#but in this one someone finally saved him

[kinardstits]

(@ AO3. Bucktommy mpreg, cos that's what we're doing now lmao)

There’s no nausea.

No bolting from the kitchen when Melton insists on heating his tuna salad.

No tears, no emotional outbursts, nothing to tip Tommy off until the bell rings and he jumps off his seat, only to have his vision go white and the world tilt into darkness.

He wakes to Lucy taking his blood pressure; to his Captain, of all people, holding his legs up in her lap.

Tommy closes his eyes, swallowing the embarrassment.

.

He thought it was exhaustion.

Tommy knew he shouldn’t–

He caused this.

Ev– Buck had looked at him, all wide smiles and stars in his eyes, and he had gotten up and left, absolutely terrified in the face of the other’s worship.

So, when he began to have trouble sleeping, lost his appetite, began to isolate–

He deserved it. That was punishment.

The results in his shaky hands feel worse than that.

“Mr. Kinard?” Tommy barely reacts besides looking up at the nurse. She smiles back, not unlike a sympathetic wince. “Is there anyone you would like me to call?”

Tommy ought to say no.

He nods instead.

.

The bench is warm from the sun. It could be enough to ward off the chill that seemed to seep into his bones.

It’s not.

Someone comes to a stop beside him. They wait for a beat before they sit, knee knocking into his. “Hey.”

To his horror, Tommy feels tears flood his vision. “Hey.”

Eddie frowns, leaning forward in his seat to try and catch Tommy’s gaze. He looks concerned yet wary, watching him so closely Tommy feels like his skin is being peeled back. “I was surprised when the hospital called me.” He said, eyes flickering between Tommy’s face and the envelope in his hands. “I thought you had changed your emergency contact to…”

Tommy tries not to wince as Eddie trails off. “I nearly did.” He sniffs, wiping his nose with the back of his sleeve. “Had the paperwork filled and everything, but then I thought I wouldn’t want a stranger to tell him I’d died, so.” He shrugs.

“You added me?”

Tommy nods. “Yeah.”

Eddie is silent for a bit before saying, “Well, you’re a fucking asshole.” And Tommy lets a laugh, closely resembling a sob. “Cos I wouldn’t want that either.”

“Sorry. I should probably change it–”

“Don’t you dare,” Eddie glares before his eyes flicker to the envelope again. “Is that what this is? Are you–?”

“Dying?” Tommy asks and Eddie nods, face resolute. He shakes his head, “Not any more than the regular living being.” Before the other can ask, he offers him the envelope.

Eddie hesitates, however. “Are you sure?”

“I, uh.” And Tommy is back to blinking back tears, trying to focus on anything other than whatever his life is at the moment. “I don’t know what to do.” He confesses. “For the first time since I left the military, I’m truly at a loss, Eddie, and I know, I know I hurt Buck and that he certainly got you in the divorce, but. I, uh. I don’t have many friends. I didn’t know who else to talk to.”

Concerned, and more than a little curious, Eddie carefully extracts the envelope from Tommy’s shaky fingers. They’re both silent save for the sound of paper rustling and Tommy feels his heart leap into his throat the moment Eddie seems to stop breathing beside him. “Tommy.”

“My parents got me tested as a child. I believed the paperwork– I never thought to check.”

“You shouldn’t have had to,” Eddie tries to soothe, reaching out to curl a hand around one of Tommy’s wrists.

“I’m forty-one years old,” Tommy chokes out, tears finally falling onto his jeans. He stares as the droplets soak into the fabric. “I don’t– I never expected this .”

Eddie’s face becomes a complicated mess. “Well, if you’re having unprotected sex, what did you expect? A flatscreen?” He backpedals quickly when Tommy stands, ripping his wrist out of his hand. “I’m sorry– I’m trying to lighten the mood–”

“Very fucking poorly–”

“I know, it sounded better in my head– Whoa.”

Tommy blinks and he’s back on the bench, lightheaded. “Oh, uh. Thanks.”

Eddie’s staring at him, the paramedic in him alert. “What else did the nurses tell you?”

“Uh. To set up an appointment with an Ob-Gyn. To– To eat, yeah. My glucose’s low.”

And Eddie just keeps on staring, eyes narrowing. “And they didn’t give you anything while you were inside?” When Tommy shakes his head, he visibly bites back a curse. “Well, c’mon then. I know a place with the best breakfast burritos in the whole of LA.” Eddie pauses, then leans in. “Don’t tell Abuela.”

.

Tommy begins to feel normal around the last mouthful of his second burrito, sighing almost obscenely at the mix of salsa, cheesy eggs, and sausage invading his palate.

The cilantro alone could drag a moan out of him.

He hates cilantro.

It tastes like soap.

(It tastes like heaven.)

Eddie watches him with thinly veiled amusement, sipping at his latte and pushing his last burrito toward Tommy. “You look like you haven’t seen food in weeks.”

Tommy shrugs, already biting into the offered treat. “Haven’t had much appetite, to be honest. Since.”

They fall silent then, sitting in the bed of Eddie’s truck somewhere along the coast. “Why did you do it?” Eddie eventually caves, asking the question that Tommy’s certain had been burning at the tip of his tongue since he got the call. “Buck’s been miserable, and you, well.” He snorts. “You look like roadkill.”

“Hm, flatterer.”

“And you’re an expert at deflecting. Trust me, takes one to know one.” Eddie takes another sip of his coffee. After so long with a fuzzy caterpillar on his lip, he looks strange bare-faced. “Spill.”

Tommy returns his gaze to his food. “I’m sure Buck has told you everything there is to know.”

“From his point of view, yeah. I want to know yours, too. I’m sure you had a reason.” When Tommy stares at him in wonder, Eddie shrugs self-consciously. “I’m not saying I agree with what you did or why you did it– I’m sure your reasoning’s absolute horse shit. Just that it probably made sense to you.”

Picking at the frayed edges of the paper wrap, Tommy considers his words before, “He asked me to move in.”

“I know.”

“He never even told me he loved me.”

Eddie pauses and lowers his styrofoam cup. “Ever?”

Tommy shakes his head, letting out a humorless chuckle. “He found out about Abby and pulled away. Next thing I know, I’m knocking on his door for date night and he’s talking about how confident I am, about how I’m an inspiration for him. Then, he asks me to move in.” Appetite forgotten, he re-wraps the burrito and sets it aside. Picks up his chamomile tea and makes a show of blowing on it, trying to swallow past the lump in his throat. “It hit me then that he was infatuated by the Tommy in his head, not me.” He snorts humorlessly. “I barely came out four years ago, Eddie. I’m not confident, I’m just a coward, but Ev– Buck? He has been cruising ahead, speedrunning through his queer experience and I just. I couldn’t keep up anymore.

Tommy sips at his tea and burns the tip of his tongue. He continues. “I realized I had fallen in love with someone who was attracted to a polished, sanitized version of me. I couldn’t– I wanted to say yes. For a second, he asked me to move in, and Eddie, I was so happy. But then reality came crashing down and I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t take that leap.”

“So, you broke it off.”

Tommy nodded. “Better to do it now and survive the hurt than to have to restart my life when Buck eventually sees all of me and realizes he made a mistake.” He sniffs and mentally blames it on the sea breeze. “I wouldn’t survive it.”

They fall silent again but then Eddie is snorting, shaking his head. “You’re both absolute imbéciles.”

“I know just enough Spanish to know you’re insulting me.”

“Oh, I am, rest assured.” Eddie throws back the last of his coffee before he sets the cup aside. “Buck was, well. Buck. Steamrolling ahead, as usual, I get that, but you? You self-sabotaged, man.”

“I looked out for myself. Maybe that’s selfish–”

“A little bit, yeah. At the same time, it’s self-preservation. Can we blame a hurt animal for lashing out?”

“Therapy is doing you wonders, huh.”

“Yeah, maybe you should consider it.” Eddie bit back. “Point is– You both need to sit down and talk. Tell him what you told me.”

“He needs to know what’s out there, to know for sure what he wants or if this was just some, some bi-curious experiment –”

“Shut the fuck up.” Eddie cut in, finally mad. “I’ve known Buck for a very long time, now, and I can tell you that this is the most settled and sure of himself he has ever been. You’re scared, and I get that, but don’t talk like he’s not a thirty-three-year-old adult, capable of knowing what he wants.”

That shuts Tommy right up and he looks away again, gripping his cup hard enough that some of the tea spills out onto his fingers. He focuses on the scorch rather than the glare burning into the side of his face. “Well, it doesn’t matter now, does it? It’s done. We’re done.”

“Not if you reach out to him, especially now.”

Tommy flinches so violently he physically recoils. “No, most definitely not now .” He spats, suddenly angry. Is it the implication, the tone of voice? And from Eddie, no less, for so long defined by the surprise of parenthood. “What are you suggesting here, man? That I– that I trap–”

He can’t say it.

If he says it, it becomes true, doesn’t it?

Eddie, however, has no such qualms. “I’m not suggesting anything, Tommy.” He softens before delivering the blow. “You’re pregnant. You just found out. No one’s baby-trapping anyone.”

“But that’s what’ll happen.” Tommy chokes out and he realizes that the feeling that had lodged itself in his throat since his test results came back was anxiety. “Evan has always wanted a family. He’ll want to be there, every step of the way. He’ll feel obligated, Eddie.”

“And that’s bad, why?” Eddie wonders. “Are you afraid he’ll resent you for some reason or are you afraid you won’t be able to keep up the walls you built around your heart?”

“Both.”

“Talk to him.”

“I don’t know if I should. Not yet.” At the other’s frown, Tommy is quick to explain. “It’s not that I don’t want to tell him– I know I have to. It’s only right and I will do it, but.” He pauses, looking away. He eyes the tide. “There might not even be a baby by the end of the week.”

“Don’t say that–”

“It’s a geriatric pregnancy, Eddie. Never mind genetic disorders, miscarriage rates are through the roof. Know what else is through the roof? My blood pressure.”

“I know, I saw your results. That doesn’t mean there isn’t hope.” Eddie argues, then pauses, considering. “I mean. Do you even want this?”

Tommy stares at him, trying to think of an answer before settling on, “I don’t know.”

“Oh.”

“I’m not saying– I really don’t know. I didn’t even know I was a carrier. It feels like this is a hypothetical situation happening to a hypothetical Tommy, only at the end of forty weeks a whole human will burst out of me, and I will be responsible for them for the rest of my life.”

Eddie’s silent, watching him, before he scoots closer and asks in a soft tone, “Are you scared?”

“I’m terrified.”

And Tommy sobs.

.

By the time his first appointment arrives, Tommy still hasn’t been able to tell Evan.

He keeps staring at their messages, starts to type even, but then– deflates.

What could he even say?

‘Hey, I’m pregnant. Can we talk?’ No, too direct.

‘Hi. We need to talk.’ Too catastrophic, Evan would spiral– not exactly the vibe he wants to go for.

Should he try a meme?

Before Tommy can decide, he’s called by a nurse and soon enough he’s lying on a stretcher, getting cold gel poured on his abs and being prodded in the bladder with the stick from hell.

They’re hard to find because of his muscle mass and so, so tiny but they’re there, wiggling in the small monitor.

He's eight weeks pregnant.

He's due in the summer.

(He hopes with all his heart he gets that far.)

When he can finally pull his pants back up, his eyes are red and swollen, and the fast drumming of a tiny heart keeps echoing in his ears, two printed sonograms in his hands. One, Tommy will keep.

The other, he will give it to Evan.

He schedules his next appointment before he leaves, unaware of Maddie Buckley-Han’s narrow-eyed gaze locked onto him.

.

“You’re welcome, by the way.”

Tommy rolls his eyes, elbows deep in soapy water. “Am I?”

Eddie takes the bait, narrowing his eyes. “I did you a favor by taking his phone away. Or would you have been ready to talk to Buck had he called you today?”

“I guess we’ll never know.”

“–You’re a bit of a bitch, anyone ever told you that?”

“Hm. What was it you said the other day? Takes one to know one?”

Eddie tips his beer towards him, trying not to grin. “Touché.”

They fall into a comfortable silence, interrupted only by the sound of rinsing dishes and pages being turned. When Eddie closes the small notebook and Tommy wipes his hands on a rag, he asks, “So, what’s the prognosis, doc?”

Eddie mock glares at him, poking the rows of neat results Tommy diligently writes down every day. “All good, so far. Blood pressure seems to fluctuate a bit, but nothing too serious. Glucose levels could use some work, however.”

At the other’s pointed stare, Tommy crumbles. “ You keep bringing me banana bread.”

“I am not physically capable of eating all the loaves Buck thrusts my way–”

“Then why bring them to me if you’re gonna bitch at me for my sugar levels?”

“Cos, I keep expecting you to take them with you to Harbor, not eat them all!”

“Since you began bringing me these, toasted banana bread is literally all I can think about. Nothing else compares. Do not fucking judge me, Diaz–”

“– What in the actual flying fuck .”

Tommy does not think.

One moment he’s arguing with his friend, the next he has a frying pan in hand, ready to face the intruder that had made his way into his house with nothing but cast iron and Muay Thai.

Ev– Buck just stands there, eyes flickering between the pan and Tommy and Eddie. He narrows his eyes, nostrils flaring, and repeats, “What the fuck .”

“How did you get in?” Eddie asks, looking like a deer in headlights.

“Still have a key. Why are you here?”

Eddie seems to take a second to formulate a reply before what escapes him is, “Why can’t I be here?”

“Oh boy,” Tommy murmurs, lowering the pan.

“Why can’t– What – He broke my heart –!”

“And he was my friend first, or did you forget you nearly broke my ankle over his dick –”

“Guys–” Tommy tries to interrupt but quickly shuts his mouth, being glared at by the other two.

“You know I’ve been wanting to reach out,” Buck argues, shaking the phone in his hand for good measure. “You wouldn’t let me! You never even told me you kept in touch!”

“What would you have done if I had?” Eddie barks back. “I couldn’t even say his name the first week because you would pout and scowl your way into a corner!”

“I do not pout,” Evan snaps, bottom lip jutting out in what was clearly a pout.

Nerves fraying, and frankly growing tired of all the shouting in his own goddamn house, Tommy bangs the pan down on the countertop with finality. The others instantly shut up, eyeing him and the potential weapon warily. “Buck,” He tries not to wince at the glare now turned on him. “Why are you here?”

Buck hesitates, looking between him and Eddie before he seemingly decides his best friend can wait to receive a piece of his mind. To Tommy's confusion, he walks further into the kitchen and then rounds the island, stopping and staring at him rather than using his words.

Tommy shifts, uncomfortable and feeling more exposed under Buck's scrutinizing gaze than he ever felt while naked with the other man. Eventually, the other’s entire posture shifts and, to Tommy’s surprise, goes soft . “–You look so tired .”

“Uh. Thanks?” Tommy tries to laugh it off, exchanging a confused look with Eddie.

Then, Buck pulls the rug out from under him. “Are you taking prenatal vitamins?”

Tommy stares, stunned into silence while Eddie lets out a small sigh.

He thinks of deflecting. Of making a joke, throwing in a finger gun or two, but his body betrays him, refusing to let him run.

He's frozen and clammy and Evan's eyes are so sad –

He nearly misses the stool behind him.

There are voices around him, but they're garbled– it feels like there is cotton in his ears, in his brain, he can't think . There's only all-consuming anxiety.

–And pain.

Oh shit, there's pain –

Tommy hisses, pulling back from the knuckles digging into his sternum. “Sorry,” Eddie apologizes, not sorry at all, eyeing him carefully. Tommy slowly becomes aware of his other hand, tightly wrapped around his wrist with a thumb pressing into his pulse point. “You okay?”

