#So no one can “claim” a tag or handle. We can share!

[the-daily-dreamer]

Ok @lives4lovesworld. Since you feel it’s appropriate to comment as an anti on a properly tagged post, allow me to reply :)

Queen consorts and dowager queens do not inherently have power, on that we can agree. However, they can have power so long as the ruling authority allows them. Essentially, their power is derived from the King, so as long as the king does not directly intervene with their attempts at power, queens can (and have had) a great deal of power.

Cersei is unable to rule as queen consort because Robert directly impedes on her power. Her power is dependent on his allowances, of which he grants none. By contrast, Viserys is rather weak and tends to allow Alicent more power to rule. We see him actively seeking her council on political affairs in Season 1. And by the time Viserys is bedridden, Alicent has a great deal of control and power.

Now I know what you’re probably going to say “It wasn’t Alicent in power. It was Otto, the Hand”. But that’s just not true. We have multiple scenes confirming Alicent is in power.

“It’s not a king who sits the Iron Throne these days, good sister. It's a queen.” - Vaemond Velaryon to Rhaenys

“And on the morrow, which authority will sit in judgment of my son's claim on his own inheritance?” - Rhaenyra “That would be mine... and the Hand's.” - Alicent

And I can already hear your reply “But see! Alicent admits the hand has power too!” Yes. She does. Because Alicent is politically savvy. She has to confirm that the hand also shares power, or else she is admitting to being the sole power. Which is a big no-no. But Alicent telling Rhaenyra that her authority first is the one sitting in judgement is evidence enough that SHE is the power here when Viserys is incapable.

As queen consort Alicent holds a great deal of power. Not just the hand. And part of this is because Otto is comfortable with his daughter sharing power because she is on the same page as him. Alicent is deriving power from a passive husband who allows her to rule and from the hand who is her father and understands that sharing power with Alicent just means more power and influence for him.

And that’s just as queen consort. Upon the death of Viserys, Alicent (now as dowager queen) is still an active participant in the politics and governance of the realm. She sits at the head of the table during the green council and yells at the men surrounding her. She is the one that ensures that they don’t kill Rhaenyra as a competing claim. And until she is dismissed by Aemond in late season 2, Alicent is firmly situated on the small council for her son and even councils him privately (though I disagree with how she handles those scenes).

Contrast this to Cersei, who does not get as much power upon the death of Robert because her father does not allow her control (unlike Otto for Alicent), and because Joffrey won’t be controlled by her (unlike Aegon who is more easily swayed by his mother) and Tommen who is controlled by his wife.

Alicent very much has a great deal of power and control. Mostly by the allowances of men around her (which is incredibly realistic in medieval politics) but it is there. And it’s not “meddling”, she’s a a high ranking noble from an important house, the daughter of the hand, and the fucking QUEEN. She has power and her husband allowed her to rule.

And I don’t know where you’re getting that she’s uneducated and cannot be politically competent. Alicent received the same education as Rhaenyra. They literally read and study together in episode 1.(And btw, Alicent is shown to care about her education while Rhaenyra tears the book and scoffs at it). So if Alicent isn’t educated enough for ruling, then neither is Rhaenyra. And while Rhaenyra is off skirting her duties, Alicent is the queen advising the king, engaging well with other nobles, and being trained by her father. She is 100% qualified.

And one last thing. Your claim that she could not have possibly done any good for the realm is preposterous and based in no facts.

Firstly, Viserys is known as “the peaceful” but who was ruling for nearly a decade while he rotted away? Alicent and her father. So clearly she did a decent job.

And secondly, Alicent is actively seen in multiple scenes talking about the people and having to take care of them. She’s seen talking about having to remember about budgets and finite coffers. Alicent is the sole ruling character that really mentions the smallfolk. Even when she’s about to be attacked, she orders her guards not to harm anyone.

And finally, I never said anything about Alicent being unrecognized. I was pointing out a stupid quote that existed only to be some “girlboss” line to put down Alicent. Without considering that she doesn’t need to envision herself as the primary ruler sitting on the throne. She’s the queen and she’s been ruling and did a damn good job of it seeing as 20 years of Viserys’s reign was either influenced by her or directly run by her.

(Oh and btw. Your reply reeks of “women in history were weak and pathetic and had no power” because you don’t regard soft power derived from marriage/connections as valuable. But there are tons of examples of powerful ruling women in medieval history who gained power through their husbands. But by all means, let’s discredit them because they weren’t girlboss queens fighting and known as the sole power. That definitely is #feminist.)

“Have you never envisioned yourself on the Iron Throne?”

Well no, Rhaenys. Because she has no claim to it. She isn’t a Targaryen, and she is not a claimant of the throne.

And by the way, Alicent in her time as dowager queen has done more ruling of the kingdom then you ever have. Why should she care if she is officially recognized as the official ruling monarch? She’s was the queen, she ran the country, she had the power.

Yet another stupid scene that just existed for characters to be the writers’ mouthpiece. Spewing anti-Alicent “girlboss” lines. Even if they make no sense.

[serennedyweek2024]

Hey do you think since your event is Valentine's themed you could change your handle/tag to be SerennedyValentinesWeek or something like that instead so we could have the serennedyweek2024 handle/tag? No pressure, not forcing, just wanted to ask nicely 😊

Thank you for asking, the answer is no. I honestly thought of many different ways to word the tag/handle to be valentine's day specific and there's just no way to do it succinctly without causing unnecessary confusion (ie: adding "vd" to the tag would be very confusing in a gross, but comical, way). You're welcome to use the tag after this event is over, and there are many ways to differently spell the handle so there's no confusion! I have no idea who the "we" is here, but ship events are not corporate nor are they owned by one person and, respectfully, I won't change how this account's event operates just to appease other people who wish to do the same kind of event after I already established mine. There's plenty to go around! I'm not getting in your way by doing my own thing.

And while I'm not deleting this account when the event is over just to preserve it, I'm more than happy to share the tag!

[auragasmics]

1:32 AM: A LOVE LETTER TO THE PRETTIEST GIRL!

spellbook intro! when Nanami takes a moment to study his wife after a date night, his heart pours out a soliloquy for the ages!

potion ingredients! 4.4k+, pwp(?), wife!reader x husband!nanami kento, fluff+ smut, fingering, clitslapping(1), cunnilingus, explict talk, mating press, grinding, allusions to sex (penetration), self-indulgent to the max ♥︎

note to casters! yeah, this is so indulgent. and i'm sorry i have to say this...p**** is pink :). grab a mirror and check for yourself.

Champagne. 

A drink known to be indulged during the most influential times of human history. It’s a famed tag that runs through nations upon nations, beloved by the heaven blend of Pinot, Meunier, and Chardonnay. It pulls the tongue into an envious ménage-à-trois between the rich taste and the cheeky spry bubbles seething one’s cheeks into a world of heat —all doomed to end once a swallow washes away all the bliss. 

From its days of ruling beside monarchy to its dwindled expression in the modern world, it has yet to lose its class. It still rules amongst those with exquisite, those who can handle the feverish rush of having rapture ruin all composure.  

It’s suitable for a man like Nanami to indulge in such refinement too, just a single sip from the tall slender glass seated beside his plate transports his mind into a place where the weight of a jewel-encrusted crown sits upon his head. And in this universe, he rules over a 64 square meter condo, a beloved lord sleeping in his king-sized bed, and a lawful husband to his queen. 

Another sip reminds him of the gracious air surrounding the night—a date night catered by a meal of shared efforts and a bottle of Nanami’s favorite champagne. It’s sweet like forbidden fruit, the heavenly delight soothing his woes. 

His gentle stare falls onto you, the infamous cinnamon fawning over how red complements your skin in that dress, over your delicate pout—no, obsessing over how your lips nurse the rim of the glass as if it were a kiss. As to how the heavens gifted a man such as he with one of their own angels, it’s a blessing he’s taken without a second thought. 

However, it’s a feeling that even after three years of marriage has yet to subdue. The riveting swell that throws his heart into turmoil whenever you giggle. The wash of goosebumps set to claim his skin when your hand simply grazes against his own. The trance your gentle coos lure him into, just like now.

“Kennnn, Baby? Are you okay?”

Flurries of mindless blinks brings Nanami back into the present, where he’s met with your own stare. Where silence settles comes the bustle of apologies and giggles, Nanami “Hm?—Oh! I’m fine, Honey. I’m so sorry—missed what you said there, can you repeat it?”

“Oh, it’s fine! I was asking what should we do about the dishes? All that cooking and I always seem to forget about cleaning.”

Nanami merely shrugs his shoulder, “I’ll wash them.”

“But aren’t you tired? We could just leave them to soak—”

The rambles of solutions come to a slamming shut as Nanami reaches over to your side of the square dining table, his fingers seamlessly knitting within your own.

“That was a really good steak. The garlic butter we made last weekend was a perfect touch. Oh, and the mashed potatoes, you always outdo yourself, Honey. All I did was peel the potatoes and help sear the steak, the least I can do is clean…right?”

A helpless sigh passes through your glossed lips, “You’re not getting me to agree, y’know. I still say we just go get ready for bed.”

Nanami calls his hand, his energy, even his presence over the table back to his side in trade for the back of his chair for asylum. He gives you a steady stare that pairs all too well with a grin and a pat on his lap. “Come here.”

There’s safety in being wrapped up in Nanami’s arms as you settle in his care, his muscle-ribbed arms thick arms lacing around your waist, his large hands draping off your hip, all while he keeps one leg bouncing to a steady rhythm. 

“Why do you worry your pretty little head off about the fine details, huh? That’s my job.” 

“I know, but…”

Weakness grows in your heart as you look down into his eyes—those tired eyes casted by an ardent glow. Exhaustion still can’t taint his heart, it can’t begin to ruin the tender nature he abides to you. You can’t help but soothe him, your hand racing to cup his cheek, the pad of your thumb skating along the curves of his bottom lip. 

“But you work so hard, Kento. You should come to bed with me, just leave all this for tomorrow.”

But you know him—he can’t leave any job with loose ends. Whether it’s at the office, small repairs around the house, or simply washing dishes, Nanami finds a sense of ease in the natural order of tasks from start to finish. And when some principle challenged his own, he had every reason set and ready to roll for an explanation.

Except for tonight.

Tonight, silence serves as Nanami’s winded explanation—and the kind pecks he pushes back against your touch. 

“Ken?”

“Mhm?”

“Aren’t you going to…say something…or anything?”

Patience gets the better of you as Nanami simply keeps himself entertained with your thumb. His kisses melt into you skin, his soft hums strike every fiber, and each pinch of his lips leaves you dangling at the end of your rope. Nanami stands from the chair, cradling you in his arms. His steps are guided by routine, up the stairs and through the first door to the right, straight into the bedroom.

Nanami drops you on the bed.

You can’t really pinpoint when the plush warmth of your bed welcomed you home, but with Nanami’s thick chest pinning you to the sheets, it’s a quick conclusion you push off rather quickly.

How could you focus on such fine details when he’s lathering the junctures of your collarbone in kisses, trailing back up to your awaiting lips. 

“Sweetheart.”

“Yes, Baby?” 

Nanami gives in to you with a kiss, his lips just barely sinking into yours before he’s hulling himself back onto his feet.

“Go get ready for bed and when you wake up, I’ll be right there next to you.”

Sleep is all Namai intended for you to have, he'd be damned if something so trivial as chores would prevent you from rest. And when Nanami did finish up with the last bowl, sleep fell heavy on his mind all the same.

It weighed heavy on his mind through a hot shower, through his nightly routine, even as he mindlessly slipped into a pair of briefs and beneath the bed sheets.

But…his tired eyes had to land on you—his precious angel.

Oh, his pretty wife who glows underneath the moon’s rays, laid on your side with the blanket tucked up to your chin. He’s eager to join you, sliding himself right beside your body—where nothing but a pair of panties hugs you. 

It certainly doesn’t help how you gravitate to Nanami, even while underneath sleep’s spell. Grinding the thick globes of your ass into his lap—and right where the head of his cock sits snug against the waistband of his briefs.

In a desperate search for a distraction, Nanami cranes his neck to greet the neon red digits bleeding through the face of his bedside clock—where the best joke known to man awaits him.

1:32 AM. 

Just an hour into the new day Nanami is met by pure mockery. Of course, his sweet wife all swept up in sleep makes for an even better punch line—-the growing bulge sinking between your ass. A quiet mind is all he wants, why he’s drowning his mind in those meditative mantras you’ve taught him when work becomes too much all at once.

But it’s a fleeting dream the moment those throbs ripple through the thick veins stretching over his cock. 

“Sweetheart, c’mon…give me a chance at least,” he’s muttering for his ears alone. 

Yet the only chance Nanami knows he has is to follow in your steed and sleep away his impending thoughts. He gently lifts the blanklet up to his shoulder, only for the chilling gush to fan across your body.

“Mmm, ‘m cold, Ken.”

“I know, I know, I’m gonna fix that right away, Sweetheart.”

Sunken beneath the heavy blanket, Nanami carves out every inch of your spine with his chest, slotting himself flush against you. His arms surge to envelop you, giving way for his hand to greedily cup the silky fat of your breast.

For a moment he’s sworn he’s beaten lust curse because well, cradling his sleeping beauty like this, allowing for his body, his warmth to sew his body to your own. 

“How’s that? Feels warmer now, Sweetheart?” His voice gently coos in your ear. 

He doesn’t expect much, a sheepish nod and a mumble thrillingly satisfies Nanami. He can’t explain it, but as he steals a glance over you, he finds his wretched mind delighted by mundane beauty.

A painting is known to capture a moment in time through the perspective of the artist—but what Nanami’s eye beholds before him is too good for any picture, any painting, for every medium of art would fail to capture the radiant glow the moon kisses upon your skin. It would fail to mimic the soft curl of your lips, free from control and lifted behind the pure rapture of your mind. It certainly couldn’t transcribe the very details consumed by Nanami. 

Maybe it’s due to the curse of the night overwhelming Nanami, but he simply can’t be alone right now, not while love has him spiraling down a self-induced hole. He can’t stop himself from taking to your shoulder, granting his lips the tactful satisfaction of littering kisses upon your skin.  

“Honey…are you really asleep?” He pouts, yet he immediately reflects on himself as he swipes yet another look at the clock. “

It’s what…1:40 now, I should be asleep too, however…” 

Breaking his trail of kisses, Nanami softly sighs as he gathers all his wayward thoughts, all for this moment only he’ll hold a record of.

“I can only say this while you sleep. It’s pathetic of me, but I haven’t gotten the confidence to face you as I should. I’m not one for many words, nor do I show all the emotion I hold inside of me. But, I hope that my love for you bleeds through every touch, every stare, every kiss, and every breath. I breathe for you. I live for you. And should it come to pass, I’d kill for you. I’ve never felt more endeared to anyone before but you…You give me all the strength I need to be a better man. I just hope to-"

“...Ken, Honey? Are you on a phone call?”

“Oh um…” His blood’s running cold through every vein in his body. Suddenly, he’s stricken dumb and frozen underneath the weight of speculation. But he is who he is—a calm man with logic on his sleeve. Pushing out a huff through his nose, Nanami finds himself at ease as he peers down at your hazy eyes.

“N-No, no…just…thinking aloud. Go back to sleep, okay?”

You muse him with a passing look over your shoulder. “Thinking aloud, hm? Tell me.”

Before Nanami can conjure up some excuse as his alibi, you’ve already to bury yourself within his chest. Your soft hands buff his nerves down to naught through lazy swipes across his taut pecs. In your care, his heart’s raging scream dwindles down to a tepid thump, his lungs spoiled with fulfilling breaths, and his mind’s calmer than the vast Pacific Ocean—all thanks to you. 

“You…really want to know?” 

“Yup,” your eyes flutter open to hang upon Nanami’s heavy lids. “Tell me anything and everything.”

Giving in, Nanami’s head falls into a gentle tilt, “Do you know how beautiful are you?”

“I’d like to think so.”

“You say it like that, but I don’t know if you really do…”

“You think so highly of me.”

“I have to, you’re the woman I’ve devoted my life to.”

“Do you regret it?”

“Regret?” Nanami has to echo. It’s just one of the words that have escaped his vocabulary in recent years. And a regret in your presence is something he knows he’ll never, ever know again. “Never. And even if I did, I’d do it all again just to be with you.”

Gently you bite into your bottom lip “Do you remember our wedding night?”

“Of course I do. I mean it was such a—-”

“I think tonight’s going to be a repeat of that. Or better.”

As your words break through the air, you’re given the honor of watching Nanami crumble underneath the heat of your advances. Blush breaks across his cheeks, his pupils blown wide by lust’s bite, and right beneath your hand his heart’s back to roaring its spirted song.

“Real—ahem—Really? And why’s that?”

“Welllll…” The soft drag of your coo lures Nanami into hypnosis. “I just think it is, Baby. How’s that sound to you?”

“Go—Good. I can’t ever say—” 

Nanami lets your lips swallow down the last of his words in your kiss. He lets you take his last breath, his last thoughts, and all the sanity he thought he relied upon. In trade of that, he’s given the chance to relinquish all control just to drink in your soft whimpers, to sate his whims with your kiss, to scour your soft skin with his rough hands. 

Reality sets in hard and heavy for Nanami. To think, just moments ago he was too absorbed in admiring you—his wife, his lady, his precious angel tucked beside him like any other night.

His precious angel who wears sleep with a plump pout and soft snores.

His precious angel clutching at the thick pillow beneath your head.

His precious angel who has sin creeping along your curves and slipping beneath a pair of lacy red panties.

“Mmm…Ken…” your voice quietly breaks against his puffy lips. Your hips flirt with Nanami’s feathering touch, winding along to his shy caress. “Hmph…right…right there…”

“Yeah?” He allows for a lone digit to greet your dormant clit, the warmth of his touch gently thumbing circles into your bundle of nerves. “It’s riiiight here, isn’t it pretty girl?”

He plays coy, letting honey drip from his lips and into your ear. “Tell me so I can make everything better, Sweetheart.”

“Fuck, Ken please—Harder, baby, Harder!”

Dumbfounded. A dumbfounded gawk is all Nanami can muster towards you—until the ends of his mouth curl up into a grin he buries along the pulse of your throat.

“Harder?” He mocks with a hiked brow. “I don’t think you can take that, Honey. No…but…since you asked so nicely…”

SLAP!

