#it took me a few years to turn the devastation into anger that i used to fuel me

[allylikethecat]

omg??? the teacher thing thats so mean 😭 good to know you took it as a champ and the fact you kept it AND printed it is so funny

She was actually the worst person I ever met omfg it's been twelve years and I'm still bitter about it 😂 I am never getting rid of that email. Sometimes I pull it out and am like "maybe I was exaggerating" but nope, it really says all that in black and white text sent to my gmail in 2012. It's so crazy to me that a TEACHER would put something like that in writing. She also said I was beyond help, like gee thanks. Way to you know, teach. I am SO OPEN to CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM and feedback that I can use to better myself, but telling me you've given up on me isn't exactly helpful. She was also the sole reason I wasn't allowed to take AP English in high school, she refused to sign the form to let me enroll.

One time, she took points off of my The Great Gatsby reading quiz because one of the questions was "What color is Gatsby's car" and I said yellow and she marked me wrong and said it was BEIGE because it was supposed to represent A PENIS and MASCULINITY so my happy ass went and FOUND THE PASSAGE IN THE BOOK where it EXPLICITLY SAYS Gatsby's car is YELLOW and SHOWED HER and she then told me I was being disrespectful for questioning her... Nothing fuels a person like spite does and I dream of one day publishing something and then mailing her a copy 🤣

I hope you are having a wonderful Tuesday and that you have a great rest of your week!

❤️Ally

[imtryingbuck]

A Mother’s Endless Love.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OFC!Theo

Summary: Bucky has to marry a woman who surprises him more and more as their story goes along.

Word count: 1,687

Warnings: angst. swearing. death. talks of affairs. talks of past rape and being charged for it.

Masterlist   Series Masterlist

The maid who answered the door looked absolutely terrified, her whole body flinched as they heard something smashing - Bucky could also hear loud voices coming from inside - the woman opened the door even wider and lets him in, she scurries away further in the large mansion and out of sight leaving Bucky on his own in the foyer.

Following the sound of raised voices coming from the living room, he stands by the doorway watching the scene in front of him. A satisfied smirk pulls at his lips. Eliza stands there with tears running down her face, her hands shaking as she begs Michael to calm down. He can’t help but wonder how many times Theo did the exact same thing, he wonders how many times Eliza let up and let her go. That makes his smirk drop.

“You paid two million to put a hit out on MY daughter!” Michaels face was bright red, his voice was low as he spoke. And if looks could kill… well Eliza would have been six feet under already.

“Actually it was five million.” Bucky corrected, both of their heads snapping towards him. He gives them a tight lipped smile.

“You what?”

“Yep. Five million for three men to shoot my wife, your daughter.”

Bucky had seen plenty of men angry before. Of course he had. But even when the anger was directed at him - and nine out of ten times it was - Bucky had never seen pure, all consuming anger before. He could practically see Michael’s blood bubbling from under the surface.

Michael says something that Bucky couldn’t quite understand before he turns to face his wife, he asked her if it was true.

“I-I-I did it for us Mike she was in the way! I needed her gone. Please let’s just forget about all this nonsense, she survived didn’t she? What’s the harm?”

“That’s all I needed to hear.” Eliza’s whole body sags with relief whilst Bucky looks at him as if he had three heads on his shoulders. “I’ll see you soon.” He says before pulling his gun out, Eliza’s face pales and as she opens her mouth Michael pulls the trigger. Michael doesn’t even spare her a second glance as he walks past Bucky and goes to his office.

Pouring whiskey into two tumblers, Michael downed his before re-pouring. “I didn’t know until today, I had my suspicions but I thought if I got Theo out of the house Eliza would leave her alone. I was wrong.”

“How did you find out?”

“I overheard her talking to someone, it took ages for her to tell me the truth. I noticed that money had gone missing.” A dry chuckle falls from his lips as he shook his head. “She paid for my own daughter to be killed with my own money.”

Bucky nodded slowly, taking a gulp of his drink. “She should have had you killed. You know since you made her raise your affair child.”

“Believe it or not James in the twenty five years of marriage I never betrayed my wife. Not once. I found out Eliza was having an affair, I was devastated as expected, nine months later she gives birth to Matt. A few years go by and I meet this woman, it was never meant to happen but it did and James I don’t regret it, not one second. Jessica told me she was pregnant and I was over the moon, I was already planning on leaving Eliza because of after nearly thirty years I realised that what me and her had wasn’t love. I truly loved Jessica then Eliza found out about Jess three months after Theo was born, I went to the apartment that I had with Jess and” sinking further into the cushion and taking a deep breath, he continues. “and I found Jess bleeding with Theo in her arms, Eliza had shot her. She came out of the bathroom, we argued then she gave me the ultimatum save Jess or our baby”

Bucky’s heart sinks, he knows who Michael chose, and for a split second he feels for the man sat in front of him “Jess begged me to choose Theo, Eliza shot her in her heart whilst she was still holding our baby girl in her arms, she walked over to me whilst I watched my love die and kissed me on the cheek and told me she’ll be waiting for me at home” Both men just sit there and let the silence coat the air like a blanket.

After awhile Bucky sat further up “Why did you save Theo just to torture her all her life?“

“They were mainly done by Eliza and the girls, Bran would occasionally hurt her too. Matt never did, poor boy would try and protect her but it just made Eliza more mad. Every time I see her all I see is Jess and what I lost.”

“Did you even care? Care that your daughter who was born out of your affair was being beaten and raped by-“

“What do you mean raped?” Cutting the younger man off.

“You didn’t know? Your wife and daughters would charge men to rape Theo. Your sons in law were also charged”. Shrugging it off like it’s nothing even though it pains him to talk about what happened to his wife this way. He just doesn’t believe that Michael wasn’t aware of this.

Michael was known for many things but crying was not one of them, so when his burst out in a fit of tears Bucky struggled to sit still. “I-I didn’t know! Fuck! I swear James I didn’t know” Once again the room goes quiet, Bucky realises that the man sat in front of him truly didn’t know about what was happening to Theo. But that didn’t excuse his part in her pain and suffering.

Before Bucky can say anything Michael continues “I know what’s going to happen next and listen son I’m not going to try and stop you, just look after my little girl please and-“ standing up he walks over to the his desk, opening up a draw he fiddled with something Bucky couldn’t see “can you give Theo this please? It’s all I have of Jess. I had to hide this one from Eliza”

Handing over a silver thin photo frame, the photo inside is of a young beautiful woman smiling brightly at first glance he thinks it’s Theo. The similarities between his wife and her mom are so striking. The same smile, the same bright blue eyes, the same dimpled right cheek, the same twinkle in their eyes. 

Finding himself lost in the photograph of his mother in law, he wonders how much Theo is like her. He wonders if they had the same laugh, or if their voices were similar, did Theo get her love for painting from her mom? He wonders how close they would have been, would they have the same relationship as his own sister and mom had, where they were close and Theo could openly talk about everything and anything with no judgments? Even through a now old photo he can feel the warmth she no doubted gave off, he feels the sense of security and love in her eyes. His heart cracks as he knows what happens to the beautiful woman who looks so much like his wife. He feels sorry for this woman, murdered for loving the wrong man, the chance of seeing her only child grow up and become her own person was taken away from her without a second thought, punished all because she loved a man that wasn’t faithful to his wife. 

But yet he couldn’t help the feeling of anger trickle into his blood at the woman, she should have left Michael when he wouldn’t leave Eliza and then Theo would have grown up completely differently, a life full of love and not pain, a life without knowing how it feels to have her skin being broken and ripped apart. His heart clenches at the thought of Theo having a completely different upbringing, he knows their paths would have never crossed, he knows that he would of never felt true love if this woman staring back at him from the photograph, had just left.

“James, Theo’s original birth certificate is behind the photo and I know I’m already asking a lot from you but, but could you tell Theo I’m sorry for everything I did wrong to her and tell her I love her please?”

Bucky’s voice fails him so all he does is nod. Michael lets a small smile reach his aged face as he sits down at his desk where he pulls out a file “In here is my will. Everything is being left to Theo and you. It’s the least I can do. Please give her this too.” Michael takes out a necklace from his breast pocket, a heart shaped locket dangling from it. Sitting upright and straightening his tie “I’m ready now son”

Bucky pulls out his gun, finding himself glancing at the photograph and pulling it towards his heart - a way of protecting the woman who resembles his wife of not having to witness what he’s about to do. “This is for Theo and Jess”

Then a deafening bang goes off but he doesn’t flinch.

Sitting in the car with Steve to his left he holds the photo frame carefully and shows him what he’s looking at. “It’s Theo’s mom.” He smiles sadly.

“They look so much alike.” Steve gives him a sad smile too.

Bucky puts the frame down on his lap gently and takes out the locket, he opens it up and instantly smiles. On one side is a photo of Jess, and on the other is a baby photo of Theo.

Engraved on the outside of the heart shaped locket reads. ‘A Mothers Endless Love.’

“Vis take me home, please.”

Everyone in the car knows that he doesn’t mean the house that they live in, no he means Theo.

Theo’s his home.

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Tags: @sapphirebarnes @bellabarnes1378 @unaxv @skulliecadaver-blog @mrsnikstan @sebastians-love @pattiemac1 @julvrs @undf-stuff @violetwinterwidow01 @cjand10 @angrykitsune01

[flowersandskeletons526]

"When We All Come Home Alive" - Ajax/Rembrandt fic for the Warriors Concept Album

Okay so this is my first fic in two years so please be nice to me. This was written in a night because I absolutely could not get this out of my head. Enjoy!

-----

“Rembrandt, you gotta get up.”

Rembrandt did not want to get up. Lying on Cleon’s couch with her back to the room, she barely had the strength to shake her head. It had been two months since that awful night fleeing through the city, two months since Ajax was arrested, two months since they lost Fox and a little over a month since her funeral. Rembrandt found the strength to make her way to the service and give her eulogy but that was it. Cleon had been taking all the calls from Ajax. She ran messages between them like a long-suffering mediator because Rembrandt loved Ajax and everyone knew that but she was still so fucking mad. No matter how many times she tried to convince herself that she knew why Ajax went after the undercover cop, she couldn’t excuse what an absolute braindead decision it was.

She’d been furious and devastated and grief stricken and once all that anger finally faded, she was left like this: catatonic on the couch while the remaining six Warriors tried desperately to break her out of it. 

Cleon alternated between being the mother hen that she was at heart and trying to pull rank, but everyone knew all her threats of extra chores and dealing with new recruits were only attempts to get Rembrandt’s attention. Cochise and Cowgirl went the route of using her art, trying to get her to draw, asking if they could steal a few pages from her sketchbook which had always been a hard no. They dropped it as a lost cause when she actually said “go ahead.” Swan did nothing but sit beside her and make it clear she was there to talk when Rembrandt was ready. Rembrandt appreciated that. 

To everyone’s surprise, it was Mercy that got the most reaction. After Fox’s funeral, Rembrandt had refused to eat for almost a week. Cochise and Cowgirl were at their own apartment. Cleon and Swan were out on gang business, dealing with the Gramercy Riffs from what Rembrandt understood. Mercy came home - still such a weird thing for Rembrandt to think about - from her day job Cleon had secured for her. She went straight to her and Swan’s room like Rembrandt knew Swan had asked her to do. Let the rest of the crew deal with Rembrandt, she never took kindly to strangers, just let them handle it. 

