#So retires in shame and disappointment

[masked-alien-lesbian]

Oh no she's hot! 😭 no don't do it...don't make another oc LI for a hot unromanceable side character, you dumb whore

[love-belle]

looked for stars and i found a supernova !!!

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ in which it takes a random song drop and a feature from a university student for their relationship to come to light.

or

for when it became true, opposites do attract. ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

social media au // charles leclerc x fem!sargeant!reader

warnings - language

author's note - i am SO sorry i have no explanation for not posting except for the fact that i am now unemployed (i finished hs and don't start college till like august) and i just do Nothing the entire day. i love u all thank u for sticking around <3

≡.;- ꒰ °instagram ꒱

liked by charles_leclerc, landonorris, lilymhe and 729,816 others

yourusername boys are SO stupid and it's so endearing and frustrating like u r such a DUMBASS pls let me kiss u on the lips (i did ❤️)

8,628 comments

username hahahah!!! funny joke babe!!! kids and i and our goat miss u ❤️

username and like just that my bisexual ass cried tears (i never had a chance)

-> username she's for the girlies every man back OFFFFFF

username going insane over this

username i know logan is in shambles rn like that brother is distraught

-> yourusername he hasn't stopped calling me i had to block his number

-> logansargeant UNBLOCK my number i am your BLOOD

-> yourusername fuck off i will call mom

-> logansargeant have you ever known sanity in your life

-> yourusername have you ever felt loved

-> yourusername sorry can u please tell mom to stop yelling at me it's scary ok

-> username she did NOT need to do him like that

-> username oh that was FOUL

username she's so pretty i simply cannot believe a man can rizz her up

username do we ignore y/n violating her brother like that orrrrr

-> username u are an only child it seems

-> logansargeant it's just that she's mean

-> yourusername go and drown in a pond since u wanna act like a silly goose

username why is charles in the likes he don't even follow her

-> username i have the most funniest and silliest theory and im afraid saying it out loud will send logan into early retirement

alex_albon evil laugh

-> yourusername i pay u ENOUGH. any more and i will have to involve my lawyer WHAT DO U WANT

-> alex_albon ferrari has exceptional pasta

-> yourusername ahahahhajaha what's that got to do with me u little clusterfuck of a twink

-> alex_albon oh! absolutely nothing!

-> username i am screaming what the fuck

-> username "little clusterfuck of a twink" OH MY GOD

username crazy how everything she says is so real idk if that's the fan in me or i am just way too fucking down bad for her

*liked by charles_leclerc*

username love love LOVE see this rep bc my man is such an idiot but it's ok cus he's my princess

-> yourusername YOU GET IT !!!!! he's my princess <3

logansargeant what are you doing

-> yourusername tryna slut him out n then build a lego set w him

-> logansargeant i always knew you would be the one to bring generational shame to our family what is this behaviour

logansargeant what happened to "if i ever talk to a man again i want you to be disappointed in me" ?

-> yourusername u were disappointed in me nonetheless fym

-> logansargeant i

-> maxverstappen1 i can tell we would be great friends yourusername

-> logansargeant no way

logansargeant what happened to BIOLOGY you were supposed to be STUDYING

-> yourusername i did study

-> yourusername his anatomy

-> alex_albon logan just deleted this app i hope you're happy

-> username Y/N PLEASE HESITATE

-> username CRYINF SHE'S SO UNHINGED

username the way i can feel logan's mortification through the screen 😭😭

username when will it be me

username love to see women in stem (seducing the enigmatic men) idk im proud of her i know she was crying abt not finding the love she read bout

-> yourusername this might be my favourite comment ever i adore u

username prophecy be looking a bit too permanent 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣 who's gonna change it 🤣🤣🤣 i am on my KNEES 🤣🤣🤣🤣

username everyday i learn something new about y/n and everyday i praise the lord that i can exist at the same time as her

*liked by charles_leclerc*

≡.;- ꒰ °instagram ꒱

liked by yourusername, lewishamilton, maxverstappen1 and 2,629,916 others

charles_leclerc you're in her dms, i wrote a song for her in under a day when we weren't even dating. we are not the same.

12,628 comments

username CRYING WHAT THE FUCK

username oh my god is this real

username CRYING THE SONG IS TOO GOOD

username HIS VLOCE JIS VOICE HIS VLICE HIS VOICE

username going crazy rn what the fuck

username HELLO?????? WHAT IS THIS

username need me a man like this thank u

username too much unpack he has a GIRLFRIEND and it's Y/N

-> username HE PULLS??? HE PULLED HER???

username this is life altering

username shaking from excitement i cannot WAIT for logan to download instagram again and be Surprised

landonorris disgusting

-> charles_leclerc forgive me for not wanting to hide my love ☹️

-> username NAH WHO GOT HIM LIKE THIS

username "thinking bout her eyes every hour she's my wildflower" OH HE'S IN LOVEEEE LOVE

username his voice oh my god

-> username tears dripping down my thighs

-> username OHMYGOD

maxverstappen1 "we are not the same" thank god

-> charles_leclerc bubonic plague 🦠🦠🦠🦠🦠🦠🦠🦠🦠🦠🦠🦠🦠🦠🦠🦠🦠🦠🦠

-> username nurse he's out 🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️

-> username nah who got him being funny

-> username DID PEOPLE SERIOUSLY NOT LISTEN TO THE SONG

-> username NO WAY THAT'S Y/N AT THE END

-> username "okaaaaaaay" CRYINF I LOVE THEM

username my life has been divided into before this song and after this song and im so grateful for that

username i think the most important thing here is who out of all his friends owns a toyota in which the heat don't work

username crying bc wdym charles wrote a song for his gf when they weren't even dating

username in love with y/n's voice at the end WHY IS THAT SO CUTE

-> username screaming i need this song injected in my veins

yourusername craaaaaaaazy how u never told me that ⁉️

-> charles_leclerc details details

yourusername cool song

-> charles_leclerc thank you i wrote it for my girlfriend

yourusername AHSHDHDJJSJSJAJS IN LOVE THIS WAS SO GOOD UR VOICE IS INSANE I LOVE IT SO MUCH

-> charles_leclerc THANK YOU !! ❤️

-> username they make me SICK

-> username calm bf 🤝 hyperactive gf

username the most important question is did logan re download this app

-> yourusername he did but then he saw this post, heard the song and deleted it again

-> yourusername he's just bitter i am bsfs with max before him

-> logansargeant disowned

-> yourusername my grad pic on the mantle BEGS to differ !!!!!! u are on the piano u have no room to talk

-> logansargeant i'm pushing you out of this year's christmas card

≡.;- ꒰ °twitter ꒱

≡.;- ꒰ °instagram ꒱

liked by charles_leclerc, lewishamilton, maxverstappen1 and 899,527 others

yourusername got him to say he would still love me if i was a worm n now we go on walks and i point at every worm and say sorry i can't be her

tagged charles_leclerc

12,628 comments

username NO WAY THIS JS REAL

username i just want a detailed description of how they met and who asked the other out ☝️😞

username my roman empire the fuck

username the way their personalities crash when will it be me

username THE CAPTION IM SCREAMING

username the way she will never let that man know peace and i am so EXCITED

username she's so unhinged i love her

username LET IT ONCE BE ME PLEASEEE

username blocked (im laying on the highway tonight)

username the way i know logan had to be sedated

-> username my man did nothing wrong why are they torturing him 😭

alex_albon we're down one driver at williams

-> yourusername is it a good time to tell u that i recently got my license

-> logansargeant YOU FAILED YOUR TEST 5 TIMES FUCK OFFFFFFF

-> yourusername big emotions

-> username im cryinf what do you mean shw faield the test 5 TIMES ????

username LMAOO THE LAST SLIDE 😭😭😭 I LOVE HER

username parents dare i say

username max is not happy i can tell

-> yourusername i received a very strongly worded message from him yesterday and the only thing i could make out was that he's a bitch for charles like. a BITCH.

-> maxverstappen1 blasphemy

-> logansargeant NO WAY you're buddies with MAX VERSTAPPEN before ME back OFFFFFF

-> yourusername nurse he is out again 🗣️🗣️🗣️

-> username what are they doing to my boy 😭

logansargeant y/n please. THINK.

-> yourusername i did

-> logansargeant AND ?

-> yourusername he's nice i will keep him

-> logansargeant NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

-> yourusername god forbid a girl wants to date a questionable man

-> charles_leclerc ?

username crazy how this is the most random couple ever and we're instantly like PARENTS !!!!

-> username i for once love them like the cultural clashes we're gonna get heh

charles_leclerc my love please

-> yourusername my pronouns are she not her because i'll never be her 🪱

-> charles_leclerc stop

charles_leclerc and can you please tell your brother to hesitate before speaking? he just offered me candy and a dollar to break up with you

-> yourusername FUCK U I AM WORTH WAY MORE THAN CANDY AND A DOLLAR

-> charles_leclerc that is not the issue here

charles_leclerc pretty girl

-> logansargeant keep your thoughts to yourself you hormonal vulgarian

-> yourusername TIME OUT FOR U let my bf live

-> charles_leclerc this is how my life is going to be from now on?

-> yourusername are u complaining (threatening)

-> username i KNOW logan is shaking behind the screen he just called charles leclerc a hormonal vulgarian

-> username sibling rage takes people places they wouldn't go with a gun

username this is hilarious

username logan's likes on twt are mind blowing like what do u MEAN u wish the plague on ur sister 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

-> yourusername u should see what his texts look like

-> yourusername "you need an excoeciscism for the demon in u it might an issue idk" followed by quora links

-> username siblings ❤️

≡.;- ꒰ °instagram ꒱

liked by yourusername, logansargeant, carlossainz55 and 2,729,915 others

charles_leclerc silently working on our own little crafts in the same room tonight, queen? ❤️

tagged yourusername

11,628 comments

username CRYINGGGGG I HATE HIS GUTS

username LET IT ONCE BE ME HOLY SHITTTTTT

username they're so parents it's insane

username he's so relatable bc i too would be obsessed with y/n

username he definitely has one of those t-shirts that say "i ❤️ my gf"

-> yourusername he has one in every colour with diff fonts :((((

-> username GOODBYE

username need me a man who will sit in my general vicinity while we work on our own silly little crafts together

-> username charles might've just set a standard idk NEVER SETTLE FOR LESS

username that text.............im violently ill

username the matching rings wow god really does have favourites

yourusername wait a sec i got 12000% error on my scale

-> landonorris how do you even manage to do that

-> yourusername if u think women don't belong in stem just say that

-> landonorris STOP IT MY PR TEAM IS HUNTING ME DOEN FOR SPROT TAKE JT BACK

-> charles_leclerc shame on you

-> landonorris WJAT DID I DO

-> username crying they're terrorizing people for fun 😭

-> username we deserve this

yourusername fighting demons (a degree that i chose to study) to be on my phone bc my BOYFRIEND posted

-> charles_leclerc don't give logan more reasons to send me vaguely veiled threats

-> yourusername he does WHAT

-> logansargeant sending him links on how people got away with murder is HARDLY a threat idk why you're like this

-> username no way they got him UNHINGED

-> username 😭😭😭😭😭 he's so

yourusername MY BABY LEO 💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞

-> charles_leclerc i am right there

-> yourusername so is leo 💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞

yourusername are u mitosis bc i never metaphase as cute as urs

-> charles_leclerc i am too dumb to understand this but you are the prettiest

-> yourusername king i am so in love with u

-> logansargeant i judt tfeew up

-> yourusername leave me ALONE

username i hope all the happy couples break up (why couldn't it be me in a relationship)

username SCREAMING HE'S SO DOWN BAD

[moondirti]

ANGEL OF SMALL DEATH [ john price x f! reader ]

: he sees you when his vices take hold. little love, invented. chimeric, he assumed - until you're not.

mdni. noncon; addiction (nicotine and alcohol); SSRIs; intoxication; breeding kink; daddy kink; hallucinations; kidnapping; drugging; objectification; slut-shaming; sexual harassment; violence; bondage; vomiting; guns; suicide, murder, pregnancy, spanking and branding mentions. 7k.

a/n: have yall seen ruby sparks? yeah imagine that but worse

John's always had his fixes.

He remembers the hysterics. Five and wet behind the ears, lungs scoured raw of anguish when his mum hadn't let him sup the vanilla extract. It's not what you'd expect, hun. But the child-sized idée fixe, destructive in its naivety, turned its head at the implication. He stuck his nose to the bottle's cap, got a whiff of it unfiltered, and revolted; how could it taste like anything but the ambrosia it promised?

Or, who was she to deny he try?

(His resistance to authority can be spoored there. A miasmic trail back to youth, stinking something foul. It had been a Sisyphean effort, pyrrhic, when he enlisted. Burnishing odour only to find, without it, there was nothing left for them to make use of.)

So – red-faced, tousled pyjamas at 2200, balanced atop a chair as his parents snored soundly on the couch – he snuck a teaspoon for himself.

It was foul, of course. A calcine irritation that clawed on its way down his throat, baring raw tissue in its wake. He hid his coughs behind his sleeves, vision cloudy with tears as he put everything back where it belonged – not disappointed so much as he was committed, he thinks. Because the very next night, he came back to try it again.

And again, and again.

Like clockwork, he tipped the small vial up onto his tongue and hoped it would pass into something different. Obsessive. Ruinous monomania. His dreams sprung into caliginous visions that detailed nothing but the phantom touch of it to his tongue; this taste, syrupy sweet like nothing he would find in comfits and puddings and pies.

(In hindsight, all it did was teach him how to embrace the burn.)

It only stopped when his mum woke to him voiding his guts in an old popcorn bowl. Poison control, buoyant levity clipped over the rotary phone, told her that it happens all the time. Kids go looking for a midnight snack and think vanilla will hit the spot. Our suggestion is to settle for alternatives until he's old enough to know better. Hydrate in the meanwhile.

– know better.

It's hard to say he does.

His wants still have wants, have asinine wants, that which keep him so late into the night that it's dawn before he falls comatose. Sunk into a leather wingback, the space of his parlour more smoke than it is air, contemplating keeping a warm body in these hinterlands. Helplessly soft, pretty. Fixated on that faceless something, burrowed beneath his sweet tooth again.

But on the wrong side of forty, he's honed prudence like a well-oiled firearm. Custom so things run smoothly, though not one he finds necessary if it weren't for convention. He knows his job would cut in on the upkeep, month long absences like a disease to whoever he manages to snare. It'll kill them, slowly, holed up in this home alone.

(When his parents did away with the extract, he tore the curtains and scribbled on their walls. A boy's green version of withdrawal, deprived of his favourite vice. He's never considered sobriety for that very reason – he's bad even with a maduro in hand.

And the thing about people, they're never so easy to replenish.)

Age besets everything. Counters them, grown as he is. Pragmatic.

Still. To say he knows better is... faulty, flawed. Not when he fists his cock to those fantasies and stirs on all the ways he can bring them to light. Early retirement (a prompt no; he's just as dependant on the field), or multiple little loves to keep each other company, his house turned an Arcadia of nymphs (though he tires to think of wrangling more than one, and the idea diffuses like sugar steeped in tea.)

It's on his fourth- fifth iteration that John starts to see it for what it really is. That this – a darling wife to curl between his legs – is like the imagined taste of vanilla extract. Too good to ever be made true. At least for a man of his ilk, whose bloody hands slip around nirvana. Unearned. Chained to purgatory so long as he weighs sins against the greater good. He wasn't meant for the finer things in life.

So he sticks to what he has. Old familiars. Noxious inhibitors, palmed for upwards of ten pounds, crafted for old dodgers like himself. Tobacco, dry whiskey. Nicotine to spout fire to his hindbrain. Cheap, easy accesses that sate the itch behind his eyes, so long as he lights another.

