#catalinas cure

[catalinas-cure]

take care

word count: 1k

a/n: quick lil thing that popped into my mind after a hang out (😭😭), reminder that my requests are open and i will literally write almost anything y’all send in 🫡

summary: finally figuring out what works sex wise with new bf!john b

warnings: smut ofc, unprotected sex, creampie, fingering, licking cum

“think i know just what you need, mama” john b says

spreading your legs open with his warm, rugged hands, pulling your already soaked panties off of you and tucking them into his pocket. “for later” he says, shooting you a look that makes your legs even weaker than they were before.

“ ‘m sorry that i was a brat today…i’ll be better tomorrow, promise” you assure him. he makes sure you’re looking right at him and starts rubbing your sensitive clit “let’s hope you can keep that promise, baby..” he whispers

your legs start twitching around his hands for a quick moment, he takes this as a chance to grip one of your thighs with his free hand “keep ‘em open for me, okay?” he orders. you nod, forehead already starting to sweat as you start to feel the aching of your core.

“can you…put your fingers in already?” you mutter, half not wanting him to hear you. he does as you ask, quickly sticking one thick digit into your folds, you felt your back start to arch as he curled his finger inside of you.

kissing your neck, he adds a second finger, making you whine for the first time that night. “mhm…keep ‘em right there” your eyes shut close, you don’t know how you’ll control yourself when he finally slips inside.

he pulls his fingers out of you and licks them clean of your arousal, holding your chin up with his other hand to make you look at him. “want you inside ‘f me already” you whimper, a smug look washing over his face.

“you sure you’re ready?” you nod again, laying further back onto his bed “ ‘kay then, tell me if it hurts, we can take it slow” he reminds you. you take his shorts off, palming him through his boxers, and then finally taking his cock in your hands.

running your thumb over his tip, you hear his breathe catch in his throat, you lick his swollen tip for a quick moment, just enough for a little bit of precum to cover it.

“ ‘m ready.” you say, trying not to cum at the sight of him like this, he begins rubbing the head on your already swollen clit, little hums of pleasure coming from the both of you fill the room.

finally, he slips right into you, inch by inch, it’s almost painful at first but that feeling quickly fades away and is replaced by a mind-numbing sense of fullness.

his hips jerk against yours by pure instinct, eager to push himself deeper inside, as deep as he possibly can. mewls slip from his lips to yours as the two of you try to keep quiet, the kiss only doing so much to make up for how loud the both of you were becoming.

this wasn’t the first time in the relationship that you had had sex together but it was definitely one of the few times, you both were still figuring out what the other liked and what worked for the two of you.

you pull off of him as much as you could without letting his tip slip out, quickly sliding his dick back into your dripping cunt. it’s almost like you could feel him in your stomach “so fuckin’ good f’ me” he squishs your face with his huge hand, making you laugh.

“stop looking at me…’m gonna cum” you moan, your walls clenching around him, nails dug deep into his tanned skin. “me too…don’t know how much longer I can last when you do that….fuck” throwing his head back in pleasure, brunette hair sticking to his forehead.

soon enough he has you on all fours, your hair in his hands, you can only manage to get a few gibberish words out as he pounds into you from the back. “yesyesyesyes….fuck” you scream, hiding your face in his pillows.

john b can’t even look you in the eyes because he knows he’ll cum right then and there, he continues ramming into your needy pussy, holding on to your hair and the small of your back for dear life.

low, breathy moans forcing themselves out of him, he flips you back onto your back. “are you close?” he asks, trying to catch his breathe, wiping the sweat off of his face. “mhm, you can cum now, don’t pull out…” you tell him, he’s never seen you like this , he’s finally figured out what works the best for the both of you.

“you sure?” he questions, squeezing the fat of your plush ass “fuck yes, want you to fill me up…” you cry. john b immediately began thrusting into you at a pace that had you feeling like you were being split open from the sheer size of him and how good him fucking you like this felt.

he cums right then and there, he smacks your aching cunt which makes you do the same. the both of you laying still as john b’s thick load of seed starting to spill out of you, he takes two fingers, slips them into your spent pussy, and sticks them into your mouth.

he grips your waist as you warm his cock, pulling out to press messy kisses to your neck and back “love seeing you like this…all fucked out” john b makes you face him, rubbing his thumb over your lips that you had biten when he was ruthlessly sinking into you over and over.

“is that what you like, hm?” he smirks, moving your hair out of your flushed face, you nod, not being able to speak from how exhausted you were. “you did so good for me, so good” he praises, kissing your forehead and cheek.

that in itself could make you wet again if you weren’t so worn out “love you…” you somehow managed to say, looking away because of how hot you felt your face getting. “i love you so much” he laughed as he pressed another long kiss to your cheek.

john b really was everything you’d thought he’d be like as a boyfriend, and more, this was just another thing you could add to the list of things you loved about being with him.

#catalinas cure #catalinas-cure #john b routledge #john b x reader #john b x you #john b x fem!reader #john b fanfiction #john b obx #outer banks x reader #outer banks #john b x y/n #john b fic #outer banks fanfiction

[mothinked]

Ellie and Abby brain rot.

#'don't ever let me see you again' #the symbolism of abby like prometheus on the pillar #ellie becoming the 'source of fire' aka the cure abby wants to give to humanity #abby bringing ellie to catalina island after this long ass journey mirroring the first game #idk man i love analyzing this stuff #the metaphors and the symbolism #seeing different sides of each other UGHHHH

[swampthingking]

ok another thing i love about tsc is that it’s not set up so that jeremy is jean’s sole support. in books where one character is severely traumatized or depressed or what have you, they’re often written so the love interest is the only person that they come to, or the love interest is the only person who is there for them, which ends up making it a “love can cure trauma/a mental illness” thing.

BUT nora “i’m not your answer and you sure as fuck aren’t mine” sakavic is giving us catalina and laila as well, and i believe the rest of the trojans will get there, and jean has a support system rather than a support person. and i have a feeling jean is going to either seek out or be talked into therapy and just the fact that he has people friends to come home to and be with and feel safe with and WKDJDJJSDJDJ

#tsc spoilers #tsc #jean moreau #jean yves moreau #jeremy knox #catalina alvarez #laila dermott #jerejean #the sunshine court

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Comet Donati [Chapter 10: Through The Dark] [Series Finale]

Series Summary: Sex, drugs, boy bands. You are a kinda-therapist recruited (via nepotism) to help Comet Donati through a recent crisis. Things are casual with Aegon, very not-casual with Aemond. Loosely inspired by One Direction.

Chapter Warnings: Language, references to sexual content (+18), drugs, alcohol, smoking, mental health struggles, pregnancy, bodily injury, death, miscarriage, AND NO OTHER CLUES, HAPPY READING!!! 🥰

Selected Chapter Quote: “What made you want to be a therapist?”

Word count: 6.4k.

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

Taglist: @doingfondue @catalina-howard @randomdragonfires @myspotofcraziness @arcielee @fan-goddess @talesofoldandnew @marvelescvpe @tinykryptonitewerewolf @mariahossain @chainsawsangel @darkenchantress @not-a-glad-gladiator @gemini-mama @trifoliumviridi @herfantasyworldd @babyblue711 @namelesslosers @thelittleswanao3 @daenysx @moonlightfoxx @libroparaiso @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @mizfortuna @florent1s @heimtathurs @bhanclegane @poohxlove @narwhal-swimmingintheocean @heavenly1927 @echos-muses @padfooteyes @minttea07 @queenofshinigamis @juliavilu1 @amiraisgoingthruit @lauraneedstochill @wintrr13 @r0segard3n @seabasscevans @tsujifreya @helaenaluvr @hiraethrhapsody

Thank you for loving the insane and incomparable Comet fam. I hope you enjoy the series finale. 💜

Night sky, string lights, reverberating bass, warm wet verdant air like the earth the dinosaurs knew, swampy and thick with beasts. With his lazy, dreamlike smile—a kind contagious glow, pink sunburned cheeks that match the clinking Salty Dog in his hand—Aegon says: “What made you want to be a therapist?”

You won’t tell him the whole truth. But you’ll tell him part of it. “Sigmund Freud.”

Aegon is intrigued, raised eyebrows and a crooked grin. “The guy who thinks everyone wants to fuck their mom?”

“You would have liked him. He did a lot of coke.” You take a swig of your Salty Dog: rosemary, grapefruit, the singeing bite of gin. “He was the founder of talk therapy. And, yeah, some of the things he wanted to talk about were…unorthodox. Misguided. But still…”

“He just wanted to talk,” Aegon says softly, understanding now.

“This was the turn of the century, okay? This was back in the days when they were pulling people’s teeth out, locking them up in asylums, injecting them with diseases, cutting off parts of women that made them unruly, ungovernable, immoral.” You shudder. “And Freud said no, just talk to them. Just figure out what demons they have chained up in their skulls, dark dusty corners buried way down deep, and help them figure out how to move forward. It’s not about having a cure, a pill or a scalpel. I mean, how ludicrous would that be, thinking I was walking around with some failproof silver bullet to make all the pain of existence vanish? That’s insane. It’s about listening to people, and caring about people, and shining a light on what part of them already knew was there. I don’t have a cure for anybody. Not a single goddamn person on this planet. But I can help them find their own.”

Aegon watches you, contemplates you, studies you like something rare and fleeting. “You are going to be one hell of a therapist.”

“I don’t know about that. But I hope so.”

“I’ll find you. Maybe when you’re done with school you can work on me. I’d keep you busy, I guarantee it. I’m like Disney’s Haunted Mansion. Ghosts everywhere you look.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “You are never going to remember me.” He is never going to remember this place, this time, the way he shared his light with me like a long-lost comet clipping by Earth.

