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got-svt · 4 years ago

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signs

order up ! large americano at 75% sweetness, a slice of strawberry shortcake, and a slice of cherry pie with mingyu for anon <3 order notes : mingyu x reader, angst, fluff, a first date, brief mentions of other members, cameo from eunwoo bec i watched true beauty and was in need of another 97 liner, and a very nervous mingyu, he just wants everything to go well smh look, something’s written on your cup... hi ! for transparency’s sake this is an edited version of something that i posted a while back that i deleted. so if you are the anon who requested this but couldn’t find it, here it is now !

summary : all mingyu wanted was to go on one nice date with you, was that too much to ask? well, according to the universe, it was.

word count : ~2.8k

The first sign was he woke up a little too late, technically it wasn’t even a sign, considering that it was entirely his fault anyway. Mingyu had spent all of the previous night preparing for your date with him — making little sandwiches, cutting up some fruit, baking cookies to be put in little plastic containers. After hearing that you hadn’t been to the park in quite a while, never really having a reason to go, he decided that a picnic wasn’t too bad of an idea for a first date.

Mingyu had wanted to ask you out for the longest time, being friends with him ever since both of you knew how to talk. It was easy, your friendship with him. Neither of you ever felt like you had to put up some sort of front, or have walls up incredibly high. He asked you out in the most casual of ways too, like it wasn’t that big of a deal. You couldn’t tell but on the inside, he was freaking out — that came with not knowing how you’d react and the possibility of rejection.

“Are you free tomorrow?” Mingyu asked, unable to meet your eyes.

You nodded, slightly confused at his inability to match your gaze.

“Okay, I was thinking we can go to the park tomorrow since you told me you haven’t been there in a while. Maybe we could go on a picnic?” He spoke as if he didn’t start preparing for this days ago, looking up fun things to do while on a picnic or a park — picking wildflowers together was high up on the list of things he wanted to do with you.

“Oh, sure! I’ll text Wonwoo and the others to see if they want to join us—”

“No!” Mingyu exclaimed, a little too loud and a little too quickly, a hand in front of you like he was about to physically stop you from doing something. “I was thinking that it could be just the two of us, you know?”

He hoped you would pick up on it, the implication from the nervous tone in his voice, how when he finally gazed up at you with softness in his yes. He was asking you out, on a date. Mingyu wished that you could tell. Unfortunately for him, you didn’t.

You shrugged your shoulders before giving him a smile, “Sure! We’ll meet there at around 10?”

And he couldn’t tell that you didn’t pick up on it either.

Mingyu woke up groggy that morning, his phone on the bedside table, calling out to him with the sound of a text notification.

[Y/N]: where are you? I’m already here >:(

His eyes widened, falling off his bed in shock once he realized it was already five minutes past 10 am. Mingyu took a shower, put on his clothes, grabbed everything he needed, and sped past the door in twenty minutes. This was not how he planned it out in his head. Mingyu was supposed to surprise you at your place, a bouquet of your favorite flowers in hand. No matter, he still had the rest of the day to sweep you off your feet and ask you to be his.

The sun shone brightly that morning, but it was neither hot nor humid. It was actually the perfect to be outside, with multiple white clouds littering the pale blue sky, a soft breeze blowing through the blades of grass, children running around playing tag — their laughter filling the air. Mingyu smiled, determined that today was going to be perfect

His eyes scanned around the are for any sight of your familiar figure, eyes lighting up when he finally spots you. Mingyu makes his way over, the nervousness that slowly started to creep up on him becoming amplified once he realizes that you were talking to someone else.

The first thing he noticed was how big your smile was as you talked to this person, stretching across your face and crinkling your eyes. Did you ever smile this much around him? You stood a few feet away from the man, but you were very clearly comfortable around him — lightly pushing his shoulder as you laughed, peering up at him through your eye lashes. You finally notice him walking to you, waving your hand and beckoning him to move quicker.

“Hey Gyu!” You grinned, greeting him like you always did, a quick one armed side-hug.

“Hi, Yn.” Mingyu attempted a smile, but it felt a little restrained, gesturing to the person you were just talking to, “Who’s this?”

“Oh! This is Eunwoo, we dated a while ago but it never really worked out.” You shrugged, waving it off like it wasn’t that big of a deal. “You were taking so long and I happened to run into him so we were just catching up a bit.”

“I see..” He trailed off, holding a hand out for Eunwoo to shake. He had known you for years now, and yet he had never heard you mention an Eunwoo to him before. “Nice to meet you, man.”

“Likewise.” Eunwoo replied, shaking Mingyu’s hand before turning to face you. “I won’t keep you too long. My number’s still the same, we should meet up for coffee sometime.”

Mingyu couldn’t help but furrow his brows at the sight of you enthusiastically accepting Eunwoo’s invitation. The little tug on his heartstrings was hard to ignore as he watched you give a quick hug goodbye to your ex-boyfriend — a very attractive ex-boyfriend for that matter. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go, why did he have to wake up so late? If he had been there on time, you wouldn’t have been able to catch up with him for as long as you did. If he had stuck to his original plan of picking you up, you probably wouldn’t have seen him at all.

Kim Mingyu wasn’t the jealous type, but in that moment, he couldn’t help but feel exactly that. Especially when he had been pining after for you for so long now, he didn’t want it to come crashing down just because of one person.

“You’re pouting.” You commented, quickly noticing how uncharacteristically quiet he had become. The two of you walked side by side, hands ever so slightly brushing against one another. You hoped that the warm weather would be enough of an excuse for the red flush that made its way to your cheeks.

Mingyu shook his head, he didn’t mean to have you worrying for him. “Don’t worry about it.”

His reply made you even more skeptical, should there be something you’re meant to be worrying about? But you decided to drop the question, maybe it truly wasn’t that big of a deal.

You and Mingyu found a spot in a less crowded area of the park, you no longer the heard the sound of children screaming or their exhausted parents calling out over them. Instead the melodious sounds of birds tweeting up at the sky filled your ears, a delicate wind blew between the two of you, and the sun’s glare becoming much softer as it finally became covered by the clouds.

He takes out a blue picnic blanket and lays it flat on the ground, smoothing out imaginary creases in the process. You hold a hand out to him, wordlessly letting him know that you’d like to set the picnic up with him. Mingyu hands you the picnic basket, and you spent the next couple of minutes in silence as you tried to make everything look almost picture perfect. The silence was far from uncomfortable, manifested by the small smiles and the growing blushes on both of your faces. There was something rather domestic about the activity, handing him different containers of food, deciding together where everything should be placed.

“Did you make these yourself?” You asked once both of you finally settled down, gesturing to the wide array of food that lay in front of you.

Mingyu smiled, a hand on the back of his neck as he suddenly became ever so slightly bashful, “Yeah. I hope you like it.”

You take a bite of one of the chocolate chip cookies, something in you decided to tease him a little, making a face of slight disgust as you swallowed. His heart sank, a look of disappointment clearly covering his face. He spent all night making those, weren’t they up to your standard?

Panic washes over you as you saw a frown overtake his once smiling face, “I’m kidding! They’re good.”

Mingyu lets out a breath, the disappointment slowly disappearing as the two of you settled into an easy conversation, though that was never really difficult for the two of you. You and him have been friends for about a few years now, but he didn’t really know when exactly he started to see you as something more. He just knew that he did. This much was clear to him when he catches himself staring at you for a little too long, definitely longer than what would be considered normal. There was just something about you that enchanted him, whether it was you laughing over some silly joke he made, frowning as you become disappointed in the latest episode of a show you were watching, face illuminated by the light of a tv screen. You could be reading him your grocery list and he’d still think it was the most interesting thing in the world.

The extent of his feelings terrified him the first time he realized they were there in the first place. Mingyu wasn’t meant to feel that way for you, one of his closest friends. But he did, and the thought of you possibly not feeling the same way terrified him even more.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” You asked, head tilted to the side, “Do I have something on my face?”

Mingyu shook his head quickly, he didn’t mean to stare again.

You felt a sharp sting on your ankle, wincing as you immediately yelped from the pain, “Ouch!”

“What’s wrong?” Mingyu asked, eyes alight with concern.

You shook your head in response, thinking it was just a lone ant deciding to inconvenience you. That thought was quickly dismissed when you felt another equally sharp sting near that same area.

“Oh no…” You trailed off, looking a few meters to the side of your picnic blanket, “Mingyu…”

“Oh!” He exclaimed, following your gaze to the trail of ants that were quickly making their way to the two of you. Great, was nature against him too?

The both of you immediately got up, covering containers, placing them in the basket, and folding up the picnic blanket before the rest of the ants could step their tiny little feet onto the blanket and into the food. As you walked to find a new spot to continue the rest of your date, Mingyu couldn’t help but feel a little bit discouraged. Three things had gone wrong in the span of a few hours, was this just the universe warning him that the two of you will never work out? Maybe telling him to back off early before he gets his heart broken.

In the distance, a low rumble breaks through what would’ve been the perfect day out, followed by a sharp crackle piercing through the air. The sky once a brilliant blue was suddenly covered in heavy, stormy clouds. The park that once basked in the sun’s golden glow became shrouded in gray, people seemed to know what was about to happen as they hurriedly packed their things and go home.

It started out a small droplets, like little kisses on your skin that almost felt like nothing. They were small, and they fell ever so slowly. For a brief moment, Mingyu thought that this was going to be over quick. Then suddenly, the sky weeped, loud and heavy as it drenched the entirety of the park in rain.

Okay, nature was definitely against him now.

Mingyu stopped walking, was there even a point to moving forward? Everything was ruined. The food should be inedible at this point, you and him were soaked and freezing, and it’s not like you could have a picnic on muddy park soil. At this point, the universe had sent him so many signs, he’d feel like a fool if he didn’t listen now. But still, he wished things had happened the way it did in his head. He let out a frustrated groan, tears nearly pricking the corners of his eyes.

“Are you okay?” You asked, a gentle hand on his shoulder. Mingyu was very clearly distressed, but you failed to see why. It’s nature, it’s not something you or him could control. Things like this happen and you should be spending your energy trying to find a place to shelter yourselves from the rain. You grab onto his arm, trying to pull him away, “Come on, let’s find a place that can cover us.”

“No! I’m not okay, Yn…” He trailed off, agitation seeping into each and every one of his words. He shrugs off his arm, much to your surprise. Usually, he’d let you cling onto him for as long as you liked. “I just wanted today to be perfect.”

You furrowed your brows, slightly confused at his irritation, “Why does it matter if today is perfect or not?”

Mingyu sighed, he was getting cold now. He wanted nothing more to be wrapped up in a blanket and have you in his arms. But he knew the chances of the happening now are essentially slim to none. The day was already ruined, and there’s nothing he could do to even remotely salvage it. “I just…”

You gestured for him to continue, waiting patiently as he tried to find the words to say.

“I wanted to give you the perfect date…” He spoke, looking down at his feet.

“Wait, this was a date?” You didn’t mean to sound surprised, you just genuinely were. Voice raising octaves and eyebrows shot up, talking too quickly to catch most of the words, “Like a date-date? I thought we were just hanging out! All you asked me yesterday was whether or not I was free!”

Mingyu’s shoulder’s slumped. He didn’t have to ask you to repeat himself, he heard you clearly despite how hard the rain currently came down, the beating of his own heart deafening him. In a way, he was thankful for the rain; at least you wouldn’t be able to tell if a few tears escaped his eyes. “I’m sorry, I just thought…yeah, no. I should have expected this.”

Guilt immediately flooded your senses, he must’ve read your shock as a rejection of his feelings. You didn’t mean to sound so startled at him thinking the entire day as a date, you just couldn’t believe the possibility that he felt the same way you did for him. “Mingyu.”

You were sure if he had heard you, his gaze still on the ground. You called out to him again, this time your voice much louder and sterner, hoping that it would get his attention. “Gyu.”

“What is it, Yn?” He looked up to find you making your way towards him, a small pout forming on your lips. Mingyu sighed, “You don’t have to do this. I’ll be fine.”

“I like you.” You spoke, just as you were about a few feet away from him, looking into his eyes to make sure he knew that you meant it — that you were being completely serious.

His world stopped. Suddenly, it seemed like the earlier events of the day never happened. He never woke up late, you hadn’t gotten the chance to catch-up with your ex-boyfriend, ants never tried to show up uninvited to your picnic, rain never poured down on the two of you. All these things he thought were signs from the universe, never occurred. There was only you and him, and you liked him back.

“Oooooh you wanna kiss me so bad.” You teased, attempting to snap him out of his trance.

Mingyu didn’t mean to stare at you again, speechless. He just couldn’t believe that this was real just yet. But your words, how you looked at him with a smile — expectant, like you were challenging him to do something, to make a move — finally made him realize just how real this was. “And what if I do?”

You blinked back, not expecting that bold of a response. Still, you took a single step forward, further closing the already small distance between the two of you. “I’d let you.”

Without another word, he moves a hand to your chin, gently tilting your face up so his lips could meet yours in a kiss.

— thank you for visiting cafe amore ! feel like ordering something else? check the menu here.

#seventeen imagines #seventeen fanfic #seventeen x reader #seventeen oneshot #mingyu x reader #mingyu imagines #mingyu fanfic #mingyu oneshot #ca completed order

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animedaddymilkers · 4 years ago

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Kinkmas 2020: Day 11

Prompt: Overstimulation w/ Tsunade

Genre: Smut/18+ || Tags: Overstim, Oral, Fingering, Strap-on, Soft Dom || Characters: Tsunade Senju, Female Reader || read it on ao3 here

"Lady Hokage- Oh, where is Shizune?" You burst into the office with important papers, only questioning how easy it was to enter after you were in the room.

You were met with an indifferent voice, replying to you behind stacks of papers, "I sent her home. She was overtired. I promised I'd stay here but that doesn't mean I have to do anything."

The blonde snickered deviously at the loophole she apparently found and the papers in your hands became heavier, "Well… Maybe you should do something while you're here… with all due respect, m'lady."

"Perhaps you're right, I should do something. Come here, (Y/N). What do you have there?"

You swallowed hard and walked around to the side of her desk so she could see you, "It's unfortunately a few more reports, m'lady."

The disappointment on her face was obvious as she sighed heavily. She took the papers from you, looking over them briefly, "That's all this stupid job is- just paperwork and more paperwork."

"Have you tried making it into a game of sorts? To make it more interesting!"

"A game. Hmm, I haven't thought about it before," she rubbed her chin, mulling over the new idea before grinning, "How about we make it a game right now? Say, every time I make you cum, I'll completely finish one whole report."

As far as you could tell, she wasn't intoxicated, which was surprising and made her words even that more shocking. The proposition seemed to come from out of the blue, but the more you thought about it the more you realized Tsunade may have just been planning this for a while. From time to time you could swear you saw her gaze lingering on you, but brushed it off as you overreacting. It's not like you weren't also interested, hell Tsunade was easily the most attractive woman in the entire village. If someone said otherwise, they were probably lying. You looked at her for a moment, waiting for her to break out laughing and say it was just a joke. But that never came, instead her expression changed slightly to show she was waiting for an answer. You cleared your throat and took in a deep breath before speaking.

"That sounds like a fun game. What do you get out of it though?"

"Hmm, good point. How about-- If you tap out before 15 then I get to take you on a date... and don’t finish any reports?"

True to her reputation, Tsunade was terrible at gambling. Did she really think her taking you out on a date was a loss for you? Still, you were determined to make it to that mark, if not only for Shizune's sake.

"Deal." The single word from you has Tsunade standing up, walking past you and over to the plush couch decorating the side of her office. She sat down, fixing her outfit before looking at you and patting her thick thighs. Not about to back out now, you obeyed and approached her, swinging a leg around hers to sit yourself on her lap. Her hands slid up your hips to your waist, feeling your sides before slipping down to grip your ass. You let out a content sigh and leaned in to kiss her, her soft lips welcoming yours. She was quick to discard your shirt, tossing it onto the floor before also removing your pants. Patience wasn't exactly one of Tsunade's attributes, but you weren't about to complain. Within no time you were stripped completely bare for her, your body being laid down on the couch.

She leaned back for a moment to truly take in the sight of you, fingertips just ghosting over your skin. You shivered slightly when she brushed over your nipples and she tugged on them to further tease you. But she didn’t linger there for long, as her real mission laid lower, her hands feeling down your pelvis to spread your legs apart. The blonde laughed quietly as she saw how wet you were already, but she didn’t say anything because she knew if her pants were off as well then she’d be equally if not more wet. The first orgasm always took the longest to get to so Tsunade was eager to start your little game, two slender fingers slipping inside of you. Your content sigh was all she needed to start slowly pumping them in and out of you, coaxing more juices from your pussy.

The dull stretch in your core felt good and you began to press your hips down to meet her fingers as they pushed back in. Her pace was leisurely and calculated, pressing into you deeply, trying to find your sweet spot. After you nearly begged her, she slid in a third finger, stretching your walls more. The hand that wasn’t thrusting in and out of you slid up from your thigh to lazily rub at your clit, reveling in the soft gasp you let out. Tsunade kissed along your hip bones, leaving sweet love bruises as she went. You played with your nipples, pulling on them to heighten the pleasure that was building. It was pointless to deny yourself the inevitable and when you felt your first orgasm creep up on you, you embraced it wholly, gripping the sides of the couch as you drenched Tsunade’s face in your juices.

“One down, fourteen more to go, think you can make it?”

“Definitely.” Your optimism might have been a bit premature and maybe you would regret those words after a few more orgasms, but you had sheer willpower and determination on your side.

After briefly checking in with you, Tsunade continued her actions, fingers resuming fucking you and not giving you much time to recover. This was most likely going to take all night as it was, so why drag it out? This time though she decided to up the ante and leaned down, allowing her tongue to kitten lick teasingly at your clit. You were already sensitive from the first orgasm and now with her added tongue, your legs shook slightly. Her fingers curled inside of you, drawing a gasp from your lips that made her smirk. In a moment of boldness, you reached down and tangled your fingers into the Hokage's hair, tugging gently. Tsunade would have laughed and teased you if her mouth wasn't full of your pussy at the moment. She flattened her tongue against your clit before sucking on it as her fingers continued to pump in and out of you.

It didn't take long for Tsunade to find your g-spot and once she did you were at her beck and whim. Your second orgasm crashed on you hard and because Tsunade didn't let up it sent you straight into a third orgasm. Sure, the older blonde did want to take you on a date, but she also wanted to see just how far she could push you. That, and she was convinced there was no way you could possibly last to the fifteenth orgasm. She removed her fingers from you and cleaned her hand off, moaning quietly as she licked your juices up. Then she ducked her head back down, tongue sliding in to replace her fingers. It slowly pushed in and out of you as one of her soft fingers rubbed at your sensitive clit. You spasmed at the touch and winced to yourself, really wondering if you could last. Your body was in a constant tight knot now and thanks to Tsunade's relentless tongue. A whine left your lips as you felt yet another orgasm coming on and your legs once again shook around Tsunade's head.

The Fifth Hokage didn't give you a break until after your eighth orgasm and you couldn't thank her enough. Your legs were in a constant state of shaking and your pussy was so sensitive it was just constantly dripping juices. Now, she was sucking and playing with your tits, mildly curious to see if she could coax an orgasm from you with just your tits. Personally, you didn't think it was possible, you always had needed other stimulation in order to fully go over the edge. But, tonight wasn't exactly an ordinary 'cum and we're finished' type of night. No, Tsunade was purposely testing your limits and just what your body could do. Her mouth sucks on your left nipple while her fingers toy with your right, occasionally leaving to massage your entire boob. Your mounds of fat felt heavenly being massaged, to the point you were almost disappointed when her nimble fingers went back to your nipple. She switched sides, the cool air hitting your saliva covered tit and making you shiver. You laid your head back again, closing your eyes as the waves of pleasure kept shocking through you. With every suck you felt it in your core and much to your surprise, after Tsunade sucked particularly hard and twisted the other nipple, you found your toes curling and gasping as you climaxed.

Her mouth parted from your chest and she wiped her mouth with a smirk before leaving the couch. You lifted your head as much as you could to watch her figure saunter over to her desk. Curious as to what she was doing you lifted yourself up before blushing at the sight of the hot pink glitter strap on. In her hand she twirled a bottle of lube around as she came back to the couch. A cocky look on her face, she secured the fake cock around her waist and lubed it up.

"Ready to go for six more, princess?"

You licked your lips out of instinct and nodded before quickly adding a verbal, "Yes please, m'lady."

Tsunade laughed at your response, you looked so fucked out already yet were so desperate for more. Just her touching the insides of your thighs had them shaking again. In all honesty, she probably could have gone in without lube considering how soaking wet you were. Still, she lubed up her fake cock and slowly slid it inside of you. The pressure of being spread apart nearly had you cumming again but you somehow held on. Well, you held on for two more thrusts at least and then you were babbling incoherent pleas and cuss words. Five more. Kami, you only had five more orgasms to go before you could say you won. Granted, you could potentially go past fifteen if you really wanted to drown Tsunade in reports, but at this point that wasn't looking like a feasible prospect.

Tears were running down your face and your chest was heaving, the wet squelch of your abused pussy filling the Hokage's office. Thankfully most of the workers went home, but part of you knew that some poor ANBU member was being forced to watch you get rawed by the Hokage. Maybe that idea just made it all the more fun, after all it sure wasn't bothering Tsunade. Her hips fucked into you at a teasing pace, enough to keep you on the brink of pleasure but not enough to send you over. She kept it up for far too long before she quickened her pace and snapped her hips, reveling in the scream you gave her as you came yet again. Her fake cock didn't stop, quickly hitting your g-spot over and over and immediately sent you into another orgasm. Your pathetic legs couldn't even keep themselves upright, having to be slung over the blonde's shoulders as she fucked you.

Her nimble fingers came down to flick your tortured clit, laughing as it sent your hips spasming. She rubbed it skillfully, content on staring at the absolute fucked out expression on your face.

"Come on, princess, just three more and you win, you can give me three more can't you? Or are you going to tap out on me?"

Tsunade truly was terrible with gambles, if she had been questioning your will instead of praising you and coaxing more orgasm from you, you probably would have tapped out. But instead, she used that ridiculous pet name in that stupidly hypnotic voice of hers. Your mind was blank and your mouth kept making noises but you're not exactly what noises they were. Your mind and body were so far apart from each other at the moment, but you weren't about to complain. Her cock was still fucking in and amount of you, rubbing against your g-spot roughly as her fingers still played with your clit. Tsunade grinned as you shook harder and came on her cock, pressing her fingers into your clit harder. Her pace didn't let up and even though you clawed at the cover on the couch she kept going. She kept going and fucked you right into another orgasm and wasn't about to stop there.

