#< is that their ship name??? I have no idea

[sturnsdarling]

teenage dirtbags, introduction

Skater!Matt needs help with his essay, and Overachiever!reader is the smartest girl on campus

vibe check: enemies(?) to lovers au, childhood acquaintances, no warnings this is just a blurb to set up the vibes.

1k words

A/N: This is just the intro to what I plan on being at least a five part series. I don't ship blair and dan but lowkey this is them (i've fallen down an edit rabbit hole and now i kinda ship them lol)

love and cigs, merc

You and Matt had never really liked each other, you were completely different people, and despite going through every grade together, and somehow ending up at the same college, you definitely wouldn't classify yourself as friends, or even acquaintances. Honestly, you couldn't stand him, with his boyish charm, eye watering smile and breezy attitude, he was insufferable.

Matt was interesting, to say the least. You never saw him without his head phones in and feet planted firmly on his skateboard. His wardrobe seemed to consist solely of dirty band tees, cargos that didn't fit him and beat up sneakers. He was the furthest thing from a scholar, his idea of an extra curricular activity being how many screws he could loosen in the Deans office before the man had a brain haemorrhage over his chair or desk falling apart every other day. Every grade he got was just above average, 'consistently uninspiring', as he called it, and despite the fact that he was actually quite smart, he never wanted to be anything other than exactly that, average.

You on the other hand, we're almost the exact opposite. Your grades were the highest in the entire college, the best they'd seen in years, actually. You ran multiple clubs, were the president of not one, but two societies; philosophy and classic literature; and tutored everyone from under to postgrads. You were clean cut and classic, pleated skirts with knee high socks and a collared shirt, tucked under a vintage sweater was your personal uniform; you looked as smart as you were. You were every schools dream, painfully smart and ridiculously driven, everyones favourite over achiever. From the bows in your hair, to the Plato or Dostoyevski tucked in your arms, all the way down to your vintage platform loafers, you were extraordinary.

The day it all started,

Your books were tucked neatly in size order against your chest, hair tucked behind your ears and knee socks tight against the bottom of your thighs as you headed to your second lecture of the day. The halls of the literature building were as busy as you'd expect it to be on a Wednesday, filled with people all going about their days and trying to sound as smart as possible in front of their new pretentious friends.

The sound of skateboard wheels against the brown linoleum echoed behind you, followed by the huffs and puffs of said pretentious people.

Matt rode through the halls, swerving through the students with ease as he tried to catch up with you, eyes trained on the way your hips moved in your pleated skirt. He called your name, and the sound of his voice made your eyes roll to the back of your head, so you kept walking.

Matt picked up his speed, pushing off with his leg to reach you. he called your name again, this time as he pulled up next to you, kicking his board up and holding it in his hand, jogging slightly to walk shoulder to shoulder with you.

"you walk way too fast" Matt said, only slightly breathless.

"people tend to do that when they have somewhere to be" you said, attitude thick in your voice as you kept your eyes trained on your destination.

Matt was looking at you, grinning at your consistency in hating him.

"where ya headed?" He said, stepping in front of you with a light jog, walking backwards and finally gaining your eye contact.

You huffed, a faux smile forming on your face in response to his cheesy grin.

"what do you want, Matt" you said, continuing your pace and slightly impressed at Matts ability to walk backwards without bumping into anyone.

"how do you know I want something?" Matt shrugged, squinting his eyes at you in bashful accusation.

"because we haven't had a conversation in... three years? and you look like you want something" You stopped walking, tilting your head to the side, "so what is it?" you looked him up and down quickly.

Matt pressed his tongue to his teeth with a smile, stopping in front of you, "I need your head"

Your face screwed up instantly, "I beg your pardon?" you scoffed.

Matt chuckled, shaking his head and rubbing the back of his neck with his palm, "not like that, I mean, I need your brain"

You cocked your eyes to the side, waiting for him to say words that actually made sense, "I'm gonna need a bit more clarity than that, Matt"

"I need your help with an essay" Matt said, biting his plump lip slightly with pleading eyes.

"no" you shook your head with a scoff, stepping out from his figure blocking your path and continuing your stride down the hall.

"come on, y/l/n, please?" He jogged after you, "I'm desperate", gently pressing his shoulder against yours.

"why would I ever help you?" you scoffed, looking straight ahead and ignoring the sentiment of him still calling you by your last name after all these years.

"cause I'm desperate" Matt was looking at your profile, repeating his earlier claim, "and we're friends"

you scoffed again, "we are not friends, Matt" you said, rolling your eyes.

Matt searched his brain for an example of your friendship but came up blank, "okay, fine, we're not friends" he grinned, "but we've known each other forever and.... it's nice to help people" it was the only thing he could think of.

You ignored him, shaking your head with an uncontrollable smile attempting to form on your face at his persistence. Matt continued to walk with you, begging, pleading and saying your last name over and over again like an irritating child, telling you that you're the smartest person he knows, and that he'll fail without your help.

"whats the essay on" you rolled your eyes, giving in and looking to him.

"existentialism" Matt said, his ears perking up at your interest.

You huffed, stopping once more. People continued to rush past you and Matt as you stood face to face in the centre of the hall.

"if I help you, you'll leave me alone?" You questioned.

"absolutely" Matt nodded

you rolled your tongue over your teeth, deadpanning at Matt.

"fine" you said, bluntly.

"yes!" Matt cheesed, "you are an angel sent from heaven, thank you"

"come to my dorm tonight, seven o'clock and we'll get started" blatantly ignoring his compliment.

"I'll be there" Matt said, placing his board on the floor.

"it's the franklin building, room three, if you cant find it then i'l-" The sound of Matts wheels rolling away cut you off.

"i'll just follow the smell of vanilla and academic overachievement, I'll find you" Matt said from over his shoulder, skating away from you down the hall.

You rolled your eyes as you watched him weave in and out of students, dropping out of sight as he rode his board down the flight of stairs to the exit.

taglist: @sturniozalt@mattslolita@shaquilles-0atmeal@blahbel668@sleepysturniolo@le4hsblog @sarosfilms @joemamaaa42069 @2muchofaslvt @seluky10 @cherib3lla @jetaimevous @witchofthehour

[crimson-and-clover-1717]

The problem with reading Ed’s nod as ‘dub-con’ is the idea that consent is an event. It isn’t. It’s ongoing and can be withdrawn at any time. The nod was for us. But behind the curtain, both Ed and Stede are looking for and giving ongoing consent. What they want, what they don’t want. We are shown over and over that Stede is extremely respectful of Ed’s boundaries. We are shown that Ed is confident to assert those boundaries. Had Ed wanted to stop at any point, he knew he could do so safely. As could Stede.

