#he wants his grandkids to be happy and healthy

[ecstaticactus]

"They scare my babies" AAAAAHHHHHH🦇🦇🦇🦇 maggie are you really trying to make us fall in love with bats???

"And Grandsire, who has never liked you, pulls you away from the breach and puts himself between you and the intruders." as much as he can scold his grandkids and make their lives miserable at the end of the day family is all that matters to him😭😭😭 (maybe not in the healthy way he should)

“I am ready to see your mother, Alicent,” stop it!!! when i read fire and blood i was so happy with his death but now tears are gonna spill😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

"No. I have another daughter.” uuuh

i just know jace and red gave her biggest side eye

"Did you, Rhaenyra? Before you and Laenor Velaryon were wed?”

MOMMY ALICENT ATE HER UUP

“My darling, my brave girl, what you and Aemond have is…It’s strange, and violent, and obsessive and profane and…and…unnatural.”

*meanwhile me thinking their relationship is epitome of love*

threatening to burn down the whole realm for the sake of your loved one is very much normal to me idk what you're on girl

no in all seriousness i don't see much problem. they're targs, after all they're supposed to be a lil crazy!!! 😤😤😤😤

"It's too late for me to undo the pain I've cause Aegon and Helaena. It's too late for me to mend Aemond's eye or his soul. I can't spare Daeron from the horrors of war. But I can still save you"

WHAT A CHAPTER IT WAS (had lil flashbacks of NICIY 👀🌹)

i don't want to imagine what will happen when aemond learns that blacks took the king's landing. PEOPLE ARE GONNA SUFFER

okay i love aemond but i'm lowkey excited for enemies to lovers trope????

i just know there's gonna lots of angst so i'm prepared. (i'm ready for everything except aemond killing red with his own hands bc she fell in love with jace ASJFLAKFJAKFHSAL)

Cannibals [Chapter 3: Mist and Bricks]

Series summary: You are his sister, his lover, his betrothed despite everyone else’s protests; you have always belonged to Aemond and believe you always will. But on the night he returns from Storm’s End with horrifying news, the trajectories of your lives are irrevocably changed. Will the war of succession make your bond permanent, or destroy the twisted and fanatical love you share?

Chapter warnings: Language, a tiny bit of sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, dragons being weapons of mass destruction, King's Landing gets some visitors, Larys gets alarming news, Alicent gets an idea, Red gets a shock.

Word count: 7.2k

💙 All my writing can be found HERE! ❤️

Tagging: @themoonofthesun @chattylurker @moonfllowerr @ecstaticactus @mrs-starkgaryen, more in comments 🥰

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There is a chilly steel-grey mist on Blackwater Bay, and another in your skull, your thoughts slow and muddled, the past bleeding into the present. It’s weeks later, the longest you’ve ever been away from Aemond, and the pebbles on the shore needle your shins through your velvet gown the color of cinnabar as you kneel to claw seashells from the muck. Helaena is here with you, and while you haven’t told her your plans for your next mosaic, she somehow knows what color shells to drop into your basket: dark green like Vhagar’s scales, shimmering white like Aemond’s hair. Sometimes there are still creatures hunkered inside, and Helaena can never bring herself to pry them out. She passes the doomed crabs and snails to you for a swift exhumation that you deliver with your bare hands, and then you wash the vacated shells in the surf. Mother and a flock of maids are playing with Jaehaera and Maelor farther down the beach. You can’t go near them, or Maelor will start screaming.

Grandsire comes plodding down the stone steps carved into the cliffside, carrying a plate laden with lemon cakes and slices of fresh bread slathered with butter and blackberry jam. “Helaena, you must eat,” he says.

“I’m not hungry.”

“Helaena, please.” And his voice is gentle in a way it has never been with you. “My gods, why are you wrist-deep in wet sand?”

“We’re collecting shells.”

Grandsire gives you a familiar look: disapproval, frustration. The he turns back to Helaena. “I can’t watch you disappear. You must eat something, I’m not leaving until you do.”

“You like blackberry jam,” you encourage her. But she flinches away when Grandsire offers her the plate, and suddenly you understand, you feel the thought as if it is your own. “It’s the color,” you tell him. “The jam, it’s like…” Like blood, like gore. Like the night Jaehaerys died.

“Oh.” Grandsire is quiet for a moment, remembering. “The lemon cakes, then.”

Helaena reluctantly rinses her hands in the seawater, takes a single lemon cake from the plate, and sits on a nearby rock to nibble on it, gazing blankly out over the inlet. You attended Jaehaerys’ funeral procession in her stead—an act of mercy, of penance, while Helaena spent that day sobbing in the Dragonpit, clinging to Dreamfyre, a pale blue century-old monster with infinite patience. The people of King’s Landing saw the dead prince, his head crudely stitched back onto his tiny body, and howled for vengeance. They burned white-haired effigies of Rhaenyra and Daemon. They gave rare autumn flowers to you and Mother. It’s always strange when you leave the Red Keep to interact with the smallfolk. They call you by your real name, something your family seldom does; they seem to believe you are righteous and wise. Perhaps they even pity you: no husband, no children, no dragon.

Mother has left Jaehaera and Maelor with the maids and is venturing closer. “Are there any new letters?” From Criston or Aemond, or even Daeron in the Reach. The Hightower army has been delayed there, cutting through the treasonous soldiers of House Rowan and House Caswell, Tessarion burning them alive in their armor.

“Ravens,” Helaena says thoughtfully from her rock, and no one knows why.

Grandsire shakes his head. No letters today. Butterwell, Stokeworth, and Rosby have bent the knee; the defiant lords of the Crownlands are being put to death. By now the Green forces will be marching on House Staunton at Rook’s Rest. When Aemond does write, you are not mentioned. With each passing day you find yourself thinking: Has he forgotten me? Does he truly love me? Perhaps this is not so irrational a question. Aemond has never used the word love to describe what you are to each other.

Grandsire frowns at you. You gaze mournfully back. He snaps: “And what’s wrong with you?”

Mother’s reply is hushed and sympathetic. “She’s lonely, Father.”

“Lonely?! She still has us here. Don’t we matter? No, I suppose not, she prefers arrogant fools who imperil the realm with their self-obsession. Perhaps she’d like us more if we wore silver wigs and eyepatches.”

Mother is distressed. “Father, please.”

He waves an irritated hand at you. “I better not find out you’ve been keeping the cats away from your chambers again.” Grandsire had a hundred cats brought to the Red Keep to do the tasks the dead ratcatchers left unattended.

“They scare my babies,” you say.

“Your vermin, you mean. Revolting creatures. Flying pestilence.”

You rise from the sand and pick up your basket, now full of shells. Your head is beginning to ache. Maester Orwyle removed your stitches this morning, but the wound in your chest still pains you more or less constantly, a gnawing sensation like an animal chewing on your ribcage.

“Where are you going?” Grandsire demands. You don’t answer him as you ascend the stone staircase, the waves growling behind you and gulls squawking in the foggy air.

In your chambers, you leave the basket of seashells on the floor and call for wine. The maids fetch it and you drink straight from the pitcher, staring at the little wooden figurines on your dresser until they turn blurry. Among them is Vermithor. You recall what Aegon said when he gave it to you years ago, when you were so stung by the dragon’s rejection: You might not have the real Bronze Fury, but you can keep this one.

Your bats are beginning to scrabble out of their roost and vanish through the window. As the sun sets and the room spins, you crawl into bed and lie there in the darkness clutching pillows, your pulse thudding just above your left eye. You doze in and out of consciousness. Aemond told you to think of him when you are here, and you do whether you want to or not: Aemond spilling red wine down your bare chest and then licking you clean; you straddling his lap and stroking him as he reads myths aloud to you in gloomy alcoves of the library, dust motes wheeling in the air, grinning victoriously when you make him lose his focus; the five game pieces racing around the wooden board, Aegon’s green snake, Helaena’s yellow butterfly, Aemond’s blue wolf, your red bat, Daeron’s purple shadowcat before he was sent away to Oldtown and the rest of you never played again.

Then something hits you, not like a vision but like knuckles that could crack teeth, and you are besieged by what Aemond is seeing in the Crownlands. There is flesh, horribly and ruinously burned, sheets of it sloughing off as Aemond peels away scraps of charred fabric, and the smell of it—like blackened pork, oily and stomach-turning—is in your nostrils, and you can feel the calamitous heat rising off the man who must be dying. You can feel Aemond’s terror, disbelief, desperation; you can feel his tears on the right side of your face.

Dragonfire??

The dreamscape abruptly disappears like a candle blown out. Your head throbs, your eyes are squeezed shut as you whimper into your pillows. Your fingertips go instinctively to the scar on your chest.

Who was burned? Criston? Gwayne?

But now the dire portents are here in your room, and they are real: the ringing of bells, smoke, shrieking, scorched flesh.

You open your eyes, and your bats are soaring back inside through the open window; but they have been turned to comets. They are on fire, squealing as their fur is singed off and the fragile membranes of their wings melted from their bones, herding around their roost as they try in vain to seek shelter inside. The dark blue velvet cover has been engulfed in flames.

“No!” you scream, bolting off the bed.

Your door is thrown open and Mother rushes in, dragging Jaehaera behind her. Helaena waits in the doorway holding little Maelor in her arms. He hasn’t seen you yet, but he is already wailing. The horror is back. When will it end?

“We have to go!” Mother shouts, grabbing your hand and pulling you away from your bats. You know you can’t save them, and yet you are compelled to. They are pieces of you, pieces of Aemond. They are burning to death in the house you built for them.

“What’s happening—?!” And then you hear the screeches of dragons, not Vhagar or Sunfyre or Dreamfyre or Tessarion. Through the window, you see an inferno bloom in the night sky. You get a firelit glimpse of a beast you do not recognize: dark, angular, very large and covered with jagged spines. People are screaming. Rooftops are ablaze.

A wild dragon? Claimed by who?

“We’ll go to the beach,” Mother says frantically. She’s thinking of the escape hatch in Aemond’s bedchamber, the only secret passageway in Maegor’s Holdfast. The king known as “the Cruel” wanted no spies or assassins in his walls. But one door was enough for Daemon’s executioners to kill Jaehaerys. “Helaena will try to get to Dreamfyre.”

But you won’t be able to fly away with the rest of them. Dreamfyre would sooner reduce you to ashes than let you touch her.

Mother knows this. She tells you, low and fierce, her coppery hair like glowing embers: “I won’t leave you. You and I will find another way out of King’s Landing.”

“You should escape on Dreamfyre if you have the chance.”

“Never,” she says. And then again: “Never.”

In the hallway, Grandsire has arrived, panicked and urging everyone towards Aemond’s bedchamber. He wheezes, breathless from his sprint through the castle: “I saw Syrax and Caraxes, and Vermax too I think, or maybe Moondancer, a small dragon…but who is the other one? It’s not Meleys. It’s a hideous creature, it looks deformed.”

“I don’t know,” Mother says. Hordes of yowling cats careen past your bare feet.

“Could Rhaenyra be finding new riders?” And Grandsire, a man who is afraid of very little, is petrified down to his bones by this.

I should have a dragon, you think, forlorn. I should be able to help fight this war. And instead I am worthless.

“I don’t know, Father,” Mother says again, and you follow her through the threshold and into Aemond’s abandoned bedchamber, illuminated only by the moonlight that streams in through the windows. You have not been in here since Jaehaerys died; the stone floor is still stained with his blood. Helaena begins sobbing, clutching Maelor closer to her chest. Downstairs, you can hear swords clanging and men groaning as they die.

You hurry to the hidden door and ram it with your shoulder, but as the passageway opens, you see red-orange torchlight approaching through the blackness like fire boiling up in the throat of a dragon. Rhaenyra’s soldiers are already here. You try to close the door, but now knights in armor are forcing their way inside the room. And Grandsire, who has never liked you, pulls you away from the breach and puts himself between you and the intruders.

“The hallway, back to the hallway!” he booms, giving you a shove, and that is the only place left to go. You, Mother, Jaehaera, Helaena, Maelor, and Grandsire flee from Aemond’s bloodstained bedchamber. But your captors have climbed the Grand Staircase—the place where you once waited for Aemond to return from Storm’s End, so convinced that he would not fail you—and now they are here.

Under the torches carried by her guards, Rhaenyra alternates between firelight and shadows. Daemon marches beside her, his face severe, his sword Dark Sister drawn. Mother pushes you, Jaehaera, and Helaena, still carrying Maelor, against the cold stone wall. Grandsire stands in front of Mother. Jace is walking behind Rhaenyra and Daemon, you notice, dressed in red and black, his cloak billowing behind him. The last time you saw Jace, you were smirking when Aemond shoved him off his feet at the last dinner King Viserys ever attended. Now you are trembling with thunderstruck terror.

Rhaenyra is supposed to be bedbound on Dragonstone. Daemon is supposed to be in the Riverlands.

Daemon points at you with the tip of his blade. “You should have that one executed,” he says to Rhaenyra. “Isn’t she Aemond’s whore?”

“They were never married,” Mother tells him, her dark eyes huge and reflecting the torchlight, her arm thrown in front of you.

“I didn’t say wife, I said whore.”

“Daemon,” Rhaenyra warns, and she studies you, Helaena, Grandsire, Mother. Her blue eyes are sharp like fractured glass, edges that glide effortlessly through arteries and veins; there is a queenlike composure in her face, but beneath that wrath, wrath, wrath. After a moment, she says to her guards: “Take the adults to the dungeons.”

