#so it wouldn't be right to not tag her too

[romanofftherealest]

𝔑𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔅𝔲𝔯𝔫𝔰 𝔏𝔦𝔨𝔢 𝔗𝔥𝔢 ℭ𝔬𝔩𝔡

Chapter 2: Wrong Move | 5.2k

Summary: Once you were given a chance by the Ice Queen, you must not fuck it up because once you made a wrong move, you'll get killed—figuratively and literally.

Pairing: Mob boss Natasha Romanoff x Mob boss Female Reader

Tags | Warnings: +18 bickering, sexual tension, smut, switch reader & Natasha, fingering & strap-on (r), death threat, frustrated murder lol

Author's Note: 👋

⧗

"Ice Queen."

"Black Widow."

Insufferable–it had been insufferable between you two since your meeting with Dr. Bruce. Since he'd made his little comment.

"Please don't fuck in my office."

Natasha had taken the comment in stride, though she was unable to shake off the feeling of embarrassment entirely. But she couldn't afford to be flustered—she had an image to uphold.

You, on the other hand, maintained composed throughout the rest of that meeting, keeping your expression impassive and unreadable. Your gaze never averted from the path ahead, and you avoided even a single glance in her direction—the walk out of the office and the wait for your respective escorts.

The Black Widow hadn't seen you since then until today.

"You have always been ruining my time."

"I had an emergency."

You huff, "Again?"

"I'm sorry." Now, that was shocking coming from her, you didn't realize someone in your line of work is actually capable of apologizing. "How's business?" she now inquired, her voice steady despite the tension in the air. She sat across from you, hoping that her attempt at nonchalance was convincing.

"Steady." You answer shortly.

Natasha resisted the urge to tug at her tie as she leaned forward to sign some of the papers you presented her.

"How's Red Room?" you now asked, in return of respect.

This was all feeling a little too familiar—de javu. The redhead gulped, glancing up. It proved to be a mistake, she realized as you tucked your hair behind your ear that exposed a hint of your cleavage, the soft fabric of your dress gently pressed against the edge of the desk. Your movements were deliberate as you signed the document. You two had a business to sign together after Bruce had set you up, but if you actually weren't in that room together that time, and he did not make that comment of his, there is no business to sign right now. And you wouldn't take the blame being in the room with her, she was the one stealing your time of appointment.

Natasha finally gave her tie just a little tug. "Quiet."

As she took the paper from you, you couldn't help but notice her usual rolled-up sleeves, revealing the ink-adorned sleeves on her arms. But something was different today—the tie. Normally, her top was slightly unbuttoned, highlighting the intricate designs that crept up towards her shoulder. Today, however, the top few buttons remained firmly done up, leaving you wondering how extensive her tattoos were, and how much of it was simply golden skin.

Despite your attempt to be subtle, your eyes remained fixed on her. Natasha could feel your gaze, a heavy weight on her skin. But she made no comment about it, instead choosing to remain silent. Perhaps she was trying to be a gentlewoman, although knowing that being a gentlewoman hadn't worked out so well for her the last time around.

Natasha has the kind of sculpted physique that came from countless hours of training, complemented by the intricate ink that adorned her flesh. And her face? It is capable of morphing from a radiant smile to a deadly glare in a mere second.

While you possessed your own distinct image, a counterpoint to her rough edges. With your carefully crafted lace, the shimmering satin clothing that hugged your form, and the cold, stoic demeanor you projected, you cut a striking figure of elegance.

Then there was the ever-present knife strapped to your thigh.

Natasha's gaze followed your every move as you adjusted your shawl, her eyes tracing its soft trail as it covered your delicate skin. She found herself missing the bare sight of your skin, the way the white fabric clung to your form. She tugged her tie again.

"What are you wearing that for?"

"What?" you rolled her eyes. You weren't one for unnecessary words, let alone small talk. But you just wanted to know, so you had asked. "I have never seen you wear a tie in all the years you've been in town."

"I've worn ties before."

"Not unless it's to conduct business." You scoffed at her quick retort.

"This is business."

"I am not a mark." You narrowed your eyes at her like a cat watching its prey. "There is no need for formality."

She huffed through her nose, and you looked just as affronted as she felt. She gripped the knot, "I'll take it off then, Ice."

"I didn't say you had to take it off."

"Then why'd you bring it up?"

"All I did was ask." You huffed and stood from your chair, uncrossing your legs and resettling your shawl again.

Natasha finished her last signature in a rush, tugging her tie looser and looser. What was with her? "There."

"Pleasure doing business," you offered the typical and polite placation at the end of any business dealing in your line of work.

You walked over to her, your lace around your shoulders, caressing its way down your arms and then just brushing your hips on its way down. It was like an embrace around you, teasing and beckoning all at once. Your dress had a slit to allow the room to cross your legs when sitting. It revealed a slim, pale calf and killer stiletto heel.

Natasha managed to drag her eyes back up the leg and to her offered hand somehow. She grasped it in her, always making sure to be soft with it. She knew that you wouldn't like knowing she was trying to be careful with you, but…she couldn't help it. Your hand was so small—so light—whenever she got to hold it in you.

Not that she looked forward to it or anything.

"Pleasure."

You averted your gaze as Natasha raised your hand, her lips gently planting a kiss to your fourth knuckle. You knew she was intentionally skipping over your rings, choosing to kiss your bare skin. You made sure at your best efforts to conceal the shiver that occasionally ran down your spine whenever she did this, not wanting her to know how it affects you.

"Pleasure indeed."

Fuck. You were aware of your own allure and sexiness, it's something that was impossible to ignore. You know that you are driving her crazy—you just had to.

Natasha tugged at her suit jacket and her tie, attempting to distract herself from the effect of the woman in front of her. The same woman who can kill her with just a slip of a knife, she had to remind herself.

"Well," Natasha managed to snap herself out of her trance-like state, clearing her throat. She was unable to resist the urge to continue tugging at her tie, untying it completely and letting it hang loose around her neck. She looked at you, her gaze lingering for a moment before she spoke again. "Until next time, I guess."

"Leave the tie at home."

"Okay," she snorted in response, still keeping the tie barely on and popped open the stiflingly tight collar. She turned to you with a confused frustrated glare, a hint of curiosity in her eyes. "What's your problem?"

"My problem?" you growled right back at her.

She let out a smirk, that familiar smirk that always seemed to get under your skin, like when she called you, Printsessa. "Flustered?"

"Why would I be?" Cold as ice.

"It was your fault, you know, Banner's little comment."

"My fault?!" Oh, there it was–the Ice Queen's temper. All the frostiness is gone and is now replaced with a fuel raging fire. "You were the one trying to kiss me!"

"Okay, fine," she shrugged, and you froze back up again. That easy? She would concede that easily? You didn't expect that from the Black Widow at all. For all her reputation, the one and only bounty hunter conceded herself to the Ice Queen. You were expecting her to argue that it was you trying to kiss her, but she didn't really care who was trying to kiss whom. It was you who'd gotten pretty close all on your own as you'd stormed over to her, she just moved a little closer that time—not even an inch. "So?"

"So?" your jaw tightens as you shake your head, trying to keep your composure in front of her. You were caught off guard by her sudden surrender, let alone for it to be about that.

You couldn't stop replaying that incident in your mind, over and over again—each time so that you'd be able to defend your innocence to the end, adamant that you didn't initiate the kiss. You didn't lean in, you didn't reach out to pull her closer, you didn't allow her intoxicating scent to cloud your judgment and all your reservations and up until you get home.

And you definitely didn't think about fucking her in someone else's office, you didn't. Not at all.

Natasha let out a soft moan when you firmly gripped what was left of her tie and pulled her in closer. She had been yearning for this moment, her mind consumed by the thought of her lips meeting yours. She even started keeping tulips on her desk at her office, their sweet scent reminding her of you. No one dared to ask her about the change, and she would have been too embarrassed to confess that they were there simply to bring back memories of the Ice Queen's fragrance.

You couldn't help but gasp as Natasha moved swiftly, her tongue lightly tracing your lip in a silent request for more. In that moment, your defenses crumbled and you granted it, perhaps a bit too early, eagerly and willingly. But there was no room for overthinking or analysis now, because it was already happening. She was a damn good kisser, and you found yourself lost in the intensity of the moment.

You tossed her tie aside, your fingers deftly unbuttoning her shirt as if you were on a mission. Natasha refused to be outdone—didn't want to be found lacking. Her hands moved with grace and gentleness as she eased the delicate lace fabric away from your skin. She wound it around her hand, only to release it, replacing its tender touch on your skin.

As her hands glided over your frame, tracing a path from your shoulders to your arms and finally coming to rest on your waist, you found yourself involuntarily gasping her name.

"N-Natasha…" without any visible effort, she effortlessly hoisted you into the air. Your arms instinctively wrapped around her neck, seeking support. Despite the considerable size of your hands, they couldn't find a firm grip on her muscular shoulders. She has incredible strength, like a wall of muscle against which you feel both secured and at her mercy.

A moan of pleasure escaped Natasha's lips as your tongue tangled with hers. She spun you around with effortless strength and lowered you onto the edge of your desk, her focus now on your exposed neck.

Your breathing grew heavy as Natasha continued her ministries, successfully banishing any coherent thoughts from your mind. Her mouth relentlessly explored the sensitive skin of your neck, while her hands began to delicately loosen the straps of your dress, letting the fabric slide down your shoulders. At the same time, her fingertips traced a teasing path down your spine, gradually heading south.

Natasha's voice was a low, possessive growl as she pressed her lips to the flat plane of your stomach, her hands hurriedly tugging and rearranging the shimmering fabric of your dress, exposing your thigh holster in the process. Her touch was firm but gentle as her fingertips skimmed over your inner thigh, tracing an intimate path that sent shivers down your spine—and you cannot hide that shiver this time. She lifts her gaze to meet you, her eyes filled with admiration and something deeper.

"Do you have any idea...how beautiful you are?"

Despite the rush of sensations coursing through you, you resisted the urge to let out a gasp as Natasha released your holster, letting it fall to the floor. Unexpectedly, her fingertips were incredibly soft and tender when she gently massaged the area where the holster's clip had left marks on your skin, soothing the redness. The contrast between her touch and the ruthless image of the Black Widow intrigued you. It awakened an unexpected fondness within you, something you couldn't help but find charming about her that is entirely against your will.

"No."

"No?" Natasha chuckled softly, not condescendingly. Her head dipping lower to press a gentle kiss against the sensitive skin of your knee. She knelt down at your feet, her gaze locked on yours, her eyebrow arched in an amused manner. "Shall I show you then? My Queen?"

Your face flushed with a combination of desire and irritation, and you avoided her gaze, pressing your heel against her shoulder in a subtle attempt to maintain some control. You refused to give in to her attempts to fluster you, but God she did, and you think she already knows that.

"Ah, ah," Natasha issued a reprimanding retort, catching your heel between her fingers before you could even touch it. She delicately and teasingly unfastened the strap, using her teeth to extract it from its securing position. Glancing back up at you, "let me work, your Highness."

Pleasure coursed through you as Natasha's tongue followed an intimate path up your ankle, lavishing kisses on the back of your calf. She left a lingering lick on your knee before continuing and you felt yourself becoming increasingly disoriented, the papers beneath your fingers crumpling due to your trembling grip.

She gripped your hips firmly, helping to ease you as she pressed soft kisses to the mark where your holster had been placed. Her fingers trailed up along the seam of your dress slit, running them along the sheer edge between your legs, her touch light yet deliberate.

As you bit your lip again, trying desperately to hold back a whimper, Natasha's fingers slipped beneath the fabric of your panties. She rubbed slow circles over your clit through the thin material, feeling how wet you were already. You tried pushing her by the shoulders again when she soothed her fingers up and down where you needed the most, but at the same time you were more ready to wrap your legs around her and lock her in place until you were good and finished.

"More."

What the Queen wants, the Queen gets.

She was the commoner, worshipping at the altar of your body, her Queen. Each moan and whimper from your lips was like a royal decree, commanding her to continue serving your pleasure.

Without hesitation, Natasha pushed your panties to the side and her tongue quickly delved between your folds, pressing flat and firm against your clit just as she had promised. Your hips lifted off the desk involuntarily as she held you steady with one strong arm wrapped around your thighs, keeping them spread wide open for her mouth's access.

