#how's that for a crackship

[my-meadowlark]

fic: a woman, not a queen [got/asoiaf: daenerys/ygritte]

Title: A woman, not a queen Fandom: A Song of Ice and Fire/Game of Thrones Characters/Pairing: Daenerys Targaryen/Ygritte Rating: E Word Count: 3997 Content warnings: Complete disregard for canonical logic, general smuttery Summary:

Ygritte knows many things. Useful things. Things that keep you alive. Things that keep you dead. Things worth knowing.

Ygritte knows how to swim and how to control the muscles that make you breathe. How to keep them from seizing up and killing you when the ice shatters under your feet and you fall into the cold water underneath.

But Daenerys makes her feel out of her depth.

Notes: Written for the prompt “Kneeling” for my kinktober Bingo

Read it on AO3 HERE or under the cut.

Ygritte knows many things. Useful things. Things that keep you alive. Things that keep you dead. Things worth knowing.

Ygritte knows how to swim and how to control the muscles that make you breathe. How to keep them from seizing up and killing you when the ice shatters under your feet and you fall into the cold water underneath.

But Daenerys makes her feel out of her depth.

Like she’s three again and being thrown into the river so she’ll either sink or learn to swim.

“You think very loudly, Ygritte.”

Ygritte rolls onto her side to look at the naked woman next to her. A princess and a queen and a khaleesi and a mother of dragons and whatever else Missandei keeps repeating whenever she introduces her to someone new. A woman, at the end of the day. Just like Ygritte, who doesn’t even have a family name.

Southerners are like magpies, if you ask her. Collecting useless things like strings of titles just because they shine pretty when the sun hits them just right.

“What am I thinking about, then? Since you can hear.”

“Me.”

Ygritte puts on her best imitation of what she assumes southern ladies sound like. “Aye, Daenerys Targaralaleeday,” she knows it's Targaryen, but she prefers to watch an indignant little crinkle appear between Daenerys’s eyebrows instead, “mother of dragons, breaker of chains, reader of minds.”

“Tamer of wildlings,” Daenerys adds, one fingertip tracing the bruise she sucked onto the pale skin between Ygritte’s breasts just a few hours ago.

“You’ve tamed nothing, southern girl.”

“I’m not a girl.” There’s nothing cute about the frown on her face now. She’s angry, not just annoyed. Ygritte has known the signs of a storm in the horizon since before she could talk, and they’re all right there in Daenerys’ eyes. “I’m a Khaleesi.”

Ygritte lets out a quiet chuckle. She’s never been afraid of storms.

“I don’t care.” In one swift movement Ygritte is on top of Daenerys, strong lean thighs straddling round hips and calloused hands planted on the bed on either side of Daenerys’s head.

“All those titles of yours,” she leans forward and kisses Daenerys, and there’s no holding back the smirk on her face when she hears Daenerys’s quiet sound of protest as she pulls away, “all those names. They mean nothing here.”

“I’m still your queen.” Daenerys tries to sound serious, but Ygritte can see how much she wants to kiss her written all over her face.

“I’ve got no queen.”

Daenerys holds her gaze for a moment, and Ygritte wonders what she’s thinking. Is she thinking about punishing Ygritte? About having her men make her kneel for their queen? About how many of them Ygritte would probably kill (or maim, at the very least) before they succeeded?

“But you’re still on my side.” It’s not a question, but Ygritte feels like Daenerys meant it as one.

“On your side of what?”

Daenerys looks surprised by the question. Like it should be obvious. But Ygritte has nothing to do with whatever lords and ladies get up to south of the Wall, and she’s not interested in changing that.

“Nothing.” Daenerys finally answers, after a few moments of thought. “Everything.”

Ygritte’s never had the patience for riddles.

“You’ve got to learn some real words, you know. With some weight to them.” Ygritte knows ladies down south aren’t supposed to do much. She wonders if they teach them to keep even their words light so they won’t bother the men.

“What do you mean?” Daenerys sounds genuinely curious. Ygritte’s seen that look in her eyes before, when she’s taught her how to tell where the North is, how to follow the stars or how to track your next meal. She knows Daenerys knows all kinds of things Ygritte can’t even imagine, but when it comes to useful things – things that matter – she knows nothing at all.

“I mean,” Ygritte says, moving one hand from its place on the bed to wrap around Daenerys’s wrist, “you say on your side of everything and that means nothing, don’t it? No such thing as everything. I can’t promise you everything any more than I can promise you the moon.”

“But you could,” Daenerys argues, but she doesn’t fight Ygritte when she pins a slender wrist to the bed above Daenerys’s head, “you could say it.”

Ygritte shifts on top of Daenerys, puts more of her weight on the hand she has around Daenerys’s left wrist to free the other so it can do the same to the her right one.

