#and he would probably like to look at the blood going down

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

can you see the stars in your dreams (and do they have a lot to say about me) - Part 1

Or: a secret Admirer AU

Less than a month into the school year, and Steve’s already making use of the library. If Mrs. Click could see him now, she’d be proud–until she caught sight of the blank notebook page in front of him and the lack of textbooks on the table. 

He feels stupid; he’s hunched over his notebook, trying to make his thoughts transfer onto the page in any coherent form. But, he’s not like Eddie with his impassioned speeches and clever English papers.

Words flow through Eddie in fully-formed, concrete ideas. For Steve, it’s more of a drip. Each word has to be scaffolded onto the previous one with blood, sweat, and tears. Even then, it’s never quite right. Too abrupt, never what he was actually trying to say.

He’s just never been good with words.

By the time he gives up, there’s more crossed out than left written, so he gets a clean page of paper and transcribes it as best he can. He’s left with:

       Your hair is pretty. Do you use conditioner?

Steve tears it from his notebook and lays it flat atop his table in the library, smoothing out any crinkles in the page. It feels like the start to something, sure, but there’s more blank space on the page than words. By a lot.

He leans back over his work, adds a little wonky heart in his blue pen and signs the whole thing—

       ❤ your secret admirer

—the way all the girls who leave notes in his locker do. Their notes are usually on pretty paper, written in sparkly gel pen that smells like strawberries. The i’s are sometimes dotted with little hearts he’ll never admit to finding cute. And there’s envelopes involved, and usually more than eleven measly words.

His looks like something Eddie’ll toss out before opening, mistaking it for trash.

Steve grimaces. How do girls do this? Do they all take some sort of class on how to write pretty letters on pretty enough paper that boys will fall in love with them? Is that what they teach in Home Ec? He should have never let Tommy mock him into switching to shop class.

Should he ask a girl?

Under no conditions will he ever ask Carol. She’d have far too many uncomfortable questions and tell the whole school all of his embarrassing answers. He’d be run out of town within days, Carol holding the sharpest pitchfork.

Steve leans back in his chair with a groan too loud for the library and fists his hands to rub tired eyes.

“Are you okay?” Steve jerks, sending his pen and paper careening to the ground in his attempt to cover the compromising words upon the page. “Oh, sorry!”

Steve watches, horrified, as Chrissy Cunningham bends down to pick his supplies up off the carpet before he’s had time to scramble out of his chair. She’s in her cheer uniform, white zip-up Hawkins hoodie covering her arms. She looks perfect and preppy and just like all the girls who’ve ever left a note in his locker.

She’d be able to write something that Eddie would want to read.

“Steve?” Chrissy’s hovering over him, lips pursed, eyes big and worried. “Are you okay?”

“Shit, sorry,” he replies. She’s got his note clutched to her chest. He curls his fingers against the urge to reach out for it—that’ll just draw her attention, and that’s the last thing Steve wants right now. “Just got lost in my head.”

“Anything I can help with?”

He knows what she’s going to do before it happens. Chrissy’s sweet—if there’s a way to help, she’ll want to. So, she holds out the paper and begins to read, probably expecting an assignment she can tutor him on, and there they are: Steve’s damning words written in still-wet blue ink.

Her brow furrows as she takes an obscene amount of time mouthing out the words before she looks back up to meet his eyes. “Did someone give this to you?”

Her eyes are still big, but they look sad now, like just the thought of someone receiving the note he’d slaved over is enough to distress her. Unable to help himself, Steve snatches it from her hands and crumples it into a ball, damning words hidden in his fist.

Chrissy gasps at his abrupt movement and takes a halting step away.

“I wrote it,” he mutters, no longer able to meet her eyes.

She’s silent for long enough that he’d think she left, except the library’s quiet, and he hasn’t heard her take a step. He stares at the grains of the wood in the table, empty hand rubbing against the smudged top as he waits for her to do something.

“Are you…” she starts, trailing off for a moment before picking her thought back up, “…picking on someone?”

Steve clenches his fist tighter, note crinkling beyond repair beneath his nails as he mutters, “no.”

Chrissy’s quiet again. Steve doesn’t dare to look up, even as he hears the chair across from him pull out, the sound of her weight settling into the wood. The table’s just so interesting. Nothing has ever been as intriguing as the little chip out of its edge, the ring on the wood where someone had let their drink condensate against all the library’s rules.

“Who’s this for?” Chrissy’s voice is soft now, like he’s some sort of horse, prone to bolting when spooked. “Steve?”

Steve looks up. Her eyes aren’t sad anymore; they’re piercing.

He’s always liked Chrissy. She’s the nicest girl in the school, until someone does something she doesn’t like. Then, it’s all disappointed eyes, and pouty lips. It’s like disappointing his Mom, but worse, because his Mom’s never around to stare balefully at him.

The point is, Chrissy’s nice. She’s not like Carol. If he told her, there would be no lynch mob, or fleeing Hawkins in the dead of the night with nothing but the clothes on his back. Probably. Maybe.

Steve tries to smooth out the page, and scowls down at it when the wrinkles refuse to disappear. It’s even worse now, words made illegible by the deep creases his fingers have pressed into the paper. There’s no way Eddie’d ever want a note like this.

So, he says, “Munson,” looking up to try to watch his meaning land on her face.

It doesn’t. Her foreheads all scrunched up as she looks down at the note. Only then does Steve realize he’s caressing the wonky little heart. He pulls his hand back, curling his fingers in so she can’t see the smudge of blue on his pointer finger.

“And you aren’t making fun of him?”

Steve can feel his shoulders drooping. He wants to disappear into the floor, melt into the carpet and become one with all the other mysterious stains upon it. “No.”

“Oh,” Chrissy replies, drawn out and low as she peers down at the crinkled note with a confused frown. But something must click because she straightens, eyes wide beneath her bangs. “Oh!”

It’s loud enough that they both reflexively flinch. But, when no librarians come skulking around any corners, Chrissy turns back to him, gaze uncomfortably intent. Steve wonders, somewhat horrified by the turn his life has taken, if he’s about to get hate-crimed by a cheerleader half his size.

But Chrissy’s nice—always has been, always will be. So, she bites her lip and looks furtively around like she’s only just realized this is a conversation that shouldn’t have any witnesses. “But you like him?” she whispers.

Steve leans forward, matching her energy and pitch as he replies, “yeah,” quiet enough that it’s barely a breath. Chrissy smiles at him, warm and small, just like her hand as she reaches across the table to put it over his and squeeze comfortingly.

The note sits, damningly soiled beneath their linked hands, wrinkled, and smudged, and barely-legible handwriting. The weight that’d lifted with Chrissy’s smile sinks back into his gut.

“But it doesn’t matter,” Steve says, letting go of her hand so he can pull the note closer to himself. “I’m no good at this stuff.”

Steve crinkles the note back up. It’s unsalvageable—a stupid idea executed badly.

He’s in the middle of stuffing it into the pocket of his jeans to keep his keys company until he can toss it out in the comfort of his home when Chrissy says, “maybe I can help?” voice lilting up, like it’s a question.

Steve meets her eyes, hand still half-shoved in his pocket. She’s all earnest now, the way she usually is when there isn’t a sad boy infecting her with his own ineptitude. Eyes shining with conviction, bangs curling sweetly around her face. She’s no Carol, that’s for sure.

“How?” he asks, and when she smiles, it looks a bit like hope.

***

 “I can help you write a better letter,” Chrissy starts. He perks up like a dog the moment its owner gets home. “If you do something for me.”

She feels like scum when he curls back into himself, gaze forlorn.

When she’d caught sight of the note he’d spent what seemed like a full hour pouring over, this isn’t what she’d been expecting. And when she’d finally made out his chicken scratch scrawl, she’d been sure Steve was picking on someone, no matter how unlike him it would have been. But then his shoulders had curled in, and his ears had turned red, and his voice had gone all soft and squishy when he’d said Eddie Munson’s name.

And she’d just wanted to fix it.

So, even as he asks, “what?” all sad and droopy again, she knows she’s going to help him, no matter what he says.

“Date me,” she asserts. It’s only as Steve blinks stupidly at her that she realizes how that came out of her mouth. “No, wait, not really!”

Her hands are waving around wildly and she can feel the blood rushing to her cheeks. In contrast, Steve seems to come back into himself, shoulders shoring up as he smirks across at her with his signature raised brow. The one he’d used while leaning on Nancy Wheeler’s locker last year, or holding her books as they walked to class, and all the other assortment of stereotypical boyfriend activities.

He’d worn it all the time, like it was part of the uniform. 

“I just meant, we could fake it?” His right eyebrow raises to meet his left, forehead scrunching up with his incredulity. “It’s just, Jason and I broke up? And he won’t leave me alone.”

It takes all her strength to keep meeting his eyes as the seconds tick away. But then Steve nods, swings his letterman jacket off, and tosses it across at her. Unprepared for his sudden movement, it hits her in the face and drops into her lap.

“There you go, sweetheart,” he says with a cheesy wink that somehow manages to feel more genuine than any of his actual flirting techniques. “Gotta sell it somehow.”

“What a romantic,” she replies, deadpan, but she pulls his jacket on anyway, something that feels an awful lot like relief steadying her heart rate as she smooths down the too-long sleeves.

Jason’s going to freak out. But after that, maybe he’ll stop calling her house, and trying to put his arm around her at lunch, and trying to pick her up for school every morning. She’d do almost anything to get it into his thick skull that she’s not interested.

So, here she is, hashing out the details of a secret admirer letter from Steve Harrington to Eddie Munson, of all the unlikely pairings.

“What’s wrong with what I wrote?” Steve whines, running his fingers through his hair until it’s all mussed up and falling into his face.

Chrissy snorts. “It sounds like you’re telling him his hair is frizzy and dry.”

“I said it was pretty!” He throws his hands in the air before crossing them and pouting his lower lip out.

Chrissy can’t help but laugh. She’s always liked Steve. He’s nicer than most of his friends, and he’s easy to talk to. But this is a side she’s never seen of him. She’s not sure anyone has; can’t imagine Carol or Tommy seeing him put his whole heart into something and not tearing it to shreds.

“Do you use conditioner?” she asks, throwing finger quotations around it as she reads it off the crumpled page.

Steve’s blushing again, cheeks all blotchy and red, rather unbecoming for the shoo-in for this year’s prom king. “Well, I thought you said you’d help!” he says, a little too loud for the library.

So, that’s how she ends up spending the next hour painfully turning Steve’s earnest thoughts into words on the pretty baby blue paper she’d carefully removed from the back of her daily planner.

In the end, they’re left with this:

       Eddie –

       I wish I could say this to your face, but I’ve never been good with words, and you’d probably think it was a joke.

       I can’t even get myself to talk to you, you’re so distracting.

       I like how pretty your hair is. How do you get your curls so shiny? I want to run my fingers through them.

       I hope this note brightens up your day. You deserve all the smiles you can get.

       Yours,

       Your Secret Admirer

It’s not what she would write, but still, it’s leagues better than what he’d started with. She slides it across to Steve, and he smiles down at it. He reaches his hand out, fingers almost brushing the page before he pulls his hand back, curling his fingers into a fist.

“What if someone sees me?” he asks, voice so quiet she can barely hear him even in the resounding silence of the library.

They’d managed not to talk about it, the dangers of Steve liking a boy. But it’d been present in the hesitancy by which he shared each of his thoughts, looking up at her like each remark would be the last straw before she recoils in disgust.

If someone finds out that Steve has a crush on a boy, it won’t take long until he’s getting beat up between classes or heckled straight out of school. Heck, even with all the rumors floating around about him, Eddie might be the one to throw the first punch.

“Do you want me to deliver it for you?” she asks.

“You’d do that?” he asks back, because apparently no one ever taught him not to answer a question with a question. “For me?”

“What else are fake girlfriends for?” she asks because they’re all questions now, no answers to be had between the pair of them.

Steve laughs, all tension leaving his shoulders as he throws his head back with amusement, eyes downright twinkling as he beams across at her.

“You’re the best, Chrissy,” Steve says, smiling even brighter as she replies, “I know.”

She leaves school that night after pushing Steve Harrington’s love note through the slats of Eddie’s locker, Steve’s letterman jacket keeping her warm from the cold.

This might be the best relationship she’s ever had, fake or not. Eat your heart out, Jason Carver.

PART 2

Welcome to my new AU! This will be posted in 21 parts. It is complete, so there will be a new update each morning until it's all posted. I've elected not to do a tag list, but it will be added to my pinned post each day as well. If that's not your speed, it will be added to Ao3 once it's all been posted here.

Special shoutout to @queenie-ofthe-void for not only their usual fabulous beta work, but also both the original idea and the writing of some of the secret admirer letters. You not only make me a better writer, but this work literally would not exist without you. <3<3

Title of the fic from the song Eyes in the Sun by Florist

[dekustowel]

[12: that time she met the parents]

synopsis - in light of a major controversy that causes his fan support to dwindle significantly, katsuki bakugou is forced to do anything possible to garner back the affection of his fans before the announcement of the year's hero rankings. katsuki has two options: either "date" japan's most-adored social media star, in hopes of her amazing reputation bringing up his, or kiss that #1 spot goodbye. it's a no-brainer what he chooses. and it shouldn't matter at all, right? it's a fake relationship. nothing more, nothing less.

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masterlist | previous | next

*there’s a written piece of this chapter*

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Your eyes quickly darted up from your phone catching on to something that would leave anyone that bled red speechless.

now to make something perfectly clear - you never thought katsuki bakugou was ugly.

not in school, when you'd see him in the hall. bakugou was unapproachable in his own right - and believe it, your friends tested that theory often. there was an unspoken beauty about him, said in a whisper from lips that knew they would never meet his.

he was not ugly when you lived separate lives and only saw him on billboards and your television screen. there are enough people in japan with bakugou's face plastered across their shirts, their rooms, and their bodies, that you could never deny his beauty had only amplified over the years.

you could always appreciate that the boy wasn't ugly.

'not ugly' isn't how you would describe seeing him today, leaning against the nicest car you've ever seen, with a grimace that would make anyone smart enough turn in the other direction.

today, katsuki bakugou stands tall and striking, with blonde hair that catches the light just right, framing a face carved with sharp, almost ethereal features. his eyes, a vivid and unsettling shade of red, holding an intensity that made it hard to look away. he's definitely a little more than 'not ugly'.

when the fuck did you start noticing details about his fucking eyes?

you pushed down any semblance of a reaction to the masterpiece before you as you wearily approached him.

"you look good," was not supposed to be said out loud, but your body's doing all kinds of weird gymnastics today, so you accept that you've said it and search his crimson eyes for a response.

katsuki doesn't dignify what you just said with a response.

instead, his eyes rake over you in what appears to be fucking disgust, as he opens the car door, feigning any illusion of a gentlemanly bone in his body.

you're barely able to get all your limbs safely in the car before bakugou slams it closed and walks around to the driver's side.

it's going to be such a long afternoon.

the car ride is mostly silent other than the low hum of an unrecognizable artist playing over the radio.

you take a moment to look at the interior of katsuki's car. black, like his fucking soul, and absolutely spotless. leather seats, probably so it's easier to clean the blood of his sacrifices off of. manual, because bakugou obviously wants you to know he's better than you in every way.

he probably never even stalls.

you laugh to yourself before your eyes zero in on his radio.

he listens to music, like the rest of us. this shouldn't surprise you, he's human. but it's an insight into the katsuki bakugou novelty. and your next move lines up with all the other impulsive ones so far for the afternoon.

you reach over and turn up his radio to just about max volume.

I thought that I was dreaming When you said you loved me

"you like Frank Ocean?!" you just about yelled, causing katuski to jerk the wheel a little bit.

"are you fucking insane, don't do that!" he scolds, turning down the radio to a more manageable volume, "and what's it to you?"

"i love Frank Ocean."

"not very uncommon, most people do."

"i guess, i just didn't realize you fell into the category of most people," you look out of the window as the sunset cascades down one of musutafu's nicer neighborhoods, "it's refreshing. you're human."

