#And Ofc it was always be canon to me that Raven is the Raven from My immortal

[shaperaverse-brainrot]

And as always, bonus if you say why

[murmel-malt]

Hedaera Targaryen - 92 AC

Viserys Targaryen x Hedaera Targaryen (OFC) prev / next wordcount: 1.6k summery: my answer to the question: what if Viserys and Daemon had a little sister? canon divergent dance of the dragons au featuring canon and original characters.

chapter summery: After Aemon Targaryen's death on Tarth, King Jaehaerys names his second son Baelon Prince of Dragonstone and also decides on the future of Prince Baelon's children. His plans are not well recieved by his youngest granddaughter.

A/N: note that english is not my first language so there will probably be some grammar mistakes.

92 AC - Kingslanding

Once Hedaera had thought that changes happened slowly, like the changing of the seasons. It took years for summer to pass into autumn and for autumn to pass into winter. So slowly that one barely noticed it until a raven came from the Citadel to announce it. But now she knows better. Now she knows that things can also change in the blink of an eye; and she hates it.

Just last week they had celebrated uncle Aemon becoming a grandfather. It had been a grand family dinner, where Rhaenys announced her pregnancy to the rest of the family. Grandmother had been thrilled and even Grandfather had looked less sour than he usually did. Everybody had been happy. 

Now her uncle is dead, killed on Tarth. Drowned in his own blood by a crossbow bolt to the throat, that’s what the messenger had said as Daera had her ear pressed against the door, eager to catch some of the things the adults never let her hear. Her grandmother always said that she was too curious for her own good. 

Rhaenys had admonished her for eavesdropping when Daera had gone to comfort her afterwards. While they are not as close as Daera is with Aemma or Gael, Rhaenys is her cousin too and she loves her no less. She had felt silly, stumbling over her words of comfort. After all, what comfort could she - a girl of only eight - offer her - a grown woman of eight and ten and mother to be? But her cousin had only pulled her into a hug and thanked her with a gentle and watery smile. They had talked for a bit afterwards about Rhaenys’ baby and Driftmark, which Daera had only ever visited for her cousin’s wedding two years ago.

They stand together now in the throne room. Grandmother and Rhaenys wear a pinched expression of carefully masked anger and Daera hates that she is too small to be told or asked anything of importance. Grandfather is sitting up on the Iron Throne, this ugly and dark and jagged and pointy thing that is quite dangerous to climb up if you are unsteady on your feet. Not that she had ever tried and nearly tripped over the uneven steps.

But Grandfather had always been sure footed when taking his seat at the top. Just like he had this time. His intense gaze sweeps the hall before he speaks and Daera’s world shatters.

Her father is heir now and she is to marry Viserys.

“My sweet”, Grandmother says gently, reaching out to cup her cheek as she always does. Usually Daera would appreciate any and all gentle affection from the Queen, but not now; not like this. With a small cry she slaps her hand away, ignoring the admonishing warning from her father and furiously rubs at her eyes, trying and failing to keep the tears away. She hates that she is crying like a little girl. They will never take her seriously like this.

“No,”she says in between a sob, “I don’t want to marry Viserys.” She has lost count how often she had told them by now and still nobody seems to listen to her. “I won’t! He is stupid and boring and- and old. He never listens to me and only talks about boring things.” Her hands are fisted in her dress, dark splotches where her tears hit, marking the soft golden fabric. “I don’t want to marry him”, she repeats weakly.

Grandmother smiles gently as she kneels in front of her. Something dark and angry in Hedaera wants to make that smile drop from her face.

“You are still young, Daera”, Grandmother tells her. “And Viserys is too. He will grow up and so will you. You will come to appreciate each other and when he is King” - Alysanne’s expression twists for the blink of an eye - “you will be his Queen, and your children will be the princes and princesses of the realm.” Her stomach twists at the thought and she suddenly feels sick.

“But I don’t want to be Queen. And I don’t want to marry Viserys”, she screams the way she had always been admonished for and Alysanne and Baelon flinch at the shrill break of her voice. Hedaera continues undeterred: “Tell him! Tell grandfather I don’t want to marry him. Tell him to find someone else. Please!”

“Daera”, her father sighs and she looks to him with teary green eyes. He beckons her closer but her feet remain glued to the ground. There will be no safety in his arms today. She can see it in his face. He had once said he would protect her from anything that would ever try to harm her, but apparently not this. She feels even more sick.

“I know this seems scary but it is for the best. Viserys is a fine young man and your brother”, Baelon says. “He will treat you well and you will be happy together. Just like your mother and I have been.”

Understanding hits her. She will get no help from them. Father and Grandmother won’t listen to her. They will only tell her that she is still young and will change her mind; that she will come to love Viserys and that they will be happy together. 

“And how has that ended for my mother?” She watches as all color drains from her Father’s and Grandmother’s faces at the reminder of Alyssa Targaryen’s death. The dark, angry thing in Hedaera rejoices at the pain she has inflicted. And she does not feel bad about it. If they so easily condemn her to a miserable future as her brother��s wife, she will make them equally as miserable.

Without another word she storms out of the room, ignoring their calls and slamming the door behind her as she goes. Outside she finds her cousin and aunt. Aemma and Gael must have been waiting for her and Daera wants to throw herself into their arms and cry her eyes out. They get her, they listen to her. Aemma immediately takes note of her cousin’s mood and tear-stained cheeks and dress and her expression falls. She herself is still grappling with the revelation of her own future. 

Just like Jaehaerys has decided that Hedaera is to wed Viserys, he has decided that Aemma will wed Daemon. She knows that her grandfather’s decision has raised some eyebrows as it left his own daughter still unwed but Gael doesn’t seem to mind and Daera is happy for her; and a bit jealous.

“What did they say?” Aemma asks nervously, hoping that maybe, hopefully she has read Daera wrong.

“They don’t care what I want”, she replies bitterly.

“I’m sorry, Daera.” Her cousin tries to give a smile. “It’s going to be alright though. We will still have each other.” It is as much reassurance for herself as it is for Hedaera. Daera knows she is nervous about her match to Daemon. Truth be told, if they had given her the choice between her brothers, Daera would have picked Daemon over Viserys. At least Daemon is fun; very annoying but fun. 

She stops thinking about it before the ugly thing inside her makes her lash out at her cousin.

Instead, she goes looking for Viserys. If they won’t listen to her, they will surely listen to him. Her brother is five and ten, almost a grown man, and with their father now Prince of Dragonstone, he is his heir, the future King. They will have to listen to him. The thought leaves a bitter taste in her mouth. It should be Rhaenys. She should be Princess of Dragonstone. She is uncle Aemon’s only child; it is her right.

She finds her brother, of course, with his new miniature. The model is still small but quickly growing, and will probably be taking up more and more of the room in the coming months as Viserys adds painstakingly recreated building after building. Daera would have been more interested if she hadn’t been bored half to death several dozens of times by him talking about it before.

He barely notices her as she enters, as absorbed in his work as he is and Daera wants to scream at him. Their lives are being decided for them and he just sits here with his stupid, tiny city. Only when she steps in front of the window, blocking out the light he needs to work, does he finally look up with a frown. His mouth opens, undoubtedly to complain but Daera beats him to it.

“Tell him to find you someone else”, she tells him shakily. “Tell them you don’t want to marry me! Grandfather will listen to you.” But Viserys only sighs the way he always does. Hedaera hates it.

“It won’t change anything, Daera”, he says, as he picks up the small sculpture again.

“You don’t know that”, she accuses angrily. “You haven’t even tried!” You never do. You never do anything at all.

“This is not about what I want. Grandfather has made his decision and there is nothing to be done about it.” There is no regret in his voice, no sign that he is unhappy with this; because he isn’t, Hedaera realizes with a sinking feeling.

It’s not defeat that keeps her brother from doing anything about this, it’s complacency. He doesn’t mind that they are going to be married and he doesn’t care that she doesn’t want to. He thinks they are going to be their parents some day just like Grandmother and Father told her; that she is going to be his Alyssa: spirited and stubborn but happy - no, eager - to do her duty and ‘give him a thousand sons’.

“It will be alright. You’ll see”, Viserys tells her and Hedaera wants to smash his stupid model to pieces.

a/n: cannot believe I am actually posting this. the only other thing I ever wrote and also published was the first four(?) parts of my Daensa Skyrim!AU.

[helena-thessa]

Just dropping in to say that Silent Night has me in a chokehold I will likely never recover from and that you are awe-spiringly talented!! (new chapter is *chef's kiss*) I believe I speak for the damirae fandom when I say the wait for your updates is sweet torture and reading is an absoLUTE delight 🩷

If you don't mind questions ofc, I am super curious as to how you found damirae and got inspired to write for it! The DCAMU community size has nothing on popular anime fandoms, so I'd love to hear how it started 🥰 Your grasp on their deep and compelling characters is so immaculate (+ the heartwrenchingly articulate writing style??🩷) 😍😍 ugh love it to the moon and back!!

ahhh hi !! Thank you so much. It's pretty much terrifying posting a new story in a new fandom, so I really appreciate this. 🖤

yes! Always open to questions. :] the various algothirms must have targeted me, because I've always seen such great art for damirae, I didn't realize it was a smaller fandom and something of a rare pair on Ao3. Silent Night definitely draws inspiration from gorgeous artwork by @kasieli.

Looking back, there's a chance that damirae was my first childhood OTP? I grew up watching the early 2000s Teen Titans and shipped Raven and Robin before my little kid brain could properly understand anything about romance. I have not rewatched the show as an adult, but this is such a fantastic edit by @unlikely-alliance. I mean, it's a cartoon but their chemistry and closeness is out of this world.

Then sometime last year I got hit hard with the Marvel fatigue. (DC too, but admittedly, I didn't give the Titans live-action show a chance, too afraid they botched Raven.) The comics, movies, and animated shows were such a quintessential part of my childhood, so it was kind of upsetting to realize I was so tired and uninspired by it all. Trying to reclaim some of that old joy, I guess, led me to start rewatching Justice League and working through the DC catalogue on HBO/Max. Instead of watching in order, though, I went straight for the Teen Titans movies, knowing ahead of time from tumblr that Robin/Raven would be canon this time. 😏

Probably my writing of them is more inspired by the old cartoon, but we only get the complexity of Robin-Damian Wayne because of the DCAMU and I am so grateful for it. The way it makes them make so much sense as the only two people who could properly understand and deeply care for the other creates such a dream pairing.

Thank you again 🥰🖤 this is the most absolutely self-indulgent fic I have ever written and posted, I'm so surprised and grateful for such a positive response.

[depressedbagpipe]

A Heartrender's Fire: ch. V

Tolya Yul-Bataar x Lantsov!ofc

Words: 5258 Warnings: canon-typical violence, me forgetting how to write, jesper being dumb, zoya being zoya, Irina being a pain in the ass, kaz brekker (?) A/N: whoops, i got depressed! but I'm back! enjoy!

Series Masterlist Previous chapter

V: Yuyeh Sesh (Despise Your Heart)

“I’m gonna kill her,” Irina grumbled under her breath. Tolya stifled a laugh. “If she says one more thing…”

“You’ll smile at her with your most diplomatic grin and nod. Just like you were taught.”

“Did Nikolai tell you to say that?”

Tolya took a few seconds to respond. “Maybe.”

“I’m gonna kill you both, too.”

He brought a giant hand to his chest. “Ouch. That’ll be a bloodbath.”

“Anything to sit in silence.”

“That’ll be difficult with the Volcra.”

Irina squinted her eyes. “They sound a lot more promising at this point.”

She looked back at her land, where the Fold was only a dark spot on the horizon as they sailed towards Ketterdam. She flinched a little at the memory of their recent passage, feeling the strain in her arms from summoning tirelessly until they made it to the other side. 

Tolya’s careful eyes watched her, feeling the pain the girl was trying to suppress. Irina wouldn’t mention it, but she didn’t want to leave her brother behind. As excited as she was to be with Tolya on their little adventure, the risks were high on the other side of the Fold. Their goodbye had left a bitter taste in her mouth, and the anxiety seemed to crush her lungs every time she breathed. She hadn’t been ready to face her kingdom again, and she definitely hadn’t been ready for what awaited her now. 

“She didn’t even let you finish your poetry,” Irina pointed out.

“That I agree,” Tolya sighed.

“It was an excellent poem.”

“I know! I guess not everybody has the same appreciation for life’s beauty.”

“I guess not,” Irina smiled as she looked at him. 

It wouldn’t be the last time the giant had almost squirmed under the princess’ gaze. But he couldn’t admit that his eyes had lingered on her before she even returned his look.

“She isn’t that bad,” Tolya tried to argue, discreetly shifting his eyes toward the raven-haired beauty. “She’s feisty. Knows what she wants. Has zero tolerance for stupidity. I kinda happen to know two other women just like her.”

Irina scoffed. “Tamar and I aren’t assholes, you dumbass.”

“Ouch.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I always do.”

Irina eyed him again, trying to keep the warmth in her chest at bay.

“You two done with the whispering?” Zoya interrupted them, standing right in front of the couple with an unimpressed look. 

Zero tolerance for stupidity, Irina recalled. Yet I live with Nikolai.

“Yeah,” Irina grumbled. 

“Good,” Zoya gave a curt nod. “We should be arriving soon, so I say we look over our plan.”

Irina frowned. “Who put you in charge?”

Tolya, ever so loyal, stood straighter, following Irina’s irritation towards Zoya. “I advise you to watch your tone. Don’t forget who you’re speaking to.”

Irina recognized the annoyance in Zoya’s eyes, but also the slight tremble in her hands. She hated it. Tolya seemed to be the only one out of the three to respect Irina’s birthright, while even the princess liked to forget who her parents were. 

Zoya cleared her throat. “I apologize, moi tsarevicha.”

Tolya seemed pleased, yet Irina wanted to drown in embarrassment. She noticed the sarcasm from a mile away. After all, she was Nikolai’s kin.  

“We get to Ketterdam, we find the Crows,” Irina spoke fast, ready to divert the attention to the situation at hand. “Then we’ll cross the bridge when we get there.”

Zoya still looked at her unimpressed, but she nodded. “Of course, moi tsarevicha.” 

She was about to turn when Irina called her back.

“Wait, just…” she took a step forward, feeling Tolya’s burning eyes on her back. “Stop with the titles. I’m not Irina here, I’m Ainthe, alright?”

Zoya rolled her eyes but didn’t leave.

“That’s a stupid name.”

“Blame my brother.”

“Gladly.”

“We’re gonna be seeing a lot of each other for the next few days and I need to know you got my back. Because as long as I’m alive, I’ll have yours,” Irina pleaded with her eyes, looking for a way to break the Squaller’s walls down. “I’m not asking as a royal, I’m asking as a friend. An ally, at the very least.”

“We’re not friends,” Zoya pointed out, and Irina had to control herself not to roll her eyes in return. “But I volunteered for this. I’m just as interested as you to not have my home blown up to bits.”

The princess knew that was all she was going to get from the Etherealki soldier. She nodded at her, turning back to Tolya, hoping Zoya would follow her if only to honor the weird truce they both had established within seconds.

Irina couldn’t figure Zoya out, but as long as Tolya was by her side, she knew she could bear anything the Saints threw at her, even if at times all she wanted to do was strangle the Squaller until she drew the last wind out of her. 

–·–

The Crows were looking at Nikolai’s handwriting with a bewildered face.

“The Neshyenyer? Sankta Neyar’s blade?” Nina Zenik asked. 

The Heartrender was even more beautiful in person. Irina knew all the gossip from the Little Palace, and how much of a household name the Corporalnik had become over the years. Her sudden disappearance remained a mystery, but shortly after that, the Darkling had taken all the limelight. 

“So, you haven’t completely forgotten what you were taught at the Little Palace. Just your loyalty to Ravka,” Zoya interjected. 

Irina felt somewhat relieved. Apparently, Zoya was disdainful to everybody, not just her.

“Ravka? Or Kirigan?” Nina’s tone was ice-cold. “It didn’t take him destroying a city for me to question my loyalty.”

Irina took a sip of her drink, looking elsewhere but at the two Grisha throwing daggers at each other. 

It was Jesper Fahey’s turn to break the ice. “So, now that we all know that you two have history, what’s the payment for this particular job?”

“Name your price,” Tolya answered, busy studying his food. 

“It matters that much,” Irina backed him up, eyeing the strange group of misfits before her. 

Wylan Van Eck spoke. “Is that the Lantsov family crest?”

Nina nodded. “You know it is because it’s hideous.”

Irina tensed, although she had to agree. 

Thankfully for her, Tolya knew how to remain diplomatic. “Prince Nikolai requests your services to retrieve and deliver the Neshyenyer to Alina Starkov in East Ravka.”  

“She’s returned?” Nina seemed surprised, which only accentuated Irina’s hope. 

“As has the Darkling. With an indestructible army of shadow monsters.” Zoya’s words were followed by silence. 

Everyone at the table stared at her in bewilderment. 

“I do not like the sound of that,” Jesper shook his head before taking a big gulp of his kvas.

Irina took the next turn. “She needs the blade to kill them. It’s the only thing that might work.”

“Retrieve the blade and the Prince will pay whatever you ask,” Tolya finished. 

“But I like the sound of that,” Jesper smiled, downing the rest of his glass.

Irina smirked, already finding a favorite in the group.