"Fuck!" your screams turned into incoherent pleas as she pushed you right to the edge of pleasure. Natasha doubled her efforts, adding two fingers to the mix while her tongue continued its relentless assault on your clit. She curled those fingers just right, hitting that magical spot inside you over and over.

She closely observed your responses, attuned to every subtle movement and reaction your body betrayed. Her grip on your thighs was firm but tender, so that it would keep them from crushing her head completely. Not that she really minds you wanting and needing to crush her head because that is some way to die and she would thank you, the Queen, after it with what remains in her dying breath.

"Natasha…" your whimpers and pleas grow louder and more desperate. She loved the sound of her name on your lips, loved how your voice cracked and broke as she pushed you higher and higher. "Please, oh-yes!"

And finally, you reached the high of your throne. And Natasha held your trembling legs with a gentleness and possessiveness, feeling like the most fortunate commoner in the kingdom. The Queen had given her the chance to taste her sweet nectar, and Natasha was drinking it up greedily, savoring each drop as you shook and moaned on the desk.

Natasha moved slowly, savoring the taste of your pleasure still on her lips as she carefully put your legs down. "You good?"

Oh, you were so much more than good, that word is a freaking understatement. But she could never ever know that, ever! You nodded, not trusting your high self to speak just yet. It was bad enough that you were going to have that glow after not having a release like that in God knows how long and Natasha could ever know that one either.

Natasha, from what you've heard, is ruthless in business and deadly in combat. But she is a good lover, that was for sure…and you didn't hear that one…

You experienced it first hand.

Natasha carried you effortlessly to the plush couch in your office, ignoring your half-hearted resistance to being held close. She sat down first, then pulled you onto her lap so your head rested naturally against her chest. Her fingers carded through your hair absently as she let you catch your breath.

Her breath hitched slightly as she felt your fingers deftly working at her shirt buttons. She had to admit, your sleight of hand was as impressive as it was seductive as she even realized you'd started until her shirt was half-unbuttoned and slipping from her trousers.

"Ready for more?"

"I don't leave debts unpaid."

"I don't—!" Natasha gasped as you suddenly sank your teeth into her earlobe, biting down with a playful intensity that made her arch against you. The immediate soothing lick and gentle kisses down her neck had her melting into your touch, realizing you were mirroring her earlier actions. Fuck.

"Sh," you breathed against her skin, letting her sweet time get nice and riled up. If she has turned you into an absolute mess, then you are going to melt her into a puddle of desire. Completely wrecked in your hands.

"Y-you." Natasha's voice came out as a guttural moan, her hips rising instinctively to meet your touch. She was utterly at your mercy now, every fiber of her being focused on the exquisite sensations you were creating.

The Black Widow, the deadly assassin, was now reduced to a whimpering mess beneath you.

"Let me," you whispered against her skin, your lips brushing against her collarbone as you traced the intricate patterns of her tattoos. Your hands unbuckled her binder revealing more colors of tattoos on her breasts, you pinched and swirled your tongue on her nipples before you moved down and down and down…until you felt an unexpected bulge.

"The Black Widow indeed," you purred into her ear, your voice low and sultry, as you watched the flush of red spread from the base of her neck up to her cheeks. It was a heady sight, knowing you had reduced the formidable Black Widow to this state of arousal. Her eyes fluttered closed as you unbuttoned and slipped your hands inside her pants, finding the strap-on she had been wearing. "Do you want this?"

"Yes," she choked. Her hands immediately returned to your hips, gripping them tightly as she guided you closer. The heat between your legs was unbearable now, the tip of strap-on pressing insistently against your core.

You leaned in, kissing along her jawline until your lips found hers again. Your eyes locked onto hers as you played teasingly with the tip of her strap-on, rubbing it with your entrance just enough to make her shudder.

"Do you want me?" you asked with your hooded lustful eyes.

"Yes." Her whisper came out breathless, needy—a sound far removed from the ruthless mob boss she usually played. Her hands moved with purpose, pulling you close as she arched up to meet you. The strap-on pressed firmly against you now, and she could barely control herself.

"Y/N."

Natasha gasped your name, the sound escaped her lips in a beautiful, almost reverent tone. But you yearned to hear her stripped of words, reduced to nothing but breathless moans. You wanted to see her utterly undone, rendered incapable of forming a single syllable, let alone your name. So you began to move in her lap, your hands roaming over her back and your lips finding their way over her cheeks and down to her neck, Natasha's body responded beneath you. You could feel the firm muscles of her pecs tensing and flexing with each of your movements, the contact between you growing increasingly delicious.

"Fuck, you," she panted, enjoying herself entirely as you moved on bounced of her.

"Tell me how much you wanted me."

"So bad," Natasha panted in response, her lips eager to find the little spot between your jaw and neck again. "Fuck, so bad. Y/N, please…so bad."

You gasped, your nails digging into her shoulders. "Tell me you want me now."

"More than anything," she growled, her hands snaked over your back for the purpose of supporting you but then, she finally—finally! found the hidden zip of the dress and she immediately pulled it down. "I want you, I need you."

Your eyes flew open as Natasha swiftly dragged the zipper of your dress down, tearing the fabric literally and letting it fall to the floor in a heap. You pulled away from her lips, a low growl escaping your own as you watched the remnants of your dress being discarded without a hint of remorse.

"You—!"

Natasha withdrew, you gasped, caught between the conflicting emotions. She swiftly lifted you off her lap, effortlessly flipping your position so you now lay across her on the expansive sofa. "I'll buy you a new one."

"That's not the point!" you barked at her. You weren't angry about your dress being torn apart and discarded. You were frustrated about the way she'd stopped fucking you just to manhandle you, flipping you over just to change position. And you were deeply irritated with the way she had sat up and away from you just to stare. "What?!"

Natasha ignored you, running a hand through her hair as she took a few breaths, both of you in your naked glory under your office light. She ignored you, taking a moment to run a hand through her tousled hair as she caught her breath. The soft glow of the office light casts shadows across your naked bodies.

Fuck, she is beautiful. You watched as her chest rose and fell with each breath, the light accented the shadows and angles of her muscles, and all of the human curves in between.

"Do you always stop in the middle of fucking just to catch your breath."

She looked down at you like a wife who was nagging her about something. So she kissed you like she was trying to prove a point—that she could still dominate you even when you were being mouthy. Her fingers tangled in your hair, pulling and pushing it around as she liked, just like how you pulled her by the tie.

"No, but I do want to savor every minute of making love to you."

God, this woman thought she was so cute–she thought she was so charming. So you kept kissing her, so she wouldn't see the look on your face as you felt each flutter of the butterflies.

She tore her lips away from yours, enjoying the pout that formed on your mouth as you tried to follow hers. She left one last kiss on your lips before trailing kisses over your cheeks to your ear.

"Are you ready for me, koroleva?" (Queen)

You pinched her thick arms, wondering if it actually hurt her but whatever, you had been ready before she interrupted the two of you just to use some sappy line on you and change positions.

"Right away," she chuckled, her breath on your neck as she pushed the strap-on into you again, "your Majesty."

"Natasha!" you let out a deep, guttural moan as she started moving again, your legs instinctively wrapping around her waist. Your hands gripped her shoulders tightly before dragging down to the thick muscles over her sides, fingers digging in as she thrusted against you.

She buried her face in your neck, kissing and biting the sensitive skin as she continued to move against you. She nuzzled closer until she could kiss you again, "Shit, baby, you gotta come soon."

Oh, you were much closer than she thought you were. Your whimper was almost silent, but she heard it. She just made love to you now like how she called it, but she knows that sound. Her thumb found your clit without warning, pressing hard circles that matched her thrusts. She captured your bottom lip between her teeth.

"Natasha, I-I'm so close…" you were completely lost in sensation, your back arched, legs trembling around her waist. Your hands clawed at her back, leaving red marks. You were making those high-pitched whines that always drove her wild. She knew you were right there, so she did something she knew would push you over. She knew you were a hair trigger right now—no filter, no control.

And just like that, you shattered. Your mouth fell open in a silent scream as your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave. Your body convulsed, legs shaking violently as you came undone in her arms. She felt your inner walls clamping down on her fingers, pulsing with your release.

You clenched your eyes shut, allowing a few moments for clarity to slowly return. Eventually, your office ceiling came into clear focus, and you became acutely aware of the weight of Natasha's body pressing against yours, your limbs wrapped around her body like intimate vines. A part of you wanted to just walk away.

Cold as ice.

You couldn't even if you really wanted to, your mind was still hazy, and your body was utterly spent. Your knees trembled, their stability compromised, and you knew you wouldn't be able to move for a few precious minutes.

Natasha's head gently turned, her mouth finding its way to the sensitive skin of your neck. With soft, tender kisses, she made her way up until her lips found yours once more.

"Hey."

"Hey." You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself as your body slowly came down from its high. Natasha didn't give you much time to recover though—her kisses were insistent and hungry, like she couldn't get enough of you. Your hands found their way back into her hair without hesitation.

"So?" her voice was soft but with a hint of playful tease. She kept one arm wrapped securely around your waist, her chin resting on your shoulder. Her other hand slowly started smoothing down your mess of hair, deliberately avoiding your bruised lip.

You peeled your eyes open, doing your best to glare at her for interrupting your tranquility. You raised a brow at her bright grin, practically giggling with glee. "So what?"

She was even more undeterred by your prickliness, though. She traced your cheekbone with her thumb, gently smoothing away a smudge of make-up. "Do you know, now? How beautiful are you?"

She thought she was so fucking charming–damn this woman, and that heart of her. You allowed her one more kiss, soft and slower. You were beginning to think she liked kissing you or something.

"After one round?"

"One and a half," Natasha corrected you urgently, her pout deepened into something almost childlike—adorable even though she'd just wrecked every inch of your body. "And I thought they were pretty good."

Oh, they were amazing. Maybe the most amazing you'd ever had in your life. But she could never ever know that, ever.

All of a sudden, you bit the inside of your cheek, trying to hide your expression when your gaze went down on the discarded strap-on on the couch. Does she wear that all the time? Were you the first one she used that on? Because if you fucking weren't you better get yourself tested, that's for fucking sure. So now you had to ask to make sure if you had to get an appointment, and definitely not because you wanted to know if she had been with someone else.

"Do you wear that all the time?"

She chuckled softly, her smirk growing wider and now you're beginning to hate that look and what she's about to say.

"Yeah, so whenever I see a woman I'd like to fuck—"

"Get out." You won't let her finish or else you will finish her.

Her face fell completely flat, the cocky smirk disappearing as she registered your actual anger when you tore away yourself from her. "Hey, hey—" she stood as well, missing the warmth of your body together, "Wait, koroleva, I was joking."

Oh and you weren't.

"Get. Out."

She looked like a scolded child—all that confidence and swagger gone. As soon as you started walking towards her again, she scrambled to gather her jeans, binder, and top. She fumbled with the buttons of her jeans, while you stood there naked as you walked her towards your office door. She was terrified—not of the naked woman in front of her, but of your sudden coldness and the fact, that you can kill her with your bare hands.

"Detka, please wait, wait—hey, hey…" but you didn't listen, she was clearly trying to calm you down, but you are so calm in case she missed that because you haven't thrown her the knife you had been toying in your hand. You continue to walk her out while she stumbles backward, staring at you and the sharp thing you're playing. "Koroleva, I was joking!" she pleaded once again.

"Call me stupid nicknames and this knife will go straight to you, Black Widow."

Oh, Natasha didn't like that at all. Back with the titles again? After everything that had happened just a couple of minutes ago? Clearly, Natasha is now aware of the wrong actions she did and in the next few seconds, she's about to make one again…

"But, detka—"

You threw the knife straight at her and if Natasha wasn't able to grip the doorknob and get out fast, that knife would've gone straight to her left eye. She didn't even realize she is now outside breathing hard, the buttons of her top not in the proper places—while your guards, with their big guns, looked at her soul like they're ready to kill her as well. Luckily, Kate and Yelena was fast to get to Natasha to mediate the situation, kind of.

She turned to the door and knocked desperately while fixing her top buttons, "Y/N, please!" All the shame, all the title was long forgotten now as she beg for you.

"The hell happened?" Yelena, her sister asked while Kate eyes the guards carefully, not provokingly.

And you surprisingly opened the door.

All eyes were on you, but your guards immediately turned their backs as if they already knew what to do, as if they had already seen you like this before.

"Oh fuck." Kate drops her mouth at the sight of you, still naked.