The loud clash of Nanami's palm against your splayed cunt rings in silence over the room, serving as the perfect beat for your body to comprehend the brash course your husband's veered the night into.

“Oh–Fuck!” Tossing your head back between your shoulders, you mewl as the heavy chimes around the room. “T-that’s too much, Ken!”

Nanami hides his chuckle behind a kiss he presses to your temple. “I Promise that’s the last time tonight.” His sights slip down between your legs, watching as his fingers work to soothe your poor clit from his torture. 

He feathers down to your slit, the tight pink ring suckling to Nanami’s familiar touch. His intentions you know are pure, even amidst such lust staining the air. He’s so gentle with you, having his digits complement the perky bud of your clit with sluggish strokes, teasing your hole with the sticky circles he draws. 

All for his digits to fall victim to your pussy.

“Oh, such a greedy baby,” Nanami gasps. He’s forced to ignore the heavy stains of precum ruining his briefs, but he simply can’t let you have your way. It’s enough that he’s curling those slender fingers within your heat, strumming along the gummy walls he’s planning on staining white.  “You can’t take me just playing with you, you need so much more.”

A slight curl to your lips spites him. “I guess you know me well, Honey. Your fault for spoiling me.”

“And? You know I don’t regret a moment of it.”

He’s so sweet with you, peppering kisses along your cheeks, filling your mind with saccharine hymns. Yet he’s incessant with his reach, sending his digits to know every inch of your pussy with each strike he drills into your sweet spot.

It's just like Nanami, once he’s found a goal, he’ll work and work until the logic runs dry in his mind. He’ll work a hellish job for the trade of money, he’ll risk his life for the trade of saving others, and he’ll work his hand to the raw nerve to turn your pussy into a sputtering mess. 

“Good girl, you’re making me so proud, Baby,” Nanami coos, his eyes glued between your twitching legs. “Oh, I wish you could see what I do.”

“A-and w..wha-at’s that?” 

Your stumbling words earn an esteemed chuckle from Nanami. “Well…I could always just describe it to you…But there’s something I need to do first...”

It isn’t like him to keep you puzzled, especially with words nonetheless. But Nanami’s a man of action, letting his body move to support his cause. His cause for tonight, however, called for his body to slip away from your warmth all for him to be planked between your thighs and his hands kneading at your plushy skin. 

“That’s even better. Now, where do I even begin…”

His thumb comes to peck at your bud, lazily scrolling at the perky pearl in swipes. “I’ve been thinking about it all day, counting the minutes until I’m back at your side…back between your legs…back to having this pussy drip bliss back into my poor soul.”

It isn’t enough to have you laid out on a silver platter where his tongue can lather at your honey for hours—Nanami needs you to know just how deep his depravity lies. He slowly drags his tongue to wet his plump lips, soothing the ravenous urge that boils to the forefront of his mind with dumb babbles. 

“Just so…pretty…and pink. So sweet, so soft. Honey, I can’t go a day without you, you’re my lifeline, every beat of my heart. I just…”

His touch gets the better of his coherency. He knows better than to find focus elsewhere when speaking, but in truth, Nanami did not—he should not have caught your slicked hole fluttering at the sound of his soliloquy. 

“Oh…Fuck me…”

He wants to be kind, he wants to be sweet, and Nanami wants to embody the very traits he’s fallen in love with.

But he can’t.

Nanami can’t play the nice guy when he greedily welcomes your pussy back into his salacious mouth with a gracious sigh, his jaw hungrily working to force that poor button into a pudgy bloat.

Cunnilingus. It’s an art he’s swiftly mastered after three years of marriage, learning every inch of your body like your own. He knows where exactly his tongue should flit, where his finger curls the best, and even how long it should take for your body to shatter at his hands.

But it’s an effortless art when mastered behind love, and it steals Nanami’s breath away every time he catches his breath. 

“Fuck,” his curse breaks through the air. His hands knead at the silky plush hidden underneath your thigh, leaving every curve of his fingerprint to sear into you—-to mark you as his own. He’s eager to catch your eyes, those adorable eyes that well up with the fattest tears whenever he pedals his tongue right against your clit.   

As the age-old game of cat and mouse welcomes itself onto the stage known as the bed, you unassumingly take up your role the second you jerk away from Nanami’s silent plea.

What he wants from you—time, affection, or maybe even an orgasm, every idea falls to the back burner the moment your hips mindlessly buck into his mouth. You could have sold him the story of it being an accident, but why ruin his fun where he’s so hellbent on this one night that your body’s finally taking offense?

Though, when the rare glow dots the eyes he shoots up at you, you swear you can see hearts in the distance of his blown pupils. 

“Oh, look at that,” Nanami almost humors himself as he takes another glance at your cunt.

A precarious man such as he can’t afford to miss any details. His eyes cling to the unfolding sight, how his thick digits bathe in your essence, carefully sketching his own path about your folds so rich with nerves. He’s shamelessly gawking at how the succulent hues of rose bodes well with his fair skin, each pass he bestows upon your cunt pulls him into a self-induced trance.

“Making such a mess just from me talking. What a dirty mind you’ve got, isn’t that right, Honey?” 

Right on the tip of your tongue, the words baste behind the sweetest rapport. You could let him have him, fill his ears with talk of how lechery paints his face like a mask. He is your husband, yet the side he’s letting out to roam tonight leaves your fuzzy mind combing with an answer—and fast. 

“W-Where is this co-comming f-from, Baby?” 

That’s what you say, but the moans slipping from your traitorous mouth when Nanami plants one last kiss to your folds tells him all that needs to be known.  

“What?” He chuckles to himself. The pads of his digits wade through the glassy web sewn between your delicate folds, “Can’t handle me talking about your pussy, Sweetheart? I’m sorry but you'll have to take it. And, speaking of taking it…you know what else I love about you?”

“What’s that?” Your voice trails out behind a whimper.

Just to catch your eye, Nanami allows for the single tug of his briefs to free him from hell reincarnated. With the gray waistband sitting underneath the heavy bloat of his balls, his hand hungrily grips the base of his cock. A hellish squeeze around his rippling veins has your eyes nearly crossing at the pearly tears spilling from his tip. 

With the thread of sanity left in your mind, your hands race to ball the blanket within your fists, for some kind of grounding. “Fuck! Please! Please, tell me, I can’t wait anymore, Baby!”

“Let me show you then,” Nanami hums as he cup at the back of your knees. “I love when I fold you in half…juuuust like this…”

His words speak for him, Nanami’s sheer strength working pin your poor, tired body into one of his favorite positions—a mating press.

“I can see just how hard you try to take every inch of me. Making your poor pussy stretch around my cock, you must really love me, don’t you Honey?”

It’s sinfully natural the way the fat blushing crown of Nanami’s cock sits upon your clit, a detail he’s made himself keen to. His thick bulb sobbing those white tears all because of badly he needed to have you. To have his fingers work at your gushing cunny is one thing, his cock on the other hand?

He’s on course to face ruin tonight.

He’s already planning the next position, the hour, the next day, all dedicated to keeping his fat length choked within your walls for as long as he could.

Why with such knowledge, it’s no wonder his hips fall into a languid toll, leaving the thick head to trace every curve of your cunt. He’s driving up against every nerve just to watch your face quiver, to see those tears he loves so much all from a little teasing. 

His head dips along the marked tract of your neck, a cowardly move to hide his own flush face. His hands clip to your waist, baring your body between the smothering warmth of his thick chest and bed—without an inch to spare. 

His muffled voice hums against your neck, “T-That feels good right?” 

“Fuh–it’s s’ good Ken. ‘m so close, Baby please!” 

“It’s too soon to cum, Sweetheart—you know that.” Nanami faces betrayal from his warning, his hips snapping against your own. “Just take it nice ‘nd eas���shit! Oh Honey, you feel so…so…fuck, that’s so good!”

“Kennnn! Fuck, I’m gonna cum!” You hysterically sob in his ear. It’s all for good reason as those ominous white stars begin to freckle your vision. The knot hasn’t even pulled taut shattered and yet you’re already a victim to its claim. The mind-altering high that rips you out of your body for nothing short of a few seconds.

“Hold it, you can’t yet, Sweetheart, not—”

Sending your grip to sink into the twitching muscle of his biceps, you whimpered out against Nanami’s wishes. “I can’t, Kento! It’s too much!” You knew all too well what was coming and as much as Nanami claims to know as well, he simply couldn’t have you reeling off something so mundane as humping. 

“Please Honey, hold it. Just a little—”

“Fuck! ‘m cumming!” 

The perilous yelp echoes around the room as the pure state of bliss paints itself white in your mind. All that pressure, the tensions, it all slips away from you through the harsh arch your spine fights beneath Nanami.

It’s futile to try and stop the inevitable, and the bliss that comes with surrender is all the more peaceful. When your body tingles with the aftershocks, your mind hazy from the stress and woes of the day, all of the negative can’t survive when a high like that comes crashing hard and heavy. 

Exhaustion houses itself in your body, accompanying weakness and the giddy smiles that you can’t hold back–until your body feels like a weight has been lifted off your chest.

“That…whew, that was so—Kento?”

Your spotty sights focus upon falling onto Nanami’s silhouette, his towering form resting back on his haunches. His hand’s fallen between your bodies, a loose fist drumming against your skin. He’s pummeling his cock beneath harsh strokes, forcing abstract thick ropes of white to dance along your puffy lips. 

“Ken, Baby?” You call out cautiously as his body collapses over yours. “It’s okay,”  we can call it an early night–”

“I can’t leave you unsatisfied, it was pathetic of me to let go right now,” He huffs,  We’ve got our routine—gonna fill this pretty pussy so fucking full just so I can clean you up. And I have to tell you something.”

Your eyes soften over Nanami, desperately watching as the man seeks redemption. He isn’t one to be a sore loser, but when it comes to you—he’ll work until he breaks just to know that he was behind your euphoria. 

All resolutions point to you supplying his motive with undying support, especially when your digits reach to strum at the sparse blond hairs along the nape of his neck. “Go ahead, tell me Ken.”

A wicked grin stretches onto Nanami’s features, only to hide behind a kiss within the valley of your breasts.

“Oh, I love you so much, Baby. Can’t wait to give all my love to the prettiest girl!”

[gay-dorito-dust]

wahhhh reading that hurts me 😭 could you please write a part 2 where they all find out that it was bill who possessed reader?

Tag list: @babypeapoddd @i-am-tiredd @sly-thou-pookie @x-seyaa @sweetlumpkinseedlin @kawaii1369 @roo024 @lightmaren

Part 1 right here

‘What?’ Ford asked.

Bill cackled. ‘For someone as smart as you sixer, you sure are stupid as not to notice the obvious signs of whenever I’m possessing someone. I mean out of everyone you should know better.’

Ford clenches his jaw. All this time he had thought you had betrayed him when in actually you had been loyal to him and his family, up until he and his brother ostracised you even more then you already were for the past thirty years. He made you feel like shit, and he could tell that Stanley felt the same amount of guilt as he clenched his fists in silent anger; Ford then levels Bill with a glare. ‘You possessed y/n! My assistant!’ He roared at his once muse.

Bill only chuckles. ‘Correction!WAS your assistant Stanford! And pushed you through the portal whilst wearing the face is someone you cared for,’ Bill then gasps as he looked at the guilt ridden faces of the Pines Family and feeling the joy bubble up in his triangular body, the look of defeat and realisation was all too sweet, ‘Oh wait! Someone you once cared for before throwing them out like they were nothing to you, not once letting them the space to explain what had happened and how I tricked them into making a deal with me.’ He finished by pretending to wipe a tear from his one eye after cackling some more at the hilarity of the situation.

Humans loved to cause more problems within problems they didn’t fully handle properly as they stockpiled on top of each other, giving him the leeway to get what he wants without issue or confrontation from the pathetic family.

Possessing you during a brotherly squabble was perfect! Ford had cut all ties with him and decided to call upon his idiotic brother- as though that would’ve ever worked in any timeline- to help hide his work but when things didn’t go Ford’s way, they fought. You were trying to stop the fight and bill took advantage of that by claiming he could help you stop the fight, fat chance, he was going to make it worse and leave you to be his scapegoat! It was a brilliant plan to make up for multiple set backs thanks to Ford’s sudden realisation of his hermit tendencies, everything was out in place for the ultimate betrayal by the hands of Ford’s assistant; you!

Bill found that Tragedy was at its finest when the betrayal comes from someone you love and it did.

‘They didn’t-‘ Ford began.

‘Say anything?’ Bill interrupts, causing Ford and Stan to glare at him as the demon cackle as he got in close to their shared triangle shaped prison, staring them down with his one eye, unblinking. ‘You and your piece of shit brother over here didn’t even let them speak! Never less believe them when they were telling the truth!’ He roared, ‘and now you don’t know whether they’re even alive so that you can apologise to them!’

Mabel slams against the bars of hers and dippers prison. ‘they’re alive!’ She shouts and Bill now looks at her, amused.

‘How can you be so sure shooting star? For all you know they could be dead, cursing your grunkles names as they die with an unsatisfying end.’ Bill mocked her as she falters in her resolve, he was right, how could she be certain that you were alive when Gravity Falls was literally on fire and demons from another dimension were running amok? She couldn’t and that’s what upset her the most.

‘Because we know our great aunt/uncle better than you bill and we know they’re alive!’ Dipper pips up this time as he laid a reassuring hand on his sister’s shoulder, smiling at her as she smiled back at him in thanks for having her back. Bill looks at the twins, hating their optimism and hope that you were okay and decided to destroy this by reaching into thin air and producing a realistic illusion of your unmoving body before them.

‘Are you so sure now pine tree? They don’t look very much alive to me!’ Bill exclaims as Mabel, Dipper, Stan and Ford could only look up the body that Bill claimed was yours in disbelief and shock. This couldn’t be how it ended, could it? They still had to apologise to you after all for everything and make it up to you however you wished!

‘No, no this is some foul trick of yours bill!’ Ford screamed as he threw himself against the bars, forcing himself not to cry at the sight of your body while seething with rage and a need to avenge your supposed death. ‘You sick son of a bitch!’ Stanley joined in as he felt even more useless than ever, he felt the most guilt out of everyone as his eyes seemed to refused to move from your supposed body. You couldn’t be dead, he refused to believe such bullshit lies, you were still alive and fighting with the rest of them! He knew it, deep down in his heart he knew it to be true!

‘No.’ Mabel cried as she tried to reach out to you as Dipper held her while silently crying himself, vowing to take down bill now more than ever as he tugged his hat down to cover his eyes. You were the most encouraging person he’s ever met and now you were gone, you asked him and Mabel to trust you when contemplating to stay with Stan, and they did believe and they never regretted doing so because you were right! You were always right and yet in the end you died thinking they hated you more than anything; which wasn’t true! Far from it and now…now they can’t make it up to you, they had lost their chance.

Bill had won over the pines family once again.

[pandora-writes-one-piece]

Mine to Protect Part III

@thetrueghostqueen Thank you so much for your wonderful request for the birthday prompts! I truly hope you enjoyed the story! Even though it turned out pretty big 😅

Source for Pic

Mine to Protect

Word Count: 4408

Tags for the whole story: Highlander!Kid; Fem!Reader; Alternate Universe - Scotland 13th century; Gore; Blood; Violence; Death; Mild Angst; Fluff; Nudity; Cursing; Sexual Tension; Explicit Sexual Content; Protective!Kid; Possessive!Kid; Soft!Kid; Feral!Kid; Jealous!Kid; Happy Ending; Sort of Enemies to Lovers; Teasing; Banter; NSFW; MDNI; Mature Audiences;

Special Warning: English is not my first language, I apologise for any possible spelling or grammar mistakes.

Summary: Your father and his allied clans are at war, and you're a liability. When you're assigned a guard to protect you - against your will - you do everything in your power to infuriate him. The problem is that he can be more infuriating than you, as you're about to find out.

Notes: Final part everyone. I hope you enjoyed this! It really wasn't supposed to be so big... but then there were so many little moments I wanted to include... Thank you for reading!

Part 3 of 3

|Part 1| | |Part 2| | |Masterlist|

You avoid the wedding conversation with your father like the plague, but you chase Kid’s company like a hunter tracking deer through the glens. More than once, he tumbles into your sheets –sometimes you don’t even make it that far. He has you against doors, walls, on the ground, under the shade of trees, anywhere –everywhere!

You now know the shape and contour of all his scars and muscles. The way they ripple as he uses them to handle your body effortlessly, the way they tense when he’s lost at the edge, spilling his release into you, or the way they soften as you search for the warmth of his embrace afterwards. 

He’s told you about many of the scars. He’s even told you how his left arm was rendered almost useless during battle. He has opened up to you, and you to him, sharing all your worries over your people, sharing how you’ve lost your brother to brigands when you were young and vowed not to be a helpless noble girl –he assures you, you’re not.

Things happen easily between you and Kid, even though you still disagree on many things and keep fighting like cats and dogs. Most of those fights end the same, with both of you lost in a mess of tangled limbs. 

You’ve fallen.

So hard it hurts. And it’s scary as hell in more ways than one. Not only do you not know if Kid feels the same for you, but you also don’t want your heart and emotions to be so tied to a single person. Because, at this moment, it feels like you might die if something happens to Kid. 

You can’t hold back that conversation anymore, so it takes a particularly cold night –a bit warmer now that you and Kid have exercised– when you’re lost in his embrace, to peel the words from your lips.

Kid’s arm grips you, his hand securing you tightly by the waist, and you absentmindedly realise that he never holds you differently. It’s always with strength, a fierce claim, or a desperate need to protect. Your fingers trace the scar on his chest, as you usually do, and that always brings a soft smile to his lips as he relaxes his breathing.

After a while, he speaks. “Yer awfully quiet today. Ye must tell me what I did tae get ye tae shut up.” He chuckles. “I might need that information for other nights.”

But you don’t reply. Not with a chuckle, nor with a witty response as he was expecting you to. 

“Lass?” He opens his eyes and lifts your chin with his fingers to inspect your face, and you sigh. 

“What are we, Kid?” The fear of his answer grips your heart in its clutches holding it ransom. 

“What do ye mean?”

Sitting up and crossing your legs on the bed, you lock your gaze with his. “This, us. What are we?” You gesture between your bodies, impatience oozing from your pores. 