“Is that what the southern lords do to you ladies? Lie?”

“It’s not lying. It’s…” Daenerys thinks for a moment, and Ygritte takes the chance to admire just how pretty she looks, naked and soft and letting Ygritte have her way with her instead of playing the part of a khaleesi or a queen. “It’s like a wish. You know it’s impossible, of course. But if it were possible, you’d do it.”

Ygritte lets out a huff of laughter. “No weight to it, none of that. Seen empty water skins with more substance to them than all those empty words.”

Daenerys looks almost offended, and Ygritte wonders if maybe she grew up dreaming of a fair prince who’d make weightless promises to her while bending his knee.

“Go on, then,” Daenerys says, and that defiant, queenly tone of hers comes through in every word, “show me those words with weight to them.”

Ygritte smirks, unable to hide the fact that she’s been waiting for a chance to do just that, and starts by pressing a kiss to Daenerys’s lips. Just because there’s a weight to that, too.

“I promise,” she starts, knee nudging Daenerys’s soft thighs apart, “I’ll keep you well kissed. And well fucked."

Ygritte sees the first hint of an eye roll on Daenerys's face, but she shifts her weight and presses her thigh against Daenerys's cunt, and the blonde's eyes flutter closed instead.

"I promise I'd kill for you. And I'd die for you."

"I should--" Daenerys arches her back, rocking against Ygritte's muscular thigh, "I should knight you. Make you captain of my queensguard."

Ygritte kisses the pulse at the base of Daenerys's throat, licks a path up the side of her neck, catches her earlobe between her teeth and grins when she feels her struggle against the hold of Ygritte's hands around her wrists.

"I don't give a fuck about the queen," she whispers, low and hot against Daenerys's ear, "but I'd fight an army for you."

Danerys shudders against her and rocks harder, faster against her thigh. She's soft and slick and if Ygritte didn't have her hands otherwise occupied, she'd have at least two fingers inside her by now.

"What else?" Daenerys breathes it out, pale skin flushed pink and pebbled nipples dragging against Ygritte's skin every time she moves. "What else would you do for me?"

Ygritte lets out a quiet, husky chuckle against her neck. "I'd fight dragons for you, southern girl."

Daenerys is too far gone – too close to the edge – to argue Ygritte's wording, but she does manage to choke out a quiet, "impossible" between moans.

"Aye. Impossible to fight them and win," Ygritte shifts just enough to change the angle of her thigh against Daenerys's cunt, and the blonde arches her back and rides it even faster, "but I'd die trying."

Ygritte doesn't know if it's the words or the new angle that does it, but Daenerys comes with Ygritte's name on her tongue, shuddering against Ygritte's drenched thigh and then falling limply back on the mattress like a well-loved rag doll.

She always seems to need a few moments to herself after she comes, and Ygritte lets her have them, lying next to her and waiting for the shorter woman to come to her when she's ready.

It doesn't take long at all.

"Ygritte," Daenerys says, rolling onto her side and lazily draping an arm and leg over the other woman, "if I asked you to kneel instead of killing or dying for me. Would you?"

Ygritte lets the question sit in her head for a while. "Kneel for you?"

Daenerys nods against Ygritte's chest. "For your queen."

Ygritte smiles and presses a kiss to platinum hair. Daenerys knows next to nothing about things that matter. "I've got no queen," she reminds her, voice soft but firm.

Daenerys sighs, but she doesn't protest.

***

  Ygritte doesn't think she'll ever get tired of watching Daenerys's dragons.

She watches them take off and fly around. Watches them land, heavy and graceful, and feels the thud of their massive bodies hitting the floor right inside her ribcage. Like when someone plays a drum right next to you.

Sometimes, she watches them hunt. She doesn't like that as much, just because there's no beast in the land who can put up a fair fight against them so it almost feels cheap. Like they haven't quite earned their meal.

And sometimes, like right now, she just watches them and lets them watch her.

Daenerys is a protective mother. Too protective, Ygritte thinks. So she'd never tell her she has a favorite dragon, because she's sure Daenerys would take offense on behalf of the other two. Especially because Ygritte's favorite is not the one Daenerys loves the most.

He's white – a warm white, like milk, not cold like snow – and gold. Mostly gold. He looks like he was forged instead of grown in an egg.

Ygritte crouches down, relaxes her stance, and watches Viserion come closer. He reminds her of a cat, somehow. When she tilts her head to the right, he does the same, nostrils flaring as his breath comes out in clouds of steam.

"I've got something for you," she says, triple checking that his brothers are distracted before reaching into her bag and pulling out one of the fish she caught earlier. Dragons can fish, she figures, but they don't know how to make holes in the ice to reach the water below. Maybe she'll teach them some time. Their mother sure won't.

