#suddenly everyone and their mother obsesses over her!! no!!! she's mine!!!

[iveneverbeenmorestressedinmylife]

Y'all don't understand how much i need to gatekeep hello kitty. Call this my toxic trait.

[star2fishmeg]

Hey, Queen, me again. Got another B O M B idea right here. Got the G O O D S. hickey obsession with Fujio. Mother lover can’t get E N O U G H, he can’t stop, he can’t understand why he loves the sight of you being cOvered in love marks made by HIM. Slight boob worship? (I love my boobs and should be worshiped.)

Slay, Queen. Gonna do so well sweetie! 🫶🫶✨✨🤭🤭

ᴡᴏʀᴋ ᴏғ ᴀʀᴛ

[0.9k]

Pairing | Hanaoka Fujio x afab!reader

Summary | fujio is a true artist when it comes to his girlfriend being the canvas

Warnings | 18+ smut, hickeys, marking kink, praise, tit play, swearing, pet names (baby, princess)

Authors Note | thank you for the request! I’m so sorry it took so long!! I'm not really sure if I like this one, it’s a lot shorter than usual but I’m still rusty

“You’re so fucking hot,” his teeth met her skin again, leaving a hot kiss on her breast and sucking another hickey into the collection, “Love seeing you marked up. All mine, aren’t ya?”

Y/n’s back arched against the mattress, fingernails digging into his back muscles in all their ridges, creating an art piece of crescent indents and red marks clawed over his skin. Fujio held her hips down in a bruising grip, knee between her legs and trapping her exactly where he needed, blood rushing to his cock with every languid drag of her pussy over his knee while high-pitched whimpers bounced off his bedroom walls. He loved it, bathed in the stinging of her scratches, it reminded him that he was making her feel like she was on top of the world at that moment and that no one else could ever do what he could. He thrived in the aftermath. Looking in the mirror the morning, seeing her territory marked vividly. Suddenly walking around in just a tank top became more appealing than before, screaming a big ‘fuck you’ at the other guys.

He sat back on his knees, his smile dripping in charm plastered on his face, admiring his work like it belonged in a museum. He didn’t know where this obsession started, but he loved how beautiful she looked covered in blossoms of pink and purple, created by his and only his teeth sinking into her while she sang his name. Her neck, her chest claimed by the only boy she’d ever loved at full capacity. Every bite, every hickey placed over her was like a medal, it just really got him going like nothing else. Perhaps it was the thrill of everyone knowing his sex life, rubbing it in at Oya that someone like him could pull too. Or maybe it was territory, a dominance over other guys sort of thing. Or maybe it was the way she wriggled and cried his name with erogenous wails that stimulated his every fibre in such a euphoric way he just had to fuck her in some way. Whatever it was, he loved it shamelessly.

Shuffling back, his lips met her hips, hands soothing up and down her thighs as his canines nipped at the flesh with urgency, leaving eager hickeys over the intimate areas of her that only he had the privilege of basking in. The soft little moans she let out as he sucked filled his veins with some sort of perverted elation. Not the same adrenaline he felt when fighting, but a consuming one, a loving one that practically made his heart swell and made him wish he could wipe her clean and start his handiwork all over again.

“Yours, ‘jio! All your- yours.” Her jaw hung open, strings of broken whines slipping from her throat the closer his lips hunted her cunt, hands carding through his thick strands and tugging harshly, his groans vibrating on her skin and through her body. He may have eaten her out like a starved man once that night but could anyone blame a girl for wanting to be devoured again, especially by her boyfriend who just loved putting his mouth all over her?

He pulled away, panting heavily and chuckling, his voice low. His eyes raked over her body; squirming beneath him, dishevelled with sweat glistening over all her curves and marks. God, he thought it was such a delicious sight to succumb to.

“Why’d you stop?” she whined, the tone needy and desperate and luring him back into her neck, assaulting her column with more wet, sloppy kisses over the established hickeys that lived along it – like she’d been mauled. He trailed kisses down the valley of her breasts, attending to them not with his mouth, but with his hands that groped gently, squeezing, and pushing them together. His thumbs circled over the buds, lips ever so softly ghosting over the skin. She knew he was smiling, she could feel it, feel every nuzzle and peck, relishing in how the boy was on cloud nine when stuffed between her tits. Only hers. Only her tits could make him as hard as he was, her thighs could feel him, and she wanted nothing more than his bedframe to bump into his wall in an erotic rhythm.

“So fuckin’ perfect.” He mumbled; voice muffled by her body, “So soft ‘nd warm and all fuckin’ mine.”

His lust fed into her ego, eyes half-lidded and she bucked her hips up into his. Lips tugging into a weak smile, she threw her head back into the pillows, mouth shuddering open when his clothes cock dragged over pussy; exposed and wet, practically spilling in arousal and cum from before still. She choked out his name in a carnal moan, losing her breath and feeling her hair stuck to her forehead.

When Fujio did pull away, chest heaving and face flushed rosy, his eyes flicked across her face. To him, she was stunning when laying pornographically like that. Making pretty noises for him, being his blank canvas and tasting exquisite as always.

“I lo-“ she panted, trying to find the strength to smile, “-love you, ‘jio.”

“I love you too, princess.” He placed a sweet kiss on her lips, his grip loosening, and he held her as if she were glass. There was no other way he’d rather spend his nights, taking care of his girlfriend felt far more meaningful than throwing fists in some junkyard. Y/n meant that much more, and he sure did love showing everyone who she belonged to.

H&L harem (if you wanna be tagged/removed in future H&L content, comment or lemme know via ‘chat to me bbygorl’ :D);

@airbendertendou @strxwberrychocolate @rouzuchan @yuken-gf @rinwhore @simpforchuchu @rainisawriter @cheshirecatuniverse @certainbananacollectionblr @tiredlittlewriter @ninamarie1994 @riricompass

[Masterlist]

[Requests CLOSED]

2024 © STAR2FISHMEG All rights reserved - do not plagiarise/copy, translate, or repost any of my works. Please let me know if you notice that any of these have been done to my work.

Banners & dividers belong to @/cafekitsune

[itsgameofthronesimagines]

Kinslayer

(Gif not mine)

Fandom: House of the Dragon

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Fem!Reader

Summary: Aemond returns home after the events of Storm’s End and his wife demands an impossible request. 

Word Count: 1,874

Warnings: Angst, mentions of death, betrayal, faith-based delusion, implied rape at the end

Author's Note: Fine. Since no one has requested anything for Aemond, *cue Thanos impression* I'll do it myself. Sorry but I’m obsessed the the ‘our violent delights’ ao3 fic atm and I’ll be damned if I don’t write about Aemond myself.

(I do not consent for my works to be reposted/copied)

The council room is quiet after Aemond arrives and reports his crime. No one moves or even dares to breathe until Alicent finally rises from her chair, admittedly shaken as she smoothes down her dress. She can’t even look her son in the eye as she turned her body in his direction, instead watching her hands wringing together, “Aemond... does anyone else know of this?”

Aemond shifts his footing, fists clenched, but he keeps his chin held high, “Borros Baratheon might be an idiot, but he forbade blood to be shed on the floors of his home. I left soon after Lucerys did, so I can imagine Lord Borros knows. He truly would be a fool if he thought dragons could dance without death.”

“And you must truly be a fool if you thought you could start a war in the name of your missing eye!” The Queen Regent screams back, the whole room ringing with her voice and overpowering Aemond’s attempt at confidence. The whole room stills, lingering in Alicent’s proclamation until she fills the silence with gasps of breath. She crumbles slightly, holding her gut in disgust while trying to hold back the tears. Fear was evident in her eyes, and suddenly Aemond was no longer confident in his stride. When she finally locked eyes with his, Aemond felt himself cower in the ferocity of his mother’s gaze, “Go to your chambers.”

Guilt overcomes Aemond in tenfold compared to how he felt flying over Strom’s End. He’s used to Alicent’s anger being directed at Aegon, not him. He was truly his mother’s son, after all, “Mother...”

“Go!”

~~~~~~~~~

The walk to his wife’s chambers was dreadful, each step heavier than the last. His stomach felt like lead, weighing him down with his shame and his guilt. Already, servants walked around him in a wide berth and whisper to one another, as one usually does when rumors spread fast in King’s Landing. Aemond pretends not to hear them, but he hears the one word, nevertheless, stabbing him in the back as he walks past the whisperers.

‘Kinslayer.’

If Aemond could be honest with himself, just for a moment, he would much rather people whisper about his appearance instead of weighing him down with such a shameful title.

He opens the heavy doors to his wife’s chambers, and tonight the doors weighed heavier than normal. His young wife, Y/n stood by the fire until she heard him, then whipped her head around with dread evident in her eyes. Aemond cringed at the sight. He had hoped to explain to her what had happened. Y/n is a proud woman, powerfully faithful to the Seven and the laws of the Seven Kingdoms. If she had only married his brother, she would be a mighty queen who instills justice in all those who dare to break the law. He had hoped by being the first to tell her what he had done, Aemond hoped to calm her growing anger.

“What...? What did you do?” Her voice cracked between words, her tone harsh and likely shrouding her rage. Her eyes blinked back tears of disbelief, willing her husband to speak the truth before she could make any assumptions.

He winced, but kept his explanation short, “I lost control of Vhagar.”

Her sneer is vengeful, striking terror in Aemond One-Eye’s heart. Her justice rings true and strikes swiftly with her vulgar words, “Horse shit! I may not bear the privilege of a dragon rider, but I know of the bond between man and beast. Everyone knows.”

“A dragon is not a slave,” he tries to defend.

“No, but it is a companion,” she rounds the furniture and beelines for him. It took everything in Aemond not to retreat, “One who is so deeply bonded with its rider, they could feel each other’s sorrow. I couldn’t possibly imagine what Vhagar must have gone through in order to do what she did to Laena Velaryon. A dragon knows the intent of its rider. Some maesters even speculate that a dragon knows its rider’s inner thoughts and desires. Laena wanted to die by dragonfire... And you wanted Lucerys Velaryon dead.”

Aemond’s head snaps up, denying her accusation with every breath, “I would never--”

“Even if you didn’t command it, Vhagar knew it to be true. She only did what your heart truly desired. And even if you did lose control of Vhagar, would you admit it to the people of Westeros?”

Aemond tightens his jaw, refraining from voicing his inner thoughts and angrily looking away. Y/n’s disdain for him grows as she straightens her back, unimpressed as she watches him pout at the wall, “I didn’t think so. You’re too proud for that. Imagine the fear it would instill in people if Aemond Targaryen admitted to losing control over the largest dragon in the world. Tell me, husband, would you rather be shamed for losing control of your dragon or be shamed for murdering your nephew?”

He hadn’t realized she was standing directly before him until he felt her hot breath lightly grazing his neck. And yet, he refused to look at her. If he had, he would’ve seen betrayal etched in her eyes, grief, and anger wilting her beauty as she forced herself to choke back a sob. Rectifying her composure when she didn't receive an answer, her eyes glance down at his torso while strengthening her words, making sure to turn her expression into a blank slate, void of emotion.

“Then there’s nothing else to discuss. You have turned yourself into a Kinslayer. It’s dishonorable and unlawful. You can do nothing to redeem yourself other than go North and take the black.”

His long, silk-like hair whips around him like a silver flag as he spun his one-eyed glare to direct at her. Even as he towered over her, imposing and intimidating, she bravely held her ground as he yelled in her face, “You’re asking me to cower in exile?! To run to the Wall and shame my family name?!”

“You had done that already by murdering your nephew for a child’s revenge,” she retorted, adding the venom in her voice to act as a whip, further damaging her husband’s pride, “Whatever you decide now will decide whether or not you continue to shame your family.”

“There’s no honor in running.”

Another quick lash of her whip, “There’s no honor in killing a boy on a peace mission either.”

“I would not fly North on Vhagar--”

“No, you wouldn’t. To sentence her to a cold, bitter exile when you alone are at fault for her actions is cowardice at best. Vhagar will remain here. You alone must take this journey.”

“We’re at war!” He finally roared, “I cannot leave with war at our doorstep!”

“War is only brewing because you made it so!” She screamed back.

“I will not take the black!”

“If you loved me, you would."

Her voice breaks, the emotions now rearing their ugly heads. Aemond’s rage pauses momentarily as he watches her face crumble with tears and breathless sobs. She relents her stiff posture, stepping away from him as she tries to find something to do with her hands, her heart practically bleeding out with her words, “If you value my honor as your wife and as a servant to the gods, you will not stain me with this shame.”

Aemond slowly relents his rage as well, letting the room fill with Y/n's gasps and cries as he hangs his head. The words stung as he knew they would. He may be proud as a dragon rider and as a Targaryen prince, but his wife is an equally proud religious woman; a true believer in purity, honor, loyalty, and justice. Up until this point, she was proud to have him as a husband, believing that he valued her morals and beliefs. In a way, he did. Aemond valued Y/n for all she is and for all she held dear, even if they had vastly different opinions. In her eyes, he was a faith-militant, much like his mother who he had doted upon. Aemond said his prayers and was dutiful to his family. He avoided sin and only slept in his lawful wife's bed. Even though Aegon was King, Aemond was the closest thing to The Father reincarnated. Whether or not he did these things to please her, Y/n was overjoyed when she married him, believing the gods spun the two of them out of the same cloth.

Delusional, perhaps, but Y/n was once a young girl who had to believe in something whilst living in a world that wasn't made for her, or else she'd go mad. Faith was the only thing she had, even when she married Aemond. She had nothing to her name besides her faith, all other pieces or belongings she owned were either lost to her father or gained by her husband. In her eyes, nothing was actually hers, not even the clothes on her back. The only thing she knew no one could take away from her was her faith.

And yet, even now, she felt that faith waver, ever so slightly. She loved Aemond, and if she could, she'd love to keep him. But her faith compels her to be estranged from him after the crime he committed. Y/n felt torn in two, disgusted with herself for even entertaining the idea of keeping Aemond as her husband, knowing the gods and all those with strong faith would shame her for it.  

Aemond knows this. He knows his wife as well as how strongly she kept her virtue close to her heart. He valued that in her, and yet could not even look her in the eye as he takes that from her, too, “... I will not take the black.”

He hears her suck in a sharp breath, before letting out a meek whisper, “Then you do not love me.”

He hears her footsteps turn away from him, so he spares a glance. Y/n had turned and walked away from him, stumbling slightly in her grief and pain. She paused at the foot of her bed, turning her head back in his direction, resigned and defeated, "Leave me, Aemond, or do you mean to shame me more?"

The question both shocks and disgusts him. Getting over the initial slap to his ego, all Aemond wanted to do is to continue screaming at her, demanding why she thought he would stoop to such a low, disgusting sin. He wants to shout up to the gods and to his wife how he is nothing like his brother and he would never do such a thing to his wife of all people--

The anger is too much, and if he were a dragon, Y/n would be in ashes. To avoid further conflict, Aemond storms out of her chambers, only to rip apart his own once he got there. Guilt and shame were no longer at the forefront of his mind. Instead, they are replaced with the might of a prince and the rage of a dragon. Without any fire, he instead rips apart his pillows, turning over his desk, and breaking the spine of his books. In the distance, he hears Vhagar roar, and he wishes that his wife's words weren't still crawling through his ears.

“--One who is so deeply bonded with its rider, they could feel each other’s sorrow. A dragon knows the intent of its rider."

~~~~~~~~~

A/N: I love shower thoughts. I know it’s short, but I really, really love this. Please support and leave a request in the ask box!

[musicfeedsmysoul12]

More Song Shuffled but...

'Be ready for more' and I proceed to get obsessed over the pics @narutojacksondemigod sent HERE.

Beautiful Things - Benson Boone

 Izumi leaned on the railing, smiling at the image of Izuku holding up his medal, tears pouring down her face. The smile turned to a frown as a familiar presence landed next to her. She clenched the railing in her metal arm, glaring at the side as Kei- HAWKS looked at the field.

 “He did well,” the hero complimented Izuku.

 “Uhuh,” Izumi pushed herself up. “Tell the Commission fuck off,” she moved to step away from Hawks but he grabbed her wrist.

 “Izumi-”

 “It’s Shadowstrike to you.” she wrenched her wrist from him.

 “Izumi,” Hawks said, standing up. “Please don’t.” 

 Izumi didn’t look back.

