#Here's some personal details for no one to care about

[innerfare]

A Lucky Injury - Law

Summary: Your Captain, whom you've been crushing on since you joined the Heart Pirates, was injured in a fight, and his wound is in a place he just can't reach, forcing him to ask you for help bandaging it. Features pining (reader is down bad).

Pairing: Trafalgar Law x Gn!Reader

Genre: Angst, Eventual Fluff

CW: SFW // Slight Mention of Blood and Injury (no real gory details though)

Word Count: 643

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It was a lucky injury. You were a bad person for thinking it, a horrible person for gleaning any amount of pleasure from your Captain’s pain, but it was a lucky injury. Somewhere between mild and moderate on the scale, closer to moderate though Law claimed it was mild, the gash on his shoulder blade was just out of reach. For him, at least. The gash was well within your reach. It was also serious enough to warrant medical attention, but not so serious that you had to worry about his future health. 

It was a lucky injury. 

“Take off your shirt,” you ordered him, doing your utmost to act normal as he sighed and went to pull his hoodie off. To your sick pleasure, he flinched a little when he did, allowing you to step in and pull it the rest of the way off. You caught the lingering scent of his soap and that special laundry detergent he used for his sensitive skin mixed with his sweat, and you had to stop yourself from pulling the garment to your face and inhaling like some sort of lunatic. 

“Y/n-ah, I can do it myself.” His voice sounded lower than usual, similar to when he was tired or battling a cold he insisted he didn’t have. It was gravelly, like it might give out at any moment. 

“Just like you could fight those guys yourself?” You set the hoodie beside him on the exam table and assessed his wound, drying some of the blood from his tanned skin. You took extra care not to look at his bare chest, knowing full well those heart tattoos and lithe muscles would make it too difficult to concentrate on your work. 

“I did fight them myself,” he said. “And I beat them myself, too, so don’t-” He hissed as you dabbed his wound with antiseptic. 

“Yeah, you’re a real tough guy.” 

“I’m a Warlord,” he reminded you. 

“And the most terrifying one, to boot.” You continued cleaning his wound, a little bit too aware of the way his jaw clenched as you worked. Oh, and the sinewy line of his shoulder. You knew your captain was a nerd, but he certainly didn’t have the body of a guy who spent much of his time hunched over a desk. 

It was a lucky injury. 

“Why are you taking so long?” He asked. “It’s clean by now, just bandage me up.” 

“Doctors make the worst patients,” you tutted, giving his wound one more pass with the antiseptic. It was for his own good, not because you wanted to take advantage of the opportunity to touch him. 

“If you’re dragging this out to punish me for going in by myself-” 

“I would never prolong your suffering,” you interrupted, reaching for a bandage. “That would be unethical.” 

“Yeah,” he muttered, “a pirate would never do something unethical.” 

“Is the Warlord going to lecture me now on ethics?” 

“Maybe.” He cleared his throat, and you realized there was a slight pink flush to his cheeks, though you had no idea why. You could only imagine he was embarrassed to be caught in a position where he needed help. 

You considered messing up the bandage so you had to redo it, now not even so enamored by his naked upper half as you were enjoying the way he squirmed, for once not in a position of power, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. Of course, you regretted it as soon as he grabbed his dirty hoodie and tugged it back on. 

“I’ll need to change that in a few hours,” you told him as he stood up. “Come find me after dinner.” 

“Thanks,” was all he said before slipping out, leaving you with the fresh memory of his shirtless form and warm skin. 

It was a lucky injury. 

———

Hope you enjoyed it! If you want more, you can check out my masterlist here!

[fierceawakening]

There is ALSO the thing where when people are unhappy with an incumbent they vote for the opponent.

This is very likely a factor in what happened here as well. It’s stupid because Trump is not a normal candidate, but it’s how things usually work, so it’s not especially surprising.

Personally (and my opinion is worth as much as anyone’s which is very little) I think we should’ve been more sparing with “fascist” and freer with “weird.”

The problem with words like “fascist” is they’re so intense that people defend themselves against hearing what you meant by telling themselves it’s hyperbole.

It’s a common thing that happens when people are taken in by sociopathic con men (this post is NOT me saying anyone with a particular diagnosis is destined to be a con man, it’s talking about a pattern in people who are both things. How often they go together is a topic for a different post and if you want that discussion I’ll have it but not here.)

Such people have a tendency to tell whoppers. Big lies, not just little ones. “The election was stolen and we all know it” rather than “I heard about some funny business in Burpass County, maybe we should recount there?”

When a very obvious lie is told with confidence, people tend to tell themselves “no one would make that up. There must be something to it I don’t see.”

I know this is a thing because it happened to me.

I had an online friend who claimed to be intersex and to have and need constant expensive medical care related to menstrual bleeding that wasn’t fully exiting hir body.

The few details ze gave did not match anything I knew about any specific intersex condition, and I’ve heard of several of the common ones and know how they tend to work, so I should’ve thought “that sounds odd. I should ask hir what the diagnosis is.”

Instead, I thought “I don’t know everything about intersex conditions. It’s far more likely that there’s a condition I haven’t heard of that does this particular thing than that my friend is pretending to be intersex. That’s a super weird thing to pretend.”

It came out later that these supposedly elaborate expensive doctor visits were just zem driving off for a few hours and returning with tall tales.

Worse, it came out that there were many other lies, “I paid the rent” being one of them.

“Vote for me! I’m trying a radical new strategy to make things better for you because I come from a non political background” is much more comforting than “Vote for me! I have no idea what I’m doing, I want to oppress and harm you for my own gain, and I don’t care how many of you die.”

I wouldn’t believe it if I hadn’t lived through my own smaller version of it and experienced just how much of a heel you feel like when you knew better but didn’t say anything because no one would do THAT.

If your democrat friends start muttering about stolen election conspiracy theories, the time to have a sit down with them and express your concerns is NOW, while you still have a chance to reach them, not 6 months from now when they're fully conspiracy-pilled.

Here's some of the talking points and why they're bullshit:

'10 million votes don't just disappear!' -> Joe Biden's 81 million votes were a statistical outlier, sparked by the recent experience of the Trump presidency. The democrats failed to maintain that sense of urgency, but Harris still got more votes than Hillary Clinton, more than Obama and more than any previous democratic candidate. These numbers are not weird at all.

'The Republicans tried to infiltrate election- and vote counting organizations!' -> yeah, they did, and yet hundreds of independent legal observers didn't see anything go wrong enough to raise any alarms. Independent exit polls are also very consistently similar to the counted votes. Tons of international organizations specialized in this stuff observed the election and didn't see a reason to raise the alarm.

'But I know a dozen democrats whose mail-in votes were not counted!' -> In any election a certain number of votes are registered as invalid because something was wrong with the ballot. In a country the size of the US, that translates to many thousands of votes. The internet allows these people to find each other, creating the false impression that a suspiciously large group of voted was not valid.

'Musk used Star Link to mess with electronic voting!' -> Electronic voting machines are not connected to the internet and dozens of independent media have already debunked this myth. It is absolutely impossible to use Star Link to fake election results.

'There is voter disenfranchisement!' -> This is true. This has always been true, for every election. It's an issue worth talking about but it's not a special secret conspiracy that's unique to this election.

But just as importantly as the facts: sit down with your friend and talk about the anxiety that's behind their conspiracy leanings. Acknowledge their pain and fear. Help them find ways to feel less powerless and regain their sense of agency. Take them to a mutual aid event, involve them in a fundraising event for a marginalized group, invite them to a local community effort. If they spend more time feeling connection and empowerment and less time doom scrolling online, they're far more likely to stay in reality.

[neferaskingdom]

♡ Good Luck Charm | CL16

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

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Summary: If this was just supposed to be Casual, why is he acting like this? Why is he holding her close as if he never plans to let go? [Inspired by Casual by Chappell Roan]

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Part 2 of my Is It Casual Now? series: Masterlist: Part 1

It had started out as a casual thing. A friends-with-benefits arrangement, nothing more. At least, that’s what she told herself at first.