Ygritte throws the fish up in the air and watches Viserion catch it between his teeth. He could've swallowed it whole, but he chews a couple times first, and she takes it as a compliment on her fishing skills.

"I'll teach you how to get more some time. Before you leave."

"You could come with us." Daenerys's voice doesn't quite startle her, but it comes as a surprise. "I'm sure he'd let you ride him South."

"Would you?" Ygritte is still looking at Viserion, and when she offers his hand he bumps it with his enormous snout. Like a massive, fire-breathing cat. "But I'd never ask. You're no horse."

She respects him too much to treat him like a horse or an ass or an ox.

"You could still come," Daenerys says once Ygritte stands up and turns around to face her, "we could both ride horses if that's what you'd prefer."

Ygritte shakes her head with a smile and walks towards the hut they've been calling a home for the last few weeks. At first Daenerys tried to pitch her silky, queenly tent, but facing one Northern night in it was enough to make her see the error of her ways.

"And what would I do in the South, Dany?" Ygritte much prefers the shorter name. Less of a mouthful. "Play the fiddle and sew?"

Dany lets out a quiet chuckle. "Ladies don't play the fiddle, if that's what you were going for."

"This lady would. If she were a lady."

"So you would. I'd have a fiddle made for you the minute we arrived."

Ygritte finishes feeding the fire, frees herself from her bow and quiver and her bag full of freshly caught fish, and even sheds the outer layer of furs she's wearing. Their hut is warm enough.

"I can't play the fiddle. You'd be wasting good wood."

Dany rolls her eyes. When Ygritte finally sits down and settles in near the fire, she immediately claims her place on the wildling's lap, thighs straddling Ygritte's legs. "I'd hire the best fiddle player to teach you." She kisses Ygritte's chapped lips. "If playing the fiddle is what you want, then I'll see to it that it happens."

"I don't want to play the fiddle." Dany's lips are soft and warm, like the rest of her. She's always warm.

"What is it that you want, then? Come with me and I'll give you anything you ask for." Dany kisses her again, and then a third time. "I'll give you fields full of game for you to hunt. I'll give you--" another kiss, deeper this time, just enough to make Ygritte let out a sound of protest when it ends, "whatever you want."

They've had this conversation before, but this time Ygritte wants to make sure Dany hears her. That she listens. So she hooks one finger under Dany's chin and tilts her face up until she's looking into Ygritte's eyes.

"Whatever I want is this."

This. The North and Dany and a hut that's always a little warmer than it should be because Dany is in it. Three dragons. Fresh fish for dinner. Freedom. And Dany.

She knows Dany's listening this time because her eyes glisten with unshed tears.

"Don't you love me?"

"Aye, I love you. I love you." Ygritte kisses her for good measure and lets Dany press herself even closer against her. "Not some khaleesi. Not the queen you'll be down South."

"That queen and I are one and the same. I am her, and she is me."

Ygritte sighs. "No."

She kisses Dany before she can protest. Before she can go on about birth rights and blood and gods know what else. She kisses Dany until she's quiet. Until she's soft and pliant against her. Until she wraps her legs around Ygritte's waist so she can carry her to bed. She kisses her as she lowers her onto the bed, and then she kisses her some more, calloused fingers making quick work of untying Dany's leather trousers and pushing them down her legs.

Ygritte doesn't want to waste time with the furs above Dany's waist, but when she pulls away from Dany's lips she sees the blonde herself has done the work for her, vest and shirt pulled open to give Ygritte full access to Dany's breasts.

"You're always so warm," Ygritte muses out loud, already making her way down Dany's body to kiss the swell of her right breast and flick her tongue against a pretty pink nipple.

"Fire and blood," Dany sighs, fingers tangling in unruly red hair, "but you're the one who's been kissed by fire."

Ygritte smiles against soft skin, sucks Dany's right nipple into her mouth and pinches the left between her fingers. When Dany's back arches off the bed, Ygritte lets the nipple in her mouth go and starts kissing a path down to Dany's bellybutton, and then to the soft curls between her legs.

"You're always so wet." Ygritte breathes in the scent of her, voice reverent like she guesses other people might sound when they bend the knee for their queen. But she's got no queen.

"Not always," Dany corrects softly, thighs spreading for Ygritte, "only for you."

Ygritte closes her eyes for a moment, lets the words sink into her chest like a glass of hot mead in a cold winter night. She kisses the inside of Dany's thigh, lets her lips linger there for a moment, hopes Dany understands how this is much more important than anything South of the Wall.

Once the moment passes – once Ygritte feels like she's breathing right once again – she turns her head and noses at soft silver-white hair, kisses Dany's swollen clit, and lets out a quiet moan at the first taste of her.