Mother and Helaena are shouting and protesting, trying to stop the guards that rip Jaehaera and Maelor out of their grasps. Grandsire is attempting to negotiate. Rhaenyra and Daemon ignore them, continuing on down the hallway, taking possession of the rage-red castle where they first fell into their peculiar, destructive breed of love.

As he passes by, Jace glowers at you and you glare back, and when he reaches for the hilt of his sword you bare your teeth at him; but before Jace can draw his blade—to threaten you, to frighten you, to spill your blood the way Aemond spilled Luke’s—the guards have dragged you away.

~~~~~~~~~~

Your head is very bad now. The pain is almost impossible to think through; you are sick with it, retching into a wooden bucket until there is nothing left to expel. If Aemond was here, he would be holding you, murmuring to you in High Valyrian, pressing a cloth soaked with cold water to your forehead. But Mother is here instead, and she is doing the best she can.

It’s the next day, cold grey light tumbling in through cracks in the walls. You are imprisoned on the second level of the dungeons, reserved for highborn captives; you and Mother are in one cell, Helaena and Grandsire in another on the other side of the aisle. Helaena has been weeping constantly, worrying for her children. Grandsire and Mother try to console her as you lie pitifully on the floor, wishing the pain would knock you unconscious. You need Orwyle and his milk of the poppy. The guards have brought bread and water, but nothing else.

There is a creaking sound from several cells away, and then a slow shuffling accompanied by the tapping of a cane. Mother keeps one hand on your shoulder as she cranes her neck to see her visitor. Grandsire and Helaena move to the front of their cell, their fingers gripping the rusted iron bars.

Larys Strong appears, his hands resting on the handle his cane. Unlike Maegor’s Holdfast—the residence of the royal family—the other buildings of the Red Keep are rife with secret passageways, a latticework of corridors that one unfamiliar with their paths could get lost in forever. Surely Daemon and his confederates are in the process of searching them, but it is a task that could take a week.

“Lord Larys,” Mother says, relieved. “They have not found you.”

“Not yet, Your Grace,” he replies docilely. “Though I’m sure it will not take much longer.”

“Can you retrieve some milk of the poppy?” For you, she means.

“I will try.” Then he stalls, as if he does not wish to share what he has heard through his clandestine chain of whispers. “Something has happened at Rook’s Rest.”

Mother’s brow furrows. “Where?”

“The seat of House Staunton,” you tell her from where you lie on the floor, remembering it from the maps in Aemond’s bedchamber. He would tell you things, show you things, sometimes kindly, sometimes tauntingly, sometimes as he undressed you. He would quiz you and if you got an answer wrong, he would put your clothes back on.

“In the Crownlands?” Mother says to Larys, alarmed. “Is Aegon alright?”

Larys takes a moment to decide how to proceed. “The castle was captured without much difficulty, but a maester there must have gotten a raven out, because Dragonstone received word of the attack and was summoned to defend Rook’s Rest and retake it from the Greens. It is located very close to Dragonstone, and thus cannot be allowed to fall into the hands of the enemy.”

Larys pauses and looks at his audience. Grandsire asks: “So who answered the message?”

“It seems that Rhaenyra, Daemon, and Jacaerys were already preparing for an invasion of King’s Landing and were elsewhere,” Larys says. “The other dragon, the large brown one, is called Sheepstealer and is ridden by a peasant girl that Daemon found. There are rumors that he has grown somewhat…attached to her.”

Mother grimaces, tugging on the seven-pointed star necklace she never takes off. “He’s a beast.”

“The girl is a Targaryen bastard?” Grandsire says, confounded. “Whose? She’s not a child of Viserys, surely. Where the hell did she come from?”

Larys is apologetic. “I could not tell you, my lord. If I discover anything else concerning her origins, I shall share what I learn. She is known as Nettles.”

“Nettles?” Grandsire snorts.

Larys continues: “When the raven reached Dragonstone, Baela received the letter. It appears she was told that Sunfyre was the only dragon guarding Rook’s Rest at the time, and that Vhagar was away feeding. She must have thought she could best the king, or at least chase him away from the castle.”

“An understandable error,” Grandsire says, and you scowl at him between fruitless retches into your bucket. The thrumming in your skull is like blows from a hammer, rhythmic and disorienting. Your face is hot with fever; it radiates off of you in waves. Mother rubs your back—although somewhat cautiously, as if she is afraid that barbs might split through your skin to prick her—and offers you sips of water.

“Baela left Dragonstone, likely without permission. Rhaenys followed her on Meleys, but Moondancer was faster.”

“Meleys?” Mother says, startled. “Meleys was there too?”

Larys nods solemnly. “Aegon and Sunfyre attacked Moondancer and broke her neck high in the air. Baela perished when her dragon fell to the earth.”

“Daemon’s daughter,” Mother exhales, wondering what the retribution will be. “Jace’s betrothed.”

“And one of Rhaenys’ only two trueborn grandchildren,” Larys says. “When she arrived at Rook’s Rest and saw Moondancer’s carcass smoldering just outside the castle walls, she pursued the king before he could retreat. And Sunfyre…he was no match for a dragon as large as Meleys.”

“Aegon, he’s…?” Mother cannot bring herself to speak the words aloud. Tears gleam in her eyes. “Is he…is there no hope…?”

The ruined flesh, charred and raw, you remember from your horrifying glimpse into Aemond’s mind. It wasn’t Criston or Gwayne. It was Aegon.

“He was burned,” you whisper, and Mother stares at you.

“Aemond returned on Vhagar, and they slayed Rhaenys and her mount. But not before the king and his dragon were engulfed in Meleys’ flames.”

“He’s dead?” Grandsire says, emotion you’ve never heard before in his voice.

No, you think. Not yet.

“Aegon and Sunfyre are both gravely wounded,” Larys replies. “It is uncertain whether either will survive. The Blacks received the news just before their assault on King’s Landing.”

“Where is Aegon now?” Mother says.

“I’m not sure, Your Grace. He was still at Rook’s Rest last I heard, but they might move the king elsewhere to keep him hidden. I would imagine Aemond and Sir Criston Cole are requisitioning maesters from nearby houses to treat him.”

“Burns,” Mother sobs. “He must be suffering terribly, the pain…the disfigurement…”

Grandsire drums his fingers on the bars of his cell, his rings clinking against the rusted steel. His expression is remote, somber, resigned. “So we have two dragons capable of combat, one of which is young and small and pinned down by battles in the Reach, the other is on the far side of the Crownlands and trapped there while Aemond tries to keep our king alive. And Rhaenyra is here in the capital with Syrax, Caraxes, Vermax, and this new dragon Sheepstealer, larger than any of her others, and her faction seeks vengeance for not one but three royal deaths.”

In reply, Larys Strong only bows his head. Mother swipes tears from her cheeks and tucks your hair behind your ears as strands escape your braid.

“Well,” Grandsire sighs. “I believe we might be losing this war.”

There is the distant noise of a door’s hinges creaking, and Larys hobbles out of sight, retreating to the secret passageway he previously emerged from. A minute passes, and then footsteps echo down the corridor. Daemon strides into view, swinging Dark Sister in his right hand, and you are suddenly reminded so much of Aemond’s mannerisms that the absence of him guts you all over again, vital parts of you excavated like the organs of a slaughtered animal. Daemon is accompanied by several guards and a group of noblemen who you assume are members of Rhaenyra’s council. You recognize among them a tall man with short grey hair, Lord Bartimos Celtigar.

Daemon says: “Princess Helaena, the queen has taken your tiny, traitorous children to ward. Perhaps one day you will see them again. Perhaps not.” She gazes out from her cell vacantly, her face bloodless with shock and fear. Then Daemon turns to Grandsire. “Otto Hightower, you orchestrated an unlawful rebellion and therefore you will be put to death.”

Grandsire gapes at him. “What? When?”

“Oh, immediately.” Daemon steps back and the guards unlock the cell, seize Grandsire, knock him over and drag him wriggling on his belly into the corridor. Mother pleads for his life. Helaena shrieks and claws for him, trying to keep him with her. The guards fling her roughly away and slam the door of her cell shut before she can escape.

“No, no, do not mourn me!” Grandsire is bellowing as he is hauled away. “I am an old man, I have lived a good life, do not think of me, think of the living and what you can still do for them!”

“Father!” Mother wails, reaching through the bars of her cell though she knows she will never touch him again.

“I am ready to see your mother, Alicent,” Grandsire says; and then he is gone. The men of Rhaenyra’s council begin to file out of the dungeon.

“You followed us across the Narrow Sea, Lord Celtigar!” you shout after him, crawling across the floor and pressing your face against the bars of your cell. “House Targaryen saved you from the Doom, and now you rip it down from within by aiding a usurper. We will not forget your treason when the war is won. We will visit you on Claw Isle and bring with us fire and blood. And you will have no defenses. You are no dragonrider.”

“Neither are you, princess,” he says cooly, and leaves you in your prison.

Daemon is the only man still standing in the aisle. He peers down at you with shadowy deep-set eyes and twirls his Valyrian steel sword again. He grins, humorless, hungry, burning up inside with fury. “Perhaps I’ll be back soon.”

Mother yanks you away from the bars, and you can see what she’s thinking etched into the desperate lines of her face: How can I save her?

“I’m going to behead your father now,” Daemon tells Mother, then sweeps down the corridor. There is the sound of a heavy door closing when he reaches the end of the hall.

“Do not speak to them,” Mother hisses to you, and you are in too much pain to respond. Now you can hear men jeering out in the courtyard of the Red Keep. Daemon is listing Grandsire’s crimes. Crows are cawing.

He’s going to die too? you think dizzily. When does this end, how do we stop it?

The door at the end of the hallway opens again, and Mother stands and places herself in front of you; but it is not Daemon this time, relishing his chance to drag another Green to their death. It is Rhaenyra and Jace. The Blacks’ queen stops at your cell, her son a few paces behind her. He looks at you with heartbreak, with hatred, and of course he does; one of your brothers murdered Luke, the other killed Baela. And he does not believe you to be blameless like Helaena. You are a very different sort of woman.

“Alicent, your degenerate son’s insurrection is over,” Rhaenyra says. “I have taken the city and—”

“Jace needs to strengthen his claim,” Mother interrupts. Outside, men are cheering; Grandsire’s head has been struck from his shoulders. In her cell across the aisle, Helaena sinks to the floor and sobs quietly into her palms.

Rhaenyra studies Mother, incredulous. “What did you say?”

“There have always been people who doubted his parentage, as you well know,” Mother says, and you can see her hands are trembling; but her voice is steady. “And there are many who favor my line. They fear Daemon’s recklessness, and perhaps yours as well.”

“You speak so boldly for a woman who stands behind bars.”

Mother is unflinching. “Perhaps you imagine that you will kill every last Green, and all of our loyalists throughout the Seven Kingdoms, millions of people, and therefore you will have no use for bricks upon which to build a lasting peace. But I think that would be a mistake.”

“And you wish to help me?” Rhaenyra mocks.

“I wish to safeguard what is left of my family.”

The woman who calls herself queen considers this. Surely the same hope lives in her ribcage as well, the same catastrophic fear that it will prove impossible.

“One way or another, the war will be won,” Mother says. “And whichever side triumphs will have the other at their mercy.”

“I will have you at my mercy, yes.”

“Aemond and Vhagar are still out there. Underestimate them at your peril.”

“And what is your suggestion?” Rhaenyra demands. “To bolster Jace’s claim, to save your own skins?”

“Baela is gone and he is unspoken for. You once offered to unite our bloodlines by marrying Helaena to Jace. Perhaps if I had accepted that, I could have spared us this torment. I was wrong to dismiss your proposal so swiftly, Rhaenyra. I did not give you the respect you deserved. And I have reconsidered.”

Rhaenyra is puzzled. “Helaena is already married. Unless you have proof that Aegon is dead, which would be welcome.”

“No. I have another daughter.”

Both you and Jace begin to object at once; your mothers silence you with fearsome glares.

Rhaenyra is aghast; her sharp blue eyes dart to where you are slumped on the floor of your cell and then back to Mother. “This is a sickening insult.”

Mother seems calm, measured. It cannot be easy for her. “Willingly marrying my daughter to Jace is accepting his legitimacy. She is a Green, and very close in age to your son, and from what I have heard of Jace’s temperament I believe them to be well-matched.”

“I don’t,” Jace says.

Rhaenyra shakes her head in disbelief; but is there a ripple of uncertainty across her regal face? Yes, you think there is. “Aemond has already bedded her.”

“And who has said this?” Mother asks. “Daemon, who hates my family and has no mind for strategy or alliances? Rhaenys and the Sea Snake, who hungered for the Iron Throne all their lives and saw a chance for their descendants to possess it through Baela?”

Rhaenyra is looking at you again. “I’ve seen the way they watch each other. The way they move.” The dinner, she means. The night that Viserys died.

“She is a maiden,” Mother insists, but she gives you a transient sideways glance. Are you? “They had a flirtation, yes, as is so common for siblings of your foreign house, but nothing more. I would never have allowed fornication or the use of moon tea to disguise its consequences under my roof. They are grievous sins. You know me. You know my devotion to my faith.”

“She will submit to a maester’s examination to make sure?”

“Did you, Rhaenyra? Before you and Laenor Velaryon were wed?”

Rhaenyra raises an eyebrow. And you have the sense—vague and dreadful—that perhaps it is dawning upon her that taking something Aemond holds dear might have its advantages. “What do you want in return?”

“We have both lost innocent people,” Mother says. “There has been enough bloodshed. It must stop somewhere, or all the Targaryens will be dead and their dragons too, and this dynasty will vanish from the earth, and our ambitions will be for nothing. If you do indeed win the war, I want my surviving children and grandchildren spared. And my brother Gwayne, and Sir Criston Cole.”

“I cannot give you Aemond.”

“If you swear that you’ll pardon him, we shall do the same for Daemon if it is our armies that triumph.”

Now the hope is unmistakable on Rhaenyra’s face. “And my remaining sons will be allowed to live? All of them?” Even Daemon’s?

“Yes.”