“I might,” Aegon says. He sips his Salty Dog with his elbows propped on the table, his blond hair whipping in the indigo wind, grains of salt on his lips, reflections of string lights like stars in his eyes. “I really think I might.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Your arms thrown around his neck, your face buried in his black t-shirt, inhaling smoke and dust and the coppery sharpness of his spilled blood. You are sobbing uncontrollably, gasping, shivering, wild prideless tears and clawing fingers. Jace’s words circle in your skull like a moon around its planet: Nobody escapes the indignity of becoming a regret. Aemond is trying to calm you, to quiet you. His hands—large and dangerous and bloodstained and careful—are on your back, in your hair. You have to explain, to repent. You have to make him understand.

“I didn’t get pregnant on purpose,” you moan into him, a jagged rush like a hemorrhage. “I swear to God I didn’t. I wouldn’t do that to you. I wasn’t trying to trap you or fix you or use you. I’m in love with you, Aemond, I wanted you, and I still want you, and I thought you would hate me and I was terrified and I didn’t know how to tell you—”

“I don’t hate you, I could never hate you,” he’s saying, and more that you can’t catch; his words are a tide, flowing in and fading out. Now there is pain, deep and sharp and collapsing. Aegon is standing a few yards away, tears flooding down his sunburned face; they clear tracks in the dust that coats him, that coats everyone, that sticks to the blood on your legs. Cregan has pushed the others back, but still, you can hear their incorporeal voices: Jace asking what’s going on, Rhaena explaining, Baela shrieking, Criston shouting orders. Now Aegon has a rough hand on Aemond’s shoulder and is telling him something—insisting upon something—but you don’t know what. Language escapes you; language abandons you.

There are sirens and flashing lights the color of rubies, roses, tangled arteries. Aemond scoops you up and carries you towards them. There is only enough room for one person to ride in the ambulance with you; there is no discussion of who it will be. The rest of Comet has to wait for the Escalades to arrive at your parents’ farm. You do not try to steal a glimpse of the damage, felled trees and scattered fence posts, dead cattle and pillaged earth. You are filled with enough wreckage already; you are built of it, bones made out of bent nails, nerves of barbed wire.

Needles into your arms, chemicals into your bloodstream: something that deadens the pain and muddies your thoughts, makes them slow and heavy and unpanicked, like you are watching this happen to somebody else. In an exam room, nurses strip your clothes away and wipe the red from your skin, routinely, absentmindedly, as if it is of no consequence, as if the future you had taken for granted has not just been drowned, immolated, eradicated from existence like a dying star. They give you underwear fitted with a bulky postpartum pad—the same used by mothers of living children—and a hospital gown that Aemond marks with bloody fingerprints when he touches you. Then the nurses leave you to wait for the doctor with your IVs and your fogbank mind and your glazed eyes that stare blankly at the sterile white walls.

Aemond is smoothing back your hair from your face, and you are reminded of how he held Aegon when he was dying on your bedroom floor in the MGM Grand. You remember once thinking that Aemond is like storms and rogue waves, and that’s true; he turns lethal and then goes kind again, strikes and then soothes. He says once you are alone, each word painstakingly chosen: “I’m sorry that because of how I’ve acted, you felt you couldn’t tell me.”

“I’m sorry I lost the baby.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do. I must have. I’m bleeding too much.” You can feel it, blood and clots that ooze, gush, drain away leaving you cold and hollow.

The exam room door opens, not a nurse or a doctor but a man in khaki cargo shorts and a filthy neon green tank top and matching Crocs, clop clop clop. “Hey, Stargirl,” Aegon says, sad and gentle. He holds up a venti-sized plastic cup. “I brought you a Double Chocolatey Chip Frappuccino.”

You blink groggily, not knowing what to do with it. Aegon puts the clear cup in your hands, the green straw between your lips. It’s sugary, cold, rich, topped with a swirl of whipped cream and chocolate syrup. It brings you back a little bit, a few unsteady steps towards the real world.

“Where the fuck is the doctor?” Aemond asks him.

“The nurse said she’s on her way. They’re understaffed.” Aegon shrugs apologetically: Missouri bullshit.

“You get somebody in here, right now.”

“What do you want me to do, threaten to stab medical professionals?! How about you punch some of their teeth out, I bet that would help.” Then Aegon sighs shakily and covers his own face with his hands. “It wasn’t…it wasn’t mine, you know?” Wasn’t, isn’t, will never be. “We haven’t…not since…it’s not…” He looks at Aemond with large, shining, ocean-blue eyes. “It’s not possible. You have to know that. You can’t be the way that you are sometimes. You don’t get a few weeks to come around to doing the decent thing. You have to believe her.”

And Aemond says softly: “I do.”

The door opens again and a doctor steps through it, mid-forties, thick black-rimmed glasses, dark hair secured in a businesslike low bun. Aegon ducks out of the room; the doctor gives him a brief quizzical glance before introducing herself to you. You can’t seem to latch onto her name. You answer the questions she asks you as she readies the ultrasound machine: ten weeks along, blunt force trauma to your back, where and how it hurt before the pain was drugged out of you. She unfastens a tie on the side of your hospital gown and opens it just enough to spread the cool gel across your belly and then glide the transducer through it. She peers at the grainy screen. She’s checking for a heartbeat; she’s checking to see if you’ll need a D&C to help expel a partial miscarriage so you don’t go septic.

“I lost it,” you sob, breaking down again. “Aemond, I’m so sorry—”

“Don’t. Please don’t.” He kisses your temple and then rests his forehead against yours, tears glittering in his river-clear right eye.

“Well,” the doctor says with practiced, vaguely sympathetic composure. “You lost one of them.”

You look to her, not understanding. “One of…?”

She angles the monitor so you and Aemond can see. “Fraternal twins often have separate amniotic sacs and placentas. So depending on the positioning of the fetuses, it is possible to miscarry one but not the other. This one on the left here…” She indicates it with her index finger. “It’s…it’s no longer viable, unfortunately. You’ve already passed most of it. But this one on the right…” She squints at the screen, repositioning the transducer. “From what I can tell, it seems to be holding on. Let me see if I can…” She moves the transducer around, pressing it into the yielding flesh of your belly. And then you hear it: a fierce defiant drumming, a whistling like wind through leaves. “I thought so,” the doctor pronounces, smiling. “There’s the heartbeat. The pulse is approximately 155 beats per minute, which is typical.”

One of them? I didn’t lose one of them? “Aemond…?”

When you turn back to him, he’s staring at the flickering black-and-white whirls of bones and blood flow on the ultrasound screen. And the expression on his face is one that you’ve never seen from him before, serene like when he’s with animals, awed like when he studies the galaxy, and something else too, a great shifting, a clicking into place, tectonic plates and ocean currents and storm clouds unraveling into clear skies. “It’s alright?” he says, not taking his eye from the screen.

“It is,” the doctor confirms. “Measuring a little bit small for ten weeks, but that’s to be expected for a twin. I don’t think you’ll be able to tell the sex for another month, but it’s alive and well.” She freezes the image on the screen, sets the transducer aside, and cleans the gel from your belly. “Based on my experience, in cases like this, I’d say there’s a better than 50/50 chance the surviving fetus can be carried to term.”

You say: “What can I do…? I mean…there must be something I can do to help it…to help it live…”

“We’ll give you medication to stop any residual uterine contractions and antibiotics to prevent infection. I’d like to admit you for observation, just for a day or two. And I would recommend bed rest for several weeks. Until you’ve reached your second trimester, at least.”

“Yes. Anything. I’ll do anything.”

“And sir, you’re…” The doctor peers at Aemond through her glasses, really scrutinizing him for the first time, his brutal scar and his blind left eye and his stillness and his wonder. “You’re the father?”

Aemond nods, still gazing at the screen like a constellation in the night sky, like a comet only glimpsed once in a lifetime. “I am.”

The doctor beams. “Congratulations,” she tells both of you. And then she leaves to arrange for you to be admitted to the hospital.

“I’ll stay,” Aemond says. “When the band flies to New Orleans tomorrow, I’ll stay here with you.”

“No, Aemond.”

“I’m staying. I’m not going to leave you. You need me, the baby needs me.”

“No,” you say again. “What we have now is wrong. It’s painful and volatile and doomed.” You lay your palm against his scarred face, and he doesn’t finch away. “You have to figure out who you are after Comet. And so do I.” Tears in your eyes, tears on your cheeks; but on your lips is a soft, patient smile. “Aemond, I don’t want me and the baby to be a distraction from the work that you still desperately need to do. I don’t want to be a temporary fix. I don’t want to be your life raft. I want to be…if I’m going to be anything to you…” Your thumbprint ghosts across his cheekbone, tender, reverent. “I want to be your home.”

He shakes his head, but he doesn’t speak; drops like rain spill down his right cheek, dyed pink by blood from the fresh lacerations that riddle him, new scars and ancient pain.

“What are you thinking?” you say.

“I’m thinking that you’re right. I fucking hate it, but you are.” He swipes away tears with one bloodstained hand, then he settles it on your not-yet-showing belly, a place of ruin, a place of hope. “When can I come back?”

“When you’re ready. And only you’ll know when that is.”

The exam room door opens again, and your parents rush in like water through a cracked dam. They are frantic and fretting, peering around bewilderedly.

“Lord almighty, what the hell happened?!” your dad booms; and your mom doesn’t even think to chastise him.

“I’m okay, Daddy.”

“You got hit by somethin’? Are they gonna do an x-ray? Your mother and I finally made it back home from church, trees and power lines down all over the place, and that boy was waitin’ on the front porch to tell us where you were. You know, the big one. The one with the godawful ponytail.”

“Cregan,” your mom offers.

“Cregan,” your dad says.

“It’s a man bun, Daddy. How’s the farm?”

“We ain’t too bad off. A couple cows dead, half the herd out wanderin’ since the pasture fence blew away. Me and the dogs gotta bring ‘em on back, but your mother and I had to see you first. Did they check you over good? Can you come home today?”