Kid sits up as well, running a hand through his fiery, slightly damp hair. “Lass… we… we’re us.” He shrugs, and you sigh again. Talking about feelings with Kid is like pulling a sword from solid rock. Clearly, he senses that you’re upset, because he tries again. “I care for ye.”

“I know that.”

“Good. So, that’s it.” He reaches for you, but you swat his hand away. 

“Is that all? You care?”

“We have fun, aye, lass?” He smirks at you, trying to lighten the mood, but he’s not even inching closer to where you want him to be. 

“Aye. Fun. You care, and we have fun. That’s all there is, right?”

Kid tenses, and the ticking in his jaw alerts you that he’s finally taking this seriously. “There cannae be anythin’ else, can there? Yer a noble lady, I’m a hired sword.”

You nod. In your head, you know that, technically there can’t be anything more, but in your heart, there are infinite possibilities. What you wanted to hear from him is that he more than cares, that he is willing to fight for both of you. You want to hear him say that he’s fallen for you too. You don’t expect him to be romantic, he was right all those nights ago, you don’t need to be sweet-talked. But you want something real. 

“Is that what ye wanted to hear? That we’re nae good tae each other? That we cannae work?” He slams a fist on the bed, and you know he’s not angry at you, really, it’s at the situation. 

“No, Kid. What I wanted to hear was a bit of fight in you.” You get up, pull your dress over your head, and your feet through your boots. “Because you fight so hard to protect me from outside threats, when the biggest threat to my heart is right here in my room.”

The hurt in his expression is a mirror of your own as you make your way to the door. But it’s not over yet. There’s something else you need to tell him and this was why you asked him what you were. To see if you and he were worth fighting for. 

Your hand hovers the doorknob and you don’t look back at him as you deliver the news. “My father has chosen a suitor to marry me. I have no say in the matter. We are to be married within a month.”

As tears fill your eyes, you leave the room without looking back, not knowing what Kid feels about the news or if he’s as devastated as you are.

-*-

You will never know how he felt about the news you delivered, because by morning, he’s gone. Just gone, without a trace, without a goodbye, without a word. Why does your chest ache so much when he took your heart with him?

Your father merely assigns another guard to you, but since you’ll be married within a month –securing a formidable war alliance that comes with soldiers and money– and leaving his house, he simply assigns one of his personal guards to shadow you.

This guard is quiet, slow, and an idiot. You lose him on the first try. 

Though you don’t wander too far alone. The streets are growing more dangerous, and this guard isn’t Kid. You don’t trust him to find you anywhere and everywhere, as if you were connected by more than duty. 

You refuse to cry.

You know you have many, many tears to shed, but you gave yourself one night to do it. The night he left you, and that was it. No more tears, no more broken heart. And though it all seems easier said than done, you manage slightly. 

You set up a food delivery system with some of the citizens on the keep’s grounds, so you can be safer and still help them, and this has kept your mind and hands occupied. But the end of the month approaches, and so does your wedding. 

You can’t stop thinking about Kid and how he makes you feel and it’s nearly impossible to think of giving yourself to another man. Be it body or soul. You’re Kid’s. And that’s it.

Days without him seem colder and drag on slower than before. Training doesn't feel the same, and every time you lie in bed you still feel the ghost of his arms wrapped around you. You've found yourself glancing over your shoulder more than once, hoping he's there, just around the corner, with his scowl in place, a witty remark at hand, or a biting word. 

But he's not. 

And so, you tread on, day by day, night by night, forcing your heart to harden, to stop caring, to just let him go. 

Until you feel him. It's that prickling sensation at the nape of your neck, the tingling that bristles your hairs and almost stops your heart. This time, when you glance over your shoulder, he's really there, and it takes every ounce of willpower not to run to him and jump into his arms. 

Gods, you've missed him. 

He looks… haggard. His hair is duller, matted and dirty, there's dried blood on his skin and clothes –you're too scared to ask him if it's his, so you don’t– and there's darkness in his eyes, so much darkness. 

“Kid…” You barely utter, your heart too shattered to let your mouth part with any more words, lest he take them as ransom and use them against you. 

“Forgive me, lass. I've been gone longer than I meant, aye?” His voice seems drained. He looks exhausted, and you want nothing more than to scream at him for leaving you without a single word, for making you suffer beyond human understanding. But none of what you feel matters when he looks ready to drop dead from exhaustion at any second. So you drag him into your quarters and draw him a warm bath without uttering another word. 

He sits in the tub as you pour warm water over him, loosening the grime and blood so he can scrub it off. You don't speak. You're too afraid that the first words out of your mouth will be angry and accusing, and now’s not the time to fight. For what it's worth, he doesn't speak either. Whether he's respecting your silence or simply too tired, is anyone's guess. 

When the water rises enough for a comfortable bath, you wet the cloth and hand it to Kid, but he doesn't make a move to take it. His eyes are droopy, and his head lolls back and forth until he finally leans it against the rim of the tub with a groan and a grunt. 

You sigh as your heart clenches, and you kneel beside him, running the wet cloth over his arms first, scrubbing off the caked mud, blood, and whatever else he dragged on him from wherever he was. When you reach his hand, his fingers curl slightly, seeking your touch, trying to hold you and you give everything to stop your tears from falling. 

Gods, how you love this man. 

He slumbers for a bit as you clean most of the grime off, but when you reach his chest and your hands find the familiar scars, his eyes slowly open, watching you. You're frowning pretending not to notice him observing you, but you grumble something unintelligible when you find three new scars –badly healed– on his torso. 

“Where did you go…?” The question slips from your lips against your will in a quiet whisper. You're not even sure if he heard you or if he'll answer. 

“Behind enemy lines, tae the north.”

The cloth slips from your hand, and you fumble to secure it again, your mouth open as wide as your eyes. “Beyond the borders? Into enemy territory? Kid! You could’ve died!”

His smirk barely curves his lips, but it's there. “Would've been worth it.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” You growl, scrubbing harder and making him wince. 

“Ah, I've missed that filthy tongue, lass.” How can your heart warm at such words when you want nothing more than to yell at him for having left you? “I got what I went in for.” He dips his head back into the water, using his hands to try and comb through his matted hair. When he rises out of the water, his exhausted gaze falls on you, waiting for your questions. 

“What did you go in for?”

“Information. War information that’ll make the clans turn tae yer da’s side without ye havin’ tae marry.” A chill runs through you as you stare at him. Is he serious? Has he risked his life just to get you out of an arranged marriage? Does that mean… does he love you back? Are you more than just ‘fun’? 

You swallow the lump in your throat and try to make your tongue work past the dry, sand-like feeling in your mouth. “You still left me behind, without a word or a goodbye. Without a warning. I was alone!” The sigh that parts your lips is filled with sorrow and resignation. “We'll speak about this after you rest, you're in no condition to argue.”

He chuckles as you force him to lean forward –with a harder shove than you should– so you can clean his back. “Oh, but I've missed arguin’ with ye.” You purse your lips, drawing back an angry snarl that only makes him chuckle again. “Think about it. Would ye’ve let me leave if I told ya my plan?” He shrugs nonchalantly. “I mean, I would've left just the same, but ye would've tried tae stop me. Or worse, ye would've wanted tae go with me. It was better this way.”

“Better for whom? Because I was left thinking you'd abandoned me, right after I poured my heart out to you!”

Kid's face falls again. “Better than tae worry about me. If I died, at least ye could've forgotten me if ye hated me. It would've been a lot harder tae forget me if ye still cared.”

I still care. 

You think the words, but you don't say them. Instead, you hand him the cloth. “Finish up, Kid. I'll go grab you some clothes from your old room. It hasn't been touched.”

-*-

When you return he's clean and dry, a  towel wrapped around his waist, and you lower your gaze before you get lost in the body you know so well. Handing him the shirt and breeches, you return to your room, waiting for him with a tray of food and ale, so he eats and rests, because he looks like shit. 

He follows you wordlessly after getting dressed and eats the food ravenously, which makes you wonder how long it’s been since he last ate. By the time he finishes, he looks ready to fall down again. You lead him to your bed, setting him down in the place he's slept more times than you can count, and securing the blankets around him. As Kid closes his eyes, you sigh, turning to leave, but his arm loops around your waist, and he drags you to bed, your back firmly against his chest, as he pulls you closer and drapes the covers over you too. 

“Kid…” You start to protest. He needs rest and you don't trust your heart enough to be this close to him and not break. He still hasn't told you how he truly feels. He said he missed your remarks and arguing with you, but he didn't say he missed you. 

“Stay.” His voice sounds hoarse and pained as he pulls you impossibly closer, burying his head in your hair, inhaling your scent in deep breaths. 

You relax in his hold. It's not like you want to leave anyway. You've never felt safer than in Kid's arms, you're just not sure if you feel loved. 

“I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, lass.” The whisper of his words kisses the back of your neck in warm breaths, and your heart clenches. “I'm shite with words and feelings, ye know that… but… dinnae think for a minute that I left because I dinnae care. I left because I do care.”

He's still not saying it. 

“I know you care, Kid.” You sound weary and resigned. Perhaps you're asking too much. It's obvious he cares deeply, or he would've never gone to the lengths he did for you. 

“It's more than that.” You can almost hear the strain in his voice as he forces the words out. “I knew I could never fall for ye. I'm a guard, yer a noble lady. How could I… love ye if I'm no’ worthy? Yer da would hang me for ever touchin’ ye…” His chuckle is just a rumble against your back. “If he knew how much I've touched ye, my head would roll.”

You hold back a smirk. All your life you've defied your father and his rules. Kid would never be the exception. 

“But I've come tae realise that I cannae live without ye, nor do I want tae.” He sighs and rolls you, motioning for you to turn to him, so you do. Your cheeks are hot and flushed and your heart is hammering violently against your chest. His fiery eyes are droopy and tired, filled with so much exhaustion that is physically noticeable. But he needs to get his words out. His fingers tilt your chin so he can stare right into your eyes. “I've realised that if lovin’ ye is a risk, then I'm ready tae bet everythin’. And that's why I had tae go. Because I love ye.”

A ragged sob breaks through your defences and tears down the dam you've built to hold your tears in since Kid’s return. Tears spill from your eyes in fat droplets as Kid pulls you to his chest, his hand resting on the back of your head, comforting you, cradling you. He doesn't say anything else, but he doesn't need to. 

He's said it all. 

You spill all the tears you vowed not to cry when he left, all the pent-up emotions that you’d stored safely away in a dark corner of your heart come crashing down with the force of a tidal wave, destroying everything in their path. And Kid holds you through it all. Your lifeline, your anchor, your everything. 

He doesn't utter any more words, and he's right, you know he's shit with feelings. But his actions have always spoken much louder than words. He holds you tightly, clearly fending off all the exhaustion in his weary bones just to comfort you. His lips press softly against the crown of your head, again and again, in an endless torrent of kisses, like he can't get enough of you. His hand rubs your back up and down in soothing motions as your heart explodes from all this love. It's overwhelming, overpowering and somehow, still not enough. 

Eventually, you pull back from him, tilting your head upwards and watching him through wet lashes. “Gods, Kid. I love you too. So much. So, so much.” The warmth in his gaze overpowers the tiredness as he lowers his face, mouth hovering just above yours. “Yer mine.” His words are a claim and he delivers them softly, like a man who is sure of what he's saying. 

“I'm yours.” 

With the softest of grunts you've ever heard him release, Kid takes your lips in his. You melt into him, this kiss insurmountably different from all the others you've shared. It's soft, steady, and tender. It's not filled with brimming, raging fire or fueled by desire. It's intimate and filled with promises. It's perfect. 

When you both pull back, he cups your cheek and rests his forehead against yours, eyes hooded as exhaustion finally overtakes him. “Stay with me.”

“Aye, Kid.” You don't really know if he asked you to stay the night or to stay forever, but it doesn't really matter when the answer to the question is the same, right? 

-*-

As dawn approaches, you leave Kid to rest in your bed as you get changed and ready. Then you gather the papers Kid brought with him, the valuable information about the war front and you grimace. The papers are bloodied and dirty, a testament to what he's been through, but they are readable. In fact, it serves the purpose best like this, so your father can understand what he's endured. 

You march into your father's quarters, and his guards have the gall to try to stop you from entering. “Either of you touch me, and you'll meet my wrath.” Your fiery reputation is well known in the keep and after exchanging glances, the guards step aside. With a deep breath, you burst into the war room where your father and his advisors are already gathered, though they seem to be discussing how juicy a piece of boar meat is, instead of actual war business. They startle at the noise of the door banging, and you stride towards your father with pursed lips and purposeful steps, daring anyone to stop you. 

Nobody does. 

“Here.” You shove the plate of meat aside –almost dropping it on the floor– and slam the papers in front of your father with a loud bang. “You'll be interested in these, Father.” You watch as he cleans his greasy fingers on his cloak and picks up the parchment, curiosity lighting his eyes. 

You have to suppress a grin when his eyes widen and his mouth opens in surprise. “This… how? This information can change the war… it can bring us the support we need. This is vital.”

The advisors look at your father, then at you, also filled with curiosity. “Aye, Father. That information can sway the clans to your side and bring you the numbers you need to finish this. All without me having to marry.”

A triumphant smirk curls the corner of your lips as all the men gathered around the table begin talking with one another, discussing outcomes and probabilities, finally forgetting the food and actually delving into war business. Your father passes the bundle of papers to the advisor on his right and pins you with his stare.

“How did you get these?”

“Remember Eustass Kid?” You can’t help the way your voice softens at the mere mention of him.

“Aye, the sword I hired to protect you. The guard at the entrance reported that he returned yesterday. Was it him?” He seems incredulous. 

“Aye. He risked his neck for that.”

Your father scratches his chin, the weight of what Kid did hanging heavily on his shoulders. You’re pretty sure he’s already considering how much gold he can be parted with to compensate him. But you’re about to help him solve that problem.

“I will not marry the laird.” You state. You don’t ask, you simply inform your father of your decision because you know he cannot deny you that, not when he doesn’t need a marriage alliance anymore. 

“Fine. I barely know how I convinced you the first time. You’re free, lass, to do whatever you want.”

Your heart hammers against your chest, but you don’t let your nerves show. Not now, when you’re so close. “But I want to marry, Father. Just not him.”

A heavy sigh escapes his lips as he returns his gaze to a paper that wandered back into his hand, looking as though he has more important matters to discuss than your marriage. And he does, and this reminds you of all the headaches you’ve brought upon him, all the troubles you’ve stirred up while growing up. You know you were not an easy daughter, but you know your father loves you, in his own way. 

“Who, then?” 

“Kid.”

He lifts his eyes from the parchment in front of him to stare you down again. “The hired sword? Not a laird?”

You nod. Your throat suddenly feels too tight to squeeze any words through. 

“Impossible. You’re noble, and he’s… not. I was willing to grant you a marriage of your choosing, but I thought you wanted someone of your standing.”

You knew this was coming, so you take a deep, calming breath. “What I want, Father, is someone who fights for me, someone who is willing to go behind enemy lines and risk his neck for me. Someone who loves me so much, that he’d burn down the world for me, if only I asked. He has proven his dedication to me –and to you– a hundred times over.”

“He’s just a mercenary” Your father’s voice rises, and the room stills. “You need a leader by your side! Someone who knows the people and how to lead, not just fight!”

You place your hands on your hips to hide the trembling in them. “I know the people well enough for the both of us. I love the people more than anyone in this room.” Your voice starts to rise with each word. “Gods, I’ve done more for the people and the land than any of you combined! For once, just for once, Father, let someone love me! I deserve to be happy, too!”

Your father stays silent for a moment, his throat bobbing up and down as his thick brows furrow in deep thought. His eyes scan the information laid before him again, as if weighing everything he has and what he’s willing to lose. 

“Very well. You can marry him, if that’s what you truly want.”

-*-

You barely make it past the hallway outside the war room before you feel a familiar prickling sensation on the back of your neck. Kid’s waiting for you. He looks better, more like himself, but there’s still weariness in his eyes and a sort of darkness in them that can only come from claiming someone else’s life –and gods know he’s done enough of that for a lifetime.

“Lass, I knew ye’d be with yer da.” His gaze softens, however, when you meet. “Did he call the weddin’ off?” The hope in his voice mirrors the one that fills your heart.

“I’m still marrying.” 

“The fuck ye are! He lays one finger in yer direction, and he’s dead. I’ll fuckin’ kill him and his entire clan if I have tae! Fuck! I’ll just grab ye and we’ll run. I dinnae care where–”

“Kid!” You take one step towards him, tears threatening to spill from your eyes at the intensity of his feelings. Placing your palms on his heaving chest, you look into his eyes with nothing but love. “You would really burn down the whole world for me, wouldn’t you?”

His hand brushes your cheek gently, a contrast to the beast of a man he is. “Just say the words, lass. I’ll do it.”

“I’m marrying you, you insufferable man. There’s only you.”

He lets out a string of curses in his thick brogue, and you barely understand a word, though you know they’re all directed at you. “Ye wanna kill me. I already knew ye wanted me dead, lass!” Then he weaves his fingers through your hair and pulls you closer, lowering his face until his lips hover over yours. “Damn brat.”

“I love you, Kid.”

“Aye. Me too. Ye’re mine, always.”

“And you’re mine.”

The smile on his lips mirrors your own as they touch again in that soft, gentle dance you’ve come to know as love. 

THE END

Tag list: @rosidaze @beachaddict48 @armiliadawn @jintaka-hane @sprinkklz @baby5555 @hopelesslover06 @mars-mizuko @sleepykittycx @nerium-lil @eustasscapitankid @ren-ni @jqperi @lycoriskalmia @takamimami

[highseas-swede]

Aziraphale and Trauma

[Just a note that I initially wrote this in response to this post: https://www.tumblr.com/theangelyouknew/732357015604756480?source=share&ref=_tumblr which is full of insightful info. I'm reposting my response here with some minor edits so it's easier to find in tags.]

This is something I actually find interesting within the fandom, because there seems to be this weird divide in fandom when it comes to Aziraphale.

See, I love Aziraphale. I think he's an amazing and well nuanced character, but a lot of the time fandom boils him down into this really simple version of himself. This happens both with people who dislike him and claim he's a bad person as well as with those who want to soften him up and make him more palatable. Aziraphale isn't the only one who has trouble with black and white thinking here!

Things like Coffee Theory remove Aziraphale's agency because the thought of Aziraphale doing something to hurt Crowley deliberately is something they can't stomach. If Aziraphale is acting under some kind of major magical influence, it means that it's possible to brush over the fact that he can - and has - hurt Crowley in the past and it certainly hasn't always been accidental.