She muses on this. “You make tempting promises, Alicent. But I don’t have any conviction that Aemond will heed you if Aegon dies and he is made regent until Maelor is grown. I don’t believe you can control him.”

“He’ll listen to his sister,” Mother swears. “He will not do anything that would bring her despair. And if she is married to Jace, she will come to love his family as her own. All the more so if they have children together.”

“She might not be trustworthy,” Rhaenyra says.

“She is of no threat to you. She is untrained with the sword, she rides no dragon. And you have her mother, sister, niece, and nephew held captive. She would not endanger us.”

“You have great confidence in her. Your hopes for survival are in her hands.”

“She is spirited, but she is clever, and she loves deeply and enduringly. She will do whatever is required to protect her own.” Now Mother’s voice breaks. “I want her sent away.”

“Mother, no—”

“Far from the war, far from Daemon,” she says, ignoring you.

Rhaenyra is nodding. “Somewhere secluded and peaceful…all the better for her to quickly give Jace an heir. The Riverlands, yes? Perhaps House Footly of Tumbleton.”

“No, not far enough. The Westerlands.”

“The North,” Rhaenyra counters.

“The Stormlands.”

“The Vale,” Rhaenyra says. “There will be no battles there, winter has already begun in the mountains and the roads are treacherous. She will be tucked away in obscurity until the war is won.”

“The Vale,” Mother agrees. She looks down at you and smiles, soft and sad and merciful. At last, after eighteen years, she has saved you.

Jace is whispering furiously to Rhaenyra, but she holds up a hand to stop him. He is exasperated. The supposed queen tells Alicent: “I shall think on this tonight.”

“She needs Maester Orwyle,” Mother says, kneeling beside you. “She is ill, she gets headaches. This place is bad for her. It’s the cold and the dampness. And the fear.”

“I’ll consider that,” Rhaenyra quips, and then she leaves, the hem of her black gown displacing dust on the floor of the aisle. Jace gives you one final glance—seething, appalled—and stalks after her. At the end of the hallway, he slams the heavy wooden door.

“I won’t do it,” you snarl, sick in body and soul. “I won’t, I won’t. I don’t care what you say.”

“We are in a fucking dungeon,” Mother says, grabbing and shaking you, and you’ve never heard her curse before. “Do you want to try to save your brothers’ lives? Or do you want to surrender to the destruction of our house? If you care for Aemond, as I know you do, you will give him a chance if he and Criston cannot win on the battlefield. You will earn Jace’s affection and convince him to spare us.”

You look at her, weak, stunned, at war with yourself. Jace can’t touch me. Only Aemond.

She asks you something; it takes great effort. “You are still…you haven’t…you’re a virgin, aren’t you?”

You hesitate. “In the literal sense.”

“In the…? Never mind, stop, I don’t want to hear any more.” Mother takes a deep breath. “Good. Then we haven’t lied to them. Jace might be able to tell. Sometimes there are…signs. Pain, blood.”

“He’s a bastard,” you hiss.

“He’s Rhaenyra’s son, and so he is a Targaryen and a dragonrider. And if Jace’s side wins, he will one day sit the Iron Throne. He can be proud, but no one says he is cruel. I don’t believe he would harm you. Your brothers are warriors, but you’ve never killed anyone.” Then she goes soft and hushed, and she cups your face with her gentle hands. “I know you’ve always thought you would marry Aemond.”

“Mother, I love him.”

“My darling, my brave girl, what you and Aemond have is…” She shakes her head, her large dark eyes grim and glistening. “It’s strange, and violent, and obsessive and profane and…and…unnatural.”

You are defiant. “If we had grown up in a true Targaryen court, we would have been expected to be this way. We would have married years ago, and no one would have condemned us for acting exactly like what we are. We aren’t First Men or Andals. We are the blood of the dragon.”

“It’s an affliction that brings nothing but sin and suffering.”

“You wed Aegon to Helaena!”

“And it has been a source of tremendous sorrow for them both,” Mother says, and now she is weeping again. “I should have stopped their marriage. But I was young, and I had already refused Rhaenyra’s offer of a match with Jace, and Viserys was so adamant, and I thought…maybe…maybe it’s not an offense to the gods. Maybe it’s just something I don’t understand. It was my husband’s custom, and so I deferred to him, as I had been taught to. But I was wrong. It’s too late for me to undo the pain I’ve caused Aegon and Helaena. It’s too late for me to mend Aemond’s eye or his soul. I can’t spare Daeron from the horrors of war. But I can still save you.”

“I belong with Aemond.” I belong to him.

“You don’t know better. You never had a choice.”

“I’m not you, Mother,” you say. “I’m not a Hightower or a Lannister or a Baratheon. I’m not like them, and I don’t want to be. I want to be Visenya.”

“You’re not going to be anyone if Daemon convinces Rhaenyra to have your head hacked off your shoulders.” Her vast eyes, dark like the mouth of a well, plead for you to understand. This is not a punishment; it is tenderness, it is compassion. “I would do anything to save you and Helaena and your brothers. Anything. You marrying Jace unites the realm. It provides a cornerstone around which to build a peaceful resolution. He will protect your kin. When the battles are past, we can negotiate a divided Westeros, or a line of succession, or exile to Essos or banishment to the Wall, or anything else that will preserve the lives of the people we love. And if Aemond can still win somehow…” She shrugs, and you know whatever affection she once had for Rhaenyra is dead now. “Then he can do whatever he wants with the Blacks who are left.”

I don’t want them to die. Aemond, Aegon, Criston, Daeron, Mother, Helaena, Jaehaera, Maelor.

Mother asks: “Will you do it?”

Aemond, Aemond, Aemond.

Again, desperately: “Will you do it?”

And you cannot look at her when you answer. “Yes.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Maester Orwyle appears an hour later to dose you with enough milk of the poppy to kill the pain in your skull, and when you sleep it is deep and dark and dreamless. Rhaenyra, Daemon, and Jace arrive at first light, dreary grey dawn trickling into the dungeon. You know what she has decided. Both Daemon and Jace are scowling, and you think, somehow knowing that it is true: The more they try to dissuade her, the more convinced she is. She feels the need to remind them that she alone was Viserys’ heir, that she is a queen in her own right.

“Just marry him to Rhaena!” Daemon is ranting.

“Rhaena brings nothing to our cause that we do not have already. And she will always feel second to Baela. She knows Jace loved her sister. It is perverse.” Then Rhaenyra collects herself and asks Mother: “She consents?”

“She does.”

Rhaenyra turns to Jace. His reply is toneless. “I will do as you bid me to, Your Grace.”

“She will be in the keeping of House Corbray until the war is over,” Rhaenyra says, nodding to you. “They are an honorable but old and modest house, and of little strategic importance. No one beyond who is absolutely necessary will know where she is, for her own safety and that of the children she bears. Jace will fly her to Heart’s Home.”

House Corbray. You remember their banner, Aemond once taught it to you: three black ravens, three red hearts. You have a memory of being in the library with his lips on your throat, his fingers skating up the inside of your thigh, whispering for you to keep quiet as maesters stock books on the other side of the shelf.

“She cannot ride a dragon,” Mother says.

“Sure she can, if he puts her on Vermax.”

“No, you don’t understand,” Mother insists. “Dragons hate her. She cannot go near them. They will attack her, they will kill her. She and Jace will have to travel by ship.”

Rhaenyra is taken aback by this. Daemon scoffs: “What the fuck kind of Targaryen repels dragons?”

“The kind that will never be able to fly to battle against us,” Rhaenyra mutters, and you think: She is angry with him. He has done something, he has displeased her somehow. And you wonder about the girl who rides Sheepstealer.

Your eyes drift to Jace, you cannot stop them. He stares back from beneath dark curls, his gaze hard like the cold stony earth of the Vale, his fingers tapping on the hilt of his sword.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s the very first time.

You are at your vanity, and you are supposed to be getting ready for dinner: choosing your earrings and bracelets, combing out your hair before you braid it, a silver river that shimmers like moonlight in the mirror’s reflection. You have bathed, and steam still clings warm and dewy on your skin. You wear a silk robe the color of ripe cherries and nothing underneath it. Candles flicker, cool evening air breathes in through the windows…and your mind is wandering.

For years, you have felt episodic pangs of longing, an indistinct need, a deep untouchable hunger, and you have never found a way to satisfy it. It waxes like a moon growing full and then wanes into nothingness, but it always reappears again, and tonight you are feeling restless, occasionally shifting on the cushion of your chair, seeking the pressure that gives you a taste—and only a morsel, a nibble, a drag of the tongue—of what fulfillment might feel like. Lately, when you are like this, you find yourself thinking of Aemond. He has never spoken of it directly, but you have noticed the way his eye catches on your chest and your hips, how his hands linger when he grabs or shoves or embraces you. You can’t stop wondering what it would taste like to kiss him. You can’t stop imagining which positions he would fuck you in, remembering the lustful figures on the tapestries that hang from the walls of Aegon’s bedchamber.

Your hand settles in your lap, and there—over the glossy blood-colored silk of your robe—presses down tentatively. You sigh, you writhe, you picture Aemond forcing your thighs apart and gazing transfixed at the rare pieces of you he’s never seen.

How do I satiate this craving, how do I make it go away?

Your bedchamber door opens and Aemond stands in the threshold, black leather and silver hair. “Are you ready yet—?” Then his eye drops to where you snatch your hand out of your lap, not quickly enough to escape him noticing. There is a stretch of silence that seems very long. Then Aemond’s scarred forehead furrows and he asks: “What were you doing?”

You consider lies; they dangle in front of you by the dozen, so many ways to deflect or deny or even to disparage him, those prickly games of wordplay. But when you speak, it is not just the truth. It is an invitation. “Thinking of you.”

And Aemond steps into your bedchamber and shuts the door behind him. He crosses the room, kneels in front of you, reaches beneath your robe to hook his arms under your thighs and yanks you halfway out of the chair. You yelp in exhilarated shock as he buries his face between your legs, and then your fingers knot in his hair, and then you are pushing him closer, shaking, awestruck.

Is he really here? Is this finally happening?

You cannot stay quiet when the pinpoint ecstasy opens, blooms, drags you to places you never knew existed. It is something too powerful to be found in the world of mortals. It is bloodmagic, it is shade of the evening, a poison so sweet you’d let it ruin you.

Afterwards—collapsed and gasping on the stone floor, your robe open and your body laid bare for him, flesh that he has claimed irrevocably, bones he owns like a dragon or a blade—you say: “What was that?”

“You had a climax,” Aemond murmurs. “It’s easier for a man, but they are possible for women too.” He smooths your hair back from your face; it is unbound and wild, spilling all around you. You think vaguely: He wants me even when I don’t look like Visenya? He ghosts his thumb across your lips and then kisses you, and it is nothing but warmth, desire, the shared minerals your blood is built of, undying affinity like the celestial kinship of stars in the same constellation. “You can always ask me to take care of you, and I’ll do it. I’m the only one who is allowed to. No one else, not ever.”

This is no sacrifice. You have never wanted another man, and now you know you never will. “Teach me how to satisfy you,” you say, smiling. “I want to see you helpless too.”

Before you dress and leave your bedchamber, you erase as much of the evidence as you can, washing your skin clean and taming your hair into a tidy braid; but still, Mother frowns worriedly at you and Aemond all through dinner.

[wolfjackle-creates]

Ghost!Robin Part 7

All right! Here's part 7. I hope you enjoy. I don't think I really have any opening notes to go over this time, so I'll just leave it there. Check out the ask game I posted yesterday if you're interested.

This week you get a bit more than usual at 1.6k words.

First, Previous

----------

“What was that you meant about me being Jazz’s second dead boyfriend?”

Over his surprised laughter, he heard Jazz’s groan from across the hall. Yeah, he really did like Jason more than Johnny.

“One of my former rogues, Johnny 13, pretended to be human and started dating Jazz for a period. He was trying to mold her body into a vessel for his equally dead girlfriend Kitty. He had a similar bad-boy vibe to you but was actually awful. We might be cool now, but I’m still pissed he did that.”

Jason blinked at him before a slow grin took over his face. “So Jazz has a history of bad choices, does she? She always acts like she’s always had it together.”

“Oh definitely not. No child raised by our parents could have it always together.”

“Jazz refuses to talk about your parents, will you tell me what they did?”

Before Danny could answer, Jazz shouted his name. “Danny! If you’re done apologizing to Jason, start helping me explain!”

Danny rolled his eyes to Jason. “Later, I suppose. Duty calls! Come on, you’ve got to have a lot of questions, dead boyfriend number two, and yours will get priority answers.”

Jason’s surprised laugh made him grin despite the deepening glares of the other Waynes.

Surprisingly, it was Duke who blurted out a question in a high, freaked-out voice first. “Why do you have a crown?”

Danny, who’d turned and took all of one step in the direction of the dining hall, paused and turned back around. “How can you see that?” And then he realized the ground was still littered with broken glass and ceramics. “Never mind. Later. Let me clean up the broken glass and stuff first. Least I can do.”

Bruce’s hand landed heavy on his shoulder. “No. You will answer our questions now.”

Danny rolled his eyes. “Yeah, no. Look, the short of it is that I died when I was fourteen because I was stupid. It didn’t take and now I’m only half dead. I have a ghost form and a human form and all the standard ghost powers. The main ones being invisibility”—he turned invisible for a moment—“intangibility”—Bruce’s hand fell through his shoulder—“and gravity manipulation.” He raised in the air until he was floating a foot above the floor. “I also have some more unique powers, such as ice.” With a wave of his hand, ice grew around the shards of glass.

Alfred and Duke quickly backed away from the mess, but once every piece of broken china was encased, the ice stopped growing.

“So, if you’ll just tell me where I can dispose of the shards, I’ll be happy to do it. And this way no one has to be at risk of hurting themselves cleaning broken glass. Plus I got up all the fine powder, too. No little bits that can barely be seen but will fuck up your vacuum cleaner.”