“How did you know?” Tommy asks instead, looking over Eddie's shoulder at Buck.

Buck fidgets, looking like he wants to shove Eddie aside and take over. “Maddie's pregnant,” he explains. “You share the same obstetrician.”

Tommy sighs with his whole body, feeling the sting of frustrated tears at the corner of his eyes. Of course, he thinks. Los Angeles and they just had to share the same doctor.

Nothing could ever be easy for Tommy.

“I didn't know you were a carrier.” Buck continues.

Tommy huffs out a weak laugh, watching Eddie as he pulls back and goes fishing for his blood pressure monitor. He couldn't look Evan in the eyes anymore. “Neither did I until– until .”

“When did you find out?”

“Two weeks and four days ago,” Tommy replies almost automatically. Should Buck ask, he could even give him the time.

(One tends to remember every detail when one's life fundamentally changes.)

(Thirty-eight past eight in the morning. Tuesday. It was sunny, as it often is in LA.)

“When did Eddie know?” Buck asks, and ah. He’s angry. He’s pissed, in fact.

Tommy closes his eyes and rubs his face with both hands, pressing the pads of his fingers into his eyeballs until he sees stars. “I’m sorry,” He eventually mumbles. “He’s– He’s my emergency contact. I didn’t know who else to call after.”

He feels rather than sees Buck sit on the stool beside his. “You could have called me .”

Tommy looks up then, squinting at the other as his eyes clear up. “Would you have picked up?” He asks, beginning to match Buck’s resentment. “Had I called you two weeks ago, would you have taken it?”

Buck holds his gaze for a beat, then two, before he finally looks away, anger fading partially into resignation. “I don’t know.”

“There’s your answer, then.”

“I still deserved to know.” Tommy scoffs out a laugh, shaking his head, but Buck doesn’t let up. “Or didn’t I? Cos the timeline– It’s mine, right?”

“Wow,” Tommy stands then, trying and failing to hide the hurt the question caused. He vaguely hears Eddie mutter a soft ‘ dios mio ’ to their left. “I– Wow .”

Buck seems to realize his mistake as he quickly jumps to his feet as well, eyes wide. “Not– Not that I’m implying–”

“Well, you just fucking did .”

“I’m sorry,” Buck continues, visibly upset. “I didn’t mean– I’m putting my foot in my mouth.” He pauses, trying to reign in his emotions. He takes a deep breath, “I never thought you cheated. I know you would have never cheated on me, that’s not you, but– Maddie’s been weird. Looking at me, waiting for something. Imagine my surprise when she asks me today why haven’t I told her about you and– and a baby .”

Tommy just shakes his head, blinking back frustrated tears. “Buck–”

“Stop calling me that!” Evan finally snaps. It echoes throughout the small kitchen, resonates in Tommy’s ears, and for a moment he considers just walking away, locking himself inside his bedroom and waiting for everyone else to just leave.

“Buck,” Eddie says, a warning from where he’s standing nearby, monitor in hand.

“I realize I have been far from perfect,” Evan steamrolls ahead, beginning to pace. “How– How I was going too fast, how I failed to see you were beginning to struggle to keep up, how I never realized that the communication we prided ourselves on having was lacking cos you didn’t even know I fucking loved you .”

“Buck,” Eddie tries again.

“I couldn’t have known something you never bothered to tell me,” Tommy snaps back, standing and straightening to his full size. They were the same height, he and Evan, but Tommy was still broader, yet to lose muscle mass from having been ordered to stop strenuous workouts. 

He uses it as armor.

“You could have talked to me, come to me with this!”

“And said what ?! There you were, putting me on a pedestal like some fucking paragon of gayness when you had literally just found out how much of a fucking coward I had been for far too long! I lied to myself for decades, broke Abby’s heart in the process, and barely managed to put my puzzle pieces together when you walked into my life! You were practically the only serious relationship I had ever had, the only one I saw a future with!” Tommy yells, heart in his throat. He desperately wants to stop, cease the torrent of information he had never shared with anyone but himself, but he finds he can’t, far too keyed up to stop now. “But then you basically describe the person you’re infatuated with and fucking newsflash, it ain’t me! I am not confident,” He stabs one finger in the air, “I am not comfortable,” Another finger, “and I most certainly am not worthy of anyone’s bloody admiration! I am a fucking mess, Evan, and at that moment I realized that you didn’t know me, only the idealized version in your head! So, tell me, how could I have said yes to you? How could I have stayed, knowing one day the pink goggles would fall off and you’d realize you made a mistake?! What was I supposed to do, then, a year, five years, ten years down the road? Rebuild my life from the ashes of what would have been my forever?”

“Tommy,” Evan breathes, swallowing back tears.

“I’m sorry I broke your heart,” Tommy apologizes through gritted teeth, paraphrasing the other’s words from earlier. His hands are shaking and there’s sweat running down his back, but he can’t stop, won’t stop until Evan understands – “That I broke both our hearts, but had I taken that leap, you would have killed me. I couldn’t– I couldn’t risk it.”

“ Tommy –”

“I– I can’t–” Tommy pants, realizing too late the adrenaline is choking him, is burning him from the inside out–

He tilts, and all he can think about is that it’s becoming a fucking habit.

.

Tommy wakes up to something cold in his neck, staring up at his kitchen’s ceiling.

There are cobwebs on the wooden beams.

Huh.

He should clean that up, sometime.

“Tom?”

Tommy blinks, still out of it. “Evan?”

Slowly, he realizes that he’s lying on the tile, head cushioned in Eddie’s lap. His legs are being held up by Evan and Tommy’s hit with deja vu so strong his head spins. He tries to move and realizes maybe it isn’t just the deja vu. “W’happened?”

“Blood pressure shot up,” Eddie says, pressing the cold compress he’s holding to Tommy’s temple. “Your body shut down.”

Tommy’s heart jolts and he tries to lift a hand, finding it stuck by the monitor’s sleeve. “Is it–”

“Palpation’s good,” Evan interjects, squeezing his leg. He looks tired now, no longer itching for a fight. “We caught you before you hit the floor.”

“Good. Thanks.” Tommy breathes, relief flooding his veins. The emotional toll tugs at him and he swallows against the knot in his throat. “I’m sorry.”

Evan visibly bites the inside of his cheek to keep his face in check. “I’m sorry, too.”

There’s a lull. The fridge hums to his left, Evan sniffles occasionally, the monitor beeps periodically– Tommy feels like a stranger in his own skin.

When the sound of velcro rips through the quiet as Eddie removes the sleeve, he finds the energy to speak again. “I never meant to keep this from you.”

“Tommy,” Eddie warns.

“I know,” Tommy sighs. He’s not planning on blowing up his lid, again. If anything, he feels empty, having released all the pent-up tension within him. “Just. It wasn’t malice. I was waiting.”

Evan frowns, confused. “For what?”

“To make sure there would be anything to tell.”

Evan keeps frowning, confused before he exchanges a look with Eddie, and it clicks. “Tom.”

“It was one of our first conversations.” Tommy continues, “Kids. I know you wanted them, and would want to know about this one, but– I’m old. I never even knew I could grow life. My body keeps betraying me,” He confesses, curling his hands into fists. The cold of the tile is seeping into his bones, mocking him. “I can’t fly anymore. My Captain has me grounded at the station as a glorified clerk, I can’t watch games anymore because my heart tries to beat its way out of me, I can’t work on cars because of the chemicals, and I am stuck walking loops around the neighborhood cos I can’t even run –”

“You’re scared,” Evan interrupts. “I get that, I can understand that, but you seem to be missing a key factor, here.”

“I am?”

“I’m not here just because you’re pregnant with my baby. I’m here because you are pregnant with our baby.”

Tommy pauses, and wonders if he’s still out of it because, “I don’t understand.”

Evan carefully lays his legs on the floor and scoots a little closer. “Tommy– I’m saying that I care .” He pauses, looking like he’s waiting for Tommy to understand. He flaps his hands in agitation when it becomes clear he isn’t getting his point across. “About the both of you. I want to be here, and I wish I had known sooner, not just because I’m worried about whether or not this baby will make it past the first trimester but because I’m worried about you , too. I don’t– I don’t want this if it means you’re at risk, Tommy.”

Tommy’s silent for a bit, staring at the other man.

He takes in the furrow of his brow, the worry overlapping his frustration– His heart on his sleeve. He realizes he’s crying when Evan’s expression shifts to mild panic and he feels Eddie awkwardly dab at his cheeks with the compress he’s still holding. “Don’t.” He eventually gets out.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t give me hope that I get to keep you both.”

Evan stares down at him, incredulous, before his eyes harden and Tommy thinks, Oh. This is how it finally ends.

“Eddie?”

Eddie hums, trying not to show how awkward he feels, stuck between his bickering friends. “Yea?”

“Can you give us a minute?”

“ Gracias a Dios , yes–”

There’s a flurry of movement that has Tommy dizzy again but before he can protest, Eddie runs out of the kitchen and Evan takes his place. Warm, calloused hands cup his face and Tommy has the fleeting intrusive thought that his neck’s about to be snapped. “Tom,” He begins, thumbs rubbing against his cheekbones and wiping away tears and cold sweat. “Back at my apartment, you said your piece. Today, you did it again, but now ? Now, it’s time you listened . Earlier? I said that I loved you. I lied.”

Tommy holds the other’s gaze, despite the urge to run. “You don’t have to twist the knife–”

“Shut up,” Evan interrupts, then keeps going. “I lied. How? Cos it’s not past tense. It’s present tense. I love you. I never stopped. That night– You said a lot of bullshit, okay? About– about me finding myself, about you not being my last? I’m not even going to touch on how biphobic that sounded.”

“I’m sorry–”

“I’m not done. I may not have vast experience when it comes to dating men, but that does not mean that I can’t know what I want. I’m an adult, Tommy. I know what I wanted then, I know what I want now– And I want us . It doesn’t matter that you’re a guy; it matters to me that you’re you , and yeah, I jumped the gun– got ahead of myself and scared you off. Perhaps I had my pink goggles on, even, but you know what? The goggles are off, now.” Evan smiles, but it’s almost a wince, too. “You broke up with me and it hurt . I baked my feelings so much I could have opened a small bakery.”

“Your banana bread is great.” Tommy chokes out.

“Thanks, I got more at– Wait, no , stop interrupting me. I am still not done.” Tommy nods, gesturing at the other to continue. “You know why I baked? So I wouldn’t contact you. Every time I got the urge, I put everything into those cakes, and– I could have done anything . I could have redecorated, painted the walls, gotten into a new hobby– but you had a sweet tooth a mile wide, and even mad at you, I wanted to be close to you, somewhat. Then– I saw you bubbling me, today. I watch you type, type, type, and then just– give up.” Tommy saw the other’s throat bobble as he swallowed. “I wanted to call you. Eddie stole my phone. After our shift, I went to Maddie’s to vent… And then she told me she saw you, and all I could think of was how bad I must have been as a boyfriend if you were hiding this from me or thought you couldn’t tell me about it.”

“You weren’t. I just–”

“–Were scared.” Evan finishes for him and Tommy nods. “I get that now. I get why . And I’m sorry, for ever making you feel inadequate. Maybe… Maybe we’re still a little stuck. On that day, our official first date.”

“With the bad coffee?”

“Yeah,” Evan huffs out a laugh. “I said we didn’t know much about each other.”

“Practically everything.” Tommy smiled back.

“I still want to change that. I know that I want something, and I know now that I definitely want it to be with you.”

“And I’m definitely still interested if you’ll have me.” Tommy sniffled. He couldn’t believe his luck, yet… “I– have a condition, however. Two, in fact.”

“Anything.”

“First, I need you to tell me that you’re not just saying all this because I’ve got a bun in the oven.”

Evan sobers up then, expression softening. “I’m not. I meant it– I love you , and that comes before any proverbial baby. I’m here for you, first and foremost.”

“I just don’t want you to feel trapped.”

“I don’t, but now I have to ask something of you, too.” Evan leans in, brushing the pads of his fingers across his jawline. “You need to start trusting me. I know – I know it’s hard and it’ll take time but– Believe me when I tell you I care, okay? I’ll say it as many times as you need, just– try . Or talk to me when it gets hard, okay?”

Tommy nods. It’s nerve-wracking and he’ll have to work at it every day, but he’ll try. “Okay.”

“Good. Now, what’s the second condition? Maybe Eddie should have been here, be a witness–”

“Second condition is– please , slow down.” Evan blinks and then laughs, and Tommy feels the world flood with color he didn’t even notice was missing. He had missed this; the other’s laugh, the other’s warmth – “Too much?”

“No, but– Tommy . We’re having a baby. We’ve reached Mach speed.”

Tommy reaches then, taking hold of one of the other’s hands. Slowly, but purposely, he rests them over his stomach and feels Evan hold his breath. It’s reminiscent of how Evan had held his hand at the café all those months ago, and he blows a breath, hoping in his heart of hearts that this time– the third time is the charm. “Humor me?”

Evan blinks and then he’s leaning in, pressing their lips together.

Any other day, Tommy would be making a joke about upside-down kisses and all the pop culture Evan is still missing, but today? Today, he keeps his mouth shut and lets himself float on the feeling of wanting and being wanted back , flaws and all.

Evan pulls back, tears on his lashes. “Yeah,” He breathes, grinning. “I can do that.”

.

They make it past the first trimester.

The baby and their relationship.

.

Twenty-eight weeks later, Mabel Buckley-Kinard breathes her first.

(give me kudos and/or opinions)

[vidavalor]

<<But I also see posts that imagine vindication, punishment, emotional banishment of the lover who hurt the beloved.>>

What amazes me is that people who see The Final 15 like this are watching the same story I am or have possibly read other Terry Pratchett books. It also stuns me that they think only one party was "at fault"-- both of them got things wrong and both of them also got things right. There is no one, wronged party in their relationship.

Back in S1, Crowley predicted that "the really big one" was going to be "all of us vs. all of them" and while one way to look at that is the way that Aziraphale rephrased it back to him-- "you mean, Heaven and Hell against humanity?"-- the lines of that are already blurred on account of Armageddon also being a person's inner conflicts boiling over and that's the point.

It is, as you put it, @wistfulnightingale, only a sense of us vs. them when it comes to someone who seeks to oppress. When it's about the missionaries-- then, us vs. them is necessary for survival. The key, though, is being able to recognize who, exactly, is "us" and, where applicable, leaving the door open for change.

At the end of S1, Crowley's us vs. them feels like it's the two of them on the side of humanity and having to fight Heaven/Hell in what could possibly be a losing battle. It's the darker aspect of the ending. They saved the world in S1 and stopped Armageddon and get more time together but there's the threat that they will have to do it all again at some point looming on the horizon. It's only really a threat because they worry they will fail to succeed at stopping Armageddon because they're on their own.

But then S2 comes along, right?

And, as a result, it starts to become that it doesn't matter whether we're talking about Armageddon: The Destruction of Earth or Armageddon: A Person's Own Mental Health Crisis because both types of us vs. them start to become more manageable as the side Crowley & Aziraphale are on begins to expand in numbers.

Before long, The Archangel Fucking Gabriel is revealed to be the lonely island that is Jim, who also feels like he and Beez are in their own us vs. them with Heaven & Hell. Before the end of it, we can see that he took a risk and went to Crowley and Aziraphale and, next thing we know?

It's Crowley & Aziraphale & Jim & Beez & Maggie & Nina & the whole street vs. them.

It's The Whickber Street Shopkeepers & Traders Association vs. Heaven & Hell...

And Muriel is curious about membership.

And Furfur looks sympathetic to the cause.

And Dagon, jumping in front of her friends to protect them, seems persuadable.