Your whole body was shaking and tensing up as you gasped and whined loudly. The pleasure didn't die down and you let out a wail as you came for the fifthteenth time, your juices squirting out and covering Tsunade's lower stomach and dripping down her thighs. Your vision was blurry and you vaguely remember Tsunade finally pulling out and cleaning you up. Still you whined and wriggled around, body so used to getting fucked that the absence of it was almost painful. Seeing as now you were just left with a throbbing abused body and no pleasure coming with it. For a moment, you thought Tsunade was going to continue and you were going to have to force yourself to form the words to tap out, but she knew you were done in. Instead, she was pressing soft kisses along your still shaking thighs, trailing them up until she met your mouth.

"Look at you, you did so well, princess. You take a nap and I'll get started on my reports. Okay? And when you wake up I'll get us some food." Although she technically lost, Tsunade could barely count this as a loss. And even though this now meant she had reports to finish, she was content in hoping that this wouldn't be just a one time thing. Perhaps she should turn her work into a game more often.

hope you enjoyed! remember likes & reblogs help me reach more people! :D

#naruto #naruto x reader #x you #tsunade #tsunade x reader #tsunade senju #reader insert #smut #naruto smut #kinkmas 2020 #tsunade x you

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starshine-selfships · 3 years ago

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1, 10, 11, and 12 for the ask game ? 😺🙏💟

Hi hi hi!! You're getting long answers to these bc any excuse to talk about this man makes me go crazy stupid 🙌🙌🙌💕

1) What's a Hot Take you have about your f/o?

HE👏IS👏NEURODIVERGENT!! I'm specifically talking adhd, but he checks a lot of boxes for something more ambiguous too. I'm actually rewriting my adhd sh.aiapouf post and I'm gonna put it here too, but the cut time version IS: noticeable hyperfixations/special interests in music and the monarchy, practically no empathy + has difficulty understanding the emotions of others, fast thinking + thinks a LOT, almost weirdly analytical + book smart with little to no interpersonal skills, extreme emotions all over the board, like there's a LOT here and it explains like 80% of why he's Like That 😤

10) How did you feel when you realized "oh of course I had to like That Character"?

Okay I have a lot to say on this one djnfkffk please bear with me as I write a whole novel

✌U_U ✌

Honestly,, , I wasn't happy LMAOOO, around the time I watched the anime for the first time i was actually still pretty into j.jba and unfortunately was really into dio U_U

I was fascinated by pouf as soon as I saw him in the opening, lots of neat ant designs and then this butterfly man?? I need to know everything about him 👀 His intro with the rainbows in the wings, the fairy chimes, the solo violin, all had me like 👁👁 Sir I Am Going To Study You Like The Insect You Are, and then I saw him actually play the violin and was sold lmao. He was funny as far as comic relief went and then? The giant improv ballet breakdown and antagonistic turn drew me in further and then I was invested in a no going back sorta way as soon as he went chibi for the first time, just watching the chaos of the entire scene with this ridiculous huge grin dhjdkxkf every single thing he did was in the extremes and it was like watching a train de-rail in real time, I saw him face down in the dirt at the end of the arc and didn't even feel anything, he was just so WILD

So I finish h.xh not too long after that and texted a friend and was like hmmm. I need to watch j.jba to return to my roots and also to forget that I think I might've accidentally given myself a lil crush on the butterfly man 😳 idk if that return ever happened but I DO remember being frustrated with how pretty he is,, I didn't really wanna shift hyperfixations at the time and also didn't know if it was attraction or gender envy bc. what I would give to simultaneously look so fem and so masc 👁 either way it was a 3 month struggle of "oh no oh my god I wanna kiss a bug so bad?? 😞" and then I caved at midnight in a denny's and was like okay. fine. I'm gay for a bug, I really really like him but *i* don't have to like that 😤

I did, in fact, proceed to like it, enough to make an entire separate blog for him. It was a slow progression of "I mean, I'd share a ballroom dance with him, like a waltz maybe", "hmm okay he's funny but whatever", "oh uh. he uh. I mean he's neat, a lot of people didn't like him but I just think he's an interesting character 😳" and. and then I finally caved and I never stopped talking sjdkfkf though to be fair, I was already talking about him a LOT on my main, I just decided that maybe it would be nice to have a space to just. contain 90% of my poufposting LMAOOO

Final note on this, but I think what really got me is how many characters are in this series and yet I gravitated towards the one no one could stand 😞✌ though to be fair the hatred for him has definitely gone down compared to what I can remember from a few years ago; absolutely does not change the fact that He Is The Way He Is, but I saw the war crimes, malice, potentially treason, and I won't name it but it's by far the most uncomfortable thing to sit through in the arc, I saw ALL of that and still went hmmmm yes I want that one U_U true love huh

11) Do you think it's better to have copious amounts of content for your f/o, even with the risk of finding a lot of ship art, or better to have a lot less?

The art situation with him is strange bc there's a decent enough to be notable amount of art of him captioned with some variation of "I hated him but he had a really cool character design", but it's still content. Surprisingly, I actually don't track the tag for him but take a look at it anyways almost every day and there's maybe one new thing there like once a week, minimal content bc so many people just didn't like him, which is fair!! But also, he was definitely there as a prominent character, I'd just like to see more of him U_U I would put more art here but I'm too conscious of the art ops seeing my bs over here jdkdkfkk

There actually are a handful of ship art drawings of him, which astounds me bc this man wasn't there to make friends, not even with his own siblings :/, but the errant art of him with morel or kite is honestly pretty cute, please just let this man be happy, I love to see him smile 🥺

12) Aren't you tired of being nice? This is an excuse to rant.

He wasn't the worst guard!! All three had reasons for doing what they did and arguably, pouf's motives were the most complex. Yes he did some pretty awful things, but he considered them to be the right thing to do without a doubt in his mind, all his actions were selfish in that they were based off his own feelings, but he did things ultimately for the king, so his actions also had an edge of selflessness to them as well. He was just. so much more than annoying and while his character development wasn't positive, it was still some pretty astounding growth; as an antagonist, he's also fairly plausible 👀 sometimes people just are manipulative, sometimes feelings do get the better of you, pouf just has all those factors amped up to 11 at all times so they're magnified. I have. a lot of thoughts on him, he interests me very much 😞👀🤔👀

#i am saying so much!! he is very meaningful to me!!#he resonates with me on a weirdly intimate level and while i still don't totally know how to take that #i suppose it's pretty neat nonetheless; i have MANY thoughts about him and i love being able to share them lmao #ty for the ask!!!! ❤💕#lovebug #asks

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eloarei · 4 years ago

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list 10 different female faves from 10 different fandoms, then tag 10 people

Tagged by the lovely @chocochipbiscuit . I’m a little late to the game, but let’s see what I can come up with. In no particular order: 1. Komugi (Hunter x Hunter) A blind teenage Gungi champion (like chess but infinitely harder)-- hold on, did you hear me when I said she was blind? She beats the shit out of everyone at this board game without seeing a thing. She’s the breadwinner for her whole family, but they don’t even care about her. She gets sacrificed to the Chimera Ant King because he’s bored, and then she’s so damn talented and nice that he ends up developing real human feelings and not murdering everyone. TBH one of my favorite things about her is her design: big old pigtails, dark bushy eyebrows, and snot running out of her nose constantly. She’s not a beauty but you love her, and I cry all the time. 2. Moira Brown (Fallout 3) She’s just so damn cute and cheerful! She’s a trader, inventor, and probably a lot else, and she always has something fun and nice to say. I just love how positive she is, even though (or maybe because) it often comes off as childish or purposefully obtuse. I think a lot of Fallout fans find her annoying, so it makes me happy that if you bomb Megaton, she’s the only one that survives. =D 3. Cassandra Pentaghast (Dragon Age) Be still my heart! Cassandra is such an underrated character. I love her sharp somewhat-masculine design. She’s a hardened warrior with a strict personality!-- but when you get to know her, she’s very sweet and has deep insecurities. She’s extremely sincere, which is one of my favorite things in a character. Also, she has a charming secret romantic side. <3 Again, I think a lot of people don’t like her, and that’s a real shame. 4. Nice Robin (One Piece) Imagine having such a rough childhood and still being a good person at heart. Of course one of my favorite things about Robin is that she’s not an overtly sweet bleeding-heart type; she’s calculating and logical, and polite, kind, and loyal. She’s goal-oriented with a very chill personality-- probably so easy to get along with, although she’d call you out on your shit too! But she wouldn’t let that ruin your friendship. Also, she has a very morbid sense of a humor, and a weakness for cute things. (Just, what she considers cute might not always be what everyone else does.) 5. Hatori Chise (Ancient Magus Bride) A relatable depression-feels character. Everything went wrong in her childhood, and it’s obvious that her mistreatment still affects her all the time, which drives the whole story. Even though the anime is about magic and monster romance, the real story is about Chise (with Elias) learning to grow past all their traumas, and holy crap it touches me so deep. So many lessons to learn from her, watching her go from having no sense of self worth, no desire to live, to awkwardly forging friendships and helping herself through helping others. All my cries! (Also, her design just... simple and perfect (and redheaded).) 6. Aloy (Horizon Zero Dawn) Do you know I think I’d die if Aloy smiled at me once? I’d also be okay if she bossed me around a little. I mean, can you get any more wildly beautiful? Not to mention saving the world pretty much single-handedly. She doesn’t take shit from anyone, and never gives lip service. She’s harsh! But she’s also kind. She gives people what they need, not what they want. As all her would-be suitors know, that’s a very attractive quality (especially when you’re a man who’s floundering in his own misery and failure and she just swoops out of nowhere to stylishly rescue you). 7. Rosalind Lutece (Bioshock Infinite) An absolute paragon, pioneering practically impossible science in the 1920′s. She was responsible for the floating city, for traveling between dimensions, and, well, for the whole game. So absolutely stylish and no-nonsense, but with a clear sense of humor. And then there’s Robert... Rosalind is so literally peerless that the only person she really respects is her mirror image, ‘separated by a single chromosome’. I find them very beautiful and tragic. 8. Honda Tohru (Fruits Basket) Can you say role model? I have been charmed by Tohru since my teenage years, when my mother had just died and I felt like... how was Tohru so kind and good and optimistic when she’d just lost her mother and her house? Every setback was like an opportunity for her to better herself or help others. She always always tried to see the best in every situation, and I will always admire that~! 9. Yamato Rinko (Ore Monogatari) A girl with some taste! When the main character Takeo saves her from being groped on a train, she immediately falls for him, as one should! Everyone else thinks he’s big and scary and off-putting, but she knows how kind and sincere he really is, and appreciates him like he deserves! She clearly tries her best to be a good person, and it’s wonderful how much she and Takeo are on the same page (even though he’s a little dense sometimes). Also, she’s a killer pastry chef! Those cakes, man. 10. reserved because I swear there was someone right on the tip of my brain and I’m gonna remember later, I know it No tagging, but please feel free to do this yourself. I know you wanna talk about some awesome ladies!

#elo talks #hopefully I remember who I was thinking of #it was riiiiiight there #long post #tag meme

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grimmseye · 4 years ago

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A Bird in the Hand: Chapter Eight (Interlude)

Read on Ao3 here!

Rating: M

Fandom: Critical Role

Relationships: Mollymauk Tealeaf/Essek Thelyss, Mollymauk Tealeaf/Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast (eventual)

Chapter Characters: Mollymauk Tealeaf, Essek Thelyss,

Chapter Tags/Warnings: Molly Rez, Amnesiac Mollymauk, Oh My God They Were Roommates, Dissociation, Imagery of bugs on/inside the body, description of corpses/decomposition, Accidental self-harm, non-explicit sexual fantasy (this is unrelated to the previous tags)

I’m behind on posting chapters here. Ao3 is actually caught up to chapter ten as of Just Now, but I’ll be scheduling the next two chapters to post over the next few days.

— — —

When the Nein arrived, Mollymauk listened from his bedroom.

Beauregard, Caleb, Fjord, Jester, Nott, Yasha. The names pounded in his head, nails that refused to be hammered down. One stood out stronger than the rest, the ache deeper, the emptiness more terrifyingly complete, but not one passed without a sharp stutter in his heart.

He died. He had, hadn't he? Somehow the thought had never really, truly clicked. He had been cold and still in the ground, festering amid the worms. Had they made a home of him? Burrowed into his body while the mud dripped into his mouth, boring holes through his flesh and eating at his innards, ants and centipedes all marching their unending parade through the rot underneath his skin, thousands of legs too small to feel and yet there was a crawling deep inside.

He knew what dead bodies looked like. He felt liked he'd created a few himself. The swords he carried had tasted blood that was not his own, and a prickle on his tongue told Mollymauk that he had as well. His body had, at least. This body had done many things that Mollymauk had not. Maybe it was his Other, the echo that had given up his skin, who had brought his teeth to another's flesh to drink their life away.

He gagged, both from the sudden stench of copper he swore he could smell, and from the images it painted. He knew what dead bodies looked like. Molly's hands flew to his belly, prodding at the skin to make sure it felt as it should, a layer of fat softening the muscle underneath, currently smooth and flat as he hadn't eaten a thing. The Nein's presence left his stomach twist into knots too tight to let him get a proper meal. What should have mattered was that his belly was firm, where a corpses would be spongey-soft and bloated with gas, and yet it did not comfort him.

He was alive, but he couldn't convince himself of this. Molly scrabbled at his own jaw to find the pulse beneath it, fluttering far too quickly.

A heartbeat meant life. A beating heart meant pumping blood and blood was the essence of the life was what rooted the soul to the body. That's why they studied it: the blood. That's why they spilled it over their blades and that's why he, the Other, that Lucien, had drank it down, because endless blood meant endless life and an immortal sustained on the blood of those beneath them was unto a god —

Molly didn't realize he was scratching at his arms until he felt himself prick into a vein. The stinging made him wince, suddenly registering the scores of red lines he'd dragged over his forearms, and the one small arc of crimson where a nail had dug too deep.

His throat worked in a swallow. Blood was life. If he bled, he was alive. If he breathed in fresh, clean air, from the open window, then it meant that he wasn't buried feet under the earth with only worms and fungal spores for company.

The voices downstairs went quiet. Mollymauk went still, straining to catch a word. The thought that they were gone should have been a relief. It meant that he could move at last, emerge from this tiny, claustrophobic room that might as well be a coffin.

And it meant he was completely alone.

A panic caught his chest, Molly scrambling to his feet. "Essek!" He shouted. They were gone, weren't they, so it was safe to come out now. They were gone, but so was he, so Mollymauk was all alone with no one to distract him from the gaping wound underneath his ribs.

"Essek!"

No response. Trembling hands wrenched the door open. He thudded down the stairs and nearly toppled in his frenzy. He needed to find Essek. He needed to find someone, anyone, he needed to not be alone, he needed something to fill the empty void in in his chest where a soul was meant to be so he could stop feeling so Empty.

His skin crawled for contact, and he hugged himself tight. No one was there.

Eventually, Mollymauk would slink to a couch and find the thickest, heaviest blanket in the house. He hunkered down in the cushions with it, the soft texture until his fingers grounding and the pressure even better. A warm, living, breathing body was what he needed, but this would work. This would have to be enough.

Essek did return, sooner than expected. He had a parasol in his hand, a lacy pink thing. Mollymauk didn't know if it was relief or despair he felt when the drow strode right by, eyes so firmly fixed on the item in his hands that he hardly even noticed the tiefling on his couch — let alone his trembling. Mollymauk did not miss Essek's own.

If he'd been here five minutes prior, Mollymauk might have scrambled to him. Even now, after catching his breath so just the smallest of tremors seized him between the seconds, he was starving for contact. It would be so warm tucked up against someone else's body. He wanted Essek to hold him. Hell, he would hold Essek himself, the gods knew the drow needed a fucking hug.

Mollymauk would do a lot with Essek, really. He'd happily take any of it. Just a hand, fingers laced together. They were clever hands. Some memory — his own, not the Other's — told him that wizards were good with their hands. Long, nimble fingers, trained to weave odd shapes in the air or paint them in their books. He'd love to just play with his fingers and watch how each section folded in, drag his own over the protrusions of the knuckles and maybe lift Essek's hand to kiss each one.

Kissing Essek was the next thought that flitted into his mind. He let it come and savored it, happy to entertain a fantasy, especially in favor of the panic that seized him before. Essek didn't strike him as one who spent a lot of time in bed with someone else. It wasn't beyond the realm of possibility that the man had never kissed at all. Either way, Mollymauk thought it would be hesitant at first. It was easy to imagine how Essek would falter, breath fanning out across his lips. Mollymauk would have to cup his face, press slow, chaste kisses to his lips, again and again until the wizard followed suit. Wizards were curious things, and Essek had an attractive dedication to his work. He was sure that he'd get his bearings in no time.

And then there was further. Picking that mantle away, taking a moment to admire him in the garments that clung close to his body. Molly had averted his eyes in the spa, but like this he would be allowed to drink it in. First with his eyes, and then with his hands, his teeth, his tongue. He wondered how Essek would sound. Soft whimpers, maybe. Or could be be noisy once his restraint cracked in half, crying out and panting. Or low growls and hisses of pleasure, his quiet intensity taken to bed.

It would all be music to his ears. But while he knew Essek looked at him — he wasn't blind — somehow he was sure that Essek wasn't going to act on that any time soon.

But the craving wasn't going to go away, either. Now that the thought was lodged in his head, Mollymauk knew what he wanted so badly. It barely scraped against arousal, just desire making him ache. He just wanted to spend a night with the reminder he wasn't alone.

Maybe he'd take a tour around the city, tomorrow, and see if he couldn't find someone to share his bed.

It had been more than enough. Hands on his body to sooth the crawling under his skin, warmth and heat and pressure that became the soul focus of his mind, and a sleep so deep there was no room for nightmares of blood and burials. And with a clear head, Mollymauk came to a conclusion:

Essek Thelyss was difficult to read, and that both impressed and worried him.

Mollymauk was a liar. Spinning tales was as easy as it was fun, and while he might not have been the most charming of trinkets, he knew how to walk the line that bordered absurdity, keep a story just strange enough for someone to want to believe his words were true. The deeper sort of lie, he could manage that as well — deception, not just tall tales, the kind of words that sang of danger in their wake.

Essek wasn't necessarily a liar, as far as Mollymauk could tell, but he was certainly a deceiver. There were gaps in his story, things he didn't like to talk about, subjects he was quick to change.

There was a heavy guilt that followed in his shadow after the Mighty Nein's departure, one that grew deeper as the days passed. Mollymauk wouldn't care about lies — whatever person Essek didn't want to be, that was his business. Molly didn't care for other people's baggage. It was dead weight, best left behind so you could keep moving forward without so much as a glance over the shoulder. But whenever Mollymauk brought up the Nein, he could no longer miss the way that Essek's breath caught, his words stalled, his face pinched.

Essek had a good mask, but Mollymauk was even better at prying them off than he was at wearing his own.

#mollymauk tealeaf #essek thelyss #shadowmauk #cr #cr fic #my writing #abith

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a-second-hand-sorrow · 5 years ago

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Jackie and Wilson (Barry Berkman X Reader)

WC: 5801

Warnings: Swearing, drinking, sexual implications, angst at the end

Summary: Barry and Y/N’s relationship seen through Hozier’s ‘Jackie and Wilson’

Tagged: @billhaderlovebot @danny-fucking-mercury

A/N: Hey guys so this was my first time writing for Barry and I hope you all enjoy it bc I really liked writing this!

So tired trying to see from behind the red in my eyes

No better version of me I could pretend to be tonight

So deep in this swill with the most familiar of swine

For reasons wretched and divine

Barry hated his life. He hated that he killed people for money, he hated that he was at Fuches’ beck and call, he hated the anger and the violence. He didn’t just hate it though, he was tired of it. Tired of all the red in his ledger. His entire life had been violence and too much blood had been spilled by his hands. The hands that were currently gripping the neck of a beer bottle with a little too much force.

In a last-ditch attempt to find some sort of purpose in his life Barry had sat in on Ryan’s acting class and had found that he loved it, and even though every fibre of his body was screaming ‘Say no!’ when Sally invited him to join the class at Residuals, he ended up agreeing, and that was where he was. Instead of returning to the shitty motel he was lodged at, he was in a booth at a bar somewhere in downtown LA, clutching his bottle of beer like it was a life raft.

“So Barry, did you just move here?” Someone asked, bringing him out of his daze as he refocused his eyes on the people sitting in the booth with him.

“Oh uh yeah, from Cleveland.” He responded half-heartedly, just keeping the conversation going for the sake of being polite. The conversation seemed to progress as everyone said where they were from, Barry nodding every now and then to show that he was still somewhat present.

He took a long drink from his bottle, eyes widening slightly when he heard Sally ask him to go dance. He shook his head, wiping his mouth before uttering a feeble excuse as to why he couldn’t dance. Sally didn’t believe him at all, that much was clear from her face, but she conceded, informing him that she’d be on the dance floor if he needed her. He nodded, watching as she walked away, along with the rest of the class, leaving Barry at the booth by himself.

He sighed, slumping forward so his head was in his hands. He so desperately wanted to be able to relax and have fun with these people, but he couldn’t. He was so deep in all the shit his job entailed he was almost incapable of relaxing.

Barry took in a deep breath and lifted his head, flagging down someone and asking for another bottle of beer and a shot of vodka. He shot the waiter a tight-lipped smile as he walked away, smiling again when he returned with the requested drinks.

Barry downed the shot first, cringing at how the alcohol burned his throat. He’d done plenty of vodka shots in his life but he rarely let himself feel the pain that came with them. He then started on his beer, watching the oddly lit tavern with a curious eye.

He so desperately wished he wasn’t who he was, that he was someone else who was free from the wretched constraints currently placed upon him by Fuches. Or maybe that he was a better version of himself, one that didn’t kill people as easily as a child might squash an ant.

Who was he kidding? There was no better version of himself he could ever pretend to be, not tonight or ever. If he had learnt anything from the class, it’s that he certainly wasn’t the world’s best actor.

She blows outta nowhere, roman candle of the wild

Laughing away through my feeble disguise

No other version of me I would rather be tonight.

And, Lord, she found me just in time

In Barry’s moment of anguish and self-pity, he had failed to notice the woman who had sat herself down opposite him in the booth. She had something that looked like a mojito or another tropical drink in her hand and she was looking him up and down, trying to understand this stranger.

“You look a little too pretty to be sitting here alone, mister.” She said, and Barry nearly jumped out of his seat. His eyes were wide as he looked at her, his brows furrowing in confusion at her sudden appearance.

“I’m sorry, what?” He said, and the woman sighed, holding up a finger as a gesture for him to wait as she took a drink from her glass.

“I said you look a little too pretty, and now I’m realising maybe a little too sad, to be sitting here alone.” She said, and Barry felt his cheeks start to burn under the scrutinous eye of this obviously drunk stranger.

“You seem a little too drunk to be commenting on strangers.” Barry said, unusually curt, though he attributed that to the alcohol and the session of self-pity. The woman simply raised her eyebrows before stretching her hand out across the table.

“It seems we have gotten off on the wrong foot, pretty man. My name is Y/N.” She said, and Barry gave her a quick look up and down before taking her hand in his and shaking it.

