#will always make me laugh and bring me joy even if it's bitter sweet
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Dreams of Days, Whispers of Nights ☀️🌕 Twilight, Time of Possibility
🌫️Characters: Loki
🌫️Pairing: Loki x Fem!reader
🌫️Warnings: mention of sex, illness
🌫️Dedicated to @hanaibae
🌫️
Even today, the sun hasn’t touched your skin.
Well wrapped up in the blankets and wedged into the bed, you still feel cold: a creeping chill that arrives with the fog and starts from your feet to go up your legs, belly and chest up to your shoulders and arms, forcing you to curl up on yourself and to tremble without end.
Even today, you are alone.
You don’t ask for much, you never have: you know humans can’t ask for much, especially if they are weak like you. All you need is a little company, that is what you want; but you know that everyone in the village has to tend to their work, the fields and the animals, and they can’t look after you until the end of the day. And still, the bitterness beats with your heart. And this disease doesn’t seem to want to let you go. Only the gods know who you have angered, and why, to deserve such a damnation…
Be that as it may, twilight is approaching: you feel it and you see it descending between one short sleep and another, while the sky turns violet and lets its colors drip through the fog and the world remains suspended between the just vanished afternoon and the evening that has to wake up… and with the twilight someone comes, approaching with quick and cheerful steps. You hear them gently knocking on the door of your house, then open it and enter. It is not the first time this has happened: after work, some inhabitants always come to visit you to bring a greeting and a kind word, some hot food and other blankets, so you don’t get scared when you hear them wandering around the house and, instead, you sit up, albeit with difficulty, arrange your hair and nightgown and welcome the visitor. «Whoever you are, come to the room. Today I’m a little better than in the past few days… but still I don’t have high hopes.»
«Y/N! I’m glad to hear your sweet voice, you can hear that you are improving!»
When you recognize that voice, you smile and your cheeks inflame a little: you’d know how to do it among thousands, especially in a village as small as yours… also because you haven’t yet met anyone, ever, who sounds as carefree and at the same time mysterious as the young man with green hair and perennial joy who calls himself Loki. And you are not like the others, who always remain a little distant from him, whispering how strange his behavior is and disturbing the fact that it is not even known where he comes from, since he has only appeared in the village in the last year: you are always happy in his company, for he always finds a way to make you laugh and never fails to be kind to you, as now.
«I’m afraid my torment will still be long, Loki», you answer him without let your smile fade as soon as you see the tall figure of the boy cross the threshold of the room and lower the hood of the cloak to reveal his face, then move your feet to the side so that he can sit on the bed, «you will have to be patient.»
«Y/N, Y/N… how many times have I told you that you don’t have to apologize all the time? It is not your fault, you didn’t choose what happened to you: diseases come and go and nothing can be done about it. You will heal, you are healing already!»
You watch the figure approach and sit down beside you, then reach out to stroke the back of his hand over your cheek. It will be just a sensation… but every time Loki touches you, you feel both an immense warmth and an equally penetrating chill in his touch: under his skin there is fire and the breath of winter, and you shiver even if you don’t want to. And not out of fear or annoyance…
«Yes, but... I'm a burden to you, who despite everything continue to take care of me―»
Loki silences you by pressing a finger to your lips, tapping them as he mutters a shhhh so soft it amazes you, and a slight grin spreads across his face as he leans towards you and peers into your flesh. «I am here to grant your wishes, my dear, so don’t worry, relax: you are not a burden at all. Tell me, rather… were you able to eat today? Did you have some sleep?»
You nod, then move your gaze to the blankets as if to call them to witness your next words, and involuntarily blush again. «Yes, I ate and slept… and dreamed. A lot.»
«Hmmm… seems interesting! Do you want to tell me about it?»
You hesitate for a moment, then giggle and lay your head back on the pillow, unable to stay sitting up. «In truth, it’s not that I remember much: they are only visions, images. In one I was walking on the surface of a lake and, don’t ask me how, I managed not to sink: I was suspended above the water and could see everything below me, even at a frightening depth. In the second… in the second there was water, I could hear it pouring, but I didn’t recognize anything around me because it was night. There was the moon, which however illuminated nothing, and that dripping and continuous sound, which gave the shivers. The third…» Here you hesitate, slightly biting your lip, then shake your head slowly. «I don’t remember the third at all. But it was nice.»
«I believe it», Loki begins, a laugh stuck in his throat, to then lean more towards you and get so close as to take your breath away, «but I’m sure you’ll remember it quickly… as soon as I start touching this young, beautiful body of yours.»
You open your eyes and mouth wide and stare at the other’s face, a few centimeters away from yours. A shadow is falling over it as he traps your eyes in his, and you are so entranced that when he kisses you, fast and sudden, you cannot even see the movement: only the pressure on your lips makes the fact known.
«You know, pretty doll… they call me by many names, and they are all real. Including the one you know», Loki whispers to you, taking you by the arms and sitting you up, to then wrap his own around your waist and press you against him while he stares at you with his face tilted to one side and an affectionate expression, «but I have never felt the same sweetness and respect with which you pronounce it. What do you say if… while I make your third dream real and lick your swollen, delicious folds deeply and penetrate inside you, you sigh it and chant for me with your beautiful voice? Would you do it for me, Y/N?»
You don’t know what to answer and you don’t even allow yourself to imagine that all of this is true, your face purple with a thousand emotions and your chest rising and falling faster and faster as Loki rubs his against yours, giving you the heat that you have not felt these days, and the most intense cold that your bones have ever known.
«Don’t be afraid, I’ll make you feel all the pleasure you have always craved», he then whispers to you as his purple eyes devour you deeply and a terrible, broad smile darkens his face as soon as he gets rid of the blankets and climbs over you, pressing you lightly against the mattress as he grabs your wrists in a grip. You can see his tongue licking his lips, but only for an instant; because then he leans over your ear and nibbles your lobe gently, slowly. «You know, my sweet Y/N… in these hours I will give you many, uncountable reasons not to want to leave this bed anymore. Didn’t I tell you before, that I’m here to grant our wishes?»
#record of ragnarok loki#shuumatsu no valkyrie loki#ror#record of ragnarok#shuumatsu no valkyrie#snv#snv loki#ror loki#loki
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vento aureo hug headcanons, pt. 1!
-> my golden wind obsession continues, fack. i just wanna hug all of these babies, hngggg. a collection/series, starting with the bucci gang! i love the scents associated with hugs, so there's a quick little scent profile married to each blurb, as well as a HUG SCALE RATING™️ . la squadra will be next, huuuuuiiiii~!
-> gn reader; filled with fluff and safe for work.
🐞 giorno
Unconsciously yearns for human contact, yet, still wears the tragic imprints of his childhood on his sleeve. He is aloof and reserved at first, collecting himself after a slight recoil at your touch. His gentle heart always takes over, however -- he comes to his senses and holds you close, draping his arms around you. The innate tenderness of his true self now surrounds you in a demure glow, ever the golden boy. "Thank you," he speaks softly, feeling rather shy as he burrows his face in the crook of your neck.
-> Smells like: Night blooming lilies, indolic jasmine, the bitterness of dandelion leaves. The quiet moment between nightfall and dawn.
-> Hug rating: 8/10.
🤐 bruno
A firebrand of a person; a penchant for care unrivaled. He returns your hug with a well controlled enthusiasm that threatens to spill over, securing you in the comfort of his strength. It's tight in the best way, and his hold bestows you with a soothing calm that soaks its way into you. The snug of his embrace is like a kiss of radiant sunshine, confident and warm. "Everyone deserves a hug every now and then," he assures through a charming, heart-rendering smile.
-> Smells like: Freshly baked milk bread, flaky and buttery and sweet. Underpinned by a natural musk, skating close to his skin.
-> Hug rating: 10/10.
⏪ abbacchio
Becomes a disgruntled mess upon feeling your body slide into his. "The hell are you doing?" he questions with a confused sneer. To his dismay, he still sees your sheepish grin looking up at him as your head lays against his chest. He sighs, and doesn't return the hug. "Fine," he says flatly. "Do what you want. Doesn't matter to me." He looks in the other direction while giving a small huff, trying to ignore the embarrassed flush creeping into his cheeks -- but he doesn't push you away.
-> Smells like: Dust collecting on wine bottles left ajar, soft silks and fluffy pillows, the afterthought of regret.
-> Hug rating: 2/10.
🔫 mista
Laughs the entirety of his joy when you grab him into a hug, and gives your back a few hearty thumps. "Make sure it lasts longer than four seconds, yeah?" he says, pinning you in place with a mischievous grin. He mashes against you to further prolong the hug, and chuckles when he finally leans back, only to give your cheek an aggressively affectionate pinch.
-> Smells like: Gunpowder, strong coffee, the fresh viridescence of a forest clearing. Chutzpah.
-> Hug rating: 9/10.
🍓 fugo
Is immediately startled and becomes incredibly shy, when he feels you gently wrap your arms around him. His initial reaction is to go stiff, as he frequently doesn't trust the depths of himself to unlock for others. He opens his mouth to protest, but decides against it when he sees the peaceable look on your face. "I suppose it's okay," he mumbles, before bringing you into a careful and fragile hug, tentatively holding you as if you would break into a million tiny pieces.
-> Smells like: Strawberry fields unsure of whether or not to bloom, sun-warmed hay, the cold indifference of clinical steel.
-> Hug rating: 5/10.
🍊 narancia
Grins with all the force of a vice, and squeezes you tight. Even with his small frame, he picks you up with ease and twirls you around as his laughter sweetly plays its symphony. He's filled with a giddiness that bubbles over and bursts into your heart, beautiful and wholesome. "I love hugs!" he exclaims, with a broad smile opening twofold to the world and to you. Enthused, he peppers your face in soft and sloppy kisses, unafraid to shower platonic affections in questionable ways.
-> Smells like: Squeezing a citrus rind into the morning air, innocence, erupting emotions as violent as bloodletting.
-> Hug rating: 10/10.
🍥 trish
There's a sadness to her eyes, although you're hugging her with all the love you can muster. "Thanks, really," she says, giggling quietly and bringing her hand up to pat the side of your head. "I'm not exactly a hugger, but no complaints here." She cradles you with an elegance you didn't expect, but then again, she was a surprising person, filled with bits of both wisdom and merry.
-> Smells like: Angel food cake with a delicate crumb and a rainbow of sprinkles, the sharp tang of a knife rarely used.
-> Hug rating: 7/10.
