#excuse the horrid lettering...

[hakogyi]

book 7.png

[gtgbabie0]

how do you think a marriage between cregan and a lannister daughter would go?

love ur writing! keep up the good work <33

-Cregan Stark x LannisterWife!Reader

Synopsis: {Your Lord husband seems to be the only one who can calm you}

For my other works my Masterlist is here <3

This is an old request but thank you nonetheless// hope you enjoy my lovelies💕

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You were a comely girl, always have been so it was no surprise that the Lord Stark had taken an interest in you during his time in the Red Keep- in which you were sent by members of your house to try and get your family back into the good books of the people in the court.

A feat you weren’t so successful in, having been turned away by numerous people or called horrid things behind your back sometimes plainly to your face. Every day spent at court was a blow to your pride, and gods did it make you a bitter person.

Cregan Stark found entertainment in your company, through his blunt banter and snarky remarks the way in which you would come back at him with all your might. Before he knew it he was completely infatuated with you and made an offer you simply couldn’t refuse, leaving Kings Landing.

Sometimes you regret ever accepting the damn deal.

“Get any closer and you’ll set that pretty blonde hair of yours on fire.” His rough voice breaks through the silence from his place at the desk where he had been reading through a couple of letters.

You roll your eyes, shuffling closer to the flames that crackle and snap within the hearth just in spite at the sound of his chuckle. He watches you closely, marvelling at how the warm orangey light of the flames splay across your face making your hair glow like fine threads of golden silk.

“Perhaps if it weren’t so cold then I wouldn’t have to sit this close.” You huff, pulling his furs that you had stolen over your shoulders.

“Winterfell is built upon a hot spring, the castle is plenty warm you’re just looking for an excuse to whine.” He says and you can practically hear the smirk that tugs on his handsome face.

You don’t answer him, instead letting silence and the soft sounds of the fireplace overtake your shared bedchambers however your lack of response doesn’t deter Cregan from continuing.

“You should wear something warmer than silks and airy dresses, my sweet.” The words are laced with amusement, he leans forward on his chair, resting his elbows on his knees, searching your unimpressed expression with his dark eyes.

“And wear dull shades greys?… no thank you.” You tell him, not wanting to accept the fact that perhaps there was slight truth to his words, still not meeting his gaze.

“So you’d rather freeze for the sake of what? Fashion? Very smart of you.” He replies sarcastically. “Especially for a Lannister, quite impressive my love.”

Your head snaps over to his direction, glaring up at him with narrowed eyes as he all but smirks back at you. He never failed to rile you up, bringing you to a burning point only to leave you all frustrated or worse— when he touches you in such a reverent way that makes you feel like a goddess, you couldn’t help but completely bend to his will. You swear he takes joy in bruising your pride.

He reaches over, brushing a curl of your hair behind your ear with a tenderness that he’s only ever shown to you and somehow just like that your anger ebbs away like snow underneath a summer's sun.

But you wouldn’t succumb that quickly and so you shrug off his hand, turning back to the fireplace with a small huff and he laughs because he knows- despite your little show- that he has you right where he wants you.

Cregan stands up from his chair, making his way over to a much more comfortable one that sits in front of the grand fireplace— closer to you. Despite how much you both clash at times he loves you, ever so dearly. He had defended you countless times back in Kings Landing and Winterfell, against anyone who dared try to speak poorly upon your name. Not just because of his marriage vows or honour, but because he sees you as you are not the hardened women the years had made of you.

There was a warmth to you, he’d seen it in glimpses. The way you care for his son as if he were your own, how you have your maids bring two cups of tea- one for him and one for you- to sate his sweet tooth.

You push yourself up from the floor, trying to distance yourself from him but he’s quick to catch your hips in his big hands. With a wolfish grin, he tugs you onto his lap and you accept defeat, it was too tiring to fight a man so headstrong.

“I’ll warm you up if you’re still cold.” He mumbles gruffly, wrapping his arms around your waist to hold you tightly against his chest.

The warmth from his study body melts away the tension between your shoulder blades and you can’t help but sigh in contentment, leaning against him as he tugs you impossibly closer to him.

His hands caress the curve of your hips, looking up at you with a lazy smile. “I am still a little cold, I wouldn’t mind.” You reply playfully, trailing your fingertips along his cheek in small patterns.

“Ah, there she is…” Cregan whispers, relishing at the sight of your smile that you try so hard to fight off.

“Yes, yes, marvel whilst you can, it won’t last long.” The words make Cregan chuckle, his hands mapping out the outline of your body, caressing along your ribcage.

“Then I shall marvel with all my heart.” He promises, pressing a kiss against your shoulder, then another to your jaw. The wispy hairs of his beard tickle your skin as he nuzzles against you on purpose.

A pleasured hum escapes you by accident and by the way he smirks against your neck you can tell he’s holding back some sort of snarky comment, instead choosing to savour this moment and the way you lean into his touch.

He takes his time, showering your shoulders in kisses- trailing his lips up to the soft curve of your jaw and pushing the furs that drape over your shoulders off until they’re sitting on the floor leaving you in just a thin silky dress.

“What’s gotten you in such a mood, huh?” Cregan asks, leaning back against the cushioned sofa to really drink in the sight of you perched upon his lap.

You shrug your shoulders, lacing your fingers with his own. “I feel out of place, more so than often.” The words send an ache through his chest, his brows immediately furrowing at the confession.

It wasn’t a new thing for him to hear, however, that never made it any easier. Cregan remembers the first night you arrived in the North, the tears— gods, you were inconsolable. He understood why, the place was far from home and the people were hardened by the cold weather and then there was you… the complete opposite in every way, that’s why he spent all night whispering words of comfort and holding you.

“Silly girl, come here.” He says, coaxing you to lay against his chest and without hesitation, you curl up into him, your head resting on his shoulder as his fingers brush through your silken hair. “I’d have no one else by my side except you, my girl, understand?” He whispers, pressing a kiss against your hairline.

You nod against his shoulder, melting against him with a small sigh. “Mhm, of course, I do.” Your words are muffled against the soft fabric of his tunic, the smell of firewood and leather clinging to him- it was comforting, like home.

Cregan tilts your head upwards slightly, his gaze softening as he admires your face. “Don’t doubt the place you have in my heart… ever.” He tells you with a loving tone, so soft and caring, before leaning down to steal a delicate kiss from your lips.

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[theoddest1]

You ever just know someone is so horrid and manipulative and assume you can't dislike them further, but then you do, and you're just angered and annoyed that someone this repugnant thinks their hot shit for being a controlling spoiled little brat? Yeah, that's me rn.

"Jeapordize"

"Not invited"

The people who volunteered to work on the pilot, who gave it their all and genuinely loved the characters, the cast, the Fandom, and the creator all at one point...treated in such a way. One member, seemingly threatened by Viv, could not participate or take any sort of part in this love letter, or else his job as Striker will be on the line is some of the most manipulative and controlling things Viv has consistently done. But fans will sit here and act like this is normal. It's not normal. Why would his job be on the line for participating in a lovely goodbye? Nothing about this is normal, nor should it be normal. Nothing about any of this is good. It's extremely divisive and horrid.

And her seemingly seemingly cutting ties, ignoring, or not inviting the cast that helped bring the pilot to life to see the opening for the show they've waited so long to become a full on show, and who have helped promote it for years...

The very thought of even REPLACING EVERYONE wouldn't be on my mind (ofc unless there comes complications or a problematic situation or revelation occurs)

Not after all the beautiful work and passion they put into everything.

I couldn't imagine doing this to any group of friends who have been so kind, loyal, and loving towards me and my works. I couldn't imagine not inviting those who helped me get this far to the premiere of the show they helped build along with me. I can't imagine dumping them all after years of commitment to MY ideas nor can I imagine failing to promote and uplift their works after they have done so with mine.

This is low. This is very low. Idc what excuse you throw. This behavior on Vivziepop's part is ludicrous.

EDIT:

Were not initially paid...

[brittle-doughie]

Anticipated Arrival (Golden Cheese Cookie)

Previous part with Dark Cacao Cookie!

You turned off the faucet as you wiped your face with water, but only with so little as not to soften up your dough. You take a deep breath as you look up at the mirror.

You weren’t looking alright. Tired eyes, a bit of sweat here and there as if it was always a little heated whether you go, and the constant..visions that you see out of the corner of your eyes.

A cookie of blue that lets out little laughs that make you turn your head at nothing and silhouettes of a cookie of white within the shadows, doing nothing but…stare, speaking only briefly…

“Ehehe…”

“Set yourself free, cookie…”

“It’s only a matter of time…”

“Let yourself go..and return to Beast-Yeast..”

You shake your head at those voices in your head. You can’t, you didn’t want to. Things have only gotten worse ever since your first visit to that place….as you glance at your forehead and your wrists…

A faint eye on your forehead and specks of flour on your wrists….these things only you can see, invisible to others…always there no matter how hard you tried to remove them…

A knock at your door snapped you out of your thoughts.

“Excuse me, your Majesty. A little bird has come with a message, it says that it was of a urgent matter. Do I say that you are unavailable at the moment?”

A little bird? Oh dear, was it one of the Blueberry Birds?

“No, I’ll be there right away, Blackberry Cookie. Just..gimme a second.”

“Of course, your Majesty.”

———————————————————————

It wasn’t a blueberry bird.

A cheesebird was waiting for you in the throne room, a letter in its beak. Cheesebirds were only native to the Golden Cheese Kingdom, so it could only mean that Golden Cheese Cookie had sent this bird to you.

“Chirp, Y/N Cookie! Your Majesty!”

“You’ve flown quite far to hand me this letter, what is going on at the Golden Cheese Kingdom?”

“Golden Cheez Cookie has asked for your support! She needz help with moving thingz to her Secret Vault! Chirp!”

“This letter seems to be accurate. Is that all there is to it? Just helping her move things to a hidden spot? Nothing…too dire I’m going to guess?”

“Terrible thingz she sayz might happen! She needz your help just in case! Chirp!”

“If that’s all, then I’d be glad to help her. I just need a moment to catch my bearings…”

A part of you wanted to stay, this was too coincidental during the recent rise of the Beast Cookies to be unrelated…you had no intention to go back to that horrid place…

But you can’t just turn away Golden Cheese Cookie if it really was something as simple as that, not after what had befallen her and her kingdom…

You steeled yourself and went to gather your things….

———————————————————————

“Your Majesty, Y/N Cookie has arrived!”

“Have they? Bring them here!”’

You walked in to the main entrance to the pyramid, the cheesebird on your finger. You tell it to fly away now as you turn your attention to Golden Cheese Cookie.

“Golden Cheese Cookie, I’ve gotten your message. What seems to be the pro-oh my goodness!”