“I’m Barry. Sorry for being so rude, I’ve just been having a rough time lately.” Barry said, and Y/N shrugged her shoulders, taking another drink.

“We all have rough times, what matters is how we deal with them Barry. For example, being rude to strangers isn’t great but it is better than, I don’t know, murder.” Y/N said, chuckling to herself as Barry froze up.

How did she know? Was she sent here by someone? He started to panic, grabbing for his beer and downing most of what remained as Y/N watched on with curiosity.

“Man, you’re an interesting guy, Barry. So how does a pretty guy such as yourself end up at Residuals at this hour?” Y/N asked, watching Barry’s face change ever so slightly before he answered.

He told her all about how he moved from Cleveland and how he hated his job (that was no lie) and as they talked, and talked, and talked, Barry realised that perhaps he needed someone like Y/N in his life. She was so easy to talk to, and Barry felt he had known her his whole life instead of the few hours he had really known her for.

He thought back to his earlier anger and his wish to be some other version of himself, and he immediately retracted his wish. He had decided that there was no other version of himself he would rather be, because if he was any different he might not have known Y/N the way he now knew her, and he couldn’t stand that thought.

As he looked across at her, her face and arms animated as she told a story that Barry couldn’t quite remember the details of, he realised that not only was Y/N the one that found him, but by God she found him just in time.

Cause with my mid-youth crisis all said and done

I need to be youthfully felt 'cause, God, I never felt young

As the night started to draw to a close, Barry had completely forgotten the internal crisis that has plagued him before. Instead, all he now focused on was Y/N. The charismatic stranger who he now knew very well, and as he stared into her eyes he realised that she was very attractive and he very much wanted to kiss her.

“Earth to Barry, come in Barry.” Y/N said, waving her hands in front of his face. He jumped slightly, focusing in on the woman who looked at him with a soft smile.

“You spaced out there for a sec. I was just going to ask if you wanted to get out of here, because it’s nearly closing time but also I think you’re pretty great and don’t want to say goodnight just yet.” Y/N said, wringing her hands slightly as she watched anxiously for Barry’s reaction.

“That sounds great, yeah. I’d like that.” Barry said, and Y/N’s face lit up in a smile. She jumped up excitedly, pulling her jacket on while still beaming, and Barry couldn’t help the smile that crossed his face in response to her joy.

She left a bunch of money on the table as a means of payment for the drinks, and soon Barry was hurriedly waving goodbye to the few remaining members of the acting class as he walked out just behind Y/N. They walked for a few metres until they were near the side of Residuals.

“So Y/N, where did you want to.” Barry’s sentence died as Y/N cupped his face, bringing him into a somewhat messy kiss. Barry’s eyes fluttered shut instinctively but when he truly realised what was happening his eyes flew open.

Y/N had her hand on his face and she was kissing him. This beautiful woman was kissing him voluntarily, and he wasn’t kissing back because he was analysing it. Fuck, he thought, I should probably kiss her back.

Barry’s eyes closed as he returned the kiss, allowing himself to give into the joy that he was feeling. Y/N was somewhat forceful, and before he knew it she had backed him up against the rough wall, tangling her other hand in his dark hair as they continued to kiss.

Y/N broke away and Barry took in a shaky breath, his head falling back against the wall as she began to press kisses down his jawline and neck. His hands were against her back, clutching the fabric of her shirt so tight his hands hurt.

He hadn’t done anything like this in a very long time. He hadn’t been wanted in a very long time, at least not romantically… or sexually. He was brought from his thoughts by Y/N’s teeth grazing over a particularly sensitive spot on his neck, a groan spilling from the back of his throat.

Barry felt her smirk against his neck at the sound he made, and he knew he was in trouble. Y/N pulled away from him, her chest heaving almost in time with Barry’s. She looked up at him and he let out a breathy laugh.

“What?” She said, not cruelly or harshly, but with a soft curiosity that made Barry want to smile.

“I feel like a fucking teenager.” Barry said, almost giggling as he uttered those words. The irony in them was that Barry didn’t really have the ideal teenage years with the parties and reckless behaviour and everything you see in the movies. He was a good kid in high school and went into the marines pretty much right out of high school.

Y/N let out a laugh, pressing a kiss to the corner of Barry’s mouth. “Well, it’s good to feel young.” She whispered in his ear, raising the hairs on the nape of his neck as he shuddered, inhaling deeply.

Barry never really got to feel young, and as Y/N’s lips found his again with more force he realised that if being with Y/N was what being young felt like, he wanted to feel young for the rest of his life.

She's gonna save me,

Call me "baby"

Run her hands through my hair

She'll know me crazy

Soothe me daily

Better yet she wouldn't care

Barry woke up the next morning feeling strangely peaceful. There was a dull ache in his head and an arm wrapped around his waist. Y/N’s arm, he realised, and his heart sped up. He looked down at her, her eyes still closed and her face as relaxed as could be, and he smiled.

He fought the urge to reach down and push her hair behind her ear, and he felt a strange sense of pride flow throw him when he saw the marks that decorated her neck.

He went to close his eyes again but heard the distinctive buzz of his phone. He groaned loudly, stretching his arm out to grab the phone, however his heart dropped when he saw the message. It was from Fuches, informing him that the next hit had been moved to tonight instead of next Wednesday. He swore, putting the phone face down on the bedside table and dropping his head into his hands.

Amongst all the noise and movement, Y/N had woken up groggily. She rubbed her eyes slowly, but when she saw Barry in a state of distress she was wide awake.

“Shit Barry, are you ok? What’s up?” She said, her voice still riddled with sleep as she sat up, looking over at Barry who had lifted his head slightly, meeting her worried eyes.

“It’s… it’s just shit with work. You don’t have to worry. I’ll go make breakfast, you can go back to sleep.” Barry said, throwing the covers off his legs. Y/N frowned in confusion before reaching out to grab Barry’s wrist.

“I know we only met last night but you can talk to me Barry. If we never see each other again then think of it as an inexpensive therapy, and if we do see each other again then it’s still inexpensive therapy but you get more sessions.” Y/N said, lightly running her thumb against his wrist and the look he gave her was so full of emotion it almost hurt.

He almost collapsed into her arms, grasping at her oversized shirt as she held him. Barry had been forced to be strong and hold it together for far too long, and there was something about Y/N’s genuine want to help him out however she could that just broke him.

She rubbed his back with one hand, gently running the other through his hair, occasionally pressing kisses to the crown of his head. “It’s ok baby, take as long as you need, but if I have to go to the bathroom then you’re getting booted, I’m sorry.” Y/N said, and Barry laughed, his entire body shuddering slightly against her as he did.

There was something so soothing about her touch, and he felt that even though they were practically strangers, she seemed to know him in a crazily intimate way. She knew just what words to say to help him out, when to speak and when to remain quiet, and the best part of the morning was that she didn’t care.

Y/N didn’t care that he suddenly collapsed onto her and laid there for half an hour in almost silence, she didn’t care that he clearly was suffering more than he let on. She just took every moment as it came, and every time her hands wound into his hair and she called him baby in that soft voice of hers he swore that he wouldn’t ever give this up.

We'll steal her Lexus,

Be detectives,

Ride 'round picking up clues

Several weeks had passed since that night at Residuals, and Barry was feeling happier than he had ever felt before. Even though he was still being made to do work for Fuches, it wasn’t consuming him and eating away at him like it used to. He almost felt normal with Y/N, something he had spent the last 20 years yearning for.

“Hey babe, I really need to practice this scene for class and Sally’s busy so would you be able to run lines with me?” Barry said, causing Y/N to look up from her battered copy of Pet Sematary.

“Sure. I’m warning you now that I certainly will not be as good as Sally. I haven’t done anything close to acting since the ninth grade. What’s the scene?” Y/N asked, putting down her book and moving to stand behind Barry, resting her hands on his shoulders.

“It’s uh, a scene from A Streetcar Named Desire. Mr Cousineau wanted to challenge us with some more classic plays.” Barry said, craning his head to make eye contact with his girlfriend.

“Oh yeah, I remember studying this in junior year. Challenging is the right word for it.” Y/N muttered, causing Barry to chuckle, nodding his head as he picked up the script.

“Did you wanna start now?” Barry asked and Y/N nodded, removing her hands so Barry could stand up. They moved into position, and Barry passed Y/N his copy of the script.

“I tried to memorise my lines, but if I fuck up just give me the right line, ok?” Barry said and Y/N nodded, smiling at him.

“I take it I’m Blanche?” She said and Barry nodded, taking in a deep breath with his eyes closed, clearly getting into character. Y/N gazed over the script and realised that she had the first line, cursing under her breath before starting.

“Well, well.” She said, her lines punctuated by an uneasy (in-character) laugh from Barry, who looked at her meekly.

“I guess it must be pretty late – and you’re tired.” Barry said, and Y/N had to fight her laugh at the slight New Orleans twist he had added to his voice.

“Even the hot tamale man has deserted the street, and he hangs on till the end.” Y/N said, cringing at how stilted the words sounded. “How will you get home?” She continued, hoping she didn’t sound as robotic as she thought she did.

“I’ll walk over to Bourbon and catch a streetcar.” Barry said, and as Y/N’s eyes flicked down again she realised he had slightly messed up his words.

“Sorry hun, it’s an ‘owl-car’ not a streetcar.” She said and Barry swore under his breath, nodding as he gave her a thumbs up.

“Thanks, let’s keep going.” He said, prompting Y/N to look at the script and deliver her next line. It said for her to laugh grimly, however whatever she did sounded more like a witch’s cackle.

“Is that streetcar named Desire still grinding along the tracks at this hour?” Y/N said, trying to add a southern twang to her accent but failing miserably. She couldn’t help but laugh at the situation, knowing she was probably no help to Barry at all.

Quickly her soft laughter turned into a full-blown fit, and soon Barry was laughing as well, watching his girlfriend throw herself on his couch in a frenzy of laughter.

“God I am so shit at this. Like so incredibly bad.” Y/N said through her giggles, looking up at Barry with wide eyes.

“I mean, I’ve seen worse.” Barry said, sitting down next to her. She raised her eyebrows, sitting up straight and turning to face Barry.

“Do not bullshit me, Berkman. That was utter trash and you know it.” Y/N said, looking him dead in the eyes and watching as he broke, nodding his head with a tight lipped smile on his face.

“Yeah it was pretty bad.” He said and Y/N laughed loudly, resting her head against Barry’s shoulder.

“I’m sick of all this acting stuff. I have an idea. I think we should just let loose and steal a car, then go on a crazy cool road trip.” Y/N said, and Barry pulled a confused face.

“Y/N are you ok? How much sleep did you get last night?” Barry asked, and Y/N waved her hand dismissively.

“That doesn’t matter. Ooh, maybe we could get some cheap cop costumes and pretend to be detectives solving our own little case. That could be fun, right?” Y/N says, taking Barry’s hand and playing with his fingers as she spoke.

“We could always go to the beach in October just for the hell of it.” Barry said and Y/N smiled widely, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“Now you’ve got it. Keep the ideas coming, Berkman. I’ve got all day.”

We'll name our children

Jackie and Wilson

Raise 'em on rhythm and blues

Barry and Y/N had been together for about two and a half months, verging on three, and they loved every second of it. Neither of them had ever been with someone who complimented them so well, and Barry was so grateful for her presence in his life.

It was a quiet night. The two of them had been curled up in Y/N’s bed watching one of the cheesy 2000’s rom coms from Y/N’s collection, and once the movie had finished they were content to just lie in each other’s arms in bed.

A comfortable silence had settled over them until Y/N suddenly broke it. “Do you ever think about the future, Barry?” Barry was a little startled by her sudden question and he rolled over to face her, studying her features in the dim bedroom light.

“I don’t know. I guess my mind tends to wander sometimes, but I only ever think about the little future-related things.” Barry said, his answer a little basic due to his tired state.

“Well, do you ever think about our future, then?” Y/N asked, a little more hesitant as she waited for Barry’s answer.

“Yeah, a lot. I feel like such a little kid, but I daydream a lot. Sometimes in rehearsals, sometimes at work, and without fail they’re always dreams about us.” Barry said softly, and the blush that coated Y/N’s cheeks was almost noticeable, even in the dark room. There was a look in her eyes that prompted Barry to keep talking.

“Sometimes it’s us living together, sometimes us on holiday together, sometimes us married with kids.” Barry said, his voice softening. He didn’t want to scare Y/N away with the idea of marriage and kids. They’d only been together for a few months but he knew she’d be the one he’d marry and have a family with.

“You think about us getting married and having kids?” Y/N said, looking at Barry with more love in her eyes than he had ever seen, and he nodded gently, his hand reaching out to cup her face. Y/N smiled, leaning into his touch as she brought her own hand up to rest over his.

“So do I. I love you so much Barry, and I want to spend my life with you. Really.” She said, feeling her heart soar as she looked into Barry’s eyes.

“Are you proposing to me, Y/L/N? That’s very unorthodox of you.” Barry said, and Y/N laughed, shaking her head.

“I’m not proposing, baby. I’m just saying that you’re the best thing in my life. Similar but different, I can understand the confusion.” Y/N said, causing Barry to let out a laugh that was cut short by him kissing Y/N tenderly.

“I like the name Jackie.” Y/N said once they pulled away and Barry looked at her with a raised eyebrow, prompting her to keep talking.

“For a girl, obviously, and for a boy I’ve always liked the name Wilson. It was my dad’s name.” She said, and a look of understanding crossed Barry’s face.

“They’re both great names.” Barry said and Y/N smiled, pecking his cheek as they moved into a more suitable sleeping position, her head on his chest and his arm around her shoulders.

“I can’t wait to have a family with you, Barry Berkman. I love you.”

Lord, it'd be great to find a place we could escape sometime

Me and my Isis growing black irises in the sunshine

Every version of me dead and buried in the yard outside

Sit back and watch the world go by.

“Hey babe, look what I got!” Y/N called to her boyfriend from the front of their house. They had been together for six months and were moving into a tiny house in the outer suburbs of Los Angeles that they had miraculously been able to purchase.

A lot of their friends said they were moving pretty quickly, but Y/N and Barry never listened to them. The moving process was messy and tiresome, but it was mostly finished. They were now just working on minor things, which is what prompted Y/N to go out looking for plants.

“They had these super cool black irises at the nursery so I picked some up for the garden. Did you know that they’re the national flower of Jordan? The lady at the store told me.” Y/N said, carefully setting the pots down on their front porch.

Barry had emerged from the house and was looking at Y/N with a loving smile. She wrapped her arms around his neck and gave him a brief kiss, pulling away before gently pecking his lips once more.

“Front yard or back?” Barry asked, his hands resting on her hips. Y/N chuckled softly, shrugging her shoulders.

“Whatever you want, babe.” Y/N said, winking exaggeratedly at Barry who just rolled his eyes.

“Back yard it is. Let’s go plant these interesting flowers.” Barry said, picking up a pot and looking at it inquisitively as he made his way to the backyard.

“Don’t bully the flowers, Barry! They’re the national flower of Jordan, treat them with some respect!” Y/N hollered as she followed Barry, the other pot clutched in her hands.

Barry laughed to himself, marvelling at how domestic the situation was. Never in a million years did he think he would be planting flowers in the small backyard of the house he shared with his girlfriend, but life is funny sometimes. Even though he still hadn’t told Y/N the truth about how he had enough money to afford the house, he wanted to enjoy every moment with her.

The planting of the flowers was fun and did involve a bit of a dirt war, but once everything was properly taken care of, the couple stood in the small garden, Barry’s arms around Y/N’s waist from behind and his head in the crook of her neck as they looked at their handiwork.

“I could stay here forever. Just standing here with you, watching the world go by. I love it.” Barry said suddenly, his breath on Y/N’s neck causing hairs to raise.

“Ideally I’d like to be sitting down if I’m watching the world go by, but I get where you’re coming from.” Y/N said, and Barry let out a short laugh, pressing a kiss to the nape of her neck.

Barry decided then and there that he only ever wanted to be this version of himself. The one who got to love and be loved by Y/N. The one who got to plant flowers and hold her close to him. As he looked at the garden over Y/N’s shoulder, he realised that in a way every other version of himself was dead and buried in the yard with the irises, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Happy to lie back watch it burn and rust

We tried the world, good God, it wasn't for us.

Barry’s phone had been going off non-stop for the past week. Fuches and Hank had been calling and texting, always inquiring about the big hit he had coming up. Did he have enough ammo? Did he know exactly where he was supposed to be at what time? Did he know enough about the target? Did he make sure to eat breakfast because being a hitman is busy work and can maybe make you forget meals? That last one was Hank, ever the polite criminal mastermind.

He had given Y/N an endless list of apologies and excuses, and he started to think she might be seeing through them. The last thing he wanted was for her to find out (even though he knew that he’d have to tell her eventually), least of all for her to find out in such a lazy way as accidentally picking up a phone call meant for Barry.

He was watching an old episode of Family Ties with Y/N, and just as she was laughing at some Michael J Fox-as-Alex P Keaton said, Barry’s phone went off. It was another text from Fuches, and he cursed as he saw it.

“Who keeps texting you babe? If you’ve got a mistress you might want to be a bit better at keeping it covered up.” Y/N said from her perch on the couch, legs folded under her.

Barry pulled a face, shaking his head. “Firstly I don’t have a mistress and the fact that you think I’d ever have one hurts a little, and secondly it’s work again. I swear they won’t leave me alone.” Barry said, shoving his phone in his pocket as he desperately tried to ignore the incessant buzzing.

“Babe, here’s a wild thought. How about you try ignoring it? Turn your phone completely off, lie back and ignore it all.” Y/N said, and Barry’s face screwed up slightly. He knew she had a point but there was no way he could do that without significant consequences.

“If you don’t do it, I will.” Y/N said, raising her eyebrows as she looked at Barry with a challenging expression, daring him to turn off his phone. He caved under the intense stare of his girlfriend, and he turned his phone completely off and placed it on a nearby coffee table.

“Now how about you turn off the TV, I’ll turn on the radio and we can relax. Maybe we can dance, I don’t know.” She said, and Barry nodded, picking up the TV remote and turning the thing off, cutting Steven Keaton off in the middle of his sentence.

Y/N got up, shooting Barry a wink as she moved over to the stereo, turning it on. She smiled at the sound of Jackie Wilson’s voice coming through the speakers, starting to move in time with the beat.

“Join me, Berkman.” She said, stretching her arms out towards him. Barry smiled and moved closer to her, wrapping his arms around her waist as they swayed to the rhythm of the music.

“You know what I’ve realised?” Y/N said, her arms snacking around Barry’s neck as he hummed in acknowledgement, looking down at her.

“I don’t think the world gets us, or at least some of the people in it. They always judge and try and pull us apart in some way, so I think that maybe the world isn’t for us, Bear.” Y/N said, watching Barry’s face soften at the nickname for him that she used sparingly.

“I think I get what you mean, and just saying, I love how your mind works.” Barry said, kissing Y/N’s forehead as she giggled.

“I love you, bear.”

Cut clean from the dream at night let my mind reset

Looking up from a cigarette, and she's already left

I start digging up the yard for what's left of me and our little vignette

For whatever poor soul is coming next

The hit had gone badly. He had taken almost every measure to make it go smoothly, but he couldn’t account for the sheer fight his target gave. He did the job, but he was battered and bruised and angry. Not just angry, raging.

When he got home he just wanted to get out of his gear, have a shower and either sleep or punch a wall, whichever happened first. He pushed open the door of the house, expecting to find it quiet and dark as always. However, he was instead met with a sight he hadn’t prepared for. Y/N was sitting at the kitchen table in her pyjamas, dark purple bags under her eyes and a lit cigarette in her hand, the smoke curling upwards like some sort of twisted moth chasing the light.

Barry’s mouth opened and closed several times like a fish’s, trying to find something to say to his girlfriend. “Don’t fucking think about it, Barry.” Y/N said sharply, and his mouth closed fully as he searched for the trademark joy in Y/N’s eyes. All he could find was anger, an emotion he knew all too well.

“I’m not going to ask for an explanation, I just want to know something. Are you seeing someone else?” Y/N asked, taking a drag from her cigarette as Barry shook his head violently, taking a step closer to Y/N.

“No, I’m not seeing anyone else, Y/N. You know me.” He said, taking another step and reaching his hand out to rest on her arm, however she shook her head, taking another drag of the cigarette before speaking.

“Do I, Barry? Do I really know you, because the Barry I know wouldn’t come home at one in the fucking morning decked out in black, looking like he’s hiding something. Are you, Barry?” Y/N asked, her voice dropping to a deadly quiet as she asked the fatal question.

“Am I what?” He asked, though he knew deep down what she was asking him. He just didn’t want to face it.

“Are you hiding something from me?” Y/N said, putting her cigarette out on the kitchen table with a forceful hand. Barry refused to meet her eyes, his shoulders dropping in resignation. Y/N narrowed her eyes, biting her lip as she stood up.

“Fuck. I’m going to stay with Natalie for a while. Talk to me when you’re ready to grow up, Barry.” She said, storming past him to the door. Their eyes met briefly in the doorway, and Y/N had to look away to stop herself from crying.

She loved Barry with her whole heart, but he was clearly a different person to what he had showed her. There was something going on, and Y/N couldn’t be around him while he sorted that out. The door shut behind her and she wiped away tears as she pulled out her phone to call Natalie.

At the same time inside the house Barry pounded his fist into the kitchen table, crying out at the pain. “Fuck!” He yelled, slumping down into the chair Y/N was just in.

He knew this was too good to be true, that it wouldn’t last. It was nothing more than a lengthy dream, pleasant and beautiful but finite. In a moment of nostalgia, he found himself going out to the garden. He stared at the black irises, remembering the day they had been planted… remembering how it was before what just happened.

In a way those flowers were all he had left of his time with Y/N. The flowers and all the memories, now slightly tainted by sadness like a sepia filter being applied to something that was once in colour.

He didn’t realise that he had stated crying until he could taste the salty tears on his own lips, and his hands rushed up to wipe them away. He longed to be back in Y/N’s arms, but instead he was alone in the garden, trying to find what was left of himself.

#barry #barry hbo #barry berkman #barry block #barry berkman x reader #barry berkman imagine #bill hader

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brieannakeogh · 5 years ago

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Ambition, Butter, and Wine- Chapter 7

Ambition, Butter, and Wine- Kylo Ren x plus sized reader. Crack! Fic. You’re a new First Order recruit. Trained in the culinary arts at the top schools and they dare make you serve the common folk. What happens when you have the opportunity to serve Lord Ren?

Master List / Previous Chapter

Took so long to get another chapter ready! So sorry about all that. Also I think it’s pulling away from crack fic stuff. It’s still going to be funny and epic but I think more to cannon and changes to that.

