#let me be the one to light a fire inside those eyes (headcanons)

[lcnnypooh]

Headcanons :: Lenny has been making a wedding scrapbook since she was about 8 years old. It's a scrapbook filled with ideas for her dream wedding. Things have changed and evolved in the book as she's aged.

There's different pictures of wedding dresses that she's cut out of magazines and printed from online. There's dress sketches she's done and bits of fabric tacked to pages. Lists of her favorite love songs. The names of animals she wants to attend :: Darby (rest in peace), Midnight, and Faith. She even has the place she wants to get married at some day picked out. It's the same place she's wanted to get married at since she was 8. There's pictures of different flowers and even a few pressed flowers she's stuck into the book.

Lenny also really wants to have As The World Falls Down by David Bowie played at her wedding. And let's be honest, she'd probably have Everybody Wants to be a Cat played at her wedding as well.

[athena-the-writer]

hello I am new to asking this, but I red in a headcanon that kratos would probably threesome lol, so i remembered that imagine a threesome with kratos and Deimos, yk when he was alive?, Like in between god of war 2 and 3, where the reader is a goddess of peace, that helped kratos heal and finds his brother?, And the aftermath of saving Deimos they go to the reader, and both kratos and Deimos fall in love with her, this can be fluff to smut,. And maybe long fic 👀

-🖤

A/N: First and foremost, I am so sorry it seemed like I ignored this inbox. I hope you can forgive my absence with this story, please enjoy.

Warnings: Kinda long, rough sex Threesome, some voyeurism, dirty talk, descriptions, MMF, multiple rounds, young Kratos so he's got his old character, Deimos! cameo and involvement, i tried to have dialog like the original game (yes, I had to watch some playthrough to remember)

Kratos stood over the broken body of the god who had imprisoned Deimos, blood still dripping from his Blades of Athena. His breath came in ragged gasps, and for a moment, the Ghost of Sparta could not move — not because of pain, but because of the unfamiliar ache of hope.

Deimos was alive.

Bruised, bloodied, but breathing. His brother....the one he let go all those years ago...the brother he failed to keep safe.

And you — the Goddess of Peace — stood by his side, your hands glowing with soft, golden light as you pressed them to Deimos’s battered chest. Wounds closed beneath your touch. Cracked ribs knitted themselves whole. The rage in Deimos’s eyes dulled to confusion, then to something even rarer: trust.

Kratos watched in silence, his fists clenching and unclenching. He had seen your powers before — the way your gentle magic soothed his own broken body, how your voice calmed the war drums that beat inside his mind. But seeing you now, healing his brother, mending a part of himself he thought lost forever — it stirred something deeper. Something dangerous. Something.... possessive...

"Rest, Deimos," you murmured, your hand lingering against his heart. "You are safe now."

Deimos’s sharp blue eyes flicked from you to Kratos. "Brother," he rasped, voice raw, "You .....came for me."

Kratos only nodded once, but in his eyes he made a vow. He would never lose his brother again. Not like he did all those years ago...

never again.

--

The journey back to your temple was not an easy one, but when you did cross the grand entrance Deimos nearly bring dragged by his brother. You bring him into your healing chambers made for treatment and rest.

The fire crackled low as night fell over your sanctuary. The candles and flames casting a warm glow along with the slivers of moonlight that had come in.

Kratos had departed some hours prior, his words terse: "I shall not be long. Tend to him."

You obeyed, as much out of duty as out of something deeper that stirred within you. Of course anyone and every woman had known Kratos for two things. His history of killing and his history of sleeping with women. Whether it be mortal or goddess, everyone knew what he led, and it was sure to be unforgettable.

The brother he fought so hard to reclaim — Deimos — lay resting before your fire, the light painting him in golds and reds. You pressed a cloth to his ribs, wiping away the last of the dried blood. Your magic hummed quietly beneath your skin, knitting flesh, easing pain. Still, you could feel Deimos's gaze — unwavering, searing — upon you.

"You bear a gentle hand, goddess," he said at last, voice roughened by both exhaustion and something heavier.

"You have endured enough cruelty....it is the least I can do...." you replied, your fingers lingering a moment too long against his skin.

Deimos's lips curved into a wry smile. "Cruelty is the way of the world. Yet you..." His hand caught your wrist with surprising gentleness.

"You would teach a warrior mercy....to lay your hand in healing and mercy...." You met his eyes — fierce and bright like his brother's, yet tempered with mischief, with longing.

A heartbeat passed. Two. You could feel your skin tingle, and your stomach warm from the way he looked at you.

Then Deimos rose slightly, despite the protest of his wounds, and his other hand found your waist.

"Permit me," he murmured, voice low and thick, "to show my gratitude." His lips met yours in a soft but hungry kiss. A soldier deprived of everything in life, now had it at his fingertips and would take full advantage of it. His mouth slanted over yours, hungry and reverent, his hands pulling you into the hard planes of his battle-worn body.

You gasped, and Deimos groaned against your lips, as if your very breath was wine he had been long denied.

"You are soft..." he rasped, nipping lightly at your lower lip. "So soft....so supple..." he pulls you to straddle his lap

"Deimos—" you whispered, half a plea, half a prayer.

He silenced you with another kiss, rougher, more demanding. His hands slid over your back, your hips, grounding you to him. You could feel the heat of his skin, the tremble in his muscles, the sheer need radiating from him like fire. Something hard and needy grew and throbbed under his clothing.

And then — the heavy door creaked open.

Kratos stood there, his frame rigid, his golden gaze cutting through the shadows like a blade.

You stilled — heart hammering in your chest — but Deimos did not falter. Instead, he held you tighter, a challenge gleaming in his eyes as he met his brother's stare.

Kratos's jaw tightened. His fists clenched at his sides. The silence was a palpable thing, heavy with unspoken desires and darker hungers. You would have said something to the god that stood before you, but Daimos turned your gaze back to him.

Deimos's mouth found yours again, greedy and coaxing, hands roaming your waist, your hips. You gasped softly, your body alight with sensation — so caught in him you almost forgot the other presence in the room.

Almost.

Kratos stood a mere pace away, silent and seething, golden eyes burning brighter than the fires that burned in the sanctuary.

His hand shot out, seizing Deimos by the shoulder and ripping him from you with a growl. You stumbled, caught only by Kratos’s other hand — large, calloused — curling possessively around your arm.

"You are too bold, brother," Kratos snarled, his voice like stone grinding against stone. Deimos chuckled low in his throat, undeterred.

"Would you have her all to yourself, then?" he taunted, licking a stray bead of your taste from his lip. Kratos's glare could have split the earth in that very moment.

"She is not yours to toy with," he said, and the low rumble of it set your heart hammering against your ribs. His gaze fell on you — searing, claiming.

"She is mine." something in your stomach flipped and boiled at the statement.

Deimos leaned lazily against the pillar near the fireplace, still smiling, watching as Kratos pulled you against the hard planes of his body — his mouth descending to claim yours in a kiss far rougher, far more desperate than Deimos’s had been. There was no question in it — only command, like the general he was... Your knees went weak, clutching at the folds of Kratos’s scarred leather as he devoured you.

His hands roamed with greedy need — one cradling the back of your skull, tangling in your hair, the other gripping your hip so tightly you knew you would bear his mark. He kissed you as if trying to stamp his soul onto yours. When he finally tore his mouth from you, his breathing was ragged, chest heaving.

"You belong to me," Kratos growled against your lips.

And though Deimos only chuckled low, amused, even he did not dare argue. Kratos lifted you effortlessly into his arms, carrying you toward the furs near the fire, laying you down like an offering he meant to claim completely.

He shed his weapons and armor with brutal efficiency, golden gaze never leaving you — never blinking, never softening. Only once, as he knelt above you, did Kratos cast a look over his shoulder at Deimos — a warning, a threat, and a promise all in one.

"Touch her again without my leave..." his eyes said, clear as speech, "...and you will answer to me."

Deimos raised his hands in mock surrender, but his smirk remained.

Kratos turned back to you — all the violence of war coiled in his touch — and you knew,

Tonight, you would be taken, thoroughly and utterly — but not gently. You would be his. He tosses you over his shoulder and exits the healing chamber to find yours. Walking down the hall and finding and grand chamber with a large bed at the end of the hall, he lets you fall onto the bed.

Kratos loomed above you, his shadow cast long and powerful by the firelight.

"You will take none but me," he growled, voice thick with hunger, the words rumbling low in his chest. his rough hands rip the fabric of your garments. Leaving you bare for him, his hands roamed possessively, calloused palms sliding along your hips, your thighs, spreading you open beneath his heavy frame. Unbeknownst to him, Deimos leans against the doorway watching intently, a wolfish grin playing at his lips, arms crossed lazily over his broad chest.

"You handle her like a prize, brother," he taunted, voice thick with amusement. "Yet she is no gold nor sword — she will not break."

Kratos did not answer and simply focused on you. The way your pussy was wet and ready to receive him. The way your skin shivered, how your eyes were half lidded as they stared at him. Instead, he gripped your jaw firmly, forcing you to meet his burning gaze.

"You will cry for me," Kratos rumbled, low and unrelenting, his thumb sweeping across your parted lips. "You will remember whose touch brings you ruin."

You whimpered under him, the heat of his words making your blood sing. Slowly, deliberately, Kratos aligned himself, thick and heavy against you, pressing forward with a slow, claiming force. You gasped, your back arching, nails clawing at the furs beneath you. He filled you completely — a brutal stretch that left no part of you untouched. Every rumor, every story was right; this truly was a pleasure you had never known.

Kratos groaned low in his throat, forehead dropping to rest against yours.

"You take me well," he breathed, hips beginning a slow, relentless rhythm. "You were made for this — for me."

Each thrust drove the breath from your lungs, every movement fueled by the seething need to stamp his claim onto your body, your soul. You clung to him, whimpering his name, and when you did, his pace grew even harsher, teeth gritting with possessive satisfaction. From the corner of your blurred vision, Deimos leaned forward, elbows on his knees, watching intently.

"Is there room for another, brother?" he drawled, voice low and teasing. You've had other lovers and affairs in the past, even men who begged to even touch you, but never two at a time. Let alone two powerful men who had you at their mercy. Yet you let them, you let them worship and use your body.

Kratos growled — not in refusal, but warning.

"You will wait," he snarled without looking back, thrusting into you harder, forcing another sharp cry from your lips.

"You will watch." And Deimos, perhaps wisely, obeyed.

Kratos fucked you like he intended to carve his name into your very bones. He spoke against your skin, dark, reverent words that made you shudder.

"You are mine... my spoil, my prize..."

"None shall touch you and live..."

"You will bear my mark deep within."

You could feel the raw power in every movement — the brutal claim of a man who had lost everything before and refused to lose again. At last, after leaving you trembling, broken open beneath him, Kratos slowed, only then lifting his head to meet Deimos's gaze across your heaving body.

"Now," he said, voice a rough command, "you may touch." Deimos rose with the easy grace of a predator, a gleam of hunger flashing in his amber eyes. He approached, hands sliding along your sides, mouth finding the hollow of your throat, but Kratos never fully relinquished his grip. Even as Deimos joined, Kratos kept a hand possessively on your hip, anchoring you to him — a constant, silent reminder: You are his.

Deimos's touch was lighter, more coaxing — kissing along your collarbone, sucking at your breast — but Kratos watched his every move, muscles taut as a bowstring. And when Deimos made you moan, a soft, helpless sound, Kratos seized your jaw again, forcing you to face him.

"You will cry for me again," he rasped, his thrusts resuming — harder, deeper — as if daring Deimos to try and match him. Deimos only chuckled, tracing your ribs with lazy fingers.

"Greed and jealousy will get you nowhere, brother," he murmured, pressing a kiss to your fluttering pulse. "He has not changed, even in pleasure," Kratos growled a low, dangerous sound — and slammed into you with such force that your gasp broke into a keening cry.

"Say it," Kratos demanded, his breath hot against your lips. "Say who fills you."

Tears pricked the corners of your eyes from the overwhelming sensation, but you obeyed, voice broken and desperate:

"You... Kratos...!"

Only then did he allow the faintest smirk to curl the edge of his mouth, a rare glimpse of satisfaction. Before bending to claim your mouth again, devouring your cries as he took you harder, rougher, deeper than before. Beside you, Deimos laughed softly — but even he did not dare challenge the victor. AS promised the God had taken you and claimed you as his. With sheer lust, passion, and dominance. Your body was spent and still shaken from the wonderful orgasm he had given you. Your body is covered by a sheer layer of sweat.

You sagged against Kratos, spent and shuddering, the heat of his seed still burning inside you. Kratos’s hand curved around your middle, holding you steady against him, but his chest heaved with the effort of restraint. Deimos rose slowly from his crouch beside the bed, the firelight catching the gleam of sweat along his scarred skin.

