#fanfic by someone else | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

wlntrsldler · 27 days

Text

keep that to yourself | luke castellan

song: keep that to yourself by tristan

synopsis: luke survives the battle of manhattan and returns to camp half blood. he sees you and apologizes for all the damage he's done.

a/n: not associated with my other exbf!luke one shot, just obsessed with writing exbf!luke rn lol. please listen to the song bc it actually broke me.

luke castellan was never mean to you. he was always the boy with the kind eyes and gentle smile. the boy who was the first camper you met at 16 when you stumbled into camp half blood, terrified and partly relieved that you'd finally found sanctuary after two years of fending for yourself.

he offered his bed to you when you walked into the hermes cabin, stating that nobody deserved to sleep on the hardwood floors in a sleeping bag on their first night at camp. it was unusual for the head counselor to give up the bed they earned for a new camper, but you didn't know that then. you didn't question why luke never offered it to any new campers who entered the cabin throughout the years.

luke castellan was never mean to you. he was always the boy who stole extra pieces of dessert at dinner because he knew you had a sweet tooth. he noticed that when it came to burning offerings, you'd always frown knowing that you'd have to save your dessert to pray to your parent, so he started stealing an extra slice of cake or a fruit platter or the corner piece of the brownies.

when he passed by your table, he'd slide the plate on your tray and offer a shy smile before walking away. the grateful look in your eye every time he did this was cemented in his brain. you looked at him with so much adoration in your eyes and luke promised himself that he would do everything in his power to keep you looking at him like that.

luke castellan was never mean to you. he was always the boy who spent too much time helping you train because once kronos started visiting his dreams, he knew he wouldn't always be there to protect you. he would stay in that secluded part of the woods with you until the sun disappeared from the sky.

he would push you to your limit and you'd give it your all until your bones ached and you collapsed in exhaustion in his arms. then, he would kiss your temple and tell you that you did so well and joke that you were going to surpass him as the best swordsman at camp soon enough. you'd end the night winding down, pointing out the constellations in the sky, until the ominous sounds of the creatures lurking would force the two of you to retire to your respective cabins. he'd bid you goodnight with a soft kiss to your lips and a promise that he'll be outside your cabin door, bright and early, ready to take on the world with you the next day.

luke castellan was never mean to you, until he was. the fireworks in the sky illuminated his face in an eerie way, fire and anger dancing in the brown of his eyes as he pointed his sword at percy. you screamed at him to stop, to drop his sword, and he scoffed at you, calling you a traitor for taking the side of a boy you'd only met a few days ago. he accused you of betraying him, of never loving him, because you turned your back on him.

his words still ring in your ears years later. and when he walked into camp half blood, terrified and partly relieved thinking that the worst was over, that kronos was gone and he managed to survive the battle of manhattan, all you could think of was how he spoke to you that night.

there was a pain in your chest when he walked in with annabeth and percy. there were new scars on his body, two new ones that joined the scar on his face that you used to kiss. he looked older, too, sunken eyes and a slight hunch to his back, but he still looked like luke. your luke.

when he saw you, there was a stutter in his step that had percy gripping his arm to keep him steady. when the younger boy realized what luke was looking at, he offered you a small, apologetic smile. you tried to return the gesture, but your lips formed a grimace. you clutched your chest, standing frozen in your spot as your eyes raked over luke's body.

"y/n."

you closed your eyes at the sound of your name leaving his lips. it hurts to hear it. you gulped, blinking away the tears that were pooling in your eyes. when you finally found the strength to move, luke broke away from percy's grip and walked towards you, despite the warnings from the kids behind him.

there hasn't been a day since he left where luke didn't regret the way he left things with you. he wasn't himself then, but even that didn't excuse the way he treated you. he'd spent too many nights practicing what he would say to you, how he would apologize, how he would plead for your forgiveness if the gods showed him mercy and somehow blessed him with the opportunity to see you again.

now that he had the chance, he realized that it was not a blessing. this was a punishment from the gods; a punishment for his actions in the last few years, a punishment worse than death. you were looking at him like you hated him, like you wanted nothing to do with him. you looked at him like he was a stranger to you and it killed him slowly because he still felt like you were every memory, every hope, every lifeline he'll ever have.

luke knew he couldn't blame you. you had a million reasons to walk away from him right now and leave him here with his tail tucked between his legs. he ruined the one good thing in his life the night he spoke to you like that and accused you of never loving him. how did he ever think that? how did he ever doubt you when you've shown him nothing but the good in this god-forsaken life? it haunted him. it still haunts him.

"don't."

luke's lips formed a straight line. he looked down at your feet, a shudder trickling down his spine when he saw the fading doodles on your shoes that he drew with sharpie years ago.

"you don't get to talk to me," you said. "you don't get to do that, okay?"

"i just want to apologize."

"you don't get to do that," you repeated, voice wavering as you spoke. you wiped your eyes with the sleeve of your shirt, clenching your jaw, "it's not fair."

"y/n, please," he begged, "please."

