#ill come back next week with some of this colored

[nvenjpg]

it seems the fandom wasnt dead at all im sorry atfeuygifuhahosjems, now take this,,, byee

[homiesexual-or-homosexual]

King! Eddie Munson but w/ dragons

Pairing: King!Eddie Munson x Princess!reader

Warnings: Eddie is 21 and the reader is somewhere between 18-19, hopefully it's proofread enough, my first 5k I think, very very slowburn, like one creepy old man, a spoiled prince, you get slapped (not by Eddie), your dad and brothers are kinda eh, if I missed any then let me know

Word Count: 5k

Summary: You're of age now and your kingdoms throws a Choosing of the Suitors for you. On day one, a certain king catches your eye.

———

You sat on the far right side of the five thrones. Your mother and father in the middle, both of your older brothers on either side of them, and you on the far right side (if you were to face the thrones). A large dog-sized white dragon with blue undertones lounged across the top of your throne, eyeing the large crowd below with light yellow eyes. Its tail swayed, catching on the frills of your long sleeves.

You were dressed in one of your best dresses, hair done, and subtle makeup on your face. To mimic your big dragon, your dress was white with pastel lilac highlights, an add-on in honor of your favorite color.

You tried your best to sit up right, you really did, but today’s occasion just couldn’t grasp your full attention. You were Of Age now. Suitors of nearby kingdoms and far-off allies were brought to your father’s kingdom and displayed to you by their parents or executives, which were often older siblings, personal knights, or other older family members that were highly respected. But the suitors were either men that were too old for you, way too young for you, or something about them would throw you off if they were in your age group. You scanned over those in your age group, taking in characteristics but mostly how they watched you. Some looked as bored as you felt, but most looked at you with ill intent, never quite meeting your eyes. Your little dragon huffed and puffed at the men, which was your key indicator of which of them not to expect much out of.

You watch the announcer at the bottom of the steps announce the next suitor. You watch as a king and queen guide a boy about your age up the steps and stop on the third step down from the thrones.

“Good evening King Aven and Queen Victoria,” the king of the Morning Hills greeted. “I present my only son, William Hill. He has come of age, just like your princess. As your closest ally, I believe this will bring us even closer.”

Your presented suitor was a tall blond, his hair brushed back and his ice blue eyes scanned over you. He was rather fit, but still, just like others, nothing about him caught your eye.

“Oh yes, King Charles,” Your father spoke. “We are glad you’ve decided to present your recent Of Age son, and we will gladly consider him amongst the others.”

You knew what that meant. It meant that William Hill of Morning Hills was going to be the top most considered suitor of this week, as the Presentation of the Suitors usually lasted all week.

You and your little dragon huffed as you leaned an elbow on the arm of your little throne and smushed your cheek into your fist. You crossed your ankles and stared into the crowd, watching as castle staff brought in tables that surrounded the perimeters of the throne room so that when dinner was ready, everyone sat in the same room.

Four more suitors went by, none catching your eye. Until the fifth.

An older man, maybe in his late forties or early fifties and dressed in black and garnet formal wear led a boy, about your age, up the stairs.

The boy was dressed in king wear, black and garnet colored like the older man. A simple jeweled crown atop his head. A chain necklace adorned his neck, as did thick rings on both of his hands. He had long, dark, curly hair and dark chocolate eyes that seemed to pull you in like tar. He met your eyes, the first man to do so. He gave you and small wave, and you one back.

“Executive Wayne Munson,” The older man spoke. “Of the Mordor Kingdom. I present my nephew, King Edward Munson, son of King Munson. He became king at 17 years of age and is currently 20 years of age. I know things between our kingdoms have been tense in the past, but we hope to renew the trust between our two kingdoms.”

You look at your parents and brothers. They look tense.

Surely this kind looking boy can’t be the son of King Munson. The king that almost caused multiple wars and has killed many dragons in his reign of terror.

“Why aren’t you King, Wayne Munson?” Your father asked. “When you had the opportunity? Why allow a 17 year old kid to become king?”

“He was King Munson’s hier. Rightful to the throne,” Wayne Munson answered. “I would not be fit to be King. And I believed King Edward Munson would’ve done great things for our kingdom, as he has done and is doing currently.”

“Do you have your own dragon, King Edward Munson?” You father turned his attention to the boy, who’s been quietly observing you.

The boy, King Edward Munson, turned his attention to your parents, “King Munson, please.”

Your father stared him down, and King Munson only stared back with a small, sincere small on his face. It took a few seconds before your father nodded and muttered a “King Munson.”

“And I do,” King Munson answered.

“What kind?” You father pressed.

“A big red one,” The king answered. “I’ve raised him from an egg and he’s grown mighty big since then. As you might know, the Mordor Kingdom is known for our rather large dragons.”

Your father hummed, “And your kingdom?”

“Yes,” King Munson nodded. “We’ve replenished our dragon population and as well as have grown the wealth of my people. People live well and have what they need and want. My common folk are wealthy enough for a family of four and a dragon or two. We’ve opened our trades if you would like to discuss that further in the future.”

“Let’s just focus on the princess here,” Your father redirected the boy.

King Munson’s eyes drifted to you and he smiled, “Yes, let’s. I hope she will consider me. I welcome her with open arms and open doors.”

Your father nodded and waved them away. The announcer at the bottom of the steps was already guiding up another suitor and his parents. But you can’t take your eyes from King Munson. You follow his frame as he and his uncle settle at one of the large tables off on the left side of the room, easily in eyesight of you.

Your brother kicks your leg. You glare at him, before looking back at the present suitor. You huff and slouch back down, still stealing looks at your highly considered suitor.

Fifteen more suitors go by. Announcing their families, kingdoms, and whatnot. But none more catch you eyes. And soon, it’s dinner time. Castle staff bring in another table and sit it at the bottom of the stairs to the thrones and set the table.

Kitchen staff come out and line the tables with fresh meat, fruits, bread, and wines.

Your family makes your way down to your table, with your baby dragon at your side. You fill your plate with chicken slices, fruit pieces, and bread. Your wine is filled. You wait until your family’s four executives fill in the empty seats at your table to eat. Your father and mother sit on opposites heads, one brother for each parent and you sit by your father. You dig in once everyone is sat, tuning out the conversation at the table.

You notice your baby dragon is antsy, looking at the tables. You nudge him and give him the go-ahead. He scrambles and off and under the tables and you watched the faces of executives and suitors as your dragon passed over their feet. It’s your personal test of the suitors and a test of the dragons. Whomever treats your dragon best will allow you to be able to tell which suitors to consider and which to toss to the dragon’s pit.

You’re brought out of your survey by a hand on your thigh. You look who it is and it’s your father’s oldest and most trusted executive. You scrunch your nose and pull your leg away.

“No matter who you’re married off to,” He starts. “You’ll always be our little girl.”

You cross your legs and pull away more. You bring your attention back to the suitors, seeing the faces of those your dragon passed by. They were looking at you with multitudes of expressions but most whispering and gossiping to their parents. You went down the tables, seeing who your dragon was at now and it brought you to King Munson and his uncle. A little white head was peaking out from under the table and between his legs. King Munson seemed surprised but not upset, patting your dragon on the head and giving him small pieces of meat. He looked up at you with a look that was asking a million questions. You shrugged like you had absolutely no idea what was going on and smiled. The King seemed to understand what your plan was and smiled back.

It seems your dragon likes him and that told you everything.

“You need to control that dragon,” The executive from before said, distaste on his tongue.

“You’re luckily we let you keep him,” Your oldest brother sneered from across the table.

“Oh yes. Because we can control who dragons breed with,” You said sarcastically. “I’m not at fault for taking away Tungi’s eggs and handing them off to other people like they were stale pieces of bread.”

“You only got to keep that egg because that dragon of yours severely injured one of my trustee’s,” Your father argued.

“Did he survive?” You asked, eyebrows raised. You already knew the answer.

Your father went quiet because, yes, his trustee survived the wrath of a mother dragon.

“What are you considered suitors, princess?” An executive that sat diagonal from you asked.

“Prince Williams Hill,” Your father answered.

“And King Munson,” You added.

The table went quiet.

“He is a tyrant’s son!” Your brother barked. “His father had caused many wars and many losses. It was his choice to separate from the United Kings!”

“And our choice to drive him farther away,” You added on. “And his son, King Munson, wants to reinforce the ties and open trades! And I think it’s a grand idea! And so far, he’s been the only suitor to look me in the eyes and nowhere else, and actually address me when presenting himself!”

“Our concerns should be with allies, not what you want!” Your father growled.

“King Munson is a chance to reconnect with a past ally,” You pointed out. “So I am thinking of your allies!”

Your table went quiet and the horns of announcement broke the tension.

You looked and saw a Castle Staff in the middle of the room.

“As dinner comes to a close, we will start the Dance of the Suitors,” the man announced. “Suitors may find this as a chance to dance with the princess. Those who wait to have a turn will be given a lady to dance with!”

Tens of ladies walk in from the doors and file into the center of the room.

“Each dance will last for 15 minutes and in total for two and a half hours,” The announcer made his way out of the crowd. “Start!”

Just as you got up, your baby dragon, Alioth, scampered over. You told him to go back up to your throne and gave him a little piece of watermelon as a treat for being so good. You watched as he crawled up and onto your throne, happily open-mouthed chewing the fruit as he settled to watch you on the floor. Your family settled in their thrones soon after.

You turned and bumped into someone. You went to apologize but noticed it was William Hill. You noticed how his eyes hurriedly switched from your bosom to your eyes.

“Want to dance?” He held out a hand.

You held in a sigh and took it.

William lead you to the dance floor and walked you along to the sound of the orchestra playing in the corner. He placed his free hand on your hip and kept hold your hand in his other. His hand on your waist was too low for comfort so you adjusted. Then it was too high, his thumb brushing under your breast. So you moved it back down, and it was still too low. You just sighed and settled for that.

“Your little pet paid me a visit,” William noted.

“Oh yes,” You acted like your forgot. “Sometimes it’s so hard to control baby dragons.”

“I remember those days with mine,” William sighed dreamily. “They didn’t last long though.”

You knew that. You’ve seen the way he treats his dragon. You’re surprised he hasn’t been eaten by now.

“I’m luckily to be your future husband,” William told you like he was already for certain to be your future spouse. “I just know you will give me many children. We will just fill up the castle because of how many you will have.”

You scrunched your nose and took a step back to separate yourself from the blond boy, but he took two steps forward, smushing your chests together. He looked down and smiled, but not warmly. You huffed in response, looking out into the surrounding crowd to see if you could see King Munson.

“Looking for someone?” William asked.

Before you could answer the horn blew to signal to switch partners. And you gladly did.

Your next conversation didn’t go much better than William, and neither were their hands.

You went round and round and your head felt dizzy and your lungs felt heavy. Your feet hurt and all noise seemed to mush together by the end of the last 30 minutes. When the last horn to switch rang, you accidentally bumped into your last partner. It woke you from your daze and you apologized profusely, but your rambling was cut short when you realized who you bumped into.

King Munson stood in front of you. He was so much taller and broader up close. He was so intimidating and so inviting at the same time. His curly hair was slightly frizzy from the day’s events and he had freckles dotting his cheeks. His eyes weren’t a dark brown, almost black like you thought before but a warm umber color, but they pulled you in all the same. His gaze was kind and apologetic. It must’ve been the opposite of yours, all wide-eyed and surprised.

“Sorry about that,” King Munson apologized, offering a hand.

“No-no! I’m sorry!” You apologized. “I wasn’t watching where I was going. I’ve just been dancing for so long- and I’m rambling, sorry!”

“Don’t be sorry,” King Munson slowly guided your hand into his and settled his hand appropriately on your waist. “It’s been a long two hours and a half.”

He smiled down at you and lead you along to the orchestra that’s been going this whole time. It almost feels like it’s just you two in the room once you get going. His hands feel appreciatively warm and respectful. King Munson’s hands have just the right amount of pressure against your layers of cloth.

“I was visited by a friend earlier,” King Munson starts. “And I assume it doesn’t just have to do with him being a baby dragon?”

He knows. And you smile, a glint in your eye.

“Alioth,” You start. “I sent him on a mission. Whomever he likes, I like. A dragon knows, and thus, do I.”

King Munson laughs, “So any suitors catch your eye?”

“Oh, just this,” You trail off. “Dark, curly haired king that’s adorned with thick rings on his fingers and a chain necklace. He’s pretty handsome. He seems nice too. And I hear he has the largest dragons in all of the United Kingdoms. Now that’s impressive.”

“Oh it’s nothing really, sweetheart,” He smiles again.

Sweetheart.

You blush.

“He seems like some guy, huh?” King Munson pushes gently, trying to catch your eyes.

“And I’m glad to be dancing with him,” You smile.

“And I’m glad to be dancing with you,” King Munson compliments.

The horn to end the dancing sounds out. The crowd disperses almost instantly but it takes you and King Munson a moment to separate, allowing prying eyes to see where the princess has gone.

Everyone goes back to their seats and executives, and you back to your throne. Your brothers and father glare at you. Your mother gives no indication of how she feels. But Alioth greets you with chirps and purrs, his wings flapping excitedly. You all settle as the announcer from before settles on the third step up from the ground floor.

“Tomorrow!” He starts. “Suitors will show what they learned during knighthood to show their strengths and weaknesses. Details will be discussed tomorrow. And tomorrow, a new ritual will be added. The royal family and the princess’s dragon will observe suitors' dragons. As previously stated, details will be discussed tomorrow. Now. Suitors and their executives will be led to their temporary stay rooms where they will stay nightly for the rest of this week. Goodnight to you all and I hope to see you all tomorrow!”

Castle Staff fills the room, leading guests to the visitor wing of the castle. Kitchen staff come to clean the tables, and your personal, and your brothers’ personal, staff come to accompany you to your room.

Once to your room, your ladies undress you and clean you up. They fluff up your bed and bring food for Tungi and Alioth, knowing you’ll feed them once your ladies leave. They bid you goodnight after leaving a plate of fruits for you to snack on and shut your door.

Your rooms takes the highest tower of the castle, the top half modified with stairs and a large open room with a large opening in the wall for your dragons to take off form. Being the princess has its perks.

You make your way to your dragons’ quarters, food in hand. Tungi, a large white dragon with oddly shaped spines that go from the back of her head to the end of her tail, meets you at the top of the stairs. You butt heads with her, reaching up to her horns, that curl in. She purrs as you pull back.

You pour the dragon food on the stone floor and let your dragons eat. You sit with them once their done, leaning against Tungi’s warm body. Soon enough, you’ve fallen asleep with Alioth’s head on your lap.

You wake up to a knock on your bedroom door. It’s just after sunrise. And you remember, how did you get to your bed? You don’t have time to think as your personal ladies come in and usher you from bed. They feed you breakfast as they dress you and brush your hair.

Your ladies don’t dress you in as many layers today. Still dressing you nice, but no corset, and with enough airflow for wind to blow throughout the dress. They do your hair so it won’t be too bothersome today.

As if he senses you up, Alioth comes barreling down from the stairs of the dragons’ quarters. Your ladies laugh at him and feed him some of your breakfast. Afterwards, they lead you out and down to the back courtyard, where the suitors are already practice with dull swords and daggers, but mostly swords. You scan the crowd for King Munson and spot him in a back corner, practice fighting one of your suitors. You settle beside your family under an overhang.

The announcers lets his presence be known as he stands in front of your family.

“Today we will be showing off the strengths of the suitors and what they’ve learned during knighthood. They will be practice with dull swords and other weapons of choosing. We will start with one on one and then switch to groups after ten minutes,” The announcer speaks. “Lest, rules! No harm will be permitted. Any intentional harm towards passive rival with result in immediate termination and sent back home. Yeigh?”

The suitors respond.

“Begin!”

The suitors begin their practice fighting, the clang of swords and grunts of men sounding out. You’re at the perfect angle to see King Munson. He’s obviously had some practice with the sword he’s chosen. He’s precise and an expert at blocking, aware of all parts of his body. He dodges and ducks, pointing out the weak spots in his opponent. You notice that the king has tied his hair back, keeping it from making multiple disadvantages on his end.

You watch a mixture of King Munson and the suitors for the next ten minutes. They’re all good fighters, and you hear your father and brothers praise the men or point out weaknesses. You don’t notice your mother coming to stand beside you until she puts a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“I didn’t get to choose,” She speaks.

You look over at her, surprised.

“But you do,” She pauses to look you in the eyes. “And whomever you choose will be a good one. Any thoughts?”

You look at the fake fighting men again, watching King Munson.

“I like King Munson,” You tell her.

“He seems like a good boy,” Your mother says. “He’ll take great care of you. I can’t say the same for Prince William Hill.”

You nod, agreeing.

A horn blows. The announcers says it’s time to group together in previously selected groups. He pauses and allows the men to get together and then gives the signal to begin.

You watch as King Munson, Prince William Hill, and a third suitor are paired together. They start at the signal, hitting swords to show off their area of perception and the speed of their defensive reflexes. It hits about the five minutes mark before King Munson catches both your and his opponents by surprise.

King Munson pushes both opponents back by two steps. He knocks William Hill’s sword from his hands a few feet away and holds his sword to William’s throat, a forced surrender. Anticipating the third man’s move, King Munson, whirls around and knocks into the man’s wrist which causes him to let go of his sword and drop it. King Munson holds a dagger to the man’s throat. They both surrender and he backs off. He goes to help Prince William off the ground, but the blond boy slaps King Munson’s hand away and lifts himself off the ground.

Before the trio can engaged in more practice fighting, the ending horn goes off. The men put their weapons back where they found them and they’re all filed through the castle and into the front courtyard where the suitor’s dragons have been brought out for observing. The suitors and their executives join their dragons.

You tell Alioth to go get “his mama”, Tungi. You watch him as he flies to your tower and comes back with Tungi. Tungi seems to know what’s going on, as she’s heard you talk about this for a couple months now. She looks around the courtyard.

Your parents and brothers go around the courtyard, conversing with the suitors and their companions, but you don’t move from Tungi as you wait for her to move.

Your dragon looks around and sounds out a purring sound. You hear the other dragons try to match it. After a moment, Tungi locks her target on a dragon. She starts moving, and you and Alioth follow. You look and see she’s heading towards a, rather large, red dragon. His horns twist twice and point back, never lifting above the line of his brow.

You look for the dragon’s companion and find a very familiar curly haired boy. He meets your eyes with a smile and a wave. You wave back, and unable to contain his excitement, Alioth gallops forwards and barrels towards King Munson. The king meets your baby dragon with eagerness and pets him when Alioth crashes into him.

You meet Eddie just beside your dragons.

“Hi,” King Munson greets, smiling with teeth at you.

“Hi,” You say back shyly.

“Princess Y/n,” King Munson’s uncle steps forward. “It’s an honor.”

“Oh no, it’s an honor for me, sir,” You tell him. “I’m glad to hear your kingdom is doing well.”

“Yours as well,” The older man says. “But may I ask, what is this new ritual?”

“Oh yes! A couple other kingdoms do it as well,” You start. “The princess is still able to choose her suitor, but it’s important that her dragon has a say too. So this new ritual allows the princess to either confirm her already chosen suitor, which no one else knows about, or for the princess to filter out some of the existing suitors if she hasn’t made a choice.”

“But I hear this princess already has a choice in mind,” King Munson says.

“Perhaps,” You smile and rock back and forth on your heels. “But that’s me to know and you to find out.”

Just before you can continue your conversation, something warm and large nudges you. You look to the side and is met with a large orange eye with yellow flecks in the iris. The large dragon switches sides so he can look at you from the other side and nudges you again, almost knocking you over.

“Woah, Gourd,” King Munson catches you and gently shoves his dragon away.

Tungi puts her own face down beside Gourd’s and pushes him away, purring gently. Gourd purrs back. Their moment of calm is interrupted by Alioth who jumps up and puts his two front talons on Gourd’s muzzle, chirping up at him and talking with all excitement.

“Gourd?” You look at King Munson.

“Like pumpkins and stuff,” He explains.

“Do you have lots of pumpkins in Mordor?” You ask.

“Lots,” He nods.

You, King Munson, and his executive/Uncle Wayne Munson stand under an overhang for the rest of the afternoon, making small talk and people watching. You also watch how Gourd interacts with Alioth, nudging him around and blowing smoke at the youngling as a form of play.

As the sun sets, it blinds you but only for a moment as it’s blocked. King Munson and Wayne stop talking as you look over, seeing Prince William Hill creating the new shadow. He looks between you three before making eye contact with you.

“Wouldn’t you rather come converse with other suitors, princess?” Prince William asks.

“No, but thank you,” You say. “I prefer to stay with my dragon, and she prefers to stay with King Munson’s dragon. And King Munson and his executive are making lovely conversation at the moment.”