“Sweetheart, there’s…” Your mom’s voice is alarmed. “There’s blood on your gown, on your face, what happened?”

“Well, I, um, the thing is…” You try to tell them. You begin crying again instead. As you sniffle and avert your eyes—afraid, ashamed—Aemond stands and extends one large, scarlet-streaked hand. Your dad shakes it tentatively. And then Aemond explains for you: the child you’ve lost, the child you’ve kept, what has to happen next.

“I am responsible,” Aemond says as they gape at him, half-ecstatic and half-horrified. “And I know that this didn’t exactly happen in the traditional way, and I know that there is a lot of work left for me to do to prove myself worthy of your daughter. But I hope in time you’ll be able to forgive me. Because it seems that we’re going to be family.”

Your mom squeals and hugs Aemond. Your dad hugs you. They stay until you are settled in your own private room—small bed and clean sheets, drugs trickling into your veins—and only then do they listen to your insistence that you’ll be okay until morning, that they need to go home to take care of the farm. They leave with their arms around each other, exchanging murmurs like vows. Then Aemond asks if you feel well enough to see the band. They want to say goodbye.

“You’ll miss me,” Jace says confidently, then swoops in to smack a kiss on your forehead before anyone can stop him, bouncing dark curls and smirking mouth. Aegon jabs him in the ribs, Criston rolls his eyes, Aemond glowers like he’d enjoy putting Jace in need of another 28 dental implants. “If you ever get sick of mentally ill blonds, just let me know. The kid doesn’t change anything. I dig MILFs.”

“Thanks, Jace. I guess.”

“We’ll still see you around, right? You’ll visit us, we’ll visit you?”

“Yeah. I won’t disappear.”

“Good.” And then again, more somberly: “Good.”

Rhaena is dabbing at her gentle, doe-like eyes with a Kleenex, leaning into Luke for support. Criston is gallant. Daeron is optimistic. Baela is exasperated that you told Rhaena you were pregnant but not her.

“I didn’t tell Rhaena,” you counter. “She just happened to be the person who accompanied me on my ill-fated adventure to procure Plan B in Tokyo at like 2 a.m.”

“Which did not work,” Rhaena adds, sniffling into her Kleenex.

“A cautionary tale,” Jace says to everyone. “You hear that, fellas? When in doubt, wrap it before you tap it.”

Baela nods at you. “Luckily, she doesn’t seem too disappointed.” Her eyes flick reticently to Aemond where he sits in the chair closest to your bed, a presence in the room like skies that could turn in an instant, quiet, preoccupied, protective, dazed. “And neither does he.”

“I’m not,” Aemond confesses. He laces one hand through yours and brings his lips to your knuckles, willing the baby to live, willing himself to be better for you both.

“We’re going to talk later,” Cregan tells him sternly. Talk about what it means to be a father.

“Yes,” Aemond agrees.

And then Cregan says goodbye to you too, his cool greyish eyes growing peculiarly warm, his steely exterior chipping away like flecks of old paint.

Aegon is last, the only person left in the room with you and Aemond. Grinning beneath sad eyes, he presses a hand to his heart, and then to yours, and then to your belly. Starboy, Stargirl, Starbaby. Then he says: “Do you want me to hide under your bed so they can’t kick me out when visiting hours end?”

You smile tiredly, exhausted and in pain, pain of the body and pain of the soul. “You have to go, Aegon. Thousands of screaming fangirls will be waiting for you at Arrowhead Stadium.”

He is stunned. “I can’t perform tonight, obviously.”

“Yes you can.”

“No, I definitely can’t.”

“You can,” you say. “You have to. And more than that, you want to. You’ll regret it if you don’t. You live for being Comet’s disaster playboy. I’m not going to take that away from you.”

And then Aegon whimpers: “You can’t leave me.”

“You’re leaving me first.” You beam up at him, caressing his sunburned face, threading your fingers through his disheveled hair. Aemond observes this with curiosity but no suspicion. “This isn’t goodbye, Aegon. I’ll see you again. You can add me to the long list of girls you FaceTime.”

He laughs. “Okay, Stargirl. Okay. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“For more than a day, right?”

“For all of them. Forever.”

And then he’s gone, riding that elliptical orbit out into all the corners of the world that he will glow for: New Orleans, Miami, Rio de Janeiro, Sao Paulo, Bogota, Buenos Ares, Lima, Santiago.

Aemond swears to you: “I’m coming back.”

“I hope so.”

And he tilts up your chin and kisses you, tasting like smoke and dust and blood and desire, and it takes every atom of you, every string of muscle and rusty speck of bone marrow, not to crumble and beg him to stay. You are still at war with the part of you that wants to surrender as he stands and walks out of the room. He does not look back; he can’t without losing his nerve.

In the night, he returns to you, long after visiting hours have ended. Perhaps hundreds of millions of dollars have a way of making formalities disappear. He is only a silhouette in shadows like dawn, dusk, midnight. Aemond climbs into the hospital bed and catches you as you fold into him, whispering to you that everything will be alright, telling you how sorry he is, lulling you into a fitful sleep against his chest, his warmth, his heartbeat. And in the morning when you wake up alone, you wonder if any of it was real.

Did I dream that he was here? Did I dream that I ever met him at all?

But no, he has left you proof, something tangible, permanent. On the nightstand is Aemond’s small square vintage lighter; Targaryen is etched into one side. And there is something else too, a single piece of black paper with two sentences of starlight-colored ink:

I’m coming back.

I love you.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s October, and the leaves are turning from emerald to topaz, garnet, tiger’s eye. You carve pumpkins with your parents on their front porch. You bake apple crisps and sweet potato pies. You feed the pigs, brush the Australian cattle dogs, buy baby supplies with Aegon’s Amex Black Card. You decide to let the grad student and her Giant Flemish rabbit keep your apartment downtown until your lease is up in the spring. You’d rather be here on the farm, even when you’re not on bed rest anymore. You’d rather be home.

You listen to Comet Donati, The Script, Coldplay, One Direction. Rhaena and Baela mail you boxes of crochet comets and stars and planets for the baby’s room. Aegon mails you boxes of Comet’s new donut-themed merch. Now your dad sometimes tends to the beef cattle in boy band t-shirts. Aegon FaceTimes you two or three times a week, sends WhatsApp messages nearly every day. But you rarely talk about Aemond. It’s too painful, it’s too much of a temptation. You cannot imagine others seeing him, hearing him, speaking to him without needing to do it yourself in the same way that you need oxygen and gravity.

The week before Halloween, you begin spotting. You sob hysterically as your mom drives you to the hospital, convinced that you’re losing this baby too, that everything you touch is damaged and defenseless and doomed. You’re fine, as it turns out, and the baby’s fine too, but even after you’re back at the farm you can’t stop shaking, can’t stop imaging the wet heat of blood on your thighs.

You break down and call Aemond. And you talk for five hours until the sun rises, you in a rocking chair on your parents’ front porch, Aemond on a hotel balcony in Santiago, Chile in the shadow of the Andes Mountains. He says he’s working on something, but he’ll come back now if you ask him to, he’ll board the jet and land in Kansas City in time for supper at the farm, and you can hear the backsliding desperation in his voice: Please ask me to come back. Please just fucking ask me.

But it’s not time yet. He’s not ready, and you both know it. You agree not to call each other again until Aemond returns to you. If he returns to me. Neither of you can sleep for days afterwards. Neither of you can open the door a crack without the other rushing through.

One morning you shuffle downstairs in your Cookie Monster pajama pants and oversized NSYNC t-shirt to find your dad eating a heap of homemade pumpkin waffles in front of the television in the den. All five Australian cattle dogs are perched expectantly at his feet. “Them boys of yours are on Good Morning America.”

“What? Really?”

Yes, they are; they’re celebrating the conclusion of their record-breaking world tour and teasing a new album with an interview and two songs. You catch the end of the first one, their new single called Magic, during which the boys run haphazardly around the neon-lit studio, Jace tears off his donut-themed tank top in protest, and Aegon flubs no less than three lyrics.

Robin Roberts is saying: “Now stay tuned for a very special performance coming up next after a commercial break. We’ll be moving to our outdoor stage in Times Square where a sizeable crowd has formed, and we’ve been told that Comet has a surprise in store for us! What do you think it could be, George?”

“I don’t know, Robin,” George Stephanopoulos replies gamely. “But no matter what it is, I’m sure it will have all those young ladies out there screaming!”

Lara Spencer chuckles. “And not just the young ladies either. I’ve been known to attend Comet concerts on occasion.”

Robin says: “Oh no, Lara, are you a Cregan girlie?”

“Okay, yes, I confess, I am kind of a Cregan girlie…”

You get yourself a plate of pumpkin waffles and return just in time to see the camera panning over the crowd outside: shouting, cheering, waving posters and showcasing their homemade t-shirts.

Robin Roberts announces: “And now, with a cover of One Direction’s Through The Dark, here is the illustrious, incomparable, incredible Comet Donati!”

“No way,” you murmur, staring rapturously at the screen.

“You like that one?” your dad asks, tossing pieces of waffles to the dogs.

“It’s my favorite.” And Aemond knows that. I told him in Singapore.

