#that last bit is snarky but it's not meant at you anon just at arguments i've seen that i think are goofy

[atopvisenyashill]

i swear i am not trying to be annoying, i think my ask got eaten so ill ask again and the last time as well, ask getting eaten be damned

who do you think would win in a gc between rhaenyra and aegon?

i never got any ask like this so yeah i would assume this one got eaten so sorry!!! tumblr if i catch you!!!!

that's honestly really tricky. let's break it down a bit.

clear votes for aegon ii:

House Lannister -> and they're bringing most of the Westerlands with them

House Hightower -> bringing about half of the Reach with them but not, crucially, House Tyrell nor House Tarly (currently powerful due to Lady Sam)

House Baratheon -> again, they get about half the houses here

House Tully -> probably a quarter of the Riverlands, if that

clear votes for rhaenyra:

House Arryn -> Jeyne brings with her most of the Vale as well. Very notable here that Jeyne gets the Sunderlands (generally considered Arryn opps on par with the Reynes, Yronwoods, etc) to break for Rhaenyra as well

House Stark -> the North falls in line in a huge way here

House Tully -> the thing is most of the Riverlands break for Rhaenyra so even if old Grover makes it alive to the GC, he's got Elmo agitating the fuck out of everything

House Tyrell -> I do not think the Tyrells like the political machinations of the Hightowers and are sure votes for Rhaenyra, as are several other notable houses in the reach like the Tarlys, the Beesburys, the Costaynes, and the Oakhearts

Lady Fell/Lord Buckler -> these are very minor, barely countable Stormlander houses but notable that both TG and TB are shown to have two (2) houses from the Stormlands

Crownlands -> most of the crownlands winds up breaking for Rhaenyra, with a few only going over after TB commits a few war crimes

now the thing is.......votes are likely to shift and change as a GC is called. some "swing houses" i think stand out-

House Manderly -> they're the ones with the money and the fleet

The Stormlands -> we don't get much information on them besides borros being a noxious chauvinist so I think a lot of them would count as swings

House Marbrand -> Lorent Marbrand is on Rhaenyra's Queensguard

House Tully -> for obvious reasons

House Sunderland -> they're a "trouble house" and the other Arryns might want to vote against Rhaenyra/Jeyne on spite alone!

So the thing is......and this is something I should whack her for more often but Rhaenyra imo should have been planning & pushing for a GC once her father dies in order to gain control peacefully because she has a real, genuine, nearly guaranteed shot at winning. Outside of the Reach and the Westerlands, Aegon has at best conflicted support, and if you could win a war with only the Reach and the Westerlands, well, the Lannisters and Mace wouldn't be fighting for their absolute lives in the modern day would they? Can Aegon say "fuck that noise I'm King and idc about the GC"? yes absolutely! But he looks like a supreme asshole if he does, especially if he loses and tries to coup anyway. And there's honestly not a real downside to the GC because the thing is - if Aegon wins, he has the exact same argument that Rhaenyra can make here which is "the lords picked me & I tried to do this peacefully."

I think Otto Hightower has it in him to win over more houses, especially the Tyrells if Rhaenyra can piss them off first, and probably in the Vale as well. I think he'll have a decidedly hard time in the Crownlands where Valyrian supremacy attitudes are high, and a hard time in the North who love to support women as long as they're Over There. He could win the Manderlys though and that's nothing to sneeze at!

"well it doesn't make sense that so many lords break for rhaenyra because" im sorry i think this is a stupid argument. a lot of the crownlanders support rhaenyra because she has included them on her councils, in her friendships, or are valyrian. viserys is popular with the crownlands and riverlands because he kept them out of wars. the vale goes for rhaenyra because of aemma. the north already preferred rhaenys and rhaenys is on rhaenyra's side. "oh well andal law" you are lying to yourself if you think any of these dudes actually give a shit about andal tradition. they want aegon in charge because he is a man and they're from the more religious, chauvinistic areas of westeros like the reach and the westerlands, and have also been included on aegon's councils, and in his friendships. that's what in the text. it doesn't really matter if it doesn't make sense because that's what george wrote. and for that matter it does make sense why so many would support rhaenyra when they didn't support rhaenys - she had support from the outgoing king and rhaenys didn't!

anyways i don't think it's necessarily a slam dunk for rhaenyra. daemon is still unpopular in a few places, misogyny is alive and real and rhaenyra does little to help herself combat it, the silent five thing was a misstep of epic proportions regarding the velaryon boys, and otto knows how to schmooze. but i do think the odds are stacked in her favor, if she can at least keep up this energy going into a vote.

[nicknellie]

Anonymous requested: Carrie and Flynn play love interests on TV, and viewers ship them together hard core, not knowing that off camera there is some MAJOR pining (hidden by fake “hatred” for each other) happening. featuring background willex being exasperated by their lesbian friends not knowing how to function around each other?

I’m sorry you sent such an amazing request and then I effectively left you on read for literally months. Seriously anon, this is glorious, I had so much fun writing it. I got like 1.5k words in and realised I had not yet got to anything even close to your request, so there’s quite a bit of background, but I’m still happy with how it turned out (even if it is a lot angstier than you were probably expecting). I really hope you like it, thank you for being so patient!

She Was a Goddamn Dream

Despite the way she acted, there weren’t actually that many things that Carrie Wilson was completely and utterly certain that she was good at. There was her singing and dancing, but every time she watched back recordings of her performances she would pick out a dozen things she could have improved upon; there was her acting, but every time it got to the tenth take of a scene she began to feel like she was messing up time and time again, tripping over her words, delivering her lines flatly with no emotion; there was her frequent attempts to connect with her fanbase, but every now and then a fan would take it too far and she would feel like the one who had ruined it all. People could tell her those things didn’t matter or that they weren’t her fault as many times as they liked, but it never stopped them gnawing away at Carrie’s self-esteem, making her feel like sometimes she didn’t deserve the fame or renown she had built for herself over the years.

But there was one thing she knew for a fact that she was good at: being in love with Flynn Taylor and hiding it.

Carrie had first met Flynn in elementary school. She had been playing with her long-time best friends Alex and Julie when little Flynn, a new student, had walked up to them and asked if she could join in because their game (something about aliens and cowboys if Carrie remembered correctly) looked really fun. Carrie could still recall how Flynn had looked that day, even if it was going on twenty years ago – her hair hung down by her shoulders in cute twists, she had worn a bright pink t-shirt and blindingly yellow dungarees, and she wore sneakers that lit up when she stamped her feet.