Chapter 7

Still upset at him at dinner, you give him the cold shoulder. Which is perfectly fine with him as he reminded you that there would be consequences. In the morning at breakfast he tells you to be ready to head down to the planet Jakku, which you had never heard of. This time you are quiet for different reasons and he almost tells you to stay on board. He hadn’t ever seen you timid or nervous, other than you’re first interactions with him and even that you pushed through. He was confident that you could handle it and if not he would easily be able to protect you from the riff-raff on the surface.

Loaded onto the First Order transport ship, you double checked that your blaster was on your hip and your shoes were tied. You saw the subtle shake of Lord Ren’s head as you imagined tripping on your shoelaces and shooting yourself in the gut with your own blaster.

Thankfully that didn’t happen. The villagers looked like scattering ants below as you looked out the port windows. Once you landed and Lord Ren stepped out, chaos ensued. It was loud and gunfire was raining all around, mostly from the troopers to the unarmed villagers. You weren’t really in the mood for cold blooded murder but when some started firing at Ren, you saw red and were out for blood, or deadly burn wound, but that just didn’t have the same ring to it.

He let you take out your aggression on a few before he caught a blaster shot out of the air and pushed you back behind him. This one he captured. This was the one he came here for. This was the one that made him more grumpy. You sat on the sand beside Ren and glared at the man that thought he was so funny and charming.

You were quite proud of yourself after the whole ordeal. You hadn’t panicked, had actually fired and hit some people that had guns too. The important part is you didn’t freeze up, unlike that one stormtrooper that you saw walking back to the shuttle like nothing happened. Lord Ren cocked his head to the side and his helmet followed your eyeline, turning back to you. Replaying what you had seen in your head to the man beside you.

Back on board Lord Ren left you to your personal devices. You watched him stalk towards the ship’s bridge, admiring the way his cowell and robes flowed out behind him. Even if you were still a little upset with him, you could appreciate the way he walked away.

He seemed to be in a better mood at lunch, and even gave you a compliment. Well he said you were “adequate”, so you assumed that counted. You had just sat down his dinner when the ships alarms went off. The order to “Stay here.” was robotinized as he quickly threw on his helmet and left. You weren’t sure what was going on, but didn’t want to disobey orders, so you sat at the little table and waited, and waited, and waited some more.

It was several hours later that he came back and from the set of his shoulders, you could tell he was fuming. “What are you still doing here?” His words clipped and even with the voicecoder you could hear the menace he was invoking.

“I’m sorry sir but you told me to stay here, so I did.” His shoulders slumped a little and removed the mask. “Did you want me to reheat your food? I put the plate in the cooler while you were gone or I could fix you something else?”

He just shook his head and started removing his outer layer, throwing it on the small couch. “You may go.” You just nodded, not wanting to upset him further with your words, but before you could make it to the door he spoke again. “You were right.” It brought you up short. “The storm trooper, he defected and helped the prisoner to escape. On top of which we couldn’t even track them down on Jakku. Hux should just listen when I tell him to use clones, then things like this wouldn’t happen!” He sat heavily on the couch with his fingers pulling at his hair.

You slowly walk up to him and pry his hands away from his locks. “You shouldn’t be so rough with your hair. You wouldn’t be half as attractive without it. Then Hux really wouldn’t listen to anything you say.” He huffed out a startled laugh, not expecting your reply. Combing through his hair, you set it back to rights. “Why don’t I make us some comfort food? Was there anything you liked to eat as a kid?”

His eyes darkened a bit and he stood up abruptly. “No, just leave.” Walking into his bedroom and slamming the door. Sighing, you do as he asks.

On the way to your quarters you hear from the rumor mill what happened. What Kylo had told you was true. A storm trooper helped the prisoner escape, but what he really wanted was a little BB8 unit that also escaped Jakku with two fugitives. The disturbing part is the fact that the messenger to Lord Ren was force choked and is now in the medical wing, along with a whole section having to be closed from light saber damage. You decided at that moment you didn’t care what he said, you were going to make him something anyways.

An hour later you were walking back to his quarters with a tray full of all your favorites from childhood, along with some milk and cookies, because who didn’t love milk and cookies? You knock on his door when it doesn’t immediately open up for you. “Open please. I made you second dinner.” You knock again. “I made all...I mean my...well I just guessed what you liked. If you don’t open up I’m gonna sit here and eat it all.” The door opens then and you see him standing in his bedroom doorway in his PJ’s and wet hair.

“Of course you would eat it all, they are all your favorites.” He moves to the little table to sit as you start to unload the pile on, pulling out two plates.

“Don’t blame me. You refused to tell me what you wanted so I figured that most kids were alike.” He snorts at this. Pulling off the lids and setting out containers he looks questionable about a few dishes, but those were regional items and your mom wasn’t the best cook in the world, plus she liked to experiment, but you still craved it sometimes. He doesn’t comment when you take a seat beside him filling up your plate while he does the same. It’s mostly silent while you eat, other than the scrape of metal on ceramic. He finishes before you again and very unsubtle looks around like something is missing. “Can’t wait for me to finish before dessert?” Raising an eyebrow to him and you smile as he clears his throat, settling down, almost becoming deathly still. You get up, even with food left on your plate, to go heat up the cookies and pour the milk.

The plate is hot to the touch, but you make it to the table without burning yourself. Simple chocolate chip cookies set in front of him with a glass of cold milk. His shoulders slump a little more after each bite and you know he’s starting to relax a bit more. It’s at this time you want to know the truth. “Are we going back to the freezing world?” He ignores you and continues to eat the cookies. “I just need to know if we aren’t because I would have to change the food choice. I’m surprised they didn’t stock the kitchens enough.”

“It’s because of me. I told them we would only be gone a few days, but Hux fails along with Captain Phasma not sending that traitor to a mental reset!” His voice starting neutral before converting to harsh venom. The sound and clatter when his fist hits the table has you react startled, more so than the first time you met him. This time you weren’t in fear for yourself but in fear for him. Even though none of it had been his problem, and his failure, he was being blamed for everything. You could hear the talking whispers about what happened in the last few hours, the officers and troopers alike giving him the blame, not their superior.

This thought went straight through your head before you looked up to make sure he wasn’t reading your thoughts. His eyes locked onto yours and you knew he had. That he had seen all of the guilt people were placing on him. “I know already. They don’t matter, none of them matter. Snoke will trust me on this. He has to trust me...Regardless, I will fix it and learn what I need, even if I kill them all.”

“So do you think that will take one week or two?” He smirked at your confidence as you both went back to eating.

Next Chapter

Alright! Hopefully next chapter won’t take so long. I got to go back and watch the first movie of this thing so I can keep it close to what happens, at least at first. Let me know what you think!!

If you want to be added to the tag list let me know.

@stevieang, @albinotigerpython, @paintballkid711, @lilypalmer1987, @tnupsweetpie, @ebonyqueen-1, @mbaku-babygirl, @grandloser

#kylo ren x reader #kylo ren x plus size reader #plus size reader #kylo x reader #star wars fic

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seriefic · 5 years ago

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Chance (II)

Summary: Due to circumstances that you didn´t expect, the travel becomes longer and a strange relationship begins to develop with Ivar. Warnings: Blood, Usual violence

A/N: English is not my first language and there will be a few more chapters, enjoy.

Tagging: @youbloodymadgenius

Part 1 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Ivar had woken up before you, turned off the bonfire, picked up his things while you were sleeping and finally woke you up by hitting your back with his crutches. Before getting up you looked at him from the ground, it was the first time you saw him standing and it was impossible not to realize how attractive that man was, he made you feel somewhat somber and twisted by the way he looked at you but that only increased your attraction to him.

He made all the imaginary ants under your skin run you up and down...

-Let's go

-Wait, I have to tie my braid well.

Ivar looked at you as if you were joking, but when he saw you sit and begin to undo the disheveled braid, with which you had slept, to tie your hair in a new one, he knew it wasn´t a joke, he wanted to go through your head with a knife, really ,he wanted to do it, his legs hurt and you were still in dangerous territory

- It’s not the time to comb your hair.

-It won't take long- you said, smiling and looking at him sideways while untangling your hair, he waited standing in front of you, with his jaw clenched, you knew he was angry but you didn´t care

.-You look cute when you´re angry- You teased him, playing with his patience, making him look even most frustrated.

For him it was an eternity what you were taking and that enraged him. Without you expecting it, he approached and grabbed your hair, making you fall backwards.

- STOP WITH THIS SHIT, and come on- He yelled in your face while still pulling your hair but you didn't obey. The man was keeping his balance on one crutch, so with you kicked him and made him fall sitting on the floor.

-I said it won't take long, wait- This time you were more serious but quickly returned to your smily mood, Ivar got up in silence and left the clearing, leaving you there, when you finished doing your hair, you went after him, it didn't take you long to get to him, you didn't apologize for throwing him to the ground, because you didn't think you did anything wrong

.-I have a horse, it's close to here

-We can walk

-I'm not going to leave my horse here.

And again without saying a word, he turned to where you had indicated that the horse was, the animal was still intact, seemed glad to see you after that long night.

At the beginning you didn´t offer Ivar to get on the horse for two reasons, you knew he was going to refuse and you didn´t want him to pull your hair again, although you had stood firm, that man was quite scary but after several hours walking, you began to consider offering it to him, if your legs already hurt and you were tired, you couldn´t imagine how he would feel, surely a thousand times worse.

-I'm tired, we should get on the horse.

-I'm fine, ride yourself.

-Ivar, you have the hands purple of the effort you are making with the crutches, behave like a man and accept the help.

-Do you know you're insufferable?

-Yes, but are you going to get on the horse?

At first he hesitated but finally accepted the offer, you pated the back of your horse and he crouched down, with the horse at his height and your help, a help he accepted between insults, finally he climbed, you did the same, sitting behind him so he could lean on your chest as if it was a backrest.

He couldn´t see you, but being hugged to him your cheeks had a red color that contrasted sharply with your skin, despite the cold around you it seemed his body always emanated heat. Maybe you had become too comfortable because the man stirred on the horse and started talking to you, something he had hardly done so far, only you had spoken.

-Don't fall asleep or you will fall.

-I'm not sleeping, I just get comfortable, you're very warm. Ivar bit his lip when he heard your words and smiled proudly, nobody had never tought or said that about him and his smile grow bigger when, In the end, he was right and you fell asleep, you stopped talking and he could feel all your weight resting on his back. He was also tired, he should have returned to Kattegat a day before you met but the pain in his legs had been too much to take the road, he just wanted to rest from his brothers, get away from them for a while and he had done so. The last thing he imagined was that he would find a woman from an unknown kingdom and that you would end up sleeping on his back. His plan was to take you to Kattegat and there you would find your borthers on your own, if it was true what you´ve said about them and the direction you were taking, they should have found the city and be there. If you continued at that rate you could get there the next day in the morning, but those didn´t seem to be the plans of the Gods,

Ivar never let his guard down but at that moment he was too distracted thinking, until he heard you scream and when he turned he saw how you fell from the horse with an arrow stuck in your arm.

You were surprised, a strong pain in the arm and the fall of the horse was what had awakened you, you looked at Ivar who was still on the horse and looked as surprised as you, until a rain of arrows began to fall on you, he threw himself from the horse falling next to you and left the animal as a barrier between you and the arrows.

-What's going on?

-They come from the trees, we have to leave the forest before they reach us He broke the arrow that stuck in your arm in half

-We will take it out later, when the arrow rain stops we need to leave. You saw how your horse layed dead on the ground, without any time to feel sorry Ivar pulled your arm to get you up and helped him do the same, leaning on you tried to move forward as quickly as possible, but five men got in your way.

-Kill him and take her alive.

Still leaning on you, Ivar drew his sword and you did the same -Give me your sword.

-What?

-GIVE IT TO ME.

You quickly gave it to him and when one of the men approached you he used his sword as support and yours as a weapon, defending himself from the attack, you moved away from him, taking two knives from your belt and facing the four men who were watching you not knowing how to attack without kill you. Ivar had his enemy under control so you attacked the one closest to you, in the middle of the fight, one of the men grabbed you by your braid and threw you to the ground, dragging you towards him but before he could approach you, a sword cut half of your hair, freeing you from the grip. It was Ivar, the first man he had faced layed on the ground bleeding and now, the one who had thrown you, had a sword stuck in his arm, you got up before he could raise his sword against Ivar and nailed the knives in his neck, giving him a quick death, there were only two men left, they attacked from behind, threw Ivar to the ground and another held you by your neck cutting your breath, you kicked trying to let go, bit the man's arm with all your strength and when he tried to let his arm go from your mouth you cuted it, making him scream in pain and and finally you stuck the knife in his chest.

Ivar was on the ground, with a man on top of him, struggling not to end with his head cut off, he let go of one of the man's arms letting him try to choke him, but quickly and with the knife that you had given him he defended himself sticking it in his eye, Ivar began to laugh when he heard the man screamin in pain and took out the knife to nail it again in the same place, this time deeper letting the blood of his enemy cover his face. After you got rid of the man who was left you watched Ivar lying on the floor, covered in blood and with a smile on his face, the red blood made a beautiful contrast with his blue eyes

-You enjoyed it? -You asked tired sitting next to him.

-It was fun -He said looking at you, he squeezed the arm where you still had the arrow stuck and pulled it out causing your complaints for not having warned.

-You're welcome, my people usually thanks when someone save their lives- he said repeating your words from the previous day.

-You've cut my hair, there is no thanks for you- Ivar laughed and touched the hair that fell disheveled on your face, the braid had disappeared and now, instead of your hair reaching your mid back, it only reached your shoulders. Taking a lock between his hands played with it for a while and then started to touch your cheeks and forehead, you were speechless with your mouth opened in surprise without knowing very well what he was doing,you closed your eyes, letting him touch your face all he wanted.

-We should go now, i´m sure there are more men around- His hands moved away from you and his voice became indifferent again, as if he had suddenly realized what he was doing.

You could see how disturbed the man was, at no time the blood that stained his entire face was cleaned, he did not clean the sword, he enjoyed the blood, you did not mention anything about it but it was something you couldn´t ignore and it made you wonder who that man really was, how could he be a warrior with paralyzed legs? Why was he not afraid of anything and was so insolent and bossy? It was clear that he was used to killing and death, but despite all those thoughts running through your head, you still didn't fear him or want to get away from him.

Ivar could say the same about you, he didn't understand anything about you and that was why he wanted to keep you close, you weren't afraid of him, you didn't feel intimidated by him and he didn't know if that frustrated him or if he liked it , he had met warriors and brave women throughout his life, that aspect was not new to him, but your attitude, the way you talked or deliberately ignored him,that was completely new for him but he also wanted to know who you were, why you had been attacked several times and why they wanted you alive. Ivar didn't know if he could trust you but still preferred to keep you close.

#Ivar #ivar lothbrok #ivar ragnarson #ivar x reader #Vikings #Ivar x OC #Fanfic #Scenario #Imagine

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txladyj-blog · 5 years ago

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Chapter 10 - This Time Around

a Daryl Dixon x OFC collaboration written by @xmistressmistrustx

Rating: Explicit

Relationship: Daryl Dixon/Original Female Character

Tags: Friendship, Friends to Lovers, Awkwardness, Awkward Flirting, Awkward Crush, Fluff and Humor, Angst and Humor, Mild Smut, Strong Language, Eventual Sex, Eventual Romance, Slow Burn, Canon Divergence, Some Canon Scenes and Dialogue

Chapters 15/?

Jess’s legs were starting to burn from maneuvering over the bumpy terrain of the tree line as Daryl and the men moved from one Terminus sign to another. She skirted off, deeper into the woods and attempted to gain some ground in front of them. She broke into a run, sprinting over fallen trees and dead bodies that she didn’t even bother to check for signs of reanimation. She could out run them and she needed to outrun Daryl’s group and cut them off before they reached certain death at Terminus. Destroying the signs was her best bet, or diverting them onto a path that steered them away, but she had to get there first and cover her tracks enough so that Daryl wouldn’t pick up on her footprints being fresh in the dirt. She knew he would. He was smart, an expert tracker and highly observant. Panic was surging through her when she thought of what could happen should she fail at her task.

She’d first encountered Terminus when she was alone, between settlements and bordering on freezing to death from the unforgiving weather. She didn’t trust the signs from the start, which is why she located the destination and dug in for the night under a plastic tarp. She watched from the fence as the inhabitants dragged people from a train cart, kicking and screaming. People that never returned. She knew the smell by now, a sickening odor that she would never forget. Burning flesh. Only it wasn’t being burned to rid the compound of Walkers or any infections, it was being burned in order to be consumed.

Since then, Jess made it her mission to destroy any signs for Terminus she came across which she realized was a frustrating and fruitless task due to them being replaced as quickly as she removed them. Whoever was running the place knew what they were doing, they were relentless and sadistic and there was no way that she would allow Daryl to end up there if she could help it.

Running wasn’t something that bothered her much anymore, her stamina levels were much higher with the change in season. The improved temperature meant she could go back to training properly, always finding new ways of keeping her strength and fitness up. Her legs burned and her chest felt like it might burst, but it was all expected for the amount of ground she would cover in a matter of minutes.

That was until she was stopped in her tracks by upwards of two hundred Walkers all heading straight for her. A herd. She leaned forwards, using her hands on her knees to stabilize herself as she caught her breath. Her brow was wet and her mouth dry. In her backpack, she carried three bottles of water but knew she needed to conserve them until she was desperate.

“Right. There’s a herd. Of course, there is. Brilliant. That’s just great.” She complained as she flung her arms up, turned around and ran in the direction she’d arrived from.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

One of the few good things about the apocalypse is not having to stick to speed limits or worry about other drivers. So, when Jess sped down the rural roads like a bat out of hell, she knew she had to burn some serious rubber to make it around the herd and back to Terminus before Daryl was put in serious danger. The sun was dipping the sky and evening was rolling in, the last thing she wanted to be doing was fighting an entire community of cannibals in the dark with nothing but a rifle, a machete and a bow but try as she might, she could not find it in herself to tear herself away and simply go back to the fairground.

She was no longer sure id Daryl would make the same sacrifices for her, or if he ever would have in the first place, but she did remember his attentive and protective attitude when he took her out training and hunting. Sometimes, she wondered why he even bothered with any of it, putting it down to boredom and a need to feel superior. She dared not think there was anything else in it, she’d been disappointed enough.

She hit the brakes hard when she came to the crossroads that met the railway tracks and considered her next move. She’d been driving for almost an hour at least and saw no signs of the herd. She’d successfully managed to drive all the way around them. Now, for her plan, or lack of one, starting with the truck. She would have to leave it somewhere accessible. She tickled the accelerator and steered to the left, veering around a broken-down garage and coming to a stop behind it. Believing it provided enough cover, she hopped out and set off for Terminus.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

It was as if the elements could sense the oncoming pandemonium. A strange stillness filtered into her mind. Why was it so quiet? Her heart dropped when she heard an explosion so loud that the ground shook beneath her feet and she was sure she could feel the rush of air barrel through the trees. Smoke plumed into the air above, followed by dancing flames. Terminus was on fire.

She ran again, as fast as her legs would carry her. Boots thudding into the damp ground and the air lashing at her face, making her eyes glassy over her mask. As she approached the grounds around the fence, gunfire resulted in her jumping behind a tree to shield herself. Her eyes quickly scanned the woodland as she crouched and caught her breath.

Stay calm. You got this. Think.

She took a deep breath and clocked movement by the fence around 30 feet away. A cloaked figure stood with a rifle pointed through the chain link fence, firing off shot after shot. Jess risked a few steps closer and was glad she did or she never would have noticed that it was Carol who was picking off the people of Terminus one by one. She was dressed in a poncho covered in what Jess instantly guessed was Walker guts. The smell was obvious. At her feet, sat a bag full of semi-automatic weapons.

I’m not the only one that grew a pair of balls. Jess thought.

Glancing to her left, she could see the blown-up gas tank in the yard and the fire raging from inside it, Walkers attracted from all over the place were seeping in through the broken fence caused by the explosion. Jess could even hear them starting to approach from behind her and it forced her to move and find a way to protect herself. She scurried off in the opposite direction to Carol, who hadn’t noticed her over the commotion and equipped her Machete. Now, she was Walker hunting.

Finding two males slumbering along the fence in front of her, she raised the blade, bringing it down on one of their heads and slicing through its eroded and soft skull as if it was a piece of fruit. When the other one turned, she decapitated it with a clean swipe. Then, she rammed the machete into the smaller one’s chest, bracing herself with a boot on its shoulder as she snapped the weapon back, opening up it’s chest cavity and the contents of its stomach. She was gladder than ever for her mask at that point, even having to take a moment to turn her head away and hold her breath before she ripped the leather jacket from the other Walker and smeared it with innards and the rotting remnants of the dead body. She slung the jacket on and headed for the gate.

Inside the compound, people were scattering like ants. All screaming and trying to avoid both the Walkers and Carol’s bullets raining down on them. Jess had managed to get in by shooting at the chain that held the gate together and marched in like the cavalry had arrived. She had no idea where she was going, just that she had to find the door that she’d previously seen captive, live humans being dragged into.

Aware that Carol could see her and would probably shoot her, she kept to the small alleyways and scurried along behind cars and wooden boxes until she saw it. The door. That’s where they were taken. She sprinted at it, hammering her hands onto the glass and flying inside to find it empty. Uninhabited. But what she did find inside was enough to render her completely motionless. He breath caught in her throat. Cages with huge hooks hung from the ceiling. Ribcages, spines and femurs scattered the surfaces, carving knives and bone saws were discarded on metal tables. Beyond that was a vast room with a single, long, stainless steel sink through its middle. She stood in the middle of a slaughterhouse once used to harvest the meat of cows, pigs and the like. Now, it was used to execute and carve up human beings.

Involving herself in such a situation only had one outcome; she was going to have to kill people. It was something she’d had to quickly accept as she shot the chain on the gate and charged into the chaos. As she cleared room after room, she shot everyone she found. Most of them in the legs and feet so they would be found by Walkers or bleed to death and turn. Those that attacked her were eliminated outright with a clean bullet to the head or heart. She didn’t count, nor did she want to. Just like she refused to look into any of their eyes. Twice, she almost ran into Carol, a confrontation she wanted to avoid and so she had no choice but to stop and wait patiently so she could continue, unseen. It wasn’t until she reached a room full of personal belongings that she stopped and had to take heed of things before she could continue her journey.

There were children’s toys, clothing, jewelry, photographs, books. Her fingertips bumped over the items as she slowly walked the length of the table along one side of the narrow room. She closed her eyes and sighed. All of these people. Gone. Lost. Eaten. Just like that. As if the world wasn’t screwed up enough already. Then, she felt the cold metal of a gun. She opened her eyes to find herself stood there holding Rick’s heavy, Python Revolver.

“Drop your weapons.” Came a female voice from behind her.

Jess’s eyes flicked up to the wall in front of her as she slowly slid the revolver into the sleeve of her oversized, Walker covered jacket. She turned slowly to find a blood-soaked woman with wild, long, brown and scraggly hair who was angrily pointing a very large gun at her. She staggered forwards.

