#most of them are more awful than this one

[sirxlla]

Hey! Can you make a hc of the batboys with their S/O getting wasted and claiming they have a boyfriend when they are their boyfriend. Thanks

You're Drunk & Telling Them You Have a Boyfriend

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Dick: "Uh, Uh. Get your slimy hands off me, Miiissster...I know karracheee." You slurred your words as he held you up in his arms to get you to the limo, maybe drinking so much at the gala was a bad idea. You made what your drunk self believes is karate hands at him.

"Wow, Karache? Really?" He laughs as he slowly lowers you into the limo onto the long seat.

"You'll seee...you'lll seeee I promise." You slurred as you rolled over face down into the long leather seat.

"Oh no, I'm sure I will, Pumpkin."

"Who you callin' pump-e-kin? Thats- I- Onllyyyy my boyfren allowed to call me that." You said a bit aggressively; it was like a baby bunny trying to take on a lion: attack = a hundred, damage = zero. You quickly fell asleep. The booze got to you, and when you got home, he had to remove you from the seat, your face red where the leather stuck to your face. He unzipped and pulled your dress off and your shoes and let you go to bed before kissing your head.

"G'Night, Pump-E-Kin." He teased you even though you couldn't hear it. "Pump-E-Kin." He whispered to himself with a huge grin before heading to the shower.

Jason: "Ohhhhhh, slow your roll, Muchachos. I got a boyfriend." You said as you waved your finger in Jason's face when his fingers even grazed your hips.

"Oh, yeah, who's this boyfriend? Tell me about him." He so badly wanted to know what drunk you would say about him considering he's never seen you drunk before.

"He kicks names, takes asses." You giggle, not even noticing or thinking for a millisecond that you said that phrase wrong.

"He takes asses? Is that what happened to yours?" Jason was always quick with it and it was even more fun with the idea that you were drunk.

"Hey, that's not nice. I'm gonna tell my boyfriend." You huffed like a cute angry kitten.

"Oh, yes. Please do tell your boyfriend. I'd love to know this boyfriend." He was making the most out of this moment; he'd cherish this forever and tease you just as long.

"Jay-son" You sounded it out as you went to call Jason, slowly scrolling through your phone. "Jay-son" You kept scrolling.

"You got a picture of this Jason?"

"I got millions." You pulled up a picture and showed him.

"Hmmm, this guy is pretty handsome. He looks familiar? I don't know where..." He watched as you zoned out while looking at the picture.

"I just love him so much." You turned into a puddle of tears within a few seconds. "He's everything to me."

"Awww, Babygirl. It's okay." He said as he hugged you and rubbed your back as you sobbed over the man you were right next to.

Bruce: "Y/N, that's more than plenty. No more drinks for the night." He tried to get the drink from you and could if he really needed to.

"You can't tell me what to do, you're not my boyfriend." You down another shot, and before it, you're trying to dance on the bar.

"I- Im, Yes, I am." He looked so confused at your words and how you were claiming not to be his girlfriend.

"My boyfriend's Batman. You know?" You made yourself look like you had pointed little devil ears. "Like Na Na NaNa Na Ba Batman!" You giggled completely out of it before nearly slipping on the bar

Of course, Bruce caught you before you fell too far. You started laughing so hard from being so intoxicated. He carried you out of the bar while paparazzi took pictures of you. If the alcohol in your system didn't have you disoriented, then the flashes from the cameras sure did. They gave you a horrible migraine which slowly pulled you out of your drunken state and back to a sober one.

"Mmmmm...my head feels awful." You grumble as Bruce helps you inside the manor.

"I'm sure it does, you had a lot to drink. We should get you out of those heels and into bed."

"What even is the difference between and manor and a mansion." You asked as he kneeled down to take your heels off.

"Well, A manor is a large estate with a historic significance and is a primary residence. A mansion is a large house that is over 7,000 square feet." He explains as he sets your heels down in his large walk-in closet.

You look at him with a face of complete confusion. Bruce laughs and smiles as he heads back over to you, taking your dress off.

"If you're still interested in the morning I'll explain it all to you." He took his mother's pearls off your neck before laying you down. Bruce put you under the covers and tucked you in like a little kid.

"Good Night, Beautiful." He kisses your forehead and heads down to the Batcave to work on a case he's been trying to break.

Tim: "Don't touch what you can't buy, Bub!" You said as Tim politely tried to guide you away from the party with a hand on your lower back.

"What are you even talking about?" He laughed as he slowly herded you like a cat towards the kitchen on a higher level so you could sober up somewhere quiet.

"Do you think Taco Bell called themselves that because it sounds like Del Taco? Is that like who came first the chicken or the egg? Mmmm, my boyfriend would know..." You grab your phone to call your boyfriend, which makes Tim give you a look of almost humorous astonishment. He laughs as he picks up the phone.

"Yes, Baby? What can I do for you today, Sweetheart." He asked as he stared at you, trying not to laugh.

"I'm with this guy, and I asked him if Taco Bell came first or Del Taco, and he doesn't know...Do you know?"

"Taco Bell, I believe, Honey." You hang up your phone before looking back at Tim.

"My boyfriend said Taco Bell."

"Your boyfriend sounds really smart."

"Oh, he really is and he's so nice to me. He got like so so many squish mellows, and they're so soft." You start getting emotional, and he can see the tears in your eyes, and he realizes he needs to get you into bed quickly because the last thing he needs is to carry you through a lot of drunk party-goers.

Tim very slowly gets you back to your room and gets you laid down on the bed you two share. He grabs a squish mellow that he knows you love most and puts it in your arms.

"You know my boyfriend would really like you; you're so sweet and caring, just like he is. He wants to make sure everyone's safe and happy. He's like a cute lil guy and he's just so amazing."

His heart swells about five sizes, and he thinks it might burst. It's sweet how loyal you are when you're drunk but also how highly you think of him, it means the world to him. Just as he thought he couldn't love you more, Tim finds himself being sucked deeper and deeper into the hole that is his love for you.

Damian: "Ah, Ah, Ah, Ah. No. I have a boyfriend and he'll kick your ass." You said as you waved your finger in his face as you swayed from side to side.

"Yes, I know I am your boyfriend." He asks with a stern and annoyed look.

"Then what did I eat for breakfast and the color of my underwear?" You slurred with a smug voice.

"Cinnamon French Toast, and they're Burgundy; I know cause I made you breakfast, and I bought them."

"They're red." You giggle, which is bothering him even more; he's annoyed mainly because he needs to get you out of here. He's worried about the company around here, so therefore, he's worried about you.

"Burgundy is a color of red, Babe. Come on, we need to go. Come on, Beloved." He tries to help you up on the floor before you turn into dead weight in his arms.

"Well, isn't that just great?" He picks you up and puts you over his shoulder to get you out of the bar. Some creep acts like he might try Damian like a dumbass, he stops them in their tracks with just a single glare and his resting bitch face.

"Ha, Ha. Pussy." You laugh at the guy as Damian gets you out of the bar and twords his car.

"Hey. Hey, don't antagonize people. Lay down." He says as he puts you down in the back of the car. "Be good." He gets in the drivers seat and starts driving to the manor, he calms as he gets you both further and further away from that sketchy bar. He glances back at you every so often as he drives.

Once he parks the car he gets out and picks you up to get you inside. Between the front door and his bedroom theres a large pool of drool on his shirt from you. He smiles and lays you down before taking your heels off. Damian heads of to shower and change before climbing into the bed with you, gently moving hair away from your face that was stuck in your chapstick.

"Get some sleep, Beloved."

Send me prompts if youd like. ♡

Masterlists

[leahsgf]

— SUPERSTAR

leah williamson x teen!reader | masterlist

⤷ you finally get called up to the senior squad - only to feel completely out of your depth when you get there

୨୧

you hadn’t spoken an awful lot since arriving at camp. in fact - apart from the expected, friendly hello’s and the odd word uttered in the heat of a drill, you hadn’t said anything. certainly not because you didn’t want to - everybody had been exactly as you had expected, incredibly welcoming and kind - but more so because you didn’t know how.

this was the lionesses. the team you’d dreamt of playing for ever since you were a little girl, and the only girl on your school team. even back then, when you were combining football boots and princess dresses- this had always been your goal, one that you had pushed yourself to your absolute limits to reach, and you’d finally made it - against all odds.

except - you had spent so long trying to make it that you never considered what what happen if, when you did. and even now that you were here, you weren’t entirely sure that you belonged, or deserved it.

everywhere you looked, no matter where you were, in every training session, every team meeting, even in the physio’s office - there were world class players, who worked and gelled together perfectly, whilst laughing and joking like a family. they belonged here, they had history here.

and whilst you were expecting to feel like an outsider when you weren’t in the team - nothing could’ve prepared you for feeling it whilst you were in the team. a moment that you had worked your entire life for, that should be like a dream come true - instead feeling like you had been catapulted into the deep end with no armbands as everyone watched you drown from the sidelines.

-

as well as you thought you had hidden your inner turmoil, people noticed. in fact, most of the girls did - being naturally all very overprotective of the younger ones (even the ones who struggled to make eye contact with any of them and barely uttered a hello. especially those ones)

leah had been the first by miles to pick up on your quietness. as the captain, she was almost annoyingly observant, and over the span of a few days had realised that it may be a little bit more going on with you than just the expected shyness - something that sitting next to you at breakfast, or passing to you a tad more in training could resolve. she picked up on all of your behaviours, even the ones you hadn’t realised yourself. when you hung back from the group as they walked in from the field, when you bit your lip and hesitated before speaking, your voice cracking softly when you did so, every time you forced a smile, whilst peeling the skin off your fingers and looking like you were on the verge of tears.

she saw it all - every time.

so when you silently disappeared from training, it wasn’t at all shocking that leah was the first to notice.

“anyone seen y/n?” she frowned as she frantically scanned the pitch, it deepening as you were nowhere to be seen.

“she was in the gym inside last time i saw her, maybe she’s still there?” mary replied, mirroring her captain’s expression, as she took a swig of her drink.

the blonde nodded and turned on her heel after promising mary she’d keep her updated on your whereabouts. completely unbeknownst to you - you were a common conversation point within the more senior members of the team, all of them wanting to help you feel like you were welcome and at ease there.

as she made her way towards the gym - worries swirled around her head. something didn’t sit quite right with her about your absence. you were always visibly nervous, you had been since you arrived, but above that you were diligent, never one to miss drills or slip away like this unnoticed. and you had been extra tense all morning - something she had intended to pull you aside to check in about, having not said a word the entire day, only giving out a few tight lipped smiles and nods.

her concerns only deepened as she entered the near silent gym - and realised it was empty. usually, she would be celebrating an empty gym, making the most of it before the chaos that was the rest of the team arrived - but this was a different kind of feeling. one that made her stomach tighten.

she saw an awful lot of herself in you, and that paired with the little bits of information sarina had been allowed to tell her about your background, made her feel the need to be overly protective over you - in an almost older sisterly way.

leah continued to make her way across the room, leaning to check the gaps in between machines and past the stretching mats - just in case.

just as she was about to leave and call for whoever you call when your nineteen year old teammate vanishes into thin air - she heard it. short, uneven, almost gasped breaths, and muffled sniffles, getting louder the further she went.

she found you curled up, practically in a ball against the furthest wall - hidden away, your knees to your chest, and your hands trembling, gripping the cuffs of your sleeves in a somewhat attempt at grounding yourself.

and she could physically feel the way her heart clenched.

“hey, hey” she said softly, practically a whisper, crouching down a comfortable distance away from you, wanting nothing more than to pull you into her arms - but not wanting to startle or upset you even further. “it’s okay, you’re okay.”

your head snapped up at her words, like a deer in headlights - your teary eyes widening, filled with panic. “oh god i-i’m so sorry, i just-”

“you don’t have to apologise, not at all.” she interrupted your ramble - voice gentle. “can i sit?”

you hesitated, before giving a small nod, so small in fact that if her eyes weren’t currently piercing through you, she probably would’ve missed it. she shifted so she was sat cross legged in front of you - a little bit closer but still giving you space.

and for a brief moment, the only sound was your shaky breathing.

“do you wanna tell me what’s going on? i’m here to listen.” she asked, breaking the silence - no pressure behind her words, just simply opening the door for you.

“i- i just….don’t think i fit here, at all” you admitted through choked sobs, sniffling softly - your voice barely audible. “everyone here is incredible - and i’m not good enough, i- i thought i could do it but i can’t. and w-what if i mess up, and everyone realises it too?”

leah exhaled softly - her heart breaking at your words. “oh mate. i get it, trust me. i really do.” she murmured, her expression warm as she made eye contact with you for the first time.

she shifted so she was sat beside you now, looping an arm around your shoulder and easing you into her side gently.

you frowned to yourself, looking up at her through blurry eyes. “but, no. you’re- you’re leah williamson. you’re the captain, one of the biggest players in our game. you’re meant to be here - you are a huge part of what ‘here’ is.”

she chuckled in response, shaking her head lightly as she rubbed your shoulder reassuringly. “you think i’ve never felt like this? trust me, i have had my fair share of ‘i don’t belong here, i shouldn’t be playing football, my world is ending’ moments” she said - tilting her head, and reading your expression like a book.

“but let me ask you something - something i always ask myself when i feel like this - who here, today told you that you weren’t good enough?”

you swallowed harshly, choking back a splutter in response as you register the fact that she’s right.

“um- nobody, i-i guess. not really.”