“A handy skill,” said Alfred before anyone else could speak. “I will lead you to the bins.” To the rest of the group, he said, “Jason, would you and Duke collect the desserts from the kitchen and set up the dining room? As it appears we are all allies here, there is no reason to have this conversation standing in a hallway when we could have it sitting down with good food.”

“Alfred—” started Bruce.

Only to be cut off by the butler. “Master Bruce, I will be quite safe with the young man, I am sure of it. Jason’s… ghost has explained a few things already.” Only the slight pause before the word ghost betrayed that the man wasn’t entirely at ease.

Tim stepped forward. “Let me come with you both, Alfred?”

With a put upon sigh, the man agreed. “Very well, Master Tim, if you must. Mr. Danny, please follow me.”

“Yes, sir.” Danny followed obediently, the ice floating along behind him with barely a thought.

“You don’t need to make any sort of gesture to control the ice?” asked Tim.

Danny shook his head. “Nah. It’s my ice. It’ll do what I want it to. Most ghost powers are based on thought and emotion, honestly.” They took another turn. His castle didn’t even have this many hallways.

“So when you said the ghosts in Amity, you meant that literally.” Tim acted like it was a revelation.

“Of course I did. Shortly after my accident, ghosts started attacking on a regular basis. Took years for me to get things under control and by that point I’d already failed out of high school.”

“But if it was so hard… why didn’t you call the Justice League?”

Danny threw back his head and gave a hysterical laugh. “And then have to fight an overshadowed Superman? Or, worse yet, speedster? No. No thank you. Never. A representative of Justice League Dark stopped by about six or eight months after I got my powers and I told him to keep everyone out of my haunt. He gave me a phone number in case I came across something I couldn’t handle. But I kept being able to handle it, so I never used the number.”

“Overshadowed?” asked Alfred, “I do not believe we know that term. Ah, here we are.” He opened a door that led outside to a drive where a collection of garbage bins sat. “That container there”—he pointed—“is for glass recycling. Will the ice leave the bin filled with water?”

“Not at all. It’ll be completely gone.” Danny had the ice hover over the bin and made it disappear slowly enough that the shards were released without any falling outside the container. No water remained to show how he had transported them.

“Thank you very much, Mr. Danny. Now, overshadowing?” he asked as he held the door open for the boys to precede him inside.

“Oh, um. It’s like possession. Ghosts can take over a living being’s body. But when we do, we don’t have access to memories or knowledge or anything. And after the ghost leaves, the human just doesn’t remember anything from the time they were overshadowed.”

“And is this another of those basic ghost powers you have?” Tim’s voice was hard.

“Yes,” Danny answered simply. “It feels gross, though, and I’ve only done it a handful of times. Ever. First on my dad to get out of some school trouble, but I kept making things worse. After that on my friends and Jazz, with permission, so we could document limitations and if it hurt humans. Far as we could tell, it doesn’t.”

“You sound like a very conscientious young man. I have no doubt you use your powers responsibly.”

Danny laughed. “I screwed up more than a few times before I found ghost mentors. And ghosts are always a little chaotic, so some messing around is not only expected but encouraged.”

Alfred smiled. “I’m sure we will love hearing some of those stories as we get to know you and Ms. Jasmine better.”

“I can’t… I can’t tell you everything. There’s far too much and so much of it just doesn’t matter on Earth that it’d be pointless to go into.”

Danny saw Tim open his mouth to speak, but Alfred cut him off before he could. “I only want to know one thing: will Jason be all right?”

Danny smiled in relief. “Yes. That I can promise. I don’t know for sure how best to help him, but I’ve some ideas and I’ll consult with my doctors. They’re the leading experts in human-ghost biology.”

“Then I am glad you came tonight and were able to notice something was wrong. Thank you.”

With a shrug, Danny just said, “It’s literally my job. This is what I do.” Up ahead, he could see the doorway back to the dining room.

“If it’s your job, how much do we owe you?” asked Tim.

That question brought Danny up short. “Owe me? What are you talking about?”

“If you’re doing this for work,” said Tim as they entered the dining room, “Then you need to be paid somehow. If not by us, then how?”

“What are you lying about now, Danny?” asked Jazz, shaking her head at Tim’s question.

“Nothing! Tim asked why I’m planning on helping Jason and, besides the fact that he’s dating you and I’ll obviously help, I just said it’s literally my job. You heard his reaction to that!”

Bruce grunted. “Then I suppose you know where your explanations should begin. What is your job? A full explanation this time, please.”

“Right, yes, I can totally do that. I’m so great at explaining things.”

Jazz snickered at that statement and Danny poked her as he sat down next to her. Tim and Alfred took their seats as well.

“Now, Mr. Fenton.”

Danny winced at the name. “Don’t call me that. I’m not allowed that name anymore.”

“Danny, your job,” repeated Bruce, face expressionless.

“Right. Um… Well, I do just kinda do whatever is necessary or find someone who can. Because, um, well, I’m… kinda the High King of the Infinite Realms? There’s a bunch more titles after that but I refuse to memorize them because ugh.”

Danny looked down at his plate, not wanting to see everyone’s reactions. Jazz must’ve made sure he got a piece of pie because it sat in front of him. It looked so good. Did they even know about the Infinite Realms? Justice League Dark members did, but did Batman? Jazz reached over and took his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

----------

Next

Looks like Danny found another excuse to delay the interrogation! (I honestly forgot about the broken glass before Duke spoke up and asked about the crown. But I did always plan to have Danny clean it up.)

Tag List: I'm getting posting errors, so I'll be splitting the tag list in two.

@addie-lover-of-stories, @justwannabecat, @gin2212, @amercurio, @regonold, @overtherose, @readerzj, @sjrose1216, @echoednonny, @deeterzz, @blu-lilac, @number-one-jew, @rowanaway-fromthisbs, @vythika96, @tired-yet-awaken, @themirrorghost, @emeraldcorpral, @all-mights-asscheeks, @darkhinauniverse, @blep-23, @phandomhyperfixationblog, @larkcoe1, @thegatorsgoose, @job-ross-the-second, @britcision, @lenacraft, @bubblemixer, @androgynouslordofescapism, @purefrickingspite, @leftmiraclechaos, @lizisipancardo, @starlight-sparks

[harryspet]

homestead [5] r.cameron

[warnings] dark!rafe cameron x pregnant!mom!reader, farmer!rafe, pogue!reader, jj maybank x reader, kidnapping, dominant!rafe, dad!rafe, descriptions of birth, NONCON, little editing,READ AT YOUR OWN RISK 18+

A/N: Pls reblog and let me know what you think!

word count: 3.1k

In which you settle into a new routine on the farm and your new life takes shape around you.

homestead masterlist

Your ring finally fit again, the swelling in your hands having gone down. It was beautiful, you realized again, and a reminder that you were more than Rafe’s captive. The paperwork didn’t matter to him, and the formalities were meaningless in his eyes.

His connection with you was primal, bound by something more profound than vows. He would love you in sickness and health and vowed to provide for you and your baby, no matter the cost.

Two months have passed since you gave birth to a healthy baby boy. You had longed to meet him, but your pregnancy had been filled with anxiety. Despite your hopes, you couldn’t shake the fear that something would go wrong during your home birth. And in the end, you had no control over the most important day of your life. Rafe had promised to be open-minded, but you soon realized his words were hollow.

He hired a midwife, an older, experienced nurse named Mabel, whom you had met twice before the big day. When your water broke, she was at your home within thirty minutes, a testament to her dedication. Despite the fear and anxiety you felt, Mabel was a steady presence. She guided you through each contraction, her hands firm yet gentle, her voice calm and reassuring.

She held your hand throughout the process and praised you when you felt you were at the end of your rope. Hunched over the edge of the master bathtub, warm water caressing the naked bottom half of your body, you faced a raging storm inside you. The pain was indescribable, but you felt a responsibility to your unborn child. The least you could do for him was try your hardest. 

You screamed loud enough you thought you might lose your voice entirely. You expected Rafe to falter, to show signs of fear, but his resolve didn’t falter. He hadn’t lied before about his confidence in you, about how deeply he believed you’d be a good mother. You could see in his eyes that he was the most proud of you that he’d ever been. 

“She’s an old lady, but she’s got grandkids. Three boys and two girls. I’m sure they want to see her again. If you say anything out of line, I’ll make sure she doesn’t ever leave here,” He’d warned you earlier, and his threat lingered in the air. You focused on the baby just as you had since you arrived here.

You cried even more after your final push when your son’s cries filled the room. They echoed, the most beautiful sounds you could hear in that moment, and you were happy to be able to hold him immediately. 

In that moment, the house you associated with being controlled turned into a home. You’d endured here and brought life into the world despite everything. 

You had braced yourself for the sight of JJ, but instead, your baby looked like any other newborn—red-faced, furrowed brow, and already expressing his displeasure at the world. Fragile and tiny, he was a perfect, delicate being. Surprisingly, you managed to walk to the bedroom that night. Mabel and Rafe helped you through your exhaustion beyond anything you’d ever known. The constant cries of your baby kept you alert, preventing you from drifting off.

Kai, your baby boy, was carefully assessed by Mabel. She was the one to cut the umbilical cord, a request you’d made to her during your last meeting. She wrapped a warm towel around his body and checked his heart rate, made sure he was able to breathe correctly by suctioning his airways and placed him back on your chest when she felt he didn’t need any immediate care. You couldn’t remember exactly, but you could’ve sworn she complimented you. You were a natural, and at that moment, you believed her.

Never in your life had you done something so natural, so innate, and now the heart in your chest was open in a way you didn’t realize it was capable of being. Open for Kai. You loved him instantly, in a way you’d never felt towards anyone – not even JJ. 

You cried the entire time. Your cheeks were wet with tears, but your body moved the way it needed to. 

Throughout it all, you cried. Your cheeks were damp with tears, but you moved as needed. You cradled Kai while Mabel tended to your injuries, checking for hemorrhaging and monitoring your vitals. She continued to guide you, and though you knew the real challenge was just beginning, you were grateful for her support. This wasn’t how you envisioned it, but dwelling on it wouldn’t change anything.

Despite how close you were to falling asleep, this was the time you had to learn because Mabel wouldn’t be here forever. You wished you’d read more books about parenting like Rafe had suggested when learning to breastfeed. You were clumsy with that part of things, unsure of the positioning, and you battled with the fear that you wouldn’t be able to produce enough.

Now, two months later, you worried for the time that Kai wouldn’t need you. He was so tiny, to little to think about at that time, but you hated to admit how much you enjoyed the feeling of being needed. You felt it with Rafe now that he relied on you to keep the house together and the more intimate ways that he needed your attention. 

It seemed he’d had the time frame of four to six weeks embedded in his mind. Four to six weeks without sex to allow for proper healing. During that time, he had kept his distance, allowing you to heal. But once your body began to return to normal, and you could swap the adult diapers for regular underwear, you noticed a change in him. There was a raw, almost animalistic instinct in him that recognized when your body was ready again. The shift was subtle but undeniable, and you were drawn back into his orbit. 

Rafe had started growing out his facial hair, which you had playfully dubbed a “dad stache.” That nickname once led to a playful tackle and laughter-filled tickle fight that filled you with joy. You had expected to see less of him with the baby as an excuse to keep you apart, but instead, he adapted. He worked from home more often, bringing Kai with him and letting him nap in a bassinet beside his desk.

You thought you’d be weary of them being alone together as you were still getting used to this new Rafe. To you, he was still the guy who did lines of cocaine at high school parties and perfectly drove a yacht when his blood alcohol was way over the legal limit. There were still lots of moments where he needed your help, but he seemed to take pride in being able to handle Kai on his own. 

Now and then, you’d get an eerie feeling, realizing you’d settled into a routine. You’d spend weeks happy, not crying or thinking of JJ and Pope. It hit you like a ton of bricks when you remembered, and you’d often go quiet. It was a pit of sadness that was hard to pull yourself out of. 

As you looked down at your beautiful ring, you marveled at how normal it felt to wear it. Keeping it in its box seemed like a waste, especially since the ring wasn’t to blame for past wrongs. It could symbolize whatever you choose to make of it. When you glanced up, Rafe was walking through the front door. Molly greeted him with enthusiastic barks until he quieted her with a gentle shush and a pat behind her ears. He correctly assumed Kai was sleeping.

You folded your hands behind your back, watching the smile that pulled at his lips. He flipped his ball cap so the brim was facing behind him, undoubtedly to keep his locks from his face. Your eyes trailed down to his t-shirt and then his arms, seemingly having grown even more prominent when you’d been reunited with him. The way he looked in work clothes certainly wasn’t fair. He looked even more like himself, better than ever than he had in a blazer and tie. 

“Hey,” His crystal eyes found yours, “How’s it going?”

The whisper in his voice, this new tone the two of you now spoke in because of the baby, was the icing on top. You squeezed your thighs together, grateful for the long smock dress you were wearing, officially signaled to you how out of whack your hormones were. 

“Lunch is ready,” you said quickly, pointing to the neat plate of caprese sandwiches you’d made. 

“Looks great, Honey. I’m starved.”

He walked by you, towards the the sink to wash his hands, but you were looking away. You grabbed two plates and two glasses, setting them down in front of the kitchen island’s bar stools. You started making your plate before you poured both of your glasses of pink lemonade. 

“This a recipe from the book?” He asked before immediately chugging down half of his glass. 