“Oh, it’s good to see you again, Y/N Cookie! It’s been a while since you were here, but it’s felt like forever!”

“Oh!”

You barely finished your question before Golden Cheese Cookie rushed at you and held you closely, wings around you two like a makeshift barrier from the outside world. You were kind of expecting that and immediately reciprocated the hug.

“Ehehe, yep! It’s been quite some time, Golden Cheese Cookie. It’s good to see you again too.”

“It’s perfect timing, I’ll need your help to move the last of the soulcheese to the Secret Vault I have prepared!”

“You said it was because grave danger might come to the kingdom. What exactly is this danger? Is it Dark Enchantress Cookie?”

“Not just her, but the Beast Cookies that Pure Vanilla Cookie has told me in his letter.”

Beast Cookies…

You already felt a little lightheaded, you leaned on a pillar for a minute. Golden Cheese Cookie was quick to tend to you.

“Y/N Cookie, are you alright?! You lose your balance there!”

“I-I’m fine. Just a little desert heat making me feel hot, I need to stand in the shade for a bit.”

“Very well, but we must make haste. There’s no telling when and where these Beast Cookies might make their attack!”

“Y/N Cookie…? Y/N Cookie, you’re looking off! Y/N Cookie!”

———————————————————————

You felt like you were back in that cocoon…

Couldn’t move…

Only able to directly face…Mystic Flour Cookie…

“Why do you keep resisting the truth? That all of your efforts to stay away will only bring you closer to us…”

No, it couldn’t be…this had to be a dream…the shaking, the feeling of tiredness, sweating like mad…

Your wrists…the flour on them was very much visible…

“I promise that this is all very real. My marking makes sure that I can have this connection with you…”

“No! Get out of my head!”

“You are only delaying the inevitable, Y/N Cookie. It is completely futile to try and fight it…”

Her voice quiets to a sickening whisper…that smile on her face as it darkens…

“RETURN TO US, Y/N COOKIE.“

———————————————————————

“Y/N Cookie, are you there?!”

You gasped as you wake from your nightmare, standing up from the pillar, looking at your wrists to see the familiar faded marks of flour from Mystic Flour Cookie.

That only you saw….

Golden Cheese looked worried at you, holding you by the shoulders.

“Y-yeah, just..a little tired from last night, hehe. Just needed a little snooze is all..”

“Are you sure that’s all to it? You can tell me if something is troubling you.”

“Y-yeah! I’m good!”

“Please…just..promise me that if you ever feel wrong, you’ll tell me right away!”

“I will, I….promise. Now, what was it about some soulcheese you needed moving?”

“Oh! Yes, I need your help to move the last remaining soulcheese to the Secret Vault! Let us go!”

It pained you not to tell her…but she couldn’t know…

She can’t learn that you’ve been haunted ever since you first stepped on Beast-Yeast.

She’ll be fine if you didn’t tell her just yet.

Right…?

[ofstarsandvibranium]

Precious Truths: Part 7

Fandom: Bridgerton

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x F!Reader

Summary: After your father finds out you’ve been writing under a male pseudonym, he threatens to marry you off to an atrocious man unless you find yourself a husband within a month’s time.

A/N: I will not be taking tags for this series!

Series Masterlist

You're breaking fast with Aunt Eliza as a footman brings in her letters. She lets out an excited yelp as she holds up the latest edition of Lady Whistledown.

You can't help but roll your eyes at the older woman. All of the Ton fall over their feet to read the anonymous author's "news". You're not overly fond of the things she's written about your friends, the Bridgertons, and a majority of the Ton.

You go back to your food, enjoying the fresh fruits that were brought in, "The strawberries are extra sweet today, Aunt Eliza. I think we shoul-"

Aunt Eliza abruptly stands, pressing her hand to her chest. Your brows furrow, "What has she written now?"

"You, dearest, but Benedict as well," you rise out of your seat with haste, rushing to the other side of the dining table and grabbing the latest Whistledown.

Your eyes quickly skim across the words and your heart drops as you read: -perhaps the second eldest never proposed to Miss L/N because he knew he could never provide for her as a second son.

Your jaw clenches as you lower the paper onto the table, "That horrid woman! Benedict is more than just a second son! He's kind, compassionate, charming, he adores his family, he is well-versed in the arts and-"

"Take pause, Y/N," your aunt urges as she places a hand on your shoulder.

You let out a deep breath and look to your aunt, "Do you think it wise if I visit him? I just want to make sure he is well."

Aunt Eliza thins her lips, "To be frank, I do not think it wise. It may jeopardize your marriage with Lord Montclair. You mustn't risk it."

You dejectedly sigh, "Yes, you're right. I suppose I will just write him a letter then." You no longer had an appetite anymore and ask your aunt if you may be excused. Seeing the state of you, she allows it and you immediately go to your room to write to Benedict.

__________________________

"A letter arrived for you, brother," Anthony announces as he steps into the study where Benedict is mindlessly staring out the window.

"Just set it on the table. I shall read it later," Benedict mumbles.

"It's from Y/N," the sound of your name immediately makes his head turn towards his brother.

He approaches Anthony and snatches the envelope out of his hand. He practically tears it open and quickly unfolds the letter:

Ben,

I just read Lady Whistledown. I hope you know that what she says can never be true. You have so much worth and not because you are a Bridgerton. You are a man that spreads kindness and warmth wherever he goes. You have so much love and passion for your family. You also possess an amazing talent in the arts that I have never seen before. Whoever you marry will be lucky to have you as their husband because I have no doubt in my mind that you will do anything and everything to make them happy.

Never mind what that horrible Whistledown has to say. She knows not of who you truly are.

Best,

Y/N

PS. I do miss your company terribly. Perhaps we may meet in our secret spot tonight?

Benedict places the letter on the desk and proceeds to start pacing along the study. Anthony immediately reads the letter and then looks up at his younger brother, "She did not mention about you being disappointed about the engagement. This is a good thing."

Benedict shakes his head, "Or a bad thing. That she does not return my affections and therefore, is ignoring them."

Anthony chooses to ignore his brother's dramatics, "I do hope you choose not to meet with her." Benedict stops his pacing and gives his brother a guilty look.

Anthony pinches the bridge of his nose, "She is engaged to Lord Montclair. If someone sees you-"

"No one will see us. I assure you, brother, when we say it is a secret spot, it truly is a secret spot." she swipes the letter from the desk and folds it back up, slipping it into his chest pocket...right over his heart.

_______________________________

Your day was exhausting. Aunt Eliza allowed you a few hours of solitude, however, she proceeded to drag you out the house to begin planning for your wedding. You spent almost two hours at the modiste picking out fabrics and styles for your trousseau. Your head was hurting and you didn't want to stare at a roll of fabric for the next month.

You also went over what food will be served at the luncheon after your wedding, the colors, etc.

You felt a bit somber as the day went on. You always imagined doing this with your mother when you were younger. It hurt your heart to think about all the things you two never had the chance to do. However, you are grateful for Aunt Eliza. She has stepped up to take up a parental role while your father wasted his days away at the men's club.

At dinner, you started to become nervous. It had been so long since you've spent time in Benedict's company. You knew you couldn't be seen together a lot around the Ton, so in secret was what you had to resort to.

Once you knew that everyone in the house was asleep, you slipped out and crept your way to a small pond that was surrounded by trees and hedges.

You and Benedict found it when you were children after you two pulled a prank on Anthony. It was only you two that knew of the place. All of the overgrown grass and trees deterred people from wanting to go through. But not you and Benedict.

Wrapped in your cloak and you dress from dinner, you weave your way through the overgrown branches and leaves, eventually leading to the pond. Benedict was already there waiting for you and you couldn't stop your heart from beating a little bit faster.

Benedict turns when he hears the leaves and branches breaking under your steps. He gives you that shy yet charming grin that makes many of the women of the Ton swoon...you included.

"Evening," he nods to you.

"Good evening and thank you for meeting me. You didn't have to."

He shrugs, "Might be the only way I get to see you now."

You wince, "I am sorry for pulling away. Surely, you understand, right? I mean," you chuckle, "All of the Ton, Whistledown included, thought we would end up together. If I continued to be in your company, it would have further hurt my chances of finding a husband. And I needed to make haste and-"

"Would it really be all that bad?"

"Would what exactly?"

Benedict shakes his head, "Nevermind."

"Ben," you place a hand on his arm, "Can we just...just pretend like I'm not engaged and be like how we were before this mess happened?"

Part of Benedict wants to say "no", that you two can never go back to how it was because he loves you and he's going to lose you in two week's time. But the other part of him, the part that always yearns for you, that thrives in your presence, the part that reminds him of when he was young and realized that he wanted to be around you forever, that part of him was louder than the former.

"Of course," he replies breathlessly and slips his hand into yours, pulling you towards the old tree where you two made makeshift swings.

You look at the ropes, now aged from time and weather, "Do you think they're safe?"

"I suppose we shall test them out," Benedict says as he goes to the swing that he designated as his, cautiously lowering himself onto the large branch that he used as the seat.

The wood creaks but doesn't snap under his weight. He pushes himself back and swings forward a few times until the branch snaps in two.

You gasp as Benedict falls to the ground with a thud, a surprised expression his face. You two stare at each other for a few seconds and then you burst into laughter.

You continue to laugh as you join him on the ground, "Are you alright?"

"A bruised ego and probably a bruised bum, but otherwise, I'm okay," he looks at you with an embarrassed look, but also a playful smile.

You giggle more, scooting closer to him and resting your head on his shoulder, "Good."

Benedict leans his head against yours, "Thank you for your letter."

"You're welcome. I wanted to see you to talk about it, but my aunt said it wouldn't be wise. Didn't want to potentially give any more reason for Lady Whistledown to write about you."

He shrugs, "It could have been worse."

You two sit in a comfortable silence, listening to the crickets chirp, the fish in the pond occasionally come to the surface and splash water around, and the sound of breathing between you two.

[jamespotterismydaddy]

Broken Betrothals

aemond x reader

A/N: made for a request for dark aemond!

WARNINGS: allusions to threats of murder (he’s just protective that’s all😁)

WORD COUNT: 651 words

You and Aemond had been close all your lives. Officially, you were Helaena’s companion, but everyone knew you were much closer to her brother. That’s why it’s his chambers you venture to when you get the letter from your betrothed, calling off your engagement. Nobody could possibly help you through it like he could. Nobody could make your problems disappear like he could.

“(Y/N)?” He looks confused when you arrive at his door, cheeks tearstained from sobbing. “What has happened?”

“H-He’s called it off…” You breathe out. “Lord Blackwood has rescinded his offer of marriage.”

“Oh, gevie.” (beautiful) “What an awful, cowardly excuse for a man.” He brings you into his arms, stroking his fingers through your hair gently. “Did he tell you why?” Aemond asks, but he knows the answer. Lord Blackwood has broken your engagement because Aemond told him to. Consequences of disobeying his prince were… easy to assume.

