#the dream was family stuff because of course it was nothing in the world can hurt me like my parents

[returntotheground]

i was going to complain about waking up in a rage from a shitty dream i had except i realized i'm not even that upset about it because tbh i've had such a hard time feeling any type of real anger in years that i actually feel kind of relieved to see its ghost

[seafarersdream]

Cregan x reader where the reader is betrothed to him but he gets close to Alysanne Blackwood and she feels insecure. But he then reassures her that he loves her. Could be fluff or smut, whatever you feel fits

Big Bad Wolf | 18+ (Cregan Stark x Y/N)

Y/N knows exactly why she has been sent to the frigid North: her grandsire, Otto Hightower, intends for her to secure Cregan Stark’s loyalty to the Greens with a proposed betrothal. A union that would bind the North to her family’s cause and strengthen her brother’s claim. She can’t help but wonder what he would sees in her—a willing pawn, a coveted prize, or perhaps, an unexpected adversary?

TW // Strong language and profanities, mild sexual content, mention of injuries and wounds, slow burn romance.

Note: I took a slightly different approach than originally requested to better align with my brainstorming ideas. I hope you all enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it! And fair warning—it ended up being around 10k words because I got carried away and so into it😂

The wind howls around her like a beast, its icy fingers clawing at her cloak, desperate to strip her bare. Y/N Targaryen pulls the fur-lined fabric tighter around her shoulders, her silver hair whipping against her face as she stares out into the endless expanse of white that is the North.

The cold is sharp, biting against her skin, a relentless assault unlike anything she has ever felt in King’s Landing. There, the sun always warmed the walls of the Red Keep, the gardens bloomed with vibrant flowers, and the salty sea breeze carried the smell of soils from distant lands. Here, in the North, all of that feels like a distant memory—a dream now buried under layers of snow.

She shivers, and not just from the cold.

Being a Targaryen means something. Being a Targaryen princess means the realm is her oyster. She has always known this. The daughter of the late King Viserys Targaryen and the sister to the current ruler, Y/N has never wanted for anything. Born under the banners of black and red, her birthright is as weighty as it is illustrious. In the courts of King's Landing, her name alone is a force that can command, bend, and break. The Valyrian blood coursing through her veins has bestowed upon her an otherworldly beauty—hair the colour of moonlight, eyes that burn like molten silver. She is used to men and women alike vying for her favor, hanging on her every word, their desires evident in their eyes. She is used to being adored, admired, even envied.

But here, in the North, none of that means a thing.

The North is a different world, an ancient one with a heartbeat of ice and snow. It is a world where the name Targaryen carries little weight, where dragons are the stuff of nightmares, not symbols of power and strength.

For thousands of years, the North stood as its own kingdom, ruled by House Stark of Winterfell—a house older than her own, as old as the First Men themselves. The North submitted to Aegon the Conqueror’s rule, but submission is not the same as surrender. She can feel the weight of that history in every flake of snow, every gust of wind that threatens to unseat her from the back of her horse. The North remembers.

And the North does not care for Targaryen princesses.

The men and women who stare at her from the edges of Winterfell’s courtyard do not see a daughter of kings. They see a southerner, a foreigner, an outsider draped in silk and furs too fine for their taste. They see someone who has never felt the bite of a northern winter, who does not understand the constant struggle for survival that defines their lives. To them, she is the very embodiment of everything they disdain—the soft courtly life, the excesses of the south, the endless games of backstabbing and ambition that mean nothing in the face of a harsh winter. Her beauty, her title, her blood—none of it matters here. She is a stranger in a strange land, and they watch her with eyes that are cold and calculating.

It is a stark contrast to the life she has known. In King’s Landing, courtiers flocked to her side, eager for a smile, a kind word, a glance that might change their fortunes. But here, no one bows or scrapes, no one offers her flattery or fawning attention. Instead, they glance at her with a mixture of suspicion and curiosity, their expressions as unreadable as the frozen ground beneath her feet. Even the cold here seems to seep into their bones, hardening their faces into masks of stone.

Her gaze shifts to the man standing at the center of it all—the Warden of the North, Cregan Stark. He is as unyielding as the walls of Winterfell, a man carved from the very ice that surrounds them. His dark hair is touched with frost, his grey eyes piercing through the flurries like a direwolf scanning the wood for prey. He regards her with a guarded expression, his features stoic, as though he is measuring the weight of her presence in his hall. There is strength in his stance, a raw, quiet power that seems to ripple beneath his skin like a river beneath ice.

She knows why she is here. Her grandsire, Otto Hightower, has sent her north with a proposal for a betrothal, hoping to secure Cregan Stark's allegiance to the Greens. A marriage alliance that would bind the North to her family, to her brother’s cause. But she also knows that such an alliance is easier proposed than accepted. The Starks are proud, stubborn as the wolves on their banners, and they are not easily swayed by promises or threats. She wonders what Cregan Stark sees when he looks at her—a pawn, a prize, a potential enemy?

Y/N squares her shoulders, forcing herself to meet his gaze with the same intensity. Her breath mists in the cold air between them, mingling with the snowflakes that drift down from the leaden sky. She is a Targaryen, born of fire and blood, and she will not be cowed by the cold.

She takes a step forward, her boots crunching in the snow, and inclines her head with a grace born of years at court. “Lord Stark,” she begins, her voice steady despite the chill that bites at her skin, “I bring greetings from my family and an offer that I hope will interest you.”

For a moment, there is silence, broken only by the distant howl of the wind. The Northmen are watching, waiting for their lord’s response. Cregan Stark’s grey eyes remain locked on hers, his expression unreadable, and she feels the weight of the North pressing down upon her.

“Princess,” Cregan replies at last, his voice a low rumble that echoes across the courtyard. “Welcome to Winterfell.”

And with those words, the game begins.

▐░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▌

Y/N Targaryen has always been more her grandsire’s granddaughter than her mother’s daughter—or her father’s, for that matter. Not that it has been much of a choice. King Viserys had been many things in his life—gentle, soft-hearted, more comfortable with scrolls and histories than with the complexities of ruling—but present, he was not. His love for Rhaenyra, his firstborn, was the love of a man whose affections had been spent long before Y/N was ever born. So, she learned quickly that if she wanted attention, guidance, or even a semblance of familial warmth, she would find none of it in her father.

Instead, she found herself drawn to Otto Hightower. He was a man of purpose, of ambition, of decisive action. With her mother’s soft words and frail smiles failing to shape her in any meaningful way, it was Otto who taught her the art of politics, of maneuvering through a court filled with predators. In him, she saw a mirror of her own aspirations—always looking forward, always plotting the next move. It was from him she learned that power is something you seize, not something you wait for. She knew he would never coddle her, never tell her she was beloved just for being herself; he only valued what was valuable, and that gave her a clarity she found comforting.

Her siblings, however, were a different matter entirely.

Aegon, her eldest brother, was a fool. Self-conscious, always craving their parents' love like a starving child reaching for a morsel of bread. For years, he had hoped to be the shining star in their father’s eyes, only to discover that no matter what he did, he would always be in the shadow of their half-sister, Rhaenyra—the daughter Viserys truly adored. That realization had driven Aegon to the brink. He had spiraled into self-destruction, numbing his pain with Arbor Red, drowning in the company of whores and sycophants who fed his illusions of being liked, respected even. She had watched him become a hollowed-out shell of a prince, playing at being a king among the rats and the vipers of the Red Keep. Aegon was a king now, a ruler in name, but he wore his crown like a noose.

Aemond, on the other hand, was a different creature. Where Aegon sought love, Aemond sought approval, validation—something to make the gods’ cruel joke of his birth order feel less like a curse. He set impossible standards for himself, always striving to outshine his elder brother, to rise above his station as the spare. He immersed himself in philosophy, warfare, Westerosi customs, determined to be the best in every field, the most learned, the most skilled. And yet, no matter how many strategies he mastered or how many books he consumed, he would always be the second son. Aemond may have won the favor of their grandsire, may have been admired by those who valued intellect and ruthlessness, but in the end, Aegon’s incompetence still carried the weight of the gods' favor. And that knowledge gnawed at Aemond like a wolf at a bone.

Helaena and Daeron, bless them, were different. Y/N could say nothing ill of those two. Helaena, with her strange, prophetic dreams and her love for insects, was perhaps the only light in their shadowed family. She lived in a world of her own, a world of strange riddles and hidden truths that no one else could see. Daeron, meanwhile, had been smart enough to remove himself from the poisonous atmosphere of the Red Keep, carving out a life for himself in Oldtown.

As for herself? Y/N had always considered herself a performer, a mirrorball reflecting the light of others, knowing exactly where to place her foot in every dance. She did not crave her parents’ approval or love; she never had. She knew her worth, not in how many times her father called her his precious daughter or how often her mother sighed with the weight of unspoken affection. No, her worth came from the power she had managed to accumulate on her own, the alliances she had forged, the influence she wielded like a blade. She had held her own court, commanded attention, respect, and fear. She had learned to survive, to thrive, to be more than just another pretty Targaryen face.

And now, she had none of it.

Here in this frozen wasteland, she was stripped bare of everything she had built. The North was a godforsaken, heretic country in her eyes—a land of rigid codes and old gods, where men did not bow easily, where words were weighed like precious stones, and secrets were buried beneath layers of ice and snow. She had no court, no power to wield, no influence to peddle.

And then, there was Cregan Stark.

A man whose reputation preceded him like a cold wind. Honorable, they said. A man of principle, a man who lived by his word, who believed in truth and duty as if they were his religion. There was no room for subterfuge in his life, no space for half-truths or hidden motives. His gaze was like steel, unbending and severe. It was almost appalling, really, how saintly he was. Mother above she thought more than once, he would be eaten alive in King’s Landing.

In the South, where smiles masked daggers and every word dripped with double meaning, a man like Cregan Stark would be a lamb led to slaughter. His sense of honor would be his undoing, his truthfulness a weapon turned against him. She had never met a man like him. A man who looked at her not with lust or ambition but with a quiet, steady gaze that seemed to see right through her. He seemed entirely unimpressed by her. It was infuriating and fascinating all at once.

Y/N squared her shoulders, determined not to let her irritation show. She would learn this place, learn its people, and most of all, she would learn Cregan Stark. She would find the crack in his armor, the flaw in his honor, the chink in his unyielding principles. Everyone had one; it was just a matter of knowing where to look, how to press, how to push. She was not here to be swallowed by the North—she was here to conquer it, one way or another.

She knew that the path to Lord Cregan Stark’s cold, cold heart was not a direct one. It was not a road paved with smiles or adorned with sweet words. It was a labyrinth, and the only way through it was by understanding his people.

She had watched him long enough to know this much: Cregan Stark was a man who put his people above all else. The North had a way of making even its leaders humble before it. They were not like the nobles of King’s Landing, always scheming for personal glory or clawing at each other’s throats for favor. Here, in this frozen hell, survival depended on something far simpler, far more primal—on loyalty, on unity, on trust.

So, she began to snake her way into the hearts of his people.

It started small, with gestures they would not expect from a southerner, least of all a Targaryen princess. She knew how they saw her—pampered, delicate, with hair too fair and hands too soft to have ever known true work. She could feel their eyes on her wherever she went, could hear the whispers as she passed by, wrapped in her fine furs, a dragon in the land of wolves.

The courtyard was busy that morning, the ground slick with melting snow and the air thick with the sounds of work—axes splitting wood, the clang of blacksmiths’ hammers against anvils, the shouts of men and women hauling barrels and crates. She approached the group of women gathered near the cookfires, a mixture of curiosity and skepticism in their gazes. Y/N took a deep breath, pulling her cloak tighter around her shoulders, and stepped into their midst.

“Is there something I can do?” she asked, her voice clear and carrying over the noise. A few heads turned, eyes narrowing in surprise. She saw a woman in her middle years, broad-shouldered and with arms like tree trunks, squinting at her as if she were a curious animal. The others paused, their hands stilling in their work, glances exchanged.

The woman, who she had come to learn was named Mildred, finally spoke, her tone rough as gravel. “Princess,” she drawled, dragging the word out like it was something distasteful in her mouth. “I don’t think there’s much here a royal lady can handle. Unless you’ve got a mind to ruin that fancy cloak of yours.”

Y/N smiled. “I’ve more cloaks, Mildred. And if it gets ruined, well, I suppose I’ll just have to make do with another one, won’t I?”

A snort came from somewhere in the back of the group, and Y/N’s eyes flicked to the source—a younger woman with a mess of red hair and a skeptical expression. Y/N kept her smile, but she let a hint of a challenge creep into her tone. “Besides, I’m not afraid of a little dirt.”

The women exchanged glances, weighing her words. Mildred shrugged at last, tossing a hunk of dough onto a wooden board. “Fine then. Let’s see how you fare kneading bread. Got to feed half the damned keep today, and we’re short on hands.”

Y/N stepped forward without hesitation, rolling up her sleeves. The cold bit at her exposed skin, but she ignored it. Her hands, unused to such labor, moved awkwardly at first, pressing into the dough with less confidence than she wanted. Mildred watched her, arms crossed. “Too gentle,” She grunted. “You’re not petting a dragon. Put your weight into it.”

Y/N did as instructed, leaning into the motion, feeling the resistance of the dough against her palms. It was a small thing, this task, but it was a start. She could feel their eyes on her, hear the whispers quieting, turning into something more like curiosity than derision.

Hours passed, and the smell of freshly baked bread filled the courtyard. The women began to loosen up around her, laughter breaking out now and then. She let herself laugh with them, leaning into their banter.

Days turned into weeks, and Y/N made it her mission to weave herself into the fabric of Winterfell. She found her way to the blacksmith's forge, where the air was thick with smoke and the clang of metal. She watched as the smiths worked, their faces streaked with soot, and asked questions—many, many questions.

“Why do you use that angle with the hammer?” she asked one of the younger smiths, a boy not much older than.

The boy, startled at first, blinked at her, then answered, “To shape the steel, Princess. To make it stronger, to give it an edge that lasts.”

She nodded, watching his hands. “Show me,” she demanded. The boy hesitated, glancing around nervously, but she stepped forward. “Don’t worry. I can hold a hammer.”

He did as she asked, and soon enough, she was holding the hammer herself, mimicking his movements. Her strokes were clumsy, awkward at first, but she learned fast, and with every thud of the hammer, she felt the eyes of the smiths soften just a little more.

In the great hall, she would sit with the lords and their wives, listening to their woes, their concerns, their petty grievances. Y/N had a mind sharpened by the best—her grandsire, Otto, had seen to that. She listened carefully, offering her thoughts, her solutions, often to the surprise of those around her.

“The river’s dammed up, and it’s ruining the fields,” one lord grumbled, a beefy man with a thick beard.

"Then undam it," she replied, her tone smooth. "Divert it, instead of letting it run its course. Build channels to guide it where you want it to go."

The man blinked at her, surprised. “Aye, well… that could work.”

“It will work,” she replied, a small smile playing at her lips.

She advised them on how to better store grain, how to rotate their crops, and how to reinforce their defenses with minimal resources. She made suggestions that saved money, improved efficiency, and most importantly, earned her a grudging respect. To her, these Northerners were like sheep, clueless and slow-witted. But she smiled, she helped, she solved their problems. She was always in the middle of things, her presence a constant in the great hall, the courtyard, the kitchens, the stables.

She even joined the hunts. The Northmen had mocked her at first for daring to ride out with them. “A princess in the snow?” they laughed. “She’ll freeze before we see a single stag.” But she proved them wrong. Her dragon’s blood kept her warm, kept her defiant in the face of the bitter cold, and she was the first to draw her bow, the first to bring down a deer.

“By the gods, she’s got a steady hand,” one of the older men muttered to Cregan as they dragged the deer back to Winterfell.

Cregan’s gaze had flicked over to her, his expression as unreadable as ever, but there had been a flicker of something there. Amusement? Respect? She couldn’t tell, but it was enough.

Bit by bit, she felt the change. The Northmen, these stubborn, superstitious heretics, began to soften, to open up to her. They began to speak to her not with suspicion but with interest, their words less guarded, their gazes less cold. They valued her now, saw her as something more than just a prim and proper southerner.

It was at a feast that she noticed it—how the lords and ladies began to speak of her in hushed, respectful tones, how they sought her out for advice, for a kind word, for counsel. She saw how Cregan watched from across the hall, his grey eyes narrowing, the faintest flicker of something akin to admiration crossing his face.

She caught his gaze, held it across the room. He didn’t look away. Instead, he raised his cup to her, a silent acknowledgment. A challenge, perhaps.

Y/N raised hers in return, a smile playing at her lips. The North had begun to bend, and soon enough, so would he.

▐░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▌

One afternoon, Y/N had just returned from Winter Town, cheeks flushed from the biting wind and the smell of pine and smoke still clinging to her cloak. The snow had begun to fall heavier now, thick flakes drifting down like soft feathers, blanketing the world in a quiet that felt almost sacred. She pushed back her hood as she stepped into the warmth of the great hall, her eyes scanning the room out of habit, looking for something—anything—that could further her cause.

She spotted a cluster of handmaidens seated by the hearth, their heads bent in concentration. They were mending and embroidering clothing, fingers working deftly with needle and thread. Y/N noticed the familiar shapes taking form on the fabric—the direwolves.

She glided toward them, her steps light, her expression warm and inviting. She had perfected this look over years at court—the doe-eyed charm that could disarm even the most hardened of men. “Oh,” she said with a bright smile, her voice a melodic lilt, “working on the Stark sigil, are we?”

The handmaidens looked up, a bit startled at her approach. They were used to her presence by now, but not so much to her sudden interest in their needlework. A girl named Caragh, her brown hair tied back in a braid, nodded. “Aye, milady. Lord Cregan’s cloak was torn on the last hunt, and his tunic needs a new embroidery. Wolves, of course.”

Y/N tilted her head, her eyes sparkling with interest. “How lovely,” she murmured, kneeling down beside them. “May I see?”

They hesitated for a moment but eventually passed her the cloth, the direwolf stitched in silver-grey thread standing fierce against the dark fabric. She studied it with a discerning eye, her fingers tracing the lines of the stitches. The work was good, but plain—functional, as was the way of the North.

A smile danced on her lips as an idea took shape. “Do you know,” she began, her voice soft and conspiratorial, “I’ve always been rather good with a needle myself. Perhaps I could try my hand at it? Just a little, of course. I wouldn’t want to overstep.”

The women exchanged glances, unsure, but intrigued. “Princess, you’d do that?” asked Caragh, her tone curious. “We’d be honored to see southern stitchings. They’re said to be… well, far more intricate than ours.”

Y/N chuckled softly, the sound like a chime in the quiet hall. “Oh, we do have a flair for the elaborate, it’s true,” she agreed. “But I promise, I won’t change it too much. Just add a bit of finesse.” She reached for the thread, selecting a shade of grey that was just a touch darker than the one they had been using. “Here,” she said, threading her needle with practiced ease, “let me show you.”