“right. so, that little, nagging voice in your head? it’s lying to you.” leah shifted again, leaning forward slightly, holding eye contact as to really get the message across. “you’ve not only been called up, which is a huge thing in itself, you’ve been admired by each and every person here - we’ve been watching and waiting for your moment, and are overjoyed that it’s finally here. you’re incredibly talented - and you do belong here. nobody hands out lionesses call ups for nothing. you’ve earned this, kid. give yourself that credit.”

you wipe your eyes, her words beginning to sink in, although still tangled with a cloud of doubt. “i just don’t want to disappoint anyone.”

your words trail off at the end of your sentence, but the captain, your captain - hears them clear as day, and she softens even more. “listen to me, okay - and you can trust that i’m being honest, ask anyone hear and they’ll take the mick about how serious i am with everything. you’re new, yeah. but that doesn’t , and will never mean that you’re alone. we’re a team, and that means we’ve got you. no matter what - you could score five own goals and get a red card tomorrow and we’d still back you. i promise you.”

your lip trembled, more tears slipping down your cheeks as you nod. leah, without hesitation pulls you into her arms, sensing that you could really do with a hug - and not being able to bear seeing you so upset without comforting you any more.

“you’re safe here, promise.” she said firmly, stroking your back gently, and almost rocking the pair of you. “i’ve got you - always.”

she remains like that for what feels like forever, grounding you and whispering words of reassurance until a shaky breath slipped your lips as you nodded, finally starting to believe her words. “thank you. i, um. i needed that.”

“come on then superstar - let’s show the world what you’ve got.” she helps you up and links your arm in hers, giving you a reassuring nod and smile as you both make your way back out to the training field.

“and please don’t actually score five own goals and get a red card - sarina would kill me.”

-

feeling incredibly rusty with writing currently but i have revamped my page + am getting back to it!

and what better way to chuck myself in the deep end other than starting up a new series :’) i hope you love it as much as i do

- el x

[urdreamydoodles]

MARVEL COMICS CHARACTERS x FEM!READER

You Protect The Marvel Comics Characters By Punching Someone Who Speaks Badly About Them

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Thor, Loki, Clint Barton, Natasha Romanoff, Bucky Barnes, Matthew Murdock, Frank Castle, Marc Spector, Johnny Storm, Reed Richards, Felicia Hardy, Stephen Strange, Namor, Johnny Blaze, Eddie Brock / Venom, T'Challa & Elektra Natchios

Peter Parker aka. Spider-Man

- Peter Parker has been insulted more times than he can count. He’s been called a menace, a failure, a joke. He’s used to it, laughs it off even when it cuts deep. But when he hears the sharp crack of your fist connecting with someone’s jaw—when he realizes that you did that for him—his world tilts on its axis.

- “Oh no. Oh no no no.” His first instinct is to grab you, to get you out of there before this turns into something worse. You just punched someone for him. He’s supposed to be the one protecting you, not the other way around. His heart is hammering—part fear, part something softer, warmer.

- He rushes to your side, hands hovering, unsure if he should scold you or kiss you right there in the street. The person you hit is groaning, cradling their face, and Peter is torn between feeling bad for them and wanting to tell them they deserved it. (Because they did. They did.)

- “Okay, that was… something,” he says, eyes darting between you and the stunned crowd. “Not that I don’t appreciate the backup, but—y’know, punching people usually gets me into trouble.” His voice is light, joking, but there’s something else in his gaze—awe, affection, something deeper than words.

- Later, when he’s patching up your knuckles with the gentlest hands, he murmurs, “No one’s ever fought for me like that.” And when he finally meets your gaze, soft and unguarded, you see it—the way he’s looking at you like you’re the most incredible thing in the universe.

Tony Stark aka. Iron Man

- Tony Stark has heard it all. The insults, the backhanded compliments, the jealous jabs from people who will never be him. Normally, he drowns it out with charm and a drink in hand. But then—then—your fist connects with someone’s face, and the world stops.

- For a moment, he just stares. Blinking. Processing. Did you really just punch someone for him? Then, slowly—a slow-spreading, wicked smirk. Because holy hell, that was the hottest thing he’s ever seen.

- “Well, well, well.” He steps forward, slipping an arm around your shoulders like you’re some kind of victorious gladiator. “You sure know how to make a guy feel special.” He’s eating this up, reveling in it, in the way you didn’t hesitate, in the way you stood up for him like it was the easiest thing in the world.

- The guy on the ground groans, and Tony glances down, unimpressed. “Next time, try using words, buddy. Or, y’know, just accept that I’m better than you.” Then he turns back to you, tilting his head. “Not that I’m complaining, but—what was that? You got a thing for defending handsome billionaires, or am I just lucky?”

- Later, when the adrenaline fades, he brushes a knuckle over your bruised hand, voice quieter. “No one ever does that for me.” And it’s not teasing anymore, not deflection—just something real. Something raw. And for once, Tony Stark is at a loss for words.

Steve Rogers aka. Captain America

- Steve Rogers has always fought his own battles. From the alleys of Brooklyn to the battlefields of war, he’s used to standing his ground—used to taking the hits for the people he loves. But this? This is something else entirely.

- One second, he’s turning the other cheek, trying to walk away from the insult. The next, there’s the sharp, unmistakable sound of impact—your fist driving straight into the jaw of the person who dared speak ill of him.

- “Hey—!” His hands are on you immediately, pulling you back before things escalate, before this turns into something worse. But his heart—his heart is a drumbeat against his ribs, because you fought for him. He should tell you it was reckless, that you didn’t have to, but all he can do is stare at you, his throat tight with something he can’t name.

- “That wasn’t necessary,” he says, but there’s no scolding in his voice, only something soft, something incredibly fond. Because no one ever fights for him. Not like that. Not without hesitation.

- Later, when you’re sitting together, nursing your sore hand, he finally murmurs, “Thank you.” And when he looks at you, there’s a warmth in his blue eyes that says more than words ever could—a depth of feeling that leaves you breathless.

Thor aka. God of Thunder

- Thor is used to insults. They roll off his back like rain on a battlefield, drowned out by the thunder in his veins. But when he hears the crack of your fist colliding with flesh— when he realizes you have struck someone in his name— he does not laugh. He is in awe.

- “By the gods!” His voice is both a boom of delight and a whisper of reverence. He steps toward you, eyes shining with something almost worshipful. You are fire, you are fury, you are glorious.

- And then he throws his head back and laughs, loud and full of joy. “A mighty warrior indeed! You honor me, my lady.” He clasps your hand, ignoring the bruises blooming on your knuckles, lifting it as though you have just won a great battle.

- The fool who insulted him scrambles away, but Thor does not spare them a glance. No, his attention is entirely on you. On this magnificent, fearless mortal who would strike in his name. And suddenly, the air around you feels different. Charged. Alive.

- Later, when the revelry has died down, he turns to you, voice softer. “You are… remarkable.” And when he looks at you, it is with the kind of devotion that only gods can give.

Loki aka. God of Mischief

- Loki is no stranger to cruelty. Words have been his weapons, his shields, his burdens. But when someone speaks ill of him— when they dare to drag his name through the dirt—he expects only one thing: to be alone in the aftermath.

- And then you hit them. Hard.

- He blinks. Once. Twice. Shock flickers across his face, unreadable and raw. He watches as you stand, fists clenched, gaze burning with something primal, something protective. And for the first time in centuries, Loki does not know what to say.

- “You—” His voice is different. Lower. There is no mockery, no amusement, only a sharp, jagged edge of something he does not let himself feel. You have fought for him. Him. And the realization shakes him.

- Later, when you’re alone, he traces the bruises on your knuckles with something dangerously close to reverence. “You are a fool,” he whispers, but his fingers linger, his breath unsteady. “A reckless, maddening fool.” And then, softer—so quiet you almost don’t hear it—“And I think I am doomed to love you for it.”

Clint Barton aka. Hawkeye

- Clint Barton is used to being underestimated. People see the bow, the lack of powers, and assume he’s less. They talk about him like he’s a joke, like he doesn’t belong among gods and super-soldiers. He lets it roll off his back—until you don’t.

- The sound of your fist cracking against a jaw cuts through the noise of the bar, and suddenly, the air is electric. You did that for him. Not because he asked, not because you had to—but because someone insulted him, and that was unacceptable to you.

- “Whoa—hey, hey, hold up!” Clint is beside you in an instant, half-laughing, half-terrified. His hands hover near yours, concern flickering in his sharp blue eyes. You’re pissed. It’s kind of the best thing he’s ever seen.

- The guy on the floor is groaning, but Clint isn’t paying attention to them anymore. No, his focus is on you—on your clenched fists, the fire still burning in your gaze. You’re beautiful like this, fierce and unwavering, and he’s absolutely, irreversibly doomed.

- Later, when he’s wrapping your bruised knuckles in an old bandana, he grins, soft and lopsided. “You know, I usually do the whole reckless, getting-into-fights thing. But I gotta say—kinda nice having someone in my corner for once.” And the way he looks at you then? Like you hung the goddamn stars.

Natasha Romanoff aka. Black Widow

- Natasha Romanoff has been called a monster, a traitor, a woman who can never be trusted. She’s lived a life of whispers behind her back, of sideways glances and careful distance. She’s learned to endure it. But she never expected you to lash out in her defense.

- The impact of your punch is sharp, decisive— a clean, perfect strike that she would have been proud of. And yet, it startles her. Not because you hit them, but because you lost control for her.

- “You didn’t have to do that.” Her voice is smooth, but there’s something unreadable in her expression—something unfamiliar. She’s used to people fighting beside her, but no one has ever fought for her. Not like this.

- She grips your wrist before you can throw another punch, thumb grazing the pulse point there. “Look at me,” she murmurs. And when you do, she sees it—the fire in you, the defiance, the unwavering loyalty. And it does something to her, something she can’t quite name.

- Later, in the quiet of a dimly lit room, she traces the bruise on your knuckles with the barest touch. “You’re dangerous,” she murmurs, lips curving slightly. And for the first time in a long time, she thinks—maybe she wants to be protected, too.

Bucky Barnes aka. Winter Soldier

- Bucky Barnes knows what people say about him. A killer. A weapon. A man who should have died decades ago. He doesn’t argue. He knows what he’s done. He doesn’t expect anyone to defend him.

- But then—you do. And not with words. With fists.

- The moment your knuckles connect with skin, he’s there. He’s fast, instinctive, grabbing you by the wrist before you can swing again. His heart is pounding. Not out of fear—but something deeper, something he can’t afford to name.

- “Why did you do that?” His voice is rough, almost accusing. But you don’t waver. You stand your ground, breathing heavy, eyes blazing with defiance. It hits him then—no one has ever done this for him. Not Steve, not anyone.

- Later, he sits beside you in the quiet, his metal fingers ghosting over your bruised knuckles. “You don’t have to fight for me,” he murmurs, voice almost broken. And when you reply—“Then who will?”—he feels something shift in his chest, something old and aching and terrifyingly new.

Matthew Murdock aka. Daredevil

- Matt Murdock hears the insult before it’s even fully formed—the venom in the voice, the disdain dripping from every syllable. He’s heard it before, about his blindness, about his law career, about the devil that lurks beneath the surface. He expects to ignore it.

- What he doesn’t expect is the sharp, sudden sound of your fist connecting with someone’s jaw.

- His head tilts slightly, the ghost of a smile playing at the corner of his lips. He felt you coil before the strike, heard your heartbeat spike. You didn’t hesitate. And God help him, that does something to him.

- “That wasn’t very lawyerly of you.” He steps close, voice low and teasing, but there’s something else there too—something reverent. His fingers brush against yours, light as a whisper, like he’s memorizing the shape of your defiance.

- Later, in the sanctity of his apartment, he takes your injured hand in his own, running careful fingertips over bruised skin. “I don’t need saving,” he murmurs, though the way his breath hitches when you squeeze his hand says otherwise. And when you reply—“Too bad. You’ve got me anyway.”—his world tilts, just a little.

Frank Castle aka. The Punisher

- Frank Castle is a ghost, a monster, a cautionary tale. He’s used to people spitting his name like it’s a curse. He doesn’t care. He’s beyond caring.

- But then you punch someone in the face for speaking ill of him—and everything stops.

- The guy drops like a stone, groaning, and Frank… laughs. It’s not a soft sound. It’s dark, rough, something almost dangerous. He steps forward, crowding into your space, looking down at you like you’re something holy and terrible and his.

- “You got a mean right hook, sweetheart.” His voice is low, amused, but there’s something else there—something molten, something raw. He doesn’t say it, but he’s never had someone do this for him. Never had someone choose him so recklessly, so violently.

- Later, when you’re both alone, he leans against the counter, arms crossed, eyes dark. “You don’t fight my battles.” His voice is a growl, but there’s no real anger behind it. And when you meet his gaze, unyielding, he exhales sharply. Because if anyone in this world deserved someone like you fighting for them—he knows it sure as hell ain’t him. But he wants it anyway.

Marc Spector aka. Moon Knight

- Marc Spector is used to being called insane. A broken mind, a fractured man, a violent, unhinged vigilante. The whispers follow him everywhere, behind his back and to his face. He doesn’t defend himself—because what would be the point?

- But then, you do. And not just with words. With your fists. The impact is sharp, the sound of bone on bone cutting through the murmur of the street like a gunshot. The moment is frozen. And Marc? He stares.

- He should pull you away, should tell you not to waste your breath, should laugh it off like it doesn’t matter. But he can’t. Because no one has ever done this for him. Not for Marc Spector. Not for the man beneath the mask.

- “You really shouldn’t have done that.” His voice is low, but there’s something almost reverent in the way he says it. His gloved fingers graze your bruised knuckles, and the moonlight catches in his dark eyes—like he’s seeing something holy.

- Later, he watches you from across the room, arms crossed, jaw tight. You stood up for him. You fought for him. And now, all he can think about is how much he wants to fight for you.

