#grandma but the way she did it... i would rather her not call me at all she was weird af like she didnt want to talk to me at all)

[springsteens]

birthdays, christmas and new year's eve only exist to remind you how lonely you are

[stevie-petey]

moron

I own you.  The words practically drip from your rose coated lips, meant only for Steve, and he knows he’s lost.  “Yeah, whatever.” And it’s agreed. Come this Saturday, you and Steve will be working together. No one else, just the two of you, for eight long, maddening hours. 

Summary: steve really hates his coworker, but you know who he hates even more ? your shitty ex boyfriend (who he just so happens to share jacket preferences with)

Rating: general, violence, lots of swearing

Warnings: allusions to abuse, use of bitch as derogatory language towards women, shitty ex boyfriend, violence, enemies to lovers (more friends), fem!reader, use of y/n

Words: 3.9k

Before you swing in: hey gang !! long time no stevie blurb, so here yall go <3 please, read the warnings for this one. theres a really shitty character in this and he may be triggering, so please be safe.

-

Steve doesn’t consider himself a bad guy.

Sure, he had the whole “King Steve” stint back in high school where he was an asshole to everyone, but he chooses to ignore those four years of his life. They were a brief lapse of judgment. 

A very long, brief lapse of judgment. But whatever.

The point is that Steve opens the door for strangers. He greets everyone with a smile and a polite nod of his head. When Robin forgets her lunch at work, Steve always gives her his. He walks his neighbor’s dog, he offers to carry groceries for the elderly. Hell, he even waves at babies. 

By all accounts, Steve would consider himself a goddamn saint. 

Except when it comes to you. 

Steve isn’t holding open any fucking doors for you and if you ever asked him to walk your dog, he’d laugh in your face. The moment you stepped foot in Family Video for your first shift, you made Steve’s life a living hell. He doesn’t know why or how you manage to dig so deep under his skin, but he’s convinced you do it on purpose. 

The movies you stack on the shelf always somehow manage to land on Steve’s head. The jokes you make with Robin are always at his expense. You never clock in on time, extending his shift by one more minute every goddamn time. The way you laugh pierces Steve’s skull, the sound rings in his ears and blinds his senses long enough to feel nauseous. 

Steve likes everyone, he isn’t a hard guy to please, but he truly, deeply, hates you. 

“Y/N wanted me to ask if you’d cover her shift this weekend,” Robin scans a beat up copy of Grease, trying to feign indifference as she brings the topic up. She absolutely doesn’t want to be doing this, she knows that any mention of you to Steve makes his eye twitch, but you called her crying and Robin is far too sympathetic for her own good. 

Predictably, Steve’s eye twitches and he snatches the movie from his coworker. “What, did she fall and hit her head this morning?” He scoffs, he can’t believe you even thought he’d consider the idea. “She knows I’d rather her show up with a broken arm and matching black eye to work before ever covering her shift.”

“Okay, that’s psychotically cruel. You know that, right?” Robin scans another movie and shakes her head. Steve hates you, she gets that, and while she doesn’t understand why, she also doesn’t like how much of an asshole he is about it. You’re her friend, too. Robin really likes you. 

“Good, I meant for it to be.”

“Steve, she’s going through a hard time right now–”

“No, I don’t wanna hear it, alright? I don’t care if her grandma died and left her an orphan,” the sound of the bell above Family Video’s front door rings, but Steve is too lost in his rant to hear it. “There’s no way in hell I’m ever, ever helping that demonic witch of a human being.”

Robin’s eyes widen and she tries to cover the teen’s mouth, hissing his name, but Steve bats her hand away and keeps going. “Y/N is a fucking moron for thinking otherwise, and that’s her problem. I mean, I know she’s your friend, which I still don’t know how she even managed to do that, but–”

“Steve!” Again Robin tries to get her friend to stop talking, but Steve is on a roll now. He’s fired up, tired of biting his tongue for the last six months. 

“She makes me want to physically tear my skin off and shove it down my throat every time she opens her mouth. And I’m being nice right now. I mean, I will gladly say this all to her tiny, annoying face–”

“Oh, you would?”

Immediately Steve’s voice dies and his words fall down upon his shoulders. He doesn’t dare turn around. He’s frozen. He’s convinced himself that if he doesn’t move then he can linger in the remaining few seconds where he hasn’t just said all those horrendous things with you standing right behind him. 

Robin drops her head onto the counter and groans. “You’re an idiot, Harrington.”

“Well, are you going to turn around?” Your breath almost fans Steve’s neck, you’ve walked up to him. He can practically envision the curl in your eyebrows whenever you get angry. An expression Steve has become familiar with. 

He gulps, still refusing to turn around. “You know, I really don’t think I can turn around.” His legs shake. Steve doesn’t think he’s ever fucked up this horribly before, and he’s fucked up a lot in his life. 

“Robin,” you turn your attention to her, the edge in your voice is the only indication of your anger. “Please inform our coworker that it’s inappropriate to use that language in a workplace, and please also inform him that I will no longer be needing him to cover my shift.”

“You… Don’t?” Robin looks between you and Steve. He still hasn’t looked at you yet, his face stares straight as if he’s trying to somehow disintegrate. You, however, face her with a steely look in your eyes, which surprises her. She thought there’d be more heartbreak in them. “I-I mean, are you sure? All things considered…”

“I’m fine.” The way you say it leaves no room for arguments. It’s already been decided, and Robin knows not to try and reason with you. She deflates, and you’re pleased with this. Even though her sympathy is unneeded, you can use it to your advantage. You’re going to make Steve pay. “In fact, I think you should inform our coworker that he’s covering your shift this weekend.”

Robin chokes on her spit, startled, while Steve finally turns to face you. “I’m sorry?”

“Aw, it’s okay, Harrington.” You pat his chest, albeit with more force than probably necessary, which he huffs at. “But I think the apology will work even better after spending some quality time together.”

You’re going to spend the entire eight hour shift making Steve’s life hell on earth. And he knows it.

“But–” 

“Say, Robin. What’s the company policy on harassment of employees?” You tap your finger against your chin with a menacing smile on your face. You’re enjoying this, and Steve hates you even more for that. “Doesn’t it say something about verbal insults?”

Steve sends the girl a pleading glance, begging her not to respond, but she can only shake her head at him. He’s the one who couldn’t keep his goddamn mouth shut. Sighing, Robin nods. “Yeah, it does.”

“I thought it did! Thanks, Buckley.” You wink at her before facing Steve again. He almost flinches at the coldness in your eyes. He’s so, so fucked. “Harrington, I’m sure you simply forgot, and I’m sure I can let bygones be bygones after you cover our dear friend’s shift. Yeah?”

I own you. 

The words practically drip from your rose coated lips, meant only for Steve, and he knows he’s lost. 

“Yeah, whatever.”

And it’s agreed. Come this Saturday, you and Steve will be working together. No one else, just the two of you, for eight long, maddening hours. 

–

When Steve arrives at work Saturday, you’ve already clocked in. 

He finds you sitting at the cash register, looking over the shipment for tomorrow. Sundays are the restock days, and the lists of orders are a pain in the ass to get through. It can take hours, sometimes even days, to comb through. When you see Steve walk in, you give him an icy smile. “Oh, perfect timing!” 

“We’re supposed to get here at eight.”

“And being early never hurt anyone.” Although you’re never early, you’re always late, and both of you know this. You scratch something off from the list, eyes never leaving Steve, and he can’t help but feel that the rough scratch of the pen is meant to symbolize his face. 

“What do you want?” Steve is too tired to play your games. He recognizes that he was a grade A asshole to you a few days ago, but this is going too far. 

You flick your hair behind your shoulder and straighten your posture. The gesture casts a cloud of a sickly sweet pomegranate scent over to Steve, causing him to sneeze violently. He’s always hated the perfume you wear. Smiling at the desired effect, you finally shove the restock lists towards him. “I need you to start sorting through next week’s orders.”

Steve looks at the lists and nearly cries. There’s at least thirty pages in the stack, doubled sided, with five columns and fifty rows. This is the largest shipment order he’s ever seen since working at Family Video, he can’t even believe it’s real.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

“Nope!” You hop down from the counter and walk over to the cart of returned movies. “Now, I’d get started if I were you. You know how much Keith hates it when we don’t get Sunday’s orders in on time.”

Your figure disappears behind a shelf of movies and Steve pretends to strangle you with his bare hands. You planned this. He doesn’t know how, but you did. If he didn’t have a reason to hate you so much, now he does. 

Hours pass by, you don’t at all speak to Steve as he labors over the shipments. Family Video requires the employees to manually input all the orders into the computer to send to the supply chain. The process alone is impractical and takes longer than it should, but pair that with the shitty computers that Keith refuses to upgrade, it makes Steve contemplate running into the road. The browser crashes three separate times. At one point he loses track of which movie he’d been on and has to restart an entire row at number forty-three.

It’s the worst fucking five hours of Steve’s entire life.

Meanwhile, all you do those five hours is browse through some online catalog on the other computer and help a total of two customers who come in. 

By the time Steve has finally finished inputting everything, words float around his vision and he can feel the beginning stages of a headache forming. The pressure sits right behind his left eye, dull and throbbing. 

All because he couldn’t keep his goddamn mouth shut.

Steve should really learn to listen to Robin. 

“Are you all done?” You materialize next to Steve, startling him and he lets out an embarrassing shriek, which you snicker at. “Wow, Harrington. You’re really tense today.”

He rolls his eyes and steps away from you. “Gee, I wonder why.”

“Yeah, who knows!” Steve glares at you and you smile right back at him. “Anyways, since you finished up so fast, why don’t you sort through the backorders next? It shouldn’t take you that long.”

The backorders. 

Steve wants to fucking scream.

The backorders are all the movies that the store can’t input into the system. They’re orders that get messed up, misplaced, and abandoned in Keith’s disgusting office. The pile of discarded movies has grown so large that it rivals Steve’s height and build. It’s its own entity at this point. A terrifying, breakdown inducing entity. 

You’re a fucking evil genius. 

But if Steve even looks at the backorders, he thinks he might actually murder you. 

“No,” he crosses his arms, trying to look more dignified and intimidating than he really feels. Awkwardly placing his weight on his left foot, he purposely ducks his head down to emphasize how much taller he is than you. “No way in hell am I going through the backorders.”

“I wonder what Keith would say when I tell him all the wonderful things you said about me on Wednesday,” you step forward, angling your head up to get a better look at Steve. You want him to see all the hatred you have for him in your eyes. 

What he said about you hurt. There’s no other way to put it. His words had been venom upon your skin, searing the flesh as it left a nasty scar. The wound has festered ever since, making your already shitty week even worse. 

Steve had called you “fucking moron”. Just like he had. 

“Oh, screw company policy and whatever that asshole Keith says!” Steve doesn’t care anymore if he has a job by the end of today. He’s had enough of your shitty mind games and power plays. He may have been a dick, but he doesn’t deserve any of this, either. The strenuous labor and migraines. “I’m done, alright? You’re being such a–”

“Bitch?” A gruff voice chuckles, interrupting. Steve, surprised to hear another male voice in the store, quickly turns around. 

The guy is tall, taller than Steve. That’s the first thing he notices. Then he notices the cold blue of his eyes and the way your entire body freezes in fear when you see him. Steve moves your body behind his, unconsciously putting you out of harm’s way, protecting you from whoever the hell this guy is in front of him. It’s instinctual, he doesn’t hesitate.

Who the fuck does this guy think he is, calling you a bitch?

“I would never call her that,” Steve squares his shoulders, putting ice into his words as he does so. He wouldn’t. He was going to call you a child. Steve would never call a woman a bitch, his mother raised him better than that and Robin would hit him if he ever did.

The guy laughs again. “You sure about that, buddy?”

“Jack,” Steve almost doesn’t hear you, you’re barely audible. He’s never heard your voice so soft before, so weak and scared; he decides he never, ever wants to be the cause of this voice. “You can’t be here.”

“Says who? I don’t see anybody kickin’ me out.” The guy, Jack, shrugs indifferently. He stuffs his hands into his jacket, it’s made of a nice, suede material that Steve is ashamed to admit he’d wear himself. “I wanted to see you, sweetheart.”

Jack tries to step closer to you, but Steve blocks him. “Funny, I thought she was a bitch?”

“Bitch, sweetheart, easy fuck, fucking moron.” Jack laughs, only this time it’s cruel. “It’s all the same when it comes to Y/N.”

Fucking moron.

Steve had said the same about you. A heavy weight of shame crushes his chest. He should’ve never called you such a cruel name. He knows that, now. 

“Don’t fucking talk about her like that,” Steve sneers, hand now coming around your arm as if terrified Jack will pull you away from him. “What the hell is your problem, man?”

“Why don’t you mind your own business? This is a conversation between me and the sweetheart over here.” Jack tries to reach for you again, but Steve shoves the guy away. He stumbles back, a wicked smile on his face. “Oh, the pretty boy can fight?”

“Steve,” You finally speak again, trying to shove yourself between the two men. The room grows hot and you don’t want anyone getting hurt. Not here, not with Steve. “Just leave it alone, walk away–”

Only Jack grabs your arm and viciously pulls, causing a pained yelp to escape you. A nerve pinches in your shoulder, he sends your body flying forward. His grip is harsh, it will leave bruises tomorrow, and you’re weak against him. Fear chokes you, he always does this.

“Don’t touch her.” Steve’s fist collides with Jack’s face, starbursts of pain explode in his wrist but he doesn’t care. All he sees is red now. Jack hurt you. He caused you to cry out in pain. Steve punches him again, the sound of pain you made rings in his ears, turns his blood cold and his anger boiling hot. 

Jack recovers from the punches quickly and he raises his fist, but you try to get him away from Steve. “Stop!” 

The fist comes down, you brace for impact, helpless against it, but the sound of skin hitting skin is all you’re met with. You open your eyes, Jack’s fist is in Steve’s palm. Stunned, Jack is too slow to pull away before Steve wraps his arm around his and twists it behind his back. The muscles strain, the ligament cries in pain as Jack’s arm is pulled dangerously far back. 

“Fuck!” Jack screams, contorting his body desperately to get out of the death lock he’s in. 

“You’re going to leave,” Steve hisses into his ear, “and you’re going to never, ever come back. If you even look at Y/N again I swear,” he mercilessly pulls even harder on Jack’s arm, the bone threatens to snap, but he doesn’t care. “I will break every bone in your fucking body.”

And with that, Steve finally releases Jack, who crashes pathetically to the ground. The moment he’s freed, he scrambles to his feet and cradles his sprained arm. He’s panting, no longer the confident and arrogant asshole he once was when he walked into Family Video ten minutes prior.

“Fuck you,” Jack spits out at Steve, but he’s already walking backwards towards the door to leave. “That bitch isn’t worth it, anyways.”

The door slams closed. 

Silence fills the void that the violence left behind. 

Steve shakes out his wrist, wringing out the pain from the punches. His knuckles are red, raw, bruising with every passing second. He brings the injured hand closer to inspect it, wincing at the inflamed skin. 

“You’re hurt.”

Your eyes linger on the blood that leaks from his knuckles. The skin has split, but the pain that the nerve endings scream over soothes Steve. He shakes his hand out again as he shakes his head at you. “I’m fine.”

But you don’t believe him.

Carefully, slowly, you bring your uninjured hand over Steve’s injured one. Your touch is gentle, hesitant. The pads of your fingers skim over the bruising that litters Steve’s skin. “I’m sorry.” 

“Hey, no.” Steve pulls his hand away, he doesn’t like what the image of his injury is doing to you. He’s not used to your tenderness, the sympathy you blanket him with. Besides, he isn’t the only one who got hurt. Steve instead brings your hand up, holding your wrist delicately as he sucks in a breath seeing the bruises Jack left. “You didn’t deserve any of that.”

You don’t say anything. 

Steve kisses the damaged skin, he feels you shiver beneath his lips. He isn’t sure why he does it, he just knows that he wishes he could physically remove the burn of the bruises from your memory. 

Minutes pass, the silence is all that is spoken. 

Eventually the two of you get back to work. There’s still two more hours before either of you can leave, even if the thought of staying in the store suffocates you. No other customers come in. It’s just you and Steve, matching bruises to keep you guys company. 

When four in the afternoon comes along, Steve clocks both of you out and locks the store up. He doesn’t let you do a single thing. He insists on having you sit by the window as he finishes the last restock orders and closes the door. His hand softly guides you outside, lingering on your waist as he locks the store’s doors for the night. 