Carrie remembered thinking how cool Flynn looked (for a six-year-old) and something inside her had turned defensive. She had advocated for leaving Flynn out of the game, claiming they already had enough players and it would ruin it if they had any more, but Julie had pointed out that if Flynn joined, they would have an equal number of aliens and cowboys so Alex wouldn’t be so outnumbered by the two of them anymore. Carrie had quickly been outvoted, Flynn had been allowed to play with them, she and Julie had clicked in an instant, and Carrie decided that day that she didn’t like Flynn Taylor, not one bit.

For a few years, things had been a little rough. Carrie wasn’t shy about how much she disliked Flynn, but in return Flynn didn’t mind telling anyone who would listen about how much she hated Carrie. The two of them would bicker and squabble and argue over the tiniest of things, and Carrie only realised how bad it was getting when Julie blew up at them.

It was sometime in their freshman year of high school and their feud had been going on for years without showing any signs of letting up. Julie had been going through the worst time of her life; her mother (Rose, who was the closest thing Carrie had to a mother as well, but she knew it wasn’t the same thing) had passed away, she was facing getting kicked out of the music programme for lack of participation, her family was considering moving house, and every day it seemed like more and more things got added to her list of things that were going wrong in her life. Carrie and Flynn had made a silent agreement to put their arguing on hold for Julie’s sake, knowing their friend didn’t need that extra stress in her life right then. And for a while, it had been going well.

Until suddenly it was going badly again.

The three of them were having a movie night at Carrie’s house and everything was great. They were watching their favourite films, eating copious amounts of junk food, talking and laughing and having fun, and Carrie couldn’t remember the last time she had seen Julie smile so much. It had all been going so well.

But then Flynn suggested a movie, but Carrie had wanted to watch something else, and one thing had led to another until they were yelling at each other in the middle of Carrie’s living room, the whole world dropped away around them to the point that all they could focus on was each other. They were so enraptured in their argument that neither of them heard Julie’s phone chime, neither of them watched her open a text from her dad, neither of them saw the tears slide down her cheeks as she read it. Neither of them noticed anything was wrong until Julie tried to suppress a sob but instead just made it come out louder than it would have. Flynn and Carrie had turned to face her, argument forgotten in an instant, and rushed to comfort their friend.

Julie had kind of lost it that night. She had told them everything on her mind from the text she’d just received from her dad telling her they’d officially found a buyer for the house to the fact that she had been exhausted for years from all their arguing. She explained that she thought recently the two of them were finally getting better, finally working on having a civil relationship, and maybe something was finally going right for her because they wouldn’t be at each other’s throats all the time anymore.

“I guess not,” she had said defeatedly, fiercely scrubbing at her face in an attempt to dispel any of her tears, “because you two were just faking it for me. I told you I didn’t want anyone to tiptoe around me like I’ll break if I’m dropped, but you still did. I thought you guys would understand that I just want things to be normal again.”

“We were only trying to make things easy on you,” Carrie explained, a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.

“Yeah,” Flynn agreed, “we never meant to upset you, Jules.”

Julie had scoffed. “Yeah, well, you’ve done a great job of that.”

Julie had apologised for it all in the morning, but Carrie didn’t blame her for anything she’d said the night before. She had clearly got a lot off her chest that she really needed to, and everything she had said to Carrie and Flynn had been deserved in a way. Carrie knew that her and Flynn’s intentions had only been good, but Julie had asked for reality, and they hadn’t given her that.

Which had got Carrie thinking – in this situation, what was her reality?

For years and years, she would have said she hated Flynn. She would have believed it, too. She would have said that from the moment they’d met on that playground, Flynn had been her worst nightmare. But when she thought back on everything, how she saw Flynn even when they were fighting, she couldn’t call Flynn a nightmare.

She was a goddamn dream.

Carrie had spent night and day thinking about what Flynn really meant to her, why she made her so angry, whether it was really anger at all, and she had come to a revelation that really wasn’t as surprising to her as it should have been. It turned out that it wasn’t anger at all, it was a severe case of repression and Carrie Wilson was very much a lesbian.

That was another thing she knew she was good at – repressing things.

Though she was kind of underwhelmed by her epiphany (really, she thought, she should have worked it out a lot sooner), it did make things harder. Now she knew that she didn’t want to argue with Flynn, she wanted to kiss her, and that was very inconvenient. They didn’t argue as much anymore anyway, making a genuine effort to like each other rather than pretending for Julie’s sake, but that just meant that Flynn smiled at her more often and laughed at Carrie’s snarky jokes and it was nearly impossible not to fall at her feet in worship every time she so much as breathed.

So Carrie got very good at pretending she wasn’t in love with Flynn. By the time they were halfway through freshman year, they were friends and nobody ever pointed out that Carrie felt much more than friendship. Things in all their lives began to improve – Carrie and Flynn were no longer feuding, Julie ended up not moving house and got back into the music programme when she started a band, and she got herself a boyfriend – Luke – who made her the happiest Carrie had ever seen her.

(It had prompted many a discussion about whether or not Carrie and Flynn had anyone in mind they wanted to date. Carrie had panicked and said Nick, the school’s star lacrosse player who she had spoken to maybe three times and was definitely not her type. Flynn had given a suspicious hum and said she was still figuring out what it was she wanted; Carrie had excused herself and had a ten-minute panic in the bathroom over the implications of that.)

By the time university rolled around, Julie entered the big leagues with Julie and the Phantoms, deciding not to pursue further education but instead focus on her career, while Carrie and Flynn had gone to the same performing arts school. The same performing arts school where they’d been hired by the same agent. The same agent who kept getting them roles on the same shows together. It was a ticking time bomb, Carrie knew, and it went off a few days after her twenty-fourth birthday.

Carrie had been hired to play Flynn’s love interest in the third season of a show that Flynn had been cast in two years previously.

The truth was, it was both a dream come true and a living nightmare all at the same time. For one thing, Carrie adored the show and had been aching for a role on it since it came out. But on the other hand, she would be Flynn’s love interest, and according to the scripts they would have their first on-screen kiss at the end of the season – Carrie always made sure to separate her work from reality, but in her mind, kissing Flynn was kissing Flynn, no matter what disguise it was hidden by, and it was what she would have to do if she wanted the job.