Dubious consent is when an individual consents to sex because they are afraid of the repercussions if they don’t, and know they are not safe to withdraw that consent should they wish to. It’s about power imbalance. If Ed had said no, would he have been beaten up, starved, thrown off the ship, ostracised, assaulted, or watched Stede find someone else to have sex with? Would Stede have sulked and name-called, belittled and bullied? There is no power imbalance here. If there is, it’s slightly in Ed’s favour. He’s far more sexually experienced despite neither being romantically so. All of this is new to Stede. He’s going to need guidance and love and support making love to a man for the first time.

Do you know what might be classed as dubious consent? The sexual relationship between Stede and Mary. Both forced to perform within a heteronormative marriage to produce an heir as part of the hereditary principle of noblesse oblige. Mary states ‘we never would’ve chosen each other’. I’m not suggesting sex between them was abusive in any way, but they were forced to consent to a marriage they didn’t want, and therefore forced to consent to sex with a person they didn’t wish to, within the system they found themselves in. And to not do so carried consequences. That, perhaps, is your dubious consent.

None of this is true for Ed and Stede. Regret (and Ed doesn’t regret it, he’s scared) the next morning does not equal dub con the night before. Stede is devastated to even consider that Ed might regret what happened. The idea he would or could coerce Ed into sexual activity he didn’t want goes against everything we know of Stede’s character. It’s actually insulting to people who find themselves in domestic violence situations in which they do consent to sex they don’t want out of fear. Honestly, if you think Stede Bonnet is capable of that level of manipulation of the person he loves to the core of his being, or that Ed is capable of being manipulated in that way, you are not watching the same show I am; and frankly, I don’t know why you’re watching it at all.

[cherryheairt]

Idea by @itsaslaminak tysm 🩷

In His Arms

Summary- Cregan Stark comforting his wife through a thunderstorm

named! reader with no desc, made up house between Dorne and the Reach.

not proofread just wanted to get something out. I've been so swamped

When Lenora discovered her betrothal to Lord Stark, Warden of the North and Lord of Winterfell, she was confused first and foremost. Her, a firstborn daughter of House Keaton, a house that bordered between the Reach and Dorne, a dry and arid place. Northerners hardly married anyone who wasn't born and bred in the North, let alone married from a house allied with Dorne. Never in Westeros history has such a marriage been prospected, but a sudden need for alliance had sprung up one Winter.

The Starks were in need of livestock in stead of the harsh winter, and Martells were in need of supplies and ships. A pact was made for an annual trade to by conducted every early winter, for as long as relations were well between the two kingdoms. With the Martell Princesses all being married off already, Prince Qoren decided to send a vassel house's daughter instead. So, Lord Lent Keaton provided his eldest daughter to Lord Stark in a marriage and trade alliance, providing a generation of trust between the Dornish and Northerners.

It had taken months to travel North, with Lenora dreading every step that brought her closer to her mysterious bethrothed. Her parents and ladies in waiting could not join her on such a far journey, their services needed elsewhere during the time, so Lenora was left with only two of her maids and the guards protecting her carriage. The weather, too, was almost unbearable. By the time she had gotten there, the boats of livestock had long since reached the North to get the people through the harsh winter. Winter was long over by her arrival. Though, it hardly seemed that way given the powdery show falling over her hair and shoulders the moment she stepped from her box.

A welcome party was in Winterfell's square to greet the young Lady, consisting of Lord Stark, his sister, and a few of his trusted council members and bannermen.

It was easy to tell which one was Cregan. With a broad and tall figure, dusty brown hair that was half tied back, and a massive brown pelt held over his shoulders and clasped together with the signature Stark direwolf. A long face, straight nose, and fine lips turned into a straight line. As she got closer, she noticed steely grey eyes to match the longsword strapped to his shoulder. An intimidating sight, one quite unlike the friendly faces of Dornish men.

Was he unhappy with her? Burdened by the fact that he had to marry a Dornish girl in order for his people to thrive in the cold winters? Or was it simply the face of a hardened Northerner? Lenora had heard they were all miserable and serious, even with their own close families. Glancing at Sara Snow, she wasn't quite sure of that. The girl's pale face was set in a charming smile as she bounced on her feet as if to contain her excitement.

Lenora was glad to see a friendly face in such a cold place. Perhaps even if her husband was distant, she could still have a friend to keep her company.

Her eyes trailed back to Cregan, who stepped forward to meet her. Tilting his chin down slightly, he grabbed her hand to meet her knuckles in a kiss that seemed too delicate for a man like him. "I welcome you to Winterfell, Lady Lenora. I hope your travels were not too arduous."

Even his voice was rough, with that thick Northen accent she had only heard in King's Landings' tourneys. The stark difference between his accent and the usual one of her own kin made her stomach stir with warm nerves, the tone pleasing to her ears.

"It was no trouble at all, my Lord. Though, I dare say that the bite of the North was not at all as I expected. I half-thought the tales of the permanent snow where merely exaggerations."

He smiled, showing a softer part of him that Lenora hadn't expected to see. Truthfully, she was unsure if he could smile at first sight. She decided it fit him well, and hoped such an expression oft graced his comely features.

"You'll find Winterfell much different than the summerlands of House Keaton, my Lady. I will ensure that you can acclimate to our lands quickly. I've had some warm dresses and pelts commissioned for you over the winter, if they please you." He offered an arm to Lenora, which she took with a warmed face.

He glanced up and down briefly at the young lady, assesing her clothes discreetly. She had taken her warmest gowns for her travels, though even bundled up with many blankets in the box, she did not find much warmth. Hopefully, North-made attire would prove to be more useful. The dress she wore now exposed more than she had seen on other women at the passing inns and small Northern towns. In the heat of Dorne, modesty was not taken so prudishly as it was in other places. People were free to wear thin silks, laces, and cottons as well as strappy and more revealing necklines. Skirts were thin and flowy, as they should be for ease of walking and air flow.

When visiting King's Landing, her outfits earned her more than a couple of prolonged stares, either of judgment or unveiled lust. She took them all in stride, only strutting past any onlookers with a striking confidence; as any Dornish lady should uphold.

Now, she couldn't help but feel sheepish under Cregan's steel gaze. Did he think her silly for not preparing garments herself over the winter? Or perhaps unfit to serve as Lady of Winterfell with such improper attire. Sara had dressed like a true Stark, with a light blue dress lined with wolf pelt at the wrists and collar along with brown gloves to match. Even while showing off little of her figure and only her face, she still looked a picture of Northern beauty with blue eyes and contrasing dark black hair.

"Anything you provide, I am most grateful for, my Lord. I am not a difficult person to please." She mentioned, tilting her head up to meet his eyes as they walked into the Great Keep.

Inside, it was much warmer. Lenora felt the Keep's ancient. presence surround her like a safety blanket. It was a heavy feeling, much different from the open walls of her own family house.