Johnny Storm aka. Human Torch

- Johnny Storm is used to the attention. The praise, the criticism, the headlines that reduce him to nothing more than a pretty face and a flame. He shrugs it off. Pretends it doesn’t sting.

- But then, he hears your voice—furious, unwavering, like a flame catching oxygen. And before he can turn, you swing. The guy stumbles back, clutching their jaw, and the entire room erupts.

- “Oh. My. God.” Johnny is somehow both horrified and absolutely delighted. He stares at you like you just set the whole world on fire. Because you did. And you did it for him.

- “I didn’t know you had that in you,” he grins, stepping closer. There’s something in his voice—something deep, awed, almost breathless. Because no one has ever burned quite like you.

- Later, when the adrenaline wears off, he’s grinning like an idiot, watching you ice your knuckles. And when you catch him staring, he just shrugs. “What? It’s kinda hot when you punch people for me.”

Reed Richards aka. Mister Fantastic

- Reed Richards has heard every insult in the book. Detached. Cold. Unfeeling. They don’t understand how his mind works, how his thoughts stretch beyond the present moment, beyond normal comprehension. He’s used to it.

- But you? You aren’t. The second someone spits out something vile, dismissive, cruel, your fist is already flying before Reed can even process what’s happening.

- “Oh.” That’s all he says at first, blinking as if recalibrating. He hadn’t expected—this. You. Your anger, your unwavering defense, the fire in your eyes. It’s an equation he hadn’t considered. And now, he can’t stop solving for it.

- “Violence isn’t necessary,” he murmurs, but he’s already taking your hand, stretching his fingers around your bruised knuckles, memorizing the shape of your loyalty.

- Later, he watches you—studying, calculating, analyzing. But for once, the question isn’t why. It’s how he ever lived without you.

Felicia Hardy aka. Black Cat

- Felicia Hardy doesn’t need protecting. She’s spent her life clawing her way out of trouble, slipping through shadows, dodging every snare. She laughs in the face of danger, purrs at the edge of chaos.

- But then—you hit someone. For her. And everything stops.

- She should be amused. Should smirk and tease and call you reckless. But instead—she just stares. Because no one, not once in her life, has ever thrown a punch for her. Not like this.

- “Darling, you really are full of surprises.” She steps close, a slow, predatory movement, her fingers tilting your chin up. There’s something wicked in her smirk—but her eyes? Her eyes are soft.

- Later, she finds herself watching you more than she should. Running a gloved hand over your bruised knuckles, feeling something dangerously close to devotion. And for the first time, Felicia Hardy wonders what it would be like to be caught.

Stephen Strange aka. Doctor Strange

- Stephen Strange is used to arrogance. His own, and the world’s. He’s used to people whispering behind his back, questioning, doubting, scoffing. He doesn’t care. Or at least, that’s what he tells himself.

- But when someone speaks ill of him in front of you? You react before he does. The crack of your fist against their jaw is startlingly satisfying. And suddenly, the entire universe shifts.

- “You—” He stops himself. Adjusts his cloak. Exhales sharply. He should be chastising you, telling you to hold your temper, to rise above it. But instead, he’s looking at you like you just rewrote the laws of reality.

- “You didn’t have to do that.” His voice is careful, but his fingers are gentle when they brush against your bruised knuckles. He’s spent a lifetime mastering control—so why does it slip when you’re around?

- Later, he finds himself summoning bandages with magic, hands lingering longer than necessary. And when you smirk, teasing—“Was that a thank you, Doctor?”—he only hums, a small, knowing smile playing at his lips. Because maybe, just maybe, he doesn’t mind needing you.

Namor aka. The Sub-Mariner

- Namor is used to disrespect. The surface world dares to look down on him, on Atlantis, on the very ocean that sustains their miserable existence. He tolerates it only because he must. But when someone speaks ill of him in your presence, they are met with something he does not expect—your fist.

- The blow lands sharply, flesh against bone, a declaration of war in its own right. Namor watches, silver eyes narrowing, his body rigid with something unnameable. It is not anger. No, anger is familiar. This? This is something else.

- “You strike for me?” His voice is velvet over steel, laced with the kind of dangerous curiosity that comes before a storm. His people have fought wars in his name. But this? This is different. This is you.

- He moves toward you, slow, deliberate, fingers tilting your chin up. There is no hesitation when he speaks next. “You are worthy of a crown.” And the way he says it—it is not a compliment. It is a fact.

- Later, the sea sings your name. And though he will not say it outright, he watches you differently now—like a king who has found the one thing worth more than his throne.

Johnny Blaze aka. Ghost Rider

- Johnny Blaze has been called many things. Freak. Monster. Hellspawn. He doesn’t care—not anymore. He’s spent too long carrying his curse, dragging his soul behind him like a dying star.

- But then you hit someone. For him. Your knuckles split skin, the sound echoing in the dim light of the bar, and for the first time in a long time, Johnny forgets how to breathe.

- “Shit.” The word is barely a breath. You turn to him, fist still clenched, shoulders tight with fury, and Johnny? Johnny just stares. Because no one, not in his entire damn life, has ever thrown a punch in his name.

- “You really shouldn’t have done that,” he mutters, but there’s something dangerous behind his voice—something that flickers like an ember waiting to catch. He should stop this, should tell you he’s not worth it. But instead, his fingers brush over your bruised knuckles like a prayer.

- Later, he watches you from his bike, the engine growling beneath him, his heart doing the same. And when he finally speaks, voice rough, almost shy, it’s only to say: “Next time, lemme do the hitting.”

Eddie Brock & Venom aka. Venom

- Eddie Brock has heard it all before. Loser. Washed-up. Parasite. He grits his teeth and lets it slide, because what else is new? Venom, on the other hand, is far less patient.

- But before either of them can react—you do. Your fist cracks against the jaw of the one who dared to insult him, and suddenly, everything goes still.

- “Did you just—?” Eddie’s eyes go wide. Venom, however, purrs with delight.

- “They are ours,” the symbiote rumbles, voice sliding through Eddie’s skull like liquid night. “They fight for us.” Eddie wants to argue, to tell Venom to shut up, but he can’t, because he’s too busy watching you, heart pounding, something terrifying and warm curling in his chest.

- Later, he doesn’t bring it up—but Venom does. “We like them,” the voice whispers, thick with amusement. Eddie doesn’t respond. He just glances at you, hands tightening into fists, and thinks: Yeah. We do.

T’Challa aka. Black Panther

- T’Challa has faced enemies greater than words. He has fought battles with his hands, his mind, his heart. He does not concern himself with petty insults.

- But you do. The second you hear someone speak his name with disrespect, your body moves before your mind does. The punch lands with precision, trained and true—a warrior’s strike.

- He should chastise you. Should remind you that his reputation needs no defense. But when he looks at you—fire in your eyes, your breath sharp, your hands still clenched—he feels something stir beneath his ribs.

- “Impressive,” he murmurs, stepping closer. He does not touch you, not yet, but the space between you hums with electricity. He sees you differently now—not just as an ally. As something more.

- Later, as he watches you spar in the Wakandan training grounds, his mind drifts back to that moment. You fought for him. And T’Challa? T’Challa is not used to losing battles—but he is certain he is about to lose this one.

Elektra Natchios aka. Elektra

- Elektra is used to being hated. She does not care. She exists between life and death, between shadow and steel. She does not need protection.

- But then, you hit someone. For her. And Elektra? She does not know what to do with that.

- She watches as the body crumples to the floor, watches as you shake out your fist, anger still radiating from every inch of you. Something slow and dark unfurls in her chest.

- “Foolish,” she murmurs, stepping forward. But her voice is soft. Her fingers graze your wrist, her eyes searching yours for something she refuses to name. “But… admirable.”

- Later, she finds herself lingering near you more than usual, watching, waiting. You fought for her. And Elektra Natchios has spent her entire life surviving—but now, she wonders what it would be like to be worth saving.

[holylulusworld]

How to cure a grump (8)

Summary: You’re losing your job on Christmas.

Pairing: CEO/Boss!Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Warnings: grumpy Bucky, mistaken identity, kinda fake dating trope, fluff, mentions of being cruel to animals (no description), idiots in love

How to cure a grump (7)

How to cure a grump masterlist

“The poor little thing,“ you sniffle on your way home. After you found the kitten, and the kiss making you weak in the knees, you weren’t in the mood for figure skating. “How could anyone throw you into a dumpster?”

Bucky is silent. He holds the kitten close to his warm chest and protects it from the cold with his warm coat. “People can be cruel.”

Your mind is racing. Everything happening not half an hour ago has you doubting your opinion about Bucky.

He defended you and punched your ex. And then, he kissed you again.

How could he kiss you again?

Your former boss is a mystery to you. One moment he’s the worst, and the next he’s a sweet man saving a dirty kitten from a dumpster.

“We need to go to a vet,” he says, breaking the silence. “Right?” He cocks his head to look at you. “I never had a pet before.”

“Let’s head home for now. Doc Carter is on vacation this year. I think the kitten needs food, warmth, and a place to sleep for now,” you glance at the kitten. It lifts its head to look up at Bucky, meowing loudly. “I bet the little furball is hungry.”

“Food. Right,” Bucky says as he looks down at his body to check on the kitten. “Poor punk. Who did this to you? Tell me their name, and I’ll get them arrested or worse.”

“I guess we’ll never find them,” you murmur as Bucky stops in his tracks. “That’s how things go most of the time, Bucky.” You carefully pat the cat’s head. “Sweetie got lucky we found them in time. It’s going to snow more and get colder tonight.”

“Sweetie,” Bucky wrinkles his nose. “That’s an awful name for a cat.” His features soften seeing the little kitten in his arms look back at him. “We will find a better one.”

“We will see,” you reply, determined to name the kitten yourself. Bucky has no right to name them. You heard them meow first.

“What a sweet little creature!” Your mother exclaims, watching Bucky carefully place the kitten he carried back home on a warm blanket. He checks on the creature, humming as the kitten nuzzles his hand. “Where did you find it?”

“In a dumpster!” Bucky angrily replies. “Can you believe someone threw this little kitten away?” He sniffs before carefully lifting the kitten. “Hmm…boy or girl?”

Your mother chuckles as he looks her way. “Let me,” she offers, and carefully lifts the kitten’s tail. “She’s a little girl.” Your mother smirks as Bucky moves the blanket and kitten closer to his side. “No wonder she wants to be close to you, Bucky.”

The kitten desperately meows and tries to climb onto Bucky’s hand. “Hey, slow down. You need food, and sleep.”

“I can prepare food for the poor thing. We found more than one stray kitten over the years,” your mother offers. “How about you go to the living room? It’s warm and you can sit on the couch. I’ll be right there with food for the kitten.”

Before you get the chance, Bucky carefully picks the blanket and kitten up, carrying it out of the kitchen and toward the living room. You huff. “Why don’t you give the kitten to me? You’ll go back to New York soon. I will stay here, and I can take care of them.”

Bucky squares his jaw. Again, you had to remind him of his mishap.

“You’ll have a job when you come back after the holidays. The kitten, though, is mine.” He states, not leaving room for arguments. “I save them.”

“You don’t even know how to take care of the kitten,” you argue, and snarl his name, ready to fight for the kitten.

“I know damn well how to tame a bratty creature,” he growls and steps closer, stopping right in front of you. Bucky's hands twitch to push you against the wall and kiss you again, but your mother walks inside the living room.

“Awe, don’t fight,” she coos. “You are going to take good care of the kitten, together.” She winks at you. “Let’s feed the kitten first.”

“Bucky Barnes,” you hiss, as you knock at the door of the guest room. “Give me the kitten.” You enter the room without waiting for an answer.

“I won’t give you the kitten,” Bucky grunts in your direction. He settled on the bed, the blanket with the kitten right next to him. “Her name is Alpine, and I already ordered everything she’ll need online.”

“Alpine?” You cock your head and huff. “What gives you the right to name her?” You growl. “James Buchanan Barnes just walks into town; kisses people he fires and claims their kitten!”

Bucky smirks. “Not so loud,” he replies as he slowly slips out of the bed. “I saved her and brought her here. She likes me, and I named her because Alpine is my kitten now.”

“You—” you huff, frustrated. Fighting with Bucky won’t get you anywhere. “Why do you want the kitten? You’re not the kind of man caring for a pet, or people or anything.”

“I care for a few people,” he argues. “Steve, my best friend since childhood is one of them. I don’t care about many people, but if I do, I do it unconditionally.”

“Sure.” You snap at him. “You care only about your buddy and money. I bet you’ll forget to feed the poor kitten.”

“Alpine,” he growls and pushes you against the wall, holding you there. “Her name is Alpine. I decided to take good care of her, and this means I will take good care of her.”

His lips are back on yours. He silences your protests and anger with his lips, swallowing every bad word as your fingers tangle in his hair. Bucky wraps his arms around you to lift you off your feet and help you wrap your legs around him.

“I hate you so much,” you growl against his lips before kissing him again. You close your eyes for a second, ignoring the voice telling you not to play with fire. You’ll get burned, but you don’t care…

[seasidefallenangel]

she's got those evil eyes

bllk boys and their mean girlfriends ft isagi yoichi, itoshi sae, reo mikage, alexis ness, bachira meguru

notes: reader is a BITCH! (not to the boys), actual horrible shit being said by reader but our boys are too in love to notice or care, suicide mentions, i'm not condoning what reader does the point is that they're feral

༄ isagi:

✣ you’re his precious angel who can do no wrong, so of course he’s defending you tooth and nail. when you’re at his games flipping off the opposite team he thinks you’re too adorable for words. during practice, kaiser is ragging on him as usual and you’re there before isagi can blink, telling kaiser that no wonder his dad hit him with a shitty personality like that. insanely harsh, but you’re so cute to have his back!