My Love Mine All Mine - Mitsuki

Izuku looked at the pictures on the wall, leaning on his crutch. The pictures on the wall showed him and his mother before the accident. Smiling and happy. Then there was a shift. Suddenly it was him with an eyepatch, looking at the viewer without a smile. There beside him was the blank face of his cousin, Izumi. He reached out to touch the picture of the first birthday after his mother died, the one where they finally smiled again. Where Izumi had taken him out to see a hero fight, and where she handed him a gun, promising to teach him to use it with a secret smile.

 It hadn’t been easy to get where they were. But it was their journey.

Another Love - Tom Odell

 “Don’t go near me,” Izumi demanded, holding a hand up to prevent Keigo from coming near her. No, not Keigo. This was Hawks. 

 “Izumi,” Hawks began but she shook her head, turning her back to him.

 “Leave,” she ordered. 

 “You feel the same way.” Hawks argued. Izumi shook her head, feeling the tears well up. “Izumi, please.”

 “Don’t,” she said, lifting her head up. She didn’t want to do this. She wanted to collapse into his arms, wanted to sob into his chest. Wanted him to kiss her forehead, wanted to bandage his wounds after commission training. Wanted to hold him when he hurt. 

 But that was the past. That was before. This wasn’t her Keigo. Even if he had gotten some memories when she went to this dimension. It wasn’t the man who went through training with her. It wasn’t the man who sang off key to the radio while they cooked.

 It wasn’t him.

Something Just Like this -The Chainsmokers & Coldplay

 Childhood friends to lovers. It was a story often told to her by everyone around her. In the beginning, it was about her and Bakugou they hinted at. Then her mother died, and the Commission wanted her. They wanted her brain, her skills. Her father hadn’t wanted her.

 Then it became about Keigo. And… she wouldn’t deny she wanted it.

 They trained together. He was there when she lost her arm, the first villain attack she helped with, sidekick to a hero who purposely ignored the Quirkless girl, only to have the Commission coming down on him. He was there when she got a new arm. She was there when he cried for days after all his feathers were used up. She was there for his tears after training. They ate together, learned together. 

 She wanted that with Keigo, and she was so lucky he wanted it back. They kissed for the first time on live television, after a successful mission to save a school nearly saw Izumi lost. The media went nuts.

 It was approved by the Commission, childhood friends to lovers, a married hero duo.

 She wanted it. Got it.

 Lost it.

Yellow - Coldplay

 “Izuku, don’t do it!” Tenya shouted, diving for his… his… god, what even was Izuku? 

 His friend? His classmate? His rival? His… his boyfriend?

 Tenya didn’t know. 

 Izuku ignored Tenya, instead diving to knock Bakugou out of the villain’s grasp, being grabbed instead as he was pulled into darkness. His eyepatch was missing, and the dead white of his ruined eye was the last thing Tenya saw before the portal closed. He dropped to his knees, staring at where it had been. 

 “Izuku…” Tenya said, staring at where the boy had been.

 “Wha- he… he saved me?” Bakugou choked out. The blond haired teen stared at where Izuku was gone. “Why… he hated me.”

 “Because he isn’t that person.” Tokoyami said from behind them, watching as Tenya stared at where his boyfriend made his beautiful and selfish decision, the stars shining through the smoke filled air.

Soldier, Poet, King -The Oh Hellos

 It was Keigo and Izumi at first. The two soldiers for the Commission. Then came Tenya, who had been a diplomat to their knives. He had been the one to figure out what was wrong with them. How the Commission had tethered them to their hands. He had helped them free themselves bit by bit, before Stain got to the hero. 

 It would take three years before they found out that the Commission pushed forward rumors of him being corrupt to get rid of the man. It was the first crack in the commission used to break society apart. And at the time they hadn’t cared, not until it was too late.

 Watching the boy scold Izuku who was laughing, Izumi smiled. She missed the man she knew. But this boy… she liked this boy with her cousin. 

Someone to You - BANNERS

 “Please,” Hawks said. “Please don’t turn me away.” Izumi looked at him, biting her lip. 

 “Hawks-”

 “I’m not him. I’ll never be him. But… but I care about you,” he told Izumi. She shook her head, keeping her eyes from him. “I… please Izumi. I want to be with you.”

 “Do you mean this or is the man I knew coming through?” Izumi asked, blinking away tears. Hawks shook his head, reaching out to grab her mechanical arm. She looked back at him. 

 “It’s me coming through,” Hawks said. “Please.”

 “...I’m going to tear apart everything you’ve ever known,” Izumi said. Hawks shrugged, a half smile appearing on his face. 

 “I can take it.” he told her. Izumi shook her head, leaning in to hover over his mouth.

 “I hope so,” she said before kissing him.

Viva la Vida -Coldplay

 Izumi slumped over the table, her hands around her cup trying to feel some warmth. Her shoulder ached, the metal of her arm uncomfortably pressing in. Izumi ignored it, sipping her tea as she looked out the window, drinking her tea. 

 More fires. Lovely. Izumi closed her eyes, hanging her head down. Fuck. 

 Her phone buzzed but she didn’t look. It would be Dabi again. Reminding her she still had a choice.

 Like hell she did. They took everything. They killed Keigo. They destroyed the entire hero system. They took everything apart and let the ashes get swept away in the rain. 

 She lost everything. All she was was an ex hero trapped by the villains who took over, trapped and forced to watch the world she once saved burn.

Sure Thing -Sped Up -Miguel

 The first time they met, Izuku decided he didn’t like Tenya because he was rude to Izumi.

 The next time, after an apology and a talking to, he decided he liked Tenya

 The third time, he had punched an annoying bully in the face and played up accidentally not seeing the boy on his bad side. Tenya backed him up.

 The fourth time, Izuku had pantsed a nasty sidekick of Tensei’s who said bad things about Tenya.

 The times kept coming, and the more they happened, the more Izuku didn’t want them to stop. Tenya felt the same. 

Soldier -Fleurie, Tommee Profiit

 Izumi tugged her gloves on, her face determined. Her metal arm was oiled and polished. Her old hero uniform was pulled on, her boots laced up. She’d cut off most of her hair, and attached the earring Keigo gave her in place of a ring.

 She was ready. 

 She stomped to the door and roundhoused it, shattering the wood. Instantly the alarm began going off. She ran down the halls, eyes narrowed. Some Nomu came stumbling out of a room, and she punched it with her metal arm at full speed. It went down. She kept running, eyes narrowed as she felt it happen. The note secreted to her by the grocery lady. The promise of being saved from the hell of this world order. A gift slipped to her by a child she had once saved from a man in a bird mask. The child she wore to save again as the energy began picking up. 

 She needed to get to the middle of the base. Ripping a whole through space, as Eri wrote, would cause an explosion. She needed to get to the middle. 

 She had to take as many as she could down before she left. 

 If she did, she could save this world.

 She would have her revenge.

[witchofimber]

I see you reblogged an Ask Game not long ago, and only if I am not too late and only if you wish….

🤔 ____ for Every Mother Is A Grave, just, like, ANYTHING you’d like to share about your thoughts about the character(s) and the writing process of that.

It is such a masterwork. I’m a lil bit obsessed. 🤩

Shshdjdbus thank you I'm so thrilled to get a message like this ahhhh;!! I can no longer find the ask game so I can't remember what this emoji is. Please enjoy my scattered and incoherent thoughts.

There is an inherent horror to motherhood. Someone is a part of you, they are in your body, and then they are ripped away. When your kids are small, they tell you everything. Slowly, they start lying to you. This child you used to know inside out becomes an adult who's opaque to you. Watching them grow up is a long, slow process of losing access to the person you love the most. Charlie leaves the country. Percy doesn't believe her when she warns him of danger. Bill gets a girlfriend she doesn't trust, the twins drop out of school, Ron signs up at eleven to put himself in danger again (and Harry, another son to her, will never be safe whatever he does). Ginny gets possessed and doesn't, can't, ask for help. The subplot of HP is Molly losing all her kids; some in small, ordinary ways, some in the worst way possible. This is not me saying that anything those kids did was wrong, but it's brutal.

Mothers aren't people to children. Mothers are mothers, a separate category. That's how it should be, but it's also depersonalising - you have to be as unshakeable as bedrock, you can't share your old wounds. Your children want to fight in a war, and you can't rip your chest open and show them how you're still bleeding over two dead brothers, because you're their mother.

She raised five children during a war, pregnant with a sixth. She also fought in that war. Can you imagine the absolute fear of that?

Bill is twenty-one in the first book, which means that if we go by Movie!Molly's appearance, she started having kids when she was an absolute baby. Arthur in his twenties has little money, few prospects and odd ideas. She was probably younger than I, childless, am now, with at least two kids before she reached my age. If I had had a baby in my early twenties, that baby would not be doing well. She would have gone from child to mother with almost no gap in between, and then there was a war.

We all know the Larkin line about how "they fuck you up, your mum and dad." This is true of every family, even the loving ones like mine - raising children is hard, there's no right answer to every child, you're going to mold all of them and that includes some mistakes. I think the answer to the Larkin line for a lot of people (obviously not everyone) is "and we love them anyway." We grow up, we become adults, we realise we're still flying blind and then we imagine how absolutely shit-scared we'd be if we tried to do this with a baby. That's what I wanted to capture with that Ginny and Molly conversation - that destabilising point of adulthood where you suddenly see your mother as a person again.

Also sorry I included so little Bill in this story but I have no clear idea of him as a person. Also sorry for six paragraphs of Molly brainrot! In the words of Marge Simpson, I just think she's neat.

[thephantomcasebook]

i think if there was ever going to be any question on if daeron wasnt viserys’ child it wouldve happened by now because the baby is already born right? why have this major plot line and then not even include the child the plot lines about in the season.

I kinda very briefly talked this out with @fandom-mix-16

And we're both in agreement that 1x09 is really sink or swim on this theory/rumor of A+C=D.

If Alicent and Criston don't have solid scenes together that gives their relationship depth, than I'd say that the over-under on the theory is 30/70 that Daeron is nothing but Visery's son.

However, from a writing standpoint - as a writer myself - I feel that that A+C=D is straight rocket fuel that explains a lot of Alicent's behavior of trying to expose Rhaenyra and her children and will give a ton of depth and nuance to the conflict that is still really lacking.

Even if Daeron isn't a bastard, the insinuation that he is a product of a decade long courtly affair by Alicent and Criston is still a gold mine of character motivation.

I know it's an unpopular opinion here on Team Green, but rap with me a moment.

If we throw out the definitive if he is or isn't Criston or Visery's son, you still give a ton of motivation for Alicent being relentless in her pursuit of Rhaenyra.

Imagine, if you will, that Rhaenyra has Luke and everyone notices that he's not Valaryian colored - dark haired between two silver haired parents. Rhaenyra, suddenly finding herself cornered, openly starts accusing Daeron of not being who everyone thinks he is - a Targaryen that has Alicent's coloring and likeness.

She publically announces that Daeron is not Targaryen and then starts spreading gossip about how close, how familiar, Queen Alicent and Ser Criston are. Isn't it strange that he murdered Ser Joffery at her very wedding, yet, Queen Alicent not only defended him passionately, but then swore him to her for life ...

Who does that?

A pious queen?

or

a lover?

Suddenly, all of Visery's court is talking, casting a doubtful eye on the youngest prince who spends far too much time with his mother and Ser Criston ... as if they were a family on their own. Rhaeynra knows that she can question the Queen's virtue and get away with it, because, Viserys will protect and forgive her. It will also force the crown to proclaim that Targaryen's come in all colors - Daeron being the spitting image of Alicent - making sure that her son Luke is protected for all time.

However, the damage is done, and even though Viserys proclaims that Daeron is his son, the rumor persists - Harwin Strong openly mocking Ser Criston and Daeron in the yard. Eventually, to squash the scandal, Lord Strong convinces Viserys to send Daeron away.

This would shatter - absolutely shatter - Alicent's world, because, Daeron is her last child and her baby. But Viserys order's the boy away, to stop the talk against Alicent. So, Otto comes to King's Landing and formerly takes Daeron as his ward and they leave for Old Town - Alicent, Ser Criston, and Aemond standing together in the rain watching him go. Alicent turns and glances up to see Rhaenyra and Ser Harwin looking smug together from a covered balcony.

Now it's war for Alicent and Criston.

See! Right there!

Perfect motivation for why Alicent and Criston are so anti-Rhaenyra. Because it was Rhaenyra's politicking and scheming to protect Luke that got Daeron sent away - a small boy that gave Alicent, Ser Criston, and Aemond a great deal of joy ... it could also explain why Aemond is so depressed and dragon obsessed in 1x06.

A storyline like that, told in retrospect through Daeron and Alicent's prospective, years later, adds depth - a ton of it - to every character. Why Alicent is head hunting in 1x06, Why Criston is bitter, and we see the length's Rhaenyra will go too to either protect her child or get what she wants ... including making another child's life - her own brother - a living hell.

[lillykayewrites]

CHANGE ME CHAPTER TWO:

Warnings: None

Word Count: 973

I awoke with the sun shining through my blinds and my phone buzzing for what felt like the 200th time.

I drowsily picked up my phone to see that my mother had called and texted me once, and the other hundred times were from my best friend.

"I swear to God..."

Replying to them both, I put my phone back down and awkwardly flopped out of bed.

With my hair a mess, I zombie walked to my closet and looked for a decent outfit for the day.

I grabbed a fitted pink long-sleeved athletic top and a pair of denim shorts.

As quickly as I put on my clothes, I pulled out a pair of shoes and slipped them on and studied my outfit for the day,

"This will do just fine!" I grinned.

I finished getting ready and walked to the kitchen. Which I had no real food in, other than a couple of bags of snacks I had brought with me on the trip here, so I definitely would need to run to the store later for some groceries.

I had a decently busy schedule today...

I needed to apply for a job, and the sole reason I came to Utah was to apply for a job no one wanted...

So, By this time, you're all probably wondering...Lilly? What job do you so desperately want, that would cause you to move to Hurricane, Utah, leave your entire family, and all of your friends behind in Texas, and dedicate your lazy ass to have?...

Well... Have you ever heard of Fazbear Entertainment?

No?

Well. Not many have...The only reason I know is that, when I was thirteen, true crime and folklore were my vice and obsession. So when I came across the disappearances of Washington County, Utah-

a total of 20 kids from the years 1987 to 1993 disappeared in that industry. I had to find out what happened to them.

  Only local legend is the only thing that keeps that franchise alive. The original owners of the company haven't been heard from in years, with one by the name of William Afton, being under suspicion for murdering all those kids and mysteriously disappearing as well.

   The restaurants were said to be haunted and filled with the vengeful spirits of the lost children and well.... a murderer.

   But with a "profession" like mine, that doesn't sound all that crazy.

You see, originally, my dream career and what I was supposed to do with my life, was to work in psychology. Work with serial killers and figure out why did the things they did, then rewrite about it; though that was my dream, I came across a path that changed my mind. I met a family friend who was a medium, and I got reeled in. I always had a strong spiritual connection to things.

She taught me how to communicate with spirits and even free them from spaces.

   I spent a good time investing in being a medium. Which means to communicate with the departed.

I trained with her until I was skilled enough to pass her and she let me go with my newfound knowledge.

    With this all tying together, I was determined to free the spirits that haunted the industry, ending the suffering of so many, for their sake and everyone else's.

I exited my apartment digging through my purse for my keys. As I looked, I heard a familiar raspy voice behind me.

"Where ya' off to today missy?" Pat asked from her lawn chair.

I turned around and smiled at her which she returned with a rough sneer.

"Well, I guess I'm off to look for those answers! In other words, I'm applying for a job..." I laughed.

Pat nodded slowly, studying me with curious eyes,

"Where ya' applying?" She asked lighting a cigarette and putting it to her chapped.

I looked at Pat blow out a fume of smoke, closing her eyes as she did.

"Well, I planned on applying at one of the Fazbear's enterprises."

Pat suddenly stopped blowing out the smoke from her mouth and went into a coughing spell.

"Oh my goodness! Do you need water?!" I asked, rushing over to for my grumpy, chain-smoking neighbor.

She shook her head violently at me and stared into my silver eyes with her red-rimmed ones as her coughing spell soon subsided.

"You must be out your damn mind..." She rasped just above a whisper.

