#now they have thousands of happy endings if not canonical

[nikito0x]

I adore how the Merlin fandom is so active even after so many years of the show being over. Like. Do y'all realize most fandoms would be dead by this point?

Idk how but we have literally managed to live off of spite and pure queer energy and I think this is the epitomy of what the Merlin fandom is.

Because we've head canoned Arthur's return to a point we have completely rejected the idea of giving up on these two lovable disasters. But that's the thing. If the ending was a happily ever after, the fandom probably wouldn't have been alive and kicking for as long as it has.

We have lived on for the sheer purpose of giving those two an eternal happy ending that they never canonically got.

[hargreeves-duncan]

I saw your requests were open and because I'm very hurt/comfort I would like reader to be fives spouse and then the subway happens like the after of everyone learning about it at the house and having to bring up what happened with not only Diego but us as well who thought we [Five and spouse] were happy??? Immaculate. Also I hope you're doing well stay hydrated!

a/n: thank you so much for your request, i am super hydrated, thank you :)) i really loved writing this (even if it is a little angsty) and i hope you love it just as much

summary: you thought you were happy together - if only you knew how wrong you were.

warnings: mentions of canon compliant violence, cheating (obviously), lila x five😬

word count: 2.1k

pt. 2

Christmas Eve would always be a time of joy and merriment for many, and the same had been true for you for all of your life. Even when you’d spent a few decades working as a trained killer for The Commission, the holidays were always a normality and a comfort that you could fall back on, without fail. In between snapping necks and pulling triggers, you’d seen the snow covered hills of Lapland and the warm festivities of Munich’s Christmas Markets and now that you were retired, you could enjoy it all with your family.

The family that your husband, Five, had brought you into. Whilst there was some initial shock from the Hargreeves’ siblings as they found out that not only had their brother aged forty-five years without them on a post-apocalyptic Earth but that he had actually gotten engaged in that time, slowly but surely, they had let you in. They were chaotic, at the best of times, but you loved them all the same and you knew that you’d do anything to protect them now. They were your family, just as much as Five was.

You’d met Five at the commission, when he was worn down by a lengthy four decades of solidarity and you’d pieced him back together. You’d shown him that living wasn’t just a means to an end and that it could be good and loving. You’d joked at the time how silly it was, that the two of you had found love at an organisation designed to kill, for the most part, innocent people. He’d said he’d do it a thousand times over if it meant he’d get to you.

After spending the last few years trying and failing to stop the apocalypse, you weren’t quite those people anymore. Instead, you had grown and evolved but you’d never had the luxury of waiting around for the two of you to settle down and retire like you’d both hoped for. So, when you’d come to this timeline, Five powerless, you hadn’t looked back. You’d gotten married, whilst you knew you still could and you’d lived the last six years in bliss. Five had softened now that there wasn’t the weight of impending doom on his back and you both got to be enveloped in the love you’d worked so hard for without consequence.

Tonight, you had gone over to Diego and Lila’s place to spend the evening with your extended family. At some point in the evening, Five and Lila had reappeared from whatever they’d spent the day doing and since he’d got back, Five had been unsettled. His eyes kept flickering over to Diego and Lila, constantly. He looked seething. Your husband had never been one for public displays of affection and Diego’s increasingly wandering hands must’ve been beginning to anger him, you thought. Five frowned, how was he supposed to enjoy his evening with that sitting across from him? 

Noticing his restlessness, you slipped your hand over his comfortingly, feeling the cool metal of his wedding ring slide over your palm, “You okay?”

Five glanced back at you. He cleared his throat and nodded, smiling gently at you, “I’m alright, love.”

Occasionally, Lila would look over at him. She looked shy and timid under Diego’s touch, a look you’d never seen on her before. Lila’s love had always been performative and outlandish. Her affection was everywhere and to see her look so strained in his company was strange. It was entirely foreign to watch it play out and it didn’t match the Lila Hargreeves you’d come to know. Diego noticed too.

Even Luther noticed the tension in the room. He watched as Five rolled his shoulders for the hundredth evening, “What is with you tonight? You’ve barely said a word, Five, when does that ever happen?”

So, it wasn’t just you then? You thought to yourself. A ball of anxiety began to develop in your stomach. You searched Five’s face for the root of the problem. Five sighed and adjusted himself, “It’s called thinking, Luther. You should try it sometime.”

A flurry of shock and distaste shot up from everyone as he said that and you shrank slightly in your seat. Five bristled as you got closer. You frowned.

“I do think, I think you’re an asshole.” Luther clapped back, pouting as he leaned back against the couch. At this moment, you happened to agree. Five didn’t brush you away, physically, but he kept his eyes forward, anywhere but down at you. You felt dread in the pit of your stomach.

Five continued to avoid your gaze as Allison sighed, brushing her hair from her face, “Okay, can we not do this right now?” Her eyes drifted pointedly to Claire, Grace and the twins in the corner of the room, happily occupying themselves with toys and the tv which displayed a graceful ballerina one of the girls was currently trying to imitate.

“No, let’s. Let’s do this now.” Five said, smiling bitterly at her as he stood from the couch and dropped your hand.

You sighed, sitting forward, “Five-”

“Five, it’s gonna be okay.” Lila interrupted, smiling reassuringly from where she sat. Your head swivelled around to her, in time with Diego’s, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

Before you had the chance to question Lila, Five smiled sarcastically at you all, moving his hand to cut her off, “No, it’s not gonna be okay.”

Diego shot from his seat, chuckling, “Hey, come on, man. Don’t talk to my wife like that. Not tonight. Not on Christmas.”

Five squares up to him, broadening his shoulders and raising his eyebrows at his brother, “You going to do something about it, fuckface?”

An uproar of protests from all of the others. Your eyes widen as things begin to escalate and you stand up, reaching for his arm, “Five!”

He glances back at you. Diego scoffs and steps closer, prodding Five’s chest, “Yeah, I’m gonna K-I-C-K your A-S-S, man.”

“Oh wow, somebody’s passed the first grade.” Five says sarcastically, still not backing down. 

“Five.” You say again, more forcefully as you step up to them. Lila gets up and steps between them, putting her hands on each of their chests and pushing them away from one another. Your eyes flare as you watch her fingers skim Five’s chest. They follow her hand up to her wrist and-

“What is that?” You ask, reaching for her wrist. A silver bracelet, woven like vines, dangles from her arm. You roll your sleeve back, looking at your own bracelet. The one that Five had given you on some anniversary or other, he’d had it made especially for you - strung together with gold, because silver was too trivial for someone like you, he’d said.

The bracelet felt trivial altogether as you looked at its pattern now, beside Lila’s - practically identical to your own. Cheaper, yes, but still like yours, “What’s what?” Lila asked innocently, taking her wrist back.

“That thing on your wrist.” Diego’s eyebrows furrow as he takes Lila’s wrist and he glances between your wrist and Lila’s, “You hate bracelets. You traded the one that I got you for Valentine’s last year to the pawn shop. What…”

“Where did you get it?” You demand, looking her in the eye with a determination that you haven’t felt in years. Lila stands there guiltily, leaning in Five’s direction and your heart sinks. Diego watches, the dots connecting in his mind.

“Did you give her that?” He asks, stepping closer to Five. Lila reaches out for him and he shrugs her off, “No, answer the question, Five. Did you give her that?”

“I made it.” Five answers, hands slipping into his pockets. He’s casual, as if it means nothing, and that only makes it hurt so much more because if this gift to Lila means nothing, then you must mean even less.

“You made it… for her?” You say, hurt and grief for the life you’ve had together seeping into your voice. And just when you think he can’t get any more cruel…

“Who does it look like I made it for?” He says, looking over at you, and your heart shrivels up painfully. A dull ache blooms in your chest and you can’t even form a response because he’s being so cutting and it’s something you’ve never had from him before.

Diego steps up, pressing a hand to your arm and giving it a gentle squeeze as he pushes you back. He takes a breath and looks between Lila and Five, biting his lip, “Is there something going on between you two?”

The two stare silently for a moment and Lila’s voice grows soft as she looks at her husband, “Diego-”

Diego holds his hands up and turns away, “Holy shit… Holy shit, I was right!” He says, pointing at them both, his voice a mix of anger and disappointment in the people he’d trusted.

“Book club, a- all this time, you- you were cheating on me with…” He can’t even get the words out properly as he looks at them, his stutter resurfacing as his emotions get the better of him. He looks over at you, your eyes widen further, if that’s even possible as you realise things for yourself.

“Oh my god… oh my god, I am a complete and utter fool.” You say, laughing in shock as you mentally take a step back from the last few months.

This is what you got for letting your guard down, you supposed, “I can’t believe you… why did I never… you were never doing research, were you? You were off with her.”

“Now, just wait-” Five starts, holding his hands up and trying to approach you at the same time that Lila says, “No, we weren’t cheating on you. At least, not when you thought we were…”

“What? What is that supposed to mean?” You ask, scoffing and folding your arms over your chest.

“It means that, for us, it’s been seven years. I blinked us to the subway and we got stuck down there.” Five said, stepping forward.

“Please, tell me you’re joking.” You say, shoulders dropping as your heart clenches, all of your defences falling.

“Love, I wish I was.” He says tenderly, stepping closer to you again. He takes a deep breath, “We were lost for seven years, Y/N.”

Seven years. He’d spent almost as much time with her as he had with you. Were you really that disposable? You’d thought that things were good between the two of you, great even, but the moment he’d been out of your sights, he’d done this…

Breaking down, you sit back on the couch, putting your head in your hands as you blink back tears. Five sighs, sitting beside you, “We went through a lot of timelines and I promise, I never stopped trying to get home, you know I never would, but… I got tired. Tired of failing over and over and I had to stop.”

“I wouldn’t have given up.” You say, drying your eyes as you look up at him again. Five smiles tiredly, shaking his head.

“You can’t know that.” He says, looking over at you. His eyes are soft, but it doesn’t stop the harsh sting of what he says. 

“I can, because I love you, it’s as simple as that.” You protest, looking at him brokenly, “You wouldn’t have stopped looking if you loved me the way that I love you.”

He rubs his thumb over his clenched knuckles, sighing, “Don’t say that. You know that I love you.”

“Of course. And her? What about Lila? Do you love her too?” You challenge, eyes flitting over every pore in his face, seeking an answer or an apology, anything that isn’t going to confirm what you so deeply fear; that he doesn’t love you anymore.

Lila perks up from where she’s standing beside Diego. Diego’s face drops and all either of you can do is watch as your partners lock eyes with one another instead of you. Five sighs, glancing back at you, “Y/N, now is really not the time for-”

“Do you love her?” You ask again.

He glances between the two of you and sighs again. It feels like that’s all he’s capable of doing right now, sighing. You want to scream or yell or cry because that isn’t fair, he doesn’t get to be frustrated or hurt when this is his fault and you shouldn’t be feeling bad for him when he looks so defeated but you just can’t help it because it’s Five, your Five, and you’ve never known anything else but wanting what’s best for him.

He parts his lips, about to speak, before Claire interrupts from where she’s sat on the floor, “Hey, grown-ups! Look at the TV! Isn’t that Uncle Ben?”

Five stands up to look with the other Hargreeves and you steady yourself. This is okay, you think, you can let things go on as normal. Just for a little longer.

[housetargaryenloyalist]

From a seed grows

Chapter II: Petunia

Pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x reader

Synopsis: To claim a dragon one must be prepared to give up their life, yet this is the one thing you never wished to give up.

Wordcount: 9.6k

Warnings: Canon divergence!! This will not follow canon completely and will mix book with show canon (because I can ❤️), bastardphobia, mention of death and killing, yelling, Jace is a bit hot tempered but so is reader.

Author's note: I'm a bit insecure about this chapter with all the recent happenings in the Jace, plus it's my first really writing this much for one chapter. so I hope you'll like it. Also feedback is super duper appreciated as well as likes and reblogs!

(Future chapters will most likely also be around this lenght)

English is not my first language, apologies for any mistakes.

Happy reading <3

♡Chapter I: Thyme♡

Dragon fire burned hotter than anything else known to man. Bards all throughout Westeros have sung of how the dragon fire of Balerion the Black Dread melted together thousands swords and create the Iron Throne. A testament to the strength of dragons and their riders. It was meant to intimidate enemies and inspire reverence in allies.

Everyone knew that dragonfire burned hot, and now you would experience just how hot firsthand

A most horrid end, yet one fitting for a bastard of Targaryen Lineage most would say. No pyre would be made for you, your body instead burned to ash on the cold beach of Dragonstone, with not a soul to mourn you.

Your eyes were closed as those thoughts surged through your head. It terrified you to be of so little consequence, to be so mortal.

Someone once told you that when death was near you would think back onto your life and all your most important memories.

You would be filled with happiness of your most joyous moments before the Stranger would give you their kiss. Death would be warm, warmer than your bed in Flea Bottom, warmer than a mother's embrace.

At the time you had smiled and cheerless smile , eyes looking into the distance as your hands gripped a black shroud, “that would be nice” you had whispered.

Now you cursed them quietly in your mind. There were no memories drowning you in happiness, no memories to distract you from the ice cold terror that had settles in the pit of your stomach and spread throughout your body. You waited with abated breath for the beast to devour you, you waited for low rumbling followed by a bright burst of flames and then indescribable pain would consume you until there was nothing left to consume.

Silence.

Slowly, you opened your eyes, expecting to see large teeth and open mouth waiting to devour you. Instead, you were met with an intense gaze from emerald eyes. The creature’s gaze was locked onto yours, and for a moment, you could have sworn there was a flicker of recognition, almost as if the dragon was studying you, trying to understand. You didn’t know what to do, lying there, coarse sand digging deeper into crevices of your body and etching more scratches into your skin.

The dragon remained unmoving, letting out an occasional snort as it studied you intensely. Trapped partly underneath its snout you do nothing but observe the creature in similar fashion. Both of you started at one an another, a weird feeling flourished within your chest.

“Why aren’t you killing me?” you whispered, voice hoarse and exhausted. The dragon only coked it’s head slightly, as if to convey they did not understand. You tried to stand up, slowly, with uncertainty tainting every move. First you scooted further away from the dragon’s snout, careful not to touch it and startle it, then you pushed you against the sand to try and stand.

Unfortunately you overestimated your own strength, because as soon as you stood you could feel the unsteadiness of your legs. In a matter of seconds you feel them give out. Out of instinct you reached for something to hold onto.

Callused hands met rough, burning scales. The heat beneath your fingers felt like touching a warm bowl of soup, hot enough to startle but not enough to burn. You let out a shaky breath when you realised what you had done, leaning on the snout of the dragon.

Once again the beast let out a loud snort, much like a horse would make. It startled you, making you release its snout the moment its hot breath engulfed your body.

Your cold body felt cold no more, heating up just from being close to the dragon. Your brows furrowed, confusion settling in your mind. What had happened to the intense fear and terror you were feeling mere minutes prior, yet now you felt a strange comfort wash over you. As if this creature would never hurt you, as if they liked you.

Something primal hidden within you took over, as if centuries of dragon riders that had come before you took your hand and put it on the dragon's snout. First it burned, seared beneath your finger and then it shifted. Fear ebbed away from your being, slowly being replaced with a feeling much like veneration and somehow, you knew what it meant. There, in the dragon’s emerald eyes glistening in the late afternoon sun, you saw yourself.

A bastard with silver hair.

A dragonseed.

A dragon rider.

Beneath your fingers the heat had dissipated, yet there was still power beneath them. You were able to feel it's breathing, knew that with one wrong move your life would be forfeit. Power reverberated beneath the scales, dragon fire of unknown heat was now yours to command.

The longer you held the dragon into submission, the more you felt yours souls intertwine. A rumble resonated from deep within its chest as if acknowledging this newfound bond. Your feelings became more than your own, the paranoia from growing up in Flea bottom became shared with a fear of being hunted by other dragons. Everything you once felt now held a dragon counterpart. You were no longer your own. You were one half of a whole.

And for the first time since gods knows how long,

you were not alone.

The moment did not last, for soon you heard a distant roar much softer, and higher pitch than the one that came from the dragon before you. You whipped your head around towards the direction of Dragonstone castle. There beyond the sand dunes that covered much of the castle from view, you saw a dragon flying towards. Although a much smaller dragon, it was a dragon nonetheless. Behind you your dragon rumbled, raising its head and standing tall behind you. You were but a mere speck in comparison once it stood to its full height.

The dragon roared loud, a warning or a threat, you did not know. The other dragon landed in the distance, far enough not to be immediately eaten and far enough that it would not be consumed by fire.

To see that far you squinted your eyes, the afternoon sun low and bright making it difficult to discern what the dragon looked like or who the figure was walking towards you. As the figure got closer, you readied yourself, hand near your dragon in an attempt to keep it calm.

“Who are you?!” you screamed, your dragon let out a loud snort, dipping its head. The figure did not reply, instead they kept walking closer, their features becoming clearer the closer they got. You saw some hesitation as they got closer, their head turned towards to dragon’s snout. Gauging whether they could get closer or not. You looked to the dragon, “stay calm,” you said, turning back to the man in front of you.

“He won’t understand you,” the man said, his face not an unfamiliar sight. His brown curls were more ruffled than how they had been hours prior, the wind most have messed them up. His hands were once again crossed over the pommel of his sword and his tunic still the same black and red. Jacaerys Velaryon stood there just as arrogant as before, yet there was a fear within his stance.

“what do you want?” He cocked his head to you, perhaps not used to such a blunt way of speaking, “Her grace wishes to speak to you about your”- his eyes went from you to the black scaled beast-”dragon.” He spat the word dragon out as if it was a curse, as if it was something he did not want to say. “What does her grace want with us?” “The queen does not need to explain herself.”

His tone was clipped and you watched as he tightened his grip on the sword. You let out a snort, at the same time your dragon did. Eliciting a most lethal stare from the crown prince. There was no point in arguing you found, he did not like you and he would come to like you any day soon. Besides, you were fatigued, hungry and in pain.

You could not return home to Flea Bottom with a dragon in tow, nor could you stay here on the beach. “Apologies, my prince” you smiled an overtly polite smile as you empathised the words. “I shall gladly speak to the queen.” Sacarsm dripping with every word, even if there was some sincerty in them. His sour expression did not change, he only nodded in response.

“Follow me then,” he said and turned around. You bit your lip to keep laughter a bay, for some reason, you were terribly amused by the sour mood of the prince. “What of the dragon?” you asked as you looked back at the magnificent beast, a part of you already feeling wistful at the notion of parting from it. “Leave it,” the young prince said, “it can fend for itself.” He did not await a response, instead taking off to the same place he came for. “I will see you soon,” you whispered to the dragon, hand reaching out to caress the part of its torso that was closest to you.

The dragon let out a rumble, and in your mind you felt that it was trying to reassure you. With one last pet, you took off to join to prince who had already walked quite far. “Wait for me!” you shouted, and you only got a look of utter annoyance in response.

