#I just don’t care!!! I don’t care about how evolved my role!

[lunaswicked]

Sweet Talk

Paring: College!Jimmy Uso x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 5k

Summary: Two roommates— You and Jimmy—find yourselves caught in a whirlwind of tension, desire, and unspoken feelings. What begins as teasing and frustration between you evolves into a night of unexpected intimacy that blurs the lines between hate and attraction.

Tags: enemies to smutville😫, roommates, 18+, p in v, teasing, dirty talking, 9 incher jimmy uso, dickstressing, AND WHATEVER ELSE, ENJOY😋

You and Jimmy rarely saw eye to eye. It wasn’t that you outright despised each other, but the two of you had a way of constantly butting heads over the smallest things. Maybe it was because you were both stubborn, or maybe it was because neither of you ever backed down from an argument. Either way, there was always a tension between you—one that never seemed to fade no matter how much time passed.  

Both of you were college students, navigating your own paths, yet your lifestyles couldn’t have been more different. You poured yourself into your studies, determined to excel in every class, while Jimmy had an almost single-minded obsession with football—both playing it and watching it. If he wasn’t on the field, he was glued to the screen, yelling at players who couldn’t hear him or analyzing plays with the kind of intensity most people reserved for final exams.  

When he wasn’t fixated on football, he’d be locked in his room, spending hours on whatever video game he and his twin brother, Jey, were obsessed with that month. It was almost impossible to get a word in when he was deep in competition mode, his focus unwavering as he trash-talked through his headset. Sometimes, it felt like college itself was just a background noise in his life, something he did because he had to—not because he cared.  

But despite all of that, you knew Jimmy was smart. In fact, he was one of the smartest people you knew, even if he didn’t always act like it. He had a sharp mind, a quick wit, and an ability to break things down in a way that made even the most complicated subjects seem simple. The problem was, hardly anyone ever got to see that side of him. He didn’t apply himself the way he could have, and more often than not, he played the role of the carefree guy who only lived for football and video games.  

"I'm not going. I got lab tomorrow," you said into your phone, shifting against the pillows as you tucked yourself deeper into bed.  

Bianca groaned dramatically on the other end. "Girl, you always busy! Every time I call, it's the same thing—lab this, assignment that. And don’t even get me started on how you be stuck in that house with Jimmy all the damn time."  

You rolled your eyes, even though she couldn’t see you. "First of all, I am not stuck with Jimmy. We just happen to live in the same space. Not like I have a choice."  

"Uh-huh, sure. And yet, every time I ask you to come out, you got an excuse, and he's always somewhere in the background, being annoying," Bianca shot back. "One day, imma just pull up and kidnap you, no warning."  

You laughed, shaking your head. "And do what? Drag me out in my pajamas? Not happening."  

"Don’t test me. I’ll snatch you right up, bonnet and all," she teased. "Seriously, though. You need a break. When’s the last time you had fun? Like, actual fun. Not school, not arguing with Jimmy—fun."  

You hesitated, chewing on your lip. It had been a while since you let loose, but between school, deadlines, and dealing with Jimmy’s daily antics, going out just felt like another task on your already overflowing to-do list.  

"Exactly," Bianca said, as if she could hear your thoughts through the phone. "Look, just think about it. Even geniuses like you need a night off."  

You sighed, glancing toward your closed bedroom door, where you could still faintly hear Jimmy and Jey shouting at their game. "I’ll think about it."  

"That’s what you said last time," Bianca huffed. "I ain't falling for it again. You better show up, or I will come get you."  

You smiled, shaking your head. "We’ll see, B. We’ll see."  

She let out an exaggerated groan but didn’t push it further. "Fine, but don’t think I’m letting this go. I’ll call you tomorrow, and you better give me a yes."  

"Goodnight, Bianca," you said, smirking.  

"Mmhm, whatever. Goodnight, miss I got lab."  

You hung up, staring at the ceiling with a small smile. Maybe she had a point.

Your stomach let out an impatient grumble, loud enough to make you sigh in frustration. You hadn’t eaten in hours, and at this point, there was only one thing that could fix it—a slice of your favorite vanilla cake with extra whipped cream. The thought alone was enough to get you out of bed, pushing aside your tiredness as you made your way down the hall toward the kitchen.

The house was quieter than usual, with only the faint hum of the refrigerator and the distant noise of the TV from the living room. Normally, Jimmy would be in there, glued to whatever game had his attention for the night, but the lack of his usual shouting made you pause. Maybe he had finally gone to bed for once? That would be a miracle.

But as soon as you stepped into the kitchen, that hope vanished.

Standing by the open fridge, fork in hand, was Jimmy—mid-bite, chewing your cake like he didn’t have a single care in the world. Wearing a fitted black shirt with yellow shorts that showed too much thigh.

You stopped dead in your tracks, your brain needing an extra second to process the sheer disrespect of what you were witnessing.

"You gotta to be fucking wit' me," you said, your voice flat.

Jimmy turned his head slowly, fork still in his mouth, his expression completely unbothered. He raised an eyebrow as he chewed, finally swallowing before answering. "What?"

Your arms crossed tightly over your chest as you stared him down. "That was my cake, Jimmy."

He had the nerve to glance down at the plate in his hand, then back up at you with a smirk. "You sure about that?"

You let out an exasperated breath, stepping closer. "Yes, I’m sure. I’ve been thinking about that cake all damn day. It was the last slice!"

Jimmy shrugged, taking another slow, deliberate bite, as if to rub it in. "Was the last slice. Past tense."

Your jaw dropped. "You are actually the worst person I know."

He chuckled, licking a bit of whipped cream off his fork. "Damn. All this over some cake?"

You threw up your hands. "Jimmy, I needed that cake."

"You needed it?" he repeated, clearly amused. "You make it sound like life or death."

"It is!" you shot back. "I’ve had a long day, and all I wanted was to sit down, enjoy my damn cake, and go to bed happy. But noooo, because somebody just had to be greedy."

Jimmy leaned back against the counter, arms crossed, looking entirely too entertained. "Sounds like a you problem. You shoulda got here faster or sum."

"Or you could’ve just not eaten something that wasn’t yours," you snapped.

He shrugged again. "You ain't put yo name on it."

Your eye twitched. "We don’t do that in this house, Jimmy. Because normal people have respect."

Jimmy let out an exaggerated sigh, rolling his eyes as he scooped up a piece of cake with his fork. Slowly, deliberately, he strolled toward you, a smug smirk playing on his lips.  

“Here,” he said, holding the fork out in front of you, the fluffy vanilla cake and whipped cream practically taunting you. “You wanna bite?”  

Your arms folded over your chest, and you scoffed, giving him a sharp glare. “I’d rather die before I eat off of you,” you shot back, your voice dripping with defiance.  

Jimmy chuckled, tilting his head as he took another step closer. “Dramatic much?” he teased.  

You held your ground, eyes locked onto his, but the way he was staring at you—intense, playful, like he was daring you—sent a strange shiver down your spine. 

He took another step, closing the space between you, his free hand lazily slipping into the pocket of his shorts. He was close now, too close. You could smell the faint mix of his cologne and the sweet vanilla lingering on his breath.  

“What’s wrong?” he murmured, voice low, taunting. “Scared you’ll like it?”  

Your stomach tightened, but you forced yourself to scoff again, turning your head to the side. “Please, as if.”  

Jimmy let out a soft chuckle, lifting the fork slightly. “Then prove it.”  

You swallowed, glancing at the fork, then back at him. His eyes held something unreadable—dark amusement, challenge. You could feel your own stubbornness warring with the stupid, undeniable craving in your stomach.  

Your eyes flicked back to the cake, the whipped cream looking way too good to pass up.  

He smirked, sensing your hesitation. “C’mon, I ain't got all night,” he murmured, voice smooth, teasing.  

You clenched your jaw, irritation flaring, but your hunger was stronger than your pride. Damn it.  

With an exasperated sigh, you snatched his wrist, steadying his hand as you leaned in. You hesitated for half a second before finally parting your lips and taking the bite off the fork, your tongue barely brushing against the metal.  

Jimmy stilled.  

Your eyes flicked up to his as you pulled away, chewing slowly, the sweet vanilla and cream melting on your tongue.  

For a moment, neither of you spoke.  

His expression darkened just slightly, his smirk fading into something slower, heavier. His tongue flicked out to wet his lips as he stared at you, watching the way your lips closed around the fork before you finally pulled back.  

Something about the look in his eyes sent a heat crawling up your neck, your stomach twisting in a way that had nothing to do with the cake.  

You swallowed, shifting on your feet. “Happy now?” you muttered.  

Jimmy’s smirk returned, slow and knowing. He tilted his head, his voice dropping an octave.  

“Could’ve just said you wanted a taste,” he murmured.  

Your breath hitched, but you quickly covered it with an eye roll, shoving his wrist away as you stepped back.  

“Shut up, Jimmy.”  

He let out a low chuckle, his smirk never fading as he twirled the fork between his fingers. His eyes stayed locked on yours, dark amusement mixed with something else—something heavier, something that made your pulse tick faster than it should have.  

"You act like you hate me," he murmured, stepping just a fraction closer, his body heat now palpable. "But here you go, eatin' off my fork."  

Your throat felt dry, but you forced yourself to roll your eyes. "I was starving, Jimmy. Don’t flatter yourself."  

He tilted his head slightly, eyes flickering between your lips and your gaze, his smirk deepening. "Mmm, nah. I think you just wanted to see what I taste like."  

Your breath caught, heart slamming against your ribs.  

"You are so full of yourself," you muttered, stepping back, but you barely moved an inch before he closed the gap again, this time with purpose.  

The air shifted—suffocating, electric. You could hear the faint drip of the kitchen sink, the hum of the refrigerator, but it all faded beneath the way Jimmy was watching you. Like he had all the time in the world to unravel you piece by piece.  

"You sure about that?" he murmured, voice low, velvety smooth.  

His free hand brushed against your hip—not fully touching, just ghosting over the fabric of your shorts, enough to send a shiver through you.  

You should have stepped away. Should have said something cutting, something to kill whatever this was. But your body wasn’t listening.  

Jimmy noticed.  

His smirk flickered into something darker, his fingers grazing up your waist, featherlight, testing, waiting for you to stop him.  

You didn’t.  

A slow, knowing hum left his lips. “Thought so,” he murmured, voice dropping even lower.  

Your breath came a little quicker, your skin tingling beneath his touch. Your body was betraying you, leaning into the heat of him.

His fingers finally landed on your chin, tilting it up slightly, forcing you to meet his gaze. His eyes were unreadable—dangerous, teasing, but there was something else simmering beneath them. Something that sent your stomach twisting in the worst, best way.  

"You wanna taste somethin' sweet?" he murmured, his thumb barely brushing over your bottom lip. "I can give you more than just cake."  

Your breath hitched, fingers tightening at your sides.  

You just stood there. Frozen. Trapped under his gaze.  

Jimmy leaned in, slow enough for you to stop him, to push him away, but you didn’t. The warmth of his breath ghosted over your lips, his presence consuming every inch of space between you.  

Every nerve was alight, your breath coming shallow and uneven as Jimmy inched closer, the space between you shrinking to nothing. The scent of vanilla and his cologne wrapped around you, thick and intoxicating.  

"You gonna stop me?" he murmured, his lips barely brushing against yours as he spoke, his voice low, teasing.  

You should’ve. But you didn’t move. You couldn’t.  

His thumb dragged over your bottom lip, slow, deliberate, like he was testing you, waiting for any sign of resistance. When he found none, his smirk deepened, and then—  

His lips brushed yours.  

Not a full kiss, just a whisper of contact, enough to send a sharp jolt straight through you. Your breath hitched, and Jimmy noticed.  

"You’re shaking," he murmured, his free hand sliding up your side, fingers grazing your ribs, your waist—barely there, but enough to make your skin erupt in goosebumps.  

"I’m n-" You swallowed hard, but the words died in your throat.  

He took advantage of your hesitation, closing the distance entirely. His lips pressed against yours, slow at first, testing, teasing. His grip on your waist tightened, pulling you closer, his body heat seeping into you, his hand tracing up your spine like he wanted to memorize every inch of you.  

The moment you responded, the moment you gave in and let your lips move against his, it was over.  

Jimmy deepened the kiss, his tongue sweeping over your bottom lip before slipping past, claiming your mouth like he had every right to. His grip turned possessive, his fingers digging into your waist as he pressed you back against the counter.  

You let out a soft gasp against his mouth, and he groaned in response, swallowing the sound like it belonged to him.  

"You taste better than that damn cake," he muttered against your lips, nipping at your bottom lip just hard enough to make your stomach flip.  

A shiver ran through you, and your fingers instinctively gripped the front of his shirt, holding onto him like he was the only thing keeping you upright.  

"Jimmy, we cant—" you breathed, but it came out weak, needy, nothing like the warning you meant for it to be.  

"Shhh," he murmured, his lips trailing from your mouth to your jaw, then lower, grazing the sensitive spot just below your ear. "I got you, baby."  

The nickname sent a new wave of heat through you, your body arching into him before you could think twice about it. His hands slid lower, fingers pressing into your hips, gripping you like he had no intention of letting go.  

"You still wanna act like you hate me?" he whispered against your skin, his breath hot, his voice dripping with amusement and something deeper.  

You should’ve said yes. Should’ve pushed him away. Should’ve told him this was wrong.  

But the only thing that left your lips was a soft, breathless whimper.  

Jimmy chuckled, dark and knowing.  

"Yeah," he muttered, his teeth grazing your skin before he kissed you again, slower this time, deeper. "That’s what I thought."

You knew it was a bad idea, knew you were crossing a line that could never be uncrossed, but still, you couldn’t stop. The feel of his lips against yours, the way he held you close, the pressure of his body pressing against yours—everything felt too good to resist.

You’d always found ways to make excuses, to stay just out of reach. The random times you’d bug him when you needed something opened, pretending it was just too difficult for you to handle on your own. You'd act annoyed, making a big show of how "helpless" you were, even though it was never actually hard. It was just an excuse, a reason to get him close to you. He’d always tease you about it, calling you out on how dramatic you were, but there was a flicker of something else in his eyes when he did, something you’d always ignored or tried to explain away. 

Then there were the times he’d bring girls over, just to sit around in the living room, loud and carefree, as if they didn’t matter to him. The jealousy it stirred inside you was a dangerous thing. You’d play it cool, roll your eyes and pretend you didn’t care. But you did. You cared so much that it burned. It wasn’t about them, not really. It was the way he’d be with them—too casual, too friendly, not even a hint of what he shared with you. He’d stay in the living room with them for hours, laughing, talking like you weren’t there, almost like he was flaunting it. 

Every time he brought a girl around, he’d still somehow find ways to be around you. He wouldn’t let you slip away completely, not with the way he’d casually touch your arm when passing by, or the way his eyes would seek you out in a room full of people. It was almost like he wanted you to be jealous, wanted to see that spark of emotion flash in your eyes when he paid attention to someone else. But he never made a move on them. Not really. You had to wonder if he was testing you, pushing your boundaries to see how far you'd go. Or maybe, in some twisted way, he was giving you the space to make a move of your own. 

Now, there was no going back. 

His lips pulled away just long enough for you to catch your breath, his forehead resting against yours as you both tried to steady your racing hearts. His fingers were still tangled in your hair, and his other hand had drifted to your lower back, pulling you closer into him. You could feel the heat of him through the thin fabric of your clothes. You could feel everything.  

“You know this is crazy, right?” you whispered, your voice shaky, unsure if you were asking him or telling yourself. 

His eyes met yours again, dark and intense, and he gave a small, crooked grin. “Yeah,” he murmured, his thumb brushing over your lip again. “Maybe it’s what we need, ma.”

That was the problem. It wasn’t just about him. It wasn’t just about you. It was about both of you. And maybe you both had always known this would happen. Maybe you both had been waiting for the other to make the first move.

His hand slid up beneath your oversized tee, fingers trailing against your bare skin, igniting a trail of heat in their wake. Your breath hitched, your body reacting to his touch before your mind could catch up. And god—he looked so damn good in those glasses. He rarely wore them, but when he did, it did something to you, something dangerous. It wasn’t just the way they framed his sharp features, or the way they made him look even more intense. It was the way they added to that quiet, confident arrogance of his—the way he knew exactly how they affected you.

Your lips parted, and without even thinking, you bit down on your bottom lip, trying to contain the rush of anticipation flooding through you. His eyes darkened at the sight, his pupils dilating with hunger. A low, guttural moan rumbled from his chest, deep and intoxicating, sending a shiver down your spine.

Before you could process it, he moved—swift, effortless, like he’d done it a thousand times before. His strong hands gripped your thighs, lifting you with no effort at all. You gasped, your arms instinctively wrapping around his shoulders as he set you down onto the cool marble countertop. 

He didn’t hesitate. His lips crashed into yours again, hungrier this time, more demanding. His hands gripped your ass firmly, pulling you flush against him, and you could feel every hard line of his body pressing into you. Your fingers tangled into his hair, tugging just enough to earn another groan from him, the sound vibrating through his chest and into yours.

“Fuck,” Jimmy mumbled against your lips, his voice thick with something between frustration and need. His hands roamed your sides, fingers digging into your skin like he was trying to ground himself. Your breaths mingled, heavy and uneven, as your hands moved instinctively to the hem of your shorts, pushing them down until they slipped off your legs and pooled onto the floor.

It had been over a year—too long since anyone had touched you like this. And yet, a single kiss from the one man you swore you couldn’t stand had you wetter than anyone ever had. It didn’t make sense. It was crazy. But you didn’t care.

Jimmy broke the kiss, his gaze trailing down your body until it settled on your yellow lace thong. The way his jaw clenched, the way his eyes darkened—it sent a rush of heat straight through you. You didn’t even have to look down to know how hard he was. His breathing was labored, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he undid his pants, never once breaking eye contact.

“You hate me for real, huh?” His voice was low, teasing, but thick with something deeper, something desperate.

Your eyes locked onto his, and you forced out a soft, defiant, “Mhm.” But it came out as a whimper, betraying the war raging inside you.

His smirk was slow, knowing. “Yeah?”

Before you could say anything else, his pants and boxers hit the floor, and your breath hitched.

Your pulse pounded in your ears, your fingers twitching against the countertop as anticipation curled low in your stomach.

And that’s when you felt it—the hard press of him against you, only the thin lace of your thong keeping you apart. A sharp gasp slipped past your lips, swallowed instantly by his mouth as he kissed you deeper, his hands gripping your thighs, keeping you locked in place. Your fingers curled into his shoulders, nails digging in as a shudder ran through you.  

“You still hate me?” he murmured, his voice teasing but rough, his breath hot against your lips.  

Your eyes fluttered open, locking onto his, clouded with a mix of defiance and something dangerously close to surrender. “Ye—yeah,” you mumbled, though the tremble in your voice betrayed you.  

His smirk was slow, knowing. His grip tightened, his fingers flexing against your hips. “Bet”  

Before you could say anything else, he stretched you—slow, deliberate, making sure you felt every inch of his dick claiming you. Your mouth fell open, a soundless moan escaping as your body arched into him. His forehead rested against yours, both of you caught in the moment, breathing each other in.  

Your hands clutched at his back, nails dragging along his skin as he pulled you impossibly closer, filling you to the hilt. The heat, the tension, the months of unspoken rivalry and buried longing—it all exploded into something neither of you could stop now.  

And you didn’t want to.

Jimmy moved slowly, setting a rhythm that had your breath hitching with every deep, calculated stroke. You were used to men who rushed, who chased their own pleasure without thinking about yours. But Jimmy—he took his time, like he had something to prove. Like he wanted you to feel every inch of what he was doing to you.  

A shaky breath escaped your lips as your fingers curled against his shoulders. “J-Jimmy…”  

His grip tightened on your hips, his mouth ghosting over the shell of your ear. “What, baby?” His voice was thick, teasing, but there was something raw beneath it.  

You swallowed hard, your body betraying you as you arched into him. “I—” Your words faltered, another breathy whimper slipping free as he rocked into you again, slow and deep.  

He chuckled lowly, his lips trailing down your jaw, pressing lazy kisses along your skin. “You always talk back, always got somethin’ smart to say,” he murmured, his voice sending a shiver down your spine. His hands slid up your sides, fingertips brushing under your oversized tee. “But look at you now… all quiet for me.”  

Your nails dug into his back, frustration bubbling in your chest. “Shut up,” you muttered, your voice barely a whisper.  

Jimmy smirked against your skin, his grip tightening. “Nah, you love this shit,” he murmured. “Ain’t nobody ever taken their time with you, huh? Always quick, always rough… but that’s not what you need.”  

You bit your lip, refusing to admit how right he was.  

He pulled back just enough to look you in the eyes, his expression dark, hungry. “When a man really wanna fuck a woman, he don’t rush it. He wanna feel that pussy. That’s the whole fuckin’ point, mama.”  

A shudder ran through you, your breath coming out in short, uneven gasps. He was ruining you, and he knew it.  

“Tell me you still hate me,” he whispered, a smirk playing on his lips as he rolled his hips just right.  

You wanted to. You wanted to hold onto that last shred of defiance. But all that left your lips was a shaky, breathless moan.