She set to work, her hands moving with ease. Her stitches were tiny and precise, the needle dancing in and out of the fabric as if it were silk and not the heavy wool of the North. The handmaidens watched her, their eyes wide with fascination as she added delicate touches to the direwolf—tiny knots that gave the illusion of fur, subtle shadows that made the beast look as if it might leap from the cloth at any moment.

“How do you make it look so… alive?” one of the younger handmaidens breathed, her cheeks flushed with awe.

Y/N smiled, enjoying their attention. “It’s all in the details,” she said with a little wink. “You have to see the wolf in your mind first, imagine the way its fur moves, the way its muscles shift beneath the skin. Then, you just… follow the thread.”

The hours passed, and the handmaidens were more than happy to let her work, their questions and chatter filling the space around them. They asked her about King’s Landing, about the fashions of the court, about the kinds of silks and velvets they had only heard of in stories. She answered them with good humor, spinning tales of the South that made their eyes shine with wonder. And all the while, her needle moved, faster and faster, until the direwolf on the fabric seemed to almost snarl, its eyes fierce and intelligent, its body coiled as if ready to pounce.

By the time Cregan Stark returned from a hunt, the hall was warm with the crackle of the fire and the murmur of soft voices. He strode in, snow still dusting his dark hair, his cloak heavy with ice. His boots left wet prints on the stone floor as he shook the cold from his shoulders and glanced around.

He stopped short when he saw her—Y/N, seated among his handmaidens, needle in hand, a small, satisfied smile on her lips as she worked on his clothing. His eyes narrowed, and he made his way over, curious despite himself.

“Princess,” he greeted her, his voice a low rumble, “I see you’ve taken to mending clothes now?”

Y/N looked up, her expression unruffled. “Lord Stark,” she replied, her tone light, teasing almost, “I thought I might be of some use. Your handmaidens were kind enough to let me practice a little of our southern needlework.” She held up the fabric for him to see, the direwolf now a striking, almost lifelike creature that seemed to leap from the fabric with a ferocity that had not been there before.

Cregan’s eyes widened, just slightly, his gaze moving over the stitching, his expression unreadable. “It’s… well done,” he said finally, and she could hear the surprise in his voice, grudging though it was.

She smiled, pleased. “You sound surprised, my lord. Did you think a Targaryen’s hands were only meant for taming dragons or holding goblets of wine?”

He let out a soft chuckle, the sound like gravel grinding together. “Not surprised,” he corrected, his gaze meeting hers, steady and unyielding. “Impressed. You’ve a fine hand.”

Y/N's smile widened. “Why, thank you, Lord Stark. I’m glad my work meets your approval.”

He nodded, his gaze still on the cloth, the direwolf that now seemed to pulse with life. “Aye, it does,” he admitted. “Though I wonder, Princess… are you looking to become a seamstress now?”

She laughed, a bright, ringing sound that filled the hall. “No, my lord. I’ve no desire to take up a needle permanently. But I do find it’s useful, from time to time, to show that a princess’s hands can be skilled in more ways than one.”

His eyes flicked up to hers, a challenge in them. “Is that so?” he asked quietly. “And tell me, Princess, what other skills do your hands possess?”

Y/N’s smile did not waver. “Oh, many things, Lord Stark,” she replied softly. “Many things indeed.”

He held her gaze for a moment longer, something unreadable flickering in the depths of his eyes, before he nodded again. “Well,” he said, “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.”

And with that, he turned away, but not before she caught the slightest curve of a smile on his lips. She watched him go, feeling a thrill of satisfaction course through her veins.

▐░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▌

Her scheme had worked flawlessly. Piece by piece, the North was falling into place just as she’d planned. The people were warming to her, Cregan's gaze was lingering a little longer than before, and Y/N could feel the iciness of Winterfell slowly starting to melt in her favor. Everything was moving toward the outcome she desired.

Well until it wasn't.

The disruption arrived in the form of Alysanne Blackwood—Black Aly, they called her. Y/N watched her ride into Winterfell with a certain swagger, a confidence that bordered on arrogance. A member of House Blackwood, the aunt of young Lord Benjicot Blackwood, Alysanne had come north under some pretense Y/N didn't care to know about. At the time, it had seemed inconsequential. She had dismissed it, too caught up in her own plans to pay attention to this new player on the board.

A mistake. A rare, foolish mistake. Her grandsire would have scolded her for being so pliant, so hasty, so unguarded. Never underestimate a rival, he would have said. Never take your eyes off the board. And Y/N had done just that.

She should not have misconstrued this woman.

Alysanne was everything Y/N was not. Tall and lean, with thick black curls that tumbled past her waist, she had a wildness to her that seemed to embody the very spirit of the North. Her long legs and strong arms marked her as a woman who spent more time in the saddle than at a hearth, more time holding a bow than a needle. She wasn’t beautiful in the conventional sense—her features were sharp, her smile wide and often mocking—but there was something about her. Something raw and fearless, a fire that seemed to burn just beneath her skin. And that smell…woodsmoke. It clung to her like a second skin, as if she had been born in the midst of a bonfire.

Y/N had heard the whispers—how Black Aly was a legend in the North. An excellent hunter, a horse-breaker, an archer with a keen eye. She was bold and outspoken, with a tongue sharp enough to cut through steel and a wit that could match the sharpest of minds. The Northerners adored her. They loved her for her wildness, for her lack of pretense, for the way she embodied everything they valued: strength, courage, a disregard for the fripperies of southern court life.

She could see it in their faces as Alysanne moved among them, laughing and jesting with the men, sharing bread and soup with the women. Y/N could almost feel the tides shifting, the winds changing, as this woman—this picture-perfect embodiment of Northern virtues—threatened to ruin everything she had worked for.

Cregan Stark took to Alysanne immediately. Of course, he did. Why wouldn’t he? He took her hunting, riding out into the forest with her at dawn while Y/N was left behind to smile and make small talk with his bannermen. He brought her to his war councils, included her in his patrols, took her to meet the northern lords. Wherever he went, Black Aly was at his side, her sharp, barking laughter echoing off the walls of Winterfell.

Y/N could see it in the way he looked at Alysanne—a gleam of admiration, of respect, of something deeper, something raw. He valued her opinions, sought her counsel. And that stung more than Y/N cared to admit. Did it truly come down to this? Y/N Targaryen, a princess of the realm, having to compete with some backwater nobody?

She could feel her temper simmering beneath her skin like a slow-burning fire, the frustration building with each passing day. She thought of confronting Cregan directly, her hands curling into fists as she imagined the scene. She would demand to know why he spent so much time with that woman, why he found her so intriguing, so worthy of his attention. But no—she knew better than that. She couldn’t afford to appear desperate, to show him how much this rankled her. Instead, she kept her face a mask of calm, her smiles as practiced and serene as ever, even as she felt herself cracking.

One evening, as Cregan returned from yet another outing with Alysanne, Y/N was waiting for him in the hall, her posture regal, her eyes gleaming in the dim firelight. “Lord Stark,” she called out, her tone light but firm. “You’ve been busy.”

Cregan paused, glancing at her, his expression unreadable. “There is much to do, Princess,” he replied evenly. “The North doesn’t rest.”

She offered him a smile, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “So I see. And it seems you have found quite the companion to help you with your duties.”

Cregan’s brow furrowed slightly, but he didn’t rise to the bait. “Alysanne is a trusted friend,” he said. “She knows these lands as well as I do.”

Y/N felt a flicker of irritation but kept her voice smooth. “Of course. She is a fine… huntress. But surely, you don’t need her for every task, my lord. I’m certain there are others who could serve just as well. Perhaps even better.”

He regarded her for a long moment, his grey eyes searching her face. “Are you offering to join me on my next patrol, Princess?” he asked, his tone challenging, with the faintest hint of amusement.

Y/N’s smile didn’t falter, but inside, she felt a surge of frustration. “If you think my skills would be of use,” she replied, matching his tone. “I am, after all, more than just a… court ornament.”

He chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that made her skin prickle. “I’ve never doubted that,” he said softly. “But the North is not a place for games or tricks. It demands strength and a willingness to face the unknown without fear.”

Her smile wavered, just a little. “I am not afraid of the unknown,” she replied, her voice edged with steel. “Nor am I afraid to prove myself.”

Cregan’s eyes softened, just for a moment. “I don’t doubt that,” he said, his voice lowering, more intimate. “But Alysanne… she knows this land, these people. She knows how to speak to them, how to move among them. That is not something you can learn in a few weeks.”

Y/N felt the sting of his words, but she masked it with another smile, her eyes flashing. “Perhaps,” she conceded, “but I have learned much in a short time. And I am still learning, Lord Stark. Every day.”

Cregan nodded, as if considering her words. “Then learn, Princess,” he said quietly. “But do not think you must compete with Alysanne. She is… unique, yes. But so are you.”

The words were meant to placate, to soothe, but they only made her feel more cornered.

▐░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▌

The doors to the great hall swung open with a loud creak, and a chill wind swept in, carrying with it the scent of snow and iron. Y/N turned, her eyes narrowing as she saw the commotion. Cregan Stark had returned, his presence commanding attention even as he limped slightly, his dark hair damp with sweat, his face streaked with mud and blood. His men flanked him, some of them leaning on one another, their expressions grim, their clothes stained with the same mixture of dirt and crimson.

Her heart lurched at the sight, but she quickly schooled her features into a mask of cool indifference. The skirmishes with the wildlings had been growing more frequent, their raids bolder, and it seemed today had been no different. The maesters were already scrambling, rushing forward with their apprentices and assistants, trying to assess the most grievous injuries, their faces set in strained concentration.

Y/N took in the scene with a practiced eye, her mind already calculating. There were too many injured, too much blood soaking into the stone floor of the hall. She could see that the maesters were stretched thin, their resources and patience fraying at the edges. Cregan, of course, was insisting on helping his men, despite the fact that he was clearly favoring his left leg, a nasty gash visible on his right thigh, and his arm hung a little too limply at his side.

Typical. The man was as stubborn as a mule.

She moved closer, catching sight of the way he clenched his jaw against the pain, his brow furrowed in a way that made him look older, wearier. He was trying to wave off a young apprentice who was attempting to guide him toward a bench.

“I’m fine,” he growled, his voice low and rough. “See to the others first.”

The apprentice looked helplessly at Cregan, clearly torn between obeying the Warden of the North and following the orders of the maesters. Y/N, sensing an opportunity, pushed through the crowd, her chin tilted upward, her eyes sharp.

“Really, Lord Stark?” she called out, her voice loud enough to carry over the clamor. “You look about as fine as a roast pig on a spit.”

Cregan’s head snapped around, his eyes narrowing at her. “Princess,” he said, his voice edged with irritation, “this is no place for jesting.”

She smiled, a sharp, knowing smile. “No, but it is a place for common sense. Something you seem to be sorely lacking at the moment.” She turned to the apprentice and gestured toward the other men. “Go. Help the others. I’ll take care of your lord.”

The apprentice hesitated for a moment, glancing between them, but then scurried off, clearly relieved to be free of Cregan’s stubbornness. Y/N stepped closer, folding her arms over her chest, her gaze fixed on the injured lord.

Cregan grunted, his expression darkening. “I don’t need your help, Princess. I’ve had worse than this.”

“Oh, I’m sure you have,” she replied. “But forgive me if I don’t trust your judgment on your own health, seeing as you’re bleeding all over the floor and insisting you’re perfectly fine. Very lordly of you, I’m sure, but also incredibly stupid.”

He scowled at her, a deep line forming between his brows. “I can take care of myself.”

“And yet,” she countered, stepping even closer, “you’re not doing a very good job of it, are you? Sit down, Cregan, before you fall down and make an even bigger fool of yourself.”

For a moment, he looked like he might argue further, but then he winced, a flash of pain crossing his face, and Y/N seized the moment. She reached out, gripping his uninjured arm with a strength that belied her slender frame, and guided him toward a nearby bench. “Sit,” she ordered, her voice firm, and to her surprise, he obeyed, albeit reluctantly.

He dropped onto the bench with a huff, glaring up at her. “I don’t need a nursemaid, least of all a princess from the South who’s never seen a real fight.”

She laughed, a sharp, sarcastic sound. “You’re right, I’ve never fought wildlings or raiders. But I have spent plenty of time in the Red Keep watching men bleed out because they were too stubborn to accept help. So, unless you want to be one of those men, shut up and let me work.”

His gaze flickered with something between annoyance and grudging respect. “Fine,” he muttered, “but make it quick. I have men to see to.”

“Quick?” She snorted. “You don’t give orders here, Stark. Not while you’re under my care.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Your care? And what makes you think you’re qualified?”

She didn’t answer with words. Instead, she grabbed a nearby cloth, soaked it in a basin of water, and began to clean the wound on his thigh with swift, precise movements. Cregan hissed through his teeth, his muscles tensing beneath her hands, but he didn’t pull away.

“I’ve shadowed Grand Maester Orwyle countless times,” she said as she worked, her voice steady. “I know what I’m doing. And more importantly, I’m not about to let you bleed out just because you’re too pigheaded to admit you need help.”

He grunted again but said nothing, his jaw clenched tight. She could see the pain in his eyes, the way his shoulders stiffened with each touch, but he stayed still, letting her do her work. She carefully cleaned the wound, her hands moving with a skill that surprised even herself, then reached for a needle and thread.

“This will hurt,” she warned, threading the needle with practiced ease.

“I’ve had worse,” he replied through gritted teeth.

“Of course you have,” she said, rolling her eyes. “And I’m sure you’ll tell me all about it after I’ve saved your life.”

His lips twitched, almost as if he were fighting a smile. “You’ve a sharp tongue, Princess.”

“And you’ve a thick skull, Lord Stark,” she shot back. “Now hold still.”

She began to stitch the wound, her needle moving with swift, precise strokes. Cregan watched her, his eyes dark and intense, but she didn’t falter. For once, she was not the southern courtier, the diplomatic princess with honeyed words and gentle smiles. She was herself, sharp and unyielding, meeting his stubbornness with her own.

When she finished, she tied off the thread with a quick, efficient knot and sat back, wiping her hands on the cloth. “There,” she said, satisfaction in her voice. “You’ll live to fight another day.”

He stared at her, a mix of surprise and grudging admiration in his eyes. “You did well,” he said finally, his voice softer than before.

She arched an eyebrow, a playful smirk dancing on her lips. “Was there ever any doubt?”

He chuckled, the sound rough but genuine. “Plenty,” he admitted.

▐░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▌

Winter is coming.

No, not the Stark words, spoken like a prayer or a warning. Winter is truly coming, and Y/N can feel it deep in her bones, creeping through the stone walls of Winterfell like a living thing.

The air has grown sharper, biting at her cheeks with every gust of wind, and the snow falls thicker now, each flake heavy and deliberate. The trees are bare, their branches skeletal against the grey sky, and the cold seems to press down on her, seeping into her skin with a relentless chill. It is a different kind of cold than she has ever known, a cold that seeps into her lungs and settles there, making each breath feel like an effort.

The North has always been harsh, but now it feels like it is preparing for something more—something darker, more unforgiving. Even the men and women of Winterfell, who have spent their entire lives in the shadow of winter, seem more guarded, more wary. There are murmurs in the great hall, anxious whispers in the corridors. Wildlings have been sighted more frequently, their numbers growing bolder and more desperate as the long night approaches. The skirmishes along the Wall have increased, and the night fires are lit earlier and burn longer.

Y/N pulls her cloak tighter around her shoulders as she crosses the courtyard, the snow crunching beneath her boots. She knows what is coming. She can feel it in the very marrow of her bones. Winter is coming, and with it, something more—a tension that hangs in the air like a drawn bowstring, taut and ready to snap.

That night, as she sits by the fire in her chambers, a raven arrives. The black bird flutters through the window, its wings dusted with snow, a rolled parchment tied to its leg. Y/N takes it with a frown, untying the message with cold fingers, her eyes narrowing as she recognizes the seal. Hightower.

She unfurls the parchment and reads the message, her eyes scanning the words with a growing sense of unease.

Return to King’s Landing at once.

The words are simple, direct, and she can almost hear Otto’s voice behind them, calm but commanding. He has received reports of the incoming long winter, of the increasing sightings of wildlings, and he deems it no longer safe for her to remain in the North. He urges her to leave before the roads become impassable, before the snows deepen and the wildlings grow more desperate.

Y/N exhales slowly, a plume of breath escaping her lips in the cold air of her chamber. She should feel relieved. Glad, even. No longer required to linger in this frozen wasteland, where the people are as hard as the ground they walk on, and her plans have slowly unraveled like thread from a worn tapestry. She should be glad to return to the South, to the warmth and intrigue of King’s Landing, where the games are played on her terms.

But instead, she feels a sharp sting of frustration. She berates herself for failing to secure the North for her family, for not weaving a strong enough web to catch the loyalty of these proud, stubborn people. A true Targaryen, she should have bent them to her will, but the North is as unyielding as its lord, and she has not succeeded in making it hers. It is a bitter pill to swallow.

“Failure,” she murmurs, her voice a low hiss in the dim light of her chamber. “And what would you say to that, Lord Hand? That your granddaughter, for all her cleverness, could not win the North?”

She lets out a soft, mirthless laugh, crumpling the parchment in her hand. “It’s a matter for another day,” she tells herself. She will return to King's Landing, regroup, plot anew. There are always other pieces to play, other moves to make.

Yet, her thoughts drift back to Cregan Stark. The brooding wolf of the North, with his grim expression and unyielding sense of honor. She won’t admit, even to herself, that she is fond of him. Or likes him. Or anything of the sort. No, certainly not. But… there is something about him that lingers in her mind like a half-remembered dream, something she can’t quite shake off.

After being surrounded by the snakes of King’s Landing, the liars and flatterers, the power-hungry and the depraved, she finds something strangely compelling in Cregan Stark’s righteousness. It comes to him as naturally as breathing, as naturally as wielding that massive Valyrian steel sword of his, the one he calls Ice.

She has seen him wield it with ease, watched him cleave through the air with a power that seems almost otherworldly. She has watched him ride out with his men, fearless and unyielding, his face set in determination. There is a strength in him that is not just physical, but something deeper, something that runs to his very core. A strength that does not waver, that does not bend, even under the weight of the North’s endless cold.

And she hates it. She hates how it seems to make everything about him… uncomplicated. How he carries his honor like a shield, how he speaks his truth without hesitation, without guile, as if the very concept of deception is foreign to him. It is infuriating. It is intriguing. And it has left a mark on her, whether she likes it or not.

Y/N folds the letter and tucks it into the folds of her gown, her fingers lingering on the soft fabric for a moment longer than necessary. She knows what she must do; her place is back in the South. But as she rises to her feet, her eyes drift around her room, taking in the rough-hewn walls, the cold stone floor, and the fur pelts draped across her bed. There is a part of her—small, quiet, but undeniably present—that resents leaving this place. Resents leaving him behind.

