#this isn't including the prompts i have in my inbox

[welcometogrouchland]

Pls pls pls pls pls post the willow spiderman au pls pls pls for meeeeeee

[ID: a digital sketch of willow from the owl house with a Spider-Man inspired design. It's based on her flyer derby uniform, with red and blue swapped for green and yellow, and webs on the tank top. She has a mask on with yellow eyes and is doing an action pose. vines come out of her web shooters. the background is pale yellow. End ID]

Mob goon voice ON IT BOSS!!! And a BONUS just for you- Huntlow Spiderman kiss:

[ID: two pieces of fanart depicting Hunter and Willow doing the Spider-Man kiss. In the first image, Willow is in her Spider-Man design and hunter is in his golden guard outfit. She's upside down and they're both leaning in, about to kiss. The second image is the same as the first but with an alternate, pink and yellow colour palette. The background is pink in both. End ID] (@toh-described)

[queers-gambit]

And Let Me Love You Anyway [ part two of two ]

part one: Tell Me Every Terrible Thing

prompt: you embark on a secret but passionate affair with the Rogue Prince, and when his wife, Rhea Royce, passes away, he chooses you to wed next - a decision that angers his niece and changes history.

pairing: Daemon Targaryen x female!reader -> hair color specified reader

fandom masterlist: House of the Dragon

word count: 6.3k+

note: what the fuck is this, Cherry? also two parts 'cause author gets carried away!

warnings: show spoilers, cursing, author has small bouts of feministic ideas, author also really likes the "little birds" storyline (let her live!), wonky brain is wonky, i think hurt and comfort, angst, very mild NSFW (female receiving oral), technically alternative timeline 'cause this goofy-ass author has an overactive imagination, #icanmakehimworse, another reader insert (this warning is for the fucking losers in my inbox).

"Alicent, we're late," you sighed with a frown, wiping your sweaty palms nervously as your necklace was latched in place and perfume spritzed on your pulse points. YES - that included your ankles.

"That's the point, sister, we're supposed to be late. It sends a message."

Your eyes rolled, snipping, "The King will not be pleased. I am not his wife, he can get angry at me, you know!"

"He'll manage," she snapped, glancing at Talya. She continued, "He dismissed Father for telling him a truth he would rather ignore. So much so, after years of service, he'd - "

"Yes, yes, the King removed Father as Hand, sent him back home," you nodded with understanding. "But we both know how he feels about his daughter, The Princess! The rumors circulating would cost him his life in the end, we are lucky he was only sent home!"

"Rumors! Rumors, sister, truly!? Tell me, do you think Father lied?"

"I know he didn't."

"Exactly why we're late to tonight's affair," she huffed, fixing her hair in the mirror again. "It's a statement, it's deliberate. We will stand out, prove we are not happy with the turn of events. Why offer Rhaenyra blind respect when she continues to do as she pleases - regardless of consequences."

You paused, sensing her anger brewing and trying to distract, "You know, Ser Lyonel Strong is not a bad replacement for Father."

"This is not about Ser Strong."

"Isn't it? Father's served long and faithfully, but perhaps it is time for a new guidance. Lyonel Strong is a smart man - qualified, even!"

"Yes," she agreed, turning to face you in a shimmering emerald gown. "But this is still an injustice to our family that I fear I cannot overlook any longer. It's been weeks..."

"Yes," you allotted, nodding with a sigh. "All right, yes, you are right, sweet sister. This is all just - it's a lot to take in, to try and digest. And we talk of playing a game with the Throne - I do not think we've the strength to endure alone."

"This is not about Lyonel Strong, sister! It's about Father and the disrespect the Crown continues to offer. Remember that," she advised softly.

You nodded, "I know, sister."

She frowned, "And remember... They aren't our kin. Despite previous displays of kindness, the Targaryens have made it clear that we are not family to them. They are not blood to us, sister; they will protect their own, not us. If we wish to survive, we will need to ally ourselves."

"I understand," you told your younger sister. "I am not arguing, I know what our reality is now - I merely implore to explore the routes that won't label us as traitors."

"I know, we have much to discuss going forward. But none of that for now," she took a long breath, smiling as she looked you up and down, complimenting, "you look stunning. Truly, you might outshine the bride tonight."

"Let's hope it doesn't come down to that, and that The Princess has a mature bone in her body - though I do not hold out hope." You smiled at her, "But enough about me, you look - you look like a Queen, sister-dearest. Gods, you're gorgeous, you look just like Mummy." The two of you shared an emotional, watery smile; embracing tightly as reality settled in your guts: it was you two Hightower Ladies against the whole of the Targaryen clan. "Come," you decided, taking a deep breath, "are we ready to go? Any later and I fear we might not get any cake."

"Oh, you and cake," she smirked, looking you over in a matching emerald, lighter-weight gown that had layers of thin fabrics clinging and dripping from your form. Golden jewelry was clasped around both your necks, wrists, tight around your fingers, and plugged into your ear piercings.

The Queen took your arm and left the dressing chambers you took refuge in, coming to a gasping halt when you were greeted by a well-groomed man in green velvet. "Father," Alicent exclaimed in shock.

"My daughters," he smiled, offering both arms, "I do believe we are now fashionably late. Hmm?"

"Exactly as we intended," you mused, taking his arm. "How is this possible? How are you here?"

"I was invited, if you believe that," Otto answered, the three of you walking slowly. "Though, I suspect your sister had something to do with that?"

"I only told Viserys I'd be deeply offended if you were ignored for this event," Alicent quipped.

"None the less, I am happy to escort my daughters to such a historic event," he spoke diplomatically, aware of the guards and servants milling around. Otto lead the way to the Throne Room - where you could hear King Viserys' echoing speech from the foyer.

None of you spoke, approaching the open doors and pausing to let everyone see the united Hightowers. Alicent wore her dark auburn locks pulled back from her face to cascade in thick ringlets down her back, your own Hightower-red hair left down around your face with the longer locks pinned off your neck. The entire room - the entire court - all wedding attendees and royal procession stared at you three in shock for entering during the King's speech. Your statement was clearly made.

Even from this distance, you could see how startled Rhaenyra was by your arrival, needing to fight off a smirk of amusement in order to keep your neutral façade.

You and Alicent walked arm-in-arm with your father, the once-Hand, down the stairs and up the aisle of banquet tables full of people, staring forward and giving no emotion away. The people buzzed in quiet gossip. The attending Hightowers of Oldtown, sitting closest to the royal banquet table because of their relation to the current Queen, stood first; everyone else following in a show of respect.

You and Alicent paused to let Otto sit with his relatives at the lower banquet table before joining arm-and-arm together. Over the muttering of the entire room, you whispered almost mutely, "Be kind, remain composed, we'll kill 'em with kindness."

Alicent gave a subtle flex to give indication she understood.

When you looked up at the table you approached under the King's heavy glare, you noticed there was an empty chair between Ser Strong and... Prince Daemon? Was that really him? When did he get here? Why was he back? It's only been a few weeks!

Your shock did not slow you, and as you approached the table reserved for the Royal Family, you saw Daemon smirking at your theatrics. Alicent did not let you part from her side as she greeted Princess Rhaenyra with a sickly-sweet voice, "Congratulations, stepdaughter. What a blessing this is for you."

She ignored any other reaction to let go of your arm, kiss her husband's cheek in greeting, stand beside him, in front of her chair, and stare forward with zero other emotion.

"Congratulations, Princess," you whispered, bowing your head. "Your Grace," you acknowledged, doing the same and taking the empty chair between Lord Hand and Rogue Prince only to stoically stare forward in silence. You did as Alicent did, not looking at any other, and just waiting for a pregnant moment that seemingly never ended.

"Please be seated," Viserys finally permitted, everyone sitting at his behest. He cleared his throat, whispering to Lyonel Strong, "Where was I?"

"The joining of the two Houses, Your Grace."

You swallowed when a warm hand laid on your right thigh, Viserys continuing his speech. You glanced at Daemon, seeing his smirk, and instead of throwing his hand off you, you laid your own over his to give a long squeeze. You had wrestled with the idea of his favorite whore, Mysaria, and the idea of whatever he did with Princess Rhaenyra for weeks. Then when you heard word that his wife, Lady Rhea Royce, had met her untimely end, you knew he was involved, yet said nothing. You could only think deeply about what it all meant - and how you fit into the equation that was Prince Daemon Targaryen.

Tell me every terrible thing you ever did...

All you could understand was the overwhelming affection you held for him. His shocked-wide-eyes found yours for a long moment, seeming communicating telepathically - you telling him you wanted him. His hand tightened to keep hold of yours, hidden from the public for the time being.

And let me love you anyway...

You tuned back into the King's speech in time to clap with the others, showing your support of the union you technically helped influence between Targaryen and Velaryon.

However, you caught the way Alicent glared at Rhaenyra, sighing to yourself; having heard through long private dinners what Alicent came to know and why this upset her so much. How strange to learn Ser Criston Cole admitted to Ali that he was coerced into soiling the Princess' purity - not her Uncle Daemon, like rumored. Yet none the less, the girl had sworn on her beloved, dearly departed mother to Alicent that she was still a maiden... A huge, glaring lie - that both you and Ali took personally.

You found all of this terribly interesting, yet did not let the distain show so boldly. After Daemon came to you in confession, you had yet to speak a word outside of public politeness to the Princess; feeling betrayed by what your lover had told you. He had been right: you were Rhaenyra's friend, she wasn't yours. So, you demoted yourself to create distance.

When the drums rumbled and the Princess took to the dance floor with her intended, you spared Daemon a look and muttered, "You do not have to look so annoyed."

"I'm not, sweet one."

"Nor so amused," you tacked on.

Daemon smirked at you, leaning in and pondering, "I am only wondering if you would care for a dance later, my Lady?"

You lied, speaking in a teasing tone, "I'm not one for dancing, my Prince."

"A single dance with me, then. Just one, pretty lady."

"You're pushy," you whispered, nudging him to keep quiet; but the grin on your lips assured him you were completely enraptured by his antics.

He sat back with a smirk, watching his niece and her fiancé dance. The entire courtroom clapped at the end, others flooding to the spaces around them. You glanced over as your sister stood from her seat, meeting your eyes and offering only a soft smile before descending from the table to approach your aunt and uncle from Oldtown - standing with your father on the side of the room. You sighed under your breath, your lover tightening his grip on your thigh.

Daemon made for a great distraction. "Did you hear the news?" He asked softly, reaching for his goblet of wine with his free hand.

"Which news would that be, my Prince?" You asked casually, pretending your heart wasn't hammering in your chest.

"Of my dear wife's passing."

"I did, actually," you fought off your smirk. "I am truly sorry to hear of it, I understand Lady Rhea was truly one of a kind. You shouldn't speak ill of the dead, love," you reminded in a whisper.

"Hmm. Don't be sorry, I'm not," he eased.

"You're not? Your wife died, Daemon..."

"I know," he met your gaze, "I'm not sorry because now it gives me vocation to follow my own desires."

You smirked, "Which desire will you follow first?"

His hand tightened to a bruising grip. He was not able to answer yet because your gaze was caught by movement, Rhea Royce's cousin approaching slowly, evidently a cup or two deep in the wine; making you remove Daemon's hand so you both could sit casually - without touching.

The man gruffly leered at Daemon, "In the Vale, men are made to answer for their crimes." Your lover spared you an exasperated look as he tacked on, "Even Targaryens."

"Who are you?" Daemon asked dully.

"This is Ser Gerold Royce, my Prince," you told him softly, "of Runestone."

Daemon perked his brow, asking sarcastically, "An excellent show of your knowledge, my sweet lady, but what does that matter to me?"

You didn't answer, Ser Lyoel Strong (who was listening in) didn't answer, because Ser Gerold was approaching the table by climbing the stairs. He growled at Daemon, "I am cousin to your late Lady wife."

"Ah, yes... Terrible thing," Daemon offered. "I'm positively bereft. Such a tragic accident."

"You know better than anyone, it was no accident."

Through a smirk, Daemon quipped, "Are you confessing some guilt, Ger Gerold?"

"I am making an accusation."