She was sucking in gulps of air and all I could do was look at her in bewilderment, "I beg your pardon?"

"That place breeds nothin' but an evil girl! And it should be best burnt to the damn ground it was built on!" Pat said angrily.

"Now get on yer' way and let me smoke in peace before I die from not breathin'!" She barked

Even though the fact her I was causing the least of her breathing problems, I hurriedly complied.

   I muttered and "I'm sorry" and walked quickly off her lawn and got in my car.

Once I pulled out of the parking lot and onto the road, I took in a deep breath and sighed, letting my head fall against the headrest behind me, and drove in silence.

The way Pat responded to me surprised me... I had no idea that Fazbear was that negatively known in the community.

It wasn't just a story... It was a tragedy that weighed it.

But what Pat had specifically said kept running through my mind like a song that you can't get out of your head,

"That place breeds nothin' but an evil girl! And it should be best burnt to the damn ground it was built on!"

Well, Pat... that's exactly what I'm going to do.

[themoonnmagnolias]

Cyberbullying, and the Story of “B”

I have been cyber-bullied, or whatever you would classify arguing with a complete stranger you have never met. Cyberbullying is something you allow to happen to yourself. You google your name and you visit the profiles of someone who wants to hurt your feelings. You feel attacked so you attack back. Cyberbullying is silly and it can be ignored, making it a waste of time for everyone. The reason people write insulting things online has everything to do with how they feel about themselves.

Cyberstalking is different, though just as pointless. There is no reason you need to know anything about someone you’ve never met unless you’re forging a relationship with them. If you have to spend a considerable amount of time on google, trying to figure out where someone lives, where they work, and who their friends are, you are cyberstalking them. Regardless of why you felt you needed to know this information.

When I was young I wanted to learn how to code, but I had no idea how to, so I copied others website layouts and altered the CSS/HTML to make it into my own. As an adult I understand how wrong I was and I would never do this again. But at the time I was very young, stupid, and quite stubborn. I apologized to the people I wronged, moved on, and assumed everyone else did too. But what I didn’t know was that someone was watching. Let’s call that person B.

B was from Tulsa, Oklahoma. She ran numerous websites where she pretended to be everything she was not, a mother, a wife, a musician, a drug addict, a cancer survivor, etc… She ran these websites for years, from 1999 – 2014, approximately. B was dedicated in her journey to live a fake life on the Internet and she was surprisingly believable (using stolen photos of a woman she went to high school with and photos of her children) and she acquired many followers over the years. She was also a notorious cyberstalker, having created thousands of websites about hundreds of innocent people.

I was unaware that B had been watching me for years. She obsessed over every detail of my life. She became persistent in her intent to ruin my reputation. She created websites and blogs where she posted awful and untrue things about me, things no normal person would say, things I refuse to speak about here. She gained access to my social media accounts, contacted my university and later on my employer. She seemed to know everything about me. She knew when I was working as a photographer in Alberta, a burlesque dancer in Toronto and when I was going to school in my hometown.

B had collected screenshots of my Deadjournal account dating back to 2003. She had screenshots of my brothers Deadjournal from 2003. She had screenshots of the first website I made in 2004. She had screenshots of my old 2005 Myspace profile. She had screenshots of my 2009 Facebook account. She had screenshots of a photography website I ran in 2010. She had screenshots of emails I sent in 2012. She had screenshots of my 2013 Instagram profile. She had screenshots of my partners tweets from 2013. B dedicated her life to trying to ruin mine.

Eventually I realized she was responsible for the majority of the cyberbullying, creating hate sites and hate listings about me while also creating fake websites in my name where she posted horrendous things, and people believed every word of it, attributing these awful comments to me. I suddenly had enemies I had never heard of, let alone spoke to.

Fortunately she wasn’t very clever, or maybe she was and I was just the first person willing to find out who she was. I browsed her Flickr profile and saw that the name on her prescription bottles didn’t match the name she used on her website. When looking up that name on Facebook I came across the profile of a woman whose photos were on B’s Flickr profile. I used a facial recognition tool to find out who the other photos B was using belonged to. As it turns out, she was using photos of a woman she went to high school with and had been pretending to be her for years.

After finding out who B really was I discovered hundreds of hate sites she created about other people dating back to as early as 1999. Blogger accounts, WordPress blogs, actual websites, and social media accounts. B wasted 25 years of her life to hating people she never met, people who were living normal lives, just trying to find peace and happiness like everybody else. People she deemed bad, or annoying, or people who had wronged her in some way.

B died of a heart attack in 2014. Sometimes I question her death and wonder if she really died, because she was so good at lying, but I understand that’s probably my trauma clouding rational thought. There’s no denying she had a very serious (and probably untreated) mental illness, and I’m very sorry for that. I understand she was bullied a lot in school and I’m very sorry for that too. She didn’t deserve to be bullied, and neither did her victims.

It’s a shame that B had no one in her life who cared enough to help her. She clearly had a flair for writing, and she could have made a nice life for herself if she hadn’t let her need for revenge get in the way. I do hope that wherever she is, she’s happy. And I’m happy to finally be rid of her and able to live my life freely without constantly looking over my shoulder. – K

[courtneyhume]

Tangled Up in Blue: A College Romance - Chapter 1

Keegan

I pull up to my new home and see some guy sprawled on the front porch.

He's lying on his stomach, wearing only jeans, his forehead pressed into sagging boards.

Probably drunk. And blocking the damn door.

I close my eyes for a second and let out an exasperated sigh. All I want is to move in.

I left the Cooke Ranch just after dawn, eager to start my new college life. It had been a tense summer, under the same roof as my grandmother. I was so wound up from my never-ending battles with her I barely got any sleep last night.

As usual, it's given me a hellacious headache. I'm so not in the mood right now to deal with anybody, much less Mr. Drunk Mess here. But it doesn't look like I have any choice.

As soon as I step out of the car, I hear him talking. To the porch, apparently.

"Max. C'mere, buddy. It's okay. You can come out now." His voice is tender and deep; it's a pleasant voice.

I close the door, maybe a little harder than necessary, and walk toward the house. Even with my sunglasses on, the bright sunlight seems to magnify my headache and it takes a moment to focus.

When I do, I see that the guy is now on his feet, his hands wrapped around two of the porch posts, his bare feet hanging over the edge.

He's squinting into the sun, staring at me. And I cannot help staring back. Because, drunk or not, he is easy on the eyes.

He's tall and broad-shouldered, with dark hair and a square jaw. He's got jacked-up arms and washboard abs. And even several feet away, I can tell he's got amazing eyes.

They're light blue. They make me think of the summer sky at the ranch when the sun has bleached the color from the horizon and it's too hot to even think straight.

His eyes are mesmerizing. And I'm just standing here, gazing into them.

A slow smile climbs his face. "You our new roomie?" he asks as my mouth drops open.

Oh God. Does he live here?

I'd just assumed—like a lame, sheltered freshman—that everyone living at the house was a girl. I'd just assumed he was the boyfriend of one of the girls who lives here, or something like that.

"Um, yeah, I guess I am," I mumble as my heart speeds up.

He steps off the porch and walks toward me, sticking out his hand. "I'm Blue Daniels. Looks like we're going to be housemates."

And I say nothing. I'm freaking tongue-tied, my stomach suddenly doing calisthenics. Because this gorgeous guy lives here, in the same house where I'm going to be living.

After a couple of moments where my mouth opens and closes like a fish, I whirl toward my old Nissan Maxima, yanking open a rear door and pulling out an egg crate stuffed with my things.

Then I turn back to Blue Daniels, my face burning.

He's still got his hand out. But now, he's also wearing an amused smirk. He can probably tell the effect he's had on me. I'm probably feeding his ego right now.

"Oh, sorry," I fumble, embarrassed, as I shift the crate I'm holding to one hip and slip my fingers into his. "I'm. . .uh. . .Keegan."

I sound like I've forgotten my own name.

"Keegan Crenshaw," I add more forcefully, breaking into a sweat.

It is ridiculously hot, which is not unusual for an August day in Oklahoma. But I'm pretty sure I'm not sweating just because of the weather.

"Keegan," Blue muses, his smile widening and those amazing eyes warming up. "Cool name."

"Thanks," I murmur. "I like your name, too."

He shrugs. "My mom was obsessed with Dylan when she was pregnant with me."

Seeing my blank expression, he prompts, "You know. . .Tangled Up in Blue? Bob Dylan?"

It takes my stupid brain a moment to catch up. "Oh!" I finally say. "Yeah, I know that song. Wow, that cool."

"Yeah." He's nodding, and a fond smile crosses his face. "My mom loved everything Dylan did. She still listens to him a lot."

Hearing Blue mention his mother makes me think about mine, and as usual, a wave of grief and guilt washes over me. I wonder if that feeling will ever go away.

We stand here awkwardly for another moment. Over the daytime buzz of insects, I think I hear something moving under the front porch.

Scanning the house I'm about to move into, I wonder if the place has rodents or something. It sure looks more ramshackle in person than it did online, with rotting boards on the porch and siding that's threatening to fall off in places.

No telling what my room looks like. I'm kind of afraid to find out.

It's not like I had much choice about taking it, though. I waited too long to apply for campus housing at Ikana College. Even most of the off-campus housing was gone. The only thing I could find was a room in this old house.

Blue dips his head to intercept my distracted gaze and again gives me that sexy smile. And I'm not thinking about the house anymore.

Good grief. Get yourself together.

"I heard you'd be moving in today," he says. "But we didn't expect you quite this early. I'm pretty sure I'm the only one up."

I guess I should have known not to show up before noon. The property manager told me the existing tenants sleep late on weekends.

"They're college kids," she'd explained over the phone. "I'll let them know you're coming, and I'll be by in the afternoon with the key."

I don't know how to respond to Blue's comment. I suppose I could have dawdled longer this morning, stayed in my room, avoided my grandmother. She probably wouldn't have come looking for me.

But I was desperate to drive away from the ranch and all its memories. So I headed a hundred miles south, to the little college town of Hickory Flat.

And I've spent the last couple of hours just killing time, driving around, and getting to know the place where I'm going to spend the next four years.

The clock in my car said it was 10 a.m. when I pulled up. That ought to be late enough.

"Look at me." Blue's deep, pleasant voice bursts into my thoughts. "Just standing here chatting while you're holding that." He reaches for my heavy crate. "Let me help you unload."

His arms rub against mine as he pulls the crate from me, and my heart speeds up even more.

Seriously. Stop this.

He sets my crate on the front porch, wiping an arm across his forehead as he straightens. "Fuck, it's hot," he complains.

And my eyes, with no permission from my brain, fixate on his well-defined abs.

Blue flashes a grin, like he knows what I'm thinking, then steps back to my car and pulls out one of my boxes.

I rush over to yank open the other rear door and slide another box across the seat. It feels weird to have this guy I don't even know helping me. And I'm freaked out at the way I'm reacting to him.

I mean, it's normal, I guess. He is seriously sexy. But I'm pretty sure I don't want to start off my college career by falling into bed with my roommate. Pretty sure that would lead to complications I don't need.

I just want to get up to my room and unpack. Alone.

"Come on, new roomie," Blue pipes up, moving toward the porch again. "I'll show you around."

After a moment's hesitation, I follow him up the steps.

But then I come to an abrupt halt a few feet away, gasping as I take in the web of thickened scars fanning across his back. There must be a dozen of them. They look kind of like burn marks. Maybe he was in a terrible car accident.

Or maybe someone did that to him. My heart flips over at the thought.

"Old war wound." Blue's terse words interrupt my speculating. Obviously, he noticed the way I was staring.

He looks away, toward the quiet, sun-soaked street, his jaw tensing. "I don't like to talk about it," he adds, and I nod.

I'd like to ask what happened to him. But we just met. And his words, not to mention the suddenly closed-off look on his face, keep me quiet. It's none of my business.

Blue shifts the load he's carrying to free up a hand and pushes open the front door, then gestures for me to go ahead of him. "Welcome to your new home," he says with a version of the affable grin he wore earlier. It makes my stomach flutter again to see it.

