#husband shipping in the untamed

[insanusnavicularis]

My god has forsaken me (ao3 is down)

[rusted-soda-can]

I think a big reason that wangxian and ineffable husbands are my fav ships is because they’re perfectly moldeable to basically any fanfic trope. Like either one could be the tattoo artist or the florist and it makes sense for their character, they can also be enemies to lovers, or childhood (term is being used loosely for immortals) friends to lovers, either could own a coffee shop and it works too. Their dynamic is so multifaceted that it works in any scenario. Mutual pining? Yes. Accidental marriage? Absolutely. Time travel?? Yeah, probably.

So yeah, I just love wangxian and ineffable husbands so much.

[swordgrace]

𝐖𝐎𝐋𝐅𝐒𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃, 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃.

⠀ཾ༵ 𑁍┆ cregan stark x fem!targtower!reader.

SYNOPSIS: as the youngest daughter of alicent hightower, you are wed to the young wolf, cregan stark. what many believe to be a union of strife, such a notion is proven wrong very quickly.

anonymous request.

{ FORMAT: one-shot — requested by anon.

{ WORD COUNT: 6.7K.

{ WARNINGS: SMUT (mdni), arranged marriage, reader is a targtower with pale hair & lilac eyes, skin color unspecified, first time sex (for reader), loss of virginity, p in v sex (unprotected), massive breeding kink, all stark men have a breeding gene, oral sex / cunnilingus (fem!rec), face-sitting, biting/marking, making out, lots of touching, missionary position, talk of having a child, soft ending + aftercare

{ AUTHOR’S NOTE: There’s been a ton of Cregan requests, so I hope that this satisfies a lot of people until I post another! ❤️ Thank you all so much for the incredible requests and support of my work, it means the world to me and I am extremely grateful for all of it. See you guys soon!

𝐁𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧, 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐥𝐟 — 𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐞, 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐜𝐞.

The North was often regarded as a harsh and unyielding environment, with bitter, stinging winds and snowfalls that could bury men alive beneath their might. Such tales were often told to scare children or dissuade them from leaving the roost.

It was untamed and savage, according to your mother — she who vehemently fought against your betrothal to Cregan Stark, the Warden of the North and Lord of Winterfell. A marriage steeped in wariness and discord, you had been pleasantly surprised by your husband’s kindness and warm stoicism.

Piety was a rarity in the bleak, bloodsoaked world you lived within — innocence was a quality as uncommon as a diamond in the rough. When Cregan had been offered such a sacred proposal during the last days of King Viserys I, he nearly scoffed at it.

A Targaryen, a Hightower — he almost imagined that the both of you would not do well together, and that it would become a sour union, made only to please families and uphold duty. His advisors, old men with embittered grudges against the South, cautioned him away from it, imploring him to wed a girl from the Vale or the Reach.

When Cregan Stark met you, clad in pale shades of sage and ivory, with lilac hues and a smile that could melt even the toughest of ice, perhaps it would not be a dreadful marriage after all.

Even with a dragon at your heel, there was something positively resplendent about you — Cregan could feel it within his marrow, a feeling seldom felt by any man locked in an arranged betrothal.

It was your innocuous, tenderhearted nature that beguiled him, as if you unconsciously drew him in with your honey. Your very first meeting happened to be to seal the marriage pact itself before you would be shipped away to the North, to be his wife and the new Lady Stark.

Cregan rarely found himself charmed by anyone, yet you possessed an inner beauty that flourished in his presence. You were your own flame, burning through his hardened exterior. He did not mistake your docile nature for weakness — you possessed a dragon, where he did not.

You were rather taken with him, perplexed by his outward ruggedness and gruff accent, the way in which he carried himself, massive physique clad in the thick trappings of a wolf. He was a mountain of a man, yet he handled you as if you were some precious jewel, sacred and worthy of admiration.

Alicent begrudgingly watched as you, her youngest daughter, untainted by her own fractured morality, was sent away to the North in the hands of some brute. For the good of the Realm, Viserys had told her, but it cut deeper knowing that it was you, her beloved flesh and blood.

Yet, as you found yourself beneath the crimson leaves of the Weirwood Tree in the Godswood, hands bound with Cregan’s own, you forgot about your mother’s bitterness entirely — and you were happy.

The first kiss was one that would make a permanent residence within your memory for lifetimes to come. He had cradled your face, towering over you as if he were a solemn statue, but even you could see the softening within his visage.

King’s Landing was suffocating, more often than not. The animosity that festered between your family smothered you, crushing you beneath its sharp heel. You were no longer surrounded by bitterness and resentment, and instead, cloaked by the protection and warmth of your new husband.

The feast held in honor of your blossoming union was one of merriment, the mood lighthearted and blissful. You sat beside your husband, stomach tumbling with a coil of nerves. Everyone seemed foreign to you, unfamiliar faces with their northern attitudes and odd indifference.

You could not fault anyone for having their suspicions, given your heritage. Being a Targaryen, pale-headed and violet-eyed, bringing your dragon from the South — it must’ve been jarring. Growing into your station as the Lady of Winterfell would be a long and arduous process, but you hoped that Cregan would show you the way.

Oblivious to your Lord-Husband’s smoldering stare, you politely consumed bites of the sugar-dusted fruit cobbler, admiring the vibrant aura within the room. Your wedding gowns were as pure as the driven snow, accented with silver embroidery and lined with pale fleece to keep you warm, given the cold gnaw of winter.

If it weren’t for Cregan’s steadfastness in providing you with a new wardrobe fit for winter, the icy chill would’ve consumed your extremities from the inside-out.

Leaning over within his seat, Cregan reached for your hand, stormy-gray hues churning with a kindness reserved for you. “How are you faring, wife?” He inquired, voice a low rumble; a soothing timbre that sent shivers down your spine.

“Very well,” Warmth crawled along your flesh when he referred to you as wife so openly and affectionately. You weren’t accustomed to having someone be so attentive to you, hang upon your every word, treat you with such courteousness. “This is so wonderful. I must thank you and your Keep, for your kindness.”

If you were anyone else, Cregan might’ve treated you with a stalwart cordiality found in most formalities, but you were not anyone else. You were good, sweet, and kindhearted — above all, you were quite innocent. He would’ve been telling himself a bold lie if he hadn’t thought about taking you to bed several times already.

The colors of the North suited you — his home suited you. Not many men of his position were so lucky when it came to betrothals, but he felt as if he was beyond fortunate to have married you. Cregan only hoped to be a good husband to you and to your future children, heirs to Winterfell, with the blood of the dragon and the wolf in their veins.

He had forbidden a bedding ceremony, content to guide you to your chambers once the festivities ceased, instead. Cregan enjoyed observing you and your demure mannerisms, from the way you made small talk with those around you, complimenting the choice of food and drink. It warmed his heart to know that his wife was an amiable soul.

“You needn’t worry, Princess. It is my duty as your husband to show you a bit of Northern hospitality.” Cregan mused, a ghost of a smile tugging at either corner of his mouth. He rarely showed any emotion, let alone treating his subjects with a smile given his hardiness, but he did show a sliver of it for you. He didn’t want to scare you away.

With a delighted smile, your hand shyly curled around his, your skin unblemished and soft. Cregan hadn’t touched a woman as silky as you, and it made his blood run hot — an inopportune time, given that it was in the midst of his wedding feast. “Thank you, my Lord.” You weren’t sure if you were permitted to abandon formalities just yet.

Cregan huffed, gaze twinkling with amusement as he let your smaller hand hold his own, digits tenderly caressing over your knuckles. “I would hope that you only call me ‘my Lord’ if you’re angry with me,” His chest rumbled with an affectionate sound. “You aren’t in King’s Landing anymore.”

Embarrassment rippled through you, but before you could correct yourself out of anxiousness, Cregan gingerly squeezed your hand. Instead, it evoked a smile from you, the very same tender expression you’d given him when you were proclaimed as his wife. “I will call you husband when I am pleased with you.” You mused, bright as could be, and so blissfully naive.

Often regarded as a brooding, serious man with little traces of humor, Cregan found himself letting his guard down just enough with you. Of course, to any observer, he still seemed rather stoic, but the brief, fleeting looks he gave you, the threadbare smiles — it suggested otherwise.

As the excitable buzz of the feast began to simmer, Cregan stood from the table, wood scraping across the stone floors of the Great Hall. He stepped away from you, sparing the servants and guardsmen a word before he returned to your side.

“Is there not to be a bedding ceremony?” You whispered, stomach still tight and festering with nervousness. It was something you feared since you last saw Aegon and Helaena be hauled away for such a thing. The concept of it frightened you, twisted and unusual.

With furrowed brows, Cregan shook his head, offering his thick arm out for you to take. “No,” He grunted, noticing the swell of anxiousness etched into your features. “I would never subject you to such a thing, or myself.” He murmured, feeling you take his arm as he led you from the Great Hall.

Relief flooded through you, and you finally relaxed, seemingly appreciative of Cregan’s thoughtfulness in the matter. “Thank you, husband.” You sighed, gripping onto his arm as he led you into a warm corridor and towards a massive spiral of thick, stone steps.

Though, you still had a duty to perform — consummating the marriage, creating an heir. Part of you feared what it all entailed, given that Helaena never seemed pleased with any of it. Would he hurt you? You were uncertain, but you wanted to believe that your new husband would keep you safe.

Cregan welcomed you into your marital chambers, tidied and polished for your stay. Whatever belongings you brought with you, they were situated near a set of fine, wooden chairs circled around a stone table. Everything seemed warm and comely in his quarters, the direwolf aesthetic heavy-handed, the hearth crackling and bursting with ripples of fire.

“If there is something not to your liking, inform me — I will have it rearranged,” Cregan rumbled, following in your footsteps as you neared the open hearth, warming your hands and basking in its glow. He stood close to you, towering over you with his bulk and might. “How are you?” He asked, ensuring your comfort above all else.

There was little need for the hearth when Cregan was near, radiating a natural heat that drew you in. His countenance seemed softer, not nearly as impassive as he’d been before. “I am more than fine, I promise.” You assured him, hands wringing together. “I thought that I would miss home, but I do not. Isn’t that terrible?”

Perplexed, Cregan seemed inclined to listen to your elaboration, chestnut tresses framing his face. “It isn’t a terrible thing, princess. I would imagine that it must be freeing, to be somewhere else. You’ve never left the capital.” He replied, knowing that you were quite sheltered for most of your life.

A soft sigh escaped you, and you tried not to think about it anymore. You didn’t want to sour the mood with talk of home and the past — this was now. “It is liberating,” You confessed, craning to look at him with a semblance of wonder and affection. “I am happy that I’m here with you.” You spoke with genuineness and finality.

It was pleasing to hear you say such a thing, and even better to know that you truly meant it. One thick, burly arm slowly encircled your hips, bringing you into the warm expanse of his chest. “Good,” He murmured, expression steely. “That pleases me greatly.”

To know that Cregan valued your happiness was a wonderful feeling — you felt cared for and seen, shrouded within his protectiveness. You imagined that it would be a blissful marriage. “Thank you, Cregan.” His name slipped from your perfect tongue, and he thoroughly enjoyed the sound it made.

A low rumble vibrated through Cregan’s chest as he drew you as close as he could, tracing his calloused digits along the soft curve of your jaw. “You are very beautiful,” He murmured, timbre edged with a delicious husk that made your knees buckle. You shivered, something that he took note of. “Are you cold, wife?”

You nodded, sucking in a sharp breath when his lips neared yours. “I am.” A squeak escaped you, followed by a steady exhale. You had been kissed before, but the extent of your experience abruptly stopped there. You imagined that you wouldn’t be cold for much longer.

His lips met yours, the kiss tender yet passionate, deepened by your husband. Cregan found your mouth to be most pleasant, pliant and perfectly soft, yet malleable. You reciprocated his kiss, hands moving to press against his chest.

“Will it be painful?” You whispered, likely in an attempt to soothe your gnawing nervousness. Agony was something that didn’t coexist with pleasure, in your mind. You wanted this moment to be special and sacred, binding yourself to your husband.

Cregan hesitated, gently cupping your face with his rough palm, tenderly stroking along your cheek. “I wouldn’t dare harm you, princess. You have my word.” He assured, and it confirmed his suspicions — you hadn’t been with another before. “It might be painful, but I will be gentle. We don’t have to start tonight.”

Admittedly, it was quite the opposite for you — you wanted to start tonight, but you longed for clarification first, and he gave it to you. You shook your head, hands slipping toward the front of his tunic, as if silently pleading with him to stay. “I want to.” You insisted, looking like the picture of innocence.

As much as he liked you sweet and pious, Cregan had a feeling that it would be somewhat different after this. His gray hues swirled with a heavy desire, dropping towards the delicate curve of your mouth. “May I?” It was all that he needed to ask, and as soon as you nodded, he brought you in for a heated kiss.

Despite his appearance, a stone-faced wall of muscle and Northern strength, he was incredibly gentle with you. He held you against him, never tight enough to cause you discomfort, hands softly kneading into your hips. You kissed him back as best as you could, feverishly hot, butterflies erupting within your stomach.

