#there's nothing wrong with this tip but i would have trouble remembering to do that... sometimes i put them under a blanket though!!

[uncanny-tranny]

if you know you're going to be crocheting later in the day, you can tuck the crochet hook against your skin (I put it in my bra, have a friend who tucks it into her waistband at the small of her back) and have it warm up that way

That's a good idea, I just so happen to be a very... messy person who just leaves my hooks in the middle of projects. I'm crocheting a hook holder as a stand-in, though because my other hooks are.... laying on my nightstand loose 💀

[octoberautumnbox]

A Little Goes a Long Way

fromis_9 Roh Jisun & all the other frommies :DDDD

Categories: fluff, cooking, really light blood but it shouldnt be too big of an issue

Word count: 1.0k

a/n: prompt by @msafterhours!! im actually a dumbass bc i got the prompt completely wrong lmao but here yall go!! oki i hiatus again byeee

It’s something about the manner in which the knife cuts through meat and muscle–something about how things come together in the pot that makes Jisun happy as can be. Home isn’t home, she’d think, when the kitchen hasn’t got windows that rays of sun enter through on warm mornings, or when the cupboards and cabinets aren’t stocked for visiting friends or midnight snacks. There’s a romance, a magic, a unique rightness in a home where one cooks for both body and soul. 

“Good girl,” she muses, finding the beef sitting in a basin of water on the countertop, “can always count on Jiheonnie.” She replaces the now-cool water with a new pool fresh from the tap, before gathering the rest of the ingredients and getting to work. 

Jisun opens door after door of cupboards, taking out each of the rest of the ingredients in turn: green and brown onions, sesame seeds and sesame oil, sugar and salt, garlic and ginger, red and black pepper. Cute, she thought, that each had a partner. 

The sun watches intently from the other side of the window, filling her kitchen with a calming warmth you'd scarcely find anywhere else. The clouds rein in the too-intrusive rays, while specks of pollen merrily dance across the glass pane. With her celestial audience on the edge of their seats, she gets to work. 

“Yeah it's you, yeah it's you,” Jisun hums under her breath. She measures out each portion carefully, transferring them into tiny bowls that matched colors and handles and rims. It must be something in her bones today, how her step is sprightly and her fingers reach and flex with less poignancy than she's used to. 

It isn't long before she thinks back, a green onion steady between the countertop and her left hand while a knife is secure in her right, that she remembers when Jiwon held them wrong and almost cut her finger open. She recalls Hayoung slicing peppers, followed by onions, rubbing her eyes in between every couple of strokes to push away persistent tears that never seemed to run out. She smiles at the memory of Jiheon not knowing solid and liquid measuring cups were different, and the resultant cake falling flatter and growing firmer than their beloved maknae had liked. 

Her lip finds itself between her teeth, thinking “Good thing they have me,” as the once-long stalk of green onion grows shorter and shorter. “What would they do without me?”

And yet, it was nothing compared to the contrary. It waltzes to the front of her mind, amidst draining the thawed beef of its former frost, how Saerom put her arm under her after a particularly rough day of practice. It shone like the sun, as Jisun mixes the paste, how Seoyeon talked her ear off when Jisun had run out of things to say. The rush of fondness fills her chest remembering how Nagyung complained when Jisun saw herself in the mirror and frowned at the reflection, all the while she works the marinade into the meat.

As she places each strip into the smoking wok, Chaeyoung enters her mind, the same way Chaeyoung entered the practice room in the baggiest pants Jisun had ever seen, only to pull out a Melona for them to share with their backs against the CCTVs. The scent and symphony of sizzling meat fills her kitchen with a profound sense of melancholy, remembering walking with Gyuri one morning before the sun rose, just one lap around the building, and yet it so happened that it was enough to share four years’ worth of troubles with each other. 

She tips the wok over a respectfully waiting plate. The meat steams and settles onto the surface, expelling the tensions of the stove and relaxing into a Jisun-like state.  The green onions fall predictably onto the food, meeting nooks and crannies in the meat with attention that welcomes a tongue seeking solace in homemade comfort. A final touch, Jisun thought, to finish the job, to give the palate something to want to come home to the next time it wanders out into the wide, wonderful world: just a drizzling of honey– not too much, certainly not too little. The viscous liquid spreads all over the dish, sending its enticingness to new heights and bringing the delicacy together. 

At last, her meal is nearly complete. Jisun sets it on the dining table, right in the center of the square wooden surface. She admires it for a moment, the hard work of the past half hour lost on the world but not on her, before she clears her throat to finally, fully, completely allow herself to enjoy the fruits of her labor…

“Girls, time to eat!” She then counts silently, one, two, three– frantic footsteps grow louder and louder until Jiwon and Hayoung come crashing into the room. They both shriek, “I want to sit next to Jisun!” It makes her giggle, just as much as seeing Seoyeon and Jiheon holding hands and walking in step towards the table themselves. Nagyung and Chaeyoung follow, still glued to Nagyung's phone as Chaeyoung points to the screen, “That's the guy I was telling you about,” before they take a seat across from her. 

Jisun takes a deep breath, waiting for one more, and it comes in the form of a comforting hand on her shoulder and a pat on her hair. “Thank you, Jisun,” Saerom whispers with nothing but love in her voice. Her leader takes a piece of the meat and makes a show of eating it, and it's almost comical how much she overreacts. “Holy shit, this is delicious–” Saerom mutters, her hand over her mouth. 

Nagyung pipes up, “Thank you, Jisun-unnie,” prompting a slew of variations from each other member at the table, until a cacophony of gratitude fills Jisun's ears. The warmth of their love spreads through her body, filling her with gratitude of her own.

“You're welcome, girls. Eat well,” she says, as she finally takes a piece of meat for her own, giddy in the anticipation of knowing that it'll be one of the most delicious bites of food she'll ever have. 

[frudoo]

For the slasher 141 AU, imagine they didn’t find the guy. He lays low, evading police and CPS until they eventually lose interest, or another case “takes priority” (AKA they can sweep it under the rug.)

141 lies waiting, but maybe it slips their minds, until John gets a call that reader’s been attacked by the guy, or maybe it’s a hostage situation type deal where he has reader and her class under duress while making orders. Does reader dare to try and fight back, knowing her class and the legal trouble it could bring? Does she pretend to comply, until she can overpower him?

Alternatively, 141 using her as bait (consensually ofc) to lure a notorious abuser out of hiding that goes horribly wrong. Love your AU!

I am kissing your brain right now anon

Reader gets some more backstory <3

Part 2 to this.

Warnings: Dark!Fic/DDDNE. Mentions of abuse. Brief mention of teen pregnancy, forced miscarriage, infertility, hysterectomy. Cancer. Cliffhanger ending (sorry!).

“Faster, bitch!”

     You grip the steering wheel tighter, jaw clenched shut. You want nothing more than to smart off to him, but you know better than that. With four armed and dangerous men of your own, you’d think that they would have taught you to check your surroundings at all times, or at the very least to always lock your damn car. You thought it was harmless—all you had to do was run back inside the building to grab your lunchbox you’d left by accident. How were you supposed to know that someone with a vendetta would sneak into your backseat?

     You had forgotten all about the situation for the most part—Oliver had been coming to your class like normal, happy and unscathed, and his mom had been picking him up with no issue. Maybe that’s why you’d assumed the police had taken his father into custody, or that the man simply just didn’t want to come after you. That theory has been completely obliterated, now, with his knife to your neck, barking orders in your ear. 

     “Are you deaf? I said faster!” He’s erratic, positively irate, and you can feel the cool blade pressing harder against your throat. 

     He’s been screaming at you to take him to his wife’s house, and you plan to do just that. You know for a fact that Oliver’s mother has taken him to her parents’ house because she felt unsafe at her own—too many bad memories and the nagging fear that her husband may come back—and for good reason, apparently. The house is totally empty.

     “I’m trying not to get pulled over,” you say plainly, willing yourself not to wince as he leans in closer, hot breath puffing against the side of your face.

     “Whatever. Just- just fucking get there.”

     The man leans back once more, but he’s getting more and more anxious by the second, frantically checking his phone and tapping his leg nervously. You use his distraction as an opportunity to pull out your own cell, quickly searching for one of your lovers’ contacts. You land on John’s, cautiously typing out an SOS and sending it. There’s a read receipt immediately and you know John is already tracking your location, making Simon start the truck and gathering up the other two. 

     You hide your phone before the fuming man behind you can see what you’ve been doing and pray that Simon’s reckless driving will get them at the house around the same time as you do. Your heart and head are pounding with irritation and, for the first time in a while, true fear. 

     Suddenly, you feel like you’re sixteen again, with your father pressing the tip of his blade into your pregnant belly. You can still hear his voice berating you, calling you words no daughter should ever hear from her father. You can still feel the excruciating pain of the bowie penetrating your abdomen right where your womb sat. You can still remember driving yourself to the hospital and being told that you’d lost your baby, and as a result of the knife wound, would never be able to conceive again. There’s emptiness where your uterus should be, loss where there should have been life. Your boyfriend at the time left you after finding out about your hysterectomy. 

     Sometimes you wish you could have been the one to kill your father. Not the stupid fucking cancer that slowly made him hate you less and less as he got weaker. The sickness seemed to take all the spite in his heart and manifest it into a malignant tumor in his pancreas. The doctors found the mass too late, just like your father found some twisted form of love for you far too long after he ruined you. You didn’t have control over his fate, but you do have control over the piece of shit behind you.

     It’s another fifteen minutes of being threatened before you finally make it to the house, and your heart drops when you realize that your boys aren’t there yet. Your mind starts racing—what if they got pulled over? What if they got into a wreck? You don’t know what the hell you’d do without them, especially not now, as the man is dragging you out of the car and forcing you inside the house with him. Thankfully, it’s empty as you expected, but that just infuriates Oliver’s dad more. 

     “Where the fuck are they?” He grabs you by the throat, spittle spraying across your face in his rage. 

     “I don’t know,” you whimper.

     You’re cursing yourself for showing him just how scared you are. He can practically smell your anxiety and it fuels his ego, makes him squeeze your neck so tight that you know it’ll leave bruises. You’ve already resigned yourself to the fact that this is more than likely where you’ll die, with no courage rising up from your belly and none of your boys to have your back. Maybe it’s a fitting end—your father coming back in a different body to finish the job he was too weak to complete all those years ago. 

     “I think you do,” he hisses, tightening his hand and effectively cutting off your air supply.

     Your vision goes spotty and then black, gasping for breath but not even bothering to fight back. At worst, your death will alert the police and your lovers won’t even get to see your body for the last time as you’re dragged to the morgue. At best, the boys will finally show up and get rid of this fucker, albeit too late to save you, but at least they’ll get to see you and take you back home to lay you to rest. Your absence may hurt for a while but things would inevitably go back to normal—and your sweet little kiddos at the daycare. They’re still so young that they won’t remember you after a while, and you take comfort in that fact as you slowly lose consciousness.

     You don’t feel your body hit the ground.

[flippinpancakes64]

How the Cullens would react to you being a newborn

*Note* This is my first ever post please be nice :(

Edward:

Super supportive

Is so so patient

Will teach you everything he knows about self control and how to best curb your hunger

Will go hunting with you every day if that's what you want

He doesn't care if you're dangerous he wants a hug so he's getting a hug

Protective x100

If Jasper still has trouble trusting you after you've mostly gotten yourself under control he will be right there telling him to back off

10/10 would let him turn me into a newborn

Alice:

Again, supportive x100

She deals with Jasper on the daily, she knows how to help with cravings and sporadic behavior

Can easily stop you from things you shouldn't do because she can see them in the future

Would go hunting with you

Would lose her patience after a while if you keep tearing the clothes she buys you tho

(Not actually she'd just be a little frustrated :) )

Would also come to your defense if Jasper or anyone else doubts that you have yourself under control

"I can literally see the future it's fine-"

Jasper:

The worst of them all probably-

He's very tough to get to in the first place

He has a dark past, most of his trauma is from Newborns

He doesn't trust you for a really long time

Super skeptical, will follow your every move ready to hold you down

He's just trying to protect his family tho

You're gonna have to be on your best behavior if you ever want him to trust you again

He'll come around eventually though with the help of his family to show him that you're adjusting well

After he's certain you're no longer a threat he will feel so bad

Cuddles x100

He's just a big softie who loves his family behind those scary eyes

Rosalie:

Ok I lied she might be the worst actually-

If you did this to yourself or had another one of the Cullens turn you chances are she's never gonna talk to you again (sorry)

I mean we all know that she hated Bella's guts until she got pregnant with Renesmee

But if you got turned by accident or by a rogue vampire attack?

