#He's such a princess how can he possibly be grubby

[eggsyneedssleep]

It's kind of weird to think about Egon actually making all the proton packs and other gadgets, because to do so he has to be pretty handy with power tools etc. and I find it funny to imagine him, this very well groomed man who wears a pristine suit 24/7, being in a greasy dusty workshop type environment and actually doing manual labour. Like I can imagine the manual labour part but I imagine him doing it in his nice suit which is amusing

[princessmadafu]

Eagerly awaiting Spare 2: The Chamber Pot of Secrets

Now that the media furore has died down a bit and we've all had time to think, what can we say about the Spare?

Well, first of all, I'd say Harry has been set up.

Again.

And he's too dim to see it, because he's being told (by someone in particular and probably a few other hangers-on as well) that "his truth" is important. And he believes it. Harry's "truth" has been filtered by money-grubbing bottom-feeders, and now H prefers to believe that "their truth" is "his truth"; that they love him more than anyone else; and they know what's best for him.

So:

(1) Harry can't distinguish his truth from reality. We've known this for a while, but so many new *facts* coming out... it's really taking the pee-pee. "Harry's Truth" isn't the same as facts. A fact is a piece of information that can be proven to be true; it stands up to rigorous scrutiny, especially by rigorous professional fact-checkers, who quickly noted that bit about the XBox, of which I freely admit I know nothing, but even I managed to check it out on the internet in about ten seconds. Did nobody fact-check Spare? Oooh, apparently not. Why not? And King Henry VI... And the Queen Mum's death... and the rest of it. Which leads us on to:

(2) Harry took (and is possibly still taking) Class A drugs and assorted forms of happy-juice, even to the point of stoking himself up on the wife's gas as she prepared for labour, which is despicable. He's such a feminist he took her meds for her!!! A**hole. I gave birth three times (homebirths, without meds; Princess Madafu wasn't around at the time so I did the painful "manly" work of squeezing babies out of my bum all by myself...) and I just want to deck Harold for interfering with his wife's meds. But drug use messes up your brain, Harry. So do grubby compliant therapists, by the way, who are rubbing their hands in glee at all the $$$ you hand over - they're on to a good deal and it's not in their financial interests to sort you out by Month 6 of Therapy when they can trick you into Year 6 of Therapy... or Year 16... or Year 26...

(3) He's envious of William and Catherine. This shines through. His older brother married the love of his life, a woman who has devoted herself to her man and the RF and between them they've produced three gorgeous well-grounded little ones and a firm base on which to take the RF forward. The Prince and Princess of Wales have learned from the mistakes of the unfortunate previous generation of royals, whereas Harry is now an "Oh dear" in the footnotes of the monarchy. And this leads us on to:  

(4) Harry has no respect for Charles and Camilla. The Queen Consort is and always has been Charles's lighthouse and security from the storms of public life. Charles should never have been pushed into marrying the naive teenager Diana, but that's how it was back then - that's how history works! Charles was expected to marry a blushing virgin bride he hardly knew. Harry, aren't you glad you were allowed to marry a several-times-up-the-maypole divorcee? You learn from history, right, so that you don't repeat the same mistakes. Of course that involves being aware of history, which Harold isn't; he's only aware of how time healed his frostbitten todger and saved it for someone who could use it to her advantage. Over-sharing, Harry! Please shut up! Nobody wants to know! And then there's:

(5) Harry has no respect for the British Public. Or the Commonwealth. Or the army. Even enemy soldiers have families; mothers, fathers, wives, children - they are not chess pieces to be removed. Personal remembrance: my Gt-grandma's brother was KIA in 1916; my Gt-grandad served in the same war but never spoke about it; my Grandad served in WW2, never spoke about it - he showed me his medals, once. Once. Once only. The only things I remember him saying about the war were the "safe" bits - that he spent some of it in Canada training Canadian troops and got to see Niagara Falls, and mailed all his chocolate rations back to his wife and infant son. My late brother in law served in the Coldstream Guards, never spoke a word about how many men he'd had to shoot; he took all that to his early and leg-amputated death. What happens in the army stays in the army, Harold; it's not for personal validation.

(6) He hates the British Media. Supposedly because his mother was killed by paps (in France; not British paps) when the world knows she died because she wasn't wearing a seat-belt in a car that crashed at speed driven by a DUI driver. Oh and he also hates the British Media because Meghan is Diana.2 and... wait, what? No she isn't. She wants him to believe she's Diana.2. If it's not drugs doing his head in it's Megadiana. How many paps have tried to run Catherine off the road in a tunnel in Paris? How many paps have tried to take topless pictures of her - ooh, there was one, but it wasn't in Britain, I'm pretty sure it was in France and the magazine was sued for it, so not in Britain then. Not British Media. Not British paps. And let's not forget that Diana was more than capable of manipulating the pap shoots she wanted... remind you of anybody?

(7) He still has mummy issues, decades later. This is just not normal for a grown man. I'm sure Harry loathes being compared to his brother but what the heck, I'm going for it! Two young boys, both suffering from the untimely loss of their mother. Yet William doesn't have mummy issues, or at least if he does he doesn't hang them out to dry for a voracious public airing. It's no good saying that Harry is more sensitive, he's not - he just hasn't grown up, and those around him are keeping him trapped in the net of mummy issues instead of allowing him to mature into the adult he should be; he's not the man he thinks he has become. And I still keep coming back to why, so let's move on to:

(8) His therapy isn't working and he needs a proper psych evaluation. The people he thinks are helping him just aren't. They are milking him for the cash cow that he has become. The RF and whatever PR they use appear to have done everything to protect Young Harry from this, right down to convincing us that he was a high-spirited Jack-the-Lad, fond of a little tipple but devoted to his country and the army veterans he served alongside. Take away the RF and the carefully scrutinising PR machine, and he is ripe for the plucking. And boy, is he being plucked. Every last feather.

Now this next one is a bother:

(9) He can't see his own hypocrisy, has zero empathy for anyone, and cannot see how "his truth" - his own words - can damage others. Others including his own mother, his father and step-mother, his wider family, his army colleagues, the wider British public who are all a bunch of racists, apparently. Harry has a lot of short-comings. No doubt there'll be "Spare 2: The Chamber of Secrets" and he'll blame his short-comings on his frozen todger, but the lack of self-awareness is pathetic. He cannot see his own failings, refuses to take responsibility for his own actions, and blames everyone else. So what can we say? Is he really so stupid? Or is he in some sort of "Cult-Of-Himself" delusion, promulgated by his Feather Pluckers?

(10) The awful wife wears Harry's man-bits and is conspicuous by her absence, as she journals and squirrels away evidence for her divorce lawyers. Yep, I think we're all agreed on that one!

My personal opinions only, as they say in reputable circles.

Love and peace.

[alltheotherblogs]

So, Regular Show.

Apparently it's getting some kind of pseudo-reboot. A new series tacked onto the ending of the last with some returns from previously featured characters. This is not necessarily bad news! But, the reasons for fans being skeptical are obvious.

One of the most important examples of a good idea gone sour is... Adventure Time. It doesn't take a genius writer to see that they blatantly disrespected the themes they started with. I had a chance to analyze, and criticize the series from a new and fresh perspective. And so as I jumped into it for the last time, I quickly used an analytical eye to spot the things I had missed as a child. One of these things was Princess Bubblegum. Coming from an abusive background, I can spot abusive behaviors the moment I see them. And P.B. is textbook. The various ways she manipulates the Candy people, the main cast, and Finn himself... It's scary familiar to a lot of the controlling tactics used by abusive parents. I don't have any specific examples and if I'm gonna be honest I don't desire to find any. But one thing that always comes to mind is how she attempts to manipulate the Flame people using these same tactics, and it fails... This is where an inconsistency pops up in the writing, Flame Princess and Marceline have similar father figures with similar motivations for how they operate and their family dynamic. The main difference I want to call attention to here is that Flame Princess didn't just overcome it but decided to rise to the occasion and take over the Kingdom. Marceline distanced herself from her origins as much as possible... I think you can see where I am going here. Where Marceline comes to accept her father, it only happens after he changes. I don't really think Flame Princess ever accepted her father. And so when Flame Princess sees P.B. blatantly stealing, and attempting to trick her and her subjects, she gets pretty reasonably angry. A manipulative woman pulls up into your abode under false pretenses and tricks you and everyone else so that she can get her sticky grubby fingers onto some SERIOUS ancient tech. Acting like someone as tyrannical as P.B. is anymore trust worthy with it than anyone else is delusional.

From here it's not very hard to draw a comparison to real world behavior. For once you have a character that is reacting reasonably to something instead of being absurd. And then you have the last episode where Marceline just magically, for no reason and with very little buildup, just falls into P.B's arms like some sick individual with a different KIND of authority issue. Marceline has an issue with authority not an issue without it. Even in the very first episode, this is how P.B. is setup. An authoritarian with a very skewed moral compass. The fact that she is completely different by the end of the series yet lacks any real character development and still commits the same sins she did at the beginning, it isn't some clever subversion or smart multilayered writing... It's just bad writing. That is why I get so mad whenever people say "oh you are just bigoted that's why you don't like it." If you are one of those people who unironically thought THAT was the reason the ending didn't go over well, you are more stupid than your teachers and parents thought. It wasn't hard to notice that they just inserted a relationship between two incompatible characters right at the moment the rest of the shows writing began to suffer.

Haven't finished J.G. Quintel's other show, "Close Enough" but I'm working on it. And it has good parts, which makes me confident this new show will have a good energy and a positive impact on the series as a whole. Since it'll serve as a sequel rather than a reboot, we have a lot to look forward too in terms of new characters and unique dynamics.

Regardless, the history of this kind of thing cannot be ignored. In recent cinema everything is getting a crappy reboot. It's gonna take a few times before they learn, what made the old thing work was not that it was the old thing, but how it was the old thing. You get what I mean?

People don't like same shit different wrapping. They like same wrapping different shit. They want to see skillful talented writing. They don't want cringey politically motivated garbage and marvel-quality one-liners. They want actual comedy, they want in-world belief systems to help the characters play off each other. They want creativity and a well built world. Not Helluva Boss, not Hazbin Hotel, neither of those cringey politically driven shows with TERRIBLE writing. People want the first five seasons of Adventure Time! They want Golden Era KOTH! they want good comedy delivered without pretentious snark... While it isn't HARD to do this, with studios breathing down peoples necks, and the people who give orders being corrupt scumbags with what I like to call "Wrong Beliefs" it is super difficult to actually make something good. But, Smiling Friends did it, Adult Swim continues to produce quality, Newgrounds continues to let loose incredible people, and talent always rises to the top regardless of what corruption is going on in the western media. It takes some time for these mega corporations to fall, but sure enough, hollywood is failing as everyone predicted. The games industry is failing, as everyone predicted. What happens when Hollywood and the Games industry fail? Indie creators come up to bat. Not all of them are going to hit it out of the park, but strike while the irons hot, and you just might see sparks.

What I'm trying to say is, just don't fuck it up J.G.

[insomniac-dot-ink]

Part 2: The Thing in the Woods and All the People in the World to Meet

The world was quiet.

Cal couldn’t comfortably stand without hitting the damp net above her head, so she was on her knees and turning in a circle. The sun had broken through the wispy cloud cover and reflected off silvery spiderwebs and cast dappled pools of golden light in the water. Ripples appeared in the distance from some unseen fish and frogs cried.

The swamp seemed much the same as it had been for hours now, but Cal paused. None of the birds were calling. She spotted the flicker of something. She covered her eyes with one hand and squinted. There was something shining between the trees and reflecting off the waters in as a dancing orange-y light.

“Aha!” She called happily. “A lantern! There are people here.” They must have a boat, she thought, or something to eat. Cal was considering trading them any number of her last pillows or sheets for a loaf of bread.

“Princess!” Splendid called in the lowest voice he could. “Lower your voice. There’s someone here . . .”

Cal’s eyes adjusted to the gloom, slowly scanning the foreground. Someone was standing in front of them. They were knee-deep in the grimy waters and ragged clothes hung off them in the same color as the greens and browns of the swamp. They were smiling.

A gaunt figure stood before them, lean and knobby and perhaps a head taller than the Princess Calendar herself. A wide-brimmed hat cast their face in shadows. Their hair was unevenly cut to their chin in tufts of grayish-brown. A sickly greenish-hue of their pale skin contrasted eerily with the white of their teeth. The softness of their chin and the fall of their grimy chemise made Cal think the figure might be a woman.

A bag crossed their chest and the only fine thing they seemed to be wearing was a pair of tall, shiny leather black boots that came up to their knees. The boots gave Cal pause.

The figure was grinning as wide as cats with cream, but who was Cal to assume they meant her ill? She didn’t know the people here and she wouldn’t want someone assuming she was a villain based off of her very ugly hat.

“Good afternoon!” Cal called and gave the most mannered wave she could. She used a high form of address meant for those in your age group. “I am traveling peaceably through these swamps. My name is Cal. What’s yours?”

"Cal?" The person’s voice was slick and a hum rumbled from their chest. A purr filled their vowels as she spoke and made Cal's skin crawl, “Funny name. I am Nova of the Harsh Dawn.” She had a proper name at the very least and Calendar made herself exhale. The stranger didn’t have to know she was princess of course. “I’ve seen you sleeping.”

Cal’s shoulders bunched up. “Is that so?” Her voice shook as she asked. She decided quickly she didn’t like that or how Nova’s eyes narrowed. A second chilling thought crossed her mind: what if this was her soulmate? The stranger took an easy, loose-limbed step toward the bed.

Cal held her gaze and they exchanged a long, uneasy look that could only be described as “spine tingling.” She reminded herself to be polite even if the stranger seemed to have feathers sticking out from under her hat. 

Would her soulmate possibly be so grubby?

“Have you seen any handsome strangers kissing me?” she blurted out, chasing her own fears. The stranger, Nova, stopped and Cal drew a rapid breath. “Not that they have to be handsome. I would be happy if they were kind or thoughtful or very good at carrying conversations or making my mother laugh . . .”

Perhaps, Cal should consider learning to carry a conversation first. Nova licked her lips in a deliberate manner.

“Do you want to be kissed, princess?”

"Oh!" Cal’s mouth hung open. “You can tell I’m a princess?”

The young woman blinked. Her tone changed, “Are you quite dense?”

“That’s an un-unkind thing to say,” Calendar repeated the phrase her governess taught her, drawing herself as much as she could under the canvas. “We don’t know each other that well.”

“Would you like to get to know each other?” The lip-licking was back.

“I’m not so sure I would.” She leaned back. The canvas kept out bugs and weather, but would the flimsy white material keep out other things? Perhaps it would only allow her true love. Splendid whispered as best a bed could. “That lantern is drawing closer, princess. I will make a break for it on my count.”

“No, not yet. She’s just a swamp . . . person.”

Nova let out a long, chilly laugh. “Yes! A swamp person.”

Nova stocked around the bed and Cal noticed there were green veins pulsing through her long elegant neck. Green like vines and sickness.

“And I can be quite good company.” Nova put out her hand in those slow, languid movements. “If you would join me.”

“No, um, thanks.” “I insist,” she purred. “I would love to show you the beauty of this place, princess.” Calendar struggled with her manners against the very unsettling expressions Nova made.

“Thank you, again, but I have somewhere else to be.” Calendar remembered with a bright voice. “I am looking for my true love.” Her tone reverted to something more loose, “Woke you up with a kiss, did they?” Cal set her jaw. “Yes. They did. And they are waiting for me.” “Lost your true love after you spoke to them. A common dilemma, perhaps practicing your wit may romance them back. I am a very good teacher, I may add.” Nova’s teeth gleaned between her pale mouth. Her canines were especially long and pointed.