"get out of the car, y/n." you hadn't noticed the car come to a halt in front of a particularly nice house. it looked like the kind of house that loved poured out of. the sort of house that contains and produces well-rounded, delightful members of society. how katsuki bakugou lived here his whole life, you don't fucking know.

"so, this is where you grew up," you mutter, folding your arms over your chest, and leaning against the car door.

"what's it to you?" he snaps, his voice cutting through the air just as the driver-side door slams shut with a hard thud, matching the edge in his tone.

"nothing," you say, letting a smirk slip as you stand upright. "i just didn't know you were a little rich kid," you add, your tone light but taunting, a crooked smile playing at your lips as you glance his way

"have you realized im god's favorite yet?"

you laugh a little at his comment before mindlessly slipping your hand into his as he walks by. bakugou stops, turning to you with—well, it's hard to place his reaction—you've never seen it before. it’s agitation.. but softer?

it's convoluted, like everything involving katsuki bakugou.

"what’re you doing?" he demands, his gaze fixed on your interlocked fingers. despite the edge in his tone, he makes no move to pull away, his hand staying right where it is.

'holding your hand?"

"why?"

"for your parents, so we look like a couple?" you ask, voice midly irritated as you start to pull your hand away, "do you want me to let go?" But just as you begin to slip free, his grip tightens, holding you in place. suddenly, you’re acutely aware of the warmth and solid feel of bakugou’s hand, more comfortable than you'd expected.

his grip is firm as he drags you toward the front door, his strides confident and unfaltering. meanwhile, your stomach twists with nerves, each step making you more aware of how close you’re getting to his parents’ house. you try to keep up with his pace, but your pulse races, and you find yourself squeezing his hand a little tighter—hoping he doesn’t notice just how nervous you really are.

"callm down," he says simply.

you swallow, the anxiety tightening in your chest. "what if they don’t like me, katsuki?"

he scoffs. "doesn’t matter, ‘cause we’re not actually dating, idiot."

unhelpful.

you don’t even look at him, too consumed by the dread pooling in your stomach.

this was a bad idea. im going to kill Mina. this was a terrible idea.

"hey," he says more gently, an arm slipping around your shoulders. a warmth spreads through you, chasing away the knots of fear. "relax," he murmurs.

you glance up, eyes wide. "everyone likes you. just calm down, all right?"

you're barely even able to process the interaction you were just a part of before the front door comes swinging open, presenting the clear explanation for bakugou's good looks and charm.

she really is a milf. fuck.

"jesus, katsuki! it's fucking cold, you're gonna just stand there gawking at her and let her catch a fever?" the woman, who you can easily assume is bakugou's mother, beckons for you both to come inside.

"the pictures don’t do you justice; you’re absolutely breathtaking," she beams, pulling you into a warm embrace. as you bask in her warmth, her eyes sparkle with mischief. "but why are you with my son? you could do so much better, sweetheart."

"thanks, mom." bakugou deadpans.

"shut it, twerp. im talking to your girlfriend," his mom snaps back, a hint of annoyance in her voice.

"matsukawa, come meet your future daughter-in-law!" she calls out, her voice echoing through the room. A deep blush creeps up your neck at the thought, and you nervously scan the space, trying to steady your breathing.

your gaze accidentally locks with bakugou’s, and in that fleeting moment, something in his expression takes you completely off guard. there's an intensity there, a mix of vulnerability and warmth that absolutely floors you.

but as quickly as it happens, he turns away, leaving the moment hanging in the air.

completely unacknowledged.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~``

FUN FACT: Mitski and Matsukawa already googled everything they'd need to know about y/n before Mitski messaged Bakugou. they already liked her! they really just wanted to see their bratty son ;)

thank you for reading!

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[white--moon]

He thinks Ichigo's probably being genuine, at least mostly. If their roles were reversed, Shiro's sure he'd find himself hoping Ichigo's new boyfriend was in on it, but Shiro's always been a jealous, possessive asshole. He nods, but not with much conviction. He could have someone check in on his cop. A text to the right person is all it would take. Or he could probably do it himself if he didn't want to involve anyone else. "Haven't had much time to do that."

Ichigo seems to be trying hard to comfort him, but none of that is much comfort, honestly. "Great." There's a little sarcasm in his tone. "Everything I've ever wanted." Except Ichigo, of course, and really Ichigo's what he wants more than anything else. He'd even try damn hard to get clean again for Ichigo.

That sounds an awful lot like it's not going to be Sharpie next time. He's going to have to find a way to repay all these favors Ichigo thinks Shiro's not appreciating enough.

He nods and pulls out his phone, shooting a quick text with a name and phone number to Ichigo, so he can't forget to do it later.

Ichigo glances over and he shrugs. It wasn't much more than that. He doesn't really get attached to things easily, but they're still his things. "I still don't let just anyone touch my clothes. Just so you're aware." The door to his room has a lock on it, half to keep potential drunk and/or high guests from wandering in here and touching his shit.

Shiro trails Ichigo, watching as that sweater comes off, the harness goes on, and then the sweater layers over top of it. He knows it's a practicality thing. Ichigo likes to be packing, probably especially right now, with an active threat., but fucking hell it looks kinky and hot as fuck. He wants to slide his fingers under those straps. "Huh?" He glances up to meet Ichigo's attention, then down at himself. "Oh." He's still in the same clothes he wore to the bar last night. There's a smear of dried blood from Ichigo's wound. Looking good is honestly pretty far from his mind right now, so he goes for a low effort outfit he knows will still work for him. He pulls out a pair of dark, acid washed jeans with too many perfectly aligned tears across the front of the thighs to have been accidental and a tight fitting, black, long sleeve shirt with a wide neck that falls off one shoulder and leaves most of his collar bone exposed. He shakes his hair out after pulling it all out of the back of the shirt. Then he digs out a pair of mid calf boots and tug on. "Good enough?"

Wandering his own halls by himself isn't exactly new or unusual, but it feels particularly hollow and lonely. He pauses to turn the temperature warmer by a couple of degrees when he passes the thermostat, but he's pretty sure it's not actually cold in his house. It's just him.

He detours to a sitting area he doesn't actually use often. It's used by party guests more than anything. But it has a needlessly large television, which he turns on just to flip through news stations for a few minutes, to see what's being said about him and the car bombing and the shooting. It pays to stay at least semi up to date on current events, especially the events that directly relate to him. He flips channels for fifteen minutes, but it's still so fresh that the stations are still mostly just replaying footage and describing the scene, not speculating or making things up. That'll change, he knows, but for now, replay after replay of what happened isn't really what he wants to see. It wasn't the first time his life has been threatened, nor the first time he's been shot at, but he's been feeling particularly fragile this whole day. He sighs, closes his eyes and scrubs at his face for a second, pushing away thoughts of everything he's got in this mansion that could help him slow down, mellow out. He told Ichigo he wouldn't. But Ichigo's another sore subject to think about.

He pulls his phone from his back pocket, glancing at the time absently as he dials. His on again/off again, not-boyfriend picks up on the first ring, sounding calm, but the kind of calm that comes from professionalism and not true calm. His voice is quiet, making Shiro think he must be either at work or around people that don't need to overhear who he's talking to.

Shiro feels distracted and isn't quite sure why he called. Because he needs a chaperone. Because he's stupid.

"Yeah, I'm fine." He says into the phone for a third time as he steps into his room to finally start digging out clothes for Ichigo.

His bathroom light is on and he pauses, free hand straying to the handle of his switch blade, before it occurs to him that it's probably Ichigo. There's a delay in his response that a cop wouldn't miss. "No, don't worry about it. I'm not gonna stay here." His not-boyfriend sounds worried in that controlled, trying not to sound worried way. It makes Shiro feel guilty as hell, especially when steps to a place in the room that lets him see into the bathroom and he confirms that it's Ichigo. "I dunno, I haven't decided. Might stay at the penthouse for a while, might get outta town for a few days- Yeah, I know... I'll text you, ok?" He waits a beat, then hangs up the call.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Sum of All 5

Warnings: non/dubcon, mentions of crime, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: mob!Steve Rogers

Part of the mob drabbles au

Summary: you are given an unexpected assignment.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

“You look upset?” Rogers’ voice startles you. You sit straight and rub the stitch from your forehead. How long has he been there? 

“Do I?” You wonder.  

Three days in this place, sifting through scraps and musty old receipts, and it’s starting to bleed through. Oh, don’t think of the blood. You grip the desk and shift in the chair. 

“I guess,” he shrugs. “Something wrong? I can get you a different chair.” 

“Chair, uh?” You look down, “no, that’s fine. Actually, I think I’m probably almost done.” 

“Good,” he says.  

He crosses his arms and turns on his leather sole. He starts to pace. He does that a lot. If he’s not sat in the arm chair or disappearing to wreak havoc out of sight, he’s there, walking back and forth. Back and forth. Combing his fingers through his hair, waving his hand in a wordless argument, moving his lips silently. Even if you hadn’t witnessed it that first day, you could tell he’s a man with a lot of pent-up anger. 

You go back to tallying it all up. Your stomach somersaults as you hover the pencil along the columns and review the numbers. Honestly, you are done, you just don’t know how to say what you need to. To tell this man what you discovered. 

“You’re breathing heavy again,” he stops and turns to you, “what’s the matter?” 

“Asthma?” You lie. He grimaces. 

“You got something for that?” He asks. 

“No...” you look away guiltily. “Alright, I don’t have asthma,” you wiggle the pencil nervously then tap your nose without thinking. What are you doing? You still it and put it down. “I’m done, okay, and, er...” you suck in air through flared nostrils, “you gotta promise you’re not going to freak out.” 

“Freak out?” He echoes as if the concept is absurd to him. 

“Yeah, because it’s not good news.” 

“Spill it,” he steps closer to the desk. 

You lean back in the chair and look up at him. A shank of his dark hair slips past his ear and the sheen of silver strands on his chin catch the light. His jaw squares under his thick beard. 

“Okay, but like just remember that it’s this Warren guy...” You clasp onto the armrests as you talk. “Oh boy, right. I’m not sure how to say it...” your eyes skitter back and forth. When you look back to him, that vein is bulging in his head. Just say it before he explodes! “He stole. A lot of money. And he actually hid it quite well but... yeah, I can show you--” 

“Amazing!” He claps and his face lights up. You flinch and your eyes go wide. Huh? He looks almost happy. 

“It is?” You flutter your lashes as the fog fades away from the edge of your vision. 

“You did it,” he said. “Get up. You gotta tell the boss.” 

“Huh? Me? You can’t--” 

“You’re the one who knows numbers. Grab the book, let’s go,” he commands. 

You don’t dare disobey. You grab the ledger and stand so abruptly, the chair snaps on the axle. You give a sheepish smile and scurry around the desk. 

He waves you out of the office. You’re all too happy to oblige at the realisation that you’re close to being out of here. He takes you down the hall and stops you at that same door. He knocks and waits until he gets an answer from within. 

He ushers you in ahead of him and shuts the door with a heavy click. That man, Buck, or Bucky, or Barnes, or whatever he wants to be, sits behind his desk. He is just as unimpressed as the last time you saw him. 

“Steve,” he greets the other man. 

“Go on,” Rogers nudges you with his knuckles. “Tell him.” 

You hold the book up in front of your chest and sway, “may I?” You nod towards the desk. 

Barnes gestures to the empty space and you approach. You put the ledger down, flipping it to face him. You turn the pages back and start at the beginning. 

“So, I was going through it all. This Warren guy. You see, here are the expenses, then--” 

“I don’t need the exes and ohs, doll, just get to the business,” he insists. 

“Right, I know you’re a busy man so I wouldn’t want to waste your time,” you chuckle nervously. “Alright, well,” you stand straight. Your head feels bubbly. “He stole a whole bunch money!” You say it a bit more chipper than you mean too. “Oops, well, not that it’s a good thing but...” 

Barnes’ eyes narrow and his chin ticks. You gulp and chew your lip. Shoot. 

“Sorry, don’t be mad. It wasn’t me, you know, I just added it up and--” You rock backwards and tip.  

You’re saved from hitting the floor as Rogers catches you and puts you back on your feet. He keeps hold of you, an arm across your back and his other hand on your shoulder. Barnes watches with unyielding derision. 

“Holy hell, she got something going on in her head?” Barnes asks. 

“She’s fine.” Rogers insists. “Look, Buck. We figured it out. You got everything you need to off that guy.” 

“Off... you’re going to kill Warren?” You squeak. 

Barnes gives you a sharp look and you seal your lips. Why did you say that? Your vision pulses and the colours blur. You feel yourself tilting and your head falls back. You slip into darkness to the shallow noise of your own breaths. 

When you wake again, you’re in a car. Rogers’ car. It’s dark and he’s silent. You look over at his shadow as he drives. You don’t recognise the streets outside the windows. 

“Noooo,” you sit up and pull on the handle as panic course through you. “Nooo, please, don’t kill me--” 

“Hmph?” He grunts and grabs your arm, pulling you back against the seat. “Sweetheart, if I was gonna kill you, you wouldn’t be awake right now.” 

“Oh god, so you would?” You screech. “I don’t know anything. Consider it all forgotten. Out of my head... oooh, my head.” 

“Calm down. Have some water,” he points to the cupholder. Your water bottles firmly in it. “Boss is happy. You did a good job.” 

“Oh, okay, right. Yeah. I’m a good accountant,” you say. You cringe and take the water bottle. You uncap it and clear your throat. “I’m sorry.” 

You drink deeply as he keeps his foot on the gas. You feel a bit better. You put the water back and wipe your hands on your skirt. 

“Um, Mr. Rogers?” You eke out. “Where are we going? You don’t have to say but I’m just asking.” 

He snorts quietly, “gotta pick someone up. You just stay quiet and don’t move.” He pulls up in front of a house. It looks like a really normal one. “Can you do that without passing out?” 

“I...” you look between him and the window, “I’ll try.” 

[amourluvie]

lowkey… u should drop a mr crawling fic where he learns our language to say love you or smth like that 🫣🫣 or like anyone tbh

This is the cutest idea ever omg

◟✿ "you love me too?" An mr crawling x reader . . .ᐟ

Notes . . .ᐟ currently manifesting that homicipher gets really popular 🙏

Wc . . .ᐟ 2.2k

character . . .ᐟ mr crawling

After you decided to take him with you and finally escaped the other world,you have noticed he's just like a puppy,despite being a monster. He was always protecting you from the other monsters, specially the red haired man with a umbrella,and an intimidating aura. there were times that separated him and you,but your bond with him never broke. The way he patted your head whenever you were hurt to reassure that everything's is going to be fine with a comforting tone in his voice blossomed something in your heart. And you couldn't bring yourself to leave him there.

you gave him a bath first to get rid of the smell of rotting corpse and blood,and then feed him something that definitely wasn't soup with meat chunks in it,but he enjoyed it alot.

recently you have noticed that he always listened to your conversations with other humans,studying how other humans interacted with eachother,in their languages. It was very interesting to him how people interacted,he always has followed you to wherever you go,and you don't mind it at all since people can't see him,watching you talk with your friends behind you,being curious. if your friends could have the ability to see him,they probably would have been weirded out and thought of him as just a weirdo.

He watched as you watched those rom-coms,with a loving expression,there was this one thing that he was fascinated about. The way your eyes would glint up with love and affection and that soft smile that crept up on your face,was the time one of the characters will say the words "I love you" to eachother,simply confessing their love. As they melt to eachother's embrace and even shared a sweet,tender kiss. He wondered if he had said those words to you you would do the same thing to him too.

Curiosity got the best of him as he finally built up the courage as he went over to your bed where you laying in,on your phone just listening to some music,and laid down beside you as he laid his head down on your shoulder, you smiled at him as you put the phone down and started petting his head. Mr crawling thought this was the perfect time to finally open the key to his undead heart and confess his feelings for you.

