#takes place sometime after season one but without all of the war

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

Since you said you were looking at requests could you please do something with Dom Daryl with overstimulation, breeding, and cockwarming? Maybe after the savior war trying to get pregnant or any later seasons Daryl? It’s almost 6:30 in the morning so those are just the prompts that came to me first, anything you write with them will be wonderful, thank you 🩷

If I get a Little Prettier, Can I be Your Baby?

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Setting: Alexandria (post Savior's War)

Warnings: Poorly written smut; p in v; cockwarming; forced orgasms; overstimulation; a hint of breeding, I guess? A/N: This request has been sitting in my inbox for weeks. Gods, I am so sorry for making you wait! I'm even more sorry that I was all over the place with this so I hope it's just good at all. I tried, Anon! I promise!

“S’the matter? Thought ya wanted this?” 

Daryl was sitting against the headboard, just as bare as you. You straddled his hips, stretched around his cock and had been for—well, you weren’t sure. He had kept you there, softening slightly every once in a while only to press a thumb against your swollen clit to quickly bring you to orgasm. Your convulsing walls brought him to fully hard within seconds. You’d lost count of how many times he’d done it, sometimes not even needing the stimulation. He would be throbbing with just as much need inside of you and still worked at you until you came, shuddering and whimpering his name like a mantra. 

“Please, Daryl, I need—”

“Ya need to sit there ‘til I say diff’rent.” His voice was low, gravelly. Stern, even. You felt your cunt clench and his hips jerk. You were so sensitive, yet still craving him. He could work miracles with those fingers but being so full and stretched without feeling him drag along your inner walls was torture. He wasn’t cruel, never. There was a safe word in place, always, no matter who held the reins. Whether out of sheer stubbornness or overwhelming desire, neither of you had ever used it.

“Yes, sir.” You breathed. Your fingers were splayed over his stomach, his muscles twitching with each miniscule movement you made, though you tried to sit stone still. 

The battle with the Saviors had been won. Negan was imprisoned. Alexandria was being rebuilt. Everyone was working together and there was, for at least the time being, a feeling of relative peace and safety. While you had never officially married, you had become Mrs. Dixon in every way except on paper, and that didn’t seem to matter much in those days. You and Daryl had talked about a family before, but always seemed to find some reason to deny yourselves. His worries of becoming his father, Wolves, Saviors, and of course, the dead. There was always something. 

It wasn’t until Daryl had been locked in Negan’s cell that he came to realize that waiting was futile. The world would never be safe. If you wanted to have children with him, he loved you enough to travel that road with you. He’d love his children because they were a part of both of you.

This? This was the first session in what would be many “practice runs.” Or maybe one time would be all it would take. 

“You’re bein’ such a good girl. Wanna cum for me again?” He smirked, tucking your hair behind your ear and letting that finger carve a trail down over your collarbone, circling your left breast before he pinched and rolled your nipple. You gasped and arched your chest toward him, making him hiss when your hips shifted. 

“S—sorry, sir.” You gasped, breathing heavily from just that slight stimulation. If he fucked you now, you feared you’d cum so quickly that it’d be embarrassing. From the twinkle in his eye, it didn’t seem like you were going to have a choice. You let out a squeak as he flipped you to your back, never separating from you but punching a moan from you both with the slight friction. 

“Think I’ve had enough’a toyin’ around. How ‘bout we get to work on puttin’ a baby in that belly?” Pressing his mouth to yours in a sloppy kiss, a dance of tongues and teeth, he hooked the back of your right knee over the crook of his elbow and rolled his hips. You pulled back from him, lest you bite his lip, which he’d honestly probably rather enjoy. Another deep thrust saw your hips rising to meet his. He didn’t stop you or reprimand you, so it was safe to say this was all about the endgame.

“Fuck, you feel good.” You whined with your nails scratching over his shoulders, red marks all the way to where you settled your hands on his ribs.

“Yeah?” He knew the answer, even if he did make the next snap of his hips a little rougher. Raising your head, you nuzzled your cheek against his and placed your mouth against his ear.

“Don’t hold back.” You whispered, licking the lobe and then the spot where his pulse raced. Daryl growled, letting your leg drop. When he reached up to grab the top of the headboard with one hand and then the other, you knew you were about to get absolutely ruined.

And couldn’t have been more turned on by the thought.

With a smirk of your own, you chose to let your legs fall open as wide as they could, almost to the point of painful. You were soon digging your nails right into his buttocks. It started with a cadence of rough snaps, his pelvic bone and the coarse hair above his cock slapping against your oversensitive clit. He chuckled above you, knowing exactly why you were making those sinful little noises. Your humiliatingly slick cunt squelched with each push and pull of his cock, only adding to the debauchery that could potentially be heard by the others in the house.

You only dug your fingers in harder, drawing up your knees but keeping your legs wide open. “Come on, Dixon.” You panted, biting back a cry when the next thrust made you see stars. “I thought you wanted to fuck a baby into me. Put in a little effort.”

It was that moment, you knew you had fucked up. 

Daryl went motionless, looking down at you through that curtain of sweaty, dark hair. He had one brow arched. He never let go of the headboard but leaned down between his arms until he was nose to nose with you, the most deliciously wicked smirk lifting one corner of his mouth. 

“Ya better hold on tight, Sunshine.”

The first thrust shunted you straight up to the headboard, one hand releasing its hold on his ass to slap palm down against the wood and protect the top of your head. And then he was absolutely ruthless. Fucking feral. He used his hold on the headboard as leverage and fucked you at a pace you’d never experienced. Soon, you had let go of him altogether, both palms planted firmly against the smooth surface above you. You couldn’t stop shouting long enough to even let him know you were cumming. Once, twice. A third sparking to life low in your belly. His grunts and groans above you were just fucking delectable and you distantly wished you could focus on the sounds your pussy was coaxing out of him but the feeling of him just absolutely splitting you in two took precedence. 

“‘Nough effort for ya?” He panted, slowing only slightly, just enough for you to see him scanning you for any signs that you wanted to stop, that you needed to use the safeword. You scoffed at him. However, you couldn’t seem to speak, so close to yet another orgasm. You saw his grip loosen, knew he was getting concerned, so you communicated your consent by flattening your feet on the mattress and rolling your hips up to take him deeper, both of you groaning. He worked his way back to the same brutal pace, his cock swelling and twitching inside of you. He was close.

You were closer.

Drawing in enough breath, somehow assembling enough presence of mind, you moaned out “I’m—I’m close—Please—”

Daryl grunted, dropping down from the headboard with a hand on either side of your head. “Let go, Sunshine.” He commanded through gritted teeth. “Fuck, m’gonna cum.” You had just felt the first tendrils of pleasure rip from your core when he thrust twice more, stilling against you and holding himself deep with a guttural moan, his muscles spasming and body trembling. “Fuck!” You were too lost on whatever cloud he’d sent you to, your eyes rolled back and mouth agape. Your chest was arched into him until you felt the burn in your muscles suddenly dissipate and you collapsed to the mattress, his name falling from your lips like a mantra. 

Daryl was still thrusting into you lazily, dragging out both of your orgasms until you just couldn’t take anymore and twisted your hips to the side with a whine. He let you lie down flat again before gently, slowly pulling out of you, barely moving himself over before he collapsed into a trembling heap. You could feel his cum leaking out of you, burning as it slid across the flesh of your abused cunt.

It never failed that no matter how fucked out he was himself, your well-being came first. Rolling his head toward you, he gave you a once over. “Y’alright? Did I hurtcha? Ya didn’t say—”

“I’m so good that I don’t think I’m ever coming back down to earth, thanks.” You blinked lazily at the ceiling before turning your head, letting it lull toward him to meet his eyes with a lopsided smile. “My god, Daryl Dixon, you just rocked my world.” 

God, you loved it when he blushed. He could be an absolute beast in bed—as he had just proven—and then go red as a tomato—as he currently was. Licking his lips slowly, he turned to admire the ceiling at the same time you did. 

“I’ll get up in a minute an’ get us cleaned up.” He was finally starting to sound like he had found his lungs and put them back in their rightful place. You lazily waved a hand. “Are ya really alright?”

You nodded, smiling stupidly once again. “I may not walk right for a few days.” You moved with a wince. “In fact, when you get up to get that towel, can you grab me a wheelchair? I think you dislocated my vagina.”

Daryl, of course, looked mortified. “Oh, come on. I’m fine. Just a little sore.” Propping up on your elbows, you grinned at him. “Besides, payback’s a bitch and next time, it’s my turn.” He mumbled christ under his breath and rolled off the bed, staggering toward the bathroom while you stared intently at the perfect round of his ass. “I’ll find the blindfold and handcuffs tomorrow!”

[carlsangel]

CARL GRIMES HEADCANONS (PT 2)

(for curvy!fit!fem!reader. reader has known carl since the start!!!!)

tags: fluff!!! little tiny pieces of angst

masterlist here!

btw, these headcanons go farther than season 8, aka if carl hadn’t…you know -_-

✦ At the quarry, you and Carl would mess around in the woods a lot. You never quite understood what was going on but you guys did your best to stay entertained. He has his own toys and since you didn’t really have the opportunity to take your own or find some, he shared with you and that’s how you became friends.

✦ After Carl got shot you took every opportunity to spend time with him. You practically never left his side at the farm, up until the prison. After Lori passed, you tried your best to give him space but at some point you helped him realize that being cold wasn’t the solution to grief. The prison was the start to his large crush on you and yours on him.

✦ When Carl got his gun back he taught you how to properly clean a gun, you were trained back at the farm like he was. Cleaning his gun was an activity he liked doing so he invited you, his favorite person to share the fun with. He loved doing that but also reading comics so sometimes he would invite you into his cell just to sit there and quietly read. He enjoyed your presence even if you were just quiet the whole time.

✦ Reading comics was something he’d share with you for a while after the prison. You stayed with him through the fall of the prison and you experienced probably the worst of the worst beside him. After everything, the Claimers and Terminus, he felt okay but only because you were there with him. “Are you okay?” You ask. “Im okay. As long as you’re here.” He replies, sort of shyly. This was what helped him realize how much he loves you. He wanted to express that to you without directly saying it and he did that by using physical affection or giving you objects he think you’d like.

✦ At the church, he sat down with you on one of the pews and gave you a small gift. The day before, right after Terminus the group separated to look for supplies. Him and Michonne searched a house and he ended up finding a small dinosaur keychain he thought you’d like.“I found something for you.” he tells you. He pulls it out and gently plops it in your palm. “I thought maybe you’d like it…for your backpack.” After that and seeing your reaction, he knew he wanted to be with you.

✦ You were really hesitant about Alexandria, you were worried it would fall apart just like the prison did. Carl was able to convince you that it’d be good for you, even if some of the group thought otherwise. When you arrived, he held your hand until he was pried away from your side to go do an interview with Deanna. In that interview he mostly talked about you. “She’s really strong…she deserves this more than anyone.” He tells her. You also started your relationship soon after arriving.

✦ Alexandria falling the first time was horrid for you. You were worried it’d never go back to the way it was. Carl getting shot again only made it worse. Although he was the one that was injured, he assured you everything would be okay. Once he woke up and dealt with the reality of losing his eye, you’d cuddle with him just talking about how you wanted your future to be. He’d rest his chin on top of your head which was laid on his chest. “Alexandria will go back to normal soon. One day we’ll be leading this place. You know?”

✦ Throughout the Savior war, you stood beside him and supported him in the decisions he’d made. He basically saved Alexandria and he couldn’t have done it without your support. At the end of it all, his dad took his wish in locking Negan up rather than killing him in order to maintain peace without death.

✦ As time went by, he started to fall more in love with you and he noticed your body more. He loved the way your clothes hugged your curves. He absolutely was infatuated with your body. From that point forward he just touched you ALWAYS. He adored cuddling with you, holding your hand, holding your waist. He hugs you from behind and rubs his hands along your tummy as he kisses your neck. He’s super sweet with you, after the war was over he was happy to just be able to relax and be gentle.

✦ As time goes on and you get older, the both of you take up leadership positions in Alexandria. You get to work together to better Alexandria. At some point you’re able to move into Deanna’s old home. When clearing it out, you find the old camera that she used to interview people. You’d watch each other’s interviews and giggle over the sweet stuff you said about each other.

a/n: sorry for not really incorporating the curvy part HEJSJFHDH i struggled a tad with that. i started doing match ups!!!! so if u want one u can read the info for that and it’s linked in my masterlist :))) i love u bye!!!!

tag list: @zomb-1-egutzz @lunarnightt @ilikestrawberriesandwomen @hiro--aoki @h00d-tr4sh @callsignwidow

[softguarnere]

Memories Feel Like Weapons

Edmund Pevensie x gn!reader

Summary: “People can be different. They can change. You’ve changed.” Gently, you use your pointer finger to hook his chin and turn his face towards you, making him look you in the eye. “You’re a good king, Edmund, and an even better man. A good brother. A good boyfriend. Everyone has forgiven you for what you did as a child.” A/N: What's up, y'all?! It's been freezing these past few days and I hate it! 🥴 So this is for all you other lovelies who are currently being plagued by SAD 🫶🏽 Also, in case it's not clear in the fic, for the purposes of the story, we're just gonna assume that reader's parents also sent them off to the country during the war to stay with the professor, that they met the Pevensie's there, and went to Narnia with them. Anyway, I hope you enjoy! ❤️ Warnings: Edmund has SAD but it's Narnia so it's never actually called that, the author is (once again) overusing commas

As interesting and as magical a place as Narnia is, you’re willing to admit that diplomatic negotiations are something that usually bore you to tears.