She sighs, pushing the thought away, and begins to gather what little she had brought with her. No handmaiden to help her, not that she would ask. She has always preferred to do things herself when it comes down to it. She moves about the room with a swift efficiency, her hands quick and sure as she folds her scarves, places them neatly in her travel bag.

She is in the midst of folding a deep green scarf, the color of pine needles, when a knock sounds at her door. She freezes, her fingers still gripping the fabric, and for a moment, she considers ignoring it. But then she rolls her eyes at her own hesitation and strides to the door, swinging it open.

Cregan Stark stands on the other side, looking as rugged and battered as ever. There is a bandage wrapped around his arm, another at his side, but he stands tall, his posture straight, his face unreadable. He looks better than he had when she had tended to him earlier, but not by much. His grey eyes flick to her, and she can’t quite read the expression in them.

“Lord Stark,” she greets, her voice carefully neutral. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

He inclines his head slightly. “I came to thank you,” he says, his voice low and gruff. “For earlier. For tending to my wounds.”

She raises an eyebrow, surprised. “Oh? Didn’t think you’d bother with gratitude.”

He snorts softly. “I’m not so stubborn as to ignore a kindness when it’s given.”

“A kindness?” She smirks, leaning against the doorframe. “I think you’ll find I had very little kindness in mind when I forced you to sit down.”

His lips twitch, just slightly. “Perhaps not,” he concedes. “But you did help. I owe you that much.”

Her gaze softens, just for a moment, but before she can reply, his eyes shift past her, taking in the half-packed bags and scattered belongings strewn across the room. His brows knit together in a frown.

“What is this?” he asks, his tone sharper than before.

Y/N shrugs, affecting a nonchalant air. “I’m going home,” she replies, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. “A happy bit of news for you, I’d wager.”

He is silent for a moment, his frown deepening, his eyes fixed on hers. “No,” he says finally, his voice low and steady. “I take no joy in this news.”

She blinks, momentarily caught off guard. “No? I thought you’d be delighted to see the back of me.”

His expression softens, and he steps further into the room, his gaze never leaving hers. “Believe it or not, Princess, I’ve grown accustomed to your… presence.”

Her eyes narrow. “What are you on about?” she demands, her voice sharper now, a hint of frustration creeping in. “Don’t tell me you’ve developed a fondness for me, Cregan Stark.”

He hesitates, then, with a sigh, says, “Perhaps. Or maybe I’ve simply developed a soft spot for your relentless stubbornness.”

She scoffs, folding her arms over her chest. “Oh, do spare me,” she says, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “The Wolf of the North with a soft spot for a Targaryen? Is that supposed to flatter me?”

He gives a half-smile, his eyes holding hers. “It’s not meant to flatter, just the truth.”

She rolls her eyes, exasperated. “Right. And I suppose this has nothing to do with your other northern… interests?” She tilts her head, her voice laced with mock sweetness. “Surely, Black Aly is more up your alley?”

His face hardens slightly, but there’s a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “Alysanne is a friend,” he replies, his voice calm. “A trusted one. But you—”

“But me?” she interrupts, stepping closer, her eyes blazing. “But what, Cregan? Do you think I’m going to stay here in this frozen wasteland to be your latest curiosity?”

He shakes his head, his voice rising just a fraction. “No, that’s not what I meant—”

“Then what did you mean?” she snaps. “Because I have no desire to dance around whatever it is you’re trying to say.”

He exhales, frustration lining his features, but there’s something softer there, too. “I meant,” he says slowly, deliberately, “that I have come to respect you, Y/N. To… care for you, in ways I did not expect.”

She laughs, sharp and incredulous. “Care for me? Truly? You’ve a strange way of showing it, taking Black Aly on all your little adventures while I’m stuck here playing house with your bannermen.”

Cregan’s eyes darken, his expression turning serious. “It wasn’t meant to slight you.”

“But it did,” she fires back, her voice lower, more intense. “It did. And now, you stand here, acting like you don’t want me to leave, when all you’ve done is—”

“I don’t want you to leave,” he cuts her off, his voice firm, his gaze unyielding. “Not now. Not like this.”

There is a beat of silence, the air between them taut and electric. Y/N feels something twist inside her, something she doesn’t want to name.

“Why?” she finally asks, her voice almost a whisper. “Why, Cregan?”

He takes a step closer, so close she can feel the warmth of his breath against her skin. “Because,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper, “for all your southern games and sharp words… you’ve gotten under my skin, Y/N Targaryen.”

She meets his gaze, searching his face for any hint of a lie, any trace of deception, but finds none. She swallows, her throat tight. “And what do you suggest I do about that?” she asks, her tone still edged, but softer now.

He glances around the room at her half-packed bags, and then, with a determined expression, begins to pick up her things, placing them back where they were. “For a start,” he says, his voice gruff but not unkind, “you can stop packing.”

She watches, incredulous, as he calmly folds one of her scarves and places it back on the table. “What do you think you’re doing?” she demands, even as a smile tugs at the corners of her mouth.

He looks up at her, his eyes twinkling with a challenge. “Undoing a mistake,” he replies simply.

She shakes her head, half-laughing, half-exasperated. “You’re very difficult, you know that?”

He grins, the lines around his eyes crinkling. “So I’ve been told.”

They stand there, close enough to touch, the tension between them crackling like a fire waiting to ignite. For a moment, neither of them speaks. The air between them is thick, charged with something that neither of them can quite name. She lets out a sigh, breaking the silence that has settled over them.

“My grandsire has called for me,” she says finally, her voice softer than before. “It’s more of a command, really, than a request.”

Cregan’s brow furrows, his grey eyes narrowing slightly. “Is Otto Hightower the King of the Seven Kingdoms now?” he asks, his tone dry, laced with a hint of disdain.

Y/N chuckles, a low, throaty sound that sends a shiver through him. “He might as well be,” she replies, a faint smile playing on her lips. “He certainly acts like it.”

“Seems he’s got a hold on you too,” Cregan mutters, his gaze never leaving hers.

She shrugs, a half-smirk curving her lips. “I wouldn’t survive a winter here, would I? You said so yourself, Lord Stark. Even Vermithor and Silverwing refused to fly beyond the Wall of their own accord. Those ancient, powerful creatures wouldn’t dare. So whatever lies out there…” Her voice drops to a whisper. “It must be damning.”

Cregan’s expression is unreadable, his jaw tightening for a moment. “I can keep you safe,” he says quietly, but there’s a firmness to his voice, an unyielding resolve that makes her chest tighten.

Y/N raises an eyebrow, her lips curving into a teasing smile. “Oh, how kind of you, my big, bad wolf,” she drawls, her tone mocking but playful, her fingers reaching out to brush lightly against his arm. “But how about you start with something simple?”

His eyes narrow, a flicker of curiosity crossing his face. “Simple?” he repeats.

She steps closer, so close that her breath mingles with his, the warmth of her skin brushing against him. “How about, for starters, you try keeping me warm?” she murmurs, her voice barely more than a whisper, yet it carries between them like a challenge. “It is awfully freezing here… Can you do that for me, Lord Stark?”

For a moment, Cregan says nothing. His eyes search hers, as if trying to discern whether she’s serious, or just toying with him as she so often does. Y/N isn’t expecting much—she knows the Northerners, with their prudish notions of honor and virtue, probably see this as a surefire way to eternal damnation. She expects him to laugh it off, to turn away with a huff, to remind her, once again, that he is not some Southern lord to be trifled with.

But he doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t turn away. Instead, his gaze darkens, his eyes tracing the curve of her lips, the line of her throat. He takes a step closer, his body towering over hers, and she feels the heat radiating from him, the intensity in his stare. Her breath catches in her throat, her heart thundering in her chest as he reaches out, his hand cupping her chin, tilting her face up toward him.

“Is that what you want?” he murmurs, his voice a low, rumbling growl that sends a thrill down her spine. “For me to keep you warm?”

Y/N swallows, her mouth suddenly dry. She hadn’t expected this, hadn’t expected the Wolf of the North to respond to her challenge with anything but stern disapproval. “I—” she starts, but the words catch in her throat as his thumb brushes over her lower lip, his touch sending a jolt of electricity through her.

He leans in, his breath warm against her skin, and she feels the heat of his body pressing against hers, the rough fabric of his tunic brushing against the softness of her gown. “Say it,” he murmurs, his voice rough, almost desperate. “Say what you want, Y/N.”

Her heart pounds, and she feels a rush of something she can’t quite name—fear, desire, defiance—all mingling together in her chest. “I want…” she begins, her voice wavering, but then she catches herself, lifts her chin, her eyes flashing. “I want you to keep me warm, Cregan Stark.”

His lips curve into a slow, dangerous smile, and before she can draw another breath, his mouth is on her throat, hot and insistent. She gasps, her hands instinctively flying to his shoulders, gripping the fabric of his tunic as he kisses her skin, his mouth trailing down to the hollow of her collarbone, his teeth grazing against her pulse.

“Gods,” she breathes, a mixture of surprise and pleasure washing over her. She hadn’t expected this—not from him. But he is relentless, his mouth moving against her skin, his teeth nipping at the sensitive flesh, his tongue tracing patterns that make her shiver. He smells of the woods and leather, of smoke and something wilder, something purely him, and it makes her head spin.

She feels a hot rush of sensation flood her body, a fire igniting deep within her belly as he kisses and nibbles at her neck, her collarbones, his hands sliding up her back to pull her closer. “I didn’t think you had it in you,” she gasps, her fingers threading through his hair, tugging just a bit.

He chuckles against her skin, the sound vibrating through her, and she can feel his grin. “I am good at playing my part too, Princess,” he mutters, his voice rough, raw with hunger.

She arches against him, feeling the warmth of his breath, the roughness of his beard against her skin, and something inside her snaps. She doesn’t care about the cold, or the North, or even the damned wildlings anymore. She only cares about the way his mouth feels on her, the way his hands move against her, the way he’s suddenly, inexplicably, decided to abandon his precious restraint.

“Oh, so you’re not a prude after all?” she teases, her voice a breathless whisper, but there’s a tremor in it she can’t quite control.

He bites down gently on her shoulder, making her gasp, and she feels him smile against her skin. “Careful now,” he growls softly, his lips trailing up to her ear. “You might just find out how much I’m not.”

She laughs, a low, sultry sound that makes his grip tighten. “Well then, Lord Stark,” she murmurs, her voice daring. “Show me.”

And he does. All night long.

▐░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▌

The next morning, chaos erupted in Winterfell. The dawn broke over the snow-covered battlements, but there was no sign of the Lord of Winterfell. Cregan’s chamber was found empty, his bed undisturbed, and his bannermen immediately feared the worst. The cold winds carried whispers of possible attacks, of kidnappings, of wildlings breaching the walls in the dead of night.

“Where is he?” one of the lords muttered, his voice tight with worry. “I saw him head to his chamber last night. He should be there!”

“But he’s not,” another snapped, his face pale. “And there’s no sign of a struggle. Nothing.”

Maids and guards exchanged nervous glances, and the tension in the great hall thickened like smoke. Servants hurried through the corridors, peering into every nook and cranny, while a group of bannermen began to search the grounds, checking the stables, the armory, anywhere he might have gone.

The panic spread quickly, growing like wildfire. Hushed voices turned into frantic shouts, and soon enough, a full search was underway. Every room, every corridor, every shadowed corner was combed through with increasing urgency.

“Maybe he’s gone to the Godswood?” one bannerman suggested, and a group ran in that direction, boots crunching against the snow.

“What if he’s been taken?” another whispered fearfully. “The wildlings—”

“No, he’d never be taken without a fight!” a grizzled old warrior barked, his hand tightening on his sword hilt. “Keep looking!”

And so they did, their desperation growing as each minute passed without a trace of their lord.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, one of the servants hesitantly approached the door to Y/N’s chamber. He hesitated, his hand hovering over the handle as if unsure whether he should dare to disturb a Targaryen princess. But with his heart pounding and knowing that all of Winterfell was searching, he pushed the door open.

There, in the soft light of dawn that filtered through the small window, they found him.

Cregan Stark lay sprawled across the bed, still deep in sleep, his dark hair tousled, a faint smile playing on his lips. His arm was wrapped tightly around Y/N Targaryen, holding her close against him as if she were the most precious thing in the world. They were entangled in the furs, his body curved protectively around hers, their legs entwined, her head resting on his chest.

For a moment, the servant could only gape, eyes wide, mouth hanging open. Then, finding his voice, he croaked out, “Lord Stark!”

Cregan stirred, groaning softly, his eyes blinking open in the dim light. He looked down to see Y/N still nestled against him, her silver hair a soft halo on his chest. For a brief, confused moment, he forgot where he was, why there were voices at the door.

Then he heard the shocked gasp of the servant, and it all came rushing back.

“What’s the meaning of this?” a bannerman’s voice boomed from behind the servant, and within seconds, the doorway filled with faces, wide-eyed and bewildered.

Cregan rubbed his eyes, sitting up slowly, his hand still cradling Y/N. He glanced over at the doorway and saw the crowd of his bannermen and servants, their expressions ranging from horrified to amused to utterly scandalized.

“Well, it seems I’ve been found,” he muttered, a grin spreading across his face as he looked down at her, still half-asleep beside him. “So much for a quiet morning.”

Y/N stirred, blinking up at him, and then she saw the small crowd gathered in the doorway. Her cheeks flushed, but her lips curled into a mischievous smile. “Good morrow, gentlemen,” she purred, propping herself up on her elbow. “Is there something you’re looking for?”

The bannermen stood frozen for a moment, then the old warrior who’d been leading the search cleared his throat, his cheeks flushed red. “Lord Stark, we thought… well, we feared the worst.”

Cregan’s smile widened, his hand brushing a strand of silver hair from Y/N’s face. “No need for fear, Wylis,” he replied, his tone far too amused. “As you can see, I’m very much alive. Just… occupied.”

The servant who had found them couldn’t suppress a grin, though he quickly ducked his head to hide it. The bannermen, on the other hand, exchanged awkward glances, shifting their weight, unsure of what to say.

Y/N looked up at Cregan, her eyes glinting with amusement. “Seems you’ve caused quite the stir, my lord,” she murmured, teasingly. “Should I be worried that your men are so eager to find you?”

Cregan chuckled, pulling her closer, ignoring the gaping faces in the doorway. “Let them talk,” he murmured, his voice low and affectionate. “I have everything I want right here.”

And as the bannermen mumbled and fidgeted, trying to find a way to excuse themselves from the room without causing further embarrassment, Cregan leaned down to kiss her forehead, his smile never fading. “Let them see,” he whispered. “Let them know.”

Y/N laughed softly, rolling her eyes. “As you wish, wolf.”

And with that, he pulled her back into the warm cocoon of furs, ignoring the murmurs from the doorway, perfectly content to remain exactly where he was.

[makeupbychio]

divorce? hell nah // logan howlett x fem!mutant!reader

Summary: You’d been fighting a lot with your husband Logan lately over pointless stuff, so Laura is worried about the future of her parent’s relationship. So are you.

Warnings: stupid fights, cursing, angst, reader dealing with depression, Logan being the best daddy and husband. Mentions of anxiety, family and work drama. Laura being your daughter so found family. Happy ending, mentions of smut.

Words: 2.5k.

A/N: Once again, a reminder that english is not my first language so I’m sorry if there is a mistake. This takes place in the world of Logan (2017) but everyone’s fine of course, let’s pretend that no one is dy1ng and you adopted Laura. I had a dream about this so enjoy, I wrote it so fast before I forgot it. Love y’all! <3 ALSO, you can read this with my previous Logan fic TRAINING SEASON, this is them in the future.

italics = past.

— — —

“Logan we need to stop fighting like this over stupid shit” you exhaled tired of this. Lately you've been fighting a lot with Logan, so frequent that it feels weird to you. Because not even when you were younger you remember fighting so much, and 80% of the time it was over meaningless stuff. 

The day was over, so both of you were doing your night routine to go to bed. The nostalgia of a sunday night is all over the air. Logan just joined you after putting Laura to sleep, he closed the door of your shared room. You’ve been trying to get up from the bed but the day was really  exhausting mentally for you.

Logan wanted to add that the last fight was you that started it but he held himself to make it worse because it would not add anything mentioning that right now. It was already in the past. “Yeah, I agree.” He just nods and stands far away from you with his hands resting on his hips, he’s looking at the floor thinking for a solution.

You are aware you are not at your best moment, you are dealing with so much lately. You are all the time worried about your family drama, then there are so many things changing at work that are stressing you out too. Also, of course the daily worries that include having a family. 

Logan is aware of this tough moment you are going through and he’s always there to support you, to have a shoulder to cry on, all ears for you so you don’t have to hold anything in your mind. That’s also what you did when he’s dealing with shitty things. 

But lately, god, everything seems to get on your nerves for the both of you. Sometimes the clothes are all spread on the floor, or when you arrived late from work and there is nothing on the fridge left to eat, or when Logan tries to defend Laura for something that really needs a punishment, etc. And it doesn’t help when you had a shitty day at work or keep receiving bad news from your family, so sometimes you just explode and Logan is also mad or had a shitty day so that’s when the fights start. 

“We really need to stop, Laura's been asking if we are okay” you told him with tears in your eyes. “When you went for a run in the morning, she came here to our room and laid next to me in bed so we had breakfast together and she looked under the weather, like she was not having a good time even when we had sweet treats and stuff…” you started to tell him about what happened earlier. “So I asked her if everything was alright and she looked right into my eyes and with a sad face she asked me if we were going to divorce- and- I told you Lo it was the most heartbreaking thing she could possibly ask me and…” you started to sob by remembering that conversation. 

Logan is now sitting next to you at the end of the bed. Holding your hand close to him, all of his attention to you. “And I was so shocked so I put my hands on her face holding her to really pay attention to what I was about to say…” you continued. 

“No, baby. Why are you asking that? Your dad and I love each other so much, and both of us love you so so so so much. We are not getting divorced” you held her face trying your best not to cry in front of her, the thought of being apart from the little family you had with Logan made you sad. 

“I’m asking because last night I heard you guys fighting, I mean you were raising your voices and then dad closed the door really hard. And it’s not the first time” Laura confessed and you felt bad that she had to listen to you argue. “Last week when I was outside playing with Franky I also heard both of you yelling”. 

“I’m sorry, baby. You should not have witnessed that, don’t worry. With your dad we’re okay” you caressed her hair to give her some calm to her mind.

”My friend Dani told me that it happened the same to their parents that are divorced now. So I’m scared that one day dad will leave us just like Dani’s dad” Laura told you with tears in her eyes just at the thought of her dad leaving her and her mom. 

That’s when your heart broke into a million pieces. You kept telling her not to worry, that you were having pointless arguments. You didn’t want to tell her about your problems at work and with your family because she’s a little girl, she should be worried about school and having fun as a kid and not about divorce and her dad leaving. 

So once you noticed she calmed down, you stayed in bed the whole morning and watched a movie together with Franky on Laura’s lap. The dog she adopted never leaves her side especially if he senses that she’s sad. 

And also you made up your mind that things needed to change, to stop these stupid fights with your husband. 