The stage is empty as the first acoustic notes ring out. Then Daeron trots into view—radiant and cheerful in his donut merch—to sing the first lines:

“You tell me that you’re sad and lost your way

You tell me that your tears are here to stay,

But I know you’re only hiding

And I just wanna see you…”

Aegon appears next, clopping in his sparkly pink Crocs. He flips his hair around and winks mischieviously into the camera as he sings:

“You tell me that you’re hurt and you’re in pain

And I can see your head is held in shame,

But I just wanna see you smile again

See you smile again…”

And now the crowd is not just loud but deafening, and you’re so shocked the plate of pumpkin waffles tumbles out of your hands and onto the floor for the Australian cattle dogs to devour, because who bolts out onto the stage next is not Cregan or Luke or Jace but Aemond Targaryen, wearing Aegon’s beloved donut merch and his Adidas sneakers and his scar and blind eye bare for the world to witness. They don’t seem to take any notice of his maiming at all. They screech and hyperventilate and reach for him, awed, ecstatic, touching his outstretched fingertips and his sneakers like the relics of a saint. He is focused, perhaps nervous, but he is smiling. His voice is velvet-smooth and pitch-perfect.

“But don’t burn out

Even if you scream and shout,

It’ll come back to you

And I’ll be here for you…”

The others arrive, and now all six of them are singing the chorus in harmony as they traverse the stage, dodging each other’s chaotic spins and leaps, waving to the crowd, checking on Aemond with encouraging furtive grins and squeezes of his shoulders. Luke is beaming. Jace shoves Aemond playfully and almost gets flung off the stage in return.

“Oh I will carry you over

Fire and water for your love,

And I will hold you closer

Hope your heart is strong enough,

When the night is coming down on you

We will find a way through the dark.”

“Huh,” your dad says. “They ain’t no Johnny Cash, but they’re pretty good, I reckon. I thought Aemond wasn’t on stage much anymore.”

“He’s not.” And you smile wistfully as you watch him, right here with you and yet a world away, real and yet intangible, facts and myths and faith. “But now he knows he has a choice.”

On warm nights, you sit on the wraparound front porch and flick Aemond’s square metal lighter to life, shut it, ignite it again, a lonely golden spark in an ocean of darkness, a star in the night sky. And voices circle in your mind like satellites:

I think history is important.

Whoever you are when you’re in high school…that’s sort of who you are forever, you know?

I’ve never met anyone like you.

Aemond would want to be involved.

What the hell do I know about being a decent father?

Our father never cared about us.

It’s not just for me. It’s never been just for me.

“Please come back,” you whisper to the infinite emptiness of the universe, so softly you can barely hear yourself.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s November, and you are finally showing more than you can hide beneath hoodies and sweaters. The attendees of your parents’ Southern Baptist church—who glimpse you at Walmart or McDonald’s or Freddy’s Frozen Custard or 7-Eleven—gossip about you ceaselessly, venomously, with pity but no compassion. And your parents, who have been politely ignoring jibes about you for a decade, do more than just ignore it this time. They clear out their church mailbox and walk out the front door together and never go back. They’ve been shopping around for a new place of worship. Your mom says they might get really experimental and try out the Methodists.

Rhaena sends you pictures from her and Luke’s trip to the Mammoth Site in South Dakota. Baela has you on speakerphone when she tells Jace she wants to take a break. She’s completed two ballet school auditions already, and has scheduled two more; at least one acceptance seems imminent. You call Cregan to ask him how to prepare for parenthood. You call Criston to ask if he’d be willing to serve as a reference. He writes you a five-page recommendation letter and tells you prospective employers can contact him any time, day or night. You are hired as a therapist by the University of Missouri. For now, to accommodate your high-risk pregnancy and copious doctor’s appointments, it is a part-time remote position. Your parents are at last forced to get internet for the farmhouse. Your dad starts watching beef cattle raising tutorials on YouTube. And oddly, when you begin taking appointments with college students struggling with breakups or parental pressure or substance abuse, you don’t feel nervous at all. You feel like you’re doing exactly what you were made for.

One morning, you receive a WhatsApp message from Aegon: I wonder if bumblefuck Kansas has the Rolling Stone…

Missouri, you reply, and then you go to Walmart to check. Sure enough, there are numerous copies in the magazine aisle, and that’s a good thing, because a plethora of teenage girls are scrambling for them. Aemond is on the front cover, smiling faintly; his scar and cloudy blind eye are neither centered nor hidden. And he isn’t wearing black. His suit is a deep, lush green like jade, summer grass, ivy. The title reads: Aemond Targaryen is Out of Hiding.

You begin reading. He talks about exactly what happened at the Budokan. He talks about the label’s unilateral decision to excise him from the band. He talks about feeling lost, humiliated, pitied, ignored, unlovable. And then he shares what changed him. He says that he met with other survivors of facial trauma: soldiers, professional athletes, people involved in car and motorcycle accidents. He says that he sat down with half a dozen different therapists until he found one that he really liked. He chronicles the process of finding purpose again in a way that is truthful and inspirational and yet—to you, anyway—conspicuously vague. He is still somewhat involved with Comet’s songwriting and will likely perform with them once or twice per year, he wants to advocate for people living with disabilities like his…but what else? What else?

I think what I want people to know is that progress isn’t instant, and that nobody can do it alone, Aemond writes. I’m only where I am today because of the support of a lot of extraordinary people. I want to thank Comet Donati—Luke, Cregan, Aegon, Daeron, and Jace—as well as our tour manager Criston Cole, who is like a father us. I am immensely grateful to my mother Alicent and my sister Helaena. I am indebted to the fans for the unconditional love they have shown me.

But most of all, I owe my recovery to a therapist from the American Midwest. She can be a little pretentious sometimes, but we don’t fault her for that. She’s earned it. Thank you, Stargirl. I hope this planet is treating you well.

Smiling, glowing, you close the magazine, take it to the checkout counter, purchase it along with five KitKat bars. The baby can’t seem to get enough of them.

Two days later, you have another ultrasound done—your fourth—and at last you are able to give Aegon the answer he’s been zealously hounding you for. You message him on WhatsApp: You’re going to have a niece!

!!!!! he replies almost immediately. And then: Name her Aegonella.

Probably not!

As if you have any better ideas??

You share a few from your list: Celeste, Luna, Aurora, Halley…

Aemond literally just said Halley, Aegon types back. Like right before you did. And then: He’s very excited, omg, omggggggg it’s so cute. Thirty seconds later: Wish you were here :(

“Me too, Starboy,” you murmur as you sit on the couch in the den with Belmont sprawled across your lap. Then you send: I’m scared he’s not coming back.

He is, Aegon replies. He’s working on something. You’ll like it.

And you have to believe this, blindly, faithfully, trusting that something is real even when you can’t see it. You have no other choice.

You beg your dad not to slaughter any of the pigs for ham, and he reluctantly agrees. At Thanksgiving dinner, half the dishes on the table are vegan. You’re trying out new recipes. You jot down the ones you like best in a notebook Luke sent you: black pages, white ink.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s December, and there are stockings hung by the fireplace and a blanket of snow on the ground. You and your parents pick out a Christmas tree at a local farm, and your dad chops it down and throws it in the back of the Ford F-150. Inside your mom’s CD player in the kitchen spins David Archuleta’s Christmas album. As your bump grows, you keep running out of clothes that fit; Aegon is always happy to mail you more donut-themed merch. Thanks to his persistence, they stock nearly every size known to humans. Baela gets her acceptance letters. Aegon gets to make out with Taylor Swift in the Colosseum. They are photographed together in Rome by paparazzi one day and then never again. A week later he’s with Selena Gomez in Ibiza. A week after that he’s spotted with Camila Cabello in New York City. The wheel keeps turning, his route through the solar system long and meandering.

Emergency! Aegon texts you one afternoon as you’re sipping hot apple cider at the dining room table and assembling a 500-piece puzzle depicting the sinking of the Titanic.

You know better than to take him too seriously. You reply, in no hurry: ?

Aemond says I can’t hang out with Starbaby unless I stop taking so many drugs?!!?! Fascist?!??!?!?!

Hang out. Like they’ll be going to clubs and Crocs stores together. You grin and reply: I mean yeah, that sounds accurate.

Well fuck, Aegon says. Guess I better start doing those substance abuse education modules again!

On Christmas Eve morning, your parents are at their slightly-less-judgmental replacement church. You are trying out a new recipe in the kitchen: vegan snickerdoodles. The whole house smells like cinnamon and vanilla. Beyond the window over the sink, snow falls in fluffy white bundles like rumpled bedsheets, like clouds. The Australian cattle dogs follow you around hoping for dropped cookies, their claws clicking on the hardwood floor. David Archuleta is singing O Come, All Ye Faithful. You keep bumping into things; you forget how big you are. Your belly seems to grow by the day.

Your iPhone buzzes. It’s a WhatsApp message from Aegon that puzzles you: Hey, I promised I wouldn’t bother you guys for the first few days but I really need the Netflix password and he’s not answering my texts, rude, so could you ask him for it please??? And then a few seconds later: Please. I just really want to watch Grey’s Anatomy.

You stare at his message, not understanding. You reply: Ask who…?

After a moment, Aegon sends back: …Never mind :)

“Really?” you gasp to yourself in the hushed peace of the kitchen, not wanting to believe, not wanting to be disappointed. You peek out the window. Nothing.

You open Google and search Aemond Targaryen. One of the first results is an article from the Kansas City Star published one hour ago. The headline reads: Comet Donati Heartthrob Opens Farm Animal Rescue Outside of Kansas City.

“Oh my God.” You scroll madly, skimming the text. “Oh my God, oh my God.”

One of Aemond’s quotes reads: I wanted to go where the need is. A sanctuary like this in San Francisco or Boston wouldn’t be anything special, wouldn’t be as necessary. But here in Missouri, at the epicenter of industrial animal agriculture in the United States? There’s a lot of important work to be done here. There are a lot of lives I hope to be able to save. We’ve been purchasing animals from auctions and taking in others that have been seized from situations where they were abused or neglected. In addition to our own efforts, I’d like to help launch similar rescues throughout the Midwest, and increase public access to vegan alternatives…

There are photos of him posing with animals: a towering, scarred, ancient mule named Vhagar, a three-legged goat called Sunfyre. In all the pictures, Aemond is smiling. And here in the kitchen of your parents’ farmhouse, so are you. Without thinking, you reach back to touch your fingertips to the black-ink words beneath your Comet Donati crewneck sweatshirt. You hear the lyrics— I’ll come back for you if it kills me, Comets clip by again after eons and so can I—and you know them to be true like space, time, gravity, love.

