#Defender Strange head canons

[sobeautifullyobsessed]

You know I gotta ask about my dilfy, Shakespearian babe, Defender. Reread "No Defense for the Heart" the other day, and you write him so romantically, I gotta do a few. 💖

☾ - sleep headcanon

✿ - sex headcanon

♡ - romantic headcanon

♒ - cooking/food headcanon

Thank you so, so much - I love Defender an unfathomable amount, and he presents an exquisite canvas upon which to paint my ideal romantic qualities!💖🖤💖

☾ - sleep headcanon

617 Stephen perfected the art of maximizing his sleep time during grad school (getting his MD & PhD at the same time necessitated it), and that skill served him well during his internship and residency. Basically, he trained himself to fall asleep just about anywhere and anytime he could. Now, with the great demands on his time, as both the Sorcerer Supreme and leader of the Defenders, he has even less time than ever before--so when the chance for several hours uninterrupted sleep arises, he seizes it with great relish. Sleeping deeply while experiencing dreams he can often recall with great clarity. Such sleep--whose ultimate purpose is to enable him to better serve his responsibilities--refreshes him beyond any in his life. Perhaps we should call it the 'sleep of hte just'.😉

✿ - sex headcanon

Defender was always a man of rich appetites, and so had never stinted from drinking fully of whatever cup came his way. Which was fine in his life as medical student and then doctor--but now he chooses an ascetic lifestyle so that his energies can be directed more fully to his mission. Yet still, he possesses a powerful sex drive--and all that honing his body into a powerful weapon in service to good, has resulted in a stamina he rarely has time to expend.

Ah, but when he does!

When he does, he lavishes waves and waves of pleasure and ecstasy upon his lucky lover. Devotes himself to pleasing them before he fulfills his own pressing need. Takes supreme satisfaction and pride in wringing multiple orgasms from their flesh with his skilled fingers and sensual mouth, reveling in the sinful taste of them and in their moans and the sound of his name cried out like their truest prayer as they peak. He delights in being the one in control and in how softly his lover concedes herself to him. Only then does he seek his own resolution, setting a breathtaking rhythm as deeply inside as he can get, spilling himself with abandon (he prefers unprotected sex, but will wear a condom at the lady's request). Afterwards, he lingers inside her for as long as possible, for the reality of that physical connection is too beautiful to forgo until he absolutely must.

Defender adores the act of cockwarming, but will always ask first if it's alright to indulge in. And if he ever goes a bit rough in his enthusiasm when he fucks, his aftercare is the loving offering he gives to prove the depth of his devotion.

The man he is now--the man he was always meant to be--views romantic love and sex as inextricably bound. And he wouldn't want it any other way.

♡ - romantic headcanon

Stephen has always had the gift of a deep and romantic heart--and although he hasn't always allowed himself to follow it's inclinations due to the circumstances at the time, he sees the world through loving eyes. He fell easily in love as a teen and young adult. Wrote poetry (usually kept secret) for the girl/woman of his affection, used music as a means of romantic expression. Taught himself to play the guitar for that very reason, in fact (his mother taught him to play the piano as a child, and he was good enough to briefly consider making it his career, until his heart directed him to saving lives through medicine).

With his patrician good looks and easy charm, pre-accident Defender had a score of lovers--mostly short term--in his past. Though contradictory to his deeply romantic nature, he found it best to avoid entanglements of the heart as he single-mindedly pursued his goal of innovating the science of neurosurgery. He had so much to do, and so little time in those days, that he couldn't allow himself such a beautiful distraction. That was until Christine of course.

But by that time, he had become out of practice with allowing himself to be vulnerable, of speaking the truth of his heart, of trusting that he was as worthy of the love he felt for her to show her properly and let her love him in return. Once he realized he could and should, the weight of his life-altering responsibilities precluded that. He'd always hoped one day they might yet get it right, when things calmed down, when he finally had time. When she would see past his ineptitude and failure to say and show her the things she deserved, and finally claim what had been hers all along. But along came Charlie.

The most devastating lesson of Stephen's life--for his romantic nature could only experience that heartbreak as even worse than the loss of his hands.

But like the most hopelessly romantic among us, though his heart bears its scars, Stephen still believes that one day he'll find someone to love and be loved by again. He's confident he won't be repeating the mistakes of his past--for he has vowed he will follow his heart completely the next time.

♒ - cooking/food headcanon

In his old life, Stephen could afford to frequent the finest restaurants in the City, and his work gave him the excuse to do minimal cooking for himself. After the accident and the depletion of his fortune, he had to resort to much simpler choices. Lots of meatless days, lots of pasta or rice because they were the most filling. Before he found his way to Kamar-Taj--where the kitchens were always open for Masters and students alike to use between meals--he'd had to frequent soup kitchens to keep from going days at a time without eating. What a humbling experience that was!

The first night he availed himself of the smaller compound kitchen (he'd been deep in study of texts on interdimensional energies and had missed supper completely) he'd made himself a simple grilled cheese sandwich. And wept as he ate it, to realize the gift of the freedom and luxury which the haven of Kamar-Taj now provided him.

These days, the Sorcerer Supreme enjoys cooking for himself on quiet nights as a means to relax. His meals may not be anything to brag about, but Defender made a point of teaching himself at least one dish from every culture represented in the compound's population. He figured it would be useful if there came a student experiencing difficulties or homesickness; Wong keeps him informed of those who might need that extra bit of care, and though such students are admonished not to share the secrets of their meals with the Sorcerer Supreme, with others, it soon became common knowledge that a summons to meet with him after the cafeteria was closed for the night, meant they'd be experiencing a taste of home.

And since the success of his little program, Stephen finds the most satisfying meals he makes are those meant as gifs to others.

Ohmygosh, writing these for Defender has been a most satisfying experience of it's own! Thank you once more @thealleydog for prompting me to put these instinctive headcanons into words.

🥰🦋🥰

HEADCANON MEME

[shurisneakers]

unsolved (v)

Summary: Bucky doesn't even believe in the paranormal. So who the hell thought it was a good idea to stick him in a series about everything haunted for the internet's amusement? With his loose-canon of a teammate who has no concept of subtlety or shits left to give, to make things even worse. (Buzzfeed unsolved AU)

Warnings: swearing, frustrated bucky, obnoxious reader, witchcraft

A/N: it's like i never left amirite (im sorry it has been like 10 months pls forgive me ily guys let's pretend this series never went on hiatus) (i had cancer and college but now I've graduated from both and i live babyyy. anyway. welcome back to my house of horrors)

Previous part || Series masterlist

When you tell Maya you want to do witchcraft, you'd done so with the full expectation of defending your idea with the force of a PhD student who was on the verge of a mental breakdown.

She surprisingly agrees. 

“Really?” It's hard to stop the astonishment from entering your voice. Honestly, it sort of pisses you off that the Canva presentation you spent five hours on wouldn't actually see the light of day.

“Yeah, sure. I think it'd do well with the older demographic. ” She shrugs.

"Really?" Now you weren't sure she was on the same plane of existence as you were.

“Make some animals talk. Conjure up some parking spots.”

Ah. 

“I was thinking more like... hexing people and shadow demons,” you test slowly.

That seems to tether her to reality.

Her head cranes towards you centimetre by centimetre, like she was buffering in real time.

“Are you insane?" she states, not very much sounding like she was expecting an answer. "Do you want to end up on the news? Do you know how vicious Facebook groups can be?” 

“No PR is bad PR,” you preach wisely, parroting advice you’d seen bots on Twitter tell other bots. 

“That doesn’t apply to you. I already have a tough time explaining Stephen Strange and why he’s not literally the devil to the public."

Now that was a little unfair. Perhaps it warranted another Canva presentation.

"Have you considered that I'm hotter and significantly cooler than Stephen Strange?" you suggest helpfully.

She squints at you, or more likely your audacity. "I will not have another scandal on my hands this week.” 

“But next week is okay?”

Her hardened stare tells you quickly what a thousand words cannot.

You cross your arms over your chest. “Thou limit me so, Maya. How is one to find you invigorating content in these trying circumstances?”

Maya taps your shoulder on her way out, crooning, “There’s a reason I asked you to do this series. You’ll figure it out.”

You hide a smile with an all too dramatic sigh. “Thou compliment me so. How am I to not fall in love with thee?”

Maya shakes her head playfully. “Nothing that will get me called into a press conference by mid-day. No hexing. No extreme curses. ”

“Mid-level curses it is, then” you call after her.

Her leaving figure does not give you a reply.

After a week of staring at the corner of his room through the night, delirious to the point where he seriously considered using Sam’s Amazon Prime account to buy his own stupid ghost apparatuses, Bucky throws in the towel.

Clearly, he was mistaken. Sleep deprived and probably missing his family a little more than he would have ever admitted to a living soul.

Bucky's sleep deprivation adds to his already charming and sociable personality.

No one would touch him with a ten-foot pole. Bucky’s usually grumpy and while everyone had sort of built a tolerance towards his regular nonsense, he was now the very sexy combination of grumpy and sensitive.

For his part, after last week's shenanigans, Bucky has stuck to avoiding anything and everything horror.

He watches only romcoms and finds that while everyone says he seems most like Harry from Harry Met Sally, he hates that Mike Wazowski motherfucker with a passion. 

While everyone else seems to get the memo, you have chosen to ignore it blissfully, and have instead been prancing about all week, shoving meme after meme into his face.

Bucky Barnes smiling compilations that were 7 seconds long. Bucky Barnes social media fanfictions that showed him replying far more than he had ever replied to anyone in real life ever.

Bucky’s learnt to ignore you with a long-suffering glare. You adapt quickly, skillfully dodge the daggers shooting out of his eyes and shove another TikTok in his face. It is an edit of him to Toxic by Britney Spears. He doesn't want to ask where they got some of the footage they used.

After the fifth Twitter screenshot, he takes to avoiding you like the plague.

Unfortunately for Maya, that involved avoiding the set too. He sees on the official The Graveyard Shift channels that there’s an announcement put out about an episode delay. 

It is undeniably his fault. No, he still won't answer the group chat or the several knocks at his door every day.

But because the universe is invested in his sorrow, you seem to find him wherever he goes.

In the garden, digging through the vegetable bed.

In the storeroom, looking through oversized cookware.

When he walked into the alley behind the Tower and found you there, he hissed at you like a feral cat and you asked very loudly what the fuck was wrong with him. 

He checks every part of him and all his clothes for a tracker but no-- you just seem to have a karmic connection level of being exactly where he is. 

When he runs into you for the fourth time at the library, he really thinks he’s lost it.

“Are you following me?” he asks, voice sharp.

You look at him in wonder. “Your ego is so big it could have its own gravitational pull. How do you carry around your massive head all day?"

“Everywhere I go, you’re there.” He continues, finger pointing in accusation. 

“Bitch, you're the one who walked in here," you exclaim. "I’ve been here all day.”

“Doing what?”

“Who’s following who now?” you dare.

“Because you’re in this section.” He does a quick check to see what section it actually is. Witchcraft and Wizardry. He may not have known that when he accused you but he definitely was not wrong.

“Why do you care what I do here?”

Because he's wondering if he’s managed to shut down production permanently and sent a bunch of people into unemployment.

“I don’t trust you here," he settles on instead. "What are you actually doing?"

“I’m learning things. Gaining knowledge. And such." You gesture vaguely before you narrow your eyes at him. "Not that you would know, you ape.”

He scoffs. He had the intelligence of a thousand suns, mind you.

“You don’t even have a book," he counters.

“So? I’m gaining knowledge through osmosis.” You look around. “I’m absorbing.”

His nose twitches, teeth clenched.

“Whatever,” he mumbles instead, turning his attention to the bookshelf.

As he thumbs through various titles he’s too annoyed to read, a small movement catches his attention. 

He watches you from the corner of his eyes. 

“What?” you demand, this whole exchange too damn loud for a library. 

“What?” he challenges right back. “Why are you watching me?”

“Why am I– you’re the one staring at me.” You throw your hands up. “First you follow me here, second you accuse me of things that would get me burnt at the stake a couple of years ago, third you accuse me of watching you just 'cause you know you're pretty. You–”

Bucky narrows his eyes, not missing the random compliment you slipped in.

“Hold on just one second. That’s why you’ve been avoiding everyone all week.” You stare at him, wide-eyed and unrelenting.

He thinks he must have missed some part of the conversation because he has no idea why you're looking at him like you've figured him all out.

“That’s why you’ve been so jumpy and sleep deprived ever since that episode you filmed.”

Bucky’s gaze doesn’t waver, but his mind races and his breath falters for a second. There’s no goddamn way you knew what had gone down, he’d deleted every footage that could possibly–

“You missed me.”

He stops his overthinking right in its tracks.

“That’s it, isn’t it?” You tilt your head, face full of pure sympathy. “You filmed one episode without me by your side and realised you couldn’t live without me.”

“Fucking ridiculous,” he mutters, eyes pressed closed tighty, partially in relief. 

“You want me, don’t you? You want me so bad it makes you throw u–”

“Fuck off.” Bucky turns on his heel at the speed of light.

“You have a fat, raging crush–”  

“I’m fuckin' moving out.” His voice is like rocks.

“You can move out, but you can never move on, baby,” you whisper-shout. “When’d you realise you liked me, Bucky? Night one? The first hou–”

He slams the library door behind him. 

From: Stevie Left some strawberries outside your door. They’re good. 

From: Stevie How are you doing today, by the way?

From: Bucky alive

From: Bucky and thanks 

From: Stevie Anything we have to talk about? Your wood chisels didn’t break again, did they?

From: Bucky nothing im fine

From: Stevie You sure? Time for a Cypress Hills visit?

From: Bucky no im fine 

From: Stevie You haven’t left the room in a week. Beat your old record and I'm going to start getting worried here.

Bucky stares at his phone wondering how he ended up with a mother a century after his own died, before sighing.

From: Bucky going to film a video this week. im fine

From: Bucky promise 

Because there really was no other way to convince Steve that he as leaving the cave he constructed from his comforter.

From: Steve Good to hear. I’m always across the hallway if you need anything. 

From: Bucky i know. your gramophone won’t let me forget it. 

From: Steve Dick.

From: Bucky it is too damn loud. old ass

From: Steve Got a new record. Haven’t listened to it yet.

From: Bucky ill be there in 10

That Friday, Bucky walks onto the set in his finest black hoodie and darkest sunglasses, looking less like a badass and entirely like a hungover teenager. 

Before he has a chance to even register what’s going on, he is ambushed by lights, a team touching up his face and his stupid dollar store sunglasses leave him before he has a chance to protest.  

“I told you he’d show up,” you pipe up proudly from your place at the table. “Lil' shit simply missed me too–”

“Stop,” he interrupts, finally getting around to look at the set when the foundation brushes stop assaulting his line of vision. 

For a hot second, he thinks you've taken over Steve's cooking show. 

There are candles floating around, which he assumes you're holding up. A large… cauldron, gigantic wooden mixing spoons and 50 little bowls worth of ingredients are neatly arranged on the table.

“What the hell is going on?” he questions immediately. “What is all this?”

“Mise en place, baby,” you reply, shutting a book you had on the table loudly before looking at him. “You’re on dish duty. Come on.” 

“What?” His eyebrows pull into a frown. 

You dust off your hands before reaching under the table and chucking an apron at him. “Back when I worked as a line cook, the number one rule was to clean up as you go. I like to think of it as--”

“What is going on here?” he specifies, already trying to piece together your timeline in his head with every new piece of lore.

“Welcome to my kitchen, motherfucker.” Your grin is nefarious. “We're gonna do some witchcraft.” 

After he spends fifteen minutes on the phone with Maya confirming that yes, that is indeed the episode and that the heads up he needed would have reached him if he opened the seventeen million messages on the group chat– he finally comes to stand behind the bench with you, a tick in his jaw but also with enough self-awareness to be sheepish. 

He thought his grand return to the channel would be a simple video with some ghost reading or whatever, not… this. 

He turns to you, ready to reach a compromise that ends with him not having to be there at all.

But in the fifteen minutes he had turned his attention to the call, you’ve somehow convinced them to start rolling before he gets the chance to leave, so he’s immediately hit with a--

“We’re on in three…two–”

“Where is your apron?” you demand, looking him up and down.

“I’m not wearing that shit.” It had some stupid slogan like ‘Life is about taking whisks!’ and he had already been through enough.

“Jeez, annyone would think that you're not in love with me--"

"I'm not."

"--by the way you're so ungrateful. I got that custom-made for you,” you tsk. “I could've gotten the other one. Mine could've said ‘he’s my sweet potato’ and yours could've said ‘I yam’.”

Bucky experiences a whole-body chill. 

“Whatever," you dismiss with a wave of hand before looking into the camera. "Before we get started, we recognize that for some, witchcraft is a deeply meaningful religion and spiritual practice that should be approached with respect and curiosity.”

“We’re not claiming this is the definitive guide to witchcraft, we’re simply trying out a book that’s been highly recommended for better or worse, and seeing where it leads us. Whaddya say, Bucko?

You look at him for input. Bucky stares at the dusty, hole-ridden monstrosity on the table.

“What’s it called?” Bucky asks finally after a long pause.

You tap the thick, old book. “Witchcraft for Weenies: A Totally Legit Guide to Authentic Witchcraft by A. Harkness.”

“Is that the actual name or are you just making it up?”  

“Rich coming from the only one between us who actually lied on camera--" you glare at him. "I would never fabricate my sources, I’m a champion for academic integrity.”

You pick up the book to show him, flipping it towards the camera too and sure enough, the book that was basically falling apart at the binding was called exactly that.

“Let’s-a go, baby.”

You stare at him, lips pressed together. Bucky gives no inclination towards changing his answer. 

“Fine. We’re going to do this the hard way, I see.” You exhale, reaching into the pocket of your apron. 

Bucky’s eyebrows knit together when you brandish a deck of cards, yank his arm towards you and drop it into his open palm. 

“Shuffle," you command.

Something very familiar faces him.

Bucky stares at the cards before looking back at you. “Why’s my face on it?”

“It’s a tarot deck I got from Comic Con,” you insist. “Avengers themed. Now shuffle it.”

He thinks you left that card on top on purpose, but regardless, he's already been too much of a menace to the crew to be the cause of any more disturbance.

So he slowly begins, careful and skilled, before you scoff in his face.

“Faster, grandpa," you chide. “I’ve seen the way those hands cut garlic when no one’s around, I know you move faster than that.”

Bucky rolls his eyes but complies anyway, shuffling the cards with the adeptness only a certain Jim Morita could have taught him in a dark tent to keep him awake on a night watch. 

“Faster,” you goad, face smug. “Faster. Come on now, Barnes, your age finally catching up to you?”

It’s stupid– he doesn’t even know why he’s actually complying and increasing his speed. He can’t believe that he was letting you pressure him.

“C’mon, faster, Barnes, you abso-”

His hands were moving so fast by then that they’d have to put the video in slow motion to catch all the movement.

“Faster–” and in the commotion, a few cards fly out.

“Brilliant, thanks.” You slam them down on the table, plucking the deck out of his hand before he has a chance to process why the fuck he actually went ahead with what you were trying. 

“Right, so the universe has decided that these will be your cards,” you tell him, and he finally looks down at what had fallen out of the deck. 

The cards show Sam’s Captain America shield, Carol Danvers, and Spider-Man, with words written below.