“No, I kind of just threw together what we had in the fridge,” You answered, grabbing ahold of your sandwich. Rafe was already taking a massive bite out of his, “How is it?”

“Fucking delicious. Is that pesto?” He responded, his mouth a little too full. 

“Yeah,” you chuckled, taking a bite of yours. “Pesto, tomato, mozzarella, and spinach. And that ciabatta bread you get from the market. It’s so good.” You recited the ingredients, deciding that you were quite impressed with your work. 

“Reminds me, I need to go down there soon. Make a list of everything you need, will you?”

You nodded, “I will.”

The thought of going with him crossed your mind. Being inside for so long was starting to make you slightly agoraphobic. Now that you have Kai, you understand that you need to protect him and keep him from the dangers of the outside world. 

After lunch, Rafe pitched in to help with the kitchen clean up while you prepped ingredients for dinner. Tasks you’d never learned in foster care, like defrosting meat properly or dicing vegetables, were becoming more familiar.

You stole glances at Rafe, of his muscular back that you could see clearly when he bent over the sink and his long fingers splayed out over a cloth as he dried dishes. To gain some space, you took the baby monitor from the counter and quietly moved down the small hallways near the kitchen, deciding to catch up on some laundry. With Kai, there was even less time in the day to get things done, so you’d begin cramming your chores into his nap time. 

You were listening to the rhythmic, mechanical hum of the washing machine, folding towels on the counter space near the window. Hands-on your hips jolted you from the escape your mind had reached, completing such a monotonous activity. 

There was no point in saying his name; you knew it was him, and you froze, letting the unfolded towel you were holding crumple beneath you. He pressed into you, pinning your front to the counter. The height of the counter, right at your waist, allowed him to wrap his arm around your front and bend you over. 

“I’m doing something!” You yelped when he pushed he pushed your front back down after you tried to straighten yourself. He pressed his face into your neck, chuckling, seemingly amused at your defiance. 

“You know what you do to me, don’t you?” He grunted, and your eyes widened as you felt him hiking up your dress. He made sure you felt exactly what you did to him, hard and pressing against your bottom, “You feel how hard you make me?”

“I’m serious,” The warmth of his breath sent shivers down your spine, and deep down, you were grateful for the friction. It had been so long since you’d been touched the way you needed. This isn’t how you wanted it to happen and it certainly was a stark contrast to how he’d treated you when you were further along in your pregnancy. There was no passionate makeout or a gentle massage. It reminded you of what you already knew he was capable of, “Rafe, please–”

He kicked open your legs, pressing into you harder, one hand firmly on your back as he pressed you into the counter, “You don’t need to fight it. You’re mine, remember? I take care of you.” 

“Yes, just please–” His palm slammed hard down on your bottom, and you gripped the towels in front of you tightly. Whatever view he was getting of you was pleasing. He brought his hands down several times, surely leaving bruises and making your legs tremble as you tried to escape the pain, “Rafe, stop! That hurts!” 

He shushed you, “Stop fucking moving then,” He continued his assault, only stopping when you gained enough strength to still your legs. You kept them still as you could despite how the skin of your bottom burned. He stepped backward. You didn’t dare move again, and you heard the clinking of his belt and the undoing of his zipper, “Atta girl, stay bent over, but reach back and pull your panties down.”

“Rafe, please don’t be so rough,” Your voice was low as you tried to settle down your racing thoughts. 

“Honey,” His voice was raw, slightly pleading, “I need you like this. Pull your panties down.”

You felt the same hunger, needed to quench the same thirst, but demons haunted him. He could be gentle when he wanted but this is what he truly desired. You cringed when you heard him spit, assuming it was into his hand because you were scared to look back at him. His hand was now lubricated; you heard him pumping at his length. 

Slowly, you reached behind to pull down your panties, revealing more of the bottom he’d just bruised, “Fuck,” He cursed, “Touch yourself, Honey.”

You did as he said, knowing the feeling would be more soothing than him spanking you again. Mostly, you were hesitant, knowing that you were revealing how wet you already were, how just looking at him earlier left stickiness on your thighs. 

“You like when I tell you what to do, don’t you?”

“Rafe,” You pleaded, and he knew what that meant. 

“You need someone like me. Tell you what to do. No thoughts in your pretty little head,” You felt him come closer as you continued to rub slow circles, “Yeah? Tell me, Honey.”

“I … I like it,” You needed him inside you and for the process to hurry itself up. Your mind was emptying; all you knew was that every word and every inch he came closer made you feel like you were on fire. 

“What do you like, Honey?”

“I like … w-when you tell me what to do.”

“You need me, don’t you?”

“Yes, Rafe,” You moaned, “Just … fuck, please Rafe–”

“Tell me,” A hard spank made you yelp. You watched as he placed the same hand against the counter, right by your face. You kept circling. 

“Please, can you put it inside?” You begged softly. 

“So polite,” He praised, and you felt him at your entrance. You expected him to enter you slowly, to torture you, but Rafe slid inside you in one swift motion. You cried out as his other hand roughly grabbed your waist as he drove into you harshly. 

It was painful before it was pleasurable. He grabbed your arm so you were no longer touching yourself before pinning both your wrists behind you. You watched the baby monitor in front of you fall over at the rough motion. 

The counter’s edge dug into your hips, his length nudged against your cervix, your ass was throbbing from the spanking, but you hung onto that feeling of finally feeling filled. His grunts filled the small room, along with the steady thrum of the washing machine and the soft static of the monitor. 

There was nowhere to go, and his wrists only tightened, “I’m gonna put another baby in you,” Almost against your will, your climax came faster than you realized, and it tore through you hard and fast. Rafe took it as a sign that your body wanted this. This was the first time he could get you pregnant, and you were naive to think he would want to take things slowly. 

“Rafe, I can’t.”

“You will; you’re doing so good for me,” He spoke huskily, ignoring you, his pace still relentless. Tears of pleasure and pain filled your eyes and escaped down your cheeks, “I’ll show you … Fuck, I’m so lucky.”

His body tensed as he spilled into you with a final and forceful thrust. As he let go of your wrists, his hands trailed over your hips, his grip starting to soften. You stayed there, frozen, as he kissed the side of your neck and then your temple. 

In the aftermath, a softness emerged in his tone, “You okay?”

When you didn’t answer, his arms tightened around you, lifting you off your feet. Numb and strangely satisfied, you wrestled with a creeping regret. Part of you questioned whether you should have fought harder, but another part wondered if this was simply how things were meant to be—if this was what you deserved.

With panties still loose around your thighs, Rafe brought you upstairs to the shared bedroom. He placed you on your feed inside the bathroom before helping you out. You folded your hands in your lap, looking down at your ring. “Relax,” he said, “Clean yourself up.”

“But Kai-”

“I’ll check on him,” Rafe assured you.

“He’ll need a feeding soon.”

“Clean up first, lay in the bed, and I’ll bring him to you.”

“Okay,” You agreed. 

There was no apology from him—only an acceptance of his own nature and an expectation for you to do the same

You showered like he’d instructed, but that didn't take away the feeling of him being deep inside of you. Your bottom stung worse under the warm water, but you accepted the small amount of refreshment it offered. You dressed in a soft, white robe before you climbed into the bed. The rest of the afternoon was quiet. 

Rafe sat beside you as you fed Kai, his gaze steady and watchful. Thirty minutes later, the three of you settled into a peaceful mid-afternoon nap: Kai nestled in his bassinet by your side of the bed, and you resting in the secure embrace of Rafe’s arms.

You don’t forget your old life because you choose to, but because your heart needs to make space—space for Kai and the future Rafe is determined to build within you. There was no room left for pain.

I hope you enjoyed it! I'm not sure if I want to add anything else, I feel like this could be considered a good conclusion. Let me know your thoughts!

[helluvaboss666999]

Platonic Yandere Charlie and Vaggie and Lucifer and baby reader who was adopted by Charlie

Oki so I didn't know if you meant together or separately so I did it separately,but if you would prefer it together just comment/DM me and I'll re-do it :)

Charlie is a loving yandere

~Charlie adored you to be frank,she'd always wanted a baby and here you are!

~She didn't care that you weren't biologically hers,all that mattered was that you were happy and healthy

~She loved her people and her home but she couldn't help not wanting to let you out of the hotel

~Hell is a dangerous place! She couldn't stand the idea of you being hurt,not when she would prevent it

~She made sure you had everything you could ever want,I mean why leave when you don't need to?

~Overall she just loves you and wants to protect you

Vaggie is a overprotective yandere

~When Charlie brought you home Vaggie was sceptical,I mean they already had their hands full with the hotel,could they really handle a baby too?

~10 minutes later and Vaggie would kill everyone in the hotel and then herself if she lost you

~She teaches you how to fight even tho she makes sure you'll never need the skill

~Your room is right next to hers and Charlie's,with a door in the wall so she can check up on you in the night

~Didnt want Angel dust around you until you were older until she saw him hold you,she knew then she could trust him to protect you if the need came

~She just wants to keep you safe from heaven and hell,even if she has to kill a few people to do it

Lucifer is a dorky yandere

~Omg he is such a dorky grandpa but he's trying his best Oki 😭

~He was thrilled when Charlie called him to come see you

~"My daughter and grandkid want to see me! Ha! Take that depression!"

~Will snap at anyone that tries to take you away from him while he's holding you

~"Ba€k OfF,✨ please ✨"

~Its safe to say you have a lot of rubber duckys

~Feels so happy to be apart of yours and Charlie's life

~Over all,just wants to do the best for you

___________________________________________

Sorry this took so long! Still hope you enjoy:) requests are open :)

[somewhereincairparavel]

˚➳❥“Can I put makeup on you, Dada?➳❥

Jason Grace as a girl dad! Hcs list

Warning: aged up Jason Grace! (duh), just cuteness overload tbh

-He would so be a girl dad. I can see him having atleast 3 girls lol

- ugh he's the attentive and spending quality time dad- all he ever wanted from his own father was time. So no matter what, he's always paying his kid attention, it doesn't matter if it's the most insignificant thing ever, hes going to listen to his children's yapping

- he'd let his kids give him design ideas for his temple diorama project, and he'd actually use their ideas by changing it up a bit 🥹 he just wants his kids to feel included and important.

- a very patient dad. Wouldn't yell or raise his voice at his children no matter what. I feel like he himself hated being yelled at it when he was a child, and he'd hate to do it to other people, let alone his own children.

- but he's pretty strict when it comes to his children being good people and having strictly healthy morals. He doesn't care if his kids get bad grades or don't excel talent wise, just don't be a bad person and be nice to people.

- he ain't raising no ungrateful brat. Hes been happy his whole life recieving less than the bare minimum, so he knows ungratefulness when he sees it.

- definitely cried when his kids were in their "neglecting-their-parents-and-being-moody" teenager phase :( he'd think he had done something wrong and immediately have nagging thoughts that he turned out like his own dad 🥺

- his kids would be so hella polite, and I mean, elegant "please and thank you" royalty kind of polite.

- would so take his daughters on a piggyback ride and little flying trips 🥹

- he'd pretend to be an airplane while having them on his back and goes "jason grace airlines, ready for take off!" And all that cute shit ughh

- would tell his children so many dang stories, we know that this is technically canon with jason telling his grandkids stories in his vision- like he doesn't care how busy he is or if he had an argument with his kids that day, they are still getting spoiled with bedtime stories. Nobody's going to come between that.

- speaking of arguments, I feel like jason is super hard to anger, so if does get mad at his children then it's probably because they risked their lives, or got themselves hurt physically emotionally or mentally that really drives him over the edge.

- when it comes to disciplining his children, he does it sternly but gently at the same time. He doesn't overwhelm them with harshness, but gets his point across clearly

- kind of overbearing but in a sweet and endearing way I swear. Like his children would get a minor paper cut that even they don't care about but he'd freak out and hug tf out them while asking them if they're okay atleast 3 times.

- speaking of which. Hugs. Such a good fucking hugger. He gives his children bear hugs every day. - he's the "no you can't go to class before giving me a hug I don't care if you're late" type of dad

- He doesn't care if his children are like 45, like you're still my precious little girl, you always are and always will be. (He'd say this trust)

- is very verbal with his affection. Hes been brought up in a very intimidating and cold environment where people couldn't even hug properly without it being awkward, so he'll not be ashamed to be openly affectionate. Hes had enough coldness for 15 years

- overall just a big sweetheart of a dad that his children adore with all their heart and vice versa 🥹💙

[lazycats-stuff]

Ok this one is mainly for Alfred but u could add batbros and batdad if u want, anyways i was wondering what would alfred (or any of the fam) do to stop BatToddler reader tantrum? Like i imagine the setting would be grocery shopping and Alfred's only getting healthy food including boring plain cereal and BatToddler is not having it and only wants sugar loaded cereal and starts whining and tearing up right there in the middle of the store, would alfred give in to those tears or find an alternative? I imagine batdad would give in and the brothers might even encourage it giving that they probably eat the same junk food

Oh my God yes! Anon, thank you for sending me this, this sounds so fun. Alfred needs love so this is Alfred centered, but I will put this in batfam since I'm to lazy to create a new page for the masterlist. It's a bit short, but my arm hurts.

Summary: Alfred has to make a deal with his grandson