"no, i've grieved losing you already," you croaked out, crossing your arms over your chest, "i've already accepted that i lost you. you don't get to come back to my life for any reason."

"baby..."

"you're so mean, luke," you cried, pushing him back. he let you shove him and hit his chest. he knew you were pulling your punches. he stood there and took it, biting his bottom lip as he watched you break down in front of him, unable to hold you in his arms. "you're so fucking mean, you know that? you were gone for years and so many people died and got hurt because of you. and you come in here and use how i feel about you to your advantage. how fucking cruel can you be?"

"i know, i know, i messed up really badly, but you gotta believe me. i didn't do it to hurt you."

you scoffed, backing away from him, "but you did."

"luke," annabeth approached the two of you, placing a hand on luke's back. "we should go, get you checked out at the infirmary."

you sniffled, wrapping your arms around yourself as you looked away to hide your tears from the pair. luke reached out to touch you, but he quickly dropped his hand when you flinched. his tongue poked the inside of his cheek as he tried to keep his emotions at bay. he wiped his eyes, giving annabeth a small nod.

he looked back at you, hoping that your eyes would meet his, but you never turned around. luke sighed sadly, following his younger sister to the infirmary. you didn't turn around to watch him leave until he turned the corner, disappearing from your view.

#frances writes #i cant do this song justice so someone else write this lol #luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan pjo #luke castellan fanfic #luke pjo #luke castellan x you

421 notes · View notes

drawnfamiliarfaces · 4 months

Text

I've been utterly fascinated by Good (better? nicer?) Chase design by @lizard-color4 from this post and desperately wanted to know more. Who's this man? What's his story? Why is his hand bandaged? Why is his fashion taste is so much better than Original Chase? And why the hell does his hug looks so nice??

so i um, decided to explore his design a little ;D

also bonus+ sorta?? continuation / my take on the after hug because i really craved more of that

bonus++ a silly doodle of my first attempt on his design because why not

#xiaolin showdown #chase young #jack spicer #chack #im low key waiting for a fanfic based on og post but so far noone delivered so I made fanart MYSELF HAH #i started drawing these like 3 months ago but got too embarassed by my attempt in drawing someone else's cool design #but didnt want to go into new year with these in my wips so imma just post it why the hell not #Lizard-color your og post was so good i periodically look at it because the hug looks so ??DSdsk;fjasfsd??? i love it sm and the coloring <#makes me weep and makes me breathless with emotions! u r such a great artist <3<3<3 #hope its ok i tried to desconstruct/reconstruct chase's design i love it sm #and i made up a lil au in my head that this Chase is from a universe where he is less of an asshole and Jack is more loyal #so they actually worked together more but that Chase lost his Jack so when he saw this universe Jack he just couldnt stop himself from #hugging him because he really missed him. And also that bandage is some sort of momento from his jack and i made myself saaaad D;

422 notes · View notes

arlovegood · 1 year

Text

Do y’all have ships that you indirectly ship? Like, you know nothing about them, doesn’t search or read fanfic but that one person you follow is always posting about them and you’re like: “yeah girl, they make absolute sense, an obvious OTP”.

#fandom #ship dynamics #because honestly #I have many in my timeline #know nothing about them #am not interested in consuming the show/book/movie or reading fanfic #but if someone shipped those two with someone else I would heavily disagree #because what do you mean? those two are OTP and not meant to be with anybody else!#just me?#well then 🤷🏼‍♀️

3K notes · View notes

3rinbkk · 1 year

Text

jungkook’s masterlist💗

SERIES

risqué by @mercurygguk - on going

genre: age gap au, angst, smut, fluff. summary: in which Jungkook struggles to keep his relationship with you strictly appropriate and it’s not like you’re making it easy for him.

runaway by @archivedkookie - on going

genre: best friend’s brother au, fwb, 4 years age gap, smut, angst, fluff, slow burn. summary: when your best friend’s brother, your first-ever crush, offers to help you explore your sexual desires, you just can’t refuse. especially when it’s someone as irresistible as Jeon Jungkook.

mutual help by @personasintro - on going

genre: fluff, angst, smut, slow burn, fake dating au. summary: in order for you to pretend to be his girlfriend, he helps you with your sexual desires– he calls it a mutual help.

bad influence by @noteguk

summary: in which you know Jungkook is a bad influence on you, but you can’t avoid falling for him every time.

practice by @chryblossomjjk

genre: college au, fwb, smut, fluff, angst.

blackout by @jjungxkook

genre: best friends to lovers, roommate and college au, fluff, crack, smut. summary: utility bills shooting up like this should be an international crime. luckily, Jungkook has the perfect idea(s) to save up money and make your night sinfully unforgettable.

the dilf installments by @mercurygguk - on going

genre: established relationship, smut, angst, fluff. summary: this series follows Jungkook’s life as a divorced father. but wait, how exactly does one balance being a father, a boyfriend, a friend, and a respectable boss at the same time?

to turn a bad thing good by @chateautae - on going

genre: series, arranged marriage!au, fwb!au, haters to lovers, smut, fluff, angst. summary: Jungkook’s drunken one night stand goes awry when he comes to learn not only is he being forced into an arranged marriage, but it’s to the very girl he abandoned that night– and things get a lot more complicated when you’re the best hookup he’s ever had.