His beautiful wife — Cregan could not imagine another, now that he had you in his arms. The way you kissed him was innocuous and tender, as if you were also terrified of making a mistake. Your purity, a precious thing indeed, would be tarnished and dissolved after this evening.

The thought of you, round and swollen with his child, was both tantalizing and tempting — well within his grasp. Cregan wondered if they would take after you, pale-headed with lilac hues, or perhaps himself. If the Gods were good, they would be a blend of the both of you, a dragon and a wolf.

You shivered again when your burly husband curled his hand into the back of your wedding gown, fingers slipping between the gaps, feeling inklings of your bare skin beneath. “I’ll keep you warm, wife.” He rumbled, pressing a kiss against your jaw. It wasn’t from the cold, he knew this, but his honeyed words made you flustered.

He dropped his cloak, allowing the thick curtain of fur to land against the floor. He was impossibly broad, as thick as stone, tunic loose yet snug enough to accentuate his brawn. You felt your breath hitch within your throat, swallowing another barrage of nerves.

Cregan’s mouth assailed your neck, hand peeling away the collar of pale fur in order to reach you. Every kiss was passionate, wrought with need, yet maintained that air of gentleness. Roughness was in his nature, but he wouldn’t dare fall into that pit on your wedding night.

You tasted ambrosial, sweet velvet beneath his lips, which peppered themselves wherever they could. He listened to your soft gasps and needy whines, your hands having curled into the coarse material of his tunic. He wanted to show you just how perfect you really were.

Suddenly, your gown felt much too tight and constricting, as if you would drown within it. You alleviated such sensations by loosening the bodice, tugging on the ivory strings. The fur became unraveled as Cregan gently draped the garment over the back of a chair.

Left in the thin, humble trappings of your smallclothes, nothing more than a corset hugging a linen slip, he silently appraised you with the hunger of a wolf. You appeared to be shy, somewhat coy in his presence as he looked you over, large palms settling against the swell of your hips.

“Why do you shy away?” Cregan murmured, chestnut brows furrowing together, tone one of genuine concern. You were the prettiest creature he’d ever seen — most Targaryens were known for their beauty, but you possessed it both ways, inner and outer, and that only made you more incomparable in his eyes.

Swallowing your nerves, you chewed at the inside of your cheek, hands fidgeting together. “I suppose I worry about what you’ll think,” A sore insecurity, to be sure, but something most young maidens possessed. Cregan’s gray hues softened, one hand stroking along the length of your spine. “That I won’t be suitable.”

A huff escaped him, a threadbare chuckle as he shook his head, pressing a kiss against your forehead. “You worry too much, princess.” That deep, thunderous timbre of his, husky with his Northern accent, shook you right to your core. “You are my wife — and you are perfect.” He assured, kissing along your jaw.

You exhaled, hands reaching for his tunic, wanting to see him without his clothing. There was a rush of warmth that crawled across your flesh, surging through your blood as Cregan pressed endless kisses against your skin. He trailed from jaw to collarbone, hands loosening your corset.

With a brusque tug, your gruff husband tore it from you altogether, tossing the bodice aside. “I will show you how perfect you are.” He rumbled, voice a low, heavy caress near the shell of your ear. You shivered, gaze half-lidded as you tugged insistently at his tunic.

The message was unspoken, but conveyed nonetheless as your mountain of a husband let his hands drop from you, only to tug the coarse, dark linen over his head. He was burly, broad-shouldered and thick with muscle, wisps of chestnut tresses framing his face.

Amusingly enough, Cregan possessed more of a cherubic, youthful face than you expected, yet his nose was slightly crooked from having it broken, faint scars upon his face. His eyes seemed wisened, old beyond his years. He reached for your slip, gathering the material within his hands as he looked to you for consent.

With your confidence rejuvenated, you nodded, breathless and wanton as you assisted him in maneuvering out of your thin smallclothes. The brief lick of chilled air dragged across your bare flesh, causing your nipples to harden, pebbling with the chill.

Fire danced across your physique, tantalizing and gorgeous, beautiful beyond compare. Even Cregan seemed speechless for a beat, throat reverberating with a low grunt as he motioned toward your shared bed.

You half-expected him to pounce on you, grab your hips and stake his claim, but he simply resorted to watching you slide onto the bed, covered in furs of all varieties. The frame rustled slightly, and you laid down, a picture of true perfection. Your crown of pale tresses seemed to stick out amidst the darker pallor of the furs.

Anticipation churned violently within your gut, arousal slick and mounting between your thighs as Cregan stalked closer, removing clothing in the process. You watched with bated breath as he loosened the ties of his breeches, removing them altogether.

It was to be expected — a man of his indomitable stature likely had the assets to accompany it. You nearly choked at the sight of him, terrified that it really would hurt, even if he was gentle. You sucked in a sharp breath, bewildered when he had reclined beside you instead.

“I won’t bite, my Lady.” Cregan rumbled, soothingly patting his lap as you crawled closer. He effortlessly picked you up, letting you straddle his hips as he admired you from below. “Hm.” With a hum of approval, he caressed along your form, stroking from your thigh to your breasts.

It was agonizingly deliberate, made to explore and study instead of acting upon salacious impulses. Cregan observed you closely, palm gently cupping your breast, thumb swiping over your nipple. You gasped, careening into his sensual embrace.

A flurry of desire bubbled within him when you planted your smaller hand atop his, as if encouraging him to knead and grope at his leisure. He seemed pleased, and so did you, a low hum escaping you as he caressed your silky flesh.

He made sure to show that same amount of attention to your unattended breast, slowly kneading into you. Those tempestuous gray hues never tore themselves away from you, boring into you with a searing intensity.

Warm slick coalesced between your thighs, only mounting and growing when he continued to touch you, hand lifting to cup your chin. You absentmindedly leaned into his touch, eyes becoming half-lidded as you rocked forward within his lap.

The sensations you felt were new and exhilarating, goosebumps dancing across your spine, heat pooling between your legs. “May I touch you?” You asked, tone delicate and sweet, a display of your piety and innocence. He quite enjoyed your desire to explore alongside him, and he gave a nod of his head.

“You don’t need to ask, princess.” He soothed, jaw tensing as your soft palms settled against his chest. Cregan’s stormy eyes didn’t leave you, carefully tracing each plane of your curves, the downy texture of your skin, the lilac glint of your eyes.

Your fingertips dragged across his musculature, committing each scar to memory, features becoming hot beneath his incendiary stare. He was your husband now — you imagined that scenarios like these would become commonplace. “You are so handsome,” You whispered incredulously, lips curling into a gentle smile. “Perfect.”

Cregan appeared perplexed, a soft huff escaping him as he trailed his calloused palm across the small of your back. He couldn’t recall the last time someone had called him perfect and meant it — and he knew that you did. He neglected to act, allowing you to explore as much as you pleased.

Awestruck, he watched with silent hunger as you leaned down, lips pressing against his own. A soft grunt escaped Cregan as he caged you in, mouth passionate as it tangled with yours. He enjoyed the feeling of your body snug atop his, your skin resplendent, like velvet against the grating bite of stone.

Dragging a hand from the swell of your hips to the nape of your neck, he gripped the base of your skull, gingerly kneading into your pale tresses. He kissed you again, oozing with desire as he stole every wisp of air from your lungs.

He pulled one leg up into a v-shape, supporting your back to keep you upright atop his lap. You could feel the thick girth of his cock nudge against your backside, causing you to shiver at the foreign sensation. “Do you trust me?” Cregan murmured, roughened fingertips dragging over the pliant flesh of your thigh.

There was an indiscernible look within his eyes, chestnut brows drawing together slightly. Your breath hitched as you nodded, and Cregan settled against the furs, strewn on his back. Those strong hands of his continued to nudge you forward, bringing you from his warm lap to his chest, and then a touch closer.

“What are you …” Uncertain yet filled with exhilaration, you had no idea what Cregan was planning. Your slick cunt neared his mouth, and your Northern paramour did little to slow the process, bumping you forward until you hovered above him. “C—Cregan, C —” Your voice tapered off into a whine.

His tongue raked hot embers across your cunt, a sensation that immediately made your knees buckle. You used the headboard to brace yourself, mouth tearing open as a strangled gasp escaped you. Part of you feared sitting down entirely, but Cregan coaxed you down, hands digging into your haunches.

Your reaction was beyond worthwhile, body trembling and coiled, hand scrambling to brace yourself as the other fervently dug into his chestnut tresses. You never imagined that such pleasure was even possible, filling you with an excitable ecstasy that sank into your bones.

Splitting past your folds, Cregan tasted every inch of you, tongue seeking your cunt with a fervor. He was vigorous in his ministrations, not shying away from consuming every drop of your arousal. His nose brushed against your mound, hands kneading into your thighs to reassure you, let you know that he had you.

Even when he rested beneath you, he still seemed indomitable, perhaps a touch intimidating. You didn’t look down, body involuntarily trembling and rocking forward, back beginning to arch. “Gods, a—ah!” You stammered, thighs twitching and quivering as his tongue gently flicked over your clit.

Visibly flustered, you felt so strange and smitten, riding your husband’s face as you would your dragon. It filled your belly with a rousing fire, one bright enough to consume the rest of your body, licking along the length of your spine.

A low rumble emerged from Cregan’s chest, a vibration that rattled you to your core. He wanted you to have your fill, take as much as you could and drown within pleasure. Your maidenhead was still intact, a virtue that he did not treat lightly. He didn’t feel the need to breathe, lapping at your cunt with a wolfish gluttony.

You were undeniably soaked, like a fine stout upon his tongue as he devoured you. Cregan was passionate, each stroke of his tongue ensuring that you felt it all, bliss erupting throughout your stomach.

Chasing after what you imagined to be your release, you happened to peer down for a moment, finding the contented face of your husband, whose face was lodged between your legs. His brows were creased in concentration, tongue prodding against your entrance before languidly flicking back to your clit.

It was only when he pursed his lips around that sensitive clutch of nerves, that you nearly collapsed around him. Even your draconic blood could melt, tempered by the hardened ice of your Northern paramour. You gasped, hips stuttering as your thighs squeezed at either side of his head — fortunately, he didn’t seem to care.

The only thing you wanted was this, forever — your husband’s tongue between your legs, a sanctuary in the North with a potential family, a life in which you could finally find your solace. You continued to squirm and writhe, moaning his praises into the warmth of your chambers.

As you approached your peak, you grappled with Cregan’s tresses, tugging at the root as you rocked forward, again and again. “Cregan,” You moaned, countenance contorting into a look of sheer pleasure, bones crawling with an insatiable heat. “Cregan, Cregan, please!” It was a siren’s song of desire.

He did not stop, but he didn’t change course, either. Instead, he simply continued on, suckling at your clit as he intermingled it with timed laps of his tongue. Your release slammed into you, white-hot and blistering, gnawing away at your stomach as that coil of heat effectively snapped.

A whine emerged from you, one that was nearly breathless as you rocked forward again, legs shaking from ecstasy as you rode out your peak. Cregan, ever the dutiful husband, lapped at your nectar, savoring the taste, the scent of a pleasurable aftermath.

“What —” You had to catch your breath again, attempting to recuperate as you sat back on his chest instead, thick, burly muscle plentiful enough to cushion you. “Where did you learn how to do that?” It was an innocuous question, one so sweetly-spoken that it nearly caused Cregan to chuckle.

He did, however, smile — a rare, sentimental gesture reserved only for you. It was threadbare, and if it weren’t for the nature of your relationship, one might’ve thought him to be rugged and indifferent. “You need only ask, princess, and I will oblige.” His voice was a deep rumble that warmed your insides.

You thoroughly enjoyed the nickname of princess — a term of endearment given your status, but you were a princess no longer. “I am a lady of the North now, aren’t I? A princess no longer,” You proclaimed, skin shimmering with perspiration. “What will you call me, now?” You asked.

“Hm,” Cregan contemplated, pressing a kiss against your leg before he sat up enough to have a good look at you, chin still glistening with your slick. The sight was lewd, enough to make you unbelievably flustered as he grew closer, nearly chest-to-chest with you. “Lady Stark would suffice.” He murmured.

Something amorous burned within you, a smolder that soon turned to ignited sparks. “It would please me greatly.” You hummed, running your hands over his biceps before Cregan gently changed places with you, moving you beneath his bulk, comfortable upon your back.

Soft was a mere understatement — he could feel himself melt. It was not your dragon’s blood or heat that made him crumble, but your heart. He could imagine you as the mother of his children, belly round with his heirs, the Lady of Winterfell, a Hightower no longer.

He settled between your legs, and you gasped when his cock gently glided against your slick core. Cregan knew to temper himself, to be as gentle as he could with it being your wedding night, but his resolve was steadily diminished in your presence. He steeled himself, pressing a string of kisses along your body.