But Charles made it difficult to keep things casual. There was an undeniable charm to him, a sweetness she hadn't anticipated. He didn’t just text her at night or call her when he was back in Monaco. Instead, he called regularly, sometimes even when he was across the world for a race. He’d ask about her day, make her laugh with stories about his travels, and always ended with some version of, “I can’t wait to come home and see you.”

And then, there were the little things he did that went beyond what she’d expected. He’d bring her favorite coffee when they met up, remember small details she’d mentioned in passing, and leave her cute voice messages when he found something that reminded him of her. Charles was effortlessly thoughtful, as if caring for her was second nature.

One evening, after a tough qualifying session, he called her, his voice a mixture of frustration and exhaustion. “You would not believe how bad the setup felt today,” he complained. “It’s like the car just… refused to cooperate.”

She listened as he vented, offering encouragement and making him laugh with a few lighthearted comments. By the end of the call, he sounded calmer, even managing a smile in his voice. “You know, you’re good at this. You make me feel better even from thousands of miles away.”

“Well, someone has to keep you sane,” she teased.

“Oh, you’re doing much more than that,” he replied warmly. “Really, I wish you could be here. You’d probably make the whole race go smoother, just by being around.”

“Is that so?” she teased, her heart swelling at the thought. “And how exactly would I do that?”

“Your mere presence would calm my nerves,” he insisted, the playful lilt in his voice making her laugh. “You know how competitive it gets. If I could just look up and see you, I’d feel so much better.”

“Maybe I’ll have to make an appearance then,” she said lightly, but in her heart, she felt a pang of longing at the thought of being close to him, sharing those moments in person.

As the weeks passed, the calls became a comforting routine. He’d check in after qualifying sessions, asking her opinion on his performance, or he’d call after a disappointing race, needing to vent. It was during those moments that she began to see how much he truly valued her support.

“Do you have any idea how frustrating it is to come in tenth?” he grumbled one afternoon, his voice low and strained as he paced in his hotel room.

“Pretty frustrating, I’d imagine,” she replied sympathetically. “But it’s just one race, right? You’ve got more coming up.”

“Yeah, but it’s Monaco next! I can’t mess that up. It’s my home! The pressure is insane.” He took a deep breath, and she could almost picture him running a hand through his hair in exasperation. “I need to win this one.”

“Then you need to focus and stop overthinking it. You’re talented, Charles. Trust your instincts. You’ve got this,” she reassured him, her voice firm.

“You always know what to say. I can’t wait to come home and see you again.” He sounded lighter, a smile evident in his tone. “Maybe you should come see me race sometime.”

She laughed it off, but Charles was relentless. Every few days, he’d bring up the idea of her coming to watch him race. “Come on,” he’d say, “Just one weekend.”

But she kept brushing it off, always with a half-serious excuse. “Charles, I have a job, remember? I can’t just fly out to some random country you know”

One evening, he finally pulled out his best argument. “Monaco,” he said with a grin she could practically hear over the phone, “that's literally our backyard. No excuses this time.”

She groaned, pretending to resist. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”

“But charmingly so,” he countered, voice teasing but hopeful.

Eventually, she caved. “Fine. I’ll come. Just because you’ll never let me hear the end of it if I don’t.”

His laugh was practically a shout of victory. “You’re going to love it, I promise. And I’ll make sure you have the best seat in the house.”

When she arrived at the paddock on race day, Charles was waiting for her at the VIP entrance, practically bouncing on his feet. The moment he spotted her, he broke into a grin and quickly made his way over.

“You came!” He wrapped her in a hug, holding her close like he hadn’t seen her in years.

“I told you I’d be here,” she laughed, squeezing him back. “Though you owe me big time for putting up with all this noise and chaos.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I intend to make it up to you,” he replied with a smirk, keeping his arm around her as he led her inside. “Let me show you around.”

Charles walked her through the paddock, his hand resting possessively on her lower back as he guided her past the hustle and bustle of team members, mechanics, and engineers. He introduced her to some of the crew, who greeted her with warm smiles, and she couldn’t help but feel the pride radiating from Charles as he spoke about the work they put into the car.

“See that guy?” he said, pointing to a tall man with a headset who was deeply focused on the monitor. “That’s my race engineer. He’s the one who helps guide me during the race.”

She nodded, genuinely interested as Charles continued to explain the intricacies of the race preparations. “And this,” he said, leading her to the Ferrari garage, “is where all the magic happens.”

As they entered at the Ferrari garage, Charles spotted his brother Arthur nearby. “Ah, you have to meet Arthur,” he said, giving her a reassuring smile. “You’ll love him.”

Arthur approached, giving her a friendly grin as he shook her hand. “So, you’re the ‘lucky charm’ Charles keeps talking about,” he said, raising an eyebrow at his brother.

“Don’t start,” Charles muttered, clearly embarrassed, though he didn’t let go of her hand.

“Nice to meet you, Arthur,” she replied, feeling her cheeks heat up as she shot Charles a playful look. “I didn’t realize I had such a reputation around here.”

“Oh, you have no idea,” Arthur chuckled, giving his brother a knowing look. Charles just rolled his eyes and nudged him away, muttering something about “family being an embarrassment.”

Before long, Charles was called back for his final preparations, and he turned to her, his expression softening. “You’ll be watching, right?”

“Front row seat,” she promised, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze.

The race itself was a whirlwind of emotions. As the lights went out and the cars roared to life, she felt her heart racing in tandem with the engines. Each lap was a rollercoaster of tension and excitement, and she couldn’t tear her eyes away from Charles. He navigated the track with grace and determination, every move calculated, every turn precise.

With each passing lap, the anticipation built, and when he crossed the finish line in first place, she couldn’t help but scream with joy. The entire atmosphere erupted in cheers, but for her, it was all about Charles. He’d done it. He’d won!

As he climbed out of the car, sweat glistening on his forehead, he scanned the crowd until his eyes locked onto hers. A wide smile broke across his face, and he hurried over, not caring about the cameras or the noise.

“Did you see that? I did it!” he shouted, wrapping her in a tight hug that lifted her off the ground. She could hardly believe it as he peppered her face with kisses, excitement spilling over. “You’re my good luck charm!”

“I think you had it in you all along!” she laughed, overwhelmed by the joy radiating from him.

“Not without you here,” he insisted, his eyes sparkling with delight. “I couldn’t have done it without you. You make everything better.”

She laughed, still wrapped in his arms, as he planted quick, enthusiastic kisses all over her face. “Charles, everyone’s watching!”

“Let them watch,” he said, not even caring, still grinning as he peppered her face with kisses.

The celebration was in full swing when they stepped into the club, Charles was surrounded by friends, team members, and fans who were all there to revel in his long-awaited Monaco victory. The energy was infectious, and she couldn’t help but feel a rush of pride watching him receive endless pats on the back, his grin wide and eyes gleaming under the flashing lights. He never let her stray far from his side, keeping a steady arm around her waist as they moved through the crowd.

"Finally won my home race," he said, leaning close so she could hear him over the music, his voice filled with disbelief and joy. "It still doesn’t feel real."

She nudged him lightly, a teasing smile on her lips. "You sure it happened? You’re not dreaming right now?"

"Guess I’ll find out if I wake up," he said, laughing as he twirled her in place, pulling her back against his chest. "But you’re here, so I’d say this has to be real."

They both laughed, the shared warmth and excitement washing over them like a wave. He kept her close as they moved through the club, accepting congratulations and raising toasts with anyone who approached. But every few minutes, his hand would slide back to hers, squeezing her fingers or pulling her back to his side. His eyes would find hers, that familiar spark of mischief dancing in his gaze.

Eventually, they found themselves tucked into a quieter corner of the club, away from the crowd. Charles leaned against the wall, tugging her closer until her hands rested on his chest, his grin turning cheeky as he looked down at her.

“So, you’re not disappearing on me tonight, are you?” he teased, his fingers tracing a lazy line up her arm. “I kind of like having you around.”