You told Logan about what happened in the morning when he left for his daily workout. Not wanting to tell him during the day because Laura is so concentrated on every attitude of both of you. That’s why you are telling him now that she went to sleep. Logan sighs like never before, like he was holding his breath the whole time you were talking, but never letting go of your hands together. “I know our daughter is smart and so empathetic just like you, so I get why she’s worried. I had to admit that I closed the door so hard, that’s on me. We need to stop fighting over bullshit, babe. We need to fix this, but I’m not leaving you guys”. Logan let go of your hand to stand in front of you squatting down holding your knees, “I’ll NEVER leave you, you hear me? We had been through so much worse, remember? And we made it because I fucking love you and I know you love me”. Logan reassured you too in case the same thought that Laura has is placed in your mind too.

You caressed his cheek and looked into those beautiful eyes of his, “I love our family, Logan. Like you said we made it through so much worse, I’m sorry I’ve been irritated lately. That’s on me, I’m going to do my best” tears flowing down your face. Logan quickly wiped them off. 

“Babe, I’m right here. I don’t know why but when you’re in a dark time you always felt free to cry and told me about it but this time it feels like you’re holding all of this sadness to bury it deep down. What 's going on? What changed?” Logan asked with curiosity because you’ve been together for years. 

“I don’t know, Lo. Maybe the hormones, maybe I don’t want to be a burden for you guys. Like I have to be strong for Laura, she’s my number one priority right now and she had an awful life before she found us so I don’t want to give her all of my shit, she’s a kid. Like I said, she should be worried about school and having the childhood she deserves” you poured your heart out to your husband. 

“My love you’ll never be a burden for me, you hear me? I need you to say it so that you understand. Besides, Laura needs to see us sad too, we can’t lie to her that life is all the time just joy. I’m not saying to tell her all of our problems, but that is valid if we feel some kind of way, we would be faking if we were smiling or just okay all the time”. Logan, the angry wolverine you used to know was gone the moment he met you back then in Charles’s mansion. Anger stopped being his only emotion, you made him feel in that same moment that he was always going to be able to show his real emotions and stopped playing this character of the angry and intimidating man. 

“I understand, Lo”. You finally gave him a smile. It is not fair for you to struggle alone and let go of this stress by fighting. You really need to start saying what’s going on, and Logan is always going to be there for it. Just by thinking of the huge difference of the fights you used to have in the past, a small laugh escaped your mouth. Logan looks at you surprised but happy that you got something off your chest. 

“What’s on your mind now, sugar?” Logan asked curiously. 

“I just remember the things we used to fight when we started dating, I mean we were younger and sometimes really stupid. And also the fights we used to have for mistakes we made on missions. We still fight when the other is on the field out there in danger, the worry about losing the other one always starts an argument…” you answered. 

“Yeah but those always ended up with a make out session…” Logan gave you a flirty grin, his dirty mind already enjoying the memories. To be honest, after a mission with or without an argument it always ends with both of you giving each other so much pleasure and comfort for being safe and sound. 

“ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND?! THAT WAS WAY TO DANGEROUS!!” Logan losing his mind because you almost got killed out there. 

“I HAD TO DO IT, I COULDN’T LEAVE THEM RIGHT THERE!!” you explained yourself why you came back to the field and risked your life. “IF I DIDN’T HELP THEM, NOBODY’S WAS GOING TO!”. 

God, your empathy is one of Logan’s favorite things about you, but more than once it has given him almost a heart attack. 

“NOT ALL THE TIMES WE CAN SAVE THEM ALL, I NEED YOU TO UNDERSTAND THAT. I CAN’T LOSE YOU, PRINCESS” Logan holding your shoulders steady.

Once you were back at the mansion, and in the privacy of your shared room, Logan wanted to keep talking about the risk you made, but you just wanted to take a shower to take off all of the work done. “Honey, I’m right here in one piece. I’m fine” you brushed his hair with your fingers to calm him down. Trying to get a smile from him. 

“I insist, I can’t lose you. You’ll be freaking out too if it was me in your position” Logan raised his brow knowing you’ll be worried too about him. 

“I know, I’ll be way worse hysterical” you admitted, but at the same time just trying to calm him down. Right now both of you need to relax after a hard mission. You kept brushing his hair until he stopped talking and just leaned into your touch. Both of you ended up taking a bath together and stayed all afternoon in the sheets making love. Other times the fights after missions didn’t seem to stop and led to angry sex. 

“Now that you said that, it reminds me of Laura explaining to me something she realized when she heard us fighting last night and…” you started laughing but also felt guilty.

“I’m sorry, honey. We didn’t mean to raise our voices, we didn’t mean for you to hear us but sometimes with your dad we had our differences. But everything is fine now, we talked about it and it’s okay now” you didn’t lie. One thing you and Logan hate is to go to bed angry, it’s also true that you didn’t want Laura to hear it.

“Yeah, I know you were fighting because it wasn’t the happy screams you and dad make at night sometimes”. Laura said with the innocent intention a kid has. You almost choked on your cup of tea.

You don’t know if it was because of her powers that she heard the happy screams she’s talking about, because the house is huge and her room is not that close to your shared room. And since she arrived, every time you have sex with Logan both of you are really aware that there is someone else in the house so you keep your voice low and always lock the door. You don’t want to traumatize your daughter.

Not like before having kids, or when Laura is staying the night somewhere else, that Logan asks you to be loud so the neighbors can hear his name.

“Are you fucking kidding me she said that?” Logan laughing at your face, red like a tomato. 

“Don’t laugh at that, Lo! It was so embarrassing to explain to her that it was a conversation for another day…” you hid your face in your palms, Logan still teasing you about your sudden shyness. “So I told her that her daddy was going to explain someday when she was older why adults make those happy screams” now you are teasing him because his face almost dropped. Already anxious about how he’s going to explain to his daughter how babies come to the world and all that stuff. 

“Nope, because she’s never going to grow up. She'll always be our little girl” he tried to convince himself about that. You gave him a pat on his back that he can handle that. 

“Our little girl is almost 12, babe. So you’ll have to have THAT talk sooner that you think with her. But don’t worry I’m sure you’re going to nail that because you are the best daddy”. You assured him.

God, you can picture in your mind the reaction of Logan when teenager Laura will bring her first partner. You’ll need to be there for him because your daughter is about to experience a lot of things and your husband will need your help. 

“Don’t be a brat with me please, sweetheart I’m begging you” Logan easily put you on his lap, brushing your hair out of your face. “What if instead of giving me more anxiety you help me get rid of that anxiety we’ve been dealing with lately?” he kissed your neck, his breath so warm against your skin. 

“What do you suggest, big boy?” his hand now traveling down your spine and you hold his face close to your chest, Logan leaving kisses on top of your clothed breasts. God, you miss this, you miss him being this closer. 

“Maybe a bath or I can fuck you like this right now but we have to be really careful with the noises, especially you doll. I know you like to scream my name and how good I make you feel” Logan already taking his shirt off to whatever option you are down to. You smacked his toned chest at the insinuation, pulling him closer to kiss you with the eagerness you missed so much. He lifted you from your spot heading to take that bath, it was going to be a long night and tomorrow morning you both need to be up early to drop Laura off at school.

[buzzinrusso]

PILLOW //Alexia putellas xpregnant reader

REQUESTED BY: @virgeouse3896

Prompt:Alexia being protective and hating your favorite pregnancy pillow

𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘭𝘴 𝘣𝘦 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥 🫶🫶

Fluff

You and Alexia have always wanted children. From the moment you started dating in 2019 , you couldn't imagine a future with wife and kids with anyone other than Alexia, and Alexia, in return, made sure to prove to you that she also couldn't agree a life without you.

Your dreams of having a family with Alexia only intensified when she got down on one knee with a beautiful princess cut ring and an even more beautiful smile on her face

One year later, in November 2023, right before the world Cup, you fell pregnant . It was yours and Alexia's dreams of a family come true, you were both obviously over the moon with the discovery of your pregnancy,

sure, it had took you guys a while to tell both of your families, 20 weeks to be exact, but both sides were extremely happy for you. , Same with both of your friend groups and alexia's teammates.

After finding out that you are pregnant, Alexia has made it her personal mission to keep her eyes on you 24/7, that includes you going to all her games, except international ones where she made sure to face time you every moment she could, taking you with her for team bonding ,sometimes taking you with her to training and physio sessions.

That's why you were here right now, sitting in alexia's friends and families box with her mom and sister with your 7 month pregnant stomach uncomfortably sticking out.

Barcelona were playing against Chelsea and Barcelona were losing 0-1 , your could read your wife's frustration from where you were sitting, she, and the rest of the team,was very clearly irritated with the current score, especially after Alexia scored a goal that was not counted.

The match was nearing it's end, Barcelona were slowly but surely losing hope in scoring the last two minutes, the dear that they had lost quickly setting in for some players.

The final whistle blew and as the Chelsea player celebrated, the Barcelona girls were taking g a cool down lap, meanwhile Alexia was making her way to the barrier to get you down so you can go with her to the locker room.

You wife spotted you with her slightly teary eyes and sprinted into action to go and get you down. She had don't this multiple times, whether it was a Barcelona game or a Spain game.

She spoke some words to the security guy that then made his to you and took you to where Alexia was waiting for you by the tunnel.

The first thing she did when she saw you was pull you into a bone crushing hug as you murmured sweet nothings into her ear.

"How's our little girl? " Alexia asked with a soft face , she then meant down and kissed your bump slightly before going up and capturing her lips with yours I'm a passionate kiss.

"She's okay, what about you? Are you okay? " you asked with a worrisome tone.

"I'll be okay, I just need you and our little girl to be not disappointed of me"

"Alexia, I'll always be more than happy with you, your my wife, the mother of my child, the love of my life, of course I'll never be disappointed of you. " you replied

With that, Alexia attention quickly diverted back to your bump and then to the clearly heavy bag you were carrying.

"You shouldn't hold that! When we get home. E your going immediately to the couch or bed because you need to rest! " she dragged you to the locker room that was half empty as all the girls left, grabbed both of your stuff and dragged you to the car.

When you got hope, you sort of hobbled to the bed you and alexia shared and threw your self on.

Alexia took a quick shower and came out of the bathroom to start her daily talks with your daughter. Yes, the daughter that was in your stomach.

She strongly believes that if the baby can hear her, she can talk to her freely as she will memorize Alexia voice and won't be surprised by it when she is born.

"Hola, mí niña... " the next 20 minutes were spent like this with you chiming in every couple of minutes.

You would never admit it but you loved when Alexia did stuff like this.

Later, you turned off the light and went to hug your body sized slightly tilted pillow which felt like that most comfortable thing at the moment, which meant turning your back to Alexia.

Alexia hated that damn pillow.

[amomentsescape]

Hey, do you have any slasher X reader where the reader loves baking?

Slashers with Reader That Loves Baking

Slashers x Reader (Separate)

Includes: Freddy, Michael, Jason, Thomas, Bubba, Brahms, Norman, Billy, & Stu

A/N: Hmm... I don't think I do. Looks like I need to whip up another fic. Here you go!

Freddy Krueger

Although Freddy doesn't need to eat, he'll try anything you make him!

He's happy that you have a hobby that you enjoy during the day

He's even happier that he gets to taste the results

Whenever you visit him, he makes sure the dream world has a kitchen for you in case you want to make something while you're there

You're more inclined to bake there anyways because Freddy can get you just about any ingredient your heart desires

When you do make items, Freddy switches into his "Kiss the Cook" apron and matching hat

He may not help you with the baking, but he still expects kisses while you work

He'll stand beside you, just observing everything you do

He doesn't ask too many questions either, he just likes seeing you relaxed

Once the treats are ready, he literally stabs a few onto his knifed glove and eats them off of it

There hasn't been a single thing you've made that he hasn't enjoyed

Michael Myers

Michael is pretty neutral with your enjoyment of baking

He tends to his hobbies, you tend to yours

He doesn't feel like there needs to be any crossover of sorts

However, he won't deny you when you ask him to try things

And if you need help accessing the top shelf, he'll help you out

He secretly has a big sweet tooth, and your warm smile influences him to try everything (he'd be dead before he admitted it though)

He has a pretty basic taste in sweets too

He enjoys the majority of the cookies, cakes, and breads you've made

He isn't a big fan of pie or dried fruits though

If you make a batch of anything, he'll try a bite if you ask, but that'll be it

You're always certain he's just trying to be polite

But whenever you wake up in the morning, half the tray is gone

Michael will just shrug it off of course

But it's pretty obvious he enjoys your treats

Jason Voorhees

He absolutely loves that you bake!

To be fair, he'd love literally anything you do that makes you happy, but baking reminds him a lot of his missed childhood

You've made a couple things already that reminded him of stuff his mother used to make, and it almost brought him to tears

He doesn't really get sweet cravings like he did when he was younger, but he will never say no to trying something of yours

He also enjoys decorating some of the treats too

His large hands tend to fumble a bit, and nothing comes out as good as yours, but he's having fun, and that's what matters most to you both

His favorite thing is coming home after a long day to the smell of baked goods and to see you casually mixing ingredients together

You just seem so content, and it gives him a taste of what domestic life is like with you

He'll always come over to greet you with a hug, not caring if you're covered in flour

And once he's gotten cleaned up, he just sits at the table out of the way, watching you

He especially loves when you talk to him while baking

It just makes him all warm inside

Thomas Hewitt

He never really grew up with home baked goods like yours before, so it feels like literal heaven when he smells the sugar in the air

He likes walking up and peering over your shoulder, trying to see what you're doing

He also just likes hanging out with you in case you need help with anything

If your arms ever get tired from mixing or kneading, you know who to ask

If you let him, he'll take little tastes of the batters, predicting how much he's going to like them once they're done

(It's always a 10/10)

If it's sweet, he likes it

There's never been anything you've made that he didn't eat almost all of in one night

He loves if you make enough for the whole family too!

He's a bit hesitant to help decorate, and even more so to help add ingredients

But if you ask, there's no way he'd be willing to say no

Bubba Sawyer

He adores your baking!

He absolutely has no idea what you're doing half the time, but he's happy about it all the same

You've got to be careful with this one though

Because if you even turn around for a second, the batter is gone

Same goes for when the treats are cooling

If you leave the kitchen, they'll be gone within just a couple minutes

You have no idea how he manages to do it

At least he's showing you just how much he loves your bakery?

But besides that, he's a great hand to have in the kitchen

He can mix and mix for days

And he's always there to help hand you whatever you need

Just don't trust him with the powders unless you want a white, dusty kitchen

He's also not the best around the hot oven, having burnt himself a handful of times

It's kind of like having a helpful but clumsy child in the kitchen with you

But he's so sweet you can't bare to tell him to leave

Brahms Heelshire

Brahms never grew up with many sweets in the house

So having his own baker at home is like feeding a starving man

And with Brahms, you can imagine how that goes

Will come to you almost every day with a new treat he is craving

In fact, he even added to the rules list that you needed to make him a bedtime treat or else he refuses to go to sleep

You love baking of course, so it's not a problem, but some of his requests are absurd

A pie covered in chocolate ice cream smooshed with cookies and drizzled with brownie batter might be a bit much for a midnight snack

But you honestly did it to yourself

The moment he tasted your treats, there was no going back

And be careful when the sugar rush hits

He's ready to bounce off the walls with you in tow

Norman Bates

Norman has always been one for domestic hobbies

So the fact that you're a baker makes him feel so cozy and warm

Waking up to fresh muffins with his tea, coming home to a plate of brownies, and even being woken up in the middle of the night to some wild cookie recipe all makes Norman so happy

Jokingly complains that you're fattening him up

He's honestly a pretty good baker himself, although he argues that his skill is nowhere near as good as yours

But there have been a handful of times he prepare his own treat beside you in the kitchen, and it always came out amazing

And because of his experience, he's happy to give a lending hand when you need

If you're making something you know by heart instead, then he's still there beside you, keeping up with the dishes so you don't have to tend to a mess later

Norman enjoys whatever makes you happy, and is eager to learn even more about what you love too!

Billy Loomis

He's pretty chill about it at first

He thinks it's a cute hobby, but doesn't know much about it himself

However, the first time he was actually there with you watching you work and tasting what you made...

He really gained a better perspective on it

He can see the hard work and true enjoyment you put into the hobby, and this makes him appreciate it more

He's not huge on sweets, but seeing you put all of this together for him makes it impossible to deny them

Will be brutally honest if he likes something or not, but there's truly only been a couple times he actually didn't like what you made

Will occasionally sit on the counter beside you and just ask basic questions

"What does this thing do?" "How long does it need to sit there?" "Is there a difference between folding and mixing?"

You always smile at him since his genuine curiosity is cute

Plus, it shows he's trying to learn more about what you do

Will definitely stand behind you and rest his head on your shoulder while you work

Stu Macher

You love to bake? Well, Stu loves to eat

Match made in heaven in his eyes

He honestly is surprised by the amount of effort that it takes to whip up a simple cookie or cupcake

He's not usually on this end of the food process

But he honestly enjoys watching what you do

Will literally just stare and zone out, making you laugh

Loves loves loves when it's time to lick the spoon

He will dab batter onto your nose though

He's a huge fan of helping you decorate too!

Just be careful, because Stu is also a huge fan of squeezing the piping bag directly into his mouth

But surprisingly, Stu has become pretty decent at piping frosting and making your treats look pretty

He always insists on eating the ones you decorate though because they "taste better"

He honestly just loves being able to show praise for the stuff you make him and will always request a fun treat to accompany your weekly movie nights

[lazycats-stuff]

Artist toddler batbro! Can't help but draw/ paint at least once a day and at the end of the day batfam is anticipating who will be the lucky family member that'll receive which ever art piece their youngest has created that day (sometimes the art piece is on the walls or floor of the mansion but no one has the heart to be angry when little batbro is just proudly presenting his art)

Toddler batbro *leaves a paint covered tiny handprint on the wall*

Bruce: alfred, frame that

Oh my, that's cute. Oh my God... Aww. Also, I know it's short, but this is all my inspiration is willing to give at this moment. Next time, I'll try to write more.

Summary: (Y/N) is an artist.

Warnings: None, really fluffy

Every child has a talent. Whether that be in sports or arts, every child has a hidden talent for something. Even if some kids are average, there is nothing wrong with it. Bruce, amongst his four older sons, had a toddler. Yes, a toddler.

How did it happen?

A one night stand. The mom couldn't take care of (Y/N) and Bruce took him in and the other 4 accepted (Y/N) as if he was their blood brother and Bruce was grateful that they did it. Of course, they had to change their schedules to accommodate to make sure that (Y/N) was a priority. Of course, no one minded to do that.

And speak of talents? While his four older sons had their own specialties. Damian had his knowledge of blades and martial arts, Tim for his hacking and detective skills, Jason for his accuracy with guns and other firearms and Dick with his acrobatic skills.

