#*:･ﾟ✧ POSSESSION GOES BOTH WAYS. ( v. canon. )

[swordgrace]

𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐍𝐎𝐖.

⠀ཾ༵ 𑁍┆ cregan stark x fem!healer!reader.

SYNOPSIS: serving as a healer on the frontlines of a war that is tearing the realm apart, you come to tend the wounds of the warden of the north. inspired by robb & talisa’s relationship.

anonymous request.

{ FORMAT: one-shot — requested by anonymous.

{ WORD COUNT: 8.2K.

{ WARNINGS: SMUT (mdni), fic is inspired by robb & talisa’s relationship, description of wounds/injuries, mentions of violence & war, canon-typical misogyny (cregan goes to the northern school of feminism), heavy mutual pining, both cregan and reader have experience, p in v sex, unprotected sex, all stark men have a breeding kink, size kink (cregan is much taller/bigger than reader), fingering (fem!rec), biting, breast play, hair-pulling, rain-soaked cregan, bed/cot breaking, lotus position, riding/cowgirl, gentle-ish sex, soft ending + aftercare

{ AUTHOR’S NOTE: Back with another Cregan fic! I absolutely love writing for him & this request was so perfect. This is taking place during the wars (HOTD S3). Thank you guys so much for your continued support and kindness, it means a ton to me! I hope you all enjoy! ❤️

𝐖𝐚𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐦 — 𝐧𝐞𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐢𝐝 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡.

Yet, as he lay in his tent, feeling the bitter sting of what pain could bring, face-to-face with carnage, he felt some semblance of fear. It was the only time that a man could ever be brave, in the face of such strife. The Riverlands were occupied by Ser Criston Cole for some time, and in the name of the true Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, Cregan Stark aimed to reclaim it.

The road to the Riverlands had been a lengthy one, hard on his force of Winter Wolves, greybeards that itched for combat. They were met with resistance at every turn after crossing the Twins, yet they endured, still a force of nearly two-thousand men.

More were on their way from the North, bannermen of all ilk and family called to-arms at Winterfell, to ride North and join his forces in the Riverlands. Despite his youthful age of one-and-twenty, Cregan was a fierce and proficient fighter, better than a great deal of the men under his command.

Struck by a stray arrow and slashed with a blade, he bared his injuries incredibly well — better than most. Cregan’s stalwart, hardened exterior served him well, never giving way to the pain he felt beneath. The arrow had gone clean through, thankfully. Much of his recovery was simply bandages and time.

He chafed at the notion of being bound to his tent for days on-end — he wanted to be with his men, helming any attacks, leading them to victory. He was useless here, abdomen wrapped in soiled bandages, laid-up and no good to anyone.

The healers who passed through all possessed older, wrinkled faces — men who had seen countless wars, perhaps thrice his age, acclaimed in talent and skill with the art of mending wounds and sewing bone together.

Imagine Cregan’s bewilderment when a young woman entered his tent one dismal morning.

You couldn’t have been much younger than him, clad in a tattered, coarse dress with a hem steeped in mud, white apron sullied with countless stains. Much of the cruor on your garments wasn’t your own, the blood of Stark men, men from White Harbor.

“Good morrow, Lord Stark.” The songbird’s lull of your voice had made him unusually calm, as if able to quell the growing tide of irritation he’d felt with his inaction. You brought with you a basket of supplies, tools of the trade that you had to scrounge around to get.

Men never looked upon a woman-healer with interest or a desire to teach — much of what you knew was from your own mother, or things you’d observed and taught yourself from piles of books at your disposal. Though, you found yourself excelling within your area of expertise.

Perplexed, Cregan watched you hawkishly, sluggishly sitting up from his bed of furs, a low grunt escaping him in the process. “My Lady,” He greeted with a nod of his head, muscles aching and sore from the clashes and skirmishes, coupled with time spent on the road. “You are a new face.”

Part of you wondered if he would take offense, given that you were a lady, but you decided not to address it. “I certainly hope that it isn’t a disappointment,” You mused, placing your supplies down at his bedside. “Other hands were needed elsewhere.”

He wasn’t disappointed in the slightest.

Cregan found you to be breathtakingly beautiful — it took one stolen glance for him to discern that. Your very presence seemed to flourish with warmth and amiability. It was a welcome change from the old men who poked and prodded at him, and he wouldn’t complain about being in the presence of someone his own age.

With a huff, he shook his head, wisps of chestnut tresses framing his visage. “Not at all,” He murmured, studying you with a thinly-veiled intrigue. “A welcome change.” Cregan replied, catching your amiable smile, as warm and as bright as the first inkling of springtime.

You had seen Cregan only in-passing, brief moments where you spotted the young Lord atop his dark steed, or stomping through muddied encampments alongside his soldiers. Now, up-close, you realized how young he really looked, with a youthful, babyish visage that did not match his stony expression or wisened, gray eyes.

“You say that now, but you’ll have to get used to me first, my Lord.” You mused, reaching for the first wrap of his soiled bandages. It was easier to make small-talk in the midst of situations like these — it often eased your nerves, gave you something else to think about.

Cregan moved his arms just enough, allowing you to unravel the crimson-crusted bandages. There was some momentary relief, without the scratching and irritation of coarse linen, wounds exposed to the lick of fresh air.

A steady exhale escaped him, and he watched as you discarded the bandages, fetching more from your basket, coupled with some strange poultice in a jar. He did not recall his former caretakers ever giving him something like that, and he refused Milk of the Poppy.

“How long have you had an interest in this?” Cregan inquired, genuinely interested in what led you down such a path. It wasn’t commonplace for a woman of your station, not in the slightest. He would never discourage it, but he was itching to know.

As you wrung out a cloth of hot water, you brought it to his left shoulder, thick and burly with muscle, gingerly swiping over the wound to clean it. “Many years,” You hummed, brows furrowing together in concentration. “My father didn’t like it, but I learned what I could from others.”

Cregan was the stoic sort, an indomitable mountain of a man who appeared so rugged and indifferent, yet he possessed a gentle hand and heart when away from wandering eyes. He listened attentively, soothed by the tenderness in your touch.

Becoming a Maester was something you’d desired in your youth, yet the Citadel never allowed for women to study and attain the position. You were left to your own devices, a life of healing and service to those who needed it most, and you were content with that. You would forge your own Maester’s Chain.

You then pressed the cloth against the still-swollen gash from the sword across his abdomen, the flesh around it somewhat angry and reddened. “You took quite a beating. I have no desire to see who was on the other end of your blade.”

A soft huff escaped him as he rolled his shoulders, dwarfing you completely in size and stature. Even for a man of his youth, he seemed imposing, larger than plenty of young men his age. “Best not to dwell on it,” He grunted, stormy hues following you wherever you went. “You are not a Northerner.”

The lack of a Northern accent gave it away, but you also spoke properly and eloquently, as if you had been raised somewhere with plenty of civility. “The Stormlands — I am from Bronzegate.” You replied, which happened to earn you a very threadbare smile from Lord Stark.

“A Southerner, then,” A twinge of amusement seemed interwoven with his gruff, husky timbre, a voice that you were rather charmed by. He was mesmerizing to listen to, Northern dialect and deeper voice marked by a stalwart calm. “What are you doing here?”

As you cleaned away the sluggish ooze of cruor, you ensured that his wounds were free of dirt or dried blood, inspecting them for infection. “Finding my way in the world,” You confessed, reaching for the jar of herbal poultice, a salve that you had made yourself. “As we all are.”

Cregan could respect your honesty and earnestness in knowing that you didn’t know what you were doing with your life — sometimes, he didn’t know, either. It was easy to forget oneself when tasked with the charge of leadership, easy to allow it to become a burden instead of a challenge.

Dipping your fingertips into the salve, you gently spread it across the wound on his shoulder, the strange concoction icy against his hot flesh. “What is that?” He questioned, the unusual smell of it stinging his nostrils. Whatever it was, it felt incredible.

“A salve that I made,” You chimed, clicking your tongue as you concentrated on spreading it thin, layering it across his skin. “It’s not something conventional. I exchanged certain herbs for others, and added something of my own. It takes the sting away, numbs the flesh around the wound.”

It did take the sting away, as you said, and soothed his wound at the same time. Cregan admired your ingenuity, charmed and ensnared by you. He hadn’t expected to enjoy your company as much as he was, which was always enough to draw some concern.

A union formed out of wedlock was a dangerous one, but these were perilous times, in the midst of war. He was bound to no one — he had no one. Gray hues silently appraised you, and whenever you got close enough, he could feel your sweet breath upon his flesh, smell the faint aroma of wildflowers and a dab of honey.

“If you are willing, I’d like to have your ingredients. It would be worthwhile for the rest of the healers to craft it, too. Do not waste it all on me.” Cregan rumbled, a soft sigh of relief escaping him as you spread the poultice all along the gash across his abdomen.

The instantaneous relief he felt made him relax, the tension unfurling within his shoulders. Once the salve began to dry just slightly, you took to bandaging him again, nearly chest-to-chest with him when you wrapped the linen around his torso.

Cregan’s jaw tensed, muscles tightening whenever you pressed closer, even if the action was a necessity. You felt the onslaught of warmth creep into your features, goosebumps cascading down your spine with the intensity of his gaze.

You happened to meet his smoldering stare for just a moment, butterflies swelling within the pit of your stomach, followed by a rush of heat that seeped into your very bones. “I will provide you with the list tomorrow.” You murmured, finishing wrapping up his wound.

The arrow puncture on his shoulder was something that you covered in a few layers of sturdier medicinal cloth, before wrapping it once to keep it stable. You had backed away slightly, the close proximity having made your nerves spark to life.

It was a warmth and intimacy that you hadn’t touched before, unfamiliar yet wild with curiosity. Perhaps you had a tryst with a young man back in Bronzegate, but never to this degree of intensity. Cregan gazed at you as if you were the only one to exist.

“I am finished here,” That was enough to shatter Cregan’s incendiary look, the heat dissipating from his gray hues. His visage resumed that stone-faced look, and he suddenly remembered himself and the bonds of propriety. “I will visit tomorrow with your list, if that’s all you need from me.”

He noticed how you straightened, posture somewhat rigid, fingertips stained in dried blood and cruor. You retrieved what supplies you had, placing them all back into your basket before you curtsied, as a Lady would before a Lord.

“You do not have to bow, my Lady,” Cregan assured, standing to his feet with a strenuous grunt. He was massive even when sitting before you, but seeing him upright and so close — Gods take you for the things you began to ponder and imagine. “I am grateful for your aid in these dour times.”

Cregan was as stubborn as an old mule, despite being so young. Rarely did he accept help from other people, preferring to do it all himself and be the guiding example, but this was something he was not practiced at.

“It is my duty, my Lord. It is a responsibility that I share for yourself, and for your soldiers. I pray that the Gods will usher you into a swift recovery, and victory.” That smile — Gods, you had a beautiful smile. It could melt even the hardiest of ice, bring exuberance and joy to those who had none. “I should take my leave.”

“Of course,” Cregan bowed his head, timbre gentle and akin to the roll of thunder before an encroaching thunderstorm. He retrieved his tunic from the foot of his bed, and before you could disappear from the tent, he cleared his throat. “What is your name, my Lady?”

You smiled, gaze dancing with a twinge of mischief and amusement as you chewed at the inside of your cheek. Lingering within the entryway of his tent, you took one, deliberate step backwards.

“I suppose you’ll have to learn that tomorrow.”

Sitting idly by while a war raged nearby had soured Cregan’s mood exponentially.

He had stared at the canvas canopy of his tent for so long that he began to lose count of the hours. It was only when his second-in-command harkened him to the war table, that he obeyed.

Green forces had stationed a battalion at The Trident, and the rest were attempting to seize Harrenhal from Daemon Targaryen and his Rivermen. Cregan intended on cutting off the battalion, ripping them out root and stem, effectively carving away a portion of Cole’s forces.

War was an ugly thing — killing a man never pleased him as it did some, but it was an unfortunate necessity. Ensuring that Rhaenyra Targaryen took her place upon the Iron Throne was paramount, an oath he forged with her son, Jacaerys Velaryon.

Cregan covered his wounds with his tunic and a fur cloak, knowing that the weight of armor would only hinder his recovery, and he needed to be prepared for what was to come. He spoke strategy with Lord Roderick Dustin of Barrowton, before taking his leave.

You happened to occupy his thoughts — a girl from Bronzegate, with a rosy, heartening smile and a demure nature, tending to his wounded men. Not a moment passed from last eve to now, an afternoon marked by grim, gray storm clouds, that he hadn’t thought of you.

It was improper, perhaps, to think so fondly of a young maiden out of wedlock, one he barely knew, but he couldn’t help himself. He was drawn to you — and he had a feeling that you felt the same, a mutual sentiment.

The massive tent erected for those wounded in battle was marked by an ivory canvas and the hurried pace of healers floating in and out. Cregan knew where to find you, and he had learned of your name from several of his bannermen.

He spotted you outside, washing your hands free of crimson, the ends of your sleeves just as tattered and wrought with blood that didn’t belong to you. Your tresses were pulled into a braid to avoid interference with your work, brow creased in concentration.

“My Lady.” He greeted you with that familiar timbre, husky and gallant. There was a warmth that radiated from him, both in his tone and physically, that enveloped you whenever you were in his presence. He was a man of few words, but you made up for it.

Surprise settled into your features as you regarded him with mild bewilderment. You weren’t expecting him to seek you out. “My Lord,” You exhaled, bowing your head in reverence as you wiped the blood from your hands with a rag. “What are you doing out of bed?”

Cregan enjoyed your concern, staving off a threadbare smile before he shrugged, wisps of chestnut tresses fluttering with the breeze. The air smelled of rain, an approaching deluge. “You never said that I had to stay.” He stated, looking towards your hands.

A huff of laughter escaped you, hands mostly free of any blood, your knuckles bruised and bearing some scrapes. “Are you feeling well enough?” You asked, head canting to one side. There was a quell in the battle for now, allowing you time to recuperate.

“I have been for some time,” Cregan sighed, brows furrowing together. “Old men wished for me to stay abed, and I heeded them, until now.” Two wounds wouldn’t stop him — there was something powerful about him, a determination to continue even in the face of agony or strife.

You couldn’t help but smile in spite of his stubbornness — you wondered how his men dealt with him. Many soldiers and bannermen that you had conversed with praised Cregan, with nothing but honorable things to say about him. He was regarded as stoical and resigned, patient and pragmatic.

“Let me have a look. It’s the least that I can do, considering you made the trek here.” You motioned for him to follow you, sweeping the canvas aside as you beckoned him into the wounded tent. There were scores of men in worse states than he — some of them brushing close to death.

Cregan stepped behind you like a massive wall of stone, a mountain of a man, his shadow casting itself over you. Some of the healers seemed surprised with his coming here, a handful being familiar faces that had tended to him when he was first wounded.

The space in which you operated was a great deal smaller, yet tidy and orderly. He sat down with a grunt atop the cot you gestured to, shrugging off his fur cloak. Part of him felt strange for being here, considering the grievous state of some of the men.

A roll of parchment lay atop your footlocker, a lengthy list of ingredients used in your medicinal salve, the one that Cregan had requested yesterday. He watched you scurry about, fetching fresh bandages and your mysterious poultice that seemed to do him a world of good.

Some of the healers looked upon you with thinly-veiled disdain and scrutiny, eyes of wizened men who believed themselves to be better than you. A woman doing such gruesome work wasn’t exactly proper.

“Your tunic,” You murmured, averting your gaze away from Cregan’s body as he removed the smoky-blue garment, revealing his herculean musculature. The more you studied Lord Stark, the more enamored you became — he was handsome and well-spoken. Stubborn, perhaps, but most Northerners were. “Thank you.”

Cregan thoroughly enjoyed watching you work — it was a captivating thing to behold, the way you navigated a wound with such care and precision. Your hands were disarmingly gentle as you shifted the linen wrappings away, exposing his shoulder to the brisk afternoon air.

The pain had certainly diminished, moreso in his shoulder than his abdomen. In usual silence, Cregan studied you closely, storm-colored hues appraising you, committing every detail to memory. There was something breathtaking about you, a magnetizing pull that drew him in, kept him enthralled.

He reveled in the sensation of your fingertips tracing around his wound, feather-light and delicate, leaving behind a trail of fire in your wake. “It’s healed wonderfully,” You murmured, brows furrowing together as you applied a dab of honey, a natural antiseptic. You placed the bandage back over it. “How does it feel?”

“Acceptable.” He grunted, though his tone seemed somewhat warped with amusement. Your lips twitched into a brief frown, as if he wasn’t telling the whole truth. “I am well enough. You needn’t worry, my Lady.” Cregan assured, resting his thick forearms atop his thighs.

A soft sigh left you as you circled around him, coming to stand before him with a tender expression. Your countenance still seemed furrowed with concern, but he neglected to comment on it.

Peeling away the linen bandages that clung to his abdomen, the angry-red swelling had nearly dissipated, and the gash remained, still healing. “The salve seems to have helped,” You fought hard to ignore the closeness between yourself and Cregan, mere breaths apart. “The swelling has gone down.”

The scent of your warm breath fanned across his visage, basking him in your saccharine smell. Even if your garments were well-worn and speckled in gore, he could still detect the aroma of wildflowers on you.

“You have my gratitude, my Lady.” Cregan uttered, a valiant attempt to relieve some of the lingering tension. It was something he rarely, if ever, experienced with a woman — especially one such as yourself.

“You know my name already, Lord Stark. You do not have to continue to refer to me as a Lady,” A twinkle of amusement lingered within your eyes, knowing that his bannermen had shared your name with him. “I am not of noble birth, I’m afraid.”

Cregan huffed, and he realized that you were clever. The wit and fiery spirit leapt out from you on occasion, and this happened to be one of them. “Honor and good pleasantries demand that I continue to refer to you as a Lady.” He replied, tender and deep, like the shaking of a mountain.

With an amiable smile, you changed the bandages around Cregan’s torso, applying your salve before discarding the old ones. “Don’t,” You chimed, tone softening to the lull of a songbird. “Call me by my name.” You stood, wiping your hands against a swath of clean cloth.

A low, rumbling ‘hm’ escaped the man, whose chestnut brows furrowed together as he ogled you — shamelessly, this time. There was a fond playfulness laced within your banter, something that Cregan wasn’t entirely accustomed to. “Cregan.” He insisted, establishing a firm foundation for your blossoming relationship.

“Cregan.” You repeated, his name sounding sickeningly sweet from your Southern tongue. The young Lord moved to tug his tunic back on over his hulking frame, musculature working in such wondrous ways. It was difficult to tame your wandering eye, heat crawling along your spine.