You shared a look with Lyonel to your left, catching sight of the King's turned head - showing he was listening, too. Daemon easily deflected, "Here, in King's Landing, men are made to answer for their slanders. Even old bronze cunts like you." This angered Ser Gerold visibly, the man stepping closer, but obviously restrained himself. Your lover continued, "The truth is I'm glad you've come. I wish to speak to you about my inheritance."

"What inheritance?" Ser Gerold demanded.

"Lady Rhea and I had no heirs. As her husband, whatever she was due now passes to me. She stood to inherit all of Runestone. Did she not?" Daemon had Ser Gerold pinned by legality, the man looking disturbed by his own realization. So, naturally, Daemon taunted, "After my niece's wedding, I plan to fly to the Eyrie and petition Lady Jeyne myself. Perhaps I'll see you there, Ser Gerold."

The man sheepishly walked away, his inebriated mind whirling with possibilities. You glared, pinching Daemon's arm so you could scold him when he turned to face you, "That wasn't very kind."

"And?"

"You don't truly care for Runestone," you snapped. "Now that man will fear for his home, fret over the laws, and that's not very nice."

He sighed, "What would you have me do, sweet one?"

"Leave House Royce to grieve and rearrange their succession without your pettiness."

Daemon smirked, "Whatever my Lady wants."

"You're dreadfully annoying tonight, do you know that?" You whined. "I'm going for a dance, and no, this is not an invitation to follow," you warned him - albeit playfully - before standing to excuse yourself.

"Sister," Alicent paused you before you could pass her by. "Are you well?"

"Yes, yes, just felt like dancing, too much energy to just sit. Come join - "

"No, no, I should sit. Eat," she smiled. "Perhaps tonight will be when you meet your match and we can plan another wedding."

"Perhaps," you mused, squeezing her hand. "You all right? What did Father and Uncle say?"

"Later," she whispered. "Go on, go."

You joined the stream of people dancing, instantly grinning when you were welcomed joyfully by different suitors. The band played a lively beat, the crowd cheering in rhythm; you being twirled around men and women with matching grins.

You heard your name being cheered through a small giggle.

"Hi, Princess," you greeted Rhaenyra as you both marched along to the beat. You reminded yourself this was all a game and if you wanted to survive, you'd have to play your part strategically. So, you quipped as you danced with Ser Arryn Blackwell, "Nice party you've got, huh?"

"Oh, you know how we Targaryens do," she teased. "Where've you been lately? I feel as if I've hardly seen you."

"Just busy with chores since Father was replaced as Hand," you answered, spinning under someone's arm.

Nyra didn't comment on that, instead, waiting a few moments before complimenting, "That's a beautiful dress, really goes with your hair!"

"That's what I hoped for," you gasped girlishly, deciding to play nice when she reached for your hands. You felt weak for a moment, but the truth was, you missed your friend... So, you might've giggled a bit when you joined hands, dancing together instead of with anyone else. With kindness, you offered, "You look gorgeous, as well, Princess, I love this dress - "

"Yes, yes, we all look fantastic," Daemon interrupted abruptly, crowding over you, asking quickly, "can I speak to you a moment, my Lady? The Princess won't mind, right, Rhaenyra?"

"Uh, no, I guess..." She eyed the two of you with suspicion as she stayed in-beat with the music.

"Daemon, not now - "

"We need to talk," he pulled you from where you danced, glancing back at the head banquet table as he took your hand, and lead you deeper into the crowd. He turned you to face him, pacing a small circle around you, demanding, "Do you still want to marry me?"

"What? Why are you asking now?"

"Because I just asked your father for permission," he seethed, pausing in front of you, "and he outright refused, saying he's negotiating with the fucking Lannisters. I need to know what you want."

"I was not aware what I wanted mattered to you, the man who views marriage as a political arrangement," you eyed him with a curled lip of annoyance.

"What arrangement could I want? Your sister is Queen, my family is bound to the Hightowers already. My political marriage is recently dissolved, I am free to do as I please, regardless of what others want or say - "

"Then tell me what you want. Tell me plainly what you want from me, Daemon, no more pretty words and veiled truths. Be plain."

"You said I had a year, and look - it's been weeks. Weeks, my love, how much more plain can I be? I'm here, now, free to marry, and I need to know if you still want to marry me. I'll marry you tomorrow - "

"Oh, please! Would you steal me away?" You mocked with a chuckle. "Take me to Dragonstone? Make me your little wife that you'll come to resent, too? Just as you did Rhea?"

He reached out to aggressively hold your cheek and jaw. "I had no choice in my first marriage, I could never come to resent you - you're all I've ever wanted. I'd do anything for you," Daemon snarled over your lips, "including risking your father's wrath. I'd do anything to make sure we end up together, you are my heart - do not forget that."

"Then pull out your sword, cut them all down," you purred, feeling his hand tighten, "and claim me as your own - do not let anyone stop us."

His lips hovered over yours, breathing the same air, and before he could respond or kiss you, a woman screamed shrilly from behind you. Daemon instantly latched onto your body as a crowd formed to your left and right, and when you both looked, you were shocked to see the commotion happening at your feet.

"Love - "

"Daemon," you paused him, shocked as Ser Criston Cole was engaged in a fist fight with some Velaryon knight before Ser Laenor Velaryon, the groom, was tackling him to the side. What an interesting display of protectiveness from Ser Laenor over his knight.

Daemon rushed in your ear, "Do not look - come away with me."

"Wait," you held his hands to your waist, letting him crowd into your back as Cole had punched Laenor to the side and straddled the blonde on the floor once more.

He landed one blow before the knight was brandishing a dagger; but the White Cloak caught his arm and easily snapped it broken, startling the crowd. Beyond your ring of spectators, other men were trading blows and engaged in their own fights; total chaos taking over the whole of the Throne Room. You flinched back into Daemon's embrace when Cole screamed like a wild man in the mountains, repeatedly pounding his fist into the knight's face; literally caving it in, creating a human minced meat pie.

Someone better contact Mrs. Lovett!

"No more," Daemon decided, Cole rearing himself back as Daemon stooped to heave you over his shoulder. He was able to find safe (enough) passage through the people, approaching the royal banquet table. "Hey, hey," he whispered, setting you down and taking your face in his hands, the wailing of Laenor Velaryon seeing his murdered knight echoing in the Throne Room. "You all right? You hurt? Look at me, love, are you hurt?"

"No, no, I'm okay," you whispered, swallowing unsurely; reaching up to hold his wrists. "I'm okay."

"Sure? You shouldn't have seen that - "

"It's all right," you assured, stroking his wrists. "I'm okay, Daemon, truly. Just... A little startled, maybe?"

"What's this then?" Harwin Strong smirked, panting lightly from his rescue mission as the Princess was attending her father, the King. "You two hit it off then, yeah? Is it me or are sparks flying?"

"Something like that," you whispered, trying to regulate your breathing after the adrenaline-inducing scrimmage.

"Easy does it, love," Daemon whispered, keeping you close as you didn't let go of his hands; wanting to stay connected. He told Harwin, giving a half-shrug, "They aren't sparks. She's everything to me."

"Perhaps your second wedding will go better than this one," Harwin sighed, hands on his hips.

"In some cultures, deaths at a wedding are considered good luck," you muttered, Daemon snorting lightly in amusement before running his thumbs over your cheekbones in soothing gestures.

"Didn't your wife just pass, Prince Daemon?" Your father demanded publicly with a heavy glare. "You'd offer insult to her memory by remarrying so quickly?"

"I've grieved Lady Rhea plenty, Ser Hightower, it's time to look to the future," Daemon declared, eyes daring your father to challenge him. "The Lady Hightower and I will wed. The sooner, the better, in truth."

And history would never be the same.

"What?" Rhaenyra demanded, whirling around at the news, making all others pause in confusion. "What did you say?"

"That I intend to marry the Lady Hightower."

"Her? Her? Fucking her - who is more prude than woman?!"

Well, that was mildly offensive...

"Rhaenyra - "

"What makes you think you're worthy?" She demanded of you, turning from her father to stalk across the platform. "Worthy of a man like Daemon, of a husband like Daemon? You've done nothing to - to deserve such a title! The title of Princess, of wife!"

You were honestly confused to your core.

"I deserve a man like he - not someone like you!" She continued, shocking the group as the Kingsguard cleared the Room of any lingering stragglers to keep this as private as possible. "You think I didn't see you on my tour? You were fawned over, all wanted to talk with you, but were forced to line up for me! You rejected them all on your own, and now I see why! You wanted to wait until the Lady Rhea passed, which makes me wonder - what part did you play in that?"

"Rhaenyra!" You gasped.

"What? Honestly, it would make sense - the day Daemon's banished, you weren't seen! I wouldn't be shocked if you were seen somewhere lurking in the Vale! You cannot have it all - you've always wanted my life, and now look! You have to have what I have, and now you've taken a liking to my uncle after our scandal! What? He wasn't interesting before? You heard rumors about us and decided you wanted him for yourself? Just because he was mine first? You just want to be me, you always have - you've always reeked of jealousy! This is all you wanted, to steal my family, and - "

"That's enough," Daemon tried. "You are out of turn here, Rhaenyra, do not make this worse."

"Why? Because little Lady Hightower's façade of being a respectable, pure woman is now tarnished?"

"We share one dance, albeit intimate, sit next to each other at a single dinner, shared some conversation, and you now think it's appropriate to call my virtue into question? What of your own, Princess? You just admitted to scandal with Daemon - but I wonder why the service of Moon Tea if your virtue was unimpeachable?" You demanded, feeling defensive on a new level. Even Alicent straightened up at your words.

However, Daemon rushed to add, "With all due respect, Princess, I don't want you, and you can't claim me as your own when you never had me. You might be angry, but it is no use to take it out on my intended, she is of rare stock and breed - she will not be questioned. Nor will my intentions with her."

Rhaenyra snarled, "Yeah? You don't want me? Well, you wanted me enough to try and fuck me at that whorehouse!"

There were gasps and murmurs all around, but Rhaenyra was glaring at you and Daemon, still standing together. His arms actually dropped to hold your waist, keeping you close as he snarled at his niece, "But I didn't. If memory serves right, I walked away!"

"You wanted me!" Rhaenyra raged. "You always were and always will be mine - regardless of the whores you bed in the meantime! And I want you, I am not yet married - "

"Yet I will not be who marries you, I am betrothed to another," Daemon reminded with a venomous tone. "There's nothing you offer that I want, Rhaenyra."

"I am not some inexperienced little girl anymore, I'm a woman grown, and I could do more for you than she ever could!"

"Rhaenyra!" Viserys roared.

Everyone knew she had gone too far and there was no coming back from any this. After a beat, Alicent stepped in as if questioning for the first time, "And yet, sister, you said the Princess was served Moon Tea? If Prince Daemon did not touch the Princess, does this mean she still," she scoffed as if the idea were absurd, "sullied her maidenhood? Before marriage?"

It should be noted that Ser Criston Cole was already gone from the hall at this time. In fact, he lingered just outside a side door, listening, in case his name came up. When Alicent spoke, he straightened up and started the slow trek to the Godswood.

"Ser Lyonel? Do I misunderstand?" Alicent pulled the Hand into the fray.

"Well, that's what that would sound like, Your Grace," he agreed begrudgingly. "Moon Tea is beneficial to prevent unwanted consequences outside of marriage."

"From what I understand, she was served by Grand Maester Mellos himself," you told Ali, minds strung together by a common thread. "The castle likes to gossip, you can learn a lot if you just listen."

"This is..." Viserys seethed, "Unacceptable."

"I'm sorry, Your Grace," you instantly apologized.

"No, no," he deflected, hand held up, "you have a duty to the Realm to flesh out any deception. And this," he directed his glare at his daughter, "is a grand deception that cannot be undone, unknown, covered-up, anymore, Rhaenyra!"

There was a meltdown. Everyone began yelling.

Viserys was enraged. Rhaenyra was desperately trying to plead with her father. Lord Corlys was demanding to know what the hell was about to happen with the impending marriage to "the future Queen". Ser Strong was trying to keep the people from each other's throats.

His sons stood to the side and just let them all fight.