I walk through the door and look around in amazement.

~~~

Thanks for starting Tangled Up in Blue! Keep reading! 😊

GO HERE TO READ CHAPTER 2.

[fernweh-writes]

You could ask my question, if possible, of course. With the Slachers (Michael, Jason, Brahms, Vincent and Bo) with her beloved looking innocent and even angelic, but she is extremely jealous and possessive when a victim or survivor flirts with her slachers to the point of saying something in context: " he is mine !!" (while the reader embraces Slachers). What would be the reaction of the slachers, about the corpotamento of his beloved?

I don’t write for Jason, sorry but I can definitely do the rest. Since I don’t write for many slashers, with requests like this one I usually do a little snippet for all of the slashers I do write for. But I like this idea a lot so without further ado…

P.S. this took me so much longer than I expected, I definitely got a little invested in these lol. I left out Thomas and Jesse but I may go back and add them at a later time idk yet.

-Fern🌿

Slashers x Possessive S/O

Michael Meyers

Your innocent and kind nature would be one of the things that made Michael interested in you. You were the first person to take the time to actually figure him out rather than checking him off as Evil™️ and treating him as such. He also likes the fact that he can easily make you flustered, it feeds his need for control. Knowing that he can simply press himself against you and leave you blushing both pleases and amuses him.

We all know that Michael is very possessive. He often stalks you while you’re at work or out in town running errands. At this point, it’s no longer because he feels the need to be predatory, he’s just making sure that what’s his is safe from any harm.

One night you had decided to go out with a few friends, which Michael wasn’t very excited about, but eventually he allowed it. It was one of those busy clubs/bars that had opened recently, so of course the place was crowded. This left Michael with no choice but to ditch the mask while he followed you, another thing he wasn’t happy about.

He ended up sitting on the other side of the place by himself with his eyes glued to you. He didn’t like you being around so many people. Michael was so focused on watching you that he had barely even noticed the woman walk up and make herself cozy in the seat opposite of him. Now his attention was on her while she grinned at him like the Cheshire Cat, pushing her cleavage together to make it more apparent in her already low cut dress.

Michael could’ve sworn that you had teleported, after all he had only take his eyes off of you for a second. Now you had your arms wrapped around him with your head resting on his neck. “Can we help you,” you asked the girl in front of you. Michael had never heard your voice sound so cold.

The girl began to twirl her hair, not deterred by the fact that you were running your hands over Michael. “I was just wondering what such a handsome man was doing here all by himself,” she purred. She attempted to reach forward and grab his hand but you were quick to smack it away before Michael could even move.

“He’s not here by himself he’s with me. And if I were you I would keep your hands to yourself and away from what’s mine.” After you said that it didn’t take long for Michael to drag you back home. To him it was your way of saying that you were in fact a permanent part of Michaels life. Plus you threatening someone when you’re usually so polite was a change of pace that left Michael wanting. You can definitely expect the girl to turn up missing on the news soon after that night as well.

Brahms Heelshire

Brahms adored your innocence and kindness. You never hesitated to follow the rules and care for him, which is why he kept you around. After all he needs a nanny that is actually going to take care of him. Brahms also had an easy time revealing himself to you since after the initial shock of it all you were delighted to find out you weren’t being haunted and that you weren’t in a huge countryside mansion all by yourself.

Seeing as Brahms is a major introvert and goes absolutely feral if there’s someone new in his house that he hasn’t allowed you usually have nothing to worry about. However, suppose something happens where Malcolm has to leave for a few weeks, meaning that a new girl is assigned to deliver the groceries until Malcolm returns.

You were in the kitchen chopping up ingredients for lunch when she arrived for the first time. You had to admit that she was pretty, she was tall and athletic looking with perfect curls. It was hard for you to not notice that she was blonde, Brahms had a thing for blondes…

“So Malcolm told me that Brahms isn’t dead or a ghost, is that right?” You didn’t like the fact Malcolm had told this random girl about Brahms but you muttered in agreement anyways. She helped you put up the rest of the groceries in silence, not speaking again until she had opened the door to leave. “So is he hot? Usually people with this much money that aren’t old are always hot. If he is I might just have to stick around for a little while longer.”

That struck a nerve. “He’s not available,” you said sharply and she faltered. “What do you mean?” It was easy to tell she hadn’t expected that kind of answer, much less the attitude you had suddenly adopted. “He isn’t single. So although he is hot, trust me, I would know, you can’t have him. He’s mine.” She quickly apologized and left, slamming the door shut behind her. You could also hear Brahms moving around in the walls nearby, letting you know he must have heard everything.

Shortly after you found Brahms wrapped around you while you finished making lunch. “So now I’m yours hmm?” You could hear the amusement in his voice. You turned and wrapped your arms around him, pulling him in for a kiss, one hand finding it’s way into his hair. After pulling away you told him, “You’ve always been mine Brahmsy. My good boy.” He let out a small whine at your praise, pulling you back in for another kiss.

Vincent Sinclair

You were Vincent’s muse. He absolutely adored you from the way you acted to the way you looked. To him there was no aspect of you that wasn’t perfect. In other words he was absolutely obsessed with you. After all, you did take care of him and even helped Bo keep Ambrose up and running.

It’s no secret that Vincent was shy, but he was definitely intimidating as well. So you knew that the girl in front of him that was doing a terrible job of flirting was only doing so in a poor attempt to make it out alive. Still, watching her twirl her hair and smile at him made something inside of you snap.

“Come on handsome, you got to want some kind of company. I’m sure you’re so lonely here all by yourself… I could help with that.” She attempted to touch his chest but you grabbed her before she could. “Sorry,” you told her as you held both of her arms behind her back, “he already has someone keeping his bed warm. Didn’t your mother ever to tell you not to touch things that belong to other people?”

Vincent made quick work of knocking the girl out and carrying her down to the workshop. However, after dwelling on the thought he decided to just let Lester dispose of her body. He didn’t want to make you angry by turning her into a permanent wax figure for the town. Doesn’t mean that he won’t allow her to regain consciousness before killing her though, after all she needs to know her place.

Later on Vincent will make sure you never forget that he is yours the same way that you’re his. You can probably expect to have some trouble moving around the next day as well.

Bo Sinclair

Everyone knows that Bo is a major flirt. He enjoys watching the girls throw themselves at him, he just blames it on his “southern charm.” Although, he usually keeps you safely tucked up into the house whenever victims stumble into town. After all, “I can’t have my sweet angel in harms way now, can I?”

You never dwelled on how Bo dealt with victims, that was his business. Sure he had flirted with you a lot when you first showed up. Even now he was heavy on flirting and making inappropriate comments all the time. It was one of the things that made him Bo after all. So walking into his shop unaware of the newest batch of victims in town was a shock for you. Well not so much the victim part, it was finding Bo flirting with the girl leaning over the counter to display her cleavage that pissed you off.

She was smiling and blushing like she had a high school crush on the man in front of her. Not to mention Bo was unashamedly staring at everything she was flaunting. So yeah you were pissed, especially since he didn’t even seem to notice you were there. You quickly remembered the lunch you were holding in your hand, your reason for coming down here, and decided to use it to your advantage.

Instead of saying anything you just walked up behind him, setting his lunch on the counter right in front of the girl, effectively blocking his view of her boobs before wrapping your arms around him. Bo still didn’t shut up and acknowledge you so you decided to interrupt. “I brought you lunch baby.” The use of a pet name quickly made the girl Bo was flirting with falter.

“Oh, uhm, is this your girlfriend or something?” Before Bo could jump in you answered her. “Or something, I guess you could say. After all, he is my husband.” You looked up at Bo with the most lovesick expression you could put on your face as you pulled him in for a kiss. One kiss turned to two, to three, to a whole make out session in front of the poor girl. Bo’s hands began to roam around your body as well, making sure to squeeze all of his favorite parts of you.

When the two of you broke apart the girl was gone but Bo didn’t seem to notice. He was still to busy feeling you up. “Have I ever told you how fuckin’ sexy you are when you’re jealous? I’d never have guessed you had a possessive side to you angel.” You smiled knowing you now had his full attention, “Well surprise.”

He kissed you one more time, long and hard. “I promise we’ll continue this later up at the house. But right now I gotta go find that bitch n’ kill ‘er. You better be waitin’ on me when I get home darlin’.”

Billy Loomis

Billy was highly sought after by many girls due to his bad boy reputation. He always had girls throwing themselves at him wanting to be the one to fix him. You knew you didn’t have to worry, Billy wouldn’t leave you for someone else. He made it very clear that you were permanent. But still you couldn’t help but be irritated when they would flirt with him right in front of you.

You two were planning a movie night which meant a trip down to the video store. Apparently, Randy had the night off because some new girl was behind the counter. When the two of you first arrived she had been reading a magazine, not caring about the handful of people milling about. That was until she noticed Billy, not seeming to care that you were wrapped around his arm. She was watching him like a hawk.

You shifted uncomfortably, not liking the way she was staring down your boyfriend. Billy was observant and quickly noticed your discomfort. “Don’t worry about her babe, you know you’re the only person I’m into.” He wrapped his arm around your shoulders and pulled you into him, “Now, do you want to watch Friday the 13th or Nightmare on Elm Street?” You groaned, “Billy we’ve seen both of those movies a million times.” He smiled and held up Nightmare on Elm Street, “Well now we can watch this one and make it one million and one times.”

You rolled your eyes as he drug you to the checkout counter. The employee quickly perked up when she noticed Billy. “Will this be all for you hun?” She asked completely ignoring you. She didn’t even look down at what movie Billy had set on the counter before saying, “You have good taste, this is like one of my favorite movies ever. It’s a shame your little girlfriend doesn’t seem to like it though.”

“Cool, so who’s the main character?” You knew exactly what Billy was trying to do, elbowing him lightly. “Oh, uhm,” she finally looked down at the case, eyes lighting up, “oh, yeah it’s that really scarred dude!” Billy rolled his eyes, “No shit, what’s his name though.” You decided to have pity on the girl, “Ignore him, he’s a horror movie fanatic.” The girl mumbled, “Yeah no kidding.”

You smiled at Billy, using this as your chance to brag on the fact he’s yours. You knew him like no one else did. “He’s such a dork when it comes to the cinematography of these things but he’s my dork.” Billy hugged you from behind, “Yeah, whatever, you know you love me.”

Stu Macher

Stu absolutely loved throwing huge parties at his house. He was well liked and well known so it wasn’t unusual for a lot of people to show up, many of which you didn’t even know. Because so many people knew Stu, it also meant that they knew his family was pretty wealthy. It was pretty common to find girls hitting on him and since Stu loved attention he was prone to playfully flirting back.

Usually you would hang out with your friends during these parties, not being big on socializing with new people. Most of the time you didn’t worry about Stu wandering off, he would always show up at your side again at some point. Half the time when he would reappear you would have to pry him back off of you. He could be quite handsy at times.

Now the party was winding down and mostly everyone left was on the couch getting ready to watch a movie. You excused yourself, and headed to the kitchen to get another drink. You froze when you saw a girl running her hands all over Stu, he wasn’t making any move to push her away. You decided to help him out with that.

“Do you need something,” you asked her as Stu wrapped himself around you. “Are you his girlfriend?” Stu laughed, hopping up onto the counter. He pulled you up onto his lap, “Yeah she is dude. Isn’t she hot?” The girl scoffed, “Don’t you think that she’s a little… beneath you, Stu?”

That set you off. “I think that slutty little bitches like you need to keep your dirty hands away from what’s mine.” The girl rolled her eyes before storming out of the kitchen. You hopped out of Stu’s lap and turned to face him. “If you let mother whore rub all up on you like that again so help me I will be the next one to commit a murder in this house. Understand?” Stu stopped smiling, his goofy personality faltering for a second. He then saluted, “Yes ma’am.” You nodded. “Good.”

Stu jumped down and threw you over his shoulder, causing you to yelp. “You look extra hot when you’re fighting over me babe.” He quickly climbed the stairs and you pounded against his back. “You’re going the wrong way, the movie is downstairs.” He made it quickly to the bedroom, throwing you down on the king size bed with a huge grin. “We can make our own movie babe. I don’t know about you but I’m thinking romance,” he rambled, crawling on top of you. “Rated R of course.”

[dreamwritesimagines]

Twisted 7 - Enemies with Disregard [Spencer Reid x Reader]

A.N.: Thank you so much for your wonderful support my loves! Here’s the next chapter, I hope you will like it as well, and please let me know what you think of it! ❤❤ Ily, kisses! ❤❤❤

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Murder, serial killers, violence, manipulation, mentions of sex, smoking, drinking.

Summary: Ice meets fire.

Being heartbroken over a genius whom you weren’t even dating to begin with was not something you saw coming, but here you were.

Lying in bed, eating chocolate and trying your hardest to focus on the show playing on the huge TV.

“That’s a beautiful wedding dress, fuck what your aunt says!” you shouted at the screen, chewing on the caramel chocolate but then looked up when you heard the front door open.

“Hello? Anyone home?”

You groaned and turned your head to see your sister walk into your living room before she leaned on her hip.

“Oh great, you’re still where I left you.”

“I gave one person a key,” you pointed at her, “One. I don’t know if it was mom or you or your wife, but when I remember who it was, that person will be in trouble.”

“It was mom and we had copies made for times like these.”

You made a face and slid a little on the couch, “You should just leave me with my misery.”

“Are you seriously still sulking over that Reid guy?”

“I’m not sulking.”

She heaved a sigh and plopped down next to you, “The guy you liked suspected that you were a killer. So what? It could happen to anyone.”

You shot her a look, “Mina I’m pretty sure it doesn’t just happen to anyone,” you said, “In fact, I’m one hundred percent sure I’m the only person in the entire world who has had this problem.”

“It’s the 21st century,” she reminded you, “There’s some surreal shit happening every day, I’m willing to bet it happened to someone before.”

You popped a piece of chocolate into your mouth “Yeah well. It doesn’t matter.”

“Did he call you?”

“Yeah.” You tossed her the phone and she checked the screen.

“You’re not going to call back?”

You scoffed, “I’m busy.”

“Watching reality TV doesn’t count as being busy,” she said and you shrugged your shoulders.

“The charity ball is tonight, I’ll be busy towards the evening.”

“Oh right, I forgot about that.” Mina mused, “I mean…. At least you can get your mind off him tonight then. There’ll be so many insufferable people in there, you’ll fit right in.”

You were way too bummed out to retort to that.

“Um- about that,” you murmured, “There’s a huge chance that he will show up there.”

Mina blinked a couple of times, “I beg your pardon?”

“Apparently it would be a good place to see if the killer showed up, since they’re obsessed with dad’s life, so Spencer and his team might show up.”

She reached for the chocolate box in your lap and grabbed a piece,

“You must’ve fucked up in your previous life or something to piss off the universe like this,” she commented, “That being said, you’re overreacting.”

“I’m overreacting?” you exclaimed, sitting up straighter, “He implied—”

“There’s a copycat killer out there who looks up to dad, copying his life, dad was raising you to follow his footsteps and he wanted to talk to you after that first kill. You would’ve thought the same, and that’s not even your job.”

“I just wish…” you trailed off, “I just wish someone would actually have a good opinion of me, you know? I know it’s stupid to want that, but I guess I hoped Spencer would think that about me.”

“Hey,” she kicked at your feet, “I have that good opinion of you. Not just me, my wife adores you and my kid thinks you hung the moon. Who the fuck cares what anyone else thinks?”

That somehow made you smile and you nodded slowly, turning your gaze to her.

“Damn right,” you said, “Who the fuck cares what anyone else thinks?”

                                           ***

It took you almost three hours to get ready, but after three hours, you were finally happy with the way you looked. You walked through the entrance of the ballroom, fixing your bracelet, the chatter of people talking to each other, the lovely smell and soothing music greeting you.

Maybe it wouldn’t be as terrible as you thought it would be.

After all, it was for a good cause, so you could definitely bear it for a couple of hours

“Oh here you are!” your mother approached you, a smile warming her face, “You look gorgeous in red! I have to be honest with you, for a moment I thought you wouldn’t show up.”

“The thought did cross my mind,” you grabbed a glass of champagne from the tray one of the waiters was holding, “Thanks.”

“Mina mentioned you were having some romantic problems?”

“What?” you let out a snort as she linked her arm through yours, walking beside you, “I don’t have any problems and there’s no…romance.”

“Yet, but the night is still young.”

“Mom,” you whined, “Please don’t tell me you’re trying to set me up with someone in here.”

“I’m not!” she said, “I just think you could meet some people, that’s all. And if you happen to meet anyone and fall in love, decide to get married and have cute little babies—”

“Mom.”

“Tonight would be a lucky beginning!” she waved her hand, “That’s all.”

“That’s all? Oh good thing it’s not much.” You deadpanned, “Anyone ever told you that you have high expectations?”