Supportive x200

Mama Bear mode activated fr

She remembers what it was like all too well

The pain, the confusion, the anger, the hatred

You couldn't do a single thing wrong in her eyes

You accidentally attacked a hiker? It happens to the best of us

You broke one of the super expensive cars by closing the door too hard? It's ok Carlisle can buy a new one

Can and will defend you if anyone says you're not ready yet

Emmett:

Kinda chill tbh

Obviously since he's the strongest he's with you most of the time to hold you back if need-be

But he's more interested in making bets against anyone who will bet with him

"I smell an elk up ahead, I bet I'll get to it before they can"

"I bet I'll win in an arm wrestling contest"

"I bet they'll scream at Edward for playing that piano too loud"

Mostly is just a good supporter

He's really observant though and is a good judge on if you're ready to be alone yet or not

Esme:

Supportive x100

She hates seeing anyone in pain and you are no exception

Will give you all the tips and tricks she can think of

How to control your cravings, the best animals to hunt, the best places to go to just scream and let it all out

She's got you covered

Wouldn't be that strong of an advocate towards you being ready tho-

She acknowledges that she is not very well versed in this field and will accept Carlisle's or Jasper's judgements very seriously

She will do her best to help you though

Carlisle:

The man for the job fr

He has raised four different newborns that he created mostly all by himself

He knows exactly what to do

How to best help you, how to make sure you feel the least pain possible, how to speed up your process

Literally anything

He's very open to answer any questions you have

If you were dying and he did this to save you he'd be perfectly okay with you wanting nothing to do with him

He understands

It will take a while to fully convince him that you are in control of your urges, but one he's convinced he is on your side 100%

Vampire! Bella:

Definitely the most sympathetic

She was the most recent change, she remembers it the most

Even though she did have her self-control on her side, she still remembers how difficult it was

Will stand by your side no matter what

She's not scared of you or what you could do

To her you're still you

Will do her best to help you with anything you need

Does her best to help give you distractions if there are people nearby

Once she believes you're ready, she will not take no for an answer

She's stubborn

Very good support tho 10/10

[babyleostuff]

Haloo, I just finished reading your kwannie x reader clingy angst fic. Would u please do a shua version. I also read cheol and hannie ver. Hehe. Just to complete 95 liner. Thank you veery much. 🥰

i hope you enjoyed the last two, and will like this one as well! now we have the 95z complete

+ this is the last clingy fic i’ll write

bad joke | joshua hong

genre | angst & fluff

word count | 1.5k

pairing | joshua x reader

“I don’t deserve you,” you murmured, your cheek squished against Joshua’s chest.

Your day has been dragging itself for what felt like forever, the never-ending accidents having chosen this day to take vengeance on you for some reason, making your mood gloomier than the weather was. Nothing seemed to work out for you, and you prayed for the day to end, so you could lay down in your bed and bawl your eyes out. 

You were prepared to come back to a quiet apartment, and cold too, as your heater magically decided to break down. With no dinner, and no proper food in the fridge, you knew that the afternoon would be as miserable as the rest of the day. 

The last thing you expected was to open the door, and be greeted by the smell of ramyeon and your favourite tea you always drank before bed, music quietly playing from the speaker in your living room. 

“Of course you deserve me, darling,” Joshua gently put his hand on the back of your head, dragging his fingertips gently through your hair. “It was just a bad day.” 

He cupped your face, pulling it away from his chest looking down at you with a warm smile, as small creases by his eyes appeared, something that always happened when he looked at you. And in that moment everything felt alright again - his soft gaze, and equally gentle touch made you melt further into his body, tension leaving your sore muscles for the first time since you woke up. He was your definition of comfort, your safe blanket, that you could wrap around yourself on your worst days, knowing that he’d always be there for you.

“Okay, let’s eat before the food gets cold,” he said, intertwining your fingers. You wrapped your hand around his bicep, and leaned your head onto his shoulder, as he guided you to the kitchen. Joshua busied himself with finishing off the food, as you took out the utensils and prepared the table, even lighting the candle he got for you on his last tour. 

“Here you go, darling,” Joshua placed a steaming bowl of your favourite ramyeon on the table, as well as the tea he had made earlier. “I hope it’s still warm,” he said, wrapping his hand around your cup, checking the temperature. “I can make you another one,” he was about to take it away, when you grabbed his wrist to stop him. 

“It’s okay Josh, just sit down, and eat with me,” you said, picking up the spoon and chopsticks. You could swear, you had never been that excited about eating. 

But as you started to munch on the food, with a compliment for your boyfriend’s amazing cooking skills at the tip of your tongue, you raised your head, and noticed he was still standing next to you, a weird expression adorning his face. 

“What’s wrong?” You asked, stopping in your tracks. “I’m not staying,” Joshua explained, his troubled expression only intensifying. “Remember that boys night I had planned with Coups and Jeonghan? It’s today.” 

And just like that, the comfort bubble popped. 

“Can’t you reschedule it?” You asked, eyes big, and pleading. You knew you were acting silly, childish even, but it seemed that your body and mind longed to be with him. You just needed someone to look out for you - to take care of you.

He let out a sad sigh, which couldn’t mean anything good, and you knew you wouldn’t like what he was about to say. “You know how long we’ve been planning this night for, darling. And we were really looking forward to it, you know we had to wait months to book that place, and we’d have to wait an eternity for another free spot if we cancelled now.”

“I really don’t want to be alone, Joshua,” you said with a quiet voice and a quivering lip. On any other day, you’d never make him change his plans for you, even now, your words were barely coming through your throat. This was a shitty thing to do, and you knew that if Joshua stayed he’d be unhappy, and you’d end up sitting in an uncomfortable silence rather than finding comfort in each other. 

“Don’t you think you’re a bit clingy?” He giggled, the smile reaching his ears. “You’ll be fine for one night, it’s not the end of the world,” his words pierced your heart, making your stomach sink in disappointment, as his words hit you. 

“W-what did you just call me?” Joshua’s smile quickly dropped, his teasing demeanour gone in a second. “You said I was clingy?” Your eyes immediately filled with tears, your hands shaking under the table - not so much from anger, but from his dismay. Joshua clearly didn’t realise how much his words hurt you. 

“Darling, I-” “Don’t bother.” 

You dropped the spoon, and grabbed your cup, heading for the terrace. You ignored Joshua's pleadings for you to come back, his voice clearly laced with guilt, but no matter how hurt he was didn’t change the fact that he hurt you first. 

You knew very well it was unfair for you to ask him to cancel his plans, but he called you “clingy” in your most vulnerable state, when you really needed comfort and support, and not his jokes. 

You underestimated how cold it was, the breeze sweeping under your shirt, as you stepped out, sending shivers down your back, as the only remaining source of heat was your cup you were tightly clutching between your hands. The clouds seemed even darker than before, casting a sad shadow over the city. 

You sat at one of the chairs, looking out to the distance, trying to suppress the tears that were threatening to spill. Not only did you have one of the shittiest days ever - your boyfriend, your precious Joshua decided it was the perfect time to make fun of you, but at the same time you knew it was so wrong to pressure him into changing his plans just because you had a bad day. 

“But he did call you clingy,” the thought lingered at the back of your head, somehow trying to excuse your behaviour. You took a shaky inhale, trying to slow down your racing mind, as it was starting to make you really anxious. 

A sudden knock pulled you out of your thoughts, making you spill some of the tea that you were sure was cold by now. Another thing to tick off on your “what went wrong today” list. 

“Can I talk to you?” Joshua kneeled before you, sinking to his knees, as he took the cup from your cold hands, and gently intertwined your fingers, so he could warm them up a bit, something that the tea failed to do. 

“I didn’t mean to call you clingy, and I’m sorry. I want you to know that I only said that as a joke, and I shouldn’t have done that either. It was stupid, and I shouldn’t have reacted like that,” his eyes were sincere, and warm - as they always were. The only thing they missed were the small creases. 

“It’s okay Josh. I was wrong too,” you sniffled, wiping off the single tear that escaped your eye. “I’m in no place to ask you to cancel your plans, that was so fucking immature of me,” you shook your head, almost as if you couldn’t quite believe that you had acted like that. 

“You had every right, darling,” he cupped your face, bringing you closer to him, wiping the tears from your cheeks. “You had a bad day, of course you wouldn't want to be left alone.” 

“Still-.” “Stop blaming yourself. If anything, I acted immature for making fun of you, and calling you something hurtful when you needed help.” 

You pulled at the sleeve of his hoodie, making him sit next to you. Joshua was quick to wrap his arms tightly around your body, so he could shield you from the wind, cradling your face close to his chest. 

“Why don’t you call Seungcheol’s and Jeonghan’s girlfriends, and you could have a girls' night while I was out with the boys?” he asked in a quiet voice, his mouth right next to your ear. “I really wouldn’t want to leave you alone, precious. I would have a shitty night if I knew you were here alone.” 

Letting his word sink, you actually smiled at the idea. That would be even better than staying with Joshua only, and you’d both get to have a great time - you’d end up in a win-win situation. 

“You’re a genius Joshua Hong,” you muttered into his chest, closing your eyes. “I don’t think so, I just made my girlfriend cry,” you giggled, actually laughing for the first time today. 

“Yeah, but I still love you.” 

“I don’t deserve you,” Joshua murmured, his cheek squished against the top of your head. 

“Of course you deserve me, darling,” you gently put your hand on the back of his head, dragging your fingertips gently through his hair. “It was just a bad joke.”

also, i could not write proper angst for this one, as i have for the previous fics - but no matter how much i wanted i just couldn't picture joshua calling anyone intentionally clingy

taglist (if you want to be added, check my masterlist): @weird-bookworm @sea-moon-star @hanniehaee @wonwooz1 @byprettymar @edgaralienpoe @staranghae @eightlightstar @itza-meee @immabecreepin @hyneyedfiz @honestlydopetree @dkswife @marisblogg @whatsgyud @aaniag

[fanficapologist]

Of Dragons and Maelstroms

Themes and Warnings: slow burn, enemies to lovers, blood, violence, explicit language, sexual violence, period-typical misogyny, sexual themes, smut, tension, marriage, jealousy, pregnancy, childbirth, miscarriage, attempted sexual assault, breastfeeding, major character death, divergent timelines

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood/Game of Thrones characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Chapter Ninety-Six

Let’s see. How does one start a letter to your half sister-in-law, who has murdered your nephew, ordered an attempt on your own life and is currently sitting the throne that belongs to your husband?

The Queen sat at her desk that evening, her mind a tangle of thoughts as she stared at the blank parchment before her. The dim light of many candles flickered throughout the room, casting long shadows on the walls. Outside, the waves crashed rhythmically against the rocks of Dragonstone, their constant roar muffled but ever-present, a reminder of the ancient fortress’s isolation. The crackling of the hearth added a comforting warmth, but the room felt colder to Maera tonight. Aemara had been sent to the nursery with her dragon, Sȳndor, so that Maera could work without distraction. But the absence of her daughter’s soft snores left an emptiness that gnawed at her concentration.

She tapped the page with her quill, her brow furrowed in concentration. Several crumpled pieces of parchment littered the desk, each one discarded in frustration after she had deemed the words inadequate or inappropriate. The ink on her quill blotted against the parchment as she tapped it absentmindedly, leaving a dark splotch that marred the page. With a groan of irritation, she crumpled up yet another piece of paper and tossed it aside, adding it to the growing pile of failed attempts.

How would you even address her? Queen? No, that would mean you acknowledge her claim to the throne. Princess? She may find that too patronising. Sister? You haven’t seen her since you were a child and she would probably not even remember you. She doesn’t even know you now, and you don’t know her!

“Gods,” she muttered under her breath, pressing her fingertips to her temples as if that might somehow help clear her thoughts.

Across the room, a voice taunted her, laced with amusement. “Having trouble, are we?” Aemond’s voice was low, almost teasing. He was seated at his own desk, clad in nothing but his nightshirt and trousers, working on his own correspondence. The flickering candlelight cast shadows on his sharp features, making his expression difficult to read.

Maera shot him a glare, her frustration spilling over. “Shut up,” she snapped, her tone sharper than she intended. “I need to focus.”