Ouroboros. It feeds itself and lasts.

(Until you come off the tail end that is, and sever the loop with your own, clever little hands.)

You pose a different kind of problem.

It starts after Serbia. Hounding across the Carpathian mountains for the better part of a winter has detrimental effects, see. And though he eventually locates the bunker Laswell's informants alerted them to, he comes out of it changed – head fixed the wrong way around, skin flaking over off a mulish swell of anger. Going back home is an ordeal when his body acclimatised to find warmth in the frost, talking to Stygian shadows like comrades. Necessitated madness revoked.

Because all of a sudden, everything is too comfortable. Vibrant. Nothing hurts enough to match the stress still ricocheting within him, and the imbalance threatens to capsize. The doctors prescribe SSRIs, tell him to keep it separate, Captain, when their eyes skim that part of his file that notes him as a habitual drinker – so he switches from bourbon to Canadian whiskey, like the ABV will make a difference.

(That inveterate defiance, rearing its ugly head once more.)

And really, he doesn't get what all the fuss is about.

The static in his head flatlines, white noise taking its slot. It's the greatest peace he's found since his bunkmate at boarding school stuck a joint between his teeth and told him to suck. Like fog wearing over a hill, his thoughts grow muddied, loose and abandoned once he can't tell which way is up or where the sky ends.

And the wants, the very same he's long since buried, come back with a vengeance. Unchanged, for the most part (he doubts they were ever dead in the first place) yet manifested differently, like they're privy to the scepticism that killed them last.

(Reveries no longer disembodied, shuddering old film onto the backs of his eyes, but projected into the dark corners of his house, instead.)

He hears your laugh, first. It is early March and easter endorsements already shade the telly in garish joie de vivre, corporations fighting for a foot in your spring celebrations! Buy an egg-dying kit and get one free, hurry before it's too late! John doesn't remember turning it on, can hardly feel the remote in his hands, but that acedia ebbs once the sound of it meets his ears. The sound of you–

Jingle-bell mischievous, he knows it has no place amidst the foolish ditties of spring. He turns the T.V. off, sitting upright in his chair, ears piqued in every direction as he waits for it again.

From the kitchen: another breathless titter, tapped from a chest too delicate to be mistaken for the howling winds outside. When he rises to inspect the source, he swipes the spare gun he uses to foot a broken table, trigger finger dangling bonelessly by the grip. Good to have it there, just in case, though he's confident he won't need to resort to such measures to neutralise you – not if you equal the Zephyr-like quality of your voice.

(Paranoia, it seems, is another effect of downing his meds with Crown Royal. Had he been less inebriated, he would have remembered that his doors are double bolted, and that there's no one out for miles.)

But what he expects to find, luminous between the birch cupboard rows, is not there. His kitchen is as empty as it's always been.

So, they might have warned him about it. He might have avoided this whole thing had he listened. But things snowball when he grasps what's happening. Calamitous uptake; it invades his dreams again, and his dreams invade reality.

(If he cannot have what he wants within the provident constrictions of life, then what's the harm in indulging himself, if only a little.)

Soon enough, he sees glimpses of you wherever he looks.

Sylphic figure come to haunt him. Light bounces through you, your flesh gossamer-like. Diaphanous. He thinks you cannot be crafted that way if not to accent the dark, wet rims of your eyes. The lightning-branched veins etched to all four extremities. Nipples like petals, touched alluringly to your breasts. He thinks you cannot be fictitious – he's never been an inventive man, and the impish flick of your lips reads as familiar, somehow. Dancing on the tip of his tongue, or a song he's heard once and never again. Like he's taken to it before–

His memory swishes like watered nectar in this state. It's impossible to place.

Still–

So long as you continue to appear as fine mist does, chasing the throttles of his high, John's a happy man. He need not tell you anything; you already know his name, what it is he likes. You sway to imagined tunes (later, he couples it to the erratic drumming of his heart) and jump nimbly around his legs, winding and tangling and falling right through them when he wishes to see you stumble.

You don't talk much, either. He has yet to whet the finer points of your being, work out what makes you tick or how you'd enunciate your words. It's an eggshell process. Fragile. Some nights, he'll imagine you with a cadence that doesn't quite fit, and you'll stutter like a faulty motor before shattering from view. To avoid disillusionment, he has to be careful. Extend a platter of properties for you to choose from, picky thing, and watch as you notch them on your tongue, testing.

You'll get this look on your face as you do. Contemplative, lips pursed for a moment before you shrug and slide down to decorate his feet, arms stretched across his ottoman like willow branches over a creek. It would put him off if it were anyone else, but he's eternally endeared to you.

The first time you speak, it's to call him out on that.

'Naturally.' You giggle, twirling your phantom fingers in the tufts of his leg hair. 'You have to like something in order for me to present it. Or is that not how it works?'

He doesn't think so.

"You tell me, little one. If that were the case, why disappear when I try something you aren't keen on, hm?" His words are slurred, strung together hastily, like his tongue hasn't the strength to articulate each in full. You understand him anyway, of course, scrunching your nose.

'I don't know.'

"Think, then."

You shuffle straighter on your knees.

'Maybe I want to be just right for you, daddy. Not all your ideas are great.'

John jerks his leg admonishingly, the joint of it passing right through you. It causes you to blink out of existence for a second, and his throat twists uncomfortably around the new darkness. Loneliness hurts more, harrows deeper, now that he's unused to it.

But you come back, straddling his hips this time. You always do

(So long as he keeps sipping, the glass in his hand sweating cool condensation into his skin. His cigar slowly smoulders away in a nearby ashtray, waiting for the uptake.)

"Mm, thought I lost ya." And if you were there – really there, he thinks – he'd wrap your hair in a fat fist and angle your head roughly down onto his. His arms lay flat to his sides, however. Restless.

'No.' You don't exhibit the same discretion. You smooth down his bare chest, ironing his scars until he feels brand new again. Whole as a kid. 'Haven't you heard? I have a tongue now, and all I wanna do is talk.'

"Is that right?" He hums, half-lidded eyes watch the space between your knees widen. Like Artemis in her waters, cursing Actaeon to the jowls of his dogs – you love teasing him when you know he cannot do anything about it, destined to be torn apart by his inborn desire.

'Well, what else is there?'

And if not for that one thing, John would be content to live like this forever.

(Two, if you count his prescription quickly running out.)

Routine lasts about a fortnight, if his taking of time is to be trusted.

Staged courting, you call it. A production of how typical romances go. When the sky bruises, opening up like the ripe flesh of a plum, he'll knock back two tablets using the last dregs of his afternoon whiskey and wait for you to come home to him. You look stunning when you arrive; naked, your body soft and creased and effulgent. And while it depends on how his day's been, more often than not, you'll imitate rubbing his feet as he tells you about everything – paperwork and the taskforce and state secrets (does confidentiality count towards figments of his high?) – before he's settled enough to cut to the chase.

Yet he runs out of patience for it as time hauls on. Avidity amasses, tumorigenic need cramping his chest. One day, he stops you from kneeling at all. 

"No need for that, sweet thing." He orders with a stiff grunt. There's no justification as to why, though it's clear you sense it already. The fraying strings of his sanity, that which you bat at like a playful kitten, have started to unravel dangerously close to what is holding it all together. "Just do what you do best, hm?"

(The best you can do–)

'Yes, daddy.'

Ever-dutiful, despite the monotony. There are no arguments with you, no taming and fights unless he's in a particularly aggressive mood. The only indication of your disappointment (not yours so much as it is his in himself) is the wet flutter of your lashes, the poking harlequin pout.

Both disappear from view when you turn your back to him and bend at the hip, small hands stretching to dig into your behind. His cock is out in no time – was practically tearing at his pant's seams, really – thrumming painfully hard, leaking onto his stomach when you pull apart either cheek like dough.

Your pussy spreads, glimmering under a matting of wiry hair. Arousal (feigned, imagined, projected–) webs your thighs together, swollen clit budding at the end of your mons. Apple of Eden; his jerks are awkward, uncoordinated, in comparison. Human. There's a twinge in his wrist from working himself almost daily.

His teeth taste like tobacco and spice, sleep clinging to the roof of his mouth. Would you eclipse it with your sweet-sour tang? He pictures taking you; stuffing his nose right below the tight rim of your ass so his tongue can lave over your slit. Working you open with his tongue. You'd soak the hair around his lips, and he'd press harder in response.

John spoils you rotten in his dreams. You know it, too, toes wiggling where you stand a few feet away. How cruel that he shouldn't get the chance to, then – that he has to consume his fixes to stop them from taunting him, and you're God's way of saying that he can't always get what he wants.

Carrot on a fucking stick. He's made an arse of. And worse yet–

He can't cum, no matter how enticingly you stand there. His palms are too calloused, nerves grown bored of their rough drag. Every jerk is a barely-there sensation. Surface level. Shallow. Like a rock skipping across a lake that never manages to sink.

(It never did amount to what you do to him in his head. But it seems as though his body has finally caught on to what the rest of him already knew.

That this – this tragic, autogenous slaking of carnal desire – can not continue on forever.)

He groans, paralysis needling painfully up his neck. It echoes like anger and holds none of the punch.

Breaking position, you twist to assess the newborn tension.

'Shhhh,' You coo. There's no judgement in your glassy eyes, none that can perceive (or wants to see). Rather, it's all pure love, a whisper of distress, and devotion. His little love, so perfect besides this one thing. 'I'm sorry. I'm sorry.'

"Not your fault." Hoarse. Broken.

(Who has he become?)

'I'd help you if I could. Let you take whatever you wanted from me, you wouldn't even have to ask.'

He'd been the one to initiate it, but the prospect of his orgasm is long abandoned when you perch on the armrest, laying your head near his. He has nowhere else to put his hands, so he keeps them cupped between his thighs – and if he suspends utilitarianism for long enough, can almost believe that they're yours, instead.

"That's nice, little one."

He imagines your warmth, the soft comfort of your bosom, as sleep encroaches on his periphery. You'd cup the tired weight of his head and lay it on your lap, there to stay until he awakes to birdsong. There in the morning light.

Thus the minutes tick by in quiet melancholy. He's halfway layered in the pelts of hypnagogia before you speak again.

'You should visit town tomorrow. Mail something home for Mother's Day maybe, and stop by the grocer's for eggs. You're all out.'

He hasn't seen greater society for almost a month.

A wicked hangover splits his skull, worming its claws into the soft matter of his brain. John had initially set out to do as you bid him – find a nice present for his mum and stock up for the next few weeks' hibernation – but the throngs of people crowding home goods and the jewellers make his condition worse, so he resolves to call her on the day and heads straight to the market instead.

Eggs, you said. He needs a lot more than that. Water and red meat and perhaps something that leaks grease when fried. Cucumbers, yoghourt, granola, too. Milk or juice, never both because he can't commit to finishing them before their best-by date. Fruit. Cookies.

The list grows exponentially as he surveys the colourful aisles, under eyes tender to the touch. If it weren't for the cart carrying most of his weight, he would have toppled over already, his chest dipped over the handle, wheels barreling forward. The store's empty enough that he doesn't worry about clipping someone's ankles. For now, it's just him.

Always that. Just him, and–

"Ah!"

Fuck.

"Are you alright?" He defaults, lurching to pluck the rolling oranges off the floor. It necessitates far more exertion than he can handle at the moment. The woman he ran into catches what bowls from his reach.

"Oh, yes! So sorry, that one's on me." She laughs, nervous. The nature of it – gentle, shaky like the beat of a butterfly's wing – rouses a near Pavlovian response in him, pleasantries crystallising between his teeth, hard as pearls. He coasts a suspicious look up, but her head stays bowed as she piles everything into her basket, arched baseball cap obscuring her features. "I insist on carrying everything, see, then it gets too much for me and the baskets are the nearest thing, and you know how heavy those can get if you do some serious shopping, don't you?. Honestly, I never learn. How silly."

The wonder shatters. He cringes, eyelids pruning shut to gather his sore thoughts in the sudden clammer. Talks too much, too loud. He finds it hard to tolerate anything but singsong whispers these days.

(On him, he knows.)

Unceremonious, they both stand. John extends the final orange, appraising the products she tucks it between rather than look back up at her. Sugar, butter, eggs, flour. And a hefty heap of citrus, of course. Odd.

She seems to think the same, breaking the awkward lull first.

"Big family?" The question is clearly well-intentioned – posed to the stacked contents of his cart. No well-adjusted man would hoard as many perishables for himself, not with the grocer's as accessible as it is. But John is not well-adjusted in any sense of the word, especially in the past few months. All her prying does, then, is inflame the irritation dusting his throat, kneading salt into the wound.

How incredibly unfortunate timing.

"Gingivitis?" He clips back. His hangover makes regret a hard thing to reach, though given she doesn't take offence to his snipe.

"Ouch, okay." She laughs, more lighthearted than before. It reminds him of you (you, is anything its own thing anymore?) and John feels a fire light his heels. Agitation to get back home. "No, I'm making orange shortbread for the old folks at the nursing home. Needed to replenish a few things. I haven't baked in a while."

"How nice."

"'Tis the season! Erm– I mean. Y'know, with Mother's Day."

(Later, when he's staring at his fingers, sozzled like a cat on cream, he replays this conversation over in his head like he'll be able to change its outcome. Had he been alert, he'd have picked up on it by now. Christmas platitudes in spring – who else did he know with such transgressive peculiarities?

Captain Price wouldn't have missed it. Unfortunately for him, he left that intensity between powdered ice and silver firs.)

"Anyway." She coughs. He didn't realise he was expected to respond, stare lingering on the exit some distance away, keen to see this end. In his periphery, her cap tips down, supply list clutched in fidgety hands as she reads down the line of ingredients. He forces his attention back to the moment, training his eyes on the curve of her skull. "Just one thing left. Um, should be down hereeeee–"

Her head tilts up again, searching for the aisle markers overhead.

And it's–

Painful. Like the rip release of every organ seizes simultaneously, domino discharge down his spine. Ribs flush suddenly into the flaring muscle of his heart, which thrashes wildly against the corral, desperate to see itself out. To reach across this empty space and leech on to the delicate features that come into view. His brain – startled out of its judiciousness – blares I told you so's to the hot rush of blood behind his ears. Marrow melts to oil his joints, unmooring their structural integrity, and his breakfast threatens to disgorge and make for a foul first impression.

(John always thought revelations came kindly, that they blossomed in the neglected forks of life. Like a summer boscage, or the gentle, prying hands of a monarch escaping its cocoon. How can divulgence be anything but soft, and refined? How would the world grapple with them if otherwise?

He sees it now for what it is.

The world would have no choice.)

"Vanilla extract." You shake your list, smiling at him – a vivid, honest smile – before you brush right out of view.

He tells himself this doesn't change things. No matter how you like to argue the opposite.

'I don't see why not, daddy. Don't you want me, too?'

More than he'd like anything else in the world. But it's back again, that reaper of dreams poison control once foretold. Know better. He does, at least to the extent that bringing you here – tying you to his bed posts like he so desperately wants to do – is not the best idea. His age, his job, his incessant fucking wants, all pave their own desire paths; some more practical than others but less tempting as a result.

He knows how loneliness kills. At least he's built for it, but you?

"Work complicates things, little one."

John finds it all unfurling before him, the coffin housing his fears unhinged.

(You, dead by your own hands or worse, made vulnerable to the brutes he works against. Not a possibility when you're linked to him like this, hallucinatory, unreal, but you – the you he saw earlier today – aren't any of those things.)

'You don't really believe that, do you?'