the weekend by @chryblossomjjk

genre: m/18+, fwb, angst, smut. summary: every weekend, you give Jungkook a little taste of something he’s missing monday through friday.

hair dye: the collection by @mercurygguk

genre: established relationship, fluff, sumt. summary: series about Jungkook’s different hair colors.

denial by @girlygguk

genre: fwb au, secret-ish situationship, smut/fluff-ish/angt-ish. summary: it’s been a plethora of secret meetups, quickies in the bathrooms of his awards shows, and 2 am ‘you up?’ texts during you year-long situationship with Jungkook. you both agreed in the beginning that your careers are far too hectic to commit to anything serious, but you can't shake the shitty ache in your chest every time the high wears off, or when you’re crawling out of his bed in the middle of the night, trying to exile the shitty feeling of longing that you harbor for him, you spend time with another one of your guy friends. Jungkook sees, and he’s mad.

colour me in by @taegularities

genre: fwb, fake dating, college!au; fluff, angst, smut. summary: Jungkook’s door only opens for you when there’s a barter: a trade of lust and haze. but today you knock for something more, as intriguing as it is frightening- and you hope it doesn’t close his door forever.

gradation by @shina913

genre: bf2l, fwb, slow burn; fluff, angst, smut. summary: on your wedding day, your fiancé leaves you at the altar. while reeling from the embarrassment and heartbreak your best friend, Jungkook, wants to do everything that he can to help you heal.

in the seom by @thvhoe

genre: college au, fwb to lovers, smut, angst, fluff.

p&p by @yoon-kooks

genre: smut, fluff, college!au.

spicy n' sweet by @thvhoe

genre: established relationship, fluff, smut, angst, dance au x boxer au. summary: Jeon Jungkook is the perfect guy... to piss off your parents. he's buff, inked up and the definition of their worst nightmare but hey, when love comes knocking on your door there's not much you can do. it's not like you planned on falling for him... it just kinda happened, and honestly, you're not even mad about it. not at all.

in which by @onlyswan

genre: established relationship, fluff. NOTE: this is one of (if not MY) favorite series i've ever read. it's so beautiful and heartwarming and it brings me so much comfort,,, thank u so much for this amazing work of art <3

bitchin' by @kinktae

genre: 1980s au, eventual smut, e2l. summary: the 80s were a time of choices. which perm was right for you? what color neon would you wear next? none of these choices, however, were more questionable than a certain deal you made with Jean Jungkook.

ONE SHOTS

make you mine by @mercurygguk

genre: college au, friends to lovers au, fluff, angst, smut. summary: your first day at your new college is quite eventful to sa th least. but everything seems slightly less chaotic when Jeon Jungkook offers to help you on your way - if only knowing him wasn’t an even bigger mess than the day you first met.

never be friends by @jjungxkook

genre: best friends to lovers, fluff, crack, suggestive. summary: a healthy mix of irritation and amusement leads to kissing and making out with your best friend. everyone knows that.

white lies by @noteguk

genre: smut, fluff, very minor angst. summary: in which Jungkook lies his way out of and into trouble. bet he can’t tell white lies when it comes to you.

happy birthday loser by @jungk0oksthighs

genre: idiots to lovers, smut. summary: after three years of limping over your roommate, you give him one hell of a birthday celebration.

what if I love you too much? by @taleasnewastime

genre: fluff, angst, smut, single mum reader. summary: jungkook. it’s only a name you learn after your son kicks his ball over the fence. before that you only knew him as the hot new neighbour who mows his lawn topless. and though you have no intention of getting to know him anymore than that, inevitably you do. you don’t necessarily fall, it’s too slow for that, but you definitely develop feelings you don’t intend to feel. because you know men like him, and you know that whatever you’re feeling, he’s probably not feeling the same. all the same, however hard you try, you can’t help yourself.

roommates by @jjkeverlast

genre: roommates to lovers, roommates au. summary: you’ve been roommates with jeon jungkook for quite some time now, not having a single thought of him other than a roommate. but things take an unexpected turn when you accidentally catch him in the act.

on my knees by @jjkeverlast

genre: smut (seriously this is pure smut) summary: who needs a vibrator when Jeon Jungkook is here to do the job? not you.

the act of falling by @kooktrash

genre: smut, angst, fluff, established fwb, fuckboy!jk x fem!reader. summary: what was supposed to be a meaningless fling has turned into much more before you both realized you were falling. now all you can do is hope that all the challenges you’ve faced are worth something.

stay by @koostarcandy

genre: fluff, angst, slight smut, this is the “she fell first bet he fell harder” trope. summary: Jungkook comes in and out of your life like a recurring side character in a 90s show. you wish that he would stay, just like the main character that he is.

eat me by @7deadlysinsfics

genre: pwp, fwb au, f2l au, smut, fluff. summary: you accuse all men of not knowing how to make women cum, and your best friend, ever the competitive one, challenges you to let him show you that he doesn’t fall into that category. blame the tequila for what ensues.