⁀➷ “you need to stop getting yourself hurt like this, princess,” isagi murmurs as he gently applies an antiseptic to your knuckles. he wasn’t expecting you to punch rin in the face after some off-handed comment during practice (mostly stemming from rin’s own insecurities, but you’re not tolerating any disrespect towards your man.) isagi had stepped in right as rin was about to retaliate and you had gotten kicked off the field anyway, leading to the impromptu patch-up in the locker room. 

with a final piece of medical tape, he kisses your bruised hand and smiles softly at you, cupping your cheek in his palm. “thank you for being my knight in shining armor, baby,” he says gently, all the love in the world filling his voice. maybe you’re not the most ethical about it, but your desire to protect him more than makes up for it in his eyes.

༄ sae:

✣ always assumes you’re correct in every single situation. he looks to be nonchalant about your dating life, but he is easily your number one shooter. you’re on twitter telling his fans to kill themselves when they talk about how attractive he is or how he should break up with you and he’s in the kitchen smirking at his phone watching you go to war. never once in his life has he ever gave a shit about what people think about him, but the second something about you is viewed in a negative light? all bets are off. he’ll get just as toxic as you are.

⁀➷ the reporters are crowding him the second he’s getting off the plane. he already knows exactly what it’s about yet it still pisses him off. in his opinion, people are at fault for provoking you in the first place. in an irritating attempt to get his attention, one of the interviewers calls out, “sae! what do you have to say about your girlfriend tweeting ‘if i was your mom i would’ve killed myself too’ to one of your fans?!” 

yeah, he saw that one, and he thought it was funny. someone had been trying to rile you up by saying how re ai would be better off without sae on the team. unfortunately for them, they had “rip mom🩵🕊️” in their bio, giving you the perfect ammo to shoot back with. he clears his throat and simply says, “she’s right,” before walking off, leaving the paparazzi stunned.

༄ reo:

✣ you are so awful for the mikage image and reo loves every second of it. having such a stagnant and pre-planned upbringing versus your unhinged nature was just what he needed. barely a week can go by without you trending online for something heinous you said or did. in turn, you have quite a large following for simply how funny your antics and toxicity towards others is. reo must have the most heavily tinted rose colored glasses ever, because he always talks about how sweet and kind you are. the fans are still searching for the person he’s trying to describe, because it sure as hell isn’t you.

⁀➷ you’re lounging in bed, mindlessly scrolling on your phone when reo approaches you. like clockwork, you shift into his arms as he climbs into bed and relaxes next to you. his fingers are running through your hair when he finally asks in the most soft and gentle voice, “my love, why are you being called out on twitter again?” of course, you’re always sure to voice how it isn’t really your fault and that people should stop pissing you off if they don’t want you to come for their necks. 

quite honestly, he’s not really listening ; not because he’s not interested, but because you’re just irresistible when you defend yourself. regardless of whether or not you’re actually at fault (you are), he still sees you as his precious and adorable lover. he simply nods and leaves feather light kisses up and down the side of your neck, mumbling something like, “how dare they?” or “you’re so smart, angel,” every so often. if you ever were to get in any real trouble, the mikage fortune would be there to bail you out - so he sees no real reason to stop your tirades. 

༄ alexis:

✣ “me and my girl don’t argue she tells me to shut up and i do.” ness is honestly thankful for how much of a raging bitch you can be. not only does he never see anything wrong with it, but actively encourages it as well. you’re cussing out the mcdonald’s worker for putting pickles on his burger while he’s behind you with a dopey smile on his face, clinging to you like a lifeline. the only time he had to tug you away is when you were half a second away from clawing kaiser’s eyes out and had his neck bruising beneath your fingers for insinuating ness was more of a dog than a person. the german is still terrified whenever you accompany your boyfriend to practice.

⁀➷ in all the plans alexis had for his future, standing in front of the two people that crushed his childhood fantasies in facts and testing wasn’t one of them. he had left on a bitter note when he joined bastard münchen yet hadn’t found the courage to voice his true feelings on the matter. luckily for him, you had no shortage of guts to lay into his parents without fear.

for the first time in their lives, they’re stunned silent at your vicious words and mockery of their profession, upbringing, parenting, even going so far as to point out his mother’s physical imperfections and saying the only worthwhile thing she did was give birth a child that wasn’t nearly as ugly as she is. they can’t even get a word in before you grab alexis’ hand and drag him out, kicking a dent in his father’s car for good measure. even though your display was nothing short of pure evil, he doesn’t think he’s ever felt closer to god than when you cradle him in your hold, whispering words of love and praise into his ear. being a crybaby was something he was told he should be ashamed of, but the sensation left behind when you wipe his grateful tears is worth it to him.

༄ bachira:

✣ might honestly be the biggest enabler on this entire list along with alexis. he absolutely lives for chaos plus he’s too sickeningly in love with you to ever question a move you might make. he can hear you arguing with ego on the phone about bachira being overworked and while normally nothing phases blue lock’s director, the death threats you sent to his office were incredibly convincing and contained information that should’ve been impossible to obtain. he’d probably hire you if he wasn’t positive you’d pipe bomb the entire structure if anyone even gave a dirty look to your boyfriend. 

⁀➷  “whatcha doiiiinnnn?” bachira asks while plopping on top of the couch - in the exact spot while you were resting, mind you. you let out a light ‘oof!’ as his weight crushes you for a moment before leveling out. the second his head falls to rest on your stomach, you're carding one hand through his hair while the other angrily taps on your phone. he doesn’t really think to ask as he’s on the verge of falling asleep, but the sound he has set for your tweets dings from his phone (because of course he has notifications for you on.)

he lazily unlocks his phone and clicks onto the app only to bust out into laughter. whatever useless no-name had decided to say bachira’s playstyle only hinders his teammates was met with your quote retweet stating to ‘go take a long walk off a short bridge.’ in his overly happy splendor, he blows raspberries onto the soft skin of your tummy while you squeal and try to push him off. stubborn as he is he just refuses to let up until you're curled up in laughter. behind his silliness, he’s eternally grateful to have someone so devoted to him after years of isolation from his peers. he can’t help but think he’d do anything to keep you in his grasp - regardless of the consequences that might follow.

[vampireimiko]

Mark Grayson (with a water bending partner) Headcanons !!

warnings, none :3

note, writing this made me wanna do my monthly atla rewatch 🫡

┊ ➶ ｡˚ ° He constantly asks you to show him cool tricks. “Okay, but what if you made, like, a giant water fist and—oh, oh! Can you surf on it?!” He’s basically your personal hype man ^_^

┊ ➶ ｡˚ ° Mark absolutely loves your powers, being able to control water and blood to your will? He watches in awe every time you demonstrate them.

He loves watching you manipulate water in combat. The way you fight is so smooth and controlled—it reminds him of the way he flies, always flowing, never rigid. "You’re literally the most badass person I know."

┊ ➶ ｡˚ ° He knows how you feel about your blood-bending powers and not wanting to use those unless necessary. He’s 100% supportive about it and can understand where you’re coming from.

 "I get it," he says, holding your hand. “Just because you can do something doesn’t mean you should. And I know you—you’d never use it for the wrong reasons.” You were so grateful to have such a sweet boy in your life. 

┊ ➶ ｡˚ ° That being said, if you ever do use blood-bending to protect yourself or others, Mark has a lot of feelings about it. Half impressed, half a little terrified, and fully in love. “Okay, that was both the coolest and scariest thing I’ve ever seen. Remind me never to piss you off.”

┊ ➶ ｡˚ °  Sometimes, if you’re distracted or deep in thought, the water around you reacts to your emotions. Mark has 100% been caught in a surprise wave because you got surprised by something he did.

“Babe, I love you, but if you don’t warn me before you do that next time, I swear—” He says, dripping wet as you try to hold back a laugh.

┊ ➶ ｡˚ ° You have used your abilities to mess with him before. Whether it’s making his drink float just out of reach or sneaking in a few cold water drops down the back of his shirt, Mark always falls for it. 

 “You did not just—OH, IT’S COLD!” Cue you laughing and running away as he tries (and fails) to grab you.

”I am so getting you back for that!” He’d giggle.

┊ ➶ ｡˚ ° If he ever gets injured, you’re the first one there, using your healing powers to heal minor wounds. He’ll pretend he’s fine, but secretly? He loves the way you fuss over him.

"Be more careful next time, Mark! This is such a careless injury! I cannot believe the nerve of you—!" And the whole time he’s sitting there with a dopey smile on his face as you scold and tend to him.

┊ ➶ ｡˚ °  You actually tend to scold Mark more than you realize, being the eldest sibling brought out that maternal side of you, and while he might grumble about it later, he secretly cherishes every bit of your protective concern.

┊ ➶ ｡˚ ° When you’re feeling down, Mark takes you somewhere peaceful, maybe a quiet lake or the ocean. Just so you can be surrounded by water. He knows it makes you feel more at ease. “Take your time, I’m right here.” 

Sometimes, if you’re feeling up to it, he’ll ask you to do something small with your powers like, creating tiny floating fish out of water—anything to bring a little light back into your eyes. And when you finally smile, even just a little, he feels like he won the day.

┊ ➶ ｡˚ ° IN CONCLUSION, Mark Grayson supremacy 😼

additional note ! im trying to get these requests out while my creative juices are flowing but school is actually pissing me off 🤒

𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧

[demonic0angel]

That Naga Danny gave me ideas:

Python Naga Danny, almost in his 30's and built sturdy and thick like Jason. Looks like he could eat a man whole and not blink.

Runs an orphanage on the outskirts of Gotham, where most people don't bother going because it's easy to "be disappeared" into the woods that the orphanage's backyard connects to.

Red Hood, the local Draugr, has brought kids to him before, and at least one of his little ones is there because they're in witness protection. Anytime anyone comes by, there's always at least one kid either hanging off of his arms, or riding on his tail.

Now imagine his surprise to find a literal harpy (Cass) on his doorstep, with the City Spirit (Bruce/Batman) looming in the background while his daughter handed a very small child to Danny.

Usually, none of the Bats ever come in, always off to save more people.

This time, Danny's smooth whisper of scales on the floor is accompanied by the quiet clicking of talons on his nice wood floor of the entryway. Danny is still holding the child, but they're small enough (and him big enough) that he can hold them in one arm while holding the other one out for the Harpy to perch on. Bare-bones that she is, she doesn't weigh much and his enhanced strength means she seems even lighter to him specifically.

He already knows the older kids are going to tease him for it, but he'd rather that, and being able to carry such a magnificent Harpy specimen this close, than risking holes in his nice floors.

That, and the way the Big Bat is pouting at his daughter in the window while she preens at Danny's attention.

“Your feathers are beautiful,” Danny said. He rubbed the back of the child he was holding as he smiled at the harpy that was standing above him.

She stared at him with wide eyes, her wing feathers fluffing up before she shook out her wings and smiled.

“Thank you,” she said, her face turning pink.

Danny beamed at her, ignoring the way his cheeks felt faintly hotter than usual. “Thank you for bringing this child to me. I know that you must be busy.”

She shook her head. “No. I’m free.”

Danny chuckled, adjusting his shoulders as the harpy on him moved around and perched on his shoulders, her talons digging into his skin.

She was beautiful all over. Her feathers were glossy, and healthy, her talons were strong and sharp, her wings stretched above them both even as she held them tightly to her body. Her eyes were dark, crystal clear like obsidian and mirrors. She was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen.

Danny politely looked away. The child on his arms was staring at him with big eyes with a faint look of bafflement and judgement. Danny continued smiling, now feeling a bit embarrassed that he was so awed by the harpy that was standing on his shoulders.

“Where are we going?” She asked.

“I’m going to introduce this child to the other kids,” he said. After a moment, he asked, “Would you like to come with?”

“Why not?” She asked, tilting her head. Her eyes were entirely focused on him.

Danny looked to the side, where he could faintly see the City Spirit staring at him with eyes of an aggrieved father who was watching his beloved daughter being stolen away by the town fool.

“…. No reason.”

The harpy looked up and glared out the window. The City Spirit disappeared shortly.

The harpy looked back at Danny with a beaming smile. “I’m free. I’ll go with you, okay?”

Danny blinked and then smiled. “Alright. Let’s go.”

Together, he slid along the floor with the harpy still perched on his shoulder.

[starrdream]

Unsatisfied apology

Anakin Skywalker x f!reader summary: Anakin wants to make up... includes: not really smut but it's talked about and implied, whiny Anakin, make up sex, fast finishing, no orgasm

Your ex has fucked just about any girl that would let him in hopes of getting over you. As if your friends reminding you constantly wasn’t enough, anyone passing by his room could hear clearly. News flash, it didn’t help him one bit.

Though, the rumor that he still wasn’t over you did feed your ego.

One night, you were mindlessly revising for some tests you had later that week when a knock disturbed you. 

“Baby, please open the door. I need to talk to you.” The whiny yet familiar voice still made your heart skip a beat. Or two.

He must be drunk. You thought.

“What?” You huff as you open the door. Not only were you met with a completely sober Anakin, you were met with a crying one too.

Tears streaked down his rosy cheeks, eyes puffy and red. Who knows how long he was crying for.

“What’s wrong?” You asked, voice laced with concern.

“Can we talk?” He sniffles.

“Yeah” You blurted out before you could even think twice.

Opening the door further, you let him in. Ankin takes a seat on your bed and waits for you to join him.

The second you sat down he started ranting about everything.

“Baby I missed you so much…”

“I fucked up really bad, I know.”

“You’re all I ever think about.”

“I’ll never be over you.”

“I’ve been awful since the day we broke up.”

“No other girl compares to you..”

“Please..Give me another chance, my love.”