“I assume same goes for you?” Irina asked Kaz directly, knowing that, without their leader’s approval, their plan would be futile. 

The man had remained quiet since they showed up at their club, yet Irina knew that he was already creating a thousand different plans in his head. He resembled Nikolai that way, and thankfully for her, she knew what to do to get her brother on her side. Kaz wouldn’t need much convincing either.

“I’d welcome the chance to help your prince spend his country’s money.”

Tolya smiled at his approval.  

“I don’t need kruge. I need to get someone out of Hellgate,” Nina suddenly spoke, sounding a bit too desperate. “The Lantsovs, they must be able to pull strings with the Kerch government.”

Tolya looked at Irina, who was frowning at Nina’s words.  

“For a certain Fjerdan?” Zoya creeped. When she received no answer from the Heartrender, she grinned. “He must be quite the slab of fur.”

It was Irina’s turn to roll her eyes. 

“The offer is the offer,” Tolya interrupted, successfully diverting attention from the two Grisha women. “And Prince Nikolai is a man of his word.”

Irina continued. “But we need to go now.” 

Kaz, with one last look at the princess, agreed. “It’s settled.”  He kept Nikolai’s official plead in his coat, and it was rather comical the way the white envelope disappeared in his pool of darkness. “We’re in.”

–·–

“The Neshyenyer at Ahmart Jen is definitely a fake,” Kaz Brekker entered the club’s salon once again, limping yet deadly. 

Irina groaned. “How many times are we going to have the same conversation?”

“Which we told you. Perhaps now you tell us something we didn’t know?” Zoya added. 

The princess was almost glad the Squaller asked instead of her. Even though the bastard was on their side, the way he carried himself was poignant and calculated. Irina knew she couldn’t keep her guard down completely around him, as Nikolai had admitted to her that Kaz had immediately blown his cover away. Perhaps he even knew who the princess was already.

“According to my contacts, it’s been stolen by a thief known as The Disciple. He had a penchant for stealing Saint-related relics while on jobs of all kinds.” 

“So he’s a thief and a collector?” Wylan asked as they all looked at their new fake identities, courtesy of Mr. Brekker. 

“Sounds like someone we know,” Irina mumbled, making Tolya grin.

“And retired,” Kaz continued. “But he has since put a few pieces of his presumed collection on the black market.”

Tolya spoke. “So, to get to him, we go to his fence.”

“Ohval Saran. She has a tea shop in Bhez Ju,” Kaz interjected. “To speak with her, we have to order yellow chrysanthemum tea, off-menu.” 

Whatever Nina said in Shu, Tolya responded with a big smile. Irina watched, tense, as the two Heartrenders quickly left their little party by the bar of the club to talk among themselves, laughing. She suddenly regretted all the times the twins had tried to teach her Shu, for maybe she could be in Nina’s place right now, laughing with Tolya in a language no one else in Ravka knew. 

Although Irina was looking down at her new passport, unimpressed, she noticed Jesper followed by a girl, and Kaz’s shoulders tensing imperceptibly before he, too, left his position at the bar and walked away to talk to them.

“That’s the Wraith?” the princess asked.

Wylan nodded. “Yeah. Guess she’s coming after all.”

“She’s pretty.” 

Zoya interrupted. “And deadly.”

“Just how I like my women,” Irina winked at Zoya before taking one last big gulp of her kvas, making Wylan giggle at the disgusted expression Zoya wore on her face. “C’mon, let’s pack.”

The boy was the first to go, leaving the two women sitting on the stools. The silence between them was awkward. Irina looked at Zoya curiously, before the Squaller snapped at her.

“What?”

“Sorry about that. I make jokes when I’m uncomfortable.”

“You’re uncomfortable?”

“Well, it’s not every day that I travel with someone who hates me.”

Zoya rolled her eyes. “I don’t hate you.”

Irina blinked. “You said we’re not friends”

“They’re not mutually exclusive.”

“Yet your face says something different.”

“Are you always this bothersome?”

“Only on my best days.”

“Why didn’t you say you’re Grisha?”

Irina’s smile was one of victory, even though she tried to contain herself. She knew Zoya had been hiding something ever since their passage, growing more silent and bitter the farther they sailed from Ravka. Yet the princess, being the younger sibling, was used to getting what she wanted by annoying the Saints out of people. Zoya was just another victim on her rather long list. But her victory was short-lived, for the weight of the Squaller’s question finally dawned on her. 

“It’s complicated.”

“Complicated?” Zoya scoffed.  “Do you know how much would’ve changed if the princess of Ravka had shown her powers?” She lowered her voice after Irina shushed her. “Representation matters, Ainthe. Maybe the Little Palace could’ve been a simple school for us, not a military academy to train us to survive,” Zoya whispered, glaring at the princess. “Ravka could’ve been a much better place. For all of us.”

Irina took a few seconds to breathe. Distress was running through her fingertips, shaking them, and she suddenly felt empty without her usual companion slowing her heart rate. She hated herself momentarily for wanting to rely on Tolya to calm down, creating an even bigger hole by her side where the giant should be. 

“Are you being serious, Zoya?” Irina closed her eyes momentarily. “You know my family. You’ve seen them up close. You’ve experienced their disdain first-hand,” she shook her head. “Much like Alina, I would’ve become yet another pawn for Kirigan. My father would’ve gladly sold me to the highest bidder, no matter who they were, and think of how many Fjerdan bounties would’ve been on my head had they known Ravka’s little princess knew how to manipulate fire with her hands.”

Irina recalled her conversation with Nikolai, and she couldn’t help the goosebumps on her skin. “Trust me when I say this, I’m exhausted from having to hide. I could only train at night, away from everyone, just so my power wouldn’t go out of control randomly at breakfast. I barely slept for years, nobody besides Nikolai knows and that was only because of an accident, and the only time where I felt I had some control in my life was on the Volkvolny with Sturmhond. And even that is over,” Irina gulped, finally allowing some of her pain to leave her skin. “So, yeah, I’m sorry I never said anything. But just like you, I was trying to survive.”

Zoya remained silent, eyeing the girl with something different glistening in her eyes. She wasn’t looking at the princess with acid on her tongue and sour eyes anymore; instead, she found herself caught in a whirlwind of senses she wasn’t used to feeling: respect, pity, consideration. Understanding. The Squaller was seeing the Inferni for the first time.  

–·–

“Just so you know, it’s considered bad luck not to honor the dead during Suntsa Sar,” Tolya said, eating yet again some walnuts he bought from a neighboring stand. 

The two Grisha had just finished their offerings when they walked back to the bastard, whose eyes were fixed on Inej Ghafa. Irina still found it weird that the Wraith believed so firmly in their Saints, yet she too had sailed in uncharted waters before. Very few things shocked the infernal royal anymore. The girl hadn’t talked much to Inej, but she couldn’t help but wonder how such a pure soul had been trapped in the cruel Kerch world. 

“If I truly believed in luck, I’d be in a lot less debt,” Jesper grumbled. 

Kaz continued. “And I’m more concerned with the living than the dead.” 

Tolya shared a walnut with Irina. “Tend not to your ghosts and they will come back hungry.” 

“Are you a ghost, then?” She grinned at the giant before taking a bite of her treat, quickly appreciating the savory snack. “You’re always eating.”

Kaz rolled his eyes. “The tea shop should be open now.”

With that, he left the four horsemen behind without another glance. Irina wondered if she’d ever get used to his cold nature, so different from the extroversion she shared with her brother. Kaz Brekker was a man of few words, but when he chose to speak, his tone alone could kill. His permanent scowl and his dark robes drew all the attention wherever he went, despite thinking otherwise, and for once, Irina was glad she wasn’t the one with the preying eyes on her. After all, she had no power outside of Ravka; the leader of the Crows could do much damage anywhere he went. 

Wylan quickly filled the silence. “Tolya, uh, I was actually looking to buy some firing powders. Do you want to come?”

Tolya looked at Irina first, as he always did. The girl shrugged before nodding, careless and curious. Wylan quickly took leave, with Tolya trailing behind, and a reluctant Jesper moaning behind them.  

“Always been a fan of shopping.” 

“Huh. For explosives?” Wylan didn’t even look at him, but the disinterest in his voice was too harsh not to notice. 

Jesper breathed out, defeated. “Sure.” 

“What did you do to him?” Irina laughed, keeping her voice down as she approached the sharpshooter. 

Jesper had a personality Irina could handle. He resembled Nikolai in a way, always up for a joke, no matter how dire the situation. He would never fill the void her brother left every time the siblings were apart, but for the time being, Jesper could make an excellent substitute. 

“What do you mean?”

Irina rolled her eyes. “Wylan’s upset. You’re the last person he spoke with. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out the rest.”

Jesper scoffed. “I didn’t do anything!” He avoided the girl’s look, finding her gaze oddly familiar. Something about her eyes told him he had seen them before. 

“Right.”

Jesper squinted, mumbling at last. “I may have hurt his feelings earlier. But not on purpose!”

“I hope not.”

The man looked close to tears, frustration radiating even from the top of his hat. “I made a joke about his fake passport name, alright?”

“And he didn’t take it lightly?” Irina offered, but Jesper shook his head.

“Let’s just say maybe he’s not the most… literate… person I’ve met…” Jesper whispered. Throwing caution out the window, he immediately decided he could trust the Grisha girl, despite not even knowing her real identity yet. 

Irina blinked, processing his words. He stared at the sharpshooter, confused. “I thought you were smart.”

If the insult hadn’t been directed at him, Jesper would’ve laughed. “Hey!” And still, he allowed a small grin to adorn his lips. “I didn’t know it before! And trust me, I feel bad enough already!” He looked back at Wylan, his eyes almost longing to shorten the distance. Irina recognized that look. She knew she always wore a similar one when the Heartrender was away.

“You better,” Irina grinned, enjoying the teasing.

“But anyway, there’s nothing to be ashamed of here! I can’t do math! I don’t understand why he’d still be mad at me.”

Irina huffed. “You men.”

“What does that even mean?”

“He’s probably embarrassed!” Irina exclaimed. “He doesn’t want you to think lowly of him, and if it is an insecurity of him and you just outed him…”

Jesper interrupted her. “Yeah. Point taken.”

The two of them stared at their respective counterparts, looking back at each other in silent understanding. Irina wanted to think an unlikely bond had just formed between them.

“What will you do about it?”

Jesper took a moment to answer. “Apologize?”

Irina nodded. “That’s the way to start.”

“Then what?”

“I can’t tell you what to do.”

“You just did, Ainthe.”

“Maybe that’s what I want you to think,” Irina grinned at him.

Jesper breathed out, yet some of the tension had been unknowingly lifted off his shoulders. He smiled back. “Thank you for this.”

She winked at him. “You’re welcome.”

“What about you?”

Irina frowned. “What about me?”

He glared at her. “Are you two even together?” He pointed at Tolya with his chin.

Irina felt the heat in her cheeks. “No, we’re not.”

“Then, when are you telling him how you feel?”

She scoffed. “I feel nothing!”

“Right.”

“I really don’t.”

“And I believe you.”

“Jesper!”

“Ainthe!”

It was Irina’s turn to glare at him. She too felt somewhat relieved. She never spoke to Nikolai about this, nor to Tamar. Her feelings were hers to keep and bury underground.

“It’s complicated.”

“Ah,” Jesper clapped. “There it is.”

“We can’t just… be together,” Irina chose her words carefully.

“Strict parents?” Jesper ventured.

Irina took the bait. “Sort of.”

He nodded in understanding. “I get it.”

“Besides,” Irina continued, desperate to shift the attention back to the sharpshooter. “He doesn’t like me.”

At that, Jesper laughed loudly. Both Wylan and Tolya looked back at them, surprised at the sudden noise, but Irina was quick to shush him as best as she could. 

“Now, I really needed that. Come again?”

“Jesper.”

“That’s the funniest thing I’ve heard in a while,” he dried a stray tear from his eye, still recovering from his outburst. “Yeah, this job just got a lot more interesting thanks to you.”

Jesper left a very confused Irina behind, following after Wylan who was bolting from stand to stand like a little kid in a candy store, eyeing up all the powders at hand. Irina could only stare at his back, wondering what the Saints the sharpshooter meant by that. 

–·–

The unlikely band of allies were, once again, retracing their steps. Sheltered by the darkness of an empty shop, Kaz was trying to hide the slight tremble of his hands. He wasn’t gripping his cane like he always did when he sat down, and for that, Irina could only wonder what demons the bastard had encountered during the short while he was out having a cup of tea. 

“Ohval’s not just a fence. She’s The Disciple.”

“What tipped you off?” Wylan asked. 

“Her tea cup. When she set it down, she did so without a sound.” 

“And her heartbeat never fluctuated once,” Nina added. “It held at one beat a second like a clock.”

Even Jesper accepted one of Tolya’s walnuts after closing the door, taking in his comrade’s words.

“So, she can control her heart rate and her emotions,” Tolya concluded. 

“Those are useful skills for a thief,” Wylan added.

“Now’s the part where you tell us where the blade is.” Jesper wasn’t even sitting down, far too restless. His conversation with the Inferni was long forgotten, all trace of the tear-spilling laugh gone.

Kaz looked at him. “Ohval has it. Her signal to the waitress to spill tea on me told me as much.” 

“It’s as if I know you,” he joked. And just like that, he was back.

“And if she’s not going to sell it to us, we’ll just have to take it,” Kaz concluded. Irina didn’t like the way his lip almost curved at the end. “After Nina and I ordered the chrysanthemum tea, I had Inej follow the tea shop employee who was sent to notify Ohval.” 

“She lives just outside the city,” Inej continued, casually playing with her knife. “When she stopped at the tea shop, she placed an order at the apothecary that she’ll be picking up tonight. I watched her home for a while, no one came or went except her.” 

“So, while she’s out of the house, Nina will tail her to make sure she stays out of the house. The rest of us will go in and grab the blade,” Kaz’s words were followed by a scoff.

Zoya was looking at him completely unimpressed, holding her own teacup in her hands. “You don’t seriously expect me to break into this woman’s house.” 

“Uh, why do you think we’re here?” Jesper’s bewilderment was almost comical. Irina was already used to the Squaller’s constant confrontation, but she enjoyed the showdown nonetheless. For once, she wasn’t a participant in Zoya’s wrath.

Zoya turned to look at him. “I’m a soldier, not a thief. Why else would I need you criminals?” 

“Oh, there’s much less of a difference there than you think,” Tolya offered, and even Irina had to agree.

“You just keep eating your walnuts,” Zoya tried to mock Tolya, but that only humored the giant further. “I’ll go with Nina.”

The Heartrender almost choked on her walnut at that, making Irina giggle.

“Are you sure you don’t need me?” Nina was now pleading to Kaz, and with good reason. “I mean, Zoya can tail Ohval. Even Ainthe can go.”

Irina quickly shook her head. “Saints, no, I’m breaking into the house too. I won’t be the only one not having fun.”

That earned a grin from Jesper. That weird bond only strengthened with her words.  

“Ainthe’s with me, anyways. Wherever I go, she goes. Prince’s orders.”

Irina glared at Tolya. So much for being discreet. 

She was pretty sure the bastard knew who they were, but thankfully for her, Kaz ignored them all. “Nina and Zoya will wait for Ohval at the apothecary. Follow her. If she starts heading home, buy us some time. Distract her.”

–·–

Irina whistled as soon as she saw Ohval’s house. Even though her home at the Grand Palace had nothing to envy the Shu Han mansion before her, she still knew how to appreciate art when she saw it. 

“Nice crib.”

Her voice got lost somewhere in the wind. The house sat in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by trees that hid its real size. The only light came from the few lanterns hung over the entrance and the moon that shone brightly on the thieves. The silence almost made Irina shiver, but she toughened up, almost forgetting that she could be as deadly as the misfits around her.

“This house is traditional,” Tolya had said as they arrived at the front door, drawing the map with a stick on the ground below them. “It has a specific layout. We enter through the courtyard, antechamber, middle courtyard, main chamber.”

“We sweep the entirety,” Kaz concluded, stepping closer to the main door. He turned to Wylan. “How long will it take you to set up?” He didn’t even have to look at him as he picked the lock.

“I can have the door open in about five minutes. And if Ohval trips it, we have two minutes before the firecrackers go off to get out.” 

“Even if she returns prematurely, we cannot leave without the blade,” Irina noted, making Inej nod with her. 

“Yes, the future of Ravka and my payment depend on it,” Kaz nodded, almost bored, and looked at the Inferni. “I’m aware.”

Irina didn’t know whether his words meant one thing or the other, but she didn’t say anything else.

“It’s more than the future of Ravka at stake,” Tolya intervened, feeling the need to save his princess from Kaz’s double-edged words. “If we fail, Shu Han, Fjerda, Ketterdam, and beyond, they’ll all feel the weight of the Darkling bear down on them.” 

“Way to up the stakes,” Jesper joked, always sarcastic.

It only took Kaz another extra five seconds to open the door. It creaked as Kaz pushed it forward, his dark robes disappearing in the darkness of the threshold. The rest of the party followed silently after him, eyeing the environment carefully, looking for any threat. Irina frowned when she couldn’t find any. 

Tolya wouldn’t admit it either, but the lack of security in the courtyard alone also pricked the back of his mind. Yet he continued forward, keeping Irina behind him within range. 