"Is it my turn, brother?" Deimos asked, voice low, mocking.

Kratos’s jaw tightened — the muscles in his arms flexed — but after a moment, he loosened his hold on you.

"Do as you will," Kratos rumbled, though the words sounded torn from his throat. Deimos smiled, slow and wicked, and reached for you. You whimpered as he pulled you forward, Kratos's cock sliding free of your abused entrance with a wet, sinful sound.

Deimos gathered you into his arms — strong and sure — and laid you out beneath him on the bed as though presenting an offering.

"You are a sight most rare," Deimos murmured, gazing down at you, trailing his fingers lightly over your slick, trembling thighs, "Ravished and radiant."

You tried to reach for him, but Deimos caught your wrists easily, pinning them above your head with one hand.

"Ah, ah," he chided. "You shall not rush me, little goddess. I mean to savor you." Kratos shifted behind him, the bed creaking under his weight as he watched, his dark eyes burning into your skin. Deimos leaned in slowly, deliberately, and pressed his mouth to your breast, suckling, biting just enough to make you gasp.

You writhed beneath him, your body already too sensitive, too raw — but Deimos was relentless. He kissed lower, over your ribs, your belly, his free hand spreading your legs wide.

"You are still open for us," he murmured against your skin, voice rough with reverence. "Still wet with my brother’s seed."

Kratos let out a low growl from behind — not in protest, but in approval. Deimos grinned against your skin, then rose to his knees, stripping the last of his armor free with swift, brutal movements. You caught sight of him — thick, heavy, flushed with need — and whimpered softly, your thighs trembling. Deimos caught the sound and laughed low in his throat.

"You fear I shall break you?" he teased, crawling over you, aligning himself at your slick entrance. "Be not afraid, little one. I shall only bring you past the peak of pleasure again...and again..."

And then he drove into you, slow but deep, splitting you anew on his cock. You moan, a broken, keening sound, your body arching against the bed. Deimos groaned, head dropping to your shoulder, as he sank into the hilt.

"Gods," he muttered. "You are tighter than the Fates’ own knots."

Kratos’s hand came to rest on your ankle, gripping, possessive, as he watched Deimos claim you. Deimos began to move — a slow, grinding rhythm his eyes locked on your face, watching every flicker of pleasure, every sobbed gasp.

"You take us well," he rasped. "As though you were made for us." He thrust harder, faster, making the bed slam against the stone walls with every brutal drive.

"You will shatter again," Deimos growled against your throat. "You shall cry for me, as you did for him." Kratos’s hand slid higher — caressing the inside of your thigh — but he did not interfere.

He watched. Watched as your eyes rolled back, watched as your jaw went slack, watched as your back arched off the bed. Deimos shifted his angle, hitting that spot inside you that made your vision see stars, and your cries grew high and desperate.

"Ah~ Oh Gods!~"

"You hear her, brother?" Deimos taunted through gritted teeth. "She begs for me now." Kratos’s nostrils flared, but he said nothing, his dark gaze heavy on where Deimos’s cock disappeared inside you.

You were helpless — undone — as Deimos took you to pieces, your body pliant and yielding beneath his brutal worship.

"Come," Deimos commanded, his voice a low, savage growl. "Come and mark me as you did him." You broke with a sob, your body convulsing, your inner walls clamping down around Deimos with a desperate, choking grip. Deimos snarled, thrusting deep once, twice, before spilling inside you with a guttural, broken sound.

You lay boneless beneath him, gasping for breath, your body trembling violently. Deimos collapsed beside you, panting, dragging you into his arms possessively. Kratos loomed at the edge of the bed, his jaw tight, his fists clenched, the hunger in his gaze undiminished.

"You think yourself victorious," Kratos rumbled darkly. "But the night is not yet ended."

Deimos laughed — low and wicked — as he stroked your trembling body.

"Then come, brother," Deimos taunted, voice thick with triumph. "Let us see which of us she favors, when the dawn breaks."

Morning breaks....

The sun had risen, casting pale light across the chamber, the soft glow illuminating the disheveled sheets and the quiet aftermath of the night. You lay still for a moment, the weight of what had happened pressing on your chest, a heavy mixture of soreness and lingering emotions that refused to be easily shaken off. Deimos was still beside you, his body warm and relaxed, the rise and fall of his chest steady with sleep. He seemed more at ease than usual, his features softer in the morning light. But even in his rest, you could see the edge of intensity that always clung to him, the sharpness in his expression even as he lay still.

On the opposite side of the bed, Kratos was already awake. You could tell by the tension in the air—the way his body was perfectly still, poised, as though bracing for something. He had his back to you, his massive frame still, yet there was a strange stillness to him. You couldn’t tell if he was lost in thought or simply keeping his distance.

The room was quiet, save for the sound of soft breathing and the occasional shift of the bed. The fire crackled quietly in the corner, the flames still alive, though their warmth seemed distant compared to the heat of the night before.

After a long moment, you couldn’t bear the silence anymore. You shifted slightly, your muscles aching in protest, and broke the stillness. "How long have you been awake?" you asked, your voice hoarse from sleep, though the words felt too heavy in the quiet room.

Kratos didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he gave a small, almost imperceptible shake of his head, the weight of his presence in the room still as imposing as ever. Slowly, he turned to face you, and when his eyes met yours, they were unreadable, but not without an undercurrent of something deeper. Something unspoken.

"I’ve been awake for some time," he said gruffly, his voice as heavy as the silence had been. His gaze shifted to Deimos briefly, but it was only for a moment before he returned to you, as if trying to decipher something in your expression.

Deimos stirred next to you, blinking groggily and stretching as if the night had been nothing more than a fleeting moment. He let out a low groan, his voice thick with sleep.

"The dawn breaks," he muttered, glancing up at you with a lazy smile. "Still alive, little goddess?" His grin was teasing, but it held a hint of concern beneath it, a softness that contrasted with his usual bravado.

You nodded slowly, unsure how to feel. You weren’t sure whether you should feel relief or something more complicated.

"I’m… alright," you said quietly, though the words felt hollow, as though they weren’t entirely true. Your body was sore in ways you didn’t want to acknowledge, and the emotional weight of the night was too much to fully process just yet.

Kratos’s eyes flickered with something unreadable, but he said nothing more. He stood slowly, his movement deliberate, as though he was putting distance between himself and the moment. His large hand gripped the edge of the bed as he rose, and you could feel the tension in his movements—the unsaid words that hung in the air like a storm that hadn’t yet broken.

"I’ll gather my things," Kratos rumbled, his tone low, strained. "There are duties that must be dealt with."

Deimos watched him leave, his expression softening, though the glint of mischief in his eyes didn’t fade entirely. He shifted closer to you, propping himself up on one arm, his eyes watching you carefully.

"You’ll be alright," he said softly, his voice surprisingly gentle. "Last night was… intense, yes, but we’re still standing. We’ll make sure you’re not alone in this."

His words were oddly comforting, though you couldn’t fully shake the feeling that there were things left unsaid between all of you—tensions that hadn’t yet resolved. You glanced at Kratos, his broad back disappearing through the door, and a part of you wondered if he would ever let down the walls he so carefully built around himself.

"Will he be alright?" you asked, almost without thinking. You were referring to Kratos, of course, but you weren’t sure if Deimos would understand.

Deimos’s expression softened, his eyes reflecting a deeper understanding. "He’s not one for comfort," he said quietly, his tone more thoughtful than you expected. "But he’ll handle things in his own way. He always does."

You nodded slowly, your thoughts swirling with the confusion and complexity of it all. Deimos leaned forward, his hand resting gently on your shoulder. "Take your time, little goddess. Let yourself heal. We’ll figure out what comes next."

You stayed in the quiet of the room for a while, Deimos’s presence a strange, comforting weight at your side, and Kratos’s departure leaving behind a silence that felt just as loud as any spoken word. The aftermath of everything felt uncertain, but for now, you were left to try and make sense of it, with both brothers looming in the background, each carrying their own burden.

Hoping to see them both one day.

Alive and at peace....

[writinandcrying]

TMNT HEADCANONS - Type of kisses

I love first hesitant kisses, cozy ones, hot, passionate, breath taking ones, so bare with me, Cuz god knows I need it

English is not my first language and I didn’t proof read this, if there is any gramatical erros pls don’t hesitate to tell me!

Type of kiss that leave you longing for more, wondering how you have survived this long without it. Both pulling each other close every time. He has to hold you some way, by your hips, back, shoulders, waist, cupping your jaw, grounding him that you are here and this is real. Accidentally kisses you longer than he intended, but can you blame him? You are simply addicting

IDW, 2003, 2012 Leo

Bayverse, IDW Donnie

Rottmnt, 2012 Raph

Last Ronin, IDW, Rottmnt Mikey

The type of kiss that at first are hesitant, nervous, mouth wandering close to yours, waiting for your soft press, then it shows it true colors, it becomes hungry, rapid, intense, selfish, passionate, devours you whole, leave you breathless and bothered. you want more and he will gladly give it to you.

2007, Bayverse, future!rottmnt Leo

2003, 2007, Bayverse Raph

Future! Rottmnt Donnie

Last ronin mikey (he can do both)

Type of kiss between soft murmurs, giggles or goodbyes, slow and tempting, fingers trailing down your back, you tracing his plastron, trailing soft pecks along your and his neck late at night, soft kisses on your shoulder, your forehead, the palm and back to your hand, a kiss that shows how much he treasures you and what you have, encapsulates his love, makes you blush and you have to hold yourself not to say I love you

2003, 2012 Donnie

Future! Rottmnt mikey

Future! Rottmnt Raph

Rottmnt Leo

Shy kisses, nuzzling your neck to hide his blush, liking pinkies (his second finger?), the excitement of exploring a new ground leaves you both slightly trembling, puppy love type of kiss, giggling between pecks, avoiding eye contact after, but still holding a smile nonetheless

MM Leo, Donnie and Mikey

Surprise kiss, you can feel a laugh bubbling inside of you, feels like roller coaster, never the same, always a thrill. Biting your lip, blowing wind at your mouth, slow or passionate, you never know what you will get, one thing is for sure, you never get tired of it

All Mikeys

Rottmnt leo

Kiss that cut your words short, to prove something, right or wrong, to tell you what words can’t. Restless, fingers digging into your skin, Goosebumps runs through both of you, a kiss that you have been waiting for so long and you can’t help but to moan over his mouth, and that lights up a fire inside he has been struggling to keep it tame

Rottmnt Donnie

All Raphs

2007, Bayverse Leo

2003 Mikey

The type of kiss that breaks for a while, a smile slowly stretching along your faces until you kiss back again, fingers gently combing your hair, holding the nape of your neck, lacing your fingers together, you both have wanted this for so long and now you finally have it

2003, 2007 Donnie

2012, 2007, Rottmnt Mikey

2012, Rottmnt Leo

2012, IDW Raph

There’s so many more I’d like to write but that’s what I have so far, let me know if you would like more of those *mic drop*

[cocoamintsstuff]

MID boys bf Headcanons

Asch

—☆ Asch as a boyfriend is... Interesting... to say the least.

—☆ Despite having a fierce, angry personality. He can be gentle. Gentle enough to not accidentally hurt you. And hurting you, is the first he doesn't want to happen.

"I didn't hurt you... Did I?" Gently caressing your hand, Asch gazed at you with worry in his eyes.

Smiling, you gently kissed the corner of his lips, before pulling away, shaking your head. "No.. No, you didn't." You whispered, softly.

—☆ It's adorable. He's angry and fierce in public. But in private, he's the complete opposite.

—☆ Holding hands and gentle kisses on the forehead are his way of saying "I love you" and "I'll always protect you". It's very sickeningly sweet, even in a room of people he knows. He always tries to find you, going into your arms, taking in your scent.

—☆ Since he has fire magic, it would be awesome for him to also be warm. He's perfect for cold nights <3

—☆ He's not really into nicknames but he calls you "My light" in private. It's quite cute if you ask me!

—☆ Your date nights are either, movie night or cuddling in your or his room. You're probably in heaven due to him being so warm!

—☆ If you ever feel down or just need to cry. He would drop whatever he was doing, before quickly pulling you somewhere private, and just try to comfort you. Keyword, try. He's not good at comforting, especially with words, but he's trying okay? Back in daemos, Comforting someone is for the weak. So, of course, he never comforted anyone, nor did he even receive comfort.

—☆ He would probably ask Rhys or Ava for tips on how to properly comfort someone, but he might ask them rather, in an aggressive way.

—☆ Oh, if you ever get hurt by someone, well, you better hold him back, because knowing Asch. He'll probably burn that person down to nothing but ashes.

—☆ But, if you accidentally hurt yourself, eh, cue to him scolding you, but no shouting or yelling though. Just a low angry voice, scolding you, while telling Rhys to get Leif.