“Wouldn’t you rather consider an ally of your father’s?” Prince William presses. “A close ally. One that is more. . . suitable for you?”

“No,” You shake your head. “But again, thank you for your offer.”

Prince William opens his mouth to say something but is cut off by a horn sounding out throughout the front courtyard.

“Suitors!” The announcer that’s been helping announce and organize for this whole week long event starts. “Time to place your dragons back at the visitor stables and head back towards the dining hall in time for dinner. The royal family will see you there!”

“That is my cue, my princess,” King Munson straightens from leaning on the wall. “I will see you in a few, yes?”

“Yes,” You nod.

King Munson grabs your hand and kisses your knuckles before he and Wayne Munson lead Gourd away and back to the visitor stables. You watch them until they blend into the crowd of people and dragons.

You hadn’t notice Prince William walk away, but you shrug it off and go to meet your family in the middle of the courtyard. You tell them that you’ll bring Tungi and Alioth back to your room and that you’ll see them in the dining hall. You climb Tungi’s arm and up you go on your short journey to the dragon’s quarters above your own. Once there, you praise Tungi for her behavior and that you’ll feed her and Alioth after your dinner. Alioth follows you to the dining room and prances alongside you through the hallways. You get about halfway down the hallway to the dining hall before a hand grabs your wrist and pulls you off to the side and out of the way.

You’re met with disheveled blond hair and sharp blue eyes. Prince William. He still grips your wrist as he pulls you closer. Alioth pulls at his pant leg in an attempt to get Prince William to leave you alone, but the boy just shakes him off.

“What is with you?” The blond all but snarls at you.

“What?” You ask, having no idea what he’s implying as you try to pull away.

“We’re supposed to get married,” Prince William starts. “I’m supposed to be your chosen suitor. I’m supposed to be courting you, and you’re supposed to be all over me and so clung onto me that I can barely stand you by the time it’s our honeymoon.”

“Where do you get that idea? Who’s been telling you that?” You’ve had no news that this Choosing of the Suitors was supposed to end in an arranged marriage, if that’s what Prince William is implying.

“That executive of your father’s,” Prince William answers. “He said no matter what that we would be married and it is up to me to court you so it would end that way. But no matter what I do I can barely get you away from that son of a bastard king!”

You try to pull away again, “King Munson is no bastard’s son and you know that! He is as much of a suitor to me as you are! I just happen to be drawn to him very much because he’s very nice to me!”

“Nice shouldn’t matter!” William yells. “It should be your father’s allies that matter! Which is why this should’ve been an arranged marriage in the first place!!”

“Well I’m sorry for choosing someone that I like very much instead of thinking about my father!!” You yell back.

Your face whips to the side as a hand slaps you harshly on your cheek, making the skin hot and tingly. A gasp is torn from your throat and you’re in too much shock to cradle your cheek. Before either of you can say anything and voice speaks from down the corridor.

“Is there a problem here?”

You look over and it’s King Munson and Wayne Munson. You see King Munson speak some words to his uncle and Wayne walks towards the dining room. He eyes Prince William as he passes and disappears behind the large doors without a word. Steps echo as King Munson walks forward.

“Nothing that I can’t handle,” Prince William answers. “The princess was just out of line for a few moments. She needed to be reminded of who her superiors are.”

King Munson nods and stops just before you two, keeping a barely respectful distance.

“So if you don’t mind-“ the prince is cut off.

“I wasn’t asking you,” King Munson turns his attention towards you and waits for answer.

“No-no, King Munson,” You stutter, submissive under the eyes of the two men. “Just- um. . speaking, is all.”

The king eyes your face, obviously eyeing your reddened cheek. His eyes trail over to your wrist, still tightly grasped in Prince William’s hand. It seems to get tighter when King Munson’s eyes lay upon the connection, making you wince. That doesn’t go unnoticed either. He switches his gaze back to the prince.

“Well, as your superior,” King Munson starts. “I need you to let go of the princess.”

“But you are-“

“The son of a bastard does not make me any less king. And king I am, I am your superior,” King Munson says, threat in his tone. “And if you don’t let go of the princess, I will do it for you.”

“Oh yeah?” Prince William challenges. “What are you gonna-“

He’s cut off with a surprised noise as King Munson grips the prince’s shoulder and presses down on a spot with his thumb, instantly weakening his arm and sending him to the ground. King Munson brings you and him a few steps back as you both watch Prince William recover from the attack.

“Run along now, boy,” The king waves him off. “I have some words I need to say to the princess. They’re more important than your. . . threats.”

“My father will be hearing about this!” Prince William threatens as he wabbles his way toward the dining room doors.

“I’m sure he will,” King Munson nods.

King Munson waits for the doors to completely shut behind the boy before facing you.

Alioth, who’s been on the sidelines, bumps against King Munson’s leg.

The curly haired man glances down at your baby dragon and then back to you. He brings a hand to your red cheek, feeling the skin. There’s a small cut from one of the prince’s rings. The king wets his thumb with his tongue and wipes it over the small wound, cleaning it of previous debris.

“Are you alright? Does this hurt?” he asks.

“Just a bit,” You tell him. “It still tingles.”

“You’re welting,” The king notes. “Hopefully it will be gone by morning. There’s a small cut as well from his ring. And your wrist-“

You both look down as King Munson cradles your wrist in one of his hands, turning it over to inspect the redness and the small indents from where Prince William’s fingernails presses into your skin. It looks like a bruise will form on the outermost part of your wrist from the pressure.

“Does your wrist hurt?” he asks again. “It looks like it’ll be sore tomorrow, if not by tonight.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine, King Munson,” You take your wrist from his hand and hide it behind your back, away from his concerned eyes. “Do not worry about me. You can do that when we marry.”

“But if I do not worry now, who will worry?” He asks, distress swirling and mingling with the concern in his eyes.

“I’ve survived this long without you, King Munson,” You tell him. “I will survive a few days more.”

A light seems to go off in King Munson’s brain after a moment, “So we will marry? For sure?”

“You were considered,” You tell him. “And as my dragon chose, so did I.”

A big, teethy smile grows on the kings face, “Oh, I would kiss you, my dear, if it be allowed.”

“In a few days' time, King Munson,” You tell him. “But first, we must eat.”

[lovebugism]

Hi I am begging on my knees for more of your steddie x reader it’s so good I’m crying

BIZARRE LOVE TRIANGLE | baby fever

summary: steve's got a bad case of baby fever. it's not so bad until you start getting sick with it too. eddie has to come up with a solution before all of you fall ill.

pairing: steve harrington / f!reader / eddie munson

a/n: i just realized i haven't posted anything steddie related in almost three months. i am so sorry. this is a total travesty. please enjoy this 3k blurb and find it in your heart to forgive me <3

You squint at the grocery list scribbled on a bright blue sticky note. It’s a mish-mash of all your different handwritings. Some are certainly neater than others. “This just says crabs… I think...”

“It doesn’t say crabs, you loon,” Eddie laughs from where he mans the shopping cart beside you. He’s steering the thing about as well as his van. “It says cereals.”

“No, it says a bunch of gibberish that no one can read but you,” you retort with a giggle of your own as you follow him down the breakfast aisle. “And we just need one box of cereal, alright? Singular.”

He turns to you with a cartoonish pout on his lips. “But why?”

“Because you’re like a kid, Eds. You eat the entire thing in one sitting, and then you’re absolutely haywire for the rest of the day.”

And, just like a child, the boy stands in front of the vibrantly colored boxes of cereal with a wide grin on his face.

The local grocery store was smaller compared to the others in town, but they had every brand of the breakfast food known to man, stacked in neat rows from the floor to ceiling. 

Eddie’s got a twinkle in his eye as his gaze runs over them all. And even though you think it’s all boyish and hilarious, you let him have his fun. 

He grew up unable to enjoy all the goodness of overly sweet cereal because bills and food with actual sustenance were always more important. Now, he’s got a halfway stable job with Wayne at the car shop, and he’s living at his own place with his boyfriend and girlfriend, and he can buy whatever the hell kind of cereal he wants. 

So, as far as he’s concerned, everyone who said he’d never amount to much can suck it. 

And you know you’ll let him buy the whole damn grocery store out of their cereal if that’s what he wants. It’s the least you can do for the world’s best boyfriend — a title he begrudgingly shares with Steve The Hair Harrington.

You’d give him the world if you could, but for now you’ll have to settle for a couple of boxes of Lucky Charms.

“Okay, so the OJ’s we got last time tasted like absolute shit,” Eddie mutters, mostly to himself as he crouches to peer at the lower shelves. “I saw a commercial for Waffle-O’s this morning, and they looked pretty good. But I know you like Breakfast With Barbie and Steve ate a bowl of C3PO’s every day for, like, two weeks, so…”

You stand by the cart and laugh at his rambling. You turn to look behind you with a lighthearted joke sitting on the edge of your tongue. It dissipates when you realize Steve isn’t next to you. 

Instead, he’s still standing at the end of the aisle with his back to you and Eddie — like his feet forgot how to work when he caught sight of the family across the store. It’s a mother and a father, dressed in their mid-weekday finest, with a baby swaddled at their chest and a toddler bouncing in the seat of the shopping cart. 

And you know it’s got the boy totally lost in his own head. You know he's picturing you and him and Eddie as that happy family — the one fills every store you walk into with baby babbles and bubbly laughter. 

Steve told you his senior year of high school he wanted a baby, that he wanted six of them, and that he wanted them all with you. And you were just a stupid seventeen-year-old girl who would’ve done anything he asked you to, though you definitely drew the line at babies. 

But you’re older now, and far more settled than you had been all that time ago. Steve’s ready for a family, but you don’t think you’re anywhere close.

“How about we just compromise and get all three?” Eddie finally concludes with the boxes already in his arms. He dumps them into the cart and notices that your attention is elsewhere. He realizes then that Steve’s gone too because his attention is stuck on a nice family minding their own business. 

“Not again…” he murmurs to himself while you go rescue the boy.

“I’ve never seen someone so sick with baby fever in my life,” you laugh as you drag Steve back to the cart by his wrist.

“I can’t help it!” he defends weakly. “They were so cute! They were all matching and I couldn’t stop thinking about how I can’t wait to coordinate outfits with our baby. Doesn’t that sound like the cutest fucking thing ever?”

“It sounds very adorable, Stevie,” you nod understandingly and try to ignore the way your stomach twists at the thought of him and his baby girl wearing matching pastels every time they step out of the house. “And we can be just like them in five years—”

“Five years?” he gapes.

“Maybe even ten,” Eddie shrugs and nonchalantly tosses a box of Count Chocula into the cart.

“Ten years— You guys are insane if you think I’m waiting ten years to have a kid!” Steve protests with a pair of buff arms crossed boyishly over his chest. “I’m not getting any younger over here, you know that, right?”

“You’re twenty-five, Steve, stop being so dramatic. We’re just now trying to get settled. I’m still in school, you’re still working at Family Video, Eddie’s still… Eddie. Don’t you think we should have actual careers before we have a kid?”

Steve huffs and rolls his eyes, feigning annoyance even though he knows you’re right.

It’s not like he wants to keep working at the stupid store on Main Street. He keeps putting off the conversation with his dad about another job, because he puts off every conversation with his dad. He’s scared of what asking for a position at his firm will do to his pride.

“She’s right, and you know it, Steven,” Eddie tells him, then scoffs. “I mean, can you really imagine me with a baby strapped to my chest on tour?”

You and Steve both pause and tilt your heads to the side as you picture the sight, terribly in sync as always. You can imagine it, quite perfectly actually, tangible enough to touch.

“Well—”

“That’s the cutest thing I think I’ve ever heard,” Steve finishes your thought for you.

Eddie cowers at the sudden attention. “Okay, stop looking at me like I’m a piece of meat, alright? We are not having a kid right now. There’s no fucking way.”

Steve all but deflates at the rejection as Eddie pushes the cart down the aisle, desperate to escape the bubble of tension the conversation had created in the cereal section.

You smile sheepishly over at Steve and wrap your arms through the crook of his elbow, standing on the tips of your toes to press a kiss to his cheek. “He’s being grumpy about it, but he’s right… It’s just not a good idea right now— but it will be, okay? One day. Just not… to-day.”

┄

The day, for you, comes exactly seven of them later. 

You accompany Steve on his morning run and his routine stop for coffee. You’re not quite sure how he’s still mobile because your muscles are screaming, even after the warm shower you took to soothe them.

You left him alone for all of half a second to use the bathroom while he ordered drinks for him and you, and something extra for Eddie for when the boy decides to roll out of bed.

When you return, you find him bouncing a baby on his hip — a young thing, maybe three if you had to guess, with two buns in her hair like bunny ears and a sparkly pink dress to match the bows she wears in them.

Steve smiles down at her, talking to her in a baby voice and saying something you can’t hear because you’re frozen in place. You resemble him at the grocery store a week ago, when he was thrown into a daydream so suddenly that his body all but shut down. 

You look at him now, tickling the baby’s sides just to hear her giggle, and you see him with your firstborn — sleep deprived, covered in spit-up, and still the most beautiful human you’d ever seen.

You have to shake your head to remove the thought before it ruins you entirely. 

Freshly jostled from your stupor, you walk over to him. “Steve… Please tell me you didn’t steal someone’s baby.”

He laughs. “What? No! She was just a little fussy, and I offered to take her while her mom looked for something,” the boy explains. You look just behind him to see the woman bent over at one of the smaller tables, sifting vigorously through a large baby bag.

“She doesn’t seem very fussy now,” you observe, eyes flitting between his and the child's and noticing they’ve both got matching grins.

“She doesn’t, does she?” he smiles, softly scratching at her sides again to make her laugh. And she does, most enthusiastically so, tilting her head back and letting the giggles spill from an open mouth.

He turns back to you, with wide eyes and raised brows and a bemused grin. “I like she likes me.”

“Of course, she does,” you scoff. “Babies always like you.”

The mom returns with a snack in hand and a relieved smile. Steve passes the baby back to her with little effort. She whines at the loss of him, though the brightly packaged treat is quick to quell her sorrow. 

“Thanks for taking her,” the mother's grateful smile falters with exhaustion. “If I don’t give her the same snack at exactly the same time every day, she tends to go a little nuts.” 

Steve tells her that it’s no problem, that he was a part-time babysitter at one point in his life, and that her kid was better than those little shits combined. He censors himself before the swear slips out, though.

You go your separate ways when the barista calls out your drink orders and walk hand in hand back to your place.

“Did you get their names?” you ask him before taking a sip of your latte.

“The mom’s name was Maeve and the kid’s name was Harper—”

“Holy shit,” you mutter.

Steve snaps his head over to you because he thinks you’ve burnt your mouth. Instead, he finds you with a distant smile on your face.

“Those are the cutest names I’ve ever heard. It sounds like something out of a fucking cartoon or something.”

“Yeah…” is all he can say because his mind is preoccupied with a million other thoughts. He doesn’t tell you them, obviously, but you know they’re there. The sly smile pulling at his lips makes it obvious.

“…Why are you looking at me like that.”

“Because I’m totally gonna wear you down,” he grins and brings his coffee to his mouth, sipping through his smirk.

You only scoff in response. “Never.”

┄

It doesn’t take you very long to realize that Steve was right.

You spend the rest of the day thinking about it — about him with a baby and how perfect he'd be as a dad. The thoughts plague you far more than they usually do. They take up the entire frontal cortex of your brain and make it nearly impossible to think about anything else.

You’re self-aware enough to beat yourself up about it. 

You were just telling him that it wasn’t time yet, and you knew you were right. As far as you’re concerned, you still have another few good years before you’re ready to even start seriously considering it. 

But here you are, having to calm yourself down every time the thought of Steve Harrington with a baby, your baby, crosses your mind.

You wait until the boy heads to bed to talk to Eddie about it. You find him in the kitchen, eating handfuls of Breakfast with Barbie like a maniac. You’re too preoccupied to make a snarky comment about it.

“Steve wasn’t lying,” you warn him.

“..About what?” he wonders through the mouthful.

“About him not waiting ten years to have a baby! He wants one now!” you explain through a yell-whisper hybrid. “And he told me he was going to wear me down, and he was right.”

Eddie’s eyes go wide too, like he’s just learned you caught some sort of plague. You have. It’s called baby fever, and it’s only a matter of time before the entire house is afflicted. “Shit…”

“So you have to be the strong one, Eddie.”

“Oh, god,” he whines with pinched brows. “Why does it have to be me?”

“Because I saw him hold a baby today.”

“…And this is a bad thing?”

“Of course, it’s a bad thing! My hormones went crazy, okay? It’s like my brain stopped functioning, and I started thinking with my ovaries or something! All human instinct told me to lay down and procreate the second we got home!”

Eddie laughs to himself. “Are you sure it was human instinct, or was it just you on a normal Wednesday?”

“I’m being serious, Eddie,” you tell him, a sudden solemnity to your features. “You have to put your foot down whenever Steve talks about it because I will cave.”

“Alright, alright, have some Barbie cereal and settle down,” he tells you with a playful grin.

He offers you the box and you pout for a moment before sticking your hand into it and pulling out several red and purple butterfly pieces.

The boy wraps an arm around you with his free hand. He pulls you closer and noses at the crown of your head. You sigh as you relax into him. 

“I’ll take care of it, okay? I actually have the perfect idea.”

“I don’t like the sound of that,” you waver through a mouthful of cereal.

“Don’t worry about it,” he lilts with a grin, smacking a kiss to your forehead. “Let me take care of it.”

┄

You and Steve are tangled in bedsheets, both slowly rousing but trying desperately to go back to sleep. 

You’re laying on your stomach, face smushed into the pillow you clutch to your head. Steve lays halfway on top of you — his legs knotted with yours, arm splayed over your back, and softly snoring in your ear. 

Both of you noticed the lack of Eddie’s presence, but chose not to linger on it too much, figuring he must’ve gone for a breakfast run. 

He returns hardly a moment after the thought of him crosses your mind. You hear the door open and shut again, then the shouts of your names entwined with a muffled barking.

You groan at the intrusion on your sleep.

Steve huffs and shifts against you, voice gruff with fatigue as he wonders: “Why do I hear a dog?”

The mixture of confusion and subtle knowing has you both shuffling out of the bedroom and trudging into the living room.

You round the corner and find Eddie standing by the door with a rowdy goldendoodle bouncing at his feet. He’s trying hopelessly to undo its leash when the thing starts to squirm at the sight of you and Steve.

Eddie’s eyes flit to the both of you when he notices you standing across the room. A smile bursts like early morning sunshine on his face. “Surprise!” he beams.

The metal of the leash clicks when he finally gets it unbuckled. The dog dashes your way, all but jumping into Steve and then spinning in circles with excitement as it tries to figure out who to accept attention from. 

“You got us a dog?” the boy wonders, head cocked back to dodge the thing as it licks at his chin.

“You said you wanted a baby,” Eddie shrugs. “So, I got you a baby.”

“This is so not what a meant,” the boy grouses in response, though he’s got his arms wrapped around the dog like he’s hugging it. “I mean, it’s not even a baby— it’s huge.”

“The woman at the shelter said he was eight months old. And he is a he, so stop calling him it.”

You crouch beside Steve, scratching the dog behind his ear. He pants with his tongue sticking out, almost looking like he’s smiling. It makes you smile too. 

“We don’t even have dog food. Or toys. Or a bed,” you stress. “What are we even gonna name it?”

“Well, I took care of exactly one of those things,” Eddie lilts with a grin. “They only had that gross artificial shit at the grocery store, but they did have some badass collars and an engraving machine, so…”

You and Steve peek through the dog’s golden curls and find a black band with silver spikes dotted around the neck. “Super metal, huh?” you hear himEdiejoke as you reach for the dangled heart pendant handing around the collar.

“…Ozzy?” you recite.

“See what I mean?” he beams. “Metal.”

[aurianavaloria]

KoH - To Rival Eden (Baldwin IV x Reader)

Fandom: Kingdom of Heaven

Pairing: Baldwin IV x Fem!Reader

PoV: Split (Baldwin - Fem!Reader)

Length: Short (<4k words)

TW: Vague mentions of leprosy

A/N: Well, here we have it, the much-anticipated sequel to "What Good May Come"! I took your feedback into account regarding Y/N's preferences, as well as circumstances and relationships, and created another chapter in this little romance. As in the previous story, I've done my best to keep Y/N as generic as possible with a personality that seemed to fit what is currently popular. I hope you enjoy it as much as the first, and once again, thank you all for being awesome! 🤗

Baldwin could hardly believe his good fortune.

Tiberias had spoken truth: she loved him.