“Disappearing?” she laughed. “Please, Leclerc, it’s like I’m glued to you tonight. You’ve barely let go of my hand.”

He smirked, his hands slipping down to her waist as he pulled her even closer. "Can you blame me? Best night of my life, and I want you right here."

The sincerity in his voice softened her, but he quickly masked it with a grin, tugging her back onto the dance floor. They spent hours laughing, dancing, and talking between sips of champagne, the atmosphere around them filled with lighthearted banter. Charles was in his element, his joy contagious as he celebrated with everyone around him, but his attention kept circling back to her—small glances, soft touches, lingering smiles.

At one point, he leaned in, his lips brushing her ear as he whispered, "Come with me."

Before she could respond, he was guiding her toward a secluded corridor at the back of the club, pressing her gently against the wall. His hands settled on her waist as he looked down at her, his gaze intense and filled with an energy that set her pulse racing. He leaned in, capturing her lips in a kiss that was equal parts heated and sweet, his fingers tracing her sides as he held her close.

When he finally pulled back, he pressed his forehead against hers, his voice a low murmur. "Thank you for being here tonight. Wouldn’t have wanted to celebrate with anyone else."

The words made her chest tighten, and before she could respond, he was kissing her again, a soft laugh escaping his lips as they stayed wrapped up in each other, oblivious to the world outside their small bubble.

Later, as the night wound down, they left the club together, Charles’ hand never leaving hers. Back at his apartment, he pulled her inside, his smile turning playful again. "One more toast, maybe?"

“Isn’t that what you said after the last toast?” she teased, following him into the kitchen as he poured them each a final glass of champagne.

“What can I say? It’s a big night,” he said, winking. They clinked glasses, his eyes never leaving hers as they sipped, and when she set her glass down, he was already pulling her close, his lips brushing along her jawline before settling on her lips.

They drifted into his bedroom, Charles’ touches growing more insistent as he held her close, a mix of laughter and whispered words filling the space between them. He was relentless, the intensity of the night fueling each kiss, each lingering touch as they stayed wrapped up in each other.

Finally, as the early hours of morning crept in, they lay tangled together in his bed, the celebrations fading into a comfortable quiet. Charles lay beside her, his face nestled against her neck as his breathing slowed, a soft smile on his face.

“Perfect night,” he mumbled, his voice heavy with exhaustion.

She smiled, her fingers running through his hair as she whispered, “Yeah, it was.”

In the quiet that followed, she felt his breathing even out, his arm around her tightening slightly as he drifted off to sleep, holding her close as if he never planned to let go.

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Taglist: @dullypully @wintterily @sageskiesf1 @firefirevampire @eloriis

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[poetryvampire]

✨️trop men and if they could get you off based mostly on vibes ✨️

💕Now to level the playing field let's give a simple y/n on if they could get the job done during your first time together and the overall mood of the evening. Mildly nsfw (I'm not gonna get too detailed...unless 👀)

Adar💀 Yes. Woof, not to get too crass right off the bat but daddy is the name he earned so yes absolutely. Also brace yourself it will be kinkier than you think and it will awaken something in you. And it would start off painfully slow just easing you into it lightly. Seems like a great opportunity to try things you've been curious about but beware you're getting into like five kinks that haven't even crossed you mind before. One minute you're having a romantic candle lit dinner then Bam youre wearing a chain collar with his name on it.

Elrond 😇 Oh, god bless. No. Baby I'm sorry but no. That being said it would still be a great time with really positive vibes. But Elrond would get too in his own head thinking about options and the best 'plan of attack' to actually deliver. Plus he would play it super safe not wanting to off put you in anyway and thus would kill the passion a bit. Still would be the biggest sweetheart and over all give you a fun time. (Give him time to build his confidence though lotr Elrond Fucks for sure)

Halbrand 🐶 LISTEN Listen listen...No. Hear me out. I just-I feel it in my blood that this guy will rizz you so hard and talk such a big game and than when he time comes it's just ok at best. Like he's made at least one person come before and thinks he has cracked the code. Still his heart's (seemingly) in the right place and its pretty romantic over all. Lots and lots of cuddling.

Annatar 🐱 Yes. And it's amazing but the vibes are terrible. He gets way too intense too fast. He's the kind of guy to say some really weird shit during. Like not even anything dirty just waxing poetic about how you're part of each now and the bond of your bodies is inescapable even in death. And he waaay into talking about how you belong to him now and you're just like?? Is he just talking crazy in the heat of the moment or ?? Also no aftercare and he's 100% gone when you wake up.

Arondir 🏹 Yes. And it's Good but not as romantic as you were hoping. He's into you but Arondir def doesn't realize what a catch he is and is surprised that you're so here for him. Also buddy's got a lot going on so he's still gonna be pretty guarded emotionally. Still he's extremely respectful and such a good kisser like he's got your head spinning and you've barely started.

Elendil 🗡 No. But he tries hard and it's a great time. He's kinda got that big puppy Halbrand thing going on but like genuine. Def more into you than you are him. Elendil will rizz you with care. Pays very close attention to what you like/want. Even if it doesnt happen he's fine with talking about it, even makes a few light jokes at his expense. He's terribly good at putting you at ease. By the end of the night you're more smitten than you first thought.

Celebrimor 💍 Yes. Are you kidding me?We're talking mastery, we're talking attentiveness, we're talking about a very smitten old man that's going to court you with his whole heart. The vibes are impeccable and he's going to make it known that taking care of you is his top priority. Additionally I can't explain why but you know this man's head game is god tier.

Gil Galad 🏵 Yes. Don't even get me started on how this man is gonna rock your world. The high king is a big guy so it's go big or go home when it comes to love and affection. He doesn't allow himself to pursue romance often but when he does he goes hard. In terms of the act itself and the amount of extravagance and detail he'd put into wooing you. Plus cmon you know he's stressed and pent up as hell. Brace yourself for being be absolutely worshipped All night. You're in for a wicked case of jelly legs and you're not going anywhere.

[loveparqdise]

Summary: chris is a drug dealer and y/n’s a ballerina. you’re not happy with they way he does drugs and kills himself by doing so.

Warning: angst, cursing, drugs? yeah i think that’s all. no smut.

A/N: this is my first fan fic i don’t know if it’s nice or not but it took me a while. it’s based on the song “you by chase atlantic” (it’s a really good song) and there is a bot also on my cai acc based on this, this fic is more detailed tho. (cai is same as my username on here jf you wanna check it out.) feedback is always appreciated and tell me if you want me to do more in the future! also if you wanna be added to my tag list please comment on this post! 🤍

chris was a pretty fucked up dealer, tbh. he would sell drugs, take them, party and that was — until he met you. you changed his life. you were a ballerina, you were usually quiet and reserved. he met you at one of your shows, the show nick literally dragged him too.

despite him being a dealer, who does drugs, you couldn’t help but fall in love. you both started dating, around a few months ago. you guys were like a normal couple, if you weren’t comfortable with something, he wouldn’t force you — no, not at all. he would respect your boundaries.

you’d just wish he stopped doing drugs. he was literally killing himself, every single day and he knew that. and still he would do it. one day, you finally thought you’d break up with him, so you told him to come to the spot you and chris always went too. he arrived and saw you sitting there. he approached you and sat next to you, giving a small kiss on your cheek. “hey, ma. why’d you call me here all of a sudden?” his fingers intertwined with yours as he gently caressed your hand with his thumb.

“chris, i don’t think this is working, i mean, i really really love you but you’re killing yourself everyday because of these drugs, and i hate seeing you like this, i’m giving you time to work on yourself. we can be together after some time, chris i promise.”

he felt as if a ton of bricks hit him at once. were you really breaking up with him? he couldn’t stand this, he wanted to cry, he wanted to scream at you, “are you serious? really y/n? after all we’ve been through you’re throwing it all away just because i do drugs?” anger and frustration were clear in his voice, he just couldn’t get it.