There's a lot of Psychology I could touch on here, but it's honestly such a complicated topic that I don't really feel I can do it justice attached to a completely different topic.

But one thing I do want to touch on a bit is how Aziraphale asserts control in his own life via his connection with Crowley, and that touches on something equally complicated, which is something that's probably hard to understand.

Abuse victims are often manipulative.

I don't mean this at all as some kind of slight or insult. I've been an abuse victim myself and it's one reason I know it's true.

Fandom talks a lot about Crowley's trauma and he's got loads, to be sure. I think of that meme about "this bad boy can fit a lot of trauma" and it's very true. I've even seen people mention that Aziraphale has a different kind of Trauma than Crowley, which is also true.

What I haven't seen is someone addressing that the type of religious trauma is a form of CPTSD. CPTSD or "Complex PTSD" is a very specific form of PTSD. PTSD is characterized as being the result of a traumatic event - Crowley's fall, for example, is a good example of PTSD and I can go into that at some point. CPTSD is different because it's not a singular event, it's the result of being in a constant high stress situation. A lot of abuse victims - especially those abused by parental figures or significant others - have this form of PTSD.

A good way to see the difference is in comparing how they relate to their trauma. When Crowley thinks he's lost Aziraphale in S1, it sends him into a spiral. But importantly we see that this traumatic event is causing Crowley to go back to another traumatic event in time, triggering his memories of his fall. This emphasizes how much Crowley's fall defines his trauma. We rarely see him experiencing trauma at the hands of Hell, as he's mostly allowed freedom to handle his job on earth the way he wants.

https://cptsdfoundation.org/ defines CPTSD as "the results of ongoing, inescapable, relational trauma. Unlike Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), Complex PTSD typically involves being hurt by another person. These hurts are ongoing, repeated, and often involving a betrayal and loss of safety."

In humans, this is caused by having no sense of safety in key moments of development. It strips away sense of self, sense of worth and really any agency. We even see the angels using direct gaslighting tactics on Aziraphale in S2, which I'm surprised doesn't get mentioned more often: When they come to the bookshop looking for Gabriel, they mention Gabriel and then almost immediately when Aziraphale asks "you were looking for Gabriel", Uriel outright says a line that goes something like "Did we say we were looking for Gabriel?", leading Aziraphale to fumble and try to remember if they did, in fact, say that at some point (they did).

So, one big thing to know about CPTSD and this kind of abuse related trauma is that learning to lie and be manipulative is often what people have to do to survive. Children with abusive parents will learn how to be manipulative in order to get what they need or avoid losing things they need.

We see this with Aziraphale, time and time again. He could just ASK Crowley for things he wants. A lot of people point out that he could ask and that Crowley would probably give in to him most of the time anyway. But that's not how it works in an abusive home. Instead, Aziraphale maneuvers Crowley into situations where Crowley is forced to give him what he needs or wants.

His lack of agency, as a result of his CPTSD, is also why he needs to be worked into making decisions that he already knows - or at least suspects - are right. That's why they have their little dance every time Crowley has to talk Aziraphale into something by finding the right way to frame it so it makes sense with Aziraphale's strict rule structure. These rules exist as a defensive mechanism too. Having rules makes it easier to figure out how to avoid being hurt and Aziraphale cannot simply step outside the rules because it's Not Safe. Not even with someone he trusts as much as Crowley.

The entire apology dance scene stands out for a few reasons. Everything Aziraphale does in the entire scene is an act that allows him to take control of the situation. He's already won, so to speak, because Crowley is back and Crowley is going to do what he wants. The apology is unnecessary on every level.

This post talks about how uncomfortable Crowley has to be sharing a space with Gabriel. Gabriel is with the abusive team, whether or not he was directly involved with Crowley's fall. Crowley also harbors a severe distress and mistrust of Gabriel because of Gabriel's attempts to destroy Aziraphale, the most important person to Crowley. But it's worth noting that Aziraphale is uncomfortable too.

Another good indicator of how stressed Aziraphale is with all this is that he doesn't eat ANYTHING when Gabriel is in the shop. The only food he consumes in modern era is when he's in the Bentley which is a "safe" space. Gabriel constantly hounded Aziraphale over eating and despite offering Gabriel hot chocolate, we don't see him partaking himself. He does briefly drink to demonstrate how "drinking tea" works for Muriel, but he doesn't seem to drink from his cup at all after demonstrating.

The bookshop is also Aziraphale's safe space, his ONLY safe space - Crowley still technically has the Bentley, and honestly I feel like Aziraphale wanting to borrow the Bentley is actually partially because he needs to get away from Gabriel and the Bentley is the only place that feels safe for him at the moment. Shax ruins any illusion of safety for him, but Aziraphale is much more enthused for his trip in ep3 and a fair amount of it is because he's not trapped with Gabriel.

A small note here, as a thought occurs to me. Aziraphale asserting that the Bentley is "our car" is probably mostly for himself. He's trying to realign his thinking to make the Bentley an acceptable "safe space" for himself prior to the trip.

There is a very different relationship dynamic when it comes to Gabriel and Aziraphale because Gabriel is the constant source of Aziraphale's trauma. He's Aziraphale's superior, the one he has to report to, the one who passes down his missions and his punishments. When Aziraphale takes Gabriel in, he's just invited his former abuser of over 6000 years into his safe haven. This is a hugely uncomfortable thing for an abuse survivor.

Worst of all, because Jim is, for all intents and purposes, NOT Gabriel, Aziraphale can't bring himself to lash out at his former abuser the way he wants to.

That brings us back to this apology scene.

There are two major things going on here and both of them are bad and hurtful toward Crowley. They're also both intensely unfair. I love Aziraphale but this was definitely a dick move.

Firstly: Aziraphale is using Crowley to reassert a sense of control over the situation because he is spiraling. He can't assert control over his life and his shop, which is one thing that he falls back on heavily, and that leaves him scrambling to find somewhere where he can control his situation. He makes Crowley go through this whole unnecessary apology and dance routine because it makes him feel like he has control over SOMETHING in his life right now.

Secondly: Aziraphale is also enacting his own trauma on Crowley. He's treating Crowley the way Heaven treats him. This is a direct parallel to the way Crowley terrorizes his house plants because he can't do anything to the people who actually caused his trauma. This is, obviously, wildly unfair of Aziraphale to do - and I'm fairly sure there are other small moments where Aziraphale does this in a mild way, I'd have to rewatch again.

These are both behaviors common in CPTSD caused by environments that apply this constant state of stress.

I'm not going to say it's right, or that Aziraphale isn't being a bit of a bastard in this moment - he absolutely is - but this behavior does have some obvious triggers that might be easy to overlook. It's just important to understand that Aziraphale is falling into self-preservation habits that are actively detrimental to his relationship with Crowley. It's not just the manipulation, he's also hiding things and lying to Crowley when he really shouldn't be - both things often necessary in abusive environments - but he's doing it because that's the method that he's created that works with his abusive relationship in Heaven and he's falling back on it because he feels unsafe. The trouble is, this survival tactic does not work with Crowley and actively makes things worse because it shuts down open communication entirely.

[ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff]

A Spark To Ignite (Bodyguard!141 x Famous!Reader Preferences) Mild NSFW

Summary: You see each other every day. He works to keep you protected - a perk of your job and his. Occasionally feeling moments of passion and promises of something more between you two are only normal, right?

AN: I've got another bodyguard!AU for the 141 that's more angst based. I'll post that later. I've also got a Price x Escort!Reader in the works plus the end of "Star-crossed in the Crosshairs". Let me know if you have any requests/anything you'd rather see first <3

Content warning: Minors DNI, 18+ only, allusions to sexual tension/arousal, second person, no use of Y/N

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Another notification of being tagged in the same paparazzi image hit your notification inbox, yet you still opened it and shared a giddy grin at the Instagram feed.

You hadn’t been fussed about going running; it was the company rather than the activity that attracted you. But one thing you were certain about the sport was that no one ever looked flattering whilst doing it.

Yet there he was, your Kyle, looking like a model for Sports Direct. He was snapped midstride, his biceps practically rippling in the glow of the morning sun. There was even a hint of his lean washboard torso with the flap of his t-shirt’s raised coyly.

However, his dimpled smile aimed was the main focus of the headline – mainly because it was aimed at you and your equally elated expression. You blamed the euphoria of exercised endorphins but the way the photo was framed (plus the gaudy text declaring it so) made it seem as if you and Kyle were a true couple in love. It looked incredibly staged. Kyle was an “unknown” though so most budding theorists did not support any claims of it being a publicity stunt. Just two lovers out on a jaunty little run together.

You saved then added the photo to the folder of photos that captured you out with your bodyguard and the headlines that (sadly) misidentified him as your new boyfriend.

“Hey Kyle!”

Blending some fruits. His duties did not include head chef but you had long since allowed him access to your kitchen, even storing some of his favourites around the cupboards and fridge in case he fancied a snack.

Your phone was thrust up into his eyeline, you beaming behind it, “Another Pulitzer.”

Abandoning his smoothie temporarily, Kyle cupped his hand around yours to steady your swaying phone.

“They need to up their standards. Taking you for a jog is hardly a date you deserve,” He commented.

“Ooo, do tell: what do I deserve?”

“Well,” Kyle began pouring the smoothie into a glass, “I could go classic, take you to out on the town to a special place only I know about.”

You leaned onto your    elbows, chin resting in your palms, cheeks creased in a cheeky smile. “Mm-hmm.”

“Wine you, dine you, treat you like a deity,” Kyle said as if he was listing off menial tasks on his day to day whilst collecting another glass for the remaining smoothie. “Take you back to mine if you fancied it, another drink whilst we talk the night away and time passing without us noticing.” Graciously, he slid the other one across the countertop, and your fingers locked against his warm ones wrapped against the cool glass. “Then work up a sweat in a whole other way.”

Blinking away the glaze that had coated your eyes, you restrained the urge to gulp back your desire. A fresh breath in your lungs recovered you quickly and you managed to conjure a teasing quip amidst the fog that had settled over your thoughts.

“Think you could keep up with me?” You said before sipping the smoothie.

The sweetness of it countered Kyle’s smirking reply: “You and I both know I can more than handle you.”

“Better train harder then,” You said, proud of yourself for not stumbling over your playful banter, “I’m a catch, so you better be fast enough.”

“Jog, same time tomorrow?”

“Sure.” And, not missing in the reflection of the oven door how Kyle – for a split second – looked you up and down, you did your best not to collapse or squeal during your return to the sitting room.

-----------

Johnny "Soap" MacTavish

You leant against the ropes of the new boxing ring with a panting chest and aching legs. Jellied bones dared to let you collapse to the ground but at least, since your self-defence training had begun, you were lasting the full session rather than just after the warm-up.

“I think we’re done for today! Did good, held your own.” Johnny gave you a hearty slap on your back that almost ricocheted you off the ropes. “I’ve still got a few reps to get in.” He leapt out the ring and swigged from his water bottle, tossing you your own.

“Show-off!” You called out after him, though all in good fun, as you caught your bottle and your breath.

Technically, since you didn’t have anything else to do, you could get a head-start on getting cleaned up. You were in the privacy of your own gym, added at your request so that Johnny could train you better and you could do so without being ogled or papped.

Quite hypocritical it was then, that you lingered in the ring to watch Johnny stack up his weights on either side of the bar (the ones you purchased as part of his perks of working for you).

Your day-job came in handy with pretending to do some cooldown stretches, sipping from and pouring your water bottle over yourself. Well, you were actually doing those things but acting as if they were the only things that occupied your thoughts was the main role you were playing. From the corner of your eye, you observed Johnny squatted with a stack of weights lining each shoulder. God, those arms were practically popping, his thighs bulging with the effort of remaining planted on the floor and folding up and down beneath the hefty set. Mesmerising, you forgot to keep up your pretence by the second load of reps.

It left your lips before you could reconsider for the tenth time: “Bet you couldn’t lift me.”

Soap paused in a deep squat and looked up through his lashes at you. Meeting his steely blue gaze was easier than anticipated but maintaining it as he righted himself and rested the weights back on the rack with a restrained grunt was the difficult part.

At first, you thought maybe his silence was his answer. Then Johnny knelt down and assumed the plank position.

“Get on,” He said, loud and clear.

You still doubted him, “Seriously?”

“You made the bet. Now lie in it.”

As elegantly as possible, you dismounted the ring before making your way over to his side. He showed no signs of tiredness during your journey, nor did he when you balanced yourself across his broad back.

“Ok, ready,” You said, your voice close to wobbling.

And so it began. Up and down, you could feel how his body sustained you through both your and his workout gear. His back muscles rippled beneath you and his elbows kissed yours each time he lowered you both to the floor. Out of nowhere, you began giggling and you couldn’t figure out how to put a stop to it. Giddiness flooded your entire system until you were beyond drunk.

Suddenly, your world tilted and you rolled off onto the mat but Johnny refused you any respite, flipping you over onto your back again, like a pancake.

“I win,” He panted, “What’s my prize?”

Still giggling, you felt your cheeks burning at the sight of him hovering over you, his skin glowing, his chest panting. His unrelenting stare had you locked beneath him, barred between his trunk-like arms. If this was your prison, you’d commit any offence to stay in there. God you were so close you could kiss him-

Nope.

“You finish your workout early so you can have a nice hot shower sooner?” You said, covering your mouth to cough and clear your airways of whatever shit you breathed in to make you even consider making out with your bodyguard. You must’ve looked so daft; you blamed the endorphins. Then you blamed Johnny completely as he started to laugh down at you, sending your thighs quaking as he crawled off you and ordered you to get cleaned up – that he’d be in shortly after as a hint to not use all the hot water. As you drifted back to the bathroom, you tried not to think about him in the shower or how you wanted to offer to scrub him down.

-----------

Simon "Ghost" Riley

“Say the word and I’ll have him removed.”

For a man so stoic and intimidating, Simon sure made you smile a lot. You needed it after that… “interesting” conversation with one of the party’s guests – someone who you knew to be a detractor behind your back.

“It’s fine, really,” You insisted with a winning smile.

Casting a glance over your shoulder where your shadow dutifully remained was a reward you would never be exhausted of. Simon looked so good in his tux. Plus he’d humoured you and worn the silk black mask rather than his usual. You were brimming with privilege at seeing his hair styled beyond the flattened fuzz it would take on after being beneath the balaclava for twenty hours at a time. Even more so, you got to see his tattoos pairing nicely with them like a good bottle of wine.

You could hear the smirk hiding beneath his mask. His veined hands clasped firmly in front of him as he leant close, just his mask separating his lips and your ear.

“We could make a break for it. Ditch these twats. Get a drive-thru.”

He knew you never would agree to it; this gala meant a lot to you. Such a tempting offer though, in such a tempting voice too. His rough tone did nothing but delight you when you heard it. Turning to look at him, you took note of the two mere inches between your face and his.

He continued, “You’ve shown your face long enough.”

“Getting jealous of them stealing my attention?” You asked provocatively.

Simon let out a low laugh, shaking his head fondly with just a hint of patronising, “That’s funny, sweetheart.”

“Well, I’m sure there are plenty of people who are dying to still talk to me.” You gestured with the glass he’d gotten (and checked for any malicious interference) for you around at the room, those who would never have the privilege of being a part of your and Simon’s bubble.

“Just as long as you and everyone else knows that I’m the one who takes you home.”

The implications of that statement swelled in your chest, nestling into your heart like a cat in a warm patch of sunlight. Intently, he looked at your face for your reaction. That was the thing with Simon: always observing, recording every flicker, every possibility in that incredible mind of his. You were certain he could see into your soul with those all-seeing eyes. He kept you safe, kept you on your toes, kept you happy.

But the bubble burst before you could hit back and you abruptly checked yourself back into work mode. The person who’d spoken loud enough to bring you back down to Earth didn’t seem to notice your slip up. You, however, were more than acutely aware of Simon’s lingering presence at your side. So close the hairs on your arm extended on goosebumps, coaxing and begging to touch him.

As you were once again left alone, you found yourself stifled by your need to be nearer to Simon and quickly decided the alcohol was to blame. “I need the bathroom.”

“This way.” His hand grazing the small of your back had an impact tripled, but you managed to submit it to travelling through your nose, rather than gasping out your mouth. But you were certain that Simon had caught you. He never missed a thing.

-----------

John "Bravo Six" Price

After shaking hands again with the presenter and declaring a few thanks to the crew, you were guided straight to the dressing room by Price. You took off your own microphone and handed it to him, which he immediately passed to a nervous stagehand. Your name in Arial font on an A4 sheet of paper greeted you from the dressing room door.

Sometimes you needed that extra time to decompress and he knew before you did more often than not. Today was not one of those days, though you did request to stop and pick up the bouquet that had been there to welcome you in when you first arrived. It was so large, your favourites blooming in the dew-dropped cellophane, that you had trouble waving to the folks who’d stuck around at the barrier, Price’s arms keeping you walking and guiding you towards the car.

For your safety, you had to go in the back where the tinted windows offered you a hint of privacy. It was a thorn in your side though. You longed to sit beside Price as he fought playfully with you over the music, grumbled with the directions his phone offered, collected your drive-in order. Then maybe your daydream of being his partner could have a little more to stand on.

A true gentleman as well as your protector, Price walked you up to the house and let you set up your evening meal while he made final checks to secure your house again. Normality for you was hearing him walk around and jiggle door handles and returning only when he was certain none had been tampered with and your cameras were fully functioning.

“Anything else you need from me before I leave for the night?” He asked, standing at ease in front of you.

You gestured to the bouquet you were cradling like a baby, “Thank you for the flowers.”

His brows furrowed for a split second then a sheepish smile smoothed out the lines in his forehead, highlighting his eyes instead.

“You caught me,” He said quietly, sparing a look at the flowers he asked the host to order for you, then back at you.

Squinting mischievously, you asked, “Were you really hiding it?”

“I suppose not.” He let his smile soften and dull. Back to business. Yet you could’ve sworn he glanced at your mouth before he asked, “Anything else you need?”

Your heart yearned to beg him to stay and tell you what else he did behind the scenes without a hint of expecting more, so that you could show him how much you cared in an appropriately equal response. His favourite whiskey perhaps for when he was off duty, or one day doing something together that he wanted to do so it wasn’t just looking after you. It was more than that, the job. He’d told you so. But you didn’t want to just be a job to him.