“Alright, well…” Steve clears his throat. He doesn’t know what else to say to you. “Guess I’ll just, you know, leave–”

“Please don���t leave me alone.”

His breath catches. You stare up at him, eyes wide with fear and vulnerability and despair. “I…”

“Please,” you can’t walk home alone. Not tonight. Not after everything that happened today. “I just…”

Without saying anything, Steve’s hand finds yours, and he walks you to his car. He opens the door for you, closes it softly behind you once you get in. He gets into his own seat, turns the radio on and fiddles with the stations until he finds the one he knows you like. Every time you have a shift together, you play the same station and sing along to all your favorite songs.

It used to drive Steve insane.

Now he’s relieved he can do this one thing for you.

The drive is quiet. The only conversation that is made is mumbled directions to your house. It isn’t a far drive, but Steve takes his time anyways. He doesn’t know if you have anyone to go home to, he knows you haven’t stopped shaking quite yet. 

“Turn here,” your voice is hoarse from lack of use.

Steve listens, turns into a neighborhood he’s unfamiliar with. He thinks he’s nearing your home and he isn’t ready to let you go just yet. He knows you have to talk about what happened today. The bruises on his knuckles will fade, but the memory of Jack’s cruel words won’t. 

“So,” He clears his throat. He’s doing the right thing, he knows he is. “Jack. He was…?”

You’re quiet for several moments and Steve is afraid he’s ruined everything, pushed you too far, but eventually you respond. “Ex boyfriend. Broke up a week ago. He didn’t take it well.”

“I hate him.”

Despite the fatigue that weighs upon you and the dread that Jack will come back, you can’t help but laugh at what Steve has said. “Yeah, I guess I do, too.”

Silence falls again. Steve pulls into your driveway, he turns the car off, the headlights die, but neither one of you move. 

“You’re not, you know.”

You finally face Steve, confused as to what he’s referencing. “What?”

“You’re not a ‘fucking moron’. And you’re definitely not a bitch.” He clarifies, eyes meeting yours. You’re almost breathless by how brightly they shine with remorse. You’ve never known a man who felt such an emotion. “Jack is a dick, and so was I.”

“Steve…”

He doesn’t let you pity him. He knows what he did was wrong, the words that fell from his mouth about you will haunt him forever. Steve may not have liked you, but he didn’t have any right to say those things about you. “I really am sorry, Y/N.” 

There’s nothing to forgive.

Steve isn’t Jack. You know that, now. 

“It’s okay. I think I made you go through enough today, anyways.” You nudge his shoulder with yours, risking physical affection just this once. “First the restock orders and then defending my honor? I think we’re even.”

“I was pretty heroic, wasn’t I?” Steve tries to laugh, play along, but it’s bitter on his tongue. He doesn’t think he’ll ever forgive himself for how much he hurt you. 

Noticing his darkened expression, you poke Steve’s cheek. “Hey, you’re not allowed to brood. I’m the one whose crazy ex showed up at work today.” But it doesn’t work, he doesn’t laugh and you know he blames himself for everything. “Look at me, Steve.”

Night has fallen and the honey brown in Steve’s eyes resembles darkened ash. You place your hand on his, careful not to disturb his bruises. “I forgive you, but if you insist on being such an annoying jerk about it, then you can make it up to me by being my friend.”

“Your friend?” Steve doesn’t pull his hand away from yours, and it’s a start. 

“Yup, think you can handle that?” 

“‘Friends’,” he lets the word roll over his tongue. Tests it out, gets a feel for what it would be like to call you his friend. He thinks he likes the way it feels, the weight that accompanies it is one that settles his chest, soothes his wounds. “I guess I can be okay with that.”

He smiles at you, then, and you smile back.

You’re beautiful when you smile; warm, angelic.  

Steve doesn’t consider himself a bad guy, but by all accounts, he considers you a goddamn saint. 

-

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[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Crash and Burn 4

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

Character: Tony Stark

Summary: a powerful man comes crashing into your life. Literally.

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

You shiver and hide behind your eyelids. The air swirls around you in a cyclone as you clasp to the icy metal against you. You can't believe this is happening and yet your imminent doom cannot be denied. 

You squeal as Tony lets you go. You squeeze him tighter, knowing you won't be able to hold on forever. Not with the whipping winds and bone-deep chill.  

You brace yourself, trembling, and your feet meet solid ground. A gentle tap on your side has you tearing away as the dearth of sound and motion hits you like a truck. You look at Tony in defiance, your embarrassment curdling just under your skin. 

"That was fun," he chuckles as his mask retracts to reveal a taunting smirk. 

"Whatever. Go back to New York, I'll find my way--" 

You turn and swallow your words. Your grandmother's house is right behind you. You peer around and push your shoulders back. You really aren't winning this one. 

"Can't say I never did anything for ya. Lot quicker than the bus," he snorts. 

"Oh," you spin back to him, "so you think this makes us even?" 

"It's a start," he shrugs. "Now," he holds his wrist up as if to check the time and a projection casts from a microscopic projector. He swipes through the wall of text as a lens extends from his suit and hovers in front of his eyes. "If I'm gonna get that trailer, I need to speak with the leasee, a Darlene? Is that mommy?" 

You suck in your cheeks and puff out through you nose. It's like pulling wisdom teeth but you're getting somewhere. You put your hands on your hips and nod. 

"Yeah, I'll go see if she's home." 

"You know, I'm not sure how things work around here," he lowers his arm as the projection disappears and the lens folds back into his suit, "not sure about how things work around here but typically when someone brings you home, you invite them inside." 

You stare at him, your brows arching. He scoffs and tilts his head. 

"Tell ya what, I'll even dust my boots off." 

He kicks his feet and brushes his metal gauntlets of his chest place. All at once the suit folds into itself. You frown and examine him, trying to figure out where it's hiding under his blazer. He straightens his tie and comes out his hair with his fingers.  

"There, all dolled up to meet mom," he winks.  

You chew your lip. He's annoying but he says he's going to help. Besides, you'd rather he deal with your mom and be done with him. 

"Fine, come on." 

You turn and march away. He snickers and follows, "so hospitable." 

"Well, sorry to disappoint but we don't have a butler." You go up onto the low porch and pull open the screen door with a squeak. 

"Huh, that really what you think of me?" He grabs the door above your head as you unlock the inner one. "I sit in my ass all day and drink champagne and smoke cigars? I'll have you know I do all that and save the world when it comes calling " 

"Mm, got it." You drone as you push inside, "mom? Grandma? We got company." 

"Really rolling out that red carpet," he scoffs. 

"Stay here," you say as you head down the hall. 

"You know I don't usually take orders," he intones, his voice drifting off into words you can't make out clearly, "...kinda hot..." 

You don't think it's too bad. Your grandma's place is usually blistering in the summer but it's just about tolerable today. Her bedroom door is closed, signalling she's probably sleeping, but your mother isn't where you expect to her. Her ash tray is on the table but the kitchen is empty. 

The back door is open. You swing open the screen and lean out. She's puffing a cigarette over your grandmother's pansies. 

"Mom, someone's here about the trailer." 

"Tell the damn landlord I'm not payin' til I get a new one," she snarls. 

"It's not him." You insist. 

"Huh, insurance peddler?" She butts out the smoke on the wooden railing, leaving the stub there. 

"Tony Stark." You answer bluntly. 

She cackles, "fucking smart ass. Go away." 

You state at her and she scowls. She huffs and tramps over to you. You hold the door for her and she enters. 

"You and your goddamn jokes..." she grumbles as she crosses the kitchen.  

You stay a few feet back as you follow. She stumbles to a halt as she reaches the doorway. She coughs and looks at you over her shoulder, "holy shit." 

You shrug and shoo her with your fingers. 

"Darlene, wonderful to meet you," Tony sounds almost charming as his footfalls creak on the floorboards. 

"Mr. Stark," she preens. You haven't heard that simper in ages. "What are you doing here?" 

"Well, I did say I'd fix what I broke." He explains. "Really unfortunate what happened. Sometimes we can't avoid a little collateral but just happy no one was hurt." 

"Of course," she chimes. "Well, it wasn't much but it was our home." 

"Humble," he praises. "Your daughter has been a great help too. Such a lovely girl." 

"Eh, oh, I s'pose," her voice slants with uncertainty.  

"We got a lot of details to go over. I had my people come up with some options but I want you to be happy so I'll leave the choice up to you. Gonna take a bit so how about I order dinner. My treat, of course." He pauses and you peek put from the kitchen. He smirks past your mother, "you like pizza?" 

"Oh, Mr. Stark how generous. Whatever you like is good enough for us." She giggles. You wince. She doesn't giggle. 

You retreat back into the kitchen. She's just like those kids clamouring for autographs and the star-struck residents completely unbothered by the burning ruin. They don't see anything but him. 

[just-some-random-blogger]

Accidental Targ

Scene II: he kinda looks like my ex boyfriend | Masterlist

Daemon Targaryen x Modern!Reader

Summary: After coming to terms with the fact you were in King's Landing some two thousand years before your birth, you get reunited with your friend and try to manifest your way back to the present. For the meantime, Harwin Strong is your bodyguard.

Word Count: 5k+

Warnings: fem!reader, time travel au, descriptions of reader's hair, incestuous gremlin!daemon, generally gross!daemon, harwin 'big daddy' strong, crackfic, typos, etc.

A/N: Following the events of our mighty poll 😁😁😁😁 im excited to say what won was was always my intention and im glad you lovely readers have synced with me on it BWHWAHA sorrows sorrows prayers

"Fucking Seven," I sigh and gather my thick skirts, running up to the blue haired girl. The servant who escorted her promptly curtsies then walks away. I release the fabrics to grasp her face. I sigh in relief, "thank the gods you're here, Libby."

"What the fuck are you wearing?" she asks groggily, eyeing my dress.

I shake my head, "fuck, shit, I mean Lilibet."

"And how did you braid your hai-" Libby speaks the same time as me before freezing and raising a finger, "fuck you."

I growl and grab her hand, "no, no, no. Listen to me," I push her hand down, "you remember running through that damned arch?"

Libby wrangles out of my clutch and rather exasperatedly glares at me, "what?"

I release a shudder then grab her face again, "listen to me, Libby!" I sigh, "remember that stupid urban legend?"

Libby's face contorts as she groans. She pushes my hands off her à la 5-year-old tantrum; her blue hair, in turn, flies to her face.

"We crossed that arch," I grab her arms, "and now we're in fucking first century Westeros, Libby," I hiss, pulling her to the bed, "which is why I have to call you Lilibet-"

"Fuck you."

"-and you have to change and cover your hair," I release her to grab the clothing on the sheets, shoving them into her chest.

"What ABOUT my hair!"

I shake my head, "it's a dead giveaw-"

"You're closer to dead. You look like a fucking grandma and you have problems with my hair?!" Libby throws the clothes back on the bed, "listen, I know I got wasted and shit, and I'm sorry, but if you want me to cosplay as a peasant, just say that and get me coffee, please-"

"LIBBY!"

Libby's ear's ring, "bitch, the fu-"

"THERE IS NO COFFEE!" I grab her arms and shake her, "we're being held hostage by Daemon Targaryen and this hair," I manically point to my head, "is our fucking lifeline!"

Libby's face pinches, the initial grogginess in her expression is expelled, "Ok, calm your tits, YN-wannabe. I told you reading fics of him would fuck with your head. Imagine reading fics about King fucking Charles-"

"IT'S NOT THE SAME!"

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN IT'S NOT THE SAME?! IT'S FUCKING WORS-"

"THAT'S NOT THE POINT, LIBBY!"

"HE'S THE COLONIZER OF COLONIZERS!"

"IT'S NOT A FANFIC!" I pinch my fingers together, "THIS IS NOT A FANFIC! I AM telling you we fucking crossed that arch and now we're FUCKING-"

My words cease when a creaking sound of the heavy door fills the room. The both of us turn to the door as it opens. My heart begin to race.

Lo and behold, Daemon Targaryen walks in, one hand on his hilt, eyes looking us both up and down. Libby shifts in her spot as Daemon approaches. Her demeanor immediately changes when she sees him. She straightens up and pushes her hair back, dusting off her hot pink top. Aint no way.

"Do I look good?" Libby mutters to me before Daemon is in front of us. My eyes blow wide and my jaw slacks. Be so fucking for real. She fixes her radioactive blue hair and my upper lip curls in disgust and annoyance.

Libby and Daemon lock gazes; the former smirks, "hey, cutie pie."

I slap my hand to my face. The sound reverberates in the room.

"What is a cutie pie?" Daemon asks stoically.

Libby leans on one leg, "you."

"Seven fucking hells," I quip, roughly dragging my palm down my skin.

Daemon turns to me before tilting his head. He mirrors Libby's stance and his lips faintly curve upward, "in this era, girl, pies are food. What would I have in common with a type of pie?"

Libby lets out an airy chuckle, "you ren fair boys really like roleplay, huh?"

Daemon raises a brow, "I assure you, nothing about me is boyish."

Libby bites her lip and claws the air, "rawr."

I am unable to mask the sound I make. Daemon pulls his head back at Libby's actions.

I grit my teeth and grab her arm; she shakes me off, making sure to giggle as she does this. Daemon chuckles as he turns to me, "I see why you are keen on keeping her."

"You can keep me if you like," she blurts, stepping in front of me to garner his attention. Daemon steps back.

I grab Libby's arm again. This time, with much force that the ends of my hair whip around. I whisper-yell, "you do know that is Daemon Targaryen, right?"

Libby barely turns to me as she mutters, "what?"

"You're flirting with the Daemon Targaryen," I sneer, "first of his name," I lean in and whisper, "manwhore."

Libby looks at me from over her shoulder to me then back to Daemon, "ahhhh. A cosplayer."

"Libby, I swear to g-"

"It's pretty good," she crosses her arms then points, "is that a wig or hair dye?"

Daemon furrows his brows, face contorting at her words.

My eyes widen and suddenly the silver hair on my scalp itches like it doesn't belong to me. Well, see-- it doesn't! Not in a way that counts to the incestuous gremlin!

From the way his composure tightens, I could tell he was no longer amused. I yank Libby back, shooting her a glare, "literally shut the fuck up."

She scowls at my pressed tone, "what? I was just asking-"

"Hair dye?" Daemon blurts way too loud, shutting us both up.

We turn to him as he looks between us. He tilts his head and adjusts his grip on his sword. He straightens his posture. In that moment, his expression was changed dramatically. He reaches out for Libby's hair, inspecting it in his hand. His violet eyes dart to hers, "so, your hair is blue because of dye?"

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, shit, fuck.

I grab Libby's hand before she can think of saying some bullshit. She does not move a muscle as I squeeze her palm.

Daemon raises his brows impatiently.

"What?" she mumbles.

I clench my jaw at her ditzy response.

Daemon narrows his eyes, "are you so dimwitted not to understand me the first time?

Fucking fuck. A shiver runs down my spine. Libby raises her brows and turns to me as I stare at Daemon. I blurt, "it is a right of passage for her family."

Daemon eyes me hotly.

I release Libby's hand and scramble to the bed where my clothes were folded into a small sack. I go through my things and pull out my phone, opening my gallery, showing Daemon a photo of Libby and our friends with bright colored hair. I lie, "these are her cousins."

Daemon pulls his head back at the sight of the photo on my phone; it was the exact reaction he had when I showed him a screenshot of the maps of this very place.

Libby blinks rapidly as Daemon comes to my side. The man basically breathes down my neck as he looks a the screen like a boomer. He narrows his eyes and pulls back his chin.

I point to Sandra, who had pink hair, "they do this to... commemorate the war-- of their people."

Daemon looks at Libby again, seemingly expecting more of an explanation. I look at Daemon and begin to panic at the aloof expression Libby held. I place my hand on his arm and rub it gently. Thankfully, he's still a simple man and it seems to diffuse his unbelieving demeanor, "it's hard for her to talk about. It was a war over dye and trading. A lot of her family... were casualties."

Fuck. WELL, real wars have been fought for WAAAY less.

Daemon turns to me, "I find it hard to believe such traditions exist two thousand years from now."

"And yet," I wave my phone, "you could not also believe you were listening to music with me moments ago."

He hums and turns back to Libby. He nods, "well, have her dress," he turns back to me, "I want to break fast with you before the tourney, dragonling."

I nod rapidly. Daemon gives a smile and heads for the door, "you remember your way to the solar?"