“chris, try to understand please, i do love you but i want you to work on yourself and stop doing drugs, please.” he scoffed, he couldn’t believe your words. he got up, “whatever.” he left, on the outside, it looked like he didn’t care but on the inside he was breaking, he felt as if a dagger had hit his heart.

the next few months, chris worked everyday, to be a better person for you. he didn’t deal as much as he used to. he stopped taking drugs and going to parties. instead, he found his new hobby, writing songs. He wrote songs about you, about how deep in love he was with you.

he wouldn’t release it until you forgave him, he wanted you to be there with him throughout this journey. he finally thought it was time to talk to you, tell you that he’s improving. he reached your house & knocked on your door. his heart was beating fast. what if you found another guy? what if you had a boyfriend who was way better than him? what if— his thoughts were suddenly interrupted by hearing the door open.

there you were, wearing a simple outfit but gosh you looked absolutely stunning. he handed you the flowers he bought you, your expression softened. “Hey.” he was clearly nervous, you returned a smile and told him to come in.

you both sat on the couch as he handed you a book, it was full of his songs that he wrote for you. “I wrote this song for you, I put down the drugs for you, I’m so in love with you, A thousand apologies couldn’t make up for the time that I’ve wasted. I've improved. Please give me another chance, let me show you how much I love you.”

“chris, these songs they’re—” you started off but suddenly cut off by chris’s voice, “yeah i know they’re horrible.” he chuckled, looking down and fidgeting with his fingers. “chris what? they’re literally amazing, there’s so much emotion and feelings in these lyrics, i’m so proud of you.” you held his hand, he finally looked up to see your face, you had a soft smile on your face, love was clear on your face. “you really think so?” he looked at you, “i know so.”

you smiled and cupped his face, “i think i’m ready to be together with you. i love you so much.” chris’s eyes widened, he wasn’t expecting you to forgive him so easily, he couldn’t help but just jump on you and kiss the fuck out of you. “i love you.” he said and after that he fucked you on the couch and showed you who you belong too.

tysm for reading! i hoped you liked it, it was my first one so it’s probably horrible😭 if you could reblong it would be really kind tysm <3

divided by @enchanthings

[constantfragmentation]

It's bugging me...

The inconsistencies and a lack of detail and continuity in S2. S1 was all about the tiniest details.

Don't get me wrong, the animation is gorgeous, BUT --

The underwater scene is where Jinx lets Silco go.

He was RIDDLED with bullets. Yet, not a mark on him?

Why is his damaged eye closed? I thought he didn't have an eyelid. Artistically, I think having his lifeless eyes glazed over would have been more dramatic, considering it's Silco. Nah, he just sinks like Jack to the depths of the Titanic.

How deep IS the Pilt River?? I'm assuming that's where she 'buried' him.

The whole first act is so damn rushed.

No one seems to wonder what happened to Silco? He was only the main person holding the Underground together by the strands of his pomade hair. His death is a BIG deal, yet it's glossed over. No one questioned any of it???

Sevika is just, okay, let's move on like it's another day (granted, Zaunites are probably predisposed to be like that, but that doesn't make for good storytelling if you're not letting the audience in on anything), and chatting it up with Jinx as if they just bonded. I didn't feel that happen. I like that they low-key ripped into him post mortem, because that feels natural but what got them in that room together DOESN'T.

I want to know how these characters FEEL. You got that in spades during S1. But S2 is just expecting you to assume or they would attempt to take the time to use what would be great writing and evolving these characters.

Caitlin is hurting, I get it. But she went full Commando Psycho mode. Girl, everyone has lost parents, siblings, etc... She doesn't even flinch when Vi tells her Enforcers killed BOTH her parents. She's lost a beloved sister... but Cait is affronted when Vi shirks from becoming an Enforcer. Let's just forget what PIltover did to Zaun for generations and to LOADS of people.

Vi? Oh girl. What happened to you?

Jinx is a bit better but not much. I don't buy Silco's death was a zap to the brain to chill her out a bit. She's still my Chaos Queen but unless there is something to explain some shit in the following episodes, I'm going to be really ticked at the lack of care in characterizations with who are the supposed leads in this story.

Jesus Viktor. That's it. That's all I got.

Well, I did LOL when he woke up and gave Jayce the "bye Felicia" in 2.2 seconds.

We don't get to know what Ekko is thinking since all this shit went down? As far as he knows, Jinx is dead and to learn to she bombed Piltover?

The music videos substituting for the plot are REALLY bugging me. It's lazy writing. The music was used well in S1 to ENHANCE the scene (well, except for giving Imagine Dragons an animated cameo). Here, it's used as exposition, but it's not nearly good enough.

Useless characters and side-characters. Poorly executed plot devices. Uninteresting plot devices and trying to use the S1 parallels for characterizations.

S1 took time to introduce and flesh out these characters, even the side-characters.

We only had Vander for 3 episodes but he was a HUGE character. Marcus, Mylo, Claggor, Benzo, Grayson, Finn.... all were interesting and played an important part.

Jayce continues to be blah. So I'm not bothered.

Ambessa looks to be the new villain but it's not hitting with me. Plus, there's zero foreshadowing on some stuff in her arc that would have been useful last season.

I like Mel but I'm waiting to see what happens with her.

Hermydingding going all Mission Impossible. Just stop. Does he not give two furry fucks about what happened to his fellow councilmembers and Piltover?

I feel like RIot is trying to shove way too much into one season and sacrificing good story-telling to do it.

I miss the details.

So far, I'm really underwhelmed with this season.

[just-aake]

Everlasting Devotion - Part VIII

Pairing: princess!Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: Sequel of Boundless Devotion Series. MedievalAU. With her coronation over, Natasha is now the queen of the Romanov Kingdom. However, the position comes with challenges from both old and new enemies as Natasha tries to maintain the peace while also navigating her relationship with you.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8

Warnings: light angst

Words: 4074

At a table in your library, your fingers glide across the worn page of Howard Stark’s journal. The entries detail his ambitious attempts to harness sorcery, each word penned with sharp, precise strokes.

There’s something striking in his handwriting—a tangible trace of the man himself, a stranger who might’ve been part of your life if circumstances had been different.

As you read, you can’t help but wonder about the person behind these words.

Would he have welcomed you into his world, inviting you to collaborate on these projects instead of leaving you alone in the shadow of constant disappointments and harsh judgments?

With a quiet sigh, you pull yourself from the wistful thoughts and back to the task, refocusing on the journal’s contents.

His latest endeavor—a complex project to encapsulate raw energy within a synthetic stone—was left unfinished, his last entry noting how close he’d come but ultimately failing to contain it.

Your gaze drifts to the attacker’s glove lying nearby, the once-bright stone in its center now faded to a dull sheen. 

Curiosity gets the better of you, and with delicate care, you pry the stone free, lifting it toward the sunlight streaming through the library window.

Sunlight filters through its transparent surface, revealing imperfections–tiny cracks spidering through its structure. 

As you study it intently, a sudden flash of memory grips you: a similar stone, glowing brightly in someone’s hand, its light intensifying as muffled words reach your ears.

Before you can grasp the context of the fragmented scene, a dull ache pierces your mind, forcing your eyes shut against the sharp sensation.

When you open them again, blinking slowly, silence fills the room. The vivid memory fades, slipping further from your grasp.

The familiar unease that follows these unpredictable flashes settles over you. Once again, the thought crosses your mind: perhaps it’s time to let Wanda explore your thoughts.

Maybe she could decipher the meaning behind these visions—or confirm if you were just going insane.

“Quite the collection you’ve got here,” a voice cuts through the quiet.

Startled, you almost drop the stone, quickly pocketing it as you spin around. 

Tony stands at the door, a smirk plastered on his face. 

“Haven’t you heard of knocking?” you snap, shooting him a sharp glare.

Tony glances back at the door, feigning disbelief. 

“I did knock,” he insists, grinning. “You didn’t hear me? Practically rattled the hinges.”

You suppress a sigh as he strolls through the room, inspecting the shelves like a restless child. At one point, he pulls a book down, flips through a few pages, then shudders dramatically as he snaps it shut. 