Aemond hummed and she could see the sly smile on his lips as he returned to his own work, the soft scratch of his quill against parchment mingling with the other sounds of the night.

She sighed deeply, pushing her hair back from her face. She knew he was only trying to lighten her mood, but this task weighed heavily on her. The stakes were too high, and she couldn’t afford to get this wrong. The fate of the realm could hinge on the words she chose, and that knowledge made it even harder to begin. But she couldn’t put it off any longer. Taking a steadying breath, Maera dipped her quill in the ink once more and set the tip to the parchment.

Rhaenyra

Yes, that seems like a good place to start. No titles, no formalities. It was a subtle choice, but one that stripped away any pretense of superiority or hostility. It was as if they were just two women, writing to each other as friends rather than enemies. Once she dipped the quill into the ink and began writing, the words flowed easily.

Too much blood has already been spilled, mostly that of the innocent and children. I write to you not as an adversary, but as a fellow mother. We have both brought life into this world, and I believe we both wish to leave it better than how we found it, for the sake of our children. Our blood ties us together, as does the responsibility we bear for the future of our House and this Realm.

I know that the smallfolk are abandoning the city, fleeing from the chaos and fear that has taken root. I know of the whispers that you have heard. Of treachery and deceit, that snakes lurk within your council, plotting to turn this conflict to their advantage, caring little for the cost in blood.

It need not be this way. The realm is weary of war. I have prayed to the Mother, seeking guidance in this time of strife, and she has shown me a path of mercy. A path I wish to share with you, as my sister in blood. My husband, your brother, Aemond, and I wish to speak of peace.

The tension that had knotted her shoulders loosened as she crafted each sentence with care, balancing sincerity with diplomacy. A faint smile tugged at Maera’s lips as she saw her thoughts take shape on the page. She was proud of what she had written so far, confident that her words carried the weight of her intent without sounding weak or overly sentimental. She could feel the letter’s persuasive power growing with each paragraph, the quill moving almost of its own accord as her thoughts flowed onto the parchment.

I implore you, for the sake of our family, for the sake of the Realm, surrender the Iron Throne and renounce your claim, a claim that is scarcely recognised anymore. Do what you set out to do; protect the Realm, maintain peace and bring forth prosperity, without the burden of a crown on your head.

In return, I swear to you that your family shall be allowed to hold Dragonstone and live out your days in peace, far from the machinations and dangers of court. Let the fires of war be quenched in the waters of mutual accord, rather than the blood of our kin.

Behind her, she heard the scraping of Aemond’s chair as he pushed it back, likely rising to approach her. She dared not look up, afraid that even a brief interruption might break the fragile spell of her concentration.

To ensure the lasting peace between our divided kin, we propose marriage pacts between the children of our houses—the Blacks and the Greens—so that House Targaryen might once again stand united, as it was meant to be.

I wish you no ill will, Rhaenyra, nor do I bear any hatred for your family. What is done is done. and now we must look to the future. The only thing that can destroy the House of the Dragon is itself, and I fear that we are on that path. The gods frown upon a war between kin, and I beg you to choose the path of peace, for the sake of our children, and for the sake of our house.

Yours in hope,

Maera

Fucking finally. The Queen leaned back in her chair, her muscles relaxing as she exhaled deeply. Relief washed over her, and she closed her eyes for a moment, allowing herself to savor the satisfaction of having completed the task. The weight that had pressed down on her shoulders all evening seemed to lift slightly, replaced by a quiet sense of accomplishment.

Suddenly, a hand darted over her shoulder and snatched the letter away. Startled, she whipped around to see Aemond, already striding away with the parchment in his grasp, his keen eye rapidly scanning each line. She watched him, nervously pinching at the dark fabric of her nightgown, her heart beating faster as she wondered what he might think of the words she had so carefully chosen.

After what felt like an eternity, Aemond glanced up from the letter, a teasing smirk playing at the corner of his lips. “More marriage pacts, wife?” he remarked, his tone light but his eye sharp with amusement. “Your preferred method of persuasion, it seems.”

Maera huffed, crossing her arms. “Only if you agree to them, husband.”

He hummed in response, his attention returning to the letter as he continued reading. “Rhaenyra has only sons, and our own daughter is already promised.” His voice was thoughtful, but there was an undercurrent of something else—perhaps a bit of resignation or even a challenge.

Maera quirked an eyebrow, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Then I’ll give you more daughters someday.”

Aemond paused, lowering the letter slightly as he looked at her with curiosity. “And what if we only have sons after Aemara?” he asked, his tone half serious, half playful.

Maera shot back without missing a beat, “And what if we only have daughters?”

Aemond hummed again, considering her words as he placed the letter down on the table. For a moment, his expression was unreadable, a mix of uncertainty and contemplation. Maera could see the gears turning in his mind, weighing the possibilities, the responsibilities, the future that was uncertain for them all.

With a soft sigh, Maera rose from her seat and approached him, taking his hands gently in her own. “If we have a son,” she said softly, meeting his gaze, “he will be King, just as you are now.” There was a tenderness in her voice, a quiet assurance that she hoped would soothe the doubts she sensed within him.

Aemond’s gaze softened at her words, though a shadow of uncertainty lingered in his eye. But as he looked down at her, his fingers tightening around hers, the resolve in her expression seemed to reach him, and he nodded slowly, acknowledging her words.

For a moment, they stood there in silence, the letter forgotten on the table as the candlelight flickered around them, casting long shadows on the walls. An inner anxiety gnawed at Maera, a subtle but persistent unease that refused to leave her.

She knew deep down that giving Rhaenyra a chance to surrender was the most diplomatic and merciful path, but doubts began to creep in, whispering fears that this tactic might only delay the inevitable and possibly weaken their position. Worse still, she worried that her husband might be unhappy with her suggestion, that he might see her mercy as a form of weakness.

With a small, hesitant voice, Maera broke the silence. "Have I angered you?" she asked, the words almost faltering as she spoke.

Aemond sighed, a sound that was neither harsh nor impatient, but rather thoughtful. He hummed softly, and then, with a tenderness that surprised her, he cupped her cheek in his hand. The warmth of his touch eased some of her anxiety, but only just.

"You have the right temperament for a Queen," he said, his voice steady and reassuring. "Kind, just, and merciful." He studied her face as he spoke, his eye lingering on her delicate features—the big green eyes that looked up at him with worry, her rounded cheeks tinged with a soft blush, and her lips, pursed as she listened intently to every word he uttered. For a moment, Maera felt a flicker of relief at his words, but it was short-lived.

"You need to prepare yourself, though," Aemond continued, his tone becoming more serious. "Rhaenyra will most likely reject our offer, or not reply at all."

Maera nodded slowly, absorbing his words, though she couldn’t help the frown that creased her brow. She knew he was right—Rhaenyra was not one to bend easily, especially not now, with so much at stake. Still, hearing it spoken aloud made the reality of the situation press down on her even harder.

"And when that happens," Aemond added, his voice firm but not unkind, "we will attack the Capital. You will need to come to terms with that."

Maera’s stomach twisted at his words, the anxiety that had been gnawing at her now coiling tightly within her. She knew in her heart that he was right, that the road ahead would likely be paved with blood and fire, not peace and diplomacy. And yet, despite the unease, she also knew that this was the reality of the war they were entrenched in—a war that would not end without sacrifice.

With a heavy sigh, Maera rested her forehead against Aemond’s chest, her eyes closing as she tried to reconcile her hopes for mercy with the brutal truth of their situation. In that moment, she felt the weight of the crown more than ever before.

She breathed in his familiar scent, a mix of leather, smoke, and something uniquely him, grounding her in the moment. She mumbled against his chest, her voice almost lost in the fabric of his nightshirt, “I don’t think I was made for war.”

Aemond’s hand moved up to stroke her brown and silver curls, his touch soothing as his fingers threaded gently through her hair. He was silent for a moment, and then he surprised her by saying, “I agree.”

Maera’s head whipped up in surprise, her brow furrowing in mock offense as she looked at him. She had expected him to say something to comfort her, perhaps even to tease her out of her doubts. But instead, he had agreed with her, and she couldn’t help but frown playfully at him, searching his face for some sign that he was joking.

His expression softened, the hard lines of his face easing as he looked down at her with something akin to affection. “I think,” he said quietly, his voice a low murmur, “you were made for me.”

A sigh escaped Maera as she pressed her forehead to his, her eyes fluttering shut as she brushed her nose gently against his. Their lips hovered close, barely touching, as the world outside seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them in the quiet intimacy of their shared space.

Aemond’s voice broke the silence, warm and reassuring. “I’ll have the letter sent on the morrow,” he promised, his hands sliding down her sides, the touch light and deliberate, until they came to rest on her hips. There was something possessive yet tender in the way his fingers curved around her, as though he was anchoring himself to her presence. He leaned in slightly, his breath mingling with hers as he suggested, “But for now, we should cease working.”

She looked up at him, a small, almost tentative smile playing on her lips. "Are you tired?" she asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

For a moment, his expression was unreadable, but then a dark, unmistakable glint entered his single blue eye. He leaned in closer, his breath warm against her skin as he whispered against her lips, "No."

Before she could even process his words, the hand in her hair tightened into a firm grip, pulling her forward with an urgency that made her heart skip. His lips crashed against hers, forceful and demanding, their kiss a fierce clash of tongues and teeth. It was not gentle, but passionate, a meeting of fire and need that sent a shock of heat down her spine.

She felt his tongue sweep across her mouth, probing and teasing, and she opened her mouth to him, surrendering to the intensity of his kiss. His teeth nipped at her bottom lip, tugging just enough to make her gasp against his mouth, and she could feel the smirk that tugged at the corners of his lips in response.

Maera could feel the heat radiating off Aemond's body, the hardness of his chest pressing against her as she leaned into him. His hands were everywhere, rough and insistent as they moved over her body, gripping her waist, her hips, sliding up her back to hold her closer still.

The warmth of his skin beneath her fingers was intoxicating as she let her own hands wander, tracing the defined muscles of his back, the curve of his shoulders, the powerful lines of his arms. There was nothing delicate about the way they touched each other-everything was rough, impatient, driven by a desire that had been simmering under the surface all day.

Layers of clothing were shed in hurried, frantic movements, Maera barely registering the fabric slipping away as she focused entirely on the feel of his body against hers. Her nightgown was the last to fall, pooling around her feet as she let out a shaky breath, her heart pounding in her chest. Aemond's hands found her hips again, guiding her down onto the bed with a possessive grip that left no room for hesitation.

Before she knew it, she was on top of him, straddling his lap, her bare skin pressed against his as he lay beneath her on the bed, completely exposed. The feel of his body beneath hers was overwhelming, the heat of his skin, the tautness of his muscles, the sheer power that seemed to radiate from him even in this vulnerable state. His hands roamed her body, gripping, kneading, pulling her closer until there was no space left between them.

Their kisses became deeper, more frantic, as if they were both desperate to consume each other, to erase the world around them until nothing remained but this moment. She could feel herself grinding against his hardened length, her slick coating his long, thick cock as his fingers pressed so hard into her hips that more bruises would litter her pale skin.

Lost in the heated passion of their embrace, she barely registered when his hands slid down her waist, gripping her soft, plush thighs with a firm yet gentle touch. It wasn't until she felt him begin to move her forward that she looked down, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she tried to understand his intention.

"What are you doing?" she asked, her voice a breathless whisper, her eyes searching his face for an answer.

Aemond looked up at her with a devilish smile, the sapphire in his socket catching the light as his single eye gleamed with mischief. "I find myself hungry, wife" he murmured, his voice low and filled with a dark promise. "And there's only one thing that will satisfy me."

Maera's eyes widened in surprise as she realized his intent. She tried to protest, opening her mouth to speak, but the words caught in her throat. “Aemond, I cannot, I-I,” she began, her concern genuine as she worried about crushing him, about doing something wrong. But her words were silenced the moment he pulled her closer, his hands guiding her forward with a determination that left no room for argument.

All thoughts of protest evaporated as his rough hands brought down to his eager awaiting tongue, which quickly found its target, exploring, tasting, teasing her folds. The sensation so overwhelming that she instinctively gripped the headboard above her, her fingers curling tightly around the wood as she gasped in surprise.