Without thinking, you unconsciously goaded Cregan into a point of near-frenzy. Your hands found the taut, trunk-like muscle of his biceps, visage filled with a sense of awe and adoration. “A child would please me greatly.” You confessed, having no clue what it would do to your husband.

Cregan stopped, digits curling into the thick furs on either side of your head. It took every fiber of his being not to fuck you then and there — and he wouldn’t, it wasn’t right for him to take your maidenhead with such roughness. His fantasy became reality, a visceral, beautiful vision that made him grunt, jaw unnaturally tense.

His rough palm soothingly stroked along your thigh, lust swelling within him like a blizzard, a violent storm of need that transcended all bonds of propriety. “Does Lady Stark want me to put a pup in her belly?” Cregan rumbled, tempestuous hues ignited with a fire that demanded to be extinguished, sending shockwaves right to your core.

You swallowed the growing lump within your throat, shuddering at the sound of his voice — an edged husk, like the rumbling of thunder before a deluge or the shaking of a mountain. “Yes,” You exhaled, searching his countenance, only to find desire. “I would.”

The Gods were testing him, aiming to see if he would break beneath the pressure, but he refused. Cregan lowered himself over you, lips molding themselves against yours in a hot kiss. Your hands remained poised atop his biceps, barely able to wrap themselves around the thick, corded muscle.

He wasn’t much of a talker, and it quickly dwindled into deep grunts and heavier sighs as he aligned his cock with your entrance. He made sure to part your legs, keeping them spread as he began to push inside of you. The sudden intrusion made you gasp, startled at the twinge of pain, the discomfort of it all.

Cregan despised the mere thought of causing you harm, and even he was willing to end it all then and there. “We don’t have to continue, beloved.” He rumbled, pressing a soothing string of kisses along your face. The endearing nickname made you preen, nails digging into his arms.

“No, I — I’m well enough,” You breathed, insistent on continuing. Cregan deliberated, but when you let out a low whine, he obeyed your command. “Gods, I need you, Cregan.” Pitched with a wanton resonance, you urged him to keep going.

Your neediness made his blood run hot, and he nodded, sluggishly resuming his pace. He continued to tilt his hips forward, cock feeding into you, inch by agonizing inch. Cregan felt the desperate bite of your nails clutching into muscle, leaving behind angry crescents.

You were never fully warned of the pain, the discomfort that accompanied pleasure. It was always sold as some fantasy, particularly for men — nights of heavenly passion resulting in bliss. For you, it was simply a marital duty to provide your husband with an heir, but this transcended that. Passion and affection sparked between the both of you, and it felt right.

As Cregan finally bottomed out inside of you, he allowed you time to fully adjust, rocking into you at a lackadaisical pace. He continued to shower you in kisses, wherever his lips could reach, giving particular affection to the crook of your neck.

Whatever discontent you felt, you hastily pushed it aside, tossing it into the recesses of your mind. Instead, you focused on him — on how incredible he made you feel, the warmth you experienced in his presence. One of your hands slipped to thread within his chestnut tresses, mouth agape.

You took him so well — better than expected, and it filled him with a sense of pride and ardor. Cregan pressed hungry kisses along your throat, nose buried into the hollow of it, right beneath your jugular. He continued to go slow, afraid of causing you further pain.

Cregan repositioned his hand, leaving one lodged beside your head, the other sinking into your haunch, digits tenderly kneading into your thigh. It was an offer of reassurance, and he watched your countenance shift from discontented to relaxed.

“Move,” The sharpness of your command brought him to heel, and he very nearly smiled — it was there, the ghost of it toying at his lips. Bringing his hips back and then forward, you moaned, knowing that the sting of pain would soon blossom into pleasure. “Please.”

Molten heat swirled within the pit of your stomach, arousal thick between your legs as Cregan began to find his pace, a rhythm that shook you to your core. He was so very gentle, even for a man of his herculean mass and muscle. He took care of you, soothingly caressing your thigh as he thrusted into you.

His cock filled you completely, a stretch that would take you more than just one night to adjust to. Your maidenhead was gone, your cunt tight around his length, pulling him in again and again.

Cregan’s breathing became heavier, somewhat labored as he consummated your union. Each snap of his hips held meaning, beyond the creation of an heir. It was tenuous with feelings, a burning sentiment he felt for you, ardor that had grown into a fire.

Admittedly, his mind was hazy, fueled by desire and the mere thought of you wanting a child — you had asked it of him, demanded, and he was at your mercy. Cregan couldn’t have gotten any luckier with you, the most resplendent woman he’d ever seen.

Imagining you full and round, still as lovely as the day he set his eyes upon you, a mother and a dragon — it was nothing short of true perfection. He chased after it, evident by the growing vigor and passion in each thrust of his hips, cock nearly tearing you into two.

No matter how gentle and careful Cregan was with you, it was to no avail, but you no longer cared. “Cregan,” You moaned, lifting one leg to hitch it around his waist, and that only seemed to further spur him on, allowing him to hit new depths. His throbbing length nearly kissed your womb, filling you to the brim. “Cregan!” You cried.

For a moment, you feared being split in-half by your mountain of a husband, but he slowed enough to let you recuperate, throat reverberating with carnal grunts. The rumbling of his chest, the heat that radiated from him in waves — it was all perfect.

It was driving him mad, the way your cunt constricted around his cock, the way in which your back arched from the furs, chest brushing against his. Cregan grunted, jaw set and brows furrowed in concentration as he kneaded into your thigh, something to alleviate his tension.

His thrusts deepened, became passionate and invigorated with love, and each snap of his hips made your head spin with delirium. You were drunk on desire, clinging to him as if you were a drowning maiden, hand splayed against his shoulder.

Whenever he happened to become a touch too vigorous, he felt your nails dig deep into his flesh, leaving behind the reddened marks of your consummation. Cregan was getting close, chest erupting with labored pants as he pressed his forehead against yours.

You moaned, body bending beneath his passion, malleable within his hands. His cock throbbed within you as he sought to spill his seed, face against yours, lips occasionally connecting in a series of sloppy, warm kisses. Everything felt incredible, in ways that you couldn’t comprehend.

He was so burly, a thick wall of impenetrable muscle that seemed to envelop you entirely, shield you from everything else, from all harm. Strands of chestnut stuck to his temples, flesh glittering with perspiration from the exertion of lovemaking, coupled with the heat in your chambers.

With another brusque thrust of his hips, he settled inside of you, reaching his peak with a subtle groan. His seed filled your cunt in hot ropes, more than enough to take, if the Gods were good. Cregan exhaled, feverishly hot as he began to recuperate, neglecting to remove himself from you for a few moments.

“Are you alright?” Cregan murmured, ensuring your wellbeing first, above all else. A stinging soreness settled into your thighs and your core, but you would survive. He didn’t completely obliterate you, thankfully — you wondered what he would be like, unrestrained.

“Yes,” You smiled, visibly flustered beneath the intensity of his stare. “That was incredible.” Your confession made him huff, likely one of amusement as he pressed a kiss against your forehead. Even you glittered with sweat, but that was to be expected.

You already wanted more — and you nearly asked it of him.

Lascivious fantasies took root within your mind, and the mere idea of him being rough and completely domineering made your cunt throb. You could not do it now, given how exhausted you were, but he had certainly unlocked a new side to you, a side that you were unfamiliar with.

Cregan pulled himself from you, propping your hips up beneath a feathered pillow to ensure that his seed would take. He rested beside you, drawing you into the bulk of his muscled arms, allowing you to rest your head against the expanse of his chest. “You were perfect.” He rumbled, roughened digits stroking along your spine.

It pleased you to know that your husband was satisfied with you, much to your delight. “I am glad,” Relief rippled through you as you inched closer, perfectly slotted against his frame. “So were you.” Your pleasant accolades made him smile, fracturing his stony exterior.

“There will be plenty of time for this, that I can promise you,” Cregan was more concerned with getting to know you, his beautiful lady-wife, Lady Stark. “I would like to start with you.” He murmured, savoring the sensation of your fingers tracing across his abdomen.

You blinked, seemingly surprised by Cregan’s genuine interest in you. It made you happy — perhaps you could have both. Moments of learning and moments like these, where you could indulge in pleasure.

“Would it offend you if I asked you to do both?” You questioned, warmth crawling along your body as Cregan squeezed the swell of your hip, gray hues sparkling with a semblance of mirth.

“It wouldn’t,” Cregan mused, timbre dropping to a lull, a husky octave that seemed to envelop you in its stoicism and warmth. “It pleases me to know that Lady Stark possesses the appetite of a dragon.” His teasing made you squirm, but he simply caressed you and held you closer.

With a coy smile, you lifted your head, pressing your lips against his, asserting your still-lingering desire for your husband. “Not a dragon,” Your tone softened with a sweeter resonance. “A wolf.”

copyright @ swordgrace ; please do not steal my work and claim it as your own or translate it onto other platforms.

[iamyourdailydoseofbi]

THE HISTORY BOOK ON THE SHELF. ( HOTD x Reader )

AUTHOR NOTE! Thanks for all the love. <3 pairing: King Aegon ii Targaryen x Targaryen! Little Sister! Reader prompt: When the small council plans to marry off once again, you turn to your older brother for help. word count: 1, 000+ words

You were the youngest and third daughter of Alicent and Viserys. A few months younger than Helaena and Aegon's little shadow in your childhood. Your older brother at first hated it, the way you cling onto him and gawk at him with an innocent awe.

It was your ninth name day, your Father had not paid much attention to it, but your Mother had ordered a celebration for it. You had trailed after him, babbling about nonsense as he tried to lose you. It was at dinner that night that everything had boiled over. Instead of receiving gifts, you had taken to giving everyone a gift.

He had not expected anything. He hadn't been the most kind to you. But was surprised when you had gifted him an embroidered cloth with Sunfyre on it. It was not the best and some threads were loose, but you proudly had told him you learned embroidery for him. Seeing those big doe eyes of yours his opinion changed. He adored you. You were the only one in the family that did not care about his worsening reputation. You just...adored your big brother, flaws and all.

It was why it killed him on your eleventh name day you were shipped off to the Reach, married off to a Lord as old as your Grandsire. He was haunted by your wails, of the way you clung onto Helaena and Aemond, the two of them wailing as Ser Cole carried you off to the carriage.

His young sister, the only one in the family who truly cared, was sold off like a piece of cattle. Not even your cold Grandsire was able to protest the marriage as politically it was a good match and good enough reasoning for the small council to approve it. 

As years ticked by, you gave birth to two children, a stillborn daughter and a healthy son. Your husband kept you away in the Reach, so no one in your family had seen you since you were twelve and given birth to your only surviving son.

He remembered the look in your eyes, so void and almost dead. Of how you tried to stay positive. Saying, "Tis' not so bad. He mostly ignores me, except when he wishes to bed me. But even then tis' not so bad, he finishes quickly."

When he became King, he swiftly ordered you to return home, regardless of your husband's wishes. No one would take his baby sister away from him. Not whilst he was still alive and had the crown placed upon his head.

Watching you bounce your son on your lap, he attempts to pay some attention to the small council, but his eyes keep straying back to you. It was odd to think that you were now a Mother and all grown up. Snapping out of his little daze, he glances back at the small council, each member arguing intently. Furrowing his brows in confusion, Ser Criston slides a piece of parchment in front of him, an uncomfortable look on his face. Raising a brow at what he had just returned to, he glances at the parchment, reading the words quickly. 

Your cunt of a husband was dead, finally croaked in his sleep. There was no reason for you to go back to the Reach. You could stay here in King’s Landing once more. Softly smiling at the good news, he goes to speak up when Lord Lannister stands up from his chair, slamming his hands down on the table. His face red from anger, his eyes wild like an untamable beast, and voice booming loud enough that it would make a dragon’s roar put to shame.

“To speak of the Princess in such a manner is dishonorable, I will see to it personally that your tongue is removed, Lord Wydle.” 

“The girl is of age, she has proven she can bear heirs, healthy heirs. To not give her hand to another Lord would be foolish.” 

“We need allies, the common folk are starving and soon the coin will run out. Surely as Master of Coin you can see reason, Lord Lannister.”

“Your grace, please, listen to reason we should⎯”

It takes a moment to realize what they had been discussing so intently. Then it clicks, they were speaking of having you remarry. 

"What?" He whispers, his voice shaky and full of disbelief.

"No, Aegon, please don't make me do this again. Please." You whisper, tears building up in your eyes.

"It would be best to have your sister marry someone⎯"

"Think of the war, your grace⎯"

Seeing the tears building up in your eyes, it reminded him of all those years ago when you were whisked away to the Reach. Struggling to speak up and dismiss their suggestions, you kneel in front of his chair, gripping onto breeches as you beg and plead for clemency to their plans. Your son starts to wail on the other side of his chair, making motions with his hands to be picked up. 

Feeling his heart break a little at the sight, he shifts his gaze from you then your wailing son then back to the small council. Everything is hectic and he doesn’t know who or what to focus his attention on. Does he console you? Does he tend to your wailing son? Does he handle the small council? Struggling to find his voice, he just stays frozen in his chair. 