—☆ Overall, Despite being an angry prince, he's very loving to you. So, he's an 8/10.

Rhys

—☆ Despite having a “Compose” persona. He gets flustered, not easily though, but just mid.

—☆ Yes, he has a “Very composed” aura but I'd like to say that, he has a flirty side.

—☆ I feel like he's one of those bookworms... But it's kinda obvious.

—☆ He's not openly affectionate though. He has to stay Composed in public! Especially in front of others.

—☆ But in private though... He's quite a cuddle bug.

—☆ He receives praise, which he doesn't mind, but the first time he received affection from you, though. He was... A bit confused but when you explained that you just wanna show him your love. Well, let's just say, his brain paused. Taking all the words, before he composed himself. Pretending to cough, but the blush on his face is noticeable if you look closely.

—☆ Despite you showing affection to him, both in public and private, in each day and time. He still gets flustered. It's kinda cute.

—☆ Oh, he loves to hold your hand and kisses on the lips. He tries to stay composed and professional but inside, he's melting like an ice cream! He would definitely smile like a love sick puppy. You can't change my mind!!!

—☆ Date nights? You're either reading in his or your room, or you guys are just slow dancing like one of those cute old couples.

—☆ I'd like to also Headcanon that he would kiss your cheek if you pass by or him passing by you.

—☆ If you do the same with him, well...

"What the!? Rhys! Are you alright!?" After giving him a kiss on the cheek, just right after you passed by, and the moment you turned around to look back at him. He's clutching his chest, heaving, and huffing a puff of air whilst his face is red as a tomato.

"Yes— Yes, I'm alright..."

—☆ If you ever had a bad day or just felt sad and needed to cry. He'll gladly welcome you in his arms. He's not good with comfort, but he tries. He offers comforting words, caressing your hair, and just holds you. Honestly, it's kinda sweet of him, honestly. (We need men like him—)

—☆ If you're hurt by someone or just some random person throwing insults at you. Oh, boy... He's glaring at them like a murderer. He doesn't do anything physical, but he'd definitely "politely" ask them to apologise, but if the person refuses... Cue to him glaring down at them, like they're a disgusting insect, while he tries to calm himself down. Not wanting to use his magic in front of someone whose not worth his or his lover's time.

—☆ But, if you accidentally hurt yourself. He doesn't scold you instantly. He either calls Leif or asks if you're okay. And after treating/healing the wound. He then finally scolds you. Telling you to be careful and to not hurt yourself.

—☆ Hug him, and apologise. He instantly stops his scoldings and sighs. Telling you it's alright. (I want him so bad—)

—☆ Despite not showing much affection, especially In public, overall he's a great boyfriend. 9/10.

Author's note: I decided to not add the others here, but don't worry! I'll make part two soon! Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this! If you ever want to request, then you are welcome to my page!

Dividers by: @uzmacchiato

[aspenmissing]

Can you do an angsty and comfort headcanons with Cassidy and reader who has a prosthetic leg and dealing with phantom pain and is having a rough time.

I love your writing and it makes me smile and laugh. Have a great day

ꜱᴛᴇᴇʟ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰʟᴇꜱʜ

ᴄᴏʟᴇ ᴄᴀꜱꜱɪᴅʏ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ/ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ-ɪꜱʜ? || 1777 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ᴘʜᴀɴᴛᴏᴍ ᴘᴀɪɴ

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ: ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ᴍʏ ʟᴏᴠᴇ! ɪ'ᴍ ɢʟᴀᴅ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ᴍᴀᴋᴇꜱ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴍɪʟᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ʟᴀᴜɢʜ, ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ᴅᴏ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ɪᴛ ᴄᴏɴᴛɪɴᴜᴇꜱ ᴛᴏ! ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʟꜱᴏ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ, ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ɪᴛ!! <3

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴄᴀꜱꜱɪᴅʏ

Cassidy sat back in his worn leather chair, his boots kicked up on the table in front of him. The dim light of the Overwatch HQ lounge created long shadows across the space, and the quiet hum of the overhead lights filled the otherwise silent room. His fingers absently twirled a glass in his hand, the ice inside clinking with a slow, rhythmic sound that felt out of place in the stillness around him. He wasn’t really drinking; the glass was just something to keep his hands busy, a small distraction from the restlessness that had taken root inside him.

It had been a long, draining day. The kind of day where everything felt a little heavier, the weight of responsibility pressing down like a hundred-pound brick on his chest. The endless reports, the missions, the near-misses—sometimes it all felt like too much. Even for someone like him. Cassidy had spent years in the thick of things, battling through the pain, the loss, and the constant challenges that came with being a soldier for a cause bigger than himself. But there were days, like today, when even the most hardened of soldiers felt their walls cracking, and the cracks let in the cold, biting reality of what they’d lost along the way.

His thoughts drifted as his eyes scanned the lounge, a room that had seen countless moments of camaraderie and quiet reflection. It was one of those spaces that seemed to carry the weight of every mission, every battle. It wasn’t just a place to unwind—it was a place where soldiers gathered, shared stories, and occasionally let their guard down.

The sound of the door opening broke through the quiet like a ripple in a still pond. Cassidy glanced up from his glass, his gaze instantly catching the figure entering the room. Y/N. She was moving slower than usual, her head down, eyes fixed on the floor. There was a hesitation in her steps, an unmistakable limp that seemed to be taking more effort than usual. Cassidy immediately noticed the tension in her posture, the way she was holding herself like she was trying to keep it together but couldn’t quite hide the weight of it.

Her prosthetic leg clicked softly with every step, the sound sharp and deliberate against the quiet hum of the room. It wasn’t a noise Cassidy was unfamiliar with; after all, he too wore a prosthetic. But there was something in the way Y/N moved that made it clear she wasn’t having her best day. The subtle shift in her body, the way her shoulders slumped, the quiet that had settled around her like a second skin. Cassidy knew exactly what that look meant. He’d seen it too many times in himself.

Y/N finally lifted her eyes, meeting his gaze with a faint, strained smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. "Just… one of those days," she muttered, her voice barely carrying over the silence between them. Her usual spark, that fire she carried with her like a shield, was noticeably dimmer today.

Cassidy didn’t need to ask. He’d been there. More times than he could count. He set the glass down slowly on the table, the soft clink of the ice breaking the quiet tension in the air. He leaned forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees, his posture casual but his eyes full of understanding.

"Phantom pain, huh?" he asked, his voice quiet but steady, offering her a safe opening to talk if she wanted to.

Y/N froze for a moment, the surprise in her eyes almost immediately replaced by a flicker of frustration. Cassidy could see it—the fleeting anger, the frustration that someone could understand that feeling without even being told. She stared at him for a second, as if trying to process how he knew. Then, she let out a sigh, her shoulders sagging even further. "Yeah," she answered, her voice quieter now, vulnerable in a way that wasn’t like her. "How’d you… know?"

Cassidy didn’t look away from her, his gaze steady and knowing. He lifted his right arm slowly, the metallic gleam of his prosthetic catching the dim light from the overheads. "I’ve been there," he said simply, his voice not filled with pity, but with a kind of quiet solidarity that only someone who understood could offer. "Thought you might be. Happens to all of us, sooner or later." His fingers flexed, the prosthetic giving a low hum as he adjusted it slightly. "Feels like the old part’s still there, aching away, but there’s nothing you can do about it."

Y/N didn’t say anything right away, and Cassidy could see the battle raging behind her eyes. There was a hesitation, a reluctance to admit what was really going on. It was the same battle he had fought so many times before—the one where you try to pretend you’re okay, that you’ve got it all under control. But deep down, you’re just holding it together with whatever fragments you’ve got left.

She walked closer, her steps slow and deliberate, the clink of her prosthetic leg echoing through the room. She stopped just short of him, standing at the doorframe, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. She was trying to shield herself, to protect whatever vulnerability she had left. But Cassidy knew better than to push her. He had his own scars, his own battles with that feeling of loss, and he could sense exactly what she needed in this moment.

"I don’t know how you do it, Cassidy," Y/N said, her voice barely above a whisper now. "Some days, it’s like... the pain is cutting right through me, like it’s fresh again. It feels like the old part of me is still there, but it’s... it’s not. It’s not real. It’s just a memory, and yet it hurts like it’s happening all over again. I don’t know how to make it stop."

Cassidy exhaled softly, his gaze lowering as he processed her words. He had heard the same frustration in his own voice many times. The feeling of being torn between what was real and what wasn’t, the ache that never seemed to go away. He had learned to live with it, to accept it as part of his new reality, but he knew that didn’t make it any easier. In fact, it might even make it harder. You get so used to fighting, to surviving, that you forget how to let the pain come and go.

"I won’t lie," he said after a long pause, his voice quieter now, but still strong. "It ain’t easy. Hell, I still get days where it all just… feels too much. And I don’t always handle it well." He looked up at her, his expression softening as he spoke. "But I’ve learned not to let it control me. It’s just part of the ride. Part of who we are now. But it doesn’t define us. And it won’t define you, not if you don’t let it."

Y/N looked down at her prosthetic leg, her fingers grazing the cold metal like it might offer some comfort, some answers. "I just… I hate it," she murmured, the words laced with bitterness. "I hate that I need this. That I have to rely on something that constantly reminds me of what I lost. I don’t want to need it. I don’t want to be this... version of myself. I feel like I’m broken."

Cassidy’s heart clenched, the familiar ache rising in his chest. He stepped closer to her, his boots scraping softly against the floor as he placed a hand gently on her shoulder. He could feel the tension in her, the weight of the struggle pressing down on her, but he didn’t say anything more. He didn’t have to. He knew what she needed right now wasn’t advice—it was just someone to stand with her, someone who understood.

"You ain’t alone in this fight," Cassidy said, his voice low and steady, full of conviction. "I know what it feels like to look at this thing"—he tapped his own prosthetic arm lightly—"and think about what’s missing. Hell, I’ve been there more times than I care to count. But I’m still here. I’m still standing. And so are you."

Y/N looked up at him, her eyes bright with unshed tears, the raw vulnerability clear in them. For a moment, she said nothing. She just stood there, taking in his words, letting them sink in. Finally, she exhaled, a shaky breath that had been building in her chest for what felt like forever.

"I just want to be normal again," she whispered. "I don’t want to feel like this every damn day. I don’t want to be broken."

Cassidy smiled gently, his hand giving her shoulder a light squeeze, trying to convey everything he couldn’t put into words. "What you're feelin’ is real, Y/N. It’s a damn hard road, and I’m not gonna lie about that. But you’re not broken. You’ve got fire in you. And that’s something no prosthetic, no phantom pain, no damn fight can ever take away from you." His smile softened, becoming more reassuring. "I’ve seen it in you since the first day we met. That fire? It’s yours. And it’s gonna get you through."

Y/N wiped at her eyes quickly, but Cassidy had already seen the tear that slipped down her cheek. She looked at him, really looked at him, and for the first time, there was a flicker of something more than the weight she had been carrying. She nodded slowly, taking in his words.

"Thanks, Cassidy," she said, her voice still trembling slightly but a little more grounded than before. "I needed to hear that."

Cassidy gave her a small, understanding nod. "Anytime, partner. We’re all in this together. We’ve all got our battles. But we’re in this together."

Y/N smiled, the edges of her lips lifting just enough for Cassidy to see the relief in her eyes. "You’re right," she said, her voice stronger than before. "Thanks for sticking around, even when it’s tough."

Cassidy winked at her, a small smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. "What are friends for, huh?" he teased, trying to lighten the mood a little.

She laughed softly, the sound more genuine now, and Cassidy felt a weight lift off his chest. They were both bruised, both scarred, but they were still here. Still standing. And sometimes, that was enough. No need for fixing. No need for grand solutions. Just the simple fact that they had each other’s backs. And that was more than enough to keep fighting. Together.

[mahi-wayy]

Next part of toxic please

It’s been too long .NEED.GIVEE

A/n : here you go anon. also this fic supports my headcanon that bhalla inner monologs like a tired eldest daughter who wants to set the world on fire.

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 - 𝐈𝐈𝐈 | 𝑻𝑶𝑿𝑰𝑪

PREVIOUS | NEXT | MASTERLIST

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Bhalla really questioned if this was the same place he and his brother had to create such a ruckus to sneak inside. It was definitely tougher to pass these guards last time.

The thoughts don't stay long in his mind however, his eyes catching the familiar golden fabric. He grins before his feet take him after the light footsteps.

He comes to stop around the brothel part of the city, woman after woman in sight but not the one he was looking for. He makes it a point to ignore the catcalls and whistles as he walks in the area, he was almost out of the area when he was pulled inside one of the rooms.