The prince had walked with you all the way to castle, his dragon flying above you both. His sour disposition did not change, even as you tried to engage him in conversation his replies would be short and clipped which irritated as much as it amused you. “So... what did you mean earlier?” he looked at you with cocked brows, “when you said my dragon could not understand me?” He rolled his eyes as if the answer was as obvious as saying the sky was blue.

“Dragons don’t understand the common tongue.” “Then what do they understand?” you asked, genuinely curious, yet you were able to see that it annoyed him from the way his jaw was set, “They only understand Valyrian.” “That old language?” “Yes," he gritted out.

You hummed in response, “can I learn Valyrian?” He looked sideways as if pondering it before saying, “Perhaps,-” he looked to you, looking over your frame, scrutinising you no doubt-” in due time.” You nodded slowly, not knowing how to respond.

The conversation ended like that, and although you were brimming with questions, you knew that he was not likely to entertain him. Instead you opted to continue forth in silence. Dragonstone grew larger and closer with every step you took. Soon enough you would have others who might be able to answer your questions answers.

Upon entering Dragonstone various guards had flocked to the young prince, awaiting commands, yet the prince turned them all away. He declared that he must escort you himself as the queen wished. You had to restrain yourself from rolling your eyes, all this pompousness was not something you were fond of.

This constrained way of talking, hiding all that you really felt behind petty facades and poisonous words. In Flea Bottom things were brutal, harsh, dangerous, yet when someone disliked you, they made it known. Here it felt as though every step you took was a tender balance between chaos and peace. One wrong word, and you would be ousted from the castle forever. You knew that within these walls you would need to be careful. Play the game, or die.

Your second time walking through Dragonstone felt much different than the first, now you knew what happened underneath the stone floors, knew the bodies that laid in the Dragonpits, perhaps not by name but you had seen their faces. Hope, fear, pride, all human, all mortal and most were now dead.

You wondered how to prince seemed to unaffected, knowing the lives taken. One more reason to add onto your list of “royalty sucks.” The prince walked in front of you which allowed you some leeway to openly gawk at the tapestries and statues you were not allowed to gawk at previously. Death payed well you thought.

Candles illuminated the hallways, casting shadows that danced around your feet as the wind blew the flames into every direction. A storm was brewing the young prince had muttered under his breathe, not meant for your ears to hear.

Storms didn’t scare you, not when you found yourself sheltered between ancient stones that had withered centuries of storms, yet anxiety was a funny feeling. It started clawing its way from the back of your mind all the way to the front. Haunting your mind with the most horrific of scenarios, from the castle collapsing in on itself to a deluge bursting through the heavy doors, drowning all within.

As you passed the occasional window you saw the weather worsen, at first the sky clouded over, the next window you passed had already been stained by drops of rain, and at last window you could no longer clearly see the outside, the rain pouring down hard enough to obscure everything.

Soon the prince came to a standstill in front of large oak doors, opening it with little effort, and you see now how much strength the young prince had. He stood there, in silence, looking at you. Beyond the doors were long, spiralling stairs, the end of them you were able to see from where you stood. You stepped forward with some hesitation, eyes looking up a head to see where the stairs led.

“You are expected on the top floor,” he said, closing the door behind you both. Here within this tower, you could clearly hear the thunder and rain raging outside, adding to the terrifying nature of this place in particular. The prince stepped around you and made his ascent, not bothering to look back to see if you were following. After the prince turned around the first round corner, you snapped out of you slight reverie, quickly hurrying after him.

The walls of the tower were bare, no tapestries or intricate carved design, the only thing you saw were old stones. It was a long ascent, occasionally the stairs would halt and change into even floor and on those small patches of floor there would be two heavy doors. The prince told you those led to private quarters, the higher up the more important the inhabitants.

“Where do I sleep ?” you asked as you passed what you assumed to be the fourth floor, the prince looked to you, down his nose and truly looking down on you., “the queen shall decide that.”

You hummed in response, a part of you not to keen on the prospect of residing in this looming tower, with the way the thunder roared here in a way you had never heard thunder roar.

Soon the stairs came to an end in front of a small door, leading into a hallway with only candles to light your way, the hallway was not long and at the end of you were once again faced with a set of doors. Two Queensguards, silver armour shimmering in the candlelight, stood on either side of it. As the prince moved forward, the guards rushed to open the door. The doors creaked and groaned, alerting all behind them of the impending intrusion.

A grand chamber was revealed to you as the doors opened. In the middle of it stood a large table in an unusual shape, candles were scattered on top of, coating parts of the table in wax. It was a marvellous piece of craftsmanship, with intricate lines and drawings carved into it in way that allowed for them to be illuminated by placing candles underneath it.

The prince stepped forward, “I have brought her, your grace,” he said before making his way towards his mother’s side. Sparing a single glace to you which you replied to with a smile, something the young prince seemingly did not appreciate for all you got in return was a scowl.

The queen extended a soft smile to her son as he made his way to stand closer to her, bypassing all the other lords in the chamber. The mother and son pair whispered briefly amongst themselves, eyes occasionally glancing to you while you pretended you didn’t see it.

Their eyes weren’t the only ones on you, the entire room had made you their object of intrest. Some wore scowls of displeasure, others regarded you with intrigue. After growing up in Flea Bottom where shadows were you best friend, being this visible was unsettling. They looked over your entire garb, your entire being. Examined you silver-blond here, unruly and no longer in the shape of a braid, they scrutinised your lack of violet eyes and most of all, detested that you were not of high born blood. They did not need to speak it aloud, their gazes were enough.

“My lords,” the queen raised her head, her quiet conversation with her son over, “I kindly ask that you leave this chamber.” The words left the room abuzz, some muttered protests under their breaths, other had no such shame. “We shall reconvene on the morrow,” she smiled once again, but it was not a smile of affection, but a smile that screamed not to oppose her, “enjoy your evenings.”

You stepped away from the doors as the hoard of lords approached, talking amongst themselves while glancing at you and the queen. No doubt they felt spurned for not being allowed to be present for the upcoming conversation.

The queen approached you, as her son stood back, eyes watching your every move. “Please sit,” the queen motioned to one of the chairs scattered around the weird table. “My son told me something quite fascinating,” you furrowed your brows, sparing a quick look to the man in question. “He told me that The Cannibal approached you,” as she spoke she filled two goblets with a ruby red liquid, most likely a very expensive sort of wine.

She placed one goblet in front of you, afterwards, taking a sip of her own. All the while her lilac eyes observed you. You had never found yourself in such a scenario and were admittedly at a loss. Before uttering any words, you decided to take a sip of the wine, you couldn’t remember the last time you had any beverage that was not sea water. It tasted sweet, thick and sweet, unlike any other wine you had ever tasted.

As the wine warmed your body, and softened the aches of your bones you spoke up, “If by The Cannibal you mean the black dragon I met, then yes, it did approach me.” The queen looked at you, nodding and taking another sip, then placing her goblet on the table. Her son still boring holes in your figure from where he stood.

“What was the encounter like?” She eventually asked, her eyes brimming with curiosity. Her kindness and patience were unusual to you, for her, the queen, to speak to you with even the tiniest bit of respect was unheard of. It is no wonder she commanded the other lords to take their leave, they would not stand for this familiar sort of talk.

They would pass out to know that you sat on their honourable chairs, imagine what they would think if they knew you had the opportunity to partake of their wine. They might die on the spot. You had to keep yourself from letting out a chuckle at the imagine your mind conjured, instead bringing yourself back to conversation at hand. You looked towards the queen, the awkwardness palatable as she looked at you with expectation.

“The encounter was life altering,” in the distance you heard the prince clear his throat, commanding your attentions. You raised your brow at him, as did his mother. “you are to address the queen by her rightful title,” he said, looking at you as if you had committed the greatest of offence, which you suppose, you kind off did. You huffed out a breath, “Apologies your graces I am not used to the manners of court.” The queen nodded in response, “It is alright,” she picked her goblet back up and drank of it once more.

God you hated this, the silence, the awkwardness, the forced politeness. It made you feel stifled, trapped. However you persisted, there was something they wanted, you could feel it hanging in the air like you could feel the heat from the heart. “So,” the queen continued, “we are to understand that you claimed that dragon?”

You gulped, and nodded, “I suppose that is what happened your grace,” you chuckled lightly after having said it, the notion of having claimed a dragon was still a bit foreign. The queen nodded, as she casted a look towards her son. You looked to her and saw that she was clearly mulling something over in her head, debating and weighing the options in front of her. As she thought, you took another sip of the wine, letting the liquid further ease your mind and buddy. The queen’s eyes soon turned back to you, her mind made up,

“You understand that we are fighting a war,” she asked, looking at you with a gaze full of expectations and a lingering hurt,”we need fighters.” You nodded slowly, knowing where the conversation was going.

“I want to you to fight for my claim with your dragon.”

The words were spoken, the proposition laid bare on the table. You took another sip of the wine, the sweetness of it had faded, coating your tongue in bitterness. Placing the goblet on the table, the thud echoing in the empty room as the queen and her son looked at you, one with expectation, the other with a dull fury.

“What would be in it for me your grace?”

The queen smiled.

Night had come early, partly thanks to the storm that still raged outside your rooms. Rooms that were placed two floors down from those of the royal family, in the middle of the tall tower. A show of gratitude from the queen, you were far enough up in the tower to be respected but not too far up that it would be deemed inappropriate. It suited you perfectly.

The goose-feathered bed was a comfort to your sore, aching and bruised body. The medicinal oils the maids had used for your bath had helped, but now it was up to you to heal yourself.

Being aided in your bath was a most unusual experience, hands different from yours rubbing and scrubbing the dirt off. You soon excused them, feeling to exposed for you liking and although they did an excellent job, you were not one who particularly enjoyed the lavish attention. By now the maids had already come to empty the bath and put it to the side, before asking you whether you desired anything else.

You had sheepishly asked for some food, and they happily obliged. Some moments later you were laying on your bed, with a tray of food placed on your nightstand; bread, cheese, grapes, a goblet and small carafe of water were there to fill your very empty stomach. As you laid there munching on a piece of bread, the events of the day truly dawned on you. What you had done, what you witnessed, the promise you had made.

You closed your eyes, savouring the piece of bread, remembering a time where the only bread you ate was either stale or partly mouldy, gods things have changed. The moon shone throught

With your old dagger you cut through the hard bread, trying your hardest to cut off the part of it that had been tainted by mould. The boy at your table eager to finally have something other than gruel for food. “How were you able to get bread?” he asked as you put a plate in front of him, alongside a bowl of bland soup that was more lukewarm water than anything of sustenance.

You weren’t too keen on replying, knowing that what you did wasn’t exactly lawful. “The baker no longer wanted it,” you replied clipped, as you dipped the bread in the soup. The boy didn’t reply, to busy devouring his bread. Hunger was a nasty feeling, and he had known too much of it. You smiled softly at him, and although the bread wasn’t procured honourable, it was able to feed him which is all that mattered to you.

“The madam has another job for me,” he said in between bites, causing you to pause your eating. “Really?” you furrowed your brows,” she was happy then? With your performance?” He nodded proudly, “very happy.” You smiled at him again, this job would surely put more money in both of your pockets. Money you desperately needed.

“She asked if you considered her offer,” he looked at you, soft lilac eyes filled with expectation. Eyes you never could resist. “I did,”- you took another bite-”I think I’m going to accept.”

You awoke the next morning with knocking at your door, the maids from the previous night entered your room. They carried clothing, fresh water to fill a small basin, and tray of food. First they helped you out of your bed, in your tired state you didn’t say anything as they helped you out of you night shift and into what they described as riding clothes.

They sat you down at the table in front of the hearth, the food to break your fast that was on the tray now laid spread out before you. As you ate, one maid started to straighten your bed, as another cleaned up the tray you had requested the night before. Soon you were left alone, rubbing sleep from your eyes as you took a bit from a piece of bread with jam.

It tasted amazing. You had seen jams in the homes of others, had even been able to taste it years ago yet you never had the luxury of affording it for yourself. Even the juice that accompanied your breakfast tasted expensive, especially due to the fact that the goblet you drank it from seemed to have gold embellishments. If you took one of those goblets and sold it, you would be set for life.

Your mind flashed to the little boy with lilac eyes, how much he would have loved all of this. You took a deep breath and tried to change your train of thought, a difficult tasks but one you had to undergo if you wished to leave the room with your sanity in tact. You grasped at the necklace you found yesterday, tracing over in an effort to soothe yourself and it proved effective. Soon you were out of your room, headed off to chamber of the painted table as the queen had requested last night.

It did not take you long to reach said chamber, having memorised the path when you were traversing it with the prince yesterday. Guards opened the door for you once more, and inside you were met not with councillors, but with three man of various age, the queen, the prince, a knight and men you remembered from the dragonpit. You were the last to arrive.

“My apologies for my later arrival,” you bowed your head, eyes darting up to meet ones of a soft brown. ”your grace.” you added as you saw the fiery glare form, he looked away with you with anger set in his jaw and you had to resist the urge to roll your eyes. The queen nodded, “Apologies accepted.”

you hurried to join the other three, standing next to who you thought to be the youngest. He was a handsome young man, tall with ebony hair and dark hair, and with a beautiful smile he extended towards you as you stood next to him. “Now that you are all gathered here, I thought it imperative we discussed some things.” The man furthest from you with hair half up and a messy beard nodded dutifully, while the one next to him looked bored out of his mind.

The prince standing next to his mothers looked at the man as though he wished to have him burned with his gaze. “You are to train with your dragons, learn the commands so that soon you will be ready to fight.” You gulped, a sliver of anxiety settling in on the bottom of your stomach.

“Y/n,” lilac eyes looked at you, “you will train outside with prince Jacaerys, a dragonkeeper and a few knights. I trust my son will be a great teacher to you,”she smiled as she continued to discuss and divide the roles of the others, however you’re attention was taking. The brown haired prince stared at you, his attention equally diverted. His gaze on you made you want to thwart your own, however your pride would not let you.

Instead of averting your eyes, you looked him in his beautiful brown eyes and smiled. An action that angered him for he immediately looked away, back to his mother. Anger rolled off him in waves, hands clenched on top of the pommel of his sword, lips pursed and eyebrows furrowed. A small victory for you, but a victory nonetheless. The meeting concluded shortly thereafter.

;With some words of caution and well wishes you were dismissed. Your anxiety had momentarily settled thanks due to your little staring contest, but now it was back tenfold as you followed the prince. “Where are we training?” you asked as you tried to keep up with his fast pace, “somewhere far away from the castle with enough space.” You nodded, “will you be the one to teach my Valyrian?” He looked at you with an annoyed expression, his new role as teacher must not have been one he accepted with much happiness.

“Only the most basic commands.” he looked you up and down,” I doubt you will have much use for more.” At his words you scoffed, “Perhaps I wish to write Valyrian poetry, I can’t very well do that with only basic words” you spat at him in rebuttal, causing him to laugh in disbelief, “Someone like you is not capable of that.” Your nostrils flared at that, “And what is that suppose to mean?!” “It means that you are not a Targaryen” he spat the words out, looking at you as if you were a stain on his shoe. “So what?! You think the non Targaryens don’t write poetry?” “Perhaps they do, but it certainly isn’t in Valyrian.” he stated as though it was a fact,

“And how would you know that my prince?” you asked sarcastically, “I doubt you spent enough time with any non Targaryens to know.” At that he tutted his lips in response, angry at your response. “I don’t need to spend time with them to know,” he said and it made you laugh. “You people have no education. What would you know of poetry, let alone Valyrian poetry?!” You stepped closer to him as a challenge, “And who’s fault is that,” you looked him straight in the eyes, “My prince.”

He did not reply, stunned at your actions. He retreated, seething and walked away from you. What a waste of a gorgeous face, you thought, for it to be wasted on such a personality. You looked to him and saw the distance he had already put between you, anger was a great motivator apparently. You took a deep breath to calm yourself before following in his direction.

“Drakares!” you shouted with full confidence, and the prince tsk’ed at you once again. “Wrong. it’s Drakarys, it has a y sound not an e,” he was annoyed as he tried to teach you the commands, growing more impatient with every mistake you made yet you tried again.

“Draakarys!” He sighed and tsk’ed again, “wrong again, your first a vowel should be shorter, listen closely,” he looked towards where Vermax stood, a safe distance away from you both “Drakarys!”

He said it with great confidence and you both watch as Vermax released fire upon the ground, burning away the grass and insects. The prince looked towards with a smug smile, before saying you should try again. You turned towards where your dragon stood, even further away from you both and also a safe distance from Vermax. You took a deep breath and readied yourself,

“Drakarys!” you commanded, and you watched with pride as the cannibal unleashed a large fire onto the field, you had not felt the heat of Vermax’s flame but the heat of the cannibal’s was unavoidable. You let out a gleeful laugh, proud to have finally done it.

“Did you see that?” you looked at him with happiness and pride, “It worked!” he only spared you a small glance before saying, “it took you long enough.” In an instant, your happiness and pride were trampled upon, and anger surged within you.

“Well fuck you,” you said, walking away towards your dragon, eager to be away from the prince. He stormed after you, “How dare you?!” he shouted as he neared you, “Need I remind you that I am a prince of the realm?!”

You turned to face him, rolling your eyes. “Do not roll your eyes at me!” He shouted, eyes filled with a burning fury. “Why not?” you asked as you stepped closer to him, so close that you were nearly touching his nose with your own, breaths becoming mingled. Your heart beating ferociously due to the proximity, “Will you chop off my head? Feed me to your dragon?” You knew it was reckless, to taunt him so, but this man brought out the worst within you. He did not reply. “Thought so,” you said, ignoring your racing heart.

Breaths uneven as you stood there so close to him, looking into his eyes. His beautiful brown eyes, framed by gorgeous brown curls. Gods, he was unfairly beautiful. It made your heart race and your mind desire things it should not. You almost reached out to tuck away a stray piece of his hair that had blown in his face. The moment broke however when he cleared his throat and took a step back, “perhaps we should take a break for now.” You dropped your hand, hoping he hadn’t noticed what you were thinking of doing.

“Perhaps that’s for the best,” you agreed and walked towards your dragon, as did he. You patted the part of the Cannibal you were able to touch, cooing to him as you felt him growing restless. He was unused to this, the sitting stil, being commanded, everything. It had been a great challenge to get him saddled, it had almost ended with one of the dragonkeepers dying. Yet the bond you shared, however short, was strong. You felt the fear that he held within, and knew it well.

“Just a bit longer big guy,” you smiled up at him, but couldn’t not look him in the eye “I’ll ask if we can try flying now. ” You could almost swear that he responded when he let out a few clicking sounds and rumble from within his chest, near your hand, “Good boy,” you whispered as you gave him one last pat before making your way to the prince who was in deep conversation with his own dragon. “ziry amīvindī nykēla Vermax.”