And, maybe most importantly, Uriel no longer feels like they're alone in their questioning of things after seeing Gabriel back Aziraphale and the demons... and, now, she's refusing to fight.

You can't have a war-- a military conflict or an inner conflict-- without war. If enough people refuse to fight any war, there is no war.

The oppressors at the top are also those taking advantage of those on the bottom and it's all the same, interconnected, corrupt system. Almost everyone is trapped in the middle...

They're all there in the middle, on the same side, in the center. How do you open it and free everyone trapped inside?

You've got to destroy the initial concept of the shape of the box.

You've got to push it open by destroying the idea of there being any sides besides the us vs. them of those who seek to be free and those who seek to harm and oppress. Evil is them-- abusers. The us is everyone against those abusers. There are more of us than there are of them and resisting the way they use labels to divide us in an attempt to conquer us is one way we shoot the missionaries on sight-- just be sure you can accurately identify one.

That's why Jim is the eternal Supreme Archangel. He figured out how to get in some good trouble and shared it with the people around him, bringing all those open to listening with him. Don't let his bitchiness fool you-- he's the angel who knows well the toxicity of the things those evangelists preach and he's been spitting in the face of it. Doesn't matter if you're human or angel or demon to Gabriel and it never has. If you're good people, you're his people, and he protects his people.

When Crowley and Aziraphale considered the idea of all of an us back in S1, they couldn't have predicted that the one who was going to rally the troops to help them was Gabriel but that's why it's good to try to check your own biases and consider shades of grey when it comes to people who show their situation might be more complicated than it might appear to be.

That's why it's shooting those missionaries on sight... you have to make sure you know you're looking at one first.

But, if someone shows you they are and who they are is an irredeemable missionary doing harm?

If we're talking about the Satans and the Metatrons of the world?

Yeah, fuck those guys. Get the rest of your gang of Us and do your best to kill whatever they're trying to do dead, for the good of everyone.

The gods of the Disc have never bothered much about judging the souls of the dead, and so people only go to hell if that's where they believe, in their deepest heart, that they deserve to go. Which they won't do if they don't know about it. This explains why it is so important to shoot missionaries on sight.

Eric, Terry Prachett

[sotc]

what's it like being a guy who witnessed the deaths of those he loved taken from him at a young age and has spent his whole life since training to be an assassin and resigning himself to believing dealing death was all he was good for. being a guy who believed his life was always forfeit, the thought of wanting a fuller, different life beyond duties and expectations set for him was out of the question and death was his only escape. what if this guy goes through the most grueling torture hellscape of a prison for what seems like eternity until someone saves him. then this guy comes back and he learns his grandmother is gone and the threat of losing his cousin looms in the back of his mind but he has a world to save in the midst of all that so he offers his services to focus on settling a debt. now this guy is working alongside the team for some time and he starts to grow close (maybe more than he realizes but we'll get to that). finally the big moment to take down one of the gods comes and when the team needs him most, the plan goes awry and he misses his shot. now this guy isolates himself to sit alone with his demon(s), grueling and agonizing over every possible scenario of how it could've been different and how he could've done better, should've done better. except, what if you are a guy who also maybe doesn't realize it isn't simply a bruised ego about being 'whatever else i am, i'm a professional'. what if maybe you're a guy who believed if he can't employ that one skill he knows how to do - dealing death - to protect the ones he cares about, and save them and the world - what does he have left? what good is he for?

and then you have THIS:

coming from the man who is/was plagued by self doubt about his own self worth and abilities yet was willing to be so supportive of you!? coming from the man who begins to realize he can be there in other ways for the people he cares for beyond simply being a weapon??? honestly this man makes me feel ill. i love him.

[swkbiggestdefender]

What if I said that macaque always knew deep down that wukong isn't someone who doesn't care about anyone he was just in denial

He used mk to lure wukong out because he knows wukong wouldn't let him kill him and used him in the fight because he knew wukong will protect him but still getting mad because of it

Because he knows but still get upset that wukong will choose to focus on protecting mk rather then fight him even though he's the one who choose to use that tactic so he goes to the next best thing that wukong only protect people who are useful to him because he can't accept that wukong actually loved the pilgrims

He can't accept that wukong actually loved him at some point that even though wukong couldn't keep his promises that he really did mean them

That's why I think when wukong finally looked at him with genuine feelings he chose to run from it at first but then chose to help mk save wukong

but when he went through the scroll he finally accepted it that wukong cares wukong always cared that's why in season 5 even though macaque still can be a jerk there is lines he force himself not to cross

Especially the pilgrims he stop himself when he sees that he's actually making wukong upset bc he knows now how much they actually meant to wukong bc now he knows that he can hurt wukong feelings he started thinking about what he says

[hauntedfictionland]

❝Euphoria❞

☾︎✰❛❀ Jacaerys Velaryon x Fem! Reader!

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Jacaerys loves you. But he cannot have you. And it is killing him slowly.

𝐈𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐬/𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Heartbreak, one sided feelings and lots of tears.

🪐𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: In this timeline, Rhaenyra never moves to dragonstone so reader and Jacaerys grow together because I didn't really know how to fit it otherwise. It's something shorter than what I would usually write.

Jacaerys significantly remembers the first moment he fell in love with you. You, Aegon and Aemond's sister, younger than the eldest but older than Daeron. Kind of in the middle really but you fell in the youngest ones. After Criston had urged Aegon to spar with him, and ser Harwin Strong saved him, you came. He had been sitting in the garden with an oak tree above, a frown on his lips and a cut on his left cheek by one of Aegon's kicks. And you walked up to him. That same glow on your face and a light that didn't seem to be there until you arrived.

He never really noticed you until that moment. Jacaerys was the first born son of his mother. The heir after heir. While you were the fourth child, after Haelena and of course, Aemond. You weren't a son. Or a first born daughter. He didn't seem to have any particular reason to talk to you. But that evening changed it forever.

You bend down towards him, a comforting smile on your lips. He watches as you ruffle his hair, so gently it sends shivers down his skin. You were called the pink doe, because of how kind you were. And you wore pink and white most of the time. And of course, very beautiful. He never noticed it until that moment. How? he didn't know. Jacaerys was a child, but he could feel love. You pull out a white flower from behind you, tucking it behind his ear.

Jacaerys closed his eyes when you pressed your lips to his ear, right where the cut was. And suddenly he can't even feel the pain anymore. Not when there was you. And there was euphoria.

He started paying a lot more attention to you afterwards. In fact, you, were all that he had on his mind. How you laughed, the blushes on your cheeks when someone—especially Aemond, complimented you, or when your embroidery got noticed by your mother. The queen Alicent. He noticed it all. And Jacaerys couldn't get it out of his head. He figured it was a phase, that he'd eventually grow out of it, yet years passed by, you both turned ten and three and he was speechless when you would show up in a golden and red dress at some family dinner, then fourteen came and your scent, vanilla and rosemary, stuck in his nose when air blew and your gorgeously blonde hair waved in his face.

And then fifteen came, when he finally accepted the fact he was oh so inevitably and irreversibly in love with you. Everything about you, he would accept. That you were a green, that your brothers were Aegon and Aemond. And even if you were like them, like the hightowers—which you weren't, you were the kindest and most gentle heart he had ever met, but even if you were, he would accept it with open arms. Because you, to him, were his great love. His euphoria. A feeling he always felt with you.

A dream. Because one day becoming king, and you, to rule by his side? to be his queen? it was a dream. And it was the best and most beautiful one he wished for. However little did he know, it would only stay a dream.

Because one windy day, right when he wanted to ask you to marry him, right under that same oak tree, you told him something that broke him in two.

You were betrothed to Aemond.

“What?” his heart falls, throat swelling dry. He can barely speak.

“Our mother arranged it. She thought he and I made good company and...” you sigh, your eyes closed as you smiled, “I've loved him for so long. It finally feels a dream come true.”

Oh. He watched as you look so in love, just with the thought of him. Just like how he looks thinking of you. He watched as a feast was thrown in the celebration of both your betrothal, he watched as you dance with each other, his hands on your waist and a gleaming smile on your lips, he watched as you take your wedding vows, and share a kiss. He watched Aemond claim his euphoria and love it like he was the one meant to be with you. Not him.

Jacaerys never imagined himself crying under that same oak tree after your wedding was over. He also never thought he would cry himself sleep, pillow soaking in tears you caused. He never thought he would get betrothed to any other that wasn't you. Well, Baela now, looked joyed to be his future wife. And the future queen. Yet he can't stop thinking about the crowns you both would have worn. The children you both could have had. The love you both could have shared. He can't stop thinking about his euphoria.

And he doubts he ever would stop.

𝐸𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑤ℎ𝑜 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 ℎ𝑜𝑝𝑒𝑓𝑢𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒𝑑 𝑖𝑡, 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑘 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑠𝑚:) 𝐼 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑎𝑙𝑠𝑜 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑐𝑖𝑎𝑡𝑒 𝑖𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑟𝑒𝑏𝑙𝑜𝑔𝑔𝑒𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑡 𝑎𝑠 𝑖𝑡 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑔𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝑤𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑠 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑚𝑒 𝑞𝑢𝑖𝑡𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑚𝑜𝑡𝑖𝑣𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛! 𝐴𝑛𝑑 𝐼 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑡𝑎𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑟𝑒𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑠 𝑠𝑜 𝑑𝑜 𝑓𝑒𝑒𝑙 𝑓𝑟𝑒𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑠𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝑚𝑒 𝑖𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑜𝑛𝑒.

[hyperions-light]

woAH I heard people are hating on Neve which is super cringe! Neve positivity time!!

I am in love with her because

1. She has an impeccable sense of fashion, she never misses, could make a paper bag look good

2. Docktown sucks so bad, like major Kirkwall vibes, and she loves it SO MUCH

3. If you give money to the people asking for it on the streets in Docktown, sometimes Neve will check in with them and make sure they have a place to stay it’s so sweet !!!

4. She cannot cook at all. Only eats fried fish. Boils her coffee. Zero domestic skills, completely perfect

5. She loves Bellara so much, she’s such a good friend ;-; She finds all her serials and helps her try to work out the mysteries! She gets her goat cheese! She comes to Cyrian’s funeral ;-;

6. If you wander around Docktown with her in your party you can stop and talk to her regular contacts and she will check in with them <3

7. She works alone because she’s scared that the people who try to help her will get hurt =(

8. She’s not afraid of Spite and she refuses to see Lucanis as a monster or treat him differently, even after he almost kills Illario.

9. She helps Taash figure out their gender stuff and she is so supportive and helpful <3

10. The WAY she talks to people who are hurting… like even though she’s so cynical, personally, she never tells people to give up on others, she’s never sarcastic or scathing when people are in pain. I took her on Taash’s final mission last time, and her voice ;-; She wanted to help so badly, but she couldn’t do anything. She reminded them that everyone was there for them. She loves SO much, so intensely.

11. She does not expect anyone to help her, and especially if you don’t save Minrathous she’s skeptical, but she’s so thankful for Rook’s help when they give it. She’s so fucking lonely, man! She thinks she has to do it all herself, because everyone else in the world and especially in Minrathous has shown her over and over that they don’t care about the people she loves, the people like HER. She’s not rich, she’s not famous or powerful or well-connected, she’s just using what she has to try and help people!

12. Manfred canonically doesn’t like nicknames, but he lets Neve call him ‘Fred

Neve Gallus, the woman you are <3

Edit: When I posted this someone immediately made some rude comment so here’s some more stuff to love about Neve Gallus!

13. She investigated the mystery of the candlehops and she was so serious about it! Just like the wisps in the Lighthouse!

14. When she was a kid she didn’t know what she wanted to be when she grew up and she HATED it lol

15. She got her best coat as a gift from a grateful client!

16. She keeps her tiny little apartment because they gave her a good deal on the rent and she doesn’t want to lose it

17. Halos keeps trying to give her fish for free but she insists on paying him <3

18. That joke she made to Lucanis about having an extra leg if he needed one lol

19. She misses the sound of the ocean, and sometimes when she wakes up in the Lighthouse she hears it for a moment

20. The way she explains everything so patiently to Taash about Tevinter and Docktown and the way status symbols work; the way she is always trying to use her skills to help the other members of the team!!

21. How she makes sure to check up on that kid whose father was doing demon summoning stuff and make sure that he’s alright ;-;

[revelboo]

My Rodimus figure broke :( maybe something with Rodimus accidentally hurting himself doing something dumb and we comfort him?

Attractive Today Pt 3

MTMTE Rodimus x Reader

• Servos curling under into fists, he has to remind himself to keep smiling. Keep playing the clueless goof, because he can feel his spark crackling with his outlier ability and knows that if he lets that anger take over, he might not be able to stop. Might hurt someone. Again. Putting some space between himself and Brainstorm so he won’t be as tempted since the scientist isn’t all that concerned about the chaos he’s caused or the suffering. Some of the bots on board had never dealt with humans before Rung’s had blipped into existence on his desk amid the parts for the model so he was assembling. And it’s easy to not care, when it’s just a nameless little organic.

• Walking from one end of the desk you’re trapped on, you turn and make another circuit. Finally beginning to calm after Rodimus had explained that no, his kind, Cybertronians, don’t eat humans. He could have been lying, but he’d honestly looked so distraught about it that you believe him that the one eyed, robotic death chicken had lied to you. Your new roommate hasn’t had any explanation for how you’d gotten stuck on their ship, though. But he’d said he’d try to figure it out and despite yourself, you want to trust him. Lost in space and far from home, just gone without a trace. His quarters have a large window that you’re trying your hardest to not look at, because that vast emptiness just cracks your fear wide open. The night sky at home had never bothered you one bit, but knowing there’s nothing beyond the walls of the ship? It makes you want to scream.

• Returning to his quarters without any real solutions or answers, his servos flex. As much as he hated it, he’d sided with Magnus and Megs that they continue on rather than trying to backtrack and find the humans to return them home. He’s not sure how to tell the little human waiting in his quarters for him that you’re not going home. At least not for a long time. You’re still where he left you when he opens the door, little head turning his way. And that guilt and anger kindles about his spark, until he’s frozen in place. Because not now. Those expectant eyes are staring at him and he wonders how many of Brainstorm’s accidents hadn’t been so lucky. How many hadn’t survived.

• Big, red, and pointy isn’t moving, just standing there in the doorway before one of his hands reaches and his servos slam against the wall, head lowering. Moving closer, you watch him begin to shiver, servos flexing and almost clawing the wall. “Hey? You okay?” You call out, because if you didn’t know better, it looks like the big, alien robot is having some kind of nervous breakdown. Bright blue optics find you and there is something like panic on his too human face. You know that feeling, know what it’s like to drown in your own head as your breath catches.

• Don’t do it. Keep it together. It’s a losing battle as that anger churns and feeds the fear of what he’s capable of if he doesn’t get it together. Can feel his temperature starting to climb, feels his plating crackling with the threat of flames. Needs to go, find somewhere with no one around, no one to hurt. Then he realizes you’re talking to him. Telling him about your family and your dog, and it’s so random it snags at him. Gives him something to focus on, just the sound of your voice softly talking to him. Talking him through the danger you aren’t even aware you’re in. Leaning on the wall, he stares at you, meets your eyes. Wants to come closer and pick you up, because you’re saving him without even knowing it, but can’t move yet. Can’t risk it.

Previous

[moonlight-prose]

smoke and ash

a/n: this is based entirely on a post made by the amazing @cavillscurls and i was given permission to write it for her cause the idea actually made my brain go numb. plus just the thought of this man having an oral fixation paired with someone who also has an oral fixation?? beautiful. filthy. spectacular. it's quickly written cause i had the inspo at the time and really didn't want to lose it. so enjoy!

summary: cigar smoke trailed after him with every step, his mouth always desperate for something to wet, something to bite down on. and you with the match between your teeth indulged him every which way.

word count: 1.4k+

pairing: old man!logan howlett x f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY!!, oral fixation, spit kink, choking, dry humping, desperate!logan, overstimulation, cigars, they're fucking messy, dirty talk.

