#the next tags are for people that believe he was ruined to find this post

[i-think-were-alone-n0w]

so sick of all you "my five/s1-3 five would've never done this!"

sure.

your five, who attempted to save the world numerous times, dedicated his entire life to it, and who was TIRED from all these useless attempts, where everytime HE would fight the hardest and still somehow fail and disappoint everyone he loved-

(and in the end, learned that there's no point or way, and has to sacrifice his family, all that he knew and loved for the world to actually be saved);

you "diehard fans" are bashing him for losing hope, after he

once again, ended up stuck for 7 years in an "apocalypse", a never ending cycle of trial and error; with no proof he could ever go back to any of his desired realities where he could see his loved ones, or proof they still even exist;

your five that has the most fucked up perception of love (mind you, he fell in love with a mannequin because it was his only company), happened to have ONE shoulder to lean on during this time, and he took it. he was once again stuck for years, just like the first time. with only one person, lila. he grew to trust lila, he grew to love lila. they've made it to a timeline where everything was quiet, and safe. they made it to a reality where five didn't have to fight for him and his loved one's lives. he found a reality where he wouldn't have to sacrifice anyone, and where he doesn't have to disappoint his loved ones again. and he wanted to stay there with her, ensuring lila that safety, and providing his love.

TL;DR?

so how surprised can you guys be? that he gave up? that he fell in love, for he was stuck for years with no hope or proof his family was still there, waiting? after years of failing and disappointing everyone- he found a reality in which he didn't have to run, or fight. he found a reality in which he can love and truly protect. he fell in love again because someone cared for him when he needed it most.

we've always known five for value-ing love. love for his family, love for delores. he fell for delores because she was the only one by his side. use your brains. please.

[httpsserene]

kinktober '23 table of contents

welcome to serene's f1 kinktober special! i do not know how many posts i will be doing for this event, but, reblog and save this masterlist for any updates concerning my f1 kinktober.

posts will be tagged with: # httpss :// kinktober 23

view playlist? ↴

upload 1 : charles leclerc / max verstappen x reader | corruption kink

innocent and virgin !reader has never touched herself before. she knows how to, in theory, but whenever she tries, she chickens out. her tried and true way of receiving pleasure is failing her. she thinks that maybe it's time to allow her relationship with her two respectful and experienced boyfriends, to reach the next step. and she'll find that they're very willing to teach her a few things.

upload 2 : carlos sainz jr x reader | were/wolf shifter & predator/prey

for all people believe that werewolves are dangerous creatures, your wolf is pretty tame, even with some of his...quirks. this halloween you let him be the big bad wolf to your little red riding hood, while you give out candy to trick-or-treaters. what he doesn't know, is that you have your own trick-or treat planned for him after this– you're his treat tonight, but he's going to have to chase you first.

upload 3 : oscar piastri x reader | car sex & squirting

your boyfriend has to make an appearance at some sponsor event. he's gone ahead and bought you an alluring outfit, but he failed to mention how seductive he looks in the new fitted suit his team got him. you two won't be staying long, but you increase the pace by riling him up, mostly unintentionally. so it's your fault that he makes you ruin his loaned mclaren.

upload 4 : daniel ricciardo / max verstappen x reader | overstimulation

you can't remember the last time you've gotten to spend more than three days at a time with both of your boyfriends. you understand how demanding their job is but, you just can't remember the last time they really exhausted you...pleasurably. and then winter break comes around, and they have all the time they need to make you lose your mind.

upload 5 : lewis hamilton x reader | tender sex & cockwarming

your husband comes home to his monaco apartment after achieving p2 in spain. from the texts you sent him before he boarded his flight, he expected you to be awake when he arrived. however, you’ve fallen asleep–but that’s not a problem. he’ll sneak into bed right next to you and catch a few extra hours of sleep. you’ll commemorate the podium come morning.

upload 6 : george russell x reader | vampire & hickeys/biting

george has created a serious problem. you two have been dating for over three years, and he fed from you the first time about three months ago. the problem lies within the fact that he conditioned you to orgasm every time he used you as his glorified high-class wine bottle. on second thought, that’s a pretty good problem to have; his thirst is sated, and yours is as well.

upload 7 : pierre gasly x reader | witchcraft

witch!reader and potions master!pierre run a shop to fulfill anyone’s magical needs. it’s nearing valentine’s day, and the shop is bombarded with desperate humans looking for love charms & potions, even though there’s no magic spell strong enough to replicate true love. oddly, news travels from a few villages over that there’s a potions master who managed to make a real love potion. pierre has to get his hands on it—for the bit, obviously. there’s no way it will work.

upload 8 : lando norris x reader | pussy worship

if lando achieved a podium at silverstone, you promised you’d give him anything he wants. he thinks about it the whole race weekend, and when the two of you are celebrating his second-place finish, he tells you that he wants to take care of you. you’re disbelieving–he takes care of you every waking hour. lando, on the other hand, said that with his chest. and he’ll prove it to you.

upload 9 : charles leclerc x reader | orgasm delay/denial

the 2023 season has had a despicable effect on charles’ self-worth. it pains you to see how he attributes ferrari’s failure to deliver to himself. you can’t stand to see him berate himself for things that are out of his control. when the emilia-romagna grand prix is understandably canceled, you start forming a plan. if charles doesn’t believe he’s as good as you say he is, you’ll make him internalize it–using any means necessary.

upload 10 : yuki tsunoda x reader | ab-riding/frottage

your mental state is suffering–you’re not sure if you can handle alphatauri posting another thirst trap of your boyfriend to disguise their inability to build a car that doesn’t break within the first ten laps. but, when yuki posts his own half-naked picture on main? he’s asking for it, at this point. clearly, he’s been spending too much time with pierre.

© httpsserene 2023

[chiefdirector]

I love you, it's ruining my life | Tim Bradford | The Rookie

I love you, it's ruining my life

The first day was the easiest of all. His world has come crashing down around him and yet he was still standing amongst the rubble. Tim didn't know what was true anymore, the love of his life has disappeared right before his eyes and he was helpless to change that.

He spent the entirety of the first day on the streets of Los Angeles, he rookie by his side, searching for his wife but it was fruitless. He returned home alone.

The second day was worse. Just as he returned home by himself, he woke to an empty bed, her pillows still indented from the last time she had slept there. He didn't make the bed, instead he shoved the sickening feeling that had begun to grow back down and left for work.

The second day of searching for his wife turned up the same results as the first. She was a detective of the LAPD, and yet not a single officer could offer a lead as to where she had gone. She had been taken away with the wind, never to be seen again.

He didn't want to admit it but as the days and weeks passed by, Tim oculd feel his hopelessness return. He was a police Sargent, he knew the statistics on missing persons cases. And it wasn't like she was without her enemies, there was a never-ending list of people who would want to harm her. It was a risk of the job, but yet he never thought it would effect them.

All my mornings are Mondays stuck in an endless February I took the miracle move-on drug, the effects were temporary

Despite only a year passing, there was more evidence leading to declare her to be dead rather than another name on the missing-persons list. Tim thought that her funeral would have been the hardest day; watching the empty coffin be lowered into the ground damn near killed him too, but his heart kept beating. It was agonising but he kept on living, he couldn't stop living.

The worst day came only a few weeks later. The memory of the day was fleeting; hazed by the rush of emotions and the actions taken. One moment he was in Sargent Grey's office, and seemingly in the next, he was running through the woods watching her run towards him also.

They crashed together, his arms wrapping around his body, bringing her warmth closer to him. Not matter how close she was, she needed to be closer to him; he didn't want to be apart again, his heart wouldn't be able to take it.

I love you, it's ruining my life

He never wanted to feel that pain again. To love someone as much as he loved her could only leave one of them suffering. He knew that he wouldn't survive loving her and losing her again. He needed to protect himself this time.

He knew that despite everything that happened she wouldn't step back from danger, instead she would come up with a million and one reasons why he was being unreasonable. He had only one option, to make her believe something untrue.

So the worst day came around the following morning, as he sat her down at the breakfast table they had once spent their days laughing over.

"I can't do this anymore," He said, hating himself as the words come out, "I can't live like this, waiting for the call to find out you've been hurt - or worse. I've lived through it and it nearly killed me. I can't do it again."

Panic crossed her face, as she tried to process his words, "Tim, what do you mean?"

"I can't keep waiting for the worst to happen. I love you, and it's ruining my life."

And for a fortnight there, we were forever

-------

Masterlist

Tags: @rookietrek @kmc1989 @fluentmoviequoter

Let me know if you want to be added to my Tim Bradford/Rookie tag list

[icarusredwings]

Snippet of my one fic series im calling

"Finding home."

This comes after DOG TAGS. They're spending the night at the Xmen mansion when someone pays them a visit. Established Poolverine.

Warning: Wade is just.. Wade. Logan (worst wolverine) is learning to stand up for himself, Complicated stuff with Jean Grey and other xmen characters. Post unknown context.

Angst, emotional hurt/comfort, fluff.

Coming into the room, Logan had found Wade lying down. Sprawled out beautifully like a dame in one of those fancy paintings. As if he was worn out. This had pleased him greatly. It meant he had so much fun that he was satisfied with the level of exercise and socialization for today. Something that was a rare sight.

Walking over, he climbed into the bed with a big smirk, pulling him close, underneath him.

“Hey..”

“Hi.”

He chuckled softly, starting to kiss him all over. The kind of kisses that meant he was hungry for something more, already nipping at his lips and his neck. Putting his head back into the silk pillows Wade groaned, putting his hands up to the back of his head, beginning to pet him.

Sliding his shirt up, It wasn't often that Logan let himself wonder so confidently. Which is why Wade whined, his stomach fluttery a bit as he groaned. Maybe it was because Logan was leaving a trail of nips down his abdomen or maybe it was because of how nauseous he was getting, but something wasn't right.

“Oh god. I usually would never in a billion life times say this but.. Stop?” What ever has gotten into Logan had got him good because he only chuckled again and bit his ear, Holding him by the hem of his jeans. “Sorry, Bub, But you're all mine now. Stuck with me. So get used to it because you're gonna be scr-”

“Logan Stop.”

Almost instantly, Like a switch he sat up, No longer touching him. In Fact the look he gave him was filled with concern and almost ashamed for the things he's done. For not stopping the first time. There've been plenty of times where stop didn't actually mean it, but he knew better when it was said in that tone.

This only made Wade pout more. Look at him!! All confident and ready to play the way they've been training his self confidence for. And the dirty talk too? Come on! How he was sitting like this? All obedient and worried for him? Ugh! He only wanted to fuck him more now. It wasn't fair.

“I'm gonna puke.” He stated a quick explanation that made the man frown, his thoughts instantly going to because of him, as if he were too gross to play with, but a single brain cell pipped up as he remembered his dear fiancé was not new to throwing up.

“If… if you don't mind. Do you think we could just cuddle tonight?” He asked, looking almost ashamed of himself too, feeling bad for turning him away.

“Yes. I mean- Of course… Do you want help?” Watching him light up like a puppy with hope to be helpful.

Wade couldn't help but stifle a laugh, giggling after the scoff. “Can you hand me that trash can? And.. maybe look away. Or something.” He muttered, not liking when people saw him so gross, especially not him. No one wanted to kiss you with vomit in your mouth. Within a few seconds, He fetched the trash can, sitting next to him as he rubbed his back.

“You're alright.” He whispered, reassuring Wade that it was okay, that he could do whatever he needed to do, and no one would be mad at him. Sometimes, he became upset with himself for times like this. Thought it ruined the moment, and past shitty hookups have convinced him it was true and his fault.

This was the opposite of looking away, but no one really wanted to be alone when sick.

“You're burning up…” he mummbled, looking away but kept his hand on him as he hurled, gagging and grunting how much he hated doing this.

Listening to him try to catch his breath was the worst part for him, knowing how sensitive he was to unauthorized breath play and cancer didn't exactly believe in safe words.

“I know.. I know.” It took him about a month to finally get it when he first moved in, that Wade wasn't lean and thin because he wanted to be, Rather, he could barely keep anything down some days.

“It's alright. Hey. You're okay. I got you.” He whispers to him. Wade put his head back, tears in his eyes as he breathed deep and slow.

“There we go. Better?”

Starting to nod, this quickly became a shake of his head, putting his head in that trash can again. Oh, the poor thing…

Opening the door, Logan swallowed as he saw her. “Hey…”

To make matters worse, there was a knock at the door. God, they couldn't catch a break, could they? Without even getting a chance to ask, Wade went off to the bathroom, slamming the door. He always did prefer a toilet, really. It's much easier to throw your guts up when you don't have to worry about holding a bucket full of vomit. Much easier to clean up too, just flush it instead of rinsing it and cleaning it with soap.

“Erm.. Hi?”

“Look.. Logan I- We.. we're sorry. For everything.”

Crossing his arms he looked away, leaning against the door frame. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Yes. You very much do. You claim that you're different, but the way you've been acting shows that we even hurt you in your timeline, too. So.. While I don't know what we did then, I want us to be on good terms.”

“Us?” He asked, a little confused, shaking his head a bit. “Jean.. that was a long time ago. And you're not even the same person. I'm not even the same person.”

Blinking, Logan looked outside of the door, as if trying to see if there was anyone else. “I'm sorry- this is bothering me. We?? Who's we?”

“I know.. but that doesn't mean we can't apologize... Maybe start over? We would like that."

“Well.. you know how he can be.”

“Jean, Usually when people apologize, they're in person and say it to their face. Not send their pregnant wife to come confront them by herself.”

A Small look of horror came to her face, as if she hadn't told anyone else yet. A look that said ‘How did you know?’ But she only sighed.

“Only ever what mattered…” His nose crinkled a bit, Able to smell it. She wasn't far enough along for him to tell if it was a boy or a girl, but the baby was healthy. That's all that did matter to him. There was nothing wrong with worrying for a friend's child.. was there?

“I never could hide anything from you...Could I?”

“Logan, Please. He really is sorry. He's just.. you know.. with the school and you of all people know how much a man's egos can get in the way of things...” She mumbled, taking his hand, rubbing over his knuckles.

She wasn't even doing anything with her powers, and yet he felt this intense wave of relief fall over him, only for it to be instantly covered with a sense of protectiveness. She always had that effect on him. He wanted to protect her no matter what.

Swallowing again, he pulled his hand away as it started to sweat.

“That's exactly my point.. If he actually was sorry and believed he did do something wrong, He'd be standing here with you, now wouldn't he?”

“That's not-”

“I'm not finished!” He growled, tired of being spoken over. Wade did a hell of a job to connect his emotions to his mouth, and now he wasn't shutting it off. He worked hard to turn his grunts into words. And she would litsen.

Becoming quiet, she nodded, Implying that he could finish without another interruption.

Taking her other hand, he held both of them.

“I know you're an independent woman. You always have been. But you shouldn't have too. You need a man that will not only defend you, but will take care of you, and stand next to you for things like this.”

This speechless promise quickly becomes a lie. “Logan-” Her eyes were almost… hopeful.

Tears welled in her eyes but wouldn't let them drop.

“I'm not that man.” He started, shaking his head slowly as he did, not wanting her to get any ideas.

“Not anymore… Do you understand? Hell, Even Forge stands up for Ororo and would defend her until his last breath despite her practically being an all-powerful weather goddess!... and your husband won't even stand next to you while saying sorry? Think about it.”

“F-for what?”

“Jean, I'm sorry.”

“Because I'm happy. I was never going to fit into your marriage. Not ever. Not… well. At least. Everyone thinks that relationships are finding someone who matches your puzzle piece. When in reality it's finding someone who's willing to change pieces to fit. I mean- I'm engaged now!” He whispered this bit, almost excited, leaning down some to talk to her.

“Is.. he okay?” She asks.

“How crazy is that? The Wolverine settling down? Crazy to think about. And with a dying maniac at that.” He smiles, only to frown, hearing a big cough and a groan of frustration from the bathroom. “Oohh Fuck..” It said.

He now stands, putting his hands in his pockets. “He gets tummy aches.” He lied, whispering. “Gluten sensitivity.”

“Ooh…then why is he-”

Just before she could say it, Wade came out with a stretch, seeming better as he dramatically held his stomach.

“We're pregnant!!”

“No- we are not.”

“Pfft-” snickering some, Logan put his hand to his face, rubbing it embarrassedly.

“Oh we so are! Don't you remember? It's the only reason he's marrying me really. Got me knocked up and now we're having A shotgun wedding. How scandalous! I can see the headlines now.”

“There's not going to be any headlines, you lunatic!” He chuckled, almost at the brink of giggling.

A frown came to her face, only to softly smile.

“... I've never seen you laugh like that before.”

“Huh? Oh… heh.. yeah. I uhm… I didn't know that I could..”

“Hmm.. Well.. I guess I should be going..” She whispered. “Leave you two alone..” Turning to leave, she had mixed feelings about the interaction. Happy for him yes, but also now had other topics to think about.

“Mmh.. Yeah.. Oh- And Jean?”

Turning, the hope in her eyes made him frown, feeling sort of bad for being kind of a jerk to a pregnant lady. “When Scott grows some balls? He knows where to find me.”

Sighing, she nods. “…Goodnight, Logan.”

“ ‘Night.”

Closing the door, he came back to bed, still giggling a bit. “Why did you tell her we're pregnant? I can't get you pregnant, idiot.”

Laying on the bed, Wade looked slightly offended. “Are you calling me a liar!?”

“I'm calling you the biggest liar.”

He shrugged. “Oh well. And who knows? Maybe I got a cancer baby in there or something.”

Rolling his eyes, He climbed under the blanket with him. “Oh shut up. You don't have a cancer baby.”

“You never know…So…marrying a dying maniac?”

“Oh… how much of that did you hear?”

Grunting, He rolled over, Putting his face in his hands again. “Nngh.. I'm sorry.. I didn't mean for you to hear all that..”

“The bathroom has surprisingly thin walls.”

“It's alright. It's always nice knowing that you're just as big of a whore as I am.”

“Hey! Am not! It was just… complicated.”

“That's what whores say when they can't pick one dick to ride” he giggled, Rolling over to climb into his chest, nuzzling up under his chin.

“Are…are you sure you aren't happier... here?” He asked, the questions slipping out.

So many things were running through his mind, things that he probably shouldn't be thinking but he's learned that as long as it stays in his head, no one would get hurt… except.. that was the hard part.