He hadn’t slept a wink that night after she left his chambers. Had barely paid attention to his physicians’ work as he’d given his failing body to their care for the hundred-thousandth time in his short life. Whilst his mortal shell continued its slow and endless march towards inevitable disintegration, his heart and mind were soaring above the clouds, his spirit filled with a fire he hadn’t felt in years.

Lady Y/N loved him.

He lay in his bed, eyes staring up into the canopy’s shadows, yet unseeing of anything that was actually there. Instead, he saw her sitting before him as she had that evening, the smile dancing across her lips, the color in her cheek…

Thus lost in his thoughts, all he had to do was close his eyes to still feel her warmth in his arms, the touch of her hand upon his own… still smell the sweet perfume that cloaked her in its allure. Even as his fears screamed at him that every moment he spent near her was a risk he was selfish to take, that the poison coursing through his veins could destroy her like some fetid rot devouring a perfect flower, all he desired was to hold her again… to imagine what her hair would feel like slipping between his silk-gloved fingers…

These visions of her swirled in his mind all night long and into the next week, until he thought he might go mad with them. He had never thought much of the songs of the troubadours before, dismissing their melodramatic lyrics as nothing more than mere fantasy.

But now he had tasted that very pain of love of which they sang, and he knew they were right.

Love was insanity.

Unfortunately, it was an insanity he had to endure through nearly a week’s worth of increasingly-numerous duties that forbade his interaction with anyone other than his advisors and court petitioners. Conversation on such matters proved his only respite, for when he was finally left alone once more, she haunted the depths of his mind.

And as his quill slowly glided through the practiced motions of his signature upon his latest letter, his aching heart wondered if he haunted hers the same way…

He hoped and prayed she had not taken offense to his exclusion of visitors outside his immediate council. It was all such ill-timing, and yet the administration of his kingdom could not wait for courtship. He could not afford the distraction of anyone else’s presence amidst such delicate matters, and there were some things that he refused to delegate to others.

That he could not trust to others.

The thoughts of sharing those tasks with a queen he truly loved and adored above all else, however…

Plunk!

He abruptly sat back in his chair, squeezing his eyes shut.

That was it. It was time for some fresh air.

Rising slowly to his feet, he reached for his hooded cloak where it hung nearby. Without even being asked, his servant Ihsan wordlessly appeared from the shadows to help him don it, moving with quiet grace.

“Shall I accompany His Majesty?” the Christian Syrian asked, aiding Baldwin in pulling the hood over his head. Jerusalem’s sun was bright today, and harsh on the ill king’s eyes.

“No, I shall walk alone, I think.”

“As you wish, sire.”

And loyal Ihsan melted into those shadows once more, as quickly as he had emerged.

With that, Baldwin began making his way to the palace gardens, keeping his pace measured as he followed the long halls, close to the wall should he need it for support. Alas, his numbed foot would allow for nothing else. Yet, even so, he didn’t wish for this stroll to be a hurried one, crammed in between the endless sessions of his work. He needed time to center himself – to clear his mind and ease his heart.

His hood low over his mask, he still squinted against the sun as he emerged into the palace gardens. The strength of its rays had only seemed to intensify in recent years, even as their warmth had faded; his body hardly felt it, now, beaming down upon him, as if he had already hovered between the land of the living and the dead. But his eyes most certainly did, and he kept his head dipped low, his mask half-shadowed by the hood of his cloak.

Anyone else who had chosen to wander the gardens the same as he soon found themselves departing, as usual. The king was instantly recognizable, even cloaked like this, his presence garnering immediate notice by his courtiers. Their dread of his disease they always attempted to cover with pretense – the courtesy of yielding the space to their liege-lord as they offered deep bows and curtseys. Yet they always slipped away with the hiss of whispers swirling in their wake…

His lips twisted in amusement at the thought that his experience behind a mask had made it easier to see past theirs.

Thus, he largely ignored them as they bestowed upon him their customary greetings, their well-rehearsed gestures of obeisance. And the answers he gave in reply were just as superficial. They deserved nothing more. Little by little, they left as he slowly made his way along those meandering paths, bordered by every plant native to these lands, flowering or not…

All but one.

At the end of one of the paths, perched upon a bench before a towering hedge, was Lady Y/N.

She sat with a small book open in her lap, her garb a simple green bliaut with a matching embroidered belt. A brilliant white veil over her hair, pinned to the barbette that looped beneath her chin, shielded her downturned face from the sun. Even from this angle, he could see the slight smile that played across her lips, and he felt his own mimic the expression beneath his mask.

The sight of her thus made him pause his stride, and he considered backtracking to the previous fork in the path and leaving her to her peace. Yet another part of him desired nothing more than to speak to her – to self-indulgently converse, even if only briefly, with this sweet angel of a woman he’d neglected for the sake of his divinely-mandated duty.

What resulted then, was an indecisive hovering, a prolonged pause at the bells of the lovely flowers that brushed his silken sleeve – blossoms whose aroma was now all but lost to his dulled senses. But none of the velvet-petaled jewels gracing this paradise of a garden now compared to the one he could not tear his eyes from, yet hadn’t the heart to approach…

================

Jerusalem’s palace garden was a sanctuary as peaceful as the cloister of any church you’d seen and perhaps twice as beautiful. The open air was filled with the scent of the exotic flowers that had been meticulously cultivated there, surrounding visitors in an alluring embrace. The cool shade beneath the towering hedgerows and elegant palms had been too tempting to resist, and, with a new book of poetry in hand, you’d made a beeline for an empty bench in the farthest shadowed nook you could find.

Gardens such as these were haunts for lovers, or so you’d been told. Some had even been designed in such a manner that encouraged clandestine trysts – a convenient niche here, a cleverly-planted bush there…

Alas, there were no such surreptitious visits in your near future. No, you’d merely come to the gardens this day for some fresh air and relative peace and quiet.

It was with great eagerness that you had rushed to the bench, sweeping your skirts beneath you and opening the book upon your lap. It was a loan, in fact, from Sibylla; the princess had been spending more time with you in the past week, indulging in light conversation mostly revolving around scholarly interests and pastimes. During the course of one of these discussions, she mentioned having received a few books from France and, quite unexpectedly, asked if you would like to borrow one of them.

Such a generous offer had been impossible to refuse, and your eyes had lit up as the princess passed you the small, leather-bound book of poetry, which you handled with utmost care.

The plan was to spend an upcoming evening sharing what the two of you had enjoyed most about the tomes over refreshments.

It was something you rather looked forward to.

Now, you were fully immersed in the book, your eyes drinking in the copyist’s hand as it swirled across the delicate vellum pages; it was a work of art in and of itself, to say nothing of the words it held within. So engrossed were you that, for a long moment, you failed to notice you were being watched…

But then, suddenly, a slight movement from the periphery of your vision caused you to glance up, and for a brief second, you thought you saw an angel. You quickly realized, however, that it was not.

The awestruck smile that tugged at your lips was perhaps a bit uncouth, but you couldn’t help it. Angel he was not, and yet the king was still radiant enough that you wouldn’t have been at all surprised to see a pair of wings upon his back or a fiery halo ringing his head. The hooded cloak he wore, trimmed in gold, was such a blinding white in the midday sun that it almost blurred his outline, and the half-concealed silver mask with its perfectly-chiseled countenance could easily be mistaken for the face of a saint…

“Your Majesty!”

On reflex, you stood, abandoning the book on the bench before starting to dip into a curtsey, but the upwards flash of his gloved hand stopped you mid-movement.

“I require no epithets or courtesies from you, Lady Y/N,” he replied as he wandered down the path towards you. “I should hope that I may abandon such performance in your presence.”

The warmth in his voice heated your cheeks. “Very well… Baldwin.” This was only the second time you’d dared to speak his name without a title preceding it, and it felt oddly right on your tongue. “If that is the case, then I must also insist that I am simply Y/N.”

His hooded head dipped. “Of course. Y/N.”

Something about the way he said your name made your heart flutter, and you glanced away briefly even as you sidled nearer to him. “It is good to see you again. Baldwin. You are well, I hope?”

“I am now,” he replied softly. Now you could look up into his silver-clad face and see the glitter of his eyes beneath the shadow of his hood. In their impossibly-blue gaze you found a softness that belied the sharpness of their hue.

“I… missed you,” you breathed at last, your voice lowering. “I must admit, I’ve worried for you. Lord Tiberias assured me all was well, but… well, you’ll forgive me for being a bit distrusting.”

A low chuckle emanated from him. “If there is anyone you may trust with his honest assessment of matters, it is Tiberias.”

A chuckle of your own escaped you in response to his jesting remark before he continued in a far more serious tone, “I must offer you my sincerest apologies, Y/N – here you’ve given me the most beautiful gift anyone has ever bestowed upon me, and I’ve done nothing but neglect you in return. Already, I fear I must seem a poor partner in courtship.”

Your mouth opened a little in shock at that. “Absolutely nothing of the sort! I understand you are busy. I know you wouldn’t have isolated yourself like this otherwise.” A light smile played upon your lips as you met his eyes again. “I’m just glad to see you again now.”

It was then you reached forth, brushing his nearest forearm lightly in reassurance. The damask silk of his sleeve was so very soft and smooth beneath your fingertips. And warm. Though from his body heat or the sun, it was difficult to tell…

Suddenly, another movement out of the corner of your eye had you glancing past the king at a visitor on the garden path: a small tabby cat – silver with stripes of black – trotting along the hedgerow towards you.

“Oh, look!”

You pointed, and Baldwin half-turned to follow your gesture, another quiet chuckle following once he realized what had caught your attention. “Ah, a palace mouser, I see. Either that or a street cat has managed to breach the walls.”

His choice of words elicited a light laugh from you. “Perhaps he is a scout, then. Come to assess our defenses.”

The two of you watched as the cat slowed a few paces away, looking up at the both of you.

“Mrow?”

It was a questioning little sound the tomcat made as he hunkered close, sniffing first at the toe of Baldwin’s shoe before doing the same at the hem of your skirt. For a moment he merely stood there, his banded tail a waving S in the air as he continued to take in king and lady with shining green eyes.

“Mrrp.”

A quiet trill followed as the cat proceeded to bump up against your shin, tail curling about as he wound his way behind you before bumping against Baldwin’s calf in the same manner. He paused, staring upwards, and then he repeated the pattern, his path creating an infinity knot around both your feet.

“Aww, I think the darling wants attention,” you cooed, bending at the waist towards the little feline as you held out your hand. You were rewarded with another bump up against your palm, whereupon you happily scratched behind the cat’s ears, a grin plastered to your face.

“I would greet him as he wishes,” Baldwin remarked beside you, “but I fear I’d lose balance and keep going.”

You glanced up at him. “Well… we can’t have His Majesty tumbling face-first into the roses, can we?”

“No, I do believe that would tarnish my reputation for being upright.”

A snort escaped you at that. Baldwin’s sense of humor never ceased to amaze you – that he could find humor at all amidst his terrible suffering was a testament to his fortitude.

Confident that the cat was comfortable with you, you then reached for him, moving to pick him up, which he allowed with surprising ease. Palace mouser indeed, and obviously used to human company; you were certain no street cat would allow such familiar handling so soon…

“Oh, look, he has little gloves, like you.”

Your observation of the cat’s stark white mittens, curled as they were overtop your arm, had Baldwin chuckling lightly once more, and he nodded in reply, his own gloved hand slowly approaching. “So he does. Alas, I fear his bear weapons mine do not.”

He paused long enough for the cat to sniff again at his fingers – which he did – before gently stroking the top of the creature’s head between his ears. Almost immediately, a rumbling purr emanated from the feline’s throat, his eyes half-closing. Despite the near tentativeness of Baldwin’s movements, the cat seemed quite satisfied with the attention, though a part of you wondered how much the king himself gleaned from it…

“Can you feel that?” you heard yourself ask.

“Barely,” was the quiet reply, a lengthy pause following before he withdrew and added, “I relish moments like these while I can. There will come a day when I shall feel nothing with these diseased hands, glove or not.”

His words shot like an arrow straight to your heart. As much as you both tried to ignore it, to look past it, the truth of the matter was that Baldwin was slowly being eaten alive from the inside out, and it was only a matter of time before it utterly consumed him. Just this simple encounter with a sweet palace cat was enough to bring reality crashing down around both your ears.

And you hated it.

Swallowing, you cleared your throat and then bent to set the curious feline back on his feet. “Let’s let our intrepid little friend here continue on his way now, to do the noble work his kind has been mandated to do, yes?”

Once released, you gave the cat one final pat on his head and he was off, trotting away down the path before promptly disappearing under a bush.

“Y/N?”

The softness of your name upon Baldwin’s lips suddenly brought your attention back to him, and then there was his hand on your cheek, cupping your face gently as his eyes searched yours. You could feel the concern in their depths, his gaze probing your own for answers. No doubt he sensed the shift in your mood – you never had been the best at keeping your emotions hidden…

“I wish I could do more for you,” you whispered before he could ask. “I wish I could… I wish…”

There were so many things that you wished. You wished for him to be healthy again. You wished you could lift the many burdens from his shoulders. You wished you could rid his court of the treacherous vultures just waiting for his final breath to tear apart the corpse of his dream. You wished you could send his enemies running for their lives beyond the desert sands. Alas, you could do none of that.

But you could do this…

Without a word, you swiftly closed what gap was left between you, wrapping your arms around him in a tight embrace.

Instantly, he stiffened, his hands clamping to your shoulders on reflex, their grip tighter than you anticipated.

“Y/N…”

“Hush!” you hissed, interrupting any warning he felt impelled to give you. “Let me do this… let me do it, and let yourself have it!”

You could feel him tremble in your arms, his breathing uneven. For a harrowing moment, he was naught but a statue, indecisive – no-doubt waging a war in his own mind, if you knew him by now as well as you thought you did…

Whichever side flew the banners of Propriety and Precaution, though, evidently lost the battle, as a shaky sigh escaped him at last, a quivering hiss of breath between the lips of his mask.

“God forgive me.”

And then, in a move that made your heart flutter wildly again, his own arms slid around you, pulling you into him and shrouding you in sun-soaked silk. The pungent scent of herbal salves alongside crisp linen followed, piercing past the exotic fragrances of the garden flowers, although you detected the distinct note of roses rising amidst it all – perhaps from the oils the physicians applied to soothe his ravaged flesh. He cocooned you in this warmth, the hardness of his mask as it rested atop of your head a sharp contrast to the softness of the rest of him. And thus he held you tight, tighter than you had expected him to, your ear pressed to his chest where you heard the quickened thumping of his heart.

For one blessed moment, nothing else existed. Perhaps he was an angel after all, just awaiting the wings set aside for him in Heaven. For here he held you in earthly Paradise amidst a garden to rival Eden, shining bright as the light of the sun that enveloped you both in its purifying rays, and you knew peace…

You heard the raggedness in his breath, however. The unsteadiness of his hold. Pulling back from him, you promptly swept his hands up in your own, tugging him towards the bench. “Come. Sit. Stay with me a while and forget your troubles, if only for a few moments. If you can spare them, at least.”

His regard held an almost painful tenderness as it met yours, his voice dropping to a silken timbre. “That and more, should you but ask.”

Your eyes never left his, then, as you led him with ease to your chosen perch. Scooping up Sibylla’s book, you made room for him to sit beside you there, and as he slowly settled himself, letting out what sounded like a sigh of relief, you were keenly aware that your legs were touching, hip to knee…

“Do you like poetry?” you inquired, choosing to ignore how your heart continued to race a little at his continued close proximity.

He glanced sideways, his eyes flicking downwards towards the book in your lap. “As much as the next person, I suppose. Is that a new acquisition?”

You grinned up at him. “Princess Sibylla loaned it to me, actually. We’re planning on discussing it in a few days.”

He nodded slowly at that, seeming to approve. “My sister is in need of good company. I am glad to hear you are getting along well with her.”

“She terrified me at first,” you admitted with a laugh. “But I think she truly wishes for us to be friends.”

Baldwin’s gaze leveled at you behind the mask. “And you were not terrified of me?”

The question was a soft one, wavering slightly, though from recent exertion or emotion, you couldn’t quite tell.

A gentle smile tugged at the corner of your mouth. “Never.”

For a long moment, his eyes searched yours, and you couldn’t help but let them. Their color, their shape, their intensity… they were so beautifully expressive that it didn’t matter that his mask concealed everything else. When they looked at you, you were almost certain you could feel what he felt in your own heart. And what you felt now was more warmth. This time, though, it blossomed from within as those eyes relaxed into a half-lidded stare that was so much like that of the cat you’d just found…

Aware of the blush heating your cheeks at such a look, you finally tore your gaze from his and cleared your throat. “Would you like to hear a bit of this? It’s rather good…”

“Yes, I very much would,” he answered, his tone an almost distant one.

With that, you opened the book where you left off, taking a breath before beginning to read aloud. You hoped he didn’t mind romances, as that was precisely what this one was – a chivalric tale of doomed love…

Any self-consciousness you possessed about the contents was banished, however, the moment you felt his hand curl around your waist.

It was so light a touch it barely registered at first. But then you saw the flash of white out of the corner of your eye, bright upon the green of your gown. Felt the slight weight of that hand upon the curve of your waist. Almost instinctively, you leaned into him in response, and his grip tightened a little.

“I am not hurting you, am I?” you asked quietly, concerned about the effects of any weight against his fragile flesh.

“You could never hurt me,” he replied in a whisper.

And that was the moment you felt his head rest against yours as you continued to read.

Thank you all very much for reading! 😊I hope you enjoyed! ✨ And if you have any other ideas for Y/N, I'd love to hear them!

[brain-rot-central]

Sonnet of the Lone Cardinal, Ch. 2

A/N: HEAVY TW FOR PREGNANCY AND TALK OF CHOICES. I understand this is a sensitive topic for some. Feel free to skip over this chapter; I will completely understand.

Rating: M - soft E Word count: 3.7k Pairing: Ascended Astarion/Fem!Tav Warnings: pregnancy, discussion of pregnancy termination, mention of prior sexual acts, emetophobia tw, angst, loss of consciousness, druids are connected with nature and shit, stalking behavior

Summary: Astarion's visit wasn't a one-off event. He and Tav have continued to meet nightly over the last few months, Tav all but losing track of time. It isn't until she ends up at the home of a certain druid that time catches up to her. She's now charged with a difficult choice, all while under the never-ending watch of her clandestine lover.

♥ Previous Chapter ♥ Next Chapter ♥ Link to Ao3

It's a day of rest for the citizens of Baldur's Gate, and the market is restless. Errands that have been pushed off for the last tenday all beg the same level of attention as shoppers flit from one store to another. Children laugh in the streets as they run past, mothers hopelessly screaming their names in an attempt to track them down.

Tav peruses the wares of various street vendors and shopkeepers. Her bag is already full, though she makes a quick argument with herself that she could absolutely use a new scarf. Mindlessly, she scratches the side of her neck while browsing the collection of woolen scarves at an upscale boutique. A sting of pain shoots down her neck, an unpleasant reminder of the discolored welt she had sucked into her flesh a couple nights ago.

The visits have continued since that first night. Astarion never gives much warning as to when or if he will return. It’s always the same modus operandi - he shows up unannounced, they spat, they have sex, and he's gone come morning. Tav rubs over the sore spot on her neck again, wincing as she recalls the evening's events.

Astarion was particularly rough that night. She could tell something else must have been preoccupying his thoughts as he didn't care much for their usual banter. No, he very quickly got straight to work, his fingers sinking into her cunt as he sucked the mark deep into her throat. Feeling a blush rising to her cheeks, Tav shakes her head in an attempt to rid her mind of the memory. At least until she's no longer in public.

Gazing across the store, Tav settles on a particular scarf. It's a light-gray color with various types of flowers embroidered throughout. Bringing it to the shop owner, they make light conversation regarding the detailing of the scarf as Tav expresses her desire to buy it. Tav pays the fee, stepping over to the shop’s mirror to place it around her neck. She gasps as she narrows in on the bruised skin of her neck, seeming to be worse now than earlier this morning. Heat rises to her cheeks once again as she winds the scarf around the column of her neck, paying extra care to position the fabric over her secret.

Waving to the shopkeeper, Tav exits the boutique and heads toward her next destination - the butcher's. Her freezebox is running empty, and there's only so much more vegetable soup she can eat before tiring of it. 

Truth be told, however, her appetite has shifted dramatically in the last few weeks. Even Astarion has commented after she nearly upchucked all over his loafers. He's agreed to go lighter on the cologne going forward, and thank the Gods he's obliged. Tav vaguely wonders if she's fighting off some type of illness, though it's been much too long for a simple stomach bug.

She's reminded just how tender her breasts have become as well, yelping aloud as she collides into the back of another shopper out in the street. “I'm so sorry!” Tav says quickly, ducking out of view before the victim can get a good look at her. She winces at the soreness of her bosom as she adjusts her bodice, dipping into her favorite butcher shop.