You look out the window again and he’s here, speeding down the winding path of the driveway, snow dust streaming out behind his Gold Star like the tail of a comet.

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x you #aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen #aegon ii #aegon targaryen ii #aemond x y/n #aemond one eye #aegon targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x you

[punkassfrance]

Sierra Nevada - Chapter I - Ellie/Abby

Chapter I: Donner (Work Length ~1.4k) This work is rated M for canon-typical violence and gore. Please look here for a full list of warnings for the series, specific warnings will be provided at the start of each chapter. This work contains passing mention of cannibalism and discussion of a massacre. (Aftermath- corpses, smell, etc.) Full Series - Next Chapter

“Even though I told people to call me Linda, that was another girl’s name. I had to change my name several times because of what I had done, or rather, what had been done to me.” - Aimee Parkison, “The Innocent Party”

-

Abby

It was hard to say exactly what happened to the Fireflies. They didn’t have much to go on, once Abby and Lev finally made it to Catalina island. There were no notes, no maps, no audio logs explaining everything they needed to know. From what did remain, Abby could only say one thing for sure- it was a fucking bloodbath.

The bodies weren’t fresh. They weren’t old, either. Sometime between 2425 Constance and the moment they made it to the island, the Fireflies were wiped out. It had been a few weeks, maybe a month since the bodies hit the ground where they laid. There was no getting away from the smell; nowhere on the island was safe from the harsh reminder of whatever had happened.

Some of them looked like they went down fighting, gunpowder residue still on their fingers. Some were executed. There were missing boats along the docks- some must have made it out alive, she thought with the last bit of hope she had left. It didn’t last long.

Lev looked up from the shambles of the Fireflies, looking to Abby for hope, a plan, anything she could offer. They’d spent almost two years looking for the Fireflies, they’d been so close. It was all Abby had wanted.

But they still had fresh rope burn. They both still hungered from the pillars, and she had injuries to take care of from the cure. She still tasted blood, and tried not to focus too hard on what was stuck in her teeth.

“…come on, Lev.”

That was almost a year ago, now. Maybe if they weren’t both exhausted, starving and beaten like dogs, they would have kept looking. They wouldn’t have given up on the Fireflies.

But Santa Barbara changed things. After all they’d seen, all that had happened, some part of Abby decided it was just over. All Lev wanted was to be with Abby, and all Abby wanted to do was get the fuck out of this city.

The sailboat made it as far as San Francisco before it couldn’t keep going. Abby had tried to fix it for about a week before Lev confessed he wanted to explore inland- see what the world was like outside the coast.

“Abby?” She looks up from her journal as Lev calls her from a few yards away, pointing to a road sign he’s spent the last ten minutes uncovering. “How do you say this? Trucke?”

Abby stands and walks over to him, squinting at the sign. “It’s Truck-ee. Just how it looks. Means we’re getting close to Nevada.”

There’s been…some interruptions on their trip, to say the least. Some things Abby can’t bring herself to remember, let alone talk about- but they’re past that. Abby’s hair is slowly growing out, past her shoulders now, just enough to braid. Her hair hasn’t been this short since she was a teenager. Lev’s kept his hair short, but not fully shaved- he gets nightmares when it gets too long. But then, he gets nightmares most nights.

“What’s Nevada like?”

“What is it, October? Should be nice. We should leave before spring, though. It’s a lot of desert. We’ll go around Reno if we can help it.”

“Have you been there?” Lev lets the foliage fall back over the road sign, hands resting on the straps of his backpack.

“Nope. We’re both gonna see something new.”

They’re just outside of Donner, Abby pausing their lesson on the history of the area to take a short rest. He’s fascinated by what he’s heard, even the morbid details she barely remembers. “Book on Donner Party/murder?” is written down in her shopping list, one of the dozens of things she needs to find at some point. He’d like that, she’s certain.

“We should get moving. Should just be another day or so to Nevada.”

Lev nods and starts off down the road as Abby puts her journal away, half-jogging to keep up with him. “Hang on, Lev-”

“Gotta get a move on!”

She huffs quietly and runs until she catches up to him, glancing around the woods. He knows she’s been trying to get back in shape. It’s been tricky, after everything that happened in Santa Barbara, but not as hard as she feared it would be. Muscle comes back easier once it’s been gained the first time around, even if the limited calories complicate things. Whatever anyone had to say about the Washington Liberation Front, they kept their people fed. One of the few things she misses from Seattle.

“I’m coming.”

Ellie

“No. I’m not gonna do this again. If you walk out, I’m not going to be here if you come back.”

“That’s up to you.”

-

There was no real point in going back. There was nothing left for Ellie, after all. The possessions she’d turned into a life meant nothing anymore- Tommy probably took most of them when Dina left. If she ever decides she wants any of it back, if she ever returns to Jackson to beg for Dina’s forgiveness, she hopes Tommy at least has the decency to feel ashamed.

Not that he matters, anymore. Not that anyone in Wyoming matters. Not that anyone matters.

When she journals about it, she wants to say she hasn’t been this disconnected since she was…younger, but she can’t settle on an age. First it was Riley. Then Marlene. Then Joel. Then Dina. As much as loneliness has haunted her entire life, the more she thinks about it, it was never so tangible. There was always something there, someone keeping her tethered to humanity.

But Santa Barbara changed things. After Abby disappeared into the fog, after she stood from the water on the last shreds of energy she had and watched the horizon, it was too late. When the stars started to appear on the water, it hit her that there was nothing for her anywhere. Jackson might welcome her, but it would never be home again.

So, east. There was no real plan to it, nothing beyond get out of Santa Barbara, so that’s what she did. Wandered until she found somewhere suitable to settle down. She’s not sure what the name of the town is, just that it’s quiet. Joel would have liked it, she thinks- he loved the mountains. They never managed to get this far west together.

It looked like an old vacation town, somewhere rich people would visit when the season was right. It’s been nearly a year since she settled here, and if there’s anything she’s learned, it’s that nobody in their right mind would be here in the winter just to visit. The snow should be coming in any day now- she’ll have to prepare for it soon.

At least there’s a nice view from the back porch of the cabin she settled on. Her cabin, now. The previous owner was quickly dispatched, his spores fully aired out within a week. Now it’s just her place. She drinks the tea in her hand, thumb rubbing over the design on the mug. It’s not the same owl mug Joel had, but it’s close enough to remind her. Remind her she cared about someone for a little while.

Her place is so quiet. There’s no voices, no humming from the kitchen, no kids giggling and playing outside. It’s nothing like Jackson. If she doesn’t speak, nothing needs to be said. It’s nice. A bird sings nearby— it’s one of Ellie’s favorite sounds. Joel told her it was called a Mourning Dove.

Pushing herself back from the balcony railing, she gives the woods one last look before she turns back to the house. There’s a laundry list of things to do- prepare firewood, move the few plants that can be moved indoors, clear out the gutters— small things to handle before the snow really sets in. The greenhouse still needs fixing up, just another thing for her to get to once summer returns.

As endless as it feels, the list she’s built up is only a few years long. Ellie’s not sure what she’s going to do once she hits the end of it.

But for now, as she sets her mug next to the sink and reaches for her jacket. She’s fresh out of distractions for the morning.

I'm so excited to start this series- hopefully you enjoyed chapter one, more on the way soon! Again, heed the warnings for each chapter, please be safe! Huge thanks to @jennaispunk for looking this over for me, the help is very much appreciated!!

Thank you to @plum98 for the forest divider! Feel free to say hi or drop your thoughts in my askbox, check out my AO3 or my about me if you're interested!

#the last of us #fanfiction #ellabs #ellie the last of us #ellie #ellie williams/abby anderson #ellie williams #ellie tlou #abby anderson tlou2 #abby the last of us #abby tlou #abby anderson #ellie williams x abby anderson #series #sierra nevada #my writing

[bracketsoffear]

Mexican Gothic (Silvia Moreno-Garcia) "In 1950s Mexico City, beautiful young socialite Noemí Taboada receives a letter from her cousin Catalina, begging for help. She firmly believes that her English husband, Virgil Doyle, intends to poison her. Suspecting that Virgil may be after Catalina's money, Noemí's father, Leocadio, sends her to the Doyle home, High Place, which is located in the mountains outside of a small town named El Triunfo. Once there, Noemí is struck by the strange and unwelcoming atmosphere of the Doyles' house and the controlling and patronising attitude of its inhabitants. Catalina is proclaimed to be suffering from consumption and Noemí is mostly kept away from her cousin. Noemí spends her time learning about the Doyle family, which also includes Florence Doyle and the frail family patriarch, Howard. The family has a history of incestuous marriages and deep intergenerational traumas, such as one of Howard's daughters, Ruth, killing several family members before shooting herself."

SPOILERS BELOW CUT

Rappaccini's Daughter (Nathaniel Hawthorne) "Giovanni Guasconti, a young student renting a room in Padua, has a view from his quarters of a beautiful garden. Here, he looks at Beatrice, the beautiful daughter of Dr. Giacomo Rappaccini, a botanist who works in isolation. Beatrice is confined to the lush and locked gardens, which are filled with exotic poisonous plants grown by her father. Having fallen in love, Giovanni enters the garden and secretly meets with Beatrice a number of times, while ignoring his mentor, Professor Pietro Baglioni. Professor Baglioni is a rival of Dr. Rappaccini and he warns Giovanni that Rappaccini is devious and that he and his work (which involves using poison as medicine) should be avoided.