Warnings: nothing really, (Y/N) crying, but it's short...

Alfred Pennyworth is a man of many talents. He may look like an ordinary butler to the public, but without him, the Wayne family wouldn't even function. He is the person who makes sure everyone eats, sleeps and somehow functions like a human being. Somewhat.

Some may find it tiring, but Alfred wouldn't have it any other way. He really wouldn't have it any other way at all. Of course, his grandkids so to speak were independent and didn't need anyone looking over them 24/7. That was until (Y/N) came as a baby.

Alfred nearly passed out when they got the call. (Y/N)'s mom abandoned him and just signed off her parental rights and Bruce had realized he had a kid. A baby, defenseless little creature who is untouched by the world. Untouched.

That's something that scared him.

But he knew that Bruce and him had to step up when it came to this little child. They really had to step up as caregivers. Of course, another problem was the press, pushing and prodding. Bruce hated it and told them that there were going to be consequences if they think about photographing his son.

If they did go out, (Y/N)'s face was covered by Bruce and or one of the boys who went with Bruce that day. Gotham citizens, the ones not included in the press, loved the little baby and were happy to him in public. Of course, that may sound weird, but the Wayne family is loved in Gotham and everyone just loves every single member.

In fact, the news of a new member, a baby member, broke the internet and Gotham in general.

Even Metropolis wrote about it.

And there was one thing that Bruce promised to himself. He would be present and he would try to balance everything. Batman, Bruce and the CEO of Wayne Enterprises. Alfred and the rest of the boys were more than happy to babysit and (Y/N) was never going to be at fault for love or affection. Never.

And Alfred made sure he is well fed. And also, Alfred made sure it was healthy. His grandson needed to be healthy. Of course, there could some sugar here and there, but not all the time. Sugar from fruits is more than welcome, but sugar like in cereal? Alfred had put a restriction on it.

At least for now. (Y/N) didn't need a sugar boost just yet. Only natural sugars while he is so young. Bruce agreed. They would introduce him to the sugars gradually. Bruce relayed that to his sons and every son agreed.

No processed sugar while he is so young.

3 years have passed since (Y/N) came to live them and life was going great. (Y/N) has started kindergarten and was happy. He loved his brothers a lot and his father, but he loved his grandpa the most. Bruce's working theory was the fact that Alfred cooked the most and often made tasty foods for (Y/N).

None the less, (Y/N) loved the others very much and that was undeniable.

One thing that Alfred loved doing was taking (Y/N) to the store whenever he could. (Y/N) was just in love with the activity. It was fun seeing new things and bright colors. Alfred enjoyed since (Y/N) held the list while shopping and he didn't have to worry about it.

Although there is one single issue. (Y/N) has a sweet tooth. A really big one, especially for a child his age. So Alfred often had to bypass the cereal aisle and aisles that contained candy.

It would not be a pleasant sight. But Jason and the others want cereal and they will lose their minds if they don't get it. So what does Alfred do?

He goes to the aisle, preparing himself mentally.

This could turn into a battle.

Alfred took a right and started looking through the cereal. He looked at some healthy cereal and (Y/N) was reaching for Coco Puffs. Alfred saw it and moved (Y/N) away.

(Y/N) didn't like that.

" Alfred. " (Y/N) whined and Alfred raised his brow.

" Yes, master (Y/N)? " Alfred asked as he put the healthy version inside the cart.

" Coco Puffs. " (Y/N) said pointing at the cereal. Alfred smiled and shook his head.

" I'm afraid that I can't get you that master (Y/N). " Alfred said and he sighed when he saw tears in (Y/N)'s eyes.

He picked his grandson up into his arms from the cart. " Master (Y/N), don't cry. " Alfred said as he rocked him.

" But I want Coco Puffs. " (Y/N) whined and some tears fell down his cheeks.

" Oh darling... " Alfred whispered and kissed his cheek, trying to comfort him.

" How about we make a deal? " Alfred suggested and (Y/N) calmed down a little bit and looked at him in curiosity.

" You will have to eat the vegetables I give you. "

(Y/N) opened his mouth to protest, but stopped himself. Did he like vegetables? No. But he did like his Coco Puffs.

" All of them? " (Y/N) asked quietly.

" Yes. I know you are not a fan of vegetables, but I need you to be healthy. " Alfred said as he kissed his cheek once again.

" And then I'll get my cereal? " (Y/N) asked and Alfred nodded.

" We got a deal. " (Y/N) said and Alfred smile, kissing his cheek again.

" Good. " Alfred says and puts the box into the cart. " You can have one bowl a day. " Alfred said as he put (Y/N) down in the cart's seat for children.

" Cross off cereal master (Y/N) please. " Alfred said and pointed at the word. (Y/N) crossed it off and smiled happily.

" Now, let me see what else I have. " Alfred said and saw what else is on the list.

" We have one more thing left and then we can go home. " Alfred said and patted (Y/N)'s head.

(Y/N) just nodded and kicked his little legs happily. Alfred saw that (Y/N) often glanced at the Coco Puffs and made sure that they were in the cart.

" They won't be going anywhere master (Y/N). "

(Y/N) let out a little humph and smiled none the less.

" I have to make sure. "

Alfred laughed at the response he got as he moved the cart through the aisles. " The box won't walk away anywhere. " Alfred explained as he put the last thing in the cart.

" Cross off this word please. " Alfred said as he pointed at the last word on the list.

(Y/N) nodded and crossed it out. " Good job. " Alfred praised his grandson and made his way to the cash register. This was not so bad like Alfred thought it would be.

And the deal was nice.

[sleepless-winter-nights]

Since I am ranting, let me rant some more. Just know that these are just MY opinion.

So Rina Kent can't for the love of God write a good healthy family dynamics. And if there were some good families it was later ruined.

Was that necessary, how come in the whole rinaverse there is not one single happy family.

Ok, Astor, Nash, volkov and knight family had some great family dynamics but what about the rest?

1. The king family is the definition of messy which was absolutely unnecessary. And what actually bugs me is that in the WHOLE verse we didn't even get the king family together, like whole family as a set. Not one goddamn scene. Atleast the cousins should have been together but nope.

We didn't even get one scene with the whole king family nor with the king children.

2. Sokolov- Carson had some good dynamics and although there were indeed one or two scenes which were cute but later even that got ruined. For the love of God why???

3. None of the siblings have good dynamics. ( I know I have said this before and I will say it again) even the older generation too. They were bland af. Rina clearly doesn't know how siblings work or interact and how a normal healthy family works.

4. My biggest pet peeve is that if you want a character with spectrum then write it properly after some research. Don't just throw the terms. It was said Lan, Killian and Eli are Psycopaths with antisocial tendencies then show it, unfortunately it wasn't the case and most of them were being narcissist ( sorry not sorry to all the Killian, Landon and Eli fans but it's the truth)

5. Same with selective mutism of Mia and addressing mental health issues with Bran. Address it properly because I know for a fact that selective mutism doesn't work that way and depression runs more deep especially for someone who self harms themselves and is a survivor of assault.

6. Why is it always the women with some issues and somehow male leads come and magically make it all right? How and why? Why is that males are always God level talented and females struggle a lot.

7. Not one scene of Johnathan with his grandkids altogether. Not one scene of Eli, Criegh, Lan, Bran and Glyn together. Not one scene of Eli being a good protective older to any of siblings when it was stated that he used to protect all of them. No, nothing at all. Why mention it then.

7. Also, can someone pls tell rina that having a female lead with hell number of issues and a red flag wannabe psycho male lead together doesn't make a dark romance.

Yup, These are just some of the issues I have with the author. Yes, I have a lot more too but that will be another day.

But seriously Rina needs to put more work into writing and not just write for the sake of writing.

That's all for now ( you can also avoid this)

[backonmybullship]

Like do you guys know that they have already established Tim and Lucy as endgame by bringing up grandkids on the first date? They are going to be fine in the end, they've shown that they were soulmates from very, very early on.

This breakup is to show how hurt and broken and damaged Tim is. They need to show that he's not in a good head space to be in a relationship and he loves Lucy so much that he doesn't want to drag her into this.

And yeah it breaks Lucy's heart and she would love to be dragged into Tim's shit because she loves him so much. They both have said I love you and they both still mean it.

Tim needs therapy because Tim has PTSD from multiple things, anxiety, guilt and depression like to the max. The guy has been through it. His dad beat the shit out of him, he went to war in the army not just like peacetime army stuff but he was in Afghanistan (Gen z please look up how brutal this was when I was a kid we were getting news of Americans killed in car bombings every other day) and Iraq. He killed people and he saw his own people die over multiple tours. His wife suddenly up and left him, through no fault of his own but then blamed him for feeling inferior in their relationship.

He watched his rookie get kidnapped, buried alive and almost die.

Timothy Bradford has a good life but Timothy Bradford didn't always, and Timothy Bradford needs mental health care. Timothy Bradford loves his job and he loves his girlfriend and he loves his dog and he loves his friends but he can't do that to his full potential until he gets his head right.

He can't have a healthy happy relationship with Lucy until he gets help. It breaks her heart but as a psychology expert she knows this in her heart. And without her he would be a lot worse off. Without her he would still be that grumpy asshole we met outside of Circus Liquors.

[gamerbearmira]

Alright, I don't want to brag about anything, but... I really enjoy all the content about the Cocooned AU and few days ago, while re-reading that... I thought of something :

What if, instead of pulling just grandkids... Casita trapped ALL of the Madrigals in their rooms... before falling apart and the family disappearing.

The people, obviously, search over the area for months, but find nothing. Félix and Augustín's families are devastated. Not only had the magical family disappearanced... but also had their sons, daugthers-in-law, grandkids and so on. Félix's family decides to stay low for awhile, while Augustín's completely leaves Encanto, as staying gives them too much pain...

Until, months later, a new little boy is born. To Félix's family, many say he looks like his deceased/disappeared relative and, as if in a joke, they decide to name him after him...

All would go back to normal, unless something else happens... when somebody says there's a couple by a river outside the mountain. A man and woman, in late stages of pregnancy. The villagers, seeing the couple has so threat and in quite vulnerable condition, take them in, until, exactly on birthday of long gone Julieta, Pepa and Bruno, the woman gives birth... to healthy tiny triplets. The fact the couple's names are Alma and Pedro don't help any bit.

While the new parents are happy about their children and that they were born in good condition... the Encanto starts to wonder, who are these people and, some very hopeful, if the Madrigals' magic was able to save them and sent them back, before everything went down the hill. And it all seals when the small house, the two had built on a hill near edge of the small town, starts to glow and comes to life.

And that's when the villagers know. La familia Madrigal is back. But would they tell Pedro and Alma about past life... or, in fear of causing other catastrophe/fall incident, they stay quiet and let the family live their lives, in the dark of their past

NO PLEASE BRAG❗❗ you know how excited I get when I learn someone's reread my stuff like 🤭🤭

NO, BUT THIS IDEA...is so good omg. You know I have thought about that too if all the Madrigals caught a body in that au. Lil' Félix, I'm crying. They probably is was a nice tribute to the real Félix and a sort of morbid joke but like. When Alma and Pedro came back and then Alma had TRIPLETS?? (Who I assume were named Julieta, Pepa, and Bruno lmao). And then their house came to life and has magic. Like they're definitely back.

Also?? Does Agustín’s family come back?? I mean I assume it’s a similar situation to Félix. And I assume if they can leave the Encanto, then news might have spread, and anyone who previously had lived there would recognize the meaning behind “The Madrigals are back”. So would they return?? I mean I assume they would 😭

And I’m not sure, maybe they would stay quiet?? I think it would’ve been pieced together what caused the fall of Casita, at least some, or maybe it’s just paranoia that it’ll happen again, but maybe the villagers just. Don’t say anything about it.

EITHER WAY. I’D LOVE TO SEE MORE OF THIS IF YOU HAVE ANY BUT NO PRESSURE 💪💪

W village for taking in Alma and Pedro

[trickstarbrave]

I just thought of the demon au I made up and got kinda sad

Nerevar is determined to keep Voryn alive as a human to his full lifespan. At first he was determined to just keep him alive until he had a successor or two. But then he decided it’s important Voryn is there for the child until they’re less vulnerable. If Voryn dies, more ppl might come crawling out of the woodwork to hurt that child and then Voryn would never forgive him. And then he feels bad taking Voryn away before his heir gets married. Then he wants Voryn to see his grandkids

Nerevar keeps visiting still. He falls more and more in love with Voryn. Voryn gets older. Tells Nerevar he’s no longer fit and healthy so they can’t have sex as much nor can Nerevar take as much blood (and eventually no blood at all). Nerevar says it’s fine. When Voryn’s health starts fading he likes to lay beside Voryn in bed, gently stroking his greying hair. Voryn asks when Nerevar will take his soul since he waited so long and Nerevar assured him Voryn’s soul still belongs to him but he wants Voryn to live out his life naturally. Voryn tears up.

Nerevar doesn’t mind. He’s a demon, and Voryn will be married to him for an eternity. But it does hurt him to see Voryn getting older and sicker. Nerevar also chooses his body to look older so it’s less awkward for Voryn, though Nerevar being a demon is never like. frail.

Then, Nerevar is in hell when he can feel it. Voryn’s fading. He seems kind of scared. It’s the middle of the night. Nerevar rushes to his side and Voryn asks if he’s dying, and Nerevar can only say “I’ll be with you, I promise”. He gently holds Voryn’s hand and talks to him. Even after Voryn stops responding he can tell Voryn is still alive so he keeps going, telling Voryn how happy he was to see his kids grow up and grandkids too, and that Voryn was an excellent head of his house. Nerevar tells him it’ll all be alright, he promises, and gently kisses his head.