“Tolya,” she called to him, and her voice was enough to pull him from his dark thoughts momentarily. “Where do you think she keeps the blade? You’re the expert here.”

Tolya tried not to smile at her question, if only because the situation was so dire he couldn’t afford to make mistakes. “Probably at the other end. The farthest away from civilization.” 

Irina didn’t reply. Instead, she took a big breath, hyping herself up. Something about the house felt wrong, and the fire in her veins going crazy was only another indicator of that. 

“Jesper, we’re going in,” Kaz called him. Whatever conversation Jesper and Wylan were having was cut short, and by the look on the sharpshooter’s face, he was glad it did. “Close the doors behind you.”

Jesper joined them at the doors of the antechamber, rubbing his face in an attempt to hide the red in his eyes. Irina patted his shoulder in a weak attempt at comfort, but they all were immediately sucked inside the room as soon as Kaz opened the doors.

Once again, nothing came out to attack them. The antechamber was empty, and the room was fairly small compared to the courtyard behind them. It was dark, silent, and cold, not at all inviting as Irina had first imagined when she first saw the house.  

“Spread out,” Kaz ordered.

Tolya stood straighter. “I sense a heartbeat.”

Irina looked at him with wide eyes. That was not on their plans.

“I thought the compound was empty,” Jesper noticed, still lagging. 

His eyes still screamed an untold story, but he too stepped inside the room.

Tolya frowned. “It’s faint. Further in the house.”

That seemed to seal their fate. Tolya stepped on a floor tile, which immediately sunk under his weight. Something mechanic creaked, and the doors closed behind them, trapping the thieves inside the antechamber. Tolya and Inej tried to open them with all their might, Tolya with sheer strength and Inej using one of her knives, but the blade barely grazed the colored paneling of the doors. 

“It’s impenetrable,” Inej concluded, as Kaz felt the material with his cane.

“The frames are made of metal.”

Jesper whispered. “They’re Durast-made.”

“Damn it,” Irina mumbled. She had been trying to burn a hole in the paneling, but the wood around her would only become a casket to all of them if she summoned it completely. 

Dropping her hands, she met Tolya’s gaze. She didn’t like what she saw. The Shu Han giant looked apologetic, almost pained, and Irina knew that Tolya was already blaming himself for leading Irina straight into trouble. Irina felt a pang in her chest as she realized that Tolya still didn’t understand. Irina would follow him to certain death if that meant she’d be with him until the end. 

As they both tried not to panic, another cranking filled the air, making everybody turn their heads upwards.

“That does not sound good.”

Irina noticed it first. “There’s something in the air.”

A mysterious orange cloud of mist was suddenly filling the entire room, filtering through one of the lights. It didn’t take them long to start coughing, gasping for fresh air that was quickly disappearing from their reach.

“No, no, no,” Irina mumbled as she coughed violently, trying to get away from the mist as much as she could, but there was nowhere to run anymore.

“This is how we die,” Jesper moaned.

Tolya, with his eyes fixed on the smoke, sat down on the ground, bringing a hand to his chest and the other toward Irina, trying to keep in his coughs as he slowed both their heartbeats at the same time. Irina, who couldn’t keep straight anymore, fell to her knees next to Tolya, feeling the way her heartbeat fought against the enemy air.

“I got you,” Tolya whispered. 

Irina, despite it all, smiled at her companion, even though they both could see through his lie.

Jesper collapsed first, and so did Inej. Irina could feel herself growing weaker by the second, her legs weighing a lot more than they usually did. 

“Tolya…” Irina tried to speak, but her last strength only allowed her to fall sideways into Tolya’s lap, finally giving in to whatever poison was consuming them.

Kaz too was gone by then, and with another push, Tolya threw his arm over Irina’s back, his last attempt at protecting her, and with a heavy heart, he closed his eyes, focusing all his strength on himself. Maybe Tolya couldn't prevent the poison from killing Irina, but he might as well die trying. 

Next chapter

[claymoresword]

You Get Me So High | Maddy Perez x Rue Bennett

Summary: Rue and Maddy are going on a double date but while alone in the car, they get carried away. 18+

Pairing: Rue x Maddy

Wordcount: 1.5k

Warnings: porn basically no plot, top!rue, pda

Note: i saw that pic of zendaya for the first time today and lost my mind a little.. just got me thinking abt how maddy would react seeing rue wear something like that lol needless to say i got carried away but ur gonna benefit from that! enjoy!

ps: its canon to me whenever maddy and rue are together they act like they're the only two people on earth.. cute but totally inconsiderate to everyone around them

apologies for the sheer amount of typos

"For fuck sake." Rue sighs.

She's been searching for something to binge on Netflix but nothing is peaking her interest. Rue stares at her laptop for a few more seconds until she decides to give up.

She picks up her phone and decides to text Maddy instead. The raven haired latina always seemed to have some new gossip to share with her, maybe tonight will be the same.

It's almost as if Maddy could telepathically hear Rue's cry for help because before she's managed to type anything, her phone lights up with a text.

Mads

picking u up in 5 mins.

Rue's eyebrows furrow in confusion.

Rue

what

where we going ?

Mads

kat invited us bowling w her and ethan

u wanna spend time with me don't u

Rue

ofc i do

but i wish you'd tell me earlier i need to mentally prepare for stuff like this

Mads

what does that even mean

im outside btw

Rue glances at her outfit. She's only wearing grey sweatpants and a t shirt. She's basically dressed for bed.

Rue ponders for a second. Maybe she should go put on something else.

Maddy doesnt allow her girlfriend to ruminate on the thought a second longer, she aggressively sounds the car horn.

The older girl is notoriously impatient, Rue will not risk getting on her bad side tonight.

Without missing a beat Rue quickly grabs her phone and wallet, climbing out her bedroom window to meet Maddy in the car.

Rue climbs in the vehicle and greets Maddy with a peck on the lips.

The shorter girl taking the opportunity to deepen the kiss for a few moments, settling her hand on the back of Rue's neck.

"Hey" Rue breathes out against Maddy's lips, as a smile forms on her own.

"Hi" The older girl responds, reciprocating the smile.

Rue leans back and reaches over to put on her seat belt.

"You're literally an angel sent to save me from existential boredom." Rue quips.

Maddy rolls her eyes in response but a smile forms on her lips.

---

They pull up to the bowling arena and Maddy takes one final look at herself in the car mirror, running her hands through her hair, making sure she looks presentable.

As Maddy was focused on herself Rue unwarily grabs the bottom of her t shirt lifting it to wipe her mouth. Exposing her toned stomach.

It was only then when Maddy took notice of what Rue was wearing.

She had on an oversized t shirt with grey sweatpants that hung just below her waist, her boxers showing a little.

Maddy feels something stir in the pit of her stomach. She can't really explain why she finds it so attractive. She's heard people talk about how hot sweatpants were on men but she always found it was overrated.

Seeing it on Rue however, it makes sense.

It's as if they were invented specifically for her.

Her girlfriend's ability to look good without really trying has always been something Maddy admired.

Rue goes to pull up her pants slightly still unware of her girlfriend gawking at her.

Maddy then focuses her eyes on Rue's hands, she notices her prominent veins and long fingers.

Her talented fingers.

The taller girl's hands were noticeably large compared to Maddy's smaller more delicate ones.

Rue always knows what to do with her hands.

Maddy finds herself picturing Rue's hands all over her body, grabbing her thighs, her chest, her ass.

Maddy's train of thought gets interrupted when Rue clears her throat. Now finally aware of her girlfriends fixed gaze on her.

"Can i help you with something?" Rue asks humor evident in her tone.

"Hm?" Maddy responds meeting her girlfriend's gaze an innocuous look on her face.

"You're eyeing me like a piece of meat." Rue states.

A smirk forms across Maddy's face but doesn't say anything in response, only leaning in to pull the taller girl in for a deep kiss.

Rue kisses Maddy back just as hard, she leans forward slightly her hand moving to rub the older girl's exposed thigh.

Another rush of arousal goes through Maddy's body this time settling right at her core.

She pushes Rue backwards the younger girl now back in her own seat.

Maddy quickly unbuckles her seatbelt moving her legs up, straddling Rue, her legs settling on either side of the taller girl's hips.

Maddy tugs at the hem of Rue's sweatpants as she places a wet kiss on her neck. She then runs her tongue along the base of her ear before moving down again settling on her pulse point. Rue's breathing quickens, urging the smaller girl to bite down on her neck. That earned a louder more desperate noise from the younger girl.

"Baby, we're in a parking lot." Rue whispers, referring to the amount people going in and out of their cars in the busy area.

"I don't care." Maddy responds, kissing her girlfriend again before grabbing Rue's hand, placing it on her own ass.

Rue gives Maddy's ass a firm squeeze before slowly finding her way back to her thigh.

She lifts up Maddy's skirt slightly, exposing her girlfriend's underwear and giving herself more access.

Rue's is once again rubbing at her girlfriend's thigh but moving no further.

Maddy grows more impatient as she squirms in her girlfriend's lap. Eventually seeking more friction for her now throbbing core, Maddy starts grinding against the taller girl's lap, her hand getting lost in Rue's hair giving it a firm tug.

Rue moves her hand up and kneads Maddy's breast over her top.

The smaller girl's breathing now heavy as a moan spills out of her directly into Rue's mouth, hips still moving against her lap.

"Fuck me." Maddy breathes out, her voice trembling.

Rue moves her hand now placing the palm of her hand directly onto her girlfriend's center rubbing circles over the fabric of her underwear.

Maddy moves her hips following the motion, grinding against Rue's hand.

The younger girl finds the zipper on Maddy's jacket and unzips it with one hand exposing her bare chest. Rue's mouth quickly takes Maddy's nipples into her mouth. Licking it in circles matching the momentum of her other hand on Maddy's pussy.

Maddy whines, growing more desperate.

She hastily grabs Rue's hand dipping it into her underwear, signaling for Rue to put her fingers inside her.

The younger girl dips two fingers into her girlfriend's entrance feeling just how wet the older girl was. Her fingers slide into her with ease and she starts pumping, quick and deep, feeling Maddy's walls contract against her.

Maddy starts moving her hips again, this time bouncing up and down on Rue's fingers assisting with her own pleasure.

Rue feels Maddy's arousal drip onto her hand and down the shorter girl's thigh. Her own breathing now growing more ragged as she watches her girlfriend move against her fingers.

Rue thought Maddy always looked beautiful but she was truly most breathtaking when she's on top of her like this, eager and wanting for release.

Maddy's moans now growing louder and more obscene.

People walking past definitely heard them but Rue didn't care anymore, she actually found immense pleasure in it.

"Fuck- Rue" Maddy chokes out. Hearing her girlfriend say her name with such need sent a jolt throughout Rue's body.

She starts pumping into the older girl deeper and harder.

Like a reflex, Maddy's hand moves to Rue's throat wrapping her fingers around and holding her firmly in place.

She was about to cum, Rue could tell based on Maddy's grip on her neck accompanied with the expression her face and the feeling of her walls tightening against her fingers.

Just as Maddy was reaching her climax, Rue leans forward and bites down on Maddy's neck, hard.

The older girl screams out, and Rue brings her hand over her mouth muffling the deafening sounds of pleasure spilling out of her girlfriend.

Maddy's eyes roll to the back of her head and her whole body is now trembling, as the intense orgasm rips through her.

Rue watches her girlfriend in awe.

She pulls her fingers out of her and Maddy whines at the loss.

Eyes hooded, she watches as Rue licks her fingers clean.

Maddy crashes their lips, rubbing her tongue against Rue's, tasting herself.

"You're so fucking amazing." Maddy says breathless, once their lips disconnected.

Rue pulls her girlfriend in for another kiss without saying a word merely smiling into it, and then moving to place a quick kiss on Maddy's forehead.

Maddy leans her head against Rue's chest, letting herself rest on her lap, trying to regain her strength.

Rue takes the opportunity to rub Maddy's back soothingly giving her the time she needs to recover.

Their moment of bliss was finally interrupted when they hear knocks on the window.

It was Kat.

"What the hell? I've been texting you. This is what you've been doing?" Kat huffs, evidently annoyed.

Maddy lifts her head and meets Rue's gaze both of them stiffling a laugh.

[lauraneedstochill]

Love always wakes the dragon / Chapter 1

summary: Aemond thinks she’s a worthy opponent — a relentless fighter, a fearless dragon rider, her temper and stubbornness only matching his. But there’s a catch: she is Daemon’s daughter who wants nothing from her father and has her own reasons for coming to King’s Landing. One of them is meant to save the other. pairing: Aemond Targaryen x OFC words: ~ 4000 warnings: enemies to lovers, slowburn, violence (it gets bloody), angst, a few sprinkles of Rhaenicent, Daemon does his best to be a decent father (more like I did my best to make him one), I toy with canon A LOT ➡ Part 2

1. The Wind of Change

Rhaenyra’s face looks void of emotions as she is staring at the letter in front of her. Her eyes are following the same strings of words written on the piece of parchment, over and over again. Daemon is watching his wife closely, waiting for her reaction, trying to take a hint but there isn’t any. She’s an image of imperviousness as if her facial features were cast with marble, striking yet still. He can only distinguish that the irises of her eyes are overshadowed by darkness. It’s a dead giveaway that she’s livid.

“How in the seven hells did that happen?” when Rhaenyra finally speaks, her voice flows low and strained. But strangling in its fury. He learned a while ago that patience is not the virtue she possesses.

“It only just now came to my knowledge,” Daemon tries to explain, to apologize in advance, tries to make himself smaller. With his broad shoulders and his temper that usually can barely be reined in, it’s hardly possible, and it angers her even more.

“And I’m asking you how did that happen? How could you not know that you had a daughter?”

“I’ve already told you, we did not...” — they didn’t see each other after that one night, didn’t make any promises, didn’t make any plans — only it’s not they, it’s just him. “We did not keep in touch.”

“You are saying you just fucked her mother and then left into the sunset? Because no way that would bear any consequences, right?” the consequences she speaks of are very well-known to Rhaenyra — she has three of those, with raven-colored hair and curls they did not get from her. “And shall I mention the egg?” she pinches the bridge of her nose. “Why would you even entertain the idea of giving her a dragon?”

The truth is that Daemon didn’t think much back then. He only remembers the sickening feeling of helplessness, his own whistled breathing, voice hoarse with desperation. But there was also a cabin in the mountains, a glowing warmth of the fire, a pair of hands that brought him relief, the miracle of coming back to life. He keeps those memories to himself.

“Rationality must’ve left me in the face of death,” there’s no mirth in his voice. “I had no hope of surviving the night, thought the Stranger would take me by the morning. And she saved my life. And I... I decided it would be a worthy reward.”

“Great, that was great thinking,” Rhaenyra is clearly sarcastic. “So the way I see it, now we have an untamed dragon flying somewhere in the mountains doing gods know what — and a girl who spent twenty years of her life not knowing who her father was. Or am I mistaken?” her eyes land on him, trying to dig into his head.

“No, it sounds about right,” his reply comes out remarkably quiet.

Daemon keeps imagining his daughter as a little girl, all alone in the obscurity of forest trees, reaching her arms to him. He never got a chance to know that version of her, he wasn’t there for her — and that feeling is poisoning his heart with regret.

“What are we to do now?” Daemon has never been the one without a plan yet at the moment he can’t come up with any.

“That is what I’m trying to think of,” Rhaenyra huffs with annoyance.

She doesn’t look at him anymore. Daemon stands up from the table, getting around it and towards her, wanting to lean closer as he always does. He likes lowering his head on her shoulder, steadying himself, finding comfort there, breathing in the warmth of her body that’s filled with the same blood that he has in his. But right now he hesitates.

“I can only hope that this righteous anger of yours will not graze her, and you can spare the girl,” his words are meant to be a plea but come off as an exaggeration.

Rhaenyra’s gaze is immediately on him, a look of disbelief on her face. “How could you assume such a thing? The girl has done nothing wrong, I’m not angry at her. Why should a woman pay the price for a man’s stupidity?”

What she means to say is that it’s all his fault — and Daemon welcomes the concealed allegation. He lets the weight of his remorse push him to the ground as he falls to his knees, the move startling and confusing her.

“I am at your mercy, then,” Daemon bows his head, a strand of white hair falling loose. He holds this position for a few seconds, before cautiously glancing up at her.

“Are you seriously implying that I should behead you?” she scoffs but there’s a hint of a smile on her lips. “If I were to chop off your limb every time you did something stupid, I would be left without a husband.”

Her jesting is a silver lining, a respite from this torturous conversation.

“Thank gods I have such a loving wife,” in a crawl-like manner Daemon comes to her feet, nuzzling up his face against the thick material of her dress, intaking a long-awaited gulp of air filled with her scent. She lets him, briefly carding her fingers through his hair.

“Keep pushing your luck and I may change my mind. And I will start with your cock,” her humor is biting, exactly the way he loves it.

“I thought that’s your favorite part,” Daemon smirks, yet watches her with keen attention, hoping that maybe he can get on her good side, tone down her ire. He almost succeeds — but when their eyes lock, whatever she sees in his makes her smile waver.

“Your wit is very much appreciated but not right now,” Rhaenyra’s tone is dismissal, her gaze aloof. “I need to think things over and I prefer to do so without distractions.”