"Goryachiy ad." (Hot hell) Yelena mutters before she turns around. When she sees that Kate was still gawking, she immediately hissed at her practically drooling for you. "Belova!" the tall girl groaned at the sight of you for the last time before she painfully turns around.

While Natasha really fought herself to grab your whole body so she could hide you from all the eyes that are solely on you. Or maybe tear the eyes away from the skull of those people who had already seen you like this. She just couldn't stand the thought of people seeing you this way, maybe some did—already did, but they would never make you feel what she made you feel just moments ago. She wants to hide you from the world and keep you in a place where she and only her can see.

"Y/N..." she fought her very best not to call you russian petnames, "I-I was..." she trailed off when her eyes went to your hands, holding the harness of her strap-on. She also fought her very damn hard best for her gaze not to go further down—she almost did, but the sound of you retrieving the knife from the doorway made her flinch and return her gaze on you.

Your eyes were killer and sharp, and so is your knife. You didn't tear your angry orbs away from her while you cut her strap-on harness with your knife in front of her, you threw the remaining ruined pieces on her feet before shutting the door close.

Nothing Burns Like The Cold: Masterlist

[venusbyline]

Out of Love (1/4)

— summary: Everyone talks about how Aegon the Conqueror married one sister out of duty and the other one out of desire. Unlike his ancestor, Prince Jacaerys Velaryon wants to marry both his aunt and his cousin out of love.

— pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x Targtower!reader x Baela Targaryen

— type: smut

— chapter's warnings: female!reader, Targcest (nephew/aunt & cousin/cousin), threesome FFM (female/female/male), throuple, corruption kink, vaginal sex, doggy style position, oral sex (female receiving), cunnilingus, fingering, scissoring/tribadism, creampie, overstimulation, secret relationship, cuddling & snuggling, aftercare, dom!Jacaerys, sub!reader, dom!Baela, reader is Alicent's second daughter, mild hurt/comfort, kinda fluff too, canon divergence (No The Dance of the Dragons), porn with plot. no use of y/n, english is not my first language.

— author's notes¹: I'm not a Jacela shipper, but I had the idea for this shortfic yesterday. So... I'm writing for them hahaah btw, don't worry cuz this story wouldn't be a love triangle, the characters are a throuple, the three of them love each other equally, they just have different dynamics between them.

— author's notes²: Out of Love is a mini series involving Targcest, throuple and forbidden love.

— author's notes³: Each chapter will contain its own trigger warnings.

— author's notes⁴: If you want to be tagged for the next chapters, tell me!!! <3 <3

❥ Jacaerys masterlist • HOTD masterlist

❥ about me • main masterlist

You were on Jacaerys' bed for the third time that week, enjoying the carnal pleasures that he and his betrothed were willing to teach you.

Ever since Rhaenyra succeeded to the Iron Throne and the entire family was forced to get closer, you had become almost inseparable from your nephews and cousins — which had deeply irritated your mother and your brother Aemond, although you did not mind so much, because at least you could have some true friends.

Surprisingly, both the crown prince and Baela showed an intense interest in you, something that was wrong — at least in the eyes of the Seven —. You tried to resist at first, denying their advances and saying that you were saving yourself for a future marriage.

All that resistance fell apart when you caught them having sex during a random afternoon. The sight of Baela riding on Jacaerys' cock, her breasts bouncing right in front of his face as he grabbed her hips to help her move even faster... It was too much for you, and you did not even try to hide your accidental presence there.

After that day, the couple dedicated themselves to showing you a lot of sexual things that could be pleasurable for you and would not take your maidenhead — since you were afraid that you would not get a propitious betrothal if you were not a virgin anymore.

On that night in question, Baela was eating you out and Jacaerys was fucking her from behind at the same time.

"Mmm, that feels so good..." Baela moaned when Jacaerys fucked hard inside her, hitting that most sensitive spot.

"So fucking good..." Jacaerys grabbed her hips for more intense thrusts, growling when she shook her ass to tease him. His attention turned to you as he saw you squeezing your own breasts and enjoying Baela's full lips sucking on your clit. "Is Baela making you feel good, sweetheart?"

You opened the eyes and stared at Jacaerys behind his betrothed, who was between your spread legs. "Yeah, baby... It feels so good." The sweet, trembling praise made Baela chuckle, sending a tingle through your bundle of nerves.

Speeding up his movements, Jacaerys slapped Baela's ass once, tilting his body down so he could grab her curly, white hair and push her a little further against your cunt.

Baela gasped in pleasure, because of the rough thrusts and the sweet taste of your juices soaking her face. Sensing that Jacaerys was close to the high, she wiggled her ass again against his groin and increased the stimulation on his cock.

"B-Baela... Shit, love, I am going to cum," Jacaerys' moan sounded like a whimper and he almost felt ashamed of himself. However, despite his desire to cum on your breasts or your face, he remembered about the same fetish shared by the three of you. Then he grabbed both of Baela's buttocks one last time before spilling his seed inside her tight cunt.

The princess hummed at the delightful feeling of Jacaerys' cock throbbing and filling her insides with dense, warm spurts.

The poor boy barely had time to recover, pulling himself out and lying on the other side of the bed, his head aching a little bit from the pleasure. He looked at his seed dripping from Baela's entrance, giving a weak smile and taking a deep breath at the sight of her purplish inner lips.

Lying there, Jacaerys rested while Baela sat up, only to fit her legs over yours right away. A whine escaped your lips at the sticky sensation of Baela's cunt on you, Jacaerys' cum making everything slippery.

She held one of your legs to keep them wide open, lips parted and brow furrowed, a clear demonstration of how aroused you were making her feel. One of your hands went up to her breast, the soft weight in your palm sending shivers down both of yours.

"Baela..."

"I am close too, darling..." She whispered, biting the lower lip as she heard your needy whimper. Rolling her hips back and forth, Baela arched her head back, moaning loudly when your two clits rubbed against each other.

The chambers filled with the wet sounds of your cunts and the ones of pleasure as you both reached the climax. The pace of Baela's hips stuttered, but she kept moving them so she could prolong her high, stopping only when she heard your whimper and realized that you were already too overstimulated.

"She will have to go back to her private chambers in a few hours..." Baela whispered, stroking your silver hair while you slept snuggled against Jacaerys' sweaty chest.

The crown prince clenched his jaw, looking at your sleepy form. You seemed so serene like that, together with them, resting after experiencing one more hint of the pleasure they were capable of giving you. It was not fair that you had to sneak out of there and leave them so soon.

It was not fair that you had to leave them.

Noticing the silence of her cousin, Baela gossiped with a tense tone: "Rumors are running through King's Landing. You know... They are about the fact Alicent is probably considering a betrothal between her and Daeron."

There was no surprise on Jacaerys's face, but rather anger. He knew about the rumors and he also knew that you had plenty of suitors from other Houses, all of them interested in a political alliance. You were beautiful, young, fertile and with your maidenhead intact, besides being a Targaryen princess. Any single lord in his right mind would try to have a chance.

That did not make the situation any easier to overcome. "I do not want this to happen. And I know very well that you do not want that either."

Baela remained quiet for a few moments, her heart warming seeing you and Jacaerys cuddling in his bed, the after-sex smell making her aroused for the second time in that night — though she was not going to say anything about it, considering everyone was exhausted and Jacaerys were quite tense, just like herself.

The last thing Baela and Jacaerys wanted was to have to end whatever was going on between the three of you someday. The idea of you marrying someone, really falling in love with your future husband, or at least being forced to be faithful to him panicked them...

They wanted you. They needed you. They loved you too much to let you move on any time soon.

“I could try to convince my mother and then marry both of you,” Baela raised an eyebrow at Jacaerys’ words, clearly not shocked by the prince’s impulsive decision. He seemed to realize that too, because he immediately frowned, all frustrated. "Do not give me that look, love. I would not be the first Targaryen man to do something like that. Aegon the Conqueror married both of his sisters. Maegor the Cruel had six wives."

"Well, that is the problem. One of them was a conqueror and the other one was a tyrant. It's not like the people of Westeros would accept something like that these days," She did not add the fact that he being considered a bastard by the Realm was already enough of an obstacle that his legitimacy as heir might be challenged at some point. He understood what she thought without her even having to say it, though he did not want to admit that she was right. "Being the next king and queen does not give us the freedom to have our every wish granted, Jace."

Jacaerys sighed, too tense for his own good, closing his eyes and trying hard to keep the mind free of melancholy or angry thoughts. Just as he was about to fall asleep, Baela drew his attention back. "However, we can at least try."

[lumiileth]

CHAPTER 2: let you break my heart again

CHAPTER 1

pairing: Shanks x Marine!Reader, Garp’s Daughter!Reader, Familial!Luffy x Reader, Familial!Ace

tags: Bittersweet, Angst, Unrequited Love, Angst, Non-Sexual Tension, No Use of Y/N, (Extra info on the replies!)

Egghead spoiler warnings

word count: 7.200

summary: She was an anchor, foolishly reaching for the tide, but Shanks was the sea—vast, restless, and never meant to be caught.

or: She realized that Shanks and Luffy were the same - both too wild and free-spirited to be held back, they were always going to chase their dreams, while she just had to accept being left behind.

Foosha Village

12 years before canon

Luffy had said something that made her stop in her tracks, something loud and offhand, like most things he said, but this one stuck.

“Ace is the Pirate King’s son!”

She blinked. At first, she just stared at Luffy, deadpanned, assuming it was just another one of his dramatic exaggerations. But the more she thought about it… the more it made no sense. There was a purge of newborns after the Pirate King was executed, but somehow she realized that Ace did bear a faint resemblance to Roger, with a hint of feminine features. 

“You sure he’s Roger’s kid?” she asked, trying to keep her voice flat, feigning indifference. But her heart was already racing with a strange excitement. She hadn’t spoken much to Ace since he’d shown up; most of her time was still wrapped around her Marine duties. And when she came back, it felt like Luffy had already found his own family.

“Yeah!” Luffy nodded emphatically, mouth full, rice flying. “He hates it, though. But that’s just stupid!” he declared, banging his cup on the table. “His dad is COOL! ”

“But I’ll be cooler!” 

She couldn’t help the smile tugging at her lips as she set down a plate of meat in front of him.

And then, just like that, it was gone and Luffy scrambled.

“I’m gonna go!!!” Luffy shouted, shoving the last of his food into his mouth before bolting out the door with the speed only a boy like him could manage.

She looked down at the empty dishes he'd left behind.

Her chest twisted.

It was a strange ache, half-hurt, half-warmth. Luffy had found his brothers. (brother, she reminded herself of the loss, brother, she repeated) He didn’t wait for her to come back to give him a family. He’d found one on his own.

And even if it stung a little… It also made her proud.

She decides to try and talk to Ace if given the chance.

Dadan called out her name.

“I didn’t know you were back!” Dadan said, despite her fear of Garp, she had always liked his daughter, she might even say that she thinks of her as her own daughter.

“Been here a few days,” she replied, gently pulling away from the hug. “I just didn’t have time to drop by. Sorry.”

Dadan lit a cigarette, leaned against the rickety door frame of her house, and exhaled. “You look like hell.”

“Thanks. You’re glowing as always.” She laughed dryly. 

“Hah! That’s the alcohol,” Dadan smirked. “So, are ya hanging for a while, or just passing through?”

She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she looked out toward the trees where distant laughter echoed, Luffy’s, maybe Ace’s too. 

“Not sure, my transponder snail is a bit lethargic, so I left her alone” she said at last. “If I’m getting calls from work, I wouldn't know.”

A silence settled between them before she broke it again.

“So. Ace and Luffy.”

Dadan let out a small laugh, flicking ash into the dirt. “Thank you for taking care of them, I know it’s hard, It’s probably like holding back two hurricanes with a wet mop.”

“You’re not wrong.” Dadan smiled, her expression softening. “But they grew on me. Those boys… they’re gonna tear the world apart someday. In the best way.”

“It’s weird seeing you openly be affectionate of these boys,” She smirked at Dadan,  who widened her eyes, looking like she was caught red handed, “So you do care!” 

“I DON’T!” 

“AUNTIEEEEE!”

Luffy’s voice rang out across the clearing like a cannonball, full of mischief and raw enthusiasm. His rubber arms shot forward, grabbing at her shoulders as he launched himself toward her with a force that would’ve knocked any other adult straight off their feet.