Logan let out a deep sigh. “Wade?”

“I mean- Do you even like that i'm with Vanessa? What were you doing? Being a barrack bunny? But for the mansion? The mansions personally sex pet or some kinky shit like that?”

“Yeah, yeah.. shut up.. I know...”

“Wade.”

“hm?”

“I let you cut up my dog tags…and turn them into a ring”

“Technically Forge did that- actually.”

“.. a ring that you own now.. right?”

“Uh… yes?”

“And dogs go with their tags.. right?”

“I guess so?”

For a few seconds there was silence.

“So what does that mean?”

“25- no! 26. I'm pretty sure it's 26.”

“What?” He laughed. “That wasn't even a math question.”

“Ugh, just tell me. I'm not good at stupid riddles! If I ever met the riddler I'd just shoot him in the face.”

“The who-? erm, nevermind. If the tags belong to me. Yes?”

“Ok..”

“And now you own them. Yeah?”

“Okay..”

“Then that means..”

Blinking, he suddenly gasped a few seconds later, going into a giggle fit as he held him tight. “Oohh!! I wanna get married!”

“We will. Just not yet.”

“Tomorrow!!”

“No-”

“Why!?”

He wasn't tucking and running anymore. He would stay like a loyal mutt. As long as he wore that ring on his finger, he'd follow him. Whether here, or at that shitty apartment. He didn't care which.

“Because.. you deserve a good one. And good ones aren't planned overnight.” Logan smiled.

“And for your information… I was always the Barrack bunny..”

“GASSSP!! No way!! Same!”

“Yeah I figured that much… and.. As for Vanessa? We're inviting her to the wedding right?”

“Obviously. Duh.”

“.. Go ahead and kiss her after me.”

“Shut up and take orders, Wilson.”

“Really? But that’s- I don't think-”

“Yes sir!.. erm... peanut?”

“Do you still want too?....you know”

“Hm?” It was these late night talks that really made him enjoy having him around. The pressure on his chest, the gabbing, the giggles. It made him feel young again.

“Eh.. not really. 'm tired."

“Oh thank god! My stomach is killing me.” He groaned. Shifting them to lay on his side, Logan pulled him close into his chest, rubbing his stomach softly.

“Behave, Jr.” He mumbled, earning himself another laugh and a deep kiss. “Mmh..” intertwining their hands, Wade curled up against him, happy as always just to be next to him.

“...I love you..” Holding him in his arms as he said this, he felt embarrassed and almost.. nervous. As if he wouldn't say it back. But if there was anything about Wade he knew, it's that he'd never skip a beat to reciprocate affection.. something he wasn't used too.

“..How much?” Usually, he wouldn't ask such childish things. But Tonight? He might have needed it.

“I love you too, Logan. A lot.”

“I'd fight the entire world.”

“You do that anyway. More than tacos?”

“Woah there, Angelcakes! Know your place.”

They both laugh, the giggles die down, and snoring replaces the sounds.

[the-travelling-witch]

so i can’t work on my twst x pokémon au (fittingly named a twisted pokémon au) atm since i’m absolutely overwhelmed with irl stuff but i want to share this little headcanon with the attentive ones of you that catch this post

I still haven’t finalised giving each character a team but every now and then I think about it and I know a lot of people give Azul a tentacruel or octillery as a signature pokémon, and I definitely have them written down too, don’t get me wrong, but I had this stupid idea out of nowhere

Picture this: you’re fighting this super tough battle against this cunning opponent and he has all these intimidating water pokemon and you somehow get him down to his last but strongest pokémon. As you wait with bated breath for what kind of ace he will send out next, he throws his pokéball to release… quagsire, arguably one of the least nefarious water types there is (at least visually)

And basically the backstory is that Azul’s had the whooper since he was still a chubby little octopus and it was basically his first real friend who’d stick by his side and wouldn’t bully him, even trying to ‘protect’ Azul from his bullies despite being so small itself (the twins would totally find it hilarious yet strangely adorable), so Azul being the softie he is just can’t not have quagsire on his team, even if it ruins his whole reputation

Tl;dr emotional support quagsire for the business octopus

I mean quagsire isn’t a bad pokemon if you don’t put it in front of a plant (or the opponent has freeze dry), it just ruins the image Azul is trying to establish here. But I think Azul is low-key a softie and I want to believe that quagsire could be the worst mon ever and he’d find some kind of excuse to keep bringing it along (Jade and Floyd just trade knowing smirks as Azul clears his throat and pushes up his glasses)

Speaking of Jade and Floyd, they get to make fun of Azul/ quagsire but if anyone else does it, they’d better start praying to all higher powers they can think of

Imagine quagsire wearing Azul’s dorm uniform hat, being all happy and proud about it ㅠㅠ

(Also quagsire going from this stick thin little guy to a chubby bigger guy kind of parallels Azul’s insecurities if you want to read more into it than I initially considered)

Azul: Should we order dark purple or lilac decorations for Mostro Lounge… What do you think?

Quagsire: :]

Azul: You are so right, a deeper purple would compliment the tableware nicely

or maybe I’ll just give him a tentacruel anyway… though quagsire is also working his way into my heart

© the-travelling-witch 2024 - do not repost, translate, copy or edit; do not feed my writing to an ai

if you like my content, reblogs, comments and asks are always much appreciated ♡

➺ send in an ask to be added to or removed from my tag list

Twisted Wonderland: @savanaclaw1996 @honehbee42

A Twisted Pokémon AU: @witch-craft-works @voidlesslove @mochiclouds

[ladyevol]

And here it is! My first fic for my Hotguy Must Die au. I'm posting some of it here, but for those who want to read everything, you can find the fic in AO3. Going forward, I plan on writing one shot fics for this AU exploring the characters and the world building in general since this is my version of what Hotguy might look like. Let me know who you'd like to see explored in future installments. You can check out the rest here

____________________________________

Wolfbane

Fandom: Hermitcraft

Ships: Scar X Grian (very minor in this one, you can definitely see them as platonic), Pearl X Original Character

Tags: Character death, minor character death, Angst, werewolves, Abusive relationships (not between any of the main characters)

The first thing that the man felt after what appeared to be infinite void was warmth. It touched his skin faintly at first, however, the more stationary he remained, the more determined it became to bring him back to the world of the living. Then, he felt the dirt beneath him, reminding him that he was no longer falling in nothingness for all of eternity. Next, there was the sound of birds in the distance, the wind in his ears and his chest and finally the feeling of something soft and familiar pressing against his cheek. The man finally opened his eyes.

There was a time when he would have been much more desperate to wake up, to escape nothing and return to the world of the living, often accompanied by gasps, quick movement and eyes looking to the sides. Now though, all he felt as he came back was tired. The darkness felt almost welcoming, as if his moments inside it were the only time he could truly rest. Of course, those thoughts were nothing but wishful thinking. Even if he did lay there forever, death would eventually find him again and it was never kind.

This time death came in the form of his neighbor, as it often did. What it wasn't normally, however, was Pearl. She, despite being one of the most capable people he knew, was also one of his neighbors who had given him the least of a bad time. Pearl Moon was once a hunter, one of the guards who were tasked with protecting the city from the monsters and dangers that spawned with the night by tracking them down and destroying, however, an unfortunate encounter with a werewolf left to her forever tarnished, even if she was the winner by the end. The woman, now contaminated with lycanthrope, was ‘asked’ to retire by her supervisors, leading her to eventually moving into the complex and taking a job as a mailwoman, the same role he met her as and that she continued to enact in the many years they had been friends, so the idea that Pearl would just forget to take her medicine that kept her hunger under control was difficult to believe. Yet, it was her claws that had torn through his torso the previous night, her teeth that gnashed his bones and her mutated fingers that pulled his heart from his chest in his final moments of consciousness. He really didn't want to think what she had done with the rest of his body after his death.

Scar rubbed his eyes and blinked a few times to see a familiar gray and white cat looking down at him. Her sight always managed to make his situation feel at least a little bit better. “Hello there.” He said softly and reached to scratch the back of her ear and the cat purred in return, tail curling to let her glee be known. “Always on time, aren't you, Jellie?”

Six in the morning, that was when Scar awoke after every death and around the same place, the hole of Boatem, located in the ruins of an old village in the woods not too far from the city that had burned down twenty something years prior and left the area as a graveyard for its previous residences. The fire had consumed all plant life and since nothing had managed to grow there. Even people had reported to feel uneasy and even sick from being there for too long, so most tried to avoid it. Scar didn't have a choice. Death would always find him and he would always wake up the next day right there. He had grown as certain of it as he was that the sun would rise again the following morning.

“At least it isn't raining this time, right?” He spoke to Jellie who replied with a meow before he looked at the clothes and wheelchair next to the cat. “I'm hoping that you brought some better clothes for me this time, Jellie.” She meowed as he slipped it on, “yeah, yeah, I know, I know, making me wheel around in False's dress was funny and I did slay with it,” his voice became more high pitched and he laughed. “But she wasn't too happy that I had her dress. You'll make people think I'm a creep or something who goes around stealing the clothes of his friends. I would like to be able to at least keep my friendships, please.” He finished with the oversized gray hoodie he recognized as his roommate's, Cub, back from when he was in college and he was pretty sure the black sweatpants were his as well. He didn't know why Jellie wouldn't just bring him his own clothes, but he could at least explain why he was wearing his roommates clothes pretty easily. All of his other clothes were washing and Cub didn't actually care, so that was that.

The brunette man sat on his chair, buckled his belt and began rolling away on the dirt with the cat laying on his lap.

It took Scar thirty minutes to return to the city, and from there, another hour and a half to get inside his complex. The city was buzzing with life as always, none the wiser that their main hero and vigilante, Hotguy, had met yet another gruesome end the previous night. There was a time when it drove him mad that no one could remember his demise. All of his pain and suffering, all his blood spilled and tears and broken bones and he couldn't get an ounce of comfort or relief anything, any sort of response other than curiosity as to why Scar had disappeared all of a sudden or whatever their minds told them that had happened. Now though he was almost glad that was the case. It was best if he just suffered alone. He was used to it anyway. Even physical evidence of his deaths seemed to get mysteriously corrupted. Photos, videos, nothing worked. It was clear to him that whatever kept bringing him back didn't want to be seen. It was almost a shame that Hotguy wholeheartedly disagreed with the idea.

His smile was everywhere, from posters to billboards to shirts worn by the youth. They all knew hotguy, the hero who would die for the safety if he had to and he would. Over and over again, regardless if he wanted to or not, so, might as well make the best out of it. Death would always come after him, but maybe he could use that as an opportunity to prevent it from coming for someone else. Seeing the tears of joy of a mother being reunited with her son after all hope was lost or the joy of a child holding their kitty thought to be lost almost made it all worth it. It was at least enough to make him keep going.

Scar pushed the door of the building open and was immediately met with the smell of mold, dust and different types of food being prepared in the nearby apartments above him. His place wasn't anything fancy, in fact, quite the opposite. Some might think the building to be old and in extreme need of renovations, but to Scar it only gave it personality and made it one of the few affordable places in the city for a lesser known architect still hoping to make a name for himself with a working elevator. Scar pushed the button and waited for the doors to open before rolling inside. After selecting his floor, he waited for the door to shut, only for it to be interrupted by an arm being shoved between the doors just before they met. “WAIT!”

“Huh?” Scar blinked as the metal retreated to reveal a shorter man with pale skin and dirty blonde hair. The glasses around his black eyes made it seem considerably smaller than they actually were, like dots on a canvas and the scarf around his neck hid away his mouth and part of his nose. The rest of his body was covered by a similarly colored sweater and gray leggings. Grian strolled inside without another world and stood next to Scar after making sure that the man had indeed clicked the right button to their floor. “Oh, hey G. How are ya?”

As soon as the doors were shut, Grian replied by flicking Scar's forehead who immediately rubbed the area, less so due to the pain and more so from instinct. “What was that for?!”

“What the hell was the bright idea, huh?! Leaving me all alone with a WEREWOLF?! Scar, she could have killed me!”

He knew. She nearly did. They had underestimated Pearl's intelligence while fully transformed. A hunter was a hunter, even as a wolf like monster unable to speak or recognize those around her. She tricked them into thinking that they had the upper hand, only to use the opening to attack the one of the two of them she thought to be weaker, smaller. Scar refused to let any harm come to his partner, even if that meant jumping in front of her jaws. The rest he would rather forget. “Right, right, sorry, I just really needed to use the bathroom all of a sudden, haha.” Scar forced a laugh and rubbed the back of his head.

Grian took a deep breath. “You can't trick me, Scar. I know you just got scared and ran away. You always do this! Honestly, what would people think if they learned that their greatest hero, the only one in the city that isn't a dog for the government, is a fraud?! A coward that runs away when things get too rough! You are meant to be a symbol of hope, Scar!” Grian grabbed his face and squeezed his cheeks while staring into his green eyes. “Act like it!”

Scar gently moved his hands to grab Grian's wrists gently and pull them away. The younger man let him. “Sorry, G. Really, I just- can't help it.” He sighed, “but hey, at least Hotguy can always count on his aMAYzing sidekick to clean up the mess, huh?”

Grian exhaled deeply and pinched the bridge of his nose, “right. The thing is, Cuteguy isn't nearly as popular as Hotguy now, is he? People don't like Watchers, Scar. You know what they do like? Underdog's story, like a regular guy that somehow manages to defeat all the monsters the hunters were supposed to keep us safe from and the weirdos that keep appearing every day.”

“Well, I'm not a complete regular Joe, G. You know that.”

“Right, you have Vex blood in you from,” he began counting on his fingers, “four generations ago?”

“Three, actually.”

“Wow, amazing. You can use your magic to aim really well and walk for a limited amount of time.”

“Ouch.”

“C'mon, Scar. You know what I mean! You're the image of everything everyone in this city wants to be. You're their hero. You need to start acting like it.”

Scar looked down. Grian was right. He needed to do better. Be better. Everyone was counting on him. It was just so difficult to do it most days, when he knew that eventually the pain would come again, he would die in a horrific way and no one would even remember. He felt so isolated most of the time, distant like there was a wall separating him and the rest of the world. He couldn't even remember a time when it wasn't there. “Sorry Grian.” He said finally, “you're right. I just got scared.” Scar was always. So. Scared.

Grian looked at him for a moment before his shoulders sagged and his gaze softened. “It's fine. Whatever. It's not like I got hurt in the end. Apparently, just after you left, Pearl found this sack of meat that she ate for long enough for me to bring her down and lock her.”

Ah. So that was what he saw his body as this time. A literal sack of meat. “Y-yeah, pretty lucky. Did she get hurt? Did the police?”

“No, I left with her before the guards arrived. And the hunters. Like I said, after eating she was considerably more amiable. Werewolves are not brainless. They are just hungry.

The more Grian spoke, the sicker Scar felt. “Ok, and did you manage to talk to her after she transformed back? Is her boyfriend ok?”

“Yeah. Apparently the worst thing that happened was her standing him up since they were supposed to have a date. I don't think she told him what happened. I'm not even sure he knows what she is.” Grian gently scratched Jellie's ear. She purred.

“So there were no casualties.”

“No. Only a butcher shop that got invaded and a lot of meat that was stolen. Compared to our other jobs, it was pretty clean actually.” It certainly didn't feel clean. The door opened and Grian walked out, holding the door for Scar long enough for him to roll out. “Listen, you should at least talk to her sometime, ok? Comforting people is your expertise, not mine. It's part of the reason why people love you.”

“Silver tongue Scar, that's what they call me.” The brunette smiled slightly, “should I go as, you know.” He tilted his head to his door slightly.

“That's for you to decide. But whatever you do, do it quickly. Also, you really gotta steal people's pants, man. They just don't look good on you.” Scar looked down at his pants that were seemingly slipping away before pulling away. “Thank-” the door shut behind Grian, leaving Scar all alone in the hallway.

The exhaled deeply before turning around to go to his apartment, located in front of Grian's only to then stop to look at the apartment next to his. It was Pearl's apartment. Normally, she would be already heading to work around that time, would she have skipped that day after what happened? Or would she throw herself in even harder to try and think about anything else? After a moment considering it, he realized the second option sounded a lot more like Pearl. Maybe Hotguy would pay her a visit after solving a few more issues.

[pandorasword]

Chaeri as the 8th and youngest member of BTS.

Chaeri's masterlist

❒ Reading order: 1. Chaeri's recovery | 2. Calvin Klein with Jk | 3. HS concert

❒ genre: Angst

❒ words: 2.5k+

❒ summary: In which Harry Styles' post-concert doesn't go as planned for Chaeri, as Jungkook has something to tell her

❒ warnings: swearing; heated argument;

❒ pairing: Jungkook x 8thmember!OC

❒ notes: I'd have much to say about what I wrote. First of all, it was very difficult. Chaeri has this very annoying way about her in which she uses anger to hide other emotions, and I did not find it easy to write. Usually I don't expose myself much, for those who read my blog know that I didn't plan yet an ending of this story, but I think Jungkook is not in the wrong this time. Chaeri has sent him some unclear signals, plus she has completely distanced herself from him. In one way I understand his point of view.

Credits to media owners!

March 20, 2023

Chaeri bubbled with joy as she left the concert arena, greeting fans on her way out.

Concerts always put her in a cheerful mood, especially when it was Harry Styles performing, and having the chance to meet him backstage had made it an even better experience. For two hours, she felt like a normal friend hanging out with Yoongi and Namjoon rather than a celebrity herself.

When the concert paused halfway, Taehyung, who was nearby with Jungkook and a friend of theirs, asked her to tag along for a bite after the show. She accepted the offer, knowing that Yoongi and Namjoon would head home straight away once it was all over.

Though it didn't take her long to catch up with the two guys, she had to wait for the personnel managing the event to have most of the onlookers removed and organized so that all the celebrities could leave without being mobbed.

Chaeri waved to both of them as she drew near, her face aching from the long smile it had been wearing since the night started. "It was stunning" she exclaimed.

Wrapping Taehyung in an all-encompassing hug, she beamed with happiness "Harry was so nice to agree to take a picture only with me! I can't believe it's already finished"

She diverted her attention from Taehyung to give Jungkook a warm welcome too.

Harry Styles had put her in such a great mood, she wasn't going to let the bad vibes from their last encounter while on the set of the Calvin Klein photoshoot ruin her night.