“Ah, Tav!” greets the butcher, warm and welcoming. A halfling, his amber eyes finding her as his lips pull into a smile. “Haven't seen your face a good while,” he comments. “I was startin’a wonder if you'd run off on yet another adventure.”

Tav chuckles and gives a nod. “Good to see you, Gideon. I'm still here!” The scent of meat is oddly strong today. Tav feels her stomach beginning to twist and turn as she surveys the various cuts of meat and fish laid out on the ice of the display cases.

They exchange pleasantries; Gideon shares quick stories about his family, Tav telling him more about her adventures to stop the Absolute. Disappearing into the back of the store, Gideon yells out, “Were ya interested in tryin’ some sausages, Tav?” Before she can reply, Gideon reappears holding a tub of meat trimmings.

Her nostrils are assaulted by the smell. Her stomach is lurching at this point, ready to spill freely up her throat and onto this poor man's pristine wooden floor. “I-Is it a new recipe?” Tav asks, feigning interest. She places a clenched fist over her mouth as she belches.

“No, not a new one,” he explains. Tav watches as he slips a sausage casing onto the spout of the meat grinder. “Improved!” Gideon grabs a handful of trimmings and places them into the funnel atop the grinder. Holding the casing in place, he begins to twist the crank with the opposite hand, machinery grinding the trimmings into mince.

Tav registers the sound of Gideon’s voice in her ears, though none of the words make it across her brain. She's transfixed on the way the meat mince fills the casing. Saliva pools thick on her tongue as a wave of sickness strikes her. The grinding of the meat has intensified the smell; it's not a particularly bad smell. In fact, it smells rather pleasant. But it's a smell; a strong smell, nonetheless, and strong smells are not something she can handle, as of late.

“Tav? Tav!”

She snaps from her daydream as Gideon's voice cuts through her mind. “Oh,” she says, “I'm so sorry. My mind was elsewhere, Gideon. Forgive me.” Tav’s eyes follow Gideon's hands as he gathers more meat trimmings to place within the funnel.

“That's totally fine, dearie! I was just goin’a tell you-”

Gideon cranks the handle again, grinding more meat into the casing. The accompanying smell overwhelms her nose again, and suddenly she's retching, violently, onto the pristine floorboards below - exactly what she didn't want to do.

After some time she's dry heaving, having emptied the full contents of her stomach. Tav then sinks to her knees, vaguely hearing Gideon scream from behind the counter. Her ears are filled with little else but the rapid beating of her own heart. As her chest heaves from the power of her emesis, Tav’s vision narrows a single tunnel. She falls gently onto her side, the touch of Gideon’s hands holding her head the last thing she remembers before slipping away into unconsciousness.

—------------------------------------

The ceiling is unfamiliar.

Tav snaps awake, rising curtly from the bed she lay on, certainly not her own. Immediately she's met with the soothing, pleasant scent of patchouli incense. And sage, lots and lots of sage.

“Ah, you've finally awoken,” a gruff yet feminine voice speaks from the far side of the room.

With a swivel of her head, Tav meets the hazel eyes belonging to this mysterious being. Wild blonde hair is woven into locks, adorned with beaded jewelry. Sun-kissed skin wrinkled by the passing of time, alluding to the beauty she beheld in her youth.

 “Jaheira?” Tav asks in confusion. “How did I…?”

“You passed out in the market, little cub,” she explains. Jaheira comes to sit on the edge of the bed, a laugh escaping her. “Boy, you gave that poor shopkeeper a fright. I happened to be not far from where you were when I heard the commotion.”

Running a hand through her hair, Tav recoils after touching a particularly sore spot on the side of her scalp, face pulling into a scowl. “Did you bring me back here?” Tav asks.

With a quick laugh, Jaheira says, “With some help, yes.” She gives a quick nod to Tav. “Don't worry, we maintained your dignity.”

The episode at the butcher's begins to replay in her mind. “Oh, Gods, Gideon!” Tav exclaims, holding her head in her hands. “I ruined his beautiful floors!”

“He seemed more worried about you, little one,” says Jaheira. Quirking a brow as she tilts her head, Jaheira asks, “Who is this man to you? He's not exactly your type.”

Disbelief settling across her face, Tav yells defensively, “Jaheira! He's my butcher!” She winces as another bolt of pain shoots down the side of her skull.

“Ah, go easy,” coos Jaheira, hands coming up in a calming gesture. “I only tease.”

With a sigh, Tav pulls the covers off herself and moves to sit up. She rubs the back of her neck, stretching it side to side. A gentle “pop” is heard once she flexes her neck to the left, shaking out her shoulders before standing.

Looking down, Tav realizes she's naked. Embarrassed, she quickly grabs the duvet from the bed and wraps it around her body. “Why am I-”

“You hit your head on the way down,” Jaheira explains. “I had to check if there were any other injuries.” Seeing Tav’s pained expression, Jaheira adds, “No need to worry, there are none. I've also treated you with balms and oils to ward off a concussion.”

Nodding her head toward Jaheira, Tav scans the room until she finds her clothing in a neat pile on the dresser. She walks over to retrieve her garments, dropping the blanket onto the floor to begin stepping into her trousers.

Tav catches Jaheira's gaze in her periphery. Jaheira is studying her intently, looking curiously at the bruise on her neck. Her vision dips lower to the swell of Tav’s breasts, and further still to the unusual softness of her lower belly. Tav dresses hurriedly, feeling uneasy under Jaheira's watchful stare. She secures the embroidered scarf around her neck before searching for her boots.

“Forgive me for prying,” Jaheira says, cutting through the uneasy silence that has befallen the room. “I couldn't help but notice the mark on your neck.” Lips pulling into a smirk, Jaheira asks, “That isn't a gift from the butcher boy, is it?”

With a laugh, Tav bends down to pick up her boots that rest in the corner of the room. “Oh, most certainly not,” comes her answer. Sliding her feet into her boots with a huff, Tav says, “No, this is from…” Her voice drifts off as she thinks of Astarion. How to describe their situation? The question baffles her. “An old flame,” she settles.

“Ah, so you know this boy?” Jaheira inquiries while raising a brow.

Having tied the laces of her boots, Tav returns to the bed. “For some time, actually,” she explains, taking a seat. “We're… trying to rekindle what once was, I think.” An uneasy discomfort spreads throughout her chest.

Jaheira lifts a hand to Tav’s chin, gently turning her head to the side, exposing the marred flesh of her neck from under the scarf. “Is he handsome?” Jaheira asks jovially, her eyes roaming the young woman’s skin.

With a gentle laugh, Tav replies, “Quite.” Her eyes track the older woman's face, holding her chin steady within Jaheira's grasp.

“And how long have you been rekindling what once was, hmm?”

Furrowing her brow, Tav slowly turns her head, fully facing Jaheira. “I beg your pardon?” Tav asks, befuddled. “That's a rather personal question, don't you think?”

A heavy sigh escapes from the druid’s chest as she closes her eyes. Reopening them, Jaheira asks, “When was the last time you bled, little cub?” The hand that was on Tav’s chin now reaches up to tuck hair behind an ear.

Rage swells within Tav at the emboldened line of questioning. Before a response could form on her tongue, realization washes over her. “I-” she stammers, “I could have sworn it was a few weeks ago, but…” 

It has indeed been quite some time. Months, in fact. She's been so preoccupied by Astarion's return into her life, the new dynamic they have formed, working on settling back into how things once were… 

Tav simply… forgot. Forgot to keep track.

“Oh, Gods,” Tav exclaims, voice cracking as anxiety begins to take root. “Do you think… I could be…?”

“I have reason to believe,” comes Jaheira’s graceful response, compassion evident across her features. “It would only take a few moments to confirm, if you wish.”

Averting Jaheira's watchful gaze, Tav nods her head. Jaheira motions for Tav to lay down atop the bed, Tav hesitantly complying. A strong sense of despair settles over her as she rests against the pillow. Does she even want to know? Probably, as that would be the more responsible thing to do.

Right?

“Close your eyes and relax,” Jaheira says calmly, hands hovering over Tav’s abdomen. A faint green glow emanates from the palms of Jaheira's hands, and she hums softly. Tav closes her eyes and breathes in a cleansing breath, releasing as much tension on exhale as she can.

The room is silent for a few moments, until Jaheira suddenly jerks back. “By Silvanus,” she gasps, mouth falling agape. Eyes wide as she stares into Tav, who is now sitting upright on the bed.

“What is it?” Tav asks, panicked. “Am I..?”

Jaheira's face twists and contorts before finally settling on bewilderment. “You… are,” she confirms, hushed. Tentatively, she questions, “You… refused your father, did you not?”

Bhaal, her accursed paternity. The source of murderous rage and never-ending blood lust that once threatened to consume her. Something she and Astarion bonded over deeply, back then.

“I did,” Tav answers. “Why do you ask?” She studies Jaheira as the older woman falls silent, lips pressing into a thin line. “Jaheira, what is wrong? Tell me!” she demands.

The druid casts her eyes down at the floor. “The child… is unnatural,” Jaheira gasps, sucking in a large breath. “The aura… It goes against every law of nature.” Disbelief sours her expression further as she shakes her head. “It is an abomination.”

Unnatural. Abomination. Jaheira's words repeat in her mind. Tav's breath hitches as truth sinks in, her vision narrowing.

She is with child. An undead child.

Astarion's child.

“No,” Tav cries, “no, you have to be wrong. It's not possible.” Denial floods her chest, heart beating wildly. The fine hairs of her arms stand on end as a wave of nausea rushes over her; she feels sick. And stupid. So incredibly stupid.

Reclaiming her seat on the bed, Jaheira places her hands over Tav’s. “Oh, sweet girl,” Jaheira says, rubbing circles into her skin. Tav physically recoils at the pity laced within her voice. “Did he tell you he couldn't? They all say that, and none ever mean it.”

Tav shakes her head in disagreement. “No, it's… It isn't that,” Tav begins, voice cracking as a sob pushes past her lips. With a huff, she pulls her hands from Jaheira's and throws them into her lap, defeated. “It… it would have happened already…?” She stares into Jaheira’s eyes, searching desperately for a ledge to pull herself up and out of this nightmare.

Jaheira returns her gaze, her hand cupping Tav's jaw tenderly. She tilts her head, eyes full with understanding before asking, “Cub, do you mean to tell me the father is…?”

Her throat feels tight, almost to the point of suffocation. Pressure builds in her head as Tav tries to choke back the string of sobs that threaten to overwhelm her. Her stomach is flipping violently, much like earlier in the day, though she's unsure of what would come up. Her eyes burn as tears begin to roll down her cheeks, and she finally buries her face within Jaheira's chest, giving herself over to acceptance of her current situation.

Jaheira says nothing at first, placing her hands across the young woman's back, mindlessly rubbing up and down. She presses a kiss atop her hair and begins rocking Tav within her arms, all in an effort to comfort the distraught human. “I thought you left him, Tav?” the druid asks, delicately.

Pulling herself from Jaheira's bosom, Tav wipes her tears with the back of a hand. “I did, but he came looking for me a few months ago.” Stupid, she scolds herself. So godsdamned stupid to ever let him back in. Throwing her hands up, Tav says, “What do I do, Jaheira? He can't ever know.”

“No,” agrees Jaheira, rising from her place on the bed, “he absolutely must not.” Walking over to the dresser at the opposite end of the room, Jaheira opens the top drawer and begins rummaging within. Tav sees her retrieve a small midnight blue bottle, closing the drawer before stepping back over to the bed. “Take this,” Jaheira insists, holding out the bottle to Tav.

Raising a hand, Tav hesitantly retrieves the potion. She studies it intently, rotating the bottle within her grasp. “Essence of Moonshade,” Tav reads off the faded label, inquisitively. “What is this?”

Jaheira sits again on the bed next to Tav. “The wife of a tyrant's most trusted confidant,” explains Jaheira, leaning in closer to the younger woman. Raising her hands, Jaheira encloses them around Tav’s and the bottle. Their eyes meet, concern apparent across the druid’s face as she says, “Drink this, and you needn't worry any longer.”

Furrowing her brow, Tav takes a moment to consider Jaheira's instructions. She quickly stands, ripping her hands away from Jaheira as the puzzle begins to align. “Are you asking me to purge this child, Jaheira?” Tav questions, distraught.

The druid woman is silent for some time before weakly nodding her head. “I am giving you a chance to rid yourself of the curse that grows within.”

Tav clenches her fists rapidly as anger swells within her, beginning to boil over. “His seed sprouted in my belly; does that make me wretched, too, Jaheira?” she shouts, utterly bewildered by what the druid is asking her to consider. “Should I also be purged? Punished for my womb being so favorable as to nurture the child of a monster?” she yells, venomously.

“Tav, no-” Jaheira coos, eyes soft as she extends a hand.

But before the druid can continue, Tav begins to weep. Unrestrained sobs pour from her lips as she sinks to her knees, hiding her face in her hands as she screams, “I can't do it, Jaheira!” Wrapping her arms around her torso, Tav begins rocking herself back and forth. Her skin prickles with anxious energy, heat rising throughout her chest. “They're half of me,” Tav tries reasoning, weakly. Tears fall freely from her eyes, though the sobs begin to subside. 

At least, until her arms press down over her chest and she winces at the tenderness of her breasts. A reminder that she is, indeed, pregnant. That this is not a dream. She's transported back into the hellish nightmare she sought such desperate momentary relief outside of, the sobs continuing.

Jaheira kneels down next to the young human woman, a gentle hand rubbing her back. “I am sorry, little one,” says Jaheira, mournfully. “To aid you was my only thought.” Jaheira elaborates while raking a hand through Tav’s auburn locks.

With a gentle shake of her head, Tav says, “No, I apologize, Jaheira. You're only trying to help and I'm…” Being ungrateful, she finishes within her mind. Her thoughts are muddled. A multitude of emotions rushes through her like a river after rain. Tav digs her palms into her eyes and rubs, giving her head another shake as her hands drop into her lap.

“Tav, look at me,” states the druid, a hand coming to hold Tav’s chin again. She lifts the young woman’s face to meet her eyes. “I do not fault you for being beguiled by him. I, too, was once a young woman,” Jaheria with an honest laugh. Her expression softens. “Whatever your decision, please know that I am here.” Jaheira gently strokes a thumb over Tav’s chin and adds, “You may always come to me, whenever you feel the need to.”

Warmth begins to radiate from Tav’s core as Jaheira's words settle over her. She feels pressure mounting in her face again, tears imminent, but for a much different reason. “Thank you, Jaheira,” Tav says, wrapping her arms around the other woman’s waist in a tight embrace.

Jaheira raises her arms, bringing them around Tav’s shoulders. “You are a beautiful, intelligent young woman. I trust you will be fine,” she states emphatically, pressing a kiss against Tav’s temple.

The two women separate, Tav wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. Jaheira helps them stand, nodding toward the forgotten bottle on the bed. “Take that home with you,” Jaheira insists. “You still have some time to decide.”

With a quick nod, Tav walks over to the bed and retrieves the bottle, tucking it into the front pocket of her trousers. “I don't know how to thank you,” admits Tav.

“Ah, don't mention it,” replies Jaheira with a wave of her hand. “Now, be on your way. I'm sure you've grown tired of spending time with an elder.”

Tav laughs as she picks her pack up off the floor, situating it upon her back. She exchanges parting pleasantries with the druid as they walk down the stairs, Jhessem and Tate running past them as they reach the door. Tav waves back as she descends onto the streets of the city, Jaheira yelling something unintelligible toward the rambunctious children as she closes the front door.

Taking a deep breath, Tav pulls the dark blue bottle from her pocket and gives it a quick glance over. She shakes it slightly, watching the liquid slosh to and fro within.

The sound of a bird squawking above draws her attention from the potion, and Tav looks up. On the roof of the home across from Jaheira, a black raven sits perched on the gutter. It cries again, twisting its head in various different directions before taking flight. Tav watches the bird fly off, disappearing from view. Strange, she thinks. Tucking the bottle back into her pocket, she begins the trek back home.

—------------------------------------ Atop the tower wall he stands, golden chalice adorned with rubies in hand. The sun is beginning to set over the city, a golden glow illuminating the many alleyways below. The man extends his opposite arm as a raven appears. The bird perches upon his offered ledge, hopping slightly closer to him as it chatters. “Hello, darling. What news of my damia do you bring?” he purrs to the bird. It squawks in response, the bird's head turning rapidly. Bringing the goblet of wine to his lips, Astarion takes a strong sip. “Is that so?” he responds. Licking his lips, he comments darkly, “How very, very interesting.”

[kingshovelbug]

HI EVERYONE!! IM HOSTING A BINDER GIVEAWAY!!

its taken a little bit longer to get everything together (considering life circumstances) but im in a space where i can take on a little bit more responsibility with something like this. i have some second hand binders, collected by will and i. theyre all being washed with hypoallergenic detergent but do come from an apartment with cats (just in case anyones severely allergic) and please keep in mind that they are second hand! im not going to send out the ones that are super stretched out or damaged but they do have some give compared to when theyre brand spanking new.

it will be first come first serve and make sure to comment the size you would want out of the lot! id also ask that you only claim one so that everyone has a shot at getting something they need! ill list the sizes below 👇

binders- make sure to comment the size and color since theres a few repeats:

gc2b classic back 4xl tan

gc2b classic back 2xl cream

gc2b classic back 2xl cream

gc2b classic back 2xl tan

gc2b classic back 2xl red

gc2b classic back 2xl red

gc2b classic back 2xl navy

gc2b classic back full tank 2xl tan

gc2b classic back xl cream

gc2b classic back xl cream

gc2b classic back xl tan

gc2b classic back xl black

gc2b racer back xl black

gc2b classic back xl grey

gc2b classic back full tank xl grey

i will be traveling the next couple of days so this will sit until next week where ill be dm'ing people for their information to mail them out. but if happen to be online and i see that something has been claimed ill update the post and cross it out.

[yaut-jaknowit]

Reader introducing Woftik to the concept of ooman winter holidays, maybe some gift giving. Tooth rotting fluff

The Holidays

Pairing: Woftik (male Yautja) x GN!reader

Word Count: 2744

Summary: In the vast winter lands of Yautja Prime, Woftik and his mate get to learn about ooman holidays. Woftik doesn't understand it but with the help of his ooman mate, he comes to learn and participate in it. If it means keeping you happy, he's up for it.

Author Note: Merry Christmas and/or happy holidays everyone! Hope everyone has a great end of the year and is preparing for the next. Here's your present! If you guys want a second part, let me know!

Masterlist

Ao3

The Yautja calendar and yours were different. Very different. After your time on Yautja Prime, the days have blended together far too much to remember when was when back home. Truly, it didn’t matter. You’ve made your choice to stick it out on Woftik’s planet. There was nothing to change your mind… besides the damned blizzards that forcefully board up the huts in your small village. The clan, Nacht Klinge, gets wiped off of the map for the time being.

During those months where little light would shine on the lands, casting them in darkness, you considered those to be the winter months. Similar to your own planet. It was the only way to make sense of the changing scenes.

For a fact, you knew the days were longer. On your first week, let alone day on the planet, you knew this immediately. At first, you believed it to be jet lag, or whatever you would consider traveling from planet to planet was. Yet, you later learned they have an extra five hours to their day.

Yautja’s calendars were something you didn’t dare mess with. Confusing with all the changes that happen. The months were weird. The days long, The weeks were six days compared to seven. You just went along with it. They weren’t anything you needed to fret over. If a day of importance came up, Woftik would remind you or let you know. He grew up with said calendar. It’s best to let him handle the confusion than the headache it would surely give you.

When the winter months rolled over the Nacht Klinge clan, an idea came to mind. The winter holidays. Presents; lights; gifts; family; joy. All of it. Your face soured. With the pros of living under your mate’s house, came cons as well. No people to celebrate with. Humans, at least. The Yautjas aren’t ones to have extreme holidays. Though in a sense, they had religion. Holidays usually came from religion.

Now, what could you even get Woftik as a present? He’s the caretaker and hunter. You do outside every once awhile, under the careful watch of those black eyes of his. The lands may look desolate but monsters, predators stalk their prey under the snow. The opposite of a fox or snow owl. Woftik ensured you understood, though not feared, the dangers that lurk beyond the protection of his home.

And you did. As a human though, you required the sun. Through your time in your new home, the color of your skin has lightened over time. Just enough to be noticeable.

Some time ago, you remember coming down with a terrible illness that could even affect a Yautja. Woftik freaked out. Yautja’s rarely got sick. So when they do, it’s serious. He sprinted the whole way to get you to the doctor of the village. Though younger than Woftik by a couple hundred years, she laughed at him before explaining how weak ‘ooman’ systems are. Poor man looked like he had a couple of years shaved off.