She caught him, barely. Her boots scraped back against the dirt trail as she braced herself.

“Luffy—ow! That’s my shoulder, not a slingshot target,” she grumbled, but she didn’t push him away. If anything, she allowed herself to smile just a little at the boy now clinging to her with the kind of desperation only Luffy could muster.

“Come on, come on, pleaaaase train Ace and me!” he beamed up at her, eyes sparkling with that wide, reckless hope of his.

She raised a brow. “Isn’t Garp training you guys?”

“He’s not here! ” Luffy complained, flailing his arms with cartoonish dramatics. “And when he is, he’s scary! He punches too hard, and he threw me into a mountain last week!”

“That sounds tamer than when he trained me,” she said dryly, crossing her arms.

“But you’re better! You’re cool! And you don’t yell as much!”

He gave her that look. That stupid, effective look. Big round eyes, quivering lip, like the entire world would end if she said no.

She sighed and glanced past him to where Ace stood a few feet away, arms crossed and expression unreadable. But there was a flicker in his eyes, curiosity, maybe? Or a silent challenge.

“I don’t know…” she started, only for Luffy to up the ante by grabbing her hands with both of his and practically shaking her. “Pleeaase, Auntie! We’ll be so good!”

She stared down at him, then she turned toward Ace. “What about you? You okay with this?”

Ace shrugged, but there was a spark of something almost eager behind the casual tone.

“I don’t care, I just want to get stronger,” he said. “If you’re gonna teach us anything, I’ll take it seriously.”

She folded her arms, pretending to consider. “I’m not going easy on either of you.”

“YEAHHHH!” Luffy whooped, already running circles around her. “You’re the best!!”

Along the way, they had realized, maybe, just maybe, her training was slightly harsher than Garp. 

“You’re worse than Gramps!” Luffy cried through a mouthful of food, crumbs spilling onto his lap as he stuffed his face with roasted meat.

“You’re the one who kept slacking off,” she muttered, unfazed, casually tossing a fruit toward Ace, who caught it one-handed.

The three of them were seated around a small fire, the meat they’d hunted sizzling faintly on flat stones and as per usual, Luffy fell asleep after taking in almost all of their food, he was now sprawled out on the grass, his stomach round.

“So, Ace,” she started casually, “I hea—”

“Why’d ya become a Marine?” Ace interrupted, sharp and unexpected.

She blinked, the firelight casting flickers across her face as the question settled between them. It wasn’t an accusation, but it was laced with curiosity. A question he probably couldn’t ask Garp, especially not to Luffy.

“As much as Garp yells at us to be Marines, I don’t think he can force us,” Ace added, picking at the edge of the eaten watermelon, eyes not meeting hers. “You’re strong. You could’ve just said no. Become a pirate. Do whatever you want. Was being a Marine your dream? Who in their right mind dreams of being a Marine?”

She exhaled slowly, watching the embers dance in the pit. “You’re asking a lot of questions tonight.”

Ace shrugged but went quiet, waiting.

“…To answer you,” she said at last, her voice even but distant, “I couldn’t throw away everything Garp gave me. As much as I wanted freedom, I couldn’t walk away from the man who raised me.”

She thought of Garp’s face when Dragon left. The grief buried under fury. The quiet in the house that followed.

“I don’t agree with the system. I’ve seen its ugliness more than most. But Garp… he believed in the good parts. He wanted me to be safe. To be strong. I joined for him… and because I thought maybe I could do some good.”

Ace stayed still, his expression unreadable.

“But my best… it’s not something big or heroic,” she continued, a small, bitter smile tugging at her lips. “I realized I can’t change the world. I just try to keep the people I love safe.”

She hated being a Marine, but she loved her family more, even when it sometimes felt unreciprocated. 

“So you’re okay with me and Luffy becoming pirates?” Ace finally asked, quieter now. Less defiant. Seeking something, permission, maybe. Understanding.

She looked at him, really looked, and saw the way his jaw tensed, the flicker of worry in his eyes despite his tough exterior. He wanted her blessing.

“I want you both to be free,” she said softly. “No matter what path that is. If being a pirate gives you that freedom… then I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

Ace turned to face the other way, but she can tell that he was flushing from the way the tip of his ears turned red. 

If Ace can ask questions, she can too. She was always curious if what Luffy had told her was ture or not. 

“Say,” she began gently, testing the waters, “I heard something from Luffy.”

Ace shifted where he sat, not looking at her. “Yeah?”

She hesitated for a moment, then continued, “That your father was Gol D. Roger… Is that true?”

The change in Ace was immediate. His shoulders tensed, his jaw tightened, and the flicker of peace in his eyes vanished. “Luffy told you that?” His voice was low, guarded.

“Yep,” she said, almost playfully, as if trying to soften the blow.

“That loudmouth…” Ace muttered, burying his face in his arms. Shame crept into his voice. “Of course he’d blab to someone else.”

She watched him carefully. The shift in his body language. The fear. The instinct to hide.

“Before you get angry,” she said calmly, standing up as she sat herself closer beside him, close enough that their knees almost touched. 

“he wasn’t trying to out you. He was just rambling. Bragging about wanting to be Pirate King, like always.”

Ace didn’t respond.

“Go on, then,” he muttered bitterly after a long pause, eyes still downcast. “Say it. Say you don’t believe it. Or that someone like Roger shouldn’t have had a kid in the first place. That I’ve got the devil’s blood or whatever crap people like to throw around.”

Her heart ached for him. This boy, so full of fire and will, still carried the weight of a name he never asked for. She ponders on what she should say next.

“I knew your father,” she said softly.

Ace’s head snapped toward her. “...What?”

“I was a stowaway on his ship when I was young and he took me in right then and there! An idiotic move seeing that my dad was Monkey D. Garp, not that he knew, anywaaays…” She rambled on.

Ace said nothing, but his gaze didn’t move from her face.

“I don’t know what you went through, Ace,” she continued, “truly. But you should know this, if your father had known you, if he’d had the chance… I think he would’ve loved you with everything he had.”

“A demon like that could never love his own child,” Ace muttered, his voice rough with a mix of anger and something quieter, something close to doubt.

But even as the words left his mouth, they didn’t settle like truth. They felt… empty. The kind of thing you say over and over until you start believing it. Except, for the first time, Ace wasn’t sure he did.

She didn’t speak right away. Just sat there, letting the silence work its way through the heaviness between them.

“You don’t sound convinced,” she finally said, quiet but firm.

Ace scoffed. “I have to.”

Her gaze flicked toward him, sharp yet gentle. “Why? Because it’s easier to hate him than to wonder what could’ve been?”

Ace clenched his fists in the dirt beneath them, jaw tightening. He looked like he wanted to yell, or run, or break something, but he didn’t. He just breathed. Shaky and uneven.

“You’re the first person,” he said slowly, “who’s ever talked about him like that. Like he was a person. Not a monster. Not a pirate king. Just... a man.”

“I didn’t know him long,” she admitted, “but I knew enough. He laughed too loud, ate too much, trusted people too easily, and risked his life for his crew. He wasn’t perfect. He was far from it. But he loved this world, and that’s why… he would’ve loved you, too.”

Ace blinked hard, head turned away as his voice cracked, “I don’t know if I could’ve loved him.”

She gently nudged his shoulder. “You don’t have to. But maybe, you can stop hating yourself because of him.”

He looked at her, really looked at her, and for a moment, he seemed so much younger than he usually let himself be.

“Thanks.” It was curt and mannerless, but she knew he meant well. 

“Don’t mention it, kid.”

Oro Jackson

30 years ago

“Say, Lass,” Roger called out, his voice booming warmly as he approached the girl seated cross-legged on a barrel near the ship’s edge. The salty breeze tousled her hair, but her gaze remained locked on the ocean. “Aren’t ya gonna tell me where you came from?”

She didn’t look back, only shrugged. “You never asked, old man.”

Roger barked out a hearty laugh. “Fair enough! So? Where’s home?”

“The East Blue,” she replied simply, her voice carried on the wind.

Roger whistled, his grin widening. “Well, I’ll be damned. What do you know, we’ve got more in common than I thought!”

“You’re from the East Blue?” She finally turned to face him, eyes wide with disbelief. The man on his way to becoming the best pirate this world has ever seen, hailed from what is considered as the weakest blue?

“Born and raised,” he said proudly, jabbing his thumb to his chest. “Loguetown. Polestar Islands.”

Her mouth parted slightly. “Foosha Village. Dawn Island.”

Roger chuckled. “Now that you’ve had a taste of the world, the East Blue must feel a little smaller, huh?”

She didn’t answer right away. Her eyes wandered back to the sea, shimmering beneath the moonlight. But something in her expression had changed, a flicker of awe, of longing, of possibility.

“The sea feels alive,” she murmured. “Like it’s calling.”

Roger smiled at that, his expression softening beneath the shadow of his hat. “That’s the pull, Lass. The sea only calls the wild ones.”

“Wild, huh?” she echoed, her lips quirking upward.

“You wouldn’t be on this ship if you weren’t.”

“Guess that’s true,” she murmured, her voice lighter now, like the sea breeze itself.

Roger leaned against the railing beside her, arms crossed as he watched the same vast sea. “You wanna sail your own ship one day?”

She blinked, surprised by the question. It hadn’t crossed her mind, not really. Not seriously.

“I don’t know,” she said honestly, her legs swinging off the barrel now. “I don’t think I’d make a good captain.”

Roger glanced sideways at her, but didn’t say anything. He just nodded, understanding in his silence.

“But I think about it sometimes,” she admitted, “A ship of my own. A crew. But where would I even go? What would I be looking for?”

“Freedom,” Roger said,  like it was the easiest answer in the world, his smile brighter than the moon in the sky.  “That’s what we all want, isn’t it?”

She smiled at that, soft and tired. “Then maybe I already found it.”

Roger laughed again, deep and genuine. “Don’t be so sure. The sea’s got a way of making you chase after more, even when you think you’ve got everything you need.”

She didn’t respond right away. But as the waves gently rocked the Oro Jackson beneath them, she glanced out at the world again and wondered.

Maybe one day, when she wasn’t just a stowaway or a tagalong, when she wasn’t behind closed doors surrounded by white uniforms, when she wasn’t faced and burdened with a father’s dream, maybe the sea would call her in a different way.

“Maybe,” she said quietly. “One day.”

“Ms. Marine-chan,” Makino’s voice called out gently through a knock on the wooden door. The teasing nickname lingered in the air, soft and familiar. “Ace is about to leave. Aren’t you going to come see him off?”

“That’s early,” she responded from within, though her voice came out raspier than intended. She held back a cough, stifling it with the back of her hand. The last thing she wanted was Makino’s worry. “Yeah, I’ll come. Is Dadan still pretending she doesn’t care?”

Makino gave a knowing smile just as the door creaked open, revealing the older woman with a faint sheen of sweat on her brow.

“She’s still in denial,” Makino laughed lightly, adjusting the basket in her hands. “I brought something. I peeled one of your tangerines earlier, by the way. It's sweet!”

She handed over the basket and watched as the older woman took it with a small, amused smile.

“That’s sweet of you. Thank you,” she said, plucking a slice and popping it into her mouth before turning to place the basket gently on her table. 

“Alright,” she said, exhaling softly as she reached for her coat, “Let’s go see Ace.”

They walked towards the outskirts of the forest, Ace ventured out not on the official harbor of the island, not when people don’t know who he is.

“Take care, Aceeeee!” she heard Luffy shout, his tiny arms flailing wildly as he waved with every ounce of energy he had.

“Yeah!” Ace called back, just as loud, grinning from ear to ear as his small dinghy drifted further down the river. “See you, Luffy! I’m heading out!”

“I’ll be a lot stronger when I leave in three years!” Luffy yelled with bright conviction, the kind only a child with a dream could have.

Ace’s gaze lingered, now not on Luffy, but on the woman standing quietly beside him. The woman who wasn’t his mother, but who had done more for his heart than most ever could. She had believed in him. Spoke kindly of the father he once despised. Showed him warmth, understanding.

Ace shouted her name.

“Thank you… for everything you’ve done!” Ace shouted suddenly, his voice cracking through the air. 

Tears pricked the corners of her eyes. She smiled, but it wavered.

“Dadan raised you more than I did, boy!” she shouted back, voice rough with unshed emotion. She tried to wave him off with a scoff, like this was just another casual goodbye, but the lump in her throat was impossible to swallow.

