#even made my own gifs for this cos there are hardly any

[byronlc]

introducing: Zach MacLaren, 20-24, fc Drew Starkey (originally from the movie The Other Zoey, storyline adaptable to different fandoms/settings)

open to: anyone (mutuals & non-mutuals, 21+)

Zach is the star of the university's soccer team. He's your typical blond-haired, blue-eyed popular jock. He may come across as superficial, and is often underestimated. He's not really book-smart, but a quick learner. Zach is very friendly, outgoing, sweet-natured, but also uses sarcasm from time to time. He comes from a loving family that supports him. He is very close to his parents and his baby-sister Avery. Being her big brother and her best friend, Zach will protect her fiercely. He is a fun guy, who is much more sensitive than you might think.

He likes living in the moment, taking care of his loved ones, and pizza. He dislikes when those he cares for are hurt. He is scared of the future.

cw for: nothing but fluff

"It's a bookstore, so I came here to book."

"All PG-13."

[simp4wom3n]

A Broken Promise

Pairing: Jenna Ortega x fem!Reader

Requested: Yes/No ~ request

Summary: You had both promised to never take your emotions out on the other. What happens when Jenna has a particularly bad day and snaps. ~ Word Count: 2.112k ~ Warnings: swearing and quite angsty but there is fluff

A/N: Hi!! I’m writing these quite quickly cos I’m really trying to crank these out for you guys so hopefully they r still good. Also my first angst fic!! I hope you guys like it because I personally love some angst and it’s quite fun, and heartbreaking, to write. ANYWAYS I hope you guys enjoy <3

Filming for 8 months in a foreign country was bound to be stressful, but you had no idea how much it would effect your relationship. You and Jenna had been together for over 2 years and before you started dating, you made a promise to each other that you wouldn’t take out your emotions on the other, that you would work through them together and everything would be ok. That promise had lasted flawlessly for the entirety of your relationship. Your relationship was constantly praised by your friends, and the two of you hardly ever fought. It was all going smoothly. Until tonight.

The clock had just struck 10pm when you heard the familiar jingle of keys at the front door. Given that she left early this morning, you were instantly worried by how late it was. As a result, you stood up and walked to the doorway. Entering the apartment with small shuffling steps, her pure exhaustion was plastered across her face as she dropped all of her stuff into a heap on the ground. “Hey” you greeted softly with a soft smile to which you got no response. Instead she walked straight past you, ignoring your entire existence which caused your face to scrunch in confusion.

“Hey is everything ok?” you questioned swiftly following her as she made her way into the kitchen to get a glass of water. “Mhm” she hummed, still not even looking in your direction. “Jenna? Hey what’s wrong? Talk to me.” you pleaded following her around like a lost dog. “Not now” she responded coldly, causing your face to drop slightly. She had never before ignored you so plainly. Sure she had her moments, so did you, but she would normally search for you when she was in a sour mood. She used to crave your presence, now it seems she can’t stand it. As much as you wanted to fulfill her request of leaving her alone, you made a promise to never let her suffer alone.

You had followed her, pleading for an answer, all the way into the living room where she attempted to relax on the couch, her irritation evident as she harshly bit her lip and squeezed her eyes shut in frustration whilst dropping her head. “Jenna. Please.” now kneeling down to match her eye level, you tried to maintain your own composure because at this point her mood was even getting on your nerves. “I said not now!!” she snaps suddenly, looking at you with something you could only describe as hatred. Your face immediately dropped. She had never talked to you like this. Her words burned wholes into your heart as she continued to yell at you. “What don’t you understand about leaving me the fuck alone! I obviously don’t want to talk to you right now so why the fuck are you so goddamn persistent! You are so fucking annoying sometimes. Just… leave me alone” she screams, her voice fading out into a whisper. At this point any hope of keeping your promise had flown out the window. Your heart ached as tears starting to cascade down your cheeks.

“Well if that’s how you feel.” you brokenly whisper, shakily wiping your tears as you get to your feet. You just look at her for a minute, hugging yourself as you hold onto one last piece of hope that she will apologise, or at least look at you with some kind of remorse, yet all she does is just look blankly at the floor, refusing to acknowledge you. “Ok” you breathe as you nod solemnly, tears still pouring down your cheeks, as you walk briskly towards your spare bedroom, closing the door softly behind you.

As she hears the door of the spare bedroom click shut, Jenna audibly sighs, running her fingers through her hair. She felt like utter shit. Not only was filming absolutely exhausting, and completely drained her of any common sense, but she just broke her promise to never take her emotions out on you. ‘What the fuck did I do’ she thought, internally cursing herself for using your own insecurities against you. She knew how conscious you were about being ‘too annoying’ when it came to being around other people, and she had always reassured you that you weren’t annoying in the slightest. And then she said shit like that. She didn’t even have the guts to look you in the eyes when she said it, she couldn’t bare to see the look on your face as she completely crushed you. She knew she had messed up, she just hoped it wasn’t too late to fix it.

As a single tear made its way down her cheek, she hastily wiped it away as she stood up determined to apologise. She scolded herself for crying, she had no right to cry. She was the one who insulted you and made you feel like nothing but a nuisance. As she approached the door to the spare bedroom, she could hear your quiet, muffled sobs, completely shattering her heart. She did this to you. As she reached for the handle, she gently attempted to open the door only to discover that you had locked it.

Taking this as a sign that you wanted nothing to do with her, she sucked in a breath and rested her forehead against the door. “I’m so sorry Y/n” she whispered, her voice breaking as she allows her tears to fall. “Please forgive me. I love you.” she cried quietly. She stayed there for a moment, letting what just happened truly sink in, before she leans back, slowly walking to your normally shared bedroom.

Still dressed in what she wore to set, she headed immediately for your shared walk-in closet. As she walked in she was flooded by your familiar scent, one which typically filled her with warmth, now filling her with dread. Despite this, Jenna immediately looked towards your half of the closet, digging through your clothes until she found her favourite shirt of yours. She brought it up to her face, inhaling your scent as her tears begin to resurface. She strips down to her underwear and throws the shirt on over the top, attempting to fill the void of your presence with your scent.

Once in bed, the hollowness of your side hangs heavy on her heart. Your warm presence that is always in some way touching her, whether its just a finger or its cuddling so tight all either of you feel is each other, is missing and has taken a piece of her heart with it. Despite her numerous attempts to sleep, she couldn’t take her mind off of you, hoping at the least you are also missing her presence as much as she is missing yours. Despite the rogue tears escaping her eyes, she eventually finds sleep.

You awoke as the sun shone through the windows, instantly reminded of the events of last night. The ache of your post-cry headache and lack of your girlfriends warmth was enough to make you want to bury yourself within the covers, never to resurface. You had heard her last night, her attempt to apologise to you. You could hear her crying on the other side of the door, and as much as you wanted to forgive her, no one has ever wounded you so deeply. The one person who normally reassured you that you weren’t too much, that your presence wasn’t a burden, just admitted that it was by screaming it in your face.

Eventually the pounding of your headache caught up to you and you were forced to leave the sanctuary that has become the spare bedroom. Chucking on an old hoodie from the closet, one which you had stored there due to the lack of space in your shared closet, you throw the hood over you head and slowly open the door. You take quiet and hesitant steps towards the kitchen, hoping that if Jenna was around she wouldn’t notice you.

As the kitchen came into view, you immediately noticed Jenna’s figure sat on top of the island, a cup of coffee in hand, wearing your favourite t shirt. ‘Well that’s unfortunate’ you murmur inwardly, your initial plan of completely avoiding her coming crashing down as her eyes glance in your direction. Her posture immediately straightens, her face brightening slightly, as you stride into the kitchen, determined to get what you came for and get the fuck out.

“Hey.” she croaks, her own crying evident in her voice. “Can we talk?”. The words you always prayed would never be spoken between you two, the telltale sign that something had gone wrong. You completely ignored her question as you walked straight past her, her eyes following your every move as you kept your head down and hood on. You swiftly grab a bottle of water from the fridge before moving to the cupboard to grab a snack so you can hopefully avoid coming back.

“Please” she pleaded, her voice breaking as she begged for you to just hear her out. You risk a glance towards her as you were about to return to your self-imprisonment. A glance you quickly regretted. She was hugging herself with an iron grip as her lips trembled and she cried quietly. You always hated seeing her cry, especially if you knew you had caused it. “Just here me out please” she begged in broken words. You sighed audibly before sending her a small nod as you leaned your back against the countertop.

You caught the small look of surprise in her eyes as you agreed to listen, obviously not expecting you to agree to talk to her. “I am so fucking sorry Y/N… I love you so fucking much and… and you deserve the world and I treated you like absolute shit.” She began, starting to sob as she apologised profusely. All you wanted to do was to comfort her but your pride got in the way as you watched her continue to breakdown. “I… I broke our promise and I know… I know how much that meant to you and trust me, it meant a lot to me too.” she paused taking a deep, uneven breath, “I don’t find you annoying you know that. I shouldn’t have said that, I never should have said that, I don’t know why I said that”. Her panicked ranting made your emotionless facade slip, as you felt your own tears threaten to fall. “I just… I just snapped I don’t know. I don’t know why I did that. You didn’t deserve that. But I promise Y/N… I promise you, I will never… never do that again. I love you so much I can’t even fathom hurting you… I hate that I hurt you… please can you forgive me.”

At first you said nothing. You just stood there, looking at her, admiring her, thinking about her. You would be stupid not to forgive her. She was the love of your life, you weren’t going to let her slip away over something so small she obviously regretted deeply. As your tears finally fell, you ducked your head, still remaining silent causing Jenna to panic slightly. “Say something please” she begged in a broken whisper. What you did next caught her off guard. Lifting up your head, tear stains evident on your cheeks, you give her a soft smirk as you push yourself off the counter, approaching her slowly before pulling her into a hug. She instantly melted into the embrace, squeezing her eyes closed as she buries her head into your chest. With one hand around her waist and one cradling her head, you place gentle kisses into her hair, whispering sweet nothings. “It’s ok.” you repeated over and over again, reassuring her that you had in fact forgiven her.

After bathing in each others touch for a few minutes, Jenna gently lifts her head from your chest, tilting her head up to meet you eyes. “I’m so sor…” her breath catches in her throat as she is overcome with emotions, another tear slipping down her cheek. “Hey hey it’s ok” you comfort, gently wiping the tear away. “I love you” she manages to sputter, bringing a small smile to your lips. You gently grasp her chin in your hand, guiding her face up towards you, tilting your head slightly and capturing her lips with yours. Her hands rest on your cheeks as she melts into the kiss, humming in satisfaction against your lips. As your lips slowly part, your hand softly stroking her cheek, you look deeply into your girlfriend’s eyes as you whisper, “I love you too”

[just-some-random-blogger]

Scale Soother

Daemon Targaryen x Reader + Cregan Stark x Reader

Summary: "Fine," the king quips, "tell me, then, how it is you managed to tame this dragon?" He looks off to the side and watches as the creature stares at him, as if unwilling to let him out of his sight. "The secret is, your grace," I shake my head, "I did not."

Word Count: 10k+

Warnings: Fem!reader, VERY alternate universe, very self-indulgent fic, made up lore, internet translated high valyrian/Astapori Valyrian, ye old misogyny, fluff, typos, etc.

A/N: if you have any quarrels with my made up lore or my high/astapori valyrian, i'll tell you right now, youre right im wrong, so just roll with it ok. also i made a song for this fic cos im a music student and i well wanted to (very self-indulgent as i said) and YES my pronunciation in it is inconsistent and i missed some syllables but its fine shhhhhh roll w it. Tagging: @pinksirensong @aralezinspace @sloanexx @deniixlovezelda @targaryenmoony @risefallrise @slavyanskiyahui

dārilaros se zaldrīzes

(princess and dragon)

konīr iksin iā zaldrīzes bona glaestan isse se guēsin (there was a dragon that lived in the forest) konīr iksin iā dārilaros bona vāettan iā gevie vāedar (there was a princess that sung a beautiful song) se lanta sia mēre isse Perzys Ānogār (and two were one in fire and blood) se mēre tubis kessi udrāzma se tegun (and one day they will rule the land)

I lick my lips as I blur the dark line on my paper. I look up and move to throw some mutton to the fox I was drawing, but perk up from my spot when I see that I would not be able to feed any beast, as I was now by myself.

Immediately, my instinct is to turn over my shoulder. I look behind me and roll my eyes at the man walking over to me, "sȳz syt doru gine." Good for nothing rat.

The tan skinned man shakes his head, making his longish, dark hair brush against his angular jaw, "ao ōdrio nyke." You wound me.

"Why are you even here?" I eye him, "you know nature despises you."

He sits down next to me on the ground and shrugs, "you know, just because the name of your house means 'red beast', doesn't mean you have to make it a point to draw foxes every single day," he eyes me and says the name of my house rather mockingly, "Milidyni."

I throw my head back and scoff, "this again?" I raise a brow at him, "you do know you are the worst perpetrator of living up to your name, Gael Valzȳrys," I stand and brush off my skirt, "and besides, I am helping my father as a beast scholar to catalog the creatures of the woods. You do nothing of the sort."

Gael watches me and I give him a look.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he frowns as his thick dark brows move close together.

I knit my own brows at his expression and look up at him as he stands and towers over me, "are you seriously pretending you don't 'wife up'--" I look away and begin to walk off, "or at least attempt to-- every woman you set your eyes upon--" I turn back to him and give him a look, wording sardonically, "Husband?"

Gael scoffs, "it's hardly my fault women are willing to give up their maidenhoods to me. It's not like I make myself look as though I would actually be their valzȳrys," husband.

I cringe as I begin to navigate through the forest on the path back home, "no you are too correct," I clutch my notebook and my skirt in hand, "belonging to house Valzȳrys was too generous a name of the gods to bestow upon you," I look over my shoulder and raise a hand, "you should have belonged to house Live." Whore.

"Asha," Gael exclaims and makes a face, "how original."

Gael and I walk through the forest, bickering over names as we did. I smack him in the shoulder for insulting the name Kotova.

"Kotova is a beautiful name!" I point a finger at him.

He looks at me as though he is actually pained, and I do hope he is, as he should. He rubs his arm, "ao brōstan zirȳla se ēlī run bona istan ezīmagon aōha bartos!" You named her the first thing that went into your head!

"Sīr?" I quip, "ao ydragho hae ao ȳdra daor qogralbar se ēlī run ao ūndegon."

So? You speak like you don't fuck the first thing you see.

Gael laughs and moves close, "I have yet to fuck you, my s--"

He does not get to finish as suddenly there is a loud shriek from overhead, followed by the sound of long strides of large wings.

Gael flinches as we both look skyward. I grin where he exclaims out to the Harpy for deliverance. I turn to Gael as he grabs onto my arm. I laugh at him, "serves you right, cretin."

"Fucking cock block."

The assembly hall smelled like oranges, for the king had been haughtily eating them in the middle of his meeting. He looked like he was paying more attention to peeling the skin of his citrus rather than the droning report of Otto Hightower. But then again, that would not have been too out of the ordinary; he never liked him. It's a wonder he's still on the council.

Daemon had his feet up as sucked on an orange bud, unsure if he appreciated the fact it was wholly sweet with no hint of tanginess. He let out a soft belch and turned to his side, "cupbearer."

Rhaenyra straightens and turns to his uncle.

"Mirri averilla, riñītsos," says the king. Some wine, little girl.

Daemon raises his cup to his niece as she walks over with an ewer of wine. He pulls his legs off the table and assesses his cupbearer's dress, the one he gifted her for her recent nameday just a few night ago.

"Se ēnka iksis sȳz va ao," the king utters in their shared tongue, the color is good on you.

Rhaenyra smiles at him, "kirimvose, ñuha dārys."

Thank you, my king.

Daemon smiles as Rhaenyra pulls away after pouring him some wine. His smile flattens when his sight catches the cunt-Lord turning from the other Targaryen to him with pursed lips.

"I don't remember asking you to stop your report, Hightower," he raises his brows and shakes his head expectantly.

Otto shifts from where he stood, "no, your majesty."

Daemon leans on his chair at the head of the table, downing a large gulp of wine. It's bitter and sour, just as he hoped, and it complimented his oranges exquisitely.

"And then there is a matter of a dragon, your grace," Otto says rather gravely, out of character even for his usually tedious demeanor.

The rest of the council members turn to him while Daemon looks out the window and thinks, 'ah, yes, I would so adore to ride off with Caraxes at this time'.

"Many of our trade partners from Essos have given consistent and wearisome accounts about the dragon in the area nicknamed Forest Fire."

"Huh," the king chuckles, turning back to Otto. He finally has Daemon's attention.

"How quaint."

"Yes," Otto speaks flatly, "the quaint abomination has burned down forests for sport and left a great many casualties in its stead, hindering trade and damaging goods, our trade goods"

Daemon puts his cup down and shrugs slightly, "so? There is a lose dragon in Essos. My business with the savages that live there are as far and few as my business with the dragon toying with them. We do not rely on Essos. Cease trade if you must."

Otto rolls his shoulders back and clutches his hands in front of him. He clenches his jaw and allows for the faintest of grins to pull on his lips. Daemon was actually unsure if it was a grin or if he was in pain.

"That would have been my own thoughts as solution, my king, had that dragon not had a rider."

Daemon blinks.

Otto relaxes his shoulders.

Rhaenyra from the side looks between her best friend's father and her uncle with a lowered jaw.

A chorus of utterances fall from the lips of the Lords at the table, things along the line of 'a rider?,' 'impossible,' and general grumbles of disbelief.

Daemon reaches his hand out to the marble sphere before him and tilts his head at Otto. He swirls his tongue on the roof of his mouth, savoring the remnants of snack, then tilts his head to the lord, "are you implying that someone from my family has adopted one too many mounts in their keep and has made a game of toying with some low lives in the east?"

"I am saying," Otto shifts on his leg, "that there is a dragon out there whose mount is not from your family."

Daemon stills.

Rhaenyra's mouth falls wider.

The lords lose their shit.

And for a moment, there is a continous streak of worried mumbles.

Lord Velaryon from across the table, in fact, adopted a deep line between his brows upon hearing this.

But then suddenly, the king laughs and silences everyone.

Daemon laughs so hard that he clutches his stomach as his amusement echoes around the room.

Rhaenyra is extremely agitated by the response of her uncle and how the council reacts to him.

Daemon lets out a sigh once he's satisfied himself and slumps on his chair, "my," he lets out a deep breath, "I do say I believe a thanks is in order, chum," he wipes a tear, "That is, in all honestly, the funniest you have ever been the entire time you've been at court," he straightens up, "or, methinks, your entire life," he chuckles.

Otto Hightower does not share the sentiment. He does not find himself particularly fond of being called chum by the king either. "I assure you, your grace," he shakes his head, "I do not jest."

Daemon's smirk does not falter.

"You would agree with me when I say I do not know how," the lord adds.

Otto sees no change or belief in the king's expression so, he instead turns to the king's hand, Lord Strong, "this issue has come to my attention less than week prior, and since then, I have been securing information about the so-called Forest Fire so that I could raise the matter to the king."

Lord Hand meant speak, but the King beats him to it, "and why did you not notify me of this the said week prior?"

Otto turns to the king.

Daemon is now hard and unamused. He leans on his elbows and raises his brows accusingly at him.

Otto narrows his eyes, "I did not wish to add to the flame of a mummer's farce, my king."

"Then humor me, Hightower," he raises his brows, "in detail," he leans on the table, "what do you know of this Forest Fire?"

"Kiba," I huffed as I entered my home through the back door, "I spied four horses come down the road on my way here. Did you-"

I halt in both my steps and my words when I am face to face with a tall man in a deep green coat. The scent of his oils and perfume are poke into my nostrils as though it was done with a stick.

I walk back and let out a breath, "skoros se qogralbar?" What the fuck?

"Five horses," someone mutters. I hear a laugh and turn to my side, "my, I see the lady has come just in time."

I move back at the sight of the devious looking man with alabaster hair and purple eyes. I clutch my skirt and turn away from him, finding my father holding cups and a pitcher, same with our servant.

Immediately, I rush over to the man and mutter in a low voice, "kiba, issi ao isse pelrar?" Father, are you in trouble?

My father hands me a cup and cocks his head to the side, quickly muttering, "daor, ñuha prūmia, issa ao qilōni iksis isse pelrar." No, my heart, it is you who is in trouble.

My eyes dart to the silver haired man muttering something to a silver haired girl. My father pours into the cup in my hand, then the one in his.

"King Daemon," my father says and offers the drink to him.

I wordlessly follow suit and offer the cup to the person beside King Daemon.

"Thank you," she says to me.

The man beside her raises a brow, "will you not greet the princess?"

I turn to the king then the princess, offering a curtsy, "princess..."

"Rhaenyra," he adds.

I turn to him and repeat, "Rhaenyra."

The king tilts his head. The high collar of his leathery black tunic was adorned with an eccentric ruby necklace and the fingers that were gripping the bronze cups we only used when we had guests were all clad with golden rings, "do you honestly expect me to believe you don't know who she is, who we are-- who I am?"

"Kepus," mutters Rhaenyra. Her dainty hand comes to the arm of her uncle. Her violet eyes and rosy cheeks move to his duller face in comparison. Her features are complimented by the deep velvet red of her dress and the intricate braids of her light hair.

I smooth out my orange corset and red skirt, "you are King Daemon and Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen," I smile softly.

I can practically feel my father tense in anticipation of my next words.

"You are all guests to our humble abode."

Father lets out a soft breath.

"I am here for your Forest Fire," the king replies quickly.

I pull my head back and frown, "forest fire?"

King Daemon narrows his eyes and looks past me.

"We have reports-"

I turn and find the odorous man was speaking.