"I do."

He eyes Libby as he walks off then turns to me, "very good."

The moment the door closes, Libby explodes, "WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?!

"WE'RE IN FUCKING FIRST CENTURY WESTEROS," I whisper-yell, "now keep your voice down, you stupid fucking bitch, and change!"

It took me explaining everything that happened in detail as she got in her dress AND getting lost in the fucking castle then actually finding our way to the solar for Libby to believe I wasn't playing the most elaborate prank on her.

And when we got there, a servant informed us that the prince had been summoned by the king and that we should eat by ourselves.

Libby and I sit across each other. We decide to forfeit the fact the food could be poisoned because we were way too hungry not too eat. This blue haired rat, however, couldn't fucking stop saying the food could use salt and pepper. We were mortified when a servant came to us with a mortar of just that.

Before we could even say thank you, she runs off.

I snap at Libby, who scratches her headscarf for the nth time, "do you fucking understand you're a terrifying aristocrat right now?!"

"I'M SORRY!" Libby makes a repentant expression.

"You should be!"

"It's just that everything is fucking boiled and-"

The sound of the door opening ends Libby's yapping. We both snap to see who was entering.

In walks the dark haired man from the night before. Gold cloak, armor, and all. He steps in front of us and bows, "good morn."

"Hubba hubba," Libby tucks imaginary hair behind her ear.

"Fucking," I snap to her, "stop."

I look back at the man trying to remember his name, I can't seem to.

"Wait! Is this the madly good looking guard you were talking about?!" Libby speaks WAY to loud for a conversation between two people across each other.

The man makes a sound as he wipes his lips. My eyes widen and I sink in my chair.

"You clearly have a type," Libby mutters as she unabashedly eyes him. He is undeterred. She tilts her head, "he looks like your ex."

I snap back at her, "w h a t?"

"Or I mean he would look like him," she points her thumb, "if he wasn't so whiny, short, and pathetic," Libby turns to me.

"He literally looks nothing like Jon."

"He does!" she leans in, "dark curls, thick brows!"

I shove a bread roll into her mouth.

"Prince Daemon tasked me to be your chaperone for the day," he says, clutching his hand in front of him.

"I've always wanted a hot bodyguard," Libby smiles and leans back on her chair, "well, don't just stand there," she beckons him, "come join us for breakfast."

I pretend to fix my silver hair as I clear my throat, "breaking fast."

"Breaking fast," Libby corrects with a grin, "and what was your name again, pretty boy?"

I groan as I shove a bread roll into my mouth.

"Harwin Strong, my lady," Harwin mutters with another respectful nod, turning to me, "and please, forgive me for last night's encounter, Lady Gryffindor."

Libby titters and slaps her hand on her mouth.

"If I came off as impertinent or-"

"No, please, sir Strong," I raise a hand to him, "you were doing your job-- I mean your duty. Nothing needs to be forgiven."

"By the way," Libby raises a finger, "I'm Lady Hufflepuff and I would love it if you sat down next to me."

Harwin turns to Libby and I resist the urge to facepalm. My face twitches and I watch as Harwin shifts in his spot. I blurt, "you can call her Lilibet."

"Fuck you," Libby snaps.

I snap back, "well, that is your name, is it not?"

"I'm not entering my nun era."

I make a throaty sound and grab a goblet, "clearly," I take a sip, "but with that getup-"

"Hey!" Libby bangs on the table, "you're the one who made my cunt levels drop with this milkmaid outfit."

Harwin begins to cough.

"What? Like I chose that for you?"

"No," she props her elbow on the table, "but Daemon gave you a city girl-"

"Prince Daemon."

"-outfit and he made me look like your ugly handmaiden."

"Again," I brush my platinum hair out of my face, "that wasn't my choice, Lilibet."

"My ladies-" Harwin interjects, making us both turn to him. He clears his throat and offers pinched smile, "I am honored by the invitation, but I will stand watch out-"

"Oh, don't be rude and just sit down already," Libby presses with a playful look, "there's way more food than the two of us can eat."

And though she was correct, I kick her underneath the table.

Libby yelps and eyes me. I dodge her when she kicks me back.

"I don't think it appropri-"

"Nonsense!" Libby calls, turning back to Harwin as she fails to kick me again, "please, just join us."

"LILIBET!" I whisper-yell.

"UGH!" she turns to me with disgust and whisper-yells back, "stop fucking calling-"

"You do know he could literally be like your great-great-great-great-"

She raises a hand and cuts me off with a guttural groan, "oh miss me with that bullshit! You're LITERALLY a Targaryen!"

"I will wait outside," the man calls, making us turn to him.

Harwin walks off and Libby raises the bowl of bread rolls, "THE BREAD ROLLS ARE ACTUALLY REALLY NICE THOUGH!"

I wipe my face, "Libby, we're going to fucking die."

"Not before I try myself some Harwin Strong."

"SIT BACK DOWN."

"I'M SAT!"

When we finished eating, Harwin escorted us to the arena to watch the tourney.

"Are you married, Harwin? Can I call you Harwin?" Libby asks.

I shoot her a look, "Lilibet."

Libby ignores me. The man we were following keeps walking, not bothering to look back at us, "you may call me whatever you like, my lady."

Libby and I turn to each other with a gasp. No, cause why he playing like that?

"And I am not married," he looks over his shoulder, eyes locking with mine momentarily.

Libby's jaw drops and begins to shake me. She mutters loudly under her breath, "bitch. why he looking at you, and not at me?"

"Probably because you're fucking stupid!" I retort quickly in the same manner, unable to mask my giddy tone.

Harwin clears his throat again as he looks front. Neither of us catch this.

"Libby, be so fucking real though," I grab her arm and whisper, "that's someone's grandpa."

"Yeah, well, today, he's my daddy," she mumbles then bites her lips, as if it could minimize her grin.

Harwin makes a face and whispers under his breath, "daddy?"

When we get to the arena, the sound of the cheering crowds make both of us excited, up until someone screamed in terror and the crowds continued cheering anyway. Harwin gave us spots quite near the front, and the sight of the horses and their long-ass sticks left me feeling uneasy.

Libby shoves into me as she points to the far right. I, in turn, collide into Harwin's bulky armor. Before I can apologize for it, she squeals, "LOOK, IT'S DAEMON!"

"Libby, he's the prince!"

"TAKE A PHOTO! He looks so good!"

I give her a look as I straighten up, "girl, shut the fuck up."

Without another thought, she pulls out her phone from her bosom and wipes the moisture off the screen.

Harwin looks away, eyes wide, pretending he did not just see that happen.

"Stop it! You have no idea how bad this could-"

"Oh, shut up, you showed Daemon your phone!" Libby makes a face.

"THAT'S BECAUSE HE WOULDN'T LET ME GET REUNITED WITH YOU IF I DIDN'T CONVINCE HIM I WAS FROM-."

"Shush," she opens her camera and begins to take photos of Daemon. She shouts his name along with the other spectators and I beg her to at least call him prince.

"What is that contraption," Harwin asks, eyes glued on Libby's cracked screen.

I turn to Harwin, to Libby's phone, back to him, "it's, err... an image capturing... box."

Harwin nods at me though his face is visibly confused. He furrows his brows as Libby switches to front cam and puckers her lips out, "SAY CHEESE, DADDY!"

The color in Harwin's face drains when he sees himself on the screen. I clutch his arm and give him a look, "it's okay. It's not dangerous."

"Will it capture my image?" he mutters and covers his face. He mutters under his breath, "I'd like to keep my face."

Fuck. "N-not like that. It's... it's not black magic."

All the while, Libby is pressing the buttons on her phone, rapidly taking photos no one asked for.

A few people around us begin to mutter to themselves. I find myself looking over my shoulder, catching a bunch of men staring right at us. I eye Libby, nonverbally telling her to quit it. She gives me a look and snaps a few more pics of Daemon before shoving her phone back in her cleavage.

I release a breath when she does, that, and ser Harwin's arm that I did not realize I was still latched on to. I offer a look, "sor- apologies."

He nods, "all is well, my Lady."

And yeah sure, maybe it was. Maybe all was well. Daemon was winning the tournament-- or tourney, I guess; I have no idea what the difference was. I mean I could barely watch because they were fucking gladiator-ing each other, but I knew he was winning because after every crash, came a trumpet and the announcement of it.

So yeah. Maybe it was fine then, in its own sick way, but then Libby pulled me by the arm and said, "I have to take a shit."

"What?"

She gives me a look, "I need to take a shit."

"Libby," my eyes widen.

"I know!" she grabs my shoulders as the crowd cheers over whatever barbaric brawl was happening this time, "you think I want to know what their loos look like?" she shakes me, "am I going to have to shit in a river?"

I wipe my face and turn over to Harwin. His eyes turn from the match to me when I pull at his cloak, "mmm.... Lilibet has to... ... to poop."

Libby slaps my arm. I turn to her, frazzled. She hisses, "he doesn't know what poop is."

"You think I don't know that?!"

"I beg your pardon, my lady?" Harwin shifts to us, his thick brows knitting.

"Yeah, one second," I raise a finger at him, looking back at Libby, "I don't fucking remember the word."

Libby sighs, "Just tell him I need to sh- I NEED TO SH-"

I slap my hand on her mouth, "QUIT IT!"

Libby pushes my hand off, "WHAT?!"

"HE'S NOT GONNA KNOW WHAT THAT-"

"EVERYONE FUCKING KNOWS WHAT TAKING A SH-"

"NO, THERE'S A TERM THAT THEY USE! Think about it! Have you never watched a BBC period drama?!"

"BITCH, YOU KNOW I ONLY WATCH NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC!"

"OK, THEN THINK OF WHAT DAVID ATTENBOROUGH SAYS WHEN THE ANIMALS ARE POOPI-"

"DO YOU GENUNINELY BELIEVE THEY SHOW FOOTAGE OF ANIMALS POOPING ON TELEVISION?!"

"I DON'T FUCKING KNOW. IN ALL TV HISTORY THERE HAS TO BE AT LEAST ONE TIME WHERE-"

"HARWIN," Libby shoves me to the side and grabs the man, "I HAVE TO SHIT."

Seven father fucking hells. I dig my fingers into the roots of my light hair and to Harwin, whose lips part and brows furrow. He nods, "I will lead you to the privy," he turns to me, "stay here in the meantime."

We both nod. Libby walks to Harwin's and makes a face at me, "they call it a privy on the BBC, do they? Sounds like an office."

"Libby- Just- if push comes to shove, tell him you'll shit in the river."

Libby groans as Harwin leads her off. She shoots me a glare, "I am not shitting in a river with Harwin watching!"

I shriek in shock when there is a loud crashing sound. My hands dart to my ears just as the crowd roars. A loud voice announces the victory of Prince Daemon from House Targaryen.

I drag my hands down my cheek and clutch my chest.

I dare to look at the casualties on the playing grounds, but to my horror, I see something far worse. Daemon's horse is galloping over to me. He rips his helmet off, tosses it, and sighs through a grin. He points his stick to me and loudly calls, "might a fair woman like you reward me something sweet?"

My eyes widen and I feel the entire stadium turn to me. My heart races and my jaw loosens inch by inch.

Daemon shoves his stick to the side and reaches his arms out to me, "a kiss perhaps?"

Rat, I wasn't even watching you play. Why should I reward you for winning a game I didn't watch?

I cannot help the sound that leaves me when the other audience members begin to spur me on and nudge me. Fuck. I hate peer pressure. I walk towards the railing and eye Daemon as if I had laser vision.

"I CANNOT REACH YOU!" I scream back, momentarily shocked by the ferocity and fury of my voice. I gulp and clear my throat, rubbing my neck that I would so like to keep. I raise my hands, "I must then stay here!"

Daemon, face shining with sweat, colored with dirt and blood, beams as he looks up. He chuckles and dismounts his steed. He walks closer to me and begins to remove his armor, "then come down to me, woman!"

The crowd loses it. The women around me scream that I should come down to him.

Maybe if I jump head first, I'll be done with all this bother.

Fuck, but then Libby would be all alone.

I groan under my breath, "fucking Libby. This is all her fucking fault!"

I look back at Daemon, who had two men helping him out of his armor at this point. His eyes are on me; they probably didn't leave. His lips are curved higher, "fear not," he smirks deeper, "did I swear to protect you?"

The crowd is feral. I glance around the place. Isn't the fucking king right there?!

"No!" I look down at him and shake my head, "you swore not to harm us!"

Daemon laughs, "is there a difference?"

"YES!" I blurt, eyes wide.

Daemon stands alone bellow me, free of his upper body armor. He raises his hands up to me, "then believe me when I say you will not be harmed when you jump."

"Oh gods," I grip the railing and screw my eyes shut, "I fucking hate this man."

"Will you make all of King's Landing wait days for you, girl?"

I growl as the people around me continue to pressure me to jump. Had there not been people around, maybe I would have spit at him. And yet - I climb the railing - I am nothing against peer pressure.

Daemon steps forward, arms higher, laugh louder.

The stadium gasps while heart leaps into my mouth when I let go of the railing and drop straight down. The collision is just as messy as I had dreaded it to be and the next thing I know, I've smack dabbed atop the fucking prince of the realm, crushing into the fucking dirt. So much for catching me.

Yet somehow, Daemon manages to let out giggles while the crowd cheers. His arms tighten around me as I push myself up on his chest, "my," he blows silver hair out of his face, "I didn't actually think you'd do it."

"Fuck you," I snap and shove myself off him.

I don't even know where I'm even going, but I storm off anyway, feeling like the biggest idiot in the known galaxy.

But of course, Daemon is quick to get up and grab my arm. He speaks some High Valyrian bullshit, but I care little for it and pry my limb out of his clutch.

It seemed that was the wrong course of action though, cause the next thing I knew, he grabbed me and threw me over his shoulder. The audience flourishes over the way he took me like a piece of meat.

I fucking hate it here.

Make no mistake, I did my due diligence and tried to wrangle out of his grip. But he was pumped with far too much adrenaline, and his inflated ego would not let him let me go.

Eventually, I got tired and just let it happen. The moment he put me down when we arrived at his chambers though, I shoved him off and distanced myself as much as I could, "what the fuck is wrong with you?!"

Daemon responds in High Valyrian, which effectively pisses me off more.

"I don't have TIME to decode your dragon-heir bullshit, so quit it! I am not a toy!"

Daemon chuckles as he takes a towel and wipes his face, "no?"

"Look," I snap, "I know you're, like, touch deprived and emotionally constipated," I stretch my arm out, "I mean, your family-- our family is a fucking wreath, so you're bound to be fucked up in the head, but please," I press my palms together, "PLEASE just be normal until the end of the day, Dae- Prince Daemon."

Daemon laughs as I go off on him. He watches me for a moment, throws the towel to his bed, and tilts his head.

My chest heaves as we stare at each other. Instead of relaxing, I begin to grow more tense with every passing second. I take a deep breath, but it does nothing for my nerves when Daemon walks forward.

"The truth in the matter is," he raises a hand, "you need me."

My stomach drops when he yanks me by the waist. His violet eyes dart down to my heaving chest. He places his one hand on my collarbone, "shhh."

The feel of him pressing onto my flesh does the exact opposite of what he wants. But no-- with how the corner of his mouth curves upward, I think it's actually the exact reaction he wanted.

When I try to push him off, he pulls me tighter into him and repeats, "you need me."

My nostrils flare but I stop repelling him.

"You need me," he lifts his gaze, "but I don't. I want you, but you need me."

I clench my jaw tightly. I am unable to contain my flinch when his hand strokes my side. He continues, "you need me to open the gate for you and your friend come midnight, do you not?"

I turn away from him.

He nudges me and asks louder, "do you not?"

"Yes," I whimper as I shut my eyes.

He hums, "then," he takes my chin in his fingers, "you'll be what I want, riñītsos." Little girl. He raises his brows. "If say you are a toy, then you say, 'yes, my prince'. If I say you are a rug, then I expect you under my heel. If I say you are my dog, then you ought to bark," he releases my chin, "now, bark, my sweet."

I glare at him, "if you want a dog, I suggest you go up North." I push him by his chest.

He laughs. He grabs my arms and pushes me back. I panic when I fumble on my feet and find myself pressed against a wall. "You're right, riñītsos. How wrong of me to liken dragon fire to dog breath."

I gasp when my back hits the wall.

"A shame," he tucks my silver hair behind my ear, "your parents did not give you violet eyes."