“What the-” The curse dies on his tongue when he comes face to face with the one he was looking for. Now changed into a little more covering blouse and skirt as she rubs her wet hair.

“The older prince of Mahishmati, the upcoming king. What brings you to a place like this?”

Her voice was higher pitched than a male but it had that weight that was unique to it, it wasn't that it was deep like his own but it still made him feel the bass of things she spoke.

“You do, why didn't you reply to the proposal sent to you.”

“I wasn't in the kingdom, I don't know about any proposals.”

“And yet you recognize me in one glance.”

He smirks as a smile forms on those beautiful lips.

“Caught aren't I. I do know that you want to marry me but it's also true I wasn't in the kingdom to write a reply. Your highness.”

She speaks picking up a glass of wine sipping from it before offering it to him.

“Right, so can I ask what brings you here…”

He trails off bringing the glass up to his lips, his eyes locking on the way her's sparkled in utter fascination before they widen when he lets the glass slip and clatter on the floor.

He really got himself a interesting woman.

“...other than trying to poison me and killing people.”

He watches as she blinks before breaking out in a full smile and he is suddenly made aware that he had a heart which was literally banging against his ribcage to let out with how fast it was beating.

“You're fascinating.”

Her voice once again draws his attention to her as she steps in his personal space, her hands planting themselves on his chest before she pushed him back to have him sit down on the bed.

“You're interesting.”

He replies, his brow raising as she slips on his lap, her legs on his either side of his waist and arms looped around his shoulders. His arms work on autopilot to, circling her waist to prevent her from sliding down.

For several minutes they just stare at each other before she leans forward and he leans back.

“What?”

“As much as I find you interesting, you aren't sleek enough for me to forget that those lips of yours are covered in poison.”

“Smart.”

“I'm the only one in my family, trust me on that one.”

She hmmed slipping off his lap to sit beside him, messing with her bangles.

“The men I killed were former soldiers, who were planing on treason.” She said, looking at him.

“Why don't arrest and kill them infront of kingdom?”

“To keep the fear? tempting but I like deception more.”

Interesting. She liked deception, no wonder her reputation is totally different from-well her.

“My mother wishes to see you.” He says. The woman looks at him, there is a sparkle in them, like something inside him was being reflected in her eyes.

“Sure.”

They leave that night, it's quite a journey with both of them riding their own horses side by side. Singhpuram wasn't far from Mahishmati but it wasn't exactly near either.

Hence why it had one stop between it, a small lake used by villages nearby and travelers as a water source.

It was rather early in the morning, the sun wasn't up fully just sneaking enough to dull the darkness of the night sky and Bhalla was reminded he hadn't slept. Like all past eighteen hour-ish. Good thing his father's temper tantrum conditioned him to stay up at ungodly hours.

How else was he supposed to witness her in almost all her glory-those under clothes just to cloth around her chest and skirt barely reached the end of her thighs-testing the water with her feet before stepping it.

Was it rude to stare? very much. His mother would have his head not such a princely act but the thing was his mother would have his head for just about anything. This way to at least get a view before he dies or whatever.

He was tempted to join. He really was but Bhalla was a creature of habit and he would rather drown himself in the boiling water he gets in his baths than this poor lake.

For now he will just look at the view.

And in his defence from his earlier point of staring, he hasn't made a single protest that he can't watch. He wasn't a goodie two shoes to not take that hint, that was his brother.

She didn't look at him during her short bath, at least directly, he was very much aware of not so sneaky glances.

Oh did he mention he was at least washing his face and very much shirtless right now.

He follows her figure as she walks out of water, hair damp and clothes sticking to her figure, averting his gaze away once she reaches the tree and flaura cover.

He was an anti-social plotter not a pervert. Thank you very much.

Her outfit is better fitting for a princess, a little more loose, covering-not practical at all-and shiny. He blinks at the red fabric of the ridiculous long skirt reflecting the early sun rays, it makes him scowl because his eyes hurt.

Gotta love sleep deprivation.

He climbed the horse first, before helping her sideways, her left side pressed against his chest, her chunari wrapped around her covering torso and half of her face.

By the time they reached the palace, it was ticking to late afternoon. He swore in at least six different ways in his head as he noticed Devasena of all people came to welcome them.

His perfect poker held up as he climbed down the horse and helped the princess. The princess walked upstairs, her veil falling off her head, her now dry hair flowing behind her. A caramel contrast to blood red fabric.

He bites his tongue to suppress the scoff and the disapproval in Devasena's eyes, she has a good poker face but he has been reading people since he was like five.

“I hope you forgive my appearance princess, I was under some work when your highness came to me.” Mohini says.

Her voice is smooth, letting her words flow in a way he hasn't talked back in Singapuram.

“It's not a big hindrance. I am sure the palace has things worthy of you.” Devasena replied.

Bhalla almost whistled from the sheer tension, he was sure he would be able to cut it with a sword in thick slices.

It was all okay he guesses, boring even, when both females did not exchange more words heading inside.

That was until, she stopped in her tracks-Devasena parted ways with them ahead-turning to right and they, conditioned for years to catch it, picked up a familiar strong footsteps.

Mother.

His eyes flickered to her, who honest to god was smiling, heading in the direction of footsteps.

His life just got a hell lot interesting.

-----

tags : @mayakimayahai @warnermeadowsgirl @voidsteffy @jkdaddy01 @rambheem-is-real @allari-ammayi @mellaga-karagani @ulaganayagi @ahamasmiyodhah @ranisingnewyetagian @myvarya @toomanyfanficsbruh @harinishivaa @chaliyaaa @tumharisakhi

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Rough - An Alex Terrible/Reader Headcanon.

Nope, this man has not let go of me yet, fucking barging his way into the creative space in my brain to take over. As you might expect from him :D

Words - 653

Warnings - Smut below the cut (rough sex) minors DNI!

“Rough. I like it rough.” 

You feel a little cautiousness slither through your insides after hearing that, although you can’t deny how much the premise of it arouses you. 

In reality, though, Alex is a hell of a big man. Him fucking you rough, well, it’s a little overwhelming. Maybe frightening, but you know behind the hulking, muscular man lies a very sweet soul. 

Still, though. Eeep! 

“Why do you look nervous?” he asks. 

You swallow hard, aware of the radius your eyes must have widened to. “Because I’m scared you might hurt me.” 

He tuts softly, patting his thighs. “Come, come sit.” You shuffle over, climbing astride him, his big hands bracketing your waist. “I would never hurt you, my princess. You are so much smaller than me, I know this. Trust me, I know what I’m doing.”  

His grin curls into something positively devilish then. “You will like it.”  

I know what I’m doing. Oh, how those words ring through your mind later on, your hands clutched onto the bedframe as he rails you from behind so rapidly, you feel like he’s about to go through you.  

His hands grasp your shoulders, a grip that mauls, moulds you around his touch. You know his fingers will leave bruises, brandings there upon your skin as violet tinged reminders of how brutally he made you his.  

The pleasure is biting, like a thousand shards of ice gilded by flames, one hand smoothing down your sweaty back to grip your bum, a hard smack stinging your skin thereafter.  

One, two, three, four, and so he continues, spanking you until heat suffuses your flesh. You can’t see it, but you know he’ll have left handprints behind, yet another picture painted upon the canvas of your body by dark lust. 

His other hand tangles in your hair, fisting the roots tightly, the pressure increasing as he steadily pulls your head back. The pain burns, meets somewhere in the middle of the ecstasy, the deep punch of his cock sending bolts of bliss radiating through your blood. 

Without warning, he pulls from you, hauling you across the bed by your ankle, like a predator dragging its kill away.  

Throwing you onto your back, that dynamic is further enforced, Alex leaning to sink his teeth deep into your inner thigh before his mouth locks between your legs, tongue thrashing at you wildly.  

He devours you entirely, fingers dug into your thighs to keep your legs spread, full lips wrapping your clit in the heat of an intense suck as your nails drag over his stubbly head.  

You think you’re about to come against the relentlessness of his mouth, lightning beginning to fork at the base of your spine. It’s like entire galaxies are exploding into light and collapsing in on themselves as his tongue brings you to your ruin, yet he doesn’t let you peak against his mouth. 

It only ascends after he’s stood up from the bed, lifted you into his arms, and dropped you straight back down onto his cock. You swim in it, drowning under the catatonic wave that is the force he fucks you with, a strong arm secured around your waist as he bounces you on his cock.  

With his free hand, multiple hard spanks leave further red welts upon your bum, the sound echoing off the walls, one of which he then proceeds to charge you against. Your back hits the smooth, cool plaster, his hands moving to grip beneath your thighs and hold you spread.  

He pounds into you like a jackhammer, chases the fire of arousal through you, mouth sucking bruises against your throat.  

You wail, nails digging into his back and dragging down, your walls fluttering around the thick of him. Those sweet sounds spark deep in his chest, his eyes meeting yours, a grin widening his mouth as he watches how wildly you thrive.  

“Told you.”  

He did.  

A/N - Yet to ever comment on my work? Well, how about reach out if you liked it? Shy? Go on anon! I'd love to hear from you :)

[ju-vondy]

Headcanon Gwyn scene

Guys, I just wrote this for the Chapter 11 in the Gwynriel fanfic I'm posting on Wattpad and I wanted to share with you all because yes, LOL.

This is the kind of building I hope Sarah does for Gwyn. Our girl has so much to grow! I hope you all enjoy. Please leave your thoughts!

WARNING: May contain anxiety triggers.

Count of words: 1.876

Some context before starting: Our beloved Valkyries accepted Rhysand's proposal to form a legion of female warriors (the Reborn Valkyries) and now Gwyn is about to embark on a mission with Azriel. The day is coming, a lot has been happening and, well... Let's see what happens?

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The torches cast faint light across the library, creating dancing shadows on the walls as Gwyn leaned over the ancient manuscripts. The room was silent, except for the soft rustle of parchment pages as Gwyn turned them, struggling to keep her eyes open.

Her eyes burned with exhaustion, but she refused to succumb to sleep. There was an important and lengthy translation to complete before the mission and she couldn't afford to leave anything unfinished. Several days had passed since the conversation where Azriel had suggested Gwyn stop serving as a priestess, and... She was trying to ignore that advice with all her might.

Only a week and a half remained before they departed. But as exhausting as the routine had been, she owed everything to those females, didn’t she? Even though Merrill was a bossy and authoritarian figure, Gwyn had grown so fond of her colleagues and... And singing! Singing during the services made her feel like she was floating, like she belonged to something.

Stopping her work as a priestess would surely erase a part of herself that Gwyn was not willing to let go of.

The Valkyrie yawned again. The fatigue finally caught up with her, enveloping her like a heavy blanket. Her eyes began to blink slowly, giving in to the irresistible desire to close. Then, without realizing it, Gwyn fell asleep, her head resting on the ancient scrolls.

It was Merrill's sharp voice that woke her abruptly.

Gwyn blinked, confused and dazed, as Merrill stared at her with an expression of disapproval and fury.

"What do you think you're doing, Gwyneth?" Merrill growled, her words as sharp as knives. "Sleeping in the library, as if there wasn't important work to be delivered before the journey? You have a responsibility here, and you chose to sleep instead of working?"

Gwyn tried to compose herself, shame burning in her cheeks as she quickly stood up.

"I'm sorry, Merrill, I... I didn't realize I had fallen asleep. I was just trying to finish the translation before Silphie officially takes over my duties..."

Merrill interrupted her with a brusque gesture of her hand.

"Apologies won't fix this, Gwyneth. You're here to serve as a priestess, not as an exhausted soldier who can't fulfill her responsibilities."

"The High Lord said I could..."

"I don't care what the High Lord said," Merrill crossed her arms. "He'll certainly change his mind after I have a word with him. You need to choose: do you want to be a warrior or a priestess? Because clearly you can't handle being both."

Merrill's words hit Gwyn like a blow, leaving her stunned and hurt. She couldn't find a response, her thoughts muddled and foggy with fatigue.

"Are you listening to me, Gwyneth?"

The Valkyrie growled, frustrated. How long would Merrill continue to treat her this way? A fire began to spread inside her body as she closed her notebook, the books and started to organize the manuscripta.

Enough.

She had enough.

"If you don't like my work, why didn't you dismiss my services as soon as I started training?" Gwyn exhaled, standing up. "You still haven't found anyone to replace me, have you? No one likes working for you." The Valkyrie crossed her arms, narrowing her eyes and finally letting the anger inside her overflow as she said something that had been stuck in her throat for a long time: "Because you're a demanding and authoritarian bitch."

Gwyn blinked, barely recognizing her voice as she said that ugly word. Merrill's expression twisted into a mask of rage, her eyes sparking with indignation as she stared at Gwyn.