Quietly, you maintained your decorum, “No, thank you.”

John nodded his head, “Of course.”

It was as he was about to cross the threshold when you started to ask, “Do you-”

Not even three words made it out before Price whipped around, already returning to where he’d stood before. You could feel your lungs struggling under the strain of maintaining steady breathing at the gesture, suspending all the blood in your face (and maybe your groin). It stopped your question in its path, as if it was waiting until Price was listening attentively (he always was for you).

“Yes?” He prompted, his voice soft as if to coax you out of your hideout.

Fidgeting with the bouquet still, you cleared your throat and began again, “Do you want to join me, for dinner?”

Price’s hands, now at his sides, tapped on his thighs thrice before he said, “Two conditions.”

“Name them.”

Perhaps you said that a little too quickly because it made him laugh, which only made things worse for you. You had a real weakness for that laugh.

“You teach me whatever you’re planning on making, and you let me help you make it.”

Your heart accelerated and you dismissed his with a smile and a slight self-deprecating remark to soften the weight of this decision you were both making: “It’s nothing special.”

“Those are my terms,” Price insisted. His eyes creased as a smile grew on his face, more beautiful than the flowers forgotten the second you placed them into the vase. But at least it gave you to excuse to look away and gather your expression into something more collected as you ordered him to go and wash his hands.

[aloesarchives]

Kengan Headcanon: Gaolong's reaction to an opponent speaking about you in a unsavory manner

Warnings: Swearing on my end, reader been ogled at, gender neutral reader/pronouns

Series: Kengan Ashura/ Kengan Omega

Pairing: Gaolong Wongsawat x GN! Reader

Word count: 1988

Pronouns: They/them (reader is referred as partner and (Y/N))

(A/N: Been sitting in my file for a year. Now it's finally finished and posted. Please let me know if there is anything else I need to tag in my warnings.)

So I already established that in my headcanon of Gaolang that he respects women unironically, actually he respects people in general.

That’s because he’s just GOATED like that and is overall a decent person, especially in the world/universe of Kengan.

But back to the topic, the reason why I want to establish this is he is someone that doesn’t take no shit from anyone. Based on what we learned in Ashura, Gaolang looks down upon those who are cocky and don’t take fighting seriously. Looking more into it, he normally just gets irritated by them due to his calm and collected composure. 

In the world of the sport boxing, it’s no stranger that he will come across people who don’t fall under the definition of sportsmanship. Gaolang has his fair share of opponents that need a little bit of humbling, and he for sure gives it to them during the boxing match. It also doesn’t help his perception of them when they think and openly claim they can clean Gaolang up, making him believe they’re shallow inside and out. But he only does the pre-fight press conference because his manager told him it builds up his good reputation and consistent publicity. Knowing him, he wouldn’t really go to these but he does it for the sake of the sport and the benefits it brings as previously mentioned.

In a normal situation at a pre-fight press conference, he’ll get annoyed by these fighters and let that emotion subside after the press conference is done. He’ll reply nonchalantly to anything that’s thrown at him whether it’s questions or remarks from his opponents that tests the waters. He knows how to handle them and just waits to get into the ring so his fighting can do all the talking for him.

That’s until there was one opponent he had to fight he wouldn’t forget. Gaolang’s title as heavyweight champion was never challenged nor questioned at all. But during that moment in time, Gaolang’s title as champion was being questioned when another boxer was racking up wins left and right. Although this boxer was slightly younger, he was picking up fast and his fights looked impressive. Eventually, this novice boxer was turning heads and getting popular to the point where rumors and speculation about him being the new champion in the heavyweight division. It seemed absurd to think so, but it wasn’t out of the picture. 

Gaolang saw the boxer’s other fights and understood where the praise was coming from. Although Gaolang was confident in his abilities, he still was cautious of the other’s abilities and boxing style. So like always, Gaolang trained like he always does. This wasn’t new to you at all since you have been with Gaolang for quite some time and married for a few years at that point in time.

You thought this opponent was different as he seemed humble and didn’t bark a lot. After turning on the t.v. back in Thailand, you started watching the pre-fight press conference. Again, nothing new to you at all. When the questions from reporters started coming in, both boxers answered them as normal. However, you had a feeling that something was off about the guy. You could tell what it was but your gut had a strange feeling that couldn’t be shaken. 

It was not until the last 15 minutes of the conference that the novice boxer started to bite off more than he can chew. There was one reporter left that triggered a particular answer from him that caught Gaolang’s attention. However, what got a reaction out of him was when the boxer mentioned your name.

“But I will admit though, Gaolang. I’m jealous of you. You’ve got a beautiful and wonderful partner there. I wish I had someone like (Y/N).” 

Gaolang didn’t like where this was going. More so when someone mentions your name that wasn’t friends, family, or King Rama. He knows people like to use your name to throw off Gaolang but he knows how to deal with those who try to use your name to their advantage.

But it doesn’t mean Gaolang doesn’t feel any sort of anger when this happens, especially now.

Gaolang stood up and gave his signature glare to his opponent. He then walked across the stage and stood in the middle. The boxer did the same but he had a stupid shit eating grin plastered on his face.

“What’s with the face, Gaolang? I thought you would agree since you have (Y/N) to yourself, ya’know? Having such a fine person as a partner is something between us two men with good taste could understand.”

“Watch your tongue, (Boxer’s name). (Y/N) is not an object and is not to be ogled at, have some respect.”

But the boxer didn’t know any better and forgot to hold his tongue. The next few things that came out his mouth sent Gaolang’s blood boiling. Then there’s you  who gasped and covered your mouth as you watched what unfolded in front of you on the screen. Deepening his glare more while still keeping his stoic face, he looked down upon the novice boxer.

“Your words against (Y/N) are punishable crimes, and I will deliver the punishment without further question.”

With that, Gaolang turned and walked towards the exit. All chaos breaks out in the conference room. Meanwhile, you were sitting at home with the feeling of disgust and a pinch of fear. You never minded when your name came in the news, but this type of attention was something you feared and the fact a man said on live television with no hesitation was terrifying.

Basically, Gaolang went straight to his hotel room and took a cool shower to calm down.

The anger subsided but the feeling of repulse didn’t.

There are only 3 things that Gaolang shows pride, loyalty and devotion towards: the country of Thailand, King Rama, and you.

And how dare that boxer disrespect you in front of him. The absolute audacity!!!

After Gaolang finishes his shower, he calls you to see if you're okay. Whether it is physically or emotionally, Gaolang needs to make sure you’re doing alright. Gaolang, as always, is respectful towards you in anything. That’s why he has never mentioned you or your relationship to the public unless you allow it. But even then, he wants it to be lowkey af.

Sure, you have calmed down. However, you were a little shaken by this. I mean, I would if a random man said some unsavory things about me on public broadcasting.

Gaolang apologized for letting this happen to you, to which you told him that this isn’t anything too serious and that he should focus more on his upcoming title defense match.

However, this was and IS a serious matter to Gaolang. So the next few days, Gaolang trained with just a little bit more intent than normal.

(Meanwhile, that boxer is getting absolutely slandered for the shit he said on the internet. Those netizens don’t like how he dissed their favorite power couple)

At last, the day of the match that would decide who keeps the title is here. You opt to stay home for this as it would be better for your piece of mind. But you were more worried about Gaolang. Although you  know your husband well, actually that’s the problem. You know how exactly your husband is. Goalang isn’t a hard person to read. He’s rational, calm, loyal, and observant. One thing you notice about Gaolang is how defensive he can get.

People can shit talk him all they want, he could give zeros fucks at all. But insult Thailand, King Rama, or god forbid you, that person is gonna get fucking die.

It had been a couple of days since the conference. So you know the initial anger wore off. But still, you only hope Gaolang goes somewhat  easy on him.

But since the controversy at the press conference caused such attention, this match was one of Gaolang’s most anticipated matches yet for any of his titles.

The event started as per usual with any boxing matches, the sponsors, introductions/entrances, anthems, etc. The challenger seems as confident as ever, having barely any nervousness evident on his face. Same goes with Gaolang, but with his classic stoic stare. The match was on its way once the referee explained the rules and the first bell rang.

However, you knew something was wrong right off the bat with him. It wasn't like Gaolang was fighting alright, he’s a man that never half ass anything. But you can tell he wasn’t giving his all at all. You didn’t know why he wasn’t trying at all. This wasn’t like his fight with Kaneda, he put effort into that one. But something was different about this match and you couldn’t tell what.

It seemed like Gaolong was struggling seemingly, the commentators were shocked and questioned that there would be a new heavyweight boxing champion on their hands. Was this the end of Gaolong’s reign as boxing champion?

No, you knew we wouldn’t lose to people like his opponent. He would rather die than give them a win.

The third round came along and around seemed hype about Gaolong’s opponent and he seemingly being the winner. However, Gaolong was not phased by this. In fact, he still kept his calm composed aura like he always does. That’s when you saw that Gaolong was up to something. You didn’t know yet but it was something.

The 3rd match began and that was when everything suddenly changed. It was like a flip of a switch as Gaolong just started boxing the hell out of his opponent. Gaolong had landed more hits than his opponent could dodge. 

It was obvious to the crowd that this round was one-sided. Gaolong outmatched the hell of his opponent in every way he could. And with a finishing blow to the jaw, Gaolong had won by a knockout. The crowd went wild, the commentators losing their minds from the fast yet heavy KO.

Gaolong pulled the ultimate power move by letting his opponent think he had a sliver of hope in beating Gaolong. Only for Gaolong to straight up smash it to the group and pummel it until it was dust. He shattered the man’s hopes and dreams by letting him think he had a chance of getting a win only for Gaolong to show him that he is nowhere near his level.

That Gaolong was miles ahead of this cocky bastard and he made sure his opponent knew that. This loss will forever change his opponent for the rest of his career.

After the Gaolong’s win was finalized, all he wanted to do was go home back to Thailand and be with you. That’s it. He did his press conferences and interviews, but he didn’t care for them. All that mattered was you and he needed to get home to you as soon as possible.

As always, King Rama gives Gaolong a few days to a week off of work when Gaolong brings home a win. Every time Gaolong wins, it’s like an unofficial national holiday is happening. Thailand is bright and festive as ever everything he wins.

Now with Gaolong back home and off from work, he just spends his time with you. Maybe a little training but more so leisure and doing errands or chores with you. You were happy that Gaolong isn’t in a bad mood anymore but Gaolong now knows that people who weaponized you and your name against him just to stir the pot. 

Well, he takes that pot and creates his own fucking food with it because no way in hell will he let someone do that to you. He made it known with that match. Because after that match, his opponents never mentioned your name ever again.

Thai God Guard Dog privileges.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hope you enjoyed it! Please like or/and reblog it! Have a wonderful day!

[vermilionsun]

@muspellssynir I see you, you see me, we see eachother [OG Post here]

Word count: 750 Rating: General Audiences Fandom: Touchstarved (Red Spring Studio) Categories: Other Relationships: Ais/MC, Ais & MC Tags: Flirting, Drinking, Teasing, Sexual Tension, Humor, Sharing Food, I think I've covered it

The Wet Wick was bustling with activity as usual. Customers filled the tables, chattering excitedly over pints of watered-down ale, while laughter and the clinking of glasses filled the air.

Sitting at the bar, the MC nursed a glass of whiskey. The atmosphere was lively, but they knew better than to let their guard down. That’s when the familiar, subtle clinks of metal caught their attention. Glancing discreetly around the room, their eyes locked with a pair of crimson red ones.

Ais.

The pub's light illuminated his sharp features as he approached, taking a seat on the stool next to them, a subtle smirk playing on his lips. "Fancy meeting you here," he said in a low voice.

The MC raised an eyebrow, their bandaged hands instinctively moving to hide beneath their cloak. "I live here," they replied coyly.

"Do you now?" Ais chuckled softly, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Well then, I suppose I'll have to come here more often." He leaned in closer, the scent of leather and whiskey wafting between them.

The bartender slid a bowl of nut leather along with another glass of whiskey in front of Ais, who nodded his thanks before turning his attention back to the MC. "What do you think of Eridia so far, Sparrow? Have we scared you off yet?"

The MC took a sip of their drink before responding. "You’re always trying to scare me off, but I think I can handle myself just fine."

"Says the one who almost got killed on their first day here. Thrice. But who’s counting?" Ais commented, half dissatisfied, half amused.

The MC rolled their eyes, a reluctant smile tugging at their lips. "That doesn’t count," they retorted. "Besides, it was four times."

"And how does that not prove my point?" Ais interrupted incredulously.

"I’m still standing, aren’t I?"

Ais chuckled and raised his glass in a mock toast. "To surviving Eridia, against all odds," he said before taking another sip of whiskey.

The MC knew Ais had a point, but they weren’t about to admit it. "You didn’t answer my question, little birdie."

Right.

"Fine, fine," the MC relented, knowing Ais wouldn’t let it go. "It’s all part of Eridia’s charm, right? And you’re definitely making it interesting."

Ais grinned, pleased. "Good to hear you’re finally coming around to my way of thinking, Sparrow." He reached out for a piece of nut leather.

'Sparrow' this, 'little birdie' that. For fuck's sake—

Without thinking, the MC dove in and bit the other side of the piece of nut leather, coming dangerously close to kissing him.

To their horror, the abomination of a snack was actually pretty good.

Ais's eyes widened slightly in surprise, but he quickly masked it with a smirk. "Can’t hold back, can you?"

"If you’re going to keep calling me bird names, I might as well eat like one too," they teased, trying to cover up the fact that their heart was racing.

Ais chuckled, shaking his head. "You know you love it. Just don’t start chirping at me."

"Try me," the MC shot back, using his own words against him.

Ais laughed, impressed by the bold move. "Fair enough, Sparrow," he said, a twinkle in his eye.

As they continued to banter, the tension between them eased, replaced by a sense of comfort. The conversation flowed effortlessly, each of them revealing a little more about themselves with every exchange.

It was… refreshing.

Between exchanges, the MC grabbed another piece of nut leather and popped it into their mouth. Before they could react, Ais’s hand gently grabbed their arm, pulling them closer.

They gasped as their lips met his, giving Ais the opportunity to slide his tongue into their mouth without any warning, then leaving them empty once he’d claimed his prize—the damn piece of jerky—leaving the MC breathless and wanting more.

The MC sat there, stunned and slightly amused. Despite the surprise, a spark of excitement ignited within them. "Now who can’t hold back, huh?"

"At least I’m above-board."

"No, you’re not—" But before they could finish, Ais pulled them right into another kiss.

"You just can’t resist me," he whispered against their lips with a mischievous grin.

"…Bastard," they muttered, trying to hide the smile that tugged at their lips.

Maybe Eridia wasn’t such a bad place after all.

[possumcollege]

Apologies to my comics friends here but this is ridiculous:

Just the photo for folks who like to ZOOM!

I've been handling guns since I was 6yrs old. These are obviously not real pistols. You can tell by the screw holes in the frames, the mold/assembly lines, the undersized magwells, and the VERY clear airsoft magazines. It's a specific mix of contemporary guns too, including at least 7 H&K USPS, which cost about $1,200 each, assorted Glocks, "tactical" 1911s, and generic S&W/ Beretta autos. They're some of the most common airsoft guns. The guns that aren't obvious plastic reproductions show no wear, and "custom" features that you wouldn't see on say, smuggled military weapons being carried around by local militia in a region that is absolutely littered with cheaper older Soviet hardware. Even looted American weapons would more likely include a bunch of very beat up Beretta M9s.

Plus a random Winchester 92? Is John Wayne's ghost backing HAMAS?

This is my favorite part though:

THAT appears to be a PILE of Knights Armament PDWs and only KAC PDWs. That gun is an "experimental" rifle w/ a $3k price tag. It chambers a proprietary 6x35mm round or 300 Blackout. Not standard ammo for any major military on Earth, making it a terrible choice for guerilla fighters. 500rds of 300blk will cost you as much as a basic S&W M&P (a civilian M4 clone) in .556 if you can find it in the US. The KAC PDW is also a popular airsoft rifle since it's rare, expensive, and dripping with tacticool features. There are almost certainly more airsoft versions than real ones in the world, but I can't say for sure because I can't find a number produced online.

There are NO AKs, M4s, M16s, FN FALs- guns that might conceivably be available in numbers for insurgent militia in the region. It's not uncommon to see fighters in the Middle East still fielding WW2-era weapons, but the only other long gun I can even try to ID on that table is essentially a cowboy gun! 🤠

A refugee camp had a baker's dozen of these though. 👇

A niche gun, so unused in any real number that the sum total of its service history on Wikipedia (gun guys religiously, lovingly maintain gun Wikis) is this:

There are at least 13 of them in this picture, so either that's nigh $40k sharing a table with rusted hunting guns and toys or ALSO TOYS!

(I still prefer LEGO)

10 minutes of searching on my phone was enough to prove this shit isn't real. And I am very very sleepy today. Writing this post took longer than tracking down that rifle by its features. I know this might not be as obvious to people who haven't handled real guns but for anyone remotely familiar with them, this looks like a joke.

This makes American cops posing around a ziploc bag of weed look good by comparison. That weed might be real.

This is extremely lazy misinformation work. It's a pathetically low effort ruse from an army that could easily have just planted real weapons. The only reason someone would post this for the world to see and claim it's real is if they're very, very stupid, think we are, or are well beyond trying because they know they hold a position of such untouchable privilege that they're cool doing the bare minimum of covering their asses. Like the cops!

All of those options make me real sad. So I'm going to just post this and never check on the comments.

[hippolotamus]

WIP Wednesday 🎩

Tagged by the delightful and talented @wikiangela @daffi-990 @jamespearce9-1-1 @loserdiaz @hoodie-buck @apothecarose @eddiebabygirldiaz @callmenewbie @gayedmundodiaz @exhuastedpigeon @thewolvesof1998 (I haven't gotten around to reading all your lovely snippets but I have no doubt they're amazing) 😘

I just finished up Secret Fic™️ and don't have much I can share that isn't spoilery. So here's a snippet from come close (let me be home) aka Bridgerton AU (prev snippet here). 87% sure I haven't shared this before, but if you've read it no you haven't.