“One,” Splendid began to count.

“I am not dense. I never even got to speak to my-my kisser. Kiss-ee.” Cal’s cheeks heated. Nova laughed something fierce at the word 'kisser.' Cal bared her teeth. She was bullied by some swamp creature. “And frankly, you have not proved yourself very charming at all, now, if you don’t mind.” Cal tossed her long hair over one shoulder and pointed in the distance. “We’ll be taking our leave.”

"Please, stay." Nova stepped into their path, creating a small wave of water as she moved with inhuman speed. “I'll be on my very best behavior, princess.”

“Two . . .”

“That’s!” Cal squeaked, “Swamp vampire.”

The entire mattress bucked and Cal grabbed onto the nearest posts and bunched herself up into a ball. The bed reared like a horse and they took off in a burst of speed and waves of water. A flash of fangs and an inhuman snarl filled the space in front of them and Splendid dove to the side and around the woman.

The bed’s jerky, unnatural movements helped them dodge Nova’s green-tinted claws.

“Help!” Calendar cried out toward the orange light. She covered her face with one arm. “Vampire!”

The bed jerked back and forth, weaving through the trees and splashing muddy water onto the edges of the mattress. The wind rushed in her ears and Cal glanced over her shoulder only to see a horridly large bird swooping in between the trees behind them. The talons were curved into deadly points and feathered-body the deep black of nightmares. A bard swamp . . . vampire.

Cal let out a rather embarrassing screech at that point.

“Get her in your sight!” a wizzened voice called. "Kill the Bird Eater."

A burning arrow whizzed over Cal’s head and cut off her endless scream. She twisted in place and a row boat was a few paces away with a barge tied to the back. A large lantern was attached to the front of the boat and illuminated the face of a wrinkled old woman and a young lady holding a bow and arrow. They both wore the heavy dark cloaks and their pale skin was tattooed with symbols and down their throats and hands. Ferrymen.

The young woman dipped her arrow into the open flame of the lantern and aimed.

She was still watching the fire when the sound of splintering wood filled the air and Cal crashed forward. She clawed blankets and netting away from her face.

“Hold still. I am going to wrench your pulse from your body."

Nova was in her human form and clung to the back bedpost. The leg of the bed was at an awkward angle and a new scream scraped Cal’s throat raw. Nova ripped the canvas open like clearing cobwebs and her fangs dripping with a viscous liquid. Cal scrambled as far back as she could and put her hands up.

“Be sun bled you unholy creature.” An arrow grazed the netting and the light seared something bright and frenzied. Nova hissed and turned away from the banishing fire.

Cal kicked out against the netting and the fire and monster. Her bare foot landed in a lucky shot to the creature’s sternum. Nova flailed for a moment and Splendid made a final wobbling gallop and sent her falling backward into the waters below.

One of Splendid’s poor wooden legs splintered in half and sent the bed capsizing. Calendar managed to wrap her sheets around her shoulders, and cling to the wooden headboard. Warm water lapped at her feet and she climbed higher.

Breathless, sweating and shaking from the sight of fangs the size of her pinky, Cal eyed the wide row boat.

"You're going to drown, girl!"

That was all the prompting Cal needed and she ungracefully flung herself off the headboard. Landing on the edge of the wood, the boat rocked back and forth and sent the old woman cursing. A hand shot out as Cal teetered toward the edge and grabbed the front of her gown.

There was a passenger that must have been hiding down below. She had fluffy reddish-orange hair that curled around her cheeks and a traveling dress of the finest purples and blues. A small cape was draped across her shoulders and secured by a thumb-sized pendant. Cal recognized the insignia. And the girl.

The passenger yanked her forward and Cal crashed to her knees in the middle of the boat. A sharp pang went through her scraped legs, but Cal jerked her chin up to look at the other princess.

She gasped, “Are you cursed too?”

------

How to Wake Up Alone for the Cursed and Troubled Hearts

Prologue

Fairy or not, not all godmothers are perfect. Some fairy godmothers bumble their way through their duties. Thistle was one of those fairies and Calendar was one of those princesses–a little bit off. The king and queen asked the fairy quite plainly before she cast the spell: “Why a swamp?”

Thistle carried a thorny branch instead of a wand and was absently stroking the leaves. A family of small mice were scurrying in and out of her shoulder satchel and Princess Calendar, named such for curse-related reasons, was also watching their progress. The little mice were making their way from one end of the palace drawing room to another. Their cheeks stuffed with seeds or berries or some other adorable foodstuff Calendar figured. They were probably being robbed, she noted.

Cal sat in the center of the grand room on a three-legged stool. She often thought three-legged stools had a magical and romantic quality and sitting on one might make her the type of princess worth saving. Her curse was not the usual type after all.

“Miss Thistle.” The queen was not a patient woman. “Why a swamp?”

“Pardon?” The fairy Thistle was adjusting her bag for the mice to dash up and down from. They were smaller than field mice with little furry bodies that you could ideally squish to your cheek–Cal’s main priority in her imagination right then. 

Her mom was red in the face but the energy seemed to leave her body all at once and her arms went slack at her sides. “Nevermind.” 

The fairy Thistle smiled brightly. “Why, the fresh air will be good for the girl.” She gestured at Cal’s perfectly pale and limp body, a testament to how far you can ring youth dry until you’re more of a dishrag than a girl. “Besides, how else will true love reach her? Holed up in this stuffy castle will limit the poor thing.”

“And a swamp will open up her options?” Cal’s father deadpanned. He hadn’t so much glanced at the mice, a man of studied stoicism. 

Her mother groaned and muttered under her breath, “second rate fairies. Oh yes, a bargain deal.”

“I don’t mind,” Cal said brightly. “I’ve never been so far outside of the lands . . . and I’m sure my true love will find me either way. That’s the way the spell works.” She shot the fairy a questioning look to confirm that was in fact how the spell worked. Thistle nodded back. Thank the stars.

Princess Calendar beamed. “I’m quite looking forward to it.”

The princess was to be put to sleep in the middle of the swamp on an enchanted bed that could neither sink nor be found by unkind hearts. The netting above was enchanted to keep out the rain and weather and bugs and the pillow was enchanted to keep her asleep lest the curse continue its ravages.

Being an unlucky princess was such a bother. You often wonder, ‘why wasn’t I born normal?' Or at least, born taller. She might have had some better stories by the time she was 22 then. Cal kept fretting over the details: What would she talk to her true love about? They would only have the swamp in common or the kiss. She wasn’t entirely sure how to talk about either–she wished she spent more time reading up on the trees or funny little green frogs that hopped around.

Though, if they were really her true love, they would know what to say. They would know what to do where Cal did not. It would be easy.

Over the two-week carriage ride, Cal's head filled with the dreaminess of it: love, true and all, and the prospect of never having to be alone and unsure and fretting night after night by herself. To be wanted before they even knew her or had to know her. She liked that thought more than any in the whole wide world.

The last sight before Cal floated away to an unseen world was the fairy Thistle leaning over her and giving a tense smile. “This won’t hurt.”

Then, she kissed on the forehead and the world disappeared for the better.

------

Part 1 to come!

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[rendellstreet]

A while back you made a post about Eugene and the royal court and I'm curious do you have more headcanons about that

Anon I know you asked specifically for Eugene, but the more I think about this, I am going to take a detour and go on a head-canon / world building tangent about Corona and Frederic

To back it up, the original post was inspired by my knowledge of the French court at Versailles, which is known for the Scandal, Gossip, and Intrigue. Louis XIV put up and center himself in this Rich French People Drama as a means to weaken the nobility and consolidate his power as an absolute monarch. 

Back to Corona, while I know some people aren’t keen on the idea, but I do like the idea of Frederic (and to a lesser extent Rapunzel) being a descendant of the Herz der Sonne, but not a direct descendant.

My head-canon is that der Sonne and Shampanier (who doesn’t have a name, but I like the name Zsófia so) were in love and got married, but neither one had real interest in... starting a family. They were pressed to have children but ultimately they were no kids, double income.

Fortunately, der Sonne did have brothers, five of them, and Frederic can trace his ancestry to the fourth one, because he ended up inheriting the throne*

*(Brother 1 died of illness, Brother 2 had a crisis of faith because of Brother 1 and become like, the Coronan version of a monk, Brother 3 and 5 died of illness 2: the electric boogaloo)

Now, as far as the royal court goes, Corona is this your typical court, with titled positions and whatnot. I do like the idea of Nigel and Captain being some kind of noblemen, Nigel’s family always were the stewards of Coronan kings, Captain coming from a family whose knight got titled and land or something,

But as a whole the Coronan courtiers are not particularly... friendly people, once you get past the smiles and etiquette, because this is a cutthroat business of getting the best position and putting yourself as close to the king and queen as possible. There WILL be blood and tears.

So where does Eugene fit in all of this?

Well, when Rapunzel went missing, there was a lot of anguish and distress Frederic and Arianna experienced, and the court did nothing to help but make it worse by jockeying positions as they always do, but thinking a distraught royal couple would be easier to manipulate, but then also like, “Why don’t you just have another kid”, which is kind of like. Dude. She’s been missing for like a week Holy shit-   

Cut to 18 years later, Rapunzel returns! Everyone’s excited! But there’s also [squinting] at this fresh-faced girl who doesn’t know a lick of anything about Corona and more importantly she’s single. Cue a LOT of courtiers maneuvering themselves to be in Rapunzel’s favor and promoting their choice of a perfect bachelor to her -

Except. Eugene is there. And he and Rapunzel love each other very much. 

So a big chunk of the contempt Eugene gets is everyone finding him being an unsuitable partner for Rapunzel and fuming about their plans being ruined 

There’s also the fact that a lot of them know him as Flynn Rider, so for a while it’s an endless “Hey I know you, you stole-!”

Then of course, Eugene is poor and a common man, HIGHLY inappropriate for high society Corona, the transgressions of class and status. If they don’t hate Eugene for being Flynn Rider, they hate the fact that this common street urchin is moseying around the palace in his grubby little clothes and has the Princess of Corona eating out of the palm of his hand.

Several courtiers have gone out of their way to get rid of Eugene. But Eugene is 1) smart 2) sexy 3) stolen long enough from rich people to know how to play their games 4) forcing him out just makes his love for Rapunzel grow stronger and 5) he’s spiteful he’s not going anywhere :)

[samwrights]

Newborn

Sequel to Two Little Lines pt.1! If you haven’t read it, that can be found here. Enjoy!

Kenma;

Kenma had never put much stock into preferring a gender for his child.

Sure, people would say things along the lines like “boys are much easier when they grow up” or “girls cry way less”.

Stupid things that were far from fact.

But when Kenma meets his daughter for the first time he wonders if he would have loved the baby as much if she were a boy

Ofc he would but he’s a teensy bit emotional right now.

After all the struggle the two of you faced with conception, it was a miracle for both of you to be holding your baby girl.

10/10 Kenma would name your baby Hope—the Japanese equivalent would be Nozumu. You don’t have to roll with it but.

Kenma isn’t exaggerating when he says that his daughter is perfect.

Hardly cries, typically sleeps through the night, etc.

Yes they exist, I promise.

Kenma is actually the one to get up, if he isn’t already, if his daughter cries in the middle of the night. After soothing her, Kenma rocks her in her bassinet with his foot while playing video games.

Unless Kenma has meetings or anything that demands his presence, he stays home that way you can catch a break and pick up the house or return back to work, whatever you decide, Kenma is here for it.

Because of this, Kenma gets to present for all of the firsts—

First time she sits up, first crawl, first clap.

Kenma’s second favorite was the first time his daughter ever booped his nose, because boop was also her first word.

But his all time favorite was the Tuesday in the middle of August when he sat his little one in her high chair for breakfast. Her grubby little hands intermittently squeezing at nothing, reaching for Kenma.

When he came closer, his daughter poked his nose before saying, “boop dada.”

Kenma cried.

Kuroo;

The only world that could have possibly encompassed the feeling Kuroo felt when he met his daughter for the first time was princess.

From the first time he held her, she was his little princess—his whole world, already, after only knowing her for .367 seconds.

Kuroo’s parenting persona—the one that he uses to talk to his daughter, or his baby voice—is permanently on at this point.

Except when he’s lowkey trying to make another one because he loves his daughter so much that he wants more.

Kuroo is so in love with parenthood that he doesn’t mind that she’s a bit of a crier.

Your guys’ daughter would wake up every few hours in the middle of the night. Typically the two of you would take turns but as sleepless nights went on and you learned she wasn’t hungry, you surrendered wake up duty to Kuroo

Because apparently your daughter just really wanted her dad. But if she was hungry, he’d wake you up because we all know Kuroo can’t breastfeed.

Eventually, Kuroo has to go back to work, much to his dismay. And since you’re still on maternity leave, it’s just you and the baby 🥰

Though Kuroo is adamant on FaceTime calls during his breaks just so that he can see the both of you.

He may not be present, but he’s gotten to see her first steps and even her first words.

She’s actually quite the proficient talker like father like daughter

“Come on, princess, say ‘dada’” Kuroo tried every single night that he got home to finally get her to say his name.

It was kinda breaking his spirit a little.

“Koma” was apparently for uncle Kenma, and “Bo” was for uncle Bokuto.

He would go at this all night every night until he finally, finally, heard her say it.

“Actually, babe, I think she said ‘dabo’”

“You know what, that’s close enough.”

Akaashi;

Your daughter, despite being a pudgy ball of flesh at the moment, already looks like the perfect amalgam of the two of you and Akaashi was in love with her.

Akaashi secretly wanted a boy.

But, potential future aside, you and Akaashi adjusts to your life with your little one.

It was difficult since both of you couldn’t seem to get her on a regular sleep schedule or it would be time to feed her and she wouldn’t latch on or eat a full meal

Apparently she was a little trickster too, or just a brat depending on how you looked at it, since she would always want the other parent. Meaning that if you were holding her, she wanted Akaashi and vice versa.

However, the two of you tackled this by just doing everything together until she grows out of the habit.

As the days go on, you and Akaashi continue to watch your beautiful baby girl grow.

She’s still learning to walk and talk, but at least she has mama down.

Akaashi is sitting with your little one in the living room, watching Doc McStuffins, trying time get her to finally say “dada” while you’re making dinner.

Her voice comes out in squishy warbles, but she finally is able to form the sylablles to utter out “dada”

Akaashi is over the moon with excitement—eyes wide and jaw shattering through the carpet of the living room with how open it is.

“HONEY SHE SAID IT!”

Holding a wooden spoon over in one of your hands, you peak into the living room.

“Come on, sweetie. Say, dada.”

“Mama.”

You believe him, but you can’t help but laugh at the mortified, crestfallen expression that’s now replaced his features before returning to the stove.

“Say dada, princess.”

“Dada.”

It clicked.

Your daughter was an asshole—

Haikyuu!! Tag List!

@hihiq @dreamyjaems

[obiwanobi]

You really made me write a 2.6k fic after I said I wouldn't write a fic, hum. Have some 'drunk, tired and jealous but will never admit it' Senator Kenobi who just wanted to spend one quiet night bitching about other politicians with Anakin:

Growing up in the Temple made Obi-wan way more aware of how to control negative emotions, but possessiveness has never been a huge problem in his life. He's not a Jedi, so he does have material possessions -admittedly, fewer than most people- but the rule about attachments still has a particular impact on him and even if he hasn't made a deliberate choice to keep respecting it, he understands the value of it and makes a point of keeping it in the back of his head.

Until now.

Senator Odage is laughing obnoxiously and putting his grabby hand on Anakin's arm. Senator Odage, with his wide smile and passionate speeches, seems to have been galvanized by the standing ovation following his latest intervention in the Senate Chamber and is now chatting with Anakin. Anakin who had enthusiastically clapped with the rest of the Senate a few hours earlier after Odage's remarkable intervention.