Voryn is certain his soul will be eaten, but he doesn’t care. He lived a long, healthy life and got to see his children and grandchildren grow up. Nerevar was there to comfort him through it all. Maybe it was all just a rouse, but Voryn doesn’t think it could be. He could have killed Voryn was earlier and eaten his soul, but he didn’t. This demon, in some way, cared for him. He doesn’t know for certain if it’s love, but it’s close enough for him. Right now he’s just happy to get to be with Nerevar in his final moments, bring held and gently talked to, not feeling alone. He tries to cling to it, honestly, wanting a few moments with him. It takes hours for him to pass, and Nerevar stays until his heart stops beating, before gently cradling the core of Voryn’s soul, and takes it away with him. It’s around an hour after he leaves Voryn’s family realized he passed and holds a funeral for him. Nerevar stays to watch, just because he wants to yell Voryn abt it later. Besides, Voryn’s soul is safe. He didn’t eat it but I imagine it’s kind of like. Inside him temporarily. Otherwise it would go who knows where.

After the funeral, Nerevar leaves a flower that was one of Voryn’s favorites. His family grew up knowing about the ghost that haunted the place. They don’t bat an eye at it or the letter with the shorthand symbol to summon Nerevar. On it it says “sorry for your loss. He was a great man, and I’m sure he’s in a better place. If you are ever in danger, use this. I’ll come running.” They don’t know if Nerevar is a demon or a guardian angel or what. All they know is the ghost never had any ill will towards them (except maybe scaring their mom/grandma a few times).

Then Nerevar needs to get a cool new demon form for Voryn. Voryn will be VERY confused when he opens his eyes to see Nerevar smiling fondly at him. Potentially start smacking him when he realizes what happened going “YOU CHEATING LITTLE SNAKE IF YOU TOLD ME WE’D BE SOUL MARRIED I WOULD HAVE JUST DIED YEARS AGO” but Nerevar laughs and says that’s kind of why he kept it a secret, so Voryn could enjoy his time.

They go haunting the place after a while and Voryn smiled fondly from the shadows at his grandkids and his first great grandchild. Voryn’s kids and grandkids are just happy that the furniture has moved and the ghost came back for a visit bc it was honestly more homey when there’s some ppl haunting the place. Voryn finds the book they recorded the symbol in for safekeeping and adds his own

[crystal-moon-101]

Name: Rook Rilla Nickname: Rill, Rilly, Medic!, Rook Age: 17 Gender: Female Birthday: October 3rd Sexual Orientation: Homosexual Ethnicity/Species: Revonnahgander Personality: Stern, Blunt, Tired, Alert, Stubborn, Pessimistic, Harsh, Patient, Wise, Hard Working, Independent, Logical.     Hobbies: Harvesting/Farm Work, Has a lottttt of house plants, She quite enjoys going to the spa and does a lot of yoga, Knows how to play a Revonnahgander string based instrument, Like to take solely long hikes.

Family:

Rook Blonko - (Father/She was inspired by her father to become a Plumber, even if not to be a soldier or front line fighter. Rook takes a lot of time to make sure his daughter can take care of herself, and often respects her judgement. Though admittedly, him and Rayona can be a bit coddling, and Rilla has always been an independent person since a young age. But they’re a healthy family that know how to communicate, so it’s often just minor bumps that they quickly deal with.)

Rayona - (Mother/Similar to Rook, she was inspired by her mother, who is a nurse at a Plumber’s hospital. In a way she combined her parents two jobs to learn how to be a field medic. She’s one of the few who enjoys her mum’s strange sense of humor. )

Young One & Little One - (Younger Twin Brothers/She often calls them little rats, as the twins are loud and rambunctious, often getting on her nerves on purpose. But she does love them, and often teaches them valuable lessons, being there for them when they don’t go to their parents. If only they understood the concept of space.)

Rook Da - (Grandfather/The two have a fairly complicated relationship, mostly because Rilla caught on at a young age that while her grandpa meant well, he had a habit of speaking his opinion on things that don’t concern him, mostly targeted towards Rook, even if they’ve sorted out most problems by now. And since Rilla is one to speak her mind, she’s not above telling her own grandpa to zip it and leave her or her family alone. But she has learnt a lot from him, and knows he is family, taking the good advice from him to heart.)

Rook Bralla - (Grandmother/Funnily enough she respects her grandma more than her grandpa, probably because she was just happy to finally have grandkids and just wanted to be a happy family. While she does say Rilla should understand that her grandfather came from a different time, she is amused at how out there Rilla is with her thoughts, and has many funny stories of when Rilla was younger and being babysat by her.)

Rook Shar - (Aunt/Shar is very much considered the cool aunt in the family’s eyes, having never settled down and sticks to her Plumber work. She often pops by during Rilla’s trainer to give some tips or watch her growth, cheering her on from the side. While it can be embarrassing, she is someone that Rilla feels comfortable to be around, perhaps something that can relate to her.)

Rook Shim - (Aunt/Since her Aunt Shim has been recently starting her own family, Rilla tends to come around to help her with the new kids, as despite how she comes across, Rilla is actually pretty good with kids. Though this does mean that her Aunt does have a habit of calling her up for free babysitting at the most random of times.)

Rook Shi - (Aunt/Her other Aunt mostly has been focusing on the family farm for the time being, so Rilla, when visiting, has spent long days out in the field with her, learning some framing tricks from her auntie.)

Rook Ben - (Uncle/She does find her uncle to be quite similar to her brothers, a little too loud for her tastes. But he helps remind her to lighten up a bit, and gets her to actually experience the festivals and celebrations they have back home, since when she was little she use to not wanna go.)

Friends:

Jay Tennyson - (Friend/Teammate/She grew up a lot around Jay due to their fathers having a close friendship, so she can be sisterly towards the young boy. She does nudge him around, telling him to toughen up a bit, but more so to prepare him for some of the things they might face in the future. He’s one of the few people she can trust a secret with, and the two enjoy quiet times together.)

Thea Levin - (Friend/Teammate/The two that admittedly but the most heads in the team, often because their personalities clash. It’s hardly out right yelling, just blunt comments here and there. But they do get along, even if Thea likes to tease her alongside Malax.)

Malax Shard - (Friend/Teammate/Similar to Thea, Malax loves to tease her, knowing it can rile her up. But there’s a respect between the two, trusting each other’s judgement when things get dangerous. Frankly they’re the most mature members of the team, even if they have their moments.)

Becky Armstrong - (Friend/Love Interest/Neither of them are really sure when they started catching feelings, since they have been aware of each other for a few years, but given Rilla often helps with Becky’s injuries after training, it’s safe to say that the two obviously like each other. If it weren’t for being caught up in the current business with Eldrigma, then they would be dating by now. But as it is, they’re patient with each other, and come to vent to each other about their teams when things aren’t going well.)

Aurora Mann - (Friend/Given her bubbly nature, Aurora can come across as a bit much for her, often thinking Aurora lacks in the wisdom department in regards to jumping into things she shouldn’t, including the romance section of her life. But she can see that the energy she brings to the team is needed, and is impressed by her hybrid skillset.)

Cyra Albright - (Friend/Like Jay, she keeps an eye out for Cyra, wanting to make sure the young member of the Nova Squad is being looked after. She knows how over stimulating things can be for kids training under the Plumbers. Plus, they both come from farming families, so they enjoy talking about relatable things only they would understand.)

Channer Daniels - (Friend/She tries not to let Channer out of her sight, never trusting them as she knows the kind of chaos they bring. When the two groups are working together, she’s often the one that’ll notice when things go too quiet, and looks to find Channer in the middle of doing something. But when it comes down to it, she can trust Channer to do the right thing.)

Enemies:

Eldrigma - (Enemies/She has been unsettled by Eldrigma since day one, as even someone like her is able to sense the raw power that comes from him, along with seeing the unsteady emotions behind his hardened expression. She’s aware there’s more to his story, but frankly doesn’t care given all he has done to them, knowing there is no justification.)

Vesper - (Enemies/Given Vesper’s condition, Rilla has a lot of deep feelings regarding the broken anodites. As a medic, it’s never pleasant to come across people suffering from physical problems she can’t help with, and it angers her that Vesper’s out family and people would just dump her, even if she can understand the fear behind what inflicts the woman. It never sits right with her, and while she keeps herself firm in the position that Vesper also needs to be stopped, it does hurt that she can’t help.)

Alate - (Enemies/Frankly, she would rather jump into the sun than stand around this freak. Given her medical knowledge, the things he does to people often hits her in a different way to the others, piecing together the kind of pain and suffering he’s brought, knowledge she doesn’t like to share with the others. The of the many reasons why she want’s Jay nowhere near him, given Alate’s obsessions.)

Sciros - (Enemies/She thinks he’s a pathetic man, given he uses kids to do dirty work for him. But she also knows he is smart, and knows how to play many games with people. He’s a petty crook, willing to give away anything to win, something that doesn’t please her.)

Representing Song: There Beneath - The Oh Hellos

Skills: First-Aid Training/Medical Knowledge. Extreme Leap/Ability. Hand-To-Hand Combat Training. Marksmanship Training. Multilingualism. Weakness/Flaws/Fears: Like many of her kind, the heat can bother her quite a bit due to her having fur. Compared to the rest of the team, she is the easiest to deal with in combat on her own, given she is the team’s field medic (one of the many reasons she carries a gun). Her stubborn and blunt personality can often make bad first impressions on people.

[runin-reads]

James and Sirius as parents: a list of happy head canons

AU where there’s no Wizarding war.

They have an entire litter of kids because they can’t keep their hands off each other. They cap it at around 5-6 (biological) kids because even they need a break lol.

It becomes sort of a gag when James announces yet another kid to their inner circle. For the first few announcements, everyone goes through the typical motions of saying congratulations and fussing over the new baby. But over time another kid would just a regular Tuesday

James: we got a new kid. Remus: again?

The kids inherent the Potter surname only. Sirius wants to distance his family from the Black name as much as possible, and adopts the Potter surname once he’s married to James

James is the more outwardly affectionate dad. He’s always showering his kids with hugs and kisses, always asking them about their days etc. He never misses a chance to spoil them or say “I love you”. This reflects his own upbringing as an only child who grew up with wealthy, doting parents. He knows no limits when it comes to his babies.

At first, Sirius is the more distant parent. On occasion he might unconsciously slip into the old habits his family instilled on him: impeccable manners, high expectations etc. but he’d be very aware of how his tumultuous upbringing differs from James’. Sirius would quickly realise his past is affecting how he acts as a parent and would try to emulate what James does instead.

I think Sirius would be the most hesitant to have kids because he’s not confident in his ability to be a good parent, but he does give in because James’ insistence and faith in him

Overall, their kids grow up spoiled rotten and immensely loved. I imagine most if not all of them have a rebellious streak and become an endless source of trouble throughout their years at Hogwarts. Older professors would see the name Potter on the register and instantly sigh

Since their parents were so popular at school I feel like the Potter kids would quickly gain a reputation amongst the staff. Any time they wreak havoc, their professors sigh and say, both with fondness and burning contempt, “you lot are just like your fathers.”

James’ parents play a major role in raising the kids. They’re even more doting that prongsfoot and are always happy to visit them or to welcome their grandkids into their own home

They spend holidays at James childhood home

If one of them did become a stay at home dad, it would be James. He’d adjust quite easily to it because he knows what a healthy, loving family is like and is confident he can provide that for his husband and kids. Make no mistake, though, he’s hardly alone even when Sirius is busy. I head canon him as very sociable and extroverted. He becomes friends with their neighbours, the parents of the his kids’ friends. He’s the guy that gets stopped everywhere because he’s just so likeable once he’s an adult and he’s gotten more mature. Plus his parents are always ready to stop by if he needs help. He takes the whole “it takes a village to raise a child” notion very seriously.

I think being a dad would force Sirius to do a lot of reflection on his own childhood. He’d realise there are a few merits to the way he was raised as an aristocratic pure blood and this is all thanks to the Potter family. At first he wouldn’t want his kids to have the typical childhood of personal tutors, etiquette lessons, learning multiple languages etc. James disagrees with him though because as a child he did all these things in a fun, enjoyable way. Safe to say the Potter kids do experience a traditional rich kid upbringing, just not in the way Sirius did.

Prongsfoot are like Morticia and Gomez Adam’s in the sense that they’re undeniably and endlessly in love with each other. Of course they argue like any couple does but it’s rare. It’s so funny to them when their kids get old enough to cringe when they’re affectionate with each other. James will even become more touchy with Sirius just to see their faces twist in exasperation.

Sirius is called “dad”. James is called “appa” (short for “appachan”) to reflect his Christian Indian heritage

I think their kids would be brought up somewhat Christian i.e. they have godparents, they go to church if they’re staying with their grand parents and during important holidays, but prongsfoot bother properly instilling religious beliefs onto them

All their kids have first or middle names based on constellations because James thinks the Black naming tradition is too cute to pass up