Ygritte knows many things worth knowing, but one of the most important things she knows is just how Dany likes to be fucked. And Ygritte knows that very well.

Soft at first, kisses and gentle licks and the pads of Ygritte's thumbs holding her folds open so she can worship every inch of her with her mouth. She waits until Dany's hips rock up against her mouth to suck on her clit and slide one finger deep inside her, and when Dany pulls on her hair Ygritte knows gentle is no longer what she needs.

She nips at sensitive skin, fucks Dany with two fingers and then three, feels Dany's thighs clamp around her head when she matches the thrusts of her fingers with her tongue against Dany's clit.

And then everything stills. Dany's whole body tenses, her cunt squeezes tightly around Ygritte's fingers, and she finally comes with a cry that sounds a lot like she's trying to say Ygritte's name.

She knows not to stop right away. She knows to be gentle, to help her ride out the waves of pleasure crashing over her until Dany softly pushes her away and Ygritte knows any more would be too much.

Ygritte crawls back up Dany's limp, sated body and kisses her deep and slow, letting her southern girl taste herself on Ygritte's tongue.

"Do you like the way you taste?"

Dany nods against Ygritte's lips, too spent to speak.

"That's not the taste of a queen," Ygritte says, and she sees a flash of something nearly dangerous in Dany's eyes, "that's the taste of a woman."

She kisses Dany again before she can argue.

"And a well fucked woman at that."

***

Ygritte doesn't help Dany pack up her things. She doesn't watch, either. She just lets it happen. She's a free woman. Dany isn't, but Ygritte won't add more chains to the ones she's been carrying around from birth.

Viserion lands right next to her, snout sparkling with frozen droplets of water. He's been fishing. Something aches in Ygritte's chest, like an arrowhead someone forgot to pull out.

"I've got to go." Dany's voice isn't as firm as she probably wanted it to be.

"You want to go," Ygritte corrects.

For a split second, Dany looks like she might cry. And then she looks like she might have Viserion burn Ygritte right where she stands.

"I am a queen. I'm their queen." Dany gestures towards the East, but Ygritte knows she meant to point South. Dany knows so few useful things. "They need me there."

Nobody needs a queen. That's what Ygritte wants to say. Nobody needs someone to kneel for. Someone to own them. Nobody.

"Well, I don't need you here--"

"I know."

"But I want you here."

Dany stares at her for a moment. The fire is gone from her eyes, and Ygritte would feel bad if she didn't know that's how you learn. You're thrown in ice water so you'll learn to float and save yourself. Nobody learns from people making things easy for them.

"Ygritte--"

"Run away with me."

Ygritte thinks the look Dany gives her is as close as a queen can get to pleading.

"Fuck being their queen," Ygritte continues, unwilling to bend to rules that mean nothing in the North, "stay and be my woman instead."

Dany frowns. She presses her lips together and sets her jaw, and then she talks about honor and duty and many other things that mean nothing to Ygritte. She's come to hate weightless, empty words.

"They don't care," Ygritte says, and she's not sure if Dany stops talking from the shock of being interrupted while talking about queenly shite, or because Ygritte raised her voice.

"They don't care," she says again, softer this time, hoping Dany will hear. "They don't care whose ass sits on the throne. Whose head's under the crown. They'll have them kneel for whoever wears it. If not you, then someone else. A Stark or a Mormont or whoever they can find. It doesn't matter. The head under the crown doesn't matter."

Dany looks like she's just been thrown in a river full of ice-cold water for the first time in her life. And Ygritte decides to help her remember how to breathe.

"The head between my thighs, though. That matters. If not you, then—well."

Dany shakes her head like she's silently begging her not to say it—silently begging her to let this be easy for her.

"Then no one else."

***

Daenerys doesn't stay North of the Wall.

And neither does Ygritte.

She rides Viserion exactly once, only because the alternative would have been a ship and she trusts the air more than the sea. Once he lands, heavy but graceful, she thanks him but decides her feet belong on firm ground.

The first thing Ygritte notices about Braavos is the warmth. She's only ever known winter, and she's never taken in a breath that didn't feel like ice in her lungs. She's never been outside and not seen her breath come out like puffs of smoke. She's never felt her skin warm up in the sun.

One of the first lessons she learns in Braavos is just how quickly the sun can burn her skin when it's not protected by furs.

She soon discovers she's the one who knows next to nothing in the Free City. She doesn't speak Braavosi or High Valyrian or any of the other tongues she hears around the city. She doesn't know how to haggle – she barely understands money – or how to navigate the maze of streets that all look the same to someone who's used to looking at trees instead.

But Ygritte's always been sharp. You don't survive up North if you're not quick on your feet, and she knows she'll learn sooner rather than later.