As if noticing her relief, Cregan started, "Winterfell is built on a group of hot springs, keeping it warm throughout all the seasons. The water lines the walls," he nodded towards the stone walls surronding them. "To keep us warm. You will find it most comfortable in the Keep, but I hope that does not deter you from exploring Winterfell and Winter Town as you please."

Lenora nodded, taking the halls in and memorizing them as they walked. "I am excited to meet the people of Winter Town. I hope to settle in to my duties quicky." She said pointedly, glancing at Cregan to guage his reaction. Many lords in the Crownlands, Reach, and Stormlands did not care for their wives beyond just making heirs, and so they were often cast aside and did not have any duties to take care of. Lenora grew up with her mother and father both being busy constantly with their duties, sharing the burden as head of a great House.

Winterfell was an even greater House yet, one that Lenora hoped to be welcomed to by the commonfolk and leige lords alike. That started with being active in the communities, and an attentive Lady.

He nodded, "I will let you get adjusted to the North before anything else. After the wedding, and the honeymoon period, I will teach you the duties of a Stark Lady." Cregan promised her kindly.

Lenora was grateful for the immediate response, and found herself eager for this arrangement. 'A Stark Lady' ran through her mind many times as she settled into her temporary chambers. She liked the sound of it.

Many moon turns later, Lenora had turned her attentions almost fully to her duties. Organizing the Great Keep's staff, taking care of Winter Town's events and charities, and so on. She took to it naturally, with Cregan's help, and found the commonfolk of Winterfell had accepted their new Southern Wardeness with open hearts.

Cregan, too, shared that sentiment. Though the wedding was a beautiful affair, it was a bit tense given that the bride and groom were only just acquainted. The honeymoon weeks were spent purely in each other's company to get to know the other. Horseback rides in the mornings, hunts in the afternoons, settling down in their marital chambers in the evenings; all their days were spent in content and relaxation. At the end of their honeymoon, they finally felt comfortable enough to perform the bedding ceremony without the watchful eyes of any Lords or maesters.

Though Lenora had shown no signs of being with child yet, she was still content. Cregan showed no comtempt with the matter either, telling his wife that a child would come when it was time, should the Gods will it. She agreed quite happily, secretly enjoying having her Lord husband all to herself.

On night's like these, she was ever more grateful for it. After they finished their separate days, Lenora and Cregan settled into bed together. Lenora, in a baby blue night shift and Cregan, in only a loose pair of trousers.

Lenora had oft told Cregan how comforting it was to listen to his heartbeat as she fell asleep, so he took to sleeping without a tunic since their first days together. The chill was kept away by the many pelts on their bed and their own body heat combined.

With her head lying on his chest and his large hand rubbing up and down her back soothingly, she felt herself drifting from the light conversation.

"...not to worry too much about the solstace feast."

"Hm?" Lenora murmured, lifted her head to meet his eyes.

Cregan smiled knowingly, shaking his head. "Never mind, we can discuss that in the morrow. Go to sleep, my girl." He said quietly, kissing her hairline gently.

Unable to resist sleep's great temptation, she only hummed and placed her head back in its place. Thump, thump, thump, and she was asleep.

Lenora was woken by a thunderstrike. It crashed with a piecing 'bang!' and left her jerking awake.

The sound of pouring rain upon cobblestone roofs and glass windows surrounded her on all sides. Bright shots of lightning peeked in from the window in their chambers, followed by more thunderstrikes. Lenora flinched harshly, each strike sending a spike of fear into her heart.

She had rainstorms, of course. But none as ferocious as this one. Never such loud, nauseating thunder and bright lightning in her homeland. Duststorms were common back in her childhood homeland, something she could handle easily. This was a complete turn from that.

When another strike hit, sounding ever more close to Winterfell's keep, she clutched onto whatever her hand was rested on. Coincidentally, it was Cregan's forearm. He stirred then, lifting a hand to his eyes to rub at them tiredly. "What's wrong, my girl?" He murmured.

How had he slept through the noise? Was he so unconcerned with a flood happening, or the roof collapsing under the weight of so much water. Or fire, struck on the Wolfswood trees by stray thunder?

"The storm." She hissed worriedly. He sat up, moving his hand on top of hers and rubbing atop her knuckles soothingly.

"What of it?"

"I've never seen one so strong. Will the Keep not flood, or the woods catch fire? We should prepare—"

A deep chuckle came from beside her. At Lenora's confused and panicked look, Cregan shook his head and cleared his throat.

"'Tis Summer, wife. Monsoon season is upon us for some weeks, it happens every year. We are well prepared for anything that happens. Our roofs are slanted for rain to slide right down, our food is stored in sealed silos, and fires stand no chance of spreading with such heavy rain."

Lenora's heart slowed slightly, calmed at the thought of Winterfell being safeguarded by its years of tradition and preparation. Though, she was not completely calmed by his words alone. The pelting of drops hitting the roof and window still made her veins feel ice-cold, even with the hearth still running strong in their chambers.

Cregan reached out to grasp her face gently in his hands. "It will be like this for only a short time. We are safe in here, I promise you."

She nodded, clutching onto his large hand with one of her own as she leaned into his warm embrace. There, he held her firmly to his chest as he stroked her hair. Kissing the crown of her head, he spoke. "Shall I fetch more pelts? You are shivering, my heart."

Lenora shook her head, not wishing to part from his arms. "Just stay here with me, please."

"Of course." He obliged, succumbing to her whims as easily as the wind blew seeds from a dandelion. His wife came before all else, after all.

Slowly, he layed them both back down on the bed. Covering them up snug under the thick pelts of fur, Cregan rested his wife's head to his chest, covering her exposed ear with a cupped hand.

Wordlessly, he soothed her without needing to be asked. Never annoyed at her soft demeaner, he delighted in taking care of his beloved wife.

Comforted by his steady heartbeat instead of the thundering rain outside of the Keep, Lenora found herself drifting back into the welcoming and warm arms of sleep. Cregan stayed up all the while, ensuring his wife could not be disturbed again that night. He kept a hand held over her ear, adjusting to fit around her whenever she shifted in her sleep. His over arm lie firmly over her waist, rubbing circles at the small of her back distractingly.

Lenora did not wake again that night, oblivious to the raging storm outside. Every night after that, during the season of monsoons in Winterfell, Cregan was exceptionally careful that she rested throughout the night and was never scared again by the storms.

[0ekkye0]

i need to draw ling more cause i have no idea how to translate him in my style 😔😔😔😔😔😔😔😔😔 ANYWAY

first look at my FashionStudent!Ed AU (i need to find a better name for it)

i have everyone's roles and majors listed i just need to finish everyone's designs so i can start spamming ya'll with art of them

just so u know it WILL be an EdLing au because i'm obsessed and weak BUT it will have other ships and other dynamics because i like to suffer and love chaos

[orphiclovers]

Hear me out about yjh and blondes: 999 yjh x Uriel

YES I'm so into this pairing you have no idea. and lol about the blonde thing. yjh has a type.