His grip tightened as he leaned in, lips brushing over the shell of your ear. “Say it,” he murmured, voice thick with control. “Tell me you don’t hate me, baby.”  

Your breath hitched, every nerve in your body on fire. “I—I don’t hate you, Jimmy,” you panted, barely able to form the words as his dick hit every sweet spot in your body.  

He hummed in satisfaction, his hands gripping your thighs, keeping you right where he wanted. “Mmh, I know,” he rasped, his dark gaze locked onto yours. “You just needed some dick, didn’t you?”  

Your heart pounded, fingers digging into his shoulders. You didn’t answer, couldn’t. But he wasn’t letting you off that easy. His fingers tilted your chin up, forcing your eyes to meet his. “Say it.”  

A soft whimper escaped your lips, your head nodding before you could stop yourself. His smirk deepened, his grip tightening as he watched you unravel beneath him.  

The tension coiled tighter, every inch of your body wound up and desperate for release. “Jimmy—Yes…” Your words trailed off into a shaky breath, eyes fluttering shut as the pressure built.  

He read you instantly, his voice dropping to a low whisper. “Cum on this dick, baby. I got you.”  

And just like that, you shattered, a breathless moan slipping past your lips as your body gave in. He held you through it, his hands steady, his eyes never leaving yours.  

“Damn,” he murmured, pressing his forehead against yours as you caught your breath. Jimmy didn’t let up. His grip on you was firm as he pulled you down to your feet, spinning you around with ease. His hands guided you, pressing your front against the counter as his body crowded you from behind.  

“Arch that back for me,” he murmured, voice thick with command.  

You obeyed without hesitation, your fingers gripping the cool surface as he slid inside of you, teasing, taking his time. Your breath hitched, a desperate whimper escaping your lips.  

“Damn,” he groaned, sliding an arm around your waist, pulling you closer. “Knew you just needed me to take care of you.”  

Your head fell forward, your lips parting. “Please…”  

He smirked at the way the word rolled off your tongue. “Yeah, baby?”  

You couldn’t form the words. Your thoughts were a blur, tangled in the heat of the moment.  

He chuckled darkly, his fingers trailing down your spine. “Mmh, all that attitude, all that ‘I hate you’ talk—where it at now?”  

You bit your lip, trying to hold on to whatever fight you had left, but it was useless. His fingers slid lower, finding your clit with ease. A sharp gasp escaped you, your body trembling under his touch.  

“Thought so,” he muttered, his lips brushing against your shoulder. His fingers moved faster as he coaxed you closer to the edge. “And you ain’t done yet, baby. You gonna gimme another one before I let up.”  

A desperate whimper slipped from your lips. “Yeah?”  

He hummed in satisfaction, his fingers working fast but firm, knowing exactly how to unravel you. “Yeah,” he confirmed. “And you gon’ take it.”  

Your body tensed, heat pooling low in your stomach as the sensation built higher, stronger, consuming every part of you.  

“Jimmy—” Your voice broke, your grip on the counter tightening as a wave of pleasure crashed over you, leaving you breathless.  

A deep groan rumbled from his chest, his arms holding you close as he followed, his breath heavy, his hands still gripping you like he wasn’t ready to let go just yet.  

“fffuuuckk,” he muttered, pressing a slow, lingering kiss against your shoulder. “Good girl.”  

Your knees felt weak, your breath shaky, but he held you steady, his lips ghosting over your skin as if savoring the moment.  

“You still hate me?” he murmured against your ear, his voice teasing, smug.  

You let out a breathless laugh, too dazed to even pretend anymore. “Shut up, Jimmy.”  

His chuckle was low, knowing. “ight.”

The night unfolded in a blur of tension and connection, each moment between you and Jimmy pulling you deeper into something unplanned. You moved through the apartment together. His dick was inside of you in the living room, slow and intense, his hands exploring with a mix of desire and tenderness. Every room, every new position felt deliberate.

It wasn’t just about the heat between you—it was the quiet tenderness in his touches, the way he’d pull you close, his hand brushing through your hair. With each passing moment, it became clear: this wasn’t a fleeting thing. Whatever had sparked between you two, it was something deeper than you’d expected. And as the night ended, you couldn’t help but wonder where it would lead.

[daddy-long-legssss]

had my personal assessment for work and it went well but i still felt like i could burst into tears at any given moment.

[nemesis-writer]

Five Minutes (Chapter 1)

Masterlist No choice TW: Neglect, mentions of blood, mental illness

10 days later...

"So who is she?", Duke asks.

"She's a criminal now." Tim replies, he gets up just to drink a beer.

"No she isn't" Jason retorts.

"Then what is she?" Duke asks.

"She's a child, or should I say was a child", Jason interjects.

"She's just being temperamental and probably just throwing a tantrum." Damian jibes.

"She killed all yakuza leaders with a katana," Jason retorts.

"She's definitely not Bruce's child, because there's no way that Bruce could do that." Duke jokes.

"She is. I took a paternity test." Bruce replies.

"She's getting smarter and better. She was supposed to be in the fortress where we keep the people who are too mentally insane to go to Arkham." Cassandra adds.

"I checked the security cameras of all the places she's been in and she has the ability to manipulate a person in to doing her malicious acts. Must be why she's able to escape every time by using someone else for her bidding. " Tim reveals.

Asylum, 10/11/2017,

"Hello, my name is chief Lawson, FBI. I'm here to ask you where you hid the bodies."

"Rotting apples with wasps feasting. Brown bananas with flies retreating. A fox in the night is ripping black bin bags open. Cats are eating a chicken casket after Sunday dinner. A white owl is gobbling a slaughtered mouse, happy, sitting on the evening fence. The brown rat is running for the bushes after stealing bread. A giant cow jawbone is found in the dirty ground. The tired young man died on the motorway bridge and was found. Zombied humans are eating out of plastic bins. Death is everywhere! Take a look inside – don’t be ignorant about what you find." She sings but keeps her back faced to the FBI.

"You're not really helping here lady." Lawson said.

"It's in the song, but if you don't listen then I can't help you." Eurus said.

She starts to stand up and go towards the glass.

"Step forward and touch the glass officer." Eurus feints.

"No, you give me answers lady."

"Or what? You'll shoot me? This is bullet-proof glass sweetheart." Eurus replies, "I'll touch it if you want."

The officer steps forward and touches the glass on for her to grab his neck and choke him to death.

End of recording...

"Lawson was supposed to be one of the best FBI detectives." Bruce says.

"He was. She's evolving and the longer we let her evolve, the more people will die." Stephanie adds.

"Why would she do this?" Bruce wonders

10 years ago...

Love can come from many forms and languages. It follows the same rules with hate, negligence, toxicity, and jealousy. It may not be shown all in one go, so it will gradually grow until it could eat you alive whole. Let's list what each has demonstrated.

Unintentional negligence: Bruce proves as a simple embodiment of this action. He found you to be insignificant and mediocre. When really your true colours were just about to shine.

Negligence based on superiority: Dick has quite the experience in that area. He always thought that people would look up to him and he would be the role model of the family. He never meant for his negligence to go as far.

Love relying on sufferings: Jason truly knew how broken you were and wanted to fix it. It took him too long to realise that you may be able to fix and broken mirror, but it would never be as it was.

Hate relying on significance: Tim is the obvious answer since he never truly cared for you. Until now. He hated the fact on how you were so 'naive' and 'helpless', that you don't deserve to live like them.

Hate and jealousy based on blood: Since you were the child of a common whore, Damian thinks of you as a whore and never a Wayne. He has a perfect assassin of a mother and a rich vigilante for a father to add up. You on the other hand, have nothing, and are nothing to him.

Toxic and fake interest: All the girls, Cassandra, Barbara, and Stephanie has a bond with you. They pretend to be interested and all ears when they really plan to hurt you and shut you up. They'd do anything just for you to back off. It was never true with them.

Love of a sibling and of keen interest: Duke has always wanted a sister who was normal. So far he assumes that you're the closest thing to normal that wasn't as fake as Cassandra, talkative as Steph, or as busy as Barbara. He understands your pain and wants to be the sibling you never had.

Present...

Each had their own description of their 'bond' with you. But things have changed, they changed. Why wouldn't you wanna go home for them?

Don't you see how much they treasure you now?

Come home little robin.

A/N: I kinda like this chapter because I'm basing it off from the BBC Sherlock Holmes Series and I hope you'd like it!

Taglist

@lunayaps, @not-aya, @iluvcatzz, @vanessa-boo, @ivyrose9194,@thesehandsarerated-e, @eyeless-kun, @errorunfound1, @gwyneveire, @alishii, @cxcillia

[l8dyvenus]

astrology observations. #5

+ Moon in 4th tend to look for partners that remind them of their mothers. If placed in a man’s chart, I typically see this as them going for older women. 👩‍👦

regardless, If you want to bag a cancer placement man, nurture him or act like his mother. It will literally do the trick🙃trust me, I know, it’s literally how I bagged my boyfriend. but be careful, they most definitely have breeding kicks especially mixed w Virgo.

and if they are ethnic, learn more about the culture or ask about it. take trips to their homeland too! or just simply do your own research to impress them.

+ it’s true, Libra suns run from conflict or ignore it. and if mixed with Water placements in a chart, they tend to lie to try to keep the peace. sometimes it does backfire on them.

+ Leo moons, did your mom always try to humble you?

+ Cancers and Taurus’s go so well together 🥹

+ I noticed that people who’s planet(s) fall into my 8th house tend to give/buy me things everytime I see them. I literally don’t even have to ask. they give me more compliments and find me pretty than people who’s planets fall into my 1st. 🤣

As a 8th house Stellium, I loveeeee people who fall into my 8th house, never had an bad encounter we just always clicked🫶🏾.

+ read a post that said Mars in 4th H takes on which ever parent shows that aggressive impatience nature and whewww, they didn’t have to read me like that 🤭.

+ a Scorpio moon once told me, “if they are not obsessed with me, I just don’t think they like me fr” LMFAOOO

+ All Scorpio moons aren’t as bad as portrayed to be, it really just depends on their relationship with their mother. I see this placement as like having a Cancer/4th house moon. even though Scorpio is at fault in this position, it shows greatly that the mother has a MAJOR influence and role on how they act, respond, their mindset, and characteristics. and all Scorpio moons and their relationship with their mothers are not bad either. but they could be over smothering. either a light helicopter parent, or a over the extent helicopter parent. I noticed that it depends on how well the moon is aspected. when the moon is negatively aspected, the moon person typically takes on the toxic characteristics and personality of their mothers which makes them destructive and “bad” as the stereotype. when not negatively aspecting, they are much more self/socially aware and conscious. not saying that negative aspected moons can’t be more self evolved, but they tend to have the shorter end of the stick. they just have take that journey to get there.

I met a Scorpio moon where his moon was well aspected with trines and sextiles to harmonious planets. His mother wasn’t abusive, narcissistic or any of that sort. Scorpio moon people typically were born at a time where it was very inconvenient traumatic time for the parents, especially the mother. This showed up in his chart as his mother being over protective and overly affectionate. Not necessarily an over the extent “helicopter” parent, but he would tell me she calls him everyday, sends him bible scriptures, tried to put him in the best schools, best positions in life to be better or have better than she had. Although majority of the choices she made for him, is not what he wanted, he knows that it’s from the good intentions of her heart. Pluto = evolution, death/rebirth, betterment, etc, so her actions showed up as wanting to protect him in her own traumatic way but also wanting him to evolve into something better.

+ Justice from the movie Poetic Justice definitely had Venus in the 8th H 💌

side note - I feel like erykah badu does too. I saw a post saying that every man she dealt with when they met her weren’t self evolve, then after their relationship they were all into the occult and dressed bohemian lmfaooo. like literally, search up erykah badu and the guys she dated, how they look then and now.

+ Neptune in the 4th, is it just me or is it hard to get anything done in your house without feeling tired? I have a lot of energy outside of my home, but when I get to my moms place I feel lazy and especially depressive. It’s hard for me to do anything. I didn’t realize that until I recently left for college then came back for visits, and then permanently stayed. Lmk 👄?

+ a Uranus dom or heavily placed in a males chart most definitely likes to paint his own nails. I don’t know if he is or not, but search up Dennis Rodman. He gives me Uranus Dom Vibes.

+ on the topic of Uranus, Aquarius, Leo, & Virgo placements in 8th degree are very experimental, but they can be deep into things like the dark web, bdsm, smut, abusive sex, etc. like really dark sexual shit.

+ Capricorn placements and the dying urge to crack the hell out of every bone in their body just for fun >> 😼

+ Aquarius moons tend to run to their friends for every thing, especially when it comes to family matters. friends could be an outlet for venting. But I noticed they tend to have a weird relationship with them. One minute they can have a lot of close friends and the next, those same close friends aren’t very close anymore.

+ water placements (especially moons) pay attention to how you feel around ppl. that is your biggest gift.

Anyways, CIAO! 😽

MASTERLIST

[spiritualitywithtally]

synastry observations (5/07/23)

💌 moon conjunct vesta 🥺🥺🥺🥺. as the vesta person, you have soooo much love & pure devotion for the moon person. & the moon person feels it so heavily & really appreciates that. they (moon) will really miss that love & care if they ever part ways. & vesta, also, will heavily grieve that connection

💌 sun square mercury : the sun person can feel very wounded by any critiques the mercury may have on them. the mercury person can say something about them jokingly & not think much about it but it may linger on the sun persons mind

💌 moon square mercury : as the mercury person, you’ll most likely have to handle conversations with the moon person with a lottt of care and watch not only what you say, but your delivery as well. this is a placement for conversations to blow up & get emotional for moon person very quickly, leaving mercury extremely frustrated. i have this with BOTH of my parents 😬😬😬. not to mention it’s my WATER moon vs. their AIR mercuries. yes, i’ve suffered.

💌 venus in the 3rd or 11th house is a friends to lovers placement

💌 i’m experiencing one sided 12th house synastry romantically for the first time. i have 12th house synastry with literally all of my romantic interests but it’s always a double whammy. this time it’s just my stellium (including my sun) in his 12th house & i feel soo exposed. i feel like he’s always psycho analyzing me & it feels so weird because that’s usually MY role. i also feel very hesitant to express how i feel about him which is also weird to me because i usually don’t have a really hard time with that. so it’s just interesting to observe

💌 6th house synastry is honestly such extreme devotion to another person. talking every single day, always considerate of the other persons feelings. always wanting to help better them & their habits/health. it just feels like you’re meant to be on a journey with this person where you both help each other evolve. one of the best synastry houses in my opinion

💌 with 12th house synastry, there’s always someone else in the picture. you’re likely to be involved in a love triangle when you have 12th house synastry with someone. or you might still be close with an ex when you meet that new person you have this synastry with. or they might be. i’ve seen this so many times, it’s crazy. i suspect that this is maybe because the 12th house is our past, so when you encounter someone you have this synastry with, you just happen to be still carrying baggage from your past or they are

i should make a whole separate post with 12th house synastry observations because i’ve had it with every single person i’ve been involved with romantically 🌚🌚

💌 i feel like also with 12th house synastry, you’ll literally think about this person forever. what they taught you, what could’ve been, where they are now, etc ..

💌 ppl who have planets in your 2nd house realllyyyy effect your self esteem.

thanks so much for reading, let me know what you think. & check out my new astro observations post as well <3

[calebslittleapple]

feels like home: sticky fingers

After a few weeks apart, Caleb reconnects with his Pip-squeak, only to find that she's pretty beaten up after a mission. Fortunately, Caleb knows exactly what to do to take care of his girl. From one moment to the next, everything changes, and what starts as an innocent interaction quickly evolves into something else entirely... two-shot, post club-interactions, but can be read as a standalone as well (though, this is part of my feels like home series).

Pairing: LaDS Caleb x MC (she/her)

Genre: Smut (with feelings); chapter one is M, chapter two is E; 18+

CW: Codependency; Pip-squeak as an endearment; MC is named "Emme" short for "Emme Sea" lmao; Finger Sucking; sensual massage; Vaginal Fingering; humping

Also on AO3

Complete: Chapter One; Chapter Two

feels like home series page

After that dizzying night at the club, things settle back into the same old, same old, mostly because work’s been insane for both of them. At least, that’s what Caleb’s telling himself.

Naturally, he can’t stop thinking, feeling, reeling over the memory of his sweet girl, his beloved Pip-squeak, coming apart in his arms. Along with that, the way she’d woken early the day after, slipped from bed and made him breakfast.

That was normally his role to fall back into, but it was a domestic kind of sublime to walk into her kitchen, and see her standing there, cooking bacon, while wearing one of his t-shirts—old, stretched out, and way, way too big for her.

Caleb couldn’t put his finger on why, but he liked the way she looked in his clothes. Felt a bit like she was wrapped up in him. The possessive pieces of his heart shifted upon seeing her there, ever so slightly falling into place as if a simple moment like that could make his fractured heart whole once more.

They didn’t talk about what happened, because, of course, they didn’t. But she was different. A little surer in her touch and teasing. Hands lingered as the food was shared between them. Her eyes fell on his lips, the line of his neck, the broad stretch of his chest, which was purposefully emphasized by the two-sizes-too-small tank top he was wearing.

He flexed some, and she noticed that too. What was the point of having a physique like his, if not to show it off to the one person he’d crafted it for? Judging from the way her chewing stopped and how her eyes lingered, his many, many hours spent working out weren’t going to waste.

“See something you like, Pip-squeak?” he teased, but his voice was raspier than he’d thought it would be. Catching her staring was painfully intoxicating.

“Hmm?” she replied while shaking her head a bit. “What did you say?”

Caleb huffed out a laugh. “Pass the syrup.”

Picking up the nearby vessel, Emme quietly cursed as some of the sticky liquid sloshed over the edge and onto her fingers. After setting the syrup down, she stood and started to turn toward the sink, but Caleb caught her up in his gravity before she could move away.

“C’mere,” he murmured.

Shifting on her feet, she cocked her head at him, and Caleb couldn’t help but notice the way her eyes fluttered, just a little, as he let his power roll over her before pulling back.

Caleb held his hand out for hers. “Let me see.”

She swallowed, looked at her sticky fingers, and immediately focused on his lips. Caleb’s mouth curved into a knowing smile, which earned him a pretty pout.

“You’re terrible,” she breathed but held her hand out, anyway.

“Oh, c’mon, Pip-squeak,” he murmured, his warm hand gently skimming along the length of her forearm before curling around her wrist. “I know you like it when I’m bad.”

Her lips parted with a soft sigh that sounded anything but perturbed, pink tongue flicking out to lick her lips as her actions betrayed her thoughts.

“What are you going to do…?”

“You don’t know?” he asked while leaning closer to her hand, slow enough that she could pull back if she wanted.

He needed to prove something to himself, needed to prove that it wasn’t just the alcohol or the strange anonymity of that seedy club. Caleb needed to know that she wanted him as badly as he wanted her.

He could see it now, in the way she stood there, legs spread just a touch too wide, as if she was imagining what it might be like to fall into his lap and straddle his waist. Or maybe it was in how her hips switched, swaying almost the same way they had while she’d ground herself into his thigh the night before.

No, it was definitely in how glassy her eyes looked and the pretty flush on her cheeks. There was no alcohol coloring this interaction. What other places on her body would flush, he wondered. The tips of her nipples? The soft skin at the juncture between her legs and thighs? What about her ass? As decadently formed as it was, would her ass look even better with a bite mark… or two?

Caleb could feel himself growing hard in his gray sweatpants but was marginally relieved that he wouldn’t need to reach down and adjust himself this time. No distractions. Just her eyes locked on his as he pulled her hand closer and closer.

She didn’t gasp when he sucked her fingers into his mouth—index and middle; warm, sticky, and sweet. No, what she did was much, much worse than that.

Watching for every single reaction, Caleb swirled his tongue before delivering a long, soft suck, and his girl took in a halting breath, fluttered her fingers in his mouth, and fucking whimpered his name.

“C-Caleb!”

Broken, halting, haunting. He wanted to hear her say it again. To hear her say it while he pressed into her from above, while his head disappeared between her thighs, while he did every single thing he’d ever dreamed about doing to her, but dared not do.

They were growing closer and closer to the day when they would dare, and he was doing his best to be patient. He’d draw out every moment so when that day did come, when she finally gave in to her desires and realized that everything she’d been wanting was right before her eyes, it would be after he so thoroughly seduced her that she’d never think of denying either of them.

Ever. Again.

Caleb wasn’t a patient man, but he could play pretend with the best of them. For her, he would make the planet collapse in on itself if she but asked. But all she needed right now was patience and time. As his tongue swirled and his mouth pulled, he lingered there, and let her think of all the other places on her body that would feel oh so good if he ever got his lips, teeth, and tongue on them.

And he would. But, for that moment, he let her go and was not so secretly smug about the sweetly blissed-out look on her face, and the way she stumble-sat into her chair before picking at her food again, desperate to look somewhere, anywhere but at the face of the man she knew the best, and needed the most.

Weeks flew by. She texted, same as always. She called, and he answered on the second ring, same as always. But where once Caleb could soothe himself with the knowledge that he’d be able to see her soon enough, now he is consumed with the memories of their interactions and, more to the point, her reactions.