"You boiling with hate is not a sight I'm used to."

Glass raised to him in greetings, Bail lifts an eyebrow at Obi-wan's flat look. That's the first time Obi-wan sees him tonight, lost in the myriad of senators, committee members, ministers, dukes and duchesses, princes and princesses, representatives and official dignitaries, exchanging platitudes, plotting their next moves, faking smiles and drinking to forget at the Senate Holiday Party.

"I am not." "You’re giving shorter and shorter answers to diplomats you wanted to talk to for weeks and you’re holding your glass so tightly that I can almost hear it shattering as we talk.” "I might be a bit tired," Obi-wan admits as he forces himself to unclench his fist and looks at something else than Odage and Anakin. "Tired, yes. I would have said trying not to snap at people of your own party and mentally throwing daggers at Odage, but tired is good enough I guess."   "I don't know what you're talking about."   "You know, Senator Odage? Young, bold, promising career in front of him, antislavery committee member, currently flirting with your Jedi and making you sulk in a corner?"   "Oh. That Odage. No, I'm quite sure I'm just tired." "And why would you be tired?"   "Why would I-"

Something that has been growling inside of him for hours finally snaps and the floodgate opens.

"Please Bail, I just came back from my seven-week-long trip with tragically boring representative Bar, where, do I need to remind you, I finally put in motion the underfunded education program for children of the Outer-Rim, was supposed to come back to Coruscant in time to deliver a speech that would have proved that I achieved some kind of progress, which is unheard of for someone working in the Senate, but had to make a 'quick' detour by Naator's moon and got stuck with the Duke there who thought Stewjon was a show on the HoloNet because Chancellor Palpatine wanted someone from the 'remote' Mid-Rim to explain that even 'backwater dust-ball like your planet has benefits of allying themself with the Republic!' and then came back to Coruscant just in time to see young, bold, promising Senator Odage ending my own speech with, I'll admit, more punch and sincere sensibility that I could ever deliver! So maybe I'm just tired Bail, and want to spend my night quietly sulking in a corner."

And with Anakin who I haven't seen in two months, he didn't add.

Still in his corner, but this time with Anakin complaining about politicians to his face, moving Jar Jar's glass with the Force every time he puts it down, giggling at Padmé's attempts not to laugh. Yes, Obi-wan would have liked that.

He is maybe, just maybe, a bit more than tired.

Obi-wan risks a glance at the Jedi still listening to Odage. His hair is longer than when he left and getting in his face, preventing Obi-wan to see his reaction to the senator’s gesture for another drink. Anakin knows better than to indulge in public, he huffs internally, raising his own glass to his lips. He learns that the hard way the first time Obi-wan took him to a boring party and they both realised that he was, despite his stature and his ‘strong Outer-Rim boy who fears nothing’ declarations, a lightweight incapable of keeping down drinks with more alcohol than sugar.

"You need to drink," Bail says, reaching for the closest bottle. "This is my fifth one." "You need to stop drinking," Bail corrects, reaching for Obi-wan's brandy. "No, I don't. It's fine Bail," He sighs as Bail sends him a worried look. "I think it's just time for me to go home." "Without me?"  

And there he is. The only Jedi present at the Holiday Party without any clear reason why. The only one Obi-wan can bear to see after such a terrible day for his ego and moral dignity. Obi-wan is almost relieved to feel him close again after so long, but the warm feeling of reunion with the incandescent supernova that is Anakin in the Force is tainted by Senator Odage's presence at his side.

"Obi-wan."

Anakin's warm hand on his elbow distracts him from the senator, but he doesn't move close enough to make the gesture looks intimate. Even if the way Anakin keeps looking at him makes Obi-wan wants to chuckle with fondness at the obviousness of the whole thing. The Force is vibrating with bright delight around them. It's a good thing no other Jedi is in the room because if Anakin's blinding smile is not enough to translate all his emotions, he's certainly not shielding anything in the Force right now. The only thing stopping him from reaching out or saying more is that he knows how Obi-wan feels about displays of affection, particularly in public.

Before Obi-wan can say anything, Odage is gesturing his glass in front of his face, dragging his attention away from Anakin's eyes.

"Good evening Senator Organa. Senator Kenobi, a pleasure to see you back! I was just talking about you with Knight Skywalker and how your speech was truly something. I hope you didn't mind that I tweaked some parts to make it mine? Being part of the antislavery's committee brought me a new perspective on social activism, and on the... How did you say, Anakin?"

Anakin replies something at the same time that he lets his hand fall from his arm. Obi-wan can only stare in disbelieve at the man calling a Jedi he barely knows in such a familiar way. Is it really their first encounter? Did Anakin meet Odage in the past fest weeks when Obi-wan wasn't here? He certainly looks like someone he would have a lot to talk too, being approximately the same age and Odage having this magnetic pull that seems to enthral most of the Senate.

What else did he miss during his time away?

"...I'm sure you can submit a demand to the Jedi Order for this, Mariv," Anakin says.

Mariv? Mariv? Who the kriff is Mariv? Surely it isn't Senator Odage, who is now leaning towards Anakin with the smile of someone who's finally hearing what he was aiming at for the past hour.

"But wouldn't you be the best for this, Anakin?"

This is it. Obi-wan probably had too much to drink, especially combined with his exhaustion and sour mood, but he knows he will not let that slide. Anakin looks clueless and Obi-wan will not let him be roped in whatever grubby schemes avid politicians have in mind with a Jedi, however smart and better than him at his job they are. Especially if they're smarter and better than him.

"Anakin," Obi-wan cuts in, and just like he hoped it will, it immediately grabs Anakin's attention. Obi-wan doesn't call him by anything else than a respectful 'Knight Skywalker' when they’re not alone. He barely does it in front of Bail and Padmé. "I'm sure you can't take decisions without consulting the Order first, that would be presumptuous, wouldn't it?"

If Obi-wan's complete focus on him hadn't distracted him from Odage, the small step he takes closer to the Jedi, making them arms brush, would have done the trick. He never gets that close in public and judging by Bail’s raised eyebrow, he’s not the only one surprised by his own boldness.

"Oh," Odage says in a suave voice, his eyes following the way Anakin unconsciously shifts his whole body towards Obi-wan, "yes, you would know about this, Senator Kenobi. I keep forgetting your past as a Jedi apprentice. That must be a real advantage to have this connection to them. Not every Senator can have the chance to call for a specific knight when they want company on their trips or when they fancy it."

Obi-wan feels Anakin's reaction in the Force before any movement and almost as a reflex to prevent him from throwing a comment they will both regret, Obi-wan grabs his shoulder. It’s enough to stop him. Obi-wan feels him slowly relaxing under his fingers. His hand, a light touch at first, slowly goes down to the small of his back, applying just the right amount of pressure there to make the man under it quiet and contented in the Force once again.

Sometimes, Anakin being so receptive to touch is a blessing.

"You're perfectly right, Senator Odage," Obi-wan declares with the most polite smile he could afford after four glasses of brandy and rethinking his entire career in the past twenty minutes. "Nothing like good-old fashion favouritism to get out of assassination attempts and surviving Outer-Rim fascist government leaders who don't appreciate feeling like you're giving them a lesson. Thanks the Force for failing my Jedi training, I don’t know how I could be a competent politician without completely relying on the Jedi Order."

The poorly covered laugh coming from Bail, who has been suspiciously quiet until now, does nothing to stop Odage from opening his mouth again. Obi-wan is drunk, hasn’t slept in the past 48 hours and has a hand on Anakin: One more inappropriate remark from Odage and fist-fighting would feel less and less outside of the realm of possibility.

“Senator Kenobi, I never knew you were so funny.” “I haven’t been funny since my last run-in with a gundark,” Obi-wan deadpans, eyes locked on Odage as he downs his last glass of brandy. “I think Senator Kenobi is tired,” Bail proclaims before Odage has the chance to reply. “He was just telling me that he was going home, and I’m sure it’s also time for Knight Skywalker to head back to the Temple.” “Sure, we’re going the same way and I came with a speeder, I can take Obi-wan home.”   “Wait Anakin, I didn’t have the time to-“, Odage tries but Bail is already putting a firm arm on his shoulder.   “You two have a good night! So, Senator, did I already introduce you to Representative Bari? I’m sure you and her seven heads will get along marvellously.”  

“That was…” Anakin says once they’re gone, leaning completely against Obi-wan’s hand on his back. There is no reason for it to still be there, but Obi-wan can’t stop his slow insistent up and down movement against Anakin’s back. “For one moment I thought you were going to use the prissy tone you take when I’ve irritated you enough to make you lose patience, and just starts listing everything he did wrong since the day he was born.”

Obi-wan narrows his eyes at him, finally retracting his hand and turning away toward the main exit of the Senate’s reception room. He doesn’t need to look back to know that Anakin is right behind him.

“I don’t have a prissy tone.” “Hum hum.”   “I had…” Obi-wan’s shoulders sag and he slows down to match Anakin’s pace. “…A long week.”   “It’s Wednesday.”   “Ah. I’m afraid that if this is the way I start the week, my chances of ending up in jail are going to blow up at the end of it.”   “Don’t worry too much about it,” Anakin dismisses, getting his robe and Obi-wan’s coat from the cloakroom, “I would bail you out. If you ask nicely.”   “Would you?” He feigns a distract tone as he turns around to slip his arms in the coat Anakin is holding for him. “I was under the impression that you would be too busy mooning over Mariv to think about it.”  

There is a strange noise behind him and before he can react, two hands are on his shoulders and forcing him to turn around and confront Anakin’s wide eyes.

“Are you… Are you jealous? Is this why you were all…”

He makes a little hand gesture to his back and tilts his hand. Obi-wan really wants to tell him that he looks like an idiot with his silly gesticulations and shaggy hair everywhere, but unfortunately, a slight blush from the party is still visible high on his cheeks and the amusement in his eyes is tangible in the Force around him, and by extension, around Obi-wan. It’s infuriating.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Anakin,” He huffs, shifting around, but Anakin must see something on his face because he’s suddenly laughing and squeezing his shoulders.   “Obi-wan Kenobi, you are jealous! You're a jealous man! I have never seen you jealous before, I didn’t even think you knew how to, this is the greatest moment of my life!” “Anakin, you’ve been knighted. And freed from slavery.” “I stand by what I said!” He declares loudly. “Were you ready to defend my honour?” “Force, would you stop saying-“ “No, no, answer the question Obi-wan.” “Can we go-“ “Did you think I was into Odage? Were you seething with rage because he touched me? Did you think I would forget all about you after two months and, what, elope with the first politician to talk to me?” “You’re a terrible person, do you know that?” “Because you know I would only elope with you.”

There is no answer to that. Anakin is the picture of sincerity, grin still full of mirth, golden curls framing his flushed cheeks and the Force humming softly around him. It feels warm and kind, loving in such a playful way that it’s begging Obi-wan to join him, give in, love him.

And Obi-wan is a tired, old, drunk fool who wants.

He’s shoving Anakin behind one of the pillars of an adjacent corridor before he realises what he’s doing, fisting Anakin’s tunic in one hand and grabbing a handful of curly hair to keep him in place with the other. Anakin’s eyes suddenly darken, his lips moving to form the beginning of a shameless taunt, surely, but Obi-wan’s demanding mouth is on him to prevent it in an instant. He tastes like expansive cocktails at boring parties, but underneath it’s him, only him and no one else.

A leg is pushing Anakin against the pillar, pressing and pressing at every little noise escaping from him. Obi-wan wants to melt into him.

“Terrible, awful boy,” He grumbles as Anakin tries to laugh before getting kissed again, instantly pliant under him.   “Well,” Anakin finally breathes. His hair is an absolute mess, half in his face and half pulled by Obi-wan’s fist, letting him admire an immaculate throat. Where he found the strength not to bite there before, Obi-wan doesn’t know. “I think I need to send a ‘thank you’ card to Odage. Or maybe grant him his-”

A sharp pull on his hair and his words turn into a faint whine.

“Will you, Anakin? Will you really?”

Anakin’s eyes shut blissfully, like he’s finally where he wants to be.

“I guess I won’t have time for that.”

[itsevidentvery]

Tagged by the fabulous @pianodoesterror Thank you so much!

1) how many works do you have on ao3?

49. They’ve crept up on me!

2) what is your total ao3 word count?

340,321. It’ll take a while before I hit the half-million mark but I’m working on it!

3) how many fandoms have you written for, and what are they?

4: Silicon Valley, Good Omens (TV), The Terror and Hannibal (honestly Hannibal barely counts because I wrote one ficlet and got it out of my system).

4) what are your top 5 fics by Kudos.

Most of my top-kudosed fics are my Good Omens ones, and I don’t know if anyone follows me for those anymore. My top-kudosed in my current fandom (The Terror) are:

Two Houses, Alike in Indignity – aka my BritPol AU.

Da mi basia mille, deinde centum – kissing. Just… a lot of kissing.

A wounded deer leaps highest – an extended riff on the theme of Francis Crozier Submits to the Mortifying Ordeal of Being Known. And also Being the Little Spoon.

Worthier than he knows – Mirror sex! Francis Crozier wriggling furiously under the weight of admiration and thirst! My apologies to TS Eliot, also.

An embarrassment of Jameses – Identity kink, James Fitzjames’s teetering pile of insecurities, and Francis Crozier’s altogether too many Jameses.

5) do you respond to comments?

I do! Not… well, or sensibly, because I love comments and they make me absolutely twitterpated, but I do respond.

6)what's the fic you've written with the angstiest ending?

Carnevale ends with unresolved heartbreak, insecurity and misdirected feeling. And this one’s not angsty, so much as grubby: a very nasty imagined interstitial between James Fitzjames and Francis Crozier after Cornelius Hickey’s flogging. And at least one of the possible endings of this Choose-your-own-Ending Fitzier is, er. Less than pleasant.

7) What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending?

I’m an unashamed wuss, so I tend to write fics with happy endings, or at least happy-for-now endings. I’d say it’s a tossup between two fics. The first is my Good Omens human AU where Crowley is a determined bookstore customer, because Aziraphale and Crowley get together AND Crowley gets to have the book AND Aziraphale gets to not sell it. The second is my Terror BritPol AU, where Francis Crozier and James Fitzjames get to U-Haul AND Brexit is averted. Okay, that might actually be my happiest ending.

8) do you write crossovers? If so what is the craziest one you've ever written?

I don’t write crossovers per se, but I have written a Silicon Valley Regency AU which riffed on both the Twelve Dancing Princesses and has vibes of Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell. And I’ve written another Silicon Valley AU which loosely spins off Henry II and Thomas Becket, and my Terror BritPol AU takes a lot of its beats from the National Theatre’s This House.

9) have you ever received hate on a fic?

Lord, no, never written anything popular enough, I don’t think.

10)Do you write smut? What kind?

I do indeed! The … messy … kind, typically. As in ‘Just throw away those sheets, they’re beyond saving’.

11)have you ever had a fic stolen?

I don’t think so.

12) have you ever had a fic translated?

I haven’t! Open invitation, lads.

13) have you ever co-written a fic before.

I’m a rotten collaborator. I can barely bring myself to the sticking post, I wouldn’t wish my erratic writing habits on anyone else.

14) whats your favourite ship?

Fitzier and Jared Dunn/Richard Hendricks will always have a very particular place in my heart.

15) whats a WIP that you want to finish but don't think you ever will?

*looks guiltily* I don’t think, at this point, that I’ll ever finish my Good Omens fic where I trace Aziraphale and Crowley’s relationship through the lens of the classic Seven Deadly Sins. Looking at it now, it should actually have been a series. But either way.

16) What are your writing strengths.