“Please, please, do not make me do this again, Aegon.” You beg, “I did what was asked of me before. Please do not ask this of me again.”

“We need allies, your grace. The Princess is still desired by many men, men who will look past her past marriage and son. Think of the kingdom⎯”

“Send treaties, then!”

“Please, Aegon. I ask as your sister, not a member of the Court. Please do not make me do this again. I do not wish to marry again. Please do not send me away again.” You beg, your voice cracking. 

Watching as the tears begin to fall from your eyes, he clenches his jaw tightly, anger boiling up at the sight of you. His precious little sister, the one person in all of the Realm that he truly cared for, was crying by his small council's hand. Slamming his hands down hard on the table, the room goes deadly silent, minus the soft sniffles of you and your son. 

“There will be no marrying off my sister! If you wish for such alliances as much as you claim, do offer your daughters instead, for I will not be doing the same to my sister nor my daughter.” 

“Your grace, if you would just⎯”

“I am King, no?” He snaps back, “There will be no questioning of my decision. The matter is settled.”

----

@fragileheartbeats

@danytar

@nightvers

[zarnzarn]

1/2/3/4

reverse Odyssey au where polites is still on the ships when Poseidon arrives, and that last bit is enough to push Odysseus to beg him to stop, to spare the men he spent ten long years fighting hard and bitter to save. 593 men is no less amount after all, not for a small island like Ithaca, only three generations old. he'll do anything, anything at all, blind him, torture him, kill him- just let his men go; they were not the ones to blame.

Poseidon considers, staring down at the king with the odd grey eyes that he knew the origin of. Athena would be furious, after all- so why not take away the one thing her favoured pet was known for?

the crew rushes towards their captain, their king, as shouting emerges from the other boats, as he hits the deck convulsing, grasping at his throat. the cries of his men rend the air as his legs melt into oceanspray, remerging as a fish's tail, Odysseus gasping for air wildly, his tongue a mess of mangled flesh on the main deck, unable to talk or breathe.

they have no choice but to pick him up and tip him into the sea, and they watch in horror as he falls beneath the waves and with a flick of the tail, disappears.

six hundred men chase their king down, following the odd silver glint that appears once in a while above the blue water, following the strange cursed monster that Elepnor sees when he falls drunk into the ocean one day. follow him all the way back to Ithaca, where the people gather on the shore to cheer their arrival.

telemachus is all of ten and untameable at the return of his father's ships, running past the guards and the priests to the dock, where the soldiers and heroes are all setting down the ramps, strangely quiet, unsmiling in the face of ten years of gore and bloodshed being done. Penelope catches up to him, laughing as she cranes her head up, scanning the ships to see which one- which one had-

she only has to time to see euroluchus' shame-filled tears and polites guilty devastation, feeling her heart slowly sink to the ground, when there's suddenly a splash and an outburst of screams and propped up on the dock is a man with a fish's tail and familiar curls and razor-sharp teeth and eyes that are solid grey. the soldiers cry out in horror and thunder down the ramps to them as the monster reaches out- and Penelope can't do anything, frozen, as it reaches out and places a webbed hand with deadly claws on her son's cheek, caressing almost; and her breath catches when it looks back up to her, and she knows the face as well as her own, knows the grief and fear and knows it is her husband-

Then the pounding footsteps from the closest ships and the guards behind reach them, and Penelope only has time enough to scream to stay their weapons, already shoving Telemachus behind her and reaching out to shield off any spears or arrows from battle-strung men who'd shoot first and ask questions later-

Instead she only feels the brush of cold skin under his fingertips for the briefest of moments and then she's caught up in a fisher's net, tangled and alone. More nets are thrown, men crying out for their captain with desperation and fear, Polites running straight past her and leaping off the dock to swim after him-

But her husband is a descendant of Hermes, and Odysseus is gone.

Penelope listens to the story that night and does not cry, sitting straight-backed in the face of her family sobbing around her, of the five hundred and ninety-three men staring at her with grief and guilt alike, of being the only widow in the kingdom. Pets Telemachus' wild hair and remembers his father's, and thinks.

"You have told me much," She says finally. "But I'm still to hear a single, solid plan."

The room rustles as all the heads swing to her.

"Plan?" Eurylochus says finally. Anger burns as soon she looks to him, but she pushes it down firmly- rage will not win her anything.

"Yes. A plan," she says, "To bring my husband back home."

Telemachus unfolds at her feet and stares up at her with a hopeful grin, echoed slowly on the faces of the men around the room. Penelope smiles back.

"My husband spent ten years fighting for his people to make it back home," She proclaims. "Let's wait at least that long before we give up on him, yes?"

The answering cheer shakes the walls of the palace and echoes through the streets of Ithaca.

[theshipwars]

THE SHIP WARS ROUND TWO

[goodlucktai]

tagged by @bobtheacorn like...... 3 weeks ago 😭 my bad

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

283

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

1,353,670

which seems.......excessive

3. What fandoms do you write for?

actively, one piece and tmnt, but that is ruled by the demons in my brain that control the hyperfixation machine.

fandoms ive posted 3 or more fics for:

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles Natsume Yuujinchou | Natsume's Book of Friends Good Omens Final Fantasy XV Undertale Mumintroll | Moomins Series Harry Potter Young Justice 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia 陈情令 | The Untamed King Falls AM Percy Jackson and the Olympians Rise of the Guardians Voltron: Legendary Defender

4. Top five fics by kudos?

Exclusivity - 11,116

walk straight through hell with a smile - 9,152

Inanition - 9,039

there is thunder in our hearts - 8,161

trouble is a friend of mine - 7,842

5. Do you respond to comments?

i do try to but i can't always :'( and i feel terrible if i manage to reply to most and then forget someone and only realize it months later. but i read every single comment and i appreciate them more than i have words for

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

i tend to veer away from angst, but off the top of my head....

where the good men go or if i go i'm going on fire

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

99% of my fics have a happy ending because thats my BRAND but i suppose give me something that'll haunt me when you're not around or the weekend we were in love OR put your empty hands in mine

8. Do you get hate on fics?

not often, but i recently had someone who REALLY disliked the way things change because i 'villainized' raph. which is definitely news to me, since raphael is the love of my life

9. Do you write smut?

nope

10. Craziest crossover?

i wrote a tmnt/one piece crossover once ? but now that we are actually getting a tmnt/naruto idw run it doesnt feel that weird to me anymore

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

only once if i'm remembering right ?? it was a long time ago and wattpad related, which is a site that i dont really understand and therefore tend to avoid

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

yes ! i'll often have people request to translate my stories and it blows me away every time

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Devil took your hand was written by myself and @moogsthewriter

14. All time favourite ship?

ineffable husbands, wangxian, or leosagi

15. What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

how much time do you have 😭

16. What are your writing strengths?

i want to say characterization and narrative voice. i'm also pretty good at maintaining a throughline, even if it sometimes gets a little wobbly

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

conflict ! i hate it ! i will avoid writing it at all costs ! i also tend to struggle with writing fight scenes, especially when there are several characters involved :') staging any kind of choreography is my opp

18. Thoughts on dialogue in another language?

i try not to but if it feels unavoidable i google the heck out of it

19. First fandom you wrote in?

honestly it was either digimon (which also inspired my og penname) or xiaolin showdown lol

20. Favourite fic you've written?

i'm stealing bob's idea and going top 5:

there is thunder in our hearts - this story came together so easily for me, like i knew exactly how i wanted to tell it from start to finish

the only hoax i believe in - a kfam fic in my top 5s why yes and i'll tell you why. because i poured so much of myself into this fic that they could probably read it at my funeral instead of a eulogy

traveling so far to get there - after party au raph and mikey continue to take up so much real estate in my brain and for what

now the darkness comes alive - this one is more recent but im so happy with the way it turned out :')

if we could stay all day in the sun - it was a lot of fun reimagining one of my favorite fairy tales and doing a bunch of unnecessary research for this story i will stand by it until the day i die !!

i'm tagging @mykimouser, @owletstarlet, @portgas-d-aroace, @mad4turtles, @camsthisky, @remedyturtles, @pickledcarrotsandradish, @swordsmans, @mangogreent, and anyone else who wants to !

[citrusses]

AO3 Wrapped 🎁: Drarry Favorites Published in 2022

Featuring eighth year and fuck-or-die fics that were instant classics among classic tropes, steam and suds, mind-bending non-linear narratives, and character studies that made me consider anew the protagonists with whom I’ve spent so many years. 

January

Finely Drawn Lines by @the-sinking-ship (E, 61k) 

Draco doesn’t consider himself an artist (though the dozens of sketchbooks lining his shelves might suggest differently). Yet ever since Potter returned to Hogwarts, accepting a teaching position alongside Draco, his drawings have taken on a rather singular focus.

February

The Things We Need by @kbrick (E, 25k)

Three hundred and fifty-three days out of the year, Harry is in a monogamous, fulfilling relationship with Draco Malfoy.

Then there are the other twelve days.

Lateralus by @shiftylinguini (T, 2k)

The world after the war was so big, and so untamed. Magic spilled out of every corner, creatures never seen before watching from nooks that never used to exist. There were colours in the air, in the morning dew drops on the leaves―indescribable, and new. Otherworldly, and pulled from a spectrum that shouldn't be visible in their world.

March

Heartlines by @sorrybutblog (T, 22k) 

Just as Draco Malfoy's life seems to be getting back on track, the magic at Malfoy Manor is spinning out of control. Auror partners Harry Potter and Angelina Johnson are assigned to the case and quickly find that nothing about the situation is obvious. The flare ups are unpredictable at best, downright dangerous at worst, and why has a Hogwarts first year gone missing at the same time?

April 

​​Heal Thyself by @astolat (T, 47k) "Are you going for the course?" Lovegood asked. "You have the NEWTs.”

“What course?” Draco said, then, “No, don’t be ridiculous,” when he realized she meant the notice pinned up on the board he’d been staring at: Applicants To The Introductory Mediwizard Course For The Coming Term Shall Present Themselves In The Chief Mediwizard’s Office By August 24th.

“Oh, I thought you might,” she said. “Well, goodbye.” And off she wandered again in her addled way.

any day now by @oknowkiss (E, 17k)

The rehabilitation centres were the Minister’s idea, or that’s what the Prophet said anyway. Their stated objective is simple: to provide a safe space for low-tier Death Eaters and high-tier sympathisers to reconsider the entirety of their life choices. All guests–because no one is a prisoner here, the literature brags–are to be provided with shelter, food, clothing, and the guided support of a Mind Healer via a programme they call “ideological restructuring,” which is, of course, mandatory. 

Lovesick by @corvuscrowned (T, 8k)

People keep spiking Auror Harry Potter with love potions. Healer Draco Malfoy keeps having to pick up the pieces. But it's getting harder and harder for Draco to watch Harry fall in love with everyone except for him.

The Only Magic Left Between Us by @lqtraintracks (E, 24k)

Harry goes to the market and ends up having to save Draco Malfoy’s life with sex. He saves Draco’s life with sex and ends up with a husband. The last thing he expects in all of it is to fall in love.

Once More With Feeling by InnerLilith (E, 29k)

Draco is dosed with a consummation-compelling potion, with Harry Potter as his intended. It’s a cruel irony, because he’s wanted Potter for years. But not like this.

May 

Not Nineteen Forever by @sorrybutblog (E, 6k)

A rogue charm hits on a mission and suddenly, Draco is nineteen again. Harry is still thirty-five and doing his best to look after his de-aged Auror partner (and forget about his long unrequited crush) until St. Mungo’s can brew the antidote. Only, Draco insists on wandering around Harry’s flat wearing nothing but Harry’s pants, flirting like his life depends on it and in the end, Harry’s only human after all.

June 

An Emerald In The Sky by @corvuscrowned (M, 7k) 

The hardest part about shagging an Unspeakable is that they’re not allowed to speak of anything. All Draco knows is that Harry works in Time. Harry works in Time, and while he’s out there in all of that time, it is as unforgiving to him as it is to anyone.

July 

Two to Lie and One to Listen by @fluxweeed (E, 85k)

It’s weird when Hermione announces that she and Ron have broken up. It’s weirder when this is followed by the revelation that she’s already moved on—and the new object of her affections is Draco Malfoy.

He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not by @sleepstxtic (T, 6k) Astoria watches her husband fall in love with Harry Potter.

August

The (Third) Worst Year by TheFrancakes (E, 20k) 

Draco Malfoy has one year to fall in True Love with Harry Potter or be turned into a Dragon. And he knows that is never gunna happen. This is going to be the worst year of his life.

Well, minus that whole having to kill Dumbledore or be killed by Voldemort thing.

Second worst year.

Oh, but there was his whole 7th year while Voldemort was using his house as a home base for Death Eaters and making him torture his fellow students. That one was pretty bad too.

Fine, this is the third worst year of his life. Hoppípolla by @moonflower-rose (E, 21k) Falling in love was as easy as jumping in puddles, and Draco Malfoy was completely drenched.