Daemon kept you out of the line of fire, away from the action; sighing as you deflated into his chest. Over it all, Viserys' voice was angriest, and you heard, "You are no daughter of mine! The position you have put me in tonight - I cannot undo this, Rhaenyra! I should have never disinherited Daemon for you, breaking centuries of tradition because I wanted to see your mother in you! You have spat in my face around every bend, but this? This is unforgivable, we will not recover from this and I will no longer endure your insolence!"

"Father, please, let me - "

"No," he snarled, "I have had it with your disresepct the past several years, this is beyond any scale." You blinked up at Daemon, his lips curving down as his hands tightened around your form. And then, Viserys said the words, "I made a mistake naming you my heir. You may marry Ser Laenor, if you so choose to, but after that, you will reside on Driftmark with your husband - you will no longer inherit the Iron Throne after me."

"Father!"

"No," he snapped, "you've exhausted my patience, Rhaenyra!" Viserys roared. "And while Daemon might be unpredictable, the woman he wants to marry is not - and from where I am standing, she will make a far better Queen than you!"

It was quiet as everyone forgot their own selfish woes as father disinherited daughter.

"Your Grace," your father tried to step in, "with respect, why not place your son, Aegon, in line after you?"

"Oh, for the love of the Gods, Otto," Rhaenyra raged, rounding on your father, "give up this campaign, you get all you want and more! Your daughter is Queen now and your other daughter will be Queen after that, aren't you listening? Your grandchildren will still inherit the Throne!"

"That's it," Viserys breathed, needing to hold onto the banquet table for balance as all eyes turned to him again. "It's time to do what I should've done all along. Rhaenyra," he shook his head, "I can no longer have you as my heir, this type of behavior cannot stand. I will give you permission to marry Ser Laenor, and if he chooses not to, I will allow you to reside on Dragonstone until a match is made. Until then," his eyes shifted to where you and Daemon stood, "I name my brother, Prince Daemon Targaryen, as my Heir to the Iron Throne."

"You would not name your son?" Alicent asked in mild disbelief.

"No," Viserys told her, "no, I would see my brother as my heir. Should Aegon prove to live up to his namesake, we can talk about succession again, but I know my brother is capable... And though he might be overly wanting, he will learn patience, because I know the love of a good woman can change a man for the better."

You smiled, feeling emotional for a moment, but Daemon asked for you both, "Brother, do you mean to give your blessing?"

"Of course," he nodded once, "why waste a good wedding tourney? We shall announce on the morrow our new intentions - to crown Daemon as heir and marry him to the Lady Hightower. This matter," he panted, glaring at everyone, "is resolved, I will not hear more. Make the preparations!"

It happened in slow motion. Rhaenyra's rage flared to a temperamental height previously unknown; lunging to seize her father's Valyrian Steel, prophesy-engraved dagger, turn, and charge straight for you as the remaining audience shouted in panic. You felt Daemon try to push you behind him, but instead, your own temper flared and you stepped up to meet Rhaenyra; catching both her arms to hold her at bay.

Daemon was at your flank if you needed him, otherwise, he kept the Kingsguard away from you two - knowing this needed to happen now. Or else something worse would happen later...

"For fuck's sake, Princess! What is this? Jealousy? Huh?" You asked through your tears, struggling to hold your old friend's weight away from you. "What is this jealousy, Nyrie, hmm?"

"Don't call me that," she grit. You just sighed, pushing her back a little but not enough to overpower her; the girl's anger making her stronger than you would've previously guessed. "You've gone too far," she seethed through tears.

“I? What have I done but what was expected of me? Forever upholding the Kingdom, the family, the law. While you flout all to do as you please! Where is duty? Where is sacrifice? It’s trampled under your pretty foot again!"

"You think you finally get my life, huh?" She snarled. "You won't ever be accepted - not as Queen - not as part of this family! You've wanted this all along! Haven't you!?" She struggled against you, hands sweating. "You've always wanted my life, that's why you stuck around! Your mother died - so you tried to take a place in my family, make them yours - and now, look! You're nearly there! Pouncing on my uncle the moment he's widowed!" She snarled, bearing her teeth.

“Exhausting, wasn’t it? Hiding beneath the cloak of your own righteousness. But now they see you as you are, Nyrie," you whispered with a broad smirk.

"You aren't fit to play this part! To have my life! You'll never be accepted as their Princess!"

"I wager I'll do a better job than you ever could," you hissed. "There's not much to live up to, you don't leave a lot of room to fill."

She screamed when Ser Harwin's arms seized around her waist, but the momentum of him pulling her back and Rhaenyra's thrashing cause the Valyrian Steel dagger to slice your forearm. You yelped and reared back amongst the startled gasps and panicked murmurs from the crowd, Daemon catching you. The dagger clattered to the floor as Harwin backed up several paces to keep the belligerent girl at bay. You whimpered quietly at the sting, a pool of blood forming to the side you held your arm at.

"Fuck's sake," Daemon growled, "lemme see, lemme see, my love, c'mere," he winced, looking around before using his own belt to yank free and tourniquet around your lower elbow. "You're bleeding a good bit," he whispered, "you'll need stitches, sweet one."

You pouted at him, wincing again in pain when he tightened the belt.

Around you, the Kingsguard was ordered to escort Rhaenyra to her chambers, and the moment she was marched out of sight, Daemon was warning his brother that she knew about her secret passage door and parts of the tunnels.

Go stand watch," a personal guard was ordered by the King. "Someone go - go find Ser Cole - I want him posted in the Princess' passage, he's trusted to us."

Alicent slunk off to do exactly that, and she'd tell you later that Cole was found only moments from taking his own life. He was overjoyed to hear the King had requested him personally to stand guard for such a sensitive situation.

In the meantime, Lord Corlys Velaryon and his wife, Princess Rhaenys Targaryen, thought it best their son not marry Rhaenyra; now that she had been disowned, she was less appealing. Viserys was free to offer her again later if Laenor was not married in that time and if she showed true change, but after tonight, nobody thought that possible.

Daemon tried helping your wound, your father approaching as he laid a clean cloth over the cut. Your lover tisked, "It's deeper than I thought. We should get this looked at."

"A moment," Otto prevented.

"If it would please you, this is not an injury I'd like to wait to attend to," Daemon sighed, nodding at your bloodied forearm that he held.

"I only meant to say, you have my blessing to marry, my Prince," Otto nodded at him. "Seeing the kindness you show my daughter, I feel... Content knowing she will be loved and cared for."

"Thank you," Daemon nodded.

"Yes, thank you, Father, but we really must be going, this doesn't feel very nice," you rushed to explain, watching him nod and eye your injury with worry.

"This way," He even instructed, a few handmaids rushing forward to help herd you away.

"Doing all right, love?" Daemon muttered as you walked.

"Bit shocked," you admitted.

"I'd say," he mused.

"It burns," you pouted at him.

"We'll get everything tended to, you'll feel better soon," he soothed.

You peaked up at his worried brow, pouted lips, darting eyes; whispering, "You're heir, again, Daemon."

"So it would seem," he deadpanned. "Can we not talk about it now?" He requested quietly, "I only wish to see to this wound of yours."

You nodded, and once in Mellos' chamber, you were left alone with your father - since Daemon was not yet your husband. Otto was silent as your forearm was stitched carefully; the bleeding staunched, herbs stuffed in the wound to prevent pain and promote healing. As you let Mellos wrap you in gauze, you glanced at your father.

"So... Your blessing, is it?"

"He's different with you already," he nodded stiffly. "And after his nieces' display tonight, I can think of no better future Queen."

"I do not wish to talk about future station, Father, but instead, that... That Daemon makes me happy and I am relieved you have given us your blessing. It would've felt very wrong to marry without my father in attendance."

Otto wasn't affectionate in the least bit, but he showed his love by doing his best to understand situations before passing judgement. It created a sense of trust and security between father and daughter. So, he asked earnestly, "And you will overlook what he did with Princess Rhaenyra?"

"He told me of it all the morning after it happened, I've had time to think, and I've had time away from him. I know what I want, Father, and while Viserys has changed history - again - tonight by naming Daemon heir, I know he is the man I want for the rest of my life."

"I see," he nodded. "Then... By all means, I will see this union happen."

"Thank you," you whispered, the Maester tying the gauze. "Thank you, Grand Maester," you spoke calmly.

"Of course, uh, um, Princess."

"I don't think I'll get used to hearing that," you whined, standing off his table. "Will you talk to Daemon for me, Father? I think you need to clear the air... I will not say the King will instill you as Hand again, but if I am to marry the Prince, I will need there to be peace between our families."

He nodded, opening the door for you, "It will be arranged, my daughter..."

As Otto took his leave, Daemon, pacing the hall, approached you. He took hold of your waist, asking, "Are you all right?" You let him hold your injured wrist in a soft grip, viewing the wrappings.

"Yes, Your Grace," you teased, watching his pale face flush.

"Don't start with that."

"Mellos just called me Princess."

"You are," he grinned. "And we will be married in less than a week's time."

"I can hardly wait," you whispered, letting his lips find yours in a searing show of rare public affection.

requesting rules and masterlist

HOTD masterlist

[tenpintsof-sundrop]

Hii !! From the smut prompts (stop rolling your eyes, I know Im predicatable!) could I request "Accidentally Sending Nudes", "Sexting" and... a secret third thing (the choice is yours, go hogwild) for Jason x Fat Fem Reader? I'm leaning more towards sub!reader but shes def a little shit about it :3

Thank you in advance if you write it !! 🌼

See, this is why it pays to send in a request with me, because even if I don't answer it right away, I keep requests in my inbox for months and come back to them later!!! (This is from December 2023)

(Also this request is just plain fun) (because Star knows exactly what buttons to push to get me lmao)

DC Titans Requests - OPEN

How would Jason react to you accidentally sending him a nude?

(Jason Todd x Fem!Thick!Reader)

Warnings: set specifically in the Titans!verse - set during season 3/mentions of season 3 plot points; spoilers for major plot points of Titans (including character deaths on the show); this is kind of enemies to lovers? (enemies to fwb, I guess); the reader uses she/her pronouns and has a vagina; the reader is described as being fat/plus sized; passing mentions of Gar x reader (I couldn't help myself); dubious consent - because of the nature of the trope, Jason sees the reader naked without her explicit consent, and he decides to keep the picture without her consent - but it does spark a consensual sexual relationship between them; passing mention of using nudes for blackmail (that does not happen); this isn't really proofread; (generally, I consider this post to be a fucking mess because it was written in Tumblr but I was still trying to have fun with it lmao.)

...

Jason is minding his own business when it happens.

(For once in life, he is fully, completely, minding his own business.)

He's back in Gotham and he hasn't seen you in months - and if asked, he would say that he hasn't thought about you. He doesn't have time to think about you because he's been too busy with this therapy bullshit, training, trying to get back his title of Robin. Trying to get back in the cape. (And trying to get back in Bruce's good graces.)

But that's not exactly true. He's thought about you a lot.

(Most of those times have been with his hand around his cock, but again - he won't admit that.)

There is an occasional time that you cross his mind and it's because he's wondering genuinely how you're doing - wondering if you're well, how your training is going, wondering if you're doing okay under the Dickhead's reign. But he can't ever pluck up the courage to text you and simply ask. Because that would be admitting that he cares, and that would make him look like a weak little prick.

And that's why he's so damn surprised when you text him first.

He hasn't heard from you since he left the Tower (well, since he stormed away from Donna's funeral in what you called a 'toddler fit' - something that ended in a rather vicious text argument between the two of you). In fact, the last thing in the text history between the two of you is you calling him a 'giant, petty, whiny baby who can't deal with his own emotions'.

(You had no clue what had happened between him and Rose, so that did inform a lot of your opinion on the matter.) (And that was probably the reason why Rose still had all of her teeth after you had seen her at the funeral.)

But all of that was aside from the point.

The point being - Jason found himself smiling when your contact name popped up on his phone.

He has you in his phone as 'Pretty Girl' - along with a contact picture of you sticking your tongue out at him in response to having his phone shoved in your face with the knowledge that he was taking a picture of you. (That tongue always makes him think certain things, so even though you intended for it to be some rude thing to ruin the picture, it makes it so much better for him.)

(1) new photo

That instantly catches Jason's attention.