“The Star, Six of Cups, The Hanged Man,” you read out thoughtfully.  

Bucky rolls his eyes so hard he thinks they’ll fall out of his skull. 

“You know, I’m going to just make a general assumption and say you need help.” You hum to yourself. “I'm gonna make a potion to get you some.”

“Get me some?” He's too busy trying to figure out what the cards could possibly mean to see that he's walked straight into that one.  

“Get you some perspective. You need an advisor who’ll dish it to you straight. Give you the facts, no bullshit–”

"No." He had too many of those in his life and he has had enough of people being “honest” and "straightforward” and telling him his moustache was ugly every time he dared to try out a new look–

Until you reach under the table and again and suddenly, there’s a white creature buzzing around on the table in front of him.

“Behold– your new advisor,” you announce.

From the corner of his eye Bucky can see the production team scrambling to figure out where the hell this was going. He lip-reads producers’ orders to find adoption links or resources to insert during post-production, and teasers on social media, to make this look more planned. Great, so no one was prepared-- it wasn't just him.

“Whose fucking cat is this?” He looks down at it, all white except for a few brown spots all around, green eyes and evil in her aura.

“Relax, I'll give her back when we're done.”

“Give her ba–” he echoes. “Where did you get her?” 

“The alley outside,” you coo, rubbing under her chin. “I checked and she doesn’t have an owner. But look at her, she’s meant to be here.”

Bucky looks at the cat. The cat looks back at him, irises narrowing into slits. His nose twitches. 

“You can’t just bring a cat–”

“Remember to adopt, not shop,” you say to the camera before clapping your hand. “Anyway. If my potion goes according to plan, she will be giving you unsolicited life advice for eternity.” 

“You will be unemployed, then,” Bucky manages to add while watching the chaos unfold behind the camera.

“Nonsense, I’m irreplaceable.” You grin. “Besides, you can't manufacture chemistry like this even in a cauldron.” 

You send him a flying kiss. His glower was as sharp as laser beams.

“Let’s get started.” You grin at the camera. 

Bucky tries to pet the cat. She hisses at him.

Well all-fucking-right then.

One hour later, things have descended into madness of the most mundane kind.

It was precisely when you started telling him ten minutes in that a book had nothing on your instincts and raw intelligence that Bucky knew that this was going to shit. 

The cauldron was on an electric stove unlike the open fire demanded by the book because the team had enough foresight to know it would be a fire hazard.

You toss in something that looks like cardamom but he isn’t sure at this point. He just wanted to get away from the bright lights and the strange smiling liquid boiling awai.

The cat sits obediently by your side, watching curiously. He is convinced that she is evil.

Unfortunately, Bucky has had to hold her back twice when she tried to stick her paw in to attack a bubble, and at this point, he doesn’t think he has it in him to do it a third time. 

You read the recipe as if it makes any sort of fucking difference now.

“We’re almost done,” you sing. 

Bucky nurses his headache.  “Don't give me hope.” 

“Put some more reegelbeetle seeds in,” you dictate. “This is gonna work, I can feel it.”

Bucky uses his free hand to do as you say. He doesn’t even think it’s the right one, he just reaches for whatever is closer to you and you don't seem to care either.

You toss in some more seeds, stir twice and then turn off the stove. 

“Boom.” You lift the spoon up, watching the thick liquid drip back. “This is either a talking potion or a hex.” 

"Hex to do what?”

“I think it activates dormant allergies.” You squint at the book that literally had no significance besides being a prop. “You got any?”

“No.” But it makes him think of Steve’s pollen allergies. 

“Oh. Well, then there’s only one outcome here.”

“Alright, here we go.” Of the gigantic pot that you’d just stirred, you fish the tiniest amount out on the smallest spoon he’d ever seen, which you also apparently stored in the vast space that was your apron pocket.

The cat watches you hold the spoon near its face.

It takes a sniff. Then two. Finally, after deeming it non-poisonous, it sticks out its tongue the tiniest bit and takes a lick.

The whole crew is silent.

Bucky’s hand is still pressing against his temples.

“Tell us your name,” you urge, voice hopeful.

The cat looks at Bucky, and for a second, something akin to understanding flashes in its eyes. It’s uncanny and weird and something about it unsettles him deeply. 

You seem to catch it too because you look at him in surprise. He looks back at you, face pulled into a frown. 

And for a moment, he wonders. If you'd somehow done it. Because there’s no fucking way–

Then it meows.

He exhales.

Your shoulders drop as you let out an “Aw, man.”

"Great. Goodbye. Like and subcribce to the bell icon," he calls out, dusting his hands against his pants.

Someone from the production crew sneezes.

Both of you turn to him immediately. 

At the same instant, someone else all the way on the opposite end sneezes again, and the whole crew turns to look at them, before another sneezes in the front.

“We did it!” you cheer.

“We didn’t do jack,” Bucky interjects immediately as the crew errupts into a cacophony of chatter and sneezes.  

“It’s a hex that activates allergies and they’re sneezing,” you point towards them with the spoon, triumphant.

“You threw fifteen fuckin' pounds of pepper in there,”  he argues. “You've turned this room into a sandstorm of dry spices. This proves nothing.” 

“I’ve connected the dots.” Your eyes shine, ignoring him.  

“You didn’t connect shit.”

“I’ve connected them.” 

Someone in the corner sneezes. He wonders if Steve’s allergies would be activated by the trace amounts of... cursed soup that he carries with him back to the floor. 

“Well, we can’t leave them like this, Bucky.” You look around, tsking. “We gotta make a reverse hex or something.”

“You can,” he says. “It’s called opening the windows.”

“Nope,” you pop the last syllable. “We’re making another potion. C’mon.”

“First of all, this is not a potion–” he begins, but is interrupted by a buzz on his phone, the screen lit up by a text on the groupchat. 

From: Maya I don’t give a shit if it’s placebo or not. Make a damn potion before you get sued for hexing employees. 

“Fine,” he grumbles. 

“Beautiful. Grab the ash sphinx flakes,” you brandish another big cauldron from fuck knows where.

Bucky stares at you, unmoving.

“Just get the oregano,” you sigh. 

The cat tries sticking her paw in the pot again.

Bucky feels a sneeze incoming.

Whether the hex and subsequent anti-hex Maya forced you to make at gunpoint was real or not, is yet to be determined scientifically.

What actually does happen, is the damn apron you give him carries enough trace amount of your stupid experiment, that it somehow activates Steve’s very real pollen allergy. Bucky finds himself on edge for the rest of the day every time the man rattles the walls with his middle aged dad sneezing.

It carries on over to his show, which means Steve’s episode on baking a 1950s chocolate cake from tomato soup is edited extremely strangely to cut out every sneeze.

Which means Nat’s episode on spy inaccuracies in Argylle takes twice as long to film because they have to take a few seconds every time Steve’s sneezes interrupt her from the set next door.

Which means Bruce’s video on the science behind memory is delayed on shooting.

All in all, something does seemed to have been hexed, but it mostly seems to be everyone’s fucking productivity.

Finally, everyone manages to get through the day, and the videos are sent to post production.

The same night when everyone’s gathered at the dining table to commemorate the end of another shoot day, Bucky slips out, knowing that Steve would save him a slice of pizza if he never returned. 

He goes back to the library to return his copy of Understanding Wood Finishing, when his curiosity leads him back down a familiar path. 

It’s where he finds you again, in the same corner as the last time, on the floor, surrounded by shelves.

“You again.” You quirk an eyebrow when he appears from the shadows. "Aren't you supposed to be eating pizza?"

“What are you absorbing now?” he asks, voice low for once, respecting the sanctity of the library now that day had slipped into night and everything seemed a bit more solemn now.

“Nothing,” you answer.

“Then why are you here?” 

He figured you’d be out there, introducing everyone to the cat that was now set to be roaming the halls, before someone assumed it was a shapeshifting enemy and dealt with it accordingly.

“God forbid someone get some peace and quiet for once,” you mumble. “It’s too loud out there.”

Oh.

You don’t say anything else, leaning back against the bookshelf with your eyes closed.

There really isn't a need for more words. He gets it. 

The understadning leaves silence in its wake. Bucky doesn't really have anything to say.

“Did you come here just to stare at me?” you ask finally. “Did you finally admit your feelings?” 

“Jesus Christ,” he groans. “I’m not in love with you.”

“Only a matter of time.” You smile before changes to something more subdued, a bit more serious. “You wanna talk about what’s actually been bugging you for the last week?”

Bucky looks at you wearily. “The tarot cards tell you something?”

You eye him. “Not more than what’s obvious. Wanna talk about it?”

He swallows, throat suddenly feeling like it's closing in on itself. 

“No.”

“Alrighty.” 

You say nothing more than that, leaving the both of you in relative quiet, save for the buzz of the warm fluorescent light above. 

Bucky takes an awkward seat next to you on the floor.

You pry open an eye to look at him in suspicion.

“Y’mind?” he manges.

“Mind what?”

He gestures to himself uncomforably, readiy to jump up and leave at any second.

You observe him for a second, and for once he stares back with no irritation in his look, just permission.

“No, you can sit.” You close your eyes. “So long as you don’t tell anyone else 'bout this place.” 

If there’s anything Bucky’s good at, it’s keeping a secret. 

He settles back into the shelf with an exhale, letting the weight of day roll off his shoulders.

You wordlessly slide a thermos towards him. He doesn’t even have to open it to know it’s the damn soup from that afternoon.

And if he’s being honest, it doesn’t taste that bad at all. 

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Next part

[flowerandblood]

The Song of Loneliness

The Fall from The Heavens Universe Chapter

[ canon • Aemond x Strong • niece female ]

[ warnings: masturbation, sexual tension, smut, angst, trauma related to sexual experiences and their description, sexual experience of a minor (brothel), manipulation, swearing, description of discomfort associated with menstruation ]

[ description: The events that took place between the beginning and the end of chapter two of The Fall from the Heavens, i.e. the memories of Aemond and Rhaenys as children and later, just before their reunion after many years. ]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

My other works: Masterlist

- ✦ - ✦ - ✦ Rhaenys ✦ - ✦ - ✦ -

"Where are we going?" He asked uncertainly, seeing her excited face, which meant she had a plan in her mind that he might not like. Her lips curved into a wide, happy smile at the thought.

"To the Dragon's Pit." She explained, and her uncle froze in half-motion and stopped.

"I don't want to." He replied coldly.

She looked at him in surprise, seeing his discouraged, distant gaze, his jaw clenched in discomfort.

"Don't you trust me?" She asked softly, bestowing on him a comforting, warm smile, meant to add credibility to her attitude. Her betrothed swallowed hard and hesitated, pressing his lips into a thin line.

"– I – well – I do –" He muttered finally, defeated.

Although she tried to converse with him on various light topics that usually aroused his interest, such as their lineage or history, her uncle remained sullen and silent, gazing indifferently out the window of the carriage that had taken them from the Red Keep to their destination.

When they stepped outside, the dragon guardians were already waiting for them, assuring her that everything was ready.

Larax squirmed with joy at the sight of her, the sound she made reminding her of the squeal of a small child – she was still quite tiny, her silver-blue scales shining as she swept her wings, hopping in place as if to show her how happy she was to see her.

She was like a puppy that could breathe fire.

Her uncle seemed shocked – he walked a few steps behind her, aloof but intrigued at the same time. Her dragoness, although wearing a long chain around her neck, had quite a lot of freedom of movement and came running to her as soon as she knelt down in front of her, cuddling her head into her breast. She lifted her gaze to her betrothed, smiling.

"Marriage is sharing everything, becoming one. This means that Larax belongs to you from now on as well, and I wanted you to get acquainted." She said excitedly.

Her uncle swallowed hard, clearly shocked, his lips twitching in a shy smile of disbelief, from which heat filled her heart.

He knelt down beside her, but stepped back immediately, frightened as Larax hissed, in her dragon mind defending her from the strange intruder.

"Daor, Larax! Lykiri! Lykiri." She called out, stroking her back reassuringly, wanting her to understand that they were in no danger.

"– give me your hand –" She said softly, extending her palm to him. Her uncle allowed her to take his fingers in hers, and after a moment, keeping them entwined together, she placed his hand on her head.

Feeling the familiar and unfamiliar scent at the same time, Larax froze, breathing anxiously, as if wondering how she should react. She could hear her uncle's heavy, excited breath behind her as she began to stroke her scales with his palm in soft, slow movements.

Larax calmed down after a moment, recognising that, indeed, the small creature that accompanied her rider was no threat to them. She laid her head on her thigh, gazing at the strange newcomer, and she let go of his hand, allowing him to touch her alone.

Her betrothed leaned slightly over her shoulder to get a better look at her dragoness, keeping a safe distance, however, so as not to provoke her.

"– what do you think of her? –" She asked lightly.

Her uncle was silent for a long moment, stunned.

"– she is beautiful –"

- ✦ - ✦ - ✦ Aemond ✦ - ✦ - ✦ -

"A man should not run after a woman, Your Grace. It's a sign of desperation and weakness not befitting your position." Criston Cole said to him coolly, taking him aside after one of their trainings in the courtyard.

He had hurt her by not letting her kiss his cheek in the presence of the others and he just wanted to fix that, make her smile again.

He swallowed hard, feeling a wave of shame and discomfort fill his lower abdomen at his harsh words and impatient gaze.

"– she's good to me – I just didn't want her to be sad – we're betrothed –" He muttered, looking at the ground beneath his feet, embarrassed by this conversation.

Cristone Cole looked away and shook his head, as if he didn't believe what he was hearing.

"– it's just appearances, my Prince – her mother wants her to manipulate you and push you away from your brother and your family –" He replied dryly, and his words left him stunned.

"– she had never –"

"– only a naïve man allows a woman to rule over his mind – keep your dignity and do not allow her into your heart as anyone other than the mother of your future children –"

For some reason, his words and their overtones hurt him deeply and he himself did not know what he should do, what was expected of him.

The septon had always told him that a good husband looks out for the safety and well-being of his wife, listens to her, and sometimes allows himself to be weak in her arms in order to experience relief.

He said that if his wife reciprocates his endeavours, their marriage will be peaceful and successful.

Indeed, by following these rules and observing her efforts towards him, he felt a pleasant contentment and satisfaction. His niece did not impose on him or order him to change his habits, just as he did not require her to do so.

What's more, she supported him every step of the way in his daily duties, and in moments of sadness or fear, which he refused to admit out loud, she allowed him to take refuge in the warm embrace of her soft arms.

The thought that he should reject all this and build a wall between them seemed to him, despite all his doubts, inappropriate and hurtful to her when she was trying so hard to make him content.

He decided that when she came to his chamber at night he would tell her not to do it again and send her away.

She, as soon as she crossed the threshold of his quarters, ran to his bed and jumped onto the sheets, hiding under the soft, warm furs at his side, sighing in relief, immediately snuggling into his body. He swallowed hard, feeling a pleasant shiver run down his spine, and thought they could lie like that for a while before he told her of his decision.

"– I am grateful to you for being so good to me –" She whispered, lifting her head, wanting to look at him. He nodded, not embracing her as was his usual habit, looking dully ahead. She raised herself on her arm, seeing his complete lack of reaction at her words, frowning.

"– uncle? – is something bothering you? – you can tell me –" She added immediately, moving closer to him, leaning over his face – her eyes were shining in the darkness of his chamber, her dark brows arched in sadness and worry at his condition.

He swallowed hard, looking at her with his lips parted, his hand involuntarily touching her cheek.

It was soft and warm.

Do not come here again.

He thought that phrase in his head, but instead his hand forced her to lean in, her moist, puffy lips pressed against his in a soft, soothing kiss.

He could feel his heart pounding fast, how hot he was with excitement, how his whole body screamed that this was what he wanted, this was what he needed.

Her, as close as possible.

He hugged her to his chest, pressing her face to his neck, and closed his eyes.

"– it's nothing –"

- ✦ - ✦ - ✦ Rhaenys ✦ - ✦ - ✦ -

"I would like to discuss with you… a delicate matter." Said her mother, sitting down next to her a few months after the King had announced her betrothal to her uncle. She nodded, sensing that she was about to hear something important.

"I want you to understand that your nuptials with Alicent's son and what they entail will not take place until you reach the age of fourteen." She said slowly, as if she wanted her daughter to understand exactly every word she spoke.

She nodded her head slowly, looking at her with big eyes, pressing her lips together in some kind of disappointment.

"Why do I have to wait so long?" She asked uncertainly – her mother twisted restlessly in her chair, placing her hand over hers.

"My love, Aegon… from what I've heard, I know he likes the company of girls. That he likes to touch them in places that only a husband can touch his wife. I wanted to ask if his brother, and your betrothed, is also trying…" She did not finish, clearly not knowing how to put into words what she wanted to convey to her.

She cocked her head, curious, understanding after a moment what she meant.

"– does my uncle slip his hand under my nightgown? –" She asked lightly, her mother squeezed her hand tighter at her words, turning pale.

"– yes – yes, my love –"

She shook her head quickly, and Rhaenyra sighed in relief, clenching her eyes.

"– no – but sometimes, when we're alone and we're happy, our lips meet –" She muttered, embarrassed, swinging her legs sitting on a chair that was too high for her.

Her mother laughed under her breath.

"– I see –"

"– is it a sin? – can I expect his child because of this? –" She mumbled out quickly, choking out what she had wanted to ask her for a long time, terrified of the disgrace she would bring upon her betrothed if it turned out that she was carrying his illegitimate offspring.

Rhaenyra burst out laughing, shaking her head, her hand stroking her hair affectionately.

"– no, my love – it is merely a tender expression of affection that can be shared with one's betrothed –" Her mother replied calmly, and she smiled broadly, comforted and reassured, thinking that she would place many warm, sweet kisses on her betrothed's lips that evening.

- ✦ - ✦ - ✦ Aemond ✦ - ✦ - ✦ -

"– no – forgive me, Princess, but it is impossible – your request is unworthy of a lady –" He heard Criston Cole's voice directed towards his betrothed as he stepped out into the courtyard as he did every morning – he escorted her away with a surprised, uneasy look as she nodded her head and walked away, without bestowing even a single warm word on him, as was her custom.

He did not dare to ask Ser Criston what she was requesting; he found out later, when, concerned by her absence in the library, he paid her a visit in her chamber.

She was lying on her bed, her face red from the tears she had surely shed immediately after their brief exchange of words – she was no longer crying now, but her eyebrows arched in pain when he asked her what had happened.

"– my mother gave me a dagger so I could defend myself when I am alone – but what good is it to me if I can't use it? – I wanted Ser Criston to teach me how to hold it – I wanted to be like your Visenya –" She confessed sadly, her last words like a mumble, her eyes flooded with tears again as she burst into sobs.

He stared at her with wide eyes, not knowing completely what to say or think about her unusual request.

She was a woman and the image of her holding a weapon seemed unnecessary and ridiculous to him, however, her words planted a seed of uncertainty in his heart.

What if someone harms her in his absence?

Threaten her life?

Once he was her husband, he thought, he would be her protector by day and night, but until they were married, he could not fulfil that role.

He left her chamber, making her think for certain that he now despised her as well, he, however, returned a moment later with a small straw target in the shape of a man with spots marked on his body. His niece rose on her hands, looking at him with big eyes as the door closed behind him.

"– come here – I will teach you the basics –" He muttered lowly, serious, feeling a pleasant satisfaction at the thought that he would now be her teacher and she would have to obey him.