His hands began to rock her hips against his face in tandem with his mouth, and every nerve in her body seemed to come alive at once, her worries melting away in the face of the pleasure that surged through her. His tongue, lapping at her essence deep within her core from this position, was like nothing she’d ever felt before. The one-eyed King’s perfectly angular nose nudged deliciously against her clit, causing one of her hands to fly to the top of his head, her fingers curling around the roots, attempting to find some form purchase.

Yet as began to grind against his face, she could not help but worry that she was hurting him, or that he was somehow suffocating. She attempted to lift herself up ever so slightly, to give him a chance to breathe. However, that thought was shortlived as she let out a surprised yelp, feeling her husband dig in his nails to her thighs, pressing her firmly back into place on his face.

“Do not fucking deny me this,” he growled. “You taste so fucking good.”

No words came from her mouth, just a whimper as he continued his ministrations. That beautiful, familiar feeling began building deep with her stomach. It only intensified when he replaced his tongue with his fingers, plunging two of them deep within her as he licked and sucked at her clit with a renewed vigour.

“Fuck. Just like that, my King,” she panted, rutting against his face like some sort of animal in heat. He groaned at her words, sending vibrations through her as she dug her nails into his scalp, feeling that coil wind tighter and tighter within her.

Feeling the bed moving slightly, she turned her head to seek Aemond’s cock weeping against his toned stomach, glistening with precum in the moonlight shining through the windows. She watched as his own hips bucked upwards as he devoured her, moving in sync with his tongue, as if was finding his own pleasure from having her sat on his face.

The sight of him pushed her over the edge, her orgasm crashing over her with such intensity she screamed his name. She felt herself clench on his fingers, her essence dripping down onto her husband’s face, who growled as he lapped it all up greedily. The King held her tightly, his grip firm and unyielding as he guided her through the final throes of ecstasy, not letting her go until she had completely finished.

As her climax ebbed away, her body finally relaxed, and Aemond released her. She collapsed onto the bed, her chest heaving against the sheets as she struggled to catch her breath. Her body was covered in a sheen of sweat, each rapid breath a reminder of the intensity she had just experienced.

The cool breeze from the window swept across her exposed back, raising goosebumps on her flushed skin. The temporary chill only lasted a moment before it was replaced by the warmth of Aemond's body as he moved over her, his solid frame covering hers. His chest pressed firmly against her back, his presence overwhelming. She felt the nudge of his knee against her thigh, gently coaxing her to widen her legs beneath him. She complied without hesitation, her body already responding to him instinctively.

He pushed himself through her soaking wet folds, hissing at the feeling of her around his cock before sheathing himself inside of her fully. Aemond immediately began to thrust in and out of her harshly, his hips slapping against the round and soft meat of her ass. His breath was hot against her ear, each exhale sending shivers down her spine. His soft groans, deep and primal, echoed through the chamber, mingling with the crackling of the hearth.

She pushed herself back to meet him, raising her hips and arching her back slightly as his cock hit that sweet spot within her over and over again, shutting her eyes and grabbing desperately at the sheets beneath her. His lips found the sensitive shell of her ear, planting kisses that made her toes curl. He licked a slow, teasing path down her neck, his tongue leaving a wet trail that only heightened her sensitivity. When he reached the juncture between her neck and shoulder, he bit down harshly, the sharp sting drawing a gasp from her lips, her cunt clenching around him.

Aemond grabbed a fistful of her hair, her head jolting upwards as he continued to fuck into her with reckless abandon. “You’re going to give me one more,” he purred into her ear, his other hand sliding down her body to push against one of her ass cheeks, spreading her open and allowing him to thrust deeper.

“I can’t!” She cried, tears beginning to fill her waterline as his cock bullied the spongey spot within her, treading the delicate line between pain and pleasure. She thought she would not peak again, but by the way she was squeezing him so tightly, he knows she’s not far off.

“You will,” he growled, pulling her hips upwards and increasing his speed, causing her to bury her face into the pillow to muffle her screams. A long, loud moan leaves her lips as her second orgasm was ripped from her, her entire body trembling beneath him as tears soaked her face.

Her mind was utterly blank, consumed entirely by the overwhelming pleasure her husband, her King, was giving her. There was no room for thought, no space for anything other than the way he made her feel in that moment.

Aemond was lost in the same storm of sensation, his breaths coming in ragged gasps as he grunted in her ear, his voice a low, guttural sound that sent shivers down her spine. His movements grew more urgent, his thrusts becoming erratic as he chased his own release. With a few final, deep thrusts, he groaned loudly and released himself deep within her, his body stilling as he found his own peak.

He remained inside of her for a while afterwards, the royal couple breathless and spent, the aftershocks of their shared pleasure slowly fading away. Aemond rested his forehead against Maera’s back, his breath warm on her skin as his long silver hair fell around his face in soft strands.

He peppered gentle kisses along her spine, each touch filled with a tenderness that contrasted sharply with the intensity of their previous passion. Maera sighed, the sound one of contentment, a deep satisfaction settling over her as the last remnants of their lovemaking lingered in the air.

She turned her head, giving him a tired yet utterly contented smile. Aemond leaned forward, his sharp nose brushing lightly against hers, the gleam of his sapphire eye catching the flickering candlelight and casting a soft, otherworldly glow across his features. Maera’s captured his lips in a soft yet consuming kiss, their mouths moving together slowly, savoring the connection. She could taste the remnants of herself as his lips pressed against hers, gentle yet insistent, as if he wanted to draw out every last bit of closeness between them.

A soft whine escaped Maera’s lips as he withdrew from her, the sudden emptiness making her body ache for him all over again. She felt their mixed essence pool beneath her, warm and sticky on the sheets, a physical reminder of their passion.

Her eyes followed him as he rolled onto his back beside her, his chest rising and falling steadily as he tried to catch his breath. He raised an arm behind his head, the motion casual yet commanding as he stared at her with an intensity that made her pulse quicken once more. Maera stared back at him, her gaze tracing the contours of his face, the strong line of his jaw, the sharp angles of his cheekbones, and the soft curve of his lips.

After a few moments of silence, Maera suddenly giggled to herself, a soft, bubbly sound that broke through the quiet of the chamber. She quickly covered her face with her hands, trying to stifle the laughter, but it only made her giggle more. Aemond turned his head toward her, a curious smile playing at the corners of his lips.

“And what, pray tell, do you find so amusing?” he asked, his tone light, though his single violet eye gleamed with interest.

Maera peeked out from behind her hands, her cheeks flushed with warmth. “It’s just… I was thinking, it’s a wonder anyone in the castle gets any rest when I scream like that.”

She heard Aemond breathe out a laugh, the sound low and deep. He leaned in closer, a smirk tugging at his lips as he whispered, “The servants should see it as an honor to hear their Queen’s screams of pleasure.” His voice was playful, but there was a glint of possessiveness in his eye that made Maera’s heart skip a beat. “But I’d hang those who dared to speak of it.”

Maera scoffed, rolling her eyes at his comment, though her lips curved into a fond smile. “Of course you would,” she muttered, though there was no malice in her tone, only affection.

Her gaze drifted down to her arm, where she noticed Aemond tracing delicate patterns on her upper left arm, the one marred with deep scars. His touch was light and reverent, and she found herself smiling at the gentle care he took with her, as if those scars were a testament to her strength rather than something to be hidden.

After a moment, she spoke again, her voice softer now. “Honor or not, I wouldn’t appreciate someone screaming all night when I’m trying to sleep.”

Aemond cocked a brow, his lips quirking into a teasing smile. “So you wish to scream all night, then?”

Maera felt her cheeks heat up, a blush spreading across her face as she giggled at his words. Before she could reply with a snarky comment, a sudden throbbing pain in her breasts made her wince. She looked down and noticed a small, wet patch spreading on the sheets where milk was leaking. A soft sigh escaped her, but then she heard the echoing cries of Aemara from down the corridor, growing louder as the seconds passed.

With a tired yet affectionate smile, Maera sighed, pushing herself up from the bed. She reached for her discarded nightgown, picking it up from the floor, and began slipping it over her head. "Our daughter needs feeding," she murmured, mostly to herself but loud enough for Aemond to hear.

As she tied the front of the gown, pulling the soft fabric into place, she heard Aemond's voice behind her, rich with a mix of teasing and desire. "Don't be too long," he said, the words laced with a promise.

Maera paused, looking back at him. He was lounging against the pillows, his silver hair cascading over his bare chest, that ever-present smirk curling his lips. "We're not finished yet," he added, his tone low and suggestive.

A matching smirk played on Maera's lips as she caught his gaze, her eyes twinkling with a mix of amusement and desire. She didn't need to say a word; the look they shared was enough. With a knowing smile, she turned on her heel and headed toward the nursery, the sound of her daughter's cries guiding her down the corridor.

As she walked away, the thought of returning to Aemond lingered in her mind, making her steps a little lighter despite the exhaustion beginning to tug at her. The night, it seemed, was far from over.

Notes: we’re back to plot next chapter, I promise 🤣 (but I don’t think some of you are complaining) 🖤

Tags: @0eessirk8 @magicseahorse @blue-serendipity @abecerra611 @saltedcaramelpretzel @marvelescvpe @watercolorskyy @shesjustanothergeek @thelastemzy @kckt88 @darylandbethfanforever9

Thank you so much for reading! Comments, feedback, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated 🖤

[sillygoosealert]

So guys don’t be like me please but basically I been neglecting my personal needs and now I cant get out of bed. I feel terrible and then I thought of something (insane right?) what if Bi Han find out reader hasnt been taking care of themselves so he takes a day off to care for them

92jinnies, please pull through for me kitten 💕

To another episode, another day blurs

Bi-han comfort, mental episode

It's been 3 days since you've last brushed your teeth

12 hours since you last up to use the bathroom

And however long since you've last ate

Maybe you won't do anything

Maybe you won't be anyone

Your throat is dry and you can hear yourself blink

The room is dark and smells of cold air

Bi-Han hasn't seen you ever since you crawled into your room and never came out

Well, no one has seen you, but he's worried

He originally thought you ran away or went off

But when looking into your old room, he saw you there

You were just lying there, listening to your breath

He doesn't know what set you off this time, you were fine

But you get like this, where nothing works out and you can't stand to be alive

So you pretend you're not

You don't bathe, you don't eat, you have trouble sleeping at night too

All you can do is exist, but that too seems too much for you

Nothing is easy, but is even harder when you aren't normal

Maybe you look fine, but something is wrong with you

But he knew that when he met you, he knew he had to help you when you couldn't help yourself

So he walks into the room and goes by your side

You motion for him to get into the bed but he just picks you up instead

Carrying you to your shared room

Then he gets on the bed, with you on his lap

He's just cradling you to take in how bad it is this time

He pinches your cheek to see if you will do anything

You hum into him, you can't say anything right now

He starts to undress you, tossing your clothes near the bed

Then you both go into the bathroom, and you get placed into the bath while he runs the water

You put your knees up to your chest and lean your head on them

‘You are tired?’

You hum to that as you yawn

Going back to bed sounds better than anything right now

He scrubs you raw, washing your hair to the best of his abilities

Your hair is tangled and possibly matted, but it could be worse

He rinses you off before putting you on the floor

He dries you off and brings you to the bed

Dressing you in his boxers and shirt

‘Stay put. I am getting you fruit and milk to help give you good nutrients.’

‘Fruit and milk?’

You're giggling, you don't know why

He comes over and scratches your stomach

‘Did you want something else?’

‘I’m not hungry right now, maybe we can eat later..’

‘Oh. When did you last eat?’

‘I don't remember’

You're curled up in the blankets, close to going to bed

‘Then I will get you milk and fruit. Please try to eat when I come back with it.’

‘Okay..’

After he comes back he makes you brush your teeth before eating, then he helps you eat

You're shaking a lot and you don't even realize it

And you have trouble holding the bowl with fruit or drinking the milk

So he holds your chin and slowly tips the milk so you can drink

Then he feeds you pieces of fruit at your own pace

After he brushes out your hair, humming into your neck when he's finished

Picking you up, he rolls around with you in his arms on the bed

Then he lays ontop of you with his head in your neck

‘I am..here for you, even if no one else is’

‘Thank you’

You're crying now

And he lets you

He lets you cry however much you need to

And he doesn't leave you

He doesn't even think about it

It's you and him

If you have 100 supporters he is one of them

If you only have 1 that is him

If everyone was against you he would stay right by your side

You fall asleep in each other's arms

Nothing is wrong

You are at peace

You are fine with being someone

You are okay with living

Then you start a family but while pregnant you are MURDERED by Kuai Liang (you know he would, he was going to kill Frost but Harumi stopped him) and it is now Bi-Han against the world. He's alone again 🎀

[ladykailitha]

The Eddie Munson Guide to Dating an Oblivious Jock Part 1

When I reached 1000 followers I put up a poll for what people wanted me to do to celebrate and the top two options (separated by less than one percent) were between doing nothing and just continue to do my regularly scheduled posting and doing a fun little one shot. Which I told people to put their suggestion in the comments. The only one to actually do that was @artiststarme who requested a pining Eddie and an oblivious Steve. I got half of that LOL! I have an actively wooing Eddie and an oblivious Steve. So I hope you like it anyway.