September

The July Tree by @oknowkiss (E, 52k) 

Neither rain, nor snow, nor sleet, nor hail… nor well-meaning friends, nor questionable communication skills, nor seven years of hating each other’s guts can keep Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy from falling in love. OR: It’s Eighth Year, and Harry Potter has detention. What else is new? Well, since you asked: Greenhouse Four and the Tree of Life, for a start, and then there’s the new shared Eighth Year common room, and Harry’s sexuality, and these pesky dreams he keeps having about a blond man pushing him into things…

Pack by @rockingrobin69 (Not rated, 1.4k)

It was cute when they were in school, the whole rivalry thing. 

What Makes a House a Home by @writcraft (E, 27k)

Ten years after the Battle of Hogwarts Draco Malfoy wakes up in an unfamiliar house owned by none other than Harry Potter. Even stranger is the snow in September and a night sky without any stars. Naturally it’s a matter of life and death, because isn’t it always?

The Unspeakable by @the-sinking-ship (E, 24k)

Healer Draco Malfoy took the job at the International Department of Mysteries for the paycheck and the prestige.But what he got was Unspeakable Harry Potter and the most fascinating curse he’d ever seen.

October

The wrong sort by @vukovich (Not rated, 1.6k)

Draco half-rolled, half-fell onto his back, his skin sweaty against Harry’s sheets.  He licked his dry lips and exalted the plaster ceiling with, “Jesus fucking Christ.”

Howl by @tackytigerfic (M, 9k)

After an encounter with a vicious werewolf, Draco Malfoy wakes in a field hospital with a mangled shoulder, a furry little problem, and an inconvenient crush on Harry Potter. Potter, meanwhile, is still trying to save the world, only this time he wants Draco right there with him while he does it. Taking part in a rebellion against a corrupt regime isn't always glamorous, but at least sometimes there are organic farmshop pastries and fancy hotel bedsheets. Just don't ask about that smell of burning.

November

Under Giant Mountains by @wolfpants (E, 34k) 

Harry doesn't know where he's going. Everyone else has their life paths figured out; he doesn't even know where his map is. Who'd have thought Draco Malfoy bathing in a Norwegian forest would be the guidepost Harry needed?

but first, we fight by @nv-md (E, 8k) 

Fighting with Draco Malfoy has never been quite this thrilling...or this frustrating. Harry's always horny, Draco's in denial, and there simply isn't enough time in the day to fight crime and watch your ex-archnemesis wash his arse.

December

Tapestry by @kbrick (E, 51k) WIP

In 2017, Harry is on his way to Pansy and Luna's beach house. He’s a bit terrified of seeing Draco, to be honest. It’s been a while, and then there’s the little matter of Draco having married someone else in the interim.

In 2001, Draco is drunk, wearing Pansy's mother's ermine coat, and afraid to walk into the Leaky because someone might throw a curse at him. So, of course, he runs into his ex-nemesis and hopeless crush, Harry Potter.

The Same Sweet Shock by @xiaq (E, 17k) WIP

One day, Draco Malfoy is going to get his life together.

One day, he will be a respectable citizen. He will have a respectable job and his last name will no longer be a scarlet letter and people will no longer try to hex him in the street. One day, he is going to live a good, honest, ordinary life.

Today, however, is not that day. Because today, he is driving a stolen police car and will likely be responsible for murdering Harry Potter.

Accidentally, of course; not that the papers will care.

[roseunspindle]

C-dramas I've seen at least part of and am working my way through.

Ruyi's Royal Love in the Palace I rewatch this sooo much. I love it.

The Story of Minglan - adore. Haven't gotten all the way to the end but soon!

Curse of the Royal Harem - I'm only about 2 episodes in but man they already tried to entomb our main girl, Yee-lan alive.

Royal Feast - got a ways in but adhd struck. I plan to get back to it. Always made me so hungry...

The Legend of Yunxi - this one has a few more comedic moments to balance the serious. I'm enjoying.

The Sword and The Brocade - my current obsession. She's only just married in but ah! (Also nearly boiling her new husband alive.. 🤣)

Love between fairy and devil - I can only watch on YouTube so... I've only seen the first two episodes but I want more!

Consort Meng Arrives - this show is hilarious and I love it. Sadly at a certain point... ep 6 maybe? The subtitles get slow to where I just couldn't watch it 😭

Ashes of Love - 2 eps in I think...need to continue (and not just rewatch ruyi again...)

The Untamed - I actually own this on dvd. Wangxian forever ^_^

New Life Begins - just a few episodes left! So wholesome! I adore it so much.

Empresses in the Palace - enoying mostly just really confused why the put everyone's title in french which makes it harder to figure out who is being referred to.

Strange Tales of Tang Dynasty - I love it (kinda ship Su Wuming and Lu Lingfeng)

Story of Yanxi Palace - I just can't attach to this one... uncertain as to why.

[eatmeandbirthmeagain]

Can I request salahuddin and reader? It doesn’t have to be a ship just like a reaction really. I want the reader to be from another religion and she’s like really wild and like a troublemaker! Quite loud too! Like quite the opposite of salahuddin! I know it sounds crazy but I’m just very curious! Anyways love your work !!! <3

☆ Headcanons: Salahuddin x Outgoing Reader ☆

☆ Headcanons ☆

A/N: Hello Anon! Thank you for the request, I'm so glad you love my work! I do enjoy it when I get Salahuddin requests, I dont get many of them but when I do, I love it! I decided to do headcanons because I just thought it was better to get in more ideas out than a fic.

Also I hope you don't mind Anon but I made it a ship.. I couldn't help myself, it's such a cute dynamic. As always, this is based on the film Kingdom Of Heaven, not the real historical figures. Enjoy!

Okay to set the scene, you were the daughter of a powerful lord. A lord from a far away country looking to make a residence in the holy land in hopes of finding his daughter (you) a husband.

When Salahuddin first met you, he did not like you very much. Simple as that.

He thought you were immodest and loud.

However, after a little while of being around you he grew quite fond of you.

You weren't just loud, you were actually pretty fun to be around. And funny too.

More than once he had to stop himself from laughing at a comment that you made or a dumb joke.

You noticed this and made it your personal goal to make him lighten up a bit.

You were quite the trouble maker too. Always getting into something or getting into a fight with somebody.

He thought you were interesting. Things seemed much brighter around you for some reason that he could not quite place.

Salahuddin didn't know how to feel about you. He tried his best to be annoyed by your presence but your personality was far more vibrant than anybody he had ever met before.

He simply could not feel any negative emotions towards you. No matter how hard he tried.

No doubt he had taken a liking to you, but just how much he liked you and why wasn't evident until passing through the market with you, your father and a few other royal officials. 

After being caught stealing from a market stall, the owner (who did not recognise his king at the time) looked at him and yelled to “control your wife”. Salahuddin did not correct the angry man and simply apologized, pulling you away quickly.

He could not stop thinking about it for the rest of the day. You as his wife. Why didn't he correct the man? What was happening to him?

You were far too “untamed” to be a wife and you were not Muslim. It was just not possible.

But still, you stayed in his mind for the rest of the day.

This was obvious to you. You noticed that he was very quiet, especially around you and seemed to be in deep thought for a long while.

It had occurred to you that he did not correct the man at the market, perhaps that meant something?

You liked him, that's for sure. You liked how he tried so hard not to like you, it was oddly endearing for some reason. You couldn't quite put your finger on it.

That night, he couldn't sleep. You consumed his mind entirely.

There was something about you. Something that he tried so hard to ignore, but it wouldn't go away.

After hours of tossing and turning, he couldn't take it anymore and went to find you.

He knew you stayed up late every night, messing around with whatever you could get your hands on. 

He found you in the courtyard, halfway up a palm tree (??) for whatever reason. You never ceased to surprise him, he liked that.

Noticing him standing there, you jumped down from the tree and greeted him cheerfully.

The two of you took a walk around the courtyard, this was the first time you had been alone together.

“I could get used to this” he had thought.

You were your usual energetic self, even in the dead of night you were as colorful as ever.

You spoke of many things together, including how your father had not yet found somebody for you to marry and how you wished that somebody would ask you instead of him trying to find someone. 

As you said that, you looked up at him with a small smile that caused his heart to flutter slightly. This time, he didn't fight it.

You both talked for what felt like hours until Salahuddin suggested you both get some rest. You declined the offer but said that he was more than welcome to leave whenever he wished.

He simply smiled and told you goodnight before returning to his chambers.

He slept peacefully that night with the decision made that the following day, he would ask for your hand in marriage.

[themonotonysyndrome]

hello my lady!

how are you? i hope you are well.

i hope you know i adore your writing 🫶🏻

do you happen to have a part 2 to that oneshot? maybe another scenario of castin and the baroness when things were still icy? i’d love to hear things from castin’s pov as well.

unrelated, but i love the idea of the baroness being an absolute badass at combat. like being able to take down his men. and castin just being in awe.

anyways!! hope you’re well

thank you for all you do, you are so appreciated

Good evening, Anon! As I'm writing this, it's raining heavily at 10:12 PM, and my Bluetooth speaker is blasting Hit 'em up style by Blu Cantrell while sipping on some orange juice, cold and munching on sweets.

It makes me really happy.

Hmm... I wasn't thinking of continuing that oneshot, tbh, but you caught me in a good mood, Anon. We can explore that scenario a bit more!

do you happen to have a part 2 to that oneshot? maybe another scenario of castin and the baroness when things were still icy? i’d love to hear things from castin’s pov as well.

I'll be focusing on this since I've explained in an ask that while Celica can fight, it's mostly for self-defence and only when she's desperate. She wasn't trained to be a warrior; she's trained to fight dirty like an assassin.

So let's get to it!

-

"Rhett."

"Beloved."

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't throw your bro into the lake for making my girl upset."

"Castin does not make for a good fish food. Do you really want innocence to die from indigestion?"

"Can... can fish even get indigestion?"

The King of Intacia promptly snapped his mouth shut. A look of genuine contemplation is clear as day on his face. Normally, Isolde would've laughed and kissed him silly. It's just like her husband to be affronted over a piece of knowledge he lacks. Now? In this instance? On this day? On this beautiful day blessed by the Divine Couple themselves?

She's mad. Like, real mad. Mad enough to personally confront Castin, no bullshit. No King, no husband, no servants, no guards, no entourage and no pretence that it would be an amicable meeting.

If Isolde could see her reflection right now, she would've flinched in shock, but since there's none - only Rhett - the world remains blissfully unaware of how terrifying the Queen Ascendant truly is.

Rhett reaches out to her with a tentative hand. "Beloved..."

"No! No, Rhett! Don't you fucking dare try to pacify me," Isolde hisses, emerald-like eyes glowing with magic untamed as the ocean. "I gave not only Castin a chance but you as well. Forget about support from House Anesidora; if Castin made Celica cry? I'm finna be on a ship back to the Empire with her! 'Cause what the fuck, Rhett?"

"Anything that I say now regarding Castin will only sound like excuses - "

"Damn straight!"

" - and even though the Baroness has agreed to marry Castin - "

"Say sike right now. Rhett, I swear to the Conqueror, that better be a fucking joke."

"..."

Somewhere in the Palace, a fountain suddenly exploded. The unfortunate servants and nearby foreign dignitaries screamed and scatter like headless chickens. It's chaos.

"I'mma talk to your bro real quick."

Isolde forcefully yanked her hand free, her shoulders taunt with tension. Rhett scrambles after her, just barely able to stop her march. "Ok, look, I know this is not what you want to hear, but may I make a suggestion?"

"You're right - I don't."

"That is fine! Completely fine, Isolde. Then, I will speak to the air; don't mind me. Ahem. Sometimes, good intentions can go awry. It happens, right? Can we agree on that, please?"

The Queen Ascendant growls. Right. If Rhett wants to save Castin, he needs to watch whatever he says next carefully; every word counts. So he centres himself and has clear his thoughts. He ponders the bigger picture. What is truly important here? Uniting Intacia and the Coastal Empire. That has always been and will forever be Rhett's goal in life. His wife, friends and family deserve to grow old without war looming. But has he fallen into a tunnel vision? Did he nearly sacrifice the goodwill of his loved ones to accomplish that?

The answer had him pale, eyes widening in realisation. Suddenly, weariness seeps into his bones.

Seeing how defeated her husband looks broke Isolde's heart. She sighs, feeling just as defeated and so lost. She steadies him, and together, they sit on the ground. She couldn't care less how their clothes are dirtied.

"Rhett, I need you to listen to me very carefully here, ok? I know that your heart is in the right place; I do! It's one of the things that I love about you, sans kidnapping and all that. But the point is, in theory? Hooking our friends up and watching them ride off into the sunset in their wedding fit is awesome, great, a fairytale come to life. But we're not living in a fairytale, babe. Castin and Celica are just too different. They exist on opposite extremes, and you can't force them to change their nature."