Rembrandt heard the door open, close, and then open again. She forced herself to turn halfway over to see Mercy kneeling behind her with a takeout container of soup in her hands. “I know it’s not Nathan’s,” she had said gently, “but Swan told me it was one of your favorites.” Rembrandt liked her a lot more after that.

“Rembrandt!” Cleon said more forcefully, dragging Rembrandt back into reality. She rolled onto her back to look up at her leader. “Get up. Seriously. We’re going out.”

“Cleon, for the love of god,” Rembrandt whispered, her voice hoarse from disuse. “Don’t make me go anywhere.”

“You have to. This is non-negotiable.”

“Cleon-”

“Put on your vest and let’s go.”

--------

Ajax got herself stuck in solitary within five minutes of being on her cell block. She did it on purpose, jumping some girl she knew wasn’t affiliated just for giving her a sideways look. She knew Rembrandt would kill her for it but Rembrandt was probably planning on doing that anyway and she would rather be completely alone than deal with all the bullshit she was guaranteed in general population. 

Cleon had spent almost an entire phone call chewing her out for that. “Are you serious?” she shouted over the receiver. “We can’t come visit you when you’re in fucking solitary! Dammit, Ajax, what were you thinking!” Ajax was just happy she still got to hear Cleon’s voice at all. 

But Fox…

She could conquer any physical pain. None of that fazed her anymore. But the agony of hearing that Fox was gone and never coming back, that was something she didn’t know how to handle. Cleon had had the sense to immediately assure her it wasn’t her fault. She knew her too well. Ajax could only mumble one word answers for the rest of the call until an officer finally brought her back to her cell. She didn’t let herself fall apart until she was safe behind the solid concrete and steel, and the next morning, they had to bring her to medical to make sure she hadn’t broken both hands punching the wall. Cleon gave her shit for that, too.

The very first thing Cleon told her in their first call was who had made it home. She knew about Fox. She knew about that Orphan girl apparently being initiated into the gang and, honestly, fine. Ajax wasn’t thrilled but she could respect that. Above all, Rembrandt was alive. Rembrandt was safe. Rembrandt survived the night.

And Rembrandt refused to speak to her.

“I’m not going to tell you what she said,” Cleon said during those first few weeks. “You know I stay out of your relationship if it’s not affecting business but you don’t need to hear the words she has for you right now.”

“She hates me now, doesn’t she,” Ajax mumbled. 

“No, no, she doesn’t, but I know she’s speaking out of anger and hurt right now and that’s why I’m not repeating it. Listen, to be honest, she’s not doing great mentally right now. We’re all trying to help but she doesn’t seem to want help.”

“She’s not staying-”

“No, she’s not staying at your guys’ apartment. She’s staying with Swan and me. I don’t trust her to be alone right now.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah,” Cleon sighed. “We need to get you home.”

Now, Ajax lay on the rock hard mattress and stared at the dirty ceiling of her cell. She could never be sure of the time in there, but it felt like a while since they threw her lunch through the slot in the door, so she should get the chance to call home soon. She didn’t make any more trouble after that first fight that put her in isolation. She didn’t argue, she didn’t even talk to anyone during her one hour outside, she was polite and, hell, even downright nice to the guards, no matter how much it made her want to puke. She was smart enough to know she couldn’t lose the one privilege keeping her sane.

She just had to hold on until she got out. She just had to hold on until Rembrandt forgave her, if she ever did.

“Inmate 718929!” a guard barked from outside her cell. “Get up, face the corner.”

Ajax did as she was told. Her mind raced as the guard came in and slapped cuffs on her wrists. She went through every little thing she’d done since she got put in here. She couldn’t think of anything that would possibly get her in trouble. She’d done everything right this time! They couldn’t be transferring her. She knew they wouldn’t tell the Warriors where they stuck her because they weren’t technically her next of kin. How would Cleon know how to get in touch with her? How would Rembrandt?

They brought her to the small room where normally she would have been able to meet visitors but she wasn’t allowed in-person visits so long as she was in solitary confinement. They sat her down at the metal table and undid her cuffs just to chain them to a loop on the tabletop in front of her. The guard left. She heard a short indistinct conversation through the door. It opened, and a well dressed woman with a briefcase and an easy smile stepped inside and sat across from her. 

“Good afternoon, Ajax,” she said. 

What the fuck?

“Uh, hi,” Ajax said hesitantly.

“How are you doing today?”

“Who are you?”

“My name is Lauryn. I’m a defense attorney and I’ll be representing you.”

“I didn’t ask for a public defender.”

The woman laughed. “Oh, please, I don’t work for the state. You have friends in high places.”

“But the W- I mean, my friends don’t-”

“Your friends have friends,” Lauryn amended, in a way that said shut the fuck up, the guards can hear you. “I’ll make this quick. Suffice to say I talked to a few people, called in a few favors, I waived your right to a trial and simply pushed through the plea bargain, hope you don’t mind.”

“You what?”

“They dropped the assault charges-”

“The what?”

“-and I argued them down to criminal mischief. You’ll have to check in with a probation officer every month for the next six months and, y’know, not get arrested again, but you won’t be serving any jail time.”

“Stop! Stop, stop, stop.” Ajax waved her hands as much as she could with them chained to the table. Her head was spinning. “What the actual fuck are you talking about? Who called you in? How were you able to do any of this?”

“Don’t worry about how I got it done, only that you got out of something you shouldn’t have been able to get out of. Do you recognize the name Masai?”

“Masai? No, I… oh, shit.”

The second-in-command of the Gramercy Riffs. Cyrus’s number two. The man who sent out a fucking hit on all their heads and kidnapped Cleon and put the entire city on a warpath with them as the prize. Why was he calling her a lawyer?

“Don’t worry about how we got here,” said Lauryn. Could this woman read her mind? “This meeting is really just to get you up to speed. Once we’re done here, the guards will get you your personal effects and release you. I’ll be in touch to go over your parole meetings with you in the future. Sounds good?”

“I-I, I mean, y-yeah! Yeah! Get me out of here!”

“Perfect! Wait for my call.” 

Lauryn stood, shook Ajax’s hand, and left just as quickly as she came in. Ajax didn’t even have the time to get her wits about her before a guard came in and whisked her off to be released. It went by in a blur. She just did as she was told, signing whatever they put in front of her, and followed the guard out to the front office of the jail. She knew enough to keep her Warriors vest folded under her arm until she was safely off the premises. 

She clenched her fists to keep them from shaking. Was Rembrandt going to be there waiting for her? Was the whole gang? This couldn’t just be a dream, right? There was no reason for the Gramercy Riffs to do all this for her. Maybe this was all just a hallucination, the light in the tunnel at the end of a nightmare. For all she knew, this was just a fever dream and she was still rotting in that cell.

The Warriors were not waiting for her in the front office. Instead, Masai stood by the door flanked by two Riffs, an unlit cigarette hanging from his lips. He straightened as she approached him. 

“Sorry for the wait,” he said. “The legal system takes a while to work. I’m sure you know.”

“Why are you here?” she growled before she could stop herself.

“Cyrus wanted peace. I’m trying to make that happen.” He jerked his head towards the door. “Let’s go, Warrior.”

----------

Rembrandt kept her hood up and her head down as they left the subway station. A cold wind cut through the city, blowing her hair into her eyes. She lagged behind the rest of the gang as they made their way through Lower Manhattan. No one would tell her where they were going or what was happening, and every time she tried to ask they would tiptoe around the subject until they could find a way to change it. The closest thing she got to an answer was Mercy reaching over to quickly squeeze her hand and offer a tiny smile. 

As they walked, Swan dropped back through the group and put an arm around Rembrandt’s shoulders. “Chin up,” she whispered, and that was all she needed to say. Rembrandt let herself lean into Swan’s side just for a moment before the war chief returned to her place beside Cleon in front. 

They stopped before a massive dystopian-looking brick building. Police cars surrounded the place. Flanking the steel front doors were three Riffs on each side, still in their black mourning clothes, and Rembrandt bristled. What the fuck were they doing here?

Cleon waved Rembrandt forward and rested a comforting hand on her back. “Don’t worry,” she said gently.

“Cleon,” she began, but the warlord cut her off.

“We’re safe. We’re in good company.”

The doors opened…

And out stepped Ajax. 

Rembrandt heard nothing beyond the hammering of her pulse in her ears. She took a shaky step forward. Ajax’s mouth was moving but Rembrandt couldn’t understand what she was saying. Her hands were bandaged and she looked exhausted and pale and underweight and… scared. Rembrandt had never seen her so terrified. Ajax was always strong and brave, often to the point of recklessness, larger than life, but standing before Rembrandt now, she looked an inch tall. Rembrandt watched Ajax’s mouth round out her name, and every emotion that had been building up over the past months suddenly exploded. 

She broke into a run and launched herself in Ajax’s open arms. 

She was a sobbing mess within seconds. Ajax had to keep her on her feet, arms wrapped in a tight fortress around her as she buried her face against Ajax’s neck. “It’s okay,” she heard her whisper. “You’re okay, baby, I’ve got you. I’m right here. We’re okay. We’re okay.”

For the first time since that horrible night, Rembrandt let herself believe it. 

It seemed like an eternity of Ajax just holding her before she found her voice: “You’re a fucking idiot.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Never do that again!”

“I won’t,” Ajax promised, and it was a promise she’d made a thousand times before but Rembrandt could forget about that for now. 

“I missed you so much.”

“I missed you, too. I love you.”

“I love you.”

Rembrandt finally untangled herself from Ajax’s embrace and turned to face the others, but she stayed clinging to Ajax’s arm, afraid she might disappear if Rembrandt fully let go. Hugs were exchanged, the repeated sentiments of “we’re so glad you’re safe” and “good to finally have you on your way home” between all the smiles and jokes. Ajax didn’t hug Mercy, which everyone understood, but she did offer a fistbump. From the grin on Mercy’s face, you’d think it was the highest honor in the city. Rembrandt supposed that, in part, it was. She only let go of Ajax when the enforcer went to hug Swan. 

The two of them whispered something to each other, holding one another by the shoulder as they pulled back, both stony faced with downturned eyes. Everyone paused for a moment. Mercy gave Rembrandt a troubled look that said they’re not going to fight, are they? But Ajax cracked a smile and gave Swan a playful bap on the arm, and the war chief returned it with a wide grin. A light shoving match ensued with both participants laughing their asses off as they went.

“Kids, no fighting,” Cleon jeered from near the jail doors. Masai stood beside her, watching them, and Rembrandt swore the man… smiled? She wasn’t sure you could even call it a smile but then again, who knew if the Riff was even capable of showing joy like that. He shook Cleon’s hand, nodded to the Warriors, barked, “Riffs!” and the gang was gone, headed back to the Bronx to continue their queen’s mission from there. 

Cleon rejoined them with Ajax’s vest in her hand. Rembrandt cringed a bit, realizing she must have knocked it out of Ajax’s grip when she tackled her. Swan and Ajax ended their playfight, and Ajax stood before their leader, tall and strong and brave as ever. 

Cleon passed her the vest. “Welcome home, soldier,” she said. 

“It’s good to be back outside,” said Ajax as she slipped into her colors. “Masai’s lawyer said-”

“She’ll be in touch. Right. I just talked to him about it.”