"-that a dragon has been going about burning through trees and people, thus the nickname, Forest Fire."

I suck in a breath and feel my breathing tighten at the insulting words of the man, "I assure you, ser," I knit my brows and frown, "I have no knowledge of this monster which you speak."

The tall man looks down upon me and tilts his head, "no?"

I hear my father call out my name lowly. I ignore his cautious tone, for he knows my words are true.

"Then tell me, Lady Milidyni," the man steps forward, "would you deny it still if I tell you your father has told all of us," he raises a hand, "that you came from the riverbank after riding upon the back of your dragon."

"I do not deny riding a dragon," I retort quickly, "but I say to you, whatever talk of forest fires you know of was not the doing of my mount."

"Pār emilā nyke pāsagon bona aōha zaldrīzes iksis rāpa se sȳz?"

I turn over my shoulder and find the raised brows of the king. He taps his finger on his cup and looks at me expectantly.

The princess watches me as I stare. She starts, "my uncle said, 'y--"

"Then you will have me believe that your dragon is soft and kind," I repeat the words perfectly. The silver haired princess presses her lips together.

"Nyke ȳdra daor gimigho skoros sȳz zaldrize emā isse Vesteros lo ao odabagho konir sagon skoros nyke nūmāzma," I retort.

I don't know what kind of dragons you have in Westeros if you think that is what I mean.

The king laughs through his nostrils then takes a sip of his wine. He pulls the cup away from his mouth and looks at it before saying, "you are amusing, little girl."

"I am not a little girl," I reply simply.

I hear my father call out my name. I turn over to him as he give me a look, "he is a king."

"Well, he's not our king."

"Beza tala kessa sagon se murgho yno," he sighs. This girl will be the death of me.

"Daor vasīr." Not yet, says the king, making me turn to him with a scowl. He hands my father his cup as he steps forward, "you will take us to your dragon at once."

I look up at him as he stands far too close to me for my liking. I raise my hand up to his chest and step back, "all of you?" I turn to the man in the green coat, the two armoured guards, the princess, then back to him, "my dragon is not used to seeing so many people."

He tilts his head and narrows his eyes, "ah, are you afraid he might hurt us?"

He turns to my hand when my palm connects with his sternum. I slightly push him back to prevent him from drawing any nearer, "I am afraid you might do something to taunt her."

"You think so-" he grabs my wrist, "-lowly of a king."

"No," I tilt my head up, "I assume what I know of your nature, Valyrian conqueror."

He seems to be pleased by that name. His lips curve into a lopsided smile, "then do not make me waste my time any further by stalling."

We stare at each other for a moment then I pull my hand away from him.

I turn about and gather my skirt, "lēda nyke." With me.

"Ñuhe kepe hobrenke usōvegon syt otāpagon bona ao lī daor shifang Valyrio Eglie," princess Rhaenyra offers as she walks up next to me.

I must apologize for thinking that you would not understand High Valyrian.

I turn to her as we walk over some branches on the ground.

"Gaomagon daor qubemagon aōla, dārilaros," the king mutters behind us, "ziry ȳdrā iā nādrēsy lūs hen īlva ēngos."

Do not lower yourself, princess. She speaks a bastard kind of our tongue.

"Kepus," she mutters, looking over to the king.

The king turns to me as I do the same. He raises his brows at me as he marches over a large rock, "iksin nyke pirta?" Am I wrong?

I ignore him and turn to the princess, "your uncle is correct. Astapori Valyrian is a branch of Bastard Valyrian languages. It has remnants of Old Ghiscari, which may be why you won't understand some of my words. I however I can understand you perfectly."

The man called Otto Hightower, as I was told, swats a bug flying over to him.

I turn to him and the two Kingsguard tailing after him just as the princess excitedly says, "that is so fascinating. I suppose that must be why your mount listens to you."

I chuckle at the words of the girl and push back a branch in our way, "my dragon does not merely listen to me because I speak Valyrian."

"Pray tell," the king steps between us, "do explain how why Forest Fire listens to a lowly wench like you."

I stop in my tracks and furrow my brows. He purses his lips and gives me a look.

"I wonder if you think I am inclined to give a courteous response to your crude words, Daemon Targaryen."

The corner of his lips twitch into a smirk, "King Daemon Targaryen."

"King," I repeat dryly. I turn away and walk off, releasing the branch, hoping it hits the man on his way.

Judging by his grunt, it does. I smile to myself.

"Insolent bitch, I ought to--" the clamors of the king are silenced by the shriek that causes a flock of birds to fly away.

I hasten my movements and secure my skirt in my hand, "I do suggest you calm yourself, king."

He does not respond as we all continue to the tread deeper into the thick, green forest. By the time I spot the flowing river, I turn to the king and mutter, "we're here."

I take the same route I always do, feeling the man follow closely behind me. He catches my arm when my shoe slips from a damp patch of soil and eyes me darkly as I turn to thank him out of instinct. I still thank him, but do so rather reluctantly.

"Do not do anything that will startle your ride," he mutters, releasing me.

"She is not extremely jittery like you, your grace."

Before he can respond, I am walking off.

"Iksan kesīr, Kotova," I call out as the familiar scent of dragon hits my nose, "eman sindita ragero lēda nyke."

I am here, Kotova. I have brought friends with me.

I turn to Daemon as he looks around. I cannot help but chuckle at the solemn look upon his face as he anticipates the dragon.

"She will not eat you," I hold back a smile, "I swear it."

"I am no fool," Daemon turns to me, "she does not have to eat me to kill me."

There is then a crescendo of crackling screeches. From the far off side, comes out then a largish, white winged beast, head cocking left and right as she slowly crawls out toward us. She was, in truth, only so much bigger than a carriage but her wings made her look larger than she really was.

I smile as I walk over to her while she lifts her head up and roars with jaws wide open.

"Asha," I exclaim and raise a hand to her.

The dragonling stops her cries and lowers her head a fraction, turning to me. She bleats gutturally and stretches out her wings, beating them rapidly, much like how she usually greets me. She then rolls her long neck over and under then settles down and inches near me.

She huffs and rests her wings beside her. Her snout comes me as reach out to her.

Daemon watches the pearly white creature submit to her rider. He sees the shine of her blistering white scales and the shape of her head. There was something about the creature that made him think she did not look right, something about her snout and the shape of her body. He was unsure if it had to do the ghastly lack of color her or the rather bird-like demeanor it had with the wing-flapping.

"Kotova," I speak as I caress the face of my dragon, "rytsuragon se dārys se dārilaros." Greet the king and princess.

Kotova pulls her head up and steps a few paces back. She then stretches both her wings, rather effectively blocking a good amount of sunshine and bares all her teeth as she screams at the Targaryens.

Rhaenyra's jaw parts into a small open mouthed smile as she brings her hands to her ears. Daemon steps one pace back and averts his gaze as the gush of hot dragon breath hits his face. He huffs and waves his hands by his nose.

I laugh as Kotova bleats once more for approval as she curls up and turns to me. I laugh and stroke her wiry scales, "olvie sȳz, ñuha jorrāelagon." Very good, my love.

Rhaenyra watches our exchange and pulls away her hands from her head, "her name is Kotova?"

I turn to the princess and smile. I nod "she is my Kotova."

"A quaint name for a dragon," she notes, lightheartedly.

I laugh and raise a hand to her direction, "it is the Astapori word for strong, princess," I turn to Rhaenyra then to Daemon, "I shall introduce you to her, your graces, yes?"

Rhaenyra turns to her king for approval. Daemon nods then motions for her to follow.

The moment the princess nears, Kotova instantly begins to stir with curiosity and heavily sniff the air.

"Asha, Kotova," I mutter as I take the hand of the princess, "ȳdra daor sagon tolī olvie." Hush, Kotova, don't be too much.

Kotova does her best to contain her excitement as I gently lead the girl's hand to the dragon's snout, "bisa iksis Rhaenyra." This is Rhaenyra.

"Rystas, Kotova," she greets hello with a breathy tone.

I catch Rhaenyra's smile as Kotova huffs and moves her head a bit in acknowledgement of the contact. I watch how Kotova turns her head in a telltale manner. I immediately stop her from continuing what I know she was planning to do.

"Daor, Kotova," I speak 'no' sternly.

She huffs in response.

Once I feel the dragonling calm, I release Rhaenyra's hand and allow her to touch as Kotova as much as she'd like. Her hair, strikingly like the tint of my dragon scales, blows back with the wind. She turns to me and smiles, moving towards me, "she is a sweet and kind thing."

"Indeed," I smile and nod, "she is precious to me."

Rhaenyra turns to the side, "uncle, it's your turn now."

Daemon looks as I circle around his niece and reach out to him.

He waits for a few seconds to pass before walking over to me, taking my hand in his. He confidently strides to my dragon and it makes her pull away from Rhaenyra. She then raises her head and tilts it to the side as looks down upon us. The spikes on her hair raise as she breathes in and huffs.

"Kotova," I warn.

Rhaenyra smartly backs away slowly.

I sense no agitation from Daemon, save for how he tightens his grip on me. I turn to him and inhale deeply, "it's because you smell like dragon," I mutter to Daemon as I raise hand, "gīda ilagon, Kotova." Calm down, Kotova.

He mutters without tearing his gaze away from Kotova, "I did not ride my dragon here."

"Didn't you?" I turn to her as Kotova cautiously lowers her head, "you must not have washed properly."

Rhaenyra chuckles from the side.

I continuously hush Kotova until she is comfortable enough to near us.

"Rysta, Kotova," Daemon says hello to the dragon.

I release a soft snort as I turn from the king to the head of the dragon. I bring our hands to her snout and "bisa iksis Daemon, Kotova." This is Daemon, Kotova.

Daemon is shocked by the coolness of the skin. He furrows his brows as Kotova huffs and leans into us.

I pull away from the king and allow him to touch her as much as he wants. I watch him as he scrutinizes the creature before him.

Kotova leans into Daemon's touch and shakes her head. I step away and withhold a smile, doing nothing to hold her back from what I know she's going to do next.

Kotova darts her tongue out and licks Daemon's arm, coating it in thick slober.

I instantly break into a laugh as Daemon curses and pulls back. He turns to me as Rhaenyra joins in with my giggles.

"Ah, so you meant for her to do this," Daemon dryly states, swatting his hand in my direction, making Kotova's saliva splash to my dress. He does not allow his niece to laugh with no repercussions either and baptizes her with dragon spit.

Rhaenyra is hit straight on the cheek, immediately halting her laughter. She growls at her uncle, "Daemon!"

Daemon shrugs, grabbing my skirt, pulling me into him, then wiping his arm there. I grip onto his shoulder as he bends down and dries his dripping arm off on my dress.

I grunt as I lean into him, falling a tad out of balance because of his yanking. I watch as Kotova examines us but makes no attempt to defend me. I nearly scoff at her passivity. She was normally did not take kindly to people touching me. I wonder if it's because she recognizes the dragon in him.

Once he is done wiping the dampness, he straightens himself up and looks down at me, "that was quite amusing."

I shove him away with my hips, "a honor to bemuse you, dear king."

Daemon's shoes dig into the dirt as he keeps himself upright. I move to the other side of Kotova's face, leaving him standing in front of Kotova by himself.

He startles when Kotova huffs as he leans into him.

This time, I hiss in displeasure, "daor, Kotova."

She huffs.

I repeat, "daor."

Kotova pulls back obediently. She tucks her legs in, proceeding to then curl into herself, around me, and rest her head on the ground.

Rhaenyra watches as the dragon's neck curls over to her tail. Kotova pushes me into her body, tucking me under her wing. I grunt as I am covered by the heavy thing, "Kotova!"

She does not respond as I push her wing up and escape the leathery prison.

Upon seeing how I carelessly lean into Kotova and step over her neck to get out of my spot, Daemon furrows his brows and wonders if he would ever to the same with his own dragon. He moves to the side of the glimmering white beast and stops when he sees her face, one eye looking back at him. He only now realized it blue and gold.

He turns to me with furrowed brows as I walk over.

"Fine," the king quips, "tell me, then, how it is you managed to tame this dragon?" He looks off to the side and watches as the creature stares at him, as if unwilling to let him out of his sight.

"The secret is, your grace," I shake my head, "I did not."

Daemon turns to me, an unimpressed expression on his features.

"Kotova, as much as she is dear to me," I raise my brows, "does not belong to me." I look at the dragon as she buries her head into her wing and sighs deeply.

I smile at her catlike action and turn back to Daemon, violet eyes glued on me already. "She is free, king. I do not confine her, I do not stop her from flying far off without me; she is her own keeper.

"Between us, I think, is a bond of mutual respect and affection. I found her when she was no larger than an overgrown lizard and cared for her, thinking she would grow no larger than a small dog." I cross my arms and turn to Kotova.

Rhaenyra walks over to us. I look over to her and, in turn, catch sight the other three men with us, looking out from a far enough distance.

I turn back to Daemon as he says, "surely as the daughter of the Master of Beasts, you would know the difference between a lizard and a dragon."

I ignore his incredulous tone, "Kotova's wings barely resembled what they are now when she was a hatchling, and her skin was translucent," I give him a look, "trust me, king, you may think yourself a dragon expert, but you wouldn't have thought she was a dragon then either."

Daemon does not appreciate the way his title is said.

"I think she was rejected by her clutch, which was why she ended up here in the green lands."

King turns to Kotova, thinking it made sense, considering his own thoughts about her and how she did look like an odd-one-out.

"So, she is amicable," king Daemon utters, "but only borne out of your presence. It does not solve my concern with the forest fires, nor does it change the fact," he turns to me with raised brows, "you are a dragon rider outside of my blood."

I look at Daemon and he clutches his belt and scabbard. A gush of wind blows between us as I asses the man's face. His violet eyes looked almost clear because of the sunlight, and though his expression was blank, I knew better than to mistake it for something like kindness. I turn to Kotova and find myself thinking about how similar they appeared. Even now, the connection between Targaryen and dragon was uncanny.

I speak, "allow me to solve one of your problems then, Daemon."

Rhaenyra pulls her head back at the lack of use of king and looks at her uncle, who narrows his eyes at me.

I whistle then call, "Kotova."

Kotova ignores me.

I suck in a breath and walk over to her, pulling my skirt up, placing my sole on her body, shaking her with my leg, "bē, tala." Up, girl.

Kotova peaks through her wing then huffs, before giving a dramatic protest, throaty and loud.

"Asha," I hush, "rȳbagon," obey.

Kotova stands, and if she could, rolls her eyes as she did so. She stretches her wings out for effect, incidentally pushing both Targaryens in her side away as she did so.

Daemon and Rhaenyra grab each other and move back to the side as Kotova raises her head and flairs her short, stubbly, leathery horns. She gives a shrill squawk then shakes her head.

I call out her name and she rolls her eyes again.

I extend my arms out to the side and crane my neck up at her, commanding, "drakarys."

Daemon and Rhaenyra stiffen with wide eyes. Instinctively, Daemon reaches out for his niece and pushes her behind him as he too steps away, "are you mad?!"

Kotova lowers her head to me and shoves me back with her snout. I am nothing against her strength and nearly topple back. I shake my head and regain my footing as Kotova begins to walk past me slowly, absolutely done with my bullshit.

"Keligon, Kotova," I command 'halt' as I walk in front of her again, "rȳbagon," I mutter 'obey' again once in front of her.

Kotova twists her long neck and hisses.

I recoil when her spit splashes on my cheek. I wipe my face and then rip out a bunch of weeds from the ground and throw it in front of the dragon, "drakarys."

Kotova growls as I point to the weeds.

Daemon watches the dragon huff through her nostrils and shake her wings in annoyance. So, her point is to get herself killed and be done with it?

"Drakarys, Kotova!"

Kotova, after a loud cry that made everyone, including the lord and the two knights, step back at the shrillness of it, finally obeys. A great many flock of birds fly overhead as the dragon breathes onto the tiny strands of grass. She gives out all the air in her lungs, in turn making the weeds shoot off in various directions.

Her exhale is so aggressive, spit splutters out.

Air, spit and more spit, but no fire. No fire at all.

Once Kotova was done, she looks at me and screams.

I recoil at her ear piercing cry and cringe, raising my hands up to her, "krimvo, tala. Emā dohaertan nyke sȳrī." Thank you, girl. You have served me well.

I reach out to her face and she opens her mouth, threatening to nip at me. It was an empty threat I knew, but a threat no less. I pull back and give her a look, "asha," I drop the tone of my voice, "keligon." Hush. Halt.

Kotova shakes her head and wags her slender tail.

"Sȳz!" I wave her off, "Henujagon. Jikagon va." Fine! Leave. Go on.

Kotova gratefully yelps and rather quickly takes off. She makes sure to hover over me, and cause dust and dirt to fly all over my body, as well as my skirt and hair to whip all over, before ultimately ascending, up until she was so high you could barely make her out, especially with how white she was in the sky. She blended well in the clouds and the harsh sun light.

Once she was gone and all of us were reeling with the sand in our eyes and mouths and ears and folds, I turn to Daemon and find him spitting out dirt in between spitting out curses.

I walk over to him and wipe my face, "as you can see, Daemon, Kotova is incapable of breathing fire."

I glance to the face of the lord from the distance, "whatever you and your company know about this Forest Fire is not about my dragon," I turn back to Daemon, "and as for your other concern. Like I said, she is free creature," I shrug, "she barely answered to me, as you bore witness."

Daemon dusts himself off just as Rhaenyra did.

"Of course, you could always wed me-"

The two royals halt.

I raise my brows, "or kill me and my fireless friend."

The king stares at me for a moment. He watches as I brush off my corset and roll my shoulders back. He feels ire prick into his veins, "gaomagon ao mīvindigon nyke, asp?" Do you taunt me, bitch?

I pull my head back and chuckle, "se ānogar hen zaldrīzes dakogon qumblie. Sīr adere naejot zālagon." The blood of the dragon runs thick. So quick to burn.

Daemon struts over to me and leaves little space between us. "Gaomagon daor ȳdragon hen zaldrīzes ānogar naejot nyke," he quips between his teeth. Do not speak of dragon blood to me.

He leans into me, "daoruni gīmī hen drakarys."

"You know nothing of dragon fire?!" I repeat his incredulous words, "ñuha gierion issi se ñuqir hen aōha drakarys, zaldrīzes āzma." My people are the ash of your dragon fire, dragon born.

I shake my head, "Astapor knows more about dragon fire than you ever will."

Daemon chuckles dryly, "you excite me with such pretty notions."

"Then forgive me for putting ideas in your head," I retort, grabbing my skirt, then curtsying dismissively. I then curtsy to Rhaenyra, and look back to her uncle. I stare at him for a moment before walking off.

I hear him scoff and angrily march, catching my arm, "I did not dismiss you, impudent wench."

I turn to him and smile twistedly, "oh, apologies, your grace," I pull my arm away. He does not release me. I huff, "I had already given you solutions to your problems. I did not think it would make you so taken by me so quickly."

"OH HA!" someone calls from afar, making all of us turn to whom called rather carelessly.

The two knights are immediately alerted and unsheathe their weapons as Gael storms over to us.

"Unhand Lady Milidyni this instant," he barks, pointing a finger our way.

"Valzȳrys!" I quip as Daemon releases me and unsheathes his own sword.

Daemon does not hesitate to meet him and surely enough, Gael is quickly cornered at the tip of 3 swords.

"Ao doru-borto qogralbar," I grunt, you stupid fuck.

"If you want to keep your head on your shoulders, you will keep your mouth shut, peasant," Daemon bristles, both hands on his hilt, fully intent to strike.

Before Gael could speak, I bark and point, "shut up, Gael!"

Gael looks at me then Daemon.

Daemon watches as Gael clenches his jaw and raises his hand up in surrender. He scoffs, lips tilting into a smile, "good to know your mutt is obedient to you as well."

Gael turns to me, "skoros gaomas bisa timpa ōghar orvorta jaelagon lēda ao?" What does this white haired cunt want with you?

I roll my eyes at his attempt to speak freely.

Daemon laughs manically and presses closer to him, bringing his blade against Gael's cheek which then rips into his skin, "iderēbagon aōha hembar udra wisely, syt kostis sagon aōha mōrī." Choose your next words wisely, for they may be your last.

"King Daemon!" I call, running towards him, grabbing hold of his arm, "ignore the fool. He's good for nothing."

"Finally something we agree on," retorts the king, although he does not withdraw his weapon and instead shoves me away from him.

"My king," Rhaenyra calls, storming over to him, "please! That's enough."

"Yes," Daemon mutters, "I am king," he words firmly, "and I decide what happens and what does not."

Gael flinches when his ear is poked.

"I say, I might enjoy making your ear into a necklace," Daemon mutters, pressing his blade into the side of his head, making blood drip down his neck.

I curse under my breath.

"But for now, I use you as leverage," he mutters, turning to me, "if you want your dear husband to remain unmutilated, you will make no fuss and obey me. Understood?"

"Understood," I blurt quickly.

Gael lets out a shallow breath when the king pulls away his blade, prompting the knights to do the same.

He then takes my arm and eyes Gael as he drags me off.

"Well done, Hightower," Daemon says, as we pass the bearded man, "though your information is skewed, it seems you shall keep your head after all."

Rhaenyra watches her uncle drag me off then turns to Otto who sighs, "most generous of you, my king."

Gael looks out to the king and heaves, "where are you taking her?!"

"King's Landing," Daemon mutters, looking over his shoulder, "come on then, Rhaenyra."

"Rhaenyra!" Alicent calls the moment she spots her friend, undoubtedly walking this very corridor in order to speak with her.

When the two girls meet, they clutch each other's hands affectionately.

"I am most remorseful for not greeting you the day you arrived. My father was strict about making me finish my lessons on bookkeeping before releasing me."