Perhaps you were sending him a picture just to flip him off, or sending him a picture of a dumpster to ask him if it reminded him of home - a common joke you used to make when he still lived at the Tower.

Jason grabbed his phone and opened the message, expecting another tired joke, and-

Holy fuck.

The last thing he was expecting - your naked body. Your gorgeous naked body.

(He likely would have expected a nuclear blast or for the Joker to clean up his act and actually become a decent, sane citizen before he expected this to happen.)

Jason brought his phone closer to his face, making the picture full screen in order to examine it better - he needed to make sure that he wasn't hallucinating, or that this wasn't some weird dream. But fuck, he definitely wouldn't be able to dream up this.

You were so perfect - so fucking perfect in a way that was so very real.

The picture was a fucking stunning side profile of your body - rolling curves, lacy underwear that could clearly barely contain your impressive hips with sweet little stretch marks jutting out from the fabric (jagged little marks across the softness of your skin that made Jason want to act up) - soft fat for him to grab onto, and the perfect teardrop shape of your breast, now bared to his eye in a way that he had only dreamt of before. Something that he had stared at through the oversized tee shirts you wore to bed without a bra, just wondering what you looked like underneath.

And fuck, this was so much better than anything he could have dreamt up.

Jason's cock began to harden almost instantly, and laying in bed, he reached over to his nightstand for some lube, ready to milk that picture for all it was worth, when-

His phone buzzed again.

Pretty Girl: 'Delete that.'

Jason hadn't even considered that you had sent it to him by mistake. He had been far too busy enjoying to even consider the intention or the psychology behind it.

So, he took his hand off the waistband of his sweats and texted back the first thing that came to mind.

'No.'

(He didn't hear your annoyed growl on the other end, frustrated at his downright typical Jason behaviour.)

'It's not my fault you made a dumbass mistake. Besides, it's the least I get after all the nagging from you.'

Then, something else came to mind as the bubbles popped up, meaning you were busy formulating a reply - an annoyed one, no doubt.

'Who did you mean to send it to anyway? Who are you fucking whose name starts with J that's not me?'

(You hesitated.)

Pretty Girl: 'I didn't type in J.'

'???'

Pretty Girl: 'I typed in G. And it turns out the first contact that popped up was Giant Baby. That's you.'

Jason felt annoyed and insulted on all levels. The fact that you were going to Tiger Boy for dick instead of him, and the fact that you had used such a mocking contact name for him. But when he realised that such a pathetic string of events had caused him to accidentally see you naked, he couldn't be too upset.

'I'm still keeping the picture 😈'

Pretty Girl: 'You're such an asshole' Pretty Girl: ... Pretty Girl: 'You owe me one'

'Fine, I'll owe you one'

Jason shrugged it off, thinking he had won, until -

Pretty Girl: 'No, you owe me a cock.'

This made Jason's stomach jump. You couldn't possibly mean-?

Pretty Girl: ... Pretty Girl: 'You owe me a picture of your dick. You know - an eye for an eye type stuff.'

Jason wanted to ask questions - what did you plan to do with the picture? Should he shave his balls first? Did you want more than one?

But his cock got even harder at you asking for a picture, at you demanding to see his cock, and he couldn't properly think - he couldn't even reason that you might later blackmail him with the picture.

No, instead, he found himself ripping down his pants and turning on the bedside lamp for good lighting, pumping himself up to peak rigid hardness and grasping the base of his cock in hand. And then, without hesitation, he snapped a picture for you. He made sure to get his abs in the photo - a collection of his best assets, with his pants pulled down to mid-thigh, showing off his tight stomach, the deep V leading down to his dick, and his thick seven inch cock in hand surrounded by some well-kept dark pubic hair.

(He was proud of it - and that ego was one of the things that annoyed you most about him.)

He sent it without hesitation and then you began typing several times and stopped once again. Jason's stomach churned with nerves until -

Pretty Girl: 'Fuck you' Pretty Girl: 'I thought it would be smaller'

Jason had no clue how to respond to that, and he was busy racking his brain for some clever reply, when -

Oh. Oh fuck.

(1) new photo

You had sent him another picture. And this time it was definitely on purpose.

It was a view between the plump, beautiful thickness of your thighs - your hand was inside the pretty lace of those panties, and your fingers were visible working on your clit while your needy hole dripped wetness onto the fabric.

So you had liked what you had seen.

Pretty Girl: 'What would you do if you were here right now?'

Jason's brain short-circuited then. He thought of so many things - eating your pussy until you screamed, flipping you onto your stomach and fucking you until you begged him to stop, gripping onto those gorgeous thighs, pinning them to your chest and pounding into your cunt until you finally surrendered and said that you had liked him all along, fucking your smart little mouth to finally shut you up-

Pretty Girl: 'Come on, Jay. Don't disappoint me.'

Oh, he won't.

(Another thing Jason won't admit - he came back to the Tower just for you.)

...

DC Titans Masterlist

[acid-ixx]

ೃ⁀➷ ⠀yandere interactions event⠀! ❛ ༉‧₊˚

last updated: 11/02/2024 GMT+8

❝ YOU HAVE RECEIVED A LETTER! DO YOU OPEN IT?༊ ❞

── CONGRATULATIONS!

➷⠀⠀my inbox is open for small requests for a short followers event ! meaning, character interactions (prompts, letters, or original dialogues) are open for everyone to send in their own little quote followed with a scenario towards any DC COMICS characters 🩷 this event includes, but isn't exclusive to:

🌷⠀⠀character interactions. [e.g. "(character), do you want to look at the stars tonight?"] ; i prioritize these requests.

🌸⠀⠀yandere prompts/starters. [links: 01, 02, 03]

🪼⠀⠀love letters. [how: send them a love letter and they'll reply back!]

🍥⠀⠀sample fics. [links: 01, 02 ; this is for reference]

read the rules below for a better understanding!

╰┈➤ GENERAL RULES⠀! ❛ ༉‧₊˚

🩷⠀⠀GENDER PREFERENCE : i write both gn and male reader only— but all readers are automatically defaulted to gender neutral unless explicitly stated.

🩷⠀⠀CHARACTERS : only one character per interaction. i write for anyone in the batfam, superfam, justice league, teen titans, young justice, as long as the characters aren't completely foreign to me.

🩷⠀⠀LENGTH : i'd prefer if requests aren't kept at minimal length/only one-liners and have some sort of action to it. the more vague a request is, the longer i take to reply. this is the most crucial part of the the rule.

🩷⠀⠀AU'S : i accept both general interactions/prompts, au suggestions, or anything from my series. [again &. again, a loving family; an unpalatable desire, brutus, lovefool]

🩷⠀⠀ALL I ASK is for you guys, the readers, to please leave comments or interact with the me, the author, because interactions, reblogs, and any form of communication helps motivate me to write even more despite my busy schedule. i value everyone's inputs over everything else.

🩷⠀⠀PREFERENCES : i write both angst and fluff, platonic and romantic yanderes, and only soft yanderes. please, tell me if it's romantic or platonic. nsfw requests are not permitted for this event. more rules will be added soon in case.

🩷⠀⠀QUANTITY : i only accept one request per person, and as i've stated, it's better to lengthen/specify your requests to the best of your ability if you don't wish for yours to be dismissed.

[writingquestionsanswered]

Is it okay to use generators to help you start writing or to give ideas? I see a lot of writers on other platforms bashing them and saying that by using them you are not a real writer.

I use them because I personally feel like I'm not that creative, and it gives me a vague start to go on.

Thank you, and I really love your blog!

Using Random Generators for Inspiration

It depends on what you actually mean when you say "generators." Random Generators - Random generators have existed on the internet for years and years and years. Some popular ones are Fantasy Names .com and Seventh Sanctum .com. These use predefined options that were created by someone who is offering them up for the express purpose of writers using them as prompts, inspiration, and ideas. These are absolutely fine to use, are used by even seasoned writers, and in no way undermine your validity as a writer.

Generative AI - Generative AI is relatively new on the scene and includes things like ChatGPT and Notion AI. These use data that is scraped from other sources without permission from the creators. In other words, the ideas and text isn't generated by a person who specifically put it there for your use, but is instead stolen from other writers who did not give anyone permission to use it.

To be more clear, it's the difference between someone saying "here are some ideas you can use" versus someone saying "here are other people's stolen ideas you can use."

Needless to say, the use of generative AI is extremely controversial, as it should be. We're not talking about robbing from the rich to feed the poor. We're talking about robbing from the poor to feed the poor. Many MANY creatives work around (and sometimes overcome) challenges to their work without resorting to theft from other creatives. And when creativity is something that even creatives struggle with at times, lacking creativity is not a good excuse for stealing someone else's hard work.

So... if you're using random generators for plot ideas, setting ideas, character names, etc., that's fine, and many writers use them. But, if you're using generative AI, you need to really think about what you're doing and why you feel entitled to using ideas stolen from other creatives.

In the meantime, here are some resources that can help you boost your own creativity:

Guide: Filling Your Creative Well Guide: How to Rekindle Your Motivation to Write Getting Unstuck: Motivation Beyond Mood Boards & Playlists Character Development Exercises Writing Exercises to Help You Become a Better Writer Want to Write, Can't Come Up with a Plot

Also, some great random generators:

Fantasy Name Generators Seventh Sanctum Chaotic Shiny RanGen DIYMFA WriterIgniter Plot Generator Writing Exercises.uk

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

♦ Questions that violate my ask policies will be deleted! ♦ Please see my master list of top posts before asking ♦ Learn more about WQA here

[peachetteprice]

heya, can I please request hc’s of how 141 boys would react to their s/o finding out they(141) cheated on their s/o (reader) . im in need of some angst 😭

Oh, boy.

Long disclaimer: this has been in my ask box since July, and I am well aware that it's unlikely you're still in need for angst. I quickly came to the realisation after working on it for a few days that I misread the entire prompt and had written for Price and Soap with YOU being the one to cheat on THEM (141). In my perfectionist state, I abandoned the whole thing, choosing to forgo the whole prompt even if it meant denying someone who was clearly interested in my work something that they'd asked for that I could (reasonably) provide. Nobody should have to wait this long for their ask to be answered, and I'm incredibly apologetic that I was so selfish as to leave it go stale in my inbox. Anon, sweetheart, I highly recommend that you search for another writer to fulfill this, because I'm sure they would gladly dive into the idea that the 141 are cheating on YOU, and not the other way around like I misunderstood. It is entirely uncouth for me to make someone wait this long for a simple ask – don't even get me started that it isn't even in HC format – and I can only apologise that even when it is 'out', now, it is not what you asked for and is my initial interpretation of your ask. I did not do it justice. You deserve better, anon. I sincerely aplogise.

Some of the Boys with Cheating S/Os

TW: General angst, adultery, mild aggression, mention of arson (mild)...

Captain John Price

Anyone knew it wasn't easy being married to a man such as John Price, himself included. He would have traded the life he had if he could, but he couldn't, nor wouldn't, because that wasn't the man he knew himself to be. Sure, in some perverted timeline, a thousand light years away wherein he didn't feel a sense of pride, responsibility, or accountability over the people with whom he shared his country, might he have taken that job as head of accounting he would have been promised, had he gone to university, or simply devoted his life to the blues and twos of the constabulary. None of it would have been harder work that he currently undertook, but it was honest work. And that was the sort of man he was: honest, dependable, and loyal.

That being said, much like the aforementioned, neither of those exclusive three things were easy to achieve. Nor adhere to. But when he stood at that altar in his pin-striped suit, pink and red corsage on chest, and spoke his vows to love you in sickness and in health - and, Christ, he didn't take them lightly - and you returned them, he hoped that you meant it.

And that wasn't to imply that you didn't. You did. Most ardently.

But the nights were long, cold, and unbearable without John. When he was back, he was often distant for a week or two, reeling from whatever madness he saw in the field. If he did make it back into his own mind, he was unlike the man who left beforehand. In fact, he would only return a few days prior to leaving, and then the cycle spun again. And again. And again.

He never spoke about it – the field. Never took a moment to cry in front of you – you heard him, of course you did, in the shower, when he thought you were doing the laundry – and if you did press him on the matter, he simply washed it away with a dismissive hand and a non-committal 'I'm fine, love'.