“Wait,” Rembrandt interjected. “Masai’s lawyer?”

“You thought they were letting Ajax out because of her charming personality?” Cowgirl teased. Cochise pushed her hat down over her eyes with a smirk. “Wha- hey! Come on!”

“He said he owed us a favor,” Cleon explained. “I wasn’t going to decline.”

Ajax put an arm around Rembrandt. The artist leaned into the warm touch, wrapping her arms around Ajax’s waist as she kissed the top of her head. “Let’s go home,” she said quietly, and then, raising her voice, “And can we please get some Nathan’s? I’m sick of that fucking prison food!”

The Warriors whooped hollered in delight, arm in arm, hand in hand, following Cleon back towards the subway station and back towards Coney Island. Back towards home. 

With the others turned away from them, Rembrandt pulled Ajax down into a light, lingering kiss, clinging to the feeling of Ajax’s body solidly beneath her hands as she finally let herself believe it wasn’t all a dream. “We’re going to talk more about this at home,” she murmured. Ajax grimaced and nodded sheepishly. “But let’s go home first.”

“I love you.” 

“I love you, too.”

Ajax’s grimace flipped into a mischievous grin. Quick as a punch, she swept Rembrandt off her feet and into her arms, cackling as Rembrandt yelped in surprise before wrapping her arms around her neck and laughing along with her. Ajax carried her away from the jail, jogging to catch up to the others. Rembrandt closed her eyes and laid her head on Ajax’s shoulder. She was still angry and the memories all still hurt so, so much, but Ajax was back and she knew was finally secure in the belief that in the end, they would all be alright.

“Hey, do you have your cans? Maybe we could-”

“Don’t push it.”

----

The End! Thank you so much for reading!

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

Aita for "yelling" at my teenage sister for putting earrings through the ears of my childhood stuffed animal?

🤬🐘 <- cause that was me holding them when I found out lmao

So I (22 two spirit, I was 20 when this happened) have had Ellie (Ive used He/she/they for Ellie my whole life, they never had a set gender), a stuffed realtively realistic elephant, since I was at least 3 years old. He was a plush of big Al, the elephant mascot for crimson Tide of the university of Alabama. (Roll tide?) that my dad owned but eventually it was cuddled by 3 yr old me and dragged to my room and out of his man cave (which I don't know why he had a big al plush, we're from Ohio) never to return. I think she had a jersey or hat or something at some point but she doesn't now. Considering just how cuddled Ellie was, it's a miracle how good her condition is. No rips, tears, bald patches or holes beyond the plasticy coating on one of his tusks ripping off in a few places. I wasn't super violent with my toys and never drew on them or ripped them up. The most I did was put hair ties around her ears so they'd look like pigtails.

I've had Ellie a very very long time obviously and he means a lot to me. I very rarely cuddle him now because I want him to stay in that good condition. Well, when I was 19, I moved to Maryland to be with my partner and Ellie went with me obviously. 3 or 4 times a year, me and my partner make the trip to Ohio to visit my family, about 8 hrs away. I bring Ellie because she comforts me when we're there (Alot of traumatic memories are wrapped up in childhood home). Well, one time Ellie got left behind and I was devastated. It was gonna be at least 3 months till I went back and even though my mom offered to send ellie through the mail, i was not willing to take the chance that ellie could get lost forever in said mail so i waited.

Here's the part where I mention I have a younger sister who was 14 at the time. we have a good, if not distant relationship that is a much better place now. Here's where the problem occurred. I returned home after about 3 months after accidentally leaving ellie and immediately wanted to find him once I arrived. My mom told me my sister had been watching them while I was away so I went to her room. My sister then excitedly held up Ellie to me... Ellie's big ears were absolutely littered with my sister's (real) earrings. There had to of been at least 150 piercings in her ears, if not 200. I held myself together as best I could and very sternly told her I was pissed she'd do that, she knew how much Ellie meant to me and she should never treat other people's things that way.

I make a very strong point to never insult, scream or yell or not explain why I'm angry at someone. If I get so angry I can't handle my composure, I leave and gather myself then come back. I never insulted my sister or raised my voice but I definitely hammered how disrespectful and destructive this was to something that wasn't hers as I took out her earrings one by one. My childhood stuffie did not deserve to be turned into Swiss cheese and used as an earring display. If I had done anything like that to her stuffed giraffe, her stuffie, she'd have a cow. Once they were all out I took Ellie and went to my room. Luckily, they were normal sized earrings so the holes were very small and I can't see them if I don't look for them but it felt so disrespectful.

My sister apologized pretty quickly but my mom said I didn't have to yell at her (I never raised my voice but I was clearly hiding an angry one trying to explain to her) nor should I have said it 5 times in the moment (shes exaggerating). I'll admit I repeat myself twice or thrice in the moment as a way to keep myself from raising my voice or stewing in it if I feel like i haven't properly expressed my anger or I feel like the person wasn't listening. Everything is cool now and we dont really talk about it (it's not taboo or too painful to touch, it just doesn't come up) but I wonder if I over reacted considering the holes are tiny, not super visible and I don't think my sister did it to spite me or hurt Ellie, she was just young and dumb and didn't think about how it could mess up Ellie. Should I have held my tounge since shes my sister? She was only 14 but I feel like you should know earrings can cause damage to fabric when you're 14, there's no way she didn't know that wouldn't leave tiny holes in Ellie. I just think she didn't think of them as a big deal.

What are these acronyms?

[lionneee]

Requests🕯️

Here are my requests! From my least recent to the closest!

Request Rules

1.

can you please write a fic set after rook rest where reader is aegon's wife, she is show to be very fertile (she and aegon have three children in four years of marriage, blood and cheese never happen in this fic). she is beautiful and very gentle, aemond always lusted over her. now after he took the conqueror's knife and saw the prophecy over it aemond has convinced himself that he is the prince that was promised (we stand our delusional king), so his first aim now is to reproduce and have his own heirs, and who better than the reader especially since aegon is out of the picture. reader try to make aemond see things, like saying that their children will be bastard and unable to inherit the throne. but aemond already took his decision and claim it's reader's decision to have pleasure from it or not. i would really like this to end with a non con/ dub con smut scene❤️❤️

2. Let The World Burn

Could I request an Aemond X reader where reader gets kidnapped and he gets all protective?

3. Favourite Uncle

I see your request open and just thought about Aemond Targaryen x niece!reader, when she is helaena and Aegon youngest daughter and Alicent is so close to her because of this she is close to Aemond too but Viserys desperate to rekindle his family betrothed her to jacaerys, they’re married after that she was pregnant but there is a rumor that the baby daddy is her uncle Aemond. You can do what’s next or make it how you like it.

4. The Enemy

here we are then!! i have a request about reader x modern aemond fic. reader has a brother, but she's unaware that he's a mafia boss. She's quite naive and dutiful, focusing solely on her college and studies. At college, she meets Aemond in their philosophy class, and they quickly grow fond of each other, developing a deep connection. However, Aemond is also a mafia boss, leading the rival gang to her brother's. They begin a relationship, but both know it can't last, especially when her brother (who was initially unaware) strongly opposes it. Aemond, deeply in love with the reader (and slightly psychopathic lol) decides to remove the obstacle in their way: he shoots her brother, killing him, and goes to the reader to tell her that now they can finally be together. Shocked and devastated, the reader is torn. Despite everything, she cares for her brother and never wanted him dead. Consumed by anger and a thirst for revenge, she decides to report Aemond to the police. He gets arrested, as he trusted her completely and had shared everything with her, including the gang's location and where they hide the drugs. After two or three years, Aemond manages to get out of prison thanks to his excellent lawyers. He feels deeply betrayed by the reader, convinced that everything he had done was for them, so that they could finally live their love. Now, however, he wants revenge (even if he still feels love for her, but the desire for revenge is greater) . A few days after his release, he sneaks into the reader's house while she is sleeping, climbs on top of her and handcuffs her to the bed with the same handcuffs that had been used to arrest him. i would very like for the request to be concluded with a non con scene, explicit if possible. thank you very much

5.

can you write a spicy one shot of aemond fucking the reader while he talks about philosophy because his voice and him speaking about all these things really really turns her on and it needs to be filthy and rough, like he rails her

6.

phantom of the opera aemond.

7. Happy Halloween

Hello hello, sinds its almost halloween i have requested: aemond as gosht face/ micheal myers x reader.

8. On The Bottom Of The Ocean

Hi ✨ I just saw that you opened the request and I just want to send a request about my idea in this post https://www.tumblr.com/sapphirevhagar/764123647456804864/can-some-writer-write-this-one-shot-for-me-i-beg I wanna read about Ghost Aemond! 👻 slightly dub-con / dirty talk/ degradation after he has died in god’s eyes for 200 years, there is a girl who wanna see skeletons of him and vhagar after she read the story about him. So, she swim and dive in god’s eyes to find him. Finally, She has found him but when she looks at his socket, she found something strange.. Sapphire in his eye shining like he still alive. In that night, someone knock her door (she live near the god’s eyes and has to live alone for a while because her parent went to king’s landing) And when she open the door, the man with long white hair and sapphire in his eye smirks at her “If you want to see me, you should see how I look when I was alive” (and yes… 200 years I think he want someone to… 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️)

9. Sweet Osferth

Hi 💓 Can I request Osferth x Reader that people always think he’s innocent but turn out he’s NOT 🤭 reader always underestimate him by thinking that he still a virgin so, he shows her that he’s really good on bed 🥵

10. His, Forever

Can you make one where reader tries to leave Aemond and he is Despartly in love with reader after reader leaves him he looses his mind he started stalking her killing her every new boyfriend and always anonymously gifting her random things with creepy letters then to get her back again he made her pregnant

[wootensmith]

Through the Glass, Darkly

He felt it when she went, even half a continent away. A sudden rush of power, like rivers running back to the sea, as the remnants of the anchor found the way to him and her will was extinguished.

He’d thought he’d prepared himself for it in more than just his mind. He’d had what he needed for the ritual for years. His waiting was purposeful. The Veil had to fall, but he tried to give them a temporary reprieve, hold it off as long as he could. The devastation in the wake of that final breath was unbearable. He’d tried to find her in the Fade, prove himself false. All he’d found was the absence where she ought to be. Not even an echo of her. He was uncertain whether that was worse or if it were a mercy. He didn’t send out agents to verify her loss. It was unnecessary. It was always going to end this way.

He grieved. Alone. 

And when there was no time remaining, he began the ritual. 

He comforted himself with the idea that the process was almost finished. A few more tasks and he could finally put the burden down. Let go. Release his consciousness back into the void, rivers returning to the sea. No longer alone.

The transfer was delicate. That is what he told himself afterward. That he had been too absorbed in its complexity to remember all the precautions he should have. In his deepest heart though, Solas knew that he’d let Varric find him. He’d hoped— well, it didn’t matter any longer what he’d hoped. For a scrap of her to remain perhaps. For some last thread of sanity for him to grasp onto, some alternate way that Varric or Dorian or anyone had dreamed up. A way out. 