"I love you." "I love you so so so much!" He repeated,with a eerie-ly beautiful smile that caught you off guard. "Wait what!?" You thought you misheard him, as he looked and tilted his head,much like a confused puppy. "I love you! You love me too?" He questioned,hope sparking in his undead eyes, blush painted your cheeks as you realised this wasn't a dream and he really loves you,and you loved him too. "Yes!yes! Me love you too! Very much!" As you planted a kiss to his forehead,falling into his arms and embracing him in a warm hug,much like those couples in your favourite rom-coms.

[apoloadonisandnarcissus]

Let’s talk 1x08 and 2x08 epilogues and how they set up next season

Allow me to explore this idea: what clues can 2x08 epilogue give us on what to expect for Season 3, taking 1x08 epilogue as an example? In TV shows, the epilogues of season finales are meant to set up the events and the tone for the next season.

Let’s start with Season 1 finale, and how it translated in Season 2:

1) Setting up the feud between Elrond and Galadriel in Season 2:

2) Setting up Celebrimbor’s pride as the reason for him to fall prey of Sauron’s deception:

3) Setting up Eregion (mainly the forge) as the one of the major locations of Season 2:

4) Setting up Sauron’s connection to the Three rings of power:

5) Setting up the forging of the rings of power plot in Season 2:

6) The red herring:

Now, let's take a look at Season 2 finale epilogue, and what clues it might give us for Season 3:

Sauron and Fëanor Hammer:

To me, this scene is quite straightforward: it’s foreshadowing for Sauron forging the One ring in Season 3. Because the show can’t postpone that to Season 4 (Fall of Númenor), really. We know this from Tolkien lore. 

"A sanctuary. Protected... by the Elven Rings":

This location will definitely be Imladris (more known as Rivendell), and, if Season 1 finale is anything to do by, it will be one of the major locations in Season 3. With Elrond building it, and becoming an Elf-lord of his own right.

Gil-galad: Sauron's armies are roving across Eriador. All Middle-earth is within his reach now. Even Lindon. We must decide whether to attack and bring the fight to him... or to fall back, to prepare our defenses. Galadriel: The sword or the shield. Elrond: Many of Eregion's bravest fell. The few who survived are all but broken. In body or spirit. They have little strength left with which to fight. They barely had strength to flee. Arondir: What course would you advise, Commander Galadriel? Galadriel: I would remember the counsel of our dear friend, Celebrimbor, Greatest of Elven-smiths. And remind our people... that it is not strength that overcomes darkness, but light. And the sun yet shines.

From Tolkien legendarium we know several things: Sauron will attack Lindon, and lay siege to Rivendell (“First Siege of Imladris”). The Elves will also fight back, and this will culminate in the Battle of the Gwanthló (probably Season 3 finale), where Sauron allows himself to get captured by Ar-Pharazôn and brought to Númenor as prisoner, kicking off Season 4.

Will there be consequences to Morgoth’s crown wound?

What consequences will this wound have on Galadriel?

In “Fellowship of the Ring”, Frodo is injured by the Witch King of Angmar, using a Morgul blade. In spite, of being healed by Elrond, this wound never fully heals, even after the One Ring is destroyed and Sauron is defeated. On the anniversary of receiving the wound, Frodo becomes seriously ill, and he's unable to lead a normal life (like Sam, for instance). This leads him to go to Valinor, at the end of the story.

“Alas! there are some wounds that cannot be wholly cured," said Gandalf. "I fear it may be so with mine," said Frodo. "There is no real going back. Though I may come to the Shire, it will not seem the same; for I shall not be the same. I am wounded with knife, sting, and tooth, and a long burden. Where shall I find rest?” The Return of the King

Frodo: It's been four years to the day since Weathertop, Sam. It's never really healed. The Return of the King (2003)

This wound forever changes Frodo, and it’s only a blade forged by Sauron, what consequences will Morgoth’s very own crown, a object filled with dark magic, have on Galadriel? And can 2x08 already have provided us with some foreshadowing on this?

These shots can imply blood binding theory is correct, and Sauron might have transferred some of his powers to Galadriel. This is not mere “camera work”: in the first screenshot it’s Sauron looking down at Galadriel, and the second is Galadriel waking up. The effect on both is the same; hinting a sharing power between them.

In Tolkien lore, Galadriel is a powerful elf-witch, an Elven queen of great magic and power, however in "Rings of Power" we haven't seen her either dealing nor displaying any kind of magical abilities. Yet. Having her blood bound with Sauron can be the show’s explanation for her source of magical power, as well as to why she never faces him directly, working against him from afar, and why Sauron couldn’t conquer Lothlórien unless he went there, himself; as well, as to Sauron’s grouping of her mind for thousands of years into the future, and how Galadriel is able to see into his mind, too.

The Three Elven rings of power: 

Season 2 finale epilogue also focused on the Three Elven rings of power, and this is not random, because Sauron will try to get them during the “War of the Elves and Sauron”. If blood binding is correct, Sauron might take advantage of this to have Galadriel handing the rings to him.

This scene is meant to symbolize the end of Galadriel and Elrond feud over the rings, but also to showcase that Elrond trusts these rings, now.

I’m not sure if this is also foreshadowing for Elrond getting Vilya next season because it seems a bit premature, so in on the fence with that one.

Gil-galad worried expression:

This expression recalled me of Elrond’s on Season 1 finale, which makes me wonder what it can mean. Is this look connected to the rings of power or with these characters?

Gil-galad is the current ring-bearer of Vilya, and, from that perspective, it doesn’t seem to make sense for him to worry about the rings. Especially since he used its power (+ Nenya) to heal Galadriel, earlier. So, it can be related to the characters, yes. And from his angle, it can point to one in particular: Galadriel.

Where is Gandalf headed next?

Woman: Goodbye, Grand-Elf. Gandalf: Grandelf? Nori: They've never seen an Elf before. Never even left home before. [...] And what to leave. If I had my druthers, we... We'd walk the wastes of this world. Eatin' snails and beetles till the sun run out of days, but it's high time. I walked my path, and you walked yours. Gandalf: We are very different creatures, Nori. When all is said and done. Nori: Not so different at all, if you ask me. Nori and Gandalf part ways, 2x08

Can this dialogue be foreshadowing or set up for Gandalf meeting the Elves in Season 3?

Is there a red herring like in Season 1 finale?

Yes, I believe so. And it’s Galadriel appearing all victorious and light after her fight with Sauron. This can parallel Sauron Season 1 finale red herring; where he arrives at Mordor, also looking victorious and ready to take over the place (we all know how that turned out).

If this is, indeed, a red herring what can it mean? That Galadriel will find herself struggling harder than ever with the darkness in Season 3, as a consequence of Morgoth’s crown wound.

[keeryhours]

how do i live without you? - billy hargrove

Billy Hargrove x female! Reader, some platonic Steve Harrington x Reader

Masterlist

Billy Hargrove Masterlist

Summary:

An accidental pregnancy turns your world upside down, but losing your boyfriend and having to go through it without him? Things couldn’t be worse.

Warnings:

S3 spoilers, angst, Billy’s death, pregnancy, grief, depression, labor and birth

Word Count: 6,841

A/N:

This is a scenario that I’ve been thinking about a lot lately, and I’m always thinking about Billy and making myself emotional. I really hope you enjoy. Requests open <3

—

The feeling that went through your heart and body when you saw the two lines on that test was something you would never forget.

It was pure fear, panic, shock, sadness, and also awe. You didn’t know what the hell you were going to do, or if Billy was even going to stick around to find out.

The thought of being pregnant and having a baby was terrifying in general, but the thought of doing it alone was even scarier.

You held that secret close to your chest for a week. You wanted to wait for the perfect time to tell Billy, but that time never came. You never stopped being terrified, your stomach was never not in knots when you were around him. He noticed something was up, and he kept trying to get you to tell him, but you’d brush it off.

It became an issue when he wanted you to come with him to a party at Tommy’s house. You didn’t think anything of it at first, agreeing to go without hesitation like any other time. You felt stupid (maybe you could blame it on pregnancy brain already), but it didn’t occur to you until you and Billy pulled up to the party that you would be expected to drink.

When you walked in, Billy brought you straight to the alcohol, filling up two cups before you could say anything over the pounding music. He went to hand you yours with a grin, and you paled, feeling like it was suddenly too hot in the house.

“I’m not drinking tonight,” you said, trying to decline the drink politely and casually but knowing you wouldn’t be so lucky as to not be questioned.

Billy looked at you as if you’d grown two heads. “Uh…you’re not drinking?”

Shit. You absolutely should have thought this through. Who goes to one of these parties to say sober, anyway?

“She’s not drinking?” Tommy asked, sliding over with Carol under his arm. “Like at all?”

“That’s weird,” Carol giggled, clearly feeling the alcohol she had consumed tonight. “What, are you pregnant or something?”

Your blood ran cold. You actively tried not to react, but the question hit you like a slap to the face. “No, Carol,” you snapped back.

Billy’s eyes never left you throughout the entire interaction. His brows were furrowed, the gears turning in his head.

“I just don’t feel good,” you added, feeling like you were standing on stage with a spotlight on you. “I thought alcohol would make it worse.”

Tommy and Carol weren’t even listening anymore, having moved on to making out in the corner. Billy’s intense gaze was beginning to make you uncomfortable, you felt like he was reading you like a book.

Despite your fears, Billy didn’t bring it up or push the alcohol again. You had a pretty shitty time, because hanging out in a crowded house full of drunk people is probably the least enjoyable sober activity. Billy had two beers before he decided you should leave early. He didn’t look like he was having any fun either, and he knew you weren’t.

In the safety of Billy’s Camaro, you let out a breath. You buckled your seatbelt as Billy climbed into the driver’s seat. He started the car and began to drive back in the direction of your house.

He drove in silence. He didn’t even turn music on, which was not like Billy at all. The tension in the air was so thick you could barely breathe. The only sounds you could hear were the rumbling of the engine and your own shaky breathing.

Billy pulled a cigarette from his pack, sticking it between his lips. He pulled out his lighter and flicked it, bringing the flame to his face and lighting the cigarette. He took a big drag, blowing the smoke mostly out the window. The smell of it nearly made you gag, but you watched his every movement with bated breath anyway.

Finally, he spoke.

“Are you going to tell me what that was really about?” he asked, driving with one hand. He doesn’t look away from the road, doesn’t look at you.

You felt like you were going to really be sick (that had been happening recently), but it was all nerves this time. You debated if there was any chance of talking yourself out of this believably, but then you realize what’s the point, he has to know sometime, somehow.

You let out a long, shaky exhale. Billy’s eyes flicked to you for just a moment at the sound, sensing that there really was something big going on. He had hoped it was some silly explanation. He took another long drag from his cigarette.

“Billy…” you began, looking away from him and down at your hands as your fingers played together nervously. “I, uh…I’m pregnant.”

The words hang in the air like a bomb waiting to explode. Billy doesn’t say anything. You don’t say anything.

Finally Billy sighed deeply, taking another drag and then putting his fingers on the bridge of his nose as if he had a bad headache. “Christ…”

You felt sick to your stomach. You didn’t want him to be mad at you, You didn’t want him to leave.

You didn’t say anything, still trying to gauge his reaction. He didn’t look happy, but you couldn’t really figure what he was thinking. He was never an open book.

Billy pulled up in front of your house. You half expected him to kick you out of the car and never talk to you again, but instead he shut the car off entirely.

“Can I come in? To talk?” he asked, which took you by surprise.

“Yeah,” you said. “My parents are home, though, so you’ll have to come through the window…”

He nodded. He was familiar. “Give me 10 minutes,” he said. He leaned over and kissed you softly on the lips and then you were climbing out, headed up the walkway to your front door as you heard him drive off. He would be going to park around the block to walk over so your parents wouldn’t be suspicious.

You didn’t know what to think. He didn’t seem mad at you, which was a good sign. He even kissed you before you got out of the car like he always does.

Your stomach was in knots as you slipped into the house, saying a quick goodnight to your parents as you headed to your room. You cracked the window for Billy before getting changed into some comfortable pajamas while you waited for him.

Just as promised, you heard your window sliding up about 10 minutes later, and you turned in time to see Billy’s large body awkwardly maneuvering in through the window.

When he was in, he shut the window behind him and let out a sigh, running a hand through his messy blonde curls. He sat down on your bed next to you, neither of you saying anything for a while.

“Well,” Billy finally said. “This is some shit.” He laughed, but nothing was really funny.

You felt bad. You felt like this was all your fault, although you knew logically that wasn’t true.

“And you’re sure?” he asked, rubbing his sweaty palms over the thighs of his jeans.

“Yes,” you said. “Do you want to see the tests?”

He hesitated before nodding. “Not that I don’t believe you,” he added quickly, his voice gruff. “I just…want to see ‘em.”

You opened your bedside table drawer, pulling out the five positive tests you had taken. Billy’s eyes widened as you handed them to him, and he realized this was really happening. There was no mistake.

“Fuck…” he breathed out, looking at those two pink lines.

“Yeah. Fuck,” you agreed.

Billy turned to you then, and he surprised you by smiling at you softly. He wrapped an arm around you, pulling you against his firm, warm body. You always felt safe there.

“It’s gonna be okay,” he said, which was maybe the last thing you expected him to say.

You looked up at him. “Really? You actually think so?”

“Yeah,” he said, and he looked genuine. “You know I’m serious about you, right?”

You blinked at him. You hadn’t known that, not really. You had hoped he felt the same way about you as you felt about him, but he avoided talking about his feelings so much you were never really sure where you stood.

He looked at you incredulously. “You are. You’re so special to me, you have no idea.”

Your eyes began to water at that, a couple tears falling. “Billy…”

He lifted a hand and wiped your tears away. “Come on, baby girl…” he muttered. “Don’t cry. I hate when you cry.”

He was never this tender. It was making your heart beat about a million times a minute, your head spinning in circles.

“You’re not mad?” you finally asked, voice weak.

“Why would I be mad?” he asked, looking genuinely curious. “It’s not your fault. It was both of us.” He gave you a little smirk when he said that, and it made you blush.

“I just thought you’d be upset,” you said, eyes trailing down to look at your comforter. He placed his hand beneath your chin, tilting your head up to look at him.

“I’m not upset,” he said. “Sure, this is…really not great timing, but we’re gonna be okay, yeah? We have each other.”

You nodded. You felt like you could get through anything with Billy by your side, and now that it was clear he had no plans to run, you felt yourself breathing for the first time in a week.

“I love you, Billy,” you said, and you froze as you realized what you had said. You and Billy had not said that to each other yet, and now you were positive you had really scared him off this time.

But Billy didn’t miss a beat. He leaned in, pressing his lips softly to yours. “I love you, too,” he said, and you couldn’t believe your ears.

He gently placed his hand on your still flat stomach, rubbing his thumb over the material of your shirt.

“And I mean it,” he promised, looking into your eyes with his deep, gorgeous blue ones, more serious than you’d ever seen him. “You won’t do this alone. I’m right here.”

—

Billy began to act strangely in July.

He stopped calling. You stopped seeing him around anywhere. You went to the pool to see him at work, which he usually loved for you to do, but you found him there looking sweaty and sick, his body covered up from the sun. You knew something was seriously off right away.

It turned out Max and El had already figured it out themselves. They had been watching Billy, and discovered the Mind Flayer was back, and he had possessed Billy.

You felt angry. You felt scared. But Will had been able to be saved from the Mind Flayer, so surely Billy could be, too. That’s what you held onto, what you told yourself.

—

It had been a month since the Starcourt incident. A month since Billy sacrificed himself to save all of you, a month since you watched your boyfriend die horrifically right in front of your own eyes. You still had nightmares about it, seeing it over and over again behind your eyelids when you tried to go to sleep at night. When you realized you’ll never fall asleep in Billy’s arms again, never feel him again at all.

You didn’t leave your bed for weeks after his death. Really only getting up for necessities like the bathroom or forcing yourself to eat enough to keep your body going. Steve and Robin came over and begged you to get up and get out of your dark, depressing bedroom. You weren’t ready to face a world without Billy in it. The thought of going outside and seeing the world continuing on like nothing happened made you feel sick. You felt like they didn’t understand - Steve didn’t like Billy anyway. They were never fans of your relationship. The only thing that eventually gets through to you and gets you out of bed is the reminder that you’re still growing a baby, and that baby needed a mother who could function.