“He just said things had changed and that he was no longer in a position to take me as his wife. I just don’t understand what possibly could have happened.”

“Men like that can be incomprehensible. He’s a fool to give up a girl like you.” He says gently. Aemond always knows just what to say to make you feel better.

“I feel like a fool for trusting him and I worry that other suitors will think something is wrong with me. Breaking off an engagement is such an undutiful thing to do. They’ll think he found something out about me… a-and i’ll never find a husband.”

“It’s clear the problem lies with him. I will make sure it’s known.” He holds your face in his hands, wiping away the few tears. “Trust me.”

“There’s nothing truthful to be said that would make people side with me.” You say gently, always the kindhearted girl.

“Then I will fabricate a new truth.” Aemond says with all sincerity. If it pleased you, he would do much more to that man then tell a few white lies.

“That would be unjust.” Your moral compass is a bit of a hindrance to that though.

“What he did to you is unjust. He knows he could have ruined your prospects. He deserves it.” The darkness in your friend's eyes worries you but you know it’s just because he truly cares about you. He only wants to see no wrong done to you.

You settle to please him. “If he starts spewing untruths about me, then I believe it would be fair to say something back. Only as a defence of course.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

“Then I will likely struggle to find a husband anyhow.” You say solemnly.

“I don’t believe there is a man alive who wouldn’t want to marry a sweet flower like you.” Aemond says in a sickeningly saccharine tone. The heat rises to your cheeks at his flirtatious words.

“It hardly matters how sweet I am if they believe me to be a loose woman or some other horrid thing.” You reply.

“Then i’ll marry you.”

“P-Pardon?” You stutter out, hardly believing he just suggested such a thing.

“I’ll make you my bride.” Aemond says with such finality that you can barely do more than gape at him. “I’ll take care of you. If you’d have me.”

“I would of course accept your offer if the need arises but I would never wish to push you into such a thing.”

“I would never feel pressured by such a prospect but if it makes you feel better, then we can agree to only do so if it becomes necessary.” He presents a deal that you can hardly refuse. “Do you accept?”

You think for a few moments. There could be much worse things in life than marrying your best friend.

“I accept.”

A smile comes across the prince’s face. Now, all he has to do is kill… deter all other suitors.

Comment to be added to taglist

[holrye]

A love she can't have

summary: a window into the sacred nights of a small island kingdoms queen and her lover

tags: plot divergence, smut, fluff, light angst, yearning, implied chubby reader (section is tiny)

a/n: ahhhh, so I'm super nervous to post this, lol. Im not the most confident in my writing, and I've been working on the idea for this for so long. tbh I don't know if I like how it turned out. I made so many different versions, and this is the only one that stuck. I hope you guys like it :)

One night, every six or seven months, the estate of this small island kingdom is empty.

No bustling of maids and butlers as they prepare meals and clean. The orange hue of the lights inside are dimmed and the sheer curtains are often drawn.

A tradition, some would call it. Others would say it's strange. What could the young ruler do all to her lonesome up in that immense estate? Does she force her staff to leave for nefarious reasons? What secrets could she be hiding? All fair questions that will go unanswered for as long as you live. 

Privacy as the ruler of a nation is somewhat expected to wane upon your coronation. The kings and queens before you knew this, and were mindful of it. But never has a ruler taken so many precautions as you on these particular nights. These nights were often random to the public as well, the only sign being when the staff are ushered from the large french doors at the estates entrance. 

What could the diligent leader be cooping herself up for?

Oh, if they only knew…

If your people only knew that their queen was hiding a scandalous affair, with a pirate no less. What would people think? They’d say you’d gone insane, and were seduced by some horrid marauder. You’d lose every ounce of power you gained and be left to fend for yourself. Not a thing to your name other than the clothes on your back, they’d raid the estate and denounce you. 

So, these nights are secret. Whispers between you and your midnight guest that never leave the halls of the estate.

Though the guest in question is far less worried about the conspicuousness of your meetings. Not because he lacks care for your reputation, but because some would say he's a bit obtuse. A fool in love with someone he should never associate with.

-

You only become aware of his visits hours before he arrives, leaving you little time to fruitfully convince your entire staff to leave. Though it sounds unchallenging, your estate employs hundreds of people. Gardeners, chefs, handmaids, every task you could do yourself is done for you, mostly at the behest of your late mother who ruled before you. 

There's only so many excuses you can use without sounding suspicious. You want them to spend the night with their families or you’d like the estate to yourself or you had an awful mark on your back you didn’t want anyone to see as you bathed (that last one only made your head maid look at you worried). 

By now, they’d chalked it up to your eccentricity. The queen is just a bit strange. It made you more likable to some, relatable. There was little judgment, at least to your face, though that too was likely because of your rank. You cared little, as long as they were all gone before he blew in. 

He usually arrived just before midnight, his boat tied just off shore. A small cove sat behind your estate, sharp boulders and thick shrubbery concealing it. This is where he hides his vessel, only doing so after it was nearly found the morning after by a gardener. 

You scolded him harshly in your letters through the following months.

You’d wait on your bedroom balcony, watching the bushes. Sitting at the small table, eagerly stirring your cup of tea and waiting. Your feet are bare, cold from the breeze and the stone underfoot. 

The chill of soft trepidation is a feeling you’ve come to know since you met him. An almost nauseous feeling in your stomach, stiff cold limbs, a heavy chest. The months worth of built up suspense that has you on the edge, tempting you to jump.

Only when a hint of tanned skin is seen through the leaves, does your chest tighten. The bush moves again and his body pushes through, nearly falling to the grass. He catches himself before looking up to your balcony.

A smile stretches his freckled cheeks, and his feet are moving again.

You stand, gulping the last drink from your cup before hastily fixing yourself. Crickets and his heavy breaths as he climbs up the balcony are the only noise throughout the garden. It seemingly makes your heart pound faster, anticipation building in your belly. 

With a few more pulls, the man hops over the banister and stands before you. A shallow and shaky breath leaves your nose. Months of letters, declarations of love and yearning built up to this meeting. It always feels like the first time, standing before him in your frilly nightgown. It's embarrassing and euphoric all at once.

“Long time, no see.” His voice is soft, smile apparent as he speaks.

You smile up at him, blush dusting your cheeks.

“Hello, my love.” Your voice is softer than you mean it to be. He moves a step closer, and you notice the small bundle of letters in his hand. They’re addressed to him and the handwriting is your soft cursive. You question his purpose in bringing them, but don’t ask. 

“Have you eaten?” You ask. It’s a silly question now that you think about it, the man is known for his appetite.

He nods, still smiling as he moves closer again. His hand meets your arm, slowly sliding up to lay against your neck. The movement is soft, his thumb caressing your jaw as he looks at you. 

Your arms move to his shoulders, broad and strong. They slip to the back of his neck, dark, wet hair matting to your hand. He smells of salt water and sweat. He likely had to snow to shore due to high tide, which completely engulfed the cove most nights.

His eyes droop, as he presses a hungry kiss to your lips. It has you curling into him, his full hand meeting your hip. His feet start to move you backward, against the cold stone wall behind you. His hand moves from your jaw to the space beside your head, stealing your breath as he kisses you. Your hands twist into his hair, keeping him there until you both break with a gasp. 

He moves his hand to your lower back, pulling you into him again only for you to press a palm to his mouth. His eyebrows twist as he looks at you.

“I have some things inside for you.” You say, cocking your head to the left.

“Of course you do.” He smiles at you again.

-

Your bedroom, a large rounded room with a bed much too big for one, is lit with hundreds of candles. Two bottles of champagne sit unopened on the table in the middle of the room with two glasses sat to the side. An array of cheeses, bread and fruit sit on a plate to the side as well.

The bedspread is soft below you, your eyes glued to the liquid in the flute as you listen to Ace read your writing. Your hand wrapped around his wrist and your head rests against his hip as his voice nearly soothes you to sleep. You want to make a bed out of his tambre and sleep in it forever.

“I fear the selfishness I feel when you aren’t in my company. I cower at the thought of it boiling over and taking hold of me, interfering in my daily work. I yearn so much for the day I can be with you, freely, without the need to veil our flirtation. To think, I rule a nation as a queen. I wield power most only dream of, and yet I feel powerless in your absence. It nearly sickens me.” He pauses, looking at you over the parchment. 

“A kiss would satiate me for the time being. I soft kiss that speaks your tenor and goes by your name. I look forward to when we meet again, my love. May that heavenly time come soon.” He ends it by saying your signature out loud. He folds that paper again, placing it back in its envelope. 

The look on your face is melancholic, thinking back to the sadness you felt writing those letters to him. How much you missed him and what you would’ve done to see him at the time. It's embarrassing, listening to the heart you poured into the paper for him out loud.

He looks at you again, hand moving to the top of your head. He plays with the hair there, the comfortable silence taking the place of his voice.

“Is Edward well? I heard his health started declining again.” You ask, sipping from your glass again.

He nods, smile fading slightly as he speaks again.

“Yeah, the old man shouldn’t work himself as hard as he does. It's catching up to him.” Whitebeard was an acquaintance of your father, often meeting him for peace treaty signings. Even as a pirate, he’d earned your fathers respect.

“Hardworking as ever.” You smile.

He smiles as you sit up, finishing your glass off and setting it upon the bedside table. 

“You're one to talk, your highness.” He chuckles, extending his arm for you to lay against his chest.

“Ruling a kingdom is a lot of work. I do what I have to do. You’d think being a pirate, he’d use more of his free time being…free.” You say. A soft laugh leaves his chest as he nods his head.

“You’d think.” His voice evens out again as he looks down at you.

Your hand moves to cup his cheek, holding it there for a moment. It’s warm. Everything about Ace is. Whether it be his devil fruit or his personality. He warms your heart in a way you’ve never felt before. It makes it harder when you have to watch him leave, his broad form disappearing in the bushes. You’d say goodbye to him with tears in your eyes as he kissed your lips and abandon that warmth until you saw him again.

“You're so beautiful.” You don’t mean to say it out loud, biting your lip when your mouth speaks before you catch yourself. His lips quirk, eyes half-massed as he gazes at you.

“I could say the same about you, sweetheart.” He chuckles.

The room goes quiet again.

He takes your hand in his, pressing your palm to his lips. It's soft and he keeps moving up your arm, to your shoulder. He pauses a moment before looking at you again. 

“Is this okay?” He asks, kissing your shoulder again. A blush brightens your cheeks. You know what he's asking.