Giovanni notices Beatrice's strangely intimate relationship with the plants as well as the withering of fresh regular flowers and the death of an insect when exposed to her skin or breath. On one occasion, Beatrice embraces a plant in a way that she seems part of the plant itself; then she talks to the plant, "Give me thy breath, my sister, for I am faint with common air."

Giovanni eventually realizes that Beatrice, having been raised in the presence of poison, has developed an immunity to it and has become poisonous herself. A gentle touch of her hand leaves a purple print on his wrist. Beatrice urges Giovanni to look past her poisonous exterior and see her pure and innocent essence, creating great feelings of doubt and confusion in Giovanni.

In the end, Giovanni becomes poisonous himself: insects die when they come into contact with his breath. Giovanni is troubled by this, which he sees as a curse, and he blames Beatrice. Professor Baglioni gives him an antidote to cure Beatrice and free her from her father's cruel experiment. However, when Beatrice drinks the antidote, she becomes sick and dies. Before realizing that Beatrice is dying, Dr. Rappaccini excitedly welcomes the love between his two creatures, his daughter and her suitor, Giovanni, who has been transformed so that he can now be a true and worthy companion to Beatrice.

While Beatrice is dying, Professor Baglioni looks down from a window into the garden and triumphantly shouts "Rappaccini! Rappaccini! and is THIS the upshot of your experiment!""

When she begins to sleepwalk and experience strange dreams and visions, Noemí decides that she must leave the Doyle household, only to be told that she cannot leave. They reveal that Howard discovered a strain of mushroom that has a symbiotic relationship with humans. The Doyles use this fungus and remain at High Place, the house infused with the spores of the mushrooms, which has grown inside its walls and all around it, in order to heal themselves and prolong their lives. As the fungus's potency is lessened depending on the individual's genetics, the Doyles have intermarried in order to ensure that their offspring can also receive these benefits. Because it is interlaced with mycelium and infested with the mushroom's spores, the house can hold memories, which the family refers to as the "gloom". The spores can also help the Doyles control people who have inhaled them, which frightens Noemí. She grows more horrified, however, when she learns that Howard's wife Agnes was used as a sacrifice to grow the spores - and that Howard can use the gloom to take over the bodies of family members, which he's used to further preserve his own life.

#corruption poll #the corruption #poll #the magnus archives #leitner tournament #Mexican Gothic #Silvia Moreno-Garcia #Rappaccini's Daughter #Nathaniel Hawthorne

[lasplaga]

[ META ] + salazar

-;┊ 𓆙 𝕺𝕺𝕮 ; ◥ 𓆙      —        𝐒𝐞𝐧𝐝 [ 𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐀 ] + 𝐚 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 / 𝐩𝐡𝐫𝐚𝐬𝐞 / 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧 / 𝐞𝐭𝐜. & 𝐈 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐚 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐭. --- Accepting!

Presuming that you meant Ramon Salazar, some of this will cover canonical topics, as well as analyses of mine. Granted The Salazar lineage is vast & lasts over 500 years, I urge further asks if people would care to read about Diego or anyone else in relation to this specific bloodline. The lore is extensive & contains distressing elements, as such it is placed under a read-more:

𝐓𝐖; 𝐀𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐢𝐬𝐦 / 𝐂𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝 𝐀𝐛𝐮𝐬𝐞 / 𝐃𝐞𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐈𝐥𝐥𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬

In regards to Ramon specifically, they first met when he was born in the year of 1984. The 8th's "strange disease" ( In The Japanese Localization ) was inherited genetically & the very same illness that claimed his grandfather Alejandro, who fell to an untimely death. Los Illuminados' return to the mainland was ultimately the result of Catalina wishing to preserve the life of her only child from an otherwise incurable ailment.

Osmund, like Ramon, was despised by the population for being born different --- this being amplified tenfold with The 7th's Queen betrayal & Ramon becoming a LITERAL mutant, on top of his disabilities. It should be no surprise that the community of Valdelobos ( besides Los Illuminados worship ) had an innate disgust with the disabled, mental or physical, as anything outside of the norm would potentially be perceived as deformed or the defilement of demons. "The Devil" being welcomed out of exile to cure Ramon was the final nail in the coffin, which more or less led the boy straight into his arms not even a decade later, willingly.

Anyone familiar with the remake should know that Ramon was horrifically abused by his own biological father, to the point where he wished to kill his own son for being born sickly & an aforementioned "demon-child". Osmund using this as leverage to gain his loyalty I don't believe was really necessary, as Los Illuminados was already an established enemy of The Salazar's --- Ramon was entirely aware of their existence & the genocide his ancestry committed, then continued. Osmund absolutely manipulated him to an extent, but granted Ramon desired the death of his own biological father regardless, it was minimal. If Lord Saddler was not eventually responsible for Diego's death, Ramon absolutely would have been, without a doubt.

I believe Osmund hearing Catalina's plight was his only genuine show of "humanity", despite his blessing utterly robbing a soul of that. From his point of view, blessing another with Las Plagas IS a show of kindness, granted his role as a faith healer & missionary. Although he was the key to releasing the seal initially, he was not set aside after all was said & done. Lord Saddler actually held Ramon in a respectable regard, going as far for The Castellan to believe that The Lord was his "true father" all along.

Replaceable as Ramon is as a subordinate, I truly think Osmund harbors some "love" for the boy, in his own way, considering he was raised solely by him since he was about 8 years old --- an act that was NEVER necessary. The director & Ramon's own voice actor confirmed that in the script, it was suggested that he was essentially adopted & treated as his own. Osmund has known Ramon more than he has known his own biological parents --- & with how highly he speaks of him, I can almost guarantee he is spared from any harsh treatment. If anything, I'm willing pin that Ramon is spoiled lavishly by Lord Saddler. I surmise granted they share trauma by the very same institution, they understand each other better more than anyone & have a much deeper bond than what Lord Saddler might have with Chief Mendez or Major Krauser.

Their relationship as father / son, however, also breaches into a very strange, upsetting but understandable dynamic, with Ramon wishing to play "catch up" with Lord Saddler, as his childhood was essentially devoid of any affection. Ramon admits so himself in his personal diary ( Japanese Localization ) that he loves to sit on Osmund's lap, his head being patted / caressed like he is a little boy --- despite being an adult. Granted Osmund was born in the midst of a violent civil war between two religious institutions, I doubt he had the time or interest to sire an heir himself --- Thus, Ramon receives very preferential treatment & leniency as his servant.

𝐓𝐋𝐃𝐑: Osmund's fatherly relationship with Ramon is extremely weird, but bound tightly by generational trauma, prejudice & abuse inflicted upon by the same religious institution.

#/ Wheres my pal who writes Ramon I need you to come back. WHERE IS MY SON #𝔦𝔫𝔮𝔲𝔦𝔯𝔶 #𝔬𝔬𝔠 #heavenprotect

[prophetic-hijinks]

¿cual serian los dones magicos de los trillizos de Bruno y Elena. Imagino que hasta los adoptados pueden tener una puerta propia ¿no?.

Pardon I don’t speak Spanish, but will use google translate.

—————

Catalina puede ralentizar el tiempo. Mientras que Pedro puede proyectar hologramas en el aire, generalmente lo hace a través de la música porque le ayuda a concentrarse en la historia que está contando.

Creo que los niños adoptados pueden recibir regalos, porque después de todo son madrigales. Pero tuve un contratiempo con Ramiro. Inicialmente lo quería ciego para que Elena y Bruno pudieran darle una gran vida a un huérfano que prosperaría en Casita, y se sorprenderían al descubrir que recibe un regalo que le da una vista especial (algo así como Toph de avatar el último maestro aire).

Pero cuando estaba trabajando en el personaje, se me ocurrió que estaría mal curar su ceguera con un regalo y negaría los temas de la película. Pero tampoco quería quitarle la ceguera porque decidí no darle un regalo genial.

Entonces Ramiro es ciego y tiene ocho años, y como no tenía cinco cuando lo adoptaron, no recibió ningún regalo. Pero lo que sí recibió es una comunidad de personas que aman, apoyan y se adaptan a sus necesidades. Tiene una casa que lo cuida y lo protege de cualquier daño. Él tiene un jaguar melanístico que mira y actúa como un perro guía en el pueblo (Antonio, por supuesto, se la regaló). Y es adorado por sus padres, y tiene una madre que sabe lo que se siente al no ser adoptado y se dedica a amarlo hasta los pedazos.

Ramiro es un regalo en sí mismo. Y un día, cuando tenga hijos, tendrán sus propias puertas a los 5 años.

———————

English translation of ask: What would be the magical gifts of the triplets of Bruno and Elena. I imagine that even adoptees can have their own door, right?

Catalina can slow time. While Pedro can project holograms in the air, usually done through music because it helps him concentrate on the story he is telling.

I do believe adopted children can get gifts, because they are Madrigals after all. But I had a hiccup with Ramiro. I initially wanted him blind so Elena and Bruno could give a great life to an orphan who would thrive in Casita, and they’d be shocked to find he gets a gift that gives him a special sight (kind of like Toph from avatar the last airbender).

But when I was workshopping the character, it occurred to me it would be wrong for me to cure his blindness with a gift, and would negate the themes of the movie. But I also didn’t want to remove his blindness because I decided not to give him a cool gift.

So Ramiro is blind and eight years old, and since he wasn’t five when adopted he didn’t receive a gift. But what he did receive is a community of people who love, support and accommodate his needs. He has a house that watches over him and keeps him from harm. He has a melanistic seeing eye jaguar that acts like a guide dog in the village (Antonio of course gifted her to him). And he is adored by his parents, and has a mother who knows what it feels like to not be adopted and is dedicated to loving him to bits.

Ramiro is a gift in and of himself. And one day when he has kids, they will get their own doors at age 5.