“We have arrived, Viscount.” Eddie hooks a finger in his shirt collar, tugging at the fabric, and takes a centering breath. The miniscule gap isn’t near enough to erase the suffocating feeling created by the sight of his childhood home, just on the other side of the carriage doors. Rather, more importantly, from his mother lurking inside the looming estate.  The sky is a brilliant blue, with puffy clouds slowly drifting by. A perfect day to take Christopher out with a kite or even a stroll around the grounds. Instead, Eddie is here at his mother’s insistence. She claimed it was necessary and urgent. For whom remains to be seen, but he suspects only for her.  “Sir?” His driver calls from the front.  “Coming,” Eddie replies with a world weary sigh. He straightens his back, opens the door, and steps down to the dirt and cobblestone ground below. As he gets closer to the walnut entryway, with its gilded handles and stained glass, his only desire is to be back with his son.  Sophia, his sister and next youngest (former) Diaz, is already waiting for him as he hands off his hat to be hung in the hall. She wraps him in a loose embrace, which he easily reciprocates, planting a light kiss on his cheek.  “Hello, sister. Do I even need to ask why mother’s forced me here? I can only imagine how terrible it must be if you’ve been brought in for reinforcement.” “Whatever makes you think that?” She scoffs, holding a hand to her heart in mock surprise.  “Oh, maybe only because she loves to trot us out when the other isn’t following her plan to marry us off, or whatever other bidding she needs done.” Eddie fidgets with his shirtsleeves, glaring around the foyer. “I suppose she’s going to double her efforts from her last attempt with me since you found such a suitable match during your coming out season. And produced not one, but, likely, two perfect heirs,” he adds nodding at Sophia’s belly.  “Oh, Edmundo.” His sister shoots him a brief lighthearted scowl before she rubs at her protruding abdomen, beaming with a sense of pride and love he is all too familiar with. The type he feels every time he looks at Christopher.  “Shall we?” He guides them from the main hall to the drawing room, wanting to make sure his sister rests. Her baby won’t be arriving for another five months or so, but he knows she’ll never pause and look out for herself unless someone makes her.

no pressure tagging @disasterbuckdiaz @giddyupbuck @spotsandsocks @underwater-ninja-13 @fortheloveofbuddie @eowon @jesuisici33 @rmd-writes @vanillahigh00 @welcometololaland LOML @lizzie-bennetdarcy @watchyourbuck @monsterrae1 @malewifediaz @shortsighted-owl @stereopticons @elvensorceress @spagheddiediaz @chaosandwolves @wildlife4life @your-catfish-friend @buddierights @911onabc @the-likesofus @spaceprincessem @fionaswhvre @barbiediaz @honestlydarkprincess @pirrusstuff @steadfastsaturnsrings @weewootruck @messyhairdiaz @theplaceyoustillrememberdreaming @evaneds @maygrantgf @lemonzestywrites @buckbuckgoose @statueinthestone @heartshapedvows and anybody else who wants to share

[pompomqt]

Journey to the West Chapter 14

Oh man I've really been looking forward to this chapter, one of my favorite dynamic duo's is together at last! So let's get into this chapter of Journey to the West with @journeythroughjourneytothewest shall we?

So it turns out that the person who was calling out to them last time was none other than Sun Wukong, who is still trapped under five phases mountain. So Tripitaka and the hunter go down the mountain to take a look and have a little chat. We finally get to see Sun Wukong again, as he tells Tripitaka that if he gets him out he will protect him on his journey west. And poor Sun Wukong has been there for so long he has all sorts of plant life growing all over him which the Hunter helps him get some of it off, which was nice of him.

Anyways so Sun Wukong explains to Tripitaka that Guanyin converted him to Buddhism in order to aid the scripture pilgrim, and all Tripitaka has to do to free him is lift the tag that Bhudda placed and that he'll handle the rest. So Tripitaka goes up the mountain again until they reach the seal, and he prays to Bhudda that if Sun Wukong is only deceiving him, to not allow him to lift the seal. However Tripitaka lifts the seal no problem, and the tag is immediately blown out of his hands as a voice claiming to be the prison guard of the great sage says they are returning the seal to the Bhudda. So after that Sun Wukong is all like "Please stand back now. Little further... don't know what this thing will do~" And then proceeds to break the mountain and zip over to Tripitaka's location.

So Monkey loads up Tripitaka's luggage and we learn that since he was the BanHorsePlague in Heaven, he has authority over horses, and that they are now terrified of him. So that's fun. So like Guanyin Tripitaka tries to give Sun Wukong a religious name, but he already has one, so Tripitaka gives him a nickname instead. So now Sun Wukong has the nickname 'Pilgrim Sun'.

So seeing that Tripitaka is now in good hands, the hunter takes his leave of them, and with the hunter gone, we get to learn that horses aren't the only animals terrified of Sun Wukong. For a tiger soon approaches, which of course terrifies Tripitaka but delights Sun Wukong, who gleefully says that the tiger is just here to provide him some clothes. So while the tiger is to paralyized with fear from Sun Wukong to move, Sun Wukong wacks it with his staff, and proceeds to skin it. Man, tigers have it just as rough as dragons in this book... This both terrifies and impresses Tripitaka, and he proceeds to fall off his horse for the first- but certainly not the last time.

Once Sun Wukong is finished fashioning a temporary outfit out of the tiger skin the two carry on with their journey, having some casual conversation along the way. Where Sun Wukong explains how awesome both he and his staff are. Aww it's nice to see these two getting along so well. So they find a find a house to rest at, and Sun Wukong proceeds to bang on the door, and completely freaks out the owner of the house with his frightening appearance, but calms down once Tripitaka and his beautiful face explains that monkey is his disciple. They should probably have Tripitaka be the one to knock on doors from now on...

Anyways so the old man eventually agrees to let them stay with him, and we learn that Sun Wukong actually knows this family, apparently they gathered firewood around where he was imprisoned sometimes. And it turns out the Tripitaka also has a connection to this family, since they share the same surname "Chen". After that lovely conversation Sun Wukong requests a bath for both him and Tripitaka and also some needle and thread so he can finish making his tiger pants. He also steals Tripitaka's shirt while he's at it, which Tripitaka let's him keep.

The next morning the duo head out again after one last meal. So the two continue to travel together for a while, and seem to be getting along just fine. But all of that comes to an end when they are attacked by six bandits. Tripitaka is once again paralyzed by fear and falls off his horse again, but Monkey isn't fazed, he picks Tripitaka off the ground and tells him not to worry, that these fine gentlemen are just here to give them some clothes and travel allowance. And Tripitaka is just like "Uh, I think you misheard them, they are robbing us!" But Monkey's all like "Just watch our stuff, I'll handle this." Despite Monkey's reassurances though, Tripitaka is still worried about him, he's just a little guy after all. But he will soon find out that he was concerned for the wrong person.

So Monkey confronts the bandits who claim to be the 'King's of the Highway', but Monkey who is an actual King, is unimpressed. Regardless he still tries to make a deal with them, if they share their loot with him they'll let him live. This enrages the bandits, so they all attack at once... to absolutely zero effect. After letting the bandits have their fun wailing on him for a while, it's Monkey turn. So he takes out his staff and proceeds to beat all the bandits to death, before stripping them of their clothes and valuables and returning to Tripitaka.

However despite Monkey's expectations Tripitaka isn't pleased that Monkey murdered them all. And the two proceed to have a huge argument, with Tripitaka saying all life is valuable, and that even the city wouldn't have sentenced them to death if they had been tried. And that if Monkey had killed them where there were witnesses then Tripitaka would get in trouble to. While Monkey says that if he hadn't killed them they would have killed Tripitaka, and that he had killed a whole bunch of people back when he was the king of Flower Fruit Mountain anyways. Which Tripitaka points out that his lack of self control is why he was punished under a mountain for five hundred years in the first place.

After Tripitaka says that if he still insists on practicing violence that he can't be a Buddhist or travel west, Monkey quits the journey right there and then and zooms off. Since he has no way of contacting Monkey or bringing him back, Tripitaka resigns to continue the journey alone, but just as he starts walking again he comes across an old lady holding a silk garment and a floral cap.

So Tripitaka explains his situation and how Sun Wukong ran off, so the old lady gives him the shirt and cap, and teaches him the 'Tight-Fillet Spell' and tells him to give Sun Wukong the cap and shirt when he returns and recite the spell if he refuses to obey him. And with that the old lady reveals herself to have been Guanyin, and heads off East to try and catch up to Monkey.

Speaking of Monkey, having left Tripitaka he decided to drop by an old friends place before returning home and is currently having tea with the Dragon King. And Monkey is complaining to him about how Tripitaka scolded him, but after telling a short story the Dragon King persuades him to give the mission another chance. So Monkey takes off again, heading back to Tripitaka where he crosses paths with Guanyin, and tells her he is going back to Tripitaka.

So Monkey finds Tripitaka sitting dejectedly on the side of the road. So Monkey explains that he went to have tea with the Dragon King, which Tripitaka finds a little hard to believe that he managed to travel so far and back in less than an hour. Monkey however explains about his cloud somersault, and offers to get Tripitaka some food. Which Tripitaka declines saying he still has some food left. So Monkey goes to get some food from the bag when he finds the silk shirt and floral cap that Guanyin had given him. Tripitaka lies and says he wore them in his childhood and that they will allow him to recite scriptures wihtout having to learn them and perform rituals without having to practice them. Sun Wukong asks to put them on, and Tripitaka says if they fit he can keep them. Once Monkey puts on the garments, Tripitaka decides to give this 'Fillet Tightening spell' a shot, and begins to recite it.

Monkey begins rolling on the ground in agony as Tripitaka recites the spell several times, eventually Tripitaka stops once Monkey starts gripping the cap since he is afraid he'll break it. And Monkey finds that a thing metal band has welded itself to his head, and that he can't get it off no matter what he tries. When Monkey takes out his staff to try and pry it off, Tripitaka starts reciting the spell again. Eventually Tripitaka feels sorry for him and stops the spell. Monkey then accuses Tripitaka of putting a spell on him, which Tripitaka denies saying he was just reciting the 'Tight-Fillet Sutra". So Monkey demands he recite it again to see what happens, and immediately regrets it when his head starts hurting again.

So Tripitaka asks if Monkey will listen to him now, and stop acting unruly, and Monkey says he will. However as soon as Tripitaka has his back turned Monkey takes out his staff and tries to murder Tripitaka with it. Causing Tripitaka to once again begin reciting the spell until Monkey cries uncle and says he's learned his lesson. So Monkey asks who taught him that spell, and when Tripitaka explains about the old woman, Monkey immediately draws the conclusion that it was Guanyin. Monkey wants to find Guanyin and confront her, but Tripitaka points out that she also knows the Tight Fillet Spell since she was the one who taught it to him so that confrontation is unlikely to go well for him.

So with all that settled, Monkey says he'll follow Tripitaka west, as long as Tripitaka doesn't treat that spell as a plaything to torment him with. So with that settled the two once again head out on their Journey West.

Current Sun Wukong Stats: Names/Titles: Monkey, The Stone Monkey, The Handsome Monkey King, Sun Wukong (Monkey awakened to the void), Bimawen (Banhorseplague), The Great Sage Equal To Heaven and Pilgrim Sun. Immortality: 5 Weapon: The Compliant Golden Hooped Rod Abilities: 72 Transformations, Cloud-Somersault, Ability to transform his individual hairs, super strength, Ability to Summon Wind, Water restriction charm, and the ability to change into a huge war form, ability to duplicate his staff, ability to immobilize others, the ability to put others to sleep, and the Fiery eyes, Diamond Pupils and intimidating horses. Demon Kill Count: 1+ Unknown Number of Minions Human Kill Count: 6 God's Defeated: 19 + Unknown number Defeats: 2 Crime List: Robbery, Murder, Mass Murder, Arson, Theft, Coercion, Threatening a Government Official, Resisting Arrest, Assault, Forgery, Employee Theft, False Imprisonment, Impersonating a Government Official, Treason and attempted murder. Cry Count: 3 Mountains Trapped Under: 1

Current Tang Sanzang stats: Names/Titles: River Float, Xuanzang, Tang Sanzang, Tripitaka Abilities: Curing Blindness, making branches point a certain direction (allegedly), reciting sutras. Cry Count: 10 Tight Fillet Spell Uses: 4 Paralyzed by fear: 4 Bandit Problems: 2 Kidnapped by demons: 1 Falling Off Horses: 2

[trashlama]

Heeeeeyyyyy.... guess who's ADHD can't let them write for shit?~ This bitch✨~

I suuuuuucck guys I know! I did a poll and everything just so I would have to write some of these! I just couldn't help but get side tracked.... My brain is in the LMK and Spiderverse fandoms!!! Though I will say I basically got this Rise Donnie x Big Mama Assistant req almost done. Almost I say. We'll see if I post it in the next two days and not something else random instead.... I suck lol

Anyways— here's my 3am thoughts from the other night that I'm finish up tonight ironically at 3am again. Soooo bare with me these are basically a bunch of summaries/plots/not fully flushed out possible one shot ideas I might do. Probably could've re-read it a couple more times buuuuttt it's about to be 4 now so....

I hope you guys enjoy!

Sorry this is long↓ I don't own these memes. I've never claimed to do so. I just come across them on Pinterest when I'm on break at work and think they're funny so I like to share them. If I mistakenly put one on here that I shouldn't have please let me know! I like to respect people's wishes. And if you could add the creator names too that would be great so the same mistake isn't made twice. Sorry for the inconvenience that my sharing may cause. I hope you have a good day.

+++++++++++++++++++

Sooooo I was going through the Across the Spiderverse tag(specifically Miguel O'Hara) because you know he's hot. Priorities— Anyways— I kinda had an idea. Brahhzz what if I just took the whole Miguel kidnapping his dead wife/lover's alternate dimensional copy deal that everyone has been throwing around and introduced a new take on this tale?

We all know that the Spiderverse is very open to a wide selection of possibilities and versions of Spiderman and we're all aware that the same thing applies to other characters as well. Soooo who said that Y/n has to be a civilian/or a version of Spiderman for this idea to work?

My fellow peeps I introduce to you Earth 2099 Miguel O'Hara x  Villain/Alchemax worker/Morally Grey scientist Reader!

I can kinda see this playing out in a few ways.

1.)Villain reader investigating the strange phenomenon that occurred a couple months before hacking the multi verse and stirring up trouble. Miguel intervenes and takes what he wants.

For the last year since the bizarre phenomenon in downtown Brooklyn you've been stirring up more trouble than you typical due to collecting the materials needed for your "experiments" to figure out what that phenomenon really was and what the hell was Alchemax —your ex-employers— were up to with your research. With some finessing of the illegal kind you figure out what the corporation was up to. Before being fired you had discovered the existence of the multiverse however before you could investigate any further you were let go. Now that you have your research back you're able to Doc Octo this shit and break into the multiverse. If you could pull this off nothing was stopping ya' from fulfilling yer goal and maybe scoring some fame while you were at it. After some convoluted ass science mumbojumbo. You manage to Doc Octo this shit and break into the dimensional web that held the spider verse. Inside the alternate universe you immediately start messing up shit straight off the back as soon as you fly through the colorful portal. Miguel is quick to pick up on this anomaly and sends some Spiders out to handle the issue. Long story short— they fail. Forcing Miguel's hand to go and correct the anomaly himself. Only to find that it was you. Her. His dead wife/or dead lover. The only problem is that you're obviously not a good guy. Miguel being Miguel will try to rationalize it to himself as he demolishes your equipment/suit that you're not his Y/n, you're a villain, he can't keep you without risking a whole universe just for his selfish desires. However as he stood over your defeated helpless form. He decided. If one anomaly can exist and not destroy existence why can't another? There were ways around this. There had to be. Holding you in his grasp again the hero wasn't sure if he could let you go once again....

2.) You're an inventor/scientist that works at Alchemax/or your another rogue scientist . Either way you're looking to get into the Spider verse. Since the phenomenon from a couple months ago you've been intrigued by the strange occurrence. The news labeled it a "strange weather occurrence" however you knew that wasn't the case. If you're working at Alchemax you've known about the phenomenon since the beginning. If you're an inventor/scientist (with some grey morals) you found out after some research and trespassing. Either way your tinkering pays off thanks to the help of some stolen tech from Alchemax and an interesting glitch from the hacked tech. You eventually have yourself a fully operational universe hopping watch. And where do you end up? Right in the middle of Earth 2099. Miguel is immediately alerted of your presence. An obvious stranger to this Jetson world you find yourself quickly apprehended by a small group of spiders/or Miguel. Either way the red & blue leotard nosferatu as soon as he catches sight of you the dude is all over you. Miguel may be a man who would like to believe he is in control of himself and his rash decisions buuuuttt that's gonna be a nah. Never had the Spiderman ever expected to speak to an alternate version of his dead wife. Especially in person. Every time he's stolen a glance it was from a distance or behind one of his various monitors. He couldn't risk ruining another verse. However somehow regardless of his attempts to keep his desires at bay you've still managed to break past that last thing that was keeping you from him. Now that you're here the thirty year old wasn't sure if he could let you leave him again...

3.) What if instead of breaking into the multi verse. Alchemax employee/Morally Grey scientist Reader! is lured into the multiverse? In your home verse the Miguel who you had married was dead. Struggling with piling debt and depression you choose to bury your problems under research into the weird phenomenon that occurred in downtown Brooklyn a few months before. During this time of trial and error you figure out how to access the multiverse thanks to some misplaced Alchemax files and risky choices. The documents aid in building the device that would aid in your plan to find your ex-husband's alternate universe copy. All the while you were walking right into Miguel's clutches. Cause like you Miguel was having an equally hard time getting over his family's death. Although they are gone the widowed father couldn't help but, search for his loved ones amongst the various worlds that rest at his finger tips. He needed them. He needed you....and you needed him. Although you guys weren't from the same earth you both can replace the pain that was birthed from this tragedy and regain something more. Just be a family.... Hopefully you want to play his game because Miguel couldn't watch from the sidelines any longer.

Alrighty guys that's all for now! Sorry if they're a little all over the place. Regardless I hope you guys liked them and I hope you guys have a good week!

[becca-alexa]

Baby, It's Cold

Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

Summary: You’re snowed in with no heat, so you suggest sharing body heat to keep from freezing - but how far will things go between you and Steve?