The King is silent. His beloved's words are heavy and true. And then, he finally speaks, "We shouldn't interfere with them anymore. If the Baroness decides to revoke her agreement to marry Castin and withdraw her support, then... then that is her right and I will no longer darken her doorsteps. I will ensure her passage back home is safe. It's the least I could do. Could you please deliver my most sincere apologies to her? For the moment she steps foot on Intacian shores?"

Isolde pats his shoulder comfortingly. "There, there, Rhett. Don't be so sad. We're not gonna interfere with them anymore but let me talk to Celly first; check how pissed off she is because we might need to up our security."

"What on Earth for?"

"So you better let him know that if he mess up, you gotta hit 'em up."

-

Castin messed up big time. Major.

He lashed out at a woman who is not only the Queen Ascendant's bestie, but also the love of his life. Not that she knows that and at this rate, never will.

Ever since their telephone game turned into a trainwreck, flame and all, Baroness Anesidora never once left her assigned bedroom in the Palace. Her food is delivered when everyone knows King Rhett invites her to sup with the royal couple daily. She turns all but the Queen away when her friends come by for a visit. The maids in charge of cleaning the suite and attending her whisper that she's practically monosyllabic. No one but Castin, Isolde and Rhett knew the reason why.

Speaking of Isolde...

The Queen had chosen to have dinner with the Baroness this evening instead of her husband. Castin wanted to keep his brother company since things were still tense between him and the Baroness. Much to his dismay, however, Rhett wanted to be alone and ate his own meal in the office. This sucks - everything sucks!

And there's no one to blame but Castin.

He hates this. He hates himself for pushing the Baroness to a corner where she's forced to unsheath her claws. Again! He hates the chasm he created between Rhett and his wife. He hates how that little boy is still crying because he just can't fit in with the other Intacian boys.

Insecurity is a bitch.

He needs to make things right, and for that reason, he's been stealth-camping on the Baroness' balcony, patiently waiting for the Queen and the maids to bid her good night. When it's finally quiet inside, Castin continues to wait. A Noblewoman like Celica has a whole routine before she gets ready to turn in for the night and he didn't want to catch her mid-undressing. He doesn't want to create another international incident.

When he notices that only a single flicker of a candle is still lit, Castin finally takes his chance and slips into the room. He had already broken the lock when he heard the water running in the bathroom.

What he sees, however, made him feel shittier.

Baroness Anesidora is fast asleep at a table. Her head is cushioned by her arms, and books, journals, and documents are everywhere. She must've been working. It's a humbling experience for Castin since he only sees her in the morning, dressed to the nine with an arrogant smile. Seeing her now makes him want to grovel at her feet for refusing to believe that someone as strong and prideful as Celica Anesidora could ever get hurt by someone like him. A warrior with a mountain of baggage.

It takes considerable willpower for Castin to force himself to move, to do something. And so he snatches the duvet, and when he so gently covers the Baroness to ensure she stays warm, he sees what she has been working hard on:

New Intacian-Coastal Empire trade tariff proposal with rates that favours Intacia underneath carefully written lines of negotiations. A protection treaty for foreign investors regarding their assets ensures non-interference from the local aristocracy, including House Anesidora and covers disaster contingencies. On top of a stack of paper beside the Baroness' head is a financial incentive document designed to attract international entrepreneurs specialising in all sorts of industry; notes scribbled below outline tax breaks, subsidies and funding for foreign innovators, especially those from Steelgate. Lastly, a legislative document to be proposed to the King and Queen outlined Intacia's commitment to protecting foreign merchant fleets and caravans from threats like pirates, rogue Ascendants, and political rebellions while traversing to and from the country.

A wave of shame rolls over Castin. While he's too busy antagonising the Baroness, she's busy fleshing out a detailed economic framework for Intacia to stand strong once more.

"I'm so sorry..." Castin whispers. He wants to hold her, to kiss and tells her to not neglect her health; fuck, Goddess, help him, he's caught under this woman's spell, and he doesn't want to break free. "Don't hate me too much, yeah?"

Before he slips outside and stands guard (because of the broken lock on the balcony's door), he leaves his favourite book with a pressed Hibiscus - his favourite flower - inside. His first step in earning the Baroness' forgiveness.

[captaingrebelguf]

I Can Do Better

Ciao, ciao, ciao. Life is too short; so I've brought another drabble to the two (maybe three or four?) party fan club that I am still dragging my sweet, patient @copiousloverofcopia along with me. Sorry, girl. lol <3

Once again dicking around in the magical AU that came from the mind of the ever lovely: @copiousloverofcopia.

Mrs. Prime Mover Sister Alessandra borrowed from Prime Mover Ren and her series, Tied as One Eternally. Please read. It's life changing. And Ren is the best. Anything you click on written by her will instantly make your day better and leave you beyond flustered. Ayyyoooo!

Be well, be good to each other, and happy Thursday, my dudes.

-----------

Okay. So, this takes place a way a way back...

Terzo handed his radiant, exhausted, (and kind of sweaty) Prime Mover a plastic cup full of ice chips. 

Alessandra stared dumbfoundedly at her husband as if he had three heads; hesitating to take the ice, “Terz… I said--”

“I have Omega and Alpha headed out to go get the shawarma order, it's not something the kitchen could handle,” Terzo cut her off, scrunching his nose at her and placing the cup at her bedside, “Paziente, Mama.”

Alé groaned, letting her head fall back against the mountain of pillows fluffed up behind her, “I’m not going to make it."  

Terzo smiled brightly as he brought his lips to give her a chaste kiss on her forehead, “Soon, cara, soon. You’re strong as hell, Alessandra; this is a cakewalk.”

“You have no idea,” Alessandra sighed in agreement before a yawn slipped out; she looked down at the hour-old infant bundled in her arms. Dante Alessandro Emeritus, their second child, their first son; already had his parents wrapped around all his ten fingers. His button nose was the spitting imitation of Mena’s as a baby. His tufts of soft, ebony-hued hair were already a mess. Dante had Terzo’s full lips and matching eye colors. Alessandra couldn’t see much of herself in their newest addition, but she knew their son was going to be one handsome bastard. Just like his Papa.

“I’m starving,” Alé pouted, stretching her achy back as she gave her husband pouty eyes. Terzo gave her an apologetic smile, biting his tongue before he let himself foolishly mention something else she could put in her mouth.

“Don’t,” Alé warned sternly; knowing exactly where his train of thought was going, “I am in no mood for your jokes.”

“I wasn’t!” Terzo lied, laughing as he stroked his wife’s untamed curls. Alé scoffed, rightfully not believing him. 

“You really are amazing, cara,” Terzo murmured, taking in his strong-willed Prime Mover holding their child at her breast. He lowered his gaze to their son, ‘Satanas, did they make great looking kids.’

Alé smiled tiredly from her cot in the ministry’s infirmary, proudly taking the compliment. Once they had made it from Dante’s impromptu birth suite in the hallway, the nursing staff quickly threw together a temporary private room for the family. Alessandra and Dante had both been fully checked out and given the ‘all clear’ by the physician. Terzo silently watched everything from Alé’s side, slightly shell-shocked as the adrenaline died down.

“He’s pretty handsome, huh?” she whispered still in a happy dopamine-filled daze; her heart couldn’t feel more full looking between a father and his son, “I wonder if you looked like this when you were born..”

Terzo smiled sadly; he couldn't help but instantly think of his own childhood, his own mother. He turned his head away from Alé. She continued to coo over their son, laughing to herself, “Just imagine: now you get to be tormented the same way you punished Primo all those years. What goes around, comes around, Terz.”

Terzo didn’t reply, the fears he’d been suppressing over the last nine months all hit him at once. The memories of his miserable childhood seeped back in as he tried to focus on anything else in the room. Traumatically losing his own mother. Being shipped across the country from one sect to another, before finally arriving at the ministry as a young child. And then immediately being tossed aside by Nihil; already having been inconvenienced enough to have a third unwanted child dropped on his doorstep. Terzo never forgot that dejected, hollow feeling from the man who was supposed to care and love for him.

Terzo held out for longer than he would ever admit waiting for Nihil to see him as his son; waiting for him to be proud. Terzo remembered all the times he had been caught in the middle of Nihil's drunken rage; being screamed at and having items thrown at him. He remembered the silent car rides growing up where Nihil couldn't even pretend to be interested in his own sons' lives. Or Nihil disappearing for months on end on drug benders. The cigarette ashes being flicked at him if he ever said the wrong thing at the wrong time. The public monologues of what a disappointment Terzo was to him.

Terzo looked up at the ceiling and turned his body away from his partner and child, pleading with himself to think of anything else. But the ‘what ifs’ kept circling back. What if this was his future? What if he ended following his own disappointing father’s footsteps and let his own kids down? What if he ended up being a failure?

“Terz?” Alé asked, looking away from the infant only to be met with her husband's back side; realizing he had gotten strangely quiet. He had his arms folded snugly at his chest and stood as straight as an arrow. She saw his shoulders sag down as he took a ragged, calming breath.

“Terzo, what is going on?” Alé pressed again, more worry evident in her voice, “What’s wrong?”

He slowly turned around, avoiding eye contact, mustering up a smile for her sake. Alé could see the misty look in his eyes and held her hand out to her partner, “Terzo, what’s wrong?”

He sniffled and let out a short laugh, he took his wife’s hand, giving it three squeezes, “I’m sorry, cara mia. Everything seems to have caught up to me all at once. I'm just emotional.”

Alé rubbed her thumb over his knuckles soothingly, smiling softly, “I knew you couldn’t be that calm, cool, and collected.”

Terzo chuckled, waving her off, trying to shrug off the conversation, “Sadly: no. Fake it until you make it. I’ll be fine, amore. Promise."

“Well, that's a lie. If you don’t talk to me right now, I swear to Lucifer you will never see me naked again,” Alessandra warned, trying to get her husband to crack. She raised an eyebrow at him as she waited for his response.

Terzo laughed as he dropped himself down into the folding chair the staff had pulled out for him next to Alé’s cot, “Eh. You got me. It’s just been a lot--”

Dante interrupted their conversation with a few snuffles and coos sounding like it might lead into a good cry. Alessandra smiled down at her first son; she gently clutched him closer to her chest, swaying him. She couldn’t believe he was finally here, still thanking Lucifer all went well. Terzo looked away from the infant, choosing instead to stare into the space in front of him as he debated about how to go about this conversation.

Alessandra interrupted his thoughts, “I just realized: Terzo, I’ve been hogging the baby, why don’t you hold him?”

“No, no, cara,” Terzo woke out of his trance and shook his head, trying to lighten the mood, “You’ve earned this, you did all the hard work. You keep the fresh baby.”

Alé rolled her eyes at him, scoffing as she started to move the infant from her chest, trying to swiftly pass him off to Terzo before little Dante started to stir again, “No one likes a martyr, Papa." 

Terzo’s arms remained firmly crossed and unmoving over his chest, “Alé…”

“Why don’t you want to hold your son?” Alé sternly questioned, before slightly grinning and teasing him, “Don't pull a Nihil." 

Terzo pursed his lips, feeling the knot in his throat forming again. Alé immediately regretted her words, knowing she had struck a nerve. She moved Dante back into one arm and with her free hand she reached to rub her husband’s arm, “I'm sorry. That wasn't funny. I didn't mean it like that…" 

“Alessandra,” he finally sputtered, speaking a mile a minute, “I’m so scared this will be different and I won’t have the same bond I have with Mena. What if Dante is like me and he’s a stronzetto? What if I yell at him? What if he hates me? What if I don't have the patience for him? I… I can’t be like Nihil.”

“You’re not!” Alé exclaimed, grasping his hand, giving it a gentle, but firm shake, “You are nothing like him. You are an incredible father, Terzo. I don’t know how many more people you need to hear this from. You are the best father I could ask for for our children. You’re a little… much at times, but you are everything Mena and Dante deserve from a dad. You are nothing like him in the ways where it matters. Why didn’t you bring this up earlier? You promised me no more secrets, Terz. We're in this together." 

Terzo tipped forward and buried his head in his hands, “I don’t have a good excuse. I know you’ve been struggling and worried about having two kids and I refused to add more undue stress to your plate. And… I waited too long to bring this up…”

She reached out and rubbed circles on his back, “My sweet idiot. You are nothing like Nihil. The fact that you’re even having these thoughts is asinine.” 

Terzo didn’t reply at first. He began to open his mouth and then it felt like there was an elephant’s foot on his chest crushing all the air out, “What if I do treat Dante like how Nihil treated me and Primo and Secondo?”

“Again: you won’t,” Alé replied, completely dismissing the idea, “You’re better than that, Terz. After everything he put you through, you know what to do and what not to do. Look at Mena. I think we’re doing a pretty damn good job with her! A little spoiled, no thanks to you, but I think we’re doing well.”

Terzo smiled up at his wife, sniffling as he carefully dabbed at the black smudging around his eyes, “Time will tell… But I can’t stop thinking about it. Every night before bed. Every morning I wake. When there’s a quiet moment in my office. Every time I'm tucking Mena into bed. What if I become my father?”