So, she gave him a hug, albeit briefer than Taehyung, and then touched his arm gently, asking "Did you have a good time?"

Jungkook nodded, his voice muffled by the mask he had not yet taken off his face. "Yes," he said "there's not many who can put on a show quite like Harry Styles"

Chaeri gave his arm an affectionate pat in reply to his comment. "Well said!"

"Did she just turned in fangirl mode?" Taehyung teased her playfully, and she stuck out her tongue in response.

"Aren't we all a bit of a fangirl for him?"

Once they were in the car and out of sight, Tae maneuvered himself from the backseat to the front, taking care to not bump into them with his long legs. He then took a seat next to the driver

"What the hell are you doing?" Chaeri inquired, avoiding the near-miss of a kick that the boy almost gave her as he scrambled to get into the front seat

Taehyung leaned back in his chair and breathed a sigh of relief, pleased with himself for achieving the task. He spun around to face the two people he had just brought together. "I'm giving you both the chance to clear the air."

"What? There's nothing to talk about"

"Stop it," Taehyung replied sternly to her. "Every time we're all together, it's incredibly awkward because of you two. I don't know how you avoided it tonight. This has to end. Make peace."

With those words, he shut the divider between the back and front seats of the car, providing them with some privacy.

Chaeri had her mouth slightly open in amazement and was beginning to get nervous. She also knew that the broken rapport between her and Jungkook was a source of stress for the whole group, yet was that really the night and was that really the way to discuss it?

Jungkook shifted in his seat, his gaze fixed on Chaeri. "I'm sorry," he said "Don't take it out on him, I was the one who asked him to tell you to come in the car with us and give us some privacy. I needed to talk to you"

"I really can't believe you two pulled me into this little game"

Taehyung's words echoed through the divider, making Chaeri jump. "No one is playing games," he had his gaze focused on her reflected eyes in the driving mirror "You two have been avoiding each other for weeks, and it's not healthy for the group dynamic. Clear the air, talk it out."

She tapped her knuckles against the divider and asked, "Don't you remember you said we'd have some privacy?"

"My apologies," he replied. The boy in the front seat had now tucked his head down, out of sight. He was trying to be invisible.

Jungkook glanced down at his hands, where an array of silver rings glinted in the light. His fingers nervously twisted them around and around as he spoke, his gaze fixated on the shining metal "Before anything else," he began, "I want to apologize for what happened last time. I should have respected your boundaries... But I don't regret saying what I said." 

A heavy silence filled the air as she stared at him, her lips parting slightly before closing again. After a long pause, she finally muttered "Jungkook, please. Let's not talk about this again” 

The car had been driving for several minutes, thus taking away any hope of escape from that conversation she did not want to face. She made a mental note to kill Taehyung once that day was over.

"No,I refuse to delay this conversation any longer”

Well, from better to better.

Crossing her arms, she turned away from him, her lips pressed into a thin line. "I'm not going to hear what you have to say” she had to warm her voice first, to make it come out as if she didn't care what he had to say to her

Jungkook's emotions were now clear on his face: lips slightly pursed, eyes narrowed, and a jaw clenched tight in an effort to stay composed.

Damn stubborn girl

It typically took a lot to shake him up, anger or irritate him in any way. He was used to having his patience pushed by disrespectful people, and he considered himself quite logical and thoughtful. But it took all the willpower in him to utter the right words without starting an argument; that was the goal, after all - discussing without fighting.

He paused and took in a breath before continuing "Remember when you promised that you'd always hear me out? Has that changed too since then? What is left of us? I'm not talking about our..relationship. But of who we were for each other before all this”

Chaeri's stomach was in knots. She had been dreading this conversation for weeks and didn't want it to take place with an audience. Taehyung must have sensed her apprehension, as he cranked up the volume of the car radio. A song by Harry Styles came on - what a strange coincidence.

"I remember," The memory of them sitting on the steps of the old BigHit's building, much less tall than now- or at least Jungkook -, came vividly to her mind, along with the promise they had made each other to always remain close. It felt like a lifetime had gone by since then. ”But things have changed. We can't go back to the way things were before” Uttering those words felt like an inferno in her throat. She never wanted to say them aloud, yet there they were, hanging heavily in the air.

Jungkook felt something break inside his mind at the sound of those words, wishing he had been able to keep his composure and not let his anger get the better of him.

"You don't even try! You avoid me like a plague! You were already distancing yourself from me before the accident, and now it's worse. When we were living together in the dorms while you were healing, though, it was almost like things were back to normal; like my Chaeri had returned. At least my friend" 

"Why won't you understand that we can never be fucking friends!” Her voice grew louder than she anticipated. It was her fury that prevented her from forming the words in her head before they came out of her mouth.

Jungkook's jaw dropped as his eyes widened in shock. He felt the tell-tale thumping of an accelerated pulse against his ribs, as if it was trying to escape his chest

"I will always care about you, no matter what happens. You'll always be family to me, but I can't be friends with you anymore - that's all there is to it”

Chaeri's voice was firm and unwavering but her eyes are were filled with sadness and her lips quivered slightly as she spoke. Her hands clasped together tightly in her lap, her knuckles white from the strain.

"That's all there is to it!? Are you fucking serious?"

Jungkook's voice had risen, the intensity of his emotions coloring his words.

They were both going too far with their words, causing pain to one another.

Taehyung quickly turned down the volume of the radio, sensing the tension in the car. He had hoped for a peaceful resolution, but it seemed like things were only escalating.

"Listen," he interjected, trying to diffuse the situation. "I think it's best if we all calm down. Emotions are running high right now, and we're not going to get anywhere like this."

Chaeri ignored him completely but leaned over to inform the driver to stop because she wanted to get out

"Is that how you want to solve the problem? By getting out of the car?” Jungkook was incredulous

"I don't want to hear from any of you anymore" Chaeri spat back

"We're on the highway Chaeri, where the fuck do you think you're getting off"

"At a goddamn truck stop, can I pee in peace for fuck's sake?" 

Jungkook observed as she opened the vehicle's door and stepped onto the shoulder of the highway once the car had come to a halt. Her form was tiny and vulnerable in the darkness, and he felt an overwhelming urge to go after her.

"I'm gonna go talk to her" he said to Taehyung, who nodded in agreement and stopped the driver who was about to get out of the car to follow both of them

"Chaeri! Just stop for a second”

Chaeri’s small frame and her strides cast a determined silhouette in the night. Her blond hair swished around her shoulders and fluttered in the wind as she continued walking, unfazed by Jungkook's pleas.

"No, you know what I'm going to do? I'll head into that store, use the restroom, and then enjoy the dinner you said you'd buy me - by myself."

"Why are you so stubborn?!" His voice rose in frustration

Chaeri stopped mid-stride and spun around, her face flushing bright red with anger. She glowered at him, "You used to appreciate my stubbornness!"

Jungkook’s eyes were focused yet there was a hint of exhaustion around the edges. The light from the passing cars illuminated the determination on his face "I still do," he said. "But not when it's at the expense of us" 

She drew closer to him, her heart pounding in her chest. She cleared her throat and spoke quietly, “Us? You say it as if we were still an 'us'”

Was she really taking out on him all the bitterness she felt toward her own agency for what it had put her through? As soon as the fog of her fury cleared, she knew she'd regret how she was treating him. But in that moment, it was still overshadowed by her blazing anger.

"And you say this as if it was up to me!" Jungkook's voice was rising with frustration, he cast a furtive glance around the empty parking lot of the truck stop, double-checking that no one was within earshot. "I could not decide anything about this relationship. I know I said that we had to move on, I remember the night I said that.. But I ... I can't stand it. I tried, but I can't"

Jungkook took a step closer to her, his hands outstretched as if to pull her into an embrace. "I don't want to move on," he whispered, his voice barely above a whisper. "I don't want to let go of what we had"

Chaeri backed away, her eyes fixed on the tips of her shoes as she hugged herself tightly to keep out the chill and contain what she was feeling; whether it be was positive or negative 

"Whenever we're together, it seems to bring out the worst in us" 

The umpteenth realization that she gave the worst of herself every time she was with him made her sick. 

BigHit had been their downfall since they were first caught together - one continuous downward spiral until the crash in 2022. 

"It's like gasoline and fire; we bring out the worst in each other" She repeated at the end.

Jungkook took a step back, his hands falling to his sides. He understood what Chaeri was saying; since the break up they had been like a time bomb when they were together, ready to go off at any moment.

"It was not our fault" 

"I know, but it still happened. It didn't...work. We tried. We thought we could do it but in the end they won” She tried her best to keep her voice emotionless

"If I didn't know you-if I didn't know you, your indifference would make me think you never loved me!" Jungkook his voice hoarse with emotion

"Don't you dare say anything like that!" Chaeri's voice wavered, and she fought back tears. She took a step closer to him, looking up into his eyes "You know that's not true! "

"I don't understand why you're so determined to push me away" Jungkook said, his voice shaking. "I'll get over it if you.. love someone else now, but I cannot bear the thought of losing you as someone in my life" Those words on the tongue tasted like poison.

"We cannot be friends. Not the way we have been" she said, her gaze lowered to the ground, understanding this was the best decision for both of them.

"Why not!?"

"Because our love consumed me! Because every fucking time I see you, it feels like I'm stuck in the past. Every time I'm with you, you fucking idiot, I question myself about-" she couldn't dare to finish the sentence.

The tears that streamed down her face as she spoke were like a raging river, unstoppable. Her hands trembled and her voice was ragged, yet full of passion and emotion. He watched her with remorse, knowing he shared in the blame for the way things had disintegrated around them. She continued to scream out her frustrations, her words echoing off in the empty park

She sniffled and wiped her wet cheeks with one hand "The time spent together while I was recovering from my injury made me realize that it's best for us to keep some distance"

"Is it better because you don't have to deal with your feelings that way?"

Their faces were suddenly illuminated by dazzling lights, causing them to look as white as ghosts. Abruptly, they both turned in the same direction and noticed a pair of paparazzi - the distance too far to hear their conversation luckily -

"Fuck.."

taglist: @alixnsuperstxr | @ycuvi | @bts-dream

[oht8]

Oops, Chapter 2 |18+|

Yunho/Ateez X Reader fic

You’re working, covering an event for someone else, last minute, and in a rush- you quite literally crash into Yunho.. Oops. What comes to follow changes everything you thought you knew about love and lust.

Pairings: Yunho/various Ateez members X reader

Genre: Fluff, smut, Multi-chapter fic, unfinished, casual encounters, polyamory

Warnings:*MDNI*(Minors DO NOT Interact), Coarse language. Let me know if I missed any!

Word Count: 656

(Previous Chapter) (Next Chapter)

Author’s notes:

This is my first fic, first post on here. I’m still trying to figure everything out/how to best use Tumblr for this. This story is a WIP/unfinished, and a multi-chapter fic. Please be kind in comments, I welcome suggestions on how to best use this platform/share my fics. I will do my best to edit tags/summaries, warnings, etc, as the story evolves

Stammering, you manage to get out, “all my ap-apologies, s-sir.. I will p-pay the dry cleaning-g f-fee..” as you now look at the floor, bowing towards this beautiful man.

You hear a soft chuckle.. “I said, are you okay??”

You can’t help yourself, you blurt out “I can’t believe I just did that! I’m so sorry! I was in a hurry and not paying attention.. I’m not even supposed to BE here! Now I’m probably going to get fired..” you finally stop yourself as you bury your face in your hands. You want nothing more than to just fade into the wallpaper. Did you seriously just word vomit in front of THE Yunho?! You lower your hands and look down at the floor again.

Yunho must be looking at your badge as he says, “..Miss Y/N..? Press— ah, a photographer? I’m not used to our photogs dressed so.. feminine?” he says slyly.

You blush even harder but you take a deep breath and manage to speak calmly now. “As I said, sir, if you just give me your or your people’s information, I’ll be happy to pay for the cleaning of the shirt.. if I have to, I’ll replace it..”

He grins as you —“Look.. Y/N, I have an idea.. my stylist will probably want to kill me, but, why don’t we both head to the rest rooms and freshen up and I’ll help you make this right. Give me 5 minutes..”

You’re dumbfounded and your heart starts hammering in your chest, not only is he GORGEOUS, he may be the kindest “stranger” you’ve ever met. You just completely embarrassed yourself and ruined his shirt at an important event and he wants to.. help you?!

“But, sir.. I don’t even know you.. and it was my fault for rushing and not paying attention..” just then, he holds up his hand so tantalizing close to your lips, hushing you, that scent of cedar wafting into you as he says, “no need to apologize again.. I’m Yunho.. now I’m not a stranger. Five minutes, remember? Meet me back out here and I’ll tell you how you can make it up to me..” he winks at you and walks towards the Men’s bathroom.

You stare after him, but then, it hits you that if your lipstick is all over his shirt, you are probably a mess yourself. “Fuck fuck fuck!” you mutter under your breath, as you bolt towards the Women’s.

You reach for some towels as you approach the sink and mirror and you startle yourself as you laugh out loud at your appearance. “Oh my god, y/n! You’re a mess! Shit!” you say to yourself in the mirror as you begin to clean off your face. You open your bag, grabbing what you need to quickly touch up your makeup and redo that damn red lipstick you decided to be bold with tonight.

You pull your phone out of your bag, and, glancing at the time, you’ve probably been in here more than 5 minutes, so you rush out of the bathroom to go see if Yunho is indeed waiting for you. He was probably just being polite, and if he’s not out there, you’re not going to spend any more time mortifying yourself and you will just go do the job you came here to do (if you’ll even have a job tomorrow!), and avoid him as much as possible.. you’ll worry about dying of embarrassment later. As you exit, you look for him and when your your eyes find him.. oh god, your breath hitches..

Yunho is leaning against the wall, across from you, arms folded. He smirks up at you and says, “so, Miss Y/N.. about how you can make it up to me for completely wrecking my shirt..”

He still has his beautifully tailored brown suit on, but now, he’s got his suit jacket buttoned up and.. no shirt on underneath. Oh. Fuck.

[6okuto]

Niaaaa //wailing, heaving, rolling around on the floor

I cannot stress enough how much I adore your works and love rereading all of them from time to time

Am here to ask if you have any more touchstarved hcs,, or thoughts,, im dying over here

Literally starved for content

gn!reader | REG!!! //waving both hands, jumping up and down giggling. Thank U. this is an honour and incredible compliment. scary bc my old works are...old... but Thank u. U mean the world 2 Me. i didn't thoroughly check what hcs i've already said so sorry there's repeats orz

i'm not saying the LIs would all go to the barbie movie but if someone does make art of that please let me know and tag me especially if it has the i am kenough shirt

they ruined my life saying kuras doesn't eat how is he going to join my girl dinners now. /j but i'll continue to believe he can appreciate how good a meal looks! & he can still sit with you and try to get his hands on your favourite meals for you to enjoy :-)

that thing where they do push-ups and kiss you when they come down with...leander was the first one i thought of tbh. but if you aren't able to lie underneath him he'd just ask for the same amount once he's done!

leander doing the thing he did in the prologue where he took his glove off with his teeth every so often just to see your reaction. like if you react in an amusing flustered staring at him kind of way. i couldn't relate personally (lying) (liar) (huge lie)

i'm sorry for my leander bias but if one of his favourite things is MASQUERADES and we don't see him at a MASQUERADE well it's so joever like him in a suit and mask and showing off how he knows how to fit in because of his past and also he can waltz now or something I'm dizzy i can't breathe

ais using 0.5 camera on people while they're caught off guard. him asking you to take a video of the fight For him because he's going to be part of it. vere selfie folder. mhin 5 followers no icon no posts gc lurker.

mhin would stick to enough of a routine that they'd have a specific spot to sit at different places,,, like a cafe or the library or bus... corner. it's one of the corners. and when someone's taken the spot they're thrown off then have to walk around for a new one (not happy about this) but take it back once they leave. you spend enough time together and they start keeping the spot next to them open for you

^ also they'd always order the exact same thing at restaurants. wouldn't like going to a new place because now they have to find a new default order. just like me fr

is no one going to talk about the idea that vere doesn't like snow because he's chained outside and it's cold . to be fair it could Totally be for a less sad reason like how it gets his Fur Wet (valid) but i've been thinking about that possible angst

also his gloves are just. like. ? odd. inverse drawing gloves. claws... but why only the 3 fingers.... btw his outfit means a constant thigh holding opportunity

kuras and mhin having long conversations about alchemy and sharing their findings with each other ;; mhin at some point getting just a Little excited about something and kuras choosing not to comment on it but being happy to see them let their walls down a little ;; o(-(

ais coming into your room and wordlessly lying next to you in bed and when asked if he needs something he says no? with a smile. he was just feeling lonely and wanted to find you

saying "you look like you can't swim" or "you are an odd individual" to any and all of them . something about it is amusing to me

if you celebrate christmas or like the idea of kissing underneath some mistletoe,, i think it's a good thought that you hold one over your head and wait for a kiss Or that Some of the LIs would Definitely do that themselves.

who do you guys think has the saddest birthday celebration (/no celebration at all.) who's relating to girls who spend their birthday alone and crying and be honest with me

rambling but i just want to say kuras's monster form looks sick as FUCK and i'm so excited for it. it looks like whatever left the scar on his hand seems to be there.. in his monster form...? i thought it was a claw but the positioning is under/through the hand so like??. do i have to bring up the significance of that if true

also is his outfit (minus his jacket)...like a jumpsuit... or can i just not tell because of his three (?) belts. that's not how you wear belts btw /lh. and is the sheer part Part of the top or is he wearing something sheer underneath the white. his sleeves are also sheer but the neckline means his shoulders are out . take off ur jacket

also mhin !! i want to know how big they get and if the transformation is sickening to watch and if they're still aware of everything around them and !!! THERE IS A SPINE(?) COMING OUT FROM THE BOTTOM OF THE SILHOUETTE THAT I NEED TO SEE NOW! & i'm assuming the senobium is Shit so even if we do get in there and get 'help' there would be another shitty price to pay. possible bad ending...??

scenes with all their monster forms where you're asked if you're scared and you say no / yes but you care about them and they falter because they didn't expect that

true good ending is everyone meeting at the wet wick and making a toast and laughing and saying this truly was our touchstarved before the credits roll

[skyrim-forever]

Day 7: Companion

A/N: Being brave and posting this before the final day is written, hoping it will motivate me to do it today. This one features Theodora adjusting to life in raven Rock, the threat of Miraak still looming, with a newfound friend. Enjoy! All of my tesfest pieces are up on ao3 under the name We Will Find a Way. Tagging: @tes-summer-fest

Though the threat of Miraak still loomed over Solstheim, Theodora had made good progress in Raven Rock. Upon arriving she intended to go after him right away but after her experience at his Temple she knew she wasn’t in a state to handle him now. Even if she hadn’t been pregnant at the time, discovering Miraak’s allegiances to Hermaous Mora had frightened her. Of all the Daedric Princes, Mora was the one she  wanted to interact with the least; it was one thing to outright be killed -going mad was an entirely different matter. But from the first day in Raven Rock she quickly learned the town was in dire straits. After having been attacked by Ash Spawn she took on the role of discovering their source, an Imperial Captain in Fort Frostmoth who long should have been dead. After this, she became more trusted by the people in town, eventually getting the ebony mine reopened and even stopping a plot of the First Councilor’s life. 