“The men they pulled from that Train car…where are they?” Jess growled

The woman’s face twisted in a manic giggle while she hoisted the gun up, securing her aim.

“You could have been one of us.” She chuckled.

“WHERE ARE THEY?!” Jess yelled with such fury that her voice cracked. “I know you keep them in there!”

“You could have listened to what the world is telling you” The woman rambled.

It quickly became apparent to Jess that sense had left this woman’s head long before the gas tank exploded. Her whole appearance smacked of a mental breakdown, someone who now lived in the depraved and brutal world of a cannibal group. She had no time to waste but any semblance of useful information couldn't be passed up. She opted to try and goad her to gauge if she would turn up any clues.

“You lure people here. You take what they have and you kill them and eat them. Is that what this place is?” Jess demanded.

The woman’s crazed smile dropped and she shook her head, a single tear escaped down her blackened face. She did now lower her gun and Jess began to weigh up her odds.

“Not at first.” She sniffed. “It’s what it had to be. They raped and they killed and they laughed over weeks.” She babbled.

Useless. Jess thought.

The woman hit the floor with a smack after the first gunshot. She clutched her foot and wailed so loud Jess thought she could probably be heard over the ruckus outside. Her vision lifted to the barrel of Rick’s gun inside Jess’s sleeve and her eyes erupted with tears. The gun in her hands clattered to the vastly growing pool of blood on the floor and the noise snapped her back to reality. She began to struggle with it, hauling it up over her wounded leg and trying to find the trigger. But Jess stepped forwards and kicked it away from her.

“The world was bad enough before the turn. The Walkers make it worse. But people like you…” She glared down at her with a coldness that made the woman's jaw clench with fear “… make it insufferable.”

The noise of the trigger being pulled caused a flinch from Jess’s victim. But she didn’t even blink from the shot that created a bloody hole in the woman’s other foot. She picked up her gun and slung it over her shoulder so both guns were positioned in a cross on her back. She whirled around, making for the door and heaved the fire exit bar open to a dozen waiting Walkers who all skirted around her and poured in as fast as the light beyond. Jess calmly walked through them with enough time to catch Rick and Daryl climbing over the fence on the other side of the yard. As Walkers milled around her and the war raged, the piercing and terrified screams of people still going strong, she smiled.

He’s safe.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Darkness had fallen and the traumatized group quietly walked the road, exhausted, dehydrated and starving. Rick, Daryl and Glenn were all wounded but still soldiered on. Daryl veered off every now and then to hunt but came up with nothing more than an even more frustrated expression each time. The ground was damp but water was scarce and the meagre amount they had on them had to last until they found another source or until they settled somewhere again. No one knew how long that would be, but Rick encouraged them to keep going through a thinly veiled feeling of doom. Where would they go now?

Jess followed them for miles. Her discomfort at letting them out of her sight driving her to babysit them for a long as she possibly could. They were weakened, and morale was low, that much was obvious. They walked through the night into the next morning when the sun peeped through the clouds and the birds began to sing. Jess observed them from the safety of a tree a few meters back from the road. She perched on a branch and snacked on cereal bars from her backpack, even managing to take a power nap after tying herself to the branch, a trick she’d learned way back in the beginning. She discarded her Walker jacket miles back but the smell still festered around her no matter how much she tried to ignore it. So, she was relieved when the group finally started to look like they were getting ready to leave, at least she could get a breeze through her clothes.

When her boots hit the floor after climbing down from her perch, she caught the faint sound of someone gasping, followed by a low growl.

That’s not a Walker.

She swerved through the branches and bushes, keeping low and noticing movement on the road. The growl was louder now, followed by the clicking of guns being readied and Daryl’s voice.

“Easy.”

Jess managed to find a gap in the leaves that revealed Daryl aiming his crossbow at three dogs across the street. Once someone’s beloved pets, a Collie, Rottweiler and a Belgian Malinois. They were now reduced to wild beings having never had to fend for themselves before. They looked like they were starving. Protruding ribs and bony legs. Teeth bared and saliva dripping from K9’s. Everyone was focused on the three in front of them, but Jess was the only one that could see the Doberman creeping up on Daryl from behind.

“No guns.” Rick declared. “We can’t afford the noise drawing Walkers.”

He knew they were weakened and unable to fight effectively. Guns were holstered and knives unsheathed along with worried looks exchanged between those that were not used to such close combat, especially with three creatures that boasted such a sharp set of teeth.

Jess panicked. It was unusual for her but before she knew it, her bow was in her hand and an arrow was being aimed at the huge, black dog that was sizing up Daryl’s arm. Its jowls quivered, paws inching forwards. Daryl leapt at one of the dogs, managing to drag his knife across its throat before he was bitten. The other two were taken out by Rick and another member of the group that Jess didn’t recognize. Just as Daryl was about to step back into the inevitable and waiting jaw of the Doberman, Jess let go of the bow’s string and the arrow collided with the animals skull. It was sent skidding across the asphalt, a high-pitched yelp followed by nothing. Daryl swung his crossbow into the woods, pointing it at the darkness inside while the others couldn’t decide whether to look at the arrow embedded in the dog’s head or whatever Daryl was aiming his weapon at. Rick approached him and stood by his side.

“The hell did that come from?” He asked.

“In there” Daryl replied, nudging his head up at Jess’s exact location.

Jess released an angry sigh. Her rage directed at nothing but herself. She’d blown her own cover. If she didn’t step into the light now, Daryl would most likely go in and find her. The chances were, he’d shoot her too. She began to trudge forward, bow in hand to the side of the road, where Daryl and Rick stood, flanked by an uneasy and tired looking group. Revealing herself from the low light of the trees, she slowly walked out into the light and hoped with all her heart that her mask, hood and weight loss was enough of a disguise to enable her to walk away eventually without having to show who she really was.

Daryl’s brow furrowed at the woman who calmly stepped out onto the road with an elaborate looking bow in her hand, two high powered rifles and a machete attached to her belt. She looked like something from one of the computer games he’d played with Merle before the turn when they’d get high and battle monsters. Her hood and mask obscured most of her face, her eyes just about visible as she moved into the light. Black, leather arm bracers covered her forearms, heavy, lace up boots reached her knees. Her clothing was clearly that of law enforcement, military or special ops. Daryl backed up, as did Rick when Jess raised her bow.

“Don’t move!” Daryl quickly ordered.

But Jess refused. She slowly continued to lift her bow and looped it across her body, disarming herself to show she was not a threat.

“Everybody stay back.” Rick instructed the perturbed faces behind him with an open palm in their direction. The crowd backed up, peering at the scene in disbelief. Daryl inched closer to her with Rick mirroring him. Somehow, Jess managed to stand completely still even though her body was shaking at the sight of him.

“Who are you?” Rick wanted to know. His voice was low, too hushed for everyone else to hear him and deliberate so as not to cause a panic.

“I helped her…” Jess told him as she motioned with her head to Carol “…get you out of terminus.”

Rick was incredulous. His eyes shot back and forth between Jess and Carol, who was none the wiser, multiple times until finally falling back to Jess.

“Why?” Daryl asked

“I know what that place was.” She said. So far, neither of them had recognized her voice, which she could put down to the plastic casing on the front of her mask that filtered the air of dust. It muffled her words subtly and she was sure that she’d never been more thankful for a piece of kit before.

“Take off the mask” Rick ordered out of the blue, raising his hand ready to pluck her disguise from her face. In the blink of an eye her machete was at his throat, held like a vice with an outstretched arm. His head tilted back, his eyes bulged and he looked down his nose at the blade. A sharp intake of breath from behind him told her that her actions had the desired effect. She’d shocked them into submission.

“Do not touch me.” She warned firmly.

Daryl stepped in, placing his body between Jess and Rick but with his crossbow still gripped in one hand.

“Ok… ok, ain't nobody gonna touch ya…put the machete down.” Daryl urged.

She complied and gradually brought it back to her side, her hand still gripping onto the handle with a white-knuckle strength.

“How do we know we can trust you?” Rick asked.

She nodded and reached around, inside her hooded jacket. Slipping Rick's revolver from her wristband at her back, she held it out to him. His face was a picture she would never forget. He blinked rapidly at the gun before slowly taking it.

“How did you know this is mine?” He questioned.

“Saw them take you in with it.” She lied “You don't have to trust me. But would I really be handing you that gun if you couldn't? Good luck to all of you.”

Her boots crunched on the ground when she made off in the opposite direction, digging her hands in her pocket when she was reminded of something she’d prepared earlier. All along, she’d tried to get a head of the group and plant water in abandoned cars or buildings but was hindered by Walkers every time. She’d stowed two bottles in her pockets just in case she had the chance and kept one for herself in her backpack. As she strode away, she twisted her body and threw both bottles at Rick and Daryl. They both caught them and swapped baffled expressions.

“Wait.” Daryl called out to her. “Why’d ya help us?”

Because I care about you and I hate it.

She didn’t respond, determined to cover the miles to her truck in good time so she could get back to the fairground and rest her weary head. She had some serious thinking to do and a big decision to make. Rick’s group consisted of men, women and a child. Carl. Jess had scanned every face, some were missing but some were the same, just older and wearing their horrendous experiences in their eyes. She had no doubt that all of them had endured a lot and on top of that, were almost blood-let and eaten at Terminus. It was a tough choice that would jeopardize the new, battle-hardened person she was. But in truth, she’d already decided. She had to go back to Alexandria's recruiter; Aaron.

NEXT CHAPTER

#daryl dixon #daryl x oc #daryl dixon imagine #twd fanfiction #twd daryl #the walking dead fanfiction #the walking dead daryl

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thecandywrites · 6 years ago

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Isthantari- Part 3

HOLY SHIT YOU GUYS!!!!!! I was NOT expecting this story to take off or be popular. (look anything over like 2-4 notes is a massive success to me, Im not popular, I’m barely a bump on the radar so this is wild crazy success to me which I am very grateful and appreciative for because only 24 hours after posting part 2- both parts got OVER A HUNDRED NOTES OMG and REBLOGS, if you look at your guys’ notes you’ll notice I HAVE TRIED to track all you who have reblogged or commented or are now following this blog or even my main blog @yourcoolfriendwithallthecandy and I’m trying to follow you guys back and I just want to say THANK YOU SO MUCH!!! because it means so much to me, it really does, like I legit cried tears of happiness this morning when I woke up and checked my phone and went - OH MY GOD YOU GUYS LIKE IT, YOU REALLY LIKE IT!- Sally Fields moment (you like me! You really like me!)

Ok, so let me tag @catsithsitter and @royale-skeleton-key and if any of you ever want to get tagged if I continue this story passed this part three- let me know. Because you’ll notice I’ve left it open ended.

Part 3

On the fifth day, a Jika rescue team found you and Jaxon had panicked and picked you up to fly you away but you were captured nonetheless as you stared in surprise at him that he could fly and wondered how long had he been able to do that for before you were offered an apology by the Jika who found you. There had been a mix up and misunderstanding, because Jaxon’s mental message was to save his queen, they had thought that you had been the queen, thus why they shot you down at the same time they murdered the real queen. Jaxon’s brother Jye, Dr. Emily Kimble’s Jika, had thankfully explained his own relationship with Emily because he mentally had to fight not to mentally message that to the hive as well because he had wanted to react the same way but once the new queen took over and realized that you and Emily posed no threat to herself as queen because you were humans just doing your jobs, she let them live and ordered for your rescue. And since you were wearing Jika cum as sunscreen- that had actually helped a great deal, the nature of it giving off a bright signal in both the visible and ultraviolet spectrum. You were brought back on board and you gladly welcomed a long hot shower, Jaxon, never leaving your side as he scrubbed your skin clean of his cum with extreme care and finesse as you finally got to really wash and condition your hair and put on deodorant and perfume again and shave and felt more like yourself. But you did get to keep Jaxon’s cocoon and water catcher because they held significant sentimental value to you as you sent them off to be washed before they were returned clean and even combed silky smooth as Jaxon moved into your room with you and used the water catcher to make you a hammock large enough for a whole family and used the cocoon to make your bed absolutely epic and ridiculously comfortable and more than big enough for you both.

Then you were summoned by the new queen and you anxiously wore your best outfit and makeup and loads of deodorant, body spray and perfume, not wanting her to think of you as a threat by your smell otherwise. When you arrived, yourself and all the other human doctors and the surviving members of the royal brothers were gathered there.

“Hello Sable.” Queen Kat greeted you. She was obviously a very young queen and unusually small and lean and even smaller than you, barely five feet tall and if you had to guess only about a hundred pounds or so but her attennae were like horned spikes and she reminded you of maleficent because of how angular she was but had dozens of consorts attending her none the less and you recognized the look about them, like ants that had those parasites and they were completely under her control and you noticed the air around her smelled like the worst B.O. you had ever smelled in your life, it made you want to gag it was so nasty and gross but you couldn’t risk offending her.

“Your scent is unusually strong your highness.” You tried complimenting her as your eyes watered as she came up to you and looked you over, but she looked unusually fierce and it scared you but Jaxon was right behind you, your back right up against his front, using your close proximaty to try and resist her allure and control over him as Jye was doing the same to Emily.

“Thank you!” She beamed happily. “I just wanted to see the reason why I’m now the most powerful Jika queen in this quadrant now.” She grinned smugly at you.

“Excuse me?” You frowned in confusion.

“Well it was Jaxon who contacted me to come and overthrow Queen Ki, because she was so weak she couldn’t control the hive from swarming a lowly human who smelled better than she did, a very great disgrace among Jika you see. For a Queen to have a scent weaker than a lesser species such as a human is a sign of great weakness and taking over was extremely easy and I apologize if you were caught in the crossfire, I understand since Jaxon is weak too for thinking you, of all specimens in the universe- is his queen.” She giggled menacingly. “Jika culture dictates I should kill him for inferiority. But it’s him that has handed this over to me so I will show lenience and let him live. But beware, if you ever attract any others,you and they will be put to death. Having more than one queen will spell chaos and I refuse to put up with it in my own realm.” She warned and you had never felt so gutted in your life.

“So...I’m the reason his family is dead?” You asked as tears blurred your vision and your whole body wanted to tremble and shake.

“Yes, but again, she was incredibly weak, I’m sure any other human woman brought on board would have had the same affect and the same outcome so don’t take it personally. Jaxon should be commended for remaining loyal to the species and doing what’s best for the hive. Now I understand you are working to improve Jika foods and making them more palatable to humans as well as to the other species and I wanted to tell you I fully support your work and you will have whatever funds you need to realize that goal. So many earth foods are positively delightful and perfect and we owe earth and it’s inhabitants a debt of gratitude and if food is how we can do that and protecting you from other species who mean you harm so you can keep producing those foods, then that’s exactly what we’ll do.” She reassured you and you just got the sense she was just a bratty, presumptuous tween but she held the power over millions of Jika. This was the mother ship for all the Jika in your quadrant.

“Which I have a thought about that your Majesty.” Dr. Helga Wads piped up.

“Oh?” Queen Kat asked as she turned and strutted up to Dr. Wads.

“I have noticed that ruling families in the Jika are made up of a single family line but that the offspring of an outside queen with native males could be more robust and I think there is something that can be said for biological diversity, if you were to mate with males from other families, it could be promising for the future generation.” Dr. Wads explained as you and Emily both stared daggers at her, neither of you wanting to give up your mates for that endeavor but at the same time, you knew that your own personal relationship could be brought into question or exposed and much ridicule from the human side and Jika could come your way. Inter-species relationships were still seen as taboo. Even though they had been going on for the last decade or so, since aliens came into contact with humanity.

“Really? I’ve never noticed, we shall have to do “research” as you put it, and I’ll start with your Jika- Kin is it? You will isth with me- now.” She ordered as she came near him and you and Emily watched in horror, trying to conceal it from your faces as Kin became just like a drone and one of her many consorts before she mounted him in front of god and everyone and rode him a little before sucking on that gland but she buzzed angrily and within a split second had eaten his head before hopping off of him and kicking his twitching corpse aside, his cock and gonads popping off and remaining in her before she expelled them before they erupted all over the floor so that none of it actually got inside her before her own consorts gathered him up and consumed him too and you watched as they did, the spikes on their own armored exoskeleton grew in length and thickness as they ate him.

“Why did you kill him?” Dr. Wads demanded.

“His royal jelly was not to my liking and thus his seed was not worth preserving, your theory has clearly proven false, the next theory you have that proves false or that questions the supreme Jika ways, you will meet the same fate your Jika just met.” She threatened as Dr. Wads gulped and her own cheeks flushed as you and Emily each gave a worried and meaningful look to each other, both of you trying to think of a way to save Jaxon and Jye from that fate.

“If you will permit me a request Isthantari.” You blurted as Emily looked at you in heartbreak, knowing there was only one way you would know that phrase because you must have learned it the way she did and the Queen looked unbelievably pleased at you referring to her as such.

“Could Jye and Jaxon be withheld from this. Since they are from the same family and same generation, you may not find them to be your liking either and they are... valuable to us and can assist us and are...vital to our work and our well being.” You pleaded, trying to sound scientific and official in your request.

“Very well, I suppose you may also use the others as well since I don’t think they will fare much better. I suppose I should have considered that if such a queen were weak, her batch would be too.” She spat in disgust as you felt everyone else in the room collectively exhale in relief before you were all dismissed.

Once in your room you went to your bathroom and furiously scrubbed the streaking makeup off your face. You were fuming, you were heartbroken, you were shocked and horrified all at once. Maybe things would have been better if you never came. A whole royal family may still be alive.

“Sable?” Jaxon called out worriedly from the other side of the bathroom door and suddenly your rage sparked and ignited in your chest.

“I don’t want to talk to traitors right now.” You snarled at the door.

“What?” Jaxon asked as he finally opened the door and you took the washrag in your hand and threw it as hard as you could and hit him in they eye with it as he recoiled from that and made a pained sound which only hurt your heart worse but you were still furious.

“You traitor!” You accused as you pointed at him as your own face twisted into an angry snarl as Jaxon bowed his head guiltily. “Just because I stink worse than your sister, you went and called another queen to execute your own fucking sister?! Do you Jika have no familial bonds at all or is it just the hive and nothing but the hive to you?!” You demanded as you shocked yourself at how speciesist you sounded.

“What are you gonna do when I get old and my stink changes huh?! Are you gonna find another younger, stinkier Isthantari and have her kill me off?! And since when could you have flown?! When were you gonna tell me you were healed?! We could have rescued ourselves instead of being captured!” You sobbed angrily.

“Look, can we, please talk. Please? Just hear me out. Queen Kat is still my sister, she’s just a younger generation, the last generation of my family. When a queen retires, she’s not completely done giving birth, she’ll usually have one queen left, a last batch of eggs, these eggs are incubated within the queen herself and she gives live birth to them and that last queen becomes a super queen, because the first few years of their lives, they get to have the queen’s undivided attention and eat the queen’s own royal jelly and the queen passes down all of her wisdom she had acquired as her consorts instruct the super queen’s super consorts, who I don’t know if you noticed have shit I wish I had, did you see their spikes on their skeleton? Anyway, very rarely will a super queen get overthrown. There’s a lot of stability and prosperity that comes with having a super queen for the hive. If Emily had let my brother contact her when they first met and he went through what I’m going through now, she would have been here then. It’s part of Jika makeup, find the best queen and serve her.” Jaxon tried to explain.

“Then what am I?” You asked.

“You are still my Isthantari, nothing will ever change that. And when you get gloriously older, you will still be my Isthantari, the human equivalent to that is marriage, till death do us part, literally. I just...I wanted and needed to protect you. A strong queen will tolerate rivals who she knows are not strong enough to pose a threat to her personally but who serve a purpose to the hive, she probably could have let Ki live to keep birthing offspring until she’s large enough and mature enough to do so on her own, a weak queen can not take the risk to differentiate that. The message I got from the hive mind, that the drones and anyone and everyone who was around you and realized you were stronger than her- that got reported to the hive mind and it was a matter of time before she dispatched her consorts to kill you and I couldn’t let that happen so I beat her to it. Humans have a saying for this, ‘the enemy of my enemy is my friend’. That’s who Queen Kat is. She is our friend. I know she may not look it or you may not feel she is, but you smelled her yourself, to yourself- you stink, but not nearly as bad as her right? And even to me she smells awful because I’m smart enough to know the difference between strong and good, because while she’s stronger- you’re still better. You still smell glorious and amazing and you always will and even if you didn’t, I’m still in love with your mind and personality, heart and soul so don’t worry about me or my loyalty to you ever coming into doubt or question. And she’s still so small, it will take her a very long time, like another year or two, maybe even three- to grow big enough to start producing eggs which means all of Ki’s children are safe and nothing bad will happen to them because Kat knows she can’t do anything detrimental to them or else she herself will personally suffer and the hive will suffer from a loss of drones and Kat is very smart. She didn’t kill Kin because she thought he was distasteful, she did it to make a point to Dr. Wads to never challenge or question Jika ways.” Jaxon explained calmly which made your own anger abate as he slowly and carefully came closer before wrapping you up in his embrace.

“So when did your wing heal?” You asked as you reached around him and flicked it with your finger.

“Hours after eating the first coconut crab, but I wanted to spend more time with you alone, away from all of this. You saw how the Kat’s consort’s spikes and exoskeleton grew when they ate Kin? Well that’s why I ate so many crabs, my wings are the strongest they’ve ever been and my exoskeleton is now stronger than anyone else’s, even Kat’s consorts, if she had tried to force me to isth with her, she would not have been able to eat me or bite my head off, I’m tougher than her mandibles ever will be.” Jaxon insisted.

“So you need to eat more crabs?” You realized.

“I don’t need to but they are delicious. I know Kat and her consorts won’t eat them out of prejudice.” Jaxon shrugged as you took a minute to think all of that over and realized he had very valid points.

“Then I have an idea on how to save your brothers at least.” You offered mischievously before you called Emily to your room to discuss your idea with her, as she herself was so excited and relieved to hear it before you both mounted an expedition to the tropics and paid locals to capture coconut crabs to buy them as you and all of Jaxon’s royal brothers helped you to go to every coastal island in the tropics to look for sizable coconut crabs before you had a private feast just for you, Jaxon, Emily, Jye and the other remaining royal brothers- you and Emily eating another huge red snapper as you watched Jye, Jaxon and the remaining royal brothers eat hundreds of crabs, their own abdomen’s swelling as you watched their own exoskeletons grow thicker and tougher and even spikes formed. You knew if the Jika as a whole were to discover crabs that they would probably wipe out the earth’s population of them, but for right now, this was a way to protect Jye and Jaxon and the rest of their siblings and would have to remain your little secret as Jye and Jaxon talked in the Jika language between each other, their clicks and buzzes of delight music to your ears.

“So, if you are comfortable talking about it, I’d love to get any and all information you could give me about your relationship with Jaxon.” Emily instigated as you two sat side by side on the beach.

“He fell in love with my stink.” You snorted a laugh.

“Well yeah, but did he try courting you?” Emily asked.

“Uh, well he flirted a lot and he gave me a perfume made from Jika flora.” You noted.