You try to take an interest, you really do, for Edmund’s sake. Political wheeling and dealing is his bread and butter. You’re not particularly adept at it yourself. Edmund has tried to explain the finer points to you many times, but it’s not something that you can wrap your head around. But maybe that’s just because you get too distracted thinking about how good looking your tutor is. Sometimes you raise a question or a particular point that you know he’ll jump to answer just to see how passionately he talks about his favorite subject. As far as you know, he hasn’t caught on yet.

Today proves to be different, though.

A chill in the air greets you when you awake. A crackling sound from the corner tells you that a servant has crept in at some point and started a fire in the hearth to stave off the cold. Blinking to adjust your eyes to the light, you’re greeted by the type of cold, white sunlight that announces a wintery morning and the season’s signature magical touch that often appears overnight – snow.

You leap out of bed, gasping when your feet kiss the cold floor. Hurrying to put on slippers, you wrap yourself in a fluffy robe and hurry to the door.

Edmund hates the winter. He hates the snow even more. No one can blame him for that. But you’re the only person he’s confessed this to.

Sure, his siblings might suspect as much. Those first few years in Narnia, no one dared suggest that they play in the snow whenever it arrived, for fear of what it might imply, and for fear of inadvertently upsetting the youngest Pevensie brother. After a few more years, he would find excuses to be tucked away in his library on snowy days, and no one would breathe a word of the fun they had without him while he was around. A delicate subject and a fine dance around it, to say the least.

It was only last winter that Edmund confided in you, and only because you had recently become a couple. He said the winter was hard enough on its own, but the snow brought back too many bad memories, ushered in nightmares so vivid that he sometimes woke up questioning what was real and what wasn’t.

This is going to be a rough day for him, to say the least. Which puts a damper on the mood, since ambassadors from a nearby kingdom are arriving to negotiate trade – something he was so looking forward to.

“Edmund?” Your voice seems too loud for the quiet library, and the echo makes you flinch slightly at the loudness of your own voice, at the desperate quality it holds.

Stepping further inside the room, you listen, and tune into the crackling of the fireplace along the far wall. You follow it until you can see the chairs in front of it, and in one of them, Edmund, slumped over a large tome, asleep.

He’ll have a crick in his neck from sleeping that way, you think. If you hadn’t known why he was here, finding him in his favorite place like this would be sweet. It still tugs on your heartstrings, yes, but in a different, heavier way.

“Edmund?” You gently shake his shoulder before stepping back.

The Just King startles awake, his book slipping out of his lap. His eyes are wide and wild as they flick across the room, struggling to make sense of his surroundings. Finally, they land on you and soften. “(Y/N)?”

“Good morning, sleepy head,” you reply, trying to keep your tone light, casual. “If you say that your neck doesn't hurt after sleeping like that, then you’re a liar.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The painful popping noises that echo from his spine say otherwise, but you let it go. Slowly, he rises, stretches, and then takes a step closer to you and plants a kiss on your forehead. He sighs through his nose. “Today is the day.”

You slip your hand into his, intwine your fingers. “How are you feeling?”

Edmund shrugs. His relationship with his siblings has improved leaps and bounds in all the years that they’ve spent in Narnia, but sometimes he still hesitates to show certain emotions around them, to express himself the way he should. Sometimes it’s easier when it’s just the two of you in a space like this where he’s comfortable.

“I’ll manage.”

“If you’re not feeling up to it – “

He squeezes your hand. “I’ll be fine. It’s just a day that I have to get through.”

“Spring will come again,” you assure him, using the mantra that you often whispered to comfort him through last year’s winter season.

“And we will greet it with open arms and grateful hearts,” he finishes. He attempts a smile, but it looks more strained than usual. “Don’t worry, darling. Everything will be fine.”

. . .

It is almost immediately not fine.

The ambassadors arrive in all their splendor. Fine fabrics and shimmering jewels assure that no one can take their eyes off them as they enter the hall and approach the five thrones. They bow to Peter in the center, to Susan and Lucy on his left, then to you and Edmund on his right. Servants carry golden trunks behind them. They have come to these diplomatic negotiations bearing gifts in the most literal sense.

Though you will all retire to a separate chamber for the actual negotiations, the gift giving is a public affair for the whole court to witness. And because it’s so formal, it’s rather slow.

Strong weapons forged of foreign metals are gifted, followed by clothes of their country’s latest fashions, and small samplings of food for each of you, a different dish for you each to try based on what the ambassadors have heard about you.

Thank goodness you’re a good actress, because the ambassadors seem to think that you really do seem excited to try the food in the bejeweled silver container that they gift to you. In reality, you’re trying your hardest not to grimace at the unfamiliar looking treats inside of it, and trying hard not to become preoccupied wondering if the taste will be as . . . unique as the smell that emits from them.

“And finally, for King Edmund,” one of the ambassadors says with a bow before presenting a silver container to Edmund with a flourish. “I have heard a rumor that you are quite fond of these.”

Thankful for a distraction from the gift in your own hands, you turn your attention to Edmund. Sitting beside him, you are in full view of the show that his siblings are not. You can see the rosy color, the powdered sugar. The Just King’s smile immediately falters. Strong hands clamp the container shut before anyone else has the chance to see what’s inside – Turkish Delight.

For a moment there is nothing but silence, the labored sound of Edmund drawing a breath. It goes on just long enough that his siblings glance at him. Only then does Edmund seem capable of forcing himself to smile, to nod, to thank the ambassador for such a thoughtful gift. If his siblings sense that something might be wrong, they don’t even know the half of it.

Because what has just happened, really? Is this a slight on behalf of the other country’s rulers? Or do they genuinely have no clue the implications of their actions?

As the exchanging of the gifts comes to a close, Edmund coughs into his fist, clears his throat. Does it again. He thumps the flat of his palm against his chest.

Peter turns to him. “Are you alright?”

“I think I just require a bit of fresh air, if you’ll excuse me for a moment,” Edmund replies. He says it far too quickly, and he uses the excuse to dismiss himself from the hall. The silver container that holds the Turkish Delight has been abandoned, left behind on his throne.

It takes everything in you not to race after him, to follow him, to make sure that he’s okay. Instead, you’re stuck helplessly glancing between the doorway that he’s disappeared through and the ambassadors who won’t seem to shut up.

Finally, the niceties end. The other king and queens of Narnia begin to migrate into a separate chamber with the ambassadors to begin the negotiations.

Quickly, quietly, you catch Lucy by the sleeve of her dress and lean in close to her ear. “I’ve got to go find Edmund,” you whisper. “I’m worried about him.”

Lucy’s eyes go wide, but she holds her composure under the watchful eyes of the court and the visiting representatives. “I’ll cover for you,” she whispers back.

As one of the five Narnian monarchs, you don’t technically need anyone’s permission to leave – except maybe Peter’s, since he’s the High King. Still, you’re the only one who’s not a Pevensie sibling, which can sometimes be a little isolating. Knowing that Lucy has your back boosts your confidence as you slip away, heading for the nearest place that you think Edmund might have disappeared to.

A quick search reveals that he’s not in the library. Or the armory, or any of his usual haunts. As a last resort, you duck into his bedroom, and it’s there that you find him, standing before the hearth, staring into the flames. His hand holds the place on his side where the White Witch stabbed him on the battlefield, though the gesture seems absentminded.

“Ed?” You make your voice soft so as not to startle him.

He looks up, eyes wide, surprised anyway – and hurt.

You don’t waste time asking if he’s okay. Instead, you cross the room to meet him in front of the fire. “Oh, Edmund.”

He doesn’t bother lying and saying that he’s fine. That’s how you know it’s bad. When Edmund Pevensie goes quiet, retreats within himself, it means that he’s truly wounded. This is something deep inside of him that aches, that rots.

Not knowing what to do, you take a seat on the rug in front of the hearth. You’re careful not to touch him, trying to offer him the space if he needs it. But he follows your lead and takes a seat, too, which seems like a good sign.

For a while, neither of you speaks. You just sit near each other, staring into the fire. Edmund looks very numb when he finally says, “I didn’t mean to leave like that. I just . . . panicked.”

“No one blames you.”

“Seeing that stupid Turkish Delight – “ He shudders. “I can’t figure out if it was a poor choice given with good intentions, or if it was a slight on my honor, a reminder of what I did.” He frowns. “I suppose to some people I’ll never be Edmund the Just – I’ll only ever be just Edmund, The Traitor.”

“No,” you protest. Space be damned; you grab his hand in yours and squeeze it, like that gesture can also grab his attention, infuse the meaning of what you’re about to say to him so that he cannot ignore it. “Edmund, you’ve changed. You’re not a traitor.”

“Anymore.”

“People forget that I was there, too,” you remind him. “I tried to follow you to Jadis’ castle.”

“That was different. You were trying to stop me from betraying my family.” His brow furrows at the memory. “So I shoved you into a snowbank and ran off without you. And then you went back to Beaver’s the help the others. (Y/N) the Loyal,” he employs the epithet that Aslan gave you, but you can’t be sure why. Because of what you did then? Because you’re here with him now?

“People can be different. They can change. You’ve changed.” Gently, you use your pointer finger to hook his chin and turn his face towards you, making him look you in the eye. “You’re a good king, Edmund, and an even better man. A good brother. A good boyfriend. Everyone has forgiven you for what you did as a child.”

Edmund shakes his head. “But they haven’t forgotten. And I can’t, either, if I’m being honest.” He doesn’t meet your eye when he confesses, “It haunts me, the memories. Every winter.”

“No. But you can do something else.” You pause to make sure that you have his full attention when you make your suggestion. “You can forgive yourself.”

Edmund blinks. As smart as he is, it seems like the thought has never occurred to him before now.

“It doesn’t have to be now,” you assure him. “It’s not an instantaneous thing. Just . . . something to work on. A project. An ongoing one.”

Silence falls between you again as he turns back to the fire. It takes a few moments before he nods, the light shining off his dark hair and his crown.

“I’ll work on it,” he says, resolved. He turns back to you, and when he speaks again, his voice is so unsure, so timid, that you have the sudden urge to hold onto him with one arm and use your other to draw your sword and fend off anything or anyone in the world who might come near and cause him harm. “Can you help me do it?”

You nod. “Of course.”

“Thank you,” he clears his throat, shakes his head. “I’m going to need more than my own forgiveness for being late to these negotiations.” He makes no move to get up. His gaze wanders across the room, as if seeing it for the first time, before landing on the window and studying the portal to the frozen, white world beyond it.

“You don’t have to go if you don’t feel up to it.” Then, trying to lighten the mood, you bump your shoulder against his. “I’m sure Susan and Lucy ganging up on the ambassadors will give them a run for their money.”

Edmund chuckles, settles back on the rug. “Good, because I honestly don’t think I can look into the eye of a person who tried to give me Turkish Delight without hitting him over the head with my sword.”

Even though you’re in a relationship, it’s maybe the most vulnerable that Edmund has ever been with you. He places his head in your lap and stares into the hearth as you card your hands through his dark locks.

“Spring is coming soon,” he mutters, his voice heavy with the sleep that’s trying to catch up with him. “Maybe then I can start over . . . Would be nice to not have to worry about freaking out over a bad gift and embarrassing myself in front of the whole court.”

“Spring will come again,” you remind him, voice soft in case he’s already dropped off to sleep. “And we will greet it with open arms and grateful hearts.” Then, for good measure, you add a new line to aid you through your latest challenge. “And it will allow us to start over.”

[cometchasinglove]

Starscream and Jayce: Dynamic Rundown

Ah, these two…my main ship for my AU!

Early on, Starscream certainly doesn’t like Jayce, but he doesn’t despite her with a passion either. At least, not as much as he says he does. Starscream, although repulsed by humans, does find value in Jayce. He was the one who suggested that Megatron should keep her in the first place. After all, the Autobots use humans to their advantage, don’t they?

Of course, he still complains about her, huffing about how high maintenance she is and the like. Similarly, Jayce frequently scowls at him. She hates it whenever he refers to her as “vermin”, and rightfully calls him out on it. She knows that he can’t do anything to harm her with Megatron around. The two snark at each other constantly, but there’s no genuine malice.