Right now, she isn’t his wife, but more so his Queen, and she makes a point to remind him of it. Daemon can’t help but obey as he always does — voluntarily, time after time he chooses to surrender his pride just to satisfy hers. He loves her like this, when she evinces her flaming stubbornness, her passionate spirit. Except, witnessing it is not the same thing as being the one it’s aimed against.

She allows him a kiss on the crown of her head. On his way out, Daemon looks over his shoulder. Sometimes he wishes he could open up her skull, the reason behind it isn’t hateful but curiosity-driven — in moments like this, he’s dying to know what she’s thinking about. But the Queen has a mind of her own.

Rhaenyra drops the act the second he closes the door. She lets her head sink into her hands, a muffled growl leaving her lips. She’s frustrated with him, with that turn of events — but mostly with the uncertainty. Daemon’s expectations are romanticized yet she has a different opinion on what’s about to happen. She knows her husband is a proud man, and the idea of having another child, blood-related and flesh of his flesh, clearly flatters him. Rhaenyra, on the other hand, is wary of letting a stranger into their life since it’s not just a girl, with her judgment not clouded and innocent, but a full-grown adult. Having a mini version of Daemon can be troublesome enough, and a woman twenty years of age sounds like a downright threat.

But when Rhaenyra tries to picture her, she thinks of an unexpected outsider, and it reminds her of her own youth, of the way she felt growing up in a castle filled with people who believed that she didn’t fit in. Behind her back, they would call her a disagreeable menace, who was undermining decades-old traditions and wasn’t meant to rule. Her experience of coming out of age was bitter and harsh, soiled with death and betrayal, but it could’ve been different, had she lived away from King’s Landing.

She sighs and realizes that it would be quite hypocritical to label someone the way she’s been labeled her whole life. The stranger in question couldn’t even be called that: Daemon’s blood gave her connection — however unwanted or accidental — to their family, and the Targaryens are famed for valuing their blood bond.

Deep down, Rhaenyra also knows that she would’ve wanted to meet her child, too. So she thinks there’s only one decision she can make as she fetches a blank piece of parchment. Three weeks pass by, and early at dawn, Aemond approaches Vhagar, his boots sinking into the sand, his face weary and glum, contoured by the pale sunlight. Recently, each ride has been both a blessing and a torture: he longs for freedom but also fights the urge to fly away and don’t come back. Never had he felt as out of place as he is now.

Ever since Rhaenyra took the throne, his life became a dull routine of the same boring days blending into each other. Her reign was to be expected, given that she’s been the chosen heir, yet Aemond’s expectations of his own future were clearly too high. His mother was the one to get a place at the small council, which came as a surprise to no one, although the nature of her relationship with the Queen was still a mystery to some, and Aemond preferred not to read into it too much. Aegon never wished to take any part in the governing of the realm and giving up his duties was the easiest thing he’s ever done, his days turning into one big celebration after that. But Aemond was stuck in between as no one could figure out where to place him.

After weeks of languishing, Aemond received an offer that sounded like it was invented out of thin air — the position of the Lord Commander’s trusted right-hand man. When he heard of it, he couldn’t hold back a huff. Alicent was the one to deliver the news so the prince didn’t care much about hiding his true feelings.

“And what exactly am I supposed to do? Make sure his cloak stays white? Her generosity is uncanny,” Aemond bristled.

“Ser Harrold is a well-trained knight and a man of principles. There is still so much you can learn from him,” Alicent’s attempts to reason with him were weak and the words seem to crumble in the air, which only added to his anger.

“You think I am in need of learning?!”

“Aemond, the decision will not be forced on you,” she said but what he heard was — “No one wants you on that job anyway” — and it spread the venom of disobedience in him. “I will let you make your own choice,” Alicent tried taking his hands in hers, the gesture almost desperate — an offering of comfort, a pleading for compromise — and he wasn’t having any of it.

“You let her make a mockery out of me,” the prince stormed off the room then, adamant in his fury.

Aemond did consider taking the position simply out of spite, the idea rather entertaining if only it wasn’t for the commander in question. Ser Harrold was a good man, indeed, and despite him always being the faithful servant of the Queen ever since she’s been of age, he never expressed any offense against Aemond, always respecting his boundaries, which gave the prince no reason for derision and left no room for revenge. Which eventually made him feel like there was no room left for him in general.

He tried to escape the feeling the best he could, his training sessions granting him a chance to pour out the built-up anger, his rides with Vhagar giving him false hope for exemption. Yet he’s been living his days in a drowsy-like state, merely surviving — half-defeated, half-asleep, half the man that he wanted to be. Whenever he allowed that realization to sink in, he would always feel jealous of Daeron and get that abrupt urge to be somewhere far away, too. But no distance seemed far enough for him to run away from his feelings — or rather the lack of them, while he was eking out his lethargic existence.

Caught in a reverie, wrapped in the morning dimness, Aemond is suddenly brought back to reality when he notices Vhagar acting strange. Her whole body tenses up under him, head bending forward as she peers through the clouds. Aemond tries to follow her gaze, yet there’s nothing other than the foggy veil surrounding them. The dragon doesn’t let it go, spreading her wings and sliding down the air currents in her mysterious pursuit, and Aemond growls in annoyance as his hope for a quiet ride dissolves in the air. The unbothered old creature who rarely takes any interest in her surroundings is obviously reacting to something, so the prince tries to focus again, looking around. It takes about a minute for him to spot an unusually large cloud that glitters weirdly in the light, and at first, he thinks something is wrong with his eye. Surely, his vision must’ve failed him because clouds never move with such speed, nor do they... roar.

That’s when it hits him: it’s a dragon.

It’s a big white dragon flying beneath them — the discovery is startling, yet the surprise is quickly replaced by curiosity, and Aemond commands Vhagar to fly further down. Usually, it can be quite hard to maneuver someone of her size, her temper not making it any easier, but this time she is unexpectedly obedient. In a few moments they catch up with the unknown dragon, and Aemond sees that it’s not untamed — there’s a rider on its back, wearing a long hooded black cloak, in sharp contrast to the alabaster white skin of the beast. Aemond’s eye is fixed on them when both dragons come out of the clouds, the clear sky around them is bright blue, the sun is blazing — and the prince is greeted with a mesmerizing sight.

Under the direct rays of light, the dragon shines so vividly, it almost hurts the eye — whiter than snow, his scales dazzle as if burnished while he glides through the air with ease, tight muscles rolling under the shimmering skin. The beast is clearly younger than Vhagar hence why he’s also smaller in size, but the dragon brims with the youthful energy that makes his every move rich with power, with eagerness to speed forward. Aemond is so fascinated by the resplendent creature, he misses the moment when the other rider notices him, too.

The prince feels a gaze on him and snaps out of the trance with a shudder, only then getting a closer look at the unfamiliar figure. Their hood is down, probably blown off by the wind, and Aemond realizes that it’s a woman. He’s able to make out her long hair — the color of autumn leaves, tied into a braid, her face expression hard to read from the distance. For a brief second, Aemond finds himself facing her glare but she is quick to turn away. She puts the hood back on and slightly leans forward, the dragon immediately mirroring her move as his body ducks down. When they take a sudden turn to the right, Aemond sees a patch of bronze green that’s spread on the dragon’s belly, the rare color mix making it look like a splodge of paint. Belatedly, it dawns on him that the white beast is headed straight to the city.

The prince turns after them, alarmed but not threatened enough to start a chase. He thinks maybe her visit is expected and he wasn’t notified — yet again, another sign of his irrelevance. Vhagar is hanging in the air as Aemond cautiously watches the other dragon flying away, waiting for the bells to ring or for any other sound to signal that the approaching guests are not welcome. Yet he is surrounded by silence, briefly interrupted by the distant murmuring of waves chased by the wind.

He should continue his ride but is apprehensive to do so, uneasy feeling swelling in his chest, mixed with anxiety that’s akin to excitement. For the first time in a while, Aemond feels awake. Earlier on the day of her arrival, Daemon takes a stand at the small council meeting. It’s set at first light, with no explanations given in advance as he wanted to keep his secret. His speech is brief — no names given, no dragon mentioned, his face draped with the feigned indifference. He thinks if he doesn’t make a big deal out of it, no one will. Rhaenyra is just his wife today, leaning back on her chair, determined to look as forgiving as ever. Daemon asks himself if her acceptance has its limits. And there’s only one person who’s allowed to test them.

When Daemon hears the displeased hum, he immediately knows what will follow.

“How kind of you to inform us all of a visitor that’s been already welcomed on our behalf,” Alicent’s tone is unapologetic when she talks to him. She never misses a chance to let him know how undeserving he is of her kindness — always was and always will be.

“Are you suggesting I should’ve turned down my own daughter?” Daemon looks her in the eyes, and she doesn’t avoid his gaze. When Otto was on the council, Daemon made sport of provoking him, their mutual hatred evident and unabated. Otto’s wish to keep a tight rein on him only instigated the prince’s temper, and Daemon made sure to have the last word. But when Alicent took her father’s place, it turned out that she had a way with words.

“Seems to me that asking for suggestions is of little use when the matter in question has been handled,” she says wryly.

“My apologies, I should clarify — I am not asking but merely informing,” Daemon can’t help but bite back.

“The members of this council are flattered by this lever of trust.”

“Do you speak on behalf of the council now?”

“I will not be the first one here to make decisions for everyone,” Alicent says with a flat tone, but her implication doesn’t escape him.

“And the only one to have such power would be the Queen,” he deadpans. “You mean to undermine her authority?”

“Surely, it wasn’t the Queen who found herself lost in the mountains twenty years ago, was it,” Alicent snorts.

When he shoots a quick glance at his wife, he doesn’t miss a ghost of a smirk on her lips.

They are on either side of Rhaenyra — Daemon is on the right as he is the Prince Consort, and Alicent doesn’t need any titles. He sometimes wonders if it’s a coincidence that she is seated on the side where Rhaenyra’s heart is, closer to her than anyone else. If maybe Alicent is the one who knows the Queen the best.

“Does it mean the girl is an eligible heir of yours?” Lord Caswell is the one to interrupt their bickering. He is the Hand of the Queen and yet he’s second to the left, although he never questions the seating arrangement. Probably because the old man is too busy making sure they don’t tear each other’s throats.

“It wasn’t brought up to discussions yet,” Daemon admits. He doesn’t tell them Rhaenyra was the one writing the letters, and she purposefully ignored the question of legacy.

“But isn’t that the main reason she’s coming? Forgive me my straightforwardness,” Corlys Velaryon raises the question from the far side of the table.

“Frankly, it seemed to me that she showed no interest in... whatever you are interested in,” Daemon chuckles half-heartedly — and he isn’t lying. The first letter they got was cautious, testing the waters, almost bashful with its narrative but the length and the details suggested the genuine wish to make a connection. Yet all the others had a different tone — terse and fast-paced, and Daemon suddenly felt like her coming to visit him would be more of an inconvenience than a chance for reconciliation.

“She may show interest once she gets a taste of what she can have,” Tyland Lannister remarks, keeping his voice as neutral as possible, a wary smile creeping on his face. He’s always on alert, ready to show all his diplomacy or his natural cunning or whatever it is needed of him to be a good servant of the realm. He’s like a deck of cards, and Daemon hates to guess which one he’ll draw today.

“You have a habit of judging others by yourself,” he glowers at the lord, and Tyland’s wish to engage in the conversation disappears before the eyes.

“What of her mother?” Lyman Beesbury speaks up. He’s the one who actually tries to find common ground even though their relationship with Daemon is hardly amicable.

“She has fallen ill. I have not received many details of her condition,” when Daemon speaks of her, he gets a blurred vision of her kind eyes and her soft fingers that’s almost painful to remember. But he has a wife now — and the other two are dead because of him. He doesn’t want her to die but his reasoning is far from selfless: he only hopes he won’t need to carry the blame for another death as he carries plenty already.

“We shall pray for her recovery then,” maester Mellos mumbles. He looks bored out of his mind, and Daemon holds back a chuckle.

“I am relieved to know that maesters now rely on prayers —”

“You and her mother weren’t bound by marriage, were you?” Alicent asks, ever so nonchalantly, her fingers fiddling with a cup of wine. When she looks at Daemon, her doe eyes are unemotional but he isn’t a fool. He knows that she already has her guess, she just needs him to say it out loud.

His answer is nothing but forced. “No.”

Just for a second he manages to catch a twinkle of satisfaction in her eyes, a rippling on the surface of her imperturbability. Alicent doesn’t ask anything else and lets the issue hang in the air. It’s left in plain sight, for everyone to know: he brought another bastard into the family.

“Now that we have someone to pray for, can we be finished?” she raises from the table without waiting for an answer. “I promised to come see my daughter first thing in the morning, and I want to be on time.”

“That’s very dutiful of you,” Daemon snorts — and this time, she gives him an obvious look of disdain.

“Some of us have children we actually took time raising,” Alicent throws a glance at Rhaenyra before leaving, and the room feels oddly quiet.

“That will be all for today,” the Queen commands with a tight-lipped smile.

The maester is the first one at the door and everyone else is quick to follow. Rhaenyra watches them go with a distant face while Daemon is looking at her. They sit in silence for a couple of minutes.

“That went better than expected, I think,” she eventually utters.

“You had some very low expectations then,” his lips turn into a crooked grin.

“Says the man who as of yesterday decided to leave it all up to fate.”

“When it comes to my daughter that is,” he remarks — and it still feels weird to say that out loud. It’s a stranger he’s never seen, a girl who may look nothing like him — or exactly like him, and he isn’t sure which one of these options he prefers more. One thing he does know is that he really wants to meet her, and that wish only grows with each day.

Rhaenyra is looking at him, well aware of the meaning behind his frozen face expression — he is always like that when he’s deep in his thoughts. And she’s been thinking a lot lately, too. Rhaenyra squirms in her chair which catches his attention, and she opens her mouth to say something — but she doesn’t get a chance to as the door slams open to reveal one of the guards.

He’s panting, his face skewed. “Your grace, the tower watches send an urgent message — t-they say there’s a dragon. An unknown dragon is approaching.”

Their reactions are starkly different: Rhaenyra jumps up, eyes wide, mouth forming a surprised “o”. But Daemon stops her with a gesture of his hand — and he is actually smiling when he says: “No need to panic, we are expecting a guest. I’ve already warned the dragonkeepers, they should be prepared.”

His wife glances at him dumbfounded, not making the connection just yet. “A guest? I was not made aware you made friends with a dragon.”

“The beast has a rider, my dear,” he grins at her, almost apologetic for the fact that he has to explain it. “And she seems to like dramatic entrances.”

Daemon then gives his wife a brief kiss on the temple and hurries to the door. On his way there he turns to add:

“I guess she takes that from her father.” 🔥 Part 2

• the title is a quote from Richard Siken’s poem; • I imagine her dragon to look like Drogon — and here he is ✨

• I had the idea for this fic back in November, wrote a few scenes but it felt too intense so I put it on pause. recently the story emerged back into my mind, and I nervously decided to finally share it.

💌 tagging the usual: @greenowlfactif & @kyuupidwrites (I hope that’s fine?) 🐲 my masterlist English is not my first language, so feel free to message me if you spot any major mistakes!

[memphisnovels]

Evermore

Chapter 17. Let the light in

Previous chapter

Masterlist

I hope you enjoy <3

pairing: Pietro Maximoff x OFC

warnings: canon-typical violence, torture, injuries, Pietro and Nadia being Pietro and Nadia, arguing, confessions...

Bright white lights blinded me with every blink, causing me to shut my eyes tightly. A pounding ache set into the side of my head as I became conscious. My hand shot to my head a low groan coming from my very dry throat as I pressed against the spot the pain was coming from. A soft hand closed around my forearm, causing me to open my eyes fully. Anna stood at my bedside and Natasha sat on the end of the bed, both gazing at me with tender looks. I rubbed at my head, glancing around the room. It looked like we were in the med bay back at the compound. “What happened.” I managed to get out.

“Someone warned Tara you were coming.”

I hummed, coughing shortly after. Anna moved a cup of water with a straw toward my lips. I gulped down as much of the liquid as I could. “Yeah, she knew who I was, I don’t know about what else though. We were trying to get our intel from the hotel but then there was a car and…” I moved up right quickly.

“Pietro! Where is he? Is he alright?” I tried to pull at the chords attached to me, but Nat stopped me.

“He’s fine, Nads, worried about you but fine. He said something about a fruit doughnut or something.”

“Plum dumplings.” I muttered, settling back into the pillows behind me.

Anna and Natasha shared a look before turning back to me. “Right, well, you did a good job, we’ve got what we need.”

“The intel, it was in the hotel room, someone needs to go get it.”

“We already did, don’t worry, luckily only we knew where you two were staying, Maria Hill went and cleared the hotel as soon as we got the call that you were injured. We recovered everything.”

I sighed in relief at Natasha’s words. “One of the guys who tried to attack us in Amsterdam, he was Hydra.” Both the women beside me sighed.

Anna rubbed a hand over her face. “I should’ve known they’d be involved. They’re probably one of the potential buyers.” She sat beside me once more, reaching into her bag and pulling out a little brown plastic pot, chocolate pudding. My spirits lifted instantly. I grabbed the container from her and tore the lid off, digging in ravenously. “Hmm, I suspected even a nasty concussion wouldn’t stop you from devouring that.”