She tried not to panic, she really did, but it wasn’t the easiest thing to not be panicked by, which was where everything started to fall apart.

It was the day of the kiss scene and Carrie was a wreck (which was putting it kindly). She had been pacing back and forth in her trailer in front of Alex for more than half an hour, trying not to mess up her hair every time she ran her hands through it, saying words but not making any sense.

“Carrie,” Alex said, equal parts firm and amused. Carrie stopped her pacing and turned to face him so fast she was surprised she didn’t get whiplash. “Will you please stop moving? You’re making me travel sick.”

“Very funny,” she deadpanned, but nonetheless she crashed down next to him on the little couch, flopping against him and resting her head on his shoulder. He easily threw an arm around her and she closed her eyes, trying to ignore the stress she was under, but the pounding of her heart made it very difficult.

“Talk to me,” Alex said. “What exactly is it that’s getting you so worked up here?”

“I have to kiss Flynn,” Carrie grumbled.

“And that’s a bad thing?” Alex asked.

“No,” Carrie groaned. “Don’t ask stupid questions. It’s a good thing, which is why I’m mad about it. Keep up, Alex.”

She felt him shake with a badly hidden laugh and scowled. “There’s no point asking me to keep up when you’re at least a hundred steps ahead of me. Explain it to me, get it off your chest.”

Carrie groaned dramatically but nonetheless she lifted her head and turned to face Alex, looking him in the eye.

“Fine,” she said heavily. “I’m in love with Flynn.”

Alex nodded. “Yep.”

“We have been acting like we’re in love with each other for the entirety of this season.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s been longer than that–”

Carrie smacked his arm and he grinned devilishly. “Don’t interrupt me. We’ve been acting like we’re in love with each other for the entirety of this season, and now I have to kiss her.”

“And that’s a bad thing?”

“Yes. No. Maybe. I don’t know.”

“Helpful,” Alex said with an expression that suggested it was anything but helpful.

“Do I really have to spell it out for you?” Carrie asked. She was almost certain that Alex was messing with her now, forcing her to admit what he already knew because he probably thought it would do her some good, and she didn’t know if she was grateful for that or not.

Alex just nodded once.

“Fine,” she conceded. “I don’t want to kiss Flynn because I want to kiss Flynn. If I kiss her on the show, it won’t be real, but I won’t be able to stop thinking about it anyway. I won’t be able to stop myself from wanting to do it again, but not as our characters – as us. I already want to kiss her half the time and I know that’ll only get worse once I’ve done it for real. But I won’t be able to do it again unless it’s scripted because Flynn doesn’t love me back. Do you see my problem now?”

Alex was silent for a beat, his face working through a thousand different emotions in one go. He opened his mouth to reply, closed it again, and whipped out his phone, opening up a message.

“Oh, this is how it is?” Carrie said indignantly, crossing her arms over her chest. “I spill my secrets to you and your response is to text someone instead of reacting at all?”

“I’m texting Willie,” he explained. “I’m asking him something.”

“What?”

That moment, Alex’s phone pinged with a text from Willie. He opened it up, smirked, and showed Carrie the screen.

Alex’s text read: hey, Flynn is in love with Carrie right?

Willie’s reply said: only for like ten years, yeah

Carrie read the messages. Then she read them again. Then she read them a third time, refreshed the chat, and read it again. Then she swiped Alex’s phone from his hand and turned it off, chucking it across the trailer so it landed in a pile of clothes she’d been meaning to get washed.

“Okay,” Alex said. “What was that for?”

“That’s not helpful,” Carrie whined. “How do you expect me to focus now that’s in my head?”

Alex blinked bewilderedly. “Because now you know Flynn loves you back. Which means you two can get together. You’d be able to kiss off-screen, and you were literally saying that’s what you wanted about two minutes ago.”

“But she doesn’t love me back,” Carrie said like Alex was being particularly dense.

“Were we reading the same messages?” he asked, sounding genuinely confused.

“Yes,” Carrie stressed, “but you’re wrong. She’s never flirted with me or said anything that might sound even a little bit like she thinks of me that way or anything like that. There’s no way she likes me.”

Alex opened his mouth, presumably to argue with her, but at that moment the door of the trailer opened and someone popped their head in to call Carrie to set. She thanked them and they closed the door as she got up to get ready. Alex heaved an exasperated sigh and said, “It’ll be fine, okay? If it helps in any way, just focus on the fact that it’s not you and Flynn – it’s Monica and Kai. It’s your character, not you. Got it?”

“Yes,” Carrie lied, leaving the trailer. “I’ve got it.”

Walking to set felt like walking to her death. Carrie was certain that nothing good would come out of this scene. The kiss would look realistic, yes, but she couldn’t truthfully claim that was because she was a good actress – it would only look real because it was real for her.

She arrived on set and steeled herself, going over her lines in her head and trying to ground herself. She’d been on this set so many times throughout the season; it was Kai’s apartment (Flynn’s character, a charming DJ with a rebellious streak and secret penchant for art and literature), utterly trashed after it had been broken into the previous episode. According to the script, Monica – Carrie’s character – would be helping Kai clean things up when Kai got upset about the whole situation, and it would fall to Monica to help her calm down and search through all her feelings. It would end with a big revelation as they admitted their love for one another, and their kiss would fade to black, ending the episode and the series.

On paper, it looked good. In Carrie’s mind, it was the worst thing that could have ever happened to her, but all she could do was go with it.

All thoughts of calming herself down bled out of her mind the moment Flynn walked onto set. She was in costume, a bright red tracksuit and minimal makeup, and she was smiling from ear to ear. The look was nothing special, but it was beauty if Carrie had ever seen it. Comparing herself to Flynn, she felt underdressed, even though her costume of a floral summer dress and cream-coloured cardigan was much less casual than Flynn’s.

When Flynn turned and met Carrie’s eye, she smiled that wonderous smile of hers, the one that made Carrie feel like they were the only two people in existence, everything else dropping away from them. She tried to smile back, but it was weak and close to a grimace, so she turned away to save herself the embarrassment.

And five minutes later, they began the scene.

To begin with, it went well. Carrie immersed herself in the role of Monica, playing up her concern for Kai, making sure to watch her with the most obvious heart-eyes she could manage (which wasn’t difficult). When Kai broke down crying, Monica rushed to her side, wrapped her in the tightest embrace possible, and tried not to cry herself. She leaned in close and whispered the words she had so painstakingly memorised into her ear.