After a mission that went awry, Megatron actually tries to beat Starscream for almost murdering Jayce in the cockpit of his jet mode.

(It’s accidental. Starscream wanted to scare her with loop-de-loops, unaware that she required a g-suit and a helmet).

Before Megatron could punish him too severely, Jayce makes it out of the medical bay at just the right moment to stop him. She brings Starscream to the lab to treat his wounds, and then she stays with him for the rest of the night. The Seeker is absolutely puzzled. He believes that she wants something from him; he cannot fathom the fact that she saved him from the kindness of her heart.

This is a crucial moment in their story. It helps the two change their tune about each other. It’s also brought up again much later, during another significant moment in my AU.

During their MECH Arc/Rogue Arc, the two grow closer together. It’s much easier since they’re both away from Megatron and the Nemesis. Well, at least at that point. Season Three is rough on both of them.

Starscream learns to view Jayce as a friend. The feeling is mutual on her part as well. Sure, there’s some ups and downs, even a tremendous mistake on Starscream’s end (which involves the creation of her scar).

It takes PLENTY of time, devotion, patience, and trust for them to reach a certain level of intimacy and closeness together. It’s difficult, but definitely not impossible.

When the two form a connection, Starscream is SUCH a tease towards her, and Jayce responds with peeps and blushes, just the way he likes it. However, there are instances where she flips the tables on him to surprise him!

Eventually, Starscream vows to never let her be hurt again, especially by him.

He even has two special names for her! It’s either “Mouse/Little Mouse” or “Comet”. The former refers to her cuteness and smallness, a huge step up from the initial “rodent” meaning. The latter pet name, however, comes from her love for outer space. During their shared arc as rogues, they stargazed and Starscream told her about living Cybertron.

Much like him, Jayce calls him “Raptor” or “Dove”. The latter, of course, is used during moments of sweetness without teasing (such as the former).

Starscream becomes possessive and a bit jealous sometimes, such as when Jayce hangs out with her best friend, Tayden, or the other bots. Still, Jayce’s heart continues to stay with the same Cybertronian.

Besides Dreadwing, Soundwave, and the Predacons, Starscream is the only mech who listens to her sing. Initially, he teases her for it (which sucks). However, he grows to appreciate it. Jayce can sing pretty damn well actually, she just doesn’t outwardly sing in front of others. She’s too shy. She will, however, hum for Starscream. Maybe even sing so, so very softly for him.

After the war and Cybertron’s revival, the two experience nightmares. It requires comfort from both parties. It’s something soft and gentle, just what they need.

Stargazing is still a common pastime for them! Only now, after she receives her upgrade from Primus (the pink and gold suit) Jayce can fly and keep up with him, too. He finally has a flying buddy!

On Earth, Jayce likes to bring him to the beach. As a former lifeguard, the redhead LOVES to swim. Starscream? Not really, but he admires her in her bathing suit.

Although Jayce forms friendships in unlikely places, she shares her strongest bond with Starscream. It’s not hard to see why. The two go through a lot together, and I’m proud of them.

Divider Credit: @/saradika

Art Credit: @/destinysquared

[ww2yaoi]

[I caved and started writing a webgott fic even though I'm 23 years late. this ground has definitely been traversed before but I'm an advocate for the webgott 2024 renaissance. here's a taste]

The war is over, and still, David and Joe are butting heads, velvet-shed antlers clashing like rival bucks during rutting season.

David’s not sure what he expected. He thought after the exultation of taking Berchtesgaden and raiding it of its liquour and silverware Joe might lighten up. He’d smiled so much that day, drank vintage champagne straight from the bottle, tore down Nazi flags and ripped them to ribbons. Something had broken in him at Landsberg, David knows that much, but he’d been hopeful that as the war tempered so too would Joe’s ire. Now he knows he’d been naive to think so.

Joe parks the Jeep outside the hotel where they’re billeted and wrestles the keys from the ignition. He climbs out and slams the door without another word, jump boots clomping against the cobblestones as he stalks away. David sits silently in the passenger’s side, Skinny’s eyes burning holes in the back of his head. He presses his lips into a thin line, sucks them between his teeth and bites down.

Captain Speirs had no right to give that order, least of all to Joe. They had no reason to keep fighting, no reason to dirty their hands when the old blood stains still linger. Leave that to the MPs and the military tribunals, their war was supposed to be over.

David gets out of the Jeep but decides not to follow after Joe. He knows the more he seeks Joe out, the more Joe will push him away. Instead, he walks, weaving through the streets of Zell am See, past shops and cafes and chalets all untouched by the ravages of war. Hitler’s home country, the birthplace of so much death and destruction, and it has the ersatz gloss of a resort town. The irony is not lost on David. He’ll write about it later if he gets the chance.

Birds chirp in the trees. Locals stroll past him, well-dressed in their spring clothes and chatting away jovially amongst themselves. They regard him without much fanfare, used to the sight of American soldiers by now. The water of Lake Zell is so blue it makes David’s eyes ache. He fishes his cigarettes from the pocket of his paratrooper jacket and slides one into his mouth, fiddling with his Zippo until the flame sparks and lights the tip.

The first inhale brings David back to the mountains, that cabin on the hill, chickens clucking in their pen. The hit of nicotine had done little to calm his nerves as Joe shouted at the kommandant in his Austrian-tinged German. David had just about jumped out of his skin when the shot rang out and the kommandant burst from the cabin, bleeding from his neck. Joe had bled from his neck in Holland. He has the scar to prove it. Sometimes, when they’re sitting side-by-side in the truck and Joe’s not looking, David will stare at it, curling his fist at his side to stop himself from reaching out and smoothing his thumb over the puckered skin.

He keeps walking, smoking his cigarette down to the filter. Eventually, he comes upon a church, throwing his cigarette to the ground and stamping it out. The imposing wooden doors are open to let the tepid May air waft inside. David steps across the threshold and the piquant smell of incense hits his nose, olibanum and myrrh.

The church is empty except for a custodian sweeping the floor by the pulpit, but the man eventually disappears into a room at the back. David sits at the pew closest to the door, the knotty wood ungiving against his back. He admires the stained glass windows, cyan and crimson and gold with the pious faces of saints. The apses vault high above him, the air that rains down from the rafters drafty and filled with dust motes. It would be easy to imagine what this place would look like had the fighting swept through here, but David tries not to. It’s too beautiful a church for that kind of exercise.

David let his Catholicism lapse years ago, before the war even started really. His family was never that religious, only attending services on Christmas and Easter, but David prays now. He doesn’t go as far as kneeling on the tuffet or even interlocking his fingers, but pray he does, letting his eyes flutter closed for a moment. He asks God, if there even is one, to take Joe’s pain and put it elsewhere, to spare him the anger and the hurt, the need for revenge that undoubtedly itches underneath his skin. He’s sure if Joe knew what he was doing, sitting here asking his Christian god to save a Jew, he would laugh in his face, but David’s not ashamed of it. If anything, he’s desperate. He’s not sure if Joe is ever going to speak to him again, even though he’s well aware that Joe tends to run hot only to cool back down a few days later.

Maybe this time is different though. Maybe this is what finally breaks the unsturdy bridge David has built between them since he missed Bastogne, possibly to the point of irreparability. He sits there, trying to parse what he feels. Perhaps it would be a relief to let their friendship shatter in his unwieldy hands. No more tiptoeing around Joe’s persistent bitterness, his bad moods that seem to bubble up with the slightest prodding. Then again, David doesn’t think it’d be a relief at all. He’s not even angry at Joe. If anything, he’s upset they’re still here after the Germans have surrendered, stuck cleaning up a mess that was never theirs in the first place.

Sometimes, David is so angry he forgets to breathe. Was he like this before the war? He can barely remember. Back at Harvard, he used to get heated in his classes, arguing passionately with his peers about Proust or Dostoevsky, but he knew how trivial it was even then. It was just a game he liked to play, something to make the hours he spent stuck in lecture halls go by faster. He doubts there’s anything he can do here to make the time pass quicker. There’s probably nothing Joe can do either.

With that, David gets up from the pew and exits the church. He steps back into the golden blare of the Austrian sunshine, headed towards Easy’s billet.

[urlyngendary]

𝘋𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨?

I was bored, and I'm REALLY into Destiny 2, so I went through and read EVERYTHING that has been said about the game's fungus of darkness: egregore. If you're interested in Destiny lore and always wanted to know more about egregore, here is every fact we've been told about it!

• Egregore is found on Emperor Calus's ship the Glykon, it is described as a type of fungus, coating oneself in its spores allows passage through strange barriers.

• Savathûn as Osiris called the egregore "cores of Darkness." and points out how The Drifter houses similar flora.

• Emperor Calus's Leviathan returns and parks itself above the Moon, the star-eating ship is infested with the egregore, with a new type of it, petrified egregore, players can collect this, which means it is safe/stable for humans to be around.

• Research into the normal egregore takes place in earth, but after the fungus proves itself unsafe the project is shut down, and all samples of the fungus on Earth are burned to prevent any spread.

• The egregore has some sort of potential link to the nightmares, as the Nightmare Harvester is comprised of the following materials:

- Fundamental Osminium

- Petrified Egregore

- Soulfire Ichor

- Dark Ether

• The egregore latches onto a host's skull and acts as a superior nervous system, bending its host's will to the Darkness.

• "Egregore opens one's consciousness to the Darkness, allowing passage through fungal barriers" - Eris Morn

• Eris Morn describes the egregore to a hidden agent, describing it as something similar to the synapses of our nervous system. It is a physical manifestation of Darkness. "Like Stasis. But unlike Stasis, it appears to be an "impure" manifestation- her words, not mine."

• Sometime during Season of the Haunted, Eris learns that the Drifter has egregore with him, he's had it for years; he's had it since he returned to Earth after the Red War.

• The place The Drifter took egregore from was that unnamed icy planet outside of the system. This planet is riddled with "alien monoliths" that each house creatures that appear to be frozen in ice, these creatures have a light supressing field to them, and are described as being gooey and without heads. Their bioenergies are similar to that of Hive, but no such records of these creatures exist, they are said to slither, thousands of them live on the planet. These monoliths seem to be Pyramid-esc, just as there is creatures frozen in all the pyramids we've been inside.

• The egregore "sings" when it is burned, as Drifter calls it, this "singing" establishes some sort of resonance with the pyramids.

• Eris burns egregore on Europa and The Throne World, she sees the pyramids of Europa, The Moon, and the Throne World merge, along with the Glykon and the Leviathan.

• During Season of Defiance, a warlock named Druis discovers Egregore in the Ascendant Plane, she is nearly conquered by it. I would describe the way egregore ensnares its prey is somewhat horrifying. Any attempts for Druis to channel her light are temporarily thwarted by the growths, a "persuasive whisper" reaches through her mind, and terrible memories return to her. Druis eventually channels light and obtains an Awoken Favour. Open being granted the favour of the Awoken, the egregore behaves in a way we have not seen before- It crystalizes into something reminiscent of amethyst, and shatters. The remaining infestation physically recoils as if being burned away in reaction to her light, sulking away.

Let me know if you like this sort've thing! If you've always wanted to get into the story of this videogame and don't know where to look, I can TLDR something for ya!

[knightprincess]

We Are One (A Star Wars Oneshot)

Words: 1.5k Warnings: Only if you count terrible singing! Summary: The boys of Clone Force 99 have a little fun at Pabu's Life Day festival. Set Post TBB Season 3 Note: Tech's alive in this! Mox, Deke, and Stak were adopted by the Bad Batch. Also Lion King Parady (I think)

Pabu had been its ever-peaceful self since Hemlock’s demise and the fall of the Advance Science Division. Since all knowledge of Omega had been explosively wiped from the Empire’s databanks. The members of Clone Force 99 had retired and worked to build a life outside of running, outside of being soldiers. Now, they worked to help Pabu thrive and focused on being the family they’d always been at heart.

The days had been quiet outside the odd bouts of mischief from Omega, Mox, Deke, and Stak. Sometimes, Lyana would be involved, too, although most of the time, the mayor’s daughter sat back and watched the chaos unfold.

On the odd occasion, things would take a different turn. Omega would remain in the little family domicile and spend time with her brothers. Sometimes, it would be random games with Wrecker that would soon involve the others or asking Tech questions about the most unusual things; mimicking Hunter and Crosshair were her favorites, as were the experiments in the kitchen and getting to hug Echo when he finally decided to drop by for a visit.

Movie nights were also a weekly occurrence. Sometimes, they went by without much hassle, but most times, they ended in a popcorn fight. Phee would join in when she was there. Stories of the past were an everyday occurrence. Tech would matter-of-factly tell his own, always ready to answer any questions. Hunter always ensured he was child-friendly, even when telling them to Stak, Deke, and Mox. Echo told the stories of his own cadet days and the endless chaos he caused with Fives, Jesse, and Kix. Whereas Crosshair would spare no one’s feelings and tell each story in all its glorious detail. While often throwing his brothers under the metaphorical bus.