Ripping yourself from your trance, you busied yourself with something else. “The salve ingredients that you requested, I made a list.” You stepped towards the footlocker, retrieving the scroll of parchment as you offered it to him. “I hope that it will do some good.”

After having placed his thick cloak over his shoulders, Cregan grunted, the vibration spreading throughout his chest as he accepted the list. “This is noble of you,” He murmured, turning it over within his roughened hand. “The men here owe you their gratitude — as do I.”

Dismissive of his praise, you remained humble, politely curtsying before Lord Stark. “It is my duty, that is all. I will continue on for as long as I am able.” You didn’t like being thanked for healing — it was a passion that you chased after, a job that brought you joy.

“If there is anything that I can do for you as Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, name it — it will be done.” Cregan nodded, countenance bristling with a burning affection, one that wasn’t concealed in the slightest. Despite his stalwart demeanor, he made his fondness of you known.

A delicate hum escaped you, but nothing of importance came to mind. You didn’t want to make any demands of him, especially given the circumstances — he had little time to cater to a healer when war loomed overhead.

“If you insist, I would ask for a suitable stationary set,” Simplistic and curious, something uncommonly asked for. Writing was something you had no part in, but illustrations — that was a different story. “Do not toil over it, my Lo — Cregan. Your generosity is kind enough.”

Cregan nodded, taking it into consideration. “I will not toil over it,” He replied, peering over his shoulder toward a pack of healers. There were plenty of wounded men that required your attention more than he. “Consider it done. I will leave you to your work.”

You bowed again out of common courtesy, hands folded together as you offered Cregan another warm smile. “Of course. Should your recovery change course, please do not hesitate to return. I wish you good fortune in the battles to come.”

“Until next we meet.”

Bellflower flourished in moss-laden groves around the forks of the Trident, petals ranging from ivory to shades of cerulean and a light lilac. It grew in clutches, its blooms spherical and pleasing to the eye. Despite the deluge plaguing the Winter Wolves at every step, it seemed to slow Cole’s army down exponentially, too.

As dusk fell in a dark, cloudy gloom across the encampment, Cregan carried a bound bundle of bellflower in his hands, to be given to one person in particular.

It had only been two days since your last meeting in the healer’s tent, his wounds on the mend, no longer weighed down with bandages. The stationary you requested had been brought to your tent sometime the next day, after you had addressed it with Cregan.

It was intended to be a gesture of gratitude, something that he knew you would find favor in, but it was easily passable as a rite of courtship. The constant prodding of a marriage proposal was always at the fringes of Cregan’s mind — it was his duty to marry, and he had prolonged the process as much as he could.

With war tearing the realm apart, there was little time to consider a marriage — but a relationship, perhaps a budding bond, that was something he could make time for. Even in his duties as the Warden of the North, a champion for Queen Rhaenyra, there would be a lull, a calm in the storm.

Your tent wasn’t a far trek from the healer’s tent, smaller and humble compared to his own. It didn’t seem fair, given your importance and what you had contributed to their cause, but he didn’t dwell on it — not now, anyway.

To see the ferocious, stoic Cregan Stark carrying a bundle of flowers that seemed minuscule within his grasp was a most peculiar sight. His fur trappings and leather-and-chainmail bore the motif of the Direwolf, the sigil of House Stark, making him seem larger than he already was. His ancestral longsword, Ice, remained slung across his broad shoulders.

The glitter of candlelight cut through the dismal haze of rainfall around him, its orange glow pooling from your tent, closed-off for privacy. Through the sliver of canvas, Cregan could see you, hunched over your chair, moving a quill across parchment. You wore your hair down this time, visage framed by wisps of your tresses, brow creased in concentration.

Cregan stepped forward, announcing his presence with a noisy clearing of his throat. “My Lady,” He rumbled, standing just outside of your tent, chestnut tresses sticking to his skull from the deluge. “If I might have a moment of your time.”

Your surprise was palpable as you flung open your tent, with Cregan Stark standing before you, soaked to the bone and entirely unphased. Your gaze fell to the bouquet of bellflowers in his hand, features becoming hot almost immediately.

“Cregan,” You stepped aside to usher him in, getting him out of the storm. “I apologize if you attempted to summon me, I’ve been preoccupied.” Preoccupied with the wrong things, perhaps, but you felt horrible that he had walked all this way in a torrential downpour.

“An apology isn’t necessary,” Cregan assured, so tall and mountainous that he seemed to consume much of the space in your tent, scalp scraping the canvas above. “I merely wanted to extend my gratitude, for your diligence and steadfastness in my recovery.” He murmured.

Your lodgings were quite humble, your bed nothing more than a cot lined in fur blankets, pillows stuffed with linens to make it bearable. The rickety wooden chairs were ones you’d borrowed — it served as a place to draw, a series of candles sitting along your footlocker. The ground below was covered in layers of canvas and fur — perhaps more comfortable than the cot itself.

You offered him a polite smile, though the air seemed charged with more than just friendliness. “You’ve already extended your gratitude, my Lord. You needn’t do it again,” You replied, heart thrumming within your chest. “You are soaked to the bone. Why don’t you warm yourself?”

Cregan was plenty warm, his own metaphorical sun, blood running exceptionally hot — especially this evening. “There is no need,” He rumbled, jaw somewhat tense as he extended the bouquet of bellflowers to you, bound together with a thick cord. “Blooming along the Trident. I thought of you.”

Thought of you — did he do that often?

Gods, did you think of him — you thought of him at each waking moment, torturing yourself over him, the Lord of Winterfell. There were nights where you fantasized about him in such sinful ways that it left you gasping for air. It made your belly stir with butterflies, heat simmering across your flesh.

“These are beautiful,” Touched by such a simple gesture, you accepted the bouquet from him, moving to place it inside of a tall flask that once held one of your salves. Its mauve petals added a flair of color. “Thank you, Cregan.” Your voice was soft, barely above a whisper.

Every man in this dreadful encampment paled in comparison to Cregan Stark, who gazed down at you with such intensity that you feared you would melt away. Your breath hitched within your throat when he stepped closer — involuntary or not, you sorely yearned for the closeness.

Droplets of water rolled from his temples, chestnut tresses sticking to his forehead, garb damp from the rain. He smelled of the woodlands — pine and petrichor, intermingled with that of a natural musk. Those gray hues of his raked over you, drinking you in with a thinly-veiled rapture.

“There are other ways to express your gratitude.”

Your mouth moved before your mind could tell you to cease — speaking to your Lord in such an uncouth manner was grounds for trouble. You hadn’t fully realized the salacious implications of your statement until it sank in, and you became nervous. Before you could apologize, Cregan stopped you.

“Why do you think I came all this way, my Lady?” He rumbled, lifting his hand to cup your face, palm nearly engulfing half of your visage. Gods, you were beautiful — nothing short of perfection in his eyes. The bulk of his arm hesitantly reached out to circle around you, drawing you closer into his embrace.

That wasn’t the only reason — Cregan’s fondness of you had manifested into something uncontrollable, and you shared the same sentiment. Your feelings were now just as raging as his own, like a wildfire spreading across a forest, unchecked and unchallenged.

“Aren’t you cold?” You whispered, brought into the warm expanse of his chest, broad and taut with muscle. Even through his armor, you knew that he was indomitable. Though, for all of his physical intimidation and mesomorphic might, he was disarmingly gentle, this mountain of a man.

“No,” The husky timbre of his voice made goosebumps dance along your spine, causing you to shiver. “Not anymore.” He murmured, gaze silently asking to kiss you. He did not move, didn’t intend on acting until you decided to let sentiments flow freely.

It was you that kissed him first, seeking his lips with a desperation that rattled even you. Cregan didn’t hide his mutual desire, brows furrowing together as he reciprocated your kiss, using the leverage of his arm to lift you closer.

His lips were rough, icy from being in the damp outdoors, visage slick from the rainfall. It was a stark contrast to the softness of your mouth, pliant and plush against him, your body curvaceous and perfect within his grasp. He felt your palms press against his chest, drifting towards the nape of his neck.

Rain-soaked tresses glided through your fingers, curling inward to grip and pull, kissing him with such dizzying passion. In the slim space of your lodgings, with rain pounding above, it provided a gentle ambiance that only provided to the charged atmosphere.

Your hands shifted toward the clasps of his thick cloak, hesitating as you pulled away, looking to him for approval. If it weren’t for the many layers he needed to remove, you would’ve shed your dress already.

“Is this what you want?” Cregan needed your consent and assurance before continuing on, thumb drawing circles into your hip as he held you close. His voice had dropped to a near-growl, husky and thick with desire. It only served to stoke the growing fire between the both of you, cracking with a mutual need.

You nodded, nearly rendered breathless. “Yes,” Barely above a whisper, you felt his hands settle over yours, unclasping the metallic direwolves that loosened his cloak. It was all damp and soggy from the rain, and it felt good to be rid of it. “I need you.” You murmured, voice pitched with lust.

Cregan didn’t hesitate, hands unfastening his armor, buckle by buckle, piece by piece. Your hands sometimes joined in on occasion, loosening a strap or helping to take it off altogether. You didn’t move away, allowing each item to join the growing pile until he was left in his smallclothes.

He gently reached for the nape of your neck, massive palm caressing into the base of your skull, tracing along your silky flesh as he brought you in for a kiss. Even without his armor, Cregan was impossibly large, with a bulk and stature that dwarfed your own.

His mouth moved in-tandem with yours, each kiss blistering with passion, an eagerness that never exceeded into something rough. There was a domineering undertone to his actions, but never anything that would hurt you or scare you off.

Northern perfection, an immaculate wall of strength and muscle, yet so gentle — it rattled you to your core in the best possible way, filling your belly with molten heat. You kissed him fervently, until he stopped to kiss along your jaw, roughened lips finding the silky column of your neck.

The coarse, cloth ties that gathered at the small of your back became unraveled by you, loosening the periwinkle-colored garment until it sagged upon your body. You let it drop, your plain dress pooling to the ground in a heap of wrinkled fabric. You nudged it aside, letting it join Cregan’s armor.

Gray hues flickered across your naked flesh, beautiful beyond compare, a woman’s body that possessed the loveliest of curves. Cregan was swift to lower his hands, smoothing them across your sides, and then to your hips, shamelessly grabbing greedy handfuls of your derrière.

“I’ve never seen a beauty like yours before.” Cregan rumbled, mouth pressing soft kisses all along your neck, and then to the hollow of your throat. His calloused palms caressed everywhere they could, savoring the sensation of your velveteen skin.

You shivered at his reverent touch, lips parting as a soft gasp escaped you. Your hands held his biceps, thick and taut beneath your fingertips as a warm slick continued to mount between your legs. He hitched one of your legs around him, keeping you steady.

As he continued to savor your throat, mouth dragging from your neck to collarbone, his available hand stroked along your belly, tracing a path toward the heat between your thighs. Cregan searched for signs of hesitation or protest, but found none, thick fingers sluggishly slipping against your core.

“Cregan,” You gasped, a sharp inhale escaping you as you desperately held onto him, clinging on like a drowning woman as he toyed with your cunt. He deftly pushed past your folds, digits tracing along your slit in rhythmic motions, exploring your body. “Gods, don’t stop.” You pleaded, face pressing near his shoulder.

Teeth scraped along your throat, gently biting at your sensitive flesh as his digits found a steady rhythm. With two fingers stroking along your cunt, his thumb moved to nudge against your clit, circling around the sensitive clutch of nerves. He was silent, save for the rumbling sounds of his grunts.

Gently coaxing you towards your cot, Cregan didn’t stop to think about how feeble it was for two people. Nevertheless, he sat beside you, wood groaning and splintering in protest to the sudden amount of weight it bore. Sitting atop the furs, he collected you into his lap, slotting you against his thigh.

Tangling your hands into the hem of his tunic, you managed to maneuver it off with his assistance, all wisps of air stolen from your lungs at the sight of him. Seeing him in this light, full of desire with candlelight dancing across his skin, he was wonderfully handsome.

One palm cupped your hips, holding you close as his fingers resumed their previous ministrations, thumb seeking your clit. He touched you with such fervent passion, mouth clamoring for yours, lips unable to tear themselves away.

Each kiss left you gasping and heaving, wanting more of him, all that he could give. Your hands sought to drape themselves over his broad shoulders, threading into his damp tresses as you rocked yourself into his hand. The friction it created was delicious, a raging heat that crawled all over your body.

Thunder split the skies outside, rain coming down in a noisy deluge that pounded against the durable canvas of your tent. Cregan shifted backwards, the cot continuing to groan and creak beneath his bulk, threatening to snap into two if your ministrations continued.

You felt along the corded muscle of his shoulders, his skin unusually soft beneath your palms. With the relentless appetite of a wolf, Cregan kissed you again, pulling away just enough to kiss your collarbone instead. Thick digits continued to nudge against your cunt, threatening to push their way inside of you.

At a slow pace, he eased two fingers inside of you, stretching you just enough for it to be quite pleasurable. A whine of delight tore from your mouth, head rolling back enough for him to have unobstructed access. Teeth nipped at your collarbone, providing a sharp sting that flourished across your body.

He was gentle yet vigorous, digits sluggishly pumping themselves in and out of your tight cunt, thumb providing a burst of stimulation against your clit. Your warm, sweet breath fanned over him, mouth agape as a series of excitable pants escaped you.

Planting hot kisses just above your breasts, Cregan’s rough palm caressed from the swell of your hip to your chest, full and perfect, kneading into your breast. The entirety of your body felt so soft — like a plane of velvet, unblemished and left in some state of perfection.

Rocking yourself into his hand, a myriad of needy whimpers left you in droves, ones that occasionally tapered off into wanton moans, others left hushed. Cregan’s chest blossomed with a stoic grunt, the vibrations of it rattling you to your core.

“Cregan,” A fleeting sigh of passion escaped you, breathless and wanting, caught within a tempest of desire and carnality. Your digits touched him wherever you could, from the bulk of his shoulders to his biceps, thick and taut, and his face. “Gods, I need you.” You moaned, coaxing him in for a kiss.

Such a sentiment was mutual — Cregan did not know what depths of want he was capable of, and the carnal need he developed for you was intense. Though, it had also manifested into something else, transcending into affection and ardor.

He did not want to be parted from you after this.

His rough lips molded themselves to yours, kissing you desperately, until he stole every wisp of air from your lungs. He occasionally scraped his teeth across your lower lip, digits still working their way in and out of you, continuing to palm at your breasts.

Between the stimulation of his mouth and digits, you were already worked up, tangled within a web of desire as the cot groaned in protest again — and then snapped.

Only one of the wooden frames suffered damage, and Cregan was quick to shield you from harm, if there was any harm to begin with. He simply sagged further into the canvas, a look of mild amusement rising to his features. “The ground, then.” He rumbled, and you began to giggle, nose crinkling from the awkwardness of it all.

“I could’ve warned you,” You mused, affection dancing within your fond gaze as you kissed his jaw. “It would not survive with your muscles sitting atop it.” Cregan found it difficult not to smile, the gesture faint yet prevalent as he stroked along your spine.

“I will have it replaced.” Cregan grumbled, but you didn’t care in the slightest, the both of you relocating to the sprawling floor of thick, layered furs. It was arguably more comfortable than your cot would’ve been anyway. Drawing you back into his lap, he touched you everywhere he could.

The glow of orange illumination covered the both of you, however faint, aided by slits of clouded moonlight that poured in from the gap in canvas. You were beautiful — everything that he had ever wanted, caged within his arms, staring at him with a heated intensity.

He was mountainous, even when sitting, large and powerful enough to move you wherever he pleased. Your kisses became feverish, as if each entanglement would be your last, heart hammering within your chest with a flurry of excitement.

For a moment, Cregan withdrew, content to gaze upon your smiling visage, gaze sparkling with affection. He lifted his hand, cupping your cheek and jaw, allowing himself a moment to commit every feature of yours to memory. His next kiss was agonizingly slow in the best way possible, causing you to sigh with passion.

He needed to be close to you, chest to chest, savoring every inch of your silken flesh. Cregan had never touched something so soft before, drinking you in again with those tempestuous hues, as alluring as gray clouds before a thunderstorm.

“I want you inside of me,” You pleaded, lips parting slightly as Cregan’s jaw tensed, lust festering within him. Gods, what a wonderful mother you would make — the thought was fleeting, but it lingered like a thick fog, taking up residence within his mind. “Please.”

Cregan did not hesitate, hands joining yours as you hastily unraveled the leather ties of his trousers. He wanted to stay this way, sitting up with you in his lap, allowing him to look upon your face, ravage your skin as he guided you atop his length.

To match his imposing stature and wall of muscle, his cock was just as intimidating, causing your stomach to turn with a twinge of worry. Then again, you had become so worked up that pain seemed impossible. Cregan’s hands steadied themselves atop the swell of your hips, bringing you up enough to let his cock glide against your slick folds.

“As you wish.” He huffed, letting you find your way, the flushed tip of his length beginning to penetrate you. You moaned at the intrusion, able to feel the girth of it stretch you perfectly, just as his fingers had. Cregan grunted, guiding you down until you could go no further.

Strong enough to ease you along his length with his hands alone, Cregan seized the opportunity to kiss you. You were only a few breaths taller like this, slotted within his lap, hands finding their purchase atop his shoulders as you began to ride him.

Gods, he was big — enough for you to realize that soreness was an inevitability. Being flush against him, nearly chest-to-chest, was perfect, something so intimate and sensual that hot shivers rolled down your spine. Cregan guided you up and down upon his cock, ensuring that he went at a sluggish pace, more for your sake than his own.

Tangled sighs and low, heavy breaths wove together, forming a heated cacophony that filled the tent with your lewd activities. The feeling of his calloused hands sinking into your plush flesh was mesmerizing, leaving behind a wave of goosebumps that crawled across your flesh.

Mouths danced together and then clashed again, kiss after kiss of pure ardor, tongues becoming exploratory as you brazenly lapped at his lower lip. It was messy and hot, feverishly so, bringing the both of you to heel as you happily drowned within desire.

The sensation of his cock filling you completely, nearly kissing your womb, almost made you sob from delight. The friction of your bodies was a delicious thing, with your chest brushing against his, knees squeezing near his waist, hands gripping his shoulders. Your nails sank into the muscle there, countenance one of complete and utter pleasure.

Cregan untangled his lips from yours, finding the column of your throat, greedily kissing and nipping wherever he could. Your taste was ambrosial, skin delicate and saccharine beneath his mouth. You moaned, one hand moving to tug at his chestnut tresses, bringing your hips down upon his cock again and again.