"How dare you disrespect this sacred place with your temper?" Merrill shouted, her voice echoing through the library corridors. "Aren't you ashamed of insulting your superior like this? You aren't worthy of wearing the protective stone like all the others!"

Merrill's cutting words pierced Gwyn's heart with sharp pain. She quickly regretted thinking she could stand up to Merrill. Gwyn struggled to hold back the tears threatening to overflow from her eyes, her jaw clenched tightly as she fought against the wave of emotions consuming her body.

The few priestesses still circulating through the library watched the scene with shock and disbelief, some murmuring among themselves in tones of disapproval. Gwyn felt the weight of their gazes on her, the weight of judgment and condemnation. Her anger began to transform into a burning flame within her chest.

She lifted her chin, determined not to show weakness before Merrill and the other priestesses. She wasn't unworthy, no matter what they said. She was strong, determined, and capable. She was the rock against which the shadows break. And she would not let Merrill's cruel words bring her down.

With her jaw still tense, Gwyn swallowed hard, gathering all her courage to say: "I am no less worthy than any other priestess in this library," her voice trembled slightly, but she made sure to keep it firm and determined. "I strive every day to honor our duties and our faith."

Merrill snorted disdainfully.

"You can try to fool yourself while you play soldier, Gwyneth. But I know the truth:" Merrill pointed a finger in the redhead's face. "You are a disgrace to our order, and your presence here only brings dishonor to our sacred duties."

With one last disdainful look, Merrill turned and left the library, leaving Gwyn alone with her turbulent emotions. The anger boiled inside her, a burning flame that threatened to consume her entirely. What had started as a fire had become a dangerous explosion.

She was a Valkyrie, a fearless and courageous warrior. Nothing Merrill said was true. She was worthy, just like all the others. Wasn’t she? She was not a disgrace. Or was she?

"I am the rock against which the surf crashes..." Gwyn said as she adjusted her hood to leave the library, trying to silence the noise in her head and not let those thoughts defeat her. "Nothing can break me."

Nothing can break me, she repeated in her mind as she climbed the stairs to go to the House.

Gwyn felt an overwhelming mix of emotions inside her, a burning energy that drove her to act. She knew she needed a way to release all that accumulated tension, so she decided to go to the training ring, even though it was cold and dark outside.

It was the middle of the night, but she didn't care at all.

Entering the spacious and airy ring, Gwyn saw the punching bag hanging in the center. Without hesitation she threw off her priestess cloak, not even bothering to wrap her fingers, and advanced towards the object — her fists clenched and her eyes sparking with determination.

Starting to deliver several blows in the punching bag, Gwyn let the pain take over as she said through gritted teeth:

"Nothing." A right punch. "Can..." another, from the left. "Break." and then a solid kick. "Me." a hook followed by a determined growl.

Gradually, the frustration began to dissipate slowly, replaced by a sense of relief. Still, Gwyn continued to punch with will: each impact causing a release of all the weight and pain she carried in her heart.

As the minutes passed and the intensity of her blows increased, Gwyn barely noticed she was overdoing it. Her fingers began to throb with pain, but she ignored the sensation completely. She was so immersed in her own anguish that she barely noticed the blood dripping from her hands.

The punches were no longer just about Merrill: it was about her past, the loss of her sister, the day she was raped... Every damn thing that had ever happened to her.

It was only when her tears began to blur her vision and her lungs felt heavy as she tried to swallow her sobs that Gwyn finally realized how far she had gone. Her sobs echoed through the walls of the ring, but she didn't want to stop.

She couldn't stop.

"I am the rock..." she gasped, abruptly stopping her blows against the object. When Gwyn extended her fingers to see the extent of the injuries, her hand was trembling. She sniffled and whispered softly: "Against which the surf crashes..."

A groan of pain escaped Gwyn's lips as she let herself fall to her knees on the ground, her body trembling with the intense effort, her heart racing with her turbulent emotions.

She let out an angry scream. With her hand on her thighs, the Valkyrie focused on trying to control her breathing, without much success. All she could do was cry and cry, giving small nervous laughs in the process, mentally cursing the voices in her head who were saying she wasn't worth it.

Gwyn heard light, hurried footsteps approaching her, but she didn't bother to look in the direction behind her when she said:

"Go away."

"What happened?" the familiar voice sounded worried.

"Go. Away." Gwyn said, her voice still choked with tears. She used her wrists to dry her eyes and sobbed. "Please, Nesta. I want to be alone."

"See, Az?" Nesta continued, ignoring Gwyn's request. "She just wants to be alone. You called me for nothing."

Gwyn turned back when she heard Azriel's nickname. Nesta raised an eyebrow, curious.

"Azriel?" the redhead said, confusion in her voice. And then, as if emerging from the shadows, he appeared, silent as the night. His amber eyes were serious, and a look of concern marked his face, slightly illuminated by the moonlight and stars. "You were here the whole time?"

He nodded. Gwyn glared at him, but before she could open her mouth to protest, Nesta intervened:

"He thought it best to call me because he panics when he sees a female crying." Nesta took a step closer and Gwyn didn't tell her to go away this time.

"After Mor broke a champagne bottle over my head when I tried to comfort her during a tough time, I was traumatized." Azriel joked, just to lighten the mood.

Gwyn laughed, something sparking in her chest.

"You idiot," was all she could whisper.

Nesta crouched, taking her friend's hands. "By the Mother, Gwyn! Look at this, it's horrible."

Azriel approached them, alarmed. "Let me see."

Gwyn looked away when tje shadowsinger, with gentle and precise movements, checked the bruises and cuts.

"I hope she didn't broke a finger." Nesta murmured, trying not to show panic. The wingtips of Azriel's shadow quickly fluttered at this, but the male kept his expression calm.

"It seems to be ok. Just some cuts and bruises, we'll have to clean it and apply a few bandages."

Gwyn sighed, feeling embarrassed for losing control to the point of hurting herself that badly. She didn't want to appear weak, especially not in front of Azriel and Nesta.

"How did you do this?" Nesta asked, her expression a mix of concern and curiosity. And why? — Nesta only thought that.

Gwyn sighed again, fighting back the tears threatening to return.

"I was... discounting my frustration on the punching bag." She admitted, feeling foolish for not being more careful. "I think I got a bit too carried away."

"Let's take care of this." Azriel said with a comforting gentleness in his voice.

Together, the three headed inside the House, where a "first aid" kit awaited them, as if the House had anticipated their needs. Azriel guided Gwyn to the table. Gwyn insisted she could do it herself, but Azriel's serious look as he said "Sit down" in a low, authoritative tone made her obey without protest. Nesta offered her silent support, placing a hand tenderly on her Gwyn's shoulder.

The quietness of the house enveloped them. Slowly, Nesta felt the silence mix with the concern in her chest. She found herself reflecting for a moment: what had caused Gwyn to explode like this? They had much to discuss.

Gwyn felt her friend's gaze and asked: "Something wrong, Nesta?"

Nesta sighed, pondering how to approach the delicate subject.

"It's just... " she began, hesitant. " Are you... alright?"

" I'm trying to be" Gwyn admitted, her voice a whisper. "But it's been hard lately. Too much happening at once. It's just..." she swallowed hard and glanced at Azriel, who had finished her right hand and now began to clean the wounds on her left hand." I'd rather not talk about it now.

"Alright." Nesta agreed, but didn't leave Gwyn's side.

Gwyn turned her attention to Azriel, who skillfully tended to her injuries. His precise and delicate movements revealed a dexterity she imagined he had acquired over time. She spent a long moment watching Azriel's nimble hands, appreciating the beauty of the gesture.

Nesta did the same. She raised an eyebrow at Azriel, noticing the meticulous care he employed while treating Gwyn's injury — a gentleness that contrasted with the strength of his hands. A rare glimpse of the sensitivity hidden behind the iron facade he constantly carried.

"You're good at this" Gwyn whispered when the shadowsinger was almost finished.

"Years of practice" Azriel replied with a bitter smile, his gaze wandering to his own hands marked by scars of the past. "Don't worry, your hands won't look as horrible as mine do."

Gwyn frowned, surprised by Azriel's self-deprecation.

"I wasn't... I wasn't looking at them like that" she murmured, embarrassed as Azriel placed the final bandage on her right hand and announced he was done. Gwyn held his wrist for a moment before speaking: "Hey. Your hands aren't ugly, Azriel."

Azriel flinched from Gwyn's touch as if it burned him and stood up.

"Good to know someone still has faith in my appearance" he said with a hint of sarcasm, giving an ironic smile before stepping away. "Good night to you both. Don't forget to change the bandages tomorrow, Gwyn."

Gwyn stood up, about to call him back, but Nesta interrupted her:

"It's no use, Gwyn." Nesta sighed, taking a step closer to her friend. "He never listens."

"But..." Gwyn stammered.

"Forget it." Nesta grunted, holding back the urge to grab Azriel by the collar and slap him for treating Gwyn like that after such a calm exchange they were having. Nesta had seen the look her friend gave his hands: admiration. No disgust, no repulsion. Pure admiration. "How about some hot chocolate before bed? I can stay in your room until you fall asleep. If you want to vent, you know..."

"But Cassian..." Gwyn hesitated.

"He will understand." Nesta assured. "Come on, I'm sure the House will prepare a delicious chocolate cake as well."

Gwyn nodded, letting Nesta guide her through the halls. The comforting aroma of hot chocolate enveloped them even before they entered Gwyn's room, making her feel grateful for her friend's presence.

" Thank you, Nesta" Gwyn murmured, feeling more at ease with the warm friendship by her side.

Nesta smiled, wrapping Gwyn in a comforting embrace.

"I will always be here for you, Gwyn."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

THAT'S ALL, MY FELLAS!

I'm crying, are you crying?

This is the kind of thing I'm hoping for Gwynriel: they hate themselves but when they look to each other they say "Hey buddy you're worth it, stop hating yourself!!"

Literally "Do as I say, not as I do, dumbass!!" thing hahaha

I'm sorry but I have to tag you guys @gwynrielweeksofficial @bookish-brainrot @arcturustarlight @bookishwithathought @mycadences who maybe would like reading it :)

Xoxo. Have a good weekend!

[graysondays]

Love Pawsona

OMG! This is definitely Lenny! And look she even got a kitty too!

Tagged by: Stolen from @diverse-hearts-ocs & @divinityunleashed & myself.

Tagging: Don't know who's done this and who hasn't, so if you see this on your dashboard, do it.

[lcnnypooh]

Headcanons.

Lenny's favorite tracks from each One Direction Album.

UP ALL NIGHT. - Stole My Heart.

TAKE ME HOME. - Rock Me.

MIDNIGHT MEMORIES. - Midnight Memories.

FOUR. - Steal My Girl.

MADE IN THE A.M. - What A Feeling.

Her favorite One Direction Album over all is a tie between Four & Made In The A.M.

[sugutoad]

matchup for @liebgotts-lovergirl

GAME OF THRONES MATCHUP

I ship Aella with… Jon Snow — the bastard of Winterfell. At first glance, they are opposites: he, cold and guarded; she, radiant and warm. But beneath the surface, their souls are the same. Both are lonely souls committed to duty and those they love (and hen they love, they do it fiercely). She sees Jon. She sees Jon’s brooding as aloofness, the grief in his eyes. She doesn’t ask him to speak of it, only brushing her fingers over his knuckles while offering him a quiet smile to make him feel more grounded. And he sees her too: not the starborn maiden the realm adores, but the girl who cries in secret and flinches at kindness. He speaks little, but when he does, it’s true, and it’s hers. She teaches him to believe he’s more than a bastard. He teaches her that she doesn’t have to save the world alone.. He’d worship her gentleness, protect her, and let her shine while standing beside her. Her fire and idealism would light him up from the inside, pulling him out of his. shell. She’d see past his insecurities and never treat him like a bastard. He’d melt at her soft affection.

HEADCANONS

Jon never knows what to say when he first meets her. She’s glowing. Literally glowing. He thinks she’s the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen, and he stands there mute like an idiot while she gently tells him he has kind eyes.

They don’t do PDA much. But when they’re alone? She climbs into his lap to read with him. He wraps an arm around her waist when she’s anxious. 

Jon absolutely hates that she puts herself in danger for others. She says, “I must do this.” And he clenches his jaw because he understands, but also—he just wants her safe.

Aella is used to pretending she’s okay. Jon doesn’t believe her lies. She says, “I’m fine,” and he just pulls her into his chest and says, “You don’t have to be.”

Aella is terrified of losing him. One day she sobs into his chest and says, “I can’t lose anyone else.” He just strokes her hair and reminds her, “ I’ll stay.”

Jon writes poetry but won’t let anyone read it. Aella finds his journal once. She never tells him. but she presses a kiss to the page where he calls her “my sun and solace.”

Ghost adores Aella. He lets her braid little ribbons into his fur and lies on her lap like a house cat. Jon is jealous.