Rhaenyra makes an amused face of disbelief, "and what exactly where the ledgers that took you three days to finish?"

"The Hightower logs."

The princess laughs, "lessons? My dear, I think you were duped into doing the work meant for Lord Hightower."

The Hightower raises a brow, "you think?"

The two share a laugh.

The princess and the lady immediately link arms and begin to walk off to nowhere in particular.

"So my father has returned with his head," the red haired girl speaks, making Rhaenyra look at her incredulously, "I wouldn't have let Daemon kill him, Alicent. It's why I joined the trip, if it wasn't already obvious."

The girls lean into each other as they walk leisurely.

Alicent releases a breath, "oh yes of course. It was not to see whether or not there was, in fact, a non-Targaryen dragon and a rider in Essos, no?"

Rhaenyra grins and leans into Alicent, "well of course, there's that too."

"I hear it was a woman who tamed the beast, and that she was at the back of the king's horse as you came home."

Rhaenyra presses her lips into a flat line, "a funny thing, Lady Milidyni-- her name. She said she never ridden the back of a horse before, and it both made a lot of sense and no sense at all."

Alicent thinks then shrugs, "perhaps she is accustomed to riding in a carriage."

"Or her dragon," Rhaenyra looks at Alicent's dark eyes with her lighter ones, "you know, her dragon is, perhaps, about as old as Syrax, and a ghastly shade of white."

She nods, "father told me the thing looked like a monster who fled the burn of winter for a taste of spring."

The princess pulls her head back, "Otto Hightower said that? He is quite the poet."

Alicent looks off and shakes her head, "he is not."

Rhaenyra laughs, shaking her blonde hair as she did.

"What does the king plan to do with Lady Milidyni?" Alicent turns to Rhaenyra, "wouldn't it have been easier to kill her to avoid any sort of trouble with the dragon?"

Rhaenyra sighs as she looks at the curve of her friend's cheek and the blush on her lips and cheek, "the day I understand the way my uncle's mind works is the day your father starts liking him."

Alicent holds back her laugh.

"Oh but did you know her name means red beast in Astapori Valyrian?" the princess says excitedly, "Mili is red, and dyni is beast," she smiles, "and the animal of her house is a fox! I think it's rather smart."

Alicent is more fixated over the fact her friend was telling her there was a variant of Valyrian being spoken in Essos.

At this point, there is a vague, far off sound of a gatekeeper announcing the entry of a Lord. It takes a moment for the princess to think of who could possibly be coming to King's Landing at this hour for a visit. Then she remembers.

Instantly, Rhaenyra grips her skirt and yanks Alicent along with her as she runs to the side of the entrance from the floor they were on.

She grins from ear to ear as Alicent hastily keeps up with her, unsure of why they were running and who they were going to see.

They look out the window and the two girls behold a large man with a broad build and dark hair. Rhaenyra gleefully looks down as the Lord with a pointed nose and a thin beard dismounts his equally massive mount.

Alicent looks at the handsome man and then finally notices the emblem on his horse. "Ah, that must be Cregan Stark."

Rhaenyra grins, leaning into her, though her eyes do not leave him "he is quite a looker."

Alicent turns from the man to her princess, watching as her lips curl in delight and her hair blow with the wind, same as hers, "quite."

The two girls turn to each other, "shall we greet him?"

Alicent turn back to the lord, "if it pleases her grace."

Rhaenyra grins and leans against the window, "Lord Stark!"

Everyone from below looks up to the caller, each of them paying dutiful regard to the princess. The Lord Stark himself lifts his eyes upon the two looking out to him, nodding his head when the red haired girl greets him as well.

"My young princess," he bows, "my young lady," he nods, then looks back up at them.

He takes kindly to the eager look upon the Targaryen's face as she asks, "did you bring one of your direwolves, my lord? I would so love to see them."

Cregan grins, lopsided and wolfish in his own right, "I did not, princess. I do not think any of my wolves would appreciate the balminess of your palace, especially at this season," he leans on his leg, "see, I, myself, am already quite fussed by the temperature."

Rhaenyra laughs, "well, I say. I do hope you do not find your stay here too uncomfortable."

He tilts his head, "with two fair maidens greeting me at my arrival? Impossible."

Rhaenyra gives a pleased grin. Alicent smiles softly.

"An honor most high, fair maidens," he bows, "I must now see to the king."

Cregan is directed to take a certain hall in order to where the king would be at the moment. He walks to the end of the corridor as he was told and stops before a door.

He promptly knocks and announces himself.

He listens for a moment, then clears his throat upon hearing the moan that seeps through the cracks.

He presses his lips and moves away from the door, eye twitching at the crashing sound that comes next, along with 'ah yes, more, fuck, yes-'

He clenches his jaw and walks down the corridor, deciding to wait there, leaning by the window.

Cregan pulls at his collar, feeling his sweat clump in the corners of his flesh. He wonders if it would be too improper to remove his coat. He decides it won't and feels better after a layer of clothing was now off his body.

His attention is commanded by the beastly cry from across the grounds. He looks out to the far off area, narrowing his eyes at the vague sight of what he could tell was a dragon. Even at this distance, it was a mighty sight to see. He thinks about what it would feel to see the thing face to face.

He wonders who the red creature's master was. Perhaps the king's? Or was it the princess's?

He then thinks of the rumors of a wayward dragon flying under the ward of a rider not of royal blood. Perhaps this was the very dragon, now captured and under the keep of the crown.

He wonders if one of the people surrounding the behemoth was the rogue rider, now also in the clutch of the king.

"Lord Stark?"

Cregan turns and sees a woman with tan skin, glistening with sweat, and brown hair, wild and unkempt, cascading down past her shoulders. It appears as though she was tying her laces from behind her, "is that you?"

"Yes. I am Lord Stark."

She smiles as she pulls on her laces, "the king says you may enter now."

Cregan nods, "thank you."

He watches as the woman walks off as she tightens her corset from behind.

He blinks and finds himself asking as she makes a strained sound, "do you require assistance?"

The woman looks at him from over her shoulder, lips curling into a smile, "that depends. Will you be undressing me as well, sire?"

Cregan licks his lips and thinks, "No. I don't think I will."

"Then best not keep the king waiting, milord," she says, turning away, walking off.

Cregan thus enters the room, finding the king sat at the end of a messy bed. Tables and chairs were disarray, things that should not be on the floor were, and the king, himself, was not with a shirt.

Though, in truth, he probably should not be looking at the lilac eyed man, and his scars, and his messy hair, both blown out and sticking to the sides of his face, still he does and thinks enviously about how he could freely let himself cool down at present.

He grips the coat he hung in his arm, "King Daemon."

"Wolf man," Daemon says as he drinks from a cup, "how do you do?"

Cregan knows he could not care less about how he does but he answered curtly nevertheless, "I am well, your grace."

Daemon downs his drink and then stands. He walks over to the table, out of place where it was, and pours himself another cup, "thirsty?"

"No, thank you."

Daemon empties the ewer in his cup then turns to Cregan, "Alina," he says andwalks off, grabbing his garb that was thrown on the bedside table, "a pretty little distraction, the whore, very good with her mouth," he puts on his top, "though greedy with coin," he slips one sleeve on, "but I doubt you'll have problems with that."

Cregan watches as the king clothes himself. A moment passes.

"I doubt you requested me to come down from the North to discuss your favorite whore, your majesty," the lord says.

The king chuckles, raising a brow, "just a whore," he adjusts his collar, "they're all the same after you've emptied your balls."

Cregan chuckles.

The king walks over to his drink and takes it, "though I will say we are to discuss something of a whore."

Daemon walks past Cregan. The man follows suit.

They walk down the hall silently while the king drinks and ignores everyone that greets him.

They then arrive to a room and Daemon opens the door to it, pulling his cup away, swallowing heavily. He walks in deeper and Cregan follows suit.

He is then certain the room is empty and chucks his cup to the side and screams, "SERVANT!"

Cregan watches the king as he storms to the door, just as a servant girl comes running over. Daemon seethes, "where is the Astapori bitch that I put here?"

"My king- I- I-"

"You mean you lost her?!" he grabs her face, "you let the cunt escape?"

The servant cannot respond.

Daemon shoves her away.

Caraxes screeches out, tongue flicking as he did, and my heart races at the sound. I clutch my chest as the dragon keeper orders him to heel.

The king's mount reluctantly follows, jowls dripping with slobber as he is continued to be inspected and groomed. I think about Kotova everytime I bask in the glory of the Blood Wyrm, suddenly realizing my dragonling was immensely kinder, more patient, and warmer than what I thought she was. Never have I seen such a bratty, dramatic, and spoiled creature such as Caraxes. Not only was he a picky eater, ten times that of Kotova, but he was a whiny thing, and threw tantrums at every moment he got.

There were times when I spectated that I even called out to him myself, unable to contain the command from my lips as he terrorized the keepers.

Of course, Caraxes could not care less about me, but there was a moment, I swear that he did heed to my call.

I clutch the paper in my hand and hurriedly sketch Caraxes' profile as he is lead on by the dragon keeper to one side of the pit.

Say what you will about him though, he, regardless, was a kingly steed. His blood red scales were vibrant and so reflective of the house Targaryen that even if its rider was not the king, you'd think it was. Though I found penchant to be excessive, it echoed the fact that he belonged to Daemon Targaryen.

I rip my paper into my chest and gasp when I hear a voice mutter right into my ear.

"You are overly comfortable with your stay here," the king quips. He then rips out the object in my clutch, making the charred pieces of wood I was using to draw with drop to the floor.

"Your grace, please-"

"I warned you not to leave your room again, did I not?" he says as he eyes me.

Caraxes makes a huffing noises upon recognizing his rider.

Daemon inspects my sketches as I make futile attempts to snatch them back. He chuckles, "very good."

I heave as he turns to me with a grin, then to his dragon, "Caraxes," he calls loudly, "māzigon valītsos!" Come boy!

Caraxes immediately pulls away from the dragon keeper, who nearly shoots off as he could not release his rein on the dragon quick enough, and comes to his master.

I freeze as Caraxes nears, both in great awe and fear of the creature.

"By the gods," a voice calls from behind, making me turn over my shoulder, finding a man with dark hair and wide eyes, stepping back in fear.

Daemon throws the paper off to the side and walks back, haphazardly pushing me along with him as he did so. He blurts, "drakarys,"

I yelp and jolt back, shielding my face with my arms when fire the shoots out of the jaws of the mighty creature.

I peak past the shoulder of the king, thinking Caraxes was overly dramatic for exhaling that much fire for a few measly pages of paper. It goes without saying, there is absolutely no remnants of my sketch at all.

I release a sigh as Caraxes ceases his fire and looks at his master who sings him quick praise.

"Bisa iksis skoros iā real zaldrīzes jurnegon hae," Daemon says as he turns to me with a soft but utterly pleased smile.

I scoff at his words. This is what a real dragon looks like.

"Was the slobber stain on your tunic not enough?" I retort, furrowing my brows, "Kotova is a dragon no less real than Caraxes."

Daemon takes his turn to scoff, but he does not get to retort for Caraxes, seemingly recognizing his name, moves close to us, huffing as he did.

"Keligon," stop, we both command with a hand raise, making Caraxes cease his pursuit and whine as he pulled his head back.

Daemon snaps at me, "I do not take kindly to you commanding my ride."

"I am merely trying to not be devoured by him," I snip back.

"Then maybe you shouldn't keep sneaking out of your room to draw beasts, fox cunt!"

"At least my pastimes are not uncouth like yours, dragon spit."

Daemon laughs, "dragon spit?" He looks at me like he was predator surveying his prey, "that's somehow disappointingly unoriginal of you."

"Your grace," the dark haired man interjects, seemingly disinclined for a brawl to spring up between us.

Daemon grinds his teeth the turns to him, "yes, wolf man," he says, "I've not forgotten you." He then grabs my arm and shoves me toward him, "meet the Astapori bitch-"

I topple over into large man because of the king's excessive use of force.

"-your bride."

The two of us turn to the white haired dimwit as he laughs and claps his hands, "congratulations, Stark."

The man, presumably Stark, helps me to stand upright, though his eyes are locked on his monarch, "your majesty?"

He giggles under his breath, not unlike a child that was found in the middle of a chaotic act meant to amuse him, "I do think it a happy pair, a wolf and a fox."

I brush myself off roughly and Stark stares blankly.

"Actually," Daemon shakes his head, "I could not care less not if you do not marry the wench. You may keep her as a plaything, or a slave," he waves his hands, "just keep her."

"I do not understand, your grace," he speaks, "you've summoned me to tell me-"

"To command you," Daemon raises a finger, "to keep this thing under your paw," he turns to me, "lest she thinks of doing something with her mount."

"Her mount?" he knits his dark brows.

"Yes," Daemon turns to him. He watches the man scrunch his nose in confusion. He makes a face, "oh you slow, slobbering pup. This is the dragon rider from Essos-"

Stark turns to me.

"-the scale soother herself," the king chuckles dryly, turning from me back to him, "why even now you witnessed how she tried to command my own mount, Caraxes, as though she had the blood of a Targaryen."

I glare at him, "what insult to compare your blood and mine."

The king gives one loud, exaggerated laugh, "agreed."

Stark blinks as Daemon slaps his arm and walks off, "I cannot keep her here, as you can tell. She grows more confident around my dragon by the day. Though I do not doubt his loyalty to me, I much more do not trust the mind of a plotting woman."

Caraxes makes a sound as Daemon nears him, "I trust you will invite me to your wedding feast, if you ever find her useful enough to marry," he gives a look to Stark, "and do inform me if she poses to be too difficult."

I look at the dark haired man as he looks at the floor.

In truth, I was shocked by the news as well, but then again, I was rather expecting to be kept in a prison cell for the rest of my days, and so this was a rather mellow note to conclude with. It sure beats being dragon food. I do wonder why he did not think of making me into a snack for his dragon.

I take in the man's pressed lips and large frame. I then wonder if this Stark fellow is much more unsavory than his Targaryen counterpart.

I decide not let myself believe this and to start with no ill feelings, "Lady Milidyni," I curtsy, as I tell him my first name.

He turns to me with knit brows, "you are a lady?"

I am partially confused and offended by his shock but I play it off. "We do have nobility in Essos, sire," I look at him then off to the king that was now cooing to his dragon. I scoff, "though I'm sure your king would make us all out to be barbarians with no wits and no governance."

The man finds himself letting out an unexpected laugh. I turn back to him as he chuckles. I watch as his lips curl upward. He is rather handsome like this.

"Cregan." He nods to me in regard, "Cregan Stark, Lord of Winterfell."

"My father is Lord of Woodway. He also the Master of Beasts."

Cregan slowly nods his head at the information.

I chuckle, recognizing his confusion, "he studies animals and catalogues them accordingly. I think he would be something like a maester here."

"Ahhh," he nods more surely, "I see. Is that were you get your love for animals and why you risked your life for a glimpse of this terror?"

I chuckle under my breath, "yes. I do think I get my love for animals from my father, but he says I get my insanity from my mother."

He chuckles again, covering his mouth as he did, "your mother reminds me of my own."

"Is she also dead?"

He lifts his head to me with a surprised look, "... aye."

"Then they indeed they are the same. May the gods rest both their souls."

I turn to Caraxes as Daemon dotes on him. At the very least I can respect they way he treats his magnificent ride, "he is not so much a terror, I think."

"The king?"

I scowl and shake my head, "Caraxes."

He lets out a breath as he surveys the said creature, "I will take your word for it."

I turn back to the man and offer a smile, "I would say it is good to meet you, but it really isn't and I would much have rather not meeting you at all."

Cregan chuckles again, though this time, it is much louder.

I purse my lips and give him a look.

Daemon, who was stroking Caraxes by the cheek turns upon hearing the sound. He makes a face at the sight of laughter across him.

"Are all the ladies in Essos as honest as you, my lady?"

I snort and cross my arms as I turn to him, "no. Only me."

Cregan laughs. I chuckle under my breath, decidedly thinking he was far too easy to amuse.

He catches his breath and he turns to me to offer out his arm. I hesitate momentarily, in disbelief of his actions. I take his arm nonetheless, and he then leads me off.

He speaks my name softly, as if measuring the way it rolled off his tongue.

I says his name in return, though with less care and more inquiry.

"You are a scale soother?"

I roll my eyes, "your king mocks me with the title."

"Ah," Cregan nods, "that does seem to be a rather unbelievable skill to be had outside the royal lineage."

I let out a half-amused sound.

"Is it correct of me to assume that your dragon is being held here in the dragon pit?"

I watch as he raises a brow. I shake my head, "Kotova is not held anywhere. Her company is her own to keep."

He knit his brows, "I do not follow."

"Kotova," I explain, "the dragon I have bonded with, is not a dragon that I keep the way the Targaryens do. I do not ask of her to do anything for me, save, perhaps, to keep me company and to scare off some men, in exchange for venison or rabbit."

He chuckles and shakes his head, "I am in disbelief."

"Fortunately, I do not mind if you cannot believe me."

"No, I believe you," he says, "I merely think it is a tale you would tell a child," looking off as he pushed his chest, "a beautiful maiden, friends with a dragon."

"Asha," I snort, "I see you are no less insolent than your king."

Cregan holds back a laugh, "it will do you well not to speak of the king all together if you do not have anything well to say, vixen."

Well, he's not wrong.

"I wonder, then, why your dragon has not come to you here to save you from your captor?"

I shake my head, "Kotova sometimes leaves for months at a time. She may not have noticed my absence at all. I doubt she would even look for me, in all honesty."

"Well, how long have you been here?"

"A good four days, including this one."

Cregan nods, "then let us not wait for a fifth then and depart for the North after a meal."

I look at him as he turns to me, "I am loathe to stay in such weather for too long."

I raise a brow, "is the north very cold then?"

His eyes glisten, "worry not, I will not allow you to perish in the cold."

I am inclined to believe he means to protect me, that he means not to harm me, and those words of his were proof of it. But I do not allow myself to be deluded by his pretty smile. He is a man, and men rarely know how to do anything but harm.

Still, I smile back at him and nod, "of course, Lord Stark."

"Cregan," he corrects, "I wish you to call my name, as I wish to call yours."

I nod once more, "Cregan."

[i-loveoldermen]

KEEGAN P. RUSS X YOUNG READER HEADCANONS

I love Keegan sm, but I'm so upset there's barely any fanfics about him😭 so I decided to write my own to cheer up my own sadness✊

🎀WARNING: minor swearing🎀

You were actually a really cheerful kid, extremely energetic which was really hard for the 141 since they could hardly handle Soap and Gaz.

So having an even younger sergeant just made them want to quit. It honestly felt like they were just babysitters at this point.

But even so, no one could bring themselves to kick you out. (But if Ghost could, he definitely would have)

You're definitely besties with Soap and share everything with him. His like a best friend where you have to tell him every single tea.

"OMG SOAP GUESS WHAT?" "WHAT!?"

Most of the soldiers ignore you guys, as they are already exhausted with their own things.

But there was a certain sergeant who couldn't keep his eyes off you.

Keegan is probably the most annoyed one and if he could beat his co workers, he would most definitely do. Especially Soap (which I believe is for a different reason😇)

But he couldn't bring himself to say anything to you. You were just way cheerful and he didn't want to burst that happy bubble of yours.

Sometimes he even let you off with your insults, which leaves the crew horrified as they're shocked you're still stable and not paralysed yet.

I mean, sometimes your insults just sounds like compliments to him.

"Damn Keegan, you look less dead then usual"

Some of the crew are even certain he has a soft spot for you, the way he's just calm around you and not telling you to shut up must be the whole evidence.

Soap is the one who teases you the most, about how he's sure that Keegan has a crush on you.

"Ohhh, he's staring, look"

As much as no one can read Keegan through his eyes, they definitely can through yours.

The way they kinda squint which shows you're smiling and happy, or how they're half lidded and casted down wards showing your sadness

Keegan might never admit it, but the first thing he had ever noticed about you, was your eyes.

They just shocked him, they looked like an angles eyes to him. He believes they are the prettiest eyes.

Keegan actually looks like the type who looks extremely vicious and dangerous, but is the absolute sweetest to the person the like.

He just looks like the kind who would obey to everything you say, even if it's not him.

"Hey Keegan, can you help me braid my hair?"

I feel like if you were ever whine about wanting to paint his nails, he would give in. (He would actually love the result and keep it painted till they start to fade themselves)

"What the actual fuck is on your nails Keegan?"

I feel like he is so touch-starved that he would use any chance he gets just to hold you.

He feels the most happiest when there's only a small couch in a room and you both have to just squeeze in with each other.

The dude loves sweets.

Once you had actually baked for the whole crew and as you give it out, you noticed how Keegan enjoyed it.

After that you would secretly give him all you bakings (The biggest reason is that if Soap found out, he would be CRUSHED)

Keegan feels threatened whenever he sees you with Soap, like you would just forget Keegan just to hang out with Soap.

But Soap had reassured the intimidating man atleast 100 times that he does not have a single feelings towards you and that you were just like a younger sister to him.

Keegan believed him, but it still didn't stop him from death glaring him.

Keegan will definitely take you out every time he sees you upset.

Most of the time it's a mall, since he knows how much you love looking at random stuff and he's grown fond of each time your grin widens and your eyes glint when you fall in love with a certain cloth, or a make up product.

Keegan is definitely the big spoon. He just loves to wrap himself around you. It makes him certain that you're safe, because your secured.

He loves to watch you sleep, it makes him feel so happy. The way you mouth partens each time you breath makes him feel happy because he knows you feel safe with him.

You looks so beautiful to him in your sleep that he can't help but place a soft kiss on you. But really softly, as he doesn't want to wake you up.