Unknown to most, though, the constant questions about the past and begging for stories to be told had all been a distraction for the most part. Omega, Mox, Stak, and Deke had mischief in the works and had once again roped Lyana into helping. The mayor’s daughter had also taken the time to distract Phee, asking for stories on her adventures across the galaxy, both in famous treasure hunts and for the priceless artifacts she so often brought back.

“So how are we going to get them to sing the intended song?” asked Stak, suspecting it would be no easy task to get Hunter, Tech, Wrecker, or Crosshair to sing anything, especially the snarky sniper. Echo wouldn’t be easy to convince either if he happened to stop by in another unannounced visit again after all previous attempts had failed for the most part. Only Wrecker had played along, as had Phee on a few occasions.

“Leave that to me,” announced Phee as she walked past. Her destination was clear: the atrium, likely to place another priceless artifact inside. “Either that or use your powers of being adorable kids to your advantage,” she added with that knowing smile. After all she knew, Omega practically had Hunter and Crosshair wrapped around her little finger.

~* Weeks Later *~

The plan was in motion; with the help of Phee, everything had been set up. The small Life Day festival was already in full swing, with stalls in the large square at the top of the island, lights strung in the streets, hanging in trees, and carefully fixed to the large sea walls. Music was played live via instruments and random pieces over the holonet, and transceivers set up.

Omega and Lyana danced together and laughed amidst their fun; the boys were roped into joining them, too. Echo had stopped by for a visit, bringing Rex, Howzer, Gregor, Cody, and Wolffe with him. Each seemingly found a sense of peace during the visit, even if it was about to be disturbed by the attempt the five mischievous ones had in mind to commit.

At the request of Phee, a specific song was played by those playing instruments at the festival. A smile painted on her lips to see Tech had recognized the tune; after all, she’d spent time getting each member of the Bad Batch prepared for the event. All to surprise Omega, Mox, Stak, and Deke. For once, putting the four in the center of the mischief and potential embarrassment.

“As you go through life, you’ll see there is so much that we don’t understand,” began Tech, unsure of his own talents when it came to singing but going with the flow nonetheless. Mox stood between Phee, and Tech went wide-eyed. “And the only thing we know is things don’t always go the way we planned.”

“But you’ll see every day that we’ll never turn away when your dreams come undone,” continued Crosshair, creeping upon Deke, ensuring the former cadet knew he couldn’t escape this. Like Mox, his eyes went bold, and his cheeks began to redden, even more so when the attention of those attending the festival turned to Crosshair and those singing. “We will stand by your side, filled with hope and filled with pride. We are more than we are. We are one.”

“This is so embarrassing,” commented Deke.

“Did we miss something?” asked Howzer as Gregor all but whistled and cheered from his side.

“Family, family, we are one,” began Shev and Phee, either side of Lyana, who tried her hardest to hide behind the scarf she’d chosen to wear that day. “Family, family, we are one,” they repeated; this time, Phee casually walked away, stopping at Echo’s side as if indicating he, too, had some part in it.

“Something you want to tell us, Echo?” voiced Rex, recalling all the mischief the Arc Trooper had caused during the war.

“For once, I’m innocent in this,” replied Echo, attempting to plead his case, although he quickly understood it was unlikely to work.

“You are anything but innocent, especially when Fives was around,” called Cody. A grin appeared across his lips now, even more so to see Wolffe’s utter confusion, although the battle-worn commander was starting to sway to the music.

“If there’s so much I must be, can I still just be me the way I am?” sang Omega, throwing caution to the wind and joining in before Hunter had the chance to catch her as Tech and Crosshair had thrown Mox and Deke into the spotlight.

“Can I trust in my own heart, or am I just one part of some big plan?” added Lyana before dancing off with Omega, spotting Stak trying to hide now, likely having worked out he too wouldn’t be able to escape the off-key singing or the spotlight destined to find him at Wrecker’s hand.

“Even those who are gone are with us as we go on. Your journey has only begun,” sang Hunter, appearing next to Echo, deciding to throw the Arc Trooper in the limelight instead. “Tears of pain, tears of joy. One thing nothing can destroy is our pride. Deep inside, we are one.”

“I’m starting to like these boys more and more,” commented Wolffe, his smirk slowly morphing into something that resembled a natural smile as he slurped his coconut drink. Gregor was at his side, offering a chuckle filled with mischief, almost like he was taking ideas from the display happening before him.

“Family, family, we are one,” sang the entirety of Clone Force 99, Crosshair, with his arm thrown over Hunter’s shoulder. “Family, family, we are one,” they repeated—this time with Gregor joining in and Howzer humming along to the catchy tune.

“And I thought your boys had lost their marbles,” said Cody, looking to Rex, who had since been cast into silence. However, it remained unknown what had caused it. The members of Clone Force 99 are off-key singing or just the unlikely scene in general.

“Just be glad this didn’t take place during the war,” commented Echo, suspecting the boys of the Bad Batch weren’t above doing something like this during their frat boy days.

“That would have been legendary,” replied Howzer, once again hearing Gregor chuckle, this time at Wolffe’s expression, the former commander silently asking if the captain had gone crazy.

“We are one, you and I. We are like the earth and sky. One family under the sun,” started Wrecker, a wide smile stretching over his lips as he threw an arm over Stak, preventing the former cadet from hiding longer or escaping. “All the wisdom to lead,” he added as he pointed to Hunter, “All the courage that you need,” sang Wrecker, pointing to Crosshair. “You will find when you see we are one.”

“Family, family, we are one,” sang Gregor, louder than anyone else but with the largest grin. “Come on, old Wolffy. Family, family, we are one,” added Gregor.

“Eh, what the hell,” spoke Echo before throwing his scompt arm over Rex’s shoulder, “Family, family, we are one.”

“That’s the spirit,” called Phee from her spot across the square, holding a brightly colored drink of her own.

“Family, family, we are one,” sang Omega, Stak, Deke, and Mox around her and Lyana. Now that the embarrassment had faded, they seemed to find the funny side of everything, although they swore revenge for the cleverly planned-out display.

“Family, family, we are one.”

Masterlist

[bridenore]

HD House Magic fic recs

Here are a few Harry/Draco recs featuring house magic. Listed in alphabetical order, as always.

Changing with the season by @harryromper [36k]

Harry’s determined the first time he hosts the extended Weasley clan for Christmas will be a success. The Grimmauld Place advent calendar has other ideas … until Draco shows up to help.

The Claiming of Grimmauld Place by @bixgirl1 [74k]

When Grimmauld Place begins fighting against Harry’s ownership of it, he decides he needs help to train the historic home — but little does he expect that it’ll be Malfoy who’s most suitable for the challenge. However, as Malfoy and Harry get closer, Harry comes to understand that expectations aren’t always the best path by which to guide his heart — and in the process learns just what is needed to make a house a home.

Coffee, Cakes and Doorknob Snakes by Omi_Ohmy [40k]

Harry’s house is trying to kill him, and only one person can help him: pity it’s Draco Malfoy.

Make Yourself by @anyaelizabethfic​ [103k]

Harry just wants to be safe within the freshly painted walls of Grimmauld Place, with his friends around him. But when he hears Draco Malfoy has been spotted at the local soup kitchen, he can’t help but encourage a different type of stray to come under his roof.

Martyred by @doingthechachaslide [82k]

Harry Potter only wants one thing: to take care of the people he loves. After Teddy’s abrupt departure from his role as Andromeda’s caretaker, Harry decides it’s finally time to step up and handle the job himself. Castoff Manor, an old Black family estate, has never seemed as sinister as the stories make it sound, but it’s there that Harry stumbles upon ghosts, haunting family secrets, and a familiar, snarky blond gardener hell-bent on chasing him out. Maybe if Harry sticks around long enough, he’ll finally learn why all of Andromeda’s previous caretakers have fled without looking back.

Matchmaker, Matchmaker by @firethesound [11k]

Sometimes, Harry can't help but wonder why such strange shit always happens to him.

Stately Homes of Wiltshire  by @waspabi [57k]

Malfoy Manor has mould, dry rot and an infestation of unusually historical poltergeists. Harry Potter is on the case.

Title & Possession by @kbrick [49k]

Harry Potter’s life is going well in the aftermath of the war. Sure, his house is dark and run-down and might hate him (while his house elf definitely hates him). But other than that, things are good. Except, yeah, okay, Hermione and Ron are no longer on speaking terms. Worse, they keep trying to get Harry to pick sides. But otherwise, Harry couldn’t be happier. Well. Except for the fact that Ginny is being super weird about their relationship and never wants to have sex or talk about the future. But other than that, Harry is perfectly fine, thankyouverymuch. At least, he is until Draco Malfoy sues him for ownership of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. Then Harry really isn’t fine at all.

The Unknown Door by @amywaterwings [60k]

There is something wrong with the Bellcrest. The heart of the place beats rotten. Everyone says so. Where Draco is a magical property manager, Harry is a recluse, and they’re definitely not hiding from their problems in the run-down flats of the Bellcrest. Not at all. Not one bit. It goes as well as one might expect.

The Unplottable Time Conundrum by @writcraft [45k]

When the past starts bleeding into the present at Grimmauld Place, an old academic article pulls Draco Malfoy out of his life of luxury. Haunted by the memory of a fleeting post-war kiss and thrust into the ghostly spaces inhabited by Unspeakable Harry Potter, Draco’s easy life is about to get a whole lot more complicated.

What Dreams May Come by @firethesound [36k]

If Harry had to get called into work on his day off, at least he was able to get Malfoy called in too.

What We Pretend We Can’t See by @gyzym [131k]

Seven years out from the war, Harry learns the hard truth of old history: it’s never quite as far behind you as you thought.

Who Will Guard the Door by musamihi [36k]

The day his father is sentenced, Draco takes the Mark and is given his impossible task. Thorfinn Rowle, assigned to be his mentor, is less interested in assisting him than in satisfying his own appetites. As Draco sinks further into failure and watches the war sweep his parents away from him, he takes refuge in the Manor – a member of the family he never knew he had. But the Manor suffers its own wounds during Lord Voldemort’s residency, and the Chosen One may be the only force that can heal them.

You open always (petal by petal) by birdsofshore [65k]

Harry’s not the kind of person who pays for sex. He really isn’t. Until he is.

I hope you enjoy these stories as much as I did!

[arielstruggles]

Random Din Djarin thoughts/HCs

WARNING: CONTAINS ADULT CONTENT (mdni)

a/n: i love star wars and the mandalorian in particular but i'm not the most knowledgeable person about the universe and these are basically just my thoughts.

He is definitely touch starved. Like he has no idea feeling somebody's warmth so when you first hold hands he gets a boner. His hands roam over your body. (sorry not sorry)

He has a bit of experience here and there and had a couple of relationships but not much since he can't show his face before he gets married.

An ass man. %100. Like his hands immediately finds their places on your ass.

At first he is so distant and he does not name what you two have because he thinks you will ask him to show his face and he will end things between you two. He just sees it as a bodyly pleasure. He does not kiss you or eat you out at all. You blow him and you two have just rough sex.

You masturbate together, like watch each other and come together.

But he is a sentimental guy. So the more you respect his boundaries the more he wants to know about you and with time he falls for you. Your smile, the way your voice comes out high pitched when you get excited... he feels warm and fuzzy. And it takes time for him to acknowledge the depth of his feelings. So you start love making too.

He remembers small details about you. Your favorite color, your favorite flower.

A little bit cocky. He knows hoe easily he can turn you on.

He has moments that he wants to be rough, in those moments he does not hold anything back. ANYTHING. With your consent obviously.

He dreams about kissing you, feeling those soft lips of yours on his.

But for a long time he does not even offers you to use a blindfold or anything. You just simply do not kiss. And you don't ask him to do that.

But one day he offers to use a blindfold because he wants to devour you which unlocks new kinks e.g.: bondage. He feels more in charge and all. He kisses every part of your body, he licks, bites as if he is starving. He eats you out for hours, makes you come on his tongue, more than once because like please, he never ate someone out and needs skin to skin contact.

A little too blunt which may break your heart sometimes.

Seeing you taking care of grogu somehow makes him feel domestic. And you move to a cabin eventually. (season 3 spoilers)

Not into long aftercares he just cleans you with a wash cloth.

Takes good care of his ship like cleans and tidies it religiously.

Takes you on little dates in different planets if he has time but like it does not happen so often.

Not the most romantic guy ever but still affectionate.

He is smart, really smart.

He loves being a power bottom

Whispers dirty words in your ear when you are in public to make you flushed and considering how sexy his voice is, it works. "are you gonna be my pretty little slut tonight?"

After a while he does not even use blindfold to kiss you, he just asks for you to close your eyes and you do duh.