I think I’m good at dialogue and character observation. When I concentrate, I think I can pull off unexpected but illuminating word choices.

17) what are your writing weaknesses?

I think I should push myself more as a writer. For example, I’ve only ever written one reasonably plotty longfic – my Terror BritPol AU – and I’ve never written a puzzle-piece, or something that requires detailed worldbuilding. I also tend to default to a particular limited-perspective third-person present-tense style (with the exception of my dialogue-only Terror WIP), and I’d like to branch out more.

18) what are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in fic?

I’ve only written scraps of dialogue in other languages in fic. If there were an easy way for readers to get the translation as they read, it’s something I’d love to see more. But in general I think the priority should always be the flow of the story. Writers can – and should – try to get across a change in language or idiom in a multitude of ways.

19) what was the first fandom you wrote for.

Silicon Valley! I unfortunately have a thing for Horrible Little Gremlins and Long Boys who Crave Validation.

20) what's your favourite fic you've ever written?

Ouf. This one’s hard to answer. My immediate instinct is to go with my Terror BritPol AU because it’s the first longfic I actually brought in for the landing, but I also have a soft spot for my Silicon Valley fairytale Regency AU and a Silicon Valley fic about emotional abuse told from the abuser’s perspective. The last one wasn’t an easy one to write but I think what’s on page is close to my conception of it, which is rare for me.

I suspect my Terror mutuals have already been tagged, but please do have a go if you fancy it! And I’ll tag @joycecarolnotes, @bitchardhendricks, @ladiesloveduranduran and @retrauxpunk if they fancy doing this.

[flowerflamestars]

Would you write a HC of Nessian being that childhood enemies to lovers in high school? I can only trust you with it

Trust accepted and golden. 

-Okay, okay, so on the very first day of first grade, Cassian met the prettiest girl in the world. Little Nesta was absolutely one of those tiny polite children who has a vast hidden well of rage and imagination only displayed when playing witches with Elain in their mother’s garden. She’s quiet at school, utterly shy.

Cassian, meanwhile, is a gremlin. He’s energetic! and sweet! Dimples and curls, an enormous smile. He runs right up to the new girl on that rainy late summer day to introduce himself.

And trips. The Prettiest Girl in the World- as he tells Az, later, while they hide in Rhysand’s treefort- gets mud all over her perfect first day of school dress. 

- Baby Nesta is not okay, okay? She has no idea what to do with this friendly boy. She wants him to stop talking to her. She’s sure her mom is going to be disappointed when she comes home with her white dress ruined, and it’s her first day at a new school without Elain.

Cassian keeps apologizing, but it is Not Okay. 

-Nesta decides she hates him.

- Three years later, Nesta destroys Cassian in the spelling bee. Cassian begins to tip from the Prettiest Smartest Girl in the World is incredible to, the Prettiest Smartest Girl in the World keeps beating me at everything and I want to win JUST ONCE

Once, because he’s pissed. Once because then she’d be looking. Cassian just wants Nesta to look at him, and by sixth grade this feeling goes from earnest to furiously incandescent. 

HEAVY ON THE FURY

- Jump ahead, to the very end of middle school, the Archeron’s mom dies. 

Cassian is a happily adopted foster kid, former orphan who just barely remembers his parents. He finds out, and carries around this horrible heavy feeling in his chest all day like he can’t swallow. 

He wants- he doesn’t know- he wants to say something. But Nesta isn’t at school, and they aren’t actually friends, but he just wants to say: someday. He wants to tell her what his foster moms told him: that it’s okay to cry. (He cannot imagine perfect, smart, Nesta Archeron crying). Whatever you feel is okay.

Entirely by accident Cassian runs into her at the local library. Outside, crying on the sidewalk, arriving just in time to watch her hurl her water bottle at the cement.

Cassian, being Cassian, brings it back to her. 

It turns out pretty girl tears are terrifying.

So he very quietly hooks it back onto the pretty lavender backpack Nesta has carried around for the last three years- his is purple too, not at all to be weird, just because- and sits down on the sidewalk too, a couple feet away.

And Nesta is Not Okay. Her mom is dead, and she doesn’t know what she feels because it’s huge and terrifying. Everything hurts and she’s so, so angry and that stupid water bottle lid doesn’t really fit anyway, because it’s actually Feyre’s lid on Nesta’s bottle, because their Aunt doesn’t know anything and doesn’t know them, and Nesta only has that stupid baby backpack because their Dad spends all his time at work so he doesn’t know that before Mom got sick Nesta and Elain got new backpacks every year, whichever they wanted, and they always matched, but Elain’s ripped last summer and their dad had his assistant get a new one but it’s pink and Elain hates pink and it clashes with Nesta’s-

Cassian watches the Pretty Perfect Girl curl in on herself and scream. 

This, in the end, is when Perfect Girl becomes Nesta.

Cassian is is panicking, okay? PANICKING. His ability to comfort other people is 85% knowing when Azriel is overwhelmed and 15% hugging his dog during thunderstorms. He doesn’t know what he can possibly do for Nesta- so he just grabs her hand. 

Holds on, like Az did without laughing at him when Cassian cried that his adoption had gone through.

And Nesta hangs on, so hard it really actually hurts. He doesn’t ask her what’s wrong, or why, and Nesta is so grateful that hurts too. He’s always so loud and laughing, and Nesta has always hated it a little, thinking he was laughing at her.

(he was not)

The complete simplicity of that sweaty grip is just enough that Nesta can think. And poor baby Nesta thinks. 

She has to go inside and return all the sisters books so they don’t have a fine. She needs to figure out how to cut Feyre’s bangs because she’s running around like a sheepdog because Dad didn’t remember to schedule her a haircut. Elain will help. And Nesta will help Elain water the houseplants because Mom loved them and Dad told the maids they’re fake but they’re not, only the ones in the living room are. 

And Nesta- Nesta has a plan.

-They go in the library. If the volunteer behind the desk is making faces at Nesta’s tearstained face or grubby, iron grip on the boy beside her, Nesta isn’t going to acknowledge it, because Mom always said rude people didn’t deserve attention.

Nesta picks out her books, Cassian silently follows. And then he walks her home. They live in the same neighborhood, so it’s fine- but whats not fine is Nesta still hasn’t said anything, and Cassian just wants to say something-

But what happens it this- Nesta carries half the books in a grip so hard it looks painful. Cassian knows its probably painful, because she’s really hurting his hand now. 

Cassian will look later at the imprint her tiny fingertips had made and feel like his whole body is fluttering- but now, now, she’ll steal his half of the books like it’s nothing and stomp up the porch steps of her house, right past a wilting delivery of lilies slowly dying before her front door. 

She won’t say thank you. Cassian won’t say goodbye.

But Cassian will think it’s okay, it’s okay- because Nesta wasn’t alone like he’d been alone.

The blue door slams shut, and they don’t speak again until junior year of high school.

- Nesta Archeron is seventeen and ready to eat the world raw. She’s top of her class. She has goals, she has terrifyingly perfect hair, and she is not going to let anything stand in her way- especially not the fact that she ran for junior class president and tied, with Cassian.

-Cassian has become very, very Cassian in the intervening years. He’s popular but kind, a loud laugh that echoes down halls. Smart, but not a stratospheric over-achiever like Nesta. College is a year away, but everyone know’s he’s going to get an athletic scholarship. 

They run in very, very different circles.

-Listen, it’s not even on purpose- it’s just that something about Nesta’s horrified expression and color-coded organization and perfect fucking red lips makes Cassian his most insane golden retriever self. He can’t help himself. 

They have to work together. They fight constantly. 

But Cassian’s fighting, at seventeen, is like 80% teasing and 20% very real, very earnest flirting. 

And maybe- maybe Nesta knows that and it makes her even grouchier.  She has a plan, okay? She’s on track to graduation top of her class. She’s going to Standford, then Harvard. She’s going to be a surgeon. 

It’s not so far away she can’t still be there for her sisters. Elain wants to go to Berkley and obviously will because she’s brilliant- Feyre will only be alone for one year, but she’s already all set for that to be her study abroad year, so she won’t be trapped at home in their empty house. She’ll be in Spain, and then she’ll go to art school. 

All three Archeron sisters will be of age to pull from their enormous inheritance left from their mother- they will never need to ask anything of their absent, silent, bastard father ever again. It’s just a matter of waiting.

Nesta is on track, and she can’t get distracted.

But Cassian- Cassian really seems to think Nesta doesn’t remember him. As though she could forget, as much as she wants to, that absolute disaster of a boy who was the only person in the world who made Nesta feel like she wasn’t responsible for everything.

Of course, that little boy grew up to be beautiful. 

Of course, now he’s a goddamn menace who’s a clear foot taller than her with broad shoulders to match. Of course, that enormous kind smile sits even more tantalizing on an older face. Of course his dimples are so deep they flash when he grimaces at her student council timeline, broken down for the next two years.

- Azriel, Nesta’s AP chem lab partner, bound forever in respect by mutual silent competence and scorn for the assholes who sit behind them who keep lighting things on fire, says nothing about any of this until Nesta comes into class holding an enormous rainbow concoction like it’s going to explode.

Together- perennially left to their own devices by a teacher who really does not know what to do with them, and maybe fears they both know the coursework better than she does- they stare at the rainbow sprinkled whip cream mountain, slowly melting into the equally bright froth of the drink. 

Some of them are heart-shaped. 

Azriel breaks first, and asks, “Cassian?”

And Nesta, sweet baby ice princess Nesta, numb from being swooped upon by a giddy, grinning, blushing 6′4 quarterback who darted out of the culinary building to force this into her hand and run back away says: Does he think I’m a lesbian?

This is the moment Azriel’s soul actually leaves his body. 

The visceral cringe is so apparent Nesta keeps talking: I mean, the rainbows? why? 

It’s just close enough to a wail that Azriel decides to take pity on this whole new level of romantic idiocy. He proceeds to explain it’s a unicorn frappuccino? maybe? probably? not that he could advise actually consuming anything Cassian makes.

Nesta’s big What the Fuck face does not fade, so Az finally goes: he’s trying to get your attention. 

Nesta: He has my attention. I see him every day. 

Azriel, thinking about how much fun telling Lucien about this will be, imagining his very beautiful boyfriend howling with laughter: Right, and why would he want more?

Nesta: Because he’s a menace?

Az:

Nesta:

Az:

Nesta, glaring with heartfelt intensity at the melting hearts and stars, food coloring weeping: Because he wants my attention. That- that bastard.

Az, opening his mouth, only to be cut off by Nesta furiously unzipping her bag:

Nesta: that stupid fucking- are you kidding me? ARE YOU KIDDING ME? He- HE- he made me go to a soccer game last week and called it OUTREACH. 

Azriel, watching Nesta tap her phone at top speed: Are you...texting Cassian?

Nesta: that motherfucking, stupid, college admission essays- I’m going to-

Az: Nesta??

Nesta: Do you know how much of a disaster he is? Do you know how much of my time he has wasted? He wants my attention, he has my fucking attention. Why didn’t he say so?

(In the background, the boys behind them have, indeed, started another fire)

Three buildings away, Cassian, vibrating with a frequency that can be seen from space: Mooooor, you don’t understand. She’s so smart, she’s going to be trauma surgeon.

Morrigan, trying in vain to get a full rainbows worth of food coloring off her pearlescent manicure: Cas, you literally want to be a nurse. 

Cassian: Exactly

Morrigan gives up on her nails, distracted from Cassian’s lovelorn expression by his silenced phone flashing repeatedly: Who’s sparkle heart sparkle heart bomb peach firework sparkle heart? 

Cassian, flailing: 

Nesta, here expressed as sparkle heart sparkle heart bomb peach firework sparkle heart: Coffee. 3pm, Sunday. Yes?

Cassian, chewing on the inside of his cheek: Yes! Did the senior class shunt all their work down again?

Nesta: Not to work.

Cassian, life flashing before his eyes, thinking it was the sprinkles?!!

Nesta: A date.

Nesta: Is this supposed to taste like sour candy? 

- They go on the date. Cassian overcomes his transcendent nervousness by getting into a pretty squabble with Nesta over the book they’re currently reading in AP English. 

(The entire argument is a false premise, he loves Jane Austen. Nesta knows this.)

- Nesta takes him to this beautiful coffee shop that is like 70% just a lush tropic garden. 

(Elain sees them coming and has to literally duck behind the counter to laugh. Lucien, her shift partner and dearest friend, watches the whole song and dance of ordering, sitting under a flowering tree and staring at each like lunatics with utter glee, ready to rely every detail to Az)

The Thing is, they keep fighting. They keep fighting, but Cassian’s smile gets softer and softer, his laugh brighter and brighter. The arguing is turning into banter and Nesta is actually? having? So much fun?

- The thing is, Nesta needed a plan to survive. 

But maybe- maybe Cassian was there all along. Maybe, if she can’t be distracted, the obvious answer is to stop letting him make her crazy and- and let him in. 

Maybe, she can hold onto responsibility for everything and still let someone else have a little responsibility for her.

Maybe, Cassian is exactly what she needed. 

[cagestark]

]WinterIron[

@silkystark :)

Warnings: NFF. Cumming untouched. Tech kink. All angsty topics are conveniently avoided because this is a fantasy land!!! This is just 1.5k smutty smut smut I wrote for silky. 

-

The first time Bucky lets him touch the arm.

They’re in Tony’s lab after a rough training session that has left Bucky’s arm improperly calibrated. As sweaty and exhausted as they are having come straight from the training room, it’s not a situation that can wait until morning. Uncalibrated as it is, Bucky isn’t capable of moderating his own strength. Three doorknobs shattered on the way to the lab elevator before Tony could convince Bucky to stop trying and let him get the damn door for once.

“It’s a simple fix,” Tony says, washing his hands-free of sweat. Bucky sits, a nervous, hunched mass dwarfing the tiny stool beneath him. He insists on wearing long sleeves even to train, so to have access to the arm, Tony had to ask him to remove the entire shirt—and when Bucky had shredded it thanks to his unchecked strength…well, Tony’s mouth had gone dry. That’s what he gets for not properly hydrating.

And the abs, damp with sweat? Tony’s pretty sure that a man with a heart like his shouldn’t be in the presence of them. It’s hazardous conditions.

The guy looks so fucking uncomfortable. Tony’s mouth can’t stop moving, trying to put him at ease. He rubs his palms together in a caricature of greed. “To be honest, I can’t wait to get my grubby hands on it, snowflake. You’ve been holding out on me.”

Bucky blinks. “Hardly.”

“I’m a tech guy, this is like porn to me—” He realizes his word choice a moment too late. If he could, he’d reach out and snatch the words right out of the air, but Bucky’s eyes are already doubling in size. Worse is the fact that despite the joking tone, Tony couldn’t be more serious; there’s nothing sexier to him than well-made tech. He holds up both hands. “Joking! I won’t accost you. Unless you ask me to—joking! Again—Jesus, I really can’t—wow, I’m on a goddamn roll tonight—how about we just get to it?”

Bucky nods stiffly, extending the arm. When Tony touches it at the shoulder, inches from where metal meets scar and then flesh, Bucky flinches. Tony works to gentle his touch, opening the panel that allows him access to the arm’s inner workings. Though he didn’t design it, he’s very familiar with Princess Shuri’s work. She’s a veritable genius herself, and it’s truly exquisitely made. Hydra had nothing on this.

He hears Bucky’s sharp inhale and glances up at the man’s face. It’s screwed in pain, eyes shut tight. Tony’s heart sinks. “I’ll be quick, okay? I already see the problem. Deep breaths, Buck.”

Bucky inhales audibly, nodding. Tony goes back to work, trying to be as gentle as possible without sacrificing speed. Reaching down, he takes the metal wrist in his hand and coaxes it to turn palm up to expose a different part of the arm. Bucky groans in his throat, head dropping forward until his chin touches his chest. Something about the sound nags at the back of Tony’s brain, the genius’s eyebrows furrowing.