That might have been when it started. The distance. When the nights become longer, colder, and so unbearable that you needed something to warm the space beside you when he was away. That was all it was ever supposed to be.

John found the men's razor in the bin in the bathroom. It was your colleague, Mark's. He'd come over one evening to comfort you when John was away. It was supposed to be a bottle of wine and a walk home for him, but he woke up in your bed, and there was no stopping what had started, then.

There was no moment of doubt in John.

He knew it immediately; you had another man by your side.

He most expected it. That might have been the most devastating part of all. That, in sickness, he knew you might have longed for the warmth of a man to the point of committing adultery, even if you professed that your heart still lay with him. Even if he knew, himself, that it still did.

You knew he knew it, too, when he sidled into the kitchen with a hand palming his beard, and he placed the razor beside the pot of bolognese you were monitoring as it bubbled away.

"Got something to say?" He asked.

For some god-forsaken reason, there was no malice in his tone. He should have been near-boiling over the thought of another man with his hands on you – the body that he had sworn to cherish and to hold until the day he died.

But, as was the case when he took his vows, he did not take them lightly.

And though you sobbed, pitifully, and asked him to be quick with the divorce papers, so that you might quit your job and move somewhere else - somewhere less suffocating from the lies and the deception – John did not give up.

He threw the razor back into the bin. He sat you at the dining room table. He asked you to explain. Everything. From the very beginning – not since Mark, not since that bloody bottle of red wine, not since the gentle hand he placed on your knee when he should have been out the door – the complete, unabashed beginning when you first lost a modicum of care for him.

When you did finish speaking, the sun had come up. It must have been seven in the morning, but your eyes were so bloated, your words had torn such a scratch into your throat that you couldn't ask what time it was, nor even be able to see the clock on your kitchen wall.

It wasn’t pretty, the things you both spoke about, of the late nights spent texting John, asking if he was doing alright – to utter radio silence on the other end – as another man lay between your legs, suckling against your sopping cunt, and dragging every droplet of cum and sinful moan your voice had to offer, of the dissolved shared affection and broken trust that lined every sentence, of the nervousness as you walked into the pharmacy to ask for a morning-after pill, just to quell the shame you felt about having another man's uncloaked cock in your cunt, even though you were up-to-date on birth control that month.

But if anything permeated throughout the entire conversation, that cemented the idea that, if he hadn't asked you to be his wife, that someone else would have surely filled the role better than you – it was that he was not going to give up on you.

He'd given those vows as a promise, not as a suggestion. In sickness and in health. Till death do you both part. And you could have – and had – moped about how terrible a wife you were, how he should leave at the soonest possible moment and never look back, but that wasn't going to happen, so long as John Price was your husband. 

Because if there was one thing he would do, in every facet of life, perverted timeline or not, it was try.

For John Price would never give up on his lawfully-wedded wife.

John "Soap" MacTavish

There's a pair of underwear in the wash that doesn't fit him. He knows because he tried them on. They're initial-ed in sharpie on the inside label. JR. They're not his initials, that’s for certain. They're not his favoured design. They're not in the shade he wears. They're a lot of things that they aren’t and shouldn't be, like in the wash at all, beside your panties, one of your special weekend bras, and old bedsheets.

James Robinson, your pilates instructor.

It takes him too long to rack his brain before he happens upon the name, arriving at it after consulting your calendar magnet-ed to the fridge, spending the rest of the time thinking with them on the kitchen counter. He nurses a glass of milk as he does. It isn't right for alcohol at the time. It's only five in the morning, though if it were five in the afternoon he would have already taken the next bus to the White Rabbit pub and burnt them in the trash out in the alleyway, just to send a message to you to never give them back to the man who took you from him, when they better suited being strapped to one of his homemade explosives and thrown through the bastard’s office window.

The cereal you munch as he stares at you that same morning tastes sour. Seems like it’s gone off, but Johnny's drinking a glass – his third that morning – so you surmise it’s just about ready to turn. His eyes won't leave you. They often never did, particularly in the mornings, but not like this. Not with such intensity that your stomach draws bile from your liver.

The boxers are in the knife drawer.

You don’t know that the boxers are in the knife drawer, and if you did, you might have even fessed up before he had the opportunity to confront you about it. You’re a coward. You know it. He knows it, too. That’s why he’s waiting for the right time.

And when it is – the right time, that is – he digs them out from between the cutlery and throws them in your lap. It’s silly, really, the thought that takes the place of confusion in your brain. It’s stupid. Naive. Idiotic. Perverted.

"What was that for?" You chuckle, holding them up. Sure, if he wants that now, you're quite ready for it–

"–They're not mine."

All prior concern is embellished with fear. A gall builds in your stomach – you’re about to throw up, and a dry heave makes it to the base of your throat, a quick gulp forcing anything bitter back down. It’s simply foolish, how easily it makes complete sense. The nervous drinking all morning, the gaze that wouldn’t leave yours, the smell of cigarette ash on his fingers when he handed you the carton of milk for your cereal. And you think, oh-so naively, that there may be a chance to refuse his insinuation.

“They're not yours? Who else could these belong to, Johnny? They fit you, don't they?"

"Really? Seriously?" He bites back a disgusted scowl, you see it in his cupid’s bow, hunched up towards his nostrils exactly how it manifests in his nightmares, the scent of rotting bodies, dirty blood, unfinished business. "J.R."

You go blank. There’s nothing at all. You’ve never thought about nothing at all before. It’s a desolate place, the emptiness of your mind. It ruminates in your soul like footprints in a field at night. Who they belong to, why they’re there, why they’re no longer. There’s nothing to be seen, nothing to be heard, nothing to be felt – the trees are too far drawn into the night to be real; tangible.

"Johnny–" it spills out suddenly.

"–Don't you go sayin' my name with those dirty fuckin' lips!” He growls.

"We can – we'll talk about it.” Some things are coming to mind. Not many. Self-preservation related, mostly. “Sit down.” You wave your hands wildly. “I can explain everything, I promise–”

"–Oh," there was almost amusement in his voice, edging on the maniacal, certainly psychotic, "You take me for a fuckin' bampot, don't ye?"

"Johnny, please!"

He nears. He’s animalistic, right now, the way he's stalking you like a tiger who can’t pounce because you haven’t yet turned your back to him, and it wouldn’t be fun until you did. You've never seen that look on him. You never want to again, if he can help it, though you’re not sure he can. It's better suited to the field, staring down an enemy from close range, just before he sets a bullet straight through his head. A sharp fear rises behind the upset. It’s cold. It lingers like a needle beneath skin. It hurts.

"Get out of my house."

"What? Johnny?"

"I said, get out of my fuckin' house!" He swells with an uncanny rage.

Only when you do leave, retreating into the hallway wearing your pyjamas only, does he heave a breath or two that turn solidly into anguished pants, choked sobs and lonely wails. It isn’t supposed to turn out like this, sitting before the lift of your apartment complex, covering the guilt with the ruse of having lost your keys if anyone stops to ask if everything is okay, though everything is most certainly not okay.

James was a nice man. Johnny was a nicer one. But the quell in your throbbing, begging cunt from months of being apart from Johnny was even nicer when James indulged, tongue lapping over your folds like a dog wishing to please its owner. You told him you enjoyed it, even left him with a kiss on his cheek, and he left as soon as it ended, though you hid from him the fact that you threw up in the toilet as soon as you locked the door, sobbing into the same sheets he had you dribble your cum, wishing you could reverse time.

Johnny will never forgive you. That much is true. No matter how much you plead at his doorstep for him to reconsider the relationship – his mind is not so weak, and he finds it endearing that you seem to be convinced otherwise. Though, he does regret one thing – not taking your things, too, along with James’, to the empty lot behind the correctional youth centre and paying the kids there to watch it burn.

BONUS: Phillip Graves

Totally not because I feel bad about letting down anon... no way...

It's three weeks after the fact of your adultery that a text pops up on your phone, unattended, that reads something to the effect of feeling guilty about your time spent with a man for the benefit of revenge, suspecting that Graves, too, has been cheating, as you delicately lament to your best friend, Emily.

Naturally, he confronts you, and you know better than to lie to a man with an arsenal of juggernauts at his disposal, so you confirm his suspicions, and explain that it was by no fault but your own that you slept with Adam.

He’s furious, ardently so – justly so – and you explain that it was undeserved on both sides, to which he seems inexplicably confused, until landing on the understanding that you thought a woman you saw at a hotel with Adam was his lover. And you realise… he wasn’t cheating on you.

And the confusion compounds in your mind, realising his naivité of your illicit relationship was fueled only by the fact that you’d been attending book club at such ridiculous times in the night. He’s pacing, gasping for air as you rightfully say;

“I can’t believe you thought I was going to book club this whole time.”

And he stills, like a lamb, crouches against the dresser, and exclaims with such anguish that you wish you’d never said anything about it at all:

“There’s no book club?!”

| Masterlist |

[unholyhelbig]

Requests are Currently: CLOSED

[When they are open, you can request here. You can also click here if you just want to chat, or have any questions]

Buy me a coffee ☕[Fundraiser to help my mom]

Marvel:

Kate Bishop x Reader

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Daisy Johnson x Reader

Wandanat x Reader

Kate Bishop x Yelena Belova

Stranger Things:

Robin Buckley x Nancy Wheeler

Pitch Perfect:

Beca Mitchell x Chloe Beale

Emily Junk x Aubrey Posen

Pitch Perfect Horror Week

Warrior Nun:

Ava Silva x Sister Beatrice

Wednesday:

Wednesday Addams x Enid Sinclair

Request Rules:

DO NOT INTERACT with my work if you are not 18+. While most of the stuff that I write isn't NSFW, there are violent themes and I will block you if this rule is broken.

There are a lot of prompts in my inbox, and while I try to get them done in a timely matter, I do have a lot going on most times, so I will post when I post.

While I try to keep my fanfiction gender neutral, some of it will be directed towards she/her or she/they pronouns as that is how I identify and it's hard to break that habit. Mostly gender neutral though!

There are a few things I won't write (Trigger warning for these): Pregnancy, Self-harm, Suicide, or anything underage.

I prefer requests that have a little bit of wiggle room. Sometimes it's hard to conceptualize a longer plot and include everything. I'm not talking about one word prompts here, but I'd like it to be less than a paragraph if possible.

[catscidr]

I think we have all seen the "Argenti thinks the Reader is Idrila" stuff on here. But what if the reader actually is Idrila? So I wanted to request Argenti/Idrila!Reader (gn or afab reader) headcanons or a oneshot where Idrila, who has taken on a mortal identity after [Insert tragic event here], and meets Argenti. They develop feelings for each other, Argenti finds out she is Idrila, they end up dating. (Maybe or maybe not in that specific order) I thought maybe after protecting her followers from Nanook she disappeared to ensure Nanook doesn't target them anymore? That part isn't as important so feel free to add whatever backstory you think fits^^ Thank you in advance, I really like your writing!

NONNIE omg im booting up star rail rn to stare at him lovingly. also i changed the scenario a smidge so reader is her own person while also being idrila? if that makes sense......?? yeah. also bc otherwise id be writing ten thousand words n i didnt want ur ask to grow dusty in my inbox d(;∀;d) but tysm for the prompt i couldn’t stop thinking about it ueue. also hey gang peep me trying to make my blog look more coherent n nicer looking. am i doin it ⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝ cw: a smidge of amnesia and soulmate trope (it’s not that bad, trust), fluff, love at first sight (does that even count in this scenario....), argenti and reader are dancing around the topic a lot bc argenti is a gentleman and doesn’t want to pressure her to talk. blurbs to set up the plot + a fic after them hehe. not proofread, writer’s block is killing me  includes: fem reader (he refers to reader as "my lady"), argenti, natasha, luocha is kinda there wc: 2,3k

-ˋˏ You’d go to Natasha’s clinic at least once every other day because you always had the worst migraines. To the point where you almost got beat up by a Flamespawn one time when you were clearing out calyxes (thankfully there was a Silvermane guard patrolling the area, otherwise you would’ve been charred). The doctor always says the same thing; “Stop looking for fights so often”, “Let your body rest”, “I can’t prescribe you antibiotics”, and your favorite, “Stop slamming my door open I can’t do anything about your headaches”. She was a good friend, but whenever she repeated how she couldn’t be of any help to your predicament, you’d wish you could just take that glass vial hanging from her outfit and chuck it far, far away out of spite. 