Though the people of Raven Rock were deeply wary of outsiders, Theodora had earned their trust, now residing in Severin Manor. Although, she couldn’t have done it alone. Frea of the Skaal had been very helpful during the latter months of her pregnancy, supplying herbs and even delivering Arthano when the time came. Whereas the people of Raven Rock could be guarded, the Skaal had been very welcoming, especially once she said she was there to defeat Miraak. Frea had already done so much for her and she promised she would more than make it up to her. 

But in truth, the biggest help had come from the mercenary, Teldryn Sero. Self-proclaimed best swordsman in Morrowind, he had more than lived up to it. Not long after arriving on Solstheim, Theodora became acquainted with the local tavern, a sujamma joint named the Retching Netch. Although she couldn’t drink due to her condition, she had spent a lifetime socializing in taverns and the little fact of being sober wasn’t going to change that. The owner Geldis Sadri had recommended him and the Dragonborn couldn’t be more thankful. He had acted as a guide, formidable spellsword, and had become somewhat of a friend. A constant companion as she fought dragon priests and ash spawn. 

“I have to say I am quite a fan of the work you’ve had for me recently.” Teldryn chuckled as their dwemer swords clashed. 

“What, you don’t miss the Nordic ruins?” Theodora threw back at him. He let a deep laugh, one that showed the years of ash damage he had taken. 

“As long as you're paying I’m game for it.” Ducking under her next blow he continues “but practicing sword forms does certainly carry less risk.” It had been a few months since she’d given birth, Arthano was already six months old, but now that she had had some time to recover she was ready to get back into training and regain her strength. I’ll need all the strength I can get. Thankfully, she had the best around as a sparring partner. A couple more swings until Theodora puts her hand up, panting. 

“Okay, I have to call it here for the day.” 

“You’re doing well, the muscle memory is still there.”

“I’m still too weak though, it’ll be a miracle if I am back to normal by the end of the year.”

“Do not worry, you’re Dragonborn aren’t you? Can’t you just shout him to death?” Theodora lets out a half-hearted chuckle. 

“So is Miraak.”

“Well, what does he have that you don’t?”

“I don’t know, just a dragon, a Daedric Prince backing him, and give or take 4000 years experience?” Teldryn lets out a long sigh. 

“The Daedra aren’t all they are cracked up to be, believe me.” He pauses for a moment. “You’ll get there, you’ve already improved a lot in the past few weeks.”

“Thanks.” Sheathing her swords, Theodora makes him an offer. “Do you want anything? Tea, food? I’ve got a couple of jars of sujamma. Geldis insisted on giving them to me and I can’t have them for at least a few more months.” 

“Well I suppose I could take one off your hands. How much time do you have?”

“Cindiri is looking after Arthano until dusk, so I could spare a couple of hours.” The Second  Councilor’s wife had been incredibly kind to her. They began meeting for tea when she was still expecting, confessing how she had always wanted children but unfortunately was unable to do so. So when Theodora mentioned needing someone to look after him, the woman happily offered. Theodra was thankful, not only because it gave her more time to train, but also meant she knew he was in good hands. 

Tossing a jar of sujamma at him, Theodora then takes a seat opposite him. It felt nice to sit down, not have any obligations for the next few hours. Arthano was a good baby, not that she had much experience, but he was sleeping mostly through the night now and had begun to crawl,not yet walking so mischief making was limited. He looked exactly as he did in her dream. A beautiful golden boy with dark eyes. Although she had to confess she was hoping he would look more like her, rather than the spitting image of his father. Being a mother had been even more tiring than anyone said it would be, but he was so sweet that she couldn’t imagine being without him at this point.

“Gods you look tired.” She side-eyes him. 

“Thanks Teldryn, ever the charmer you are.”

“The great warrior, brought down by motherhood.”

“I’d like to see you try to be the Hero of Tamriel and take care of a child.” Teldryn takes a large swig of the liquor.

“No thanks. The hero's life is far less glamorous than the songs would leave one to believe.” Changing the subject, Teldryn asks “I’ve noticed you have a very Dunmer fighting style, evident even before we started training. Who taught you how to use a sword?”

“My Uncle Elo, when I was young.” Theodora beams. 

“Your uncle was Dunmer?”

“Not my biological uncle, no. He was my father’s first mate and most loyal friend. He always brought me back gifts from their adventures, and taught me everything he knew about swordmanship.” She gestures to her swords now hung on the wall. “Those were a gift from him, I was 13. My father had been a bit apprehensive about giving them to me, until Elo reminded him that he’d been in jail at my age.” Teldryn laughs.  

“Sound slike quite the character. First mate? Are you from a family of sailors?”

“Pirates.”

“Fascinating. So where was this Elo from?” Her face scrunches a bit, trying to recap the memories. It had already been so long since he passed that details began slipping. She realized it had been a long while since she spoke about him. The last time she spoke of him was to Ond- don’t think about him. It’ll only hurt.

“Oh, somewhere near the border with Black Marsh, outside one of the major cities.”

“Tear?”

“Yes! That was it, Tear, I’ve got to remember that. He didn’t talk much about his upbringing, but I gathered none of it was good.” Teldryn gruff voice responses. 

“I’d reckon, a dastardly place. Controlled by House Dres, most of the population is slaves.”

“I knew Elo was a bastard of some Dres noble but wow.”

“My people can be beyond twisted. But then again, so can yours.”

“Believe me, the Empire will gain no sympathy from me.” 

“Don’t lie, didn’t you end the Civil War for the Empire?” Her eyes darted up to meet his, only finding the chitlin helmet he never took off. 

“I wasn’t given much of a choice but to side with the people who would have chopped my head off if not for that dragon attack.” Tedlryn lets out a roaring laughter.

“Of course they’d nearly kill the one person in Nirn who could save them. Anything to make the paperwork easier.” Now it is Theodora who laughs. “So what’s next after Miraak is taken care of, back to Skyrim?”

“I don’t know yet, I have several properties there.” Lakeview would be viable, secluded, lots of space. Faendal was a good steward and could be a good influence on her son; she knew him and Camilla wanted children so Arthano could have other kids to hang out with. She planned to hold on to Proudspire to keep it in the family but she wouldn’t feel comfortable in Solitude. Let alone at the family estate. I’ll want to sell Vlindrel Hall eventually. But that would mean going to Markarth. 

“Theodora” Teldryn says. 

“Oh sorry, my mind wanders.”

“I can tell.”

“But to answer your question, I don’t know yet. I’ve been leaning toward Cyrodiil, the Imperial City is big enough to get lost in. People from all over the continent are there so it would be good for the boy. I’ve given up on planning too far ahead, so much can happen in such a short time.”

“You sound old.” 

“Oh you’re terrible. I am old.”

“No you're not.”

“For a human I’m not as young as I once was. How old are you anyways?”

“Old enough to remember the Red Year.”

“Now you sound old.” They sit in silence for a few minutes, Teldryn polishing off the last of his sujamma. 

“You know, you don’t have to go. You’ve got property here, you’re quite well-liked and these people do not trust easily.”

“I’ve briefly thought about it, it is nice to be out of the Empire’s grasp. I just don’t know about raising Arthano alone here.”

“Well you’re not alone, Second Councilor Arano’s wife considers him a gem, I think you could go away for weeks and she’d be perfectly happy to watch him. And besides, as he gets older he’ll need to have someone to teach him magic.”

“You want to be Uncle Teldryn?”

“Why not? Well, once he’s older and can handle himself better. Besides, he’s half Altmer, magic is in his blood. It would be a shame to waste that potential. With the proper training we can prevent him from becoming a stuffy mage. ” Theodora softly smiles. Teldryn made a point, perhaps he could be to her son what Elo was for her.

“Thank you Teldryn, you can be quite kind when you want to be. I’ll think about it.”

“You’re welcome Boss.” 

[tr4gictea]

HI, hi!

How are you, I do hope you’re doing good!

I love your zhongli fic and I was wondering, how do you think zhongli would react to seeing the kid be re incarnated in the future and he finds them in the same place where they did still getting flowers, I just think it would be really cute 🥰. And then if he were to get slightly obsessed with them?

By all mean you don’t have to do this and if you do please take your time and please stay healthy!

Hope you have a good day/night!

Forevermore - Zhongli+Child!Reincarnated!Reader

❥Masterlist

Tags: Obsessive Zhongli, mention of death, reincarnation, angst, murdering people

A/n: Hi! This is kinda a part 2 to the Zhongli fic. This fic is shorter then my usual post. There are definitely spelling mistakes in here, please let me know how i can improve pls. Love u all <3

Part 1

Ever since that day he had come back once a week to sit and have tea. He remembered every single detail of the garden so when he came back to find five flowers missing he was surprised but not worried. Due to the passing time everything will stay the same but will always change (adventure time reference hehe). He thinks that he will buy some glazed lillie seeds and plant some more. 

When he came back the next day to plant the seeds he nearly dropped them when he found a small child there picking the flowers. He wanted to yell at the kid to stop picking the flowers, but something in the back of his mind stopped him from doing so. The child had a familiar ora to him similar to… no, no, no it can’t be them. They’re gone.

“You there, what are you doing?” Zhongli said in a commanding tone. The child turned their head to face the voice. No… it can’t be. 

“Oh, Hello! I am (Y/n) and I come up here for the qingxin that grow here.”They said with the same sparkle in their eyes. 

For once in his life he was speechless, he couldn’t comprehend how or why you were here. Was celestia mocking him? Was his pain amusing to them? Every bone in his body was begging to run over to hold on to you and never let go in fear of you disappearing again. But, he held his composure and remained calm. 

“This mountain is dangerous and flowers are not worth risking your life,” He hoped that you would listen to him just this once and never have to repeat the tragedy he faced all those years ago. 

“But I think that they look prettier up here, and they are one of the best sellers in my mama’s shop,” 

“Yes you are quite right, how about this, I come up here with you to pick flowers, help you get up safely, and intern if you don’t attempt to climb up the mountain when I’m not here. But if you do you will suffer the consequences.” Zhongli said as he placed out his hand.

“May i ask why you want to help me?”

“An old friend of mine hurt themself climb up here.” 

“Oh, that’s understandable, alright! It’s a deal!” You said while you shook his hand. Oh, how naive you were for trusting strangers. You were lucky he had good intentions, he would need to keep a close eye on you from now on.

………..

“Xiao,” He called his most loyal adeptus to his side as he stood from one of the bridges in Liyue. Xiao appeared in a puff of black and teal smoke. “Do you see the child with the basket full of glazed lilies?”

You were down in a stall selling the flowers you had picked earlier. 

“Yes Rex Lapis.” 

“I need you to keep an eye on them and don’t let any harm come their way.”

“May I ask why?”

“I believe that Celastia has given me a do over, and I’m not wasting that chance.”

Xiao had never seen his god like this before and it scared him. “What lengths should I go to protect this child?” 

“Kill if you have to but don’t ruin the child’s innocents.” 

“Is that all my lord?” 

“Yes, you may go Xiao.” and just as quickly as he came he disappeared like he was never there.

As he gazed looked down apon you with obsession in his eyes. He wondered what your lives will be like together. Sure the room in his teapot isn’t finished yet and hasen’t even took your parents out of the picture yet. But, it’s only a matter of time before it happens.

ive never written yandere fic so pls tell me if this is good

[look-at-the-soul]

The carnival

Cillian Murphy x reader (Brazilian)

Master List

So I got a request that @gypsy-girl-08 kindly tagged me in (thank you for your generosity Liv) 🌷, and to the anon who sent it, I think it’s a good thing I didn’t post this earlier, since it’s very fitting now that you guys celebrated the Carnival in Brasil. You will find the translation to both Portuguese and English respectively between […] in italics 😉🇧🇷 I hope you enjoy it!

Muito obrigado @shelbydelrey for your help!!! 🥰 it wouldn’t be the same without your support! Muitos beijos! xx

Cillian touched his passport and his wallet, both items inside his backpack, he was always forgetting something somewhere but he was determined to make things right, make it perfect.

Feeling a hand squeeze his arm, he turned to the Brazilian beauty next to him, still not knowing how he got so damn lucky, after a divorce and a battle in court to share the custody of his daughter and a few complicated relationships afterwards he thought he was done in the love department, with his age and the crazy schedules of filming, he simply gave up dating, he was disappointed.

Until one day he was invited to do a radio show, in the small cabin several people were invited, you never knew the program or the topics they would be talking, one day it could be politics or globalization and they could invite a priest, a lawyer or anyone who could bring an interesting conversation to the table, they wanted to focus on having different points of views. So that very same day someone foreigner was invited to talk about the importance and impact of the mind while making a crucial decision in our lives and how sometimes it’s just the fears of being judged what keeps us from following our dreams.

Y/N talked about her own experience when she volunteered for an NGO in Europe and never went back to her hometown in Brasil, she packed her bags and followed her heart. And yes, several people criticized her decision, told her she was out of her mind for ruining her life that way, but back then she felt it was what she needed and she had come a long way, she never stopped to think about the barriers that could have stopped her, like language or the cultural shock, her own family thought it was something temporary, but with the years she proved them, proved herself that this life was all she wanted to have.

Cillian wasn’t just captivated by her physical beauty -she was a fucking gorgeous Amazonian- but by her heart, she devoted her life to help other people, gave up her stability back home because she felt she had done enough in Brasil, she helped people build schools, worked to help women in need, saved natural reserves… she wanted to do it worldwide. He was so grateful he decided to ask her right away if she wanted to have dinner that day, they had the greatest night of their lives. There was a magnet about her that kept him coming back for more, they talked about everything and after several dates, they became official, deciding to take the chance to open up to love once more was the right thing to do, he learned something new every day. And being honest, one of his favorite things was when Y/N got overexcited or mad, she would start speaking in Portuguese, leaving him not understanding anything she said.

“I need you to tell me again how to introduce myself in Portuguese.” Cillian asked nervously.

“Amor da minha vida, you don’t have to worry about that.” [Love of my life.] She smiled gently.

That he totally understood what she meant, since she was always calling him that.

Taking out his cellphone, he decided to type what he wanted to say and let the translator help him.

“Eu não posso acreditar que estamos aqui.” [I can’t believe that we’re here] Y/N sighed linking her hand to Cillian’s as they walked through the airport to the exit.

“Meu amor, you know I don’t understand anything you said.” [My love].

“Oh, before I forget, we don’t live together… my parents are very traditionalist, and you will have to take the guest room.” Y/N stated, her Portuguese accent was more evident now.

Before he could ask why, a loud music and confetti exploded around them.

“I didn’t mention my family is the walking version of the carnival did I?”

There were feathers and people dancing holding signs with Bem-vindo [welcome] written in bright colors, Y/N was pulled by a sea of people who wrapped her in hugs and love, he knew she had eight sisters and one brother and everyone were expecting to see her after along time overseas.

Cillian was moved by the love they were showing her and he saw other people joining the traditional samba dance, completely strangers passing by united by the moves that every single person there knew by heart. Y/N had tried to show him some, but he was a lousy dancer and he didn’t want to embarrass himself.

“Me deixa apresentar meu namorado, Cillian.” Y/N leaned her head on his shoulder and wrapped her hands around his waist. [Let me introduce you to my boyfriend]

Feeling his palm sweat, he smiled at her family. “Plasher e-e conusherlo” He stuttered, shaking his head. “Prazer em conhecê-lo.” He repeated. [It’s nice to meet you.]

“Bem vindo a familiaf.” [Welcome to the family]. A woman that looked just like Y/N walked towards him to greet him in a warm hug. “Você está pronto para o carnaval?” [Are you ready for the carnival?]

Cillian looked at Y/N mortified, he didn’t understand a single thing but the last word.

“She welcomed you into the family and asked if you’re ready for the carnival.”

“Muito obrigado.” He looked at Y/N’s mum, feeling proud of the very few words he knew. “As long as you don’t make me dance.” He chuckled then.

“After a few caipirinhas we all become trilingual.” A man approached them.

“Cill this is my brother Marcus.” He saw Y/N hugging him.

“Why didn’t you let me drink a caipirinha in the flight?” He laughed nervously, but grateful to know that her brother spoke English as well.

After kissing and hugging at least a dozen of people, they drove away from the airport and it was a funny dynamic since it was him or her family waiting for the translation.

The family had decorated the house with colorful flags and balloons, there was a huge table set with all kinds of foods, Y/N named them all for him; feijoada, moqueca de Camarão, empadão, he was particularly fascinated by the brigadeiro.

After several caipirinhas, he started to speak more fluently, asking whoever was in front of him of how to say something, his cheeks were turning a bit red from the alcohol and he was really enjoying himself that he didn’t even noticed Y/N was gone until Marcus made him a sign and Cillian turned his head to find her with the rest of her sisters in typical carnival customs, a loud cheering in the background as they started to dance samba to the music.

Cillian’s eyes popping almost from his head, his mouth hanging open as the sequins and feathers hugged her body beautifully. Her hips shaking to the rhythm and her face glowing from the happiness.

Everyone from the kids to the adults joined them, and he even ended up dancing with Y/N’s mother.

Once the sun went down and the spirits calmed, Cillian winked at Y/N across the room, joining her soon.

“I’m hoping for a samba private dance later.”

“Maybe if you’re lucky.” Y/N winked as his hands squeezed her hips.

“Te amo muitíssimo.” Cillian declared clearly.

Y/N secured her arms around his neck, it was the first time that he said I love you so much in her mother language.