He kisses her forehead more than her lips.

She calls him “Lord Snow” when she’s teasing, “Jon” when she’s soft, and “love” when she’s terrified

She brings home every single animal she finds. Wolves, kittens, injured hawks. He pretends to complain but builds them a home.

She always sits in his lap while reading. Always. He blushes every time but doesn’t stop her.

Their chambers are filled with books, maps, candles, and little starlight crystals she keeps in jars. She insists they share a bed even during war camp nights. “If I die, I’m dying next to you.” She sometimes wakes him up by kissing his nose. He always groans but secretly lives for it.

Aella once breaks down in front of him, after a council where everyone dismissed her plans. “I know I’m young. They think I am only a spoiled girl.” Her voice cracks. “But I can’t let them die for nothing.”Jon just takes her hands and says: “You shine, love. Don’t ever let them dim you.” And then he kneels. Not for the ceremony. Not for politics. But because he loves her and sees her for her worth.

Ship Tropes

Sunshine (her) x Midnight Rain (him)

Distant from everyone else (him) x his safe place (her)

unexpected love

Ship Songs

Work Song by Hozier

When my time comes around

Lay me gently in the cold dark earth

No grave can hold my body down

I'll crawl home to her

Sailor Song by Gigi Parez

She took my fingers to her mouth

The kind of thing that makes you proud

That nothing else had ever

Worked out, worked out

Chemtrail Over the Country  Club by Lana Del Ray

It's beautiful how this deep normality settles down over me

I'm not bored or unhappy, I'm still so strange and wild

You're in the wind, I'm in the water

Nobody's son, nobody's daughter

MOONBOARD

[calciumdeficientt]

I'm fighting with the rest of the asks in Ur inbox for dominance GIVE ME LENORA AND PARKER HEADCANONS!!! ESP PROM ONES

Oh no no no i cant reduce it to just hcs. You’re getting the full Nelson baby!!!!!!! As per the prophecy, link for custom longform writings is here dudes!

PROM NIGHT

5,329 words of pure SAP

Bullworth had always seemed very stuck in its ways. From the architecture, gothic, awe-inspiring and decaying; to the uniforms, unchanged since the school was merely a concept, a set of white lines on blue architect’s paper sometime in the early 20th century; and most especially, its ethos- the school rules sprawled over ten pages of the A5 student handbook each member of the student body received at the beginning of their time at Bullworth. These rules were unchanged, untested. A Time Capsule. Written in the prose of their forefathers, forbidding many things that were far from the taboos they were then. One such rule was for any and all school dances, parties and other such social events: ‘one’s partner must be of the opposite sex, students are permitted to attend alone but partners of the same sex are strictly foreboden’. This created a barrier for Lenora Harker, who took great pride in being Bullworth’s resident party girl. In years gone by she would have gladly paired up with Kirby or Dan or any other jock willing to have her on his arm for the five seconds they were under the watchful eye of the prefects on the door. But those were past days, distant and fading. Most of her friends were seniors, and they were settling down into relationships that would soon fray once they reached college. They were settling with real girls, or trying to anyway. Those that were her age just wanted to go solo, pick up, and leave. Lenora was chopped liver.

It’s not like she’d just assumed either, she’d asked everyone she could think of. It was a resounding ‘No’ from all parties. Once her entire mental checklist was ticked off, Lenora cut the rest of her classes for the day and drove out to Old Bullworth Vale. She couldn’t quite place why she liked it so much, maybe because it was quiet. Lenora always thought better when she hung around Old Bullworth Vale, possibly because the locals regarded her with intense malign and scrutiny. It promoted self reflection in a twisted sort of way, much like an arsonist promotes warmth by setting a house on fire, treasured family memories still inside. Presently, Bullworth was in that strange sort of limbo between spring and summer, the weather was still cool, but things were starting to look brighter, livelier, around the town. Everything was flourishing… apart from Lenora, who seemed to have shrivelled into herself, like a snail brave enough to pass through a ring of salt or a houseplant that an adventurous plant-mother bought, and promplty forgot about. It was such a stupid thing to get her heart broken over, a school dance; and yet here she was, sat on the splintering wood of Old Bullworth Vale’s dock, her running shoes and gym socks off and placed to one side, her feet plunged into the cool water of the harbour, letting it lap at her ankles like an excited terrier, like one of the dogs she had waiting for her at home… sulking. Like a child that had been denied a toy. Her heart ached and throbbed in her chest, call it karmic justice for acting like such a playboy, but she sure as hell wasn’t feeling happy about getting dumped by the guys she thought were her friends.

The boards groaned under the weight of another person, their footsteps light and tentative despite what the noises of the protesting wood would have you believe. There was a weight and a warmth beside her, a rich scent of warm wood, amber, and freshly printed money. It was Parker by her side. She shouldn’t have been surprised that he came to find her, she bailed on their Friday afternoon coffee, they’d been doing that every week for close to two years; and she wasn’t exactly incognito, her hair gave her away instantly. A wild mane of blonde ringlets, that seemed to settle around her face like a halo drawn by a monk with a nasty tremor. “Hey” he hummed, his voice held its usual sunny lilt but it also contained a modicum of concern, as did his face, lightly twisted into a mask of confusion “Hey Park” she responded, an unnaturally low tone to her voice giving her away “You okay? You look a little blotchy” “Hm? What, yeah I’m fine… I got that- that hay fever” he nodded, letting out a low hum to show his approval. “Yeah, I hear it’s going around. Tissue?” “Sure.. thank you” Lenora wiped her face off with the tissue, trying to stop the flow of tears before Parker saw. “So what’s really going on” he hummed, quirking a brow, his brown eyes fixed on her hazel ones “I told you man, it’s hay fever, seriously” “Lenora come on… a problem shared is a problem halved, so spill the beans” Lenora shook her head, it was so trivial she couldn’t even tell Parker. God she really was losing her edge. “Parks, c’mon. It’s nothing” “Lenora Harker I will push you in this water if you don’t tell me” Lenora shook her head again, it’s all she could really do. God how she needed a cigarette, or a toke… or a shotgun slug to the forehead. “You’re gonna laugh at me” Parker sighed, Lenora was a good friend to have but when she was difficult, she was bloody difficult. “I’m not… going to laugh at you” “Yes you are! It’s so stupid… look, okay…” she passed her hands over her face, despite all her attempts to wipe off the snot and tears didn’t work, a thin stream glittered beneath her nose. She pawed at it with the back of her hand, trying to look presentable “It’s prom, okay? No one…” she swallowed thickly, trying hard to keep her voice steady “No one asked me to prom”

Parker leaned back on his hands, admittedly, it was actually a little stupid but he didn’t have the heart to tell her that, he was raised to treat ladies with utmost respect. It was the first time he’d ever seen Lenora so fragile, so open. If he pushed her too far she might snap shut again. The wood groaned as his weight shifted “I’ll take you” his voice while still sunny, was also full of determination. If there was one thing being a prep had taught him: You don’t back down, you don’t surrender. You push until the other party relents and accepts the deal. Lenora pulled her feet out of the water and looked at him with surprise, her eyebrows shooting up until they reached her hairline, before dropping into a furrow, like one of those silly pauper rides at the carnival. “What? No. Parker you’ve got that- that thing I can’t make you skip that” “What, the cotillion? It’s the same every year. I don’t need to go again” Lenora tucked her knees up to her chest and rested her chin on her kneecaps. It was a little painful, she had a zit on the underside of her jaw “Won’t they be mad at you?” “Sure, for a while. But they’ll soon forget once they’ve had enough to drink”. The preps were simple creatures, all could be forgotten with enough vintage port, Parker knew that better than anyone. Lenora felt her heart tighten in her chest. It was such a noble gesture, but she couldn’t make him abandon his friends just because hers abandoned her “Park, it’s not that serious, I just… I won’t go, okay? I’ll wait until the afterparty. You don’t have to do this” Parker set his jaw, his eyes narrowing into slits, he felt a little bit like Clint Eastwood in one of those old westerns; but instead of trying to best Lenora in a shootout, he was trying to make her stubborn ass change her mind “You’d do it for me, right?” “I…” she was almost too stunned to speak, all the crying definitely didn’t help her. Her mouth was dry, her eyes were wet and she just really really wanted to go home. “Yeah…. I guess I would” her eyes broke from his for a second to look down at their shoes. Well… his shoes and her lack thereof admiring the leather of his loafers. Likely Italian and likely more expensive than her entire existence. Parker straightened up as things started to go his way “That’s what friends are Lenora, equals. I’m not doing this for me… I’m doing it for you, because we’re friends. Because we’re equals, okay?” “Ok.” “Okay… now put your shoes on”

Lenora looked at her feet, still soaking wet from her little sulky paddle, and then to her socks. Wet feet and dry socks seemed like as bad of a combination as Jeffery Epstein being a keynote speaker at an elementary school graduation. In a purely mindless action she twisted her leg up to rub her foot dry on her track uniform “Eugh” “What?” “I’ll wait for you at the end of the dock, okay?” “What? What?!” she continued to call, not fully grasping Parker’s disgust, her head following his form as it rose from its sitting position beside her, to a standing one, to one in motion, treading the boards of the dock with practised ease. Eventually, her feet were dry enough for her to put her shoes back on and the pair of them walked up the steps off of the beach and onto the street. Lenora wiped her eyes again and looked to Parker “Where are we headed?” “Don’t worry about it, you’ll like it” Lenora scrunched up her face, sometimes she highly doubted Parker’s judgement, especially after having dinner at Harrington House… she’d never forget that poor pig’s expression. What a waste of a good apple. “You said I’d like caviar and it tasted like the floor of a tuna factory” Parker cringed at her severe lack of a refined palate but held his tongue, she kind of had a point.

They walked up and away from the dock, chatting idly about the latest happenings in their respective cliques. Lenora liked to know what sort of petty things Parker’s friends were bickering about, talk of fistfights over cutlery and severed friendships due to shirt colour made her giggle. Parker just liked to know how the other half lived, he managed to pry stories of bar fights, roller derby fights and fights with potential girlfriends out of Lenora with relative ease, and it was safe to say he enjoyed hearing her perspective on things around Bullworth, Parker didn’t like the rose-tinted aquaberry glasses he’d been sailing through life with. He needed a poorer perspective. A real perspective. “Hey, has Justin been weird with you recently?” he queried, looking over at her with concern. Lenora pulled a face “Define weird” “Like… clingy. Needy ""I mean he offered to help me carry my books… oh my god” her face fell, she really sincerely thought another Prep had wanted to be her friend “He was USING ME?!” “Lenora it’s not like that. Justin he just… he likes you guys, he wants to BE with you guys. He just has a funny way of showing he cares” “Man, go figure, I thought he was all up in Ted’s business.” Lenora wasn’t sure if she’d said something she shouldn’t but after seeing those two getting into some heavy petting in broad daylight, she thought it was fair game “He’s a cool dude, even if he ate all the nut roast last time I came over so I had to sit there and eat spinach for dinner” Parker cringed again, remembering just how sad Lenora had looked as she pushed a heap of sautéed spinach around her plate “Yeah, sorry about that. I did tell them your diet was…. restrictive but clearly they didn’t listen to me”

Eventually, they reached the point of no return, the entrance to Aquaberry. The neon sign captivated Lenora for a good long while. She stood, completely awestruck by its swooping lettering and green glow of the neon inside. She wondered how much it cost to make and light and, considering the temperament of some Bullworth residents… replace. Parker clapped her on the shoulder to stun her out of her daze “I have something I need to take care of, you go in and get yourself comfortable” Lenora looked at him like she’d just been asked to teach a dog Portuguese “What, me? Unattended?” she asked, looking behind at the Outlet and then back towards Parker “Yes, you’ll be alright.” she paused, looked at her outfit. Carefully examining the highly worn fabric of her track uniform, the taped soles of her running shoes and the general unkempt nature of her bare skin: grass stains, cuts, bruises. “Just go in, tell them you’re a friend of the Ogilvie's, they'll warm up, I promise. They’re not bad people they’re just….. wary” Parker’s expression softened and he ushered her in.