With a dry swallow, you nod and he smiles for the millionth time tonight. He climbs on top of you, moving from your collar bone up to your neck. Your hands move to his head, grasping the hair there at the sensation. He kisses the section just below your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

A throaty chuckle falls from him as he starts his descent of your body. A kiss pressed to your collarbone, a kiss to your sternum, a kiss to your belly, it's all too much. His hands meet your hips, bunching the fabric of your dress slightly. He moves down, pressing soft kisses to the middle of your thighs.

“You're so soft.” He says, smiling into your sensitive skin. You sigh, wanting nothing more than for him to ravish you like he’s done so many times before. His hands bunch at the end of your skirt, slowly pulling it up inch by tantalizing inch. It's enough anticipation to make you sick. 

He raises the hem to your hips, your lacy undergarments showing. You sit up as he pulls it off of you, your breasts bouncing as they fall. He kisses your lips again, before laying you down on the bed again. Your knees press together, a familiar warmth swirling through your gut and into your core.

His hands land on your hips, softly squeezing the skin that lightly hangs over your panties. Your breath catches when he kneels at the edge of your bed, looping his fingers into your underwear and slipping them down your thighs.

He exhales loudly, seemingly holding his breath before. He takes your knees over his shoulders, nipping at the fat of your thighs. A long stripe from your inner thigh to your groin has you shaking. His hands move to yours scrunched up in the blankets, lacing your fingers together.

A slow lick to your clit leaves you breathless, eyes shutting as you squeeze his hands. 

“You taste so good.” it's muffled by your skin, but you understand him. He licks you again, softly sucking your clit into his mouth. 

His mouth is so warm and wet, it has you in a euphoric state. This feeling only he can give you, one that you want to feel forever. Making love to Ace felt otherworldly, no matter how many times you did it.

“Ace..ah-” Your voice is caught in your throat, his tongue moving down to your hole.

“Yes, my love?” His tone is mocking, as if demanding you answer him. Your lips are raw, drool dripping from the corner of your mouth as you try to speak.

Words fail you, one of your hands moving from his, to his head. Leverage.

He hums into you, slipping his tongue in and out of you a few times before replacing it with his finger. His mouth moves back to your clit and your seeing stars, the blinding white matching the pace of the growing knot in your stomach.

“Ace-” You sigh as your muscles tense up. Your orgasm hits you in waves, leaving your thighs shaking around his face. He sucks the soft skin around your pussy as you come down, hands moving to your thighs.

“Mm, baby…” He says, his voice hoarse as he moves up to your face. Your skin is sticky, hair sticking to your face and palms sweating. He kisses you, the heady taste of yourself on his tongue. Your hands move to his face, draping your arms around his neck.

With little hesitation, he reaches for the buckle of his shorts, dropping them and climbing on top of you. You lift your legs, wrapping them around his hips. 

“You ready?” He asks, and you nuzzle your nose into his. With a huff, he’s pushing in and the both of you sigh loudly at the contact. His movements start slow, smooth.

His hips meet yours and your eyes go white. His hand rests next to your head, his thrusts making his bicep flex a bit. It makes you drool, pressing a kiss to his wrist as he evens out his pace.

“You feel so good…hah-” His breathing is erratic and his other hand moves to the fold of your knee. Your head falls back, moans leaving you otherwise speechless. It feels so good, you can’t move.

His pace picks up, quickening as both of you approach your highs. Your breathing is stunted and your eyes are clenched shut. Ace moves his face to the crook of your neck, licking a strip up to your chin. Everything is perfect.

“I love you.” You say, looking him in the eyes. You swear you feel his cock throb inside you.

“I love you too, your highness.” He smirks.

With two or three deep thrusts, he’s finishing inside you. You scream, voice breaking when you finally cum again. He thrusts a couple more times, only pulling out when his cock stops throbbing. Your pussy clenches around nothing, his cum dripping out of you onto the pristine sheets. 

He falls into the empty space next to you, wrapping an arm around your waist as you clench your thighs together again. The aftershocks leave you drowsy and you roll in to his chest, drifting to sleep.

-

You don’t wake again until the early morning the next day. Ace is awake, his warm hands brushing through your hair. Your eyes scrunch at the brightening horizon before looking back at him.

“You sleep ok?” He asks.

You nod, kissing his jaw before rising to stretch. He rubs a hand down your back and gets out of bed.

Mornings after he visits are melancholy, knowing the inevitable has come to pass yet again. He’ll leave you for another period of time unknown to him or you. Your letters will be the only form of communication you'll have for months. It’s all a bit too much to bear.

You rise, hugging him from behind as he puts his clothes back on. Freckles decorate his back and shoulders and you want to count every one of them.

Before you know it, you stand looking up at him on your balcony wrapped in a sheet. His kiss is as warm as ever, not wanting to leave. You hold him there for a while, tears nearly forming in your eyes already.

“I’ll see you soon.” You nearly whimper. He wipes your eyes with his thumbs, smiling at you. 

“I’ll keep you in my thoughts, my love.” He smiles and you remember your gift you still have to give him.

“Wait!” You say, scurrying inside and grabbing a small locket off of your vanity. You hand it to him, and he opens it.

“Keep it close to your heart.” You say. The picture inside is of you, and it warms his heart. A smile creases his eyes as kisses you again. He kisses your cheeks and your forehead as the sun starts to show over the horizon.

“I love you.” He says, slowly stepping back and over the banaster. You reach your hands out one last time, cupping his face and kissing him before he climbs down and runs through the garden. 

With one final wave and kiss to his palm, he disappears into the greenery.

-

No one knows why the queen hides herself away certain nights of the year. Maybe shes up to nefarious activities. Maybe she does have secrets. 

Maybe she's just in love with someone she can’t have.

[im-a-wonderling]

Is It Still Punishment if It Was Worth It? ~ George Weasley

Summary: Y/N runs into George Weasley after her detention with Umbridge (aka me finishing a request from ages ago)

Warnings: Umbridge *shudders*

Word count: 2.4k

As I left the atrocious pink office, nothing around me stirred, as if the whole castle was frozen, lying in wait for the dawn. Light streamed through the open doorway, heralding my late release from detention. 

“Off to bed, dear,” said that sugary, poisonous voice behind me. “Don’t let Mr. Filch catch you lingering instead of being safe asleep in your bed.” Was it my imagination, or did the throbbing of the back of my hand pulse in time with her voice? 

I wanted nothing more than to scurry away as fast as my legs would allow, but like any predatory animal, Professor Umbridge could smell fear, so I simply bowed my head as demurely as possible, avoiding her deep-set gaze. “Yes, professor.” I could feel the horrid woman’s toad eyes following me as I walked down the wide staircase, heading for the dungeons. 

The door closed behind me with an ominous thud, and the light disappeared. 

Stopping in my tracks, I immediately turned the corner to a little alcove, slumping next to the window. I stared at the colored glass, depicting a dragon breathing flames up into the sky. My wound gave a particularly violent throb. “Ouch,” I hissed under my breath, staring down at the shiny red letters.

I must obey the rules.

Cradling my aching hand to my chest, I let out a long breath. Every pang seemed to ring through my whole body, and yet, instead of acting as a deterrent, I was all the more resolved in my actions. If Umbridge had forced my brother to write those words and endure this pain, even her title as High Inquisitor would not have saved her from my wrath. 

“Well, that’s a first.”

I jolted. At first, I wondered if it’d been the dragon that spoke—often things at Hogwarts spoke when one might think they shouldn’t. But the dragon didn’t move. I looked around me, just in time to see the tapestry further down the stairs shift, and a red-headed boy came out from behind it.

George Weasley. Certified troublemaker with an un-shuttable gob and downright homemade values, the very personification of Godric Gryffindor’s ideal student. 

“Excuse me?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

George gestured to my hand. “I didn’t know she punished Slytherins too.” He spoke the word without distaste, but with an emphasis all the same.

I just shook my head and left my alcove, heading for the Slytherin common room. There was no point in arguing in Slytherin’s favor; the history in this castle chronicled many a Slytherin who tried and subsequently had to run for the Hospital Wing before a toenail-growing hex grew too painful to walk.

Unfortunately, the redhead sidled into my path. I took several steps back, checking for the location of his wand, prepared to whip out my own before he could cast anything. But his hands were empty, and judging by the way he watched me, his head was regrettably anything but.

“You’re in my way,” I said calmly.

“Malfoy shouldn’t have done that.”

The simple statement made my lungs falter for breath, but I kept my face impassive. “He didn’t have a choice.”

“No, he had a choice.” George’s maddeningly certain tone set my teeth on edge.

I scoffed, walking down the staircase. “You don’t understand, you couldn’t possibly understand what he faces.”

“Oh, yes,” George’s voice grew louder and mocking, following me on my heels, “poor little rich Malfoy, head of the Inquisitor Squad, can’t handle–”

“Sod off.” My gritted teeth added all the threat I wanted, but George wasn’t deterred.

“What a slog it is, having everything one could possibly–”

I whirled around, my hands finding George’s chest to shove him as hard as I could. “You don’t know what it’s like!” I hissed, glaring at him. “You and your brothers just do whatever you fancy at the moment, whatever wicked thing halfway crosses your mind. Well, not all of us have the luxury of doing what we want.”

George looked as serious as I’d ever seen him. “He could’ve spared you this and he didn’t. No true friend would scurry off to Umbridge to report you like that.”

For a moment, I considered starting a row, but Umbridge’s office was still within earshot, and I didn’t want another round of writing with that cursed quill. So I chose not to acknowledge him, walking down the stairs with my head held high, reaching the bottom of the stairs and quickly walking down the corridor, hoping my feet could outrun George’s mouth. But when I looked to my right, there was George, loping alongside me.

“Seriously–”

“Seriously, George, shut it.” I came to a stop, glaring up at him. “What are you even doing here? It’s past curfew.”

“Some of us are taking turns behind the tapestry,” he said easily. “Watching in case any first or second years get turned out of Umbridge’s office with bleeding hands.”

“Oh?” I tossed my head, moving my hair to one side. “And if it were a Slytherin first year, would you have greeted them the way you greeted me?” If my kid brother had been the one walking out of the office, I silently asked, would you have comforted him? 

“Perhaps, but I’m willing to bet that they, unlike you, would accept a hug and a trip to the kitchens for some dessert afterwards.”

My stomach rumbled, and I placed my uninjured hand over it. “Well, I’m no first year, so you can go.” I resumed my furious pace.

George easily kept up. “It wasn’t fair of Malfoy to do that.”

Was it impossible for him to leave well enough alone? “When I want your opinion, I’ll ask for it.”

“Everyone knows you were just protecting your brother.”

I seized the collar of George’s robes, dragging his face down an inch from mine. “Don’t you dare–

“I’m not going to tell,” George said, remarkably calm considering how quickly his position had changed. 

“How am I supposed to trust that?”

“I’m not Malfoy.” 