Then he glances down and—oh.

There’s no mistaking an erection of that size, especially not in the soft sweatpants Bucky was wearing to workout in. Reflexively, Tony’s hand on Bucky’s wrist tightens in shock and the cock jumps beneath the fabric. This is turning Bucky on. Jesus Christ—Tony’s only half-formed arousal begins to wax.

Fuck. Focus. Focus. “I—I’m almost done, okay?”

Bucky nods, eyes still shut.

Tony lets go of the wrist gently and continues to reset the calibration settings, working hard to ignore the throbbing of his own cock. If Bucky opens his eyes, there won’t be any mistaking that Tony is hard either. Luckily, the ex-assassin seems far too distracted.

To continue, Tony has to coax the shoulder to turn, pressing ever-so-softly on the metal inner forearm. This time, Bucky’s head tilts up and then back, throat bobbing even as his mouth opens in a soft exhalation of ecstasy. Tony can’t help it. He can’t; his mouth runs away from him.

“Has no one touched you like this?” Tony asks lowly.

Bucky shakes his head.

Tony whistles. “How long has it been since you blew a load?”

Bucky groans, this time with embarrassment. The corners of his mouth flicker upwards though, like Tony’s baldness is amusing to him before it settles back into its typical line. “I can’t even remember.”

“Surely not since—before?”

“I mean—” Bucky pauses to swallow. “—there were physical reactions sometimes but that doesn’t really count.”

“That’s a damn crime,” Tony murmurs. He shuts the panel on Bucky’s arm, gently places his hand palm down in the other man’s open grasp. “All better, snowflake. Squeeze.”

Bucky squeezes as gently as if Tony were glass. The smile he gives Tony is small but genuine, and the fluttering Tony feels in his naval can’t be ignored. He should let go now, break the contact, but when he glances down at his palm where it rests in Bucky’s hand, he catches sight of the man’s erection still tenting at his sweatpants, and either Bucky is freeballing or he leaks like a fountain because the dark, damp spot of precum where his cockhead rests can’t be mistaken for anything else.

Tony licks his lips. He tightens his grip on Bucky’s hand and where he’s still gripping the arm just beneath the ball of the shoulder. Quietly, he says, “Stop me, if you want me to stop.”

The confusion in the pale eyes melts away when Tony drags one firm thumb down, crossing the crease of Bucky’s elbow, pressing against the inner forearm where the skin would be tender and sensitive. The reaction is instantaneous: Bucky sucks in a breath through his teeth and then his mouth drops, an aborted, raw sound slipping from his throat before he can stop it.

“Don’t stop,” Bucky whispers, eyes fluttering under their lids.

Tony wraps his entire hand around the metal forearm. He’s aware that he’s small for a man and that Bucky is bordering on large—obscenely muscular at least—but it still takes the breath from his lungs to see how he can’t come close to wrapping around the thick arm. He squeezes, hard but not looking to hurt. The sound that slips from Bucky’s mouth is obscene, the cock in his sweatpants jumping again, wet spot widening.

Not loosening his grip, Tony lets his hand move up towards the crease of the elbow and then back down toward the wrist. On someone else, it might be a motion of comfort, but all Tony can think of is how obscene it looks, how it’s too reminiscent of stroking a cock (the biggest fucking cock Tony’s ever seen, at that). Bucky’s chest heaves, hips jerking where he’s sitting on the stool causing the legs of it to shriek against the floor.

Bucky’s flesh hand reaches down, and for a moment the man’s cock is no longer shrouded in the mystery of cotton-polyester blend, not when he wraps a hand around himself through the fabric and the thickness of him becomes evident, the shaft clear, one thumb coming up to rub at the wet spot where the head rests.

“Don’t,” Tony whispers. Bucky’s hand freezes, cool eyes flittering open to assess him dazedly. Squeezing the arm gently, Tony says, “I want to see if you can cum just from this.”

The man honest to God whines. The sound goes right to Tony’s gut, right to his own cock that throbs, balls tight with arousal. This is without a doubt one of the most fascinating and sensual experiences of his life, and he wants to commit every detail of it to memory, wants to commit to the moment—

“I can,” Bucky says, breaths coming fast through his nose when he stops to collect himself. His hand leaves his erection though, making a fist and planting itself on his thigh. “Trust me, I can. I—I’m close.”

“Go ahead then,” Tony says. He coaxes the metal arm up, turning it so that he can place a wet kiss to the wrist. “I want to see it.”

Bucky groans, eyes squeezing shut. “Tony, please, God—”

“I’m not stopping you,” Tony says, letting his lips brush against the metal. He presses a more chaste kiss to the palm. Then he drags his mouth up, up—and takes Bucky’s first two metal fingers into his mouth, sucking firmly at the cool metal.

Bucky cums with a shout, head snapping back like a dog ready to howl. His face is twisted with the most painful ecstasy, and his cock jerks twice before he grabs himself again, jerking himself through the orgasm that soaks his sweatpants. When the pads of his fingers scrape against Tony’s teeth on the way out, he gasps again, a breathy, higher sound that has Tony half-mad with lust.

“I can’t believe you did that,” Tony murmurs, holding the metal hand reverently in his own. “Fuck, that was incredible. The hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Bucky laughs through his gasping. He flexes his fingers, lights from overhead glinting off of the metal panels. The hand reaches out and traces the waistband of Tony’s pants, right above where his erection is obvious and aching. “That was nothing.”

[bestworstcase]

18 & 20!

writer asks

18. Do any of your stories have alternative versions? (plotlines that you abandoned, AUs of your own work, different characterisations?) Tell us about them.

WELL

bitter snow has the “cassandra raised by sirin” au which i’ve been meaning to talk about ever since i posted chapter 15, so might as well do that here: 

cassandra casāndra witnesses her parents’ arrests but is a little better hidden, so sir peter never finds her + she is adopted by aunt sirin instead

so sirin’s family is. sirin hároham, her partner mainé dathamar, their kids tathēdora (9) and cornaīn (7), plus cas who is 4. mainé and tath are both ill and mainé in rapid decline; sirin, cornaīn, and cas are all distraught; the socona community is decimated and reeling. it’s bad times.

mainé dies about a month after the arrest, while tath lingers in ill health, neither recovering nor getting any worse. (this is the norm among survivors of the crop sickness.) sirin channels a lot of grief into knitting the community back together + trying to scrape together some semblance of safety + taking care of the kids. 

so cas grows up in the thorn syconium/zhan tiri’s cult + all this trauma + the youngest of three siblings whom she loves but also, because she’s cas, has a bit of a rivalry thing going on with + her natural ambition and what all of that combines into is. cas is just as intensely loyal and eager to impress as she is with her dad in bitter snow and canon but it’s all directed at sirin / the cult / saporia in general and.. no one is going to arbitrarily stand in her way, and instead of Desperately wanting to be a guard she Desperately wants to be the one who frees zhan tiri vhbhjdfhbjsdf

anyway

rapunzel’s and varian’s backstories are the same

moira caine’s is also the same (her mom, lada caine, is disabled as a result of crop sickness, dad gets arrested, she and lada move in with fraternal aunt neasa, they’re dirt poor until caine hits her mid-teens and takes up piracy) with the exception that she and cas do meet as kids / moira and cornaīn are kinda friends and cas is their obnoxious tagalong. they don’t know each other Well because the caines are in alcorsīa and that’s a ways from socona but they do encounter each other every so often during big religious festivals etc.

because peter doesn’t have an orphaned saporian kid to occupy him when the search for rapunzel starts to range beyond corona, he ends up in vardaros the spring after the kidnapping, following a lead that turns out to be a dead end. while he’s in the city a grubby five-year-old tries to pick his pocket and that’s how eugene fitzherbert gets adopted by a sergeant of the coronan royal guard and grows up to be basically Flynn Rider, But A Cop

*deep breath*

tath passes away due to complications of the chronic crop sickness in 1669 PE, when cas is 17 and cornaīn is 20. the family is devastated; cornaīn takes off for alcorsīa with the vague intention of joining the separatists as kind of a way of retaliating, and through a series of shenanigans ends up reconnecting with moira + joining the crew of the zampermin + supporting moira’s subsequent mutiny + becoming first mate on the zampermin under moira’s captaincy

cornaīn is killed during a battle at sea three years later in 1672 PE. cas takes to wandering / exploring a lot while sirin sort of snaps; in bitter snow proper this is the point where sirin’s plans in benighted start to really take shape but in this au well. Guess Who Finds Rapunzel In The Tower.

cue “well okay i'll take you to see the lanterns but also, this is going to sound weird but bear with me, can we take a detour to free my god from her prison with your hair?”

so cas and rapunzel make a pit stop at janus point en route to herzingen and while the sundrop by itself isn’t enough to free zhan tiri completely they do make a nice big crack in the wall for her to squeeze through so. well. you know: 

- cas, rapunzel, pascal, and zhan tiri head to herzingen so rapunzel can see the floating lights zhan tiri can conspire with this excellent new disciple and get the sundrop on her side

- gothel, realizing what happened, goes to herzingen in a rage, finds what seems like an easy mark in eugene—who is a respected member of the guard at this point but also has a lazy streak and is a bit callous and interested to a fault in personal enrichment because, again, flynn rider but a cop—and gets in his ear about saving the lost princess from zhan tiri’s cultists and then he’ll have all the riches and admiration he could possibly ask for :) 

- basically her plan is to wind him up and hurl him at cas + zhan tiri so she can “rescue” rapunzel and vanish into the night with her

my elaborate musings on this au sort of peter out at this point but i like to think there’s some big messy confrontation + cas gets stabbed by gothel + gothel does in fact get away with rapunzel and then... something something reluctant allies eugene and cas go after rapunzel with varian + lance + caine all getting dragged into it and then it’s wacky eldritch adventures all the way home. nonsense. 

20. Tell us the meta about your writing that you really want to ramble to people about (symbolism you’ve included, character or relationship development that you love, hidden references, callbacks or clues for future scenes?)

ohhhh boy.

- i love writing dream sequences in general and the ones in benighted are fun because they all come from the various. entities of the sublime realm. and i have just been having a lot of fun kinda... playing with the imagery and weaving in hints about what’s coming vis a vis the sundrop/moonstone and zhan tiri lore. all the dreams are important / have meaning beyond the obvious of freaking the characters having them out. 

- the characters didn’t mention it in the moment because it felt wrong for them to do so / they had much bigger problems but the final scene of chapter 19 takes place on varian’s 15th birthday, the 2nd of Sicáraen. i didn’t do this on purpose (the way i pin things down on the timeline is largely based on travel times between different locations and that scene falling on that day was coincidental) but jksdkjlkbhhjsdfj this poor boy

- in-universe, there are 42 days remaining until benighted ends. this isn’t important i just think it’s neat. 

[fae-fucker]

Zenith: Chapter 52-55

Chapter 52

Valen interrogates Andi about his father’s decision to make her his rescuer, and instead of going “take that up with your dad because I don’t know his reasons for doing this,” Andi tries to be all apologetic about all the Kalee stuff and saying how she’s changed and Valen’s like nu-uh!

“It was a mistake,” Andi said again. “If I could take it back—”

Valen gritted his teeth. “Murder isn’t a mistake.”

Have I finally gone off the deep end or is this fucking funny?

“If I recall, you were the one who allowed your little sister and her friend to sneak out for a joyride on your father’s brand-new transport,” Andi replied. Her words were soft and casual, but her eyes were on fire.

“Spectre,” Valen said. “Spectre first, and always. You failed her as that.”

“Again,” Andi said, “it was a mistake. I’ve had to live with the cost of it.”

“Kalee didn’t!” Valen screamed. “She didn’t get to live, Androma!”

It’s honestly impressive that whenever I go into a chapter that’s relatively short and think it’s gonna be fine and I’ll just skim over it, Shinsay proves me wrong by including more bullshit that I just have to talk about. But hey, part of the reason I have this blog is so that people know what not to do and examining why certain things just don’t work, with the added bonus of having the context for it.

It’s also impressive how two women somehow keep making the wrong choice for the same one book, over and over and over. Every narrative choice in this book is wrong.

So, what’s wrong with this particular bit? Remember when Dex and Andi were having their stupid argument and Dex, right after trying to apologize for what he did and explain himself, turned around and started blaming Androma for it instead? Here it’s even more jarring, because Andi genuinely believes she was to blame for Kalee’s death and genuinely wants to atone (or she claims to want that, at least). So when she, out of nowhere, starts trying to defend herself and shift the blame onto Valen? That shit don’t make no sense, y’all.

I think this is a result of the book having too many pointless POVs. We’re in Valen’s right now, so obviously he needs emotional triggers to react to and start monologuing over. He needs to be provoked and damn logic and character consistency, he’s gonna get provoked! Andi’s words make no sense and will not be examined closer once we’re back in her POV, she just said this OOC shit for the sake of drama, yet given everyone’s awful characterization, even small things like these serve only to undermine the characters and their motivations even further.

Shinsay don’t understand that sometimes, no arguments is far more impactful than a dramatic verbal battle of cheap witticisms. Instead of this, Andi could’ve just sat there, quietly, letting Valen dunk on her because she feels she deserves it. Hell, this entire conversation could’ve been saved if only Andi’s blame-shifting line had been given to someone else! I didn’t even read it as her saying it at first and had to double-check and that’s when it fell apart to me.

God, I could go on like this forever. Feel free to send me asks if you want me to elaborate on dialogue and characterization, I guess? Let’s just move on.

The others try to figure out how Valen was taken and what happened when he was, asking him if he knows anything about Queen Nor, at which point Rage Unlocks Within Him, and he gets up and leaves.

I also want to mention that Valen talks about “things being tense after Kalee was gone,” but Kalee’s been dead for four years, while Valen was taken two years ago. Sooo uh ... huh? He makes it sound like it was two months after and not two years. He could’ve said things “changed” after her death and it would’ve sounded better. Idk just a preference I guess.

Also ... I just realized Valen’s been missing and tortured for two years. How he still talks normally is ... pretty bonkers, to say the least.

Chapter 53

Andi goes out to find Valen but finds Lon instead, his blue tiddies out.

Lon leads Andi to where Valen is, all while dropping hints that Lira has something to say to Andi and that Andi shouldn’t try to influence her decision. To her credit, Andi says she won’t, and that she loves Lira as her sister.

Andi and Valen sit around in nature for a bit and talk about Valen’s art. I don’t hate it?

“When I was locked up, I almost forgot what colors looked like,” [Valen] said, lazily brushing the stick back and forth against the mud. “Did you know that black is more than just a single shade?”

Anish Kapoor would like to know your location.

Valen says he can’t forgive Andi for what she did, but he can also not forgive himself for being part of those choices(????). Andi speculates that her accusation earlier must’ve struck him deep, but that’s all we get on that, no explanation as to why she accused him at all.

“In Lunamere, I had nothing to keep me company but my pain and my thoughts. I had lots of time to think about that night, and everything leading up to it. Time to realize that we were raised in a society where perfection is the only option. But that doesn’t mean it’s always possible. We all made bad choices that night, not just you. She got on that transport herself. And I chose to stay behind.”

Andi wanted to speak, but she feared it would shatter this strange, heart-wrenching moment they had somehow found themselves in.

Thanks for telling me it’s heart-wrenching, lest my idiot self got lost in all this emotion and forgot to realize what was happening.

Christ, even when Shinsay have a decent dramatic and emotional moment going, they just can’t keep their grubby little hands to themselves, huh? I know it’s your book but can you shut the fuck up for a moment and just let the prose stand on its own?

God, if only there had been an editor.