He loves when you grind on his thigh, especially on the beskar plate on his thigh. One day when he sits on the cockpit in pitch black outer space you sit on his thigh and slowly start rubbing on him and he does not say anything which sort of encourages you to continue and after a while you hear his breath picking up, moaning.

Loves when you cook for him because he does not like cooking fancy stuff.

He wants you to spoon him.

He eventually proposes you and shows you his face after getting married. He has a a hard time with getting used to walk around you without his helmet at first.

Okay that's it for now thanks, bye!

[tallerthantale]

What Does Aziraphale Actually Believe, Part 7: Armageddidn’t Begins

This is a series of my takes on what Aziraphale believes through the timeline of the show. It is all my personal interpretation, and I am happy to hear others. You don’t need to read them all in order, but know that I am coming from a perspective on Aziraphale’s machinations that can be difficult for people without a psychology background to follow without the first two as a primer. The quick version is that Aziraphale has a set of beliefs that exist in some form or another within his mind. However, at any given moment, only some of them exist ‘with awareness’ or as I am putting it here, conscious!Aziraphale only has access to the beliefs that the rest of his mind, veil!Aziraphale, allows him to know about. The context of the moment will determine what lives on the surface and what stays buried behind the veil, whatever arrangement best prevents a threat to Aziraphale’s sense of self and makes whatever he is inclined to do feel right.

This post covers modern Season 1 up to the end of the Bandstand, with the bulk of it on that fight. Its too long. I can't stop myself. I apologise profusely. About 3.3k words.

The Modern Era

We come into the modern era with an Aziraphale who knows he is in love with a demon, knows heaven is run by morally bankrupt stooges, is willing to accept he is represented by shades of light grey, but will still say with a straight face that Armageddon will be heaven’s glorious triumph over evil and it will all be rather lovely.

Crowley doesn’t believe Azriraphale really believes that, and after getting drunk Aziraphale admits he doesn’t like it either. He was trying to convince himself, and it worked for a short time, like some of his temporary beliefs at Uz. Just like he can’t maintain the idea that he is suited to a life in hell, he can’t maintain the idea that Armageddon is good. He still has conflicting feelings about working with Crowley. “Get thee behind me foul fiend” is a joke. “We’re hereditary enemies” isn’t.

Aziraphale agrees to go along with raising the antichrist towards good as long as he can frame it as thwarting evil, and present it to his supervisors as part of his official duties. Once that rationalisation is in place he is practically beaming about the idea of stopping Armageddon by getting to be a positive influence godfather. I think at this point he has convinced himself that the ineffable plan is to prevent the great plan. He is so invested that he is surprised and frustrated that the other angels consider his work doomed to failure.

Doomsweek

The kid's grown up, and Aziraphale and Crowley are workshopping a backup plan. Crowley wants Aziraphale to kill the antichrist. He makes a greater good argument because he knows Aziraphale responds to those sometimes. Aziraphale still insists that he has never killed anything before. The executioner doesn't count. The meat doesn't count. There's no blood on his hands literally, there's no blood on his hands figuratively. Aziraphale doesn't disagree that it would be for the greater good, but he still isn't willing to do it. Neither is Crowley.

On the way to the ex-nunnery Aziraphale gives a whole ass speech about evil containing the seeds of its own destruction. It is very self righteous, and the speech does ingroup Crowley into that evil. He is the one who botched the baby switch over. It's a way for Aziraphale to not worry about the prospect of hell winning the war, as he is trying to accept the inevitability of the great plan. At the same time, I think it was an attempt from Aziraphale to argue that to the extent Crowley was involved in things going wrong, the blame was with the role he was playing as an employee of hell, for which he is not responsible. As in, it wasn't that you were a low quality employee of hell, hell's plans are inherently doomed to failure. I think from Crowley’s perspective it reads as ‘demons will inevitably fuck everything up, it’s what you do.’ Not that different to Aziraphale’s ”you’re a demon, that's [lying] what you do,” from the previous night. 

Paintball

I could pretend like we are going to talk about guns giving weight to a moral argument, but honestly their positions here are more for exposition of the way Aziraphale and Crowley’s paired traits often subvert expectations. Aziraphale the angel is more willing to consider violence or the threat of violence worthwhile than Crowley the demon is. The actual merits and disadvantages of absolutist pacifism aren't really something they are hashing out. We’re here for the saucy bits.

While I did enjoy reading the theory that Aziraphale had Crowley time miracle the coat so that it never had the paint in it in the first place, whilst also eliminating Aziraphale’s memory of the paint, I don’t buy it. There was no reason Aziraphale couldn’t just miracle the paint away himself. He still remembers that the paint was there and that Crowley miracled it away. When he rambles about “but I would always know it was there… “ He is spouting nonsense. The pivotal part of the communication is not his flimsy words, it’s him slowly hopping his shoulder towards Crowley’s face while making puppy eyes. ‘But would Aziraphale really just make up obvious lies to Crowley like that?’ you ask. “Is that a travel sweet?” I retort. See this gif breakdown of the paint miracle scene.

Why the act? Because as much as Aziraphale knows he is in love with a demon, he wants Crowley to do all the romancing bits. It’s mirroring the Bastille nonsense, baiting Crowley to come to the rescue. Before he was still lying to himself about his motivations, now he knows them, but can’t speak them. Here there are enough clues for Crowley to figure out what Aziraphale wants him to do, but not necessarily why he wants it, and Aziraphale isn’t ready to have that conversation.  See the spicy meta.

Aziraphale continues to regard Crowley to be a nice and good person, who is living in the transient condition of being existentially evil due to his current demonic status. This is pretty out of step with how Crowley views himself, which is its own complicated mess, and it’s something he is touchy about. Enough to make him angry and 'slam' Aziraphale into a wall. Not that Aziraphale regrets any of it for a second. Maybe he regrets getting interrupted. 

We get another glimpse at Aziraphale’s conceptualisation of angels and demons. Crowley refers to them both together as occult forces. Entities that are basically the same thing. Aziraphale takes offence to being described as occult, and insists that as an angel he is ethereal. I think these descriptions follow their metaphysical properties, not their professional role. Crowley might call himself a former demon after getting fired, Michael might call Aziraphale a former angel after Aziraphale is sacked, but Crowley is still occult, and Aziraphale is still ethereal. Aziraphale’s concept of abstract existential alignment with good and evil goes to the occult / ethereal distinction, not the professional one. 

Aziraphale doesn't tell Crowley he has found the antichrist. In my opinion, this is 100% because he knows Crowley will respond by telling him to kill the antichrist, and Aziraphale already knows he isn't willing to do that. He wants to have his own alternative plan before he tells Crowley. Unfortunately, he's often not very good at the coming up with his own plan part, so the strategy doesn't really work out for him.

Crowley Gives Mixed Messages Too

I think it has been and continues to be Aziraphale’s hope to bring Crowley back to angelic status. And I think there are reasons why he believes Crowley wants that too.

Crowley and Aziraphale are often speaking not quite the same language. They’ve got different exactlys. The Bandstand scene starts right off the bat with a small example.

“Have you found the missing antichrist’s name, address, and shoe size yet?”

“His shoe size, why would I have his shoe size?”

If Crowley spoke Aziraphale’s language a bit better he might have noticed Aziraphale just admitted to knowing the antichrist’s name and address. If he hadn't found any of the facts, he would have just said no. Crowley takes it as sass because that's what it would have been if he had said it himself. This will be the theme of the Bandstand, they each interpret what has been said to them as if it meant what they would have meant if they had personally said it. 

Crowley gets shouty about the Great blasted Plan. When Aziraphale responds, “May you be forgiven,” it isn’t just about shaming Crowley for lashing out, Aziraphale is starting to be resigned to the idea that Armageddon will happen, he believes heaven will win, and he doesn’t want Crowley destroyed. Aziraphale is saying 'may you be spared from the destruction of the great plan.'

Crowley responds, “I won’t be forgiven. Not ever. Part of a demon’s job description. Unforgivable, that’s what I am.” Crowley is making a philosophical incision. Aziraphale’s phrasing called to mind forgiveness from an authority outside himself, presumably God. Crowley is commenting that were God to grant that forgiveness, it would create a paradox. When God made Crowley a demon, She declared him unforgivable. God is infallible, so She can’t forgive him without being wrong, and She can’t be wrong. It isn’t meant as a representation of Crowley’s actual opinion, he isn't being self deprecating, it's a statement presented for the sake of argument, to make a dig at something Aziraphale said.

The dig doesn’t land though, because Aziraphale doesn’t parse God with formal logic, She’s motherfucking ineffable. Who said demons are unforgivable? Did they say it with words? Even if it was God Herself, Aziraphale has long understood that God plays messed up games, he just believes there is a greater good at the end. He could believe that God chose to cast Crowley out, proclaim that means he is forever unforgivable, and then later go, 'just kidding, welcome back lol.' It could be a lesson for the other angels, a lesson for the other demons, it could be about putting Crowley in the right place at the right time, it doesn't matter. God is ineffable, and that means Aziraphale can't be told what God thinks by anyone, including God. "That's ridiculous, you're ridiculous, I don't even know why I'm still talking to you." 

As he is wont to do, Aziraphale is very quick to take Crowley’s facetious statements at face value if it gets him somewhere he wants to go. Recall, “Oh, you’re an angel, I don’t think you can do the wrong thing.” Now we have Crowley bitterly, resentfully, describing himself as unforgivable specifically because he is a demon. If taken at face value out of context it isn’t that much of a stretch to read it as Crowley essentialising himself as evil, resenting being unforgiven, and thinking being a demon is the evidence that he is unforgivable. Right after Crowley states “unforgivable, that’s what I am,” Aziraphale brings up that he used to be an angel. Crowley brushes it off as having been a long time ago, but never specifies that he wouldn’t want to be one again. 

Aziraphale can see as much as the audience can that Crowley likes being able to have the opportunity to do kind things for people but is curtailed by the expectations of his position as a demon. What Aziraphale doesn't see is that the good deeds Aziraphale does for heaven are probably not what Crowley likes doing either.

One of the points that comes up in The Bastille is that Aziraphale gets in trouble for doing too many frivolous miracles. While I don't think that's the real reason he won't miracle himself free, I do believe that the strongly worded note happened. We see modern Aziraphale doing miracles as favours for humans pretty often, fairly recklessly, and I wouldn't be surprised if Aziraphale regularly got in trouble for doing unsanctioned good deeds. We also don’t see him have the same enthusiasm for his tedious assignments that he is given from heaven that he has for spontaneous favours.

If they actually talked it through I think Aziraphale could understand that what Crowley wants is more about the freedom to do specifically the good and mischievous deeds that he wants to do, rather than being forced to follow management's checklists. If they talked through it, Aziraphale might be able to realise that's also what he wants for himself.

Holierly Than Thou

At the Bandstand fight Crowley again raises the option to kill the antichrist. Aziraphale argues Crowley is the more appropriate choice for executioner, that way "heaven won’t have blood on its hands." He means his own angelic hands, that he still believes are mostly aligned with his intuition of God’s will. While he knows it is often God’s will for things to die, he doesn’t tend to believe it’s God’s will for him to kill someone or something directly. Aziraphale knows God and heaven have the blood of billions on their hands, though he is very good at avoiding paying attention to that fact. He also is still trying to maintain the appearance of being on team heaven, and by starting to think that the great plan is going to happen, he's feeling the need to lean into that more.

Crowley responds, “That's a bit holier than thou, isn't it?”

Aziraphale answers, “I am. A good deal holier than thou, that's the whole point.” 

He means that when he says it. This is not a joke, it is not said flippantly. Aziraphale is ethereal and Crowley is occult. He cannot let go of the idea that angels are inherently 'good' in comparison to demons even if it's mostly reduced to an abstract quality that is unrelated to an entity's character or actions. It is still what he believes, it’s still connected to his sense of his role in the universe. It’s not what he sees himself believing when he’s staring at Crowley’s lips, but just because the belief isn’t always visible to conscious!Aziraphale doesn’t mean it’s gone. 

When Crowley says 'holier than thou' he means it figuratively. He is accusing Aziraphale of being pretentious. It is a fair accusation, but not quite what Aziraphale is trying to mean. When Aziraphale responds that he is 'holier' he is referring to his ethereal status, not his personality. He can view Crowley as being the better person, and still consider himself more holy. Aziraphale reads the accusation from Crowley literally. To him Crowley might as well have said, 'what, do you think you're some kind of angel?' What can he say to that but '...Yes?'

Crowley’s response is my inner philosopher’s favourite line in the whole show, “You should kill the boy yourself, holierly.” If Aziraphale is good and holy by definition, and everything he does is a good and holy thing by definition because he is an angel, wouldn’t him murdering an 11 year old boy whilst being an angel be definitionally good and holy?