There is no set posting schedule on this one. I will be putting it out when possible as it’s still a WIP.

Summary: After Vecna Max is having trouble convincing Lucas to date her again so she turns to the one member of the party who is dating a jock: Eddie Munson. He breaks down his tips for dating an oblivious jock. Bold = the guide. Italicized = their conversation. Standard = examples Eddie is giving Max for each step.

*

The Eddie Munson Guide to Dating an Oblivious Jock

Foreword:

Eddie Munson had the best functioning gaydar in all of Hawkins. Perhaps even the surrounding areas. He hadn’t been wrong yet. Mainly because it only used it on actual teenagers and they weren’t as good as hiding it as they thought they were.

So far he had clocked Robin Buckley, Vickie Lawrence, Will Byers, Mike Wheeler, Tommy Hagen, and few others around their school. But his absolute favorite was Steve Harrington.

Now, some of them were bisexual instead of gay, but the radar worked all the same. Mike, Vickie, and Steve to be precise. Although he was pretty sure Hagen was feeding Harrington a line about it not being gay unless their dicks touch or whatever and passing off his crush on King Steve as just being bros or some shit.

He honestly felt sorry for Carol Perkins because she most certainly was straight and her boyfriend and his best friend were not.

Eddie thought about telling her, but then he remembered she was a bitch and just didn’t.

Now, King Steve was a bitch too. He wasn’t going to deny that. But that was what attracted Eddie to him the first place. His bitchy little remarks, his snide comments, his lip curling sneer.

He was pissed when Nancy tried to stomp it out while they were dating. He didn’t think she succeeded. At least not all the way if the little glances Steve gave him during his famous lunchroom rants were any indication.

And then the world came crashing down around Steve and Eddie got see a whole new side of Harrington that he hadn’t seen before. Steve would still sneer at Eddie’s rants, laugh at Eddie’s attempts to wound him, but there was something else.

He began flinching at loud noises. He went from the top of most of his classes to barely skating by. He started wearing sunglasses all the time. He would turn to his right side when people talked.

That’s when the start of Eddie’s crush happened. This deposed king, was quieter, rougher around the edges, but also the same time gentler, too.

Steve graduated and Eddie did not. It lessened their interactions a great deal, but when Eddie found that Steve was working at the mall in the most ridiculous outfit. It wasn’t even cute, but fuck did it do a number on Eddie’s libido. His attraction turned into full on lust.

And then they ended up saving the world together. And Steve full on saved his life. That’s when Eddie knew he was trouble. That’s when he fell in love with Steve. Head over heels.

That’s when he knew he was going to need a game plan to woo this bastard. This beautiful, sassy, completely oblivious bastard.

*

Step One: Determine if you are their flavor of partner.

There is nothing worse than assuming a guy might into dating you and then for him not be. Now, everyone Eddie had pegged as gay or bisexual had been correct, but there was always that chance. That first time he was wrong.

And considering that they had become friends after all that, Eddie had be sure.

“I’m just saying that Luke was prettier in the first one,” Eddie defended. He was harassing his favorite Family Video employee, Steve Harrington.

“Come on,” Steve argued back. “That’s not fair. The actor got into a really bad accident between the first and second one. But I would say he looked best in the third one with the teddy bears.”

“They’re called Ewoks,” Eddie moaned. “They aren’t teddy bears.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Besides everyone knows that Han Solo is the hottest guy in the Star Wars trilogy.”

Eddie slammed both hands on the counter making Robin and Steve both jump. “You take that back. This Lando Calrissian slander and I won’t have it!”

Steve laughed.

“Since when did you have an opinion on hot guys anyway?” Robin asked from the candy display in front of the counter, where she was restocking the Reese’s Pieces.

Steve frowned. “Since always?” Eddie and Robin both raised an eyebrow at him. “Me and Carol and Tommy would rate the guys in every movie we saw. Doesn’t everybody do that?”

Robin raised the other eyebrow. “No. I certainly don’t. But I’m gay, so guys just don’t do it for me.”

Steve turned to Eddie. “So what’s your excuse then?”

Eddie grinned. “Because I’m gay and guys do do it for me?”

Steve blinked. “But I like boobies, too. Unless there’s a thing for both?”

Eddie grinned. Gotcha! “Sure there is, beautiful. It’s called being bisexual. Freddie Mercury from Queen and David Bowie are both bisexual.”

Steve frowned. “Is that what Vickie is?” he asked Robin. “Does she like both, too?”

Robin blinked. “Oh. I mean, yeah. I hadn’t thought of that. Yeah, I mean she could like both.”

Steve bumped her with his hip. “There you go. Now ask her out already!”

He laughed and ducked when she threw a packet of Reese’s Pieces at his head.

He bent to pick them up, but they were a little abused and a corner was torn. “Shit.”

Steve held it up so they could see.

Robin grimaced. “Oops!”

“I’ll buy it,” Eddie said. “That way you guys won’t get into trouble.”

Steve smiled wide. “You’d do that?”

“Sure thing, princess,” Eddie said returning the smile. He paid for it and then bid them goodbye.

As he walked out the door he heard Robin say, “I thought he hated Reese’s Pieces.”

Eddie laughed.

Max laughed. “That one’s easy. Being straight has its privileges. I know Lucas is straight, so I have that one in the bag.”

Eddie grinned. “It certainly makes it easier, that’s for sure.”

She laughed even harder.

“Now do you want to hear the rest of these or not?” Eddie growled.

Max waved her hand. “Yeah, yeah. Go on. I’m the one that asked for this.”

*

Step Two: Find Common Interests

On the surface, you couldn’t find two people more fundamentally opposed than Steve and Eddie. Rich, prep, jock, alt rock, pretty boy. Poor, metalhead, nerd, did I mention metalhead?

In the Venn diagram of life it should be two completely separate circles. But there were overlaps. Their taste in movies for a start. Steve Harrington loves horror movies.

“Hold up,” Max interrupted. “There is no way in hell that Steve can even stand horror movies. Have you met the guy?”

“I am dating him,” Eddie said with a laugh. “I would certainly hope so.”

“He really likes horror movies?” she asked incredulously.

“He thinks they’re great date movies,” Eddie said with a grin. “It’s great for cuddling.”

“Ew, gross!” Max said with a sneer.

“Don’t knock until you try it kid.”

*

They were all at Steve’s for movie night and they were having a hard time choosing a film that they could all agree on.

“We aren’t watching Gremlins!” Robin protested. “They’re too creepy.”

Jonathan threw his arms in the air. “That’s the point. They’re supposed to be creepy.”

Nancy wrinkled her nose. “I don’t like it either. I don’t think I saw more than five minutes of it when Steve took me.”

Steve laughed. “That was rather the point of taking you.”

You could almost hear the record scratch the universe made when every head in that room turned to Steve.

Steve smirked. “What? The point of taking any date to a horror film is to get cuddles when it scares them.”

“Ooh...” Jonathan said. “That makes sense. I never pegged you for a horror guy, but you were always on top of when they came out in theaters.”

“Hey,” Steve said, “I do enjoy them for their own merit. And I always pre-screen them so I know it won’t be too gory or too scary. Because giving the date nightmares is the last thing I want.”

Eddie ran his tongue over his teeth. “You like horror movies? You’ll pardon my skepticism, but like what?”

Steve hummed for a moment and then scratched his cheek. He snapped his fingers. “Damn it, I’m really bad at movie names. Just give me a minute.”

He ran up to his room and brought down about four or five VHS tapes.

“Let’s see,” he said absently. “Evil Dead, Nightmare on Elm Street...The Dead Zone. That one is really good. Went right out and read the book after that one. And Poltergeist.”

Eddie made grabby hands for the tapes and Steve handed them over. Eddie looked them over.

“Got some pretty good taste here, Harrington,” he said after a moment. “But why aren’t they down here with the rest of the tapes?”

Steve blushed. “My mom said I had to keep them in my room so her friends didn’t think she liked that trash.”

Robin’s eyes went wide. “I don’t like horror either, but to call it trash is a bit harsh.”

Steve shrugged. “Not all horror is created equal. Like the one about the dog in the Antarctic killing people? No thanks.”

Eddie’s eyes went wide. “You’ve seen The Thing?”

“Is that what it’s called?” Eddie nodded. “Yeah. It was too gross even for me.”

Eddie licked his lips. “Did you know it was a remake from the 1951 classic, The Thing from Another Planet?”

Steve’s eyes lit up. “Really? Maybe I’ll like that one better.”

Eddie grinned. “My Uncle Wayne owns it. Why don’t you come over on your next day off, and we can watch together without these heathens.”

Steve laughed as Nancy and Robin squawked indignantly. Jonathan just shook his head.

“Sound like you’ve got a deal, Munson,” he said with a grin.

They ended up watching Pretty in Pink again, because Nancy and Robin strong-armed the boys into agreeing.

“And he still didn’t get you were flirting with him?” Max asked.

“Nope!” Eddie cackled. “But remember we are dealing with oblivious jockus. They aren’t known for picking up on subtle clues.”

Max laughed. “Fair Enough. What’s next?”

My permanent tag list (curated with those that have requested to be on said list and those that have interacted with each of my stories (reblogging and/or commenting on every part): @spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @gregre369 @goodolefashionedloverboi @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach @messrs-weasley @val-from-lawrence @plyerice27 @thedragonsaunt @chaoticlovingdreamer @sapphirecobalt-1 @a-little-unsteddie @i-must-potato @danili666 @artiststarme

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

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[boldlyanxious]

Unkidnapped

Luka looked nervous. He never looked nervous; he was always cool as a cucumber. Until now. Marinette had ended up in a lot of unusual situations and he always knew exactly what to do. Unfortunately what he did was take the surviving coffee out of her hands and gulped it down before turning back to her.

“Start at the beginning and tell me how we got to this,” he said.

He looked swiftly back at the car she had driven up in when a thumping noise drew his attention.

“I was just getting coffee for us,” Marinette said.

She reached out for the coffee as Luka stepped away from her and tipped the cup back all the way and drank until it was clearly empty. He handed the empty cup back to her and she batted at it knocking it out of his hand. He glanced back at the car again as it thumped.

“You have got to stop starting stories that way. It is becoming a habit. Can’t you ever just get coffee and come back without a major problem?”

Marinette huffed, “It isn’t a major problem.”

“Then, tell me how you ended up with a car you don’t own that hopefully doesn’t have a person locked in the trunk.”

—

It was way too sunny, but Marinette braved it in order to get to the coffee shop. She would definitely need the caffeine to make it through all her work tonight. She already made her schedule fit her preference for sleeping late and tendency to be hit with inspiration at night. But tonight she was determined to finish all the outfits for Jagged’s big show in Gotham where Luka would join him for the rest of the tour. The show wasn’t for a few days but she wanted to have time for anything that might go wrong, even if it meant staying up all night.

It didn’t feel like anything could go wrong when the guy she had noticed ahead of her turned and smiled at her as he grabbed his coffee. It could just be friendly, but it had felt like more. She was more anxious for the coffees to be finished now. She rushed through a “thanks” and nearly sloshed the coffee in her rush to catch up with the man. She hadn’t even heard his name when it was called so she had nothing else to go on. She was planning on staying in Gotham for a while so it would be great to meet people.

His cup flung at the door when she was stepping outside. She jumped to the side to avoid the splash. She barely had time to avoid it past the glare of the sun. The reason for the coffee being thrown was obvious when she looked back at the trajectory. Two men were shoving the man from the shop into the trunk of the car while a third one jumped out of the driver’s seat and started hitting him to get him in. It took a few blows, but they managed to zip tie his hands and one reached to close the trunk while the driver got in a couple more hits.