#jjba#vento aureo#golden wind#giorno giovanna#bruno bucciarati#bruno buccellati#leone abbacchio#guido mista#fugo pannacotta#narancia ghirga#trish una#jjba headcanons#jjba fluff#jojo's bizarre adventure#jjba part 5
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random thoughts dump of the week bc none of this deserves its own post
coming down from a smol john kearns kick and really enjoyed it, guy has a ridiculously sweet presence and i really like his voice. it also brings me great joy his previous career was working in museums and as a tour guide. i would like that life, i think (i worked at universal orlando for a little bit in 2013 and was always super jealous of the vip tour guides lol). he mentioned on one of his rhlstps that despite winning arguably the biggest (british) comedy awards there are, he never released a standup special or dvd, and he kinda wants to keep it that way so he has something special between him and his live audience — and that really made me sad face. like, my guy, what about those of us who can't see you bc won't leave that damn island. (also ed gamble's new tour having no nyc date felt personal...) in another episode, he talked a little about, in great part due to social media, people want comedians they can know everything about, get the whole look of; comedians who are the same people onstage as off. he's not like that and doesn't really like the idea of that. i think there's a lot to say about that subject but i'll just leave it for now...
speaking of touring ed byrne next week!!! and jimmy and alan carr coming up!! what a fun time :')
speaking of rhlstp and ed, one thing that occurred to me and i thought was quite funny upon listening to his recent episode is that both richard and ed have that self-aware side of them that admits to bitterness, professional jealousy, annoyance with critics/haters, believing they're not as successful as they deserve to be, etc. while it can come off whiney here and there, it's not too obnoxious or anything, i just found it amusing they had this (often concealed or private) quality in common. i might even put jenny eclair in that camp (others too but that's a discourse i don't really wanna start lmao)
if another youtuber, following amelia dimoldenberg (and munya? does he count?), had to go on taskmaster i would probably vote for ollie kendal off of jolly. in my mind he and alex would be genuinely good friends outside of the show
man i miss the horne section podcast so bad
honestly, i'm a little surprised david mitchell doesn't have a podcast. he loves radio, it's not too demanding of a gig, and he's got tons of interests that could make engaging premises for podcasts... i'm sure someone has floated this to him before, so i need the reason why he said no. maybe he was busy with his book. would love a history pod fr
does anyone else ever remember when david mitchell was in rick and morty and just sit back and go O_O also when he was on graham norton with hillary clinton like lmaooo i just love the idea of the booking agents for that show being like "we're having fucking hillary clinton on who can we bring for comic relief who is a household name but not problematic but intelligent but actually funny" i mean they hit the jackpot of course but it cracks me up that that's his brand
did david ever watch succession? rob def did but i need more about it from both of them
sometimes i think about when david accepted his bafta for peep show and the music that was playing while he walked to the stage was "sex on fire" by kings of leon hahahahaha like what who was djing that night fr
where did charlie brooker go
speaking of back in the day — and i do mean back, like 15+ years ago — and my main panel show obsession was buzzcocks, there were a few non-comedians who would come on panel shows who were properly fucking funny, like martin freeman and josh groban, and i'd always pray they'd eventually come on again. and i think at the time the person at the top of my list was professor green. how random is that TT he was just always up for laugh and just so likable. i also LOVED the song "just good to be green" with lily allen in like 2010 lmaooo this really ages me :)
been really enjoying some old angus deayton-hosted stuff, like old hignfy and wilty. i got into panel shows after he'd stepped out of the spotlight, but i remember being crushed when i found out about his scandal. i also remember stephen fry standing up for him and chastising paul & ian publicly after That Episode of hignfy — which absolutely blew my mind, even though stephen has always said what he thinks — and i agreed with him and am not sure even today if i fully forgave paul & ian for how they treated angus. ik he's still here and there, but i wonder if we'll ever see him in any properly notable capacity again
just watched the latest hignfy actually and jack dee pheww he's ageing very nicely let me just say it and pheww emmanuel sonubi please and thank you. also, paul's outfit was quite nice. an enjoyment of the eyes indeed
i've been making a lot of typos in my gifs lately for literally no reason other than not proofreading my rushing and it's embarrazzing i'm gonna do better
speaking of gifs i have NOTHING!!! in my drafts folder. nothing. no content. nothing is made. nothing in the queue. [sigh] sounds like tonight we be bustin it out huh. idk about other gifmakers (i actually don't follow any other panel show blogs, but this isn't necessarily a panel show blog thing, just a regular original content thing) but i don't usually make gifs throughout the week — instead, like, marathon gif like two times a week and build up 10–20 drafts to post throughout the week. if you gif every single day or to keep up with all of the new content, it starts to become a chore, which is never fun :(
speaking of which i probably won't gif outsiders too much because people don't seem to care too much about it + the webrips are just...so ugly in gif form, even at 1080p! it's a dave thing fr, taskmaster used to be the same way -_-
okay here we go into gif mode btw i got some of your requests and will def make them!!
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As soon as the wedding was over, Josef, Bea, and her mother left for the farm. There was no time to linger over the old cottage and all its sweet memories and bitter remorses, no time to brush fingers across the spot on the wall where Beatrice had spilled a bottle of ink as a child, or to kiss goodbye the trees she'd climbed as a girl. It was planting season, and she was a farmer's wife now. The farm must come first.
Except, Bea didn't yet feel like much of anybody's wife. Other than the addition of her new ring and the sight of her things in the bedroom and communal areas of the cabin, ever since she'd returned her borrowed wedding gown to Mrs. Landgraab, there wasn't much to signify that much beyond her location had changed. With the rush to resume planting, she had barely seen her husband save when they brushed up against each other while in the fields, or when he offered her a small smile at the well when they paused for a drink.
And yet, Bea knew Josef loved her. She knew it in that smile, she knew it in the way he took time to plant her a garden of herbs and flowers by the kitchen, she knew it when she saw the amused twitch of his mustache as he watched her coo over the baby chicks. They loved each other, the bustle of the farm just sometimes made it hard to show that.
Despite the hardships inherent in farm living, Bea loved their little patch of earth. The animals, especially. Bea had always loved animals, but hadn't had any since her last cat had died some months before her father grew ill. Oh, how she loved a warm, purring kitten—not that they had room for one on the farm. Farm animals were a different, but no less wonderful, source of joy. The chicks were an endless source of fluffy, fuzzy joy (and soon eggs) and the cows, with their large eyes and even temperaments, were sweet companions who didn't mind listening to her prattle on and who could be trusted to keep her secrets.
"I'll admit that farm life isn't necessarily what I thought it would be, Daisy," Bea chatted companionably with the Holstein cow Josef brought home the day he and Bea married, "but I do like many parts of it. I wasn't raised to be a farmer's wife, you see. I was supposed to be heading off to the University of Britechester this fall to get my B.A. in literature. There isn't much use for Chaucer or Dante on the farm, I'm afraid." At this, she laughed. "Unless of course you'd like to discuss Purgatorio or Boethius with me, Daisy dear."
"Sometimes, I confess, I'm still not sure how I ended up here after the life I planned for myself. Oh well, perhaps it is as our dear Mr. Tennyson said, 'Theirs not to reason why, theirs but to do and die." Oh dear, that's a bit morbid, isn't it? Maybe a bit of the good book then? 'Thou waterest the hills from thy upper rooms: the earth shall be filled with the fruit of thy works: bringing forth grass for cattle, and herb for the service of men. That thou mayst bring bread out of the earth and that wine may cheer the heart of man. That he may make the face cheerful with oil: and that bread may strengthen man's heart.'"
"Well, bread certainly strengthens my heart—even if I haven't exactly perfected how to make it yet—and wine does cheer the hearts of men, so let's pray for the grass for the cattle and herb for the service of men, and all shall be well, indeed!"
Later that evening, after dinner was (somewhat pitifully—Bea was new to cooking, to say the least) made and eaten, Bea took some time to herself to think over the day before joining Josef in their bedroom.
While it's true that she was settling nicely into life on the farm, and while she remained sure of Josef's affections, there was one area of her marriage that Bea found herself worrying about. Namely, the physical side of things.
Oh, she knew it wasn't proper for ladies to think about things, and she wasn't exactly dwelling on the topic, but she was concerned that Josef hadn't, er, broached the subject. She knew he'd been exhausted since the wedding from managing the planting from sunup to sundown, but what if it was more than that? What if...what if he loved her, but not in that way? His kisses were just as nice and frequent as they'd been during their brief engagement. More frequent, even. However, despite working the land together and sharing the same room, bed, and last name, he still acted as though they were courting. She half expected him to hold her hand in the parlor and then walk her home!
Bea arose sharply. Enough of this, she decided. There was only one thing to be done: no matter how she blushed or stammered, she must go and speak to her husband.
With that, she strode across the room, head held high, into the hallway, through the door to her room...
...only to find a still clothed Josef asleep on the bed.
With a weary little laugh, Bea plopped down on the chair next to the mirror. Well, it seems her little conversation was going to have to wait for another day. Bea sighed. Time to get ready for bed.
Prev ~ Next ~ Beginning
#decades challenge#moody legacy#simblr#sims 4#decades challenge gen 1#new simblr#sims 4 decades challenge
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"That was the night I stole up to his bed to give him comfort. I bled, but it was the sweetest hurt."- Sansa(ASOS VII). "I think Brandon liked the sight as well. A bloody sword is a beautiful thing, yes. It hurt, but it was a sweet pain."- Turncloak(ADWD). Both Lysa and Barbrey recalling about how they have sex with LF and Brandon to Sansa and Theon. Though LF love Cat and Brandon was engaged to her. Barbrey was again slighted when Ned, with who her father wanted to marry, choose Cat.
Hi there! :)
I wouldn't narrow it down to these two characters and their relation to Catelyn, exactly. The idea of "sweet pain" is one that connects many characters, sometimes in good and sometimes in bad ways. Sometimes sexual, sometimes otherwise.
I think, it ultimately comes down to GRRM wanting to emphasize the blurred lines when it comes to life. Not all pain is sweet, but not all pain is bad, either, and it's not always easy to tell the difference.
Melisandre invokes a false constant duality, an in escapable constancy of war.
"The way the world is made. The truth is all around you, plain to behold. The night is dark and full of terrors, the day bright and beautiful and full of hope. One is black, the other white. There is ice and there is fire. Hate and love. Bitter and sweet. Male and female. Pain and pleasure. Winter and summer. Evil and good." She took a step toward him. "Death and life. Everywhere, opposites. Everywhere, the war." (ASOS, Davos III)
But Meera Reed and Jojen insist differently:
"Oh, I do. My lord father told me about mountains, but I never saw one till now. I love them more than I can say."
Bran made a face at her. "But you just said you hated them."
"Why can't it be both?" Meera reached up to pinch his nose.
"Because they're different," he insisted. "Like night and day, or ice and fire."
"If ice can burn," said Jojen in his solemn voice, "then love and hate can mate. Mountain or marsh, it makes no matter. The land is one."
"One," his sister agreed, "but over wrinkled." (ASOS, Bran II)
If hate and love can coexist, contradicting and not contradicting each other, so can pain and pleasure, sorrow and joy, bitterness and sweetness. Not war but a mere multiplicity. Life is not that simply, not that black and white.