His betrothed beamed all over, a light, sweet giggle left her lips that made him hot.

"– turn your back on me –" She ordered cheerfully.

"– why? –" He asked.

"– my dagger is hidden only in a place known to me – not even you can know where it is –" She said in an unobjectionable voice – he sighed and rolled his eyes, turning away reluctantly, impatient.

He heard a creak and a quiet rustling, and a moment later his niece was standing beside him with a beautiful short dagger created from Valyrian steel, with a handle in the shape of a dragon's tail, holding it as if she were wielding an axe.

"– you're holding it the wrong way – lower it so that the blade is in horizontal position – yes, just like that –" He praised her as he grabbed her wrist and forced her to lower her arm. She nodded, apparently writing down in her head this important remark.

"– the main rule is: don't cut as if you have a sword, because your opponent will grab your wrist and snatch your weapon away – just stab – at your height, preferably in the stomach or thighs, right here –" He said, demonstrating the move she should make by pretending as if he had the weapon, hitting the spots he mentioned with the front of his clenched fist.

He stepped back and watched with wide-open eyes as his niece, with an expression of great fierceness and anger, began to stab the hay puppet, as if she actually imagined that it was someone who wanted to harm her.

"– enough – enough, surely it's already dead –" He muttered, pulling her away, looking at her in disbelief, thinking that with such a commitment perhaps she would even be able to wield a sword.

"– did I do it well, uncle? –" She asked excitedly, curls of her hair stuck to her cheeks red with emotion.

"– yes – very well –"

- ✦ - ✦ - ✦ Rhaenys ✦ - ✦ - ✦ -

After her uncle lost an eye and her mother remarried, they stopped visiting the Red Keep. Her betrothed, to her despair, did not write back to her first letter or the many that followed, in which she asked him about his health and when she would be able to see him again.

Accustomed to his daily presence, despite being surrounded by her siblings, she felt lonely. Her bed was cold and empty without his warm body beside her, without his tender hand to stroke her head as she fearfully awoke again and again from a terrible nightmares.

One morning she woke up feeling discomfort between her thighs. She moved higher, wanting to look at the liquid that covered her skin and screamed involuntarily when she saw it was blood.

Her mother, as soon as she found out, came to reassure her.

"Do you remember our conversation when I told you that a woman blooms like a flower? This is what has just happened. It means you will be able to give your future husband children." Said her mother, covering her tightly with furs, already lying in a clean nightgown and smallclothes to prevent her from dirtying the bedding again.

She nodded, and as soon as Rhaenyra left, she broke into tears.

Although it was supposed to be an uplifting moment, it wasn't at all – she felt discomfort and contractions in her lower abdomen, she didn't have the strength to get out of bed, and she felt blood flowing again and again from between her thighs.

She thought it was a disgusting feeling, and she felt even worse at the thought that it meant she would soon be ready to get married.

Her betrothed didn't want her, and her mother began to speak more and more boldly about her possible nuptials with her cousin.

She closed her eyes at this thought and swallowed hard, holding back the tears of regret that were again pushing against her eyelids.

That day she took out the parchment and quill again, thinking in the back of her mind that even if he threw her letters into the fire and didn't read them, she needed to confide in someone and she wanted it to be him.

She began to write, for the first time not thinking about the content of what she had to communicate, letting her thoughts flow.

Today, something terrible happened, and although I know these things don't concern you or may even cause you disgust, I can't confide in anyone else about my suffering. My bloody flower has blossomed. My mother says that I have now become a woman, but I feel nothing of the sort. I feel dirty, I feel pain, I feel ashamed. I don't want to be a woman. I don't want to be a wife. I don't want to be a mother.

She cried out loud as she wrote the last sentence and rolled the parchment up, ordering it to be sent to King's Landing into the hands of the Prince before she could change her mind.

- ✦ - ✦ - ✦ Aemond ✦ - ✦ - ✦ -

To his surprise, despite not answering her, he would find her letters waiting for him, lying on the top of his table exactly every two months.

At first he never wanted to read them – he even thought about throwing them into the fire, but then curiosity won out and he would sit down in front of the fireplace, unrolling the parchment.

He read what she had written, imagining her voice, that she stood behind him and whispered it all in his ear, embracing him, confiding in him.

He felt a squeeze in his heart, feeling the suffering behind every letter she wrote down for him, her expression of longing and sadness, loneliness and loss.

He himself was more lost than ever.

His brother surprised him when, on his Name Day, when he turned exactly thirteen, he announced to him that it was time to get it wet.

He did not understand what he meant.

It was only when he led him under cover of darkness to one of the buildings he had evidently visited himself that he noticed with embarrassment the curves of the half-naked women they passed, whom Aegon evidently knew, greeting them along the way.

"– we should not be here – our mother –" He muttered, but his brother shushed him.

"– shut your mouth, mummy's boy – today you will become a man –" He hissed, tapping his index finger against his forehead, as if to show him that he was a fool, a silly little boy.

He clenched his jaw in rage at the thought, recognising that, indeed, he was already a grown man.

Or at least he thought he was.

The woman he took him to was pretty, but much older than him.

He thought she could be their mother.

When Aegon left them alone he did not know what to do with himself – he felt both excitement and embarrassment at the same time, not really knowing whether he wanted it or not.

Aegon said that laying with a woman was very pleasant and gave a feeling of immense relief.

He wanted to feel relief.

The woman reached out to him encouragingly, telling him not to be ashamed, to lie comfortably on the bed and let her take care of himself.

He didn't know what she meant, but decided that since she was more experienced, he should listen to her.

The feeling of being inside her was terrifyingly foreign and uncomfortable – he swallowed hard, looking wide-eyed at her stomach, afraid to look at her face, clenching his hands into fists on the sheets.

She has never touched me like this, he thought.

Rhaenys had never touched me like this.

He was furious with himself, but he felt tears burning under his eyelids at the thought, and though he pressed his lips together, one by one they ran down the sides of his face.

"– no –" He muttered and shook his head. "– not like this –"

The woman understood vaguely what he meant, an expression of sympathy on her face from which he felt discomfort in his stomach and throat.

"– Prince Aegon paid me for your fulfilment –"

It wasn't until a few years later that he realised he wasn't even completely hard at the time – that effect was only achieved when she climbed off him and took his manhood in her hand, squeezing it up and down until his warm seed leaked out.

He felt relief, but not the kind he wanted.

In fact, he felt even worse than before.

What would she say if she saw this?

She would be disgusted with me, he thought and cried out loud, walking back to the Red Keep alone, not waiting for Aegon to finish whatever it was he was doing with those girls.

He didn't want to think about it, didn't want to know about it.

When he returned to his chamber, he took out all the letters she had sent him over the years and placed them beside him on his bed. He closed his eyes and was only relieved when he realised that they had soaked up her scent.

The smell of vanilla.

- ✦ - ✦ - ✦ Rhaenys ✦ - ✦ - ✦ -

One day she woke up, breathing fast, feeling a pleasant heat and tickling in her lower abdomen. She dreamt that her uncle had flown to Dragonstone and spent the night with her despite her cries and pleas.

She didn't know what exactly could happen during this act, not being aware of all the details, but she knew that he would put the part of his body that was in his breeches between her thighs to fill her with his seed.

In the dream, his hot, wet lips clung to hers in greedy, possessive kisses, his breath heavy as his broad hands roamed all over her body, squeezing her breasts and buttocks, until he finally forced his way inside her with the sudden, sharp thrust of his hips.

In her sleep, she felt no pain – moreover, his deep, quick pushes and his low groans of pleasure made the space between her thighs swell and pulsate, making her feel tense and uncomfortable as soon as she awoke, drenched in sweat.

She closed her eyes, feeling on the one hand relieved and on the other disappointed that this was not true – the worst part, however, was that the unpleasant, almost painful tickling sensation between her thighs did not go away.

She decided to check with her hand what this place was, what would happen if she touched it.

She tentatively lifted the material of her nightgown and traveled down between her warm thighs – a quiet sigh escaped her lips as her soft fingers stroked her moist, fleshy folds, all leaking and sticky.

She felt a pleasant shiver run along her spine and some kind of tingle deep inside her, her nipples and lips puffy with desire.

She tilted her head back and closed her eyes, digging her fingertips deeper into her soft skin – she shuddered and sighed as she touched the small, swollen bud between her folds – surprised, she found that when she touched it directly, it felt almost painful, but as she began to gently press and rub the area around it, a wonderful wave of heat began to rise in her lower abdomen.

Her breath became heavy as she imagined it was his hand touching her as he came back for her, whispering that he had wanted to do this to her for a long time, that he thought only of her, that he would now take her for himself.

She imagined his hot lips clinging to hers, his fingers sliding deep inside her, wanting to feel her, and she threw her head back with a quiet, surprised moan, feeling a sudden, wonderful relief.

She swallowed hard, realising after a moment that it was her own fingers that had slipped deep into her tight slit, her hot, moist walls clenching around them again and again together with waves of delicious pleasure surging through her whole body.

She stared dully ahead, panting loudly, feeling that as soon as the wonderful sensation passed, a complete and terrifying emptiness filled her heart and mind.

- ✦ - ✦ - ✦ Aemond ✦ - ✦ - ✦ -

After what had happened in the brothel, he would not allow himself to be touched this way by any woman. He told himself that he simply didn't want to experience a similar humiliation, to cry at the thought that the one he fucked wasn't the one he dreamed of at night, but the truth was that even if he wanted to, he couldn't get fully aroused by the sight of another woman.

Even as he watched his servants bustling around his chamber, preparing his morning meal, looking at their pleasingly girlish shapes, their breasts and hips, his musings always fled to one thought.

Was this what her body looked like now?

Blossomed like a flower, full of grace and soft, feminine shapes?

He imagined that her bare skin would be soft as silk under the touch of his rough hand, that she would be obscenely warm, quivering with desire under his body. He imagined her breasts, plump and swollen, filling his palm perfectly, her little nipples that he would like to lick with his tongue.

He pressed his lips together, always feeling the same thing – his manhood swelling painfully and twitching in his breeches, causing him discomfort on the verge of pain.

It ended the same way each time – as soon as he was left alone in his chamber, instead of concentrating on his food, he quickly untied the material and slid his hand under it, grasping his half-hard, throbbing erection.

He began to squeeze it gently, merely teasing it, pressing his lips together, suppressing the shuddering moan of delight that wanted to burst from his throat at the thought that it was her fingers caressing him so wonderfully tenderly, it was her lips whispering that they didn't have to hurry.

He mumbled the name he'd given her himself in his head, feeling the tears welling under his eyelids, thinking with pain how much he missed her, that deep down he didn't loathe her, that all he desired was for her to return.

"– Rhaenys –" He cried out, tears running down his cheeks as his warm seed spilled over his fingers, relief, pleasure and pain surging through his loins at the same time, shaking his body.

He stared at his empty silver plate, panting heavily and pressed his lips together, furious and bitter, then burst out into silent sobs like a small child.

- ✦ - ✦ - ✦ Rhaenys ✦ - ✦ - ✦ -

"– it has come to my knowledge that Alicent has decided to make a pact with Borros Baratheon – she wants Prince Aemond to marry one of his daughters –" Her mother said during one of their suppers together in Dragonstone; she froze, feeling her heart stop in her throat, a cold, unpleasant shiver running down her spine as she raised her gaze to her.

"– we cannot leave this unanswered – after consulting with Daemon, we have together decided that you should marry the son of my dear cousin, Lord Arryn –" She added, taking one of the platters from her husband.

Daemon, seated next to her mother, gave her a quick look in which she seemed to catch a glimpse of sympathy.

She lowered her gaze, feeling her whole body involuntarily begin to tremble, tears of despair and disbelief gathered under her eyelids. She felt Baela's hand on hers, but she pulled away from her and got up from the table, leaving the chamber, bursting into sobs as soon as she ran out into the corridor.

Although she covered her mouth with her hand, she was unable to stop the moans that ripped from her throat or what she saw in her mind.

Him, lying on top of another woman, touching her naked body, whispering in the ear of Lord Baratheon's daughter that she was more beautiful than his niece, that he loved her more deeply than he had ever loved her.

She locked herself in her chamber, wishing to be alone.

She knew Daemon would come to her.

He always came.

As she lay on the bed, staring blankly at the wall in the distance, her father sat by the fireplace, staring thoughtfully into the flames, playing with the ring on his little finger.

"– your mother is doing this for your own good – she couldn't leave this insult unanswered –" He said coldly and maliciously, as if he was impatient with the fact that she was pitying herself.

She did not answer him.

She heard him sigh heavily, tightening his fingers on the base of his nose, bowing his head as if he had no strength for this conversation.

"– my spies in the Red Keep say that he has changed beyond recognition – that he is a cold, cruel man – that he calls you a little whore –" He said indifferently, and she felt a squeeze in her throat, tears of humiliation and pain one by one began to flow down her face.

"– give up your dreams of a man who has already disrespected you for years – his feelings for you have disappeared along with his fucking eye –"

- ✦ - ✦ - ✦ Aemond ✦ - ✦ - ✦ -

"– have you heard the word from Dragonstone, brother? –" Aegon asked him during one of the suppers, his brother's mind and sight already a tad clouded by the wine he so adored.

He threw him a brief, discouraged glance, their mother twisting restlessly in her chair.

"– Aegon –"

"– your would-be betrothed will soon become the Lady of the Eyrie, and her cousin will be given the honour of putting his little cock inside her –" He sneered, and he felt his jaw and hands clench, a shiver of discomfort, horror and humiliation running along his back at the very thought.

"– enough –" Their mother said.

"– why? – after all, my little brother no longer holds any affection towards her – am I wrong, brother? – what did you call her before she became a little whore in your eyes? – let me think – ah, I remember – Rhaenys –"

He stood up from the table, feeling his heart begin to pound like mad, a sea of memories filled with her surging through his mind making him feel as if he had begun to suffocate.

He heard Aegon chuckle behind him as he left the room panting with rage, bursting into his chamber with a loud slamming of the door.

He opened the drawer with his key and slid it out with an aggressive gesture, pulling out all the letters he had received from her over the years and holding them in his trembling hands, he stopped in front of the fire.

He stared at the flames, hearing himself breathe heavily, droplets of cold sweat running down his back at the memory of what his brother had said.

Your would-be betrothed will soon become the Lady of the Eyrie.

He pressed his lips together, crushing the letters in his hands, and drew in the air loudly, feeling with shame that he felt like bursting into tears. He sat down on the floor, leaning over and laid his forehead on his knees, hugging her letters, her words to him, to his heart.

[defectivevillain]

unexpected patronage

pairing: Logan/Wade/Reader

The reader’s pronouns are he/him and he’s masculine intended. Otherwise, race is ambiguous and no physical descriptors are used.

summary: Wade pokes you and you flinch as his finger finds a hole in your shirt, from where Wolverine had grabbed you moments ago. “Sheesh, you practically hole-punched him, pookie.” He says to the man, who growls disapprovingly at the nickname.

You’re a bartender working the graveyard shift at Joe’s Diner. You’ve seen some strange people, but these two guys are by far the strangest…

word count: 3.8k | ao3 version

Warnings: canon-typical blood/violence/suggestive humor. Dogpool is referred to with it/its pronouns until the reader warms up to her. Expect lots of pet names and sexual humor, because it’s Wade.

author's notes: This fic is focused on Reader/Wade/Logan, and it’s explicitly romantic (nothing past making out). I know, this is rare for me. lol.

Also I know virtually nothing about the Deadpool & Wolverine movie, so this will be canon non-compliant. We’re going to pretend Joe’s Diner is just in NYC, lol.

You’ve been a bartender at Joe’s Diner for a bit now. Since you work the graveyard shift, you grow used to seeing a variety of people. Out of all the unique personalities and strange people you’ve met across the past few months, Wade takes the cake. 

The first few times you see him, he’s wearing a hood over his head, sun glasses, and a face mask. You promptly told him he looked very suspicious, to which he responded that it was ‘just his charm’. You had rolled your eyes and served him the drinks he wanted, figuring he didn’t want conversation. Contrary to your expectations, the guy is crazy talkative—quickly introducing himself as Wade before proceeding to talk your ear off. You would be annoyed, but honestly, his chatter is entertaining and it helps the time pass. 

If you thought Wade’s first outfit was weird, what he wears next time is far weirder. He’s outfitted with some sort of red spandex jumpsuit, with katanas strapped to his back and combat boots. He looks positively ridiculous, but, this is New York City after all. You settle for just raising a brow at him. He asks for his typical drink and, after some cajoling, admits that he’s a mercenary by the name of Deadpool. You don’t really have anything to do with that information, so you just shrug it off and continue serving him until he leaves an hour later. 

From then, Wade makes sporadic visits. The most notable one starts just as any other. It’s about one thirty in the morning, and the bar is quiet. You’ve been serving a gruff-looking guy for about an hour now, and you’re beginning to think you should cut him off. Before you can do that, you hear Wade’s voice. 

“Hey, baby!” He greets you. You blink at the pet name, secretly a bit flustered but not showing it. Wade’s just like that. 

“Hi, Wade.” You greet him, a small smile on your face. He’s wearing his suit, which hides his facial expressions. His voice sounds happy, though. 

Wade sidles up to the bar, before turning to face the guy you’ve been serving drinks to. “I’m gonna need you to come with me right now.” He says ominously. You blink in surprise, your heart jumping in your chest a bit at the rather demanding tone in his voice. 

“Look, lady.” The guy huffs. He spares him a glance, before looking back down at his drink. “I’m not interested.”

You pay a glance at Wade, who seems annoyed. Feeling strangely sympathetic, you try to help him out a bit. Why you do it, you’re not entirely sure. He can defend himself—and probably kick the guy’s ass. But still, you’re speaking before you can get yourself to stop. “That’s just Wade,” you hear yourself explaining to the other guy. “He’s a good guy, he won’t hurt you. Unless you give him reason to.” You blink. 

The guy just huffs, clearly uninterested.

“I tried, Wade.” You shrug. At least you can say you tried, and you won’t have to agonize over your silence.  

“And I appreciate that, sweetheart.” Deadpool says sincerely, before shaking his head. “Even your handsome face can’t convince him… The guy’s busted.”

You start to tune out their conversation after that, as they exchange verbal blows and insults. Wade seems to be getting more irritated with each passing second, and you know that things will escalate soon if you don’t do something. 

You had planned on cutting the guy off, but he motions for you to give him another drink. You know it’s not the best idea, but you find yourself sliding another one over to him before you can contemplate the consequences. He promptly downs it in one go. You think you make eye contact with Wade and you look at the glass pointedly. 

“Ah!” He says aloud. You resist the urge to facepalm, instead sneaking glances at the guy. It doesn’t take long for him to pass out and hit the floor. You grimace at the loud sound of his collision with the ground, and hope it wasn’t painful. Then again, the guy seemed pretty muscular—maybe he’ll be fine? 

“What’d you put in that thing?” Wade asks incredulously, looking at the empty glass. “Horse tranquilizer? Glitter glue?” You laugh at the latter remark. Glitter glue? Ridiculous, honestly.

“It was just liquor.” You huff, leaning over the counter slightly and paying the guy a glance. He’s unconscious, but breathing. You look back up at Wade. “He’s been drinking all night; I figured it would only be a matter of time.” 