“This wasn’t your fault,” she breathed. “You could never have known this would happen.”

“But it did happen,” Kai sobbed, her breath rattling heart-wrenchingly. “They targeted me. Why?”

“I don’t know,” Monica said softly, holding Kai tighter. “I can’t imagine how anyone would ever want to hurt you like this. Or hurt you at all. You don’t… you’ve been through so much, Kai, and you don’t deserve any of it. You’re the best person I’ve ever known. I wish I had those magic words that would somehow fix all this, but I don’t. All I can do is be here for you because that’s what you deserve. You deserve someone who’ll pick you up when you’re down, someone who will go out of their way to make you happy in life, someone who would love you forever and not think about stopping that for a second.”

Kai drew back a little but remained close enough to look Monica in the eye. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying… I… Kai, I…” The words died in Monica’s throat.

“I love you,” Kai finished, the start of an incredulous half-smile on her face.

“Yeah,” Monica whispered. “I love you, Kai.”

“God, I love you too.”

And then when they surged together, meeting in a fierce kiss, it suddenly wasn’t Monica and Kai anymore. This was Carrie and Flynn, kissing each other like they meant it, hard and fast and unrestrained and everything Carrie had ever imagined. More than Carrie had ever imagined. Flynn’s intensity hit her like a truck, but for once she wasn’t one to complain. She gave as good as she got, all that built up longing releasing itself in one fell swoop. Carrie Wilson was kissing Flynn Taylor and it was the most incredible thing she’d ever felt.

The call of, “Cut!” broke them apart. For a moment, Carrie looked into Flynn’s eyes, trying to read what was written in them, but it was useless. Her hands were still on Flynn’s waist, but she let go, and a moment later felt Flynn’s hands untangle from her hair.

They did the scene again and Carrie cursed herself for not foreseeing this massive issue. They never did one-take scenes, everything was gone over time and time again. She wasn’t kissing Flynn just once that day; she was reliving it over and over, and every kiss was better than the last as they got more acquainted with each other, figured things out, became less messy but kept all of the passion. It was a change of pace, but Carrie was handling it.

Until she messed up her lines in the worst possible way.

It was supposed to be, “Yeah. I love you, Kai.”

Carrie said, “I love you, Flynn.”

The director picked up on her mistake immediately and was good-natured about it as he made them take the scene from the top. Flynn said nothing, just laughed it off, mentioned that Carrie must be getting a little tired, all that kissing really taking it out of her. Everyone was fine with it and it didn’t happen again, but Carrie was mortified. She knew that those words had held all the sincerity it was impossible to fake, even with years of acting experience under her belt. She knew she had sounded honest in a way she never could have pretended to be. She knew that it was probably the take they would use, editing her use of Flynn’s name to Kai. And it felt like the biggest mistake of her life.

As soon as she was cleared to leave set, she all but legged it out of the room and back to her trailer where Alex was still waiting for her. She sat down beside him, head on his shoulder, and she cried.

The worst part was that she was no longer certain whether she was any good at pretending not to be in love with Flynn.

*

Promos and trailers for the show gradually released over the next few weeks. Carrie avoided social media as often as she could – it hadn’t taken people long to figure out that she would be Flynn’s love interest, and she simply couldn’t handle their reactions.

Some comments she had seen were harmless, related only to the show. ‘Monikai for life’ seemed to be a common one, as well as ‘she better treat my girl Kai with the respect she deserves’ or some form of ‘I swear they look literally perfect for each other’. Those comments were the kind Carrie could get along with. She liked a few posts, teasing just enough to get speculation up, but not enough to confirm anything.

Then there were different comments. Comments that weren’t about Monica and Kai, but instead about Carrie and Flynn. ‘Oh my god, I have been waiting for these two to play girlfriends forever’ seemed to crop up a lot. If it wasn’t that it was ‘we are finally going to see Carrie and Flynn kiss!’ and sometimes it was the worst comments like ‘they should date in real life’.

Everything about it made Carrie feel bad. For one thing, she hated people saying things like that about her private life – she might have been famous, but she was still a human being, and these people didn’t know her, so nothing gave them the right to talk about her and Flynn like that. But also, it was a constant painful reminder of what she didn’t have, and that was too much for her to process.

She had hardly spoken to Flynn since the wrap party despite Flynn messaging her every day. She was ashamed of her slip up and terrified that if she spoke to Flynn the same thing would happen again. Now that those words were out there, she didn’t think she’d be able to rein them back in ever again.

So Carrie was scared. Scared that she had ruined everything with Flynn, scared people would figure out how she really felt, scared that this was something she couldn’t bounce back from.

And she lashed out.

Admittedly, she knew could have handled the situation better. She could have ignored all the rumours and comments, stuck to one side of the fanbase, been proud of what she and Flynn had created. But she didn’t do any of that. There was one thing she knew she was still good at, and that was acting as if she hated Flynn Taylor. It had seemed like a good idea at the time – reveal to everyone that she hated Flynn to get them off her back. If she had thought it through for more than a second, she wouldn’t have done it, but one night something inside her broke and she let it all out.

She had reverted back to old habits and written a load of unsavoury tweets about Flynn, saying she hated her and couldn’t imagine anything worse than dating her, telling everyone that the idea of them being in a relationship was really creeping her out and she wanted nothing to do with it. She had posted them all before she could think any more about it, but the regret had been instant, as had the furious messages from her PR team and agent, the thousands of unfollows, the way people immediately tried to cancel her, and the way all of Flynn’s attempts to contact her stopped after those hateful words had been said. She deleted the tweets, but they’d already been screenshotted many a time, so it didn’t do much good.

The only surprise that came from it was a follow-up tweet from Flynn reading: You guys don’t need to cancel Carrie. It’s not as if I’m upset. I’d only be upset if I liked her, which I never have done.

Somehow, she had managed to ruin everything, just with a slip of the tongue.

The night of the season premier, Carrie got a knock on her door. That in itself was weird – she hadn’t invited anyone over, planning on spending the night alone, not even necessarily watching the show she’d worked so hard on, and none of her friends were really the type to just show up unannounced.