He pleaded and whined, all while still sobbing. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t considering it. Just one look at those blue eyes was enough to tear down any kind of resistance you’ve built over time.

“Please baby.” He begged. “Nobody is as good to me as you are. I’m so sorry” He whined, staring at you through teary eyes.

“I don’t know Ani..” You sighed, shoulders slumping.

“But you’re thinking about it.” He straightened up, a hint of excitement in his voice. “Please” He breaks off into a sob. “Let me make it up to you.”

With that, he pushes you down on the bed gently, climbing on top of you.

“Ani-” You try to protest, placing your hand on his upper arm. Unfortunately your voice comes out as a desperate whimper more than anything else, only urging him on.

“I’m so sorry for how I treated you baby” He mumbles, slipping your shirt off. He continues mumbling incoherent words that are interrupted by sobs and hiccups as he undresses you.

“Please say you forgive me..” He stares right into your eyes as he palms himself through his pants before slipping them down to free his rock hard cock.

God knows how long that was there.

“O-okay, I forgive you” You mumble, trying not to laugh at how childish he looks.

“You’re just saying that.” He pouts, sobbing again.

The next 5, 6 minutes of your life were the most confusing ones ever. 

Anakin is borderline desperate and his movements are jerky and uncoordinated. He's ground against your thigh like a puppy for at least 3 minutes before finally pushing his erection into your warmth.

He is good in bed, but this? If you didn’t know any better you could’ve easily brushed him off as a virgin.

He's whining and whimpering with every shallow thrust, his entire body shaking with the force of his sobs.

Obviously, he did NOT make you finish before he did. He didn’t make you finish at all. The second he spilled inside of you, he collapsed on top of you while breathing heavily.

Upon realizing you were still very much unsatisfied he cried again.

"I'm sorry..I'm so sorry baby. I'm sorry.." He kept mumbling over and over for another 5 minutes through his soft cries.

Shoulders shaking, face going numb as he cuddled you. The tight hold he had on you while crying loosened overtime as he fell asleep.

[captainkirkk]

✩ MONTHLY FIC ROUND-UP ✩

The fics I’ve read and enjoyed for the month of February. Reminder: This list features any and all ratings and themes. Please look at tags and warnings on ao3 before reading.

DC (Batman)

Light A Match, Pull The Pin (You Are Not Who You've Been) by WakingNightmares

Part 2 of I've Given Every Piece Of Me (And I'm Breathing)

“Games,” Dick says softly. “He… he likes to play games. With your… with your head. He won’t…” He shakes his head a bit, some of the distance in his eyes fading. “He won’t come at you head on. That’s not… That’s not what he does. He wants you scared, first. Helpless. Knowing there’s nothing you can do. He… He calls it… softening up the target. So when he… when he actually shows up… they’re so afraid they… they panic.”

“And if he does…” Jason swallows. “If he does, you… there’s no way out. He won’t… If you fail, he doesn’t care. What you do. It doesn’t matter. He won’t stop no matter how much you…” Jason blinks a few times, and Roy’s fairly positive he’s trying to blink back memories. “He’s going to do what he’s going to do. You can’t stop him. He doesn’t care.”

Roy takes a deep breath. Let’s it out slowly, so it’s only an exhale, and not a sigh, because Jason looks haunted, and Dick looks blank.

Set immediately after Screaming In The Dark.

Captive Prince

Blood, Bones, Voice, Ghost by sunsmasher

Damen’s grip on his arm is painful. His face in Laurent’s is ashy and sheened with sweat.

He says, “There was something in my drink.”

(Damen is poisoned, Jokaste is framed, Laurent must find them an heir. He's put it off for so long already.)

Miraculous Ladybug

the art of living lies and a fine mingling of letting go by blueh

“Ms. Bustier,” Marinette says a little desperately. “I have been fighting akumas nonstop for the past twenty four hours, I’m running on seven expresso shots right now and I can barely read the words on the board. Can we please reschedule the test?”

Adrien doesn’t look up from where his head is buried in his arms but he waves a hand and says, “Agreed.”

Or: the world knows their identities, but life goes on.

Sewing Needles and Cat Paws by SailorChibi

Later, they agree that Hawkmoth did it on purpose.

But in the moment, Chat Noir can’t think that far. His head is pounding, possibly from a concussion, and he has just enough time to look into Ladybug’s scared blue eyes before the flash of light overtakes them both. Then, suddenly, he’s looking at Marinette Dupain-Cheng and the journalists around them are screaming. Their names, including Adrien’s real one, are so loud that it’s disorienting.

The Growing Pains Of Child Soldiers by BloodWolf13 (+ podfic)

What do the citizens of Paris do, when they realize that their heroes are literally growing up before their eyes? They freak the fuck out.

Or everybody realizes that the heroes of Paris are young teenagers and are a little (extremely) worried about children fighting a terrorist.

Yesterday was plain awful by zipadeea

"WHERE IS LADYBUG? The headlines scream Sunday morning, and Caline Bustier feels her stomach just drop."

After a terrifying akuma attack, Paris and its heroes are left reeling. All most people want is to know what has happened to their beloved Ladybug and Chat Noir.

Marinette and Adrien just want to be okay.

Alternatively: Plagg has a whole lot of feelings, Marinette lies and says she's fine every other paragraph, and Adrien cries more in two days than he has in two years.

Miraculous Ladybug x DC

Bad news, Paris by BlueTee

Part 1 of Paris vs Gotham

Tim: @notTHATtim Are you parisians all right??? #onlyinParis Nathaniel Kurtzberg: @nathanielkart Replying to @notTHATtim hahaha no.

In which Nathaniel only wanted to pass some information but shenanigans issues and he ends up starting a twitter war.

Severance

Lay Me Back Down by EightMinutesToSunrise

Mark S. escapes Lumon and finds himself alone in an unfamiliar house. Or, not quite alone--his outie's with him.

Click. Click. by EightMinutesToSunrise

A few days after the destruction of Lumon and the innies' escape, Mark S. requests that his outie take their consciousness, and not swap back for anything. Not even (especially not) for their rebellion's firecracker leader, Helly Riggs.

From Lightswitch AU--a separate but related continuation of my fic "Lay Me Back Down."

As the Elevator Dings by Sdove

Breaking company rules is a form of self care. OR a story about the revolutionary act that is choosing to love yourself. OR the aftermath of the party and Mark S.'s role in it-- part character study, part plot, all angst, baby!

A Light In The Storm by Alooxis

Ever since the court order requiring that Lumon employees be provided with co-neural switches - a modified version of the overtime contingency device - Mark's world had become so much larger than he’d ever imagined.

Unfortunately, with a world of new experiences comes a world of new fears.

I.e.: Mark S. experiences his first thunderstorm. It does not go well. Thankfully, Devon is there to help.

[jilyandbambi]

Everything about how Coach Ben's Trial plays out just makes me feel so sad and devastated for all of them. I can't even hate them for what they did or are about to do. They're just kids, man.

Shauna is grieving and angry and postpartum and scared, and she's got nowhere to put any of that except onto Ben, the grown up--who didn't burn the cabin down but who did turn away from her when she needed him most. It's a powerful thing when you're that age and angry/sad/frustrated about everything (bc you're a kid) and to have a safe adult to be pissed at: an adult who cares but isn't perfect (no one is, and you're a kid so you're still learning to accept this), who let you down right at the exact moment you needed them to be the Grown Up with all the answers, and maybe their fuck up was only one of 254884113 things going wrong in your life at that point but you're 17--old enough to know that adults don't have all the answers and young enough that it still feels like they should, and when they don't, that's their fault too.

It's irrational, immature, and dangerous (Thy name is Shauna Shipman), which is what kids are, and what each of these kids are, to varying degrees; and why Shauna gets her way in the end.

It isn't their coach's fault that their plane crashed, that they starved for months, that they resorted to eating their team captain, that they let Javi drown so they could gut him and eat him, that Shauna's baby was stillborn, or that their cabin burned down. But they're kids and everything is awful and in between all the awful the adult in the room dropped the ball when they needed him, and now the trauma, and guilt, and shame, and pain, and rage has to go somewhere, and Coach Ben is a more tangible target than an invisible wilderness god. It doesn't matter that he clearly didn't set the fire and doesn't wish them any harm, the lie is too convenient.

If Coach Ben set the cabin on fire, Mari doesn't have to own up to the fact that she didn't tell the truth when she got back to camp, that she let the others continue thinking their coach was out there still hunting them.

If Coach Ben set the cabin on fire, there's no need for Travis to rock the boat and stand up for the only other person besides himself to be as disgusted and horrified at what the others did to his little brother.

If Coach Ben set the cabin on fire, Van (the only other person besides Shauna and Melissa to vote Guilty every time) doesn't have to worry about the others taking a second look at what her sleepwalking girlfriend could have been doing the night of.

If Coach Ben didn't set the cabin on fire, Tai might have to poke deeper at Van's insistence on his guilt despite all evidence to the contrary, and she might not like the answer. Add to that, if Coach Ben is innocent, then Nat was right to keep what she knew from the rest of them and Tai was wrong to collude with Shauna to her call her out in front of everyone, and maybe that makes Nat a better choice of leader than Tai would've been after all.

If the wilderness says Coach Ben set the cabin on fire, then maybe it's finally starting to speak to Lottie again, maybe she hasn't completely lost her connection to it after all.

And it's so, so fucked up because beneath all of them rallying behind this cruel, vengeful, childish decision to blame Coach Ben anyway is an understandable desire to have a say in all the uncertainty and turmoil that's taken over their lives by this point. That adolescent need for control--not just over your environment but your emotions, especially the negative ones--can make kids living in the best circumstances lash out. Here, with everything the Yellowjackets have been through and have already done, it was always going to have the worst possible outcome. And watching it all play out as an adult is just--ughhhhh. Heartbreaking.

Because that adolescent turmoil that makes you an angry freakshow who lashes out at the right people at the wrong times, or (more often than not) the wrong people at the wrong times--sometimes knowingly? That's normal. This is the time to be that way. You're supposed to have the space to get it all out and grow past it.

But the Yellowjackets don't and won't, and it'll ruin them, especially the ones that make it out alive.

Yeah, Shauna, taking your rage and grief out on Coach Ben feels good to you now; taking any action, even if it's clearly the wrong one, feels powerful and right in the moment, but it won't last. The rest of you lemmings letting her have her way for your own reasons feel justified for now, but that won't last either. By the time the full weight of what you've done hits you, it'll be too late. When the regret comes you won't know how to face it and you never will, and so you'll be stuck. You'll be 17 and haunted at 20 and 30 and 45, still getting in your own way and not realizing it until it's too late. You'll get older but you'll never grow up, and you'll never understand why.

[go-learn-esperanto]

I mean... I'm starting to wonder which member of Chega has yet to be accused of a crime.

They all talk so much about "insecurity" because of the immigrants, mind the fact that Portugal is one of the safest countries in the world, but I'd argue the "insecurity" was the Chega members we met along the way...

Also the Roma situation is so ridiculous. So many of the Chega guys claim Portugal is only for the "portugueses de gema" (loose translation would be original Portuguese) yet I bet they have people in their families that have been in Portugal shorter than most Roma.

The Romani people here are usually Catholic, mostly only speak Portuguese (Caló seems to be a minority now and Portuguese isn't even the only official language in Portugal so this shouldn't even be an issue), they "hate" the Spanish Roma just like most Portuguese "hate" the Spanish... I'm sorry to say to all the idiots out there but these people are very Portuguese and have been Portuguese for generations. Their parents, grandparents and great-grandparents were born in Portugal. They like football and have a club they fiercely follow.

And of course looking at any statistics will disprove most of the accusations thrown at the community. Just look at how much of the state's money is spent on subsidiaries and how much of those are actually going to the Roma... It's insignificant. And the subsidiaries? My mother sometimes spends more money on food at the supermarket than the money they get per month.

Just pure hateful racism. Awful to see.

I'm tired of the fat right lying to people and I'm tired of the people believing in them.

Sometimes I forget because there's a lot of people here from the USA they miss the top tier news that exist elsewhere.

Yeah, the new Florida Man story is great but have you heard of the Portuguese parliament member stealing airport luggage and selling it for 1€ on Vinted?

[sketchytrials]

Hello Outlast Trials nation, potentially weird question I'm throwing into the void here but curious for those of yall with Reagent ocs.

Is there a trial your reagent reacts the most negatively to?

Like one that particularly distresses them to do? More so than the others since they're all meant to desensitize reagents to killing or doing awful acts.

[pinejayy]

╰➤ Vinsmoke Ichiji Dating Headcanons

featuring: ichiji x gn! reader (dating headcanons)

summary: requested by!! @sigewienne-writes <3!! just some gn reader dating vinsmoke ichiji headcanons.

a/n: this is my first time writing for him! hopefully I do good!! uwu ,, and again thank you for being so patient with me.

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ

It’s not easy dating someone like him, because of the way him and his bothers are. Though he is more calm rather the other bothers. And once you came into his life, it turned his world upside down. He never had to consider someone’s feelings.

And considering he’s royal, he’ll most likely throw you expensive gifts at your way. A great example of this is whenever you guys get in a disagreement he’s too prideful to apologize so he thinks throwing an expensive gift at your way is going to fix everything.

But he’s so shocked when you throw him the gift back. “You know normal people talk about their feelings or even say sorry if they want to fix a problem. And not throw gifts at people.” And you bet your ass he’s gonna be shocked. “Hey! That gift was expensive!”

You definitely have to put him in his place, and he’s not gonna like that. But this was all new to him, so please be very patient with him.

I feel like he would talk about his childhood, and tell you stories about how weak Sanji was. And he would expect you to crack a smile or a giggle but earned a hard smack across his head.