the boy with galaxies in his eyes by @oddinary4bts

genre: fwb to lovers, idol!au, angst (a lot), smut (a whole lot too), fluff. summary: you had never thought the night sky could be found in someone’s eyes. that is, until you met Jeon Jungkook and his gravity pulled you in. will he crush you with the galaxies in his eyes, or will you learn to explore his worlds and make them yours?

changes in between by @taegularities

genre: roommate au, s2f2l; some crack, fluff, angst, smut. summary: “does that mean that I can kiss you now” becoming the roommate of Jeon Jungkook is the biggest change you’ve ever gotten thrown into- but little do you know that the addition of another man will bring even further turbulence into your (love) life.

rockstar 101 by @jeonjcngkook

genre: rockstar au, pwp, established relationship, smut, just pure unadulterated filth. summary: in the words of christina aguilera, “there’s nothing more dangerous than a boy with charm” and Jungkook is certainly coated in it.

groupie by @joonsy2k

genre: smut, fluff if you squint. summary: your best friend Jimin invites you to see his band, painted duck, perform at your local bar. you didn't expect to end up backstage with the bands lead bassist.

feel better by @mercurygguk

summary: your boyfriend arrives home after the Grammys, seeming annoyed and disappointed. and as his girlfriend, you want to make him feel better.

seven days a week by @back2bluesidex

genre: pwp, smut, fluff if you squint. summary: Jungkook promised himself that he will be fucking you right seven days a week.

primrose by @jeonjcngkook

genre: romance, established relationship, fluff, smut. summay: "I said... we're not done. understand?"

concrete king by @bratkook

genre: fluff, smut, limbo energy. summary: when a cute boy in a tacky hawaiian shirt lands a trick in your honor there's no way you could ever say no to him.

part two: hit the slopes.

DRABBLES

strawberry lips by @personasintro

genre: fluff summary: it’s not your fault your professor is extremely young and oh, so hot.

2K notes · View notes

sp0o0kylights · 7 months

Text

"I feel him." El insists. "Alive."

She hasn't said his name since Will first raised them all over the walkie, but every person in the room knows who she means.

Not that Steve can say his name either.

"But we watched him die." Nancy says gently, before Dustin properly loses it from where he sits in the corner. "Owen's even sent someone back through to check."

"Yes." El agrees, but it's clear she's frustrated. "He died here. But he's not alive here, he's alive over there."

"In the Upside Down?" Steve asks, and pretends his voice isn't cracking with desperation and barely concealed hope.

"No!" El snaps, before taking a deep breath and collecting herself to try again. "Through the other gate."

"Okay." Hopper cuts in, hands waving in some kind of "stay calm" gesture. "El, honey, I think we're all still hung up about the other gate." He pauses, before adding. "And how Creel dying opened it."

El gives him a thousand yard stare.

"I'm getting the crayons." Joyce sighs as she stands up. In a mutter she continues, "Should have gotten them to begin with."

Silently, Steve agrees.

xXx Eddie xXx

It goes like this.

A bat breaks through the side of the trailer. It swoops low, teeth rattling, but it doesn't attack.

It emits an odd, echoing screech, before flying through the gate, to the Rightside-Up.

"Shit." Dustin curses wildly. "Shit, they're gonna try and invade!"

"I thought they were guarding the gate!" Eddie protests, as that echoing scream returns tenfold, coming from the mouths of too many demobats. “If they wanted to invade wouldn’t they have done that already!?”

"No, because Vecna was focused on opening more gates! This must be his plan--to open enough gates to push an army through. We have to lead them away!"

"Dustin-!" Eddie calls out desperately, but finds himself overwhelmed by bats as more and more break through.

He fights through them, trying to get to Dustin, trying to listen to what the kid’s screaming.

He can’t hear him.

Not over all the screeching, the beating bat wings and the thudding noises as they smack at his head. Their teeth snap, tearing into every piece of him they can reach.

Eddie doesn’t know how long he’s been surrounded, but he hears the trailer door bang open--and shut.

"Dustin!" He screams this time, voice as loud as he can make it.

The kid’s faster than he is.

He’d planned this--or at least, had thought about it long enough to get himself a solid head start, leaving Eddie scrambling after.

Fighting through the torrents of bats. Abandoning the gate because Hawkins can burn for all he cares--but there are people who don't deserve to go down with it.

People like Henderson, who have bright futures ahead of them.

Eddie tears his way towards Dustin, unthinking, just running.

‘Stupid, stupid, stupid-!’ He thinks, but not at Dustin.

At himself, because he knows the kid. Knows what to expect from how he acts in games.

Steve even called it--and Eddie’s not stupid enough to think he was talking to both of them when he warned them about not being a hero. He was included purely because Dustin would fuss otherwise and they were short on time.

Dustin’s on the ground when Eddie finds him, and he whips his spear at the few dozen bats that attack him, their bodies circling, teeth biting.

He gets in two good hits before shit hits the fan.