(Y/N) was an artistic child. He didn't show it at first, but as he got more comfortable, he started asking for paper and crayons. Crayons slowly evolved into something more and (Y/N) would draw daily. It could be anything. It could be a couch or even Titus. Maybe it would be one of the boys too.

And, at the moment, there was a big honor in the house. What that honor may be? (Y/N) handing you his own artwork. It became a tradition and sort of a competition between everyone. Everyone wanted to see what (Y/N) has created that day.

It was considered the biggest honor in the manor, to get a piece of paper, created by (Y/N). It makes everyone's day when they get an artwork. Dick nearly cried. Damian was close to crying too. Alfred and Bruce got one too and the two grown men, who have seen stuff... Safe to say, they nearly broke down into tears and shambles.

Nearly.

But there was a one problem in this entire story. (Y/N) wouldn't limit himself to drawing on paper. Oh no. Many parents would punish the child if the child drew on the walls or floor. Right? Well... Not if you are (Y/N) Wayne who is clearly artistically talented.

(Y/N) would often draw whenever he could, even if that meant on the wall or the floor. And whoever saw (Y/N) drawing on the floor or the wall, didn't have a heart to even yell or be remotely angry, especially since (Y/N) had that shine in his eyes when he was showing them their art.

Bruce wasn't supposed allow (Y/N) to paint over the walls or the floor. That's what Bruce was supposed to correct. A correct thing to do... Right? Well, Bruce didn't know. Parenting doesn't have a book and a set of rules, but Bruce wished he had some sort of rules so he could solve this.

He can keep on dreaming when it comes to universal rules for a perfect parenting style.

But he has actually decided what he was going to do, without a doubt. (Y/N) was allowed to doddle and draw wherever he wanted. That was something that was relayed to all the other members, whoever, they put certain restrictions.

No drawing in their rooms without supervision. Bruce's study was also off limits if there is no supervision. And only at home is doodling and drawing allowed.

Because Bruce is just ready to frame it all. Alfred already has frames ready to go.

It was always fun.

As of now, (Y/N) was doodling on the wall, just sitting on the floor, without a care in the world. Bruce and Alfred were walking by, stopping when they saw (Y/N) drawing. This time, it was just a simple handprint.

Bruce was smiling and instructed (Y/N) to go wash his hands and then eat. Bruce and Alfred looked at the handprint on the wall.

" Alfred, frame that. " Bruce said and Alfred did just that. Took out a frame and made sure that handprint was framed. And it looked adorable.

" He is growing up too quickly, Master Bruce. " Alfred said said as he looked at the little handprint.

" I agree Alfred. " Bruce said sadly.

[shirefantasies]

Things You Do Together- LoTR Characters

A little buffer posting during recovery, sorry y’all 😅 I have some requests getting ready too though! Did a version for Thorin’s company a while back so here’s this version too 🥰

Aragorn wishes there to be no secrets, as few misunderstandings as could arise. Thus his goal is to help you reach fluency in Elvish; after all, many of his friends and familial figures are of Middle Earth’s eldest race. Their script is quite complex, so barring a great desire of yours to be writing it soon Aragorn focuses upon recognition of important words and phrases. Starting, of course, with my love.

Legolas teaches you archery, standing behind you as you fire his bow. Such a patient teacher and not one to burst out laughing if the arrow arcs spectacularly right back down into the grass. Surely he will smile and shake his head, but he understands. Everyone was there once, himself no exception. Pays such attention to detail you will catch him making the smallest of adjustments, even little things like changing the position of your fingers with his.

Desiring to prove both his and his people’s worth, Boromir attends with you at his side a joust hosted by Gondor’s men. You delight in choosing and cheering on a champion, shouting with joy at his successes and sympathizing with strikes against him. When, you think aloud to Boromir, was the last time you both laughed so? Pulling you close, he tells you he does not remember when, but if he has his way it will be soon again.

If you desire exploration, you know that Gimli will be right at your side to enjoy the world’s beauty. Caves, of course, are a domain of his people, expanses of stone glittering on walls and hanging down to your level. Forests, too, homes of fairer beings and much provision. Things Gimli has sworn to protect and love in this life that he wishes to experience with the greatest of them all… you. Never does he tire of telling you nature is beautiful, but more so are you.

Frodo encourages your writing. He himself has penned you many a poem, but there is nothing like your voice, physical or metaphorical, sharing a story with him. His dream is a book containing both of your stories, perhaps even an addition to his uncle’s story. If you feel called to share stories of others, even simple escapes from reality, Frodo is your greatest supporter. With all that he endures, ever a relief is it to hear you speak of a world so different from his own.

Botany, Samwise Gamgee thinks, is best learned amongst the flowers themselves. Rather than stuff you up into the pages of some book, he takes you walking down winding Shire-paths of flowers and bushes, showing you how he can tell what's related by things like leaf shape and giving you little tips and tricks to remember bloom names. “If you forget forget-me-nots, after all,” he teases with a wink, “you’re doing them quite the disservice!”

Merry teaches you his method of whittling, the way he crafts little trinkets of wood to keep occupied in idle times. When you feel more confident in your skills, Merry challenges you: he crafts a little figure of you and you of him. Complain as you do that his lovely hair is hard to capture, in the end you are proud of your first figure and Merry keeps it in the pocket closest to his heart. Those figures serve as the cake topper at your wedding a little ways down the line!

It can be a messy time, but Pippin adores spending time in the kitchen with you! Not only because he knows you’ll acquiesce him with little tastes, but because he’s fascinated at the process, the way you throw things together to make something beautiful and are so willing to have a feast made whenever guests call. Ever one for physical touch, Pippin enjoys sugary-sweet moments like sneaking up behind you for a kiss as you’re occupied kneading dough or standing against you to help stir your soup. And yes, sometimes he spills, but he always apologizes and cleans up after himself and don’t we all make mistakes?

Faramir reads with you, or, if you are stressed, to you. Sharing a love of your land’s myth, the studies of triumphs, follies, and magics past are like traveling far away to him, so to have a companion in that rings deep joy into his heart. He cannot help sometimes comparing the great love stories of Middle Earth to the way you found each other. Faramir is the type to know all your favorite tales and offer them to you at just the right time, sitting you in his lap or against his chest on a bed as he peels the pages open for you.

Smithing is something Eomer is confident you can learn, especially if he knows you wish to be involved in battles and wants to keep you safe! Being a supplier is just as important, otherwise there would be no blades to hoist for Rohan. Always encouraging you to hit harder and chuckling at your initial fear of the red-hot steel, Eomer loves standing behind you and guiding your motions. Perhaps even using this as an opportunity to sneak a kiss!

Haldir shows you how he cares for trees, even the smallest pieces of creation. Small potted trees akin to bonsais decorate shelves and tables in Lothlorien, and trimming and shaping them is an art form in and of itself. Nurturing a tiny, delicate life, after all, requires more intricacies than the greater fortitude. Microcosms of Haldir’s home forest sit before you as you take in his reverent, peaceful smile, hear his guiding words about the nutrients they need. You never tire of the focus spread across his face, the gentle opening of tiny blossoms.

Eowyn adores sparring with you no matter your skill level, moving slower or picking up her pace depending on it. She never wishes to go too hard on you, but does want to push you to try new things and experience different angles so you can keep yourself safe in a fight, Valar forbid you are so threatened. Sometimes your sparring is more playful, more just the two of you chasing each other around with wooden swords and one knocking the other over at the end of it, laughing as you tumble to the ground.

Enjoying the occasional swim, Arwen invites you into one of her home's gorgeous pools with her, stripping you both down to thinner layers as you step into perfectly, perhaps magically, warmed water. Polished stones roll beneath your feet as you wade over to each other, hands joining as you float in peaceful, loving silence. A smile spreads across Arwen's face before she gives you a light, teasing splash, silence quickly devolving into giggles as your troubles lighten.

Elrond is known for making some of the best tea in Middle Earth, and you experience his skills and then some. Not only does the lord of Imladris brew you a cup of your favorite herbal blend, he will also ensure that his bakers have pastries warm and ready and the loveliest toppings. Your relaxation time is like a little ceremony, Elrond pouring your drink and serving you all you wish on your little platter. You will not so much as lift a finger until it is to take a sip of the warm comfort as you and Elrond watch the surrounding waterfalls.

Taglist: @lokilover476 @fuckyoumakeart @kilibaggins @mossthebogwitch @ibabblealot @joonies-word | Reply/Ask/Message to join!

[devildom-moss]

I request…diavolo courting headcanons with an exasperated barbatos sprinkled in

Super late, but I hope you enjoy it. I love when Diavolo causes trouble for Barbatos but Barbs just kind of manages because affection duty. I could probably have done a few more, but I think I got a good chunk of stuff. I put a few MC courting Diavolo at the end since I realized the request wasn't specific that only Diavolo did the courting and because Diavolo is babygirl/babyboy and deserves courting too.

Diavolo courting headcanons

(Diavolo x gn!MC) (SFW)

Diavolo has no idea how he’s supposed to court a human. He’s never courted anyone (except for Lucifer, in his own, naïve, convoluted and lovestruck way – and even then, he didn’t acknowledge it as courting). He’s been courted by a few brave witches and demons, but it didn’t go anywhere, so he doesn’t care to replicate someone else’s failed attempt at courting. Other than that, he’s only read whatever made it into his family’s history. His father didn’t speak about Diavolo’s mother – let alone their courtship. In short, this poor man is lost and scrambling the entire time.

He turns to Barbatos, Lucifer, and Solomon for advice. None of them are keen to help him seduce MC if they already like MC, but Solomon is the only one to actively sabotage Diavolo’s plans on occasion. Solomon has suggested that Diavolo pick one day a week to actively avoid you so you’ll want him more or that he fill your entire room up with balloons in your least favorite color so you can enjoy destroying them or that humans enjoy being watched while they sleep and doing so shows that you will protect them when they’re most vulnerable. Barbatos catches on to his weird plots and attempts to stop him if he’s at risk of troubling you. Barbatos just counts this as another reason to be a bitch to Solomon the next time he sees him.

Eventually, Diavolo decides that the best course of action is to do whatever he can to see that precious smile on your face and just be around you. He may not know what he’s doing, but he knows that nothing in any realm could feel better than when he catches your gaze in his and you smile at him affectionately.

As such, he asks you to accompany him in his study while he does paperwork late into the night. No one else has the privilege of bothering him while he works. Literally. Barbatos doesn’t allow anyone to interrupt Diavolo when he has important work to do. Diavolo sneaks you in when he asks you to keep him company. It’s actually a great environment for reading and studying. He feels more productive having you around (most of the time). Sometimes he’s distracted by his desire for you, and he takes a short break “to refocus.” If his paperwork isn’t confidential and you’re lonely, he’ll let you sit in his lap.

Some nights, Diavolo has so much work that you fall asleep to quiet music, scribbling, and pages turning. When Barbatos comes to deliver tea, only to find you asleep on the couch, he sighs and escorts or just straight up carries you to a spare room to rest. He’ll scold Diavolo in the morning, but he doesn’t put any extra effort to prevent Diavolo from sneaking you in – not after he saw how affectionately and longingly Diavolo stared at you when Barbatos sent you off to bed. Barbatos hates that he has such a soft spot for you both sometimes.

Diavolo doesn’t tell anyone, but once he establishes peace between all three realms, he wants to build an entire city in your honor. It’s one of the dreams that sustains him when he feels like a failure. He has to do this for you.

He wants his love for you written in history books. This man is down so bad, that he needs you to be remembered in the history of the Devildom. If your name died with you, he would tear the Devildom to pieces until every denizen memorized your name. You’re such a comfort in his daunting, stressful life, he needs your beauty to stain the world. This is the only way he can cope with the thought of you dying one day.

Diavolo will open entire public parks and gardens dedicated to you. If you’re shy or don’t want recognition, he does it secretly and only tells you that he opened it in your honor. Unfortunately, he always invites you to the opening ceremony, and anyone who sees the way he looks at you will know that this is all for you. He plants your favorite devildom plants or flowers that blossom in your favorite color. Usually, he includes some kind of water feature (pond, lake, elaborate fountains) or interesting sculpture. Sometimes they’re so romantic that he gets a bit jealous that other couples get to spend more time there with each other than he can with you.

With Solomon’s help, Diavolo imports your favorite human world flower and plants it somewhere hidden in the garden at the Demon Lord’s castle. He will not allow Barbatos to tend to the flowers and takes pride in the fact that he’s the only one keeping that gift to you alive. One time, he suddenly got too sick to leave his bed and couldn’t water the flowers, so he allowed Barbatos to water them. However, he sulked for a week afterwards, and Barbatos couldn’t raise his spirits no matter what he did. It was so troublesome that Barbatos decided the next time Diavolo was too sick to tend to the flowers, he would rather carry Diavolo there or transport him in a wheelchair and help Diavolo water the plants than do it himself.

The prince offers MC a lot of gifts – an excessive amount of gifts. He gives you clothes he thinks would look good on you, cute things (like charms, plushies, cups, etc.), delicious and often expensive food and drinks, and anything you seem to take interest in. This man would give you an entire armory if you wanted it. It gets to the point that it’s overwhelming (and would be uncomfortable for most humans. If you love gifts, you start running out of space to put things). Barbatos has to point out that he makes you uncomfortable if you won’t. (Or if you don’t get uncomfortable, Barbatos notes how cramped/cluttered your room is after delivering one of many gifts and informs Diavolo that he must cut back.) “My Lord, you ought to show some restraint. Certainly, MC will still adore you with a few less presents.”

Diavolo offers you his arm whenever you are walking in the same direction as him at RAD. He loves being your escort. Who else gets to say that the future king walked them to class? You have to understand that you’re special, right? He’ll offer to escort you if he has the time when he sees you around town, too. Diavolo will only stop offering if you ask him to. However, if you ask him to stop because others are being cruel to you due to his special attention, he will give you an option: he can be more secretive about his affection or he can deal with anyone who is cruel to you “in an appropriate manner.” Do not ask him to elaborate.

Speaking of being your escort. Diavolo loves to invite you to fancy parties. It’s a good way to make his intentions clear to you and any of your potential suitors (Suck it, Lucifer). Incidentally, it also sends a message to his own potential suitors (Suck it again, Lucifer). Besides, he wishes to keep you by his side in the future, so he’d like you to get more accustomed to royal affairs. But, mostly, he just likes showing off his beloved.

Diavolo is always the first person to ask for your hand at a dance – even if he didn’t invite you to the party. He’s very formal about it - he even bows to you and kisses your hand. Mephistopheles gives you shit about making Diavolo, of all demons, bow to a human. He’s a bit jealous, and he can’t stand the idea of Diavolo lowering himself or potentially harming his reputation by looking like such a lovestruck fool. (One time, Diavolo overheard this and informed Mephisto, “Ah, but I am a lovestruck fool for MC. Why should I not appear exactly as I am? Is there something unbecoming about me, Mephistopheles?” Mephisto let that shit go real quick.)

If Diavolo sees that you are stressed, upset, having a panic attack, etc, he’ll transform into his demon form and wrap his large wings around you as he holds you until you feel better. He knows he can’t protect you from everything all the time, but in that moment, he wants you to know that he will shield you from the entire world until you feel safe. If you get claustrophobic or this makes you more uncomfortable, it will break his heart a little bit, but he’ll work with you to figure out a better solution. He’ll do anything to make you feel safe and comfortable.

Diavolo spends time planning vacations with you instead of doing work around the holidays – which results in a rather annoyed Barbatos. Consequently, Barbatos forbids you from visiting the castle until Diavolo finishes his work. Diavolo ends up exhausted all week between catching up on his work and trying to plan the perfect vacation, which only frustrates Barbatos further. Eventually, he gets his work done. Barbs can’t even get mad at you because he knows you didn’t ask Diavolo to be so reckless with his time, but if you could find a way to get Diavolo to manage his time better or delegate vacation plans, Barbatos would be grateful beyond words.

MC does not need to do anything official to “court” Diavolo on their end, but any time you get him a gift, it means more than he can express – so long as you actually give it some thought. If it’s a couple’s/matching item, he will be over the moon – gushing over it around anyone who will listen. Every once in a while, Barbatos will consider asking you to avoid giving Diavolo matching presents because if he has to hear about a little acrylic charm for two weeks again, he’s going to use a glamour to make little D. no. 2 look like him and stand in his place.

You can melt Diavolo into a blushing mess if you offer him your hand or arm and escort him anywhere – but especially if you do it when getting out of a car or on the way to a party. If you ask him to dance, even if it’s somewhere secluded, he will feel adored. Whether it’s in front of the entire student body at a RAD party or a random balcony in the Demon Lord’s castle under the moonlight or in his study because a particular song started to play while he was working, he’ll be delighted and take your hand with a chuckle.

The best thing you could do to court Diavolo would be to take his hand and ask to visit either the mausoleum or wherever his father is being kept so that you can declare your affection for Diavolo in front of his ancestors/family. If you compliment him and bring an offering of flowers for his family, he might actually cry. He will never feel more desired than at that moment. If you ask for permission to be with him (although he would be equally happy if you just inform his family that you love him and plan to stay by his side), even if his father rose from his rest or his ancestors rose from the dead to deny you, he would go against them.

[maxarchive]

CHAMPION’S PRESS CONFERENCE 

Q. Max Verstappen you are a three-time world champion. How good does that sound? I mean, of course it sounds great. It's something I never even really dreamt of. It's, of course, a very proud moment for myself, for my family, my close family. I think everyone within the team I'm working with, you know, to be able to experience all of this together is amazing. And I said it on the radio already on the in-lap. Of course, we talk about performance and, you know, you can always thank the team for that, but I also find the whole atmosphere and how much I enjoy working with all these people, I find that probably even more important. It's very important to come to the track and know that you have nice people to work with.

Q. Of your three titles, where do you rank this one? This one is the best one. I think the first one was the most emotional one, because that's when your dreams are fulfilled in F1. But this one is definitely… It has been my best year. Yeah, well, so far, you know, consecutive wins and stuff like that, and the car itself has been probably in the best shape as well. So for me, this one is probably the one I’m most proud of in a way because of consistency.

Q. At what point in the season did you know you had the title in your hands? Well, not until this point, right? But no, of course the momentum was growing and race after race the gap was getting bigger. So I was just, you know, looking at myself, just trying to go through every single weekend trying to get the best out of it. That for me at that time is more important than dreaming about the title, because dreaming doesn't really bring you anywhere. It's about the effort and work you put in to try and achieve your goals.

Q. Christian Horner says you're operating at a level he's never previously seen. Do you think you've raised your game this year, to a new level? I keep trying to improve. And of course, I don't necessarily think I have become a faster driver, but you have a lot more experience in the car. You grow as a driver, you grow also, I think, as a person in life. And I think all these kinds of things, when I compare to my first season in Formula 1, they help you a lot in terms of just dealing with every kind of pressure situation throughout the weekend, you know, everything that might be thrown at you and in difficult conditions, for example. And in the end it's all about you know, trying to deliver every single weekend, which is I think very hard in Formula 1.