The sluggishness of the repetitive motion was agonizingly wonderful — the pace was perfect, not rough enough in the slightest, but passionate, instead. You much preferred this, the intimacy and closeness of it all, the way in which heat radiated between the both of you.

You felt incredible, every fiber of your body burning for him, arousal thick and heavy between your thighs. “Cregan,” A noisy moan escaped you, grinding yourself against him, hips flush together. It was as if you were touched by hot embers, the heat raking across your body time and time again. “Cregan!”

A deep, trembling groan tore past his mouth, one that made your belly fill with liquid fire. You shivered within his grasp, feeling his lips clamor to the underside of your jaw, nose brushing against your chin. His cock throbbed with a sense of urgency, slick with precum.

He continued to guide you, hands descending from your hips to the pliant flesh of your haunches, digits sinking into your derrière. Despite the chill of the rain and song of the storm raging around you, Cregan kept you anchored, warmth radiating from him.

Your hands deftly roamed across his musculature, coming to plant themselves against the expanse of his chest, his heart thudding beneath your palm. “That’s it.” Cregan rumbled, kissing at your jaw before he finally coaxed you in for a passionate kiss. He wanted you to come undone for him.

The intensity of your release blindsided you, crashing into you like a wave breaking upon the rock. Your nails desperately scratched at Cregan’s chest, sinking into his collarbone as you bucked forward. He continued to guide you up and down along his cock until your legs rattled like leaves in the wind.

Cregan joined you, following suit as he reached his peak, forehead bumping into yours as he sought your mouth for a tender kiss. He swallowed your sweet moans, spilling his seed into your cunt. Hot ropes of his spend filled you completely, causing the both of you to sigh, a low rumble reverberating from his throat.

You very nearly collapsed within his lap, heaving with excitable pants, basking in the aftermath of your release. In an intimate gesture, you kissed his jaw, peppering his visage in soft kisses that only made Cregan pull you closer. “Are you alright?” He murmured, running a hand along your side.

“I am,” You smiled, palm reaching to cup his cheek. Cregan’s fingers wrapped around your wrist, pressing a kiss to the silky skin there. Thunder crackled overhead, followed by a flash of lightning, the onslaught of rain pounding overhead. “It seems you’ve no choice but to stay.”

A bemused huff left Cregan, who seemed more than content to share your tent. “Thank the Gods for the deluge, then.” He rumbled, continuing to kiss from your wrist to your hand. A shiver rolled down the length of your spine, aided by his affectionate gestures.

Removing yourself from his lap, you settled down to lay beside him on the floor of your tent, gazing up at the damp canvas. The Warden of the North descended to you, offering you a muscular arm to rest against, moving the furs around the both of you.

It was a comfortable silence, born in the aftermath of your lovemaking as you curled against Cregan, palm settling above his abdomen. “When do you ride next?” You uttered, referring to the raging war that you were both caught within. It was easy to not think much of it when you were with him.

“On the morrow,” Cregan murmured, chestnut brows furrowing together. He loathed the thought of leaving again, now that he had so much more to lose. His calloused digits idly traced around your shoulder, his other arm propped beneath his head. “We will fight hard, like Northerners.”

A subtle terror gripped your heart, foul tendrils sinking into every fiber of your being. You sat up just enough to gaze upon him, fingers drifting toward the slope of his jaw. “Promise me that you’ll be careful.” You uttered, stern as could be.

Cregan could not make such a promise — war was harrowing, and it was unpredictable. Instead, he reached for your face, holding you there as he met your gaze. “I will try,” A low rumble left him, gray eyes boring into you with devotion. “Should I fall prey to another arrow or sword, I will know who to seek.”

It was difficult not to smile, in spite of everything. You sighed, leaning in to kiss him, allowing gentleness and ardor to prevail. A low grunt escaped Cregan, gray hues fluttering shut as he drew you closer into the warmth of his musculature.

“I would certainly hope so.”

copyright @ swordgrace ; please do not copy/steal my work and claim it as your own. please do not translate my works onto other platforms.

[mswyrr]

In the book, where the maester and men's accounts he's drawing on depict Mysaria as a sexual rival rather than a lover to Rhaenyra, nonetheless at key moments Rhaenyra will not form a decision or her own opinion without consulting Mysaria. She comes to rely on Mysaria above all others and is swayed by her on matters of life and death. Rhaenyra even trusts Mysaria's word over the word of her husband in the book.

That never made sense. But if Mysaria is *her* lover, not her rival for Dae/mon's desire, it all clicks together.

Imo in s3 we will get poly in the form of a V relationship where Rhaenyra is with Mysaria and Dae/mon both (and they are not with each other: he was sex work for Mysaria, I don't see her being interested going there again) *however* Mysaria is the primary relationship - the one she trusts most and heeds.

Reasons for this:

1) Mysaria's advising and judgment has proven sound. She has never wounded or harmed Rhaenyra or her cause. She has never doubted her as a good queen. She has never been disloyal.

2) She was there saying "You have me" and sharing of herself with Rhaenyra when Rhaenyea needed that most and Rhaenyra is very greedy and cherishing of that kind of thing

3) She validates and loves parts of Rhaenyra that Dae/mon never has - her desire for authority and command, her complex gender feelings, her toppy side where she longs to be an active, cherishing Lover (as she tried to be with Alicent in their youth) rather than a receiving Beloved in terms or emotional and sexual energy ("he wanted to possess me but he never let me possess him"). Even if he's now come around on some of that, I can't see him able to vibe with and nourish it like Mysaria does.

4) Rhaenyra is bisexual but seems strongly homoromantic and there is a big, enduring place in her heart for a "lady wife" role since her first love, Alicent [I wrote a meta on that here]

5) In 2x08, though Dae/mon had returned to her, it was only Mysaria who she chose to share her doubts and moral concerns with and whose word and judgment she could be consoled by

If they're afraid of more backlash to depicting queer love obviously, we will get that strong emotional bond but the romance and sex implied with only symbolism (like the single dragon Mysaria called "lonely" over their conversation early in the season becoming two dragons happily flying together over their conversation in the finale). I hope we get more. But people do seem to love throwing a fit and raging against canon sapphic love. The creatives won't totally erase this though - haters would have to get everyone fired, including GRRM himself, to completely remove the fact that, in book and tv, Rhaenyra comes to heed and trust Mysaria above all others.

I think (due to book spoilers and their tv characters) that things will get difficult for them and they will not be all fluff and wholesomeness as the war goes on. And I think that can be done in several powerful, fascinating ways. But that's a meta for another day.

[dailycass-cain]

2023 was another big stepping stone with Cass. The character was featured in A LOT of stuff this year amongst a few negative antics.

But unlike prior years the good really outweighed the bad. BY A LOT.

So let's take a look back one final time #CAINAISSANCE2023...

The year started STRONG with the release of Batgirls #14 aka the BEST solo story that involved the character this year.

I've gone in LENGTH on how AMAZING this tale was. If you haven't read it DO SO. You don't need any context but to just take in the masterpiece given.

Writers Becky Cloonan and Michael Conrad gave artist Jonathan Case just this canvas of an issue to tell AN EPIC mostly silent issue.

If there's a tale Batgirls will be remembered for it'll BE THIS ISSUE.

I've lost count to just taking in the gorgeous art Case delivers here and just letting the actions and emotions tell the tale.

The only regret is well no full payoff to what is fully learned within this issue.

It just hits EVERY mark and is something any Cass fan CRAVED, but never got in Batgirl Vol. 1. Batgirls #14 was a worthy issue that should be talked about amongst fans of Cass for quite some time.

February gave us Cass's grand entrance to Ram V's Detective Comics run (#1069) and what an entrance it was! Literally, I can't let it go of how AMAZING it was.

And the run itself? It just keeps delivering as THE Batman book out currently.

It's a slow burn and when the run lays the payoffs IT HITS THOSE PAYOFFS. The series just ended an exceptional bi-weekly event that featured Cass and well, I'm extremely curious where this run goes with the character.

If anything, I just want MOAR from Ram V or a smaller secondary story involving Cass. But given the various characters he's been rotating and given next year is 2024 (more on that later) I'm keeping my fingers crossed for ALL OF THIS.

This run does work in trade but I digress you'd be missing the GORGEOUS covers this series has been shelling out. If anything BUY the single issues and read the run this way until you get to the present.

Or reread them like I've been doing. 😋

The early half of 2023 marked Cass's surprise return to an actual role in mega crossovers. She took part in the final issue of Batman vs. Robin being one of the random factors to stall the possessed Batman until ALL of DC's magical users came to cast it out of him.

The weakest of the crossovers the character was involved in I have to say was Gotham War. It was a nothing burger that made me swear off the Chip Zdarsky run of Batman completely.

Honestly, I feel more rewarded reading Tec more. Unless Chip pulls off a miracle turnaround in 2024.

But I digress Zdarsky was only half of the problems with the other being Tini Howard and yeah, if you were a Bat Family member who wasn't Jason Todd (how did that mini turn out to be more entertaining then the ENTIRE event?!)?

This story SUUUUUUUUCKED. Quite possibly the worst Batman event story since War Games/Crimes for me.

Sadly, the most disappointing stories I'd have to say are on equal ground in Beast World and Knight Terrors. As there was interesting concepts with Cass involving them, and both stories just go NOWHERE.

I feel more so robbed with Knight Terrors as the design for Cass within it went hard. It's just that you give us THIS design and tease us with this little nugget and give us NOTHING?

COME ON!

Beast World was a whole nothing burger as well, save the pretty art and a full confirmation that Cass's old NML is now canonically her defacto one again.

Even if we had it mentioned earlier last year and again in the best crossover event involving Cass...

WHICH WAS IN LAZARUS PLANET: DARK FATE #1. It gave us Alyssa Wong returning for a THIRD time to write Cass and they were joined by Haining on art which introduced us to the world of Xanthe.

That in itself led to a spinoff mini-series that had Cass in it with SPIRIT WORLD. It did more with the new character Xanthe and laid out their origins and powerset nicely while also laying some seeds for MAYBE future Cass stories.

Again, I feel like a repeating record on how GOOD this series was. Like, I can't wait for the trade next year to take it all in again. But besides the creative team delivering it gave us Dustin Nguyen AND Marcio Takara drawing Cass again OFFICIALLY AS BATGIRL!!

Even when this series ended, I STILL WANT MOAR!! Like what memories did Cass lose? What the heck happened with Spirit World twisting her memories of Batgirl Vol. 1 #72?! How will Xanthe be with the Jade Court?

SO MANY QUESTIONS!!

Something else that left me with MANY questions was DCeased universe as even though the story ended back in April.

I still crave more starring Cass, because let's face it STEPH/TALIA DESERVE CLOSURE!! Cass could be the gateway to that.

Doing so would tie up the final loose ends as well. Let's see how Rose is raising her kid with Jason. Silent Olsen. Harley/Ivy. Ollie/Dinah. Jim Gordon.

But I digress. It gives us more Cazzam. We need more Cazzam.

But an alternate universe Cass just didn't pop up there we had a Cass show up in various other comics. Knights of Steel which also had me hankering for MOAR and Harley Quinn & the Legion of Bats.

I know some didn't like it, but me? I think it was LEAPS and BOUNDS better than what we got in the actual season of HQ.

Let us never talk about that season again…

Now something we SHOULD talk about more is the first actual appearance of Cass in a DC ANIMATED MOVIE!! Yes, Kai Li Cain from Batman: The Doom that Came to Gotham.

I was blown away at the extended role they gave the character in the film (to the, "Oh right Tim is here and alive." role in the books).

Kai Li voiced perfectly by Tati Gabrielle gave a balance of innocence and reason with the batshit craziness this film throws at us.

Like, I really REALLY want a sequel. Just to see what she'd do now given full access to Bruce's fortune? Will she follow his path? I mean yeah we want steampunk Bat!

Speaking of which artists we need designs for this stat still!

It just adds that anchor where you want to see more of this universe and the characters that inhabit it. I mean that's the sign of a REALLY good Elseworlds. Where you want more and sometimes you get just that.

But with all this good came the sad, and that was the canceling of Batgirls. I know many were against the series (especially after #7-8), but the series found its footing with #9 and ran into something I hope more positively can be talked about it.

It's true failing wasn't the creators behind the series, more just elements outside that just slotted it's end (Batgirl movie getting canned making #7-8 more wasteful), Evil Oracle #4 aka the pitch, and just being something it couldn't be).

I'm grateful for each and every creator who worked on this book because it was a GIFT that I'll always be appreciative of.

I'll say it again, THANK YOU TO ALL! 🙏

And its spirit lived on in the Nightwing back up a few months ago. It was something that was TRULY needed after the garbage fire that was Gotham War. It gave us this Cass/Dick sibling stuff and GIVE ME MOAR!!!

Unlike the past where we'd be done, DC brought us back up giving us the current BIRDS OF PREY ongoing which has Cass in it.

Really the series is a revelation of giving us things I always wanted that I'd never thought we get. Cass with Dinah? CHECK.

Cass meeting Big Barda and the two having a bond? HELLS YEAH CHECK! Anytime that bond grows I squee even more.

Just give writer Kelly Thompson ALL the time and ideas she has to churn this out to the proper conclusion she has envisioned. Just give me fifty-plus issues of her, Leonardo Romero, and Jordie Bellaire.

Finally of course there was Batman: Wayne Family Adventures which gave us THREE banger Cass stories. One where she and Steph are a MENANCE (as they should), Cass scaring the crapbaskets out of EVERYONE and of course...

Season 2 gave us A LOT of things I wanted in general (her interacting with Damian) and just showing the world why I really really love this character. Why I talk about her daily.

Really as 2023 closes and 2024 is about to begin... Well, it's the character's TWENTIETH-FIFTH ANNIVERSARY. 25 years of kicking ass and ripping our hearts out.

It's been a journey for sure.

really REALLY hope DC honors this anniversary and continues to mend the bridges burned all those years ago.

Give us that Omnibus. Give us a mini or SOMETHING to celebrate this character. If not, I'll take whatever Ram V and Thompson give us.

#CAINAISSANCE2023 may be over, but #CAINAISSANCE2024 will be the most important year yet.

25 YEARS OF CASS!! LET THE CELEBRATION BEGIN ON JANUARY 1st!

[nhothicket]

is it too late for Halloween?

Some close ups and silly spare thoughts about this half-baked au below the cut ^v^

Some thoughts:

It's extremely important for this au that Etho is very enthusiastic about his clowning, okay? Nobody's forcing him to do this he is a PROUD CLOWN.

The setting is probably somewhere in the 80s-90s at an amusement park with a carnival vibe. I thought it might be fun to have all the Halloween hermits be canon, but I also see this being a world unaware of the more supernatural goings on, so I'm not sure if that could pan out. Maybe some sort of veil from the supernatural might be in play? Who knows.

Anyway! This is about Ethdubs not those other nerds.

> So, in this amusement part there's an oddities attraction of sorts. There resides Bdubs, he is a haunted heart preserved in a jar, not an actual attraction though just set dressing for the creepy shed vibe. As the story goes this jar has been passed around for decades, but its progressively gotten heavier despite being untampered with. The preservatives have gotten thick and changed colors over time. This is actually just Bdubs' spirit taking its sweet sweet time to manifest, as he slowly materializes around his heart, the preservatives turn to ectoplasm.

Most of the time he's sealed up in the jar, thanks to this mystical veil regular people usually can't hear him grouching about the tight space. The jar itself is part of his haunting, which means its technically part of him and he can't pass through it. So, until Etho realizes the disembodied voice he's been hearing come from the little building is not all in his head, Bdubs was stuck there.

> Bdubs' more human less goopy form is also a bit translucent in that form and he's not at all solid. If Etho were to poke him in the arm his finger would go through with some pressure. A firm hug would be fine at first, but he'd quickly start sinking into the ghost. It takes a lot of energy to be that physical, so Bdubs hardly does it. He's capable of leaving his heart in the jar and being a more traditional wispy ghost in that image, but... he feels left out when he can't touch things, so he'll usually choose being a bit gooey over being a beautiful beautiful man.

His heart is the only part of him that is completely physical. It is a real object in the world still, he's possessing it. It's what allows him to be more physical, so if someone were to reach into his chest and pluck it out he'd turn into a wisp. (He and Etho have both done so repeatedly to make bad jokes about heart stealing). How did Bdubs' heart get in a shady unmarked jar? Who knows. The people who ran the place probably don't even know its a real human heart anymore.

> Bdubs frequently lies about how old he was (recalling and inserting himself into historical events he wasn't even born for), Etho humors it.

> Bdubs died before Etho was born, this is the subject of mockery on both sides. (Etho would've been born maybe a decade or so after Bdubs died, he's in his 30s at present)

> Etho's gimmick is being comically good slight of hand and magic tricks. He's not supernatural, but he's like fantastical in his competence when it comes to looking magical. Etho invents (realistically jmpossible) contraptions to make his magic work.

> Horse drawn buggies would've been on their way out as Bdubs was growing up, so he could be nostalgic for that, I thought it might be cute if Etho took him out on one of those horse drawn tours as a surprise. Don't mind the clowny guy carrying around a jar with a heart in it.

> Another funny thought I had, Bdubs asking for a grand sarcophagus after getting jealous of the attention a new mummy is getting in the attraction. Etho doesn't buy him a sarcophagus, but he does get him a novelty canopic jar from the gift shop of a nearby museum.

Okay, that's all for now. ^v^;

[allmightyscroll-swag]

Hey anyone wants to hear about my angsty, edgy ass Murder Drones au? No?

Don't care you're getting it anyway!

Brief summary; Nori actually prepares for the Disassembly Drones arriving, and survives the attack that kills her in canon. This way she ends up actually raising Uzi more, and by extension, telling her about the Absolute Solver.

She still dies anyway I think lmao, but this means when the series events unfold and Uzi ends up with the absolute solver, she begins fucking with it's code to hopefully find a way to rid her system of it. Uzi gets way too close for comfort, and the Solver goes, “okay we gotta either take this bitch out or completely possess her,” and literally starts corrupting/deleting Uzi's data.

... Uzi is a stubborn edgy hormone fueled teenager though, so she fights fire with fire, rebuilding her own code and fucking with the solvers even more.

In the end it becomes an endless cycle of them both trying to get rid of each other. All the while, N & V try to find a way to get rid of the absolute solver from both Uzi and overall, because through fucking with it's code, she knows it's gonna try to eat the planet.