***

Brigadeiro* is a traditional dessert in Brazil, a type of chocolate

Brazilian anon, I hope you like this! I wish you could see me listening to the pronunciation several times 😂 I hope you guys are having fun! 💃🏻 x

If you want to be added to my tag list, let me know!

Tag list: @lyarr24 @runnning-outof-time @cillmequick @gypsy-girl-08 @datewithgianni @cloudofdisney @gretelshelby @lespendy @onlydeadcells @fastfan @stevie75 @prettylittlehoneyeyesxoxo @esposadomd @strayrockette @forbidden-forest-witch @ange-thoughts @elenavampire21 @forgottenpeakywriter @peakyscillian @moral-terpitude @babaohhhriley @hyperfixationsonshuffle @shelbydelrey @shaddixlife @sloanexx @cilliansangel @rangerelik @sydneyyyya

[vanishedangels]

Clan of Warriors

Click here for First chapter

Summary: While rebuilding Mandalore, Mand'alor Din Djarin is questioned by his people because of his beliefs and origins. In the dawn of a civil war, the council resolves that The Mand'alor must join in marriage with someone close to Bo-Katan Kryze. He’s forced to marry Koska Reeves and accept a loveless union. In the meantime, Din is having a secret relationship with his son’s Master, Jedi Luke Skywalker, his dream of having his own clan of warriors is about to fade away.

Pairing: Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker

Characters: Din Djarin, Luke Skywalker, Grogu, Leia Organa, Cara Dune, Koska Reeves, Bo-Katan Kryze, Axe Woves, OC, Peli Motto, Fennec Shand, Boba Fett, Paz Vizsla, Owen Lars, Beru Whitesun, Han Solo, Chewbacca, Wedge Antilles.

Rating: Explicit (+18)

Warnings: Canon Typical Violence. Explicit Smut.

Tags: Canon Compliant, Post Season 2 Finale, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Friends To Lovers, Fluff, Angst, Demisexual Din Djarin, Top Luke Skywalker, Bottom Din Djarin, Top Din Djarin, Bottom Luke Skywalker, Protective Din Djarin, BAMF Luke Skywalker, Adorable Baby Yoda, Sassy Leia Organa, Gai Bal Manda, Blindfolds, Sub Din Undertones, Fantasies, Jealous Luke, Keldabe Kiss, Smut, Jealous Din, Dirty Talk, Face Reveal.

Chapters: 34/?

Navigation: <- Previous Chapter • Next Chapter ->

She sighed resting her forearm on the armrest "There you go, Mand'alor, you gave me the right answer." She smiled fondly "I won't marry you."

Din chuckled "You're amazing, my friend, but they'll find someone else and I'd prefer to marry you, really. This is the way."

"No, this is not the way. This is just the council's way. And you're respectful of their way even when it broke Luke like that? I can't believe what I'm hearing! You're The Mand'alor, you go and find a way, Din!" She scolded him. "Listen, I saw you last night, I know what I saw, you deserve to be happy, vod. Fight for him, you're a Mandalorian, you fight!"

Chapter 34: Ardour

Luke was opening his eyes, Din was sitting on the bed by his side, caressing his cheek with his knuckles "Good morning, sunshine."

Luke was staring at him with round eyes "Oh, Gods, Din. How did I get here?" He sat up on the mattress resting his back on the pillows.

"I brought you here." Din answered, he was now caressing his forearm.

"Ah, my head is killing me." Luke was pressing his hand against his forehead, grimacing and groaning a little.

"You should rest today, sweetheart."

Luke frowned staring at Din "Did I... Did I yell at you last night?" Din shook his head. "Oh, Gods, don't lie, I know I did. I'm sorry, Din. I'm so ashamed."

"It's okay, babe." Din was leaning forward to kiss him on his cheek.

"What happened? What did we do?" Luke asked while looking around, like assessing the sheets and his clothes "Did we...?" He arched one eyebrow glancing at Din.

"I stayed in Grogu's room last night, you were drunk, even if you were naked and begging for it I wouldn't have given it to you."

Luke chuckled "I know you, I mean, I know you wouldn't, but you're-" He was narrowing his eyes staring at Din's face "You're so affectionate and using pet names. I assumed..." He shook his head "Nothing. How's Grogu?"

"He's right there." Din pointed at the living room, baby was drawing on the floor, very focused.

Luke moved his head to see him "Did he feel my anger last night?"

"What? He was fine, he didn't even notice it, he was sleeping." Din answered.

"That's so good." Luke smiled, he moved to lie down on the mattress again "Ah, I can feel that I was so angry. Did I ruin the dinner?"

"Not at all, cyar'ika." And Din was kissing him, softly, tenderly.

Luke gently moved his head to a side, breaking the kiss "Din, please."

"I know, you asked me to give you time, right." Din nodded.

"What did I say last night?" Luke was blushing.

"We need to talk, Luke." Din said staring into his eyes.

Luke was pressing his chin against his chest "What did I say, Din?" He insisted avoiding Din's eyes, his voice sounded so quiet.

They heard a knock on the door. Din answered putting his helmet back on. Miko was in front of him "Good morning, Your Highness. Your fiancee is waiting to have breakfast with you, sir."

"What?" Din was resting his hands on his hips.

Miko stuttered looking him up and down "I-I... I heard it's tradition, sir. This is the way."

Din rolled his eyes behind the visor, Luke appeared from behind him "Go Din, I'm taking care of my Padawan."

"Sir, I'm staying with your son and the Jedi Master until you come back."

Din remembered how uneasy Miko made Luke feel and he didn't want to add more suffering. "No, you come with me, he's a Jedi, he can snap a man's neck only by moving his hand up in the air, I saw it." He sighed.

"What?" Miko was searching for Luke with his eyes, looking amazed.

"Ad'ika is safe with him, let's go." He looked back at Luke and Grogu "I'll see you in a moment, okay?" Luke nodded.

Din's heart broke into pieces when he saw his cyare crouching down to caress Grogu's head, the baby purred, his big brown eyes shining as he looked up at his Master.

His Master... My love. In a perfect world Luke would be Grogu's father and Din's riduur. A clan of three. Din swallowed hard and closed his eyes, the dream was dying, slipping through his fingers.

~

Din was sitting across from Koska in a winter garden, he was staring down, his fingers playing with a spoon.

Koska was attentively staring at him "Din, can I ask you something?" Din shrugged "You are adorable when you do that, you look like a kid." He snorted. "Din, give me the right answer and I won't marry you."

Din snapped his head towards her "What?"

"The Jedi. You love him. What does he mean to you?"

Din was astonished, his eyes and mouth wide open behind the helmet.

"Come on, Din. What does he mean to you?"

He looked down again "Grogu and Luke mean the world to me." He said under his breath, with no intention of lying.

She sighed resting her forearm on the backrest "There you go, Mand'alor, you gave me the right answer." She smiled fondly "I won't marry you."

Din chuckled "You're amazing, my friend, but they'll find someone else and I'd prefer to marry you, really. This is the way."

"No, this is not the way. This is just the council's way. And you're respectful of their way even when it broke Luke like that? I can't believe what I'm hearing! You're The Mand'alor, you go and find a way, Din!" She scolded him. "Listen, I saw you last night, I know what I saw, you deserve to be happy, vod. Fight for him, you're a Mandalorian, you fight!"

Din was in awe of this amazing sister he found along the way "You're... You're right."

"Look, Bo-Katan came up with this arrangement, now, it's time for you to solve this."

"You mean I should force her to fight with me over the darksaber?" Din asked her.

"No. Why do you think she would never accept that?" Din didn't say a word. "She always knew she was going to lose, she knows she can't beat you."

"She told you that?"

"Yes. Many times. Din, find a way, please. Besides, I'm in a relationship too." She smirked.

"Good." Din nodded.

"He wasn't happy either, so when I saw Luke last night I thought about my cyare, I knew we were wrong, this was wrong." She gestured with her hand between them.

Din huffed "It's good you think the same."

"Go, Din. Go get him." She was waving her hand and pointed at the door "Go to your cyare."

Din felt like crying when he heard her saying that, he sighed repeating those words relishing in the way his modulated voice filled the room "My cyare..." He said out loud for the very first time and he suddenly felt so sure about his feelings and ready to fight for them.

He stood up "Don't say a word yet, I need to be off planet one day at least, they shouldn't know." She frowned. "Not even your cyare, Koska. Please."

"Are you telling someone else besides Luke?" She asked.

"Yes, I'm telling Vizsla about this." He answered.

"No, let me tell him, my cyare should know about this from me, Din."

Din froze "Wait. You and Vizsla?" She nodded smiling. "I can't believe it, I'm so sorry." He chuckled.

"Goodbye, Din." She was laughing.

~

Din was walking through the long corridor, he felt the adrenaline rushing all over his body, his heart pounding against his ribs. Fight for him, Din. You're a mandalorian. It doesn't matter if he rejects you because of his Jedi reasons, he needs to know.

Luke and Grogu were meditating, sitting on the living room's floor. Din flinched the minute he realized he was entering the room like a whirlwind. He waited, and waited, and waited. He gave them space until they finished their training. He had lunch with them. He didn't hesitate, not even for a second, that the minute he was putting Grogu to sleep, he was telling Luke the truth.

Din came back to the living room, Luke was reading on his datapad. "Ah, Luke?"

Little Jedi looked at him, worrying his lower lip with his teeth, he looked down to his datapad again.

"Look at me. I need to ask you something. What are we?" Din had his heart up his throat now, the words coming out of his mouth like arrows. He winced the moment he noticed how harshly his question came out.

Luke tried to look anywhere but at Din "Why are you doing this? Don't. Please. Don't."

"I need to know. Just tell me." He insisted. Din wouldn't stop now.

"This is not helping, I promise." Luke retorted as he was holding his hands, he looked upset.

Din walked towards him, he kneeled, resting his hands on Luke's thighs "I'm not getting married, cyar'ika, Koska and I cut the wedding off, I can't marry her. I'm gonna find a way, I'm gonna talk to Bo-Katan."

Luke was staring at him with eyes wide open "You can't get into a duel, Din. Please, don't..."

Din chuckled "No, no, I'm going down the diplomatic route. We can make it work."

Luke interrupted him "What if the council and the protesters don't let you?"

Din sighed "I don't give a shit."

Luke frowned "Din! I'm serious."

"I'm being serious too." Luke huffed "Okay, if that happens then I throw this thing away and I run away with you and Grogu." He pointed at the darksaber.

His words making Luke gape "You would do that?"

"Yes, sweetheart." He caressed Luke's thighs. "Please tell me, cyar'ika, what are we?"

Luke closed his eyes.

"I think you know that answer." Luke said quietly, his eyes boring into Din's soul.

"Are you..." Din trailed off. "Please Luke, I need to know what do you feel about us." He said and he felt the way his stomach clenched and his heartbeat went impossible faster.

Luke blinked and nodded in silence, until he smiled tenderly and stroked Din's cheek as he leaned into his touch, Din could have died right on the spot.

"I love you, Din." Luke said shivering “I'm sorry, I have no right telling you this, not now, please forgive me, but I do love you, I won't lie to you...”

Din froze.

"I love you, Din." Luke was boring into his eyes "I'm in love with you." He said breathing heavily, his hands over Din's on his thighs. "But you always knew that, right?" He asked tilting his head. Din looked at his mouth, he was feeling like little Jedi's lips were moving in slow motion. He blinked, he thought he was dreaming.

Din started moving his fingers squeezing Luke's thighs, he was laughing as tears prickled at the corners of his eyes. He hid is face in Luke's chest, still laughing, blinking back tears, incredulous. Luke stroke his hair, staring at him, searching for his face.

"Din?" Luke asked with a trembling voice.

Din tossed his head back, looking into his cyar'ika's eyes "And I'm so in love with you, Luke." He said with a lump in his throat. Luke smiled adorably, nodding, his blue eyes sparkling, he rested his face against Din's.

"I love you, Luke. I've been in love with you since way before we started... this." He made a gesture between them with his hand.

Luke was breathless. Din cupped his face with his hands.

"I love you since you slayed those dark troopers back when you rescued Grogu and all of us... I saw you." Luke gasped. "Yes, I did. There were monitors, I saw every move you made, and it hit me, and then you took that hood down, and I didn't realize back then because Grogu was all that mattered to me at that moment, but now I know what you made me feel."

He brushed his fingers on his cheeks and whispered "You're the greatest warrior I've ever seen in my entire life, and that's the most important thing to a Mandalorian, warrior, clan..." He said absentmindedly "A clan of warriors."

"I... Oh Din." Luke squeezed his eyes shut.

"I love you, cyare. I love you when you spar with me, I love you when you are holding Grogu, I love you when you cry, I love you when you smile, I love you when we're in bed and I even love you when we fight." Din said with a soft voice.

Luke was smiling, caressing Din's chest with his hands "You are the love of my life, Din. I can't hide it anymore, I've tried. And how l tried..." He sighed deeply, Din could tell there was sadness in his eyes.

Din closed his eyes, feeling the earth moving under his feet. He held Luke tight, he sighed "Marry me, cyar'ika." Din managed to say pressing his forehead against Luke's. Holding the back of his head with one hand.

Luke was nodding in silence, panting against Din's face "Din, I would love to be your clan."

Stars!

Din was almost touching the sky with his hands. He smiled at Luke trying to capture his lips in a kiss when his cyare opened his mouth to say "But I can't."

Din stopped in his tracks and looked at Luke's eyes frowning.

"I'm sorry. We can't. This is bigger than you and me, please understand, my love." Luke was still boring into his eyes, not blinking, his lips curling down.

The time stopped right after Din heard those words and the dream turned slowly into the most terrifying nightmare.

Din's throat tightened.

"Luke?"

[shellyseashell]

Hello! I saw you said in the tags of one of your posts for someone to ask you about Claudine Frollo (she's one of my favorite characters too) so, well...here I am? ;)

wow i’m so glad someone asked me about claudine, i say, having begged for someone to ask me about her.

so first i have to get something out of the way: jehan is on the isle. i don’t know what he does in the movie, since i’ve only seen the musical, but in the movie he *check notes* is kicked out of the church, has quasimodo, and dies. we miss you king. anyway, i’m fairly sure he was doing stuff auradon looks down on. so, on the isle he goes.

he knows what frollo did to quasimodo — his son, who he entrusted to him. so when he learns about claudine he thinks absolutely fucking not. He already ruined one kid, he won’t ruin another. so he approaches frollo, says that with his second chance at life, he’s realized the error in his ways, and wants to repent. it takes some convincing, but frollo eventually lets him back in.

so claudine grows up with her uncle. her uncle who believes in the exact opposite of the church, is very good at pretending, and teaches her basically everything that isn’t scripture.

jehan isn’t able to guard claudine completely, though. she’s still beaten, and starved, and harassed. but jehan gives her food when she’s sent to her tower without dinner, treats her wounds and gives her what pain meds he can, and tells her when her father is out so she can sneak out if she wants, and he teaches her stuff that counteract everything her father teaches her.

claudine grows up to be very rebellious, but she’s good at hiding it. her father is often gone for days at a time, preaching to the isle and probably murdering people. so she can get away with not memorizing one new bible verse a day, or let her clothes be slightly dirty, and she can eat food even if she made a mistake during the day. as long as her father never finds out.

she still believes she deserves her beatings, though. no matter how many times jehan brings her back from the edge of death, or how many new scars she gains, she believes she deserves them. not because she sinned — she doesn’t really believe in sinning anymore — but because she was caught misbehaving. and it’s getting caught she hates most. next time, she’ll do better.

she is not religious, because there are fairies in the isle, and her captain is a demigod, and a Greek god runs one of the only good restaurants on the island, and the queen of hearts may be having an affair with time himself. what are gods, really, when everyone on the isle is so close to power they can’t quite touch? there are only powerful people, and in her mind, none of them deserve that power.

thanks to jehan, her father’s hold on her is shaky at best. it snaps completely when she is 13.

she is 13 when her father beats her, and jehan was out, so she runs to find him. she leaves bloody footprints behind her, and she’s always had a bit of a limp after. she doesn’t find jehan. instead, she’s found half dead by the hooks, who take her to their mother (zarina, who does not live with hook) to heal her.

when she wakes up, she’s surrounded by pirates, and two of whom’s mother instincts kicked in and decided yeah, this is my child now.

claudine officially joins the lost revenge because she only spoke french at first, and gil volunteered to be a translator until someone got around to teaching her english (it ended up being gil, which goes about as well as you’d expect), but she is a hook. they all will protect her.

she’s resistant, at first, but relents eventually. she still goes home, to see jehan, but she mostly sneaks in now. frollo still catches her, either at home or around the isle, and she will be punished. the pirates have taken to sending someone with her when she leaves the ports.

harry is especially good at noticing when she’s been injured, because harriet hides her injuries the same way, and she has the same bad habit of running back to abusive homes. whenever he sees the slightest hint that she’s hurt, he has to force her to accept help because claudine, lass, you’re limping again, and the more you walk on an injured leg, the more likely it’ll have to be cut off, and you don’t want that, do you? he’s exaggerating, of course, but the idea of being deformed terrifies claudine, so she concedes.

her father made her wear her hair up and cover it, so when she joins the lost revenge, she starts to wear bandanas, and lets uma help her find hairstyles she actually likes (to this day, harry and uma are two of the only people she’ll let touch her).

when frollo is mad at her, she’ll be locked in her room without food. she’s beaten (burned and whipped, i’d say), and forced to beg for forgiveness. sometimes, frollo only issues one of these punishments. sometimes he issues them all.

she wears clothes that cover all her skin. partially because she will be called a whore if she doesn’t, and because of her scars. she doesn’t want her scars to be seen, even though everyone knows what frollo does to her. she does have a jacket that was her mother’s, and she’s nearly always wearing it. frollo has yet to destroy it.

speaking of her mother, claudine does not know who her mother is. she was abandoned as a child, left on frollo’s doorstep. all she knows is her father calls her a witch, and she bears some resemblance to the few romani people on the isle. it wasn’t hard to connect the dots from there.

she has a habit of assessing tone of voice when speaking to people, since it was one of the only ways she could evaluate how her father was feeling.

claudine is friends with freddie, which sounds odd, but hear me out: frollo tries to kill most the isle because they’re witches, right? one day, the person he captures is freddie facilier, who likes conning people and talking with the dead. claudine knows her death would start a war with dr. facilier, and freddie is her age, and claudine has been made to watch these executions before, but the idea of watching someone her own age killed is another thing, so she lets her go. frollo never found out it was her, but he beat her anyway.

they don’t talk again until claudine is adopted by the hooks, and cj decides it’s a good idea to introduce the two of them. claudine is still getting used to magic being normal, since so many members of the lost revenge and harriet’s crew have some sort of magic, even if it’s weakened under the barrier. but freddie remembers her, and her father, so she only steals some of her stuff.

i imagine their friendship being something like freddie asking if she can shrink people’s heads, and claudine saying as long as she’s not associated with it, she can shrink whoever’s head she wants. and if freddie is making a voodoo call of frollo? well, claudine sure didn’t see it.

also, she’s definitely gay, but the thought terrifies claudine so much she just ignores it.

anyway. that’s it. claudine is easily one of my favorite characters, and i’m so mad we don’t see her more. she really is a blank character, so i can do whatever i want with her. most of my headcanons come from the fandom’s consensus on her, and also just ideas i like.