The clothes she left at his place for use during her visits no longer smell like her, likely because he spends most nights with his face wrapped up in them. The only peaceful rest he’s able to get is when she’s near. When he knows she’s safe. Now, her shirt and shorts just smell like him, and as much as he enjoys leaving his scent all over her space, he wants the same for his home.

Logically, Caleb knows that Linkon is a safer place for her, for a multitude of reasons, but the greedy, dark spaces of his heart want to keep her high in the sky, in Skyhaven with him. He’s smart enough to know how to keep her safe at his apartment. God, he’s done it before. But as good as it makes him feel to know without a doubt that she is safe, he can’t stand the look in her eye at that particular betrayal.

Just one more sin for the consummate sinner. But with her, ahh… It feels like he can find absolution in her arms. No matter how dark he gets, his girl will always be there to pull him back into the light. She promised him, just as he’d promised to always be there with him.

Finally, when Caleb thinks he’s at his wits’ end, he gets a text from Emme asking if he wants to meet up at her place on the weekend. Naturally, he agrees. Even if he didn’t have the time off, he’d have figured something out. He’s so excited about it that he decides to surprise her the night before, which isn’t uncommon for him.

So, with snacks and an overnight bag in hand, he lets himself into her apartment and waits for her to get back home from work. From how she tells it, she’s been overtime on something important. Caleb did some digging and managed to find out it had something to do with Wanderers convening just outside of the city limits.

It’s miserable work, as important as it is, and he worries because that’s who he is. Caleb wouldn’t be Caleb if he wasn’t worrying about his Pip-squeak. He’s just wired that way. And this time, he’s right to be concerned because when she finally gets back to her apartment at just after 2 a.m., she stumbles in.

Of course, she’s not entirely surprised that he’s there—who else would be watching movies this late in her living room, who else would know the security code to her suite, and who else would show up unannounced, like him—but she looks put out, all the same.

He watches her for a moment longer as she pauses at the entrance to her home, leaning against the doorframe as she breathes deep, head hanging heavy, body drooping… He’s moving before she can fall, her body pitching forward into his strong body instead of the floor.

“Whoa, Pip-squeak! What’s wrong?”

She looks up at him, and the dark smudges under her eyes, along with the scrapes on her cheeks and neck tell him everything he needs to know.

“Caleb.” One word spoken, half annoyance, half supplication. It’s all he needs. A moment longer, and she’s swept up into his arms.

“Let’s get you washed, dried, and cared for,” he says, sounding more competent and put together than he feels. In truth, his heart is pounding in his chest, and it’s taking everything he has not to drive over to the Hunter’s Association and ream out whoever is responsible for putting her in the situation that got her in this state.

Not that he’d dare leave her now.

He carries her through the small space of her apartment and walks them both into the bathroom. Her bathroom is cramped on a good day, and with the two of them in there, it’s even worse. She bats at his hands and tries to tell him she can manage on her own.

“I’m not a child.”

“Of course you aren’t, but you’re still my girl. How could I live with myself if I left you alone now? What if you fell in the shower, or worse?”

She frowns, but some of the roughness of that expression is smoothed away as she thinks about it.

“You owe me, then.”

“Oh?”

“Next time you get sick. You call me. You let me in. No excuses.”

Caleb sighs. Of course, she’d bargain for something like that. It’s not in his nature to show weakness, least of all to her, but he’d promise just about anything and mean it to keep her happy.

“Deal. Now, strip.”

She blushes at that, only for her lips to frown again.

“What?”

As Caleb eases her from his arms, she’s unsteady on her feet. “I really… just don’t think I can.”

“Need some help?” he asks, trying to sound casual, but very much feeling like his heart is going to explode.

“Promise not to get mad?”

“No.”

“Caleb!” she exclaims while giving him a halfhearted shove. “There’s just a few scrapes. And I’m sure I’ll be bruised tomorrow. But it’s nothing major, okay?”

“Okay. But you’re going to let me treat your injuries.”

She pouts. “Fine, but it’s mostly just… really sore muscles. I think a Wanderer was trying to tear my spine out…”

He hates the sound of that but manages to transfer some of his anger to the fastenings of her clothes, quickly and efficiently stripping the layers of her outfit from her body until she’s standing there in nothing more than her underthings and the bracelet he gave her.

He loves that no matter where she goes, she’s got a piece of him with her, but he keeps that bit of information to himself. She already has his heart. Any more leverage and she’ll have him following her like a puppy… more than he already does, that is.

Caleb tries to be level-headed about this, but it’s a challenge given how very fuckin’ long he’s dreamed about seeing her like this, albeit in very different circumstances. Still, he loves her, loves her more than he longs for her, even, so he schools his features, wills his body to calm down, and has his Evol prop her up while guiding her roughed-up body into the shower.

And though it’s strange, and not entirely logical, Caleb swears he can feel her pressing back into his gravitational touch, leaning into his power as he works to support her and not lose his damn mind. Maybe it has something to do with her Resonance. God knows it wouldn’t be the first time that their shared connection bridged the gap between fantasy and reality.

Once the shower curtain is closed, his power slips away, leaving her to stand on her own two feet.

“You good?”

“I’ve got the wall,” she says with a sigh. “Can you help me after I’m done?”

“Of course.”

She manages to take off the rest of her clothes. They fall to the floor of her shower with a soft thump.

“Want me to grab ‘em?”

“Everything’s filthy,” she admits. “Guts and blood and gore. I think I’m gonna burn them.”

Caleb chuckles and shakes his head. He’ll get the gore out for her. He’s good at that. Listening attentively, he makes sure to check in with her as she bathes. Truthfully, she’s sounding better, at least, until a soft hiss sounds from behind the curtain.

“Everything alright, Pip-squeak?”

“Just a very, very sore muscle.”

The water stops, and she gingerly peeks her head out from behind the curtain. She’s adorably drenched, and every part of him is itching with the need to care for her. He’s pleased to note that most of the blood is washed away, and doesn’t seem to belong to her.

Guts and blood and gore, indeed.

“I got a towel ready,” he says, spreading it out and turning his head so she can step out of the shower without having to worry about him leering.

Caleb swears she snickers at him, but she ducks into his arms and lets him wrap her in the towel, just the same. She’s swallowed up by an excess of plush fabric, with only her feet and head peeking out from the edges.

It almost reminds him of when she was young, and how after playing with the sprinkler and tiring herself out in the summer sun, she’d complain about being cold, only for Caleb to wrap her up in a towel and help her dry off.

Well, he’s not that boy anymore, and she’s certainly not that girl, and what they are to each other is so much more than childhood friends.

Still, he tugs at the edge of the towel and lifts it so that he’s better covering her neck. “Can you turn around? I’ll dry your hair.”

“The blow dryer is—”

“Beneath the sink, I know.”

With everything ready, he first works at detangling her hair with her paddle brush. Her work’s made a mess of her hair, but he’s good at this—the best, actually. He has to be because the last thing he wants is to cause her any more pain.

After her hair is detangled and pulled back, he slowly runs the blow dryer over it while combing it on low heat. He’d hate to damage her hair. Once her hair is mostly dry, he quickly pulls it into a braid. Another thing that he’s quite good at.

“Hair ties?”

She holds up her wrist.

“Hair ties that haven’t gone through hell and back?” he clarifies while tugging the band from her wrist and throwing it in the trash.

“Medicine cabinet.”

He gets what he needs, ties off her hair, and picks her up again. This time, she squawks a little, but he gently rubs his lips against the top of her head and softly begs, “Please? Let me help.”

And mollified by his words or his actions, she settles and lets her head fall against his shoulder. It doesn’t take long to get to her bedroom, the door of which he gently nudges open with his power.

Caleb settles her on the bed and walks over to her dresser. “What d’ya wanna wear?”

“Mmm, I have some clothes ready in the top drawer.”

Pulling open the heavy wooden drawer, Caleb is surprised to recognize her clothes as his. “I was wearing this the last time I visited.”

“Yeah, your clothes are comfier than mine.”

“The shorts aren’t mine,” he points out.

“Your shorts would slide down my legs. The shirt is big, but it’s sooo nice to sleep in.”

As Caleb tugs the shirt and shorts closer, he can’t help but notice that it still smells faintly of his scent.

“Didn’t you wash this, Pip-squeak?” he drawls.

“Oh. No…” She sounds embarrassed, and he’s just about to tease her for always leaving her dirty laundry for him to do when she soundly sucker-punches him with what she says next. “It still smells like you… So… that’s why.”

That soft admission has the air retreating from his lungs in a wicked rush, words hitting with precision impact. Caleb doesn’t turn to face her. He can’t. His fist is tightly clenched around his shirt—the one that smells like him—his eyes are closed, and his breathing is so erratic that he needs to take a moment to calm himself.

Of course, he keeps her clothes at his bedside when she’s not in his home, but to hear she does the same—no, that she wears clothes that smell like him to bed—makes him feel fucking feral. He is not a good man. Far from it. He is who he needs to be so that he can keep her safe.

But when the reality of her words hits, it shifts his intentions for the evening entirely. He’d meant to put her to bed with a heating pad after checking for wounds, and then go to make her something to eat. Now she’d be lucky if he let her sleep at all.

“Where’s that massage oil that Tara got you?”

“How do you know about that?!” she balks.

“She was bragging about it at your birthday party. She’s remarkably chatty when she’s been drinking.” Tara was remarkably chatty all the time, but she got downright obscene with alcohol. Caleb got the sense that she was intentionally making him aware of the oil, almost as if she was giving him a not-so-subtle nudge.

As if any of this was up to him. Still, the knowledge came in handy. He’s feeling not the least bit smug about it, at least, until she hits him with another jab. “It’s in the drawer of my bedside table.”

Caleb closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and specifically does not think about what that likely means.

He clears his throat, but his voice is still rough when he finally manages to ask, “Can you dress yourself?”

“I can manage. But what are you going to do with the oil?”

Caleb shakes his head, turns, and fixes her with a look. “Massage your legs, silly girl. You could barely stand earlier. They’re gonna be hellish in the morning if you don’t take care of them now.”

“You’d do that for me?” she asks, cheeks still flushed from her shower, and towel wrapped tight. She looks good enough to eat, and Caleb expects that if he doesn’t somewhat sate the beast inside of him, he’s going to make a meal of her sooner rather than later.

Caleb stands before her, bunches her shirt—his shirt—up, and slides the top over her head. “Can you manage the rest?”

She nods, and he turns around to give her some privacy. “The shorts?”

“I can manage,” she replies, but her groans make his stomach twist with concern.

“They’re working you too hard.”

“My job is hard. This is what I signed up for.”

“Then you need to do a better job of taking care of yourself during your days off.”

“Okay, Mom.”

“I think ‘Daddy’ would be more fitting.”

“Caleb!” she squeaks. “Don’t say things like that.” But she certainly doesn’t sound as scandalized as she should…

“All right, all right. I’m sorry. You finished?”

“…Yeah, I got it.”

Caleb turns, tilts his head, and gives her a look. Her hair’s messed up now from the shirt, and she looks tired. A perfect pout greets his smile.

“Poor baby,” he softly croons. “Lay back and let me take care of you.”

He can see her swallow at that, like she’s having a hard time making her vocal cords work. “You’re just taking advantage of my weakness.”

“Naturally. How else am I gonna get you to understand that you need me?”

She huffs at that. “You need me just as much as I need you, Caleb.”

He snorts softly, teeth pressing into his tongue, before he softly admits, “You have no idea… Now, no more stalling.”

Caleb points to the bed, and she dutifully scoots back onto the sheets, albeit slowly and with effort. He manages to dig out the oil from her dresser and pointedly ignores literally everything else that’s hidden away in there because he won’t be able to behave if he does otherwise.

“I guess I should have grabbed the oil,” she starts to say.

He frowns. “Why?”

“Oh… never mind.”

“Something you don’t want me to see in there?”

She nibbles her lip, eyes fluttering softly as she murmurs, “Maybe… maybe not.”

The look she gives him is so coy and tempting that his mind goes completely blank and he utterly forgets what the hell he’d been in the middle of doing. At least, until she points to the oil.

“Are you gonna massage my legs or…?”

“Yeah… yeah. Right. Roll over, Pip-squeak. Lemme see where it hurts.”

She rolls over and Caleb’s eyes trail reverently over the length of her legs. She looks good. Too good. He hates that her coworkers get to even see a measure of this. Of course, he knows it’s insane to want to be the only one who can appreciate her, but his greedy heart feels it just the same.

“You been workin’ out more lately?”

“Hmm? Why?”

“Things look… tight,” he rasps, voice betraying his interest and desire.

Her reply is soft and teasing. “Someone did make me join that squat challenge last month. And here, I thought you had ulterior motives, but you’re acting all surprised.”

Caleb coughs to cover up some of his embarrassment and dispel a measure of his lust. Yeah, he had gotten her to agree to that challenge. Honestly, he’d been grasping for things to say, because he caught her right after a workout and the fine mist of sweat on her brow, along with the gorgeous flush in her cheeks, had him thinking of exercise of a different kind.

And here she’d taken him seriously.

“Gonna be as strong as me soon,” he manages while stepping closer to the bed. Her legs are spread on either side of him, and for one long moment, he doesn’t know what to do, or where to look next.

“Doubt it. Your legs are too long, and your thighs are too strong.”

“Been thinking about my thighs, baby?”

He’s teasing, sweet, and he means to catch her off guard, but she hits back so hard as she replies, “Yeah, your thighs… and other parts of your anatomy.”

Caleb sighs, long and hard. Says a prayer for courage to whoever happens to be listening, the Gods of the earth and the sea and space, or otherwise, and then, he gets to work. He kneels on the floor at the edge of the bed, and he’s tall enough that this gives him a good vantage point. He knows exactly what he wants to do next, and he’s as ready as he’ll ever be.

 “Tell me if it hurts.”