“Ya both did!” Ace yelled. “Thank you again!”

“Good luck, Ace!” she called, the words almost breaking in her chest.

“Bye, Ace!” Makino and a few others chimed in beside her.. “Don’t catch a cold!”

“You just wait!” Ace’s voice rang out once more. “I’ll make my name soon!”

And just like that, just like Shanks, just like Dragon, another person she loved disappeared into the horizon.

Another piece of her heart left to chase the sea.

“You’re leaving?”

Mayor Woop Slap stood at the doorway of her small home. It had always been quiet, always a little empty, but now it felt hollow, it was far emptier than usual.

“I’m a Marine,” she replied simply, folding a shirt into her half-packed bag. “I’m always leaving.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it,” he said, the weariness in his voice sharper than before. He stepped inside and slowly lowered himself into one of the rickety wooden chairs by her table, watching her methodically stuff the rest of her belongings into the bag. Essentials. 

He exhaled. “What happened, lass?”

She paused for a moment, hand still on the bag. Then, in a quieter voice:

“Luffy didn’t cry.”

Mayor Woop Slap blinked, confused.

“When Ace left,” she clarified, her voice strained but steady. “Luffy didn’t cry.”

She wanted to. She nearly did. If she had blinked, the tears might’ve slipped free. But Luffy? He was smiling.

Big, wide, bright-eyed.

Excited about the future, about setting out, about becoming stronger.

She remembered a time when he cried. When Shanks left, he’d cried. That memory was seared into her mind: the small boy with the straw hat too big for his head, screaming on the dock towards a man she had affections for.

But that wasn’t Luffy anymore.

That boy had grown.

Now, if she left, he wouldn’t cry. He’d see it as a challenge. As a step closer to the sea. He’d chase her, not to hold her back, but to find her out there. To cross paths, to brag about his crew, to laugh and share stories with Ace under the sun.

“He’s grown.” She whispered it to no one in particular, but her heart squeezed around the truth and for the first time, she realized—

He didn’t need her anymore.

“So now, ya leaving for good?” Mayor Woop Slap leaned back in his chair, arms crossed as he studied the young woman before him, the one who used to run barefoot through the village, covered in dirt and mischief, now dressed in something neat, her pressed Marine coat not worn, it was folded and on her bed.

She paused.

“I wouldn’t say for good,” she said finally, her voice steady, but she couldn’t look him in the eyes. Because even she wasn’t sure she believed it.

“You’ve always said you’d settle down here someday,” he reminded her gently.

She smiled. “Plans change, Mayor.”

“Luffy woul—”

“Luffy wouldn’t mind,” she cut in quickly, almost too quickly. A soft smile bloomed across her face as she turned her gaze to the window, where the wind rustled the trees outside. “He’s got his dream now. A crew to find. Seas to conquer. Who am I in his grand adventure?”

Mayor Woop Slap studied her. “Does Garp know?”

Her breath hitched. “Huh?”

“Does he know?” he repeated, more quietly this time, his voice weighed down with understanding.

She gripped the edge of the table and swallowed hard.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she muttered, her tone just a little too rehearsed.

The room was quiet, filled only by the creaking of the wooden beams above them. Woop Slap didn’t press further. He just nodded, slow and grim.

“Makino’s worried too, you know,” he added, softer now. “She said you haven’t been by in weeks, just coming in and going, just to buy a drink for yourself.”

“I’ve been busy,” she said with a half-hearted shrug. “Marine work.”

“She thinks you’ve been avoiding Luffy.”

Her mouth tightened. “Maybe I have.”

“You know,” Woop Slap said after a pause, “that boy’s not stupid.” He paused again, realizing he’s wrong, “Okay, he’s an idiot and loud, wild, even more, but something about that boy means well..”

She walked over to the door and picked up her bag, slinging it over her shoulder.

“That’s fine,” she said, turning the knob. “He’s gonna find me someday and he’s gonna introduce me to his beloved crew and I’d probably cry from being too proud of him or something, I thought of this, y’know.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

She didn’t answer.

Instead, she opened the door to the cool dawn air and stood in the doorway for a moment, as if trying to remember something she couldn’t quite grasp.

“Take care of them, Mayor,” she said, not turning around. “Take care of my home.”

Mayor Woop Slap knew she didn’t mean her house.

Everything changed, just from one simple mistake.

Isolated, alone, just like she liked, but why is this man in front of her, at her stay?

“Dragon,” she breathed, as if tasting the name for the first time in years. It sat strangely on her tongue, familiar, yet distant. “Why are you here?”

An exasperated sigh escaped her lips. Even breathing has become a chore these days.

“Luffy isn’t with me,” she added, her voice flat. “But he’s fine. Wants to be a pirate. Good for him.” She paused.

“I’m not here for Luffy,” Dragon replied, voice as steady as ever, but she could hear the undercurrent of something else. Concern. Guilt. Maybe both. His eyes, usually unreadable, watched her too closely for her liking.

“Then?” she asked coldly, unwilling to entertain hope.

“I’m here for you.”

She scoffed, sharp, bitter, disbelieving. “Don’t give me that crap,” she snapped. With a shaky exhale, she pushed off the bed, staggering slightly before finding her footing. Even now, she refused to appear weak in front of him. Especially in front of him.

He had been her first heartbreak—not as a lover, but as a brother.

He chose the Revolution over their family. Over her. 

She coughed harder, lurched forward in a way Dragon had never seen, he stilled as he stared.

“What?” she said, voice laced with venom and weariness. “Surprised the girl Garp trained like a damn warhound turned out like this?”

There was a pause. Then Dragon said, quietly but firmly, “Garp would’ve never let what they did to you happen.”

That struck something deep. Her jaw clenched, eyes burning—not with tears, but something colder.

“What do you know?” She clenched her hands that were on her side.

“You weren’t there,” She said, barely a whisper. “Neither of you were.”

She clenched her fists tighter and ushering Dragon to come into the humble abode, it was small, it wasn’t a proper house even, but it was enough for her to get by. She glanced at Dragon, who just stood there, looking at her as if she was some form of entertainment.

“How did you know I was here?”

“It took awhile, but I have eyes everywhere.” 

Silence filled the air once more, she hated this, hated that Dragon was calculating something in which she had no idea of, the air around started circling while the rain turned thunderous. 

“Stop that,” She glared at her older brother, even then, they could still be bickering like siblings, no matter how long time has passed, and contrary to what she thinks, Dragon had always had the best interest for her. 

“Also,” she snapped, finally lifting her gaze, eyes blazing, “stop staring at me. Tell me, why are you really here?”

Dragon didn’t flinch. Instead, his voice came steady, deceptively calm, “How was everyone at the village?”

Of all the questions, that was the last she expected.

He was still Dragon, still the stoic, calculated revolutionary. But for a moment, she could see through the cracks. He missed it—home. Their village. The peace they once thought would last.

At least, that’s what she hoped.

“They’re fine,” she replied, voice clipped, unwilling to give him more than he deserved. “They’re doing fine.”

But her brows furrowed. Why ask about the village now? Unless—

“A close confidant of mine died a while back,” Dragon said slowly, the shadows in his voice sharpening. “She was captured by the Celestial Dragons. Died from an experimentation’s side effect… She was someone’s… eighth wife. Before she passed, she left behind her child, she’s growing up with the same side effects.”

She didn’t respond at first. Only stared, a distant memory tugged at her, half-forgotten and buried deep.

“When she escaped and called,” Dragon continued, slower now. “Your name came up.”

That made her blink. Once. Twice. Then a bitter sigh escaped her lips.

“I’m not in cahoots with them,” she said. “If that’s what you’re asking.”

But Dragon wasn’t satisfied. He moved suddenly, grabbing her hand, holding her with more desperation than force. His voice dropped to a growl, “You know exactly what I’m asking.”

“No,” she hissed, trying to pull back. “I wasn’t a wife. I wasn’t subjected to something that cruel.”

It was a lie. Or, at least, a half-truth.

She was the other thing.

And she would never say it—not to Dragon, not even to Garp. Especially not to them.

Dragon stared at her like he was trying to pull the truth from her soul.

“Are you like this because of what they did to you?” he finally asked, voice low.

“No!” Her voice cracked on impact. Raw. Furious. Desperate. “It’s entirely different.”

But even as she said it, her hands trembled. The kind of trembling that doesn’t come from weakness, but from the exhaustion of holding back too much for too long.

“When was the last time you went back to the village?” Dragon asked, his arms folded, voice calm but edged with something deeper. “You told me you didn’t want Luffy to be alone… so why are you here? Come with us. Join the Revolutionaries. We can change things, bring justice to places no one else dares to see.”

She didn’t answer right away.

Instead, she rose from the bed slowly, her bare feet brushing against the cold floor. With trembling hands, she grabbed the front of Dragon’s worn green cloak, clutching it as if she could somehow shake the hypocrisy out of him.

“How dare you,” she said, voice thick with disbelief. “How dare you talk about Luffy being alone.”

Her fists clenched tighter around the fabric. She looked up at him, eyes swimming with unshed tears, not weak, never weak, but exhausted.

“You say that like you weren’t the one who left. You left everything. You don’t get to say that to me,” she spat. “ Me. ”

The last word echoed between them like a punch.

“You only ever cared about the Revolution,” she continued, her voice rising. “If Ginny—” her voice faltered at the name, and it tasted bitter on her tongue, “—if Ginny hadn’t said my name, would you even be standing here right now?”

Her nails dug into the fabric of his cloak. “After everything I went through, everything they did, you think I’d just come crawling back to your cause?” Her voice cracked.

She had once hoped that, just once, someone from her family would come for her .

But Garp had his unwavering loyalty to the Marines, a system that built itself on silence and suppression. Even if he didn’t participate in its cruelty, he never stopped it either.

And Dragon… Dragon had the Revolution. Justice on a grand scale. Justice for the world. Never just for her alone.

And Sh—

“I’m not the only one Luffy has,” she said suddenly, voice quiet, a shift in tone.

Her hands loosened, releasing his cloak. She stepped back.

“He found his own family,” she continued, almost fondly. “You didn’t ask, but… he has brothers. Two of them, I guess… One now.”

She smiled softly, sadly.

“I’m just his aunt. And no matter how much I tried, no matter how much I raised him, nothing will compare to the bond he has with those two boys.” Her voice trembled slightly. “He’s going to be a pirate. He’ll leave when he’s seventeen. I can’t stop him.”

She didn’t need to say it, but it hung there anyway.

Just like you. Just like all of you.

Another person she loved, destined to leave her behind.

She remembered all the little moments Luffy had chosen others over her. The times he chased after Sabo and Ace, leaving her behind in the trees. The nights he rambled on and on about Shanks, eyes glowing with hero worship, until she wondered if he even remembered how she used to sing him lullabies when he had nightmares.

And in those moments, the truth settled in like fog.

She wasn’t the person in his life.

But Luffy—oh, Luffy—he was everything in hers.

“I can’t stop him,” She reiterates, clutching own shirt, over her heart, a feeling of heaviness washing through her.  “And I won’t,” 

Oro Jackson

30 years ago

“Hey,” Shanks started, his voice light with curiosity as he stared up at the sky. “If you could do anything in the world… what would it be?”

They were lying on the deck of the Oro Jackson, the ship gently rocking beneath them as it sailed through calm waters. The stars above glittered like a sea of fireflies. Buggy snored a few feet away, limbs sprawled out in a mess of blankets and dramatic snoozing.

“Hm…” she hummed thoughtfully, brows furrowed in concentration. “Anything in the world?”

“Yeah. Anything,” Shanks grinned, rolling onto his side to look at her.

“Then I guess…” she trailed off, eyes locked on the stars above, “Anywhere.”

“‘Anywhere’ isn’t something you do, stupid,” Shanks chuckled, reaching over to ruffle her dark hair with affection.

She pouted and swatted at his hand, but not too hard.

“I don’t care,” she admitted, voice soft. “As long as I’m with you guys, it doesn’t really matter what I do. Anywhere would be enough.”

Her eyes sparkled beneath the starlight, and for a moment, Shanks forgot how to breathe.

“The sea sure is pretty,” she added.

“Yeah…” Shanks murmured, though he wasn’t looking at the sea, his gaze stayed fixed on her, his expression a little more serious now, a little softer.

“It’s pretty alright.”