“Multiple people on multiple occasions, they turned out to be wrong in the end,” she pointed out but before she could say anything else, a middle aged woman with a very high updo stopped you.

“Y/N honey!” she blew a kiss in the air so as not to ruin your or her makeup, “It’s been a while since we’ve seen you in a place like this.”

“Hi Sarah,” you smiled at her, “I’ve just been so busy. And I know I can’t look as good as this lady over here,” you pointed at your mom with your thumb, making her chuckle, “So I figured I shouldn’t even try.”

“How sweet!” Sarah clasped her hands together, “Now that I got you here, Tracy wanted to hire you for her wedding and I promised her I would ask.”

“Ah unfortunately my client list is full,” you hissed in a breath, “So sorry about that, but I can recommend an amazing colleague of mine, I’ll tell my assistant to mail her.”

“That’s great!” she said, “This whole wedding business is insane, she’s under so much pressure— oh there she is, excuse me.”

“Congratulations for the wedding,” you called out as she walked away and your mother raised her brows.

“Your client list is full?”

“Not really,” you said, “But Tracy said my hair looked terrible and pushed me into the pool when we were ten, I’m not helping that bitch with her wedding.”

“She really is insufferable,” your mother whispered, “Like mother like daughter, and I just think—” she stopped talking when her eyes stopped on someone in the crowd and you turned your head to see what she was looking at.

More like who she was looking at.

The older man had to be around your mother’s age, maybe only a couple of years older, but he could definitely pull off the suit and the grays in his carefully styled hair. He looked like he was having fun, telling something to the people around him who looked like they were hanging onto every word he said, but when he caught your mother’s glances out of the corner of his eye, he smiled at her, raising his glass a little.

You could’ve sworn you heard a small giggle coming from your mother and you tried to look not as amused as you felt.

“Well, go on then,” you said, nudging her and she looked at you, suddenly embarrassed.

“Oh sweetheart, no way.”

“Why not? I don’t see a wedding ring.”

“He was widowed ten years ago,” she said and you pulled your brows together.

“And you know that how?”

“Well you inherited those party planning talents from me darling, I know everything about everyone here.”

You clicked your tongue, “Well, okay then. My condolences, go get him tiger.”

“Y/N!”

“What?” you let out a laugh, “Mom, I work with couples, okay? It’s like Hunger Games out there. Besides, what was it you told me? If you happen to fall in love, get married and have cute little babies—“

“Babies?!”

“Dogs, mom. I mean dogs.” You heaved a sigh, “So I’m going to walk away to give the silver fox over there enough space to make his move.”

“He really does look good, doesn’t he?” your mother mused but then shook her head, “What am I saying?”

You tried to stop yourself from laughing, then stepped back, “Go. It’s about time Mina stopped being the only member of this family who’s lucky in love.”

“But sweetheart, you are lucky.”

A bitter smile pulled at your lips and you scrunched up your nose.

“Nah,” you said, “It’s fine, don’t worry.”

“I’m not letting you go away before you tell me what happened with that agent. Spencer Reid, right?”

You lowered your glances to the champagne glass in your hand. “Yeah.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing really,” you shrugged your shoulders, “It’s just…life. He works in the FBI, even if he did have feelings for me and that’s a big if, there would always be that doubt, you know? About how much influence dad has over me. He’s always going to have that suspicion at the back of his mind.”

“Is he going to have that suspicion or are you?” she asked, making your eyes snap up to hers and she heaved a sigh.

“I’m your mother, and you’re not as secretive as you’d like to think sweetheart,” she said, “There’s not a bone in your body that’s capable of doing what your father has done to all those poor people, Y/N. Trust me.”

You swallowed thickly and cleared your throat.

“We can talk about it after you flirt with that silver fox who’s looking at you as we speak,” you said as you downed your champagne, “You know what they said about the killer potentially being here so stay here in the crowd.”

“I wouldn’t go anywhere with him, people would talk!”

“Oh yeah, scandal,” you wiggled your brows, “Be careful, you crazy kids.”  

With that, you walked away from her, desperate for a cigarette. You had been here before, and there had to be a balcony somewhere-

Bingo.

Maybe Spencer wouldn’t even show up. That wouldn’t be so surprising after all, FBI had a bunch of other agents, so maybe there were already some undercover agents in here and you didn’t know it yet.

Even if he did show up, you were sure you wouldn’t talk to each other since he would be busy trying to find the copycat and you had been avoiding his calls and texts. The small voice at the back of your mind scolded you, and you wondered for a moment whether Mina was right, whether you were overreacting but before you could reach the balcony, you were stopped by someone and you snapped out of your thoughts.

“Hi,” the guy said, “Y/N?”

You blinked up at him, trying to focus. He looked strangely familiar with dark hair and light blue eyes, and his smile reminded you of something you couldn’t put your finger on. His suit was expensive and just by his posture you could tell you were from the same circle.

All of you were taught the same thing after all. Chin up, back straight.

“Oh God, let me guess,” you said with a sigh, “My mom sent you.”

He pulled his brows together in confusion, “Uh, no she didn’t?”

“Listen buddy, no offense because you look really good but I’m going through some really weird shit right now so these are not the droids you’re looking for—”

“I’m Lincoln,” he cut you off, “We used to be neighbors when we were kids?” he tilted his head, “I uh… we used to play house in your treehouse?”

Your eyes widened as soon as it dawned on you.

“Linc?” your jaw dropped, “Oh my God hi!”

“Yeah, hi,” he grinned at you, “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

“The last I heard you were in….?”

“Italy,” he said, “I was dealing with my father’s business there but I came back a couple of months ago. How about you? I could swear my mom said you have an event planning business now?”

“Yeah my company deals with events but I specialize in wedding planning,” you said, “Wow. It’s been years huh?”

“Oh yeah,” he nodded, “It’s great to see you. I- I don’t know if it’s appropriate to say but I’m sorry about your dad.”

You forced yourself to smile and grabbed another glass of champagne. “Oh. Thanks.”

“You know, I wanted to reach out but we were both kids, and then afterwards it just felt strange,” he said as you dragged your gaze from him to the room, but as soon as your eyes landed on the figure by the entrance, the rest of Lincoln’s sentence became drowned out in the buzzing in your ears.

God damn it, you were right about the black suit looking good on him.

Spencer looked oblivious to the rest of the crowd just like you were, his gaze focused on you. You saw him swallow thickly, as if the mere sight of you was enough to make him freeze while his teammates spread out in the huge ballroom and you let out a breath, trying your hardest to ignore how fast your heart was beating.

“You okay?” Lincoln’s voice carried through the fog in your mind and your head snapped up.

“Yeah,” you managed to say, “I am. Uh…Linc, it was really nice to see you but I need some fresh air. Let’s catch up sometime, okay?”

Without even waiting for his answer, you made your way to the balcony, pulled open the huge glass door and stepped outside, letting the cool air hit your face. You inhaled deeply, then grabbed your cigarettes from your purse, put one between your lips and lit it. The first drag managed to calm you down just a little as you closed your eyes, exhaling the smoke.

It made no sense that you were this affected by some dude’s presence.

You heard the door open behind you but you didn’t even need to turn your head to see who it was. Your body responded way before you did, your shoulders rolled back and you straightened your back, fixing your eyes in the darkness.

“Did you know that in the United States alone, cigarette smoking causes 80 to 90% of lung cancer deaths?”

You raised your brows, still refusing to turn your head.

“Yeah? Do you have any percentages for killers who smoke as well?” you asked, putting your glass of champagne on the marble railing pillars and you heard footsteps behind you coming closer. You stole a look at him as he leaned back to the pillars, taking out his earpiece.

“Can we talk?”

“It’s a free country Dr. Reid, no one’s stopping you.”

He pulled his brows together, “You never call me that.”

“Well I should,” you said, “I think we can both agree that it’s better to keep it professional.”

“Is that what you want?”

A bitter laugh escaped from your lips, “Fuck what I want,” you murmured to yourself, taking a drag of the cigarette and he cleared his throat.

“I didn’t mean it to sound like that,” he said, “It’s not that I suspect you. It’s just that the profile would fit—” he paused, “It was before we met. It’s not what I think of you now.”

You tried to swallow the lump growing bigger and bigger in your throat.

“What do I care what you think of me?”

This right there, this was the exact reason why every relationship of yours ended. Mina had called it the shock effect, it was either too warm or too cold with you, in terms of affection. Much like the rest of you, your anger either burned everything on its path or froze everything.

You knew it was wrong, and yet, you couldn’t stop yourself once that ice made its way through your veins.

But unlike everyone else who had witnessed it before, Spencer was a profiler and he could see right through that.

“You don’t?”

You shrugged your shoulders, “I can’t worry about what people think of me, really. I wouldn’t be able to pull through what happened if I had.”

“But if what I said hurt you—”

“Hurt me?” you repeated, interrupting him and locked your eyes with him, “You don’t know me, Reid. You couldn’t hurt me if you tried.”

He stayed silent, his hazel eyes looking into your soul but you dragged your gaze away from him and exhaled the smoke into the chilly night.

“You think, what— you think just because we’ve had couple of drinks together along with some flirting you discovered some hidden part of me? Honestly, what you know about me is about the same amount of information that any one night stand with enough skills to use Google would know about me.” You took a sip of the champagne and scoffed a laugh, “But hey, before I forget. Sorry if what I said hurt you.”

“Are you done?”

That was enough to make you turn your head, the question taking you by surprise,

“What?”

“Are you done?” he repeated, for some reason the look in his eyes made you feel like you were falling off a cliff, “If someone’s going to get hurt it’s not going to be you, and you can attack back just fine, are you done proving that? Or should I wait a little longer?”

You clenched your teeth, “You think this is me attacking back?”

“I think this is the only way you know how to protect yourself when you’re hurt.”

A painful smile pulled at your lips and you took a drag of the cigarette,

“You know, after my father was caught and imprisoned,” you said slowly, “After that summer, I had to go back to school. My mom was pretty worried but she let me go anyway but this whole social circle is so small, so every kid’s parent in my school knew about what happened, and they apparently talked about it around my classmates back then. Because on my first day, some of my friends ambushed me in the girls bathroom and in all that chaos, one of them tripped me so I fell and slammed my head to the sink. I had to get stitches, I thought mom would lose it.” You shrugged your shoulders, “I’ve learned that people would blame me for whatever shit dad decided to do when I was a kid, Spencer. You’d have to try a little harder if you wanted to hurt me, because right now you’re just being a cliché.”

You took a step to walk past him but he stopped you, his grip around your arm firm but soft at the same time, as if he wanted to make sure he wouldn’t cause any discomfort even though the light in his eyes was intense enough to wake goosebumps on your arms.

He knew how to keep it under control just like you.

“It’s not—“ he started but both of you snapped out of it when the balcony door opened.

“Reid, where the hell is your earpiece?” Luke asked through his teeth as Spencer pulled his hand back and you tried to ignore the warm tingles spreading under your skin, “We found a body upstairs.”

Your stomach dropped, “What?”

“Same signature, come on,” Luke said and you and Spencer followed him out of the balcony. The crowd was buzzing already and your mother made her way to you.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah I was just smoking outside.” You answered quickly and looked up at Spencer when you heard him saying your name.

“Stay here in the crowd,” he said as he put his earpiece back and you nodded.

“Hey,” you stopped him before he could take a step, “Be- be careful, okay?”

A small smile ghosted over his lips before he made his way out of the crowd with Luke and you massaged your temples before pulling yourself a chair. Your mother pressed a hand over her chest and sat down next to you, watching the people whispering with scared expressions on their faces.

It took her two minutes to pull herself together and she cleared her throat.

“Is that him?”

You gawked at her for a couple of seconds, your mouth agape.

“Mom, there’s a dead body upstairs,” you reminded her, “Read the room.”

She shook her head, “Of course, it’s the shock talking.” she said, stealing a look at you, “Sorry. It’s such a tragedy.”

“It is.”

“….But seriously, is that him?”

You groaned and closed your eyes, throwing your head back and slipping a little in your seat.

It was going to be a long night.

Chapter 8

                                           ***

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[kcrabb88]

Queer Movies/Books/TV Shows for Pride Month!

Happy Pride everyone!! For your viewing/reading pleasure I have made a (non-exhaustive) list of queer media that I have enjoyed! 

Movies/Documentaries

Pride (2014): An old tried and true favorite, which meets at the intersection of queer and workers’ rights. A group of queer activists support the 1985 miners’ strike in Wales (complete with a sing-through of Bread and Roses + Power in a Union)

Portrait of a Lady on Fire: On an isolated island in Brittany at the end of the eighteenth century, a female painter is obliged to paint a wedding portrait of a young woman (or, two young lesbians fall in love by the sea, and you cry)

God’s Own Country: Young farmer Johnny Saxby numbs his daily frustrations with binge drinking and casual sex, until the arrival of a Romanian migrant worker for lambing season ignites an intense relationship that sets Johnny on a new path (Seriously this movie is GREAT and doesn’t get enough love, watch it! It’s rough but ends happily)

The Half of It:  When smart but cash-strapped teen Ellie Chu agrees to write a love letter for a jock, she doesn't expect to become his friend - or fall for his crush (as in she falls for his crush who is another girl. This movie was so good, and really friendship focused!) 

Saving Face:  A Chinese-American lesbian and her traditionalist mother are reluctant to go public with secret loves that clash against cultural expectations (this is an oldie and a goodie, with a happy ending!)

Moonlight:  A young African-American man grapples with his identity and sexuality while experiencing the everyday struggles of childhood, adolescence, and burgeoning adulthood (featuring gay men of color!)

Carol:  An aspiring photographer develops an intimate relationship with an older woman in 1950s New York (everyone’s seen this I think, but I couldn’t not have it here)

Milk: The story of Harvey Milk and his struggles as an American gay activist who fought for gay rights and became California's first openly gay elected official (the speech at the end of this made me cry. Warning, of course, for death, if you don’t know about Harvey Milk)

Pride (Hulu Documentary):  A six-part documentary series chronicling the fight for LGBTQ civil rights in America (they go by decade from the 50s-2000s, and there is a lot of great trans inclusion in this)

Paris is Burning (Documentary): A 1990s documentary about the African American and Latinx ballroom scene. Available on Youtube!

A New York Christmas Wedding:  As her Christmas Eve wedding draws near, Jennifer is visited by an angel and shown what could have been if she hadn't denied her true feelings for her childhood best friend (this movie is SO CUTE. It’s really only nominally a Christmas movie and easily watched anytime. Features an interracial sapphic couple!) 

TV Shows 

Love, Victor: Victor is a new student at Creekwood High School on his own journey of self-discovery, facing challenges at home, adjusting to a new city, and struggling with his sexual orientation (this is a spin-off of Love, Simon, and it’s very sweet and well done! Featuring a young gay man of color)

Sex Education:  A teenage boy with a sex therapist mother teams up with a high school classmate to set up an underground sex therapy clinic at school (this has multiple queer characters, including a featured young Black gay man and also in season 2 there is a side ace character!) 

Black Sails: I mean, do I even need to put a summary here? If you follow me you know that Black Sails is full of queer pirates, just queers everywhere.

Gentleman Jack:  A dramatization of the life of LGBTQ+ trailblazer, voracious learner and cryptic diarist Anne Lister, who returns to Halifax, West Yorkshire in 1832, determined to transform the fate of her faded ancestral home Shibden Hall (Period drama lesbians!!! A title sequence  that will make you gay just by watching!) 

Tales of the City (2019):  A middle-aged Mary Ann returns to San Francisco and reunites with the eccentric friends she left behind. "Tales of the City" focuses primarily on the people who live in a boardinghouse turned apartment complex owned by Anna Madrigal at 28 Barbary Lane, all of whom quickly become part of what Maupin coined a "logical family". It's no longer a secret that Mrs. Madrigal is transgender. Instead, she is haunted by something from her past that has long been too painful to share (this is based on a book series and it’s got lots of great inter-generational queer relationships!) 

The Haunting of Bly Manor:  After an au pair’s tragic death, Henry hires a young American nanny to care for his orphaned niece and nephew who reside at Bly Manor with the chef Owen, groundskeeper Jamie and housekeeper, Mrs. Grose (sweet, tender, wonderful lesbians. A bittersweet ending but this show is so so wonderful)

Sense8: A group of people around the world are suddenly linked mentally, and must find a way to survive being hunted by those who see them as a threat to the world's order (queers just EVERYWHERE in this show, of all kinds)

Books

Loveless by Alice Oseman:  Georgia has never been in love, never kissed anyone, never even had a crush – but as a fanfic-obsessed romantic she’s sure she’ll find her person one day. This wise, warm and witty story of identity and self-acceptance sees Alice Oseman on towering form as Georgia and her friends discover that true love isn’t limited to romance (don’t be turned off by this title, it’s tongue-in-cheek. This is a book about an aroace college girl discovering herself and centers the importance and power of platonic relationships! I have it on my TBR and have heard great things)