“Please tell me you’ve got something more exciting in here than this.” 

He waves the book at you with exaggerated disappointment.

Snatching it from his hands, you glare at him. “Don’t you have work to do?”

Tony gives a dismissive wave, meandering toward another shelf.  

“We’re waiting on supplies,” he explains. “Besides, Vision’s distracted playing nice with your little sorcerer outside.”

“Playing nice?” you ask, raising a brow in surprise.

Tony gives a lazy nod.

“He’s always been interested in that sort of thing—his family had some traces of magic or something in their line. Not great at the whole socializing bit, though, so this behavior is slightly surprising.”

Tony claps his hands and strides past you.

“It’s good, though. He’s always been the more reserved one of his brothers. You know, that’s why I brought him with me in the first place, to give him more exposure to the—hello—what do we have here?”

You follow his gaze, spotting the journal still open on the table in the corner of your eyes, but Tony’s attention is focused on the armored glove. 

Discreetly, you close Howard’s journal and slide it behind a stack of other books while Tony is engrossed in examining the glove with keen interest. 

He suddenly picks it up, slipping it onto his hand with confidence.

“Careful, it’s damaged,” you warn, stepping forward. “We don’t know how it works.”

Tony smirks, waving off your concern as he fumbles with the glove’s mechanism. 

“Relax, it’s just a tool for defense. Completely harmless.”

Just as he finishes, a quiet click sounds from the glove, and suddenly, a shard bursts from its mechanism, ricocheting off the wall. 

You duck instinctively while Tony stumbles back, clearly unprepared for the recoil.

“Well, that wasn’t supposed to happen,” he mutters, brushing himself off.

You shoot him a glare, yanking the glove from his hand. “And how would you know?”

He gives you a smug grin. “Because I designed it.” 

The words catch you off guard, your brows knitting in suspicion as you bring the glove closer to your body. 

“You…designed this?”

He dusts off his sleeve with nonchalance, oblivious to your growing unease. 

“Not this one exactly, but the specs are similar.”

The unease that’s been lingering since Natasha’s news flares up again. With a deep breath, you tap the glove’s surface, your gaze turning serious. 

“This is from the Stark Kingdom though.”

Tony leans casually against a shelf, his relaxed stance at odds with the sudden sharpness in his gaze. 

“And how would you know that?” he counters.

You choose your words carefully, unwilling to reveal too much. 

“I have a source. A reliable one.” 

Tony raises his eyebrows, intrigued, but you press on before he can respond. 

“That would mean that you’re…” you hesitate, searching his face, as you struggle to face the possibility. 

“You’re from Stark, right?” you finish with instead.

Tony scrutinizes you for a moment, then wags his finger as he heads for the door. 

“Nope, that’s not what you wanted to ask,” he says, sidestepping your question.

You stiffen, caught off guard by his intuition. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you call, hurrying after him.

“It means you’re not being honest about what you want to know,” he replies over his shoulder, the words hitting a nerve. 

You hear him continue, muttering in contemplation. 

“This does explain why you’ve been so weird lately whenever I’m near.”

But before you can fire back, he’s already halfway down the hall toward the manor entrance.

You catch up to him just as he exits the manor. 

Vision and Wanda stand at the entrance, deep in conversation, pausing as they notice the two of you approaching.

“Vision, I’m heading into town,” Tony announces breezily. 

He moves to follow. “I’ll prepare the—” 

“No need,” Tony interrupts smoothly, already reaching for the nearby carriage door. “I’ll just take this.”

Before he can open it fully, a flicker of red energy snaps the door shut. 

Wanda steps forward with her arms crossed, her gaze unmistakably unimpressed.

“That’s not yours to take,” she says, her voice edged with warning.

Just as Tony groans in frustration, you arrive at her side, nodding to Wanda.  

“It’s fine, Wanda. I’m going with him.” You fix Tony with a glare. “We still need to finish our conversation.” 

Wanda’s brow arches, her gaze shifting between you and Tony. 

“Alright, I can call for Pietro,” she says, moving to get the other twin. 

“You two don't need to come along,” you reply quickly.

Wanda’s concern deepens on her face at your unusual response, so you add with a reassuring smile, “Really, it’s okay.”

“Any day now, ladies,” Tony quips with an exaggerated sigh, tapping his foot impatiently.

You shoot him a glare. “Has anyone ever told you you’re obnoxious?”

Tony grins, unbothered as ever, shrugging. 

“You know, that does sound familiar,” he replies before stepping into the carriage.

Before you can follow, Wanda catches your arm, her expression a mix of worry and confusion.

“Is everything okay?” she asks softly, her tone laced with concern.

Her words make you pause, forcing you to confront the real reason behind your hesitation to let them overhear this conversation as well as let her into your mind.

It’s not just fear of what she might see—it’s the secret you’ve been keeping from her and her brother.

The truth about who you really are. The truth about your connection to the family responsible for their parents’ tragic deaths.

You’re not ready for them to know. You don’t know how you’d face them if they ever found out.

So, with a small, reassuring smile, you nod. 

“Trust me, Wanda, I’ve got this.”

Then, leaning closer, you soften the moment with a teasing grin.

“Besides, it looks like you’re enjoying your time with Vision.”

Wanda rolls her eyes, though a faint blush colors her cheeks. She quickly regains her composure and removes her scarlet cloak, holding it out to you. 

“Here, wear this. It’ll help keep unwanted attention off you in town,” she says, knowing well from Pietro’s stories how people have been reacting to you.

You accept it gratefully, wrapping it around your shoulders before climbing into the carriage. You settle across from Tony, crossing your arms as the carriage lurches forward. 

Tony doesn’t even glance up, instead examining his hand with what seems like exaggerated nonchalance.

Patience thinning, you let out an annoyed huff. 

“Well?”

Tony finally looks up, feigning surprise. 

“I’m sorry, did you say something? I wasn’t listening.”

Grinding your teeth, you shoot him a glare. 

However, he just raises a brow, daring you to push further. 

Taking a steadying breath, you decide it’s time to cut to the chase, dropping any pretense of subtlety.

“Are you Tony Stark?” 

For a moment, he stares at you, blank and unreadable. Then, he bursts into an exaggerated laugh, leaning back in his seat with a loud, mocking cackle. 

The sudden reaction catches you completely off guard.

“You think I’m Tony Stark? The King of the Stark Kingdom?” he asks between bouts of laughter, his tone dripping with amusement. “Why? Because we share a name? Or because I happen to design a few gadgets from that region?”

You falter, your certainty beginning to waver under his ridicule. “I—it’s just—” 

“Well, you’re right,” he cuts in abruptly, his tone now nonchalant, so casual it almost doesn’t register. He spreads his arms in mock grandeur and a slight bow. 

“I am the one and only…Tony Stark.”

You blink at him, stunned into silence as the words sink in. The ease with which he admits it is almost more shocking than the revelation itself. 

“Just like that?” you finally manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper. “You’d just…admit it?”

Tony grins, throwing his feet up onto the seat beside you and reclining with a maddening air of satisfaction. 

“Why not? You’re sharp enough to figure it out. Besides, it won’t be a secret for much longer.”

You should be feeling shock, panic—something other than the rising annoyance simmering in your chest. Before you can stop yourself, you shove his leg off the seat, forcing him to sit properly.

“For a royal, you have no manners,” you snap.

Tony laughs, completely unfazed. 

“Now you’re really starting to sound like someone I know,” he quips, his tone amused.

Your irritation deepens. The casual way he’s treating this entire situation grates on your nerves, especially with everything you’ve already had to deal with and now with the addition of this. 

“Why are you here?” you demand.

“Why should I tell you?” he counters smoothly. 

Crossing your arms, you glare at him. “Because you lied to me.”

“Wrong,” he corrects, wagging a finger at you. “I never lied. I just didn’t tell you everything. Big difference. Lying’s more of a Romanov specialty than mine.” 

You bristle at his comment, immediately becoming defensive. 

“You can’t say that—you don’t even know them.” 