“I’m speechless.” He says, then continues speaking. You chuckle at the irony. Wade is never truly speechless. “Completely speechless. You know, you make quite the accomplice.”

There’s a beat of silence. “What do you plan to do with him, exactly?” You trail off, feeling a little guilty. Maybe you should’ve asked that question a bit earlier. Ah well. It’s too late for that now. Besides, you trust Wade. He’s not a bad guy. He likely needs him for his mercenary/vigilante stuff. 

Wade’s answer confirms your suspicions. “Oh, I just need his help with something,” Deadpool says vaguely. He considers the guy for a moment. “Besides, he’s Wolverine. He’ll be just fine.”

Your eyes widen. “Oh, that’s Wolverine? Shit.” To think the heavy drinker at your bar was Wolverine… You shake your head in disbelief.

“Yeah!” Wade confirms. “You just knocked out the mighty Wolverine! Not many people can say that.” You grimace, not feeling particularly proud of that fact. 

There are a few seconds of silence before Wade sighs. “Well, I’d love to stay and chat, but I gotta get going.” He almost sounds regretful. 

“Have fun.” You say, raising a brow at the ease with which Deadpool tosses him over his shoulder. “Don’t die.”

“I won’t.” He promises, sending you another mock-salute. Then he stumbles for a second. “Damn, this guy’s heavy. Gotta go; adios!” He’s gone in the blink of an eye. You stare at the front doors for a long moment, before rubbing your eyes roughly and half-expecting to wake up in your bed again. That felt like a dream sequence. Unfortunately for you, it seemed to be reality. 

Wade returns with Wolverine a few mornings later. How do you find that out, exactly? Well, you’re stepping out of the break room and going to the bar when you see Wolverine rummaging through the cabinets. He very nearly rips the door off of the refrigerator and you quickly intervene. 

“What are you doing?” You ask, staring at him in disbelief. “Get out from behind the bar.” You order. 

Wolverine growls, but obeys you and settles in one of the seats. “I need a drink,” he says gruffly. 

“Then just say that, dumbass.” You chastise him. He blinks at you in poorly-concealed disbelief, as if surprised you’ve insulted him. You get the feeling he doesn’t get spoken to like that often. Oops. “What do you want?” You ask. He confirms he wants his usual. 

You prepare his drink and watch as he takes a sip. “Wade finally won you over, huh?” You finally manage to ask, unable to hide your curiosity any longer. Wolverine blinks. You look pointedly over to where Deadpool is sitting, pretending not to eavesdrop. 

Wolverine scoffs. “No.”

“You sure?” You ask. “He seems to think you did.” You send a wave to Wade and he waves back, waggling his fingers excitedly. He looks about as energetic as a little kid hopped up on sugar. It’s kind of sweet. 

“No.” Wolverine repeats. 

You take one look at the guy, grumpy and cranky, and come to a quick decision. “You’re cute.” You huff amusedly. He puts on a cold and uncaring facade, but it’s clear he isn’t actually like that. Deep beneath those layers of muscle, there’s a heart.

It’s as if you insulted him. Every muscle in his body seems to stiffen. He’s tightly wound and tense. “What did you just say?” Wolverine demands, aggravated. 

If you had even an ounce of self-preservation, you’d retract the remark. But it’s nearing three in the morning now, and you’re too tired to care. “I said ‘you’re cute’,” you repeat casually. “Y’know, the whole growly act-” 

Suddenly his claws are in your shirt collar and he’s dragging you forward, bringing you far too close to him and rendering the bar counter between you inconsequential. You wince as his breath hits your neck. “I am not cute.” He growls.

“Okay.” You say, if only to placate him. Truthfully, you think his little growly act is quite cute. But it’s clear he doesn’t think so—and objects to the description. 

Fortunately, before he can put his claws through your throat and end your life, Wade is intervening. “Hey, hands off, werewolf!” He huffs. “He’s the only capable bartender in this place.” 

“Thanks, Wade; I’m flattered.” You respond, hoping Wolverine doesn’t notice how fast your heart is racing. You put your hand on Wolverine’s and attempt to get him to release his grip. He stares at you for a long moment, as if reminding you that he has the control in the situation. You just stare back, unimpressed. He finally releases his grip. 

“You should be flattered, sweet cheeks.” Wade responds, before getting up from the booth and heading over to the bar. He pokes your shirt and you flinch as his finger finds a hole in your shirt. “Sheesh, you practically hole-punched him, pookie.” Wolverine growls at the nickname, clearly disapproving. 

You follow Wade’s gaze to the top of your shirt, where there are puncture marks from Wolverine’s claws. “Aw, seriously?” You complain. Wade’s right—your shirt does look like it was hole-punched. It looks a bit ridiculous. “I liked this shirt.”

“Get another one.” Wolverine says blankly. 

You glare at him. He glares back. 

Wade is practically bouncing on his heels as he looks between you, either oblivious or uncaring of the tension between the two of you. “Look at us,” He says, “The perfect team. The brains, the brawn, and the beauty.” He points to himself, then Wolverine, then you. 

“You think you’re the brains?” You hear yourself say sarcastically before you can stop yourself. Wade gasps in mock-offense. Wolverine huffs in amusement. Deadpool looks between the two of you for several moments, turning his head back and forth. 

“What.” Wolverine eventually demands, annoyed with his constant back-and-forth motion. 

“I don’t like this little duo,” Wade frowns. At least, you imagine he’s frowning underneath the mask. 

“It’s okay, Wade,” you reassure him teasingly. “You can be the beauty, it fits you better.” And you certainly don’t feel like the beauty of this group anyways. 

“Aw, you’re making me blush.” Wade says, bringing his hands to his cheeks. 

“I’m not a part of this,” you feel the need to clarify. They have superpowers, and they’re likely doing something rather important. You’d… rather not join them. You don’t have combat abilities, regeneration, sharpened claws… or anything like that. “But I’ll serve you drinks when it’s all over. When you’re done with… whatever you’re doing.” You offer. Supposedly they’re going on some sort of mission to save the world… Blah blah blah. You don’t know the specifics and you’re grateful for that. 

Wolverine huffs at your comment. “I’m going to need one.” He says. 

“More than one; don’t lie to yourself, buddy.” Deadpool teases. He slaps a hand on the guy’s shoulder in a friendly gesture; Wolverine immediately shoves him off. You resist the urge to laugh, instead pouring him another drink when he asks.

You don’t see Wade or Wolverine for several days. You’re a bit worried, truthfully—but you know they likely have far better things to do than spend time here with you, in the wee hours of the morning. You can only hope they’re not too exhausted.

Finally, after far too long, the front doors open one morning to reveal familiar red and yellow costumes. You look at the two superhumans for a moment, taking in the blood splattered across their tattered clothes and the dark circles under their eyes. They look absolutely exhausted. There’s a dog in a matching red spandex suit at Wade’s ankles; and Wolverine looks less pissed than usual, which is admittedly concerning. What makes you laugh, though, is the state of their tattered uniforms. Wade’s suit is wrecked and Wolverine is wearing a strange mask with two protruding horns. You greet the two of them, before eventually giving in and laughing at the sheer state they’re in. 

“What.” Wolverine demands, taking a seat at the bar. Wade follows his lead, taking the seat next to him. Wolverine doesn’t so much as put up a fight—a clear indication of his fatigue. 

“Sorry.” You say, not feeling particularly apologetic as you struggle to suppress more laughter. You slide him his drink. “It’s just hard to take you seriously wearing that mask.” 

Wade cackles. “You’re not much better, Wade.” You say with a slight smile, getting his drink for him. “You look like a broken fire hydrant.”

It’s Wolverine’s turn to look amused. “You do.” He agrees. 

“Shut up!” Wade huffs defensively. 

“It’s okay, Wade.” You saw with faux concern. Your eyes fall to the dog that came in with him. “Just watch out for your dog; it’ll probably pee on you.” Wolverine snickers. 

“Dogpool!” Wade remarks, as if just remembering the animal’s existence. You roll your eyes, unsurprised that the dog has slipped his attention. He seems like the type to forget he has a pet. 

“Wade, don’t put your dog on the bar counter-” You hiss. But it’s too late—Wade has picked up the dirty dog and placed it on the bar counter, where people drink and eat. Immune to your stress, the dog runs about in small circles, before deciding to scare the shit out of you by jumping right at you. 

You’re forced to catch it. You hold it at a distance, if only because its fur looks matted, dirty, and splattered with the blood of this duo’s enemies. You hold the dog at arm’s length, looking at Wade expectantly. But he’s just laughing his ass off, because of course he is. You hold the dog out to Logan next, but he just shakes his head. Sighing, you set it down on the ground. It’ll lose interest soon. 

But the dog—Dogpool, you remind yourself, unable to take the name seriously—only yips and runs between your legs, before trying to climb up one of them and panting as it stares up at you. “Wade.” You say. “Care to explain why your dog is humping my leg?”

“Aw, she’s just like her father,” Wade coos. You’re sputtering at the remark. “C’mere baby,” Wade says, rounding the bar and holding his arms out to her. 

Dogpool doesn’t even seem to notice him, instead wagging her tail as she still claws at your leg and tries to climb you. 

“Come to daddy, come on.” Wade urges her, making little noises as he beckons her closer. You grimace as she stays near you. Wade visibly deflates. “You’ve stolen my dog’s heart! How dare you?! 

As if you have any control over the situation. But secretly, the longer you look at the dog, the more endearing she becomes. She’s kind of cute. Just a little. Emboldened by Wade’s frustration, you pick up the dog and hold her in your arms. Wade pretends to cry, then attempts to make grabby-hands and get you to give her over.  

You wince as she promptly licks your face with her absurdly long tongue. “Okay, no, never mind-” You quickly back out, placing her down on the counter again. It’s not the ideal place for her, but at least she won’t attempt to coat you in slobber again. 

“Wow, Deadpool is in love with you.” Wade comments, seemingly less bothered now. Then he seems to realize what he just said and starts stammering. “I meant Dogpool. Not Deadpool. That’s me.” You regret the fact that he’s wearing his mask, because you swear it almost sounds like he’s flustered. 

Wolverine looks rather entertained by this conversation. “It’s an alternate version of yourself, and it still likes him better.” He points out. Wade isn’t happy with that comment; Wolverine has a wry smile on his face. “Go to your father.” He then says, tapping the dog lightly and directing her to Wade. She runs up to him and yips excitedly. 

“Aw, you know I can never stay mad at you, honey.” Wade says to the dog, making kissing sounds. You watch the display with amusement, thankful the dog has seemingly forgotten about you. You don’t realize you’re smiling until you feel Wolverine’s gaze burning into the side of your face. 

You blink and turn to him. “Want another drink, Wolverine?” You ask him, a bit restless under the weight of his gaze. 

“Not on this counter.” Wolverine huffs. Then he straightens. “And it’s Logan.”

“Fair enough.” You acquiesce with a smile. Dogpool did just run all over it. “Logan.” You correct yourself. He nods. You decide to focus your attention on cleaning the counter, so you don’t have to think about the look in his eyes as you said his name. 

In the coming weeks, Wade and Logan visit frequently. They always make sure to sit at the bar when you’re working, talking to you and saving you from your boredom. It’s nice to see them slowly return to their normal, well-rested selves. You have to admit: you were a bit worried about them when they showed up with blood splattered across their costumes a while ago.  

Idly, you have to wonder why they still keep visiting you. Sure, you serve drinks—but you work at ungodly hours, and the liquor served here certainly isn’t anything special. It’s a bit cheaper, you suppose. But overall, there are no overwhelming qualities about Joe’s Diner that would make you want to choose it over a regular bar. 

That particular mystery remains unsolved for a while, until one day after hours, when Wade strolls in purposefully—Logan following at his heels. Wade makes a beeline for the bar stool nearest where you’re standing and takes a seat, looking at you pointedly. He isn’t wearing his mask, allowing you to see the intensity of his gaze. He studies you for a long moment. 

Wade seems uncharacteristically nervous and jittery. His fingers tap restlessly against the counter. His leg is bouncing and his gaze can’t seem to settle on any one thing for too long. “I like you,” he eventually says, so quietly that you almost convince yourself you misheard. “Like, like you, like you.”

“You had weeks to prepare, and that’s what you came up with?” Logan says snarkily, clearly unimpressed. He stands a short distance away with his arms crossed over his chest. 

“He likes you too, but he’s too grouchy to admit it.” Wade says for Logan; Logan promptly claws him in the arm. “Ow.” Wade says. The remark seems to be born out of instinct, rather than genuine pain. He sends Wolverine an inscrutable look over his shoulder before returning his attention to you. 

“Well, I like you like you too,” you answer after a few seconds, a small smile on your face. “Both of you. If it’s true.” You add on, because Logan doesn’t seem particularly pleased. But he also doesn’t object to Wade’s statement, so it must be true. 

“Yay!” Wade interjects, promptly leaning over the counter and kissing you excitedly. His hands find the nape of your neck and he’s tugging you into him with a fierce grin. After a few moments, he breaks away and looks behind him—all without letting his hand fall from your face. “You gonna join us, buddy?” Wade asks. 

“I’m fine here,” Logan says with a smirk.

“Perv,” Wade remarks, before turning back to you. He kisses you enthusiastically, his hands falling to the collar of your shirt. 

“Jesus, Wade, don’t throw me over the counter.” You huff when you break apart, secretly worried that he’ll drag you halfway across the room. 

“Wolfie’ll catch ya, don’t worry.” Wade says with a grin. Is that supposed to be reassuring? He keeps kissing you, nearly tugging you over the counter again. At some point, you have to actually catch yourself from falling into the surface. 

“Just- Wait.” You say, not even thinking before jumping and sliding over the counter quickly. You’re standing next to him now. “Better?” You ask. 

Wade blinks once, twice. His lips are parted in surprise. You’re starting to feel self-conscious and embarrassed when he breaks through the tense silence. “That was hot.” Wade says. You scoff disbelievingly and Wade turns to look at Logan, as if hearing him do something. “And I think Claws over there agrees.” He points out. 

Before you can even process what’s happening, Logan is standing in front of you, backing you into the bar counter and kissing you. And even through the nearly overwhelming sensations—one of his hands on your hip, the other boxing you in; the tangible weight of his muscled forearm as you grasp it—you can hear Wade cheering excitedly. It’s so stupid that you find yourself laughing, to the point where you have to take a breath. 

“Sorry, it’s just- Wade, what are you doing?” You laugh breathlessly, looking over at him. Logan’s hand remains on your hip even as he follows your gaze, glaring murderously at Wade.

“Just fanboying, don’t mind me.” He shrugs, sitting on one of the bar stools and kicking his feet. He looks very gleeful. “Y’all are so cute.” 

Logan rolls his eyes. “Get over here, Red Riding Hood.”

“Aw, then that makes you the Big Bad Wolf.” Wade remarks, skipping up to both of you. “Tumblr’s gonna eat this up. We should get T-shirts, or maybe-” Logan’s kissing him before he can continue speaking. 

You’re confident the three of you would stay there forever, if not for Dogpool’s unexpected interruption. She runs up to your legs and then jumps at Wade. Wade freezes and looks down at her with a gasp. “Her sweet virgin eyes!” He exclaims, bending down to pick her up. “Poor baby. I’m sorry you had to see that.” 

“Not sure if she’s a virgin anymore, after what she was doing to my leg earlier.” You mutter quietly, crossing your arms over your chest.

Logan overhears in his proximity and laughs. That may be the first time you’ve ever heard him express such genuine amusement. It must be a rare sight, because Wade is also looking at him in surprise. 

“So you can laugh,” Wade says, pretty much pouting. He’s still holding Dogpool in his arms, and he’s bouncing her up and down as if she’s a baby. “You don’t laugh at things I say.” He frowns. 

“Because you’re not funny.” Logan responds with a shit-eating grin. 

“Hmph.” Wade is dejected for all of ten seconds, until Dogpool promptly licks his face and you all abandon the argument to laugh.

©2025, @defectivevillain | @defectivehero, All Rights Reserved. Reblogs are greatly appreciated—just don't steal or share outside of Tumblr, please.

endnotes:

Me: Would Deadpool say ‘adios’? @connorhasabigtip, my bestie: Yeah, he’d say it unironically because he’s a little slut. Me: *laughing my ass off*

I formatted this in between rounds of Squid Game on Roblox… and I think that’s what Wade would’ve wanted.

I looked up pictures of Joe’s Diner and was like, hm, they don’t have a bar + the counter’s too high and filled with stuff. Then I decided I didn’t care, ‘cause this is fiction. If I want to slide over a bar counter, then I’m sliding over a bar counter, physics be damned.

“It’s hard to take you seriously wearing that mask,” is a Dance Moms reference, bahaha (“Jill is yelling and screaming, and all I can think is, ‘It’s so hard to take you seriously wearing that hat.’”)

thanks for reading! <3

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[technicallyfriendly]

This is for my friend @godofstory, but I invite everyone to share their ideas and opinions in the comments or rebloggs whichever you prefer!

Hogwarts!AU, let's go! Before I start, however, I want to clarify that most of the adults in my headcanon work at the ministry. Only Daemon, Alys, Laena, and Viserys work at the school.

Daemon is the teacher for defence because i think it'd be really funny, the students are either afraid of him or absolutely in awe of him no in between. Alys is the potions professor who sometimes tries her newest concoctions on Daemon, who seems to have a strangely high immunity to poisons. Laena is the flight instructor and former professional quidditch player because I think it'd be cool, and Viserys is the headmaster who took over after he retired as minister of magic. Rhaenyra is the new minister of magic, obviously, and Otto is forever salty about being her under secretary because I like to see him suffer.

For house placement, I'm going with the idea of what each one valued the most at the time of sorting, similar to Canon Harry Potter and I'll start with the eldest, Aegon.

Aegon is sorted into Slytherin because he didn't want to disappoint anyone. It was kinda Targaryan tradition since Aegon the First himself was sorted into said house. He absolutely does not fit the type, but he tries. He really does. Politics is just so tedious, and there is just so much more fun to be had, like flying, for example. Why should he lead the house like his mother keeps telling him to when he could just become quidditch captain one day instead.

Helaena is sorted into Hufflepuff because she does not care one bit about her mother's expectations. She loves care of magical creatures and possesses all of Scamander's books (original and signed, of course). Sure, she has a gift for divination, but she hates it and rather spends her time in the forbidden forest, despite it being, well, forbidden, and she somehow despite never having witnessed anyone die managed to befriend the Thestrals.

Aemond, like Aegon, ended up in Slytherin, too, of course, which suits him much better than his older brother. He idolises his defence professor, uncle, and former Auror Daemon Targaryan and has a slight crush on Alys Rivers, the potion professor. Though nothing trumps his obsession with his nephew, who, in a bout of accidental magic, took out his eye. Aemond himself was not completely blameless in the incident, having forced his nephew into a corner, but that knowledge does not cool his anger one bit. Though, is it really hatred that motivates his obsession? Or is it an emotion of a much more possessive nature? Whatever it is, Aemond certainly is not ready to explore it further as of now.