You had never lost anyone close to you like that before. Not even touching on the brutal way he died, or the fact that it happened while you stood helplessly watching. You thought of Billy constantly, it was a neverending physical ache in your chest that was so severe your doctor thought you might be having heart problems and sent you to have it checked out.

Nope, just heartbreak. You wondered if the pain alone would kill you, too.

You became close to Max. The two of you may have never been friends before, but you had always liked the kid, and when you and Billy first started dating, she had told you she was glad Billy finally had a real girlfriend and that you were better than any of the other girls Billy had brought around. It made you laugh at the time, and you instantly liked her.

In Billy’s absence, being the only two people you knew who really felt the pain of his death, you leaned on each other. You became a true big sister to Max, and she became a real friend to you. The excitement over being an aunt and having that piece of Billy to carry on was the only real light she held onto in life some days.

One of the biggest surprises in the aftermath of Billy’s death came from Steve Harrington himself.

You and Steve had been friends for ages, only becoming closer in the past year. You knew Steve loved you and would always be there for you, of course, but you didn’t realize how much until one day that August.

You were 15 weeks pregnant, at that point the secret was out to any and everyone. You were already beginning to show, no longer able to hide under baggy t shirts and hoodies. You were tired of the sympathetic looks everyone gave you, oh, she’s a pregnant teenager and the father died in that horrible mall fire! You could see it in everyone’s eyes when they looked at you.

The doorbell ringing jolted you from your busy day of crying in bed. You were surprised to see Steve there, looking like he had something really important to say.

“Can I come in?” he asked, and your thoughts immediately went to the pajamas you were still wearing at 4pm, the mess of a depression den your bedroom had turned into.

But you knew Steve was the last person who would judge you. You let him in, both of you walking to your bedroom. You had to step over various water bottles, cans, and dirty clothes on the way to sit on your bed.

When you sat together, Steve turned to you, grasping your hands in his. He looked at you seriously, and it scared you a little.

“I just…I have something to say,” Steve said, and you searched his eyes for any clue as to what he was about to drop on you.

“I…you might think I’m crazy,” he laughed breathlessly, running a hand through his long hair before he grabbed your hand again. “Listen, I can’t stand the idea of you doing this alone.”

You looked at him, confused. “Doing what…?”

Steve gestured towards your stomach, the still small bump visible there now. “Having a baby.”

You felt like he wasn’t making any sense. “Steve, I have no idea what you’re trying to say.”

Steve sighed, but he didn’t seem annoyed with you. He squeezed your hands, looking you in the eyes. “I’m saying, if you want me to, I want to do this with you. I’ll be like…the dad.” He shook his head, speaking quickly again before you could say anything. “Not the dad, Billy will always be the dad, obviously, I don’t want to erase him or anything. But like the step dad maybe. I want to help you raise the baby.”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. Were you crazy or did Steve really just offer to step up and be a parent to a child that isn’t even his?

“Steve…” you breathed, tears coming to your eyes as you scanned his face for any sign of hesitancy or insincerity. You found none. He looked at you determined, like had had made up his mind and nothing would change it. “You don’t have to do this. You’d practically be throwing your life away.”

“I wouldn’t be throwing my life away,” Steve scoffed. “I’ve already graduated. I can get a good job with my dad, with insurance and benefits and stuff. I can take care of you. Both of you.”

He really had thought this through. He meant what he was saying. You couldn’t imagine someone ever being this selfless, it was hard for you to wrap your mind around what he was truly offering.

“You don’t have to do this,” you told him again. Your voice was shaking now as you felt the tears threatening to fall.

“I want to,” he said again, his hand moving to rest on your cheek. “You’re like, my best friend in the world. I can’t stand the thought of you stuck doing this alone. Plus, I love kids.” Steve took a deep breath. “And…I feel like I owe it to Billy. I won’t ever forget his sacrifice. He would want you two to be taken care of.”

Those words are the ones that push you over the edge, and you cried, sobs bursting from your chest without warning. Steve was surprised at first, but quickly wrapped his arms around you, rubbing your back soothingly. He didn’t say anything, he just let you get it out of your system. You had been so fragile since Billy died, he knew this conversation would bring up some big emotions.

You felt safe in Steve’s arms. You were surprised at how much comfort they brought you, and you thought maybe you would have been better off with your friends after all than rotting in your bed, burritoed in your blankets. You just hadn’t been able to stand the idea of bringing everyone down when you were stuck so deep in your personal pit of despair.

When your cries finally calmed, you pulled away from Steve’s chest, looking at him with puffy red eyes. “I feel like I can’t ask you to do this.”

“You’re not asking me, I’m offering,” Steve answered quickly, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. “I know I can’t force you to believe me, but I want this.”

You felt the tears threatening to fall again, but you pushed the feeling back as far as you could. “Okay,” you finally croaked out. “But you can change your mind at any time, okay?”

Steve smiled at you. “Not gonna happen.”

And Steve kept to his word. He didn’t leave your side the entire pregnancy. He drove you to every appointment, sitting next to you and holding your hand when you needed him. The nurses would refer to him as “dad” and he wouldn’t correct them unless you did. He liked the sound of that, deep down. Yeah, he knew this baby wasn’t his, but he would love them like they were.

The first time Steve got to see the baby and hear the heartbeat, his eyes shone with love, his own heart nearly beating out of his chest. The fast, rhythmic whoosh whoosh whoosh of the baby’s heartbeat filled the room. You looked up at Steve teary eyed, and he looked back down at you like he had never been more proud of someone in his life.

It warmed your heart that even though Billy couldn’t be here, which is a pain that would never go away, the baby had a found family that was larger and stronger than you ever could have hoped your support system would be. The whole friend group was so invested in the pregnancy - it had nearly become the friend group’s baby by this point.

The 20 week anatomy scan was a monumental day, because you’d finally be finding out the gender of the baby. There were only supposed to be 2 people allowed back in the room at a time, but somehow your friends were able to talk their way in.

It was like a party in the exam room when the tech came in, wide eyed and taking in the excited group. You laid on the table with Steve in his normal spot next to you. Then there was also Max, Robin, Nancy, Dustin, Lucas, Will, Mike, and El, all crowded into the room with you.

The tech looked a little nervous as she got started, not used to having quite an audience. When the scan started, everyone leaned in, fighting each other for the best glance at the screen. They all began taking bets on whether it would be a boy or a girl.

“Do you want to know the gender?” the tech asked, and the whole room practically yelled a chorus of Yes!

The tech couldn’t help but smile, despite the chaos of this appointment. It was sweet to see an unborn baby already so loved by so many.

“It’s a girl,” the tech announced, and the room erupted into cheers. There were some “I told you so!”s and some money exchanging hands.

The chaos of the room around you fell away as you turned and looked right at Steve. He was already looking at you, tears brimming in his eyes to match yours.

“A baby girl…” he muttered, lightly brushing his hand across your cheek. “A daughter.”

You smiled, and your heart felt like it was swelling out of your chest. You felt so happy. Then you remembered Billy, how he’d never know and never see his daughter, and that familiar, comfortable ache settled over your bones again.

The group took you out to eat after the appointment, you all laughing, throwing out baby girl names, and talking about plans for her future. It meant the world to you how genuinely excited all of your friends were.

By the 7th month of pregnancy, Steve might as well have moved into your house, because he was there all the time. There was still nothing romantic between you, but he slept in your bed, and you loved the way he would hold you at night, his back pressed against you and hand splayed out over your pregnant belly protectively. It was innocent, but it made you feel less alone. You had spent many nights after Billy’s death jolting awake at night from nightmares, feeling like you were free falling through the emptiness.

By month 8, Steve surprised you with a small but cozy two bedroom apartment for the three of you. You had no idea he had even been making plans to move out with you, the gesture catching you completely off guard. Already an emotional mess from the pregnancy and your never ending grief, you had cried, which made Steve panic and think he did something wrong. But really, you couldn’t believe how sweet he was, how much he loved you and the baby already.

Steve, Robin, Nancy, Max, and Dustin helped you set up the nursery. You made a day out of it. There was a lot of sweating and arguing setting up the crib and dresser, mostly between Steve and Dustin, but it all came together. You were shooed out of the room as they opened the windows and painted the walls a pale pink before moving the furniture to their spots.

You nested over the next couple of weeks, and the nursery really started to come together. There was a rocking chair in the corner next to her bookshelf already stocked with baby books. There was shelving attached to the walls, filled with stuffed animals, a framed ultrasound photo, a framed picture of you and Billy.

You even had a wall hanging made with her name to put on the wall, but you kept that hidden in the closet for now, wanting her name to be a surprise for everyone.

Baby Girl was all set now, really, the only thing left was for her to make her arrival.

You had been in your pajamas, watching a movie with Steve one night when you were 38 weeks pregnant. You didn’t make it out of your pajamas very often anymore. You felt like a house at this point, you couldn’t even stand without Steve’s help. You dealt with a lot of back pain in your third trimester, your doctor said the baby was most likely laying on a nerve. Little brat. Thankfully Steve was always there, ready to help however he could, unless he was at work.

You rubbed a hand over your large belly, feeling your baby girl moving beneath your palm. You thought of Billy again, as you always did. You wondered if he could see you somehow, if he knew that you and his baby were okay, that she was about to be here and how you’d never missed him quite as badly as you have lately. Steve was great, but you would have given anything to be going through this with Billy like you were supposed to.

“Can you help me up? I have to go to the bathroom,” you asked Steve with a sigh, hating feeling so helpless. You didn’t like relying on people to this degree, not at all. You had pretty much been assigned an around the clock babysitter over the past few weeks. Someone from the friend group was always here if Steve wasn’t, and you suspected he did that on purpose.

“Of course,” Steve said, standing without hesitation. He held out his hand for you and pulled you to your feet. You made it up with great effort, but at least you were finally up.

Steve sat back down in the recliner as you started moving your aching body towards the small bathroom down the hall. As you were almost halfway there, you felt it - a huge gush, and you froze in place.

“Uh- um, Steve??” you said, panic in your voice.

“What?” Steve asked, his head snapping in your direction. “Are you- did you just pee yourself?”

You glared at him. “My water just broke.”

Steve’s eyes went wide, and he was frozen for a minute. Then he jumped out of his seat, looking frantic like he’d lost his mind and didn’t know where to go first.

“Oh shit oh shit oh shit-“

As Steve freaked out, the contractions kicked in for you. You placed a hand on your stomach as you doubled over in pain and cried out, feeling like you were experiencing the worst period cramps of your life.

When Steve noticed, he panicked even harder. “Oh god-“

Steve slapped himself in the face. He had to pull himself together. This is what you had both been preparing for for months, and now it was happening, and he could do this.

He sprinted into the bedroom, grabbing the overnight bags you had already packed. There was a big one for you, a smaller one filled with Steve’s things, and one for the baby.

When Steve ran back out into the living room, he found you holding onto the back of the couch for dear life, breathing through a contraction just like the two of you had practiced in the birthing classes.

“Good, good, you’re doing amazing sweetheart,” Steve said, running a hand through his messy hair. “You think you can get downstairs and into the car with me?”

You held up a finger, telling him to wait as you rode out the last of this contraction. When the pain faded, you let out a long exhale. “Yes. Let’s just go before another one comes on.”

Steve carried all three bags in one arm as he put his other one around you, helping you out of the apartment and down the stairs. Another contraction hit halfway down the stairs, and Steve had to stand there with you, making sure you didn’t collapse and go toppling down the damn stairs. They were coming fast now, you both noticed, and that made him feel like he was going to panic again, but his pushed the feeling down deep. He breathed along with you, coaching you as he had learned in class. He had paid attention. At least he felt like he could be somewhat helpful.

When it was over, he got you the rest of the way down the stairs, helping you into the car and buckling you in himself. He tossed the bags in the back and then he was sprinting to the driver’s side.

Steve drove to the hospital fast, speeding up a little every time you had another contraction. He was terrified of the baby being born in his car, him delivering her himself. He shuddered at the thought.

Steve parked as close to the emergency room entrance as he could get, running inside like a madman to grab a wheelchair and wheel it out to you. He got you settled into it, grabbing all your bags and pushing you inside quickly, but a little less insane this time since he didn’t want to throw you out of the chair.

You received a cervical check in the ER, and it was determined you were already 7cm dilated. Things were moving extremely fast. Your head was spinning, and Steve looked like he might pass out.

They got you up and into a delivery room immediately. You were offered the epidural, but you said no, you wanted to see if you could make it without it - this is a decision you would regret soon.

At some point, the pain went from intense to unbearable. You screamed out, tears streaming down your cheeks, as the contractions got more and more intense until you felt like your body was literally splitting in half.

“I want the epidural,” you begged, and the nurses looked at each other. You didn’t like that look.

“We’ll have to do another cervical check first,” one of them said gently, and you felt a sinking feeling in your stomach.

The check was performed, and the nurse announced you were already 10cm. It was too late. It was time to push.

You cried like a baby as the delivery room turned into chaos, nurses bustling around, bright lights turning on, the doctor coming in dressed in scrubs, all preparing the room for the birth. It was actually time. Steve never took his eyes off you, brushing your sweaty hair off your forehead.

“I can’t do this,” you cried to him, desperate for someone to give you that goddamn epidural. “It hurts too bad.”

Steve looked at you sympathetically. He wanted to take every bit of your pain away, and he felt powerless that there wasn’t a thing he could do. “You’re doing amazing, sweetheart,” he said, offering you some water. You gratefully drank through the straw, the cool water easing your dry mouth. “You’re almost done. If you came this far, you can finish it.”

His words did bring you a little comfort, although all you really wanted to hear was Yes, here’s the epidural you ordered! You won’t feel any more pain at all!

But of course that was not your reality. The nurse lifted your right leg, and they offered to let Steve hold the other. He looked between you and the nurse awkwardly, looking like he wanted to ask if it was okay, before he wrapped his hands around your leg, holding it back just like the nurse was.

You had never felt so exposed in your life.

“Don’t look down there during all this,” You warned Steve, your expression serious. “You’ll never look at me the same.”

Steve laughed, but he didn’t take your words lightly. He did not look.

The doctor was between your legs now, and if you weren’t in so much pain you probably would have felt embarrassed.

The doctor told you to push with every contraction. The first one came on, and you pushed, screaming loudly, a primal scream ripped straight from your soul. Steve winced, letting you squeeze his hand as hard as you needed to. He didn’t care if you broke every bone in his hand, as long as it helped you in some way, as long as he can help you feel better.

You continued to push at the appropriate times, each time feeling like your body was tearing apart. You had never experienced such pain in your life, women weren’t lying when they said this shit is the worst.

“I can see her head, you’re almost there,” the doctor encouraged, and you felt relieved that the end was in sight, but at the same time the pain was only getting worse.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” you cried, looking at Steve like there was anything he could do to help you. He felt helpless, and that was the worst thing when all he wanted was to take all your pain away. That’s all he had ever wanted.

“You can,” he told you, padding your forehead with a cold wash cloth. “You’ve come so far. You are almost done. She’s almost here.”

At Steve’s words, you took a deep breath. He was right. You were almost done, and there was no turning back now anyway.

You pushed hard during the next contraction, the doctor encouraging you.

“The head is out,” he announced, “The worst part is over. Just one more good push.”

You had never been relieved to hear something more in your life. You pushed hard for your last push, and you knew she was out. You tried to look down, and then you heard the most beautiful sound. A cry.

The doctor held up a tiny little thing, pale and covered in blood, crying loudly. Your eyes went wide, but you were too exhausted to sit up. The nurses wiped off the baby, and then they were placing her on your chest, this tiny little warm wiggling thing.

You wrapped your arms around her, cuddling her close to your chest, wrapping your hospital gown around her for warmth. A nurse placed a baby blanket over her as well. She settled against your skin like it was where she had always belonged.