They live in a big house made of stone. Not made of rocks – made of stone, blocks of stone cut by a mason and built to last. It's got a red door in the front and a courtyard with a lemon tree at the back, and Ygritte doesn't think Dany will ever understand just how much of a luxury that is. Having their own lemon tree.

Braavos is loud and crowded and Ygritte doesn't quite belong, but Dany does. Not Daenerys Targaryen. Not a queen or a khaleesi. Dany. And Ygritte figures she'll end up belonging, too.

"The fish merchant said war's still raging in Westeros," Dany says one day as she walks out onto the courtyard.

Ygritte doesn't stop inspecting the small flowers that will become lemons with time. "So let it rage."

"Hundreds-- thousands of men will--"

"So let them die." Ygritte speaks slowly, purposefully, and finally looks at Dany. She knows she'll never stop feeling like she abandoned her people, no matter how many times Ygritte tells her the people of Westeros didn't even know she was alive. Ygritte was raised to survive, and she figures Dany was raised to serve.

To rule, Dany would say if Ygritte asked her. But Ygritte knows better.

Ygritte sees the struggle in Dany's eyes. She's fire and blood and that means something to her. So Ygritte walks closer, reaches for one of her hands, gives her something solid to anchor herself to. Something with a weight to it.

Dany lets out a sigh.

"Valar morghulis."

Ygritte nods, the pad of her thumb brushing Dany's soft knuckles. "Aye. But first, we live."

Dany kisses her like she's sealing a promise, soft but relentless, and when she's done Ygritte feels her lips tingle like she's put fresh lemon on them.

Still holding on to Dany's hand, she sinks down to her knees in front of her and wraps her fingers around the hem of Dany's dress to start pulling it up her legs.

"You finally bent the knee, my love."

Ygritte smiles against the soft skin of Dany's thigh and presses an open-mouthed kiss to it.

"For you," she says, feeling Dany's fingers in her hair as her lips start moving up, "not for a queen."

[captainsaltypear]

IS ANYONE ELSE GONNA TALK ABOUT THIS OR

[anonymouscheeses]

LEE POMNI PLSSS LER GUMMIGOO OR RAGS!! <33

La Pomni!! I was lazy mid way sorry for that buuuttt here's the way I like to draw her (not redesign just a fun way to draw her I like)

Pomni y ella... amigos.... totally...

This might not be what you meant buuut I LOVE both ships equally so sooo much I couldn't let the chance go. Any funnygummy shippers??? 😭

[nocek]

the all out boop war reminded me I actually had this in my wips that I forgot about XD

[radiance1]

The League tried to interrupt a summoning of a powerful being from the Infinite Realms. From the information they collected, the being isn't of the status of a royalty, but they still had to be careful as the being the summoners tried to call forth was still of noble status.

They failed.

The head cultist finished the ritual, the last words to finish the summoning left their tongue and the room was suddenly doused in heat, as black flame came to life from within the circle, twisting and turning, back and forth until a pair of red eyes suddenly flashed from inside the twisting pillar of flame and just as suddenly as the eyes appeared, was the pillar broken apart.

What was left behind was the figure of a giant phoenix, wings spread as embers black as night gently fell down to the floor below and suddenly disappearing, as if they were never there in the first place.

"Who dares to disturb-" The being started, eyes scanning the crowd below before stilling, extremely and worryingly quiet. One of them quietly cursed. "Constantine..." The creature's voice was low, dangerously low, no doubt anger in its voice as it called out the Warlock's name.

Everyone tensed, expecting something dangerous, except for the cultists, and the Head, who turned his head towards them and smiled, obviously expecting them to be reduced to not even ash.

"100 years. One. Hundred. Years." The being spoke, and confusion wormed its way into the hearts of all those present. "100 years I have waited for you, and when we finally meet once again it's not even you summoned me but these-" The creature waved a wing at the cultist below. "-These fatuous and vacuous little things."

"And what is this? You surrounded yourself with those not even of human birth before you have even thought about me?" The noble's eyes narrowed. "Did our relationship mean nothing to you?

Someone, probably not Constantine, choked.

"Well then, after all of this time you can at least make yourself useful." In a flash of black fire, Constantine was brought from within the ranks of heroes and in front of the beast, a man who seemed to be trying to-and unsuccessfully- lighting a smoke. "Ah, why do that when you have me?" The being purred, bending down to apparently light a smoke before freezing, as if remembering what exactly it was doing, but the action was already done, and Constantine was killing his lungs away.

The phoenix snapped back up to standing above everyone else, clearing its throat as if what happened decidedly didn't happen.

"What exactly did you want me to be useful for, love?" Constantine asked, expelling the smoke from his lungs and deciding that this might as well be happening. The noble huffed, folding its wings at its sides as it stared down at its apparent lover. "Take care of our son for once in your sad, pathetic life."