.yeah sorry for the unnecessary ramble, this au has been bouncing around in my head since I watched episode 7 lmao. But yeahhh angsty oooh there's a parasite in your brain and its literally killing you from the. Inside out and everything

[tieronecrush]

hot & heavy

chapter eleven: star-spangled eyes

neighbor!joel x f!reader

series masterlist

series rating: E (18+ MDNI)

series summary:

over the course of three summers, joel miller becomes woven into your life. the first summer is spent falling for him; nannying his daughter and sneaking around with him in a burning love affair. you know how you feel about joel, he isn’t so sure about how it all is gonna work. the second summer is brief. a month spent at home after graduation and before you move to boston for your dream job. one look at you, one time hearing your voice, and joel is hooked again. he pines over you for that month, but you think — how is long distance of over a thousand miles going to work for a single dad? the third summer, you return home burnt out and pride bruised from your post-grad life. you need time to feel at home again, like your complete self, so you’ve come back home with no return ticket booked. it’s only a matter of time before joel seeks you out, slowly spending more time with you. without an inevitable end to the summer looming over you both, what chances are you willing to take?

word count: 7.9k

warnings: NO OUTBREAK (don’t need to worry about the mushies), no use of y/n, inexperienced reader, age gap (joel is 30/31, reader is 22), canon-divergent (sarah is 7 y/o), nanny au, pet names (sweetheart, darling, sweet girl, mariposa, etc.), polite southern manners, feeling familial and self-pressure, ESTABLISHED relationship FINALLY, spanish cause joel is latino, unprotected p in v, dirty talkkk king joel miller, soft (and soft dom) joel, possessive joel, mentions of depression and symptoms, struggling with self, discussion of parenting, angst, MAJOR doubt! and displays of nationalism! yay!

a/n: thank you as always to the bestie/cousin/sister wife/sweet, sweet gf @northernbluess for beta-reading this chapter, seriously i can't write without you so don't ever leave me pls. also thank you all for being so patient with this chapter while i was away! enjoy xxx

“Morning, Millers! Happy Fourth!” Your dad’s voice booms in your ear from where he stands behind you at the garage door, waving to the three Millers as they walk over to your driveway. “Y’all ready for a day on the lake?”

“Sure are. Thanks again for invitin’ us, can we pack up the cooler and everything in my truck? Might make it easier to access since you’ve got the boat hitched up here.” Joel glances your way, the slightest curve of his mouth when you catch his stare, turning toward your dad.

“Well, that’d be just great! We’ve got a couple more bags inside, but think you can take care of these things for now?” Your dad gestures to the things behind you both, clapping his hands when Joel confirms and steps forward to grab the supplies. Slipping back into the house to help your mom with last-minute prep, your dad leaves you with the Miller crew outside.

“Long time, no see, Posey.” Tommy teases as he grabs a tote from his older brother as Joel gives him a glare, earning a smile and shrug from you. “Definitely didn’t hear you sneaking out the kitchen door this mornin’ from my place sleeping on the couch.”

“Get all of that out now before we’re constantly around my parents all day, Thomas.” Joel straightens up at the slightest edge of your voice, masked with teasing as he walks away from you standing with Tommy, grumbling to himself as he goes to load everything for the festivities into his truck.

“Yeesh, somebody’s in a mood. Sometimes he wakes up on the wrong side of the bed, but you probably know that.” Tommy hikes the bag onto his shoulder further, grimacing slightly with a familiar furrowed brow — you can see even more of the resemblance with that.

“I’ve seen him crabby, but it’s honestly been pretty rare. He was fine this morning.” Watching from your driveway, Joel’s shoulders move underneath the navy t-shirt he’s got on, lifting everything into the bed of his truck. Tommy follows over there, loading up the rest of the things that your dad brings out from the house. You pick up one tote, Joel approaching behind you and skimming a hand over your lower back.

“I can take that, sweetheart.” He holds a hand out at your side, giving you a tight lip smile as you nod and stutter out an agreement, handing the bag over to him. Your parents walk outside at that moment, your mom rifling through her purse while your dad calls into the house for your brother, Chris, before shutting the door.

“Everyone ready to go?” Your mom looks up, meeting your eyes as Joel gives her a nod and a smile, walking over to his truck to get Sarah in. “Oh gosh, we really overpacked, didn’t we?”

“You always pack for the boat as if we’re going on a sailing trip out to the Gulf. But at least we’ll be prepared,” you say with a laugh, adjusting the strap of your swimsuit underneath your cover-up dress, turning around, and exchanging another look with Joel as he climbs into his car.

There’s the smallest flash of those ‘what ifs’ that plagued your mind a few nights ago, tamped down for the last few days. You clear your throat of the acidic burn, climbing into the back of your dad’s truck and watching Chris shuffle out of the house still half asleep, climbing in next to you with a mumbled greeting.

After you ignore it, he asks, “What the hell has you in a mood?”

If only you could say something.

You climb out of the back of your dad’s truck once you reach the docks, making your way over to Joel’s truck parked in the lot to help unload while your dad and Chris drop the boat in. Sidling up to him at the back of the cab, you reach for your personal bag that you packed with your things like a book and extra sunscreen and a change of clothes. His hand intercepts yours, looking at you with one side of his mouth lifted.

“I got it for you, Mari. D’you mind walkin’ with Sarah?” He nods to where she’s stood on the sidewalk nearby, observing all of the boats in the small lakeside harbor. Glancing back at Joel, you give him a gentle smile, reaching to give his arm a squeeze.

“Thanks, J. I’ll take Sarah down there. You sure you and Tommy don’t need any help?” You suspiciously eye the amount of stuff occupying the truck bed, quirking a brow at him.

“Positive, darlin’. Y’all head down there, we’ll be right behind you both.” He leans in a few inches as if he’s going to kiss you, halting in his movements and letting out a barely audible sigh before straightening up again and looping a few more bags onto his arms. Your stomach flips around with the need to complete his motions, to close the gap that was there between you, but you respect the boundaries he wants to keep around your family, instead walking over to Sarah and taking her hand. 

Guiding her down the winding path, she tells you all about how excited she is to go swimming and to see the fireworks later, swinging your joined hands. You stop at the end of the dock, waiting as your dad and Chris pull around to where you and your mom are; Joel and Tommy come up behind you with all the goods, loading them onto the boat with your dad and Chris when they come around. Tommy hops on after swinging the cooler over the side, Joel stepping down after. Your dad offers your mom a hand while Joel picks up Sarah easily and sets her down, reaching a hand out to you afterward.

Gingerly taking it, you swing one foot onto the seat, bringing the other over and tripping a bit. You sway back and forth, a heavy hand tightly gripping your side to steady you.

“Y’alright? Nearly fell in there, sweetheart.”

Nodding and taking a breath, Joel drops his hand from you and helps you the rest of the way down and onto the seat. Your mom digs out a child’s life jacket from one of the storage compartments, passing it to you.

“D’you mind getting that on Sarah, honey? She’s gotta wear it to stay safe. Too many nutcases out on the water today.”

You call Sarah over, smiling as she stands in front of you and explaining that she has to keep this on while everyone’s on the boat. Easily slipping her arms in, you close it in front of her chest, clipping and securing the clips one at a time. Joel sits next to you, a few more inches apart than normal, patting Sarah’s curls and giving you a sideways glance.

“You wanna sit here between us, mija?” Joel pats the spot, helping Sarah scoot back onto the bench. He stretches his arm behind her, grazing your arm and brushing his fingers against the knit material of your cover-up. Joel relaxes for the first time all morning, content to stay like this all day if it was his choice. Both of his girls next to him, as close as he can get to you without breaking the boundaries he set himself.

With everyone seated, your dad at the helm, the boat lurches to life when the engines turnover and it idly cruises out of the harbor area before picking up speed to drive around the lake for a bit. The wind blows against all of you, Sarah giggling at the excitement of the ride. You turn to look at her, beaming a smile as she holds onto your arm. Joel watches the small interaction, his heart pumping the subtlest bit harder in his chest.

You’re so patient with Sarah, so kind, compassionate, silly, and serious — you’re exactly what she needs right now, what she’s missing that Joel can’t quite ever be no matter how hard he tries.

The words burn into his mind, sitting in his throat where he holds it back on his tongue. Later. He can say it later. At some point.

After a few laps and weaves around the lake, your dad idles the boat up to a cluster of fellow lake-goers, dropping the anchor and turning off the engines. Everyone shuffled around, Sarah popping up and asking to go in the water straight away.

“Gotta put some sunscreen on ya first, Bug. How about we do that, wait a few minutes for it to dry and you can drink some water and then go swimming?” Joel stands up, glancing around for their own bag they packed. You’re still seated, sorting through your own tote and pulling out your sunscreen.

“Here, use mine. Sure we’ll find your bag in a minute but don’t think Sare-Bear here wants to wait any longer than she has to for swimming.” You smile at her before handing the tube off to Joel, a quiet “thanks” in response. He gets some on Sarah, asking her to sit and wait for it to dry before handing the lotion back to you. Joel steps around you to find their bag on the other end of the boat, walking back over with spray sunscreen and stripping off his shirt to apply some himself.

Stealing glances at you, his mouth dries out when he watches you peel off the cover-up, setting it aside and leaving you clad in your bikini. The sight of you applying the sunscreen sends him back to that first summer, the view from his window into yours of you naked and applying body lotion — a show only for him. He swallows hard and shakes himself out of his thoughts, ignoring you off to his side until he hears you speak up.

“Hey, Tommy, d’you mind gettin’ my back for me since you’re waitin’ on the sunscreen from Joel?” He watches you cross over to Tommy before he can call out a protest, the words dying in his throat when he knows he doesn’t have any claim over you today. Tommy shrugs at Joel, helping you out while he watches on enviously.

Huffing out a sigh, he finishes his own application, throwing the bottle back in the bag and sitting back down in the sun. He slips his sunglasses down onto the bridge of his nose from the top of his head, closing his eyes and basking in some of the warmth before Sarah begs to get into the water.

Joel hears you mumble a curse under your breath, feeling your presence next to him. Tilting his head down and opening his eyes again, he glances at you sideways and questions, “Something wrong?”

“I stupidly left my sunglasses in the car. I set them down next to my bag instead of putting them inside of it,” you sigh and look around the boat in hopes that some sort of idea pops into your head. Joel reaches up, takes off his own pair of glasses, and hands them to you.

“Here, y’can borrow mine. Won’t need them in the water with Sarah anyway, just gonna lose ‘em if I wear them in the lake.” He gives you a shrug and a thoughtful smile, your fingers brushing his when you exchange the sunglasses. Your own smile that you give him flips his insides, a knowing look shared that says ‘I’d kiss you right now if I could’.

And he desperately wants to.

“Thanks, J—oel. Joel,” you catch yourself with the affectionate nickname, stuttering out the rest of his name and making him chuckle as he stands up.

“Anytime.” A flash of a wink nearly makes you stutter again, slipping the glasses on as Joel, Sarah, Tommy, and Chris all get in the water to cool off from the already blazing heat.

About a half hour later, Joel and Tommy rumble up the ladder back onto the boat, leaving Chris in charge of entertaining Sarah by spinning her in the inner tube that’s been inflated. The Millers measly dry off before Tommy wanders over to the cooler. Joel steps over to where you’re lying out on the bench, shaking his curls out over you with your eyes closed behind his sunglasses. The cool water drips over you, opening your eyes in a flash and sitting up.

“Rude,” you mumble as you wipe the drips of water and Joel sits next to you where your thighs once were. He chuckles and shrugs casually, leaning back against the side of the boat and propping his elbows up behind him. He’s sitting only a few inches away, and with your parents sitting and chatting at the other end, they don’t hear as he leans in and speaks low to you.

“Y’looked hot. I was only tryin’ to cool you down.” He winks and smirks smugly, dragging his eyes up and down your body when you stand and patter over to the cooler where Tommy’s retrieved a beer from.

“You want a drink, Joel?” you ask over your shoulder, nodding in confirmation when he says yes.

“Probably should get some water as well. You, too. Gotta stay hydrated in the heat.”

“Hm, guess so.” You grab a plastic bottle and turn around, lobbing it to him to catch. You pick up another for yourself, grabbing a can of beer for Joel and a popsicle for you. As you turn around with your pickings, you take the beer can in one hand, heading straight on for Joel and press it into your skin against your sternum, sighing a bit extra as the icy cold aluminum sits against your sun-warmed body.

Dragging it across, the condensation drips across your body, dropping the can down in between your breasts as you stand with your back to your parents. Another sigh breathed directly towards Joel, the slightest pitch change up at the end indetectable to Tommy across the boat but unignorable for Joel.

He clears his throat, taking the can from you gingerly as you hold it out for him, equally as smug of a smirk on your face. You take your seat next to him again, setting your water bottle to the side of you and unwrapping the popsicle as Joel cracks his beer and takes a sip.

“Lucky it’s still cold,” he grumbles under his breath, making you laugh quietly and a smile tug at the corner of his mouth.

Between your thumb and index, you grip the wooden stick of the red, white, and blue rocket pop, bringing it up to your lips and starting to lick it as you make conservation with Tommy, a thought popping into your head as ‘Fortunate Son’ by Creedence Clearwater Revival starts playing over the boat’s speakers.

“D’you get a lot of people thanking you for your service when they find out you were in the army, Tommy?”

“Eh, some really. Fellow veterans really don’t, and I don’t care to mention it that much to people. Most they notice is the sticker on my car in like the grocery store parking lots and they’ll say it quickly or give me a nod,” he shrugs and waves the question off, “Plus, you definitely don’t get people saying it to me on the Fourth. People gettin’ too drunk outta their minds in the name of their freedom.”

“Well, if no one else says it today, then thanks, Tommy. War is the stupidest thing man invented, but m’glad you made it home safe.”

Tommy holds up his can of beer and tips it toward you while you pop the icy, sugary treat out of your lips and hold it up with a laugh.

“Cheers,” he says with a smile.

Joel merely listened to you two the whole time, chatting back and forth while Tommy pounds his beer and tossed it into the recycling bag before jumping back into the lake. You’ve still got your popsicle, sliding it between your lips absentmindedly next to Joel, who keeps glancing to the side as you.

At the next, admittedly overdramatized, suck of popsicle between your lips, slurping the sugary juice before a drip slips out of the corner of your mouth. You wipe it up with your thumb, about to turn to Joel to ask if you’ve got food coloring on your face when he shifts next to you, one hand attempting to adjust himself before he grumbles a few curses and stands up. The water and beer are left ignored in cup holders, the small, subtle bulge in his trunks giving you a smirk that you bite back as he stomps over to the side of the boat and jumps in to cool off.

Throwing out the popsicle stick, you drink some of your water before meandering over to the side of the boat and climbing down the ladder and into the lake water. An instant chill is spread across your body, relaxing your muscles and washing off the slight sweat that built up under the blazing sun. Paddling over to the rest of the group in the water, you exchange a quick look with Joel before Sarah and Chris pull you into some sort of game. Twenty minutes go by before Sarah gets bored of the water, hungry and thirsty, and when Joel moves to help her out of the water and onto the boat, Tommy offers to get out with her to have another beer and some snacks himself. Chris gets out along with them, leaving you and Joel alone in the water.

He swims over to where you’re treading water, a soft, friendly smile on his face. “Hi, Mari.”

“Hey, J.”

A wider grin spreads across his lips, swimming away for a moment to fetch the inner tube that Sarah was using bringing it over and slipping it over your head. A laugh leaves your lips when you can’t see over it for a moment, pushing the tube down and climbing onto the side to lean on it. You float above Joel’s eyeline, his neck slightly tilted to look into your eyes hidden behind his sunglasses.

“You look nice today, darlin’,” he hums and treads water in front of you, reaching out a hand underwater and toying with the material of your swimsuit at your hip.

“Only nice?” you tease, leaning over the side of the inner tube a bit more, biting your bottom lip.

“Well, I could say more but probably don’t want my thoughts overheard,” he mirrors your smirk and snaps the elastic of the swimsuit against your skin, fingertips trailing down your thighs, “You do look more than nice though. You look beautiful. S’a pretty swimsuit and, uh, that dress thing—”

“My cover-up?”

“Yeah, yeah. I like your cover-up. It’s nice. A shame it covers up all this, but y’know you still look gorgeous either way.” He gives you a wink and squeezes one of your thighs.

“Thanks, J. You look pretty, too. But you always look pretty — got your curls and your tanned skin and broad shoulders and big brown eyes,” you giggle quietly as he rolls his eyes and shakes his head bashfully.

“You’re always pretty, too, Mari. You always look beautiful. La mujer más hermosa del mundo (The most beautiful woman in the world).”

It’s quiet for a moment as the two of you look at each other, silently admiring before you break first, your voice covered by all the commotion of the lake around you but audible to Joel right in front of you. “I wish I could kiss you right now.”

His shoulders sag underwater and his brow creases subtly, bottom lip pouting, “M’sorry.”

“It’s okay, J. Wasn’t a good time to tell them. Later, right?” You give a sad smile that he returns, squeezing his hands against your thighs with a short nod.

“Later.”

After floating around and chatting with Joel until you were turning pruney and nearly falling asleep in the water, he pushes the inner tube toward the boat and follows behind you to get back.

“Y’need to get some water and somethin’ to eat, sweetheart. Probably dehydrated at this rate cause you look like you’re about to pass out.” Joel pats the tube with his hand to silently ask you to get out to go up the ladder.

“M’just sleepy, the sun feels warm. Like a cat, jus’ wanna nap in the sunlight,” you mumble out, stretching your arms up and your legs toward Joel underwater, pointed toes hitting his thighs. He grabs you by the ankles, tugging a bit to move you closer before he nods to the blown-up floaty.

“Maybe so, but you still haven’t had any water for at least an hour and you haven’t had anything to eat besides the popsicle. Let’s go up, Mariposa.” His voice is decided — filled with care and not control. It compels you to follow what he says, slipping the tube over your head and wading over to the ladder. Joel follows you out, dripping on the boat and grabbing his towel as your brother tosses yours from the bench.

Drying off and wrapping your towel around you, drops of water trail off of you all the way to the seat where you plop down next to Tommy. Joel heads to the cooler, grabbing out water for both of you. He asks around if anyone else wants one, getting a few hollered answers as he throws them all around. When he returns to sit down again, he hands you yours along with a snack — one of the Tupperware filled with some chopped fruit. Sarah wanders over when you open it, standing in front of you to share. Joel throws the bottle of sunscreen over to you, asking to reapply for Sarah and reminding you to do it for yourself. 

“Alright, everybody, heads up. The plan right now is to move the boat and park up by a friend of ours’ house on the lake here. And there we’ll grill out and have some dinner and then come back onto the boat for fireworks before headin’ home,” your dad explains as he moves back into the driving seat, “Sound alright for y’all?”