The night was chilled, brittle. A long and drenching rain beat down on the stone steps, on the expressionless, titanic stone statues that guarded the prison Solas had built so long ago. He would have liked to do it some balmy summer night, late, late, when all the land slept, a peaceful slide into the end. But there was no more time, his pursuers were closing in and he could delay no longer if he truly wished to complete this before he was discovered. A few hours more and the crisis would be over, for good or ill.  It took time to build up the necessary power to burst through the Veil, even with his dagger. He concentrated on gathering his strength in the nucleus of his ritual.

“Hey, Chuckles, hope I’m not interrupting.” Solas wished he could feel the relief he’d expected at Varric’s voice, but rage and sorrow swept it quickly away. “You should not be here,” he said, turning momentarily toward Varric. He was much older than Solas’s memory. More somber, no sly grin or glint of sarcasm in his eye. Just exhaustion. An overwhelming tide of grief tugged at Solas. An instant of recognition of what they had both already lost. “No,” admitted Varric. “It shouldn’t be me who’s here. We both know that. And if you’d let us find you a year ago, it would have been her instead.” “Go home, Varric. It is perilous for you to remain,” he said, ignoring the raw anger in Varric’s voice. “It’s perilous everywhere else, too.” Solas began to turn back to take the next step in the ritual.  “She believed in you to the very end, you know,” said Varric.  Solas hesitated, the enchanted dagger clenched in his hand.

“That’s why I’m here instead of barricading Kirkwall’s harbor or raiding the wine cellar at the Hanged Man and drinking away the final nights of the world. Her last breaths were asking us to find you. She was convinced you were in trouble. None of us could persuade her of anything different. And we tried, Solas. We tried. So here I am, to ask you because she can’t. Don’t do this.” Solas shook his head and returned to the ritual. “You don’t understand. The Veil is a wound inflicted upon this world, it must be healed,” he said, squinting against the increasing wind and rain. “By drowning the world in demons?” “I have taken precautions to minimize the damage, Varric.” “Minimize the— People are dying right now! You need to listen.” The click of Varric’s crossbow was still familiar after all this time and forced Solas’s attention back to him. “Please,” Varric added.

It was his desperate tone that pushed Solas too far. He shattered Bianca with a thought. Told himself it was to prevent Varric from using it, but they both knew the crossbow was only a prop to catch Solas’s attention. Neither of them had the will to harm the other. Not now. No, he destroyed the crossbow in a paroxysm of sorrow and jealousy. Varric had been with the Inquisitor in her last moments. Had been where Solas should have been. And now he stood where she should have instead. Some part of his anger was for the Inquisitor as well, irrational as it was. For failing. For not standing in Varric’s place.

“People are always dying,” Solas snapped. “It is what they do.” He turned back and struck again at the Veil.

“You’re not the only one who misses her,” said Varric, so quietly that Solas almost missed it. “Destroying everything we fought together to preserve isn’t going to make you feel better.” Solas didn’t answer, concentrating on his task. The air smelt of ozone and rain, something he tried to grasp onto, to ground himself. “Why did you bother helping us?” asked Varric after a moment. “Why not just let Corypheus win if this was all you were after?” He shut his eyes, hearing an echo of the Inquisitor asking the same, though it had been about the Qunari invasion, not Corypheus. He was not ready for the physical ache in his chest. He grit his teeth and slashed at the widening tear in the Veil.

“Was it just your ego? Couldn’t stand for someone else to destroy us and wanted to do it with your own hands? Or was it that you didn’t have the anchor and you couldn’t do this without it? That why you used us? Her?” Rage simmered in Varric’s tone, and Solas couldn’t help but try to explain. “No! I—” “Why now then? It’s come back to you, hasn’t it? The anchor’s power? That’s it, isn’t it? You were just waiting for her to die. I guess I should be grateful you waited then.”

Solas whirled around to face Varric. “I wanted you to have more time,” he said. “But there is no more to be spared. This is bigger than us. Bigger than the Inquisitor or our friendship. Bigger than me. Whatever your plan is, Varric, it will not alter this. I cannot allow you to threaten this ritual or me.” Varric laughed. “Me? Take down the Dreadwolf? No, I just wanted to ask you a question.” Solas hesitated, wary. His skin prickled as the Fade leaked from the tear, washed over him, beyond him.

“This ritual of yours— what’s it meant to do? I mean, from what the Inquisitor told me, you rebelled against the Evanuris and that was a disaster.”  “They’re imprisoned,” Solas protested. Varric ignored him. “You created the Veil and that’s a disaster. How will this time work any better? Tell me that.” You haven’t told them everything, Solas reminded himself. “I understand your hesitance, but what I do now has to be done. This is beyond your comprehension.” “So explain it,” Varric insisted. “Tell me why. Why tear down the Veil knowing all the lives it will cost?”

Solas bit back his impatience. “We can have this conversation later. Let me fin—” “Just like you were supposed to explain to the Inquisitor once we defeated Corypheus? Or like you apparently intended to do when we chased you across the Crossroads years ago? You keep promising to explain ‘later’ and then chickening out. It’s later, Solas. Explain now. What is so vital that it’s more important than all the people who are dying?” “We shared a journey years ago. Do you truly believe I would do this if there were some other better option?” “A year ago I would have said no,” answered Varric. “But now— I don’t know what to think anymore.”

It stung, hearing Varric’s doubt. I cannot afford to linger, he told himself. “You came a long way and made a valiant effort, Varric, but this story does not end with my downfall.” Varric sighed behind him. “I never wanted your downfall, Solas. None of us did. Do you know what she said the last time I saw her? The anchor, your anchor, had spread, eating her up like frost crackling across every inch of her. Agony. And we were all helpless. All of us. She should have been furious. But she wasn’t. ‘He’s in trouble.’ That’s what she told me. ‘I don’t know what and and I don’t know how to aid him, but he’s in trouble and he needs us.’ That’s why I came. Because she knew you needed—” he broke off as a terrible rending rumble erupted beneath them. The ancient carvings began to topple in a nightmarish slow slump toward them. 

Horrified, Solas managed to catch the foremost statue and push it away. But he was too late. The Veil stood open, the ritual interrupted. The creatures of centuries of nightmares erupted from the yawning Fade. Solas froze in shock until he distantly realized that Varric was calling him. “— out of here, Solas! We can’t stay!”  A tug at his elbow shook Solas loose from his paralyzing fear. “Run, Varric,” he croaked, trying to shield the dwarf bodily, “Fly from here!”  His ancient spell collapsed, sucked itself back, an implosion. When the rumbling stopped, the world was gone. And Solas was again, alone.

[denaliwrites]

Love's Perfect Ache

Alec Hardy x GN!Reader

Summary: You have news for Alec and he doesn't take it the way you'd hoped.

Soundtrack: Arsonist’s Lullaby by Hozier

Requests: Open!

Warnings: Pregnancy, Mention of Abortion. No pronouns but Reader has a functional uterus.

You hold one end of a pregnancy test in one hand and tap the other end against the palm of the opposite hand while your legs aimlessly take you in circles around the kitchen. It's an anxious tick, something you've been doing for the last two hours. Since you took the test and saw the result.

Positive.

You can't help it -- it's not even good or bad news yet (that'll be figured out once you tell Alec). But learning you're carrying a baby is rarely something that people feel neutral about. And now, all you can focus your energy on is pacing and tap tap tapping the test against your palm while you wait for Alec to come home.

Of course, you want it to be good news. You've seen Alec with kids -- he's great with them when he actually cares enough to put in the effort to be. You've met Daisy a few times, and every time you see the two together you see that he's putting in the work to be a good dad, that he cares and does his best for her.

You'd be lying if you said seeing him with Daisy, or any of the neighborhood kids, didn't make you want kids of your own with him. Or even just a kid. One would be enough, really. You're not sure his heart could take more than one, anyway.

Your pacing came to a halt when you heard the door open and shut, panic suddenly filling you. As he rounds the corner and his eyes land on you and he starts to smile, you anxiously blurt out, "I'm pregnant."

You wait with bated breath, hyperaware of his expression, the way it changes from joy at seeing you to confusion to realization to panic and finally settles on...

"Fuck!" he growls in anger, and you shrink back, clutching the test tightly. "I thought we were being careful."

"I... I don't understand," you whimper. "Why are you angry?"

"Because I can't have another kid!" he turns his ire on you, but stops when he sees your devastated expression. "Darlin', I don't have it in me to raise another kid. I'm not as young as I used to be."

You nod, trying to hold back the tears. "I understand."

"And -- and think of Daisy," he went on, seemingly on a roll. "She's sixteen now, think how weird it'd be for her to be sixteen, seventeen years older than her little sibling."

"Y-you're right," you said, trying to placate him, trying to stop him. "Honestly, I should've expected you to react this way..."

He goes on, rambling about his heart and his career and at one point he circles back to his age, before moving on to the trauma of the Sandbrook case. He's completely missed that you're in tears.

That is, until you finally have enough. "Fine," you sob, and that stops him, that finally gets him to shut up. "Fine. You clearly... you don't want it. I'll make an appointment at the clinic tomorrow for termination."

He pauses, caught between having gotten, presumably, exactly what he wanted and a need to comfort you. Eventually, though you're not sure how, his need to comfort you wins out, and he pulls you into a tight and loving embrace. "Not... not yet," he says with a sigh.

"Why?" you ask meanly, squirming in his embrace to try to break free. He doesn't let you.

"We're both emotional," he says softly, hold loosening once he's sure you won't run away. "Let's... let's take some time, y'ken? Maybe we'll... maybe I'll come 'round. Who knows?"

"Why on Earth would you do that?"

"'Cause I love ye," he says simply, like there could not possibly be any other answer, like you should know that there is no other answer. "And your happiness means the world to me... and if that means ye get a kid, then..." He trails off, but you feel him shrug.

"I'm not gonna force you to have a baby with me, Alec," you whimper, eyes fixed on the wall ahead of you.

He slips a hand under your chin, tilting your head up so that you'll look at him. "You're not forcin' me to do anythin', darlin'," he assured you, planting a loving kiss to the corner of your mouth. "I want what'll make your heart sing."

[gallifreyshawkeye]

New fic, yes it's a WIP, yes I have three WIPs I'm working on shut up!

Summary:

Aziraphale has neither seen nor heard from Crowley in the four years he's been Heaven's Supreme Archangel and he's hoped the demon has been able to find a way to just disappear. But when the Metatron unexpectedly announces they've apprehended Crowley and are temporarily holding him at a remote, Earth location, it turns out the Metatron has arranged to turn Crowley over to Hell, and things rapidly go from bad to worse. Satan is intent on reminding Crowley he belongs to him forever, and in order to survive what seems impossible, Crowley must use abilities he purposefully hasn't touched since before the Rebellion. In order to get Crowley back, Aziraphale has to come to a full reckoning very quickly about the realities of Heaven and Hell and marshal all the authority of his position. And the Metatron's overly dogmatic approach not only brings Aziraphale the most unexpected ally in his quest to rescue Crowley, but, first quietly and then not so quietly, exposes Heaven's desperate isolation and turns it upside down. The Second Coming might not be what anyone thinks it is at all.

Excerpt:

He had tried to anticipate this moment, predict how he’d feel, but deep down he had known it was futile. He had been right. The air felt sucked out of his lungs and none of his muscles would move. Too many opposites existed all at once including the current damn situation right now that had them together for the first time in four years, and Aziraphale just wanted to scream with the impossibility of everything. Aziraphale watched as Crowley first froze before his face went through a cascade of emotions. Then he said, in a style reminiscent of when he’d half-sauntered, half-stumbled out of his burning Bentley,

“Hiya, Aziraphale. Wondered if I’d see you here.”