You're never so argumentative. He sucks his teeth, waving a hand through your hips. And it must snub you so, for you disappear like smoke beneath a cloudburst of rain.

No matter. He doesn't need the temptation finding him.

(That is, until an answer finds him first.)

He phones home for Mother's Day, and she asks for updates for any lucky miss he would call his.

In the borders of his vision, you're hunched over the persian rug that was a gift from an associate for a job well done. Your feet cross over each other, fingers working idly at pretending to braid the fringed edge. The sight gets the better of him, adorable, and he briefly considers switching his answer from the usual – wish you'd stop fretting, it's not doing your health any favours – until sense catches on. He wouldn't know how to deal with the questions.

"No."

"What a shame. I know you're busy with that job and all, John," Because his mother never addresses the big risk to her son's life by name. "but you really should work on making me some grandbabies, before I pass on to the earth."

"Please, mum. Don't start with that nonsense–"

"No! It's any day now, you know it as well as I do." She tuts. He remembers her hands – tracing cool patterns onto his scalp that night, back when he was five and only concerned with the best taste his mouth could fathom. He remembers, and thinks of the wrinkled stretch of them now. "Take this as my last word of wisdom! Family will be the one thing you have when those milking tosser's decide to do away with you. Family, John!"

He chokes back a sigh.

"Yeah. So you've said."

Family. So bloody simple, isn't it?

Iron-wrought key, right under his nose this whole time.

His last two pills frown at him from behind their orange confines, two-toned and unassuming. He could get more if he so pleased, but the hope is that they won't be necessary after tonight.

Carried by the bourbon that blazes down his gullet, they go down smoothly. Soon enough, you appear, summoned, as he laces his boots.

"Does it hurt you, sweet thing?" He finally asks, punching an arm through his windbreaker's sleeve. April showers carry bracingly after dusk, weatherproof attire a functional choice. 

That is to say, the towel in his pocket isn’t for him. 

You gain that elvish look to your face, of the same variety he fell in love with when you first appeared to him. He often forgets how otherworldly you can be; radiant, inhuman vision. Your mirror isn't so... remarkable. Frizzy hair, fleshly, bleeding behind round cheeks. Perhaps that's the appeal.

'F'course not. It is me, after all.'

"Is it?" The front door clicks behind him, new-washed breeze pushing it into place. It feels final, like casting his decision in stone.

'Hmm,' You pretend to think for a long, long while, prancing a solid two paces behind no matter what speed he sets. A new moon blights the fields around his home, sparse raindrops reflecting only your glowing figure. It lights the way until he reaches the skirts of town, when street lamps bleed gold down onto him. Only then do you speak again. 'I should think so, yes. Take a left here.'

John does as you say.

'Though she won't be as receptive to it all. Right.'

He turns right.

'You’ll have to decide how to deal with that.'

"I'd appreciate a few pointers."

'What do you think I'm doing, daddy?' You murmur, materialising before him as he comes up on an avenue known for its nightlife. 'Take a right here and keep going.'

"And you?" He asks, though he already knows the answer.

'I'll be there.' 

You are. Though you’re not alone. 

Two cretins crowd you into a brick wall, lanky arms anchored by your head to form a flimsy aviary. John hears their badgering a block away; crowing voices, placatory promises they wouldn’t be able to uphold even if they knocked back a viagra each. The wind carries it, works their whispers into fine dust. Powder. Negligible. He’s seen this dance before – this dreadful caper, a little bit of force behind what is otherwise an insipid show – but he’s usually above such drama. The men he keeps know not to ask for what they want. Not when it hazards a bird flapping out of reach. 

You’ve got to clip their wings, first.

Though you look like you’d be indebted to any sort of hero. The hem of your dress rides up your thigh, snapping away from restive hands. Shortening what is already… He resolves to admonish you about it later, traipsing closer to the scene. Given your ornament, he can’t blame these men beyond covetous reason, but he won’t topple it onto you either. 

Everything flays out before him. Of the bunch, you demand the slyest hand.

“C’mon, love. It isn’t that far of a walk.”

“Yeah. You’re pissed out of yer mind a’ready. Can’t go home now, huh?” 

“Would be so cute between us both.” 

“The best. Look at those wide eyes.” 

“Busy checkin’ out the arse on her, but I’ll get to her eyes in a minute.” 

Your face crumbles in on itself. He’s closer now. Can make out the mascara painting black tracks down your cheeks, lips smeared by the rain – or, the alternative, pecking vultures having claimed them already. Either way, a green-eyed serpent seethes in the curls of his gut, blood imbued venom coursing. He feels it wind, poising for attack, strength compressed into a tight ball of anger. 

Then, when one of them – ginger, juvenile – snakes a hand between your legs, it strikes. 

He rips his gun from the inner lining of his coat. The other kid is shorter, more on edge, so John doesn’t worry about the force it’d take to daunt him. When the cold press of his muzzle fixes to his companion’s temple, he dashes away with a pathetic screech, tripping over the loose ends of his shoelaces. Par for the course. Weasel.

The ginger isn’t so lucky. 

“You get off on scaring defenceless girls, lad?” He barks into his ear, one hand gripping both floundering wrists. The boy cringes, fear rattling his throat. Any response he tries to shape turns out a nasally wheeze. 

“P-Please-”

“Shut your fucking trap. You’d have a better shot at mercy carving your little cock off.” 

“I w-wo– we were just-t having fun. No harm… harm done, right?” The pleas recourse to you. In his periphery, John registers your frown. Half-hearted. Scared still – of both the unfamiliar, violent men. He peels the commotion two steps back to show he means no harm. 

(To his narrow definitions, of course. His plans for you constitute harm in anyone else’s book. He’s sure that, if you were wise to them, you’d slip in the other direction.)

“She doesn’t seem to think so.”

“No! No, p-please, p–” He silences the boy with a pistol-whip, blunt end of the gun breaking skin off his jaw. The message couldn’t have been clearer – twice now, he’s demanded silence – but no one seems to listen. His cries peak, out-of-tune in the pitter-patter shower. Tortured, like a mangled cat.

“Here’s what you’re going to do, yeah?” The air flutters around you. He’s trained to tread carefully, like you’ll disappear at any moment. Better make this quick, then. “You’re going to go home, lock your windows, and try to sleep with an eye open tonight. The young lady’s welfare matters more than your fate, but I don’t forget. There will be a time where I come to break every finger off your hand. Enjoy them in the meanwhile.”

Perfunctory, he shoves him to the muddy floor. Blood joins the streams sluicing to the sewers, inky swirls of gore a welcome sight. He hasn’t felt this alive since–

Well, since Serbia.

And the boy must see the predatory gleam in his eyes. The dead, inbred callousness. Shark out of the water. Knows what’s good for him as the fin breaks the surface, rows of teeth just underneath, because he runs off before they can snap around his clumsy legs. 

(You, on the other hand, don’t have that instinct. Instead, you blubber, seal on a floating icecap. 

And dive headfirst into his jowls.)

“T-Thank you, I can’t thank you enough. I- My friends left me and I didn’t have a ride home and no one was picking up my calls so I thought it would be safe to ask them, but I couldn’t have predicted how nasty they’d be. Really, they seemed like nice guys–” 

John censures you with a stare. 

“You should know better than to be out at this time.” 

He’s gotten good at imagining your responses. He needn’t hear what you have to say next. Before you can even open your mouth, the chloroform-doused towel in his pocket is out and pasted to your pretty face. 

There’s a brief pause where he expects you to fall through to the floor. But your body slumps, ragdoll boneless, right into his arms.

That’s what brings him here. 

Here: cotton rope hitching your elbows together behind your back, a column of square-knots parallel to both arms. It was what he managed while you were unconscious. Could have managed more – so much more, tick off the beginnings on a cosmic index of all the things he wants to fucking do with you – if it weren’t for patchy effort. He went a little rabid, see. Clipped off the leash, chain to the doghouse broken. Saw the time better spent fondling your supple curves, your body lax beneath his. 

Weakened or willing, it doesn’t matter so much as you’re corporeal. That he can.

(A book he bought as a much younger man details seven different ways to harness a chest. If he had a grip, he would have seen to it – your breasts purpling, ensnared in a lattice of his own construction. It’s this new, foul fascination. How many ways can a body bend before it breaks? He’s never been mindful of the line before, on the field, but he’s got one to do with as he pleases, now.) 

Little one. New toy, fix. His wife.

You process it all in your own time, sleepy eyes peeling open to find that you’re no longer in some dingy alleyway. Though your hair has yet to dry, he’s made good work of paring the damp dress off your form, the steady warmth of a fireplace making for a gentle come-to. John takes it as encouragement when a tired yawn splits your mouth, lips quirking up. Smiling. 

“Look at you.” He hums, thumb working quicker over your clit. With legs notched apart, your cunt’s been made vulnerable, bared to every ministration he couldn’t wait to inflict until after you woke. Thus you’re already weeping a steady stream of slick, folds lacquered in arousal. Leaking down the line of your ass, too. Desperate thing. He scrutinises the sloppy mess of it, doughy and swollen and wet, shoulders flexing over the possessive swell in his throat.

It’s comical, the turnaround. Reality overruns your face, peaky infestation from his carcass to yours. Your eyes well with teary distress as you take him in. What a monster he must make; frothy longing turned savagery, held too long under the blighted mass of his tongue. Festered. Ugly. He sees it himself in the contrast of his skin and yours. Where you’re satin, all incandescent sweat-slicked stretch, he’s 60 grit sandpaper. Sun-hardened leather and crooked scars.

“Hnmphh!” 

But he can ignore that. Doesn’t have to concern himself with rejection, not when the bit gag between your teeth renders you mute. Simple knot sandwiched by your molars. Subtle. He doesn’t want it to hurt today – not any more than necessary, at least – but conversation has gotten old. There’s a reason he brought you home. Why thick fingers work your hole, breaking it to house something bigger. He isn’t interested in soft-soaping anymore.

(The two of you have had your honeymoon already.)

No. Purpose, he thinks. His mum laid it all out for him. A family to bear you company during those long weeks he isn’t home. Family, linchpin to making this all work. To crowd this house with not just one, or two, but multiple sweet things that’ll extinguish the lonely flame at its hearth. He celebrates it already – boisterous corners, crowded kitchens, the cable he pays for finally being put to use. 

And you–

“Promise I’ll suck that pretty pussy like I promised, little one. Just– fuck- daddy just has to do something first, yeah? You gonna be good for me?” John huffs, shucking his trousers to fish himself out of his pants. 

Your muffled protests launch into something else entirely, feral defiance compelling your limbs like electric shock. It’s fusillade, violent devastation. Your legs flail, unhinged, compensating for the lost mobility in your arms. He manages to slip his fingers out of your clutch and tuck a hand under either knee, but not before your heel connects to his jaw. As is true on the field, adrenaline primes a strong kick. Metallic warmth swathes the inside of his cheek, strength waning for a second.

And through it all, you have the audacity to cry. 

When he regains his bearings, anger has supplanted care. He hoists your thighs up onto your chest, calves upright in the air, and pushes a knee forcefully into the space exposed. It flattens your cunt with the pressure, clit crushing in on itself. Agony bulges fine lines at your temples, veins bloating as a miserable scream tears from your throat.  

“I’ll cane your ass raw if you keep up with this. Strike your hole until all you’ll feel for weeks is your punishment. That what you want, mm? Want the memory of our child’s conception to be filled with pain?” 

His nose fits to yours, beard tickling the canyon of your upper lip. It's intense, the proximity. Heat flush between you, sustained fire you can’t pull away from. John watches the hesitancy flit over your eyes, the reluctance of a burn, breaths erratic and shallow. You didn’t breathe, before. Didn’t need to. But he finds that he likes the new rhythm of it. Like watching the life drain from a quarry, game bleeding out into Serbian snow. He never thought he’d miss hunting for survival – not until he had you pressed to his side, lured from those other predators into something much worse. 

(And perhaps that’s what’s been absent, all along. You used to come too easy, allowed him to grow permissive and lazy. But this– 

His skin fits the moniker again. Captain, revitalised in his bones.)

You shake your head no, just as he rubs his cock along your entrance. 

The feeding is effortless. You practically draw him in, needy for it, walls conforming to the fat intrusion until his head nestles against a hard spot. Steel-wool pubes tangles in your own, scratching the sensitive hood of your clit as he adjusts to the balmy suffocation. Tight. So fucking tight, more so than he could have imagined, your struggle working against you as it contracts the muscles around the area. 

His teeth knock into yours, borderline bruising kiss closing the gap. Should he give it a moment’s breath, his lips would swell blue. But he keeps you to him, your reluctant mouth slow against his own – impeded by the gag and your own stubbornness, snivels sucked into his gluttonous abyss. It tastes like seawater and vanilla, the wires crossing in his brain. 

This, he thinks, is the taste he’s been searching for all his life.

This petty space separating you, a carpet of chest hair laid over our thighs. Breathing one another in, memorising the scars behind your cheeks. Pistoning into your cunt, making room for himself in the years and years to come. He’ll never get enough of you. You’ll never get enough of it – once you learn to embrace the pleasure wrought out of you. 

In due time.

He batters parallel to your cervix, plunging deep as he can go. You’re slippery with the effort, wet where you thrum fierce, depravity stringing the oscillating gap of your mons and his pelvis. Binds you to him like gauze on a day-old wound, sticky and raw, and you must be a masochist if the stiffening of your joints is anything to go by. Your pupils roll, stupid, to regard the back of your head. Fucked dumb. Nerves snapping, limbic system miswiring. 

“Can’t wait to see my seed take, have you grow round and glowing.” He growls, speaking into your cheek. The faint hints of your cologne, long faded under rain and sweat, cram temptingly into his synapses. It’s all he can do not to take a whole bite of you, now that he can. Wants to see the evidence of his ownership mark your skin; violent, a little bloody. Physical. Carnal. Imperfect presence honing in the fact that it is better than none at all. 

“Mmmmff,”  

“Yeah? Want me to keep you pumped full of my cum? Think that would be nice. Plugging you shut. Maybe suspending you upside down so it’s a sure process. How does that sound, sweet thing? Y’like it?” 

Your feet thump weakly on his back.

“Then cum. Go on, be a good girl f’me.” 

And with the orchestration of it all; your already tense pelvic floor, the rippling liquid of your eyes, the stifled voicing of your plight– 

John can’t tell whether or not you do. 

You tire yourself out, eventually. 

It’s much later; the rise of a new morning flooding his home in sheer blues, illuminating last night’s mess. Without the orange glow of firelight, it looks a lot less romantic. Torn clothes, cotton fibres. Body fluids matting the pelts he uses to break up the floors. He would have it in him to blanch at the forfeiture of his self-control, cringe a little for appearance sake. He’s grown, now. Should know better.

But there’s no one around. No one. Just him, christening a loveseat instead of his wingback, and– 

You, knocked out on his lap, rope burns raw up your arms.

(When you wake again, he’ll make it official. A passing of the torch, so to speak, from one fix to the next. He hasn’t a band, or really any certification to make it legal. But–

The lit end of his cigar should do. Touched, fittingly, to the proximal length of your ring finger.) 

John’s always had his fixes. 

He finds he’s finally had his fill when you cradle his child close to your breast, and reach out a hand for him, too.

i do not have a taglist. to be alerted when i post / update, please follow @moondirti-archive and turn on post notifs.

[yawnderu]

Lorelei — Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader | Part II

1 2 3 4 5 6

Synopsis: Aware of the way his lifestyle doesn't align with your dream life and unwilling to quit his life as a soldier, Simon breaks things off with you. It isn't until a year later that he sees you again, a tiny carbon copy of him held in your arms.