“You really are a saint!” I spoke around a mouth full of the chocolate delicacy.

Nat snorted, watching me intently. “Those things are so gross, but I love you and I’m really glad that you’re okay, so I won’t judge.”

“These are the nectar of the gods, and they just give them out for free in hospitals. Insanity.” Both Anna and Natasha laughed at me, but I ignored their teasing, cleaning the pot completely. When it was finished, I set it aside, sighing contentedly. “So, what do we do now?”

“You do nothing. We’ll handle this, all you need to focus on is resting.” Anna said.

I shook my head, sitting upright. “What? No, I’m fine!” Before either of them could argue I continued. “I know I always say that, but I really am this time, it was just a concussion. It hurts a little still, but I’ll be good to go by tomorrow. You can’t change my mine I’m seeing this mission through.”

“You’re actually admitting to being in pain?”

I rolled my eyes. “Yes, whatever. I’m really okay, let me finish this.”

They very reluctantly agreed, only after checking approximately a hundred times with the doctor to make sure I was actually okay. I agreed to spend the day resting and recuperating and that sealed the deal for me. Tara was heading to Morrocco to finalize her sale and hand over what Tony had referred to as the backdoor to the internet. Nat and I would fly out late tonight to stop the sale and hand ser over to the authorities. Each of the Avengers had been to see me after I was released from the medical wing, Cap and Sam had caught me on my way back to my room, Vision had walked through my wall to say he was happy that I was recovering, chilling really. Tony had brought me some food earlier as well, giving me some story about how he’d accidentally made too much when he was preparing his lunch, as if he normally cooks for himself anyway. I’d let him get away with his lies, scoffing the food down the second he left. After I’d eaten and had painkillers all but forced down my throat by Anna, I made my way to Pietro’s room. Wanda was leaving just as I arrived at the door.

“Oh sorry… I just…” I shook my head at my ridiculous stuttering. A kind smile spread across her lips.

“You look okay.” She shut her eyes tightly, her smile turning sheepish. “What I mean to say is that you look like you’re feeling better, I’m glad.”

I nodded at her. “I figured.” It wasn’t mean, wasn’t cold or angry like I had always been with her before this moment. I still wasn’t sure how I felt about her, but she hadn’t been exactly wicked and terrible in the months she’d been here. In fact, after our little tiff, she’d stayed away from me like I asked. She’d respected me, and I appreciated that, so in return I could be nice. Even if it felt strange.

“He really is a stubborn ass sometimes, I’m sure you know that by now.” She spoke up, gesturing toward the door behind her. “He’s so worries, hasn’t stopped asking about you… but he’s too pigheaded to be up front about it.”

“Is he okay?”

Her smile brightened. “He’s fine, a little banged up but still just as annoying.”

A laugh filled the air between us and with some shock I realized it was me. Despite myself, and despite our tenuous relationship I’d laughed at what she said. I swallowed the laughter quickly, glancing at her and offering a tight-lipped smile. “Do you mind if I…” I gestured toward the door. She moved instantly out of the way nodding fervently. “Just to check he’s still alive and update him on the mission, that’s all.” Wanda positively beamed at me.

“Of course.” With that she turned and wandered off down the hallway.

The door felt daunting as I stared it down, I wasn’t sure what to say, things were pretty complicated between us right now. Nonetheless I knocked, resting my head against the surface as I awaited a reply. “Come in.” He called soon after.

He sat more upright the second I entered, pushing himself to sit straighter before me. His leg was in a bandage and surrounded by some sort of non-enclosed cast, I was assuming it was just for the three days or so it would take his enhancement to heal him. “Hi.” I murmured, stopping by the end of his bed.

“Hi.”

“How are you doing?” I asked.

He scanned my body. “Fine. You?”

“Fine.” He nodded at my words, falling silent once more. I fiddled with my fingers, glancing around the room for something to look at that wasn’t him. It was then that I realized I’d never actually been in here before, it wasn’t what I expected. Dark grey and blue furniture as well as a few bits and pieces lying around, a soccer ball in the corner, some books strewn across his nightstand and a line of sneakers peeking out from the open door to his closet. “Agent Hill recovered our intel from the hotel, whoever sold us out didn’t have all the details apparently, so at least there’s that.”

He nodded. “Good. That’s good.”

“It is.”

He looked down at his lap. “So, what now? It’s over?”

“Well, she’s still planning to sell her files so I’m going after her to stop that from happening.”

“Okay so what we wait a few days for me to heal then we’ll go finish this?”

 I shook my head at him, confusion no doubt evident on my face. “No, you should just rest, let your body recover, Nat will come with me to Morrocco to stop Janssen.” The room turned glacial in an instant, or perhaps it was just the icy glare Pietro set me with.

“It’s just a few days, probably less, I heal fast.”

“Pietro you said it yourself, you don’t heal that fast. In a few days Hydra could have those files, I won’t let that happen.” I tucked a strand of hair behind my head, the headache beginning to set in again. “It’s not a big deal, you’re hurt right now, Nat and I can finish this off while you heal up.”

 “Why does it not surprise me that you’d cut me out of the mission the first chance you get?”

His words were like a punch to the gut. I took a step back almost as if I’d been physically wounded by them. “That’s not what I’m doing… I’m not cutting you out of the mission, you have a broken leg, there’s nothing you can do like this.” He scoffed at me, shaking his head and rolling his eyes. I furrowed my eyebrows at him. My eyes were stinging, and I couldn’t stand it. “That’s really what you think of me? That I’m a heartless monster who doesn’t give a shit about you? That I’m more worried about cutting you out of a mission than stopping a national security threat? You think that I don’t care that you got seriously hurt? Fine. Think whatever you want, Pietro. I have to go.”  His face changed instantly at my words.

His voice stopped me as I turned to leave. “No wait, Nadia. I’m sorry, please wait!” I closed my eyes for a moment before turning back to face him with a raised eyebrow. All of the emotions that had been missing from his in that past week were written plain as day across his face. His eyebrows sagged slightly, guilt and hurt present on his features in equal measure. “I just don’t know what is going on – we kiss, and you don’t want to talk about it or acknowledge that anything happened but then you look at me the way you do and you bring me Sokovian desserts to make me feel better and listen to me even when you act like you don’t care and I just don’t get it.”

“Don’t get what?”

“I don’t get what is happening here… between us.”

Running a hand through my hair didn’t soothe me as much as I’d hoped it would. “I agreed to be your friend, Pietro, what more do you want?!”

“I never asked for that!”

A scoff fell from my lips as I crossed my arms over my chest. “Oh, you didn’t ask me to be your friend. Didn’t beg me to be nice to you?”

“No-” He ran a hand through his hair, letting out an exasperated sigh. “That’s not what I meant, I wanted to be your friend but that isn’t all I wanted to be.”

“What are you talking about?”

He shook his head, looking at me the same way he had in the hotel hallway the other night. “I think you know, Nadia.” My heart was pounding against my sternum, so fast I was sure that I was going into cardiac arrest. “It wasn’t a heat of the moment decision for me; it wasn’t whatever you are telling yourself it was. I kissed you because I wanted to.” He swallowed heavily. The look in his eyes made my cheeks burn. “I want to… all of the time.” He continued while I remained silent. “I was cruel to you in Amsterdam and I’m so sorry, I just… it’s really hard to be around you when all I can think about is how badly I want you to tell me you feel the way I do.”

I shook my head at him, looking down at my feet. My eyes were stinging again, and I didn’t know why. I opened my mouth to respond but before I could a familiar voice called out to me.

“Nads, we need to prep before we leave, you ready?” Natasha appeared in Pietro’s doorway, completely oblivious to what he’d just revealed to me.

…

Sweat beaded on my forehead the second I stepped off the plane in Marrakech. The heat here was dry and a shock to my system, yet it was the furthest thing from my mind right now. It had all gone rather quickly, the period between Pietro telling me… what he’d told me and getting on the plane. I hadn’t even had time to formulate a proper response beyond a brief goodbye.

The sale of the Tara’s hard drive was taking place tonight at 6pm in a room at one of the most exclusive hotels in Morocco. We began getting ready as soon as we got to the hotel, hiding weapons on ourselves and testing the equipment. This was supposed to be a simple task, though after the last two missions I wasn’t holding my breath. Anything could happen, I had to be ready for that and I was… Mostly, though, I knew there was a part of me that was distracted, a part of me that was still in New York, standing in Pietro’s room with him.

I want to.

All of the time.

I’d tried to shake it off but the sensation that lived in my stomach seemed unwilling to dissipate. Frustratingly, this feeling didn’t seem content to be yet another item on my growing list of things I could simply ignore. It clawed at me, sung to me, pleaded with me, demanded to be felt by me.

It was that distraction that had allowed them to get the jump on me. The first face I saw was a familiar one, the man from Amsterdam with the Hydra tattoo. I blocked his first hit and the second but the third landed. My body doubled over unwittingly, the moment the impact rippled through my body I knew that there would be a nasty purple bruise where he’d hit. A glance at the brass band over his knuckles explained the extent of the pain. I persevered, throwing expert punches and maneuvering around his hits until I began to feel a little woozy and my vision became blurry. The strange thing about getting injected with things in the heat of a fight is that the adrenaline tends to cover the initial sting of the needle. My hand slapped against the side of my neck entirely too late, each movement so much slower now. Somewhere, someone was shouting my name, but I was out cold before I could process much else.

My body was jostled slightly, prompting me to open my eyes. It was dark and cold here. My vision was still slightly blurred, and the muscles I could feel were like jelly. I thought I might have been in the back of a car, the boot. Consciousness came and went and when I awoke again, I was in a hot, damp room. It took me several moments to realize I was standing, well not really, I was being held up by ropes around my wrists, but the feeling had only just begun to fully set back into my limbs. The rope chaffed my wrists, rubbing them raw.

“Good morning, sleeping beauty.” A familiar voice spoke, waking me up slightly more. Tara stood before me, momentarily appearing as a double. I closed my eyes tightly for a moment. When I reopened them, things were a little clearer, the room I was in was bare, stone walls, a single chair, Tara, and me.

“You know I actually, didn’t think you were that bad at first. I’m beginning to re-evaluate though.”

The woman before me laughed heartily, taking a step toward me. “Guessing friendship is off the table then huh?”

“What the fuck do you even want?”

“Well, it’s not really about what I want, dear Nadia.”

I narrowed my eyes at her. “Let me guess, it’s what Hydra wants, customer satisfaction is really that important to you?”

“You still don’t get it do you?”

The two men from the café entered the room. I was beginning to. A humorless laugh left me. “For fucks sake, you’re Hydra.”

A deranged smile spread across her lips. “Bravo, finally we are on the same page! I do hope you aren’t too cross with me about all this pretense, it was all a means to an end you see. I hold up my end of the bargain, deliver you on a silver platter, they protect me while I complete the sale. Plus, if Hydra has you it gets you off my case.”

I wasn’t so sure I understood now, wasn’t sure I really wanted to. What did Hydra want from me?

“Where is Natasha?” I asked, ignoring her previous words. Her smile brightened as she placed two small objects on the chair she had previously been seated in, our comms. I yanked on my binds, glowering at Tara. “This really isn’t the right decision, Janssen. I can assure you Hydra is not the winning team you think it is.”

She merely turned her back, addressing the two men now. “Sie gehört ganz dir.”

She’s all yours.

I yanked on the binds again, setting the tattooed man with a glare as he began to approach me. He had buzzed off hair that appeared to have been blonde and a long scar from his forehead down across his left eye. The brass knuckles were still situated over his fingers as he stared me down, a coldness in his gaze that almost rivalled my own.  The other man leaned against the wall by the door, locking it after Tara exited. It remained like this for a long while, buzzcut just standing there staring, doorman watching from a distance. “Jesus Christ, are we going to stand here all day or are you going to torture me?”

The metal met my ribs once, twice, three times. I coughed from the impact, the end cutting off into a laugh. “Who taught you to punch? A 6-year-old?” He hit me again and again, I laughed in his face. I learned quickly that the more I ridiculed him the worse the beating got, not that I’d expected different. Even with his particularly hard punches that winded me and bruised my ribs it was still not the worst I’d endured. The next time I got lippy the hit was to my face. Minutes passed, or maybe they were hours. Occasionally buzzcut would let up, taking a break for his own benefit I assumed.

Blood dripped from my lips as my head hung between my shoulders. “Most of the hits had been to my stomach and sides, though I was sure I had a bruise across my cheek and likely a split lip.

“Remind me what the point of this is.” I managed to get out. “Are you trying to get information or something? Because usually step one is asking a question.”

Finally, a response came from the doorman, first a laugh, then words. “We don’t want information from you, Nadia. Well, we do, but that’s not what this is about.” He grabbed ahold of my chin and yanked my head up to face him. He had dark hair and features but was so pale he appeared sickly. “We want to recruit you.” A thick German accent underpinned each of his words.

“Oh okay, so this is just a welcome ceremony or something?” I spat my blood at his feet. “Just showing me what I’m definitely not missing?”

He narrowed his eyes. “No, no, this is merely a test, we just wanted to make sure you were as we remembered.”

I raised a single eyebrow. “Oh, that makes perfect sense. So, the test was a few shitty punches from this idiot? Hydra really has gone soft.”

He smiled at me. “Of course not.” My arms were untied, and I was strapped to the chair in the corner. It was around the time the chair was tilted back and a towel was placed over my face that I clued on.

“Oh, for fucks s-” I was cut off by water being poured over me I clenched my fists and attempted to remain calm, steeling my every nerve against the sensation of drowning. It burned and my lungs felt like they were going to burst, it was just as shitty as I remember it being. I tightened my fists as it became more and more unbearable, and the water kept coming.

Finally, there was a reprieve as the towel was removed from my face. I coughed and gasped for air; every fiber of my body strung tightly as I struggled to get the air in. “Reconsidered the offer yet?”

“You made me an offer?”

The towel was replaced, and the water returned. The pattern would continue for well over an hour, a short reprieve upon which the man checked in with me. Eventually he gave it a rest indefinitely, dropping the towel but keeping me strapped to the chair. The water returned soon after though, ice water being dunked over my head. Just like old times. My body was tensed almost painfully, the cold seeping into each of my nerve endings and sending a deep shiver down my spine.

The man grabbed me by the back of the hair, forcing me to look at him. “Join us.”

My body was shivering violently and the slither of light from the window was now gone, prompting me to believe it was nighttime. “No thanks.”

He shook his head at me. “It ends whenever you want it to.”

And just like that I was gone, a blink and I was in a different room, bound to a different chair with something strange on my face.

“It ends whenever you want it to.”

The man in the glassed scribbled on a clipboard, glancing at me occasionally.

“Tell me who you are.”

I felt my lips moving but I couldn’t hear the words that left them. The ballerinas were back, dancing across the screen before me, it was different this time. The music, the outfits. The girl had a feather crown around her head.

When my eyes opened, I was back in the torture room but buzzcut and doorman were long gone. In their place was Tara, sitting across from me. I swallowed heavily, allowing my head to fall back. Every part of my body ached. “Honestly, can’t a girl get a little piece and quiet.”

“Joking until the bitter end, you really are impressive, Nadia.”

I rolled my eyes at her.

“Why are you even here? FOMO?”

She smirked at me. “Well, I just wanted to tell you the good news.” I didn’t dignify her with a response. “My buyer has finally arrived in Morrocco, how fun? I’ve just sent the boys to go begin the meeting.” This was such bullshit, last time I ever fucking help MI6. “Honestly, whatever intel was being fed to you and Natasha was really shitty.”

“Fuck you.” I muttered.

She sighed exasperatedly. “Well, that’s really all I had to say, anyway best be off.” She stood, waving at me tauntingly.

Before she was out of reached, I kicked out and caught her leg with mine, tripped her and using the momentum to kick back of the chair hard, the wood shattering as it hit the concrete ground. I yanked my arms upward, wooden side handing from my binds. Ignoring the immense agony I swung on Tara, easily landing hit after hit. “I told you it was a bad decision.” I said, dragging her to the ground and punching her again.

The sharp, burning pain in my abdomen had me hesitating, Tara and I both looked down, the black and red handle of the screwdriver peeking out from within my body. “Holy shit…” Her mouth fell open. “I’ve never stabbed anyone before. I don’t know why I did that I’m so sorry.” She yanked the object from me causing me to cry out.

“No! You fucking idiot!” I wrapped my leg around hers quickly, sending her tumbling to the ground and punching her. The adrenaline pumping through my veins stopped me from feeling the pain. I knew I needed to make this quick, there was not going to be fight left in me for long. She slipped her hand free, pressing hard into my wounded side to disable me. I yelled as white-hot agony seared through me, falling to beside her. With gritted teeth, I pushed through the pain, grabbing her arm as she tried to escape and twisting it around behind her back pulling her back down so that her back was pressed to my chest. She thrashed as I wrapped my arms around her neck. The pain in my side was so extreme I could feel tears streaming down my cheek, I put further pressure on her carotid artery tightening my legs around her as I felt her begin to fall unconscious. When she went to sleep, I double checked for a pulse, making sure she’d be okay. When I found it I shoved her from me, laying back and letting out a few painful breaths. Finally, I managed to push myself up, grabbing Tara’s arms and dragging her over to the pillar in the corner. The rope I’d been tied with was still laying on the ground for me to restrain her with. When I was sure she wasn’t escaping I threw the file down on her lap and stole the watch from her wrist.