She had a head full of blonde or maybe light brown hair. She opened her eyes and looked up at you with bright blue eyes - Billy’s eyes. God, she was his twin. Your heart clenched at the sight, and you felt tears beginning to fall.

You were pulled from your thoughts by the feeling of Steve’s arm wrapping around your shoulder, his other hand coming to rest on the baby’s back.

“She’s beautiful,” he murmured, and you could see the tears falling down his cheeks. “Absolutely perfect.” He smiled softly, running a hand over her soft baby hair.

You wished Billy was here to see her. You wished for that more than anything.

“Little Molly,” you hummed, taking in her perfect features, her soft skin, her tiny fingers and toes. Molly Louise Hargrove.

You could have held her all day, but finally you passed her to Steve, giving him a turn. Steve took her like she was made of porcelain, holding her so tenderly like he was terrified she’d break at the slightest wrong move. He rocked her gently, looking at her with pure love and adoration. He looked like a new dad.

When Steve called your friends the next morning to let them know the baby had arrived, he got hung up on. He looked at the phone, confused, attempting to dial back with no answer.

20 minutes later and your entire friend group was busting through the hospital room door. You laughed, shushing your loud friends as you gestured to the sleeping newborn in your arms.

Surprisingly, they all quieted down, but then they joined together in a soft chorus of Awww! as they leaned over, trying to get a better look at her. You finally announced the name, and everyone loved it.

You motioned for Max to climb onto the bed with you, and she did, careful not to jostle your sore body. She learned over, trying to get a good look at the bundle of blankets in your arms.

“Do you want to hold her?” you asked softly. You had wanted her to be the first.

She looked at you wide eyed, her blue eyes full of emotion. “R-really?”

“Of course. You’re Auntie Max,” you answered her with a gentle smile and she smiled back. She held her arms out, and you carefully laid Molly in them. “Just be careful to support her head,” you added, but the girl was a natural.

Max looked down at her niece, her eyes wide. Tears brimmed at her waterline, and she looked like she had about a million thoughts going through her head at once.

“She looks like Billy,” is what Max finally said, a huff of breathless laughter coming from her lips as tears began to fall. The sight of the younger girl crying made you cry too, it didn’t even matter that you had a whole audience. You felt Steve’s hand rubbing your back.

Every member of the friend group held Molly, even the ones who originally said they didn’t want to (Mike and Will). Molly seemed to adore Robin especially.

Your friends visited until they were kicked out, visiting hours over for the day. Only Steve was allowed to stay, since he was sleeping there.

That night, you smiled softly to yourself as you watched Steve in the dark of the room. You were supposed to be asleep, but were having a hard time. You watched Steve, who definitely thought you were still asleep, as he paced around the dark room, gently bouncing Molly in his arms.

“You are really the cutest ever, you know,” he muttered lowly to her, like they were having a conversation. “And I love you so much. Did you know that? I may not be your daddy, but I couldn’t love you any more even if I was.”

Your heart felt full as you watched them. Molly was awake, but not a single cry came from her. She was content to be gently walked and bounced and staring up at Steve’s face. She knew his voice. He had talked to her through your belly the whole pregnancy.

“We’re gonna have so much fun. We’re gonna be the best family.” He gently patted her back as he walked with the bundle in his arms. “And I’ll tell you all about your daddy. Billy. He was a hero, you know.”

You wiped away the tears that fell with the back of your hand. You still couldn’t handle a mention of Billy without crying. But your little girl was so loved, which meant everything to you, and you knew Billy would be happy to know she was loved and taken care of, too.

The day you went home from the hospital, you and Steve bickered over how the infant car seat worked. You snatched the instructions back and forth, both desperately trying to figure out how the contraption worked. Finally Molly was settled in her seat, safely and cozily strapped in, and it really wasn’t that hard to begin with.

A nurse pushed you to the hospital entrance while Steve walked ahead, carrying the baby carrier. You could see Molly peacefully snoozing in her seat as he walked.

Steve got the car seat settled into the back of the car, and then he was helping you into the passenger seat, mindful of how sore you still were. You felt like a stranger in your own body, but you knew all this weirdness would pass.

Getting home was surreal. Entering the apartment as a family of three finally. Steve carried the car seat around the whole apartment, giving Molly the grand tour. It wasn’t much to see, but it was home.

Your eyes caught sight of the framed photo of you and Billy sitting on the living room table. You thought about how things would be different if he were here. You imagined Billy holding Molly, meeting her for the first time, getting to be her dad. You had to shake the thoughts away before they consumed you again.

You knew you would miss Billy for the rest of your life. Especially seeing Molly every day, you were sure she would only look more like Billy as she grew up. But you had built a family here. Even with all the tragedy, you had your baby girl, and you had Steve. You were grateful for the love that surrounded you, even when all you could see was darkness.

[hopefulidiocy]

Perfect

Prince!Aemond x Pregnant!Reader

Warnings: fluff, angst, HARD LABOUR, BLOOD, SLIGHT SLIGHT SMUT IF YOU SQUINT

A/N this is filler whilst I’m away

~

The baby pulled on your back as you waddled through the Gardens of the Red Keep, listening to the birds swimming through the air with their happy tunes; which was a complete contrast to how you were feeling. You knew your ultimate goal was to give your husband a baby, you knew that you had only married each other for the financial gain to give at least one male heir that can be in the line for the throne. Your family owned most of the North, all being Lords and Ladies and owning the biggest castles and palaces. Something King Viserys couldn’t let go. You had wondered, often, why you were the chosen one and not your sister, who was Aemond’s exact age. You were two years younger than him.

Your pregnant belly served as a reminder of who you were to the Keep, Queen Alicent came in every evening after supper to check on you but not to see how you were, to see how her grandchild was. She would constantly refer to the baby as a he and it would further enforce a worry that was so overwhelming you were often worried that your own baby might die before you get to meet them. If this baby wasn’t a boy, she didn’t know what she would do, she would be a failure and Aemond would probably take on another wife; but it won’t be his own decision, it’ll be his mothers. In the last three years you had been married, you broke all rules and fell in love. Aemond treated you like a precious jewel despite being cold hearted and strong headed, he would demand respect for you when you were unable to demand it for yourself. He was the one who stuck up for you when his mother had a doctor check that you could bear children as it was expected to be pregnant within a year of marriage. But you and Aemond made the secret decision to wait to try for a child, your sex had been as protected as it could be and it was still just as amazing. Sometimes, though, you wondered whether Aemond would be unhappy at the birth of a daughter. You hoped he wouldn’t be but you already had a happy marriage unlike most of the world; it would be tedious to hope for a man that would be happy at the birth of a girl. Somewhere inside of you, you harboured that childish wish, hidden and deep.

“Princess Y/N.” Helaena was by one of the stone arches, leaning against it with a spider in her hands. She didn’t look up when you approached her. “He’s unhappy.”

“Who is?” Helaena had always been a little weird, always playing with her insects and you hated to admit that you kept a distance because she always seemed to be staring. However, as you were around, you both warmed to each other to a nice conversation in the Keep hallways.

“My spider.” She pouted, opening her palm to big, spindly, black thing that made you shiver and step back. “Got a broken leg.” She pointed to one of the front legs which was wonky and stopped him from walking normally across her palms.

“Ah, I’m sorry.” You didn’t know what else to say until a small, sudden dull ache shot across your body. It wasn’t pain enough for you to groan or shout, just a quick wince and a palm on your stomach was enough. You stroked it up and down, feeling your stretched skin and the hardness of your baby curled up. Suddenly, Helaena reached out and placed her milky hand on your belly, a smile stretching across her lips. “What is it?”

“You’re going to be so happy.” She whispered, almost to herself, she removed her hand and disappeared down the hallway without a goodbye. Your back began to pulse, it usually did this if you walked around too much, the baby was almost ready so it wasn’t a surprise that your body began to shatter away after a ten minute walk.

~

Two guards posted outside of your chambers highlighted that Aemond was behind them, your heart still pitched whenever you were around him and you wished that blissful feeling would never end. The guards nodded at your arrival, opening the doors and revealing your grand, dark oak decorated chambers with high ceilings that depict your House and the Targaryen House. That familiar smell of polished leather wafted from the open balcony doors, the white silk rippling in the breeze. You waddled towards the doors, seeing the back of your husband leaning his hands on the iron fence.

“Aemond?” You questioned, walking out but before you got to his side he turned around. Without a word, he smiled, wrapping his arms around your waist and even though hugging these days was much harder; he always made it work.

“Y/N.” He breathed, kissing your cheek and his arms still clasped around your waist. You looked up at your beautiful husband with one eye, your hands softly resting on his forearms. “Are you okay? You’re looking flushed.” He hand cupped your cheek, stroking it softly before planting a soft kiss on your forehead.

“I should really stop going on these walks, Aemond. They’re causing havoc with my back.” You rubbed at your lower spine which was twisting in pain. He hummed in response, his eye looking over you in worry. “What’s that look for?” You questioned.

“I want a doctor to see you.” He said, removing his arms and placing his wide palms on your stomach; a feeling you absolutely loved.

“No, I don’t want a doctor. It’ll be the same one your mother had. I’m happy with my midwives, they’ll take good care of me, Aemond. I promise. You need to stop worrying.” You cupped his face, stepping on your tiptoes and kissing his soft lips.

“Baby, I know you don’t like him but do this for me? Just to keep my mind rested?” He questioned, playing with your hair net that kept your long hair in check. You groaned, leaning your forehead against his chest.

“Fine but make him bring a tonic for my back, okay?” You shifted back and walked towards your four postered bed, climbing on it on all fours before you melted into the soft pillows and silk sheets; your back instantly mended.

~

You must’ve slept for around forty minutes because a dull pain thundered in your back, you whined as your eyes pulled open to see Aemond and the doctor just arriving. The doctor was a stout, round little man with a face like a smacked ass most of the time and probably thinking that he didn’t want to be anywhere near a pregnant woman and was best at mending wounds on the battleground; you thought the same.

“Help her up for me.” He demanded, Aemond wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her gently to a sitting up position but you were too busy groaning with the twisting pain in your back. “Legs spread.” He clicked his fingers at you, as he opened his toolbox of very scary and sharp items that made your legs shudder.

“Is he going to use them on me?” You asked Aemond, who was now sat by your side, he shook his head but his face was lined with worry. The doctor struck his hand between your legs, making you hiss, the pain suddenly there than in your back. He grunted to himself as his fingers roamed around, you twisted around to fight the embarrassment of this moment in front of your husband.

“Damn you, Doctor. What is it?” Aemond basically shouted, shocking you.

“It’s time.” He said nonchalantly, shrugging and packing up his toolbox. “Get your servants to fetch the midwives.”

“I’ll have your fucking head for that attitude! This is my fucking wife, who you have just said, is in labour! She’s giving birth weeks before she has to! And you just say ‘it’s time’!?” Aemond was towering over the doctor now, as you wept into the back of your hand. This can’t be happening. This can’t be happening. You hadn’t prepared for the actual birth yet and you certainly hadn’t taken the tonics made for a healthy birth, you hadn’t offered anything to the gods because you simply weren’t to give birth yet. You would’ve done all of this next week, it was next week’s plan and then the week after would be your birth.

“Aemond!” You shouted, he came right to your side. “Please, please just get my midwives.” He was gone in an instant.

~

You were flat on your back within twenty minutes, your dress completely vanished and you left in your underclothes as your legs spread, your feet dangling in the air as two midwives hold them aloft, your forehead drenched in your salty sweat and cold water as Alicent kept soaking your head in some cold water tonic. Your stomach groaned, your organs shifted as you screamed; your spine splitting vertebrae by vertebrae just to make you suffer for longer. The head midwife was between your legs, checking your dilation but at this point, you had no idea what was going on. Your lower back sawed in half and the feeling went trembling through your legs, hitting at every nerve as fat tears began to soak your cheeks.

“There is no movement.” One midwife whispered to the Queen, you looked to your left to watch the conversation with blurry eyes, your face growing hot and the sweat perking up on the crown of your head. Alicent looked tense for a simple moment before turning to you, with a soft smile on her lips.

“What’s happening?” You whispered, your voice raw as she shushed you like mother, stroking your hairline as she wet your head once again. Little did you know, the midwives were readying to have the doctor cut you open with one of his sharp knives. Alicent kept stroking your head as the pain awoke inside of you, your uterus feeling split open by the muscle contractions.

Outside in the hallway, Aemond waited with King Viserys and his brothers; picking at the tips of his nails as he leaned nervously on the wall. The sounds of your screams echoed throughout the hallway, creating a cold film across Aemond’s skin as his mind couldn’t rest from not being in that room and by your side. He should be the one to wet your head and hold your hand, he was the father after all. But this was how it was done.

“Are you excited to fuck her again?” Aegon smirked, his short brother was opposite him with his disgusting piglike face. Viserys audibly scoffed and rolled his eyes but didn’t say anything. He never said anything when the boys would say some horrible shit to each other. Aemond looked at his brother with disgust.

“Shut up, Aegon.” He wouldn’t lose his temper, not today of all days. He would beat the shit out of him at the next military training day. He would show him, again, that he was the stronger brother.

“She’ll be fat though. You alright with fucking a fat woman?” In a flash, Aegon was up against the wall with Aemond’s forearm hard across his next, pushing harder and harder.

“Don’t ever talk about my wife again. Never again should she come out of your mouth unless you don’t want your tongue. I can rip your tongue out with my bare hands.” Aemond hissed, spitting in his face before a familiar sound screeched through the hallways.

Back in the room, you were squirming with pain and your poor back was now completely snapped from the lightning that kept shooting through your body. You knew that the baby wasn’t moving, you were crying with fear of delivering a dead baby, of failing the one thing your body was made to do. Your back arched towards the ceiling as your nerves ignited and your hands growing numb from the pain that bounced off every bone in your body. You felt yourself begin to slip away, your eyelids heavy and your jaw slacking to one side and before the darkness enveloped you, you screamed out one word.

“Aemond!”

Instantly, Aemond was in the room, his chest heaving up and down as he scanned the room. His heart stopping at a halt when he saw the blood, the clots, the sweat that surrounded your legs; your calves and feet completely coated in deep red blood that was already dried by the time Aemond had made it into the room. Then his eyes travelled from your feet, up to your knees that were spread either side of your body to your rounded belly that hadn’t deflated yet and you. Tears sprang to his eyes as he saw your eyes closed shut, your mouth open like you had just been screaming but now frozen in time. His mother clutched at the wet rag, watching you with grief stricken eyes. The midwives had stopped doing their work and now stood around to look at you with tears streaming down their faces. Aemond’s boots clicked as he made his way to your side, your face serene and peaceful, he kneeled by you and stroked your hair out of your face.

“Aemond.” Alicent placed her elegant hand on her son’s shoulder but he shrugged it off without taking his eye off his beautiful wife, the one woman he loved with his entire being. He shifted his gaze to your chest and saw that it was still moving up and down.

“She’s still breathing.” He said, with little urgency because he suspected they knew this. Alicent looked towards the midwives to answer.

“We must persevere to save your child.” One of them said, Aemond scoffed.

“I want you to save my wife as well.” He demanded with a soft tone, trying not to lose his temper.

“It is either one or the other, my son. Both will not survive.” Alicent said softly, whispering towards the end as if to sound upset. Aemond couldn’t handle this for much longer.

“MY fucking wife!” He shouted, jumping to his feet and marching towards the midwives. “My wife, the only woman I have ever loved and you are letting her die! She’s young, she’s beautiful and you are leaving her to die in fucking pain.” They winced at his anger as he marched back to his mother. “And if it was my mother who gave the orders to murder my wife then I want her fucking gone. Out of my sight and away from her.” He spat at her feet before turning to you, your eyelids fluttering as he was instantly on his knees, he ignored the sniffles behind him as Alicent silently exited the room.