"Can I hold her?" You dread the question. The way he asks it, the way he looks at you, the way you know he's going out of his comfort zone to come to your house, knowing you don't want him there.

"Sure." You put your pride aside, having the best interest of your baby in mind. The little girl is placed carefully in his arms, and it breaks your heart to see just how well she fits there, like a missing puzzle piece.

"She's so beautiful." He whispers, brown eyes fully focused on his daughter—his daughter. For someone who avoided the topic of family like the plague, the concept was still weird to even think about, despite the way the girl in his arms looked just like him when he was a baby, countless pictures hung around his house before they were permanently destroyed by his father in attempts to torment Mrs. Riley.

"What was that, Captain?" Simon crooned teasingly, leaning his head closer to the baby to try to understand the babbles that were slowly becoming more and more clear each passing week. Of course, she was still too young to talk, though the little girl loved babbling out at any given moment.

"She's lovely, isn't she? Shame she looks like you." Your words came out teasing for the first time ever since you saw him again, the banter in your previous friendship coming back for a second as he playfully glared down at you.

"Shame she acts like me too." He jested, the baby's mannerisms very reminiscent of his own. You poke your tongue out at him jokingly before looking back down at your daughter, the strings of your heart being pulled the more you stare at her. The little creature doesn't cry much, luckily, so you have all the time in the world to simply admire what you created— what you both created.

"Look at her tongue stickin' out." Simon pointed out to the baby's tiny tongue sticking out, a quiet laugh leaving his lips at the way she imitated you. You gently pinch her chubby cheek, planting a kiss on her forehead as a small laugh escapes you too. It's not hard for her to steal your heart, Simon noticed.

"Hush, darlin', daddy's busy flirtin' with mommy." He knows he's overstepping, but... it's worth the risk. He wants what you used to have back then, despite knowing he doesn't deserve it. He'll prove himself, Simon promised since the first time he saw you again.

"Just so you know, this—" You point between him, the baby, and you. "Doesn't mean we're together. Not a chance." You try to be stern, though you both can't deny the look in your eyes. Still, you resist, not wanting to be disappointed again. Simon leaving is an open wound that never healed.

"I know." He replied after a few seconds, not looking at you. His eyes were focused on the baby, holding her close to his chest as she cuddled up to him, quieting down from her babbling. He sat down on the couch, one of his fingers absent-mindedly running over the features of his daughter.

"I'm thinkin' of retiring within a year or two, once Makarov's dead." He starts hesitantly, not daring to look at you just yet.

"Do you think the three of us can be a family? I know I messed up, and I'm sorry." He finally looks up at you, though only for a short second before he's getting up again, gently putting the baby in her crib. He gives her a small plushie to cuddle, soft blanket wrapped over her tiny frame. He comes back to you, bare hands hesitantly reaching for yours before noticing you're about to recoil back. He doesn't blame you.

"I'll do anything." He swears, taking a step back to respect your personal space. You look away for a few seconds, arms crossed and a small frown on your lips. The thought of Simon leaving or dying is always there, eating at the back of your mind.

"You're retiring?" Is all you can ask, not bothering to hide the sheer curiosity and confusion. Simon has been a soldier since he was 18— it's all he knows. He has given up his entire life and family— why stop now?

"Yeah. Think it's time to slow down... actually live life a little, for once. I had to retire at some point, yeah?" It wasn't an easy choice at all. He has bled for the army countless times, lost his family because of it, lost so many allies he can't even count them in his head, yet the tiny girl was the one that made him realize enough is enough.

"Interesting." It's all you reply, eyes slightly narrowed as you look deep into his, seeking for any signs of hesitation or lying. You find none.

"I'm serious. I can be a father to her, and... a husband to you, if you let me. Just like you wanted." Just like you told him you wanted things to be. Just like he thought about before breaking up with you after 4 years.

"Don't have to give me an answer now, but I'm retirin' and that's final." He went to grab his backpack, pulling out a folder. He placed it in front of you gently before giving his sleeping daughter a soft kiss on the forehead, eyes fully focused on her as he memorized her features. It's gonna be a long time until he sees her again.

"I'm deploying in an hour." He mentioned, his back turned towards you as you read the papers. His will, updated to include your daughter. Previously, it was only you there.

"Not comin' back for a long while, unless things go well. If shit hits the fan..." He knows it's always a possibility when dealing with Makarov.

"You'll both have enough to live a good life." He was getting choked up. Not crying or tearing up, but uncomfortable enough that he was struggling to speak.

"Simon." You call out and he turns his head towards you, slight surprise in his features. It's the first time you call him Simon since he came back into your life— it used to be Ghost, much to his dismay, to place even more space between you. He never said anything about it.

"Something to keep your heart safe." You walk up to him, both of your hands holding one of his, placing a hard object in his palm. He looks down at it and his heart almost stops.

The ID bracelet your baby wore shortly after she was born. He nods his head once in acknowledgment, expression growing more determined as his fingers trace the outline of the plastic.

"Come back to her safe." Your hand hesitantly went to the back of his neck, pulling him closer until his forehead was against yours. He lets you, and you're both stuck looking deep into each other's eyes for what feels like forever.

"Come back to us." You plant a soft kiss to his forehead before letting go, basking in the slight sense of normalcy, ignoring your worthless pride for once. He leans down and returns the kiss to your forehead, nodding once. He stares down at you, memorizing your features the same way he did with your daughter before turning around and leaving, swearing to keep the silent promise with a newfound sense of determination.

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[chanafehs]

isabela's veilguard outfit is literally insane like a bikini that's it??? what world are we living in that her design from da2, a game that came out 12 years ago, is somehow less racist and misogynistic than her 2024 design??????

Am I surprised by this design choice? No. Am I disappointed? Absolutely.

If I’m not mistaken, Isabela is the first woman of color we have as a companion - specifically the first Black woman as a companion - and she is arguably the most sexualized character within the entire series. Like even going back and playing da2 it feels like everyone makes a comment about her sex life or literally slut shames her (Aveline and Anders I’m looking right at you) - even one of the voice actors called her a whore on Twitter. They don’t even seem committed to having her be Black either instead just racially ambiguous which sucks.

(I want to make it clear I am speaking as a non Black person but if any Black Dragon Age fans would like to add their own thoughts to this post please do so!)

I really want to know the thought process the devs had about this design behind the scenes because throughout all the jokes about bikini armor and making the armor “practical”, we still got this?? How????

The only argument I can see taken place in defense of this is having some kind of under water themed mission (in her concept art for dav she’s underwater with some of our companions) but if that were the case: why is she wearing gold armor. It makes no sense. She would sink right to the bottom and don’t give me some excuse about using magic. Also, you don’t need a bikini to swim underwater.

I’m upset also because the creators keep trying to say that games can’t exist without some politics and having more options to be inclusive to marginalized identities is paramount (these are both good things) but they consistently fall short when it comes to Orientalism, Racism, and Anti-Blackness. It only sends the message that these games are geared for white audiences, not us. It’s 2024 how have we not retired the bellydancer adjacent armors.

[esmedelacroix]

𝕬 𝕽𝖊𝖆𝖑 𝕶𝖓𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙 𝕴𝖘𝖓'𝖙 𝕬𝖋𝖗𝖆𝖎𝖉 𝖙𝖔 𝕲𝖊𝖙 𝕭𝖑𝖔𝖔𝖉 𝖔𝖓 𝕳𝖎𝖘 𝕾𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉…

pairing: crown princess!reader x knight!miguel o'hara

cw: messy period sex, unprotected p in v, size kink, blood, dom!miguel o'hara, fingering, size kink, edging kinda, dacryphilia, slight degradation kink

a/n: hey lovies, this isn't my usual content but I have endometriosis and I hate it. But period sex always helps so here. This is set in sort of medival times. Hope you like it, a like, comment, or repost is always appreciated. Let me know what you think!

wc: 2.5k

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷

"Ughhhh," "UGhhhH"

"Her Highness has started her menstrual cycle," Archibald, your retiring personal knight, explained to your new personal knight in training, Miguel.

"This is a common occurrence, nothing has ever helped her Highness," Archibald continued.

"Are the doctors not equipped with the medicine needed?" Miguel asked as he heard a high-pitched wail.

"They are but Her Highness has rather odd and abnormally painful symptoms. The doctors can't figure out a cure for it," he sighed.

Miguel bit the interior of his cheek in deep thought and during his break, he decided to go to the library. He sat at one of the desks with piles of biology and anatomy books.

He didn't know any way to make himself useful to you other than to try to study your condition and perhaps figure out a way to help you.

It was hard for him to find much of anything because scientists at the time paid little attention to studying women's bodies and the female reproductive system. It's quite disappointing because women are amazing. They can create life but all male scientists care about is themselves. "What a shame," Miguel muttered to himself as he opened up another textbook.

He didn't take the time to read the cover so he was flabbergasted when he began to read the contents of the book.

He was reading a study about the health benefits of an orgasm when in pain. There are specific chemicals released when both males and females experience an orgasm.

What if these same chemicals can combat menstrual pain, Miguel thought to himself. "Miguel it's time to return to your post," Archibald said as he entered the library.

"I'll be right there," Miguel said as he organized all of his books for later.

"You were studying?" Archibald asked as he led you down the halls.

"Yes, I wanted to see if there was anything I could do for Her Highness but I don't know much about menstrual pain," Miguel sighed.

Archibald hummed in response. "If you want to help the crown princess then you will take her lunch and medicine to her and attempt to get her to eat," she doesn't like to eat or do much anything other than squirm in her bed when she is experiencing menstrual pain.

"Okay," Miguel answered as he opened the doors to your room and brought your food and medicine to you on a tray. Archibald closed the door behind him and wished him luck.

Miguel was content to see that you were asleep and not suffering. You were curled up in a fetal position with a hot compress over your abdomen. Small tears were formed at the corners of your eyes. The pain had even made you cry in your sleep.

Miguel's heart sank seeing you in such a distressed manner. He softly shook your shoulder to wake you up. "Your Highness," he started softly seeing your eyes flutter open.

"It's time for your meal and medicine," he continued. You jolted awake as your eyes adjusted to the light then turned to look at him before feeling your face heat up.

"Who dares enter my room when I am so indecent?" you asked, pulling your sheets up because you were still in your nightgown.

"Where are my manners? I'm your new personal knight, Miguel O'Hara," he introduced with a bow.

You nodded in response, allowing yourself to calm down. You stretched out your arms and sat up against your headboard. Just as you did so, you winced in pain. "My lady, are you still feeling pain?" he asked.

"Yes, I should eat quickly so I can take that medicine," you groaned.

"Yes," Miguel said as he began to cut your food for you and held a forkful up to your lips. You were rather surprised by the gesture but you weren't opposed to it. Archibald never does this for me, you thought to yourself as you enjoyed your food.

There were moments when you had to take a break because of the pain but you finished your meal in record time. After finishing the medicine you were still in tears and extreme pain.

It was enough pain to make you wail. The rumors were true though, you were the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Your voice was soothing even when you sobbed. When tears trickled down your cheeks they only added to your beauty.

Miguel hated to see such a beautiful woman in pain. Especially when there was nothing that he could do to alleviate it. Well, there was one thing he could do. He could suggest that you touch yourself. But weren't in the state to do even that. I could give her an orgasm, he thought to himself before shaking his head.

"No, that would be out of line," he muttered to himself quietly.

"What would be out of line?" you sniffled, turning to him.

"Um well, there was one remedy for your pain that I was researching. But it would be out of line if I helped you perform it," he explained.

"Please do it for me I'll do anything to stop feeling so much pain," you practically begged.

"I'm not sure if a lowly knight like myself should help you do this," he said, trying to convince you to let it go.

"Just tell me what it is, I'm sure I wouldn't mind you doing please just do this one thing for me, Miguel," she pleaded. Miguel was going to deny once more but once his name left your lips pounding like a beautiful song, he felt he couldn’t say no.

"Well, the remedy my lady, is to give you an orgasm," he admitted as his cheeks flushed.

Your own cheeks flushed when you realized that you were basically begging your personal guard to have intercourse with you. "Oh, that's most certainly not what I was expecting you to say," you said as he averted his eyes when you looked in his direction. You weighed the pros and cons of having sex with your new personal knight. You couldn’t even believe you were thinking of sex with a palace guard.

You put your hand to your chin as you thought about it for a good minute sizing him up out of the corner of your eye. He wasn't too bad looking. He was very big, you wondered if his penis was also big.

And his face, well it was magnificent. He looked like royalty in your eyes with that handsome face of his. You could see yourself having sex with him.

“Dismiss everyone on this floor of the palace, Miguel,” You commanded. Miguel shot you a confused look.

“I’m very loud in bed, chop chop Miguel,” you whispered as another wave of pain hit you. Miguel was surprised how your voice went from a sweet soft soft-spoken voice to one dripping in sin.

He got up and stepped out to the hallway relaying your command to Archibald who had everyone on the floor you were on gone in minutes.

“Now that we have some privacy, come here,” you demanded as you winced in pain.

Miguel walked up to you as you laid back holding onto the edge of his t-shirt bringing him down with you. Your faces are inches apart. Hot breaths fanning each other's lips. "Unsheathe your sword, Miguel," you whispered looking into his hungry eyes.

Miguel stripped himself still hovering over you. The second his name left your lips, it was as if you put him in a trance. He did everything he was asked to do. He then bunched up the hem of your nightgown slowly lifting it above your legs slowly. “May I?” he asked, trying to be as gentle as possible.

You propped yourself up on your elbows letting out an exasperated sigh, rolling your eyes. “You don’t have to be so formal, I need you, to fuck this royal pussy like I’m some common whore at a brothel, that’s an order Miguel” you spat as your face contorted in pain.

Miguel was surprised by your sudden dirty unladylike language. But that went straight to his hardening dick.

He took your nightgown off with a newfound sense of urgency. He was pleased to see that you were almost completely naked underneath, still sporting your menstrual underwear, nipples hardening at the feeling of the cold air hitting them.

He wasted no time pulling off your menstrual underwear and setting it aside. You spread your legs for him to get a better view of your pussy that was now throbbing with want.

Miguel ran his index from your bloody slit to your clit picking up the moisture of your blood and slick. Pressed on your aching bud with his thumb moving it in circular motions. A long moan erupted from your throat. Your hand gripped his wrist tightly as he pushed a finger into your aching hole still playing with your clit with another.

The muscles and veins in his arms flexed and pulsated as he worked your sopping-wet pussy. He added another one of his thick fingers stretching you in preparation for his fat cock. You only looked down for a second when he took his pants off and fear struck the pit of your stomach. He was so big you weren't sure if he'd even fit. That made your sick and twisted mind even thirstier. Wanting more and more of him.

Your hands gripped his arms until your knuckles practically turned white as you tried to suppress your moans as he slipped a third finger into your cunt that was coating his whole hand in your wetness and blood. "Don't conceal it, I wanna hear you, wanna make sure I'm making you feel good," he grunted into your ear as he began to rut against the bed. He lay in between your legs focused on fucking you with his fingers.

Your blood was dripping onto the sheets, but you didn't care, you felt too good. You moaned for him chanting a mantra of his name until his name and the stretch were all you could think about. "Miguel, inside, I want you inside please," you begged.

"Oh yeah? You want this cock in your pussy?" he taunted as a smirk graced his lips.

"Yesyesyesyesyes," was all you could moan out your mind going almost blank as your legs began to shake.

"Tell me how badly you want it, show me how badly you want it," he growled into your ear as he added a fourth finger and picked up the pace.

The pleasure almost completely took you over as fat tears formed at the corner of your eyes. "I need you, inside, Miguel please, need your cock," you moaned shamelessly moving your hips against his fingers matching his speed.