[nekoannie-chan]

Until the end of everything

Pairing: Brock Rumlow X HYDRA Agent!Reader.

Word count: 1628 words.

Summary: I would love some fluffy Rumlow.

Warnings: Reader and Brock become fugitives.

A/N: This is @sweater-daddiesdumbdork​’s request.

@saiyanprincessswanie

My native language is Spanish so I wanna improve my writing skills in English if you notice any mistakes, please let me know and I will correct them.

I don’t give any kind of permission that my fics to be posted on other platforms or languages (I translate myself my work) or the use of my graphics (my dividers are included in this), I did them exclusively for my fics, please respect my work and don't steal it. There are some people here who make dividers that anyone can use, mine is not this type, please look for the other's people. The only exception is the ones I gifted 'cuz now belong to someone else. If you find any of my works on a different platform and are not one of my accounts, please let me know. Reblogs and comments are always welcome.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Marvel's characters (unfortunately), except for the original characters and the story.

Add yourself to my taglist here.

My other media where I publish:  Ao3, Wattpad, ffnet, TikTok, Instagram, Twitter. 

If you like it, please vote, comment, and give me feedback to improve my skills and reblog.

Tags: @sinceimetyou @unnuevosoltransformalarealidad @navybrat817 @angrythingstarlight @shield-agent78 @charmed-asylum​  @hallecarey1  @nana1000night​ @talia-rumlow @mylifeispainandiloveit @writingshae​

2011

 While listening to the news that Fury was communicating to you, you tried not to change your expression. You could not even believe what he was saying—how was it that he had been able to survive for so long?

You turned around when you felt a light squeeze on your arm; it was Brock. You looked at each other for a few seconds; the two of you knew what it meant. You looked away when you realized that you were about to break the pen you had in your hand.

Dinner time was quiet; tension was felt in the air, and you couldn't stop thinking about what had happened a few hours earlier.

"I don't like this, Brock; how is it possible that this man survived?" And specifically, they would have found it at this time, but above all, why was it not our organization that found it? "you commented.

Brock raised his shoulders; for the first time in his life, he did not have the answer; however, you would be attentive to everything that could happen.

Everyone knew that HYDRA had gained power thanks to the disappearance of Rogers and the fact that one of its best leaders had managed to enter HYDRA without anyone suspecting; no one would suspect the great Peggy Carter, nor that thanks to her, HYDRA had not disappeared.

Therefore, you were not going to let Rogers ruin everything either.

"Maybe we should run away," you proposed, although you were actually joking.

Brock raised his eyebrow. "Why should we flee?" he questioned.

"I joked, but if things go wrong, it's an option."

2014

 When your phone started ringing, you threw yourself on the bed and bothered the pillow; when Brock's phone started ringing, you couldn't help but shout victory when you read the message.

"Let me sleep; don't make so much noise," Brock mumbled, a little annoyed.

"You have to read the big news; I doubt they can save him, but they need us right now," you said excitedly.

Brock cursed while taking the cell phone; he assumed it was some stupid last-minute mission, which was not expected and was the best news in a long time.

"Any news on what happened?" Brock inquired. "You'd be at the hospital in less than fifteen minutes, and I wanted to know what he'd face."

"Officer on the S.H.I.E.L.D. part, no, but it was the soldier," you replied as you watched the incoming messages. The next few hours would be chaotic, although you were confident that everything would go according to plan, a lot of hassle would be removed, and Hydra would triumph.

You couldn't stop seeing what was happening; maybe you've never felt so excited in your life before, and yet you had to contain all your excitement when you saw that the plan, whatever it was, had the results you had been dreaming of for years, as well as the smile that was beginning to form on your lips.

What you did not count on was the brief chaos that would be unleashed in the hospital, not among those present, upon receiving the unexpected news. Of course, several people expected a different ending.

You watched, without them seeing you, as Rogers and Romanoff argued, yet you didn't realize that your husband had approached you.

"I have to take it to Pierce," Brock whispered in your ear.

"I guess I have to go," you said without stopping to look at them. There was something hidden. It seems that there are troubles in paradise.

"Yes, but not with us; you'll go tell Pierce what happened."

"Do you think you can fight him?" you asked, concerned; you guessed what would happen, but in reality, you would have preferred someone to tell you what the damn plan was.

You had heard what happened in the elevators, and you needed to know how Brock was, although you were sure that he would be much more than angry, for what they had told you was not so bad, you still felt that your heart beat too fast, like all the times he had been injured on some mission.

You went into the infirmary, surprised by the number of agents there. You couldn't believe Rogers could have fought all those people. You carefully went through the curtain, and there it was; it was only a few wounds.

"Brock... "

You knew things weren't going to end well, so you decided to go find your husband. Once Rogers figured out the whole plan, it would only be a matter of time before they went after you.

They knew what you were doing, but they would not understand your reasons. You kept running down the stairs; surely, on one of the upper floors, one of Rogers' friends would be waiting for you to fight you.

You had probably already lost several HYDRA members, possibly even Pierce, and you were certain that the soldier would have to be contacted in the same way. Somehow, you had to escape; you three had always been a team.

You dashed up two more floors and flipped while drawing your gun when you heard the emergency door open, but you quickly lowered it when you saw it was Brock.

"Are you okay?" "He asked you when he saw you; he also lowered the gun." I was looking for you; we have to go with Pierce; the widow is with him...

"Let's run away," you said, taking his arm in yours.

"But... "

"Do you think they'll help us out? You know Rogers and his team will beat us, and we'll have us in Raft... separately."

You knew that you would convince him; from the moment you met, Brock had promised you that you would never be separated again, not even after death.

Through the intercom, Brock managed to tell Jack the plan, and they quickly agreed.

"Cover me. We have to leave before anyone notices or catches us," he told you as he walked back to where he had entered.

You stopped him. "We can't go around; there are cameras, and I'm sure someone is helping them from there," you said.

You had to go to the basement; there was a secret exit that you used to use when you had to do a Hydra mission that no one from S.H.I.E.L.D. must have known about.

You continued down the stairs; you walked a little fast, but you remained alert in case someone tried to attack you. At that moment, you could not wait for Jack, but you trusted that he would also manage to flee.

Twice they almost caught you, but somehow you got to the basement and went straight to where Brock's bike was, confident that you could continue to elude your enemies.

You hugged Brock's waist while he was on the motorcycle; you put on your helmet, and you couldn't delay. You went out, and you put your head against his back.

You knew it was all over; probably everyone already knew what you were doing, but it didn't matter. You and Brock were going to run away. It didn't matter if you were wanted; it didn't matter that you had to abandon everything and start over.

You assumed that finding a new job and making a living would be simple, but in the end, everyone was your adversary; you couldn't even rely on HYDRA. And yet you had the necessary contacts to "disappear."

If you hurried before it was too late, you could take some things out of your apartment and leave; when the others arrived, you would find nothing, not even a single clue as to where you had gone.

The sirens of the ambulances and patrol cars were heard as you walked your way; you knew you were heading to the Triskelion; probably the chaos was enormous; maybe in a short time, your faces would appear on the news, everywhere, because they would be looking for you; most likely, they wanted to be told everything you were doing and other secrets of Hydra; but nothing that happened or what would happen was going to cause you to be traitors and talk.

You gave Brock a few minutes to say goodbye to his bike; you knew how much affection she had for it, but you would have to abandon it because it was easy to recognize. You entered the building stealthily; instead of getting off the elevator on the usual floor, you went up two more floors. You would arrive from the back; in fact, you would use the emergency stairs to enter through one of the windows.

You went in first, although you had a hard time convincing him since he didn't want anything bad to happen to you, coupled with the fact that you weren't sure if they were already waiting for you.

You began packing quickly, leaving only the furniture, but you didn't want to leave them any of the living memories that Brock and you had been sharing or give them any idea of where you could go, even though you didn't yet know where you were going; Jack sent you a message with the location where he was waiting for you.

They came in two hours later; Sam made an annoyed gesture; the apartment was empty; you were supposed to have been caught, and they needed to find out where you were.

They needed the information from the three of you; they didn't know where you might have gone.

You turned to see the sunrise through the window; in a couple of hours, you would reach your destination. Brock took your hand and saw it; he moved his lips to tell you, "I love you," and you smiled.

You would never be caught.

[aboutdragons]

the thing about dragons - chapter two

in which tragedy strikes and Lyra meets the devil.

◄○○○►

Dialogues in quotation marks are in Common Westron, in angle brackets in High Valyrian, in square brackets for other. Thoughts, emotions and emphasis are in italics.  

Cross-posted on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43121373/chapters/108369012

◄○○○►

Read the Summary, Tags & Warnings as linked on the page to know what to expect.

warnings: canon-compliant violence, gore, Daemon Targaryen as a POV character, blood, death in childbirth (Aemma)

wordcount: 9,235

Read the chapter under the cut.  

She wakes up.

It feels surreal now, with her memories making sense at last, no longer hidden at the peripheries of her consciousness. Daemon is still asleep, still wrapped around her, and right now she’s little more than a glorified teddy bear. She finds that she doesn’t mind. It’s comfortable and warm, and she can feel the steady thrum of Daemon’s heartbeat around her.

Lyra listens to its steady rhythm as she plots. Just a little bit, of course, but it’s always good to have a plan, she thinks. Or at least a set of goals to work towards. Next few years will be very important for her future, after all. They’ll set her course, dictate how people will see and treat her. If she’s not careful, they may as well ruin her, too, and she really hates that thought.

Children should be kept safe. Teenagers should be allowed to be stupid.

She doesn’t want to be—can’t be the perfect highborn lady. Both her violently independent and unapologetic past self and the fire that burns in her veins now simply won’t let her. It’s a volatile combination and it will combust if some fool tries to tamper it into a box it was never meant to fit in.

She is a dragon. And before she was a dragon, she was a person from a world which worked differently. World which, for all its faults and inequalities, was better.

Besides—perfect highborn ladies don’t have more muscles than average man, or tattoos, or piercings. They don’t wear breeches and steel-toed boots, and they only sometimes wield swords.

She just really wants to be the kind of person whose mere existence makes the gods-fearing and proper ladies clutch their pearls and pretend-faint with how scandalized it makes them, just like she was her first go-around.

She sighs into her father’s shirt.

(And holy shit she actually has a father now, isn’t that crazy? She kinda loves it.)

<What are you thinking so hard about, little flame?> Daemon asks her sleepily, and she cranes her head to look at him. His eyes are barely open and his braid has come half-undone, and he really doesn’t look very awake yet, but his attention is still fully on her.

<About how Gods let me live this life and that I will make it everybody’s problem,> she tells him seriously, and looks him in the eye. <Also, enjoy your time as the most problematic member of this family, because I’m taking that spot in next few years.>

He laughs.

Not derisive, or patronising, not even really amused—he’s delighted, the madman, and Lyra loves him a little more for it. He loves the challenge, she knows. And the fact that he just believes in her like that—no you’ll-grow-out-of-it’s, just I-can’t-wait-to-see-what-you’ll-do’s, it makes her feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

<I’m not going to make it easy for you,> he declares. <If you want to be the rogue, you’re going to have to prove you got what it takes to be the black sheep of this family. And I’m not going down easily.>

She nuzzles into his chest. <I know. Challenge is good, though. Would be boring otherwise. What time is it?>

He twists, looks at the curtained windows critically for a moment, then moves back into a comfortable position. <Sunrise.>

<Weh, too early. I’m hungry.>

<Of course, you are.>

<I want a salad.>

<…little flame, my love and the most important lady in my life—>

<I’m not letting you have a steak at fuck-you-o’clock in the morning, dad. We can have some scrambled eggs, though.>

<Bacon?>

<Works. But no heavy food until after midday, or you’ll feel fatigued and bloated again.>

<Fine, fine.>

<And you will be eating the salad with me. Not just the bacon and the eggs. Understood?>

<…>

<Dad.>

He sighs.  She gives him a toothy grin and he groans in defeat. <Of course, little flame.>

<By the way, I love you.>

<By the way?> he asks in mock-offense and chuckles before kissing the top of her head. <I love you too. What brought this on?>

<Nothing, really. You’re a good dad, is all. I know I’m lucky to be your daughter.>

He preens. Of course, he does.

She crawls out of bed and almost faceplants on the rug but he catches her with a laugh.

○

Daemon eats the salad. He grumbles about eating like a rabbit all the way, but it’s more theatrical than anything. He’s trying to keep her spirits up, she realizes.

He may not be attuned to other people at all, but he’s very-well attuned to her emotions. He knows that something has changed yesternight. He knows something is different, but he’s not going to ask, because she will come to him when she needs it.

Until then, he makes a clown of himself at breakfast to make her laugh, and that’s more than enough.

Drowning in her own blood haunts her a little less for his efforts.

<I’ll tell you,> she promises. <Soon. Just. Not now.>

<Alright.>

And that’s that.

○

Aemma is pregnant again. The year is 105 After Conquest.

Lyra digs her nails into her palms until they bleed when Rhaenyra runs up to them and exclaims that she will have a sister and her name will be Visenya, and puts on her prettiest fake smile and congratulates her as she ignores the cold stab of dread in her gut.

“I’m sure you’ll make a great big sister,” she tells Rhaenyra and hopes it’s passably genuine.

She screams in her pillow later, and if she spends more time with Aemma than before, that’s on her. She’s seven, after all, she’s simply missing a motherly presence.

Nothing else. Nothing more.

Later in the evening, Daemon notices her hands. Or maybe he’s noticed before, but followed Lyra’s example and refused to acknowledge them. Once they’re alone, though, he personally cleans the wounds and wraps her palms with gauze. It stings, because he cleans them with pure alcohol like Melissa taught them both all the way back in Runestone.

<He will have his son,> Lyra tells him quietly and Daemon freezes. Something is… Different, about this confession, whispered in the confines of their quarters as Lyra is resolutely looking forward at nothing in particular. Her hand feels oddly cold in his, and oddly small. He looks up from the gauze, his attention fully on her.

<He will?> he asks, and can’t deny worry gnawing at his gut. He knows, eventually, he will be removed from the line of succession, even though he was never quite the heir. Eventually, Viserys will have a son, a true heir, and Daemon will, once more, be just the spare to be discarded—

But he will be free, won’t he. The way Lyra said she wants to be. Then they can do anything, go anywhere. He wants to go to Essos with her—

Lyra lets out a hollow chuckle. <For a day, anyway. Then he’ll have neither a son nor a queen.>

Daemon’s blood runs cold. That sounds an awful lot like prophecy.

<And how do you know that?> he asks her and hopes his voice doesn’t shake much. She notices anyway, of course she does; she knows him too well, really. She takes his hand in hers.

<I saw it in a dream,> she says, and it’s not the usual cheeky tone he’s used to. It’s a sombre one, sad almost. She’s fond of Aemma. Hells, he’s fond of Aemma. He can give Lyra all the love he has, but she will still yearn for a mother’s touch, it’s how it works.

<Let’s hope it was just a nightmare, then, hmm?> he says as he lets go of her hand and wraps his arm around her shoulder, pressing her to his side. She sighs, almost despondently. That won’t do, he has to cheer her up somehow. <You’ll see, Viserys’ second brat will be running around terrorizing the Red Keep soon enough. They’ll have their hands full, him and Aemma and Rhaenyra.>

<No, they won’t,> she says with a sense of bone-deep finality. <I do wish they did, though.>

Daemon moves to stand in front of her and wraps his arms around her fully, pressing her to his chest. She responds in kind, latching onto him, fingers digging into his spine.

<It’s going to be okay,> he says and kisses the top of her head. Her shoulders shake.

<I don’t want Aunt Aemma to die.>

Daemon doesn’t think he’s ever seen Lyra seem quite this small, let alone properly cry. She was a calm child; not necessarily happy all the time or rambunctious, but content. But the sound that escapes her throat at that time feels like someone is ripping his still beating heart out of his chest.

And there’s nothing he can do about it. He can only hold his daughter close as she weeps.

○

Daemon doesn’t tell Viserys about her ‘premonition’. He’s never broken her trust before, but it’s always nice to have it reinforced like that.

That being said, he doesn’t tell her to go tell him either. There’s something going on there, she thinks.

Maybe he simply fears Viserys pushing him away more. Maybe he’s hoping for the crown.

○

Daemon brings Aemma cookies with rose jam and sugared orange peels. It’s her favourites, he remembers as much. When she asks him to stay and talk, he does.

There isn’t much left in her of that girl who climbed trees with him and pushed Viserys into a fountain, buried under all that stifling duty, but he brings out as much of it as he can.

He doesn’t realize how much he’s missed this until now.

He doesn’t think of Lyra’s haunted prophecy. Doesn’t think of how chilling it was. Doesn’t think of how his very soul forbids him from disregarding it.

He doesn’t.

○

She rips the straw training dummy to shreds and once she’s done, she hunts down Aemma and takes a nap on her lap while the woman lounges on her cushions and reads her book—some Vale history, if Lyra read the cover right.

“What’s wrong?” Aemma asks her once she wakes up. Lyra huffs and looks up at her.

“I’m worried. Last time you were having a baby it… Went wrong.”

Aemma’s face softens, but there’s a glint of grief in her eyes as she runs her hand through Lyra’s hair.