Jace and Baela both got sorted into Gryffindor. They and Rhaena started their time at Hogwarts at the same time, and as best friends were over joyed to be in the same house. Both brave and bold, benefiting leaders they would turn out to be some day. Unfortunately, the gossipers of wizard high society took this in Jace's case as another confirmation of his status as a bastard son, but they were silenced over time as Jace rose through the student roster and even became head boy of Hogwarts later on. Baela took after her mother and made her name as the best quidditch captain the house of Gryffindor has ever seen. Though, she did not only have a talent for quidditch but also for duelling, and she often demonstrated that skill to defend her girlfriend Helaena from bullies. Cementing quickly that messing with her would be a certain mistake. Jace himself, much to his own consternation, fell for Slytherin's seeker, who turned out to be quite different from all the mean-spirited rumours spread about him.

Rhaena was sorted, surprising absolutely no one, into Ravenclaw. While quiet and unassuming, she would one day shock everyone and become Head girl of Hogwarts. Eventually graduating with the highest honour starting a career under Unspeakable Jeyne Arryn herself. Despite her not being the troublemaker her siblings and cousins turned out to be, she was quite adept with spell work, and people out to bully her learned their lesson rather quickly.

Daeron, much like Rhaena being an often forgotten child in the mix of the Targaryan and Valeryon children, was also sorted into Ravenclaw. He even rose to the position of Ravenclaw quidditch captain and would have turned out to be the Baela's greatest obstacle in winning the inter-house quidditch cup if it wasn't for Aegon being a surprisingly competent seeker for house Slytherin.

Lucerys valuing loyalty the most gets sorted into Hufflepuff. This just pours more gasoline onto the already burning rumour mill until they witness him first throw down with his uncle Aemond, who is trying to make Lucerys' life at Hogwarts difficult. Their monthly spats become one of Hogwarts' greatest entertainments for the next few years until Aemond graduates. That is until Daemon, of all people, catches them making out in a broom closet. Not that their fights subside, but now they often end in the privacy of the Room of Requirements after Daemon got sick of trying to kill Aemond every time he caught them.

Joffrey, much like his eldest brother, would later get sorted into Gryffindor, while Aegon the Third, Viserys the Second and little Visenya would get sorted into Slytherin to cause havoc long after their elder siblings had graduated.

[jynxpsiche]

Not Tangerine already planning on fathering reader's baby as his won, cause hey, the baby also has blue eyes so he can totally pass of as their son.

Also imagine if the real dad ever shows up and tries come back into the baby's life and Tangerine is all conflicted cause he loves the kid as if it's his own son :/

OH MY GOD THANK U SO MUCH ANON FOR REQUESTING THIS! LITERALLY CHEF KISS! We love a jealous Tangerine <3

Unwanted texts

💌. Summary: unanswered texts from her, lead Tangerine to meet someone he already despised…

or

…Tangerine meets the baby’s biological father for the first time.

💌. Warning: SWEARING. LIKE A LOT! Jealous Tangerine, female reader, canon gore. English is not my first language! I don’t know many British slangs!

X

c’mon babe

I just wanna meet the baby

be there for them, y’know?

pls answer me

It’s been already a couple of days and sometimes, during different hours of the day and night, your phone would ding with notifications…from him.

Your ex boyfriend.

The biological father of your precious baby.

The whole situation pissed you off. Firstly, when he found out about your pregnancy, he decided to leave without an explanation and leave you alone. Then he had the nerve to message you after god knows how many years.

It was ridiculous. He was ridiculous.

But obviously you couldn’t ask for any type of help from Tangerine.

He was quite the protective type, especially if the main cause was a shitty ex-boyfriend.

Surely he would have gone feral if he found out about your ex’s sudden texts. That’s why you decided to keep the thing for yourself and just…ghost him.

But who would have known that you would end up calming down a rather irate Tangerine?

However, it’s important to start from the beginning.

It was a day off for Tan, which meant that he would have spent the entire day with you and his little one. But since it was still too early to get up, for now he simply drank in your warmth and cuddled your body closer to his, without waking you up.

The curly man was affectionate only with his girl and his baby, neither to his brother he showed this side of his. He wasn’t ashamed of it, he just had a reputation to defend.

His chin was placed on your head while you were all nuzzled in the crook of his neck. His strong and bulky arms were tightly wrapped around your waist, not allowing you to leave. Not that you wanted to.

Only your soft breaths echoed through the room. But the peaceful atmosphere was interrupted by the ping of a notification. The sound made him grimace, but not waking up from his slumber.

Then another ping, closely followed by another and another one.

Now Tangerine was fully awake, his half-closed eyes glaring at the device on your nightstand. When he noticed no more ding’s came from your phone, he softly pecked your forehead before trying to fall asleep again.

But then again. A new message.

Groaning softly, Tan lifted himself from the bed, before pecking your forehead again and assured that you didn’t wake up.

He was not standing on your side of the bed, the device on your nightstand calling for him to check what had interrupted his sleep.

With a furrowed and irritated expression, Tangerine unlocked your phone, noticing new messages unopened. They had been sent just a couple of minutes ago.

He quickly glanced at your sleeping figure, a strange feeling bubbling in his chest. His expression furrowed more when he saw the contact’s name. X.

Who the fuck was that?

But he surely was took by anger when he read the multiple messages he sent you.

He wasn’t only a dickhead, but he was also the biological father of his son.

His bloodshot eyes read every line and every word of every message he dared to sent you. His fingers gradually tightening their grip around the device.

The another ding. Another message.

X

I know ur reading the texts

ur online

u finally have the courage to read what I’ve been sending you

u stopped ghosting me huh?

God you’re such a bitch sometimes…

His vision darkened at the last text he sent, nostrils fuming with rage.

X

I want to see the kid

Meet me here

Xx xx xx, xx

“Tan? You good?” Your sleepy and raspy voice reached his ears and immediately he turned towards you, his furious expression never leaving his face.

You noticed, of course. Slowly you rose from your spot on the comfy bed and lazily dragged herself up to his tense figure, wrapping her delicate arms around his waist.

A soft kiss on his back.

“What is making you so tense?” You whispered against his skin, your hands gently rubbing his sides. Tan slightly crocked his head in your direction, his brows still furrowed. A sigh left his lips.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He instead asked with a low tone laced with rage. “Why did you hide it from me?” His tone showed how he strongly demanded an answer.

“I could have handle it. I simply didn’t answer his texts to show him how an insignificant being like him should be six feet under. To show him how he was a nobody to me anymore.” Your tone was flat, laced with venom, finally expressing all your suppressed rage.

His expression immediately softened at your words, his brows relaxing and the wrinkles on his forehead disappearing. The tails of his mouth slightly raised in an almost visible smile.

But you noticed it.

When he turned in your direction, his hands on your waist, his lips left a soft peck on your forehead. His face was calm and so close to yours.

“I’m goin’ to take care of him. Don’ worry.” He whispered, his soothing voice sending you in a sleepy mood. A light yawn left your mouth. He chuckled at your reaction.

“Now go to sleep love.”

After you fell into another peaceful but deep slumber, Tangerine got to work.

With Lem’s help (after calling him for twenty minuets straight, the poor man was sleeping) he managed to find the phone location and so the location of the fucker.

It was now 3:45 am and Tan was alone in a desert neighbourhood. Silence was his only company at the moment.

He stood still in front of an apartment complex, his eyes fixed on a specific window while the cigarette in his hand slowly burnt.

With a flick he tossed the small nicotine stick and put it out with a stomp of his foot. His lips were curled into an annoyed curl.

Silently, he climbed the fire escape with big steps and in a blink of an eye his shadow was printed in front of the covered window, blinds hiding the inside.

But a faint light from behind them immediately caught his attention, a sadistic grin creeping on his moustache.

His hand grabbed the gun from his pocket and he shot the window’s lock, allowing him to access to the apartment.

Frantic, disconnected noises echoed from inside. Tangerine knew the fucker heard him.

Only when he entered he was met with a younger, dull man, his face pale and his eyes wide from fear. “Who…who the fuck are you?!” He half shouted, his voice cracking a bit.

The man wanted to show his composure so bad, show him how collected and tough he was. But in reality, he was shitting in his pants.

With great strides, Tangerine approached the trembling man, his pistol clearly visible. “‘s not important, is it? Wha’ is important is why you fuckin’ harassing my love with your insipid messages.” He spat out in a hard tone, his rigid stare piercing the man’s soul.

The man’s eyes frantically wandered around, he is searching something to defend himself thought Tan. Quick pants from the man often broke the silence in the room.

He took a step back, his hands shaking uncontrollably. His body language was visibly betraying him. “Just…the fuck you want from me?!” He continued in a fake authoritative voice.

Tangerine held his face high, communicating how he was in control. Slowly his arm raised and he pointed the gun in the man’s forehead.

“I want you to delete her number, to forget about her and the baby and to never contact her again.” He stated with calm rage. His tone extremely sharp.

When the man was the pistol pointed at his head, his confident mask fell, his eyes filled with tears and his still standing posture crouched on himself. Shamelessly he nodded his head at every request, his voice dead in the back of his throat.

Suddenly, Tangerine shot the man in the leg and he stumbled back. A cry came out from his mouth.

“This’s your last warnin’.”

[chuckeroo777]

Laios got Eaten AU Chapters 53-85

Chapters 1-52 <- Be sure to read part 1. Falin being alive does cause some ripple effects which will continue in this part.

Welcome back! Today we continue where the anime cut off. We'll be going all the way to right before the final confrontation. (Mainly because I haven't figured out how to resolve that yet. I might do two versions, a good end, and a bad end.)

Let's get going! Massive spoiler warning for canon, if it wasn't obvious.

Chapter 53-54:

Same as canon.

Chapter 55:

Everything is mostly the same except Laios shows up instead of Falin. When escaping, Laios is much less gentle with Thistle.

Falin gets turned into a gnome by the giant changling. She is quite smitten by ogre Marcille, though she tries to hide it.

While Seshi and Chilchuck prepare the burgers, Falin assists with the ointment. With her healing expertise, it turns out even better, and she prevents Senshi from using it to cook.

Chapter 56:

Chilchuck has been noticeably grumpier than usual. Not only has Marcille been bugging him about his wife, but the tension between Marcille and Falin is really getting on his nerves. As before, he claims to have cheated to shut her up.

They spot the bicorn and Falin looks it up in the guide. They come up with the plan to be sinful.

When doing envy, Marcille can't help but be annoyed how Chilchuck has been giving her and Falin such judgemental looks, but then he goes and flirts with Senshi.

Without Laios, greed is a little tricky. Falin yoinks Ambrosia, and plays keep-away for a bit. She's giggling so much, she nearly forgets about the bicorn.

Then Lust gets brought up. Chilchuck and Izutsumi stare at Falin and Marcille, but before they can defend themselves, Senshi points out that it isn't lust when it's between two people who respect each other. Marcille then tentatively suggests that maybe Chilchuck's infidelity counts.

After Chilchuck gets attacked, Falin and Senshi rush into action. Falin can't body check it, but a mace to the face has the same effect. They manage to restrain it, then Senshi beheads it.

Falin is very impressed by Marcille's romantic acumen. Chilchuck is mostly left wondering why the romance expert is having such trouble admitting her feelings.

Chapter 57:

The dullahan is a type of ghost, so Falin has no trouble warding it off.

Much to Marcille's chagrin, Senshi decides to start with the head, since those parts don't preserve as well as the muscle.

Chapter 58-59:

When Senshi is discovered, it's Chilchuck who fills the party in about succubi. Unlike Laios, Falin doesn't rush off to grab milk, but she does start sweating profusely.

Thanks to there being three of them conscious in the room, they last a bit longer against the succubi, but when a succubus appears targeting Falin, things quickly break down.

Falin's succubus... is Marcille. But not merely Marcille. Due to a rather lonely childhood, Falin has a few fetishes she had been repressing. The succubus reflecting them for all to see. If she hadn't had her life force drained, she would probably have fainted from the shame and embarrassment.

Izutsumi saves the day, and everyone slowly recovers.

Marcille and Falin are mortified, and can barely even look at each other. Chilchuck finally reaches his breaking point and demands that the two of them talk about their feelings instead of continuing to bottle them up.

They end up having a heartwarming conversation where they confess their feelings. Marcille confesses that she always felt caring and protective of Falin, but the strangely fluctuating age gap made her way too uncomfortable to admit she was developing romantic feelings. But now that they are both adults, she wants to give this a try. Falin confesses that she always admired Marcille and wanted to get closer, but Marcille kept (unintentionally) rejecting her advances, so she just assumed she wasn't into her, which is why she stopped trying. Falin is so glad she was wrong. The two share a loving hug.

Chilchuck is happy for them to finally have these feelings out in the open, and they don't seem to be the sort that used to cause issues in his old groups. However, as the resident dad, he puts his foot down and insists that until this adventure is over, no sleeping together.

Speaking of sleeping together, that reminds Marcille of the dream she had while unconscious.

Chapter 60:

Marcille's dream with the Lion is similar to Laios', but with a few key differences.

Instead of appealing to Laios' care for the monsters and environment, the lion talks about how it IS the power of the dungeon. The power that the ancients discovered and misused. The very power that Marcille has desperately been looking for.

This is all very tempting for her, but she's still uncertain about becoming queen of the golden country, so the lion creates the hypothetical dream.

Marcille 'wakes' to find herself in bed with Falin. After changing out of their pajamas, they explore with the lion. Marcille's kingdom is a place where all the races are treated equally, with magic prolonging their lives to match hers.

She has also incorporated her ideas about a 'safe dungeon', expanding on the golden country's monster domestication to allow the harvesting of all sorts of useful things. Laios is in charge of this program.

Overall, it's all very nice and reasonable. As the audience, we know the lion will actually convince her to try and envelop the world, but for now the scope is realistic.

Marcille doesn't remember most of the dream, but relates that the lion is watching them through Falin's pearlipede. She talks a little about the 'safe dungeon' stuff, but keeps the whole age equalization thing close to her chest. And of course, beware the canaries.

Chapter 61:

Mostly the same, though Kabru's reaction to having to eat monsters is a little less severe. He hates it, but Falin and her group seemed sane enough. He isn't worried about going insane like Laios, he's just severely repulsed by it.

Kabru's nightmare is about the Laigon, stalking and hunting him down before eating him whole. Somehow, despite the massive changes, Kabru still manages to be disgusted yet intrigued about Laios.

Chapter 62:

The first half is identical, with Mithrun's story.

But when they start talking about Falin, that's when they get a bit confused. Despite Kabu's skill, he couldn't get a good read on Falin's desires. She is friendly and kind and thinks monsters are neat, but he's really unsure what would happen if she became lord of the dungeon. The only strong desire Kabru could identify was her unyielding determination to save her brother.

Mithrun begins to suspect that Falin isn't the one the demon is targeting, but unfortunately, Kabru doesn't know enough about the rest of the party to deduce who it could be.

Once the bell goes off, Kabru isn't worried about Falin, but with the demon involved, and so many unknown variables, he decides to go after them.

Chapter 63:

Falin's pearlipede leads them to Thistle's house, and they cautiously make their way in after shooting the bird.

The phoenix proves difficult, but Falin's flame wards buy them enough time to realize it's keeping its distance from the table with the bodies. They manage to weaponize Yaad and defeat and eat the bird.

Chapter 64-65:

Marcille wrenches open the book and they meet the lion. They begin thinking of a way to take down the Laigon.

Falin points out that if the Laigon is hanging out with Thistle, then it hasn't been sleeping or hunting, so her brother is probably really hungry. Senshi points out that flight is very energetically demanding too, and his mouth is real small.

They quickly get to work. The rest of this chapter and chapter 65 are skipped, since they still have plenty of bicorn meat. Notably, due to the Laigon being able to fly, they will arrive quicker, but the gang doesn't need to hunt, so it works out.

Chapter 66:

Between his panicking and self-harm, Thistle takes a bit longer to figure out what to do, since the Laigon doesn't comfort him like the Faligon did.

Chapter 67:

As they watch Thistle and the Laigon arrive, Falin is having second thoughts. Seeing him again is making her think about the plan to eat the dragon parts later. After all, isn't this exactly what Laios always wanted? But can he even survive on the surface like that? What if they save and restore him... and he's furious with her for ruining his dream.

The Laigon takes the bait and excitedly (and messily) devours the bicorn curry and rice. He then curls up and goes to sleep.

Unlike Laios, Falin doesn't consider that the chimera might have more than one brain. Tears in her eyes, she carefully approaches, and swings her mace-staff with all her might.

Falin breaks down crying. Marcille sees the results, and heals Laios' fractured head without reviving him. Now he's just sleeping. After a group hug to comfort her, Falin redoubles her determination, and they go to confront Thistle.

Chapter 68:

Identical, other than some slight name-drop changes.

Chapter 69:

Marcille has long term plans for being dungeon lord, but for now they plan to just use it to help Laios.

Falin isn't surprised to hear that Marcille is a half-elf. She suspected for a while. However, Thistle's callous taunting quickly pisses her off, and when he mentions the sterility, he nearly falls over as a stone spike erupts through the table and nearly impales him.

Infuriated, Thistle warps the room and unleashes the dragons.

The rest of the chapter plays out the same, with everyone getting separated. Falin escapes to the shelf, but everyone else gets got.

Chapter 70:

As the dragons begin fighting each other, Falin hides behind some bowls and starts chanting something while keeping an eye on Thistle.

Once he is distracted shouting orders at the dragons, she takes careful aim with her staff, and unleashes her spell, teleporting right behind Thistle, and disarming him. She may not be as burly as Laios, but Falin is a tough girl, and is easily able to overpower the elf twink.

Chapter 71:

She ties him up to her back and starts retrieving everyone's bodies.

Thistle cries fraud, and Falin explains that teleportation is actually a fairly recent invention. No wonder Thistle was terrified of Mithrun. This is the sort of magic not even the ancients were aware of.

Falin is still furious at Thistle, but decides to make a deal with him. He may choose. Either she kills him, and the party does as they please, or he may dispel the dragons and restore the room, and remain as their prisoner. If he does this, he has her word that they will do nothing to harm the people of the golden country.

Chapter 72:

Thistle, terrified what they may do to his people (An empty implied threat, but Thistle doesn't know that), reluctantly agrees. She lets him have his book just long enough to dispel his magic (Under threat that she'll teleport a rock into his head if he doesn't return it right away. Another empty threat), then she ties him up again, using proper rope, so he can't even move.

Falin revives the rest of the party. Marcille is very distraught that she died, and hugs Falin tightly. They are all very impressed that Falin managed to pull it off.

The lion is miffed that it can't feed on Thistle's desires while its current marks are watching. To make matters worse, Marcille is in no hurry to unseal the book, slamming it shut so she can rest after being revived.

Marcille and Falin talk about half-elves while Isutsumi and Chilchuck go grab drinks. Thistle continues to seethe.

Senshi prepares the tiny green dragon. He doesn't have the plant nectar, but it still turns out great. They feed some to the tied up Thistle. He reluctantly admits it's pretty good.

The gang take shifts over the night to watch the prisoner. As a curse of immortality person, Thistle doesn't need to sleep.

Chapter 73-74:

Marcille wakes up with a massive hangover. For a moment, she conflates a dream she had with last night, and panics that her first 'time' with Falin wasn't in her right mind.

Kabru arrives with the canaries. No one knows about Marcille's black magic, and Falin is pretty reasonable, so Kabru is optimistic about this meeting between them and the canaries.

Izutsumi and Marcille hide upstairs, Senshi prepares tea stuff, and Thistle sits in the corner, still seething.