You grip the sheets with one hand, the other holding onto his, as your back arches. Blood and slick gushed out of your pussy as your orgasm approached you at lightning speed. Until it didn't, and you felt the pleasure died down completely. You let out a frustrated whine letting go of the sheets. "Miggy, why," you whined almost sobbing because of the stolen orgasm.

"You said you wanted me in you, you're going to have to work for it, my lady," he said as he lay on the bed and put you on top of him with ease. You straddled him looking down at him with tears in your eyes as he grinned at you.

"Miguel please, help me," you said as you positioned your slit in line with his bulbous tip that was dripping with precum.

"Uh uh uh, you gotta do that on your own," he cooed as he whipped a falling tear from your face.

"I will be your queen soon," you said sternly.

"But right now you're my whore, now get to work, this cock isn't going to ride itself," he spat as he slammed you down onto him practically impaling you on his dick.

You took a moment to adjust to his size. The stretch was amazing. You had never felt so full and he was hitting a sweet spot. You moved slowly, then faster, then much faster. You heard Miguel let out a moan almost sounding like a whimper.

He grips your hips tightly, surely making bruises as you milk him. His eyes rolled back as he tried his hardest not to explode right then and there because of how warm, wet, and tight your pussy felt.

Helpless moans of his name were spilling from your mouth as your blood spilled onto him staining his skin and your sheets. “That’s it, princess, just like that,” Miguel groaned.

Quickly you felt your orgasm approaching, the coil in your stomach about to snap. Your legs began to feel like jelly and you felt yourself stop moving. “I can’t, Mig, help,” you whined trying to keep moving.

“You’ve been a good girl, I’ll take care of ya’,” he said as she moved your hips with his hands that rested on them fucking himself up into you.

The Lewd sound of you chanting his name and wet skin slapping wet skin filled the room. As he picked up the pace your moans became more and more high-pitched. “You’re fuckin’ me s’ good Mig,” you moaned.

“Yeah? Tell me how good I’m doin’ you,” he grunted as fucked you harder too kissing your cervix as his dick started to twitch in you.

“S’ good, love this fat cock,” you whined as you clenched him hard as your legs shook violently.

“Cum with me baby,” he grunted as he pumped himself into you.

“Cumming, I’m gonna cum,” you whined as you creamed around his cock making a mess of him only being able to think of him and utter his name.

Miguel continued to fuck into you elongating your orgasm as he released his hot, thick, cum deep into your womb. You collapsed on top of him panting and trying to catch your breath.

You slowly slid out snuggling into his side. “Sorry, about the mess,” you started, gesturing to his half-soft member that was coated with your blood.

“Oh, no worries Your Highness, a real knight isn’t afraid to get blood on his sword,” he stated.

“I suppose that is true,” you replied, giggling a bit.

“So how is that menstrual pain?” Miguel asked as he caressed your bare back and planted small wet kisses into your neck.

“Honestly, I forgot I even had it, I guess it’s gone, I mean, you made me feel so good,” you sighed breathlessly.

Miguel slowly got up covering you with your bed sheets. “I’ll go ahead and run you a bath my lady,” he said as he prepared your towel, shampoo, and bath salts.

“Thank you, Miguel, I wouldn't be so opposed to you joining me,” you chirped.

“Oh, I do not wish to impose-“ he started before you cut him off.

“That’s an order, Miguel,” you whispered, with a small smirk playing on your lips. You were nowhere near done and neither was he.

"You little minx," he hummed as he disappeared into the bathroom.

. . .

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[maple-the-awesome]

He Becomes a Dad! || Part 1/2

PART 2

Pairing: Time, Four, Legend, Hyrule x Reader

Overview: Congratulations, you're new parents 🎉 Some of the Links are prepared. Others...might need a moment to gather themselves. But rest assured! At the end of the day, they're all going to get a handle on this whole dad thing. I'm a sucker for family tropes and there simply aren't enough out there for the Chain to quench my thirst, so here it is, I'm adding my contribution👍 Btw, there will be only two parts for this prompt since Wind will be excluded for obvious reasons. Baby making isn't a platonic activity🤷‍♀️

Zelda Masterlist 🩵Fandom Masterlist

You only brought the topic of children up to your husband once. It was at some point during the early half of your marriage and after a particularly lengthy day of enduring Malon’s well-meant pestering. Time, beside being caught slightly off guard, delivered a straightforward answer:

“It wouldn’t feel right bringing kids into this world, especially when I would hardly be home to help you rear them.”

Now, you can’t lie and say you weren’t at all disappointed by this answer, although you wouldn’t say you had the rug completely pulled from beneath you. You understood the true implications behind Time’s statement right away. It’s the same reason he took so long to let himself marry you. It’s not you nor a disgust towards children, but rather an unspoken fear of building a life where he’s too happy - one that could be ripped away from him at a moment’s notice as has seemed to be the case for his younger years.

Although his worries are needless, you never pushed against his boundaries because you could at least see the sense in his argument. Sure, the idea of having children did always appeal to you deep down, however between Time’s constant traveling and your hard work helping at Lon Lon Ranch, it would be difficult to squeeze a family into the schedule. There was no sense in forcing him into a commitment he wasn’t ready for nor one you weren’t in a  position to properly foster.

Twelve years of blissful marriage passed before your plans changed. The blame lies with those other heroes, too. One would think traveling alongside a group of unruly young boys would’ve made someone more certain of their decision to never again subject themselves to such a headache, yet it apparently had the opposite effect on your dear husband.

Discovering first hand how much pride he could feel towards a descendant was life-altering, to put it light. Twilight was living proof that somewhere along the line, Time does something right. Whatever kids he might have will grow up to have children of their own and so on…Not to mention Twilight isn’t a terrible outcome by any means. To raise someone with the possibility of them turning out like him and to do so with you of all people? Well, needless to say, it was settled rather quickly after that: Time wanted kids.

Call it baby-fever if you will, but he was suddenly rather eager about the concept he had once avoided like the plague. He brought it up through not-so-subtly hints at first, then when you outright asked him if he was being serious, he went on a slightly nervous spew about your home being too quiet and how he could officially retire from traveling to be home more and it’s really a shame that you have an extra bedroom just sitting around - You just had to kiss him to shut him up which eventually led to…other things. Let’s just say you both got started right away.

It took you twelve years to realize you did indeed want kids yet less than a year to actually be holding them for the first time. It turns out even the universe was impatiently waiting for you both to come to your senses, so once you finally had, it decided to award you with not one, but two beautiful girls whom you affectionately named Saria after Time’s old friend and Mallory, a mix between melody and Malon, their ever-so-excited godmother.  

It’s safe to say that the twins are pretty spoiled. Malon has been over almost everyday, bringing you plenty of baked goods as a bribe to let her spend more time with her favorite goddaughters and you have practically every baby related item that you could need, courtesy of the Queen of Hyrule herself, but of course, it’s their parents who love them the most.

Never in his wildest dreams did Time think it would be possible to feel so at peace with the life he’s built. For so many years, he feared true happiness was impossible - that every turn would result in the same cruel fate he had been subjected to during most of his existence - and yet for the last couple of nights, he’s held it in his arms. He’s watched the moon rise outside his window while playing soft lullabies on his ocarina, you cuddled by his side with your daughters shared between you both. You wear a small smile even in sleep and he swears the girls match it, too; he definitely does himself…This is a priceless treasure he’ll give his life to protect.

Four and you had already been married for a few years by the time you found out you’re pregnant. It’s not to say you were actively planning for it, although you also weren’t actively trying not to either. 

It had been agreed upon early in your relationship that kids would be nice should they come your way, therefore you were both equally excited that your wishes were finally being granted, so much so that the nursery was finished within the first month (courtesy of your handy husband). It’s painted in beautiful pastels that are easy on the eyes and decorated with many toys Four had hand-carved himself; a useful craft he’s now very appreciative towards Sky for teaching him.

Seeing as this was already a somewhat anticipated next step in your lives, Four’s pretty relaxed throughout the process despite its many challenges. For starters, pregnancy itself unfortunately isn't as much of a 'blessing' for you as some have made it sound. You’re rather sick from beginning to end. If it isn't your inability to keep food down (especially in the early stages) or your fluctuating blood pressure, then it’s the aching you constantly feel thanks to both your very heavy bump and extremely active baby who just loves to make sure you never forgot about their existence by kicking you as hard as possible day and night. 

Worry not. Four has made your struggles more bearable by being a darling husband through and through. He’s by your side during each doctor’s visit, does his own personal research on all things baby-related, and helps with every chore he can to give you at least some rest even if just for a quick nap, however most spectacularly, he does all of this without ever being too overbearing. 

Although certainly concerned for your health, Four can recognize your strength any day of the week, especially when you've been rolling with the punches like a warrior queen during such a draining pregnancy. Anxious, sure, but not afraid. Why would he be? He’s confident that you’re both prepared to face anything together! …That is, until you actually went into labor…

Yeah, remember that previously mentioned, relaxed and darling husband? Forget about him. Your water broke and so did Four's calm demeanor, but can he really be blamed? You went into labor early - and not just by a couple of days either. Oh no, we're talking a couple of weeks early. 

Regardless of his newfound fear, Four does his utmost best to still present himself as calm and collected in front of you, not wanting to freak you out any more than you’re already freaking out yourself. He first helped you lay down with plenty of pillows and cushions before running to get help. After that, he doesn’t leave your side, encouraging you throughout the process with a smile on his face, however don’t be fooled: the second you turn your head to the midwife’s voice or close your eyes to scream, your poor husband’s face reflects his inner thoughts as the situation fully begins to sink in. 'Scared shitless' - that's a good word to describe it; eyes wide in terror with a mouth that’s hung agape and slightly twisted in pain as your nails clawed into his hand.

As said, he never leaves your side - not even for a millisecond. You don’t have to worry about him being the type of guy to get grossed out by natural fluids or complain about your expressions of pain; none of that is remotely a concern of his. He’s just grateful to see you okay and even more so to hear his baby crying as they should.

A girl; small like her daddy, but healthy all things considered. Four couldn't wait to hold her, knowing damn well he was going to cry the second her soft skin touched his, but he isn’t ashamed of it in the slightest. Who wouldn’t cry holding something so precious?

Then you scream again. He thinks something must be wrong until the midwife announces that it isn’t over - that there are more squeezed in there waiting.

At the end of the day, you're just relieved to finally breathe easy without going through agonizing pain while Four, on the other hand, is left in shock staring at not one, not two, but three little babies, all healthy girls who wiggle and whimper in their parents' arms, but oh well. The nursery may have to be expanded, although there's plenty of love to go around. At least he can thank Hylia that it wasn’t quads (he's had enough of those).

Legend and you have been in a relationship for several years, although you had mutually agreed earlier on that neither of you were big fans of the whole 'marriage' thing. What difference would a ceremony and piece of paper make, anyway? You already act as any officially married couple would. You live together, go on dates, occasionally argue, and even share a bed which is exactly what resulted in a recent, unplanned detour in your lives: a baby.

When you first told Legend the news, he panicked, asking himself all those stupid questions like ‘what now’ and ‘how could this have happened’ even though he knew damn well how. Then he left. Giving some half-assed excuse about needing fresh air, he turned his back to you despite your pleas and didn’t return for hours. 

Now, rest assured, he did immediately regret having that reaction and apologized for it as soon as he came home. He didn’t mean to scare you with the thought of abandonment, but as he would quietly confess during his apology, the thought of being a parent had just been too overwhelming in the moment. Neither of you had ever talked about having kids, and while he could at least have some peace of mind knowing you’ll obviously be a great mom, he fears that the same won’t be applied to him.

You have always been the light in a dim room, as Legend would put it. You’re fun, sweet, and amazing with kids. Any child of yours, planned or not, will love you with all of their heart exactly as he does. Meanwhile he’s stubborn, cranky, and the last kid to cross his path literally started sobbing. Maybe it had to do with him being covered in monster blood after just having crawled out of a dungeon but he’s pretty sure he traumatized a kid nonetheless…The thought of being just as bad around any kid you share together scares the crap out of him.

Deep, deep down, Legend’s actually somewhat excited to be a father. Although he’s too stubborn to admit it to anyone other than you, he’ll sometimes daydream about how nice it would be to tell a little replica of you both about all his adventures or to teach them how to use some of the items he’s collected over the years like his trusty boomerang. Seeing the excitement in their eyes would definitely be worth listening to you scold him afterwards. If that’s all there was to being a father, Legend wouldn’t have a single concern, yet it’s his insecurities that always have a habit of souring things. Would his kid actually find his stories cool or would they just be tempted to throw the boomerang right at his head?

You’ve done your best to reassure him, often falling back on the argument that the baby will be a part of him. Like father, like son, right? Legend was almost ready to believe you, too, especially upon laying eyes on his child for the first time. As you passed the tiny bundle over to him, he thought that maybe being a dad wasn’t going to be that scary after all, and it might not be so bad to even have more someday either…However, his worries were quick to return when the baby started screaming two seconds after being set into his arms…

Baby screams if he holds him. Baby whimpers if he looks at him for too long. Sometimes, Legend swears the thing starts crying simply by hearing his voice in another room. It doesn’t happen with anyone else, though. The baby just adores you as predicted, but what Legend can’t stand is the fact that the baby seems to like Ravio, of all annoyances, over his own dad.

He’s forced to watch as the little brat happily lets Ravio cradle him, the sight filling him with bitter jealousy and sorrow. You’re convinced that he’s just overthinking everything - that he should give himself time to adjust to his new position as a father instead of holding himself to unrealistic standards, but how long is he exactly supposed to wait until it clicks? It’s been a whole month already and he still feels as confused as day one! Will he ever get the hang of this whole dad-thing or is he a lost cause…?

If there’s any comfort Legend can have, it’s that even Ravio doesn’t know what to do with the baby once he starts crying, so at least he’s not alone in that aspect. The only problem is you’re busy making lunch and stubbornly refuse to pause your efforts. Instead, you shove a bottle over to Legend, insisting that he be the one to feed his son since it should be a ‘good bonding exercise’ for them. You won’t take ‘no’ for an answer and judging on your glare when he tries to protest, you probably wouldn’t be happy if he tries passing the task onto Ravio either.

Thus, Legend is left to awkwardly sit down and take the baby into his arms. He already knows it’s obvious he has no idea what he’s doing, Ravio doesn’t have to point it out, but luckily after some swift around, he manages to hold his son more securely against his chest before shoving the bottle in his face. The baby continues to fuss while turning his head away from the bottle, and Legend’s almost tempted to call for you in defeat until at last, the room falls silent.

Looking down, he watches in quiet awe as his son accepts his meal eagerly. His little hands quickly rise up, gripping onto Legend’s which holds the bottle in place. They’re so tiny; barely able to wrap around a single finger - Oh, and his eyes as well! They’re wide as he stares up at his dad with unbroken eye contact. It’s like a wordless conversation - one more valuable than any he’s heard before.

You return, offering to take your son now that your work is done, but Legend is quick to shake his head. Why don’t you take a well-deserved break while he handles this little troublemaker? It would be a shame to bother him when he looks so comfortable in daddy’s arms.

You've been dating Hyrule for longer than either of you can really remember, however you aren’t in any big rush to get married, figuring that it would make no real difference in your commitment to each other. You love Hyrule and he loves you. What more is there to say? For a while there, you were both perfectly satisfied with simply taking things slow and letting fate decide your course, although more recently you’ve had to switch up that method to something more stable for the baby. Yes, a baby.