feels like home series page; sticky fingers: chapter two

~~~

Author’s Note:

Sorry, this was so big that I had to cut it into two chapters because I hate editing and I got busy with other stuff. I’ll post the other chapter tomorrow, so you can have something to enjoy (I hope) over the weekend. The second part is spicier :D

I listened to the hipsterist hipster music for this one to get me into the right headspace, please enjoy haha. Also somewhat inspired by what has to have been the most painful massage I’ve ever had in my LIFE (did not have the same ending, there was only pain lmao, but I was like hmm maybe Caleb would be good at massages for MC, and then, PAIN). Also Deeply inspired by that secret times where Caleb takes care of MC when she’s sick. Like GOD DAMN, Caleb. “You’re worried I’ll spoil you rotten. Too late for that!” ??? ARE YOU KIDDING ME????

Also, not that it matters in the slightest, but I wrote this before I learned it’s canon that she likes to keep his clothes around (and wear them???) because they smell like him. They’re just really transparent with how fucking down bad these two are for each other lmao.

Still really fucking obsessed here, guys. Chokehold, I think is a good way to put it. Caleb is a mf bias wrecker, like oh my literal GOD. I swear, some of these are gonna be from MC’s pov, but I’m working through some SHIT rn lol.

I also gave the MC a little name, “Emme” which is short for Emme Sea lmao. I have a challenging time with writing y/n or like using second person present tense. No judgment or anything like that, it just makes it hard for me to think of the characters properly when I’m writing them. ANYWAY, I’ll use it sparingly, but sometimes, it’s just better to have a name lol.

Anyway, thanks so much for reading! And extra hugs for anyone who left a comment. You are the apple of my eye, and thank you for giving me a space to channel this whatever it is? Obsession lmao. I’ve got a few other interludes planned (shower), and I’m taking requests (on tumblr), so either give this/me a follow, or check up on my tumblr :) If you enjoyed, I’d love to hear from you! Or feel free to share with a friend, if you’re lucky enough to have some Caleb-obsessed friends haha.

Don’t forget! I'll be posting any updates as installments (not chapters), so be sure to sub to the series or my user name to get updates on ao3, or just check my tumblr, i'll post here too♥️🍎

[redheadspark]

can I get Druig with "how can you be this cheery already? we haven't even had breakfast." and "you won't stop this until i say 'yes', will you?" 🥺

A/N - YAS FOR THIS! I would love to write this, thanks for the request, dear friend!

Ray

Summary - Who knew the mind-controlling Eternal was a ball of sunshine in the morning

Warnings - just some fluff :)

Humming was the first thing you heard when you were slowly waking up, much to your dismay.

Grumbling, you threw the thin sheet over your head to try and block out some of the sun that was about to pour into your little shack.  The softer sounds of the trees high above rustling in the morning wind was the next thing you heard, a shiver going through your body as the humming was continuing.  You huffed, knowing now that there was no way you were going to be sleeping again as the bed was now shifting.  A pair of gentle yet calloused hands touched the top of your head and massaging your scalp as you wiggled under the sheet.

“Mornin’, my love,”

His deep tremor of a voice was enough to have you open your eyes, seeing through the thing sheet a silhouette of a body.

“How are you already awake this early?” You said in a mumble under the sheets as the fingers in your hair never stopped moving slowly, “It’s the weekend.  We don’t have chores today.”

“Still a good day to wake early and enjoy,” he replied as you huffed, pushing the sheets down and scowling up at your husband of 400 years.  Druig, perched over you on the bed with his tossed hair shining in the sun and his piercing blue eyes looking like sapphires orbs looking down at you.  He was sporting a thin shirt and running pants, a thin sheet of sweat already evident on his face as he grinned widely at you.

“You went running?” You asked as a yawn as he nodded.

“Earlier this morning, since I know you’d rather sleep all day than enjoy the first rays of the morning,” He teased, you rolling your eyes.

“How can you be this cheery already?  We haven’t even had breakfast yet,” You stated as he shrugged.

“It’s a nice day, and I find it a blessin’.” He replied, then leaning down a bit to graze his nose with yours with affection.  You could breathe in the soil that was under his nails from working out in your little vegetable garden the night before, the sweat he got from his rain, and something that was simply Druig, “The blessin’ of our village, the blessin’ of breathing in the fresh air of the jungle, and the greatest blessin’ of bein’ married to ya,”

500 years together in the Amazon was nothing short of heavenly for you and Druig.  Getting there was such a harsh and difficult decision, simply because you two left your Eternals family behind.  Druig went through so much turmoil and pain that night, knowing he was not able to help stop the genocide that was unfolding in front of all of you.  As his wife, you stood by him and never swayed in that choice when he decided to go off on his own and branch out away from all you two knew.  You too were heartbroken, not knowing when you were going to see the others again.  It’s been 500 years of raising a village and being away from the rest of the world that seemed to evolve and grow.  

Ajak told you one last thing before you followed behind Druig.  You looked up to her as a mother, seeing the sense of comfort in her eyes as she gave you one last time.

“Take care of him and his heart,”

So you did.

Being married to the mind controller was nothing short of adventurous.  You two knew each other far too well, from the mannerisms to routine.  He loved sweets and you loved spice. You preferred simple affection in public whereas Druig saved his affection for the bedroom.  You loved to sleep in and take your time in the morning, whereas Druig loved to rise early with chores on his mind and take care of the village before the sun would even rise.  

It was a role reversal, you being the grumpy ball of sleep and Druig being the early-rising ray of sunshine.

“Druig…it’s too early,” You said as he was peppering you with kisses and laughing as he was.  It was one of the tactics that he would use to get you out of bed.

“Will you join me for breakfast?” He asked against your cheek.  You said nothing, attempting to ignore him as he then went for the next tactic on his list.  His fingers moved to go to your sides, tickling you and making you shriek in laughter as you writhed and wiggled in bed.  Druig never stopped, keeping his fingers along your skin as you were laughing and crying at the same time.  Druig never thought of anything more beautiful than you laughing on the bed, hair flying everywhere along your face and skin, the sun shining down on your dark hair to have it almost shimmer.  To him, you were everything and more that he would ever want and cherish in this life.  

“You won’t stop this until I say ‘yes’, will you?” You asked in a breath as he shook his head.  Finally, knowing that this was a battle you weren’t going to win, relent and sighed, “Fine.  Fine, I said!  Let me get dressed first!”

“Good!” He replied, his fingers retreating as you finally caught your breath again and he leaned back to have you sit up in the bed, “Although next time we can eat breakfast in bed since you covet this bed more than me,”

“..you’re not wrong,” You teased, then being silenced with Druig’s lips on yours.  You could take his sunshine attitude every day if you could, knowing that it would lift you up and push away the grumpiness that was deep inside of you.  No matter how much you hated mornings, you would take Druig waking you up with kisses and sunshine every day if you could.  His affection was shown in his smile, in his words, and in all he did around him and for you.  

You’d happily take 500 more years of Druig’s happiness over anything on this planet.  

The End

Grumpy Vs. Sunshine Prompt Session

[queer-ragnelle]

can i ask your opinion on wildly different portrayals of arthurian figures? like, there are versions of the story that paint Arthur as a decent king, but an abysmal husband and bloodthirsty warlord. and there are versions where he's a great, loving husband and an overall good guy.

I think variety is great. Arthuriana is meant to evolve. Static Arthuriana has never existed. There’s no consistency to begin with.

That said, it pisses me off when there’s a double standard about how Arthur acts and the things Guinevere does. Like he’s allowed to cheat but the subtext slut shames her. Otherwise go ham. Make Arthur as good or as bad as you want.

I especially like this when an author chooses to write a more nuanced or sympathetic version of the character. I’ll never be upset if Mordred or Agravaine are kinder to women, if Gaheris doesn’t kill his mother, etc.

I think the exception is when a character with a consistent theme is overturned in a drastic way and left unrecognizable. Some characters have more wiggle room than others.

So for example I don’t like when Maiden’s Knight Gawain is made into a rapist (this has happened many times, to my dismay as a hapless reader). Gawain’s love and care for women is such a consistent, prominent detail tied to his role in every story that it feels like gutting him to change it in such a negative way. That portrayal defeats the purpose of the character. That’s not Gawain anymore. Why include him if the character doesn’t resemble the source whatsoever?

Another example would be writing it so Tristan and Isolde aren’t in love. Their romance is the whole point. I won’t say you shouldn’t write that, do whatever makes you happy. But I wouldn’t enjoy it. Their love is the focal point of the story so removing that fundamentally breaks the story. If someone were to say “Well that’s not the story I want to tell,” of course that’s their right, but then I wonder why they’re using Tristan and Isolde as a basis at all. Make OCs!! I will enjoy your narrative as you write it without you having to warp Arthurian characters to fit your vision. I think in the end that makes for better writing all around.

But generally speaking yeah I approve of wildly different character portrayals. Whether Arthur is super evil or super good isn’t as drastic a shift for me because the point is that he’s a powerful king. Some writers have chosen to interpret that as fierce, ruthless warlord, some also throw in that he’s a great loving husband. But the latter isn’t a requirement. He just can’t be a wimp. Cowardly Arthur wouldn’t make any sense and not be an engaging read for me. Do you see what I mean? So I support everyone making changes, but for me personally, they have to be thoughtful changes which enhance the story without coming out the other side alienating Arthurian fans and new readers alike.

[uchihaharlot]

Heyooo, how are you, bro?

I hope your health is better now!

I have one innocent request.

"How would all Uchiha act if they finds out that you are self-harming?" (Mostly Madara pls😏)

I don't know if it's allowed topic... but yeah.

NSFW; TW self harm; minor mentions of injury; small prologue;

Before I go into this hc, I want to expressly tell anyone who reads this; whether we are mutuals or not. Whether you like my writing, like me or don’t or whatever.

My blog is a safe haven. You can openly message me, befriend me on discord (ask for my handle) or interact in the comments. If you feel like there are people who don’t care enough as they should. I just want to say that, I do. I don’t know who you are, what you’re doing. But I love you. Do not think for a single iota that your existence is merely coincidence, I’m not by any means a holier than thou individual and I’ve had my fair share of this isn’t worth living for: but trust me; it is and then some.

Madara:

Madara comes from an era where you put your best fist forward when things aren’t right. His level of resolve is steel cut and unwavering…but seeing you hurt yourself as an outlet, doesn’t sit well with Madara. And he’s into good old fashioned methods of healing…sorta. Expect to be tied up to his bed; not in the way you’d like either. For days he will keep you there, turning your body so you won’t get bed sores. Feeding you and letting you up to the toilet fa few times a day, and once at night if needed. All of this until you finally talk it out with him, and agree to find a better solution to figuring out how to express your feelings/pain. Insists on being around you every second of the day.

Obito:

I won’t lie, seeing you hurt yourself this way; it makes him cry. Do you want Obito to cry!? He’s inconsolable when you won’t even consider him as a vent source. And, while he won’t selfishly make it about him. He will openly admit most (ok all) of his faults in the hopes you would share your own. Whatever it is, Obito is sure that there are far better way to convey the message you want to share. Suffering in silence is only so fool proof.

Shisui:

No. No, no. No. Shisui one hundred percent won’t stand for it, and despite your protests of him almost catapulting himself off a cliff, he will tell you the error of his ways. Undoubtedly will make sure that you understand that even his own potential sacrifice would have been fruitless, and that you shouldn’t compare apples to oranges. And from there, Shisui will spend countless hours, days and nights proving to you just how sacred human life is. He inadvertently blames himself for some of this, you mentioning his almost demise opens old wounds and Shisui takes the opportunity for you both to grow and evolve. He wants to be a role model; not the reason you justify it.

Itachi:

In a way; he’s bereaved. This is highly unusual for you, and Itachi’s keen eyes (and new prescription glasses) catch a glimpse of your fresh wounds as he lightly snatches your arm. ‘Why would you do this?’ and ‘that’s not a logical reason to purposely harm yourself.’ Are a few of his stern words to you. Itachi is a no nonsense man, and he won’t tolerate you hurt yourself. If he was a true jerk, like he tricked many to believe for the longest time; he’d put you in Tsukuyomi and really give you something to think about. But instead, he inundated you day in and day out with his concern. Hoping that if you see one person who cares; you will eventually open up.

Sasuke:

Sasuke, traumatized by his older brother—not once but twice and more, lived in excruciating detail his own parents death, several times over. In the matter of three seconds; he understands your grief. Whatever you might be going through, I think when it comes to seeing other people suffering—especially as adult Sasuke, he can’t cope with it, and rarely did for himself. Which is sort of mkes him the besy person for this. He also doesn’t mince words and tells you straight out that you’re only causing yourself more harm in the long run. His method of cut and dry reality checks come in waves, when you think he’s not watching you, he’s right there. Don’t under estimate his capabilities. You’re on his radar and Sasuke won’t hesitate to use his techniques to get you talking; the sooner you find the root cause of your problems. The better, take it from someone who let their pain fester until it boiled over, it’s not worth it.

[peachjagiya]

Hello hello - I’m fairly new to all things BTS, took me a few months to kind of catch up on the most important things but it’s impossible to watch everything - I’ll need more months for sure 😉

BUT I wanted to ask you and your followers about something. It seems like Jungkook changed quite a bit, especially in 2023. Sometimes when I see footage of 2022, he seems like a different person to me. I’m solo era especially he seems less carefree, less smiley, more grumpy or on edge or just way more / even more guarded. Like he’s annoyed mode easily or fed up with a lot of things. I’m not saying his character changed, I don’t know him, and of course people change, grow, evolve. And we can’t forget that he probably was under a lot of stress and pressure to do well with his own music. And add onto that the constant observation, public opinion, paparazzi etc. I get it. But if you compare footage (I know that is also not 100% authentic or the big picture) he seems more at ease, more content and just happier in 2022 or up to 2022. I wonder what caused that switch and as a Pisces I can’t help but worry too. I really hope that - no matter how much he may not like it - his time in the military helps him to reflect on everything, take care of himself, prioritize his health and also just come back in 2025 and be able to enjoy everything a bit more, without the seemingly heavy load on his shoulders sometimes!

(And since that is a Taekook account, I also want to mention my impression that his behavior around Tae simultaneously changed similarly. He seemed a lot more guarded, less open, less smiley and way less touchy around Tae, at least in public. Could be due to him somehow wanting to fiercely protect and shield him and then more. Or he did change a lot, also towards Tae. Who knows. We’ll see in 2025, maybe :))

So yeah I’m interested in all your thoughts, especially those who were around for the years and how it was in real time! And if it was something that the fandom noticed? Cause the switch up in appearance and behavior (not good or bad, just observation) is quite noticeable. And don’t get me wrong, I’m always here for artists just doing themselves and wanting to break free from label and fandom expectations etc. but that always comes with worry too cause it indicates that the artist maybe reached a limit re certain topics or in general etc.

Ps: I know he is not 22 anymore, I know he’s a grown up and he can do what he wants or needs to in order to cope with this lifestyle, fame, pressure and the possible hide & seek of a relationship on top. 🤍

Pps: it truly comes from a place of curiosity and love. I hope that came across 🙏🏼

My own perspective on it is that the reason we talk so much about the importance of Solo Era is that it was the first time when group obligation wound down significantly enough for them to begin making decisions about how their time was spent. And more importantly, level out to more authentic versions of themselves.

You also have to bear in mind the dynamics. He's the maknae amongst his members, right? He has a silly relationship with Jin, a soft big brother thing with Hobi, a hero worship of Namjoon. But in Solo Era, he's just Jungkook without the other people to bounce off. It's gonna change how he comes across.

But it's not just Jungkook. The company thumb came off them all and it shows. Namjoon seemed more chilled out than he used to be without expectations of leadership. Hobi and Jimin seemed a bit more serious sometimes.

Tae didn't spend much of Solo Era fitting into his soft squishy wide-eyed company assigned role either. He definitely let more of his acerbic wit, intelligence and ethos come to the front.

It just seems like Jungkook might also have let himself be more real. Can you imagine previous years JK standing up for himself and being open about his real thoughts and principles the way he was in 2023/4?

Also worth considering that it's a period of having to strike out on their own with military service impending. It wouldn't surprise me if that was on their minds, as you said.

I guess I just consider pre-2023 to be the more constructed character in a way so I'm happy for him to be more serious.

All that said, we still had some of his most intensely silly moments over 2023! Army Magic WAOOW, skipping along on set, dying at food and practicing his smiles stick in my head:

As for Taekook, the cameras were off a lot more so it feels difficult to compare levels of physical affection from group times to solo times because we simply don't have the dizzying amount of content. And you're right - maybe there's a protectiveness. To be very delulu about it, what if finding they still worked in solo era was a crystallisation of what they already had? What if this freedom and getting to spend time together unbothered by obligation made it all the more precious?

What we did see felt like two matured people very comfortable with each other: A live where JK is basically twirling his hair and kicking his feet; Dreamiere where JK is giddy and shy; Inkigayo where Tae is dutifully calming JK before his performance; Suchwita where JK is happy to say Tae looks good without makeup; AYS Jeju where JK is skipping along to a restaurant and being silly as he usually is. A picture from Hawaii where JK is holding on to Tae's neck as they get ready to skydive and pulling a silly face behind Tae.

As ever, bear in mind I got here in early 2023. Other people have better knowledge.

Thanks anon. 💜

[28harryssunflower]

Royal scandal - a mini series: Part 3/4

Royal scandal: Part 3

The weeks seemed to slip by faster than either of you had expected. What felt like distant conversations about your future as King and Queen was becoming a reality. The meetings, the briefings, the preparations for the inevitable transition - everything seemed to be happening in a whirlwind.

You and Harry spent more time in royal meetings than you had ever anticipated, discussing matters of the crown, foreign policy, and how the monarchy would evolve with the two of you at the helm. You had thought that marrying Harry would mean more time spent together - more moments of joy and peace in the midst of the chaos of royal life. But, in truth, the opposite had happened. Every day felt more like a race to prepare for the overwhelming responsibility that was waiting just around the corner.

It was one evening in the royal study, papers scattered across the large wooden desk, when Harry finally broke the silence.

“I don’t know how much more I can take, Y/N,” he said, his voice tired. He rubbed his hand over his face, his brow furrowed in exhaustion. “It feels like everything’s moving so fast, and I can’t catch my breath.”

You looked up from the papers you had been scanning. You felt exactly the same way - completely overwhelmed. The weight of the responsibilities coming your way was almost suffocating. You had thought the royal duties would be manageable, but the constant pressure and the endless demands from the press, the public, and the family itself were beginning to take their toll.

“You’re not alone in this, Harry,” you said softly, getting up from your seat and walking over to him. You sat next to him, your hand resting on his. “I feel it too. Every decision feels like it’s the most important thing in the world. And the faster we go, the harder it gets to keep up.”

Harry looked at you, his eyes tired but filled with appreciation. “I know you’re right. It’s just… I don’t think I’m ready to be King. I don’t think I ever will be.”

You gently squeezed his hand, trying to comfort him. You knew his fears; you shared them too. You had talked about this before, the two of you voicing your insecurities about the roles you were about to take on. But hearing him express them aloud still hit you hard.

“I know it’s terrifying,” you said quietly. “But we’re going to get through this together. You don’t have to be ready right now. We just need to take it one step at a time.”

Harry shook his head, a sigh escaping his lips. “But what if it’s not enough? What if I mess up? What if I let everyone down, including you?”

You cupped his face gently, forcing him to look at you. “You’re not going to let anyone down, least of all me. You’re the person I love, Harry. And together, we can face anything. You’re going to be an amazing King, because you’re already a great person. You don’t need to be perfect.”

The words seemed to offer him a small amount of comfort, but you knew the battle raged inside him. Harry had always been someone who cared deeply about doing things right, especially when it came to his family and his country. And now, with the pressure of the monarchy’s future on his shoulders, it was clear that the fear of failure was taking a toll.

“I don’t know if I’m cut out for this,” Harry murmured, his voice low.

You leaned your forehead against his, your heart aching for him. “No one ever is. But you’ll grow into it. And we’ll do it together.”

The words felt true, but even as you spoke them, you couldn’t deny the uncertainty that still gripped you both.

As the days passed, the weight of the situation continued to settle deeper into both your hearts. The date for the official transition of power - the moment Harry would step into the role of King and you by his side as Queen - was approaching with incredible speed.

The palace was a whirlwind of activity. You were handed papers to sign, decisions to make, and events to attend. The world outside the palace walls had no idea of the sheer amount of preparation happening behind closed doors. The moment when the crown would pass from Harry’s parents to him was coming closer and closer, and with each passing day, the reality of the responsibility began to hit harder.

At dinner one evening, the King and Queen spoke more about what was to come. The monarchy was undergoing a transformation, they said, and the country would look to Harry for leadership and direction. They had outlined the plans for how Harry would assume his new role, the formalities, the speeches, the public image they wanted to project.

But amidst all the royal discussions, you noticed that Harry seemed more withdrawn than ever. He was barely speaking, his mind obviously elsewhere. You could feel the anxiety radiating off of him.

“Harry,” you whispered softly, leaning in closer to him during dinner, “are you okay?”

He glanced at you, offering a faint smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Just trying to keep it together.”

You could tell he was trying to hide his stress, but you knew him too well. “I know it’s a lot. But you don’t have to carry it all on your own, you know.”

Harry’s voice dropped to a whisper as he glanced at his parents, who were engaged in their own conversation at the end of the table. “I just feel like everything is spiraling out of control. I’ve never been so overwhelmed in my life. And it feels like no one really understands what this is doing to me. I can’t help but feel like I’m not ready for this.”

You placed your hand on his, squeezing it tightly. “You don’t have to be ready right now, Harry. You just have to do your best. And that’s all anyone will expect of you.”

He shook his head, a wry smile on his face. “But what if that’s not enough? What if they expect more? What if I let you down, too?”

You took a deep breath, knowing you had to be strong for him in this moment. “Harry, I’m not going anywhere. I’m not going to let you face this alone. And if you ever feel like you’re struggling, we’ll face it together. You and me. That’s what matters.”

His hand tightened around yours, and for the first time in what felt like days, you saw a flicker of peace in his eyes.

“Together,” he murmured. “Yeah. I can do this if we’re in it together.”

The moment felt like a small victory in the midst of the storm. But as the days continued to pass, you both knew that the hardest challenges were yet to come. The transition to the throne was fast approaching, and the weight of the monarchy loomed larger than ever.

But you were determined, as was Harry. You would face whatever came your way - together.

The days leading up to Harry’s official ascension to the throne were a blur. The palace was a cacophony of endless meetings, preparations, and ceremonial rehearsals. Every detail was scrutinized, and the pressure on Harry to be both the heir and the future King of England was suffocating.