Negotiations... go shockingly well! The canaries are impressed they were able to capture Thistle alive, and after a little questioning, it's clear Falin hasn't fallen under the dungeon's spell. They are a little grossed out by the bavarois, but most adventurers are a little weird.

When Falin mentions the lion, Kabru asks for permission to explain the danger. After all, the reason demon discussion is banned is to hide the existence of wish granting, and they already know about that part.

With Chilchuck and Kabru's help, Falin ends up coming to a very satisfactory deal with the elves. They will hand over Thistle and the books, on the condition that the canaries' forces provide all the assistance they can in preserving, transporting, and eating Laios. Falin is even able to cite the phoenix as evidence that this plan is viable.

Falin and Pattadol shake on it, and everyone is excited that the danger has passed.

Unfortunately, this premature happy ending is disrupted by something everyone forgot about.

Falin's pearlipede is privy to this entire conversation. And so is the lion. It manages to pop out of the unsealed half, and warns Marcille about the canaries, fueling her fear, and when Mithrun breaks into her room as the negotiations are being finalized, Marcille panics and unseals the lion.

Chapter 75:

Chaos erupts in the house as no one is quite sure what is going on. The canaries rush upstairs to help Mithrun, but they fail to stop Marcille before she declares her lordship.

The canaries are attacked by giant spiders while Marcille absconds. She vanishes before Falin or the others can see her. Falin's party heads upstairs to find Marcille, but only find dead spiders and wrapped up elves.

Chapter 76:

They help Lycion and Kabru carry everyone outside, including Thistle. Lycion fills Falin in on what happened upstairs and she is mortified. They leave Thistle with them, and head out into the remixed dungeon to try and find Marcille and talk her down.

Chapter 77-78:

Everyone receives word that Falin has taken down the lord of the dungeon.

When the chaos starts to unfold, Flamela receives an update from Lycion. Negotiations had been going well with Falin, but a member of her party went rogue, and is now the lord.

With Falin's party confirmed to be working to stop Marcille, the canaries do not attack them, instead focusing on finding Marcille.

Worried that the elves will kill Marcille, Namari, Toshiro, and the Orcs head out to try and find Marcille or Falin first.

Chapter 79-80:

Marcille has approximately 25% less longing in her eyes as she stares at Laios frozen in ice.

Not being in quite the same rush as canon, they don't accidentally fall in the water, instead running down the stairs.

They find the mushrooms and retrieve their stuff. The familiars are disconcerting, but at least they are ostensibly on their side.

They attempt to head in the direction the mushrooms were heading, but don't get far before hitting a dead end. As they try to figure out what to do, a massive flying snake pounces and gobbles them up.

The party panics as the long thin chamber begins to slowly fill with fluid. With the mouth clamped shut, they decide to run as far back as they can. Falin is pretty sure intestines don't have acid, right?

After a harrowing few minutes, they are pooped out in Marcille's front yard.

After reuniting and bathing, Falin tells Marcille about their deal with the canaries, and implores Marcille to reconsider.

Marcille refuses and reveals her dream. Falin doesn't laugh at her, but is concerned. She remembers how miserable the people of the golden country were. Surely the dungeon's power can only extend lives through that same curse.

Notably, due to not eating Thistle, the lion is still in its quadrupedal form. The lion does its best to convince Falin and the others, but after what Kabru told them about the demon, it rings pretty hollow.

Falin refuses to help the demon, not wanting Marcille to become another Thistle.

Marcille is upset, and decides she can make her dream come true by herself. She has the gang confined to the kitchen. She'll do it herself, and they'll see how lovely her dream is later.

Chapter 81:

Falin has no idea what kind of monster Donato is.

Operation Hometown Cuisine proceeds as normal, though Falin doesn't have the realization about Marcille's fears, since she didn't pry into her nightmare.

After failing her persuasion roll on Marcille, Falin gets fed up and grabs Donato's hand, then teleports the doppelganger out of the tree.

Chapter 82:

Identical.

Chapter 83:

Mostly the same. Kabru isn't a prisoner. While the canaries prepare to fight the monster army, they have Kabru escort Thistle to the entrance. Thistle is mostly just resigned at this point. He spots the golden country as part of the new patchwork dungeon, and notices it is off in the corner away from the action. At least Marcille isn't putting them in danger.

Kabru meets up with Toshiro, Namari, and the orcs.

Chapter 84:

Ofc Falin also comes up with the mushroom disguises. Toshiro isn't sure how to feel seeing Falin dressed as a big dumb shroom.

Falin frantically explains how she's pretty sure the lion had been grooming Marcille to be the lord the whole time. That's why she's so out of control.

Lycion explains that when things get this bad, the only solution is to kill the dungeon lord. Thistle calls bullshit. He lost the position without being killed. Lycion clarifies that as long as the demon supports them, there is no other solution.

So Falin proposes they deal with the demon itself.

Lycion shoots that down too. As everyone heads out to fight the monsters, Falin is left despondent.

At Marcille's behest, the lion possesses the pearlipede, engulfing her arm, and speaks to Falin. It tries to convince her to join Marcille. After all, don't they love each other? Chilchuck retorts that if you really love someone, both sides have to be willing to compromise.

The lion tries another tactic. It asks about their favorite foods. Falin's favorite food is ice cream, particularly a swirl of orange sherbet and vanilla ice cream. (If she had been given the chance, she would have discovered exorcism sorbet to be her favorite.)

Unlike Laios, who realizes the lion's weakness in this fight, Falin is just left feeling even more hopeless. But ultimately, she decides to head for Marcille, not knowing what else to do.

Chapter 85:

Falin is quite delighted to see Laios, and is sure it means Marcille isn't too far gone.

Things proceed mostly the same, except Falin again poofs the doppelgangers away. As the party keeps climbing towards Marcille, Falin throws out the armor piercing questions. If Marcille is so callous to create fake versions of her parents, why not just create fake versions of her friends that agree with her dream.

Because a fake isn't the real thing. And what Falin wants is Marcille. The real Marcille.

Marcille starts to break down, admitting that the whole reason she's doing this is because she can't stand the thought of losing Falin and the rest of her friends.

Falin gently embraces Marcille, and explains. If Marcille spends all her time worrying about when their time together will end, then they won't get to enjoy the time they do have together. As they look deep into each other's eyes, Marcille's eyes swimming with tears, she leans forward and-

Senshi ruins the moment by explaining that they already know how to live longer healthier lives. A BALANCED DIET! A HEALTHY CIRCADIAN RHYTHM! AND MODERATE EXERCISE.

The moment is ruined, but it's okay. Marcille clings to Falin as she can't help but laugh as she sobs. Falin smiles and gently rubs Marcille's back. Everything finally feels like it's going to be okay.

Right?

Chapter 86-Finale

[juuuulez]

📰 | part thirteen: capulet.

info: Carl Grimes x Saviour! Reader, no pronouns/no use of (y/n), FINAL CHAPTER, canon divergence (i rewrote the ‘wrath’ episode), non-descriptive violence, blood.

summary: The Saviour-Alexandria war comes to a close in one, final battle.

guys i just wanted to say thank you all SO MUCH for loving this story, because it’s truly my favourite thing i’ve ever written….these two mean the world to me and i’m so glad everyone understands my vision

i actually loved writing this chapter, and i think the ending is really appropriate to the themes and nature of their relationship

i’ll publish an epilogue next, which will be the 6-year timeskip, and just wrap things up nicely so you know what the future held for carl and reader :,)

-> masterlist <-

Truthfully, you were a little nervous. It had taken a week for these negotiations to settle, and you were worried as to what state the Saviours were in. You hoped that Negan was doing alright. Strangely enough, you’d never been away from him for this long, not since getting stuck together all those years ago.

A meeting spot was decided, though everyone was still wary. You’d been cuffed again for safety, and carefully transported alongside Rick, Carl and Michonne. They kept a close eye on you, wanting to ensure that nothing went haywire at the last minute.

It was a large clearing, a small grassy hill with an oak tree. Hanging from a branch was a beautiful stained glass panel, the intricate design having become slightly rusty with time and lack of care.

As you stepped from the car, the adults left your side, trusting you in Carl’s watch for now. He held onto your forearm, walking a few paces behind everyone else, allowing you to gain your bearings.

But something didn’t feel right.

“Carl,” You whispered, garnering his attention. “I don’t.. I don’t think this is a good idea.”

There was a look of worry on your face, one that made Carl’s heart break a little, wanting to assure you that everything is okay, though he didn’t know if that was true. He knew how risky this plan was: a plan that he couldn’t tell you, for you’d absolutely loose it.

“It’ll be okay.” He ends up saying, giving you a small squeeze and continuing to usher you forward.

It wouldn’t. Not for the Saviours, at least.

Fortunately for them, Eugene was still on their side. He’d expressed how the Saviours intended on sabotaging the deal, in hopes of taking power and taking you. This awareness led Eugene to rig the bullets with an explosive mechanism.

Carl had been uncomfortable to hear it at first, but knew that it was necessary in defending their stance. He couldn’t tell you. There wouldn’t be a single universe in which you’d hear him out, and see their side of the argument.

Yet, he understood. If someone was threatening his father’s life, he’d react similarly. So, Carl kept his mouth shut.

As you approached the hill, the Saviours became visible, and it seemed Negan had certainly brought backup. You could identify a few of them as Simon’s men, and wondered how loyal they’d been since his death. Or… murder, you suppose.

The more you focused, the more you realised the sheer amount of guns they’d brought. All standing defensively, weapons at the ready. It started to settle in, and you remembered your long history with the Saviours. They didn’t do things peacefully. They didn’t take deals, there was no such thing as compromise.

“Carl, Carl, I’m serious,” You urged him, suddenly stopping in your spot, causing Carl to stop with you. “This isn’t right. They’re gonna fire, I know they are. We have to—“

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Carl interrupted, trying to calm you. “Trust me, okay? I know. And it’s alright.”

Something about that sent off an alarm in your head, a look of confusion crossing your face. You stared at Carl, eyes darting back to the others, then to him.

“You know?” You repeat, “What do you mean? Carl, they’re gonna shoot you, shoot everyone here. This is bad.”

The more you spoke, the more you seemed to panic, so Carl tried to quiet your tangent with a hand over your mouth. It worked, and had this been another situation, you would have laughed at the irony.

His hand doesn’t move, looking subtly nervous despite trying to calm you down. “You need to listen to me, okay? Just breathe, and—“

Whatever he was suggesting doesn’t matter, as suddenly there is crackling in the distance, loud pops as the Saviours attempt to discharge their weapons. Several guns break down into pieces, flames overtaking their inner workings as the mechanisms shut down and killing several of their owners. Those who survived were injured, their hands crippled and burnt.

You’d cover your ears to protect from the noise, if not for the handcuffs, but Carl seems to have a similar idea. He’s looking around, looking for something, before he pulls you down against the grassy hill, trying to duck and shield your body from something unknown.

“Carl!” You yell over the gunfire, “What the fuck is happening!”

Finally identifying a group of Oceansiders in the distance, Carl cups his hand over your ear, the one uninjured and still intact. You try to squirm away, but to no avail, confused and freaking out, unsure whether his hold was supposed to be comforting or threatening.

As you realised what was happening, it was too late to do anything. Molotov cocktails were used to alight the remaining of Negan’s army, the alcohol splashing at their feet and soaking into the grassy hill, spreading with reckless abandon.

“No! You asshole!” You scream, jerking your head away from Carl and trying to find your bearings. But being handcuffed, and your current lack of balance since the injury, you just end up falling back against the dirt.

“Hey! Listen to me,” Carl interrupts your protests sternly. He clasps his hands on either side of your face, keeping you still despite your attempts at moving away. “It’s over, okay? This is it. It’s done.”

You’re panting, looking practically feral, sweat beading on your brow and skin. Dirt is in your hair, stuck to your bandage, marred over the flannel you still wear. Carl’s flannel. Instinctively, you want to bite his hands, to do anything to get away.

But after everything, you know better. There’s nothing you could do to change this. Whether it be him, or you, someone had to face the music. Someone had to loose.

“Uncuff me.” You demand, chest rising heavily with each breath you suck in, still lying flat against the grass while Carl leans over your form.

He shakes his head, “I can’t do that. Not until we get back to Alexandria. You’ll get a house, your own place, and—“

You interrupt him with a scream, “Uncuff me!”

Though your pleas don’t work, Carl pulls your body up against him, trying to get you into a seated position. If you had control, you’d probably be able to hold yourself up, yet you remain helpless to his control.

“I don’t have the key.” He finally reveals, holding you up by your arms, unconsciously rubbing away some of the dirt that’s stuck there. “Even if I did, we have to wait, alright? I’m on your side, I promise.”

You’re on the brink of agreeing, of finally calming yourself, of accepting that this really is the end. Even your head begins to nod, a small motion, still looking a little breathless and confused.

Meanwhile, the battle isn’t entirely over. The remaining Saviours had seemingly submitted, abandoning any semblance of control under the promise that they would live, if they left for good.

You catch the end of that speech, confusion flooding your featured as they’re commanded to leave. The pair of you still sit in the grass, away from the main commotion.

Carl must have similarly picked up on the sudden shift in tension, his mind finally catching up with everything happening.

The realisation clicks instantly: if the Saviours are disbanding, they had no leader.

At the same time, you’re trying to stand once more. “No, no! Let go of me!” You scream, jerking yourself away from Carl even when he tries to help you up. You only make it a few steps before lack of coordination hits, and despite your hostility, Carl wraps his arms around you in assistance.

Carefully, he helps you over the hill, standing right on the crest. From here, the two of you can see everything. His breath caught in his chest as he realised that Rick had been shot, though he stalled himself from doing anything, understanding there was a much more dire situation at hand.

Everyone stood in awe as Negan essentially choked on his own blood, the liquid seeping from a slice in this throat, no doubt a critical wound. Rick stood above him, hands soaked red, dropping the shard of glass he’d used as a weapon.

It felt like there was no more air in your chest. Like you’d been thrown into space, the oxygen sucked from your form. You stood there dumbly, watching, mouth open but nothing came out. Next to you, Carl was saying something, but you couldn’t hear him.

You couldn’t hear when Rick ordered for Negan to be saved.

Nor could you hear Maggie’s shrill screams, begging and accusing Rick of betraying her.

Everything sort of just stopped moving. All of the noise had stopped, leaving this deafening silence and overwhelming feeling of pure emptiness.

Whatever happened after that didn’t sink in. Somebody had spoken to you, but you weren’t listening, nor did you have any clue where they’d taken Negan. Or where they’d take you. It was likely that you were told, but it didn’t stick.

The entire time, Carl was by your side. After getting into the car, he slid in next to you, a small metal ringlet in his hands. He unlocked the handcuffs from behind you, however had been instructed to cuff you once more from the front, shooting you a sympathetic look as he did so. At least now, he could hold your hand, which he did for the whole trip.

It was mildly comforting, some place in the back of your mind appreciating the gesture, despite the numbness that had worked itself into every corner of your body.

Eventually, you’d arrived at Alexandria. They took you towards the back of the community, to a house standing far from the others. It had been emptied of any objects that could be deemed weaponry, and was fairly bare-bones, but contained the minimum for survival. It was the first time you noticed Carl wasn’t around, a notion that allowed your senses to return slightly, offput by the sudden seclusion.

You allowed yourself to explore the area, opening each drawer only to find them all empty. The windows were barred, the door locked, leaving the house to feel more like a prison than a home.

Unsure what to do, you sat down on the couch, facing the door. It was comfortable. You poked at the fabric with your fingertips, trying to gain your bearings and come back to a place of consciousness, but everything still felt fuzzy and far away. Like you just couldn’t reach reality.

Hours past, though you weren’t too focused on the time. The only way of telling was when the sun had lowered, shadows being cast through the partially obscured windows. You hadn’t turned the light on earlier, causing the room to just become darker and darker, as you had no intention of getting up.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the door unlocked with a distinct click, before creaking open. You hoped that Negan would walk in, that he’d be alright and he’d hug you and say you’re going back to the Sanctuary. Together. But that was wishful thinking.

Though when Carl entered the house, you didn’t have the energy to be angry. You probably should have been.

“It’s dark, isn’t it?” He comments, having instantly spotted you sitting on the couch. When he doesn’t get a reply, Carl knows that small-talk won’t cut it, that he’s messed up.

So, he comes over, sitting next to you on the couch. In another life, you would have probably punched him. Screamed and accused him of lying to you. But you couldn’t be that person anymore.

When he wraps an arm around your side, you don’t protest, allowing Carl to pull you against him. You’ve finally begun to realise just how tired you are, as you rest your head down on his shoulder, tucked nicely into his side.

“He’ll live,” Carl whispers, “And they’re gonna keep him in a cell. I dunno how long… but probably a long time.”

You give a small nod, just to acknowledge that you’re listening. It makes sense. As long as Negan was alright, that they’d help him get better, then you could deal with the rest later.

“Can I see him?” You ask, voice coming out a quiet whisper. They’re the first words you’ve uttered since everything went down.

Carl feels guilty for his answer. He wasn’t even supposed to be here, with you. “No. Not for a while. Someone’s gonna come here, live in this house, just to keep an eye on you,” He has to swallow to clear his throat, “And.. it’s gonna be weird, I know, but… you’re here, and that’s all that matters.”

There’s little protesting you can do, not in this state. The shock still hasn’t fully worn off, Carl knows this, so he tries to move away from the heavy conversation.

He shifts on the couch, laying down and pulling you with him. You settle there easily, head resting over his chest, though he’s wary of not putting any pressure on your injury.

“We should get you something to eat.” He suggests quietly, brushing back some hair so he can see your face.

You shake your head, not having much of an appetite anymore. “Can we just stay here?” You whispered, lifting your head slightly to look at him.

Carl feels himself getting choked up again. He doesn’t quite know why, as he’s glad that this is over, that Negan will be confined to a cell, unable to harm anyone. This was the best-case scenario for his community.

But he knows, in another life, this could have ended badly. That he shouldn’t have been so lucky as to survive. The idea hurts, a deep ache in his chest, though he tries to keep the emotion out of his face.

“I’m just glad that I’ve got you.” Carl ends up whispering, the words slightly vague and confusing, but they mean everything they need to mean.

For Carl does, quite literally, have you in his arms. It didn’t matter where your relationship stood, or all your differences, for he had you.

You seem to realise this, a smile finally making its way onto your face. “Dork.” You mumble, the slight jab helping Carl to smile as well.

That numbness fades, as you lift yourself up a little, hovering over his body as your lips connect in a kiss. It’s the first one since weeks ago, after your fight in the alleyway.

This time, it’s softer, and Carl places one hand on your hip and the other to the back of your neck. Your breathing slows to match his own, lips moving together in an almost tired manner whilst your fingertips stroke the sides of his face.

Tomorrow will likely be difficult, as will the next day, and the next. But right now, things felt alright.

That night, you fell asleep on top of Carl, the pair of you tangled on the couch. You’d wake up to his voice in your ear and lips against your cheek, and though neither of you knew it then, you’d spend many, many more mornings together.

Eventually, the noise would fade, and you’d find some sense of peace in Alexandria with Carl. Years from then, you’d even help Negan find his peace, too.

Life would never be easy, but it certainly felt a little better with each day. That was enough.