Blood covered my hands, leaving stains on everything I touched. The fabric of my shirt clung to me as a patch of red appeared. Looking down at the time on Tara’s watch, I realized it was 3:45pm, I’d been bleeding freely for at least 3 minutes already. I let my hand fall to my abdomen, grazing over the wound, closing my eyes I thought hard to remember the internal anatomy in an attempt to decipher what she may have hit. I didn’t think the bleeding was rapid enough to have been an artery or my spleen unless it was just a nick. The button up shirt I wore would have to be a good enough bandage for the time being, I slipped it from my shoulders before wrapping it tightly around my stomach. Things became a little blurry about the time I shoved the heavy metal door open to reveal the afternoon sky, there was a mild breeze blowing over the sweat that glistened over my skin.

I stumbled against the side of the car that I’d been brought here in. A bloody handprint was pressed into the light grey of the door. I looked at the watch again, 3:51. There were no keys in the ignition so I began searching the car as quickly as I could, sun visor, glove compartment, center console; nothing. Something gleaming from the floor of the passenger seat caught my attention, a phone. I grabbed it typing in the familiar number, Natasha wouldn’t have her phone so that isn’t the number I dialed.

“Hello.”

“Tony.” I ground out, putting the phone on speaker and navigating into maps.

“Nadia? Are you okay? Where the hell are you? We lost you on the map.”

“I’m fine, sending you some coordinates, it’s where I left Janssen unconscious. I stopped the sale, but you need to get someone out there to grab her. Hydra aren’t the buyers, they’re the sellers, that militia group Anna mentioned, that’s who is actually buying, they’re waiting back at the hotel for Tara, it’s only a matter of time before they come looking for her.”

When the coordinates went through, I began working on hotwiring the car, I needed to get to a hospital sooner rather than later. “It’s all good, Nat’s handing the buyers, but you don’t sound fine, where are you?”

“Just get someone to the coordinates.”

“Yeah, got it MI6 is on their way. What happened to you?”

I finally got the car going and stepped on it, the roads were blurring together as I travelled down them. “She stabbed me with a fucking screwdriver, I’ll be fine I’m going to the hospital now, just make sure they get Tara. Thank you, Tony.”

“Nadia, don’t you dare hang up!” I ended the call before he could continue.

That ringing I knew all too well filled my ears. I gripped the steering wheel tighter, steeling myself and pushing through the weariness. Passing out simply was not an option, I just needed to get to the hospital and everything would be fine. I could feel the strength slipping from me by the minute, but I held on tighter. This wasn’t happening, not like this.

Not when I never got to answer him. Pietro. I wasn’t even really sure what I was going to say to him, but I deserved the chance to say it just like he deserved a response. I was not going to die in this fucking car because of some stupid Hydra bullshit. Typical, even when I’m bleeding out that Sokovian dickhead was still heavy on my mind. I groaned out loud, narrowing my eyes on the road in an attempt to focus my blurry eyes.

It took opening my eyes to even realize that they’d been closed, my shirt was damp I wasn’t sure if it was sweat or blood, maybe both. The car had stopped and there were flashing lights all around, an unfamiliar voice spoke to me. “Miss, can you hear me?” I wanted to nod but I wasn’t sure if I had the energy. The flashing lights came and went, white rooms, needles, bandages, red hair.

“I’m so fucking sick of you seriously.” I heard a soft voice say.

I smiled weakly at Natasha as my eyes focused, a different hospital, the same friend, sister. “Please tell me we did it.”

She laughed tearily. “Yeah. We did it, Nads.”

…

I gave her hand a tight squeeze as we got off the plane.

“I’m fine.” Her glare almost set me alight. I just smiled.

The New York breeze wrapped around me, welcoming me in. Tony was the first person I saw off the plane, he pulled me into a tight hug. “Please don’t remove me limbs from my body, I’m just kind of glad you’re not dead.” I rolled my eyes, patting his back gently, body stiff, nonetheless. He took the bag from my hands wandering off further into the compound.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” My head whipped around at the familiar voice, lips upturning at the look of pure frustration and disbelief written across his features. Suddenly, Nat was nowhere to be found. Pietro took a few steps toward me. “Do you genuinely have a death wish?!” My smile widened. “Honestly, I do not know what your prob-” I yanked him to me, hands finding the sides of his face as our lips joined. Nothing had ever confused me so much but at the same time made so much sense. I didn’t really get it, but at that moment I really didn’t care. It felt just like it had on the balcony, as if each one of my nerves had become a livewire and everything was okay, comfort and chaos all at once but I wasn’t running this time. I leaned my forehead against his when I pulled away, swallowing heavily.

“You didn’t see that coming?” I murmured, breathless.

His lips curved up into a soft smile, eyes still closed.

[boxwinebaddie]

Wait so did Ike knoww about Stan and Kyle dating? Also I'd love to hear abt Kyle and Ikes sibling relationship thats so adorable

soooooo long story short:

...y-yes. yes, he Does know.

hOWEVER, IKE DOES NOT KNOW RAVEN IS STAN THOUGH, THAT IS SENSITIVE INFO THAT IKE CAN BE TRUSTED WITH, OFC, BUT IT WOULD PUT HIM IN DANGER AND KY WANTS TO KEEP HIM SAFE.

but long story Long...

i'll leave it in the crotch. xx

( edit: so...my bad, baby. i accidentally went on a crazy TANGENT about ike and jerseykyle's relationship bc i love them a lot and their dynamic is very complicated, so if you want that info about how ike found out about ravesey dating...i gotta put it in another ask.

bc this...got Very long.

you don't have to read this. soz. >.> )

oookay!~ so i got REALLY excited about this because rm!jerseykyle and ike's relationship is super duper special to me, in that, as sp fanfic writer girlie who tends to lean away from a more gentle, kindly, introspective kyle and much more heavily into the potential brutal parts and menacing aspects of kyle's personality when i develop my style dynamics with, ofc, jers being the most brutal of all ncu kyles...

...the way that he speaks to ike -- gently, softly, tenderly -- the way that ike disarms him, the way that j.k. unravels around ike, bends for him, it's one of the ONLY instances written into my actual published canon where we see jers be extremely vulnerable. ( not crying, lmao! )

however, i will say, it was not ALWAYS like that!

*rings the cd re-education bell*

LORE TIME!

so, per my rm!take on the south park lore, ike, ofc, was adopted from canada around age five and he...was Perfect. he was this lil gorgeous, perf, lovely thing, no health problems, dark hair, i like to think his eyes are dark brown, closer to black, sweet kid, easy-going...

...and very NOT like kyle.

and, interestingly enough, i think, At First, that sheila and gerald were super obsessed with ike, cooed over him, he was the baby, y'know? which made jerseykyle MAD jealous of ikey and an Anti from day one.

which is also v interesting because rm!ike, really just fkn Worshipped jerseykyle, wanted to be close to him, wanted his approval, craved that brotherly relationship with him, idolized him...and kyle was NOT having it, dawg! like, it took him so long to even let stan in and let his cold, black heart be light and bright enough in some spots to do That, so he pushed ike away, constantly told him to fuck off/get lost

( i do think that ike's vocab being more vulgar/him being precocious comes from wanting to impress kyle/being influenced by him ), also ike was really fkn smart from the jump in a way kyle wasn't like, to me, jerseykyle has worked hard for everything, studied hard, fought hard, and ike was naturally a child prodigy and didn't have to work that hard for anything, all while being gentle and docile and kind.

-- but going back to STAN for a minute...as a direct contrast to how jerseykyle treated ike growing up...gods angel saint ravenstan was always EXTREMELY KIND to ike. stan never had a brother: okay, he had shelley but his relationship with shelley was even more complex than ike and kyle's relationship used to be and the way shelley treated ravenstan was similar to the way jersey was treating ike, so he Deeply Sympathized with that and endeared himself to ike, encouraged him, and the more kyle pushed him away, the closer ike got to stan.

stan and ike i think ALSO had very similar interests in that they both liked louder, heavier music, revolutionary/counter culture stuff, fighting the MAN, sports ( namely hockey ) i think as a gift, actually, that ravenstan gave ike his wayne gretsky hockey yersey and ike STILL has it ( yes, kyle was jealous ), stan encouraged him to be different and carve his own path in life and while kyle, obvi, was the person most effected by stan's untimely passing...it did also do a number on ike who seriously considered stan like a brother to him and was one of the only other people who Never misgendered stan.

SPEAKING OF STAN DY*NG THOUGH: this was when everything sort of...Flipped. because when stan 'died', whatever part of kyle that could love things also died with him along with a lot of his stability.

so on top of all of his health issues, kyle got really, REALLY gnarly ptsd, would fly into blind rages, got randomly triggered by things and see stan everywhere, have really, really sever panic attacks, had to be put on several medications, got into TOOOONS of fights, etc.

and ike...was just sweet, introverted, lovely ike. stayed in his lane, did his work quietly, existed quietly...while kyle was Loud and VOLATILE.

also, to tie in Another ask where someone asked me while sheila didn't take care of ike as well as she could...fair warning, i am a liiiittle defensive abt this topic because it wasn't that she didn't want to take care of ike or meant to neglect him AT ALL, it's just...when you have a a child who has a lot going on mentally and physically, is more of a firestarter, is more aggressive or more outwardly mentally unstable...

...that tends to require more immediate attention ( especially since kyle was sooo unhinged that he was constantly in police stations, juvie, the psych ward ) and sheila's attention more helicopter parent-y in that she wanted to keep kyle safe, whereas geralds attention was more negative, felt kyle was a failure/embarrassment :/// </3 )

so ike, by COMPARISION to jersey, was VERY low maintenance, did not require to be constantly watched to make sure he didn't hurt himself or others, and so, unfortunately while sheila loved him very much ( gerald just wasn't very interested in him as the second kid other than that he not act up/argue w/ him ) he got swept under the rug because of how pliable and pleasant he was personality wise.

so sheila really does Adore ike, she just doesn't worry about him nearly as much and because of how glaring jersey's issues were, she also mistakenly assumes he's mostly fine where...i really do think ike has pretty gnarly depression, tbh. he is stan coded, i mean that. i will say that him acting out is starting to cause a stir in their house.

anyways...i am sorry this is such a MESS but jerseykyle was watched with laser focus and because of this, ike got off scott free most of the time and received almost no attention. like all his accomplishments went unnoticed or were pretty normalized because the standard he set v young being smart/capable, set the bar high. ilysm, ikey. </3

tldr; ike was The Good Child

and jersey was The Bad Child.

but, in being 'good', he got extremely overlooked by his parents.

thiiiiiiis...is where jerseykyle stepped in. so basically his entire life he was staunchly anti-ike, but he warmed up to ike a lot after stan died because they bonded over talking about him a lot/that grief, and also grew up under intense scary jewish matriarch sheila broflovski and the serious shit show that was having gerald as a father...who jersey actually regularly took shit from so ike wouldn't have to, i.g. when ike did something less than perfect or did misbehaved or fucked up, kyle always took the fall for it and was the messed up problem child, so that ike would essentially spared from gerald's mental abuse/wrath.

ike was also kind of the only person j.k. had in the world, so kyle looked after him because...again...ike is very stan coded, kyle is very protective of the lil gentle hearted people and he basically raised ike in the stead of his parents which forced him to be hard on him in a way that sheila and gerald were not hard on ike...which created a lot of dissonance when ike was becoming a teen and kyle was in hs.

so, essentially while when they were little kids, ike followed kyle around, wanted kyle to like him, thought kyle could do no wrong, as he got older and kyle started to nitpick him, actually care about him and start enforcing rules/curfews on him because no one else did, ike developed a rebellious streak and started to not like or listen to kyle because he was like, bro, whatever, you're so boring, it's one party, oh my god, just because you're boring doesn't mean i have to be!!!!

it's mostly just skin deep though, ike is only irritated because jerseykyle is mad overprotective, hard core and did not gentle parent him as an older brother at like, i shit you not fourteen, like i am so sorry but jerseykyle raised ike basically, and inspite of actin like a heartless monster...loves ike very, very much ( even if he can't say it ) and ike also loves kyle very much. jerseykyle is pretty much the only other person besides firkle, tricia, etc. ( i'll get into that in a diff ask ) that truly gave a shit about him and put weight behind his actions.

so jerseykyle is like ike's older brother/dad, rags on him about doing his homework and being an edgelord

( ike has been acting out a lot, one, because he's finally starting to come into his personality more, which, imo, my hc is that ike is p popular but mostly by accident sort of how stan was because he's pretty and very nice, ike is captain of the hockey team, his accent is cute, gets good grades ( he is slacking right now tho bc hes being edgy as hell ), is a lil skater boy gamer boy, IS V INTO TRUE CRIME, JOURNALISM AND ACTIVISM, creating positive change, exposing injustice, enjoys punk rock music, thinks emo boy stuff is neato,

IKE IS THEEEE DAWN SPAWN OF EVER AND I MEAN THAT, he is a raven of crimson dawn FAN BOY, he is obsessed; i mean that...and despite wanting to make waves in that way, like, he really is kind of an antisocial DORK but lots of girls like him, he gets invited to parties, firkle gets invited by proxy even though people think they are a crazy demonic satan worshiping freak of nature...but ike's super bestie, ofc...their relationship is also interesting...BUT YEAH! IKE! <333 )

also per rm canon, jers does miss ikes birthday every year bc going to south park triggers the fuck out of him which he feels very, very badly about, rags on him but is very pro ike doing what he wants to with reason of not acting like a goddamn FOOL and doing his laundry, his emo dirt bag phase is making kyle's eye twitch ooooof, him bleaching his hair and sticking a safety pin through his lip the second ravenstan walks through their front door while ravesey are secretly broken up and jk is extra mad at him; ITS A HOT MESS EXPRESS, Y'ALL!!!!

if you made it this far...i have to put the answer to the FIRST part of your question with all that dialogue in another ask so feel free to re-ask me that, but to reference it a little...ike is so team ravesey like it is actually painful, that is his ROMAN EMPIRE. firkle actually really does not like kyle bc they think he is lame as hell, help, and is anti-ravesey bc they think romance is a distraction,

( okay, spoiler, but firkle is in love with ike, ike does not know this, ike is super fkn oblivious and is actually very bi, so it's not like he's just not aware he is not straight, he just....actually has no idea, rip, he also has a crush on a girl in his class, it DOES make firkle want to actually dome themself to hear about it 25/8, stupid Feelings, smh, firkle b hating jersey and is lowkey a little jersey coded ) anyways they think kyle dating raven of crimson dawn is going to interfere with the band, their music, their sound and is a hater. like boooo! come on, FIRK! :/

BUT IKE IS A ROMANTIC!!! IKE IS THE JR. RAVESEY CAPTAIN!!!!

tldr; kyle and ike have a complicated relationship but love each other very much and ike does eventually learn about ravesey secret dating bc they are the brothers of ever and cannot hide shit from each other BUT I GOTTA PUT IT IN ANOTHER ASK, I AM SO SORRY, BABY, YOU GOTTA ASK ME AGAIN ABOUT THAT! but i hope this thrills you?

-uncle nina, ceo of insane hs isaac moisha broflovski lore

[fangirl-1st-class]

Sorry I didn't say hi!!!

Thank you for sharing so much about Raven. Did I spell thet right ?

I LOVE THAT you have tried to bring her back as faithfully as you constructed her in your teenage years!!!!

Was she always Zacks other half from teenage years too? Or was that something that developed over time.

I did read her coming up as Angeal's daughter. I love that she didn't even know how awesome she was and how talented she was gonna be. I got that right ?

Does she have a "how we met/fell in love" with Z? I bet it was Kunsel

How did they meet mimi? Did they become a polycule?

Sorry! So many questions!

GIGGLING TWIRLING MY HAIR SPINNING IN CIRCLESS YAPPER GONNA YAP!!! THANK YOU!!!!

So with Zack, she was meant for him day one!!! The thing is that she comes from an age where OC x Canon (let alone canon with love interest) was the cringiest thing ever so they were not 'officially' meant to be together... I still drew them kissing, of course. This kid learned whole new language only to play ff7, ofc she wasn't backing down entirely!!!!

AND YEAH BECAUSE OF THAT WHOLE OC HATE THING she wasn't meant to be Angeal's actual daughter originally, like at all!!