Your eyes opened slowly, peeling your eyelids from each other and you saw, behind the blurry curtain of your eyesight, your husband with his hand stroking your cheek so softly it was like he wasn’t doing anything. His face had tear streaks and his lips shuddered a little as he watched you open your eyes. For a moment, there was no pain. Only him. And you kept your eyes on him as he brought his lips to your nose, pressing on the tip gently.

“Aemond.” You croaked, reaching out for his hand in slow motion. He met you in the middle, bringing your fingers to his lips.

“Hello, baby.” He whispered. “You fell asleep for a few minutes but now it’s time to have the baby and I am here, I will stay by your side forever and you will never have to scream for me or cry for me ever again. I promise.” Tears rolled down your face as he softly kissed your lips. “Are you ready for this, my love?” You nodded, unable to speak because that twisting pain came back and you tried to haul yourself up with the one arm that was free but the midwives kept you down. The head midwife checked between your legs and nodded at Aemond.

“Keep breathing for us, Princess. You’re almost there.” You breathed in through your nose and exhaled through your mouth, your body relaxing with every exhale as if you’re letting go of all the pain and suffering you had gone through. Between your legs, you felt a stretch unlike anything else and a sharp pain that tore through your body and made you cry out in pain. “Lift up her torso for me.” She commanded, two midwives came at either side but Aemond stopped them.

“This is my child. Let me be a part of it.” He climbed onto the bed behind you, shifting his legs so you were settled between them before pulling up your body so gently it was like you were floating and now you were hitched up against his chest, your legs being held by the midwives that were going to lift you up. “Push for me, baby.” He whispered, holding you and you felt the strength to push down against your pelvis, feeling a slight movement as you breathed in and on the breath out, you pushed down; grinding your teeth until you were groaning. “Come on, baby.” He squeezed your forearm and you pushed again, until you felt something the size of a ball exit your body and for the last time, you pushed until a new cry splintered the room. The midwife pulled the crying baby from you and held it up to determine the sex. Her face dropped.

“A beautiful, healthy, baby girl.” You would be lying if you said you were ecstatic at the reveal, but you weren’t too disappointed either. You worried more about Aemond’s reaction so you looked up to find him crying, his eye patch lifted onto his shoulder as he squeezed his real eye and sapphire eye with his index finger and thumb.

“Bring her to me.” You said, your body now in a dull ache. Wrapped in silk cloth and cleaned and beautifully pink, your baby laid in your arms, her little fingers clutching on her blanket as you looked down at her. Your breath was taken from you when her eyes opened and reached for her mother, a sob emitted from your throat as the realisation that this perfect baby was yours to love and nurture. She was yours to admire. She was all yours.

“Gods, she is perfect.” Aemond whispered, bring his hand to the top of her head. He held her head gently, his thumb stroking the tiny strands of hair that she came out with. He reached down and kissed her forehead, kissing your cheek as he made his way back up to sitting. “Well done, my love. Well done.” He placed butterfly kisses on your neck and both of you relished in this silence as you both looked upon the most precious jewel you made. A little tiny human that shared both of you, she had no idea about the world she was born in. But that was okay. Because her mother and father would protect her until she didn’t need it anymore.

~

The church filled with people up and down the Red Keep as the baptism waited to take place. Behind a curtain, you stood draped in a most magnificent white gown and white headdress with your wonderful husband at your side, dressed in white as well. It had been four weeks since the birth of your daughter and four weeks in confinement as your body mended after the trauma of the birth, you still ached down below but you had to make an appearance at your daughters baptism. This would be the first time anyone other than your husband and child had seen you, so you wanted to make an impression with this massive gown.

“Congratulations.” King Viserys croaked from behind, he came limping in on his wooden walking stick with his Queen by his side. He had been ill straight after the birth and was kept hidden away until he got better. “I have seen my beautiful granddaughter and isn’t she just marvellous? I’ve always favoured girls.” He smiled before looping around you to get in the official formation. It would go the High Septon in front, then King and Queen with the baby and then you and Aemond behind. To be blessed properly, the baby had to be in the arms of either monarch. Before the doors opened, Aemond took your hand.

“How are you feeling?” He questioned, you looked up at your handsome husband.

“A bit sore, but I’m okay. You?” He brought your hand to his lips and kissed them.

“I’m always fine, my darling. Always fine if you are.” He kissed again, before pinching your cheeks. “You look beautiful.” You blushed like a teenage girl, your heart beating as you breathed in. He reached down and kissed your cheek.

“I’m actually nervous for this. No one has seen me in forever.” You said, wringing your hands.

“Cut yourself a break. You just gave birth and you look fucking beautiful.” A thought passed his mind, it showed in his eyes and he leaned down to whisper. “You’re so beautiful, I would fuck you right here, right now. Harder than I’ve ever done before.” He smirked, whisper kissing your neck. “If you weren’t still in pain, of course. So once you’re better, wait for what I’ll do to you.” You inhaled as he straightened up, as if he hadn’t just said all that in a room full of people.

A few moments beat by and a cute gurgle caused both of you to turn around and see your bundle of joy in the arms of her nanny, Aemond smiled instantly and took her from the nanny. You watched as your husband cradled your daughter, bouncing her gently in his arms as he stalked towards you, his eyes stuck on his stunning daughter.

“I’ll never get over her beauty.” He said to you, you met him in the middle and stroked the top of her head with your fingers. Her features were becoming more shaped like yours, her little hands still grasped at her lace outfit and white silk blanket that was the same cut as yours. You leaned down and kissed her button nose. Aemond never looked away from her and you wished you could freeze this moment of Aemond and your baby; him looking at her with great love and admiration and her looking up at him with saucer eyes full of wonder and curiosity.

“You’re so good with her.” You whispered, nestling your index finger in her tiny fist. She squeezed hard on it and you smiled like she had recognised you were her mother.

“Thank you.” Aemond looked up suddenly, tears welling in his eye.

“What for?” You cocked your head to the side.

“For giving me our daughter, Hope and for showing me that love wins every time. Thank you for being the most perfect jewel of a woman in the entire world. Thank you for giving me a beautiful family.” Both of you were crying, silently as the tears stream down your cheeks and you rested your head on his chest, looking at your daughter with pride blooming in your chest. Stroking her tiny hands and watching as she dozes deep into a sleep. You and your perfect family. Safe. Loved. Prideful. Grateful. And most importantly, happy.

[dr-spectre]

I think that it's now more important than ever to keep making art.

Whether it's some scribbles on a piece of a paper, paint on a canvas, typing out erotic fanfiction about two cephalopod women, i need you to keep going. OKAY?!

Keep going at your own pace. Don't feel like you have to "grind" to achieve success, you're probably young as hell, you don't need to become a masculine obsessed fucking nutjob that is so obsessed with "discipline" and all this bullshit. Sure "discipline" is cool but... That shit takes a LONG TIME to develop and it only comes with experimentation and see what you believe in and what you enjoy. Don't get.... heh...... heh heh..... BRAINWASHED!!! by women hating bald bastards online who wanna turn you into a fun hating robot that's all about "work work work." Fuck them.

You are a human with flesh, blood, bones, a heart and a brain. You are not a machine. Got it?

Anyways, in talks of art, i wanna give my own sort of help for my writer friends out there! I thought it would be fun and plus, there's too many damn writing tips out there that boil down to "you HAVE to do this thing, you HAVE to follow this structure" and i think that is bullshit. Complete and utter bullshit that gives you more stress than needed. You know how many boring mid action movies come out that follow the hero's journey? The three act structure? The story circle? It is better to just make shit and learn what you could do for next time.

There are no rules, all of the "rules of storytelling" are just optional suggestions that you can either take or leave. Plus it seems like every fucking YouTuber has a different set of rules that conflict with each other anyways. However, I wanna share my own sort of "basic ass fundamentals of stories" that can fit into any story structure you want! I got these guidelines from the YouTube channel The Closer Look. I like their content, it's very insightful.

Here's Dr. Spectre's basic ass fundamentals for stories.

Characters. Simple, a story must have characters otherwise you are making something else that is not a story.

Progression. Is there a sense of progression? Does it feel like for every second of story it isn't stagnating or getting dull and boring? Does it feel like shit is happening and growing? If it feels boring to read for you, then it's gonna be boring for another person reading it. Progression could be plot based or character based and them growing as the story goes on. Doesn't matter which one, can be both or one. Good stories never feel like they are staying the same or spinning their wheels.

Delivery (Aka. Setup and payoff). Do you deliver on the promises in the story? And do you deliver them in a way where the audience after they finishing reading or watching, they felt like it was all worthwhile and they didn't waste time consuming your story.

Everything else? IT'S OPTIONAL!!! COMPLETLY OPTIONAL! YOU KNOW HOW MANY STORIES BREAK THE "RULES"?! Do not become reliant and dependent on these "rules" because it'll slow your development and discourage experimentation. Not every story is gonna fucking follow the Save The Cat format.

There is also the talk of theme and i will say this.

Theme is not "this story is about sex, drugs, greed." No. Theme is a message or argument, it is not a word, it is something you are trying to say via a story. People don't have to agree with the theme, but it must make people think about it. If your story is about sex, what is it trying to say about sex? That sex is a scary thing and that it's okay to feel scared and worried about your first time? What are you trying to say about greed? Etc. Etc.

I read through a Sonic comic recently that everyone loves called Scrapnik Island and guess what? I fucking love that comic too.

Scrapnik Island isn't truly about Sonic and Tails getting stuck on an island and Mecha Sonic is there and he becomes evil and does all this stuff. No, what it's ACTUALLY about is that your worth as a person isn't determined by successes and failures, Mecha Sonic feels like he is worthless and is a failure because he not only failed to kill Sonic, but also failed to help his friends on Scrapnik Island. However, Sonic snaps him out of that bullshit mindset and it's truly, truly wonderful stuff.

Splatoon 2: Octo Expansion isn't truly about Agent 8 being trapped in a facility and defeating an evil ai. It talks about racism and what does it talk about specifically? That it doesn't matter what someone looks like, as long as they are a good person that's all that matters. That life is varied and beautiful and it's worth protecting from those who wish to destroy it.

There's a reason why Agent 8 takes the time to soak in the fresh air and sunlight near the end of Octo Expansion, why Eight has memcakes to collect and we see their thoughts and wishes. it's there to explore that theme, that idea of what the story is truly about.

Splatoon as a franchise is about how wonderful creativity itself is, that art and life are connected and grow together and are important and deserved to be protected. Commander Tartar, Mr. Grizz and Overlorder are all opposed to that idea and that's why they are the antagonists. DJ Octavio less so because he is trying to save his own culture and art, even as to go far as manipulating a mentally ill Callie who was already growing distain and tiredness from her own culture, so it just so happens that these two chaotic forces share the same ideology.

Now, I wanna say, do you NEED a theme to make a story? No. BUT! If you don't have something to say and that connective tissue, then it's gonna weaken everything else and the action, plot and characters have to be fucking top notch. The "Rule of Cool" only works when... you know.... it's cool? And well done?

Anyways, I've rambled long enough. Please keep making art, please? Especially now considering what has happened. I need you to hold onto hope, hold onto creativity and fun. You must. You have to...

Be good people.

[abbyslvrrr]

Fade into you pt.2

Boxer!sevika x topside!reader

Finally done part 2! (it literally took me a whole month) I kept losing motivation to write BUT I FINALLY FINISHED TODAY!! Hope y’all like it! (I don’t think I’ll continue this tbh) I feel like this kinda sucks ass can’t lie.

WC: 1167

The following day, you couldn't stop thinking about Sevika and the interaction you had with her. The way she got so close to you, the way she looked as she was sitting there and smoking her cigarette. Ugh, you needed to stop thinking of her seriously! Are you actually considering going back? She told you she had a fight next week and you were off next week. 

"Just stop it!” You knew your parents would freak out if they ever found out you went to the undercity, let alone thinking about going back there, but why was the thought of not seeing Sevika making you feel so down? As the next week started approaching, you finally made your decision to go and see Sevika again; you couldn't shake her out of your head. The problem was, you didn't want to tell Sam about it, but you also didn't know your way around the undercity. God, this was going to be a mission. 

You decide to wear something cute this time around—a long-sleeve low-cut shirt and a cute black skirt. For shoes, you went with black combat boots. You do your hair and makeup, grabbing your phone and bag ready to head out, when all of a sudden your mother walks in. 

“Where do you think you're going, young lady?” She questioned you. Shit, what would you say?

"Um, im going to Sams, yeah. She's having a little girls night!” praying that she believed you, sometimes it blew your mind that as an adult your mother was still so stuck with you. You actually hated it, but you didn't say anything about it. Your mother nodded her head.

"Okay, be safe honey. Text me when you get home, okay?” she said as she hugged you and left you be. You sighed and went out. You kind of felt bad for lying to your mother, but it was whatever at this point. Stepping out of your house, you try your best to remember the way Sam took you, and you find yourself where she took you last time. 

As you walk your way over to the fighting ring, you can't help but feel eyes all on you. ‘Of course they'd stare; you literally look like you're from the topside.’ you say to yourself. You get there and see Sevika already in the ring fighting her opponent. You manage to get yours close enough to see her. 

The guy she is fighting is like 2x bigger than her, and yet she's so unfazed by it. He lands a hit on Sevika and knocks her back, but only for a second because she's right back and hits him back so hard he goes flying back. There's a small break that was called; Sevika looks into the crowd and manages to spot you. She thought you were so easily spottable; you see her and smile at her. You see the blood on her face, probably a bloody nose. She sends a wink your way, and you swear you passed out there. After the break, Sevika and the guy were at it again. He goes to hit him, but Sevika has him figured out this time and blocks his punch, and she knocks him to the ground; he stays there, probably passed out. 

Sevika is declared winner once again, and everyone goes crazy like last week. Sevika motions to the back, where the little room is. You make your way through the busy crowd and step into the room.

“You came, doll.” Her voice boomed; god, her voice was like fucking music to your ears. Why is she making you feel this way? You could listen to her voice all day.

"Yeah, I did come back; I don’t really know why.” Suddenly, your shoes became the most interesting thing in the world. A part of you wanted to get to know Sevika, possibly befriend her, maybe something more. But knowing that Sevika was from the undercity and a boxer, you knew it could never happen. Feeling a warm hand grab your chin gently and lift it up broke you out of your little trance. You are met with Sevika's eyes; god, you could get lost in those eyes of hers. She leans in a bit closer.

"Oh, you know why, doll, don't play stupid with me. You wanted to come see me; that's why you're here.” You hated how right she was. She pulled away from you and backed away. 

“Lets celebrate my win doll." She opened the door for you, and you walked out. The bar was crowded, and so was the dance floor; you felt a bit nervous about this not really being your scene. She grabbed your hand and dragged you to a table where a couple other guys were seated. She pulled you to that table sitting down; you sat beside her. 

Everyone looked a bit intimidating to you. Someone approaches the table and hands Sevika a drink; of course they would know what she liked. She fights here and celebrates here. Sevika chugs down her drink before looking at you. 

“So what do you usually drink? Something fancy?” The truth was you never really drank; when you did drink, it was just a small bit of wine or a little champagne. You didn't even know if you should drink anything tonight; I mean, how would you even go home? 

"Oh, I usually have a bit of wine, but I don't think I'll drink tonight.” You explain to her; she lets out a small chuckle. God,  she was perfect. No! You can't be thinking of her like that. Her voice brought you out of your thoughts.

“I figured as much; I don't think you'd find the best kind around here.” Sevika says as she starts on her second drink of the night. Hours go by and you have amazing conversations with Sevika; she tells you all about the undercity, and you tell her about Piltover. You knew that conditions down in the undercity were not great at all, and she was so passionate talking about her place here. You admired that about her. Hours pass, and before you know it, the time is 2330 and you have to leave. Sevika offers to take you at least halfway. 

Staying close to Sevika, you two begin the journey back. As you get closer and closer to where you need to go, Sevika asks you a question. “Would you want to come down again next week? "Uh, don’t have a fight, so we can maybe just spend the day together.” 

You put a hand on her bicep, smiling up at her, “Of course, Sevika. I’ll see you here again next week.” She pulls her phone out and gives it to you, typing in your number and saving it into her phone. You reach up and give Sevika a kiss on her cheek. “See you sev!" With that, you run off.