You could see it in the way he moved - his shoulders slumped, his hands occasionally trembling when he wasn’t consciously gripping them together to keep himself steady. He had been avoiding sleep and barely eating, the exhaustion evident in the bags under his eyes. But you knew Harry well enough to understand that it wasn’t just physical fatigue - it was the weight of expectation bearing down on him. He wasn’t sure if he could live up to the role that had been thrust upon him.

You had tried to reassure him, but you knew he needed more than just comforting words. He needed to find a way to believe in himself, something that was increasingly difficult with each passing day.

One evening, after yet another exhausting royal dinner, you found Harry pacing in the drawing room of your shared private quarters. His mind seemed miles away as he walked back and forth, hands running through his hair in agitation.

“Harry, stop,” you said gently, crossing the room to stand in front of him. “Come here.”

He didn’t stop pacing immediately, but eventually, he turned toward you, his eyes weary and filled with frustration. “I can’t do this, Y/N. I just can’t.”

You took his hands in yours, pulling him toward you. “You don’t have to be perfect, Harry. You just need to be yourself. You’re going to be a wonderful king because you are who you are. That’s all anyone could ever ask for.”

His gaze softened slightly, but the doubt still lingered in his eyes. “You don’t understand. It’s not just about being myself. It’s about leading a country, making decisions that affect millions of people’s lives. I don’t know if I’m ready for all of that.”

You squeezed his hands, your voice unwavering. “You’re not doing this alone. We’re in this together. You have me. You have your family. And most importantly, you have a country that believes in you.”

Harry was silent for a long moment, his eyes locked on yours, searching for reassurance. You could feel his internal struggle, the pressure and the fear, but also the flickering hope that perhaps, just perhaps, he could do this after all.

“I just need time,” he said finally, his voice quiet. “I need time to figure this all out, Y/N.”

You smiled softly, lifting your hand to gently touch his cheek. “We’ll figure it out together, one step at a time.”

The day of the coronation arrived faster than either of you had anticipated. The grand halls of Buckingham Palace were filled with dignitaries, foreign ambassadors, and members of the royal family. Every inch of the palace was adorned in the finest silks, golden tapestries, and regal colors. The ceremony itself was a spectacle - an event that would be etched in the history books, a moment of great transition for both the monarchy and for Harry.

It was still early in the morning, and you were in your private chambers getting ready. Your dress was a custom creation - a delicate gown of ivory and gold that shimmered under the soft light of the palace. A team of stylists had worked tirelessly for days to perfect your hair and makeup, transforming you into the epitome of royal elegance. Your heart was beating quickly in your chest, a mixture of excitement and nerves.

As you stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the tiara that had been passed down through generations of queens, you couldn’t help but think of Harry. This moment wasn’t just about the throne - it was about everything you both had fought for. The love you shared, the life you were building together, and the future you were about to embrace.

Just as you finished adjusting the final touches, the door to your chambers opened. Harry stood there, dressed in the royal regalia - his coronation robes shimmering in the light, the crown already resting on the table behind him. His eyes locked with yours, and for a moment, all the noise and chaos of the world outside melted away.

He looked every bit the future King of England, but the vulnerability in his eyes was impossible to ignore.

“You look incredible,” he said softly, stepping toward you.

You smiled, your heart swelling at the sight of him. “So do you, my King.”

Harry took a deep breath, clearly nervous. “I don’t know if I can do this, Y/N. This whole thing- it’s overwhelming. I’m just trying to keep it together, but…” He trailed off, clearly struggling to put his thoughts into words.

You walked toward him, gently cupping his face in your hands. “You’re going to be amazing, Harry. You already are. And you have the love and support of everyone who cares about you. You don’t have to do it alone.”

He leaned into your touch, closing his eyes for a brief moment. “Thank you. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

The moment was short but meaningful, as Harry’s parents called from the hall, signaling that the ceremony was about to begin. You exchanged a quiet look, silently promising each other that no matter what came next, you would face it together.

The cathedral was breathtaking. The long aisles were lined with flowers, and the golden light that streamed through the stained-glass windows filled the space with a sacred glow. The air was thick with anticipation as dignitaries and guests took their seats, each waiting for the monumental moment to arrive.

You and Harry stood at the front of the cathedral, the weight of the moment finally settling over both of you. The Archbishop of Canterbury stood before you, ready to begin the sacred coronation ceremony that would officially make Harry the King of England - and you, the Queen.

As Harry knelt before the Archbishop, your heart was in your throat. The crown was lowered onto Harry’s head, and the soft murmur of the guests faded into silence. The weight of the crown seemed symbolic, as if it represented everything Harry had feared - his future, his legacy, his duty. But in that moment, as Harry rose to his feet, you could see something change in him. He stood taller, more certain than before, as if the crown - though heavy - was now a part of him.

The Archbishop turned to you, and you felt a tremor in your chest as you knelt beside Harry. The crown was placed on your head, your hands trembling slightly as the weight of the moment finally sank in. You were officially the Queen, standing beside the man you loved, ready to face the future together.

When the ceremony ended, applause filled the cathedral. You turned to look at Harry, and the look on his face made your heart skip a beat. He was no longer the nervous, uncertain man you had married. He was the King. And you were the Queen by his side.

As you and Harry left the cathedral, the weight of the crown - and the reality of what it all meant - pressed heavily on your shoulders. The applause from the guests echoed in your ears, but in the quiet of the palace, it was just the two of you.

“I can’t believe it,” Harry muttered, his voice shaking. “It all just happened so fast.”

You reached for his hand, squeezing it reassuringly. “I know. But we did it. And we’ll continue to do it, together.”

Harry smiled, the weight in his eyes finally easing. “Together,” he repeated, his voice steady.

The crown was now on both of your heads. But the most important thing -!what mattered most - was that you had each other. And with that, no matter how overwhelming the responsibilities of royalty might be, you knew you would face the future side by side. Together.

The months following your coronation were filled with a mixture of new beginnings, long royal meetings, and settling into your roles as the King and Queen of England. You and Harry found yourselves slowly adjusting to the rigorous demands of your new life. The palace became your home in a way it never had before, the once overwhelming responsibilities now starting to feel like a second skin.

Together, you navigated the complexities of being the face of a nation, balancing state visits with private moments, public appearances with stolen moments of quiet. As a couple, you were still learning, still growing into the roles you had taken on, but through it all, there was one thing you both held dear - each other.

But in the quiet of your shared chambers, away from the world’s eyes, there was an underlying weight, one that lingered quietly between the two of you. You and Harry had been trying for months now, hoping, wishing for a child - an heir to carry on the legacy you both were now responsible for. But each time, when you found yourself staring at the stark white of another negative pregnancy test, the hope seemed to drain a little further from your soul.

It wasn’t that you hadn’t tried - oh, you had tried. You and Harry had put everything into it, every last ounce of love and effort, but it was as if something was just out of reach.

You would smile for the cameras, be the perfect Queen in the eyes of the people, but behind closed doors, you felt like you were failing. Failing Harry. Failing the monarchy. Failing yourself. Every month, the disappointment grew more pronounced. Each time you felt your period arrive, it was like a slap in the face.

There had been moments of doubt, moments when you sat in silence and just cried, asking Harry over and over what was wrong with you. What was it about you that wouldn’t let you get pregnant? What had you done wrong? What were you missing?

You sat in front of the large mirror in your chambers one night, staring at your reflection with teary eyes, the silence of the room making everything feel heavier. The weight of the crown seemed insignificant in comparison to the frustration, confusion, and sadness that had begun to take root in your heart.

“Why can’t I give him a child?” you whispered softly, as though your reflection could answer. You ran your hands through your hair, feeling lost. “Am I not enough for him?”

You didn’t hear Harry enter the room until he was standing next to you, his voice filled with quiet concern. “What’s going on, love?”

You forced a smile, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Nothing, just…thinking.”

But Harry knew you better than that. He’d seen the breakdowns. He’d seen the tears that you wiped away before anyone else could notice. He had felt the tension in the air when you tried to hold it together, knowing how much you wanted this. You both wanted this.

“I know you’ve been struggling,” Harry said gently, his hand resting on your shoulder. “But don’t be so hard on yourself. We’ve only been trying for a few months, Y/N. This doesn’t mean anything yet.”

You stood up, pushing his hand away gently as you wiped a stray tear from your face. “It’s been months, Harry. Months of trying, of failing, and I’m just…” Your voice cracked. “What if there’s something wrong with me? What if I can’t have children?”

Harry’s face fell, his heart breaking at your pain. He wanted to take the weight from you, wanted to fix it and make it better, but this was something neither of you could control. He couldn’t change the reality of the situation, and he knew that, but it didn’t stop him from wanting to protect you from the sadness that had become all too familiar in the last few months.

“You’re not failing,” he said firmly, his voice low but filled with love. “You’re not. We’re just starting. We’ve only just begun. You’re going to give me children, I know it. It’s just… it takes time.”

You closed your eyes, the bitterness of uncertainty rising in your chest. “But what if it doesn’t? What if it never happens? What if we can’t have the family we’ve dreamed about?”

Harry took your face in his hands, his eyes locking with yours, his grip firm but tender. “Y/N, you are enough. And if we don’t have a child right now, it doesn’t change anything. It doesn’t change how much I love you. It doesn’t change how I see you. You are everything to me. You’re the woman I love, the woman I chose to be my Queen, and I will never, ever stop loving you, no matter what happens.”

His words, though comforting, couldn’t erase the doubt that lingered in your heart. But his hands on your face, his tender touch, reminded you that at least you weren’t in this alone. You had Harry - and together, you would face whatever came next.

The weeks passed, and while the world saw the King and Queen leading their country, you both continued to face the heartbreaking reality of your inability to conceive. The doctor visits became more frequent. You sat in sterile offices, surrounded by pamphlets, medical charts, and explanations you barely understood, each visit leaving you with more questions than answers.

Harry did everything he could to support you. He was patient when you had days of frustration and silent tears. He was understanding when you pushed him away, when you withdrew into yourself. But each time you saw him try to comfort you, try to assure you that it would all work out, the feeling of guilt seemed to grow.

“I just want to give you the family we talked about,” you whispered one evening, curled up on the sofa with Harry, the two of you sharing a quiet moment before bed.

Harry kissed the top of your head, his hand stroking your back in slow, rhythmic motions. “You have given me everything, Y/N. A life I never could have dreamed of. A life I’m so proud of. We don’t need to rush into anything. If it happens, it happens. And if it doesn’t, we’ll find another way. Together.”

But it wasn’t just about Harry’s words anymore. It was about you. You were terrified that you couldn’t be the mother you so desperately wanted to be, terrified that your inability to carry a child would disappoint him or make him feel less fulfilled. And no matter how much he reassured you, you couldn’t shake the guilt.

As the pressure of royal expectations continued to build around you, so too did the pressure of your own heart. It wasn’t just the throne you had to bear - it was the weight of being the Queen, and the expectations that came with it. Your failure to conceive seemed to only intensify the scrutiny.

And all you could do was hold onto Harry - just as he held onto you -!and keep going, no matter how hard it became. Together, you would face the unknown. Together, you would find a way.

But for now, it seemed like that future - one with children, with a growing family - was still a distant dream.

It had been a long day already, filled with meetings, royal engagements, and the ever-present weight of expectations that came with being Queen. But today, you had made time for something far more important - helping Anne with one of her charity projects.

The two of you had spent the morning overseeing a women’s shelter, speaking with staff and listening to the stories of the women who had found solace there. It was the kind of work that reminded you why you had wanted to be Queen in the first place - not for the politics or the power, but for the chance to make a difference.

Now, back at Buckingham Palace, you were sitting in Anne’s private drawing room, sipping tea as she sorted through a pile of paperwork regarding upcoming charity events. The warm, golden light of the late afternoon streamed through the tall windows, casting a soft glow over the elegant space.

Anne had always been kind to you, had always made you feel welcome in the family. But today, sitting here with her, you felt something shift. You felt like you weren’t just her daughter-in-law - you were her daughter. And daughters needed their mothers.

You hesitated, staring into your cup, the tea swirling in slow, aimless patterns. Your heart felt heavy, the words stuck in your throat like an unbearable weight. But you couldn’t hold it in anymore.

“Anne,” you finally said, your voice barely above a whisper.

She looked up from her papers immediately, her sharp eyes full of quiet concern. “Yes, dear?”

You swallowed hard, fingers tightening around the porcelain cup. “I- I need to tell you something. Something I haven’t told Harry yet.”

That got her full attention. She set the papers aside, leaning forward slightly, her hands folding in her lap as she gave you her undivided focus. “Go on,” she urged gently.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. But the moment you opened your mouth, the emotions you had been bottling up for months came crashing down.

“I- I can’t get pregnant,” you choked out, your voice breaking. “Or, well, I can, but barely. I went to the gynecologist, and they told me I only have a two percent chance. Two percent, Anne.” Your hands trembled as you set the cup down on the saucer with a soft clink. “I feel like a failure. Like I’m failing Harry. Failing the monarchy. Failing myself.”

Anne’s face softened, her usual composed expression shifting into something far more vulnerable - motherly.

“Oh, my dear,” she murmured, reaching across the small table to take your hands in hers.

You let out a shaky breath, the tears you had been trying so desperately to keep at bay finally breaking free.

“I haven’t even told Harry,” you confessed, shaking your head. “I don’t know how. How do I tell him that the one thing we both wanted more than anything -!a family - might never happen? How do I look him in the eye and say that I can’t give him children?”

Anne squeezed your hands tightly, her grip warm and reassuring. “Listen to me,” she said firmly, her voice filled with a rare intensity. “You are not a failure. Do you hear me?”

You let out a soft sob, nodding, even though you didn’t quite believe it.

Anne sighed, shifting to sit beside you on the small sofa. Without hesitation, she pulled you into her arms, cradling you the way a mother would a heartbroken daughter. The moment her warmth surrounded you, you collapsed into her, sobbing into her shoulder as the weight of your grief finally consumed you.

“I hate myself for this,” you whispered, your voice muffled against the fabric of her dress. “I hate that I can’t give Harry what he deserves. I hate that my body won’t do what it’s supposed to.”

Anne’s grip tightened, her hand stroking your back in slow, soothing motions. “No,” she said firmly, her voice unwavering. “You don’t get to hate yourself for this, Y/N. You are not defined by your ability to have children. And Harry - Harry loves you. Not just the idea of a family, not just the dream of children. You.”

You sniffled, clinging to her as more tears spilled down your cheeks. “But what if he’s disappointed? What if he resents me?”

Anne pulled back just enough to look you in the eye, her own filled with unwavering certainty. “He won’t. And if he does, then I will personally knock some sense into him.”

That earned a wet, broken laugh from you, though it quickly turned into another sob.

Anne cupped your face, her thumbs wiping away the tears that continued to fall. “Sweetheart, you are already enough. More than enough. And if there’s one thing I know about my son, it’s that he would never see you as anything less because of this. But you need to tell him. Don’t carry this burden alone.”

You nodded weakly, though the thought of telling Harry still terrified you.

Anne gave you a small smile, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “No matter what happens, you are family. My family. And I will always be here for you, just like a mother should be.”

That was all it took for you to break down again, but this time, the weight on your chest didn’t feel quite as unbearable.

For the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel alone.

The night was quiet, save for the occasional crackling of the fireplace in your shared chambers. The golden glow of the flames danced against the walls, casting soft shadows across the room. Harry was sitting on the sofa, flipping through a few documents he needed to review for an upcoming event, but his attention wasn’t really on them.

He could tell something was wrong.

You had been unusually quiet all evening, barely touching your dinner, barely speaking. And when he had tried to pull you into conversation, you had only offered small, forced smiles that never reached your eyes.

Harry knew you well enough to know when you were holding something in. And whatever it was, it was eating you alive.

You stood near the window, your arms wrapped around yourself as you stared outside at the darkened palace gardens. Your heart was racing, palms sweaty, stomach twisted in knots. You had spent the entire day trying to find the right moment, the right words, the right way to tell him.

But there was no right way to say this.

“Love?” Harry’s voice was soft, careful, as he set the documents aside and turned his attention fully to you. “What’s wrong?”

You swallowed hard, blinking rapidly to keep the tears at bay. “I-“ Your voice broke immediately, and you clenched your jaw, trying to steady yourself. “I need to tell you something.”

Harry was already on his feet before you could say another word. He crossed the room quickly, his hands immediately finding your arms, rubbing slow, comforting circles.

“You can tell me anything,” he said gently. “You know that, right?”

You nodded, but it didn’t make it any easier. The words felt trapped in your throat, suffocating you.

Harry’s brows furrowed in concern. “You’re shaking,” he murmured, his hands running up and down your arms. “Talk to me, darling.”

You exhaled sharply, closing your eyes for a brief moment. And then, finally, you forced yourself to say it.

“I went to the gynecologist,” you whispered. “I- I haven’t been able to get pregnant, and I needed to know why.”

Harry’s grip on you tightened ever so slightly. His body tensed, but he didn’t say a word - he just let you speak.

“They did some tests,” you continued, your voice barely above a whisper. “And they found out that I can get pregnant… but the chances are-” You choked, pressing a hand to your mouth as the pain of saying it out loud became unbearable. “Two percent, Harry. I have a two percent chance.”

His face fell, his eyes darkening with something unreadable. “What?”

You let out a shaky breath, your shoulders trembling under the weight of your emotions. “I- I might never be able to have kids with you. And I didn’t know how to tell you because-“ Your voice cracked. “Because I feel like I failed you.”

Harry’s entire body stiffened at those words. His hands immediately cupped your face, tilting it up so you were forced to look at him.

“Stop,” he said firmly, his green eyes burning with intensity. “You have never failed me. Do you understand me?”

You bit your lip, trying to hold back the tears, but it was no use. The floodgates had opened.

“I wanted to give you a family,” you sobbed, your hands gripping his shirt as if he were the only thing keeping you upright. “I wanted us to have kids, to grow old together surrounded by them. And now… now I don’t know if that will ever happen.”

Harry’s heart shattered at the sheer pain in your voice. Without hesitation, he pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly against his chest as you cried.

His hand cradled the back of your head, his lips pressing soft, reassuring kisses to your hair. “Oh, love,” he murmured. “You don’t have to carry this alone. Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

You buried your face into his chest, your sobs muffled against his shirt. “I was scared,” you admitted. “Scared you’d be disappointed. Scared you’d regret choosing me.”

Harry immediately pulled back, his hands cupping your cheeks as he looked deep into your eyes. His expression was one of pure disbelief, almost offended at the idea.

“Y/N, I could never regret choosing you.” His voice was rough, filled with emotion. “You are my wife. My Queen. The love of my life. Do you really think the ability to have children could change that?”

“I just… I know how much you wanted kids,” you whispered.

“I want you,” he corrected, his thumbs wiping away your tears. “I want a family with you. And if that means we try and try and try until it happens, then that’s what we’ll do. And if it doesn’t happen, we’ll find another way. Adoption, surrogacy, whatever it takes. But you are my family. You are enough.”

His words shattered the last bit of control you had. You clung to him, sobbing openly now, allowing yourself to be completely vulnerable in his arms. And Harry just held you - held you like he was afraid you might slip away, held you like you were the most precious thing in the world.

“I love you,” he whispered into your hair. “No matter what. I love you, I love you, I love you.”

And in that moment, despite the fear, despite the heartbreak, you felt safe.

Because you had Harry. And as long as you had him, you would never face this alone.

The hallways of the Buckingham Palace felt colder than usual. Each step echoed against the marble floors as you made your way toward King Edward’s office, your stomach twisting in knots.

This was, without a doubt, the most terrifying conversation you had ever faced.

Telling Harry had been one thing - he was your husband, your partner, the man who had chosen to love you unconditionally. But telling his father? The King of England? The man who had spent his entire life ensuring the future of the monarchy? That was an entirely different battle.

Edward had always been firm about the importance of an heir. Even before you and Harry had married, he had spoken of continuing the bloodline, of ensuring the next generation would be raised to take the throne one day.

And now, you had to tell him that there was a strong possibility that wouldn’t happen.

You swallowed hard, standing outside his office door, your palms damp with nerves. The guards stationed nearby gave you a brief nod before opening the large double doors, signaling your arrival.

King Edward was seated at his desk, scanning through documents with his usual air of authority. He barely glanced up as he gestured for you to step inside.

“Y/N,” he acknowledged, his voice even. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

You hesitated for a moment before closing the door behind you, taking a few cautious steps forward. Your heart was pounding, and for a brief second, you wondered if you should just turn around and walk away.

But no. You had to do this.

“Your Majesty,” you began, keeping your voice steady despite the lump in your throat. “There’s something I need to tell you. Something… important.”

That made him look up. His piercing gaze settled on you, sharp and calculating, as if already trying to decipher what you were about to say. He set his papers aside, folding his hands neatly on the desk. “Go on.”

You took a shaky breath. “It’s about the future of the family. About an heir.”

His expression remained unreadable, but you knew he was listening intently.

“I went to the doctor,” you continued, your voice softer now. “And they told me that my chances of getting pregnant are… almost nonexistent.” You swallowed hard. “Two percent, to be exact.”

A long, heavy silence filled the room.

Edward didn’t speak. He didn’t move. His face remained neutral, but you could see the way his fingers tensed slightly on the desk, the only sign that your words had truly registered.

“I know how much you wanted a grandchild,” you continued, forcing the words out before you lost your courage. “I know how important it is to secure the next generation of the monarchy. And I-” Your voice broke, and you quickly pressed your lips together, trying to contain the overwhelming emotions threatening to spill over.

For a long moment, he just stared at you, his blue eyes locked onto yours. And then, finally, he exhaled.

“Come here,” he said.

You blinked, confused. “What?”

Edward pushed his chair back slightly and gestured for you to step closer. “Come here, Y/N.”

Your legs felt stiff, almost reluctant to move, but somehow, you found yourself stepping toward him.

As soon as you were close enough, Edward did something you never expected.

He reached out and pulled you into his arms.

You froze.

You had never hugged Edward before. In fact, you had never seen him as anything other than a king - a ruler, a strategist, a man who commanded respect in every room he entered. But right now, in this moment, he wasn’t King Edward.

He was simply a father.

Your father-in-law.

Your breath hitched as his arms tightened around you, firm yet careful, as if shielding you from the weight of your own pain.