I am frozen in my spot when his lips brush against mine. My breath hitches when he simultaneously presses me back with his chest and pulls me forward with his hands.

I don't kiss him back. My brain was in a glitch. He doesn't seem to mind and feasts on my lips. The moment I have the wits to move, he pulls away and whispers, "worry not," he kisses my jaw, "I'll give your babes violet eyes."

Hearing that really snapped me out of my trance.

I finally turn away from him. It does not deter him though, and he makes due with kissing my neck. He moans against me, "you smell divine."

"I-it's called," I push him back, "personal hygiene."

He snakes his arms around me, "you were sent to me by the gods."

"I travelled here by accident!"

"And I plan to make good of this happy accident."

I fight him off when he claws my skirt up. I weigh my chances with screaming and with talking sense into him. I ponder of telling him my vagina is cursed, but then I think he'd be into that.

"Don't fight it," Daemon grabs my wrists, "I will quench the fires of the Targaryen blood in you that calls out to me."

"My blood does not call out to you!" I whimper.

"You may be Gryffindor by name, but you will be a Targaryen once I am done with you."

And then the doors slam open. "Your grace!"

"Harwin," I call out to the man that burst in.

Daemon growls and but does not pull away or turn, "I'm busy."

"It's Lady Hufflepuff," Harwin speaks through strained breath.

"Who?"

My stomach drops, "wait!" I push Daemon harder, "what happened to Libby?"

Daemon finally looks over his shoulder with annoyance, "what happened?"

Harwin takes a moment to respond. The dread that courses through me makes me strong enough to shove Daemon off. He grunts as I do so. I walk over to the dark haired man, "Harwin."

He clenches his jaw and turns to his feet, "I took her to the privy. She said she was having... trouble using it and that I should call a servant to help. So... I fetched a servant, but when I returned," he clears his throat, "she was gone."

I bring my hand to my mouth.

Daemon walks up behind me, "you lost a woman in King's Landing, Strong?"

"I- I did not think much of it at first," Harwin turns to Daemon, "at first I thought she may have just finished and was playing a trick on me," he glances to me but looks away at once, "but then I saw her contraption on the ground-"

I gasp.

"And then I saw a shoe... and then her headscarf-"

"Dear gods, Libby," my voice strains.

"She was taken by a group of three men," Harwin speaks sternly, "I know not for, but they've since regret their decision."

"And Libby!" I jump and grab his arm, "where is she now?!"

Harwin feels guilt eat away at him when he catches my distraught expression. He turns to me, placing a hand on my shoulder, "she's being attended to by the maesters in the ward-"

I dash to the door, intent on reaching her, though I had no idea where I was going.

"It's this way!" Daemon calls.

When I turn to see where he meant, he was already right behind me. He grabs my arm and leads me down the hall.

The moment we get to the ward, I run around and look for Libby. I am shocked solid in my place when I see the cot she is laid upon. My hands slap to my face upon catching her messy hair, dirty skin, and tattered clothes. Her waist was bound in bandages, but that didn't prevent the red to seep through from her side.

I drop to my knees and crawl all the way over to her. I yelp when I feel how cold her hands are. Hot tears burn down my cheek, "Libby, please!"

My breathing becomes more erratic.

"I've spoken to the maesters," Daemon's voice sounds from behind.

"Fucking tetanus, fucking bacterial shock-"

"They said she lost some blood but she will recov-"

"SHUT UP!" I snap and get to my feet, "YOU GET A FUCKING FEVER HERE AND YOU DIE!" I point an accusing finger, "THIS IS ALL YOUR FUCKING FAULT!"

"ME?" Daemon snaps back, "that Strong fool was the one that took his eyes off her!"

"If you had just let us stay in your chambers like I begged you to-- but no! You wanted us to watch your stupid fucking game, you EGOTISTICAL BASTARD!"

He steps forward and barks back, "she still would have needed to go to the privy, you whining nitwit!"

"Why did they even take her?!" I whine.

Daemon does not respond.

"I do not contest that the fault is mine," another voice speaks.

Daemon and I turn to Harwin. His hands are linked in front of him, and only then do I realize they were bloody. More tears gush down my face when the man continues, "it was my duty to keep her-"

"It doesn't matter now, does it!?" I wail, waving my hands around. I fall back on my knees and turn to Libby. Her blue hair was stuck on her sweaty skin. And as I wiped her forehead, it felt like a rehash of last night, except worse. I sob, "nothing's gonna change the fact she got fucking stabbed."

Daemon looks from me to Harwin, "what of the men that took her?"

"I killed them."

My expression drops as I turn to Harwin.

The two stare at each other for a moment.

"Well, we can't question the dead, now can we," Daemon mutters, "feed their corpses to Caraxes."

"W-wait," I feel bile rise up my throat, "did- did you actually kill them?"

Harwin looks at me but doesn't respond. He walks off when Daemon orders him to get a chair. I turn to Daemon and whimper, "he didn't actually kill them... did he actually kill them?"

Daemon nods, "he did," and grabs my arms, "do not insult yourself by sitting on the floor."

For once, I do not fight him back. I let him bring me to my feet. The moment I'm stood before him, he takes my cheeks and wipes my tears.

I shake my head, "I have to take her back."

Daemon raises his brows, "you would dare to move her in such a state?"

"It's the only way she will survive," I mumble through trembling lips.

The prince looks at me for a moment. Harwin finally brings a chair. He places it beside us then stations himself by the door. Neither Daemon nor I make a move for the chair. The former asks, "and you think you can carry her all the way back?"

"Daemon," I grab his arms, "I just have to get her back. Once I'm there, it'll be half the work done."

Daemon releases a breath. He takes my silver locks and fondles with the ends, "and what if I do not want you to leave."

Fuck. "Please," I beg, "please. We both know I don't belong here."

I can see it clearly. It was so clear that those words meant nothing to him. It was talking to a brick wall. I sigh and wipe my face, "I'll do what you want. Whatever it is, I'll do, as long as you let us go by midnight."

Daemon narrows his eyes.

I muster up the most sincere expression I am capable of.

"You will give me whatever I want?"

I close my eyes and shake my head, "yes... my prince."

He does not respond. Daemon turns from me to Libby. He pulls away and calls, "Strong."

"Your grace," Harwin responds.

"She could manage on the back of an ass, could she not?"

Harwin thinks for a moment then nods, "she could."

"Then fetch me an ass," Daemon says. Harwin promptly complies.

Daemon doesn't make me do anything besides sit on his lap while we watched Libby for the rest of the night. I knew in my gut that was not what he wanted out of me, but he didn't say otherwise and I didn't bring it up. Soon enough, it was midnight and there I, Daemon, Harwin, and Libby, sat on a donkey, stood before the open gate of the castle.

Rather than thinking this was stupid and it wasn't going to fucking work, I prayed under my breath to the Seven that we be delivered from this nightmare.

But every time I felt tranquil, the donkey made a sound and I just knew it had to go. What the hell was I going to do with the donkey when I got back to the city anyway?

I clutch the satchel containing our things around my shoulders, "I'll carry her instead."

Daemon and Harwin turn to me and mutter at the same time, "what?"

"I don't want to be responsible for the donk- the animal when I get there."

"Just leave the ass behind," Daemon mutters, rather annoyed.

I grab Libby, who I was already keeping upright, and wrap her arms around my shoulders, "I can carry her."

"No, you can't," Daemon mutters.

Harwin adds, "you are not in the right mind to do this."

"Just," Daemon add, "set the beast free when-"

"I can't just let a donkey loose in King's Landing, Daemon!" I snap, "now please! Help me-"

The bells begin to ring.

I immediately panic.

A surge of adrenaline helps me gather Libby onto my back. "Fucking hell," I grunt and try to fix her on me.

Daemon shakes his hand, "here, let me-"

"I GOT IT!" I scream as the sound of the bell tolling makes my entire body burn with agitation.

I shift Libby on my back one last time and beeline to the gate.

Harwin and Daemon watch. It's impossible to tell which of them is more skeptic in the moment.

I begin to struggle and nearly trip on the annoying skirts hindering my feet. Harwin steps forward, "watch your step."

Daemon eyes him in annoyance, "how helpful."

"Fuck," I panic and begin to walk faster towards the gate, "fucking hell, it's not even that far!"

I reach the large, tunnel-like gate and can't help but close my eyes, afraid that if I could see where I was going, it wouldn't work.

Then SPLAT! I fall face down on the ground.

I scream and immediately roll Libby off me, uncaring that it hurt me, that it hurt her, and quickly get on my feet. I drag her corpse-like body across the expanse and cry as I do so.

I was manic. I was delirious. The sound of the echoing bells did not help the situation at all. I couldn't stop pleading to the gods as I tugged my best friend across the ground. I couldn't even open my eyes because I didn't think my prayers were heard.

"Enough!" a voice calls.

No. NO! That was fucking Daemon. GET THE FUCK AWAY!

I feel someone mess with Libby's body. I screech and refuse to let her go, "LET US GO, DAEMON!"

"THAT'S ENOUGH!"

"NO!" I squeal, finally opening my eyes. I release Libby and lunge at Daemon when I spot him. We crumble to the ground. Once he's on his back, I begin to beat him. It unfortunately doesn't take long for him to overpower me.

"ENOUGH!" he barks, both my hands now trapped in his.

"LET US GO!" I cry.

Daemon shakes his head, "STOP IT!"

"WE'RE GOING BACK!" I try to punch my way out of his grip. It doesn't work.

"Look at me!" Daemon yells, "you dragged her through."

"Get off me!"

"You've done it!!"

I flinch when he shakes me.

"You did it!" Daemon exclaims as he sits up, hands cradling my shoulders, "we're in your time now."

I finally register his words. Daemon looks around, "when you said ruins, I expected an empty castle, not... ruins."

A gasp leaves me when I hear a loud roar from the sky. Daemon looks up when I do, and I calm down when I realize it was only an airplane.

"Was that a dragon?" Daemon asks.

"No," I pull away from him, "that's an-" wait. I stare at him. Daemon fucking Targaryen came back with me?

[tarjapearce]

Grandma's Visit.

Warnings: Drama, mild angst, Strained Relationships. Comfort towards the end. No proofread

Summary: Conchata wants to meet Benji.

A/N: There might not be updates, but have this little piece as an offer :')

Hey

Gabriel's leg bounced as the main door was closed, a bit of a slam on it. His hands immediately fetched his phone.

Migue

Busy right now.

Drop that shit and listen

?? ¿Qué pasó?  (What's wrong?)

Mamá va para allá, cabrón.

The fuck you mean she's on her way? Did you tell her where do I live?

Miguel, it's mom we're talking about.

The eldest O'Hara sighed and raked a hand over his hair. He was definitely not prepared for what laid ahead.

She wants to meet Benjamin.

Miguel's body tensed as his muscles flexed so tightly, one would think he'd break. And it wasn't far from the truth.

Conchata. Or Connie for her friends, was the ever annoying stone on his shoes. Miguel had refused to have her in his wedding. Not out of spite, rather for the  notion he had of his beloved progenitor. He knew that trouble followed her everywhere and if it wasn't following her like an overly attached stalker, is cause she was the problem itself.

Conchata was anything but easy to be around. And things had gone even more acrid after the wedding. Miguel never told you about the fourty five minute call she made him just to say how much of a bad son he was for not inviting her over.

But Miguel knew better, if he'd had her, she'd either complain about everything, ruining the mood for everyone. Or she'd start making snide comments on you and he'd get pissed, some drama would ensue causing an even bigger and jagged rift between them and his wedding would be ruined.

"Hey"

Your gentle and soft touch grounded him, anchored his mind back to his body, as his attention snapped back at you.

"You ok?"

His eyes felt tired and heavy. Unable to meet your gaze completely.

"I'll be."

You cradled him in your arms and kissed the top of his forehead. The touch alone melted him. His own arms embracing your shorter form, that somehow did the perfect work of comforting him and ease his thoughts. But when it came to his mother, little good things came out from it.

"My... eh-" He cleared his throat, "My mother is coming for a visit"

Oh...

"What she could possibly want after so many years?"

"Meet Benjamin."

Even though his words seemed simple, the clenching of his fists until his knuckles turned white, only dictated it was far from being that. Miguel didn't fear his mother, but feared and hated the words that could possibly escape her mouth when things weren't her way.

His wellbeing would be the sacrifice for the visit, cause he'd do anything possible to avoid you or his children get hurt.

"I swear, if she says or does something stupid-"

"Mi reina, let me handle her, ok?"

Your lips pursed and your brows deepened in a soft furrow.

"I won't hesitate-"

"I know. But please. Just, let me, ok?"

Both of you knew that things weren't going to be easy, his distress was obvious, he knew you'd step in if necessary, but he had to face her, it was more like a closure for him than anything. His baby boy wouldn't suffer the dooming and cursing words she gave him so many years ago. Words he learned to loathe as he grew up.

"Alright."

----

Maybe Gabriel's heads up was a false alarm, because nearly a week had gone by. A week of pent up stress and anxiety from both sides. And you could tell from Miguel's demeanor changing.

Even though being loving and a great father remained on the top list, you knew better than that. He'd been found asleep in his office after dinner, or would shut out himself for some little minutes. You'd give him space, and when he needed you, he'd always know where to find you.

He didn't even required to say 'I need you' cause you knew. His body language over the years had been a great subject of study, specially when it came to anxiety and other negatives that always switched on whenever his mother popped up in a conversation, or when something didn't sit right in his gut.

He'd pace, pick at the skin around his nails hard enough to draw blood, chew at the insides of his cheek, drink alot of more coffee to keep himself awake, grumpier than usual, irritated, short replies for everything outside his beloved family.

With you he'd be clingier than usual, he'd spoil Gabi over to avoid thinking too much. He'd pour himself into being that amazing and loving parent he never had, but at night, he'd just hold you until he fell asleep. He'd clutch onto you so tightly that sometimes you'd have little bruises, barely visible ones, in the places he'd hold.

Your comfort skills poured into his preferred love language. Physical touch. You'd play with his hair until he fell asleep, a little purr coming from him before giving into sleep, you'd caress his back in soothing circles, letting the steady beating of your heart lull him to calm.

You'd kiss his face, showering him in affection, as if with every kiss a bit of his worries would go away.

The knock on the main door however interrupted his train of thoughts. You had gone to the supermarket to get some stuff you had forgotten for dinner. Relief washing over him as you now we're home, or so he innocently had thought. All air was caught in his throat upon seeing none other than Conchata on the front door.

Even for her age, Conchata had some beauty reserved. Her skin tone same as Miguel's, soft curls that lingered above her shoulders, deep brown eyes that if one looked close enough, would see the deep red in them. Tall and seizing him with a look he also learned to master.

A scowl disguised as a smile.

"Miguel. "

"Mamá."

A too common and long pleasantries shared between the both.

She hasn't aged much.

Miguel's mind chanted.

"You're gonna let me in to meet my grandson, or what?"

A bushy brow of his quirked, blasé and bored, but he stepped aside. His whole frame had curbed her for long enough.

Here we go

Her scrutinizing gaze was unstoppable against the nakedness of his home. Her eyes raked in every little detail out of place, loading her verbal ammo with it.

"Where is the baby?"

"Asleep."

Monotone and monosyllabic answers that matched his expression was all she could pry from him. It was ridiculous the amount of pictures you seemed to have about Gabriella. She saw her when she was two, then six. Staying in Miguel’s life wasn't something she actually liked to partake on. Too busy with her own demons and new boyfriends to care.

Why would she? He was already a grown ass man.

A man that refused to have her at his own wedding. A past resentment that has lasted over the years and her own mind had been feeding the fester inside her heart. It didn't help you had one of the wedding pictures scattered around the living room.

The few proofs she  needed to see, to know she wasn't welcome, but knowing her son had his own now, was another excuse to see what kind of man and father Miguel had turned out to be.

His arms crossed on his chest as she sat down in one of the seats in the couch.

"Come."

"I'm fine here, thanks."

"I'm trying to be civil. The least you can do is obey your mother for once."

"Why you came?"

"I told you. I need to see my grandson."

"Whatever for?"

Her eyes hardened at his words, but a sigh escaped her lips.

"God, you're so like your father. Always mistrusting people."

"You need to leave."

Hearing her say such curse, made his heart beat even faster. Hands clenched tightly at his sides. Eyes away from her, like if the mere sight of her brought back so many unpleasantness he had fought hard to work them through.