(He has also taken a few pictures of you when you slept, you looked way to gorgeous and it would definitely be a loss)

He obviously told you about the pictures so you don't feel uncomfortable. But you didn't really mind, you just felt slightly embarrassed because you believed you looked weird.

Which Keegan just strangly stared at you, because to him you looked like a goddess.

"What do you mean you look ugly? You look magnificent to me"

I seriously believe he's a guy who won't let you move a muscle on your days off.

Hungry? He'll order something. Wanna watch something? He'll start the projector. You're bored? He's here and has a bunch of games.

:)

[itwasthereaminuteago]

|| Rough Road ||

Frank Castle x female Reader.

Tags/warnings: 'annoying acquaintances of circumstance' to lovers, fingering, oral (f rec), unprotected sex (wrap in RL!), swears 😯

Author's note: This is for the TFC December fic challenge 'Snowed In', so check the tags for more!

If you enjoy my fics please consider reblogging, it means others get to enjoy them too! Thank you so much for reading! 💕

"I think we should try and find somewhere to pull over." you say to Frank. You had been driving for hours and the snow was coming down harder now.

"Mm, I'm pretty sure there's a motel about 15 miles ahead, we can make it, get a couple of rooms and start again in the morning." He replies, concentrating on the road.

You stare up through the windscreen at the neverending horizonless thick grey-white of the sky and the flurry of heavy flakes building up on the road ahead of you. "I don't think we'll make it that far."

Sure enough after another couple miles the road became impassable, you had hardly seen any other cars ahead of you or coming the other way for most of the drive. It was gonna get dark fairly soon.

"Shit." Frank says simply, turning off the ignition after he stopped the van at the side of the road.

"Thank fuck I've got cell service" you say, "I'm gonna call for a truck."

While you were on the phone Frank checked his paper maps for the nearest habitations, but there was nothing that warranted risking trying to walk through a snowstorm at night.

"Okay, the rescue company is dealing with shitloads of people in similar situations and 'cos we've got a van and some supplies they're saying we're further down the list. Earliest they could get to us is tomorrow morning."

"Alright, well they'll probably have cleared the roads by then. Guess that ain't too bad. Just gotta hunker down for the night."

You kicked at the dash in frustration. "Urgh. I told you we should've left after the storm, now we're stuck here in your stupid van, which stinks by the way."

"Stinks?" He screwed up his face in disbelief. "What of? I keep it clean!"

"Of you!"

"Listen, as much as you're a complete pain in my ass it was too dangerous to wait in the city any longer. Now the Russians associate you with me…"

You threw your head back against the rest and sighed. "Yeah. I know. Just gotta lay low for a while." you parroted.

"This ain't exactly my idea of heaven either sweetheart."

You hated when he called you that. Even though it was just an automatic thing for him and it didn't mean anything it really annoyed you. He reached into the back bringing out a pack of cards from the seemingly random selection of shit he had squirreled away there. "Imagine you don't wanna talk about what happened, so it's this or I-Spy."

You groaned and nodded as you whiled away an hour or so playing blackjack until your hungry stomach noises got too loud to ignore.

"Alright, chicken or beef sub?" he asked, diving into the backpack.

You chose the chicken.

"Damn, this is really good. You pick them up before we left? Where from?"

"Made em." He replied, taking a bite of his own.

"Huh." You mused, digging in again.

"Surprised I can make a sandwich?" He scoffs.

You shrug. "Surprised you can make a good sandwich. Guess being ex-marine you gotta have some talents."

"You got no idea." He throws you a wink as he takes a sip of coffee from the thermos and you roll your eyes.

After another hour of whooping his ass at blackjack and a lightning quick excursion into the nearby trees and back to relieve yourself, your yawns and heavy eyelids make it clear that you're gonna have to go to sleep at some point soon.

"Does one of us, uh, need to keep watch or something?" You ask him, watching as he crawls into the back of the van and starts digging out a mat, a singular sleeping bag and blanket.

"Nah. Even if they did send someone to follow us ain't nobody getting through this, we're safe enough." He rolled out the bag and caught your awkward look.

You wrapped your arms around you, it was getting cold now the residual heat from the van had disappated. "So… just the one lot of bedding then?"

He nods. "Yeah, usually just me in here y'know, with all my stank."

You rolled your eyes again. "Yeah, I guess that makes sense."

He has to resist the urge to let you panic about sleeping beside him for a while longer, he's not that cruel. "It's okay, you can have it. I'll be alright up front." He sees your visible relief as you process what he's said, nodding and rummaging in your pack for the toothbrush and toiletries you'd thankfully picked up at your last gas stop, there having been no time to grab anything but the absolute ultimate essentials before you left.

The thick layer of snow that had built up around and on top of the van probably provided quite a bit of insulation, but that didn't exactly stop you from being fucking freezing. You tried to snuggle up deeper into the sleeping bag, all your clothes and a beanie on and the blanket on the top, but you were still cold. You tilted your head up to glance at Frank in the passenger seat, still awake with his jacket on and arms wrapped around himself tight, the occasional puff of his breath misting the air.

"You awake?" You ask, already knowing he was.

"Yeah. You alright?"

"Cold."

"Yeah."

The silence between you seemed to stretch on forever. You pull the blanket tighter around you.

Fuck it. "Uh, if you want, you could come back here, share the blanket? And y'know, body heat will help I guess."

"Thought you couldn't stand my stink?" He throws back at you.

"Well, the cold is kinda trumping that, but it's fine if you don't wanna… just thought it is your stuff after all, don't wanna put you out of your own van."

"Nah, s'good idea." he agrees, climbing into the back with you. You shiver at the initial chill as he lifts the edge of the blanket to lie next to you, your back to his. His jacket is cold against you but after a while you began to warm up, stopping your shivering and finding yourself drifting easily to sleep.

When you wake up it's still dark but you're warm, hot even. As you gradually gain a bit more consciousness you realise that the reason is because Frank has you in a bear hug. He must have turned around in his sleep. His arm is draped over you, big hand splayed over your stomach pulling you impossibly close to him. The only skin contact is his nose at the back of your neck, the warm exhales tickling the light hair there.

It's… pleasant, maybe even something more. He actually smells good. You smile to yourself thinking about the juxtaposition of this killing machine, this angry guard dog let off the chain being a big soft snuggly puppy of a man behind closed doors.

You shift slightly in his hold and then freeze.

Okay, maybe not so soft…

Despite the layers of clothing and a sleeping bag between you, it's unmistakable that it's his cock that's hard and pressing against your ass. You try to rationalise. It's just a normal bodily response after all, but do you dare move? What if he wakes up and it gets awkward, you've got a lot of driving still to do if this snow ever clears…

Any control is taken away from you as Frank stretches momentarily and then wraps you even tighter in his arms, his nose nuzzling into your skin and hips slowly grinding against you with a quiet contented moan. He suddenly stops, pulls away as he wakes and realises where he is, where you are, and what he's doing.

"Shit, fuck…" he turns away from you as he sits up scrubbing his hand over his face. "I'm sorry, I uh… it's uh, been a while since… y'know?"

The blanket rustles softly as you shrug.

"Fuck, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to-" He cuts himself off as his eyes adjust to the darkness, his ears registering the sound of the sleeping bag zip being opened and his gaze finding the smallest glimmer of soft light reflected in your own.

"It's okay. S'been a while for me too," you admit. This might be the stupidest decision you've ever made when it comes to sex, or even when it comes to roadtrips, but you can't seem to override it. Not when he looks at you like that, smells like that, makes you feel like that. He saved your life but you don't think that's all it is.

You slough off your defensive dislike and begin to embrace something that at least feels real.

His face is a picture in the dim snow-reflected light within the van as you reach for him, pulling his warmth and his lips towards you. He's taken aback, but his hand cups your jaw and you find yourself surprised by the tenderness with which his mouth meets your own. You don't waste a second, catching his wrist and guiding him down to palm over your chest, quickly leading his hand under the waistband of your pants so he can feel just how much he's affected you in this short space of time. It's like you're trying not to have the time to think about it. You both carry ghosts from your past that you've never openly shared, but you know, simply from the slight hesitation in his touch even as you urge him on.

The tender kisses soon heat up. "Call me sweetheart again." You breathe against his mouth, and he groans deep as his fingers meet with the wetness at your core. Your own hands explore underneath his jacket, fingers feeling the hard muscle of his chest under his shirt. You reach down to cup his cock through his jeans and then tug at them, moaning as he hurries to unbutton your pants so he can swipe his fingers through your slick folds. His mouth is on your skin, hungry to taste more of you as you scrabble to undo his pants too, urging them and his underwear down just enough to free his gloriously erect cock. He helps you wriggle halfway out of your pants too and now you're jacking each other off like a couple of teenagers, his fingers slippery and desperate over your throbbing clit, and yours covered with sticky precum as you wrap your hand around and stroke him.

"Oh shit…" you whine, as he skillfully brings you closer to the edge, your hips moving against his hand as he watches you. You forget the cold, gasping as he slips a finger inside you, your grip tightening around his cock making him grunt in such a delicious way that you can't help the words spilling from your lips.

"Frank, fuck me, please!" You're begging, you've never begged for anything other than to stay alive, but you need this, you want to feel him inside you, there's nothing else that will satisfy the ache.

He pauses, staring at you like you've just proposed or something. It takes him a hot minute to register what you're saying, but once those words sear into his brain he moves fast, lips sucking and kissing at the skin of your neck like a brand as he yanks your pants all the way down and off, his mouth following. He pushes up your shirt when he gets to the hem, his tongue trailing right up the centerline of your body to your bra where he mouths over the curve of your breasts before pulling down a cup. You arch your back as he takes your peaked nipple between his lips before he continues downward.

You claw at his shoulders as his nose bumps at the front of your underwear, just giving your clit the barest pressure, teasing you instead of giving you what you need, but you soon change your mind as he hooks his fingers under the elastic pulling them off you so he can bury his face in your pussy. He presses your thighs apart, holding you down as your hips try to rise up to meet the mind melting sensation of his tongue on you, in you. You moan, curse, and praise him as he quickly stokes your need and desire into a sharp dense point where you can do nothing else but implode in on yourself, screaming his name as he makes you feel.

He rises from between your thighs, licking his glistening lips with a small smile. It looks good on him.

"You alright, sweetheart?"

"Getting warmer, could be better." You throw back as you catch your breath and return the smile, yanking him back over you and using your feet to help him push his pants all the way off. When you take him in your hand again his gaze flits between your eyes and your mouth, which he claims in a hot kiss as you guide him to you, reveling in the feeling of the head of his thick cock spearing inside your heat.

"God damn." is all he can say, and you can only agree as he repeats it like a mantra as the slow slide of his cock filling and stretching your cunt has your eyes almost rolling back into your head with a long and loud moan.

You wrap your legs around his waist as he rolls his hips into you, the mental and physical battle he's fighting between going slowly, gently, and pounding you fucking senseless is palpable. He's drawing out sounds that you would never even make when you're alone. It might just be because you haven't had any form of touch from anyone for a long time, but you're more certain that it's all him that's making you flustered, hitting all your spots and stripping you down to a bare wire of being with nothing but his soft dark eyes.

That growling, barking, flesh-ripping fighting dog is still there underneath, you can feel how he holds it inside himself, yanking at the chain and always ready to be released when there's a need. The fact that he's driven you out of the city is proof that he actually cares what the fuck happens to you, and that sort of blows your mind. You could have easily gone alone, you were ready to jump on a Greyhound and make your own way but he wouldn't have it. He made you his responsibility. Yeah he was a killer but he was also a protector. Your protector.

He wasn't much of a talker but with his dick buried inside you he's soon gritting out reams of praise that have you clenching around him and mewling as his hand squeezes over the firm curve of your ass.

"Feel so good girl, s'fucking tight…"

You inhale sharply as he reaches between your hot skin to find your clit and ensure that you feel what he's feeling. Your fingernails graze over his scalp and the short hair at the nape of his neck as you pull him even closer, your second orgasm building up fast as he drives into you over and over.

"Ohh, god-"

"That's it sweet thing," he murmurs against your ear as the indescribable feeling of his cock dragging inside has you both on the very edge. "C'mon angel, such a good girl f'me."

You keen at the praise, something he'd unlocked from your subconscious with the simplest key, something even you didn't know you would react to. "Fuck… you're gonna make me-"

Frank feels you start to shake around him, moving his fingers even faster over that swollen little bundle of nerves. It's too much.

"Shit. You feel too fuckin' good, I gotta-" He moves to pull out suddenly and you claw at his ass stopping him before he does, you'll be damned if you don't feel him come inside you.

You whine as he stills. "Fuck! Don't stop, don't fucking stop…"

He looks for your assurance. "You sure? You want this?" his voice is quieter now, wavering. If you say yes he doesn't know that he'll last.

You nod frantically, tilting your hips up, wrapping your arms around his neck, the movement making him groan as you feel like utter heaven around him. He never thought you could be so soft, so open, needy.

The van rocks gently on its suspension as he resumes, every powerful thrust as he's fucking you punching such beautiful sounds from your throat. He can feel every gripping twitch of your perfect cunt as you begin falling apart underneath him, so tight, hot, and wet and quietly begging him to fill you. Your nails dig into the muscle of his huge shoulders and your mouth falls open, thighs tightening their hold around his waist as your moans crest. Don't stop, you told him, and he briefly wonders how he thought he ever could when you feel like this.

"Good girl, fuck- that's my good girl…" it's whispered and desperate, he's barely holding on by a hair.

The possessiveness in his words makes your eyes scrunch up tight and your body open. His cock is hitting you hard right where you need it, the focused touch of his fingers radiating out and burning you up.

"F-frank I-"

You unravel, crying out as you clench around him again and again as torrents of pleasure rip through your entire body. Your eyes fly open, locked on his, determined to witness how he might follow you into bliss. Your hips buck up chasing his own, his harsh warm breath washing over your skin with a deep, sensual moan as he finally lets go, pulsing inside you, not stopping the slowing, stuttering motion of his thrusts until he's given you absolutely everything he's got.

Laying there still entwined, a deep satisfying rumble from Frank's chest breaks the contrasting near-silence as he carefully rolls you on top of him and strokes his fingers lightly over your cheek and along your jaw, sliding them into your hair as his lips brush yours in a soft kiss.

"Frank..." you hum, your forehead resting on his. You can't stop your small nervous giggle as you're still unsure about what this is.

"Yeah." is all he says in return, his hands gliding down over your bare back and your hips, the sleeping bag and blankets forgotten now that inside the van had become a damn sight warmer. The windows with the covering of snow on the outside almost glow through the misting from your body heat on the inside of the glass. It's like you're trapped in a snowglobe. The image soon shatters as your mind clears from the dreamy fog of what you've just done.

"Shit. I-I'm sorry, I know that you-" you start to explain all the reasons that you know this is just a one-time thing, more for yourself than him, but he stops you before you can reel off the excuses.

"Hey," he says, gently catching your chin in his hand and running his fingers lightly over your skin. "We don't need to do all that shit, y'know?"

You can't help looking anywhere but in his eyes.

"Hey, c'mon, it's okay." He repeats.

You wish he wasn't like this, wish he would be colder with you, go back to the sniping, reluctant, thrown-together partnership, or whatever it was you had before. It takes effort but when you manage to meet the warmth of his gaze it feels like something you could get used to looking at.

"Look, it is what it is, yeah? I'm gonna keep you safe, no matter what."

You nod and allow him to pull you close to his chest, feeling the rise and fall of his breath and the thump of his heart through his ribcage.

"It is what it is," you murmur, your eyes growing heavy as you melt into sleep.

Frank tags:

@divinearchangel @saintmurd0ck @castlesnchurches @mindidjarin @hellskitchenswhore @pedrito-friskito @sweetieswiftie @shedaresthedevil @freshabogados

@father4giveme @stress--relief @e-dubbc11 @whistle1whistle @tea-and-wine @emiemiemiii @imherefordeanandbones @phoebe-danvers @munsonownsmyass

[b00ks1ut]

It’s All About Trust

Joe Liebgott X Fem!Reader

Warnings: Angst, war, fluff (an attempt anyway I think), swearing, Briefly mention of reader being a medic, reader has a shit ton of siblings (relatable), not that many physical descriptions if any, mentions of death, normal Band of Brothers stuff

Sorry if this is bad. I’ve never written any BoB fanfiction and really have like hardly any writing experience at all so hopefully this isn’t horrible. Please give me feed back if you want. Thank you! Also sorry for the ending. It’s kinda abrupt but it’s the best I could get lol

Bois Jacques is hell. A very very cold hell. Nothing could truly combat the cold that seeps into everyone around me. Not even the plainish slop they feed us in an attempt at food. Or in the current case, cold, hard “pancakes”, or that’s what Domingus says they are.

Don pokes at his and calls after our ever so kind cook, “Joe these smell like my armpit!”

“At least your armpit is warm.” Skip grumbles from Malarkey’s side as he holds his pancake up for emphasis.

“You want syrup with that?” Domingus sasses back to him.

“Joe, be honest, what’s in these things anyway?” Don asks the retreating man.

“Nothing you won’t eat, Malarkey.” He replies.

“I won’t eat Malarkey.” Spina shoots back quickly causing us all grouped up to let out a chorus of laughs.

Julian brings back the topic of Babe and Spina’s run in with a German on their search for 3rd Battalion. “Hey, maybe Hinkle would like your share, huh?”

This happens to hit my funny bone and I let out a snort leading to the rest of the men’s laughter to only further increase until Peacock comes around looking for Dike.

“Try battalion CP, sir.” I tell the man. The rest of us wait for him to walk away on his hunt for the company CO before we break our into giggles again.

“Try Paris.” Skip laughs.

“Try Hinkle.” Malarkey adds, only increasing our laughter and before I know it tears are pricking my eyes.

Spina begins his less than great German impression and I have to leave before I piss myself laughing.

I seem to run into a brick wall in my way back to my foxhole, tears of laughter still stinging my eyes.

“Sorry ‘bout that (y/n/n).” A deep southern voice speaks from above me.

I take a look and send a smile at the blonde who’s got me held by the shoulders.

“You’re all good Bull, no harm done.” I tell him as I step out of his hold. “Sorry about that.”

“No harm done.” He repeats before walking away with a smile sent to me.

I continue to make my way back to my temporary home of a frozen foxhole. I look down to find none other than Joseph Liebgott.

I’ve always had a soft spot for the rageful Jew. I don’t think it’s any specific thing that made me so drawn to him but rather his whole entire being.

On the other hand he’s never shown any direct attraction to me. Sure nearly all the men of Easy have sent me a glance at least once but I don’t blame them, I’m one of the few women they’ve interacted with past a single night in around 2 years. But past a glance none of the boys have soberly tried anything.

Especially Joe. He’s not unfriendly to me but he’s never really gone out of his way to interact with me. Not until now.

He’s sitting alone in my foxhole, hands tucked under his armpits, gun leaning in the dirt next to him, and his eyes intensely trained on the line.

“Joe? Did you get lost?” I ask him with a small laugh.

“Uh?” He looks up at me and gives me a small smile. “Not lost, just looking for someone to talk to.”

“Luz’s hole is like 2 over that way.” I told him pointing in the direction of the jester’s own hiding place.

“Well good thing I wasn’t looking for George then, yeah?” He says with his trademark smirk. “I can leave if you’d like me to, though.”

"You're fine, but can I ask a question?" I asked as I began the short descent into the frozen foxhole.

"Shoot away (y/l/n)." The Californian told me, looking back at the line across the cold, white field.

"Why are you talking to me? I'm don't mean to be rude but you've never put any effort into having any interaction with me." I asked sitting across from him and stuffing my frozen hands into my jacket pockets.

"I'm just trying to be friendly. No time better than the present, right? Do you have a problem with that? I can leave if you need me to." Joe had begun to get a little defensive but that's hardly surprising when he'll jump at a chance to be upset, whether isn’t reasonable or not.

"Why now? There's hardly a point in making friends when fucking Babe and Spina barely just ran from a Kraut fucking foxhole so excuse my confusion at your extremely sudden olive branch when we're all about to be sent home either on a stretcher or in an enveloped as a piece of shitty metal with our names stamped into it!" I grabbed my dog tags and shook them for emphasis. It took all of my self control to not start yelling or crying, but I could feel the sting of unshed tears at my eyes. "We're all going to be blown to kingdom come by all of this damned artillery." I whisperd.

"Hey. That's not true. We've made it this far but look at us. Sitting in this frozen hell hole and you're alive, I'm alive, and so is Bull and George, Don, Babe, Doc, Skip, Penkala, Perco, and Buck and Lip." He began listing some of the guys we had been with for so long. "I know it's scary and there's not a single thing I can promise you to make anything seem ok, because I'm scared and I have no clue what's going to happen even 10 seconds from now but one thing I can tell you that might make you feel slightly better is that you've made it this far. You made it through Sobel's shitty personalty, Normandy, Carentan, and I know that if you have made it this far without a scratch then what can take you down? You’re what, one of nine kids back at home, you managed to talk and work your way into the airborne and then continue to be an absolute badass throughout boot camp and combat!” He took a break to really look at me and I took that as an opportunity to defend myself and my feelings.

“I’m really flattered but don’t you think I’ve been too lucky? I’ve come so far with nothing more than a bruise and I’m sure the next thing you know I’ll be blown to pieces! I don’t know why I thought I could do this, Joe! I’m fucking terrified and there’s no where to go!” I can feel the tears beginning to well in my eyes and in a sorry attempt to stop them I look to the sky. “I don’t know what I’m doing here anymore.”

“Hey, you can’t go thinking like that. You’re going to make it out of here alive. I need you to believe that because trust me when I say that you are the toughest damned woman I’ve ever met in my life.” He scooted closer to me and wrapped his arm around my shoulders, pulling me into his side.