To his right something explodes, flames high and reaching, a thunderous boom whipping out so loud that Eddie's ears ring.

A shockwave nearly takes him off his feet, bandana pulled from his head and freeing his hair.

Eddie crashes on the ground next to Dustin.

Sees all the blood and doesn't know what to do.

"Come on man." Eddie pleads. "Come on!"

He doesn't get an answer.

It goes like this.

Vecna’s dead.

The blast that killed him was from some kind of explosion that took out all of Creel House.

It fireballed skyward, and the Upside Down rapidly began doing….something, seconds after.

Returning, Eddie decides, to whatever it was before the asshole got thrown in here.

Or dying, maybe.

(This is easier to think about than the fact that no one could have survived that blast. That there's a black hole Eddie can see, and it has to wrap miles and miles around the Creel House because he's still near his trailer.

It the trees down the stupid hill didn't make it then Robin, and Nancy, and Steve--

He stops. Shakes his head.

If Eddie thinks about it, it will make it real.

He can't let it be real.),

The monsters all fall as one, dropping to the ground like puppets with cut strings.

Eddie had been pummeled by a few demobat bodies before he could get clear, though given how some still occasionally twitch and hop around weakly after, Vecna's death doesn't necessarily equal their own.

Madly, he crushes a few beneath his boots.

Knows that won't bring his friends back.

Stomps on a few more because he can't do anything about that, and he can't cry any harder.

It goes like this.

Eddie gets back topside to find Vecna's revenge in action.

It's an act worthy of a mad god, not that Eddie would ever give him such a title.

Hawkins wasn't split. It was consumed, with large portions falling deep into the earth that opened under it. Smoke chokes half the town from an outburst of fires, while downed trees and electrical lines make walking a chore.

The road is a cracked and pitted mess, littered with holes large enough to swallow entire cars.

Passage is nigh impossible by car, and downright dangerous by foot.

It makes Eddie want to sink to his knees in despair.

There were still people around, that first day.

There were still people around the second and fifth days too.

But then the monsters appear.

They're not the demobats, or demodogs or even the demogorgons that Eddie was told of.

They're something--else.

Mutated and mutating, taking on appearances that reflect both the Upside Down and the Right-Side Up (a term coined by one of the freshmen--Eddie can't recall which.)

Actual flowers, great purple and orange looking blooms sprout teeth and attack. Vines stick out of arcade cabinets, carting them around like a hermit crabs shell.

Some people breathe the falling little pieces of ash and suddenly aren't people anymore.

(It was Erica, who had coined the term. The Right-Side Up.

Erica who was also deceased, because the fucking explosion didn't just take out the Upside Down version of the Creel house, but the real one too.

Which meant Max and Lucas and Erica…

But Eddie's not thinking about that.)

It goes like this.

Wayne's gone.

He'd been at the plant when the Earth had swallowed it, his first day back to work because he'd used all his PTO trying to find Eddie.

The coworker who watched it happen makes sure to tell Eddie his uncle insisted he was innocent. That the old man never stopped looking.

Likewise, the trailer is gone.

It fell barely a day after Eddie had climbed out of it, one half eaten while the other teetered dangerously on the edge.

There's cops at the borders of the city.

They’re been commandeered by the military and the feds both, and people in heavy gear prowl around like guard dogs just waiting to be let off leash.

Helicopters fill the air, always circling and searching. Units of men and women begin parading around with guns as they escort tanks and other battle equipment through the streets.

They're looking for something besides the monsters, and they're happy to cut the phone lines and police the survivors to find it.

No one's allowed in--or out.

Eddie tries to escape the first few days, after he realizes everyone who knew the truth is gone.

Thinks maybe he can get to the Byers, and that super powered girl out in California, but keeps getting cut off.

Twice they've nearly caught him, which means twice Eddie has been forced to come to terms with the fact that he's one of the things they're after.

They know him by name.

They know he was involved in Creel's takedown.

Eddie"s not just being hunted by the town now.

He’s being hunted by the United States as a whole.

It goes like this.

Eddie doesn't want to die.

Can't bring himself to take his own life, forever too much of a coward.

So he berates himself while he hides.

Wonders what the fuck his plan is here.

Focuses on surviving, stealing food, sleeping in people he loves houses and hoping maybe some of them made it out.

(Given how Gareth's and Jeff's places are both untouched, he doesn't think they did.)

He’s never prayed before but now he’s praying to every deity he can think of. Hoping, wishing, that if he can’t get out alive, he at least goes down quickly.

It goes like this.

Steve Harrington walks out of the woods with a nailbat in his hands, like a blood soaked fever dream.

Eddie doesn't care.

He hugs him so hard his own ribs hurt and the crazy thing is Steve hugs him back even harder.

"You're alive." Eddie sobs, face buried in Steve's shoulder.,"You're alive, you're alive…"

Steve grips him for a moment before whispering back; "And so are you."

He pulls away and Eddie struggles against him, not ready to let go, fingers grasping at his shirt.

Steve strokes his hair, his stupid tangled, gross hair and Eddie looks at him, desperately needing the contact to prove that Steve is real.