The Mystery Knight adds a similar example:
"This is the proper way to fill a pie," Ser Kyle sniffed, cleaning off his tunic. "The pie is meant to be the marriage, and a true marriage has in it many sorts of things—joy and grief, pain and pleasure, love and lust and loyalty. So it is fitting that there be birds of many sorts. No man ever truly knows what a new wife will bring him."
The sentiment is all over the books, in good and bad ways. Often involving sex, but also in other moments that draw a special emphasis on life itself. The pain of breathing in icy air, but breathing nonetheless. The ache of straining muscles. Some pleasures come hand in hand with some pain. But also the pleasure that can mask harm and abuse.
Marillion’s voice becomes even sweeter when mixed with pain and fear and sorrow in his imprisonment - a sweet voice in a bad man in a horrible situation. How can beauty thrive in this, born from this man? Well, it simply does.
Victarion claims this:
"Always." Life is pain, you fool. There is no joy but in the Drowned God's watery halls. "Do it." (ADWD, The Iron Suitor)
But Jon and Sansa, respectively, claim this:
It was so sweet and silly that Sansa had to laugh, despite everything. Afterward she was absurdly grateful. Somehow the laughter made her hopeful again, if only for a little while. Smiling, she let the music take her, losing herself in the steps, in the sound of flute and pipes and harp, in the rhythm of the drum . . . and from time to time in Ser Garlan's arms, when the dance brought them together. (ASOS, Sansa III)
Jon had to laugh. Even now, even here. Ygritte had been fond of Longspear Ryk. He hoped he found some joy with Tormund's Munda. Someone needed to find some joy somewhere. (ASOS, Jon X)
And I think you can tell with whom the author agrees.
#asoiaf is not grimdark#sweetness#bittersweet#pain#coexisting parts of life#inherent contradictions#perseverance
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A House with Good Bones - T. Kingfisher
When I think Southern Gothic fiction, I generally picture grim haunting tales set in creepy small towns in the American South. I think overall bleak tones with a sense of foreboding and dread. I think horror, the supernatural, the disturbing and the macabre.
What I don’t usually expect is to be laughing my ass off at the gut-busting humor. Yes, I know morbid or dark comedy is sometimes used in the genre to poke fun at Southern societal norms and traditions, but as usual, T. Kingfisher’s famed wit and lightness of touch makes her latest novel an instant gem.
In A House With Good Bones, we follow recently furloughed archaeoentomologist Samantha Montgomery on a visit to her hometown in rural North Carolina. Needing a place to stay for a while, she also figures this would be a good time to check in with her mother Edith, who has been acting very strange lately according to recent reports from Sam’s brother. Upon her arrival, Sam could immediately see what he means. Normally a happy-go-lucky woman, Edith has become tense and jumpy, overly cautious about everything. The house that Sam remembers as colorful and vibrant has also been repainted to the original bland hues which were favored by her miserable grandmother Mae, back when she was still alive and owned the home. Plus, the less said the better about the questionable décor which now adorns the place, which Sam knows to be completely out of character for her mom.
Worried that it might be dementia or worse, Sam sets out to find out what ails her mother. She learns that what Edith is experiencing could be symptoms of delayed bereavement for Gran Mae, even though the old woman has been dead for many years. But Edith’s odd behavior is also just the tip of the iceberg. As insects are her life’s work, Sam can’t help but notice her mother’s garden is completely devoid of any of the creepy crawlies which would normally be everywhere. Not a single ant, spider, or bee despite the garden being filled with Gran Mae’s famously beautiful rosebushes which have been growing at the house for decades. And that’s not even the weirdest part. One night, Sam wakes up to a horrifying discovery which even she as a seasoned entomologist finds disturbing, and that’s only the first of many more nasty surprises the house has in store for her.
If you enjoyed Kingfisher’s The Twisted Ones, then I think you’ll also come to love A House with Good Bones. That’s because the two books feel very similar to me in terms of tone and style, both serving up a perfect blend of horror and humor. Even the title is a cheeky gibe in its own way. The story also features a charismatic and lovable protagonist with an unforgettable voice. Sam Montgomery’s personality is positively infectious, reflected in her laidback narration which flows naturally off the page and frequently includes hilarious observations of the things happening around her. Even in the face of terrifying uncertainty, she can still liven things up with a joke or two.
I was also touched by Sam’s concern for Edith and the way she was so fiercely protective of her. Having just finished a string of novels about dysfunctional families, reading one that featured a strong, loving mother-daughter bond felt quite refreshing for a change. I also enjoyed the side characters, like the neighbors Gail, bitter rival of Gran Mae when she was alive, and Phil, the awkward but intelligent handyman who Sam becomes sweet on as the story progresses. I was even charmed by the wake of vultures, part of a wildlife rescue and rehabilitation program, which have taken over the street and made it their home.
It’s little things like that which made A House with Good Bones such a joy to read. Whenever a scene got too scary, some quirky detail or random quip would bring the tone back to lighter territory. Kingfisher has always had a knack for finding this balance between creepy and funny, and that’s why I keep coming back to her horror books. And no question about it, this one has become one of my favorites.
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What's your favorite tyrion relationship/dynamic?
aaaaah the latest to answer things ever! sorry for this and thank you for the ask!
hah. every single interaction tyrion has is perfect. but i'll nail it down to three, am i allowed?!
Tyrion/Penny. Tyrion/Penny. Tyrion/Penny. Not romantically. Just. Oh my God. Penny trying to kill him when she first meets him and then befriending him and Tyrion projecting all his internalized ableism on her, and trying to make her into a cynical and not making it because she is too sweet....... cannot cope with this relationship. I love grumpy and dark guy/sunshine girl relationships so much? They fit into a trope that has almost been reinvented here; Tyrion is older, he tries to protect her, they are on the road together... they are great foils to each other, and a nice parallel to Jaime/Brienne, too. I'm just very grateful that George gave us Penny. If someone happens to her I don't know what I'll do. I want to grow a full garden for her. Deep in his heart Tyrion wants it too, I just know it.
Tyrion/Cersei/Jaime. The tragedy! The Gender of it all! If you're raised with an angry man in your house, there will be always an angry man in your house! This is by far and large the best sibling dynamics in ASOIAF. I will not be taking questions at this time.
Tyrion/Sansa. And listen. LISTEN. I need to write a disclaimer here and a long essay. This ship is not my OTP in a romantic sense, necessarily. I have a lot of fun writing fluff for them, but that is not even my favorite version of this pairing. It's not the romance that draws me to them; canonically, they don't have romantic feelings for each other, and I think they won't ever have.
It's the marriage that draws me. I think we live in a world where it comes as granted, given and obvious that marriage is a sort of reward that lovers earn for their passion, for falling in love. Nothing wrong with that; I married a person of my choosing, a person I fell in love with. Nothing against courtly romance in ASOIAF, either. But I think, in Westeros, the relationships that touch me, that rip me off from my core, are about a certain kind of loyalty? About a permanence, about things that linger and remain. A stubbornness, if you will.
It's like Elizabeth and Phillip in The Americans - the marriage is bigger than the romance. Marriage in ASOIAF can mean many things. It means power, it means abuse, it means peace and security, it means love for some. And I think, in Sansa's and Tyrion's case, it means mostly abuse; it means War. The marriage is a plan to seize the North. Period. There's no way around it. Everyone knows, including both of them. But I admire the way they have turned it into protection, into a sort of harbor? Tyrion marries Sansa after they are both utterly humiliated before the court and then he spends the rest of their short marriage leaving her alone, because that's what she needs from him. They are so lonely in this marriage. They are an absence in each other's life. It's so painful to read. I think a lot about how Sansa thinks she will never marry for love:
Tyrell or Lannister, it makes no matter, it's not me they want, only my claim. "You are kind, my lord," she said, defeated. "I am a ward of the throne and my duty is to marry as the king commands."
He studied her with his mismatched eyes.
"I know I am not the sort of husband young girls dream of, Sansa," he said softly, "but neither am I Joffrey."
and Tyrion, one chapter later:
I want her, he realized. I want Winterfell, yes, but I want her as well, child or woman or whatever she is. I want to comfort her. I want to hear her laugh. I want her to come to me willingly, to bring me her joys and her sorrows and her lust. His mouth twisted in a bitter smile. Yes, and I want to be tall as Jaime and as strong as Ser Gregor the Mountain too, for all the bloody good it does.
What is it that they are longing for? Each other? Hardly; they long for a real marriage. Tyrion projects these wishes onto Sansa simply because Sansa is the wife he was given. But they can’t have it with each other. He knows it, and Sansa doesn’t even consider Tyrion might be able to love her. Why would she? She is literally a hostage for Tywin to have a claim on Winterfell. Tyrion himself says that he did not ask to marry her.
Most of Sansa's observations about Tyrion are about how not there he is most of the time. When he is, she is anxious and scared of saying/doing the wrong thing, or afraid because she doesn’t know what is it that he wants from her, since he never consummated the marriage anyway. Most of Tyrion's observation about Sansa are about how much she is not the person he wanted, because Tyrion is, at his core, a wife guy without a wife, and now he has one, and she is 1) a child and 2) a hostage and 3) afraid of him for 193128 reasons. He looks at her searching for Tysha and he doesn’t find her because Sansa is NOT translucent. She is a solid person! Covered in a thick armor of courtesy who refuses to personificate his wishes and fantasies! Tysha was warm and caring, Sansa is coldly lady-like and polite; Tysha wanted him, Sansa jumps out of their marriage bed at the first chance and is disgusted by him; Tysha was in love with him, Sansa is scared of him.
It's all so pathetic, it's so miserable, and so sad, and overall divorce-coded, and still:
"A marriage..." Her throat tightened. She did not want to wed again, not now, perhaps not ever. "I do not... I cannot marry. Father, I..." Alayne looked to the door, to make certain it was closed. "I am married," she whispered. "You know."
and then:
Littlefinger smiled. "Widowhood will become you, Sansa."
The thought made her tummy flutter. She might never need to share a bed with Tyrion again. That was what she'd wanted... wasn't it?
and also:
I will tell my aunt that I don't want to marry Robert. Not even the High Septon himself could declare a woman married if she refused to say the vows. She wasn't a beggar, no matter what her aunt said. She was thirteen, a woman flowered and wed, the heir to Winterfell. Sansa felt sorry for her little cousin sometimes, but she could not imagine ever wanting to be his wife. I would sooner be married to Tyrion again.
and then:
"I never meant… I never kissed a boy before, but … I only thought, what if we drown, and I… I…"
"It was sweet," lied Tyrion, "but I am married. She was with me at the feast, you may remember her. Lady Sansa."
and also this:
"Did Sansa Stark do it, then?" Lord Tyrell demanded.
I would have, if I'd been her. Yet wherever Sansa was and whatever her part in this might have been, she remained his wife. He had wrapped the cloak of his protection about her shoulders, though he'd had to stand on a fool's back to do it. "The gods killed Joffrey. He choked on his pigeon pie."