Both Andi and Valen admit they wish they’d died with Kalee and in any other more competent book this would’ve been quite touching.

“Without Kalee...” Andi began, finally voicing the realization she’d come to terms with these past few days. “Without Kalee, there wouldn’t have been a sentence for me to run from. And without that running, I never would have found Dex. And without him...”

“You wouldn’t be the Bloody Baroness,” Valen finished for her. “My father would not have hired you.”

It was a vicious cycle, one that Andi wished she could have undone before it had ever started. But it was her story. Her life.

Her life is a series of reactions to things outside of her control? Love that for a protagonist.

Listen, I know it’s supposed to be sad and stuff, but even Andi’s backstory reinforces her reactionary personality and the way the plot is driven by things completely outside of her control. It’s hard to feel invested in a character when they never make choices and instead only react to whatever happens to them.

Anyway, Valen and Andi seem to have gotten over their differences and go to the festival together. That was easy. I guess it’s to throw us off the scent and make it more surprising when he suddenly turns out to be evil? I’m honestly not sure. It’s pretty bad either way, but I don’t have to tell you that.

Chapter 54

We’re with Lira again and she’s staring off into the distance thinking about the festival. Lon appears again, tiddies still out, but now his muscles and “sculpted” chest feels kind of weird to comment on since we’re in Lira’s head? Whatever, maybe Adhirans are weird like that.

Lon says some cutesy shit about how technically Lira is this planet’s princess but she doesn’t reply or even think about how that would make him the prince? He just says he’s her brother and has to guard her. Maybe Adhirans also don’t let men have political power because that’s what Shinsay think feminism is.

Anyway, they join the other girls and head to the festival while Lira mopes about her decision and how she can’t have two families. Except you can. But whatever. Logic isn’t dramatic enough, I suppose.

“It’s time to let loose,” Breck said. “Lir, you look like you’ve just puked up a pound of Moon Chew.”

“Lira doesn’t puke,” Gilly said.

“That’s ridiculous. Everyone pukes,” Breck added.

“I’ve never seen her do it. And I spy on her, like, all the time.” 

Lon chuckled beside Lira. “I see it,” he whispered. “What draws you to this crew.”

I don’t.

Also they’re in the same close space it seems, so I have no idea how they 1) don’t bother to ask Lira what’s going on and 2) don’t notice Lon being all whispery and shit. Convenient!

Gonna gloss over the spying bit as well, I see. Hey, they do have those eye implants that you don’t need consent to activate. Maybe Gilly’s been using it to perv on the rest of the crew.

Lira decides ... not to decide, and just fuckin party down for tonight. I guess in this universe it means she’s gonna get blackout wasted, because That’s What Adults Do. I should also mention that she decides not to decide and then never has to decide anyway because the plot intervenes and the choice is made for her. Love that for a character.

*sigh*

Chapter 55

We’re in Dex’s POV and we get some decent descriptions of how cool the festival is with more incidental aliens and traditions. Dex spots the crew and thinks about how they’re his crew now and realizes he’s bonded with them. I’m glad this is spelled out because I would not have noticed it myself, and frankly I both do and don’t mean it this time.

They’ve only been together for a couple of days, tops. I guess extreme situations make people bond faster but I really feel like we’re jumping the shark here. At the same time I can tell that Dex clearly fits into the crew pretty well, and this just feels forced and redundant. All in all, this comment is just unnecessary. Let the characters evolve and grow closer naturally, Shinsay. You don’t need to convince us they’re a crew, you can just show us and we’ll believe it!

Dex spots Valen and Andi and of course we get a horny description of how cool and sexy Andi is and how impressed Dex is that she and Valen are already friends. Then he decides to get drunk and eat some meat.

Frankly? Relatable. Chapter? Pointless.

[acephysicskarkat]

This may be chapter 3, but it’s for day 5, and it’s called “Forgiveness”.

“For the love of the moons, Adora,” groaned Glimmer, “are you trying to bankrupt me?” She grabbed ineffectually at the sconce in Adora’s grip. “Be more careful with the fixtures!”

Entrapta dropped from the rafters onto Emily’s back, plucked the sconce from Adora’s unresisting hand, and quickly stuck it back onto the wall. “There, see? Good as new!”

The sconce began to turn slowly to one side.

Glimmer made some incoherent noises of frustration, then breathed out heavily. “Thanks, Entrapta. You don’t have to do that, you know. This is your party; you should be enjoying yourself.”

“I am!” Entrapta twisted the sconce back into position; it began to tip over the other way. “Don’t you guys enjoy fixing stuff?”

They looked at each other, and then Adora said, “Not usually at parties.”

“Oh well, more for me then!” Entrapta produced a toolset from nowhere and began reattaching the sconce properly. “I hope Bertha’s doing okay outside.”

‘Bertha’ was the name Entrapta had given to the colossal mech she’d brought back from Beast Island. Glimmer turned to Adora. “Adora, could you pop out and check on Bertha – just for a sec?”

There was a brief pause, and then Adora nodded. “Okay, Glim. I’ll be back in a minute.”

As soon as Adora was gone, Glimmer’s shoulders slumped. “Entrapta, can I…have a quick word with you?”

“Sure!” Entrapta could tell that something was happening here, but she wasn’t quite sure what. “What did you want to talk about?”

“You remember when Adora and Bow went to Beast Island to get you?”

“You mean when they…” Entrapta’s voice trailed off. Beast Island was pretty far from her favourite thing to talk about.

“They disobeyed my orders to do that. I told them not to.” She released a breath. “And I was wrong. I’m really sorry, Entrapta.”

Entrapta took this information on board with the air of a sapper opening a bomb casing, and decided, exactly unlike a sapper opening a bomb casing, to deal with it another time. She had a lot of feelings about Beast Island already, and she was going to go ahead and handle them bit by bit, like slowly grinding gears.

***

Something was subtly wrong. It was a feeling like she was being watched, and with a quick scan of the area, Entrapta realised from where. Spotting two gleams in the darkness above, one gold, one blue, she quickly scaled the support beams. Distantly, she heard Glimmer groaning as another sconce fell off.

“Hi Catra! What are you doing up here?”

“I wanted to check in, but I didn’t think you’d want me at the party,” said Catra, not meeting Entrapta’s gaze. “Not after…”

“Not after Beast Island.”

Catra nodded. She still hadn’t looked Entrapta in the eye.

Entrapta’s hand hovered near her mask for a few moments, before she lowered it and breathed out. “Don’t worry about it.”

Catra eyed her curiously. “You’re not mad?”

Entrapta wobbled a hand – and a second, larger hand, made from hair – in an ambivalent kind of way. “I mean, I am a bit, but it all worked out, and I got to see a First One ship, and learned about the Heart of Etheria, and made friends with Bertha! Oh, and Micah got rescued too. So…” The princess shrugged, an extremely expansive gesture coming from her. “I don’t really see much point in holding a grudge about it? It happened, and some of it was bad, and some of it was good, and you did say you were sorry about the bits that were bad.” She fiddled briefly with her data recorder. “Five times, actually.”

“You always were a lot smarter than the rest of us,” said Catra quietly, not looking at her. “Not holding grudges…I wish I’d figured that one out myself.” She raised her head. “Wait, where is Scorpia? It’s not like her to be this late.” She smiled, softly and sadly. “Gotta get the Super Pal Trio back together, right?”

“Right!”

***

A thunderous knock echoed through the room, and after a few moments, the door slowly toppled off its hinges.

Glimmer flinched. Entrapta could just about hear her mutter, “Moons above! Should I just have the whole castle replaced?”

There was a momentary pause, and then Scorpia moved through the door, dragging a fully loaded cart behind her. It juuuust fit through the door, and at some point, the wheels had either been removed by something or had failed to take the weight. It was leaving a trail of cracked tiles, and with every foot it moved, Glimmer flinched again. The whole assemblage was draped in a grubby tarp, but in a move that perfectly traced out the line between touchingly sincere and jarringly absurd, someone – presumably Lonnie or Kyle – had carefully tied a length of bright red power cable in a big friendly bow around it.

“Uh…hi.” Scorpia rubbed the back of her head awkwardly. “Sorry I’m late, but getting this thing through the Whispering Woods was harder than I expected. Never was much of a navigator.”

Entrapta’s eyes were possibly the largest they’d ever been. “Hi, Scorpia! What is it?”

“It’s your birthday present! Happy birthday.”

Entrapta descended upon the cart. The cable fell away, followed by the tarp, and a chunk of scrap metal toppled onto the floor and broke some more tiles. The cart was piled high with bits and pieces – mostly the stark white and green of Horde Prime, but a few chunks of corroded Fright Zone engineering jutted out.

“Freshly salvaged from the Fright Zone,” said Scorpia proudly. “Since we’re demilitarising and getting rid of the crashed ships and trying to get, you know, things growing again, there’s a ton of metal around the place we don’t really need. I had a good old dig through it, with some help from Kyle – he’s actually a really good engineer now – and this is some of the best stuff.” She smiled and patted Entrapta on the “forearm” of one of her hair-limbs. “If you wanna have a look through it yourself, you’re welcome to come over any time.”

“I LOVE IT!” Entrapta’s hair was all over the place, like she was attempting to hug Scorpia five times at once. “I’m gonna get Bertha to take it back to Dryl, make sure I can have a good look through it with all my tools there! Bertha!”

The ground shook, and Glimmer looked like all of her internal organs had spontaneously changed places.

Bertha erupted through the wall in a shower of fragmented stone. The mech reached out and picked up the heaped pile of Horde scrap, before disappearing out the hole, heading for the road to Dryl. While the roads weren’t exactly safe – too many ex-Horde veterans had turned to banditry after the war – two-ton robots tended to have relatively uneventful journeys; people jumped out at them from behind rocks, then immediately headed home for a nice rest under the bed and maybe a change of underwear.

Glimmer collapsed to the floor and curled up in the foetal position.

Apparently not noticing, Scorpia beamed at Entrapta. “So how are you doing, Entrapta?”

“I’m doing great! Emily and Bertha are getting along, everyone’s being really nice, and it’s great to be with friends again.” She paused for a moment. “Although everyone wants apologise to me and it’s kind of making me sad? I wanna spend my birthday hanging out with my friends, not being told again and again how sorry they are about Beast Island, you know?”

Scorpia grinned. “Well, how about you and I do something fun – after the party, I mean? Look, they’re bringing out the cake!” She took another look. “I mean cakes!”

Adora and Bow were bringing out a table, struggling to hold it exactly level. For Adora’s birthday celebration, just a few days previously, they’d gone for quite a large cake, with some cupcakes to the side as a concession to Entrapta’s dietary habits. For today, there were no ‘concessions’: the entire table was covered with cupcakes, some of which had candles jutting out of them. Entrapta had always had a soft spot for candles; they reminded her of the beacon tower above Dryl.

As the traditional song rang out, Entrapta took a deep breath and swept across the table, candle flames dying as she moved.

Adora smiled at her and said, “Did you make a wish?” “You can’t ask her that, Adora!” Bow sounded scandalised. “If she tells us what she wished for, it won’t come true!”

 I wished that we could all just forgive each other. And ourselves.

“Oh, you guys know me. The usual stuff!”

“First One tech, I bet.” Adora picked up a plate. “Now who wants cupcakes?”

Entrapta accepted the first plate with a gentle smile. The War had been big and confusing and troublesome, and neither she nor her friends had made it out unscathed. All of them had been hurt. Most of them had hurt each other.

But most of them had made it this far, and everyone was beginning to heal.

At the very least, it was a start.

[ahtohallan-calling]

chapter 8 of love is the only thing we can carry with us (kristanna slowburn/angsty but cute/no magic au, rated t) is up!

next chapter // all chapters

“About time you got here!” she called, laughter in her voice. “It feels like I’ve been waiting for hours.”

He came to a stop just as he reached the peak of the hill. “Well, if you’re going to be like that, I might as well turn around and go back…”

“Don’t you dare!” she ordered, no longer able to restrain her excitement as she flew off the porch and ran to him, flinging her arms around his waist. 

Stunned, he stood frozen for a moment before hugging her back, pulling her close against his chest. Surely she had to hear the way his heart was ricocheting off his ribcage, the way his breathing had quickened, but if she did, she didn’t care. 

“I missed you, too,” he whispered, feeling her arms tighten around him in response.

“Are you sure you feel like going up there, Kris? You still look pretty gross to me.”

“I’m fine, Olaf.”

“I’m just saying, you seem pretty pale and weak and stuff. I would get back in b–”

The boy’s protests were cut off by a shriek of glee when strong arms swept him high off the ground. Olaf whooped as Kristoff set him on his broad shoulders with a grin.

“Do I still seem weak now?” he teased.

Olaf clapped. “Do it again! But flip me this time!”

“Even I have my limits, bud. But you can stay up there while I finish getting my stuff together.”

“Okay!”

Kristoff hummed to himself as he finished filling up his satchel with what he might need for the day. His lips curved into a soft smile as he picked up the mug Anna had loaned him, running his thumb gently over the rim, wondering if she’d ever used this one herself, if her mouth had lingered there. 

“Kristoff! I have a question!”

Startled, he nearly dropped the mug. “Olaf, you really don’t have to shout all the time.”

“Yes I do. Just now I had to say your name two times before you listened.”

Kristoff sighed and carefully began wrapping the mug in a spare rag and tucking it into the satchel. “What is it?”

“Can I go with you?”

“Not this time. You’ve got to help Grandpapa, remember? You’re helping him run errands and then going to talk to Gothi about taking over my job.”

“But I thought I was the new helper.”

“You are. Just sometimes…I don’t know, if something happens with Anna, and Grandpapa can’t go, then he can.”

“Why can’t you just do it? I thought you liked her. If you don’t like her, then why did you send her so many letters?”

“Why do you ask so many questions?” Kristoff asked, reaching up to tickle Olaf until the boy giggled and clambered down, running into the next room to escape the torment.

In truth, he and his grandfather both knew there would be little need for Gothi to actually do anything. Anna’s condition had been improving to the point that she no longer needed to be kept under a watchful eye every day, so long as she continued following Grandpapa’s advice, even when it meant choking down little vials of sludgy brown medicine. 

For the long term, the outlook was still bleak, a thought that still felt like a punch to the gut every time it crossed Kristoff’s mind. But for now, Anna was well and whole as she could be, and after a week of being cooped up indoors with a particularly nasty cold, so was he. And he was going to see her again, because he had promised– because she wanted him to.

Unconsciously he ran his hand over his pocket, where he’d put the letter she had sent with Olaf yesterday. Yes. I can’t wait. See you tomorrow. I’ve missed you.

He didn’t know why he was holding onto such an unimportant note; it was a grubby little piece of paper, clearly written in a rush, smudged with dirt from where she’d been working in the garden with Olaf. He knew what it said, so he had no need to re-read it, though he had done so at least half a dozen times. 

He heard a small cough and looked up to see his grandfather leaning in the doorway, wearing a look of concern that was starting to seem permanent. It hadn’t budged since Kristoff had burst in saying he couldn’t take care of Anna anymore. He’d spilled it all out to his grandfather, explaining how he’d found Anna weeping outside in the storm, how they remembered each other, how it was starting to feel wrong to accept payment from the queen to take care of someone he considered a friend– and how he was starting to fear his affection for Anna might cloud his judgment. 

He had talked so long– unusual for him– that his grandfather had insisted he stay the night, which had turned out to be a blessing in disguise when Kristoff had woken up the next morning burning with fever. Even then, Grandpapa’s frown hadn’t been quite as deep as it was now.

“Thanks again for letting me stay here,” Kristoff said, shouldering his bag.

The old man nodded slowly. “I’m your grandfather. I could hardly throw you back out into the storm shivering with fever and hacking up a lung.”