Well, none of them except–

“Willie,” she greeted with a smile when she opened the door. He stood on the threshold with his skateboard tucked under his arm, helmet lopsided on his head, and a smile on his face that looked half genuine and half like he was up to something. “What are you doing here?”

“I thought I’d come and watch the premier with you,” he said, inviting himself in and removing his helmet, hanging it on a coat hook as he propped his skateboard up against the wall. “Wouldn’t want you to be lonely for something as huge as this, right?”

“Okay,” she said, unconvinced, “and what’s your ulterior motive?”

Willie knew better than to argue. He frowned slightly and said, “Flynn told me what you said and that you’re not talking to her now, Alex told me that you totally freaked out – like freaked out, freaked out – and then went all despondent and sad, and I wanted to see if I could help. Maybe, you know, talk some sense into you.”

She rolled her eyes, leading Willie into the living room and sitting on the couch with him. “I’m not ignoring Flynn, I didn’t freak out, and I’ve got plenty of sense in me, thank you very much.”

Willie raised an eyebrow. “Sense? Or denial?”

She didn’t reply.

“Carrie,” he said, shuffling closer, “listen to me, okay? That day, when you said to Flynn that you love her, you ran to Alex while she ran to me. She was a total mess, telling me she had no idea if you had meant it or if you’d really just messed up. She said she wanted to talk to you, and after that day she said she kept trying but you wouldn’t pick up and she thought she had done something wrong. And then all those tweets… Carrie, what’s going on?”

She sighed, threw her head back to try and tip the tears welling in her eyes back into her skull, and then turned back to Willie.

“I meant it,” she breathed. “When I told Flynn I love her, I meant it. But she doesn’t feel the same way about me.”

“Yes she–”

“No,” Carrie said firmly. “She doesn’t. I shouldn’t have said it, I shouldn’t have lost myself like that. I should have had some freaking restraint. And now that I’ve told her, she’s going to hate me because I will have made her uncomfortable and she won’t want to be around me anymore. I’ve ruined it, Willie. And the tweets were a stupid idea, even I know that. I was scared, which is a terrible excuse, I know. I thought people were figuring out how I really felt so I… god, I’m such an idiot. I never should have done it. And now I know she hates me, she said so herself.”

“She doesn’t hate you,” Willie said softly, shaking his head.

Carrie just raised an eyebrow.

“Look, I’m… I’m not going to make you talk about it tonight if you really don’t want to,” Willie said. Carrie breathed a sigh of relief, relaxing a little. “But you’ve got to promise me you’ll talk to Flynn. Just to explain yourself. No matter which way your conversation goes, I really don’t think you’ll regret it.”

Carrie just hummed, not willing to provide an actual answer, and flicked the TV on, putting on the season premier of their show. She and Willie settled down together and watched. If Carrie teared up a little watching her first interaction with Flynn, Willie was kind enough not to mention it.

*

Eventually, Carrie took Willie’s advice, more because she missed Flynn than anything else. And in any case, she felt she owed Flynn an apology and an explanation. She had been awful to her in a way she hadn’t since they were teenagers, and she was ashamed and guilty and just wanted things to go back to some semblance of normal. On the night the season finale aired, Carrie drove to Flynn’s house and knocked on the door before she could change her mind.

“Oh,” Flynn said when she opened the door. Carrie couldn’t read her expression but fought down the panic that arose. “What are you doing here?”

“Can we talk?” she asked, hating how cliché it sounded, but that didn’t matter when Flynn nodded and opened the door wider, letting her in.

They settled together on the couch in front of Flynn’s television. It was set to the channel their show aired on, but it hadn’t started yet. When Flynn didn’t say a word, Carrie took that as her cue to start the conversation.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly.

“Go on,” Flynn encouraged, sounding unimpressed.

“I’m sorry for everything I said about you online,” she continued, doing her best to look Flynn in the eye when all she wanted to do was look away. “I didn’t mean any of it. You’re such an amazing person and one of my best friends and I can’t believe I let myself do things that would jeopardise that. None of it was true, anyway. I just… I got scared.”

“Scared of what?” Flynn pressed, voice slightly softer than it had been a moment before. Carrie hoped she hadn’t imagined Flynn scooting ever so slightly closer to her on the couch.

She took a deep rattling breath. She had come there that night having promised herself that she would be completely honest with Flynn because she owed her that much. Well, now was the point when she needed to be honest and it was the most terrifying prospect she’d ever faced.

“Scared of people working out how right they are about me,” she admitted. “I saw people saying that we… that we would be good together as a couple in real life. And it hit too close to home because I’ve always thought that exact same thing, but I’ve never been able to do anything about it.”

“What are you saying?” Flynn breathed.

“I’m saying… I meant what I said on set. It wasn’t me slipping up, it was genuine. I couldn’t hold it back that day.”

“You mean when you said ‘I love you’?” Flynn asked slowly.

“Yeah,” Carrie said. “I meant it when I said that I love you. I love you, Flynn, I really do.”

Flynn was silent for far too long. Carrie felt her heart sinking, knowing she had made a mess of this, that they would never be able to return from this, that Flynn probably wanted nothing to do with her now, despite what Alex and Willie seemed to think about the whole thing. She prepared herself for the shouting, the accusations, the breaking off of their friendship.

But then Flynn said, “You shouldn’t have run out of set that day.”

“I know, I know, I should have explained myself and apologised there and th–”

“No,” Flynn interrupted. “You should have stayed so that I had the chance to say it back.”

“So you… what?”

Flynn’s hands, soft and gentle, came up to cradle Carrie’s face. She felt Flynn run the pad of her thumbs deftly over Carrie’s cheeks, looked deep into her gorgeous brown eyes and lost herself in them. When Flynn said, “I want to say it back,” Carrie was so up in her own thoughts that she almost forgot what they were even talking about.

“Then say it,” she returned, leaning into Flynn’s touch.

“I love you, Carrie.”

“God, I love you too.”

They kissed again, leaning forward to meet each other, and it was like their first kiss all over again. This one wasn’t tinged with the bittersweet sting that their on-screen ones had been, but rather peppered with the joy they shared having finally revealed their truth to one another. It was a ‘thank you’, a ‘sorry’, an ‘I love you’, a ‘you are it for me’ all in one go, made of love and care and everything good in the world. Carrie lost herself in Flynn – she thought that would never stop happening – and it made her feel free.

Here was another thing she was good at: loving Flynn and showing it to her.