-ˋˏ Obviously it wasn’t her fault- she'd done everything she could. Natasha even had you undergo the Underworld’s equivalent of an MRI scan because of how frequently you would visit her, insisting that something was wrong. The symptoms consisted of forgetting important things too often, feeling a foreign buzz in your limbs and brain, having a sudden burst of elemental energy come out of your attacks and a myriad of benign but annoying, irritating signs that something was up with you. 

-ˋˏ It became more of a chore than anything to leave your room. Some days you felt fine, but then when you’d go out again and beat up wave after wave of enemies in Caverns of Corrosion you would keel over, clutching your head while vague images of what could only be described as a fever dream ran through your mind. 

-ˋˏ You decided to leave the Underworld for some time- considering your absence like some sort of “vacation”. You heard of a wandering doctor (and merchant, apparently) by the name of Luocha and, from the people that crossed paths with him, it seemed like he was extraordinary at his job. A trek to the Xianzhou Luofu would be a long one, but after weighing your options you thought you’d give it a try (it was worth it if it meant you’d stop waking up at ungodly hours, holding your head in your hands while hoping, praying that the pain stops.) 

-ˋˏ You (somehow) made your way to the Xianzhou Luofu from Jarilo-VI. As competent as you were however, being stranded on a foreign planet with no map nor local to guide you was... a challenge. In retrospect, maybe you should’ve gotten in contact with that Luocha doctor and had him come to Belobog instead of you going to him since, well, he was a traveling merchant. Going from planet to planet is what he does (you assume). 

✧✧✧ 

If you had read up more on general information about the Luofu you would have been aware of how many enemies were roaming around the docking area. But you didn’t. So, unbeknownst to you, a rogue mara-struck soldier was on your tail, trying to sneak up to you to snag the goods you hid in your bag (which were basically just different types of painkillers and sustenance that bodes well on an upset stomach. He doesn’t know that though.) 

Your head was throbbing; ever since you set foot on the planet, your physical health had slowly dropped down to levels you wouldn’t be enduring if it wasn’t for the promise of a competent doctor once you get to the main city. Painkillers weren’t working, your feet hurt and to make matters worse, you felt the familiar lack of something in your head. It was so bad to the point where you had to have a tangible mark somewhere to remind you that you did, in fact, just take something for your headache and if you took two more painkillers, your body wouldn’t agree with your decision. It was a struggle even remembering what you did five minutes ago, no way were you going to be in top shape, beating up every enemy crossing your way. 

Clouds began covering the bright sun, casting shadows over the desolate, geometric area. You huff, irritated that, from the looks of it, you won’t be able to find a cozy place to set up camp. Though sleeping on a ground made of primarily iron and steel was considerably less nerve-wracking than sleeping on the mushy, cold, dirty ground of Jarilo-VI. So, with a pout aimed at no one in particular, you find some place that you deemed decent enough to set your humble tent. It wasn’t often that adventurers slept outside of safe zones, however with your condition you couldn’t afford to miss out on some rest and possibly get even more lost than you already are. 

You set your heavy backpack down, rolling your shoulders to soothe the ache in your muscles from carrying something so bulky. As you ruffle through your belongings, you open a bottled soda and take a swift gulp, sighing contentedly at the pleasant taste on your tongue. Now that you were sat and could rest your bones (until you started setting up your tent, at least), your ears were able to pick up on some not-so-distant footsteps. 

There’s no time for you to react; the mara-struck soldier that had been following you lunges at you, aiming for your bag. Your eyes widen and you open your mouth to yell, but before any sound can leave your mouth, a long, red and gold spear pierces the ground between you and the rabid man, making you yelp in surprise. You scurry as far back as you can in your current state; however, the soldier doesn’t have time to take advantage of your weakened stature. The owner of the spear lodges himself before your shaking figure and the mara-struck, yanking his spear out of the ground with impressive elegance, and summons an array of thorny vines to catch your assailant. 

It takes little to no effort for the seasoned fighter to take down the mara-struck as he swings his weapon, swiftly knocking the blunt end on the soldier’s plexus, knocking the wind out of him. A strangled scream leaves his throat as he scampers away, leaving your belongings safe with you and the strange red-haired man. He lowers his spear, careful to keep the sharp edge far from you, and turns around to face you properly. His brows raise a smidge for a split second before he composes himself and bows before you, the action short and curt.  

“It would have been a shame to lose a beauty such as yourself,” he says smoothly, straightening his back to look down at you with a warm smile. He stretches his hand out, a polite offer to help you stand up, as he continues speaking. “My name is Argenti, I belong to the Knights of Beauty. What might you be doing so far away from civilization, dear...?” he trails off, waiting for you to introduce yourself. 

You were in a state of shock, your mind still processing what had happened in such a short amount of time, that you failed to notice the lack of pain at the back of your head. As you meekly tell him your name, you hold onto his hand to help yourself up- as soon as his armored glove comes in contact with your hand something flashes in your mind; too quick to allow you to think about it too much, or to recognize what you saw for a millisecond. 

“So far away from civilization... do you know how to get to the city?” you ask as you feel a glimmer of hope spark in you. His words were refreshing, probably the best thing someone has ever said to you in the past month. He nods, reaching into his pocket to fish out a blue handkerchief embroidered with a delicate gold trim. Argenti hands it over to you and you gratefully take it, blotting the sweat and... dust off of your face. 

“I have made my way around the Luofu for long enough to show someone the way,” he says kindly. “Besides, even if I didn’t, I would still offer to accompany you through your trek. It is my duty as a Knight of Beauty, for I must uphold chivalry and distinguished manners, in the name of the Goddess guiding me.” His words resonate within you, making you beam, nodding in understanding. 

Your reaction doesn’t go unnoticed by the knight. As you hand his handkerchief back, he smiles at you and gestures to your bag. “What brings you so far from your homeworld, my lady?” Argenti asks gently, though a glimmer of doubt swirls in his sparkling, verdant eyes. The question makes you pause, a memory flashing in your mind too suddenly for you to know what it meant. Although, from what you could tell, you knew you could trust him with what troubled you somehow. 

“Ah, it’s a long story,” you start sheepishly, “I’ve been having these incredibly painful migraines recently. And sometimes I feel like my memory is fading too quickly for what would be considered normal,” you say, trailing off slightly at the end. “I’m looking for a healer, a doctor by the name of Luocha...?” 

Somehow, the doctor was currently the least of your worries. You’d never felt so refreshed before, at least not that you could remember; simply being in Argenti’s presence seemed to be enough to make your aches disappear like a starskiff smoothly gliding through a cloudless sky. 

“I’ve seen the man only a handful of times,” Argenti mutters aloud, pulling you out of your thoughts. “I can do my best to guide you to him, but if I may... you don’t seem to be injured?” the knight says, his voice trailing off into a questioning tone despite the observation. You shake your head, wondering how you should explain your predicament to the man. 

“Like I said, it’s a long story,” you say again, shrugging sheepishly. You wondered if you should even go into the nitty gritty- he could always just be making small talk to help you get comfortable or something. Sensing your unease, he changes the spotlight to him instead. 

“There’s no need to delve into details if you wish to keep them secret,” he says with a kind smile, bending down to take ahold of your hand- gently pressing a chaste kiss on the back of your hand. Red flushes your ears immediately, words caught in your throat at the sight of his hair cascading over his shoulders, a beautiful contrast from the gold and silver armor glittering in what was left of the sunlight. 

“As for myself, like I mentioned earlier, I am a Knight of Beauty. I’m on a quest to find my dear Goddess Idrila once more, for I need to pay my respects to them after they saved me from a particularly grim fate.” His words echoed in your mind, your brows knitting together as you felt what could only be described as a cold bucket of water being dunked on your head. “I-Idrila?” you parrot, your voice coming out as a choked noise. Argenti perks up, the hand that had been softly holding onto yours now holding it with a firmer grip, his other hand joining it. 

“Yes, Idrila. Have you ever heard of them? Or...” he trails off, looking deep into your eyes expectantly, almost as if he knew something you didn’t. His eyes seemed to suck you in, bringing a comfortable wave of warmth over you, making you yearn for something. 

“I...” you begin, your gaze falling down to look at your feet. As you thought long and hard about what you wanted to say, what you tried to remember, you slowly look over to his spear, lying flat on the ground- long forgotten since the fight earlier. As if a lightbulb went off above your head, you perk up just as he did, and look at him, beaming. The words were caught in your throat; there was so much you wanted to say, to declare, to do in this moment of clarity, but with how fast your mind was running to catch you up on the current events of your life it was a struggle. 

“Argenti,” you murmur, the name rolling off your tongue smoothly, as you realized seeing the traveling merchant was no longer required. Though the road might have been arduous, and you may have almost lost your mind in the process, being with Argenti suddenly made everything make sense. That’s why your migraines mysteriously disappeared as soon as you were in the knight’s presence, that’s why you had gaps in your memory, that’s why you were freakishly powerful... at convenient times.  

Everything clicked into place. 

The both of you share a pregnant pause, eyes locked together as the world seemed to come to a stop around you. If it were possible, you’re sure there would be delicate, silky rose petals floating around your figures, suspended in the air. You glance down at his lips, and for the first time, make a decision with a clear head. 

His lips felt smooth against yours, the faint taste of vanilla mixed with roses transferring to your own lips. The kiss almost felt like it could be the result of a symbiotic relationship; now that you had Argenti, or at least had him by your side once again, you didn’t think you’d be able to continue on without him. 

[telugu-girl-13]

♡ Hasini's 150 Follower Event ♡

THIS EVENT HAS ENDED! THIS WILL PROBABLY BE THE LAST EVENT OF THIS THEME!

Hey, guys! I've been so excited to hold another event, and you helped me get there! I'm officially somewhat famous! And I'm super thankful to every single one of you who has acknowledged my presence in some way. Not just following, but also liking, commenting, reblogging, booping, anything and everything. Every single one of you have a special place in my heart, and I hope you know it! <33

﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖ ﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖ ﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖ ﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖

Back with the theme! If you're new here, I'm crossing my fingers that you love it. And if you're one of the OGs, hope you enjoy the experience of this event once again! I'm obsessed with this, so it's making another appearance! Maybe for my next event, I'll have a few new tricks up my sleeve...

This event will be in the standard ask in my inbox format, with only one request per mutual! All of these requests must be sent between 7:30 AM and 9:00 PM Eastern Standard time, so you're not sneaking out during curfew! (You'll understand in a moment, and if you can't coordinate the timings from another part of the world, it's fine!) This post will be pinned on my blog from November 3 to November 10 and no requests will be accepted after that. Here is the link to my introduction post! Most of these are art-related! Hope you enjoy!

*This request might take a day or two during the school week! Hope you have extra drachmas! (I'm just kidding, the only thing you have to pay is your patience and time!)

﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖ ﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖ ﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖ ﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖

Hello, new camper! You have followed me and passed Thalia's Pine Tree 🌲. Welcome to Camp Half-Blood! Where would you like to go first?

🏐♡ - The volleyball court! To play here, send a prompt for a tag game in my inbox! Let's try to keep the volleyball up by keeping the tag game going!

🏠♡ - The cabins! To stay here, submit your godly parent and I'll provide some aesthetics that I think would fit your cabin (blog)!

🎨♡ - The arts and crafts building! To hang out here, submit your favorite color(s), hobbies, animals, symbols, and more, and I'll create a collage for you!*

🔥♡ - The amphitheater bonfire! To hang out here, sing a lyric of a song (in text, not actually) and I'll incorporate it in a moodboard!*

⚔️♡ - The arena! To hang out here, send a controversial or unpopular opinion about an appropriate topic! Make sure it isn't triggering or harmful, and is something like a ship or a favorite character! Let's battle it out! Anyone who wants can join the debate!