I am fascinated by this, because, anon: they hate their marriage! They loathe it!!!!! They don't hate each other, they actually care in their own way, but none of them wanted to be there! They just pull the Marriage Card out of their sleeves when there's something worse happening because at least they left each other be, at least there was an implicit accord that this - a sort of island of peace - they could grant each other! It's not good but it's the best they can do and they do it; they are not in love but they are LOYAL to each other. Sansa doesn't want Tyrion to suffer or to die; Tyrion doesn't want Sansa to take the blame for Joff's murder, even though she looks suspicious and even though it might cost him his life. Sansa relies on Tyrion for her protection, she trusts he will not hurt her, she thinks back on him, basically, as the man who tried to protect her, the man who didn’t bed her, didn’t harm her when he could. I think this is the only explanation for the fact she touches him (literally touches him, outside the context of marriage bed: Sansa reaches out to hold his hand, clutches his arm on a whim when she’s upset. Tyrion is a Reliable Person for her, and that is not something that Sansa can say about most people). Tyrion feels sad for her, for her family; he wishes he could soothe it, he can’t feel any joy in the victory of his family because he knows it comes at the expenses of his wife. They do care! They are alone but they are alone together; there’s trust and kindness there. And this kindness serves nothing, absolutely nothing, it doesn’t fix anything, it doesn’t change their situation, it doesn’t help them to communicate to each other, it doesn’t make them talk. It’s not a bridge, it’s not a way for Tyrion to try to win her heart or her attention; this kindness is pointless and meaningless and this is why it breaks my heart.
There’s something about being kind with no expectation of reward or results that just makes me go absolutely feral. And there’s something about married people holding onto their wedding vows, miles away, that makes me just *bites fist*
my God. I love them very much. I think they are each other's keepers in a very layered, interesting way and the way George wrote them, honestly? I think they contain multitudes. They could be friends, siblings, family. They could be allies, partners, each other’s advisors. They could be enemies. They could be lovers. They most definitely could be either bitterly divorced or bitterly married. *shrugs* and this is nice because whatever comes in the next books, I’ll be fine. They don’t need to be happy with children! I just need to read them in Situations, you know?
(Sorry this got long <3 this is what happens when people drop Tyrion asks in my inbox!!!!)
#king of my heart#ask me stuff#i'm not even going to put this in the sansa x tyrion tag#but yes. george ruined my life.
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i hold this video dear in my heart for very different reasons than i used to. i used to hold it dear to my heart because it was one of few times i felt that the person i loved had admired me. now i love it because im seeing myself through those eyes, full of admiration for myself, full of bittersweetness at how much i miss her... her who saw the world full of beauty and hope and saw the best in people, but also full of pride for the person ive become, how ive persevered through so much and still manage to hold on to an inkling of her, of who i used to be.
how although ive had to put my pieces back into place, and how i can tell i'll never have her again, i'll never BE her again, i have finally started to feel some of her with me, buried, but she's in there and she sends me little pangs of hope and sweetness and laughter. and she soothes me when im angry and bitter and hurt and feel broken and want to tear at the seams..soothes me when i want him to hurt how he did me. she reminds me to love people, to romanticize my life, because thats always been part of me and no one can take it away from me.
i realize now i've been fighting the most for her... to bring HER back.. the nights ive cried and told my therapist i want to be happy again, the time ive spent feeling like something is out of place has all been because i lost her, no, because she was taken from me, stripped. i raised my younger cousin telling her made up fantasy stories that we would then play pretend of. we'd be princesses, warriors, fairies, villains... the patio of my grandparents house would burst with color and breeze and otherworldliness. in summers when i'd spend time at my family's beach apartment with my parents i would swim in the pool by myself and pretend, genuinely imagine, a sea of mermaids and talking sea animals, the world was bright, playful, warm
and the more i grew the more i felt i had to leave this behind, to tether myself to a reality of grey... the same sinking feeling that convinced me when i was with the person who was bringing me down most that that's normal, that that grey and sinking feeling is part of adulthood
i watch that video and it warms my heart to see her, to know that at least in that moment she felt happy, and loved, and admired. i want that for her again. i want that for me too. i may be more prickly, less trusting, hurt, bitter, angry at the world but i, we, deserve happiness regardless. she's with me and always will be. and although i wont be what she was anymore, she taught me so much love and understanding and beauty... she taught me to live my life because its the one chance i get to be cosmically alive. she taught me to see a world beyond the one i live in, to imagine, to escape. she taught me to love and to do so unconditionally, with a huge cowarding fear of rejection and abandonment, but nevertheless unconditionally. she taught me to smile, and to be loud... as if being quiet would make the cosmos forget her existence. she taught me to laugh and to hurt when my presence bothered others because she only wanted joy for those around her even when she didn't know how to bring it
and i will fight for her. i will fight for the pieces of her that no one was able to take from me, that are still here with me. by god im gonna fight for her if its the last thing i do. and with my newfound prickliness and lack of trust, with my newfound anger and fire and frustrations, i will protect her. and maybe one day both our wounds will heal enough to meld us back together again. maybe one day i'll fully feel her again, here with me. till then. i'll fight
#poetry#poetic#poem#poets corner#original poem#love poem#my poem#poems on tumblr#poems and poetry#self love#self improvement#self worth#loveyourself#love poetry#daily poem#poem of the day#breakup#self care#my poems#poems and quotes#daily poems
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Slow Dance With You
Ophelia Amana(OC)/ADA
(AO3)
They both know Ophelia won't live forever, so every moment counts. Each slow dance in the kitchen will be meticulously recorded and stored, where her memory banks never fail. They're all on cartridges, each one.
Hurt/comfort, angst, ADA POV, sad, talk of death.
I saw this and got inspired to write this sad piece!
She dusted off the cartridge, and inserted it into her terminal. Her wires felt heavy and her eyes stung.
She was forgetting quicker, she didn't remember Ophelia's favorite drink, or their anniversary, or even her birthday. She played the tape.
"Happy Anniversary to my dearest ADA." Ophelia spoke into the camera, her violet eyes shining. She had forgotten how sweet her voice was.
"Here's to you, for when I'm gone. You'll always have me in your heart and on tape. I hope you're watching from a better Halcyon, and hopefully, not alone."
Ophelia still smiled, even through the tears.
"If you're hearing me now, then it must mean I passed along to the next life. Hold onto my memory, ADA. I love you, and I miss you, I'm waiting for you to come back to me."
The feed blurred and cut to a recording of the kitchen.
Their last kitchen dance.
"Come out of your head, love. I hear your processor from out here. Tonight is for us, I made sure of it." Ophelia rumbled by her ear, bringing her out of her thoughts.
ADA chuckled, tilting her head back onto Ophelia's shoulder. Her back was to her chest, hands entwined.
Lights were on low, and the table pushed as far to the side as possible. They could have done it in the hold, but Ophelia had been insistent on the kitchen. It was where they shared their first dance.
"Of course, Captain." ADA hummed, smiling. Ophelia swayed with her a little more, humming a slow tune. Her arms were warm around her waist, her breath warm on her synthetic skin.
"We don't do this enough, ADA." Ophelia sighed. "The years keep feeling shorter and making time together slips through the cracks."
ADA frowned, the hard truth left a bitter taste in her mouth. She swallowed hard.
"Then we can do it as many times as you want." ADA promised. It stung at her eyes to admit it, Ophelia would die. She wasn't as young as she was when they met, it didn't even seem that long ago.
She had deep crows feet and laugh lines were sinking in. Her hair was greying, it wasn't nearly as vibrant anymore. Her eyes looked sunken and tired, the deep bags and dark circles had become part of her complexion.
Ophelia was getting older, and ADA had not aged a day. Her hair was still shockingly red, her skin was supple and smooth, and she hadn't a single trace of aging externally. But she did have RAM leakage, occasional overheating, and stuttering processors. Ophelia didn't need to know that, though.
"Shut up, silly! I'm still here!" Ophelia laughed, nuzzling her nose into her red hair. "I think I still have a long time left, if we try. I'll be old and bedridden, but I'll still have my gorgeous girl with me. Just don't let me go alone, you promised." She felt wetness hit her scalp.
"Affirmative, Ophelia. Not alone." ADA choked. She broke free and turned around. It was like Ophelia wasn't worried, like she had no worries.
"Then come on, the night is young and we have all the time we need. I still have a few more dances saved for you." Ophelia laughed, her eyes crinkling and her joy was contagious. "Happy anniversary, you silly girl."
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Contact Information
DIZON, ARIANE JOYCE D.
Sta. Lucia Rest. Mag. Pampanga
09633930619
Jessica and her reality
Cast:
Jessica - A young girl with a kind heart and a love for nature.
Big Beautiful Tree - A nurturing presence, symbolizing the beauty of nature.
Monster Aunt - A bitter and resentful figure, haunted by her own past.
Birds - Cheerful and supportive companions to Jessica, adding to the magical atmosphere of the scene.
Scene: Under the Big Beautiful Tree
Jessica: (Gazing up at the tree) Thank you for your delicious fruits and your comforting presence. You always make me feel at home.
Big Beautiful Tree: (Gently swaying) It's my pleasure, Jessica. You bring joy to my branches with your laughter and curiosity.
Jessica: (Bites into an apple, savoring its sweetness) Mmm, this is amazing! I feel like I could dance forever.
Birds: (On branches, singing happily) Twit, twit, twit!
Jessica: (Laughs, twirling around) You're all such wonderful friends. I wish every day could be like this.
Scene shifts to Jessica's room at night
Monster Aunt: (Enters the room, scowling) What do you think you're doing, girl? You know you're not allowed to enjoy yourself.
Jessica: (Trembling) Please, Auntie, I just wanted to—
Monster Aunt: (Cutting her off) I don't want to hear it! You'll stay in this room until I say otherwise. I won't have you prancing around like some carefree fool!
Jessica: (Tears welling up) But why, Auntie? Why can't I be happy?
Monster Aunt: (Sneering) Because happiness is for the weak. I won't let you forget that.
Jessica: (Whispers to herself) I just want to be free...
Birds: (Outside the window, softly singing) Twit, twit, twit...
Jessica: (Closes her eyes, tears rolling down her cheeks) Goodnight, my dear friends. Thank you for being here with me, even in the darkest of times.
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To you,
Whose smile seems like dandelion. Whose laugh never fail to bring me joy. And whose presence always feel like a never-ending blessing.
In between a glass of coffee I be sipping and the sugar that only comes once in a while when I feel like I need it, you change my whole preference; The You that cannot tolerate the bitter in coffee and the You that always remind me to not taking too much caffeine. The You that slowly change me to the more contented me.
In between my addiction to sweets and the consequences that have always been waiting for me ahead, you make everything balance. The You that feels a lot sweeter than any of my favorite dessert and the You that have always been there to keep me hydrated. The You that makes me feel more alive even without the sugary stuffs.