Tony’s playful demeanor fades slightly, his expression turning serious as his gaze locks with yours. 

“I know what happened the last time my family trusted a Romanov.” 

A heavy silence descends between you, the weight of his words filling the small carriage. You don’t miss the flicker of pain in his eyes as he turns to stare out the window, crossing his arms in what almost seems like a protective gesture.

“Everyone knows you can’t trust a Romanov or anyone from their kingdom,” he mutters, more to himself than to you.

Your hands curl into fists as you glance down, frustration bubbling inside you. 

“That’s hardly a fair judgment,” you whisper. “Not without giving people a chance.”

Tony glances at you, his expression unreadable. Then, leaning forward slightly, he meets your gaze with a challenge in his eyes. 

“Then prove me wrong.”

Your head snaps up, his words catching you off guard. “What?”

He sits back, arms crossed again, and shrugs. 

“I’m not supposed to be here yet. If you can keep my identity a secret until the time is right, I’ll reconsider what I said.” 

You fall silent, his proposition hanging in the air between you. The thought of keeping another secret from Natasha bothers you, but the idea of Tony meeting her with his current distrust of her family is even worse. 

Maybe, just maybe, you could change his mind before that moment arrives.

The rest of the ride passes in tense silence. You’re so lost in thought that you don’t notice your surroundings until the carriage stops. 

Following Tony out, you snap back to reality as you take in the shadowy streets, far from the safer areas of town. 

Grabbing his sleeve, you tug him to a stop. 

Tony releases an indignant sound of surprise as he’s pulled back before turning to you with a disapproving frown.

“Hey, easy, now that you know who I am, there’s no excuse for this kind of disrespect.”

Ignoring his reprimand, you lower your voice, hissing at him in disbelief. 

“What are we doing here? This area is dangerous.”

Tony lets out an exaggerated sigh, clearly unbothered by your concern. 

“Trying to stay low-key in a foreign kingdom. Naturally, I’d go somewhere less…guarded,” he says, his tone dripping with sarcasm. Then he smirks, adding, “You can always wait in the carriage if you’re too scared without your little followers around to protect you.”

Glowering, you push him ahead and lower your hood to obscure your face. You follow as he strides confidently into the alley. He stops at a run-down tavern, the dimly lit entrance as unwelcoming as the rest of the area. 

You hesitate, glancing warily at the door.

“Relax,” Tony says, throwing a grin over his shoulder. “Head low, stay close, and try not to look terrified. These people can smell fear.”

You roll your eyes, releasing a sigh under your breath as you move to step inside. Just before you cross the threshold, the sound of barking draws your attention. 

Glancing back, you spot two scruffy dogs, their muddy coats giving them a ragged appearance. They’re barking and leaping at a bird perched just out of their reach, the falcon screeching indignantly. 

A strange sense of familiarity strikes you, but you shake it off. It’s a ridiculous thought. 

Coincidence, nothing more. 

Steeling yourself, you pull your hood tighter and slip into the tavern to follow Tony.

The atmosphere hits you immediately—a cacophony of rowdy chatter, clinking glasses, and the sharp, pungent tang of alcohol mixed with smoke. 

The dim lighting casts shadows across the rough wooden beams, and the patrons barely glance your way as you weave through the tables, trailing Tony’s confident stride. 

For a moment, you think you might make it through unnoticed.

That hope evaporates as a man steps into your path. His leering grin reveals yellowed teeth, and his eyes sweep over you with an unsettling feeling. 

“What’s a pretty thing like you doing in a place like this?” he asks, his voice slurred and mocking.

You stand your ground, narrowing your eyes at him, refusing to dignify his question with a response.

Stepping to the side, you attempt to move past him, but he reacts quickly, his face twisting with anger as he reaches out to grab your arm.

Before his hand can get close, Tony’s grip suddenly clamps down on the man’s wrist, stopping him mid-motion. 

“Easy there,” Tony says, his tone light but laced with warning. “We’re all here to relax, right? So why don’t you…take a deep breath and do just that.”

The man glares at Tony, weighing his options, but the steady, unflinching look Tony gives him is enough to make him pull back. The man stumbles off, muttering something about it not being worth the trouble. 

Tony claps his hands in satisfaction and then turns to you with an exaggerated raise of his eyebrows. 

“You really know how to attract trouble. No wonder you always need someone around to save the day.” 

You glare at him, your voice clipped.

 “I can handle myself just fine.” 

Tony hums mockingly as if considering your words, then shrugs. “If you say so.” 

He turns and saunters toward a booth tucked into the corner of the tavern, his pace purposefully slower as if to ensure that you stay close. 

The gesture irritates you further, but you follow anyway.

At the booth, a man sits nervously, his eyes darting around the room with visible discomfort.

Tony slides into the seat across from him, greeting him with the same condescension he’d just directed at you.

“Don’t look so scared, Happy. They can smell fear, you know.”

“I’m not scared,” the man retorts defensively, though his shifting gaze betrays him. “I just don’t like places like this.” 

His eyes flick to you, observing you with curiosity. “Who’s she?”

You open your mouth to respond, but Tony waves a dismissive hand in front of your face. 

“Not relevant right now,” he answers for you, earning him a sharp glare from you.

“Also, she knows who I am,” Tony adds with a smirk, “so you can talk freely.” 

Happy shrugs, seemingly accustomed to Tony’s antics. 

Tony leans forward, his tone shifting to one of eager anticipation.

"Well, did you bring it?"

Happy nods, pulling out a cloth-wrapped object from beside him and sliding it across the table. You watch as Tony unwraps it, revealing a glove strikingly similar to the one from your manor—but this one is sleeker, more refined in its design.

“Impressive, right?” Tony asks, shooting you a knowing look as if reading your thoughts. “Unlike yours, mine actually works a lot better.”

You roll your eyes but pause when you notice something.

“It’s missing the stone,” you point out.

Tony’s smirk falters, replaced by a puzzled expression.

“What stone?”

You hesitate, weighing your options, but ultimately decide he’s the best person to ask, considering he’s the son of the one who created the project.

Pulling the dull, cracked stone from your pocket, you hold it out.

“This was attached to the other glove,” you explain. “It glowed yellow with some sort of power before it was damaged.”

Tony takes the stone, his usual flippant demeanor fading as he studies it with uncharacteristic seriousness.

After a moment, Happy breaks the silence, pointing at the stone.

“That looks like something you worked on a few years ago,” he says. “Remember how many times it blew up in your lab?”

Tony glares at him, unamused at the reminder.

“We agreed never to speak of that.”

Turning back to you, Tony gives you a curious look.

“Where did you say you got this glove?”

“We were attacked,” you reply. “It was left behind when they escaped.”

Tony hums thoughtfully, then closes his hand around the stone.

“I’ll hold onto this for you,” he declares.

“Hey, that’s not yours!” you protest, reaching for it.

Tony easily keeps it out of reach. “It’s not yours, either.”

You scoff, incredulous at his childish behavior. For a moment, you wonder how someone like this could possibly share your blood.

Before the standoff can escalate, a hesitant cough breaks the tension.

“The lady did have it first, sir,” Happy interjects, earning a sharp, offended look from Tony.

With backup on your side, you cross your arms and level Tony with a pointed glare, holding your hand out expectantly.

Tony contemplates for a moment, eyes flickering between your hand and the stone in his before releasing an exaggerated sigh, dropping the stone into your hand and then slumping dramatically in his seat.

“Anything else, traitor?” he asks, shooting a glare at Happy.

Unbothered by his words, Happy nods and continues.

“Chancellor Potts wants to know when you’re planning to return. She’s…not thrilled about your sudden departure.”

Tony places a hand over his chest with mock sincerity.

“Aw, does she miss me?”

“It’s not that, sir,” Happy says flatly. 

You cross your arms in disapproval, raising an eyebrow at Tony.

“Wait—you abandoned your kingdom to come here?”

“Abandoned is a strong word,” Tony retorts, wagging a finger at you. “With Pepper running things, my kingdom’s in good hands.”