Everyone’s in agreement, kicking it into gear as you let Sarah next to you to continue sharing the snack while your dad lifts the anchor. Holding onto her while you ride over, Joel takes in the sight of you two across from him, a steady flap of butterfly wings smack dab in the middle of his chest.

Su Mariposa y su mariposita. His butterfly and his little butterfly — his Bug. His girls.

He finds himself thanking the universe for leading him to someone as nurturing and patient and kind as you to love. A lonely road ending with you.

It’s a thought he continues to have throughout the rest of the evening, small moments that he sees of you with his daughter, his brother, your own family and friends. Effortless. You make it all seem so effortless and natural, but Joel knows how much energy a day like today will take from you; from your spirit. He can’t claim to know exactly what’s on your mind, but all he can do is fight the urge to blurt out a loud ‘thank you’ in the middle of the lawn.

Even through everything, you have a smile on your face for him and your loved ones. You’re strong, perseverant. Someone he looks up to, and hopes that you can be that type of role model for his daughter. Not perfect, not idolized. Real.

“She’s just completely enamored with Sarah, isn’t she?” your mom’s voice pulls Joel out of his thoughts, realizing his eyes were trained in you and Sarah as you help her make a plate for dinner from the large spread on the deck tables. Joel looks up to his left, a gentle and sheepish smile on his face as he nods slowly.

“She’s great with Sarah. Has been since that first summer. I think Sarah has way more fun with her and listens to her way more than she does me,” Joel chuckles softly and your mom laughs with a nod.

“That’s how it always is. The kids always loved their babysitters and looked up to them in a different sort of way. We were lucky to have the sitters we did to help raise the kids right, y’know?”

“I do know. Feel the same way since we moved in next door. The whole family’s been a real help—“

“But there’s just something about her, isn’t there?”

“Exactly. Can’t quite put my finger on it. But there’s something special there. Maybe she should consider it for a career, nannying I mean. Always seemed to be happy with Sarah during the summer.” Both sets of eyes are still on you across the way, focused on Sarah and guiding her through the muck of people to keep her from getting overwhelmed.

“I think there might be something just special there. In all of her babysitting and nannying years, can’t say she’s had as much fun as she did with Sarah.”

“Guess I should thank you for volunteering her that first summer. Probably the best recommendation I’ve gotten from a neighbor,” Joel laughs to himself, shaking his head subtly as he thinks of all the time you two have had together over the years.

“Thank me later, how about that? End of this summer, you can thank me for getting her to do what she was too chicken to do,” your mom laughs quietly, “Talking to the new neighbor and getting a job.”

“Uh, yeah, alright.” Your mom shares a smile with Joel before walking off to chat to some friends, leaving Joel to wonder what she meant by that exactly.

Back onto the boat after dinner with the larger party, your family and the Millers caravanned into the middle of the lake with a bunch of other boaters, dropping anchor in the cluster.

There is a platform in the middle of the lake, installed there with taut chains to the bottom where the same family lights off an impressive fireworks display every year. Helping your mom hand around the last bit of drink and some cookies for dessert, you finally are able to snag a spot by Sarah and Joel on the other side of her. Once you get settled, Sarah looks over at you with her sun-kissed face and big brown eyes just like her dad’s. Wordlessly, she scoots closer to you before deciding to simply climb onto your lap, you accepting her company with open arms.

“You comfy?” you wrap your arms around to hug her to your chest and keep her on your thighs, smiling as she nods with a quiet yawn. Her head leans back on your shoulder, one of your hands coming up to run your fingers through her curls.

Joel slides over a few inches, a hand’s width away from you, relaxing with you close by. The sight of Sarah so comfortable with you, and you her, brings back those butterfly wings stronger than before. What he would give to be able to put his arm around you and give you a kiss — to have his little unit of three together.

Damn, maybe he should have said something to your parents…

No, no. This was the smart choice. It’s the smart choice to keep it this way around them until things are certain. He’s all in for you, but there is still a small whispering of doubt that he feels every once in a while.

Are you going to resent him at any point? Will you want to leave again at the end of summer, to leave him behind and continue your life somewhere else? He knows you care about him, he knows how much you care about Sarah. But does he rely too much on you? Is it too much to sign up to be with him and also sign up to have a daughter along with it all?

Every time he thinks about telling your family, all he can imagine is the worst scenario. Disowning, no contact, moving. Joel’s insecurities fester in these imaginings, finding out how to make every new thought worse than the last.

It’s not fair to you, he knows that. But he needs time. Time to find the right words, to make the right promises.

A small, pathetic pop of a firecracker grabs everyone’s attention, the fizzle of the main display filling the air. Sarah sits up in your lap, eyes turned up along with yours as the fireworks start to go, drowning out whatever you’re saying to her as you point and smile widely. The reflection of the lights dissipates in your eyes each time, short explosions fading out to the night sky again.

Joel seems to be the only one with his gaze turned away from the opening in the clouds, a thought flashing into his head like one of the fireworks before he acts on it. Fingers brush your hip, catching on the open-knit and your head turns to face him, the same smile you had with Sarah still on your face. He leans in behind her head, his nose brushes against yours before he kisses you — soft and delicate and not nearly enough for what he needs in the moment but it satiates something for him.

You’re smiling against his lips, stealing one last quick peck before pulling back, the same wide grin from before spread across your cheeks as you whisper to him.

“Naughty.”

“Yeah, well, you’re to blame for it with the teasing all day. Better be coming over tonight after all of that,” Joel responds back, the noise drowned to everyone else on the boat by the repeated launches of large fireworks.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, J. I thought I was being peaceful and relaxed all day.”

At that you turn your head up again, listening to Sarah as she talks about the bursting lights and starts pointing at all of the cool moments again. Joel continues to watch you fall back into the moment with her, he content with being an observer — and for giving you a tiny token of all that he’s been feeling today.

But damn is he eager to get you alone.

It was a long while to get home and get everything unpacked from the car and into the garage, but you’ve finally managed to shower and change; behind you, you slowly pull the sliding glass door closed to your basement studio, wandering across your backyard and into Joel’s to his backdoor.

Knocking lightly, it isn’t long before the door opens, and Joel’s hands find your waist to tug you inside, tripping over your feet across the threshold.

“Hey, J—” Your words are cut off by his lips on yours, a heavy kiss enveloping your breath while your hands search across his arms and up to his chest. Returning his kiss gives more energy behind his movements, fingers digging into your hips and directing you backward until your lower back hits the edge of the kitchen counter. There’s a split second that he pulls away to help you up onto the surface, his large frame leaning in again to catch your lips with his.

Pressure at his chest from your palms keeps him a few inches away from your face, eyes meeting his as your breaths recover shallowly.

“What a greeting,” you laugh, voice hoarse as you keep your volume low.

“Missed bein’ able to kiss you, Mari. Holdin’ you. And you were such a fucking tease all day, darlin’,” he rasps out, brow creased as he holds your gaze.

“Was not.”

“Was too, Mari.” Joel slips his hands into the bend of your legs, spreading them apart to step between them. He pulls you further to the edge pressing his bulge into your thigh as he sighs, letting his breath fan over your face, “Feel what you do to me, pretty girl? Been wanting you all day. Need you so bad, Mariposa.”

Your own sigh matches his, eyes closing for a moment as he starts to grind against your clothed center, stuttering out a response, “Cou—Could’ve touched me today. Maybe we should’ve snuck off at the barbecue…”

Both of you chuckle, Joel’s much darker than yours, “Don’t tell me that now, baby. You’ve got no idea what I would’ve done to you if we had a second alone.”

“We’re alone now. Show me what you would’ve done.”

“Yeah? You wanna know?” His parted mouth trails warm breath against your skin, his nose ghosting against your cheek before he presses kisses into your jawline.

“Please, J,” you whine, mouth right against his ear as he leans over to kiss your neck. One hand tangles into the curls at the nape of his neck, damp from the shower that you can smell on him — the sandalwood musk scent of his body wash. A deep breath of the scent races your heart along with his wandering hands, him standing fully in front of you again.

“Gonna have to be quiet, baby. Have a full house tonight. Silent, got it?”

All you do is nod in response, holding his head as you close the gap between you two with fervor. Joel rumbles out a moan into your mouth, tugging you close and off the counter, his impatience reeling after the day.

Fumbling around with cheeky grabs and gropes over each other, you get turned to face the counter and Joel’s hands hook into your waistband — sleep short and panties — to tug them down just enough to drop them down your legs and let you step one foot out. He pulls himself free from his shorts and boxers, a handful of your ass in his palm as he quietly moans to himself. One swipe of his fingers through your folds tells him exactly how much you want him, devilish smirk crossing his face.

“Felt like this the whole day, pretty girl? Must’ve been so needy, Mari. Don’t worry, I’ve got you now. Déjame cuidarte, cariño. Déjame sentirte. (Let me take care of you, darling. Let me feel you.)”

“Please, please, J—“

“Shh. S’alright, sweet Mari. Think you can take me, want to take my cock like the good girl you are?” He questions you in a raspy whisper, taking himself in one hand and guiding the head of his cock through your wetness.

“Fuck…” you draw out quietly, nodding quickly as you look over your shoulder at him, “I can take it, please give it to me.”

“Pretty girl jus’ begging for me, yeah? Got to be quiet,” Joel reminds you before he lines himself up, slowly opening you up with his cock. The stretch is painful at first, whimpers echoing in your closed mouth while you grip the counter’s edge and bite the inside of your cheek.

With slow, shallow thrusts at first, Joel works you to relax around him, nodding to himself when he sees your shoulder relax and your head fall forward out of pleasure when he starts to pick up the pace behind you.

“That’s it, baby, such a good girl. Mi buena chica. Sabes cómo tomarlo, Mari. (My good girl. You know how to take it.)”

A moan slips from your lips and cuts through the relative silence, your head snapping over your shoulder to Joel. He shakes his head, sliding one hand up your side to hold around your mouth, covering up any more noises and giving him leverage to arch your back for him as he fucks you harder.

“Shit, pretty girl, not gonna last—Fuck, muy apretado y mojado. (Fuck, so tight and wet.)” You nod behind Joel’s hand, gripping his wrist when his free hand reaches for your clit, rubbing hurried circles that push you to the edge further, teetering there while his hips hit into you harder and brush your g-spot. Feeling yourself clench around his cock, you move your own hips to meet his thrusts, eyes rolling back as the top of him hits your g-spot square on.

“That’s right, my girl, can feel how close you are. Give it to me, baby, please—“ A vibrating moan interrupts his rambling thoughts when you come, walls gripping around him and fluttering inside. Your own noises are stifled by his palm, body limping in his hold while he rocks his hips as deep as possible and ropes of his come fill you up. “Such a good girl, goddamn…”

Breathless, he holds you up and presses you against the counter as he hunches over your body from behind. Using whatever energy is left in him, Joel peppers your neck and profile in lazy kisses, lingering around your ear.

“Love you, Mari.”

Once you’ve both recovered enough from the quick, hasty fuck, limbs regaining their abilities to move, Joel leads you up to bed and drags you under the covers. The two of you chat about the day and plans for the rest of summer while he lays his head on your chest, eyes closing while you run your fingers through his hair. Index twirls some of the rare ringlets, nails scratching his scalp soothingly.

In a few moments of you talking to him about bringing Sarah to the aquarium, his breaths have leveled out and his lips have parted, a large muscular build curled around you sleeping. It’s a few moments that you steal while continuing to play with his hair, admiring how young and boyish he looks. The perpetually creased brow of his has relaxed, his parted lips giving him the slightest of pouts.

Joel, your strong, independent, capable, protective, caring, loving man, is still a boy at times. When you feel young around him, you know you’ll think back to this moment — when you realized he’s just as much in the ‘figuring how all this shit works out’ stage. Permanently.

The last two or so years have been filled with moments that it seems that you took what Joel had to think or say as written in stone; his confidence and decisiveness was something you were envious of at times. But it also meant that all those times, even if he knew what he was doing, he was still a young boy, a teenager, a man, all the ones in between — figuring it out. Wondering if the choices were right. If it would all work out in the end.

That first summer, when you fell completely in love and let him know before you were leaving for nearly a year. It was genuine, of course, but it was naive. Thinking about long distance, a single father trying to make that work. It probably scared him at the time, and was too much to attempt to work with.

And the next summer, when he had his time to figure out what he was feeling. His confession of love that had your heart in your throat, terrified to admit anything close to the feeling before you were thousands of miles away. The feeling was there, it was always there. But you couldn’t bring yourself to say it back, to open up for the pain you felt the year prior.

His denial of you, yours of him — looking back, you can’t blame Joel for these hiccups, just like you can’t blame yourself. He was only trying to figure it out. It was all new to him, navigating a life with you in it was something he hadn’t had to do before, hadn’t imagined before.

You’re in the exact same state, each and every day. And it made you so afraid to be all in, the uncertainty of life blinding you to actually opening up.

Fingers have paused their movements in his hair, Joel stirring awake against your chest when your touch leaves him completely. His head is tilted to face you, masked in an expression that you can’t quite read. Comfortable, drowsy, affectionate. Half asleep, droopy eyes find your own, holding your gaze as he breaks the quiet and stillness of the bedroom with a gravelly voice.

“Was thinking about you in my sleep just now.”

“Oh yeah? What were you thinking about, baby?”

“How you’re my best friend.” The arm slung around your middle tightens as a goofy smile finds its way to his lips. “D’you know that, Mari?”

Looking at him, in that simple moment, a realization dawned on you as if it was the most obvious discovery.

He’s the only one you want to be figuring it out with.

“I love you, Joel.”

It comes out meeker than you wanted for this first-second time around, almost inaudible if it weren’t for the complete and utter quiet of the early morning hours.

A dreamy but wide grin stretches across his face, waking him up a bit more in the moment. He picks up his head from your chest, sitting up a few inches to look you properly in the eyes as he asks, “Yeah?”

“Mhm, I love you,” you can barely get it out without a happy giggle tagging on the end, barely squeaking the last syllable out before Joel’s skittering kisses all over your face, that same wide grin on his lips.

“Say it again, please, Mari.”

“I love you, J. I’m so in love with you.”

His attack on your face and neck continues, his own chuckles mixing with your giggles, his arm tightening around you and fingers tickling your sides.

“Am I still asleep? Am I dreaming right now?” he questions, pausing his peppered kisses to give you a tender one on your lips, that same goofy grin knocking your teeth together.

Before you respond, or he asks for you to say it again, Joel takes a pause to look into your eyes head on. Silence overcomes the room again, goofy grin morphing into a sweet, softened smile of his. Disbelief painted across his face as he took you in, shaking his head.

“Te amo, mi Mariposa. Siempre. I love you, Mari. Always.”

“I love you, Joel.”

Holding your eyes for a moment longer, there’s a shift in the air from the giddy confession. Joel inches down, connecting your lips in a ghosting kiss, your lips following his to feel more. After a beat, the kiss heats up, slow and sensual. His hands roam your sides, hiking up the material of your sleep shirt and pressing his palm against your exposed skin.

There’s no break in the embrace, only pushing further to feel each other closer and constant. The slight lack of oxygen, the breathlessness of it all, is making your head airy and dizzy, limbs tingling with electricity when you slip your fingers under the collar of his t-shirt. In the moment, you could drown in the feeling of Joel’s lips against yours.

The only breaths you get are when he separates from your lips to pull your shirt over your head and then follows it with his own, easily sipping your elastic waistbands down your legs again. You kick off the material from your ankles while he strips out of his own shorts and boxers, messy kisses shared while your hands skate over his bare skin. Fingertips work to memorize the dips and peaks, the trail of hair from his belly button down. Joel’s own hands explore your curves, relishing in the softness of your skin.

He pulls away from your mouth, breathless and blown pupils before he rasps out, “I love you so much, Mariposa. Got no clue who I’d be if I didn’t meet you…You’re it for me.”

Your voice is thick with emotion, one hand tangling your fingers with the hair at the back of his head, “I love you, J. It’s only you, s’always been you.”

Joel’s hand lifts one of your legs to bend next to his hip, lining himself at your entrance before he slowly thrusts in, savoring the feeling of you around him, body pressed against his skin in every place possible. Airy moans muffle into and against each other’s lips as he fills you up, the rhythm of his movements languid and steady. The pace is reeling your brain into a building of pleasure, whispers from Joel adding to the euphoric adoration between the two of you.

“My beautiful girl, so perfect. Love everything about you, sweet girl. M’so lucky to have you…Mine forever, right Mari baby? Mi hermosa, mi amor. I love you, fuck, I love you so much, Mari. Always got me feeling like m’floating around you, like I got a butterfly flapping it’s wings in my chest with how giddy you make me feel with just one look. Mi mariposa. My butterfly. Mine…”

The words are absorbing with each shallow breath you take, nodding along to his ramblings and feeling tears well against your waterline. Hands grip hard onto his shoulders, folding yourself around him tighter as you leave lingering kisses along his profile.

“Yours, J, yours always. I love you so fucking much—Oh my god, you’re everything to me, baby.”

“Never letting you go again. My girl, my fucking beautiful girl. Gonna make you mine forever, gonna make you my wife, mi esposa, one day, sweet, perfect girl. You’re made for me, Mari. Mi media naranja. (My other half.)”

His thrusts pick up only slightly, but enough to spill the tears waiting at the brink of your eyes, Joel’s mouth catching each one with featherlight kisses. Sitting right at the edge, your eyes lock with his, vision slightly blurred from the tears continuing to fall. Joel’s features fill the vignette, hooked nose, pillowy lips, soft brown eyes, olive skin sprinkled with crinkles around his eyes, subtle lines at his forehead. Nothing more beautiful to you than those parts making up the whole of him.

“Te amo, te amo, J. I love you, baby…”

His breath catches in his throat, smile spreading as his nose nudges against yours to speak against your lips.

“Te amo, mi Mariposa. Los amo a todos, cada poco. Eres todo lo que podría haber soñado y más (I love all of you, every bit. You're everything I could have ever dreamed of and more). I will spend every day earning your love and giving you all of mine.”

The words you understood have your frayed edges pulled taut, snapping one at a time as your brain floods with pleasure. Your walls flutter around his cock, your leg hooks into his ass to drive him further inside to fill you up. It is only a moment longer before he’s spilling into you, your name falling from his lips over and over as he searches for your lips in his state of ecstasy.

One last heavy kiss is shared before he slumps onto you, similar position to the start of all this; his head on your chest, strong form curled around you and his eyes closed. It last for a moment, your fingers playing with his hair, before he’s pushing himself up to hang over your torso, tender eyes studying your messy hair and blissed out face.