#keep the asks coming #answered ask #asked and answered #encanto #asks are always appreciated #asks are always welcome

[burlveneer-music]

Borja Flames - Nuevo Medievo

He has three brains, a thousand lives, past or parallel, and his name is Borja Flames. Spanish, Parisian, Burgundian, cosmonaut, we don’t know anymore. His head is that of a pope, a king, a lion, a faun or a melancholic centaur. He is well dressed, with pot holes and beard : Merovingian. We knew him in June and Jim of which he was the southern face (the northern hemisphere being Marion Cousin), a duo recently transfigured under the name of Catalina Matorral, real electronic pastoral. We saw him reshuffle his cards for the first time in 2016 with Nacer Blanco, the first album under his name, whose tipsy clocks, totems like the Tower of Pisa and bony madrigals evoked Moondog, Robert Wyatt and the Postman Cheval, one inside the other, helter-skelter. After which Rojo Vivo (2018) a blend of pale house and tenebrous preachings made us fear and pleasure and dance. Nuevo Medievo which appears today (Les disques du Festival Permanent / Murailles Music) is even more beautiful, more striking. From the very beginning, sung on tiptoe, the silvery voice with robotic effects on a synthetic bedside rug spiked with cymbals makes us feel bareheaded in a vast cabinet of stars, we are captivated. There are laser beams, oracle lyrics with vocoder. Paul Loiseau, the Morse drummer, makes the kitchen set sound like an orchestra of stoned calculators, then Borja Flames accelerates the record’s pulse with the diction of a fed-up TV news anchor before a jungle background until Marion Cousin and Rachel Langlais make everything capsize, she of saturnian vocalization, she of a strangely regulated synth. Then on, the hits fall here, there, everywhere, real ones, a shower of asteroids. Negro Negro is suave, mysterious, moving, as surprising as a kiss we no longer expect. We would gladly listen to her only but then comes Magnetismo making us giddy with joy. Then Marioneta, dry and airy as a Sign O’The Times period Prince, which one could dance to endlessly, even alone, head tucked under arm. Nuevo Medievo moves this way throughout, stiff and groovy, cerebral but exploding with dreamy tumors. Powerfully entertaining, filled with odd rhythms, computer choirs, keyboards that slide and are slippery. Nuevo Medievo is a bit reminiscent of the synth-wave scene and 80s Iberian post-punk. It also evokes lo-fi versions of Franco Battiato‘s panoramic SF hits from the album No Time No Space (far away worlds, sound research, fat refrains), Arthur Russel disco, or even Porque te vas, yes yes, Sade, Motown B-sides played at the IRCAM one evening of blunt slackness, Marvin Gaye and Tammy Terrel in a full-on slow dance under the anachronistic neon lights of a chicha bar or Blade Runner rushes with the Miami Vice original soundtrack. If Nuevo Medievo, like all of music loving cannibal Borja Flames’ records, summons a certain number of other artists, it does so to organize unexpected meetings between them, and to dissect each one in a scientific, erotic, amorous and gastronomic impulse before freeing himself from them and drawing in all the diagonals of authentically unheard features. Throw him a party. Txt : Sing Sing Translation : Cathérine Hershey Music & Lyrics by Borja Flames. Produced and arranged by Borja Flames with the collaboration of Marion Cousin, Paul Loiseau and Rachel Langlais. Recorded in Lucy-sur-Cure, Cinq-Mars La Pile and Saint-Aubin du Cormier. Mix by Manuel Duval at Grange Cavale. Mastering by Harris Newman at Grey Market. Personnel : Rachel Langlais (synths, vocals), Marion Cousin (synths, vocals, percussions), Paul Loiseau (percussions, vocals, synths), Borja Flames (vocals, guitar, synths, percussions, programming, samples).

#Borja Flames #paris #electronic #france #2022

[ao3feed-brucewayne]

And you're always lookin' for some company

by Citrus_x_Sinensis

After the Spyral debacle and his "fake" death, Dick ends up alienated from his family, and what is better than a harem of morally ambiguous older men to cure his touch starve problem. Dick sleeps around with so much morally ambiguous older men to cope with his loneliness after being separated from his family for a long time and how they received him after finding out he was alive.

Words: 3347, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Fandoms: DCU (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Grayson (Comics), Nightwing (Comics), Midnighter (Comics), Midnighter and Apollo (Comics), Deathstroke the Terminator (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Constantine (Comic)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: M/M

Characters: Dick Grayson, Midnighter (DCU), Tiger (DCU), Apollo (DCU), Slade Wilson, John Constantine, Raptor (DCU), Lincoln March, Jason Todd, Damian Wayne, Tim Drake, Bruce Wayne, Cassandra Cain, Stephanie Brown, Duke Thomas, Barbara Gordon, Original Characters

Relationships: Dick Grayson/Midnighter, Apollo/Dick Grayson/Midnighter, Apollo/Dick Grayson, Dick Grayson/Slade Wilson, John Constantine/Dick Grayson, Dick Grayson/Raptor, Dick Grayson/Tiger, Dick Grayson/Lincoln March, Dick Grayson/Jason Todd, Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd & Damian Wayne, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne, Cassandra Cain & Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Duke Thomas & Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne, Stephanie Brown & Cassandra Cain & Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd & Damian Wayne

Additional Tags: Past Dick Grayson/Koriand'r, Past Dick Grayson/Roy Harper, Past Dick Grayson/Wally West, Past Barbara Gordon/Dick Grayson, Mentioned Catalina Flores, Mentioned Miriam Delgado, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Sexual Assault, Past Sexual Abuse, Past Relationship(s), Hurt Dick Grayson, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Anal Sex, Oral Sex, Rimming, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Porn with Feelings, References to Forever Evil (Comics), Post-Forever Evil (Comics), Implied/Referenced Character Death, Dick Grayson's Harem of Older Men, Dick Grayson's Harem of Morally Ambiguous Older Men

source https://archiveofourown.org/works/46039327

#IFTTT #bruce wayne #batman #the dark knight #the cape crusader #gotham #dc universe #ao3 #ao3feed

[ao3feed-jaydick]

And you're always lookin' for some company

read it on the AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/46039327 by Citrus_x_Sinensis After the Spyral debacle and his "fake" death, Dick ends up alienated from his family, and what is better than a harem of morally ambiguous older men to cure his touch starve problem. Dick sleeps around with so much morally ambiguous older men to cope with his loneliness after being separated from his family for a long time and how they received him after finding out he was alive. Words: 3347, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English Fandoms: DCU (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Grayson (Comics), Nightwing (Comics), Midnighter (Comics), Midnighter and Apollo (Comics), Deathstroke the Terminator (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Constantine (Comic) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Categories: M/M Characters: Dick Grayson, Midnighter (DCU), Tiger (DCU), Apollo (DCU), Slade Wilson, John Constantine, Raptor (DCU), Lincoln March, Jason Todd, Damian Wayne, Tim Drake, Bruce Wayne, Cassandra Cain, Stephanie Brown, Duke Thomas, Barbara Gordon, Original Characters Relationships: Dick Grayson/Midnighter, Apollo/Dick Grayson/Midnighter, Apollo/Dick Grayson, Dick Grayson/Slade Wilson, John Constantine/Dick Grayson, Dick Grayson/Raptor, Dick Grayson/Tiger, Dick Grayson/Lincoln March, Dick Grayson/Jason Todd, Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd & Damian Wayne, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne, Cassandra Cain & Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Duke Thomas & Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne, Stephanie Brown & Cassandra Cain & Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd & Damian Wayne Additional Tags: Past Dick Grayson/Koriand'r, Past Dick Grayson/Roy Harper, Past Dick Grayson/Wally West, Past Barbara Gordon/Dick Grayson, Mentioned Catalina Flores, Mentioned Miriam Delgado, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Sexual Assault, Past Sexual Abuse, Past Relationship(s), Hurt Dick Grayson, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Anal Sex, Oral Sex, Rimming, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Porn with Feelings, References to Forever Evil (Comics), Post-Forever Evil (Comics), Implied/Referenced Character Death, Dick Grayson's Harem of Older Men, Dick Grayson's Harem of Morally Ambiguous Older Men read it on the AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/46039327

#IFTTT #AO3feed #Jaydick #DC

[catalinas-cure]

We Gotta Have It Out

Description: Ethan gets wasted and confesses his feelings to Bestfriend!Reader. I copied a lot of things from the Little Women movie (2018)

Author’s note: this is my first time writing a fic and I didn’t check for mistakes before posting so bear with me 🙏. I might write a part two if anyone wants it