Word Count: 6.3K

Content Warnings: p in v sex, general smut, cursing, consensual touching

Author’s Note: feedback appreciated!! i don't have much experience writing stuff like this, and i figured practice makes perfect 💗

    It was a miracle Robin had managed to snag the cabin - who in their right mind would ever rent out an entire villa in the woods to a bunch of twenty-somethings? It was unheard of, or so she claimed, because none of them could get her to shut up about how well she'd haggled for the place, how she'd bartered with the owner over coffee and used her mile-a-minute voice to confuse them into signing off on them staying the weekend.

    The place was far, far outside of Hawkins, an urgently-welcome retreat for all of you after what had proved to be the most difficult year of your lives. Nancy, Robin, Jonathan, Argyle, Eddie, you and Steve - you'd all made plans to meet up and drive over together; Eddie had given his van a well-needed tune up specifically for this trip, so that it could handle everyone and everything in one go. But, as was quickly - annoyingly - becoming the norm with your group, your plans fell through… sort of.

    "What do you mean, you're stuck in Indy?" Steve tried to keep his voice down as he balanced the payphone receiver against his ear, hands shoved into the pockets of his jean jacket as he braced himself against the cold. "Robbie, we've been planning this trip for weeks-"

    "I know, I know!" Robin hurriedly replied; you tried not to giggle too loudly as Steve rolled his eyes. "But Nancy had this thing she needed to pick up, and Eddie had offered to drive us, then Jonathan and Argyle wanted to tag along-"

    "What, so you didn't think to tell me about your little day trip?" Steve dragged a hand through his styled hair, shifted from one leg to the other, slapping a hand against his thigh in exasperation. Can you believe her?, he mouthed to you, biting back a grin when you shook your head.

    "Just go with [Y/N]!" Robin insisted - and in retrospect, you'd realize she'd insisted a bit too intently, but you weren't thinking of that now.

    What you were thinking of was how in Heaven's name were going to survive the entire three-hour drive up to the cabin, alone with Steve Harrington.

    Your best friend, your bat-wielding protector, the sole object of your desires - Hell, he was the only crush you'd ever had, and even after so many years, your affections for the man still ran as deep as ever.

    "Robin says they'll meet us at the cabin tomorrow." Steve asked, holding the phone away from his face as he turned toward you, head falling to the side, hair bouncing over his face. "That okay with you?"

    "T-That's fine." You reply with a nod, staring at the lock that had fallen over his forehead, and you prayed he hadn't picked up on how your voice had cracked.

    "You owe us, Robbie." Steve replied gruffly, but you knew there was no bite to his words. "Seriously this time."

    "Sure, sure! Whatever!" Robin hurriedly replied; from where you were standing, you could barely make out what sounded like Argyle… shouting at someone? "Drive safe!"

    "Rob-" The line went dead, loudly buzzing in his ear; Steve groaned as he all but slammed the receiver against the payphone, his brows furrowing as he began to lose himself in his thoughts. You took a step toward him, bridging the gap that'd been left between you; your fingers were soft as they brushed over his skin, trailing over the soft hair covering his forearm, pulling him out of his own head.

    "Steve, it'll be fine." Your voice was quiet, and you hoped it'd calm him down - the last thing you needed was Steve driving up a rugged, unfamiliar mountain upset. "We'll try calling again when we get there, okay?"

    He nodded, blinking at the warm smile you gave him - your smiles were always warm, always gentle, but every time he'd be graced with it, he'd remind himself not to get too excited.

    You smiled at everyone like that, he'd convinced himself, desperate to believe it were true, that the look of pure sunshine on your face wasn't just for him - because how could it be?

    It was, but that's another story.

    You walked to his car, your pace picking up to a jog as the bitter cold sunk through your clothes. Steve beat you to it, holding the door open for you.

    "Ever the gentleman, huh?" You teased, climbing into the seat and pulling the heavy thing shut behind you.

    Had you hesitated just for a moment longer, you'd have caught how Steve burned at your words, how he'd licked his dry lips nervously as his mind froze up, hands trembling as they fisted at his sides.

    You weren't the only one with a lingering crush.

    Taking a steeling breath, he walked over to the driver's side, hands cupped over his mouth as he shut the door, working desperately to stave off the chill biting at his fingertips.

    "Ready?" The car roared to life beneath his hands, the sound a welcome comfort ahead of your long journey; you cranked the heating up to the highest setting. Again, you smiled at him, fuzzy and soft; he smiled in return, and he pulled the car out of the gas station parking lot and onto the main road.

    You'd been driving for hours.

    "You find it yet?" asked Steve, glancing at you for what felt like the millionth time as you scanned the map creased and wrinkled atop your lap, your brows furrowed in concentration as you traced your finger over one of many wiggling lines.

    "There should be a road up ahead on the left…" You mumbled in reply, flipping the map upside down, this way and that. Should you have brought a compass? "Maybe the right…? No, wait, definitely the left."

    "You sure?" Steve asked hesitantly - he'd driven through more open country roads and empty spatterings of woods than he could remember; in the dark, he couldn't even tell he was driving uphill.

    "You don't trust my cartography skills, Harrington?" Your lifted your brow, your tongue sticking out of the corner of your pressed lips. "Take the next left, then it should be at the end of the road."

    "I trust you, but this baby's only got so much gas." You laughed at him, clear and pleasant, his smile widening at the sound of it. "Here?"

    "Yeah, turn here."

    The car jumped as it crossed off the main road and onto the dirt, leading up the side of whatever mountain you were on; Steve's hand flew out to hold you down before he could think to stop himself, and you clung to him as the jolting continued on, both of you only relaxing when the cabin finally came into view.

    And, boy, was it a view.

    "Robin got us this?" You exclaimed, gaping at the expansive cabin before you, eyes sparkling as Steve turned the interior light on. "This is amazing!"

    "It's a cabin." Steve shrugged, and your head snapped to look at him - he sounded… unimpressed? "What? I think it's nice." You rolled your eyes at him and climbed out of the car; he followed closely behind, insisting he carry your bag, ignoring your protests against it altogether.

    As though the outside of the cabin wasn't impressive enough, the inside was lavish enough that even Steve was taken by surprise. Two floors, six bedrooms, wall-to-wall log paneling, a massive fireplace across the main living room stocked to overflow with cut firewood.

    "'S it still just nice?"

    "It's really nice."

    The both of you explored the space, running from room to room, gawking at the luxurious kitchen and the equally-massive wraparound deck leading out from it. And, having taken in your fill, the two of you begin making dinner - rather, Steve was making dinner and you were relegated to chopping and slicing duty, the conversation between you lighthearted and teasing.

    Midway through your simple stir-fry dinner, seated in the kitchen, you were the first to notice the change in the weather.

    "Steve," You nudged him, and he gave you a questioning look, stopping mid-chew to look at whatever you were pointing at. "It's snowing!"

    "Huh." His brows furrow, his gaze dropping to nothing. "The weather report didn't mention snow."

    "It shouldn't be too bad, right?" You tried to reassure him - and yourself, too - as you followed his train of thought. "They'll make it by tomorrow, for sure."

    "Yeah, for sure…" Steve didn't sound too convinced, but you didn't push the conversation further. Seeing as how he'd made dinner, you volunteered to do the dishes. And, ever the good friend, he'd kept you company, even drying off and putting away whatever you'd finished washing.

    "Steve, I said I was doing the dishes…" You huffed, pulling the damp towel slung over his shoulder and giving his chest a light-hearted swat.

    "What, I'm not allowed to help?" He danced around you, snatching back the towel, and you swiveled around to reach him; he lifted the towel far above your head, well out of your reach, laughing as you tried to jump for it.

    "Steve Harrington, give that back!"

    "Just let me-"

    Stricken mid-sentence, the lights flickered.

    You froze - you both did, Steve's arm an instant vice as he held you against his chest. Neither of you spoke, neither breathed as you listened for the tell-tale sounds of danger, of an unholy nightmare resurrected. You buried your face into the solid safety of his chest, clinging to his shirt as his eyes scanned the room. Several painful, heavy minutes passed before you slowly began to feel him relax, his hold on you loosening ever so slightly.

    "Let me go check the power…" he mumbled, his reluctance palpable as he left you alone, all but running down the hallway to where he'd remembered seeing a breaker box. Throwing it open, he flicked through every switch, yet the cabin remained shrouded in darkness.

    Shutting the panel door, and rounding the corner back into the kitchen, he narrowly missed being hit across the eye by the empty vase you'd commandeered as a weapon.

    "Whoa! Watch the face!" He jumped back, falling out of your swinging range. "The power's out. Snow must've knocked down a line or something." He explained, voice assured, and you sagged in relief at his words, hands visibly shaking as you set the vase back atop the counter. Without missing a beat, Steve stepped toward you, taking your hands in his own, enveloping them, his touch silently pleading you to look at him.

    "Hey," His voice was buttery-soft, gentle in a way he only ever used with you. "There's nothing here. It's just us."

    You shake your head, swallowing dryly, your head falling to your chest as you steadied the erratic beating of your heart. "Y-Yeah, you're right."

    Steve nodded, calling forth every fiber of his being to let you go, to lose the warmth he'd found in your touch. Together, you'd made the most of things - you remembered seeing a box of candles in one of the closets, a pack of matches tucked away between them all, and in no time at all, the living room was bathed in the flickering, golden glow of over a dozen flames. You sat atop the supple leather couch, a blanket wrapped around your shoulders as you watched Steve light the logs in the fireplace.

    You were cold, your hands tucked against you, the tips of your toes already feeling numb - and from the way Steve rubbed at his arms, he'd felt it, too.

    "Should we… uh…" You tried to ask, your own embarrassment shriveling your words before you could get them out, hands shaking as you tugged anxiously at your fingers. "I-I mean, it's cold, and the fireplace-"

    You gave him an exasperated look, but Steve - bless his athletic soul - wasn't following.

    You groaned, dragging your hands through your hair as you blurted out, "We should sleep here."

    "On the floor?"

    "Yes, Steven, on the floor." You couldn't help but roll your eyes at his shock. "We can take a couple blankets and make a bed. It'll be warmer here than in the bedrooms."

    Steve turned away from you, staring into the cackling fire. To you, he was considering what you'd said, his expression pensive, almost blank - to him, he was failing to quell his boiling panic at the thought of having to sleep with you… beside you? Whatever - either way, you would be much too close to him and he was not prepared. There were only so many rooms - and therefore only so many blankets - in the cabin, so he knew you wouldn't be able to make two separate beds.

    He had to sleep with you.

    "I-I mean, you're right…"

    You gave him a confused look. "...But?"

    Steve took a deep breath, turning back toward you, and he swore you could see the way his heart pounded in his throat. "No, nothing." He stood up, brushed off his jeans, tried for his best smile - which came through as more of a lopsided grin, but that's beside the point. "Let's get those blankets, huh?"

    Between the two of you, you were proud of the bed you'd made, cozy under the pile of blankets and pillows; splitting for a minute, you both readied for bed, changing into your pajamas, brushing your teeth in the kitchen - Steve sensed your lingering unease at being in there, so he stood closer to you than he normally would, his hand finding the small of your back as the two of you walked back to the living room.

    "Which side do you want?" You asked him, suddenly feeling shy at seeing him in nothing but a pair of loose sweatpants and an old Hawkins Phys-Ed shirt - and, unbeknownst to you, your clothes were having the same effect on him, your oversized shirt reaching your knees like an old nightgown.

    "Doesn't matter." He pulled at the drawstring of his pants, suddenly intent on looking everywhere but at you. "I'll sleep like a rock, anyway."

    You snorted a laugh and crawled into your side of the bed. "Yeah, and you'll keep me up all night with your snoring."

    "I do not snore!" Steve exclaimed, and you laughed even harder at him, obviously having touched a sore spot. "I don't!"

    "Whatever helps you sleep at night, Steve." He gave you a withering look, and you collapsed in a fit of giggles - nervous giggles, but he didn't need to know that. He shook his head at you as he crawled in under the blankets, close to you yet still keeping a respectable distance.

    "Candles stay on?" He knew what your answer would be, but he asked anyway, his chest tight as you nodded.

    "Unless it bothers you-"

    "Doesn't bother me, sweetheart." He froze, his breath catching - he'd overstepped. Called you the wrong thing, gotten too comfortable. He waited for you to shake your head, to roll your eyes at him and turn around.

    But, nothing came.

    Steve watched, hands itching from the ferocity of his fraying nerves as you nodded, quieter than usual, curling up on your side as you continued to face him. He laid on his side, toward you, hands bunching the blanket up to his face as he tried to relax - not that he'd be getting much sleep around you, but he could pretend, for your sake.

    Minutes pass, the soft sputtering of the candles a soft harmony to the loud, almost rhythmic cackling of the fireplace. Even in the muted light, you notice Steve trembling beneath the blankets.

    He was cold.

    "Steve?" you whispered, moving closer to him, the sudden drop in temperature making your stomach flip. "Steve, are you okay?"

    "Hm…?" His eyes are slow to open, his voice much more tired than it had been mere moments ago; he'd curled up tighter - you just barely felt how his knees were tucked up to his chest. "What?"

    "You're shivering." You continued to inch closer, your body all but touching his, and for the life of him, he couldn't remember how to move. "Why didn't you say anything?"

    "I was fine before…" he grumbled, shaking his head, his jaw clenched to keep you from hearing his chattering teeth. "'M fine, just go back to sleep."

    You gave him a hard-pressed look, gaze narrowed at the top of his lowered head; before you could convince yourself to do otherwise, you began to fumble about beneath the blankets. Steve cracked an eye open to watch, only to catch you flinging your shirt somewhere off to the side.

    He swallowed audibly, his mind racing - and crashing - as he felt your arms envelope him, your chest pressed to his with only the thin barrier of his shirt between you.

    "[Y/N], w-what are you-"

    "Body heat." Your answer came quickly, much to his surprise, your hands leaving smoldering trails as you rubbed them over his back. "You need to stay warm, Steve."

    He nodded, two thoughts about you dominating his mind:

You were much more selfless than you gave yourself credit for.

You weren't wearing much of anything under that shirt.

    He tried to think of something to do, something to say, but the unfiltered heat radiating off of your skin was too enticing, too overwhelming. He tried getting closer to you, chasing your warmth, but something felt off; something was holding him back.

    In a flash, he'd tossed his shirt aside, the aged fabric landing somewhere near yours.

    "Steve-"

    "Body heat, right?" God, he hoped he didn't sound too breathless. "We can keep each other warm."

    You weren't about to fight that logic, were you?

    He shuffled closer to you, arms settling loosely around your waist, the frigid feeling of his hands trailing over your bare skin sending a shiver through you. Between you, you'd moved your hands up - almost as a buffer, ridiculous as that seemed. But, now you were in a new predicament - your fingers wove through the matte of hair on his chest; you could feel each curl, each wisp as he breathed, your touch both featherlight and branding. His head fell to your shoulder, and his arms tightened over so slightly around you.

    "How are you so hot…?" Steve asked; his head shot up, and you were given an excellent view of the blush spreading up his neck as he quickly amended, "Warm, I mean. Shit, I- You're really warm. N-Not that you're not hot-"

    You giggled, the movement brushing your chest against his, pulling out a gasp from somewhere deep within him that he'd just barely managed to catch. "You're not half-bad yourself, Harrington." Feeling you relax, he tried to do the same, leaning further into you, the scent of your citrus shampoo lulling him into a pleasant sort of halfway-sleep.

    "Uh… H-Hey, Steve…?" He could hear your voice, distant and somewhat muffled, and he grinned against the comfort of your shoulder. "Steve, are you awake?"

    "Yeah…?" He peeled open his eyes, pulled away enough to look at you, confused for only a moment as he tried to follow the way your gaze flicked to the space between you - and when he did, he stopped breathing, his stomach dropping to his half-thawed toes as he sprang away from you, his scalding face clear in the candlelight, hands pressed tightly between his legs.

    "Shit! I- Goddamnit, [Y/N], I didn't… I swear, I wasn't-"

    You watched on, stunned silent as Steve worked himself into a whole-hearted frenzy, shaking as he desperately tried to explain away why he'd gotten hard sleeping with you.

    "Was that… is it my fault?" You couldn't help yourself - here you were, sharing a bed with the man of your dreams, who'd gotten painfully aroused with you in his arms. Your words were barely above a whisper as you continued, "Are you like that because of me?"

    Part of you wished you'd disappear, another thinking of what you had within arm's reach that could be used to tear your own tongue out because who in their right mind asks something like that? You stared at him, lip worried between your teeth, eyes catching the light like a million stars in the night; Steve realized he was at an impasse - you both were.

    It was now or never.

    "Yeah, I… I am."

    Nothing could have prepared you for his answer; you felt as though the floor had collapsed beneath you, turned to quicksand and swallowed you into its grainy depths.

    "Steve-"

    "I like you, [Y/N]."

    You couldn't help the gasp that tumbled past your lips, nor could you quell the sudden flood of tears swelling in your eyes. His words flew around in your head, dominated your thoughts, demanded every ounce of your attention.

    I like you.

    I like you.

    I like you.

    "[Y/N], don't… don't cry- Shit, I didn't…" He'd moved back to you the instant he'd caught the first tear, his arms wrapping back around you - he'd kept his hips turned away from you, the angle awkward, but you didn't notice. "C'mon, baby, I'm sorry-"

    You shook your head, your breathing hiccupped, stuttered as you wiped at your dripping face. To his surprise, you'd laughed, the sound as wet and sodden as it was bubbling.

    "Steve, I'm not… I'm not upset." You tried to tell him, reassure him, meeting his concerned gaze through glossy lashes.

    "But, you're crying-"

    You took his hand in both of yours, held it between your bodies like a tether between souls; he could feel your pulse through your palm, quick and solid and strong.

    "[Y/N]-"

    "I like you, too, Steve."

    He barely believed what he'd heard - you liked him? You'd reciprocated his feelings? The crush he'd been achingly, lovingly nursing since high school was… mutual?

    "Y-You… You do?" He hated how insecure he sounds, how hesitant and uncertain he was; you gave him another blinding smile, dropping your hands as you pressed your bare chest to his.

    "I do." You thank the Heavens above that your voice hadn't wavered - he heard you clear as day, the fluttering he'd feel whenever he was near you now a full-on avalanche of jittery emotion. "I… uh… I have for a while now."

    "Really?"

    You nodded, hiding your face into a lump of bunched-up blanket.

    "How long have you…?"

    "You first." You insisted, your stomach in knots at his shy smile.