A smile crosses your lips, eyes sparkling even with the lights out in the room and the curtains only cracked apart to let moonlight stream in.

“Gonna make me your wife one day, huh?” you tease as you look up at him from your spot laying back on the mattress, crumpled sheet pulled over top of your naked body.

Joel rolls his eyes playfully, leaning over you and smiling, “As if you didn’t know that from the first time I spoke to you. Knew you were trouble from the start, just turned out to be the best kind of trouble.”

taglist: @beskarandblasters @undrthelights @swiftispunk @joelsversion @asirenbyanyothername @ellenmunn @ja-ehyun @sw33tp1xie @marisemonteiroo @brunetteeras@bongsrconfusing @addictedtotlou @angie2274 @pedrostories @pedroholicx @theelishad @johnwatsn @elissaaa @felicityofbakerstreet @atinylittlepain @northernbluess @cannolighost @casa-boiardi @wannab-urs @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @fishingforpike @msjarvis @walkintotheriveranddisappear @sugadolly @yazsos @peppesgirl @pastawench @brittmb115 @anoverwhelmingdin @spishsstuff @wolfbook87 @mswarriorbabe80 @harriedandharassed @decemberdolly @laiisleitte @fierce-bab @vickie5446 @tbniarq @vee-bees-blog @thereaperisabitch @spidermanfrog @belliezz @joelsflannel @cartoon-garbage04 @bianqueee04 @nostalxgic @xyzstar @cumberpegg

[auncyen]

puts on clown shoes and clown wig

so Gallica references the fire at least once as a big deal, so I feel like that's when she first changed as a fairy. But, fairies are also said to be like. driven by their sense of purpose so like what was her sense of purpose from the time of the fire until when the prince came to the sanctum, since the resistance she joined seemed to be attached to the prince? (did canon...explain exactly what Gallica's sense of purpose was? where is it.)

(huge game spoilers under cut do not click if you haven't finished)

also, mama in her. weird as it is. it canon. also happened night of fire.

so basically--actually starting with the headcanon: Gallica and the prince actually were "childhood friends", in the sense that fairies like playing with kids over adults (similar mindset), kids love playing with fairies (FLUTTERING TALKING MAGICAL), and Will was an energetic toddler who loved running around with the fairies. Part of Gallica changing the night of the fire was seeing her playmate in distress as his mom was dying. Mama Queen asked Gallica to please make sure no one found him and Gallica probably did a combo of trying to soothe a toddler, maybe distract any sanctists who got too close, and trying not to freak out herself. (Meanwhile, Mama Queen is. uh. transferring to her or whatever. weird as that is.) Once things calmed down she went out and found another survivor to take the traumatized child off her hands please and thank you.

in the timeline aligning with canon Gallica is thereafter freaked out for a loooong time and tries to suppress the memories of that night and play with other fairies like everything's normal. Her once playmate is taken away. It's fine. She's just playing (and maybe always keeping an eye out to make sure strange people don't come and set another fire). Mama Queen accepts waiting among the survivors of her people, biding her time for when she can find a way to help. By the time the prince comes back Gallica doesn't recognize who he is because she's still kind of. "Noticing" how the world works compared to how she existed before and like, wdym a toddler and a child can be the same person at different times.

in an au timeline: Mama Queen realizes her son's going to be taken away and goes "oh hell no please go with him someone still wants to kill him". Gallica doesn't want her playbuddy dying either but is freaking out harder about leaving everything she knows when things have already gone south and she can't even play with Will because that might draw attention and there's a part of her very insistent that they're going into danger which. WHY ARE THEY DOING THAT she just wants to plaaaaay but she doesn't want her play buddy dying so. okay. okay. she can keep watching him.

anyway imagine you are King Hythlodaeus V still grieving that you could not save the love of your life and worried over your small son who has already survived an attempt on his life for nothing more than existing and will surely face more and then the exact first moment you think you're alone to grieve a little and crumble in private a fairy who's traumatized and possessed by your dead love comes out and yells at you because she's freaking out about everything that's happened. Hythlodaeus realizing both that she needs something to do for her sense of purpose and that her size only lets her do a few things and asking her to keep being a playmate for Will when they have some privacy in the castle...but also...he could use an ally who can easily spy on Forden or other suspicious individuals without being found. It will help keep Will safe.

am I writing palace spy Gallica au? .man I hope not. but I thought about Gallica and the sense of purpose thing for way too long.

[skaruresonic]

TBH I refuse to play SXS Gens out of pure principle until the option to restore the original Generations dialogues and animations are avaible, fuck the rewrites

I just finished the Shadow portion lol. Overall I feel like you're not missing much. Like, yeah, it's supposed to be an anniversary game and all that, but there's honestly not much in the way of story. You would unironically be better off playing the older games before this one.

I really feel like the "SxS Gens is necessary to catch new players up to Shadow's history" argument is looking a lot weaker now. If anything, you wouldn't understand the emotional resonances behind many of the allusions unless you've played previous games; they don't provide exposition or context within the narrative itself. You wouldn't know that the ARK raid happened because nobody implies as much. The narrative is written as though it expects you to know why Black Doom's threats to possess Shadow are such a big deal.

This game's narrative is about as patchwork as Gens; characters are in nonsensical spots (why do we find Metal Overlord in Kingdom Valley's boss area, but Mephiles in some random cave on the side of Chaos Island's? what purpose did Metal Overlord's presence serve? or Mephiles', for that matter?) and the plot is just "stop giant monster before it destroys the world" sans Eggman. Much peak, many wow.

There's literally no plot progression from point to point; there are six levels in total, and you will only see most of the "plot" unfold at the 3/4ths mark. Until then, you're just running around without much rhyme or reason.

Maria and Gerald are simply there for moral support. They don't really do anything besides that. Gerald justifies this by claiming he doesn't want to mess with the timeline by changing anything.

I went around talking to various characters. Conversations with Big and Maria were the most enjoyable, and I felt like they were the highlight of the game. Rouge gets a bit on-the-nose by comparing herself to Amy when saying she'd support Shadow. Some of Omega's lines strike me as a little acanonical. For some reason, Orbot and Cubot are also there, and you can help them build a rocket by collecting 80 machine pieces. From what I've heard, however, there's no reward for collecting them all, so I was like "lol bye" and left.

I was also disappointed by the lack of a Sonic boss fight. I would have loved a reprise of the original ARK race from Gens; it would have been a nice callback to how you get to see the race from both perspectives in SA2 as well, but we can't have nice things ig :v

Mephiles appears. Lol. Lmao, even. Rofl, if you will. It feels like ST included him solely to riff on the fact that he'll never be canon. He's such a nothingburger of a character and is so negligible as a plot point that he might as well not have been there. He's only there because fans wanted to see him again.

For one thing, you find him in an out-of-the-way cave under Chaos Island. For another, my guy literally says "I just want to exist" and Shadow goes "no. perish." Based, but also, way to waste my time lmao.

Black Doom wants to consume the world as well as possess Shadow. It's not explained how he returned; Gerald handwaves it as "he rebuilt his body through timey-wimey shenanigans."

The gameplay is serviceable for the most part but also incredibly tedious; I found I only enjoyed Radical Highway Act One, and that was because the design was unencumbered by the use of Doom Powers.

Chaos Control and Chaos Spear are your standard abilities, nothing to write home about.

Doom Missile has limited application since only enemies or targets can be shot down, and thus isn't used much.

Doom Surf controls like a friggin' surfing Blooper.

Doom Morph is okay, I guess. Shadow turns into a giant squid and is able to traverse pools of Black Arms juice.

I hate how the Doom Wings control so much omfg. And they say the Homing Attack is a crapshoot. >.>

tl;dr It's okay. Not terrible, but I honestly don't think I'd play it again.

[yellowmagicalgirl]

5 headcanons from a Trollhunters AU of your choice?

So there's this AU that I've had vague ideas about for a while, a roleswap where I swap all the canon ships (not counting Word of God ships and ships where we never see one of the characters). Do note that while the canon ships are getting swapped, the only canon ship that definitely gets together in this AU is Jlaire. (Staja and Darby are both maybe's, but I'm leaning no because IDK how much sense they'd make in this 'verse. Everything else is a NOTP for me.) (Also due to the amount of canon ships, you get more than 5 headcanons.)

Stricklake: Waltolomew is Jim's dad. Jim's bio mom walked out on them when Jim turned five - she accidentally saw Strickler in his true form, and she just wanted to escape. She was concerned that Jim wasn't human either, and she didn't want anything to do with him. (She was right that Jim wasn't fully human, though that didn't manifest as anything other than a very mild iron allergy until he got possessed by Morgana.) Meanwhile, Barbara is a local doctor who ends up getting roped in after she sees too much going on with the local teen defenders, and also after she ends up as Jim's foster mom when Strickler went missing.

Jlaire: The last battle between Kanjigar and Bular took place in a slightly different location, one that Claire was able to ride her bike to. She picked up the amulet and wasn't detected as quickly as Jim was in canon due to Strickler not going into the women's locker rooms. This allows her to have just enough time to learn to fight without Bular killing her for not knowing her way around knives like Jim does. Jim, meanwhile, has recently had the truth of his heritage revealed to him. If he serves the Janus Order well enough, then he can undergo the ritual that could make him a polymorph. (He never goes through the ritual but gains the ability anyways thanks to Morgana.) In the latter half of season 1, he became Team Trollhunters' man on the inside because he can't accept a world where Gunmar reigns (and also because Claire is very pretty in her armor.)

Dromura: Nomura became Kanjigar's apprentice, and while she didn't 100% expect to become the next trollhunter, she is miffed that this human girl with no fighting experience became the next trollhunter instead of her. She also briefly had a fling with Draal, who's human form works with Barbara under the alias of Dr. Aalbregt. Nomura once tried to get Kanjigar and Draal to meet in the hopes that Draal would change sides, but Kanjigar claimed that the impure was not his son. Ouch.

Staja: I'm not saying that Aja is the school bully, but she is rivals with Claire & Mary for popularity, with Claire & Mary being the femme popular crowd and Aja being the star quarterback. (Aja and Darci were neighbors growing up, so they're slightly more cordial.) She also teases Eli, but in a more friendly way since he's her little brother's BFF (and also Eli might have a crush on Krel). Eventually, the Tarron twins + Eli find out the truth. Steve on the other hand is the slightly spoiled heir to House Palchuk of Akiridion V. Seklos help us all.

Nanavex: Varvatos used to babysit Darci and the Tarron twins, sometimes at the same time, because he lives near all of them. He taught them to fight and can tell that something is going on. He doesn't know what. Nancy's son, husband, and daughter-in-law were all killed by the Zerons, and she was left to raise her grandson on her own. Between this and

Darby: I just can't see Darci getting the gravity cursed hammer, and I also can't really see her using a bow in this AU despite her using it in my seasonal amulet AU. I'm gonna say that instead she stole a fancy looking flute from the museum at the end of the second battle of Killahead. This flute was actually the flute that belonged to the Pied Piper, and it allows her to control small animals... and also goblins, because of the long-running raccoon joke. Mary never gets quite as involved in trollhunting as the others do due to being squeamish around violence, which causes her to grow distant from Claire and Darci. The coup happens earlier, Toby makes a cool bracelet for her, and Mary is selfish enough that she decides to befriend this foreign weirdo in order to get cool bracelets. (Due to the coup happening earlier, the two supernatural groups meet earlier. Toby gets to meet Vendel, who is more impressed with him than in canon. Vendel also likes Toby better than Steve.)

Stuart x Gwen: "The bounty hunter (Stuart) you (Morando) sent after us (Steve, Nancy, and Toby) became part of our found family." Meanwhile, I have two potential takes on Gwen. The first is that she's an untrustworthy rogue agent, willing to sell alien tech but also willing to sell secrets to whomever she thinks can get her the best deal. The other is that I replace Gwen of Gorbon with Guinevere, who was an alien all along in this 'verse, and Arthur thought that this foul creature killed his wife when he saw her in her true form. (In the latter case, there would be parallels between Guinevere/Arthur and Waltolomew/Jim's bio mom.)

send me an au and i’ll give you 5+ headcanons about it

[widowshill]

VAMP ROGER AU QUESTION! how would he and barnabas interact together (if they ever interact)? :3 💜

tagging @tortoisesshells because she's my co-conspirator <3

excellent question! this family and their sharp-toothed men will be the death of ... well, several community members of Collinsport, i suppose.

to start — Barnabas gets out of the box slightly differently than in canon, which colors his relationship to Roger and the rest of the household. Roger kills Willie after his attempted assault on Carolyn and Vicki (who is, by that point, his wife); Willie's mysterious disappearance and Roger's suspected involvement makes Jason that much more panicked, desperate, and correspondingly aggressive. Liz goes searching for the lost family jewels in a last-ditch attempt to buy Jason off, and, inadvertently, lets their ancient family sin out of the tomb.

ergo she's made Barnabas' thrall instead of Willie, but this goes unnoticed for a while — even though her brother would, in theory, recognize the signs, and his suspicions are raised, but she's already acting so much unlike herself with Jason around that he doesn't suspect anyone else of doing her harm. yet.

at the start, he and Barnabas get along very well, even before they discover their shared affliction: they're both relatively sophisticated, well-traveled, intelligent people, and for all that Roger decries Liz's emphasis on the Collins name, he leans towards familial connections instinctively (Roger hasn't got much in the way of friends outside of the house even in canon, and he's even more isolated as a vampire).

after he finds out Barnabas is also a vampire, things get a little more complicated, but overall, they're still friendly. Roger doesn't have much sympathy for Barnabas' relentless self-pity and decrying his doomed fate to live as a monster, because Roger on the whole enjoys his vampirism and has made a decent un-life for himself out of it (thanks in no small part to Vicki). but having someone like him around is a comfort in ways he wouldn't have expected, he's no longer solitary or uniquely monstrous out of the Collins family, he has someone else around through the night, and someone who understands the sufferings of bloodthirst and being shut out of the sun.

furthermore, Roger's very much interested in his family history and stories of the past, the building of Collinwood, Jeremiah's ships – and Barnabas was there. there's potential for some very interesting conversations about the past, and the arc of the Collins family history to the present, not to mention literature, travel, fashion, politics and the rest. Roger's his cousin's mirror in modernity in many ways, and that's something potentially interesting to explore: the world changes around them, but Collinses do not.

as an aside, they both have a funny sort of relationship to Burke. Barnabas hates him for his resemblance to Jeremiah and envies his friendship with Vicki and thinks he's crude, and Roger ... well. it's complicated. it's closer to antagonism than not, and Burke has tried to kill him once in this au, and Roger resents his flirting with Vicki, but then there's everything else with their past. so I don't think Barnabas' treatment of him would sit particularly well with Roger, he'd take the attitude of hey, only I can be a dick to Burke >:(

the definite fracture point is Barnabas imprinting on Vicki. Roger's already jealous and possessive by nature, and it's amplified by the supernatural nature of his relationship to Vicki (being closer, bodily and mentally; being necessary to each other; being, quite literally, sustenance) so he's already a little on edge when Barnabas starts paying attention to her, giving her presents, and appreciating the scenery — Barnabas doesn't, exactly, tend to have much in the way of moral inclination to leaving women alone when they have prior engagements, but it's fair to point out the irony of everything Roger was doing with his bloodbag governess when he was still very much a married man.

anyway: Roger finds foreign bite marks on his wife's neck, and he's understandably immensely upset by this. partially out of territorial sentiment, but he also knows Vicki, and he knows that she wouldn't have invited another vampire willingly — which means that she was forced, or hypnotized, or attacked in secret, and there's only the one potential suspect. this is already enough to lose his good will, but he might have been willing to let Barnabas go with a "hands off," had this discovery not lead to finding out what he'd also been doing to Liz. the combination of the two is unforgivable, and it's Barnabas' error to have made an enemy who is very personally aware of all his vampiric weaknesses, and Burke's already carved a stake.

[prussiasqueen]

Vent ahead 🔫 : nothing really has changed within the fandom, except there’s new people, new massive amounts of mlm pairing, a bunch of headcanons that everyone seems to fight over each other about on a tumblr and other places and one thing that has changed is how people perceived certain characters…

Germany in my eyes, is no longer HRE, HRE is the predecessor of Germany , HRE loved chibitalia who he thought was a girl. That is no longer though a existing concept it’s long gone, Germany in my eyes finds Italy to be that annoying friend that he deals with. And Italy in my eyes is a big flirt with men and women, but mostly women and in my canon, he’s actively looking for a wife. Germany… is an awkward ass demiromantic, and he too in my canon is looking for a wife, And if I want to self ship with Germany fucking my s/i’s big beautiful juicy ass, then he’s gone do it~ and I’m gonna draw about it, write about it because I love it and my bf loves it and yeah~ in my canon, he’s in a complicated thing with Malka (Israel Chan) and he also seems to be very attached to my s/i Bridget, which makes a very fucked up love V. … (but anyways, I’m shooting off to something here on my rant )

And if I say Prussia is fucking the hell out of my s/i’s fupa then he’s going to fucking town on that~ squeezing tits, making me scream his name, whatever the case! Nom nom nom it’s all mine and what I love to portray (can’t wait to do cosplay with my bf of it, that’s even better, hue hue hue hue)

I ain’t even gonna sit here and let y’all tell me they are with so and so-

It goes both ways in this, people get just as possessive and crazy about fujoshi/mlm ships as they attack the self ship community REGARDLESS of the ship is platonic, queer platonic, queer romantic, heterosexual romantic, it doesn’t matter of any of it! Whether s/i is male, female, non-binary, etc. there’s always a small war between the self shipping and the “canon obsessed” fans.

Look, I been attacked by gerita fans in the past and even now, and I’m not gonna sit here let the abundance of gerita porn/fanfiction deter me of how I see Germany. it ain’t canon in my eyes, and never will be. That’s how I feel on it. As anyone should portray how they want to of a character. But if you ask me to go ahead and accept it, fuck you I’m not.

Don’t like my self shipping? Then block me, the end. 🤷🏻‍♀️ I been secretly self shipping with Germany since I was 17 years old, I saw his face and that’s when I knew I fell in love… and guess what.. I’m a fucking female imagine thaaaaat! And one with big tits and big butt at that and doesn’t define as any other orientation or gender other than Bisexual, demiromantic , OH NO A FEMME LOVES Ludwig GASSSPPP 😱/s

People can love Germany as whoever the hell they want to, he can love whoever the fuck he wants to because he’s a fucking fictional character, same for Gilbert and Elizabeta.

My canon in my universe and in my perception is what my german bf who kins with both things, he and I do what we do in the fandom and it’s in our own little corner, if you choose to be interested in how I portray my f/os, cool… if not then, don’t bother.