Lenora looked around, utterly dazed. She was too afraid to breathe in case she damaged something and had to pay for it. God knew she could barely afford an aquaberry sock let alone anything else. The steward on the door narrowed her eyes at Lenora, who widened hers and smiled in an attempt to look less criminal. It didn’t quite work, and the woman reached for her walkie talkie “Wait wait wait nononono I’m a friend of Parker’s…. Parker Ogilvie?” the steward’s eyes narrowed even further “And where exactly is young Mr Ogilvie?” Her tone carried an intense sense of superiority, despite the fact she was an employee and not a patron. “He’s doing something, honestly, I would never dream of stealing. I’m a good girl, really” “I’m going to put you behind the register… if he doesn’t show up in ten minutes. You’re banned”

Meanwhile, Parker had wandered down to a local craft store and was sifting through the many hundreds of poster paints they had on offer. He already had some poster board tucked underneath his arm and was deciding if glitter paint, or paint and glitter glue would look the best for a staged prom-posal. Eventually, he decided to get all three and some loose glitter and diamantes too. He wanted it to be extravagant and gaudy, Parker couldn’t half ass it. Lenora was counting on him to show up and show out, and admittedly he had been looking for an excuse to give her crappy friends what for. At the register, he artfully dodged questions from the cashier about the nature of his project when he received a string of texts from Lenora, he had a special text tone just for her, not that he’d ever tell her ‘PARKR HALP PLZ’ ‘THEY HAZ ME TRAPPED’ ‘PARKER PLZ HALP THEY R GONNA GET MEH’ He laughed at her stupid typing, but then managed to decode her message. His eyes widened and he snapped his phone shut “Keep the change, thank you have a good day!” he called as he was already out of the door. The cashier looked down at the note in his hands, utterly dumbfounded “This is a hundred…. it was seven bucks”

He was quick to approach Aquaberry, taking the time to preen himself in the window before he stormed in. The clerk scuttled over, all smiles. It wasn’t all that convincing; she looked palpably nervous “Mr Ogilvie, what can we do for you today?” “Well, you can start by releasing my friend” “Hm? Oh” she turned back to Lenora with a disgruntled expression, Lenora waved politely to Parker who was struggling to hold his stern expression. The woman allowed Lenora to go free, and she took her time strolling over to Parker. Hands in her pockets and a smug smile on her lips. “And might I just say how incredibly disgusted I am with your decorum. I have half a mind to take our business elsewhere” Parker stiffened, doing his best impression of Gord when he had one of his shopping tantrums. The woman’s face turned red and she seemed to droop a little, thoroughly embarrassed. “What is your name?” he snapped, knowing full well that he could just read her name tag “Uh… Lillian” “Well Lillian, expect a strongly worded letter from my father in the coming days… I suggest you begin making copies of your resume. I hear that burger place is hiring” He gave her the coldest glare he could muster and folded his arms “Now, we are going to have a private dress fitting and you are going to get someone else to relieve you of your duties of you will lose my family’s patronage. For good.”

Parker stormed off and Lenora followed, matching his stride as they walked towards a private dressing room. She leaned into his ear “Hey nice freak out man, was that off the dome?” “Nooooo, I’ve had that planned for months. It just seemed so fun” “So your dad’s not really gonna send a letter?” “Oh no he absolutely is. For fun if nothing else, he’ll humour me” “…Dope”. Parker opened the door to the dressing room and allowed her to step in, ever the gentleman, Lenora did a weird janky curtsy and took a seat on one of the resplendent teal couches. She pulled a rather large string of pearls out of her pocket, admiring the way they shone in the sickly white light of the room. “Where did you get that?” “What? It was just out, I thought I could grab one… for like, compensation” Parker wanted to be angry, but that was just Lenora. He couldn’t change that. “Okay, does it have a price tag?” “Uhhhhm” Lenora surveyed the necklace, looking for a price. Eventually she found one, showing it to Parker “Hey are these commas or decimals” Parker squinted “Commas. ” “30…. oh my god $30,000 take it off me. I should NOT be holding this. Take it off me now” Parker worked quickly, snatching the pearls out of Lenora’s hands and she lay back on the couch, still reeling. “I have to pee” Parker snorted at her sudden change of topic “Okay, do you know where the bathrooms are?” “There’s a big sign that says Laboratory, isn’t not that is it?” he snorted again, trying really hard to not outright laugh at her “Lenora” “Hm?” she asked, raising herself up off the couch “Lavatory. It means bathroom” “Whatever… same thing”

Parker was greeted by another attendant soon enough, and he shared with him Lenora’s dress size and his general understanding of her colour palette. The worker simply nodded and scurried off to make some selections for him. Lenora struggled with the automatic flushes and which fancy soap bottle was actually soap and not lotion. Rich people must have been confused all the time. Maybe they enjoyed it. Upon exiting the bathroom, she was greeted by a sullen looking Lillian who placed a flute of champagne in her hand. Lenora downed it and barrelled back into the dressing room, excited as ever “Hey you were right, I DO like this place. The creepy door lady just handed me champagne” Parker gestured for her to stand on the little pedestal in the centre of the room “Hey, just don’t have so much of that okay, don’t get drunk and buy an ugly dress”

They cycled through a good number of dresses, and it was usually Parker who turned them down. Lenora wasn’t used to seeing herself all dolled up, it felt alien. It felt wrong.The new attendant had tried her in every colour he could think of: Dark blue, navy blue, ultramarine, baby blue, sap green, sage, salmon pink, lemon yellow, burnt umber, baby pink. The list went on and on and always, it seemed, something was fundamentally wrong with the dress. Exasperated, he went into the archives and pulled out something more delicate, something that had been reserved in the 90’s and abandoned. Plum coloured, spaghetti strapped, a black mesh overlay, delicately beaded to create an intricate ivy design. It was his last resort. Lenora pulled it on, trying her best not to damage it. She could see the way he glared at her tattooed skin, and so tried to clothe herself quickly. He handed her a pair of shoes and sent her out to Parker. He was on the phone to Bryce, trying to convince him to play messenger and let Derby know he couldn’t come to the Prep Meeting that evening, he did a double take and quickly snapped his phone shut. Hanging up without a goodbye “Wow” he hummed, watching how the beads glittered in the light as she twisted to look at herself in the dress “It’s weird isn’t it… ugh” she did another twirl, smoothing her hands down her sides “I hate that I don’t hate it” Parker saw the apprehension on her face, and did his best to try and conquer it “It looks like it was made for we you, it’d be wrong of me to say that it wasn’t perfect.” Lenora paused, she stood stock still in the mirror, talking in her figure. She tried to remember the last time she’d worn a dress, a nice dress. Sometimes if it was free entry for girls at the club she’d put on a shitty, tight and altogether too revealing mini dress or something like that, she found the more leg she exposed, the less the bouncers cared that her ID was fake.

The last time she’d worn a dress like this had been when she was about 13. She had gone to a daddy daughter dance, it was the first and only time she’d seen her father in full military dress uniform and the last time she’d seen him smile. Remembering him, his grizzled face curled up into a grin, the low growl of his voice as he complimented her appearance, the hours he’d spent polishing his medals, it choked her up because now… he was half the world away in Iraq. “I look like… like a girl” she hummed, giving herself a final once over.

With the dress fitting all squared away, Parker paid in cash for the dress and Lenora drove them back to school. They sat back to back for the remainder of the evening, drawing up Parker’s prom-posal poster. Decking it out in so much glitter it was basically a flashbang. Holding it up for one final inspection,Lenora slid her sunglasses over her eyes in one fluid motion, this told Parker it was perfectly garish enough. He set it to dry and snuck her out of the building just as he had snuck her in. Tomorrow afternoon, he’d pull out all the stops on the football field and really make a statement to her two timing jock friends, he’d just have to endure a weekend of agony, waiting to pull his big showstopper… he had to make several calls.

Monday morning came and went, Lenora had slept in and missed most of her pre-lunch classes. She got her pitiful, slimy vegetarian lunch as usual and then retreated to the football field, as per usual, texting Parker to let him know their plan was a-go. She hummed a greeting to Kirby as he took a seat beside her on the bleachers “Hey we’re cool right?” “What?” “Like you’re not mad we don’t wanna go to prom with you?” he leaned a little into her, trying to read her face “What? No, I'm fine. It’s fine” “You missed the clique meeting last night” he hummed, stuffing what was supposed to be a meatball in his mouth “That was last night? Jeez I’m really sorry, I thought it was today” “Jeez? Really? Are you a prep or something man, just say fuck like the rest of us” she scrunched up her nose a little bit “I’m trying to cut down on the swearing… it makes us sound uneducated” Kirby snorted and went back to eating his lunch. Lenora was acting crazy weird, but it was likely she was just sober and bummed out. Kirby considered Lenora a good friend, but not good enough to rob him of some action at prom. She understood.

As if on cue to break up the weird tension, Parker appeared with a boombox on his shoulder, heart shaped sunglasses over his eyes, tailed by two large men in suits. Out of the boombox began to rattle the sultry sounds of Aerosmith. A band he'd never heard in his entire life. He placed it onto the grass and whipped out a megaphone from behind his back and began to sing, in key but it was clear he’d only barely learned the lyrics. The speaker was hardly good quality, so his voice was crackly as well as loud. “DONT WANNA CLOOOSE MY EYES, I DONT WANNA FAALLL ASLEEP, CUZ I MISS YOU BABE, AND I DONT WANNA MISS A THIIING”

Lenora put her hands over her face, to her confused meathead friends she just looked bashful, but underneath, she was giggling like a lunatic. He pulled the sign from his back as the instrumental soared, and Lenora was really losing composure. Then as a small crowd gathered, Parker’s large assistants released at least 200 beautiful turtle doves into the air. Lenora scuttled down the steps of the bleachers to partly to wrap Parker in a tight embrace, but also to avoid the hail of bird droppings pelting the football field “Oh Parker,” she sighed, lifting him off the floor to spin him around “You committed social suicide for me… thank you” “Oh don’t thank me, thank my father. He paid for the birds” “You got a little….” Lenora pulled back and giggled, noticing a small white streak in his usually jet black hair “Yes yes I know, I’m trying to ignore it” “Okay buddy, coffee?” “Sure” The pair strolled off, meanwhile the spectating jocks now found themselves fighting for their lives against a sea of very agitated doves “AW SICK! THAT PIGEON IS GONNA GET SOME SERIOUS POUNDCAKE” Lenora looked back over her shoulder to a very angry, very bird poop soaked Kirby “… we should leave” “Yes, yes we should”

Days turned into weeks and then in the blink of a lazy writer’s eye, prom night was upon Bullworth like a blanket over a misbehaving parrot’s cage, or some rare disease that makes students of all kinds raid cosmetics stores and costume jewellery sellers’ stalls like looters in the midst of an apocalypse. Parker invited Lenora into Harrington house freely, knowing full well that his friends were at each others’ throats about the cuts of their tuxedos and the fabric of their pocket squares. Harrington house was as close to chaos as it would ever come, Bif was not manning the door like usual, so she was free to waltz in, touch antiques and take silverware. Parker was yet to dress, he wouldn’t take long, he never did. He decided to get Lenora all set up with his expansive team of hair and makeup minions and get ready in his room. Lenora never wore makeup. Not because she didn’t want to, all the ladies she had crushes on had perfectly made up faces, she thought it looked so beautiful; but everything she needed to do her own makeup properly was too big to steal and too expensive to buy. She liked the feel of the brushes on her face. Sometimes when her mother wasn’t home as a very small child she used to run them over her skin to enjoy the sensation. “What do I ask them for?” “Don’t worry, I’ve already briefed them. Just sit and look pretty, okay?”

Downstairs, chaos reigned. It sounded like alley cats fighting over scraps of a discarded sandwich. Lenora swore she could hear vases breaking. She didn’t even know that jackets had different cuts, in her eyes she thought a suit was just a suit. Plain and simple: you get your little shirt, your jacket with big shoulder pads, your slacks and your little tap dancing shoes on, she also knew sometimes if you were feeling really fancy you’d put a tie on, so that when you got drunk you could tie it around your head and pretend to be Rambo. The hair ladies were ruthless, wetting and yanking at the knots in the mess of Lenora’s curls, slathering on about 50 sweet smelling products, twisting, pulling and pinning so close to her scalp she swore the bobby pins were scraping her skull. They didn’t hand her a mirror, but simply switched places with the loitering makeup artists, much like the football team swapped out their offensive players for their defensive counterparts. The makeup girls were significantly kinder but not altogether gentle. They talked her through what needed to be done, and what to do. Blink when they applied her mascara, suck her cheeks in like a fish when they applied her blush, pucker really hard when applying her lipstick. Eventually, they stepped back and handed her a mirror. Once she got over the absurdity of her hair all twisted up like a pineapple and a tiara of assuredly real precious gems slid into the cleft of it, the majesty of the beaded dress, neatly protected by a cape for a good amount of the makeup process and the half tonne of clown paint on her face she found that she looked rather… pretty.. Like a princess. Like a real girl.