The language he was speaking sounded strange in your ears, and you knew it must by High Valyrian because he spoke it to his dragon. His tone sounded annoyed, and you thought that whatever he was talking probably pertained to you. “ugh Issa kesīr,” he muttered as he noticed your approaching.

“The Cannibal wants to fly,” Jacaerys looked at you and sighed, ”Very well, let’s try flying.”He walked with you to your dragon and he was even so kind as to stabilise the netting you had climb up. Before you had started training the commands, you had practised sitting on the dragon, when the saddle was still on the ground. He had showed you how to strap in, how to use your buckles and the best way to hold your reigns, even if it was often with annoyance, he still did it.

He had told you to wait for him to fly to you before you were to even attempt the fly command, but you couldn’t wait. Anticipation bloomed within you alongside anxiety and you could feel the dragon brimming with a fiery energy. He wanted to fly, did not even wait for a command before reading himself. As he stretched out his winds you exclaimed “Sōvēs!”

You felt your heart hammer within your chest as the beast moved beneath you, breathing in and out at a rapid pace. It almost felt as though your heart would move so fast as to rip out of your chest. It was exhilarating. The moment your dragon set off, you let out a loud shriek before falling into a fit of hysterical giggles. Soon you were above the sky, holding onto the reigns for dear life as your mighty beast flew through clouds.

A smile was plastered on your face, your heart still beating miles per second. You felt invincible. With a few deep breaths you tried to steady your heartbeat, but it didn’t help much. Adrenaline filled your body and you could feel your hands shake slightly because of it. This ride you let yourself be guided by the cannibal, forgetting the young prince who had just saddled himself.

He was hurrying to get himself in the air, and although he didn’t personally mind if you fell to your death. His mother certainly would. Soon he was chasing after you, his small, young dragon much faster than yours, but you didn’t care. He saw you as he rose above the clouds. Beautiful silver blond hair shimmering in the sun with a wide smile unlike any he had ever seen.

For a moment he allowed himself to look at you unashamed, no other eyes observed him. There in the sky on top of the mighty beast, with the sun shining on you, you looked ethereal. There on his own dragon, he could momentarily shed the burdens on his shoulders. He could almost see all his worries and duties drift away in the wind. His eyes were focused on you, your gleeful laughter, your beauty, and for a moment you were not a bastard and he was not a prince.

You were dragonriders.

Yet reality never waited long to crash back down, he saw your head turn towards him but was not fast enough to turn his own. You were looking at him, and it felt like he was falling through the sky. Your smile fell and you waved at him awkwardly, which he reciprocated equally before turning to face forward, hiding the small hue of pink now dusting his cheeks.

Both dragons flew relatively close to the other, not too close you would be touching on another, but close enough that the riders could see each other. Your heartbeat had calmed down quite a bit, but you could still feel it beating furiously. Never had you ever been so free. If you so desired you could take your mount and fly away, away from this war, away from the arrogant prince. You could fly to Braavos, or Pentos. Anywhere and everywhere was now within your reach.

You looked back to the castle and knew that those thoughts were pretty dreams, you had made a promise. A promise that you would fight in this war, that you would fight for the queen and you knew you couldn’t not break it for it was a promise made to more than Rhaenyra Targaryen, it was also a secret promise you made to him.

“I wonder if you were looking at me now,” you whispered as you looked up further into the sky, hands tight on the reigns, “what would you say?”

No response came.

You had underestimated the strength that dragonriding demanded. The moment your feet touched solid ground, your legs started wobbling whether because of the leftover adrenaline or the simple fact they used more muscle than expected. Jacaerys Velaryon had descended with every grace expected of a prince, and made his way over to you.

No doubt to scold you over your disregard of his direction, or because you didn’t fly as pretty as he did. Whatever it may have been, it didn’t matter. The moment he reached you, your legs gave out and simple fell to the ground with a loud thud. All the scolding he was going to do was forgotten as he tried (and failed) to surpass a laugh at the scene.

“Ha Ha very funny,” you said as you looked up to him, slightly embarrassed at your predicament. “Could you help me up?” you asked, extending your hands to him. He nodded while trying to suppress a smile. He looked pretty like that you thought, he had looked prettiest in the sky with his curls flowing in the wind, the sun casting a glow around him like a halo.

He helped you up quickly, even holding your hands as you steadied yourself. Although both your hands were hidden beneath leather, you could’ve sworn you could feel their warmth. The moment the thought crossed your mind, you pulled them back. “Thank you,” you said, turning away to look at The Cannibal, as he was being unsaddled by a few dragonkeepers, with great effort on their part. They were terrified of the beast, and he was equally as terrified of them.

You could feel it, and even hear it in the tone of his shrieks. “Where will he go now,” you asked to the prince, eyes focused on your beast. “If he wants he can follow us to the caves, but most likely he has his own cave somewhere,” he looked at the beast briefly before turning his eyes to the back of your head, “perhaps he will take you to his lair someday. “

You turned to him, catching his eyes. “I hope so.” He was about to say something when a loud gurgling interrupted him, embarrassment crossed over your features when your realised that it was your stomach. Whatever he was going to say was lost as he laughed once more. “Don’t laugh,” you say, hardly able to suppress your own smile, “Dragon riding is hungry business!” A sentiment that caused him to laugh even harder.

For a moment, all previous hiccups were forgotten and only laughter remained. However the moment did not last long, a knight came from the castle summoning the both of you for supper. Perfect for your gurgling stomach, less perfect for what you thought was a budding friendship between you both. His laughter and smile faded, leaving behind the stoic prince from before. “

We should get going,” he said, “the queen does not like to be kept waiting.” You nodded and followed after him, his shoulders were tense and from the way his lips pursed you could assumed his jaw was equally as tense.

Dinner with the queen was a grand affair. The moment you set foot in your chambers the maids pounced on you to get you ready, your riding garb was thrown off and replaced with hot bath water. They did not give you time to protest, as they scrubbed your body clean and replaced the smell of dragon with the smell of lavender. They then dressed you in a fine dress of dark red fabric, with small dragon details around the cuffs and neckline.

“Curtsy from princess Baela,” one of the maids had said, before starting on your hair. By the end of the full makeover you looked unlike yourself. Dressed in such fine clothing, your hair was let half up and half down, a small braid in the back keeping long tresses out of your eyes. They tried to adorn you with a beautiful necklace made of small rubies, but you refused in favour of the silver necklace you brought from home. A reminder of your humbler beginnings, yet also a harbinger of the new things that came.

Soon you were seated at a grand table, not remember how you even got here with how fast it all went. On your right the seat was empty, on your left was the tall handsome man from this morning. In front of him was another dragonseed, with his hair in a half up ponytail and in front of you was the man with the beard.

“Good evening,” you muttered as you looked to them, your fellow dragonseeds. “Good evening,” the man on your left said, smiling brightly. The man in front of you smiled as well, “Good evening.” However the other man was too occupied with his cup to ever pay attention to the other. The man to your left leaned in closer to you, “my name is Addam,” he said, then motioning towards the man in front of him, “That’s Ulf, and the one next to him is Hugh,” You nodded, “I’m Y/N,” nice to meet you,” Addam smiled even brighter at you, “You’re the one that claimed The Cannibal right? We’ve all been very eager to meet you.”

You nodded at that, “Indeed. And what about you? Who did you claim?” “Seasmoke,” he said, his voice filled with pride, you looked towards Ulf, who now had tuned into the conversation. “I claimed Silverwing! Fast little thing she is,” he smiled smugly at you.

You turned to Hugh who had looked at Ulf with annoyance, before turning to meet your eyes. “Vermithor,” he spoke and he saw as your eyes widened. “The bronze one in the dragonpit?” You asked, bewildered that someone managed to claim that ferocious beast. He smiled a little shyly and nodded, “Yeah that’s the one.”

The conversation came to standstil as the doors opened to reveal the queen herself, wearing her golden crown. Behind her were her son and a young girl you didn’t know, with white curls and dark skin. She was pretty and as she walked you could tell she was a princess. You, Addam and Hugh immediately rose to your feet, whereas Ulf was still to busy examining his cups.

You gave him a pointed look as Hugh muttered “get up.” With clumsy feet he rose from the chair, almost knocking it over. All bowed before the queen and her entourage, although it was with little grace and wobbling knees.

As the queen was seated you were all allowed to sit down once more, servants delivered plates of food. Fruits and vegetables you never had to opportunity to taste, there were even these little bird like things. You had seen them before, but no longer remembered the name.

Ulf was quick to dig in, not waiting for anyone, or for a prayer. A part of you felt slightly annoyed at his rudeness, another part of you wanted to follow his lead. Never in your whole life had you seen this much food. He ate messily, yet you could not really blame him. It was not as though there were schools of etiquette back in Flea Bottom.

Due to Ulf’s impatience the order of things had been slightly altered and you noticed how it didn’t go over well with the royals at the table. The prince looked as though he would rather be dead, and the princess in front of him tried her hardest to remain neutral. The queen smiled tensely as she asked everyone to please dig in. On your plate you had stacked a variety of food, a little bird, beans, some potatoes. You wished to have a taste of everything, to savour every piece, because you knew that this opportunity was a rare one.

“You’ve got to taste the fish,” the man next to you excitedly said with a warm smile. You smiled back at him, “I will,-” you motioned towards your small bird-”but first this.” He nodded, before nudging your shoulders, “Look’s like Ulf is enjoying them,” he laughed along with you as you both watched Ulf absolutely devour the birds. Your laughter drew the stare of the prince, his big brown eyes focused on you and Addam as you conversed with one another.

The staring resulted in a nudge to the foot by the princess in front of him who looked at him with puzzled brows. “More wine here!” Ulf proclaimed, interrupting the conversation between Addam and you, “taming a dragon is thirsty work.” As he said that you rolled your eyes, but you soon regained your composure as you saw the queen grab her cup and stand. Your eyes turned to her, but not for long for Ulf once more spoke up “Oh, and some of these little bird.”

You looked at Addam who was looking at his food, head bowed slightly letting out a sigh. You could tell his was embarrassed in Ulf’s place. You eyes then went back to the queen who looked most displeased.

“A toast,” the queen spoke, “to our new riders.” The whole room fell silent at her words, eyes upon her, cutlery laid to rest. “The four of you are not of noble birth but you have done a thing never dreamed of before now,” All at the table rose their cups, some more enthusiastically then others you noticed as you finally dared to sneak a glance at the prince.

The queen sat back down, and drank the wine, a silent permission of all to do the same. She was however not done with her speech, “I have entrusted you with a power only few have known. And I charge you to take it up with fealty and respect,” she smiled at the four of you, “Serve me well and I will you knights and lady of the realm.” All eyes were on her, before Ulf opened his mouth, much to everyone’s annoyance. “Huh? What do you think of that, boys?” he asked in a slightly mocking manner, “We’ll be knights…just like that.”

The smile on his face made you uncomfortable, the food visible in his mouth. Hugh and Addam did not respond to his words, the later responding only to the queen, “we will not fail you, my queen,” he said, looking away from Ulf and instead towards her.

After Addam, Hugh also spoke up, “What must we do?” He asked nervously. The queen darted her eyes to the side, thinking over her words before responding, “I had thought that the mere fact of you might stay the enemy’s hand.” Her eyes roamed over you all, a slight tone of regret seeping into her voice, “but lord Corlys is right. We must strike while we have the advantage,” she looked briefly towards her son, before returning her gaze to the other, ”and end this war.”

You nodded at her words, knowing that she was right. The enemy might be deterred for but they won’t be for long. If you didn’t strike now, they will. You looked to others, saw as the princess leaner forward slightly in her chair. Her features were covered in slight surprise as the queen continued, “learn your beasts and your commands. You will fly in two days time.”

You took a deep breathe in, gnawing at your bottom teeth. The appetite you had suddenly disappeared with growing anxiety taking its place but she was not done speaking yet. “The strongholds of the usurper, Oldtown and Lannisport, and their armies, all must be subdued,” she put great emphasis on the last words, as she looked each of you in the eyes.

“Alone, without allies, he will have no choice but to surrender.” You understood her reasoning, yet her words implied you would be putting to death hundreds, thousands of people. Innocent people. A thought you apparently shared with the princess, “you wish for us to kill innocents.” “And so many,” Hugh added, a look of disbelief on his face. “It is hard,” the prince interjected,”but it cannot be helped.” The way he spoke about it so calmly made you mimic’s Hugh’s look.

You were no stranger to death, nor to what causes death, yet to have such a responsibility upon your shoulders. It was nauseating. You didn’t speak up, you knew this was expected, you had made a deal after all. In the background you could hear Ulf grunt as the prince and queen exchanged a look. “We must break the will of our enemy,” the queen spoke, “or more will die in a struggle that stretches on without end.” What she said was true, but didn’t ease the guilt that was already weighing on you.

“What about Vhagar?” Addam asked, knowing that none of your dragons were a match for her, safe for maybe The Cannibal but he was not battle trained, not in a way that Vhagar was. The queen leaned forward a slight smile on her lips in an effort to reassure him, “she is fearsome… but she is one dragon. The prince regent cannot defend against all of us.” You wanted to say something, ask about who should face her. You were readying yourself to speak up, but were too late. “I’ll take him on myself,” Ulf said, drunk on wine and good food, “Silverwing’s a goer, she is.”

He waved around his finger to mimic a dragon flying, “we’re afraid of nothing.” Addam looked at him disapprovingly, but Ulf continued, “even if you are.” A sentence that you knew agitated Addam, you could see it in his posture as he spoke, “there will be time enough,”- he turned his head to look Ulf directly in the eye-”to see which one of us is a coward.” Ulf only smiled in response, before turning towards where the servants stood, raising his cups and demanding once more that they bring him more little birds. An act that greatly displeased all the others at the table. The queen tried to reprimand him softly by stating, “A knight will comport himself with grace at the queen’s table.” It didn’t work on Ulf however, who responded, “best make me a knight, then.” A statement that earned him sharp glares from the princess.

“You forget yourself,” the prince stated, “friend.” It was said in a tone that indicated he did not want to be messed with, his jaw was set once more. However the statement had another emotiong to it, as if it was a follow up to a conversation none of you were aware of excpet the prince and Ulf.

Ulf scoffed in response, grabbing his goblet. “ Sense of humour would do you all good,” he said before taking a big swig. You could cut the tension in the room with a knife, and you hoped that the dinner would soon come to an end. A prayer that was answered quickly when the maester entered to room to whisper something into the ear of the queen.

The queen rose from her seat once more, but this time it was not to give a toast. You glanced towards the prince who was staring at his mother, for the first time this evening you really looked at him. His curls had been styled, his tunic a different one from before. This time he had no cape nor any red embellishments.

He looked handsome you thought, and as soon as the thought crossed your mind you looked a way. In the meantime the queen was in deep conversation with the maester and you could only pray that the new was good, but from the looks on either faces, that did not seem the case.

The queen soon turned back to the table, “Addam,” she called, the man looked startled upon hearing his name, “come with me.” In silence Addam followed after her, and you watched them both leave. Ulf finally received his birds, yet your appetite was long gone.

You pushed yourself off your chair, and bowed to the prince and princess, you knew was expected. “I wish to retire to my room,” you said, watching the both of them exchange glances before they nodded. The princess smiled at you, “you may go,” she said and you nodded to her in response.

You walked towards your rooms, your stomach twisted and turned as you mulled over all that had just happened. The inevitable was soon to come. Westeros was at war, a war in which you swore you would participate. A promise you had perhaps made too quickly, yet could not take back.

Blood was already on your hands, were you truly ready to add more?

Tagslist (open)

@madame-fear, @/corruptedcruiser, @rav9n-16, @/blackravena, @kaymej, @burningwitchobject, @/vee-mage, @thenotesapppoet, @benjinotes, @/kitkat1sstuff, @/cxcilla, @alyssa-dayne, @i-padfootblack-things, @seaheaded

(A dash after the @ sign means that I wasn't able to tag your blog for some reason. Sorry💔)

[moodymisty]

I’ve wanted to ask this for a while and I’m glad I can finally ask. It not exactly a request, but I’m sure it still counts as a head canon ask

So in to regards to the original 20 legions, how would you rank having a harem of space marines from that legion

It’s no contest that Salamanders are pretty high on the list, and it’s safe to say that the Iron Hands are at the bottom of the list, just to give an example

I was just curious to know your opinion on where you would ranks the other legions and where they would fall on a hypothetical list

Author's note: I love this XD this ask was so much fun to think about let me have my astartes harem

Warnings: You have multiple space marine husbands i don't know what that qualifies as i just figured it would be a worthwhile warning

Dark Angels: How'd you even get a group of them together without killing eachother? Impressive.

Ultramarines: A good harem of space marines to have. Organized too, there may or may not be a spreadsheet of wife time that exists but they firmly deny it.

Alpha Legion: Sneaky harem, each of them likes to sneak into your room and try and have time with you alone, only to get busted by the others also doing the same thing.

Iron Warriors: Don't.

Luna Wolves/Sons of Horus: Not a bad choice, though if there's going to be a harem happening in his legion, it's probably going to be Horus, his wife, and his Mournival just being real here. He's not allowing shit like that to happen without his presence.

World Eaters: Don't. Don't put multiple of these guys in the same room it isn't going to end well. They're like bettas.

Word Bearers: They really go hard on the worshipping thing. You are their princess and it's cute at first, but they get very overbearing. At least they don't fight with eachother much.

Blood Angels: They are some of the best, the only major downside is all of them have an appetite, so there's probably not going to be many times where you aren't somewhat woozy.

Iron Hands: Terrible, but mostly because their aloof and stoic nature isn't as cute as Imperial fists.

Emperor's Children: They are all super dedicated and love showering you in gifts. Don't think too hard about where they came from.

Imperial Fists: You have the most emotionally constipated men ever. They are incredibly protective and you have never felt safer, but they also have the emotive potential of a piece of sheet metal.

Space Wolves: The most chaotic bunch of husbands ever. They are always fighting with eachother, mostly joking but it sometimes gets serious, and most of the time it isn't even about you. Are terrible at sharing, and someones lost a finger because of a brawl over wife rights.

Death Guard: Your stinky, stinky husbands are terrible. They really like bringing you flowers though.

Thousand Sons: They all argue with each other nonstop which is annoying, but every now and again they'll work together and you'll have the best, warp fuckery filled night of your life.

Salamanders: As you would've expected, you've won the lottery. You have some of the best astartes in the galaxy who are quite happy to have you as well. They all know how to share, and don't try and kill eachother which given previous legions is a definite plus.

Raven Guard: They're pretty calm by the standards of others on this list, so not the worst. It can get a bit annoying to manage each of their depressive pouting fits though.

Night Lords: DON'T? As fun as it might seem to be a barracks bunny for a group of chunky Night Lords, this is a terrible idea. There's a non 0% chance you'll end up as a snack, and not the fun kind.

White Scars: Probably the best harem to be honest, given they probably have actual harems on Chogoris so the whole thing is familiar. Each are equally proud of their wife and it's really cute.