📚♡ - The library! To hang out here, send a headcannon for a book I've read and I'll comment on it and maybe even draw it!*

🏖️♡ - The fireworks beach! To hang out here, I'll compliment you and tell you why you I think you're amazing! Request this if you feel depressed or just need a friend to comfort you <3

﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖ ﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖ ﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖ ﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖

While many of these may sound similar, trust me, each is different. I included some of the most popular options from last time and put a twist on some of them, hopefully I get a variety of responses! Thank you for participating, and even if you don't, thank you for supporting my blog through its journey! Love you xx!

See tags 50 follower event and hasini's 100 follower event for past activities!

[watchyourbuck]

masterlist

most of these are 18+ or will end up being! i urge you to take a look at the tags on each, as some of them have very niche kinks

series knives to the chest (and into my heart) - ongoing The one where Buck and Eddie are killers, but they're also in love (as much as they can be).

dear maddie, - finished After Buck dies, Eddie writes ten heartfelt letters to Maddie, telling her the story of how they fell in love, so she can feel closer to her brother once again.

A.R.C.A.N.E.3 - ongoing (and still receiving prompts) This Dystopian Fantasy AU is part of a Tumblr game, where the world I built is kept secret from the readers. Each chapter is in response to a prompt sent to me on my inbox, shaping the story with the only promise of Buck and Eddie ending up together. The more I write, the more is revealed.

fifteen first kisses - ongoing Fifteen different first kisses between Buck and Eddie

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

one shots i'll guide you through The one where Eddie's never been with a man before, and Buck gladly guides him through it.

not your fault (but mine) The one where Buck invites his new boyfriend to game night at Eddie's house and Eddie does something about it.

next in line Buck has a boyfriend. Eddie isn't happy about it. It should be him in that spot.

the powder room plot A lot can happen at the firehouse's men restroom. The one were Eddie begs Buck to let him eat him out.

fill in the gaps (and i'll fill yours) 5 times Buck and Eddie mess around at work + 1 time it almost gets them fired.

watercolored Buck and Eddie break into a hotel's jacuzzi at night, but can't seem to be too quiet about it.

among the hungry and the patient Buck's tired of Eddie's bullshit so he walks into the firehouse and just asks him to make out.

i love you if you even care 7x04 spec fic where Buck gets jealous of Tommy, but hits Eddie with the basketball instead.

do you mind? im pining 7x05 spec fic. Buck and Tommy have their first date. Eddie is jealous about it. (Includes Buck and Tommy making out at the loft + Eddie dealing with complicated feelings towards his best friend).

i might be a sucker for you 7x05 meta fic. Buck and Tommy go on their first date, but never get interrupted. Includes bucktommy public kissing + first time blow jobs.

third mans the charm Buck and Tommy get nasty at a gay bar - with Eddie. (Includes a double public blowjob + sub Buck)

i dont think we fit on the bed Stablished buddietommy takes the day off. (Includes Tommy and Eddie taking care of Buck in various ways + a little domestic fluff).

everything about you tastes like metal Buck gets a tongue piercing to suck Tommy off.

golden star boy has two boyfriends 7x06 meta fic. Tommy never leaves the bachelor party. He catches Eddie staring at them making out. (Includes drunk Buck and Eddie + Buck being needy for two men.)

just like coming home 7x07 inspired fic. Buck and Eddie go on their first date. Eddie wears the 'good cologne.' (It includes a buddie kiss bc i couldn't help myself.)

we might be marrying a monster Buck, Eddie and Tommy get married. Buck turns into groomzilla - with a clipboard. (Includes Eddie and Tommy being absolutely done with their fiancé + a little smut scene at the end.)

dreams unwind the freefall 7x10 spec fic. The Diaz Parents take Christopher. Buck and Eddie are left to deal with the mess. (Includes a hug and a kiss that may ruin everything - or not.)

old dog new tricks Buck and Tommy meet at a bar. Tommy's a little (much) older. They fuck about it.

personal pornstar Eddie grows a beard, then loses half of it. Buck apparently has a facial hair kink. (Includes Buck getting rimmed by Eddie pornstache Díaz, then fucked over a table. Also a little fluff bc wink).

if you wish to stay (we'll stay too) Buck tells his parents he's in love with two men. It doesn't go so well. (Includes Tommy and Eddie taking care of him + Eddie's inner monologue about the Buckley Parents).

oh, did i wake you up? the buddietommy somnophilia fic (includes buck getting fucked by his pretty boyfriends + waking up in the middle of it).

six of hands, three of souls a buddietommy soulmate AU (Includes established buddie + the soulmate talk + Tommy sucking them both off at the end of the night).

walk him like a dog, tie him like a bunny Eddie and Tommy give brat!Buck a run for his money. (Includes a playboy muzzle + a surprise little ending)

three players one game Buck and Tommy are rugby players. They use Eddie as a way to let off steam.

[gabessquishytum]

Hi, everyone! Gabe/Leo here. Welcome to my new pinned post. You'll find lots of info here, including a new tag library curated by @seiya-starsniper which should help you filter (or follow) particular bits of content. This post will be updated from time to time and will also tell you whether my inbox is open or not <3

For reference, my inbox is currently OPEN.

࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛۶𖹭ৎ࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛ 

Since you've found yourself on my blog, please note that a lot of my content is not safe for work! I am over 18, and if you're on my blog, you should be too! Content rated over 18 will also be tagged as #nsft

Here on my blog, people like to send me asks with scenarios, prompts or fic ideas that they have had, and I take a bit of time each day to respond with my own “yes, and” - collaborating with the original asker to make a small piece of fandom content. Sometimes other people are inspired by this and write their own fics based on the posts! It's a lovely collaborative space where all are welcome - including those who wish to stay anonymous.

࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛۶𖹭ৎ࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛ 

I am primarily focused on dreamling! But I also love to write other ships in the fandom. The tags I use for ships are:

#corintheus

#dreamling

#hoblethros

#hobrinthian

#hobrintheus

#hobstruction

#immortal throuple

#hob x everyone

#hob x lucifer

࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛۶𖹭ৎ࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛ 

The general tags that I use for sandman/writing content are as follows:

#dream of the endless

#ferdinand kingsley

#fic recs

#hob gadling

#horny q

#meowpheus

#my writing

#nsft

#the sandman

࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛۶𖹭ৎ࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛ 

I also have some specific alternate universes which you can find or filter out with these tags:

#ace dream

#ace hob

#ballet au

#bdsm au

#bratty dream

#bratty hob

#disabled dreamling

#dreamling gender swap

#catboys

#chef hob

#cow hob

#fantasy au

#fat hob

#fem dream

#fem hob

#mafia au

#mob au

#sugar daddy au

#the addams family

#trans dream

#trans hob

#vampire au

#werewolf au

#warprize au

#warprize hob

࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛۶𖹭ৎ࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛

For more of your tag filtering or searching needs, the following is a list of content warning tags that I will strive to use consistently. This list will be updated depending on what comes up in the future:

#dead dove do not eat

#cw age gap

#cw age regression

#cw agrere

#cw alcohol or #cw intox

#cw attempted murder

#cw birth

#cw biting 

#cw blackmail

#cw blood

#cw body modification

#cw body mutilation

#cw breeding

#cw child abuse

#cw cheating

#cw choking

#cw christmas

#cw cnc

#cw cucking

#cw daddy kink

#cw dark content

#cw death

#cw dermatillomania

#cw diaper

#cw disordered eating 

#cw domestic control

#cw dubcon or #cw dubious consent

#cw drugging or #cw drugs

#cw exhibitionism

#cw feederism or #cw feeding kink

#cw findom or #cw financial domination

#cw food

#cw food issues

#cw free use

#cw genitalia

#cw grief

#cw guns

#cw homelessness

#cw humiliation

#cw hunger

#cw hybrids

#cw infertility

#cw infidelity

#cw internalized homophobia

#cw kidnapping

#cw lactation

#cw major character death

#cw malnourishment

#cw manipulation

#cw medical

#cw memory loss

#cw menstruation

#cw mental health

#cw monsterfucking

#cw mpreg

#cw murder

#cw noncon

#cw object insertion

#cw objectification

#cw omegaverse

#cw omo

#cw overstim

#cw oviposition

#cw parent death or #cw patricide

#cw pain

#cw physical abuse

#cw piss

#cw pregnancy

#cw prostitution

#cw rough kink

#cw rough sex

#cw s&m

#cw scars

#cw scat

#cw self harm

#cw sex addiction

#cw sex pollen

#cw sex work

#cw sexual harassment

#cw sleep paralysis

#cw somnophilia

#cw spiking

#cw stalking

#cw suicide

#cw sui mention 

#cw stockholm syndrome

#cw teacher x student or #cw teacher/student

#cw tentacles

#cw threats

#cw toxic relationship

#cw transphobia

#cw violence

#cw vomit

#cw voyeurism

#cw watersports

#cw weight

#cw wetting

#cw yandere

࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛۶𖹭ৎ࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛ 

Finally, some of my anons like to identify themselves with emojis! This isn't mandatory at all. But here's a list of anons who have emoji-fied themselves (please note this may not be a complete list):

#yan anon

#🐈‍⬛ anon

#🍃 anon

#🦇 anon

#💳 anon

#🦊 anon

#🧀 anon

#🚒 anon

#🔪 anon

#💄 anon

#🌳 anon

#🎮 anon

#💍 anon

#🦒 anon

#🌘 anon

#🎸 anon

#🦎 anon

#🪽anon

#🍓 anon

#🤜 anon

#🐙 anon

#🐉 anon

#💎 anon

#🎭 anon

#🌛 anon

#🌻 anon

#🎉 anon

#❄️ anon

#🍐 anon

#🍭 anon

#🦋 anon

#🤰anon

#🖋 anon

#🏵 anon

#🦩anon

#🪐 anon

#🦄 anon

#💥 anon

#🍰🐲 anon

#☂️ anon

#👠 anon

࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛۶𖹭ৎ࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛

Thank you for reading, I hope you have a lovely day! ❤️

[queenofmoons67]

Donate an eSim, Get a Fic

Hi everyone! First, if you're unaware, please go here for information on how eSims are helping people in Gaza and how you can donate.

Second: For a long time now, I've had my inbox open to fic prompts I fill for free. That isn't going to change. However, as I'm sure my followers are aware, sending me a prompt does not guarantee a fic quickly, or even ever.

If you donate an eSim and send me proof alongside a fic prompt, I promise I will not only write the fic, but I will do it within a month.

(Proof is a picture of the eSim receipt and the email donating the eSim, with any personal information covered.)

I do not guarantee a certain length to the fic. Most of my prompt fills end up around 500 words, but some are shorter and some are longer. If you donate more than one eSim, or donate a larger or longer-lasting eSim, I will do my best to write you a longer fic, though.

There are two ways you can do this:

DM me with a prompt. I will either give you a thumbs up, in which case you can send me proof of donation, or I will ask you to send something else because I'm unable to write your first one (eg I'm not familiar enough with the characters, it's a squicky prompt for me, etc).

Send the prompt and proof of donation in TWO separate asks. One ask should contain both prompt and proof, the second ask should have ONLY the prompt. This is so I can publish the prompt while keeping your personal information, covered or not, private. In the case I'm unable to write the prompt for whatever reason, I will ask you to send a new prompt.

The first way would be my preferred way, but I don't want to exclude people with no tumblr accounts or people who want to ask anonymously, so the second way is available to you.

For my general prompt guidelines, go here. They may be useful, since they include ways to format prompts and what fandoms I generally write for. You can also get an idea of what fics I write on my AO3 or by browsing this blog.

Donate an eSim, get a fic.

Free Palestine. 🍉

[grellsaw]

⸻ ❝ Grim Reapers must remain neutral between God and humans. they are strictly forbidden from intervening in or influencing human affairs. Their principal job is to check each dying soul's Cinematic Record, or kaleidoscope of memories, one by one, to determine whether they deserve to die. ❞

↳ #𝑮𝑹𝑬𝑳𝑳𝑺𝑨𝑾 is portraying &. writing as 𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐋 𝐒𝐔𝐓𝐂𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐅 from the KUROSHITSUJI ( black butler ) franchise. penned by malikai. this character self-identifies as a woman. any transphobia against said character will result in instantaneous block. this blog is 21+ and not spoiler free.

navigation links ~ ! ⸻ * about . * ask memes . * carrd . * promo . * headcanons . * dragon age . credit ~ ! ⸻ * icons .