Detransition, Baby by Torrey Peters: Reese almost had it all: a loving relationship with Amy, an apartment in New York City, a job she didn't hate. She had scraped together what previous generations of trans women could only dream of: a life of mundane, bourgeois comforts. The only thing missing was a child. But then her girlfriend, Amy, detransitioned and became Ames, and everything fell apart. Now Reese is caught in a self-destructive pattern: avoiding her loneliness by sleeping with married men.Ames isn't happy either. He thought detransitioning to live as a man would make life easier, but that decision cost him his relationship with Reese—and losing her meant losing his only family. Even though their romance is over, he longs to find a way back to her. When Ames's boss and lover, Katrina, reveals that she's pregnant with his baby—and that she's not sure whether she wants to keep it—Ames wonders if this is the chance he's been waiting for. Could the three of them form some kind of unconventional family—and raise the baby together?This provocative debut is about what happens at the emotional, messy, vulnerable corners of womanhood that platitudes and good intentions can't reach. Torrey Peters brilliantly and fearlessly navigates the most dangerous taboos around gender, sex, and relationships, gifting us a thrillingly original, witty, and deeply moving novel (again, don’t be thrown off by the title, it too, is tongue-in-cheek. This book was GREAT, and written by a trans women with a queer-and especially trans--audience in mind)

A Tip for the Hangman by Allison Epstein: A gay Christopher Marlowe, at Cambridge and trying to become England’s best new playwright, finds himself wrapped up in royal espionage schemes while also falling in love (this book is by a Twitter friend of mine, and it is a wonderful historical thriller with a gay man at the center).

Creatures of Will and Temper by Molly Tanzer: a very very queer remix of The Picture of Dorian Gray (which was already quite queer), featuring amazing female characters, a gay Basil, and a much happier ending than the original. 

Red, White, and Royal Blue by Casey McQuiston: The gay prince of England and the bisexual, biracial first son of the president fall in love (think an AU of 2016 where a woman becomes president). Featuring a fantastic discovery of bisexuality, ruminations on grief, and just a truly astonishing book. One of my favorites!

One Last Stop by Casey McQuiston:  For cynical twenty-three-year-old August, moving to New York City is supposed to prove her right: that things like magic and cinematic love stories don’t exist, and the only smart way to go through life is alone. She can’t imagine how waiting tables at a 24-hour pancake diner and moving in with too many weird roommates could possibly change that. And there’s certainly no chance of her subway commute being anything more than a daily trudge through boredom and electrical failures. But then, there’s this gorgeous girl on the train (This is Casey McQuiston’s brand new novel featuring time-travel, queer women, and I absolutely cannot WAIT to read it)

The Heiress by Molly Greely: Set in the Pride and Prejudice universe, this takes on Anne de Bourg (Lady Catherine’s daughter), and makes her queer! 

Tipping the Velvet by Sarah Waters:  Nan King, an oyster girl, is captivated by the music hall phenomenon Kitty Butler, a male impersonator extraordinaire treading the boards in Canterbury. Through a friend at the box office, Nan manages to visit all her shows and finally meet her heroine. Soon after, she becomes Kitty's dresser and the two head for the bright lights of Leicester Square where they begin a glittering career as music-hall stars in an all-singing and dancing double act. At the same time, behind closed doors, they admit their attraction to each other and their affair begins (Sarah Waters is the queen of historical lesbians. All of her books are good, and they’re all gay! The Paying Guests is another great one)

(On a side note re: queer books, there are MANY, these are just ones I’ve read more recently. Also there are a lot of indie/self-published writers doing great work writing queer books, so definitely support your local indie authors!) 

[samuel-de-champagne-problems]

Open Me Carefully

summary: spencer reid and reader are best friends, but don’t realize that they both love each other. 

author’s note: crappy summary, but this one is loosely based on gold rush 

warnings: none

Open Me Carefully 

Maybe it’s the fact that I have a propensity to keep rereading historical romances, or maybe it’s the fact that I just listen to “Lover” way too much for a single person. Or maybe, I’m actually in love with him, my best friend and the only person in this world who I think truly knows me. 

I mean, how could I not be completely in love with him. Spencer Reid is the closest thing to perfection. He is kind, brilliant, and unbelievably handsome. It almost hurts me how wonderful he is. But daydreaming about Spencer’s hair falling in his eyes, or his hands grazing across the map spread out on the table, or even his wide smile that slips out when he lets his guard down is not productive to solving crimes. 

Unsubs, Y/N. Unsubs. Stop thinking about his hands. And start focusing. 

“Y/N/L!” Calls Hotch from across the room. He’s assigned me to locate the birth mother of the potential unsub. He was given up for adoption as an infant, but bounced around from foster home to foster home, never finding a home, and now obsessed with finding his roots. 

“Yes, sir, here’s the name from Garcia. Susan Lee gave up her baby for adoption in 1981, she was a just 16 years old, so that would make her-”

“44 years old” Spencer injected. 

Hotch gave me a short nod of approval and I cocked my head towards Spencer’s direction, who tried to pull off an innocent look. 

“It’s math, Y/N. I can’t help myself,” he explains. 

“It’s fine, Spence. Math is like your religion,” I tell him, but what I’m really thinking is it’s you, Spence, and you can get away with anything with me. 

“Math, in its purest form, is a beauty known nowhere else” he remarks. 

“Who’s that Nietzsche?” I ask him as he beams down at me, twirling a blue permanent mark between his very distracting fingers. 

“No, Spencer Reid.” he says as he turns back to the map on the table before us.

Just as I give myself the smallest bit of a second to enjoy the playful banter that falls between us, JJ and Emily come walking in, leading a gruff looking detective with them. 

“We think we know where Jacob is hiding out,” JJ starts with a grim look on her face. Emily and the detective walk past her to where Hotch and Derek explain the profile to the SWAT team waiting by. 

“His old orphanage, right?” Spencer asks looking up from the map.

“Yeah, and we think he’s going to hold some of the other children hostage,” JJ tells us. 

“We need to get there, JJ. But isn't it his mother he wants, not the other children. You’d think that with the profile we came up with, it would make more sense for him to want to save the children, not hold them hostage?” I reason.

“You’re right, Y/N,” Spencer says, coming to a dark realization “he thinks that he’s saving them. He’s Angel of Death” he finishes grimly. 

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Sitting quietly in the jet after the chaos of de-escalating a hostage situation is a calm like no other. We all have routines for the ride home. A quiet ritual that we take the time to be thankful that we’re all here, in one piece, having made the world slightly more safe. 

JJ, ever diligent, will work on paper with Hotch. Rossi will usually keep Hotch from overworking with a small, light conversation. 

Emily spreads out on the couch, and the rest of us pretend to not see JJ glance over at her as she looks at Emily with eyes that crave her attention.  

Derek will listen to music and I’ll close my eyes and strain my ears to make out the muffled tunes that escape his ears. I sit across from Derek and will share snacks that we grabbed from a dingy convenience store on the way to the tarmac. 

Spencer, who always sits next to me, will usually write his mother a letter. He writes her a letter on every plane ride after a case. I think back to the time that I asked him why he prefers letters to phone calls. He told me that he finds letters a forever way to say ‘I love you’. Taking your love and turning it into pen and paper makes it tangible, is what he told me. Until that day, I never really pegged Spencer to be a poet, but he continues to amaze me everyday. 

I think that he can feel me staring at him, because he suddenly stops writing and his eyes look up to meet mine. 

“She’s not doing so well, Y/N” Spencer says, his voice but a whisper above the hum of the jet and music spilling from Morgan’s headset. 

“Your mom?” I ask, my voice matching his. 

Spencer, for perhaps the first time I’ve known him, is quietly defeated.

“All I ever wanted to do was to save her, Y/N. Sometimes I feel like I’m not doing everything I should be. I thought that by the time I was 30 I would have cured schizophrenia. It’s just that sometimes I feel like maybe I settled” 

“Well, you know we really don’t hear about child genius when they are adults. And you have the same job and me, and I’m not where near as smart as you. So you feel like you’re letting the world down or even worse— yourself”

“You might not have the IQ points on a piece of paper, but you are nothing short of brilliant” Spencer says looking at me directly in my eyes. I hold his gaze for maybe a second and look down towards my lap in disbelief. 

“Spence,” I say. “You have to say that, otherwise I’d stop making you chocolate donuts.”

“I don’t need your donuts to convince me that you are an amazing agent. I mean,” He pauses and holds my stare again. 

“You’re so kind it hurts me sometimes. And watching you those kids today, you’d be a great mom, Y/N. You make everyone feel so comfortable just being around you, and I’d give up all the chocolate donuts and IQ points and bottomless coffee if it meant you’d stay in my life,” Spencer says looking at me. I rest my hand over his and we sit there in the silence and comfort of the other. 

Spencer Reid is a man of many hats. But I think his way with words just may be my favorite. I don’t dare to respond to him. I don’t trust myself not to kiss his pink lips as he looks at me like he loves me. I don’t trust myself to not tell him all the wonderful and sinful things I think about him. I don’t trust myself to not tell him how I was watching him play with those orphans back at the police station.

“What’s a best friend for, Spence?” I say to him. 

“Besides, ’d want nothing more than to be a mom one day,” I tell him.  We never really talked about our futures. Maybe it was the nature of our jobs. Having a lethal job means that the future is more of an arbitrary idea than a definite possibility.

“But,” I start. “I'm twenty-seven years old, I've no money and no prospects. I'm already a burden to my parents and I'm frightened” I quote with a smirk on my face that covers my trepidation at talking about love and children and the future with Spencer. 

“I’d never think that you’d be one to settle for a Mr. Collins, Y/N” Spencer tells me, a similar look on his face mirrors my own. “If anything, you’re a Lizzie and you deserve a Mr. Darcy” 

“You really think that Spence, because I’m not too sure.” 

“You never know, Y/N your Mr. Darcy can be anyone. Statistically speaking, you may have already met him or have mutual friends or he may even work in the Bureau. 

Sometimes I think that luck and fate are mocking me. Dangling Spencer in front of me; so real yet so far that I’m jumping to remain close to him. Touching his hand to mine feels like I’m teasing myself, just getting a taste of how his warm, strong hands fit into mine is enough to set my heart on fire. 

I let go of his hand and my palm is cold and lonely without his touching. My heart cools but there’s a yearning for him that’s so strong it’s like a magnetic field pulling me in. 

“I’m going to get a cup of coffee, would you like some?” He asks me as he scoots out of the seat.

“I’ll take a green tea, coffee this late makes me anxious” And sitting here holding your hand talking about children and my Mr Darcy makes me even more anxious. 

“Coming right up,” he says with a sad smile on his face that I try to convince myself is because of his mother’s illness and not because I dropped his hand.

Spencer returns to his spot beside me, sipping his coffee and making small notes in his letter. There’s a chill between us that can’t be quelled by even the hottest cup of tea. Spencer doesn’t talk to me again and even though it’s just a couple more hours, I miss his voice.

I have a routine for when I come home after cases, but that routine has been thrown out the window when I watched Spencer walk out of the bullpen without as much as a wave goodbye. We usually go to my apartment and make dinner together. My trip home is a lot more lonely without Spencer by my side. I try to stop my thoughts from going to him, but it’s impossible when he’s all I can think about. 

My apartment is dark and quiet when I walk in. It was left in shambles, with clothes and books strewn all over the couch, desk and floor. I can’t even bother myself to care about the dirty dishes stacked in the sink. I convince myself that those dishes are a tomorrow problem. 

I take out a small container of leftover fried rice and vegetables and pop into the microwave. Making my way into my bedroom I change out of my work clothes, that I’ve been in for nearly 30 hours. I don’t really think about what I’m putting on, as long as it does not smell it works with me at this point. 

My microwave dings, altering me that my mediocre meal is finished. But, before I can even reach the kitchen a small envelope slips through my door and falls on the floor. A sudden rush of fear courses through me. I flit my eyes to the corner safe where my gun rests. In my mind, I try to calculate the risk of punching the code or if I should just find out who is behind my door. I guess curiosity wins out, because I’m walking towards the door where the mysterious envelope sits. 

I reach down and instantly recognize the handwriting as Spencer’s. I can feel my heart pumping blood through my bodying as I think that some sadistic unsub is trying to toy with me by hurting Spencer.

I was not prepared for what I read. My fingers grazed over the messy penmanship. I don’t even let my mind wander as I pour over the words on the page, still fearing for the worse

Dear Y/N, 

Part of me can’t believe that I’m actually doing this. But something that you mentioned on the plane sparked something in me. You’re not a Charlotte, or a Lizzie or even a Jane, even though you are the kindest and most beautiful person I know. 

You are a Y/N. And I am wishing for anything to be your Mr. Darcy. Thinking about you, Y/N gets me thinking about love. How much I love when you look at me across from the table, or how your soft hands will brush against mine. It reminds me that I’m alive. Your gaze makes me blush and those small brushes make me forget to breathe. In your eyes I can see my future— our future. In your smile I can taste happiness. When I am with you the world moves in slow motion and time seems to move too fast. 

I hope that this does not ruin things, Y/N. I could not bear to lose you. I hope that you won’t hate me but even if you do, I’d rather you hate me and be in your life than not be in your life.

I think of love, and you, and my heart grows full and warm, and my breath stands still

Forever yours, 

Spencer

I read the letter silently. Not sure if I can believe it, but I so desperately want to. I throw all sense to the wind when I fling the door open, my eyes hunting for Spencer. He sits on the steps leading up to the next level, fiddling with his shoe laces. I run over to where he sits, not caring that my neighbors might be looking or caring that I look like I’m about to mug him. 

He makes me, cautious girl, a rebel. 

“Hey, you,” I say approaching him. Spencer moves to stand up and I reach out to hold his hands in mine. Like a puzzle piece they hit perfectly. His hands are not too warm or clammy or too cold and boney. They’re perfect. He hesitates and rubs his thumb against the back of my palm, like he does on the plane. 

“Hi, Y/N.” He starts nervously. “I guess you got the letter, and I just want to tell you-”

“What letter, Spence?” I say. I can’t help but to tease him. His face turns pale and green in the same breath. 

“Uh-um, you didn’t just get something in your mail a couple minutes ago?” He asks me so nervously that I almost feel bad at teasing him. Almost, he’s kind of cute when he’s stumbling over his words and I like to be one that makes him this fluttery. 

“I got your letter, Spencer,” I tell him. I think he half expects me to drop his hand and shatter his heart then and there. Maybe he came here and prepared himself for the worse. I think he’s done that his whole life, believing that he doesn’t deserve a chance at happiness. I’m kind of inclined to give him that happiness when it’s so intricately tied to mine. 

“You did?” 

“Yeah, who knew that you were quite the poet, Spencer.” I tell him as I brush his hair from his eyes. It’s gotten so long, but I like it. I’ve dreamt about threading my fingers threw it many times. It’s so soft and brown and frames his face. 

“You deserve a poet, Y/N. And I could only dream of being that person for you.” He says. Against even his own wishes he leans in closer to my touch. His cheek is warm in my palm and I feel his long eyelashes flutter against the ball of my thumb. 

“Luckily for you, Spence, I like scientists.” I say to him. 

“You--” 

“I love you back, Spencer.” I move to wipe the tears that flood down the bridge of his nose. 

“It was a really beautiful letter that you wrote, Spencer. All the right things in there, Emily Dickinson and Mr. Darcy,” I tell him pressing my cheek into his chest. 

“Well, I had to win you over, Y/N” 

“Ha!, Spencer you’ve had me since I’ve met you” 

He looks at me with a veil of disbelief. 

“Spencer Reid, in his purest form, is a beauty known nowhere else” 

“Is that what you think of me?” He asks me. 

“Why don’t you come inside and let me show you what I think of you Spencer?” I say leading him inside to my apartment, that was no longer so dark and lonely. 

[bubbleteycosplay]

What ifs Sigyn's stories

Part 12

So many different universes, so many different possibilities. And in some loves Sigyn and their different stories. Pictures and brief information have been written about some of these possibilities.

But what is her full story, we don't know. But we can spin them further in our thoughts ^^

The whole project here serves to show the possibilities and potential that Sigyn would have had within the Marvel Universe. How she could have been reintroduced, her story made new and more exciting. #JusticeForSigyn stands for creating Sigyn content because Marvel doesn't give us any.

Inspired by @fauna-and-mythos @dailylogyn @dank-art @jonquilclegane @sigynthevictorious @thewitchysystem @shenanigans-and-imagines @timeladyjamie @therese-lokidottir @puckwritesstuff @sigynappreciation @sigyn-obsessed @ellecaterina

Multiverse of Madness Sigyn Story by @jonquilclegane

Once upon a time, in the realm of Vanaheim, was born a young goddess called Sigyn. She was a child of two magical realms, the heiress of two very powerful royal lines: the Vanirs and the Dwarves. Therefore, she held a great magical power that attracted many villains, gods and sorcerers. One of them, Chthon, heard of her existence and decided to claim her magic for himself.

Approaching the princess was rather difficult, as her family knew her worth and was very aware of her many enemies. They were calling her the Goddess of Victory, as she insured Vanaheim’s and Nidavellir’s influence and independence.

Odin, on the other hand, was rather worried – with such a powerful player on his rivals’ side, how was he to ever take control over the Nine realms? Of course, he could marry her, or give her to his daughter Hela, but Freya refused to even talk about marriage. If the Vanirs and the Dwarves did not want an alliance, then they would lose their precious princess. He could have declared war to them officially, but there was no need. Once Sigyn was gone, both Vanaheim and Nidavellir would become faithful vassals, as they ought to be.