[shakespeareanwannabe]

As You Wish, Chapter 18

Summary: When arriving at Camp Silver Star, Abby Floyd was anticipating a summer of adventure with an ocean separating her from the three people she loved most: her mom, her Uncle Bob and her Aunt Natasha. But after a run in with Charlie Seresin, an extremely familiar looking and irritating camper in a different cabin, her summer plans take a turn that neither girl ever could have expected.

Trigger Warnings: reader's children are described as being blond with green eyes because genetics are wild and Jake's genes are strong, reader is canonically Bob's sister (but biological relation is never discussed), reader goes by Buttercup and is tattooed, angst, grief, sadness, reference to divorce, swearing. Buttercup and Jake are both flawed characters who make mistakes and lead messy lives. Please don’t judge them too harshly.

A/N: Two quick notes. First, I went back and edited Chapter 13 because I screwed up (apparently Jake and Buttercup got engaged twice and I didn't catch it. Oops!) Second, no flashback this time. I figured I had tortured y'all enough. Enjoy!

Somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean, now

The ride to the airport had been quiet, punctuated by falling rain, thunder, gusting winds, and the tiny sniffles and sobs that Abby tried to quell by pressing her face into her mother’s chest. It took everything inside of Buttercup, every maternal instinct that drove her to protect her daughter against anything and everything that could possibly hurt her, Buttercup probably would have dissolved into tears as well. 

Everything hurt more than it had 12 years ago. Leaving him then, she had been so numb to everything around her, so lost to the creeping darkness and horrific thoughts that had plagued her mind, that it hadn’t hurt. At least, it hadn’t hurt until she was sitting in the airport with her infant daughter and she realized that he wasn’t coming after her, that she had destroyed them so thoroughly that he wasn’t doing the one thing he had always sworn to do: fight for them. And she couldn’t blame him. Who would fight for the woman who had initiated a divorce because she wanted more than to be merely a wife and mother? Who would come running after the woman who was taking one of his daughters away from him? Something had splintered inside of her at that moment, her heart fracturing into a thousand tiny pieces.

Over the past decade, Buttercup had fought to put those pieces back together again. For her daughter, and for herself. Therapy and medication had turned her back into herself, and having Bob and Natasha’s strong presences had helped her find contentment. Not happiness, but something close enough to it that she was satisfied. The biggest pieces of her fractured heart had been sewn back together by the support system she had built in London, and though there were still little fragments floating around, she felt like she could finally live again. She had thrown herself into her work, into the characters and plots that swirled in her mind, and it had become her safe haven, a place where she had control and could guarantee a happy ending. And sure, every so often, one of those remaining needle-thin fragments of her broken heart pierced something inside of her, sending pain radiating through her healing heart and soul, like a piece of shrapnel that was too small to be removed but was still bothersome, but it was infinitely better than it had been before. Not perfect, but manageable. 

Buttercup sighed as she settled further into her first class seat on the airplane, stabbing at her backspace button like it had done something to offend her. The words that had been flowing for over a week had now dried up, the warm glow of creativity now black and consuming as it surrounded her. Her characters, who so deserved a happy ending after everything they had been through, were falling apart and she couldn’t do anything about it. Every time she tried to fix the plot, it created a bigger hole. Every time she tried to alter some aspect of the characters, they became dull and lifeless, and she knew it was a reflection of how she was feeling. Every book she published held a small sliver of her soul, and it seemed that the ache in her chest was being transferred into her characters now, and she didn’t know how to heal them. She had barely been able to heal herself, and certainly not without help. 

Somehow, over the past week, Jake had somehow found those needle-thin shards of her heart that were still causing her so much pain, and had started fitting them back into her ravaged heart. He had done it so gently, so quietly, that she hadn’t even realized he had done it until she had stared up into his smiling eyes that night as he held her close and she felt…whole. Complete for the first time in 12 years. Her feelings for him, complicated as they were, had slammed into her then. He had snuck up on her this time, not like the last time when he had been all bright colours and flash. No, this time he had eased his way into her heart in a way that seemed inescapable, undeniable. 

Buttercup slammed her laptop shut and huffed, staring out the window. Her mind was too frazzled for work, her heart ached too much to focus on anything but him. 

He doesn’t love you, she reminded herself firmly. You divorced him. You left him. You left Charlie. No amount of sweet, small, shared moments can make up for the clusterfuck you left for him. 

A small voice inside of her whispered of the night they shared. Wasn’t that proof that it was more than just small moments? Wasn’t that proof that he cared? He had been so gentle with her, so caring. He had been everything she needed and more, reading her every move, knowing when to be sweet and soft, and knowing when to be rough and harder on her. It had always been like that. They had always been like that.  

It was nostalgia, she argued with that voice. It’s like Nat said. A lot of divorced couples have one last fuck fest to get each other out of their systems. We never did that. That’s all that night was. The choked feeling in her chest made her feel like she was lying to herself, like every part of her knew that that night meant more to her than her brain could ever comprehend. 

Stop it, she commanded herself. If he had it in him to forgive me for leaving the first time, I certainly burnt that bridge by leaving a second time. He doesn’t love you. How could he?

“Mum?” Abby’s tired and tearful voice broke through her hateful inner monologue. 

“Yeah, babe?” Buttercup shook her head as though her brain was an Etch-a-Sketch and she could erase all those inner thoughts. She shifted her body to look over at her sweet daughter, curled up in the seat next to her. Bob was passed out across the aisle, reclined almost completely and taking full advantage of the first class seating. 

“Could you pass me my headphones, please?” Buttercup’s heart ached even more at her daughter’s red-rimmed eyes. She had put her daughter through so much the past week, which was why she had to bring them home. No matter how much her feelings for Jake had bubbled to the surface, she couldn’t risk Abby or Charlie getting hurt again in the fallout. 

“Sure, darling.” Buttercup’s smile was wan as she dug into her bag to retrieve the headphones. “Did you decide on a film to watch?” 

Abby nodded, tilting her iPad for her mother to see. “Charlie and I made a list of all our favourite films. We’re going to watch them in order so that we can talk about them next time we videochat. First up is The Princess Bride. She said that it was her and Dad’s favourite movie.” Her weak smile fell slightly as she added, “She said that you and Dad used to watch it a lot.”

Buttercup nodded, willing the tears from her eyes. “Yeah…yeah, we did.”

“Have we never watched it because it makes you sad?” 

The innocence of Abby’s question had a few tears spilling down her mother’s cheeks. “I…yeah, babe. It’s like…” She paused, trying to come up with a good analogy. “Remember when Heaven died?” Abby nodded. She had loved their dog so much that she thought the pain of her death would never go away. “Remember how you wanted nothing to do with her toys or her leash for a really long time?” Again, Abby nodded. “It’s kind of like that. The memories that come up while watching that film make me really sad, so it’s just easier for me to not watch it. It doesn’t mean I don’t love it, it just means that there’s a lot of feelings mixed up in the film. Does that make sense?”

Abby tilted her head, considering. “Yeah. I understand.”

Buttercup smiled softly. “My sweet, smart girl.” She pressed a small kiss to her daughter’s hair as Abby plugged in her headphones. “Enjoy the film, okay?”

Abby nodded before immersing herself in William Goldman’s fairy tale world. Buttercup clenched her eyes shut as she caught a peek of the pixelated video game that started the film, and turned towards the window. If she could sleep, she might feel better. If she could sleep, maybe she could dream of a less complicated world for herself and her daughter. 

Buttercup yawned and rolled her neck as her small family sped through the streets of London towards their home. She had finally been able to fall asleep a few hours before the plane touched down at Gatwick. Luckily, Bob took charge of getting them through the airport, grabbing their luggage and steering them through customs before leading them to the taxi stand. She was so tired. Tired in her bones and tired in her heart. 

“So, what did you get up to in the plane, Abby?” Bob asked, craning his neck to look back at them from the front seat. 

“I watched a couple of films,” she replied with a small yawn. “The Lion King, a couple episodes of Friends, and then The Princess Bride.”

Bob chuckled. “That was your mom’s favourite movie.”

“Dad’s too…” Abby murmured, staring out the window at the rain soaked streets of London. Buttercup’s writer’s brain screamed about pathetic fallacy and the meaning of it all, while her rational side argued that a summer storm in Texas and a bordering on stereotypical rainstorm in London wasn’t exactly a sign. 

“Yeah…” Bob sighed before grinning back at them. “That’s how your mom got her nickname. And why she got her tattoo.”

“Did you enjoy the film, babe?” Buttercup’s voice was hesitant but she could see the gap between herself and her daughter growing and she wanted to bridge it before it became more difficult to fix. 

Abby nodded, a small smile on her face. “Yeah. It was really good.”

“What was your favourite part?” Bob piped up, sensing his sister’s struggles. “The sword fights? The ROUSs? The Pit of Despair?”

Abby giggled through a yawn and shook her head. “I liked the very beginning. When Buttercup realizes that every time Westley says ‘As You Wish’, he really means ‘I Love You.’” Abby shrugged shyly. “I thought that was really cute.”

Buttercup heard the sound of her brother’s laughter as he and Abby continued the conversation, but Buttercup herself felt frozen. It’s not that she had forgotten that part of the film. Admittedly, that had been one of her favourite parts as well, so much so that she and Jake had woven it into their wedding vows. The words As You Wish had been more popular than the words I Love You in their home, at least before everything had gone to shit. 

But how many times had she heard Jake say those words the past week? At their romantic gazebo dinner, at the diner, after their water fight in his kitchen. He had stared up at her with those forest green eyes from between her thighs and murmured them against her skin that night, sending shivers up her spine and making her see stars. A dozen tiny moments where he had looked her in the eyes and murmured those words. Did he remember what they meant? Was he upset that she had forgotten?

The bridge of her nose burned as her throat clogged with grief and sadness. Had she just thrown it all away because she had buried her memories so deep that the meaning of his words hadn’t even registered?

By the time they got home, Abby was exhausted and bid her mother and uncle a quick goodnight before climbing the stairs to go to bed.

Buttercup watched her go, feeling tears well up in her eyes. She had fought them for the remainder of the drive, but now, in the safety of her home, she felt the weight of grief and anxiety crush her. The relief of being in her own home was drowned out by the screaming voice in her head that warned her that she had made a colossal mistake in coming home. The screaming in her mind and the tension in her body resulted in a massive migraine that made her head feel like it was going to explode.

The cool press of glass against her arm was a welcome relief, and she shot her brother a grateful smile as he handed her the glass of ice water. “Go sit,” he murmured, retreating to the kitchen.

With no energy left in her body to fight, Buttercup followed Bob’s instructions and flopped gracelessly onto the comfortable couch, ice cubes jangling in her glass in a way that sent a burst of fire through her brain.

“Open up.” Bob had never been the type to tease or prank his sister, so she eagerly opened her mouth for him to press the two Ibuprofen tablets against her tongue. Once she had washed them down with some of her water, he handed her the divided bowl of hard pretzel sticks and strawberry yogurt. It was only once she was comfortably situated on the couch with her snack that he sat at her feet, dragging her legs into his lap and pressing gentle fingers into the arch of her feet.

Buttercup wanted to melt into the couch with all her might. But despite her salty-sweet snack, her water, the pain medication, and her brother’s massage, she couldn’t. Try as she might, her brain would not cease the rapid-fire memories that had been torturing her since she had gotten into the airport taxi in Texas. Charlie’s angry face, Jake’s devastation, Natasha’s eyes begging her to stay, Abby’s sobs, and all the times that Jake had uttered those words: As you wish. Which really meant “I love you”.

“C’mon, kiddo.” Bob’s words were gentle and kind. “Talk to me.”

Buttercup couldn’t stop the tears that began to fall as she struggled to speak. “About what?”

“About why you insisted on coming back,” Bob urged, his green eyes soft. “About why you and Abby are clearly miserable here.”

Buttercup choked back a sob, pulling her feet away from her brother so she could curl up on her side. When they had originally moved to London and she had been dealing with single motherhood and her PPD diagnosis, Bob would massage her feet to help her release all her negative emotions. He’d even gone so far as to take a class in order to do it right, finding it helped not only his sister but his best friend too. But in the depths of her grief, she didn’t want to be touched. She didn’t want to be comforted. She felt like a monster, and she wanted someone to call her on it, to make her feel worse.

“I’m sorry, okay?” Her voice sounded ragged and defeated even to her own ears. “I thought coming back was the right move for everyone.”

Bob didn’t look even mildly shocked at the outburst. “Why was it the right move?”

“I…I don’t know…”

Bob rested a hand on her ankle. “C’mon now, kiddo. I’ve known you for forever. Talk to me. I’m a judgement free zone.”

Buttercup’s hand trembled as she took a sip of water. “We have responsibilities here. A home, school, work. People depending on us.”

Bob nodded. “Alright. That all makes sense. But if you’ll let me play Devil’s Advocate for a minute…” He held up a gentle hand at the look his sister fixed on him. “Kiddo, I could very easily take over the deed to the house on my own. Yes, it would feel empty without you and Abby, but I’m sure I would be able to handle it, at least until I would be able to get a job with an airline based out of the US.”

Buttercup was already shaking her head. “You shouldn’t have to uproot your life for us again.”

“I wouldn’t be doing it for you,” he soothed. “I’d be doing it for me too. I like it here, but I think I’m ready to move on.”

Buttercup sniffled. “Okay…but there’s still work and school.”

Bob shook his head with a small smile. “They have schools in Texas. And you’re the one who has a bunch of awards for your work. You’ve worked from home hundreds of times since we moved here. I’m pretty sure you could negotiate working an ocean away if you really wanted to. So, I guess the question is, why don’t you want to?”

Soft sobs filled the room for a moment, punctuated by the rasping sound of Bob’s hand smoothing over her jeans and rain beginning to tap lightly against the windowpanes.

“I…I’m scared, Bob,” she finally whispered, sounding so broken that Bob felt an ache in the bridge of his nose. “I’m scared of getting hurt again if we try. Our breakup was so messy, and we said things to each other that can never be taken back. All we did was fight at the end. I don’t want to subject the girls to that. Can you imagine how damaging that would be to them?”

Bob sighed, reaching forward and snagging a pretzel stick before dipping it into the strawberry yogurt. “You’re a good mom, kiddo. For the past 12 years, you have only thought about Abby and what is best for her. But what if moving to Texas is what is best for her? What if you give things with Hangman another try and it doesn’t fall apart again?”

Buttercup blinked back tears, wrestling with the baseball sized lump in her throat. “It…it feels selfish…I could hurt the three people I love most if we try again, and I fail.”

“I don’t think it’s selfish.” Bob popped another pretzel into his mouth and shook her ankle, not stopping until her eyes were solely on him. “It wasn’t your fault that your marriage failed, kiddo. You were sick, and Hangman crumbled under the pressure. He didn’t know how to handle it and neither did you. You didn’t get the help you needed until it was too late, and he didn’t acknowledge the problem until you were already gone. But you’re better now. And I honestly can’t believe I’m saying this, but so is Hangman. The man went to therapy, for Christ’s sake.” Bob chuckled lowly. “And you’re both older now. More experienced. I don’t think its selfish of you to try again when it could make all four of you very happy. I think that’s brave.”

Buttercup sniffled, wiping at her tears with the back of her hand. “I want to be with him,” she murmured, and it felt like a weight lifted off her chest. It was her first time admitting it aloud. “But the divorce wrecked me. It took me years to feel like my heart wasn’t breaking anymore. I…I don’t know if I would be able to heal from that again.”

Bob smiled gently and leaned forward, plucking up her hand and squeezing it gently. “On the slightest chance that things don’t work out again, you would still heal. You’re stronger than you think. And you’d have so many people rallying around you to help you, just like last time. I know you don’t love accepting help, but we’d all be there for you again. And maybe part of the reason it hurt so bad the first time is that you weren’t just mourning your marriage. You were also mourning the daughter you left behind.”

Buttercup sobbed and crumpled forward, arms wrapping around her middle as Bob pulled her close and rubbed her back. “They both probably hate me now. And I don’t blame them.”

“Hangman doesn’t hate you,” he soothed. “If he hated you, he would’ve made you leaving an absolute nightmare. He probably would’ve threatened to take you to court or something. But he didn’t, did he? He let you go because he thought it was what you wanted. And Charlie…she’s still just a kid, Buttercup. She’s hurting and looking to lash out at someone. I can almost guarantee once she’s tapped out of anger at you, she’ll be giving Jake hell for not coming after you.”

A strange sob-snort escaped Buttercup as she rested her cheek against her brother’s shoulder. “You don’t think I’m crazy for wanting to be with him?”

Bob gently squeezed her shoulder. “I think he makes you happier than you’ve been in years. I think that, if you love him, you owe it to everyone to try again. I think that I want you to be happy.”

They both chuckled as Buttercup awkwardly wrapped her arms around him. “You really are the Best Older Brother, you know that?”

Bob chuckled again, adjusting his glasses as a rosy pink tinged his cheeks. “Yeah, well, that’s why they call me Bob.”

Buttercup chuckled, all watery and choked as she rested her head on his shoulder. She remembered when she made him that mug. She was probably 7 years old and had been looking for a Christmas gift for her big brother when her mom suggested making him something at a pottery class. The result was a misshapen blue mug with ‘Best Older Brother’ carved into it so that the first letters of the words lined up to spell BOB. It had made her giggle like a madman as a kid and her mother had been sure that Bob would leave it in the back of his closet. But lo and behold, he had been drinking coffee out of that mug every day since, unless he was on deployment.

“I still can’t believe that made that your callsign.”

He chuckled. “I still can’t believe you never spilled the beans to Hangman, even though he kept calling me Baby On Board.”

She shrugged. “I figured if you wanted him to know, you’d tell him.”

Bob nodded against her head and sighed. “So, are you going to tell him?”

Buttercup sighed, her head pounding. “Telling him I want him but that I’m scared to need him seems like an in-person conversation. And I can’t exactly just turn around and go back to Texas. My editors will be so pissed.”

Bob sighed. “You hold the power here, kiddo. Talk to them. Throw your award-winning weight around and make them listen. What’s more important? Making your editors happy or making yourself happy?”

Another sigh rocked through her as she cuddled down into the couch. She knew the answer, but she also knew that any steps she needed to take to prove herself needed to come after a good night’s sleep.

Buttercup sighed and shut her laptop, feeling more accomplished and more excited about her work than she had in a long time. After a good night’s sleep, a hearty breakfast, and a Zoom call with her editors and literary agent, she was ready to take charge of her life again.

She registered a soft, rhythmic buzzing sound and looked down at her phone. Bob was flying today and had dropped Abby off at her friend Brooklyn’s house before he headed to the airport, but for this to work, she had needed someone to pick Abby up, bring her home, and watch her until her uncle got back around dinner time.

Buttercup scooped up her phone and swiped to answer the phone call. “Bonjour, Genevieve.”