[sidekickjoey]

Nothing's Gonna Harm You

Rating: T WC: 2,411 Tags: Post-Stranger Things 4 Vol. 2, Canon Compliant, Implied Steddie, Referenced Character Death, Steve Harrington Needs a Hug & Is Not Okay A/N: Here's a little fic inspired by the pics of Dustin defending Eddie's grave from jocks in S5 and how emotional that made me to see. Shout out to @steddieasitgoes for indulging in my rambles about this idea as I avoided work to write it xx Divider by @steddiecameraroll-graphics! Read it on AO3

Steve heard Dustin's shouts a mile away.

He hadn't wanted to drive him to the cemetery, originally. Ever since Eddie's death, the place has felt so strange. Haunted, almost. Steve wouldn't put it past Eddie to haunt Hawkins after how they treated him, but it's more like there's this lingering cloud of sadness and loss hovering over the place that's heavier than before. He doesn't like to dwell on it too much, fears the way it might make him feel if he lets it go on around him for too long.

But, Dustin wanted to go.

He's missed Eddie a lot, is the thing. Steve had not realized the full extent of the bond they'd formed until Eddie no longer was there to fill it. He knows now that it was strong. So strong. He'd be an asshole to not let Dustin come pay some respects here and there. Lord knows, had they had more time to spend together, Steve might have come out on the other side just as closely bonded with him himself, if not more so. So naturally, they went.

Everything had been fine at first, too. Steve pulled up near the front of the cemetery, parked his car, and gave Dustin a small 'be careful' talk before sending him on his way, and that had been that. He'd rested back in his seat the moment Dustin left his sight, turned on some tunes, and tried to distract his mind from his surroundings the best he could. For a while, that worked.

But then, Dustin shouts rang out over the cemetery, and well, Steve Harrington would not be Steve Harrington if he didn't run head-first into situations -- especially the ones he hates -- to protect the ones he loves.

He was up and out of his car in seconds.

It thankfully did not take long for Steve to find Dustin, all things considered. He had been to Eddie's grave before during the funeral, so he sort of knew the way, and Dustin was screaming quite loudly. He'd lost a little hearing throughout the years from injury, but not even that could drown out his wailing and calls for Steve. Hell, Steve probably could be many miles away and still be alerted to that kind of call.

When he did approach Dustin, it was like approaching a nightmare. He was standing right by Eddie's grave looking a mess, with his Hellfire shirt ripped, his face reddened and muddied up with dirt, and cuts near his nose and mouth. Beside him, Eddie's grave was clearly defaced with something also bright red, spelling out 'burn in hell' over Eddie's name. It's sloppy work, really. Steve could just hear Eddie judging their lack of creativity. On any other day, he might have pressed his luck with it and made a comment or two, just to see where it'd take him.

This day was no day for that, though. Dustin wasn't standing alone, after all. He had a jock's arm around his neck and another's arm cast back ready to swing. That just couldn't do. Luckily for him, Steve had been well trained on how to handle situations like it.

Approaching the jocks from behind, he wasted no time casting his weight back and slamming his fist expertly into the cheek of the one prepping to punch.

The guy, wildly caught off guard, stumbled to the side and fell over himself with a groan. Steve had heard that groan before leave his lips, so he was well aware he wouldn't be getting up anytime soon. This freed him to turn and handle the other two jocks at the scene ready to pounce.

The first took a few swings, but he was slow. He was no match for Steve, who had been trained by the likes of Billy Hargrove and Russians to act fast and on his toes. Steve easily nailed him in the gut, sending him wailing to the grassy floor. The next guy took a more analytical approach, jumping around to get Steve to accidentally trip over one of the headstones nearby. It was smart, but Steve was smarter. He knew how to use a good logic flip to his advantage and did so the moment he could. The guy was on his ass in seconds, whining about a twisted ankle like he'd been shot.

Steve brushed him off and immediately turned to Dustin.

The kid still wriggled around in the tight grip around him, so that was good at least. His face was as pale as a ghosts and his eyes were jumping back and forth, but he also looked hopeful. Carding back his hair, Steve used that hope. He let it refresh him and fuel him to finish the job here and not let him down, to give him a happier ending than the one's he's been dealt lately.

Stepping toward the first guy, a moaning pile on the floor still clutching his jaw in agony, Steve folded his arms and cast a scathingly judgmental look his way.

"God, you guys are pathetic."

Near his feet, the guy spat -- blood red, just like the color on Eddie's stone. "Move aside, Harrington. We're doing this one a favor so he doesn't end up six feet under like your friend here."

"Oh, well forgive him for not bringing a thank you card," Steve sneered back, cocking his hip to the side. "Honestly, if anyone should be thanking anybody, it's you to him. That kid saved your stupid life -- all your lives."

"He's not the first humanitarian to ever help after an earthqu- OW!"

Steve hoped Eddie got a kick out of that kick to this guy's side, wherever he was. He devious grin made its way to Steve's face then, as well as the teasing lilt that had driven Steve crazy in the forest what seemed like forever ago.

"Wanna' try again, hot shot?"

"Screw you," the other jock holding Dustin yelled then, tightening his hold around his neck. Dustin winced but held strong, reassuring Steve to keep going with pleasing eyes. "I hope you both go to Hell, right there with the freak!"

And, well, that was perhaps not the best thing somebody could say to Steve in that moment. Coolly, calmly, Steve straightened up and smiled. It was an early, unsettling thing that stretched across him and felt utterly vicious for him to deliver. It had to look as fearsome as it felt, because the second it reached its full potential, he saw the hold on Dustin slip ever-so-slightly. Steve could practically preen over it, over how he still easily can read these jerks like a book.

Stepping forward once more, he looked the guy up and down.

"Sorry to break it to you, sweetheart, but that won't work on us, unfortunately. See, we've been there already. Not that bad of a place, actually. You know, once you get over everything rotting and all the demons waiting to devour you whole."

The guy stared back at him for a long moment then, confused but too scared and perturbed by the pet name Steve threw in to ask anything more. One of the other boys, the one who he nailed in the gut earlier, cursed under his breath in tandem, muttering something about how Steve's gone crazy. It only emboldened him more, enough so that he decided to toss a wink the guy's way and sweetly coo that "he'll be sure to remember that next time he's down there."

He swore he heard Dustin snicker.

"Anyway, unless you boys want test your luck with how serious I am right now, and I really advise against that I should add, I think we're done here. Get the hell out."

The group remained silent, stunned. Steve raised his brow. And then-

"NOW!"

Amusingly, it was Mr. Hostage himself who made it out the fastest. His other boys quickly followed, cursing and checking behind them the entire way.

Steve felt so alive.

Dustin, however, very much did not look super duper alive. Once he was finally back to himself and reality, Steve jogged over to him and bent at the knee to see his cuts. The one near his nose was pretty gnarly, enough to make him wince sympathetically.

"Jeesh, you okay kid?"

"Now that you're here, yeah," Dustin replied, more in awe than in pain. "You scared the shit out of those guys, Steve."

"Yeah, well," Steve huffed, applying some pressure to the cut on Dustin's cheek with his shirtsleeve. "Wish I could've done more, but I don't think I can exactly afford a lawsuit right about now."

"Parents cut you off?"

"And Family Video."

"Jesus."

"Doesn't matter though. The point is that you matter, and so does your health, and right about now we need to be getting you to a first-aid kit before anything gets too bad." Steve noticed a bruise forming under Dustin's eye. He winced. "And maybe get you some ice while we're at it."

Dustin nodded his consent, only to turn to his right and freeze in place. Steve followed his gaze back down to Eddie's grave, still very much disturbed. They shared a moment of silence before locking eyes, and when they did, Dustin shook his head already anticipating Steve's thoughts.

"I can't leave him like that, Steve. I can't."

That pooling feeling of dread hit Steve's gut then. He took a shaky breath.

"No, man. You need to get fixed."

"Not before him," he snapped back, a little louder, meaning business. Steve gnawed at the corner of his mouth and chanced a glance over at the stone. Something in his heart twinged.

"Dustin-"

"Not before him, and not when his uncle could come here and see this," Dustin reiterated, firmer.

And dammit, once again, Dustin was right. One-hundred-percent right.

How could Steve possibly be anything other than helpless to oblige there, in that moment.

With a sworn promise to let Steve bandage him up as soon as physically possible, the two went back to Steve's car and drove to the nearest mini-mart. There, with Dustin waiting in the passenger seat, Steve made quick work purchasing cleaning supplies, bandages, and two candy bars for once they were all finished with this mess. A short drive back and medical pit-stop later, Steve and a newly bandaged Dustin made the walk through the cemetery right back to Eddie's defamed plot.

They worked diligently and delicately.

The paint itself was pretty easy to get off with some soap, but its remaining residue was trickier. Steve and Dustin had to spend the better part of an hour scrubbing at it and dousing it with chemicals to remove it, which could not have been easy for Dustin in his wounded state. He still tried hard though, as did Steve. Eventually, the stone emerged good as new, shining in the glow of sunset.

There, on the ground, Eddie watching over them, Steve handed over one of the candy bars to Dustin.

Call Steve biased, but he figured the sun's light had nothing on the way Dustin lit up like a sparkler in that moment.

He turned to Steve and hugged him tight.

"Thank you," he said, voice tight with emotion. "From me and from Eddie. He'd really be glad you did this for him."

Steve let out a slow breath. Nodded once, twice.

"I'm serious, man," Dustin stressed again as he pulled back, knowing Steve and his deflections all too well. "That was really cool of you."

"I dunno."

"Okay, but I do. You protected me, Wayne, and him. That's like, the Eddie Munson trifecta. I don't think you could be more badass in his eyes right now unless you like, learned guitar right this second. Or, actually, no shit, if you whacked those assholes with a guitar! You know, upside the head, like your bat!"

Steve shook his head. "Fat chance of that."

"Hence why what you did is so amazingly cool," Dustin noted, snagging a big bite of chocolate.

Grabbing a smaller bite, Steve still was not so sure. He was, however, reminded then of a fleeting thought he had come up with earlier, a thought that might just be the right Eddie-like thing to say then to smooth things over and help Dustin know he'd be okay.

With one more look at Eddie's grave, Steve decided fuck it.

"Yeah, well. Their work was way too uncreative to let slide, even for me."

Dustin shoved at Steve's shoulder, grinning again to Steve's delight -- an instant win. "It was pretty lame, huh?"

"I'm just saying, the guy created an entire club based on fantasy creatures and has a whole backlog of oddly named artists he listens to, and the best they could come up with is burn in hell. They could've at least tried or used something other than cheap Crayola paint."

"Bet you Eddie cringed so hard, man."

"That's what I'm saying."

After a few beats of silence and another candy bite, Dustin looked back at the grave. "I'm, um. I'm thinking of coming back here again in a week or so. You know, to check on him. Make sure those assholes didn't try another shitty drawing. Do you want to come with?"

Steve swallowed hard, anxiety bubbling back. "I'm not sure, man."

"If you won't go to visit with me, would you go to protect me at least?"

"Dustin-"

"Please?"

Sighing, Steve conceded with a nod. And that was that.

They stayed there for a little while longer, until their candy bars were nothing but distant memories and the sun was nearly gone in the sky. Dustin got up first and began running to the car, telling Steve he'd race him. Steve held back though, told him to get the car warm for him. He just needed to do something real quick.

Kneeling down at Eddie's grave, head swimming with the loss and sadness that had been plaguing him the whole time, Steve placed his hand on the headstone, let a tear fall, and then met the stone head-on.

"I'll protect him," he spoke, to no one but the air in actuality but truly, dearly to Eddie in his heart. "I-I can't promise much, man. But, I'll promise that. For you. I promise."

With a pressed kiss to his hand, he let it rest on the stone for a minute or so more and then turned, jogging back to Dustin.

Above him, in the twilight sky, the stars twinkled.

[doodlesphxre]

REAPER HCS AND MY CHARACTER SHEAT

Design1

redesign!!

♰ Prefers being called Reaper, not Death

♰ Intersex, genderfluid, bi, demiro/ce (any pronous but is moslty user to he)

♰ His mental health is getting better <33

♰ Can have tree sets of wings

♰ Uses big, big words

♰ Has an echo in his voice when he speaks

♰ He is quite a cheerful skeleton now... There was a period when his character was dominated by pessimism and analytical thinking, but after meeting Tori and then Geno, it changed completely

♰ Now, he sometimes makes fun of other Gods, and how funny they act, gossips about them a bit too

♰ From the Gods he's probably the least liked because of how different his views are from theirs

♰ He is addicted to caffeine in any form due to his exhausting job

♰ For a longest time he complained and disliked mortals...he thought they were downright funny because of the way they chased life. He only appreciated them when he met Toriel and his job became a little easier by skirting the rules and saving mortals without others knowledge. Then he saw how curious they were and how funny they behaved.

♰ He is the type of character who does not know their traditions, behaviors, etc. He just had to learn what hugs and kisses are, why people eat, etc

♰ He's literally emo. He's the type of character who has emo music on his headphones 24/7.Well, he's just addicted to emo, rock, grunge, even metal music (etc). But he likes to listen to music that is kinda softer like Artic Monkeys at times

♰ When he cries or is accompanied by strong negative emotions, the space near him is filled with a strange aura... it causes people nearby to feel sadness and despair

♰ When a person really desperately wants to die, he is able to hear their pleases in his head

♰ His Gaster Blasters are more like pets for him (besides, they defend the gates of the Underworld (like Cerberus)

♰ Since he learned what sleep is, he often uses it as a weapon against Gaster's complaints about him leaving his job without a reason

♰ He often hums old and scary lullabies when he works

♰ Suprisingly, he's a quite sensitive person sometimes

♰ Big fucking boomer sjdb

♰ Brotherly relationship with Ink (Ink's like an lil bro to him :3)

♰ Sees Frisk from his AU as his lil sibling/child

♰ Can change shapes (I think it's canon) and his fav shapes are: crow, raven and a black cat

♰ likes shiny things (cuz yk... Crows likes them sjdbfb)

♰ So (wet) cat coded tbh. .. But much more bird coded

I think thats... All for now??

I hope you like them >:DD

[sobeautifullyobsessed]

Defender, Defender, please let down your hair 😉❤️‍🔥

new Defender Strange head canony goodness...

Defender is strong with Ardeth Bey vibes. Hear me out?

Just watched The Mummy Returns, the scene where the Medjai are about to face off against the Army of Anubis. Leading the horseback charge, Ardeth's long, dark hair (which ofc pairs gloriously with his Stephen-like beard and 'stache) billows behind him. His brow is set and determined, no matter the odds against victory.

He's a warrior, rife with restrained power, a man on the side of the angels, if you will. A consecrated man, passionate and single-minded in his duty to protect mankind, at whatever the cost. He wears black, priest-like robes and leads an ascetic life--although I imagine (as we all know with Stephen and his Variants) that doesn't necessarily demand celibacy.😏

He has the feel of an adventurer and--perhaps--a taste of a swashbuckler about him. And hey--Stephen was raised on a farm and surely knows how to ride a horse, as Ardeth does.

I'm thinking maybe that kind of vibe was strong enough in Defender's meager moments onscreen for so many of us to fall hard for 617 Stephen Strange.

What say you? @doctorstrangeaskblog @valkyrieandstrangeridingaragorn @harlekin6 @ben-locked @paperclippedmime @strangelock221b @fanartka @wint3r-h3art

[taygra5shaon]

If your Durge were a character that can accompany you on the adventure. How do you imagine your recruitment would be? Oh your interaction with Dark urge?

Edit: Name your Durge's mission

ohoohohoh! that's a really interesting thing, how Jacq would be as a companion. I admit, this is a thing I thought a lot even before reading this message, and @popex-springpinter thanks you so much for your interesting questions!❤️

SO! I had imagined that the player meet Jacq on the beach, or among the goblin corpses near the mind flayer stuck in the wreckage.

He is extremely confused, covered in blood and a bit dazed, with his life bar in half (he almost split his head in half by hitting it in the nautiloid's capsule to get out).

For a moment jacq almost looks like he's about to attack, but he shakes his head and stops.

Here there is the possibility of making a perception roll, and so we understand that he is confused and that it was as if an instinct was pushing him to attack.

I imagined the dialogue and the questions, which vary on: did he kill all these people, if they are okay, or what happened (or attack, it depends)

Jacq takes a while to answer, as if his voice had not been used for a while, and he answers that he doesn't know, and that he woke up on the beach with no memory and with all the dead around him.

He asks if he can be updated on what happened to them, and they need to be explained what coelomorphosis is, and then he would like to get rid of the parasite, and suggests that they continue together to find out what can be done.

if you accept him into the group, Jacq is bold, energetic and wild, kinda sweet and friendly, but sometimes , in some interactions with NPCs, he give some disturbing comments that show his dark side, commenting in a bloody and creepy way.

he is an exceptional shadow druid warrior, with a strong inclination towards arcane magic.

He have no idea of what privacy is, and he is prone to doing strange and stupid things (like drinking from auntie ethel's well, or licking a dead spider).

As said before, he is a cannibal (he and astarion have no problem eating/drinking from corpses), has no idea how to cook (he has no problem eating raw meat), likes alcohol, but has a nearly non-existent tolerance (he gets drunk easily, but drinks little, due to the severe headaches he has).

It is easy to gain approval with him, you have to be a mix between heroic, kind and cruelly bloodthirsty and chaotic.

when you have a good enough approval(25), Jacq reveals to you that he has no idea who he is, and that his memories are gone (he just see red and the only real ones he has are some faded memories of his childhood, before bhaal), but more important, he has dark instincts and very bloody thoughts, and has no idea why.

(I'll leave Jacq's romance sheet aside, or I'll never finish it)

is canon the sleepwalking murder of the bard, and Jacq wakes the player up in panic asking for help. here it's very similar to how you react with Astarion when he tries to bite the player, you can help him or chase him away (or attack him).

If you have a high approval (40) Jacq reveals to you the visits of Sceleritas Fell, and the things the little monster says.

As with Shadowheart and Astarion, you can help Jacq become a good person (repressing his dark urges and be free of bhaal), or encourage him to embrace them (and pursue the destiny of bhaal's chosen one).

The second act is interesting in his storyline, because Ketheric and a shitload of people recognize him, but of course no one really says anything (Jacq is very uncomfortable but at the same time enthralled by the moonrise towers, and he's looking for answers).

The dialogue with the bone sister is very hard for him, and if the player tries to defend him from her, there's a good increase in approval.

THEN, then, let's not forget the part with the ancient brain and the three chosen ones, Jacq dissociates for a moment, looking at Orin and Gortash, and feels anger mix with pain and longing, with a bonus of a terrible headache. He almost blows up the hideout when he tries to get closer, the player prevents him.

I imagine that in act 3, when he regains some of his memory, jacq will find himself in conflict with karlach about gortash, she wants to kill him, he instead wants to try to reconnect with him.

here the player will have to choose whether to kill gortash or not, and if he finally does, he will lose a lot of approval (-10), and if the approval is not high enough, he will leave the group.

(wow, i wrote a lot, i'll stop here for now. i hope this is enough as an idea of ​​how jacq is as a character....)

thanks again, I love when people ask me things about him, and I'm sorry if I take some time to answer it, but I will get it, no worry!

(I ask forgiveness for my English, and for any errors I may have written, love you all, Ciaoooo 👋🙃)

[lutewife]

"Hate so passionate it blooms"

Chapter one - First Extermination

1752 words, fem!reader, reader is in hell for a reason, sinner!reader, reader is oblivious, canon divergence here and there, no NSFW in this chapter, angst, toxic yuri, canon-like humour

Crossposted on AO3: @YuriCameo

Warnings: blood, murder and all... It's extermination, duh. Nothing too bad though.