Aziraphale felt air return to his lungs and he crossed the relatively short distance from the door to where Crowley stood in only a few strides. He glanced around furtively before speaking low and urgently, “Of course I’m here, Crowley. What on earth is going on? How did you manage to get yourself…caught? Captured? Kidnapped?”

“I was hoping you could tell me. They’re your lot,” Crowley returned casually.

“And you’ve been tempting angels?” Aziraphale hissed.

Crowley’s eyes hardened. “No,” he said flatly.

“The Metatron said…”

“No.”

The two of them stared at each other for a long moment and it was clear Crowley sincerely meant ‘no’ in its completeness and not just as a half-truth, but nor was he going to voluntarily elaborate an explanation. 

“Two angels have completely disappeared,” Aziraphale pressed.

“Well that sounds inconvenient,” Crowley drawled, “And like,” he leaned closer to put greater lilting emphasis to his words, “An institutional problem.” The demon lounged back against the stall door, grinning.

Aziraphale fumed. He’d forgotten just how infuriating Crowley could be when he chose to.  Aziraphale took a long, centering breath and decided to change the course in his line of questioning.

“How are they keeping you here and you’re not, you know, disappearing off somewhere? Is there a miracle blocker at work?”

Crowley went very still. His mood shifted instantly and his golden eyes smoldered with pure hatred. Aziraphale almost took a step backwards at the intensity that suddenly radiated off the demon.

“Let’s just say that devastating earthquakes are due to hit multiple coastal villages and small towns with the subsequent tsunamis being responsible for further loss of life should I use any infernal power at any point.” Crowley bit out the words through a voice thick with anger, and waited for what he’d said to sink in and have its full effect on Aziraphale. He wasn’t disappointed.

“But... But that’s monstrous!” Aziraphale exclaimed finally after he’d opened and closed his mouth several times while making the little strangled huffing sounds that he did when too many thoughts and words were spinning and trying to get out but ended up as one jumbled ball of wordless sound and expression, “And I certainly didn’t authorize it! That’s… Well that’s something your lot would do!”

Crowley leaned close and spat his words out, “ My lot has never captured an angel and then held innocent villages hostage to ensure cooperation. In fact we have never once committed mass murder against humans, and the one time I was ordered to it was from God. Forget about the flood? Canaan? Egypt? All the other times? So don’t even start with ‘ my lot ’.”

An even longer silence fell between them. They both knew Crowley was right, but Aziraphale couldn’t bring himself to admit the reality of that massive truth out loud and Crowley was perfectly happy to let him stew in that discomfort. He would have preferred (in the strongest possible terms) if Aziraphale would finally lose his conditioned auto-tint and biases all together and not have to be prompted so frequently to drop them and to remember actual reality, but he’d take what he could get. He let himself be satisfied that at least he’d successfully made his point.

“What did you do that’s made them so nervous?” Aziraphale asked at last, deciding to change the subject and jerking his head over his shoulder towards Sandalphon and the two angels with him.

Crowley relaxed and broke into a huge grin. “They’d never seen my ‘attack-snake’ form before,” he said, shoving most of his hands into his pockets and rocking back and forth on his heels, so immensely pleased with himself that Aziraphale was reminded of a puppy who’d successfully performed its first trick and was waiting for a treat. 

“Crowley!” he chided, in mock horror, trying desperately (and not succeeding) to suppress his own grin at imagining Sandalphon’s reaction to Crowley appearing, however briefly, as a massively huge, mythological, pit viper-like snake that roar-hissed viciously and as loudly as a freight train. 

“Almost got smote though because of it. That one there,” Crowley gestured to the shorter of the two unknown angels with Sandalphon, “Freaked out so bad he straight-up screamed and flung a… a thing of divine smoting energy stuff my way.”

“What?!” Aziraphale gaped.

“Oh it missed me, obviously,” said Crowley dismissively, “But it hit the petrol tank of a delivery lorry that was right behind me, and…KABHOOOHSHKVSV!” 

Crowley’s eyes were positively sparkling with delight, and Aziraphale desperately wanted to hold on to this, to somehow create a bubble to keep Crowley and this delight of his away from whatever it was that was about to intrude.

“And then,” Crowley continued, “That wheezy, whiney blowhard of an archangel blamed me for it! Me! Squeaking that it was all my fault in the first place!”

Aziraphale nearly laughed outright at the description of Sandalphon “squeaking”. “I'm assuming that's how you’re without your sunglasses?” he asked.

“Yes,” Crowley said morosely, his mood once again shifting as quickly as desert sand and shooting Sandalphon&Co a very dark look, “The lorry exploding me threw me to the ground and knocked them off. Didn’t get the chance to find them again before I was grabbed and whisked off here.”

[sunskate]

Tessa & Scott episode 3: very eventful episode - Scott and his anger and the "mood of the day." - which, oof, there's so much to unpack about this. Tessa and Kate go to Hall and Oates. Scott and Chiddy go go-cart racing and talk. dinner with Weapo. the costume fitting. Scott hurts his back just before Skate Canada

Scott and Cassandra: S: how are you doing when i'm away, besides devastated C: i mean it's hard, i miss you, i just tell myself 5 more months S: right.

S: i find i'm a lot more anxious. do you notice that? C: i don't know. am i supposed to? (smiling, maybe she's joking? but kind of an odd thing to say to that😅) S: i get like this in an Olympic year. i just get grouchy C: i don't find you to be grouchy S: well that's sweet of you

S: like the stress is starting. starting to turn from excitement into stress. you know, i've been pumped about it for a while. now it's starting to get real C: right.

the more i watch, the more i notice where the show is creating (or maybe manufacturing) a narrative - like this scene was made for him to talk about his stress and his moods. but it also inadvertently shows they might not be on the same page. the next 5 months and the Olympics are a huge deal for him, but she's kinda saying she's waiting for them to be over. like, sure she's looking forward to seeing him more, but it feels out of touch to say i'm just telling myself wait it out and we'll have more us time. when leaving competitive skating is a huge life change and loss he'll be dealing with after Sochi

establishing shot of Scott arriving at the rink - clearly holding stuff in his hands, then empty handed in the next shot. like this is nbd, but once you start noticing how much they're cutting stuff together in a way that didn't happen, it's easier to step outside the narrative and question what we're being told by the producers

like this scene - maybe he did walk away without responding, but it would be more effective to see in the same shot if he did ignore her. instead, they cut away to a shot of his back where his head is facing the opposite direction from her. if they had a clear reaction of him blowing her off, they could have stayed with the wide shot. pretty sure that reaction shot was from a different moment

he comes off like such an ass on this show, and they also cut Tessa's footage and her talking heads to make her seem like a doormat who's mostly just taking it when he's being rude. but there are several clues coming up that she doesn't just take it. i have so many questions for VM that the producers just leave there

T: sometimes when Scott gets anxious, he can just get ... short. (then different audio quality, so recorded at a different time!) but i try my best not to let it get to me - she reads this 2nd part like voiceover, if you notice

the scene with their coach Johnny Johns (about 5 min in) when they're working on a lift took me several times through to realize the show wants us to think Scott's being a jerk:

Johnny: curve lift - i wanna see how it feels if you lift her forwards - just see if it's any easier, idk if it's gonna be or not (then they show them doing a RoLi instead, so the audio and video don't belong together 💀) S: (loudly but not yelling- i think he's just got a loud voice) i hate it! Johnny: okay Johnny: that's a half a turn, and she's in position S: yeah, that's a full turn (Tessa huffs a laugh, cut to a shot of Johnny rolling his eyes - just from how the show edits stuff, i don't trust that reaction shot is really from that moment) (a few overlapping words i can't catch) S: we're not quite there yet Johnny: i think the mission is to get this thing turning faster than hell (cut to a shot of the RoLi) i like that, what's the problem with that (cut to a shot of Scott shrugging - again, is that really his reaction, or just edited that way) Tessa (VO): Scott's always set the tone for the mood of the day, and i can feel how tense he is. the Olympics are 5 months away. we're feeling emotionally, physically really exhausted. the next 5 months will be stressful

the thing is, Scott seems focused and direct and stressed but not particularly rude in this scene. it's hard to know without seeing the whole sequence if he was being a jerk, but it doesn't really look like it? if he's moody and difficult, they sometimes say it more than show it

and her saying Scott's always set the tone for the mood of the day - again, this is voiceover, so it may be scripted - it's become the prevailing narrative about them pre-comeback, that he's a pain, and she did all this emotional labor balancing him. VM have talked about it elsewhere, so there's some truth to it. but there are hints that there's more going on from her - that she's not just passive, and that it's more complicated. the show isn't told in a way that always feels reliable. so it makes me question what the producers are feeding us

tbc -

[succumbtothenightmare]

Broken-five

*credit to whoever created the gif. found on google/Pinterest*

Pairings: Barry Keoghan x Reader

Warnings: angst, swearing, fluff, implied smut, mentions of alcoholism and death.

Summary: A failed marriage wasn't in the cards for Reader, she thought she found her happily ever after with Barry. While trying to overcome the heartbreak, a tragic event brings them back together temporarily. Will the devastating loss bring them back together or be what pushes them apart for good?

Authors Note: enjoy to whoever it is reading this!

Gone were the morning sun rays, now the afternoon blaze blasted into the windows of my bedroom, warming up my body. A loud groan echoed off of the walls as I slowly sat up in bed, glaring at the brightness of the sun, its happiness causing my stomach to rile with disgust. 

Didn’t it know that I was trying to mourn, my parents and a hangover?

The blankets were thrown off of me as I reluctantly got out of bed, for one thing. 

More alcohol. 

I silently prayed that I was alone, Barry leaving last night when I asked him too. The last thing I needed while I drowned in my sorrows were his judgment or disappointed eyes. 

My feet halted, almost screeching against the hardwood floors, as I took in the sight in front of me of the empty bar cart. Every single bottle of booze was gone and it was the same for the cabinets where I knew my parents hid the extras. 

“What the fuck,” I grumbled. 

Had I been in such a tired haze last night that I either drank them all or poured them out without remembering? 

Suddenly, a deep voice sounded from outside on the patio and by how fast he was speaking, I knew something wasn’t right. His back was to me, the muscles under his shirt tightened as he leaned farther over the railing, letting out an annoyed breath. 

“I'm sorry, but she needs me. I can't leave her. Christ, she just lost her parents. Can't you have some respect for that?....We were married, not anymore.” 

The way Barry stressed the word ‘were’ made my stomach drop, trying to prove a point to whoever he was on the phone with. 

“There's nothing between us, I was the one who asked for a divorce, Alyi…..No, I'm pretty sure she hates me, there's no more love there….I'm staying because I can't leave her, she needs help….

He stood straighter, back rigid, as he placed a hand on his hip and let out a breath. "I can't answer that because I'm afraid ya won't like the answer....Yeah, whatever Alyi.”

Barry spewed a few curses before pocketing his phone and as he turned to face me, he tried his best to give me a small smile. He failed, though, his anger being too much. 

“Who was that?” I asked while crossing my arms. 

He shook his head. “No one.” 