The soft purr of the supermodel’s French accent echoed through the receiver. “Bonjour, mon ami! I would be delighted to watch sweet little Abby for the afternoon while you are away.”

Buttercup sighed in relief as she grabbed her duffle bag. “Thank you so much, Gen! Since Nat stayed in Texas and Bob is flying today, I didn’t know who else to call. I wasn’t sure if you were on a shoot today or not.”

The answering laugh was bright and airy. “No, no photo shoot today, mon ami. I was planning on spending the day with Robert, but since he has to work, spending time with my favourite coccinelles sounds just as good.”

Buttercup felt her lips stretch into a soft smile. She hadn’t been sure about Genevieve the first time she had met her, but the French supermodel went far beyond any stereotypes and was now a close friend.

“Thank you, Gen. Abby should have her keys, but she knows the code to the lockbox if she doesn’t. You know where everything is. I’ll call home when I’m sure about what’s going on, okay?”

“Amuse-toi bien, chérie.” The cheerful goodbye came as Buttercup searched through her bag to make sure she had everything. Passport, a single change of clothes, last minute ticket purchased with all her travel points.

“Bye Gen,” she mumbled as she tucked her phone charger into the bag and hustled for the door, pulling it open and stepping out onto her front stoop.

She felt insane. She couldn’t believe she was doing this. But if she didn’t do this, she knew she would regret it for the rest of her life. She needed to go. She needed to talk to him. She needed—

“Jake?”

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[hauntedhokage]

𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒑𝒓𝒊𝒄𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒎𝒐𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏

Satoru Gojo/F!Reader

you should know better than to make a deal with Mei Mei, because everything comes at a price.

word count: 2.9k

warnings: drugging (aphrodisiac use), manipulation, non-consensual photos and recording, non-sexual slapping, uneven power dynamics, canon typical Mei Mei behavior, unprotected sex, breeding, yan!gojo

notes: some parts of this are intentionally a bit exaggerated because Gojo is a showman, if nothing else. This was also requested in uh....march so dear anon if you're still here I love you and I'm sorry.

There is always a price. Even in the jujutsu world, nothing just happened because of merit. It was all about who you knew and what you could give them in return for helping you out. Never simply receiving because you worked hard and earned it. 

Which is why you knew paying off Mei Mei to support your promotion to grade one was going to end badly. But she was your only in to get the promotion you knew you deserved quickly. Gojo had been an option, but his price was “be a good girl for twenty-four hours” and that would cost you way more than Mei Mei’s negotiated price of five hundred thousand yen just to consider putting you up for promotion. The higher ups hated Gojo anyway, your paperwork would just get “lost” and then you’d have to resubmit multiple times, and Gojo resubmitting paperwork would come at a cost that grew steeper with every re-submission. The cost of doing business with him.

But that came at the price of Mei Mei not being able to supervise your missions that would fall under consideration, the ultimate price being that your final mission for consideration would be performed with Satoru Gojo at your side - and he looked way too happy to be sitting next to you in the car. 

“Ijichi, there was nobody else?” 

“You ask that as if I make the assignments,” the supervisor retorts, and you sit back in your seat as he sighs. “You’ll live. We always persevere.”

“I am right here, y’know,” Gojo interjects, and you sigh as you lean into the door when he scoots closer. “It’ll be like I’m not even there.”

“Impossible,” you mumble, grateful that the car has slowed to a stop meaning you can get out before Gojo is pressed into your side. Personal space didn’t exist for you when he was around, that’s why you did your best to avoid him. 

Like he’s not even there, he says. 

But he certainly enjoyed standing right next to you as you walked through the closed down hotel in search of the curse. His presence was unsettling for a multitude of reasons, the biggest one being that you didn’t like how he looked at you. Always with a stupid little smirk on his face, like he knew something you didn’t, and then there was the fact that he always had something to say about your appearance. New haircut, wearing your jacket a certain way, he even clocked the one time you smelled like someone else’s cologne. You weren’t bold enough to assume that he wanted anything more than to say he’d fucked you, but the way he just kept trying after the first rejection was creepy. But he was Satoru Gojo - the strongest sorcerer - despite any complaints about his conduct, the higher ups wouldn’t be able to actually do anything. The perk of being Satoru Gojo, and the true downside to hating him. 

“Maybe the windows were mistaken?” you consider, poking your head into another open door and seeing nothing of interest. “I can’t sense any cursed energy besides ours. If this truly was a grade one or higher, we’d have felt it by now.”

“I’m not here, so you should feel it.”

“Are you telling me that you sense something I don’t?” His six eyes technique was annoying, he was annoying, so you keep walking even when he stops to go into a different open room. Maybe without him hovering your senses would be cleared enough to tell what he wasn’t telling you about. You just hoped you found it soon, because searching a hotel top to bottom with Gojo over your shoulder was not how you wanted to spend a Friday night. Maybe you’d call Nanami, see if he was going to leave that office building and at least get a drink? Or go to Yaga and see if there was any way you could get sent overseas to keep an ocean between you and Gojo at all times?

You hear movement behind you but pay it no mind, knowing that it was just Gojo pretending to not be near you. The cursed energy was the same, no residuals to be found, so you were going to let your guard stay dropped until you had a true reason to be on guard. Creaks in the floorboards of an old hotel wasn’t reason enough to stress yourself out. 

A rag covering your mouth while an arm snakes around your torso to pull you against a chest and back through a doorway was, however, cause for great distress. This wasn’t a curse attacking you, even high grade curses weren’t smart enough to stage an attack like this - this was Gojo. And he’s too strong for you to truly be able to fight back, the best you can do is kick and flail and hope that his infinity wouldn’t block it given your close proximity to him. Screaming was pointless, since sound wouldn’t escape the veil, but you do manage to wiggle free just as he kicks the door shut. 

The room is a bit blurry, your body feels warm and fuzzy when it certainly should not be, and every time you inhale you’re getting hints of pomegranate - not normal considering everywhere else in the hotel smelled like dust covered up with lemon cleaning solution. You have to get away from him, but there’s only one exit and he’s blocking it. 

“Well damn. It’s supposed to make you more receptive, guess I didn’t use enough,” he mumbles, tossing the rag to the side as you back away from him. “Or maybe there’s a delay? I really should have read the instructions closer.”

“W-what the fuck is wrong with you!?”

“To start, this hard on. I get like this whenever you’re around, y'know.” And he’s dropping his pants easily, exposing his lower half while he steps closer to you. “You’re just so cute. Even cuter when you make those angry faces at me, like I don’t know how badly you want me, too.” “You’re delusional.”

“And you’re dripping wet, aren’t you? Maybe it is working? Or do you just want me that badly?”

He’s wrong. You know he’s wrong because you did not have any desire for him in the slightest. Satoru Gojo was an annoyance who gave you the creeps, not someone you were attracted to at all. The bastard drugged you, after all, that’s why you had this reaction. 

“Why are you doing this?”

“You want that promotion, right?” His hand is stroking the bulge in his briefs, and your eyes struggle to stay focused on his as he smirks at you. “This is how you’ll get it. I was a little hurt that you didn’t ask me to put your name forward, though, I had our day all planned out.”

“That’s why I didn't ask you. Mei only wanted money, the lesser evil.”

“And isn’t it funny that paying Mei is how we ended up here?” And he’s got you boxed against the wall, long fingers carefully unbuttoning your jacket as he watches you process the implication of that statement. “Five million is a pretty steep price to take on such a bother that’s supervising an exorcism, but alone time with a sweet little thing like you is pretty priceless.”

And your jacket falls to the floor, your blouse coming undone shortly after while you stand frozen in place. Mei Mei sold you to the highest bidder, knowing damn well you paid her to get out of possibly needing to fuck Gojo to get promoted. Five million. What’s more concerning is that you’re sure Gojo would’ve paid more for this opportunity to get you alone on a mission with a veil separating you from society and Ijichi as the Supervisory Assistant - someone who wouldn’t dare intervene in a mission Gojo was on unless the man himself instructed it. The perfect plan.

“Don’t think you can get all frigid on me, don’t you want to be a grade one sorcerer?”

“You know I do.”

“Then you’d better show me how much.” A firm hand on your shoulder has you sliding down the wall to rest on your knees, nodding at his instruction to be cute about it and pressing your cheek to his covered cock. His phone is pointed down at you, pictures taken before you could even consider slapping it away, but you can only grin and bear it as you nuzzle against his crotch. “You want to suck my cock, don’t you? Wanna show me how badly you want to get promoted?”

“Please,” you whisper, kissing along the bulge until you get to the waistband. Your fingers hook into the elastic, but you wait for Gojo’s nod before starting to pull the fabric down. “But can you not record this?”

“Honey, I need this so we can both remember that even when you’re being mean, you want me. That deep down, for all your posturing, you’re just as eager to take my cock as any random woman off the streets in Tokyo.” 

He’s such a bastard. You’d make this the worst blowjob of his life if he wasn’t your only hope of getting promoted, but you can only sigh in resignation. You weren’t getting what you wanted until he was satisfied, but you didn’t know what would truly satisfy him. He paid five million for this opportunity, what more would he spend to get more from you? Or what “tragic accident” could occur should you choose to be noncompliant? A promotion meant nothing if you weren’t alive to use it. 

“Now be good and look cute while you suck me off, don’t want to have to tell the higher ups you can’t take instruction.

Just don’t bite him, you have to tell yourself as he gently taps your cheek with his cock. He’d probably like it, anyway, which wouldn’t be any kind of fun for you. 

Before he can make any kind of request, you gently take the base of his cock in your hand while sucking the tip into your mouth. The taste of his pre on your tongue makes you want to throw up, but you maintain your composure as you take more of him into your mouth. His hand around your wrist pulls your hand from his length, holding it tightly as his other hand settles atop your head, his phone tossed to the side hopefully for the rest of the Awanight. He says something about testing your endurance just before he pushes his length further into your mouth. A sharp thrust makes you choke, but he gives no reprieve - instead warning you that you’d need to sharpen up that performance if you ever wanted to become a grade one sorcerer and reminding you that this was all so you could get a promotion. 

“Oh, you recovered quickly,” he observes aloud, gently tugging on a couple strands of hair while continuing to keep you still. “Has this pretty mouth been used by someone else? Not like it matters, I’ll ruin you for anyone else.”

Fuck him and his confidence, honestly. He’s just rich and untouchable, nothing special. Fucking guy. 

Breathing is your only priority since he’d taken his pleasure into his own hands - that and not biting him or throwing up. Shit, was it hot in here now? Why was it so warm?

It’s supposed to make you more receptive, he’d said, the words bouncing in your head as you feel yourself clench around nothing. The drugs were truly kicking in; your greatest fear of the night being realized in knowing that he’d get your skirt off and realize that you were, in fact, dripping wet. Technically because of him, the artificial assistance simply a footnote in the grander scheme of his memories of the event. 

The way he fucks into your mouth should not make you as wet as you are. But it does, your thighs rubbing together in search of friction you wouldn’t get until he was satisfied with intruding your throat, and you know he’s going to be thrilled when he gets you on that bed to finally get to the main event. 

“Oh, are you ready for me?” he asks, and you curse his damn six eyes technique because he truly missed nothing, but you know better than to lie to him if he had all the control in this situation. It takes all of your strength to nod against around his cock, pulling back to confirm his statement and ask him to fuck you. Playing into his game would make this go faster, and you could go home and scrub your skin while waiting for the results of your promotion mission. 

He’s lifting you effortlessly, carefully dropping you onto the bed and pouncing almost instantly. His fingers play with your soaked cunt for only a few seconds before he’s lining himself up, stretching you out with his thick cock with little regard for your comfort as the recipient. 

“Oh, you feel like heaven, just like I thought you would.” His praise comes out half a whine, and you feel nauseous at just how much pleasure he’s getting from simply pushing into you. Even more nauseous at how eagerly your body allowed the intrusion. “Maybe you’ve got potential to help me breed more little Gojos. Being the only one is a bit lonely, y’know.”

“That’s not part of the deal, Go-fuck!” A slap to your cheek has you stopping, just as he forces the rest of his length in to bottom out, leaving you winded and in different types of pain. 

“You should really use my first name. I think we’re well past formalities and all that cold indifference you tried to maintain.” And he’s setting a brutal pace, leaving you no time to adjust to how he was stretching you out. “C’mon, say it for me. Nice and sweet, now.”

You don’t want to give him the satisfaction, but you also don’t want him to hit you again. This was all about control, a game you had no hope of winning because Gojo was stronger with or without the aphrodisiac, but saying his name was conceding your defeat. 

As if you hadn’t lost the second you’d set foot in this hotel.  

And it slips out when his fingers pinch your clit, a truly pathetic whine of “S-Satrou,” pushing past your lips only to be swallowed by his delighted groan and his mouth covering yours. He would be getting everything he wanted, and your nausea only intensifies before it’s pushed down by the pleasure you begin to feel as he pushes your legs back while praising how good and tight you felt and how he hoped to break your pussy so only he could have it for the rest of your life. This fucking aphrodisiac would make sure of it, and you know he’d keep dosing you to keep you compliant with what he wanted. Satoru Gojo didn’t take no for an answer. 

His pace becomes unbearably slow, you’re not sure if it’s frustrating because of the need bubbling in your core from the aphrodisiac or the fact that you just wanted this to end. Your attempt at meeting his thrusts is met with a shake of his head and a whispered request that you let him take care of you, his words heavy with an intimacy that you didn’t want to have directed at you and hate that you had any reaction to it. To keep you from moving, his large hands grip your thighs to hold them back - also providing him an angle to allow for his thrusts to reach deeper inside your already tormented cunt. The groan that leaves him is almost primal, eyes darkening as he leans in again and forces your legs to your chest. 

“I’m gonna fill you,” he whispers, sending a chill down your spine. “Are you ready?”

You shake your head, knowing you weren’t getting any semblance of a choice but hoping he’d maybe pull out. You also had to hope that Shoko wasn’t in on this, too. Because she would be able to swap anything you might request out for a placebo if Gojo told her to. Bastard had it all mapped out, you were sure. 

“Satoru, please, you can’t-”

You’re cut off by his groan, your cunt being flooded by the sheer amount of his cum that makes your body feel impossibly hotter while he tilts your body back more, tears rolling down your cheeks that have him grinning before resting his head on the pillow against yours. And you lie there with your thighs pushed back and his hands holding you in place, his breathing heavy and hot against your ear. His hips pressed flush against yours, every other moment pulling back a bit only to push himself back in, a pleasured sigh leaving him every so often and fanning your cheek with his hot breath.  

“You did so well. So good for me, darling,” he purrs into your ear, carefully nipping at your lobe before trailing a line of kisses down your neck. “Ijichi is bound to start getting suspicious, so I can’t keep you here all night. But let's get dinner and drinks after we file your report, then you can come to my place and we’ll continue this assessment of your skills so I can comfortably approve your promotion.”

He knows what he’s doing. With your limbs easily pinned down, his cock still snugly plugged in your cunt, you couldn’t go anywhere unless he allowed it - and he wouldn’t allow it until he got the answer he wanted. The answer you desperately didn’t want to give because you wanted to be anywhere but by his side. But you nod anyway, teary eyes meeting his hopeful gaze as you whisper, “I’d really like that, Satoru.”

“I knew you would. Gotta thank Mei for giving me a pretty little girlfriend.”

[l3viat8an]

Ok we all know how much you love streamer Levi but what about an au or something with Streamer Mammon? 

I do love streamer!Levi <333 still so happy it’s canon now too!!!! But!!!! Streamer!Mammon sounds fun too- so plz enjoy some headcanons!!! cuz apparently I had a lot to say :) also it’s been so long since I’ve done hcs so these are all over the place- sorry jsjsjs

Listen Mammon only started streaming after he saw how much money Levi made streaming- manz could not believe people actually pay other people to play games???- weirdos.

He’s like really good at COD- idk why or how he just is-

Honestly whenever he plays games, he’s either the first or the last to die…..there’s just no in between. Mammon plays so aggressively, his plan either flops right out the gate or he wins the game.

He’ll play just about any game that’s popular or trending thinking it’ll get him good ratings (and it usually does-)

Makes a big deal out of ‘playing games for the first time ever!!’ on stream because his fans love watching him skip tutorials “who has time for that crap???” and fail the first time.

He calls his subs, his grimm and they call him pookie jkjk-

He’s really good at survival games and games that require a lot of precision timing. Even if Mammon acts like a goofball he can focus and it’s impressive!

He’s in this ‘war’ with Levi where they raid each other’s streams all the damn time which is really funny cuz they share a ton of fans, so it’s more like fans running back and forth.

When they’re not ‘at war’ Levi and Mammon actually play together a lot!! Subs love when they have devilcart tournaments or team up and speedrun some dungeon.

Mammon always clams he’s more popular then Levi and makes more money!!! But they’re pretty even all around. Their numbers are only a few thousand followers off and tips are almost the same.

He has tons, and I mean tons of sponsors / sponsorships. He’s really good at casual product placement, showing the label / name of what he’s drinking or snacking on, on stream and sponsors love that shit-

If you two are dating your relationship is very public. He loves to posts about you on all his social media and show you off!!! Your his and he makes sure all his fans know he’s taken <3

Always invites you to come on stream with him!!!

Or he’ll start streams like “Come watch me beat my (gf/bf) at (game name)!!!” and the stream almost always ends with you winning ;)

After you’ve beaten him a few times he switches to playing only sillier games with you, stuff like Minecraft, devilcart or generic domestic / cooking games.

Speaking of cooking games- he once played cooking mama on stream and had to rage quit because he kept messing up-

He’s always a blushing mess when you’re on camera, which is something his chat teases him about endlessly!!

Bonus points if you give him a little kiss on the cheek after he wins a game and his fans can watch him turn bright red~

[fabled-fiction]

Not Canon

Spider!Reader x Miguel O’Hara Implied

Summary: You’re a Spider and so is Miguel, which means it just isn’t meant to be. No matter how hard Miguel tries to convince himself otherwise.

Word Count: 687 (issa short blurb)

Warnings: SPOILERS FOR SPIDERMAN: ACROSS THE SPIDERVERSE.

You weren't canon.

At least, not for him.

There was a very specific formula that everyone had to follow, that he had to follow.

It has his word, basically his gospel. In order to keep the multiverse, the infinite web of realities together from collapsing in on itself. Never diverge from canon events.

He knew if he got too close to you he would absolutely diverge, or worse. You would get close to him and your world as both of you knew it would crumble.

And oh how he loved how much you loved your Earth.

Your Earth, the one that you fought oh so valiantly to protect. You were different from the other Spiders he could tell. Sure every Spider took their role with grace eventually, they always did. Some took some convincing while others only needed a few days. But you were different. 

You didn't even question your role after you were bit. Despite having no idea or clue as to what a Spider person was, it was like you immediately knew that you were destined for greatness after that bite. You transformed your role almost as quickly as that spider had transformed you. 