I've talked about them some under the tag #999yjhuri (ship name pending...) so check that out but yeah I love them they're canon to me! I don't even know where to start talking about them because I have so much to say

The thing is that Uriel loved her captain so much. 999 is the only turn we know of where she was one of Yoo Joonghyuk's companions and it's sooo significant to that round specifically because she is an ANGEL and a constellation of the Absolute Good system!

Uriel saw this one man who sacrificed everything for his companions and decided she wanted to fight by his side. He was the 'good' she saw in the world. And then she had to stand by helplessly and watch as his soul and body withered from the outer world covenant. and see up close as with the same noble sacrifice she fell in love with he destroyed himself.

But they thought they could make it to the end of the scenarios at least, they were so close, but then at the very last moment he DIED IN HER ARMS!!! And she lost her mind with grief and swore eternal vengeance upon the one who took him away.

The good in her soul died with him! She who was the righteous 'absolute good' angel of Eden for thousands of years was so broken by his death she chose to become evil, to become the very thing she swore to destroy

And of course this neatly ties into spuri, the one who was the object of her single minded obsession for thousands of years. Even to the point when it made no sense, when she learned who he was, it didn't matter because the bloody path of vengeance was all she had and all that kept her alive.

And then there's the huge complicated mess of what SP thinks about 999 Uriel. His careful neutrality when she attempts to kill him and burns down his forest with all the inhabitants. The was he doesn't react because he thinks he is reaping what he sowed. He says to Kim Dokja that this is the consequences of his mistake - sees her as a divine punishment for his sins in the 999th regression rather than as a person who wants to kill him

And at the same time in his mind there exists 999, who, quote off the top of my head, 'sighs in lamentation at the sun' when she attacks N'gai. 999 is COMPLICATED and I won't get into his insane psychology in this post but in short, he feels pity for her and all the rest of his companions who turned into outer gods (and also SP...) but makes the frankly correct decision to not come back to them even though he technically COULD, because it would cheapen everything they went through. There is no way to turn back time and save your fallen companion, even when there is. He KNOWS they live in his memory and that's why he can never return (kim dokja anyone...). He does his best to stay dead, even in his afterlife.

And, stay with me here, there's the love triangle of it all.

Both Uri and SP wanted to save 999 but neither of them could. And she despises SP for killing the love of her life but they both wanted the same thing, for 999 to be happy!

I think about SPuri in the post epilogue OD household. Even though Uriel accepted that 999 wouldn't come back and gave up her futile revenge quest against SP, there's still lingering awkwardness and tension there. After hating him for so long it's difficult to act normal around him. I imagine she treats him with civil distance.

And then, when SP does something small that reminds her of 999, she has to look away to remind herself that 999 didn't want to come back and to respect his decision, berating herself for mistaking SP for the man she loves, which is disrespectful to them both.

Even though SP didn't often think of 999 and himself as the same person, I think spending all his time around the 999th turns companions + having 999s memories in his head would inevitably bring out old habits and that side of him more. To all around bittersweet feelings from the outer gods, not just Uriel

[novaursa]

I can’t get this idea out of my head and thought you’d be the right person to come to 😅I have this idea of reader being a targ/velaryon with a dragon. She is betrothed to a lord/prince/king who she has fallen in love with, but she is betrayed by them. maybe they wanted to steal readers dragon for themselves and only pretended to love them to gain the advantage of having a dragon.

I’ll let you decide how the ending is, if reader goes full on mad Targaryen or sorts it another way

Fire and Salt

- Summary: Euron pays the price of fire for his ambitions.

- Paring: targ!reader/Euron Greyjoy

- Note: The reader is the twin sister of Daenerys, and is bonded with Rhaegel.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

- A/N: I had to switch this to ASOIAF universe, because this man is only one I can think of who would play with his life like that. 🤣

The marriage had been a spectacle of fire and shadow, a union born of necessity and ambition. The Iron Islands’ winds, sharp and cold, whipped against your face as you stood beside Euron Greyjoy on the deck of the Silence. The sea roared beneath you, and in the distance, your dragon, Rhaegal, circled the skies, a green shadow against the storm-darkened clouds. You glanced at Euron, his smile like a blade glinting in the sun, his hand tightening around yours in a possessive grip.

“Your sister is pleased, I hope,” he murmured, his voice a purr of satisfaction. “Our marriage seals her alliance with the Ironborn. And I gain the most beautiful dragon rider in the world.” He leaned closer, his breath warm against your ear. “Tell me, my wife, do you find our arrangement to your liking?”

You tilted your head, meeting his gaze. There was something wild in his eyes, a madness that both repelled and fascinated you. “The arrangement suits Daenerys,” you replied, your voice steady. “And it suits me well enough.”

Euron chuckled, his fingers brushing the hilt of his axe as if testing its edge. “Well enough?” he echoed, his grin widening. “I think I can do better than that.” He gestured expansively to the Ironborn gathered below, their cheers a cacophony of loyalty and ferocity. “See, my love, they scream your name now as they scream mine. We are one, you and I. Rhaegal is mine as much as he is yours.”

Your dragon’s roar split the sky, and the cheers of the Ironborn faltered, their faces turning upward with awe and fear. You felt the heat of Rhaegal’s presence, the bond between you thrumming like a living thing. He was yours, and only yours, despite Euron’s delusions.

“You will never command him,” you said softly, a warning threaded through your words. “Rhaegal answers to no one but me.”

Euron’s eyes narrowed, the charm in his expression hardening to something more dangerous. “We shall see,” he said, his voice low and cold. “We shall see.”

The days that followed were filled with uneasy peace. You played your part as the dutiful wife, attending to your duties, speaking with the captains, and even sharing Euron’s bed. He was a tempest, a force of nature, and while you despised his arrogance and cruelty, there was something else there, something darker and more complex. You found yourself drawn to him, to the storm that raged within him.

But Euron had his own plans. You sensed it in his whispers to his priests, in the way his gaze lingered on you when he thought you weren’t watching. And then, one night, it happened.

He called you to the deck, the moon high and full above the sea, the air thick with salt and the promise of violence. The crew watched in silence as Euron stood beside the massive iron chains that held Rhaegal, your dragon’s bronze eyes glowing like distant stars in the dark.

“I have gifts, my love,” Euron announced, his voice carrying across the ship. “Gifts for you and for your dragon.” He gestured to the men at his side, who dragged forward a writhing, terrified figure. A priest of the Drowned God, his face twisted in fear and pain.