“So he did. The males from the royal batch, will make gifts for the queen so that she chooses them, the bigger and better the gift, the more she’ll favor them and mate with them for life. They will usually spend the first year of her life observing her and getting to know her to make her the perfect gift. Most queens have multiple vaginas- depending on the size of the batch- the more she’ll have, it wouldn’t surprise me if Kat has dozens of them since she’s a super queen and so if ever a male irritates her or disappoints her or isn’t living up to her expectations but she still wants them to father offspring because they’re genetically viable, she can yank their privates off and keep them in a dedicated vagina inside her abdomen and the two will fuse so that she can draw all the sperm she wants from them without having the hassle of dealing with the male and feeding him and taking care of him. Some queens have dozens of vaginas just for that and they already knew about males from other families thing, she’ll often send her own drones and consorts out to “kidnap” other males just in case their version of ‘inbreeding’ happens, which I haven’t quite figured out how many generations of the same family line have to propegate for that to happen yet.” Emily explained.

“Really?” You asked in astonishment.

“The ones she actually likes, she keeps them alive to ‘service’ her whenever she wants though.” Emily added.

“Which actually I need to ask you about that. What will happen when I reach menopause and I’m not “viable” from a biological perspective? Will Jaxon loose interest? Will he try to find another Isthantari?” You asked her.

“No.” Emily firmly shook her head no.

“When the Jika first came, I was near the end of my own cycle when Jye first met me and he thought I was God’s gift to him. And I worried about the same thing, but he stayed right with me just as I entered menopause and I’m still going through it and he’s still just as madly in love with me as ever, if anything he’s grown with me and when we go to the surface to do our grocery shopping together, he’s around everyone and he notices that some women still smell good to him but he still prefers me over them. And I ask, every single time and his answer is always the same and completely sincere. Now he does worry that I will find another Jika that I like more than him even though part of him thinks I should have at least six other Jika to attend to me but I am happy and content with just him and I’m personally not really into polyamory, not to knock it, it’s just not for me. But anyway, considering it’s only the specialists and up that have penises to begin with, because the normal green drones, don’t have penises because they are not incubated long enough to develop them, if the drones are the standard for incubating then they get to be incubated for X amount of time, while blues get one and one third, military gets one and two thirds and purples get literally double the amount incubating time while the queens and princesses get triple, the longer they incubate for, the bigger and more advanced their brains are, they actually get personalities and obviously “equipment”. Now the specialists from the blues and reds up, they have penises but the blues, are literally a third of the size of the purples, and only have one testicle, the reds are two thirds the size of a purple and have two testicles and the purples, obviously are full size and have three because they’re meant to mate with the queen, the only reason the reds and blues have a penis and testicles at all are just in case the royal family gets infected with some kind of sickness and they all die off, the military and the specialists still contain a “back up”- if you will- of the genome the hive collectively had and they can inseminate another queen to keep the genome going so it’s not all completely lost. Now there was one instance where a hive was attacked and only a handful of greens survived and no one else and when they were rescued by another hive, they got re-incubated and came out as purples to save the genome and serve the new queen and during the re-incubation process they grew their brains and their sex organs but that was a very rare, extreme case, otherwise the greens are basically asexual and have no desire to mate, they just want to work to serve their queen and I hate to paint them so flatly or so one dimensional but that’s the way it is.” Emily explained as you listened with rapt attention.

“Now what about his royal jelly?” You asked.

“Actually I wanted to ask you about that, what does it taste like to you? Because it really does change from individual to individual.” Emily returned.

“It tastes like a...you know at Red Lobster? That Bahama Mama? It tastes like that only...I guess creamier. Like mango, pineapple and banana milkshake with some peach, passion fruit and guava and actually this last time we had sex it had a heavier coconut note to it, but that’s because, obviously they love coconut crabs and besides the wild fruits, that’s all he ate.” You specified.

“Ooh, see Jye tastes more pina colada to me, heavy on the pineapple and heavy on the coconut but you’re right, heavy on the banana too but with mine I get hints of peach and apple though and when we’ve argued and we’re having makeup sex, it’ll have a margarita twist to it. Like tequila and lime notes.” Emily explained.

“Really? No way.” You marveled.

“Now there was one time, when he first discovered ripe passion fruit, his ‘nectar’ as I like to call it too, had some heavy passion fruit notes so maybe some of it has to do with his diet because he eats pineapple and coconut every single day. I can’t imagine how awesome it would be to be stranded on an island for almost a week, did you guys get to fuck like rabbits?” Emily giggled.

“The last four days we did, once we started, yeah, we..can not help ourselves to stop. It’s the best sex of my life.” You confessed as your cheeks burned.

“Yeah, that knot is something else huh?” Emily snickered as her own cheeks burned bright red too.

“Oh my god!! Yes! Like now I love some werewolf smut like any other girl but the real thing? Lord have mercy! Oh and does Jye ‘buzz’ when he’s in you? Because that is epic, it’s like a living vibrator.” You giggled.

“Oh Honey, there’s been a few times when I can attach a tube to his nectar duct and have him take me from behind, like bend me over a counter top or a desk or something and fuck me into oblivion or even up against the window, that’s great too so I can still suck it down and not make a huge mess everywhere because that stuff is outstanding and I swear I can get tipsy drunk off of it too. And when he grabs my hips with his lower hands while his upper hands can grab me by the hair or the shoulder or even my breasts? Mmm-mmm-mmm-mmm-mmm- DAMN. That’s some good shit. Like god tier epic good shit, like I want to take him behind that tree and have him fuck me over there right now.” Emily cackled as you laughed so hard you were crying.

“That’s amazing, I’ll have to try that.” You snorted as you wiped your tears away. “I was just blown away by their cum! I have makeup that I paid an arm and a leg for that doesn’t glitter and glow nearly as much as that does. And it saved me from my sunburn! Because I put it on and it has this cooling affect to my skin and like a mineral ice-ish affect. And it’s even moisturizing, like my skin felt like I put body butter on when I took it off. And it didn’t itch or anything like normal glitter can sometimes. Like part of me wants to collect it and bottle it and sell it as makeup. Granted it’s precious stuff to me and I am very possessive about it because part of me is like ‘no! that’s all mine!’.” You explained.

“Really? See I think there would be so much potential there then because that never occurred to me to use it for anything I mean you can’t really “use” human semen for anything other than it’s intended purpose. Now I want to investigate it, I really do, but I don’t know, depending on the outcomes and results- if I do and I publish my results, every blue, red and especially purple Jika would never be safe if their sperm is good for something other than inseminating a queen, now if you do get pregnant, which I really don’t think you will but just in case, you probably would have to stay to be studied, just a heads up.” Emily warned and you nodded in understanding.

“Hey Em?” Jye suddenly asked.

“Yeah Hun?” Emily returned.

“My brothers would like to find Isthantaris besides Queen Kat, could we help?” He asked as Emily grimaced and sucked in a breath through her teeth.

“Babe, I don’t know if that’s a good idea. I don’t think it’ll be tolerated. I think the only reason we’re tolerated is because we serve the hive too.” Emily tried to gently break it to him as she gestured between herself and you but perhaps you were rebellious but you were already thinking of a way that could happen, knock that bratty queen down a peg. Granted you would have to be careful because you didn’t want to start a war or anything.

“Is there any way we can get them to live off the mother ship? Put them on one of the other ships to keep them away from her watchful eye? Or even get them to live on the surface, get jobs on earth as...I don’t know correspondents or something? Or better yet, is there a way to close them off from the hive mind so that that thought won’t get reported and we won’t get murdered for thinking that once we’re back on board?” You questioned as Emily looked at you in alarm while Jaxon and his brothers looked at you excitedly.

“Yes! Our entire conversation has been outside of the hive mind.” Jaxon informed you proudly.

“Good, because while I don’t want to overthrow another Queen, I think you guys should be entitled to have a life and love outside of the hive, she’s already demonstrated how she doesn’t care for you by killing your brother Kin and didn’t even save his seed for future use, she doesn’t need anything you could ever offer her. So why not? What she don’t know won’t hurt her right?” You shrugged as you grinned mischievously.

“So you’ll help us Sable?” Jye asked excitedly.

“Yeah, I know there’s a lowkey monster dating app, get cell phones and get on it and Emily and I can screen the candidates to make sure you guys don’t get taken advantage of.” You offered sweetly as Emily narrowed her eyes at you.

“You are playing with fire, but you’re right.” Emily sighed in resignation.

Now to find others who would like to date a Jika too…

#exophilia #alien boyfriend #monster boyfriend #Isthantari part 3 #alien #wasp alien #hopefully you'll like this too #tada!#Thank you for reading

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ladynuwanda · 6 years ago

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The End of the World as We Know It - Part 1 (Michael LangdonXFemale Reader AU)

A/N: This is my first attempt at an AU, so I’m still a little unsure. But I liked it because it’s very different from everything I’ve ever done, and I wanted to get out of my comfort zone. Part 1 is mostly an introduction to this universe, but I hope you can enjoy it!

Warnings: None, I guess. Although there are mentions to some mental health issues that might be triggering for some of us. But that’s exactly why I didn’t ant to go too deep on the subject. It’s there, but I wanted to keep it light.

Word Count: 1,7K

“Do you know why you are here?”

I didn’t mean to, but I couldn’t help rolling my eyes a little at the question. This wasn’t my first time in a therapist’s office, although it was my first one-on-one session with Doctor Venable. I looked out the window, embarrassed by my own reaction. I knew it was cold outside, but you couldn’t tell it from inside Doctor Venable’s office. It wasn’t exactly cute and cosy, but it was nice enough, with elegant classic furniture. Very tidy, very neat, like Doctor Venable herself. Shades of purple seemed to be a theme in her office, as well as her life. You didn’t have to think much to figure out whose idea it was to make the wristband that carried our name-tags purple.

“I’m sorry for starting out with such an obvious question...”, she smiled with a small chuckle and lowered her eyes, “but I need to know just how far your understanding of the situation goes, if I want to help you.” Those beautiful brown eyes were burning into mine again, behind stylish prescription glasses. She had a gentle way of making you feel comfortable in her presence. The kind of therapist I’d want to be when I had my Psychology major. If I ever did.

“Yes...”, my voice was raspy for lack of use, so I cleared my throat, “I know why I’m here. You’re not gonna ask me to tell you about my mother, are you?”, I gave an awkward half-laugh and regretted my own silly joke almost immediately. My mother was probably the last thing I wanted to talk about now. I knew she was probably heartbroken by what I did, but I just couldn’t deal with it yet. “It’s only our first meeting, I’d rather get to know you better before being introduced to your family...”, she gave me a kind smile. She understood. She knew I wasn’t ready to talk about it. She wasn’t the kind of therapist that would give me a nod of fake understanding and ask me “and how does that make you feel?”, and I was grateful to her for being better than that.

The session was over before I even knew it, and it wasn’t half as bad as I had expected. I was heading back to the “common room” of Hawthorne Hospital, were I was expected to socialise with the other patients. The building had been a boarding school for boys, before being a hospital, so the corridors were wide, lined with tall glass windows. As far as a mental institutions go, I think it could be a lot worse, it wasn’t at all an unpleasant place. As usual, I sat next to Andre. It’s not that he was particularly friendly, in fact he hadn’t had a single interaction with anyone since he got to the hospital. Which made him my new best friend, of course. It’s not like anyone would go into a mental hospital with the intention of making friends, anyway.

But Coco and Gallant were friends. He was suffering from anorexia, and had a real breakdown when his grandmother found out that he was gay and kicked him out of the house. Coco was bulimic, tale as old as time, she started counting calories and grew obsessed with it, you add a pinch of body dysmorphia to it, and here she is. They obviously clicked right away. And they were always around Evie, an elderly patient with some sort of dementia. The poor lady could talk, in colourful details, about the Golden Age of Hollywood for hours, but couldn’t remember what flavour of jell-o she’d had for desert at lunch.

Those three had made a nice little family for themselves in the hospital, and I was happy for them. But I just couldn’t bring myself to follow their lead. I’d rather stay with my non-responsive friend, the only other patient who was around my age. His story was truly heartbreaking. He was the victim of a hate crime, his boyfriend was beaten to death right in front of his eyes, and he was probably gonna be next, if the police hadn’t arrived. After that he’d just closed in on himself, never speaking another word to anyone.

“You know you are supposed to use this time in the common room to make friends, exchange your experiences with your fellow patients...”, Nurse Mallory was standing beside our table, both hands on her hips in a mock scolding stance.

“I was just spending some quality time here with my friend Andre.”, I gave her my most angelic smile and she narrowed her eyes at me.

“Really? From where I was standing it was almost like you were using the poor man as a human shield...”

“It’s actually the other way around, I was the one shielding him... from her.” I shot a glance at Dinah Stevens across the room and Nurse Mallory followed my gaze.

Dinah Stevens was a minor celebrity, kind of a tv personality. She had a talk show on a local channel, or something. Apparently she had dropped her basket when her show was not renewed for another season. It was a full-on meltdown that included aggression against her crew members and a little bit of stalking at the channel’s new attraction, some former teacher named Cordelia. If Dinah Stevens was a regular citizen, she would probably be facing charges and doing some time in jail. Since she was rich, and somewhat famous, she had ended up here instead. Someone on her PR team had come up with the idea of her helping someone from inside the hospital, in order to improve her reputation. And she had adopted poor Andre as her “project”.

“Aren’t you little miss selfless... I guess you deserve a little treat, then.”, she winked and got something really small from the front pocket of her grey uniform and placed the tiny piece of chocolate in my hand.

“Mallory you’re an angel!”, I shoved the chocolate in my mouth and just let it melt on my tongue so it would last longer. Only then I remembered to look at my Andre, wondering if he’d want a bite, but as usual he didn’t even seem to notice I was there, “But, seriously, who else do you want me to make friends with? The Youngsters?”

That’s what we called Tim and Emily, the last two patients in Wing 3 of Hawthorne Hospital, the youngest of us. Tim was one of those perfect straight-A kids, but as he realised he was failing his SATs he had lost himself to substance abuse. Apparently Emily was here for that too, but in her case it was to run away from a messed up childhood. They were obviously in love, and they were absolutely adorable! Specially the way they seemed to think that no one else knew... Everyone pretended it was a secret. Their puppy-love was a beautiful thing to watch. It gave us all hope.

“So instead, you chose to stay here not talking to Andre...”

“And enjoying the magnificent soundtrack of the common room!”

“Tell me about it! Doctor Pfister and Doctor Nutter seem to think it’s relaxing...”

“Yeah but, come on, playing lyrics like ‘calling occupants of interplanetary craft’ in a mental hospital? You gotta admit that’s poor taste!”

“I do, but they own the place... they’re the bosses! Anyway, that’s not what I wanted to tell you...”

Really, bless Mallory for her snuck chocolates and good-hearted gossip! She was the only thing that made me feel slightly normal in this place. She took my mind from my own shame and guilt, and made me believe I could leave this place and live a normal life again. I was looking at her eyes through her thick glasses, waiting for her to serve the new tea.

“There’s a new patient in Wing 3, Doctor Mead’s bringing him in to the common room for the first time today...”, Doctor Mead was responsible for our group activities. She was the one trying to get us all to socialise and share our experiences, always with a new group-dynamics exercise, or just some plain physical exercise. She was very outdoorsy, Doctor Mead. I hated it about her. Although I did like the woman herself and her cheerful disposition.

“And what’s the deal with him?”

“Same as you, apparently...”

“Oh.”

So another failed suicide attempt. I was already feeling some sort of sympathy towards my new companion, before even meeting him. How could I not? He had wanted his life to end so bad, that he had attempted to do it with his own hands. Unsuccessfully. That’s something I could relate with a little too much. As we talked, the Carpenters song ended and the first notes to Patience&Prudence’s Tonight You Belong to Me began to play. I gave Mallory a side glance “Seriously! If you’re not crazy by the time you get in here, you’re definitely going to be by the time you leave...”, she laughed as the doors to the common room opened and we both looked to see who it was.

It was a tall young man, followed by Doctor Mead, walking in sure black Converse-clad steps, wearing a plain black t-shirt and a dark pair of jeans. His long blond hair was tied in a loose knot behind his head, and there were dark circles around his sharp blue eyes. Still he looked around at everyone in the room, like an eagle choosing his pray in mid-flight, both his hands behind his back. All my sympathy for him was gone the moment I saw him, simply because he didn’t seem to need any of that: He was so intimidating, I believe he would have actually been offended by it, he would tell me to shove my sympathy where the sun doesn’t shine. He seemed to be very much in charge of himself, and of everyone else, for that matter. The icy glint of his eyes fell on me and I gasped, probably rather loudly. I saw the shadow of a smug smile on his full lips before he turned his beautiful face away.

He spotted Tim and Emily in one corner and decided to join the, now terrified looking, young couple. When I came back to myself, I saw that even my friend Andre was staring, slightly open-mouthed, at the newcomer. I looked, round-eyed myself I bet, at Mallory and the sweet nurse gave me the closest thing to a pretentious smile she could muster “That’s Michael Langdon, your new buddy...”

My honey I know

With the dawn, that you will be gone

But tonight you belong to me

Just to little old me

Taglist: There are so many friends I wanna tag here, but I think I’d want to have their permission first... so if you feel like being tagged, just let me know!

#Michael Langdon #American Horror Story #AHS Apocalypse #AHS fandom #Apocalypse AU #Michael LangdonXFemale Reader #Michael Langdon fanfiction #tw: mental illness #Cody Fern #The End of the World as We Know It

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rosheendubh · 6 years ago

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S7S8 Draft Rewrite GoT...

—YouTube Game of Thrones film edit/rewrite challenge: —It’s Long, the formatting is terrible, and it’s really more a thread of ideas than a proper outline. But I’m throwing the challenge out there—can some talented YouTube montage editor reel back and mash up GOT Seasons 7 and 8 to match what I’ve drabbled down below?Which is essentially 1 of 1000 other (mostly wonderful) rewrite ideas to help where D&D got a little lost. Honestly, just add some 2 Steps From Hell Soundtrack background, varied clips from the previous S7 and S8 in the order I’ve described below—and ‘voila’!!—our more satisfying conclusion to the last 9 years of fangrrl obsessions... Thanks, I’ll love you forever (and would happily clean this up to be more reader-friendly) if you could do this!!

...or rather, how it should have been written...