That's why you were recruited for the Spider society. It was an easy decision, sometimes he thinks it was too easy of a decision that he had made. That Jessica had made, that Layla had barely put a word in for. You were a Spiderperson for less than a month, but just like your role as a Spider you took your role in Spider society in an instant. You were a natural. 

Maybe it was the fact that your spider events weren't necessarily the same as every other spiders. That's what Miguel told himself whenever he let his mind wander a  bit too far, whenever he wanted to convince himself that maybe your timeline could be different. That you and him could pursue each other. 

He told himself that whenever he found himself looking too long at footage of yourself. Whenever you were away from the society, valiantly defending your Earth from the known enemies of the Spiders whenever they decided to finally pop up in your reality. Or just when you were here, thwiping about and teaching new charges about their roles in the ever expanding web.

Whenever he found his heart beating a little too fast. 

Whenever he had himself almost convinced that his aching hand could finally be cured by the hold of yours.

You were supposed to end up with an MJ. Those were just the rules. Just because you had not found your MJ yet didn't mean Miguel could occupy that space until the time came. Cause if he was being honest with himself the minute he made you his he wouldn't step down. He had taken the role of someone else before, he had replaced someone else’s role on another Earth.

That Earth was gone now, because of him. 

He would not go through that again. 

He wouldn’t let you EVER go through that.

Whenever he found himself lecturing the newest recruit that was taking the news a little too hard that a loved one had to die, saying his infamous speech about how saving one person was not a valid reason to doom thousands that little voice in the back of his head would begin to speak up. 

Because if he was being honest with himself, he was a hypocrite. 

And maybe that was the irony of his situation. That he was already breaking canon, that he would break canon just for you to be happy. But it was his canon, and other’s canons that he was metaphorically sacrificing just for yours to remain.

He would let a thousand Earths fall to ruin before he could even imagine letting you see yours fall. 

“Hey Miguel, you got a second?”

He would let every Earth burn just for a moment with you, you didn't even have to ask.

Because that's all he would allow himself. Faint moments, passing glances, and a few words exchanged. It was just barely enough to satiate his thirst for you. But it was enough to get by.

Because he wasn’t canon.

At least not for you.

[gayelderstourney]

OLD MAN YAOI BRACKET ROUND 1

Propaganda:

Gerald Robotnik/Black Doom:

Scientist who wants to blow up the world and his evil alien boyfriend

Dude they had a son together and his name is shadow the hedgehog

They created Shadow the hedgehog together. Yes Shadow the hedgehog. This is canon. Theyre also super divorced just trust me on this.their old man yaoi is real

we as a society would not have shadow the hedgehog without their old man yaoi

old man fucks alien so he can bring his daughter back from space safely, gives birth to sad gay hedgehog

you KNOW they fucked

they’re shadow the hedgehogs dads. Like canonically. black doom is an alien god guy and gerald is eggmans grandpa who didn’t love him enough and gave him daddy issues. he also went insane after the government killed his granddaughter (who he loved instead of eggman) and tried to kill humanity :3 these two are like bitter exes to me. they’re both dead. the devil from the bible fucked that old man

Black Doom and Gerald Robotnik are Shadow the Hedgehogs dads. Gerald is a (silly, slightly insane) old scientist and Black Doom is a two thousand year old alien who wants to destroy the Earth. Its not canon but Shadow's gay dads mean everything to me. They kiss and hold hands on the space colony.

IM DOING MY PART!!! GERALDOOM SWEEP BAYBEEEEEEE!!! GO SHADOW’S GAY DADS!

Sheo/The Nailsmith:

It's really nice because you unlock it after the nailsmith asks you to kill him with the pure nail and you refuse and walk away. He then says he was wandering hallownest without purpose until he found sheo who helped him discover that there was more to life than just one calling. These two are probably the only characters in the game to have a genuinely happy ending

The nailsmith loses his purpose in life after finishing his ultimate masterpiece, his lifelong goal, the pure nail. He requests the protagonist to try the nail on him, but If you refuse, he will find sheo who helps him to find new meaning in life and realise that there is more to life by teaching him different crafts. They can then be seen sculping figurines together, and sheo is also painting the nailsmith.They share a common love for art and crafts and inspire each other. Sheo's story is that he was a nailmaster, but got tired of it, and put down his nail to pick up a paintbrush. I think it's beautiful that he could help the nailsmith realise what he himself did. They both also used to live in solitude without even realising how lonely they were, and I think it's cute tuhat they can do art together now :]

They are two bugs retired from their career and making better lives for themselves and they’re gay about it. Nailsmith believes at first that he has nothing left after creating the perfect nail and asks the knight to strike him down, and if you don’t, he meets Sheo, a retired nailmaster finding a new calling in painting and sculpting. They find a shared love in creating things and Nailsmith finds a new calling in art as well. The achievement you get for uniting them is called “Happy Couple”

Gay bugs gay bugs gay bugs (Cw mention of suicide) They both used to pursue their one passion in life: forging the perfect nail (sword) for the Nailsmith and the art of combat for Sheo. Sheo realized he could just leave that life when he lost his passion for fighting, and he found himself a new purpose in life: art. However, he always seemed very lonely, completely isolated by all other bugs in his hidden house in the middle of a thorn jungle. When The Nailsmith achieved his goal and forged the perfect nail, he lost his purpose in life and his will to live. He asks the player to kill him. However, if the player refuses, he can later be found in Sheo's house, modelling for Sheo or sculpting figurines with him. He thanks the player for not fulfilling his request, because he has found a new calling in life here, making art together with Sheo. They both express how happy they are to no longer be alone. This also gives you the "Happy Couple" achievement, confirming that they are a couple.

THEY'RE CANON!!! They're fucking canon!!! You can talk to them at one point after doing a Bunch of Stuff to get them to meet each other and you get an achievement called "Happy Couple"!!! Gotta love old man yuri

[thisreadswhatever]

The Chase: Part One

Pretty Sweet

series masterlist

[description]: jax teller x female reader

[wordcount]: 2.7k+

[summary]: Jax Teller is used to getting what he wants. At least that was the case before he met you.

[cw]: 18+ only minors do not interact - AU, follows some canon characters & themes but timeline is different. otherwise none yet, but stick with me, I have a smutty plan!

[authors note]: this has been really fun to write. thank you so much to this anon for requesting this idea! I plan on writing a good few parts of this.. as I am really loving writing this reader insert. if you have any ideas or suggestions on where you would like this to go, please let me know! I absolutely love getting your suggestions. I really hope you enjoy!

It had been a long sixteen hour drive. You sighed with relief as you sped past the large wooden slice, “WELCOME TO CHARMING”. You rolled your windows down, the wind blistering through your hair as you took in the warm California sun. 

You turned the music up, attempting to drown out the events replaying in your head that led you here in the first place. 

Charming wasn’t exactly on your bucket list of places to travel. Your parents had split a few years back, after your mom decided she could no longer handle the baggage that came with the Sons of Anarchy MC. Your Dad was an avid member of the Denver Charter, and she soon realised she couldn’t sit back and watch as he grew deeper into the Club. It was a quick and amicable divorce, made easier by the fact you were an only child and more than understanding of why the relationship had to end. You were old enough to see the pain your mom went through trying to make it work, and you knew that it was the best decision for them both. Your Dad on the other hand, never really got over it. 

When your mom remarried last year, he decided to leave Colorado and transferred to the SAMCRO Charter. Charming was his home now. He’d been begging you to visit him for months, and despite the fact you were genuinely pleased that he was happy, seeing him so far from home and content without his family wasn’t something you’d looked forward too. 

Charming was a small place, and from what your Dad had told you, it had never really left the seventies. Denver was the total opposite, a city full of life and people, and ever growing with new expanding chains of business. Even with the freezing winters, there was always something to do in Denver. But Charming? They barely had a population of fifteen thousand. 

You had evaded the trip for as long as you could, blaming college assignments and exams for the reason you couldn’t make the drive. Now that you’d graduated, the excuses had run thin, and it was time to visit your Dad in Charming. 

You pulled into the road of the address he had given you, entering a long unpaved driveway that ended on the outside of a dainty cabin. Your Dad’s bike was parked stagnant on the dirt. You dug your suitcase out from your trunk and walked up the wooden steps to the porch, bringing your hand to the door to knock. Before your knuckles could meet the wood, the door flung wide and your Dad lunged at you with open arms. 

“You’re finally here!”, he squealed in excitement as he grasped you into a giant bear hug.

“‘Finally’ is right. That was a serious drive, Dad.”

He took your suitcase and carried it through the entryway. “Sure is. I’m so glad you got here safely, kiddo. Come on, let’s get you settled. You hungry? I was just about to make some lunch.”

You followed him inside as you observed the interior of the quaint, dusty cabin. “I could definitely eat.” 

—

Your Dad showed you to your room and then became sidetracked from lunch, giving you a full tour of his new home and the complete low down of all things SAMCRO. He’d explained that the place was owned by the Club, but nobody ever frequented it unless they were in hiding. Your Dad was housed here for the long term, or at least until he could find something he liked better inside the Charming suburbs. 

Once he’d caught you up, he made his start on lunch. You watched as he strolled throughout the kitchen, sitting patiently at the small round dining table. 

“It’s a nice place, Dad. Not sure how I feel that you’re out here all alone though.”

“I’m barely here, kiddo. Spend most of my time down the Clubhouse.” He shrugged nonchalantly as he continued to make sandwiches, dropping a piece of turkey in the process. “I can’t wait for you to meet the guys, y/n. A lot more warm than the ones up in Denver. Some of them are your age too.” He placed the plate in front of you, and you grimaced at the site. Your Dad had never claimed to be a great chef. 

“Thanks.” You smiled at him politely, taking a bite and struggling to swallow down the piece of dry sandwich. “I’m sure they’re great, Dad.”

“So, how’s your mom?” 

You shrugged dismissively, unsure how to broach the uncomfortable topic of the newly weds. “She’s doing well. Mike is good to her.” 

He nodded. “That’s good. I’m really glad she’s happy.” 

It was hard to see your Dad try to be okay with the fact that your mom had moved on. The awkward silence was interrupted by his chair scraping against the floor as he stood up from the table. “Finish lunch and we can head on out. The guys are getting together at the Clubhouse tonight, you can meet them all there.”

You knew an evening with a bunch of Californian bikers was going to be inevitable during your trip. At least you could get it over with on the first night. 

“Sounds great, Dad.” 

—

You weren’t thrilled to be back in the confines of your car so soon after your long road trip, but your Dad knew better than to ask you to sit on the back of his motorcycle.

You rolled the windows down of your car as you followed his bike through the winding road from the cabin. As you re-entered Charming, you passed by locally run stores and cafes. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think this was a quiet, peaceful town. But you did know better. You knew what the Club’s presence actually meant for a small community like Charming. If SAMCRO was anything similar to the Denver Charter, the underworkings of this town would be anything but quiet and peaceful. 

You pulled into the lot of Teller-Morrow Automotive Repairs, instantly drawn to the huge row of Harley motorcycles lined up on the inner bays.

Your Dad parked up and met you outside your car, telling you all about his new job in the garage as you walked together. He led you across the lot towards a small black door, entering into the SAMCRO clubhouse. It was impressive, a comfortable space with its own bar and lounge area. The place was full of MC memorabilia and pictures from the club’s long history. The furthest wall was centered by two large double doors that were surrounded by mugshots of the SAMCRO members. You had visited the Denver Clubhouse enough to know that room was where the decisions were made.

Your Dad introduced you one by one to several members that were there, a few of which he’d mentioned to you that afternoon. Bobby, Chibs, Trager, Juice and Opie all greeted you with open arms. They were extremely friendly and welcoming, just as your father had promised. The one your Dad called Trager seemed very pleased with your arrival, hugging you for a little too long. Your Dad managed to break the long embrace, pulling you away to start touring you around the building. 

“Don’t get too close to that one, kiddo. He’s a little out there.” 

You giggled as you nodded in agreement, “I’ll keep my distance.” 

—

You sat alongside the club’s Secretary, Bobby, on a leather bench that faced out with a view of the entire room. You observed as the Clubhouse filled with more members and women, a handful of which were old ladies. The rest of them, very clearly single. Of all the members you’d met so far, Bobby had been the easiest to talk to. He clued you in on some of the Club’s legitimate businesses, Cara Cara and Red Woody Productions. You figured that’s where most of the girls came from, retired and current porn stars. 

It was a little strange, and anyone else may have felt uneasy seeing their father in this kind of environment. But you were used to the life of girls and guns from growing up with a dad in a motorcycle club. The Denver Charter had its fair share of women in and out of their doors, but mainly just bartenders and the odd crow eater looking for a way in. These girls were more forward, scantily clothed, makeup on point, and obviously comfortable with their surroundings.  

Bobby nudged your shoulder, regaining your attention from the party happening around you. “You know your Dad talks about you constantly. He’s so happy that you’re here, kid. We all are.” 

You glanced over at your father, a huge smile forming as he collected a drink from the bar. 

“He does seem happy. Just weird seeing him away from home.” 

“You got a home here with us too now, y/n.” He placed his arm over you and squeezed your shoulder reassuringly, “we’re your family as much as we are his.” 

“That’s really sweet, Bobby. Thanks.” 

He pulled his arm back as he chuckled to himself, his large stomach bellowing as he laughed. “I am pretty sweet.” 

Suddenly, the front door opened and a roar of drunken welcomes filled the clubhouse as two more members entered. The President of SAMCRO, Clay Morrow, walked in smiling ear to ear, hands held up as though he was a celebrity greeting his adoring fans. You’d heard a lot about Clay from your father, mainly that he was the initial sponsor for his transfer from Denver, and some remarks about what an ass he was. Behind him, a much younger member followed, embracing Opie as he entered. He was different from the other members, not totally clean cut, but you could at least tell he had showered. Not only was he bathed, he wasn’t harsh on the eyes either. You watched as he talked with Opie, his hands pushing his long blonde hair behind his ears as he spoke. 

“Who’s that?” You asked Bobby, your eyes never feigning from the man. 

“That’s Jax. Club’s VP.” 

As you watched him converse with Opie, he suddenly glanced your way, locking eyes with you. You quickly turned away from him and back towards Bobby. 

“He looks a little young to be Vice President”, you mumbled as you took a swig from your beer, still conscious that he was looking at you. 

Bobby laughed, “Yeah, well, he’s a Teller. His Dad was First 9 alongside Clay and Piney Winston, Ope’s pops. Jax has been SAMCRO since he came out of the womb.” 

You raised your eyebrows, glancing back over your shoulder. Jax’s attention had now been obtained by one of the Cara Cara girls. She was pulling him in by his cutte, batting her eyelashes at him as she leaned against the bar. 

Bobby watched as you observed Jax. He sipped his drink, amused by your interest. “He’s known for his way with the ladies.” 

You wanted to press Bobby further, but your Dad suddenly was stumbling over beside you, placing a hand on your shoulder. 

“Come on over here, kid. I want you to meet my sponsor.” 

“The asshole?”, you whispered to him as you stood up from the chair.

He snickered back at you, patting you on the back. “He’s having a good day.” 

—

You were impressed by the brotherhood the Redwood Originals shared. It wasn’t unfamiliar to the Denver Charter, but the way the members of SAMCRO loved one another was palpable. You observed quietly throughout the night as they all ripped into each other with lighthearted banter and spilled beer all over the place. You were conflicted by the fact your Dad fit in so well here. It was painful to know he had chosen this life over one with you in Denver, but you still felt at peace knowing he had found a place in this family. 

He was now slumped over a leather armchair in the lounge, snoozing after one too many beers. You nudged his shoulder, trying to wake him. “I’m gonna head back to the cabin, Dad. I’ll meet you here in the morning?” 

“You sure, y/n?” He tried to stand up as he slurred, but his balance failed him, collapsing back into the seat. “I can lead you back-” 

You chuckled, placing a hand on his head as he closed his eyes, “No way are you getting on a bike in this state. I remember the way.” 

Tig overheard and slid himself beside you, placing an arm across your waist. “We’ll take care of him, sweetie. Don’t you worry. Get back safe, okay?”

You unwound from his grasp, collecting your bag from the coffee table as you searched through the contents for your keys. “Thanks Trager.”

A strange laugh left his throat as he watched you leave, before his face turned straight as a board. “Call me Tig.” 

You said your goodbyes to the members that were sober enough to communicate, and made your way to the parking lot. 

Jax Teller was sitting outside the clubhouse, journal and pencil in hand. He glanced up at the sound of the door opening, a lit cigarette hanging from his lips.

He smiled boldly, in a way that perplexed you. Almost like he was happy to see you, even though you’d never met. He took the cigarette from his lips as he asked, “you’re Ralph’s kid, right?”

“I usually just go by y/n.”

He placed his pencil inside the journal and tucked it snug in his cutte, standing from the bench. “It’s a nice thing you’re doing, coming all this way to see him.”

You nodded, “had to make sure my Dad wasn’t living with some crazed psychopaths, you know?” 

He exhaled, his lips forming a perfect O as the smoke left his lips. “Pretty sure a few of those knuckleheads could pass for psychotic”, he teased. His mouth pulled into an infectious smile, and you couldn’t help but smile back. 

Jax walked closer towards you, your bodies now inches apart. He held out an open pack of cigarettes, prompting you to take one. You shook your head, declining the offer.

 “And what about you? How’s your level of sanity?” 

Jax hesitated. “A work in progress.” 

You smiled politely as you walked past him, making your way to the car. “Anyway, I was just leaving. Was nice meeting you.” 

Jax’s brow creased in concern, “you heading to the cabin on your own?” 

You looked over your shoulder to see him pacing behind you, flicking his cigarette to the cement.

“My Dad’s not exactly in riding order.” 

“I can take you back.” 

You stopped outside your car and turned to him, scoffing at how forward he was. “I met you thirty seconds ago.”

“So?” He shrugged. 

“I don’t really think that’s appropriate.” 

“I’m not asking to get in bed with you, y/n. You can ride the Harley with me and I’ll leave the second you’re in the cabin.” 

You opened the car door, sliding into the seat. “Not gonna happen.” 

“I won’t lay a hand on ya, darlin’,” he raised his hand up, smiling, “scouts honor.” 

You pressed your lips together, suppressing yourself from giggling at his innocent gesture. “I don’t ride bikes.” You affirmed. 

Jax cocked his head at you, confused at the statement. “Denver girl’s scared of bikes?” 

Your eyes rolled at his assumption. “No offense, but I just met you. I’m not sure my safety is your concern.” You shut the car door, realising your window had been left ajar from the way there. You wanted to curse aloud that the good Californian weather enabled the opportunity to ride with the windows down.

Jax didn’t push further, nodding his head as he watched you settle into the driver's seat. “No offense taken.”

Jax leaned his head into the open window, resting his arms on the roof of the car. You turned the ignition, letting the engine roar to life. “Nice to meet you, Jax.” 

“You too, darlin’. Will I see you again?” 