I know better now and I revised it and I think it's the best most tragic thing ever. And you get it right!! She learns about it much later in life. Yapping sesh under cut

Unfortunately when it finally happens, she's at the stage where it doesn't click in her head as 'I owe all my strength and determination to Angeal as I have always wanted' but as 'I wasn't good enough to be considered a daughter'. She's so viscerally Hewley it hurts. Thank God Zack has them figured out by the end of the damn game because she'd just go the same route as daddy. I'm unsure what you mean exactly by 'how we met/fell in love' question BUT THATS JUST ME BEING SILLY AND CONFUSED, LET ME JUST TYPE WHAT COMES TO MIND HOPEFULLY IT WILL BE IT!! So I can't imagine their relationship developing differently than the most pain-inducing slow-burn the world has ever seen. On the 'how' part - Raven sees Zack for the first time, as she's hidden in Angeal's house in Banora that she refuses to leave because of Genesis is running amok. Naturally, she hears about him first much earlier from the letters Angeal wrote home and oh boy... From the get go, in her eyes, Zack is an obstacle keeping Angeal away from her, if not outright stealing Angeal's attention. She lives in such JEALOUSY of the guy for a while. It's just her luck that after leaving Banora and joining Shinra, she saves him from a missile during the attack on Shinra Building. If Zack is going through the floors instead of heading straight for the entrance she helps him clear them. (...And she only steps up to save him because Angeal probably wouldn't be happy if his ass got blown up, she'd much rather hand it to him herself!!!!!!) *Sprinkling in doodles so the yap sesh is less borning!!!!!!!*

Now as for the 'fell'. Their relationship does a 360 after Angeal is gone as Raven starts to see Zack as somewhat of a replacement, begrudgingly accepting that Angeal chose him not her to pass on his sword. She tries to earn Zack's admiration instead. IT'S NOT HEALTHY!! ESPECIALLY THAT ANGEAL'S LIKE 'Hey Zack I fumbled real bad with my daughter, please can you look after her?' Now they both see in each other the last embers of their loved one and the overprotectiveness kicks up to 11. They should be in therapy.

And it only really hits her that she likes Zack for being Zack when he's gone past Nibelheim. Girl!!!!!! Kunsel is absolutely the first to notice the shift in Raven, and he misinterprets it as her being head over heels for the guy. He even writes Zack a little mail saying how he wished she looked at him the way she looks at Zack!! Kunsel changes his take a bit after he gets to know Raven better ofc, after learning who Angeal was to her.

AS FOR MIMI AND THE POLYCULE ME AND MIMI'S OWNER DIDN'T TALK THROUGH HOW IT HAPPENED WE JUST ACCEPTED IT AS A THING SINCE SHE SHIPS HER OC WITH ZACK SHSHSHSHSHSH!! WE'LL CHANGE THAT!!!!!!!

I was like 'Zack has two hands for holding his girlfriends' and she was like 'yeah!' lo and behold Zack has two girlfriends now

THANK YOU FOR ALL THE QUESTIONS, THEY MADE MY DAY!!!! SORRY FOR BEING SILLY AND CONFUSED I HOPE THIS ANSWERS THEM IN SOME CAPACITY ILY KISS KISS KISS

[sleepykamukura]

ashe/cass/genji headcanons

they should all kiss…

ashe

despite being older, she got her tattoo after cass

piercings!! she has her septum, helix, lobe, and industrial piercings. she only really wears lobe nowadays

more tattoos. she has a vine of poison ivy on her chest and a small eagle tattoo between her shoulder blades + some roses on her left thigh

her arms and legs aren’t really toned in her skins where you can see it which is crazy to me!! she’s not buff like jq or zarya but she deff has some muscle

nicknames : lizzie, callie, and ofc calamity (+ my dove -cole)

cole call her “ash” over text because it makes her mad

bisexual but everyone is convinced she’s lesbian

cole cassidy

convinced ashe to get all those piercings. he bought her guages for her 19th birthday and she never wore the

youngest of the founders (nearing 17 at founding, frankie is 18, ashe is 18, bez is 19)

freckles!! none if his models has freckles which is so sad. he is TAN he’s in the sun… he used to be a farmhand!! where’s the freckles!!

has a thing for rich assholes with red eyes (genji and ashe)

had a massive out of nowhere growth spurt during his time in deadlock. used to be the shortest of the founders, now he’s the tallest

always either smells like cheap cologne or a mystical forest with fairies. never an inbetween

snores

writes poetry sometimes, thinks it’s bad

genji

also has piercings. his septum, tongue, lobe, and helix

i like to draw him with more scars than he canonically has, picked up from missions & obv… the almost murder

probably a swiftie

happi genji with lifeguard mercy & lifeguard cass. bisexual dream

accidentally found cole’s poetry, loved it

probably has a tramp stamp let’s be honest

was very flexible originally but his cybernetic body made it even easier to stretch and bend

the wires from his blackwatch suit gets caught on doors all the time

nicknames: sparrow (-shimadas), my raven (-cole), asshat (-reyes)

[vinnsley]

Hi, can yoh do a HC post of fem reader x Ife, Raven ir Clara from Dislyte? Alternatively, you could introduce your ocs...

HIII and ofc i can ill write raven and post some stuff about my oc later ;)

~~Raven HC's~~

okay first off, she wouldnt like PDA in public. its canon im dislyte/j

she maybe lets you hold her hand and thats it, she dosent want any prying eyes to see you two together being lovey-dovey

but in PRIVATE, oh hoho shes a big big cuddler

she dosent let you big spoon her thats for sure

always suggests new cuddling positions she just discovered while browsing trough the internet

SHE COVERS YOU WITH HER WINGS!!!!

lets you play with her hair, but of course again, in private as always

Raven absolutely LOVES when you compliment her eye, since she did lost one of them, she now has 1 but, that you dont care and that you reassure her that shes still beautiful even without that eye she jist absolutely melts. even if its in public, she'll blush madly

she helps you with anything she can, when shes free

now the bad side, shes very busy in the union so if youre not an esper working in the union you wont really see her often, unless she takes a day off (she does break her schedule just to see you btw)

motorcycle dates. cant convince me otherwise

you two go shopping for clothes together and give eachother fashion tips!

when shes feeling bold in public she kisses your cheek, if shes feeling like idgaf she kisses you on your lips probably leaving you stunned and with a red pepper colored blush on your cheeks

thats all i have for raven for now! thank you for reading!!! :D

[majesticwren]

The Hanging Tree (Dean Ambrose | Jon Moxley x OFC)

Summary: Are you, are you comin' to the tree? Where they strung up a man, they say, who murdered three — She is on a path looking for war as her fate foretold. And he has war within him. Both, thirsty for vengeance, justice and blood.

Words: 4.3k Trigger Warnings:  Canon Typical Violence, Blood, Mention of a fight, Minor Injuries, Mention of Paganism, Dean Disrespecting His Surroundings. Tags: @hirunoka and honorary mention to @literaryuppsala, thank you darling for all the support 💕 Let me know if you'd like to be added 🌻

Next Chapter  →  Masterpost Playlist

Chapter 1 - Valkyrie.

She was known to appear on ring out of nowhere.

Some said she was carried by a flock of black ravens. Others believed she was made of shadows. And then there were those who believed her coming was fated and wanted by the Gods themselves.

All were true. And none was.

Of her, not much was known, if not that she was a Valkyrie. She was justice on Earth, sent with only a mission: retribution. And her vengeance was silent but deadly, spreading like venomous smoke across every arena. She was a proud warrior, skilled and undying, relentless, unable to ever give up. Her power and strength came from a place within her, there where pain and anger gave birth to her war cry, in which some said they could hear the clashes of Odin’s thunderbolts.

Often, if she happened to be beaten, she would welcome the winner as a friend, appreciating their courage. Mostly, though, Valkyrie was known to aid valorous warriors in need. She would pick only the strongest and purest spirits to help and, even though her support was often given freely, it always came with Odin’s blessing, which meant that the bravest men always knew they were now in debt with her.

Between all those she helped, Valkyrie wasn’t looking for the strongest, but for the purest heart and most unbreakable spirit to help her with her own mission. She knew the path towards getting her vengeance was a difficult one and, as whispered by Frigg, she wasn’t to walk it alone.

That night the Gods had spoken. Valkyrie was called.

As the crowd in the arena roared and blood stained the white material of the ring cover, an exhausted fighter heavily fell on its hard metal surface, beaten down by the incessant blows of his opponent. The lights flickered before turning off. Darkness swallowed the entire arena, causing every spectator to gasp loudly as confusion and expectation spread. The commentators were losing it, trying their best to remain calm, doing their job through such momentum. The standing warrior hesitated, looking around in the blackness that surrounded him as the defeated man took the chance to regain some breath, trying to fight against his clouded mind, several contusions and general, tremendous pain.

A second later, dozens of wings flapped through the air. The grim song sung by ravens revealed her presence even before the lights came back on, as her laughter echoed through the arena.

When light exploded back through the bleachers, all the way from the further ring to the centre, Valkyrie was there. She was a sudden, ethereal, colorful vision, with her unreal, fairy-like look, shimmering under the powerful neon lights. The big wings to the sides of her head were iridescent, glimmering in light blue and pink shades.

The crowd exploded in awe, as did the commentators. Everyone welcomed her arrival with excited support.

One thing that had to be said about Valkyrie was that she was extremely loved both by the audience and by most of her colleagues. Most fighters recognised in her the beacon of justice and hope she represented, which was exactly the message she intended to bring after she had been blessed by the light of the Gods.

The entire arena started to tremble under the powerful chants of her name.

She stood proudly between the two men, willingly opposing the stronger-looking man. Normally she would have taken her time to salute the crowd, offering them her humble gratitude. But not now. Now, her attention was solely on the still-standing man.

He was a known wrestler that she had never had the pleasure to cross before. But she had heard of him and his ways. His name is Randy Orton.

Her lips curled as she could only anticipate what would mean to fight against The Viper himself.

He was huge, like many of the gladiators that exhibited their skills on those rings, but she had no fear in her eyes. It was a known fact that she was an extremely skilled warrior and a strong woman. Between the top of the tops in wrestling, in all honesty. On her way to becoming a possible legend. Not many men liked that. Some thought of her as only a woman, certainly not good enough to dare such a career. And they were the ones she found real pleasure in defeating. Their blood always tasted much sweeter. Their submission, pure bliss. But her confidence in her abilities was not to be confused with arrogance. Valkyrie knew her strength came from the Gods and was appreciative of her gifts every day.

Though, sometimes, she liked to indulge in human emotions, welcoming the satisfaction of the idea of setting the record straight so everyone in the arena could have a chance to know who Valkyrie was.

Randy looked at her figure. His expression was lacking amusement but she could read his contempt from how bent his mouth was. He was clearly annoyed. And even if he was keeping his distance, she could tell he was ready to jump on her. His eyes were dark and dangerous.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” He barked from his corner of the ring. A referee in his white and black stripes stood between them, closer to Randy, blocking him from doing any sudden movements.

As if he was the one they had to worry about. She thought, her cocky smile only becoming clearer.

She didn’t reply to him, not finding any reason to waste her breath. Her intentions were clear enough by her fame and name. Valkyrie raised her chin challenging him, before turning her back and kneeling next to the beaten-down man.

The commentators’ words and the crowds’ shouts quietened downs as her attention focused on him. Nothing mattered anymore. She knew Randy was probably turning to find a way to get rid of her since she was standing in the way of his winning. But the Gods wouldn’t have called her if the match had been fair and the win deserved.

Her eyes caressed the man’s figure. He was reversed on his belly, barely moving, completely exhausted. His breathing was labored. His face was covered in blood. His skin was reddened and sweaty. In places, his bruises were already darkening, as his tensed muscles trembled under the strain he was sustaining. Because even after all of that, he wasn’t giving up. He was conscious.

If his stained tank top and blue jeans didn’t give up his identity, his unhinged craziness in not accepting defeat was enough for her to immediately recognise the Lunatic Fringe.

She hummed a soothing tone, sliding her hands softly across his figure. As soon as he perceived her sweet touch, he flinched and turned, not to escape her hands but to face her. Valkyrie slid a hand around his jaw supporting his face as Dean looked up at her through the only working eye he was left with, the other was badly bruised and blood gushed from a cut on his pale eyebrow. His blue iris glimmered under the lights above the ring.

“It’s ok. Stop fighting, soldier.” She gently whispered, offering a soft smile intended to make him feel safe. He pressed his cheek into her palm, mumbling something she couldn’t quite understand, as exhaustion took over.

With her other hand, she gathered some of his blood on her thumb and smudged the edges of a rune across his forehead. “May the All-Father look over you. May Freyja aid you in her arms. May Thor protect you. Your valor called upon me, now let me bring justice.”

As if a man like Dean Ambrose could bend under the simplest prayer, it surprised her how quickly he accepted her words without trying to fight her. Not that it seemed he could even if he wanted to be honest.

It didn’t matter. Regardless of his decision or will, Ambrose was now marked by Odin.

That was often the point. Hers was a gift freely given, but unavoidable. When the gods called her upon aiding a warrior, it meant it was fated that way. No escape.

Smudging her fingers in the blood that stained his neck, being careful not to hurt him, Valkyrie proceeded to brand her own pale skin with his blood, tracing two lines across her scarred cheek, over her jaw and down on her neck, all the while slowly getting back on her feet.

As she turned, her eyes crossed the crowd as they welcomed her gaze with a roar. Her name thundered through the arena.

She found Randy standing exactly where she left him.

Their eyes crossed.

Even the commentators didn’t know what to expect while the entire arena audience seemed to be holding their breath.

The Viper’s head twitched to the side. His eyes never left hers and his annoyance and wounded pride were as clear as his dangerous intentions. As his muscles tensed, Valkyrie grinned, knowing what was to come.

Randy pushed the referee off himself, sending the man flying to the other corner, just so he could throw himself at her.

  Part II.

Valkyrie sat on a chair, as sprawled and as comfortable as she could afford to be after taking a serious beating, with a leg distended on a second chair with an ice bag secured on her swollen knee cap.

Pain didn’t matter, after all, when she was the winner. She could easily survive a twisted ligament and a black eye.

As soon as she was off stage, she shed off her costume and, after a long cold shower, she was now wearing some soft grey joggers and a black top. With her head reclined on the back of the chair, she had a wet, cool towel covering her head and eyes, soothing her of the pain caused by the blows she received not even an hour ago. More than struggling to ignore the pain though, with which she was used to coexisting, she was trying her best to meditate, cancelling the loud chattering surrounding her.

Her locker room was crowded. The medical team was still on standby even if they had examined and cleared her for a while now, all the while her manager, PR and publicists were discussing stuff like the chance of a press release, the implications of her gesture and the audience reaction to her fight. Someone was getting contacted by Randy Orton’s legal team. And her supporters were just glad to be included.

She didn’t care about much of such mundane stuff. She was a warrior of unhuman origin with a main quest and a goal. Whatever happened around her that mattered to her career and that job, she was happy to leave it in the hands of those who knew how that world worked.

A heavy sigh left her chest as the only thing she really wanted to do was to go back to her hotel and sleep.

Exhaustion was the hardest thing she had to get used to once she found herself trapped in that mortal body. Nothing else bothered her as much. Every other need, and human emotion, even fear and pain, were tolerable. But the need for her body to literally recharge itself did annoy her. And yet, there was nothing like laying in a comfortable bed with clean sheets after a long day. But it was so human, so normal, it gave her the ick. Only because it made her miss more than anything else what she used to be.

“Of all the things I cannot understand though, why this match? Why help Dean Ambrose?”

For a long moment Valkyrie didn’t react, still trying her best to dissociate from her surroundings, just after the silence had prolonged long enough, she understood the question was directed to her specifically. She shrugged it off. “I do not control it. The Gods sent me to him.” She explained boringly. She didn’t even know who she was answering to and was too unbothered to remove the cold piece of cloth that covered her sight.

“But of all the wrestlers in this gig they had to choose him?”

“Why not him?” She wondered naively. She carried no prejudice against any man or woman. When the Gods sent her to someone, she never second guessed it or questioned it, always finding that the Gods had spoken with reason.

“He is called Lunatic Fringe for a reason. He is unstable.” Added someone from another side of the room.

Again, Valkyrie couldn’t be asked to check who spoke. “He is a strong warrior and has a noble heart. If my Gods sent me to him, I trust their reason is good enough. He was wrongly attacked by a subject who didn’t follow the rules. And when I got there, Ambrose was still trying to fight. That means a lot where I come from.”

“It means he is completely bat shit crazy if you ask me.” That time she recognised the stoicism and cold detachment that came from her manager. She was a woman who cared only about business. Even with Valkyrie herself, there was no personal bond, only work. Which was good enough for her. That was how that world worked and she was happy to oblige to their rules until her job there was done. Once she would get her revenge, she would be ready to go back to the Æsir.

Though, even if there was nothing personal, her words still offended her. It was as if her judgment was put into doubt.

“Thanks.”

As the deep voice of a man she didn’t know invaded the room, everyone around her fell into a frozen silence. For only a moment, Valkyrie found herself to be extremely grateful to him as she quickly realised her headache wasn’t caused by the punches she received, after all.

Just after, she realised she did know him.

Valkyrie removed the wet cloth from her face only so she could look for him. Dean Ambrose stood by the door wearing his usual attire and a loose black hoody opened on his chest. Though he still hesitated to step in. His icy, unbruised eye was focused on the woman who just so blatantly disrespected him. Even if the tone of his voice transpired sarcasm, his look was sharp and dangerous. And Valkyrie couldn’t blame him.

Her gaze crossed his figure.

Gods, he looked badly beaten and it didn’t appear he received much medical attention. The wound on his eyebrow was still open and red, as much as his bruised knuckles were exposed. At least, though, he had the common sense to have a shower, change into clean clothes and, she only could hope, he at least disinfected his wounds.

Why did she care?

“What are you doing here, Ambrose?” Her manager stepped in front of him, crossing her arms to her chest. Everyone around the room appeared to tense up. Everyone but Valkyrie or Ambrose. They just didn’t care.

His working eye quickly slid above her figure, finding Valkyrie. “I need to speak to her.” He explained simply with a rude nod, without even having the decency to use her name.