At some point, long after they had broken their kiss, instead curling up together on the couch to watch their show, Flynn snickered and said, “You know, our agent told me that our little spat online had done wonders for the show’s publicity.”

“Where are you going with this?” Carrie asked, smirking, knowing that Flynn wasn’t just dropping that out of nowhere.

She shrugged. “I think we could do our bit to help out with ratings. For a while it might be a good idea to keep the act up, you know? Act like we hate each other and watch everyone freak out over it. And if it’s super funny for us then that’s just a bonus.”

“Fine, on one condition,” Carrie said. Flynn nodded. “We don’t tell Alex and Willie what we’re doing. They’ve been laughing at our stupidity for years, I think we deserve a little revenge.”

“I love the way you think,” Flynn laughed, leaning up to kiss Carrie again. “I love you. But as far as anyone else is concerned, no I don’t.”

Pressing another kiss to the side of Flynn’s head, Carrie said teasingly, “I don’t either.”

(Alex and Willie were not best pleased when they found out three months later that Carrie and Flynn were not in fact mortal enemies but girlfriends when the girls asked them for help moving all of Flynn’s stuff into Carrie’s house because they’d decided they wanted to live together. They’d been given the silent treatment the entire time, but it was worth it.)

*

Taglist (if you want to be added or removed just let me know): @ace-bookworm @williexmercer @boggie-brainrot @itstiger720 @the-reckless-and-the-brave @that-one-newsie @bluedarkness @lookingthroughmirrors @tmp-jatp @ghostlydahlia @julieandthequeers @lmaohuh @sunnysbright @sylphrenas @callmeontheleyline

[shih-coulda-had-it]

Sorahiko is a jealous dad with his sunflower son's friends and Nana is trying to calm him down, I'm completely sure that happened 👀👀

/rubs hands slowly/ This might necessitate Sorahiko wanting to bond with Toshinori, anon. For all we know, he might have approved Toshinori lone-wolfing it at the beginning. He certainly doesn’t think that way by the time we reach the Shie Hassaikai Arc — he was, I think, a factor in Izuku’s internship?? Don’t quote me on that — but I wouldn’t put it past Sorahiko to think that teenager Toshinori shouldn’t drag people into his ‘delusions of grandeur.’

Anyway! This is yet another entry into the NanaLives!AU. For the last bit, just know that Nana survives All for One, fled to the States with Toshinori, and Sorahiko found and adopted Kotarou before joining them.

//

This is the third week in a row that Sorahiko’s found the dumb dandelion-haired brat underfoot at his and Nana’s agency. Yagi is still dressed in his black uniform, the one that clearly marks him as a junior high student, and he looks like any bright, diligent kid. Kenta, the agency’s hapless receptionist, sends Sorahiko a pleading look.

Sorahiko knows it’s not a ‘please get him out of here’ look, because it didn’t even take Yagi a goddamn day to charm the civilian staffers. No, what Kenta is mentally begging Sorahiko for is to not make a snarky comment. 

So what if there aren’t any official rules against civilians in agencies? What if Yagi has wormed his way into Nana’s good graces, to the point where she’s already considering making him her successor?

Doesn’t explain why a student has so much time to spend at a small pro-hero agency. 

“Torino-san!” says the brat cheerfully. He’s carrying a stack of files in his twiggy arms, looking ready to drop it all and assist Sorahiko. “Hi! Oshishou said you were coming in late today!”

Sorahiko squints, bleary. It’s just too many exclamation points for someone who’s just woken up from an afternoon nap. The front door swings shut behind him. Sorahiko hasn’t changed into his gear yet, he’s kinda hungry, and he’s being overwhelmed by a kid who’s taken Nana’s philosophy to heart.

“It’s not a training day for you,” he grunts, and moves forward, brushing unceremoniously past Yagi.

“Every day is training!” Undeterred by Sorahiko’s grouchiness, the brat trails behind and lectures Sorahiko about dedication of all things, and new things oshishou tells me about, I’m learning all the time, I’m so grateful to be here—Sorahiko lets the chatter wash over him, unwilling to cross the line of bullying a child just yet.

“Sky Drop,” Sorahiko says, opening the door into his and Nana’s private office. They used to keep their workspaces separate, and then a month into that, caught each other sneaking out the window (Nana) and snoozing over the paperwork (Sorahiko).

“Oshishou, I have the files!”

Nana looks up from her desk, looking frazzled. “Oh, thank you, Yagi-shonen. Gran Torino, hey, how was the nap?”

“Too short.” Sorahiko watches Yagi bounce to Nana’s desk, hand her the files, and vibrate expectantly in place. Youthful eagerness. It tires Sorahiko just witnessing it, and he makes eye contact with Nana, trying to communicate, ‘I can’t believe this kid.’ She glares at him for a brief second, then turns to Yagi.

“Do you have anything you need to study?” she asks.

“Tests are easy,” the brat says. He scuffs the heel of one sneaker. “I can test, oshishou, but I just don’t like, um…”

“Paperwork?”

Yagi brightens. Ugh, they’re kindred spirits, these two. Sorahiko can’t believe Nana’s letting him get away with the idea that a Pillar of Society isn’t going to have to deal with all the generated paperwork. “Yeah! It’s all in my head, so I’m free to do whatever, oshishou.”

“All in your head,” Sorahiko mimics. Look at that, he is willing to bully a child. Nana can kick his ass later, when the ball of sunshine isn’t setting fire to his dignity. “I can guarantee you, you aren’t ready for the written exam for U.A. Go. Shoo. Come back in five minutes.”

He only adds that last part because Yagi had wilted, drooping at the order to leave like Sorahiko had been responsible for sucking up all the nutrients and will to live, and Sorahiko doesn’t need to be guilt-tripped by a thirteen-year-old child.

In any case, Yagi perks up. “Okay! What can I do?”

Fortunately, Nana intervenes. Maybe she could predict that Sorahiko was going to send Yagi out to fetch taiyaki. “There’s a table tennis set in the backroom. It’s at the top of the metal shelves, you can’t miss it. Bring it back here, and I’ll show you a trick for improving hand-eye coordination, okay?”

“Okay!” And off he goes, shooting past where Sorahiko is still lounging against the doorframe. There’s a draft of cold air, and then Sorahiko is finally stepping inside and closing the door. The room isn’t sound-proofed, but they’ve got a solid minute before Toshinori scrounges up the paddles and the elusive white ball. 