You were looking directly at him, your faces parted only by the frame of the window between you. “I’m here for the week, darlin’.” 

His lips pulled from ear to ear, smiling playfully as you put the gear in reverse, forcing his hands off the car as you pulled out of the parking lot. You peaked in the rear-view mirror, finding Jax still watching you drive away into the Charming night.

back to masterlist

[fellshish]

What's gonna happen to Good Omens S3 after the allegations? :(

Honestly, i do not know. In the scheme of things, good omens s3 is not nearly as important as the real lives of the people involved in this. I hope the women are well surrounded and supported. I hope everyone in the orbit of those involved is taking good care of themselves.

That said… regarding season 3? For me, well, i trust aziraphale and crowley will have their happy ending. Whether that be on television [the south downs will be, as has been confirmed, where they end up together] or in thousands of fanfics or just in our imaginations.

Good omens is a story and right now we have seen 2/3rds of how it plays out — 1/3rd by both their writers and another by only one. The last part is still unwritten, but many times imagined, and shall be many times reimagined whatever happens. I can’t speak for canon, but as for everything else? Aziraphale and crowley can get as many happy endings as we like. That’s the power and beauty of fandom.

[wood-white-writer]

"Didn't mean to make your heart Blue" || [3/...]

- OPLA!Buggy x F!Reader

"And I am the idiot with the painted face, in the corner taking up space. But when he walks in, I am loved."

— Mitski, "Me and My Husband"

Pairing: Buggy the Clown (Live action) x F!Reader

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

Summary: You were an apprentice of Gol D. Roger’s crew in your youth, long before his eventual demise. Along with the Red-Haired Shanks and Buggy, you were a formidable trio; the embodiment of a new generation of pirates yet to come. But times changed, and so did you and your friends. Years have passed since you last saw Buggy following the dispute that you thought ended your friendship. When you finally reunite with the blue-haired menace you once considered your closest friend, it’s under less than “friendly” circumstances.

Warnings: Canon typical violence, LA!Verse, Buggy is a lonely asshole, flashbacks, semi-canon divergence, Reader is strong AF,

A/N: I forgot to mention this before, but I guess this technically does hold some spoilers from the manga/anime. Keep in mind, I've not seen/read either piece, so it's merely used to give their stories some background.

Taglist: @kurinhimenezu, @carpinchootaku (If you want to be tagged for this story, just send me a message or comment :))

Fuck, fuck, fuck, where the fuck are you?

After some time of searching, Buggy finds you sitting by the docks, your feet gently swaying with the waves, almost free of any earthbound weight. He’d join you if he could, but he’s not brave enough to get too close to the waters yet.

However, he’s content enough to just watch you from a safe distance. The sky is free of clouds and the moon is full, which illuminates your shape like a bright lantern in the night.

Beautiful, that's what he thinks you are. In fact, that's what he's been thinking for a while now, not that he's ever told you that to your face. He wonders when he stopped looking at you like something more than a friend. 

Maybe it was when he caught you smiling at him after you'd successfully managed to steal a bottle of fine rum from the local bar, and you both ended up getting blackout drunk on the ship deck?

Maybe it was when he saw you win a round of arm-wrestling against one of your other crewmates, despite being significantly younger than the opponent.

Maybe it was when you beat a guy black and blue for making fun of his nose in public, with both him and Shanks cheering you on from a safe distance? 

It doesn’t matter when it was. What matters is that, for a while, he has found it difficult to take his eyes off you. Even if it’s just a peek, it usually takes him a while to force his attention on something else.

The rest of the crew are on the Oro Jackson, celebrating their recent endeavors, yet here you are, celebrating on your own. He finds it odd; you’re usually happy to participate in any celebrations with the crew, but you’ve decided to be here instead. It was your absence on deck that prompted Buggy to go looking for you.

The wind picks up and he can feel goosebumps spread across his skin like wildfire. He shivers and tugs his jacket tighter around himself, and that’s when he notices that you’re not wearing any additional clothing to stave off the cold in the night.

He finally calls out to you, a little throaty for reasons he refuses to disclose aloud. “You’re gonna get a cold like that, dumbass! You wanna get pneumonia and die or something?”

You subsequently turn around to face him, and his breath gets caught in his throat. Your sharp eyes, when caught in the moonlight, sparkle like a thousand treasures — compiled of gold, diamonds, and millions and millions of berries — holed up in two caves.

Smiling in the way that makes his pulse quicken, you proceed to wave your feet in the water. A few drops land on your arms, sparkling in the air before landing on the skin of your arms. “I don’t think so? If we get to the South Pole, maybe there’s a higher risk?”

He frowns and crosses his arms over his chest. “The North Pole is colder!”

“Ah, well,” you snicker. “In that case, then I’m not likely to get pneumonia unless we’re there.”

“You can still get cold! What are you, a moron?” 

For someone who can’t keep his eyes off you for extended periods, that doesn’t keep him from being rather crass in terms of vocabulary with you. That’s alright. You’ve never been one to appreciate honeyed words if your frequent bickering with both him and Shanks says something.

With another swing of your legs, you reestablish contact with with wooden platform and make your way over to him. That’s when he finally realises that you haven’t brought your shoes with you, but you don’t seem bothered by it. “By the way, what’re you doing here, Buggy?“

He considers telling you a simple lie that won’t clash with what he knows to be the truth. He was coincidentally going for a walk, he needed some air, he was purposefully looking for you…

“Noticed you weren’t on the ship,” he finally settles on with a hmph. “Had to make sure you hadn’t accidentally up and drowned or something. You’re a shitty swimmer,”

“Not as shitty as you,” you counter and blow him a raspberry. 

He’s about to tell you to fuck off or something when, again, he finds himself pausing. 

You’re smiling at him, so softly, and it feels so warm that the wind no longer has any effect on him. He can feel his cheeks scorch up and his heart is pounding so hard that it feels on the verge of breaking his ribs.

He hastily looks away and coughs a couple of times, trying to maintain what little dignity he has left.

“Are you alright?” You ask with faux concern. “Did you just catch pneumonia or something?”

“S-Screw you!”

You laugh, and it’s like music to his ears. Your laughs are usually raspy and hardly appropriate, but he finds that it’s the prettiest sound in the world. Your smile, your laugh, they are so warm that he hopes that you’ll never stop making them.

Out of the blue, you wrap an arm around his shoulder and begin tugging him on the path to the ship. “Come on, before they leave us behind.”

“Y-Yeah, let’s.” He doesn’t move to tug your arm away, and no power on this earth will make him.

------

Now that he's closer to the kid, Buggy realizes the stupidity of asking if he was yours. The two of you are nothing alike, but the truly defining factor lies in your eyes. Rubber Boy's eyes are too bright, too round. Whereas yours are knives ready to strike, his' are simple spoons.

He begrudgingly has to hand it to the kid; he's a fearless one. Even stretching his limbs beyond human capabilities does not diminish his spirit. Buggy doesn't know whether to applaud or reject the determination the boy has.

"I want you to think of this, like an artistic exercise," he explains. "Because pain leads to art, and art reveals truth."

He can't hear any commotion from the backrooms where he keeps you contained. Truth be told, he never expected it to keep you for long, only detain you for a limited amount of time. If he wants to both get the map and keep his life in one go, he is going to have to try and get it without necessarily ruining the kid too much.

Still, it doesn't keep him from testing the lines. He tries to pry the answers out with a needle, but no matter what he does, the kid remains infuriatingly mute. 

So, he decides to dig a little deeper.

"Now, what makes a boy want to grow up to be King of the Pirates? Who are you trying to impress?" He tilts his head with inquisitiveness. "A lost love?"

On cue, he can vaguely make out a gnarling sound coming from the back rooms. The sound of chains rattling, which he perceives as you probably moving in the enclosure. He thinks about sending someone to check on you and find out what you're up to, but he does not want the number of supporting casts to reduce.

"An absent parent?" He continues, ignoring the noises as he closes in on the boy. "Or was it someone that you worshipped? A false idol."

Try as he might, the boy fails to feign any indifference to him. A master of performance himself, Buggy knows when he's hit his target "That's it."

He yanks the dumb straw hat off his head, and the boy's protests against it further dig a nail into the coffin. "Give me back my hat!"

"I used to know a pirate that wore a hat just like this." Buggy's grip on the feeble thing drastically tightens as memories of the past resurface. "Red-Haired Shanks."

"You knew Shanks?"

"Ginger? Three scars, left eye?" Of course, how could he not know of the bastard? "We served together on a pirate crew when we were about your age. In fact," he glances at the boy from over his shoulder. "Your friend, Cross-Hairs over there, was with us at the time."

The kid blinks in confusion, clearly not aware of this little piece of information. "I knew she served with Shanks, but she never mentioned you."

In all honesty, it doesn't surprise him, yet he still perceives this as a slight against him from your side. The underlying hypocriticism in that doesn't evade his notice, but he elects not to address it. 

Buggy can feel the straws under his digits lightly crack beneath the pressure of his grip. "She did, but before then, it was the three of us. For a time, I even thought we were friends." His nail pierces a hole through the inside of the hat. "Until they betrayed me, like all the others. He wanted to keep me out of the spotlight! He wanted to keep my star from shining too brightly!"

"They wouldn't do that," Rubber Boy is quick to protest, rather vehemently too as if Buggy just insulted his entire lineage. "You don't know her, and you don't know Shanks. Don't talk about them that way."

"I bet I know her far better than you do, Rubber Boy." He smirks and raises a knowing eyebrow at the kid. "Does she still snatch specifically red apples off vendors when you're in town? Does she still tend to store her knives in her boots when she thinks no one's looking?"

The kid doesn't have to answer. His silence is all the confirmation he needs, and it makes him feel victorious in some sense. 

"Let me ask you something else, then. How'd the famous Captain of the Cross-Haired Pirates get stuck with a simple-minded nobody like you? What did you do that was so special that she decided to stick around until now?" 

The damn brat doesn't answer.

He presses on. "Apparently, she made a promise to someone, and though I have a sneaking suspicion as to whom, I don't want to jump the gun." He grasps harshly at the kid's face, no longer smiling. "You know, and if you tell me, I might be convinced to lessen the restraints."

The damn brat still doesn't fucking answer, and it vexes him greatly. Even so, if there's one thing he's learned, it's that the kid's silence can be substituted for an answer.

So, he finally asks the billion-berry question: 

"Was it Shanks?"

Rubber Boy does not answer. He doesn't fucking answer, and Buggy's patience snaps like a twig.

You would be willing to go through all of this trouble, to keep the kid safe and help him achieve his dream, just because you made a silly promise to what was once your mutual friend. You would give up your career as one of the most successful pirates in the modern age, just for that?

Just for him?

Deep down, he feels something carve at him. Carve at the boyish version of him he left behind the same day he left you. Would you have been just as loyal to him as you were to Shanks, if only he stayed?

He does not voice these thoughts aloud. Instead, he can't help but beam, because everything he's theorized up until this point has just been verified. It aches, and it hurts, and it cuts, but even so, he can only smile down at the boy.

"Stretch him until he breaks." 

------

Although you hear a commotion coming from the stage room, and despite the urge you have to just break out and be done with this all, you deliberately remain in your cage. One leg pulled up to your chin whereas the other one rests uncomfortably on the stale ground boards, you do nothing more than let your temper simmer down.

Honestly, what a mess.

You made one thing perfectly clear to Shanks the day you agreed to disband your crew and keep watch on the boy. It had not even been a week after he returned to the docks of Fooshia Village, one arm short and the boy by his side.

------

"I am not his parent. I will not be held responsible for the mistakes he makes when he decided to leave land. I will only keep him alive until I decide he can do that himself; after he's earned his first bounty. After that, I'm off."

"And what will you do after?" he had asked, genuinely curious.

You didn't answer, because you didn't know.

"Look after the lad for me, will you? Help him achieve his dream." He had taken your shoulder under his warm remaining hand and said:

"Maybe one day, you'll find your own."

------

If you'd known that Luffy's dream would one day lead you back to him, you would've been more reluctant to make that promise. At the time, you had little interest in picking up the shattered pieces of your childhood dream, yet it seems that now it has decided to search you out instead.

Or rather, he has.

Your head hurts.

This is not the time for heartfelt reunions if there ever was one. Buggy has only one goal in mind, and that is to get his hands on that damn map. Harming Luffy will serve as a means to an end in achieving that, which happens to clash with your goal. You're not Luffy's parent, you tell yourself, but you're willing to extend the promise to Shanks just this once.

And so, after some careful deliberation, you make your escape. 

You hit the metal once, and it bends significantly. Then twice, and on the third strikes, they bend and crack, finally granting you access to direct contact with the ground. It's never felt so relieving to be earthbound, and you even go as far as to tap your feet a few times to enrich that feeling.

Having most likely heard the noise, two troupe members march through the curtains to see what's going on. The first one barely has the time to register your escape before you lunge. 

You're quick to subdue them, knocking the first one out with an easy choke-hold whereas the other mysteriously ends up with half his body stuck in what remains of your previous confinement. His ass hangs out in a rather humiliating position, but the point is, he's out of the way. 

The adrenaline is the one part of piracy you've missed. The surge of energy that flows through your veins, feeling the air brush your face as you make your move, the warmth in your heart that substitutes any pain or hurt you've ever felt if only for a moment.

You relish it.

You happen to find your weapons in the room, hidden in some crates. Your knives and your pistol, are both unscathed and fully functional, but you know that you'll end up relying on your hands for this. After all, it's personal, and personal matters are handled in a personal way. 

When you're certain the two troupe members are of no concern to you, you exit the back rooms and find yourself in the opening between the audience rows shortly after. The lights have been killed and there's an ominous silence stretching in the atmosphere.

You look up at the terrified audience, and though you're almost in clear view of them, none dares stray away from the view up ahead. 

Said view in question being of Luffy halfway submerged by seawater in a tank, already struggling to keep himself afloat. 

Fuck this. Fuck him.

You don't even stop to coordinate your next move as, as you would've done under ordinary circumstances. No, the moment you spot Buggy standing there, trying to reason with the kid with the promise of belonging and having a place on his crew, you lunge for the kill.

------

All Buggy sees just as you make your move is a flash of sharp eyes that seem to glow in the dim room. There's no word upon your entrance, no sound, not a single warning at all. A shriek resonates through the air, shattering the silence that had unknowingly settled over them, and it's his own. 

The air gets knocked out of his lungs as you shove your fist straight into his stomach. Ordinarily, that specific portion of his would've just straight up dislodged itself from his body, but it doesn't this time. He remains intact, a contradiction to what you had threatened to do, and he falls back several good feet on his back like a kicked dog.

A raspy groan is all the noise he manages to get out, heaving his chest in search of the air that was stolen from him. He throws one arm to the ground and gets his upper body up. 

When he finally manages to somewhat stabilize his line of sight, all he sees as the world remains blurred around him is you standing over him with a dangerous glimmer in your eyes. One he's already familiar with.

This is not his old friend or his old flame crew member. This is Cross-Hairs, the feared captain of the vicious Cross-Haired Pirates. The Beast of the East. The one whose aim never misses, and if it does, she'll hunt her target down to the ends of the earth.

And now, he's officially become your target. No longer a passive one at that, but the only one your eyes are set on. He doesn't know if he's content or unnerved by this.

There are no palpable emotions on your face, but he can read your eyes well enough to know that you're angry. No, angry doesn't even begin to cover it; you're absolutely, positively, completely pissed. 

"What?" He forces out, still aching from the punch to his abdomen. "Going to make good on your promise? Going to finally kill me after all this time? If so, then just get on with it!"

You don't answer, and he hates it even more than he would've had you responded. A part of him wants you to kill him; wants you to show that you care enough about him to just fucking do it.

No, instead, all you give him is a glare. That same glare that's never left your face since he first laid his eyes on you. You turn your full attention to the tank and, with one simple hit, you break the glass to try and free Rubber Boy. You free him, without even a moment to hesitate, and it feels so much more painful than if you’d just ended him on the spot.

He wants to scream. Buggy wants to scream until his lungs give in. Scream at your inability to fully look at him. Scream at your apparent concern for a boy who is no more a pirate than he is a banker. 

Scream, because even after all this time, you still refuse to choose him.

Never him.

[steviewashere]

The Belt Prong

Rating: Teen and Up CW: Past Suicidal Thoughts/Ideation, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Depression (Vague Though) Tags: Post-Canon, Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Slight Steve Harrington Character Study, Heavy Metaphors, Established Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Protective Steve Harrington, Protective Eddie Munson, Self-Sacrificing Steve Harrington, Vaguely Depressed Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington Has Self Esteem Issues, Steve Harrington Has Bad Parents, Steve Realizes He Matters, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Good Person Steve Harrington, Everybody Loves Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington Needs a Hug (And Gets One), Eddie Munson Comforts Steve Harrington, Happy Ending I honestly don't know where this came from. But it felt important, so I wrote it.

🫂—————🫂 There’s a piece of Steve’s belt buckle that’s missing.

It broke off when he went to thread it through one of the holes, after he had cinched the leather tight. He had struggled for a couple minutes already to get that little piece through. And it frustrated him, sure. Frustrated him beyond belief that the one thing he needed was now missing. That it fell into the carpet, that it could’ve slid underneath his bed, that it could’ve slipped away from him to somewhere it’ll never return from.

Yet, somewhere in his frustration, the emotion morphed. Went away from the ire and the red and the burning. Turning southward, mouth set, marveling. It took just the one piece to fling away from him—and now he’s really noticing the way that he can’t get his pants to stay on. They keep slipping down his hips, revealing a little slip of his underwear, he has to keep tugging on the belt loops, and the belt won’t close. Just one thing. One thing and now everything’s amuck.

He doesn’t have a shirt on quite yet. Still standing in front of his bedroom mirror. Face pointed towards his hips, to his groin, to the waistband of his jeans. That leather belt gaping open and loose in its confines. Never to close again.

There are pink swatches of skin in the corners of his vision. And so he looks, eyes drawn to them already. Big, previously puckered, softened scarring. Shiny and pink and healed. He steps so that he can view his profile, noting the marring on his back; on the b-sides of his biceps. White lines on his knuckles, in his hairline, at the edge of his bottom lip. If he were to tug his pants down in this moment, there’d be more scarring there, too. Not from the Upside Down, but something just as heavy and drastic and dangerous. From a time before; lonely and young and confused; lonely and young and craving; lonely and young and…tired.

His fingers absentmindedly trace the outlines of the swatches on his stomach. Where it tickles. And it doesn’t hurt. Where nothing hurts and life is finally just…just.

At one point, he had considered.

Considered death, to put it bluntly. All the harm. All the overpasses and bridges and cliff edges. Thought of car crashes or drownings or his house burning down—the accidental ones. Of getting knocked a little too loose. Jumping into a line of action too overzealously. And he’s done that last one, knows he has; screaming at armed guards, nail bat twirling in hand, molotov cocktails, and strangulation.