And while being in a relationship with him, the servants also treat you with respect. To which you don’t want. But they insist it.

You definitely teach Ichiji some manners, like by saying. Please, thank you and etc. So the day he said “Thank you.” To a server, the server looked at him as if he had two heads. It definitely made you giggle, and it made him blush. “Aw look. You’re as red as your hair.”

He definitely loves showing you off to his bothers. He can’t help it, he wants to show off something that his bothers don’t have. And of course this leads to a lot of fights between them.

“You’re just upset, because no one is that desperate to date you guys!” “Oh please! I could get anyone I wanted!” “Yeah! No need to be show off!”

So whenever these type of things happen you tend to just grab Ichiji and walk him away from his bothers, and he’s definitely smirking at them.

He loves showing you off, I mean like shoving you to people and telling them they have someone who loves them. And bro does not care about PDA. He’ll grab you and kiss you in front of anyone. Hand holding, he doesn’t care.

I can see him using his speed to his advantage, especially when he’s messing with you. “Hey! Give it back!” You whine. And he can’t help but laugh at your pleads as he held the item you desperately wanted. “You gotta catch me if you want it.”

And again! With him having more abilities than a normal person, he’s definitely going to do everything in his power to protect you. Protect you from any danger. And when he does save you. He’s very cocky about it. “Heh. I saved you once again.” But deep down he’s always worried about you, he can’t always be there for you. And that scares him…

He does love you, but he’s not gonna tell to your face. But he loves hearing it from you. “I love you.” You say. And he has a cocky grin. “Oh? And what do you love about me?” And then you would proceed to list of things you love about him, and he can’t help but feel flustered. “I love you too..” He mumbled to himself.

[sfmothdaddy]

Ghoap exchange!

Hello there friends, I had a lot of fun working on this little fluffy drabble... that sort of took on a life of its own. This gift is for @mortem-writes ! They had asked for something with freckle reverence. so please, enjoy (I did not beta this at all, honestly it kept getting longer and longer and work had me pulling doubles and 12hr shifts and... well, I decided to be an over achiever I suppose... *ahem* there is art.... but below the cut. Freckles Paring: Ghoap Rating: M Words:2025

Johnny was lounging back on the bed as Simon was in the shower. They had been together a while now, though what they had was so much softer than their work. Spending time together, cuddles, fumbles in the dark.. In all honesty, it felt a little like school age years all over again. 'Sept of course this time he was a grown man and so was his surprisingly shy partner. Ghost was forward and blunt about many things, but physical intimacy was not something that he had a lot of experience in, as well as relationships in general.

Like the word Boyfriend, it felt too juvenile for what they had and so Johnny just never used it. There was a strange almost unspoken rule that neither of them would use that word. Instead they opted for "mine" or "partner" as a much more... grown up version of the term. Something that Simon seemed to enjoy.

It had taken a while for Simon to open up to Johnny about some of the things he had survived, the things he had gone through... but even before he had ever spoken a word about it Johnny had told him that they would take whatever they wanted to call this at Simon's pace. Some of the things that he had learned made Soap want to commit murder, but Simon had assured him that there was no need for him to feel that way. If he happened to pop round Price's office to confirm that later was his business.

From the bits Simon had gifted him of his past, Johnny had learned that the lad had the bare minimum (if that) experience when it came to romance of any kind. Thus making it Johnny's personal mission to shower the man with as much romance as he had the opportunity to do so. Hence why he was sitting on the bed and waiting for the man himself to exit the bathroom so he could ask him how his little solo mission went. Currently Johnny was focused on the little sketch book in his hands, once more sketching the facade of a skull over a baklava.

So intensely he was focused on his art, that he had barely noticed when Simon had stepped up beside him, towel wrapped around his waist and another drying his hair. "What are you working on?" That manc accent he had become so accustomed to jolted him from his shading.

"Oh jus' some-" The words died in his throat as his eyes zeroed in on just how much skin Simon had exposed, though to be fair his eyes never left the man's chest. Most of their time together in close quarters was in the dark, neither one of them feeling up to turning on lights when they both were accustomed navigating the dark. However, now, there was so much skin on display it was like a feast for his eyes. The scars that dotted Simon's skin were a testament to the horrors he survived, the tattoos that speckled around giving vivid splashes to the pale flesh, but what really got him were the freckles. The man was littered with them, like a veritable milky way of adorable little spots across his skin.

"...Johnny?" There was a bit of something in Simon's tone that had the man quickly looking up and into those dazzling brown eyes Johnny liked so much.

"Ye- fucking bonnie bastard." There was awe in his tone as he carelessly tossed his little sketchbook onto the floor and stood to bring himself closer to the man in front of him. Simon blinked, clearly confused, the towel he had been drying his hair with limply falling to his side. "Ye dinnae tell me ye had spots! Ye see me drawin ye all the time! I'd imagined, I suppose, but... yer fucking breathtaking, ye ken?" His words ghosted over the man's skin and he could see gooseflesh appear on the mans arms. "Steaming Jesus, Simon ye have no idea what ye do to me...." Blue eyes traced across the skin of Simon's slightly crooked nose and down to his chest, all the wile noting freckle after countless freckle.

"Are you freaking out over... my freckles? All I did was spend too much time in the sun-" "Donnae do tha, no. Ye are bonnie, and braw and ye will take the compliment ye bawbag. Me mam used tae say tha freckles were angel kisses." Simon scoffed, but he seemed to relax a little. "Come on, let me look at ye a little more, no every day ye let me see this much skin all at once." "Maybe, you could return the favor?" Simon's eye brow raised as he turned and grabbed a pair of boxers and slid them on under the towel before running the towel once more across his chest and catching the few water drops that he had missed and sitting on the opposite side of the bed than Johnny had been sitting on.

Johnny thought his brain had rebooted there for a moment as he spotted the freckles across the mans back, he could not wait to pull out a fresh sketchbook later... "oh now ye've done it...."

[starrbar]

Thanks for the tag x3 Sorry it took me so long to get to it haha. I'll highlight characters in red if I had a lot to say about multiples in one answer.

Favorite girl: I think I'd say Jinx because I love her character. All her scenes in S1 are compelling and tense, and I found her to be thoroughly tragic by the end. She's the thread that holds everything else together and it's beautiful. Also Ambessa and Sevika are both super hot and I always look forward to seeing them.

Favorite boy: I like boys. O_O My favorites are Silco, Singed, and Viktor. Silco is one of my favorite villain characters, very layered and complex, and I was genuinely intrigued and excited as I learned more of his story in S1. I'm also totally guilty of mega-simping for him in S2 despite how my opinions of the story would later sour. Singed honestly just has a fantastic voice and animation that hits me the same way Rango's animation does, where "ugly" characters are treated with such care that they're a treat to watch anyway. He's so stimulating aaaa. Finally, Viktor's arc in S1 is one of my favorites, handled patiently and expertly, and his arc in S2 has quite a few problems, but I still... really enjoy seeing him, and seeing him with Jayce, so I don't tend to be bothered by how S2 handled Viktor.

Least favorite character: You know what? I was so close to posting this with "S2 Caitlyn" because she's a nasty person who never gets to have a proper arc in any direction, but I think a more fitting answer would be S2 Vi. Caitlyn being an awful person in some scenes was still interesting and believable, if a bit rushed, and I would have been fine with her character going that path had it been executed a bit better. Vi, though, is just... turned into a sad lapdog who doesn't act on her own at any point and is just depressing to watch, even in her "happy" moments. God damn, they destroyed her this season. ><

Favorite ships: Zaundads, Sinco, JayVik, and Jilco. If I elaborated on each, I'd feel like I spent way too much time on this, but they each have dynamics I enjoy for different reasons.

Least favorite ship: S2 Caitvi. They were cute in S1, but S2 made Caitlyn an abusive war criminal and then pretended that didn't need to be properly addressed before Vi just gave herself to her. Blegh.

Favorite side character: Lately, it's Salo because I like em pathetic ahaha~ I've always loved Mylo too, adorable little Junkrat kid. x3c

Favorite songs: Oooooh this is a hard one. x3 Goodbye and What Could Have Been will always hit me so hard and remind me how watching Arcane for the first time felt, and for that, they're extra special. I think Playground still gives me those vibes too. I also adore Guns For Hire, and Dirty Little Animals goes so hard. S2 introduced quite a few songs I love too. Ashes and Blood, Renegade, and Spin the Wheel are favorites. Favorite score songs are: The Bridge, The City of Progress, You're Stronger Than You Think, You Can't Escape the Past, A Story of Opposites, Stubborn to the End, I Can Help Them, The Era of Hextech, Revenge, You're a Jinx, A Bicentennial, The Assailant, Romance, Traitor, She's Back, The Toy Boat, I'm Right Here, Showdown, First Steps, You're Perfect, and I'm far less familiar with S2's score, but I can't stop listening to I Promised You. <3

Favorite episode: S1 episode 3. There are tons of scenes I love throughout the story, but this episode marked one of the greatest experiences I've ever had watching a show.

Least favorite episode: So like... I'm not entirely sure which entire episode is my least favorite, so it might be easier to list "chunks", like all the Mel/Black Rose stuff is a boring waste of time to me, and all the final battle stuff is like... uuuuugh. But I didn't just wanna say s2 episode 9 because I do still like the Jayce and Viktor stuff even if, critically, I don't think most of it makes sense x'D. Those two are legit just a guilty pleasure this season and I'm okay with that.

Favorite duo: Oooooh, mmmm..... I think Jayce and Viktor fit the term "duo" best out of my favorites. My other fave is Jinx and Silco, even though they basically never work together, but their interactions are priceless. <3

Favorite design: Aaaaa so many good ones, ummm... honestly? Powder is one of my favorite characters to watch and her design is adorable and complex (a lot of characters are complex in design, but ye). I really love the mismatched look of a lot of Zaun outfits. Also past Silco is um, I'm locking him in my basement. >u>

Least favorite design: Hm... so... I don't think I've looked at any design and hated it, just felt like a few of them were kinda... not as appealing to me as previous versions. So, I prefer Ambessa's pre-S2A3 designs, and I think it's because she looks too slender in her final look compared to previous ones making her look so big and imposing. I think Jinx's newest design is... overrated and kind of messy to look at. I know she's a messy character, so that would fit, but I dunno, there's something missing or... something. It's also hard not to let my feelings on the story taint my feelings for some of the designs, like Vi and Caitlyn's, which look pretty damn cool actually, but I just always picture that final cuddly scene with them and it makes me feel icky.

Favorite scene: The Guns For Hire sequence ✨

Least favorite scene: The Silco, Vander, and Felicia flashback because it ruins the motivations of Silco and Vander, not just to adopt their kids, but to free Zaun from Piltover's oppressive hold. Felicia is pretty and even has some fun sassiness to her personality, but I want her far away from my boys.

I don't like this ending on a negative, so Imma add one more question myself:

Favorite visual moment: Of course, I can hardly pick less than a dozen, but I'll just list a couple off the top of my head, not counting previously mentioned stuff of course. I love the scene of the mage saving young Jayce and his mother. It's so gorgeous and fluid and the music adds so much too. Gahhhh- I also super love that shot of Silco leaning back while smoking right after he talks to Marcus.

I'm always bad at tagging, so just like, do it if you feel like! 8D

On tiktok there was this arcane trend that was just about stating some basic arcane opinions of yours and I thought it would be fun to do something similar here! You can tag others and make it a tagging game or you can just answer the questions do what you want :)

Favorite girl:

Favorite boy:

Least favorite character:

Favorite ship:

Least favorite ship:

Favorite side character:

Favorite song:

Favorite episode:

Least favorite episode:

Favorite duo:

Favorite design:

Least favorite design:

Favorite scene:

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[mischievouslittlecreature]

Part 1: Hidden Devotions

Summary: Tommy and Lucy get a chance to speak to each other, and Lucy does her best to warn the Targaryens of the man poised to marry the heir to the throne.

Word Count: 5,924

Warnings: References to torture, incest, and violence.

Notes: Heavenerys and Amos belong to @call-sign-shark, and Rose Tyrell, Jared II Stark, and the other Stark boys belong to @justrainandcoffee.

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Chapter 2: What Dragons Dream Of

The early morning air was crisp against Tommy’s cheeks, a slight breeze ruffling at his hair. 

He tugged his cloak tighter around his shoulders, grateful that the Boltons had thought to provide them with some additional clothing more suited to the northern elements than their own. If he was indeed to start regularly making the trip up here to check on Heavenerys, he was going to need to get a whole new wardrobe for such occasions. 

Beneath his hand, he felt Syndor’s side flex with a snort. Seeming to sense that he was chilled, the dragon’s tail curled against the grass, bumping gently against the back of Tommy’s legs to try to draw him closer to his warm side. 

Tommy chuckled, leaning his cheek against his dragon’s inky scales, closing his eyes at the pleasant burn of them, the cold quickly banished from his bones. 

“Thank you, Syndor,” he said in High Valyrian. A purr rumbled from the dragon’s chest in response, his nose nuzzling at Tommy affectionately.

Tommy smiled, giving him a few strokes along his great side, just enjoying the warmth and comfort of being alone with his dragon. No distrusting eyes staring at him. No whispers behind his back when the utterers thought he couldn’t hear. No judgement burning into his skin.

He sighed, opening his eyes. Giving Syndor one final pat, he pulled away.

“I’ll come see you later,” he promised. Syndor chirped at him in understanding, curling up on the grass. He looked like an enormous, scaled black cat whenever he did that. Happy and content to doze in a patch of sunlight, a slight twitch wracking through his limbs every once in a while as he dreamed of whatever it was that dragons dreamed of.  