“You must have been terrified to tell me this,” he murmured, his voice softer than you had ever heard it.

That was all it took for the dam to break.

A broken sob escaped your lips as you clutched onto him, burying your face into his shoulder. All the fear, all the guilt, all the self-loathing you had carried for months poured out of you in an uncontrollable wave.

“I’m sorry,” you choked out, your body trembling against him. “I’m so sorry.”

Edward sighed, his large hand smoothing over your hair in an uncharacteristically gentle gesture. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

You shook your head, fresh tears spilling down your cheeks. “I feel like I failed you. Like I failed Harry. I wanted to give this family an heir. I tried. But I-” Your voice cracked, and another sob escaped before you could stop it.

Edward pulled back slightly, just enough to look down at you, his hands firm on your shoulders.

“Listen to me,” he said, his voice filled with quiet strength. “The ability to have children does not determine your worth. Not as a woman. Not as a Queen. And certainly not as my daughter-in-law.”

You sniffled, blinking up at him in disbelief.

“I won’t lie to you,” he admitted. “Yes, I have always wanted an heir. But not at the expense of my son’s happiness. And not at the expense of yours.” He squeezed your shoulders. “You are my family now, Y/N. And you will always have a place here. No matter what.”

A fresh wave of tears threatened to spill, but this time, they weren’t just from sadness.

For the first time since hearing the news, you felt a weight lift from your chest.

Edward - the King - wasn’t angry. He wasn’t disappointed.

He was just there. Holding you, reassuring you, giving you the fatherly support you had never truly expected from him.

And for the first time, you didn’t feel like you had to carry this burden alone.

With a shaky breath, you tightened your grip around him, resting your forehead against his shoulder as more silent tears fell.

And Edward?

For the first time, he simply held you - not as his son’s wife, not as the Queen of England.

But as his daughter-in-law.

Life at Buckingham Palace didn’t slow down, no matter what personal struggles lay beneath the surface. The world kept turning, the public kept watching, and you and Harry had responsibilities to uphold as the Queen and King of England.

After your emotional conversation with King Edward, a weight had been lifted from your shoulders. For the first time in months, you felt like you could breathe again. You weren’t alone in this - not with Harry, not with his parents, and not with the people who truly cared about you.

But even with that relief, the reality of royal life came crashing back down almost immediately.

The next morning, you were seated at the long oak table in the private royal meeting room, staring at an overwhelming stack of documents, schedules, and briefing notes. Across from you, Harry had his own pile, rubbing a hand over his face as he tried to focus.

A royal advisor stood at the head of the table, reading out the upcoming engagements.

“…and following the charity gala next Saturday, Your Majesties will attend a diplomatic dinner with foreign delegates from Spain, Germany, and Japan,” the advisor continued. “It will be your first official state dinner as the future monarchs, so expectations will be high.”

You sighed quietly, already feeling exhausted just listening to the schedule.

“And before that,” another advisor chimed in, flipping through her notes, “the two of you will make a public appearance at the children’s hospital in London. It’s part of the royal family’s ongoing efforts to support pediatric healthcare.”

Your ears perked up slightly at that. You had always enjoyed your visits with the children - it was one of the rare duties that truly made you feel connected to the people, rather than just a figurehead in a crown.

Harry, sensing your shift in mood, glanced over at you with a small smile.

The meeting continued for another hour, outlining everything from upcoming speeches to wardrobe expectations for each event.

By the time it was over, you felt drained.

As the advisors filed out of the room, you leaned back in your chair, rubbing your temples. “How do they expect us to keep up with all of this?”

Harry let out a deep sigh, standing up and stretching. “Honestly? I don’t think they care, as long as we do it.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help but smile.

He stepped around the table, coming to stand behind you. His hands found your shoulders, massaging gently. “You’re doing incredible, you know that?”

You let your head tilt back slightly, enjoying his touch. “I feel like I’m drowning in expectations.”

“You are.” He smirked. “But at least we’re drowning together.”

You huffed out a laugh, reaching up to squeeze his hand.

Just then, the door opened again, and Queen Anne stepped in. “I hope I’m not interrupting,” she said, her voice warm.

“Not at all,” you said, sitting up properly as she approached.

Anne smiled, her eyes filled with the usual grace and wisdom she carried. “I just wanted to check on you both. I know these past few weeks have been… heavy.”

You swallowed, exchanging a quick glance with Harry.

“I’m okay,” you assured her, though you weren’t sure how convincing it was.

Anne tilted her head slightly, studying you in the way only a mother could. Then, instead of pressing further, she simply said, “I know it’s been overwhelming, stepping into this role so quickly. But I want you to remember - you’re not just here to serve the people. You’re here to live, too.”

You blinked, taken aback by her words.

She smiled knowingly. “Don’t let the crown steal the joy from your life, my dear. It’s a privilege, yes, but it’s also a burden. And if you don’t take time for yourselves, it will consume you.”

Harry nodded. “We’ll try, Mum.”

Anne arched a brow. “No, you will.” She placed a gentle hand on your arm. “And if you ever need a reminder, I’ll be here to give it.”

You felt an overwhelming warmth at her words.

Maybe the crown didn’t have to weigh you down completely.

And as you looked at Harry - your partner in all of this - you knew that no matter what came next, you would face it together.

You stared down at the six pregnancy tests lined up in front of you, each one displaying the same undeniable result.

Positive.

Your hands trembled as you gripped the edge of the bathroom counter, your breath shallow.

This couldn’t be real.

After months of heartbreak, of failed attempts, of hearing the doctor’s grim diagnosis - you had convinced yourself that it would never happen. That the dream of carrying Harry’s child would always remain just that - a dream.

So when the first test showed two pink lines, you had scoffed.

Faulty. It had to be faulty.

Then the second one.

The third.

By the fourth, your hands had started shaking.

By the fifth, tears had blurred your vision.

And now, staring at the sixth positive test, your mind finally allowed itself to believe the impossible.

You were pregnant.

A choked sob escaped your lips as the overwhelming reality of it all crashed into you. Your body trembled as you sank onto the bathroom floor, hugging your knees to your chest, silent tears trailing down your cheeks.

You had prepared yourself for disappointment so many times that the sheer possibility of this being real left you utterly paralyzed.

That was how Harry found you.

The door creaked open, his voice carrying through the quiet space. “Love? I’m home.”

He paused when he stepped into the bedroom, immediately noticing the empty bed. His brows furrowed.

Then, his eyes landed on the open bathroom door.

“Y/N?” His voice softened with concern.

He stepped inside - and froze at the sight of you sitting on the floor, your shoulders shaking.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” He was by your side in an instant, kneeling beside you, his hands cupping your face as he searched your tear-streaked expression. “Are you hurt? What happened?”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. The words stuck in your throat, the sheer weight of this moment making it impossible to speak.

His panic only grew. His eyes darted around the room, looking for any sign of what had caused your distress - until they landed on the sink counter.

On the six pregnancy tests lined up in a perfect row.

Harry’s entire body went still.

You watched as his emerald eyes widened, his breath catching in his throat. His gaze flickered between you and the tests, as if trying to make sense of what he was seeing.

Finally, his lips parted. “Are these…?”

You managed a shaky nod, fresh tears spilling down your cheeks. “I took six.” Your voice was barely above a whisper. “Because I didn’t believe the first one. Or the second. Or the third.” You let out a breathless laugh, one that was half-sob, half-disbelief. “But after six… I think I finally believe it.”

Harry’s eyes welled with emotion as he let out a shaky exhale, his hands trembling as they cradled your face.

“You’re pregnant?” His voice was hoarse, filled with something so raw, so utterly vulnerable.

Another nod. “I’m pregnant.”

And then, before you could react, he was wrapping you up in his arms, holding you so tightly it felt like he was afraid you’d disappear.

A broken laugh rumbled through his chest, his face buried in your neck. “Holy shit.” His breath was warm against your skin. “Holy fuck.”

You let out a watery laugh, clinging onto him just as tightly.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his hands shaking as he brushed your hair away from your face. His eyes were shining with disbelief, awe, pure love.

“I thought-” He swallowed thickly, shaking his head as if he couldn’t even form the words. “I thought we couldn’t-“

“I know.” Your voice cracked. “I thought so too.”

Harry let out a sharp breath, his forehead pressing against yours. “This is a miracle.”

You nodded. “It is.”

Then, suddenly, his lips were on yours, kissing you with so much love and relief that it made your head spin. It was deep and tender, filled with all the emotions neither of you could fully express in words.

When he finally pulled away, he let out another breathless laugh, his hands resting on your still-flat stomach.

“There’s a baby in there,” he murmured in amazement.

You sniffled, covering his hands with your own. “Yeah. Our baby.”

His throat bobbed as he fought back tears. “I love you so much,” he whispered.

“I love you too.”

Harry exhaled, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead before letting out another disbelieving laugh.

“You took six?”

You rolled your eyes, letting out a teary chuckle. “Shut up.”

He grinned, and for the first time in months, everything felt perfect.

The next morning, you and Harry sat in your private lounge, both buzzing with nervous energy. The six pregnancy tests still sat on the nightstand as if they were too precious to throw away just yet, a constant reminder that this was real.

“We should tell them today,” Harry said, pacing the length of the room, rubbing a hand over his jaw.

“Yeah.” You nodded, twisting your fingers together. “But… what if they don’t react the way we hope?”

Harry stopped, his brows knitting together. “What do you mean?”

You sighed. “I mean, your father has always wanted an heir, right? What if the pressure starts immediately? What if-“

Harry knelt in front of you, taking your hands in his. “No. Stop that.” His voice was gentle but firm. “We’re not going to let anyone ruin this moment. This is our baby, our family. And I don’t care if we’re King and Queen someday - our happiness comes first.”

Your heart swelled at his words.

You exhaled deeply and nodded. “Okay. Let’s do it.”

Harry grinned and kissed your knuckles before standing up. “Let’s go shock the hell out of them.”

A short while later, you both stood outside the grand sitting room where King Edward and Queen Anne spent most of their mornings.

Harry glanced at you one last time, squeezing your hand. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

He pushed open the doors, and you both stepped inside.

King Edward sat in his usual chair, reading over some documents, while Queen Anne was sipping her tea by the window. They both looked up at your entrance.

“Harry, Y/N,” Anne greeted with a soft smile. “This is a pleasant surprise.”

Edward peered at you both over his glasses. “To what do we owe the honor?”

Harry cleared his throat and exchanged a quick glance with you before stepping forward. “We, uh… we have some news.”

Anne immediately straightened, setting her teacup down. “Good news?”

Harry hesitated for only a second before his face broke into a wide grin. “The best.”

He reached into his pocket, pulled out one of the pregnancy tests (because, of course, he had insisted on bringing proof), and placed it on the coffee table in front of them.

Both parents leaned forward.

Anne gasped first. “Is this…?”

Edward’s eyebrows shot up. “Are you saying?-“

You nodded, unable to stop the smile that broke across your face. “We’re having a baby.”

For a moment, there was only silence.

Then, suddenly, Anne let out a soft cry of joy, covering her mouth with her hands. Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears as she stood up and rushed toward you.

“My dear…” she whispered before pulling you into a tight embrace. “Oh, my dear.”

You melted into her hug, letting yourself be held as relief washed over you.

Anne pulled back, placing her hands on your cheeks, beaming through her tears. “This is wonderful news.”

Then, without hesitation, she turned and pulled Harry into a hug as well. “Oh, my sweet boy.”

Harry chuckled, hugging her back. “Took you long enough to say congrats, Mum.”

Edward, who had been silent up until now, finally stood from his chair, still staring at the test in his hand as if it were an artifact of unspeakable value.

Then, his gaze flickered to you, to Harry, before softening in a way you rarely ever saw.

“A child,” he murmured.

Harry nodded. “Our child.”

Edward stepped forward, his expression unreadable. For a brief second, you braced yourself for something stern or demanding - but instead, he simply placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder, the other on yours.

His lips twitched slightly. “Congratulations.”

It was a single word, but it carried so much weight.

And then, much to your absolute shock, Edward did something he had never done before.

He pulled you into a hug.

Your breath hitched, completely caught off guard, but within seconds, you relaxed into the warmth of it.

When he pulled back, he cleared his throat, his usual composed self returning. “This is… a significant moment for the monarchy. But more importantly, it is a significant moment for our family.”

He turned to Anne, who was still wiping at her eyes. “We’re going to be grandparents.”

Anne sniffled, nodding fervently. “Yes, we are.”

Harry exhaled, grinning as he wrapped an arm around you. “Well, I’d say that went better than expected.”

Edward shot him a dry look. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, son. There will be many discussions about the child’s future.”

Harry groaned. “Of course there will be.”

Anne swatted her husband’s arm. “Not now, Edward.” She turned back to you, her eyes soft. “Right now, we celebrate.”

And as she hugged you once more, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding.

For the first time in a long time, the future didn’t feel scary.

It felt right.

Pregnancy had a way of turning life upside down, especially when you were the Queen of England.

From the moment the news broke publicly, the world was obsessed. The media called it the biggest royal announcement in decades. Journalists speculated on names, gender, and how the pregnancy would affect the monarchy. Public celebrations erupted across the UK - parades, fireworks, even special merchandise with your face on it.

It was surreal.

But behind closed doors, pregnancy was a rollercoaster of emotions, challenges, and unexpected changes.

Morning sickness hit hard.

Whoever named it “morning” sickness was a liar - because it lasted all day.

You had to excuse yourself from meetings to throw up, sometimes barely making it out of the room before dashing to the nearest bathroom. The first few times, you tried to play it off as nothing, but after the third time in one week, Harry put his foot down.

“We’re telling them,” he insisted one evening as you lay curled up on the sofa, utterly exhausted.

You groaned. “No. They’ll just fuss.”

“They should fuss!” Harry ran a hand through his curls, exasperated. “You’re pregnant and still trying to do everything like normal. It’s not normal.”

You sighed, knowing he was right. So the next day, the royal advisors were informed - and just like that, your schedule changed.

Meetings were shortened. Public appearances were reduced. The palace chef was given strict orders to prepare meals that wouldn’t make you nauseous.

Harry, meanwhile, went into full protective mode.

He hovered constantly. If you so much as breathed wrong, he was by your side, fussing over you like a mother hen.

“Drink more water.”

“Did you eat enough today?”

“Put your feet up, love.”

At first, it was sweet. Then, it got slightly annoying.

One night, after he practically carried you upstairs because you “looked tired,” you finally snapped.

“Harry, I love you, but if you don’t let me walk on my own two feet, I swear I will-“

“Okay, okay!” He held up his hands in surrender, grinning. “But just so you know, I will catch you if you so much as stumble.”

You rolled your eyes - but deep down, you loved how much he cared.

The sickness eased, but new challenges emerged.

Your growing belly made royal duties a bit harder. Dresses had to be altered constantly. Walking in heels for long ceremonies? Impossible. The royal tailors ended up crafting special, elegant flats just for you.

Then came the kicks.

The first time you felt the baby move, you gasped so loudly that Harry nearly fell out of bed.

“What? What’s wrong?” He scrambled to sit up, eyes wide.

You grabbed his hand, pressing it against your stomach. “Feel that?”

For a moment, nothing - then, a tiny thump beneath his palm.

Harry’s eyes went huge. “Oh my God.”

You both froze, and then he laughed - a soft, awed sound. “That’s our baby.”

Tears pricked your eyes. “Yeah.”

From then on, Harry was obsessed. Every night, he talked to your belly, pressing kisses against it, telling stories, singing softly.

“Hey, little one. It’s Dad. Hope you’re comfy in there.”

The sight of him doing that made you fall in love with him all over again.

Everything was hard.

Sleeping? Impossible.

Standing for long periods? Torture.

Breathing? Sometimes a challenge.

And the baby kicked nonstop.

“I think they’re training for the Olympics,” you groaned one night as you shifted uncomfortably in bed.

Harry chuckled, rubbing soothing circles on your belly. “Or trying to prepare us to never get a full night’s sleep.”

The palace had adjusted everything for your comfort - your chair in meetings had extra cushions, a footstool was placed under every table, and a personal physician was on standby constantly.

But the hardest part was the public scrutiny.

The press obsessed over every tiny detail. If you looked tired in a photo? Headlines speculated on complications. If you skipped an event? Scandal.

One day, a tabloid even claimed you were carrying twins based on the size of your belly.

“Twins? Really?” you scoffed, tossing the magazine aside.

Harry smirked. “Well, at this point, I wouldn’t be surprised. You are massive.”

You glared. “Say that again and you’re carrying the next baby. I don’t know how, but I’ll make it work.”

He held up his hands in surrender, laughing.

Despite everything, though, there were beautiful moments.

Like the time the entire royal family gathered to feel the baby kick. Anne teared up, pressing a gentle hand to your belly.

Edward, surprisingly, softened. “A future ruler,” he murmured.

“No,” Harry corrected, wrapping an arm around you. “Our child. First and foremost.”

Edward looked at him for a long moment - then nodded. “Yes. You’re right.”

It was the closest thing to a heartfelt moment you’d ever had with the King.

The palace was on high alert.

Every doctor, nurse, and staff member was on standby. Your hospital bag was packed. The route to the private royal hospital was finalized.

You were ready.

Or so you thought.

Because one evening, as you sat in bed, rubbing your belly, you felt a sharp pain.

Your breath hitched.

Harry, who was reading beside you, immediately noticed. “What’s wrong?”

You hesitated, then whispered, “I think… I think it’s starting.”

For a second, there was silence.

Then…

Harry panicked.

“Oh my god. Okay, OKAY- We- we practiced this!- Breathe! Wait, SHOULD I BREATHE?!”

You groaned. “Harry, call the damn doctor.”

He scrambled for his phone, fumbling with it in his panic. “Right! Doctor! I can do that! I’m calm!”

He was not calm.

And as the reality of what was happening sank in, you realized.

Your baby was finally coming.

The moment you arrived at the private royal hospital, chaos unfolded.

Doctors and nurses swarmed around you, checking your vitals, preparing for the delivery. Everything was happening so fast.

Harry never left your side.

Not even for a second.

He held your hand the entire way through the halls, whispering reassurances, pressing kisses to your knuckles, promising you that everything would be okay.

“You’ve got this, love,” he murmured as they settled you into the delivery room. “I’m right here.”

And he was.

It was hell.

Contractions hit like waves of agony, rolling through your body with no mercy. Time blurred. At one point, you swore you were dying.

“I hate you,” you growled through clenched teeth, gripping Harry’s hand so tightly his fingers turned white.

He swallowed hard. “Okay, fair-“

“This is your fault.”

“I know, baby, I know-“

“If you ever touch me again-“

Harry winced as you squeezed harder. “Right. Noted.”

But despite the pain, despite the exhaustion, you had never loved him more.

Because he stayed.

He wiped the sweat from your forehead, whispered encouragement, ignored his own pain as you nearly broke his hand. He never let go.

“You’re doing so well,” he breathed against your temple, voice thick with emotion. “So close now.”

Then, finally - after hours of agony -!the doctor’s voice rang clear.

“One last push, Your Majesty.”

You clenched your teeth, dug your nails into Harry’s hand, and gave it everything you had.

Then, a cry.

A sharp, piercing cry filled the room.

Your chest heaved, your vision blurred with exhaustion, but nothing - nothing - could have prepared you for the overwhelming rush of emotion as they placed your baby on your chest.

A tiny, wriggling, perfect little girl.

Tears spilled down your cheeks as you stared at her, barely able to breathe.

“Hi, my love,” you choked out, voice breaking. “Hi, my sweet girl.”

Harry made a strangled noise beside you.

You turned to look at him - and your heart nearly shattered at the sight.

Tears streamed down his face as he stared at your daughter like she was the most precious thing in the world. His hands trembled as he reached out, brushing a single finger over her impossibly soft cheek.

“She’s…” He exhaled shakily. “She’s beautiful.”

You nodded, unable to speak.

Harry let out a choked laugh, his free hand covering his mouth as he blinked rapidly. “We have a daughter.”

The doctor smiled. “Would you like to cut the cord, Your Majesty?”

Harry’s breath hitched.

Slowly, he nodded, taking the scissors with trembling hands. You watched as he carefully, almost reverently, did as instructed - then immediately pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“I love you,” he whispered. “I love you so much.”

You let out a watery laugh. “I love you too.”

And then, the nurse swaddled your daughter in the softest white blanket, placing her back in your arms.

She was tiny.

Her delicate features scrunched up in sleep, her tiny fingers curling slightly. A full head of dark curls peeked out from the blanket.

You traced a fingertip down her cheek, completely in awe.

You turned your head, pressing a kiss to his damp cheek. “What should we name her?”

Harry exhaled, looking down at his daughter with pure, unfiltered love.

Then, as if it had been meant to be all along, he whispered.

“Amelia.”

Your heart clenched.

Princess Amelia of England.

It was perfect.

Tears welled in your eyes again as you nodded. “Amelia.”

Harry kissed your forehead again, voice thick with emotion. “Welcome to the world, my darling girl.”

And in that moment - exhausted, overwhelmed, but utterly complete - you knew.

Your life had changed forever.

And you wouldn’t trade it for anything.

[zwy01]

Blood Moon AU!! Part 2 - Werewolves

Second part of my second major AU, Blood Moon AU. The nobles and werewolves basically have a race swap in an almost brand new setting.

For more info, check out my first post where I explained the general lore and setting of this AU (highly recommended for a better understanding because characters in this post reference characters in the one linked below here):

I didn’t do every character because there’s a lot of them, so I left out ones that don’t have major roles in the story. If they have a name in canon, then they all exist in this AU, just that I haven’t named/drawn them yet. Maybe in the future if I feel like it. But for now, this is pretty much it.

The characters.

Peach: Current Lord of the Werewolves. Adoptive father of twins Ruth and Rosemary. Peach isn’t his real name. No one knows what his real name is. He never mentions it, and he simply smiles and doesn’t answer when asked. Peach is just the nickname the werewolves came up for him at some point because his face is covered in small fuzzy hairs which gives him the appearance of a fresh peach. And no one can really recall how he became Lord. It just sort of happened. The werewolves all agreed that he’s good for the job, and the throne became his in the blink of an eye. Okay then, sigh, fiiiiine, he’ll do it. The werewolves seem quite happy about it. It’s almost like they all voted on him. And the previous Lord has had enough and decided it was time for him to retire and enjoy the rest of his days with his family, so he was more than enthusiastic to step down and hand things over to Peach. Peach was confused about being put into a leadership role out of the blue, but he adjusted very well and does a good job of caring for his people. Perhaps the werewolves realized that physical strength is not the only attribute of a good leader. Maybe this is what they call change, and that they have evolved from the old ways. Anyways, Peach does qualify for role of Lord since he is decent at fighting and an impressive warrior, but his greatest strengths lie in his communication skills and diplomatic nature when it comes to problem solving and negotiation.

Peach is responsible for communicating with Marcus and his fellow nobles of the secret noble organization regarding transportation and distribution of resources from Lukedonia to werewolf island. Peach is eternally grateful to Marcus and his allies for going as far as to betray their noble Lord and in the process risk their own lives to help the werewolves survive and thrive in these trying times. The werewolves do have their own means of production, but it’s not enough and they need some extra help. And Marcus and his nobles answered. Peach just can’t thank them enough. Peach is also good friends and pen pals with Marcus. They call each other “Peachy” and “Maduke” in their letters.