Kristoff started for the door, but his grandfather didn’t move; instead, he held up a hand. “Are you sure about this, son? I worry about the harm it may cause.”

“We talked about this yesterday, Grandpapa. We’re going to go really slowly, and I’ll watch her, and we’ll turn back the second she starts having a hard time. It’ll be okay.”

“I wasn’t talking about the princess.”

Kristoff shifted uncomfortably where he stood. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said. “We’re just going on a walk.”

His grandfather nodded, stepping aside. “Be careful, all the same,” he said, and Kristoff, feeling a sudden burst of affection, leaned down to hug him.

“Always am, aren’t I?” he said, hoping he sounded cheerful, as he pulled away and headed for the front door. “You be careful, too. Don’t let Olaf steer the wagon, no matter how much he begs.”

“I’d sooner jump in a frozen lake. That would be a lot less foolish.”

—

Summer was finally coming to the mountain. For weeks it had teased them with the promise of an early-ending spring, giving them sun-drenched afternoons that faded into chilly twilights and cold winds that crept through windows that had been cracked open for the first time in months. But June was just around the corner, and the whole world was fresh and sweet as the wildflowers that wavered in the breeze. Kristoff had left his outerwear at home, wearing only a loose blue shirt and rolling up the sleeves so he could feel the warmth of the mid-morning sun seeping into his bones. A feeling of contentment settled over him like a cat curling in the windowsill for a nap, and he found himself smiling as he climbed the hill and the cottage came into view.

His smile broadened when he saw Anna waiting for him on the porch, bouncing slightly on the tips of her toes as she waved. “About time you got here!” she called, laughter in her voice. “It feels like I’ve been waiting for hours.”

He came to a stop just as he reached the peak of the hill. “Well, if you’re going to be like that, I might as well turn around and go back…”

“Don’t you dare!” she ordered, no longer able to restrain her excitement as she flew off the porch and ran to him, flinging her arms around his waist. 

Stunned, he stood frozen for a moment before hugging her back, pulling her close against his chest. Surely she had to hear the way his heart was ricocheting off his ribcage, the way his breathing had quickened, but if she did, she didn’t care. 

“I missed you, too,” he whispered, feeling her arms tighten around him in response.

They stood that way for a while before Anna untangled her arms from around him and he reluctantly let go. “Sorry,” she said, color flaming in her cheeks. “It’s just been, uh, really quiet around here.”

“Are you telling me even Olaf wasn’t enough to keep you occupied?”

She laughed. “After a while, all his questions sort of fade into background noise. But I hope it gave you some relief to send him up here so much. Are you feeling better now?”

“Definitely.”

Her eyes lit up. “And ready to take me on an adventure?”

“Of course. But here–” he said, digging in his satchel and pulling out the carefully wrapped mug. “Might want to put this up first.”

She took it with a grin and headed for the kitchen. “Did it help?” she called over her shoulder as he followed her in. 

“Yes. Even better than Grandpapa’s medicine.”

“Oh, god, I think anything would be better than that,” she said with a theatrical shiver as she replaced the mug in the cabinet. “Before we go, do you need me to get anything? Or I can help you carry your satchel if you need a break, or…”

“Actually, I forgot a blanket. Would you mind grabbing one for us?”

She nodded excitedly and darted into the living room for the now-familiar plaid blanket. He grinned after her; he hadn’t forgotten at all, but he had long since realized how much it meant to her to help out, even with the smallest things. The blanket would easily be light enough for her to carry it all day without getting tired– and besides, he was starting to feel attached to this one.  

She came back with it folded over her arm, practically vibrating with excitement. “Okay, I’m ready. Where are we going?”

He led her outside, holding the door open for her and laughing when she clumsily curtsied in spite of her cargo. “To one of my favorite places. It’s not far, but we do have to walk since I don’t have Sven today. Tell me if you get tired, okay?”

“Don’t worry about me. I’ve spent so much time cooped up indoors laying around like a lump, I don’t think I’ll ever get tired again.”

He led her down the hill, making sure to take the least steep path down the slope, and then veered to the right, towards a gap between two oak trees. “Watch where you step. There’s a path, but I haven’t been out here since last fall, so I don’t know how clear it is.”

Normally, he could have easily made the hike in twenty minutes by walking at a clip and scaling the small cliff that blocked the way, but none of that was possible with Anna in tow. He found himself not caring in the slightest, relishing her little gasps of excitement each time she sighted something new and wondrous and paused to examine it. That was the benefit of taking the long way around; it meant more time with her, and it meant there was no risk of over-exerting herself– the incline was slight this way, and there were ample opportunities for her to stop and catch her breath without embarrassing herself by having to ask. 

That was what he’d told his grandfather the day before, having carefully chosen this spot and planned out his argument over two days spent in bed in between dozing off and listening to Olaf chatter on about everything that floated through his mind.

Anna, for once, was almost quiet, blue eyes wide with wonder as she drank it all in. Kristoff found himself wishing he could see his world through her eyes, meet the mountain and its hidden treasures for the first time all over again. “Kristoff, this is the most amazing place I’ve ever seen,” she breathed, examining a butterfly that was sunning its wings on the side of a tree. “I could stay here forever.”

Then stay, he thought. “Just wait. We’re almost there.”

They turned a corner past a copse of trees, and Anna gasped, her hands flying to her mouth so quickly Kristoff barely had time to catch the blanket as it fell. “Is– is this real?”

He laughed. “I hope so. Come on.”

He led her into the glade, feeling a sense of pride as she stared, speechless. They were near the banks of a pond that shimmered an unearthly blue, the color of water that had once been part of a glacier. It was past midday, and the sun sparkled on the surface of the pond, as if stars had fallen there and decided to linger. Beneath their feet was a field of tiny purple primroses, which Anna was doing her utmost not to crush. 

“Do you really like it?” Kristoff asked, suddenly nervous.

She nodded furiously. “Oh, this is going to the top of my happy ever after list.”

The ground was still damp from the last remnants of spring rains and melting snow, and so he led her to a small boulder caught between shade and sunlight that rose almost to his height. “Need help climbing up?”

“I can do it,” she said, already scurrying towards the smaller rocks beside it and clambering up. 

He grinned. “Well done, feistypants.”

Once she was seated, he found a foothold on the side and hoisted himself up with ease. To his surprise, when he glanced at Anna again, her cheeks were pink.

She cleared her throat. “So, anyway, while we’re on the subject, did you ever think of yours?”

“My what?”

“Your happy ever after, remember? I told you mine ages ago. Now it’s your turn.”

He pondered it for a minute. He’d given the idea thought for a brief moment here and there, more out of boredom than anything else. But now, with a sense of peace warming him even more than the sunlight, he thought maybe he had an idea.

“I think mine would just be…being here as much as I can. Just enjoying all of this,” he said, gesturing vaguely at the view.

“That’s it?”

“Well, it’s all I’ve got.”

“No big house or piles of money or beautiful wife?”

Why were his cheeks suddenly burning? “I– I mean, if that stuff happened too, it would be nice. Probably, anyway. But this is all I really need.”

She tilted her head, examining him, before nodding in approval. “Then it counts. Congratulations, Kristoff Bjorgman, you’re officially part of the happy ever after game.”

“Is there a prize to win?”

“It’s not that kind of game.”

“Then it’s not a game, is it?” he teased, and she stuck out her tongue.

“What’d you bring in your bag?” she asked, already pulling it open to see for herself.

“Sandwiches. I thought you might be–”

“My favorite!” she exclaimed, pulling one out. “You remembered.”

“Lucky coincidence,” he lied. “Just the easiest picnic food to pack.”

Anna was already tearing into a ham sandwich, looking distinctly unprincesslike. Kristoff unwrapped one for himself, and they ate in companionable silence, enjoying the warmth of the day as it thawed away the last of winter’s chill.

After a while, he glanced over to see Anna leaning forward, elbows propped on her knees as she rested her chin on her hands. She noticed him looking and waggled her eyebrows. “Like what you see?”

For a single moment, neither of them dared to breathe, and then they both burst out into laughter. She sat back up, leaning her head to rest on his shoulder as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Without hesitation, he put his arm around her, hoping that he seemed just as casual.

“I really did mean what I said in my first letter,” Anna said, a touch of shyness in her voice. “I wanted to thank you for everything you did for me.”

“It was nothing, really,” he began, but already she was shaking her head.

“I mean it. For all the stuff you did for me since I came up here. And– and for playing with me when we were little. It still feels so crazy that it was you I’d been wondering about for all those years, and I didn’t even realize it at first.”

He swallowed hard. “Well– you’re welcome. What are friends for, huh?”

She nodded, and he squeezed her closer for a moment, wishing he had words to tell her that he wanted to thank her, too, for making him laugh more than he ever had, for making him see the world with new eyes, for reminding him that there was more to life than making it through one day after another. He glanced down in time to catch her yawning. “Ready to go back?” he asked gently.

“No. But maybe we should. I think napping on this rock would be a recipe for a sore neck.”

He laughed and jumped down from the rock, landing with ease. With a sudden gleam in her eye, Anna scooted forward. “Catch me!” she called, already pushing off from the rock.

Kristoff did, eyes wide as she landed in his outstretched arms. She patted his chest and clambered down, already heading back towards the path. “Give me more of a warning next time, eh?” he called after her. “What if I’d dropped you?”

“I knew you wouldn’t,” she called back. 

He knew it then, that it was hopeless; maybe it always had been. 

He followed after her like he knew he would for the rest of his life if only she would let him.

They chattered the whole way back, about the trees and plants and animals that made this forest their home; about the silly things Olaf had said and done over the last week; about the sunflowers Anna had planted in his absence and how long it would take them to grow. At some point, the path grew a little steep, and Anna stumbled; Kristoff offered his arm, and she took it, not letting go even when it evened out again.

The sun was only barely beginning to set as they emerged back out onto the main path and turned for the cottage. To Kristoff’s surprise, there was a carriage out front, a large, dark green one, hitched to two white horses. Anna let go of him then, darting up the hill and calling, “Elsa! You came!”

He followed more slowly, trying to give the sisters a moment to catch up. For a moment he debated simply turning and slipping away, but he saw Anna gesturing at him as she explained something to her sister, and the queen turned to look at him with that cool, heavy-lidded look of appraisal. Anna disappeared inside for a moment; he was close enough to hear her tell her sister she was putting on the kettle for tea.

Kristoff cleared his throat, turning to the queen, but she cut him off.

“You and I have much to discuss, Mr. Bjorgman,” she said. “I’ve come with quite a few questions, but they can wait for tomorrow. Tonight I’ll spend with my sister.”

“I’ll take my leave, then.”

She caught his elbow before he could turn away. “A moment, though, Mr. Bjorgman,” she said, her tone amiable though her eyes flashed icy cold. “I appreciate your efforts in caring for my sister. But I fear you have forgotten one thing.”

“What would that be, your majesty?”

“Your place.”

With that, she turned away from him in a swirl of skirts, entering the cottage and closing the door firmly behind her.

[saxxxology]

THE CURSED - Ch.2

Being an English Princess in 1739 is everything for Y/N, a Princess from a prosperous, powerful kingdom, to be happy about… until her parents arrange for her to marry a Prince from a nearby kingdom against her wishes. Unable to join her on her journey, the Royal family hires the Winchesters, two experienced Rangers, to guide her. However, the Princess and the younger brother begin to display affection for each other, and when her heat threatens her life, Sam makes a possibly deadly decision to save it.

PAIRING: Alpha!Sam x Omega!Reader

WORD COUNT: ~3000

OVERALL WARNINGS: a/b/o dynamics (heat/rut, claiming, knotting), age gap, smut of varying levels, descriptions of injury and gore, a tad of dub-con and 18th-century sexism from time to time, occasional bits of angst, fighting, and violence, eventual minor character death

NOTE: Edited by @crispychrissy and @quiddy-writes - please heed all warnings! Please keep in mind that this series is set in the 18th century - society is not what it is today. I do not control where your eyes go; if you feel disturbed or think something may trigger you, it is your responsibility to either stop reading or scroll past.

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THIS WORK IS 18+ ONLY. DO NOT REPOST MY WORK ON ANY OTHER SITES.

The following evening, they came upon an inn. As they entered, a woman, tall, with graying brown hair, dressed in a brown and white tavern maid’s outfit looked up from the bar. When she saw Sam and Dean, she smiled, revealing rather straight white teeth.

“Well, I haven’t seen you boys in a while,” she reached over the bar to clap the boys on the shoulder with a grimy hand. She had a soft Scottish accent and had a glint in her eye that Y/N had often heard stories about. “I’d know that damned Winchester scent anywhere. Where in God’s name have you boys been for the past six months?”

Sam laughed and shrugged his fur cloak off before draping it over the stool next to him. “Miss Ellen, this is Y/N, Dean and I are escorting her to her… her wedding.”

“I thought you boys were bloody Rangers.”

“We are,” Sam explained, “but when you’re promised two thousand crowns…”

“Ahhh…” Ellen eyed Y/N as the girl perched on the edge of a barstool. “Pretty little thing, in’t she? And young.”

“Eighteen.” Sam smiled as the barmaid set down three tankards of mead. “Y/N, try the mead. Miss Ellen here’s got the best in the land.”

“God willin’,” Ellen crossed herself and smiled proudly before shooting a glare towards Dean. “And you, my Joanna Beth had better be safe and happy or I swear I’ll stop ye from knotting anything ever again.”

Despite the threat, Dean grinned. “She’s safe in Dolgellau, ma’am. Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“And no babes yet?”

“I think we’d be quicker to tell you if there were.”

“I’d hope,” Ellen flicked her soft brown eyes to Y/N. “Tell me, Y/N, are you a prayin’ girl?”

Y/N nodded and sipped at the sweet liquor. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Good.” Ellen brought her kitchen towel down on Sam’s shoulder, making him jump and spill mead from his overflowing tankard on himself. “Better pray this young buck here doesn’t take you for his own.” She laughed as Sam blushed heavily and tried to wipe himself clean and Dean sniggered. “Don’t roll your eyes at me, Winchester, we both know how y’are. And your brother was just as bad until he settled down with my little girl.” She looked at Y/N, who was watching the banter with a slight look of nervousness on her face. “Took her right behind my back without even askin’ me first."

“I’m not—” Sam fell silent at the look Ellen shot him and took a long swallow of his drink. “Well, we’re just passing through, but we could use a room for the night.”

“Keep two open all the time.” Ellen nodded and reached for two keys that hung from a belt around her waist, handing one to each man. “Always expect you boys to come around, they’re all yours for as long as you need.”

***

Sam insisted on sleeping in the same room as Y/N/ He couldn’t deny that Dean’s presence around her was bothering him, and Dean retreated to his own room after exaggerating a yawn, bading them goodnight, and shooting Sam a look that said don’t try anything.

Days of travel had caused them to become dirty, and Sam filled a small metal tub with warm water heated over the fireplace. Y/N, contrary to what Sam had initially believed, did not mind nudity. He’d expected her to be shy and fearful of exposing her naked form in front of a man she’d known for less than a week, but nevertheless, she tugged her muddy bodice and dress off and sank into the steaming water. Sam turned his back—out of respect, not because he wanted to—and occupied himself with cleaning his bow and straightening the feathers on his arrows.

Y/N quickly scrubbed herself with sweet-smelling lye soap before wrapping herself in a sheet and stepping out of the water. When she dropped it to put on a nightdress from her travel case, Sam couldn’t help but catch a glimpse of one small, firm breast silhouetted in the firelight before it was covered in soft, cream-colored fabric. If she knew he’d seen her, she didn’t say anything.