Blood coated her hands. It dripped from her fingertips, splattered across her boots, and soaked through the once-pristine white shirt she was wearing. Crimson trailed along the cracked cobblestones beneath her feet. 

The air was thick, still, eerie in its silence. There were no screams, no sirens. No approaching Marine warships, no hurried footsteps of panicked bystanders.

Just bodies. Dozens of them. All fallen in grotesque stillness, twisted mid-motion. Among them, one stood out: a man slumped at the base of the desecrated fountain, clad in the unmistakable attire of a Celestial Dragon. His glass helmet was shattered, the remnants glinting like ice around his pale, lifeless face.

The sun hung low, casting long shadows across. It should have been beautiful, serene even, but the bloodied scene turned it into something else. Something wrong. The stench of iron and ozone lingered in the air.

“Boss?” Lucky Roux’s voice cracked through the silence, uncertain. Even he, always the cheerful, carefree one, looked disturbed, his eyes wide as he took in the carnage.

“You guys stand back,” Shanks said quietly, his tone hard in a way rarely heard. He stepped forward, slowly. Deliberately. His crew obeyed without hesitation. “I’ll handle this.” 

She stood at the center of it all, alone, shoulders tight, breath shallow, her face turned slightly toward the dying light of the sky. Her knuckles were scraped raw, arms trembling from restraint more than fatigue.

And yet, the moment she heard his voice—

“Look at this,” Shanks called her name gently, as if afraid he might break her with too much weight behind the word. “What happened here?”

She turned slowly.

Her face, once furrowed with fury or grief, or perhaps both, softened in recognition. That voice. That familiar drawl, steady as the sea and just as endless. It had been years since she'd last heard it, but time did little to dull its comfort.

She dropped the Celestial Dragon’s body like it was nothing more than trash.

Shanks didn’t flinch. He never had, not even when she got like this. But something about the way she looked now, standing ankle-deep in blood with her hands still faintly glowing with Haki, made his heart twist.

No Marines. No Cipher Pol. No Navy dogs on the horizon.

Not even an admiral.

And yet a Celestial Dragon was dead.

“Shanks.”

Her voice was quiet. Hoarse. Almost like it hurt to say it.

Only now did she seem to fully register the chaos surrounding her , the mangled bodies, the blood drying on her clothes. 

She was suddenly hyper aware of every breath she took. But still, her eyes didn’t waver from the red-haired man before her.

That hair.

It reminded her of them . It wasn’t recent that she found out about Shanks, she never knew Shanks came from there. Not until much later. He knew her kin, her pain, and still never told her. That betrayal sat bitter at the base of her throat, but this wasn’t the time.

“What are you doing here?” Her voice was still clipped, tight.

“Can’t I greet my favorite Marine?” Shanks offered with a half-hearted grin. It was lighthearted on the surface, but not a single muscle in his body was relaxed. His stance was measured. Ready. Even his smile didn’t reach his eyes.

“Long time no see, Ms. Marine, how are you?”

He walked forward, and with each step, the air thickened with the pressure of Haki, his own Haoshoku clashing faintly against hers. It wasn’t hostile, but it was undeniable. The ground beneath them groaned as if to bear witness to what could happen if they didn’t tread carefully.

Shanks sensed that some of his newer crew members collapsed behind him on their ship, unable to bear the weight of it.

“You’re leaking too much,” she muttered, not looking back at the chaos behind him.

“Right back at you,” Shanks replied dryly. “Half my men are face-down and we haven’t even talked yet.”

Silence again. Not awkward, just... heavy.

“I didn’t think you were the type to kill a Celestial Dragon out in the open like this,” Shanks said eventually, his voice low, gesturing with a small nod toward the bloodied corpse slumped on the stone pavement.

She didn’t look away.

“Didn’t think I’d go this far, to be honest,” she muttered, her breath still unsteady, “Something snapped, I...”

Around them, the air still hung heavy with the iron scent of blood. It was eerily quiet now, but still she realized that this wasn’t a place to linger.

She finally glanced down at her hands, still faintly glowing with the remnants of her power, slick with crimson. Reality began to settle in. The Celestial Dragon lay still. Dead. The world government wouldn’t let this go unpunished.

“It’s not safe here,” she murmured, wiping her palm against her coat with a grimace. “I have to go.”

Shanks looked at her hands, still bloodstained, trembling with something deeper than exhaustion.

“Come with me,” he said suddenly.

She stared at him. “What?”

“Not forever,” he clarified. “Just for a while. You need to disappear. At least until the heat dies down.”

“I’m not afraid of this.”

“I know,” he said, his voice gentle. “You were never afraid of anything, were you?”

Shanks smiled sadly. “But you think I want to watch them erase you? You think I haven’t seen what happens to people who stand up to them ?”

She didn’t respond. Her jaw tightened. Her whole body was wound tight, like the wrong word could make her snap.

But Shanks didn’t move closer. He just let the weight of his words hang between them, steady as the sea.

The sea he had chosen over her. 

“Shanks,” She had whispered, loud enough for Shanks to hear, “I’m dying.”

Shanks’ smile faltered.

Just slightly.

Enough for her to notice.

The weight of her words settled like lead between them. The battlefield, the blood, the bodies, suddenly all of it dimmed beneath the gravity of what she had just confessed.

“I’m dying,” she said again, this time with a strange calm. Not a plea. Not even sorrow. Just… fact.

Shanks’ brows pulled together. “What are you talking about?” Shanks’ fists clenched at his sides. “Have you told anyone ?”

She didn’t answer. She didn’t have to.

Of course she hadn’t.

“That’s why you’re doing all this,” he said, looking at the carnage around them. “You think if you go out swinging, it’ll mean something.”

“No," She shook her head, but gave no explanation, "you wouldn’t understand even if I told you.”

Shanks stepped even closer now. Close enough to see the cracks in her mask, the tremble in her lips, he wasn’t sure if that was from adrenaline or some sort of weakness.

“You always felt too much,” he said softly. “Even back then. That’s what made you beautiful.”

“Don’t even start, Red-haired,” She spat out, not wanting for old feelings to resurface, but she knew why Shanks was saying nonsense, “Why are you even here, go back to your precious Red Force,” 

“I’m not letting you die here,” Shanks said with finality. “Not like this. Not alone. Not in blood.”

Her eyes met his. And for a brief moment, she looked like that girl again. The one who laughed too loud. Who dared to dream, even when dreaming was a crime for herself at that time. 

“Shanks, that’s not why I told you.” She closed her eyes, feeling too much.

Her voice was low, ragged, as her bloodied fingers curled into the fabric of his coat, dragging him closer. Her breath ghosted just shy of his lips, had the moment been different, it might’ve meant something else entirely.

“I’m not your captain,” she said through clenched teeth, each word laced with bitterness. Her grip on him tightened. “I will never be your captain.”

Shanks didn’t speak. He understood. This wasn’t a moment for argument, this was her flare, her fire still burning even as her strength faded. Letting her talk was the only right thing to do.

“Don’t you dare,” she rasped, drawing in a breath that trembled, “don’t you ever dare let my body fall into the hands of those World Government bastards. Do you hear me?”

Shanks’s expression darkened, but he remained silent, his eyes steady on hers.

“Shanks.” Her voice cracked, and something unfamiliar flashed across her eyes, grief, anger, betrayal. Something raw. “As much as you hurt me… as much as you humiliated me…The times where you forced me to even think about leaving Foosha for good, but even then…”

She faltered, her knees buckling. Shanks caught her before she could fall.

“I trust you more than anyone,” she breathed, almost like a confession. “More than Dragon. More than Garp.”

"So that's why I want you to—"

And that was the truth that broke her, Shanks widened his eyes at the revelation she had just spat out.

This woman, the Vice Admiral feared across seas, the sister of the world’s most wanted man, the grandchild of a Marine legend, was strong. She wielded all three forms of Haki. She had once sailed under the Pirate King (Though as a mere stowaway)

She was strong.

Until she wasn’t.

As the tears finally fell, they didn’t fall from weakness, but from the weight of everything she was never allowed to say. It cascaded to her bloodstained cheeks, she faltered.

All that strength, the kind that had carried nations on her back, that had stared down gods and monsters, trembled now in the space between her and Shanks.

“I have no idea how and why you’re here, but I trust you , Shanks,” she whispered again, as if saying it louder would make it too real, too dangerous. “So don’t… don’t let them get their hands on me, don’t you dare let them near me…”

Shanks swallowed hard. Her grip on him was iron, trembling but stubborn.

“I won’t,” he said at last. “Not a damn bone of you will be theirs.”

Her head dropped forward, resting against his shoulder now, the weight of her frame sinking into his. She wasn’t unconscious, but she was tired. Soul-tired.

“You always did talk too much,” he murmured into her hair, voice low, trying to steady her. His coat draped itself around her shoulders like instinct, like memory. “You could’ve just said you wanted me to stay.”

“Shut up,” she muttered weakly, and he almost smiled.

The air around them was heavy still, tainted with blood and silence, but it was no longer suffocating.

Behind him, Lucky Roux and Yasopp kept their distance. Not out of fear. But reverence. They knew better than to interrupt this kind of moment.

“Don’t fall asleep on me just yet,” Shanks whispered. “We’ve still got a ship to catch.”

She let out a broken chuckle.

“I just…” she rasped, a trail of blood leaving past her lips, trembling with every word she had forcefully spat out. “Wished I could see Luffy, just one last time.”

And just like that, Shanks’ composure cracked. Just for a second.

Because he knew he wouldn't be able to fulfill her wish.

And so, without another word, he held her tighter. As if that could stop the inevitable. As if memory and history and pain could hold her here.

And for the first time in a long, long while—

Red-Haired Shanks was afraid.

[melia-an2fa]

Christ on a cracker, no one seems to be able to act normal about this SaveAFox shit. I remember even back a couple years ago, I'd heard some criticisms of how she handled things, simply agreed "Yeah that sounds a bit concerning, I won't be watching her stuff," and then moved on, maybe on occasion gave friends a heads up if they posted her stuff, but otherwise, just... moving on.

I remember getting agitated when what started as very mild criticisms started to evolve into post after post into dedicated tag for her into Google Doc Callout Post™ and just feeling deeply annoyed by this being a constant cycle, and unfollowed some folks because of it. People who remember my old blog probably remember my post talking about people on Animalblr (? is that the word) I found annoying, this was part of why.

And in a way, it's a bit... cathartic? That may not be the right word for it. The irony of it all, is that the people who were most vocal about this, I could say the same thing for them that I would've said about Mikayla, which is that they were well-intended (caring about animal welfare and having real concerns) but still irresponsible (documenting literally every thing the woman did in dedicated tags; this was bound to attract bad faith actors and concern trolls!)

I honestly hadn't thought about Mikayla for a long time until this happened today, because, again, my response was simply "Well I won't watch those videos" then moving on. I didn't keep a dedicated tag to documenting everything she did. Hearing the news was honestly devastating, because I don't care what a person did, they don't deserve to die. I never even thought of Mikayla as a bad person, just well-intended but irresponsible, even if she were a "bad person" I wouldn't think she deserved to die.

So, fuck you if you sincerely consider this a "win," if you have no regrets about anything you did. I personally now have regrets trusting the word of some of these individuals, seeing as it has now escalated to this point. And sure, Ethan said it was because of people she knew and other sanctuaries, but let's not pretend rumors don't spread. I remember when I saw the doc in particular, I was disgusted that her having an OnlyFans even came up, it just ruined the credibility of the entire doc, no matter what legitimate concerns you may have had about Mikayla's animal welfare, because her having an OF... has nothing to do with her welfare! But that being information other sanctuaries could've found out about could've still ruined her credibility with them regardless, since, y'know, people fucking hate women who have a sexuality?

I will also say, I do think some of her defenders are going way too far, and I do not approve of this. I think it's kinda ridiculous to accuse every single person who's ever mildly criticized her, especially if it was years ago, and/or came from a person who's been inactive on Tumblr for half a year, of being "murderers." I've seen people hurling slurs (mostly the R-slur), being transphobic (because Owlvid in particular is trans), making threats about doxxing people and/or raping them and their family members... what the hell is wrong with you? There is no childish "But they did it first-" here, you are engaging in the exact kind of behavior that lead to Mikayla's death, and that's disgusting, what we're learning from this shouldn't be "Let's keep up this cycle of vengeance!" or "Let's document everything someone we don't like does!" No, do not entertain the idea of the "callout post." That's how we get here in the first place. Block. Move on. Curate. That's what the people who didn't like her content should've done, too.