In between my urge to write and how hard it is to find the eternal muse, you come; The You who bring much more colors to the page I be filling with words and words only. The You who never fail to amuse with everything you have. The You who makes me believe that love is indeed real. The You who will forever be the main character to my never-ending book.
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I didn't think there'd be any more fnd after that ending, but it just feels weird to know there'll never be any more. Idk man.
Oh I totally get you! Hard to believe that it will never bless our screens again with a Christmas special or something
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Kiss Me Good-Knight ❴ Part 1 ❵
summary: you are in a happy platonic relationship with Steven Grant, and you have... something with Marc Spector. unfortunately, perfection can't last forever.
1.3k words.
fluff leading to angst, gender neutral reader, reader deals with anxiety and implied dissociation.
Steven shuffles out from the shower, skin damp and hair dripping. He grabs a towel and rubs at his head, his chest, his legs. His movements are quick and careless. Excitement buzzes under his skin. The leftover droplets of water rolling off his arms go completely ignored as he struggles into his clothes. He hops out of the bathroom, shorts barely over his hips, and grins like a fool when he sees you.
You're at the kitchen counter, humming to yourself as you prepare a cup of tea for Steven. He always complains that you make it too sweet, but he drinks it regardless.
You open the cupboard and ponder at the mismatched drinkware, settling on a short mug designed to look like a little terracotta pot. It always makes Steven smile.
Tea, sugar, cream. Just a little bit, enough to combat the bitter taste. You relish your little routine, unashamed of the joy it brings you. This is something you try to do every day, whether you’re with your partner or not. It’s simple, but simplicity can be very comforting.
Since you don’t hear the shower running anymore, you decide to call out to Steven.
“Are you done washing up? I made you tea!” you say, raising your voice a little so he can hear you.
“I knew you would,” you hear from nearly directly behind you. A gasp rips from your throat and you jump about a foot in the air, clutching your chest. You completely miss the fondness he tried to portray in his tone. When you turn to look at him, you’re glaring. There’s very little real heat in your gaze, and even less when he offers you a remorseful smile.
“Steven, you scared the shit out of me!” you complain. “What if I had spilled?”
He laughs a little, and you think it’s unfair how beautiful the sound is. “Let me make it up to you?”
You feign an exasperated sigh and reach your arms out, expecting a hug. He quickly wraps his arms around your waist, and lifts. Squealing in delight, you grasp his shoulders for stability. Steven carries you to his bed and drops you, but you refuse to let go and bring him crashing down on top of you. All the air rushes out of your lungs.
“Oh! Did I hurt you, love?” he asks hurriedly, propping himself up with hands on either side of your head, careful not to catch your hair underneath. “I'm so sorry, so so sorry. I didn't mean to.”
The two of you spend an hour there, basking in each other’s presence. His skin is warm against yours. The tea goes cold on the counter. After a little bit you whine that his hair is making your pillow damp, so he moves to his own. You adjust positions a few times, but his hands are always on you. His thumb strokes your cheek, his fingers intertwine with yours, he spreads his hand across your stomach. Every brush of the skin is tender and kind, but there’s a line he doesn’t cross. He doesn’t want to, and you appreciate him too much to describe.
You laugh, breathy and sweet. “No, I'm fine. Don’t worry about me.” You reach upwards to affectionately comb your fingers into his hair and frown when they come back wet.
“I didn't dry off very well. I was too excited to be with you,” he says, sounding sheepish.
“We've been together all day,” you respond with a playful eye roll. “Aren’t you tired of me yet?”
He looks at you like you’ve said something unforgivable. His arms move from beside your head and he lays himself half on top of you, face pressed into the side of your neck. “Never,” he murmurs. “You’re my favorite.”
You soon fall asleep in his bed, in his arms, with his lips pressing kisses to your forehead.
When you wake up, he isn’t touching you. Half asleep and wanting, you reach for him, expecting to feel his heavy warmth in the bed next to you. You only find sheets and blankets. You retract your hands to rub at your aching eyes and sit up. There’s no sign of him. You listen closely for his footsteps, but hear nothing.
“Steven?” you call. No response. You hesitate a few moments, then, “Marc?”
It had been a week since you’d last seen Marc. He called you up after what seemed to be a long day - you have no idea what he gets up to - and invited you to dinner at his flat. Of course you accepted, he was charming and his voice over the phone was weary. It sounded like he could use a break and you were more than happy to give that to him. You didn’t question the bruise on his cheekbone or his split lip, but he noticed the concern written plainly in your furrowed brows. You ate a meal that Marc ordered in and watched a movie together. He joked through it, you laughed until your stomach hurt. After it was over and you were almost out the door, he pulled you in and kissed you breathless.
You remember that kiss now as you walk through Steven and Marc’s flat, searching a sign of their departure. Shaking your head brings your mind away from your tingling lips. Maybe they’re playing a very stupid and poorly timed game of hide and seek, you think to yourself anxiously.
Steven wouldn’t leave you here without a word. Marc would hopefully, at least, leave a note. Maybe they went to work and were careful enough not to wake you? Or something happened. Perhaps there was some terrible emergency and you’re here, standing uselessly in a home that isn’t yours.
Suddenly you’re full of nervous energy. You scramble to find your phone, then almost misdial Steven’s number in your hurry. Before you can even lift it to your ear, you hear a cheery ringtone from a few feet away. You follow the sound with your eyes and gasp quietly. His phone is sitting on the dining table. There’s a little heart next to your name on the screen.
“Okay,” you say, hanging up the phone and attempting to breathe. “He’s at work. He’s at work and he left his phone at home, that’s all. There’s no need to panic.” You don’t think you sound convincing.
Your hands shake as you call the museum. The conversation seems to go on without you, as if you’re listening to your mouth form words instead of speaking. Steven isn’t there, you learn. Actually, he’s called in sick. Anxiety forms a hollow, cold pit in your gut. Your body moves without you again. You hang up and drop your phone on the table next to Steven’s. You carelessly step into the ring of sand around his bed, cringing at the gritty feeling between your toes as you collapse into the mess of blankets. Immediately, you’re surrounded by his scent. Tears threaten to blur your vision but you squeeze your eyes shut and inhale deeply.
You don’t remember deciding that you were going to wait for him in his flat, but you can’t bring yourself to leave. The sun shines through the window and spreads bright golden rays across the floor. You remember how the warm light brightens Steven’s beautiful dark eyes, and you are suddenly very bitter. Internally, you scoff at your own dramatics. It’s not like he’s dead, you think, then regret thinking at all. Your stomach twists into unpleasant knots.
Stubbornly, you get up. It takes a tremendous amount of effort. There’s nothing you want more than to lay in bed and wait for your partner to come home, so that’s exactly what you’re not going to do. Steven keeps nearly an entire library in his home and you’ve been meaning to read some of his favorites anyway. You push down the anxious lump in your throat and get to reading.
#fanfic#moon knight#marvel#moon knight x reader#steven grant x reader#marc spector x reader#x reader#x reader platonic#marvel x reader#steven grant#marc spector#marvel imagine#moon knight imagine#no y/n
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Operation Stumpy Re-Read
ASOS: Tyrion IV (Chapter 32)
He spied the Mud Gate up ahead. "I have seen enough for now. We'll return on the morrow with the guild masters to go over their plans." He sighed. Well, I burned most of this, I suppose it's only just that I rebuild it.
+.+.+
There were children climbing the towering wooden structures, swarming up like monkeys in roughspun to perch on the throwing arms and hoot at each other.
"Remind me to tell Ser Addam to post some gold cloaks here," Tyrion told Bronn as they rode between two of the trebuchets. "Some fool boy's like to fall off and break his back." There was a shout from above, and a clod of manure exploded on the ground a foot in front of them. Tyrion's mare reared and almost threw him. "On second thoughts," he said when he had the horse in hand, "let the poxy brats splatter on the cobbles like overripe melons."
He's being antagonistic towards Bran imitations a short time after that line. Coincidence? I don't know.
+.+.+
His marriage was a daily agony. Sansa Stark remained a maiden, and half the castle seemed to know it.
[...]
Either Sansa had been stupid enough to confide in one of her bedmaids, every one of whom was a spy for Cersei, or Varys and his little birds were to blame.
He'll blame Cersei later in the chapter.
"Has a spider been whispering in your ear, or do I have my sweet sister to thank?" Considering the things that went on beneath Cersei's blankets, you would think she'd have the decency to keep her nose out of his. "Tell me, why is it that all of Sansa's maids are women in Cersei's service? I am sick of being spied upon in my own chambers."
Which tells us it's Varys. Sansa knows her maids are spies.
It's even worse than I feared. "And my father? Who does he have spying on me?"
This time the eunuch laughed aloud. "Why, me, my lord." - Tyrion II, ASOS
Dimwit.
+.+.+
Sansa's misery was deepening every day. Tyrion would gladly have broken through her courtesy to give her what solace he might, but it was no good. No words would ever make him fair in her eyes. Or any less a Lannister. This was the wife they had given him, for all the rest of his life, and she hated him.
+.+.+
And their nights together in the great bed were another source of torment. He could no longer bear to sleep naked, as had been his custom. His wife was too well trained ever to say an unkind word, but the revulsion in her eyes whenever she looked on his body was more than he could bear.
Yes Sansa, keep doing that.
+.+.+
Tyrion had commanded Sansa to wear a sleeping shift as well.
How many nights before that happened, Tyrion?
+.+.+
I want her, he realized. I want Winterfell, yes, but I want her as well, child or woman or whatever she is. I want to comfort her. I want to hear her laugh. I want her to come to me willingly, to bring me her joys and her sorrows and her lust. His mouth twisted in a bitter smile.
This always reminded me of another person who yearns for Winterfell in the same book.
When Jon had been very young, too young to understand what it meant to be a bastard, he used to dream that one day Winterfell might be his. - Jon XI, ASOS
And eventually the same girl.
R-I-V-A-L-S
+.+.+
Unbidden, his thoughts went to Shae. Tyrion had not wanted her to hear the news from any lips but his own, so he had commanded Varys to bring her to him the night before his wedding. They met again in the eunuch's chambers, and when Shae began to undo the laces of his jerkin, he'd caught her by the wrist and pushed her away. "Wait," he said, "there is something you must hear. On the morrow I am to be wed . . ."
". . . to Sansa Stark. I know."
Of course Tyrion would be having sex the night before his wedding.
+.+.+
"I don't care. She's only a little girl. You'll give her a big belly and come back to me."
Some part of him had hoped for less indifference. Had hoped, he jeered bitterly, but now you know better, dwarf. Shae is all the love you're ever like to have.
My heart goes out to him. It must be hard when your paid sex worker, and hostage child bride don't love you.