Tommy passed a few of the other dragons, most still slumbering soundly, on his way back to the Dreadfort’s gates. He felt awful leaving them out in the cold like this. Even if they did not seem to mind it. 

He stepped through the gates and into the courtyard, glancing around. It was early enough that most of the castle seemed to still be asleep. Not that he minded; it was good to have some time to himself before another day that was likely to be full of meetings and mingling.

Making his way back inside, he slipped off his leather gloves, rubbing his hands together against the cold. He stopped a bustling serving girl to point him in the direction of the library, following her instructions up a quick climb of the stairs and through a few winding hallways until he was pushing open huge oak double doors. 

He was greeted with dozens upon dozens of shelves, each stuffed near to bursting with books. Letting the doors swing shut behind him, Tommy picked one aisle at random to walk down, eyes sliding over the vast assortment of spines detailing practically every subject imaginable, perusing lazily for something that might catch his attention. He was impressed. Though it had nothing on the library in the Red Keep, it was still a surmountable collection. 

There was a sudden loud, heavy thud from a few rows over, followed by several more, and a soft, irritated mumbling. 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake…”

Tommy raised an eyebrow, following the noise to find the tiny Lady Lucilla between two stacks, attempting to balance an armful of books almost as big as her. A few had fallen from her grasp to land on the floor around her. She huffed, attempting to reach down to pick up the books even with the rest still in her arms. 

With quick steps, Tommy walked down the aisle to her, bending to help gather up the fallen books. Her shoulders stiffened at the sound of his footsteps, eyes remaining downcast towards the floor. 

“I swear, if you get on my ass about this too, I will–” she began to say, but immediately stopped, eyes growing wide as saucers and jaw falling open when her gaze finally lifted to meet his. Tommy felt his eyebrow twitch upwards again, fighting back an amused grin.

“No, no, go on. It’s not everyday that I’m so casually threatened.”   

“Prince Thomaryon…I am so sorry!” she stammered, cheeks turning the same shade as her hair. “I thought you were someone else.”

“It’s alright.” He reached for another of the fallen books.

“You don’t have to do that. I can manage,” Lucilla tried to insist, still looking adorably flustered. Tommy shook his head. 

“Nonsense. I don’t mind.” When he raised his eyes to her, it was to find Lucilla watching him, her blush seeming to grow when their gazes met. 

Tommy swallowed hard. She was even more beautiful up close than when she had first caught his eye in the courtyard yesterday. A tiny thing, somehow even shorter and more petite than Heavenerys. Slender, but curved in all the right places, with long red hair that fell in tousled waves down her back. Her fair skin was smattered with freckles even more numerous than his own, her eyes a warm, shining sunset brown.

But beneath the soft, wide-eyed expression, he could see a hint of the stern hardness that had been emblazoned on her face yesterday. A look which had only deepened when she and Amos had briefly made eye contact when he introduced her to Heavenerys. It seemed to be a common expression here in the north; a result of the harsh elements and distrust that seemed to permeate throughout the region. 

The northmen were a hard, wild people. They would do well to remember that. 

The Red Demon of the Dreadfort. That was what they called her. It was unclear how exactly the nickname had come about. During a break when they were flying up from King’s Landing, Aeda had started spinning stories about how Lucilla Bolton got the title because of her role as one of the Dreadfort’s torturers. That it was said screams would echo from the bowels of the deepest dungeons of the castle whenever the red haired lady would descend into their depths to convene with the poor souls who had been dragged before her. Some said that the screaming was so loud, villagers residing along the Weeping Water could hear it. And at the end of each session, Lucilla Bolton would emerge from the bowels of the castle, covered head to toe in blood as red as her hair.  

But one look in her eyes, and Tommy knew that could not be all there was to the story. Even if there was any truth in it, some significant detail had been left out; the picture left incomplete. Those were not the eyes of a soulless torturer. There was too much warmth in them.

“So,” he said, quickly looking away, realizing that he had been staring. “Are you checking all of these out…?”

“Returning, actually,” she straightened up, sliding a book into the shelf. Tommy finished gathering the remaining ones that had fallen to the floor, following her as she began to wander through the stacks, returning each book to its proper place. “Thank you. And I’m sorry again for…”

“Don’t worry about it.”

She cast him a shy smile, and he felt a slight swoop in his stomach that he tried to ignore. Fuck, she was pretty. 

“How are you finding the north, my prince?”

“Cold.”

She hummed in sympathy. “I imagine it’s quite grim compared to the capitol.”

“Have you ever been to King’s Landing?”

“No.”

He frowned. “Not even when you came of age?” Many children of the noble houses came to the capitol to be presented at court, usually with the intention of finding a wife or husband if they were not already betrothed. 

Lucilla shook her head. “My father wouldn’t permit it.”

Tommy cocked his head. That made sense, he supposed. Had she been presented at court, he was sure he would have remembered her. “He wouldn’t?”

“No.” 

“Why not?”

“I’m not sure. I don’t think that he thought anyone would be interested in the daughter of a second son.” She adjusted the books in her arms, an uncomfortable look crossing her face. “Anyway…the furthest south I’ve ever been is to Highgarden. But I was so little, I barely remember any of it.”

“What were you doing in Highgarden?” 

Lucilla stretched up onto her toes, trying to shove a book into a shelf above her head. Tommy took it from her, sliding it back into place. She cast him a thankful look.

“Something about Amos going to ward there. But the arrangement fell through while we were there.”

“Lord Tyrell chose the Baratheon boy instead.” Tommy was only vaguely aware of the incident. Something to do with Amos’s temper getting the better of him and causing Lord Tyrell to send him away. 

“That’s right.” A wistful look entered Lucilla’s eyes. “I’d like to go back there someday. I still write to Lady Rose, sometimes.”

“Lady Rose is a kind woman,” Tommy had not yet met her himself, but word of Highgarden’s most treasured flower had spread far and wide across the realm.

“Yes,” Lucilla agreed. “But usually Riverrun is as far south as we travel.”

“Your mother is a Tully.”

“That’s right.” She slid the last of her books into its proper place on the shelves.

“Well…” Tommy hesitated, momentarily worried that what he was about to suggest might be a little too forward. “Heavenerys and Lord Bolton will be expected to travel to King’s Landing from time to time to make appearances at court. Perhaps you and your family can join them, sometime.”

Something flickered in Lucilla’s eyes, a soft smile finding its way onto her lips. “I would like that.”

Tommy was suddenly deeply aware of just how close they were standing, their chests practically brushing. It wasn’t often that he found himself so much taller than someone. The top of her head barely came up to his chin. If he didn’t know any better, he would have thought that he noticed her eyes lingering on his chest. 

“I’m sorry,” Lucilla cleared her throat awkwardly. “I’m being so rude. Were you looking for something in particular here? The Maester isn’t usually in this early in the morning…” 

Tommy gave a shake of his head. “I was just looking around to pass the time.”

“Why were you up so early?” she asked, head cocking curiously. “If you don’t mind me asking,” she added quickly. 

“I like the quiet of the mornings. It’s a good time to think. And I wanted to check on the dragons before breakfast.”

Her eyes lit up at the mention of the dragons. “How are they doing?”

“They’re fine.”

Her hands, empty of books now, started fiddling with the few plain gold rings she was wearing. “I’m sorry that we don’t have anywhere better than the field to put them.”

“It’s alright. Truth be told, I think it’s good for them to be out in the open for a while, rather than cooped up in the dragon pit back home.”

She looked like she wanted to ask him something, but decided against it. “Well,” she glanced towards the door, “if you’re hungry, breakfast ought to be finally ready about now. And I expect Amos and my father will both be awake. Even if no one else is.”

“Alright.” He followed her out of the library and down the hall, letting her guide the way to the great hall. “Thank you for keeping me company this morning,” he told her as they descended down the stairs. Lucilla gave him another one of those shy, sweet smiles. 

“Thank you for saving me from my mountain of books.”

He had to push down another smile, momentarily puzzled at how many times he’d had to do so since encountering her in the library. It felt so…easy to be around her. He could not even have begun to explain why. She was a Bolton. Practically a complete stranger. He should have felt wary at best when it came to being alone with her.

“Amos and the princess seem quite pleased with each other,” Lucilla remarked as they walked.

“You sound surprised.”

“Amos hasn’t been interested in marriage at all. He refused every match brought before him until he was offered the future queen.” Her fingers were twisting at her rings again. “I’ve never seen him so…taken with someone before.”

Tommy cocked his head, still trying to puzzle out the details regarding the clear animosity between Lord Bolton and Lucilla. “You and him don’t get along.” It wasn’t a question, but she answered it anyway.

“No. Not since I was a child.”

“Why?”

Her pace slowed, shoulders tensing, jaw setting as though it were locking tight around the answer to his question.  

“Lady Lucilla?” Tommy pressed. 

“It’s not a pleasant topic of conversation.” An odd, faraway look crossed her beautiful features, as though her mind was somewhere else. Locked in some haunting, dark memory that had the color draining a little from her cheeks, the warm light flickering out in her eyes.

They came to a stop at a door leading into the great hall, her small hand enclosing around the knob. Before she could turn it, Tommy reached out, wrapping his fingers around her upper arm, turning her gently to face him. He tried to ignore the way something tightened in his chest at the feeling of the warmth from her body even through the layers of her dress. 

She looked up at him, eyes wide. She had lovely, full pink lips. Despite being chapped a little from the dry air of the north, they looked soft. 

For fuck’s sake. Focus. He forced himself to swallow around his desires. Lucilla was staring up at him, confliction apparent in her face.

“What…?” he began to ask, but the sound of approaching footsteps had Lucilla quickly drawing away from him, a half frightened look crossing her face before it was wiped from her features, replaced instead by that tensing of her jaw, defiance already starting to simmer in her eyes. Like she was preparing for an argument. 

“Prince Thomaryon. Lucilla,” Lord Amos Bolton said, dark eyes gleaming when he caught sight of them. “How surprising to see you together.”

“Good morning, Amos,” Lucilla greeted her cousin.

“What are you doing?” Amos asked, eyes narrowing at her scrutinizingly, shifting between her and Tommy suspiciously. 

Lucilla’s hands had clasped together in front of herself, gripping each other so tight her knuckles were turning white. “I…”

“I got lost,” Tommy interrupted quickly, flashing Amos a bashful smile, “trying to find my way to the great hall from the library. Lady Lucilla was kind enough to rescue me.”

Amos raised an eyebrow. “Is that so?” He was still eying Lucilla questioningly. She shifted from foot to foot. 

“Just trying to be a good host, Amos,” she murmured.  

Amos frowned. “How unlike you, Lucilla.”

She managed a weak smile. “Even I know to be on my best behavior when dragons are about, cousin.” She opened the door to the great hall, shuffling aside. “After you, my prince. My lord.”

Tommy gestured for Amos to go first. Once the lord had swept into the hall, he cast another curious glance Lucilla’s way.

“Thank you,” she whispered, almost inaudibly, eyes still watching Amos warily where he was moving to sit beside Victor Bolton, already seated and eating his porridge.

“Of course,” Tommy murmured in reply, deciding that now was not a good time to try to pry further into her problems with her cousin. He shot her a half teasing look. “Are you not normally a good host?”

With Amos a good distance away, some of the tension seemed to drain out of her face. Enough so that she was able to manage a small, mischievous smirk. 

“Oh, don’t you know, my prince? No matter what I do, I will ever get their approval. I’m the outcast of the family.”

He felt his lips pull upwards a fraction. Ah. Perhaps that was why he felt such kinship with her. 

“So am I.”

∗ ∗ ∗

Dinner was a quieter affair than it had been last night. Only members of house Bolton and Targaryen occupied the great hall, so that the families could get to know each other better without any distractions from the other houses. A few stood to mingle or swap seats as the meal went on, and soon the buzz of multiple conversations was flowing naturally throughout the hall.

Lucy sat at her spot next to Teddy at the high table, sipping her wine and humming along to whatever it was her brother was talking to her about. She wasn’t really listening. Her mind had been distracted all day, endlessly replaying the encounter in the library with Prince Thomaryon. The blue of his eyes staring piercingly back at her. The deep rumble of his voice. The way his lips kept twitching up at the edges as if he were suppressing a smile. The warmth of his hand through the thick layers of her dress when he touched her arm. 

“Lucy?”

“Hm?”

Teddy poked her. “You’re not listening to a word I’m saying.”

She opened her mouth to argue, but then closed it. There really was no point in trying to pretend. 

“Sorry.”

Her little brother–even though he was only a year younger than her, she would always think of him that way–cocked his head. His shaggy blonde hair fell into his face, that mischievous glow that was almost always present in his eyes starting to burn more earnestly. “What is it that’s gotten you so distracted all day?”    

Lucy wriggled in her seat, gaze darting across the great hall to where Thomaryon was sitting before she could stop herself. As if sensing her looking at him, the prince’s eyes shifted to fix on hers. She quickly looked away, feeling her cheeks warm. Beside her, having followed her gaze, Teddy grinned. 

“Ah.”

“Shut up.”

“I didn’t say a thing.” He raised his wine glass to his lips, grin broadening. “Can’t really blame you though.” His voice dropped conspiratorially. “Those blue eyes of his really are something.”

“I ran into him in the library this morning. He’s nice,” that last part came out as a whisper.

Her brother rested his chin on his palm, eyes still dancing with amusement, but something more analytical had entered them as well, appraising her face in a way that made her shift nervously.

“What?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smitten before.”

“I am not–”

“That blush you’re sporting says otherwise.”

She swallowed hard, frowning. “I barely even know him.”

“So?” Teddy smirked at her. “He keeps looking over here at you.”