“Terzo,” Alessandra scolded, “You will never become Nihil, you care too much. You're a good man. Now stop being a fool and hold your son.”

Terzo sat up and shook his head, “I’m not ready. Not yet.”

Alé disappointedly sat back, holding the newborn baby tightly to her, “I didn’t realize you were this upset about it, Terzo.”

“Eh, the paperwork, the Papa duties shit, chasing Mena around, and courting you all day are pretty good distractions. As I said: I know you had enough to worry about already,” Terzo admitted to his partner. He looked over at his son as his thoughts began to swarm his mind again.

‘I have a son’ kept reverberating in his brain. He couldn’t believe it, after nine long months, he was finally here. And Terzo was able to be there for Alé the entire pregnancy this time around. He was there for all the milestones: every ultrasound, the first hiccups, the first movements, being there to massage out any and every cramp she had, playing him music (Meliora being the first album once they were convinced the unborn child could hear), the midnight cravings, being there to help Alé with her birth plan (a sad waste of time looking back on it now), and especially feeling his son respond and move when he sang to him. Terzo loved every second of it. Their son was worth it all. Dante wriggled against his mother, making tiny huffing noises; unable to fathom how loved he was already.

“I can't believe he's already here,” Terzo murmured, trying to change the subject, he was hypnotized by the small creature, “I’m sorry for dumping this on you… it should be a happy time... and-- I'm sorry, amata.”

Alé smirked, still watching their son with his Emeritus-colored eyes, sleepily looking up at her, “You’ll learn this soon, Dante. Your Papa makes bad choices; just really, really poor choices and he’s a damned fool. I think he's just scared of you overthrowing him. But believe me, he will grow on you after a while.”

Terzo scoffed as he briefly stood from his seat to kiss Alé’s flushed forehead, “You’re something else, dolce.”

“You’re something special, too. You're a good man. You're a great father. Stop doubting yourself; there's a reason I keep you around and let you knock me up," Alessandra teased, trying to lighten the mood, “I think being retired has made you soft. What happened to the arrogant, self-righteous Papa with an ego so large, it could barely fit through the door.”

Terzo stuck his tongue in his cheek and folded his hands behind his head, laid back as much as he could in the plastic seat, “I’ll show you large.”

“There he is,” Alé giggled, shaking her head. She stroked Dante’s cheek, softening her voice, “These kids have no idea how lucky they are to have a role model as compassionate, empathetic, supportive, and courageous as you.”

“Ah, tesoro, you’re making me blush,” Terzo fanned his face, finding himself unable to pull away from her loving gaze, “Thank you for the pep talk.”

“I mean, do you think Nihil was even present for any of your guys being born? Let alone delivering a baby! You’ve already surpassed him in “dad-ing”. None of this would have been possible without you, again, Dr. Papa Emeritus the Third,” Ale cackled, tossing her head back, gently rousing Dante again.

“Okay, circling back to that,” Terzo began ramping up for his spiel with wide eyes, already waving his arms wildly, “We’re choosing a date for you to be induced next time. Because I’m not doing this any more!”

“Oh, I’m so sorry the problem you helped create is inconvenient for you!” Alessandra mocked, still laughing to herself. 

“It’s not the birth, it's the fact that you keep having me on the receiving end. You know my track record, Alessandra! I’m going to drop the next one!”

“In the name of Lucifer,” Alé groaned quietly as her laughter ceased, wiping at her eyes, “There is not going to be a ‘next one’.”

Terzo’s well-prepared, crude response was interrupted by a soft knock at the door, “We will follow up on this later.”

"There is nothing to discuss!" Alé scoffed as Terzo sarcastically nodded in agreement as he stood.

Once he reached the entryway, he opened the door to see his two older brothers, and there excitedly hanging onto Zio Secondo was Terzo’s perfect daughter.

“Tesoro! Complimenti, Mena! You’re a big sister!” Terzo cried out, holding out his arms to his daughter; both just as equally excited to see each other. Mena almost threw herself out of Secondo’s hold as she eagerly stretched out her arms to her father.

Secondo handed his niece off into her father’s embrace, “We heard congratulations are in order, eh?”

“She did it again, Alé was an absolute macchina. A whole even 8lbs and a whopping 20.6 inches. Maybe the generational stature curse will skip him!” Terzo teased as he shook his ‘older’ brother's hands while balancing Mena on his hip.

Secondo peered past the dim glow of the room, studying his brother’s face. He looked down on him, momentarily lowering his sunglasses, “Perché stai piangendo?” 

Terzo waved him off as he continued to rock his daughter before changing the subject, “I assume you’ve heard where he made his entry?”

“We are aware. Sister Imperator is already there assessing the damage. She’s furious, Terzo. If only you could hear the screeches coming out of her mouth. She’s already roped in as many of the nosy ghouls and siblings loitering around to help facilitate clean-up,” Secondo chuckled, already so proud of his nephew and his excellent choice in timing; already sticking it to Sister. He carefully extracted a wrapped Cuban cigar from the pocket of his onyx suit and handed it to Terzo, “Congratulazioni, fratello.”

“Lo apprezzo molto. Grazie, fratello,” Terzo replied, touched by the gesture before tucking it safely into his breast pocket. Secondo gave him a brotherly pat on the shoulder as he stepped aside for Primo.

“We didn’t want to intrude, but our nipote had been asking nonstop about you two; she is aware her brother has arrived. She’s been insistent on finding her Mama and Papa,” Primo explained from the doorway.

“Thank you for babysitting her, ti devo,” the new father expressed his gratitude as Primo enveloped both him and his daughter into a bear hug. The lingering smell of warm sun beamed off Primo’s button-up shirt, he must have been out gardening when he heard the news. The familiar, comforting aroma lifting a weight off his soul. 

“Non c'è di che,” Primo replied softly as he stepped back from the embrace, “Well, we’ve done our parts. We will let you four have your family time, please let us know if you need anything else. We’re here for you.”

“Nonsense!” Terzo insisted, “You are family, too. Let me check with the mama.”

“Only if it’s not intruding,” Secondo reminded him, before shuffling his hands together, “But… we are excited to meet our nephew.”

“You should be, he’s a looker. He’s going to be something special, just like his big sister,” Terzo beamed at his daughter, receiving a shy giggle in return. He held up a finger as he and Mena headed behind the privacy curtain to see Alé and Dante,  “Aspetta un po’!”

“Mama!” Mena squealed as soon as she laid eyes on her mother in the bed; noting something bundled and stirring in her arms. She began to try and wiggle herself free from Terzo’s hold to run to Alé’s bedside. Terzo clung onto the toddler and fought her tiny iron fists squeezing out of his arms. They had wanted the meeting of the siblings to be a little more controlled and calm. Terzo was insistent on this. From all the books he had devoured over the past nine months, trying to fully prepare himself this time around, he had some idea what he was doing; surprising even himself.

“Oh, my Mena!” Alé’s eyes began to mist up at the sight of her first born, remembering bringing Mena home for the first time years before, “I’m so happy to see you, I’ve missed you, baby.”

“Missed you, too, Mama,” Mena dittoed. She whined against her father, trying to bend herself backwards out of his arms.

“Mena, aspetta, per favore,” Terzo struggled out, beginning to lose hold over his incredibly strong child, “Alé, amore, are you willing to see ai ragazzi? You don’t have to if you’re not up to it.”

“Of course!” Alessandra warmly welcomed the visitation as she sat herself up and pulled her robe back over her chest and shoulders, regaining a little modesty before receiving her brothers-in-law.

Terzo winked at her as he obviously captured one more mental image of her exposed breasts. Alessandra scoffed in disgust at her partner and rolled her eyes, patting down her hair as he turned away to gather their guests.

“Alright, gentlemen,” Terzo excitedly began, waving them into the nurse’s room, “Let’s go say hello!”

The group headed past the curtain to be met with the glowing vision of Prime Mover Alessandra and her newborn son. The exhaustion was still evident on her beautiful face as she happily greeted her guests. She shifted Dante in her arms to allow the older Emerituses a quick peek. Primo and Secondo cooed afar at the newborn as they seated themselves in the other pair of fold out chairs; letting Mena and her new brother have their moment.

Terzo mentally prepared himself, asking his daughter, “Tesoro, are you ready to meet your fratellino?”

“Yes!” Mena whispered excitedly, desperate to get into her mother’s arms.

Terzo and Mena approached Alé and Dante in the bed as Mena began to take in the view of her new sibling. 

“Hi, baby,” Alessandra cooed to her first born. Terzo leaned in to allow Mena to give her a kiss. Alessandra couldn’t believe it seeing her children before her; they had two kids now. Two. She couldn’t comprehend how she had agreed to this again. But she took faith in her husband’s reaffirming words: they’d figure it out and they’d be fine, “Mena, this is your brother, this is Dante.”

The four sat in a brief silence allowing Mena to adjust and take everything in. Terzo hugged Mena a little tighter, drawing her attention to her father, "What do you think, tesoro?”

“He’s hairy,” Mena stared at the newborn intently, taking in all his features.

“He… he is a little hairy… isn’t he?” Terzo hesitantly agreed with his oldest, the books did not prepare him for this scenario, “You too had a lot of hair when you were born, stellina.”

“I remember,” Mena nodded stoically. Terzo and Alé glanced at each other and shared a skeptical, but confused look.

“Eh, right,” Terzo broke the silence, “Do you want to say hello to him, Mena?”

“Ok,” the eldest Emeritus heir nodded slowly; still a little skeptical of the new human nestled in her mother’s arms.

Terzo lowered their daughter onto the bed next to Alé and Dante. Terzo fluffed up a pillow behind her to give her a little extra support. Mena burrowed against her mother, clinging to her arm, but still kept a curious eye on her newborn brother.

“He isn’t scary, I promise,” Alé empathetically whispered to her daughter, “You can get closer to look at him.”

Mena sat up, her small hands still firmly planted on her mother’s arm for security. She peered down at Dante’s face. Alé shifted her arms to move Dante closer to his sibling, he lightly stirred before silently yawning; his eyes still adjusting to his new environment.

“Hi, Dante,” Mena tilted her head, giving her new sibling an unsure, but welcoming smile. Mena cautiously reached a hand out to touch the blanket he was wrapped up in, seeming to relax a little more against her mom. Her little brother tried to focus on her face as she looked down on him. She squinted, inspecting the newborn before whispering for just Alé to hear, “He has my eyes.”

“He does, doesn’t he?” Ale laughed quietly at the innocent revelation, stroking her daughter’s curls, “Don’t you think he looks like Daddy?”

Mena glanced back to observe her father before turning back to her brother, shrugging, “I guess.”

“What do you think, my love? How does it feel to have a little brother so far?” Alé smiled, pressing her lips to her daughter’s crown.

" He's okay…” Mena agreed, taking in her sibling's features before nodding assuredly to herself, "He's gonna be trouble.”

The room erupted in laughter at her statement. Primo gave Terzo a stern, knowing nod, remembering just how much trouble Terzo truly was as a child.

"I'm glad he gets your seal of approval!” Terzo teased smirking at his daughter. Relieved the meeting of the two seemed to be going well.

“Do you want to hold him, Mena?" Alessandra offered.

Mena nodded softly as her mother carefully placed Dante into her tiny, outstretched arms. Terzo's hands waiting on the side of the bed to catch him if Mena lost interest; as he had witnessed her doing with her baby dolls before dropping them to the floor.

“See?" Alessandra began, beaming down at the two humans she created, “Holding a baby isn't that scary, Terzo." 

“I don't need your merde," Terzo jokingly muttered in a hushed tone, glowering at her while trying to mask his amusement at her taunts.

“I'm only teasing, my love," Alé winked, wrapping her arm around their daughter and resting her cheek on her head, “Mena, tell your Papa it isn't scary to hold him." 

“You held me, why don’t you hold Dante?” Mena innocently asked, not taking her eyes away from Dante’s face. She seemed to be entranced by the baby as she gently held onto his small hand; taking in all of his features and the strange noises he made.

"That's not fair," Terzo chided Alé for using his daughter against him, clenching his jaw through a tense smile. She flashed a wicked smile at him and a wink.

"You haven't held your own son, yet?” Secondo piped up, joining in on the gentle hen-pecking of his younger brother, "Why won't you hold the baby, Terzo? You are scared, aren't you? Might drop him, mani di ricotta?”

"Stai zitto, testa di minchia,” Terzo seethed at his brother, glaring daggers. Primo gently nudged the middle Emeritus brother, breaking up their spat. Primo could read Terzo like a book and this wasn't the right time; his little brother was more tense than usual.

Primo rose from the seating in the infirmary room and made his way silently to his family. He rested a hand on Terzo's shoulder as he peered at the newest arrival.

“You’re doing so well, tesoro,” Primo complimented Mena, “You’re already such a good big sister.”

“Grazie,” Mena grinned up at her beloved uncle before returning to coo at her little brother.