You wouldn’t necessarily call it a surprise, but you also can’t truthfully say it was planned either. You had agreed that kids might be nice if the goddesses ever blessed you with any in the future, however you weren’t exactly trying for them…You just weren’t being very careful…

Hyrule must admit he was rather nervous at the start. The only prior experience he really had around kids was with Wind, but there’s a pretty big difference between a young teen and newborn. Pair that with his not so ‘kid-friendly’ world and there’s plenty to worry over. Anything could happen, but Hyrule’s determined to be the best dad and partner he can.

First thing was first, of course: you needed a place to stay. Traveling is fun and you both enjoy being on the move, but that’s no life for a baby. Hyrule and you had actually already considered the idea of settling down someplace before, so you didn’t think of it as a massive loss to take off your adventure boots for a while. If anything, it was a welcomed change once you remembered how lovely it is to be able to kick your feet up for a rest or be surrounded by warmth during a terrible rainstorm.

Again, Hyrule takes his job as your partner very seriously which wasn’t ever a surprise to you. He found a small house for you both to rent in one of the safer villages around; a perfect place for raising a child. While he might not have a talent for decorating or making a place feel ‘homey’, he does thrive when it comes to making sure you’re comfortable, his spare rupees definitely going to fluffy wool blankets and a rickety rocking chair that he saw at a market.

Early on in the pregnancy, you noticed that your boyfriend also began showing a new found determination for cooking which did scare you a bit at first - Okay, so maybe a lot. Hyrule began taking cooking lessons from some kind elderly ladies in town who must have an endless pool of patience because while you can’t say every dish is a masterpiece (or even editable for that matter), you are happy to say Hyrule can now make things like toast and tomato soup successfully. It’s progress.

There aren’t a ton of doctors in your time and none in your village, so you have to take a lot of notes from local women regarding the process. Hearing all their stories and the possible ‘what if’s for what could go wrong made you anxious, especially once you finally go into labor, but it doesn’t faze Hyrule - not on the outside, anyway. He does an excellent job of swallowing his own fears for your peace of mind, talking you through each painful contraction and doing his best to distract you from it all until it comes time to start pushing.

Some people may get squeamish at the thought of childbirth, however Hyrule isn’t one of them. He’s fought through some terrifying dungeons and has bore witness to more than a few gory injuries over the years, so bodily fluids don’t bother him one bit. He’s kneeled down right in front of you without a second’s hesitation, multitasking between mentally reviewing what he’s been told to do and reassuring you even though he’s sure you don’t hear a word of it over your own screams.

One minute Hyrule’s encouraging you to keep pushing, the next he’s holding a small, crying baby in his arms. His movements after that feel almost automatic as he carefully cleans her off and just admires the fact that this baby - this tiny, precious gift of life is his. She’s yours and his and she’s beautiful despite having come into existence within such a broken world filled with more hardships than he could count…

Your tired voice brings him back to reality - asking if the baby you hear crying is okay. You clearly feel the same thing Hyrule does upon seeing your daughter for the first time, the two of you sitting side-by-side as you soak in this wonderful emotion. Hope...That’s what she represents. Hope for a brighter future...

[signedeclipse]

Please could i request a oneshot of Haganezuka meeting and falling in love with a hashira reader (Tanjiro’s older sibling) 💙💙

One More Time [Haganezuka X Reader]

Reader is Human Gender Neutral | Fluff + Romance

Recomended Song - Rather Be by Clean Bandit

It wasn't his first sword delivery, but Hotaru had never been assigned to a slayer permanently before, having only made swords for beginners of the corps or for practice, since most upper ranks in the corps chose older, more seasoned nichirin swordsmiths.

Part of him was excited, being able to tend to an individual's abilities and forge something more unique, as opposed to the clear cut ones most starter blades were.

The other part was frustrating, because it wasn't for anyone unique, no one had specifically chosen him, just a random assignment since all the others had enough to care for. Still, he tried to feel grateful that this was a chance at becoming more reputable.

He remembered his first encounter with the Kamado, the excitement at the idea of a red blade, the disappointment that followed.

It all loomed over him now that the Kamado name had long since grown. It was hard not to recognize such a unique family; a demon, one of the fastest-growing slayers, and the sun hashira. While he wasn't one to take back his words so easily, he was reminded by the chief to bite his tongue the next time he tried mouthing off to the family.

But luck had not been on his side.

When news got back to him that Tanjiro had broken his blade for the second time, Hotaru felt a mix of anger and shame.

Anger that once again his craftsmanship had not been enough, and shame at the idea that it'd likely happen again were he not more careful.

The idea flashed across his mind that his failure twice in a row might mean he would lose Tanjiro as a client of sorts, or that he would be forced to resign from being a swordsmith, so he avoided confronting or contacting him in favour of preparing himself to make the best blade imaginable.

There he was, as the sun had barely begun to rise and the sky was a mid-blue hue, casting the village and its surroundings in a cool tone. Though he slept soundly, he woke up before anyone else got the chance so he could get a head start on his exercises, which gave him time to ponder how long he had before Tanjiro came to him instead.

"So, you must be Haganezuka."

The voice almost startled him from his perch atop a cliffside, though he barely showed it besides the clenching of his fists. The voice was entirely unfamiliar, though before he could turn to look at them their presence had moved.

"Is that a yes?" You were to his right, which he turned to finally meet the individual who had managed to find him.

While still taken back by the speed at which you had moved, he was also very surprised to see the same maroon eyes as Kamado, except it was clear that you were no Tanjiro.

"Well, I'm sure you've realised who I am, but you can just refer to me as Kamado."

Hotaru had not expected your presence in the village, had you been sent in place of your brother?

"I don't have a blade ready yet." Haganezuka had bowed his head slightly. He could run and be stubborn all he wanted, but Hashira could be far more harsh in punishment.

"Blade? I'm not- no-" You had let out a string of laughs, facing away from him and covering your mouth to suppress the giggles. He looked so worried! Even if you hadn't seen his face, the atmosphere around him had certainly dropped.

"It's his first time in the village, I couldn't miss it! Well, that and my swordsmith will be retiring, so I'm here to meet some of the newer generations and pick someone I feel is capable. I was never a fan of blind recommendations." While you spoke, Hotaru had straightened out his posture and looked back out at the village, the sun now growing the area with orange rays.

You were very relaxed, and far more talkative than any hashira he had met, so any intimidation he felt melted away, especially considering you weren't here to scold him.

"Anyways, I hope you give my little brother a hard time, sometimes I think he gets it too easy because of his kindness, and he needs to be ready to combat issues that aren't life-threatening..." Judging by your words, you hadn't seen Haganezuka chasing after your sibling with knives, which relieved him.

Still pouting from his faulty blades, he kept silent, deciding he didn't want to say much if more to prove a point for himself.

By the time he glanced to his right again, you were long gone, with nothing but the imprint of where you sat left in the grass.

.

The next time he saw you, you were with Kanamori, who held two nichirin blades that had seen better days.

Having been found by Tanjiro and been given the blade he was to repair, Hotaru was on his way to eat and prepare for the gruelling 72 hours worth of work he had ahead of him.

Despite the raging inspiration he felt, you had stopped him dead in his tracks, pulling all the air from him until he felt weak again. Hotaru hadn't realised how much he'd hoped to see you again, and you were still here.

"Ah, have you met my good friend, Haganezuka?" Kanamori motioned to the taller swordsmith, who you noticed now had a wide hat fit with chimes...and his upper torso was revealed, the rest of his clothes wrapped around his waist.

You nodded, smiling and waving to the surprisingly well-built swordsmith, trying to hide your rosy cheeks with a smile.

"I have, but, it's a long story." Shrugging your shoulders, Kanamori hummed pleasantly, before returning to a slow strive towards his workshop, pulling you along considering your arms were linked.

Apparently, Kanamori had experience with dual blades, so you had chosen him for his kind personality and experience since you were a dual wielder.

Before you had entirely left, you turned to look back at Haganezuka, throwing a thumbs up.

"You better make sure this one doesn't break!! I'm trusting you!"

Of course, he would have to make the best blade he could manage, for Tanjiro; if not to prove himself as a worthy swordsmith, then to impress the eldest Kamado.

Author Note -  For some reason this took me so long to write I get procrasinating but WE GOT ER DOWN!!! Thank you for requesting <3

Word Count - 1,058

Art Credit - Kimetsu No Yaiba (2019)

[blksoysauce]

I want you.

Lucifer x reader

Tags: angst, unrequited love

Author note: lmfao I hate it it's not really good

Summary

" Once upon a time... you found yourself enamored with the most resplendent celestial being in the entirety of heaven, Lucifer. Alas, the fear of potential rejection deterred you from ever talking to him, ultimately leaving you consumed with remorse. "

You gazed upon Lucifer with eyes brimming with adoration as he talked about his ideas to a fellow seraphim. The seraphim appeared largely uncomfortable, attempting to end the conversation.

"What a shame"

you said to yourself silently, peering at him from a nearby tree. How much you longed to listen to him talk about his wonderful ideals.

Despite being a dreamer yourself, you lacked the courage to talk about your own ideals with the same boldness as he did. You admired him so much.

Your heart weighed heavily as you observed Lucifer's disappointment upon the seraphim's escape.

Yet, you remained silent due to your low angelic status, feeling small in comparison to THE Lucifer.

The idea of starting a conversation with him seemed nothing but inappropriate.

With a final quick glance at the golden-haired angel, you reluctantly turned away, leaving your dreams unspoken and unfulfilled.

While walking around heaven, your thoughts incessantly gravitated towards him... You wondered what kind of people he liked, his favorite color and his liking.

Before retiring to your home, you couldn't help but notice Lucifer's majestic wings spread as he descended to earth. Hugging your pillow, you fantasized about it, perhaps god finally approved his ideas about humankind. You couldn't help but smile at your sweet fantasy.

The following day you woke up with an unexpected visit from a friend, you could tell from her face that something unsettling happened. You grew anxious yourself as you learned that someone was put on trial by god, curious you and your friend went outside the trial room trying to get some informations.

As the resonant voice of God gave his judgment, your heart broke at the decree of banishment upon Lucifer. Witnessing angels roughly pushing him, you frantically went to a high rank angel for clarification, only to find out Lucifer gave free will to humankind without god's consent and had lustful interaction with Lilith (he banged her).

The passage of time failed to heal the sorrow that gripped your soul. Nights turned into weeks, then months, and eventually years, yet the ache of loss persisted. Each tear served as a reminder of all missed opportunities and unspoken sentiments.

UNTIL... Part 2

[echantedtoon]

DILF Eustass Kid Headcannons

Since there's a cannon concept design for Kid at both 40 n 60 years old I'm disappointed by the severe lack of writing for DILF Eustass Kid. So here's some from me.

*Despite being older he hasn't lost his attitude or spunk. Although compared to his younger self he is a bit more level headed now.

*extremely experienced with relationships. If you're uncomfortable or unsure about anything going into the relationship, he's very much willing to be patient and guide you through anything or give advice.

*speaking of advice, he's very good at giving advice on pretty much anything having already been through most things. Need to know what knife to use for stabbing? He's got you. Need help with difficult tax info? Scoot over and he'll help point out the best(way to evade them-) guy for the job. Want help choosing the best wood for a project? Oh he's an expert. Only thing he can't help you with is cooking. He's calling up Killer for that.

*SO domestic in a retired pirate, handyman way. Most likely you two are gonna be living on the Victoria Punk he converted into a giant house boat apartment thing for his crew and himself. He's always fixing things from the sink and shower to keeping up with the usual maintenance a ship needs. So it's not uncommon to see him mopping the deck or eyeing a loose board in the floor either.

*Personality pretty much stays the same. He's just as flirty, overprotective (if not more-), and stubborn as he always was twenty or thirty years ago.

*Spoils the every living heck outta you(Sugar Daddy-). Want a new purse? He's buying you the latest fashion. A necklace with a matching set of earrings? You're getting good days nights to that nice restaurant you wanted to go to.

*Ironically he'll sometimes say the stereotypical 'back in my day' line when annoyed at new generations of pirates. Don't point it out. He'll get very huffy and annoyed if you tease him about it. You'll be getting the silent treatment for the rest of the day.

*Ya both probably met by you hitting on him first. Probably won't admit it, but he's a little self conscious about the age gap and knows it's not the most normal relationship out there, but he still loves you.

*Annoyed with younger men try hitting on you and judging your relationship. Just because he's technically 'retired' doesn't mean he still won't take someone's life. They better pray that he doesn't hear anyone calling you a golddigger. If they do...Well they'd be lucky if they just end up with a giant hospital bill. Makes him a little more overprotective over you as a result.

*Melts if you kiss his scars and call him handsome. Helps boost his ego and eased his insecurities about the relationship.

*If y'all end up having kids he panicks less than if you had kids with a younger him. By now he's been through so much(jail, bloody fights, near death situations-) that it doesn't phase him too much. In fact he's probably more prepared after watching Killer and some of his own crew getting married and eventually having kids of their own.

*Don't ever call him a 'dilf'. He'll tease you endlessly and trying to insist on you calling him 'Pirate Daddy'. He's got no shame being called a dilf and if anything laughs from how flustered/embarrassed you get at him for teasing you about it.

[outsideratheart]

On a Night Like Tonight (Alex Scott x reader)

Retirement. A word that had been playing on your mind for a the past 12 months. After Australia, Team GB went on to win gold in the Olympics and it left only one trophy missing from your cabinet. The World Cup.

2027, Brazil. It was the day that you gave the fans the thing you promised 4 years ago. You lead your team to their first World Cup star and did so by beating the United States on penalties.

Unlike last year Alex was pitch side with Fara eagerly waiting for you to come over and when you did she welcomed you like the champion you now were or at least she gave you the PG version given you were live on TV.

You were overcome with emotion as Alex held you in her arms. To the outside world the tears you were clearly shedding were that of happiness but between you and Alex you knew they were sad tears too.

The celebration awaiting you back in England was unlike anything you could have imagined. It put the euros one to shame. The whole country showed up to celebrate you and you made sure to savour every moment.

Each player had their turn on the microphone and the fans loved it but when it was your turn to speak the fans took one look at your face and went silent. You could hear a pin drop in Trafalgar Square.

“You all know I hate being a bench warmer and I don’t want to be one of those players the play long after their time is up. It has been my greatest honour being your captain for over ten years but it is time that I pass on the torch and hang the boots up”

It was announced the following day that England’s match against Germany at Wembley in one month’s time would be you final game in an England shirt. The match sold out in minutes and it set the perfect scene for your send off.

The days leading up to it was hectic, you barely had a second to yourself and most of all it was extremely overwhelming. You questioned if you had made the right decision. You were still playing world class football, why stop now? Your question was answered one night at St George’s Park. It was the night before your final game and the entire team could tell you were having an hard time. It’s the reason Sarina allowed Alex to stay in your room even though it was against the rules.

“I don’t think I can do it”

Alex looked up from where she was laying on your chest.

“Can’t or don’t want to?”

“Football is all I’ve ever known Al, I’m not sure I can give it up”

“You’re not retiring completely. In a week’s time you will be back at Cobham with Chelsea”

“I’m going to be home a lot more”

“You make it sound like a bad thing. Remember the reason that made you consider retiring in the first place?”

It was a night you remember well. You and Alex spent over an hour talking about the future and what it could look like. You got so caught up in the hypotheticals that reality became disappointing. It made you want to skip the next few years so that you could start the next chapter of your life, the one where being captain was no longer the highest responsibility you had.

You feel asleep that night dreaming of the future and when you woke up you were ready to say goodbye to the team that you loved so much.

It was a bitter sweet feeling as the final whistle was blown. The entire England team, both the players on the bench and on the pitch, came running to you. It that moment you felt loved and appreciated. It was a moment that you would remember for the rest of your life. As you take a lap around the field you try to take in as much as you can.