Q. Where have you felt the most pressure this year, which race? It’s a good question. I don't know. I mean, it has to also do with track conditions or whatever. For example, the race in Zandvoort, when you're driving on slicks and it's raining, and I know of course I normally enjoy driving in the wet, but I also know that I'm leading the championship and if I go off and I'm stuck, you know, you lose a lot of points. So naturally, you're always driving a little bit under the limit, but that can be, in a way, dangerous as well. So probably when I was out there on slicks, you feel a bit pressured. Sometimes there are people behind you that are a bit faster, because they have nothing to lose. So it's a very different mindset as well that you're in when you are fighting for a championship.

Q. When you look back at the season as a whole, can we just talk about some of the highlights? Best win?  It's a few. I think my win in Miami, I really enjoyed. Spa, Zandvoort, but also Suzuka, like, winning the Constructors’ for example with the team there was fantastic. It's difficult to really pick one to be honest. Q. What about the most satisfying pole position? Probably Suzuka. Yeah, I've had a few. I mean, OK, maybe it didn't count but the one in Spa probably that I enjoyed – those kinds of conditions where you really have to pull it out of the bag. But yeah, in Suzuka the car was on rails. It was unbelievable to drive. And, you know, while driving, I was smiling and that's quite rare in a qualifying lap. 

Q. Knowing that there's nothing you like more than winning, this year, with the good package you have, you can out-score score Alain Prost’s victories and also you could reach Sebastian Vettel. Is this your goal right now? Yeah, of course I want to win as much as I can. I know that from third place to second is quite a big gap. So I hope maybe in my career I might end up somewhere there in the middle. That would be nice. But I don't know, it depends a lot on what's going to happen in the next few races and the next few years as well. I don't know how long this is going to last. I'm enjoying the moment and I think that's also very important. I’ve achieved more than I could have ever even dreamed of, or set any goals that I wanted to achieve in F1, right? So I'm loving the moment. We'll see where we end up but it's already way more than I ever thought I could achieve. So it's perfect.

Q. Max, you mentioned the package. How would you rate Honda's contribution to this third championship? It's massive. It's the chassis together with the engine that allows you to achieve these kinds of things. I'm very happy to work with Honda. I always have been. They are amazing people, they’re always super polite but also super motivated and always willing to listen and of course willing to improve. And so yeah, they will always have a special place in my heart even when, of course, they leave at the end of ‘25. But for now, let's just enjoy the moment together. And yeah, I'm very proud also for them, from where we started as a team together and where we are at now. I think we can all be very proud of that.

Q. Max, on the radio after you crossed the line Christian rattled off the names of the other three-time World Champions and he said, it's not a bad list. I know you're not really one for records but in terms of the names you're joining, and maybe going to now surpass in the years to come, do you think about the legacy that you're going to leave in Formula 1 or is it still very much focused on the here and now? I find it always a tricky one because I'm not in Formula 1 to leave a legacy in a way. I'm here to win and I'm here to try to do the best I can and try to enjoy the moment with the people who helped me achieve these things. That's, for me, way more important than trying to leave a legacy. But yeah, it's something that I never thought was possible, to be in that list. When you see those names, you're like, wow! that's incredible what these people have achieved in their careers and now you're alongside them. It is, of course, an amazing feeling. 

Q. Max,  firstly, how do you intend to celebrate tonight? And do you think that might have any bearing on tomorrow's Grand Prix? And secondly, I don't want to keep going back to it but obviously you’ve won three titles in three years, you've wrapped them up pretty speedily, you must be looking at Michael on seven, Lewis on seven and thinking I can get there. I could get to eight.  The first one, yeah, I guess quite a few sparkling waters tonight but I'll be here tomorrow! Yeah, to be honest, the second one… it's a bit different to some other sports where you can really set out targets and you’re like, if I just keep myself in a good shape then these kind of things are possible or whatever. In F1 it doesn't always work like that so I just live in the moment. And like I said before, I've already achieved way more than I ever thought I would.

Q. So shortly after your title, you’re already talking about tomorrow and about the remaining races that you want to perform, that you want to win. I didn't expect anything else but do you fear that there will become a moment in your life that that insatiable hunger is not there anymore? For sure. Yeah, I think that that's normal. I don't think that someone will… Of course, I'm still very young but at one point I think you've had enough. I think everyone at one point has that if that is because you realise that your body can't handle it anymore in some sports then you have to accept that. And you have to just, in a way retire, but for sure, at one point, you might want to do other stuff or race a bit less, absolutely. But not right now.

Q. A similar note to what Ben was just saying, the difference between all three of your titles. In 2021 you fought against Mercedes all the way to the end. Last year, it was against Ferrari, OK, their challenge fell away. This year, your only rival really was within your own team and even that didn't last very long. How did it feel not having to really go against another team this year? Well, of course for F1 you would like to see more competition, but for me, I don't need any other team or like a team-mate to get the best out of myself. I'm putting a lot of pressure on myself to always try and be the best I can, try to prepare in the best possible way. That's what I enjoy and that's the only thing that I really look at.

Q. Max, is it a bit of a shame that you don't get your hands on the World Championship trophy for another six weeks or so?  You're given that P2 plaque by the FIA president in Parc Fermé but would you rather get your hands on the trophy for being the World Champion there and then?  It’s OK, they look the same. I have two at home so they're not changing. It's just one extra name on it. But it's OK, I can wait a little bit. Yeah, I got one next to my sim rig and one next to the TV.

[phntmeii]

♡ Dating Miles Morales Headcanons:

❝ Okay, let's do this one last time, yeah? For real this time. This is it. My name is Miles Morales. ❝

[SFW Headcanons + No Gendered Terms]

A/N: UGH!! Precious bby boy <3 <3 He deserves the whole world and more. This was honestly one of the cuter headcanon lists I’ve done so far. Absolute wholesome points.

> God, Miles having a crush is absolutely adorable because he becomes a straight up MESS! He cannot stop thinking about you at all. It stresses him out because what if you don’t feel that way??

> Miles would find whatever time he can to hang out or talk to you. He’ll “accidentally” bump into you in the hall or he “coincidentally” met up at the same park.

> He’s trying so hard to be smooth but it always falls flat because he doubts himself.

> Finding out you liked him back blew his mind because you???? Like him???? It’s incomprehensible to him because how can someone as perfect as you like him???

> Miles is giggling and kicking his feet while listening to love songs in his room after you confess. He’s a pure lover boy.

> As Spider-man , he’s sneaking around during night patrols to check in on you and make sure you make it home safe.

> Miles is quite observant and ends up picking up on some of your habits/fidgeting. He doesn’t notice that he mirrors you at all and would deny it completely if you brought it up.

> “Whaaat? Psshh… Nah, I wouldn’t do… something… like that…” *sweating nervously*

> His life can be overwhelming sometimes and he always just relies on you to make him feel better. Late night calls just to talk or vent while laying in your separate beds, a ways away from each other.

> He would be SO nervous for you to meet his parents because consider it a job interview the way they immediately sit you down and ask a million questions at once. What school you go to, your dreams/future career, asking about extracurriculars and how many honors classes you have.

> They only do it because they want Miles to have the best but they kinda forget how intimidating it is to be interrogated by a cop and a Latina mother LMAOO

> It would take a while before he reveals he’s Spider-man to you if you weren’t a Spider-person yourself. It’s not because he doesn’t trust you but because he doesn’t want you to get hurt.

> He would have you promise it to be a secret between the two of you.

> He definitely has tried to do the upside-down kiss with you before he had to scurry off but heard his dad’s voice at the scene and accidentally dropped down.

> Miles’ main Love Languages to give are: Quality Time and Gift Giving.

> Miles knows he can be pretty busy. Juggling classes and being Spiderman keeps him in a constant move.

> So when he does get time with you, he wants it to feel special. Like nothing else exists in that moment except you two.

> He’ll swing by on a patrol and sweep you up to a rooftop just to spend time together. He always has a goofy smile when he takes off his mask and shows off the mini picnic he set up.

> Miles loves to give you gifts all the time. Nothing too expensive or anything but stuff he makes.

> He’d be too embarrassed to show you his sketchbook but he’d give sketches of you and notes on loose paper. All the drawings are lined in pen and sometimes colored in alcohol markers.

> Absolutely makes you playlists to listen to. Whether it was because you asked for recommendations or because he wanted to, he’s making one over the course of a week w/ a minimum of 30 songs.

> One of the playlists is definitely a romantic playlist, all with songs that make him think of you with each lyric.

> When his parents learned about the relationship, his mom was the first one to sit him down and tell him how he needs to get you flowers and stuff.

> So the next time you show up at a family event, you just see Rio smiling to you while she’s nudging Miles with her elbow as he holds a full bouquet for you.

> OHHH HE LOVES MATCHING BRACELETS!!! He will make them and then never take his off. His will have a nickname of yours while yours will either say “Miles” or “Spidey”.

> Miles’ favorite Love Languages to receive are: Acts of Service and Words of Affirmation.

> Miles tends to be… all over the place. So, he loves when he gets a helping hand from time to time.

> Covering for him when he’s late to something, helping out in studying, giving answers to homework, stuff like that.

> He appreciates his stress levels being eased even with small things like that. He’ll never ask for those things himself but he loves to have you do them and he’ll always make it up to you afterwards!

> Miles also has ease in getting blushy and flustered with his partner so compliments and flirting are definitely the way to get him to be head over heels.

> “Stop..!” *looks away, scratching the back of his neck and nervously laughing* “… You mean it?”

> It’s also the best way to reassure him! He can overthink sometimes and worry that he isn’t doing enough or doing something wrong so hearing how much you loved something he’s done encourages him a good bit!

⤷ divider credits: @cafekitsune

[c00kietin]

thank GOODNESS I could finish this- beneath the cut's a profile for them!! :D

buckle up, because it's a lot of information-

TENEBRIS!!!

Goes by they/them pronouns :D

Don't ask them for their age. Even I don't know how old they are.

The one and only leader of the Obitus Cult/Cult of Obitus!!

A very egotistic and anti-social being that has utterly devoted their loyalty to their "god" Obitus.

Can be quick to anger as well, lashes out on their members if they're really frustrated.

Of course, they're nothing like this around newcomers. Needs to somehow convince them to join, right?

Well, they can just force people if they wanted to with spells.

The magic they're capable of involves more chants and recitals, as well as making very strange substances and potions.

Their shopping list looks very strange, as you can imagine.

Kind of tying in the shopping thing, they get all of their resources delivered to their temple. Tenebris very rarely leaves the premises, and the members aren't allowed to leave at all.

They hate children. And chocolate.

And bright lighting- all the rooms in the temple are very dimly lit and all their clothes are darkly coloured.

This is their voice claim!

Their hair is quite heavy (and well taken care of) so you can guess that they're very slow.

MORE THINGS ABOUT THE CULT ITSELF!!

You can call it either the Obitus Cult or the Cult of Obitus- Tenebris calls it the latter.

This group made up of almost 100 people places their faith and loyalty to Obitus.

According to Tenebris- who claimed to have witnessed them in their sleep one night, starting up the cult the next day- Obitus plans on completely obliterating the Earth of humanity and civilization and told them to prepare for the end of the world. basically.

When this will happen?....Tenebris wasn't told that.

They also do not know what this otherworldly overlord looks like- however, they know an eye-shaped symbol (on Tenebris' hat and necklace) is very important as that appeared in their dream too.

The temple is located in a very secluded mountain range- Tenebris was simply told to go there by Obitus and it was already there. Convenient.

As pictured above, members have to have the eye symbol engraved into their wrist (or palm)- after this, they happen to be almost under a trance or brainwashed.

When praying to Obitus, they expose out the arm with the marking and their other arm behind that one, raised up to their face. Like this:

I hope that makes sense sjkksjks- while they do have lengthy prayer times and different types of prayers, a short and simple one they use is "We place our faith in Obitus."

The temple is full of many different rooms, including a dining hall, summoning room and bunkers (Tenebris gets their own room, obviously.)

They also follow a strict schedule- They must be asleep by 8 p.m. and awake and ready for the day by 4 a.m. They have two food breaks- one for breakfast and one for dinner. Once a month, they also hold a summoning ritual in order to attempt communicating with Obitus once more.

Members have their own jobs as well as worshipping Obitus though- cooking, cleaning, assisting Tenebris; that's all done by them as well.

While Tenebris mainly targets lonely people or those who don't have a social life, they are happy to accept anyone in! Well, that is if you're over 18.

I'm afraid teenagers (and children) are not allowed to join. However, Tenebris does take note of minors who do want to join and if you're REALLY nice, may let you visit the temple if you do some errands for them.

EXTRA FACT STUFF ABOUT TENEBRIS:

I based them more off of what first comes to mind when you think of cults- and, unintentionally, they also partially remind me of the cult in Spooky Month which I forgot existed ;-;

Because, after researching real life cult leaders, I felt like their stories weren't really what I was going for with Tenebris.

I guess the Peoples Temple founded by Jim Jones and the Family Cult by Anne Hamilton-Byrne were partial inspirations- oh, and religious experiences I've had, Catholic-Christian ones that is. (this is in no way meant to portray anything bad about that religion- or any at all- I just wanted to make the religious side of this more interesting by basing it off of what I know. Again, this isn't meant to offend any religion.)

My sister nicknames them Tenny and I (as well as others hee hee) nickname em Tennis, so you might see that often lol

I'm pretty sure they're the first oc I posted about on here! Although I think the post got like 7 notes-

When I first drew them, which was a while ago, they were more like a triangle shape and had larger eyes- my sister likes this version more but I think it just looks goofier- might post it once I find it :D

Tenebris means Darkness in Latin (according to translators) because I couldn't think of a name for them and just thought "think of something kinda edgy, then make it Latin to sound cool >:D"

Obitus means Death in Latin (according to translators once more I can't speak Latin-)

Thank you for reading this far!! I'm going to just tag @night-terrorzz @lobotomize-d n @gummy-worms-in-my-brain since you lovely people seem to like this cult leader :>

[2btheanswertothequestion]

Lesson/Plan

Kissing Lesson #2

(Lesson 1 | AO3)

Eddie has a problem with obsessiveness. If he finds something he likes, he holds onto it. Delves deep. Becomes an expert. Previously, his obsessions were regular things that anyone with a modicum of taste might enjoy. Fantasy books. Heavy metal. DnD, naturally. All tangible-ish and accessible to him. Currently, he's not so fortunate. Because his latest obsession?

Kissing.

More precisely, it's kissing Steve Harrington.

Yeah. 'Shoot for the moon,' they said. 'You might land among the stars,' they said. Only he boarded a spaceship and didn't notice until he was walking on the sun, somehow making it back to Earth without burning up. And now… now he can't stop thinking about how to make a repeat trip.

He truly has no idea how. Zero fucking clue is what he has.

He's never done this before, y'see; he doesn't know how to proceed. Is it off-putting in the wrong way if he went up to Steve, his good buddy, and told him the friendly French kiss they shared changed Eddie's life? And yes, Eddie has no frame of reference, but he's nevertheless certain that no one else will come close to what Steve did to him. Is he allowed to admit that? That his first kiss is bound to be the best he'll ever have unless Steve kisses him again?

Everything Eddie knows about the world tells him that, were he to do that, his next kiss would be with a fist. Although, everything he knew about the world got sort of turned upside down mere months ago. Not just regarding the existence of monsters and mind-raping lichs, but also telepathic teens, reanimated sheriffs, Russians, and jocks who are nice. And considering it was the aforementioned nice jock's idea to kiss in the first place…

So, yeah. Pardon him for being slightly confused about stuff. Especially since Steve doesn't seem to share the confusion. No, see, Steve's gone on like usual, to the point where Eddie might've convinced himself it was a dream if Robin hadn't given him knowing looks afterward. Which means Steve told her. That's fine. Eddie expected nothing else. He hasn't told anyone yet – needs to keep this close for a while longer, roll it between his palms to get a better feel – but it's good to know he could without upsetting Steve.

Then, the remaining question is: can he talk to Steve about it without upsetting him?

Only one way to find out.

The keyboard click-click-clicks as Steve helps a customer find a movie she's rented before but can't remember the name of. Eddie hangs at the side of the counter, waiting. His plan is foolproof: ask Steve while at work so, in the case of backfiring, he can flee, fake his death, and vanish forever before Steve clocks out. Unfortunately, Family Video is bizarrely busy this ordinary Wednesday, and Eddie's been passing time reading synopses of unshelved VHSes and trying not to get caught staring at Steve as he works.

At last, she leaves (the movie she wanted was Gremlins – who the fuck forgets Gremlins?), and Steve is free to also lean on the counter. It brings him into Eddie's space, close enough to speak softly and still be heard; close enough to kiss- No! Bad, Eddie! Talk first, then kiss (hopefully).

"Did you want something?" Steve asks. "Or are you hanging around for the view?"

If he only knew.

Dropping the VHS back in the pile, Eddie smiles like he's not developing stress ulcers at this moment.

"It's about what happened last week."

"What happened?"

"You know."

Eddie taps his own lips; Steve's eyes widen in understanding.

"Oh, yeah." He nods, unbothered, as if this happens to him all the time. Shit, maybe it does. "Yeah?"

What Eddie's supposed to ask is if a repeat is in the cards. What actually emerges when he opens his mouth is, "Was that a good kiss?"

Look, he's working his way toward it, all right?

Steve scoffs. "Of course. I wouldn't let your first be bad."

"Right. Then I'll categorize it accordingly," Eddie says gravely; Steve lovingly rolls his eyes. "And… how did I do?"

"With the…?" Now Steve taps his lips (plush, pink, peh-lease get your mind out of the gutter, Eddie). "S'all right. Better than all right! It was good. You were responsive. But, uh, kinda passive."

Eddie, who's leaned in with interest in the feedback, recoils indignantly.

"Passive?"

"Uh huh. Most girls enjoy when you take charge. But some chicks like to call the shots and be dominant."

Eddie scowls. "I didn't mean to be passive. I wasn't sure what I was doing, or what you'd be doing."

"That's understandable. I didn't mind it. It was…" Steve smiles, eyes heavy-lidded in a way that doesn't make Eddie's stomach flip, nope, not at all. "...a nice surprise for you to be so pliable."

Passive. Pliable. Those words and 'Eddie Munson' do not go together! He's a man of action, a doer! And yet. For another kiss or two? Eddie could be putty, if that's what he needs to be.

"So, you don't go for dominant chicks then, huh?" he asks.

"I didn't say that. I'm fine with either. A good kiss from the right partner is… I mean, I'm flexible."

Shrugging, Steve then gathers the returned tapes in his arms and starts reshelving them. Eddie trails behind him.

"I seriously could do better, you know," he says.

"Hey, it's okay," Steve says without looking up from the movie in his hand. "You were good. With practice, you could be amazing."

Jackpot. The conversation is heading where Eddie wants it to. Now he just needs to give it one last push…

"'Practice'." Eddie snorts derisively. "With whom?"