"I won't leave until your... woman shows up and throws me away."

"She will."

"Of course she will. You're not man enough. Just look at this place. A mess."

"And?"

Miguel knew that paying and baiting into her games, would only hinder so. many years of progress he had done on his own. But would also mean to give her the attention she desperately seeked, even if it meant to do it the wrong way.

"What do you mean, and?! What does she does around all day?" Conchata huffed, " In my times the wife was the one that kept everything in check. I've seen nothing but a mess so far."

"Sorry for that."

Your tired and irked voice echoed from the kitchen's door. Miguel gave you a little smirk.

"Have been busy being a real mother this whole time. Miguel, mi amor can you defrost some vegetables, please?"

"Sure do. Found everything?"

You both were purposely ignoring her. A silent yet powerful statement.

You have no power here.

Conchata's eyes set like stone into you. How dared a tiny flea like yourself to speak to her in such way?. And even worse, how could his son be lenient in allowing you to be disrespectful towards her?

You had entered quietly, the heavy and draining aura could be felt even from outside. You had told Gabi to wait outside and rearrange the groceries in the meantime.

" Oh, I didn't know you had returned."

Your name rolling off her tongue felt wrong.

" It's my house too."

"Ah, of course. You didn't do a pre-nup. Te va a dejar en la calle, Miguel." (She'll leave you bare)

Conchata's gaze never left you, it only turned even more intense as her pupils followed you every step.

"I came here to meet my grandson. Where is Gabriella? "

Said precious child helped you to get the bags from your car, while Conchata opened her arms for Gabi to cuddle her. But everything that came out was her hiding behind you, while looking between you and her, as if asking permission.

"Do you want to greet grandma, baby?"

Gabi only recoiled back, hiding further from you.

"Guess not."

You shrugged and instructed Gabi to go to her room, your eldest baby ignored her grandma.

"Muy chistosa tu mujer, enseñándole a mis nietos a irrespetarme ." (Your woman is so funny by teaching my grandkids to disrespect me.)

Miguel had to roll his eyes and stare at her boringly as he pulled out the vegetables and put them to thaw while you clenched your jaw by the sudden resented babbling that came from your mother in law.

"Where is Benjamin? I came here to see him. And I'm sure you'd love to have me here again."

"He'll be up in a minute. Would you like a a glass of water?"

Miguel offered but Conchata was already set in making you as uncomfortable as possible. And when Benjamin was brought in, rubbing his sleepy and baby face, looking for you, Conchata stood and took Benji from Miguel's arms. Holding him with such disingenuous affection it made Benji to reach for Miguel instantly.

You tensed, and so did Benjamin as Conchata admired him. If it wasn't for the skin tone matching Miguel’s, one would think that Benjamin wasn't his. Benjamin had your curls. And not Miguel's soft waves. Benjamin was the splitting image of you with a bit of Miguel's DNA painted in a few selected places. Like his eyes and height.

"I'm actually surprised you managed to pop out his children. Miguel is... big. Got it from his father."

"Didn't care much about that, ma'am."

"No se parece en nada a ti, Miguel. ¿Estás seguro que es tu hijo?" (He doesn't look like you. Are you sure he's your son?)

You didn't know what infuriated you more. The fact that she hinted that Benjamin wasn't his, a shallow and not so subtle hint at Miguel's past, or the pleased smirk her mouth turned into after spilling out the venom and seeing Miguel's discomfit grow.

Some people couldn't be helped. And Conchata truly couldn't help but love hurting her son. But you weren't having it. Not when Miguel's eyes turned away from her, not in hurt but in such anger that even you knew things wouldn't end up good for neither. And still, he regarded her with uninterested eyes.

His lack of engagement at her taunts, made her even more lashing. Like a little child that refused to have her whims met.

Even worse when Benjamin started to fuss and reach for him with a nervous cry. Even he felt odd and icky around her. You took Benjamin from her, cooing and soothing him, but he wanted Miguel. Who gladly took his precious baby, away from Connie. Inspecting him for any damage to finally kiss the top of his forehead, reassuringly.

You're safe.

"Si ya terminó de incomodarnos, creo que se puede ir, señora." (If you're done making us uncomfortable, you may go, ma'am.)

Her eyes widened at your spanish. It was clear that you had understood everything she had said, but were wise enough to not lose your temper, yet you fought back.

"Remind me to never visit you again, please."

"As if you ever do that. And no, it's not an invitation."

"Escúchame bien, chamaco ingrato-" (Listen to me you ungrateful brat)

"Ma'am."

You weren't one for yelling, but your voice was firm enough to have three pair of eyes set on you, Benjamin's fussing stopped. Conchata's lips turned into a scowl at your words.

"Thanks for your visit."

"You know, you could've settled for something better-"

"Así estoy bien, gracias. Now, if you excuse us, We've got dinner to make. The door is right there." (Im just fine. Thanks)

She left with a slam that had Benjamin cry out of the jumpscare.

Miguel hushed and rubbed his baby's back in little circles to keep him calm before giving his pacifier.

" You ok? "

Your hand squeezed Miguel's for a moment while he kissed your temple gratefully.

" Yeah. She's gone. That's why exactly I didn't invite her to the wedding or meeting you."

"It's alright. God... she's-"

"Annoying. I know. Sorry you had to hear all that."

"Nah. I'm glad you taught me cause, damn... Her face upon hearing me speaking it, was priceless. And just for you to know, I was about to explain how we almost made Benji on the car."

Miguel snorted and nodded, knowing you would. You had each other's back and that wasn't up for discussion.

" Te amo."

You mumbled in his ear before stealing a kiss from his lips.

" También te amo."

[bingwriterxo]

the shakespeare exhibit - part 7

pairing: tara carpenter x reader

summary: in which tara accompanies you to a family party

warnings: homophobia/biphobia

word count: 4100+

author's note: longest thing i've ever posted. also, had to look up so many specific quotes for this one...

previous part | next part

"So, how many people did you say will be at this party?” Tara asked, looking out the window as you drove down another dirt road. Ever since the two of you had passed the city and made it off the highway, it had been all cornfields, farms, and forests. Tara knew one thing for sure: she would never live in the countryside of New York, even if you wanted to.

You shrugged behind the wheel, reaching out to lower the music a bit. One of Tara’s more ‘pop-y’ songs was on, and the bass was loud. “I’m not really sure,” you said, sparing her a glance before refocusing on the road ahead of you. “My parents know a lot of people, but I’m sure it won’t be more than…two hundred?”

Two hundred people?! Tara thought, her eyes widening. I have to meet two. hundred. people?!

“Don’t worry, though,” you continued quickly. “Only about fifty of that is family; the rest are family friends or work acquaintances, so you won’t have to talk to them if you don’t want to.”

Thank fucking god. “And can you give me a run down on the more immediate family again?”

“Well, there’s mom and dad, obviously.” You took a left, not bothering with your blinker because there was no one else around. However, rather than more dirt road, your tires were finally rolling against pavement. “Nathaniel and Edmund--but, you can’t call him ‘Edmund’; you have to say ‘Eddie’, or he’ll get upset.”

“And they’re identical, right?”

Trees were lining the pavement, perfectly spaced apart and shaped, and Tara readied herself to be met with your house. Except…it never came. You just kept driving and driving, and it seemed like there was no end in sight.

You nodded. “Yup--identical. You’ll be able to tell them apart, though. It’s easy.” You hummed as you thought. “Oh, baby Cordelia, of course, but only my father calls her by her full name.”

Your baby sister, Cordelia, or Lia, as she was called by most, was turning a year old that day, which was why you and Tara had made the drive up to your parents’ house. They were throwing a party for her, and an extravagant one at that.

“And then my father’s parents: Grandma Jane and Grandpa Thomas. They live in the house with everyone, but odds are you won’t meet them today. They like to spend their time in the wine cellar when we have guests.” You leaned toward her just slightly, like you were about to tell her a secret. “Grandpa Thomas has never been the biggest fan of…people. He’s a book guy, you know?”

Mom, dad, Nate, Eddie, Lia, Jane, Thomas. Tara nodded to herself as she made the mental note, determined not to get anyone’s name wrong. “Okay, and--”

Finally, your house started to show in the distance, and Tara’s jaw literally dropped. Even from where the two of you were, it was huge, and not just rich-person-huge but old-money-huge.

It was a large, shapely building made of blue brick; two large, white pillars stood near the front entrance and extended all the way up to the roof; windows upon windows were lined in white to match the rest of the house; vines flowed down from the roof, though they were neat and calculated, giving the house an old-vibe rather than a messy one.

Holy. Fucking. Shit, Tara thought as your house--if it could even be called a house--drew closer and closer. She stared in awe as you drove the two of you around the circular driveway, centered around a gorgeous fountain, and to the parking area, which was already overflowing with cars.

Once you parked, you turned to her, glancing down sheepishly. “I know it’s a lot,” you said, your voice soft. “The house, the party, the meeting everyone.” You inhaled deeply. “If you feel uncomfortable about anything at any time, just let me know and we can hide in my bedroom, okay? Or, if you need a moment alone, it’s up the stairs, to the right, fourth door on your left.”

She’s just too perfect. Tara grinned, that type of grin she only ever had when she was with you, and leaned across the center console, pressing a kiss to your lips. “I’m sure it’ll be great, baby.”

You flushed, the way you always did whenever she kissed you, even though she had kissed you a million times at that point; she never tired of the way the red painted your cheeks, or how you’d smile subconsciously.

“Okay.” You nodded and kissed her again for good measure. “Then let’s do this.”

You climbed out of the car, rounded the hood, and opened the door for Tara to step out. Always so chivalrous, she thought, grabbing the present that she had brought for your sister from the floor of your car. It was just a small toy, and she suddenly started to second-guess it as you led her toward the entrance.

As soon as she stepped into the house, marble flooring beneath her feet, she gulped. There were at least a hundred people there already, all having traveled to celebrate your baby sister, and they were scattered around, talking and laughing and drinking champagne. She was glad she had worn her nicest dress for the occasion, but even that didn’t seem nice enough.

I do not belong here, her mind whispered.

Before she could even utter a single word to you, all eyes turned, smiles and grins and furrowed eyebrows and tilted heads watching your every move. This is like a creepy cult movie. She glanced at you, somewhat surprised that you were relaxed as you waved.

“Hi, everybody!” you said, and there was a chorus of greetings in response.

Then, suddenly, there was pounding coming from upstairs, and two heads peeked over the banister, gleaming grins on each of their faces and identical in every way--except for their hair, Tara noticed quickly; one had his hair sticking out every which way while the other’s was combed down neatly.

“Y/N’s home!” the messy-haired one shouted. All eyes turned to them, fond smiles on everyone’s face as they stared up at the boys.

“‘A victory is twice itself when the achiever brings home full numbers!’” the other yelled. Okay, well, that one’s Nate, Tara thought, and she watched as they bounded down opposite stairs, their legs carrying them quickly so they could be the first to truly greet you.

They rammed into your waist, making you stumble back as you held them close. “Hi, boys,” you giggled, and everyone--everyone--laughed at the joy that was radiated from the three of you before going back to their conversations.

You hugged your brothers tightly before pushing them away slightly. You took Tara’s hand in your own, and her heart fluttered at the feeling of your warmth against her skin. “Nate, Eddie, this is Tar--”

“The girlfriend!” Eddie cheered.

Nate followed up with, “She’s beautiful, and therefore to be wooed!”

Does this kid only speak in Shakespeare? Tara wondered. Is that even possible?

“Hi, guys,” Tara said, smiling. “Nice to meet you.”

“To mingle friendship far is mingling bloods,” Nate replied.

“What this dork means,” Eddie started, elbowing his brother, “is that we can’t wait for you to become our sister-in-law!”

Sister-in-law?! She glanced at you, and you cleared your throat, unraveling your hand from hers and placing it on the small of her back. “Eddie, Nate, go find Nana and Pops.” You leaned down and whispered something to them, and both boys nodded fervently before rushing away.

“So, you talk about me to your brothers?” Tara teased, grinning at you.

You rolled your eyes lightly, carefully guiding her further into the house. “Don’t listen to a word they say. They’re--well, you met them.” A handful? she thought. Yes.

You passed by people, sparing short greetings or simple waves, until you stood with Tara in the kitchen. “And don’t mind Nate’s speech,” you said, chuckling. “He’s been in Shakespeare-mode ever since he got that part in the play. He only talks in quotes now, no matter what play they’re from.”

She hummed. “Reminds me of someone I know,” she said, leaning up to kiss you.

Just as you began to lean down, there was an excited squeal, and you pulled back quickly, eyes wide and landing on whoever had interrupted you.

“Mom!” you rushed out, blushing. Tara spun around, a nervous smile on her lips as she stared at your mother, who grinned right back.

“You must be Tara, sweetheart!” your mom said, pulling Tara into a hug. Okay! I guess this is a hugging family! She placed her hands on Tara’s shoulders, looking at her. “You’re even prettier than Y/N said!”

“Hi, ma’am--”

Your mother waved her off. “Oh, please. Just call me ‘mom’.” She grinned, and Tara realized that you had her smile. “I’m sure you’ll be in this family soon enough.” Tara felt herself pink at the words. I sure hope so.

“Mom!” you groaned from behind.

Your mom hummed. “Yes, well, I was just coming to grab another apple for your father. You know him,” she said. “Eats like he’s a horse,” she whispered to Tara.

You perked up at the mention of your dad. “Oh, Tara! Let’s go see him. I’m sure he has Lia, right, mom?”

“Yes, yes.” She was digging around the fridge. “I was so sure I bought more,” she muttered to herself.

You sidled up beside Tara and took her hand, leading her toward a different area of the house. There were even more people there, standing around one object and cooing. You squeezed past them all, offering ‘hello’s’ and ‘nice to see you’s’ as you did.

“Dad!” you exclaimed when your father came into view, Lia in his arms.

“Ah, the prodigal daughter returns,” your dad hummed. He wrapped an arm around you in a hug before handing you your sister. “Watch your hair,” he warned. “She’s in her pulling phase.”

As if on cue, Lia reached up and tugged at your ear, giggling when you groaned. “Lia! No pulling,” you mumbled. Tara grinned, butterflies stirring in her stomach at the sight. Talk about baby fever.

“And you’re Tara,” your father said, looking at her. He wasn’t an intimidating man at all, but Tara had heard how highly you spoke of him, and, needless to say, she was nervous.

Oh boy, she thought. Here we go.

“Hello, sir,” she said, sticking her hand out. I hope I’m not sweating. Please don’t be sweating.

He inspected her outstretched arm for a moment before laughing loudly and clapping a hand on her shoulder. “No handshakes for family, Tara!” He pulled her into a hug, just like your mother had. I have to become a part of this family. It’s a must. “And, gosh, don’t call me ‘sir’! That’s so formal! Just call me ‘dad’.” His voice was joyous, excited, and Tara understood immediately where you got your personality from.

“Okay,” she said with a nod. “...Dad…” It was weird, feeling the word slip from between her lips, but the man lit up upon hearing it.

“Tar, come here,” you called gently. She took a few steps until she was at your side, and grinned down at the baby in your arms. “Wanna hold her?”

“Oh!” Baby. Can’t drop it. That thing���s alive. “Sure.” It was a careful handoff as Lia settled into Tara’s arms, smiling up at her. She had the same eyes as you, who had the same eyes as your father, and Tara was immediately smitten. “Well, aren’t you just the cutest thing!”

And then, Lia was pulling at the ends of her hair, and Tara thought, Yeah. Maybe I don’t want a kid just yet.

“I’ll take her off your hands,” your father said, holding his arms out. Tara handed Lia back to him, watching as he stuck his tongue out, to which Lia laughed. “My little Cordelia,” your father sighed.

“She’s the favorite child now,” you whispered to Tara. “Come, let’s get something to drink.”

You took her not to the kitchen but to the bar, and Tara marveled the whole way as she caught sight of old paintings, framed poems, antiques that littered the walls. It wasn’t crowded in any way; it was all beautiful and exactly how she expected your house to look.

You ordered the two of you champagne, and the bartender didn’t say a word as he poured your drinks, handing them to you with a soft smile.

“So, that’s everyone. Like I said, my grandparents are probably hiding away in the wine cellar,” you said, taking a sip from your glass. “What’d you think?”

You’re the perfect mixture of your parents, she thought. Everything makes sense now. “They’re all lovely.”