Aziraphale can’t go that far and Crowley knows it. That’s why Aziraphale is refusing to do the killing in such a pretentious way. Which ought to mean that Aziraphale understands the moral goodness or badness of his actions are not defined by his angelic status. Crowley is trying to get Aziraphale to put that together and admit it. However, Aziraphale did not reason himself into his position, and that means Crowley can’t reason him out of it.

The main driving force for Aziraphale here is he knows it would feel wrong to kill the child, and therefore he won't do it. It gets him defensive because there is a clear and obvious moral greater good argument for killing the kid, and he's been rationalising various atrocities of God with greater good arguments for a long time. He ought to be persuaded by the greater good, but he can feel that he isn't. That friction is making him get bitchy. Aziraphale is the one more ok with guns. Aziraphale is the one who disparages himself for being soft. Aziraphale is ok with the ends justifying the means. I don't think he sees his personal unwillingness to kill the kid as moral superiority, he might even see it as a moral failing. His comments on holiness are about angel esthetics, not morals.

Killing the antichrist wouldn’t feel right to Aziraphale, therefore it isn’t God’s will for him to do that, and there must be another solution. Through no fault of his own, Aziraphale is correct. Unfortunately for Crowley, this exchange comes across as Aziraphale insisting he is too morally superior to Crowley to be expected to be personally involved in preventing Armageddon. Aziraphale doesn’t actually want Crowley to kill the antichrist instead, he is mostly pointing out that there is some hypocrisy to Crowley being deeply invested in the kill the antichrist plan whilst being unwilling to personally do it. Aziraphale isn’t willing to do it either, but he isn’t the one pushing the plan. It’s been Crowley’s plan every time.

The Bandstand argument is also where Aziraphale says “We’re not friends, we’re an angel and a demon. We have nothing whatsoever in common. I don’t even like you.” This is tonally distinct from his other problematic statements, and mostly rubbish. Crowley responds to Aziraphale’s assertions with the level of dignity they deserve: “You dooooooo.” But there are traces of authenticity to Aziraphale still struggling to conceptualise them as being properly friends as long as they are designated an angel and a demon. It’s been an issue this whole time. However, there is one major sign of the issue finally lifting, in the least expected place.

“Even if I did know something I wouldn’t tell you, we’re on opposite sides!” 

“We’re on our own side.” 

“Not anymore. It’s over.”

Not anymore.

We have never seen Aziraphale acknowledge that he and Crowley are on each other’s side. He once asked if Crowley saw it that way, but he didn’t agree to seeing it that way himself. He never lets himself say it as a statement, I don’t think he has let himself believe it or think it. Veil!Aziraphale cannot allow conscious!Aziraphale to perceive himself as being currently on the same side as a demon, working together against God, that is too terrifying to consider. But when he convinces himself that they aren’t working together anymore, he can let himself see that they were on the same side together in the past. It’s less threatening that way. I think in Aziraphale’s mind, they were on the same side insofar as Crowley was helping him bring the universe towards his idea of God’s ineffable plan, and not that he was deviating from God’s ineffable plan. He didn’t see himself as leaving God for Crowley, he imagined Crowley had joined him in being aligned with God intuitively, even if Crowley would disagree with that description.

This exchange is remarkably honest from Aziraphale, but spoken in a language Crowley doesn’t quite understand. Aziraphale has effectively said he does know where the antichrist is, but is unwilling to tell Crowley, because while he had started to consider himself and Crowley on their own side together, he doesn’t any more, because Aziraphale won’t accept either running away or child murder as solutions.

I think Crowley mostly just hears “Fuck you.” And to be honest, that's valid.

Post 7/10

[mhbcaps]

updated blorbo catalog :)

info, tags, and more under the cut!

relationship map:

David “V” Lozano: my canon V, a born-and-bred Heywood brawler who never really cared about being famous but god Jackie made it sound so good. He doesn’t think he can make a difference and he doesn’t really try to. It’s all about survival, and corps can wipe you out in the blink of an eye. He would’ve minded his damn business after the heist if it hadn’t been for Johnny.

Viggo “Gogo” Day: a Static of the Kessler clan along with their three brothers and a sister. They’re David’s best friend, a bright and cheerful foil to his taciturn toughness. The city hasn’t beaten the optimism out of them yet, and they have a lot of friends in surprising places who’d like to keep it that way.

Sanctuary Zelenko: Medtech washout, ex-Scav, currently a ripperdoc in Northside. They’re eccentric, they’re enigmatic, they’re downright creepy sometimes. Their friends tell people they’re harmless, but no one knows for sure. Best not to find out.

Brother Calloway: a statuesque netrunner that’s earned herself a spot in the Afterlife’s back booths. She’s highly focused and more than a little intimidating when she’s working, but in her personal life she tends to be quite demure in contrast.

Omen: a hard-boiled techie from Pacifica. He generally prefers machines to people, but his patience can be bought with salty snacks, and rumor has it that he's got a soft spot for ex-gang members and new techies.

Harvey Vignaud: London-born and never figured he’d do anything else but work for Arasaka like his parents. And he did, for a while, netrunning his way up the corpo ladder and earning himself a reputation as someone you never want to meet out there in the net. Then he quit and became a BD editor instead. There’s not much more to it - he’s fickle, and he’s got the skills to do whatever he wants and not be bothered about it. He’s got the air of someone standing comfortably on that thin line between enigmatic and completely detached from reality.

Heiress Sharp: Seasoned merc and 6th Street royalty - her grandfather was Santo Domingo’s premier fixer in the 2020s and her mother was a founding member of the Street. She used to be a high school teacher, but she got sick of corpos headhunting her students. Now she takes young and dumb mercs under her wing and teaches them a thing or two about survival before the city can eat them alive.

Joey Armas: Scav who grew up homeless in Pacifica. His brother was killed by some trust fund kid testing out their new combat-grade implants--that’s probably what set him down the path that led to the cyberware and organ black market.

Hunter Ward: the eldest daughter of Gogo and River. She’s a rainbow baby and her parents are protective of her, and she’s fine with that. Probably why she tends to be shy and doesn’t go out much without her family. Put her on a motorcycle, though, and she lights up like Christmas.

the St. Martin family: four siblings from the Kessler nomad clan who settled on the outskirts of Night City so that Augie could attend his mandatory therapy after the Unification War drove him to cyberpsychosis. They own and operate a rest stop just outside the city.

Auguste (Augie) & Noel are identical twins and the eldest of the four. They served in the Unification War: Noel in communications, Augie as a panzerboy. Augie is registered as a cyberpsycho in Night City, and doing well in therapy, but remains shy and reclusive. Noel is highly protective of him, and almost as distrustful of any cyberware.

Léonide (Leo) is the middle child, occasionally referred to as Gogo's twin because they were born only a few months apart and Leo's mother nursed Gogo after their mother died in childbirth. Leo suffers from the classic middle child syndrome and was a little too eager to break away from the family when they settled in Night City. Like Gogo, he loves the lights and excitement of Night City, but unlike Gogo, he gravitates to the darker side - and his abrasive personality doesn't earn him many favors. His dream is to be a rocker, but in the meantime he takes grunt jobs as a merc and makes a lot of people mad.

Marceline (Molly) is the youngest St. Martin. She feels torn between Night City and her family - she wants to live it up as a rocker in the glitz and glamour of the city, but she also feels a responsibility to stay with Noel and Augie on the outskirts because she knows Noel is resentful of Leo and Gogo for choosing to live in the city.

[darkanddirtyknb]

Important Notice

I want to give a warm hello to all of my beautiful like-minded freaks, creeps, and horny little toads. We have had quite the journey together. It's hard to believe I started my blog and Patreon so long ago. Sometimes it's painful to reflect on because I was in a much better place when I started my blog. But we learn to live with the hand we receive in life, and that's what I'm doing. Which brings me to the reason I'm posting this today. This has been a long time coming, and I suppose I've been putting it off because I haven't wanted to admit it to myself. I've been in such a period of stasis. But I kept trying to convince myself that I could return to how I used to be—putting out content like the wind, writing commissions, having deep discussions and long conversations with my supporters, and so on. But the truth is, I just can't do it anymore. My body has taken a toll on me, and my fire has burned out. My physical health (and sometimes mental) has taken its course, and this is the path I have no choice but to follow. However, despite the war I'm waging with my body, there is good news. I won my disability claim. I'm not making much, but it's enough that I can support myself monetarily. So, I will be closing my Patreon. I'll also no longer be writing commissions for the foreseeable future. I've been delaying this part of my announcement because I hate letting people down. My Patreon aside, I made a lot of promises to people that I couldn't keep. For that, I'm sorry. I never accepted any money for work I didn't start, so I owe no one anything in a monetary way. But I will be letting people down, and that truly bothers me. If you were in line for a story, I give you my sincerest apologies from the bottom of my heart. If you feel like I let you down in any way, I'm sorry for that too. That said, to be fair, I didn't know this was going to happen to me. I hold no control over the turns my health takes, and if I could change it, I would. I will still post from time to time. I'm not giving up on writing. But what once took me one to two days now takes me weeks, sometimes months to finish. I will still be around, and I will still engage with my followers. I'm not disappearing. My health may have won this round, but I won't let it take me down. I've come too far to give up what I love. I actually have a very detailed story in the works, and come hell or high water, I will finish it. I want to thank everyone who has stuck by my side. To everyone who has supported me, shared talks with me, read my works, liked my stories, and left comments—thank you. These things have helped me through some of my darkest hours. As for my Patrons, hopefully, by closing my account this month, you'll be able to have some extra money after the holidays. I want to give a special thank you to you. You kept me afloat by helping me pay for necessities like my medication, food, gas for medical appointments, and more. Without you, I truly don't know how I would have reached this point in my life. I hope there are no hard feelings. I'm doing what I need to for myself, but also, what I feel is best. If I get a second wind, I might write those stories still jotted down on my whiteboard. You never know. Lastly, I want to share another piece of good news. My parents surprised me with a new friend. I will post pictures of her below. Her name is Luna. (Not after Luna Lovegood, but our Lord and Savior, The Moon.) She has certainly kept me on my toes, and I'm not sure she's been the best thing when it comes to my disabilities, considering I can barely keep up with her. But I'm in love, and I know that ultimately, she'll be well worth the hassle—which she most definitely is right now. She's a right pain in the ass. I'm pretty sure she's a quarter Gremlin, a quarter Audrey 2, and two-quarters Piranha. I'm sending all my love to everyone. I hope you have a wonderful holiday season. If you have any questions or just want to shoot me a message please don't hesitate. Please take care of yourselves. It's dangerous business out there. Much love, Kai

[itbmojojoejo]

A Good Man | Part 8

Pairing: Finan x Ealdorman's Daughter!Reader

Summary: Finan returns from the north with news of Bebbanburg, news that worries y/n. The pair reunite in Aeglesburgh as preparations for battle at Tettenhall take place.

Warnings: SLOWBURN. MDNI18+ NSFW content below the cut. Unprotected PinV (I will not write about medieval contraception). Mentions of violence and death. If i've missed anything please let me know!

Wordcount:3.7k (i never intend for the parts to be so lengthy but a lot is going on.)

Part 1 | Part 9 | Other Works

Authors Notes: If something below the cut seems oddly fast just - there's a few time jumps and shit happens alright, man can't last for hours when it's been months without a single touch.

The soft light of morning sun streaming through budding trees cast golden streaks across your skin as you closed your eyes, face tilting upwards into the sky allowing the natural warmth to wash over you, taking a deep breath filling your lungs with the fresh crisp air hugging a shawl around your shoulders welcoming the spring. The laughter of Aelfwyn chasing a grumbling Stiorra through the dewy grasses littered with freshly bloomed tulips pulled you from the small moment of meditation and the crunch of wood chip alerted you to Lady Aethelflaed approaching.

“I won’t be here for the next few nights” She spoke quietly and you nodded knowing she was referencing a visit to Coccham, you looked to the floor fighting the envy that creeped into your bones. “If he has returned early I’ll be sure to send him this way” Giving a comforting rub to your shoulder she offered up a small reassuring smile.

“If he is already home and hasn’t thought to visit I can’t promise not to be vindictive.”

“We both know that not to be true y/n, you are soft on him.” You groaned in response turning on your heel to head back inside.

Aethelflaed was right, you were soft on him and the winter had been long and lonely without Finan. You remembered your sisters always talking of how happy they were for their husbands to go off to war or on campaigns as they liked the peace it brought them but you felt as if you were being tortured, mourning the loss of a man who wasn’t your husband and was still very much alive, or so you hoped.

You awoke earlier than usual the next morning staring up at the wooden beams lining the ceiling, hair dishevelled resembling something a bird might like to nest in and nightdress twisted uncomfortably around your hips and waist. Urging yourself to move you began readying yourself for the day starting with a wash and application of scented oil which you also used to attempt taming your long tresses. My Lady rang through your head as it so often did in a poor imitation of Finan’s melodic and sometimes soft voice, a quiet knock at your door dragged you back to reality.