Sevika makes it her goal to get with you no matter what.

 

[things-arent-what-they-seem66]

In Your Head

Lucifer sighed as he held the guitar that he took from the battlefield. It was Adams guitar and aside from a few scratches it looked like it was in perfect condition.

Lucifer: I'm going to miss you old friend.

Though, was friend the right word? Adam was so much more than a friend to Lucifer.

Watching him get stabbed like that had been very hard.

Was it though?

Lucifer snapped his head up, eyes wide as he looked at the angel he thought to be long dead, his helmet gone and golden blood staining his robe.

Lucifer: A-Adam? What, how are you here!?

Adam smiled at him and it was too sweet for the Adam of today the one that he turned into. But not the Adam he knew in Eden.

Adam: Oh come on Luci, you're smarter than that. No one comes back from an angelic blade to the heart. Thanks for that by the way.

That nickname sliced through his core, he hadn't heard it in so long he almost forgot that's what Adam used to call him.

Lucifer: You're not real are you?

Adam: Bingo baby! Awww, it's actually sweet. You miss me so much that I actually take up space in that head of yours.

Lucifer: Why are you so..... Nice? But look like that?

Adam shrugged and moved to sit down beside him: Probably because you don't really remember what I looked like in Eden, but more how I acted. So you just kinda...... Married the past with the present. I don't know boo, it's your mind.

Lucifer felt Adam touch his hair as if to tuck it behind his ear, but since he wasn't real the hand just went right through him.

Lucifer: I don't get it, you weren't like this in Eden.

Adam: Maybe I'm a version you've always wanted.

That made sense in a way.

Lucifer: Why would I want a polite slightly flirty version of you?

Adam smiled gently and leaned in: Come on Luci, you know why. Stop lying to yourself.~

His breath hitched in his throat, sure he had always thought about what could have been between them but...... It was always just a fantasy.

Adam: A fantasy you could have made real.~

Lucifer: You didn't want me.

Adam: How would you know? You never asked or tried. You could have had me all to yourself.

Lucifer: I could have?

Adam: Yeah. But now you never will.

@fanofstuff01 @beef-brisket

[tunastime]

hiccuping tears into the shoulder + ranchers by chance?

hiccuping tears into their shoulder (1087 words) (x)

For the first time in a good, long portion of his life, Tango despises how silent the night gets. It's not without its natural noise—the balmy, sticky humidity and breeze in the grass, or the crickets, the cicadas quieting down, the sounds of animals rearranging themselves to a comfier sleeping arrangement. He should be doing the same, but he's sitting on the edge of the bed, his spine a rigid line. He can feel the blood in his body, he can feel the spaces where his muscles connect to each other, with every breath he can feel his lungs separate out the oxygen. It's at the very least startling, and at the very most, he feels like he might dissolve on the spot if touched. 

Tango knows how death feels—painless respawn and a few seasons of a life game behind him, but to feel someone else die, too. The echo of death alongside your own. He didn't like that! Not good at all. All his blood and heartbeat-y things are rushing around in his ears. He doesn't even hear Jimmy the first time he speaks up from the other side of the bed, with how his voice scrapes out.

"I didn't know they were aiming for us," Jimmy says.

"Of course not," Tango says, furrowing his eyebrows. "I know you didn't."

He's still looking at his hands, running his thumb over the lines in his palm and pushing into the tiny bones and muscle there. Jimmy flexes his hands like he can feel the pressure and bones moving around. He watches him fold his hand tight around each other and slump, pulling his shoulders to his chest. His breath squeezes in his chest as Jimmy deflates tiredly.

"I just don't want you to think—"

"I'm not gonna think this is your fault, alright?" Tango says, frowning at him. "Why would I?"

Jimmy sighs. His jaw works.

"Cause it usually is," he grits. Tango scrunches his nose on instinct, recoiling out of habit before he manages:

"That's not fair, man."

"This whole game isn't far!" Jimmy huffs, waving a hand about.

"Sure but—"

"But nothing, Tango. I just—I can't lose and drag you with me. That's more than not fair."

"I don't care."

"I care."

Before Tango can argue, though, he tastes the faintest hints of anger and frustration at the back of his mouth fade. He watches Jimmy's face contort as he tries to come up with a better sentence, something he probably thinks Tango deserves. Maybe an apology. 

Tango just looks at him. He kind of feels bad, that little bit of gut wrenching cold that trickles in, but mostly he's just confused. Jimmy's words bat around in his brain like dust particles. Dust bunnies. He definitely assumed they were done with this. That maybe Jimmy made peace like he did—though really he hadn't had that much time to make peace, if he's being honest. He's still bitter. He's sure a lot of people are still bitter. But in terms of Jimmy's whole situation? It's not like it could be helped. They just had to be careful. So Tango was being careful, and Jimmy was taking what Tango thought was a calculated risk, so he was mad, sure, but he couldn't really stay mad for a long time. So he takes a long breath and sighs it out his nose. It still tastes surprisingly reminiscent of smoke.

"So what are we going to do?" he asks softly. Jimmy inhales.

"I don't know," he says. "Go to bed? Wake up and start planning?"

Tango hums plainly. He likes that idea. The small spool of feeling in his chest that must belong to Jimmy gives a little tug, like it wanted to take him down with it. 

"Yeah," Tango says, voice coming hoarse. "Yeah, I think so."

For a moment, Tango runs his tongue over his teeth, runs his thumbs over the seams of his knees. He sighs, and then he leans into Jimmy's shoulder with a definitive huff. He's tired. From the ache in his bones, to the breathlessness of dying, to just taking in Jimmy's stress. Man. He's exhausted. Jimmy snorts quietly. He feels him press his cheek against Tango's head. The hand Jimmy had been fiddling with in his lap ends up at the base of his spine, splayed over the fabric. Tango squeezes his eyes shut.

"Thanks Tango," Jimmy says shakily. He sounds like he's on the knife's edge of crying, so Tango fumbles out a hand and lands it solidly on his knee. It's not a terribly comfortable thing to stretch one of his achy shoulders or biceps that far but he does anyway, and Jimmy huffs out a damp laugh. "Guess I'm just... pissed off."

Tango snorts.

"If you think you're pissed, just wait until they rile me up," he says into the fabric of Jimmy's shirt. Jimmy laughs. Tango tries to hold in a grin that he also smothers into his shoulder, but fails. Jimmy's hand skips over his knuckles and squeezes the hand on his knee.

"Sure thing, Rancher," he teases. Tango makes a half-suppressed noise of indignation, squeaking as he bolts upright. He nearly knocks into Jimmy's jaw as he untangles himself with all the grace of a cat trying to weasel out of someone's arms. 

"I'm just sayin'," he grumbles, crinkling his nose. "You seem like you're in a better mood though."

Jimmy sighs, rounding out his shoulders. 

"Think so," he says, working his cheek between his teeth. Tango feels the sensation of prodding in his mouth. Bleh. "Think so."

"Probably a good idea to make good on that sleeping... thing,” he says, reaching up to scrub at his eyes. He barely stifles a yawn as Jimmy stretches, twisting his tall body around in a way that feels surprisingly pleasant to Tango’s stiff muscles. He can’t imagine, especially with the way Jimmy holds all his emotions in his shoulders, that his upper back is doing him any favors. Jimmy makes a little noise in confirmation as Tango turns, attempting to make ample space for him in the small bed. He knows they’ll end up back to back at some point, but as he lies down, shoulder to shoulder, an easy comfort rolls over him. Sure there’s all the red blood rushing around in his ears, and sure he feels it right up on his skin like a bad rash, but for now, next to Jimmy, he shuts his eyes.

They’ll make this time count for something, at least.

[uas-fics]

Title: Tripping into Friendship

Rating: E

Summary: Leshy trips over a cat in the dark.

Ships: LeshyCat can be read platonically.

Warnings: Spoilers for the post-game,

Other Information: I was gonna wait to post this but I think people needed a distraction today.

Read on AO3

---

The air smelled pleasantly of incoming rain. The clouds had to be obscuring the moon. Not that it matters at all to Leshy whether the pale face in the sky showed its light down on the cult grounds. He couldn't see it anyway.

Leshy counted under his breath as he picked his way carefully back from the outhouse. He sniffed the air to ensure he could still find his scent from his earlier trip.

...thirty-three steps, thirty-two steps, thirty-one steps...

He tripped over something large and soft and stumbled face-first into cold dirt.

Leshy swallowed a mouthful of earth and cringed. The dirt in this horrid place was nothing compared to the potent and complex flavors of his Darkwood. He ran his tongue around his mouth, gathered the remaining pieces of bland dirt then spat them out.

Whatever he tripped over stirred and started to grumble.

"Huh? What...Oh, my Lamb!"

Soft paws touched Leshy's shoulders as a vaguely familiar voice apologized.

So it was one of The Lamb's little followers he had tripped over. Had he taken a wrong turn heading back towards his shelter, or had the follower moved to sleep in his path? Either answer, Leshy hoped this fool knew how lucky they were. Had he had his crown and power still, their blood would be watering the flowers of Darkwood and their flesh feeding his army of devotees.

The follower attempted to haul Leshy to his feet, but Leshy threw his arm out, pushing them away. He did not need help!

He stood and wiped the inadequate dirt from his knees.

"Again, I am terribly sorry, Mr. Leshy," The follower continued, and Leshy finally recognized the voice:that one yellow cat—well, Narinder told him this follower was a yellow cat, anyway. He didn't know for sure.

He hadn't bother to learn any of The Lamb's precious little flock's names or voices. They were unimportant. The only reason he remembered this one in particular was the cat's act of disgusting kindness in giving him a flower and reassuring words that, of course, Leshy did not need or want.

"You had better be," Leshy snapped. "What are you doing in my path, anyway?"

"My tent collapsed," the yellow cat explained. "It happens sometimes. Usually, The Lamb fixes it but they are resting after their crusade, so I thought I could sleep outside until morning."

"Oh, no, you should definitely go and wake them." Leshy smirked. "They are a god now. They do not need sleep." The thought of ruining The Lamb's slumber tantalized Leshy, but before he could continue to goad the yellow cat, a fat drop of water hit the top of his head. He turned to face the sky as more droplets fell.

The yellow cat sighed. "So it is supposed to rain. I was worried about that."

Leshy took a deep breath. He liked the rain. The humidity it brought with it freshened his leaves.

His favorite part, however, was the sound that came with a downpour.

The sound of heavy raindrops hitting the leaves of Darkwood was like music, a primal drum beat only found in his lands. His heart sank. It was a beat he would probably never hear again.

He took another breath to shift his attention away from his sorrow and homesickness.

"Son of a--!" Leshy jumped in realization.

"W-what?" The yellow cat gasped.

"My scent trail!" Leshy gritted his teeth. The downpour had already started to wash away his lifeline back to his shelter. What was worse, he'd forgotten what his step count was, too. Great! Now he would have to spend the rest of the night trying to find his way back in the rain!

"Do you need help to your shelter?" The yellow cat asked. "I can take you!" He sounded cheerful as if helping a dethroned god back to his humble shelter was something he looked forward to every day.

Leshy should have told the him to leave, but he was tired and wanted to get back into his shelter. He needed his sleep for when he inevitably had to deal with The Little Lamb and his brother bossing him around.

"I will allow it, but put your hand down. I will not take it."

The yellow cat made a noise of confusion, and Leshy gave a cheeky smile. He didn't need eyes to predict what someone like the yellow cat would do. While his realm had been the constant change of chaos, Leshy had a good mind for order and predictability, as well.

"Just take me back," he ordered.

A pause—Leshy guessed he probably nodded—then the yellow cat hastily said, "Of course! Follow me."

---

Leshy almost regretted not taking the offered paw as the two made their way back to his shelter. The rain drumming against the ground made it nearly impossible for him to hear the cat's footfalls—if he could have heard them at all in the first place.

He remembered all the times he would watch Narinder sneak up on Kallamar, walking casually with those silent feline feet of his, just to make their older brother jump when he tapped his shoulder.

Leshy almost smiled at the memory but pressed his lips together to force it away. Narinder wasn't fun anymore. He was boring and bossy. Go do this, Leshy! You can't eat that, Leshy! The Lamb says, Leshy...

He couldn't wait until The Lamb brought back Heket. She wasn't boring, just bossy, but Leshy had grown accustomed to her ordering him around in the thousand years he, Heket, Kallamar, and Shamura had ruled the lands.

And when she gets here, I will not have to feel so alone

Leshy scowled into the darkness at the uninvited thought.

The Lamb's flock didn't like him. Most seemed scared of him, as far as he could tell. Those who weren't rightfully scared only spoke to him with anger and resentment. Unless prompted by necessity, the followers did not interact with him. They didn't invite him to sit during dinner or join in a dance circle. He could not entirely blame them. Outsiders in his own cult were treated with the same level of suspicion, even the ones from his siblings' cults.

The only follower who treated Leshy with warmth seemed to be the one leading him, and Leshy could not understand why.

The two made it to his shelter without Leshy tripping on anything or anyone else. Even with the heavy rain, the strong smell of camilla that circled the shelter wafted to Leshy. He had planted the flowers as part of his claim to the shelter from seeds The Lamb brought from Darkwood.

Leshy felt along the side of the thick wooden shelter until his fingers brushed the canvas door. He pushed it open and stepped inside the warm building.

"Are you coming in or not?" he asked, keeping the grand shelter's door open with one arm.

Though he loath to admit it, it would not be a bad idea to make some...alliances in the cult now that he was stuck here. He smiled to himself. Shamura would be so proud of his forethought.

The yellow cat muttered his thanks before slipping under Leshy's arm. Leshy dropped the canvas closed then shook the water from his body. Drier now, he moved forward until his feet hit the nest of mostly ill-gotten blankets he called a bed. He flopped down to his back.

The rain beat against the roof in a steady rhythm as the wooden structure groaned against the weather.

"Wow, this shelter is really nice. It's warm and sturdy!" The yellow cat complimented, sitting down at the edge of the blanket pile. "The Leader must like you to let you live here."

"It is unworthy considering my past station, but it will do."

The Lamb had not given Leshy the roof over his head. In actuality, Leshy claimed the shelter when the previous occupant dropped dead near the shrine one day. Leshy made sure both his brother and The Lamb knew he would bully anyone who tried to take it from him. His threats were enough to make The Lamb relent and allow him to move from the pathetic canvas tent he had been sleeping in.

Leshy took a blanket and wrapped it around his shoulders, careful not to get it stuck on his branches. He yawned and leaned with his back pressed against the wall.

"Sleep wherever. It does not matter to me."

Leshy listened as the yellow cat shuffled around his shelter for a moment. It had to be dark, so, like Leshy himself, the yellow cat was blind to his surroundings. He brushed his fingers against Leshy's tail, only to jerk away and mutter an apology.

Leshy would roll his eyes if he still had them. He took the blanket from his shoulders and tossed it to where he thought the yellow cat was. A muffled 'oof!' confirmed he hit his target. He pulled a second blanket from his nest and returned to his cocoon of warmth.

"Thank you. Um, good night, Mr. Leshy."

Leshy grunted in response and drifted off to sleep.

---

It wasn't quite morning yet when Leshy woke again, as he couldn't hear the bustle of The Lamb's flock or the smell of breakfast cooking. The rain hadn't stopped, but it had faded to a light drizzle.

From beside him, something breathed deeply. Leshy nearly pushed it away before remembering the events that unfolded a couple of hours earlier. He slowly reached his fingers and brushed warm fur. The yellow cat was pressed against his hip, sound asleep.

Well, Leshy had told him to sleep wherever.

Leshy ran his fingers along the fur until he found a particularly soft spot near, what he assumed, was the yellow cat's ear. He absentmindedly stroked the spot, enjoying the warmth under his fingertips.

The yellow cat began to purr, a resonating sound that filled the shelter. He stopped, startled. He had forgotten that cats did that when they were comfortable. More than a thousand years had passed since he'd had a cat purring so close to him.