You grinned. “I’m glad you like them. I can already tell they love you. Well, I could tell that from the moment I told them about you, but--”

Someone interrupted you.

“Y/N.” The voice was masculine, strong, stern, and Tara could sense a bit of pretentious asshole in his tone.

She spun around when you did and watched as your eyes landed on the man; you immediately straightened up, your shoulders tensing and your smiling fading into a tight-lipped greeting. She straightened up, too. I bet he’s a dick, she thought, eyeing him and internally scoffing at his stupid face.

“Connor,” you gritted out like it pained you.

Tara reached to take your hand, knowing that you sought touch in moments of stress, but, just barely, you moved away from her grasp. She felt her heart drop into her stomach. Who is this douche and why is he making her so…rigid?

You held your head a little higher and clenched your jaw. “Why are you here?”

He smiled, though Tara thought it looked more like a snarl. “Well, our parents are friends, so why wouldn’t we have been invited to Lia’s birthday party?”

That’s it, Tara promptly decided. I’m going to punch him by the end of the night.

“Right, of course.” You held your champagne glass a little tighter. “And how are you finding everything?”

“Oh, your parents throw lovely parties. Although, it’s not like I’m any stranger to them.” He took a sip of his wine and smacked his lips together. “I was surprised to find you here, actually.”

“It’s my baby sister’s birthday. Why wouldn’t I be here?” you asked.

He waved you off. “Your mother mentioned something about you having been busy--working a minimum wage job and whatnot.” The condescending nature of his words made Tara ball her hands into fists. If he doesn’t walk away in five seconds, I can’t be held responsible for what happens to his perfectly-straight, stupidly-white teeth. He turned to her, an eyebrow raised. “And this is…?”

Your worst fucking nightmare, douchebag, Tara thought, but she offered him the smallest of smiles instead, not yet knowing if she was allowed to make an enemy of him.

You startled, like you had just remembered that she was standing beside you, and slid your arm around her waist. Tara watched as Connor clenched his jaw at the action. Yeah, fuck you!

“Connor, this is Tara. My girlfriend.” He scoffed, loudly, and your hold on her tightened, your fingers digging into her hip. “Tara, this is Connor. He’s…a family friend.”

He hummed. “If that’s what you’d like to call us, then sure, Y/N.” Your name rolled off his tongue too comfortably for Tara’s liking, especially for how stand-offish you became around him. “So, still in your little…exploratory phase, then?” he asked in such a way that made your grip turn almost bruising and caused Tara’s stomach to turn unpleasantly.

“No, Connor,” you said. “I’m bisexual. There is no exploring.”

“Sure.” He chuckled like he didn’t believe you. “Perhaps the men at Blackmore are just less than satisfactory.”

“Okay, why don’t you--” Tara began, only to be cut off by you pulling her into you.

“Or perhaps Tara can just satisfy me more than you ever did,” you snapped.

Tara froze. What? Is he…did they date?

Connor furrowed his eyebrows in anger, his eyes turning dark as they set themselves on her. “Does she even come from money?” There was venom in his voice, the disgust in his expression not bothering to hide itself.

A shiver ran down Tara’s back, and she glanced at the floor, her skin suddenly feeling too small for her, the air seeming too thick to breathe in. From the moment she had stepped into your home, she had felt a little out of place, and now Connor was simply confirming that thought.

“Does that matter?” you seethed.

“Of course it does. When you come from families like ours, everything matters. I mean, if you’re serious about this whole…bisexual…thing, how could you know she’s not just using you?” His words were coming out fast, spit flying as he spoke, his cheeks flushing with rage. “At least with me, you knew there were no ill intentions.”

Using her? Tara thought, feeling herself shrink slightly. Ill intentions?

“You have no idea what you’re talking about, Connor.” Your voice was sharp and threatening, holding a warning behind it.

“I take it, then, that she doesn’t come from a family of the arts.” His eyes flickered down before glancing back up again. “Or any family that matters.”

There was a beat of silence, a pause in which Tara could feel anger radiating from you and shame filling her every vein, and it was strange. She pulled herself from your grasp, mumbled out, “I have to use the bathroom,” and rushed away with teary eyes. Away from him, away from the party, away from you.

Faintly, she could hear you calling her name, and then a few angry shouts, but she wasn’t paying attention. She was focused on squeezing past people and slipping upstairs to your bedroom, her hand fumbling around in her purse for her inhaler.

Fuck, where is my inhaler? she thought as she tripped up the last step and stumbled down the hall, counting one, two, three, doors on her left until she found the fourth—your bedroom. She shut the door behind her and leaned against it, rummaging through her purse in a panic as she tried to blink back her tears.

When she finally caught hold of her inhaler, she took two puffs and threw her head back, groaning. Stupid. Thinking I could fit in here. Thinking this was all normal. Stupid.

There was a knock on the other side of the door; then, a voice, soft and careful. “Tara?” She could hear some shuffling out in the hall. “Tara, dear?”

Tara straightened. Is that her mom? she wondered. What is her mom doing here right now?

“Could you let me in, Tara?”

Tara wiped beneath her eyes and, with a heaving sigh, turned around and opened the door, her shoulders slumping slightly at the sight of your mother’s worried face.

“I saw you run off, dear,” your mom started, taking a hesitant step forward, “and Y/N was nowhere in sight, so I thought I’d come check on you.”

This whole family is just too good. “I’m alright,” she lied through her teeth.

Your mother hummed and ventured further into the room, sitting on the edge of your bed with her legs crossed over one another. “I saw you and Y/N speaking to Connor Harris.” Her face soured as she spoke his name, and Tara smiled softly at that. “I’ve never liked that boy, but Y/N’s father and his father have been friends since childhood.”

Tara swallowed. I need to know. I need to ask. “Were Y/N and Connor…were they together at some point?” she asked.

Your mom’s eyebrows furrowed and a frown pulled at her lips. “Dear, they were engaged. Has she not told you?”

It was like the world stopped for a moment. Engaged? Tara wanted to throw up. Her vision blurred immediately; a pit in her stomach formed; she could feel herself shaking. Engaged?! She was engaged?! To him?!

Your mother stood and, before Tara could say a word, wrapped her arms around her, holding her trembling body close. “Tara, honey. It is just a part of Y/N’s past, but she’s with you now, and that’s what matters.”

Oh my god, I’m being comforted by her mom right now, Tara thought. This is so embarrassing. She pulled away and sniffled, holding her head up. “Thank you, truly. I’m just…shocked that she never mentioned an engagement before.” How did she never tell me?

“Yes, well--”

“Tar?” your voice called from near the door. “You in here, bab--” You appeared in the doorway, stopping short at the sight of your mother and Tara in your bedroom together, with clear signs of Tara having cried. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

“I’ll leave you two alone,” your mom said, squeezing your shoulder briefly as she exited.

You walked into the room, shut the door behind you, and stepped up to Tara, taking her cheeks in your hand. Your thumb rubbed beneath her eyes, wiping away any remnants of her tears. “What’s going on, sweetheart?” you asked, your voice gentle.

She clenched her jaw, her eyes flitting to the floor. “Your mom told me about…about you and Connor.”

You paled, your hands dropping slightly and your eyes widening. “Oh,” you muttered.

“You didn’t tell me you were engaged before,” she whispered. She took a step away, and you swallowed as your arms fell to your sides. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because it’s not a big deal,” you said, biting your lip.

“Not a big deal?!” Her eyebrows furrowed. How could she think this isn’t a big deal? “You were engaged--set to spend the rest of your life with someone.” She waved her hand. “Set to spend the rest of your life with him! And you think that’s not a big deal, or something that you shouldn’t tell your girlfriend?”

“Tar, let me explain,” you pleaded. “Just, let me explain, please.”

She inhaled sharply. “Fine.”

You sighed in relief, blinked hard, and began. “He proposed to me at our high school graduation, up on the stage, in front of everyone. I--I didn’t want to embarrass him, or our families, so I said yes, and, technically, yes, we were engaged.” You shook your head, slumping onto your bed and holding your face in your hands. “I should’ve never said yes. We went home that night, and I told him I didn’t actually want to get married. Obviously, he didn’t like that, so he broke up with me.”

Tara’s face softened, her anger simmering. “You were engaged for…what…only a few hours?”

You nodded, glancing at her. “Yeah. That’s why I didn’t tell you, because it really isn’t a big deal. I mean, honestly? I hardly liked Connor anyway. I was with him because I thought my parents wanted that, but they don’t care.” You shrugged. “They just want me to be happy.” You stood, crossed the room, and took Tara’s hands in your own. “And you make me happy.”

Tara grinned, then glanced away sheepishly. “I’m sorry I kind of overreacted.”

You shook your head and pulled her into you, your arms wrapping around her shoulders. “No, I should’ve told you. And I’m sorry that I didn’t.”

“It’s okay,” she mumbled into your chest, sliding her own arms around your waist and hugging you tightly. You kissed the top of her head, and she hummed before another thought popped into her head. “Do you think you should be with someone who…has a family like this?” She pulled back and gestured to your room. “Who could afford all of this?”

“Tara,” you said softly, frowning. “I don’t care that your family isn’t in the high arts, or that your parents aren’t business magnates, or that you didn’t grow up the way I did. I love you.” You leaned down and kissed her. “Don’t let what Connor said get to you, okay? He’s a pompous dirtbag.”

Tara chuckled. “He is, isn’t he?”

“Yes. The biggest pompous dirtbag I know.”

She grinned. “I love you, too, by the way.”

“I do love nothing in the world so well as you--is not that strange?” you quoted, smiling.

She rolled her eyes. Always such a dork, she thought. My dork, though. “Are you sure you don’t love Shakespeare more than me?”

You hummed, tilting your head like you were weighing your options, and she scoffed lightly. “I’m kidding. I’m kidding. I’ll always love you more than I love Shakespeare, baby.”

“Good.” Tara bit back her smile. “Does that mean you’ll get a statue bust of me?”

“...I’ll think about it.”

bonus: “so, when you and our sister get married, will you take her last name?” eddie asked, swinging his feet from where he sat at the table in the ballroom.

“eddie--” tara began, only to be interrupted by nate, who sat on the other side of her.

“get thee a wife, get thee a wife!” he exclaimed.

“we’re only 19, guys,” she tried.

“okay, and?” eddie asked, his eyebrows furrowing.

“do you not love my sister?” nate asked, and tara was thankful that, for once, his shakespeare quote sounded normal.

she glanced around, looking for you, but you were talking to one of your aunts on the other side of the room. she leaned down and gestured for both boys to come closer. “i’ll tell you guys a little secret. when we do get married, i plan to take her last name.”

they grinned at each other across tara.

“knew it!” eddie cheered.

[bobbydagen24]

it annoys me how much Band Together focused on the aspect of Branch being Treated like a baby as opposed to the actual more serous actions committed by his Brothers.

like Branch's big moment in the film during the argument scene is calling them out on Treating him like a little kid despite him being an adult but it just annoys me because that really isn't the biggest source of Drama in the story.

so it feels weird that the film chose to focus on that I only realised why that scene bothers me so much earlier when I was Reading a fanfic of someone's alternative take on a Bro zone and Branch argument and they had Branch actually call out all the important stuff they did.

so yeah after that it finally hit me why that scene in the film feels like such a let down because Branch doesn't actually bring up any of the actual big issues in Regards to his Bros actions.

he doesn't call them out on leaving him and Grandma not to mention each other over a petty argument he doesn't call them out on never coming back for no real reason even JD is guilty of this to an extent given he clearly came back a number of years later when the Trolls had already left.

he doesn't call them out on the fact that this Resulted in none of them seeing Grandma again before her death and of course him having no one after she died instead he just calls them out on Treating him like a kid in present day 🤷‍♂️🤷‍♂️🤷‍♂️🤷‍♂️🤷‍♂️🤷‍♂️🤷‍♂️🤷‍♂️

its just weird its like if in the first movie Rather than helping the Bergens learn they can be happy Poppy instead helped them get their Taxes in order lol its just choosing the way less serous and meaningful story option to focus on.

and that's why the films family story felt unresolved to me because the big important aspects weren't even acknowledged all that much let alone atoned for and that's kinda the Bare minimum of storytelling in my opinion.

even tho I know people have their Doubts about DreamWorks I'm keeping my fingers crossed that they still have at least a little more exploration of this in the next film or Christmas Special.

as this kinda serous stuff needs to be addressed before we can be expected to believe that Branch would suddenly be okay with giving his Bros another chance imo.

and if not then this kinda bad storytelling needs to be called out more as animated filmmakers have done better in the past and can do better in the future if they actually get genuine constructive feedback.

[aphroditelovesu]

What if Alicent's eldest daughter for whom everyone is yanderes is actually the daughter of Daemon? no one knows except daemon and alicent, daemon hates all of alicent's sons except his little girl who he has a soft spot for (and he dies of jealousy every time he sees viserys with his daughter). It would be even cuter if the princess had Grandma Alyssa's eyes, one green and one purple.

I thought of this a while ago but forgot to mention. I love this idea. The idea of Y/n!Princess being the daughter of Daemon and Alicent brings me ideas. In the books, there are rumors that say that Alicent gave her virginity to Daemon and in this scenario it could make sense.

Or the situation could also be as follows: After the marriage of Alicent and Viserys and the birth of Aegon and Helaena, Alicent, dissatisfied with her husband, ended up letting herself be involved by the Rogue Prince, who had had his eye on the young queen for a long time. Feeling seduced by Daemon's intense gazes, Alicent gave herself to him that night and many other nights, until she eventually became pregnant. They stopped seeing each other after Daemon's exile and the rumors about Rhaenyra and him, but Alicent had gotten pregnant and it wasn't her husband's. She knew and Daemon knew it when he returned from his exile and found Alicent holding her newborn daughter in her arms, Daemon knew that child was hers and by the look on Alicent's face, he knew it was true.

Alicent was extremely attached to her precious daughter, sometimes reaching the level of being possessive and would not allow the maids to take her away. She could go so far as to want to breastfeed her daughter. Which may seem normal to us, but for the time, the Queens did not breastfeed, their babies had wet nurses.

One of the most curious things about Princess!Reader was that she had the appearance of her grandmother Alyssa, her eyes at least, one green and one purple. One thing I like to think about is, what if she was more like Alicent? I won't say identical, but maybe the color of Alicent' hair and the eyes of Alyssa. The only one of Alicent's children who looks anything like her, and I would imagine that would have a bigger impact on her mother's obsession.

You're right, Daemon hates all of Alicent's children, except maybe Helaena, but I can't say he likes her, he has nothing against her at least, in my point of view. He hates all of them but his little girl. How could he? He loved her the moment he saw her in her mother's protective arms and, not caring about other people's eyes, he took the little princess in his arms and played with her.

Daemon undoubtedly dies of jealousy of Viserys with his little girl, he hates to see how his brother is titled her father and he does his best not to let it slip that he is the father of Y/N and not Viserys. Unfortunately he can't do that, he can't put his daughter at risk or be called a bastard. He wouldn't do that to her. I can see Alicent encouraging Daemon's obsession towards the reader too, as a way of gaining his support and she enjoys watching him interact with her precious baby.

Aegon, Aemond and Helaena would definitely be attached to their sister as well, especially Aemond and Helaena. The three are inseparable, and when Aegon joins in, may the Seven have mercy on the poor servants who try to control the four together. Perhaps Alicent decides to marry Princess!Reader to Aemond, just as she did to Aegon and Helaena. She doesn't like the idea of marrying her daughter off, but she'd rather it be her son than anyone else. Daemon obviously wouldn't accept that and would be furious with Alicent and even Aemond. He doesn't want his little princess to marry, much less one of Alicent's children. He will do everything in his power to prevent this.

It's a really cool concept and one I'd be happy to talk more about! Thank you for submitting it, anon!! <3

(I couldn't help it, sorry, but this is Daemon when he finds out that Alicent plans to marry Princess!Reader to Aemond)

[soulidarity]

myths and beliefs

rafayel x MC / 455 words

rafayel and Mc have a discussion on the credibility of myths

MC doesn't know that rafayel is a lemurian. inspired on his card "myths", slight spoiler of his myth if you squint

"do you really need me to be here? I don't think you need protection while you're painting at home"

"it's not just protection your presence helps me with this painting specifically"

MC raised an eyebrow at him but decided not to go too deep into it, opting to plop herself down on the couch across from him and scrolling on her phone. it wasn't the first time rafayel had called her over just to be there, sometimes it was for a couple of minutes, othertimes t was a few hours. he was unpredictable and at this point, should not be questioned.

the sun had started to set when the artist spoke to her again

"do you believe in myths?" "that's a sudden question um, sure. i mean not all of them"

"like?"