I considered him for another moment before letting him go. He straightened, smoothing out his robes. “How did you know?” I asked. 

George gave a short laugh. “You’ve never touched a broomstick outside of Flying class, and yet I’m supposed to believe you even have a broomstick to bring into the castle?” He shook his head. “Anyone with eyes knows you’d do anything for your brother, so of course Umbridge is the only one daft enough to fall for your switcheroo.” 

I pondered his words for a moment before turning to walk back to my room. Like before, George kept time beside me. “She shouldn’t have given detention just for having a broomstick.” 

I shook my head. “There are rules.”

“And rules were made to–”

“–be broken?” I rolled my eyes. “Of course. I shouldn’t have expected anything less from a Gryffindor.”

“Says the Slytherin who just got out of detention.” I bit my tongue, trying to stay silent. “You should tell your head of house what Umbridge’s doing, maybe Snape’ll do something about–”

I let out a short laugh. “See, there’s the difference between you and me, George–”

George leapt forward, covering my mouth. Next thing I knew, I was being tugged behind a statue, finally pulled to meet George’s alarmed expression.

This was it. I should’ve known better than to trust a Gryffindor. Now he was going to hex me or curse me or even forgo a wand altogether and use his own two fists. 

Eyes wide, I tried to shove him away, protesting loudly from behind his hand. “Shush!” George said harshly. “Filch!”

I instantly stopped fighting, my heart pounding for a different reason. If George and I were caught by Filch right now, not only would I have another detention with Umbridge, but word would get out. I couldn’t even imagine the trouble I’d be in with my house if they found out I was out at night past curfew with a Gryffindor, and a Weasley at that!

The light of the lantern the caretaker always carried with him after hours grew closer and closer to the statue we crouched behind. George lifted his hand from my mouth, pressing a finger to his lips. I rolled my eyes. As if I didn’t already get the memo. 

“Anyone about, my dear?” Filch’s haughty voice asked. Mrs. Norris meowed back, and I heard the sound of a dark chuckle. "Professor Umbridge might allow us to try our new manacles.”

George and I met eyes. 

He made a stop gesture and then started to creep forward towards Filch. What could he possibly be planning? Filch would see him! 

Then it occurred to me. The noble idiot was about to sacrifice himself so that I would stay undetected. 

Oh no you don’t, I thought, seizing the back of George’s robes, dragging him back. I was not about to owe a Gryffindor anything. I pulled out my wand and a tissue I'd forgotten was there.

Snufflifors, I mouthed. 

The tissue morphed into a white mouse, which immediately scampered down the corridor. Immediately, Mrs. Norris sped after it. 

“My dear!” Filch protested, running after her, the light from his lantern growing farther and farther away until George and I were left alone in the dark. 

“Wow,” George stared in the direction Filch had gone, “that was quite impressive.”

The compliment made my cheeks warm. “Well, some of us jump into things without thinking about the consequences and some of us actually use our brains for more than pranks.” I shoved my wand into my pocket, about to storm down the corridor. 

“So you thought it through beforehand?”

“I didn’t necessarily plan to get caught by–”

“No, you thought through taking the blame for your brother?” 

I stopped short, allowing George to catch up with me. I eyed him warily. Was he fishing for evidence to get my brother in trouble? Or was he fishing for other reasons?  “Of course I did,” I said finally, deciding that my word against George’s was hardly any competition. 

A strange look twinkled in his eyes at that. “You actually thought about getting in trouble?” I didn’t reply. I should’ve known that I wouldn’t need to, because George could easily carry a conversation by himself. “You knew you could lose house points? And Hogsmeade could become off-limits to you? And that you might end up with words scratched into the back of your hand?” 

My silence was the only answer. Truthfully, he was right. I’d thought through all those possibilities. 

I’d earned Slytherin enough points throughout the years that any deduction wouldn’t damage my reputation too badly for anyone not in the Inquisitor Squad, especially under Umbridge’s reign. As for Hogsmeade, the castle itself was large enough to keep me from feeling claustrophobic. And, yes, I even budgeted for the possibility of getting detention with Umbridge; that’s why there was a Soothing potion waiting for me in my room. 

What I hadn’t anticipated was Malfoy being the one to report me. 

So much for being friends. 

George shuffled closer, bringing me to the present with his brown eyes. “You thought through the possibilities, and you still did it?” I nodded, and a grin broke out on his face. “Are you sure you aren’t supposed to be in Gryffindor?”

I made a disgusted sound in the back of my throat. “How dare you,” I said blandly. 

“I’m serious,” he said with a smile that said the opposite. “You’re quite the little risk-taker.” 

“Is it really risk-taking,” I murmured, “if you’re prepared for all the risks?” 

The inner corners of George’s eyebrows turned upward, his smile dimming to a more serious affect. “Was it worth it even though you got caught and punished?” 

“Is it still punishment if it was worth it?” 

His freckled face relaxed at the question, smoothing out until it was without pucker or twinge. “Should there be a rule against it if it’s still worth it?” he murmured.

I brought out my hand, looking down on it so I could once again read the message waiting there. The shiny letters didn’t hold any answers within their crimson hue. “I’m not sure.”

A hand reached out to touch mine, and my breath caught when I saw, on the back of George’s hand, familiar words, written in narrower handwriting.

I must obey the rules.

“Funny,” George said softly. “Regardless of what happened beforehand, we ended up the same.”

I slowly dragged my eyes up to meet his. “Not quite.” I smiled sadly. “I’m apparently friendless.” 

“Not friendless,” George murmured like a promise. “Not if you don’t want to be.”

I studied him, searching for any sign of deception. His locks had darkened over the years. In our first year, they could only be described as flaming, his hair as dangerous as his tendencies, but now they’d tempered into a comforting copper hue. His freckles also faded, though there were still just as many of them. His eyebrows normally promised even more trouble than his mischievous eyes, but now, nothing in his face seemed disingenuous. “Can Slytherins and Gryffindors even be friends?” I asked.

“Is it risk-taking if you’re prepared for all the risks?” George echoed.

I gave a short laugh. “Touchè.”

“Besides,” George said with a smirk, “you could do with friends better than that old tosser.”

I wanted to laugh, truly I did. Or perhaps I wanted to care little enough to be able to laugh. But alas, I cared too much, so I simply shook it off. “I’d better go, before Filch actually finds us.” 

“Fair enough.” George dropped my hand, and I missed the warmth immediately. “See you around, Y/N?”

I took great care to lessen my smile into a smirk. “If you’re lucky,” I replied.

George gave a relaxed salute before walking back the way we’d come, presumably to take up his place behind the tapestry.

I watched him go. Funny, I may not have been a first year, and he may not have taken me to the kitchens for dessert, and yet…I was glad for anyone else who might leave Umbridge’s office when George waited for them behind the tapestry.

-

Read the continuation here!

If you enjoyed this, you might also enjoy my other George fanfic: Seven Years of Bad Luck

Overall tag list:

@thelastpyle @valiantlytransparentwhispers

[dreamerdrop]

Work in Progess Tag Game! :3

Was tagged by @idonotbitemythumbatyou to post some wip sentences or excerpts based on the letters for MUSE, so!

Under a cut because… all but one of these are from WIPs about CSA survivor Julian, oops. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

M - Mere moments ago, he’d been in a beautiful post-orgasm bliss, content to spend the night with Garak curled on top of him, cradling the tactile wonder of his scales in comfort.

Now, he only felt disoriented and cold, like he’d been thrown into a pool of ice water without warning.

“That’s… it’s nothing, it’s… it’s just, I’m not, I definitely do not find him arousing, I just-“ Julian stammered, hands balled into fists as he stared at the ground, fixing his gaze on his own slightly twitching toes against the carpet. He watched the muscles in his feet and tendons flex as he cursed himself for not having prepared an answer to this question.

From a thing about CSA survivor Julian and weird trauma responses that I’m hoping to have finished in a few days maaaaaaybe.

U - “Um, listen, uh… I have to go somewhere now, for work. I… Listen, there’s a school teacher, her name is Mrs O’Brien, she’s very nice, I can take you to her and she can-” he’s cut off suddenly by the little boy making an odd sound, like he’s trying to hold back a wail. It’s distinctly unpleasant and hurts Julian’s ears a little.

From an older thing (i.e. I wrote it in October when I was still on my very first watch of the show) I need to sit down and rewrite entirely, but it’s… also about CSA survivor Julian and weird trauma responses… What a coincidence!

S - Smiling fondly, Garak felt a rush of affection in the way even a holographic Julian couldn’t help getting swept away in the excitement of all the minute details involved in such a bizarre fantasy.

“If you need to stop-“

“Garak, I’m a hologram, if I need to stop, I can literally just stop, I don’t even need a safeword, really,” Julian rolled his eyes.

This one is actually planned to be ridiculously schoompy and fluffy, and for a super specific kink that I don’t normally have excuse to do fluffy things with. >:3

E - Eventually, Julian had accepted his fate, and dug Kukalaka out of the drawer, and wondered if he ever had any chance of being normal to begin with.

This is one is… also from a thing about Julian having CSA trauma and weird responses! What an unexpected twist, that’s totally not a theme in my writing or anything lol.

Going to tag some of my favouritest favourite writers in this fandom, because I love every word they’ve ever crafted: @ectogeo-art & @walkingstackofbooks & @hellostuffedtiger & @the-last-dillpickle <3

(And also because they’re horrid enablers who motivate me to write even more psycholgical horror trauma fic.)

For the word… hmmm, maybe SNAKE? ‘Tis the year for it and all, and I hope the alien reptiles in Star Trek fill you all with endless motivation to create.

[aziraphales-library]

Hello, thank you for the work you put into this blog. It might be a bit early, but are there any S2 fix-it recs yet?

Hi! We have a plentiful #fix-it tag now! Here are some more to add...

you're the victim of your crime by JustNerdyThings (T)

It's a simple decision, really. It's simple in the way things rarely are, in that it's not much of a decision at all. Whatever Aziraphale might stand to gain by staying in Heaven, it cannot possibly compare to what he's already lost down on Earth. So Aziraphale leaves. He miracles up his letter of resignation, pretends to clear out his still-empty desk, and leaves. And he hopes against hope that somehow, someday, Crowley might forgive him.

hungry work by CCs_World (E)

“You must understand,” Aziraphale had whispered. He was on the doorstep of the bookshop, months after his departure, looking in at Crowley — disheveled, both of them. Broken, both of them. Afraid, both of them. Hopeful, both of them. “I understand, Aziraphale,” Crowley had said back. They had stretched out a hand to Aziraphale. “Come on. Let’s think of a plan together.” And they had. Somehow, miraculously, ineffably, a second apocalypse had been averted. Heaven and Hell were cut off. They were free — truly free. And they had all the time in the universe. So, naturally, they left London. OR: After the Second Coming does not Come, Crowley and Aziraphale move to the South Downs. However, living together is difficult when there are over 6000 years of tension between them - tension which must be resolved if they are to have their happily ever after.