That he’s here.

"I need you to listen--I'm not your Steve." Steve says, and Eddie’s so desperate for contact that the words don’t register for a moment.

Not that they make sense when they do.

"What?" Eddie asks.

"There’s a--okay.” Steve sighs, before saying; “I am going to absolutely blow the explanation, but I need you to trust me.”

“I do.” Eddie says, even as Steve fulfills his own prophecy, and gives a completely nonsensical explanation.

At the end of it, Eddie can’t bring himself to care.

As long as he has Steve back--even if it’s not technically his Steve, Eddie will follow him wherever he goes.

#MY COMPUTERS FIXED #HAVE MULTIPLE DIMENSION SHENANGINS #There's a part in Transformers MTMTE where this dudes husband gets murdered in a massacre in one dimension and due to Scientist Shenanigans #his husband gets him back by pulling him from another timeline where everyone ELSE died.#There's a lot of PTSD involved and i wanted that for Steddie so here we are.#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #0o0 fanfics #tw death #tw canonical and non canonical death #but like #they get better #sorta #is stealing someone from another dimension better #pre steddie #one day I will write actual steddie #stranger things fanfic #angst #hurt/comfort #I suppose specific #tw dustin death #though I dont really go into it #or any of them #and again #THEY GET BETTER LOL #sort of #also I need you to know the husbands from TF MTMTE are canonical husbands #thats important lol #they gay

555 notes · View notes

maladaptivewriting · 2 months

Text

being on marauders tumblr has made me realize that a lot of people would actually share anne rice's (terrible) opinion about fanfiction if they didn't write fanfic themselves.

#what do you mean people aren't allowed to make transformative works of YOUR transformative work?#people will literally come on this terrible website and say “no one can write fanfic of another person's fanfic”#the call is coming from inside the house #“ask before you make fanart”#sorry but maybe just take your fanfic down #how are you going to create fan works and then turn around and act like a dickhead when someone else does the same thing #btw this is not about selling bound fanfic #that is an outlier cause that's just copying someone's story and using it to make money for yourself #marauders #fanfic #ao3 #wolfstar #jegulus #jily #drarry #dramione

228 notes · View notes

nevertheless-moving · 3 months

Text

unable to stop dwelling on the discworld trouser leg of time where, in the penultimate fight scene in Nightwatch, Carcer manages to kill teenage Sam Vimes.

Which means that the future that Duke Vimes came from can no longer exist, which means he can’t go home. Meanwhile you’ve got a bunch of history monks with stored up temporal energy, a prepared space outside of time, and the need to do some desperate damage control before the Auditors get involved. Death shows up, reality is unweaving, Sam is reading Carcer his discworld miranda rights because what else is he supposed to do.

and finally, with little other option, the monks de-age Sam so he fits the time period and send him back out into the fray.

(they didn't call it deageing of course. His memory is hazy, splintered during that terrible in between moment, They....took the time out of him? Sanded away the edges of his self for a terrible, workable fit? It...wasn't a good feeling.)

Just—damn. Sam Vimes having to live his whole crapsack life over again, but this time as his disillusioned-reillusioned, unwillingly-character-developed, noir-epic, Duke of Ankh, Commander Sir Samuel Vimes self.

Younger (Older? He's never felt so Old, His steps so Childlike, reality twisting in his gut like one of Dibbler's pies) Sam Vimes walking around in a haze after the revolution. Desperate to go home, knowing he can’t. Wanting to drink. Knowing he can’t.

The whole precinct feels pity, he really took Keel’s death hard, hardly speaks except to do his job. Eventually he has to grit his teeth and start being present, because what else is there to do?

Resists the urge to drink until Colon takes the whole watch out to celebrate because -he’s going to be a father!

Come on Sammy, one drink won’t kill you— and after the first drink he’s cracking jokes and after the second hes smiling and after the third hes honestly the life of the party and sometime after that he’s crying about how he was going to be a father and my wife would be ashamed if she saw me drinking like this and—

Oh shit, Did anyone else know he had a wife?? A PREGNANT wife??? What—aren’t you like 12—no you're 17 now aren't you but when did—

You guys n’ver met ’er—oh gods none if you ev’n know ‘er, is jus’ me...

What—when did you lose—

I lost her the same damn day I los’ ev’rythin else, whadya think...bleeding Carcer...the fuckin revolution...

So! That! Sam only vaguely remembers the night, but rumors travel faster than light on the disc, so by the next day the whole damn city knows about poor Sam brung low by the loss of his poor, tragic, pregnant wife, so young to be a widower, and the Seamstresses nod because they already knew, don’t ask them how, somethings you just have to know in that trade.

And his mother—I don’t know, sue me, I’m a time travel fiend but there’s something deeply intriguing about a man meeting his dead parent, who is somewhat younger than him, and stepping into the old relationship like a badly fitting thing that's supposed to fit well. She would know, right? How would she deal with her son’s impossible grief? Maybe she wouldn’t know—he spent most of the time out of the house, running with different street gangs, maybe he avoids her until she dies and lives with the guilt twice over. God, we don’t even know her name. There’s just so much narrative and emotional potential that I don’t even know where to start.