This time, not only did Constantine choke, but a good chunk of people there did as well. Constantine ran a hand through his hair, looking up at the phoenix incredulously. "Aren't we both men?"

The phoenix looked at his lover as if he were stupid. "Your point?"

"I-" Constantine sighed, took a breath, held, then expelled more smoke from his lungs. Apparently, he decided not to question anything anymore. "You know what? Sure, where is the little bugger?"

Over the next few moments, both the Justice League and Cultists were treated to the noble transforming into a human (still having wings) and handing over their apparent child-who looked nothing like them by being a dragon, but who were they to question the apparent reproduction of a being from the Infinite Realms- and being lectured about what not to do and what to do and how he should be cared for.

Also, a warning for his many powers.

Then the Duke stole a kiss (One that he claimed was long overdue) and left.

The room was silent, only the sounds of breathing occupying the room as the temperature was brought back down to normal levels.

A moment later, Batman walked up to the nearby cultist and punched him across the face and knocking him out cold, suddenly reminding everyone what exactly they were here for.

A while later, in the meeting room, everyone looked at Constantine. Who had a baby eastern dragon wrapped around one arm (who was apparently his child) and rubbing his temple with the other.

"I can't explain this."

===

Danny was actually not Constantine kid, neither was he Vlad's. Biologically, at the very least, however. Vlad did adopt both him and Jasmine a while back after their whole parent fiasco.

They're dead, sadly unable to become ghosts, or perhaps not so sadly.

Of course, they unfortunately outlived Jasmine, which was to be expected, but Vlad and Danny did grow close enough that they no longer viewed each other as enemies.

However, who could have expected that Danny, finally ascending to his princely status, would turn him back into a literal child because he was, for all intents and purposes, one by Dragon standards.

Utter malarkey, he would say.

Taking care of that boy was the worst few memories he has ever had. He was constantly being kept from his sleep, his work being interrupted constantly, and the child managed to find a way to leave his sight at each and every turn.

But there were some sweet moments, he would say.

It's only reasonable, however, that his lover (who he hasn't seen for an entire century might he add) share the workload.

[izzystizzys]

“…I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I still don’t quite understand”, Fox says, for what must be the dozenth time that hour. His heartbeat pounds behind his eyes in an incessant drum of hurt, and his head aches with every breath like someone’s taken a rusty fork to the inside of his skull and raked his brain out. Fox’ eyes are beginning to burn the way they start doing around hour 80 of a shift, and he has to suppress the brief urge to check over his shoulder. Not even Stabby could come up with a ploy this contrived to make him sleep. Probably.

In front of him, General Grievous coughs awkwardly, long spindly durasteel limbs shivering with its force. “Certainly”, he vocalizes, in that deep, watery cadence. “For your glorious triumphs in battle, your awe-inspiring victory over me in close combat, and your undeniable warrior spirit, I accept you as my consort. I have proven my skills through the ritual capture, and thus, by Kaleesh custom, we are now wed, Commander Fox. I will honor you as my war-bride, and visit vengeance upon your enemies. I swear it to you.”

Expectantly, Grievous tilts his faceplate to the side, and Fox only just catches the suppression of the manic giggle that wants to escape him. Yeah, probably not Stabby - maybe a dying fever dream? Has the infected gash from that skirmish on the lower levels five rotations ago finally decided to end him? If so, it’s not fast enough for Fox’ tastes.

Here’s how it happened: Fox has no kriffing clue. All he knows is one moment an emergency alert tore him from precious Scream Closet time this morning, he went to rescue the Chancellor’s dumb ass again, and whoop, here he is on General Grievous’ ship with the war-criminal himself declaring them happily married. And eyeing him up and down like a piece of candy.

Why, Fox thinks, desperately, does this always have to happen to me?!

Chancellor’s still kidnapped, by the way. Fox has other priorities for the time being.

“I swear to aim my weapons in your service”, Grievous continues, when it becomes exceedingly clear Fox is not going to break out of his shocked stupor anytime soon. “I swear to aim true and strike with murderous intent, I swear to uphold the sacred bonds of our clans in the name of our union, I swear to raise a strong, bloodthirsty brood of warriors with-“

“Wait”, Fox interrupts, once his brain has caught up past the astromech dial-up sound it seems to be playing on repeat. “Uphold clan bonds? You murder your way through my brothers like a rabid nexu on spice on the regular!”

Grievous’ faceplate, which should be for all intents and purposes totally expressionless, does something that reminds Fox strangely of contrition. It has him gaping and shivering in discomfort, in any case. “A fact I regret, but acknowledge lies in my past before the fateful crossing of our paths. I am a warrior at soul, you must understand, my worthy mate.” Durasteel faceplates don’t turn soft. They don’t. And coughs don’t sound loving. They simply do not. “But I uphold the bonds of these sacred vows under Kaleesh law, that I swear to you, my beloved.”