A dark stain of saliva coated the base of a match as you sat sprawled on his leather couch. Your teeth dug into it, creating an indent that would last until you decided it was time to strike the phosphorus and let it burn down. Sometimes they snapped. Other times you tossed them in the trash. Tonight you were intent on lighting it up—solely for the cigar currently stuffed in between his own lips.

He sucked at the end thoughtfully most nights. Glasses perched on the edge of his nose, a book he'd read a hundred times over propped in one hand—whiskey in his other. Half of it was already burnt through. Used within the span of a few days before stubbed out and saved.

“Interesting story?”

The soft hum was all he offered, his eyes flicking back and forth between the lines even though he could recite the words from memory. The pages were worn from use, spine cracked every which way, and you often considered buying him a new copy. If just to give the story a chance to breathe in his mind. Sink beneath the depths of memories that still floated along the surface—seeking to ruminate in the cracks of chaos.

“Logan.”

“Bub?”

“What does it taste like?”

At last he looked up, eyebrows lifted and fingers moving to drag the sticky wet cigar out of his mouth. “This?”

You nodded. “Good or bad or…”

“Better than those fuckin’ matches,” he scoffed, pointedly glaring at the splintered wood between your teeth—a nervous habit you had yet to kick. “C’mere and find out.”

Scrambling off the couch a bit too quickly, you found yourself perched in his lap, legs straddling his hips with a smile painted across your lips. He removed the match, flicking it into the discarded ashtray with contempt—happy to have your mouth empty and waiting. Only to place the soaked butt against your tongue, his tongue swiping across his bottom lip at the sight. You always imagined what the flavor resembled. Until it finally dawned on you.

This is how it tasted to kiss him. The bitter tang of the cigar muted by the flavor of the whiskey he drank and the mints he chewed in his spare time. You sucked on the remnants of his saliva, your mind lighting up at the feel of it. Of having something stuck between your lips, a thing you could fixate on.

“Taste’s like me don’t it?”

You nodded, shifting against his body as the first spark of heat began to slowly meld with the rest of your senses.

“Good girl,” he mumbled, the book forgotten to the side in favor of his hand sliding along your throat, thumb catching just beneath your chin. “Suck on it harder yeah? Want it to taste like ya when I smoke it again.”

A whine cracked in the back of your throat, your hips catching on the zipper of his jeans. “What about you?”

The mumbled words caused spit to drool down to your chin, his eyes tracking the slide of it with a heavy gaze. He wanted to lick it up. Swallow down what you offered. But the sight kept him transfixed—your tongue sliding along the end of the cigar as if it were his cock. Soaking it in your taste enough to drive him a bit closer to the edge, his other hand suddenly a harsh grip on your ass.

“I got what I need,” he replied with ease. “Yeah?”

You nodded, catching the glaze of desire in his dilated pupils. He wanted more than an empty mouth. The cigars appeased a side of him no one saw, a man who ached for something to bite down on, someone to taste even in the most mundane of ways. He was your guard dog looking to chew, to gnaw, even if spit flew out of his mouth with a feral edge of desperation. And with a grin, you stuffed three fingers into his mouth right down to the knuckle.

He took them with a moan, tongue laving over the length of them as his hips bucked up into yours. The hot cavern of his mouth and wet slide of his tongue drew out a sound you never knew you could make. A biting grunt that made spit fly everywhere, splattering against his cheek to mix with his own.

Ripping the cigar from your mouth, you hastily licked around his full mouth. “Suck harder for me baby.”

They met the back of his throat, choking him enough to force his head back. His eyes rolled, nostrils flared, and for a moment you felt the power dynamic shift. You were in charge. Telling him what to do to appease the ache of pleasure growing in the pit of your stomach. And it might have lasted. He very well could have given you complete submission if it weren’t for the lack of the cigar in your mouth.

A growl rumbled up from his chest, eyes flashing dark enough to send a thrill down your spine, and before you could fix your mistake he rectified it for you. Three fingers—to match your own—were pushed harshly against your tongue, hooking behind your teeth to drag your face closer to his. You didn’t need to hear him to know what he wanted.

The intent blazed in his hazel eyes well enough: suck.

Through the haze of wanton lust you felt his hand begin to guide your hips along his crotch. The bulge of his cock straining against denim, pushing the metal zipper up for your clit to catch on each time. Clad in his flannel and cotton panties, you found yourself plummeting towards the burning ache that built faster than you could comprehend.

You ripped your hand from his mouth, burying the spit soaked fingers into his hair to grip him close. But it never remained enough. He wanted to delve beneath your skin. Seek the warmth that seeped from your body where his fingers kneaded and pushed to drag you to a fro. His teeth latched onto your shoulder, the sweater pulled to the side while his fingers met the back of your throat, choking you with their size.

A cry slipped past his knuckles as you humped his clothed cock—dragging yourself inch by inch towards the release you could practically taste. It clung to the tip of your tongue—the saccharine flavor intertwined with the tobacco musk of his fingers. You swallowed around them, drool spilling down your throat and pooling at the top of your breasts.

“That’s it,” he gasped, a line of bites trailing right to the juncture of your neck, his spit smeared across your skin. “Gonna cum for me?”

You whined harshly, body going taut as your clit pulsed rapidly with the impending wave of bliss that tugged sharply on your spine. The pain of his teeth puncturing hard enough to draw blood dragged a knife through the thin strand  of resistance. And you came with his name at the back of your throat and white bursting behind tightly shut eyelids.

“Yes. Fuck–” His growl ran down the length of your spine, body trembling in his tight grasp. “That’s my girl.”

Unconsciously your nails punctured the skin at the back of his neck and with a jolt, he groaned long and ragged against your throat. A dark wet patch formed beneath his jeans as you soaked him with a spit filled cry. The pleasure wrung your body dry, pulling the final dregs of your energy straight from the source. Your chest heaved, mouth a gentle suckle at the very base of his fingers, and Logan could feel you begin to collapse forward into his chest.

“You really like when your mouth is filled,” he mused, lips curling into a smile.

Nodding, your voice was a content hum—his fingers dragging at the back of your teeth, tracing their shape. A kiss was pressed to your head, body slumping further into the chair with you atop him.

“Gonna get you some more matches in the mornin’,” he mumbled lazily. “My pretty girl needs a treat for being so good.”

Your heart fluttered, eyes glistening with the devotion you’d never dare to hide. The love that burned with the power of an eternal flame. Settling into his body, you felt his hand drag along the expanse of your thigh. Calming the storm in his mind—a catastrophe you longed to weather with him.

You were the balm to his weathered soul.

A permanent fixation of smoke and ash that surrounded his charred and splintered heart that burned for you.

[bumblebeehug]

When do u think Natsu actually realized that he fell for Lucy and i know he treats her differently but can u give moments where it's initiated from his side?

This is going to be a long post so buckle up!

Okay, first of all: the Phantom Lord arc. Though I don't think he fell in love with her at that point of time, I think it was the events that seriously solidified his partialness to her. I'd go into detail but I can already feel a long post incoming, so I'll keep it short: Lucy telling Natsu that she loves being a Fairy Tail wizard, while crying over the fact that she didn't want to leave ↓

After just trusting her life in Natsu, jumping from an insanely high tower, with a mere belief that maybe she had heard him in the distance – I think it struck a chord with Natsu. Like, it would be normal to cry after a fall like that, but Lucy wasn't concerned about that aspect. Her head and heart was all about the guild, how she didn't want to go, and that resonates with Natsu. Natsu's entire life at that point is 1) Finding Igneel, and 2) being with/protecting the guild.

Then I'd say it's a pretty gradual build in their relationship. They go on a lot of missions, hang out together, and just in general spend a lot of time connecting. There's some Natsu-saves-Lucy, some Lucy-saves-Natsu, some hand holding (tenrou arc I won't forget about that, thank you anime team for adding that scene), and then comes the next pivotal moment. GMG arc and the dragon festival that follows.

By then I'd say Natsu and Lucy are very much in this friends-with-emotional-benefit zone: much more than friends, absolutely not yet lovers. But with Lucy's near-death experiences in her battles, Natsu has to refrain himself from getting involved each time Lucy gets beaten up - he becomes helpless, and the worry that's sowed inside of him gets watered each time Lucy still puts his faith in him, still trusts him to come out a winner. That entire section when Lucy's in the infirmary and she tells Natsu that her entire being trusts that Natsu can do anything, I think that's when Natsu falls in love.

Now wait!! He still doesn't quite understand that he loves her. But he understands that his feelings for Lucy are more tender than any other feelings he's ever had. He treasures her in a new, heavier way. She's become precious to him.

Precious. Where have we heard that... oh >:) ↓

Now the Dragon Festival was LETHAL in a trillion ways, but especially for nalu fans. The whole Future Lucy plot and the forehead touches and the Future Natsu and Future Lucy fighting in a wasteland moments and the Natsu skipping the final GMG match to save Lucy. And of course. Future Lucy dying. It's not the first time we see Natsu get so heavily affected - it happened in the tower of heaven, when Erza was ready to give her life up. But it is the first time we see Natsu see a friend die. Like, a team mate, someone who he's responsible for bringing to the guild. And after the whole GMG conundrum? Had a single more bad thing happened Lucy during the dragon festival, he’d probably turn into a demon right there and then. Dare I even say: their relationship was the strongest at this point in time.

After the GMG and the Dragon Festival, we get the Sun Village arc (I don’t like the Eclipse celestial spirit arc so I’m not counting it, same with Key of the Starry Sky arc — technically some nalu moments but not exactly building imo) and then another big one: Tartaros. Ooooh brother, THE best arc of all times, wish Mashima knew how to replicate it. But alas, he doesn’t.

The Tartaros arc isn’t exactly a pivotal moment where Natsu “falls in love” but rather an important aspect to understand his later actions. Like this guy goes through some pretty grusome stuff, learns a lot of complicated, bad things about himself, and finishes off the arc with losing Igneel — his father that he's spent ages searching for. Natsu's entire life is turned upside down, so he decides that he has to become stronger: cue, he heads off for a year to train.

His time away isn't very elaborated on — not from Natsu's viewpoint or Lucy's. But I think it's understood that he chose not to bring along Lucy because she could be put into danger too much for him to be able to concentrate on building his strength: he knew his training would be dangerous. During this time we also have the Gildarts-scene in chapter (idk i can't be bothered to look it up but y'all know the one ↓) which is kinda debated on — who was Natsu talking about here?

I'm still not certain on if it was a heart to heart on the Igneel-matter, or if it was about his guilt of leaving Lucy behind, like many theorise. I'm not even certain that it's limited to one of them — he could be talking about both. But at the very least, this entire year was one of those "distance makes the heart grow fonder" moments for him. He wanted to get back to his normal life with Lucy so bad. After all, it wasn't like him showing up at the GMG was in order to meet Lucy — had he wanted more training after that, he'd head off again, but I don't think he could physically bring himself to do it, even if it hadn't turned out that the guild had disbanded. Though that's just me speculating a bit.

And about the guild disbandment: oh jolly, he was not happy. He had finally taken the step to grow stronger to protect everyone in his beloved guild, and here Makarov went and disbanded it? Leaving Lucy completely alone? Lucy, who once jumped from a hella high tower because she was just so devoted to stay in the Fairy Tail guild? Yeah, I think that broke him a little. At this point there was just so much guilt involved around his whole relationship with Lucy, because now he had put her through so much pain only because he brought her to Fairy Tail that day in Hargeon.

The next arcs I'd say Natsu's trying to spend his time redeeming himself for the countless things he's done bad (getting the guild back together, just generally staying by Lucy's side as much as possible). And naturally he keeps getting hit by challenge after challenge (it's not easy to be a book written by his immortal brother, yk?). And it's even harder to watch Lucy die again, this time for real (he thinks bc he's stupid and also has a tumour that's nothing less than a ticking bomb) (give this guy a break lol).

Anyways: Lucy's death nr2. Natsu can't live a life without her. Now I know — he still doesn't quite understand that it's romantic love, but I think he does understand that it's pure love. No matter if kissing and reproducing was involved, all he knew was that a life without Lucy is completely unimaginable, so blinded by rage he becomes and decides to decapitate everyone in his way (sorry about that Gray).

The last couple of moments I'll go out of my way to mention as signs of love is 1. when he's won over Acnologia and falls towards Lucy, crazy relieved, saying "I'm home", 2. Gajeel pointing out Natsu's crush on Anna, Natsu basically saying "oh that's why I like Lucy so much" (I embellished it lol) and 3. "We're still gonna be together from here on out, right?" yeah that man won't ever leave her. Ever. It's just not an option.

Now since I've only talked about specific moments, here's what I have to say about his relationship with her in general:

Throughout the main plot line, we also see a shift in Natsu's behaviour. Someone here on Tumblr pointed out that Natsu always finds a way to shield Lucy if something unexpected happens, after not being able to shield her from Future Rogue. There's also the small detail of the order he calls out to people - it goes from being pretty random, to Lucy almost alwyas being on the top of the list: likely because she's always on the top of his head. And in general I'd say that Natsu initiates (i'm adding this entire paragraph bc i realised that you asked about when Natsu initiated stuff, more than when he fell in love lol) almost all of their interractions. It's Natsu who wants Lucy to join Fairy Tail, to form a team, he's the one who enters her apartment constantly, he's always searching her out - his interest in her is at a constant high so we never feel like we get "moments" that he's paying her extra attention. He has one setting, and it's "Lucy" cranked to the max. Lol.

I could also add some HYQ moments to the mix here, but they've been few and far inbetween, and also mostly played off as jokes, so I can't really consider them as moments when Natsu initiates his love. I guess his jealousy can be considered a sign? And when (spoilers from the manga) he runs around to protect her/save her from creepy-freaky-jail (the only one who made it freaky was him, with those wild fantasies lol). Maybe I need to jog my memory a bit, but so far there hasn't been any non-pervy nalu moments initiated by Natsu in the HYQ, aside from jealousy-chap. Sadly.

Hope this gave you the answer you were hoping for! Sorry it took so long, I started writing on it and realised it would be a bible so I put it in my drafts to fetch some pics to make it less wordy, and then I forgot about it, lol. But here it is!

[dixonsstinkysock]

ACT TWO SPOILERS! Jayce Talis x Reader _:(´ཀ`」 ∠):

“Jayce?”

He froze, a voice he thought he’d never hear again spoke. This couldn’t have been a worse time. His usual neatly-kempt hair was unruly, down to his cheeks. His clean-shaven face now covered by the bushy brown beard. Jayce turned in the direction of the voice, he’d been waiting for this moment, to see you again.

“Y/N?”

His emotions shown through his face, fluctuating into surprise, confusion and…horror. You were like them. Viktor had done something to you. Your once vibrant, lively eyes now replaced by the lifeless, shimmering power of the Hexcore. Many pieces of the iridescent metal scattered your forehead, another mark showing you’ve been “saved”.

“Jayce…I thought I would never see you again.” A spiritless chuckle left your mouth—a contrast from the usual boisterous laughter. You step foward, your hand settling on his bicep and squeezing. Jayce slowly backs away from you, his face frozen and in shock from your appearance. Your other hand finds its place on his right bicep, holding him in place and stopping him from moving any farther.

“Jayce, Viktor is waiting for you. If you wish to see him, I must take your weapon.”

“I—I have to go.”

He yanks himself away from your hold, now back to the small steps backwards. As he turns and sprints away, he crashes into multiple tents and stalls, as if he’s fighting something—or someone.