And so Odin made an alliance with Chthon to get rid of Sigyn. It was not too difficult to trap the young lady, as she was still very naïve, and everyone trusted Odin, after all. Asgard was supposed to be on their side, he was an old friend of her mother, the father of two of her sisters: he was family. Or so she thought. So when he offered her a glass of mead, she gladly accepted it. Terrible mistake! A sleeping spell took over her the moment the golden liquid touched her lips. Sigyn collapsed on the floor, her eyes closed, as her mother rushed over her, terrified at the idea of losing her daughter.

“What happened?”, Freya asked Odin.

“Do not fret, Freya”, Odin reassured her, “A friend of mine will see to her and take good care of her”

When Chthon appeared, the Valkyrie took a step back, slightly terrified and repulsed by his appearance. But if Odin said he was a friend, then it was fine, wasn’t it? He would cure Sigyn, surely…

The strange deity took her daughter with him, and Freya never saw either of them ever again.

Once they arrived in his lair, at the top of a faraway mountain on Midgard, Chthon laid the sleeping goddess on an altar. With his dark magic, he summoned other demons from dark dimensions who helped him harnessing Sigyn’s powers. Suddenly, a dark red mist surrounded her form, and a book emerged, while the Vanir lady disappeared.

Sigyn was now no more. Only the Darkhold remained. With it, Chthon controlled many sorcerers and witches over the centuries, adding chapters and chapters, lists of damned names. Even after he was dead, the book was still there, continuing the dark path Chthon had settled for it.

However, one day, after a terrible battle, the Scarlett Witch destroyed the book, freeing Sigyn from Chthon’s curse.

The Goddess of Victory felt lost and confused. She knew who to thank for her freedom, so she raised Wanda Maximoff from the dead, and created a pocket dimension, where she could live happily with her two sons, and her husband.

Then, Sigyn went to what remained of Asgard, Vanaheim and Nidavellir. They were all gone now. Ragnarok had happened while she was still prisoner of the Darkhold, and there was nothing she could do now… Asgard had been destroyed (though she surely would not shed tears over Odin or his detestable daughter), Vanaheim was in ruins and Nidavellir was no better. Her powers allowed her to raise one person from the dead, not entire realms. She could not set back the clock of time either. She was too late to save them.

Her mother, her sisters, her father, her friends… everyone was gone. Sigyn let herself fall on the ground and cried silently. Suddenly, she felt a presence close to her and turned her head to see who it was.

It was a man she did not know, with long black hair and two piercing blue eyes, who looked at her fixedly, with a certain awe on his beautiful face.

“I know you”, he said, emotion breaking his voice, “I saw you in my dreams”

Sigyn’s breath was caught up in her chest. Now that she was looking closely at him, she did recognize him too.

Loki.

Yes. She knew him too. If Chthon had not interfered and trapped her – all of her, destroying any variant of her in the multiverse…. Loki was supposed to be her husband, wasn’t he?

Yes. The visions of all the possible futures, of all the potential timelines were clearer now that the evil god’s book had been destroyed. All the Sigyn variants were back where they belonged : in the arms of their Lokis.

That included her, she supposed. Sigyn smiled and, as Loki opened his arms joyfully, she ran into them, holding him tight, fearing he would disappear.

The future with him seemed uncertain, full of chaos, and snakes and dark caves, and strangely some bowls too? But it did not matter. At least, they would not be alone anymore. Come rain of fire or blood, they would have each other’s back, standing by each other’s side, holding each other’s hands. For better or for worse.

The Fate of a Committed Marriage

Sigyn was engaged to Prince Loki when he was a child. Both hardly know each other and only saw each other 8 times before the wedding. But both do their duty and pull through. But both have few common interests, nevertheless a friendship develops between them. And that friendship deepens because they both just decide to explore each other's different interests.

After 20 years of marriage they are best friends and so is their marriage, there is nothing intimate between the two. But all sides are putting pressure on both of them that the long-awaited heir for Jotunheim should finally be born. But is it really love between the two?

Amora's daughter story by @jonquilclegane

Sigyn had been raised by her father, Iwaldi, on Nidavellir. Her life had been rather simple, helping her two brothers at the forge, and at the shop where they sold the swords and golden jewels they had made the weeks before. It was quite successful and occupied her days completely.

So she never thought about her.

She didn’t have time to waste, too much to do.

Even though SHE was her mother.

She visited, from time to time, but she never stayed. She only stayed and cared for the children whose father she had liked. Not for the daughter of an ugly dwarf.

But it was fine, Sigyn thought. She did not need her anyway. She had never needed her, and never would. However, only one look at her mother, and Sigyn felt her heart bleed and sing at the same time. Oh, she was so beautiful! Long golden tresses, eyes of emerald, and a smile that could enchant you, literally. She was a powerful sorceress, and people loved her and feared her at the same time. Sigyn tried not to care at all, but it was quite impossible, it seemed.

However, one fortunate meeting allowed her to shoo away any dark cloud in her mind and heart. One day, the most handsome man entered her father’s shop in the hope of buying a new set of knives. He did so and took away her heart at the same time. The new patron came more and more often from then on, becoming a regular, looking each time even more dashing and charming than he did before.

His name was Loki Odinson, and he was a prince of Asgard, he eventually revealed, and Sigyn’s heart missed a beat. Of course, a member of the royal family would never notice her or be interested in her. However, it seemed that Loki did find her to his taste, as he kept flirting with her, and asking for her, every time he was at the shop.

When he finally kissed her, Sigyn felt herself melt into his arms, happier than she had ever been. He soon talked to her father, in order to ask for her hand.

Iwaldi seemed worried, and demanded the Prince would rather talk to her mother.

But when he did, Loki realized who she truly was.

Not only Iwaldidottir, but Amoradottir.

He threw at her a painful look, his eyes full of tears and regret, before leaving her.

Sigyn did not understand. What could have happened? What did her mother say? Did she refuse to give her blessing? Well, the Hel with her! She had never been much in her life, and now she decided to barge into her life and give her orders, and forcing her beloved to leave her when they ought to live happily together for the rest of their days.

“Why, mother?”, Sigyn begged her to at least explain.

“He cannot be trusted. Ever. You are better without him, believe me”, Lady Amora shrugged nonchalantly, “Besides, he used to be my lover. Still is, from time to time. Do you truly want to have me as your rival, little girl?”

Sigyn felt her whole body freeze, before falling to her knees, sickened and in total despair.

If he was her mother’s lover, then, what was the point? He had tasted perfect beauty and grace, utter seduction… He would never be satisfied with her, it was all in vain.

She cried until she had no more tears, and promised to herself to stay away from princes too handsome for her. They stole your heart, made promises they could not keep, and abandoned you for no other than your own mother.

Priestess Sigyn Story by @jonquilclegane

She was born to serve the Noren and bend her life to their will. Sigyn did it with a sense of duty. However, deep in her heart, she knew this was not supposed to be her fate. She stayed in the Noren’s temple and did her duties, day by day. But, one night, curiosity was stronger than duty : Sigyn decided to take a peek at what was supposed to be her fate. In a nightmarish vision, she saw a cave, and a snake, and a bowl. There was a man, whose face she could not see, bounded to a rock, close to her. Her other self seemed weary, exhausted, sickly, but she would not move. Sigyn felt her love for the prisoner, and her iron will. She wanted to be there. She wanted to be with this man, to protect him, even at the cost of her own health, of her own life. Thus, once she woke from her vision, Sigyn decided to hold the bowl through a magical ceremony, allowing her other self to have some rest.

However, one day, she had a visitor. A man, tall and dark, handsome beyond compare, came to her, asking about his own fate and the Noren’s decisions. When she saw him, she knew who he was. She knew he was the man she was fated to love and shield from the snake’s poison. There was a part of her that feared the horrors of her vision. However, when she looked into his eyes and saw the warmth of his smile, she knew she was lost, and that she would not escape the fate the Noren’s had chosen for her. She would love this man, this Prince Loki, and she would help him through his punishment, as dutifully as she had served the Noren.

Count Sigyn (AU)

The Count of Vanaheim is his mother's son. Frayer was not only an iron woman but also a tough politician who influenced everyone with clever strategy and character. And her son Sigyn is in no way inferior to her.

Sigyn could count himself lucky anyway, although he doesn't belong to the Hochardel, he's still the richest count in the country. He can hardly save himself from men and women who want to marry him.

And yet his heart belongs to a small black-haired woman. The illegitimate daughter of the Grand Duke Odin, the beggar princesses Loki like the Ardel mockingly calls her.

Slave Sigyn

A timeline where Kang played destiny.

This timeline should have been very different. Sigyn would have had a happy life and would have been Queen of Asgard one day. But since Kang saw danger in his game, he put a stop to the whole thing. Instead of marrying Loki, he makes sure that their relationship is exposed and Sigyn from Asgard becomes a band.

Picked up and sold by slave traders. Does Sigyn have to spend her life in a harem on some planet. She has gone from a noblewoman to a lust slave and is breaking. She dies broken and lonely, with no one to remember her.

Cursed Queen Sigyn

Sigyn of Earth 741 doesn't have it easy at all. Odin died at Amora's hand. Frigga was killed by Dark Elves and since Loki's death and Thor's abdication she has been the sole ruler of Asgard. And is popularly called the cursed king because everyone who falls in love with her mysteriously dies. Despite this, she is a white ruler and her two sons are very much like their father, albeit a little more reserved.

Melodies in the heart Story by @jonquilclegane

Sigyn Soldottir was only happy when she dreamed. In her dreams, he came to her. In her dreams, he was by her side. In her dreams, he sang to her beautiful melodies that charmed her heart and gave peace to her lonely soul.

During the day, no one stood with her, no one held her hand or kissed her hair softly while humming some lovely tune. No arms held her gently, no warmth came to melt the prison of ice holding her soul.

In her dreams, he was always with her, so handsome, tall, dark, with blue eyes and long black hair. He smiled at her gently, as if she was the most precious treasure in the Nine realms.

Sometimes, there were two children with them, two little boys: one with black hair, like his father’s, one with blonde hair, like hers. They were playful and mischievous, and so very sweet.

But when she woke up every morning, they were gone, and so were the melodies he sang to her. If she focused enough, she could but overhear an echo of a few notes, the memory of a barytone voice, deep and suave, lulling her back into sleep.

She wished to never wake up, only sleep, so she could be back into his loving embrace, sitting comfortably under some apple trees, with their sons playing not too far from them.

Her happiness slipped from her with the first rays of the Asgardian sun, as if her mother Sol brought her back from her melodious, blissful dreams, worried she would remain in them indefinitely.

Loki Odinson – or Laufeyson, now- spent so many days, so many nights in the AllFather’s cells, paying for some crimes committed on Midgard. His mother -adoptive mother- visited of course, but after centuries of lies, it was difficult to accept her caring words.

So Loki laid down his bed, closed his eyes and smiled. His companion of dreams was always the same, though she seemed to grow at the same speed he did, his golden little goddess. She had haunted his dreams since his childhood, playing with him, studying with him, being by his side, always, when none was.

In this life, he had been alone – even when surrounded by people. All of them were Thor’s friends and admirers. Loki had no one of his own. But he had his fair maiden.

She did not exist – of course she did not; real people always chose Thor first: Amora, Sif, Odin, …. However, in his dreams, his beloved did pick him and loved him with all her heart.

So he sang to her, old melodies the AllMother had taught him as a child. Those songs strangely fit their situation: here he was, wandering alone, in this dreadful, lonely, cold place, trying to make his way. And in his dreams, in an apple garden stood the maiden fair, singing: "When will you come home?"

Oh how he wished he could go home to her, to their children. But unfortunately, that could not be.

Karnilla had told him once that dreams were doors to other timelines, that the Loki he saw with the blonde maiden and their sons, was another version of him, a variant, who got to live the perfect life he only could dream to have.

Loki felt jealousy rise inside him. How terribly unfair! Why could that Loki live happily while he was stuck inside Odin’s jails? Why could he kiss and claim his maiden while he was all alone?

But there was nothing he could do. He could not reach that other timeline, though he desired nothing more but to steal his other self’s joy and delight.

Now, he could only close his eyes so he could witness his maiden fair in his variant’s arms, and sing to her “Come home”.

The promise

On Earth 2089, Loki and Theoric are best friends, but it was hard to believe. They've been through thick and thin for so many centuries and even Thor loves to mess around with these two. But one day when Theoric reveals that he fell in love with Frayer's daughter of all people, Loki's heart sinks because he didn't fall in love with just any of Frayer's daughters, but with her third youngest Sigyn. The Loki conceded a real basket more than 300 years ago.

Theoric desperately wants to approach her but doesn't dare, so he asks Loki for help. And Loki as his best friend doesn't want to let him down so he says yes. He writes letters and poetry for Sigyn, and signs all of those letters and poems Theoric.

Sigyn receives these letters and poems is touched by much poetry and the feelings that are in India. She and Theoric start dating and it doesn't take long for the two to become a couple. What Sigyn doesn't know is that it is Loki who wrote her these letters and poems and that he also helped Theoric in all their meetings. Let alone Loki even though she rejected him she still loves her.

When Theoric announced the engagement to Sigyn, the wedding was celebrated a few months later. But somehow Loki wasn't happy either. And when Asgard went to war against another planet, Loki Theoric had to promise to take care of Sigyn.

Peacock Sigyn

Very little is known about this universe. America Chavez tells Doctor Stange only once that the end of 14 is funny and that Sigyn and Amora are best friends in this universe. Doctor Stange had no further questions.

Part 13 is in progress ^^

Here you can find the last 4 parts

[fortisfiliae]

Promised Part 12 - Tom Riddle x reader

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Masterpost | Masterlist

Summary: In this story, Tom didn’t grow up as an orphan, but with his grandfather and uncle. Reader’s sister got very sick and the Gaunts offer their help. But not without asking for something in return.

Disclaimer: Please be aware that I don’t condone any of this in real life. (GIF is not mine)

Warnings: Arranged marriage; it gets a bit sexy, but nothing explicit

Word count: 2.7k

Part 12 - Pillow Talk and Butterbeer

After you had gotten the Foxgloves in Diagon Alley, the only thing you could do for the antidote was to wait. Wait for Nagini to shed and wait for the end of March to arrive, so you could go to the Gaunt manor and look for a flask of Banshee tears. Meanwhile, the cauldron simmered safely in the Come and Go Room. You had to stir it frequently and skim off the foam that built up, so it required a good portion of your time, which was quite worrisome. How would you be able to keep that up when school would start again and you were occupied attending classes? Of course, Tom and you could alternate in doing those tasks, but you didn’t want to bother him with all that constantly. He had to attend to his duties as head boy on top of everything, after all. Well, there had to be a way. It would be manageable somehow. 

Even though Hogwarts was almost empty and there weren’t many people around, you hadn’t felt lonely. Not even a bit. Tom and you had gotten closer over the week. Even closer than before and he still showed no signs of annoyance towards you. Which surprised you. You would have thought that he liked to keep to himself a lot, and wouldn’t want to spend a lot of time with someone else, regardless of who it was. But that suspicion turned out to be untrue. Tom had followed you to tend to the potion every single time you had gone there, even if you hadn’t asked him to. He stuck to you like a magnet, which was strange at first, but once you had figured out that he just seemed to thoroughly enjoy your company, you let him.

When the two of you weren’t in the Come and Go Room, or studied for the upcoming semester, you spent your time in bed a lot. The meaning of ‘enjoying the holidays’ suddenly had a different ring to it. You still had not gotten used to his touch, his scent, his faint whisper in your ear. But if you were honest, you didn’t want to ever get used to it. It was too exciting to get that rush, the way your heart started racing, every time his fingers brushed across your skin. Every time your name fell from his lips and when his eyes lingered on your figure when you lay beneath him. Those smiles, rare and subtle, he graced you with between the sheets. No, you would never get used to that.

And Tom had started to talk more. Granted, still not as much as any other person you knew, but it was certainly a step in the right direction. One rainy day, he even opened up and talked about his family.  You held hands beneath the blanket, one of your legs was sprawled over him and you had just put your head into a comfortable position between Tom’s shoulder and the cushion, when he just began, out of nowhere.

“Do you remember when you asked me about my parents?” he said. “In your room, at Christmas.”

Your head propped up again so that you could look at him. “I do. Why?”

“Well,” he paused and looked back into your eyes, his voice low and plain. “Do you want to know what happened?”

“Of course. Tell me.”

He laid his head onto the pillow and looked up towards the ceiling while he bit the inside of his cheek. 

“My Mother,” he began. “She fell in love with him, Tom Riddle, when she was seventeen. He was a muggle. Filthy and worthless, even though his family was rich. Merlin knows what she saw in him.”

The thought that him being a muggle didn’t define his Father’s worth came to your mind, but it wasn’t your time to speak now. 