He turns back to Happy.

“And no, I don’t have a timeline. It all depends on how long this takes.” 

Happy rubs his temples, clearly exasperated.

“Well, I had to tell Jarvis to speed up his pace anyway, but it won’t matter if you’re still looking for—” 

Tony cuts him off with a raised hand, then tosses a small pouch of coins in your direction.

“Do you think you can handle a trip to the bar without starting any trouble? I’m parched.”

You narrow your eyes, catching the not-so-subtle attempt to get rid of you. Still, with no further explanation forthcoming, you roll your eyes and head to the bar.

The barkeep nods as you approach. “What’ll it be?”

Leaning against the counter, you smile politely. 

“Whatever you’d make for someone who’s testing your patience.” 

The barkeep chuckles knowingly and sets to work. 

As you wait, a commotion from the other side of the room draws your attention—cheers, laughter, and groans of disappointment. Peering past the crowd, you see coins being exchanged as two figures face off in a card game. 

The burly man at the table glares at his opponent, his eyes narrowing. 

“You should back out now before I bleed you dry, little lady.”

The masked figure across from him leans forward, her voice light and teasing. 

“Aww, is the big man scared?”

Laughter erupts at her taunt, but you frown instead, the voice sounding suspiciously familiar. You push through the crowd to get a better look. 

The dim light in the tavern doesn’t help much, but as you approach, your eyes narrow. 

The masked figure’s darkened hair gives you pause—it’s black, not blonde like expected. Still, the way she moves, the self-assured tilt of her head, sends alarm bells of recognition in your mind.

The burly man, clearly agitated, gestures toward a dagger at the masked woman’s side. 

“How about you throw that fancy knife into the pot and whatever your friend’s got strapped to her back?”

Your eyes shift to the figure standing protectively behind her, another masked woman. Her nervous fidgeting is unmistakable, as is the distinct bow strapped to her back—Clint’s signature design, one you’d recognize anywhere with how often Kate brings it with her everywhere.

Crossing your arms, you let out a long, exasperated sigh. 

“Oh my god,” you mutter under your breath, already knowing whose idea this was.

The masked woman at the table leans forward, her voice dripping with confidence as she responds, “Don’t get ahead of yourself. You’re playing against me, remember?” 

There’s no mistaking her now. Yelena’s tone is as bold and unshakable as ever, mirroring her sister’s in every way.

She reaches for the dagger at her side, drawing it out to twirl it in the light. The hilt and blade gleam, the intricate craftsmanship unmistakable—it looks like the one you’d given Natasha not long ago.

You straighten when you realize it is the one you had gifted Natasha.

As Yelena seems to consider the man’s challenge, her smirk widening with the thrill of the wager, you feel your patience snap at the thought of risking something you designed personally for Natasha. 

You move to step forward, intent on stopping her from making a reckless decision, but before you can take a step, a firm grip wraps around your arm, pulling you back into the crowd.

Irritation flares instantly. Tony’s earlier remarks about you needing protection flash through your mind, fueling your annoyance.

Without hesitation, you jab your elbow into the person’s side, twisting out of their grip. 

Their hold loosens, and as their face tilts into view, your irritation shifts to surprise.

Bright green eyes meet yours, sharp and unmistakable even in the dim light.

“Natasha?” you whisper in a hiss, barely keeping your voice low. 

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8

a/n: I’m so sorry for the long delay between the chapters for this series. This one is definitely trickier to write cause there is a lot more components to organize, but I’m starting to get back into it. Again, thank you for reading and for your patience!

Also, I’m going to attempt to be more interactive with you all since you take the time to leave such nice comments on my works, so whenever I have some spare time, you may see me popping around in the replies and responding.

If you asked to be tagged and I missed it, please let me know again.

Taglist : @midastouch013, @2silverchain, @dvrkhcld, @observeowl, @x-drowned-x, @fireandblood-3, @natsxwife, @leequifey, @blacklightsposts, @srt-sah, @scar-letwidow, @likefirenrain, @autorasexy, @natsbiggestfan1, @lex13cm, @iheartjohansson, @tofu9162, @unexpected-character, @natashasilverfox, @acciowriting, @qtreesfanstuff, @mrsrushman, @inarayofmoonlight, @viosblog112, @inarayofmoonlight, @maximoff-jp, @natashasilverfox

[vigilskeep]

give me the Sol good & bad endings in detail pretty pls 💖

sol as a character is defined by the crows and the blight, so here’s a spread of what i might have to work with

some bad sol endings:

crow version: the Widow Dellamorte. sol commits to being first talon lucanis’ right hand, but fail to protect him when the rest of the crows go to war with the ascending dominance of the dellamorte-de riva-cantori block. desperate to cling to whatever they have left of him, they allow themself to be possessed by spite—a fuller meld than spite/lucanis ever was, more in the anders/justice style—and become a vengeful winged monstrosity effectively haunting the dellamorte villa. black veil over golden heavy armour. for now, they still recognise their friends

blight version: the blight finally catches up. sol was intensely careful about fighting the blight right up until the final days, where there was nothing for it but to cut blindly into blight cysts. obviously it’s awful and pointless for them to suddenly die after all that, which is why i think we should at least explore the possibility. for awful and pointless drama. the ending they were kind of hoping for, just when they no longer want it??

alternate blight version: okay this isn’t an ending per se but i still think ghilan’nain should have gotten to turn them into a sick crow-themed blight monster at some point, as a special treat. this can also be a neutral or good ending depending on how much of themself they retain and how much of a monsterfucker lucanis is. sorry for saying that

some neutral-ish sol endings:

crow version: the First Talon’s Executioner. this is the version where sol goes back to the crows and it’s essentially business as usual. i can’t imagine this as good, but with their renewed appreciation for what they have and the lifetime of focus and activity ahead in order to just keep their heads above water, it could be survivable. and lucanis is there. but then i think about how permanently damning the step is where you start raising the next generation for it and i feel a bit sick

blight version: warden sol! sol finally gets up the nerve to cut ties with the crows, making the necessary choice for themself even if it means losing the people they love most. they take the joining and build what life they can alongside davrin, evka, and antoine, slaying darkspawn and finding a new path for the wardens following the tracks of a changing blight. it’s ugly and terrifying and hard, full of horror they never get used to, that will still be making their skin crawl until the day it kills them and drags them down, far from the comforts of home. but as a life, it is, at least, theirs to choose

some good sol endings:

crow version: a newly re-energised sol takes their place at lucanis’s side but considers things in ways they never could have before. why does going back to the crows have to mean they’re locked in place? they aren’t the underdog just clawing for survival that they once were, and they don’t have to act like it. they can do better! they have viago and teia and lucanis and people listen to them. if the dread wolf can change, can’t the crows? through a certain connection via the wardens, they make a contact who has very interesting ideas on the crows’ future

blight version: sol accepts they can’t stay with the crows, does a whole tear-stained confession to a shocked and distraught lucanis, and walks away. they settle into helping davrin, evka, and antoine against the changing blight. nobody actually requires them to take the joining because, hey, they’ve already gotten rid of more than enough archdemons for one person (showoff), and sometimes it is actually helpful for them to do their crow thing as the combatant the darkspawn can’t sense coming. maybe a year or two later, the world’s most miserable first talon (“they don’t even let me do my own assassinations anymore!”) quits his job, thoroughly disappoints his grandmother, thrills his demon, hands all his power to teia, and shows up somewhat nervously with as many antivan delicacies as he fears forgiveness will require

[radfem-polls]

Hi. Not a radfem here but I am curious.

Would you say you hate trans people? If not, would you mind explaining your thoughts?

I encourage everyone to write more detailed answers in the replies/rbs!

I personally have many friends with a trans identity (the majority of my friends at university), and I love them very much. All of them are what you would call "afab". I, and many other radfems, don't hate anyone on the basis of their gender identity, however we can see it and still acknowledge sexism in transgender or "queer" communities, and behind the idea of your body not being right.