You stepped forward, your heart pounding. “Euron, what are you doing?”

“Making a bond, Y/N,” he said, his voice almost gentle. “Between myself and your beast. Blood magic, they say. The blood of a priest, the blood of the sea. It will bind Rhaegal to me, and to us.”

Rhaegal growled, his teeth bared, smoke curling from his nostrils. You felt his rage, his defiance. He was not some beast to be tamed. He was fire and fury, and he was yours.

“Stop this madness,” you said, your voice shaking with anger. “You will die if you try.”

Euron laughed, a wild, reckless sound. “Die? No, my love. I will become a god.”

He raised the axe, and the priest screamed. But before he could strike, Rhaegal lunged forward, breaking the chains as if they were threads of silk. His jaws closed around Euron’s arm, and the Ironborn lord cried out in shock and pain.

“Mercy!” he screamed, his face twisted in agony as Rhaegal’s teeth sank deeper, tearing through flesh and bone. “Mercy, Y/N, please!”

You stood still, your heart a stone in your chest. This man had sought to use you, to control you and your dragon. He had thought he could bind fire to his will, that he could take what was yours.

Rhaegal’s orange-yellow flames erupted, engulfing Euron in a blazing inferno. His screams echoed across the sea, and the Ironborn watched in horrified silence as their king burned. You watched, your face impassive, as the flames consumed him, as his body crumbled to ash.

When the fire died, there was nothing left of Euron Greyjoy but a blackened smear on the deck. The crew stared at you, their eyes wide with fear and awe. You turned to Rhaegal, your hand resting gently on his scaled neck. He rumbled, his breath hot against your skin, and you felt his anger recede, replaced by a fierce, unbreakable bond.

“Burn it all,” you commanded softly, your voice carrying in the stillness. “Burn the Silence. Burn every ship.”

Rhaegal roared, his wings spreading wide as he took to the sky. His flames rained down upon the fleet, yellow fire licking across the decks, devouring sails and masts. The screams of the Ironborn rose as the ships burned, the sea boiling with heat and fury.

You watched from the deck of the Silence, your face lit by the flames. This was the end of Euron Greyjoy’s ambitions, the end of his dreams of conquest and power. He had tried to bind you, to use you, and he had paid the price.

When the last ship sank beneath the waves, the fire hissing as it met the water, you turned away. Rhaegal descended, landing beside you with a thud that shook the deck. You mounted him, your hand resting on his neck as he spread his wings.

“Fly,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the roar of the flames. “Take us home.”

Rhaegal launched into the air, the wind whipping around you as you rose above the burning fleet, above the wreckage of Euron’s ambitions. Below, the sea churned, the flames reflecting in its dark depths like a vision of hell.

You looked back once, at the ruins of the Ironborn fleet, at the shattered dreams of the man who had thought he could control you. And then you turned your gaze forward, to the horizon, to the future that awaited you.

You had come for power, for vengeance, and for love. You had found one, tasted another, and destroyed the last. But you were a Targaryen, and you would not be used. Not by Euron, not by anyone.

The sea stretched out before you, vast and unending, and you felt a thrill of freedom, of power, as Rhaegal soared higher, his wings beating against the sky.

You were fire, and blood, and vengeance. And the world would know your name.

[http-paprika]

There Was Something Here Once and it lingers in the air

small town au / call of duty x female reader / taglist open / wc 2030 / warnings light swearing / no use of y/n / ship not yet decided / no beta, my grammarly hates me

making a place for herself in aberdeen is not without its struggles, and not without more problems.

She tugged at her light cardigan, glancing over at the fan that sat in the corner of the diner and questioning why they even needed it with how cold it was outside. A blank document sits open on the screen of her laptop, a promise to try to write daily failing miserably as she spent her lunch break away from the small public library. The waitress walks up, refilling her cup of coffee again and glancing at the club sandwich that’d gone untouched before hurrying away to attend to the other patrons. Mostly loggers finishing a shift and grabbing a bite, all dressed in worn down workwear, a contrast to the suits and ties she used to see on her lunch breaks before. 

In the corner of the diner, the doorbell rings as a new customer walks in. She glances down at her keyboard again, willing her hands to move. Hadn’t she been dreaming, talking, and wanting to write this novel since she was a girl? How many years in the making had she been plotting it up through tedious university lectures just for the actual act to be daunting, intimidating her with the idea of failing. 

“Oh, hello again.” The steady voice of the tow truck driver lilts through her ears, she perks her head up to look at Johnny. He’s still in his blue coveralls, but there’s a new, noticeable oil stain on the front pocket. “Never seen you in here before, mind if I join ya?”

“No, yes. I’m sorry, I’m just all over the place today.” She sighs at the admittance as Johnny sits down across from her in the booth. He grins at the waitress when she brings by a menu, greeting him by name. In a small town like this, she was sure it wouldn’t be long before everyone knew her name, and she theirs. Though, names had never been a strong suite of hers. 

“Yeah? What are ya doing on there?” He asks, nodding to her laptop and her face burns in embarrassment. She did not like to talk about her writing, there was something so private about it that opening up was like if she were to be completely exposed in the diner. Mortifying. 

“Work.” 

“Work?” 

“Yeah.” She nods in seriousness, trying to convince him that’s what it is. But Johnny doesn’t look convinced, a grin on his face as he smiles. 

“That’s the same excuse I tell John when I’m sitting on my ass.” He winks at her and that burning from earlier reappears. “Don’t worry, I won’t keep asking. If it’s private, it’s private. But, I am curious, what does a librarian exactly do? It can’t all just be checking in and out books, can it?”

“Well, um,” She blinks, trying to collect herself and find the right answer for her lunch partner. “Stuff.” 

“Stuff?” 

She nods at Johnny, swallowing the realization of how pitiful she is in conversations. Always had been since she was a girl, it made her and her father alike. Much to the disappointment of her mother. 

“I’ll have to come visit soon then and see you do… stuff.” Johnny decides with a boldness in his voice. And when the waitress comes to take his order, she realizes that that’s the way Johnny is. Bold, proud, and bright like the sun. It’s a wonder he chose to stay in this town, should he have spread his wings out anywhere else, he would’ve been a star. 

“Okay.” She says, her voice sheepish and low. A glance at her watch causes panic to hitch as she realizes her lunch break is about to end and she needs to hurry back. “I’m sorry, I hate to be poor company but I have to go.” Fishing through her tote, she sets down enough money for her meal and coffee. She takes another swig of the caffeinated beverage before shoving her laptop back into the bag.

“Don’t worry about it, you do what you need to do.” He assures her with another warm smile, she nods back slowly before the panic hits again, the bell in the nearby church steeple ringing loudly to signal the changing of the hour. 