The tears couldn’t be held any longer and the dam broke, salty waves rolling down the sides of face into my hair line. A sob escaped my lips before I could muffle it with a fist that had been stuffed between my lips only seconds too late.

“I’m sorry.”

“No need to be sorry, (y/n), we’re all feeling it, you’re the only one brave enough to let anyone see it.”

I let out a scoff. ‘Brave’ is not the right word to use. “I’m pathetic. I’m sitting here crying, doing nothing to help anyone around me who has it worse. I’m a a medic for fuck’s sake, I shouldn’t be crying when I routinely see how bad I could have it.”

Joe had only pulled me closer and wrapped his other arm around me, essentially cradling my shaking form. “Don’t you see? That’s what makes you so brave, (y/n). You see all these men in so much pain and put yourself in harms way to make sure they get patched up and safe. You are completely allowed to be overwhelmed and scared and cold and any other feeling a person can have. Not one man here would blame you for being upset right now. They know that as long as you are safe so are they, because when shit goes down you’re always there to help us.” He was talking so softly and so gently that I couldn’t help but cry harder.

“Oh fuck.” I muttered , wiping at my eyes. “I’m sorry Joe.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for Doll.” He gave me an affectionate pat. “Just know that you are such a light in the dark here, and not one of the men in these woods would judge you right now.”

I gave him a weak smile and sniffed, wiping at my eyes and nose. “Thank you, Joe, really. I’m forever grateful.”

“Oh don’t mention it, just don’t go telling anyone that I give out cuddles, I can’t have my reputation ruined like that.” Joe snickered with his smirk and a pat to my side.

“Your secret is safe with me as long as you don’t go telling people I cry.” I tittered and wrapped my arm around his neck.

“Your secret is safe with me, (y/n).”

“How do I know you’re not lying to me?”

“It’s all about trust. I trust you, you trust me; that’s how this has to work, yeah?” I was nearly bumping noses with him and if I wanted to I could just lean in a little and kiss him. The thought quickly crosses my mind but part of me knows better.

“I trust you, Joseph Liebgott.” I meant it, with more of my heart than I thought was still there.

[a-fandom-reimagined]

ALL I WANT IS YOU. | IZZIE STEVENS X GN!READER

♡ requested: Hey I just got into watching greys anatomy s2 e5 I am really new , but I love the character of izzie stevens and I tried to find some nice fluff fics but I barely could find any only 1 so I was wondering if you knew more or wanted to write one ? ♡ summary: izzie makes y/n a very...interesting proposition. ♡ author's note: i hope you don't mind that i made it gn it just kind of happened. ♡ word count: 499

"Did you know that couples who co-habituate before marriage have are 48% more likely to have their marriages end in divorce?"

You froze in the doorway of Meredith's house. You hadn't even taken off your coat yet. Much less closed the door.

The house was dark. Candles everywhere. A table set for two in the living room. Romantic music in the background…and a projection screen.

"I…did not know that. What's going on?"

"Well, it's true. A study conducted by researchers in 2018 found that participants were less likely to divorce after the first year of marriage but more likely to get divorced later on down the line. Please sit."

You kicked the door shut and did as she asked, watching her flip through slides of graphs, charts and other research data. You hardly heard any of it. Izzie was resplendent in a pink dress. Her hair was curled and pinned up, her makeup carefully done. You felt as though you were sitting in the presence of royalty.

"--but," she continued, "another study conducted in 2018 concluded that cohabitation before marriage was actually linked to lower divorce rates." Izzie continued her presentation, clicking through an assortments of slides focused on the age of commitment, religion, and the ages, careers, and races of the of the studies participants and a bunch of other analytical mumbo jumbo that went in one ear and out the other.

Finally you couldn't take it anymore. "Izzie, baby, please," you huffed. "I…I am sure that a great deal of work has gone into all of this and I appreciate it but I don't understand what you're trying to say. We're not married and we don't live together. None of these studies apply to us!"

Izzie's throat bobbed, her eyes shining with tears.

Inside, you kicked yourself for making her cry. You held out your arms and she practically ran into them, perching herself on your lap. You kissed her arm, taking both of her hands in your own. "I'm sorry for making you cry, babe. I just… I need you to talk to me. Not at me."

Izzie sniffed, wiping her eyes dry on the back of her hands. "I know, I know. And you didn't make me cry I just… There haven't been a lot of things in my life that have gone right, you know? You are the most precious thing in the world to me and I don't want to lose you. There's no room for mistakes."

"Izzie, I don't want to lose you either but there's no such thing as perfection. This love, this life is what we make it. Not the data. If you want to move in together we can start looking right now. If you want to get married let's gas up the car and go to Vegas."

Izzie scrunched her nose. "Vegas? Is that really what you envision for your dream wedding?"

You shrugged. "Any wedding is my dream as long as I'm saying my vows to you."

You kissed her again and Izzie sighed as if in relief. "All I want is you, Y/N."

[clonedadplo]

My first real post on Tumblr, I have some Obikin fanfic to sacrifice upon this alter of many fandoms. I still can't believe Ashoka and Anakin are only four years apart and that they gave "I-cant-handle-my-feelings-I'm-hyperventilating-and-I-just-stabbed-someone-Anakin" a padawan at the age of 19. Lord.

I may post this on AO3 if I wind up writing more and can get my bro to edit for me:

Black Right Hand

When Obi-Wan had lost his arm to Count Dooku Anakin had lamented that it hadn't been him. Not because of some self sacrificing urge to protect like his master seemed to feel when he swung his saber across the space in front of him and directly in front of Dooku's saber trajectory. That was what is was though,  only trajectory, the expected path of travel which would have buried the curved red saber directly into Anakin's chest, or now, into Obi-Wan's green one but things often do not travel their expected path and it instead sailed on to the left and severed most of his master's forearm. 

No, at first Anakin had wished he had been the one to lose his arm because Obi-Wan Kenobi was not the kind of man to whom a mechanical limb was conducive. To start he was not all that capable with mechanics, and was absolutely hopeless with electrical engineering. Second he seemed too…human? Too…natural? Anakin could not place a finger on it but neither his master's demeanor nor the soft grace of his soresu saber style seemed to align with having a cybernetic hand. 

However nowadays it served quite well to tie Obi-Wan to him. Anakin needed to service the arm at least every four months (which really isn't asking much if he may say so himself) and in reality much more often as it seemed to be damaged frequently with the rising intensity of the war. The complex wiring and special build he had put in place to prevent anyone tampering with a Jedi High General's primary saber wielding appendage, made it nearly impossible for anyone else to perform any type of upkeep on it. There was more to it than that though. Something about seeing the harsh black mechano limb under the soft beige gauze of Obi-Wan's robes seemed to connect them. To bridge the gap between a serene light filled garden on Coruscant and a brutal storm on Sedesia, drawn in unnaturally by the high gravity, gripping the planet's surface and tearing out the dirt and plants to hide them away in space. Or at least it made them look a bit more like they even belonged on the same Republic Cruiser. 

Time went on  and so did the war, his master had long become comfortable with the arm, given the constant necessity for action there was really no choice. Rex had informed him a few days ago aboard a Venator that a transmission from Cody detailed Obi-Wan's newest damage to his prosthetic and Anakin had been restless ever since awaiting news of their return. At first he had his own mission to busy himself with but after returning to the temple yesterday the nerves began to surface again. 

Nonetheless Obi-Wan should be arriving back soon enough, Anakin had felt him reenter the same sector of space recently and he decided he should actually wash up today. He stepped into the sanisteam and considered maybe he'd even give snips the day off, there was hardly a point in training since they'd be deployed again in less than two days.

Yeah maybe today would be a good day for once.

Ashoka had assured a disheveled, grimey, and exhausted master Kenobi that if her master was actually taking his once monthly shower there was no need to wait on him to treat the shorn open finger joint. She could handle it and he'd be off to bed in no time, however barely into popping open the top panel to connect the diagnostic tool the sounds of steam vents shut off and her master came leaning out of his room in record time, robes tied sloppily and hair still askew. The expression on his face could only be described as absolutely scandalized as he stared at her. She fiddled with the code reader and Obi-Wan continued his lackadaisical commentary on their latest mission. 

She continued the ruse of swapping stories with her grandmaster when in reality she could only feel the burning stare of her master deciding whether she was capable enough to do the work at hand. Or on hand. On the hand? Either way the scrutiny was burdensome and eventually Obi-Wan coughed mid sentence apparently having reached the limit of ignoring his troublesome Padawan.

"Really Anakin are you going to stand there and stare at her all morning or did you intend to come out and join us at some point?" Anakin's head whipped to the side as if he had been so solely focused on Obi-Wan's arm he had forgotten the man himself was there watching him lean out of his quarters, poorly dressed and ogling. Anakin ducked back into his room shamefaced and emerged again a few minutes later, robes straightened, and unruly waves combed. 

After giving a curt good morning to them both he proceeded to storm out the door without awaiting further interaction. Ashoka shrugged and supplied "We must be out of caf. Master is always in a bad mood without his morning caf."

Obi-Wan seemed placated by this and snorted in shared humor. "Indeed. It seems he hasn't changed in that respect." 

As the Torgrutan got into actual repairs she began to notice a rather unnecessary amount of gold plating within the actual arm, she looked at the black durasteel and its gold accent rings in question and couldn't resist the urge to ask 

"Master Kenobi aren't your robes brown? I know once the war started you started wearing the same black body glove as your troopers under your armor but you don't even wear any other black, did you choose this colour? Surely you could have gotten tan or even skin coloured durasteel?"

Obi-wan just flashed her with a light laugh tilting his head in curiosity like he had never even considered this.

"Only you would deign to consider fashion choices in a war little Padawan. I hardly think it's important, but after we returned to Corusant from the battle on Genosis, Anakin told the Meddroids that he would take care of securing me an appropriate prosthetic for a Jedi. Lord knows where he found it but it works quite well, I don't see why the colour would be an issue."

Ashoka stared into the many tightly bunched groups of minute wires then braided together into larger cords, not only a sign of her master's handiwork but a sign it was a project of interest or a craft of care and not yet another downed fighter's electrical system fixed on the fly in some ungodly weather system of yet another nameless outer-rim hellscape. Her eyes finally focused on the spot she had been oh-so carefully avoiding with her screwdriver,  the unique lithographic design that had to be required to print the one of a kind chip serving as a central processor for the hand. As expected at this point, she also found the small, so so small, miniscule spiky huttese A.S. adorning the corner of the chip. The same A.S. she had seen inside C3-P0, R2-D2, various gadgets and the internal kyber crystal housing of her own first lightsaber. She had asked about it one day while she maintenanced artooie, not knowing huttese or why the strange markings on his main two processors matched the inside of her saber.

"Well snips the housing of a light saber is pretty simple but I designed it myself, and I signed it as uhh...I guess a gesture."

A show of affection was left unspoken, this conversation had taken place before they had both slowly began noticing their own individual crawls past the line of Jedi ordership and into the the soggy swamp of confused human with handfuls of friends, a thing strictly forbidden for them. They left that unspoken too though.

"And the signature inside R2?" She had asked, intrigue overwriting the warm but awkward turn of the conversation.

Anakin chuckled in response, "Well I sure do appreciate R2 but no that's...that's an engineer's signature. Fine work like that gets signed." He touted, rocking back on his heels with a satisfied hum.

Ashoka rolled her eyes and went back to tightening tiny oil slick screws, curosity sated.

Now she looked down into the arm's delicately designed inner working and thought this signature probably covered both. And maybe some other third thing if she was foolish enough to stop and consider the implications of her master signing the inside of another living being's arm.

Obi-Wan noticed her long pause and vacant gaze and cleared his throat in concern.

"Uhm, I know all of Anakin's tinkering in there seems to have made it nearly unserviceable by anyone else. If you're not comfortable I can simply wait until he returns."

Ashoka was pulled out of her pondering with a start. "What? Oh no I- Uh well actually that would probably be...." That would probably be for the best she finished in her mind. She should close up this black and gold, hand engraved arm, pretend she was not privvy to her master's design quirks and never lay her fingers or tools on it again. Unfortunately much like Skywalker she loved doing exactly what she shouldn't do.

"That probably won't be necessary. I've seen all my masters strange design choices a hundred times, I can fix you up." Design she said with emphasis. Not just wiring, not just alterations, design you blind Jedi.

"Okay then I leave myself in your capable hands Padawan Tano." Obi-Wan said this with a puckish smile like they were playing a game of dejarik she was about to win not flaying opened his prosthetic arm.

She shook her montrals and set about the slow work of divesting the exposed length of arm of the hundreds of wires blocking her path higher until she could safely remove the outer casing of the hand. 

Obi-Wan squirmed as she individually disconnected wire after wire, not daring to risk disturbing her master's painstaking work by pulling out an entire bundle at once. A bit of discomfort seemed reasonable, the power could not simply be switched off for safety reasons but she had started with the bundle that would disconnect the arm's reception of impulses from Obi-Wan's remaining flesh limb and in turn sever feedback to her grandmaster's nervous system. As she began on the next bundle, Obi-Wan continued fidgeting, leg bumping and shoulders twitching despite the lack of sensory feedback as she worked.

"Uncomfortable master Kenobi?" She inquired suppressing a grin.

"No!" Obi-Wan responded quickly, eyes jerking up from his arm, seemingly unaware he was fidgeting in the first place. "It's just I suppose I never thought about it but I've never really been paying attention while someone works on my arm." 

Ashoka lifted a dubious eyebrow as he went on, now wearing an expression certainly closer to embarrassment than any she had seen on him before. "It seems everytime Anakin has serviced it we are either aboard a GAR ship or inside some makeshift tent shelter and I'm either too busy with battle plans or speaking with our troops to take notice of my arm. Or…." Obi-Wan faltered now looking into his cup of tea and down at his robes still dirty from his most recent mission because commander Cody had insisted that he needed to get his arm fixed before taking rest. He had failed to mention that this implied Obi-Wan could not shower and change because they both knew he would fall asleep the minute he was clean but had wordlessly accompanied him through the temple, past the call of his own refresher equipped with a real shower (no sanisteam thank you) and taken his leave with a parting salute only when he was sure someone would be looking after his general.

Ashoka waited until her patience gave way and prompted him on, "Oooor?" she was finished disconnecting and parting all the wires at this point and was too focused on the intricate, blind work of seeking out all the internal latches that would remove the hand casing to give notice to Obi-Wan's tight lipped uncomfortable expression 

"Or, I…I fall asleep." Ashoka looked up attempting to process then immediately resettled her efforts on attempting not to laugh. 

"Every time. Like without fail? You're either riding a battle high or passed out on the table while Skyguy sticks tools in your arm?" Ashoka tried her best to keep from chortling but her wording betrayed her amusement quite clearly regardless.

Ever patient, Obi-Wan simply shrugged his unfettered shoulder and smiled sheepishly,

"I suppose I really am an old man as you two insist. I must find any engineering beyond servicing the fleet fighters on missions so foreign it truly puts me to sleep."

Ashoka's head swam in disbelief as she prodded the first of six internal clips. More like you're being force suggested to sleep! She decided against sharing this rather unnerving deduction and settled on mumbling, "Master you have Crys work on the ships when me and Anakin aren't around." 

Obi-Wan gave a warm rich laugh and shifted into a more comfortable position to watch her work, chin propped on his other arm peering down at her poking and praying, still twitching occasionally despite the lack of sensation.

The door slid open with a whoosh of air and Anakin entered looking as stormy as when he left. Obi-Wan tilted his head up and flashed him a smile before looking back down to the sight of his now uncased hand, one finger separated and lying on the table as Ashoka replaced the joints. 

Her master bustled into the small cooking space of the main living area and began preparing a cup of caf and a cup of tea. So, not out then.

While her master seemed content to silently stifle them all with his brooding force signature Ashoka was ready to show him exactly why she had forged on in this endeavor despite invoking her master's ire.

"You know master, this is some truly lovely and unique craftsmanship." Ashoka spoke loudly enough he could not pretend not to hear her without looking up. Anakin stilled in the kitchenette, the clinking of his spoon now stilled.

"It's a shame master Kenobi is never awake to admire it. Especially since so much of it was especially handmade." Ashoka went on, smirking to herself as she felt her master's force signature first contort then disappear entirely, hidden the moment it wasn't being purposely projected. 

Obi-Wan tilted his head in curiosity, looking up at the brooding man child in a few feet away.

"It's not…it's not all that special, just some alterations on the tried and true designs. Not really Obi-Wan's area of interest is it?" This was probably stated with enough humility to make Obi-Wan suspicious alone but he accepted it with a hum and Ashoka assumed he was probably too tired from a long deployment to probe deeper into the line of questioning.

Anakin's voice in her head came in a hissing rasp,

"We will speak about this later padawan, stop trying to scare Obi-Wan over his prosthetic before he gets rest."

At the same time Obi-Wan's rich level timbre reached her ears from the outside,

"Well whatever alterations you did they work wonderfully so I'm very grateful to you Anakin, I don't-" Obi-Wan's voice was cut off with a yawn before he shook his head to clear it, "Oh excuse me, haven't had a good night's rest in days." 

Ashoka answered both at once using full focus to gather all the parts she needed to go weld, answer her master through their training bond, and answer Obi-Wan.

"I hardly think general Kenobi is the one I'm scaring master." 

"That's okay master I'll be done soon I just need to go weld these finger pieces back together, we've got the tools lying about somewhere but I don't want to burn the table." 

Anakin stepped over and snatched the twisted handkerchief of parts out of her hands. "That's alright snips, I've got a micro torch I'll fix it." He walked into his room only to return with a metal plate and torch and set about the repairs without waiting for anyone in the room to respond.

Obi-Wan shook his head and leaned conspiratorially in towards Ashoka, "To tell you the truth I think he's just possessive of his handiwork. He was like that with the speeders he used to build too. Doesn't like anyone else working on them."  

Ashoka put a hand on her hip and nudged a montral behind her back with a shoulder, "Right. His handiwork." Anakin flashed his eyes up at her but continued working in silence.

Sometimes Ashoka remembers her master is still only a petulant twenty year old.

Gif Credit to: @obiwanobi (Ashoka) @gffa (the other two)

[awakened-human-design]

I WAS A MILLENIAL ON A SPIRITUAL QUEST

How would you like to get started on learning Human Design?

????? what the heck is that ??????

My Story

In December 2017, I was on a call with one of my teachers from the group Trillium Awakening. They asked me for my birthday, time and place of birth, and sent me my Human Design body graph. They talked about how I was a projector, and they were too, how it was a rare type, and that I had a lot of open centers, meaning, I was really open to conditioning from the outside world.

They suggested I check it out and some of its free resources. A small tool too accelerate my spiritual process. Which, by the way, could take up to 7 years.

I *WAS* A 20?Something ON A SPIRITUAL QUEST: 

THE VICTIM STORY

Yikes! This is cool, but heck if I had the time or money for more of that!

I hardly had enough money to pay for our weekly group calls in a women’s circle - that put a price beyond compare - but stretched me, even at the discounted rate they offered.

No one in my family had put money into spiritual or personal development work, while I was knee-deep in the stuff. To be honest, I didn’t really feel like I had a choice.

Doing work on spiritual development was a choice between “This stuff is so expensive. If I do this I won’t have any money and I will die” and “This stuff is absolutely what I need at this point in my life and that the world needs to evolve so if I don’t do this…I will also die.”

So? It was, as one of my teacher’s Marc Gafni would call, an erotic double-bind.

I made the choice to go knee-deep in work towards spiritual evolution.

I left the teaching world and I worked in the “gig economy.”

My resume had 5 different education companies.

I worked between 1-40 hours a week, and spent half of it driving.

For months at a time I did what I loved - working with kids - and had no “boss” to call me to the office.

Sounds good, right?

Finally free from educational institutions, I saw how life really worked in people’s homes. I saw the truth of District public and charter schools, and, no matter where I went, I taught kids in the way that felt good to me.

Of course, not everything ended well, and some parents and classroom teachers asked me to *get out* on the first day! But…the recognition of my abilities as a teacher *direct* and *instantaneous.* The progress of the children showed in their creativity.

Let’s get real though about this so-called “gig economy” that promised millennials freedom. No boss meant no W-2. No health insurance. No retirement plan. No coffee breaks. No co-workers.

The road was lonely.

Between driving to tutor or babysit kids at their home, substitute teach at a random school in Maryland, or attend a retreat in New Jersey, I started to feel less like a teacher and more like a truck driver. I took up bad habits that I never imagined as a yogi. I ate protein bars with more sugar than a Snickers and smoked the more the occasional American Spirit that even listening to Adi Da podcasts could not save me from.

I felt sad - but who else could see me but myself?

Some of my friends from my “previous life” no longer spoke to me. I felt ashamed I had left the active lifestyle I once had of biking, walking and yoga, but I knew I could not afford it. I paid for retreats by offering to cook batch meals for the sangha.

I lived in a basement apartment in a house owned by an electronic musician that hosted bands from all over the country. My next door neighbor was an indie musician as well with a great wardrobe and occasional clothing swaps with her New Zealand friends. My closest friend made her own jewelry and tye-die. Two blocks away from the thrift store! So… Major perk - getting to listen to and play music on the reg. and get free, cute clothes. Major downside - working all the time with hardly enough cash to pay the rent to show for my good deeds, and sometimes looking “woke up like this” and other time looking like I hadn’t changed out of my pajamas.

OKAY…SO WHAT IS THIS HUMAN DESIGN STUFF AND HOW DID YOU LEARN IT

Okay, cool. So back to the start of the story. My teacher gave me a tool and I don’t think I looked at it for two years.

But then …. the covid, the lockdowns, the confinement , and suddenly we all had no where to go, everywhere to be (on Zoom) and time, too much of it.