Trembling with tenderness by HolRose (T)

When the former demon Crowley is surprised in his Mayfair flat by a visit from his erstwhile boss and their ex-Archangel partner asking for assistance, Crowley has that familiar sinking feeling that something he did in the past has come back to bite him on the arse. When the current Supreme Archangel materialises in his flat shortly afterwards, Crowley knows the time has come for them to really talk at last. Just as soon as they’ve got rid of their visitors, that is. A post Season 2 fix-it fic in which they communicate properly, and Aziraphale demonstrates just how crafty, and also loving, he can be. This is one for those who might like something genuinely soft and romantic after the ending to Season 2.

We'll make Heaven a place on Earth by arabellas_court (E)

Aziraphale unfolded the piece of paper slowly beneath the horrid lighting. He cleared his throat and looked around, the corners of his mouth faltering just a second when he landed on Crowley. He looked down at the paper. “In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth—” “Jesus Christ,” Crowley grumbled. “No, dear, he came later, remember?” ------ Crowley knows his worth. He can't take Aziraphale back immediately after how hurt he's been. And for once, Aziraphale has to work for that forgiveness. Both of them are a mess. Both of them go to therapy—unexpectedly, together. Angst with a happy ending.

Snogging on Heaven's Door by Tetrisbiene (M)

What if Aziraphale actually said, 'Do it again. Please. Right now!'? A Post-Season 2 Fanfic. Aziraphale has to go to Heaven to thwart the Second Coming, and Crowley just can't let him go alone. Follow the pair as they meet old and new faces, go to heavenly meetings, sow mischief, and tempt some angels to fall in love with humanity. May the two find a flat surface to talk things over with each other before this big promotion can tear them apart. This is the story of our ineffable idiots in a roller coaster ride of emotions, heavenly bureaucracy, and stolen kisses against doors. Have some angst, some stupid puns in the chapter titles, and an elevator ride that's basically an excuse for me to write a cheesy alternative ending to help me get over the actual finale.

In the cracks of light, I dreamed of you by sunrisesinthesuburbs (T)

Aziraphale stares back at the Metatron with renewed optimism. “I know where my loyalty stands, Sir,” he starts, even managing a small smile. “And I do not need to prove myself to them. When the Time comes, they will enjoy what I’ve been working on.” He sounds convincing, really. Honest, reliable and responsible. Crowley decides this is a good time to whistle: “Someone’s getting all professional up here.” Aziraphale dares to peep in his direction, hoping to convey with one brief look everything he is thinking about: ‘Shut up, will you? I’m trying to do something here.’ Crowley smirks, of course. He really is so annoying. “Well, Aziraphale, you may not need to prove yourself to them,” the Metatron reaches for something inside his jacket, “but you need to prove yourself to me.” Aziraphale fails Heaven's test (of course), and now he has to fix an even bigger mess. Throw a messy break up and a Second Coming in the mix and, somehow, you get a getaway car and a cottage in the South Downs. A lot can happen in a day. (Post Season 2; my very own attempt at fixing things.)

- Mod D

[talibunny30]

Echoes of Resilience

Chapter Five - Weight in Gold

Nesta has flashbacks and she finally hunts down her unknowing companion for the rescue mission.

I really enjoyed writing this chapter. It really felt like it was what I had originally envisioned for the story, all wrapped into one chapter. I hope you all enjoy it too!

As always, a ginormous thank you to my two darling beta readers @shadowsandlint & @somnolentsoul. This would not be the same without your insights 🖤✨

Read on AO3 here

Chapter begins after the cut

With the birth of Feyre, Nesta noticed a shift in the Archeron home. No one paid it attention or was foolish enough to mention it outright, but she could tell it was as if all the staff held their breath, waiting to see what it would mean now that the children outnumbered their parents.

Nesta was her mother’s to make and wield as she saw fit. Elain was her father’s to spoil. Whose would Feyre be?

Nesta had celebrated her fifth name day the Spring after Feyre’s arrival, and it was then that everything started to change. For one, it was the first time Nesta did not have their mother breathing down her neck in a public setting. She was still recovering from the fright that was Feyre making her way into the world.

This was also the longest it took for their mother to return from the birthing chamber and resume her duties as Lady of the house, or that’s what she heard whispered in the halls as she made her way to her dancing lesson that day. Nesta never thought it possible, but she wished for her mother’s presence at her lessons once again, only if that meant for her grandmother to have someone else to focus her attention on.

“One and two, and one and two. Chin up. Graceful face. No, that is horrid. Nesta, no. Stop, just stop. Useless girl.”

“I apologise, grandmother. I will keep trying.”

“Trying is failing. There is only doing or not doing. What has your mother been teaching you to allow such petty use of words? Trying is not allowed. It is shameful to even suggest that you are not naturally gifted at something. No one need know that you are not. It is only what you show them that they will believe. You will practice in your time between engagements to prove that you have not wasted my efforts in raising you.”

“Thank you, grandmother, for the lesson. I will not let you down.”

“No, you will not.”

Releasing a breath she had not realised she was holding, Nesta curtsied and made her way to the exit of the ballroom. As the tension began to release from Nesta’s shoulders, her grandmother’s voice crept through the room.

“Oh, Nesta, one more thing.”

Nesta could not help it as her heart rate picked up. She turned fully towards her grandmother once again and was faced with a distasteful sight of upturned lips creasing too-loose skin.

“Present your hands.”

Silently making her way back to do as instructed, Nesta began to tremble, knowing what awaited her from the mahogany cane so lovingly held in her grandmother’s hand.

~-~-~-~

The news was delivered to her father just as Nesta sat at the formal dining table, the last to arrive after her needlework lesson, which left her already aching hands feeling stiff and sensitive. Her mother was still notably absent. It was not odd to see letters interrupting what was meant to be a quiet family mealtime. More often than not, the Prince of Merchants would have to excuse himself early, much to her mother’s disdain, in order to see to some all-important this or time-sensitive that. Nesta supposed she would one day understand what it was that her father filled his time with. It must be very special indeed if it meant he had none to spare for her.

While reading the latest missive received, her father stood from his seat at the table and motioned for his footman to fetch his coat. With a wring of his hands, he announced his departure.

“My darlings, I must be off. Be on your best behaviour for your governess. I should not like to hear of any folly while Augusta is resting, and Feyre is growing. Be kind to one another, Nesta.” The only sound in the deafening silence was Elain’s nonsensical mumbling of half-formed words.

Nesta ignored the small hurt, nagging her for attention, felt by her father leaving just as she had arrived. Summoning a courage she knew not to feel, Nesta surged from her seat, her words tumbling over themselves.

“Father, where is it you are going? Perhaps you could make room for me on your travels?”

The rare showing of Nesta’s child-like hope seemed to catch her father off guard. So much so that he paused, contemplating his next words. With a frown and a shake of his head, he lowered himself to Nesta’s height, took her hands, and ended the conversation.

“This world is not suitable for the delicate sensibilities of a young Lady such as yourself, my dear. Do not fret, I will return soon. In the meantime, you have your daily lessons, and your grandmother is here in our stead.”

Nesta nodded in way of her reply and watched as her father left her alone in the very house he was lucky to escape. She could not help the small piece of her heart that hardened towards him. He must know what it was like to be under her grandmother’s singular focus. Perhaps, he believed that was the only way for Nesta to become worthy of his time.

~-~-~-~

For all she could manage, Nesta stood statuesque in the light of the moon, as she waited for the mercenary. The urge to tap her foot or cross her arms, anything to relieve the growing tension in her bones, took all her iron will to stave off. The singular focus of saving Feyre seemed to keep the many other matters that swirled around her mind at bay. This first, those later.

The journey to the wall was a long one, and served the time she would need to diligently pay attention to, and invent solutions for, all that needed resolving once she made it back to the manor house. First on that list was the sham of a betrothal her father had schemed.

“This world is not suitable for the delicate sensibilities of a young Lady -” No. This world was not ready for all that Nesta would become to protect Feyre. If not Nesta, then who? Everyone else thought Feyre was off taking care of an ill aunt who did not exist. Feyre’s only hope of escaping the clutches of that thing was Nesta. She couldn’t help but pity Feyre in that moment. Her only means of rescue was her eldest sister on some ill-gotten escapade. “What a useless endeavour indeed,” Nesta thought.

Shuffling steps brought Nesta out of the web of thoughts she found herself failing to control once again.

“I can’t imagine the kind of idiot you must be to seek me out so publicly. Let’s hear it then. What make of man am I to rescue you from?” The mercenary smirked as she leaned against the wall of what was once a worship hall centuries ago.

“Excuse me? I am not here to be rescued. Nor do I appreciate your insinuation that I could not handle a matter of that kind on my own.” Nesta made sure to look down her nose at this common sell-sword. What abysmal manners she had.

“Fine, if you are so brave, princess, you don’t need my help. Be seein’ ya.” With a mock bow, the mercenary turned to leave.

“Wait! Boudica, just wait a moment.”

Boudica the Brave. Nesta had hoped that the mercenary’s name only meant she was true of heart. But, as life had taught her long ago, that only existed in the tales told at bedtime to children loved by their parents.

Struggling to pinpoint where she lost the upper hand, Nesta found that honesty was her best bet at getting this peculiar individual to comply.

“First, I want to make it abundantly clear that I do not care for what the people of this village think. Let them draw their conclusions as to why I approached you. I realise now that I caused quite the scene at The Well but having spent most of today unsuccessful in my endeavours, I had grown wearisome in my search.”

Boudica, seemingly bored with this exchange, made to leave again.

“Second,” Nesta scrambled, following after her. “Second, I am no princess. I am Lady Nesta Archeron. I seek the services for which I believe you are renowned.”

Turning to face her, Boudica wriggled her eyebrows suggestively. Nesta scoffed and continued, “Not those services, mind you.”

The more Nesta thought about it, maybe this mercenary had more uses… “Not now. Focus.” She had to get her mind in order for this to appear well thought out.

“You will accompany me to the Wall. Your sole purpose will be maintaining my well-being along the way. I will not disclose my business once I reach it, and I do not expect you to continue on past our destination.” Nesta willed her breathing to remain steady as she waited for a response.

Studying her fingernails with practised ease, Boudica contemplated the proposition.

“What’s in this for me? Do you even know what kind of creatures lurk in the forests lining this village, let alone those that congregate closer to the Wall? There is no hope for survival for the likes of you.” Boudica looked her up and down before adding, “My Lady,” with a look on her face that could only be interpreted as disbelief; as if she truly thought Nesta insane.