Marinette froze for a second, unsure of what to do, but knowing she needed to do something. She looked around frantically and there was nothing for her to fight back with. The only way she could help was if she jumped into the open door and drove away. She hadn’t even made the decision before she was running for the car. One of the men saw her as she was getting in and rushed at her. She chucked the coffee at him and that was just what she needed to get away.

She pressed the lock button and then floored it.

She immediately remembered that she had next to no experience driving. She had managed a few times in France but that was never in high traffic times. Turning onto the street, away from the men chasing the car, the other cars started honking immediately. She needed to get back as soon as possible before she got herself in trouble.

Turning left would get her back, but she couldn’t get into the lane so she kept going straight, hoping she could find an opening soon and figure out how to get back to her new apartment. The other drivers were pulling out behind her and keeping her from getting in her lane; she slowed down to try to get in but the other cars kept honking. Instead, she ended up in a right turn only lane.

There was a cop car sitting there, clearly watching for traffic infractions right as she nearly made a turn onto a one way. She slowed down even more and turned onto the next street. The officer pulled out behind her and followed. The street slowed down and was quiet, except for the trunk that was thumping so loudly she was certain it could be heard from the car behind her. Hopefully there were no windows down. The street curved around a few times and she was careful about staying in the lines, but she had no clue what the typical speed was. Slow was the only speed she was comfortable with so that should keep her from getting pulled over for speeding.

None of the connecting roads led anywhere useful for several minutes. She had ended up in a neighborhood with dead ends and streets that looped around, unconnected to the main streets. After all the twists and turns, she wasn’t even sure which direction she needed to go. There was a light changing up ahead of her so she pushed the pedal down just enough to get her through as it turned yellow. The car behind her had left just enough space that it couldn’t make it without using the flashing lights. She held her breath, hoping that she was in the clear when the flashing behind her was a turn signal. The cop turned right and she released her breath slowly.

Her higher speed made her cringe when she hit a bump hard. She bounced in her seat and heard yelling from the trunk. After the car stopped bouncing, there was renewed pounding. It was right as she was passing a few smaller shops with more pedestrian traffic. People were definitely looking. But she was fairly certain the area was familiar. She and Luka had been here earlier today. She took an unnecessary left turn at the stop sign so she could go around the area where the coffee shop was.

It wasn’t very much further before she came to a familiar street sign and turned. There was very little traffic now which made it easier. She no longer felt the need for the remaining coffee, but she might require a drink. Another left turn followed immediately by a right turn and she pulled up where she could see Luke out on the sidewalk looking around for her. He looked at the car confused when the trunk started screaming and kicking again.

He just didn’t quite look shocked when she parked in a no parking space and got out. He looked resigned.

—

Tim wasn’t sure he knew where he was.

He had definitely been trained to remember the movements of a car and count how far it went, but the person was clearly driving in a way to make that impossible. They slowed down and sped up randomly. It definitely wasn’t moving as a typical get away. He could tell by the honking of the other cars around that they were pissing everyone off.

Now, the car had been stopped and parked but they weren’t ready to open the trunk up yet. He could hear them arguing as they stood nearby but he couldn’t quite make out what they were saying. He really hoped they wouldn’t realize that he was ready for them, or better yet, walk away and decide to come back for them later.

He stopped kicking in hopes that they would decide to leave him here until it was darker. He had gotten the zip tie off his hands nearly immediately but the trunk latch had taken him some time. The easy latch on the inside had been damaged to prevent him from escaping. He had nearly gotten the latch open when the car made back to back turns and then parked. He had to be sure they were far enough away before he made a break for it.

He heard them moving around in the car and then the clicking of the keys against the trunk. He pulled the zip tie out of the latch so they could unlock it and then light suddenly blinded him. It didn’t matter though. He kicked out at the dark shapes and shoved himself out of the small space.

He fell over trying to get his legs to work, but then pushed himself up when he felt a hand close around his arm. He swung out and hit the smaller shape, luckily it fell into the larger one and he could try to get some distance. He took off running, hoping that he could find a place to call for help. But his legs were hit hard as one of the assailants tackled him. He froze as a car zoomed right past them and he could feel the wind on his skin.

Once it passed, he rolled further away and kicked his feet. His vision was nearly fully back and he could see the man who was holding his legs. He definitely wasn’t one of the ones who had grabbed him originally. The other person ran up and whacked him with something several times on the shoulder. He was still kicking, but he stopped when he recognized the cute lady from the coffee shop. She had smiled back when he smiled at her on his way out. It was part of why the kidnappers got the drop on him.

When he froze, so did they and he could finally hear what she was yelling at him.

“Stop this now. We are trying to help you,” she yelled.

“Having me in the trunk of a car helping me?” he asked, sardonically.

She looked sheepish for a moment before speaking far more confidently, “You were in the trunk, but I didn’t put you there. I just slightly stole the car when I saw you being put in the trunk.”

“You stole it?” he asked, “From the kidnappers?”

“Well, I was already running after you to get your number. I didn’t know what else to do. I guess you could say I unkidnapped you.”

tag list-I haven't used this in ages so let me know if you are done being tagged

@maribatserver |

@theymakeupfairies | @emjrabbitwolf | @vixen-uchiha | @trythisagainlove | @trippingovermyfeet | @tbehartoo | @izanae | @kittenmywaythrulife | @folk-ever-lore | @jayjayspixiepop | @achaoticmess

@adrestar | @zynna | @jeminiikrystal

@technicallyburninggarden | @iloontjeboontje | @certainmuffinbagelcalzone

[lifblogs]

Blind Side

Week 4

@summer-of-bad-batch

Alt prompt: “You really think you’re going without me? Not going to happen.”

Rating: General Audiences (I hope)

Word Count: 989

Summary: Wrecker is on his first mission since one of his own bombs went off near his head. Crosshair is insistent he doesn’t go alone.

READ ON AO3

“You really think you’re going without me? Not going to happen.”

Wrecker looked up, relieved that Crosshair hadn’t approached from his blind side. The left side of his face was still a mess of bandages, swelling, and bruising. Beneath those bandages lay his new eye, but it was still too close to that particular surgery for the bandages to come off.

Strictly speaking he wasn’t supposed to have been cleared for active duty just yet, but Clone Force 99 had been called in for an assassination job.

Wrecker had just been checking his gear, getting ready to leave for his part. For now it was just him and Crosshair in the Marauder. The others were outside, checking their weapons, going over maps and plans. Hunter had worked with Wrecker separately with his own map, his patience never once wearing thin despite Wrecker’s troubles.

“‘Course I’m going on my own,” he said. “Last I checked you don’t know much about explosives.”

Crosshair chewed on his toothpick. “Hmm.”

Truthfully, Wrecker was anxious. Sure the job was easy. Go in at night, and place explosives. There was nothing to it!

But his head and face ached, his injuries itching under the bandages. And the bomb—

Wrecker squeezed his eyes shut, a flash of light and searing, ruining pain taking over. That had been happening a lot lately—the flashbacks.

There was something else wrong with him too, with his head. He could almost understand, recognized that his thinking was different from what it had been, observed as the others tip-toed around him.

Sometimes he expected to look down and see a child’s body. The incongruence was jarring.

Yet he could still do his job. On his own.

“It’s just a simple mission,” he told Crosshair before frowning, counting his supplies under his breath.

Wrecker lost count and had to start again.

Why couldn’t his head work?

He knew why—having a bomb detonate near your face did a lot of damage—but he should be better than this, shouldn’t he? Wasn’t he before? Half-remembered moments seemed to tell him so.

Crosshair drew closer.

“Do you want me to count them?” he offered.

“No, no. I’ve got it.”

Crosshair gripped his rifle a bit tighter.

“What’s with you anyway?” Wrecker asked.

Crosshair sighed. “I just… don’t want to see you get hurt again,” he admitted.

Wrecker looked at him closely, noticing his rigid stance and the way his fingers were fidgeting, tapping his rifle.

Crosshair had been the one to call in help for Wrecker during that last mission. He’d had to be told this, seeing as his injuries had knocked him out almost immediately. For a moment he was in Crosshair’s place: up high, far away, seeing the bomb go off but unable to give him immediate aid himself.

He imagined that would be pretty scary.

Yet…

“I can do things on my own. I’m not… I’m not a child.”

And yet he felt like one. Not because of the way he was being treated, but because of something different in his head. He’d wake up expecting to be in cadet clothes, expecting to have to get ready for training.

Wrecker didn’t have the words to quite explain it all. Maybe he had possessed them once, but they often got jumbled, confused, and forgotten.

“I know you’re not.”

“Then leave me be,” he growled, heat flushing his face, burning through his wounds.

That was another new thing—the hot irritability, the impatience.

Crosshair shrugged, and went around Wrecker to leave, disappearing through his blind side.

Wrecker turned, holding out a hand, hoping he was still there. He was.

“Wait.”

Crosshair paused.

“You can be my lookout,” Wrecker told him.

“Good. I’ll inform Hunter.”

After he left, Wrecker went back to painstakingly counting his supplies.

By the time he was finished, and looking over the holomap again, Crosshair was back on board.

“You ready?”

Wrecker’s fingers clenched around the strap of his bag, fear stealing his control. His legs felt too light, suddenly, yet he somehow remained standing.

His wounds itched and ached.

Roaring filled his ears, light filled his vision.

Wrecker tried to control his shaking.

He tried to speak, but found his voice was stuck inside him, his throat constricting.

Crosshair didn’t push him, but Wrecker could feel him eyeing his shaking form, taking everything in.

Wrecker cleared his throat, and put the map away. “Yeah, I’m ready.”

He just had to face his fear and everything would be fine. He couldn’t very well call himself a demolitions expert if he never touched a bomb again.

Wrecker shouldered his bag, tensing as it swung against him, injured brain using up most of his faculties to imagine each and every single bomb in his arsenal, imagining them detonating.

But then he looked at Crosshair. Crosshair had his back.

Wrecker left the Marauder, stepping out into a cold world and crisp air, the sun setting in a blaze of red. Tan rock and gravel ground beneath his boots.

He waved bye to the others, telling himself he’d see them again, and then he started his climb down to the stone city. Crosshair would take up a position on the northern watchtower, but for now, he was by Wrecker’s side. His silence didn’t bother him. His presence was enough to say that he loved him.

For some reason in Wrecker’s emotionally confused brain, that was enough to have tears trail down his right cheek; the tears from his left eye were surely soaked up by the bandages. That wasn’t good.

Wrecker sniffled, and wiped at his face. Crosshair thankfully pretended to ignore him. Oh, his brother. Where would he be without him?

Dead.

And Wrecker was very much alive.

I can do this. I know I can. Crosshair won’t let anything happen to me.

Still, Wrecker flinched as his supplies smacked against him as he started to climb down. Still, he climbed down anyway.

[logolepzy]

To warm the cold side of the pillow ༉‧₊˚.

pairing : derek morgan x ftm!spencer reid

genre : fluff, comfort

word count : 766

warnings / tags : fluff, comfort, trans character, trans spencer reid, ftm spencer reid, established relationship, domestic fluff, drug mention, needles/syringe mention, injection described

He plunges the needle into the top of the vial, pulling his dose into the tube, and checking for air bubbles.

The tip of the needle hovers over his pale thigh, shaking as he tries to get a firm grip on a chunk of his skin. Taking his shots hadn’t been the same since he quit Dilaudid, but he knew it wouldn't be. The familiarity with it was sickening. The way a drug that saved his life seemed to cross paths with a drug that nearly ruined it didn't sit right with him.

He freezes for a couple of moments, unable to dip the sharp end into his thigh. Not out of fear, but out of memory. Remembering the troubled past he had with needles, vials, and drugs. He knew that obviously, this was not Dilaudid, but the situation was identical, too close for comfort.

The door to the bedroom sits ajar, allowing Derek to peer into the den as he heads toward the kitchen to get a start on their usual breakfast. He spots his partner struggling with a normally simple chore, a task that easily flies by without a second thought.

“Hey, you okay in there?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah I just,” Spencer’s head jerks up, locking eyes with his half-dressed boyfriend hanging around the open entrance of their bedroom.

Spencer’s mouth hangs open as if preparing to explain, but nothing comes out. He drops his head back down to the syringe, noticing his trembling hand.

Derek’s eyebrows jump up, realizing that something was wrong. He makes his way into the room, gently taking a seat next to his uneasy partner.

“What’s going on?” Derek carefully questioned as he analyzed Spencer’s body language. It was very obvious to him what could have been happening, but he wanted to hear it from Spencer first.