How was I ever going to ‘be’ someBODY?

I won’t go into the depth of “the lockdown” story because at this point, we all have one.

But lockdown story did not produce the kind of “free time” that one might really hope for, unless, of course, you enjoy “free time” like a character from a Albert Camus novel.

Coincidantalment**, I spent the entire time of “confinement” in two foreign

No exit. Like - am I ever going to get out of this? Am I ever going to escape this like square box my form is trapped inside of, speaking to people in a language no one understands?

Okay. I am going to revisit this Human Design stuff. I am going to learn a language that describes the programming of the human body.

No, this isn’t some weird genetic altering stuff. Au, the contrarie!

A system of empowerment that came along at the right time.

When we are, as David A Temple puts it posed between utopia and dystopia. We are getting the call to know ourselves - NOW - in a progressively globalizing and demanding world. And not just globalizing in terms of “oh maybe this bag of chips I’m eating right now came from a Uyghur death camp and perhaps its made of sawdust.” Okay…maybe that too…but really…Globalizing in terms of the planet - the “PLAN-(N)ET” - has a plan to catch us and we best follow her word…or…else.

TO POPPY-SEED QUEEN CURING HER ADDICTIONS: A HEROINE’S JOURNEY

So I spent…every day of French class, every morning, looking at the transits (both astro and HD), recording my dreams, reading my graph, reading the Cross of the day, the Gate, drawing the iChing…taking a university-levelcourse on iChing…ok…maybe there was some magic involved…and many sleepless nights…and…yes…going down to the depths of the bottom of the bottom…the rabbit hole…the worm hole…the brain hole…you name it…its the the “dark night of the soul “ and there ain’t no batman to help you sidekick robin so you better be the hero of your own story and save the day.

I can tell you. I’ve been there. There’s no going back. 

…..*di di di di*** the song of “why do I like Human Design so much” ***do do do do**….

1- TRANSPARENT AND EASY AS F**** TO LEARN

I like Human Design because it is a very transparent system. If you’ve gotten a reading in astrology or tarot, the “method” or “magic” is usually a little hidden from the person receiving the reading. This is more “Teach yourself your Self” and a reader is more like a guide.

Like a contractor explaining the blueprint of a house from the day it was built. You might not of had the tools to build the house - but you get it. The plan is clear.

It’s not like Enneagram or Myers-Briggs where you take a quiz and find out a type, only to have it change again half-way through your life. Those tools of human development are well and good (but are subjective), and you should use those too. But that’s not what this is.

This system starts with the objective.

And then you have to test it out.

2 - the 100% USE FOR 100%…KIDS

This system, for as weird as the origin story may appear, was built by a teacher. It was built for children and the generations to come.

Anyone who has ever been a teacher (*and hopefully left the profession because they KNOW how the conditioning is happening) for kids under 7 can SEE how easily children and manipulated and cohereced into a “not-Self” program.

They are literally “programmed” to not-love themselves! The sh*t people are paying beaucoup bucks for to *fix* them later in life!

So let’s cut that s-t out before it beings. Let’s raise a generation of kids who don’t need to go to therapy when they grow up to un-do all the trauma that came from their conditioning.

And for you - “grown up” let’s help you re-parent your inner child.

(People always told me I needed to do that. I had no idea how, or the privilege, I felt, to do it.)

Let’s help you learn to “be alone” with your “Self” as you already are - whole.

3 - IS THIS A RELIgION?

Okay, let’s talk religion - if you grew up Christian (like “me” yay****) confirmed in the Christian church…yadda yadda…you probably have SOME trauma from that stuff. Don’t really care if you go to church every Sunday, are a flat-out atheist or extreme right..some body has GOT to say it…

Everything you have been brought up believe is not the meaning of the Christ.

With a little toe-dipping into esoteric Christianity…

The current image of “Jesus on the Cross” is no more than a sacrificial lamb that has you totally tricked into thinking you need to “die” (to the empire) in order to be “saved.”

No. You are a unique balance of light and dark. Although these do move in the 4 directions, they do not always look like a perfect “cross.” More on that later. 

BUT The beauty of it …is also that THERE IS a cross. And you can understand it. And you can be and become your own Christ. 

Your own Savior. And take back the power into your own life.

I don’t care if you can name me every book of gospel or if you tell me that Jesus was a historical figure or in fact never lived and is a myth in our imagination. Or if Jesus is coming back down from the heavens tomorrow so repent your sinners or oh shit maybe the world really *IS* on fire and maybe the highest court in the land (the UN) and now has “Inner Development Goals” and realizing that maybe infrastructure is not just made of things. It’s made of people. Who hurt. Who feel. Who laugh. Who cry. And is telling people that maybe they should consider working on themselves. 

In other words: It’s not just the third world world that needs supported. 

I’m not even sure if this has everything or nothing to do with a guy named Zeus with a big white beard who lives in the sky (although, I have had a couple teachers with big white beards that could compete quite fairly with Grandaddy Marx see “The Stoa” for reference)…but I do know this has everything to do with YOU and your unfolding FATE and DESTINY to live a radical life among the stars.

 Yeah…there. I said it. 

I’m prothetlytizing on the sidewalk sweeties and its time to convert.

Burn me for it. It’s okay. 

Joan was a 5/1. She dressed up as a boy.

They canonized her has a saint. 

Let’s see what the rest of us can do. 

OKAY….NOW I’M THE BAD GUY BECAUSE…

This knowledge is not free. So I do charge.

It’s an Interior Science. No one will do it for you.

It takes time. You have to test it out for yourself.

Let me ask you this: If you didn’t have a story before…do you have one now?

Try Human Design. 

My Design - A Poem

I’m a Savior, but not a Saint.

But the crisis is urgent. And the task is real.

There’s a Devil in command, and I’ve trained him to be quiet.

Wearing masks, playing charades, yet we know it’s all a game. 

Yes, it’s all an illusion of MAIA. She’s the goddess. The veil of illusion.

She’s written these words and she’s ended my confusion. 

Her values will break you apart and make you whole again.

Come home, and be your Self. No one else will do it for you. 

————-

 ~*~ b3 @uTh3nTiC ~*~

**Spell check (?) You can send me a French dictionary later

***HD uses Kabbalah, iChing, Western Astrology, and the Chakra system.  

**** For the Americans out there, Labour Day in the rest of the world is May 1st

[ashesandhackles]

Harry and The Dursleys: Examining His Response to his Abusers

This is a musing/rambling, because I have been rereading and I have been noticing shifts in how Harry responds to the Dursleys. It is largely a companion piece that expands the ideas that I touch upon in my meta Deconstructing Harry , and it is to underline how Harry was shaped by surviving and living in an abusive household, one that specifically posits the "golden child vs scapegoat" dynamic in the worst possible way. I have been doing a reread and I have a lot of thoughts!

Finding Safety

Harry's relationship with his abusers is quite understandably, fragmented. He is used to their neglect ("the house held no other sign another boy lived there") and prefers to stay out of their way, and he is used to being the scapegoat to Dudley's golden child. The stark difference in how the Dursleys treat Dudley vs himself contributes to the very little sense of self Harry begins the series with. This, of course, changes when he is removed from their presence and Hogwarts, specifically Ron and Hermione offer him the safety that is required for him to develop beyond his constant survival mode.

What was interesting to me beyond him being used to their neglect is that....at least in the first two books of the series, he wants their attention. He attempts at connection with his abusers ( he tells them about the dream with flying motorbike, he considers waking Dudley up at the hut before his birthday - to annoy him i.e just to have his attention, when Uncle Vernon says "now we know today is an important day" in CoS on Harry's birthday, Harry actually looks up, "hardly daring to believe it").

Why does he do this? Harry has been constantly told - repeatedly consciously and unconsciously that he is a burden on the Dursleys. So he copes - spotting danger ("Harry didn't look it but he was very fast") and evading, not draw attention to himself unless necessary, or trying to maintain a relationship with them in an effort for both need for connection - because they are all he has at the moment and he is a lonely boy, and to try and be safe from complete abandonment.

His abandonment issues inform both his aversion to conflict in personal relationships ( I talk about it in my meta about his relationship with conflict and evolution of his dynamic with Ron and Hermione here) as well as his interesting ambivalence to Ron and Hermione's budding romance in later books ("It wasn't as though he was surprised - but he wasn't sure how he felt about it .. ()...Would he be shut out for good?)

Ease With Violent Contact

There are plenty of implications of physical abuse Harry suffers throughout the series, referred to in the narrative in offhand ways ("You need more than good sense to liase with Uncle. A good sense of when to duck more like" in OOTP, "Long experience had told Harry it is best to stay out of Uncle Vernon's arms reach" in HBP) and we see instances of Vernon threatening him ( Uncle Vernon advanced on him with first raised. "You'll get the stuffing knocked out of you, won't you?" in POA, and his promise to "flay Harry within inch of his life" in beginning chapters of CoS after Dobby crashed the pudding).

We also see Vernon manhandling him (he grabs Harry around the middle and throws him out of the room in PS, he grabs Harry by the throat in beginning chapters of OOTP and Harry magically throws him off). All of this has made Harry remarkably numb to adults manhandling him or being violent with him.

He is not all that shocked about Umbridge and her Blood Quill. In fact, he treats it like a battle of wills:

Harry did not ask when he would be allowed to stop. He did not even check his watch. He knew she was watching him for signs of weakness and he was not going to show any, not even if he had to sit there all night, cutting open his own hand with this quill ... (OOTP)

he was not going to give her the satisfaction of hearing that he had complained about it. (OOTP)

On the opposite side of things, he is not used to being touched to show care and when people do - in the beginning of the series, he is awkward when Hermione hugs him, and he is overwhelmed when Mrs Weasley does at the end of GOF:

He had no memory of ever being hugged like this, as though by a mother. The full weight of everything he had seen that night seemed to fall in upon him as Mrs. Weasley held him to her (.....) until he could hardly bear it, until he was screwing up his face against the howl of misery fighting to get out of him. (GOF)

The first person Harry initiates a hug with is Ginny in HBP, and it is an indication of how comfortable he is with her.

Seeing Threats In His Environment

Harry's way of recognising threats in his environment that he needs to be safe from is - is this person reminding of my abusers?

His immediate response to Draco Malfoy when he first met him in PS is that he reminded him of Dudley, and begins to dislike him. By second meeting, Draco insults Ron, who Harry does like and that sets up the antagonism between them.

Harry also immediately picks upon Snape's dislike of him at the feast itself in Philosopher's Stone (which he reconfirms in next chapter when he sits in Snape's class - "Snape didn't dislike Harry. He hated him"). It is once again, him scoping out threats in the environment. In fact, the Sorting Hat chapter in Philosopher's Stone ends with a dream of all things Harry is associating in his mind as threats: it is both a fun literary device and speaks to Harry's intuition. He sees Draco, Snape and curiously, Quirrel's turban and high cold laugh.

The Flying Motorbike

The flying motorbike is the recurring dream of his escape from Dursleys and the motorbike is both associated with Hagrid and Sirius.

It is a life changing moment for Harry that the moment Hagrid enters (which makes his bullies fearful), he can see Hagrid's eyes are "crinkled into a smile". There are so many associations of Hagrid with warmth and nurture.

He removes the threat of the rifle from Vernon and the negates the feeling of Vernon as a threat and then proceeds to make delicious sausages. He descalates the threat, and then provides for Harry, and it immediately makes an impression.

And then he gives Harry a birthday cake and - first information of his parents, and thereby a sense of identity that is rooted in something good. Harry also discovers within the same book that his parents loved him so much, they died protecting him. This is a radical information for a boy who is used to being neglected and seen as a burden, and ghosts of Lily and James hang over the series. (Harry's larger series wide emotional arc is coming to terms with his parents' death - I talk about it here)

And the second adult, associated with the flying motorbike is Sirius.

After the events of CoS where Dursleys locked up Harry and Ron had to break him out, Harry in the beginning of POA does not seek the attention of Dursleys the way he did in first two books. He is more secure in his place at Hogwarts and his friendship with Ron and Hermione - whereas in the beginning of CoS, he wonders if they had forgotten him.

So, when Harry runs away from the Dursleys, finally rejecting them as any sort of guardians ("I've had enough") - who does he see on the street (the Grim :P) but a guardian who had broken out of prison and swum the North sea to see him and protect him. It is interesting to me that Sirius appears in the narrative right when Harry completely rejects the Dursleys.

I explore why Harry took to Sirius so immediately here: Someone Like A Parent

Other readings for insight into Harry's abuse: Accidental Magic as a Trauma Response by @sybill-the-seer

And Harry's trauma over his parents death: Dementors and Complex Grief by @mrs-stubby-boardman

[seidenbros]

eddie fic where you go on a date somewhere with a big crowd like a concert and maybe like a mosh pit opens up and all the people and music start to become overwhelming and you feel like you’re gonna pass out but eddie’s there to help you ???? with the prompts hey, hey, hey, it's okay... it's okay. you're okay. “ you’re going to be okay. “ hey, look at me… “ “you need to distract me. do something, anything”

Hello my love! I lovelovelove this prompt, especially as someone who doesn't do well with big crowds all the time. That's why I usualy like seated tickets for concerts so that I have my own little space for myself. ANYWAY, I here we go 💚

Requests are open | prompt lists for inspiration | Stranger Things Masterlist

Pairing: Eddie Munson x gn!Reader (If I didn’t miss anything) Word count: 2202 Warning/Tags: angst, hurt/comfort, signs of a panic attack, big crowds, best friends/idiots to lovers (let me know if I missed something)

I've got two tickets to Iron Maiden, baby Come with me Friday, don't say maybe I'm just a teenage dirtbag baby like you

“Are you serious?” Eyes wide, you asked your best friend who held up the tickets in front of your face.

“Absolutely. My uncle managed to get them from a co-worker.” Oh, Eddie had tried to get his hands on these tickets, but he hadn’t had any luck. Wayne on the other hand, had mentioned it to a co-worker who wasn’t able to go in the end, so they were Eddie’s now. “You’re coming with me.”

“You sure you don’t want to ask anyone else? Some girl you want to impress?” You asked with a wiggle of your brows, trying to swallow the jealousy that was bubbling up. You’d realised it a couple of weeks ago, that it wasn’t just friendship anymore, but so much more. Still, you’d kept quiet about it, tried to be happy when Eddie had a date, because you wanted him to be happy. But you got more and more jealous every time you talked about someone else.

“Why would I ask anyone else?” Eddie cocked his head to the side, studying you for a moment. “If you don’t want to go, though…” He made a move to turn around, but started laughing, when you snatched the tickets from his hand.

“NO! I want to go.” Of course you did! Iron Maiden with Eddie? What could be better? In addition, this would be your first concert ever, so you were really excited.

“Great, I’ll pick you up on Friday,” Eddie said with a wink, before he got the tickets back and put them away so that they wouldn’t get lost.

—

The rest of the week went by in a blur, and on Friday, you were hardly able to concentrate on anything, because the excitement for the evening took over, as well as the nervousness. You’d spent so much time with Eddie, but this somehow felt different, though you couldn’t really say why.

“Lookin’ good,” he said with a grin, when he picked you up.

“You, too, handsome.” Your usual response, but you meant every word. He really did look good. Well, he did so every day, but he’d put in a little extra effort, you could tell.

On the way to Indianapolis, you turned the music up, singing along, already in the right mood for a concert. Yes, your first concert, but you were just happy that it would be your favourite band that you’d get to see with your best friend in the world.

You had so much fun already on the way there, that you were in a really good mood when Eddie parked the van. It was a warm summer evening, the perfect weather for a concert, but when you saw all the people there, you froze for a moment. Large crowds weren’t exactly your favourite, and sure, you’d known that there would be a lot of people there, but it was a little overwhelming.

“You alright?” Eddie asked, taking out the tickets, so that he could show them at the entrance.

“Yeah… Just didn’t think about how many people would really be here.”

“Ah shit, forgot that it’s your first concert.” Eddie scratched the back of his neck, before he took your hand in his to lead the way. “It can be a little overwhelming, so just let me know if you need anything, okay?” He gave your hand a squeeze, not letting go of you. “You’ll be safe with me.” He said it with a wink that made your heart beat faster, but not because of the situation you found yourself in, it was just because of Eddie. You knew that you were safe in his presence, and you weren’t scared of the people themselves, just that it could be a little too much.

It was packed, but with Eddie by your side, you were alright. Whenever you thought it was becoming a little too much, Eddie squeezed your hand, never letting go of it. The support act was already great, but when Iron Maiden came on the stage, everybody lost it - and so did you. You pretty much clung to Eddie’s arm, who looked at you with a warm smile. Yes, he’d been looking forward to the concert, but he enjoyed your face lighting up like this even more than he enjoyed the concert itself. He wanted to see you happy, make you happy with this concert, and it sure looked like he’d achieved that.

The first thirty minutes of the concert were simply perfect. You both sang along with the band and the crowd, but then things took a turn for the worst - at least for you. While everyone was ecstatic about the mosh pit opening up, you found yourself suddenly squished between people you’d never met, but what made that even worse, was that you lost Eddie. Your hands were ripped apart, your body moved by other people, and all of a sudden, you were along the inside of the mosh pit. Eyes wide in shock, you didn’t really know what to do, and your legs didn’t work. You stood there, having other people shoved at you.

You could hear your own blood rush through your body, your head, felt your fingers start to tingle and your vision blur, which made it even harder for you to move. Knowing that you had to get away but not being able to walk out of this situation made it even worse. Your breathing got faster, more shallow, and you knew that you’d pass out any second.

That was when Eddie found you, quickly grabbed your hands and pulled you to the side, as far away from the crowd as possible.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay… it’s okay. You’re okay.” He tried his best to get your attention. Glassy eyes landed on him, but you weren’t really able to focus on him. You were aware that he was there, which got you to calm down a little bit, but not enough.

“You’re going to be okay!” By now, Eddie wasn’t sure whether he tried to convince you or himself of that. Probably both. When he saw your gaze dropping down again, he cupped your cheeks to raise your head. “Hey, look at me…”

Panic was now rising in him as well. Eddie’s touch on your cheeks helped, and you began to focus on him again. Still, all the sounds around you, the people close to you, that was still too much. You needed something else to focus on, so that you could blend everything else out.

“You need to distract me,” you managed to get out, the weight on your chest was still pressing down, making it harder for you to breathe. “Do something, anything!” Pleading eyes landed on Eddie, desperate for this feeling to go away.

Maybe it was the panic that was gripping Eddie as well, or maybe it was the fact that he’d wanted to do this for weeks but hadn’t found the courage to make that step. Maybe, it was the only thing he could think of right now, that would take your mind off things, but he pulled you closer and touched his lips to yours. It was a gentle kiss, maybe even a little reserved, but he had no idea how you would react, and he didn’t want to overwhelm you completely.

Was this really happening? Your head was spinning but not from the situation around you, but because Eddie was kissing you. It really made you focus completely on him, and you weren’t even able to hear the music. Instead, you heard your own heartbeat again, but noch in fear this time, no, it was completely different, so good, that you felt your whole body tingle.

After a moment, you relaxed in his arms, melted against him. Your own hands crawled up his chest to his shoulders, holding onto him, because you felt your knees go weak.

When he broke the kiss, but stayed close, you almost whined at the loss of his lips on yours. A smile slowly spread across his lips, as his right thumb brushed across your cheek.

“Is it working?” His voice was just loud enough for you to hear, now that you were aware of the music again.

“Mhm… Need some more distraction.”

Eddie couldn’t help but chuckle at your words. Of course, he was glad that it had helped calm you down, but he was even happier that you’d apparently enjoyed it, wanted to continue kissing him. And who was he to deny you that? He kissed you again, this time more demanding, and your lips opened up beneath his, welcomed his tongue with your own.

If anybody had told Eddie that he’d be kissing his best friend tonight, he would have laughed at them, would have told them how crazy they were, because he’d wished for that to happen, but never thought that you’d feel the same way. But here you were, aming out at an Iron Maiden concert.

When you both parted to draw some air into your lungs, you still kept your eyes closed, focusing on Eddie. On the way he smelled, the way his fingers dug lightly into your waist, keeping you close to him, on his lips that ghosted over your cheek. “Come on, keep your eyes closed if you need, and just follow me.” Eddie waited for you to nod before he took both of your hands in his and started walking out with you. He kept glancing back at you to see if you were still okay, but you trusted him, knew that he’d make sure that you were safe.

“Okay, you can open your eyes now.”

You followed Eddie’s words and looked around. He’d led you out of the building so that you were standing on a patch of grass in the fresh air.

“But… now you’re missing out on the rest of the concert.”

“Nah, not really. Listen closely…” He was quiet and made you listen, and then you heard it. The music was still there, just quietly, like a background noise. “See? We still got music here. Like our own little concert.”

“But that’s not the same,” you protested, not because you wanted to go back inside, since you knew that you’d get a full on panic attack if you did. But you also didn’t want Eddie to miss out on the rest of the concert.

“Maybe not, but we still get to hear them live.” Eddie cocked his head to the side, trying to figure out what was bothering you.

“I just don’t want you to miss out on it, because of me.”

“Listen here, sweetheart…” Eddie sighed softly, bringing your hands up to his face so that he could brush his lips across your knuckles. “I was so set on getting the tickets because of you, to surprise you with them. All of this was more about spending the evening with you than the concert itself.” Yes, he’d wanted to be there with you at your first concert, but most of all, he’d wanted to see that happy look on your face when you saw your favourite band live, and he’d seen it. Sure, it had gone downhill later, but there had been that look of complete euphoria that had made his heart melt for you even more.

“You did?”

“Yes… I’ve seen them live before, so this was more about you, y/n.” Eddie leaned in to kiss the tip of your nose. “I’ve wanted to spent even more time with you alone for weeks, but didn’t want to destroy what we had with a real date or something.” He looked sheepish, and you couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Then we were both too dumb to take that step.”