Peach puts his own needs behind those of his people. When Marcus’ supplies of food, money, and other essential items arrive, Peach always tells his people to pick everything they need and even bring home some extras. He waits for everyone to take their share, then he picks from whatever is left. This often results in him not eating enough, though his weight loss is also partially due to him subconsciously eating less than what he really needs. He does this out of love for his people, and he wants to save every extra bite for someone who might need it… even if there are enough resources to go around a few times thanks to Marcus. Peach just wants everyone to have a good life, and being their leader means putting his people above all else, including himself. The werewolves are aware of their Lord’s tendencies to unintentionally skip meals, and they figured out a way to solve that. They would tell him that they won’t eat unless he does too, and then Peach would eat because he doesn’t want his people to starve themselves. If it works, it works. Peach appreciates his people just as much as they appreciate him. They know it’s no easy job to be Lord, and they’re all there to support him. Peach has their full respect and this unanimous sentiment is more than rock solid. He is their only candidate for Lord and they will never challenge him for as long as he’s willing to sit on the throne. There probably are quite a few werewolf warriors who are stronger than him and could defeat him in a duel, but no one even thinks of challenging him despite the old rules stating how the strongest gets to rule them all. Peach is simply too precious. Quite unusual for a warlike supernatural race, maybe even too peaceful to be true, but it’s real. The werewolves are one big happy pack.

Peach has no biological children, though the number of werewolf women who are eyeing him and more than willing to have his children can probably form a line all the way up to Mother Moon in space. It makes sense, he’s literally the perfect man.

Peach has two adopted daughters, Ruth and Rosemary, whom he found by the werewolves’ equivalent of a dumpster. He felt sorry that their parents didn’t want them, and took them in and raised them as his own.

Ruth: Adopted daughter of Peach, and Rosemary’s twin. Ruth is rather sensitive and has a tendency to make decisions based on feelings and impulse, and needs to learn not to jump to conclusions. She is also prone to overthinking and still doubts Peach’s love for her to this day. Ruth thinks her father only adopted her out of pity and that he is only nice to her because it makes him feel good about himself, which are all false. This puts a strain on their relationship and Peach has a hard time bonding with Ruth, and Rosemary takes up most of the communication between these two. Ruth does genuinely love Peach as her father but she just needs plenty of reassurance. Other than that, she’s a pretty chill person despite being stoic at times. Technically, Ruth has a lot of privileges as the daughter of the Lord, but just like her father, she has an immense love for her people thus never actually uses the perks she’s entitled to. Like Peach, she waits for others to take what they need and scavenges for the leftovers, though Peach always stops her and asks her eat properly because she’s still growing. When Ruth refuses and insists on being like her father, Peach then orders her to eat and she has to listen to him. It’s the only time Peach ever orders Ruth to do anything and it’s a running joke in the family, to the former’s amusement and the latter’s annoyance.

Ruth is also a bit of an odd one out when compared to her fellow werewolves because she somehow finds fighting with a sword to be much more natural and swift as opposed to using her claws like werewolves are supposed to. It just feels way more intuitive, and she knows how to fight in that style. Too bad no one shares this feeling, and to this day Ruth remains the only person who can teach herself. Peach is looking into bringing proficient swordsmen into werewolf island so his daughter can have someone to bond and train with. His success is limited, and Ruth is stuck with self-learning. Maybe another day. People think it’s funny how the Lord’s daughter favors swinging around some sharp stick over Mother Moon’s gift of transformation and hand-to-hand combat. Well, she’s already kind of weird, so. Sticks over fists, y’all.

Ruth has a crush on Kenji.

Rosemary: Adopted daughter of Peach, and Ruth’s twin. While Ruth is skittish and distant, Rosemary is social and upbeat. Rosemary hopes that her sister will eventually see that her assumptions about their father’s feelings for her are only misunderstandings, but for now she’ll keep acting as the bridge between these two because Ruth isn’t exactly enthusiastic about sitting face to face and talking it out with pops Peach just yet. Rosemary just sighs. This is also why Rosemary is closer to their father because she has no problems with expressing herself and the communication between them is much better. Rosemary is the less independent twin and likes to stick around Peach for most of her day because she simply likes being around him, and the latter is quite flattered. She enjoys assisting Peach with his work and she’s one of the most hard-working volunteers who helps to transport and distribute the contents of Marcus’ packages to the citizens of werewolf island.

While Rosemary enjoys hand-to-hand combat, she also likes to study magic and draws magic circles in her free time. Being a werewolf magician is just so cool. Shooting powerful laser beams and setting up movement restriction spells? That’s a YES. Rosemary is a big fan of noble streamer Zivon Tradio, who goes by “GlitterDream KittyPaws” on the internet. Perhaps she can alter and adapt some of his spells for her own use. She also has a bunch of his merch, with a pink nail filer with his face on it as the latest addition to her collection. Peach is aware of Rosemary’s hobby and is supportive of her. It’d be fun if she can learn some tricks and give him a new hairdo in the snap of a finger! So fun.

Rosemary has a crush on Cloudy.

Ronan: Younger brother of Larke. A haughty and prideful werewolf with a certain hatred for nobles. Ronan insists that he despises all of them even though many of the foods he eats and the things he uses were generous gifts to them from Marcus, who is… a noble. His argument is that the noble Lord is incredibly selfish and malicious for monopolizing almost all the available resources in the world for Lukedonia and that Marcus is just doing what he’s supposed to do, to redistribute some of that back to the inhabitants of the world, which includes his pack. It does make some sense, but Ronan completely ignores the huge risks Marcus has taken by going against his Lord and he is somewhat ungrateful. His older brother Larke tries to correct him, to no avail.

Ronan is known for his speed, though Larke is even faster than him. He takes great pride in his brother’s achievements as well as his own. Ronan tries hard to impress Larke and loves him very much, though he doesn’t tell him that his deepest fear is that Larke will abandon him one day; a fear that will never come true but haunts him nonetheless.

Ronan also has a dislike for humans but he secretly loves spicy ramyeon and chocolate coated cookie sticks. It’s almost like a guilty pleasure to him, and he’d get all embarrassed when someone points out his double standards. Marcus occasionally sends human treats to werewolf island as well, and you can bet Ronan’s always rushing to check what’s new. He’s too prideful to admit it. Sigh.

Ronan has a crush on Sapphire and is borderline obsessed with her. He used to invade her personal space all the time but over time he has learned to not be an ass. He genuinely cares about her, and wants to win her heart one day. He’d gladly be Remi’s stepfather if both mother and son let him, but Remi doesn’t really like him. Rip. He tries to get Remi to like him, though.

Larke: Older brother of Ronan. Larke is famous for being the fastest of the werewolves. He and his brother Ronan’s late father was also known for his speed. Larke was able to push his own limits and at some point surpassed their father, which is a huge achievement. Larke might not talk much, but he cares a lot for his loved ones. Their father died when Ronan was a toddler and Larke raised him in his father’s stead. Ronan means everything to Larke and the latter would sacrifice anything for his younger brother. Larke is also completely dedicated to werewolf island and he believes that one day the most fulfilling way to die is to give up his life defending his home. For this reason, Larke trains day and night to become even stronger and always strives to overcome his limits. Larke is also wary of the nobles and more or less anticipates a surprise attack from Lukedonia given the nature of their Lord, though he doesn’t say it out loud like Ronan does. His gut feeling tells him that his father’s death had something to do with the nobles despite the lack of evidence.

Larke has a crush on Kameron.

Kenji: No one knows what his origins are. Kenji is one of the werewolves not native to werewolf island. Instead, he came from the outside and joined the clan here to escape his former clan. The clan he was born into was too aggressive and always at internal conflict, and that is not the lifestyle he wants. They were too bloodthirsty and merciless, and it wasn’t uncommon to wake up to a couple of dead bodies lying around soaked in fresh pools of blood. Those bodies would then be kicked around and ultimately dragged away and tossed into the ocean before the stench hit. The werewolves there treated this as normal occurrence. Just another day, no big deal. It’s too much for someone like Kenji. Kenji just wants peace and quiet, which is exactly what Peach’s clan can offer to him. He had heard rumors about Peach’s clan and ultimately left his old clan in search of a new home despite there being richer material resources in his homeland. It’s just not worth it to stay. And he is right. Peach’s clan is more much peaceful and conflicts only go as far as harmless personal drama. Peach listened to Kenji’s story and welcomed him to join their family, and Kenji’s been doing very well ever since. Sometimes Kenji accidentally hurts members of his new clan out of reflex simply because he had to stay on guard to defend himself at all times in his old clan, and that has taken a toll on his mind. His new family is very understanding of him, and tells him it’s okay, they’ll help him together. Kenji tears up every time they’re nice to him. Aww, he’s just a big ol’ teddy bear despite his scary appearance.

Long ago, in his homeland, Kenji had two daughters and a son but they all died from being caught up in the warriors’ internal conflict. Even his partner fell victim to one of the fights there, and Kenji wasn’t able to save them in time. To this day he refuses to get attached to anyone because he doesn’t want to experience loss anymore.

Linden: Son of an unnamed human father and werewolf mother. Linden is quite an oddity among his kind for being half-human. He’s definitely not the only one, but there’s not many of them. Growing up wasn’t easy because his heritage means that his body is a bit different from everyone else’s, and that his parents couldn’t fully grasp how to best raise their son because he is neither werewolf nor human, instead something in between. Linden’s father was one of the very few humans to reside in werewolf island as a permanent “member” of the pack. His parents had a happy, fulfilling life together and his father eventually died of old age and now it’s just Linden and his mother. Linden tries his hardest to adapt to a werewolf lifestyle but he doesn’t quite fit in with the rest of them. He looks like a pureblooded werewolf and acts and thinks like one, but the human blood in his veins would render him unable to keep up with the rest of his peers. His friends are extra careful with him because they’re afraid he might just fall apart if he accidentally trips himself or something. It’s okay, Linden’s tougher than he looks. He insists that they include him on their activities. He’s a bit slow and less strong, but he’ll catch up in a minute. Linden is a joy to be around so everyone likes him, even if he’s not quite at their level.

Linden has a special thing for tea. He likes to forage for leaves and puts them in boiling water to see how they taste. It’s so much fun! He’d take the leaves and dry them, age them, mix them with other ingredients etc. to create a variety of tastes. Though he has to be careful because some things that pureblooded werewolves have natural full immunity to are still dangerous to him. Once he almost went to the other side from drinking something he crafted without checking the contents carefully and his friends were barely able to pull him back from having one foot in the grave. Well, he had no one to check with, he thought he had full immunity just like everyone else! Now he knows. In the present day, the entire werewolf community is watching out for him. Oh my, thank you!

Linden has a crush on Ronan, and Rosemary, and Ruth, and many others. He ends up liking anyone who is nice to him.

Cloudy: Daughter of unnamed werewolves. She got her name from being born on a cloudy day. Cloudy is rather shy, and the only person whom she’s totally comfortable being around is her elderly father. He had Cloudy quite late, so he put all of his attention into her and she grew up rather sheltered. He did most of the talking for her, almost acting as her spokesperson. Cloudy would clutch onto her father’s robes and hide behind him when others approached and only grew out of it in adulthood. Sometimes, out of reflex, she still reaches her hand out expecting to grab onto a piece of cloth for comfort. Oops. She’s doing a great job though. Cloudy has her own group of good friends and they’re very caring with her. Rosemary, Kameron, and Linden are part of this group. Sapphire too if she decides to tag along. They like going to the beaches together and they’d sit on the sand and stargaze while listening to the waves and the gulls. Sometimes they’d also bury Linden until only his head is above the sand. And they’d all laugh together. Cloudy’s father was worried about her and what will happen after he dies because she’s so attached to him, but seeing his girl with her awesome friends has reassured him that she will be just fine after his soul returns to Mother Moon’s embrace.

Cloudy is one of the few if not only werewolf to not eat any meat. Like just no meat at all. This is a very strange thing for a werewolf to do, as the werewolves’ diet had been pretty much meat-only since the beginning of time, only to have evolved into more mixed one as of recently. Still, they’re mostly carnivores. Cloudy’s love of animals is very strong so she doesn’t eat any, as she can’t see them as food no matter how hard she tries. She’s fine with milk and eggs and such, just nothing harvested from an animal’s body. This diet would cause her to not be able to fully channel the strengths of a werewolf, but that’s fine to her since she was never really a fighter on the inside to begin with. Plus, she can just chill with Linden in the back. She can show him her colorful crystal collection and they’ll excitedly chat about where to find more.

Cloudy has a crush on Ruth.

Kameron: Son of unnamed werewolves. Kameron was the product of a short fling between his parents. His mother was a wandering traveler who stumbled upon werewolf island and that’s how she met his father. She left werewolf island and said her permanent goodbyes to her partner and then-toddler son to continue on with her travels, leaving her partner to raise Kameron on his own. Kameron and his father have a great relationship despite their differences in personality. Like his mother, Kameron is easygoing and cheerful. He has a talent for putting up smiles on people’s faces by being funny or making a fool of himself, or both. He always jokes about how Ruth and Rosemary are his long-lost sisters even though that’s clearly not the case. Peach thinks it’s hilarious.

Kameron has a fascination with noble culture. Sure, Lukedonia’s not the greatest place and its inhabitants are a mixed bag, but it’s still so interesting. He wants to know everything about them. What they do for fun, what their jobs are like, how the weather is over there, do they get to control their own weather, how does it feel to read minds, how does it feel to get your minds read, do you even have eating utensils and beds if you don’t need food or sleep, do you pee and poo, why is everyone’s eyes red, blah blah blah… the questions are endless and he is overflowing with excitement and curiosity. Kameron daydreams about picking up a random noble from the streets and just interviewing them all day long, asking questions to his satisfaction. It’s just so cool to be a noble. Kameron likes being a werewolf, of course, he’s just drawn by the unknown. Perhaps he’ll even marry a noble one day, haha. Just kidding, that’s impossible. It’s better to stay at home, he thinks. No way that’s happening.

Kameron has a crush on Larke, though the two of them don’t know that the feeling mutual. Kameron likes to tease Larke and Larke pretends to hate it even though he likes it and wants Kameron to talk to him more. There’s quite some unresolved tension between them and who knows where it’ll go.

Gregory: Father of Sapphire, and grandfather of Remi. Gregory was Peach’s father figure during the latter’s youth. He still is, and Peach relies on him for advice. Gregory is one of the few people whom Peach can truly relax around because he knows that he’ll be treated as a normal werewolf and not Lord of the werewolves, which is what everyone sees him as. Gregory knows that Peach gets tired from being put on a pedestal all the time, and as much as Peach enjoys being in a leadership position, too much is too much. When these two are alone, Peach would jokingly complain to Gregory about how sitting on the cold, hard throne all day just hurts his buttcheeks and even his superior werewolf healing can’t save him. They’d have a laugh about it and talk about family drama and stuff. Though not related by blood, these two are very much family by bond. Gregory’s nickname for blonde werewolf is Peachfuzz. In return, he gets called Grandpa Grumpy. Aww.

At some point the nickname Grandpa Grumpy spread across werewolf island and now most of the pack calls him that instead of his actual name, as an affectionate way of addressing him. He’s fine with it. They all love and respect him for his wisdom, and for that he is grateful.

Gregory does have a real family. He has a daughter named Sapphire who looks just like him. As a father, Gregory feels troubled because Sapphire is too polite and formal with him. He wishes that she can be more casual around him. While Gregory is aware that being reserved is part of Sapphire’s personality, he can’t help but wonder if she will ever let him into her life, even just a bit. What she’s doing, how she’s feeling, what she ate for lunch, what she wants for dinner, did she make new friends… she doesn’t seem to share much. He knows it is possible that she just doesn’t want him to worry, but she’s still his kid and he’s supposed to worry about her. Gregory always lets her know that he is there for her. In a way, Sapphire reminds him of his late partner, who was also distant and private. Other than that, Gregory and Sapphire are a loving family and they have their moments here and there.

Sapphire: Daughter of Gregory, and mother of Remi. Sapphire is quiet and mysterious. While she doesn’t reject being in a social setting, she prefers to sit on the sidelines and doesn’t initiate any sort of interaction unless she’s being interacted with. Rosemary, a good friend of hers, makes sure she’s included in activities. Sapphire would just blush and follow her friend group around. They know she’s not cold, she’s just a little quieter and that’s fine. Everything is normal and time passes by peacefully until one day, Sapphire’s belly starts to grow and she could no longer hide the baby she’s carrying. Gregory and all her friends are shocked. They thought they had her trust, but she never told anyone. They’re surprised because they’ve never seen Sapphire with another werewolf, and that she’s going to be a mother at such a young age. By human standards, she’d be a teen mom. Gregory tries to be gentle and very carefully asks his daughter who the father is, if she doesn’t mind sharing. Sapphire just closes her eyes and silently shakes her head, refusing to answer. It’s alright then, if she doesn’t want to say anything. They’ll help her the best they can.

Everything continues smoothly and the due date neared. This is when tragedy happens. For the first time ever, Sapphire is crying. There had been evidence of an abduction and several werewolves had disappeared. Sapphire’s partner was one of them. Traces pointed to Lukedonia, hinting that this was the deed of nobles, but there was nothing solid enough for them to hold against the nobles. In the end, they couldn’t save him. Or any of them. Sapphire was grief-stricken and refused to eat, almost killing herself and her unborn baby, until Gregory begged and begged for her to please take care of herself and that he cannot lose her. Unwilling to sadden her father, she starts to eat again and her body returns to normal.

Soon, Sapphire gives birth to a son and she names him Remi. Remi will never have a father, but she will try her best to raise him. Sapphire doesn’t really have any hobbies that stand out because she spends most of her time on Remi so she never really gets the chance to explore with her life.

Sapphire is too busy to like anyone. She does have a lot of admirers, many of whom are more than willing to take care of her and Remi as her partner and Remi’s stepfather. Ronan is one of them. Sapphire rejects all of them, but they just keep coming back. Remi shoos them away for her. Maybe one day Sapphire will find love again, but right now she is still mourning her partner who is currently permanently missing with no news of his fate whatsoever.

(Eventually she does find love and has her happily ever after. In the far future she has another child aka Remi’s half-sibling with a nice werewolf guy, when Remi is an adult)

Remi: Son of Sapphire, and grandson of Gregory. Remi is stubborn and tends to react emotionally to things. He thinks this is his fault and blames himself for being temperamental, but in reality he’s just his father’s son. Other than his looks, he doesn’t resemble his mother much. Remi is in a bit of a special situation. Sapphire is his mother, but they’re more like siblings. This is partially due to Sapphire having him at a young age, but mostly due to his grandfather Gregory suggesting that he grows up as his mother’s brother instead of her son. This is to take some stress off Sapphire’s shoulders so she won’t need to be anxious all the time. Originally, Sapphire could’ve raised Remi together with her partner, but that became impossible due to the abduction incident. Raising Remi alone is too much for a young Sapphire, so Gregory stepped up. He doesn’t mind raising his grandson as his son, and tells Sapphire that she can choose to go on and enjoy life as she wishes and leave Remi to him. Whatever she decides, he will be supportive. Sapphire is grateful for her father’s offer, but ultimately decides to be a very involved sister-ish mother in Remi’s life. And that’s that. Their family is a bit special with unconventional dynamics, but still loving nonetheless. Remi calls his mother by her name and his grandfather “Father”. Neither of them minds and they’re quite content with it. Sapphire’s friends also treat Remi as one of them and often ask her if her “brother” wants to tag along for hunting or fishing or something.

Remi’s primary goal in life is to gain power. He wants to grow up to become a strong and wise warrior like his grandfather, and he’s a bit impatient with it, despite being so young and still having lots of time in front of him. Gregory tells him not to worry. Other than that, Remi is rather dense and doesn’t know how to have fun. His friends have to drag him outside or else he’s just training all day.

Remi doesn’t like Ronan and finds him to be creepy. Remi once slapped Ronan across the face when the latter called him “my son”. He knows Ronan has a huge crush on his sister-mom but that’s just going too far. Just… ew. No thanks, bye bye. And stay away from her because she’s not interested!

Remi is too dense to like anyone. (For now)

Zen: Son of unnamed werewolves. Zen is respectful and composed, which are traits that become even more obvious when compared to his best friend Ulrich. Zen is an independent thinker. While he does appreciate Lord Peach and noble Marcus’ efforts to keep the werewolves afloat with extra resources, he believes that the werewolves should gradually wean themselves off the nobles’ help and become truly self-sufficient. It’s not beneficial to rely on outside help and who knows if one day the nobles will come and ask for the werewolves to return the favor since they’ve been “indebted” to them for so long. Zen doesn’t like the idea of his pack having something that can potentially be used against them. In reality, Marcus and his organization would never do such a thing, as they really are altruistic with their good deeds. Still, Zen has a hard time trusting them and he can’t bring himself to let his guard down. Zen has told Peach about his concerns, and the latter has reassured him that his worries will never come to be. Zen thinks otherwise. Peach appreciates Zen’s efforts to watch out for him and their big family, and jokes that he should take a “chill pill”. Zen is not amused.

In his free time, Zen just hangs out with Ulrich. He’s down to do whatever Ulrich is up for. He’s even willing to leave werewolf island and follow his best friend to the ends of the earth if that’s what he wants. That’s how much Ulrich means to him. Sometimes, Zen has dreams where he and Ulrich are in another strange universe where they are not werewolves; instead they are a supernatural race and the dream ends with both of them getting executed by a mysterious winged being. Maybe he’s just too tired, that’s why he’s making up all this crazy shit. But it’s too realistic to be a simple illusion. This gives Zen the chills.

When Ulrich is busy, Zen makes art with chains. He links them one by one. Your average werewolf would find that to be rather boring. Zen thinks it’s therapeutic.

Zen doesn’t have a crush on anyone, though he has a platonic love for Ulrich.

Ulrich: Son of an unnamed half-werewolf mother and werewolf father. Ulrich is mostly pretty tame though he can get fairly angry and jealous when he is upset, where he then tends to lash out at things and people nearby. Probably not the best judgement, because being three-quarters werewolf means that he’s weaker than most of whom he provokes and often ends up getting his regretful ass beaten. Probably deserved it. They didn’t start it, he did, so it’s always his fault. Ulrich would then sulk in the corner with a bloody nose and some bruises and complain to Zen about how the latter is late at comforting him. Zen would just sigh, shake his head, and come over and crouch down with Ulrich and tell him “better not do it next time” as he pats him on the shoulder. Ulrich never listens and he’s definitely doing it again. His one braincell simply never learns. And this cycle continues in an almost comedic manner. Zen is more than capable of defeating Ulrich in a spar at any given moment, but he lets his best friend boss him around without any objections. Ulrich doesn’t even know Zen is just super chill and nice. There’s not another soul in this world who will tolerate his less than favorable attitude and temper without some form of retaliation.

Ulrich is also a bit of a hypocrite. He can hang out others all he wants, but he gets upset when he sees Zen with someone else. He can have many friends, but Zen can only be his friend. His jealousy would cause him to lash out at his best friend at times, but he isn’t actually angry at him. Ulrich just never learned how to properly and calmly express his feelings. Fortunately, Zen accepts all of Ulrich’s flaws and they’re still best friends.