He pulled his hand to his chest. What was he doing? He didn't know this cat.

What if he woke up angry that Leshy touched him? If Leshy was going to gain favor with this cat, he had to...oh, what was it The Lamb had said? Oh, yes, Leshy would have to 'put his divine entitlement' to the side.

Though thousands of years protecting Darkwood earned him that 'entitlement', Leshy knew The Little Lamb had something of a point.

The yellow cat shifted and Leshy stiffened. Had he woken him?

The yellow cat yawned and squirmed around until his head and arms rested on Leshy's lap. He released a heavy, contented sigh.

Leshy cautiously put his hand on the top of the yellow cat's head and petted the space between his ears.

The yellow cat began to purr again, vibrating against Leshy's lap.

As Leshy began to nod off, he decided since the yellow cat laid on his lap, the petting wasn't 'entitlement.' It was just being fair.

----

The warmth around Leshy was suddenly pulled away, leaving him cold and annoyed.

"Get up," Narinder ordered, dropping the blanket he'd so cruelly taken with a soft plop. "The Lamb says you aren't allowed to keep skipping morning sermons, Leshy."

Leshy groaned, covering his head with his arms. He didn't want to listen to The Little Lamb prattle on, He wanted to listen to--

Leshy pushed himself up and started feeling around for the yellow cat.

"Where did he go?" He demanded of his brother. "Where is he?"

"He?" Narinder asked. "Whom do you mean?"

"You know, him! Ah, um, that—the yellow cat! He was just here!" Leshy threw his hands up in exacerbation. Nothing else lay in the bed beside Leshy.

"Yellow...cat?" Narinder echoed. "Oh, the one I saw sneaking out of your shelter this morning? What was it, Cornelius, Cathleon, Consus? Something with a 'C,' anyway, I think. Or maybe a 'T'? Thornton? Thimothy? Mmm, I cannot remember. If you are bedding him, should you not know?"

He had a sneer in his voice that graded against Leshy's nerves. Leshy clenched his fists. He knew his brother was trying to make him mad—and it was working!

"Do not speak on matters that do not concern you," Leshy grumbled.

Narinder snorted a laugh. "He will be at the sermon. You can go and ask his name there." The shelter's canvas flapped as his brother left. "Or not. It does not matter to me."

Leshy bristled. He stood and his side felt suddenly cold as he recalled the yellow cat leaning against him in the night. He lashed his fist out, hitting the wooden wall in anger. If he ever became a god again, he was going to cull the cat population, or at least any that acted like his damned brother!

He swore under his breath as he headed towards the door. He threw open the canvas. The scent of rain still hung heavy in the air. The wet grass brushed droplets on his ankles and feet as he stepped out. The cult was alive with morning activity. The smell of cooking food made his stomach grumble.

He opened his mouth to shout for his brother when another voice cut him off.

"Mr. Leshy, you are awake!" The yellow cat chirped.

The scent of fresh bread and warm berry jam filled Leshy's nose as the yellow cat pressed a leaf bowl into his hands. "I got you something to eat, as thanks for letting me stay with you last night."

Leshy felt the skin under his leaves heat up at the kind gesture. Before he could answer the yellow cat, from beside his front door, Narinder called, "Why, good morning there."

"Oh, ah, um, good morning, Disciple Narinder," The yellow cat greeted with a touch of embarrassment in his tone.

Narinder chuckled darkly and a shiver crawled up Leshy's spine.

"You know, Leshy was just telling me," Narinder put his hand firmly on Leshy's shoulder and squeezed, "that he was so excited for you to escort him to the temple for the morning sermon."

Leshy started to snap, "I said n--" when he smelled the yeasty bread and sweet jam in his hands and stopped himself. He gritted his teeth. He didn't want to hear that vile creature spew lies and false promises about the afterlife, but, hadn't he decided allies would be useful last night?

He sighed. "I said...I would like to sit in the back. In case, it gets so boring I fall asleep."

Narinder patted his back while chuckling. Leshy whipped his head around in an attempt to take a bite out of his brother, but his teeth snapped against empty air.

With one last, victorious laugh, Narinder whispered in Leshy's ear, "Too easy." before he took his leave.

Leshy threw some of the jam-covered bread in his mouth and chewed loudly, annoyed that he walked right into Narinder's trap. Despite their thousand-year rift, his brother still knew him too well.

The yellow cat covered a laugh with a cough. "You two don't look alike, but I guess you two are really brothers, aren't you?"

"Unfortunately," Leshy muttered. He stepped backwards until his tail brushed the camilla plants around his shelter.

The yellow cat wandered closer to continue their conversation.

"I know he was putting words in your mouth," The yellow cat said. "You should go to the sermon, but I won't drag you if you don't want to go."

Leshy took another bite, chewing slowly as he thought. Finally, he swallowed and asked, "Why are you being so nice? What do you gain from it?"

"'Gain'?" He repeated. "I guess I'd be gaining a friend—and a friend who is an ex-god at that."

"An ex-god who put your god's throat to the blade," Leshy pointed out before he could think better of it.

"But they came back, so it doesn't matter, does it?"

Leshy nearly choked on his food. He had heard rumors that orange cats were as smart as a stack of rocks, but it seemed yellow ones didn't even have that.

The yellow cat patted his back as he coughed. Once he could breathe again, Leshy chuckled with a shake of the head. This cat was something else, and Leshy was starting to like whatever that something was. This cat was no Heket, of course, but he would not be so bad of a friend to have around.

Leshy finished up the last of his breakfast and started ripping up the leaf bowl.

"Well, Let us get this over with," he said, spewing half-chewed bread as he dropped the leaf pieces to the ground.

He held out his hand. When the yellow cat didn't take it, Leshy asked, "Are you going to lead me there or not?"

After a heartbeat, the yellow cat placed his palm against Leshy's, and the two headed toward the temple.

----

AN: This one-shot is dedicated to my cat, Morwen, whom I tripped over and is the reason I have a carpet burn scar on my knee months later. Love you, boo!

[ashblooddragons]

My Heart, My Ruin (Prolouge/?)

22 ac Kingslanding

Maegors pov

I could hear my good-sister's screams well into the night. I finally gave up trying to fid sleep once the hour of the owl came, I climbed out of my bed and went to where I knew my brother would be waiting until his wife had given birth to their child. She’s been in labor since yesterday at the hour of the wolf, surely she should have had the babe by now.

When I walked in I saw mother and father standing next to each other whispering as my brother sat in a chair sobbing.

“What’s wrong, she’s been in labor since yesterday, shouldn’t the babe be here?” I ask as I rub the drowsiness from my eyes. 

I watch mother and father look at each other silently having a conversation with only their eyes. Probably deciding if I should know or not. But it is not them who answers but my sniffling brother.

“The babe won’t come, the Maesters think Alyssa’s contractions are too weak.” Aenys sobs out.

“These are just guesses my son, they are giving her a concoction now to strengthen them.” Father says rubbing Aenys back as he sobs into his hands. 

I look at Mother and see a scowl on her face, she never liked how Father treats Aenys compared to me says he “treats him like some infant looking for their Mother’s teat.” and in this moment of watching his brother sob so openly, he wonders if his mother is right.

“What would happen if the concoction doesn’t work?” I ask looking from my brother to my Mother.

“Then we will have to choose who lives, the babe or the Mother.” Mother responds in a cold calculating tone. This only makes Aenys sob more.

“But it will not come to that, we have the greatest Maesters in all of the seven Kingdoms we have nothing to fear.” Father says trying to reassure Aenys again as he glares at Mother.

Mother scoffs and takes a sip of her amber gold wine, she doesn’t like it as much as Dornish red but ever since Rhaenys death she won’t touch anything to do with the Dornish. She often says. “They took my sister with that scorpion arrow, I suppose I am glad they had horrible aim and Meraxes did not perish either. If this, me not drinking their wine is the only way I can show how I hate them, then I will.” 

Mother and Father say Meraxes had seen the arrow coming, she had tried to dive so it wouldn’t his either her or Aunt Rhaenys, but she hadn’t noticed quick enough, and the arrow had split her in two. Meraxes has been inconsolable since her rider’s death, but Father has said he swears he sees her flying above Kingslanding over the last moon, as if looking, searching for something. This is odd as she much prefers the sulfur rocks and salty air of Dragonstone compared to Kingslandings stench and filth. 

I can not blame the dragon though, I do as well, I’d much rather be on our ancestral home instead of this filth-ridden city.

We all flinched, well besides Mother, when we hear a bone-chilling scream from Alyssa, and then it all went quiet. I hear Aenys sob more thinking his wife as perished until we hear the cries that only a healthy babe could make. 

Aenys bolts out of his chair and rushes to his wife, Mother, and Father not far behind them. I sigh in relief knowing I can finally get some much-needed sleep. 

The next morning I go to visit my new niece, when I enter I see my good-sister asleep on the birthing bed with new sheets dorning it so the stench of blood isn’t as pungent in the air. I turn and look at my brother who is smiling down at a bundle in his arms.

Are babes truly that small, Alyssa was huge and the bundle doesn’t even reach the length of my brother's forearm.

I’m cut out of my musing when Aenys looks at me smiling waving me over trying to keep quiet as to not wake his wife or the babe.

“Come meet your niece, Rhaella.” He says as he rests the babe into my arms making sure I hold her right.

When I look down I see her looking up at me with the most gorgeous lavender eyes I’ve ever seen, they take my take my breath away. I shake my head trying to gain my bearings again. 

“She’s so small, is she supposed to be this small?” I ask as I move some of the blanket to see a swarm of silver-white curls atop her little head.

“I had asked the Maesters the same thing, they said it’s normal for the first to be small.” He responds touching the tufts of hair upon her head. 

I nod not taking my eyes off hers, I couldn’t look away even if I wanted to. I sit on a plush armchair staring at her, staring at the very being who seems to keep my heart pumping now, the very thing I will always adore and cherish, the one thing, one person I could never hurt. I knew in this moment she would be the very focal point of my heart, but she would also be my very ruin.

Special thanks to my bestie @sugutoad for making the Header for this fic!!! I swear I'd be lost without you Girly!

@sugutoad @ilikefelines @baybaybear1 @sachaa-ff @mmogurl @classicsimpforaaronwarner

[fictionismyreality3]

Scary Dog Privilege

Warnings: romance and everything that comes with it, allusions to violence

Notes: I want all four of them to walk behind me while I carry a bunch of shopping bags 🤭

Gaz is probably the most level-headed of the 141, but that doesn't mean he won't go to bat for you in an instant. While he might not look as outwardly imposing as Ghost, or have the mecurial grin that Johnny can sport, he is like a snake.

Gaz will walk beside you while you're out, larger hand around your smaller one, a flicker of danger in his eye that only shows to anyone who looks a little too long. He doesn't need bloodly knuckles when he has his tongue.

"Oh, you were just askin' her a question?" All piercing gaze and sharp tone. "Looks like you were just leaving, yeah?"

Soap on the other hand, well... he's a little more physical with the people he's protective of. The man will not hesitate to throw a punch or two if someone so much as looks in your direction a little too long.

Johnny's a little too eager, seeing his abilty to protect you as a way to prove his love. Many nights at the bar with the team have ended with you or Simon pulling him off of someone who tried to order you a drink.

"C'mon, bonnie-" He'd plead, spitting some blood out in his desire to get back to the brawl. "Let m'show ye how good I can fight f'ye."

Price is a little more queit in his protectiveness, but a little more showy than Gaz. A big hand on the small of your lower back, all burly and gruff as he follows you to whatever store you want to go in next.

Doesn't mind making a point of who you belong to, but prefers using his years of being in a position of leadership to his advantage. Someone giving you trouble at the check out counter? He'll have a nice chat with the young man about the importance of good manners.

"Go wait in the car, little one." God forbid someone tries to charge you $300 for an oil change. "I'm just going to go over the bill with our friend here."

Ghost just has to stand there. The man is like a wall of darkness and shadow and will take advantage of his soulless brown eyes. He doesn't hold your hand while you're out, but thats only because he believes any outward display of affection would get you linked to him and killed.

That said, he doesn't even really have to touch you for others to know you're his. Will follow you around like a lost puppy, just hovering behind you as you walk the streets and point to displays in the window. His presence is threatening enough. But he has no qualms getting messy.

"Simon... he only asked for directions." You stared down at his bloody hands. "..fucker spoke t'you." "Yeah, for directions-"

"Didn't like it."

[bougiebutchbinch]

I’m back to talk about transfemme Wade (who I think would refuse to go by Wanda bc “we already have one of them, don’t wanna confuse the fans!”) but in an embarrassing amount of thought so anon-

I feel like she has so many wigs that sit along the wall of their room, one for every occasion (Logan talked her out of getting a massive Miku length one bc she would never take care of it Well enough-), her favorite is the Barbie of just a cute blonde ponytail that sometimes she’d clip colorful strips into. Sometimes she showers wearing a wig for the Euphoria of her bf being pissed there’s a bunch of plastic in the drain- she goes through so many phases of what style she likes, their living room was full of amazon boxes at some point and Logan was ‘forced’ to sit through a fashion show and give his opinions, and while he doesn’t know the difference between Lolita (THE STYLE THE STYLE!!!!) and Harijuku, all he knows is his girl is beaming and rambling a mile a minute and he can’t make himself veto any outfit she shows off. Unfortunately his real favorite look of hers involves the same t shirts and boxers she wore before coming out, no makeup, no wig, face mushed into his chest and just Content as can be. He doesn’t care about her putting on a big effort to look femme (though will always lovingly praise looks so the RSD doesn’t trigger), as long as she’s happy and safe, he’s so lucky to have her 🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷 anyways I go ESPLODE NOW thinking of my self ship with her-

WAILS AND RUBS MY FACE ALL OVER THIS LIKE A HAPPY CAT

AWHHHHHHH

she is everything to me. EVERYTHINGGGGG

[UNDER A CUT for discussions of bottom dysphoria - as well as related self-inflicted violence, but in a Poolverine way where violence is consensual and sexy and fun for everyone involved!]

I need her to be happy and to find joy and to have a million wigs and for Logan to love her just as much with them as without them, while bitching something rotten while he pulls the gross wads of plastic faux-hair out the drain

I need her to drape herself over Logan's lap like a happy housecat only Logan's the one who starts (embarrassedly) purring as he strokes her because he's so delighted and comfortable in his life right now~ And Wade is just being VIBRATED by the very loud proof of her boyfriend's love of her.... And she is smiling the GOOFIEST grin while Logan turns bright red!

I need her to turn to Logan after a long day of murder and they start pulling voraciously at each other's clothes - only Logan freezes STARSTRUCK because. Damn. And Wade's kinda confused and a bit self conscious, but tries to hide it under jokes until Logan says in this gruff, choked voice - "You look so fucking good in red" and she looks down to see where she's pulling off her costume and she's just fucking covered in this glossy red satin dress of her own blood ❤️

(And Logan maybe buys her a long red evening dress that she's probably never gonna have occasion to wear, but he's flushing so much when he presents it that he almost matches the colour, and he wants to see her in it so bad, and whenever Wade wears it around the house just casually, she gets picked up and fucked against the nearest wall lmao)

I need Logan dipping her effortlessly in a kiss, and she feels so fucking weightless in his arms ❤️

I need them baking together before Laura comes around and they both keep burning shit but they're laughing and having a good time and there's a smudge of flour on Wade's nose and Logan is imploding internally over how cute she is

I also need her to casually say to Logan one day when the Bottom Dysphoria is particularly bad, 'hey can you chop off my dick while fucking me and then just keep chopping it off whenever it tries to grow back??' and Logan is like 'what the fuck babe' and 'I have a vague sense that I shouldn't enable this' and 'babe are you fucking sure' and Wade is like 'yeah I get off on pain and that would make me very very happy, plus it will do no lasting damage <3' and Logan is like 'OOKAY I GUESS' and then they have fun horrific bloody mutilation sex that would look absolutely awful to anyone else but is actually very tender and affirming and cute