Deep in thought, you smiled subconsciously, eyes glazed over. Your head shook side to side to clear any memories still lingering. Times like that bulldoze any doubts over. Like weeds, they do return. But, hey, you’re human. Nothing can change the way you or your species thought.

Hard keratin gently pressed to the top of your head. Jolted from your thoughts, your head whipped up to find the dark gaze of your mate peering over the edge of the couch at you. “Woftik!” you spoke his name in surprise before lifting yourself to your knees and spinning around to face the off-white Yautja.

Small bits of snow clung to his clothing on his shoulders. Nothing out of ordinary. The low light of the twenty-nine hour days didn’t require him to use the googles designed to protect his eyes from the harsh sun or the reflective snow.

The chief of his clan dipped his head in greetings. You instantly wrapped your arms around the large male’s waist, not able to touch your hands together behind him. A size and heaviness needed in these harsher climates.

His body stayed soft in your hold, arms reaching to rub between your shoulder blades. Then, you let your arms fall to the couch, orbs still looking up at him. Woftik chuffed then leaned down to place another closed mandible kiss on the top of your head. “What has my little minx been up to?” he rumbled and walked around the short couch.

The lumbering giant scooped you from the seat, sat down himself, and let you rest on the new open spot. Muscular arms stayed wrapped around your smaller frame. A kind smile broke across your face, unable to glance away from those dark, light-consuming eyes of his. “Nothing much.”

Former thoughts flashed in your mind. A bittersweet feeling swelling behind your breastbone. Woftik was your new family.

A sharp, light grey claw tapped the tip of your nose and brought you from your mind. Eyes once glazed over peered back into the dark orbs of Woftik’s. “What is on your mind, mate?” his deep voice vibrated through his chest and into your side.

“Well…” you trailed off for a moment to think about how to explain this. From your limited knowledge, Yautjas have holidays but nothing like how human do or even celebrate. You chewed at the inside of your lip for a second before a light bulb shined above your head. “Okay, so humans have holidays. Presents, gatherings, family drama, the whole nine yards. Chaos in a pot. Well, I was wondering if we could maybe celebrate?”

There was an expression of indifference on his older features. The darkness of his eyes didn’t allow many of emotions to reflect in them. This left you to ponder what was rolling around in his massive head.

“Of course, if you don’t want to, I won’t make you. I… I just miss those things from my home, you know?” A nervous look presented itself as my expression. Not one born of fear, but from the known if Woftik would do this with you.

The arms around you unwrapped themselves to rest on the back of the couch. He looked like peace itself when he presented himself like this. “What does this holiday or holiday entail?”

Instantly, you perked up with a wide smile spilting your lips. “Really?!” Amusement flash through his eyes. “Yes! Okay, so I celebrate a day called Christmas. It’s really big in the states. It’s about a man named santa who delievers presents to children who’ve been good. The bad kids get coal.”

Off-white brows furrowed the longer you talked. “Wait, are you saying a random male breaks into your dwelling and gives you something?” he questioned in disbelief. How could anyone be okay with that?! He rarely let anyone over to his private hut. You are here, protected from the dangers of his world. To alone another of species to enter could endanger your life. A risk he wasn’t willing to take.

The laugh in return didn’t ease the tension in his body. “No, silly! It’s a sham. Santa doesn’t exist. It’s a story to tell to kids so they be good or else they won’t get any toys as a reward,” you explained and smack his chest with the back of your hand. It hurt you more than him.

Woftik hummed. “Strange. Does it work?” From the little experience he had with the oomans home planet, he truly didn’t know if it worked. His species use a more physical, firmer approach to unruly offspring. He’s had his fair share of smacks when he was a child. He learned from his mother not to do that the safer way then figuring it out if it stole his life.

You reached behind your neck to scratch an nonextant itch. “Eh, from the last year I was back on earth, the new generation was growing worse with their attitude and disrespect. Thankfully, I won’t have to worry about that being here and with you.”

By Paya’s grace, he loved the way you looked up at him, such a compassionate look. The day you died, he would wish to keep your eyes for the rest of his life. He knew it wouldn’t be the same, a fact that would forever sit heavy in his chest.

“So, what do you say? Wanna have a Christmas with me this year?” you asked with hope sparkling in your pupils. Woftik was a harden chief, a stern hand when it came to ensuring his clan survived every harsh month in these barren lands. When it came to you, his sweet, little ooman, he could never say no. Not when you look at him like that. Plus, the holiday sounded fun.

A grunt sounded from his deep barrel chest. “Why not.” You squealed and hugged the big male again, hands unable to touch each other.

“Thank you! Thank you!” you chanted then stood up on the couch. The added height was just enough to reach his face. Your lips touched at one of his lower mandibles in a mock kiss. The best the two of you could do while he had no lips to return he affection.

From the happiness apparent on your alien face, Woftik internally smiled at the sight. It was the right choice to do this with you. He rubbed a brow against your temple in affection. “Of course, my mate.” Woftik pulled back enough to look you in eye, a scaly brow raised in question. “When shall this ‘Christmas’ occur?”

Your lips pursed in thought. First off, you’ll need to go out and gather something for him as a present. That would require possibly sneaking past him and heading into town. With the weather getting worse during this months, venturing out would be dangerous. Especially for a human like you without your protector of a Yautja. The preparation and whatnot would take you some time to plan.

Since the winter was only about one-third over, there was plenty of time to work. “Okay, let’s do it in three weeks,” you offered.

Yes, the weeks are a day shorter, but the days are longer. They weren’t the same back on home but relatively close enough that it could work.

“Alright, three weeks from today shall be our ‘Christmas’,” Woftik agreed.

Another idea came to mind. “Oh! And I want to other things too. Like, wearing matching PJs and hot cocoa.” Your face was spilt wide with a grinning smile that would take a god’s force to remove. Not that Woftik would even dare to. Knowing that showing your teeth for oomans was a sign of happiness now, he would kill to see you like this all the time. His mate deserved to be ecstatic.

The thought of what would come from this new chapter in his life had him sighing on the outside. His normal, grumpy looking self on display. What had he gotten himself into now?

“You won’t regret it. I promise, Wof!” you reassured the male. Your soft, supple hands cupped his scaly outer jaw. Instantly, Woftik melted into this new hold on him, eyes hooding over. Despite his mind slowing, he was planning out how to execute this new holiday with you.

Hot cocoa? He’ll have to look it up but it must be a sweet drink. This far north from the warmth of the sun, little to planet life grew. This would require him to go into the bustling city towards the equator to get what you wanted. Maybe he would take you with him. Carefully. Not all clans are accepting of oomans. Almost all still saw them for the weak species they are, some of those just leave them alone as whole. A small amount go out of their way to kill any that stray away from the protection of either mate or clan. Woftik would have to keep you close and practically on a leash to ensure you don’t fall victim to those said clans.

This would be good though. Woftik does spend plenty of time with you but mostly here, in his private dwelling, protected and safe. The male would never think about taking you out for a hunt, risking unnecessary injury when he could easily provide for the two of you. To take you from here, into the heart of Yautja Prime… he saw it as a good thing. Exploration, change.

Internally, he nodded. Woftik would plan this as a day trip and use his ship to head to the equator to find the necessary items.

“I do have a plan, little ooman.” You tilted your head in silent question. “I shall take you with me to Eourov. From there, I will gather supplies for this ‘Christmas’ and we can celebrate together.”

Your eyes widened. Woftik has spoken some about the biggest city on Yautja Prime: Eourov. The fact he was willing to take you from his clan’s territory was surprising. But to the largest city?

As human, the natural feeling of fear crawled up your back like the legs of a spider. But you pushed that down and looked at him fearlessly. “When do we leave?” You brought forth the courage and excitement of exploring a new plan to your heart. Not only were you having Christmas with the person you loved, but he was taking you to somewhere new!

“I will have to bring up Totolak up to speed about this.” Totolak was Woftik’s second in command. “This will be a day trip but we will return at the end of the day cycle back here. So, he will need to cover for the day while I’m gone with you. We shall plan for two days.” Those dark brown, on the verge of black, eyes pierced through yours.

“Alrighty! I can’t wait,” you squealed and rewrapped your around him. This time, ensnaring his neck tightly. Woftik gently returned the act with just one arm around your torso. His free hand resting on your hip, his thumb mindlessly rubbing over your comfortable t-shirt.

“Is my mate happy?” he questioned. The first thought to come to mind was how ridiculous of a question that was!

“Of course I am! I get to spend more time with you. My favorite thing is to spend time with you. Even if it’s just lounging around with nothing to do,” you stated firmly towards the end. You prayed he wasn’t having doubts about your feelings towards him. You simply brushed off that stupid idea and kept grinning up at him.

The off-white Yautja saw devotion shining back in those pools of emotions. His heart squeezed at the sight. The hand on your hip scaled up your body to cup your jaw and tilted your head up, exposing your throat to him. An action only mates and deeply trusted ones would offer to one another. His pink tongue flickered out for a fleeting moment. “But you must stay close to me. At all times. You have to be glued at my side the whole time we are out,” Woftik demanded, voice growing lower to show his seriousness.

His hand tightened on your jaw. You took his words straight to your heart. Woftik wants to protect you from all harm as his mate. “I will,” you promised Woftik, only knowing the hint of dangers he spoke in fleeting talks before. All you knew was some Yautja hated your species and won’t hesitate to kill you. Thankfully, you have your heart placed in Woftik’s hands. He would keep you safe from danger.

Woftik purred and rubbed his brow once more to your temple. “Tomorrow, I will alert Totolak to our adventure. For now, I shall enjoy my time with my mate.”

The thick arm wrapped around your torso tightened. You were promptly lifted off of the couch and tossed onto the shoulder of Woftik. Said Yautja kept his limb secure around you and began his march to your shared room.

Your laugh echoed off of the walls of your home. “Woftik!” you tried to scold him through the laughter bubbling in your chest but was unsuccessful.

You soon found yourself trapped underneath Woftik’s lumbering frame as he buried his face into the crook of your neck. Both of his arms were locked around you. No chance of escape, not that you want ed to in the first place. This is where you belonged. Forever.

[namazunomegami]

emperor!sukuna x imperial concubine!reader

a/n: part 2 of my self-indulging mess. I had a lot of fun writing him and his drabble got finished way before I developed the whole plotline for Geto lol. I'll try to complete Gojo today or tomorrow and Toji is in the works yaaay!!

Also, I'm so surprised my Geto drabble got so many notes in such a short time!! I wouldn't expected people to be remotely interested in my writing but now I'm getting confident.

And finally, I can guarantee that this reader is gender neutral.

Likes and reblogs are appreciated <33

wc: 674, I know, I know, Geto got the princess treatment from me but sometimes less is more <333

cw: historical AU, scheming, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of sudden infant death syndrome, betrayal, accusations of abortion, execution, nudity, mentions of poisoning, suggestive

credits: i used a colored manga panel instead of a fanart but I have no idea who did the coloring so feel free to help me credit their work. And again, my precious @notveryrussian did the proofread, luv ya mwah <33

MDNI PLEASE! I'm gonna find you and kick you in the butt if you do. If you’re not comfortable with dark content or anything mentioned in the warnings just scroll, there's nothing wrong with that.

His mandate of heaven is very different from Gojo and Geto. Sukuna is a ruthless tyrant, he enjoys crushing any nation he deems either threatening or undeserving to even exist next to his borders. His palace is a snake pit, full of betrayal and backstabbing. Executions are frequent and he needs no valid reason to sentence someone to death, he enjoys the bloodshed and the sight of lifeless bodies. You can’t survive that place acting kind and humble. Sukuna specifically torments his concubines physically and mentally for the sheer enjoyment of it.

His court is probably the most competitive. You need to be as ruthless as he is, you need to become a schemer. One of his high-ranking consorts takes you under her wing. She lets you spend leisure time with her, and somehow, she ends up telling you way more sensitive information than she should. She once managed to give him a child, but the infant sadly died days after they were born. She complained about how hard that pregnancy was and that she’s afraid of going through it again, even though she’s attached to him. And not long after this conversation, she fell ill. Retching out everything she ate, her stomach burned and ached. She was so weak her cycle was two weeks late. She trusted you enough to have you fetch her a specific herbal tea to ease her pain and grant her some dreamless sleep.

And that’s the moment you decide you’ll use everything you know about her to cast her down and take her place.

You accuse her that she’s pregnant but wants to abort her baby. Your story is so intricately constructed from all the details you knew that his officials are on your side without hesitation. She watches you horrified, desperately telling him that nothing could be so far from the truth. Sukuna decides to believe in your words and orders for the consort to be executed. Finding pure joy in how she wails and begs for forgiveness. At the execution, he studies your face, every little detail and reaction and you were aware of that. It’s time to impress him. Your face is still, you don’t even flinch when her head is severed by the neck. The eunuchs come for you at night.

He loves and loathes this tradition at the same time. The servants want to protect him, so they deliver you stark naked to ensure you won’t carry any weapons. Fools, as if a weak and trembling creature like you could ever hurt him with a mere dagger or a sharpened hairpin. Yet it makes you look like an offering. A sacrificial lamb. Maybe because you are.

Some primal instinct tells you to balance your inner strength and innate fear of him. Pull back your shoulders, straighten your back, don’t even think to conceal your private parts. Let your fingers quiver and the sheer dread in your eyes seep through. He mocks you. Almost laughs at you while sitting comfortably on the intricately carved shelf bed, wearing a loose bright yellow robe, leaving almost nothing to the imagination. There’s no reason for him to not do this though, he’s a god, the son of heaven, therefore, everything about him is perfect.

The first thing he asks you is if you’re satisfied with your pathetic attempt to improve your position. You don’t dare to tell him that you feel the guilt rotting your insides. He confesses that he was poisoning her meals, he wanted to watch her wither away slowly and enjoy her suffering, but you ruined his plans. He might spare you, you’re a stupid little thing, you couldn’t have known. He warns you that you need to do so much more if you want to be on his good side. You need to be absolutely despicable to earn his praise. Though you feel content having reached your goal and getting to spend a night with him, somewhere deep down you hope you can leave his chamber in one piece or, at least, alive.

[leupagus]

Half of this fic is just me looking for more excuses to put in all the cool women that the show wrote out

Still working on the next chapter for the GOT rewrite from hell, but I had to write a little about how the fuck menstruation works in Westeros (other than "oh you can get married now!" which I refuse to believe is the norm) and also to introduce the Sphinx:

The next morning, Shireen woke up to find blood on her shift and a sharp sort of twist in her stomach, as though she'd swallowed a molten pin. The blood came out easily enough, with frantic scrubbing in the basin, but the pain grew over the course of the morning.

"It's your flowering," said Maester Alleras briskly, when she went to him in a tightly-controlled panic. "How old are you?"

"Fourteen," said Shireen, realizing the date. Her nameday had passed two weeks ago.

"And what do you know of flowering?" he asked, smiling slightly at her blush. "Forgive me, but Northerners have queer ideas of teaching their children about these matters. I do not wish to presume your level of education."

"I know it can last for a week or more," Shireen said, thinking of Mother's cycles, how she would confine herself to her rooms to endure the pain in solitude and prayer. "It's very painful and disgusting, but it allows me to bear my future husband's children and therefore is a gift from the gods."

"Hmm. Well, that is what you were taught, at least," grunted the maester. He got up from his desk, rummaging through the cupboard behind him. He was a tall, skinny young man with the deep brown skin and tightly-coiled hair of a Summer Islander, and shared their fondness for brightly-colored nails: they seemed to dance along the shelves until he plucked out a jar and presented it to her with a flourish. "This will help with the pain, and stop the bleeding after this cycle. People of the North use it a great deal."

"Is it moon tea?" Shireen asked, taking it gingerly and wondering at Maester Alleras's use of the term Northerners, which sounded different from People of the North. Perhaps in the Summer Isles, everyone on Westeros was a Northerner. "Why do they use it so much here?"

"It is," he confirmed, "and as for why..." He shrugged. "I've only just arrived in Winterfell, you understand, and as you may have guessed—" this said with another smile— "I was born elsewhere. But from what I've gathered, they must be careful when they have children. The North can only feed so many."

Shireen thought of Fire & Blood, which Father had read to her as a child. The Winter Wolves had been a company of Northerners, who had answered Lord Cregan's call to fulfill the Pact of Ice and Fire with Rhaenyra Targaryen. They'd been greybeards who had knowingly marched to their deaths, for such was the custom of the North back then: at the start of each winter, the old men of each keep and castle and holdfast would choose amongst themselves who would go out into the snows. Some would return home in the spring, having endured the cold or escaped it to find their fortunes in southron lands; most would not.

"Put a thimbleful of this into whatever tea you like best," Maester Alleras continued, gesturing at the jar, his fingernails catching the light as it streamed into the rookery. "Once a day, and come back when you need more."

"Shouldn't I ask—" Shireen bit her lip.

But the maester caught her meaning; his eyes narrowed. "Shouldn't you ask your parents? Yes, I suppose you should. But they should be here to be asked, and they should have told you the truth."

"What's the truth?" Shireen asked, instead of admitting that Mother and Father had never told her anything about it. She couldn't imagine either of them even mentioning the subject. All her information had come from books, or from Mother's complaints.

"The truth is that if a cycle is painful and lasts for a week or more, that is the sign of an illness, not the will of a god. The truth is that you may well find it disgusting, but it is merely something our bodies do and should never be a source of disgust or shame to you or anyone else." He glared, though it did not seem directed at her. "And as for 'bearing your future husband's children,' the truth is that they are your children, just as much as his — indeed more so, unless he carries them about for the first nine months after their birth. But you will not be a woman grown for at least another two years, and any man who wishes you to bear children until at least that time is unworthy of your hand or your love." He sat back down, his half-dozen maester's links chiming musically. "Now run along, little princess."

Lady Sansa was just outside the door, with her brother beside her. "See, I told you she smelled funny," Rickon said triumphantly.

Shireen scowled at him. "Shut up." It was kind of him, she supposed, to have worked out that something was wrong and to wait for her outside the maester's chambers. But Rickon Stark was the sort of friend who was difficult to be grateful for.

"Yes, please do, Rickon," Lady Sansa said, pressing a businesslike kiss on the crown of Rickon's head before turning him round by the shoulders and pushing him down the corridor. Rickon protested, but went all the same, and Lady Sansa turned back to Shireen. "Moon tea?" she asked, nodding at the jar.

Shireen resisted the impulse to hide it somehow. It is merely something our bodies do and should never be a source of disgust or shame. "Yes, my lady," she said.

"Come along, then," said Lady Sansa. "I have some excellent tea from the Arbor. How does that sound?"

"Could I have a hot water-skin, too?" Shireen asked, as Lady Sansa looped her arm through hers.

"Of course. And the lemon trees in the greenhouse have given up their first fruits — we'll have lemon cakes for lunch instead of venison." She smiled and Shireen thought that even if Sansa Stark never took another husband or had children of her own, she was still all the mother that the North ever would need.

[kayleighwinchester]

Downpour

((It's been a long time coming, but I finally finished another of the drabble drafts I have rattling around for @artyandink's Jensen-a-thon! This one is meant to prelude Rocks and Rom Coms and Long Story, but can certainly be read separately! I present to you: Stanford-Era Dean being the socially-inept, ill-adjusted boy I maintain he would be.))

What would arguably be the most important day of your life, looking back, was an entirely average Monday; it was one that would even count as a bad day.

You went to class – you were running late, and it was only the first week. You had lunch at some overpriced cafe on campus; another several hours of classes that made a headache start to throb at your temples; as rain began to pour down as you walked home, you ducked into the nearest building – a run-down looking gas station that, really, had no business keeping their prices a solid ten cents higher than everywhere else in town – to wait it out.

He was leaning against the counter beside the display of brightly colored lottery adverts and scratch off tickets, brows furrowed as he stared out at the rain, grumbling about how he’d “just waxed the damn car–”, his eyes fixed on a sleek black muscle car safely hidden beside pump three from the sudden downpour. It seemed he was stuck there, just like you were, if his muttering was any indication. His green eyes darted to yours as the bell above the door jingled cheerfully, and the sour expression on his face lightened just a bit. “Kind’a wet out there, huh?” He asked, lips quirking into a lopsided grin as he took in your damp clothes and disheveled hair.

“Usually what happens when it rains,” You quipped, making a bee-line for the line of coolers, grabbing an overpriced bottled iced coffee. You heard him snort out a laugh behind you, and you couldn’t help but grin as well, idly wandering toward the aisles of snacks.

The sound of the rain on the roof was getting louder, not quieter, and the realization struck that, unless you wanted to arrive home entirely soaked to the skin, you were likely going to be stuck there for a while. Grabbing a bag of mini-donuts, you made your way to the register where he was still leaning, arms folded, on the counter, sliding your newly acquired snacks toward the register.