+.+.+
He had never seen markets so crowded, and for all the food the Tyrells were bringing in, prices remained shockingly high. Six coppers for a melon, a silver stag for a bushel of corn, a dragon for a side of beef or six skinny piglets.
There's an interesting detail. The Tyrells are still price gouging King's Landing. Is that greed, or are they trying to make the Lannisters look bad?
Man, that house is doomed.
+.+.+
The man behind it scarce looked a danger; a short man—though all men were tall to Tyrion—with thinning brown hair, pink cheeks, and a little pot pushing at the bone buttons of his doeskin jerkin. In his soft hands he held a twelve-stringed woodharp more deadly than a longsword.
Tyrion sat across from him. "Symon Silver Tongue."
A woodharp more deadly than a longsword... yeah.
+.+.+
"You shall rise again, I am sure. A man like you. My sweet lady Shae tells me you are newly wed. Would that you had sent for me earlier. I should have been honored to sing at your feast."
"The last thing my wife needs is more songs," said Tyrion.
Fuck you, she'll get her song.
+.+.+
He rode through the streets of the city,
down from his hill on high,
O'er the wynds and the steps and the cobbles,
he rode to a woman's sigh.
For she was his secret treasure,
she was his shame and his bliss.
And a chain and a keep are nothing,
compared to a woman's kiss.
Obviously about Shae, but Sansa sneaks in the last two lines.
+.+.+
"There's more," the man said as he broke off. "Oh, a good deal more. The refrain is especially nice, I think. For hands of gold are always cold, but a woman's hands are warm . . ."
Tyrion slid a hand under his father's chain, and twisted. The links tightened, digging into her neck. "For hands of gold are always cold, but a woman's hands are warm," he said. He gave cold hands another twist as the warm ones beat away his tears. - Tyrion XI, ASOS
+.+.+
"At King Joffrey's wedding feast," the man said, "there is to be a tournament of singers."
"And jugglers, and jesters, and dancing bears."
"Only one dancing bear, my lord," said Symon,
+.+.+
Bronn was waiting with the horses at the mouth of the alley. He helped Tyrion into his saddle. "When do I take the man to Duskendale?"
"You don't." Tyrion turned his horse. "Give him three days, then inform him that Hamish the Harper has broken his arm. Tell him that his clothes will never serve for court, so he must be fitted for new garb at once. He'll come with you quick enough." He grimaced. "You may want his tongue, I understand it's made of silver. The rest of him should never be found."
Bronn grinned. "There's a pot shop I know in Flea Bottom makes a savory bowl of brown. All kinds of meat in it, I hear."
Similar to his handling of Daenerys, George made sure to paint the singer as a total scumbag right before Tyrion orders his murder.
You can't make it too easy for the reader.
(In hindsight, he probably should have.)
+.+.+
"Make certain I never eat there." Tyrion spurred to a trot. He wanted a bath, and the hotter the better.
Is this a reference to someone? Lol.
+.+.+
As he entered his lord father's solar a few moments later, he heard a voice saying, ". . . cherrywood for the scabbards, bound in red leather and ornamented with a row of lion's-head studs in pure gold. Perhaps with garnets for the eyes . . ."
"Rubies," Lord Tywin said. "Garnets lack the fire."
Garnets, not rubies!
The pommel was a hunk of pale stone weighted with lead to balance the long blade. It had been carved into the likeness of a snarling wolf's head, with chips of garnet set into the eyes. - Jon VIII
x
The direwolf's red eyes were darker than garnets and wiser than men. - Jon VIII
Jon lacks the fire!
+.+.+
"A wedding gift for Joffrey," he told Tyrion. The light streaming through the diamond-shaped panes of glass made the blade shimmer black and red as Lord Tywin turned it to inspect the edge, while the pommel and crossguard flamed gold.
[...]
Most Valyrian steel was a grey so dark it looked almost black, as was true here as well. But blended into the folds was a red as deep as the grey. The two colors lapped over one another without ever touching, each ripple distinct, like waves of night and blood upon some steely shore. "How did you get this patterning? I've never seen anything like it."
"Nor I, my lord," said the armorer. "I confess, these colors were not what I intended, and I do not know that I could duplicate them. Your lord father had asked for the crimson of your House, and it was that color I set out to infuse into the metal. But Valyrian steel is stubborn. These old swords remember, it is said, and they do not change easily. I worked half a hundred spells and brightened the red time and time again, but always the color would darken, as if the blade was drinking the sun from it. And some folds would not take the red at all, as you can see. If my lords of Lannister are displeased, I will of course try again, as many times as you should require, but—"
Look, it's Jon in sword form!
Why is this happening? Does this mean these swords will be returned to House Stark? I don't know, probably not.
+.+.+
The old Kings of the Rock had owned such a weapon, but the greatsword Brightroar had been lost when the second King Tommen carried it back to Valyria on his fool's quest. He had never returned; nor had Uncle Gery, the youngest and most reckless of his father's brothers, who had gone seeking after the lost sword some eight years past.
The fandom loves to obsess over little anecdotes like this, so I thought I'd include it.
+.+.+
Thrice at least Lord Tywin had offered to buy Valyrian longswords from impoverished lesser houses, but his advances had always been firmly rebuffed. The little lordlings would gladly part with their daughters should a Lannister come asking, but they cherished their old family swords.
Little lordlings gladly parting with the daughters instead of the swords almost seems like a nod to Sansa and Rob.
+.+.+
Tyrion placed Jaime's sword back on the table beside Joffrey's, wondering if Robb Stark would let his brother live long enough to wield it. Our father must surely think so, else why have this blade forged?
i+.+.+
When the guards had seen the armorer out, Tyrion clambered up onto a chair. "So . . . a sword for Joff, a sword for Jaime, and not even a dagger for the dwarf. Is that the way of it, Father?"
I'd love for you to have a dagger!
Someone give him a dagger!
+.+.+
"The steel was sufficient for two blades, not three. If you have need of a dagger, take one from the armory. Robert left a hundred when he died. Gerion gave him a gilded dagger with an ivory grip and a sapphire pommel for a wedding gift, and half the envoys who came to court tried to curry favor by presenting His Grace with jewel-encrusted knives and silver inlay swords."
Here comes George awkwardly trying to resolve that dagger storyline he lost interest in.
+.+.+
Tyrion smiled. "They'd have pleased him more if they'd presented him with their daughters."
Tywin preferred the sword, while Robert wants the daughter. Okay.
+.+.+
If you do shit gold, Father, find a privy and get busy, he wanted to say, but he knew better.
Funny.
+.+.+
"You will find whatever gold is required."
"Will I? Where? The treasury is empty, I've told you that. We're not done paying the alchemists for all that wildfire, or the smiths for my chain, and Cersei's pledged the crown to pay half the costs of Joff's wedding—seventy-seven bloody courses, a thousand guests, a pie full of doves, singers, jugglers . . ."
"Extravagance has its uses. We must demonstrate the power and wealth of Casterly Rock for all the realm to see."
Tywin Lannister is bad with money!
I promise you this story ends with House Lannister not being able to pay their debts.
+.+.+
So the talk has reached even him. "I have, thank you. It's that piece of furniture between the window and the hearth, with the velvet canopy and the mattress stuffed with goose down."
"I am pleased you know of it. Now perhaps you ought to try and know the woman who shares it with you."
Woman? Child, you mean.
YOU AGREED TO MARRY HER.
+.+.+
"She is old enough to be Lady of Winterfell once her brother is dead. Claim her maidenhood and you will be one step closer to claiming the north. Get her with child, and the prize is all but won. Do I need to remind you that a marriage that has not been consummated can be set aside?"
"By the High Septon or a Council of Faith. Our present High Septon is a trained seal who barks prettily on command. Moon Boy is more like to annul my marriage than he is."
Would be unfortunate if someone were to marry her using a different religion.
Just thoughts. Simple thoughts. Not making any predictions.
+.+.+
Tyrion liked that notion not at all. "The black brothers choose their own commander," he reminded them. "Lord Slynt is new to the Wall. I know, I sent him there. Why should they pick him over a dozen more senior men?"
"Because," his father said, in a tone that suggested Tyrion was quite the simpleton, "if they do not vote as they are told, their Wall will melt before it sees another man."
Yes, that would work. Tyrion hitched forward. "Janos Slynt is the wrong man, Father. We'd do better with the commander of the Shadow Tower. Or Eastwatch-by-the-Sea."
"The commander of the Shadow Tower is a Mallister of Seagard. Eastwatch is held by an ironman." Neither would serve his purposes, Lord Tywin's tone said clear enough.
[...]
Tyrion's anger flashed. "Lord Janos is a hollow suit of armor who will sell himself to the highest bidder."
"I count that a point in his favor. Who is like to bid higher than us?" He turned to Pycelle. "Send a raven. Write that King Joffrey was deeply saddened to hear of Lord Commander Mormont's death, but regrets that he can spare no men just now, whilst so many rebels and usurpers remain in the field. Suggest that matters might be quite different once the throne is secure . . . provided the king has full confidence in the leadership of the Watch. In closing, ask Marsh to pass along His Grace's fondest regards to his faithful friend and servant, Lord Janos Slynt."
Tywin Lannister plots to have his own man in control of the Night's Watch.
Jon Snow will spoil that.
Think about it.
"I will not have the rose and the direwolf in bed together," declared Lord Tywin.
+.+.+
"Yes, my lord." Pycelle bobbed his withered head once more. "I shall write as the Hand commands. With great pleasure."
I should have trimmed his head, not his beard, Tyrion reflected. And Slynt should have gone for a swim with his dear friend Allar Deem. At least he had not made the same foolish mistake with Symon Silver Tongue. See there, Father? he wanted to shout. See how fast I learn my lessons?
How is this not a villain? How do you read this and not see a villain?
+.+.+
Final thoughts:
Did you know we won't get another Sansa POV until chapter 59? All because of this worm.
I rage. I cry.
28 down, 21 to go. :(
-> return to menu <-
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Pastries Past Midnight
Rikugan: A Gojo x fem!reader story.
Broken pieces of chocolate were all that was left to bring you broken bits of comfort. The perfect balance of bitter and sweet taste of cocoa on your tongue, the melt of caffeine staved off exhaustion from an early morning. Maybe most would say it was too early for sweets, but you developed a bit of a sweet tooth from your upbringing sampling precious pastries at your family bakery.
Letting the chocolate melt in your mouth you lazily walked over to the meeting grounds that a certain sorcerer instructed you to show up; whether or not he would be there would be up to him. Your focus was Yuji Itadori.
Looking through your long lashes with your half-lidded eye, you noticed a small group had gathered in the open field near the school's entrance. You straightened yourself up as you approached the group; two young boys and a girl, the three looking to be in their teens.
"Why is Gojo sensei is always late-" The girl fumed, her copper colored hair swayed as she crossed her arms in frustration. One of the boys, with wild black hair, only nodded with a frown.
"C'mon guys, he's not that late!"