“Yeah, sure looks like it.”

You both started to laugh. Idiots… Both of you were idiots, as it seemed.

“Come on, let’s enjoy the rest of the concert.” Eddie sat down on the grass, patte the spot right in front of him. With a smile, you followed his orders, leaned back against him. His arms snaked around your middle, pulling you even closer against his chest. One of your hands landed on his thigh, drawing circles with your fingernails, while the other lay on top of his hands. You’d often cuddled while watching movies, but this still felt different.

“Thank you Eddie,” you said after a moment, turning your head so that you could press a kiss to his cheek.

“No need to thank me.” He leaned his head against yours and closed his eyes for a moment. “I’d do it again and again.”

“Good to know. Though I think I’ll have to stay clear of concerts this big for now.”

“We can still go and hang around out here. Cheaper anyway.”

You had to laugh at his words.

“Sounds like a good plan to me for now.” At least until you were able to make it through a concert without being this overwhelmed, though with Eddie by your side to distract you whenever you needed it… you might be able to do that sooner than you thought.

Tag-list: @violetpenguinkris @tellhound @ghosttownwherenoonegoes @spideyanakin-interacts @bellamy-barnes @beepisbeep @snapefiction @hardysbitch @give-em-hellfire

Let me know if you want to be tagged for this series, or Eddie stuff in general 💚 

[quickspinner]

WIP Wednesday 6/29/22

My dumb ass decided to clean out our home office this week while the kids are gone and now I am at war with dust bunnies and they are winning.

This is clearly long overdue since it's become the place we shove stuff when we want it out of the way, which is less than convenient for Mr. Q since he actually works in there several days a week, and with all the back and forth with doctors and insurance we are buried under so much paperwork there was hardly room to walk.

But, even with this ongoing project I am managing to get some writing done...on absolutely none of the things I was planning to work on. I hope you enjoy it anyway.

Luka chuckled and offered her his hand. Slowly Marinette placed hers in it and let him lace their fingers together. “I’m really glad to be here with you now,” he said, and Marinette’s shoulders relaxed.

“Me too,” she whispered, as the lights dimmed, and settled herself back in her seat, Luka’s hand warm and solid around hers.

The movie was just as cheesy and silly as Marinette remembered, and Luka’s whispered asides had Marinette burying her face in his shoulder to muffle her laughter. Fortunately, the theater was not exactly packed, and no one made any effort to shush them. They both doubled over with barely suppressed laughter as Jagged threw himself dramatically into a mudslide down a cliff in the rain after his crocodile co-star, only to land up to his ears in a lake of muddy water at the bottom.

“Back before the age of green screens,” Luka snickered in her ear. “How many times do you think they had to do that take?”

The image of Jagged flinging himself repeatedly into the mud because the first take hadn’t been rock ‘n roll enough sent them both into another fit of giggles.

It struck her suddenly that this was not what she had ever expected out of a first date. There were no flowers or fancy restaurants, and the movie was sweet in its own way but not really romantic. This was…this was fun. Low key. No pressure. Like Luka.

[punemy-spotted]

I Swear it is Sweet

Chapter 1: Swim With Your Sorrows

Pairing: Soft-Dark!Robb Stark x Naiad!Reader

Warnings: Rape/Non-Con Elements; Dub Con, Mild Body Horror; Tessa’s Perpetual Disappointment With Game of Thrones; Absolute Disregard for Canon; Human/Animal Sacrifice; Possessive/Obsessive Characters; Soft-Dark!Robb Stark; Non-Consensual Transformation; It’s Game of Thrones; Absolute Disregard for Westeros Worldbuilding

Chapter Warnings: Body Horror, Old Gods, Ancient Betrayals, Game of Thrones AU, Non-Consensual Transformation, Aggressively Poetic Language, Witchcraft, Overuse of the Other

PLEASE REMEMBER THAT YOUR CONSUMPTION OF MEDIA IS YOUR OWN RESPONSIBILITY AND IF YOU ARE UNCOMFORTABLE WITH THE CONTENT THAT IS BEING PRESENTED, PLEASE DO NOT READ

Chapter Summary: The North may remember, but some things are best left forgotten.

Notes: Sometimes I like to think I know what I’m doing but honestly I don’t. I’m a disaster and a third and here we go, so I can get emotional about Robb Stark and ancient tales. If anyone has seen The Last Unicorn, you might understand where I got the inspiration for this fic from. I’m also aware that this took me approximately eight million years to write so please forgive me for the delay. I appreciate your patience with me as I get back into writing.

Eternal thanks to @brandycranby for her encouragement and patience.

All of my work is 18+ Only, Minors DO NOT INTERACT. I do not consent to my work being posted anywhere besides Tumblr or Ao3 and I post my work there myself. Do not copy, translate, or repost any of my content.

It’s late, when you see him by the riverbank. Too late at night for men of sense to be out near unsteady shores where an errant foot might lead to an uncomfortable end in a shallow pool of slick growth and inescapable mud. The man before you, nervously affixed to the dim moonlight to guide his vision, is seemingly unaware of such conventional wisdom.

You watch him with cautious eyes, gleaming yellow in what little silver filters from above. Like the rest of his people, heart and mind occupied by more mundane fears, he does not notice you. Not at first, not even as he seeks you out.

Dark waters have been your home for longer than you can remember, longer than you have been here in these icy ones. Dim as the night is, the stars and watchful moon above are enough for you, enough to see the things mortal men rarely notice. The silver beam of moonlight a halo around a shadow-painted form, clad warm in furs. The furrow of a brow made heavy with thought, memories of youthful play buried under new responsibility. You know your wolf to be… handsome, even when he was a pup, but those were memories of a tadpole, when others lived to remind you of the ways of men.

Are you here? His voice is as you remember it and different all at once, deepened with age and made innocent with hope, seeking and wishing all at once, as if he’d rather be disappointed and find you not at all, find you a rumor complained about in naught more than a hushed whisper and a cautionary bedtime story.

You could let that be. Could allow him to leave, leave thinking you a nothing, a myth and a dismissal, leave him to tell those who complained about your presence that you were no such thing.

You could.

You could punish him for the forgetting, leave his memories confused with the things your once and only friend left behind in the wake of the growing a princeling must do.

You could.

You lift yourself from the murky waters of your domain instead, enough to be seen even by the likes of him, a spark of gold in silver-iced waters, What do you seek?

It’s his tongue you speak rather than your own, and it surprises him. You know this by the way those fur-clad shoulders rise, rise and turn as if he’s seeking to know if someone else has seen him, seen him coming to dark, fey shores and there… there is no way to tell in the shadowy night, but that hardly stops a cautious wolf from looking around, just to be sure.

You understand, he asks of you next, coming closer to that muddy bank, close enough to slip if he isn’t careful, isn’t sure-footed. Luckily for him, you think, memories long-abandoned do not abandon him.

I have ears, yes. You understand, but his tongue and yours are different, just enough. A voice like a song warning of something ageless and eternal meeting the ever ephemeral gravel of men.

You understand — he repeats himself and you are… rightfully impatient, in your own mind, you already said you did, surely he cannot forget so easily — Will you listen?

There. That plea catches your attention and you pause, thoughts of leaving him fading to your curiosity, I have ears, yes,you repeat yourself, waiting for him to make known his will.

Thank you, so deferential, welcome when so few men remember to do so in the face of the Old Gods and how can you not be encouraged when he is?

The people, these people… they…

They are angry.

Yes, you have forgotten your own manners as you interrupt him, stopping him in his tracks as he stumbles around for the right words, but why should you listen to what you already know? Why let him fumble around the truth when you can spur on the conversation, demand your answers yourself? Have you come to tell me to leave? And if so, where would you go? These waters are not where you belong, true, but where you belong is no longer home.

Darkness obscures his face, makes his expressions impossible to read and yet you know. Guilt, worn in the slump of shoulders which should be straight-backed and stern, bowed by an unjust truth. Your princeling — and perhaps you do consider him yours, because he was once, wasn’t he, so long ago? — carries heavy burdens. The lives of hundreds in the hands of a once-boy just learning to rule, his own father a reluctant king.

But the whispers of the ways of men are thoughts for another time, a time when you can reminisce fondly on the serious-faced boy always parroting the words of those with no respect for the past stretched out behind them.

For now, you listen.

Listen to a guilty wolf, watch as he pleads. Is this a king? A Stark?

Then you know. You must know. If you don’t leave, if they catch you in their nets, they will kill you.

Well, at least he comes out and says it.

There have… always been stories of the spirits in the woods and the waters. Stories of women with voices as sweet as spun sugar, with fanged smiles and wicked claws. Of women who wore dresses of iridescent scales and drew the unwitting traveler into a watery doom.

But that is the thing about stories. Some of them carry truths, and your sun-red scales are strange in these icy lands but they are yours, and this place is the only home you’ve known since you were but a tadpole, too young to understand the rushing current and the circumstances which brought you here. Here, far away from the sun-baked lands you swear you must have known once, or the palaces you only ever heard about on the wind.

You do not belong here and this is your home, all at once, so what do you do? What can you do, save for insist on making your claim? This is my home.

I know that, the man’s voice is boyish for a moment, a desperate memory of a petulant insistence, I know that. But the people here, they don’t… care. I cannot make them care, not when you’re stealing what meager food they grow.

Stealing?

Stealing?!

And how are you to survive, when these people have no concept of deference? The men and women of Winterfell tell stories of the Old Gods and yet here you are, a piece of the Old Gods themselves and where is your tribute, your worship, your shrine you might call home? You take what you need to survive, trout and reeds and…

Lives, on occasion, but defending your home is no crime.

You say none of these things aloud, watching him in disappointed silence instead, watching the way he steps closer, so close to the precipice even as you push yourself back.

Please, he is soft as he kneels, kneels in the mud and reeds, in the snow-caked earth, I don’t want to see you hurt. I cannot stop them for long.

You are not among the ranks of the people he must protect.

Where would I go? This is your home, the only home you have ever known, no matter what stories of Redstone walls and desert oases live in your blood.

You can never go back to where you no longer belong.

Tell me how to help you, asks a prince in need of guidance, desperate and full of hope all at once, as if he might be able to bring you under his protection too, just like the people who demand your blood.

This is my home, is not an answer to his plea, but it is all you can give, This is where I have always been.

I know that. I know, but they are angry. And afraid. I cannot keep them away for forever — to them, you have drawn blood and you must answer for it.

Answer for it?

What crime have you committed, but defend your home?

Where would I go?

Answer that is the unspoken challenge, Find me a home and you will be free.

But therein lies the trouble with challenges — sometimes they can’t be completed, can they? Times like now.

Times like now as you watch your princeling’s shoulders bow again and you see the boy in him, so full of hope as he wasted his youth by the riverbanks with a creature of legend, forgotten by time and war.

Times like now as you sink back into the water, disappear into the dark.

I’ll find a way.

It is a promise.

A promise to save you, or cast you out?

The answer, as it turns out, is somewhere in the between.

He leaves. Leaves with the promise heavy on his lips and your ears, leaves you alone in your stolen grotto, waiting. Waiting for the warning to come down the brook, for the shouts to follow, complete with pitchforks and torches. Waiting, really, to die.

Death… does not come down the riverbend.

What comes instead, two weeks after that moonlit night of promises made and challenges given, is a witching darkness. A witching darkness and an anxious wolf.

He does not come alone. Not this night, another one too late for men of sense to be out. Still, the low starlight is enough, enough for you to see them both. The Young Wolf and the Other.

She may already have gone, he is hopeful, so very hopeful, watching the darkness ahead as if his blindness to you might be proof enough, She may have—

She is here, the Other speaks with a voice like burning trees, tearing at you with every wood-whistling breath.

How can you know, she might—

She is here. Stand aside, the rumble is an Order, cracking branch and snapping earth, a spark whistling through the air as fire lights the night and a gloved hand reveals a lantern to tear you from your shadowed sanctuary.

Hail, Godling, the light shining upon you is inescapable, bearing down on you, hailing you and you are seen.

To be seen is dangerous, to be known is deadly, and here under the all-consuming gaze of the Other, you are both.

Hail, Godling, the being before you wears the shape of a woman wizened by the many injustices of time, hood lowered to let the lantern light expose that face to your suspicious eyes.

Trapped. That is what you are. Trapped, here by muck and reeds receding from whatever ill flame lights the lantern. Bound, at the mercy of a being beyond your very ken, pinned in place and waiting to die, once more.

Those who Know the Old Gods know of you, but even you do not know all of what wanders this world.

It is a dangerous thing, you know, to be seen so easily, and so you do not speak. Nor can you, really, as reeds and vines wind their way around you, hold you still and helpless, bind your tongue before it can curse the creature before you.

Wait! Robb Stark, wolf and cub all at once, surges forward, nearly loses his footing on the muck and grass left behind, throws his hands out in some futile gesture to put a halt to the proceedings you resign yourself to, Swear to me she will come to no harm.

Oh sweet one, what a fool you are.

The Other laughs like a bolt of lightning, searing through the trees around as storm-clouds pool in the electric air around you both, Fool boy, you call me to swear? You tear a Godling from her den and accuse me of harm? Do not do me the insult.

Before you, Robb Stark stands stalwart, hand on the pommel of his blade, I asked you to help me save her, not bind her.

All things come at a cost, Wolf of Winterfell. Someone must pay the price—

I will. Name it.

You get no chance to interject, to stop him, to save him. He makes deals with fey beings beyond you, with the things that can bind and break you and he is so very mortal,a boy in the body of a man amongst things that have watched the rise and fall of empires. Run!

The Other speaks for you, as is its way, to speak for the things Man has forgotten since the advent of the Seven, Hear me well then, Robb Stark of Winterfell, hear me well and hear me true. The price is your destiny, and your family’s too.

He gets no chance to question, not as storm clouds continue their gather, roiling in behind the Other, Blood to blood, let yours be bound, lest the line of Stark be forever drowned. Return the river maid to where she was borne and only then will you have a throne. Do not fail.

And then it strikes.

The air above you tears itself apart just as you are torn asunder, pulled below into the muck and water, blood boiling as it is heated, bones made solid and gills sewn shut, you scream and your lungs burn with unfamiliar liquid, choking you still and somewhere above you Robb Stark howls his agony — You’ll kill her!

It is an eternity. A lifetime. Death would be too much the mercy for the torture of being forged anew, aware of every new nerve in your body until you are released from your bondage and left to find the surface before the little air remaining within you is depleted. Warm hands seek yours, pull you free and wrap you in furs, cradle you close as coldbecomes a sensation you familiarize yourself with very quickly.

You could have killed her!

All things come at a cost, Princeling, the Other reminds, watching you shiver in his arms, You asked me for a miracle and I have given you one — now it is you who must fulfill the rest of the bargain. You hold the last Naiad of Westeros in your arms — do not fail.

And there you are left.

There are stories. Stories of the spirits in the woods and the waters, of women with voices as sweet as spun sugar and scales of iridescent gold. Of fanged smiles and wicked claws and you are none of them now, all blunted nails and supple skin, unprotected from the cold save for the blackfur cloak draped around your shoulders as you kneel in snow and ice, torn from the only home you have ever known.

I’ll find a way, was his promise, as Robb Stark of Winterfell lifts you from the ground.

You are saved. You are cast out.

[dc41896]

Gratuity

✨Pairing✨: mob!Ari LevinsonxBlack Reader

Summary🪄: He stops in your restaurant everyday, and both of you can’t wait.

⚠️: Rude customer, fluff💕

A/N: I really like the mob AU idea from some stories I’ve read here and I’ve always wanted to write my own imagine with that plot and finally had my own idea for a little series I could do with it! I hope you guys like it☺️!

“Looks like your friend is here,” your co-worker, Sherry, smiles playfully nudging your arm a mere seconds before the bell on the door dings of his arrival. Nine o’clock, as usual, sitting at one of the tables in front of the wide window with today’s newspaper to his right and phone in hand typing away at the screen. Today you see he decided to sport your favorite: his navy blue suit paired with a white button down underneath partially opened towards the top that you could see the gold medallion he typically wore. His black shoes shining even under the table from the overhead light hitting them just right.

The few months you’ve seen him come in, he never failed to look anything less than dapper. Then again that was usually the dress code for anyone coming into the restaurant, always well-groomed and flashing their wealth whether physically in the luxury brands and jewelry they wore or sometimes vocally if they were bold and arrogant enough.

That’s where he differed though.

There was always a small sense of intimidation with those you served having and coming from much less, but not with him. He was so down to earth and seemed genuinely interested when asking about your day or your weekend plans. Just being in his presence brought a comfort that you reluctantly had to leave whenever you had to wait on someone else or it was time for one of his meetings.

“Good morning Mr. Levinson. What can I get you?,” you smile, notepad and pen ready for his order. You probably didn’t need it since he tended to order the same thing every morning: coffee, black, with a couple slices of toast and some butter on the side. “What can I say, I like what I like,” he shrugged with a small chuckle when you pointed it out in one of your earlier conversations.

“Good morning, and I thought we talked about you calling me that?,” he smirks looking up from the sports section spread out on the table.

“I know, but I’m supposed to be-,”

“Professional. I understand angel.”

And there was that little nickname making your insides flutter and your body heat from being flustered. It’s also what made Sherry term him as your “friend” passing by last week and hearing the endearing name pass his pink lips.

“I’ll just take coffee today. Can’t stay as long as I used to.”

There’s a small, disappointed pang to your heart that you wouldn’t be able to talk with him like you usually could. Hardly anyone showed up in the morning, mostly coming for lunch and dinner so there were plenty of times he would invite you to sit with him, keeping him company for just a short while before you had to appear as if you were working.

It didn’t take any time for you at all to retrieve one of the coffee pots from the many coffee makers before returning to his table carefully pouring the strong smelling liquid into the white porcelain cup sat on top of the miniature plate.

“Anything else I can get you?”

“No this is perfect, thank you. You always take care of me angel,” he smiles blowing the steam from the cup as the praise hits just enough to have you bashfully biting your lower lip to hide your giggle.

“Y-You’re welcome. Let me know if you need anything mister- I mean Ari.”

“Um excuse me?,” a customer calls snapping his fingers from across the room. “I’ve been here for 10 minutes and haven’t even gotten a water yet.”

“That was a lie,” Ari thought slowly placing his cup down giving the man a once over. He saw him walk in all haughty dripping with self entitlement maybe five minutes ago, yet he has the nerve to get angry. And with you of all people. He wasn’t even sitting in your section, so really the impatient man wasn’t your responsibility. Knowing you though, he wasn’t surprised to watch you walk over apologizing to the undeserving, weak Wall Street minion trying your best to satisfy his needs.

“What else can I get you besides water?”

“No, I don’t want water. Get me a coffee with three creams and one sugar. The good kind not the fake stuff in the packet, along with the chef’s omelette. And try to have it out to me before you close,” the older, bald man orders sliding his menu to the side, completely ignoring your outstretched hand trying to grab it, before answering his phone.

Your quiet, “yes sir,” along with a heavy sigh had Ari boiling at how someone could mistreat such an innocent and sweet person like you just trying to do their job. Plus the annoying man just seemed to talk louder the longer his conversation ran interrupting Ari’s peaceful reading.

A few seconds later, you returned with his coffee prepared just as he requested, and then again with his food smelling just as delicious as it looked.

“About time,” he grumbled before tucking his napkin beneath the collar of his wrinkled shirt and picking up his fork and knife already slicing through the folded egg.

“Let me know if-,”

“What is this?!,” he asks dropping his utensils on the table that ultimately clattered all the way to the black floor. “I didn’t want onions!”

“I’m sorry sir, but you didn’t say-,”

“Can you do anything right?!,” he sighs, “Guess they just hire anybody today.”

“Would you like me to get you another one without them? Or something else?,” you ask doing the best you could to hide your annoyance and frustration.

“No, I want you to sit out front and look pretty,” he sarcastically retorts, “what do you think?”

“Let me get the chef for you,” you reply moving towards the kitchen.

“You do that.”

Ari had seen and heard enough.

———

“Alright, what seems to be the problem?,” the chef, Frank, asks following you out to the dining room floor. To your surprise though, the customer was no longer there, just Ari drinking the last of his coffee before folding his newspaper.

“I thought you said there was a customer mad about his order?”

“Oh that guy? He seemed to change his mind while you were back there,” Ari answers digging in his pocket for his wallet. “Actually started to like onions after the first bite.” Sure enough looking at his plate, it was completely cleaned without a crumb in sight as if he licked those away too.

“Huh, well good for him. No issue after all,” Frank sighs patting your shoulder before returning to his position in front of the stove. You’re still left confused, wondering what made him change his mind after getting so angry over something so minuscule. However not for long as Ari hands you some folded up bills along with his ticket in the black, leather folder. Standing so close and being face to face with his chest, you can smell the deep patchouli mixed with citrus wafting off his clothes that has you suddenly weak feeling as if you need something to lean on.

“S-So um same time tomorrow?,” you nervously chuckle trying to rid the melting feeling from your head and legs.

“Afraid not. I have a full day tomorrow starting at eight, so I can’t stop by,” he answers, noticing the slight dim in your usual glow that makes warmth spread across his whole chest.

“I am having a party for the opening of my office tomorrow night that I’d love for you to come to. You can even bring a friend or friends.”

“Oh, um okay. Yea I think I can make it,” you shyly smile making a soft one spread across his bearded face as well.

“If you can’t or need a ride, just give me a call,” he replies handing you a matte black business card with only his name and number in a simple yet bold, gold font.

“Will do.”

Just as he strides towards the door, thick back muscles perfectly showcased from the tailored suit, your voice calls him back walking up to him holding out the money he left, no longer folded.