“The needles, the vial, it just reminded me of,” His voice trails off. He had grown to not be afraid of even mentioning what happened in Georgia, yet at this moment, he found himself choking on his words. They both knew what he meant, letting the silence speak for itself.

Derek raises his hand to trace the protruding vertebrae down Spencer’s back, starting at the bottom and making his way to the top, landing on his shoulders to slowly rub them. He watched his partner shutter with anxiety as he continued to stare at the needle, then back at his thigh.

“Hey,” Derek spoke softly. Spencer slowly looked up to meet his gaze

“Would it help if I tried doing it for you?”

Spencer sits with a lost expression on his face, eyebrows furrowed, indicating he is lost in his thoughts rather than nothingness. Derek gives him the time to consider his suggestion.

Spencer thought that the act of someone else doing his injection would be all too much, almost recreating his trauma in his own home. But a blanket of comfort coats the idea when he realizes it’s Derek Morgan, the man he loves with every fiber of his being. If he wasn't able to do it himself right now, Derek was the next best possible option.

He softly nods as he hands the syringe over to his partner, adjusting himself so Derek can easily perform the injection.

Derek preps his thigh once more and lowers the needle until it’s hovering over Spencer’s thigh.

“Do you want to look away?”

“I guess. Please be quick.”

Following the doctor’s order, he plunges the needle and swiftly, but safely, finishes the injection, applying pressure with a piece of gauze after to stop possible bleeding. He had watched his partner do this shot a million times before, so he tried his best to replicate the steps.

Spencer winces quietly at the pressure but immediately settles back down once he realizes everything is done.

“How was that? Are you feeling okay?”

“It was good for your first time doing it.”

Derek chuckles lightly, “I can thank you for all my knowledge.”

He pushes himself off of their bed to toss the used needle into the bin, bringing himself back to the doorway.

“I’m going to get started on breakfast, wanna help me pretty boy?”

A smile quickly plasters Spencer’s face, his anxiety trailing off as he gets up to follow his boyfriend to the kitchen, giving him a keen kiss on the cheek on their way.

[tired-reader-writer]

Ashaya backstory revamp

Ever since classes started again I have been consistently unable to either draw or write, and it's frustrating me a lot, so I'll just have to settle for making AU posts.

Andragoras and Tahamenay's child, that has not changed.

Given to some family in the Tabaristan region (formerly known as Mazandaran in ancient times), who were given hush money in exchange of raising them.

Ever since she was young, Sherine has noticed that she is... different.

Her parents leave her out. Her siblings pick up on that and leave her out too. Her parents don't treat her the same way they treat their other children.

Besides which, Sherine is not dumb. She realizes pretty quickly that she looks different from the rest of her family. Face too pointy. Hair too light.

People say she's a beautiful child.

Her parents seem determined to prove them otherwise.

Sherine is given more chores to do. Given plainer clothes. Made to stand behind her siblings at any given event.

She cries. She screams and struggles and stomps and yells in hopes that they'd listen, they'd know, this is unfair, she's their daughter too, isn't she? Sherine is—

Sherine is not dumb.

Sherine knows that whatever she is, she doesn't belong here.

People say she's a beautiful child.

Her family says she's nothing but trouble.

She wanders her hometown, sneaking off from doing chores at home. Spends her days scanning the faces of the townspeople— the merchants, the neighbors, the strangers, even the slaves. She looks and looks and looks, for any hint of similarity, any bit of resemblance, anything that might echo back to what she sees in the mirror, in the waters, every day.

Sneaks out of her house, flits from street to street, in a desperate bid to find someone, anyone, with some iteration of her features hiding amongst the crowds.

Stalks the family of that jolly grape seller from a couple blocks over, because they were light-haired like her even if the shades don't even come close to matching.

Hers is always different.

Hers is too peculiar.

Ivory-blond with rosy tips, hair of an outsider.

Mama beats her and sends her to bed without dinner.

Curling up in bed, hungry in a way that no amount of food would satisfy, Sherine thinks.

She doesn't belong here.

She isn't a child of this family.

She doesn't think she's even related to them.

Where are her parents?

Did they die? Is that why papa and mama take her in? Because they knew her parents?

Except, really, they mustn't have loved her parents, whoever they were, because if they did then surely they would treasure Sherine too. Right?

Right?

If they died and nobody here loved them, then why is she here? Wouldn't she have been put on the doorsteps of a temple or taken from the streets by... by...

She'll never get the image out of her head, a slaver, flogging a young boy barely older than her.

She's seen them, on her escapades, prowling the streets sniffing around for any abandoned baby by a roadside or in an alleyway.

She shudders thinking about it. Mama always says one of these days she's going to sell Sherine, too.

She's scared.

She doesn't know.

Whatever the case was, she was unwanted in some way. Is unwanted, right now in this present she lives in, unwanted by this family, unwanted by whoever decided to leave their daughter on this doorstep.

She clutches her aching stomach.

She doesn't sleep.

Day by day, night by night, she prays what little words she manages to remember.

Prays to be loved.

Prays to be found.

Prays to be...

To be...

There's a tale in this town.

If you wander deep into the woods, you'll find a dilapidated place.

They call it a temple. That's stupid. The building looks nothing like a temple.

Those who wander in, they say, come back wrong.

Come back days, months, years later.

No matter how long they take, they don't look a day older.

They were playing, her siblings and the other kids, they play, but she never gets included. They get mean when she tries. They always give her whatever's the worst.

She runs.

She runs and runs and runs until her legs burn and there's no air in her lungs.

She doesn't notice the butterflies frozen in air.

She doesn't notice the sudden stillness of the trees after a certain point.

Not until she trips.

There, on the ground, stained in mud and dirt and snot and tears, she curls up like she always does at night.

She's so hungry.

She hears their voices, a couple bushes over, arguing about the prey they were supposed to hunt.

They don't find her.

She bolts upright, startled, nerves tingling with something she doesn't know what to name.

She looks around.

Silence and stillness.

She should be afraid, she thinks. She should try to leave. To go home, to go find those dummies who didn't even see her when they were nearby.

But she thinks of their meanness, of mama's anger and papa's weird stares, of the prowling slavers wandering the streets.

Just a little bit, she thinks. Just a little longer. Just a little bit of peace. She'll take the beatings later, she'll deal with that when they catch her.

That's right.

She just has to not get caught for a little while longer.

[brain juices running out so this will be reverting back from story mode to summary mode, augh]

Anyways, she spends a long time (to her) in the woods and doesn't really notice that the sun isn't moving in the sky bc she's a little kid and she's too busy rolling around and having fun until she falls asleep out of exhaustion (both physical and emotional, since all the shit she went through finally caught up to her in a safe moment)

(you'll notice that in the story/narration part “Sherine” refers to themselves by she/her bc at the time they hadn't had the chance to realize y'know, the gender stuff)

Sherine wakes up, finds that it's night, and she can't find her way back.

(the haunted area actually booted her out so she's in a different spot of the forest)

Kid has an epiphany of sorts.

“She can't stay here.

Not anymore.

If she's so unwanted anyways, what harm would it do for her to disappear?

For her to leave?”

So she does.

Anyways, it's night, Farangis (with some clan adults) is wandering the area for a reason I have yet to fully decide on.

They meet.

Sherine is absolutely taken by this gorgeous lady.

One long conversation later while Farangis does her best to clean the kid up, it's abundantly clear that Sherine is Not Okay.

So they get taken!

And Sherine gets to chop off their hair and choose a new name.

But until she settles on a proper name she chose for herself, their temporary name is Ranna.

Sherine has a complicated relationship with girlhood because of the toxic standards that were forced on her by their “parents”.

Anyways that's how Ashaya comes to join the clan!

What I imagine a young ex-Sherine to look like as she leaves with Farangis.

Fun fact, Areyan is usually a sweet and gentle kid but for some unknown reason he and Ashaya regularly gets into fisticuffs.

They're 7 when they join the clan. Farangis is 15, she'd just come of age.

At some point I kinda wanted Ashaya and Alfarīd to have met in their younger years but I don't see that working out w this trajectory sooooo... oops.

Anyways, a look into Ashaya's trauma! Where their lack of hope and faith in the world stems from. I somehow couldn't get into it in the narration but her family house could own slaves, maybe, (still she gets made to do chores bc Double Standards), and on her escapades to find her parents or relatives in the town she gets to see a whoooole lot of violence thrown at slaves and poor commoners and it always stuck w them.

She tries questioning it once, they got punished.

Kinda echoes Alfarīd's hopelessness in the nation too, she did say in the manga “there's no point to restoring the nation, it'll just make new nobles and new slaves” and it's an attitude Ashaya holds, too.

It'll be up to them to find that hope again. Alfarīd would be the one to eventually give back hope to Ashaya, but for that she herself will have to believe.

Unlike in canon I don't really see Alfarīd coming to believe in someone changing the system, rather that there's something worth living for even in a broken world. I think she'd have an attitude like that. It just fits her.

(I'm reminded of the song Kamado Tanjirou no Uta from the AU playlist, and that one video from Hello Future Me about the Ghibli movie The Boy and the Heron.)

(“We did not choose this world. But we must live in it.”)

To elaborate on why Ashaya lost faith in the world, it's smth like, if something so terrible and hurtful like the slavery system is allowed to exist, if nobody batted an eye at the abuse she went through, if nobody thinks to hold abusers accountable, if people are rewarded with brutality for their kindness, then... there's nothing worth saving here.

In addition to their own abuse they also saw others being abused, remember that the clan is made up of runaways and hurt people and abandoned people and victims and survivors— almost nobody who comes to the clan... came from happiness.

Is it any wonder that their faith was broken?

In contrast, let's look at Alfarīd. Protective instincts, strong sense of justice, responsible if a bit chaotic, remember how in the manga Alfarīd urges Estelle to remember the women and children and injured they'd saved? That they must think of, that they must protect, instead of thinking about the King?

Alfarīd, I think, abhors the system, but still sees people and things worth protecting anyways.

(and not to jump all over like a kangaroo but let's talk about Farangis this time)

She's an orphan. She entered the temple of Mithra after her loss. She was too talented. Too diligent. Too beautiful. People shunned her because of it.

And I'm willing to bet there's aggression and subtle bullying, too.

Look, it's a closed community. That sort of place gets rancid real fast.

(I would know. I myself was trapped in a prison of a boarding school where my suicidal ideation got wayyyyyyy bad.)

So, y'know, Ashaya-as-Sherine is a reflection of her days in the temple. That's why she has a soft spot for her.

Farangis is one of the few people Ashaya will listen to.

Anyways that concludes thus the post about Ashaya!

[spicyclover]

All the things you said | part two

Summary: A big dinner is organized by Charles to bring together some pilots and their wives, girlfriends, sister and friends. Everyone enjoys the evening until a topic of conversation leads to dark revelations. What secrets will be revealed?

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five

Hope you’ll enjoy this part. Let me know in the comments section! And to support me by tipping me!

I'm open to requests.

Little information, I will, for now, only post on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays.

Thank you, and Enjoy! :)

Lots of love, xxx Spicy Clover

WARNING: mention of physical and verbal aggression! Su*c*de WARNING !R@PE!

If you are struggling with this. Please get help. You are loved, and your life is valued. Even if you don’t see it, you are loved. 

DISCLAIMER:  This story is fiction and has no correlation with reality. All site names making acts, violence or any other type of aggression are used for artistic purposes, and they did not commit those acts.

“I tried, but... nobody listened to me.” You respond by looking at Lando through your tears. 

Your eyes pierce that of Lando. A rage invades the spirit of Charles seeing your sights set on the British.

“You knew.” He accuses Lando turning abruptly towards him.

“I... I.” He tries to defend himself. “I didn’t know what to do.”

“Oh, you think she knew what to do either.” He yells, getting up from his chair and grabbing him by the collar. 

“Charles, let him go!” Orders Carlos. 

“You let her suffer silently when you knew what he did to her. I thought you were better than this. T’es qu’une grosse merde.” 

“Oh please, like you would have done something? We all know he’s untouchable and has done it before.” Admitted Lando, pushing Charles away. 

“What?” Sebastian speaks up.

“Nothing.” 

“It’s nothing? He raped her, and now other girls too?” Charles advances again, preventing him from fleeing the situation.

“Don't play fouls, Charles. You were in his hotel room at the party in Abu Dhabi last year, and I quite remember your hands on some teenage girls, groping them.” He said suddenly, pushing Charles out of his way again.