The child that let him towards Viktor’s hiding place finally let go of Jayce’s hand. Now pointing inside of the huge dome area. He already knows where Viktor is, this isn’t the first time but he still hesitates. The child walks back to his previous spot before Jayce almost obliterated him.

“Forgive me.”

In all of the universes he had been in, this is the first he has seen you like this. Jayce wants to look back, he wants to see you one last time, for he knows what happens to the people Viktor “save” once he dies. He doesn’t look back—he can’t. He won’t remember you like this…he won’t fail. Not this time, he’ll succeed, for you.

He understands now.

[scintillyyy]

anyways. cliff notes version of my "connecting leslie's story in war games to the evils of child soldiers & utter hatred of batman/bruce as the root of the problem and violence in gotham" doesn't understand her

i mean everyone knows the obvious of. leslie would never intentionally cause harm to prove a point, but that is the big one, yes

but even within that. i do think the point of the big one is that you need to understand that leslie is an absolute dogmatic nonviolent pacifist and would absolutely disagree with the use of any sort of violence to teach someone their violence is bad. retribution and personal revenge is off the table for her & is to be condemned in others.

leslie fundamentally disagrees with *all* of their choices to be vigilantes & use of violence to solve problems, not just bruce, but even the kids. she doesn't necessarily see them as hapless victims to bruce's ultimate will of violence. she wants them all to choose the better, nonviolent path & wants to teach any vigilante the option of nonviolence is there. she would hold bruce responsible for his choice of violence yes, but she would also hold them all responsible for their participation. she also has never shown a significant issue with children being vigilantes--she's might not love it, but she's been fine enough with working with several children as robin with little qualm about their age--her argument isn't that children in particular shouldn't be vigilantes or that children are in special danger here, it's that nobody should be vigilantes and problems should always be solved nonviolently.

which is my next point--there is absolutely cruelty within leslie's pacifism for those who can't meet her standard of nonviolence. she does think cruel things about bruce for his choice to be batman. she would absolutely think cruel things about all of them in her attempt to push them to be better. this doesn't means she hates them personally however

this is because a lot of the cruelty comes from leslie's loving disappointment in those she cares about. she is essentially bruce's mom after his parents die--her anger at him is not borne out of hate for what he chooses to do, but love & disappointment in her feeling he should be choosing a better way (her way) and does not. she dislikes his choices, but never him--she loves him. and she's always trying to save him. the point is never to punish those who haven't yet learned, it's to continue to try and teach them better. she might be frustrated and be angry at batman and the choice to be batman, but she cannot hate bruce. the point is that one day maybe bruce will finally learn that he can choose to be everything she knows he can be.

leslie & steph should frankly get along like oil & water because leslie would absolutely be judgmental of steph even in her desire to save and care for steph, just as she is judgmental of bruce even as she loves him. she would be kind, yes, but leslie's commitment to nonviolent resolution no matter the circumstance would absolutely clash with steph's feelings that personal retribution is justified under certain circumstances would absolutely clash & neither would be willing to budge. like. batman chronicles #18 where leslie does everything in her power to save zsasz at all costs vs detective comics #796 where steph went in for the kill on zsasz to protect herself and batman and questioned why not kill him. think about it.

anyways war games boiling her pacifism down into "batman commits violence and gets kids hurt ergo he's bad & i think he should be punished" completely loses the nuance that is that leslie loves despite her disagreement! the power of her is that no matter how angry and disappointed she might get in someone she is still dogmatically committed to saving them. she objects to the violence criminals commit and would still go out of her way to save them despite what they might go on to do. she saved zsasz. she would save the joker if he were dying in from of her. her devotion to her ideals is commendable, but can also be a flaw that hurts those she loves due to her strict adherence. batman is a part of the problem. batman deserves to be saved, just as all others who commit violence do.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Get Lost

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You get caught in the corn maze after dark but you don’t think those footsteps belong to someone trying to help you find your way out.

Characters: Lloyd Hansen

Note: this is the fifth and final of my autumn fics as decided by all of you!

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

Jaden points across the dash, receiving a swat from Alexandria as she tries not to veer. 

“Hey,” she cries out, “don’t do that. I can’t see over your ugly sweater.” 

“Oh, whatever, Lex,” he snips, “I was just trying to show you that.” He points again, this time without blocking her view, “you see that sign ahead?” 

“Sure, I see it,” she leans over the wheel as your nail taps across your phone screen. You huff. You wish they’d stop arguing for one moment. “A maze?” 

“A corn maze. Doesn’t that sound fun? I haven’t been to one since I was a kid.” 

“Of course, you haven’t,” you scoff and let your phone hang carelessly in your hand. “We’ve all seen that movie with the evil kids. Who wants to go running through a field?” 

“I do,” Ashton says, “better than driving around looking for those shoes that don’t exist.” 

His girlfriend, Samira, laughs and leans into him. You blow a raspberry. 

“It’s all the way out in the middle of nowhere,” you sneer. 

“Well, Mrs. Xanny, you never want to do anything so your vote counts for nothing,” Jaden retorts. 

“Excuse me,” you roll your eyes. 

“I’m up for it,” Ashton raises his hand. 

“Me too,” Samira mimics him. 

“Me three,” Jaden declares. “So looks like you two are outvoted.” 

“Whatever,” you mutter and Alexandria sighs. 

“Fine, but nobody better leave me behind. I’m not getting lost because of you idiots,” she growls. 

“Don’t worry, Lexi, I’ll hold your wittle hand,” Jaden teases. 

The others laugh and you go back to your phone. You’re more interested in the new heels at your favourite boutique than some dirty and scarecrows. Alexandria steers on as she continues to snap at Jaden to stop distracting her. Her driving is a lot scarier than anything that might be hiding in the maze. 

You swipe and tap and tune out the world around you, especially the two lovebirds exchanging not so subtle touches beside you. Jaden had to insist on sitting in the front. Finally, the car rolls, the axle jostled by the lumpy ground, and you look up at the gray sky. You hate daylight savings. 

When the wheels are still, you’re reluctant to get out. You could offer to watch the car until they get back. It’s cold and you don’t feel like slogging through soil and seed. 

“Hey, Lex,” you begin. 

“If I’m going, you’re going,” she snips as she undoes her seatbelt. 

You curl your lip and make a face at her back. The others are already out of the car. Jaden’s bouncing eagerly, Ashton’s staring at the gate to the maze, and Samira is draped off her boyfriend’s arm. They probably just want to find a dark corner so they can makeout. They are so high school. 

“Fifteen bucks?” You read the sign above the table, “blech. I could put that towards my hair appointment tomorrow.” 

“Oh, boo hoo,” Jaden snorts. 

“Don’t act like you don’t have the money,” Samira jeers. 

You call these people ‘friends’ lightly. You all just kind of stick together out of familiarity. Most people you’ve met aren’t much better so why risk downgrading. 

You take a step and feel your tall heel sink into the mud. Ew. 

“Oh, my boots,” you whine as you lift your sole, the muck dripping off of it. 

“Wash em after,” Ashton says. 

“These are Louis’,” you snarl. 

“And you have at least three identical pairs at home. Lighten up,” he barks back. 

You cross your arms and seal your lips with a wry smile. You’re not arguing with him. He’s been a jerk ever since you turned him down at his sister’s twenty-fifth. You suppose it was his birthday two, them being twins and all. Not that he looks very much like Alexandria. 

You trod after the four others, trying not to step too deep in the mud. You growl at the ground. You know what’s not dirty, a salon or a store. 

“Nice boots,” a deep voice rolls over you as you join the queue for tickets.  

You lift your head and look over at the man nearby. He steps up next to you as you eye his bristly upper lip. It’s a look, not a good one. 

“Brave girl going in alone,” he comments. 

You frown, “I’m not,” you step closer to your friends and they chatter. 

“Oh, coulda fooled me,” he remarks as he reaches into his jacket. “So, those Louis boots... those are last year’s...” 

“How would you know?” 

He shows the lining of his jacket. Also Louis. He pokes his fingers into the interior pocket and slides out a pack of gum. He pushes out a piece and pops it in his mouth. He tucks the pack back into his pocket and drops his hands to his hip. 

“So,” he chews the gum loudly. “You’re not really dressed for a maze.” 

“And you are?” You scowl, looking him up and down. He copies your posture and does the same to you. 

“I’m not here for the maze, baby girl,” he winks and snaps the gum. “But you have fun.” 

He turns and struts away before you can respond. Your lips open in confusion. What could he mean? You blink and shut your mouth, stepping up between Alexandria and Ashton. 

“So, how long are we going to have to stand around?” You ask. 

🌾

You hold your phone up in irritation. Your bars are totally gone. Great. This maze thing is so fucking boring. What are you supposed to do now? 

You sniff and shake your head. You sigh and put your phone in your jacket pocket, keeping your hand in the fleecy insert as the chill creeps up your leggings. You guess you’ll have to help or whatever. 

“Alex--” you look ahead then back, and side to side. Your heart leaps and you rush forward as fast as you can on your six-inch heels, “Alexandria? Ashton?” You look around the next corner and the opposite way along the other pathway. “Samira?” 

You spin again, your ankles tangling together. You blink as the tall corner adds to the dimness setting over the horizon. You gulp as your heart pounds in your throat. You slip your phone free once more and turn on the flashlight. 

You aim it ahead and listen for voices. You don’t hear much past the dense wall of stalks. As you brush a bit too close, you cry out and back away from the hanging husk. You shake of the crawling sensation and turn back and forth again. You lost your sense of direction. 

You look up at the sky. The clouds are thick, you can see neither moon or sun. You stop and pull your phone closer. You bring up your maps but it’s just a blank screen. Still no signal. 

Fuck it. Just walk, you’ll find the way. 

You shine the light ahead of you, your heels sinking into the mulch of footsteps, husks, and stones. You walk unevenly over the soft ground. You mumble obscenities as your arches start to bemoan the height. If you had known about this special excursion, you could’ve worn your Uggs. 

There’s a scuff, a strange echo of your own steps. You stop but it keeps going. You squint and twirl around, the light glinting off the corner and slicing through shadows. “Hello?” You call out. 

The footsteps continue but no one answers. You can’t tell if they’re ahead of you or behind you. Or to the left. Or right. You sway back and forth. This is getting weird. 

You take a breath and set your feet. You nearly trip as your heels dig in once more. You grunt and pull them out. You’re about to just scream for help. 

A sudden rumble makes you squeal. What the hell was that? You twist around and it happens again. It’s laughter? Someone’s laughing at you? 

You look at the tall stalks of corn, searching between the tight rows. 

“Alright, not very funny. Ashton....” you holler. 

The laughter gets louder. 

“Jaden,” you hiss. 

The laughter stops. 

“I really am not amused, okay? I want out. I never even wanted to do this stupid thing--” 

“Those boys are long gone, sweet peach,” the voice drawls around you like the wind, “I’m all man.” 

“Where are you? Who are you?” You ask. 

“I’m right behind you, baby, and I’m your knight in shining armour,” he purrs. 

You gasp and turn around. You beam the flashlight of the phone in the man’s face. You only get a glimpse of that short brown mustache before the cell is knocked from your grasp. 

“What are you tryna do? Blind me?” He snarls as your phone disappears between the corn. 

“What-- What do you want?” You step back, dragging your heels from the mud. 

“I wanna help, baby,” he slithers. “You seem lost.” 

You blink at him. He’s a dark silhouette against the greyness trapped in the maze. You bristle and look over at the corn. 

“Sure, I’ll just grab my phone, thanks--” 

“Ah, ah,” he comes up to meet you, blocking you with his arm. “I don’t work for free, honey pot.” 

“Fine, then go away,” you spit. 

“Woah, ho, you haven’t even asked what I want in return, sweetie,” he brings his other hand up to touch your cheek and you flinch away. 

“You’re not getting it, dude,” you back up. 

“Just a little suck. Hell, you give the little guy a nice kiss and I won’t even make you finish the job--” 

“Ew, no way,” you smack his hand down as he reaches for you again. “Fuck off--” 

He’s quick. He grabs you by your jaw and snarls as he looms over you, “for such a pretty mouth it sure is fucking filthy. Won’t matter what I put in it--” 

“Hey,” you grunt and writhe in his grasp, twisting your hands around his thick forearms, “get off--” 

“I’m trying, trust me--” 

You ram your knee up and feel the crunch in his pants. He wheezes and lets you go. You shove him and stagger backwards. You look at the corn one last time. Your phone is somewhere in there. 

As he cradles his crotch and snarls, the urgency of the moment slaps you across the face. Fuck your phone. You need to get away from this creep. 

Thank god you got insurance on your cell plan. You turn and lift your knees. You land on your toes, keeping your heels off the ground as much as you can. You’re not going very fast and you know you look ridiculous but you don’t care. You want to go home. 

You pump your arms as you breath hitches. You hear groans and another set of steps, just like before. You get to a corner and turn before you crash through the corn. You heave as you race away, ankles threatening to bend. At what point do you just ditch the Louis’ and mourn them with your phone. 

You cough and slow down. Shit. You’re in terrible shape. You look over your shoulder, your breath foggy in the plummeting temperature. You don’t see him. You don’t hear him either. Good. 

You turn-- 

“Boo!” The man startles you so you shriek. 

You stagger back as he cackles and you hurl yourself forward. Your feet catch as your heels stab the ground and you stumble with your arms flailing away from him. Your shallow breaths thunder around you as you charge through the maze only to find yourself trapped at a dead end. 

You stop and waver, lungs filled with fire. Fuck, fuck, fuck! You stomp with each internal proclamation. 

“Look, sugar tits, you can keep running and I’ll keep chasing,” the man struts up behind you as you spin to face him. “But it all ends the same way.” He sets his feet wide and cracks his knuckles. “And since you bruised my left nut,” he snarls, “you can kiss that better first.” 

“Uh, like why are you doing this?” You ask. 

He chortles, “like because I can.”  

You snarl and cross your arms, “you’re a loser. And you’re old. Like, can’t you find someone your own age to creep on?” 

He laughs louder but there’s not much humour in it. He stalks closer and your defiance glimmers, just a little. You don’t know where he gets off. Does he really think he can just tell you what to do? 

“So, I knew you were gonna be a handful,” he grabs you by the neck and you wince. You slap his wrist and he tuts, bringing his other hand up to grope your chest, “in more ways than one.” 

“Hey, fuck--” you grit out. “Hey!” 

“Look, sweetie, it’s a simple transaction. I pull my pants down, you keep those teeth to yourself, and be real nice to me,” he glares down at you. “The way you crushed my balls, you’re lucky I don’t make you lick my boots.” 

“What is wrong with you?” You growl. 

“Oh, a lot,” he smirks. “Now, those boots must kill your feet so...” he jerks you roughly, “on your knees.” 

Your eyes tinge just a little but you won’t cry. Not because of him. You gnash your teeth and grimace at him as he peels his hand away. 

“You got one thing going for you, baby, and that’s that pretty face. I can change that, trust me,” he warns. You swallow avert your eyes. He chuckles again, “god, I love that pout.” 

You bat your lash and fight to keep the litany of insults inside. You caterpillar faced fuck. You viagra powered moron. You overgrown frat boy. 

“The next time you open your mouth, it better be to gobble my cock,” he sneers, “so don’t even say it.” 

You look at him again. You set your eyes and your jaw. You step closer and he lifts his chin just slightly as he stares you down. 

You grab his belt and he twitches. You unbuckle it and whip the ends aside. You pop the button open and yank the zipper apart. He watches you, his eyebrow tweaking. You push his fly wide and roll your eyes as you feel his naked pelvis beneath your fingertips. Of course, this weirdo is hanging loose. 