The last of the three spoke up, a boy with short pink hair with an athletic build. All three were wearing jujutsu uniforms; though this boy peaked your interest the most from the slits under the corner of each of his eyes and the register of his shape of his cursed energy.
Yuji Itadori.
You inhaled sharply, lips curling into a genuine grin as you came behind the boy and slung your arm around his shoulder, "Hi there!" you exclaimed, "I know we've never met but I'm sure glad to see you!"
The boy froze underneath your arm, his body naturally hunches over to help with the height difference since he is a bit taller than you. He looks at you with furrowed eyebrows and is visibly confused by your sudden and open gesture to him; his friends look at you with the same expression.
"Uhhh- h-hello..." He blushes and manages to stammer out a greeting. You chuckle lift your arm away from his shoulder and backed away.
"Sorry," you waved while continuing to smile, "My name is y/n. You must be Yuji!"
Yuji smiles back nervously while scratching the back of his head into a half bow, "Y-yeah, I'm Yuji Itadori!"
You look over to his friends, "Are you Megumi Fushiguro and Nobara Kugisaki?"
The two of them nod and watch you grin even more and clap your hands, "You three are adorable!"
'This... She reminds me of someone,' Megumi thinks as he sweatdrops.
'She's as weird as Gojo...'
You place your hands on your hips and look at the three of them. "So that just leaves your teacher. Where is Satoru Gojo?"
As if beckoned by call the man walks out from a corridor of the school and into the field. He looks carefree not only in his expression but the swagger while he walks. You watch as he greets his students before turning to you; his lips curl mischievously into a wide grin.
"Here are my precious students," his words embellish his students to be his pride and joy, and you can tell at least one of them is annoyed (... Megumi.) He turns to them swiftly while waving his arm in the air as he gives his instructions.
"Now for today: I want all three of you to fight y/n."
You let out a short laugh. Is this what the Gojo had planned for the day?
'Some introduction..' you rolled your eyes as his students attempted to form their own mutiny against his orders.
"But sensei 3 against 1 isn't fair!" Yuji argued but to no avail; Gojo just kept his grin and shrugged.
"Yuji, it's not about whether or not it's fair," the sorcerer's voice had a hint of darkness to it, "This is about winning."
Understanding what Gojo was trying to teach his students, you began to walk away from his students. "Don't worry Yuji, I'll be okay: I'll win."
Gojo waved his finger, "And to make it fair, y/n won't use any cursed energy!" you heard him exclaim. Rolling your head to one side then the other, you looked at Gojo and raised an eyebrow, "iI you're going to make this fun, you should at least blindfold me."
The white sorcerer smirked wider, "If you insist."
The three students watched as their sensei walked behind you, unravelling his blindfold and placing it over your eyes. You could smell his scent on it; masculine scent mixed with sandalwood and lavender.
"Tie my hands too, while you're at it," you murmured. You heard his low chuckle near your ear, "I wouldn't guess you'd be into that kind of stuff. You're full of secrets, aren't you?"
If you could roll your eyes back any further you would; huffing the thick summer air as pressure felt around your wrists as he tied your hands together and around your back.
You turned to where the students were. "Alright. Come at me like you're trying to kill me."
"A-are you sure y/n-sensei?" Yuji shouted in the distance. You could already feel the other two conjure up their cursed energy.
"Like I said: none of you will win!" you shouted.
Suddenly everything silenced, then a rush footsteps came to you like torrent rain.
'Itadori' you thought, detecting his movements almost instantly. He came through with a quick punch - you easily avoided then roundhouse kicked him in the face which sent him flying into a nearby building.
"Sorry bud! Nice try!" You shouted. The next attack greeted you with the quick sound of clashing metal - you could identify the shape of the object to be nails - as you were able to catch the aerial projectiles mid air by turning around swiftly to catch them with your bounded hands.
'Kugisaki.' You smiled. You clapped your hands, "What a fun curse technique you have, Nobara-chan!" You drop the nails to the ground turn to meet another attack- one of many frogs.
'The shikigami user and Zen'in, Fushiguro.' You weave easily through the dozens of shikigami frogs, quick footed movements help you reach the young man who is unable to parry your counterattack.
Gojo watched as you effortlessly evade his students attacks and dance through your counter attack. He knows you'll win, but want to see how you'd win. Being only able to use your physical prowess, he leans forward to analyze your moves. His curiosity peaks as he watches you weave around the students like you can still see them- something an elite curse user could only do.
'Who is she,' he thought, placing his hands together and leaning his chin on top of the edge of his thumb and index fingers. He's never heard or met you until then, and even when he asks his fellow peers - even they don't know who you are. He doesn't believe it is merely coincidental that you landed a position at the school for the simple. reasons you provided; he sighs and forfeits his train of thought for now as the last of his students were thrown into a pile up on the ground.
"We done guys?" You smiled at the pile of First Year Students like a victorious schoolyard bully.
"Y/n... We couldn't land any hit... Not even a hair on your head was misplaced!" Nobara exclaimed.
You sit down next to the three and ruffle their hairs. "You all did so well. You're all still learning and growing! I'm sure your teacher is proud of you so far. I'm looking forward to working with you!"
Able to tear out through the wrist constraints with ease, you push the blindfold over your head turning to pass it to Gojo. He gets up from his seat and grabs his blindfold; you aren't able to see his eyes from the mess of white hair but start to feel a buzz around your covered eye as he gets closer.
"That was it for today, good job the three of you," He smiled at his students proudly. You could tell he cares about them, leaving you to only smile and nod in agreement.
"Lets see you two fight!" Yuji yelled, pumping a fist up in excitement. Nobara cheered in agreement while Megumi sat quietly.
"Oh no, I wouldn't want to do that," you let out a short laugh, "Your sensei would beat me."
Satoru Gojo's ears perk up to your response; 'she knows I'd win?' His heart swells with a mixture of pride and arrogance; something that fuels his ego whenever faced with an opponent. Gojo's mellowed down in the last few years of his life from the lack of worthy opponents; however, he's somewhat disappointed you're already calling defeat before a fight even starts.
"Really?" Yuji tilted his head, "I don't know, I think you're pretty strong."
You shrugged and turned around, "It's a fight we would't want to see." Gojo dismisses his students for the day and lets them know of their next mission tomorrow - something about a cursed womb appearing near a jail. As you turn to leave, he offers to walk with you back to the lofts.
You walk silently and avert his gaze by looking forward; you don't notice Gojo's gaze since he's blindfolded, hands in his pockets and sways with his long strides. He replays your movements while fighting his students; coming to terms that you are stronger than Nanami, maybe even stronger than the only other female special grade curse user, Tsukomo.
"Hey, what's your last name?" He asks blankly.
"Masamichi." You replied.
"That's weird," he replied. "Yaga never mentioned anything about you., or having any family for that matter.."
'Family.' The word stung like rubbing alcohol on a festering wound. You shrugged nonchalantly, almost expressionless. "Guess he didn't need to."
The sorcerer smirked. "You're kind of a sassy, aren't you?"
You laughed, "And you're kind of weird, aren't you?"
Satoru Gojo laughed back. He enjoys the simple childish banter that you permit him to play in. You exit to your loft and offer a quick farewell.
-
Later that day after reviewing texts from the school's archives, you realize it's past midnight and decide to make pastries. You find yourself baking in the late hours by tradition; recreating traditions of your family for comfort and grounding.
You laid back into your couch after placing the dough into the oven and returned to your book. The smell of rising dough baking in the oven carried to the living room and hugged your body with warmth and cozy. Sighing in content, you heard something tapping by your window.
"Yo!"
You turned to see Gojo, his words somewhat muffled by the semi-closed window. "I smelled something delicious and wanted to stop by!"
"How did you know this was my apartment?" You asked, opening the window to hear the sorcerer's response.
"My keen art of deduction!" he smirked playfully, "And I live upstairs above you."
He crouches in your window sill with a childish grin, leaning himself into your apartment. You could see his nose wrinkle, nostrils flaring slightly to the smell coming from the kitchen.
"Do you... Want to come in?" You shrugged awkwardly.
The white haired man flashed a childish grin, leaning himself into your apartment further into a fall before landing on his feet. He wore a black, oversized scoop necked shirt and khaki pants; and a pair of dark sunglasses, even though it was passed midnight.
"Whatcha making?" He walks into your kitchen without asking. You follow him, amused by how casual he is with making himself home.
"Danishes," you raised an eyebrow, "I wanted to treat your student's after today's training."
"You bake?" He asked, examining the dough through the oven window.
"Sort of," you replied blankly. "My mother was a baker."
He was tapping at the oven window until he heard your answer and stopped. Something about your answer struck Gojo's interest. An old childhood memory flashes from the corner of his mind, then he shakes it off almost instantly: he was too interested and distracted in your sugary creation.
You poured Gojo some tea and placed it on the counter. Leaning back, you watched as he sipped his tea, sighing in content.
"I'll be going away on an oversees trip," he said in a matter of fact tone. "I'll be leaving the students with you."
"I see," you hummed, "You were so against me, what changed?"
Gojo smiles, this time something about it seems sincere. "The way you interacted with them, my students," he replied, "you only met them today but you treated them with care and respect."
"And why wouldn't I?" You retorted. "One day they should be stronger like us, if not stronger."
"And Yuji needs guidance... He's a bright, loving kid." You continued as you smiled at your tea cup, watching bits of leaves fall to the bottom.
"Don't worry, they've already been assigned another mission and Ichiji will be assisting them. So you're off the hook for this weekend." He finishes his tea, placing his cup into the sink.
By the time you finished your tea the pastries are done; you peer into the oven and notice the color and smell of finished pastries so you pull them out of the oven; the hot air filled the room with sweet smell of puff pastry. As you placed the tray on the counter, you could feel Gojo fidget and inch closer to you until he hovers behind you, watching over your shoulder.
"Gojo - wait till they've cooled or you'll burn yourself," you murmured, already expecting the man to act on his stomach and snatch up the danishes like a vulture. You hand him a single pastry on a plate and watched as he took a bite, pausing before his lips formed a soft smile. He looked at you silently for awhile; you tilted your head, "Is something wrong?"
"No," he smiled, looking deeply into the danish. "It's delicious. This all just... Reminds me of someone."
You didn't want to pry; you could see Gojo stare into the dessert like a lover would and chuckled at how much he loved your pastry. You yawned, "Listen, I have to sleep.. You can take some for your trip, If you'd like."
The grown man cheered; it was kind of cute, in a weird way. Placing them in a wax bag for him to consume later, you smiled and pushed them into his chest, "Enjoy."
"Thanks! Goodnight, y/n!" Gojo warps away suddenly and swiftly, raising your eyebrow for the second time of the night.
"Goodnight?"