Ulrich has a weird hobby of pulling out his own fangs and fashioning them into necklaces and bracelets. It’s pretty hip, and hey it looks nice. Besides, he’s mostly a werewolf so they’ll grow back in. Ulrich makes Zen wear one of his “diy” necklaces and gets upset when the latter takes it off, so now he has to keep it on the whole time. Zen wouldn’t be surprised is Ulrich is making some pocket money with his unusual jewelry.

Ulrich doesn’t realize, but he too feels platonic love for his best friend. He probably can’t live without Zen.

Thank you for reading and stay tuned for future posts!

[bugsbenefit]

It’s because some of us can’t stand fanon mike he’s not will or el at the end of the day it’s not our fault the duffers already messed up his character arc long ago. some of us aren’t really interested in mike like that and to be frank I hate how much trauma people are putting on him as if he isn’t a privileged middle class *maybe cis maybe not* kid with insecurities cause he can’t play hero anymore like he used to. Fanon mike is retaliation to whatever we got the last two season from the character and I get it, but why are we keep acting like he’s important to vecna or the plot like that he’s just els boyfriend and wills crush at this point.

You don’t agree with this most likely but idc I’m just here to let this out for those who sympathize with mike. He’s genuinely not a interesting character and if Will wasn’t in love with him I wouldn’t look his way.

Hello? Will solo stan that doesn't get the show in My asks? more likely than you think

i'm sorry but you clearly sent this knowing i wouldn't agree with you and you don't sound like you want a conversation so... why did you send this? was it just to tell me there's people that don't care about Mike? because shockingly, i know that already, the influx in open Mike hate was why everyone doubled down on his character being important and purposeful last week in the first place

i'm genuinely confused on how you're watching the show, though. i mean, at least you're admitting you're only in it for Will so i guess you're aware of your bias and shortcomings?

also lmao sorry but *maybe cis maybe not*?? are you trying to say being queer in the midwest 80s in a small town with a conservative environment wasn't that bad or damaging or worth elaborating on because he's "probably cis" and the family is middle class? hello? newsflash just in, the queers need to stop complaining about how scared they are of coming out and potential consequences of it, if you're cis you're basically getting cishet privileges anyway. i'm really not sure what you meant to say here, you okay? also, aren't All the characters cis??

the vendetta you have against "fanon Mike" is fascinating tbh. what exactly is "fanon Mike" to you, bc the ask suggests it's just Mike with any motivations and 3dimensional writing orrrr? also thank you for telling me that Mike El and Will are separate characters! i almost forgot! i really needed the reminder that these extremely different characters aren't actually the same person or re-skins. thanks for your service, you really showed the evil Mike-sympathizers today o7

but you know what, sure, i'll indulge this a bit, i like talking about the show after all, you don't have to read this ofc, i feel like we're both aware we won't find common ground here

saying that Mike isn't important to the plot is batshit crazy sorry not sorry. not even talking about s5, it's just plain wrong in general and i'm assuming you haven't seen the show in ages

even right from the beginning Mike is established as the first MC and then proceeds to be the main pov for the entirety of s1. in universe Mike is the parties dm unofficial leader and according to Will "heart of the party", out of universe Mike is the only character that has established relationships and evolving conflicts with every single party member and even most adults like Hopper and Joyce. i don't know how you're watching the show to take away that Mike is unimportant and a support character

ST is an ensemble show and Mike is one of the characters, alongside El, Joyce and Will that consistently fills an MC role. (while also being one of the only ones to outright get referred to as one of the mains by actors and writers) where you got the idea from that Mike is a useless character people are stupid to care about is beyond me

if you're genuinely going into s5 hoping for Mike to be as unimportant and off-your-screen as possible i feel like you're setting yourself up for the disappointment of the century. i feel stupid just listing the reasons for why Mike is clearly going to be an important player in s5 because of how obvious they are but oh well

Mike is the first protagonist ever introduced and the final season that wants to go "full circle" Has to finish his arc satisfyingly for it to work

Mike is Will's love interest, a character that's already confirmed to be more of a main on screen again, so focusing on both parties of the ship is necessary to get them together

also Mike is still in a relationship? if he's supposed to go from dating El to suddenly dating a guy that's also his childhood bff you need to elaborate on his feelings. otherwise Will's romance is also going to fall flat and i'm sure you don't want that anon

Mike is part of the people that only came back to town after everything in s4 went down already and part of the group that seems to be the main focus in s5 (see the hill shot)

also just regarding the hill shot, Mike is center stage here (and also between his two "love interests"), totally accidental i'm sure

also the only character Will told about Vecna being alive in s4 and already swore to kill him with Will, also totally not a s5 set up don't worry

and before i go on here, aside from the writers themselves mentioning Mike as a main in multiple interviews David talked about the s5 mains a few days ago and Obviously Mike is up there along with El, Will and Joyce, exactly the people you'd expect

i don't understand how people are trying so hard to claim that there's nothing interesting about Mike to get into, as if even just s4 itself doesn't go out of it's way to set up an excess of potential conflict for s5

obvious relationship drama with El left hanging after an "i love you" monologue which we didn't see a response to yet

feelings for his best friend while he's still dating his gf

the unresolved painting lie

also the sexuality issue that comes with being queer/gay, that's been going back to s1. also made more severe by the show going out of it's way to repeatedly hammer home that the Wheelers are conservative and don't have close relationships with their kids

"you're the heart", speech about leading the party and bringing everyone together. he can't just face into the bg after Will gave him that talk, there needs to be payoff

the whole hellfire thing that's set up with the members names and faces being broadcast as "satanists" and the potential reason for everything that's been going on ON TV, sure that won't have any consequences am i right?

the Vecna plot itself, s4 makes it a point to have Will tell Mike and only Mike about Vecna being alive and the two of them agree to kill him right before the season ends

and that's just the obvious set ups s4 leaves us with, not even touching on the fact that Mike's pov has been withheld for essentially 2 seasons. which is something you can do and ignore, but only if the characters don't have anything going on during that time. Mike meanwhile changes drastically in these two seasons and we never get to learn what actually happened, why he's suddenly so set on growing up and getting gfs in s3, why he's suddenly such an uninterested bf in s4, why he suddenly feels weird about kissing El in the s3 finale after already having made out with her. there's a lot happening and we only see the fall out of it, we don't get Mike's pov. you call it "bad writing" but that's a picture book writing 101 set up, if you don't see that i don't know what to tell you

but i feel like you said everything already, i'm just rambling because i like talking. we probably won't find any common ground here. you only tolerate Mike because you like Will and that's that. not everyone has to care about every aspect of a show, however, i don't get why you're going to other blogs to tell them about your personal preference and about how you don't like one of the MCs. this is an ensemble show, it's not the El-show, and it's not the Will-show either, both of these takes are equally wrong

i don't know what the ideal s5 would look like to you, but if it turned out Will was the only important thing and the only character we focused on it would be absolute ass and horrible writing

Lucas just lost Max and left him with a shit ton of trauma, also Erica's gone through so much too. Max is still lost in a coma. El is distraught over not being able to save Max and now not find her anymore. Dustin just lost Eddie right in front of him too. there's a military presence in Hawkins now, the hellfire club fallout still hasn't happened, and so on and on. (also things like the "Nancy love triangle" still need time to be resolved too)

there's a lot s5 has to focus on to be a good wrap up for all these arcs. and yes, handling Mike's arc well is also part of that, shockingly

also ending this with a: you know people are allowed to like and care about character even if you don't give a shit about that character, right? claiming a central character with a ton of conflict set up isn't interesting is well withing your right and i won't change your mind on that, i'm aware, but going after people for actually caring about the conflicts the show is setting up isn't the move either. not everyone is obligated to share your views, especially when they're this far out there. and i feel like you knew that going in here

[moltenwrites]

Thanks @nczaversnick for the tag!

I got tagged for a character name origins tag, but I did that very recently, and the post also mentioned talking about the characters origins, which I’ll gladly yap about!

The Artist

Gotta be honest, it feels odd that Ive BARELY talked about the artist here considering how important they are to How Our World Ended. The Artist is a God who can create universes, and observes them

The artist is a literal outline of a person, with a white line covering their eyes. They exist within a black void, as a result of destroying their own universe. The origin for this character is odd, and many years old, but I’ll try to get a good timeline.

Initially, they were just a character for me to project negative thoughts onto. Then, the idea of them being a creator of universes came into my mind. They were first put into a story during a OLD assignment which I unfortunately do not have access to anymore. While it was bad, it solidified the character in my mind. And they always stayed in the back of my mind, untill I came up with How Our World Ended. And considering how important they are to the ending, and hell, the universe of Souls Collide, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about them ( random note, but I feel like the watcher from What If was a big inspiration of the concept )

RES

Ugh, so this one is a littttle embarrassing. A lot of my older ideas have evolved a lot, and that includes the early stages where they were inspired by some…. Odd stuff ( you don’t wanna know how souls collide itself started )

Anyways, if I remember right, I always liked the idea of doing a more medieval fantasy story. Souls Collide takes place in current times, so that line of thought was always an interesting thought experiment. Anyways, in 2021 I was watching the game awards because I had nothing better to do. I was kinda zoning out, untill the live performance of the song enemy started playing. And as it played, the premise of How our World Ended, or at least a rough outline, hit me. And as time went on, more music inspired more about the story. Hells coming with me by Poor Man’s Poison gave me an idea for a second half of the story that was, admittedly, terrible. But the ending, that was cool, and it stayed. That song also gave me the rough outline of what I wanted Res to be. A revenge fueled fire soul was how he initially was gonna be. But as time went on, a lot changed. I changed him to be an ice soul, as the protagonist of souls collide is already a fire soul, and I didn’t want to overlap that. Then, Res became more fueled by grief. Now, Res is cold and calculated. He works as a vigilante of sorts, and is far more caring once he gets to know someone.

Oof- that was long, I’ll do a quick lighting round of origins that are WAY shorter.

Salazar

Two big inspos for this guy. Firstly, I always wanted to do something similar to the organization 13 from kingdom hearts. Salazar, and his past in the council of fate, was initially gonna fill that role. Over time, the council shrunk and that role more fell to the gods. Then, for his explicit personality, it was heavily inspired by moon waltz by cojum dip. Something about it just fit the guy, and me misinterpreting the wrestling mask of the album cover as a masquerade mask 100% shaped both his chilling personality and his design

Nelios

Okay I think this one is just funny. So, I didn’t plan this book well. At all. I kinda just went “ fuck it “ and let it happen. That’s why the first draft is VERY rough atm. Anyways, Nelios wasn’t originally in the story at all. I was just gonna name drop him, and maybe give him a scene or two, but when I wrote a full chapter of him, I loved him so much, he became VITAL to the story. His personality came from a mix of “ how can I make an arrogant asshole likable? “ and “ how can one make this guy a fun ass character to write “

Okay I rambled for WAYYY to long there, but I have a lot to say haha. Anyways, tag list time.

Tagging @aintgonnatakethis @ddgraywrites @jjoneswriting @revenantlore @noxxytocin @yourpenpaldee @illarian-rambling @theverumproject @autism-purgatory @gioiaalbanoart @the-letterbox-archives

@mk-writes-stuff

+ OPEN TAG

[self-indulgent-paw-patrol]

I’m gonna throw my five bucks on a certain subject here. Some swearing will apply and this post is LONG AS HELL, so be warned.

The TL;DR of this post is: Paw Patrol canon has been treating most pups like shit lately for several seasons now, so if you ever feel frustrated or absolutely pissed at Paw Patrol canon and the way they’re portrayed most of the time nowadays, know you can count on me here and on my pups’ askblog to have some fucking good food for your soul. I may be slow sometimes because I have a life outside the internet just like everyone else, but I'm not going away. Fuck canon, I'll give my damn self what they've been denying us of and I'll make a point of sharing it with you because we're all tired and the time to make things happen ourselves is long overdue.

I understand how most older fans are extremely frustrated with the way Paw Patrol has been different from what they used to watch and love long ago. You guys have been following this show for years - I started just this January. I didn’t have to spend long weeks, months, years even, waiting for things to happen or get better, and just being more and more frustrated. You have all the right to be pissed beyond your minds now.

I am fortunate enough to see things with the different mindset of someone who’s “binge watching”. While I didn’t need to wait weeks for new episodes, I got to see things at a faster pace and take some conclusions myself too about certain things. I’m gonna share what I think so far.

1- It’s logical to have Chase be a first responder most times, though I can see he’s not being used the way he could be. They’re not exploring his potential, they’re just making a point of using him just because. That is a problem because he is actually a character with an important job/role which could be used in many other ways other than what’s been happening for several seasons now. Also, I don’t give a damn fuck about any of that “he’s cop propaganda” crap. It’s a cartoon about dogs with jobs that are important to keep society functioning. I don’t care cops are jobs created with bad intents way back then, it IS an important job that just can and should be addressed differently now, evolving along with the society it’s supposed to care for. That being said, he BARELY does any cop job at all anyway, he's more like a traffic control and search & rescue pup, which by itself is already sort of a concern too since he's supposed to be a police pup, but whatever.

2- Marshall is really badly used for several seasons too and I honestly wonder why they even have a Firefighter pup if they won’t have him do firefighter stuff. He only does RESCUE stuff. And barely at that. As a friend of mine commented some time ago, he’s treated as the town’s janitor, not a firefighter. We literally barely have any fire ever too. Be careful, guys, you can’t show fire to kids, it’s bad stuff!!! Fire is forbidden!!!! (/sarcasm) Reason for me to fucking love the movies is literally just to see Marshall having his badass moments putting out actual fire.

3- I feel bad for Skye and her fans. For real, I’m not kidding. I like her. And as a fan I can also see ALL the issues they have been causing on her. The most known issue is how she’s overused to the point we’re exhausted of seeing her being a first responder for literally anything, especially for things that could have been solved by other pups (usually taking Marshall off his opportunities to use his ladder for height rescues, lessening even more what little rescue jobs he has left). They do that because they made a big fat mistake when they decided there would be only one female in the main team and now that they “need” female rep for the girls (and their own daughters/etc), they need to overuse the only one they have available 100% of the episodes, at the expense of erasing the other pups. The worst part is that they don’t even try an effort on how to work with her, they just shove her in there to do anything in any way. I haven’t seen her use her pup-pack’s wings in ages now, only that goddamned helicopter and harness or hook.

4- My biggest issue with Zuma is not even the fact he’s barely called for any mission at all for over half the show. I can say for a fact that people who live by beaches have a damn sense of how to behave around water. I live by several touristic tropical beaches. THE LOCALS KNOW NOT TO MESS WITH THE FUCKING OCEAN, the people who fuck up are ALWAYS tourists who have no idea about how beaches work. Meanwhile, the locals know when tides will rise, they know when it’s good time for fishing, they know to read the waters, they know to read the skies, they know where it’s good and safe for swimming or diving. It’s not just “mystical native knowledge” or something they ACTIVELY know they know, it just… It’s just NATURAL. They’re not “taught” these things, they learn it just by living and experiencing the beach life. It makes sense Zuma doesn't have much to do because Adventure Bay residents just will not fuck up on the water.

Now I know the show producers didn’t have THIS specific shit in mind as an excuse to not have Zuma doing many rescues at all, but this is something that’s natural, so I can let that pass. I don’t mind it. My issue about Zuma is how he’s supposed to be this pup who’s all about sea, ocean, water rescues and… They just don’t show it. The thing that got me pissed the most is the fact he never knows anything about sea life - it’s always the Cap’n Turbot who’s telling them about sea animals. Zuma didn’t know what a Narwhal was. Dude, I was a kid who loved (still love) all about the ocean and by age 4 I knew about a lot of animals, INCLUDING Narwhals because they’re freaking “cool whales with a long unicorn horn lol that’s wicked”. If you’ll have a character who loves and lives for the sea/ocean stuff, you gotta have him KNOW about it. It’s HIS THING and they fucked it up by constantly having him NOT KNOWING JACKSHIT ABOUT THE VERY THING HE LOVES.

It’s just clear the producers dislike Zuma for whatever fucking reason I don’t want to know and I don’t give a flying fuck anymore. I don’t expect them to remember about Zuma any more often than what they’ve barely done for several years now. I get sad because he’s one of my favorite pups as I see myself so much in him - except on the fact he SHOULD know about sea life lmao but I can’t get nearly as frustrated as you all because I literally just don’t expect them to change how they treat Zuma. They made it VERY CLEAR they have no intention on giving him any more attention than what little he gets and I’ve come to accept it - doesn’t mean I’m happy. I'm just realistic.

5- I don’t really have anything to “complain” on Rubble and Rocky, thankfully. Nothing about the other pups outside the main team either. Some of them could show up more, but that's about it.

6- My last issue is also a common point in this fandom, which is how little the pups have interacted for several seasons now. We don’t get to see them outside of rescues at all, and when we do, it’s always something happening that will be related to the mission that’s to come. Only “plot relevant” stuff. It gets tiring and makes all characters feel fucking FLAT. We don’t see character development at all. Don’t even get me started on Ryder. “Development” has NEVER been a word in the producers’ dictionary for Ryder.

With all these points, I also want to add that I don’t intend on “giving up” on the show because thankfully I didn’t have YEARS of frustration building up to get me pissed to such a point. I can keep watching it. Also, as an older person (not older fan since I only started watching this year), it’s kinda hard to make me give up on anything at all because I’ve seen too much already from several other cartoons/animes XD Besides, if I have the means to make things happen, I don’t wait for the show to give me the things. I make them myself - reason number one why I created the @diy-fire-water-pups RP/Ask Blog. I can draw, I can write, I know how these characters work, I’ll give myself what I want to see. Fuck whatever else in canon. I don’t care. If Zuma and Rocky won’t interact in canon despite living under the same fucking roof, sharing owner and working together, I’ll make it happen myself and share it with you all because who gives a damn??? I'm the kind of person that when they don't give me what I want to see, I'll just go and make it myself, no fucks given.

I don’t think it’s worth to be so pissed and frustrated at canon media, especially nowadays when we know for a fact the big bosses won’t fucking listen to fandom opinions to work better on what fans would like to see. Sadly, not all show producers are like the Warframe devs (THEY WISH THEY'D BE LIKE THEM XD). You're just making yourself more sad than needed over fictional media. Your mental health is real and you need to pay attention to it.

I’m not asking for ships to be canon - fuck it, they’re portrayed as kids, the fact I ship some characters doesn't necessarily mean I expect ships to be canon in the show. They could at least remember to give the characters A LIFE. And do their fucking jobs, which was supposedly the original intention of the show, to help showing kids what “mainstream jobs” do, for kids to start developing a sense of having a favorite cool job they’d probably want to pursue a career in later in life, or something of the likes. I've had a student who's studying automotive engineering programming solely because she used to watch "Knight Rider" with her dad as a teenager and loved "the sassy car with artificial intelligence" in the show. She grew up to decide pursuing a career on developing automotive technologies because she watched a talking car on TV. Kids might watch Paw Patrol and decide they want to become firefighters, to be airplane pilots, to be marine biologists, to be cops, whatever. Shit is, they're now doing a very poor job on working on this purpose.

I’ll continue running the pups askblog to give myself and to give you all some actual character development, content, some life outside of rescues and missions. I have some big plans for the blog, not gonna give spoilers about these plans yet because I’m still developing the ideas, I just need my desktop computer back working so I can work on my stuff without interruption - currently sharing my slow af laptop with my dad and my younger bro bc we all need it, I’m poor, I can’t afford buying a second laptop, I barely make enough for bills and food as it is. Btw my PC is back from the techs but my TV is dying and I used to use that as a PC monitor/screen, so now I’m going out of my way to buy a new monitor/screen for it (I can go on with my life without a TV for a few years just fine). Once that gets solved, let’s see if my PC will fucking work without shutting down randomly all the damn time. If it works, I can start developing my bigger plans for the blog - I’ll just say each of my three pups will get a very deserved spotlight they SHOULD have in canon (though Rocky’s been getting his with the miniseries “Rocky’s Garage”, amen to that).

So, if you ever feel frustrated about Paw Patrol canon, you know you can come over here and to my pups blog for some actual stuff, some real talk, and a breath of fresh air. Especially for some Rocky and Zuma interaction, since canon just denies us of the simplest interactions between them for no valid reason. Cowards.

[darkmaga-returns]

A jury can in effect nullify a law that it believes is either immoral or wrongly applied to the defendant. But you may need to keep it to yourself.

Sam Husseini

Dec 09, 2024

Luigi Mangione has been detained in the fatal shooting of UnitedHealthcare CEO Brian Thompson. He has reportedly written a manifesto which states: “I do apologize for any strife or trauma. But it had to be done. These parasites had it coming.”

Early this year, he wrote in a review of the Unabomber manifesto: “These companies don’t care about you, or your kids, or your grandkids. … We’re animals just like everything else on this planet, except we’ve forgotten the law of the jungle and bend over for our overlords when any other animal would recognize the threat and fight to the death for their survival.”

Online searches for jury nullification have gone through the roof:

In the aftermath of the passage of the federal Fugitive Slave Act of 1850, Lysander Spooner in “An Essay on the Trial by Jury” argued that jury nullification was “a palladium of liberty” and “a barrier against the tyranny and oppression of government.”

In 2011 Tim DeChristopher wrote “I Do Not Want Mercy, I Want You To Join Me.” He was sentenced to 21 months in prison for crashing an auction of public land to save it from fossil fuel companies. He wrote: “The government claims a long prison sentence is necessary to counteract the political statements I’ve made and promote a respect for the law. The only evidence provided for my lack of respect for the law is political statements that I’ve made in public forums. Again, the government doesn’t mention my actions in regard to the drastic restrictions that were put upon my defense in this courtroom. My political disagreements with the court about the proper role of a jury in the legal system are probably well known. I’ve given several public speeches and interviews about how the jury system was established and how it has evolved to its current state. Outside of this courtroom, I’ve made my views clear that I agree with the founding fathers that juries should be the conscience of the community and a defense against legislative tyranny. I even went so far as to organize a book study group that read about the history of jury nullification. Some of the participants in that book group later began passing out leaflets to the public about jury rights, as is their right.”