It all started years ago...

It was the time of the first extermination, since you opened your shop.

Noone in the pride ring liked it, obviously. And you just happened to live in it, being a sinner - flesh and blood. Your only source of income, your own sex shop, was there too. Very successful one to boot, since in Hell, let's just say, people really like these kind of things. And as weird as it was, your shop was top notch, being the most successful one in the Pride Ring. You swore you wouldn't leave it to destruction under any circumstances, because, well, you needed that money.

And you kept your word. Now you were standing in front of your shop, scanning the area and waiting for inevitable. Your employees, moved by your dedication, have also agreed to defend it. Ah, the deep connection between a demon and their sex shop. Truly touching.

You gripped your weapon tightly and, for who knows which time, looked around with watchful eyes. Turning to your employees, you managed to make a shaky smile appear. Someone in these difficult times must fake confidence, otherwise the fight is already lost - it was one of your beliefs and you had to fulfill it.

- It's okay, girlies. I don' see anythin' strange happening - you said trying to lift up the mood. -Y'know, maybe they were bluffing afterall! M-Maybe nothin's gonna happen! - you added, when you didn't receive any reaction from your employees, trying to convince yourself. Fearful faces of the other demons didn't went unnoticed by you, but you tried to ignore it for your own good.

Well, they were right to be afraid. Afterall, they were employees of a sex shop, not some angel hunters, for fucks sake! And the only person with some fighting knowledge was you, their boss who was almost shitting her pants under pressure and who probably didn't know shit about killing angels. Absolutely excellent position they were in.

Just as you were to say another one of your reassuring quotes again, it began. Everyone absolutely paralyzed, along with you, but you were the first to actually get yourself together.

- It's a-okay guys, there's no need to pani... - you didn't even finish the sentence. Most of your employees were already running for their own lives, screaming mercilessly, leaving everyone else and your shop behind. So much for teamwork.

You groaned and shot your middle finger at them.

- HOPE YOU KNOW, Y'ALL ARE FUCKING FIRED! - you yelled, needing to release your frustration. Hearing that, the others who were contemplating escaping, shrunk into yourself. Good. At least you'll have someone to sacrifice.

Many things were happening at the same time. You've seen buildings collapsing, demons panicking and fighting for their lives, even some of them kissing passionately on the verge of death. Geez. Dramatic much.

Deep down you were as terrified as them, though. If it wasn't for your money and kinky goods, you wouldn't give a damn and run away too. Unfortunately you needed to stay.

Just as you were focusing your eyes on the angel who was slowly approaching you, a commotion inside of you shop could be heard. Or maybe... Above it. You raised your head and couldn't believe your eyes.

There were thousands of downright identical exorcists descending from the sky, perfectly above your shop. You nearly had a heart attack (though you didn't actually have one) and shot a panicked glance to your co-workers through the window. Did they really have to send the second wave here?! Maybe you didn't think it over afterall.

Not even thinking about it, you moutched: "Run!". Your people gladly did so, screaming and shierking, causing even more commotion and the blood-thirsty angels to pay attention to them. You fought the urge to facepalm.

Great. Now it was happening.

The exterminators mercilessly murdered your employees one by one, while you were watching. Their sick and twisted faces (or maybe they were masks? you didn't really know) seemed even more happy than before. If you haven't seen that they descended from the sky with your own eyes, you would've thought they were demons.

You would be traumatised if not the fact that you've seen worse things. It's hell, duh. But nevertheless it wasn't a nice thing to witness and you definitely must act.

That's why you began to get your ass out of here. You ran like your afterlife depended on it (because it did).

While you were doing so, you heard something collapsing. Looking back, you saw your shop completely destroyed, with one of your employees in their huge ass demon form.

It was touching to see they were trying to defend the shop. But it was now completely destroyed, so...

- Goddamnit! I'm taking this outta your pay! - you said irritated.

You wanted to swear more, but suddenly a familiar voice could be heard.

- Boss! Here! - your best employee yelled, seemingly inviting you to their hiding spot. You let out a quiet cry of joy. Finally someone who is useful in this shithole. You started walking over there, but then in a blink of an eye...

From your cheerful employee's smile began spilling black blood.

You couldn't believe your eyes. There wasn't an angel here just a minute ago. And now she was standing before your dead co-worker, stained by their blood.

- They were a hellborn, you bitch! - you cried out, letting your frustration spill.

The exorcist looked at her clothing, just now noticing the mistake.

Something just snapped inside of you then. She wasn't even paying attention to people she killed. It wasn't an angel, it was a monster! With furious scream and swing of your weapon you ran towards the enemy.

But just as you hit her with it, the weapon broke against her head. You began to retreat with fear, but you were interrupted by the exorcist:

- There is no point in trying, sinner. You can't harm me - you could almost hear the feeling of superiority in her voice.

Something about the way she said it rubbed you the wrong way. You were now overflowing with the desire to fight.

- Oh yeah?! I won't believe you, until I... - you grabbed a spear, that was left in a dead body behind you - ...tRY!

You swung the weapon and to your surprise, this time, the exorcist dodged, almost getting hit.

Oh, so that's how things are...

Now it was your turn to smile triumphally.

- Hm? What was it 'bout being invincible? - you laughed and put a hand on your hip, swinging the spear on your shoulder.

The exterminator seemed furious, smile disappearing from her mask.

- You little BITCH! - she yelled, now preparing to attack you too.

But to her dismay you dodged skillfully and began a new set of attacks. You were fighting for a while, there was no end to this heated moment in sight. She even managed to injure you slightly, but fortunely you dodged just in time. Eventually, though, you managed to knock her over. The training you went on in your previous life was finally paying off.

You climbed on top of her, holding her wrists up and swinged the spear again, preparing to kill her, but... You aimed past her head.

- Oh, yeah! How could I forget. Let's see what disgusting face lies behind your little mask! - you said, wanting to enjoy the victory.

The exorcist looked even more furious than before, trying to move her head away from you. But she failed and you took it off slowly.

Oh.

Oh.

Her golden irises illuminated in the low light and short, white hair was messy from fighting beforehand. She looked furious, her eyes were narrow and on her pale skin there was a droplet of your own, red blood, that was spilling out of your injured hand. Some of the blood even managed to get into her (very kissable) lips. She spat it out at your face in anger.

You didn't even notice her saliva mixed with your own blood, which was flowing down your face, and just stared at her wide-eyed (possibly blushing).

- Happy? - her voice brought you to reality. It seemed even more attractive now that you have seen her face.

In a moment of inattention, you forgot that you weren't holding her wrists now.

Smirking, the woman took advantage of it and punched you in the face. Hard.

- OW! FOR FUCK'S SAKE! - you screamed and staggered, creating exorcist the opportunity to break free. And that's exactly what happened.

She kicked you down and then, as you were laying on the ground, then rose in the air, preparing to escape.

You, completely beaten up, just raised your head at her and yelled:

- Wait! What's your name?!

The angel just stopped in the air and looked back at you, with her pale face.

- Why the hell should I tell you? You disgust me - she deadpanned.

You thought for a moment.

- I-I, um, I know Lucifer! - You bluffed, desperate - I'll tell him you killed a Hellborn! Yeah! You fucked up! - That was a lie made up on spot, completely unbelievable. You even admitted it to yourself, prepared to fail.

The exorcist turned around and just as you thought she'll fly away, she spoke:

- It's Lute. My name is Lute.

What a nice name...

Wait! No! Disgusting! Very disgusting! What a horrible name!

- My name's [name]. Better remember it, you shithead! - you got up, staggering - From now on, you're my worst enemy! - you didn't even realize how silly that sounded then.

- Sure. Whatever you say, sinner. - She snorted, looking at you from above. The slight light reflecting off her halo added even more charm to her face. You couldn't help, but notice her long, beautiful eyelashes.

She was a horrible person. Really, she was. This "Lute", as she was claiming to be called, probably killed thousands of souls, before she killed your employee.

But you just couldn't help to wonder...

Why hadn't you killed her?

Notes: I'm sorry about any mistakes I've made or if my writing's kinda off, English is not my native language, so spare me please 🙏 The lack of Lute fics on here is a crime, I just HAD to write smth, even if it's not perfect. Also it will be multiple chapters and yes, there will be smut 😳. stay tuned, darlings ! 🫶

[starsfic]

Aimed the Killshot at Himself

Summary: Inspired by a prompt by @aconstantstateofbladerunner - what could have been, if not for you - After Inko divorces him, Hisashi’s goes to the press to say All Might stole his wife and son.

Notes: So, uh, started poking around My Hero Academia. I haven't really heard good things about the canon stuff, especially its treatment of the female characters and issues with Tell not Show, but I have found a lot of fanworks I enjoyed!

He got the news after class.

"Hey, uh, Dekiru?" Ashido said, peering at her phone. They had all stopped calling him Deku after Bakugo's third assault on him got his parents called and his former fri- bully expelled and his actions in Aldera revealed to the class, mostly through Auntie Mitsuki's yelling. For a while, it had been awkward in class, especially around the Bakusquad, but things had gone back to normal with a new nickname for him. "Do you know a guy by the name of Midoriya Hisashi?"

Izuku looked up from his homework, where he was helping Shouto and Ochaco pick out a pre-Quirk hero to do their project for history class on. Tenya had already picked Joan of Arc. He hadn't heard the name in a while. Not since his mom and All Might started dating and she had to sit him down to explain the truth about her and his dad's relationship.

"Uh, yeah. He's my bio dad," he admitted, practically feeling Shouto's eyes go wide. He had been so certain about his bio-son theory, especially when his parents decided to tie the knot. "He moved to the United States when he and my mom divorced." Because he had been Quirkless.

It had been a tough pill to swallow, even though he hadn't seen the man since he was four.

"Well, uh...he's claiming that All Might stole your mom from him."

He blinked. He blinked again. The words stalled in his brain for a few seconds. Not even just the fact that he was in Japan again.

"What?!"

Ashido turned on the TV, flipping it until they reached a news channel. "-foreign market manager, Midoriya Hisashi, claims that the former Symbol of Peace, All Might, used his influence in order to send him on a twelve-year post in New York City in order to seduce his wife Midoriya Inko, now Hayashi-Yagi Inko-"

A slam on the table made him flinch, turning his head. "I refuse to believe that!" Ochaco bellowed, looking ready to bolt out and find Hisashi to fist-fight him. "Zuzu-san's mom would never do that!"

Shouto followed her, little flames puffing out as he hissed, his usual blank expression taken over by anger. "Inko-sama is the kindest, pure-hearted woman I have ever met," he said. "Her first concern is for Midoi." Tenya nodded furiously, his own face turning red, clearly too upset to even bother about a lecture about how heroes like All Might would never sink to that level.

"Aww," Izuku couldn't help the coo even as he pulled out his phone and typed in her number. "I'll tell her that you guys said that." He had to check on her. He knew she was probably fine, but she had received such nasty words when she and All Might came out.

"A lot of people agree with you guys too," Ashido said, scrolling on her phone. Next to her, Tsu and Jiro had pulled out their phones and were smiling at whatever they saw. "People are speaking up against the accusation, mostly for All Might-"

"But a lot of people love your mom, kero," Tsu said, her shoulders shaking. "There's even a tag trending called #DefendMsMight, kero,"

His phone picked up. "Izuku?" his mom said. Instead of tears like he almost expected, it sounded like she was laughing. "Izuku, did you see the news?"

"I did," he said, his heart slowing down. She wasn't hurt, she wasn't even upset. If his bio dad expected this to break her, he was wrong. "Tsu was telling me that a lot of people were defending you online."

"We love you, Inko-sama!" Shouto called.

That received a sniffle. "I love you guys too!" she called, probably crying at the affectionate title. Her voice suddenly sharpened in strange, bloodthirsty, glee. "But Hisashi's getting dragged everywhere and I love it."

"...like, now? Or before the lawyers get him?"

"Yes."

[jinxsleftmiddlefinger]

timebomb highschool au

(part 6)

(pt1) (pt2) (pt3) (pt4) (pt5) (read on ao3)

description: timebomb highschool au pretty much sums it up lol. there’s also canon storylines (vander death, vi conflict etc.) but translated into a modern context

note: this one is short (as always) and more…filler ig? was going to have it be the one where vi comes to jinxs house but that’s actually gonna be the next one lollll. anyway I’m so sorry dear readers I popped out of the womb with underwriter syndrome so all my chapters are disgustingly short 💔

A fight was not on Ekko’s checklist for his first week at this school. It was definitely not something he wanted to happen, it just did.

When he saw Jinx pinned up against that locker, he acted without really thinking about it. What kind of douchebag would do that? His first instinct was to get him off her, whatever it took.

Next thing he knew, he was in the office, sitting beside Jinx and her attacker, who even with a clearly injured face, looked annoyingly smug.

It made him want to bash his face in with his fist all over again.

“So,” Principal Silco sat in front of them, looking bored. “Which one of you wants to inform me of exactly what occurred?”

Jinx looked up. “I would just like to say, I really shouldn’t be here. I wasn’t the one fighting, I was a victim.”

The guy beside her scoffed. “You vandalized my locker!”

Silco turned to him. “Ezra, please, do stop talking.” The principal sighed.

“This is simply unacceptable. Attacking her in the hallway? Pinning her against the wall?” Principal Silco leaned closed to Ezra. “I’m afraid you do need to be punished.”

Jinx’s lips curled up into a smirk.

“Ezra, you will be suspended for 5 days. If there is any more complaints, you will be expelled.”

“Wha-no!” Ezra stood up, throwing his arms out. “You can’t do that!”

Silco shrugged. “Sure I can.”

Ezra threw out his arms, his mouth trying to form words of refusal all the way out the door. Silco smiled once he had left.

“Now, you, Ekko.” 

Shit. This was not going to end well for him.

“Taking in to consideration Ezra’s actions leading up to your fight, and the circumstances, I don’t believe your punishment should be too harsh for simply defending your peers. You can leave.”

“That’s…that’s it?” Ekko’s eyebrows furrowed. Was he really getting off this easy?

The principal simply nodded, and Ekko didn’t wait a second longer. He took his bag and left the room, sparing a glance back at Jinx, who got up and put her arm around the principal’s shoulder.

Ekko became even more confused. Sure, he knew Jinx was a little unhinged, but crazy enough to be hugging Principal Silco?

It was none of his business, no matter how odd or confusing. So he left the office, trying to clear his mind of the strange events of today.

A head injury was also not on Ekko’s checklist for his first week at Zaun High, but as fate would have it, his head smashed directly into someone else’s just as he was leaving the office.

“Ow, fuck,” He muttered, stumbling back and putting his hand on his head.

“Sorry.” The boy said, although he didn’t sound very sorry.

It was Zach, the one who had threatened him before and who was Jinx’s maybe ex boyfriend.

Zach looked him up and down. “Is Jinx in there? I heard what happened.”

Ekko looked back over his shoulder. “I think she’s still talking to the principal.” He replied dryly.

He did not like Zach.

Zach studied him again. “Were the one who fought him off?”

Ekko nodded, still attempting to get past him.

Zach snorted. “Should’ve been me there. I thought I told you to stay away from her.”

Ekko had to stop his jaw from falling to the floor. He was mad at him for helping Jinx?

“What?” He couldn’t form any other words. “I was just supposed to leave her so you could be the one to save her?”

Zach rolled his eyes. “I’m just trying to help you, dude. You don’t want to make enemies here, do you?”

Jinx’s maybe ex boyfriend was infuriating.

“Hiya!” Jinx suddenly appeared behind them, looking between the two boys. “What’s going on, boy saviour?” She turned towards Ekko, not even bothering to acknowledge Zach.

“Jinx,” Zach stepped closer to her. “Are you ok?”

Jinx’s eyes closed for a brief moment, pressed so tight it was obvious it was an action of annoyance. “I’m all good. Not even scratch. Probably not a concussion.” She replied tightly.

Ekko was feeling more and more awkward by the second. How did he always manage to get stuck in these situations?

“Is he your boyfriend?” Zach blurted out, wide eyed.

“What?” Jinx and Ekko said in unison.

“Is. He, Your. Boyfriend.” He drawled out his words, looking at Jinx with narrowed eyes.

She blinked at him. “Frankly, Zach, I don’t see how that’s any of your business.” 

“But is he?”

Ekko’s eyes flipped between the two at lightning speed. He had no clue what to say.

Jinx huffed and pushed past her maybe ex boyfriend, disappearing into the hallways. “We should all be getting to class, shouldn’t we?” She called at the two boys behind her before disappearing behind the corner.

Ekko dashed away from Zach before he could make good on any of his thinly veiled physical threats.

[shakespearean-dream]

last of the big five yall!!!!

happy late fourth of july! remember to keep boycotting, speak out and listen to palestinians, the people of congo, native americans, queer/trans people and women currently being oppressed this independence day because america fucking sucks!!! 🇺🇸🇺🇸🦅🦅🦅🔥🔥🔥

here are a couple good places to donate! please remember to do your own research and take care of each other, it’s getting scary out here.

ohhhh nimdok, where to start with you….

i have been dreading doing him because he pisses me off so bad but i actually had some decent fun with him :D. designing him and branching out farther away from his canon self was nice, but im not touching his backstory or personality really, that stays about the same for me in my head.

speaking of whichhh! like benny, i understand how the game makers had a short amount of time to fit an entire character arc of an old man undoing his deeply internalized racism/xenophobia/ableism in a singular short scenario, but unlike benny i actually somehow like his better?? nimdok had a lot more to get over (well not saying being a dickhead murderer isn’t a lot but 😭) and i enjoyed seeing him actually help out the people he would’ve previously turned in. it still feels a little hollow/unrealistic because again, he’s been like this his whole life, but considering how much AM takes him away from the group to (most likely) psychologically torture him for his actions he’s probably had a bit of a revelation.

doing his scenario was unfortunately funny at times because of the strange way we had to go about redeeming him with the golem guy😭giving him a smooch caught me off guard but ykw? i’ll take it for being able to kill mengele like immediately afterward. also speaking of whichhhh…

i would go into more detail about nimdok and mengeles relationship to give it some depth because god i love me some queers, but that is??? a real fucking guy???? a real life monster???? im less than comfortable picturing the fucker in my mind, much less giving him depth with a character who i also don’t like. like why ship ur essentially OC with a REAL LIFE N/AZI??? just another one of the reasons harlan elision creeps me out. (if that just pissed you off google search him s/a-ing 2 people, marrying a 19 year old when he was in his 40s and defending a child r/apist i really don’t feel like arguing with you. the guy was a horrible fucking person and he makes me sick, i just like this franchise.)

i cannot cough up anymore thoughts about this fella pls forgive me; these past couple days have been rough on my 3 brain cells. AM will for sure be next and after that fully rendered/decked out full bodies are in order!! so look out for that:]]]] i may also start posting some art fight things since i was just complaining about the lag a post or so ago☺️ jk ily artfight. team seafoam lets goo

ok i love u guys!!! if u have any requests for me drop a comment or an ask, and thank you so much for the continued support on my art❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ lots of links on this post but one more quick reminder to take a look at my commission page if you’d like!!! yolanda is still in the shop because they cannot figure out what’s wrong with her :(

have a good night friends 🫶