You reached into your pocket, digging for your wallet.

Nothing.

You paused, dropping your backpack down to one elbow, digging through each compartment.

Nothing.

As you wracked your brain to try to locate your missing wallet – and more importantly, your money – it hit you. You’d spent the batter part of the previous evening indulging in a bit of retail therapy, and your wallet was probably still on the coffee table, right next to your laptop. The realization was a welcome one in that you knew where it was, but an incredibly inconvenient one in regards to where it wasn’t.

You looked up at the cashier – a girl a few years younger than you, who was staring at you with a bored, unamused look. “I, uh – I’ll just put those back,” You offered sheepishly.

“I got it.” You startled slightly as the man beside you leaned forward, casting you a wink and another brilliant grin, sliding a ten across the counter. His eyes cut back to you, that million dollar smirk not fading as he offered his hand. “Dean.” He supplied.

“Y/N,” You introduced, before quickly adding, “Look, I left my wallet – I don’t have any way to pay you back.” You slowly took the bag the cashier offered, shaking his hand with your free one.

“‘S fine,” The man – Dean – waved your concern off with a hand. “It was, what, ten bucks tops? ‘S fine.” He flipped briefly through the change he’d gotten back, counting, and – “Yeah. Seven fifty. Not gonna miss it.” He smiled over at you. God, that smile was borderline disarming. “‘Sides, I can think of a few ways for you to pay me back.”

There it was.

You grimaced slightly, and he seemed to realize his misstep, holding up his hands immediately in surrender. “Not what I meant,” He said quickly, a sheepish expression immediately darting across his face – you got the immediate impression that wasn’t a line he’d tried before, nor one he’d actually thought out before he used it.

God, he had no idea how to talk to women, did he? “Alright,” You said slowly, reaching into your bag to fish out the bottled coffee, giving it a few shakes before you opened it. “What did you mean, then?”

“I was just thinkin’ – I dunno. Coffee, maybe? Real coffee, not that,” He cast a stare at your bottle like it had personally offended him somehow. “And – hell, it doesn’t look like ‘s gonna stop rainin’ any time soon. Maybe I could give you a ride home.”

Your first instinct was the logical one – a very firm thank you, but hell no – but the words didn’t come out. Instead, you let your eyes wander over his expression. If you had to guess, he was around your age - give or take a year or two. He didn’t seem threatening. He seemed awkward. Not for the first time, you were reminded of the boys you’d had classes with the last two years – freshly out of high school, full of faux self-confidence and one-liners they’d snagged from suave action heroes that always got the girl.

You glanced out the window at the rain, which seemed to have no intention of slowing – let alone stopping – any time soon. “Weren’t you just complaining that you just waxed your car?” You pointed out, taking a sip of your coffee.

He gave a one-shouldered shrug, leaning his weight against the counter. “S’pposed to give it an hour – she should be fine.”

“She?” You quoted skeptically, earning another sheepish grin. You took another sip of your coffee, glancing down into the bag at the paper bag of mini-donuts, considering your options. Your shoes and socks were already soaked through, squishing uncomfortably as you shifted. You could wait out the rain – which didn't seem like it would stop any time soon – or you could take your chances ending up on some daytime crime show like your mother loved to watch so often.

You glanced back up at him – he'd gotten a scratch off ticket and was slowly working his way over it, one of the quarters from his change gripped between a thumb and finger, his lower lip caught between his teeth, his eyes flitting back up to yours. “Yeah, alright.” You finally conceded. “Any funny business, and I'm tucking and rolling.” You warned.

Dean gave a wide grin, one that sent a flutter of butterflies through you. “Deal. I won't even lock the doors.” He raised one hand – the one still holding the quarter between two fingers – in a teasing promise. “Just let me finish this –...” His face, scrunched up (adorably, though you would never admit as much) in concentration, lit up as he scratched off the remaining few squares of his lottery ticket, one fist pumping briefly in the air. “Score!” He grinned over at you. “What’d’you say we stop for that coffee first?” He asked, proudly holding up the ticket.

He was still grinning ear-to-ear as he held the door open, the bell jingling overhead, before he followed you out into the rain.

[klbwriting]

Not Romeo and Not Juliet

Chapter 1: Mingle Yarn

Fandom: Red Hood

Pairing: Jason Todd x f!reader

Warnings: fighting, mentions of broken bones and blood

Summary: Jason Todd was alive again. Not only that, but he was back in high school, living with Dick Grayson, and just trying to get by without anyone noticing him. That doesn't go as planned.

Notes: Here it is! Dueling prep schools! Enemies to Lovers! Theater Nerds! Shakespeare! A true rom-com! Jason as a senior and a theater kid! I'm messing with the canon immensely so let's just call this an AU or Elseworlds story where Jason was killed in a similar way to Under the Red Hood movie, but instead of the LoA going and getting him Dick has the falling out with Bruce over Jason's death and he goes to resurrect him without Bruce knowing. He takes Jason to live with him in Bludhaven and enrolls him in Bludhaven Prep so that he can readjust to living and to leaving Robin behind. I hope you enjoy!

The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together

— ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL, ACT 4 SCENE 3

               “Jason, you have to get going or you’re going to be late,” Dick Grayson called through the apartment.  He knew Jason wasn’t exactly excited to start his senior year of high school and he couldn’t blame him if he was being honest.  Just a month ago Jason had been murdered by a clown and just a week ago he had been revived in a pit of green goo protected by assassins.  They had only agreed to let Dick revive him because they were the reason Jason was even killed in the first place, so it was honestly the least they could do.  Dick was still coming to terms with who came out of the pit, not Jason but not not Jason either.  While pre-Lazarus Pit Jason had been happy, funny, and kind of scrawny, this Jason was moody, stoic, and big.  He wasn’t sure how the 17-year-old had gone from around skinny 5’8 to a jacked 6’1 during a bath but it was what it was.  Now he was staying in Dick’s Penthouse in Bludhaven, Bruce had no idea he was alive, and he was starting his senior year at Bludhaven Prep and Dick was hoping getting him back out there with kids his own age would help him readjust to living again.  The therapist that Dick hired, the one Clark Kent recommended, had given approval for him to return, saying he was mentally able to be around others, but considering no one knew how the pit might affect him they would still be watching him closely.  Dick stood very still in the dining room, waiting until he heard feet stomping down the stairs from the loft area that Jason had taken as his room. 

               “I’m here, I’m here,” he grumbled, sitting down in front of the plate of eggs and bacon that Dick had made for him.  Jason took two bites and made a face.  “I am making breakfast from now on, this tastes like shit.”  Dick rolled his eyes as he watched Jason clean his plate of the ‘shit’.  “Why am I going to school again anyway?  Bruce pulled me out to be homeschooled when I was freshman.”

               “Ya Bruce also had you running around in tights and you’re not doing that anymore either.  At least not until we know that no side effects from the pit are going to cause problems,” Dick said, putting a bookbag on the chair next to Jason.  Jason glanced at the bag and then at Dick.  Dick was once again struck by how different Jason was, yet he could still see the kid Jason was in those eyes.  They weren’t same, they could never settle on what color they wanted to be, blue like before, green like the pit, even brown sometimes, a muddied version of the two.  But the vulnerability was there, even though Jason was desperately trying to hide it. 

               “Fine, I see your point,” Jason muttered, grabbing the backpack before heading to the bookshelf.  He grunted.  “You need better books, honestly, some actual literature would be nice.”  He gave up on finding something, grabbed his phone and took off towards Bludhaven Prep. 

               The car ride over was nice, then the rest of the day started.  Jason knew he was weird, new kid as a senior, eyes that didn’t know what they were, and that black hair with the one tuft of white streaking across the front.  He would be as rich as his big brother if he had a dollar for every time someone asked him about that during the first class alone.  By the time the day was over he was so tightly wound he wanted to bust.  It didn’t help that some football player had decided that Jason was going to be his target for the year.  It started with an ‘accidental’ tray drop at lunch that left yogurt and milk across his new sneakers.  Then in study hall a football to the back of the head.  Finally, what really broke Jason, was the walk from the front of the school to the back where the cars were lined up.  Jason was straggling, hoping that the jock would have gone first, and he might have peace, but no.  He started walking around the side of the school, no one around at first, when from the back came the jock and two friends.  The guy was cracking his knuckles like he was some gangster in a movie.  Jason rolled his eyes and dropped his bag, knowing where this was going. 

               “You seem to think you can just come in and take over my school,” the jock said.  Jason let out an annoyed breath.  He hadn’t spoken to a single person that, hadn’t raised his hand once, he had barely listened, why did the fact that he was an inch taller than this guy make the jock so insecure?  He didn’t want to deal with it.

               “Can you just try and hit me, and we can get this over with?” Jason asked.  The jock’s friends let out snorts of laughter and that seemed to enrage their leader, who threw a wild punch that Jason dodged easily and then Jason threw a jab right at the guy’s face.  He did forget that he was bigger now, stronger than before.  He was surprised by the blood, but the ear shattering crack of bone and the shriek that the guy let out did surprise him.  Jason took off, running around the back of the school and jumping into the car to get home.  Great, first day and he had probably just broken that guy’s eye socket.  He was getting expelled.  At least he wouldn’t have to wear the student uniform anymore. 

               By the time he got back Dick was already on the phone with the headmaster.  Dick pointed at the couch and Jason sat, not wanting to but he knew it was pointless to argue.  Dick had literally brought him back to life, he could sit there and take his punishment without argument.  He had just shattered a guy’s face; he probably deserved the tongue lashing.

               “-I understand but you have to remember that there were no cameras, no actual witnesses other than this Mr. Harrison’s friends, it seems like a he said, he said situation which will not make anyone on the school board happy.  Especially when I pull my funding for the new football stadium,” he said.  Jason rolled his eyes.  Dick had definitely graduated from the Bruce Wayne school for getting out of shit.  “Of course, I am glad that we could work this out.  And of course, any injuries will be taken care of, but no mention of who the fight was with?  Thank you so much for your discretion.”  Dick hung up and rounded on Jason.  “Care to explain?”

               “Some football asshole decided I was too tall for him,” Jason said.  Dick pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to remember why he had decided to take in a teenager.  “Did you have to break his orbital bone?”

               “I forgot about my biceps being the size of my head,” he mumbled.  Dick actually chuckled at that.  “He threw the first punch…”

               “You look uninjured…”

               “You think I would let an idiot like that hit me?” Jason looked shocked.  Dick sighed and looked at his watch.  Then at his phone clock, like it would be much different.

               “I am going to be late for my date with Barbara, stay here tonight, get your homework done, there’s food in the fridge and tomorrow we can talk about this more,” Dick said, buttoning his suit jacket and grabbing his wallet.  Jason just nodded, pulling out a book that he had gotten at the school library.  That at least had more options than Dick’s place.  Dick took one more glance at Jason before leaving. 

               Around 9PM Jason was starting to climb the walls.  He had this nervous energy and he didn’t know how to relieve it.  He tried to think of something.  Parkour?  No, he was angry.  Video arcade?  No, not enough movement.  Then he remembered the underground fights that he and Batman had once raised over in his old neighborhood, Crime Alley.  He figured the fights were probably back by now, they wouldn’t be down for long.  He knew he couldn’t show his face, Dick didn’t need the stress of him being caught in Gotham, or God forbid Bruce finding him, so headed down to the garage that Dick kept on site.  He started searching the sports equipment that he had, grabbing an old school goalie’s mask.  Very Friday the 13th, and hey, his name was Jason.  But the white, no, that wasn’t his color.  He looked around, finding some spray paint in another section and he painted the mask red.  Nice.  He grabbed an old black hoodie, shoved the mask inside the pocket and taking one of Dick’s bikes. 

               It took him about ten minutes to remember how to drive a motorcycle, apparently death didn’t keep memories of driving in his brain.  He almost wiped out five or six times before finally crossing over into Robbinsville and then up into Crime Alley.  He stowed the bike behind a dumpster near a Big Belly Burger before heading into a laundromat.  He walked to the counter that was helmed by a short woman with dyed blonde hair.

               “I’ve come for some good smelling socks,” he said.  He hoped these types didn’t get change their code phrases, it was the only one he remembered.  The woman nodded and pressed a button, motioning to the side door that said ‘Employees Only’.  Jason went through the door and down the stairs, donning his mask.  The guy waiting at the bottom looked him over.

               “50$ to watch, 100$ to fight,” he said.  Jason nodded and turned over his 100$ and the guy pointed him to another woman with a clipboard.  Jason headed over to her.

               “Name?” she asked.  Jason scrambled.  “Name?” she repeated, louder and more annoyed.  The other fights nearby were starting to watch him.  They weren’t too much bigger than him, he might have a good chance.  Either way he could blow off some steam.

               “Mask of the Red Death,” he said.  She cocked an eyebrow and shook her head. 

               “Too long, you’re Red Mask,” she said.  He nodded, very creative.  Poe would be proud.  “You’re finding Butch first.”  She pointed to a large man with muscles in places Jason didn’t know you could have them.  They were for show, not strength, not fighting.  This guy wanted to look good, not actually be good.  Jason watched him as they entered the makeshift cage.  He circled the guy, letting him come to him.  Butch threw a punch, Jason dodged behind him, and Spartan kicked him in the ass, sending him tripping into the glorified fence surrounding them.  The fight went on for only a few more seconds before the guy came back, trying to kick Jason, who slide to the side, grabbed the guy’s leg and slammed his elbow into his knee.  There was a crunch and Butch fell, howling in pain, unable to get up.  Jason was announced the winner and stepped out, heading towards a back door to get some air.  As he opened the door to the basement walkout, he heard a commotion and turned, seeing cops starting to come down the stairs.  He knew they would be going to the back door next, so he took off, mask going back in his pocket and climbing a nearby fire escape until he was high enough to hide in the shadows above the streetlight.  Once the cops that found the back were inside, he climbed down, running to the alley where he’d left the bike.  He was just moving the dumpster again when the back door to the Big Belly Burger opened, making him jump in surprise and slice his hand on an exposed piece of metal inside the trash.  He let out a grunt and the teenage girl in uniform turned to face him.          

               “Are you ok?” she asked, walking over.  Jason was gripping his hand, trying to stop the bleeding so he could get the bike and leave.  “Hold on, I have a bandage.”  She pulled out a roll box of bandaids from the apron pocket.

               “Clumsy are you?” Jason asked, trying to distract from the annoying ache in his palm.  She chuckled and walked over, pulling a cotton ball out of the packet. 

               “No, we have a griller who thinks he’s a ninja, any time he gets his hand on a knife I have to be ready to stitch him up,” she said.  She started dabbing his hand and Jason once again hissed.  “What music do you like?”

               “I uh…I don’t know, I used to like metal, some alternative stuff, but went through a change this summer…not sure anymore,” he said, confused.  “Why?”

               “Well, one this is distracting you from me disinfecting this thing, so you don’t get tetanus, and two, you live in Crime Alley, don’t be a stereotype.  If you think you might like something different than ‘I grew up in the slums, so I just listen to angry shit’ try Noah Kahan, you look like a guy who’d like him, or Hozier.”  He could tell she was just throwing out names to keep him listening and he appreciated it.  “What’s your name?”

               “Jason,” he said.  She nodded and smiled, finishing with the bandage. 

               “Nice to meet you, I’m YN,” she said.  “Want some help with the dumpster or are all those muscles working?”  She winked at him, and he actually blushed, glad it was dark and she might not notice.

               “Sure,” he said.  Together they moved the dumpster, and he got the bike.  He waved quick before driving back to the penthouse.  He got as far as the elevator door, when it opened there was Dick.

               “So, I see you had an interesting evening,” he said, holding up his phone where video of Jason breaking Butch’s leg was being shown.  Of course, Dick would realize it was him, he would know that move anywhere, Dick had taught it to him. 

               “I needed to get out, blow off some steam, forget who I was for a bit,” he said.  Dick nodded. 

               “Good, then what I just signed you up for will be perfect,” he said.  Jason looked at him, eyebrows raised.  “You’re not a member of the theater program, auditions for Hamlet are Friday.”

               “You can’t be serious,” Jason said, heading out of the elevator.

               “I am very serious, you go to school, go to practice, be someone else for awhile when you’re there, and then you come home and you stay here or I am calling Bruce and sending you back to him, see how Batman deals with your shit,” he said.  Jason sighed, heading up to his room.  Fine, theater, he’d wanted to do that before Bruce pulled him from high school.  How bad could it be?

[honeyedmiller]

Hiiiii

I love your writing. I was wondering can you please write a pedro×reader when they realize that they're pregnant and it's just so sudden and unexpected and shock them both?

aww tysm, and yes omg. Pedro would be the sweetest dad ever 🥺

warnings: mentions of nausea and getting sick, unexpected pregnancy, little bit of angst, fluff. no use of y/n.

word count: <1k

“I don’t feel so good again.” You groan, slowly getting up from bed. Pedro watched you worriedly as you scurried to the bathroom to puke out all of the contents in your stomach, again.

You’d been feeling really nauseated and fatigued the past few weeks, and Pedro was getting really concerned about your well-being.

You felt him rub your back gently as he held your hair back, comforting you through your illness.

“Maybe it’s time we go to the doctors, honey. I’m getting really worried about you.” His voice is soft, full of concern.

You nod your head in agreement, tired of feeling like this nearly twenty-four seven now.

So, the next morning, Pedro took you to a private clinic near his house.

“Good morning Mr. Pascal, Mrs. Pascal,” The doctor said, and you blushed at the assumed last name. It made you blush even harder that Pedro didn’t even try to correct the doctor. “What brings you in today?”

“I’ve been feeling really ill recently. I’m constantly nauseated and so exhausted. I thought it was stress from work but I don’t get like this usually when it becomes tough-going.”

The doctor nodded at what you were telling him, and he hummed. “Have you taken any pregnancy tests lately?”

And just as fast as the color rushed to your face, it drained. “No.” You say meekly, looking over at Pedro who looked just as stunned.

You both tried to be so careful… there’s no way you could be pregnant. Right? Right?

“Well, let’s not be too hasty. Let’s run some tests but I will have you take the pregnancy test just to be sure.” The doctor said, and you nodded.

You proceeded to do a series of tests, but the doctor quickly came back with the shocking news.

“It seems you actually are pregnant, ma’am.” He confirmed, showing you the test results in black ink. You couldn’t believe it.

“But I– I don’t understand. I just had my period a few weeks ago.”

“That could’ve actually been implantation bleeding. I’ll give you two a couple of minutes before I get a sonographer in here to do an ultrasound on you, okay? Congratulations.” He smiled at you both, exiting the room.

It seemed like ages that both of you sat in silence before an overwhelming sense of panic surged over you, and you started to cry.

“I’m so sorry.” You kept muttering, covering your face with your hands. Pedro immediately pried your hands from your face as he embraced you tightly, kissing your head.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, honey. It takes two to make a baby, right? I have every much responsibility in this, too.”

“But, what are we going to do? You have filming coming up soon, I have my job… we’ve only been together for a year, Pedro. This is–”

“Sh sh, hey, it’s okay. It’s okay,” He cooed, rocking you back and forth slowly. “We’ll figure it out, okay? You can quit your job. I make plenty for the both of us. You can come with me to Vancouver, if that’s something you wanted to do. I’m in this with you every step of the way, baby.”

You cried in his arms for a bit before the sonographer came into the room, rolling in the ultrasound equipment.

She smiled sympathetically at the two of you before instructing you to lay back and lift up your shirt.

“The gel is going to be a bit cold. My apologies.” She says before squirting some onto you, taking the wand and moving it around. You could see a tiny figure in the darkness of what you presumed was your uterus.

“There’s baby,” The sonographer said with a soft smile, pointing to various parts of the body. “Looks like you’re about six weeks along.” She concludes, taking snapshots of the screen.

“Little baby Pascal.” Pedro whispered, looking at the screen and then down at you. His grip on your hand got tighter as he brought it to his lips, kissing the back of it.

The more you both stared at the screen in wonder, the more you both fell in love with your little creation. You knew it wouldn’t be easy with your hectic lives, but if you were to do this with anyone, you were so glad it was with Pedro.

[nonobadcat]

For @oklolnoty

Down the Rabbit Hole - Five Chapters - 20k words - Yandere Shigaraki Tomura x Rabbit Quirk Female Reader

Rating: 18+ readers only - Minors DNI

Whole story TW: Noncon, yandere with kidnapping, severe quirk based discrimination, binge drinking, canon typical threats of violence (reader directed), canon typical death (nonreader directed), oral (give/receive), PnV (doggie), breeding, and expensive designer clothing everywhere.