Their desks are technically on opposite sides of the room. Sorahiko likes to sit by the door, and terrorize visitors (mostly Commission agents) by standing up when they enter, startling them backwards and unnerving them into honesty. Nana sits in plain-view of the door.

He approaches her desk and leans his hip against the edge. “Why is here,” he asks plaintively. “Doesn’t he have friends?”

“Don’t be a dick,” Nana chides. “You can connect the dots yourself.”

“He had the confidence to pester you.”

“Sorahiko,” she says, stern.

“Nana,” he whines. Sorahiko might be losing heart in this argument, because he can connect the dots. The dots are telling him that he’s being an asshole to a previously Quirkless teenager. “I can only deal with one extrovert at a time.”

“You’ll get attached to him,” Nana says with great confidence. She’s been saying this for the past three weeks; the novelty of Nana having an apprentice has worn off, and now Sorahiko is even more confused as to why Recovery Girl took the position as U.A.’s school nurse. Nana leans forward and pokes his elbow. “You got attached to me, after all.”

“Hm.”

“I think he’ll make lots of friends at U.A.,” she adds, with less confidence.

“Hm,” Sorahiko hums again. It’s likely. U.A. usually feels like the chance to start over a social life; the influx of students outside of Musutafu meant new faces. But Sorahiko knew better than most that old habits died hard; years after graduation, his closest friend is still Shimura Nana, and everyone else (save for Chiyo, who was more willing to ally with Nana and force him into socializing) remains at arms’ length.

“Found you!” Yagi’s exultant cry travels through the whole agency. Sorahiko resigns himself to Yagi’s effusively loud existence, and Nana pats his wrist.

“If you needle him about overstaying his welcome, I’ll kick your ass,” she reminds him pleasantly.

“When you go on full maternity leave, I’m the one stuck with him,” Sorahiko shoots back.

“I will make Yagi-shonen run so many errands…” She sounds wistful, as if the prescribed rest from work hasn’t been haunting her for days. “When I can’t bend over and get the tea from the bottom shelf, I’ll just tell Yagi-shonen to help this poor pregnant lady, oh, her gigantic stomach…”

The joke works; Sorahiko doubles over in laughter.

//

Yagi Toshinori does not make any close friends through high school. Instead, he spends more and more time at the agency, helping with the reports and patrols, desperate to ease the burdens weighing Nana and Sorahiko down.

“He’s supposed to have a childhood,” Nana mutters. They’ve made a stop at the rooftop, and she is staring blackly at the blue and pink neon glow of the city. “He’s—supposed to be irresponsible, and goofing off with friends, and getting terrible grades as a consequence for not studying.”

Sorahiko studies the passing cars, and he keeps his mouth shut.

Toshinori’s constant presence at the office helps. He’s a quick study at paperwork, for all that he professes to hate it, and just having him there lightens the mood. They’ve tried kicking him out for his own good, pointedly reminding him about the necessity of networking and downtime. And like clockwork, he shows up the next day.

It soothes something in Nana to see her successor, hale and hearty. Sorahiko can appreciate Toshinori for that.

“He does talk to his classmates, right? You’d know if he was being bullied?”

Sorahiko rolls his eyes. “You think I would keep that from you? His classmates worship the ground he walks on. He’s just standoffish, I guess.”

“Oh no,” Nana grieves. “Of all the things he learned from you, Sorahiko.”

“From me?” he says, outraged.

“I know I told him to make friends!” she continues. “God, maybe if we weren’t operating outside the Hero Association’s purview, he’d bring them to the agency, and he could finally brag about his experiences working with us…”

“He’s fine, Nana. I think—” his throat seizes for a second. I think he knows he has to be All Might alone. It’s true, but Sorahiko doesn’t need to rub the fact in Nana’s face. If entering U.A. is like wiping your social slate clean, then entering the pro-hero workforce is like exchanging your life for an entirely new tablet. Sorahiko’s luckier than most that Nana was willing to cling right back, and that Chiyo demanded to be their GP.

“You think,” Nana prompts.

“Toshinori’s as emotionally-balanced as any teenager can be,” Sorahiko says. “Don’t mess with his social life until we’re out of the clear.”

//

This isn’t a conversation Nana thought she’d be having with Sorahiko, of all people. But he’d been biting poor David Shield’s head off during dinner, and even Kotarou has caught onto the inexplicable animosity. Fortunately, Kotarou takes his cues towards strangers more from his adopted big brother than Sorahiko.

Toshinori is looking at her in askance, when Nana decides David’s suffered enough and politely excuses herself and Sorahiko from the table.

“We’ll be back with dessert,” she reassures the kids. “Don’t worry about it.”

“No kissing,” says Kotarou petulantly. “You always forget the time when you’re kissing tou-chan.”

Nana fake-gasps, smiling even as she scolds. “Kota! Not in front of guests. You wouldn’t want me telling Dave what happened the first time I took you flying, would you?” Kotarou reddens like a tomato, and mimes zipping his mouth. Ah, a Sorahiko-tic. Her heart warms.

“It’s okay,” Dave says.

“Yes, it would be nice to gain information, wouldn’t it, Dave?”

She grabs Sorahiko’s wrist and marches him to the kitchen. He goes willingly, but Nana knows he’s just shot one more suspicious glare over his shoulder. And when they’re standing in the kitchen, ostensibly retrieving the ice cream bucket and assorted bowls and spoons, Sorahiko crosses his arms and scrunches his face into a scowl.

“What is with you?” she whispers.

“Look at him!” Sorahiko whispers back, gesturing at his face. “He’s a smarmy little prick trying to figure out what’s behind All Might!”

“He’s asking very normal things, as expected from very normal engineering students,” says Nana. “You remember the Support students. David isn’t being any more invasive than they are.”

“He’s Californian.” The disdain drips from Sorahiko’s voice. “He’s obsessed with bodybuilders in the spotlight, like that, that one governor they had—”

“What, was he eyeing you too?”

Sorahiko dismisses her attempted derailing. “The boy’s ogling Toshinori like a piece of meat, he’s not going to look at some old-timer.”

“It’s a mutual attraction,” says Nana, certain of this, at least. “I think Toshinori likes nerds.”

He makes a face.

“He gets that from me,” adds Nana mischievously, and she leans in to kiss the affectionate outrage off Sorahiko’s face.