I hummed. “Well, it seems like this ‘no one’ is pretty upset about you staying here with me.” 

“Ya well, she’ll get over it,” Barry more so told himself.

“I don’t need your help, Barry. I’ve been doing fine on my own the past year,” I defended. 

“Right,” he nodded, running a hand over his chin. “That’s why you were just looking for a drink?”

My jaw went slack as I pointed a thumb over my shoulder. “Did you have something to do with the missing booze?” 

Barry scoffed while leaning his back against the railing now. “You’d really think I’d leave stacks on stacks of bottles here with you?” 

“This is fucking ridiculous,” I stormed back inside to get far away from him. 

It did nothing to deter him, Barry following me close behind. 

“Do you not see how bad of a problem you have, Y/N? It’s barely noon.” 

I spun on my heels, my hair flowing over my shoulder. “What I do is none of your business, Barry.” 

“Isn’t it?” He stretched his arms out wide. “I’m here with ya because I’m afraid of what might happen if I leave.” 

“Did you forget that you were the one that wanted the divorce?” I reminded him, voice raising a bit. 

“Oh for Christ sakes,” Barry ran a hand through his hair. “Your relapse has nothing to do with the divorce. 

I stared at him for a moment, completely dumbfounded that he was so naive to think that and a low scoff left my lips. 

“It has everything to do with it! You threw away everything for some girl you met at an after party? You knew her for all of two minutes and suddenly you decided to have an affair?!” 

Barry pointed a finger at me while shaking his head. “I was faithful to ya the entire relationship, Y/N. Don’t go saying stuff you have no idea about.” 

“Bullshit,” I spat. “It’s all over the internet, Barry! Pictures of you and her together. Did you even think about how I felt, seeing them so soon after we signed the papers?” 

His own anger faltered, only for a second, when he saw the lone tear that ran down my cheek. When I noticed him staring, I hastily wiped it away, refusing to let him get the satisfaction of hurting me once more. 

“This was a mistake,” I breathed. “Drunk texting you. If I kept my feelings to myself, you wouldn’t be here right now and I wouldn’t have to deal with this.” 

I pointed between us. 

“Please leave,” I begged.

Barry didn’t move, simply stood in front of me with his hands deep into the pockets of his pants. 

“I’m not leaving you.” 

His voice came out hushed and I had to strain my ears in order to hear him. 

“Please,” I begged once more, tears now falling from my eyes. 

Barry shook his head, biting his lower lip, as he closed the distance between us by placing a tender hand on my cheek. Fire spread all throughout my body, feeling his touch in so long that it brought back so many memories and I whimpered, eyes fluttered shut. 

“One week. Promise me you’ll stay sober for one week and then I’ll be gone,” Barry suggested.

Our eyes locked and I almost pulled away, told him to fuck off, not needing to make a promise for a problem I don’t have. But I realized that if I did agree to this, I could go the week with no drinking and then he’d be gone. I wouldn’t have to worry about him anymore or see his aggravating face. 

His beautiful, strong boned, aggravating face. 

“Okay,” I nodded, still in his embrace. 

We continued to stare at each other, his bright eyes piercing deep into me and my heart skipped a beat when the magnetic pull between us became too strong to ignore. I felt myself melting into him, like I did so many times before. He must have realized what was about to happen because Barry let out a low cough and stepped away from me, his hand dropping to his side. 

“I’ll stay on the couch. Do you parents still keep the extra blankets and pillows in the hall closet?” Barry rubbed the back of his neck. 

The corner of my lip pulled up in a small smile as he remembered that tiny detail from so many years ago. 

I nodded and shifted on my feet. “Yeah.” 

We stayed there for a few more seconds with Barry’s tongue wetting his bottom lip, before I pointed to the bathroom. “I think I’m going to take a shower.” 

There was a quick flash in his eyes as he hummed low, a deep rumble in his chest.  The tension around us shifted on the tether of angry conversation towards a very suggestive one. 

Before either of us did something we would regret, I scurried past him and decided to stay hidden in the bathroom until the burning itch faded from between my legs.

[tinyybookclub]

The 3 Heathens: Confronting The Shadows (part 3)

College was supposed to be our fresh start, a chance to leave behind the struggles of our past. For a while, it seemed like everything was falling into place. Ryland thrived on the football field, quickly becoming a standout player. I immersed myself in my studies, joining clubs and working on community projects. Jared, now in a specialized program, was making strides we had only dreamed of. Tina's pride was palpable; we were her success story, proof that her sacrifices had not been in vain.

But the past has a way of catching up, and the cycles we thought we'd escaped began to reappear. It started with Ryland. Despite his outward success, he was struggling to balance the pressures of academics and sports. One night, he called me, his voice shaking. "I messed up, man," he said. "I messed up bad."

He had been seeing a girl, and now she was pregnant. The news spread quickly, and before long, Ryland was called into the dean's office. The school's strict policies meant he was suspended, and his scholarship was revoked. Tina was devastated, and I could see the fear in her eyes—fear that we were falling back into the life she had fought so hard to pull us out of.

I tried to support Ryland, but the stress was taking its toll on me as well. Our father's sporadic appearances became more frequent, as if he could sense our vulnerability. He had always resented our drive to succeed, seeing it as a rejection of his own failures. Now, he seemed determined to drag us back down.

He showed up drunk at one of my campus events, causing a scene and getting me in trouble with the administration. He spread rumors about us in our old neighborhood, painting us as ungrateful sons who had turned our backs on our roots. The weight of his actions pressed down on us, threatening to undo all the progress we had made.

One evening, after another confrontation with our father, Ryland and I sat in the apartment, the silence between us heavy. "We can't keep going like this," I said finally. "We need to face this head-on."

Ryland nodded, but his eyes were distant. "How? We've been fighting our whole lives. I'm tired, man. I don't know how much more I can take."

"We start by breaking the cycle," I said. "We get help. We talk to someone who can guide us through this."

It wasn't easy, but we found a counselor who specialized in trauma and family dynamics. Tina joined us for some sessions, and for the first time, we talked openly about our past. We confronted the pain, the mistakes, and the lingering fears. We learned to recognize the patterns that were holding us back and developed strategies to break free from them.

But as we dug deeper into our trauma, more cracks began to show. Ryland's struggles with becoming a young father and losing his scholarship weighed heavily on him. He took a job, but it barely paid enough to cover his expenses, let alone support a child. His relationship with his girlfriend became strained, leading to constant arguments and stress.

Meanwhile, our father became more aggressive. He broke into our apartment one night, smashing the few belongings we had along with our mothers face and leaving us with nothing but fear and anger. We filed for a restraining order, but the process was slow, and we knew he wouldn't be deterred easily.

Jared, too, faced his own battles. Despite his progress, he was still bullied at school. One day, he came home with bruises on his face, too scared to tell us what had happened. The sight of him beaten and broken tore at our hearts, a stark reminder that our fight was far from over.

Our counselor urged us to stay strong, but the constant pressure was taking its toll. Tina fell ill, the stress of years of struggle manifesting in her body. She tried to hide it, but we could see the pain in her eyes, the fatigue that seemed to weigh her down.

One year later, we gathered once again in our small apartment, now filled with the remnants of broken dreams and unspoken fears. Ryland cradled his baby daughter, a symbol of hope and the future, but his eyes were shadowed with worry. Jared, thriving in his program, showed us his latest art project, his face glowing with pride, yet the bruises were still fresh in our minds. Tina, her eyes filled with tears, raised her glass once more.

"To my boys," she said, her voice steady and strong despite everything. "We faced the darkness and found our way through. We are stronger because of it, and we will continue to rise."

As we clinked our glasses, I felt the weight of the past lift slightly, but I knew the journey was far from over. The future was uncertain, filled with challenges we couldn't yet see. But we were determined to face them together, to break the cycle once and for all.

As we sat there, the silence between us heavy with unspoken fears and hopes, I couldn't help but wonder what lay ahead. The story of our lives was still being written, and the next chapter was just beginning.

(Part 4 posted ✨)

[quibbs126]

I didn’t really feel like drawing fankids today (or at least not now), so instead I drew some Ruby Cacao Cookie, a character I’ve been wanting to draw more of but never got around to

And she’s also the only one of the “ocs related to Dark Cacao” that I actually made to be an oc, not just a hypothetical character that just took up space in my brain

So I’ve fleshed out a few more details with Ruby Cacao, and I just want to say them

Not much to really say about the drawings themselves. The first one is just supposed to be Ruby being concerned over her brother, coming back with scratches all over him. She’s supposed to be somewhat strict on him, but given the dangers of the land, it’s pretty justified. As shown in the other picture, she tends to be kind to him

The bottom two pictures are just supposed to be that Gordon Ramsay meme, which also describes her herself, even if it is a slight exaggeration. Like I said, towards Dark Cacao she’s very kind and understanding, trying to support him even if he has trouble doing things (he’s like 5 here), and she’s always the one he goes to when he’s scared or in trouble. However, to everyone else in the tribe, they know her as being quick to anger, very aggressive and willing to commit violence on other children. Granted, part of the reason for her aggression is the fact that everyone else in the village tends to be mean to her little brother (which has a reason, but I’ll explain later), or they’ve basically given up on life and she’s fed up with them all. But regardless she does have a short temper and is quick to anger, as well as just very distrusting of people. Were she to have lived to meet the other Ancients, it’d take some time for her to warm up to them and trust them with her brother. (I realize she kinda sounds like an overprotective parent not letting their kid date someone and having to be won over for their blessing. If polyancients, then yes this would probably happen). Though also later in life she would have mellowed out some, as she’s learned not to just assume the worst of people and that there are good Cookies out there

So I alluded to me having made the backstory to the fate of their village and why it’s so run down, so I might as well talk about it. Basically, just blame the Licorice Sea. So basically, the Cacao Tribe lived right off the coast of the Licorice Sea, which also used to be farther inland, as there was less of a force pushing back on it. Years prior to the time shown here, around when Dark Cacao was baked, there was a major attack from the Licorice Sea on the Cacao Tribe, to which the warriors fought against bravely. In the end, the Cacao warriors were able to push the creatures back, but in the resulting carnage a lot of their village was destroyed and many, both warriors and innocent civilians, crumbled. To the rest of the tribes, this is where the Cacao Tribe met their end, in glorious battle to defend their people. However, they did manage to hold out, but their plight was not over, as soon after, a plague broke out amongst the (I don’t actually know what it does, but I imagine when it was visible, it showed up as splotches of licorice on the dough with it eventually turning the eyes dull. Also it was fatal. Maybe it culminated in the affected melting into licorice? I dunno), caused by the attack and overexposure to the Licorice monsters. As such, the warriors were the ones first affected by the plague, and since it was a slow acting sickness and people didn’t know about it, it quickly spread throughout the tribe. They had to cut themselves off from the rest of the world at that point, hence one reason the other tribes thought they all perished, and try to work out on their own how to stop it. The plague devastated the surviving population, and while a cure (or at least something to help fight off the disease for those who could be saved) was eventually found, by this point so many had succumbed to the disease that the population of the tribe was no more than 20 Cookies. After all the horrible death and misery that those survivors went though in such a short amount of time, they were basically all left severely traumatized and for most of the adults, it left them with a constant state of sorrow and hopelessness, wondering when death was coming for them, or why they were the ones left to survive, some even saying they should have all died when the rest of their tribe did. Dark Cacao and Ruby Cacao lived through this, however they were very young at the time, with Dark Cacao not remembering any of it. As such, he just doesn’t feel or understand that same sense of loss, especially since he still has his sister, and because of that other kids (and to some extent the adults) take out their feelings on him. Ruby Cacao is a bit older, and only vaguely remembers the end of the plague (both of them got the disease, but got it late enough that they weren’t too affected before the cure), but the others don’t pick on her because they know she fights back, and fights hard (she’s got abnormal strength like her brother)