Summary:

Working at Animal Instinct, the city's premiere hostess club for those who like their girls "pawsitively" attractive, may pay the bills but it'll cost your soul. Playing the brainless bunny girl everyone expected you to be, you were prepared to waste your life selling over priced champagne and sham companionship just to afford rent. When your efforts are rewarded with the client from hell, you try to stick to your bubblegum bimbo persona. However, being called boring by some crusty incel with the social skills of a trashcan is not something your pride can let slip by. ...and finding someone who hates society's games as much as him is not something Shigaraki Tomura can let go.

Chapter Navigation: 1|2|3|4|5 🐇 Ao3 Mirror

Chapter 1: Dumb Bunny - 3.4k words

TW: Binge drinking, quirk based discrimination

“Omigosh he’s back again!”

Plastered against the glossy black bathroom door, Nyanko’s twisted grimace and bristling tail ill suited her glamorous styling. Rhinestone trimmed claws pawed for purchase as an annoyed shriek hissed between tight teeth. It was fortunate that lilac satin squeezed her willowy frame like a vice. The very dress that transformed her bust line from “average” to “savage” restricted her air intake, keeping her whining to a polite volume.

Twisting the golden cap of your Yves Saint Laurent lipstain back on, you dabbed at your cupid’s bow. “Crusty boy?”

“Yes!” She groaned, pinning her cat ears to her skull. “Mama-san has paired him with twelve different girls in the last month. Boy’s got a heart made of Teflon! Won’t stick to anyone!”

You raised an eyebrow. “I thought this club was a kurabu? Isn’t the first pairing long term?”

“His dad is some sort of big deal so he gets special treatment, but mostly it's a mutual hate-hate thing,” Nyanko explained, wagging her finger. “He can’t find a girl he likes and all the girls beg Mama-san to let him try someone else. Even Aru didn’t want him and you know she has thick skin!”

“Quirk~ist,” you sang out, tucking your make-up back in the small, pearled handbag. “Just because she has an armadillo quirk doesn’t mean her soul is armor plated.”

Nyanko’s tabby tail swished. “Why does he keep coming back if he’s never happy?” she demanded, stomping her spike heels.

“I like those.” You nodded to the red bottoms. “The flower lace on the mesh is cute.”

“I know, right!” She twisted this way and that, showing off the shimmering details. “Abe-san got them for me last week. I think he has a foot thing but I’m not complaining.” All at once, her hair bristled. “Wait! Don’t try to change the subject! I’m in a real bind here!”

You popped your lips, smoothing down a stray lock of hair. “Oh? Why?”

“Because I’m one of the few he hasn’t chewed up yet!” She shivered and rubbed her arms. “I’m terrified Mama-san will pair me with that creep next!”

“Then quit your job and take Abe-san up on that mistress position. It’s not like he can last more than twenty seconds anyways so you won’t have to do much work.”

Her face fell flat. “Honey, hell’s got your name.”

You kicked off the faux marble tile and strutted over to the petite, raven-haired cutie. A single finger reached out, straightening the curl of her long bob. Patting her shoulder, you flashed her a grin and whispered in her ear. “Then it’s a good thing none of us go by our real names here, isn’t it?” 

She giggled before rolling her eyes towards your new lip color. “Speaking of 'people who just want to take a poor girl away from this place', is that a gift from your one hero client?”

You nodded. “Oshida bought it for me on the paid date. Asked me if he could put some of his cum in it.”

“Guess he’s not as family friendly as his press agent makes him out to be,” she muttered.

“I told him I couldn’t use it if he did because I’d be too addicted to the taste.”

Nyanko flashed you a judgey side eye and pushed open the bathroom door. “How are you that good a liar?”

“Nyanko, what are you talking about?" You plastered on an airy smile. Each word tumbled out wrapped in sweetness. "Everyone knows that bunny girls aren’t smart enough to lie. ♡” 

The words burned bitterly on your tongue.

Nyanko huffed, turning on heel. “I hate you.”

“Hate you more, sweetie,” you teased, following her down the long hall.

Pink tiles with golden veins lead the way to the reception desk. On your right, Animal Instict's main bar buzzed with flirtatious conversation, fake smiles, and exhausted salary men. One of the puppy girls, wrapped in cherry red spandex and ten centimeter black platforms, clung to her elderly client's arm like a fly on garbage. 

"Is Pochi back early from her paid date?" You asked, slipping under the glossy countertop.

"Kiba-san's bunions are acting up," Nyanko whispered, cupping the side of her face. "You know, the bunions that flare up when Pochi wants a fourth helping of foie gras."

You looked the other hostess up and down. Her rosy cheeks glowed as she smoothed her glossy tail across her lap. "She's pounding the champagne again. Her heat cycle must be close."

Nyanko waved her hand. "Don't date the dog if you ain't got the bank."

"Catty of you."

She hissed.

"Ladies," a firm voice warned. "You are on the floor."

You both turned towards a sultry middle-aged woman. Clad in a cocktail dress crafted from delicate golden mesh and rhinestones, her long, peacock plumage glittered every shade from sea green to deep navy in the warm light. She fixed you with a sharp glare before snapping open a fan. Its fluttering teased at her long, fake lashes.

"Yes, Mama-san," you replied in synchrony, bowing your heads to the boss.

She narrowed her eyes, craning her long, graceful neck to inspect your makeup. When it passed muster, she snapped the fan shut. "Honey, Tano-san requested you tonight as Usagi is out with a migraine."

Wow… just going to work his way through the bunny girls, huh? Guy wasn’t even subtle about his fetish.

"Of course," you agreed, bowing again. "Thank you, Mama-san."

Mama-san turned her scrutinizing gaze towards your companion. “Nyanko—” she crooked boney finger— “come with me.”

Nyanko’s ears drooped. “Y-yes, Mama-san…”

Mama-san rapped the cat girl with the lacey fan. “Professionalism.”

Nyanko forced a pained grin before snatching up a hot towel from the stack. “O-Of course!”

You shook your head, selecting a rolled towel of your own and placed it on a silver platter. Then, smearing on an airheaded smile, you followed the leader around the large, gangly money tree. Just past its scraggly leaves, two men came into view.

On the left, dressed in a deep navy sport coat and matching pleated pants stood a solemn faced man in his late sixties. He peered into the entryway’s mirror, fussing with his thinning, silver streaked hair. The wide, rose-gold rolex watch made his wrist look fat and did horrible things for his yellow undertones. When you came into view, he jerked away from his preening. Hungry eyes traced the line of your leg from heel to hem. His thick tongue lapped at the corner of his mouth.

“Tano-san,” your boss guiding you forward. “This is Honey Bunny.”

“It's so good to meet you, Tano-san!” You added a sugar rush bounce to your step. “We hope Usa-chan should feel better soon. I hope it’ll be okay if I take care of you for her until she’s better?”

With a grunt, he took the towel, clumsily groping your fingers along the way.

Mama-san turned to the man on the right. Hiding his face behind a mop of pale blue waves, a surly looking twenty something hunched against the wall. Blazing red eyes stared out from under hairless brows. He tugged at his collar, as if the beautifully tailored Armani three-piece was strangling him. It wasn’t hard to guess how he got the moniker “crusty boy”. Patchy scale peeled from his under eye bags. 

“Shigaraki-san, this is Nyanko-chan.”

Nyanko playfully scratched the air, before speaking out in a voice half an octave higher than her own. “It’s a purr-asure to Meow-chu, Shigaraki-san! I hope we can become good friends!”

He sneered at Nyanko before raking his neck with ratty, broken nails. 

Your coworker smiled so hard you thought her face might tear. “Would mew like a hot towel?”

He plucked the moist terry cloth from her outstretched hand with two fingers. He half-heartedly scrubbed his hands before walking right past her. “Let’s get this over with.”

Nyanko’s tail drooped as she skittered off after her guest. You pressed a coy hand to your lips to hide a grimace.

This was going to be a long night.

One hour into the evening, you would have paid Usa-chan to take her client back. 

At first, you thought Tano simply fumbled his cigarettes due to some nervous condition. However, after the third one in half an hour, you caught beady eyes peering down the front of your dress as you leaned in to light them. He ordered nothing but the cheapest wine on the menu (2.6k yen per glass + the 25% service fee) and nursed his drink like an old woman. Those squirmy hands of his kept “accidentally” brushing against your tail every time he shifted in his seat. Conversation was hard fought and mostly about how much he hated his boss. 

“Are you and Usa-chan related?” he asked for the fifth time that night.

You brushed your long, silky ears back. “Well, I’m a Lop and she’s a Lionhead.”

“Oh. So it’s not the same thing?”

If you smiled any harder your teeth would crack. “I know, right? They sound so similar I always get them confused.” You hoisted the green bottle up. “Here, it looks like you need a refill—”

He quickly covered the glass with his palm. “Let me touch your ears?”

Rot in the gutter, you steaming trash heap.

Hesitant humming accompanied a thoughtful head tilt. “Mama-san kinda sorta told me I’m not supposed to because it’s against club rules or something.” You clicked your tongue and beamed at him. “Makes me sad because I love having my hair brushed. Oh well, right?”

He scooted closer. “You could just ignore her.”

Wide, panicked eyes sold the frantic, high pitched squeak. “Omigosh! But it’d be bad to do that right?”

Rancid breath poured over your bare neck. “I can make being a bad bunny really fun.”

Die.

You laughed, “playfully” shoving his shoulder so hard it pushed him a solid half meter away.  “Oh Tano-san! No wonder Usa-chan loves you so much. You’re so funny!”

…and wringing your floppy neck with your ugly Gucchi tie would be even funnier.

On the other side of the tufted leather booths, Nyanko seemed to fare even worse. 

“So… Shigaraki-san, do you work for your paw-ther?”

“He’s my mentor, not my father.”

“Oh! That’s so neat! So he’s like a father to mew?”

One word grated through gritted teeth. “No.”

Nyanko winced at the harsh tone, her smile shaken for only a moment before she rallied. “Your mentor must be very generous to send you here so Meow-ften.”

“It’s annoying,” he groused, scratching his neck like a dog with fleas. The pungent stench of iron caught on the breeze from the air conditioning. All the women around you wrinkled their sensitive noses.

“It doesn’t have to be.” Nyanko placed one hand on the cream leather next to his thigh and leaned in. A long golden necklace slipped down her décolletage, pointing the eye towards her assets. Pouty lips forced her tongue high against her fangs, playing up an alto’s vocal fry. Delicately, she twirled her hair behind her pointed ear. Dangling diamonds glittered in the dim glow of the teardrop chandelier. Round, golden eyes peered at him from under sooty lashes. “Neh, Shigaraki-san, what kind of girl do mew like?”

The booth squeaked as he scooted away. “Someone real.”

“I’m all nyan-tural,” she purred, letting her free hand trail down her bust.

With a sharp “chcc”, he groped for his cell phone. 

Nyanko cocked her head. “Oh? Nyu like video games?”

“A little,” he muttered, loading up an app. Comic book style red and yellow text exploded across the screen. Four different voices called out: “Hero Center Battle Royale!!!!”.

“Ooooh!” She clapped her hands together. “Which ones do mew like?”

“The ones where the heroes die.”

“Sounds exciting!”

“More exciting than this conversation.”

Fight on, Nyanko-chan!

While your coworker clawed for any hint of mutual interest, Tano leaned back into his seat and manspread until he was pressed against your bare thigh. “Seems like the pretty kitty is having a rough time.”

Awk-ward….

“Really?” You smiled so hard the muscles below your eyes spasmed. “It sounds like she’s having fun learning a lot about a new person to me.”

Face flushed, your patron sipped his wine. “You’re kinda a dumb bunny, aren’t you?”

Yeah… That’s what your university professors thought too. At least, until your grades put you second in your class by only three points. Maybe if they stopped staring at your ears long enough, they would have seen the brain between them.

“Nyanko-chan loves to meet new people,” you chirped back, sitting on quivering hands to avoid throttling your meal ticket.

Tano thumbed his chin. “Wonder if she’s so persistent because she’s gonna go into heat.”

Ew… can you just not?!

"That must be a pain, going into heat.” Beady eyes flashed to you. "You do too, right?"

Gross. Disengage! Disengage!

You tapped your chin. "Huh… I dunno. Maybe bunnies are different or something." 

…cause a three second Google search couldn't have told his horny self that?! Seriously…

Faking a sweet smile you reached for his glass. “Heat or no heat, I think that connecting with others is a reward in and of itself."

And if Tano could connect the dots he would have the decency to GO HOME if he wasn’t going to drink.

He pulled his cup away. "I don't need a refill."

You set the bottle down. "Oh! My bad! I just really wanted to take care of you. You worked really hard after all. You deserve a little rest."

He leaned back into his seat and smiled to himself. "Yeah. Guess I do."

Ugh… Just drunk enough to be a self-centered douchebag, but not enough to get you a sales bonus. This sucked.

He cracked open one eye and glanced at you. "But seriously, aren’t you even a little worried about her or are you just too stupid that to read the room?”

You leaned into your palm, using the thick of your hand to stifle the snarl. “Finding the right fit for every guest can be hard but everyone here loves the challenge.” One ear flopped across your eye. You inhaled, letting the rise of your ribs strain the bust of your gown. “I’m just so glad we have such good chemistry.”

His greasy grin made you nauseated. Greedy eyes drank up your coworker’s long tail and tufted ears. He licked his lips. “Should I offer to save her then? Having two of you around sounds like fun.”

….and entirely defeated the point of coming to the type of classy club where you are supposed to have an intimate, one-on-one conversation with your hostess. Not to mention, you’d have to split the tip. Then again, that assumed this cheapskate didn’t skip it all together.

You bit your cheek until the taste of iron pricked your tongue. Painted lips slipped into a puffy pout. You turned your head, letting tears pool at your lash line. Ducking low to play up the shadows between your cleavage, you pinched his sleeve between two fingers like a schoolgirl tugging on her crush.

“Ah… I suppose it’s true that Tano-san is so cool he could have two women at once.” 

His breath caught in his wrinkled throat.

With a forlorn smile, you glanced down at the connection between you before dropping his sleeve like it shocked you. Your voice pitched high as you hurried out a breathless apology. “Oh! Sorry!” Nervous fingers prodded together as you hid behind one ear. “When I am around a man like you, I-I sometimes just get these instincts...” 

He gulped.

Time to go in for the kill. 

Your eyes danced away from his. “It’s been such a long time since I felt this way, I forgot that it happens. It’s hard, but I’ll try to control myself better.”

Tano reached for your hand, but you pulled it away to bop it into your fist. “Oh! Speaking of instincts, Usa-chan told me once that you negotiated a lot of big contracts for your company. How did you get so good at your job?”

He leaned back into the booth, puffing out his chest. Wrapping one arm over the back of the chair, he crooked his finger at you. “Come a little closer and I’ll be happy to share.”

Ugh… You needed a drink.

“Oh my gosh, Honey-chan he was just the worst!”

Nyanko’s whiskers tickled the side of your neck as she buried her face in your shoulder. You sighed, wrapping your arm around her. The smell of fried food and beer wafted in the summer air. Plump moths collided with the streetlight three paces away. Two wobbly salary men waved. The one wearing a tie on his forehead blew a wet kiss. Your party of three wiggled your fingers and giggled like shy school girls. As soon as they were out of sight, the smiles dropped like corpses on a battlefield.

You patted Nyanko’s shoulder. “There, there. You did what you could.”

She sniffled, fanning her flushed face. You passed her a tissue. She dabbed at her make-up. Flecks of mascara peeled onto pale paper. Another sob wracked her body. “WHAT DOES HE WANT!?” she wailed.

“Seriously,” Pochi scratched her dangling ears. “Mama-san gave him to me last week. He told me ‘your skills need a level up’. What does that even mean?!” She swished her silky black tail. “Let’s see his mummy lips pull three champagne towers in one night!”

“Three? Were you in heat?”

She sneered wide enough to flash her canines. “I faked it.”

You laughed. “Hot, but scary Pochi-sama.”

She jerked a thumb over her shoulder, motioning to Nyanko’s limp body. “Blame Little Miss Crafty Kitten there. For 30,000 yen, she gave me a run down on my tells and I did my make-up and perfume to mimic them. Worth every penny.”

Nyanko’s blank eyes stared at nothing. “I am a good hostess. I am a good hostess. I am a good hostess.”

You gave her a long side eye. “You charged 30,000 yen for that?”

A shaking hand rose into the air. She clenched her thumb and index finger into a ring.

“And I’m the one going to hell?” you teased, handing her off to Pochi. “Here. I forgot something at the club. You two get going before the last train leaves. I’m close enough to walk.”

“Whatever,” Pochi groaned, hugging the crying cat to her chest. “Come on Nyanko. You had too much to drink.”

With a gentle wave, you watched them as they staggered down the sidewalk leaving only Nyanko's miserable whining in their wake. When the last sob slipped into silence, the false feelings melted from your expression. Every hair on your neck bristled. A hard heel thumped on the pavement. Fists clenched to your side, you dashed off into the nearest alleyway. Wrenching off your expensive pumps, you set them on the ground out of reach. Your vision swam blood red, you zeroed in on the filthy dumpster. All at once, a frustrated shriek tore through the night air.

"SCREW YOOOOOUUUUU!”

You slammed your heel down into the dumpster, leaving a dent in the rust.

"SCREW YOU! SCREW THIS JOB! SCREW EVERYTHING!”

Blow after blow rained down on the innocent trash receptacle. 

"DUMB BUNNY MY COTTON FLUFFY TAIL! I HAVE MORE BRAIN CELLS IN MY MANICURE THAN YOU HAVE IN YOUR ENTIRE FAMILY TREE!

Twisted metal groaned under the weight of your fury. Memories of fresh-from-college job interviews flashed through your mind.

"I don't know that you're a good fit for our culture." "You seem really nice but we're only looking for serious candidates." "Oh…. I have another position you can interview for, sweetie."

Judgey stares and smarmy grins seared your brain. Lava hot rage bubbled through your veins as you kicked the dumpster five centimeters off its axis.

"I'D THREATEN TO RAZE THIS WHOLE SOCIETY BUT NONE OF YOU IDIOTS ARE EVEN SMART ENOUGH TO KNOW THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN RAZE AND RAISE!"

Panting and raspy, you heaved for air in the middle of the pavement. With a final huff you tossed your hair, hiked up your purse, and strutted away.

At the end of the alley, bloodshot scarlet eyes were watching your entire tantrum. Just below them, a ghostly white smile glinted in the flickering amber light.

Next Chapter Expected: June 30th, 2023

Expected Completion Date: Mid-Aug 2023

Chapter Navigation: 1|2|3|4|5🐇 Ao3 Mirror

Taglist: @bat-eclecticwolfbouquet-love @shig-a-shig-ah @castershellwrites @smilinghowever @krystalwithakay @iris-goddess @ss-syche @mortallysparklyfun @meameows @magnificentclodpiezonk @betterfettered @utena-akashiya @ventdavi154 @st4rrust @imaginedheroine @the-lady-writes-what @shiggysimp69 @toughbook @naughteehee

[ofmdrecaps]

08/03-04/2024 Weekend OFMD Recap

TLDR; David Jenkins; Rhys Darby; Taika Waititi; Samba Schutte; Ruibo Qian; Rachel House Dominic Burgess; Nathan Foad; Articles; Fan Spotlight; OFMD Colouring Pages; Our Flag Means Fanfiction; Love Notes; Daily Darby/Today's Taika

Okay yall, I ended up being up all night for days with a grumpy kiddo so I am yet again behind, I'm really sorry. Here's the weekend recap. Aug 5 will go out tonight if I have to chug espresso for the next 4 hours!

== David Jenkins ==

Source: David Jenkins Twitter

== Rhys Darby ==

Our Captain is out in Edinburgh Scotland! Doing his Live Cryptid Factor show with Dan Scheiber and Buttons!

Lots of short videos on his Instagram Stories:

The Cryptid Factor Live - Edinburgh - Buttons CraftTime

The Cryptid Factor Live in Edinburgh - Dan's Book

The Cryptid Factor Live In Edinburgh - The Crypid Factor

The Cryptid Factor Live In Edinburgh - The Caves

Source: Rhys Darby's Instagram

Source: petrichorpond On Twitter (per @mon-ster-chen's Post)

= Astras TV Awards Nominee =

Rhys has been Nominated for BEST ACTOR in a Streaming Comedy Series in the Astra TV Awards! The TV Awards ill be held on Aug 18th so keep your eyes peeled around then!

Source: Hollywood Creative Alliance Instagram

== Taika Waititi ==

Happy Wedding Anniversary to Taika and Rita! (Aug 4th 2022). They were caught smooching out in London recently <3

Source: Instagram

== Samba Schutte ==

No context, but Samba called it "Man in the Mirror"

Source: Samba Schutte's Instagram

== Nathan Foad ==

Nathan's weekly Saturday Celebration

Source: Nathan Foad's Instagram Stories

= Ruibo Qian =

Just some stills from the Ms. Holmes/Ms. Watson BTS I wanted to include cause they're adorable.