Sable had come to inform you that Aethelflaed had returned earlier than expected and wishes to leave for Wessex as soon as possible so she can give some comfort to her mother and asked if you wanted to accompany her, your own choices were to either stay put sulking your way through the days as if you were a child or find some enjoyment from the new season in the form of travels.

You’d been in Winchester for all of one day when you stood in the room that King Alfred had once used to house his books and keep a chronicle of the times watching the space be taken apart by keepers at the palace hastily sweeping the books and pages into baskets as guards carried the shelves out and away. Time after time throughout your stay you had witnessed the treatment towards Lady Aelswith and how her mood soured with every new insult.

The next day you heard the familiar voice of Uhtred sitting in the hall with King Edward, Father Pyrlig and Lord Aethelhelm negotiating for men to retake Bebbanburg and your heart skipped. News of this sort meant that Finan had surely returned and would of accompanied Uhtred to Winchester, after seeking out Lady Aethelflaed at Uhtred’s presence she had placed her hands on your arms holding you still.

“Calm, this is the most life I’ve seen in you for weeks. Once I have spoken to Edward about the negotiation I will find a way for us to see them.” She smiled and you simply nodded trying to contain your need to find Finan.

Finan was walking through the nunnery with Uhtred, Osferth and Sihtric discussing options to get into Bebbanburg after being denied an army when Abbess Hild appeared calling for Uhtred.

“Thank you for offering your men to help clear the stables.”

“What?” Finan complained looking between the men as Uhtred walked off with Hild.

“Ladders.” Osferth spoke out tapping Finan’s chest adding another suggestion as a way to breach the walls, he looked to Sihtric with a blank face and they both turned away choosing to ignore the monks foolish idea.

In the stables Finan grumbled getting ready to use a manure fork with his back to the stalls opening

“Oh yeah this is just what I want to do, shovel shit.” He griped and Osferth cleared his throat standing up right opening his mouth to say something. “Ay arseling I’m not doing this alone.” The irishman scolded waving the fork at his friend.

“For a good christian boy you sure are using foul language in a holy place.”

His entire demeanour changed hearing your voice and turned dropping the fork seeing you stood with a smile playing on your lips and your hands folded in front of you, he tried to speak but only gawked as the sun glinted off a piece of silver on your index finger and he immediately recognised his ring. Osferth cleared his throat once more and gave Finan a shove forward ushering him towards you, stepping closer to meet him he placed his fingers under your chin angling your face up to his, the sun highlighted the gold in his eyes willing you to melt under his warm gaze there and then.

“Aren’t you going to say hello?” You quipped

“Hello.” He flashed you a grin leaning down for a kiss but you turned away

“Not here.” You grabbed his hand pulling him away from the stables to an old bricked up archway tucked out of the way from prying eyes.

“So, if my woman was here I wouldn’t have to do this either?” Sihtric sassed picking up the dropped fork getting a chuckle from Osferth.

Finan’s lips eagerly crashed onto yours in an instant with his thumbs stroking your jawline, you held him closer by his waist, finger tips brushing over the layers of his leather cuirass savouring every part of feeling his lips on yours and the rough pads of his fingers tracing your skin. You reluctantly broke away and leaned your forehead to his chest as worry washed over you.

“Finan, do not go.” You quietly pleaded with your brows knotted together

“What are you talking about?” He asked pulling you back to his face, trying to smooth away your concerned frown with a thumb

“Bebbanburg. I know what happened at the palace, please do not go.”

“It’s going to be alright, we’ve faced worse with less and survived. And this time survival means we will take Bebbanburg, then I won’t have to steal kisses from you in secret.” He soothed cupping your cheeks.

“You would want me there with you?” The idea of having a home just for the two of you filled your chest with a renewed sense of hope that maybe, just maybe, they really would be able to succeed.

“You are my lady, are you not?” Smiling at his words you leaned up capturing his lips once more allowing yourself to get lost in him if even for only a short moment.

You trailed behind Finan heading towards the groups horses fiddling with the pale silver cross at your neck watching the sun glint off his chainmail hating that you were to have distance between you yet again as Uhtred was saying his farewells to Father Beocca and Hild.

Removing the cross from your neck you bundled up its cord into a neat small loop and tucked it into his hand drawing his attention away from the large steed. His face twisted into a silent question as he moved it around in his palm.

“Make sure you get that back to me.” You spoke quietly. Unravelling the loop you had made he put it on to hang next to his own.

“I’ll be coming back for you.” He placed a delicate kiss to your knuckles as you unwillingly parted ways.

Weeks had passed with no news of Bebbanburg having a new Lord to watch over the distant lands in Northumbria and you were growing more and more restless which only increased when you learned of the unsettling attack at Aeglesburgh led by Cnut and Brida as they savaged Mercia.

“The Ealdormen remain in Aeglesburgh?” Aethelflaed asked Lord Aldhelm as you all walked through the hallways of the palace at Winchester after Edward had refused to send men.

“Any that were not killed in the attack” Aldhelm shot a weary look in your direction and your stomach sank, your father resided inside the city walls.

“I will summon the Mercian fyrds. We’re going to Aeglesburgh y/n.” Aethelflaed declared and you could only nod in response.

After the failure at Bebbanburg Finan was feeling the weight of keeping the men motivated to stay with Uhtred while also helping his Lord battle the grief he felt at the loss of Beocca. They trudged through the thick woods going south when they stumbled across Haesten with his kinfolk, the dane had made remarks about Aethelflaed piquing their curiosity enough to accept the invitation of food and a camp.

“Haesten’s men say Cnut and Brida have attacked Mercia.” Osferth stated hugging his forearm that hung in a make shift sling.

“Edward and Aelthred will need us now.” Finan sighed looking to his Lord, he didn’t like this information at all.

“I owe them nothing” Uhtred spat

“And Aethelflaed?” Finan rolled his shoulders adjusting his stance, if Mercia needed help with Aethelred being in East Anglia he knew the Lady of Mercia would step up to meet an army of danes and where Aethelflaed went, you followed.

After travelling around Mercia summoning the fyrds to meet at Tettenhall you arrived to the heart wrenching sight that was Aeglesburgh, the main gates had been removed from their hinges and bodies hung from the ramparts causing your stomach to twist and turn in knots as the unwelcomed smell of death invaded your senses.

Moving further into the city the ground was littered with the destruction of the merciless danes that had savaged the people of the place you had called home for so many years.

“Search for survivors and bring them here” Aethelflaed spoke instructing Aldhelm

“We should not delay here, the danes could return.”

“I know.”

You helped with clearing up and organising the inside of the palace so the survivors would have a safe sanctuary on their arrival as the few guard members that travelled with you assisted in gathering the bodies so they may eventually be blessed before burial. After a short while Aethelflaed came to you with a sombre face and took your hand in hers.

“I am so sorry lady y/n, the men have found your father and..” Her gaze fell to floor finding herself unable to fully deliver the news

“No.” You shook your head pulling your hand away and walked for the doors feeling ice crawl up through your body, your breath quickened with your pace turning into a run towards the bodies that were being laid out under the evening’s red and pink sky. Spotting the lifeless form of your father tears stung your eyes and you knelt besides him, choked sobs escaping through the tightness in your chest.

Although you had not always seen eye to eye he understood how important the small freedom’s you could get were to you and that your mother had wished for you to be able to make your own choices wherever possible as she also had in her life even if it had frustrated him.

“Lady, I am sorry but it is not safe for you to linger here” Aldhelm’s voice was soft as he hesitated in lifting you from the dried mud.

Finan sat atop his horse with one of Cnut’s sons, his relief to be approaching Aeglesburgh turning to concern. There were hardly any men guarding the walls and there were no gates to protect the city from any further invasions.

He watched on as the boy was taken down from his horse and Uhtred spoke to Aethelflaed. Dismounting he looked to Osferth and Sihtric with worry at the scene and wondered if you had been left in Winchester and approached his Lord and the Lady to interrupt with his question.

“I’m sorry Lady but, y/n?”

“She is here in the hall” Aethelflaed confirmed, looking to Uhtred for permission he was given a nod to go.

“Finan, be gentle with her, she is in a fragile state.” Aethelflaed motioned to the bodies still in their place and he recognised Lord Aelfric.

“Oh god.” He uttered and jogged towards the hall.

He found you stood beside a hearth with your hand resting on the hilt of the dagger at your waist he had given you the previous summer. You were staring into the flames that stuttered and swayed in the breeze coming in through the now open door of the hall lighting your features and highlighting your tear swollen eyes that still sparkled as if they had never fully dried, slowly he reached out and barely brushed your shoulder trying not to startle you.

A breath caught in your throat as you met his eyes instantly throwing your arms around his neck pulling him into you, he said nothing holding you as tears began freely falling again.

“How are you here?” You sniffed keeping your face buried against him

“We couldn’t take Bebbanburg, we lost Beocca.” Sadness quietly laced his voice

“Finan, I’m sorry” You breathed meeting his gaze

“No I am. The bastards are going to pay for this, I swear.” His eyes were the hardest you’d ever seen them and knew he meant every word of the threat

“You will be fighting at Tettenhall?”

“Do you have to ask?”

Before you could say anything else Aldhelm calling for all men to be on the ramparts echoed through the quiet city, without a care in the world for who was watching Finan captured your lips in an intense kiss that somehow melted away some of the pain you carried.

“I’m needed out there, now you stay in here.” He instructed breaking away from your hold

“No, I will go to my father’s home. It’s close by inside the walls.” You countered and he groaned, one of the things he adored about you was your strong will but in times like this it only added to his worry for you being safe “No arguments Finan, I will be fine there.”

You silently walked down the steps side by side and as you turned off left towards the street of houses Finan walked backwards towards to the ramparts making a mental note of which house you entered and positioned himself within its view.

As the night got darker Finan spotted light leaking through the splintered shutters on the ground level of the house you were in, he always yearned for you whenever he was away but somehow tonight it was worse, he not only wanted to comfort you but be comforted by you as well.

“You are looking in the wrong direction.” Osferth mumbled from his side

“Quiet you. Not all of us need to shout about men approaching if it happens.”

“Have you thought about just asking Uhtred if you can go to her?”

Finan sighed, it wasn’t a terrible idea. He had been gone on his Lord’s orders for quite a long time and he rarely complained or asked for anything, surely he would be allowed this one request? Giving Osferth a pat on the shoulder he took a breath and walked to Uhtred’s position who only gave him a side glance at his arrival.

“Lord, I -“ He started keeping his eyes ahead

“I know what you are going to ask Finan, no.” Uhtred’s tone was flat and Finan snapped his head to look at him

“Uhtred, I don’t want for nothing and do as you ask of my own free will, you know this. Don’t make me beg.” His lord sighed, the wheels turning in his head visible.

“Go, but I want you back here before dawn.” Uhtred resolved.

Sitting on the edge of a large table looking at the hearth you had managed to get lit you took in your fathers home, most of the furniture had been toppled over and damaged during the attack. You had done your best at tidying up the destruction in the small space with the odd sob and tear escaping every so often but you swallowed them down refusing to succumb to grief entirely. Knowing Finan was close and for now, safe, was helping like a soothing balm to your aching heart.

The cracked door creaking open pulled you from your thoughts and you looked to Finan in the doorway, you offered him a small smile and held out your arms silently requesting his embrace and he obliged being careful not to further damage the door when he closed it. He hummed into your neck as you snaked your arms around his and he locked his strong chainmail covered arms around your waist.

“Are you do-“ He quietly began asking

“No, I don’t want to talk, just kiss me”

He kissed you slowly lacing his fingers through your hair at the nape of your neck, your hands on his back holding him as close as possible condemning the touch of cool leather on your palms. With each push and pull of your lips against each other the intensity and need grew, drawing your hands around to his sword belt he didn’t stop or prevent your fingers nimbly unknotting and unbuckling the leather strap pulling it free from the loops of his cuirass and letting it fall to the floor with a heavy thud.

Finan turned your face in his hands trailing hot tender kisses across your jaw and down your neck as your hands slipped under his thick gambeson and worked at unlacing his breeches slipping them down to his thighs, he groaned against your neck when you palmed at his growing erection and bunched the skirts of your dresses up to your hips and running his fingers through your folds. The flames from the hearth igniting the gold tones in his eyes as if they were on fire themselves matched the growing heat in your core, you didn’t just want his touch this time, you wanted to feel all of him.

You didn’t know how long it would be before you saw him again with all this chaos going on around you. Mercia was savaged, nearly lost, Wessex was on the verge of its own problems with Aethelred calling himself King of Mercia. You were both bound to be separated by distance once more.

“I want you to have all of me” You moaned against his mouth as the pad of his finger massaged your clit, your lust laden eyes looking into his. Finan simply moaned in response pulling you closer to the edge of the table and lined himself up your wet entrance.