"He truly is the spitting image of you, Terzo. At least from the few pictures your mama had of you when you arrived here,” Primo recollected, softly smiling as he basked in the glow radiating from the family snuggled on the bed.

“Bah, how would you remember that?” Terzo scoffed at his brother, wrapping his arm around him, patting his back. Primo leaned into the sideways hug, returning the embrace.

"You really would be surprised by all that I remember,” he smiled at his younger brother, tapping at his temple. He leaned close and spoke in a hushed, reassuring tone, "Sei dieci volte più padre per loro di quanto lo sia mai stato per noi. Non avere preoccupazioni." 

Terzo’s eyes widened as his hand clasped over his heart, “Cazzo stregone. Esci dalla mio mente.”

Primo chuckled as he gave his brother another pat on the back, "I know you fairly well, stronzo. Now get that garbage off your mind and celebrate the arrival of your son.”

“Ave Satanas. Grazie, fratello," Terzo shook his head in disbelief. 

“Sí, sí. Go tend to your tua moglie," Primo gestured forward.

Terzo gave his brother's arm a thankful squeeze as he turned his attention back to Alé and their kids. He lowered back down onto the chair, eye-height with Mena, “Tutto bene?”

“Sí!" Mena asserted, “He's very interesting." 

Terzo nodded, pretending to understand, “You're telling me he's not too bad to hold, eh?" 

Mena nodded vigorously as if she were an expert now, “Oh yes, he's a good baby." 

“Alright, Terzo broke the brief silence, clearing his throat. He held his arms out towards his son, “I’m ready for a turn then.”

Notes:

Paziente -- Patience Stronzetto -- Little asshole Complimenti/Congratulazioni -- Congratulations Macchina -- Machine Perché stai piangendo? -- Why were you weeping? Lo apprezzo molto -- I appreciate it Nipote - neice Ti devo -- I owe you Non c'è di che -- Don’t mention it Aspetta un po’ -- Wait a second Ai ragazzi -- the boys Stellina -- little star Mani di ricotta -- butterfingers Testa di minchia -- dickhead Sei dieci volte più padre per loro di quanto lo sia mai stato per noi. Non avere preoccupazioni.-- You are ten times more of a father to them than he ever was to us. Don't have worries. Cazzo stregone. Esci dalla mio mente. -- Fucking witch. Get out of my head. Tua moglie -- Your wife Tutto bene? - All good?

[andthatisnotfake]

40 for 40

Starting the countdown to my 40th birthday by posting a drabble a day until then (literally exactly 100 words each).

It'll be 40 different ships, some of which I've never written or even read fic for, so please bear with me. I hope they don't turn out too OOC lol.

I'm pinning this post and will be adding links to the drabbles here, after a read more.

I hope you all enjoy them and celebrate my birthday with me!

1 - Madirosh: Goal!

2 - Matt x Tommy: The sunset couldn't compete

3 - Runhlidia: Suffocating

4 - Dralivia: Home

5 - Elle x Tao: Flowers

6 - Taywhora: Good food, champagne and pretty girls

7 - Kurtofsky: Too sick for fashion

8 - FirstPrince: Suck on it!

9 - Diamond Chaney: Spilled coffee

10 - Branjie: Just be happy

11 - Ca$h x Darren: Darren and Ca$h sitting on a tree...

12 - Patrochilles: Silent Vows

13 - Haruka x Michiru: The Sun Inside

14 - Vegebul: The Only Alternative

15 - Quinlar: Better than sunball

16 - Asttimini: Catastrophe

17 - Ineffable Husbands: Teacher Aziraphale

18 - Ed x Stede: Offended

19 - Bertvannah: New Look

20 - David x Patrick: Cheap Tactic

21 - Darcy x Tara: Just like in old times

22 - Fiyeraba: Cliché

23 - Brittana: The Future

24 - Havolina: Shoot your shot

25 - Stedrika: Natural enemies

26 - Kurtbastian: Love Kicks

27 - GreenTia: Not starry night

28 - Rune x Addam: Midnight blue roses

29 - Amerie x Malakai : Untamed

30 - Kofi Grande: Snack

31 - Poppy x Casteel: Watching

32 - Gelphie: Hair

33 - Black Cherry: Company

34 - Zutara: Bedtime story

35 - Wilmon: Funny Coincidence

[garthcelyn]

A new game of "did I not post this or is Tumblr's searching dogshit" - anyway!

Pod 148 - Lloyd

The program was meant as humanity’s last ditch effort. Shuttles sent to major cities, their trajectory set to sail among the stars. The Redeemable stood tall in the remains of Cardiff, all gleaming steel and pristine paint, a sore thumb in the midst of the rubble. Passes were issued to those considered Welsh enough, those who would represent what was left of the country. Mared had fought for one for her daughter; despite being a member of the Senedd, it was decided that her strange half-American offspring was not meant to make it. Now the child stood motionless in the pod beside her mother’s, suspended in time as the frost slowly took over the glass. The father stood outside, firmly set on Earth, preparing to wave the departure of his family to God knows where. Never to be seen again. Lloyd had worked with him briefly, both fiddling with last minute electrical checks, making sure everything ran smoothly. He didn’t ask his name, but knew he still managed to make good coffee despite the End and wore his wedding ring around his neck so it could lay against his heart. They spoke of the sports teams they pretended to be interested in, swapped old family recipes, and held each other as their impending doom drew closer. Now Lloyd stood on the ship as the technicians set up his own pod, looking back at his short term friend.

The pod was like a coffin. Barely padded, a metal rectangle filled with wires attached to an arm to the wall. His shoulders brushed the sides, a little too wide for them to hold him right but it was too late to back out. Stomach churning, he couldn’t help but think of his father back at home, the man whose space he had taken. It was easy. Lloyd had been greying since he was fourteen, wide streaks of white parting his dark brown hair. Tall, broad, with the same farmer’s tan that marked every other man in his family. Old John was sick, a fact he had kept to himself right up until the day he was meant to set off to Cardiff. They wanted workers, strong and fit, to shoot into the vast ocean of space, and Old John was neither. He assured Lloyd that he’d never make it out there, pressed the pass into his hand as his older brother watched in disdain, and sent him off.

Mared had given him a lukewarm bottle of water, sat him down when she suspected he wasn’t his father. They spoke. She understood. She told him that if she could, she would have let her husband take her place, all the while watching as the man played with his daughter one last time, swinging her in circles as the girl laughed, giddy with excitement of the unknown. Neither parent told her that it would be the last time she would see her father.

“It’s cruel,” she had explained, “but if it means she lives, I would have given her my spot. I would have done anything.”

The girl’s name was Lucy, but she liked being called Luka and loved wolves and proudly proclaimed that she’s a big girl now. She was six, with gaps in her teeth she had yet to feel self conscious about, her hair a mass of untameable curls that she refused to let her mother touch. She was going to be an electrician just like her dad, was going to play football professionally, and was going to own an animal sanctuary in Utah one day, despite barely knowing what a Utah was. When the sun started to set, Mared let her exhausted, panting daughter climb into her lap, hiding her face in Mared’s wheat blonde hair as she let her mother stroke her back in small circles.

Before she stepped into her coffin, after sending her daughter to what might be their death, she gave him a small wobbling smile and a stiff nod that he returned.

It was cold in the pod. An oxygen mask now strapped over his mouth, all plastic and greasy rubber clinging to his damp skin. Around him the metal beast rumbled impatiently. The smell of smoke hung in the air, coming through the miles of tubes running through the ship. He felt weightless, still awake in his cage as they took off. The tubes tickled his skin, threatening to remove the needles set deep into his arms, pouring a liquid that meant to keep him alive through cryosleep. Technicians stopped bustling, strapping themselves to seats to observe, even if it meant their lives in the long run. Lloyd’s heart refused to beat into a panicked flutter, remaining slow and steady despite everything. Though his heart was calm, his mind was a furious flurry of regret. His brother, Iestyn, would have jumped at the chance, if he had only been offered. If Old John didn’t take favourites. They wanted farmers and got Lloyd, the youngest son of a youngest son who didn’t even have a driver’s licence yet. Too young, yet old enough to pass as his father to those not paying attention.

In the final moments, as the shuttle threatened to leave their atmosphere, as Lloyd’s eyes finally began to drift closed, he thought of Mared, some welsh senator he never voted for but had shown him kindness in their final days, of Luka who was far too young to die on a destitute planet or in the confines of space. But most of all he thought of the future; the flickering amount of hope he forced himself to have, even as his heart slowed to a stop.

[ao3feed-xicheng]

Cant I take care of you?

by Anonymous This is a prompt fic. The prompt was that Jiang Cheng has the same chronic illness as Yanli and how the illness affects him. Xicheng was one of the allowed ships so I went with that one. I went with IBS as I am a sufferer of this illness. I hope the prompter likes this story! Words: 1736, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Fandoms: 陈情令 | The Untamed (TV) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: M/M Characters: Jiang Cheng | Jiang Wanyin, Lan Huan | Lan Xichen Relationships: Jiang Cheng | Jiang Wanyin/Lan Huan | Lan Xichen Additional Tags: Fluff, Soft, Prompt Fic, Chronic Illness, Jiang Cheng has IBS, Getting Together, Falling In Love, looking after each other, realising that illness does not define you, Sharing a Bed, Soft Kisses, snuggles, time jump to when they are husbands, Text Messages, Lan Huan wants to take care of Jiang Cheng via https://ift.tt/LAKMEop

[demenior]

go full keith ya dumbass and the novaks for wip ask

Check my list of current wips here and send me a title and I’ll post a bit or share some details about it.

the novaks is where i've been putting ideas about how The Novak Family fits in the the love it takes series. The basic idea is that the Novaks (Amelia and Claire) end up in the Winchester orbit at some point, and then pain. I don't have any scenes written, but here's the ideas:

Amelia reads Dean n Cas a new one for stealing and killing her husband

When she finds out Dean n Cas are Together she rightfully goes after Dean for sleeping with her husbands’ corpse

Why couldn’t Cas have taken someone else? Why couldn’t he have gotten a new vessel? Does he even understand how hard it is to know Jimmy’s gone? That Jimmy trusted Cas and now he’s dead, and now they have an empty grave because Cas is still out in the world with Jimmy’s body and neither Amelia nor Claire can get any closure

Amelia also gets to be pissed for the crisis of faith she got: God and angels are real, but they don’t care about you. They will destroy your family and you get nothing in return.

Claire asks Cas to hold her for a minute. Because that's her dad, or at least his body. It's a strange creature wearing her dad's skin and calling it his own now. And she's a girl who lost her father and misses him desperately.

“Dad put his arms like this” “Do you want me to do that?” “Yeah. And don’t… don’t talk for a minute, okay?”

She just wants to be held by her dad one last time, and cries into Cas' arms

Claire, who can kinda Perceive Cas’ true form, because she’s a vessel: hey you got bigger (or changed?)

Cas, looking at Claire who is a few years older now: so did you

---

go full keith ya dumbass is a segment from an (unfinished) Switch the Beat series (Voltron) in which, well, Keith was going Full Keith and launching himself into space. This bit focused on Keith tapping into the bond with the Red Lion, as I was going to start exploring the Paladin bond (and what the Lions are) in the next Switch story

--

The darkness of Keith's closed eyes grows deeper, like Keith has stepped into something dark and enveloping. Gravity finds him, and Keith settles on his feet. There's cold around his ankles, a river moving in one direction.

He's been here before. This is what it's like to bond with a lion. The water is alive in the way a wild animal is alive. It's unpredictable, unknowable and untamable. At this first level it's mostly safe. The current isn't too strong, the water is shallow. Keith would have to work to be lost here. But to strengthen the bond he has to venture deeper. To be heard he needs to be deeper. 

Keith walks slowly, testing his steps before he commits his weight. He runs through the training in his mind.

The first layer of the bond is simple. It's basic awareness. He can command his Lion from here, but it's basically like treating it like any other ship. There's nothing special here, but it is the first step in becoming a Paladin. Allura has guided them here several times before. Keith glances down at his hands-- he can see the strings that represent the other Paladins tied around his wrists. They never tangle, and they don't get dragged along in the water. They float off into the darkness, to some unknowable destination. Keith isn't sure how it connects them all, but he knows the deeper they go, even when they form Voltron, he can feel the others like an echo in his bones. 

Keith finds his way to the gate. The second level, to go deeper into the bond, lays ahead. He rarely taps into this-- only in the midst of battle when they need to form Voltron or he needs his Lion to respond to him in ways no ship can.

The gate is made of stairs, almost invisible in the dark and under the flow of chilled water. Keith stands on the edge. He can remember standing on this precipice all those weeks ago, the first time they formed Voltron, when the bonds on his wrist had dragged him down and into the dark. 

"Hey!" He calls, "can you hear me? I need help!"

He waits, and waits, and there is no response. The water is freezing, even through his armor. Keith can see his breath when he exhales.

"Okay," he decides, "I'm coming in." 

Keith walks down the stairs.