After Sam washed, they used the soapy water to rinse their muddy clothes and hung them by the fire to dry. By the time they were cleaned up and ready to eat, it was dark. Dean was nowhere to be found, so Sam and Y/N journeyed downstairs to take advantage of the roasting meat and fresh bread that had been rising in the kitchen when they’d first entered, and Sam soon left Y/N at a table to catch up with Ash, a scraggly barkeeper he hadn’t seen in a while.

She was halfway through her meal when a large, grubby hand took her by the arm and yanked her upwards.

“Mm…” a voice growled, in her ear, “you smell delicious, little Omega. Bet you’re ripe for the pickin’, huh.”

Too frightened to scream, Y/N froze in terror as another hand groped at her breast through the fabric of her dress.

“Young, too,” a different voice muttered, and Y/N looked up to see two very tall, very large Alphas staring her down. She trembled violently in their grip and winced as the Alpha gripping her breast gave her nipple a violent pinch. An audible gasp of pain and fear left her lips, and they laughed.

“Ahh, Tucker, I think she likes you.”

“Yeah, I think she does.” The man called Tucker gripped Y/N’s hair and tugged her head back. “What do you think, darlin’? I can smell your heat coming, you’re gonna be beggin’ for me to claim you when it's fully come ‘round.”

“Sam!” Y/N found her voice and cried out. “Sam, please, help me—!”

“Shut up!” Tucker roughly shoved her back against the wall and wrapped his fingers around her throat. Patrons were stopping to look, and Y/N felt ready to pass out from the panic racing through her. “Stupid little Omega, crying out for your Alpha.” He grabbed her still-damp hair and pushed it to the side, exposing her neck as he searched for a mark. “But you’re not claimed yet, are y—”

He fell away as something large and heavy slammed into him. He collapsed to the floor, the wind knocked out of him. Y/N looked up with tears blurring her vision to see Sam standing over her would-be attacker; he’d body slammed the man with every ounce of strength.

The powerful Alpha rolled his shoulders back as he prepared for a full-on brawl. “Get away from her.” He growled, and Y/N swore his eyes turned yellow, the pupils long and slanted in the golden orbs. “She’s mine.”

Tucker stared up at Sam, horror spread across his face. “You… what are you?”

Sam bared his teeth at the man and advanced, sending him scuttling back and into the legs of a stool. “Never mind what I am,” he muttered, “you were going to claim her against her will. That is a crime, you know that. From what I hear, the punishment is being put in the stocks and getting a hundred lashings before having the title of your crime branded onto your forehead.” He drew a dagger from his belt and traced it up the man’s chest and over his arms. “And I wager that I could bargain my way into bein’ the one to deliver both. Now, is that really worth claiming an Omega that rejects your advances?”

“I—” Tucker gulped and raised a hand as Sam stood over him. “I was only having a laugh, I swear, I wasn’t going to—!”

“Answer me!” Sam bellowed. “Is it worth it?”

“N-no!”

With a predatory growl, Sam slit the knife over the man’s cheek, leaving a deep cut that would inevitably scar. Tucker yelped and clutched at the wound as blood began to drip through his fingers.

“Take that as a permanent warning and get out.” Sam snarled. “And if I ever see your damned face again I swear on my life that I will rip you apart piece by piece and put your head on a pike. Do you understand me?”

The two Alphas left as fast as they could, pushing through the crowd and racing through the open door. Everyone stared after them as Sam turned back to Y/N, blue and green flooding the fiery yellow that had temporarily inhabited them.

“Come here.” He held out his hand and pulled her through the crowd and up the stairs, and the second they were safely inside their room, he locked the door.

Y/N was shaken up and repeatedly touched her upper arm and chest where the Alpha had brazenly grabbed her. “Sam, I didn’t provoke him, I swear—”

“It wasn’t you,” Sam rolled up her sleeve and touched her arm gently. “He could smell you, half the Alphas in there could. They just chose not to act on it.”

Y/N’s eyes filled with tears. “If you hadn’t come…”

“Don’t think about it,” Sam lifted her chin to look at her throat, rage burning in his chest at the sight of the reddening marks. “You’re safe now."

“But what was that?” Y/N asked, “your eyes, they turned… they turned yellow. Why?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“But—”

“It doesn’t concern you.”

Sam responded louder than he’d wanted to. Y/N shrank back and folded her arms protectively across her chest, and Sam apologetically reached out for her. When she flinched away, a pang of guilt filled his stomach.

“I scared you.” He knelt in front of her and bowed his head in shame. “I didn’t think. I let my emotions and my feelings control me and I did something in front of you that was… unbecoming. I am sorry.” Sam took a deep breath and waited for her to speak.

“I forgive you,” she murmured, “I admit, I wasn’t expecting you to react that way, but what’s done is done.” She took his hand and helped him to stand, and Sam noticed that although her voice was steady, tears threatened to drop from her eyes. “Come on, let’s get to bed.”

Sam’s chest ached when he saw her rubbing at her eyes as they settled under the thick blankets. Several minutes later, he was just about to doze off when he felt Y/N shudder next to him. Thinking that maybe she was cold, he turned to check.

The moonlight illuminated tears trailing out of the corners of her eyes, and she promptly wiped them away when she caught him looking.

“Y/N?”

“I’m okay.”

Sam rolled onto his side and raised himself up on one elbow. “No, tell me what’s wrong. I know that Alpha scared you, but he won’t touch you ever again, I won't let him. I won’t let any Alpha hurt you.”

“I don’t—” she sniffed and wiped her eyes on the pillow. “I don't want to get married. I won't be happy, I just know it.”

Sam swallowed and watched fresh tears spill from her eyes. He felt himself growing angry again; he didn't believe in forced or arranged marriages and Y/N was entirely right to be upset. But he wanted her, needed her. The actions of the Alpha downstairs had solidified that, and if his life and soul wouldn't be in danger afterwards, he’d solve the problem and make her his right there as she lay next to him.

“You don't have to if you don't want to,” Sam tilted his head and gazed at her. “You could always come and stay with us.”

Y/N shook her head. “I could be killed if I don't… or my family could be punished…”

She sniffed again, burying her face in the pillow. Sam gently touched her shoulder and felt her tremble at the feeling. It seemed like every time they touched, the mutual feeling they had grew stronger and stronger.

Sam shook the feeling off. “Are you more upset because it’s arranged or because he’s not an Alpha?”

“Both.” Her voice was quiet and thick with emotion. “I want to marry someone I love, not someone who won't be able to properly—”

“—satisfy you.” Sam finished her sentence for her.

Y/N nodded and swallowed thickly. “I’ve heard of Omegas dying because their heat makes them too ill and improper mates can't satisfy them… I don’t want that. I just want someone to love me and not treat me like some breeder they can use to solve their problems.”

Ignoring the throbbing in his gut, Sam pulled her into his arms and rubbed her back soothingly. She curled up against him and cried silently into his chest. “I'm sorry this is happening to you,” he whispered, “but you won't be alone.”

“What do you mean?”

“You think I'd just leave you there?” Sam smiled affectionately down at her. “I'd come by to see you, I'm not heartless.”

Y/N swallowed and tearfully returned the smile. Sam had to fight the urge to dip his head and kiss her. He doubted she’d ever been kissed before. Before he knew what he was doing, he was leaning in and pressing his forehead against hers. He breathed in her scent and closed his eyes as he reached up to grip her shoulder.

“Sam,” Y/N breathed, “what are you doing?”

He gritted his teeth and fought against the pull in his gut that told him to kiss her. “I… I can’t lie to you, I’m finding myself very attracted to you.”

She stiffened against him and he felt her press her thighs together. “We can’t, Sam. I admit, I wouldn’t… I wouldn’t care. You saved me tonight, I’m thankful for that and I owe you…”

He shook his head. “You don’t owe me anything.”

Without a second thought, he kissed her, sliding his arms about her body and pulling her close. She pressed her palms against his chest, torn between pulling him closer and giving him a slap across the face for not waiting until she’d finished crying. When he deepened the kiss, taking her lower lip between his teeth, she felt a pang of need course through her, and she instinctively parted her lips to return the kiss, a small moan escaping her lips as she did.

When they separated, both of them stared at each other, breathless and in shock over what had just happened. Sam was the first to speak.

“We shouldn’t.”

Y/N nodded in agreement. “I’m betrothed.”

Sam chuckled and ran his fingers over her back. She was naked underneath the nightgown she wore, and he barely managed to restrain himself from grabbing handfuls of her ass and pulling her on top of him. “I know… but I don’t care about that.”

“I don’t want to marry, but…” she pulled herself from his grip, and Sam almost whined at the loss of her touch, “I can't do it, Sam, I just… I just hope that was enough.”

“Not nearly,” Sam gripped her hand and brought it to the base of his length, grinning as she trembled at the feeling of his cock, hard and warm through the thin fabric of his trousers. “This is what you’ve made me feel for days. I just refuse to act like that Alpha downstairs…”

She gazed up at him. “I’ve never…”

“I’m not asking you to,” he sighed as her hand withdrew from him. “I wish you’d allow me to touch you. Taste you.”

Y/N shivered. “I can’t, my husband would—”

“He’s not your husband yet.” Sam implored. “And he never will be. Just like you said, a husband loves his wife, cares for her. He doesn’t treat her like a piece of meat he can stick his cock in whenever he likes.” He rose up on his arm and gazed down at her. “Your heat is going to start soon, Y/N, and when that happens…”

“I know,” she replied, her eyes fluttering closed, “I know what I’ll want, what I’ll need. It scares me.”

Sam clicked his tongue and brushed his fingers over her cheek. “You needn’t be scared. I won’t do anything you don’t want me to. But if it comes to your life, I’ll save it, no matter the cost.”

Y/N swallowed and turned her face against his palm. “I’m a virgin, Sam, you must know that.”

Sam hesitated. He’d only been with one virgin Omega before. The thought of hurting her scared him, but something more important ate away at his mind.  There was a wedding that needed to happen, if she was knotted before—especially by an Alpha of Sam’s size—her Beta husband would surely know on their wedding night.

“I don’t care,” he decided. “I wouldn’t care if you were whoring yourself out to every man in the world.”

Y/N laughed at that. “I can't believe we’re here. I never thought you even liked the idea of having to escort me anywhere, much less my own wedding.”

“Well,” Sam took the opportunity to press himself back against her, “I was very interested in the money, but then I realized I had something better than the money.” He kissed her again. “You.”

This round of kissing was softer, more tender, and Sam put everything he had into it, eventually pulling her atop him so that she lay across his chest, her arms at his shoulders. She was almost comically small, and that only made him want her more.

“Thank you, Sam,” she finally murmured, resting her head on the pillow once they’d broken apart.

He chuckled and let her rest her head against him. “You're welcome, Princess.”

If you want to see chapter 3, reblog and leave a comment! Feedback is my fuel!

TAGS FOR THIS SERIES ARE CLOSED

Forever tags: @atc74 @artisticlunar @becaamm @bamby0304 @crispychrissy @crashdevlin @curly-haired-disaster @cameronbraswell @emoryhemsworth @ellen-reincarnated1967 @kittenofdoomage @kayteonline @kdfrqqg @littlegreenplasticsoldier @leatherwhiskeycoffeeplaid @manawhaat @mereka18 @mrswhozeewhatsis @meganwinchester1999 @oneshoeshort @percussiongirl2017 @serpentbaby @smallgirlbigpersonality @thelittleredwhocould @winchesterprincessbride @winecatsandpizza @85natalie @81mysteriouslyme

[trashy-greyjoy]

theonsa modern accidental pregnancy?? im a sucker for that shit

i have a severe pregnancy-phobia so uh i switched it up just a little l;sakdjf

“Now, you have to promise not to freak out.” 

That’s the first thing he says when she steps through the door. 

The very first thing. Before the latch even clicks, before she can drop her keys in the dish, he’s in front of her with that frantic look on his face and hands stretched out in front of him.

She freezes there, closing her eyes and sighing. She should be used to it by now, god, truly she should. Knowing him since he was a grubby twelve year old, and then living with him for the past year. Really, she should expect it.

She pinches the bridge of her nose as delicately as possible. Hoping more than anything it’s something small. 

“I hate it when you say that.”

“Promise,” he urges.

“Theon, what did you do?” she says it as evenly as she can. She does not want this to escalate, but her mind is running through every stupid thing he could have possibly done in the four hours since she last saw him.

The possibilities are… honestly terrifying.

“You have to promise you won’t be mad first. And you can’t yell, it’ll scare her.”

“Scare her? Who is her?”

“No. Now see you’re yelling,” he points out and it’s getting harder for her to remain calm.  

“Theon Greyjoy, if you don’t tell me what you did right now-” she doesn’t even get to finish the sentence. A tiny, high pitched whine sounds from behind her roommate cutting the sentence off at her lips. 

They both freeze.

“What is that?”

“Well, so, um…. I may have accidentally got us a dog.” He says it so nonchalantly, it takes her a minute to actually process it. 

“You accidentally got a dog?” she means to clarify. 

“Yes,” he nods. She can see he’s waiting for her to yell at him or throw a fit, the tension in his shoulders and how he keeps shuffling on his feet. 

(It’s a little cute. 

Maybe.)

The dog whines again, louder and so sad, and okay Sansa has always loved dogs so maybe it tugs a little at her heart. Just a little. 

And she’s never really been able to stay mad at Theon for very long either. 

“Where is she?”

The grin that breaks across his face makes her roll her eyes and smirk.

(And her stomach do that stupid thing it does when he looks at her sometimes.)

She’s precious. A tiny grey ball of fluff and bouncing legs and she falls in love immediately. She bends down and scooping the squirming puppy into her arms.

“Oh, you’re just the cutest thing aren’t you?” she coos. “Yes, you are!”

She licks sloppily at her cheek, smearing slobber into her skin and rubbing her wet little nose against her neck. It pulls a laugh from her chest, warm and soft and fuzzy just like the thing in her arms. 

(She reminds her of Lady, the day they got her all those years ago, and she feels a little sad too. A little nostalgic, but it disappears with more kisses.)

“So,” she starts, looking back up at Theon, where he’s grinning at her from the doorway. Smiling like an idiot. “How did you ‘accidentally’ come into the possession of a puppy?”

“Oh, well…” he scratches the back of his neck and looks down. “Robb and I were at the mall, ya know, dicking around, and I’m not saying I was high, but I may have smoked like half a joint on the way there, and we went into that pet store right by the entrance. And they were all so cute ya know? And fluffy and she just looked really lonely and sad and so I asked to play with her, just for a little bit because I felt bad.”

It’s the most unsurprising story she could have heard. Exactly his brand.

“Well, anyway, the lady kept coming over and asking if I was done with her yet, but I wasn’t and like I didn’t wanna say that. And she asked if I wanted her and I mean what was I supposed to say? ‘Sorry ma’am. I’m actually just stoned and wanted to play with a soft puppy for a little bit. I have no intention of taking her. I’ll leave now.’ So she brought me adoption papers and I just kinda… adopted her.”

“You got a dog because you were high and you felt bad about not wanting to adopt a dog?” she asks, barely containing her laughter. 

“Yes,” he nods, completely serious. 

(Impossibly, she thinks it might make her lover him more.)

“Of course you did,” she grins and he grins back, just as warm. Just as much like sunlight. 

What an idiot.

Later that night, they curl up on the couch, the three of them, for pizza and a shitty movie. She pretends not to notice the way he sneaks her tiny bits of the anchovies from his half (because he’s a Greyjoy with terrible taste). He pretends she doesn’t drop a piece of crust on purpose. 

Credits roll in the dark and she looks over and sees them there, asleep. Theon with his head lolled back on the arm of the couch, and Princess tucked perfectly against his side. They both look so soft and at home and she snaps a quick picture, or maybe several, while it lasts.

(It was, simply put, adorable. It was the cutest thing she had ever seen. It was perfect.)