There were about a thousand alternative plot lines the GoT authors could have chosen to develop S7 and S8. Basically, they ignored every one of them which would have been better than the drivel they chopped out and spewed Willie-Nillie to hurry up and deliver the blandest tripe to neutralize drama more effectively than a junior-high level theatrical recreation of Shakespeare... —This Post is long, and is also an indulgence of therapy, involving shameless GoTs fangrrling and GeekGrrling... For starters, they was an entirely plausible method to Daenerys’s destruction of King’s Landing, but it would have involved reeling back S7 to only address the Battle for King’s Landing, as the threat of the Night King decended on the North in the background. Keep Jon Snow at Dragon’s Keep/Island Targaryan, mining Dragon Glass, whilst Dany views the motives of the North suspiciously, and rather than battling stupid minor campaigns across Westeros, just concentrates her full force armies+ 3 Dragons on King’sLanding (taking the advice of Olenna earlier than she ought—still as a conqueror, and ruthless, but not psycho...), shattering the Red Keep. Tyrion, somehow, can still wheedle into the city, offering Jamie the chance to get Cersei out despite her refusal to leave...until it’s apparent the RedKeep is about to collapse. Team Cersei (the Mountain, Qyburn) manage to escape through the crypts to that random boat, heading off to CasterlyRock, laying low wisely, beaten and bereft of an army, but not their loyal houses who are leery of the returned Targaryen, trying to regroup allies. Cue—NOW Euron enters with his fleet, to Casterly Rock, offering his undying love to Cersei, and his ships... Meanwhile, collateral damage expected with the RedKeep’s destruction, with some innocent lives, the city overall remains preserved for occupation by Dany’s forces. It’s ambivalence with which the people greet her rather than the gratefulness and joy she anticipated, and she realizes the first truth of governance: a conqueror does not a ruler make...but has little time to ponder this conundrum with Varis and Tyrion as her main advisors, before word is received simultaneously of Cersei and Jamie’s escape—engineered by the only person who could possibly have known out to get them out of the Keep. Her Hand. Cue: Tyrion is arrested. Jon, stranded on Dragon’s Keep, with a skeleton guard only, receives word from the Wall of the Army of the Dead at the Wall. Supposedly, they can’t pass b/c ‘the dead and spells protecting the integrity of the Wall’—but there they stand, just at the boundary of the World of the Living. Jon enacts a daring escape with Team Stark/Snow—killing the men Dany left to hold them in custody, and gets back to his ship, sailing back to Stark holdings in a haste to prepare an unprepared North. Dany, pulled on 2 fronts—between Lannisters and Starks—and holding a city barely in her grip, is forced into a quandary. Jon appeals to her once more (via flying pigeons of course) to come to the aid of the North, in exchange for which he will bend the knee, and promise the submission of the North as well—upping the ante on tension between his loyalty to save the North vs his devotion to serve the North, possibly compromising his own position with his nobles and his family. Bran, by this point, delivered back to Winterfell/Home Stark, learns of Jon’s true heritage, and perhaps informs him then. Or not... Meanwhile, Dany’s dual nature between compassionate queen versus ruthless conqueror asserts itself, and she knows what the right thing, the true thing is to do. You know, like she had shown through the previous 6 seasons of the show. She commits a significant portion of her armies, and her Dragons north, haunted by the carvings Jon had her shown under Dragon Stone (still preserving that scene from S7) the first time in their brief meeting where sparked admiration and attraction between the two—something both were resisting and ignoring at that time. Since D&D evidently left her enough of an army of horsemen and Unsullied in the actual show after the battle of WinterFell, to occupy the cinders of KingsLanding, I’m guessing in my rewrite, Dany has enough of an army to leave behind and maintain her control of King’s Landing, whilst driving her forces North... Concurrently, we have Team Lannister, courtesy of EuronGreyJoy Water Ubers, sailing to Bravos, aquiring that massive loan from the IronBank, and that absolutely useless GoldenCompany. In this rewrite, they’re more effective, AND BS on elephants. If Hannibal could herd them through the Alps, over the seas from Africa, Drogon’s Balls that they couldn’t also show up in Westeros...Cersei, my villainess supreme vixen, you get your elephants in my version! Scene—Rejuvenated Lannister mercenary army heading back to KingsLanding...S7 concludes... —S8: the battle of the Wall hangs by a thread, but somehow, sans a Dragon this time, the NightKing manages to kill one of the Watchers on the Wall, and wight-over Castle Black, and every other fort along the Wall, with only a few stragglers escaping down to WinterFell, barely ahead of the Zombie Apocolypse. Of course, Thormund is with them—my ginger lover of Brienne the Magnificent. —Jon rallies what meager mortal defenses he might, all collected at WinterFell, fortified as fortified might be thanks to Sansa’s adept hand at administration. We’re still plagued by LittleFinger in this canon, and at some point, Arya arrives back as well, having heard of the victory of the Dragon Queen at KingsLanding, and the advance of Dany’s forces North. Enter: Brothers W/o Banners, with RedPriestess, knowing their destiny is finally upon them. WinterFell is razed, but Dany’s forces arrive at the last minute—we relive that scene where she comes like a flying avenger, rescuing Jon and a small group of determined fighters from imminent death. Or, maybe his comrades die, or scatter in the confusion. Heroic Rhagel, lowers his head and offers his wing to Jon in an oddly sequestered moment, cut off from the dying and destruction abounding. It doesn’t take Jon much prompting from Dany, amid battle chaos, to tell him what to do. And Jon—grown into a less doormat version of himself than what D&D seem to have conceived (ie, awakening his alpha male, to match Dany’s alpha female, rather than the psycho femme-fatal into which mutated her)—mounts Rhagel just at the moment a White Walker is about to skewer Jon. DireWolf style, awesome Ghost makes DireWolf kibble if WhiteWalker, but not before WhiteWalker stabs Ghost fatally. Jon’s anguish is tangible on his perpetually constipated facade, but the symbolism is clear. Kill the Wolf; awaken the Targaryan Dragon... —Night King faces Dany. Drogon roasts Night King unsuccessfully. Night King targets Viserys and launches Ice Javelin at the moment Drogon is trying to roast Night King. *WeepyTearsSerial HeartAttacks* as dying dragon crashes out the sky to ground... All battle pauses for a horrified moment, even the dead. And the Night King, to the shock of the Northern forces, and Dany’s host, even past a Dsny paralyzed for a fateful moment by the frigid gaze of the Night King upon her, resurrects Vicerys. Thus, we avoid the awkward *where in the world did all those chains come from to haul dead dragon out of water at the end of S7*. Dany, reeling from the sudden loss of Vicerys, and rendered lost momentarily, processing the fact her dragons do have vulnerabilities, and seeing the horror around her, the inevitable defeat, draws courage from Jon in that moment, whatever words he speaks, maybe in reprimand for her momentary weakness/no time to grieve/living need us to provide retreat...and off they go, defending the remaining survivors of WinterFell, sacrificing the North, in order to fight another day. The remaining forces of Dany, and Jon, the Starks having escaped, and the rag-tag few of others, including Brienne, the Stark Sisters (Bran?? Ugh, fine...but we’re bringing Meera, thank you very much...), the Hound, Thormund/some Wildings-Black Watch, etc... They arrive at whatever sea-port is closer, Yara’s fleet awaiting their arrival, disheartened and horrified by the remnant few survivors...and 1 less dragon. —Now, of course the Dead are forcing them to the shore’s very edge, but they manage overall, to make-off safe. Back to King’s Landing or Dragon Stone/Drsgons Keep (can’t keep up with the fortress names...)?? Who knows...DragonStone would actually make more sense, allowing for regroup/recoop time, but not time they can really afford to lose. but it does allow for sending communication to KingsLanding, and for Jon to expresshis reservations about Dany’s wish to incinerate the city, CUE: speech about “just becoming one more shit-thing ‘the people’ have always known...”S7. —Somehow, maybe via Jorah and Samuel Tarly re-entering the tale at this juncture, having been to KingsLanding, and discovering it’s under siege by Team Lannister, w/their varied mercenary and allied houses, cutting Dany’s forces off inside, w/Cersei and Co outside, finally breaching the Walls through subterfuge, and retaking the City in a vicious street-to-street encounter between Dany’s occupying garrison, and Cersei’s army, with Euron’s navy blockading the harbor...whatever is Tyrion to do, whilst Messandi, who had been left to administer in Dany’s authority, is taken hostage by Team Cersei...but spared the Mountain. Whatever is Tyrion to do?? Tries to find a cord of sympathy and doubt in Jamie, as Tyrion warns their victory is temporary. Cross the Dragon Queen once, and she may still have an element of mercy. Cross her twice, and ‘show no mercy’ becomes the law... Of course, spliced amid the battles are the quiet moments of character interaction, and dialogue—especially for the interval on the ship. A desperate gambit has been made to Cersei, warning of the Army of the Dead, approaching King’sLanding...by Pigeon Courier again, I suppose?? —At DragonStone-recuperating—Touching and tender character crossings ensue—Jorah with Dany. The Hound with Arya and Sansa. The Hound, finding that unexpected something with this new, tough-as-nails-Sansa (pu’leeze—had they not hinted at this in the books, I wouldn’t go here, but more than Dany and Jon, I was always rooting for a feasible blossoming, hestant, bittersweet romance between these two... but one that endures as the human side of love, promising hope the future, as opposed to Jon and Dany’s epic, Star-crossed doom...). —And, revelations—Dany. Jon. Targaryen. Stark. Dany’s purpose for conquering Westeros seems insignificant, trivial now, compared to the existential threat of the Night King. Consequently, she’s lost and confused, in what her destiny had been, or she thought it had been, and what her new purpose appears to manifest as/seems to imply. There’s still the stage of the Iron Throne; there’s still Cersei, and the Lannister threat, but it’s larger now, than a mere struggle to “take back what is mine”. And Jon, there’s Jon. To whom Rhagel bowed, and allowed Jon to ride. And she knows, even without Bran’s stoner-revelation, what this means. But Bran’s words at least shine clarity over the conflict of her emotions with Jon, and given him a name. Aegon. The realization has left Jon as unmoored as she. —Jon swears his siblings/now cousins to silence despite Sansa’s protest, “I ask as your brother/kinsman, but I command it as your king. You’ll say nothing of this to anyone—vow upon the Wolf of the North/Jon’s Sword—until I’ve spoken to Daenerys Targaryen alone. Nothing,” he repeats, emphasis. —Arya, wary but loving Jon as always, bows her loyalty. Bran remains stoic, and Sansa erupts in vehemence in their duty to the North. Jon, temper breaking in his grief and confusion, rallies/counters in a heated voice, “What North, Sansa? What North? You saw what the Night King did, can do. There’s nothing left of the North, except for those of we who’ve survived.” —Sansa, “who are now at her mercy. How convenient for her grab at power. It ought to be you, Jon. Aegon. You are the—“ His gaze grows cold, silencing her, though her eyes still challenge him. “Don’t say it,” dangerous and low. For love of him, not fear, does Sansa hold her tongue. —Jon asks Bran if he can see the future, lend some direction, but Bran, in that hollow voice, helplessly admits, “It’s only darkness across the kingdoms. The skies of ice and land of snow and night. He marches on KingsLanding. You need to tell her, he’s raised Vicerys. Balefire devours the land from the north to Vales of Europe, on the edge of Passes of ___. Even water will no longer stop him.” — Later, alone in her meeting room, Jon and Danny speak. He tells her the truth, the veracity confirmed by Sam’s own discovery in the Chronicles kept by the WhiteTower. And Danyboiints our the obvious, as he’s the last male heir of House Targaryen, and heir to the Iron Throne. -Jon rejects the words. “I don’t care. I don’t want it. I made a vow to you, a promise as the King of the North, and it is as that King I still speak. You came to us, in our hour of need, when you might have done otherwise. You came, and fought, your men died at our sides. For the North.” -Dany, bitterly interjects, “For what little good it did.” Jon, gratitude and tenderness at once, “There would be none of us left here if you hadn’t. I am sworn to you, and so is the North. As Jon or as...as Aegon,” he stumbles. “As a Stark, and a Targaryen. You’re not the last of your house, Dany.” —(Borrowing from the scene after the feast at Winterfell, where they’re in Jon’s chambers, conversing, about to get it on, *true chemistry there and too bad they didn’t capitalize on that, nor let the characters/actors express that more going from S7*—until she becomes MeanGirl drama, and he gets DoorMat Mopey...which does not happen here in my canon—so out of character for both by this point)... -Dany, staring into the flames, searching, asks seeking, “What do we do now?” “It doesn’t matter anymore. Ice and fire, is what we are, Dany.” His presence is a warmth, solid and strong, as he comes behind her, his hands upon her shoulders, gentle and commanding/impelling, turning her toward him, tipping her chin up so she meets his eyes, she trembles in their strength as she holds herself proud, stiff in her pride, fearful and hoping at once, knowing and not wanting to know how much he wants of her-spirit and Fire, courage and compassion, the sacrifice and losses litters upon their paths, in a journey they’ve traversed from opposite sides of these tortured lands, to build something of hope, from the wreckage others have tried to make of their lives and visions, adversaries unknowingly making them stronger, but that strength, every victory, every triumph come at great cost to ideal and faith. Until, at this crossroads where each find themselves, there’s one certainty as clear as dawn upon a crystal sky, that what they’ve found in each other is home. Refuge and sanctuary, fated and as inevitable as breath to the living, and water to the thirsty. And despite hopeless causes, for Westeros or against the Night King, who closes further south at a dread pace, collecting minions as he festers thorough the territories to KingsLanding, his wight Dragon a thing of terror and near invulnerable destruction, despite family secrets and secret shame—they no longer resist the fate of Ice and Fire. *BombChickaBombBomb* — The same night, Sansa in her hurt at her brother’s...cousin’s...stance, so foreign he seems with this new persona, the half brother, the bastard brother she’s always known, her savior at a time when they didn’t know if any of their family still lived, the victor of WinterFell, the King of the North, Jon Snow—Aegon...a Targaryen. Hardly seemed possible, but there it was, by Bran and in writing. She wanted to weep and rage, claw out his eyes, and beg him in tears, that they would still love him, always love him, and not trust this Dragon Queen. Who, to be fair, she’s exchanged less than two lines of formal greeting since they’d arrived as exiles from the ravaged north, here in the mother isles of the Targaryens. So what if it was Lyanna rather than Ned. He was still a Stark. She wanders aimless, and annoyed, avoiding Baillesh b/c she hasn’t the capacity for quicknrejoinders and subtle ploys to elude his ever stagnant coveting of her body, and her status—the Lady of WinterFell. A WinterFell that’s no more, decimated by an army of wights and corpses brought to motion. Through varied corridors, the rooms lent to the women, the main hall and even the bloody kitchens, out along the palisade, the quest for solitude seems, like everything else that dreary day, to thumb Sansa like a demon shadow spiting the one thing she truly wants right now. To be alone. Finally, she wanders into a thankfully ruined, deserted anteroom that must have been an old armory once, shuttered and closed off by poorly fitted wooden slabs rotting off their nails. She ducks under the barrier of a half hinged door that groans in age and rust, coughing at the dust motes stirred by her skirts. On a pile of shambled furnishings she collapse finally, leaning back to close her eyes, rest against the stones behind her, in the darkness—a peak of setting sun slanting between tattered curtains, the ocean breeze seeepingvaway mold and must, painting shadows across the neglected room. At last, precious, precious silence. “You too, eh, little bird?” Sansa startles upright, eyes casting about fretful, jar to her nerves turning immediately to anger. She bites out in rapid annoyance how impossible it is to find a coffin’s width of space to be alone, asking in the same breath what the Hound is doing in a dank chamber, away from his new found brethren. “I came here to sleep. The Dothraki dontvlike to be where they can see no sky, and those castrates from Essos believe these lower corridors are haunted. Ghosts or rats, anything out of the dark will still be quieter than the shits above who want to drink and mourn all night for their woes at the eve of our doom.” The wryness in her voice seems a trait that’s emerged more fully in the years she’s matured into her true power, trusting her own instincts, and realizing she too, has a penchant for authority and presence. The Lady of Winterfell. “Seeking the impossible.” He lights a lamp, the kind men carry on encampments and the March. “What’s that? A cock and some sweet words in the night?” She would have blushed and choked at such coarse words long ago. But she’s known much worse since the days when she was his little bird. The look she shoots him is ironic, as is her tone. “Silence. It seems at premium right now.” The Hound laughs, “The last thing most men want on the vantage of their deaths. There’s an eternity of silence, after, little bird. It’s why there’s always so much drinking, song, and whoring before battles.” Sansa, “Shouldnt they save that till after the battle is won?” His face darkens. “We won’t win this one, little bird. Even with this Dragon Queen. Even with your brother.” The word, brother, makes her wince. He sees that, peering at her curiously. He passes her the flagon he’d been nursing. “Ah, that’s it, eh? He’s fallen under her spell, and you don’t trust that.” She sips, readying herself for some sort of home brew, that burning liquor said to peel the insides of men with one swig, and shit fire the next day. One swallow and it’s a sweet pungency of grapes and sun, autumn spice on the next. “____wine? This was from our cellars.” Her brow raised, his cheeky look, an almost grin ghosts over his face. “It seemed a shame to sacrifice all of it. Berick salvaged what he could, getting it into one of the wagons in our retreat. Drink up, little bird. It the swansong of your home.” He had that penchant for barbs that can wound and comfort both. She remembers that, but thecway he delivers them now is gentler, spoken in the tone of melancholy. A man who’s known grief, and survived. Who’s dealt death, and now admits his struggles with his own ghosts. That part is new. Something happened to him in the years they’ve been apart. Sansa not sure how to reconcile this as weakeness or a strength for him. “Wine was never our chosen beverage. Ale and beer were marks of Northmen. And women.” He takes the flagon back. “Like your brother, no doubt, little bird. A man of the North. And all those tough as steel fuckers who will follow him to the very edge of the world and beyond.” “My brother is not my brother,” the words spilling past her conflicted mind before she can stop them. “He’s...”, Anger curls her fingers, pinching her spine straight, her eyes furious upon him. Which makes Sander suddenly throw his head back, true deep laughter surging into the darkness, until he’s holding his gut, trying to catch his breath. Her indignation riles him more. “Why is that so funny to you?” “Ah, little bird,” he quiets into a solemnity she almost finds harder to bear than his unpredicated amusement. “Of course he’s not a Stark. He’s a Targaryen.” Her gasp, the struggle to regain her poise before she completely betrays her oath to Jon...Aegon. Jon. He’ll always be Jon, prompts Sandor to handing her the flask again. Something, a sip, the motion to salavage her shattered nerves. “How-“ she coughs on the rich vintage. “How did you know?” “He rode a dragon, Sansa,” he says, laconic as always. “I usually punched or skewered most of my tutors, but even I listened to the old tales sometimes, as a boy. Fire. Fire will never harm him.” His eyes clouded by the memory of his own sadistic brother, his large hand moving up, caught and curled back against his lap, the puckered scars ravage his scalp, half his brow. Out of reconciliation, she returns the flask so he can escape from his own past in that easing warmth of wine. “He’s still a Stark,” she says definable. Possessively. “He was Lyanna’s son, by Rhaeger. It was a love match. They were married in secret to keep him safe from the Baratheons.” His short laugh holds only bitterness. “And everything that’s come from that day to this, every life lost, every mother left weeping, houses ruined, and villages burned, has been based on a lie. Because some fat cunt of a lord couldn’t understand how a Stark girl would find him repulsive compared to the perfection of a silver haired Targaryen. Even when they’re mad as rabid dogs.” She can appreciate his glum, but feels compelled to amend his sour appraisal, perhaps out of mercy for her brother, who she knows was struggling with this revelation in his own confusion. She clears her throat, signaling with a glance at his flask to hand the wine back to her. “They say Robert was actually handsome back then. And Rhaeger wasn’t mad.” “Yet. He didnt have a chance to be. But he was impulsive, and self-serving. He left his lawful wife the moment your aunt crossed his sight, and never considered once, the consequences his act would bring. Only cared to serve the golden dragon between loins, and thought your aunt was the answer to his destiny—Elia, Dorne, and the Kingdom be damned. What is it, about you Stark women, little bird? Makes men think with their cocks, and dream impossible feats.” His eyes shine with wine glaze and ruefulness, and but his words remain unslurred. She recalls the tankards he could drown, and still be sitting upright with a steady strike of his sword, where other men had long before sleptvin the puddles of their own vomit. Her own mind buzzed with just the edge of dizziness and daring, enough to loosen her tongue in the same way it’s made him nostalgic. She has a suspicion when he’s not angered in his wine haze, he euther hets mopey or morose, neither mood does she seek right now in her own tormented heart, shadowed byvwhat the coming days hold. “I’m not your little bird, anymore, Sandor Clegan.” The sadness in his voice almost takes her from this edge of ire to grief. “I know that, lit-Sansa,” hecsays softly. Her name though, how he shapes it. She’s only heard him speak like this once before. That night. That night she should have trusted him, and left KingsLanding. “I knew that when you told me you knew no more songs, and the little bird lost her voice. It took all your courage to look me in the face when you said that. Now...now you don’t even flinch to meet my eyes. Have I grown so less threatening?” Sansa aches for something lost, something of this feeling, a final sorrow or a hope that died with Jon’s true heritage. “My father was a killer. My brothers are killers. The world was made by killers.” His eyes hold hers steady, firm before her judgement, something cold and brittle and hurtful finally surfacing in all the years she’s kept it down. Never soothed, even with Ramsay’s death, never gloried nor indulged b/c she refused to become like the beasts who had made her journey to womanhood a living hell. But she knows what’s been lost, and knows can never be recovered of innocence. Delusions, she knows now, fantasies that her father and brothers doated upon her, thinking they could protect her, did her a favor by sheltering her from the realities of men and the world. None of them, not even her mother, tried to teach her how to be strong. That, she learned on her own. And the price wasn’t her violated body or the trauma of Ramsay’s perversions. Memories that still creep into her nightmares. The cost was the betrayal of her father, her brothers, and her family, for thinking women needed to be sheltered and protected, and never allowed to mature into their independence—to fail or thrive by their own intellect or grace. That seed of resentment fills her words now, and flashes in her eyes, hardening everything about her to steel and ice, b/c Sandor too, felt the same way once. His uncommon chivalry toward her, she sees now, was his own fumbling attempt to shelter her. Little Sansa. Little Bird. “I learned where true monsters lurked, hidden behind the faces of men. And I survived them. But you would have have done me a favor, Sandor, to have finished what those assailants started that day you saved me from the rioters who meant to kill Geoffrey. It would have spared me my continued delusions. Stupid little Sansa, and her stupid little fantasies. You would have shown me much more efficiently what I learned anyway, what the real world was truly rife in, of monsters and traitors and liars.” The words twist out of him in a whisper. “Alas, the she wolf has arrived.” That hasn’t changed, at least, his mockery of her, though it’s more a gentle ribbing. He short rejoinder dies, when he adds, “We aren’t all that way, Sansa. Not all men, even the killers amongst us.” She dares for his touch, reaching toward him, a test worthy of Baillesh, querying in how he might react. Almost laughs, but swallows it down when she sees the terror and surprise pale his face, the half not ruined by fire, she notices now, truly studying him, handsome in its bold lines, the shape of contemplation in deepest eyes and the long jaw. A poet’s mouth, her light touch traces the gouged flesh of old burns. “I know that,” she says. “But I too, have learned to kill. I still don’t think it’s killers who make the world though.” He hand wanders back to her lap. “I would never have hurt you. I protected your sister, as well as I knew how, anyway. I would protect you.” She’s sighs, feeling a smile pass, glinting eyes upon him, her turn to mock, cruel smirk. “I don’t need a champion. I already have one,” the pointed remark stinging his ego enough to break his disconcerting sadness, as he shifts with the uncomfortable reminder of his defeat at the hands of Brienne of Tarth. “And Arya is practically an army to herself.” A condsering look passed between them, of understanding and admiration of her younger sister, whose skills were still something of a puzzlement. Part of her sister’s book of sorrows and secrets, she sees now, and knows Arya may never share those empty years with her. And Sansa has made her peace with that. As she has with Bran and the uneasy aura of power and old magic that hangs about him, despite the illusion of flawless youth molding his fine features. “Still, I would never have harmed you, Sansa. And whatever you think, of men who mistook ignorance to preserve innocence, I never shared that belief. You were the only thing in that rotten court that was sweet and good, pure. And brave. Brace enough to stand up and defend your belief in the world’s goodness, and the honor of men, even in the face of your fear. You don’t know how scared Ivwas of that, how you saw right through me, straight to that cowering, quivering little pissant deep inside. You were gentle tough, even with him. I wanted...that. Wanted you.” “Stop,” she pleads roughly. “I know. I know all of that.” How can one feel so alone and share such proximity with another human, intimacy it’s own bridge and wall. “I dreamt of you, after that night the Blackwater was almost lost. Dreamt you kissed me, and wrapped me your cloak before you took me with you. And I felt so safe. So loved. That dream was where I would go, in the worst moments with...Ramsay. I almost,” she says with a wistful smile, “convinced myself it was real at some point.” “I make him suffer a thousand fold—“ “Shh,” her finger over his lips, Her solemn look quiets him. “His death was mine alone to render, and he died as deserved. By the jaws of the