, the Summer Fairy (and The Prophet Cain, a bit)

Episode: C2 E39: Cain vs. Callista

Time: 41:37-1:21:05

Finish: Fia

Notes: Six. Nat. Ones! (2 from each player). Dice Christ really abandoned them in this one. (My other notes were actually some of the same points as below so I’ll let the propaganda take it).

Propaganda: Also from @misslevel: The aesthetics of this fight are soooo good. Trekking across the desert, in the distance seeing the sun herself strafing across the horizon, the whole sky darkening each time she passes behind a dune, light streaming around her so they can’t even see her face, locked in combat with the blindfolded Prophet Cain. Then the third mates run up to them and absolutely shit the bed for a straight half an episode.

#naddpod #not another dnd podcast #bahumia #eldermourne #naddpod encounter tournament #round 1

[itsmythang]

Ben Crump:

Amir Locke would’ve turned 24-yo today. Instead, he was killed as an innocent bystander when police entered his home with a no-knock warrant. Amir’s death sparked a ban on the use of no-knock warrants in Minneapolis, but his family will never have him back. Rest In Power.🙏🏽🙏🏽🙏🏽