“All I did was grapple you to the ground”, Fox says, mourningly. “Cody has kicked you in the head dozens of times and you’ve never tried to marry him.”

“He is not you, and his battle lacks the lustful vitality and love of violence of yours”, Grievous declares, and Fox really cannot tell whether the sound that erupts from him is a lovelorn sigh or a hacking death-gurgle. This cannot be his life.

Just then, a droid conveniently enters, putting a pause to all Fox’ sufferings. He’ll need to tell Thorn to research Kaleesh divorce proceedings. Or, better yet - he needs to blow up this whole karking ship including himself and destroy all evidence of this ever happening.

“Generals Kenobi and Skywalker awaiting in custody, Sir”, says the droid, nervously. “They are here to rescue Chancellor Palpatine, but we cut them off just out of the hangar bay.”

Internally, Fox rolls his eyes so hard it hurts his brain. “The Jedi can wait”, Grievous hacks out, and for once Fox agrees with him. Let the two dick around onboard, there’s bigger issues at hand.

“But Sir”, says the droid, all twitchy with an anxiety Fox eternally wonders who the kriff programmed into the damn things, “what if they try to escape and -“

A deep, growling noise erupts from deep within Grievous’ massive metal chest, amplifying Fox’ pounding headache by a thousandfold. “I have no time for this”, he snarls at the cowering droid. “Remove yourself from my and mine beloved’s sight.”

“Roger Roger”, the B2 squeaks, hesitantly, before adding on - “The Chancellor-“

Harrumphing petulantly, Grievous stomps one massive, clawed foot and makes what feels like the whole viewdeck shake. “I will twist his head off his body like a rotten fruit”, he declares. “That will get those pesky Jedi off my ship faster, and then we can continue saying our vows.” He pauses, thoughtfully, and then hooded eyes ringed by what must surely be rotten flesh fix on Fox inexorably. “It will be my wedding gift to you, beloved, an offering of peace to your brothers.”

Fox opens his mouth to protest, but quickly snaps it shut again when his husband already turns tail and storms off.

Huh. Maybe this marriage thing isn’t all bad.

[gonetoforks]

I present to tumblr; DonnieRoki

+ extra ideas & the idea for its inception.

[kondaja]

I am hilarious

[choking-on-ice]

lookit them! I'm way too excited abt this ship that seems to be nonexistent online lol

I love the "tired snarky science man and the exuberant yet sleep deprived conspiracy nut" dynamic, so much potential

the style of the lil floating faces inspired by @ynartistic

[hop-a-lot]

They might be roommates

[milkcioccolato]

I’m not going to be able to draw much this month, but it is mermay, so I’m back on my mermaid!AU beikomi bullshit!😌

[christeareads]

"Why would you ship _____?"

WHY.TF.NOT?!?!?!

Honestly, the acotar fandom confuses me so much cause I honestly believe more than half of these people haven't been in fandom ever before. Shipping has nothing to do with canon and it doesn't have to make sense to YOU. Let people ship tamlain, let them ship gwyn with tarquin WHAT'S YOUR ISSUE? How does it affect you?! Like ok you can say that you don't like it etc but is it EVER that serious?! No

Shipping is the fandom equivalent of making your dolls kiss. DON'T TELL OTHER PEOPLE WHAT TO DO WITH FICTIONAL CHARACTERS!

Look at the Harry Potter fandom. Draco was a little b*tch to Hermione in canon and look at that, they're super popular and one of the biggest fanfics EVER POSTED ONLINE is based on this ship that doesn't make sense in canon for some. AND THAT'S OK

Block the tags, don't interact and ffs don't ban people for creating something that YOU don't like.

Anyways, Tamberon SUPERMACY

[ayur1n]

my fav ship right after makorra is yuezula but i never spoke about them (unfortunately) but there's some sketches 🌅🌌

[radiance1]

The members of the Justice League sat in silence, joined by a few members of Justice League Dark.

They were almost ready to start their meeting.

Almost.

"Where is John Constantine?" Batman stared at those gathered around the table, one spot currently vacant. Zatanna spoke up. "He's coming."

Batman narrowed his eyes.

"I don't know how," Zatanna nodded. "But he's coming."

The table was silent for a few moments, before Superman hesitantly spoke up. "Maybe he's running late?" At Batman's look Superman felt the need to add. "You know, he could've gotten stuck up with another magic user, or something."

Superman brought a hand up to rub at his neck as he laughed awkwardly, before promptly shutting up at the look Batman sent with an even more awkward smile. The silence was notably loud, such that it made it quite easy to determine who and where the sound of crunching came from.