“You know you don’t have to retire” Leah appears by your side.

“It’s my time. I have loved playing for this team and every time I wear this badge it is a great honour but this is my final curtain call Leah, my swan song” You pull the blonde into your side and kiss the side of her head.

“Don’t be getting soft. Save that for Alex because we need to go do media” Truth is Leah didn’t want you to leave, she had told you this much but your mind was yet.

“I know but before that there’s something I need to do”

You pull Leah towards the middle of the pitch, away from the shouting fans, the centre circle becoming your own little bubble.

“I have been captain of this team for almost ten years. I have lead them to the highest highs and the lowest lows. It takes a lot from you when you wear this band but it can also reward in the best possible way. I have spoken with Sarina about who I want to be my successor and that person is you Leah”

With a heavy heart you take the armband off and pull it up Leah’s arm. You were passing the torch, this was a changing of the guard and you were doing it for the whole to see.

By the time you reach Alex and the BBC team you are on the very line fine between keeping it together and breaking completely.

The world now knew about the two of you but with a camera pointed straight at you, you felt the need to stay professional but Alex soon changed that.

“We’re not rolling. It’s playing her career highlights” one of the camera men tells Alex.

“Come here” The BBC presenter pulls you into her arms and for a brief moment you allow yourself to feel, feel everything that you have been bottling up since you woke up.

“It’s over. I’ve played my last game as a lioness” you could feel tears falling down your face and you were aware that there were multiple people watching the interaction but no longer had to strength to bottle up your emotions.

The same man who told you that the cameras were rolling informed you that they would be live in 5, then proceeded to count down using his fingers.

As a way of regaining control of your emotions and in attempt of staying together you move away from Alex and closer to Jill and Fara. As if knowing that you still weren’t ready to answer the unavoidable questions Leah takes charge of the interview and the presenters follow her lead. It is when she is asked a question only you can answer do you need to get involved.

“Jill asked what’s next for you?” Leah nudges you.

“I go back to Chelsea. As for the next international break, well I have no idea. Maybe go on holiday, what do you say Al, fancy the Maldives?”

“Sure, why not. Fara can cover for me”

“Seriously though Y/N. What’s next? When asked about retiring you said that you have given over 15 years to your country and that it’s time to prioritise your personal life. I think I remember you saying it’s what our dear Alex over here deserves”

Leah switches places with you when Alex is mentioned. Sensing that being next to your person may bring you more peace and encourage you to answer the question without making jokes.

“If the song is right then I believe I hear wedding bells” Jills says.

You wonder what song she is referring to and upon turning to Alex you see that she is also at loss.

“You know the song. The one about kissing in a tree. I won’t sing it seen as though we are live on air and I am a professional”

With Jill’s clue you know exactly the song she is talking about although you think you may have been in high school when you last heard it.

“Since when are you a professional?” You scoff. You refused to bite.

“I get what you’re saying. I believe it says first comes love”

“Check” Alex plays along.

Before Leah continues you turn to Alex. Your hand sat on the small of her back and unknowingly to the women around, you tap you ring finger which was missing a very important piece of jewellery. Alex leans into you with her head on your shoulder and tells you to go for it.

“Then comes marriage-“

“Check” you were proud to finally announce that you had in fact married Alex but up until this moment it was only your immediate families that knew.

The faces of your friends were priceless. In that moment you wish you had a camera to take a photo but then you remember you are on live TV. Oh god, you were live on the BBC. Not only had you told your friends about your nuptials, you had told the entire world.

“Shit”

“Y/N” Alex playfully slaps your arm “We are live”

“I am now aware of this Al”

“I would like to apologise for the language made by Y/N Y/L/N”

“Don’t you mean Y/N Scott?” Jill asks.

“No she does not” you say rather defensively “Alex took my name, she is Alex Y/L/N”

“How about we discuss the details of our marriage when we are not live on TV.” Alex tries to get the interview back on track which you are happy to do.

You then proceed to talk all things football. Jill recalls your first training session as a lioness, Fara tells her favourite Y/N Y/L/N stories, Leah brings you to tears once again when she tells you about how you showed her what is possible and Alex grins ear to ear when she explains all the ways that you have changed the game and how a lot of people have you to thank for how far the game has come.

Almost an hour later you are in one of the hospitality suites at Wembley. The news of you and Alex had spread to rest of the team and the party that was originally planned for your retirement has now turned into a retirement / wedding party.

It doesn’t take much for you to get overwhelmed, how could you not. You escape to one of the boxes near the suite, the cold air grounds you and the silence is welcoming. Looking out at the pitch you are filled with nostalgia as memories flood your mind, it’s as if a highlight reel is playing.

“People are asking where you are?”

You feel your body relax upon hearing your wife’s voice. It is one of the things you love most about her.

“You found me. Any chance I can persuade you to stay here with me for a moment?”

“I can think of a few things”

“Can one of them be a hug? I could really use one”

Alex’s eyebrows furrow. You were a cuddler, Alex learned this very early on in your relationship but there is something about you asking now and the way you did it. You sound so vulnerable.

Your wife doesn’t say anything, instead she opens her arms and you melt into her hold.

“You know a lot of people are in there waiting to celebrate you, with you. Yet you are out here alone or at least you were until I found you”

“I want to celebrate with you though and everyone keeps stopping me from doing that. They want Y/N the England captain or I guess now it’s former captain but I just want to be —“

“Y/N, my wife”

Her wife. It sounds cliche like something that would be said in a movie or a line in a book but you loved hearing her say that and even now as you both wear your rings, you couldn’t believe that she had agreed to marry you.

“Can we go home?”

Alex knew that you liked to party and it didn’t take much to persuade to celebrate something no matter how small. It wasn’t like you to leave early and Alex knew that you might be feeling more than you are letting on if you want to leave a party that was honouring your international career.

“I didn’t tell you this but Ella and Alessia have wrote a speech. They read it to me and you’ll want to hear it. If after that you still want to go home then we will, I promise”

You stayed for the speech and boy are you glad you did. It was one of the most heartfelt yet hilarious speeches you have heard. You did end up going home but not till hours later. After hearing your plea, Alex stayed by your side the entire night and her presence allowed you to relax and have fun. A chapter of the book you called life was over and the chapters that followed would go on to be some of your favourite because each and every one of them included you wife Alex Scott.

[psyphigirl]

"May I See Her?"

TW: Immobility, Health Play, Hospital Setting, "Asphyxiation"

A person is admitted to the most advanced bariatric health center, where they must be subjected to constant and intense mechanical medical care

(I'm not sure the tw list is entirely exhaustive as I don't know how to define some of the things I wrote about. Please feel free to give any suggestions you feel I need to include!)

The doctor looked at me as though I had two heads, he just didn't understand the question.

"I- I don't know. There ... there isn't a lot left to see. You didn't really ... leave us with a lot ..."

I had weird mixed feelings about how he said that. Shame, guilt, fear ... pride, wonder, lust. What could they possibly have done to her?

"You can come in about 11.00 on Thursday morning, if you really do want to see her", he said flatly

"Thank you, Doctor. I'll be in then."

I hang up and sit back on my bed. I should really be getting to bed soon but I can't bear the thought of going to sleep just yet, so I go in to her old room. Just to remember her.

The room looks so much smaller without her in it. For the first time in years I can actually stand anywhere I want without fear of standing on her flesh or on a cable or tube she needs to function. The room's been stripped almost bare from the kit I used to tend to her. The oxygen pump is gone, the feeding tube has been retired, even the fridges have been wheeled away. I can see an almost perfect outline of her rear on the wall behind her, painted with sweat into the wallpaper. Her mattress is still here, it's been crushed to about a quarter of it's normal height after years of propping up a mass measured in metric tons.

I'm almost glad to see her in a proper care center: All this tech is ancient. Held together with tape and staples. It's a wonder it failed as infrequently as it did...

That's enough remembering for tonight

...

Beep beep beep

That's the alarm. Seven o'clock. Get up, get dressed, go to the kitchen. What's in the fridge? Not a lot. A dozen eggs and half a loaf of toast should be fine. I can fit two slices per slot in the four slot toaster and have them done in two minutes. I can fit three eggs in a pan per two pans. It takes five minutes to cook them and have them done in ten minutes. Hopefully I can have this done before she wakes up-

Oh.

I turn the stovetop off and unplug the toaster. For the first time in years I don't have to center my daily schedule around caring for my helpless other half. It takes about an hour to get to the hospital. So I have three hours to kill ... somehow

...

"Oh, it's you. It- She's right this way"

The doctor lead me down a corridor, with a sign above it reading "ICU". Is it that bad? It must be. I was lead all the way down to the end of the corridor. The very last door in the ICU of the most advanced bariatric care center the fattest country in the world has to offer. I really did a number on her.

"Now. I should warn you. She's very ... fragile. You just need to be careful. Do you understand?"

"Yes, doctor, I think so"

His mouth jerks to the side and he turns away from me. I could have sworn I heard him say "I'm sure"

He opens the door and I see her.

She's nothing more than a mound of flesh, decorated by a spidersweb of wires and tubes, moniters and dials.

"Jeez, doc. Is this all really necessary?"

He looks at me with a subtle and frightening rage, "Yes. If even one of these machines failed, or one of these cables disconnected," he looks almost disappointed, "She wouldn't last long."

I don't respond. All I can do is gawk at her.

"This one here, for example", He gestures to a machine containing a series of combustion pistons, "That's her heart. There's no way her actual heart can pump blood around the rest of her body without assistance."

He points to another one, a pair of pumps under a turbine, "Those are her lungs."

And another, "That's her liver. There's no machine in here that isn't essential to her continued survival. Her body just doesn't work anymore. Technically ... she ... isn't that person in the center of this room anymore. She's ..." He struggles to find his words for a minute, "She's pretty much the room itself"

I take a minute to comprehend what that means. I'm inside her. Staring at her bare soul

"Doctor," I inquire, "Could I be left alone with her for a little while?"

He looks right through me and approaches, "Her diet is automated. Don't think you can do any more damage"

He leaves heavyfooted and disgusted at what I did to her. I almost don't blame him

"Hi dear. Can you hear? It's me."

I wait. I get no response.

"I know you may resent, or even fear me. But you're safe now, love. I can do you no harm. Now that I say it out loud I'm even sure that's entirely true. If that's your lungs, then that tube must be intake. So which tube feeds you the oxygen? This one here? Next to my boot?"

Her heart beats visibly faster.

"That's a yes. What happens if I ..."

I lightly squish the thick clear plastic tube with my heel. The rhythm of the machinery is changed, tarnished even.

Her heart beats visibly faster again.

"I like that response. See it could be fear, couldn't it ..."

I press a little deeper

"Your mouth feels dry. Your temples feel tight. Your lungs, your real ones I mean, are burning. It hurts and you're afraid."

I press a little deeper

"Or maybe. Just maybe ..."

I connect my heel all the way to the floor

"It's lust?"

[warwickroyals]

Sunderland's Royal Jewel Vault (34/∞) ♛

↬ The Duchess of Sherbourne's Scroll Tiara

On their wedding day, it's customary for a royal bride to don a tiara. Anticipation and mystery surround the bride-to-be's wedding jewels just as much as her wedding dress. Throughout the twenty-first century, the opportunity to wear tiaras has dwindled. Royal weddings are one of the last remaining venues for a jaw-dropping tiara moment. When Shelby Elizabeth Sykes became engaged to Prince Henry of Sunderland in early 2019, speculation ramped up once again. Would the bride choose something borrowed from her future in-laws as previous royal brides have done? Or would she take the modern route and opt for something new as the Duchess of Woodbine had back in 2006? As the wedding day drew closer bookies placed their bets and eagle-eyed royal watchers zeroed in on St. John's Caphel. Shelby, a thirty-four-year-old marketing executive, was older than her sisters-law at the times of their weddings and many hoped she would wear a tiara with a bit more weight. Others argued that a smaller tiara was more in line with Shelby's personal style. Many predictions were tossed around but none were correct. Ultimately Shelby got a cross between something borrowed, old, and new. The tiara is an amalgamation of three anthemion and scroll elements from the jewelry collection of Queen Alexandra, which dates back to the 1870s. Following the wedding, the royal family described the tiara on their website: This diamond and platinum tiara was lent to the Duchess by His Majesty the King [ . . . ] The tiara is formed of three open-work scroll motifs which originally belonged to His Majesty's Great-great-grandmother, Queen Alexandra. The tiara was designed by Prince Henry and re-modelled by the Crown Jeweller. The jewels of Sunderland's longest-serving queen consort are major heirlooms and some have suggested that this was King Louis V's way of voicing his approval of his newest daughter-in-law. However, more critical commentators have suggested the recycled jewel might reflect Louis's changing attitude towards jewellery, and how it should be doled out. By 2019, two royal duchesses had left the royal family, one through retirement and the other through divorce. The position of Tatiana, Princess of Danforth, was also shaky following the death of her husband the previous year. Not giving the new Duchess of Sherbourne a substantial tiara from the vault ensures legacy tiaras won't leave the main family; while skirting the costs of commissioning a new tiara. It's been alleged that Shelby wasn't gifted her second tiara until the King and Queen were certain she had "staying power" a year after the wedding. In the years following her wedding, Shelby has worn her scroll and anthemion tiara consistently, but with mixed reactions. The tiara remains controversial among many royal watchers due to its cobbled-together profile. Over the years, criticisms from royal watchers have piled up on social media and online comment sections. Here is a selection of commentary from the online Forum Sunderland's Royal Tea:

The Duchess works so hard and frequently represents the family, it's a shame they still haven't given her a worthy tiara. She's such a classy and elegant lady. How on earth did she get saddled with this Franken? It seems a waste of priceless jewels to have them used so artlessly. Prince Henry is adorable, alas, like so many others in his family, he's inherited ye ol' tin eye when it comes to altering jewellery. Queen Anne was really the last of a generation. Unlike Courtney, the dignified Shelby did not voice any of the disappointment we would have all felt so she has my full respect. The lovely Princess Jacqueline had the best wedding ensemble of HMTK's children, with an excellent gown and a beaut tiara w/ family significance. Tatiana had a boring gown but also an excellent tiara. Courtney's dress and tiara were M-O-R (middle of the road). But poor Shelby, the only one with a happy, drama-free marriage, had a meh gown and a HEDIOUS tiara. I weep for her. RE: The lovely Prin . . . IMHO Shelby got the best deal of the four: a happy marriage with a loving husband who is alive and mentally sound (no smoking or drugs!!) + a sweet little girl w/ one on the way! RE: IMHO Shelby go. . . She kept her man and caused the least trouble, that's why she's our fav 😊

Regardless of the opinions on Shelby's wedding tiara, it remains her most worn tiara to this day. It is unlikely she will be granted another tiara in the near future.

[willowedwisteria]

⁂~The Ends of Time~⁂

Summary -> Convincing the archons to take a break is so hard, they definitely like working.

Note -> I've definitely written about this... YEAH, I DEFINITELY HAVE. Just consider this an updated/different version. Variety is good

IF YOU HAVE BEEN TAGGED IN MY TAGLIST: I mixed up the taglist for my "the system" series and my other works, please send me an ask to specify if you're okay with being tagged in my other works or if you want to be tagged specifically for my series

Featuring -> Zhongli, Baal, Venti

Genre -> fluff

Around a year has passed since you first arrived in Teyvat. From simply that, you've noticed how people have guarded you with such vigilance. Security is always a must when you go out, returning with a single scratch causes chaos, and these people really care for you.

They know so much. About baking your favorite cake - which you happened to have a debate with your friend about before you got suddenly transported. There's also the time they noticed how much wood you collected when you were still in-game using characters as if they've been watching how much time you used up to decorate the teapot.