When he’s on duty, which is most time - it’s agonizing because at first he remembers cases, saves lives that would have been lost. But the more time passes, the hazier his memory because in the original timeline he was becoming an alcoholic. Fuck! A kid dies and he could have saved her if he hadn’t been such a drunk, if he had just remembered where the asshole lived, but it’s all a haze, and he wants to drown out his guilt, but that’s what caused this in the first place.

Good young Sammy, who spends his rare off-time in dusty libraries (and yes, the irony that he’s apparently Carrot now is not lost on him) reading gods-only-know.

It’s not like he can ask the wizards for help, cutthroat and vicious as they are now in the not-so-distant-past.

Good young Sam, who...talks to the Broken Drum’s pet Bouncer like he’s a real person and not a dumb rock? That’s a bit weird, but he’s a bit of a funny guy.

Good old Sam, who believed the testimony of the dwarf who said the humans were trying to rob him and let the dwarf go??

the PROBLEMS this man would cause, good grief. Can you imagine a moderately progressive middle aged man with some degree of begrudging diversity and equity training that he did, for all his sins, pay attention to, suddenly going back to like, 1990, going back just 30 years, and going...oh damn this is kind of fucked up, no man you can’t say that, holy shit.

Except Sam’s lived through even more rapidly shifting social moroes! There’s no seamstress guild, there’s no women allowed inside the university, there’s no black ribboner’s society. People hunted trolls for their teeth! But Sam can’t just unlearn everything, and he can’t shut up, and he has no real luck and anyway he would absolutely get himself (temporarily) fired.

FUCK. Sam has no idea what to do with that. None. Zero clue. Wanders around in a haze until that dwarf he saved from police brutality finds him and insists on repaying the debt. No, he insists, do you have any idea what debt means to a dwarf?

“Sort-of?” he replies hesitantly, and that honest admission of incomplete knowledge shows a hell of a lot more respect and understanding than any self proclaimed dwarf-expert ever did.

Gets a job as a surface man, hauling rocks into the city. It’s backbreaking work, but, in true Discworld fashion, it’s also one hell of a workout (again the irony of being Carrot is not lost him. he freezes for a minute while hauling a rock cart, when he remembers he's technically Lost Nobility too, in a strict sense, but someone curses at him in the street and he's comfortingly grounded)

And here is where this au slides into a SPECTACULAR romantic comedy, BEAR WITH ME. Because in his time on the Watch he’s already done noir, action adventure, war story, detective who dunnit, psychological horror, but guards guards only allowed him to be a romance protagonist in an extremely limited context.

Give me righteous, twenty-something-looking, can’t-say-he-doesn’t-have-style, young Sam Vimes, not an alcoholic, being fed three square meals a day by his dwarven forced found family, hauling rocks. He is startled to find him bumping his head on a low hanging bar that he doesn’t think used to be there, eventually realizing that he’s an inch or two taller than he remembers. Huh. Guess all that bearhuggers really did stunt his growth.

Still doesn’t get what some of the looks from women he’s getting are about, sure, he’s dirty but so is everyone else. Fine, he took his shirt off, but it’s hot out, there’s far wrinklier than him hauling heavy loads, get a life.

Happens to glance in the Ankh one day when it’s particularly slow and shiny and is startled to realize that he might be turning heads for a different reason. Oh. Right, not that he was ever a heartbreaker, but he did alright for himself... when he was a younger and his face hadn’t been broken so many times. Which...it isn't now.

Is mildly disturbed by the revelation.

Especially once things blow over at the precinct and what with high mortality rates, he ends up with getting hired again. The boys are delighted to have him back, nevermind that he’s an odd one, noone is ever quite in your corner like Vimsey, absence makes the heart fonder, no one else works that hard, and he’s not even competition for promotion. All around great guy, we should set him up with somebody and just, no.

It just keeps getting worse! He’s literate! He’s a feminist! He believes abuse victims! He’s got a tragic backstory! He’s unreasonably good in a fistfight! He’s kind to animals! Word gets around that there’s a good man on the watch and he’s just waiting for a good woman to come snap him up. The widower excuse doesn’t hold people off completely, and for some it’s its own sort-of appeal.

Things REALLY become stressful after he rescues that carriage full of noblewoman.

What’s he supposed to do? Let them get robbed? Or worse? Chasing down and beating up 10 goons is as easy as beating up one, when they’re that stupid, getting separated like that, drunk and distracted, and he knows these streets better than anyone, really it’s nothing. And oh lord he’s Modest too.

I mean, they were genuinely greatful, as genuine as people like that are capable of being, the skill having grown rusty. And then there is something...magnetic about the man. An air of command.

So, soon enough you get Lady Marigold of Marigrave calling on Treckle Road for that gallant young officer who rescued them, she really needs to thank him. And Viscountess Elanor Thitzferal specifically requesting that he guard her at her next soiree. And Baroness Julieta van Shoeholten insisting that he come to her home while her husband’s away, for... manly protection.