#gojo satoru x you#gojou satoru x reader#gojo satoru#jujutsu kaisen gojo#satoru gojo#satorugojo#gojosatoru#jjk x reader#jjk#jujutsu kaisen#gojo satoru x y/n#gojo satoru x reader#gojo x reader
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"I don't wanna leave you, Daddy"
(A/N): This was requested by an Anon and it's based on this concept. I hope you are ready for the feels.
Summary: Hotch's daughter is an introvert. A quiet one. But why does she go even quieter after her mother's death?
Warnings: So much hurt. Angst. Fluff. It's bitter sweet.
Wordcount: 2.3k
✨Masterlist✨
_____________________________
(Y/N) never really was an outgoing person. Even since she was able to walk and talk, she still clung to her parents. She refused to play on the playground when other children were there. Socializing was just not her thing. Her parents were sure that she would never be the person to stand up and perform on stage spontaneously. And it is ok.
This doesn’t really change when Jack comes around. Sure, as he grows older and more capable of things (Y/N) plays with him. But it really seems like he is the only one around her age she is not afraid to befriend.
Aaron and Haley reassure themselves that their daughter will find friends in elementary school. After all this is an institution where many children go to and there also are adults trained for helping them coming along. She definitely will find at least one other kid to hang out with regularly and learn how to be a proper child. Because as of right now (Y/N) is more like a little adult, taking responsibilities, like watching over her little brother, she doesn’t need to do voluntarily. Maybe she will be more messy, rebellious, anything but a perfect child.
But this doesn’t exactly happen. (Y/N)’s teachers are really happy with her. Every parent-teacher conference is about how well and polite she is, always behaving good and following the rules. Sadly, they don’t have any good news regarding her social life. It’s not that she doesn’t get along with her classmates, it’s just that she isn’t able to strike up a conversation or is very good at keeping one long enough that a kid is interested in her.
Knowing that (Y/N) is mostly quiet in her school days, Aaron makes it a habit to bring her more often to the office. She surprisingly warms quickly up to his team and whenever she is around them the girl is an unstoppable tornado running loose around the bullpen.
This is kind of how she grows up until the age of middle school. (Y/N) learns some social skills and makes a few friends over the last few years. Unfortunately these friendships are not as deep as the parents wish, still it’s better than nothing.
Things get difficult when Aaron and Haley start to separate. It never is easy when parents fall out of love and it is not only difficult for Jack to see his father not as often as he used to, considering he still is a toddler needing both parents. Especially (Y/N), who is more of a daddy’s girl than a mommy’s girl, suffers from the situation at home.
Of course it’s hard on her to not see her father for a week or two at a time, but ever since her parents are going on parted ways she sees him at most one weekend every three weeks. This also changes her social life dramastically.
“(Y/N), don’t you wanna do something with your friends? You can invite them over for the weekend”, Haley suggests after watching her daughter not going out with somebody outside of school for several days. For the past two weeks the ten year old just comes home, does her homework and puts her nose in one of the books her Uncle Spencer recommended.
The girl only looks up at her mother to shake her head. “Why not, Sweetie? I haven’t seen William and John in so long. Are you still friends with them?” (Y/N) nods again. “So what is it? Are you guys fighting?” Haley sits down next to her on her bed.
“No, they just-just don’t know about this. I don’t want to tell them. And I want to stay home. It’s ok how it is right now”, she admits. Her mother’s heart breaks at that statement.
In this moment she realizes that anything a parent does has immediate consequences for the children. “I’m sorry, Sweetie. I didn’t know this is so hard for you. Maybe you can talk to them over the next few days about it, I think it’ll help you. Do you want to watch a film with me for now? Jack has a sleepover at a friend’s. We can do a girl’s night. We hadn’t had one in a long time.”
(Y/N)’s eyes light up at that. “With all the candy in the world?” Haley smiles at the newfound excitement. “Of course. Anything you want.”
From only seeing Aaron every now and then it suddenly turns to not knowing when she will see him next. After George Foyet ambushes him and makes his family into the next target, (Y/N), her brother and her mother have to go into witness protection.
The goodbye at the hospital is painful and filled with tears. “But Dad, I don’t want to leave you. I’ll miss you too much. I don’t like not seeing you. And what about you? You will be more lonely and-and I can’t leave you”, she confesses, sobbing into him.
Hotch has to hold his own tears back. He doesn’t want to come over as stoic, but as the strong father figure he always tries to be. “Honey, I know I’ll miss you so much. You have to be strong for your mother. This will not be easy and I know it. I promise to do my best to get all of you back as soon as possible, ok? Please be good for your mother and behave. We all need to work together for you to get back fast and safely.”
(Y/N) continues to cry into his hospital gown. Aaron can’t help it and dissolves in tears himself while trying to calm her down. “Shh, Honey. Everything will be fine. I’m so so sorry for all this. I never wanted something like this to happen. Shh, we will see each other real soon. The team and I will do our best. Just please, don’t cry. Please, it all will be better. I can’t let you go without seeing your beautiful laugh for one last time.”
“I don’t wanna leave you, Daddy. I-I wanna stay with you and Uncle Dave and Auntie JJ and Uncle Spencer and Uncle Der and Auntie Penny and Auntie Em. I’m scared you won’t be fine when we come back.”
It’s needless to say that nobody cracked even a smile that day.
Going into witness protection made Haley worry about Jack especially. He is just four years old and she isn’t sure how much he understands about what’s going on. Surprisingly the boy gets accustomed to the situation pretty fast. Of course he misses his father and his people from school, but he is also quick to meet new ones in the town they moved to.
(Y/N) has bigger problems. New school. New kids. New everything.
“Maybe you can see it as a fresh start. Here is nobody you know. You can be whoever you want to be. I can take you shopping and you can try out a new style”, her mother tries to make the situation sound advantageous to her. But the girl dryly answers: “When somebody doesn’t like me how I am now, how will they like an act?”
Sam Kassmeyer regularly reports back to Aaron about his family’s well being. “Jack is thriving. His teachers describe him as a bundle of joy. (Y/N) slowly gets acclimated to the change. Haley told me she started making friends with a girl in their neighborhood. I already ran a background check and the family is clean.”
Hotch lets out a sigh of relief. He turns towards the image on Penelope’s monitor. “Happy fifth birthday, Buddy.”
A few weeks after that it seems like the events overturn each other.
Foyet coming back.
Kassmeyer getting tortured.
Foyet finding Haley and the children.
Them coming back to their house.
The call.
Working the case with Jack.
The gunshot.
The fighting noises.
Hotch opening the box and hugging both of his children, relieved to see them alive.
The following weeks are difficult for the now smaller family. They mostly consist of watching videos of happy memories and talking about their feelings. Although it’s more like Jack talking about his feelings, (Y/N) went mostly silent ever since their mother’s death. This worries her father more than anything.
Two months have gone by. “Hey Honey, I’m going into the office today. Do you wanna come with me, stay at home or go to school? Anything is fine by me”, he asks her softly, kneeling beside her chair at the table. The girl is munching on her cereal halfheartedly.
“Can I come to the office?” (Y/N) asks in a hoarse voice. It’s actually the first time in four days that Aaron hears her voice. A small smile forms on his face. “Of course, that’s nice. Aunt Penny is asking me after her favorite Hotchner for days on end now. And Uncle Spencer got a stack of books he has for you to read.”
His daughter nods and quickly gets ready. They are soon on their way to Quantico after dropping Jack off at daycare. “How are your classmates? Do you like the new school?” They decided to send (Y/N) to a different school. She couldn’t bear the thought of only being the girl whose Mom died because of a serial killer.
“It’s fine. There are a few girls who are really nice. I think we can be friends. Mo-” She suddenly cuts herself off. Aaron glances over at her. “Continue, Sweetheart. Just tell me what’s on your mind”, he tries to encourage her.
The girl hesitates before following her father’s advice. “Mom would have liked them,” she mumbles. It’s quiet for a few seconds. Hotch is looking for a suitable answer. After all it’s the first time she talked about her mother since her death. “I’m sure of it, Honey. Maybe you can invite them over and I can get to know them. Think about it, no pressure of course.” (Y/N) nods to indicate that she heard him.
Not long later they enter the bullpen. “There she is! My little Hotchner! How you doing, Baby?” Derek asks her and envelopes her into a hug. But she only shrugs her shoulders. This goes on for the rest of the day. Whenever anyone talks to her, the only answer is given by her body language.
Hotch watches helplessly Spencer trying to engage in a conversation with her. His arms and hands are waving around. (Y/N) though just looks at him without being really there mentally. It seems like she is lost in her own thoughts, like it happened so often over the last few months.
“Have you tried talking to her about it?” Dave asks, sitting down on the chair opposite of him. Aaron looks at him funny. “Of course. But (Y/N) is just not ready to talk about Haley and everybody grieves differently. I can’t force her to speak, Dave.”
The older agent leans back in his seat. “I don’t think she needs to talk about her. This probably is too soon. She needs to talk about you. The changes.” After a short pause, in which the other one still doesn’t get the point, Rossi continues. “That little girl just lost her mother. She is scared to lose her father, the one with the high risk job. I think that is enough to talk about.”
This occupies the agent for the remainder of the day. Aaron was so invested in fulfilling both parent roles, that he forgot that he is just a father. The man his children go to when they have a nightmare. The one, who is more lenient than their mother. He can’t be both ones. He can’t be two people in one.
A kid trusts a mother and a father usually. And he can’t be mother and father at once. Hotch has to accept the fact. The fact that (Y/N) and Jack are going to grow up without a mother. But luckily not without mother figures.
Later that day, after tucking Jack in, Aaron knocks on his daughter’s door. A small “Come in!” echoes back to him. He enters her room and spots (Y/N) already in her bed reading a book Spencer gave her today.
“Hey, do you have time before it’s lights out?” He asks, still wanting to give her the upper hand on this. The girl nods and scoots over for her father to take a place. He lays next to her, pulling his daughter into a hug.
“I know I can’t promise it. Coming back to you every time. You know it as much as I do. But I promise you to try anything and everything in the books. You guys keep me going.” Tears roll over both of their faces.
“I-I just”, (Y/N) moves her head onto his chest to sob into it, “Just don’t wanna lose you, too. I-I don’t think I-I can’t be the girl, who doesn’t have a mother AND a father. C-can you stop that from happening?” Hotch has to wipe his eyes before answering.
“I-I try to keep that from happening, Honey. I promise.”
This is how they fall asleep, squished in a twin bed close to each other. In the morning they both are overheated and got a visitor during the night. Jack wakes them up, asking why they had a sleepover without him.
This morning is the first time Aaron sees (Y/N) smiles since day zero.
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#criminal minds#criminal minds fanfiction#x reader#reader insert#fanfiction#aaron hotch fanfiction#aaron hotchner#aaron hotch imagine#aaron hotch x reader#aaron hotch x child!reader#aaron hotch x daughter!reader#aaron hotchner x reader#aaron hotchner x child!reader#aaron hotchner x daughter!reader#x daughter!reader#x child!reader
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