Frat parties are bad enough as it is, how could they get any worse? That’s what you thought before your best friend (who had begged, practically cried for you to come with him) ditched you for the cheap alcohol everyone seemed to be offering him. You were so embarrassed that he had talked you into coming to this party, you had even gotten all dressed up. You decided you wouldn’t let all your effort go to waste and walked over to the table of drinks in hopes of finding someone to distract you. You found the perfect target, he was tall, towering over you even in your six inch heels. He was cute enough,“Want a drink?”he asked, two cups in hand. “Yeah, what is it?” you asked taking the cup from him. You were about to chug the entire thing, not caring what it was until you felt someone’s hand on your shoulder “Y/n, you have to help me, he keeps asking for you” said Chad. You already knew what he was talking about, you put your drink down and ran up stairs, looking for Ethan. You stopped in front of the bathroom door, listening to see if you could hear Ethan, and then knocking cause you’re growing impatient. “Y/n…” you push the door open, Ethan is sprawled out in the tub, still wearing his ghostface costume. “What is it, Ethan?” you say, crouching next to the tub to meet his eye level “I need to tell you something” he says, giggling and hiccuping. “I don’t want to talk to you when you’re like this..” you say, holding his hand. “Now sit down” you help him out of the tub, he sits down on the bathroom floor with you. Leaning his head against your shoulder “Can I tell you now…..please?” you scoot away from him “You’re burning up” bringing the back of your hand to his forehead “I’m gonna get you some water, stay here..” You get up and open the door to leave “No….I still need to tell you” he says, putting his hand on your leg to keep you with him. “If I listen, will you let me leave?” already annoyed, you sit on the sink “Maybe…” he says, looking up at you with a stupid look on his face “Okay, don’t fight me on this..” you raise your eyebrow at him “Listen, I know I get on your nerves and everything but I’m your best friend. This is really gonna piss you off….but you have to hear me out” “…Get to the point already, so we can leave” you say, not really paying attention to what Ethan is saying. “I’m getting there, so….we’ve been friends for so long, and you know everything about me, except one thing..” you cut him off “That you’re a pain in the ass?” you say , jokingly. “…Don’t be like that, please, I’m serious.” his all of a sudden urgent tone and yearning gaze make you realize what he wants you to know “No, no. Stop it, Ethan” you get off the sink, not wanting to hear anything he has to say “It’s no use y/n, we gotta have it out. I’ve loved you ever since I’ve known you, I couldn’t help it” he’s tearing up and his voice is cracking at this point “You’re drunk, I don’t believe you.” tears welling in your eye “You have to believe me, I need you to.” he says, begging you to hear him “We can’t, it wouldn’t work. I love you, I can’t let you do this to yourself” he shuts his eyes and tries to catch his breathe “Just say yes, we can figure it out. We love eachother, isn’t that enough?” you get down to your knees and hold his hands “It would be a disaster, you know it” “Why does everyone expect it then, you’re wrong. We would be so happy together” he puts his hand on your tear streaked face “What am I supposed to do with myself? I need you.” it’s your turn to beg now “I’m looking out for you, you meet someone that you actually love and you’ll thank me” he brings both of your heads together, holding you “I can’t love anyone else y/n, I only love you” you bury your head into his neck and bring his shuddering body as close to you as you can “I love you, I love you” Ethan says, kissing your neck, still struggling to breathe after crying so hard. You still hadn’t stopped crying, but somehow you felt the happiest you’ve been in a long time.

Maybe Ethan was right, maybe this could work.

(Writing requests are currently open 🌟)

#ethan landry x reader #ethan landry #ethan landry x y/n #ethan landry x you #ethan landry x fem!reader #ethan landry x best friend! reader #scream #scream 6 #catalinas-cure #ethan landry smut #ethan landry fic #ethan landry fluff #ethan landry fanfiction #ethan landry blurb #ethan landry drabble #catalinas cure

[mothinked]

ok but give me an au where abby is tasked to find ellie by the fireflies of catalina island several years after tlou2 and so she and lev journey to wyoming in search of her. abby’s back to her beefy self, reinvigorated with purpose and feels like she should go through with making a cure like her father wanted, given that the fireflies had grown in number again and gathered enough resources to possibly make it happen. she’s very apprehensive (for the lack of a better word) to come face to face with ellie again. to be reminded of what happened in seattle. meanwhile ellie’s moved on with her life and decided to be an active member of the jackson community, leading patrols and guarding trading caravans. in a way honoring both joel and jesse.

she’s worked on managing her ptsd and is on good terms with dina although they aren’t back together. yet. ellie insisted she wanted to work on herself, to get better.

lev and abby come across ellie’s group at a trading post and no one recognizes the duo except for ellie ofc. abby expects a violent confrontation between them or at least ellie telling her to leave but... nothing happens. ellie just acknowledges the two of them with a stare and abby is the one to approach and explain that the fireflies had a real chance at finishing what jerry started. that this cause was so much bigger than what happened between them. cue ellie considering because deep down she feels like she’s got a purpose beyond the life she currently lives and now the choice is entirely in her hands. she’s still got it in her head that she’s obligated to make her immunity mean something. the feeling of restlessness in ellie never truly goes away.

i’m a sucker for those fics of abby and ellie taking a long journey together to catalina island and the story playing out a number of different ways. 

[sprintingfox]

in my perfect combine-all-the-goods-into-one-au sprintingfox universe we have freya, finn, eisa, elijah, ingrid, klaus, amaris, hilda, kol, rebekah, vivalda & henrik (alive)

freya/keelin

finn/sage/katya (i love them both i will not be judged)

eisa/aya

elijah/isela (my favourite side pairing of all time maybe ... side note he still has graciela here and she's still with stefan also okok)

ingrid/cami

klaus/maddy (i loved them the most but i do have a soft spot for yara)

amaris/marcel (i've been thinking about them ever since you said it and i think klaus would be forced to treat her better if she's with marcel too tbh)

hilda/alaric (LIIIIIIIISTEN. I know she would technically be with tristan but i really like the development for them + i think the twins would benefit from having hilda so much)

kol/davina (i really enjoy the way you write them. you don't expect davina to be suddenly on the same level as kol but you take the time to have kol respect her boundaries which is nice) (i absolutely adore catalina too i just really enjoy your version of them)

rebekah/enzo (this is just my personal favourite crackship but i really do think they would have loved each other the way they needed + take the cure together) (i liked odile as a fighter but her condescending attitude in addition to the cheating was a biiiiiiit much for me to fully appreciate her)

vivalda/tristan/lucien (listen. they're everything to me)

henrik/bonnie (this is my own agenda)

LOL I absolutely love the idea of this sprintingfox multiverse. Truly so beautiful.

Totally agree with Freya/Keelin. I had some issues with them but could also not bring myself to even make an OC x Freya cause I could not in good conscience break Freelin up!

Ok ngl MAYBE Katya x Sage would not like each other much at first but I think they could grow to be friendly for Finn's sake. I will also drop Elaine de Martel into this mix cause she would adore both Sage and Katya + she is the OG Finn girly technically lol.

Yes! Absolutely yes to Eisa/Aya. If i hadn't wanted Eisa with Hayley, I would want Eisa with Aya all the time, my loves.

Hehe I also really liked this pairing. Elijah/Isela is much less toxic than Elijah/Beatrix, Elijah/Natanya, even Elijah/Evangeliya. I think Evangeliya would like Isela but everyone else would be too chaotic. Isela was such a random character I chose to incorporate and was so glad to see people liked her with Elijah. Isela would absolutely adore Graciela and would be so motherly with her.

Ooh yes this one too. If Ingrid liked men at all then Reynard de Martel could probably fit well cause he liked Cami a lot HOWEVERRRR Ingrid would likely kill him in this universe cause she doesn't like men and she's too jealous.

Lowkey Yara would love Maddy too so they could be a funny throuple lol! Klaus and the mothers of his two children. Hope would have grown up so very loved.

Also yes yes yes Amaris/Marcel would be so darling. Yara would love it and Klaus would realize he's been really rude to Amaris with this happening.

aw thank you! This was a fun story to write so Hilda/Alaric definitely is special to me and I loved making the twins be Hilda's instead cause with Caroline it was so weird and I think Lizzie really needed Hilda.

Kolvina is cute to me also! Catalina I think would be girlboss on her own in this case which is fine cause all she's ever known is Kol and girly kinda did need a little change!

Lol yeah Odile was meant to be unlikable cause I wanted Rebekah to be sooo out of her comfort zone with her. Odile is too nonchalant about stuff. I can see Enzo liking her but not her liking Enzo. This is an interesting crackship and honestly I kinda love this.

LOLLL yes Vivalda, Tristan, and Lucien are everything to me too! I so very much enjoyed writing their stories.

hehe as long as Henrik like grew up then I think that would be really nice, he'd probably actually treat Bonnie nicely.

[2022nursejessie]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Catalina A Romance by W. Somerset Maugham 1948 First Edition Printing Hardcover.

[travellingwithjasmine]

Mexican Gothic Checkpoint #1

Just hit the halfway checkpoint (chapter 15/27) for Silvia Moreno-Garcia's Mexican Gothic and so far... I have my thoughts. This will contain SPOILERS so do not continue reading if you want to read it. Also, these are just my opinions and theories thus far, so don't judge!

I am not a Gothic/ Horror reader, but recently I have been craving to read such books. The introduction of Noemí is quite relatable for me personally. A flighty, flirtatious and stubborn woman who is into her academics felt a little close to home. I find myself reading her through my eyes which is reasonably interesting since she feels like a mirrored image of myself (although I am not Mexican, I mean personality-wise).

The Doyle family is freaking weird! Like super weird and creepy. Howard, Florence and Virgil Doyle are just beyond gross in my opinion and it frustrated me to read about them. The rigidness of their characters and the lack of ability to interact with them in comparison to the sharp and cold moments that they do face off with Noemí is just jarring. But, obviously, it has its purpose. I do hope to get down to this family tree though.

I have a feeling Howard married his mother and has been pulling a Get Out form of keeping himself alive. It is such a gross thought, but I think that is the only way I can think it is working. Maybe Catalina and Howard, have been using the Mexicans who are close to them to elongate their lifespans.

Francis and Noemí's possible romantic relationship seems to be growing? I am not sure. It seems friendly, but it is interesting to see and keeps me hopeful for what is coming next.

I am hoping there is an intense spike of action coming, because of the dreams, the hunting down for answers, the increasing illnesses, and the hostility of the Doyles, I just want to know what is going on.

As a history geek who does study Latin American & Iberian history, I have to admit... I am enjoying the historical and Cultural references in this Gothic. Having the cures of mal de aire, lotería, the English-Spanish tensions and the layers of anthropological understanding makes this fun to pick apart. But, I have a feeling after all this eugenics talk with Howard, Noemí is gonna say jump ship.

Overall, I can admit I am creeped out, and I am not enjoying any of the interactions with the Doyles, but that definitely is the point. Although in third person, I can absolutely relate to Noemí and I feel truly bad for her. I don't know what is going to happen next but....

#spoilers #book review #book community #mexican gothic #silvia moreno garcia #checkpoint #thoughts #discussion