Flash swallowed. "What?" He dug his hand in the bag of chips, only to pout at it being empty. He quickly ran from and to his seat in, well, a flash. Laying down his armful of chips, he picked up one and opened it, back to stuffing his face. "It's not like we're starting yet or anything."

Batman's eyes narrowed.

Flash blinked, looking down at the chips in his hand, the one on the table, and then back at Batman. He picked one up and held it out in his direction. "Want one?"

Batman glared.

Flash hesitantly brought his hand back down, before sticking his hand in his chip bag and eating some more, this time quietly.

Minutes passed by with the various League members gathered around sitting ramrod straight. A few more minutes passed, and they started to relax (except batman), a couple more and some of them started up conversation with each other, with some others joining in.

Batman took the time to work through a few files, giving the occasional grunt and hm whenever Superman and Wonder Woman tried to drag him into their conversation.

It was then that a noticeable heat spread inside the room, rising in temperature with each passing second until it was no longer ignorable. Just then, when the heat reached its highest point, with the members of the League already standing from their seats, a wave of black flame appeared in a circular pattern and the League tensed, magic gathering at the fingertips of some and battle stances being fallen into by others.

The circular flame shot up, high enough to reach the ceiling and not a second later, in its place was a giant mass of flaming feathers curled into a ball.

A groan came from the middle of it, and a few seconds later-with what sounded like a huff- did the mass uncurl just enough to see the owner of said groan.

"Ello." John Constantine raised a hand and gave a two fingered salute. Everyone in the room blinked at the man currently leaning against the- creature? Being?- in just pants. "I would say this isn't what it looks like, but its exactly what it looks like."

Zatanna's eyes narrowed, before she inhaled sharply. "Constantine." She hissed out quietly, as if trying not to draw the being's attention. "What is-" She gestured at the creature. "-He of all beings doing here?!"

"Being used as a living heater."

Zatanna blinked again in surprise as she stumbled over her words. "I- what-?"

"You heard me. It's colder than Santa's tits in our house, and I'm not paying even more money for a heater when I have a living one right here." Constantine deadpanned, very shamelessly sinking back into the mass of feathers behind him and giving a most certainly exaggerated sigh to prove his point.

"But- But he's," Zatanna gestures at the phoenix again, this time with both hands. "Him. How are you okay with this!?" That time she spoke to the phoenix, rather than Constantine.

The being in question peeked open an eye, before huffing in annoyance and closing back its eye.

"So uh," Flash spoke up, rubbing his hands together. "Not to interrupt, but uh, do you mind explaining for the rest of us not in the know?"

Zatanna blinked, staring at the other League members in surprise as if she forgot they were there. She awkwardly coughed into her fist. "Right, yes." She cleared her throat, before gesturing towards the giant mass of feathers. "That being is one of the more infamous of those heralding from the Infinite Realms, because that's its goddamn Duke." Zatanna rubbed her head, as if she were getting a migraine just thinking about it. "Constantine, how did you even-"

"We met on a rainy night, and he lit up my cig and proposed his love for me." Constantine said simply.

The League stared in bafflement. Zatanna had a skeptical look all over her face. "I'm not believing that. It's too much of a stretch, even for you."

Constantine shrugged. "Okay so would you believe me if I said I sold like half my soul and conned this other guy by swearing my soul to this big guy for his protection?" Constantine deadpanned.

"Yes, actually." Zatanna matched Constantine's deadpan with a look of her own.

[johnbleepingzoidberg]

UNTITLED EVIL LUIGI AU COMIC THING | Page 1 of (???)

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Luigi’s been acting weird lately-- and Bowser’s concerned. When Luigi vanishes one day without any warning, Bowser begrudgingly turns to Mario for help, meeting him at a (humorously petite) cafe in Mushroom Kingdom to discuss what’s been going on. Old rivalries die hard.

The cafe has really good liability insurance, don’t worry.

(A/N under the cut)

---

bear with me as i try to find my footing with this LOL, i am by no means a professional comic artist. i’m writing (or attempting to, at least) a comic based on my Evil Luigi AU-- read the original post/see the original art my looking thru the #my art tag on my blog! this is a bowuigi AU, so the relationship’s pre-established and Luigi, up until he ran away, had been ruling Koopa Kingdom alongside Bowser and navigating that fun new king life.

i have no idea what to tell yall to expect other than the fact that this will be very inconsistent in literally all senses of the word :’) but hey, im tryin my best-- i havent done any sort of comic in a long time and im having a lot of fun with this so far. if anything it’s good practice. right now i have at least a few pages planned out, but im not sure how quickly ill be able to draw them out, especially since i’ll be working full-time again soon. so see this as a bit of a teaser for things to come/an experiment to measure interest in the idea. :D

[veryfandomobsessed]

What do you think about fleek?

I think that