I think many trans people are vulnerable and need help for their very real distress and dysphoria. Especially for afabs, we're constantly told we need to conform to so many things and look certain ways, and sometimes the first way we find in order to escape that is by taking a gender identity (this happened to me, I ided as genderfluid from the ages of 16-19).

We need to acknowledge that being alienated from our bodies is a common experience for young women, and one we need to understand and address the reasons behind. My heart hurts for everyone in a female body who feels as though their body is wrong and not society for telling them theyre too ugly, sex objects, wont be taken as seriously, hysterical, etc etc etc.

I'm glad you're able to take a small step to learn about what feminists like us believe. I was in your shoes not too long ago, "hatereading". It became clear to me that feminists cared about women more than the lgbtq+ community I had come into contact with up until then ever had. There are so many lies and things made up about us, not the least of which is that we hate trans people. We hate the medical industry for profiting off of trans people's dysphoria, we hate the patriarchy for enforcing gender roles to begin with.

If anyone has further thoughts, feel free to talk in the notes.

-🐌

[falling-star-cygnus]

hiii 😇 id love (if you wanted to) write some gallagher or boothill! maybe something like how they express love in a relationship or something along those lines

love ur work!

and i love you, random civilian! [please get the reference, i beg]

so- i've been thinking over this ask for a while because I just- couldn't think of anything T^T and i didn't want to deliver any kind of half-assed response. I also don't know Gallagher that well, so i apologize if his characterization isn't up to par :{ -> due to the new Boothill content, though, i think i got something!

bare with me, i don't really do reader stuff so most of this is in relation to some anonymous third person 😭

Boothill:

I firmly believe that hair is a big thing for him. like- putting little braids and gently brushing out knots, and putting it up in whatever hairstyle you ask for is one of the ways he shows he cares

When he was alive, i can see him being really touchy and physically affectionate- and he still wants to be, with his mechanical body, but bc he can't feel it anymore he shoves the desire down

MUSIC!! i made a post about it here, but in more detail [specific detail to this ask] i'd like to imagine when he's taking a breather he'd share his headphones and doze off

[i'm completely imagining argenti, rappa and mr.reca to these.]

Gallagher:

What's the bar version of a passenger princess? Like- Gallagher designating one seat at his bar that everyone knows not to sit in or mess with the person that sits in it [or: this]

He seems like the type to have Acts of Service as his love language, as well as lovingly being an asshole

Mans is tired, and he seems have drowned cat energy soooo group naps! [can it be called a group if it's one person...?] Very clingy naps, actually, like- needs weight on top of him and something to wrap at least one of his arms around

me, realizing i included naps in both of the third examples: ...that's not self projection, not at all. nope

[medi-bee]

isat pokemon au, my liege?

my rambling in tags

[sysig]

My kingdom for a "So you say” (Patreon)

[simcardiac-arrested]

[secondpersonpoetry]

you’ve probably already read it before, but the poem Party by Kim Addonizio really got me tonight. first thought was “oh man. yeah” and then my second thought was “how can i make this about my hockey guys somehow………..”anyway! have a good one! 

oh. oh.

​

[shorthaltsjester]

imodna to me is c3 widojest (i am not a fan of widojest)

[embervoices]

A very useful thread on Bluesky:

(There is a lot more. Rather than give you all the images, I've copied the full text below.)

Meredith Rose‬ ‪@mrose.ink‬ November 8, 2024

This is not going to be a repeat of 2016-2020. It will be better, it will be worse, but most of all it will be different. Here are things I want every single person to keep in mind as we head into round 2 of a Trump admin.

My credentials: I’m a queer female public interest attorney working on tech policy in DC. I’ve been doing this for a decade--longer than some, not as long as others. I had to navigate three different administrations, as well as Congress, regulatory agencies, courts, and the advocacy world.

FIRST: don’t let despair override your media literacy.

The left has grifters, just like every other movement. If you’re able and compelled to donate, give to orgs with established track records. Avoid giving to individuals, especially anyone who emerges overnight with a one-weird-trick “plan.”

The left is not immune to misinformation, and everyone—EVERYONE—falls for it sometimes, present company included. There is no shame in it. When (not if) it happens to you, you should acknowledge it; delete or retract the post to reduce the spread; and move on.

If a source consistently shares half-truths or outright misinformation, it is not trustworthy, no matter how much “their heart is in the right place.” Unfollow and move on.

Prediction, analysis, and reporting are three fundamentally different things. Learn to identify them for what they are. Reject attempts by amateur “analysts” to predict the future. They know as much as you do.

Real subject matter experts know and acknowledge their limits. They’re also (usually) hesitant to try and predict the future. The best frame their predictions in terms of a range of possible outcomes. Subject matter experts may also disagree with one another! It happens!

SECOND: What we know for sure about how the Trump, how he operates, and how that will impact the next four years.

Trump is a narcissist who avoids reading and doesn’t care about details. He cannot be persuaded by argument or logic; he’s moved mostly by flattery, and will agree with the last person who flattered him. He can and will upend his own administration’s work without warning, often by tweet.

As a result, most policy experts—even those "on his side"—dread him taking an interest in their field. Ask any Republican staffer who worked in Congress during the last administration, and most of them will confirm that their greatest fear was Trump tweeting about anything related to their work.

As such, people who are serious about their work will do everything to make it as invisible and boring-seeming as possible. This is the policy equivalent of defensive camouflage. Lots of “normie” work will continue in silence. (The lion’s share of tech policy ends up in this bucket.)

If you have a niche issue that you care about, now is a great time to donate to orgs that work on it. Lots of money will be funneled to big legacy orgs working on headline issues: ACLU, climate change orgs, etc. Consider sending your donations where they matter most: local, niche, established.

Trump runs his cabinet like the Apprentice. He thrives on chaos and making people compete for his approval. Not only does he not reward collaboration between his subordinates, he actively undermines it.

Moreover, everyone who works with him knows that they’re vulnerable to being thrown under the bus at a moment’s notice, for any reason (or for no reason at all). His cabinet is going to be scorpions in a bottle. They will not be able to coordinate, for good or ill.

One scorpion can still do a lot of horrific damage. But large scale inter-agency coordination is unlikely, particularly after the first few months, by which point he will likely (prediction warning!) have gone through a handful of cabinet secretaries already.

FINALLY: The view from inside civil society heading into 2025.

In 2016, Trump was a largely unknown quantity. The left and establishment right alike wasted a lot of time trying to read tea leaves and make sense of this guy, because he was completely outside the realm of what anyone had dealt with. That’s not happening now.

He did us a favor by broadcasting his plans in advance (aka Project 2025). Civil society has spent the last 2.5 years strategizing around it. We’re not starting off flat-footed.

The Biden admin did a good amount to future-proof its own achievements. Folks can speak to their own areas of expertise, but clean energy and CHIPS and Science Act (investing in domestic semiconductor production) have benefitted from huge sunk investments. That money’s not getting clawed back.

OVERALL TAKE-AWAYS:

It's going to suck. But civil society and the political left have some advantages we didn't have last time. We know him, we know his angles, and we know who he's bringing in--none of which we had in 2016.

We'll get through this. It will be grim, but we'll get through it.

John Cutting‬ ‪@johncutting.bsky.social‬

Thanks Meredith. I really valued your analysis over the past few years, and I think this is a reasonable, actionable framework to think about the upcoming storm

Meredith Rose‬ ‪@mrose.ink‬

I really cannot overstate how much time was (necessarily) wasted in 2017 trying to figure out this guy and his influences. The fact that he's not only a known quantity, but ran the most over-studied administration in this nation's recent history, makes this a very different game.

John Cutting‬ ‪@johncutting.bsky.social‬

I bet we can weaponize his narcissism. Let's say some ghoul starts making progress with a mass deportation effort, if we start calling that ghoul that "shadow president" en masse, Trump would fire him in right away and appoint Hulk Hogan or something

‪Meredith Rose‬ ‪@mrose.ink‬

This is exactly why I don't think Musk will last very long. Trump is very clear that he's the only one in the room allowed to have an ego or any kind of brand name.