Nesta folded her arms gracefully over her chest, allowing herself a moment to consider her next move in this game of wills. This plan had not followed an easy path since she hatched it. It seemed it was running away from her control once again. The only way Nesta knew to regain control was to get this brute on her back foot.

“Though I am not surprised you only care for what you may gain from this venture, I must say that I am disappointed in your quick judgement of me. You do not know me, yet you base your opinions solely on how I chose to present myself to you today. Has the thought not crossed your simple mind that I may not have wished to draw attention to that which I do or do not have any knowledge?” Nesta arched her brow as Boudica opened and closed her mouth, clearly shocked at the gall of this strange woman.

“You have no idea who you have stumbled into a war of words with,” Nesta thought gleefully.

“I will do you the mercy of getting to the point, as I can almost hear your mind working to conjure a witty retort. Simply put, so as you might understand it, your reward will be worth it. The Lord Archeron would pay handsomely to have his youngest daughter returned to him.”

Nesta inwardly cringed at both the blatant lie and having revealed the true reason for the venture. Her father was a fool, but a rich fool at least. He would not notice if a portion of the funds provided to them by mysterious means grew legs and walked into the pockets of this mercenary.

How could she have been so foolish to show her hand already? “You are not world-wise, only practised in the necessary means to secure a husband. You appear intelligent for the Archeron name only. Make no mistake Nesta, you are only what we have made you.” It was as if these thoughts loitered, awaiting the perfect moment to strike her when she least expected.

This was not the time to question her failure to compartmentalise her thoughts, so she straightened her spine and folded her hands demurely in front of her as she concluded her bid for Boudica’s favour.

“Since you now know what it is I wish to accomplish, the terms of this arrangement are as such: We will leave at dawn’s first light. You will provide the provisions required for the journey, as I am but a simple Lady, I would not know the means required for such travel. You will keep me from all harm, and, once we make it to the Wall, you will wait until sunset on the third day as that is when I will arrive with my sister. For all these things, I offer you my weight in gold upon our safe return to our manor home.”

Thankful that the last eight days out of poverty proved to hide her slight frame under the layers of her dress, Nesta waited. If this mercenary, this boorish woman named Boudica, did not agree, Nesta did not know what she would do.

Without any warning, Boudica turned and began walking away. Nesta let her defeat show, resting her head on her chest and curling her shoulders in on herself.

But with the nonchalance of Boudica’s next words, Nesta felt a shift in the world. As if this moment changed the woeful trajectory her life had previously been following; now to have branched off in another direction entirely.

Glancing over her shoulder she asked Nesta, “You coming?”

~-~-~-~

There is so much more of this story that I have to tell. I know that it is not particularly canon-compliant how Nesta is retelling her memories in my story, but I think it does still fit with how we know Nesta outwardly portrays herself and how she inwardly berates herself. I want it to almost be seeing the truth to the stories we have already been told in canon... Or ones that were skipped over entirely.

I know this is not going to be everyone's cup of tea, but I am thoroughly enjoying myself writing this and exploring and learning how to truly put it on paper to tell a story that is complete in my mind.

**Special thanks go out to my husband who has now not only lost me to reading fanfic but writing it too. You are darling, @a-novel-idealist 🖤✨**

Let me know what you think of this chapter, I honestly am still blown away by the fact that anyone is reading this and even more so that you are leaving comments and highlighting bits of what I have written... *insert mind-blown emoji*

~-~-~-~

Echoes of Resilience taglist

@christeareads

@shadowsandlint

@achaotichuman

@c-starstuff-man0

@dawneternal

@jules-writes-stories

@the-darkestminds

@chunkypossum

@secret-third-thing

Let me know if you want on or off the taglist :))

[gallantfairy]

*/ Canon divergence.

Erza does not own Nakagami Armor, Ataraxia armor, Rabbit armor, Celestial armor, seduction armor or any explicit / sexual / filler outfits. She does not own over a hundred armors ( because canonly is actually a thing ) and she does not own over 200 hundred weapons. Instead she owns approximately 100 weapons and definitely a variety of armors.

While her fight against Kagura resulted in a draw, eventually she lost to Minerva. ( during the Grand Magic Games )

Speaking of Kagura, there's no ' big sister / little sister ' relationship between them. Instead, there's mutual respect.

Her fight against Jerome from Avatar was different. She did not defeat him with Ataraxia armor ( since in this blog, she does not possess it ) but rather, she overwhelmed him with the Heaven's wheen armor abilities and that's how she obtained victory. ( note: credit for this one goes to Fae! )

Erza's fight against Kyoka was different from canon. She did not beat Kyoka because ' she is erza!!!!! ', instead she had the assistance of Mira and Minerva in order to bring her down.

During her fight against Ajeel, she did not defeat him with her Nakagami armor; instead she used her wind god armor and had Bisca's assistance with the jupiter cannon.

She does not possess romantic feelings towards Jellal. She values him that's for sure, like a good friend, since both of them had suffered a lot during their childhood years. She does not excuse his past actions but she is always here for him when he needs her, to help him become better.

Which it comes to the conclusion that the ' ~ i have a fiancee ~ ' scene, did not take place.

During her fight with Irene, Erza did not fucking charged against a fucking comet and sliced it in half. Instead, she was able to evade with Wendy to secure their safety. Besides she needed healing because of the horrid condition of her physical state.

Speaking of Irene, she is not Erza's mother. A headcanon providing more information can be found here. ( X )

Her appearance is quite different from canon. Erza is tall, precisely 6ft / 1.82 cm tall, she has quite a muscular physique, she definitely has abs and lots of freckles. A more detailed headcanon could be seen here ( X )

She does not wield gravity magic.

Because nothing makes more sense during a fight than giving power of friendship speeches or patronizing your opponents. Obviously in this blog, that's not the case. You can find more about this rant here ( X )

Her victory against Azuma in the Tenrou Island differs from canon. Instead of using the spirits of her friends as a boost ( aka nakama power ), she defeated him with her swordsmanship skills, using techniques that are considerably last resort ones.

Erza's fight against her counterpart, Erza Knightwalker resulted in a draw.

When she is under the influence of alcohol, she will never act like a sexually frustrated drunk ( only rarely ). Instead, you would catch her sleeping in a corner in order to cast away the dizziness.

Her handwriting is indeed bad, but not unreadable to the point of considering a handwritten letter from her being taken as a threat. She is fully aware that it's not great and there will be times where you would catch her having somebody helping her improve it. ( most likely somebody from the Guild who excels in the aspect of calligraphy ) Thus, all the moments that include her writing illegible letters do not apply in this blog.

She will never use her body parts in order to seduce anyone. ( hence the sexual armors in canon ) Take that shit away.

The existence of the movies and of course the FT100YQ will not be acknowledged in this blog. ( including new armors, her performing grand chariot, new techniques etc. )

[sonicasura]

How Not To Camp 101

Kafka couldn't help but let out a sigh as he starred down at Trainer's sickly form. The duo was on a camping in the Tokyo mountains, something that Trainer suggested the 2 of them could do as a fun thing to introduce more of Tokyo to Trainer. Kafka was so exicited for this trip he had everything planned out to the letter. It all started off fine the drive up the mountain was no problem, and when they got to the campsite they both immediately began setting up camp. This is however when Kafka began noticing something, Trainer began coughing a bit to frequently, but Kafka didn't do anything because Trainer hadn't acknowledged the cough as anything to worry about. The cough wasn't the only problem while fishing Trainer began to sneeze, when they made lunch Trainer had trouble lifting up some of the cooking equipment. Kafka began too speak up asking if Trainer was feeling alright, but Trainer simply waved it off as them being a bit tired is all. The final straw however is when the duo went hikeing at sunset to go stargazing at the mountain tops, Trainer was lagging behind Kafka and despite Trainer's reassurance that they were ok, Kafka's worry only grew until Trainer tripped a stray root and was too weak to get back up. This sent Kafka into a worried panic as they went over to check-up on Trainer. Taking Trainer's temperature showed that they were much warmer than normal and told Kafka that they had caught a cold and a nasty one at that. Kafka heaved Trainer onto there back all while they repeatedly said sorry over and over. Kafka calmly soothed them about Trainer not needing to feel sorry about getting sick and it happens too everybody. When they went out hikeing the sun was already setting and when they got back to the campsite, night had long since fallen. Kafka would have driven Trainer back home but it wasn't safe to drive the mountain roads at night. Kafka came to the decision that since the cold didn't warrant a hospital visit that he would watch over Trainer for the night and leave immediately at the first sight of dawn. Thankfully Kafka came prepared with a whole medical kit and various medicines, and promtely gave Trainer various syrups for coughs, stuffy noses, and to help Trainer sleep better. By the end of it Trainer was in there sleeping bag with a cold rag over there heads as Kafka could do nothing but listen to there breathes which struggled a bit.

* Thoughts*

Kafka: Damnit why them? Why do they have to be sick and suffer? This was supposed to fun camping trip, now there sick and in a restless sleep and I can't do anything about it!!!

Ai: Well we provide-

Kafka: We are not transforming and acting as full sized cushion for them to snuggle aganist Ai.

Ai: * Hisses* Why!? It would help keep them warm and cormfortable!!!

Kafka: Ai we had this-

* CCCCRRRAASSSSSHHH*

A horrid crashing noise echoed out throught the forest immediately causing Kafka and Ai to stand at guard. It didn't take long for Kafka to spot the one behind the noise. A Kaiju that rivaled skyscraper stood in the forest, trampling through the trees and heading right for the duo. It was at this point Kafka felt something begining to boil inside him, like a furnace being given coal, the intense feeling kept on rising.

Ai: This pathetic excuse of a Kaiju dares attack us and endanger our welp!!! Kill that bastard Kafka, kill that bastard!!!

Kafka felt the burning semsation in his chest rise more and more like a fire that kept getting fed the most flamable material, not helped by Ai and his chatter.

If there was any hope of this flame dying down, it died when the labored cough of Trainer reached his ears

All the forces of Hell were then unleashed

Ai: KILL THAT KAIJU NOW KAFKA!!!!

Kafka felt his body rapidly morph and mold itself

His body size increased tenfold his scales hardening matching that of a Tyranitar, muscles wrapping themselves in the strengthing wires to mimic Grimmsnarl's hair, mouth like hands that reseambled that of a Hydreigon, a gaping maw in the vein of a Tyrantrum, a long tail and wings that burned like a Gigantimax Charizard, another set of arms that modeled themselves after the 2 large claws of a Golisopod, and vents around there neck which gave of a burning blue flame like a Typholsion.

At the end of the transformation Kafka looked like the most badass Kaiju to ever walk the earth. The Kaiju which looked like and Angler Fish and Mantis that was bidpedal noticed Kafka and immediately went on the offensive to kill him right then and there. Kafka would have none of that and as soon as the Kaiju got in close too bite Kafka sent his too extra arms out, impaling the Kaiju's arms, stopping the Kaiju's attack completely.