Out of the diner, across the little square that marks the downtown of Aberdeen, her loafers dig into the muddy grass. Her breath comes out into little huffs as she hurries back into the tiny public library. The door whines on its hinges from the force she applies to yanking it open. She winced in fear that it would fall right off, but it slams behind her causing her to jump out of her skin. Claire, her older coworker, sits at the circulation desk and quirks a brow up at her, the thin-rimmed glasses she always wore perched on her pointed face. There was a similarity to a crow that she couldn’t strike down, the way Claire was always watching from those beady, black eyes left her uneasy. 

“Sorry.” She mutters, bowing her head whilst walking behind the circulation desk to her tiny cubby. It wasn’t much smaller than the one she’d had before, one little plant dying in a plastic pot, the postcard Beau had sent her, and one of those cheese motivational cat posters that a coworker from her last job had given her when she left. There’d never been much to her name, she didn’t have much growing up and never felt the need to want more than she needed. So, besides the boxes of books waiting to be unpacked in her cottage, clutter wasn’t something she acquired. 

“Enjoy your lunch?” Claire asks, walking up to her desk with a box of books from a different library in the same system. It settles on her desk with a thud, and she can feel the heaviness in Claire’s gaze. Her punctuality when it came to time today was not the greatest, first with the car slowing her down and now this. 

“Yes, sorry I was running behind. Today’s just one of those days.” She sheepishly responds, hoping Claire could spare a sliver of sympathy towards her. Hasn't she ever run late before? 

“Mmm.” The elderly woman draws her mouth into a thin line, her hands resting on her bony hips. “Those are the interlibrary loans, they need to be sorted.” 

“Of course. I’ll get to those right away.” She nods, hoping the old crow would leave her alone. 

After giving her a dirty look for long enough, the door to the library opens again and Claire’s attention is quickly drawn away to greet the patron. Grumbling, she opened the box, sifting through the different books. A stack was quickly formed for one patron, and an appreciation formed for someone she didn’t even know. Whoever they were, she was certain that they were responsible for keeping the tiny library open. 

She glances up from the assortment of books, looking over at the circulation desk where Claire was helping a young mother check out various picture books. From the few days she’d worked, the conclusion had been drawn up that only the elderly or young mothers stepped foot inside the stuffy building. She’d yet to see anyone that fit the description of loggers and frowned, they were a key demographic in Aberdeen but couldn’t be bothered to read. Back in the city, she’d done so many outreach programs to try and engage with members of the community that weren’t represented in the library. Perhaps that needed to be done here. 

“Claire?” She asks gingerly, stepping up to the circulation desk once the patron has left. 

Claire glances up at her, carefully pulling off the wired glasses and cleaning them up. “Can I help you?” 

“Well, I was just curious about our patrons.” She wished Rosemary or Clint, the other two people who held positions at this branch, were there for her to speak with. But they were out doing god knows what, and the question continued to persist in her mind. A determination to fix a situation had always been one of the few things she stood out for. 

“What about our patrons?” Claire sets the glasses back on the bridge of her thin nose, evidently not interested in whatever tangent she was about to embark on. 

“Do the loggers not come in very often? I’ve only ever seen one or two.” She says, voicing her thoughts. “Should there not be something done to try and bring more of them in?” 

“That’s not for you to worry about.” The response is sharp, almost painful with how Claire says it. Like somehow she’d suggested a foolish idea, one that would’ve been better never said aloud. “That’s Clint’s job. Focus on your work.” 

Dejected, she nods and returns to her desk, trying hard not to look over at Claire again. The crow had only grown meaner with any interaction she tried to strike up. What she’d done to deserve the reaction was outside of her knowledge. After all, she was a competent enough librarian if nothing else. 

“Do you ever visit the library on your own?” She asks Johnny, sitting in the small office of the auto shop to finally speak with John about her car. A poor attempt to keep herself from worrying about the state of the vehicle, she needed a running one. 

A flush of embarrassment crosses Johnny’s face and thinking back to the conversation they’d briefly had in the diner, the answer is clear. “No, uh, not since I was younger. I’m usually not downtown, don’t even think about it and definitely don’t read as much as I should.” 

She nods, not passing judgment towards his words. It was understandable, so many people tended to neglect the library, not even considering the public service. 

“What would change that?” 

Chewing the inside of her cheek, she tilts her head to watch as he thinks. Johnny fumbles with his hands, trying to decide on an answer that isn’t seen as offensive. She’d asked the question to hundreds of different people in an attempt to connect with the community. No one ever seemed to be able to give her a satisfying answer for change. 

“Well, to put it simply, the car’s fucked.” John states, stepping into the office and running a hand over his mutton chop beard. A hard day of work is visible in his stance, he slouches against the desk as he takes the time to explain the issues the car had. In his words, he was supposed it had run as long as it had with all the underlying issues she’d failed to notice in her haste to pack up and move on. “Probably be cheaper to look at selling it for parts and buying a new, well, used one.” 

She slumps in her chair, trying hard not to bury her face in her hands. Cars were expensive, even used cars. Moving wasn’t cheap either, she’d already spent what little money her grandmother had left her to help with the house note. Where was she going to scrape together the money for any sort of running car? 

“Hey, it’ll be alright,” Johnny tries to console her, putting a hand on her back as she drops her head. “I’m sure something will come around, right John?” 

The older man doesn’t say anything, lost in thought as she mutters to herself over financial stress. Wasn’t moving to Aberdeen supposed to make her life easier? Small town living sounded so idyllic until reality sinks in, problems hit. At least in the city, she had access to buses, even if they weren’t the cleanest and meant waking up much earlier than she would’ve liked to get to work on time. Here, she was reliant on whatever goodwill the people of Aberdeen had. And she wasn’t expecting much more after the grace shown to her that morning. 

“Right, John?” Johnny asks again, looking at his boss with annoyance. 

“Oh, yeah. Sorry.” John continues to run his hand over his beard, clearly absent from the conversation at hand. His behavior causes her to finally sit back up and blink, confused as to what exactly was happening. “There might be someone I know who could help your situation.”

[winxanity-ii]

IT'S ME, MARIO!

ship: itadori x fem!reader warnings: non-explicit word count: 1.7k a/n: idc idc idc, yuji would definetly make a fool of himself if he knew you were nervous

★·.·´🇯‌🇺‌🇯‌🇺‌🇹‌🇸‌🇺‌ 🇰‌🇦‌🇮‌🇸‌🇪‌🇳‌ 🇲‌🇦‌🇸‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌🇱‌🇮‌🇸‌🇹‌`·.·★

Since living on campus, you'd adjusted to being on your own. It had been… interesting, to say the least.

Moving from the comfort of your hometown, where you knew everyone and everyone knew you, to a sprawling university was like stepping into another world.