"greek mythology sometimes doesn't make sense to me. but i do get that they're supposed to be like warnings to children or just nice stories so i usually don't pay much mind to it."

"if something doesn't make sense to you, you do not believe it true?"

"you're sounding suddenly poetic"

he put his brush down and laid down on the couch with her, his head on her lap. "what about lemurians?"

"lemurians?"

"do you believe in them?"

"even if i did, wouldn't they be extinct? that's what grandma used to say"

"your grandma talked about them?"

she smiled, her hand brushing some purple strands from his face

"she used to tell me a bedtime story, about a lemurian and a human princess. the adventures he'd take her on and the world he would show her. i think it had a tragic ending but i always fell asleep before i heard it. the details of the story are foggy, its been a while."

"if i ever told you something that seemed impossible, would you believe me?"

"you usually mess with me a lot so-"

"MC, i'm serious."

she frowned. "yel, what are you not telling me?"

"do you trust me?"

"with my life but you've got to understand why im kind of aprehensive, youre being rather cryptic"

"you won't remember, you'll break the promise" he mumbled

"what'd you say?"

rafayel smiles, his serious demeanor quickly fading

"i said its nothing, just some artistic trail of thought"

"you sure?"

"yeah" he grabbed her face, pulling it down for a quick kiss "all this talking has made me hungry, feed me an apple?"

"you're so childish, you have to get up for me to go do that"

"hmmm... im sure you can figure out a way to do it with me on top of you"

"i think i have! i'll just throw you off"

rafayel quickly stood up "threatened by my own bodyguard? wow! scandalous"

[marmixedwithabitofintellect]

The Quest for a Name

I hope the wait was worth it loves!

February 25, 2023.

Harry. Melbourne, Australia. 12:30 PM.

The store was rather empty, which allowed me to browse and shop peacefully; Tommy and Jeff were finishing a call while I was browsing the children’s books hoping to find some to bring back home to my girls. My girls. I smiled when I thought about three of the most important women in my life back in England waiting for me to come home.

I ended up picking three books for the girls and started making my way to where Jeff and Tommy were waiting, along the way I got distracted and picked up some finger puppets for bedtime stories when suddenly someone cleared their throat behind me, when I turned, I smiled at the girl standing there, she was using my tote bag and had a nervous smile on her face.

There was something familiar of her, but I couldn’t quite place it, she gave me a tiny wave and shakily whispered, “H-hi Harry”, I smiled, “Hello, how are you?”, she smiled, “I’m good, still recovering from last night’s concert”, and it suddenly dawned on me why I knew her.

“Oh yeah! I remember you; you were with Fauve yeah?”, her eyes were full of wonder, and she smiled while nodding her head in excitement, “Yes! That was me! Oh my God, I can’t believe you remember us!”, I smiled, “Of course I do, what’s your name love?”, she smiled, “I’m Sienna”.

I smiled, “Sienna, I love your name, might just add it to my baby’s name list”, it suddenly dawned what I had said and stood up straighter, Sienna gave me a surprised look before making a sign that her lips were sealed, “You don’t have to worry, I won’t say anything, but congratulations! That is so exciting for you and Y/N”.

I gave her an appreciative nod, “Thank you, we’re really excited to add a new member to our family, and thank you for your discretion; are you attending any other shows?”, she nodded excitedly, “I am visiting my grandma in Auckland, so I will be attending that show and Sydney night two as well, I am so excited”, I smiled, “Well then, I will look for you in the crowd”.

She nodded excitedly before reaching into her bag for a notebook and a sharpie, “Would it be okay for me to ask for an autograph and selfie? I promise I won’t post or disclose it” I nodded and placed my books and shopping to sign her notebook and pose for her selfie. While she put away her stuff, I picked up my shopping and turned to give her a smile.

“Thank you, Harry, it really means a lot, and I wish you and Y/N a healthy pregnancy and safe delivery”, I nodded and placed a hand over my heart, “Thank you Sienna, and I’ll see you in Sidney and I hope to meet you again”, she waved goodbye while making her way to the teen novels and I made my way to the cashier to pay.

February 26, 2023.

Harry. Melbourne, Australia. 9:00 PM.

The call rang for a few moments before the dial changed and my little girl appeared in the screen, she had her hair pulled back with a tiny bow and her face was full of the remnants of her breakfast; yogurt which I knew was one of her favorites right now, when she noticed me, she smiled before screaming “Dada!”, I smiled, “Good morning little love, how are you? Are you eating breakfast?”

She pulled her hands to the screen so I could see the mess she was making, I gave her a surprised look so she would know I was paying attention to her, “Look at those hands! Did you have a banana?”, my smile got bigger when I heard my baby mama outside from the screen, “Say ‘no dada, today I ate peaches!’ Can you say peaches baby?”

Pippa turned to see her mom and gave her a cheeky smile before she said “Pea!”, I smiled before cheering “There you go baby! Good job!”, a few seconds later the screen moved, and I was able to see Y/N sitting there too, I smiled when I saw her reach and caress her bump, “Hi baby, you look so beautiful!”, she smiled and looked down bashfully.

“Oh you flatterer, I feel anything but”, I gave her a sympathetic smile, “How is everything going?”, she sighed, “Nights are getting to an uncomfortable point, but the pregnancy pillow and I are dating now”, I laughed, “I hope you will want to cuddle me once I’m home”, she nodded, “I will baby, I miss you so much”

I smiled before clearing my throat, “So… I thought of another name, well actually I met a fan with this name”, she took a bite of her breakfast before speaking, “Oh really? What is it?”, I smiled, “Sienna”, she swallowed before analyzing the name I told her, “Sienna Anne Styles?”, I nodded, “Well the initials would be cool huh?”

I laughed a little and smiled while at eating her eggs, Y/N spoke up, “I also thought of another name”, I yawned and signaled for her to tell me, “Amelia, and her nickname could be Millie Anne”, I smiled, “I am liking the nickname, Pip and Millie”, she laughed, “Aww that is so sweet”, I decided to tease her.

“So… is Deborah or still off the table?”, she shook her head while she laughed, “If you love it, then we can think of using it baby”, I laughed, “Nah, she deserves a unique name, just like Pippa, and we still have a few weeks to decide, yes? Let’s not forget we decided on Pippa’s name about two days before she was born”, she laughed.

“If I remember correctly, we were set on Ophelia, you even sang the song to the belly as a way to see if the baby was a she”, I nodded before speaking, “But then I read Philippa in a novel and fell in love with it”, she took a sip of her tea while cleaning Pippa’s mouth and smiled, “I remember, when you told me her name, there was something there, like a feeling of peace, of contentment, like ‘that is her name’”

I smiled, “I felt the same way, all warm and fuzzy and excited; and truth be told, none of the names we have discussed have given me that feeling, but I know we will find the name”, she nodded while pulling Pippa out of her chair and settling her on her lap, “Say bye bye to Dada baby”, Pippa smiled before pulling the phone to her face, “Dada bye!”, I laughed, “Bye baby, I love you!”

Pippa gave the phone back to Y/N and I heard her scurry to the living room where we had settled her toys right before I left, I yawned again and Y/N gave me a smile, “You should rest baby, you still have a few crazy days to come”, I nodded, “Before I go, can I see the belly?”

She nodded and smiled setting the phone on the breakfast table before pulling back a little and pulling up her pajama shirt, my heart was beating so fast from the excitement, “Look at that beautiful belly! Oh, she’s growing up so fast!”, she laughed, “Oh yes, she is definitely, oh-wait!” She sat down and grabbed the phone again turning the camera.

After a few seconds and a couple of presses to the side of the belly I saw a knee or elbow rolling around and I smiled, “Oh I miss feeling her move so much”, she laughed, “You’ll still have about four weeks of feeling her once you’re here baby”, I nodded, “And I will have a birthday celebration to make up for”, she nodded, “Rest well baby, we love you and miss you, so so much”, I smiled, “I miss you two too baby, speak tomorrow”, she nodded while blowing a kiss to her screen while I did the same, then waved goodbye and ended the call.

Taglist @adoredeanna @alienorknight @b-reads-things @be-with-me-so-happily @behindmygreyeyes @cherrylovesblog @karenarella22 @daphnesutton @dayxoxodreamer @dirtytissuebox @futuristicpalacegardenpsychic @goldenlouvr @groovychaosavenue @harrysficreblog @harryspirate @hoya122 @imaginesofdreams @i-got-the-cinema @infinitely-yellow @irelilien @itsgabbysblog @itsgigikay @itsmytimetoodream @jgoff717 @kathy522 @kaitieskidmore1 @last-saturday-night @michellekstyles @msolbesg @qualitygiantshoepsychic @sagcas-latte @seguin-styles1996 @shawnsblue @sunshinemoonsposts @tinydeskwriter @tinydestinybear @tpwkstyles1d @voosa @watercolorskyy @wherethehellhaveyoubeenharry

[great-and-small]

hey i know this is really heavy but... My pet of 13 years was put to sleep yesterday morning and I was wondering if you have any tips on handling the loss and absence of him. My whole family is struggling really hard and I would appreciate it.

Anon I have been thinking about how to answer this and what words of comfort I can offer you in this time of grief. I have held the hand of so many people through the death of their pet and still I oftentimes find myself at a loss for words. It’s something I think about a lot, so I’m sorry that this is quite long-winded.

I was driving my grandmother to a doctors appointment a few weeks ago and she was telling me about her first dog, a Boston terrier named Guppy that she’d had since she was 8 years old. She told me that during her first year in college she received an unexpected phone call from home out of the blue. In those times, phone calls were expensive and you really only got an unscheduled call when a relative or loved one had passed away. She told me that as she was walking to the room to take the call she had prayed to God that the news on the other end of the line would be the death of her own grandmother, rather than the now geriatric Guppy who had been sick for some time. It was a call about Guppy of course, and my grandma told me she’s been guilty her whole life for wishing that a family member had died instead. She told me that she was intentionally sharing this story with me because she didn’t want me to ever feel guilty if I grieve the loss of my dog more than I do her death someday. She told me that the love of a pet is something different, and losing it hurts in a different way.

This was a morbid story with a morbid sentiment (though entirely in character for my grandma) but it got me thinking about the nature of our grief for pets. They are such constants in our lives that in many ways losing them can be harder to bear than the loss of someone who matters to you in a completely different way. My grandma didn’t love her dog more than she loved her relative, it’s just a different type of grief.

Do not let anyone (including yourself) minimize your loss, because your pet was here, they were important, and your love for them mattered immensely.

So now let me say this; I am so happy that your pet was able to spend 13 years with a family that loved and treasured them. I hope for every single one of my patients to have that safety and warmth and affection, your pet was lucky to be so dearly loved. That said, here are some little things that I will recommend to people who ask me for help in dealing with the loss of their companion.

Take things one day at a time. This sounds like a cliche and maybe it is one but I found it helped me. Try not to think about the future without your pet, but focus on getting through the day, especially in the short term after the loss. Take care of yourself and your physical needs as much as you can.

Actively grieve your pet. By this I mean, dealing with grief is hard work that cannot be ignored or put aside. Rather than shying away from memories of your pet, take the time to purposefully think about them and the life they shared with you. It hurts and it sucks so much, but there is no shortcut through it.

Memorialize your pet. This can be anything, but try to find a way to honor your pet’s memory. Make a painting, or volunteer at an animal shelter for a day, donate old blankets to a vets office in your pets name, make a rock garden, buy a fruit tree and plant it somewhere, put together a photo collage of your pet. Doing little things like this helped me more than anything else when I was grieving my dog.

Talk about them. It seems so dumb but I swear it helps. Talk about what they were like when they were little, what funny things they did to make you laugh, what it meant to have them by your side through all those years. It doesn’t have to be a therapist, but find someone kind who can listen to the stories about your pet that made them who they were.

And most of all please know that someday (maybe not soon, but someday) it will hurt less. In the meantime please be kind to yourself as much as you can.

[radishhqueen]

okay this actually kept occupying my thoughts @rbtlvr

16. Meeting past/future self | Put That Guy in a SituationTM Ask Game

"Promise you won't get mad," was the first thing that Michelangelo said when Casey answered the phone, which alone was enough to make her preemptively furious. Never mind the fact that it was currently 11pm on a Tuesday night and some people had to get up for work in six hours and had just managed to fall asleep. 

"No. Tell me what I'm mad about," she said firmly, sitting up in bed and resting her forehead on her knees as she waited for him to just spit it out already. Grandma CJ's had just closed the deal with the flour don of New York; it had been weeks of negotiations and dancing around thinly veiled threats. She was tired.

There were a few seconds of hemming and hawing, before Michelangelo squawked, and Donatello started speaking instead. Thank fuck, Donatello knew how to cut to the chase. "Mikey has mystically kidnapped a child—"

"On accident!" the turtle in question interjected indignantly.

"—and we need your childcare expertise," he finished, the exasperation clear in his voice. "We're working on getting her home, but mystics are unnecessarily nonsensical, so…it may take a few hours."

Casey sighed, rolling out of bed and looking down at her sweatpants and baggy t-shirt. Yeah, that was a fine enough outfit to be seen in, whatever. "Yeah, sure, I'll be there. Gimme a few minutes." She hung up the phone, tilting her head back and staring at the crack that ran through her bedroom ceiling. You save a guy from getting his soul eaten by a big knife demon that you helped summon one time, and all of a sudden his kids were calling you at all hours of the night and getting you tangled up in their schemes. Fucking hell. 

She inhaled, taking a moment to pull her composure back together, finding her center. She did not dislike the Hamatos, for all they annoyed her. Sometimes it was hard to remember that, but that wasn't unique. She'd always had more anger than she knew what to do with. For all the ways the Foot Clan had failed her, they'd at least taught her how to keep her anger and hate all in one neat little package, a finely honed spear rather than a grenade. Another breath and she tilted her chin back down, focusing on her hands in front of her as she formed the seals, tearing open a portal to the Hamato household.

There was less immediate chaos upon her arrival than she expected. She'd dropped herself off in the living room; it was the easiest target since she'd spent the most time there than anywhere else in the subway station. The lights were dimmed, and Cassandra very quickly put together that they were watching something on the projector, considering the way it was actively blinding her. 

"Case!" Raph cried, sounding relieved. She could only really see his silhouette against the couch, blinking rapidly as she maneuvered to stop being blinded by the projector. "Look, kiddo, I told you, this is one of our human friends! So you don't have to be scared of us." Ah, yeah, she could see how getting randomly teleported into an underground subway station full of mutants would be a bit alarming if you weren't already used to that sort of thing.

She cleared the projector light, blinking as her eyes readjusted to the darkness, focusing on the bundle of blankets sitting on the far end of the couch from Raph. "Hello," she said, holding a hand out in greeting. "My name is Cassandra."

A little face emerged from the blanket cocoon, glaring up at her with an anger that was more rooted in fear and uncertainty than anything Casey herself had done. It was an expression that she was extremely familiar with, on account of seeing it in the mirror more days than not. 

Actually, it really was like looking in a mirror. 

Her heart dropped out of her chest and all the way down to the bottom of her stomach as she watched the little girl examine her suspiciously. She couldn't breathe, not even when the kid reached out and grabbed her still-outstretched hand in a handshake too firm for her age. 

"My name's Cassandra, too," the little girl said. "But my friends all call me Casey."

[klausinamarink]

Hi Klaus! Ah, the birthday special is such a fun idea! If it's still available, I'll request:

You should have raised a baby girl, I should have been a better son

for Platonic Stobin

Happy early birthday! <3 Hope it's a wonderful year ahead -Jules

“Ok, I got another. If you were born a boy, would your parents still name you Robin?”

Robin snorted as she threw another almond in her mouth, “Oh, you should have seen their lists of names before I was born.” She shifted her seat on the couch and started counting off her fingers, “For their nonexistent son, there was Sebastian, Rocky, Thorn, Jay, Harry, Claude, Ethan, Todd, Luka-”

Steve already felt overwhelmed by the list. He almost interrupted but Robin was still going. 

“-Aloysius, Odysseus, and a couple more really obscure names. But the other ones they almost named me were Athena, Roberta, Viola or Violet, Crystal-”

Steve kicked at Robin’s shin, laughing, “You’re answering the wrong question!”