    "Since freshman year, at least." Steve replied smoothly, his confidence returning in drips and splashes - it was better than nothing, he'd conceded. "Never thought you'd give me a chance, though."

    "God, I've liked you since, like, fourth grade…" You'd groaned into the blanket, goosebumps running over your body as you caught his soft exhale.

    "Seriously?" He couldn't believe it - you'd been hiding your feelings for him for almost a decade?

    How had he not noticed?

    You'd pulled your head up from the blanket pile just enough to look at him, and you both collapsed into a fit of nervous, giddy laughter, the little space left between your bodies shrinking away. Steve was the first to settle down, staring into the depths of your eyes with the look of a man drowning in his love; he brushed a lock of hair behind your ear as your legs tangled together, his rough and pleasantly scratchy against yours, and he waited for you to quiet down before asking, 

    "Is this alright?"

    His hands were at your hips, his thumbs running over the thin elastic band of your underwear. So elated were you, you'd almost forgotten about his… situation.

    Almost.

    Calming yourself, you shifted, slowly pressed your body to his - your hips firm against him - as you nodded, cheeks pink as his rock-hard length throbbed against your stomach.

    "[Y/N]?"

    "Steve, I…" You couldn't bring yourself to ask for what you'd wanted - but, God, did you want to. Lord knows you did. Your head fell to his chest with a quiet groan of frustration, but he understood all the same.

    "[Y/N], look at me."

    You lost yourself in the endless depths of his eyes, your only thought to keep breathing as he reached for your hand.

    "If you don't want to, tell me to stop."

    He watched every flicker of emotion on your face, every expression, every feeling play out in vivid detail; he brought your hand - so small in his own - to the throbbing between his legs, his eyes fluttering shut as you wrapped your fingers around him, holding him through the soft material of his sweatpants.

    "God, Steve…" You whispered, giving him an experimental squeeze, your body sweltering with heat as he moaned - it was quiet, just barely louder than an exhale, but you'd heard it all the same.

    You had done that to him, brought him to this, and you ached for more.

    "Take it off." Your tongue poked out to swipe at your lips; he swallowed at the movement, every nerve in his body alight, aflame at the feeling of your hand around him. "Please."

    He didn't need to be asked twice.

    In a single movement, Steve pulled off his pants, chucking them somewhere across the room; you gasped as you realized he wasn't wearing anything underneath, naked as the day he was born.

    You looked at him, he nodded, and your hand was on him again.

    God, Steve thought, his head pressed to your shoulder, breathing heavy as you began to stroke him, it's never been this good before. All you'd done was touch him, and he could already feel himself begin to unravel, his stomach coiling with his building release.

    You stared down between you in open-mouthed awe, feeling the weight of him in your hand; he actually keened when you'd brought your other hand to cup him, pushing his hips into your grip, chasing more of your touch - of you.

    "B-Baby…" He barely recognized his own voice from how weak he sounded, his hand shaking as he wrapped it over yours, stilling your movements. "Baby, please, I… I can't-"

    Your hands flew off of him, raised up to your chest, a pang of fear seizing your chest at the thought of having hurt him. Were you moving too fast, your grip too tight? "Steve, I-"

    "No! No, sweetheart, it's… It's not you, I swear." He pulled you close, buried his nose in your hair, his voice quiet with embarrassment as he continued, "If you keep doing that, this'll all be over way too fast."

    You giggled at him, your smile broad and beaming as he moved away to look at you, going stiff in more ways than one as you brought his hand to your chest; he could feel the thrumming of your pulse beneath the softness, keeping pace with his own.

    What, like you hadn't heard about his boobies monologue from Robin?

    You felt his fingers twitch against you, desperate to squeeze, but he held himself back, restrained himself.

    "I won't break, y'know."

    God, you were going to kill him, he swore, shaking his head, a nervous grin stretching across his lips - and it was then that he paused, his hand stilling over you as the shameful realization dawned upon him.

    He hadn't even kissed you yet.

    Where's your game, Harrington?

    He'd gone shy on you again, you noted, feeling how his breathing turned slow and deep. "Steve?" You brought your face closer to his, hands at his jaw, thumbs caressing his cheeks as you urged him to look at you. "Steve, do you-"

    "Can I kiss you?"

    Your silence stretched out for what, to him, felt like hours. Had he pushed you too far, assumed too much? Was kissing too personal for you? His first instinct was to backtrack, to make amends, and he hurriedly mumbled, "I-I mean, it's fine if you don't-"

    "Do it, Steve."

    Your words were clear, demanding in a way that made him shiver in anticipation. Slowly, carefully, he trailed his hands over the softness of your waist, pulling you flush against him, his length trapped between your thighs.

    "You want me to kiss you?" He needed to hear it from you, needed you to say it, to know you wanted this just as much as he did.

    "Please."

    Of all the times you'd imagined kissing Steve, of daydreaming about what he'd feel like, nothing could compare to the real thing; you melted against him with a sigh, arms settling around his neck as you pulled him impossibly closer, every pore on your body screaming for this moment to go on, for him to kiss you like this forever.

    And for Steve, kissing you was a miracle - he'd long since resigned himself to wanting you from afar, to watching you from the sidelines, content with the way things were. He didn't think he'd ever gather enough courage to confess his feelings to you, terrified of losing one of the closest friends he's ever had. But, now?

    Now that he's tasted you, he's insatiable.

    He was the one to deepen the kiss, to lean into you, press his body against you, throbbing between your thighs and hissing as his sensitive head caught on the fabric of your underwear. You pulled his hands back to your chest, his tongue tracing over your lip as you pulled off the lacy thing and tossed it aside.

    Your kiss had started saccharine, gentle, coy, but it had devolved into something carnal, primal, fueled on by years of pining and longing and want.

    "[Y/N], can I…? Can- touch you?" Steve panted, his words beginning to fail him, his hair already damp with sweat as it fell over his eyes. You pull one of his hands away from your chest, biting back a moan at the feeling of his calloused palm dragging over your nipple; you guided him between your legs, your breathing labored, eyes clenched shut.

    When he touched you, you screamed.

    Painstakingly, sobbingly slowly, he worked you open, his pride growing tenfold as he felt how wet you were, how slick his fingers were quickly becoming as they moved over you - and all because of him. He brushed his fingers lightly over your clit, his touch barely a touch at all, yet it drove you nearly to the brink of insanity.

    "S-Steve…!" you cried, screamed, no longer caring about the volume of your voice as you ground your hips against his hand, fingers clawing at his back. "Mmm…! Fuck, Steve…!"

    "Talk to me, sweetheart. How's it feelin'?" The closeness of his voice, of his lips pressed to your ear did absolutely nothing to veer you away from the edge of ecstasy you were barreling toward. You could feel him circle a finger around your dripping entrance, teasing you, your body writhing atop the blankets.

    "S… Steve, please…!" You shook in his arms, your face buried against his chest as you begged him for more - and when he finally pressed his finger into you, you both moaned.

    You were so hot, so tight, around his finger, sucking him in, your velvety walls pulsing against him - he could feel his cock weep as he imagined what it'd feel like to be inside of you.

    "Hmm…! A-Ah- Shit, Steve, I…!" Your head began to swim, your breathing rough as he worked you, one hand holding you by the hip while the other thrust into you, his thumb pressing down on your throbbing clit all the while.

    "Where you at, baby?" he panted, his focus breaking away from the sinful squelching coming from between your parted legs.

    "'M close, Steve… Fuck, I- I'm so close…!" You threw your head back, your body arching off the floor as Steve's kept his pace steady, looking very much satisfied with himself as you fell apart in his hands; with a final, trembling moan, you collapsed, panting for air as the sweet thrill of aftershocks shot through you; absentmindedly, you could feel him slide in behind you, holding you against his chest, hands moving idly over your sex-warmed skin.

    Still, even in the rose-colored haze of your mind, you knew you wanted more.

    "[Y/N]?" Steve watched as you turned around in his arms, pulling him into a sloppy, wet kiss. It didn't take much for him to turn to putty in your hands, and he offered no resistance as you nudged him onto his back, legs straddling his hips. "Fuck, baby, I…" he breathed, eyes wide as his gaze moved over you in reverence - bathed in the candlelight, flushed from the bliss he'd given you, he swore you never looked so beautiful.

    You moved your dripping core over his cock hesitantly - unlike Steve, you had no prior experience to draw from. Did it feel good when you pressed down on him? When you sped up? Slowed down? You stared at where your bodies connected, not realizing Steve's eyes had clenched shut, sweat beading down his brow as he tried to keep himself from losing it.

    "Sweetheart, please, I…" Steve moaned, his hands leaving you to drag through his hair. "You're killin' me-"

    "Yeah?" you panted, pushing more of your weight down onto him, your heart soaring at the litany of curses that fell from his lips - and even a few that weren't in English. "How's it feel, pretty boy?"

    At the name, you felt him jump against you, and you swore on your mother's life you'd never seen him flush so red.

    It was as though the very room had gone still, the snow outside ceasing to fall, your breath catching as you lifted yourself off of him; holding him in your hand, you lined him up with your entrance, your eyes shut as you tried to calm your nerves, but you paused at the feeling of hands running over your sides, gentle and soft against you.

    Steve looked up at you, cheeks bursting with color as he held you steady, an unspoken question clear in his eyes.

    Do you want it?

    You nodded, your lips breaking into a smile as you kissed him - and all at once, you pushed yourself down, crying out at the feeling of him stretching you, filling you.

    He was big, and you were loath to admit that the rumors you'd heard about him all throughout high school were true - he deserved to be called "King Steve".

    You fell against him, shaking at the sudden intrusion as his hands soothed over your back, your waist, your thighs, your face, guiding you down onto him, whispering praises into your ear.

    "You're doin' so well, baby. You're so good to me, taking me like that… Fuck-!"

    You were struggling to breathe, face pressed against the crook of his neck as you waited for the pain to melt away - and Steve waited with you, peppering your face in kisses, his hands smoothing over your hair.

    "Do you want to stop?" he asked, his voice softer than silk, his concern washing away the lingering traces of your discomfort. You shook your head, biting your lip as you pulled away from him, wiping at the moisture clinging to the corners of your eyes.

    Steve felt his stomach drop. "[Y/N]-"

    "I'm okay." you reassured him, your voice all but gone, eyes fluttering shut as you settled back against his hips - he'd buried himself completely into you, the feeling of you enveloping him almost too much. He waited for you, for your sign that it was alright to move - because once he started, he wasn't sure he'd be able to stop.

    You accustomed yourself to the feeling of him inside of you, thick and hard and throbbing. "S-Steve…" you moaned, your hands steadying yourself against his chest. "You can… You can move-"

    And you fell over when he snapped up into you, breaking out into fits of bright, sparkling laughter.

    "[Y/N]!" Steve couldn't help but laugh, too, feeling your walls squeezing around him. "Baby, you alright?"

    You nodded, still smiling as you threw your arms over your heated face.

    "Keep going, Steve…" you sighed, peeking at him from between your fingers - and his heart swelled, leaning over to kiss you stupid as his hips pounded into you, one of his hands moving down to your clit, rubbing you in time with his thrusts.

    He wasn't going to last - he knew he wasn't - but he'd be damned if you didn't finish before him.

    Your mouth fell open with a wanton moan, hands fisting the blankets at your sides as he gripped your hips roughly enough to bruise, his pace already beginning to falter. He kissed you everywhere he could reach, covering you in his love, his breathing coming out in grunts as he felt himself nearing his end.

    "Baby, I- I'm so fucking close-"

    "Steve, I- Ahh…! I can't…! Steve, please, I'm…!"

    And you reached your peaks together, screaming as you throbbed around him, as he painted you with his release, your bodies sticky as you collapsed onto the blankets, chests heaving for air as you floated back down from the Heavens.

    He was the first to speak. "You still with me?" Steve asked, still winded as he rolled onto his side, his hand moving up to roll a lock of your hair between his fingers - you still smelled like citrus, like sunshine and light.

    But now you smelled like him, too.

    You turned your head to look at him, eyes lidded, your grin blissfully lopsided as you kissed him - gently, sweetly, relishing the feeling of his chapped lips, of the warmth of his breath over your face. "I'm still with you, Steve."

    "Yeah?"

    "Always."

    He pulled you into his arms, his face pressed to your neck; you nudged yourself against him, exhaustion settling over you both like the falling snow.

    Before you'd drifted away, you heard his voice, quiet and meek as he whispered, "I love you."

    Your hands moved over his chest, and you kissed him one final time before falling into oblivion, your sigh of, "I love you, too." barely slipping past your parted lips, Steve chasing after you.

[dustdeepsea]

"This is just reconnaissance. Civilian garb only, no Guild colours. Rugan knows all the routes—which ones are claimed by the Zhentarim and which ones to avoid.” He nodded as Nine-Fingers spoke. “And you've parleyed with gods and monsters. Between the two of you, you should have no problem getting in and out of all these places without a fight. And well, if it comes down to it..." She smiled meaningfully. "I know you can handle it."

Tav tries to find their place in Baldur’s Gate as an adventurer after the party has disbanded. They are sent on a quest with Rugan to maintain a tenuous peace, but what they find may threaten the entire city as it attempts to rebuild.

Part 3 of Trouble Will Find Me

So here we are. This is the post-game Tav longfic I have been threatening to write for months. I never thought a smutty one-shot with a minor NPC would turn into a series. I have a complete outline planned for this multi-chapter fic, and I'm going to give it my best shot.

Thank you to everyone who beta read, fact-checked, workshopped and encouraged me to write and share this: @littleplasticrat, @fistfuloftarenths, @my-favourite-zhent.

As always, thanks for being so sweet to Octavia, who is the Grumpiest Creature right now in this story.

Rating and tags will be updated as the story progresses.

Gods and Monsters

Chapters: 1/?

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3

Rating: Mature

Relationships: Rugan/Tav (Baldur's Gate), Rugan (Baldur's Gate)/Original Character(s)

Characters: Rugan (Baldur's Gate), Tav (Baldur's Gate), Nine-Fingers Keene, Jaheira (Baldur's Gate)

Additional Tags: Adventure & Romance, Canon-Typical Violence, Post-Game: Baldur's Gate 3, POV Alternating, Named Tav (Baldur's Gate), Nonbinary Tav (Baldur's Gate)

Read it on AO3 (4400 words)

[anti-endo-safe-space]

These two posts piss us the fuck off so r a n t i n g y a y

https://www.tumblr.com/thegentlewonders/745509012285554688/reasons-endogenic-systems-make-endogenic-safe?source=share

https://www.tumblr.com/heiiocoie/745318501866143745/anti-endo-safe-space-why-do-you-need-a-safe?source=share

[Posts in case people can't access them:

Post 1:

Reasons endogenic systems make endogenic safe spaces: Discrimination from not only singlets who refuse to understand, but also traumagenic systems who choose to discriminate against their fellow systems. There are also hate are groups being formed just for endogenic systems existing and getting doxxed for the same reasons, despite science backing up endogenic systems.

Reasons anti endos make anti endo safe spaces: th-the big bad endo called me mean...... :'(

Post 2:

”anti-endo-safe-space” why do you need a safe space. NOBODY is hating on you. “i was a-a-accused of being mean to people 😣😣😣” you tag every post with hatred]]

Oh, why do we need a safe space? Maybe because endos and endo supporters have gone out of their way to harass and attack anti-endos for believing in science? calling us "sysmeds" (YOU CAN'T MEDICALIZE A MEDICAL DISORDER) and "traumascum" (ONCE AGAIN, YOU CAN'T MEDICALIZE A MEDICAL DISORDER [it's an alternate term for sysmeds]), they attack people who say stuff like "i don't want any endos interacting because we have trauma related to endos" and they claim that every anti-endo thinks all pro-endos are faking (which like 90% of people do not) and also what science??? the carrds and reentries y'all link??? or that one 13 page paper that literally just says that the field is underresearched???? and let's not forget the things they say when anti-endos pull out sources. It's all "that's not true because [blank]!" and "well [blank] says differntly and they're DIAGNOSED so" and other bullshit. or they just ignore it completely.

And please, raise your hand if you want a safe space solely because endos called you mean. I've seen systems who want them because they have trauma relating to endos/pro endos, I've seen systems who want them because they don't want to be attacked for their beliefs, we personally want them because the amount of misinformation in the community is off the charts and has made us believe that we were faking all of our trauma (tied into the radqueer community a little bit but radqueers and endos are not inherently linked so yea) and that we were endogenic!!!

"nobody is hating on you" YOU ARE LITERALLY HATING SAYING THAT??? BRUH??? Not to mention the reblogs that said "me. i'm hating on them" and the fucking harassment!! like thanks anon, i really wanted to be told i'm lucky for being trafficked! i really needed that!! thanks a lot!! "you tag every post with hatred" ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT ANTI ENDO? FUCK ENDOS? ENDOS DNI? The fuck endos is true yea but y'all say the exact same shit about anti endos so don't even pretend.

just. endos piss me the fuck off. let us have our safe spaces.

Hey anon, we're gonna send a bit of a longer one to what you said because we 100000% agree especially because we've seen BOTH of those posts

Exactly. They've taken over any system space and if they're not included then your abelist meanwhile they claim to NOT have a disorder??? Pick a lane?? We created this because we literally have alters that split off because of endos and the harassment they've given, one's who's literal job it is to handle the harassment they can give. Look we know a system who's diagnosed but they say that not all trauma is valid, does that make them right? No because trauma is trauma, diagnosis doesn't mean they know everything

Exactly, we have this because they've given us trauma and honestly, they suck. They mock our disorder (Cheesegenic anyone?) and we're the villains for getting upset. Like no you did not have an alter split because you were eating cheese. That's not how it works damnit. We are so sorry you had them and they-who-shall-not-be-named (we don't want them coming after this blog because we don't tolerate them either, we've already had a few before) convince you that you guys were endo, we get that struggle

Yeah, they like to claim their the, and I quote from an actual endo thing (we dunno if it's from an ask or a post or what, we just woke up a bit ago) "poor oppressed people" and actual systems are lucky for their trauma because then they're taken seriously. We get that anger, we've had a pro-endo tell us we're lucky we were abused for years despite the fact we just mentioned we had PTSD.

Yeah we literally have fuck endo as a tag here because we had an endo come in here and tell us to kill ourselves so, we don't exactly listen to them, you know?

We agree whole heartedly. It's why we don't let them here, you've got a safe space here