You reach under his pants and angle his hard dick through the teeth of the zipper. You stroke him up and down with a dry, tight grip. He hisses and shifts his weight. 

“Careful, like sandpaper,” he rasps. 

You tut and look down. You huff. You move one foot back and bend your leg. You put one knee to the ground then the other. You make a face as you come level to his tip. Ugh. 

“Don’t look so fucking enticed,” he barks. You roll your eyes again and he swats your head. “Keep doing that and your eyes are getting stuck.” 

Old. Man. 

You pump him again and slowly, inch by inch, lean in. 

“Ah, I said kiss the left one first, then you can get to the main dish,” he puts his hand on his hip. 

You swallow and push down a tide of disgust. You lift him and lean your head to the side. You crane around and pucker, pressing your lips to his left ball. He twitches and groan. 

“Damn, those lips are soft. Do the other one.” 

With bile brewing in your stomach, you obey. You pull back and put his tip to your lips. You narrow your gaze at his pelvis and spread your mouth around him. You wet his swollen head then work your way down his length. He might be a desperate loser but he’s not small. 

You bob up and down as you take more and more of him. He curls his fingers into his hip as his other hand goes to the back of your head. He urges you on and you bat his hand with yours. You push back against him and flick your eyes up. 

“You are a stubborn one,” he rebukes. 

Your lips meet your hand and you pump him emphatically with both, popping off his tip so he whimpers. He clutches a wad of your hair as his eyes gleam desperately. 

“I kissed it better,” you wipe your mouth, “you show me the way out, and you might just finish, old man.” 

He stares down at you. Agitation and amusement battle across his expression. He takes a breath and lets it out. 

“One last kiss and I’ll get you out,” he says, “And then you’ll get me off.” 

The cold air swirls around you and the darkness floods through the corn. You squeeze him slightly and put a sloppy kiss on his tip with a loud muah. You let go and tickle along his length. You grab onto his arm and pull yourself to your feet. 

“I want out. Now.” 

“Alright, princess,” he snickers. “Don’t you worry, I got a throne you can sit on when we’re home free.” 

[novaursa]

Legacy (long live the king)

- Summary: Tywin was the man who saved you from Robert's wrath. He was also the man who doomed you.

- Paring: targ!reader/Tywin Lannister

- Note: Be aware how the timeline is all over the place and canon doesn't quite match some events of the story.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: strings of time

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround @luniaxi

The Red Keep was quiet that morning, the soft hum of activity muted as you made your way through the winding halls toward Sansa’s chambers. The air smelled faintly of salt and stone, a familiar scent that seemed to linger in every corner of the fortress. You had waited a few days after the marriage between Sansa and Tyrion, giving her space to adjust to the reality of her situation. But now, your concern for her outweighed the necessity of distance.

Ser Barristan followed you closely, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword as always. His presence was a comfort, though you had grown so accustomed to it that you barely noticed him anymore. The two Lannister guards Tywin insisted on also trailed behind at a respectful distance.

As you reached Sansa’s chamber door, you heard the faint rustling of fabric and soft footsteps beyond. You lifted your hand to knock, but before you could, the door opened, revealing a young woman in simple garments, her hair pinned neatly back.

Shae.

The recognition was instant. You’d seen her before, flitting around Sansa as one of her attendants, her presence always discreet but strangely attentive. She froze when she saw you, her eyes widening briefly before she quickly lowered her gaze, her posture stiff.

“My lady,” she said awkwardly, dipping into a shallow curtsy. Her voice was polite, but there was a stiffness in her tone that didn’t escape your notice.

“Shae,” you greeted evenly, inclining your head slightly. “I see you’ve been attending to Lady Sansa.”

“Yes, my lady,” she replied, her words rushed. “I was just… bringing her fresh linens. She’s resting now.”

Her unease was visible, her hands fidgeting with the fabric of her skirts. You studied her for a moment, noting the way her gaze flitted away from yours, unable to hold it for long. There was something guarded in her demeanor, something that hinted at more than the role she claimed.

“Good,” you said finally, your tone calm but edged with curiosity. “Sansa needs someone she can trust.”

Shae nodded quickly, her lips pressing into a thin line. “Of course, my lady. I do everything I can for her.”

You let the silence stretch for a moment, watching as she shifted uncomfortably under your gaze. It wasn’t uncommon for people to act this way around you—your Targaryen blood, your place in the Red Keep, and your closeness to Sansa all carried weight that unsettled many. But with Shae, it felt different. More personal.

“Thank you for your service,” you said finally, your voice softening slightly. “Sansa speaks well of you.”

Shae blinked, a flicker of surprise crossing her face before she nodded again. “Thank you, my lady. I’ll… I’ll leave you to her now.”

She stepped aside quickly, her head bowed as she brushed past you. You watched her retreating form for a moment, your mind turning over what you knew—or suspected—about her. Her relationship with Tyrion was no secret to you, though you had never spoken of it. It was not your place, nor did you see any benefit in bringing it to light. But her discomfort in your presence was something you could not ignore.

“Interesting,” you murmured under your breath as you turned back to the chamber door. Ser Barristan gave you a questioning glance, but you shook your head slightly, dismissing his unspoken query.

You knocked gently on the door and waited for Sansa’s soft voice to call out, “Come in.” When you entered, you found her seated by the window, the morning light casting a golden glow over her auburn hair. She looked up at you with a faint smile, though her eyes were tired, shadows lingering beneath them.

“My lady,” she said, rising to her feet. “I didn’t expect to see you.”

You crossed the room quickly, taking her hands in yours and guiding her back to her seat. “Sansa, please. There’s no need to stand for me.”

She allowed herself to be seated, her smile growing a little warmer. “It’s good to see you.”

“And you,” you replied, pulling a chair closer to sit beside her. “How have you been?”

Sansa hesitated, her gaze dropping to her lap. “I… I’m fine,” she said quietly, though her voice lacked conviction.

You frowned slightly, leaning closer. “Sansa, you don’t need to lie to me. I know this has been difficult for you.”

Her lips trembled, and for a moment, you thought she might cry. But she took a deep breath, steadying herself before meeting your gaze. “Tyrion has been kind,” she said softly. “More than I expected. But it’s still… hard. Everything feels so wrong.”

You squeezed her hands gently, your voice filled with compassion. “I know. And I’m sorry. You deserved better than this.”

She shook her head, a single tear slipping down her cheek. “It’s not your fault. It’s just… it’s all too much sometimes.”

You reached out, brushing the tear away with a gentle touch. “You’re stronger than you know, Sansa. You’ve endured so much already, and you’ll endure this too. I’m here for you, no matter what.”

She nodded, her expression softening as she leaned into your touch. For a moment, the room was silent, the weight of unspoken words hanging between you.

Then, in a quieter voice, she asked, “Do you think… do you think it will ever get better?”

You hesitated, knowing the answer she wanted but unable to lie to her. “I think it will take time,” you said carefully. “But you have allies, Sansa. People who care for you. Hold onto that.”

The room was modest by the standards of the Red Keep, tucked away in a quieter wing where the hum of courtly life was less invasive. You shifted in your chair, trying to find a comfortable position as your swollen belly made even the simplest task a challenge. Olenna Tyrell sat across from you, her sharp eyes glinting with their usual mix of amusement and calculation. To your irritation, Petyr Baelish lingered nearby, leaning casually against the stone wall, his lips curved in a faint, knowing smirk.

“This is an… interesting gathering,” you remarked, folding your hands neatly over your lap. “I wasn’t aware I’d been summoned for such unique company.”

Olenna chuckled, the sound dry but warm. “My dear, you flatter us. And here I thought you’d be delighted to spend time with two of the most intriguing minds in the capital.”

You arched an eyebrow, glancing briefly at Baelish before returning your attention to Olenna. “Intriguing, perhaps. But intrigue can be exhausting, and I’m in no mood for games.”

Olenna’s smile widened, and she leaned forward slightly, resting her hands on the head of her cane. “Very well, I’ll spare you the pleasantries. I love my granddaughter, you see. Margaery is as clever as she is beautiful, and she will make an excellent queen. But the king…” Her expression soured, and her voice dropped to a conspiratorial tone. “Joffrey is a menace. He’s dangerous, unstable, and entirely unsuited for the throne.”

Your gaze narrowed slightly, though you kept your tone neutral. “I cannot argue with that assessment. But why are you telling me this?”

“Because,” Olenna said, her eyes locking onto yours, “Joffrey is not just a threat to my granddaughter. He’s a threat to the realm, to all of us. Including you and your child.”

At her words, your hand instinctively moved to rest on your belly. The thought of Joffrey’s unhinged malice extending toward your unborn child sent a shiver through you, but you kept your composure. “I’ve no doubt he poses a danger to everyone around him,” you said carefully. “But what do you expect me to do about it?”

Olenna smiled faintly, a glint of mischief in her eyes. “I don’t expect you to do anything, my dear. I simply thought you’d like to know where certain parties stand.”

Baelish chose this moment to speak, his voice smooth and unhurried. “The queen-to-be is beloved, and her marriage will solidify her position. But with a king like Joffrey, beloved can quickly turn to forgotten, or worse. Surely, Lady Lannister, you understand the importance of securing the future for those we care about.”

You turned your gaze to him, your expression cool. “Spare me the riddles, Lord Baelish. If you have something to say, say it plainly.”

Baelish smirked, his head tilting slightly. “I merely observe. And my observations tell me that those who act swiftly tend to find themselves… in better positions.”

Olenna waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, enough, Petyr. She doesn’t need your oily little hints.” Her sharp gaze returned to you, softening slightly. “You’re here because you’re intelligent, my dear. And I value intelligence in a city that seems to have it in such short supply.”

You tilted your head, curiosity flickering in your expression. “And what exactly do you want from me, Lady Olenna?”

Olenna leaned back in her chair, her fingers tapping lightly on the head of her cane. “Nothing… yet. But tell me, what do you know of a certain poison called the strangler?”

The room seemed to grow quieter at her question, the weight of her words hanging in the air. Baelish’s smirk grew more pronounced, his eyes darting between you and Olenna with barely concealed amusement.

You met Olenna’s gaze steadily, your mind racing as you considered your response. Whatever game she was playing, it was clear you were now a part of it.

The grand hall of the Red Keep was resplendent, its banners and tapestries shimmering in the warm glow of countless candles. The air was heavy with the mingling scents of roasted meats, fresh bread, and spiced wine as the royal wedding celebration reached its peak. You sat beside Tywin, your back straight, your hands carefully folded over the swell of your belly. The weight of your pregnancy was a constant presence, but you refused to let it compromise your regal posture.

The crown of your braided hair shimmered faintly in the light, and you wore a deep crimson gown trimmed with gold, an unmistakable nod to your Targaryen heritage now blended with the Lannister lion. Tywin, ever composed, sat beside you, his expression an impassive mask as he observed the festivities. His sharp gaze missed nothing, though his attention occasionally flicked to you.

You let your eyes sweep over the hall, first landing on Olenna Tyrell, who sat further down the high table. The old woman caught your glance, her sharp eyes twinkling with mischief, and she gave you the faintest of nods. You inclined your head slightly in return, a silent acknowledgment of her presence before shifting your gaze to where Sansa and Tyrion sat.

Sansa’s expression was a mask of polite detachment, her hands folded tightly in her lap, though her eyes betrayed a flicker of sadness. Tyrion sat beside her, his goblet of wine barely touched, his mouth set in a grim line as he observed the revelry. Your heart ached for the girl who had once been like a sister to you, though you knew no comforting words could ease her current predicament.

Further along the table, you noticed Cersei, seated beside Tywin’s other side, her expression one of carefully cultivated disdain. Her green eyes occasionally flicked to you, though she said nothing, her attention mostly focused on the goblet of wine in her hand.

From the corner of your eye, you caught sight of Jaime, newly returned to the capital after his long captivity. He stood near the edge of the hall, his golden hand gleaming in the light as he exchanged a few quiet words with Ser Loras Tyrell. His presence was both familiar and strange, the absence of his sword hand a glaring reminder of how much had changed. He caught your gaze briefly, his expression unreadable before he turned his attention back to his conversation.

The royal couple was at the center of the hall, all eyes on them. Joffrey, resplendent in his golden tunic and crown, basked in the attention like a vain peacock, his laughter grating and overly loud. Margaery, ever the diplomat, played her role flawlessly, her smiles radiant, though her eyes occasionally flickered with calculated coolness. The crowd roared with approval as Joffrey raised his goblet to toast the union, his words dripping with arrogance as he mocked anyone and everyone who dared challenge his rule.

You shifted slightly in your seat, feeling a sudden, sharp pang in your abdomen. Your breath caught for a moment, and your hand instinctively rested on your belly. The pain subsided quickly, leaving only a faint ache, but it was enough to unsettle you.

“Is something wrong?” Tywin’s low voice broke through your thoughts, his sharp eyes already fixed on you.

You shook your head, forcing a faint smile to your lips. “All is well,” you replied quietly, your tone steady. “Just the usual discomforts.”

Tywin’s gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, his expression unreadable, before he nodded and turned his attention back to the proceedings. Despite his composed exterior, you could tell he was watching you closely, his concern evident in the way his hand rested subtly closer to yours on the table.

The hall erupted into applause as the wedding pie was brought in, a massive confection wheeled out by servants, its crust decorated with golden lions and roses. The guests leaned forward in anticipation, their cheers growing louder as the spectacle approached the high table.

You sat back slightly, allowing the momentary distraction to draw attention away from you. Your hand brushed over your belly again, the earlier pang still lingering faintly in your mind. You stole another glance at Sansa, who was watching the pie with detached politeness, her hands trembling slightly. Olenna, meanwhile, observed the scene with a faint smirk, her cane resting beside her as she leaned slightly forward.

As Joffrey stood, gesturing dramatically for his sword to cut the pie, you felt the weight of the moment settle over the room. You exchanged a brief look with Tywin, who raised an eyebrow as if to silently ask if you were still well. You gave him the faintest of nods, determined not to let anything mar the carefully constructed image of composure you had worked so hard to maintain.

The pie was set before the king, its golden crust glinting in the light as Joffrey raised his sword, a gleeful grin spreading across his face. The crowd held its breath in anticipation, and you felt a dread in the air that went far beyond the spectacle itself.

The young king held his sword aloft, grinning like a child about to open a prized gift. Margaery stood beside him, ever the picture of grace, her hands delicately clasped as she encouraged the crowd’s cheers with her radiant smile.

The blade came down with a dramatic flourish, slicing through the pie. A flurry of pigeons erupted into the air, their frantic wings scattering crumbs and flour as they soared over the assembled guests. Laughter and applause echoed through the hall, the spectacle delighting the nobles as Joffrey puffed out his chest, basking in their adulation.

Margaery reached out to pluck a piece of pie and lifted it to Joffrey’s mouth, her expression demure as she fed him. The young king accepted it with exaggerated relish, chewing loudly as the crowd continued to cheer. A goblet of wine was handed to Margaery by a servant standing near Olenna, and she, in turn, presented it to Joffrey with a delicate bow.

Your eyes flicked to Olenna for a fleeting moment, catching the faintest twitch of her lips as she turned her attention back to the spectacle. A chill ran down your spine as you realized what was about to unfold.

At the same time, another sharp pain shot through your abdomen, this one far more intense than before. You stifled a gasp, your hand flying to your belly as the sensation nearly stole your breath. Beside you, Tywin’s hand immediately found yours, his sharp gaze snapping to your face.

“What is it?” he asked in a low, urgent tone, his other hand already bracing your arm.

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words were lost as the scene before you erupted into chaos.