Kafka then had both of his mouth-hands clamp down on the Kaiju's arms before Kafka started ripping the monsters arms off. With little to no effort the Kaiju had both of it's arms ripped off, but not showing any care for it's lost limbs the Kaiju then went into bite Kafka, where it was once again stopped this time by all four arms and held in place as Kafka's maw grew wide and the vents around it's neck began to flare with scroching heat. Aiming directly towards the Kaiju face Kafka let out a heavy blast of pure flames that burned the head to a crisp before the Kaiju could so much as let out a pained roar. It completely annhilate the Kaiju, Kafka lufted the beast above his mouth and fully opened his powerful maw and crushed the Kaiju fully between his teeth destroying the Kaiju's core.

It took Kafka a couple minutes to come too, and when he eventually did the first question he asked was why did he feel taller? The answer he himself had grown too a size of a skyscraper to kill the Kaiju, that would explain why he felt so tired now. At this point Kafka just followed his instincts and at Ai's guidance shrunk down back to human size and went to go nap next to Trainer, not knowing that he was still in his Kaiju form and purring like a content cat that just caught a mouse.

Unkown to Kafka a done had flown in too see 2 gigantic Kaiju fighting and the transformation back to No.8's regular form

I LOVE THIS.

Common consensus for everyone who saw the footage: WHAT IN THE ABSOLUTE FUCK. It definitely results in an emergency meeting afterwards. Our dear Trainer has garner a lot of attention especially with No.8 being connected to them.

That definitely sums up how Riot No.8 would look like upon borrowing traits of other Pokemon. I also love he used augmentations from the more dangerous and aggressive species like Hydreigon/Tyranitar. Those would be Ai's choice in my personal opinion.

Mina being conflicted as all hell upon seeing No.8 nestled against Trainer after that ferocious display. Even moreso once she notices they're sick. Soshiro has to remind her the kaiju clearly adopted the problem child if he was this hostile to the obvious threat.

[indie-fanfics]

Lil Pomni Drabble

Placed at the end of Episode 2

Written shortly after the episode came out, but only posted now.

Pomni stood there. She stood there, staring at where Gummigoo was just standing. Was he dead? Was he just back in the Candy Canyon? She couldn't stop herself from letting a dark chuckle slip from her mouth, slowing turning into hysterical laughter and a horrid grin that should be a grimace. Limited by this horrible digital form. She clutched at herself, the few pieces of confetti that landed on her crumpled in her grasp. Her eyes darted to Caine while she laughed, letting herself go and almost allowing herself to imagine strangling him, miming the motions slightly with her hands. Caine made up some crappy excuse to disappear, the words unheard by her racing mind, leaving Pomni with the rest of the crew. Ragatha patted her shoulder, trying to comfort Pomni, but she barely heard that too, she probably wouldn't have heard any of it if it wasn't for that one phrase. "Kaufmo's funeral-" It was after the funeral, when all the other circus-goers were likely asleep, when Pomni returned to where the confetti still lay across the floor. She desperately hoped that Gummigoo was with his other friends on the Syrup truck, and stared at the pieces of paper that she desperately wished were still her friend. She picked up the scraps of paper, her permanently gloved hands barely able to pick up the smallest pieces, but she still picked up as much as she could. And she carried them, she carried them to her room, or at least what was supposed to be her room. It still didn't feel like one. None of this felt like anything right now. But she promised Gummigoo he could live in the circus, the least she could do is keep what she had of him safe there. And so, after entering the room, she set the pile gently to the side. There was a jar full of marbles in her room, red and blue and gold, glimmering in the painfully even light of her room. She dumped them out and let them scatter, the sound of them clinking was almost cathartic. She'd roll them all underneath her bed later. She then placed each piece of confetti gently in the jar, making sure not to miss a single piece. Even as her hands shook from a friend lost. She did her best to draw Gummigoo on a scrap of paper she found lying on the floor and put it inside the jar too, right at the front. She didn't have any words, she didn't have anyone to say them to, she wasn't sure she could even speak right now, but she put the jar in a corner, on top of a stack of 3 of the letter blocks scattered around her room. She would never forget him. But this was the best she could do for Gummigoo, for his funeral. The NPC who had his whole world shattered, only for Caine to shatter him. And Caine didn't even care… Pomni Pomni barely slept that night.

[phosphosuppmain]

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With every word I read of this message I can feel the warmth of hellfire caressing my skin with its horrid, burning tinge. I cannot wait for my brain to unscramble the secrets hidden within each letter, for I may finally unlock the meaning of life before both God and the Devil strike me down for soaring too close to realisation.

I am an Icarus, and this message is my wings. I wait only for the release that the hidden knowledge of this artistic text can grant me.

I thank you, Tumblr user lotsssuhtummedyumms, for granting me this magical opportunity. It has been an honour to enact your will.

[disneybuddy]

Why I really don’t like “Jellystone”

I remember when this show was first announced in 2019. I was really excited - finally, Warner Bros. was actually doing something with Yogi Bear, Huckleberry Hound, Snagglepuss, etc.! I love those characters and I think it's a shame that they don't do much with them (I love Scooby-Doo, but it's not the only Hanna-Barbera franchise they own). And the showrunner was C.H. Greenblatt, whose work I really like. And then, in 2021, the first trailer for the show was released, followed a few weeks later by the show itself.

I'm gonna be blunt here. I think Jellystone! is awful. C.H. Greenblatt claims that it's a "love letter to Hanna-Barbera" in interviews, but I'm convinced that he hasn't actually watched most (if any) of the shows that the characters in this show originated from, because it gets the majority of them completely wrong. Yogi, Huck, Snagglepuss, and Wally Gator made it through for the most part unscathed. But the others... they're basically the characters In Name Only. Hardy Harr Harr, for example, bears absolutely no resemblance to his original self. He's supposed to be a loveable sad sack. Here? He's a stereotypical cartoon old lady.

...WHAT? Who looks at this character:

…and thinks "Y'know what we should do? Make this character a stereotypical old lady!". Whose idea was that? I want names.

Other characters fare just as bad. Boo-Boo is Yogi's conscience. He's soft-spoken, kindhearted, and tries to urge Yogi not to do things that "Mr. Ranger" isn't going to like. Jellystone! Boo-Boo, on the other hand, is a loud, obnoxious idiot just as much of a moron as most of the other characters. Half of the characters (Jabberjaw, Loopy De Loop, Squiddly Diddly) have been gender-swapped, which in my opinion is a really bad idea. I know there aren't a whole lot of female Hanna-Barbera characters, but they DO exist. You could've just used them. You didn't have to make Squiddly Diddly a stereotypical valley girl to make the gender ratio more balanced. Quick-Draw is now "El Kabong" 24/7 and his using a guitar as a weapon has been Flanderized into HIM THINKING THAT HIS GUITAR IS A SENTIENT BEING AND BEING IN LOVE WITH IT. Magilla Gorilla is Paul F. Thompkins. Johnny Quest and Hadji are a couple (y'know, despite being adopted brothers?). The Banana Splits are criminals. And Baba Looey... what's the gender-swapped Baba Looey's personality again?

The voice cast was a massive letdown too. I'm glad they got Jeff Bergman to voice Yogi again, and I also like his takes on Mr. Jinks and Wally Gator. Jim Conroy does a great Captain Caveman and an alright Huckleberry Hound. Bernardo De Paula's Mildew Wolf is decent. Everyone else... I like Dana Snyder, but his Snagglepuss impression isn't very good, and he's not even trying to sound like Bill Thompson as Touché Turtle. Much like with the DuckTales reboot, most of the other characters are voiced by celebrities, none of whom make any sort of effort to sound like the originals. Particularly bad is C.H. Greenblatt's horrid Boo-Boo, which sounds NOTHING like Don Messick. What makes it all the more frustrating is that there are so many talented voice actors out there who can do good impressions of the characters - there is no excuse to have Boo-Boo sound like that when we live in a world where Billy West and Eric Bauza exist.

Problem number three: I really don't care for the show's art style. I don't dislike C.H. Greenblatt's art style as a whole, but it really does not fit these characters. It's hard to adapt characters into your style while still making sure they look like the characters - if done poorly, it can just result in the characters looking poorly-drawn. This is one of those cases. The animation just looks crude and sloppy-looking.

And finally, I'm sorry, but I don't find the show funny. In the episodes that I watched, there was only one joke that I was amused by ("I'm a monster! A very handsome monster!"). Every episode is just scene after scene of madcap insanity. Basically what people who don't like Chowder or SpongeBob SquarePants but haven't actually watched either show THINK those shows are like. Those two shows are silly, but they have something that Jellystone! does not: WIT. They don't just have characters acting like spazzes and random weird stuff happening in the hopes of getting a laugh.

For example, there's one episode where Quick-Draw... oh, I'm sorry, El Kabong has his guitar destroyed while fighting the Banana Splits. He tries to find a replacement, but is unsuccessful. So finally he says "I'M the guitar!" and he actually turns into a horse-headed guitar... wait, WHAT?! How the heck does he do THAT? Quick-Draw isn't a shapeshifter, and there's never been any indication that this El Kabong character is either. And it's not like this is just a one-off gag and he's back to normal by the next scene, this is an actual PLOT POINT. I know I just said cartoons don't have to explain earlier, but you need to have SOME logic. Again, Chowder doesn't just have Chowder randomly gain two heads to solve the episode's conflict or have Schnitzel turn into a leopard so he can eat the episode's bad guy or anything like that.

After having to deal with people on Twitter giving me a hard time for not liking Jellystone!, most of them actually trash-talking the original Hanna-Barbera characters and shows as part of their arguments (and claiming that these versions of the characters were more "complex"... I'm not seeing it), I figured something out. This is not a show for Hanna-Barbera fans. Rather, it's a show for people who KNOW about these characters but don't actually care about them or have even watched their shows in years (if ever). Because the show actually requires you be familiar with these characters to find most of the jokes it throws at viewers funny. Boo-Boo saying "I'm being sued for malpractice!" with a dopey smile on his face or claiming that he has experience with a machete is supposed to be funny because you wouldn't expect intelligent, kindhearted Boo-Boo to say either of those things. The Banana Splits being criminals is funny because you wouldn't expect the Banana Splits of all characters to BE criminals. Peter Potamus' sidekick So-So being George Takei is funny because in the original show So-So sounded NOTHING like George Takei. Just have an iconic cartoon character say something out-of-character or do something CRAZY and presto, you've got a joke.

In other words, Jellystone!'s humor is on the same level of intelligence as the humor in that awful Boo-Boo Runs Wild short.