“It’s going to be alright,” she reassures the girl, and Lyra nuzzles into the palm of her hand and pretends her heart doesn’t break a little bit when she hears it, or when she lies with a cheerful façade.

“I hope so! I could really use a cousin that isn’t annoying.”

“Rhaenyra will grow out of it,” Aemma chuckles.

Lyra knows she won’t. She doesn’t say it—instead, she pouts. “Well, I hope she grows out of it faster! But I’d like a small cousin, too. Do you think it’ll be a boy or a girl?”

“Rhaenyra thinks it’ll be a girl. She already declared her name will be Visenya.”

“Well then,” Lyra says, “I hope it’s a boy so that we can train together!”

Aemma chuckles and braids her hair and sneaks her some sour-sweet lemon cakes after dinner.

○

She’s seven. She can’t do anything other than spend as much time as she can with Aemma.

Viserys won’t listen to her—Maesters won’t even give her the time of the day to hear her. Daemon will listen to her, but Viserys won’t listen to him, either.

She knows this, because she’s tried.

You don’t understand, they tell her. It’s very important for the king to have a son. You will understand when you’re grown.

Except she does. She does understand why Viserys needs a son.

She also understands that his quest for one will kill Aemma before the year is up.

The rage bubbles up, surfacing in progressively more and more mauled dummies. Some, she just stabs with her knives. Others, she tears apart with her bare hands, punches the battered wood until her knuckles bleed. Every time she does it, Daemon finds her first, somehow, and cleans and wraps her hands, and then takes her flying on Caraxes.

It’s frustrating, but not surprising. Even in the world she was from very few people took children, especially girls, seriously.

Still, the patronizing tones make her want to commit murder—and it sure is an odd experience to have Daemon of all people discourage bloodshed.

Though, he is right. Viserys and his personal Maester what’s-his-name are a bit too of high-profile victims, even for him.

○

She’s an idiot. Why go for self-destructive rage when she can go for a creative one?

<Dad, I need a guitar.>

<The fuck’s a guitar?>

<It’s like a lute. Here, let me draw it for you, it looks something like this—>

○

She’s not sure when the dreams of bloodstained cheap linoleum and glinting kitchen knives turn into dreams of shadows looking at her with eyes so viciously green that she fears acid burns from just looking back at them, but she won’t complain about it. The shadows are comforting in a way she can’t explain, bone-deep just like Daemon’s presence but just different, and she finds herself much less stressed at night-time, and much less afraid of falling asleep.

It’s a relief. It certainly upgrades her quality of sleep, and her mood during the day. Daemon becomes visibly less jittery and stressed when she calms down, too, no longer on hair trigger.

(There’s less blood under his fingernails, less bruises on his knuckles. Less reports of him getting into fights anywhere and anytime.

He heals fast. He always has. Rhaenyra, too, Lyra noticed, though not nearly as fast. Lyra doesn’t, bruises and scrapes taking weeks to fade, and neither does Viserys, throne-cuts on his fingers smarting for weeks.

If it’s not connected to their dragon-having status, Lyra will eat her new leather boots.)

○

<You’ve been visiting aunt Aemma recently.>

<I have. Did you know we used to be close in childhood?>

<I figured.>

<Mhm. I suppose I just missed my old friend.>

<Viserys is jealous. I saw him.>

<Aemma always liked me better when we were children.>

○

Instead of letting her maul straw dummies next to a squire that might at this point be more-than-appropriately terrified of his seven-year-old daughter, Daemon starts bringing her to the City Watch barracks almost every other day, much to Viserys and Aemma’s displeasure. (This is no place for a girl, or some other useless drivel, he paid them no mind and Lyra didn’t either.) With the funding going properly into where it ought to, they finally have a slow but steady influx of proper gear.

Daemon takes Lyra’s advice and has the guardsmen darken their armour and wear golden embroidered cloaks over it. Finally, instead of a ragtag group of stableboys, desperate smallfolk, and unwanted fourth and fifth and sixth sons, they’re starting to look like a proper militia. That in turns boosts their morale and has them actually acting like proper militia, too.

Daemon will admit that he is quite proud of how far they’ve come in mere weeks, and he is happy to be able to work on the field, rather stan again stuck behind some desk. Lyra does have to occasionally stop him when he jumps from topic to topic too much to keep him focused on one, preferably the important one, but it really isn’t his fault that there’s so much to do and he finds new things and loses track of the old ones just to find them again. He was never good at sitting still or focusing on one thing for too long anyway, unless something really interested him.

He’s not sure what he thinks about Lyra latching onto that Strong boy, though. She’s too young to be interested in boys. He tells her as much.

Lyra shoots him a very judgmental look, and Harwin has the gall to laugh at him.

○

The side effect of her latching onto Harwin is that Daemon remembers that he, too, can carry her on his shoulders, and promptly starts doing so whenever he can.

It’s not like she’s complaining. His legs are longer than hers so he can get places faster than she can, and she can play with his hair in the meanwhile. It’s a win-win situation.

○

She finds a guy in the City Watch named Corren Flowers—a skinny, ratty thing with curly, reddish hair and freckled face, kind-of skittery in disposition and likely an unacknowledged Tyrell bastard if his remarks are anything to go by. He’s really good at throwing knives, though, and passable at pickpocketing. It only takes three days of pestering and a bottle of Dornish Red (don’t ask how she got it) for him to agree to teach her, and then a continued supply of lemon tarts to persuade him to keep up with the lessons.

It’s pretty fun smuggling them out from the Red Keep kitchens with Daemon.

Having resources and using them to further her own agenda feels great. Like she’s doing something.

○

He caves some lowlife’s face in in an alley at dusk. Mysaria pointed him out to Daemon, said he’s been harassing her whores, killed one the day prior, too. Daemon was more than happy to take the matters into his own hands for her; he likes her well enough and it involved murder.

He runs into Harwin the moment he turns the corner, still a little crazed, with blood and brain matter dripping from his fingers—with what’s left of the lowlife’s head in his hand to give to Mysaria as proof, because the left side of the face had a distinct tattoo. Lyra looks at him from where she’s perched on Harwin’s shoulders and scrunches her nose.

<You forgot to pin your hair up again.>

He looks down at himself, where his braid hangs loosely on his chest, and sure enough, his almost-white hair is splattered with blood, and it will take a lot of effort to get the red out. He looks back up at Lyra. She sighs and pulls out a handkerchief and a flask of water.

<Turn around and crouch. Harwin, set me down.>

Harwin, for one, seems entirely unperturbed by the situation, even as they both do as they’re told. Daemon is still turning the man’s head in his hands.

He was one ugly motherfucker, that’s for sure. No wonder best he could do was Flea Bottom whores.

It takes him a moment for him to realize that Lyra spoke to Harwin in High Valyrian and he understood. He looks at the boy, eyes narrowed.

“She’s been teaching me,” the boy says sheepishly. “I’m not really good at speaking yet but I can understand simple things.”

Daemon snorts. “I take it you don’t have much choice in the matter?”

“I don’t think I do, my Prince,” Harwin says with a smile. He doesn’t seem to mind much, though; the whole fact that he’s been chosen by Lyra. It’s good, Daemon thinks, that she’s seeking other people. He thinks. But the pang of jealousy curling around his gut sure is an ugly kind of feeling.

He smiles. There’s blood on his teeth. He tells the boy in Valyrian: <if she thinks you’re worthy, then so be it.>

She cleans his braid to the best of her ability and pins it up with a stick she was apparently carrying in her pocket. Somehow, she makes it stay up.

<Wow,> she says as she leans over his shoulder to peer at her head. <He was ugly.>

<I think I should be worried about how flippant you’re about this, you know?> he asks, raising an eyebrow at her. <Viserys says I should keep my… Bloodier escapades to myself. that you might get nightmares from it.>

<I have other things to have nightmares of~> she tells him cheerfully. Suddenly, that night when she woke up and grew so terrifyingly cold and wouldn’t calm down for hours flashes to the forefront of his memory, and then all the smaller in-betweens. She presses her forehead against his as much as she can reach, and he presses back. <Don’t worry, I’m fine.>

<It’s been my job to worry since I held you for the first time, you know.> he asks as he stands up.

<Mmh. I guess,> she sighs, and looks up at him. <But to think you could cave in a man’s skull with your bare hands! That’s very impressive.>

<Is it? I couldn’t tell. I could almost always—wait. Hey, don’t change the topic!>

She laughs and sticks her tongue out at him as Harwin picks her up and puts her on his shoulders again.

There are many reasons for Daemon to worry, he knows. Most of them centre on his daughter, some of them on his brother and his brother’s wife. Some even on Viserys’ whelp as she tries to insert herself in between him and Lyra, as if there would ever be a place for her in that relationship.

She’s not very smart, that girl, and quite spoiled, but he doesn’t really mind her existence that much. She has more fire than Viserys—though that bar is an inch off the ground—and she’s still young and doesn’t know better in many (most) situations. Lyra is ambivalent to her, unless directly annoyed, so Daemon lets her be, too. Being the cool uncle who teaches her dragon-riding and tells her tales of travels and tourneys is something he can do.

She’s not Lyra. She doesn’t need to know the real him.

She’d run crying from the real him, unlike Lyra who chases him with a handkerchief because he’s tracking blood around again.

○

It takes a month, but she gets her guitar. She’s not sure she even wants to know what kind of strings Daemon has pulled to get it for her, but given that the craftsman who brings it looks more ready to strangle her father than deathly afraid of him, Lyra supposed it couldn’t have been that bad.

It’s not what she’s used to, but it certainly is recognizable as one. She’ll have to fine-tune it with time, and it’s not like she’s the size to play it properly just yet, but she manages.

But when she spends a day familiarizing herself with the instrument and making notes on what to change, and her fingers ache in a familiar way, it feels alright, for once.

She plays Wonderwall like the basic bitch she is at heart, but she elects to redeem herself with Playing God—or really anything from Polyphia, death hasn’t cured her from her obsession with their music—as soon as she’s physically able to, cursing her short fingers all the while.

Daemon is quite interested in whatever she’s doing with it, at least. Though he makes a bigger fuss than necessary when she nicks her fingers on the strings, no matter how much she assures him that this is fine and normal and will happen again. If anything, it worries him more.

○

“So… This is… What do you call it again?”

“A guitar.”

Lyra’s pretty sure it says something about her, that fact that Aemma is the second person to hear her play anything other than mindless plucking.

“It looks a lot like the lute bards play,” she notices, and Lyra nods.

“It’s based on it, yes. It’s a bit different, though.”

And so, Lyra plays and Aemma listens, reclining in her velveted settee. She falls asleep like that, and Lyra doesn’t dare wake her up, as now that she’s started showing (second trimester, probably) she’s been wracked by insomnia and nausea.

Lyra manages to drag a blanket over Aemma’s legs and finishes her tea and scones before leaving.

○

The third person she plays to is Caraxes.

<Remember when I talked about a guitar? Well, I got one now!>

He sniffs the instrument and looks at her judgmentally. He probably doesn’t like the lacquered wood; the smell is a bit offensive even for Lyra, but it will fade soon enough.

<I promise it’s good.>

He barks at her without much conviction.

<Okay, that was just rude. Just for that, all you deserve is Wonderwall.>

Caraxes has no idea what Wonderwall is, but he’s offended anyway. Lyra sticks her tongue out at him.

○

Aemma really likes Soldier, Poet, King. Enough to learn the lyrics and sing with her.

It’s good, seeing her brighten up like that and forget the weariness and nausea.

The Maester tells Aemma not to overtax herself, and she glares at the man while Lyra throws various heavy objects at him in her stead. She nails him in the nose with the cup—that shuts him up, at least.

Viserys tries to scold her for it later, but gets scolded by Aemma himself instead. She was told to not to overtax herself, and Lyra was only doing this in her stead, after all. Daemon, predictably, praises her for nailing the Grey Rat in the face. Alicent is disapproving of her behaviour, of course, but Rhaenyra is happy that her mother is happy, so there’s that. She doesn’t even make a sour face at Lyra.

○

She subjects the City Watch—newly dubbed Gold Cloaks for their refurbished uniforms—to her music as well. When she sits out of the way in some corner and doesn’t bother anyone to teach her to stab better, the barracks are actually a very nice spot to pluck at her guitar and remember songs from her past life that she enjoyed playing. Some of them sit around when they’re on a break and listen to her fiddling. Many are surprised at just how violently she can curse when she misses a note.

It’s easier than she thought it would be, though, that remembrance and writing down words of songs and notes of their music. It feels like Tessarion is smiling on her, but—it wouldn’t be odd, would it? If Balerion and Shrykos and even Meleys personally meddled in her life, why would other gods stay out? Especially since her job is apparently to directly help them?

Best not to think about it too much. She’ll just take what she’s given.

○

Lyra isn’t sure how exactly Daemon gets his hands on the Valyrian Steel, as though he’s not frequenting the Red Keep, he isn’t really travelling about that much; not enough to go spelunking in Essos, anyway. All she knows is that, one morning, he just puts it around her neck, so that she can have something of their heritage, too—or something sappy like that. He’s always sappy when it comes to their culture, but it’s endearing and she really likes learning about it anyway.

It’s nice, made of three rows of links, and the pendant looks a bit like a Celtic knot, with a ruby in the middle. But—

She distinctly remembers this necklace was supposed to have been gifted to Rhaenyra.

She asks about it but the answer is, as many things with Daemon at their core, very straightforward.

<She’s not my daughter. You are.>

It brings Lyra no small amount of joy to hear this, for more than one reason. Childishly, selfishly, she’s just glad she’s the top priority. It also brings her some peace of mind; unlike what she remembers, Daemon doesn’t seem very interested in trying to seduce his severely underaged niece here and now. It might change in few years, but…

Maybe fatherhood made him a slightly better person overall? Or maybe he simply couldn’t imagine a girl barely few years older than his daughter as a potential partner, even for the sake of power.

Rhaenyra still having her puppy crush on him did make sense, though, as annoying as it could get at times. Daemon was, objectively, quite dashing, and his roguish reputation was exactly the exciting bad boy dangerous something a lot of tween girls at the cusp of puberty would be into to the point of being almost rabid.

Lyra would know. She was a preteen once before, after all. She’s not quite proud of that time, but she understands it was necessary formative period.

Gods be good, was it embarrassing as all hell in retrospect though. She really could’ve gone without the edgy period, too. The MCR and Tokio Hotel obsession sure were… Something, as were all the edgy, badly-drawn Sonic OCs.

…

Wow, she really has no room to judge Rhaenyra, does she.

○

“You’re very violent for someone your size,” Harwin says, poking at the sad pile of straw that was once a training dummy with his shoe.

“It’s a violent world,” Lyra says with a shrug. “And besides, I’m going to get taller soon enough. And then I’ll move on to swords. And I’m going to get worse,” she says and looks at them with a grin. He sighs and shakes his head.

“Aren’t you supposed to get better with time? Isn’t that how personal growth works?”

“Eh. Kepa doesn’t seem to think so, just look at him.”

“…Prince Daemon is… Certainly a particular case.”

“Mhm. Like a seagull in human form. And I’m gonna be just as bad when I grow up!”

“Hmm.”

“What?”

“Just thinking about you having to do a lot of growing if you want to match that.”

Lyra looks up at him. He looks down at her.

She kicks him in the shin with a shriek and enough force to make his knees buckle. He curses at the pain but laughs at her indignance.

“It’s not my fault I’m vertically challenged! I’m seven!”

Harwin only laughs harder.

“I will steal your kneecaps!”

He only barely avoids her swiping at his knees, backing into an exasperated Corren who sidesteps him easily as Harwin falls backwards, landing flat on his ass, still laughing.

Lyra looks at Corren. “You see this shit? No respect!”

“How horrible, m’lady,” he deadpans without an ounce of sympathy.

○

She’s busy and days fly, turning into weeks, and then months. It’s not bad, save for the ever-looming, quickly approaching mess that’s puberty. She finds her balance again after remembering her past life, between dragons, City Watch, lessons, her guitar, and spending time with Aemma. She almost loses track of time entirely.

Rhaenyra’s unbearably smug occasionally, because Lyra doesn’t even have a dragon and she’s already a seasoned dragonrider;she’s claimed Syrax at the age Lyra is now, after all, so where is her dragon?

Lyra counters her cousin’s boasting by being able to handle just about any dragon in her vicinity, while anyone else would pay for that with their whole arm at the very least.

She has her ways, and they usually include talking at the dragons in High Valyrian about anything and everything. They certainly seem to understand. Of course, she can’t ride them; that’s for their chosen person only, but she nonetheless is about the only person other than their chosen rider who can just walk up to any dragon without getting incinerated on the spot.

Might be gods’ blessing, might be her dragon blood.

Might be both.

Then, Viserys declares a tourney will be held for the birth of his son and heir next month one day at a rare family breakfast, and it takes all of Lyra’s mental fortitude and then some to not to throw her plate at his face.

In a month, Aemma will die. Viserys will kill her for a dream that he will never live to see fulfilled.

She gives him a bright (fake) smile and manages to compliment his idiocy without being mean about it. Viserys doesn’t notice shit, and neither does Rhaenyra. Aemma and Daemon do, but they don’t press. They’re growing tired of him, too.

○

And then Daemon purges the city of criminals. He’s been gearing to do that for a few weeks now, but Lyra knows that the Tourney announcement moved his timetable forward a fair bit, and sends the Gold Cloaks scrambling a bit. It’s by no means a mess, but it is a situation. Enough for Daemon to be annoyed about it.

It’s his job to keep the city safe, after all.

…

Safe-ish. As much as place like King’s Landing can be, that is.

“Make sure to pick up all the body parts. I don’t want to find a disembowelled cock tomorrow.”

Corren chokes on air, and Harwin falters in his step. Daemon starts laughing.

“I’ll personally make sure we pick everything up,” he tells her with twinkling eyes. She nods.

“Good. I’ll be with aunt Aemma.”

○

“It will be fine,” Aemma reassures her, even though she’s sprawled on her settee, constantly shifting in her now-ever-present discomfort. “You’ll have a little cousin to spoil in no time.”

“I know,” Lyra lies with a small, much less fake-looking smile.

In two years, she will. And his name will be Aegon.

Aemma’s eyes are distant, glazed. She’s tired.

Lyra nicks her finger on the strings. She wraps it up and continues playing.

○

And then just like that, the day of the tourney arrives.