A thousand possibilities, yet he’s never considered the thought of making it out alive.

With scars to show survival.

The hickeys on his neck to show the warmth he had been chasing.

And his eyes no longer wet or dim or petrified. Just two hazel eyes set in a face, awe in the irises, love in the pupils. Ones that dilate on their own accord, not from injuries. Eyes that see the world through eyeglass lenses, eyes that see the setting sun and the blue of dawn, eyes that see a handsome face laying next to him in bed; eyes that mourn, eyes that laugh, eyes that love.

He looks over his shoulder in the mirror to see Eddie in the doorway. To see him leaning into the doorjamb, arms crossed lax over his chest, a calm giddiness that’s resided and rooted.

“You know I love to look at you, baby, but we gotta get going. Don’t wanna miss that movie—though you gotta wear a shirt to get in,” Eddie lightly teases.

Steve’s fingers tense and flatten over the left bite mark scar. There are matching ones on Eddie’s torso. A million little ones littered all over him, ones that Steve applied pressure to and tourniquet with this same belt—a belt that won’t do that again because it’s missing that one little piece. He blows out a wet breath, something that could’ve been a chuckle if he weren’t so outside and so inside his own head—a simultaneous.

“Um,” he hums, voice all raspy and snotty. “I—I can’t close my belt.”

Eddie snorts, unbeknownst to what’s happening. “Don’t you have another one ‘round here?”

He shakes his head. “No,” Steve murmurs, “just the one.” His fingers now graze the cold, gold buckle. A buckle without a tongue, no way to speak, no way to chew. “Tried to close it and broke that little thin piece off. Guess I threaded it too hard?”

“Huh,” Eddie mutters, “could just do sweatpants. Or basketball shorts or…Or a”—his voice trails off. Mouth closing with a soft click. His eyes are bouncing, now, around Steve’s face in the mirror. “What’s wrong,” he asks, “is that a special belt or something?”

Something, he repeats inwardly. Something indeed.

“No…no I just—One small piece broke off and now the belt’s never going to close again,” he chokes out. Steve clears his throat, shuffles side to side, eyes darting over his scars. Dropping down to his thigh, too.

There were a lot of times where he felt he wasn’t needed. Wasn’t even wanted.

Times that he could get the hell out of dodge any moment and nobody would realize the absence he left. He’d be able to disappear without a trace, no friends to his left, no words to his name, no prospects for his future. At any point, he could’ve jumped into the driver’s side of his car.

Could’ve ran away from home—all the times when his parents were disappointed in him, where he embarrassed himself, those days and nights when standing up to his dad was the worst decision he could make; when he just made his parents’ life much, much worse. Could’ve stayed back with Tommy and Carol, never apologizing to anybody, saving face to protect a name. Could’ve drove into the sun and left Nancy and Jonathan to defend themselves against that demogorgon. Let Nancy drink herself to near death. Told Dustin ‘no.’ Kept those kids under Joyce and Hopper and Nancy’s watchful eyes. Turned Robin away. Never went after Eddie.

And yet…

Yet most of them are there because of his actions alone.

Had he not held that baseball bat, would Nancy and Jonathan have faced death? If he didn’t go with Dustin, would that twerp be left in his own mess, also possibly dead? And what about Lucas against Billy? The kids against the demodogs? He and Robin would’ve never become best friends; Robin would’ve never talked about her secret, never would’ve had a wingman, wouldn’t be dating Vickie right now. Eddie…Eddie wouldn’t even be looking at him.

Would’ve never resuscitated Eddie’s heart. Would’ve never helped apply pressure to his wounds. Or carry him out. Carry him to the hospital. Make a scene so he was taken care of. Got him cleared.

Would’ve never loved him.

And he wouldn’t be loved in return. Not the way he is. Deeply and unheard of.

Maybe his sacrifices were a lot stupid most of the time. Maybe they did initially come from a deep-seated want to just get away. Maybe he wasn’t just being protective, but also rather suicidal—though he doesn’t like to think like that, even if it’s the truth.

In the end, he did it anyway. And most of these people he’s met, they’re still in his life. Thanks in part to him, right? What would it have been otherwise? How much blood would’ve been spilled?

“Steve?”

Eddie’s beside him now. Hand on his right shoulder. Turning him away from the mirror so his concerned eyes can meet Steve’s crying ones. His thumb is pressing into the edge of Steve’s collarbone. And his eyebrows are furrowed. And his frown is lopsided from the scarring on his jaw. But he’s beautiful and he’s alive…god, he’s alive.

“I’m the piece,” Steve gets out, “the piece…the…that’s me.”

“I don’t—Sweetheart, I don’t think I under”—

“If I didn’t—If you”—he hiccups and gasps and sobs something on the edge of his next exhale. Steve brings both his hands up to Eddie’s face, cupping his cheeks gently, nails tracing where a dimple would indent, the silver edges of that scar. His jeans are slowly cascading down his legs, falling away too loose because his fucking belt is broken. “Had I not been there, you would’ve…would’ve died,” he breathes. He chuckles—a sound born from bewilderment. His fingers tighten, squishing Eddie’s very malleable, very warm, very in tact skin. “I was there. I was there to help save you.”

Concern and confusion is what Eddie shines with. It makes Steve laugh a little harder. At least it isn’t blankness. At least those eyes aren’t far away. “You were,” he says slowly, “what’s…where are you going with this?”

Steve bites his bottom lip and inhales, chest burbling and rasping, throat stinging and aching, eyebrows cinched. “I’ve been here from the beginning of that bullshit,” he rambles, “and…and because I was there, people didn’t die. Most people didn’t die. It wasn’t just me, I know that, but in part because of me. Had I just run away…had I gave up…had I—If I died! Imagine if I died? Where the hell would Dustin have gone? Who would be Robin’s best friend?

“Fuck…fuck. You’d be dead! I had to be there! What the fuck…I had to be there!” He pats his palms down Eddie’s face, down the sides of his neck. A pulse red hot and thrumming kisses his skin. A pulse he kept. A pulse he dreams about. “Just me. Just…just little me in the thick, bigness of it all. To think…to think.”

Eddie’s still confused. “To think?”

“To think that I actually matter,” Steve says in awe. “To think that I thought that I never mattered. That I was never needed. But now…now my belt won’t close because I lost one piece of it. Just one piece! Isn’t that fucking crazy?”

Eyebrows jump comically into Eddie’s hairline. His eyes are sweeping back and forth and back and forth. There’s horror there. Apprehension. Fear. Concern. “Of course you matter,” he softly exclaims, “Steve, you matter a whole fucking lot!”

“I know!” He responds at the same volume. Takes a deep breath, swipes his thumbs over Eddie’s pulse points. Exhales, “I know.” Steve sniffles back the last of his tears, the last of the snot burbled deep within him. “Jesus, I matter. I’m needed? What the hell.”

“Baby,” Eddie whispers, “you are always needed. No matter what.”

He swallows, eyes bouncing up from where they’ve drifted to Eddie’s collarbone. To his eyes. Those still concerned eyes. “Even if I’m an asshole sometimes?”

“Mhm.”

“When I…I feel like I can’t get out of bed?”

“Yup.”

He swallows again, this time around a lot of somethings, a lot of realizations too cosmically big for a mundane Wednesday afternoon. “Even as I am?”

“As you are,” Eddie breathes, “all of you. No matter what.” His hands land on Steve’s forearms, heavy and sure and squeezing. Comforting and warm. “You matter to a lot of people. And you are needed. And you are wanted. I want you, you understand that? People want you around, even when they don’t need a single damn thing from you.

“Even if you don’t function the way you normally do. Even if you can’t contain yourself. Even if you…you feel like you aren’t you. You will always matter. 

“We want you, Steve.

“We love you, Steve. We love you a lot.”

He proceeds that with silence. And gentle bewilderment. Fresh, crackling awe.

There is a pulse under his hands. And there is warmth in a body. There are pants ready to puddle to the floor. Here he is, here Eddie is—here the whole world is. And even if he’s one of billions, he still aided, he still put himself where he felt he could be. Where he ended up needed. Where he is now wanted.

Who would’a thought? Who would’a thought…

Steve presses himself closer into Eddie’s space. Hands gliding around his torso. Squeezing himself in tight, encompassing Eddie in all his warmth, and being embraced right back. He nestles his head on Eddie’s left shoulder, pulse loud in his ear. Tears beading in the corners of his eyes, to which he closes them. And he sinks into it.

To think it was a prong.

Just a silly little prong.

He’s finally got what he wants: a simple life—a boring, mundane life—with love, with care; to matter.

🫂—————🫂

[autisticandroids]

free space: medium-sized destiel

so in my reclists for @spnficrecfest i haven't been including many fics that are very "big destiel."

this is partly because i've been trying to keep the kudos count lower (though obviously this hasn't been absolute), and also because i actively did not include any "post empty destiel fix it" type fics in the dabb era reclist because they're kind of a genre unto themselves. nor have i intentionally made space in other reclists for fics that have a particular destiel romance novel vibe. obviously there's some, but those tend to dominate reclists, and i wanted to highlight smaller fics.

so this is my "big destiel" reclist, except i still did not include anything that had >2k kudos, because those are generally speaking pretty well known already.

some of these fics are small and just have the big destiel vibes, but a lot of them are more in the 1k kudos range than the hundred kudos range, on account of being big, or medium-sized, destiel.

in order of word count:

ain't that the worst thing you ever heard? by everytuesday, 1k

a couple of takes on the confession scene. very special to me.

rot and grace by extemporaneous, 3k, violence warning

cas watches dean murder the world. corruption kink.

some dying star looks dull in the light by sp8ce, 4k

heaven angst with a happy ending, post-empty.

one step closer by rhinestoneangels, 4k

an empty rescue. i love the empty geography in this one.

i didn't feel it on the first day, and now i got it in the worst way by wintertree, 6k

meg pov on a post-widower arc destiel.

the doorway to a thousand churches by sonatine, 6k

cas and the deans from goodbye stranger.

if you try sometimes, well you just might find by jenthesweetie, 9k

cas pov on dean's wants.

godot ain't got nothing on me and my baby by ilovehowyouletmefall, 10k

post empty, cas became death. the only way dean could see him is by dying.

before and after breakfast by spocklee, 10k

a silly little case where cas and dean realize how they see each other.

solitudes by ilovehowyouletmefall, 21k

cas sees dean see cas die. a wonderful little melodrama. i actually really liked how it handled dean's alcoholism (not really as something to be solved but just as a... reality to be dealt with) and i'm OBSESSED with the director's commentary. if this had been published in 2021 instead of 2023, every heller would have read it three times over.

powerless in dreams by calicoyak, 24k

a post-empty fic. i really liked some of the cas stuff in this one.

between a rock and a hard place by amidsizefrog, 24k

dean's dick doesn't work. also cas is dead. maybe the two are related.

every single thing by thestoryinsideme, 37k

a charming and goofy season nine fic. dean is a shitty little man in a very canonical way that is also deeply sweet and adorable.

a light above descending by hedderstheowl, 38k

a mark of cain fic with chefkiss angel stuff. a recent favorite of mine. really put this author on the map for me.

with understanding by apokteino, 427k, chose not to warn and noncon warning

yeah it's with understanding. you've heard of it. go read it now chop chop.

and if your wondering which fics (that you've probably read) got the axe for having too many kudos: it was on labor, the bee movie fic, time has come today, and r/supernatural. that's my taste. if you were curious.

[helpallthenamesaretaken]

The Judo Flip Scene; The Scene that Divided the Percy Jackson Fandom: What Went Wrong?

Annabeth grabbed his wrist and flipped him over her shoulder. He slammed into the stone pavement. Romans cried out. Some surged forward, but Reyna shouted, “Hold! Stand down!”

Annabeth put her knee on Percy’s chest. She pushed her forearm against his throat. She didn’t care what the Romans thought. A white-hot lump of anger expanded in her chest—a tumor of worry and bitterness that she’d been carrying around since last autumn.

“If you ever leave me again,” she said, her eyes stinging, “I swear to all the gods—”

Percy had the nerve to laugh. Suddenly the lump of heated emotions melted inside Annabeth.

“Consider me warned,” Percy said. “I missed you, too.

-Mark of Athena

This scene is one of the, if not most, controversial scenes in the entirety of Rick Riordan's books. It has caused many fans to go deep into the morality of the scene--into the question of boundaries, whether it is just a good boundaries into Percy and Annabeth's relationships or just abusive behaviour. In this post, I will talk about my opinion on, 'What went wrong?'

First, let us dissect this scene, shall we? We have Annabeth, who has lost her only proof of permanence for six months. The guy she was dreading would die for five years before she thought they had their happy ending was suddenly snatched in a time where she thought life couldn't get any better. During this time;

she saw jason falling in love with piper and was stressed that percy would be doing the same without her

she was stressed percy would never even remember her.

she canonically spent hundreds and thousands of drachmas (and probably time too) on iris messaging every monster and god she could just so that she could find him

she spent a WHOLE lot of energy on this.

she was probably advised by people in camp to find another guy, probably got these comments regularly

she was also troubled by athena's roman form to find athena parthenos statue and ditch finding percy, which must have been hard to handle

she was in charge of helping build a WHOLE WAR SHIP

she was also in charge of rebuilding the home of the gods

And you know what? It makes sense that she would have all of these emotions buried inside her. It makes sense that she would be angry, stressed, and depressed and that she would bury all of this inside. "During their separation, something had happened to Annabeth’s feelings. They’d grown painfully intense—like she’d been forced to withdraw from a life-saving medication. Now she wasn’t sure which was more excruciating—living with that horrible absence, or being with him again" Yep, homegirl was going through some stuff.

Though we don't know what his thoughts were on his point of view, from the fact that he laughs and never brings it up later, we can conclude that Rick wanted us to know that he didn't care, and that these interactions are common between both of them, though one could argue that isn't really reliable.

So; Annabeth having an outburst of emotions is a completely normal reaction, judging the amount of things she has gone through, even though it isn't the right way to express her feelings. But, why is the judo flip scene actually bad? Why did it give even percabeth shippers the ick?

The Way Rick Wrote It: Rick treated the scene as if it was funny, Annabeth was such a girly girlboss who did it to keep Percy in his place. "I only judoflip my boyfriend". And people were mad. Mad that girls are portrayed to be girlbosses by making them violent. Mad that this violence was against a guy who was implied to be abused in his childhood.

My Argument: This scene was written in a time where media with violent comedy was popular among kids (tom and jerry, oggy and the cockroaches, i see you), and that it aged badly. Another important thing: a lot of the fandom also thought of it as percabeth's most romantic moments, and hyped it up so much, which contributes towards the whole ick of the scene.

My Argument: One thing to take into account was that the romans were really on guard when the greeks arrived. they were scared it was going to be an ambush. so when annabeth judoflips percy, their nerves took over. i fully believe the humor of 'i only judoflip my bf' was just their way of diffusing a potentially dangerous situation of misunderstanding.

But in the end I do agree, the way this was written was a major disservice to the feelings that Annabeth was experiencing that time. Rick failed to portray that scene as an exhausted traumatised teenager having an unhealthy outburst of emotions, which is what it really was. Instead, he tried to make it a funny type of scene, and the fandom carried it forward by hyping the scene up as if it was one of percabeth's most romantic moments, and even though the intentions were good, he failed to convey the meaning behind what they said properly.

So now that we've answered the question this post was made for, I'd like to end this post with a positive note. I'd like to point out that in cotg, there is no moment that annabeth physically hurted (hurted is too much of an overstatement) percy if you think about it, which shows that she has improved. If you want proof, I searched any time where Annabeth teased percy physically when he said something 'stupid' and what I found was 'nudged me with her toe' and 'lightly pinched me'. So, even though Rick messed up in writing that one scene more than ten years ago, it's safe to say he has improved.

****************************************************************

[elsa-fogen]

Ok, Rosie headcanon for you!! Might be a slight AU but whatever lol

I like to imagine that Rosie is actually REALLY old. Died in the 1400s or something (maybe for being a suspected witch 👀) , and she just sort of kept up with the times until she found a period that suited her (getting there on that). This also ties into Cannibal Town/Colony name thing!!

Idk how much you know about American history (I know if I didn't live in this crazy country I'd know nothing by choice lol), but in the late 1500s Roanoke Colony was established where North Carolina is now. They struggled with supplies and relations with native people so the founder left to get supplies/help etc; when he came back 5 years later everyone had disappeared without a trace, no graves, bodies, only the word "CROATOAN" carved into a rock. It's a mystery nobody has solved since.

BUT.

WHAT IF.

They ran out of resources, right? What if food ran so low that people began to resort to cannibalism? And things were going so badly that some desperate person tried to summon a demon, anything to help them?

And Rosie, twisted and dark as she may be, took her own sort of sympathy on the poor, struggling colony of Roanoke, and took them all down to Hell as her own colony of souls: Cannibal Colony, leaving Roanoke empty without a trace of its inhabitants. From then on, she just sort of adopted any cannibals who fell into hell as part of her little town, so long as they assimilated and didn't cause trouble. She owns all their souls, yes, but they have some level of peace and security knowing she'll take care of them.

With the "updating culture" thing, I also headcanon that she liked to keep up with the times and stay current until sometime after slavery ended, a little before Alastor arrived (depression era) she didn't like where modern times were headed and just sort of...stopped progress, like a time capsule. Modern times started progressing too fast, and she didn't want everything to be forgotten in the rush to the future, especially the way the human world was looking with the depression. She did rename them to Cannibal Town eventually, since it was more than just her original Colony that gave her Overlord status.

I love Rosie 👁👄👁 sorry for the giant text block lol

P.S. Your art inspires me so much!! And your characterizations are *chef's kiss* I feel like your blog is consistently one I can come to to get canon-accurate character content without facing an onslaught of r********e (finally someone who can't stand it as much as me! Sending all the love 💓

oH WOW! This is really damn good and interesting headcanon! You almost convinced me to change mine to this (well, i like the idea of Rosie being SUSPECTED witch gshssh angssssst yessss). I realized that actually I don't have much that keeps me from just accepting this. Only 2 things

one is that she in her life was fighting for women's rights, and keeps doing it in hell, but i guess she still can even being older.

second one is more important. Rosie and Alastor are roughly same age (30-40 age gap is nothing in hell, were age gaps can be thousands of years) and this is one of the reasons they get along, i think.

Plus in my plot Rosie being a relatively young overlord plays significant role...

But as i said, you headcanon really cool! Maybe i'd use it for some new AU haha

P.S. Your art inspires me so much!! And your characterizations are *chef's kiss* I feel like your blog is consistently one I can come to to get canon-accurate character content without facing an onslaught of r********e (finally someone who can't stand it as much as me! Sending all the love 💓

GAHYHHHAFGS THANK YOU! I'm really happy to know that i'm not alone on this hate board hsbfsdhfj

Here you can be safe, never ever you'll see anything positive about this ship on my blog 😂 (no offence to those who likes it) Love you too 💖💖💖