Harry’s the eldest and resembles James the most out of his siblings. I’m a sucker for green eyed Harry so let’s just say no one knows where that specific feature comes from

When the kids are still small, Sirius has a habit of turning into Padfoot so he can scruff his children like puppies

James loves turning into prongs so their kids can ride on his back

Their kids are banned from becoming animagi until they’re adults. Prongsfoot know that they were way too reckless as teens and would make sure they’re kids don’t make too many of the same risky choices

They’re generally chill as parents but they do draw a firm line between having fun and being down right reckless. Their kids wouldn’t have many restrictions at all so long as they’re not putting themselves or others in direct danger

It’s super hard for the kids to do things behind their parents backs because prongsfoot are already aware of all their possible tips and tricks. Safe to say their rebellious streak in Hogwarts pays off

James has a baby sling that he brings with him everywhere whilst they still use it

That’s it for now but feel free to send me asks if you have a specific scenario in mind and want to hear my thoughts!

[roo-bastmoon]

Thoughts on Yoonmin Suchwita

Just a quickie write up of my first impressions as I'm slammed with deadlines at work today.

Of course Park Jimin brought Yoongi a birthday cake and serenaded him. Of course he did.

How touching to learn Yoongi bought Jimin his first alcoholic drink to help him through his soulmate dumpling fight!

Early in the year Jimin was in a huge funk and drank a lot (I WONDER WHAT COULD BE THE REASON), but then he snapped out of it for Las Vegas and spent 10 months obsessively working on his album, in which he realized how good he's had it, where he needs to improve, and what he really wants. Amazing creative growth.

So, clearly Yoonmin enjoy pulling each other's pigtails. Hearing Yoongi tease Jimin that he didn't have the body to go shirtless any more... not gonna lie, I sucked in a sharp breath. I am super sensitive to this because of my own disordered eating in the past as a dancer, and I know how Jimin gets dragged online damned near every day for being "Pigman." Frankly, Yoongi should know it, too. But Jimin seemed totally unbothered and they do razz each other about everything, so I'm gonna try and let this go.

The other thing I'm going to try and let go is how hard folks are going to lean into Jimin saying Letter was a fan song. Yes, it was an Easter egg for fans, and yes, he does love us. No, that song is not FOR us and anyone with half a brain gets what is being coded. But I'm not gonna argue about it any more than I'm going to argue about the placement of a J over an M tattoo that keeps being retouched while the others are neglected. If you want plausible deniability, Jikook will always give it to you. Have at it.

Anyway, I was so moved by all the wonderful things Yoongi said, in between teasing Jimin--how proud he was of Jimin, how hard he worked, practicing every single day, that he was a genius, that he always knew Jimin had the unique voice to be a great singer, that he wanted Jimin on his team from day one... that of course he will come to the music shows to support Jimin. Yoongi doesn't typically gush so this warmed my heart.

The way Yoongi kept insisting Jimin come appear on stage while he's on tour and Jimin eventually agreeing that he will. (Roo is going to try very, very hard not to hope he will come to Newark. More than likely Jimin will visit Yoongi on a stage is Asia and that's cool. It's all cool. If Roo saw Park Jimin in person this April, she would combust.)

It was made clear that the members are responsible for their solo promotions and have a heavy say in their albums so I hope that kills any rumors that the company is forcing a narrative or picking favorites. Everything is unfolding how the Tannies wish it to and that's good enough for me to get behind it.

I love how Jimin said that there's no difference between Park Jimin and Jimin of BTS--how he wants to keep going as a team until they are in their 80s--how what he looks forward to most is getting back together in 2025.

Also the way he kept hinting at another album (and the way Yoongi called him out on that--Yoongi pulled no punches, goddamn.)

It was adorable the way they made each other giggle about product placements, fan calls, fan challenges and the like. These two. I'm so glad Yoongi has Jimin and the other members to get silly with. And Jimin laughed til he cried. It was healing to see.

I love that they keep in touch with Jin, that they bring Jin mulhue, that they are happy he's at a healthy weight now.

I'm a little thrown about Yoongi mentioning grandkids but then bisexuals exist and there's been rumors he's dating a woman for a while now. I am not going to dig into it because that's his business. If Yoongi wants a family someday, awesome sauce. If Yoongi doesn't, awesome sauce. I mean this sincerely--I support all 7 wherever they go on their journeys. Even if Jikook don't end up together, I'll be sad about it, but I'm still in this Bangtan shit for life. I'm OT7, and Jimin ult biased, then a Jikook supporter. I happen to believe that Jikook are very much together but being very careful about showing that openly, but if you think otherwise, or it ends up being otherwise, that's honestly okay.

I will just say I'm loving that Yoongi gave Jimin a gift of pillow mist spray in Jungkook's and Jimin's favorite scent of lavender.

Mostly just happy to see our boys so happy.

PS. The bottles in this shot are signed by Jin and Hobi. *wibble*

[groenendaelfic]

I've been thinking a lot about trans!Simon lately, specifically transmasc Simon, and the idea both saddens and infuriates me.

Not the part about Simon being trans of course, but how the Royal Court, the government and a not insignificant chunk of Sweden would react to Wille dating a trans man.

Because even if Kristina & co are told in the same briefing they find out he exists (unlikely but possible), they would hear his name first and assume he was AMAB.

Of course Kristina and the Royal Court would prefer if Wille dated a cis woman, but compared to a cis guy? They'd be delighted.

Transmasc Simon has a womb, to the best of their knowledge a fully functioning one, and that's all that matters. That Wille is enough into someone with a healthy womb that he's willing to marry and have children with them.

It's basically a win/win for everyone.

Wille gets to be with the person he loves, Kristina gets a happy son and hopefully grandkids and legitimate heirs in a few years, the government doesn't have to bother with pesky changes to the law and can still pride itself on Sweden being one of the most modern and progressive countries in the world, all without lifting a finger other than to permit the Crown Prince to marry the love of his life.

And if the relationship doesn't work out? Well then everyone can rest assured that Wille can manage to get it up for someone with a womb, so there's still hope. Yay.

Oh, except for Simon. It'd be a nightmare for Simon, because if he does not get pregnant, whatever the reason might be, then he'll be torn to shreds by the media etc and being called selfish will probably be the least of it. He will be pressured from day one of the marriage.

If Wille steps down? That is going to be a major blow to trans rights and acceptance, and terfs and transphobes will love it. I'm not saying that makes being a transmasc spouse to the future king worth it, I'm just saying there's no choice which won't be shit and leave Simon feeling guilty and most likely requiring therapy for life.

But if he does choose to get pregnant? He will be feminized to hell and back. He might enjoy being pregnant, but he also might not, and it as well as the entire circus around it might also cause the worst kind of gender dysphoria.

In fact I think it's very likely. And yet the pictures of him pregnant (and maybe photoshopped to make him appear more feminine because lets not kid ourselves people suck) will keep being posted and published for the rest of his life, whenever a "halfway plausible" reason arises, or maybe just because it's a slow news day.

And you know what happens after you have your first child? The questions of, why bother getting your figure back? Why not go for a second one immediately? Wouldn't that be easier? start coming up all day every day, even by "well intentioned people"'.

It'd be absolute hell for Simon, and that's why I'm never going to write trans!Simon (and/or pregnant!Simon of any kind). Apart from the fact that I would have too much anxiety about not being able to do the topic justice.

(I do know that there're a few trans!Simon fics out there I've yet to read, and that is awesome, because more fic is always good and because I admire those authors so much. This post has nothing to do with any existing trans!Simon fic, but is rather in reply to a few anon asks I got re Basket Baby and choosing to make Wille the one who gets pregnant, despite me generally seeing Wille as someone who prefers to top more often than not, and Simon to bottom, although they do switch plenty enough and want to try everything with each other, because they're Wilmon)

[empty-cryptid]

Hello! I'm Energycat on AO3. (Currently on hiatus)

At the moment I'm mostly writing Encanto fanfiction and planning some One Piece stuff.

What I'm currently working on*:

Tiny Tio, Big world

When Bruno wakes up to discover he's even smaller than usual, he has to figure out how to navigate the world from a rat's point of view. And he doesn't even get the advantages of being a rat! This gives a whole other meaning to the nickname Tiny Tío.

Debut and Renew Series

(Part 1) Tio: Bruno meets his sobrinos for the first time. (Part 2) Still Tio: Bruno meets his sobrinos a second time.

12 Hours Til Sunrise

What if when Bruno, Antonio, and Mirabel climb out of the wall from behind the painting, they don't end up in the right place? Listen for the tolling bell, for after the clock strikes 12, the sun will rise. (Encantober 2023)

a series of little things

Some little stories about the life of the Madrigals. (Slice of life <1000 words) I take requests for these!

*I am not including collabs because I don't want to put any pressure on my co-writers.

My encanto oc:

Margarita Valentine

Short stories involving Señora Valentine while she's the Encanto's librarian (and maybe a little of her mysterious past if she's willing to share her adventures) *Chapters in this one will be posted out of order to keep the timeline in order*

Some completed stories:

Defeating expectation and other extraordinary acts

Bruno knows what he can do. Probably. Everyone else thinks they know what he can do. Mirabel probably has the most accurate opinion of the bunch. Everyone will be surprised. (Bruno is coaxed by the kids to show off some parkour and some of the residents of Encanto aren't happy to have him back among them after ten years.)

Healing Memories

A collection of completed one-shots with the themes of healing and memories.

Made with Love

Bruno's relationship with food after leaving the walls and after he's recovered a year later. We support a healthy pancita around here.

Madremonte's Garden and the Wakos' Cave

The triplets decide to rekindle a tradition they had before Bruno hid in the walls. Taking a hike to a special place for some sibling bonding sounds like a wonderful idea now that Bruno has returned, Casita is reborn, and the family is healing nicely. (This is my EBB story)

Fables by Firelight

Camilo decides to get all the grandkids (plus Bruno and Mariano) to gather around a fire to tell spooky stories in the dark.

And many more...

[fluffyzoey]

linda is a lesbian and i can PROVE IT

We know about the abuse Linda had to endure, with her father always belittling and insulting her and never actually caring about her. He doesn't take her seriously, doesn't listen to her, doesn't bond with her.

Linda grew up just wanting her father to love her, which reflects in her deep desire to be "adored" she develops in later stages of her life after (probably subconsciously) realizing that her father was never going to be the one she wished for him to be, the one she needed him to be.

She continuously cheats on her husband (who *surprise surprise* doesn't seem to be enough for her), going so far as to get pregnant by two other men, which was confirmed by Wilbur Cross in Black Friday. Heck, she becomes the leader of a cult dedicated to an ancient, dark god, only because of her desire to be acknowledged, to be loved. She kills a man and is ready to doom humanity as long as she's adored.

But she never quite finds what she's searching for.

Her marriage with Gerald, her affairs, even the cult aren't enough. Or rather, they're not what she actually wants or needs.

Maybe Linda Monroe has never felt loved or loved enough by her husband and affairs because her relationships with them are only desperate attempts to recreate something she thinks she can never have.

Maybe Linda Monroe thinks that if she just wins enough pageants, satisfies enough men, has enough money, sails on enough boats and impresses enough people, she'll be fulfilled without ever actually having to acknowledge that she is a lesbian.

That she is not who every woman in Hatchetfield wants to be and whom every man in Hatchetfield wants to be with. But that she is a disappointment to her family and that she is disgusting, a mistake, a reject, unfit to be a mother, unable to be loved by her father. That it is her own fault he didn't love her.

Think about it. Linda's dad, the old capitalist guy who rewarded his underage grandson for reading a Playboy magazine with money. I mean, this guy's the cliché bigoted uncle at any family party. He's not gonna be happy about his kids of grandkids being gay.

When Linda was young, she couldn't even realize her weird feelings for girls because she was always taught it was wrong.

So, raised without love and any kind of example of a healthy relationship in her life, she becomes the Linda Monroe we all know today - unfulfilled, dissatisfied, unhappy. A typical 'mean girl' who brings other people, especially women, down because if she doesn't get to be happy, why should anyone else?

And without wanting to romanticize the canon relationship between them in the slightest, I also believe this explains her relationship with Becky Barnes. The nurse that everyone loves and everyone is kind to without her having to bribe or threaten them.

I believe Linda has feelings for her.

Linda revels in knowing Becky has suffered through abuse because she not only thinks that she deserves happiness more than Becky does, more than anyone does, but believes (or rather wants to believe) that it's Becky's fault she's attracted to her, a woman, that it's Becky's fault she's in love with her, a woman, and that it's Becky's fault her true self is not who she desperately wants it to be.

Whether she would actually date Becky in another life or just chose her as the first best scapegoat is up to each individual viewer to interpret.

Really, it's an "I hate you for making me feel things" situation but it's not a silly, endearing text from your partner but what Linda sobs in front of the bathroom mirror at 2am with shards of glass from a broken bottle of wine on the floor and mascara running down her face while thinking about Becky Barnes because she will never be happy, she will never be enough and she will never be herself.

OOOOUGH YOUVE DONE IT AGAIN

MY HEART

MY LITTLE HEART

im sobbing shes so, hsessss

i never even liked linda that much until meeting you and now she justt. It meansSSS a lot OKOK.

so me </3