⸻ ❝ 𝑻𝑯𝑶𝑺𝑬 𝑳𝑰𝑺𝑻𝑬𝑫 𝑵𝑶𝑻 𝑻𝑶 𝑫𝑰𝑬 .

@akumanomorii . // . @acollapsar . // . @gwg0ry . // . @crownshattered . // . @sebaelis . // . @aurea-oculos . // . @swrdmaid

⸻ ❝ 𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒 &. 𝐄𝐗𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄 .

𝐈 . as aforementioned, any transphobia will result in a block. this includes racism, homophobia, antisemitism, and any sort of other discrimination against minorities. be a generally courteous person, not an ignorant loudly proclaiming prejudice.

𝐈𝐈 . activity is sparse. real life comes first. with that in mind, be aware my silence is due from external means. tumblr writing is not my obligation, it is a side project and/or hobby.

adding onto this, i tend to reply slowly to both IC and OOC interactions. my real life outranks writing in my priority scale. please do not push me for replies, it worsens my anxiety &. it will lead to socially distancing from said individual. nothing against the person, it is an innate bad habit.

𝐈𝐈𝐈 . i openly ship. if i have an idea for romantic chemistry, i may reference it. however, i will not push it upon another, nor would i appreciate others pushing their characters onto me.

𝐈𝐕 . no, you are not spamming my inbox. always send prompts or memes. i wholeheartedly welcome it. so long as there is no anonymous hate sent, my inbox is open to all.

𝐕 . i am an adult. i presume most of my followers are. please act your age; any drama, vague-posting, harassment will result in an instantaneous block. this isn't twitter, you're not a vigilante seeking justice. resolve your issues privately.

i do not like to block people. however, when it concerns perpetuating drama on the dashboard, inciting harassment toward other writers, i disavow. i will hard-block you. regardless of what contents it has, i do not want the additional stress in my life. if you intend to reblog callouts, please tag them appropriately with "cw drama" or "drama".

𝐕𝐈 . if you intend to block me out of the blue, please inform me why out of sheer courtesy. this is not an enforced policy, it is more-so my wanting to understand why. i will not be offended if you choose not to.

𝐕𝐈𝐈 . Normally I do not mind, but if you refer to me as your “friend” after having only 3 separate conversations and nothing personal entailing them, then we are not friends, we are acquaintances. furthermore, if you begin to "love bomb" ( read the definition here ) me on our first interaction, i will be wary of your intentions. i do not assume said person harbors malicious intent, it comes from previous experiences wherein love-bombing resulted in built-up resentment from unresolved conflicts not imparted on both sides.

TO CLARIFY: that does not mean i am unreceptive to establishing friendships, this is entirely false. there is a lot of nuance when it comes to online interactions &. setting social boundaries. i welcome people to directly message me on here or on tumblr ! this guideline simply exists solely to help un-blur the line between what constitutes a friend from an acquaintance. a friend knows who you are outside the screen; there is consistent, constant interaction off tumblr. whereas an acquaintance is when both parties have tangible interactions, only knowing each other at surface-level.

[the-modern-typewriter]

Would you talk about your process of writing short stories, if you don't mind? Do you outline it before hand? do you make it up as you go? is it the same w the prompts you get vs stories like The Blue Key or The Art of Turning 30?

It's different for stories that are prompted on here and stories like The Blue Key, The Gallery of Broken Things or the Art of Turning 30 which I have come up with entirely independently and unprompted.

It's also sometimes different for stories that are prompted on here, and other stories I've written based on a prompt from a friend, such as Escapology, Half Sick of Shadows and My Love is Like a Red, Red Rose - but these are more similar because they are still varying degrees of prompt based.

The first question, when I have an idea/prompt, is how big do I want the story to be. Some ideas require novels, some are perfect for short stories. Figuring out which is which comes with practice.

Writing from a prompt

Stories that are triggered by a prompt come (to a point, some prompts are more specific/detailed than others) with a certain amount of inbuilt scaffolding or clues as to what the story must be about.

I talk about different sources of ideas, including writing from a prompt, in this post. The prompt bit gives a sense of my general process when writing tumblr stories with more specific prompts.

For a non specific prompt...

The next tumblr inbox prompt I think I'm going to write when I have a sufficient moment is:

ah, could you write something about a vampire x mortal who always reincarnates

It's a tumblr drabble, I'm thinking 2000 words max, so fairly simple without an elaborate planned plot. It's just for fun. I don't go into the story assuming I am going to continue it. I also don't assume someone on tumblr is going to read loads of backstory and set-up, so I just skip to the most interesting scene that comes to mind with as little set-up as possible.

So, I know I have a vampire character and a reincarnating mortal character. The 'x' implies that the story is going to have, to some level or another, a romance thread.

However, the prompt otherwise immediately raises a lot of questions; the decisions/answers I make to these questions shape the story. Examples of questions that pop to mind.

Am I writing in the POV of the human or the vampire?

Does the mortal remember that they reincarnate or do they start from scratch every time?

When the story starts, does the vampire know that the love of their life reincarnates, or is this the first time that they are seeing their love after thinking they were going to live the rest of their immortal life alone?

How did the mortal die the first time? Was it happy or traumatic?

If it's not the first time they are seeing each other post reincarnation, how did the previous lives go? This will colour the relationship dynamic.

Why is the mortal reincarnating?

Why are the two of them seeing each other in the present of the story? What does each character want out of the scene?

I love an antagonistic dynamic and conflict is brilliant for short stories, so I might go one step further and immediately decide that I want the vampire and the mortal to be opposed/in conflict in some way.

If conflict, what conflict should I pick?

After a certain amount of this, it's just pick whichever answer I am in the mood for on any given day and go.

Writing without a clear prompt

This is more difficult, but I also tend to love these stories more when I do get inspiration for them. There also isn't one process that works for all of these as it tends to change a bit with every story.

(Although I don't tend to outline short stories.)

More often than not, when these stories happen it is because a very clear idea or nugget pops into my head or a strong urge to write about something in particular, and I tend to write the whole thing in a matter of days or hours. They have a lot of iceberg time in my head where I'm sort of thinking about them, then there's a click.

As an example:

I wrote The Blue Key because I love fairytales, the mythos of Bluebeard and haunted houses. I knew I wanted to write something inspired by Bluebeard in this instance, so I knew that I needed a house, a couple, a key and a locked door that must not/should not be opened.

Because I love these stories, I had them on my mind so I wanted them to play into the story. What does it mean to have so many stories about curiosity and its consequence, about having a love that you are not allowed to look at? I re-read some of my favourites and I came across this quote about Bluebeard by Margaret Atwood. I read people talking about how they would be smarter than the wife, or how they just wouldn't look, as if it's always that easy.

What would happen if you didn't know which story you were in? What would happen if the Bluebeard character was also trapped in a story that he didn't want to play out, where there was love as well as horror? What happens if you are in a story where you have the fairytale rules where you must give your wife a key and you must not tell her what is behind the door.

What happens then?

The Blue Key was my answer to that general brain mulch.

[iam93percentstardust]

Welp it's been almost an entire year since the last hate comment in my inbox, so I figured I was due for another one (and trust me, dear nonnie, you have nothing on the three months of targeted bullying and hate I went through at the end of 2022/beginning of 2023). But I think this is a good time to spend some time talking about authorial intent. Now, don't get me wrong, I think there are many, many things wrong with this comment, but their complete misunderstanding of what I wanted to accomplish with this fic is indicative of a wider problem that I'm seeing in fandom at the moment, so we're gonna talk a bit about critical thinking and authorial intent.

So I could point out that this comment sucks because the fic they're complaining about is a gift fic and the giftee loved the fic so anyone else's opinion doesn't matter, and thinking that your opinion matters more than the giftee's is the height of entitlement (but let's face it, being called entitled doesn't matter to this person).

Or I could point out that this fic was tagged with "Infidelity" so they had to have known what they were getting into when they first opened the fic and shouldn't be so horrified that the cheating fic contained cheating (but let's face it, we all know that they didn't read the tags, and I'm not even sure they read the fic since both characters were cheating, not just Tony).

But what I really want to focus on is how badly this person misunderstood what I was writing. This is a smut fic masquerading as a breaking up & making up fic. I wrote this fic specifically so I could write 6 sex scenes (which was the original prompt anyway). I didn't really want to focus on the feelings. They're there, they're present, they get mentioned to set the stage for the sex, but I don't spend thousands and thousands of words talking about the feelings and mental states of Steve and Tony.

Which means that for the parts where Steve and Tony are being "toxic" and "shitty," I don't go into a whole lot of detail as to why they're being toxic and shitty. I have a personal headcanon as to why they're acting like this, but it doesn't actually matter. What matters is that I made a deliberate choice not to include the justification for their actions so I could write the smut instead. I knew that I was writing Steve and Tony as toxic and shitty because that was the entire point.

Now, let's be honest here, this commenter doesn't care about any of this. "Disgusting" and "grossness" are a deliberately inflammatory word choice, and as my friend pointed out, they're being puritanical and moralistic. In other words, they're like any other of the growing number of pearl-clutching members of fandom I see these days.

But this post isn't really for them. This post is for everyone who's only reading fic through their own lens and forgetting that the author also had a purpose when they wrote the fic in the first place.

This isn't the first time someone has completely misunderstood what I was trying to do with a fic. It's one of the meanest, but it's not the first time. It happened with the professor/student fic I wrote in 2022 where I argued that just because two people were wrong for each other when they were younger that doesn't mean they're still a mismatch when they're older. The pining Tony/serial one-night stand Steve where almost all of the early comments were about how it should be switched and missed that that was the entire point (that Steve is the obvious choice for pining, and I wanted to explore what would switch that dynamic). The Christmas fic in 2021 where someone straight up told me I tagged it wrong just based on the summary.

So here's the thing: death of the author is only one interpretation of literary criticism, but it's by no means the only. Authorial intent is a perfectly valid way to interpret a fic, and in this case, it's arguably more valid than looking at it through the lens of death of the author because if the reader isn't considering my reasoning behind why I wrote the fic the way I did, then the point of it will go right over their head. Getting so hung up on my intentions, my background, my style of writing not mattering, on only their interpretation mattering, means that they only read the surface level of this fic. And that works just fine in other fics, but it doesn't work here. At all. Because the entire point of this fic is my intentions. I intended to write a smut fic that glossed over the feelings of the two characters involved. I intended for it to look like a toxic relationship from an outsider's perspective. I intended to write the prompt I saw for the person who prompted it.

And if you're not looking at it through what I intended, then all you're going to end up with is dissatisfaction and the belief that I made a mistake somewhere instead of realizing that I achieved exactly what I set out to do.

[blessedpictures]

I'm working on several long-form stories - including on that sequel I've promised & the Alice fic I still need to post the end to, as well as a collection of others - but I'm in a bit of a pickle. I manage my stress better if I write filthy one-shot stories in-between the longer stuff, and Editor is shit at coming up with suggestions. He isn't giving me anything to work with. We need help.

So if you have some ideas for quick and dirty stories you'd maybe like to see me take a crack at, hit me up. DMs on Tumblr are fine. Anon is on for asks, I'm pretty sure.

The rules are simple: -if it doesn't interest me, I won't write it. I am promising nothing. And it's nothing personal if I don't write your prompt, my inspiration is fickle and difficult to predict. -It should be Remedy Connected Universe related - I'm better at Alan Wake focused shit & I PREFER AW focused shit - but I'll also allow Control and maybe, MAYBE Quantum Break suggestions. I've never tried to write either beyond the Ahti fic, so hey, maybe this'll get me into it.

Also keep in mind: -There's a very real chance I will write it, like, MONTHS from now. Or you won't see it posted for weeks. Sending an ask doesn't mean you'll see a response either - I'll probably just leave most of the asks in my inbox until they're either posted or I've decided I'm not writing it. -You can send something that isn't sexy; I've always allowed prompts under the agreement that you can't expect anything from it, blah blah inspiration fickle etc. But I am kind of asking for sexy here. Weird pairings, weird kinks, just quick and dirty stuff you think needs more love - whatever, hit me, let's see if we can make magic.

TL;DR: if you can float me a sexy RCU fic prompt and accept there are no strings attached, please do. I'm going insane here.