Edit: oh yeah, another thing I wanted to mention but forgot, after making up this backstory, it made me consider making a fic where another Licorice Plague happens, but this time it’s in the aftermath of Episodes 13-14, since they have a pretty big Licorice Sea attack themselves. I think it sounds interesting, since while Dark Cacao knows what it is once he sees the visible symptoms and he’s the only one to have lived through an outbreak like this and knows that there is a cure, he was too young to actually remember any of it, only being told about it and not knowing all the details. So if the Citadel wants to find a cure before it causes devastation to their troops, we might have to do some memory magic stuff to find the answers, which could also lead into other characters learning of the past he keeps secret (if it was like a thing where someone else has to venture in his memories, I’d pick Caramel Arrow for the one to do it), which could be neat. Also, there’s the whole conflict of the fact that to keep the plague from spreading, they’d have to quarantine the entire Citadel, meaning they’d have to completely shut their gates once more, even though they just opened them up again after so long, which could plant fear and doubt back in to the minds of the citizens, and Dark Cacao doesn’t want to do that, but the alternative puts the entire kingdom at risk. I feel like there’s plenty of interesting concepts you could have with this, I’m just not very skilled at writing multi-chapter fics, so I don’t really know how to approach this

But eventually the tribe met their ultimate fate a few years later, when the Licorice Sea attacked the tribe once again, and as there were no warriors and most of them just wanted to die, and as such they and what remained of their village was swallowed up by the sea, with only a few survivors, that being those that still wanted to live and could escape the attack, which weren’t many, but included Dark Cacao and Ruby Cacao

What happened after I’ve already said, them living alone in the mountains (with Dark Cacao becoming more independent as there’s only two of them, so he feels he can’t just hide behind her and has to step up and do his part), Ruby meeting her tragic fate and what happened with Dark Cacao afterwards

I also had some ideas for what Ruby Cacao would look/be like if she had lived, mainly just in that while she uses a large sword like her brother and nephew now, she later ends up preferring dual daggers, sort of like what Caramel Arrow has, only it doesn’t turn into a bow. Also that when she’s a teenager, she wears a cloak made out of a snow lion’s pelt, along with other things made from its fur (Dark Cacao has some too). I’m thinking she’s more of a hunter than her brother. Were she to live, she’d probably go with him and the other Ancients on their journey, and (presumably) get a Soul Jam herself, probably a red one. I’d imagine she and her brother would end up joint ruling the kingdom, or if she doesn’t take ruling role, she’s at least got an important role in the kingdom. I imagine she and Dark Choco would get along, with Ruby Cacao thinking he reminds her of Dark Cacao when he was that young (and then probably teasing Dark Cacao about it, to his embarrassment). Don’t know if she’d have a kid of her own, but if she did they’d probably be named Ruby Choco Cookie.

But yeah, I think that about covers what I wanted to say

To be honest, I want to draw more on this page, so I might edit this later with more sketches and then details about what’s on that. Though most of what’s going through my head for ideas is just them when the Licorice Sea destroyed their village (the final time) and Ruby Cacao hypothetically older. Though I’m also considering drawing them during the Licorice Plague, aka very small Ruby and Dark

[feyhunter78]

Poisoned Tears and Scorched Tongues (9/22)

Description: Alyra finally gets to marry the man she's loved since she was a child, but her worries still loom at the edge of her mind.

Alyra was bursting with happiness, she was to marry Aemond, and use her abilities for something other than scrapes and bruises. She’d been practicing, pouring over her grandmother’s journals late into the night. She’d healed a lame horse, a dog with a torn ear, and even been able to restore sight to a blind beggar in the Fleabottom.

 Her abilities were a gift, one born of sacrifice, her grandmother had written. Long ago, her foremother had been chased deep into the forest near their home. She had killed a nobleman who had murdered her daughter and left her strewn in the street for all to see.

Her foremother hadn’t escaped unscathed, though. Heavily bleeding and close to death, she collapsed at the base of a Hawthorne tree and begged the old gods of the forest for protection. Her anguished cries reached their ears and as she took her last breath, they imbued her with the ability to heal. She returned from the forest three days later, changed. Her husband died of mysterious circumstances, and she remarried. The children born of their union were said to be powerful and great blessings to their families.

Alyra wished her grandmother was still alive, she had so many questions, and she knew her mother could not answer them. The way the journal’s spine cracked when she opened it told her it had sat untouched for decades. Anger coursed through Alyra, maybe if her mother had been more dedicated to their family’s heritage her sister and father would still be alive. She shook her head, clearing the storm clouds in her mind, today was to be a happy one.

She closed the journal and smoothed the nonexistent wrinkles in her skirts. She obviously didn’t have her wedding dress. Decorated with the Lannister colors, it wouldn’t have fit the occasion. Instead, Rhaenyra let her borrow the very dress she’d gotten married in. Alyra protested, telling her that there was no way she could wear such an important gown, but Rhaenyra shushed her as she tightened the corset laces.

“I kept it in case I had a daughter, but so far it seems the gods are content with giving me sons.”

Alyra bowed her head, “I hope I will do you proud then, as a surrogate, until you and Lord Strong have a daughter of your own.”

Rhaenyra rested her chin on Alyra’s shoulder, and they both admired the way the dress clung to Alyra’s curves and brought out the shining amber of her eyes. “Your mother would be devastated to know she is missing your wedding.”

Alyra shook her head, “my mother will be furious that I ruined her plans.”

Rhaenyra sighed, “soon you will be a Targaryen, a princess. She will learn to be happy with that.”

Alyra turned, her bottom lip trembling. “What if she is not? What if she disowns me? What good is a princess with no family, no mother to stay by her side when she gives birth, or to help plan namedays.”

Rhaenyra’s heart broke, Alyra’s fear and grief was clear on her face, and she was shocked by how much the girl reminded her of Alicent in that moment. They shared the same crease between their eyebrows, the same rapid blinking to keep the tears at bay. Their breaths were shaky, their words breaking in the middle as a sob forced its way up their throats. Rhaenyra did what she wished she had done to her friend years ago and pulled Alyra into a tight embrace, shushing her gently. “It will be alright, if she is foolish enough to abandon you in her anger we will claim you, give you the name of House Strong to go with your Targaryen one.” She stroked Alyra’s hair and let the girl sob her heart out. “You will not be alone, Alyra; I promise you this.”

Alyra nodded, her tears staining the crown princesses’ dress. Alyra was not a short woman, at ten and seven she stood as tall as Aegon who was only a few inches shorter than his younger brother. It was something Heleana liked about her, said it made her feel protected, the way Alyra could stand in front of her and hide her from the gaze of others. But the crown princess stood taller than her, so it allowed her to hide her face in Rhaenyra’s décolletage like a child.

“And Aegon is supposed to bring Theo here and, but he has not yet arrived, what if something has happened? I cannot bear to be the reason he has been harmed, he is so little, he’s only six.” A wave of guilt washed over her, and Alyra felt Rhaenyra lift her chin.

“I will send a raven, it won’t seem suspicious, people know your mother and I are friends.”

Alyra wiped away her tears and took a deep breath, trying to expel the sadness as she breathed out slowly. “Thank you, my lady, you have done far more than required of you, I will be forever grateful.”

Rhaenyra used her sleeve to dry the remainder of Alyra’s tears and smiled softly. “Today you are my daughter, and you know I would do anything for my children.”

Alyra bit the inside of her cheek to keep from crying again. “I am honored, truly.” She picked up a nearby hairbrush and ran it through her hair before she applied powder to her face to cover the redness from her crying. “Shall we go meet my betrothed then, mother?”

She linked arms with Rhaenyra, and they talked quietly as they walked to the garden. There standing next to Harwin and a septa was Aemond. He’d ditched most of his riding gear and fixed his hair, when he saw her his eye lit up. A tug on her dress stopped Alyra. Viserys handed her a dagger, before he trotted back to his father’s side.

Alyra wrapped her hand around the dagger’s handle and glanced over at Rhaenyra who just smiled and made her way to join Aemond. Harwin switched places with his wife and took Alyra’s arm.

“I know your father isn’t here, would you mind if I stood in his place?” Harwin asked her, his voice kind and soft, the same tone he used when speaking to Viserys.

Alyra linked her arm with Harwin’s. “You saved my brother and I, that’s more than any other male member of my family has done.”

The ceremony went quick, with Rhaenyra officiating the ceremony in Valyrian, her words steady as Alyra and Aemond cut each other’s lips and mixed their blood before Rhaenyra asked them to repeat after her.

“One flesh,” they say.

“One heart,” Aemond paints her temples with their blood.

“One soul,” she does the same to him.

“Now and forever,” he hands the cup off to Harwin and takes Alyra’s face in his hands, crushing his lips to hers.

Then the septa performs his prayers, has them repeat their vows under the eyes of The Seven. Alyra kisses Aemond first this time, the salty taste of their blood dances on her tongue, and she breaks away with a joyful laugh.

“No one can argue the validity of your marriage now.” Rhaenyra says, a smile on her face as she scoops Viserys up into her arms. “You’ve married in the tradition of our family and in Alicent’s, even she can’t deny The Seven.”

Alyra doesn’t even think about the queen as she looks into Aemond—her husband’s eye.

“We will not be performing the traditional bedding ceremony.” Aemond said, not taking his eye off her.

Alyra’s eyebrows drew together in confusion.

Aemond’s voice dropped to a whisper, his voice smooth and heated. “No one needs to stand outside our door, they will hear you on the other side of the island.”

Alyra’s cheeks go bright red.

“I hear you, lad; we weren’t going to insist anyways.” Harwin chuckles, taking his wife by the arm and leading her inside.

Aemond and Alyra stand in the middle of the garden, hands still connected. The septa followed Rhaenyra and Harwin inside, leaving the two alone.

“You look beautiful.” Aemond says, his thumb running gently over the cut on her lip.

Alyra’s eyes flutter shut, “I could say the same for you, husband.”

Aemond lets out a satisfied growl and scoops her into his arms. “Say it again.”

“Husband?” Alyra teases, wrapping her arms around Aemond’s neck.

Aemond groans and practically kicks the door to their chambers open when they reach it.

Alyra lets out a surprised yelp when he drops her on their bed and watches as he goes to close and lock their door before, he strides back towards her like a hunter tracking his prey.

“My sweet wife.” Aemond says reverently as he lies beside her, tracing her lips with one lithe finger.

She reaches up to brush his hair back from his face. “My courageous husband.”

Aemond catches her hand and presses a heated kiss to the inside of her wrist, his violet eye burning with desire. “Allow me to make good on my words in the garden.”