“He didn’t love her back,” Tom went on. “At least not as much as she wanted him to, apparently. Morfin, her brother, had just finished his schooling for Potion’s mastery, so she snuck into his chambers one night and stole one of his love potions.”

This story wasn’t going to end well. Most love potions, the ones that weren’t sold in joke shops, which were diluted and only meant to last for a few minutes, were illegal. You had learned about the most dangerous ones during Slughorn’s class in sixth year, so that you were able to detect them. One of them, the most powerful one, had attracted everyone’s attention back then. The potion alone was infatuating, even if one had not consumed it yet. Its scent had drawn in every person in the classroom, as it smelled different to everyone, based on what the person liked. You still remembered that striking feeling of needing to take the potion yourself. Obsession was the best way to describe it. All rationality had left you once Slughorn had lifted the cauldron’s cover. No one seemed in their right mind anymore. The mere thought of being at someone’s mercy, without even knowing it, was frightening.

“Amortentia?” you asked.

Tom nodded and you could feel one of his legs bouncing up and down. His voice still was indifferent, as if he was telling you just another irrelevant story.

“She drugged him with it and didn’t tell her family. They wouldn’t have tolerated a muggle as her husband of course. But they secretly got married and when she was pregnant, she broke the charm, thinking he would love her anyway.”

“And?” you asked, hoping that the answer would be different from what you anticipated.

“He didn’t love her obviously. And he ran from her. Left her. Can’t even blame him.”

“He left her when she was pregnant?”

Tom nodded and your heart sank for him. Even though his father’s actions were understandable to an extent, you couldn’t imagine what it must feel like being so unwanted by one of your parents that they would have left before you were even born.

“What happened to her then?” you asked.

“She died while giving birth to me. At least that’s what Marvolo told me.”

“You don’t think she’s dead?”

“Oh, yes I do. I don’t think she died from giving birth.”

“Do you think he… That Marvolo… Killed her?”

Tom shrugged, still looking up at the ceiling. “Possibly. I could see why he would have done it.”

Everyone who knew Marvolo could probably see him do that. That man was evil, to say the least, and seemed to enjoy it when others suffered. But killing his own daughter was something you hadn’t thought anyone, not even the worst person on earth, was able to do without hesitation. 

Silence had fallen over the room. You could hear Tom breathing, still collected and slow, contrary to yourself. 

“I’m sorry,” you whispered for lack of a better word and held his hand tighter.

“It’s alright,” he answered, his voice sounding like he was the one consoling you when it should have been the other way around. “I have no memory of them. It’s not like I miss her.”

Could you miss someone you never really met? Probably not, you thought. But it was definitely possible to know you missed out. 

“And your father?” you asked. “Do you know where he is now?”

Tom let out a sharp breath through his nose as if he was suppressing a laugh. “I don’t think he’s alive either. They never told me, but I assume Marvolo took care of him as well.”

You sighed at his response, turned to lie on your side and rested your head on Tom’s shoulder, your hand leaving his, to hold on to his upper arm. 

There had been so much harm, so much betrayal in his life, even before he could have done something to prevent it. No wonder he behaved the way he did. There had never been hope. He never stood a chance.

“I don’t even know what to say,” you mumbled. “Do you wish it could have been different? If you had gotten to know them.”

“You and your wishful thinking,” he said and you could hear the smile in his tone. “I never thought about it. It wouldn’t change reality. It would just make me mad.”

You nodded as a silent way of approval, your fingertips tracing patterns on the curve of his shoulder.

“I do wonder, however,” Tom said and lifted your chin with his hand, so he could look into your eyes. “What my father felt when she put him under her spell with Amortentia.”

His gaze darted back and forth between your eyes and your lips, his fingers still holding up your chin when you blinked.

“The closest thing to love, I assume,” you answered, a breath stuck in your throat. “The replica of it at least, as hollow as it may be.”

Tom still looked at you with a glare as sharp as a butcher knife. He sucked in a breath, pondering, and parted his lips, about to say something. Before he could though, he leaned closer, pinned you down to the mattress and kissed you, his hand wandering from your chin to your neck.

An owl from Camille arrived on one of the last days of the break. Her letter made you smile as you walked across Tom’s room and read it.

“Camille wants to meet up on Sunday, when she’ll be back,” you told Tom, still skimming across her lines. “They are official now, Ben and her.”

“Alright then,” Tom said absentmindedly, his nose in one of the books from the library.

“She asked for you to come too.”

His head rose in confusion. “Me? Why?”

“I think she wants us to go on a double date,” you chuckled. “To the Three Broomsticks. Sunday at five.”

No matter how sure you were of how much Tom enjoyed your presence, he absolutely wasn’t entertaining the idea of spending time with Ben Hilt. And about that, he was very clear. He had asked you a couple of times if you were sure that Camille meant for him to come and had tried many ways of escaping that date, but alas, you dragged him there.

“Four Butterbeers,” Ben ordered after you had sat down at a table together.

Ben sat opposite to Tom, who was more than obviously annoyed by the fact he even had to be there. You patted his thigh, ordering him to behave, to which Tom eyed you seriously. Camille and you both bit back the smirks on your faces, while Ben tried his best to be friendly.

“So,” he said, looking at Tom and you. “How were the holidays?”

“Mind your own business,” Tom murmured, which luckily no one but you had heard.

“Good,” you spoke over him and pushed your elbow against Tom’s side. “Quiet. Not many people around.”

“Oh, you stayed in school, didn’t you?” Ben asked. “You both?”

Tom didn’t answer and looked back at Ben without a hint of emotion on his face. You nodded and smiled.

“How about you?“ you asked.  „What have you done? Have you met up?” 

“Oh, yes we did,” Camille said. “Ben introduced himself to my parents and then took me to the cinema.”

“Cinema?” Tom and you asked simultaneously. 

You had heard of cinemas before of course. But you had never been. Movies were a muggle invention, and even though it sounded tempting, you had never had a chance to go.

“Yes,” Camille confirmed. “We watched ‘Dead of Night’. That’s what it’s called, right?”

Ben nodded as he swung his arm around Camille’s shoulder. “Horror movies. My favourite.”

“Why would you do that?” Tom asked and took his cup from the server, who had come up with your order. “Go to the cinema. That’s such a muggle thing to do.”

“Oh, you’ve never been, huh?” Ben asked. “None of you have, have you?”

“You should have seen his face when I told him,” Camille laughed. She had, similar to you, grown up in a pureblood family as well.

“And you should’ve seen mine when I went to her house,” Ben added. “I’m still not used to wizard’s homes, you know. They’re so different. I like them.”

Tom stiffened next to you. 

“You’re muggleborn?” he asked, his mouth agape.

“Indeed mate. Didn’t you know?”

“You’re a mu-… muggleborn,” Tom stammered and looked over to Camille. “But you, you’re a pureblood, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Camille said, a baffled smile on her face.

Tom still had a hard time believing what he had just heard. “And you… You two. Even though…”

“Tom,” you whispered, trying to escape both Camille and Ben’s amused looks, and patted him on the thigh again.

“Excuse me,” he cleared his throat and motioned with his hand. “I just. I didn’t know.”

“Well now you do,” Ben shrugged before taking a big sip of his butterbeer. “Best of both worlds, am I right?”

“Right,” you said when Tom didn’t answer.

Changing the subject seemed necessary, but you couldn’t think of anything worth talking about. The only thing you had been doing was tending to the potion, and that was something you would rather keep a secret. 

“The worst thing is that none of you folks have phones at home,” Ben went on.

“Phones?” Tom asked.

“Telephones. You can call other people and talk to them.”

“I wish I had one,” said Camille. “I told my father about it and he thinks it’s a great idea. Maybe we’ll get one of those ‘phones’.”

That was interesting. To talk to someone directly, even if they weren’t there? No apparating, no Floo Network. Muggles might have been weak, but they sure knew how to handle their handicaps.

“Why would you need to do that?” Tom asked. “Talk to someone on the phone.”

“Well, it spares a lot of time. No need for owls or letters. You just pick it up from the hook and speak.”

Tom seemed to think about it for a moment. Then he shook his head. “But owls do the job just fine.”

“Not as quickly,” Ben grinned.

“Well, then I’ll send an urgent owl if I need my message to arrive sooner.”

Ben stifled a laugh and took another drink. “I mean, of course, mate.”

“I think it’s interesting,” you said. “And you only hear the voice of the other person? You can’t see them, right?”

“Exactly.”

“Fascinating,” you mumbled. “What other things do you have that we don’t?”

Ben looked into his cup for a moment and hummed. “Well, muggles invented the train, which we all use to go to school.”

“Oh,” Camille gasped. “Wait until he tells Tom about cars.”

Tom clicked his tongue. “Of course I know about cars.”

“Have you driven one?” Ben asked.

“No. Obviously not.”

“You should one day,” Ben gushed. “My father got a 1943 Bentley recently. Technically I’m not allowed to drive it, because I don’t have a license. But I’ve seen Father drive a lot. So I borrowed the car one night and it was life-changing.”

Tom took a drink and raised one brow. “I’d rather just apparate.”

“Yes, that’s great too. But it doesn’t have the same feeling. It’s really liberating. And much more comfortable than brooms. I could take you all on a ride someday in summer. The car fits four people.” 

“Why?” Tom asked before you could agree.

Ben raised his eyebrows again, a smile still plastered on his face. “For fun?”

“For fun,” Tom repeated and looked at you as if to ask you what Ben was trying to tell him.

“You should do more things just for fun, mate,” Ben chuckled. “Might help against that constant frown.”

Camille and you laughed quietly, both turning your faces away from the boys and you bit your tongue. Tom straightened his posture, his eyes darting across the table, apparently thinking hard.

“We’ll see about that,” he said and raised his glass. “Mate.”  

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Masterpost | Masterlist

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[dontbipanicjonsa]

Dutiful Sansa Stark

Plus some extra stuff about perceptions and POV traps

Read under the cut-

Tyrion 

"No," Sansa said at once. "You . . . you are kind to offer, but . . . there are no devotions, my lord. No priests or songs or candles. Only trees, and silent prayer. You would be bored."

"No doubt you're right." She knows me better than I thought. "Though the sound of rustling leaves might be a pleasant change from some septon droning on about the seven aspects of grace." Tyrion waved her off. "I won't intrude. Dress warmly, my lady, the wind is brisk out there."

He was tempted to ask what she prayed for, but Sansa was so dutiful she might actually tell him, and he didn't think he wanted to know.

xxx

He wondered what Sansa would do if he leaned over and kissed her right now. Flinch away, most likely. Or be brave and suffer through it, as was her duty. She is nothing if not dutiful, this wife of mine. If he told her that he wished to have her maidenhead tonight, she would suffer that dutifully as well, and weep no more than she had to.

Littlefinger

A true daughter would not refuse her sire a kiss, so Alayne went to him and kissed him, a quick dry peck upon the cheek, and just as quickly stepped away.

"How . . . dutiful." Littlefinger smiled with his mouth, but not his eyes.

xxx

She hugged him dutifully and kissed him on the cheek. "I am sorry to intrude, Father. No one told me you had company."

"You are never an intrusion, sweetling. I was just now telling these good knights what a dutiful daughter I had."

"Dutiful and beautiful," said an elegant young knight whose thick blond mane cascaded down well past his shoulders.

That's a lot of dutiful.

On the surface it seems like these two situations- one with Tyrion and one with LF- parallel each other; creepy, older men interested in Sansa think she's too 'dutiful' because she suffers through their attentions. However, when we dig deeper it becomes clear that the two situations actually contrast in subtle ways.

Tyrion

Tyrion calls her dutiful, but what duty is she fulfilling? She actually fails to fulfil her biggest duty to him i.e. having his babies (ew).

Or rather, she refuses to do her duty to him.

"On my honor as a Lannister," the Imp said, "I will not touch you until you want me to."

It took all the courage that was in her to look in those mismatched eyes and say, "And if I never want you to, my lord?"

His mouth jerked as if she had slapped him. "Never?"

Cue me falling ever deeper in love

This is a powerful scene. Tyrion is willing to give her an inch, but she goes and takes a mile. She could have just said "yes, I'll let you know when I want you" and then never let him know, but instead she said that. His plan was to postpone the consummation, but now she’s taken the opportunity to tell him that if she had her way, they would never consummate their marriage. He can still go through with it, but with this one statement (knowingly or unknowingly) she's put the onus of choice on him. He can still touch her, he can still consummate the marriage- but Sansa will never want him to. It’s still her ‘duty’ to suffer through it, but now any future sexual contact between them is undoubtedly in the non-con category.

That doesn't sound like Sansa is just reluctant to do her duty, it sounds like she's rejecting it.

In fact, Sansa is basically never shown to think about her 'duties' as his wife. Eating lunch with him may be her 'duty', but she isn't doing it for that reason. She's doing it because what other choice does she have?

Honestly I'm not sure where he even gets the idea that she's oh-so-dutiful, because as far as I can tell, she's really just doing the bare minimum she can get away with doing as his political-prisoner-child-bride.

Sansa does not, for a single second, give a flying fuck about her duty to Tyrion and I love her for it.

And yet, Tyrion's my-dutiful-wife false belief is what allows her to get away with planning her escape. Tyrion fails to be suspicious of her even when he absolutely should be re: that first quote.

So-

Tyrion likes to think Sansa is dutiful (for some reason).

Sansa is not dutiful.

Sansa doesn't seem to be aware that Tyrion thinks she is, but it works to her advantage nevertheless.

Littlefinger

Now in Littlefinger's case she really is playing the dutiful daughter.

This time, fulfilling her 'duty' as his daughter is in her best interest, because it acts as an excuse to avoid what he really wants from her. It's basically the reverse of the Tyrion Situation.

So-

Littlefinger thinks Sansa is dutiful because she is.

She's acting dutiful on purpose (to diffuse his sexual attraction (ew) towards her).

Clearly, it's working to her advantage.

Now, onto the extra stuff-

We have this-

Dontos chuckled. "My Jonquil's a clever girl, isn't she?"

"Joffrey and his mother say I'm stupid."

"Let them. You're safer that way, sweetling.

xxx

"The g-g-godswood, my lord," she said, not daring to lie. "Praying . . . praying for my father, and . . . for the king, praying that he'd not be hurt."

"Think I'm so drunk that I'd believe that?" He let go his grip on her arm, swaying slightly as he stood, stripes of light and darkness falling across his terrible burnt face. "You look almost a woman . . . face, teats, and you're taller too, almost . . . ah, you're still a stupid little bird, aren't you?

xxx

"There's to be so much, my lord. I have a little tummy." She fiddled nervously with her hair and looked down the table to where Joffrey sat with his Tyrell queen.

Does she wish it were her in Margaery's place? Tyrion frowned. Even a child should have better sense.

Sansa goes under the radar so well in KL because people think she's too stupid to do anything. Again, we see Tyrion, an overall smart guy, fail to be suspicious of Sansa's very suspicious behavior nevermind that she IS a child you asshole because he thinks she's stupid.

So-

People think Sansa is stupid

She's not stupid. We also don't see Sansa actively encouraging that perception, which makes sense because-

she doesn't need to. They do that all by themselves and

she's too busy believing she really is stupid, poor kid

3. It works to her advantage anyway.

Which leads me to-

"I forgot, you've been hiding under a rock. The northern girl. Winterfell's daughter. We heard she killed the king with a spell, and afterward changed into a wolf with big leather wings like a bat, and flew out a tower window. But she left the dwarf behind and Cersei means to have his head."

xxx

"Your Grace has forgotten the Lady Sansa," said Pycelle.

The queen bristled. "I most certainly have not forgotten that little she-wolf."

xxx

"The dwarf's wife did the murder with him," swore an archer in Lord Rowan's livery. "Afterward, she vanished from the hall in a puff of brimstone, and a ghostly direwolf was seen prowling the Red Keep, blood dripping from his jaws."

So-

People thinking Sansa murdered Joffrey with her witchy wolf ways.

She didn't.

???

I am SO looking forward to see where this goes.

More extra stuff-

This entire post grew out of me obsessing over this post.

It got me thinking that out of the six core characters, Sansa is the most observed one. We see her in real time through the chapters of other POV characters the most. I counted. My count can be up or down by about one or two chapters, but I have Sansa pegged at around 15 chapters, followed by Tyrion at 11, then A*ya (around 9), then Jon (around 8), then Bran (4), and then D*ny (0). This is exacerbated by the fact that Sansa has some of the least number of POV chapters of the 'core six'. This means that-

We see Sansa more (or at more than others) from other POVs than her own. In other words, we get to be in Sansa's head less and in other characters' head thinking about her more (unlike most other main characters).

This plays a BIG ROLE in her POV trap, which is pretty much the opposite of D*ny's POV trap in terms of both what it is hiding and how

Perception and reality play a very obvious and direct part in Sansa's story, both her own perceptions and others' perceptions of her.

The Vale arc changes everything though. Now suddenly-

She's surrounded by an entirely new cast of people

She's the only POV character in the location

She has an entirely new identity with none of the same pre-conceived biases attached (though there sure are other pre-conceived biases that go with her identity)

This has happened with other characters as well (Tyrion in ADWD, Arya in every other book), but the impact it has on our perception of her is unique. It's basically reversing everything her POV trap was previously built on.

Now, she is her own worst critic. Now, the thoughts that other POV characters have of her (Tyrion, Cersei) are increasingly muddled. Is she a murderous sorcerer, or a stupid little girl? Was she dutiful, or a scheming traitor? The correct answer is-

she was none of those things. Everyone is just....trapped by their own PoV?