Joffrey froze mid-laugh, his expression contorting into one of confusion and pain. His hand flew to his throat as he stumbled backward, knocking over the goblet of wine. The crowd’s cheers faltered, confusion rippling through the hall as the young king began to gag violently. His face turned a sickly shade of purple, and his eyes bulged as he clawed at his neck.

“Joffrey!” Cersei’s scream pierced the air as she rushed toward her son, her golden gown billowing behind her. She dropped to her knees beside him, her hands fluttering uselessly as she tried to help him. “What’s happening? Help him! Someone help him!”

The hall descended into chaos. Lords and ladies stood from their seats, some frozen in shock, others shouting orders or calling for the maesters. Guards pushed through the crowd, their armor clanking as they fought to reach the king.

Tywin rose to his feet, his hand never leaving yours as he pulled you up beside him. His tall frame loomed protectively over you as his sharp eyes scanned the room, assessing the situation with cold efficiency. “Stay close,” he commanded, his voice low but firm.

Another wave of pain rippled through you, this time so intense that you couldn’t suppress the gasp that escaped your lips. Your knees buckled slightly, and Tywin caught you immediately, his arm wrapping around your waist. His gaze snapped to your face, his eyes narrowing as realization dawned.

“You’re in labor,” he said, his tone clipped but tinged with alarm.

You nodded weakly, clutching his arm as another contraction seized you. The cacophony of the hall faded into the background as your world narrowed to the pain coursing through your body and the steady presence of Tywin beside you.

“Come,” he said decisively, his hand tightening around yours. “We’re leaving.”

Before you could protest, he began to guide you out of the hall, his movements quick but discreet. The guards who had been stationed nearby fell into step behind you, forming a protective barrier as Tywin led you toward the exit.

Behind you, the chaos in the hall reached a fever pitch as Joffrey convulsed on the floor, foam and blood spilling from his mouth. Cersei’s screams echoed through the space, her voice raw with grief and fury as she cradled her dying son.

“Don’t let anyone leave!” Cersei shrieked, her voice cutting through the noise. “He’s been poisoned! Find who did this!”

Tywin didn’t look back, his focus entirely on you as he guided you through the corridors of the Red Keep. Your breaths came in short, shallow gasps as the contractions grew stronger, each one threatening to overwhelm you.

“You should have told me,” Tywin said sharply, though his tone was tempered by the urgency of the situation. “You should have said something sooner.”

“There was no time,” you managed between breaths, gripping his arm tightly as another wave of pain hit.

Tywin muttered something under his breath, his expression hardening as he quickened his pace. “You’ll be taken to your chambers,” he said, his voice firm. “I’ll have the maester brought to you immediately.”

You nodded weakly, too focused on the mounting pain to argue. The world around you blurred as Tywin’s strong arm guided you forward, his presence a steady anchor in the chaos.

By the time you reached your chambers, the shouts and cries from the hall had faded into the distance. Tywin eased you into a chair, his hand lingering on your shoulder as he barked orders to the guards outside.

“Fetch Pycelle,” he commanded, his tone brooking no argument. “And send for the midwives.”

As the door closed behind him, Tywin knelt briefly at your side, his hand brushing yours. “You’ll be fine,” he said, his voice quiet but firm. “Do you hear me? You’ll be fine.”

You nodded, gripping his hand tightly as the pain consumed you, trusting in his presence even as the world around you seemed to tilt into chaos.

The air was filled with the scent of herbs and sweat as your labor dragged on, each hour stretching endlessly as the midwives moved around you like shadows, their voices low and soothing. You gripped the edge of the sturdy wooden chair, pacing slowly across the room, refusing to give in to the pain that racked your body.

Your breaths came in sharp bursts, but you swallowed down every scream, refusing to let the agony reduce you to helplessness. A low yelp escaped your lips, and you bit down hard, your nails digging into the back of the chair as you braced yourself against the next contraction. The midwives followed you like silent sentinels, their hands hovering near but never daring to touch unless you allowed it.

Pycelle stood awkwardly to the side, his gray beard quivering as he wrung his hands. “My lady,” he began, his voice wheedling and nasal, “this is highly irregular. You should be lying down. I must examine you to ensure—”

“Out,” you snapped, your voice sharper than you intended, though the pain lent it an edge you couldn’t temper. “You will not touch me, Pycelle. I will not have your hands near me.”

Pycelle flinched but recovered quickly, turning his imploring gaze to Tywin, who stood near the hearth with his arms crossed, his sharp eyes fixed on you like a hawk watching its prey. “Lord Tywin,” Pycelle said, his voice bordering on desperation, “surely you understand the danger of allowing this to proceed without my expertise.”

Tywin didn’t even glance at him, his voice low and firm as he replied, “You will remain where you are, Pycelle. She has made her wishes clear.”

“But—” Pycelle began, only to be silenced by the slightest flicker of Tywin’s gaze in his direction, cold and unyielding.

The maester’s mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, but he wisely said no more, retreating to a corner of the room to stew in his indignation.

The contractions grew stronger, each one a wave of fire and steel that left you gripping the chair until your knuckles turned white. The midwives murmured encouragements, their hands deft as they prepared towels and basins of water. You moved methodically, pacing the chamber to distract yourself from the pain, your breaths hissing between clenched teeth.

“Lady Y/N,” one of the midwives said softly, “you’re progressing well. It won’t be much longer now.”

You nodded tersely, unable to summon the strength for words. Tywin remained silent, his presence a steady anchor in the room. You felt his gaze on you, assessing, calculating, but also something else—concern, perhaps, though he would never admit it.

A soft knock at the door broke the tense rhythm of the room. Ser Barristan opened it slightly, allowing Varys to slip inside, his silk robes whispering against the stone floor. His expression was unreadable, though his eyes carried a hint of urgency as he approached Tywin.

“My lord,” Varys said in a low voice, inclining his head slightly. “May I have a word?”

Tywin hesitated, his eyes flickering to you. You met his gaze briefly, nodding faintly to indicate you could manage without him for a moment. With a curt nod, he followed Varys out of the room, the door closing softly behind them.

In the corridor, the air was cooler, the sounds of the bustling keep faint in the distance. Tywin turned to Varys, his expression hard. “Speak.”

Varys leaned closer, his voice barely above a whisper. “The queen regent has accused your son Tyrion of poisoning King Joffrey. He has been arrested and taken to the dungeons.”

Tywin’s jaw tightened, but his voice remained calm. “And Lady Sansa?”

Varys hesitated, his hands clasped in front of him. “Gone, my lord. There is no trace of her. It seems she fled the Red Keep shortly after the chaos began.”

A flicker of irritation crossed Tywin’s face, though he quickly masked it. “And how is the queen?”

“Distraught, as you can imagine,” Varys replied, his tone neutral. “She demands swift justice. She believes Tyrion acted out of ambition, though… I am not certain she truly believes it. The accusation is convenient, nothing more.”

Tywin exhaled slowly, his eyes narrowing. “I will deal with it. Ensure that no further word of Lady Sansa’s disappearance spreads for now. The last thing we need is more speculation.”

“Of course, my lord,” Varys said, bowing slightly. “And… the lady within?” He glanced toward the door leading to your chambers.

“She will deliver safely,” Tywin said curtly, though there was a flicker of something softer in his tone. “Her child is my priority.”

Varys nodded, his expression unreadable as he straightened. “As you say, my lord. I shall see to it that the necessary measures are taken.”

Tywin watched him go, his mind already turning over the implications of Sansa’s disappearance and the precarious situation unfolding in the wake of Joffrey’s death. But for now, his focus was on you, the woman carrying his legacy. With a final glance down the corridor, he re-entered the chamber, his gaze immediately seeking you out as another contraction gripped your body.

You looked up at him, your face pale but determined, and for a moment, the chaos of the outside world seemed far away. Tywin crossed the room, standing at your side as the midwives worked diligently, his presence a silent promise of unwavering resolve.

The labor dragged on into the deep hours of the night. The room felt stifling now. You lay on the bed, propped up by pillows, your body drenched in sweat as the contractions came faster and harder. The midwives hovered around you, still murmuring words of encouragement, while Pycelle stood off to the side, his face drawn and pale with irritation.

“My lady,” Pycelle began again, his voice quivering with that patronizing tone you had come to loathe, “you must allow me to intervene. It is my duty to ensure—”

“Your duty?” you snapped, your voice sharp despite the pain coursing through you. Your hand gripped the edge of the bed, your knuckles white. “Your duty failed my mother. You call yourself a maester, yet you stood by while she suffered through endless labors—while her children died! I will not let you touch me.”

Pycelle flinched at the venom in your words, his beard trembling as he drew himself up. “That was many years ago, my lady,” he protested weakly. “I have gained much experience since then.”

“Enough,” Tywin cut in, his voice cold and final as he stood at the foot of the bed, his arms crossed. His sharp gaze pinned Pycelle in place. “She has made her wishes clear. You will not interfere unless absolutely necessary.”

Pycelle opened his mouth as if to argue but thought better of it, his jaw snapping shut with an audible click. He shuffled back into his corner once more, muttering under his breath.

Another contraction hit, and you bit down hard on the scream that threatened to escape, a low growl rumbling in your throat instead. The midwives rushed to your side, dabbing your forehead with a damp cloth and urging you to breathe through the pain.

“You’re doing well, my lady,” one of them said softly, her voice soothing. “It won’t be much longer now.”

You nodded weakly, your breaths coming in shallow gasps as you braced yourself for the next wave.

Just then, a knock at the door broke the tense atmosphere. One of Tywin’s personal guards stepped inside this time, bowing quickly before approaching him. He leaned in, murmuring something low and urgent into Tywin’s ear. Tywin’s expression hardened, and with a curt nod, he turned and left the room.

You watched him go, a flicker of unease curling in your chest, but the next contraction stole your attention, leaving you clutching the bed sheets as the pain consumed you.

Outside the chamber, Tywin strode down the corridor, his sharp footsteps echoing off the stone walls. He found Cersei waiting for him, her golden hair disheveled, her face flushed with anger. The fury in her emerald eyes was palpable, and she didn’t bother with pleasantries.

“How dare you leave us in the midst of this chaos?” she hissed, stepping forward to block his path. “Joffrey is dead, murdered before our eyes, and you—you—leave to tend to your new wife? Have you no shame?”

Tywin’s gaze was cold as he regarded her, his voice cutting like a blade. “Mind your tone, Cersei. This is neither the time nor the place for your dramatics.”

“Dramatics?” she spat, her voice rising. “My son is dead! The king is dead! And you abandoned the hall, leaving me to deal with the fallout!”

“Joffrey’s death was tragic, but it changes nothing,” Tywin said, his tone measured and controlled. “The succession is clear. Tommen will be crowned, and we will move forward. Your grief does not excuse insubordination.”

“Insubordination?” Cersei’s voice trembled with fury as she stepped closer, her hands clenched at her sides. “You dare speak to me of insubordination after you allowed this to happen? You left us vulnerable, him vulnerable, and now he’s dead! You failed him, Father.”

Tywin’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, a flicker of genuine anger crossed his features. “I failed him?” he repeated, his voice low and dangerous. “You forget yourself, Cersei. It was your indulgence, your inability to control him, that led to this. Joffrey was a liability, and you know it.”

“How dare you!” she hissed, her voice breaking. “He was my son!”

“And a disgrace to this house,” Tywin snapped, his voice sharp enough to cut. “You may grieve, but do not lay the blame at my feet. Joffrey was your creation.”

The argument had escalated into a full-blown confrontation, their voices echoing down the corridor as they hurled accusations at one another.

“You think you can replace him with Tommen? With that soft, malleable boy?” Cersei demanded, her voice trembling. “You think you can replace me with your Targaryen wife and her bastard child?”

Tywin’s eyes blazed with fury, and he stepped closer, his towering presence bearing down on her. “Mind your tongue, Cersei,” he growled. “You are walking a dangerous line.”

Before she could retort, a sharp, piercing cry echoed from the direction of the chamber. Both of them froze, the sound cutting through their argument like a knife.

“The child,” Cersei whispered, her face pale as she turned toward the sound.

Tywin’s expression shifted, the anger fading into something colder, more calculating. Without another word, he turned on his heel and strode back toward the chamber, leaving Cersei standing alone in the corridor, her face a mask of fury and disbelief.

[waywardmaslow]

The Epic Codependency of Sam and Dean Winchester

• Dean went and got Sam from Stanford not because he needed Sam’s help finding John but simply because he wanted Sam with him 1.01

• Dean threw himself off a bridge just because that’s what Sam appeared to be doing 1.01

• Sam knew immediately when Dean was really a shifter 1.06

• “We accept homeowners of any race, religion, color… or sexuality.” -Larry and Lynda @ Sam & Dean 1.08

• Sam felt no guilt over someone having to die in order for Dean’s life to be saved 1.12

• “A king or two queens?” -Michael “Two queens.” -Dean “Yeah, I’ll bet.” -Michael 1.18

• Dean no longer wanted to hunt down the thing that killed Mary if it meant Sam dying 1.21

• Dean wasted one of the 3 remaining bullets for the colt on a low-level demon who was attacking Sam 1.22

• Sam blindly trusts Dean when he says John is possessed 1.22

• Sam and Dean coming up with identical cover stories and coming to the same conclusion re: “Dana Schulps” clue while separated during a hunt 2.07

• Dean gave Baby to a stranger and locked himself in with a Croatoan-infected Sam, ready to kill Sam then himself once Sam went rabid(or let rabid!Sam infect him too so they’d be monsters together) 2.09

• “So, uh, ..king-sized bed?” -Susan “No no, we’re uh.. 2 singles. We’re just brothers.” -Sam 2.11

• “Bonny to your Clyde” -Hendrickson @ Dean about Sam 2.12

• Dean was willing to cover up a murder Sam may have committed 2.14

• “You two are bickering like an old married couple.” -Bobby @ Sam & Dean 2.15

• Dean’s current relationship with Sam was more important to him than the normal life he could’ve had if Mary never died 2.20

• Dean cared more about Sam going to law school and marrying Jess than he did about any of what he had purely for himself(his job and gf) in his Djinn fantasy 2.20

• When Lily opened up to Sam about accidentally killing her girlfriend, Sam empathized with her by bringing up how Dean might be dead(for all he knew) instead of bringing up Jessica’s death(which he canonically blamed himself for) 2.21

• “Something big’s going down, Dean. End-of-the-world big.” -Bobby “Well then, let it end!” -Dean after Sam died 2.22

• Dean sold his soul to bring Sam back from the dead (which lead to him breaking the first seal kicking off the apocalypse) 2.22

• Ruby used Sam’s fear of losing Dean then grief after his death to manipulate him 3.02/3.16/4.09

• Sam was willing to bleed an innocent human dry in order to summon the trickster to bring Dean back 3.11

• Sam was willing to become an organ-harvesting immortal to keep Dean from dying and going to hell 3.15

• “Whatever the magic pill is, I’ll take it too!” -Sam “What is this, Sid and Nancy?” -Dean 3.15

• “Sammy, all I’m saying is you’re my weak spot. You are. And I’m yours.” -Dean 3.16

• Sam tried to open the gate to hell (risking letting more demons into the world) to save Dean 4.01

• Sam tried to sell his soul multiple times to get Dean back from hell 4.01/4.09

• “Are you two like…together?” -Ruby 4.01

• “You don’t need me. You and Ruby go hunt demons.” -Dean being more jealous of Ruby than suspicious 4.04

• Dean willingly handed Anna over to the angels who wanted to kill her because they threatened to send Sam to hell if he didn’t 4.10

• Dean’s siren was an idealized version of Sam 4.14

• Sam consumed more demon blood than normal to kill Alistair and save Dean (it’s likely that this was the turning point when Sam became addicted) 4.16