“You left $500,” you whisper, “I think this is meant for something else.”

The slightly calloused yet also soft feel of his hands manually closing yours as he leans in next to your ear along with the gentle rub of his beard on your cheek has a short, surprised gasp escaping your lips that you’ll surely be embarrassed about later.

“I know what it was meant for angel,” he answers. Deepened, husky voice vibrating your eardrum with his whisper. Backing away, there’s a smug grin on his face at how shy and flustered he has you. You didn’t see it though, currently unable to meet his eyes as you focused on your breathing and the floor beneath your feet.

“You have a good day Y/N.”

“Thanks. Y-You too Ari.” Leaving you with a small wave, your eyes follow him through the window until he’s no longer in view and you can somewhat regain your normal breathing. You tried to distract yourself with cleaning and getting ready for the impending lunch rush as you pick up his discarded cup carrying it to the other table that once sat the disgruntled customer to collect his plate and cup also.

Something catches your eye though at the top corner of the white, square plate that you know wasn’t there earlier.

Your finger delicately glides along the small crack until the chipped piece gives way leaving a v shaped gap about an inch long in its place. On the table cloth just above the plate was a single red droplet while next to the gap the same red stain seemed to have been spread a bit leaving behind more so of a line. There was no ketchup nor hot sauce on the table that could cause the stain so you couldn’t help but wonder,

“Is this blood?”

Taglist: @fumbling-fanfics @honeychicana @lady-olive-oil @themyscxiras @melinda-january @lovelymari4 @ladydmalfoy @maxcullen @literaturefeen @damnitaa @curlyhairclub @plokyu23 @fullofmelaninsarcasmandepression @nunubug99 @felicity-x0 @ellixthea @jojolu @jnk-812 @brwn-sgr @captainsamwlsn @wildfirecracker @nina-sj @iammyownlover @chaneajoyyy @scoop93535 @secretmysteriousperson

If anybody wants to be tagged, has asked to be tagged but don’t see your name, only want to be tagged for certain people I write for (can be found in masterlist), or no longer wish to be tagged just let me know🤓!

[papipopsicle]

AFTERTASTE PART SEVEN

Pairing: Archie Andrews X Reader

Summary: In which two best friends since childhood test whether sex and friendship can co-exist without causing conflict. Including OC's Flick and Cherry, a bisexual and lesbian in a sapphic relationship who are best friends of Y/N.

Song: Dream Boy by Waterparks

Warnings: swearing

Words: 2.1K

MASTERLIST

feedback is always appreciated

Y/F and Y/M Robins were far from perfect parents. Y/F had the mental age of a toddler at times, and being an estate agent who always has to go the extra mile- he often wasn't home when his wife needed him the most. Y/M, on the other end of things, had been a stay at home mum until Y/N turned 16 last summer, and now she helped with all the administrative work for Mayor McCoy. She was a maternal creature which, coupled with her brilliant sarcasm, made for some explosive conversations. The two met on the first day of university and got married a week after the last.

When Y/M first found out she was pregnant with little Y/S Robins, the two realised they wanted a quiet bubble of a town to raise their children and grow up with them. But it wasn't until their second daughter was about to turn seven until they found their forever home in the quaint town of Riverdale. Ten years passing before their eyes, and the picturesque place didn't seen all that anymore.

Jason Blossom's death had nothing to do with the short gunshot sounding over the waves of Sweetwater River, the noise which woke Y/N from her sweet unmemorable dreams every few nights. The summer days rolled into early August without anyone caring, Y/N spending most of them at Cheryl's side listening intently to her past adventures with her brother. Betty threw herself into an internship at a publication house; Flick and Cherry had volunteered at a summer camp, and Archie was helping his dad out more and more with constructions job.

Although it hadn't been the start to the relationship Y/N had hoped for- the nervous giggles and hand holding, short and sweet kisses on late night walks followed by poetry worthy cuddling. There was a magnificent silver lining as Archie's muscles gained definition, and he suited the sweaty builder look far too well.

[INSTAGRAM]

♡ 602 likes

y/n Humph!

129 Comments | Tagged: cherylbombshell

view comments

♡ 584 likes

Cheryl busy being my own icon

98 Comments | Tagged: y/i/n

view comments

"Earth to my gorgeous queen? Y/N/N?" Cheryl quizzed her friend, who currently resided at the poolside of Thornehill Manor. Her mind was off on a glorious tangent about her rendezvous in the kitchen at two in the morning. Fixing herself a glass of water, when Archie slips his hand into her pyjama shorts, his other around her mouth muffling her needy moans.

The red headed beauty shoved her y/h/c friend playfully, warm skin sweaty under her pale touch. Y/N blinked innocently and sent her an apologetic smile, "What?"

"I asked if you've thought about dating anyone else since Clayton?" The fiery ginger girl enquired with her usual upbeat tone.

Cheryl knew she had a unique quality about her which made it almost impossible for Y/N to lie to her face. The y/h/c girl scrunched up her nose, hiding the smile the idea of Archie Andrews brought to her face. 'Yes. We started off as fuck buddies but never actually fucked. Then I drunkenly asked him to be my boyfriend, now a month later I think we may genuinely work out.'

"Maybe." Y/N bit her bottom lip, listening to her friend's squeal as she squeezed her sun tanned arm.

"I knew it! You have this euphoric glow you only get when someone else makes you climax." The redhead affirmed confidently, watching the Robins girl's eyes bug out before hitting her arm, "Y/N/N, you know your secret's safe with me."

"Fine." She sighed and took a sip of her fruity cocktail, "It started off as just fooling around, honestly I just needed to let off some steam after everything. I knew he was into the kinds of things I was, I mean he used to tease me about it non stop. And it was good, so good I stopped being a pussy and asked him to be my boyfriend."

"Holy freaking hell!" The Blossom girl grinned with excitement, "Dare I ask, who is it?"

Y/N deadpanned at her friend, "Guess."

"Please don't tell me it's that muscular oaf Reggie, he's pretty but there's not exactly much going on upstairs." Cheryl tapped her temples and rolled her eyes at the thought.

"Nope."

The ginger thought for a moment, consulting her liquid courage and splashing her feet around the waters edge, "It's Archie."

All it took was a side-eyed glance at the y/h/c girl's blooming rosy cheeks to know she definitely wasn't wrong. Y/N severely lacked the ability to lie, even if her tone held conviction, her features were far too expressive and told the truth all on their own. It's not like they were hiding it from anyone, but the past four weeks had gone far too quickly without any moments to spare for the world around them. They slept together each night, the majority of that time not actually spent sleeping, but they hadn't been given the chance yet to explore more romantic avenues.

"It's fucking Archie Andrews- you're fucking Archie Andrews and don't you dare deny it." Cheryl gawked in her gorgeous white and nude bikini, watching as her friend lay back against the hot marble slabs which encased the large pool with the largest grin adorning her plump lips.

"We haven't had sex yet, so technically you aren't completely correct." Y/N winked but carried on before the girl exploded with a hundred questions and could never be turned off, "Trust me, I want to, and I'm sure he does too. But you know, it's his first time, I want it to be perfect for him."

"Y/N/N, you really love him, don't you?" Cheryl gagged to begin with, but she found it sweet in truth. She wanted someone to hold, who would hold her right back just as tight for no other reason than needing to.

Y/N sat back up and paddled her feet, "You have no idea, Cher."

Arch 🧡

That new post should be illegal

Tiger 💛

Ooo

I like this reaction

Maybe I should post more

Like this one

Cheryl pushed me in the pool

And I may have had a drink

Or three

Arch 🧡

Well that's sexy

I swear nobody looks good like that how on earth

You're a goddess

But also

How's she holding up?

Tiger 💛

🥺😇

Broken

But she's strong yk

You coming over for dinner?

Arch 🧡

Yeah Y/D invited my dad too

Need me to pick you up from Cheryl's?

Tiger 💛

Awe cute we love a bromance, and it's all good my mommas coming now anyways :))

Hours had elapsed far too fast and soon the summer heat simmered into cool waves of wind brushing over sun kissed skin. Cheryl's arms were clasped around the blonde's shoulders in a tight embrace.

"Thank you so much, Y/N/N, I don't know what I'd do without you!" The Blossom girl professed with sparkling eyes and a brilliant smile.

Y/N beamed up at her, fingers carding through her damp y/h/c hair as she looked over her shoulder to see her mum pulling into the driveway, "You don't need to thank me, Cher, friends look after each other. Message me if you need me, okay?"

Cheryl promised she would and the two teen girls hugged goodbye, with Y/N soon heading home- listening to her mother gossip about Hal and Alice's screaming match last night, Y/N loved her inability to keep her mouth shut sometimes.

"Mom," The y/h/c stopped her mid sentence and received a side eyed glance in response, "I need to tell you something and you're totally not allowed to freak out while you're driving."

Y/M's eyes widened and her grip tightened around the steering wheel, her daughters very rarely confided in her. While she knew her youngest was safe in her promiscuity, neither of Y/M Robins' girls ever shared their secrets so for the most part she took finding out into her own hands.

"Honey," The forty four year old's calm tone was hardly comforting to the teenager, "if this is about you and Archie fooling around, your father and I figured that out a long time ago, like so long ago. Who do you think does your laundry? When your underwear starting looking like dental floss, we caught on pretty quickly."

Y/N felt like a deer in headlights, "Mum, what the hell?" Her cheeks heated to an inhuman temperature.

"It's nothing to be embarrassed about, as long as you're being safe and he's-"

"For the second time today, and I can't believe I'm saying this to you, but I am not having sex with Archie Andrews!" Y/N's high pitched voice sounded through the car. It truly was a blessing and a curse to have such open minded parents in situations like this. She thought about telling her mother the truth, but Y/M was a blabber mouth as well as a gossip, so Y/N chose to withhold certain pieces of information.

The Robins matriarch dropped the subject but didn't forget about her daughter's tone, and continued to ramble on about how odd she found Penelope Blossom and the whole Blossom family in general. "Like why on Earth is Rose in a wooden wheelchair? They know it's the twenty first century, right?"

As expected, the Robins household was once again filled with warm laughter and copious amounts of food. The topic of Jason was skimmed over, and Y/S found herself away from the dinner table. The eldest Robins sibling was currently pleading with Alice as she began shoving all of Polly's belongings in the boot of Hal's car. She couldn't comprehend life without her best friend, not after losing Jason. They were meant to be going travelling together for a year- working the worst jobs and staying up all night to watch the sun rise in different countries. But instead, Y/S's eyes were blinded by tears as she screamed down the street at the speeding car, with Polly Cooper taken out of her life indefinitely.

Y/N was oblivious to the dark inner workings of the Cooper clan, Betty's knowledge about her and Archie unbeknownst to the loved up teens. She'd spent every second not occupied by her internship trying to justify the romantic act as a fleeting moment of loneliness fuelled by alcohol. She wrote in her diary ideas on how she could win Archie back over, not knowing it was in fact, too late. Betty found herself hopelessly in love with the boy next door, unfortunately for her, the girl across the road was the only one his mind found.

Archie and Y/N washed up while their parents resided to the living room with three glasses and a bottle of white wine. The short girl turned the tap off after placing the last utensil on the draining board, flicking her sudsy hands at the boy's face. "What the-"

She didn't give him a chance to finish that thought, jumping up and wrapping her legs around his torso- planting a kiss onto his lips, then cheeks, then forehead. The two fell entranced by each other, planting pecks across nape of her neck and top of his head.

"Son," Fred's voice called out from the next room and the two immediately pulled apart, hearts beating in their ears, "we're going in a minute."

"Alright." He replied, placing his girlfriend on the floor once more.

"I wish you'd stay." Y/N pouted childishly, she meant the words entirely but hated feeling overbearing. Her life had been turned upside down this summer, it started off with her unable to fall asleep with another person next to her- now Archie's chest was her most comfortable pillow and is arms were the warmest blanket.

"Tomorrow night instead, Princess? I promised my dad I'd spend more time with him before senior year." The boy reasoned, holding her close and unknowingly feeling the exact same way, he adored holding her by her waist and pulling her close under the duvet.

"Monopoly night at yours?" She grinned and he nodded back in reply, the two sharing a final kiss in the kitchen before walking into the hallway.

Y/N felt at ease as she wished the two a goodnight and headed up to bed. She took off her tea dress and replaced it with Archie's bulldog t-shirt, managing to reach the same length on her thighs as her dress did.

Arch 🧡

I can still smell your perfume on my sheets

Tiger 💛

Marking my territory obviously x

Arch 🧡

I love it

Hope you sleep well baby x

Tiger 💛

Call me that tomorrow and we won't be sleeping so you better rest up tonight x

Arch 🧡

Whatever you say, baby x

Tiger 💛

Goodnight x

Arch 🧡

Night princess x

part eight?

wanna be tagged? just send in an ask x

[drabbles-mc]

Comfort Zone

Chibs Telford x F!Reader

Request from Anon: Can I have some Chibs? I don’t care how you do it, but I want me some Chibs. But just a happy ending, yo girl loves happy endings ❤️

Warnings: language, alcohol

Word Count: 1.8k

A/N: Two fics in one day because today has been rough and writing is my number one coping mechanism haha. This is my first time writing for Chibs! Writing the accent was new so please extend a little extra grace there lol. Sorry if it’s clunky at all in that regard. But have a nice little dose of fluffy feelings with our Filip xo

SOA Taglist: @masterlistforimagines​ @adela-topaz-caelon​ @garbinge​ @chibsytelford​ @mijop​ @everyhowlmarksthedead​ (If you want to be tagged in future fics don’t hesitate to let me know!)

Chibs was making his way back towards his dorm when he heard someone scuffling around inside. He sighed—the day had been long enough, the last thing he wanted to do was go toe-to-toe with whoever was rummaging through all of his things.

He pulled his gun out from his kutte as he pushed his door open, “Ye got about ten seconds to get the fuck out before I—” he stopped short when he saw you standing by his dresser.

You chuckled, motioning for him to finish his sentence, “Before you what? C’mon, I’m invested in this now.”

Despite his exhaustion he had to chuckle. He shook his head slightly, “Nevermind. What’re you doin’ here, lass? Haven’t you got a home of yer own?”

You laughed as you walked up to him, “Yea but you’re not there.”

The two of you were standing close enough to touch, to hold each other, but you didn’t. It was the same song and dance the two of you had been doing for weeks, now. There was no denying that there was chemistry between the two of you. You’d never made any attempt to hide the fact that you were attracted to him, and he wasn’t exactly a person you would describe as subtle. But despite all of that, neither of you had ever really pushed things to the next level. You couldn’t speak for what was going on inside Chibs’ head, but you knew that he wasn’t someone that you could afford to lose. If playing this game in limbo with him was how you got to have him, then so be it.

“What’s goin’ on, love?” he ran his hand back through his hair.

The smile faded away slightly from your face, “I…I’ve just had a really rough day. And honestly? All I want right now is a drink and someone to cuddle with.”

He laughed, not at your exhaustion or distress, but at the plain and simple honesty of your statement. He’d never been someone who was good at saying no to you. He reached out and pulled you into his chest, wrapping his arms around you in a tight hug.

“Alright then. Sounds like I can help with both those things,” he pulled away and stepped back towards the door, “Let me go grab a bottle.”

You chuckled, “You really expect me to believe that you don’t have at least one stashed in here somewhere?”

He smiled, shaking his head, “Course I do. But if yer looking for a full bottle, you won’t find that here.”

He disappeared out the door and you couldn’t help but to laugh quietly to yourself. You sat down on his bed, curling your toes into the worn-out throw rug that was on the floor beside his bed. Your hands smoothed out the blanket next to you while you waited. You’d popped into his dorm countless times to talk to him. He’d even let you crash a few times if you got too drunk to drive home after a party, not that he would ever share the bed with you. It was the first time the two of you were really sharing the space together this way.

A few minutes later he reappeared in the doorway. He walked in, shaking his head slightly as he shut and locked the door behind himself. You looked at him, head cocked slightly to the side.

“You okay?”

He nodded, “They’re afraid I’m gonna drink myself into oblivion in here,” he lifted the fresh bottle of whiskey to prove his point.

You laughed, “Tell them you were at least sharing?”

He shook his head, “You wouldn’t get a moment’s peace if they knew you were in ‘ere.”

You smiled but didn’t say anything. You knew that he was right, if the guys knew that it was the two of you back here sharing a room and a bottle of whiskey, you’d never hear the end of it. They gave you a hard enough time as it was and nothing had ever even happened between you and Chibs. This might be just enough to make all their heads explode.

He shrugged his kutte off, draping it over the lone chair in his room. He tossed the bottle onto the mattress and you laughed as you picked it up, unscrewing the cap. You were about to press the bottle to your lips when you heard the sound of his belt buckle being undone. You froze, eyes automatically darting over to look at him.

He saw the look on your face and chuckled, “Don’ let me stop you. Drink up.”

You felt your cheeks get hot and you let out a nervous laugh as you took a swig from the bottle. Hopefully it would help to calm your nerves. The other possible side effect was that you were going to lose what little resolve you had left that was keeping you from attempting to climb him like a tree.

He was down to just his t-shirt and boxers as he made his way over to the bed. He stopped just before he reached it, taking a moment to really look at you. His brows furrowed for a moment as he looked you up and down.

“You wearing my shirt?”

You bit at your bottom lip, the heat in your face intensifying with every passing moment, “Um. Yea. Wanted something more comfortable. That alright?”

He chuckled and nodded, “Glad yer so comfortable here,” he sat down on the edge of the bed, “G’won, scoot over. Make some room.”

You laughed as you crawled to the far side of the bed, getting yourself underneath the covers as you did. Chibs slid in beside you and held his arm out, gesturing for you to come and tuck yourself up against his side. You did so gladly, reveling in the way his arm wrapped around your shoulders.

The two of you sat in silence for a few minutes, just passing the bottle back and forth to each other. You felt the steady rise and fall of his chest and it made all of the stress that you had previously been battling with melt away. Every now and then he would lightly run his fingers up and down your arm, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

While he was still holding onto the bottle, you turned so that you were laying more completely onto his chest, one of your arms slung across his stomach. It earned a chuckle from Chibs, who then used the hand not holding the whiskey to lightly massage your temples.

“You gonna tell me what’s going on, love?” he kept his voice quiet.

You sighed, drumming your fingers on his chest as you thought about whether or not you really wanted to get into everything that was bothering you. You didn’t really want to bore him with your work and family drama—you knew that he had enough to worry about with everything that had been going on with the club.

“Just a shitty day,” you looked up at him, “You okay? You usually don’t walk into your dorm swinging your gun around.”

He chuckled before taking another drink from the whiskey bottle. He handed it to you before leaning his head back against the wall behind his bed. “Don’t usually have people goin’ through my shit, either,” he pulled lightly at the sleeve of his shirt that you were wearing, “Thief.”

You laughed, “I guess that’s fair,” you sat upright so that you could take a swig from the bottle, the burn bothering you less and less as the night wore on.

You reached over him so that you could set the bottle on his nightstand. His breath hit your neck as you leaned across him and it almost caused the bottle to slip from your fingers. You tried to keep yourself composed as you leaned back, pulling your legs so that they were tucked up underneath you.

“Somethin’ on yer mind?” there was a hint of a smirk playing at his lips as he asked, and you had the feeling that he knew exactly what was on your mind.

“Why don’t we do this all the time?” you asked.

It wasn’t what he had been expecting you to say. He thought about his response for a moment, “Prob’ly because I’d run out of shirts for you to wear.”

You laughed, giving him a playful shove, “You know what I mean. Wh-why do we always have to pretend that we like each other less than we really do?”

“You tell me, darlin’,” the expression on his face was soft, knowing, “’Cos I’ve seen you backpedal about a dozen times just tonight.”

You wanted to sink into the mattress, hating how well he could read you, “Do you even like me?”

He couldn’t help his laughter, “Nah, can’t stand ye. That’s why I keep lettin’ you come around.”

You playfully slapped his chest, “You know what I mean.”

He rested his hand over yours, fingers tracing along your knuckles, “Course I like you. But I’m too old for games. I’m not lookin’ to convince anyone into anythin’.”

You mulled his words over for a few moments. You weren’t sure if it was the exhaustion, the alcohol, or a mixture of the two that made it so difficult for you to believe what he was telling you. It seemed too easy that he might feel the same way as you.

“So if I kissed you right now, you’d…just…”

He chuckled, eyes crinkling slightly at the edges, “G’won. Find out.”

You were hardly able to believe your own level of confidence as you leaned in and pressed your lips to his. He instantly leaned into you, lips moving perfectly in sync with yours. You could taste the whiskey off his lips and tongue and it was everything that you imagined it would be. His hand came up and cradled the back of your head, keeping you pressed against him.

When you finally pulled away to catch your breath, you could see the smile on Chibs’ face. “See?” his hand slid down to rest on the back of your neck, “Wasn’ so bad, was it?”

“Not bad at all.”

He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to your lips, “Alright then. C’mere,” he reached and shut his bedside lamp off, “you had your drink. Come a little closer so I can give you a proper cuddle fer yer bad day.”

You laughed as he slid down so that he was lying on his side, facing you and waiting for you to do the same thing. You shimmied down farther underneath the covers. His arms wrapped around your waist and pulled you so that your chest was flush against his. Your hands came to rest lightly on either side of his neck, thumbs tracing idly along his jawline. Every few minutes he’d lean in and kiss you—on the lips, on the cheek, on the forehead. He never tried to drag it out. You found yourself settling into him, your legs involuntarily tangling themselves up with his.

“Goodnight,” you mumbled sleepily against his chest.

You felt his chest vibrate with quiet laughter. He pressed a kiss to the edge of your forehead, “Goodnight, love.”