The first shallow thrusts had you wrapping an arm around his shoulders with your nails digging into the leather covering his body, the other tightly gripping the tables edge burying your face in his neck muting your small whimpers at the discomfort. The dull pain finally eased off and he paused with his cock now fully sheathed inside your tight walls, you planted soft open mouthed kisses up his neck to his mouth and he kissed you back with a fire you had never experienced and moaned when he began moving his hips again.

You brought your leg higher up to his waist and he locked it in place gripping at your thigh, the new angle bringing on a deeper feeling of pleasure with each pump of his length into you. Finan knew he wouldn’t last long with the combination of your tightness gripping him and the sweet noises falling from your mouth into his so he slid his thumb in between your two connected bodies and rubbed precise circles against your clit.

You mewled a string of incoherent words at him as your breath quickened and back arched into him, he felt your walls constrict and flutter around his cock brining him to fall off the ledge into bliss with you. Finan’s hips stuttered emptying his hot seed into your core burying his face into your hair as he did and your thighs trembled with you struggling to regain your composure having reached your peak.

The small house was silent other than the occasional crackling of wood coming from the hearth as you and Finan rested your heads on each others shoulders with your bodies still entangled, you lightly played with the hair at the nape of his neck as he drew shapes into the soft skin of your thighs.

“Take me as your wife” You words cut through quiet causing Finan to lift his head and look at you

“I would, in a heartbeat, but it cannot be.” He shook his head with furrowed brows, not in anger but sadness.

“It can.” You countered

“And if we’re refused?” He pulled back from you completely now and you winced readjusting your legs and skirts

“I do not believe they would annul the marriage if it had already taken place” You watched him retie his laces

“Your life wouldn’t be as comfortable as it is now, you do know that?” He glanced at you straightening out his gambeson and picking up his sword belt

“I know what I’m asking Finan.” You stood helping him with the leather and its buckle

“So, do we ask for permission or forgiveness?” He harshly knotted his belt and stood closer into your space cupping your face

“I will speak to Aethelflaed after the battle” You smiled, his question confirming he wants the same as you do.

“Say she doesn’t survive, what then?” He worryingly pondered, he knew you would become your family’s responsibility again if she was to fall in battle

“Then we won’t be asking anyone for anything, I won’t let my brother chose my fate. You will take me with you to Coccham.” He nodded in agreement planting a gentle kiss to your lips.

Next

End Notes: I have no words.

Taglist: @arcielee @tssf-imagines @bcon24 @finanmoghra

[wonder-worker]

"The feast of the Nativity of Saint John the Baptist being appointed as the day upon which the coronation of the king [Edward V] would take place without fail, all both hoped for and expected a season of prosperity for the kingdom."

-Excerpt from the Croyland Continuator / David Horspool, "Richard III: A Ruler and Reputation"

Even though Edward IV’s death was unexpected, after twelve years of peace there need not have been too much of a sense of foreboding about the succession. The great dynastic wound from which the Wars of the Roses had grown had not so much been healed as cauterized by the extinction of the House of Lancaster. There was no rush for London, as had happened in earlier, disputed successions. The royal party didn’t set out from Ludlow for ten days after hearing the news of Edward IV’s death, while Richard took his time, too. And the new king had [his mother the dowager queen and] two uncles to support him: his mother’s brother, the sophisticated, cultured, highly experienced Earl Rivers; and his father’s, the loyal and reliable Duke of Gloucester, to whom Edward IV had entrusted unprecedented power and vital military command.

... [Richard of Gloucester] had achieved his goal by a mixture of luck and ruthlessness, and if he made it appear, or even believed himself, that destiny played a part, this only made him a man in step with his times. Modern historians have no time for destiny, but sometimes the more ‘structuralist’ interpretations of the events surrounding the usurpation can come close to it. When we read that ‘the chances of preserving an unchallenged succession were . . . weakened by the estrangement of many of the rank-and-file nobility from . . . high politics, which was partly a consequence of the Wars of the Roses and partly of Edward IV’s own policies’, it is hard not to conclude that an unforeseeable turn of events is being recast as a predictable one. But without one overriding factor – the actions of Richard, Duke of Gloucester after he took the decision to make himself King Richard III – none of this could have happened. That is, when the same author concedes ‘Nor can we discount Richard’s own forceful character’, he is pitching it rather low*.

Edward IV had not left behind a factional fault line waiting to be shaken apart. Richard of Gloucester’s decision to usurp was a political earthquake that could not have been forecast on 9 April, when Edward died. After all, Simon Stallworth did not even anticipate it on 21 June, the day before Richard went public. We should be wary of allowing hindsight to give us more clairvoyance than the well-informed contemporary who had no idea ‘what schall happyne’. This is not to argue that Richard’s will alone allowed him to take the Crown. Clearly, the circumstances of a minority, the existence of powerful magnates with access to private forces, and the reasonably recent examples of resorts to violence and deposition of kings, made Richard’s path a more conceivable one. But Richard’s own tactics, his arrest of Rivers, Vaughan and Grey, the rounding up of Hastings and the bishops, relied on surprise. If men as close as these to the workings of high politics at a delicate juncture had no inkling of what might happen, the least historians can do is to reflect that uncertainty [...].

(*The author who Horspool is referencing and disagreeing with is Charles Ross)

[misc-obeyme]

☄️:

Hey CC! Are you caught up to nb normal lessons? Today I read a very angsty fic based on a idea from nb and I am not caught up to the lessons. I stopped playing after a while. The last scene i remember is maybe Diavolo giving trial to prove that he is suitable to be next in line for king position

And that fic oh my , oh my god let me tell you 😭 if it is even closely related to canon than I might cry so hard

Can you give a basic run down on the lessons after the Diavolo trial one?

Hi there, ☄️ anon!

I am indeed fully caught up! I read them the day they came out lol. I know I have probably gained some new followers in the months since we last had regular lesson releases, so here's my chance to tell you all about the lesson recap posts that I do!

After every lesson, I write a recap post about that lesson! I do it as soon as possible after reading the lesson so it can be my unfiltered thoughts. Since I noticed that sometimes my opinion can be influenced by other people if I read fandom reaction before writing my own. Back when we had season two happening, I was posting one a week lol.

They started out as short reactions, but evolved into slightly more in depth posts. And most of them have screenshots! They're not exactly summaries, since I'm mostly just reacting to what I read. But I think a lot of info can be had from them, too.

You can read them all here on my newly created post for the masterlist!

That being said, the lesson you're talking about is Lesson 14, where Diavolo does the trial. That was still part of season one, so I'm not sure if you're just looking for a summary of season one or if you want season two as well? I'm gonna put it all under this read more though because of spoilers:

So basically, after the trial, Raphael shows up and tells the brothers that the Celestial Realm wants them to come back. And if they don't, the CR will consider it an act of war. This is because the brothers have become figures of power in the Devildom and the CR believes that tips the scales of power between the two realms unfairly. You can read those lesson recap posts if you wanna hear me bitch about it lol.

Anyway, the brothers all decide they don't want to leave Satan behind because he wouldn't be able to go with them. Lucifer really goes through it despite this because he's thinking about sending all his brothers back, but staying in the Devildom with Satan himself. They don't want him to do that, but he's dumb and tends to do whatever he thinks is best without consulting anybody. Anyway, he talks a bit about what it was like when Satan was "born" and then he straight up apologizes to his bros which shocked me.

That's basically it. There's a HUGE spoilery reveal in the hard lesson twenty, but I'm not sure how much info you want. But basically, the CR is just like okay we'll take your decision into consideration, but they never actually start a war or anything.

Okay so then in season two, MC and Solomon start losing their magic. Like it's still there, but it's significantly less powerful. And so MC has to ramp up the plan to get pacts with all the bros. So then we go through each of the bros where they kinda have an episode where they succumb to their sin. We learn a lot about the Little Ds, who are needed for MC to enter the mind of the brother who is afflicted at the time. They go into their mind and basically do some classic MC therapy, which helps that brother to overcome whatever thing they're having an issue with. Then they make a pact with MC.

Unsurprisingly, Lucifer's turn at this is the most dramatic of all. It involves going into the Underworld (which is connected to the Devildom, but is separate), to a place called Cocytus (the hall is built on top of it). Lucifer gets chained up. This all happens because of the CR who apparently consider Cocytus to be part of their domain. There's a bunch of nonsense and shenanigans but basically, Lucifer gets free and MC makes a pact with him. Cocytus Hall is destroyed in the process, but they build Purgatory Hall in its place.

Then they have the RAD founding ceremony, but partway through some kinda portal opens in the sky. Solomon says they have to use that portal to get back to their own time, which MC manages to do by using the power of all seven brothers.

And that's it. Hard lesson confirms that we're either back in our own time or at least in a different timeline from the one we were in originally. I'm hoping it's not a whole new timeline because the time travel bs is really getting out of hand.

Anyway, that's the gist of it! I left out a lot, of course, so if you want more details, I suggest reading through some of my recap posts!

I don't think any of this was super dramatic, so I'm not sure how divergent the fic you read was. But I hope this helps!

[star-glass-coffee]

Hey There! Can I please request a one shot (or whatever you prefer) with Zuko, where reader is part of his ship crew from season one, and during one of those parties they made sometimes Zuko and reader befriend? Thank you!!

Being in the formation wasn’t easy, especially when your father was close to the royal family, he was an important war soldier and was one of irohs students... it made growing up hard, always having to show respect and to always look at the way you act, since your childhood was mostly filled within the fire lords home

though you never got to meet the royal children, just rare incounter, sometimes you would see the elder prince give you looks, but general iroh was always sweet

And you barely got to see them once you grew up, iroh let you meet zuko on his 16 birthday, you didn’t know why but the prince was very shy at you, trying to act tough as Azula just stared at you

But that was a long time ago, after the sudden death of the fire lord and irohs son you stopped going over there, your father was gone more often as well. But he refused to bring you over there after Ozai took the crown

the rest of your childhood was with your family, staying inside your home, the horrors of ozai known to your family alone, your father wants you all too flee to the earth kingdom since he’s friends with the emperor, but your mother refused to leave at this time, it would be a sign of betrayal

but once you all heard of OzaI requesting all of the noblemen to the castle you had no choice, he requested everyone and there first born there, so your father faked a smile and went

He was to afraid of banishment, but iroh said that will never happen to him as long as he still has some power, you all gathered up inside a room, for a first time in a while you saw Zuko, the boy immediately saw you with his uncle as he gulped

you can only look away in fear, following your father to his place, they where right next to iroh, front row seats to the first borns banishment

After that your father joined the prince on the journey to the avatar, being forced by the hand of Osai as the leader made sure no one stepped in his way

you accompanied your father for parties they’ve thrown, all being set up by iroh as the prince was never seen.. until today

The avatar has been found and will be located in the southern water tribe. Sneaking away to train.. but the fire nation decided to take armies there after the celebration

that’s what you’ve heard from iroh as you sit alone on the ship, twirling the sleeve of your dress as you think about the consequences of the fire nation…

“What are you doing up here?”

Your spine shivers in fear as you look bedside you, prince zuko standing next to you staring at your soul, Ty our eyes immediately going to the ground as you hold your hand tight

“I wanted to get away from the noise..” you say not knowing what to do with this.. zuko seems to think the same thing before he sighs, sitting down next to you as you look on surprised

“My uncle always sets these up to loud.. I barely get any sleep because of his stupidity” zuko says holding his army shoulder pad, it being damaged by water as you don’t respond

zuko seems to notice this as he chuckles sourly “Your afraid of me.”

“I’m sorry… I never meet you before..” you answer truthfully as you look at him with a fearful look, zuko looking at you surprise before he pulls a small yet noticeable smile

“Yes you have. We’ve meet on my birthday, you where young but you could have remembered.. we’ve meet plenty of times without you knowing.”

you look at him confused at this, zuko smiling at you before he rest his head on his leg, his pony tail hair down as you notice he’s in his bed clothes

“I’ve seen you around the palace. Always next to my uncle or your father. You looked like a lost turtle duck when they left you alone”

“I didn’t realize you where there. Iroh always told me you where training with oza- fire lord Ozai…” you correct yourself as zuko notices, his smile gone as he seems to scoff at the name

“Not like you where smart enough to. Father always said you where just a afraid little girl. To afraid to even meet the royal children anymore.”

His eyes roll at you as you look down embarrassed, both of you going silent as you sigh looking at the moon

”Can you blame me… you and Azula weren’t very welcoming.. I couldn’t even look your father in the eyes let alone you..”

Zuko looks at you with a unreadable look before he reaches his hand out, you look at is confused as he finally speak

“How about a no over then. I’m prince zuko.”

He seems to be slightly embarrassed from your lack of voice before you smile at him happily

“I’m y/n”

after that night he requested you on his ship at all times, iroh was scared at first but then he saw how happy zuko was with you, a true friend at his side… Someone that he can trust more than himself

that was the first night where you and zuko befriended..the first page of the long life you would have with the prince..