But you'd managed. Slowly but surely, you'd found your rhythm.

You'd been pushing yourself to attend those countless events and programs that the campus threw at you, dipping your toes into the waters of socializing at your own pace.

Sometimes, it was easier to just be a face in the crowd, observing from the sidelines, taking mental notes of how people interacted, what made them tick.

You'd practiced small talk like it was an art form—commenting on the weather, complimenting someone’s shirt, asking what their major was—and for the most part, you'd gotten better at it.

It was a slow process, but you were learning to navigate the chaotic dance of college life.

Currently, you were sitting in your honors open communication class, trying to remember how to breathe without making it seem like you were hyperventilating.

The classroom, with its cozy size of about ten people, should have felt intimate, manageable. But instead, it felt like a pressure cooker. Every word, every glance, every single goddamn breath felt magnified.

You were staring blankly at the front of the room as your classmate, Akane, wrapped up her presentation on how to cook a traditional Japanese breakfast: tamagoyaki, miso soup, grilled fish, rice, and even a beautiful spread of pickled vegetables.

It sounded extravagant, yet she made it look so simple.

Probably because she didn't have to wrestle with the invisible, clawing beast of anxiety like you did every time you so much as thought about public speaking.

Your palms were sweaty, knees weak—okay, maybe not that dramatic, but still. You were jittery and nervous, your pulse a steady drum in your ears because you were up next. And Akane, bless her, was finishing up with a flourish, her smile bright and confident.

You tried to take a deep breath, feeling your throat tighten. Yuji, sitting right next to you, leaned over slightly, his shoulder brushing yours, and whispered, "Hey, you okay?"

You managed a stiff nod, mumbling out a barely audible, "Yeah." But you didn’t dare look at him, because you knew the concern in his eyes would undo you. Instead, you stared hard at the scratched-up desk in front of you, willing yourself not to freak out.

Yuji knew about your anxiety. You'd confided in him more than once, spilling the mess of thoughts that spiraled in your head before you had to speak in front of people.

How your heart raced, your mouth went dry, your hands shook. How no matter how much you prepared, how many times you practiced, your body still froze up.

It was like your brain and body were in this weird, dysfunctional relationship where neither of them wanted to cooperate.

"L/N-chan?" Your professor, Nitta Akari, said your name with that polite, expectant tone that sent another jolt of panic through you.

You opened your mouth, but before you could make any sound that resembled a response, Yuji spoke up.

"Sorry, teach, but is it alright if I go first? I'm a little shy…" His voice was as smooth and casual as ever, and you turned to look at him, utterly confused.

What the hell?

Nitta-sensei blinked but nodded, clearly caught off guard. "Uh, sure, Itadori-kun. Go ahead."

Yuji stood, giving you a quick wink as he made his way to the front of the room. You were still processing what just happened when he started speaking, but instead of launching into the well-thought-out paper on global warming you helped him prepare, he began with: "Mario, the Idea vs. Mario, the Man."

You blinked. Once. Twice.

What the fuck?

"Everyone knows Mario is cool as fuck. But who knows what he’s thinking? Who knows why he crushes turtles? And why do we think about him as fondly as we think of the mythical (nonexistent?) Dr. Pepper? Perchance…"  

You couldn't even react properly because he was already going off, delivering the opening lines with this bizarre mixture of enthusiasm and conviction, as if he was genuinely pondering the existential meaning of a pixelated plumber's life.

Everyone in the room, including Nitta-sensei, was staring at him with varying degrees of confusion.

There was a couple of snickers, and you saw one of your classmates, Yuki, already recording this on her phone, probably for TikTok.

Yuji, however, was undeterred, fully committing to the bit as he paced slightly, gesturing with his hands like he was giving a TED Talk. "Why does he crush turtles? Is it because he's saving the princess? Or is it because he's trying to save himself from his own internal void? Is it about the princess or the chase?"

You were sitting there, mouth slightly agape, because this was not what you spent hours helping him research. You'd spent countless nights, coffee-fueled and sleep-deprived, going over statistics and climate change projections, not pondering Mario’s deep-seated motivations for stomping on Goombas.

"And those mushrooms. Seriously, who decided that eating weird fungi would make you bigger? What kind of metaphorical bullshit is that? Some kind of growth narrative, maybe? Mario, the eternal underdog—"

"—Itadori-kun," Nitta-sensei interrupted, her voice carrying that unmistakable tone of an adult who's trying very hard to stay patient. Her eyebrow was twitching ever so slightly, and you could almost hear her internal scream as she tried to make sense of whatever the hell Yuji was talking about. "What point are you trying to make with this?"

Yuji blinked, completely unbothered, like he'd only just noticed he'd wandered off into another dimension of thought. "I dunno, but I think…" he trailed off, his eyes flickering around the room like he was looking for the answer somewhere in the air.

It was almost endearing, the way he tilted his head like a confused puppy, his lips pursed as if deep in thought.

There was a pregnant pause, the kind that stretched on just long enough to become uncomfortable. Nitta-sensei exhaled, the sound barely restrained, and she muttered his name again, "Itadori-kun." There was a warning there, a gentle push for him to get back on track, but you could tell her patience was wearing thin.

And in that moment, something in you snapped, like a rubber band stretched too far.

You knew you should let him flounder in his awkwardness, let him take the hit because, well, he put himself in this situation. But instead, you heard yourself saying, "I think Itadori-kun is trying to say that Mario isn't just a game character. He's a symbol of all the pointless shit we chase in life, only to find out the reward wasn't even in the castle—it was in the journey..." The words tumbled out in a rush, your voice wobbling slightly, and you felt the eyes of the entire class on you.

There was a beat of silence, then another, before Yuji broke into a grin, his face lighting up like a kid on Christmas morning.

"Yup! That's what I was trying to say!" He clapped his hands together, looking almost proud, and you couldn't help but feel a little heat rise to your cheeks.

How does he make everything sound so simple, so obvious?

Nitta-sensei just sighed, rubbing her forehead like she was trying to ward off a headache. She looked at Yuji, then at you, then back at Yuji, her expression caught between exasperation and something almost like amusement. "Alright, thank you, Itadori-kun," she said finally, her voice dry. "For that… unique interpretation."

She waved a hand, clearly done with the whole ordeal. You could see the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of her lips, like she was trying not to laugh, and it made you feel a tiny bit better.

At least she wasn't mad.

Just as she opened her mouth again, probably to call your name, the bell rang, loud and obnoxious and utterly glorious. You nearly sagged in relief, your muscles unwinding all at once.

The class collectively began to shuffle, packing up their things with the sluggish enthusiasm of students who had made it through yet another class.

Nitta-sensei sighed again, louder this time, and you almost felt bad for her. "Those of you who didn't present today will need to submit a recording since we spent too much time on…" She gestured vaguely at Yuji, who grinned sheepishly, "…this."