[halcyon-writings]

Can you do a #20 in the angst prompt with Dante from Devil May Cry?

since I wasn’t sure if anon wanted the reboot or original I just decided to go with the original

masterlist - fandom list - prompts tag

Not that you minded still being alive or anything, but you were pretty certain that you were going to die on that last job of yours. Well, it was almost a given, as ever since you partnered up with Dante’s business, it seemed like there was always some weirdo that wanted to destroy the world, take over it, or even both, and this was basically one of these times. 

You were putting pressure on the stab wound on your side (which may or may not have been deeper than you anticipated, but did they seriously have to stab you? No, no they did not) and you were pretty sure something was broken. The entirety of your body felt numb, and the new ‘baddie’ decided to take their time and just start monologing about their plans and goals.

They wanted Dante’s attention, with him being the Son of Sparda and all that. So their plan was just why not take a captive for a while.

(You’d eventually learn that he didn’t really want you to know, but seriously, it was a little obvious, what human man had bright white hair and could transform into a powerful demonic form?) 

You were in too much pain to make a snarky remark as they continued on with their speech, but one thing you were certain about was that holy shit, you were gonna die. The thought of that might’ve scared you a little. 

You weren’t going to let yourself be used like bait, and so you attempted to escape, which led to your current predicament: you on the ground, bleeding out, broken, and bruised.

With a rather showy display of breaking down a wall, not like doors had a purpose or anything like that, Dante had appeared, with Trish, Lady, and oh goodness was that Nero and Lucia ? behind him. However, he was uncharacteristically serious, eyes flashing dangerously. 

The baddie, or whatever their name was had no time to react before Dante took them down. Well, at least that was taken care of. 

“Good god what took you guys so long,” You joked tiredly, the pressure from your hand was beginning to get weaker, “With all this blood there wouldn’t even be a need for blood drives anymore.”

Although Dante seemed amused at your remark, you could still see the seriousness in his eyes, along with hints of concern?

“I’d feel a hell of a lot better if you weren’t staring at me as if you were a kid whose dog just got hit by a car,” You muttered weakly.

Dante raised an eyebrow, “Selling yourself short aren’t you Lassie?” 

“If I wasn’t in a lot of pain right now, I’d hit you,” You replied, a sudden jolt of pain surged through your body and the usually cool and aloof Dante was kneeling beside you, 

It was probably because you were losing consciousness, but you let a little bit of your fear show on your face, before grabbing his forearm as tight as you were able (which wasn’t much since you were going to pass out anytime soon). 

“Please don’t let me die, Dante.”

It had been two weeks since then, and you were basically fine, you didn’t need to talk to anyone about your ‘ordeal’, as Lucia had so eloquently put it, and your wound was barely hurting anymore. But, Dante wouldn’t allow you to get back to work right away, believing that no you weren’t fully okay yet. He did let you stay at Devil May Cry during your recovery.

He was a total mother hen, and you were getting a bit annoyed, since half the time he’d be his usual snarky, outgoing self and the other half he’d shoot down any idea of you getting back to work.

This wasn’t the first time this had happened either, as you remember before you fully worked with him, he got this way after what happened to his brother during the Temen-ni-gru fiasco. 

You normally didn’t like to start any arguments, but you were just that tired of being treated like this. Trish and Lady weren’t at Devil May Cry, as the two were out either on an actual job or another shopping trip (to which you declined an invitation, not feeling like walking around a mall a lot to look at different clothes)

And when you confronted your longtime friend/ maybe-possibly? boyfriend (you’ll admit that once or twice the two of you slept together), an argument was bound to start.

“I just don’t see the issue with me getting back into jobs, especially if they’re terribly simple,” You insisted.

“Well for one, you’re still injured,” Dante answered with a scoff, currently seated in the swivel chair you got him as a gift and partially a joke (when he complained about how uncomfortable his old one was), legs propped on his desk, hands behind his head, which irritated you a just a little bit, “and you almost opened your stab wound again a few days ago, when you should’ve been resting.”

“My bladder didn’t mind that I had stitches and I needed to pee man.”

“Yeah and having you bleed out in my bathroom? Doesn’t sound like an ideal situation,” He answered smartly.

You narrowed your eyes, “Fine, but clearly this,” You gestured towards yourself, more specifically where you were wounded, “Isn’t the only thing that’s bothering you.”

“I think I’m doing pretty okay, thank you very much,” He answered tersely, getting up from his seat, which meant the conversation was over, and made his way towards the door of the shop, “I have a job to do, and you should just rest up.”

You clenched your fist, and before you could even stop yourself, you snapped, “For once, stop pretending you’re okay! Just talk to me! How is it that whenever you’re injured basically similarly if not worse than I am, everything’s all fine and dandy but if I even stub my toe, it’s suddenly as if I can’t even function without someone helping me. ”

“Because even if I had those injuries, I’d be more likely to survive, you’re only human (Y/N).”

Your eyes narrowed again, “Are you really insinuating that I’m weak? If you are-”

“I don’t want anyone else important to me to die, alright?” He interrupted, making you go silent, “I’ve dealt with that enough already. And when you grabbed my arm before you went unconscious, I swore to myself that I never wanted to see you be that scared again.”

It was quiet for a few seconds, before you walked over to him, and placed a hand on his shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze. Despite your annoyance, the more rational part of you could understand where he was coming from, as you were also aware of his life and how difficult it had been for him.Which also meant you felt a little guilty about how you were acting. 

“I’m sorry,” you began, “Here I am, pushing myself to get back to jobs and all that, worrying you more than I probably should. With how much I was just sitting around or laying down, I would’ve felt myself going a little crazy, but I know that you’ve lost good people from your life. So I’ll take it slow, and then I’ll try and get back to the swing of things.

Now come on, you have a job to get too, and the later you are, the less they’ll wanna pay,” You added, beginning to move him in the direction of the doors.

Dante had the usual cocky smirk on his face, but this time, it was  a lot more natural, “Oh come on babe, you know I never keep a client waiting.”

You snorted, “Yeah totally, and seriously, get going, I expect you to bring home something for Dinner, you know as well as I do that I can barely cook.”

“Being able to make instant ramen doesn’t mean you can cook,” Dante reminded you.

Playfully, you swatted at his butt, making him laugh, “Well go on, but I do expect something good to eat later.”

He gave a mock salute and then was out the door.