○

“You deserve better than this,” she tells Aemma as she places a crown of daisies and hydrangeas on her head. Aemma, though hazy-eyed, looks at her and smiles, reaching out to gently caress her cheek. A mother’s touch Lyra never allowed herself to crave, in neither life.

“I know,” Aemma tells her weakly through the haze of tonics and incenses and some poppy milk. “This is a goodbye.”

Lyra isn’t surprised by this. Their mutual assurances were hollow at best, before. Lyra, sad and desperate, and Aemma, slowly wasting away and having given up. There’s little life left in her eyes—was, under all that haze. Now there’s none.

Lyra lets herself cry.

“You knew,” she says trying to bite through her trembling voice.

“I knew,” Aemma agrees. “I could taste it, my death, I… I think I knew, from the start. Is it bad that I’m glad I will no longer have to see Viserys? I tire of his dreams. Of his insistence for a son. I tire of… This.”

Lyra shakes her head. “Not at all.”

“I didn’t want to think about it, you know,” Aemma says wistfully. “But I think I knew, from the start, that this is the end of the line. That this one… This one is where it ends, for me. I’m pathetic, aren’t I? Only admitting it now, drugged to the gills…”

“You’re not pathetic,” Lyra disagrees. “You’re very strong, actually.”

“I want to rest. Gods, Lyra, I’m so tired.”

“Then rest. You’ve done enough.”

“He’s waiting for me. Balerion, in his Halls, I can feel it.”

Lyra chuckles a little, remembering an awkward but kind behemoth with blood-red eyes who knelt down to her level because she was uncomfortable. “He’s not a bad person, you know. A bit stupid, lets his friends drag him into crazy schemes. But he’s nice.”

Aemma smiles.

“I hope so.” A pause. Aemma looks at up at the ceiling, then back at Lyra, with some newfound clarity in her hazed eyes. “Goodbye, Lyra. Have fun today. And don’t be too mean to Rhaenyra, alright? I fear it’s out fault she’s this spoiled.”

Lyra chuckles, and it comes out all wet and shuddery.

“Goodbye, aunt Aemma. I’ll try. But I make no promises.”

○

Rhaenyra remains entirely unaware of anything, as usual, as she excitedly gets ready for the tourney.

Lyra envies her so much she has to check herself in the mirror out of fear she’d turn physically green.

○

[Shrykos, I think I’m going to do something stupid, and I need your help.]

[Balerion, what in the fuck—]

[I helped you drag Lyra here. Now, I need you to help me back, since we used most of our power to speak with her. And passages are your domain, anyway.]

[Alright, shoot.]

○

She doesn’t go to the royal box. Instead, she sneaks into the knight tents first, and makes a beeline for her father. Her face is still a bit puffy and she splashes it with cold water.

Daemon is drunk, that’s easy to realize as he fumbles with the clasps of his armour, his usual dexterity gone. She doesn’t mention it, though, just as he doesn’t mention her puffy reddened eyes.

She helps him with the armour—where the fuck is his squire?—and he helps her wash her face and fixes her hair. Lyra looks tired if presentable when she finally makes her way, and Daemon looks somewhat sober. He’s in no state to fight, in no state to win the tourney, and Lyra thinks, maybe this is how he lost the first time in the past life, in the book and the show.

After all, if Baelon is born safely, he’ll loose what affection and standing he has with Viserys. And if they die, he’ll grieve for their loss.

It’s an odd sort of sadness.

○

There’s a tourney. Daemon asks for Alicent’s favour to insult Otto, which admittedly is funny, then proceeds to unhorse Hightower Junior—whichever, if Lyra’s counting right Otto has four sons and she really doesn’t feel like remembering their names, let alone remembering which one is this in particular—and then gets his ass handed to him by Criston Cole who then crowns Rhaenyra. Lyra smiles fondly as Daemon stomps off in a huff, predictably furious that he didn’t win anyway, but at least he doesn’t pick more of a fight. Lyra’s pretty sure he’d have won easily if he was sober.

Or maybe Viserys leaving just as he was about to fight knocked him off his game. Either or.

Probably both.

Lyra wished she was drunk, too. That way, maybe the cold dread pooling in her stomach wouldn’t have been as bad when she saw Viserys leave to finish murdering his wife.

Instead, she turned back to Laena to continue their conversation and tried very hard to not think about it. It’s almost easy; Laena is a delight. She’s fifteen, and Lyra’s lizard-child seven-year-old brain thinks that’s really cool, and she’s reasonable, quite mature, and has that feral little glint in her eye and sharpness in her words that endears her to Lyra in no time.

Laena also catches that Lyra’s upset for whatever reason and instead of wheedling it out of her, simply diverts her attention elsewhere. Trash-talking knights and their armour is pretty fun, when done with someone who knows what they’re talking about.

She also recently claimed Vhagar, the great beast Lyra saw all of once at her grandfather’s funeral two years ago, which makes Laena even cooler.

It’s a weird but a little fun situation once they start talking about it; Laena’s mother, Rhaenys, now rides Daemon’s mother’s dragon, while Daemon rides Rhaenys’ father’s dragon, and now Laena swooped in and took Daemon’s father’s dragon. Thinking and talking about it—because Lyra is, at heart, a dragon nerd, how could she not be?—helps a lot.

And then they’re given the news of Aemma’s death and nothing matters anymore.

○

She holds Rhaenyra with Alicent as she wails, and the sound the princess makes rattles her very bones.

A brat she may be, but now she’s just a little girl of not even twelve who just lost her mother, and least Lyra can do is be there, because though her heart feels like someone stabbed it with an icicle, she knows for a fact she can’t compare to what Rhaenyra feels.

But she’s also seven, and has the emotional control to match, and soon enough everyone in that pile is crying.

○

Baelon dies too; he doesn’t even reach the twenty-four-hour mark. Lyra seethes when she sees how haunted Viserys looks.

It’s his fault. He did it. He insisted Aemma keep trying to birth him a son, he ordered her cut open.

Lyra wants to scream it in his face. She almost does, but Daemon resurfaces from wherever he was and sweeps her up and grabs Rhaenyra by the hand and drags them both to his chambers. They have a sleepover and talk and reminisce about the good days, but throughout it all Lyra can’t help but wonder one thing; where the fuck is Viserys and why isn’t he comforting his own daughter?

She asks as much, which sends Rhaenyra into a massive tantrum about her father, screaming and cursing and throwing plates and all, but Lyra thinks she feels better by the end of it. She looks a little less haunted.

Alicent is missing too. Lyra wonders if Otto has already started planting his fourteen-year-old daughter in Viserys’ bubble.

Later, Rhaenyra demands Lyra to sing her Aemma’s favourite song. Somehow, by a miracle of sheer force of will, she manages to perform Soldier, Poet, King without breaking down.

○

Rhaenyra has to be the one to light the funeral pyre of her mother and brother, and the ones comforting her are Daemon and Rhaenys, and the only thing Lyra is sure of is that Viserys found the rock bottom and the attached shovel and he’s been digging ever since like it was something he was born to do.

His incompetence as a husband, a father, and a king has the capacity to ruin a nation.

It had, in a different timeline.

But Lyra lives in this timeline. And she needs to save dragons that Viserys will try so hard to bring to extinction, kill them all with his thoughtlessness like he had Aemma. And Lyra isn’t going to let him.

○

Daemon would be a second Maegor, or worse. It is the duty of the king to protect the realm from him.

It plays on reply in his head as he watches the Gold Cloaks have their promised fun for keeping the city safe over the tourney. For keeping the theft and harassment to little, and murder to none. He desn’t much feel like it, between Aemma’s death and Cunttower’s words, but—he gave his word, and his word he will keep, because those are good, hardworking men, keeping the city safe.

I will not be made to choose between my daughter and my brother.

But it was not quite a disagreement, was it? And if Cunttower is allowed to keep pouring poison into Viserys’ head, it’s only matter of time before it takes root. And Viserys doesn’t really want much with him nowadays anyway, preferring Cunttower’s counsel over his.

Mysaria says something to him and he smiles and waves his hand at her, not really listening. Then one of the Cloaks—Rorke, maybe?—bellows for the crowd to quiet down for him to speak. He sighs, not feeling much into it.

Daemon would be a second Maegor, or worse.

“King and council have long rued my position as the next in line for the throne.”

He stands up, doesn’t sway as much as he feared he would.

It is the duty of the king to protect the realm from him.

“But dream and pray as they all might, it seems I am not so easily replaced. The gods give, just as the gods take away.”

Tears, tantrums, Lyra and Rhaenyra both unwilling to let him go in their grief.

I will not be made to choose between my daughter and my brother.

But choosing between your daughter and your son was easy, wasn’t it?

He raises his cup, wry smile on his lips.

“To my brother, the king, and to the king’s son, who was his heir for less than a day!”

Rhaenyra wailing, waking up at night only to cry, calling for her mother. Lyra trying and almost succeeding to play Aemma’s favourite songs on her guitar for Rhaenyra without breaking down.

His own disbelief as he watched his goodsister wrapped for the pyre.

Gods, they were friends since childhood. He was just beginning to rekindle that friendship.

And Viserys—

Viserys—

“And for the wife he killed for nothing, may she rest in peace free from him at last!”

The people roar and cheer him, but if Daemon’s being honest, he just wants to get back and sleep, and hope when he wakes up, the world isn’t as horrible.

○

He wakes up.

It’s worse.

Viserys calls for him and from the way Lyra sighs, he knows it’s nothing good. She pats his shoulder and he presses his forehead to hers to ground himself, and then he’s on his feet.

It won’t do to keep the king waiting.

<Don’t do anything he’d regret.>

Daemon will try to keep it in mind.

○

The confrontation is ugly. Daemon… Both plays a fool and doesn’t, because he said what he said and he doesn’t regret saying it—because it was truth—but hearing how much Otto misrepresented his words knocks the wind out of him.

He’s just.

He’s tired.

And Viserys is incensed for Daemon calling Baelon ‘Heir for a Day’ even though Daemon didn’t quite call him that. What he did, what he said, was said out of anger and helplessness at Viserys. If he’s to be honest, he genuinely thought Viserys would be mad at him for openly stating that he killed his wife, but he doesn’t even mention that.

Odd.

Maybe he doesn’t know Daemon said it.

Maybe he does but doesn’t address it because he did order her cut open and even before that, he did put the babe in her, and it all directly led to her death.

“We all mourn in different ways, Your Grace,” he says after a consideration.

“My family has just been destroyed.”

You destroyed your family, Daemon almost says. You made Aemma bear you heirs until it killed her, you ordered her stomach cut open. No pressing outside force. You.

“But instead of being by my side, or Rhaenyra’s—”

Porcelain on the wall, little half-orphan girl clawing at his arms as she wails into his chest begging for her mother—

“—you chose to celebrate your own rise, laughing with your whores and your lickspittles!”

Daemon stops listening then, just looking at his feet and trying to keep calm lest he does something his brother will regret.

Dark Sister is at his belt, and cold fury pools in the pit of his stomach. He feels weightless with anger though his throat constricts bitterly.

So he throws his woes back at Viserys. How he always pushes him away, how he’s always trying to get him gone. Doesn’t he realize he’s hurting him, when Daemon only wants to be of use for his brother the way father conditioned him to?

Otto. More honourable than him.

Something snaps, just a little. Just enough.

“You’re weak, Viserys. And your council of leeches knows it, they all prey on you for their own ends!”

But will truth thrown in his face now wake him up, when it failed so many times before?

He lives in his own little bubble, dad, Lyra told him once. Where the world works the way he thinks it does. And he will never step half a foot outside that bubble, lest he realizes he might be wrong about something.

He can see that now, much clearer than before.

“I have decided to name a new heir.”

Daemon startles a little. “I’m your heir?” he blurts out. It sounds like a question even to him.

Even though he knows he’s not, not really. He’s never been officially inundated, and Viserys’ constant tries for a son made it clear enough he’d never be one. It hurts, but he’s accepted it.

But this? Now?

It can’t be. He can’t, he won’t—Surely, surely—

“You will return to Runestone and to your lady wife, and you will do so without quarrel, by order of your King.”

All of a sudden, he feels empty. There’s no anger rising at the back of his throat nor sadness wrapping its hands around his neck, choking him. There’s just—nothing.

He takes a step forward, and the white cloaks close in. He looks at his brother, searching. He’s not—it’s not—

Viserys looks back, resolute. He thinks he’s made a good decision, and the emptiness grows.

“Your Grace.”

Daemon turns on his heel and walks out.

A part of him stays behind, in that throne room.

It dies there.

○

<Sit.>

He sits on the bed, and looks down at his hands without seeing much at all.

Lyra climbs onto his lap and wraps her small hands around his neck. He wraps his arms around her in turn and buries his face in her hair, grounding himself in the familiarity of it. He thinks maybe he shouldn’t; she’s his daughter, not a doll to be hugged whenever he feels worse. She probably shouldn’t be the one comforting him.

But she offers. Every time, she knows when he’s feeling worse and comes to him without fail, and he’s powerless to refuse. His mother was the only one who ever brought him this comfort, and she was dead before he truly tasted it.

She’s purring, a small sound he can almost feel in his bones. It helps more than he knows to describe.

<We need to pack,> he says eventually, when he actually can push words past his constricting throat. <We’re…>

<Alright.>

Alright. Nothing more, nothing less. Just… Alright.

<You’re not mad?>

<At Viserys. Does that count?>

<A little. But I meant me.>

<No. What happened?>

<Cunttower. Spread around that I called Baelon ‘Heir for a Day’. Though… Given the reaction, maybe it’s better.>

<Better than what?>

<The truth.>

<Which is?>

<Me calling the king a murderer.>

<Oh.> She considers it for a moment, cocks her head from side to side. Shrugs. <Yeah, I can see that. Anyway, where are we going?>

Just like that, she’s willing to uproot her life and go with him, again, and Daemon can’t help but seethe. She’s too good for him—when he and his father and Viserys would have to move, he’d always kick up a fuss, because to a seven-year-old, moving from place to place was terrifying. Children, he knows, need stability. Stability he’s very much not providing right now.

He looks down at her with a soft smile, and says: <Dragonstone.>

She nods. <Good. I’ll finally get my dragon.>

<Oh?>

She grins, but doesn’t answer. He tickles her in retaliation, and for a brief moment forgets the bitterness at the back of his throat.

○

<I know you’re getting your dragon, but I’ll need your help with something.>

She looks up at him and narrows her eyes.

<You’re stealing Baelon’s egg.>

It’s not a question, but he answers anyway.

<I’m stealing Baelon’s egg.>

Pause. Moment of consideration. Unimpressed sigh. Then:

<That is very petty. I’m in.>

Gods, he loves her so much.

○

“Bye Harwin, bye Corren!”

“Bye—What?”

“Kepa got kicked out of King’s Landing and I’m going with him.”

“Ah. Shit, who’s going to run Gold Cloaks now? What if they put another useless shmuck in charge?!”

“I dunno. Figure something out, I believe in you! Anyway, that’s all I wanted, bye!”

“Have fun and remember to keep up the training!”

“And make sure Daemon eats his vegetables!”

○

Daemon doesn’t take Mysaria with them when they leave, like Lyra expected he would. It sends her reeling in confusion because this isn’t how that went, but—

But why would he take Mysaria with them? It would be another story if the woman was actually pregnant like in the books, but as it stands, if Daemon wants a reason to steal the egg that was for Baelon, Lyra is a much better excuse than Mysaria and her hypothetical pregnancy.

It just makes sense. Lyra is already here, and she’s yet to find her dragon.

And Mysaria not being put in danger by Daemon for superficial reasons, and therefore still fond of him later, when she grows her spy network?

For that alone, Lyra will gladly play along with this plot.

○

Dragonstone is impressive.

A massive island formed around a volcano, and a sizable jagged keep that served as a Valyrian outpost before the Doom, and a Targaryen refuge after. Made of blackstone, with dragons carved into its walls and glass in its windows.

But it feels right, when Caraxes lands and she clambers down the saddle and almost falls flat on her face if not for Daemon catching her by the scruff last moment. When her feet hit the ground rich in volcanic ash and a dragon cries in the sky, circling around them briefly before dipping back towards the volcano itself, its bronze scales flittering in the sunlight.

Vermithor.

Daemon looks at her and then at the Bronze Fury flying in the distance, but she only shakes her head. Other than being in awe of the magnificent beast, she felt nothing.

○

It’s a siren kind of song; alluring and inescapable. She hears it from the moment she steps on Dragonstone, a soft but sure thrum in her chest and tinkle in her ears that only she knows to look for. It’s in the keens of the seagulls and crash of the waves, it rumbles in the island under her feet.

It’s something ancient. It’s something wild. It’s something just for her.

The bone-deep certainty of something waiting.

○

Daemon is probably more excited about the dragon thing than she is. He’s almost vibrating with anticipation and she laughs at him for it. He even proposes they go to the caves on the face of the volcano where the wild dragons nest.

Unnecessary. They wouldn’t find it there.

<Patience, dad. Patience.>

He’s not a very patient person, but the excitement from Lyra’s impending dragon-claiming at least distracts him from the mess they left behind in King’s Landing.

○

They don’t have to wait long at all.

They get to Dragonstone in the early hours of the afternoon. By sundown, it’s already there, lured to the keep by the very same kind of song that prompts Lyra to get out of the keep.

It startles Daemon, if the sharp stutter in his breath is anything to go by.

It’s a great black shape, perched on the hill like a giant spider that wasn’t there before, big enough to cover the entire peak with its shadow-and-tar-coloured body. It unfurls when she approaches, slowly as if for show, into leathery wings and scaly sides and ridged back and long neck covered in spikes until finally, a great scarred wolfish head crowned with wicked horns turns towards her. She can see white jagged teeth sticking from the maw of the creature, as long and thick as she’s tall.

She sees the familiar acid-green gaze focused on her—the very same that haunted her for months, chasing away bloodstained cheap linoleum and glinting kitchen knives.

A titan to match titans, the oldest and the second-largest dragon alive; a relic of a bygone era.

A dragon who was never meant to be ridden for a girl that was never meant to live.

Lyra takes a fortifying breath and walks forward despite Daemon making a sound of protest, as the Cannibal dragon looks at her with half-crazed, half-intelligent eyes, the perfect picture of a living nightmare.

<Hello, Satan,> she says under her breath, not faltering in her step. <How kind of you to finally come to me.>