I’m tired of being fucking nice, people brought the bitch out of me.

I will do whatever the fuck I wanna do with Ludwig and Gilbert and Elizabeta.

🤷🏻‍♀️💜👑

[sineala]

Do you know of any Captain America comic where Cap thinks about or does go back to his original time, but then decides he doesn't belong there anymore and comes back (or decides not to go back at all idk)? Is that a thing, or did I make it up in my head? I figured you might know, but if you don't sorry to bug you!

You are thinking of a real comic! The comic you are probably thinking of Mark Waid's five-issue miniseries Captain America: Man Out of Time, which is a modern retelling of Steve's origin story. Man Out of Time is probably my favorite Cap comic, specifically because of the decision Steve makes.

So there's him getting frozen and found by the Avengers in Avengers #4, but the retelling also covers a few more of the issues after that. In particular, it goes up through Avengers #8, which is the first appearance of Kang the Conqueror. (Though, technically, of course, he says he's also a couple other villains who have already appeared. Kang's gonna Kang.)

What actually happens in Avengers #8 is a fairly standard supervillain fight -- the Avengers fight him, mostly get captured and taken to his spaceship, get rescued, then punch him some more. They destroy some of his weapons and reflect others, and then he gets in his spaceship and retreats, zooming away. So that's canon. Just so you know what canonically happens. Nothing that happens in Man Out of Time is technically 616 canon. But that doesn't mean it's not a good story.

So this isn't how it goes in Man Out of Time's version of Avengers #8. At all.

I was going to make this a much longer post with many more panels but the very very short summary of the miniseries is that this is a version of Steve's early days in the future focusing heavily on his alienation from modern society -- he spends almost all of Avengers #4 convinced he's dreaming and he's going to wake up any minute.

He must be dreaming. Why are the Dodgers in Los Angeles?

When he finally accepts that it's real, he immediately wants to find someone who will send him back so he can try to save Bucky.

Reed Richards has a time machine, so Steve does possess the capability to go back.

Tony takes Steve on a date to the Smithsonian (as well as a private Radiohead concert and apparently Steve likes Radiohead?) and tries to sell him one last time on the wonders of the future, like how we have space travel now and less sexism and less racism and way fewer vaccine-preventable diseases and God I liked this book so much better when I thought people would all want to be vaccinated against diseases that could kill them.

Anyway. Steve can't be convinced; he still wants to go back to the forties. Eventually the president has to tell him he can't go back because he knows too much about the future.

Steve's not happy.

I was going to say that Mark Waid did not have to go this hard but I think maybe he did.

So Steve has to stay and he's miserable and then he starts to hate a lot of things about the future that are still bad. He finds out human trafficking exists. He finds out the designated-hitter rule exists. These things are not really comparable but he's upset about both of them. He finds out about domestic terrorism. The Vietnam War. MLK's assassination. This wasn't what he thought he was fighting for.

(The events of Avengers #5-7 happen in the background.)

And that's when we get to Avengers #8 and Kang. Kang captures the team. And Kang sends Steve back in time. To 1945. To V-J Day. So this is after Bucky is gone, but still, this is Steve's home, right? He should be happy. And for a bit, he is. He's a returning soldier, just like all the other GIs. A hot dog costs a nickel, like it ought to.

And then things start to fall apart. He goes to a Dodgers game, the Brooklyn Dodgers, as they obviously ought to be. I don't know why so much of Steve's personal betrayal by the future and also the past is about baseball, but, yeah, it is. So he watches the game and he starts talking to the kid and his father sitting next to him and the kid's a big Dodgers fan, right? Loves baseball. So Steve asks him if he wants to play for the Dodgers when he grows up.

Relevant information: the kid's black.

(Other relevant information, if you're not a baseball fan: Jackie Robinson, the first black man to play in major-league baseball, started playing for the Dodgers in 1947. He was in the minor leagues in 1946. But this story is set in 1945.)

So naturally the father would like Steve to stop lying about how his son could ever play for the Dodgers because obviously integrated baseball is a fantasy.

Steve is starting to suspect that maybe the past isn't as great as he remembered.

(Incidentally, a nice development in actual baseball news a couple years ago is that Baseball Reference, the big baseball stats organization, finally integrated... their data. All of the Negro Leagues statistics are now listed as major league, so a lot of good players are finally getting the recognition they deserve.)

Anyway. Steve can't find most of the people he knew in the war but then runs into a GI he knew, who wants to talk to him about how great life is now. He's not feeling it.

He realizes it's because he left the Avengers. He couldn't save Bucky. But he can still save the Avengers from Kang. He needs to help them. That's where he needs to be.

Luckily, he has his identicard still on him! And he can leave them a message!

He tells Rick when and where he is, and Reed comes and picks him up in his time machine.

And then he and the Avengers kick Kang's ass.

The miniseries then ends with Steve going to the Grand Canyon, where Bucky said he always wanted to visit. So Steve draws Bucky. But Steve knows now that he can't live in the past. It's tempting, he says. But it's where fossils come from.

So he lies there. He goes through his CDs. He sets aside Bing Crosby. And he listens to Radiohead. Because he lives in the future now.

So, yeah.

I love this miniseries and it really shaped how I view Steve as a character and I love that he got the chance to make this decision and he made it and I really didn't like Avengers: Endgame.

(There is another universe where Steve faces a similar decision. This is probably not the issue you were thinking of, but Marvel Adventures Avengers #37 has a plot where the Invaders -- who seem to be some kind of combination of the Invaders and the All-Winners Squad, and also it's the 50s -- come to the present and offer Steve a chance to come back. Steve seems to be seriously considering it but before he can decide whether to use the doll that will send him back to the past, Wolverine destroys it because the future needs him here and Steve's like, yeah, you're probably right. So he's still in the future but... he didn't actually get to decide that.)

I hope Man Out of Time is the comic you're thinking of! If you like Steve at all, you should read it. It's the best.

[blueiight]

What light do you see Loustat in? Some people see loustat in a grim light where the abusive aspects of their relationship are brought to the front but others see them in a way where they work through that and are happy in each other’s space. Though, I could never really pin how you see them.

i feel like this is a very flippant answer to what is a well thought out question but TLDR i l think lestat x louis are foundational to the western yaoi canon..

yk how bell hooks has a book all about love i dont feel like she was fair in some aspects namely in suggesting that ppl who harm u cant love u . love like anything else is a feeling, that does not always translate in the material. taking this to the head we can see in history how ppl can be galvanized into commiting the worst of deeds based off a ~belief~ or abstract notion of love or loyalty (that materially benefits them/the party theyre on). so i dont feel like love is inextricable from harm , ppl can hold feelings that do not always manifest in ideal ways. this goes both for my lesypoo would neva types & my lou dont love dat evil bitch types. love is complicated especially the love of immortals. cuz thats ultimately what monsters r. a rhetorical device in fiction to explore humanity’s capacity for evil. book leslou was fascinating in part bc louis was an old school bougie planter who got outdaddied by this noble land-poor european country lord.if the vampire prior to this was the fear of the exotic immortal east; then in book!iwtv& its response tvl , the roguish european hero imparts itself in creating the colonial planter (louis) & later… in a battle against the old east (twmbk). meta wise yes louis was bitchy to lestat in tobt bc anne at the time wanted david to be w les but even looking at tvl & qotd louis hes exceptionally tender to lestat in no small part bc he adored lestat’s inner strength as a man (using this to mean disposition here. very antifeminist of me), and struggled between acknowledging his longing for him .. and in tobt he struggled with the sort of subversion of dynamics . what could a weakened lestat do for him? what could he do to a weakened lestat? that scared him. he cared for a weakened lestat in mtd enough to claw at walls soo. who knows! and in both adaptations louis is lestat’s baby.(even if show lestat put louis in an A/C compressor) comparing this to show leslou, theres no need for an older lestat to cosplay being the gold digger here (or be viewed as such in louis’s narration?), especially in the face of a black younger louis. whos given an addled sort of anger / passion rooted in his encroaching disempowernment v the power he possesses intracommunaly as a creole bm .. lestat asking louis howd u get in here? XXX HOT EBONY—[is shot]. and the second interview louis is certainly more readily able? or willing? or ??? w/ his longing for lestat? if not himself in a moment (‘bled him like a pig’) then we as the viewers can deduce such (seeing past louis cry over a bleeding out lestat). thats the nature of adaptation baby. and going back to the love point, it reminds me it was either jacob or sam who said it its a shame my recall is failing atm cuz i rly liked the way they put it. leslou love eachother but dont really like eachother. of course people can syncretize aspects of the later books (s/o barbara and retirement in auvergne!) or even extrapolate a lot from their scenes in the show in hopes of seeing their show counterparts grow to like eachother in fan content irdgaf. the show has adapted what was priorly universally agreed to be the darkest period of lestat and louis’s relationship. where people diverge is in the semantics & decisions made in adaptation, but it serves a purpose to a story that is yet unclear to us! bear in mind this is the first cour of interview, 1 book of 15.. for example nobody was predicting that the show would weave in the wider chronicles by incorporating a second interview before s1 came out. i guess thats why my take on leslou (presuming the show vers is wym) is so unclear bc im an uncreative boor & can only look at whats given on text or in screen… this is sublime western yaoi

[pedrito-friskito]

cinnamon spice and everything (not so) nice - matt murdock x vigilante!reader

summary: the holiday season puts you in a baking mood before duty calls, and coming home tastes better than ever.

warnings: canon-typical violence, possessive!matt, unprotected p-in-v, shower sex, hints of what’s to come for our sweet kitten and devil

a/n: uNEDITED I’m lazy I’m sorry but this one was interesting to write!!! hints of what’s to come (not for a while but it wILL HAPPEN SOON I SWEAR) - my askbox is always open if you have theories 😏

🍂kay’s autumn adventures🍂

Matt’s pretty sure he can count on one hand the number of times he’s used his kitchen.

Since you appeared on the scene, however — swooping your way into his life and deciding to stay, despite everything you’d both been through — the apartment is a test lab of sorts. Every night you’re over at his place, you’re trying out some new recipe, greeting him at the door with a wooden spoon coated in something, pushing it towards his mouth and telling him to taste. It’s only after he gives you his honest opinion that he gets his hello kiss, a smile on your mouth more often than not.

Spaghetti is a staple and is always a hit, along with all your variations and sauces. Same goes with pad thai, broccoli cheddar soup, and a ridiculously good ravioli thing that Matt’s still not sure you made correctly, but was delicious either way. He’s joked more than once that it’s a good thing you both spend your evenings taking down criminals and running across rooftops, otherwise he’d have traded his muscles for a paunch a long time ago.

“And I’d still want to fuck your brains out,” you’d chided, poking him in the stomach before grabbing his belt and hauling him towards you for a kiss.

He can always smell your cooking before he even steps out of the elevator, even more so when he takes the stairs, the scents mingling with the building air and hitting his nose as soon as he’s inside. He’s made a game of it, trying to figure out just what you’re making for dinner before he gets to his floor. Sometimes he’ll text you his guess from inside the elevator, waiting for your triumphant no! or confused yes? how did you guess that? once he steps through the door.

But today, he’s…confused.

The smell is different today. There’s nothing savoury about it, no salt or pepper or — your favourite — garlic powder permeating the air. No, no, today is different. Today is…sweet.

Matt inhales deeply as soon as he steps into the building, and the flavours explode on the back of his tongue. Cinnamon, nutmeg, brown sugar, maple. It goes on and on, and he’s too distracted to even think about hitting the button for the elevator, keeping his cane handy in case he encounters anyone on the way up. No one crosses his path, however, and before you can even shout hello, he’s through the door and into the kitchen, sniffing the air like a hound dog, licking his lips as the flavours and smells grow more and more intense.

“You’ve been busy,” he laughs, and you just shrug.

“I had the day off,” you reply, and Matt steps up behind you, slipping his arms around your middle, setting his chin on your shoulder while you continue to roll out cookie dough. Everything just smells so good, he can feel the drool pooling on his tongue, and coupled with the familiar scent of you, he’s nearly a goner. “Foggy called earlier,” you continue, sucking a stripe off cinnamon off your knuckle before turning in Matt’s grasp, draping your arms around his shoulders. “He wants us to come over for Thanksgiving dinner.”

“Uh-huh,” Matt mumbles, leaning in to kiss you. You taste like sugar, your already sweet mouth made doubly so. It sends him reeling. “So you decided to turn my apartment into a bakery?”

“I bake when I’m nervous,” you sigh, tilting your head back, accepting the kisses he drags down your throat. “And you know what tonight is.”

Matt stops short, trying to comb through his sugar-hazed mind. Tonight? Tonight, it’s late October, it’s Wednesday, it’s not your birthday, it’s not his birthday, and you don’t necessarily have an anniversary to speak of, not yet anyway, so what is tonight…?

Oh.

“I do know what tonight is,” Matt grumbles, the words spoken directly into your jugular, followed up with a little nip that makes you whine and smack his shoulder.

You are nothing if not persistent. In everything you do; your vigilantism, your day-job, your friendships, your love for him. He’s tried his best to keep you at arm’s length with what you both do in the dark, but he knows your patience has waned thin. For a while, taking it in shifts was the easiest, swapping out each night, the other staying behind, ready to tend to wounds and kiss bruised egos back to life. It worked, for a time, but the waiting, the pacing the apartment (his or yours, it didn’t matter) and just waiting for the other half of your heart to come back through the door — or window — it became too much. It was too hard, simply waiting, praying to whoever was listening to bring them back. Whole. Unbroken. Alive.

“Remind me again why we don’t cut the bullshit and protect the Kitchen together?” you’d asked, ever so casually, over breakfast one morning. You were nursing a nasty black eye, and Matt sputtered on his cereal, his cracked rib sending a twinge of pain up his spine.

“What?”

“If we did this together,” you continued, sipping your coffee. “If we worked together, instead of just waiting up for each other, we could actually get things done. Put the bad guys in cells. Protect our city.”

His hand turned into a fist on the table. “Kitten, don’t. You know what I—”

“I know exactly what you’re going to say,” you countered, reaching over and curling a hand around his wrist. “You’ve said it a million times, Matty. So, I have a proposal. One month from now, we go out on patrol together. You watch my back, I watch yours, for one night. One night, Matthew. And if anything goes wrong, I’ll drop it forever. But if it works, if we make as good of a team as I think we will, then you stop pushing back at me.” You squeezed his arm. “Deal?”

He bit back his objection. He knew you wouldn’t drop it otherwise, knew you didn’t care what else he had to say. It was obvious in the consistently steady beat of your heart; you hadn’t let yourself think about this turning into a fight. Your mind was made up, your proposal was perfectly logical, and there was no lawyering himself out of this one — not if he didn’t want to sleep on the couch for the foreseeable future.

“Deal.”

For a beat, Matt wishes he could go back in time and punch his past self in the face. It might hurt less than the instant knot of worry and fear that makes a home in his stomach, the sugary taste on his tongue turning sickly sweet. He buries his face further into your neck, inhaling the familiar scent of you that lurks beneath the cinnamon and brown sugar.

“We had a deal, Matthew,” you murmur, lifting one hand and threading your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. “You promised.”

“I did,” he replies, the words spoken into the hollow of your throat. “We go together. I promised.”

It’s late by the time you head out into the city. The kitchen is mostly clean, the scent of baked goods still drenching every inch of the apartment, and Matt can still taste the toffee from the cookies you made, the sweetness lingering on the back of his tongue. He’s stoic and silent as you prepare, suits zipped and weapons fastened, masks donned and courage mustered. He’s antsy as you head up the stairs to the roof entrance, the sounds of your footfalls echoing loud in his ears.

You reach for the door handle, and Matt grabs your wrist. “You stay close to me, understand?” he murmurs, squeezing his fingers lightly. “And if I tell you to run, you run.”

“Matt, this isn’t—”

“Kitten,” he chides, his grip growing tighter. “I promised you. Now it’s your turn.”

He hears the hard swallow you take, the huff of your breath before he feels the heat on his chin. “Fine. I promise.”

+

Everything goes fine, really.

Until it doesn’t.

Until you’re pinned down in an alleyway, both of you with your backs to bricks, multiple guns pointed in your direction, more thugs than you’ve faced alone crowding you further down the alley. You’re both worse for wear, busted knuckles and a few ribs, a steady drip of blood down the side of your face, and Matt’s lip is split in at least three places. He’s positioned himself in front of you, his body angled in such a way that he’s mostly blocking you. Your heart is in your throat, and you’re sure he can hear it. 

This is bad.

You know Matt’s faced worse, at this point. Everything that happened at Midland Circle, everything leading up to it. Your resume pales in comparison, and you’d never dream of trying to take down an operation like this on your own, but you didn’t anticipate this many men. Or this man guns.

You’re fast, but you can’t outrun a bullet. You’ve tried, and you have the scars to prove it.

“The fire escape,” Matt murmurs, so low you can barely hear him. “To the left. When I signal, you run.”

“But—”

“Kitten.”

The tone sends a shiver down your spine. It’s the same one he’d used when you started to protest back at the apartment. Everything in you is screaming not to go, but before you can, he’s sprinting towards a dumpster, using all his weight to push it towards the group of men. Bullets start to fly, ricocheting off brick and metal, and, knowing Matt is safe enough tucked behind the dumpster, you curse under your breath and sprint up the fire escape, just as he’d asked.

You don’t look back, heart in your throat and blood thundering through your ears as you sprint up the steps. Metal clangs beneath your boots, and as you near the top of the building, you have enough wherewithal to realize that there’s a second set of footsteps below you.

Please God, if you’re listening, let it be Matt. Please, please. please.

You roll onto the gravel roof as soon as you’re over the edge of the fire escape, scrambling against the brick, heaving breaths and trying to suck down more oxygen. You hear another panted breath behind you and spin to your feet, reaching for the weapon at your belt.

Before you can make another move, a large hand wraps itself around your throat, hauling you up and to your feet, boots scraping on the gravel, your back shoved hard against brick a moment later. “You think you can outrun us, little bitch?” the man spits. You’re scrabbling against his grip, trying to claw at his wrist, his arm, his face, anything you can reach. Your feet kick like mad, vision blurring at the edge as his grip goes tighter. No, no, no, no, please God, no. All you can hear is the sound of your own choked sputtering, see the gruesome face of your attacker, feel the life slowly draining from you.

This cannot be the end. Not after everything. Not like this.

The grip goes slack, and you fall to the gravel in a heap, your body immediately trying to get as much oxygen as humanly possible, the blurriness giving way to little black dots that dance across your vision. You lay there for a moment, palm pressed to your chest. You’re alive.