Source: OldGlobe's BTS Video

= Rachel House =

So these are a week old but I found them via a more recent post from someone else there, so putting them in today! Rachel out with friends <3

Source: Instagram

= Dominic Burgess =

Dominic sending us goodnight cat pictures. What a guy <3

Source: Dominic Burgess' Twitter

== Articles ==

Thank you to @adoptourcrew for highlighting this article!

https://telltaletv.com/2024/03/20-iconic-queer-and-trans-characters-of-color-on-tv/

Source: Adopt Our Crew Twitter

https://screenrant.com/tv-shows-always-recommend-good-regardless-genre/

Source: Adopt Our Crew Twitter

== Fan Spotlight ==

= OFMD Colouring Pages =

Another set of colouring pages from our fab friend @patchworkpiratebear - I love that we're getting multiple versions each time now! These are super cool!

Source: PatchworkPirateBears Tumblr: Teacups / Flag

= Our Flag Means Fanfiction =

Another episode of the Omegaverse! This time hosted by Tessa! Check them out on your favorite listening platforms here!

Source: Our Flag Means Fanfiction Instagram

== Love Notes ==

Hey Lovelies!!! Found this really adorable artist this weekend and I thought I'd share them with you because they really express a lot of things that I tend to think--- like how much I love you all, seriously, did you know you're fucking FANTASTIC?? and fucking BRILLIANT AND AMAZING AND TALENTED!?

Whenever I'm stuck doing work, or other family/life stuff, I always come back to thinking about this awesome fandom, and how much I miss talking too you all and how much I love all the crazy stuff you all get up to every day! I haven't been interacting as much because it's really hard for me to focus with so much going on (yay neurodivergence!)-- but please know I'm watching and laughing, and crying and smiling, and wishing you all the best and cheering you on! Hope the end of the weekend and beginning of the week is treating you wonderfully <3 Take care lovelies!

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by James (@sunlightafterdark)

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by James (@sunlightafterdark)

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by James (@sunlightafterdark)

== Daily Darby / Today's Taika ==

Just needing some of the Cinnamon Sugar, Salt and Pepper boys smiling together for this one <3 Gifs courtesy of more of our gif-masters @eddie-redcliffe and @thunderwingdoomslayer!

[ellesthots]

Fateful Beginnings

XXII. “gone missing”

parts: previous / next

plot: Bruce is preoccupied at the next City Hall meeting, where the first candidate arrives to make his mayoral bid.

pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x fem!reader

cw: 18+, anxiety, talk of mental illness

words: 3.2k

a/n: the first fully Bruce Wayne POV chapter! love getting inside that man’s mind

Much to his chagrin, Bruce showed up early to the meeting in hopes that he might catch you before it began. He kept himself from thinking about the John Doe by staying up brainstorming gentle questions to ask you tonight. He figured since you didn't trust him, and quite honestly he also did not trust you, you might benefit from getting to know each other better. The only questions he'd been able to manifest on his own were superficial ones, like what's your favorite color and what was your favorite school subject growing up? He quite liked the latter, but figured it a bit redundant assuming how much you appeared to enjoy journalism.

The foyer was as it was; that same chemical rain scent mingling with Chanel number 5, a scent that drove him nearly to tears it bored and triggered him so immediately. The same golden chandelier hung in the middle, the same clusters of people hung in circles atop the warm-toned jacquard rug. If you looked at a photo of the entryway, you might think outside the windows hid an Italian villa with bright grapevines swaying in the breeze. Instead, the gargantuan absorbent mat by the door was soaked to the brim, its fibers screaming and stretching past comfort to be wrung and laid to rest. It was dreary, and dark, and smoggy, as it always was in Gotham.

Right as nostalgia for old family vacations threatened to cocoon him, a wide-shouldered, tall man in a passably pressed suit approached. Bruce grinned and reached out his hand on instinct, hiding his surprise when the stranger opened his arms wide and went for a hug. The man's cologne was sharp, cutting through the usual mildewy accompaniment. He couldn't place it. "Mr. Bruce Wayne! How incredible to finally meet you." When he pulled back he bared his teeth, gleamingly white and straight like they were physically held together by some meticulously hidden brace. Bruce kept his mysterious. "And you, Mr...?"

"Call me Lincoln." He stuck out a hand this time, which tugged up the side of Bruce's mouth to bare his canine. Where did this guy blow in from? "Lincoln March, I'm up for mayoral election this November."

The candidates. In his desperation the past week he'd forgotten all about researching, to which he pictured you a few minutes from now flipping through flawless notes of yours. Of course you'd done your due diligence, likely with a bulleted list of questions in rolling cursive to distract from your vice grip on whoever you'd set to analyze. Lincoln's handshake was timely and firm, which always read to Bruce as rehearsed and performative. His eyes were startlingly green, his voice smooth but ragged at the edge of his sentences. He had a few nicks from shaving, a pinprick of shave foam forgotten near his left ear. He smiled incessantly, but the absence of lines around his eyes confirmed his suspicions. Another schmoozer.

"Call me Bruce." Play nice...

"You're just the guy I wanted to see." Of course, the richest man in the room. Shocker. "You see, I think you and I are aligned when it comes to seeing Gotham underneath it all; greater than the sum of its parts. A prolific city packed with diversity, simply desperate for some TLC."

Jesus Christ. "And you think you can guide Gotham there?"

Lincoln nodded assuredly, his shoulders bobbing with him. "Absolutely. The other candidates want to transform Gotham into something it's not. A tourist destination, a drive-by freakshow."

"Which is why you chose to say your piece first, I assume."

He nodded again and snapped his fingers. "Bingo!" He straightened and glanced toward the ground before shoving his hands in his pockets. His eyes stared at the back wall, then over to Bruce. His voice lowered and his smile faded. "Look, I can see you're not one for the song and dance. I know what this city took from you. But you're still here, aren't you? Trying to make the city a better, safer place. I want to help you do that."

Bruce's eyes narrowed. The demeanor shift was instant, and tense. The man thought he was losing his grip, and Bruce was beginning to feel more and more like a walking bank account. "I look forward to hearing your pitch in the meeting." As if on cue, the man opened the conference room's door and called for people to file in. Five minutes to start. Bruce lifted his eyes and scanned the room. No, no, nope, not you, no, nope, no. Lincoln's brow furrowed. "Can I help you find someone?"

Lincoln's voice fell into the backrooms of his mind as his heartbeat pulsed in his ear. He felt himself turn a few shades whiter, hoping the man's earnest distracted him from noticing. His fingertips felt cold and clammy. He knew he should have gone after you, he knew he shouldn't have trusted you were safe. At this point a missing person's report wouldn't do much good, you could be anywhere across the globe, already turned to mulch after being eviscerated from an unsuspecting garbage truck's teeth.

A short blonde woman slipped into the foyer, and she spun on her heel to survey the room so quickly she nearly tumbled to the floor. The memory caused a painful jolt to slice down his stomach. Lincoln leapt into action and walked over to steady her, but when he'd moved to help she lit up seeing Bruce just behind. She held a notebook and a PRESS badge. Where were you? She rushed over and introduced herself as Bridgit. Were you safe? "I'm with Gotham University, I came to interview you for the Gazette."

She had his full attention. "GU? Journalism department?" She nodded.  "Do you have anyone on their way to meet you?"

Bridgit shook her head and dug the pen out from inside the notebook spiral. "I just have a few questions, we can get it done quickly,"

"I'm sorry, where's the journalist from last week?" He didn't know why, but saying your name felt like betraying a secret. He searched her face and ignored the curiosity of the candidate behind her. She shrugged and finally fished out the pen with a subtle click and asked her first question. "Mr. Wayne, do you have a preference for a particular candidate yet for Gotham's mayor?"

"Where's Y/N?" His eyes bored into her notebook. Your handwriting was far better. Would he ever see it again? She didn't react, continuing to pen another question like he hadn't spoken. Until this point he'd thought nothing could be worse than people hanging onto his every word but no, now he knew it was being wittingly ignored. He thought about snatching her pen and staring her down until she divulged your whereabouts, but Lincoln leaned his head in to diffuse the suspense. "Who now? Y/N who?" He smiled again and Bruce grit his teeth.

Bridgit sighed very impatiently, he noted, and tossed her hair behind her shoulders. She was flustered, but why? "I don't know who you speak of."

Bruce's brow furrowed into a glare. "You're with the Gazette, right? She is too." Guilt. It was guilt that was making him so consumed by this. Guilt at having shoved you into dangerous circumstance, guilt about not following up on a finger-painted window that held no innate credibility. She asked another question that he didn't hear, and in a split-second decision he decided against storming out to find you, instead heading into the conference room without a care in the world for what your replacement had to say.

Lincoln sat to the right of him at the head of the table, the seat with a placard stating CANDIDATE reserving it. He held the placard in his hands and tapped it against the wood a few times, seemingly mulling something over. He leaned over to Bruce just as Mr. Convoy turned to introduce the first visiting candidate. Lincoln stood and bowed as everyone clapped, and did a brief introduction before Convoy goaded him on. "Come now, you came here to persuade us into electing you as Gotham City's new mayor: introduce your cause!" With that he sat down, leaving Lincoln alone and standing very tall above the table. Bruce shut his eyes in a desperate attempt to quiet his thoughts, the only one bringing him back being memory of his father's own campaign speech. It was imperative he heard what this man wanted for Gotham.

"I feel out of place here, to be frank with you all. I don't come from money or any real notability; in fact, this suit here I rented from Men's Warehouse. Clearance rack." He paused and listened for laughs that came in abundant whispers. He set the placard down on the wood and heaved a breath from the bottom of his lungs. He paused just long enough to stir discomfort. "I'm not here to convince you of a radical, perfect plan to resuscitate Gotham. I don't believe this city needs a savior." Bruce shifted in his seat.

"I believe this city is good, and can make itself good. It needs resources that are correctly allocated, and someone who does not stigmatize the different struggles that plague not just this town, but many others. Someone who is on their team, not flying high above them." This caused Bruce to shift in his seat again, this time stifling paranoid panic about another vague bird reference. "I want to decrease homelessness. I want to fund our public schools, not just GU. I want to increase paid sick leave, maternity leave and introduce paternity leave. We can offset these costs by increasing taxes on, well, all of you." Lincoln glanced around the room to see a few people narrow their eyes, some even crossing their arms in less subtle disapproval. What a day for Y/N to miss, it was like you'd been cloned.

"And I know that sounds frustrating, but I know you all would appreciate cleaner, happier streets. Your net worths will be inconsequentially affected from an everyday standpoint, and as a gift you get to feel a sense of pride for helping the city." He was rapidly losing the small crowd, who began to snicker and grumble about themselves. He slammed his hand just hard enough against the tabletop to regain control of the room. He shook his head. "I'm only saying the quiet part aloud. My fellow candidates want the same things I do; they want to get inside your pockets, but they want to be deceptive in doing it. I want to work with you, with transparency, to assure your funds are being put to good use and we see real improvement in this city. If elected, I promise to work tirelessly, endlessly, for the benefit of you and all the other people of Gotham."

"What makes you think you're owed our hard-earned money?" A man dressed in a Prada suit pouted at the candidate. A few yeah!s were expressed, and Lincoln shrugged. "The city isn't left with many resources, and I guarantee you have more money than you can ever spend. Don't you want to build a legacy with it?"

"It's our choice what we want our legacy to be!"

"We'll make sure you never get elected with this bold-faced thievery!"

Bruce had had enough. He stood quickly beside him and placed a hand on Lincoln's shoulder. "We should wait to hear what the other candidates have to say in the following weeks. They could be better, they could be worse; but the worst thing we can do right now, ladies and gentlemen, is come to a premature decision." He balled his obscured hand into a painfully tight fist to combat a massive eye roll. "You all love this city as much as I do; my father wanted the same things for Gotham as Mr. March, and no one wants to remove you from financial security." This was too perfect of an opportunity to play up his persona, so very, very begrudgingly, he took it. "I promise you, if we can no longer afford our Beluga caviar and Tiffany bracelets I will personally destroy Mr. March." Bobbing shoulders and grins were seen around the room, with a smattering of tentative nods.

Having effectively dodged a riot, the rest of the meeting went relatively smoothly. No one was paying mind to Lincoln, who raised his hand at regular intervals but was decidedly ignored. He couldn't shake the spiraling thoughts of how much you would've lived and died to witness this meeting, watching the rich people quiver and snivel at the prospect of their pockets turned out. But you were not here, and there was a possibility you were not anywhere at all but returned to the dirt. At the meeting's adjournment, Bridgit waited eagerly at the door for Bruce to walk past and Lincoln muttered a quick acknowledgement. "Wayne. Thanks for having my back there."

Bruce nodded absentmindedly, stretching his neck to look outside the door and into the lobby. It confused Lincoln, watching the man's pupils shoot side to side, up and down, every which direction. "I can't help but think you're looking for someone." He didn't take the bait, so he pressed further. "Y/N, was that it?"

He bristled at the mention of your name, hesitated before nodding, and spoke an old truth to cover himself. "We had an interview set." He eyed Bridgit and groaned.

"I had a girlfriend once in college with a problematic ex; he'd come into work asking for her schedule. They weren't allowed to give it out."

Bruce looked over at the man. "You're saying it's policy not to divulge whereabouts of employees?" He felt embarrassed the second the sentence left his tongue, berating himself for the obviousness of his oversight. Another way he was different, not understanding basic logistics of the working class.

"Correct. The young lady by the doorway might not be legally allowed to tell you."

The legality now apparent did not rid himself of anxiety, it exaggerated it elsewhere. If he could not find out via your workplace (the only place that knew you existed in this metropolis), he was left with two options with equally miserable consequences: try to find you, or leave it alone. If he went looking and he found you, you'd have reason to hate him, thus fuel to nuke his reputation, not to mention the guilt of going back on a promise; if he did not look for you, he would never be alleviated of his guilt that he hadn't at least attempted to save you from the danger he put you in. How could he go on as usual knowing he could have done more? What if you'd simply called out sick and she was a temporary replacement? The tale of the problematic ex ping-ponged within him, reminding him of another alternative: he had scared you away, and you'd left the position to avoid seeing him. Before the emotions of that could burrow into his chest, he resorted to waiting until the following week to see if you'd returned. After a two week hiatus at a new job, there was higher probability you were out of his weekly rotation permanently; whether that meant you were dead or quit the position was another matter entirely, one which he could tackle more sufficiently next—

"Wayne? Hello?"

Bruce blinked at Lincoln, who stared at him with a blend of confusion and concern. He thanked Lincoln for coming, and began to walk away, not before he held out a business card for the billionaire to take—which he took swiftly, kindly, and hurried off. Right past Bridgit shouting interview requests at him, right past the throngs of people waiting for his attention at the exit, and over to the valet which stood waiting with his key in hand. The drive home was quick and dangerous, when he pulled into the cave he felt like he'd blinked and been transported into his seat at the computer. Television static frizzed his brain circuitry until he'd stared at an empty SEARCH screen for fifteen minutes. Alfred, concerned he had not come back and immediately went to the kitchen for dinner scraps, clunked his way out of the elevator and stood behind the boy. A hand on his shoulder startled Bruce, who groaned and pressed ESCAPE. "Jesus Alfred,"

"Mulligatawny's in the fridge, I thought you wouldn't have missed that warm for the world."

"I've been preoccupied." He placed his chin in his hand and slumped over the desk. He was this close to having the answers, just a month ago he'd spent a whole week ramping up the internet speed in there. In a single millisecond he could have the answer, or be closer to the answer. Yet nothing could propel him to push the keys. Alfred was quiet behind him, but not a good quiet; not the quiet of him being lost in a song, or mulling over the duties for the next few days. This quiet was weighted, waiting for Bruce to speak or to pester it out of him. He started with a softball.

"Bad news at the meeting?" At least, Bruce thought he might start with a softball. Alfred wondered in secret if the boy's distress was due to the disorder he presumed was creeping up on him. Bruce had a feeling he wasn't being transparent, and groaned when Alfred spoke again. "You don't have to attend the meetings, you know. The world would go on if Bruce Wayne, or, better yet Batman took a bit of a rest." He noticed the old man's watery smile in the empty reflection of the unused computer screen.

"I don't need more rest." Bruce murmured. Alfred shot a challenging look. He rolled his eyes and pushed himself up from the desk. "I'm getting some food." As he waited for the elevator (it had taken to going back up to the top stair upon arriving in the basement), he considered asking about you. Talking the situation over with him. It wasn't an invasive search, but a conversation that could help him get out of his own mind. But. He hadn't brought you up since you'd left. If he spoke now, it would be a can of worms. The questioning wouldn't cease. Alfred would assume, and pursue, and blow his concern up beyond what it was. He'd wait. He'd wait, and if you still weren't at the next meeting he'd make a decision at that point. Only then would he be able to accurately weigh the consequences of action and inaction. No earlier. In the meantime, he'd have to endure it.

[scribble-brain-aced]

for pride month, i have:

a list of how the hazbin hotel had their gay awakening. (or lesbian, or bi, or trans, or aroace, pan, etc)

Charlie: she watched Sleeping Beauty, the year after it came out. she looked at Snow White and thought “wow, she’s so pretty.. but also Price Florian.. wait.” because this was in 1938, she didn’t know what bisexuality was, but she knew and accepted her feelings, because it wasn’t a big deal to her. in the 1970s, she found the label for it— bisexuality— and thought “OH THERE’S A NAME FOR THIS, YAY!” and that was that.

Vaggie: when she was still alive, in 2010, a friend sent her a photo of a genderbent character from some TV show, and her first thought was “oh, okay, i see why everyone’s in love with them now. …wait.” she spent the next 20 minutes looking up female versions of characters and realizing “oh. OH THAT EXPLAINS SO MUCH” (based on my own story)

Angel: honestly, he can’t really say. he just kinda knew from the beginning that men were just hot, and he’d marry a guy if he could. molly just assumed he meant “yeah, men are just better than women” and went along with it, even though she personally thought both were radiantly beautiful. (she found out what pansexual meant in 1972.)

Husk: he has no idea. if asked, he just shrugs and goes “any hole is a goal, i couldn’t care less.” at one point, Angel just shoved a poster at him, Husk read it and was like “oh. i guess that’s me.” pretty chill reaction, just continued his normal day, but kept thinking “okay, wow, that’s ME.”

Sir Pentious: he just thought all people liked both men and women, but because of societal rules and whatever, they had to wait until they had a crush on the opposite gender. ..what do you mean thats not what being straight is. (he only found out what bisexuality was after he came to the Hotel and Charlie had a bi flag pin. he asked her what country that was, and she had to sit him down to explain the concept of LGBTQ+, and no, it is ABSOLUTELY NOT a mental illness, wtf, you’re fine, buddy, go be happy.)

Alastor: post-season 1, like three people separately wished him a happy asexual awareness week and he was so confused, he asked Angel to look up ‘a sexual’ on his phone because he couldn’t find anything at the library. (he was looking at the outdated library in cannibal town.) he read the definition, and locked himself in his room for the rest of the day. if anybody heard muffled screaming and somehow-happy-sounding swearing, nobody mentioned it.

Vox: pfft, what? no, he’s not gay! he’s perfectly straight! is it gay to say that men are just as good at women? …Val, what do you MEAN ‘no but yes’? (Valentino explained the entire history of LGBTQ+, stressing bisexuality. Vox just said “okay, okay, hear me out.. there’s a whole month for them, right? their whole thing is rainbows? what if we paint all of our logos rainbow-colored? they’d buy it!” Valentino gave up, because Vox just COULD NOT comprehend what he was trying to say. but he keeps sending bisexual memes to Vox.)

Valentino: he just always knew. come on, everyone’s hot, unless they aren’t. even better if they can be exploited. that’s all there is to it.

Velvette: pfft, she grew up with social media, she’s known about this shit since she was a kid. fuck love, fuck fucking, she’d rather pester Vox into making cheesy garlic bread. the guy’s a bitch, but he makes good cheesy garlic bread.

Baxter: back before he and sir pentious became bitter enemies, they were both talking about.. whatever. at one point, they got on the topic of clothing, and Baxter— then Bella— griped that he hated how dresses felt. too heavy, too annoying, and it made him feel sick, anyway. suits were just better, not just because they’re lighter. man, he wished he were a boy. pentious asked if he wanted to be a boy in general, not just for the suits, and after a moment, Baxter excused himself quickly to go find something in his library, shooing Pentious out of the house. a couple days later, he came out, transitioned, all that. the only reason he doesn’t cut off his light-lure thingy is because it’s useful. other than that, he avoids looking at it as much as possible.