Tag list: @nyctophilic0vitnir, @svtansdaddyx, @fan-goddess, @dc-marvel-girl96, @shintax-error, @bellameshipper, @the141bandicoot

[dumpster-fire-deluxe]

The prompt is (thank you @asdeadasasquirrel): A conversation or a scene where Padme thinks she understands Palpatine better afterward but we know differently

Writing a character I've never written before + balancing the inner world of two characters who both have a very different perspective of the situation + incorporating dramatic irony (the reader knows something which the main character doesn't)?

The last time Padmé had been in Palpatine's apartment, it was as a refuge; when she was queen and her mentor a senator. Now, she was the senator, visiting the chancellor of the Galactic Republic.

“How have you been settling in?” Palpatine asked, reclining in his seat, two freshly brewed cups of caf on the side table between them.

“I’m almost done unpacking,” Padmé answered. “I’m waiting for a few more belongings to be shipped over, but I’ve already made myself at home.”

“That’s good to hear. I can tell you from experience that the transition from Naboo to Coruscant can be rather… jarring.”

“I do think I will miss the lakes.”

“What helped me back then, was frequenting some of the parks around here. Of course, it doesn’t compare to the sprawling nature you and I are used to, but it might help ease you into the city.”

“Thank you for the advice. I do think I’ll be taking you up on it.” She picked up her cup.

“Good.” Palpatine took a sip of his own caf. “How are you feeling now that you’ve officially taken on your new position as senator?”

“I'm excited to get to work. Though, I must admit that I'm a little nervous.”

“Understandable, yet unnecessary. There is not one person I would rather have representing our dear homeworld than you. I’m delighted to be working by your side.”

Padmé tried not to blush at the compliment. “I can only hope that I will serve our people as well as you did.”

“You have nothing to worry about. Someone as brave as you to run straight into a battle has enough strength to face a room filled with diplomats.”

“But what if they think I’m too young? I might be inexperienced compared to them.” It was a concern she hadn’t voiced to anyone else. But Palpatine had mentored her for so long. If anyone could advise her, it was him.

He didn’t speak at first and Padmé wondered if he was about to deliver an uncomfortable truth, a confirmation that she wasn’t ready after all. He’d be gentle about it, of course, but it would hurt nonetheless.

“Did I ever tell you about how I ended up in politics?”

Padmé thought about it. It was public knowledge that Palpatine was an orphan from a royal bloodline who had become a rising star in legislation following his family’s demise. It was an inspiring story, but one she didn’t know many details of. “I don’t think so, no.”

He took another sip and set his cup down. “I was seventeen years old when my whole life got turned on its head. At the time, I was at a youth legislative camp. I’m sure you’re familiar with those.”

“I am, yes.”

“My family went on a trip, but during their travel, disaster struck. Pirates. Not a single one of them was spared. When I heard the news, I was devastated.”

“I can’t imagine what that must have been like.”

“Suddenly, I was thrust into a different life." He looked off into the distance, a pained expression on his face. "I was lost and had to rebuild myself from the broken pieces that were left behind. I carried so much anger. Eventually, I learned to pour that rage into something more... productive.”

“Politics?”

He looked back at her, the same determined expression in his eyes that she'd seen many times before. “Precisely. I was still in the legislative program and I noticed that the only thing that made me feel better was to make a difference; to improve society from its very core and give everyone the life they deserve. And it’s that drive that has gotten me to where I am now."

Padmé nodded. She knew that feeling all too well; it's what made her get up every morning.

Palpatine leaned forward and put his hand on her arm. "Your age doesn't matter. What matters, is your passion for what we do here. You have a burning desire to make the galaxy a better place. I have seen it since you were very young, and it’s why I’ve always believed in you. And it’s what will make you among the best politicians the Senate has ever seen.”

Padmé smiled, comforted by his words and the warm encouragement in his eyes. “Thank you. It means a lot to me.”

He sat back. "I am here for you if you ever need anything. Senator Amidala."

The last bit of doubt faded from her mind. She was ready to serve in the Senate. "I'm looking forward to working together."

Palpatine smiled. "So am I."

[freedpheonix]

Back to the Beginning

It was September. I was 19 and fresh out of a serious on-again-off-again 4 year relationship. I was devastated, we had a child together and we were really young and he had left me for someone else. I was vulnerable and lonely and just wanted to be loved. All I ever wanted was to be loved. I should have taken time for myself, to live and grow on my own... But again, I was young and dumb and had no clue what I was getting myself into.

I started texting a kid that was my "boyfriend" in 5th grade... He used to chase me and other girls around the playground and one day I had a shirt on that said, "BOYS ARE LIARS," and he said, "That's right, I'm breaking up with you." LOL. We were 10, it was nothing serious but definitely something to laugh about 9 years later. I had my own apartment, he still lived with his father. One of the first things he said was, "I love a woman that already has her own place." .... Like duh. That was my first red flag. Weird thing to say....

He ended up coming over to visit after work. I had 3 other friends over and he wanted me to walk him to the door alone but I was nervous. Something in my gut was telling me something wasn't right. The second he walked in the door he was already mad because I took "too long" coming downstairs. Anyway, I had one of my friends come with me and he got mad at her and made a mean comment about her following me like a puppy and said I didn't need a babysitter. She ended up leaving us alone and my brain was just screaming at me that he was bad. I wasn't comfortable, I genuinely felt like I was in danger. But I ignored it because, other than his weird anger that barely surfaced, I didn't see why I felt that way. He kissed me goodnight and left. From then on, he came back almost every night and eventually ended up just staying with me all the time. My 2 year old daughter was iffy with him. At first she didn't like him... I should have paid attention to that, kids and animals are the best judges of character... but she warmed up to him quickly.

When he was staying with me, he was telling his father that he was at his mother's and asking his mother to lie for him, which was weird but he had me convinced his dad was overbearing and wanted to control everything he did, so I let that go....

A few weeks later, he was going through an old laptop case that he had filled with several ounces of weed... He told me he sold weed and a lot of it. Honestly, I thought he was just trying to sound "cool" to me and didn't really believe him. I just thought he was a pothead... He told me he was going out hunting and would be back in a few hours. Later that night, I got a call from a friend that said he drove by him and he was being arrested.. He got caught selling weed. I had no idea how to handle that, I'd never been around all of that before.. I had smoked with my friends but never seen that much weed or been around criminals.. Everything in me knew he was bad news... and I STILL STUPIDLY ignored all the alarms... because I just wanted to be loved. His parents posted his bail and his mom made him stay with her instead of staying with me to make sure he stayed out of trouble. When he finally came to spend the night a few nights later, I had another red flag... He kept me up all night tossing and turning because he was sweating and in pain because he had missed his dose and was in withdrawal. At this point he had switched from Suboxone to Methadone because he said the 32mg of Sub he was on didn't make his cravings go away.. I thought I could change him and help him get better. I'm an empath and thought I could heal him... There were so many bad signs but his narcissistic claws had made their way through my skin and it was getting to be too late for me to back out. He was so good at manipulating and making me think there wasn't a problem and I was just silly for thinking so.

As I'm going back and reading this, I feel like an absolute idiot. I had so many chances to see how genuinely bad this guy was and I swept it under the rug. I could analyze myself and explain my childhood trauma but that's not what this story is about. It's about what I went though and how I got out. And I hope this story happens upon someone else who's going through it so they know YOU CAN GET OUT. IT DOES GET BETTER. ❤️

Stay tuned for the next chapter... ❤️

[conchoronzon]

Susanoo vs Orochi

A taste of my cock vore retelling of one of the myths of Susanoo, part of my Gods of Vore series which can be found here: https://www.smashwords.com/books/byseries/92273

Eight men walked into the room, each partially coated in serpentine scales. Elsewise, though, it was hard to visually tell they had anything to do with each other. Seven of them held a smell nearly the exact same. The eighth, wide and bald, smelled a bit more ashen than the others.

“Hello,” said the smallest of the eight. “You remember us, yes?”

“How could I forget you, o’ kami-sama?” said Susanoo. He bowed.

“Are you willing,” continued the small one, “to be consumed as were your brothers, or should we rain devastation on Inada?”

Ah. So they too enjoyed the idea of consent, Susanoo noted, though the way they went about it he wasn’t quite partial too. Did it even count at that point?

“Might we play a game?” asked Susanoo. He looked up and smiled as innocently as he could manage. He pointed at the large one. “He tries to eat me. I try to eat him. If he wins, then I’m a yummy meal. If I win, then I get to try to eat the rest of you as well.”

One of the eight, a tall one who wore a hat with drapery that hid his face, bristled and drew a sword. “How dare you,” he said.

“How dare you?” spoke the large and bald one. He shot a pointed look at the tall one. “You do not speak for me, my brother.” He turned to Susanoo. “I was taught to never play with my food. But what can I say? I never grew up.”

“Very well,” said the short one. “You two may play.”

“My mother has prepared sake for the rest of you,” Susanoo said. “She would be honored if you would drink of it. Think of it as their funerary offerings to their children and their new gods.”

One of the eight, one thinner than any human could possibly be, whooped. “One never turns down alcohol,” he said. Before any of the others responded, he was out in the hall and walking away.

The short one nodded at the large one. “Don’t take long.”

Then there was only one out of eight in Oshi’s room. The large one with the rolling bands of fat and the bald head. The serpentine scales on his body, a cerulean color, connected his nipples and stretched in a thin band halfway down his right side. His eyes, tinted yellow, had pupils slitted in that way reptiles’ are.

He slapped his stomach. The force sent ripples through his body. “Are you ready to end up in here?” asked the god.

“And you here?” Susanoo opened his mouth and placed the tip of one of his fingers on his bottom canine. He bit down slightly and pulled his finger out. As the other god laughed–he had quite a nice laugh, Susanoo thought–Susanoo moved his hand down and cupped the bulge in his Oshi fundoshi. “Or how about here?”

The god stomped forward with a smile painted on his face. He reached out a hand to Susanoo. “Go ahead, little human. Shove my hand in your cock.”

“Okay.” Susanoo reached inside Oshi and pulled his red-fabriced self to the side. His cock, brown and uncut and utterly perfect, spilled out. He grabbed the god’s large hand with both of Oshi’s small ones. He pressed the tip of one of the thick sausage fingers against his own sausage and said, “Thanks for the meal.” He blinked. Susanoo’s cock flared open like the maw of a snake. The stretched skin showcased a hole larger than either of the two gods.

Those snakish eyes widened. Fear flickered across the god’s face. That, that delicious look of terror, burned glee through Susanoo’s veins. He sneered as his cock lunged forward and took in all of the god at once. He’d not done this for a few years. Usually, he enjoyed taking his time with matter such as this, savoring the squirming forms struggling down whatever orifice his captives went down. But this was not about enjoying the act of eating. It was about punishment and anger and saving the angry little human he was going to marry.

His balls bulged out when the plump god was deposited in them. His form inside Susanoo wasn’t nearly as large as it was on the outside. The divine tended to house near-endless space. At least, Susanoo did, and he sort of assumed that was the case for all other gods as well. He could have shrunk his testicles, but he liked the way the added heft pressed against the fabric confines of Oshi’s underwear form. Maybe by the time all of Ochi was in him, Oshi would be able to think of nothing more than Susanoo, his scent, and being filled by him. That would be hot.

His cock, back to its usual size, stirred. As it jutted out, the god of storms grinned. “Tonight,” he said to his cock, “let’s call you Kusanagi.”