There’s shouting, from the other side of the roof, and you struggle to sit up, head turning in time to see Matt being shoved to his knees by your attacker, punch after punch delivered to his face, blood pouring down his cheeks, staining the front of his suit an even darker shade of red. His billy club lies on the ground a few feet from the pair of them, and you scramble forward on your knees, your body quaking in protest as you haul yourself up.

You shout loud as you crack the club across the back of the man’s head, but he barely flinches, large frame turning from Matt and back to you. You try to will the fear away, but the feeling of his hand around your throat comes back, a phantom ache that makes your breath come shorter.

“Little bitch!” he shouts, and goes to lunge for you, but before he can, Matt swoops in from the side, shoving his shoulder into the man’s middle, sending him wheeling backwards.

Right over the edge of the roof.

You both face each other as the sound echoes up from the alley below. Your chest is heaving, breaths wispy and thin. You feel lightheaded, and Matt notices, moving to step beside you as you collapse into him, curling your hand into whatever part of his suit you can. He slips an arm around your waist. “Home,” he breathes out, the word thick with blood that he spits onto the gravel. “Now.”

You can’t bring yourself to voice your agreement, nodding as you lean your head on his shoulder. He smells like copper. 

“Is he dead?” you ask as he pulls you across the roof.

A pause, head cocked to the side. “He’ll live.”

“Matt.”

“He will.”

Something feels different as you slowly make your way back to Matt’s apartment. It’s not tension between you, per se, but something different, something more tangible, something almost desperate as Matt nearly carries you through the rooftop entrance. He stops at the bottom of the steps, forces you to sit, and pulls your feet into his lap one at a time, unlacing your boots and pulling them off, setting them aside. 

Blood is still leaking from his nose, and you’re worried it might be broken, but he doesn’t flinch when you reach out to wipe the red from his cupid’s bow. “You took the brunt of it,” you say, your voice hoarse and scratchy, and he tosses your second boot to the side, reaching up and pulling his helmet off.

“I had to,” he replies, hair a mess as he lets the helmet fall to the floor. “He was trying to kill you.”

There’s a glimmer in those bottomless eyes as they move in your direction, something feral and uncanny that you’ve never seen before. His lashes flutter as he blinks slowly, gaze turning glassy as he reaches for your hand, takes it between both of his, swipes his thumb across your busted knuckles.

“I won’t let that happen.”

His voice nearly cracks on the last word, and you hook your fingers in the front of the suit, leaning up with what little strength you have left and brushing a soft kiss across his lips, careful of the splits in his skin. “I know you won’t, Matty.”

He’s quiet as he helps you to your feet, quieter as he leads you into the bathroom, turns on the shower so hot that the steam fills the room quickly. Silent as he undresses himself, bloodied suit laying in a heap on the floor, your own — dirty and dust-covered — joining it a moment later. Noiseless as you step under the spray together, take turns washing the dirt and blood from each other. The steam eases the ache in your chest, makes your breaths come a bit easier, and after you’re both clean, Matt pushes you against the tile, pushes your knees apart with his thigh, and kisses you hard.

You squeak in surprise, one hand grabbing his shoulder, the other threading in his hair as his body moulds itself against yours. You can feel every inch of him, scars and muscle and wet skin. The prod of his cock against the inside of your thigh, the gentle scratch of his body hair against you.

He kisses you hard, and his tongue tastes like toffee. It makes you laugh, the awful juxtaposition of the duelling sides of your life. The light and the dark, the normal and the uncanny. But there, no matter where you look: Matt Murdock, Daredevil, man of your dreams, owner of your heart.

“Kitten,” he whispers against your lips, hands roaming your body gently. He skims your thigh, hooks his hand around the back of your knee and hikes your leg over his hip. Pleasure spikes as he rolls his body into yours, friction in all the right places, and your head tips back against the tile. “Please, I…”

“Tell me, Matty,” you reply, breathing fast as his other hand glances down your front, tweaking your nipple before fitting into the curve of your waist. “What do you need?”

“I need you safe,” he groans, dropping his hips enough that his cock slides between your folds, the water easing his thrust, teasing and slow. “I need you beside me.” He sucks your bottom lip between his teeth, nipping lightly before releasing it, mouthing along the edge of your jaw. “I need to be inside you.”

“Uh-huh,” you mumble out, bliss climbing, replacing whatever fear you’ve encountered, whatever stress and tension you’ve accumulated dissipating as your body screams: Matt, Matt, Matt, Matt, Matt. “I want that too.”

“Such a good kitten,” he murmurs, the tip of his nose dragged along the underside of your jaw. He’s pointedly avoiding your throat, and you can tell, but you don’t mind. He squeezes your hip. “My perfect girl.” Another teasing thrust, making your breath hitch high, hand moving from his shoulder to his bicep, squeezing tight. “Let me fuck you, please.”

You just nod again, your head falling forward, jaw hinging open as he angles himself and pushes deep into you. It’s slow, like the rest of it, drawn out and almost excruciating, the drag of him inside you sending your nerves into a frenzy, rushes of pleasure just teetering on the edge of pain.

A few thrusts, and he’s reaching for your other thigh, holding one in each hand, lifting you against the tile as he starts to drive into you. You throw your arms around his neck, cheek pressed to the top of his head as his lips attach to your collarbone, teeth scraping and lips sucking.

It’s a moment before you realize he’s talking, his voice low and husky.

“Mine.”

The word, over and over and over again, your name interspersed, in perfect time with his thrusts, the sound of his skin against yours barely audible over the rush of the water. The heat is almost too much, and you can feel yourself teetering on that edge already, your exhausted body leaping towards the peak of pleasure.

A particularly deep thrust has the ridge of his stomach glancing against your clit, and you’re a goner. He’s not far behind you, growling his way through his orgasm, that familiar warmth only he can provide spreading through you. The water’s starting to go from hot to warm, cold not too far off, as you come down, Matt slipping out of you with a groan and letting you down, holding you close as you right yourself on shaky knees.

Just as the water starts to go cold, he grabs your jaw, turns your face towards him, kisses you rough.

“Mine.”

—————

matt murdock taglists will be rb’d!

[elvisabutler]

I just read your angst/jealous/drunk austin hc and imma need a fic like that when you’re not busy

oh anon. that was cute. i'm always busy with either my daughter, my job(s) or life in general. but also fics because i don't know when to stop. and this was from august. i'm so sorry. if you're still here. hi, this is one of three i started.

when will we get the time to be just friends

summary: a date goes well enough when you're broken up with austin. austin mildly ruins it by being drunk and calling you while being intensely jealous. the fact that he's in new york works to your advantage. fandom: austin butler | elvis 2022 rating: m pairing: austin butler x priscilla actress reader ( little dove verse, whatever you wanna call it ) word count: 1799 warnings: you know the drill. daddy kink. talk of a break up. jealousy. austin is drunk, dove is sober. no use of the y/n. dom/sub relationship. character bleed issues. mildly unhealthy dynamics. choking during sex. possessiveness. p in v sex ( unprotected via condom, but dove has a birth control patch ) author's note: for real though i am so sorry anon about how long this has taken. i still have like two other fics i started for this prompt and will probably post. so. if you're still here by golly you'll get a small feast. this is not canon, but consider it an offshoot? a what if? based on this headcanon/blurb/crumb thing.

Consider you don’t block his number. Consider you just hang up the phone until five minutes later when you realize that for some ungodly reason you can’t stop thinking of what he said. He’s not wrong, you didn’t actually come with the guy you brought home and yes, you didn’t wear underwear with that dress, because it never really fit all that well when you did, it messed up the lines of the dress. 

You debate the merits of blocking his number as you stare at the phone because you know you should. You know that at this point the way you and Austin have been interacting with each other isn't healthy, that you two should have given each other a clean break. You two should have stopped talking to each other so that you could both- heal properly from Elvis and whatever you two had gotten wrapped into while filming. It's just that talking to Austin was easy, it's always been weirdly easy for you even from that first day. Of course that first day might have been more flirting than it was talking but all the time after and all the phone calls during quarantine and then the time spent as Austin and you, Daddy and Dove, and even Elvis and Priscilla- it was just easy to talk to him. You miss him, god help you but you miss his touch and miss his hand around your throat. Before you realize just what you're doing you end up shooting him a text asking where he's staying.

He's lucky you've lived in New York for almost all of your life so that his answer that would be mildly incoherent to others is translated easily and you realize- his hotel is very close to your apartment. You still catch an Uber though, unwilling to walk in the heels and dress that you're in. Besides the wait for the Uber allows you to dwell on what you're doing. Dwell on the fact that you think you're going up to his hotel room to confront him but you know perfectly well that's not what's going to happen. He was so goddamn belligerent over the phone that you're surprised he didn't call you a slut, didn't tell you that you were still his like he hadn't fucked Lily Rose and Olivia and all those girls on the Masters of the Air set. You held no claim over him because you had tossed it away and you were okay with that- except sometimes- nights like this you couldn't help but wonder what would have been. What could have been, it would have been you and him on the date you had just been on. This dress would be a pool of fabric at the foot of your bed and he'd be entering you softly at first before you told him you wanted it harder.

Before you realize it, you're already at his hotel room door and you don't even get a chance to knock on the door before he's opening it as if he sensed you were on the other side already. He's not- fully drunk, you think, just enough that his tongue is loosened and that he doesn't have half the hang ups he's developed while talking to you since the break up. His eyes rake over your form, taking in how the dress clings to your body in all the right places to have him letting out a low groan. The finally settle on your thigh, peeking through the slit of the dress and he growls, pulling you in by the hand and shutting the door behind you in a rush. You want to tell him that you both shouldn't be doing this- that you're only here because you want to give him a piece of your mind but then you feel his lips on your neck, feel the slight brush of stubble against your skin and you whimper. The guy you had gone on a date with was fine, he was nice and great but he wasn't Austin.

"Missed you. Missed seeing you look this fucking gorgeous." He mouths at your neck, nipping just slightly before giving you an actual bite. "Showing off your legs, Dove. You knew there were going to be cameras there, knew I'd see it."

"I didn't." You whisper quietly, your hands against your own wishes move to grab at his hair, yanking at the strands. "Didn't see the camera till they already took a pic."

That earns a snarl from Austin has his hands move to find the zipper to your dress, which he finds quicker than he has any right to with how much liquor you figure he's had. "So he didn't protect you. Let my Dove get her photo taken against her will. You know I would have made sure no one saw you like that if you didn't want it. Would have only let me and the staff see you like that."

It shouldn't make your toes curl, the way he threatens that he would have protected you. It should bother you that he's still this possessive over you like you both just left the Elvis set but- it does. Your toes curl in your heels and Austin notices how you're shivering under his touch as he starts to pull down your dress.

"Gonna fuck you. Need to fuck you." He mumbles, his hands moving to cup your bare breasts because of course this dress didn't allow you to wear any undergarments. That boy would have enjoyed you like this, like only he has the right to. Like only he should, even if you're not his girlfriend- his sub- his everything and more any more. "Need my Dove. Gonna make you feel good, forget about him. Make you miss me."

You figure that maybe Austin is just gone enough that he won't remember your next words and you're feeling every feeling you've been trying to work through in therapy just rush to the surface. "I already miss you. So much. Why do you think i keep talking to you?"

After all, that's all you'll allow yourself to have because anything else means you broke up with him for no reason, for no purpose. You're not supposed to have anything else. Just maybe Austin as a friend, as someone who knows every single thing about you, who you trusted to submit to and who- broke your heart maybe as much as you broke his.

Something about you saying that spurs something in him, has him making the dress pool at your feet and has him lifting you up against the wall as he fumbles with his pajama pants, pulling them down just enough to free his already aching cock. It looks angry and red and covered in precum, almost as if he'd been playing with it before you arrived, a notion that has you moaning against him as he lines himself up with your cunt. You shouldn't be wet, you shouldn't be aroused by the way he's so jealous but it's done something for you, it's reminded you that this is why you thought he was perfect. He wants to protect you, he wants only you, he wants you with a focus that is terrifying and yet so endearing.

The feel of his cock after so long takes your breath away, has you clawing at his back because he's not pulling any punches so why should you, his thrusts are messy and fast and hard and you love it while craving maybe a hint of softness that you don't dare ask for. He starts to slur words against you, a hand moving to your neck to choke you lightly, his voice sounding like a mix of Elvis and like the California boy that you never met and you likely never will even if he can shake this drawl.

"Shouldn't have let you leave me. Should have come straight here to get you back. Love you so much. Miss you so much. Miss your everything so goddamn much. Want you by my feet again. Want my collar on that neck of yours." He keeps moving, keeps having his hand tighten but not enough to worry you. "Still got the necklace. Still mine."

You shouldn't entertain this, you shouldn't but the words are making you want to sob and you don't want to, you bury the urge and just grab onto his wrist with one hand and tap once. Yes. You're still his. You're always going to be his no matter what because isn't that the joke, that you don't think even if you can detangle every last bit of you that was Priscilla and even if he can detangle every last bit of himself that was Elvis that you're not going to be his and he's not going to be yours.

Maybe it's because he had already been playing with himself before you came or maybe it's from the way your cunt clenches around him as he tightens his grip but you feel him cum and hear his groan as he does. Your heartbeat rushes in your ear from the lack of oxygen and yet you swear you hear him whispering your name. Not Dove, not Cilla. Your actual government name and somehow that does it for you. He doesn't even have to touch your clit before a small orgasm barrels through you. It's small but the release you feel from it scares you in its intensity. His hand leaves your neck and you take the opportunity to breathe, the opportunity to catch your breath from the lack of air and from just being around Austin after so long. Austin- you figure- is doing the same before you feel him trying to nuzzle at your neck. You feel him placing kisses on your jaw, they're messy but they're also softer than you think he has any right to do after what he said.

"Stay here tonight." He asks as he pulls out. The words are soft, almost like he doesn't want to say them but he needs to. Needs you to hear them. "Please."

Austin does not beg, that was always you. That's always how it's been. You beg and you ask and you get what you want. Austin asks and you give because he is giving you what you need. The question, the plea makes you open your eyes that you hadn't even realized had shut at some point to just look at him. You see his blue eyes mildly glassy but brimming with what you think are tears. You know what you should say, what you should do but you're selfish and young and you can't help your answer, simple and said with a nod. "Okay."

You leave before he wakes up.

[sandbees]

Dumbass but hilarious to consider scenario.

Dream SMP however it's the Twisted Boys doing the roleplay.

They were recording it because why not and did not expect the popularity it would get.

Yuu is Wilbur. Especially with the cursed lore. There have been many attempts to get them to stop. They all failed.

Riddle basically has Bad's roleplay role and is quite proud of The Egg Arc.

Ace is Tommy and Epel is Dream. Deuce is Tubbo. Sebeck is Sapnap. And Jack is George because he's not that into the heavy stuff.

You chose who everyone else is essentially playing as. Just wanted to share this.

*Laughs in 10 steps ahead of you*

I actually have like a few pages in a notebook about this. The cast list goes as follows:

Dream: Lilia (Mainly because Diasomnia is a strong af group and they do fit the “intimidating enemies” vibe.)

George: Malleus (Mainly because of King George in that one arc, plus with the lore of Dream and George being very close during that time. Though Jade takes George’s role during the Manberg/Pogtopia arc)

Sapnap: Silver (I find it funny that Silver, who is calm and also really low energy, is Sapnap, who has very high energy.)

Tommy: Ace (Come on, it’s obvious. Those two would be friends if Tommy traveled to Twisted Wonderland)

Tubbo: Deuce (Also very obvious. Tommy and Tubbo are a duo as much as Ace and Deuce.)

Wilbur: Epel (MMMMMM, Epel going batshit insane is a)

Fundy: Jack (...furry-) (No actually I think it’d be really cool for Jack, who has a strong moral compass betray his own morals just to keep up a spy act.)

Eret: Sebek (HAHAHHAHAHAHA, IT FITS BECAUSE SEBEK WOULD TOTALLY BETRAY THEM FOR LILIA AND MALLEUS)

Niki: Trey (Baker :) Also it’s fitting that Trey would be the one to kill Ace)

Techno: Leona (C’mon, his attitude matches DSMP! Techno, and he totally would be an anarchist.)

BBH: Kalim (Egg Arc :)))) Kalim would totally let himself be possessed for the sake of Jamil)

Skeppy: Jamil (Egg Arc :) Also best friends with Kalim obvs)

Sam: Vil  (I...have no exact reason for this. I just think it fits for some reason. Maybe because Warden Vil sounds really cool???)

Antfrost: Rook  (Cats have night vision, Rook canonically has good vision. Also, that one bit where Tommy, Techno, and Tubbo made Ant into an S-L-A-V-E? Hilarious if the cast did that)

Schlatt: Azul (Slimy business man? He would totally kick out Epel and Ace lmao)

Quackity: Floyd (I MADE THIS BEFORE QUACKITY’S PRISON STREAMS AND OOOHHH MY GOOOODD, I’M SHAKING FLOYD WOULD DO THAT IF HE WASN’T RESTRAINED)

Punz: Ruggie (Both do stuff for a price, literally makes the most sense)

Jack Manifold: Riddle (Riddleland :0 and also he totally would help Deuce make nukes with his big brain and use them to attempt to murder Ace with them)

Philza: Crowley (I feel like this one is obvious???)

Ranboo: Othro ( :))) Othro angst where he remembers nothing. Deuce adopts Othro for the tax benefits.)

Puffy: Yuu (THERAPIST ANYONE????)

Karl: Cater (Cater documents his life a lot, like Karl documenting his own adventures.

Foolish: Idia (Idia is from the dorm based on a Greek God. Foolish is a God. Enough said. Also getting sacrificed for an Egg cult is tragic and hilarious)

Anyways, even if this is my general idea, your idea sounds amazing! I’ve written a lot of other DreamSMP inspired ideas on my blog, involving Yuu, Rook, and Jamil being Tubbo, Techno, and Eret on their way to beat up Crowley (Sam) for taking Grim (Micheal). There was also another time where I wrote Tubbo’s Checkmate scene with our classic quartet.

I like your castings, though! I totally agree that Yuu would be the one to make up cursed lore (”I gave birth to Grim, he’s my son, and his other parent is a tree!”) I also like Riddle being BBH, which means Trey would probably be Skeppy, and WHOOO BOY THE ANGST. Thinking about Sebek as Sapnap does make sense, and I could totally see him and Ace fighting early in the SMP. Though, idk about Jack being Gogy, since George basically sleeps a lot, which I don’t see Jack doing at all.

Anyways, that’s just my cup of tea. I really like this idea tho! :0