He's about to lay down the final breadcrumb and say 'with you?', but Steve is quicker on the ball – looking over his shoulder, eyebrow raised, he says:

"I said it was lesson one, right? Kinda shitty of me if I don’t follow through with lesson two."

Eddie’s eyes might just pop out of his skull, they're bugging so hard.

"You- Really?" he squeaks.

Steve nods absent-mindedly, rearranging two VHSes that were ordered wrong on the shelf. "Why not? It's not like my recent dates have been mind-blowing – I'm not missing out by hanging with you instead. Honestly, I'd rather spend time with you anyway."

That sonofabitch. He can't say stuff like that. Not to a dude he 1) knows is queer, and 2) is offering to provide tonsil-cleaning for as a friendly favor. If Eddie didn't know he was straight, he'd assume…

Well. He shan't look down that hole, lest he falls in. Dwelling on impossible what-ifs will only depress him.

"So," Steve says, depositing the last tape. "Tonight?"

Kissing while sitting is different from kissing while standing.

Duh, right? But it's not something that even entered Eddie's mind until it happened. He can't begin to describe the differences, though, so don't ask him to – he's too preoccupied with memorizing the shape of Steve's molars.

They got into it immediately. He expected a degree of awkwardness when rolling up for his 'lesson', but Steve apparently doesn't do 'awkward' when it comes to making out. He just invited Eddie inside, told him to sit, and planted one on him the moment he got comfortable.

It's good because it's straight to the point, removes the weirdness and potential second-guessing. It's bad because the responsible voice in Eddie's head (which has Wayne's twang, if anyone's wondering) insists they must talk about it for real at some point. At the moment, Eddie ignores it – he's climbed into Steve's lap and is straddling his waist. He's not interrupting this for anything.

It begins uncertain, him hovering and his hands gripping Steve's shoulders. But as Steve's hands roam over Eddie's thighs and cup his ass, he figures it's time to stop thinking so fucking much and simply do. He lowers himself on shaky legs and grinds their hips together until Steve moans into his open mouth. Steve holds him closer, tighter, trapping the heat between them. The mansion is chilly, but Steve is warm and Eddie is sweating, damp spots growing in his pits and on his back. He's a wreck, just like last time, head spinning and heart racing, and he wants to ruin Steve the way he's being ruined. Give as good as he's getting.

Digging his fingers into Steve's hair – upper layer stiff with hairspray but softer underneath – and tugs. Steve makes a delicious noise; Eddie tugs again, and louder. Eddie pushes into him, curls their tongues, bites at Steve's lip, licks roughly when he groans, and starts over, all while tugging, grinding, tugging, grinding.

Steve breaks the kiss. His eyes narrow suspiciously.

"This is because I called you passive, isn't it?"

He doesn't specify what 'this' is. He doesn't need to. Eddie smirks in lieu of an answer; Steve huffs.

"You're a brat," he says.

"That's no way to talk to your student."

"This is no way to act with your teacher."

"You're not really a teacher. What are your credentials? Do you have a diploma?" Eddie gasps, melodramatic. "I bet you're not even licensed! You're more like a tutor. The smartest kid in class hired to ensure I don't fall even more behind."

"Oh, I'm hired?" Steve pulls Eddie flush to his chest, needing to crane his neck to look Eddie in the eye. "What's my salary?"

Eddie rises to his knees. He quite likes being taller than Steve. Likes those huge hazels looking up at him, pupils swallowing the irises.

"We'll discuss the financial details later," he says. "The point is, I'm your boss."

Steve rolls his eyes. Then he heaves them both aside, slamming onto the couch with him on top. Eddie squawks, his head nearly thumping into the armrest.

"Shit!" Steve says, panicked. He cradles the back of Eddie's head. "I'm sorry, did I hurt you?"

Eddie laughs. "I'm fine, dude."

Steve frowns, delicately prodding Eddie's skull as Eddie shakes, strings of giggles spilling out. It wasn't every day he almost got brained on Steve Harrington's luxurious white sofa while Steve Harrington laid on top of him.

Satisfied that Eddie's laughing fit wasn't due to head trauma, Steve's expression shifts from contrite to tender. He brushes stray locks off Eddie's face, the touch featherlike. As if he's handling something valuable.

It creates a lump in Eddie's throat that aches. This experience is alien. Wayne, bless him, while loving, isn't the gentle or sentimental type. In Hellfire they trade benign roughhousing and the occasional clap on the shoulder. Dustin is the cuddliest of them, but there's a difference between little-brotherly hugs and the sensual caress from a beautiful man, muscles flexing as he holds himself up in order not to crush you.

Eddie tilts his head up and looks at Steve, thinking Come on, please? Reading him like a book, Steve reattaches their lips; swallows Eddie's sigh.

These kisses are slower, lazier. They take their time exploring each other's tastes (Steve's is minty). His hand finds Eddie's, fingers splaying along each other before interlocking. Breaking the kiss with a smack, Steve then trails his mouth from Eddie's jaw, pausing to give extra attention to the scars, to the crook of his neck, nuzzling deep. It tickles – Eddie giggles and tries not to squirm, lest Steve stops.

"Is it always like this?" he asks, voice breathy.

"No, not always," Steve murmurs against his skin. "Only when… I'll tell you later, okay?"

Eddie hums in agreement. All his brain power is dedicated to keeping his dick in line, because as accommodating as Steve's been, even he must have a limit. He must. And Eddie's betting that limit is someone else's boner poking his leg. Steve's not making it easy for him – he nips at Eddie's earlobe, which is oh so good, then licks circles over Eddie's pulse point, which is even better, Jesus Christ.

Try as he might to avoid it, his instincts win: Eddie's hips buck, his groin rubbing against Steve's thigh, and the friction. It's delicious. Superior to what his hand or any pillow has ever provided. He could come just like this.

Steve flinches away with a gasp. His hair is unkempt where Eddie has run his fingers, mouth red and wet from the necking. Hazy eyes focus on the bulge in Eddie's jeans; he figures this is it.

"Oh, yeah," Steve says, as if he just remembered where he left his keys. "We can make this lesson two."

Sliding back, he unbuckles Eddie's belt. Eddie lies frozen, gawking as Steve deftly opens the cuffs and pulls the strap out of his belt loops. This can't be happening. He's hallucinating. He really did hit his head on the armrest and is stuck in a fucked up coma dream. His subconscious is taunting him.

He says, "W-wait, what-"

"You don't want that?"

Steve's eyes are huge; he's pushing out his bottom lip in an adorable pout. But why is he making such a perfect impression of a kicked puppy now?

Eddie splutters. "Do you? Are you okay with this?"

"Yes?" Steve says, the 'duh' at the end unspoken but still so loud. Except there should be no 'duh' in this situation. The only way this could logically happen is if Steve asked Eddie to jerk him. The wrong person's pants are coming off!

"You don't want me to, um, to you?"

Steve blinks rapidly, long lashes fluttering with surprise. "You've done it before?"

Eddie glares at him. Of course he hasn't! Not to someone else. But, "Have you?"

"No," Steve says evenly. "But I've had it done to me. I know how to do it. I'll demonstrate and then you can try if you want."

And what is Eddie supposed to say to that? 'No, thank you'? Perhaps if he were a stronger man. Alas, he has smoker's lung and failed PE twice due to lack of attendance. He has the ability to muster strength for amp-carrying and little else.

He says, "O-okay."

Grinning victoriously, Steve pops the button on Eddie's jeans. Pulls everything down. Doesn't comment upon the X-Men print on the boxers. Regards Eddie's cock, at half-mast and growing, with a fiery resolve. He licks his lips.

Then he dives and takes the cock head in his mouth.

Eddie yelps when the warm wetness envelopes him. He'd flinch too, if Steve hadn't kept Eddie's legs and hips in place using his own weight. As it is, he can do nothing but gawk, mouth drying where it hangs open, as Steve bobs his head up and down Eddie's dick.

It feels wrong to watch. Like this isn't meant for Eddie, even if it directly involves him. He'd sooner shave off his hair than look away, though. This is the front-row seat to the show of his life; he doesn't give a fuck whether his name is on the ticket.

Steve goes slow and deep, hollowing his cheeks and swirling his tongue. Drool trickles from the corner of his mouth, gliding along the shaft.

Eddie's panting, chest heaving so fast his lungs barely have time to gather oxygen. The sweat is pouring, pooling by his neck and in his palm and on his forehead. His vision blurs and darkens; he blinks to clear it because he has to see this. Has to drink in every second because his gut is already tightening, balls drawing up.

Steve pulls off, gasping for breath, but quickly resumes, flattening his tongue and running it up and down Eddie's swollen cock, so ready to burst it's turning purple. Steve's eyes are molten gold when he catches Eddie's gaze. Sizzling and gorgeous; they make Eddie whimper. Steve smiles, lips shiny and cheeks flushed. Then he drags his tongue over the bulging vein on the underside of Eddie's cock, moaning in bliss.

Eddie comes, a high-pitched whine ripped from his throat. He sags into the couch cushions, boneless, too weak to watch Steve lap the sticky spunk off his softening dick, but perfectly able to feel it. So he lies, eyes closed, breathing and feeling, breathing and feeling.

When done cleaning, Steve crawls up the length of him to collapse half on top of Eddie, half wedged between him and the couch's backrest. His own erection bumps Eddie's hipbone.

Eddie slurs, "Hey, d'you wan' me to…?"

Steve chuckles and presses a kiss on Eddie’s jaw.

"Dude, you're so out of it. Give yourself a break first, and then we'll see. Maybe we'll do it next time."

"Okay," Eddie sighs.

He snuggles closer to Steve and his warmth. The living room lights are too bright and it reeks of sweat and come and a chill is settling on his dick since Steve didn't pull his pants back up. It's quiet, though, excepting Steve's soft breathing, and the way Steve is stroking Eddie's stomach is really nice.

He relaxes in Steve's embrace, thinking about next time.

------------------------------

No taglist this time; don't ask for one unless you want to vex me.

Lesson 3 (eventually)

[reddbuster]

Ace attorney is about a lot of things. It's got themes of corruption, about family, betrayal, and revenge. And we see these things in every case in the trilogy. Even in the most hated cases like turnabout big top, we see these themes displayed very plainly (if not particularly well). We see how, no matter how good you think you are, no matter how perfect you try to be, bad circumstances can can turn your world completely on its head. We see how this stuff can affect a family for generations. And nowhere is this seen more clearly than in the Fey family. The Feys are at the centre of everything in the trilogy. Every major character is deeply and messily involved with them, whether they know it or not. And really, they're more than a family. The Feys and the Kurain Channeling Technique are an institution that, like the courts, have a bloody history full of corruption. If Ace Attorney in the broader scale of things is about the flawed nature of the justice system, the Fey family is almost like a microcosm of that. They're both a generally shitty family and an example of a long standing establishment whose flaws have gone unchecked. Which is why the Fey women themselves are to me the culmination of everything the trilogy is about.

The Kurain Channeling Technique has a long and prestigious history across multiple countries. Pre DL-6 the Feys were all highly respected and had a lot of influence through all of their their political and legal connections. It's made pretty clear that this legacy is...REALLY important to those living in Kurain village. Like, more important than their children. Which is why said children were raised to believe that their value is dependent on their power, because raising powerful heirs is what keeps the clan's reputation alive. And then THOSE children will go on to do the same thing to their children, and etc. etc.

A prime example of this is Morgan Fey and her relationship with Misty. The title of master of Kurain is supposed to go to the elder sibling. Morgan must've dreamed of inheriting that title for SO long. In a world where you're always fighting to prove that you matter, the title of Master means security. It means you've solidified your title as the one who matters the most. So when the village went against tradition to give that title to Misty it would have stung so bad. And Misty probably felt kinda shit about it too. Because now not only does she have the weight of the entire Fey Legacy on her shoulders but the literal value of her sister's life. Because if Misty, the one that was so much better than her sister that the uber-traditional Kurain decided to ignore tradition, can't do a good job as the master, than what does that make Morgan? Their relationship, probably the only semi-healthy relationship the 2 of them had, disintegrates, and the both of them are alone. So, when Misty is called to investigate DL-6 and disgraces the Fey name, of course she leaves. She has destroyed the only thing in the world that gave her worth. She took what little reputation Morgan had left and kicked it deeper into the mud until it was funny submerged. Her whole life she's been nothing but a curse to those around her. There's nothing left to do but run away.

[mollymagician]

Helllooo so, reading certain fun posts over at @gabessquishytum ‘s place got me thinking of one of my fave movies and like—

Dream spent years trapped by social expectations in an unhappy and unwanted marraige with Alex Burgess, ignored and withdrawn into his own little world. He has his greenhouse and his bizarre prize-winning hybrid roses, his unpublished forever-not-quite-finished manuscripts, and that’s enough, he thinks.

Until Alex kicks the proverbial bucket and Dream learns that the Burgess family fortune has been so badly mismanaged, he’s inherited nothing from his late husband but a drafty old mansion sitting on a pile of debt.

The creditors are closing in and Dream…hates the house. He always hated it. But dammit, spite is a hell of a drug. He hates his family as much as he ever hated Alex and Fawney Rig, and he refuses to be kicked out of his own home. He needs a source of income, asap.

Luckily his gardener Matthew has pot plants growing in the hedges and more optimism than sense. Win win!

Pretty soon there’s A Lot More than prizewinning roses growing in Dream’s greenhouse. A lot more. Dream must have some sort of eldrich gardening powers, because this stuff is insanely potent and is also growing out of control. They need to find some way to unload this crop, and fast. Dream needs money. The authorities are getting suspicious. Matthew doesn’t want to go to prison. The whole town knows. So off they head towards the big city to try to find a buyer.

And find a buyer they do!

Hob Gadling isn’t…exactly a crime lord. He’d never describe himself that way. He’s just a creatively savvy businessman. And he’s never been more entertained by ANYONE more than he is by this gorgeous and charmingly awkward lunatic who’s somehow wandered into his little seedy underworld with a gardener and the weirdest story that he’s ever heard. He’s head over heels, instantly. And he’s determined to keep Dream out of trouble, if not just because Dream’s wildly delicious, than at least because Hob firmly believes that no one should go to jail for objectively funny crimes.

…I’m just trying to decide who it is in this version of the story that ends up on the floor, stoned out of their mind, eating cereal out of the box and wearing googly-eye glasses. Please watch this movie, for that scene ALONE.

…The gardener in the film’s actually named Matthew and I tend to envision my Sandman-verse human!Matthew based on the Matthew from this flick. Though Grace’s gardener!Matthew was actually Scottish. (The trying-pot-for-the-first-time scene works just as well with Dream looking at Matthew, blurting out “…you’re American!” and then laughing like a lunatic.)

…After the Whole Incident At The End That No One In Town Can Remember, Dream and Hob rename Fawney Rig to Fiddler’s Green, Dream publishes his novels, and of course they rebuild the greenhouse. Bigger this time. And everyone lives happily ever after.

[beginningobserver]

Ni attempts to insert Rui-Ukko in 02 TV Series: the post.

⚠This is a ROUGH draft and may change later. ALSO, IT MIGHT HAVE CANON REFERENCES TO THE MOVIE ELEMENTS, SO I DON'T RECOMMEND READING IT WITHOUT WATCHING 02TB FIRST!

Ok, so the idea here is... to put Rui-kun and Ukkomon in 02. I've tried to pick a route here, and it might change later.

Will be under [read more/keep reading] so you can avoid spoilers even if i tag it with the spoilers tag.

[CW: murder mention + body horror]

So far, I've drawn not one but TWO routes for this AU - one where nothing bad happens to Rui (or, if it does, it's the usual Adv/02 level of child trauma, not something that goes "over the kids' timeslot filters" like this movie does) and he gets to explore the Digital World with Ukkomon alongside the 02 group...

... And one where maybe the "eye thing" happens during the 02 events. Now if it is the same as in the canon and the movie or not, I have no idea yet. But I am still amusing myself with this one comic where the Kaiser is testing his evil rings on Rui because he has a digi-eye and... Yeah, check out the doodle for yourselves. 

Since I like both ideas I might mix them in one interquel plotline.

So Rui is the first Chosen Child, but this term hadn't been coined by the time of his encounter with Ukkomon. And Ukkomon helped Rui to get a better life, despite not having miraculous powers to grant wishes like he told Rui. Ukkomon’s tactic was just using Liar Dream on Rui’s mom and dad, to make them at least nicer to Rui.The part of the dad being in a deathbed status is also… uh, not here, but he’s still sick.

Ukkomon protected Rui from bullies as well, by using his mind-hijacking powers to drive them away. Despite both being bad at communicating with others, they do manage to get along. Rui still hates the same things as the canon, but more likely that he does not find them interesting (plus, the part of hating cake/sweets is about OVERLY sweet things and he prefers not-too-sweet stuff, or not-too-sweet fruits) yet he doesn’t seem to get courage to say them because he never had been listened by his own family. At this point, Ukkomon is not well aware of the difference between being legitimately happy and being just a bubbly kid. So… Ukkomon starts getting desperate trying to protect Rui’s smile from everything and going nuts (aka, “i can’t let him get sad or miserable!!” sort of thing, yes it’s basically what happened in canon too) and just… manipulating people with his mind-hijacking eye-stare technique.

Rui lives in Hikarigaoka, but going to the Digital World like everyone else, somehow his digivice – being the first model in the world – manages to get the access to the Digital Gate and he goes there to cool off and have fun with the digimon. It’s when he heard about this new menace called Digimon Kaiser. His digi-friends started to beg him and Ukkomon to help, but Rui says he can’t do much because Ukkomon cannot evolve and he’s afraid of fighting. Ukkomon also is clueless about how to evolve, he only knows more kids with digimon were appearing. Then, Ukkomon suggests trying to find those kids and ask them to help their digimon friends. Funny enough, the 02 kids + older six were already doing that.

In one of the offscreen attacks of the Kaiser’s army, Rui’s right eye gets hurt and Ukkomon starts panicking because this means Rui will be sad and upset so he just sacrifices his own right eye and slaps it in the boy’s face. Of course Rui hates that and snaps at him. Ukkomon feels it was all his fault and just disappears (actually, he kept around but invisible and without letting Rui know his presence). In the human world, Rui’s parents have absolutely no idea WHERE he is, so they start suddenly “caring” about him, tho they don’t go ask for help on TV or anything, they just stick with the police. The 02 kids are aware of a kid named Ohwada Rui going missing, but they think it’s nothing related to the Digital World or Ichijouji Ken/Digimon Kaiser.

Rui was having a hard time stuck in the Digital World though. He was alone, but he had the help of the local digimon refugees and survivors. This time he covered his digi-eye with an eye-patch so as not to attract the attention of the others. Somehow, the Kaiser hears about a human with a digimon eye and thinks it’s some skilled hacker “in-game” and sends his servants to search for Rui.