“What?” You speak up, troubled by Lando's affirmation.

“It’s not what it looks like.” Charles tries, taking your hands in his.

“Don’t touch me.” You say, pushing him away. “Did you do it?”

“I... It’s not important.”

“Yes. It actually is. Did you fuck those teenage girls?” 

“Oui,” he admits in a small voice. “I didn’t want to.”

“You didn’t want to fuck those girls? What the fuck, Charles. What's wrong with you all?” You yell, taking your stuff and leaving as fast as possible. 

The thought of all this happening to so many more makes you sick. How could nobody speak up about this? The elevator arrives, and you get in. You can hear footsteps and Charles's voice telling you to come back. Tears fall down your cheeks, and you look at him as the door closes. 

You take the first taxi and give him your address. All you want right now is a shower. A warm and reassuring shower. To pull away all those memories and thoughts. You want to scream to the world. You want to smash your entire apartment down. You want to stay in bed for the rest of your life. You want to jump off the roof. You want to cut yourself so that the pain stops. 

You arrive at the complex. Your dark thought runs in circles in your head. Like a robot, you open the complex door, press the elevator, and finally unlock your apartment. You let your essentials fall on the ground with your bag and coat. Like a machine, you take your shoes off and open the lights. 

The sight of your home, which does not feel like home anymore. Since Lance pushes himself into you while you try to make him go away, this place hasn’t felt like home. You can’t even sleep in your own bed anymore. No matter how many times you clean the sheets, change the bed. This memory comes running back into your mind. Invade you like a parasite. 

You go to the bathroom and open the valve to fill the bathtub. You watch the water. You can hear your phone blowing up with notifications and calls. “Why this world has to be this cruel?” You think, taking your clothes off. 

Your body envelops itself in the heat of the water, and you close your eyes. Your body slips in the bath. You head underwater. You hear focusing on your heart bit. You enjoy this moment of quietness and solitude. 

That’s it. You feel alone since that night he took your joy, your life, yourself. 

You can feel the water pressure you to gasp for air. Your head starts popping your blood. Your heart rises to find oxygen. You struggle. You have been struggling this long. You want to go, and you want to let go. 

You let the water go in, and suddenly, all the scary parts disappear. The explosion in your head fades away, and you’re not scared anymore. You find it relatively peaceful. Very peaceful. 

To continue... 

Tag list: @tyna-19​

[nariaein]

Some of My Scrapped Punkflower Fics

Exactly what the title says, but I don't want to let these go to waste

Over Christmas break, Miles’ mom learns how to knit.

It stems from the fact that she doesn’t like having a lot of free time on her hands. But since school is out and his dad won’t let her spend more than forty-eight hours — or what she considers a break — at the hospital a week, there’s an abundance of it for all of them. Snow falls endlessly beyond the walls of their apartment, making for more than a couple long, lazy days spent inside, hands and weighted blankets curled around mugs and their shoulders. Old Christmas movies are the only thing on TV.

So. She digs around in their spare closet and emerges with two knitting needles. They’re from her grandma, she says, and Miles secretly reveres them — the blunt tips, the lengthy shafts, and the tapers with chips in the wood from before both of their times.

She lets him choose from the bundles of yarn three colors: orchid, yellow, and white.

The next morning, he wakes to a pair of finger-less gloves on his bedside table. The stitches are not entirely consistent, yet they’re warm and colorful.

He loves them, almost as much as he loves winter, and nowhere close to as much as he loves her.

“Any idea what this is about?”

Miles shrugs and shifts to make room for Gwen to sit on the carpet beside him. “No. Miguel didn’t tell you?”

“Nope.”

The topic settled for now, his eyes drift and land on two figures across the announcement hall, steadily coming forward. They’re somehow easy to pick out in the crowd.

Hobie shakes Pavitr by the shoulders, giggling, and something in Miles aches, just below the space between his ribs.

There’s a tapping, feedback, then a throat clearing. He turns back to look at the stage.

“Hello, everybody, and thank you for coming on such short notice. Rest assured, nothing is wrong,” Miguel starts. The room lets out a collective sigh of relief. “But the holiday season is coming up. Lyla and I — mostly her — thought it would be nice to do something special. All of the Society is welcome to participate, but it’s not mandatory.”

“He is a surprisingly level man when he’s not trying to body slam me into the nearest train,” Miles mutters. Someone huffs hotly in his ear.

“Good one,” Hobie says, dropping down on Miles’ other side.

Miguel continues. “For the first time ever, we will be doing Secret Santa. Shortly, you will fill out a wish list of gift ideas. Then, you will draw a random name from a box — their dimension and wish list will also be included. Presents will be delivered by me or Lyla. Afterwards, you can guess who your Secret Santa was. The ultimate deadline is Christmas day.”

A week away.

I bet you can guess who Miles got :] I also remember writing a section that I really loved where he asked his mom what his dad got her for Christmas when they were dating, and later, Gwen came over. She was having trouble getting Pavitr a gift. Miles suggested a plant to take care of, meanwhile, he was making a custom bright red leather jacket for Hobie

I cannot for the life of me find these sections

[messycunt]

":D! Thanks! I would love to see how the dorm heads interact with the vices! Or just more of how the whole savannaclaw octovilline (sorry if I spelt them wrong :<) ppl work out, cuz they can’t be milked? (Right? I mean other animals have milk ig but,,,,,) jamil and kalim s little dance routine together sounds so cute! And Ruggie is the secret third thing? :o (I don’t know what that is sorry if I’m being stupid lol!) and lilia and mal! Cute! Is it too much to ask if you could give a little description of what they would look like, like fur colors and stuff, also are they like, centaur like? Or like satyrs? Or like just have the animal parts? :)"

the ruggie thing wasn't anything deeper dw about it

cw: just a short ramble and some hcs so nothing rlly, I typed these on my phone so srry if they came out funny, not proof read

so first off for the nondairy farms(enclosures?) they work as follows:

Members of them still perform at shows and are rented out for parties and private occasions the same and their added exotic factor from not being as common as the more domestic hybrids makes them more lucrative to do so with.

but as far as looks I've stated before that I imagine them being a little taller and more built, around 5 or 6 inches specifically, and they just have tails, ears, horns and a patch of fur on their back!

ok here r some character by character hcs for their looks as well as some other miscellaneous stuff

Riddle:

Soft white and red pelt, small horns.

Small and delicate looking he's actually rather hot headed and hard to work with, wish good luck to his handler they need it.

Doesn't do shows often but when he does he shows up and shows out.

Trey:

Thick dark green pelt, large horns

Not one to enjoy the spotlight and therefore doesn't participate in shows

Would rather spend his time in the kitchen and the fields or showing kids around when they have scheduled field trips coming up.

Like I said he enjoys working with kids when he has the chance and his brotherly personality makes him perfect for it.

Cater:

Shaggy ginger and white pelt, his horns are smaller than treys but still big.

Get's rented out often and looooves having his picture taken, he's very photogenic you know

Amazing temperament, maybe too lenient at times, you could tug his tail and not get much of a negative reaction.

Ace:

Short full ginger pelt, medium sized horns.

A bit of a trouble maker and hasn't had the chance to feature in any shows yet

Deuce:

Short white and deep blue-black pelt, medium horns.

Likes helping out the best he can but between me and you.. he's not that good at it.

Trey has him help collect eggs from the chicken coop from time to time.

He just wants to make everyone around him proud!

Kalim:

Stark white pelt, stubby horns.

Popular as far as rentals for parties go

He prioritizes fun over everything else which usually gets him caught up especially when it comes to real work.

Jamil:

Corse black pelt, medium large horns the tips of which are black too.

Him and Kalim come as a packaged deal so you can't have one without the other as far as shows and the like goes.

Vil:

long blonde pelt the tips of which are purple, elegantly curved horns.

To put it nicely; he's a cunt.

Does shows often and barely anything else unless it's extremely high profile.

His time and effort are expensive you know.

Rook:

blonde pelt that is meticulously trimmer(under Vils request), large horns.

He is an enigma in every sense of the word, hard to read but overly friendly

Strongly attached to his handler regardless of if they feel the same.

Epel:

Shaggy but short pale lavender pelt, very small horns(HE'S STILL GROWIN' OK)

The prissy image vil forces him uphold makes him sick but playing quiet and polite when he isn't breathing down his neck isn't too hard.

Idia:

Yes his pelt is made up of unnaturally blue flames too, larger horns but they just make him clumsy.

Sorry I love him but no idea why they keep him around he truly is good for nothing.

Ortho:

you remember those zoomer robot cats and dogs from a few years back? he's like one of those but bigger! and also a cow.

he's all shiny black blue and white plastic baby

good temperament I'd say, Just don't talk shit about his brother.

Malleus:

Deep green tinted black pelt, HUGE fully black curled horns.

Very busy with shows and events.

He's elusive and seen as scary and untouchable to most but really a big sweetie for the most part.

Lilia:

Sporadically trimmed black pelt that has pink streaks like his hair, cute small horns that he probably paints pink to match(I imagine their being like horn polish of some kind yk).

In a word; Silly.

He's great with kids and treats Malleus like a big toddler sometimes.

Sebek:

Uneven pale green pelt, medium large horns.

Never gets booked for shows or contests, not that he's undesirable or anything he just refuses to put himself in a position where he will be Malleus' competition.

SIlver:

Mid length silver-white pelt, small horns.

Has been in a show or two and found they're not for him.

Prefers helping out around the farms when he can.

12.5.22 - more

[where-dreams-dwell]

I’m seeing a lot of discourse about Bridgeton Season 3 and the recasting of certain characters and people keep talking about it being unfair to the original actors, or that they shouldn’t have jumped to other projects (Francesca’s season 1 actor was cast as the lead in Lockwood and Co, which was then unfortunately cancelled…) and instead they should have stayed around to be avalible etc.. and I think we’re missing an obvious point:

People don’t want to watch the kids that grew up on their Tv have s*x.

Bridgerton by definition is a s*xual show, with explicit scenes and n*dity from its leads. When it gets around to the younger kids stories (if the show’s renewed enough) no one will be 100% comfortable watching s*x scenes when they remember that actor as a child.

Game of Thrones ran into this issue too. We all watched Maisie Williams grow up on screen, watched as her characters story grew and she had to handle tougher subject matter and scenes. No one wrote into complaint when we watched her pretend to kill a child at 14 (playing an 11 yr old Arya Stark), when she blinded and killed a p*edophile at as an actor of 18 (15 for Arya) or watched what was essentially torture p*rn of a blind 19 year old being beaten relentlessly every week for a month.

But when it came time to do an intimate scene… suddenly the audience felt awkward. Something about s*xual intimacy crossed some internal boundary for a large portion of the audience and suddenly the voyeuristic nature of being an audience in those scenes was driven home. It was okay being a viewer to explicit scenes if they were violent or gory, but explicit scenes of romance… nope that somehow feels indecent.

It was a tasteful scene, only partial n*dity, nothing full frontal, and the blocking and writing made it clear it was consensual and enjoyable. In every way possible this was a positive thing for Arya as a character and as both the character and actor were adults there was no concern about appropriate story lines.

And yet.

People wrote in. People switched off, fast forwarded, talked about it at work on Monday. Articles were written, and it became a discussion piece around the TV; even knowing all the above people still felt wrong watching an actor they first knew as a child and who they ‘watched grow up on screen’ perform a s*x scene.

So I think a big part of Bridgerton’s casting choices around the younger children is to head this off at the pass and to not invite the discussion. Why risk even a percentage of your audience not watching the intimate scenes that season (or god forbit not streaming the season at all!) when you can just recast and remove the problem? Why borrow trouble or controversy, especially when other plot points in future stories will likely do that all on their own?

This way we get to have a child character played by a child actor, who the audience can find cute and precocious, who they can feel parental and familial toward with complete peace of mind. And then when the season comes for that siblings love story, ‘oh would you look at that puberty made them look all grown up and completely different’! A new adult actor is playing the adult version and the audience can watch them enjoy their love affair with no guilt, unease, or annoyance.

So yes it’s probably sad for the actors who first played these characters or are playing them now to know that they won’t get to be the one to act out their characters ‘main character moment’ season. But they were hired on in that capacity, they knew what they signed up for, and at the end of the day no one is ‘entitled’ to anything in Showbusiness.

The whole show’s already a guilty pleasure, so let’s not tip the balance too far!