You let out a breath you didn't realize you were holding, relief flooding through you as you started packing up your things, all the tension and worry melting away like snow in the spring sun.

You glanced at Yuji, who was already waiting for you by the door, his bag slung over one shoulder, looking like he'd just casually won the lottery.

As you walked over, you couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at him. "What the hell was that, Yuji? Why didn't you read the presentation we practiced?"

He shrugged, giving you a lopsided grin. "I saw you were nervous, and I figured if I made a fool of myself first, maybe you wouldn't be so worried. You know, like, break the ice or something."

Your heart gave a little flip at that, and you couldn’t help the small, soft smile that tugged at your lips. He'd always been like this since you met him—considerate in his own goofy, unpredictable way. "Thank you, Yuji..." you murmured, feeling your face heat up a bit, the corners of your mouth curling up despite yourself. "Seriously, that was… really sweet."

Yuji beamed at you, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "No problem! I like being there for you, you'd do the same for me."

You giggled, the tension easing out of your shoulders as you nodded. "Alright, how about I buy you lunch at The Den to fully show my appreciation. Deal?"

"Deal!" He practically bounced on his feet, his energy infectious, as he reached out and took your hand, his fingers interlocking with yours in a warm, comfortable grip.

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard, but his touch was gentle and familiar, and you found yourself relaxing, your hand fitting perfectly in his.

"Come on, I'm craving those teriyaki burgers!" he said, already pulling you into the hallway, the two of you blending into the sea of students rushing off to their next classes.

You couldn't help but shake your head, a fond smile playing on your lips as you let him drag you along, your heart feeling a little lighter, your worries a little less daunting.

Maybe public speaking wasn't your thing, but having someone like Yuji by your side, you figured you'll be just fine.

A/N: hahaha i just couldn't help myself after seeing this meme going around online...

[leiascully]

with halloween coming up i’ve been dying for a spooky mermaid/siren au… scully being a beautiful scary ass mermaid and maybe mulder being a captain of a ship or something? maybe she just wants to lure him to his death or maybe it’s smutty or both? (i love your work you have no idea!! ty!!)

Scully snapped the telescope open and peered into the fog. There it was again - that flash or glint. It looked like metal, but there wasn’t any metal out there. Surpassing strange. She holstered the telescope at her hip and went to find her captain.

“Sir,” she said to Captain Skinner, “I think there’s something out there. I keep seeing a flash, like light reflecting off metal. But there’s no light, and no metal.”

“It’s the fog,” Captain Skinner said. “It’ll play tricks on your eyes, Scully. I’ve seen things over the years you wouldn’t believe. Keep your head level.” He patted her shoulder with a firm hand. Far firmer than he would have had he known she was a woman. Scully had run away to join the Navy, disguising herself as a man named Daniel. So far she’d managed to maintain the charade, padding out her uniform a bit and binding her breasts down. She shaved her face diligently every day while the crew teased her aspirations, and she had a sack full of sand that she tucked into her breeches to mock a member. She’d worked herself up to become Skinner’s first mate. They were on a little-regarded ship — the crew joked she ought to be called The Exile rather than The Exhilaration — but Scully was still proud of the accomplishment.

“I’ll return to my post, sir,” she said.

“Sometimes it feels like the fog is alive,” Skinner said. “Trust an old seadog. Keep your eyes to yourself.”

“Yessir,” she said.

The fog seemed thicker as she returned to the bridge. Scully couldn’t see any of the other crew members from her lookout spot under the figurehead. They sat at anchor; most of the crew were in their hammocks below decks. It was as if she was alone in the world. She leaned on the low railing and peered into the blankness. It was strange to see so much fog in the Caribbean; the waters had been clear when they’d left Bermuda, and the sky had been cloudless.

There it was again: a flicker of light, anomalous and uncanny. It flickered again and again, almost like a signal. Scully couldn’t see anything. She unholstered her telescope again, gazed out over the invisible water. There! A sinuous curve broke the surface, gone as quickly as she’d glimpsed it. And then, oh, a face! She saw it so clearly through her lenses: it had a square jaw and deepset eyes. A man, in the water. She skinned out of her jacket and rolled her telescope into it, tucking them against the hull of the ship. She kicked off her boots and stepped onto the rail. For a moment she balanced there, hesitating, but no, there was someone in the water and it was her duty to rescue them. She dove neatly into the sea.

Almost as soon as she’d delved under the surface of the water, she was swept up in a strange current. She opened her eyes, trying to get her bearings. The salt burned, but she could see something circling her. The coils of something tightened around her until she could feel scales sliding over the thin material of her shirt and breeches. She was embraced from shoulders to knees. She couldn’t move. She ought to be panicking, but she felt strangely calm. And there was the face again, those deep eyes peering at her.

(read the rest on AO3 - 4300 words, M for sexual situations, Navy sailor Scully has the time of her life with a merMulder)

[dollya-robinprotector]

Do you have an idea of when you’ll be shipping out the keychains that were ordered?

After I've come back from the con (Oct 8th) and I need some lil time to pack all of them too, so hopefully between Oct 15 and Oct 20!

Also I will need to ask for my buyer's name after all, I thought it wasn't necessary, but it is O(-(((( so Imma slide back into your DM to ask soon, my dear customers

[hugs-and-stabbies]

what's more romantic than the smell of cigarettes and rotting garbage under the moonlight? ♥

[rambles-about-minecraft-ocs]

<GeminiTay> I woke up in pearls bed LOL <impulseSV> whoa! <Smallishbeans> LOL

dont mind me, im just purposefully removing context from hermitchat for my own amusement-

(source is impulse's season 10 episode 11, at 00:37)

[tubbytarchia]

My friend convinced me of the potential of this very specific trio (especially in a roadtrip context) so I'm spreading the propaganda

Again, oddly specific trio but listen. Look at this graph @liauditore made. This is all you need to know (TLDR these guys make for fun duos between one another, but putting all three of them together would neutralize any cons that would arise otherwise)

We call them sappies because idk it sounds cute and funny. Very vaguely based on the idea of tree sap (not just from how that can be related to "treebark" but also the idea of sap being a thing that helps a tree survive and making for good glue and medicine in some cases. Idk they're sappy. You get it)

The croc meme is based on this. I think Martyn would be too stupid to grasp the concept of gender so I replaced his speech bubble with watcher lore

[z13lovebot]

i'm obsessed over the drawing you made of Pest and Sebastian together!! i was going to ask if you could make the trio?? Sebastian, Pest AND Poob ദ്ദി ( ᵔ ᗜ ᵔ )

Yes I can!!

[firstligamen]

(late) valentines

[artchixs]

hatchetfield brainrot continues