It was when, a few days before the Evil Spiral being made that he gets to spot the 02 kids looking for a digimon named “Agumon”. He never saw those kids– Wait a minute, he does remember seeing a boy with a Goku-like hair and a tiny girl with light brown short hair when he was a kid… Maybe they know him? (The answer is: not in person, Taichi and Hikari had passed by Rui while they lived in Hikarigaoka and until they moved to Odaiba, but none of them know each other)

Rui goes after those kids a few weeks later (around the episode Chimeramon project is almost finished), but he’s caught by the Digimon Kaiser, who was suspiciously aware of his “Digimon Eye”?! Ken just starts asking him real tough questions, thinking that kid is smart and a prodigy like him, but… Rui is just a simpleton. No offense, he’s not a genius or anything, he’s just an ordinary boy with a digimon eye and a digivice. Wormmon is scared about what that could mean, and Rui is not sure how to explain that the eye was slapped in his face against his will and that suddenly he got into a fight with his digimon and then Ukkomon just vanished and left him.

Since Rui had disappeared way before Ken decided to ditch the human world and live in the DW, he heard of a kid missing but he didn’t expect that the boy with a digimon eye from the rumors was Rui. He doesn’t feel like doing anything with Rui though, so he just throws Rui in the dungeon and focuses on the other kids. Rui has no idea if he could do something, and he feels like Ukkomon had just abandoned him and blames him for being hunted like an animal thanks to that eye.

Ken does hear Rui thru the speakers mentioning “something something if I had followed my mom’s orders I wouldn’t have been in trouble now” and he feels… empathetic for that kid? Is that possible? Ken doesn’t let Rui leave, but mysteriously his time inside his cell gets a little more… comfortable? He got a new pair of clean clothes and he’s receiving some decent meals now…? How??

One day Wormmon was feeling jealous of Ken getting some emotional attachment to that prisoner that he does the same thing he had done with Agumon: He opens the cell discreetly while Ken is not around looking at the cameras and lets Rui escape.

The 02 team and the Kaiser showdown happens normally, and Rui just appears in front of the 02 kids between the ep 22 and 24 events. The group catches him by accident because he was wearing a cape and hoodie to not call for peeps' attention and then Takeru immediately remembers seeing a kid who had disappeared mysteriously in the newspapers, way before Ken went insane.

Rui is not aware about that, but he feels like he cannot leave now because of that. The kids wonder what he means by that and he shows them the Digi-eye in his face. It makes them confused and question if he’s indeed human, but he tries to explain (this time) what happened, and that he got captured by the Digimon Kaiser for days and maybe months. The group is in doubt, but Daisuke tells them he trusts Rui. Hikari asks where’s Rui’s partner now and Rui pouts upset: We had a fight and he just vanished. The 02 group decide they should just help Rui to find Ukkomon, but Rui thinks Ukkomon might not want to talk to him anymore and then says Ukkomon was doing things he didn’t want to and didn’t like at all. Iori asks why he didn’t tell Ukkomon that, and Rui shuts in.

The 02 group’s digimon find that strange, because a digimon partner wouldn’t run away like that, right? Daisuke even mentions that Wormmon did not leave Ken’s side and even helped them to beat Chimeramon in order to rescue Ken from himself. The group agree, Ukkomon might still be around. Rui wonders how.

They had to stick along with the kid for a while, at least after school activities. The group ask Agumon and Gabumon to take a look at Rui for them (Rui is not happy with that idea but he has no options left) and then the digimon duo try to keep the boy comfortable. He’s NOT happy though.

Agumon asks what’s wrong and he just sulks, refuses to talk with Agumon or even Gabumon. Piyomon, Palmon, Gomamon and Tentomon come in and try to help the other two digimon to deal with that kid. Rui just keeps hating more and more being there and he wants to go home, but he knows that eye would make people claim he’s a FREAK and maybe things would be even worse now. Sadly, the older six’s digipartners are clueless and don’t feel like they can solve it. And Rui started to just blame the digimon in gen for his misfortune, making the six critters sad. He then just realizes he messed this up with them, and quickly tries to apologize. He tells them that Ukkomon really didn’t know him that well, and didn’t even know what he liked or wanted. Gabumon then says “Are you sure about that?” out of the blue.

Once Rui fell asleep, the six digimon noticed something hiding behind the trees and found Ukkomon, who was invisible this whole time (somehow) and kept protecting Rui in the shadows, though he was still upset with the boy’s statements and behavior. Piyomon asks why did he “leave” Rui behind and Ukkomon vents that he was getting frustrated about what to keep Rui happy and smiling. The other mons look at each other and then back to Ukkomon, who continues “He really needs me but he snapped when I tried to help him before'', making Gomamon comment that “giving your own eye to a human is not going to help him at all” and everyone agree. Ukkomon is unable to understand WHY this is wrong, and they had to say “If Rui slapped his own eye on Ukkomon out of the blue, to help him out, would he like that?” and Ukkomon took a while to give an answer. And the digimon didn’t want to think about a scenario where Rui is literally destroying himself either. But now Rui is mad and he’s having a tough time with that big eye in his face. Ukkomon feels ashamed for going off the rails. Palmon suggests that he go talk with Rui, but… Ukkomon also is bad at communicating so he just shuts in just like Rui.

The digimon reported it to Daisuke and co., and they just think those two need to be in the same room in order to deal with it themselves… But Daisuke refuses to turn his back on Rui and Ukkomon, so he just goes to talk with the boy.

Daisuke asks Rui why he didn’t tell Ukkomon that he didn’t like some things Ukkomon was doing and Rui just feels like he’s getting scolded by his mom. Daisuke continues, “You have to tell what’s bothering you or else nobody will get your feelings right,” and Rui just argues back “If I told Ukkomon he wasn’t helping me at all he would lose his reason to exist.”

The digimon and the kids are confused: Does Rui think the digimon are just servant familiars? Something similar to Ken believing the DW and the digimon were a game?

Rui explains that Ukkomon came to him to make his wishes come true, but his partner had no idea what he likes or needs, so he kept quiet accepting everything like he was used to – His mother was the one to decide his favorite things, and if he said something otherwise she would claim he’s an ungrateful kid. So not even he knows what he needs or what he likes.

Daisuke sighs and then tells Rui that Ukkomon did all of those things because Ukkomon likes him, and doesn’t know how to help him. V-mon sneaks into the convo and asks Rui “Do you know what Ukkomon likes and what he hates anyway?” and it makes Rui just realize something he and Ukkomon were not communicating. Yes he had been watching things by distance and those kids and their digimon had a better understanding of each others’ personalities, likes and dislikes, traits and flaws…Something he and Ukkomon's partnership had been lacking all along.

Ukkomon was hearing that convo, still invisible for them all. A little pouty because he was still hurt by Rui’s actions.  However, the eye made Rui notice Ukkomon was nearby and he called for his digimon. Ukkomon felt no reason to keep hiding and just popped in front of them, still missing his eye. Rui then speaks with his heart for the first time and asks Ukkomon to let them start from zero, and to learn more about each other. Ukkomon agrees, and asks what Rui wishes for and the boy answers he doesn’t need anything else. And Ukkomon in return said he didn’t know how to help Rui and assumed that the boy’s smile meant Rui was happy so he tried to prevent anything bad from happening in order to keep Rui happy and smiling even if it meant to do some… wrong things. The group ask “Which ‘wrong things’??” and Ukkomon reveals he can control people’s minds and had been using it on people. He feared that Rui would hate him, but… Rui was only disappointed that this meant nobody liked him for real.

Ukkomon doesn’t agree with that statement, and thinks there’s people who care and like Rui for real. And then mentioned the digimon they met and the older six’s digimon, also Daisuke and the others right there. Rui takes a moment to agree with that, and then he asks Ukkomon if he could get his eye back. Daisuke asks why Ukkomon gave his eye to Rui before, and Ukkomon says Rui got hurt in the middle of a digimon attack. Miyako suggests them to take Rui to the hospital after Ukkomon “returned” Rui’s injured eye (= he just removed the digi-eye just like magic and the real eye, hidden by the other one, just reappeared in Rui’s face)

The kids and their digimon go back to the human world and then Rui asks to be taken to his relatives instead. Everyone asks why and he says that they are the only ones able to talk with his parents at the moment. Ukkomon offers to use his power on Rui’s parents again, but Rui himself tells Ukkomon to not. He can handle this, he will ask his cousin and her parents to help him out. No one, not even Mr. Ishida argued with him, since they thought it could be a delicate subject that maybe having one or two peeps who care about Rui enough could help there.

Rui gets to talk with his relatives and explain everything to them (with the help of the 02 kids, Taichi, Koushiro and Mr. Ishida, of course, after Rui and Ukkomon explained to them hours ago) and they didn’t know how to break the news that… Rui’s parents had died while he went missing. Rui was in shock, just like all the others who came to give him support, and now they all plus Rui’s relatives were there to help him to deal with the loss. Ukkomon wonders if it was his fault, but he does not tell anyone, and he continues to bottle it up. He wasn’t around to make sure they would be fine… Right? His power wouldn’t be that strong to KILL humans, R I G H T ? !

Rui and Ukkomon get to meet Ken and Wormmon again on ep 39 events. But before that, he and Ukkomon spend their own time trying to get to know each other and find a way to use Ukkomon’s powers for good and not for selfish purposes. Since Ukkomon cannot evolve, they thought it would be better to not get involved with the digimon battles happening around (and again) – Though this made him emotionally exhausted: Why are the digimon trying to attack this world…? Why are they fighting those kids and their partners? Ukkomon himself doesn’t know either, but he believes they could get the answers from his higher-ups.

Rui wonders what kind of higher-ups would Ukkomon have, he just remembers Ukkomon briefly mentioning them before. Ukkomon then suggests going to the DW and looking for Homeostasis’ agents and talking to them. Rui doesn’t know what those agents look like, or why someone would be named ‘Homeostasis’ to begin with. Ukkomon doesn’t know how to answer those questions so he reinforces the idea of going to look for them.

Once they’re on their mission, Rui asks Ukkomon: “Wait, if you’re connected to something greater, couldn’t you simply contact them and call for help?” Ukkomon blinks those big green eyes and admits he didn’t think about that before. Rui glances at him, unamused by that answer.

The truth is, Ukkomon doesn’t know how to call for his higher-ups. But Rui just got a dumb idea of… pressing a few buttons on his digivice. Ukkomon feels this would be hilarious if they could summon someone like that…

And then they casually pass by Gennai, who was heading back from his encounter with Qinglongmon. Yup. Ukkomon and Rui look at each other for a moment, and ask if they did that or not. Ukkomon points out that that ‘human-like’ lifeform is one of Homeostasis’ agents. Rui notices he’s carrying an orb. They follow Gennai but SUDDENLY that ‘person’ disappeared?!

Ukkomon wonders where that agent has gone and Rui thinks maybe they should go home and try another time… Until they spot a long silver haired woman in a dress and purple shades with a tall man in a blue uniform. Ukkomon can definitely sense that woman and man are not… humans at all, and then he and Rui decide to follow them, returning to the human world. 

Huh?! Why were those digimon– Hey, they’re in Tamachi now?? And there’s a digimon running amok. He notices a boy with a familiar digimon before trying to get people out of there and protect themselves, but the Dark Tower prevents Wormmon from evolving and Ken is not very happy with that at all. The wild Triceramon running around and causing havoc hits a traffic pole and it comes into Ken’s direction, BUT! Ukkomon and Rui appear, and Ukkomon uses his tentacles coming from his fingers to catch the pole before it hits Ken. Wormmon immediately recognizes Rui, and Ken’s a little awkward around that kid. Wormmon sees Ukkomon and also recognizes those eyes, but Ukkomon and Rui had no time to explain, nor Ken and Wormmon have time to hear a long story right now. Ken asks Rui to simply escort the people around the area for them, and the other just agrees but says he’s worried about Ken and Wormmon, who just tell him they will be fine.

Rui and Ukkomon then leave the area, searching for anyone else in the middle of Triceramon’s rampage. A few hours later, he and Ukkomon witness a strong and powerful aura coming from the beam hitting something in the area he and Ukkomon were with Ken before, and then they witness Imperialdramon dragon mode for the first time in their lives. 

A few days passed and then Rui did not hear about Daisuke or Ken or the digimon for a while. But he and Ukkomon try contacting the alleged “higher-ups’ Ukkomon talked about. This time they manage to get in touch with Gennai personally and start asking some questions. As usual, not even Gennai or the Holy Beasts know why digimon partnerships are happening, or why the evil digimon are attacking the human world. Rui comments this was pointless, and then he believes it was all his fault because of that wish he made in 1996 on his birthday, Feb 29. Gennai says it’s unlikely to be because of him and that he was just the first of them.

Ukkomon comments about hearing someone saying “something something you’re the first attempt with this experiment” and Rui snaps “So am I a guinea pig for the digi-gods?!” Gennai stares at Ukkomon, and sighs. He explains that it might not mean something in a heartless sense, that the human and digimon partnerships started because of a peculiar encounter of a Koromon and a pair of human siblings prior to 1996. Then, Gennai asks him if he had witnessed a digimon before meeting Ukkomon and Rui takes a moment to think. He then mentions seeing a giant orange dinosaur and a big parrot fighting when he was 3 years old, but he thought it was just a crazy dream he had after watching something before falling asleep. Gennai then reveals that it wasn’t a dream, and that Rui had been chosen as the first to form a bond with a digimon because of it. And that Rui has been observed to be in the need of someone to love and protect him.

He realizes that… Ukkomon did save him from the bad parenting life he was living. He was just a BABY and couldn't even accidentally wet his pants or bed sheets like other kids his age, or reject stuff his mom wanted him to like and claimed to be “his favorite”. Ukkomon agrees, but still feels that using that technique on Rui’s parents might be the reason they had died. Rui tries to tell him it wasn’t his fault, it couldn’t be true, RIGHT?? Ukkomon begs for Rui’s pardon, but the boy still does not get it at all. Gennai then tells Ukkomon to leave it as it is, for better or for worse. Rui also did not get that either.

After talking with Gennai, Rui returns home with Ukkomon and then the news on TV is about a few children disappearing out of nowhere, just like him. He then learns that Ken also went missing before, and mused if it was around the time Ken was the Kaiser. Again, he couldn’t do anything so he only hoped for the best.

It was only when the truck headed to Hikarigaoka that he decided to do something. But he and Ukkomon just witnessed the Jogress digimon sealing Daemon in the Dark Ocean. The police were nearby taking care of the kidnapped kids and the now abandoned truck, so he couldn’t approach that area at all. The only 02 group member Rui and Ukkomon meet is Takeru, who was looking for a safe spot to evolve Patamon into Pegasusmon and head home. Rui asks Takeru what happened and if the kidnapped kids were related to something about the digimon attacks recently and he explains a brief version of the current events. Ukkomon wonders why someone would kidnap children like that.

They later learn, from Daisuke, that the kidnapped children now have digimon data inside their bodies. And then Rui is assigned to keep an eye on one of them who might be from the area where he and his relatives live. With Ukkomon’s unique abilities like sneaking into places or being invisible, Rui could help them to keep watching the dark seed kids, even if he doesn’t understand what’s happening that much.

But he couldn't do much, and in the end his efforts were in vain because of what happened on New Year's Eve. Rui wanted to do more, and he in fact did go to the Digital World for that final battle, and helped them out like the rest of the Chosen Children around the world. But that whole action might have caused a MASS PANIC in the human world because children are disappearing en masse for a few hours?!

BelialVamdemon is beaten, everyone returns home. Fin.

So far this is all I got for it, and idk how to do the post-series stuff (movies and drama CDs) or the Epilogue part so I’ll just stop here for now. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed my dummy Hacker’s Memory-esque idea (or Lion King 1 ½ lol) and I might draw more stuff with this whole setting. (☞ﾟヮﾟ)☞

[gingergofastboatsmojito]

Syscarmy resets

02x03 - Sundae

Re-watching this scene again yesterday, and focusing on his phrasing, my mind wandered to "reset moments", or moments that mark a before and after breakthrough in our lives, which are never on demand. They just happen or they simply don't, but their timing is not under our control. We may wish for them to happen at some point, but whether or not they actually happen is not up to us. That's not how life works, and IMO is very naive to think otherwise, which is very Carmy because he's not the most mature tool on the shelf, which I went over in the post below:

That being said, when these reset moments do happen, they hardly ever aren't unannounced. Like I said, they just happen.

My take on Sydcarmy RESET moments is the following:

Carmy's resets

Season 1

Sydney Adamu: She reset his strength. He had plans for that place but not the strength to actually go through with them. Probably because of his mourning and his recent past in NYC, which can all be summed up in one word: TRAUMA. But because of Syd, his energy was reset. Maybe is too dramatic to say he found his will to live, to keep going because of her, but it wouldn't be too inaccurate. It kinda happened like that. That's why for him, it's all because of her. She's his representation of actually being able to "Keep going."

Season 2

Then came S2 and with it the "palate reset" he intended to be trying new stuff with Syd in Kasama, but actually unraveled quite differently. He ended up trying to be in a relationship with C and stuck in a walk-in.

C + fridge

Both things changed his perception based on GUILT:

Having failed Syd, changed his perception of what he had to do because, from that moment on, which we saw in the next season, his whole world started to revolve around making it up to her, so getting unstuck from that walk-in, actually stuck him on "compensation mode" and that took a turn for the worse throughout S3, he overdid it.

Season 3

Syd + Daniel

As I mentioned above, having let Syd down was another reset moment for him, both last season and in S3, because it reset his motivation. He was no longer trying to open a Family style, 2 tops, booths, etc. restaurant with her because "he wouldn't even wanna do it without her", from that moment on he was trying to make it up to her and be worthy of her "forgiveness".

Then came the confrontation with his abuser in a way that was a lot less messy than it could have been, in other words, a lot more mature, which IMO means he is indeed now maturing and changing after his breakthrough, as I mentioned in the embedded post above. Therefore, no matter how hard and painful, that was another moment that marked a "before/after" milestone in his life, a reset.

Sydney's resets

Season 1

When she decided to leave the most excellent CDC... because she got to know the "piece of shit" side of him.

When she decided to come back to him because ... TBH I don't think she knew at that point exactly why... we did though.

Season 2

Her star

When she decided she wanted a star, with him. And by doing that she reset him too, indirectly, actually. This scene changed the course of the whole series:

When Carmy gave her the ship (I'm obviously not just talking about the restaurant because that night he broke up with C).

When she realized she had made it (and got her father's approval):

Season 3

OMG SOOOOO MANY...

OK, here we go:

When she realized it was all about Carmy, he had relegated her and her dream of opening a restaurant and getting a star with him was nothing like she had dreamt of.

When she started to feel unappreciated:

When she was given a way out of Carmy's ship:

When she realized she couldn't take it and started suspecting WHY that was:

Soooo many resets, because Syd has reached, like Carmy, the end of the rope, whatever she was doing up until now, or not doing, can't go on. The change is imminent and no longer optional.

For both of them.

Sydcarmy has been reset.

Mother of victory...

Bonus track: if you think I'm missing some, please feel free to add them.

Remember to follow my tag #Gingerpovs 💋