“Do you have any idea who you are standing in front of?” As her manager ran her smart mouth, Dean lowered his gaze on her. His patience seemed to have left him a very long time ago. A twitch contorted his face just a moment before becoming an annoyed grin.

“Lady, I do not give a shit. Just move.”

Before anyone could say anything and make the situation worse, Valkyrie sat straight on her chair. “Everyone, leave.”

Her team turned towards her. Most were concerned, as her publicist dared to try and express her opinion. “But-”

“I said go. Now.”

No one opposed her words. She rarely imposed her opinion on them, after all, she rarely cared about stuff that wasn’t fulfilling her destiny or the will of the Gods. But when she did, rarely someone had the courage to oppose a being so close to being a deity like her.

As the room emptied, Dean Ambrose and her spent the seconds studying each other.

“You should really get that looked at,” she began, nodding towards the deep cut on his eyebrow.

He shrugged, unimpressed. “I think I’m good.”

“It will leave a scar.”

He pulled his wet, loose ginger hair backwards, out of his face. A wonky thin smirk appeared on his lips. “Scars come with the job.”

She removed the icepack from her knee and deposited it to the side together with the wet cloth she had in her hand. Only a small sigh indicated her discomfort as she got up, but she ignored it the rest of the way, as she moved closer to the man. He didn’t move, but his gaze sharpened as his mistrustful look followed her every single movement.

“You should get that checked too.” He dared, nodding towards her hurt knee, hinting at her slight limping.

Deserved. That was the toll to pay when she didn’t mind her own business. Yet, Valkyrie was still not satisfied and, ignoring his sarcastic tone, she moved closer, inspecting the now clean wound and worsening bruise swallowing his eye socket.

She was a tall woman, almost as tall as him, and yet he didn’t appear to be at all intimidated. She liked that in a man. How did they call it on that side of the world and in that day and age? Balls.

He didn’t appear to be too bothered by her stubbornness either, which, again, she appreciated. Dean just studied her closely.

“Randy Orton is not a happy guy tonight.”

“No?”

“No.”

“He should think about having a clean fight next time.”

“It is difficult to find fairness in wrestling.”

“Justice always lay where fairness is broken.”

Dean looked at her. His eye caressed her features as if he didn’t care about the consequences of looking at her in such a way. “Though you were a vision at the beginning, I did.” he sighed, “I was kicked hard enough to have forgotten that you actually existed,” she looked back into his good eye, surprised by how suddenly sweet his voice and gaze became, it was as if thoughts were slipping through his lips, “and I definitely thought I was remembering your face wrong.”

“Why?” She wondered softly, feeling courageous enough to raise her fingers to his face, testing his sensitive, bruised cheekbone. Pain crossed him, but he didn’t flinch nor he took his eye off her for even a moment.

“No woman should be allowed to be this hot. Only angels.”

Her breath broke into her throat the moment she realised what he had said. She had to go through his words over and over, thinking she had misunderstood. But she didn’t. Generally, Valkyrie would be pretty detached from such human matters, and yet, Dean’s words made her melt in a giggle. Even worse, her cheeks burst into flames.

“All Valkyries are blessed with beauty.” She explained as her gaze curiously moved across his face.

She was flattered and thought that must have been the only reason she felt a warm hold around her stomach as she recognised his unconventional, rough beauty. It must be the adrenaline bending her under her human emotions.

As surprising as it started, that moment ended. Dean took a step back and, distancing himself from her, he gathered his hands behind his back, assuming the composed pose of a soldier. “I don’t know why I said that,” shaking his head he tried to focus on something else, now avoiding looking at her, “I’ve probably received too many punches. Confused my thoughts.”

Bat shit crazy, so he is known to be. She couldn’t see that unstable energy everyone seemed to be talking about. She only saw the wild spirit of a noble man that too many have tried to break too many times.

“See? A clear sign.”

“Of what?”

“Of how much you need to get your head checked.”

Now his gaze became sharper as his features hardened. He passed his tongue on his teeth, still doing his best to look over her head. “Listen, angel, I don’t need a doctor.” His tone changed again. From sweet, to detached, now it became plainly dry and aggressive. “Nor do I need a guardian.”

When he finally looked back at her, she could clearly see the annoyance in his gaze. Though, she wondered why. Her stomach vibrated, unsatisfied. She liked to be fluttered and looked at like he did a minute ago. She liked this way less.

Before she could say anything, Dean pointed a finger to her face. “I know what you’re doing.”

She ignored his barking, raising her chin proudly. “The Gods sent me to you.”

“The President himself could have given you the order, I’d still not give a shit.”

She sharpened her gaze. “I do not have much care for the ways of your people, I do what I get told and I aid those who are in need.”

“I do not need help. I am good on my own.”

“Didn’t look like you were so good earlier.”

“Still. Stay out of my business, angel.” His good eye crossed her face. They were still standing very close to each other, which, all of a sudden, made her feel slightly uncomfortable and breathless. And not because she needed space from him. Quite the opposite. “And, if you are expecting to own me just because I’m supposed to be grateful or owe you something, then you’re out of your mind.”

“I do not expect anything.”

“Isn’t it true what they say? That you’re looking for allies?”

“It is true. But I am also doing what is in my nature to do, which is side valorous warriors. You do owe me, but whether or not you decide to pay your debt is your own decision. Where I come from, that moral code is the true valour of a man and those graced by Valkyries get judged by Odin himself in the end. But here it’s different.”

“Well, your pagan god doesn’t interest me much. I am not a good man, haven’t you heard?”

“I’ve heard. And yet my Gods smiled upon you.”

“No God had smiled upon me in a long time, angel. Just forget it, ok?”

She didn’t do it on purpose, as he talked, he licked his lips and her eyes automatically fell on his lips probably for longer than allowed by any social etiquette. She knew what feeling that was. Desire. And she hadn’t felt anything like that in aeons. What did that guy have to dare to startle her that much?

“You are not a bad man.” She whispered looking back into his eye. She knew her words were true even if he didn’t quite know how.

That was the first time he appeared to be shaken by something she said. He bent his neck and shoulders as if he was suddenly crushed by an unbearable pressure, and, ripping his gaze off her, he just shook his head. “Just forget it. I fight my battles alone.”

For some reason, that sentence broke her heart.

“Why did you come looking for me?” She wondered, leaning her head to the side.

Not even when his intentions were so clear, she had any intention of backing off. And that seemed to be a good reason enough to set him off. Suddenly so uncomfortable and fidgety, Dean’s eyes jumped across the entire room, as he moved his weight from one foot to the other.

“Needed to set the record straight.” His jaw was clenched.

“You could have just avoided me.”

“Didn’t want you and your crows to flap over me by surprise again.”

She just remained silent, looking right into his good eye, even if the man was doing everything in his power to avoid her. Though she kept wondering why would he remain as close as he did if he felt so unbearable with the idea of having her around. Something else was bothering him she could tell. He didn’t seem the type who would get suddenly shy for no reason.

She didn’t have to pressure him with more questions. Her silence was enough.

“And I wanted to make sure you were real.”

“Why? Do you get often saved by hot women? To use your words that is.”

“No, angel. But I do tend to be unable to trust my own mind and senses sometimes.” He pointed at his temple, moving his finger in a circular motion.

Bat shit crazy.

What was the deal with this guy?

She pushed a hand on his chest, again looking for contact, unable to define what magnetic force pulled towards him. She closed her eyes as she pressed her palm against his solid pectoral, finding too much enjoyment in discovering how warm he was. He could have been running a fever because of the shock suffered. But he didn’t look feverish at all.

As she touched him, Dean seemed to hold his breath, his gaze fell back on hers, but he didn’t push her away. So, she was encouraged to push her fingers higher in a soft caress that followed the column of his neck all the way up to his chin. The feeling of his scruffy beard chafed on her fingertips. Just then, she pushed his chin up, only to see if he would indulge her. He did, bending under her touch. To which point she gave him a slight push.

“Go then, Dean Ambrose, I do not like my time to be wasted and if you’ve got nothing better to offer me, then you’re free to leave.”

She was the one who had to then push herself to find distance from him.

Dean still stood there for a while speechless and almost disorientated, his good eye pinning her there, as if he was unable to let her go. Behind his blue iris she could taste all the thoughts and secrets he chose to hide. He hesitated, as if one of those thoughts almost became words, but then that moment passed and he looked away, clearing his throat.

Dean took a step back. “Take care of yourself, angel.”

[pomefiores-ballerino]

"Save me a dance for another day..."

(PLEASE READ FULL POST BEFORE INTERACTING!)

Let me introduce myself. My main blog is @ashe-twst-fan . This is my Roleplay blog for my twst oc, Kylo, who's based off of Ballora from FNAF: SISTER LOCATION.

TAGS FOR THIS BLOG:

#★; Kylo speaks - Kylo asks his own questions/speaks

#★; Kylo answers - Kylo answers stuff from his inbox

#★; ooc Kylo - The owner of the blog speaking, not Kylo :]

#★; Kylo lore - Kylo's lore/backstory

#★; Kylo Reblogs - Kylo Reblogs stuff (ooc: Reblogs may be related or not related to Kylo)

#★; Kylo roleplays - basically rping with others as Kylo

RULES FOR THIS BLOG:

— No flirting! I'm not comfortable with being flirted with online unless I'm close to that person and it's a joke.

— Anon's are perfectly ok!

— Please keep interactions respectful. You may joke around and such but if it gets too much I will block you.

— I have a life outside of this (and writing ofc.) I won't always be available to answers your asks and such, but I'll get to it eventually.

— You are allowed to swear. Kylo may not swear much, but I (the owner) do every now and then.

— Canon and oc interactions are both completely ok!

SUMMARY ABOUT KYLO:

"An undead soul secretly posing as a regular human in Night Raven College as a professional ballet dancer to try and connect with life again after dying so many years ago and being revived."

IMPORTANT STUFF TO READ ABOUT KYLO:

— Kylo's Profile/Bio - (Coming soon)

— Kylo's Lore - (Coming soon)

— Kylo's relationship with each character (oc and canon) - (coming soon)

That's all for now!

[jumpdriveproject]

Speaking of 2003 Titans, what are your thoughts on Argent, aesthetically speaking? Also, is Raven, from the same 2003 Titans, actually "goth"? Always felt more punk-adjacent to me when I was a kid, but just got immediately super pigeonholed on being goth later on. Also also, yay for more of your drawings here!

*vibrates in hyperfixation*

Argent is cool but definitely has side-character vibes, I feel like she could have been cooked just a little longer. I think its mostly the "A" logo on her chest feels out of place and doesn't really tie in/make sense with the rest of her outfit. Was kinda cool seeing another alt-girl type design in the show tho.

Also kind of weird having a character that actually canonically has white/grey skin alongside characters like Raven and Jinx who stylistically have white/grey skin.

I never really know how to answer the "is Raven goth" question, cause like, in terms of her place in real world culture, yeah absolutely she is a goth icon. In universe though, its kind of hard to tell.

She doesn't dress very goth, we don't know what music she likes besides a throwaway line in The Lost Episode ("Music is meant to make one happy." "Obviously You havnt heard any of my music.") she hangs out with/dated "Goth Boy" but the only conversation we see with them is him saying "So you like showtunes?" which is not very goth. At most her room is kinda spooky but more in a magician way.

I think in universe she is simply "creepy" as Garfield puts it. Maybe leaning a bit towards punk by definition rather than aesthetic, she seemed to vibe with Johnny Rancid for example.

Ofc I have to mention her original comic version was not goth at all, she was "dark, creepy, weird" etc. because thats how she was raised + Trigon's influence, and she actually embraced light and joy and peace as much as possible. I think there is a lot more of that in '03 Raven than people realize. Not quite to the same extent, '03 Raven isnt a pacifist, actually enjoys dark places, alone time, sarcasm, etc. But she isnt edgy or dark for darkness' sake.

Thats something that kinda bothers me with a lot of fandom/modern depictions of her, a lot of people see her as "a goth" in a fashion sense, rather than just, like, seeing her as a person with certain traits that society has deemed to be goth adjacent.

[lily-valley-hyperfixates]

Omg thank you for tagging me!!! Ice age was also a childhood staple for me too, VIVID memories of watching the squirrel pine for the acorn lol

Three ships: Wendell x Emily from the Emily Wilde Series, Marcille x Falin from Dungeon Meshi, and ofc Holmes x Watson (I feel exactly the same as prev about them, truly a sliding scale between romantic and platonic, but always a qpr) ((and to me sherlock is always ace <3))

First ship: Hunter x Ashlynn Ella (every day I pine for ever after high </3 although now i’d be much more likely to ship Raven and Apple bc they’re soooo…….)

Last song: Fabulous from HSM2 (but that was for work—I think my last one before that one was a Will Wood song :3)

Last movie: oh I don’t really watch many at the moment?? I think the last one I watched was the Road to El Dorado (actually I watched that with @thebrofriends ). Very silly and very gay, 10/10

Currently reading: oh so many things; the entirety of the Sherlock Holmes canon, Emily Wilde’s Map of the Otherworlds, Giovanni’s Room, and the Foxhole Court

Currently watching: not much? I’ve become more of a podcast person in recent months, rn im listening through the Apocrypals podcast which is very interesting (examining the Bible from a non-religious perspective) I’m also slowly but surely making my way through granada holmes!!! But as mentioned i’m just not in a TV watching mood rn so it’s slow going.

Currently eating: nothing yet, but breakfast soon! Probably cereal or eggs, it remains unclear

Currently craving: waffles!!! A good crispy waffle would HIT rn, especially with a little powdered sugar on top??? Hell yeah

tagging @estel-and-agape @julienbakerstreet @thebrofriends and anyone else who wants to!!! Sorry if im forgetting people, I just woke up and my brain is still reconstituting itself <333

get to know me better tag game

thank u for tagging me @hobbitwrangler! having farawyn as ur first ship must have set such high standards!!

three ships: farawyn, jonmina and holmes x watson (the way i view them as either platonic or romantic changes depending on my mood or the day, but they’re in a queerplatonic relationship at allllll times)

first ship: PERCABETH 🌸

last song: breathless by shankar mahadevan

last movie: ice age 2002. it was on tv & i decided to watch it since it’s an childhood favourite of mine :) pleased to inform that it still holds up really well!

currently reading: around the world in 80 days by jules verne

currently watching: nothing. i usually only watch old comfort shows when the mood hits - in that vein, i’m thinking of rewatching granada holmes or agatha christie’s poirot

currently eating: dinner. veg biriyani - to be exact

currently craving: BLUE LAYSSS 😩 i normally don’t eat snacks a lot, but i’m craving some chips rn

tagging @silv-paru @lily-valley-hyperfixates @afaramir @unethicallypleistocene @bretwalda-lamnguin @snazzy-hats-and-adhd @letthebookbegin <3333

[dyketectivecomics]

Idk what took Steph is so tell me about it? Also ☠️ thing for magicfam!raven from that ask thing like 2(?) weeks ago?

Ooof ok two part q here we GO~ pt 1:

Rook is the identity Steph takes on in me & tee’s “Helena & Renee adopt Steph” AU! The core idea being that Steph gets Tired™️ of watching her moms go night after night on their own separate Crime Crusades, and decides for herself that Huntress & Question deserve a sidekick ala Batman & Robin ofc!

Me & Tee chose Rook bc its both a play on the bird motif & on a chess motif, so it works well with Huntress (ala a hunter and their hawk for ex), or Question (conspiracy and corruption have to be dealt with like a game of chess afterall). Actually while you’ve got the chess thing going, we could Maybe make an argument that it connects w/ the Spoiler theme, a hero who uses cunning & intelligence to get an advantage over her enemies first. Idk I just really love the way Rook works as a Potential hero ID overall.

Personally, I’ve decided the one constant for her costume will def be both the psuedoderm & domino mask, bc i like the idea that, even with them letting Steph be a Young Vigilante, they’re Extra Protective of her identity. And also the redundancy jokes to be had

Alright now Part dos!

☠️ - angry/violent headcanon

So raven lived a kinda idyllic childhood compared to canon, right? Like not Normal by any stretch, but something with a lot more normalities and exposure to Normal Goddamn People. (She’s more well-adjusted to pop culture & more relaxed around people basically) BUT. She’s also been much much more tempted by that demon half as a result. So anytime she’s been shown a penchant for Violence (starting with breaking toys or playing Too Roughly with others as a child) John and Zee shut that down Immediately. As she grows up ofc she needs to find an outlet for it, since she’s been allowed to Feel more fully and freely. While meditation does help when she’s more of a tween, she eventually needs Even More Outlets which leads (drum roll please 🥁 🥁 🥁) to Sports!

Now I know what ur thinking. “Raven? And sports? Ew” but LISTEN this is a DIFFERENT earth. This is a DIFFERENT background. One where she’s Encouraged to Try All The Things & Meet All The People & Feel All The Emotions (okay. Whoa wait. Dial it back there kiddo JUUUUST a Tad.) so ofc that means doing things that aren’t considered by fanon, Normal for her.

Something ya gotta understand too is, not all sports are Team Sports.

Ye THATS right. I’m talking running, I’m talking swimming, I’m talking track & field and weightlifting and boxing and all of the little Individual Exercises that she can do w/out wanting to get too many other people involved.

Bc Ravens not a violent person, by her human nature at least. But that doesn’t mean that she won’t need an outlet when she’s already given her demonic half a little too much freedom already