Parker had walked into the room part way through Lenora’s base makeup having gotten bored reorganising some of the photos in files on his computer, and watched her talk so easily to his assistants. Chatting like she’d known them for years. Eventually, he crept up behind her and she, naturally, reacted with violence. After barely avoiding a mirror swing, Parker tilted Lenora’s chin up so she was looking at him. Her lashes fluttered over her cheeks for a second “You look like a penguin” she giggled, admiring his black and white suit, with little pops of purple just like her dress. He made a weird face and she rushed to rectify her blunder “That’s a compliment, I promise. Penguins are great, I love penguins” Parker released a burst of air through his nose, trying to keep a snort from leaving. it instead “Thanks” he hummed, not letting his hand leave her face “Yknow if I was straight I’d have a fat crush on you, those girls are missing out” “And don’t I know it… can I interest you in a corsage” “Indeed you can, thank you” He fiddled with it, getting it nicely on her wrist. The flowers were gorgeous, neatly arranged and all the most gorgeous shade of deep purple. He placed his matching boutonnière in her hand and proudly presented his chest for her to pin.

Lenora reached her hands up to smooth Parker’s collar. Slim, nimble digits smoothed out the small creases and divots in the fabric, and trailed down to his lapel where she pinned his boutonnière “You’re gonna make some girl very happy someday, Ogilvie” She said with a voice dripping in fondness, and a smile on her lips. He looked up at her with a wry smile, placing his smaller hands on top of hers on his lapel “Hey…. I already have” Lenora tried hard not to weep “Hey, don’t cry, I spent good money on that makeup, stop it” Parker chided playfully, using his thumb to gently wipe a tear that had betrayed her. Large and fat and glistening like a pearl in the dim light of the rising moon. “Sorry, sorry… thank you Parker” he smiled reassuringly “Hey, don’t be sorry for being my friend, It’s my honour and…” he checked his watch before offering his arm to Lenora, much taller than usual in her designer heels “Your carriage awaits, milady” “Milord” she replied, dabbing her eyes gently before the pair of them retreated from Harrington house to tear up the dance floor.

[thuganomxcs]

❝ poltergeist report: 𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐘 𝐁𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐇𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐘𝐔𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐄 | 𝙼𝙸𝚂𝚂𝙸𝙾𝙽: Botan can barely contain her excitement, jumping to hug Yusuke upon first sight. "Happy Birthday, Yusuke! Are you excited?" she chimes, always enthused by holidays. She steps away just long enough to pull a gift from her bag, wrapped in blue paper. She pushes it into his hands.

Inside is a scrap book, decorated with Yusuke's name and stickers that she just couldn't resist. And in the scrap book are all the photos taken through their adventures, images of the whole group. But that's not all.

"You mentioned recently that you lost a lot of family photos in the fire that occurred when we first met. (ref: a headcanon post you made a while ago) Now, it was rather tricky to recreate them. After all, humans are forbidden from viewing their own Soul Records. But I managed to work out a loophole with Koenma." Inside are reproductions of the photos lost, as many as she could get. She'd gone through his and his mother's memories and rather than taking photos of the memories, she took photos from them looking at the photographs. A picture of a picture, far enough removed from the memory as to hopefully not trigger any abnormal side effects. "Although, if you start to hallucinate or feel like you're leaving your body, please let me know. But you should be fine, I tested it." She adds, nonchalant before looking at one the pictures.

"Ah, you were so cute as a little one. Who would have guessed~ Look at those chubby cheeks~" she pinches his cheek teasingly, laughing. | client: @infintasmal | 𝙰𝙲𝙲𝙴𝙿𝚃𝙸𝙽𝙶.

To ask if he was excited..not so much. He appreciated the hug, hell had it not been for his strongly planted feet she probably would have push him over with that tackle. There was one unintentional spin before he set her back down. He remembered when it came to parties, festivals or even birthdays Botan was just the merriest one. Yusuke then took ahold of the blue bag she pushed into his grasp. Suffice to say he looked upon it with curiosity at first.

━━   ❝   𝐀𝐰𝐰𝐰..𝐁𝐨𝐭𝐚𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐨.   ❞ It seemed she went all out on this gift too. In a way he could understand her reasoning, she’s missed three of his other birthdays considering he wasn’t exactly around for her to celebrate it with him. So, she must have taken the opportunity to really go out and get him something memorable..and a 𝙢𝙚𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙖𝙗𝙡𝙚 gift it is. His eyes spotted a book, a picture of him on the cover..one four years ago when he was just fourteen. 

Each page were littered with pictures of his childhood..better days really. His mother looked happy as well, there was one picture of him struggling to stand, another of him as a baby where he held his mother’s finger with his smaller hand. Pages after that he saw more photos of him growing up slightly wearing different clothing, one with him and Keiko as children as well and even one where him and his mother wore matching hats.

Page after page there were more of these photos that brought flashes of images in his mind, then stopping at one where again he’s but a baby..a newborn held in his mother’s arms. Botan said that there could be side effects occurring, Yusuke could definitely those side effects right now. Along with the gentle 𝙥𝙞𝙣𝙘𝙝 of his cheek his eyes caught the sight of a drop of water hitting the page. Tears were streaming from his eyes…throughout so much 𝙙𝙖𝙧𝙠𝙣𝙚𝙨𝙨 there were moments of light, moments where things were alright. Botan reminded him of those bright days.

“𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐬 𝐁𝐨𝐭𝐚𝐧...𝐛𝐮𝐭..𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐢𝐧 𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧' 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐤.” A hand reaches up to wipe the falling tears with his sleeve. “You really went against the rules for this huh…thanks a lot.”

[lcnnypooha]

I'd love to give Lenny a fluffal deck as a third deck, but I can't because the cards don't exist in the Yugioh DM verse. Unless yugioh mutuals don't care about card continuity, then I might.

Her main deck is a Magician / fairy deck. She also has a Kuriboh deck, which is her secondary deck. And Lenny collects all of the cat related cards she can get her hands on.

[lenny-pooh-archived]

48. do they have social media? do they like it or hate it? obsess over it?

Lenny does have social media. She has Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter.

Lenny’s Facebook is set to private - meaning people can only view certain aspects of her profile. If she doesn’t have you as a friend, then you can only see her profile picture / header, her intro, and featured photos. Her profile picture is a selfie that she took while at the animal shelter one day, while her header is a picture of her cats. The main reason Lenny got a Facebook account was so she can keep in contact with a lot of her American relatives. Most of her friends on the account are family. Her bio said :: A veterinary student with a love for cats. Lenny does not use Facebook Messenger, as it gives her anxiety due to the fact that anyone can message her with that, so she does not have the app installed into her phone.

Her Instagram is less private and she will let people view the photos she posts. However, she is self conscious about who she lets follow her there. If someone seems sketchy, she will block them and she doesn’t accept private messages from strangers. Her Instagram is mostly filled with photos of her cats as well as some photos from the animal shelter. She often promotes the shelter on her Instagram and uses the site to help find animals homes. Her profile picture is a selfie that she took with her cats. Also her description says the same thing that her Facebook one says :: A veterinary student with a love for cats. However, underneath that there is also this line of lyrics :: Now I’m falling it’s a long way down from here.

Her Twitter is not private either, but she doesn’t post photos there. Usually she just writes out text posts or little updates on her life. Like with Instagram, she is strict on who she let’s follow her. Her profile picture is a selfie that she took with Faith. Her header is a photo of midnight.

Lenny doesn’t hate social media, but sometimes it does give her anxiety. It’s not something that she’s on all the time because of that. She tends to get on Facebook the most and that is just so she can keep her family updated on her life. She’s not one to obsess over social media. She would rather update people in person about how her life is going, but she can’t always do that, since she lives far away from a lot of her family.

@kaibacorp-bros (cause i can’t tag your main) // SEND ME A # TO LEARN AN UNUSUAL HC ABOUT MY MUSE!

[sanjisblackasswife]

hiii! I saw that you already did dad headcanons, but I was wondering how you think those same boys would react to hearing the news about their s/o being pregnant. And how would they break it to the crew?

A/N: OP Boys As Daddies Here! Enjoy!

Next part will have Cora and Law <3

Monster Trio React to Their S/O Being Pregnant (SFW)

Cw: VERY SLIGHT mentions of abortion

Black Fem Reader in Mind

Ft., Luffy, Zoro, Sanji

Sanji

I mean it was bound to happen.

Not saying Sanji has a breeding kink, but he has a breeding kink. He got with you and just didn’t know wtf pull out meant.

Plus he does not believe in condoms.

But none the less Sanji would be a treat to tell

It was after dinner and you and Sanji were talking as he cleaned and you wanted to let him know gently because he was a very dramatic man.

“Ji… how do you feel about kids?”

He answers you with glee, he loves kids, he always wanted to have a little family of his own with you once you all achieve your goals. It actually ends up calming the nerves you began to have.

You kept asking baby questions and eventually he turned around and caught on.

“Y/N…”

“Hm?”

“Y/n….what are you trynna tell me…”

“….”

“…”

“I am pr—-“

The words didn’t even come out of your mouth yet his eyes lit up like a light and he grabbed you tightly crying on your shoulder not even believing you at first until you brought him the pregnancy test.

He still has it btw.

Sanji somehow had a suspicion you were pregnant. He knows your body better than yourself, so even though he cried a little he was happy that his assumptions were correct.

You both didn’t even sleep that night, you just kept talking about your future. You had to hold him to keep him still he just couldnt stop jumping around

As for how you both announced the pregnancy he wanted to tell everybody at breakfast so he made a feast. When Robin asked what the occasion was he grabbed you by the hand and told everyone.

“Y/N and I….are pregnant.” :)

Luffy: Men can’t get pregnant…

“LUFFY!”

None the less it was super sweet and honestly you becoming pregnant changed him in a pleather of ways.

He became more mature, protective, vigilant, calm, and even slowed down on his simping for other women. Because now that you have his baby inside you

You both are his only focus now.

Zoro

He didn’t believe you but Chopper was the one to tell you both actually which was really cute because they both nearly fainted.

Also He actually doesn’t understand how you could have gotten pregnant

“UM???? YOU CUM IN ME EACH TIME?!”

“Yeah, but i thought after you take a shower it all comes out.”

Bless him

Though his reaction is a bit …delayed best believe he does become happy.

Shocked, but happy.

He will respect your decision whether you want to keep the baby or not but deep inside he hopes you keep it

But thank God you do!

You actually caught him doing that and teased him all day.

He becomes a damn menace though.

He steals parenting books from the library and reads them after training. Even though he acts like having a baby isnt a big deal he is internally panicking.

He wants the best for both you and the baby and it shows in the most annoying way though.

He doesnt even tell the crew yet because he believes them knowing would stress you out

However Zoro is doing that all alone himself

“What are you doing?”

“I cant get up?”

“Its not good for the baby!”

“….i have to pee….AND IM LIKE 2 WEEKS PREGNANT AND IT IS???”

The crew found out because Zoro was upset

You and Zo are known for drinking together alot but of course you stopped and plenty of people began to notice everytime you turned down a drink.

You were sitting on Zo’s lap by the fire with everyone and even Luffy was drinking except you.

“Y/N are you sick? Why arent you drinking?”

“She cant.”

“Why?”

“Because i said so, Luffy.”

“Youre not the boss of Y/N she can drink if she wanna—“

“SHE CAN’T IT’S NOT GOOD FOR THE BABY!”

Cue in the dramatics.

Zoro to this day slaps his head thinking about how harshly he made sure YOU and Chopper won’t spill but he ended up doing it himself.

But his worries were diminished realizing the amount of well support you both got from the crew since then.

Zoro puts your safety above his every single time and actually gets mad when you don’t listen.

He takes more care of hisself and he isn’t too reckless when he is fighting. For the first time in his life he knew his life was worth taking care of for his future family.

Luffy

Doesn’t get it, but he is a good sport

When you and Chopper tell him he just can’t understand???

“Who’s baby is it?”

“YOURS OBVIOUSLY!?”

“I thought you said if i pull out you wouldn’t get—“

“PULLING OUT BEFORE You ejaculate not AFTER—“

Not until you’re about 2 maybe 3 months and showing is when he finally registers he is going to be a dad.

Every month up until then he looks at you and wonders why you don’t drink, fight, or any thing that you usually do until FINALLY Law explains it to him like he’s 5.

Now that he is up to speed about you being pregnant he suddenly becomes pregnant?

You got cravings? So do Luffy.

You want cake and tacos at 2am

Bless Sanji heart because Luffy do too

He actually ends up gaining a little bit of weight but it wasn’t even noticeable really, he trains too the rubber man really just bulked up

Luffy was showing his concern of being a father to Robin alot. He didn’t want to worry you in thinking he didn’t want the kid especially if you were willing to rid of the baby if he suggested.

Overrall during pregnancy he intrust the crew to watch over you when he leaves. He has complete trust to make sure you are okay and well and healthy.

A few cute things is he will have some moments where he stretches out his belly to bump yours, talk to the baby, sing to it, and even place his hat on your tummy always reminding him or her that their daddy will be the king of the pirates.

You honestly believe you having this baby has matured him in ways you didn’t think was possible.