creatures who he thought loved him most.” The grim satisfaction she still feels, hearing his screams as they gradually turned to groans wet with with a gargling of blood, and the snorts and snarls of feeding dogs who feast before their victim is truly dead, terrifies her, the euphoria of power and absolution. Sansa has enough inner counsel to realize the temptation of that road, how easy to become the thing one wishes to destroy. Her burning hatred died with him, but nothing, the nothingness has never rebounded, never found anything to restore whatcwas lost in the months of her torture. He’s patient and tender with this awareness, somehow knowing as he had with her brother. “It’s still too soon, isn’t it. After Bolton’s stench, for you to want another man.” A statement, so blunt it might have been callous, but so very Hound-like. How comfortable, relieving it is, to keep nothing hidden, and not have to explain herself. How perturbing that she can discuss something so vile and recent to her past, and shroud it in a casual shrug, the twitch of revulsion the only betrayal of how close her disgust still hovers. “That. And evading Baillesh’s advances while preserving diplomacy. He would make a nanny goat in heat go cold.” “That little weasel,” he growled. “His own shadow doesn’t trust him.” She glances at him sidelong. “B/c his own shadow knows better,” she says dryly. “Fortunately, he’s still too terrified from WinterFell to remember how to be subtle/crafty and scheming. You can’t buy off a Wight, and you can’t blackmail the Night King. He actually tried to persuade me to spend the night with him by claiming these could be our last ones before we die.” Perhaps it was the lamplight, but Sandor looked like he’d eaten bad oysters, an expression between rage or nausea, like he was fighting down bile stained the muscles of his jaw. “Drink, Clegan. Before you get sick. He claims to love me, and won’t touch me. He’s still too guilty for having been called out selling me off to the Bolton’s. I told him desperation wasn’t becoming in tempting a woman to bed. Besides, I heard him scream when he was about to be overrun by those Zombies. He sounded like a terrified rabbit. Nothing douses passion more than that. I can’t look at him without laughing. I scorn him, and I pity him both. Is that possible?” His eyes brightened, uncanny, lifting her out of her morose. “Pity him, rather. I think the Dornish women found him. The cries coming out of that room...” The suggestion trailing with all manner of fates, but the dread and envy on his face told all. Men spoke warily and yearningly of one night with a Dornish woman. One Dornish woman. A group, all sisters, and a man was left wondering if he’d ever be able to service a woman ever again, let alone piss while standing, or ride a horse. “Good,” she says firmly. “They might even make a man if him, if there’s a man left after they’re done.” A snort under his breath, amusement in his voice. “If there was ever a man to begin with. They like women too. He should serve both roles well, for their tastes.” Silence holds them in the moments following their brief humor/levity, Sansa taking the wine flask, and Sandor reaching for a fresh flagon from his knap-sack. “Another?” She blurts, emptying the remnants of first. “I didn’t think I would go through the first so quickly. I wasn’t expecting company. You’re planning on staying, then—“watching without comment, a little taken aback really, as she frees the flagon from his hands with a giggle, unsteady, and opens the the cork, gulping down the silken drink—“Here, with me, tonight?” She doesnt want to leave, his presence—the bulk of his body, a solid assurance which lent her more calm in these last hours, than she’s had in...years. A settling in her soul that’s been like a restless butterfly flitting with no where to rest, fraught worse since Jon had taken the field against the Boltons, and successively tied the fate of their homeland to the throne Sansa had been trying to free them from. She turns to him slowly, disappointment perhaps, marring the comfort of their camaraderie/familiarity. That he had to take advantage of this blessing he’d begun to uncover with her, only to push a boundary she thought he’d respect, and leave her to reject him gently, b/c it always needed to be done gently. Men were such fragile creatures. For all the tenderness of his eyes upon her, she had thought he understood her reluctance, revulsion in fact, in the act of coupling. She might one day, find a place to let someone touch her thecway she knew people could who desired each other. They way she knew Jon and the Targaryen woman were in these past hours. The thought left her cringing and disturbed. They were both Targaryens. But he was still a Stark. Maybe it was jealousy, a little envy, toward her after all. Jon accused her of that, but said it the Jon always did. Comparing Sansa’s strength and courage and stubbornness, and her beauty, to Daenerys’s own. *She’s your match. Only you can reconcile that, Sansa.* That had stung more than she wanted to admit. It wasn’t jealousy for his affection, at least not in the way of desiring him as a lover. He was her brother, cousin, family. Sansa realized, the very thing Sandor had pointed out in her, that goodness and faith in others’ goodness, she sensed in Jon. He still had that child’s devotion that others would act as honorably as him, even after the wreckage of how he’d been betrayed by his own Watch. He was so like their father. No, his uncle. She wondered if Lyanna had shared that quality. Sandor, off balance, wine coursing in his veins and affecting his motions, rises, arranging his mantle out on the ground. She’s trying to find the right words, shape them coherently through a mind thickened with wine and drear, to tell him she hadn’t meant to lead him on. He grips for his sword, still in its scabbard, a thing of _____steel, as long as the span of his arms, Holt of ivory cast in silver etching, holding it aloft with a crooked grin. She lowers the flask, wiping at the wine dribbling down her chin. “What are you doing?” Her puzzlement breaking the hazeforca moment. He bows, catching himself before falling on his face, burping before he explains his actions. “A gentleman, Lady Stark. S’pposedly I’m a knight. Note the blade between us. My pledge I won’t touch you, nor dishonor you, as much as I wish you’d ask me to.” The relief washing over her, gratitude that brings infuriating tears she blinks back impatiently, makes her knees almost collapse freed of a strain she hadn’t realized till then. A small, choking breath, as she steadies her voice, “I’d thought you...you were going to ask me to sleep with you.” “I have. But not fu—no, with you it wouldn’t be that. Allow me my dignity. I dont need to invite my own rejection, in the way you don’t need to spare the feelings of an ass. The tenderness and sorrow in his eyes leaves her silent, the tears winning out, flowing unimpeded down her cheeks as she tries to keep her breathing calm, thinking she’s about to blubber in a humiliating display of anger and hysteria. “Oh little wolf, hush now. No need for this,” he says gently, wiping at the rivulets. “Too much wine, and too much death in these days of darkness. It makes us fools and philosophers.” “Aren’t they one and the same?” She forces out past a sob, sniffling. His laugh is soft, where he brings her head against his chest. He wears no armor, not even the leather jerkin, and the heat of him, the play of rippled muscle of his chest, where his heart beats, a living surge, and the embrace housing her in a fortress of power and grace. They are exactly as she had dreamt that one haunted night so many years ago. They kneel together, as he slowly, reluctantly frees her. He gave her his mantle, leaving nothing for himself on the cold stone floor. “One day, little wolfling, you’ll conquer this too. One day, you might even learn to want a man, or a woman, again. But trust comes first.” “How do you know that?” She demands, her brief episode/spell making her angry, such silly weakness an indulgence no one has time for. She’s glad he’s the only one who saw it. “How do you have a right to be so gentle, when all those years ago, you tried so hard to be such a brute?” The patience of his humor warms her, and rankles. She’s not so fragile, and he doesn’t need to be so careful. “Because most humans are shits. At least the ones I’ve known. But animals, the gods’ beasts are different. Broken animals, horses, dogs, the like. It’s their trust that needs to be regained, and that’s done through patience. And love,” he adds, voice stalling/stuttering out the word. Shivering b/c of the chill, the despondency in his voice, she gazes hard into the dark ceiling above. On her back, lying on his cloak, his long-sword between them, she feels cast off, alone all over again. “So, you see me like a beaten animal?” she throws thecwords at him, stony gaze above. “Something to be coddled and cozened, until I eat from your hand again, and eventually mount me without being bitten or kicked off?” A whisper of garments, she feels him shift, turning to prop himself on an elbow. She swallows her surprise in a little croak when The shadow of his face draws over hers, a mere finger span abort her mouth. The heat of his breath, sweat, and the wine filling her nostrils, brushing her skin, he’s so close, she reads the clouded storm there—his temptation and his own self-mockery. “Allow a man his fancies, Sansa. I won’t lie and say I’ve not thought of you like that either.” So like her dream, his lips moist and so close. Her pulse leaps, an exhale catching in a shallow gasp, a shaft of longing awakening something delicious deep inside, heat flooding her cheeks. She’s frozen half in terror by this first flavor of desire. Need. Half his face distorted, the other beautiful and bold, the harmony like the halves of his soul, shine from his burning gaze. He never makes a move to close the small gap between them, remaining captured above her like that forca precious breath more, before his groan of frustration and sorrow breaks the spell, and he turns back, collapsing to his side of the blade. “You’re the strongest woman I’ve ever known. And any man who tries to break that deserves to die.” Arya said that too. The wine maybe, or the trials of past years, fortifies what’s becoming more frequent, daring she’s more apt to command. And this heady pleasure lighting over her, tingling her mind and flesh. She wants more of this. “How would you think of me, Sandor? Tell me, what was the most stirring thing you envisioned? Did you think of me when you visited one of Baillesh’s whores? On top, or wrapped around you from beneath, moaning your name? It’s hard to read the kind of urges that fire a man like you.” The words are edged, taunting herself as much as cruelty prods her to toy with him, eyes ground into the darkness above, hands crossed over her belly like a corpse prepared for its byre. He draws a rough sigh, his gruff laughter without humor. “Singing. I dreamt of you singing. All those other ways men want to fuck a woman too, but mostly—“ “Singing.” She finishes for him, the word resounding flat into the quiet. Passion, her first awareness of desire lapses into befuddlement. She turns to seek his profile in the dark, her voice soaked in doubt. “All those years you wanted me *in every way a man wants to fuck a woman* and it’s singing?” Across the short distance between them, his gaze falls into hers, locked and full of longing, piercing her heart, and resurrecting a feeling she had buried in these years of pain. “You told me once, when my little bird had first been wounded, she didn’t know any more songs. I dreamt of her singing ever since. She was the sweetness of spring, and the joy of sunlight to a man chilled by rain.” Those stupid tears again, coming out of nowhere, salt upon her tongue, as she tries to moisten her lips for speech. She rolls onto her stomach, thrusting the scabbard down to their feet. Crawling onto her elbows, she leans above him, peering into a face no longer menacing or scowling, only patience and acceptance offered in a sea of doubt. He doesn’t believe she could return such affection. He doesn’t think he’s deserving of such tender grace. Her lips are upon his, tentative at first. Light likecan infant’s touch, and as his open to meet her questing mouth, growing bolder, claiming each other with kisses leechingvthem of breath, deep and leaving them reeling. Her hands clasp his cheeks, grain of his beard wiry, fingers sweeping the strands of his hair back from the thickened scars over his brow, her lips brushing there too, sacrament of sorrow and blessing. Both of them reaching for air, a disbelieving joy escapes her throat in a little laugh, her cheek pressed to his ear. His hands hover like lost swallows, — Euron’s fleet attacks out of the Dark. The dragons even the odds, and the battle is a much more effective modality than the gibberish splashed across the screen in S7, leaving Yara captured, and Theo a drowned kitten. Instead, the Dornish women hold their own this time, but still fall (Olenna Tyrell, who was left behind at a KingsLanding—exceeding Genius at governance that she was, and staying where she would be most useful to her queen, needless to say, met her same fate as she did in S7. See, I’m not reformatting this for happy endings. Just more cohesive, and sophisticated plot lines...). —Ultimately, Euron’s fleet is BBQ, with both Rhagel and Drogon flambeying the enemy GreyJoys, and no defense against the dragons, even with Qyburn’s largely useless ‘ballista/scorpion’ things. The battle is at night afterall, and morning dawns upon ship hulls blown cinders, and corpses ravaged by fire. —The harbor is open to Dany’s fleet and forces, but the Lannister defenses are ready—right, remember those convenient stocks of Witch Fire/Greek Fire. Now, in rewrite, more sensibly deployed as artillary against an invading fleet. Onion Knight remembers this, and with the loss of a few vessels they pull back out of range. Of course, Night King arrives at the walls of a KingsLanding at that time, and everyone’s worst nightmare ensues, with the decimation of the city by the Dead, in full tilt, requiring use of WitchFire against the Wights instead, and allowing a Now very eagerly accepting group of Team Lannister’s to hasten Dany’s and Jon’s forces ashore, as dragons clash and flash in the skies above—the human toll extradinaory with the loss of innocent life, amid the destruction Zombie Vicerys wrecks upon KingsLanding, while Dany and Jon battle a stand-off with Dragon Destructo Immortalis and his Icy Eyed Spiky Crowned Zombie Dragon Rider, which ultimately culminates at the already blasted out Red Keep Throne Room. Dragons are wounded, dragons out of the picture, the dead crawl over every brick, stone, toppled pillar, and yawning crack in the flagstones, held back only by flames of living fire, unable to reach Dany or Jon (who, as a Targaryan, proves as flame resistant as Dany...), protected in a ring of flame surrounding the Iron Throne. Here, resurrect the Dany who picks up a sword for the first time in her life, ready to die by her man’s side, whilst WhiteWalkers gather. Jon, of course, faces off with said NightKing, sort of like DarthVader vs Luke Skywalker style, keeping Dany from the fray, butvat some point, down for the count, about to be impaled by Night King, when Dany gets her strike in, while not lethal, serves to distract the Night King, who recovers quickly enough, and sends her sprawling. The moment allows Jon the lethal thrust he needs, sword piercing the Night King in the heart (sorry, Arya—your Assassin’s Creed acrobatics were awesome, well-executed, but poorly utilized in the grand scheme of ‘bore’ that followed...). *added as alternative b/c I adored what Arya did*: ALTERNATIVELY, ARYA REACHES THE RED KEEP, PERFORMS MYSTICAL ASSASSIN’s CREED ACROBATICS, AND SLAYS NIGHT KING EXACTLY AS SHE DOES IN SHOW, BUT WITH JON BATTLING NIGHT KING AS WELL, AND NIGHT KING STILL REMOVING DRAGON GLASS DAGGER FROM HIS OWN CHEST AND BURYING IT IN JON’S HEART...SO JON STILL DIES* / The Night King removes the Dragon Stone dagger from his chest, simultaneously burying it beneath Jon’s heart as they sink down together, both in death. The Night King dissolves into *sparkles* (lol—Ice grains...), blown away by the wind, while the WhiteWalkers explode as they did into ice shards, and the dead—wights and new recruits alike—fall into dust. Poor Viceryon😢 Arya stricken by dying Jon, and Dany crawls to Jon’s side amid the flames and ash, the scorched throne room, cradling him as she sees him turning, fully understanding the remorse in his eyes, his love, and the plea, unspoken, of what she needs to do. What she doesn’t want to do, yanking the dagger out of Jon’s/Aegon’s chest, watching his blood well up, as he gasps last words, last breath, and she cradles him, weeping as he dies, bleeding upon the Iron Throne. You know, like what she did with Jorah, but more sensibly in this alternate canon. Had they not cast Jon as a messianic figure for the last 7 seasons, and Dany as the Savior, I wouldn’t lean so much this way, BUT...as I said, it’s my view, and a more poetic one than what they contrived in that scene in the actual Ep6... Assuming some soldiers/warriors of Dany and Jon’s forces made it up to the Keep, deployed against the White Walkers till they all dissolved into elemental memory (Jorah lives in this mode; Jon dies...), they gather, staggering, around Dany and Jon, where he lays in her arms, all of them exhausted, broken and bloodied. But they live “heroes just for one day...”😜 —Meanwhile, there were those underground caverns/crypts where the rest of the Witch Fire stores had been stocked, and ready to light beneath King’s Landing. Team Lannister, by this point only consisting of a fleeing Jamie and Cersei, have retreated down to those stores, knowing fire will keep them from the fare of the dead, and absolutely willing to ‘light it up, baby’ beneath the city. At the crucial juncture where they’re about to be over-run by the Dead, Cersei about to drop the torch into the fuel, the dead fall to dust. A few seconds to breath, realizing what must have happened w/o knowing how, but relief makes Jamie embrace his sister, the (incestuous, admittedly) love of his life. She still holds the torch over the pool of liquid, phosphorescent WitchFire though, always quicker than Jamie, knowing exactly who has won this victory ultimately. Something along the lines of, “I refuse to let her own this throne...”, or some such line refusing to surrender to Dany (harkening, nay, recalling Cercei’s vehement tirade of, “I would burn this city to the ground before I would see our...”yadayadaYoda—“house fall”, or something like that). Well, that’s EXACTLY what she means to do, and Jamie experiences some awful moments working through his pretty skull, the last monarch he served who meant to do the same thing. He tries, earnestly, to persuade her it’s not necessary, etc etc. Cersei is not having it, and as she’s about to release the torch into Pyrotechnic mode, he does kill her...but, too late. *BIGBIGBIGBIGBIG BOOM*💥💥💥💥 Green smoke clouds erupt through the city streets, already decimated, but beginning to animate with a few survivors, including the inhabitants, but also soldiers of both forces... -Across the winding streets, up at Red Keep Hotel, Dany registers the sounds of explosions, with the remaining crew of her soldiers. We have 2 routes here, Choose Your Own Adventure/GoTs style: Dany flips at that point, of course familiar with her family heritage and the *Burn Them ALL* king who was her father. Not bent on tyranny, not thinking at all, except that she’s as exhausted and beyond endurance as any of the survivors of Team Dany/Team Jon, and grieving Jon’s death, the cost of tragedy and the price of power, she’s convinced it’s Cersei still hiding out in some hidden refuge of the city. So, the Dragon Queen mounts Drogon, and off she goes, decimating what’s left of King’s Landing—*pan out diorama to Yara’s fleet, where they witness the last chapter of destruction*—And know they’ve won. What they’ve won, who knows, as LittleFinger observes, but...if LittleFinger is still living. At some point, even Drogon tires, and Dany’s rage subsides, landing on the summit of the earlier bombed out heap of the Temple of the 7, or whatever Cersei had mushroom clouded back in S6. Reality hits as she observes the destruction left in her wake, and the battle which has just ensued, draining her momentary manic Hell-bender, and restoring her to herself. And the awareness of the power and pathos with which she’s endowed leaves fills her with dread for the first time, and doubt on her journey to reclaim a throne she had always believed was hers by right. Horrified at her own act, she flies off away from King’s Landing, Rhagel, gathering Jon’s body in his claws (since that’s what dragons do, I guess, with their dead riders??), follows, leaving only an echo of mournful dragon cries... -Cue: FINAL episode in the retelling. Okay, maybe penultimate? Dany, somewhere in FarFarAway, in some deserted landscape, a mountain vale maybe, where men can’t reach, stands pale, mourning, silent tears falling down her cheeks as she lights the funeral bier beneath Jon’s body. She holds the dagger of the Night King in her hands, unsure if she should hurl it away, but decides ultimately to keep it, fastening it to her belt. Her dragons crowd around her, communal puppy-dragon love for their mama. She spends the night watching his bier burn, only smoldering bones left by dawn. And knows, with the morning, she has a city, and land calling her back. —Dany returns, with her Dragons—arriving to the heights of the RedKeep, the relief across the faces of her men reassuring in their trust, even as they eye her with a new fear and wariness. How fragile might be her sanity, after all? Who knows how Tyrion gets there, but he’s the master of survival, and there he is—there to greet her as she climbs off Drogon. Some such line does she manage, still lost to her own grief and emptiness, still reeling from the horror of her potential for destruction. There, standing regal despite her haggard appearance as any of her men, amid the wind-swept ashes of The Red Keeps innards, she says something about, “I came once, claiming I would not be Queen of the Ashes. Now, there are only ashes left to rule. I finished what the Night King began. Now it is done. And still, I will not be Queen of the Ashes.” Yadayada, she’s unworthy to rule, afraid of her excesses of anger that can border on insanity, afraid of the power that feeds her ambitions, and tempts destruction over mercy. The men about her are left in confusion, some speechless, some protesting, and some in agreement. When silence finally falls, Dany mentions Jon’s heritage, which, till then hadn’t been revealed (as it so stupidly was in yet another wasted plot device)—the truth that he was “the true heir to the Iron Throne. It’s not mine,” she speaks the words, hearing them to her own amazement, and knowing they are completely true. “It’s not mine. It was never mine, and now, I don’t want it.” It’s Jorah who provides his gentle wisdom amid the astonishment of the other men, who reminds her “the wheel is shattered. And the world is broken, Khaleesi.” It’s that title that reminds her of her earliest days, theclong journey played out to this moment. Loss, love, sacrifice, and dreams. “We need a leader, this land needs a leader. Your people, now of Westeros, need a leader. And it’s now, more than any other moment in your life, when you can decide what kind of ruler you would become. You are more than the blood running your veins. I’ve always believed, or I would not have suffered for you to this hour.” Moment of pondering, the struggle of doubt and a restoring confidence alive in Dany’s eyes, when she looks to the throne, charred but standing despite all the destruction around them. Jon’s blood, dried now, soaked into the cracks between the splinters comprising the seat. NOW, we can have Drogon fry the thing to a melted mass of ore and bone, at her order. And NOW, we can have her, in the best Danearys tone of command as only she can utter, “Now, we shall begin,” her eyes compelling each of the men to beat weapon to stone, announcing her victory, their allegience, as dawn breaks across the harbor to the fleet in the distance. —Cue: some kind of season passage scene, winter, snows falling, the members of various houses returning to their holdings, most time spent on the Starks, taking in the ravaging left by the Army of the Dead. Burying those who died, followed by Gradual returning of people too, into villages, repopulating deserted farms, ships from East to West, as Dany still holds Esteros too, provisionally, gradually filling dockside storehouses, commerce once more bringing life and goods along with repairs mending the capital, and the lands spanning all directions. And Dany, concluding a council, replete with Sansa as the representative of the North, along with the nobles of the other houses, and kingdoms besides, serving the privy council—or, maybe it’s Bran serving on Dany’s council, he’d be a better advisor anyway, leaving Sansa to actually rule the North, as she deserves (the ladies having found some balance betwen each other, of respect and mutual admiration; though, they’ll never be friends. Sansa still blames Dany for Jon’s death, knowing the blame is without substance...the Hound serves her, devoted to his Little Bird for the rest of his live-long day’s...knowing she’s no longer a little bird, but a grown woman, sharp and fierce as hawk, and fair in her ruling besides...). The Ladies rule the Iron Islands, as well as Dorn (one of the Sandsnakes survives??); thus, the symbolism of the Ladies healing the land, whilst there are still many of the other houses, in other territories retaining the traditional male authorities of the noble classes. But the world is changing, and there too many gone to be fussy on the appropriateness of a woman or man succeeding to a place of authority, in business, in government, or in profession—the Maesters accepting woman amongst their ranks for the first time... And like the great void of population that followed the Plague of the 1300s, an event that had a far greater prescience in heralding the early modern world, and social/economic transitions that reverberated across Europe and Asia in the following centuries of the Renaissance, we see Westeros establishing fertile seeds of cultural change...just hints, nothing that can be explored too fully b/c...last episode. But it’s poignant, and hopeful, and elegiac all at once. Who knows, maybe a couple of years are suggested inthose scenes, up to Dany rising from the council table, concluding the meeting with her advisors of office. Exiting, a servant finds her out in a courtyard, and hands a child off to her, a blonde haired little boy, round about 2 or 3, with dark, somber eyes, bringing a smile, a soft endearment to Dany’s lips, as she kisses her son. Call him Aegon; call him Jon. Call him whatever you want...I know, it’s a bow to sentimentality, but honestly, it fits better than pyscho-bitch Dany-turn tyrant Dany-turn *look-another woman dies by Jon Snow’s circumstantial inaction*...(bye, Egrit, it was nice knowin’ ya...). They walk up to the Red Keep; Doh, who am I kidding, they fly over, mounted on Drogon. The palace, and that chamber were never restored, but left as a monument to the Old World, and commemoration of great sacrifice for those who died in the battle for Westeros. The melted core of the Iron Throne stands as witness to future, and memorial to the past. Dany pauses with her son, winter still locked about the land, but signs of spring peeking through, a dazzle of ice and falling snow and sun. Green things unfurling hesitantly from cracks in the pavement of stairs and fallen masonry. And upon the melted heap of that once powerful symbol, a blue frost rose buds from the charred rock...Dany’s hand hovering over it, tending it, and Jenny’s Song crooning in the background with the closing scene... There, I feel better now. THIS is how, or something how, justice might have been served to blot our the memory of sophomoric scripting and elementary storytelling, for a series that held our hearts and minds for 8 seasons going. It’s flawed, I know, and undoubtedly *Archive of Our Own* will be thriving with amateur authors who will prove themselves far more de opted to fleshing our pacing, plots, and subplots for far more satisfying conclusions than what last night treated us to... My GeekGrrl/FsnGrrl is done wrung our now, and must return to her regularly scheduled programming of Late 2nd Century Sarmatisns, Artorius Castus, as well as Post-Roman Britain and a Uthyr and Guinevra who become something of social reformers building the way for the AngloSaxon kingdoms ultimately shaping the fragments of Celtic Britain into the powerful kingdoms of Northumbria (the Star of the North as they called it in its heyday through the 7th into the 8th Century), and later Mercia and Wessex...

#Game of Thrones #Jonerys #YouTube Challenge

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