Robin kicked back before she too fell into laughter. Once she recovered, she wiped at her eyes and said, “Well, Robin wasn’t on the little boy’s list, so I guess that’s a no.”

“Oh god,” Steve moaned as he covered his face with his hands, “now that I know all of those other names, I’m afraid I can’t call you Robin anymore.”

An almond pecked him on the forehead. “Sure. Like you didn’t just already forgot all of them, dingus. Not that I’ll blame you.”

Steve peeked through his fingers, then took his hands off as he stretched up discreetly. “Yeah, you’re right. By the way, Viola, why didn’t you tell me your name was spelled Violet?”

Instead of taking his bait, Robin scowled at Steve and chomped on a few more almonds. Then she swiftly stole the pillow under his head so it bumped rather hard against the couch’s arm he was laying on. It didn’t hurt but he winced anyway.

“Robin!”

“I’m running out of ideas so I’m stealing your last question and making it my own. If you were a girl instead, what would your parents name you?

Steve answered immediately, “Stephanie.”

Robin blinked at him with surprise, “Wait, really?”

“I guess creativity is a Harrington weakness so,” he shrugged, “Steve for a boy or Stephanie for a girl.”

“Don’t tell me they did the same with your middle name.”

“Yep. Otis after my grandpa, Dorothy after my grandma.” He paused before adding, “They’re my dad’s parents. Not that my mom’s are bad, but I haven't seen them since I was, like, three.”

“Huh,” Robin said. Then they both fell into silence.

It didn’t take long for Steve’s thoughts to steer their way back to an old subject he hadn’t touched in ages.

The night after the fateful fight with Jonathan and the monster in his house, his parents had came home and his mother gasped at the state of his face. Steve had latched on the careful warmth she exhibited while she tended him in the bathroom. 

Steve had almost cried then. He had missed when his mother had dropped everything to take care of him whenever he was hurt. That was how she expressed the words ‘I love you’ to him without even saying it.

But his eyes had immediately went dry when his mother had looked at him and sighed like Steve was a stain on the kitchen napkins. 

Then she’d said, “If you were a proper lady instead, neither of us would be here.”

He had gone to bed, hollow and confused. Replayed her words over and over, thinking what did she mean?

And then it was like some floodgate was open. 

It didn’t matter if it was over the sparse phone calls or face to face, Shirley Harrington had found a new mission in making mournful quips towards her son of how much she had desired a daughter and how much better the never-born Stephanie would be.  

“More low grade this semester? A girl studies much harder than a classroom of boys anyway.”

“No more girlfriends? Oh, but a daughter of mine would keep a boyfriend for far longer than you had with that Nancy girl.”

“Why are you being more difficult these days, Steve? If you were a woman, you would know exactly how to keep quiet.”

And then came that fateful day when Steve had admitted to his dad that none of the prestigious colleges had accepted him. 

After his father’s fury continued to ring in Steve’s ears long after his departure, his mother had shook her head in tired disappointment and hovered to her reading room.

Steve had called out to her, trying to reach out and grab on the edges of her old warmth he desperately needed. He wanted to beg her for something. Anything simple like a hug.

But he’d asked her, “What if I was your daughter who got herself pregnant before graduation?”

It was such a ridiculous question. But Steve had been getting sick of his mother’s ‘what-if’ comments and wanted to retaliate anyways.

His mother had paused but answered so quickly as if she was waiting for the opportunity.

“Then I would marry her off to a bachelor and wish for a son instead.”

“But I am your son.”

“Your father wanted a son anyways.”

She had left him in the kitchen as if her words were a snide compliment at an art gallery. Like she hadn’t just dove her hands inside Steve’s hollow chest, found the remains of his heart, splattered the walls bloody-red with it so he would be surrounded by the proof of his mother’s love, and wiped her hands clean.

That was three months ago. But fuck, it felt like it had happened three hours ago. 

A poke on his knee brought Steve out of the churning void he was about to fall back into. Robin was looking at him with a furrowed expression that yelled ‘I am very worried about you right now, should we talk?’

“I’m okay,” Steve said automatically. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sat up.

“No, you’re not.” Robin said, mirroring him so they were now sitting side by side. She bumped her arm against his.

“No, I’m not.” Steve echoed wearily.

Robin dropped her head on his shoulder. A comforting weight. She didn’t ask anything which Steve found grateful. But he couldn’t bear to hide the new aching in his chest from her. It would make him a hypocrite after the Russian torture.

“I guess it’s kind of funny that my mom wanted a daughter but she still would be disappointed in me.”

Robin made a small sad noise in her throat but said nothing. Instead, she grabbed his hand and squeezed it.

“As much as I would fear the tyranny of Stephanie Harrington, I wouldn’t regret being her platonic soulmate.”

“With a capital P.” Steve finished automatically, a tiny smile forming on his face. 

“With a capital P.” Robin echoed with a warm smile.

They sat together like this for several minutes. Then, Steve turned to her and asked, “So would that mean you would get a crush on me for having boobies?”

The bowl of almonds immediately exploded in his face. Steve fell back to the couch, clutching his stomach as he howled with laughter and Robin yelled, “Way to ruin an emotional moment, Steve Dingus Harrington!”

[whispering-radiance]

[Rc9gn OC] Goddess of Amber, creator of the Eye of Eternity |

Ladies, gentlemen and nonbinary folks, I’ve finally finished this introduction card for this gorgeous lady — Some of you might’ve already seen her on some of my drawings, but she didn’t have a proper introduction. As usual, you can read more in the section below : D

————————————————————————

Actually, the idea for this character popped to my head when I was rewatching some episodes, and I focused all my attention on the Eye of eternities. Like—woah! That’s a cool and important item, but … where did it come from? Like— it’s always “and the ninja had this magical stone and used it to do this and this” so he just had a powerful artifact in his back pocket? I didn’t question it 10 years ago, but now I have a power of imagination and ability to draw — So I played around with this concept

————————————————————————

As it’s written on the card, she’s the goddess of amber. Even though she’s one of the divine, she’s not really considered to be very powerful— and so she doesn’t really have lost of recognition anywhere.

As for her character— She has her own system and ways of doing things, she’s harsh and rarely accepts change. Things rarely catch her attention, only when something extraordinary happens, she will get interested.— And I get her, she’s old, very old— at some point you simply loose interest in the mundane, especially if you have seen it happen for thousands of years. Amber spends her days in solitude, away from noisy people and other gods — she prefers to focus all her energy on her craft rather than social interactions.

What she crafts? Well, mainly enchanted amber. With it she’s able to capture almost everything— but I’m not talking only about organic things— many essences can be kept in such form— Feeling, music, memories, spirit— It helps her relive the moments even from hundreds of years ago.

She’s also found of making jewelry— In the picture she’s holding a string of amber that will eventually become a necklace like this:

(My grandma has this bad boy— I have many found memories of playing with it)

————————————————————————

Amber met First Ninja on accident— After he was defeated by Tengu, he was badly injured and casted down from its mountain — Luckily his agonizing tumble ended in Amber’s garden— At first she was annoyed with the intruder, but seeing how he somehow survived all the suffering, sparked some attention towards him.

She patched him up and listened to his stories — Probably the tails of the sorcerer and the threat he posed, stirred something inside her— If chaos destroyed the land, she would lose her peaceful life.

So she helped him recover, and even taught him a few new moves. After defeating the Tengu she decided that she wants to preserve peace across whole land — finally she has found a new calling in her life.

—————————-

- I’ve tried looking into it, but I didn’t really find anything about the symbolism of the carp in the series— Seeing how it’s always connected with the Eye of Eternities— I might as well make a silly connection, that Carp is her symbol — Also, let me add this stupid fun fact — The sea in my country (Poland 🗣️‼️‼️)is known for its amber — So fish equals sea and that reminds me of amber.

- She probably looked less elegant while traveling and fighting with the Ninja, but I haven’t designed that yet

- When I’m referring to “Gods” or “Heavenly” I don’t have any of my characters in mind — I usually think about Japanese pantheon

—————————-

There are three words that might need some clarification, so here it goes:

- 古樹の女神 (Koju no Megami) - It roughly translates to “Goddess of Ancient trees” Amber starts as a sap from a tree, and takes some sweet time to form into its solid gem form. So this title is quite fitting

- 樹液 (Jueki) - It literally means sap — It’s kind of a pet name for her? Or a name you’d call your sweetheart— To be honest it’s only used by some of her closest friends— Others call her Amber or just refer to her as Lady.

- Naginata - is a polearm and one of several varieties of traditionally made Japanese blades (Wikipedia)

————————————————————————

“You’re putting a lot of work into characters for a teen show from 10 years ago”

Yeah— but it’s nothing compared to what I did for Generator Rex — Making characters and stories helps me enjoy the show 3x more!!

[butts-bouncing-on-the-beltway]

Did I ever tell yall about my mother's habit of sitting me down once a month to have a Serious Developmentally Appropriate and Relevant Conversation? They started when I was about 5, and continued until I was 17 (with some inconsistencies when the two of us were on the outs), and we talked about SO many things. We had the same conversations multiple times at different levels of depth, complexity, and nuance too, which was a really cool way for me to learn what it feels like for knowledge to be inherently cumulative in nature. I feel like that's part of what has made me as curious, as prone towards positive change over time, and as analytical as I typically am.

Anyway, these conversations were all about important life issues. Body health, drugs, sex, relationship dynamics and boundaries, the different ways people harm other people and what it could look like to react to that, racism, gender, war, death, sexuality, capitalism, surbival resource obtainment, sexism, ablism (although I don't know my mother called it this at the time), etc. My mom's general approach to "risky" information with me was essentially "you're going to find out eventually, whether I try to intervene in that or not. I'd rather your first awareness of these things come from me so it's easier for you to recognize when someone is selling you a load of bullshit." My mom and I have a lot of very different ideas of what it should look like to be a parent, but this was absolutely something I think she did right. She was frank and open, she never made me feel like a question or tooic or even certain words were dangerous or "wrong", and she was careful to scale her approach to the conversation in relation to my own emotional and psychological development. I still actually remember a lot of these conversations, tho of course some stand out better than others.

It took a while of me percolating on our conversation about war and intercommunal conflict before I asked her why people fight in wars if they're so awful for everyone involved. She explained a few different reasons, and things that might draw a person to this one or that one, while acknowledging opposing logic where she could.

Then she describes to me the draft. The act of a political entity compelling its own people to put their lives in harm's way for political interests or assets. She explained different ways the draft might work, and different kinds of people who might or might not get drafted. And then, she says,

"Not everyone obeys when they're called up." She watched me very carefully whenever she was using my reactions to gauge her next words. "In fact, several people in our family have refused to be drafted. Some because of their beliefs, some because of their circumstances. A lot of people do. It's called draft dodging."

See, my grandma was born in 1931. She spent most of her and her brothers' childhoods growing up in the place where her father's family had lived since about the 1500s, up in the Virginia Appalachians. But then Pearl Harbor was bombed, the USA joined world war 2, and a draft came up. It'd been calling up so many of the local men who simply. Did not come home. My grandma's parents knew that the family absolutely would not be okay without her father for any significant length of time, let alone forever. Her mother, Josephine, was visibly brown skinned and a first generation orphan immigrant who had already raised her own siblings by the time they'd eloped at 17. It wasn't that she wasn't capable, it was that she didn't have the bandwidth for any new traumas. They didn't trust that she could hold herself together for their kids and her siblings if she lost the one person who made her feel safe. (Ultimately her husband did die young, several decades before Josephine, but after all the children were grown and married. As expected, she did not take it well, and lived with my uncle for the rest of her life grieving)

So when his number came up, he dodged the draft. Sold everything the family had, packed them all into the car, and fled the state. (Apparently a Canadian radio jockey bought the family land back in the 90s and was incredibly frustrated that he couldn't convince the people in town to start calling it after his name instead of my family name lmao) My family was lucky. They had the resources to do this, and to arrange an exemption when they arrived in their new home. Not everyone manages that. And the alternatives can sometimes be a lot more impactful than "just" blowing up your entire life. Jail time, bodily harm, communal rejection, even death. It depends on your circumstances.

And yet people ALWAYS do it. They dodge the draft, or they go AWOL, or they find SOME way to stay out of the war machine. There will ALWAYS be people who choose and prioritize saving lives and denying a war more cannon fodder.

I think about this a lot when I hear about military, militia, or otherwise militarized organizational violence and human rights abuses. I think about the way humans tend to chafe at being denied their autonomy. How in intense hierarchies, people who are belittled by their higher-ups may often lash out at those they are above when they feel a compulsion to re-exert control. I think about the history of asymmetrical warfare, and what we know about what soldiers tend to do in those environments.

And at the end of the day, I think about how when these things happen, when they KEEP happening. Everyone has the choice to refuse. There have always been people who make that choice, even under the worst of consequences.

So what makes the difference between a person who refuses to supply the state with more power to exert violence with, and the person who complies?

[simpingforblackfire]

I'll Crawl Home to her: Part 1

Lucy Gray Baird x fem reader (x platonic Coriolanus Snow)

A/N: This is also posted on my ao3 which is Homoeroticmicrowave

"Grandma"

The bleary eyed, elderly woman stared down at her grandchild. The little girl usually bustling with life and energy, incapable of being still was for once stood unmoving. "What is it hon?"

"Whose Lucy Gray?"

The woman's eyes widened "now where on earth did you hear that name?"

"I heard mama mention her when the district 12 girl sang that song for that dead girl. She caught me listening in though and she sent me off"

The woman sighed "I suppose you want me to tell you about her?"

The little girl nodded enthusiastically.

"Settle down then. This is a long one."

The woman paused to collect her thoughts before speaking.

Those names had been wiped from every media outlet the capital put out. The capital had trampled those names, as best it could. But as hard as the capital tries they never were able to snuff out those names entirely. They would always be spoken in hushed tones.

Perhaps not everyone would know them but she would pass the names down so that they might always be known in whispers between generations.

Sixty-five years ago.

You met her first when you were kids.

"Lucy Gray" she grinned, bright eyes bursting with an excitement for life. You felt so bleak standing before her. You met her hand, which she stuck out so ecstatic to explore the unknown.

"Does it matter what my name means?"

She laughed, loud, unapologetic. It devoured the silence with glee. "Course it matters, silly. Without a name you'd erase a whole part of yourself. Everyone's gotta have a name one way or another"

"I don't like my name much" you admitted. "Too much history I'd gladly erase"

Lucy Gray stood in silence for perhaps the first time in her life. She was always bustling with noise. After a moment of quiet she spoke again, her grin bouncing back as she did "well I gotta call you something, so how about we come up for a new name for you. One I can call you. Something that can make you happy rather than sad"

"You think you'll make me happy?" 

Her grin seemed to widen "I'll make it my mission to!"

You couldn't help but smile back at the girl "okay"

She let out a squeal as her excitement burst out of her. You didn't like when it was noisy. You found you didn't mind when Lucy Gray was noisy though. Silence suddenly seemed overrated.

"I got it!" Lucy Gray suddenly said "Azalea!"

"what?"

"that'll be your name Azalea!"

You wrinkled your nose a bit "like the plant?"

She grinned "just like the plant!"

"why?"

"My mama likes to tell me stories about our family back when we used to be able to travel anywhere we wanted long before we all got hauled up in twelve. This one time she told a story about a hero called azalea and I asked her the same question you just asked me cause my mama always told me names are important. She said Azalea symbolises taking care of yourself and others."

"it does?"

"It does- and that's what you do! You always take care of me and everyone! You always have!" her grin became almost sly as she moved into teasing you slightly as your face grew hot with embarrassment "you're a real softie at the heart and it comes out in how much you care. Cause you care about others the most out of everyone you've ever met"

You turn your head away "nu uh"

"Yeah-huh!" she said throwing herself over your legs and rolling over to look up at your face "but it also serves as a reminder to take care of yourself. Cause that's what you need to do more than anything. You always care for others but the one person you claim to think of the most is the one you really do the least- that would be you"

"I think of myself plenty!"

"Sure you do" Lucy Gray said, sass dripping off her words in plenty, as she rolled her eyes. "What do you think of the name anyway?"

"Azalea" you said trying the name out on your tongue "I think I like Azalea"

"Well then!" Lucy Gray grinned as she always did when she saw you "It's nice to meet you Azalea".

Your hands mets hers and it was warm. 

"It's nice to meet you too, Lucy Gray."