May Mikayla rest in peace, my heart goes out to her family, I hope Ethan can get the funds that he needs in order to take care of his daughter, and I hope the animals can, at least, be rehomed to other sanctuaries, should Ethan not receive proper funding.

There's been a lot of recent events making me rethink how quickly I and others jump the gun when it comes to animal welfare concerns, and this is one of them.

[tyrantisterror]

The Den!

She's big - specifically, long. Long cat is long. She also has just the right number of limbs in just the right number of places to make getting a good place to hold her while gluing on her fabric skin frustrating pretty much 90% of the time - a lot of awkward "how do I hold this so I have a good grip AND can get at the part I need to cover?" moments. Still, damn impressive once she pulled together!

I think I made her head slightly too large and monstrous - she doesn't have as much of those subtle human qualities that make the Den so haunting in many of her scenes. But I was actually worried I'd do the opposite and try to make her too pretty, so if I overcorrected I'm glad it's in the service of preserving how monstrous this iteration of the princess is. Plus if I made her head much smaller she wouldn't be as good at chomping those articulate jaws!

I am glad I kept her thin - one of the cool things about the Den is that, for all her animal viciousness, she's also clearly sickly and malnourished, like a tiger kept in captivity at a really shitty zoo. She needs to be big and impressive but also kind of frail and vulnerable at the same time - she's a wild animal who's suffered in a cage for too long.

(man, someone is going to tag this as some variation of "Verbing with Mama" and unwittingly suggest an incestuous paradox the likes of which have only been experienced by the Onceler and Phillip J. Fry)

[misslisamiray]

After another stupidly long hiatus, I'm finally uploading the newest chapter of Down With the Rickness! Pic is not... super relevant to the chapter, but I needed one that had Rick, Morty and Jerry in it. And despite having a LOT of saved images from the show, this was 1 of 2 which fit that description. Just kinda pay Beth no mind here since she's only mentioned in this chapter and not actually in it, yet I couldn't bring myself to crop her out.

Anyway, I'll post the Ao3 and ff dot net links later - probably after work. For now, new chapter is below the cut!

After a few more seconds of stunned silence, Morty sighed and admitted, “I was just trying to help. Maybe I did get carried away and fall down a couple of weird rabbit holes – that guy who yells about viruses not actually existing really does pop up everywhere – but it’s ‘cause I’m worried about you.”

“I keep telling you, you don’t have to be. I warned you this wasn’t going to be pretty, didn’t I? *Cough!* Make no mistake, I’m sick and miserable, but I’ll be alright in a few days. And that’d be true whether you Velcroed yourself to me like you’ve decided to do, or left me alone in the garage like I wanted.” Rick grumbled. Morty kept staring at him, but didn’t say anything, so he added, “Besides, with all the shit we’ve been through, I don’t get why this is freaking you out so badly.”

“I’ve never seen you sick before. I don’t like it.” Morty replied quietly, turning so he wasn’t facing Rick anymore.

“You don’t like it? In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not exactly having the time of my life with it myself.” Rick scoffed. He blew his nose and was about to say more, when he heard Morty’s barely audible addition of “It’s scary.”

“Scary? Aww Morty, come on. You’re *SNIFF!* really making mountains out of molehills here. Y’know you’re not doing either of us any favors with this overthinking shit, right? You’re just making my headache worse and getting yourself closer to developing your first ulcer before your 18th birthday.” Rick complained. However, the anger was draining from his voice.

“Maybe. It’s just…I just got you back to normal. Now this happens. If you’re not lying, then yeah, it’s nothing. A minor nuisance, sounds worse than it is and all that. But I can’t shake the feeling that you are lying about how bad this is, Rick, and…”

Rick had been tired already, but as the realization of just how worried Morty was about him sank in, he suddenly felt 10 times more exhausted. The anger and annoyance was gone – well, except about his flask being empty. Rick was currently very annoyed about that. He struggled to come up with a response, while Morty was trying to bring himself to voice the rest of his thoughts.

Their shared struggle was cut short when Morty tried to say something, but all that came out was “*Ah-ah-Achoo!*”  followed by a surprised, “Oh.” Rick sighed and slapped his forehead.

“C’mere, buddy. Let Grandpa check something.” He placed a hand on Morty’s shoulder and stuck the thermometer in his ear.

“Ow! Careful, Rick! Hey, that reminds me. We should check yours again, too.” Morty promptly pulled the first thermometer out of his pocket and stuck it in Rick’s mouth. Rick rolled his eyes, but didn’t object. The ear thermometer beeped first.

“Hmmm. Perfectly normal 98.6. Good for you.” Rick observed, mumbling around the thermometer. He was clearly jealous.

“Well, except for little kids, most people don’t get fevers when they have a cold.”

“Which means some of us do, if you’re trying to use that as an argument for my having something worse.”

“Stop talking or it won’t take the reading right. You should anyway, since you hardly have any voice left.” Morty instructed. Rick nodded, reluctantly agreeing. The thermometer beeped a few seconds later.

“101.1. Rick, that’s higher than it was this morning. You are getting sicker.” Morty worried, a fearful look in his eyes.

“Huh. No wonder I feel even worse.” Rick said, a little surprised by the new information. Seeing how those words instantly increased the worry on Morty’s face, he quickly backtracked with, “It hasn’t gone up that much. And a fever isn’t considered dangerous in an otherwise healthy adult until it hits like, 104, 105. Mine’s well *SNIFF!* below that. Come on, stop staring at me that way.” Morty did not, in fact, stop staring, and Rick had to look away. A few seconds later, he heard sniffling alongside him.

“Fucking hell, don’t cry. There is no part of this situation worth crying over. Oh. You’re not.” Rick said, looking over his shoulder at Morty. The boy’s nose was running, and he was trying to stop it but having no luck. Rick handed him the tissue box, muttering, “Well, good. I guess. If these are my only choices, I’d rather deal with sick kid than crying kid.” Morty blew his nose, and then the room was quiet except for the TV and rain.

“You still don’t believe me, do you?” Rick asked after a moment.

“I want to, Rick. But no, I don’t.” Morty answered.

“Fine. I have an idea. Come on.” Rick sighed, forcing himself to get up again. He grabbed Morty’s arm and pulled him up, too. Morty started to object, but decided to let Rick drag the two of them back to the garage.

“First thing’s first.” Rick grumbled, picking up a bottle of blue liquor with alien writing on the label. He took a long swig from it and grimaced – he’d forgotten how much this stuff burned going down even without a sore throat. He still contemplated refilling his flask with the liquid, but quickly shoved it aside, deciding some ordinary whiskey would be better. Flask full and shoved back in his pocket, he decided to finish the small amount left in the bottle.

“Come on, Rick. Did you really drag me back into the drafty old garage just to watch you get drunk? You need to go back to bed. And since you took my phone, let me use yours to call Mom again.” Morty complained, shivering a little and wrapping his arms around himself. Noticing that, Rick removed the top 3 blankets from the pile he was struggling to keep wrapped around himself and clumsily draped them around Morty’s shoulders.

“That’s not the only reason. But I agree with you. It’s freezing in here, and we’re leaving as soon as I’m done proving my point. *COUGH!* *COUGH!* Where’s the stupid thing?...” Rick groused, searching for something on, then under his workbench. After a moment, he found what he was looking for – the floating cubes from earlier, and the small computer that displayed their test results.

Rick pressed a few keys, and the “WARNING! WARNING! INFECTION DETECTED! INFECTION DETECTED!” alarms started to go off again, flashing lights included.

“Shut up! We know that part already!” Rick snapped, frantically pressing more keys to hurry up and get to the next stage. The alarm stopped, and three out of five cubes began levitating. Rick grabbed one out of the air, hitting a button to deactivate it, and tossed the unneeded cubes back under the workbench. One of the remaining two floated over his head, while the other hovered above Morty’s.

“Analyzing subject: Rick Sanchez!”

“Analyzing subject: Morty Smith!”

Rick drummed his fingers against his hip impatiently, eager for this to be over.

“Analysis complete. Subject: Rick Sanchez.”

“Analysis complete. Subject: Morty Smith.”

“Status: INFECTED! INFECTED!”

“Status: INFECTED! INFECTED!”

Rick and Morty both covered their ears as the cubes loudly announced their simultaneous findings.

“Ugh, tell us something we don’t know. Rick, you really *Cough!* need to make some serious adjustments to this system once you’re feeling better!” Morty complained, yelling to be heard over the cubes.

“Well aware of that, Morty. *COUGH!* *COUGH!* Come on, you stupid things. Let's get to the info we actually need.” Rick muttered, grabbing the cubes out of the air and handing Morty his. A small needle emerged from each cube to take blood samples from the two of them.

“Beginning analysis Stage 2: Identifying infection type.” the AI droned in unison with itself as the cubes processed the samples. 

“Infection type: Viral. Virus origin: Earth. Infection risk level is low, but contagion level is high. Beginning final virus identification now.” the computer system continued. Morty covered his ears again, while Rick resisted the urge to do so.

“Analysis complete. Infection in both subjects identified. Which subject would you like to display results for first?” the AI asked, thankfully no longer talking in stereo with itself. Rick grabbed Morty’s cube and pressed a button on it.

“Displaying test results for subject: Morty Smith. Infection identified as: A strain of rhinovirus, also known as the common cold.” the computer informed them both, displaying the results on the screen.

“Okay, I get it.” Morty sighed, sounding tired and defeated. He tugged on Rick’s arm and asked, “Can we please go back in the house now?”

“In a minute. Just in case you get it in your head that by total coincidence, you’ve caught a cold at the same time I’m suffering from at least two completely unrelated *COUGH! *COUGH!* diseases, we gotta do mine, too. Not like you didn’t already see my test results earlier today, but what *URP!* ever.”

Rick switched Morty’s cube with his own, and after a few seconds, the AI announced, “Displaying test results for subject: Rick Sanchez. Again. Infection identified as: A strain of rhinovirus, often referred to as the common cold. Which I already told you this morning. Just because you don’t like the answer, doesn’t mean repeating the test will get you a different one.”

Rolling his eyes at his computer’s sarcasm, Rick quietly asked Morty, “There. You satisfied now?” Morty nodded, and the two of them headed back into the house. They both collapsed onto the couch, sitting in opposite corners. Except for some coughs and sniffles, there was silence between them.

Rick broke it by asking, “So… pretty anticlimactic, huh? *Achoo!*” His voice was barely above a whisper now.

“Yeah, but that’s *Achoo!* a good thing.” Morty sighed, adjusting his blankets.

Rick tossed him a pillow and asked, “So, how are you feeling?”

“I’m… not sure? Like, not terrible, but not great, either. *Cough!* My throat’s a little scratchy and my head feels all fuzzy. Mostly I’m just tired and cold. This how yours started?”

Rick glanced sympathetically at Morty and said, “Yeah, pretty much. With any luck, it *SNIFF!* won’t get worse for you. Shouldn’t, since colds are usually so minor. Plus you’ve got youth on your side. Then again, that never did me any favors, so there’s no guarantee it *COUGH!* will for you, either.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I was the kid who always seemed to get hit worse by whatever bug was going around my stupid school than anybody else did. I told you my not dealing well with being sick isn’t a new thing.” Rick explained with an annoyed shrug.

“Sounds rough. I don’t think I’m like that. I mean, when was the last time I missed school because I was sick, and not because of you? It’s *Achoo!* been a long time. Can’t say I remember it happening much before, either. So good for me, I guess?” Morty commented, trying to picture Rick at his age or younger.

Rick nodded in agreement, then complained, “Y’know, despite being a germ magnet growing up, I somehow didn’t get the fucking chicken pox until it went through Beth’s preschool. Ugh. Now that was terrible. You’re young enough you just got the shot and never actually had it. Trust me, you’re lucky.” He scowled and shuddered a little at the memory.

Morty giggled at that mental image, then said, “Uh-huh. Aw geez, isn’t it like, kind of dangerous to get that as an adult?”

“Eh. Can be. Especially if you end up with secondary skin infections from uh, not listening when your wife tells you scratching with a busted robot arm is a bad idea.” Rick admitted sheepishly. Morty laughed a little more at that. Somehow, it didn’t surprise him that Rick had listened to reason just as badly 40 something years ago as he did now.