• Dean knows Sam’s habits so well that he’s able to track him down even when Sam’s trying to do the opposite of what he thinks Dean would expect him to do 4.21

• Sam hunted down Lilith to avenge Dean (which lead to breaking the final seal releasing Lucifer) 4.09/4.22

• “Whatever we have between us, love, family, whatever it is..” -Dean to Sam 5.04

• future!Dean was willing to sacrifice all his friends (including Cass) to avenge Sam 5.04

• Dean prevented the endverse future simply by reconnecting with Sam 5.04

• “We’re all we’ve got. More than that, we keep each other human.” -Dean to Sam 5.04

• “The relationship that you have with your brother seems dangerously codependent.” -Dr. Fuller to Dean 5.11

• Sam and Dean are soulmates with a shared heaven 5.16

• “Sam and Dean are psychotically, irrationally, erotically codependent on each other” -Zachariah 5.18

• Dean decided against saying yes to Michael because he didn’t want to let Sam down 5.18

• Dean prioritized helping Sam over Adam in the beautiful room and it led to Michael taking Adam as his vessel 5.18

• Dean was ready to die with Sam/let Lucifer beat him to death if Sam couldn’t regain control of his body 5.22

• Sam’s love for Dean gave him the strength to overcome Lucifer 5.22

• “Dean didn't want Cas to save him. Every part of him, every fiber he's got, wants to die, or find a way to bring Sam back.” -Chuck voiceover 5.22

• Having a normal apple-pie life means nothing to Dean if Sam isn’t alive to be part of it. -> “I wanted my brother! Alive!” -Dean / “Had I shown up, Dean, you would have just run off(away from Lisa and Ben).” -Sam 6.01

• “That woman and that kid; I only went to them because you asked me too!” & “I showed up on their doorstep half out of my head with grief. God knows why they even let me in. I drank too much. I had nightmares. I looked everywhere. I collected hundreds of books, trying to find anything to bust you out.” -Dean to Sam 6.01

• Dean chose hunting full-time with Sam over staying with Lisa and Ben 6.02

• “The minute Sam walked through that door, I knew. It was over. You two have the most unhealthy, tangled-up, crazy thing I’ve ever seen.” -Lisa about Dean and Sam 6.06

• “Mallory to your Micky” -Veritas to Sam about Dean 6.06

• Dean died to make a deal with Death to save Sam’s soul from the cage and in doing so chose Sam over Adam 6.11

• Sam took on his cage memories so Dean wouldn’t be left alone 6.22

• Dean became Sam’s stone number 1 when he was having trouble telling what was real 7.02

• Sam and Dean each quickly recognized each others leviathan doppelgängers 7.06

• Sam’s grief over losing Dean is paralleled to Amelia’s grief over losing her husband, both believe their loved one is dead, both get their loved one back. s8 Flashbacks

• “Is it just me or are you getting a workplace-romance vibe from those two?” -Michael & “Dude, they just sat and talked about how they have been apart for a year. You were probably right about that whole office-romance thing.” -Brian about Sam and Dean 8.04

• Sam chooses Dean over Amelia 8.10

• Dean chooses to take on the 3 trials mainly because he doesn’t want Sam to do it and risk his life, he wants Sam to reap the benefits of a demon free world 8.14

• Dean’s perfect ending is simply for Sam to get out of hunting and lead a normal apple-pie life till he’s old and grey 8.14

• “Cass, you got your ears on? Listen, you know I am not one for praying, 'cause in my book it's... it's the same as begging. But this is about Sam, so I need you to hear me.” -Dean 8.16

• Dean killed Benny so Sam could be saved from Purgatory 8.19

• “You two fight like an old married couple.” Charlie to Sam & Dean 8.20

• Dean chose a world with demons over a demon-free world without Sam 8.23

• “You know what I confessed in there? What my greatest sin was? It’s how many times I’ve let you down. I can’t do that again.” -Sam to Dean 8.23

• “Don’t you dare think that there’s anything past or present that I would put in front of you.” -Dean to Sam 8.23

• Dean violated Sam’s trust and autonomy via tricking him into an Angel possession to save his life 9.01

• “There ain’t no me if there ain’t no you!” -Dean to Sam 9.01

• Dean kicked human!Cass -who was being hunted by angels- out of the bunker rendering him homeless so his mere presence wouldn’t drive away the Angel keeping Sam alive 9.03

• Young!Dean gave up a chance at a normal life so he could continue being there for Sam 9.07

• Dean gave Crowley permission to use one of the brothers’ code words to warn Sam about Gadreel 9.10

• Dean didn’t regret letting an Angel into Sam, even though it had resulted in Kevin being killed 9.13

• Sam could break through the MOC hold on Dean like Collette was able to do for Cain 9.16/9.21/10.23

• “You’re lying to Sam like he’s your wife.” - Crowley 9.17

• Sam tricked a man into selling his soul so he could torture the demon for info on where demon!Dean was 10.02/10.03

• “Right now I’m doing all I can not to come over there and rip your throat out…with my teeth.” -Demon!Dean to Sam 10.02

• “What did Sam say? He wanna divorce?” -Dean 10.03

• “I tried to kill him, Cass.” -Dean “It would take a lot more than trying to kill your brother with a hammer to make Sam want to walk away.” -Cass 10.03

• “Homosexual murderers!” -Bev “Like Leopold and Loeb!” -Hetty 10.06

• “Then would come the murder you'd never survive, the one that would finally turn you into as much of a savage as it did me. Your brother, Sam.” -Cain to Dean 10.14

• Sam was willing to bleed himself to death to unlock the Werther Box to get the codex so a cure for Dean could be found in the Book of the Damned 10.19

• Death wanted Sam to be killed because he knew Sam would never stop looking for a way to free Dean from the MOC regardless of the consequences 10.23

• Sam was willing to let Dean kill him so Death would send Dean somewhere he wouldn’t be a danger to anyone due to the MOC 10.23

• Dean killed Death because he couldn’t go through with killing Sam and Death had threatened to do it if he couldn’t 10.23

• Sam’s efforts to get the MOC off Dean result in the Darkness being released 10.23

• “I unleashed a force on this world that could destroy it to save you. And I’d do it again, in a second I’d do it again.” -Sam to Dean 11.01

• Dean: “Where’s Sam?” Crowley: “Don’t worry about Sam.” Dean: “I’m sorry; have you met me?” 11.10

• Dean chose comforting/looking after Sam over helping Cass fight Lucifer in the cage 11.10

• Dean saw a manifestation of dead!Sam(part of his soul in distress) in the soul-eater’s nest 11.16

• Dean killed himself so he could bargain with a reaper to bring Sam back from the dead 11.17

• Because Dean thought Sam was dead, he was ready to let himself (and the couple they were trying to save) be killed by the werewolf pack they’d been hunting 11.17

• Michelle: “I just watched the man I love die; there’s no normal after that.” Dean: *thinking about how he’s just experienced the same thing with Sam except with a different outcome* 11.17

• “You fight like brothers; you’re almost as bad as [me and Sam].” -Dean “Actually, it’s more like an old married couple.” -Caesar 11.19

• Sam got infected by the Darkness fog and Dean abandoned the people they were trying to protect and instead tried to infect himself so he could die with Sam 11.20

• Dean used his relationship with Sam to relate to Amara and get her to reconcile with Chuck 11.23

• Amara in 11.09: *kisses Dean* -> Dean in 11.23 to Amara: “You simply need your brother. I mean, hell, maybe that’s why you wanted me. But deep down, you didn’t really want me…cuz I’m not him.”

• Sam and Mary: *trapped in Asa’s house by a demon* -> Dean: *stuck outside* “Sam! Sammy! Hey!” *after breaking in* “Where’s my brother?” 12.06

• “We’re like the American Oasis.” -Dean comparing himself & Sam to Liam & Noel Gallagher 12.07

• Sam and Dean were each willing to die so the other could escape the federal prison and live on 12.09

• “You know, sometimes me and Sam have got so much going on that…we forget about everyone else.” -Dean to Cass 12.23

• Dean began to warm up to Jack because he saved Sam’s life 13.04

• Sam and Dean were unfazed by being stuck in the Bad Place because they had each other 13.10

• “I don’t care what happens to me. I never really have. But I do care about what happens to my brother.” -Dean 13.20

• “And if we die? We’ll do that together too.” -Sam to Dean 13.20

• Dean went mute after Sam was killed and later set off on a suicide mission to retrieve Sam’s body or die trying 13.21

• Dean said yes to AU!Michael to save Sam from Lucifer 13.23

• Dean knows Bert and Ernie are gay 5.03 and suggests he and Sam dress as them for Halloween 14.04

• Though Dean was unable to take back control or cast Michael out, his resistance due to his attachment to Sam made him enough of a nuisance to Michael that he willingly let Dean go(temporarily) 14.09

• Sam was able to figure out where Michael had Dean trapped in his mind via knowing how Dean could be best subdued/distracted 14.10

• Sam broke through Michael’s hold on Dean with just one word: “Poughkeepsie” 14.10

• Sam was the only one who could talk Dean out of locking himself in the Ma’lak box with Michael for all eternity at the bottom of the ocean 14.12

• The thought of letting Dean down broke Sam free of Chip Harrington’s mind control 14.15

• “We have lost way, way too much. And it’s hard not to feel like just… cashing out. I felt like that. After Chuck, back at the crypt. But you know what brought me back? You did. By sayin’ that what we do still matters.” -Dean to Sam 15.04

• Dean was willing to abandon Cass in Purgatory, so he could get back home before the portal closed and save Sam from Chuck (that’s the only reason he sent up that prayer to Cass) 15.09

• Dean was willing to sacrifice Jack so he and Sam could have a life free of Chuck’s influence/control 15.17

• Dean was willing to trade everyone(who’d be collateral damage if Billie became the new god) except Sam for a shot at getting rid of Chuck 15.17

• Sam broke through Dean’s desperation to be rid of Chuck no matter what the cost, thwarting not just Billie’s plan but also Chuck’s brother-kills-brother endgame 15.17

• Dean stood outside Sam’s Stanford dorm for hours because he was so afraid of Sam possibly rejecting him, he didn’t know what he’d do if he didn’t have Sam 15.20

• “It’s always been you… and me.” “I love you so much..my baby brother.” -Dean to Sam 15.20

• Dean wouldn’t let go till Sam told him it was ok, he wanted to be sure Sam would be ok without him 15.20

• Sam spent the rest of his life mourning Dean and honoring his memory, named his son after him 15.20

• Dean’s heaven was not perfect till Sam got there 15.20

[hehe-69]

Solavellan haunts my every waking moment, I can’t stop thinking about them, thinking about Solas.

Veilgaurd Spoilers

Imagine knowing you cannot give to me all of you because you are still bounded to the will of someone you called “friend”. Bounded and enslaved to a purpose and wanting so desperately to leave that purpose behind so that you could have them and give them all of you.

But you can’t, they have your heart, they consume you completely but you cannot. You are ruined and twisted.

Thats a different level of pain, wanting, yearning, waiting, for 10 STINKING YEARSSSS but knowing you can’t give them what they deserve, what you so desperately want to give them, that you cannot HAVE THEM.

And believing you are too far gone for them to love you, that you are to twisted and rustiness to be loved but they still do, they FORGIVE you after you lied and betrayed them and all you have to do is stop but you can’t.

You’re bounded to this purpose because of the enslavement to someone who stole you from the fade you loved and twisted your purpose in ways that no other spirit has been twisted.

And finally you are free, but you wouldn’t dare ask them to go with you not after all you’ve done. But they choose you again forever and always. They choose to love you and they love you willingly and unconditionally in such a mind bogglingly beautiful way. It makes me SICK and the most wonderful of ways.

I wish we got to see more of Solas and Inky, they are so complex and beautiful and pure in their love for each other.

Inky’s love makes Solas pure again, it makes him whole again, it makes him him again. It makes him something more than he was in the beginning, it gives him hope.😭😭

The fact that his fist decisions that aren’t influenced by Mythal is him seeking atonement and choosing to be with Inky and letting himself BE LOVED FOR ONCE.

They make me want to write again

I will never not choose them to have their happy ending I physically cannot do it not after everything they’ve both suffered.

Varric died trying to save Solas I feel like not redeeming Solas goes against what Varric sacrificed himself for. He loved his friends so deeply he risked his life trying to save him from himself. Varric always wanted happy endings to his stories and for his friends, the least I can do is honor him by giving this one the one he wanted. The one that Solavellan DESERVES.

This game is, at its core, about many different shades of love and devotion and the many ways that it can be twisted to distorted beyond the point of recognition.

I mean LOOK AT HIS FACE WHEN HE LOOKS INTO HER EYES IM GONNA PUNCH A TREE

[hello-vampire-kitty]

Servamp chapter 148 spoilers

"It feels like..I'm breaking...His soul is screaming...Crying out your name."

I screamed as well when I saw that Tsurugi is in there!

That's what I hoped for. I couldn't accept that he was truly dead in spite of what happed to his body!

He heard Touma's name being called out and that made him wake up!

If Mikuni let him live because he thought that he'll not pose a threat if Germaine-the creator of Servamps, who is supposed to be stronger than anyone, takes over his body, well...he underestimated my boy.

Touma: "Let's go home, Tsurugi." Tsurugi: "Tai-chan..!"

Upon hearing his name being called out by Touma, Tsurugi managed to break free from Germaine's control. Like I mentioned previously, Tsurugi must have been underestimated.

Recall what he said in chapter 67.

My boy 😭 It made me happy seeing that he managed to expel Germaine and I that he will be alright, but Tanaka-sensei was like, "Yeah about that..."

AAAHH! I'm devastated! There's only one more chapter left...Could there still be hope for him to come back?

Note that I haven't properly read the lines, as in I haven't looked up all the words, but from what I understand, Touma explained to Mahiru that Iori created a save state of the world, a precaution against damage in a decisive battle and Mahiru asks if he means that day when Tsubaki showed up at the hospital (ch 84).

According to this chapter, when Iori 'died', which by the way, his act was referred to as 'suicide by magic' he actually put himself in suspended animation and inserted himself as a 'bookmark' in the timeline and he acted as a guidepost to correct the timeline.

Yeah, so it's impressive. I think most of us believed, especially given the previous chapter that Mahiru and Kuro will be the one to defeat Mikuni. I also thought there will be a confrontation with Germaine, like I was expecting that he will be the final boss.

Alright, so, maybe after I read the chapter probably it will be clear, but Mahiru asks if it's possible to go back to that moment in time, (the period from when Tsubaki showed up at the hospital), but Touma says there's not enough to pay the price to go that far in time, however Touma says that he wouldn't mind paying a price 'to pull a life from the bookmark'.

So...he wants to bring Tsurugi back by exchanging his life, however, Mahiru mentions that he died once before and he's suggesting to exchange his life.

Note how he trails off at the end. I'm expecting that he will be cut off by someone, most likely Kuro who will give him a lecture.

Don't let your mother's sacrifice be in vain, Mahiru! :(

Kuro and your friends won't let you sacrifice yourself so easily

The last thing I want to talk about is the possibility that maybe there won't be sacrifices, because there will be drama CD which has a track titled "Re：One morning, when I woke up". (title of chapter 80).

Because it has 'Re' in the title, which stands for 'restart', 'redo', 'repeat' etc, it could mean that the scenario might be about returning to that period in chapter 80.

That chapter opened with Tsurugi waking up at the hospital after the incident at C3.

Although it's the same title as the chapter, maybe it doesn't mean going back to that time, but rather it's tied to the imagery. What I'm trying to say is that, the scenario of the drama might begin with Tsurugi waking up, like in chapter 80.

We only have once chapter left...Tanaka please, my baby has to meet his grandpuppy Gear and no one should sacrifice themselves!