However, you're sure they have to be tired or bored after being so loyal, for so long.

"Say," You stir around your tea lightly, "What's the point of staying by my side for so long? Morax and Barbatos - well, Zhongli and Venti now - you have already retired, have you not?"

You watch Zhongli frowns and Venti holds back his laughter.

"I can slightly understand why Ei insists on staying by my side. Even so, what's the purpose of all of this? Really, you all are just troubling yourself."

Ei purses her lips in response to your questions. Your words sink deeper into her mind, taking their time to fully soak in.

"How about this," The three of them turn their gaze back to face you, all waiting expectantly for you to retract your last statements, "You all go on a break.

Unlike the two panicking archons next to him, when Venti hears of a break, he feels not the slightest bit of panic. While yes, he'll definitely be disappointed - he won't be by your side after all! Who will he share all of his favorite apples with? Plus, you've always loved coming to the tavern with him! A moment without you feels like boredom.

He nods in respect to you, allowing you to catch it from the corner of your eye whilst both Ei and Zhongli are in denial. You give him a thumbs-up, smiling assuringly in his direction.

Venti turns away quickly, cheeks flushing up. it's a shame he won't be able to see that euphoric smile of yours for a while. The more he looks at it, the more he'll miss it dearly.

With that, he follows the trail of the wind, disappearing from your sight. You shout goodbye to him, and it might have been your imagination, but you're pretty sure the wind became much more gentle.

"That bard..." Zhongli and Baal are practically seething. How could he just escape like that and accept it so easily? Zhongli shakes his head, sighing to regain his composure in front of you. Baal, however, seems to be clutching her polearm... a little too tight.

"I suppose since he's already left, that means he agrees to your suggestion." Zhongli stares off in the direction of Mondstadt, "I... do not doubt your grace's ability to defend yourself, but it's impossible not to worry."

Zhongli's eyes furrow, visibly concerned.

You take a small sip of the recently brewed tea, "I can see that from how both of you are so insistent on staying by my side, but you both don't need to worry. I'm just saying to take a break from being by me, you can visit me once in a while."

Before relief can be dropped onto Zhongli and Baal, you continue.

"No taking up jobs to guard me."

It feels like an invisible blade strikes them.

"No more than 24-hour visits."

A huge rock is suddenly thrown onto their backs.

"And you have to wait for another 2 days before visiting me again."

Woah, when did they become so lifeless? They've practically grown wrinkles already! Jeez.

Zhongli bears it, gritting his teeth, "...Yes, your grace. I will see you... as soon as possible. However, I will be forced to disobey your orders if you are in any sort of danger."

You nod, "That's fine with me. As long as you have a valid reason."

With that, the geo archon turns his back to you and leaves silently. You hear a few boulders being smashed after he leaves, and you wonder if he had run into any trouble. Well, he's the geo archon, he's more capable than anyone you know. You're sure he's fine.

And now, to convince the last one.

Ei quietly bites her lip, not willing to look you in the eye. Just from her shaking fist, you could tell she was against this. "Ei, are you upset with me?"

Her head jerks up, opening her mouth to disagree. Her polearm fades from her grasp, both of Ei's hands interlocking in front of her as she tries to piece together her sentence.

"Your grace, not being here with you, not being able to protect you when you're in danger is... risky." Ei can't even begin to imagine how much despair will eat her from the inside out if you ever get hurt, "I will be there for you, forever."

You lean on the table next to you, already finished with your cup of tea, the bittersweet taste left on your tongue. "You've already been there for me, for so long already. As grateful as I can, taking a break is necessary."

Sighing, already missing the presence of both the geo and anemo archon, "You wouldn't want me to worry about you being overworked, would you? I'll allow Raiden Shogun, that puppet of yours to accompany me if you really are so anxious."

You laugh to yourself, already imagining the complaints from both of them when they see that you let "Ei" stay by you.

"You can start by going to see Venti and telling him about my rules for visiting. If you want to know where I'll be staying, I'm going off to Sneznhaya for a week. The next week, I'll be in Mondstadt."

You wave lightly to her, watching her pout. Switching from denial to acceptance, she bows to you and heads off to Mondstadt.

Ei

The electro archon throws herself into her work, trying to distract herself from thinking about you. Unluckily for her, she's surrounded by everything, and everything reminds her of you.

"Oh, those flowers, their grace would look good in that shade."

"My, the scenery, it's just as breathtaking as their grace."

"The hairclip... I wonder if their grace still has the other piece."

She can't help but miss you. She dreams of you, being by you, basking in your presence, ensuring you're always safe. Your words of gratefulness shove her onto her knees and she can't help but adore how you could be so... so... enchanting.

Ei misses you so much.

She had sent over her puppet and wondered if her son Scaramouche would be there for you. Though, it doesn't stop the back of her head from generating scenarios of you being in trouble without her.

Once she can visit you, she's practically been revived, upbeat as ever. Her usual unexpressive self around others switches, you could see that sincere grin from ear to ear on her face when she's with you.

You could practically read her thoughts and emotions, delivering her a box of desserts from outside of Inazuma and a note to comfort her.

Ei will insist that Yae travels over to ensure that you're okay and guard you. However, Yae spends that time gossiping with you, exaggerating jokingly about how much of a miserable state Ei is in currently.

Venti

He's been quite leisurely enjoying his holiday. Venti had nothing else to do now since he's put his trust in the people of Mondstadt to handle their own issues.

He spends his day exploring the woods, enjoying life, and spending his time at the tavern.

Venti knows that you know what you're doing, he won't be wasting his time off working overtime. He'll visit you the least out of the three, but you coincidentally see him more since you visit the tavern quite a bit as well - admittedly, he's drunk 99.9% of the time you happen to stop by.

Diluc mentioned to you when you drop by about Venti being more relaxed. "His tab is piling up and at a remarkable speed too."

You laugh, "I would pay it for him, but you wouldn't let me."

"I'm not letting you pay so much for someone who isn't even awake right now."

Dvalin also had a small chat with you! Saying about how Venti went through all 5 stages of grief in a day. No matter how laidback he seemed to be, when Venti's drunk, his emotions get amplified.

Denial was a rollercoaster, anger and bargaining were just a bunch of complaining, depression was just pouting angrily in the corner, and acceptance was Venti falling asleep.

"...How did he become an archon again?"

Zhongli

Zhongli does worry about you, but he uses his break as an opportunity to prepare something special for you. A gift perhaps? Celebrations? Who knows? He just wants it to be for you.

He found a bit of a loophole since you didn't mention anything about letters too. You didn't really notice or mind since it was thrown into the mountain of letters that other acolytes had sent to you when they wanted to check up on you. It would take a while before you finally reached his letter.

He'll leave Childe in your care, aware of his abilities when it comes to fighting. Perhaps the traveler will happen to be around as well. He's sure that the shield he left on you will protect you as well.

He spends most of his time with Hu Tao when he's in Liyue. He can't just make Mora appear again like he used to after all.

While Zhongli absolutely loathes with his whole soul how he can't be there for you and serve you, he feels a bit more fulfilled once he visits you. Oh boy, life without Zhongli handling things was chaotic though and he noticed that during his visits.

Things are a mess without our dear Geo archon around. Usually, orders are given by him from you. He covers up mistakes and his presence alone is reassuring enough for the maids and butlers to carry out their job without worries.

Without him, maids and butlers have to speak with you directly and receive orders from you. Some have been so astounded and entranced by you, so much so that they miss your orders or hear them wrongly.

Others have been so scared about making a mistake in your food or your orders that they can't even stand up. The maids and butlers have described Zhongli as an efficient leader, whilst they've described your company as powerful and captivating - so much so that they can't focus.

In other words, things are VERY messy. You'll allow him to return by your side soon.

(Riku is probably fine, he's slowly taking control of the situation at his own desired pace [Riku is my OC])

Tag list -> Taglist -> @under-a-starry-night, @yourfaveisblack, @bardisipatos, @callmemeelah, @kithewanderingme, @pale-value, @bamboowritess/@bamboowritess, @uchihaeirin, @karmawonders, @lunavixia, @anfre109, @ly-archives, @zuyoo, @pimacolada-lulu, @bimboing, @gallantys, @swaggyb0ke, @borbsbirbs, @shizunxie, @tiffthescales, @genshin-impacts-me, @keithsaccount, @mkaella, @mentallyunpresent, @alicehasdrowned, @franc-1-s, @no-regrets-just-confusion, @christmaspickl, @lunalily19

Special tags -> @is-very-sad, @chocoenvy, @raidengaile/@ly-archives/@simplygaile, @saigomo, @gunterdon, @emilemovhi, @lovelyy-moraxx, @demon-bane, @i-put-the-yan-in-polyandry, @xiaophilia/@ayayaxia, @thewindstale, @creation-magician, @my-white-canvas/@pale-value, @yuzuricebun, @ventivity, @sweetstrawberrybabe, @euthym1as, @lotterymology, @mx-kamisato, @matsutake-san

[writingsofwesteros]

Rhaenys and Corlys punishing their sweet little s/o because she was a little brat

AN: Hi, I hope you like it x

NSFW

Your moodiness had only grown in the passing days as the attention of Rhaenys and Corlys could not always be on you. You were waking up without both of them more often than not now. It was why you had not sat with them for the evening meal or even touched the delicious smelling food in front of you.

“Y/N….” Rhaenys soft voice came over you as you stared into the wine filling your goblet; your third drink of the night. It was a warning; you knew that before you even looked up with your lashes fluttering so innocently. You slowly moved the cup to your lips and watched as your beautiful mistress raised an eyebrow.

You hummed around the cup and began to take some sips. “Oh, that is quite disappointing.” Corlys’ deep voice moved into your ear. Your eyes widened slightly as you chewed on your bottom lip. “I am only having a drink.” You whispered, rolling your eyes as your fingers moved up and down the jewelled goblet.

“Do you think you have had enough?” Corlys tried again and you shivered at the feel of both their stares. “I do not think that.” You whispered; sipping some more as the dinner thankfully continued. His larger hand gently moved to rest on your shoulder, softly squeezing you for attention.

“I think we should retire now.” He whispered into your ear as he leaned in. Your eyes flashed towards Rhaenys who had gracefully begun to stand. “It was not a suggestion.” Corlys whispered even more. You rolled your eyes even more before cheekily downing the completely goblet of wine.

Rhaenys’ hand was on your own before you could turn around. Her hand moved up your arm as she kept you close. Your body shivered at the feel of them so close. It had felt like so long since you had been in her arms. Of course, the false sense of security was something you easily fell into.

~

“Please…please, I need..” You cried out, your hands moving to the sheets as you looked up at Rhaenys. Her smirk was your only answer as your body rocked. Corlys hard, thick cock moving inside your weeping pussy with speed. Rhaenys fingers moved through your locks before she guided you towards her own soaked pussy.

You moaned as your greedy mouth engulfed her completely. You tried to focus on bringing her pleasure as his hand slapped your arse once more. You whined as you harshly began to suck on her clit. Her moans were like music to your ear as her legs moved over your shoulders and tightened.

You lost yourself in the pleasure as his thrusts continued. “Do you think she has earned her release?” Corlys purred. His tone is dark and full of pleasure. You shivered at the sound whilst he only pushed deeper. You moaned against her soaked pussy; the vibrations falling onto her with ease.

“No…I do not think so.” Rhaenys whispered out. Moans falling from her lips as her fingers moved into your locks; pulling you closer as she began to ride your mouth. Corlys only chuckled. His hand snaked around your stomach. “You will have to listen to her.” He whispered into your ear. 

Those words fell from him as his hand swiped across your weeping pussy. You moaned and rocked back against him. Gods, you were not going to be able to follow her orders with his touch. His fingers slowed and only gently circled your clit, causing your soaked walls to flutter around his cock.

“Keep doing that..she’s purring against me.” Rhaenys whispered as they both played you so well. His free hand moved to your head and gently pushed you down. Your tongue greedily slipped inside her weeping pussy and your mistress began to rock harder; her stomach tightening in anticipation.

Your tongue began to kitten lick her clit now as you looked up at your dragon. Her eyes were hooded with desire as she moaned without shame. “So pretty, make her fall apart for me.” Rhaenys ordered her husband and you could only moan against her as his thrusts picked up speed.

Your hands reached for the sheets around you both as you were moved by the force of his cock. Your tongue moving in and out of Rhaenys as you moaned and sucked harder on her clit. Her wetness had your mouth watering as you greedily lapped up everything she gave you whilst becoming closer to your own edge. 

You moaned against her as his hand roughly palmed at your arse; dragging you up and down his cock that you were coating with your wetness. Your toes began to curl as you focused on Rhaenys but it was not long before you were falling off the edge. Corlys kept your head against her weeping pussy whilst your own squirted around his cock.

His thrusting never stopped as he fucked you through your release. Rhaenys’s hold on you only tightened as she moved over your face. “So good, always so good.” She purred down at you as she watched you fall apart. The mere sight was enough to push her over the edge as she squirted onto your face.

You moaned and harshly sucked on her clit; losing yourself with the pride of making her feel pleasure. Corlys took you away from your feast and brought you against his chest; his cock still burrowing deep inside you. “Oh oh gods..please..” You cried out; your soft, ample breasts bouncing.

You locked eyes with Rhaenys who only watched you in hunger and you knew the night was far from over. His fingers were soon rubbing harshly against your weeping pussy as you shook against him. His free hand moved into your hair and pulled you back; his lips on your own instantly.

You moaned against his soft lips as you practically melted against him. A soft gasp escaped you when you felt Rhaenys’ touches coming over your body. She leaned close and captured your lips once they were free. As you kissed her back; Corlys climax ripped through him as he thrust harder. 

His release flooded you with ease as you shook some more; squirting around his cock as you gasped so prettily into Rhaenys ear. “Are you going to be good now?” She purred to you. You whimpered and only burrowed into her neck some more as Corlys gently pulled himself from you.

[bonefall]

How was the Mousefur “mixed” clan meeting received in BB!?

Mmmmmmmmmmmbadly

Dustpelt, Mousefur, and Thornclaw took reputation hits for the stunt. ThunderClan is the Fire Alone Clan and they got up there to put forth concerns about kittens. Lil baby kittens.

They ended up getting shouted down, any cats who leaned Traditionalist were probably willing to admit "concerns" in private, but the minute someone like Squirrelflight bellows, "BOOO" and her buddies join in it's pretty hard to argue against an angry crowd.

I need to find a better way to word this but someone should get a little bit of a sassy moment, "let's go chuck the kittens in the lake so we can unlock Queen’s Rights 2"

If Frostfur is still alive at this point, she is incredibly disappointed. She probably talks to both Thornclaw and Dustpelt about it privately, but somehow, she expected it of Thornclaw who hung out with Grandma Speckletail too much.

Dustpelt?!

"No, please, don't speak just listen. I want you to think about Ravenpaw. Do you remember what Tigerclaw made us believe about him? How they made you think he inherited more of your Honor Sire than you? So that everyone believed he was a weakness to purge for being too mixed? ...I was reminded of that, today."

Lays awake that night next to Ferncloud, unable to sleep, SUPER embarassed and hot with shame. It dawns on him that Tigerclaw probably targeted his in-law Brindleface because she agreed to suckle Cloudkit and also had an Honor Sire for Fern, Elder, and Ash.

Thornclaw never gets an apprentice after the stunt, Spiderleg is permanently his only. He realizes that he blew his chance at deputyship under Firestar FOREVER by backing up Mousefur's impromptu rally, and is one of the Dark Forest's first targets when they start recruiting in Po3.

Mousefur retires, feeling old, tired, and being publically shot down BADLY.