She chanced a quick glance back across the hall to find that he was right. Thomaryon was indeed staring at her, but this time when their gazes met, neither of them immediately looked away. Thomaryon raised an eyebrow, one side of his lips tugging up. 

Hi, his eyes seemed to say.     

Lucy offered him a small smile in return. Hello.

“You should go over there and talk to him,” Teddy said in her ear. She pulled her eyes away from Thomaryon to fix back upon her brother.

“No.” Her hands fidgeted with each other, twisting at her rings. “I’m sure that he’s had more than enough conversation with me for one day.”

“I highly doubt that.”

“Oh you do, do you? And why’s that?”

Teddy grinned. “‘Cos he’s coming over right now.”

She felt her eyes widen, panic momentarily seizing her. “What–!?”

Teddy smirked, picking up his goblet. “If you do manage to snare him, I don’t suppose you’d consider sharing, would you?”

“Theodan!”

“I’m only kidding! Mostly. Good luck!” He shot her a wink, then stood from his seat and sauntered away to go speak with Prince Jon in one of the far corners of the hall.

Lucy drew in a shaky breath to try to steady herself, looking up when the prince’s shadow fell across her. The expression on his face was almost shy. 

“Lady Lucilla. Good evening.”

“Good evening, Prince Thomaryon.”

He nodded to the vacant seat next to her. “May I…?”

She nodded, hoping that she didn’t come across as too eager. “Yes, yes, of course.”

He sank into the chair, setting his goblet down onto the table.

“How was your first day at the Dreadfort?” she asked. “I heard that you were meeting with my father and cousin earlier.” The three of them had disappeared after breakfast to speak in Amos’s study. Something about discussing the structure of the court and small council once Heavenerys and Amos had been crowned. 

“It was alright,” he shrugged. “Productive.”

“Will you be remaining as Hand of the King?” Her eyes fixated on the pin clipped to the left side of his chest, glinting slightly in the dim candlelight. He had been appointed to the position during Pollyanna’s regency, and by all accounts had taken to the role as though he were born for it. 

“Yes. We discussed it, and Amos wants to keep me on.”

“That must be a relief.”

“Yes, it is,” he admitted. “We weren’t sure if Amos would want to name your father to the position instead.”

“Ah,” she couldn’t help but chuckle a little at the suggestion, even though she understood why they might have thought that. “Lucky for you, I don’t think that Amos is as fond of my father as he might initially appear.”

Thomaryon cocked his head. “Really? I thought that Lord Victor was his primary advisor and mentor after Lord Bolton’s father died.”

“He was. But I think Amos prefers to keep him at arm's length. He…” she frowned, struggling to put the relationship into words, “he knows my father is loyal. And useful. But I don’t think he carries particular affection for him.” It was perhaps one of a few things that she and her cousin had in common.

“But your father cares for him.”

“Yes,” she looked away. “He is the first born son that he never had.” It was impossible to keep the bitterness entirely out of her voice. 

Thomaryon reached out, hesitated, and then brushed his thick fingers across her knuckles to draw her attention back to him. Lucy swallowed harshly at just how much bigger his hand was compared to hers. It wasn’t until their eyes met that he seemed to even realize what he was doing, quickly snatching his hand back and leaving her to mourn the loss of his burning touch. 

“About earlier…” Thomaryon cleared his throat awkwardly. “My questions about you and Amos…I apologize if I overstepped…”

Lucy shook her head quickly. “It’s alright.”

The prince relaxed, face softening a little. “If there ever is anything that you feel you ought to tell myself or my family, you are always welcome to. Anything you say will be taken into confidence, and no punishment will come to you. You have my word.”

You don’t know my family very well, she thought sadly, but smiled at him for the gesture. All day, she had agonized over whether or not she should say something to one of them. If she did warn them regarding what they were sending Heavenerys into, and word got back to Amos that it was her who spoke up, the consequences would be dire.

But…could she really live with herself if she said nothing, and left the princess to walk into the jaws of a rabid dog potentially unawares?

She met Thomaryon’s gaze. There was something warm there, despite the icy blue of his eyes. She could not have entirely said why, but she felt safe with him. She did not doubt that he would make good on his promise of protection if that was what it came to. 

“You’ve heard the rumors about him,” she started to say, slowly. “About this place.”

“Yes.”

“And yet you promised her to him anyway.” That was the one thing she could not understand. Amos’s reputation was no secret. He wore it proudly. They had to know what he was. Why would they have offered him the future queen’s hand, and by extension one of the most powerful seats in the entire kingdom, if they were aware of all that? 

“Heavenerys is certain that she can handle him.”

“Can she?”

“Yes, I believe she can.” 

“Even if everything the rumors say about him is true?”

Thomaryon cocked his head. “My cousin is no shrinking violet. She’s more than capable of protecting herself. And she has Kairaxès at her side.”

Lucy nodded. The enormous, frost-scaled dragon was a formidable, legendary creature. She certainly would not want to risk his blue flames or sharp teeth if she was Amos. 

“He’s going to be king,” she said softly, her last hopes that the arrangement would fall through slowly dying, glancing across the room to where Amos was standing next to Heavenerys, close enough for their sides to be brushing while they conversed with her father. 

“Lucilla,” Thomaryon leaned forward, an urgency in his face. His voice lowered. “Lord Bolton may be poised to be king, but I have no intention of handing over our dynasty or all of our power to him. Heavenerys will still be queen, and myself and members of my family will continue sit on the small council.”

Lucy let her arm rest on the table, her fingers but inches away from his, aching to reach out and recapture the comfort that the warmth of his brief touch had brought her earlier, but not brave enough to actually do so. She nodded, letting his words sink in and soothe some of her worries. 

“Just…be careful with him,” she murmured. 

Thomaryon nodded. “We will.”

She let out a deep sigh of relief at knowing he had taken her warnings seriously and understood what he was dealing with. And yet…

“I feel as though I should say something to the princess as well…” 

Thomaryon shrugged. “You can, if you like.” He glanced over at where Heavenerys was still standing with Amos. Her arms were linked with his, smiling up at him adoringly. “But it won’t change anything.”

Lucy had to agree with him on that front. Amos was looking at Heavenerys with a similar expression of adoration splitting his face. Lucy shook her head. She barely recognized him. Never before had she seen him so…happy.

“We had to marry her to a northman,” Thomaryon explained, swirling the wine in his goblet lazily. 

“The people have been growing restless up here,” she concurred. 

“Yes. And with your house’s recent amassing of power, alongside how formidable the Starks already are, my aunt is worried about rebellions.”

“Why didn’t you marry her to one of the Stark boys?”

“Word is that Jared II is not particularly interested in the company of women, and the other two are already betrothed.”

“And I don’t imagine that the queen was all too interested in marrying the princess off to a house of any lesser standing than ours,” Lucy concluded.

“That’s right.”

She hummed, still watching Amos and Heavenerys, trying to discern if either of them were faking the love that seemed to be sparking between them. “Perhaps it will end up being a good match and I’m worrying for nothing.”

“Perhaps.” 

She looked back at Thomaryon to find him still gazing at her. The warm intensity of his eyes had her heart skipping a beat, warmth finding its way back to her cheeks. She opened her mouth, intending to change the subject to something more pleasant, when a voice interrupted. 

“Prince Thomaryon,” her father said, a hand landing on the back of her chair. Lucy felt her spine go rigid, jaw setting in a grimace at the unwanted presence. “So sorry to interrupt, but if you have a moment, I want to introduce you to my son, Elyas.”

Thomaryon frowned, looking like he was about to protest.

“That’s alright,” Lucy said quickly, knowing that if he refused his request, it would only cause a fuss between her and her father later. He’d probably accuse her of holding the prince hostage with her silly, boring little stories. “I’m sure that I’m boring the poor prince to tears anyway,” she managed a weak smile. Her father merely scowled at her before turning his expectant face back to Thomaryon.

The prince looked back at her, frowning a little, still looking conflicted. 

Please, just do what he wants. It’s easier, that way, she silently pleaded.

Whether he read the message in her eyes or not, Thomaryon stood, albeit reluctantly. “Alright.” But before departing with her father, he reached out, taking Lucy’s hand in his, and lifted it to press a quick kiss to the back of her palm. Lucy’s eyes widened at the softness of his lips against her skin. “It was lovely getting to speak with you, Lucilla,” he murmured, letting her hand go. 

“You as well, my prince,” she managed to stutter out. He gave her a small smile, lashes lowered slightly, light from the candles reflecting in his ice colored eyes. Her heart felt as though it was doing backflips in her chest, cradling the hand he had kissed to her chest as if she could infinitely hold the memory of his lips on her skin. Her father led him impatiently away, already saying something about his hopes that there may be a place for Elyas at court someday. Lucy cringed, feeling vaguely ill at the idea. She had been so focused on warning Thomaryon about Amos, she had not even gotten a chance to offer him a heads up regarding her brothers. 

“Cockblock,” Teddy muttered scowling at the back of their father’s head, coming up to stand beside her. “Ow!” he complained upon her elbowing him in the side.

“You’re going to get me into trouble,” she scolded halfheartedly while he retook his seat next to her. It wasn’t like she needed anymore of that. She already got hollered at for things enough as it was. 

Teddy flashed her a smile, as if he knew something that she didn’t. “Oh, sweet sister. Based on the way that he looks at you, I think you already are.”  

∗ ∗ ∗

Tommy rapped his knuckles against the wooden door leading into Heavenery’s chambers impatiently. It took only a moment for the door to be opened not by Heavenerys, but by Polly. 

“What do you want?” his aunt asked, looking puzzled at his presence. 

“I need to speak with Hev about something.”

She raised an eyebrow, but stepped aside to let him in. Heavenerys was sitting on a loveseat near the fire, working to undo the intricate braids her hair had been styled in for the day. 

“Hello, Tommy,” she greeted him warmly. “What’s going on? Is it Aerthurys?”

He sighed. It had been his and Jon’s job to keep their older brother from losing his damned mind during their time at the Dreadfort. Ever since Heavenerys’s betrothal to Amos had been announced, their older brother had been teetering on a ledge, moments away from spiraling into madness.

Tommy understood, to some level. Aerthurys had loved Heavenerys since they were children. It had to be agonizing for him to watch her be wrenched from his side and married to another man. But that did not stop Tommy from wishing that he could get a damned grip over himself. They may be royalty, but none of them were above duty. They had known that this day would come eventually. Polly had made it clear from the beginning that they would not be partaking in the tradition of incest that their family had enacted in the past. They needed to strengthen their ties with the other houses across the realm, and dilute some of the madness and sickness which generations of inbreeding had wrought upon them. 

Tommy struggled to understand how Aerthurys had not properly prepared himself for this moment. But then again, if he had any sense at all, his brother wouldn’t have gotten involved with their cousin in the first place.

“No,” he reassured, taking a seat across from Heavenerys, “it’s not Aerthurys.”

She tipped her head curiously. Polly sat down next to her. “So what is it?”

He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “I’ve spoken to Lady Lucilla some today.”

Heavenerys’s expression warmed. “I saw you sitting beside her at dinner. What’s she like?”

“She’s…” Beautiful. Warm. Sweet. Fiery. “Nice,” he cleared his throat quickly. “I think you and her will get along.”

Heavenerys brightened further. 

“But…?” Polly prompted, expression still stiff. Tommy kept his gaze locked with Heavenerys’s.

“You and Amos seem to be getting on well.”

His cousin’s face lit up like the sun, eyes glowing with the brightness of a woman newly in love. “Oh, Tommy, he’s wonderful…”

“Can you control him?”

Her smile faded a little. “What…?”

He shifted in his seat, crossing one leg over the over. He hated to potentially throw cold water onto her happiness, but he needed to be certain about this. “Lucilla says that all the rumors about him are true.”

Heavenerys’s smile died away. Polly’s lips pursed. “Amos has been nothing but lovely and charming when I’ve spoken to him.”

“Of course he has. You’re the queen. And his betrothed’s mother. If he were rude to you I’d be questioning his intelligence.”

Polly leaned back into the loveseat, fiddling with the edge of her sleeve. “You’re really going to trust the word of a torturer?”

He frowned at the reminder of the rumors that swirled around Lucilla. “I don’t think that’s what she really is.”

Polly scoffed. “Thomaryon, when it comes to beautiful women, you’re not always the best judge of character…”

He sputtered slightly in offense. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that you often think with the head not attached to your shoulders,” Heavenerys giggled.

Tommy huffed, running a hand through his hair and giving a slight shake of his head. “She seems frightened of him. And her father. Look…she just wants us to be careful, that’s all.”

Heavenerys tipped her head. “That’s kind of her to worry, but she doesn’t need to.” She smiled slyly. “I’ve already got him eating from the palm of my hand, and we haven’t even spent the night together yet.”

Tommy leaned towards her, staring hard into her eyes. There was a dismissiveness in her attitude that only worried him further, but that he did not know how to combat. She was only seven and ten, and–while she may have denied it–still optimistic and naive when it came to much in the ways of the world. Polly had always been so protective over her. She’d sheltered her, sometimes too much. 

“You’re the future of the realm, Hev. I need you to be sure that you can handle him. Not just today, or tomorrow. But for all the years to come. And in all matters. We can’t have him becoming another cruel tyrant on the throne. I can help you, but there’s only so much that I can do, even as Hand…” 

Heavenerys smiled at him, leaning closer, meeting his eyes unflinchingly. “I am sure, Tommy. You don’t need to worry.”

“Even if he really is a monster?”

An edge seemed to enter her smile, something flickering within her near glowing eyes, and he was reminded of the superstitions that his cousin was kissed by the cold, cursed with something wicked and twisted.

Perhaps, that really did make her the perfect match for the dark lord of the Dreadfort.

“Then he will be my monster.”

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