“Stop trying to picture it. *COUGH!* Anyway, that ordeal was hell on Earth for a solid month, but I recovered just fine. You see the point I’m trying to make here, Morty?” Rick grumbled, pretending to be annoyed by Morty’s amusement even though that had obviously been the point of telling that story.

“I guess.” Morty replied quietly, worry furrowing his brow again.

“What? Morty, you’ve seen my stupid test results twice now. Don’t tell me you think I fabricated them, or it’s another part of the detection system being broken?” Rick asked crossly.

“*SIGH!* No, I’m taking all that at face value. You have a bad cold. Nothing worse. It’s just… never mind.” Morty said, flipping through his notes again.

“Don’t do that shit. Whatever you’re gonna say, just say it.”

“Well, I read that complications from colds are rare, but they do happen. Especially if your health isn’t great to begin with, or you’re, you know, older. Like, I can’t shake this worry you could still get your wish and end up with pneumonia, Rick.” Morty admitted.

“Jesus Christ, Morty. Will you let it fucking go already?! What do I have to do to snap you out of this once and for all?” Rick yelled, setting off another series of coughs and instantly regretting raising his voice that much. Once the coughing subsided, he drank the rest of the water Morty had brought him earlier, tried to say something else… and discovered he couldn’t.

“It’s okay. We’ll talk about it later once you feel a little better. Morty told him, forcing a smile. Rick nodded, realizing he wouldn’t know what to say if he could talk. Another episode of the fishing show came on. This time, Gene-With-A-Beard was listing facts about tuna.

Just then, Jerry entered the room, saying, “I heard the alarms going off again. Does that mean the Mimicking Disease finally moved onto copying some other illness? I was a little scared to come check. Not to mention confused because I thought I still heard coughing. What’s going on?” Rick slapped his forehead, now even more annoyed he’d lost his voice.

“Dad, for the zillionth time, Rick lied about that. The alarms were just going off because we had to run the test again, and… *ACHOO!*” Morty tried to explain.

Caught off guard and further confused by the sneeze, Jerry asked, “Wait, you’re sick now, too?”

“Yeah, I caught Rick’s cold. It’s *Sniff!* not a big deal. Hey, Rick, gimme the tissues back.” Morty sighed, in no mood to deal with his father’s cluelessness. Rick handed him the nearly empty box.

“Let me get this straight. The whole scary, turns from one mystery disease to another at the drop of a hat illness, really was just a cover for having a cold?” Jerry asked, turning his attention to Rick.

Rick nodded, glaring at Jerry, while Morty said, “Yes, Dad. I told you that hours ago.”

Ignoring his son and staring intently at his father-in-law, Jerry continued, “And this cold is doing this much of a number on you? You’ve looked worse every time I’ve seen you today, Rick. That cough sounds brutal.” Unable to do anything else, Rick just continued glaring at Jerry, hating every second of this more than the last. He grabbed the tissue box back from Morty.

“Rick lost his voice. Just leave him alone and ask me if you have any more dumb questions, okay?” Morty said wearily.

“Seriously? I wouldn’t have thought Rick could even get a cold in the first place. I guess that’s why I didn’t listen to you earlier, Morty. But there’s no like, built-in robot voice to talk for him in case of a situation like this? That’s… surprising.”

“Maybe, but none of Rick’s implants are working.” Morty admitted. 

Rick gave him an absolutely furious glare, mouthing and trying to yell, “What the fuck?!”

“What? Dad knowing that changes nothing, Rick. Besides, Mom should be home soon. I hope. And she’ll pick up on it after spending two minutes with you.” Morty pointed out. Rick wanted to argue, but quickly realized he couldn’t, both because of his laryngitis and the fact Morty was right. He angrily turned away from both Morty and Jerry, burrowing into his blanket pile.

“Holy shit, really? Is that like, a normal thing that happens when he gets sick?” Jerry asked, clearly surprised by this new information.

“Yes, really. And I don’t know if it’s normal or not. Rick wouldn’t give me a straight answer. But that *Cough!* doesn’t matter right now, Dad. What does is now that you finally know what’s going on, you can help us. Like, actually help. Not come up with some harebrained, save the day with anime plan, then go sulk for hours when you realize that won’t do shit.” Morty answered.

“Right, right. You both need medicine. More tissues, obviously. Have either of you even eaten today?”

“Not much, no.” Morty said. Rick just shrugged angrily under his blankets.

“I’ll make soup. But I should probably go to the store first before it closes.” Jerry said.

“Yes, you should.” Morty agreed. Jerry put on his jacket and was about to head out the door, when something occurred to him, and he turned back towards the kitchen.

“Dad, you’re going the wrong way. Please don’t get sidetracked again. It’s really important you just go to the store now.” Morty sighed, worried his father was getting distracted by another nonsense idea.

“In a minute, I promise. I just have to check if there’s any ingredients I’m missing. While I’m doing that, you two write down what you need when I go shopping.” Jerry replied. As he disappeared into the kitchen, he added, “Actually, maybe only Morty do that. Sorry, Rick, but I’m not going on any errands to planet Flim Flam or the Garblygook dimension for you tonight.” Still unable to reply to that verbally, Rick stuck one hand out from under the blankets to flip Jerry off. Morty grabbed his notebook – at least Rick hadn’t portalled that to God knows where – and started writing things down. A few minutes later, Jerry came back, carrying a tray with two steaming mugs on it.

“It’s not going to cure you or anything. I mean, no one can cure the common cold. Though come to think of it, Rick, I’m really surprised you can’t. I mean, you’d think that would be easy compared to making clones or that gun that kills a person by making their organs fight each other, but…” Jerry began. Rick tried to kick him, but, not taking into consideration that he couldn’t see where Jerry was, only succeeded in kicking over the coffee table.

“Dad, shut up! You do kinda have a point, but now is not the time!” Morty interrupted, righting the tipped over table. That done, he asked, “What have you got there? Please don’t tell me it’s some olde timey home remedy your great-great grandparents swore cured everything, even though no one they knew lived past 40.” Under his layers of blankets, Rick laughed silently at that.

“Yes and no. But since you’re both being so ungrateful, maybe I shouldn’t give this to you.” Jerry scoffed.

“Look, Dad, it’s been a long day. And between Rick thinking he could fix this by making the germs people-sized, or people germ-sized, and the crazy shit I found online, I’ve had it with… unconventional cold remedies, okay? I just want you to go to the store and come back with *Achoo!* actual medicine.” Morty sighed.

Jerry’s expression softened, and he replied, “As I was saying, it’s not a cure, but this tea will make the two of you feel better. It has honey from my bees. And I guess this counts as an ‘olde-timey home remedy’, but for your information, honey has been scientifically proven to help with coughs and sore throats. I made sure to put a lot in yours, Rick.”

“Thanks, Dad. Here.” Morty said, grabbing the mug Jerry had placed in front of him and handing him the small shopping list. After thinking it over for a few seconds, Rick uncovered his head, sat up a little straighter and turned around. Still glaring at Jerry, he grabbed his mug of tea and took a sip.

“I’m assuming the only reason you’re not thanking me is that you can’t talk right now, so you’re welcome.” Jerry said smugly. Rick ignored him, grabbing the shopping list and pen. After scribbling down a few things, he shoved the list back into Jerry’s hand.

“Is your writing always this messy, or just when you don't feel well? What am I looking at here, Rick?” Jerry asked, trying to puzzle out Rick’s terrible handwriting. Morty took the list and looked it over. After a few seconds, he said, “He just wants you to get cough drops, but not the strawberry flavored kind. There’s like a paragraph about why those suck, and then ‘Try not to fuck this up, Jerry. I know that’s hard for you, but try.” Morty handed the list back to Jerry, who headed for the door, grabbed an umbrella, and finally left to go shopping. Once he was sure Jerry was gone, Rick quickly downed the rest of his tea. Alone again, he and Morty sat there, half listening to the television.

[queerofthedagger]

One thing I think about a lot is that when Nargothrond falls, it is heavily implied that as good as everyone perished or, if not, got captured. Like, unlike with the Fall of Doriath, there is no mention at all of any refugees removing to the Mouth of Sirion - and yet, I assume that is very likely where Celebrimbor, at least, went? I definitely think he would have fought, but clearly he survived and neither Doriath nor Gondolin really were an option for him, and I doubt even more that he would have gone back to his family.

And there are a lot of implications to all that, but maybe the one that keeps me up most is that this means he would have likely been there when the refugees of Doriath arrived, when they told of what his family did. That his father is dead. What would he have been thinking? What would the survivors of Doriath been thinking? Like, I know there were technically several different camps to some extent, but I doubt they would have been wholly separate, especially upon arrival. What kind of horror to find someone who looks just like one of those guys who just slaughtered your friends and family. What kind of horror to look like someone who just committed such horrors.

He also would have been there when the third kinslaying occurred, or at least very close to it. What an experience, to end up on the other side of it. To see exactly what might have become of him had he not foresworn his father years ago, and also to see yet again what became of his family. Like yeah, everything before/during the Nargothrond Disaster would have already been formative for him and his future choices, but I do feel even being in the vicinity of all of that would have been such a dire reinforcement of all those convictions and reasons that made him disavow them in the first place. And especially in terms of the third kinslaying, it's also why I personally really doubt that there is a chance at any kind of reconciliation with any of the brothers, whether it's his father or I don't know, Maedhros or Maglor. Like, I just don't think there is any coming back fromt hat, really, if there ever was.

[wonder-worker]

"Administratively, too, [...] queens were considered the legal lords of their landholdings. [...] Grants noted that the queen's officials had administrative autonomy without being subject to the king or anyone else, and evidence of the same assumption can be gleaned from court rolls that were recorded with headings indicating the lord of the manor whose court proceedings were being enrolled. As an example, some court rolls for the manor of Haveringatte-Bower specified that it was the court of [Margaret of Anjou] that was in session, while later rolls recorded Elizabeth Woodville as the lord of the manor court."

— Michele Seah, "My Lady Queen, the Lord of the Manor': The Economic Roles of Late Medieval Queens", Parergon, Volume 37, Number 2, 2020.

[equalperson]

people mostly talk about splitting as literally all-or-nothing--"I love you" or "I hate you"--but I personally experience an in-between point sometimes.

I don't know what I'd call it other than "thin-ice devaluation" or something along those lines.

like, yes I devalued you recently and I realize now that I was being irrational, BUT if you say something even slightly suspicious, hurtful, or incorrect, I'm going to assume that you're evil and/or useless again much faster than I would have before.

[xxplastic-cubexx]

just read the new mutants issue where Charles chose to stay behind in space and my god the juxtaposition between Charles trusting Erik and Erik joining the hellfire club and wondering at his own trust worthiness. I wonder how much of Charles decision was him ultimately trying to avoid the fact that his first class had seemingly betrayed mutant kind and not be willing to face them and how much of it was Dani and Illyana's reaction to him having Karma mind control Illyana. the fact that Illyana was depending on him to ease her mind through limbo and in choosing to stay he forced karma to do it instead, probably fucking up their relationship in the process.

I love him, this is crazy, how much of this is him trying to runaway and how much is this him not trusting himself to fix things and how much is it just him trusting Erik?

i keep trying to put into words my exact thoughts about the sitch but there really is a lot for one issue aintit... oh charles you and your brain...

[march32nd]

me when the girl i've been dating for two months tells me that she doesn't find me at all attractive and isn't attracted to me and doesn't know if she ever will be !!!!!

[immortalsins]

:/

[deathofaninteriordecorator]

show tempe gang crossover with the morris islanders would actually have been the best episode of bones ever. btw

[dancingplague]

Receptionist at my GPs office made a snarky little comment (that I think was probably supposed to be friendly) when I asked to have my weight blacked out on my appointment summary and. Like. Okay, I get it, you don't think I'm fat so you don't understand why I wouldn't want to see my weight. Glad to know that you have assessed my weight (my body, actually, because it turns out they didn't put the weight on the summary this time) and made a judgement about it, at the end of this doctor's appointment in which I am already being uncomfortably scrutinized and touched and measured, except of course your judgement is superfluous and useless so you probably could've not said it aloud. It actually doesn't make me feel better when random people make a big deal about me not wanting to know what I weigh. Don't randomly guess people's weight! Even if your guess is low! Even if this was not common courtesy, shouldn't "don't comment on people's bodies" be common sense in a doctor's office?

[breadwheathead]

gotta go harvest my celery or whatever I planted in tunnel town

[neverendingford]

.