Aaaah just zero sympathy from the guys. None. 'It’s become a competition, they’re just trying to see who can get me into bed first, it’s like I’m a piece of meat, you can’t send me sir, the Marquess greeted me in a nightee last time you made me go to—' and 'small gods Vimes are you even listening to yourself, shut the hell up'.

Simultaneous to this, (again this is several years into the timeline) swamp dragon accessories come into style. Which means abandoned swamp dragons scrounging on the street. Vimes takes one back to his apartment, blows his paycheck on dragon medicine, and eventually, heart in his chest, brings it to the Ramkin estate. The sunshine orphanage doesn’t even exist yet and he’s just standing outside the gates like an idiot, what is he thinking. Turns around, but her carriage is pulling up and—

well. they meet. it's cute. he's never felt so young. he's never felt so old, too old for her, too poor—

and certainly her thoughts linger too long on the awkward, kindly, handsome young commoner, but is it any wonder she doesn't quite connect it to the stern, dangerous, sexy young guard the ladies seem to be in some quiet, cuthroat competition over?

i have this gorgeous, absurd scene in my head in which Vimes is strong armed into standing guard at some high society soiree and one of the pushiest ladies insists he dance with here, or, if he prefers, if he's not confident about his skills, he can dance with her in-private at her home and he’s like [grinding teeth, looking for a way out, seeinf one] “I would be honored to dance with you.”

Steps right into some ultra-complex dance with multiple partner swaps (she never thought he'd pick this one, devilishly intimidating to one not strictly trained, and you barely spend anytime with your first partner).

But he does alright. Better than alright, for a common man, sometimes misstepping but his hands and feet always end up where they need to be. Raises several eyebrows part way into the song because he's throuwing in some slightly scandalous, no innovative, extra lifts and twirls that wouldn't become fashionable for another decade or two. Who even is that guy? Some out of towner? No, no he's in a guards uniform...how very strange.

Gets to Sybll and she's used to embarrassment during these dances, she tries to get out of them when she can... but can't always. Men awkwardly skipping the lifts, or worse, trying and failing. But him — oh it's him, the one who helped little Erold, and looked at her like—like—well like she was someone beautiful. And he's doing it again, and he's strong and there's a quiet moment where she's in the air, they lock eyes, and the rest of the room melts away.

And then the partners change again, the moment ended.

Just...living throught it all again. To the left, a dance he almost knows the steps to, throwing others off balance with erratic moves , honest mistakes, and delibrate stepping on toes. Improvising. Ruining. Improving. Getting far, far too much attention.

Hes almost excited when the first assassains start coming after him. It's like a hobby.

Everyone tells him he should get a hobby.

Interactions with young vetinari...I don't have the energy to write it all down, the slow circling in on each other, both burning with the need to fix the city, save it, their city.

needless to say he ends up fired again, life under real threat after offending some high lord.

Conveniently enough he has an employment opportunity- bodyguard to fucking Vetinari on his 'grand sneer.' The bastard knows vimes isn't what he seems, though sam is pretty sure that he doesnt know the exacts.

Vetinari hypothesis:(the ghost of keel? Keels son, with some hereditary curse? Or a larger spirit of justice possessing a string of unrelated souls? He knows things he shouldn't- mind reader? Fortune teller? Havelock once arranged for a wizard to bump into him on the street, the magical fool gave an odd double look and then muttered something about destiny looping in on itself giving him a headache. Destiny? Lost noble? And hes far too familiar with sybyl, one of the few bearable noblewomen in this city. And his thoughts on guilds, when havelock can trip him into speaking... Most of all, if hes reading him at all correctly (for all the mystery hes not that hard to read, unless thats a very clever cover) then it seems that behind those dark haunted eyes is Respect. Loyalty. For vetinari. What an interesting man. A puzzling asset. An intriguing threat. )

Did I mention the timeline is changing, healing slowly around the place where it was torn? Healing enough around scars to perhaps get some flexibility back, with some painful stretches and...massaging of said scar tissue?

And hes heading to unresting uberwald, a place where a werewolf pack still hunts humans and, truely unrelated but perhaps equally exhausting, an eldritch spirit of vengeance just might be looking to stretch its legs in a hapless vessel?

Opening drabble Vimes Vetinari Meta (Unwell)

#discworld #sam vimes #discworld au #nightwatch au #i literally drafted this post in December 2021 #and i know it was living in my head for years already at that point #i have more somewhere aging like cheese in the back of my mind #discworld fanfic #night watch #Let this be free from my mind #Perhaps someone else will write it #BE FREE ANCIENT AU OF MY SOUL #For all my obsession with discworld I have but this one (1) AU though it tears at me like the seam of a pair of pants #The songs I have permanently associated with this au are slightly bonkers by the way #My au #Seriously there's like two full novels worth of content up here. Sybyll running away from home and living as a commoner #To mirror Sam joining upper class in original timeline you see?#Some early discworld murder Wizard nonsense when they try to poke at the temporal anomaly and the universe goes brrrr #Eventually catching up with color of Magic city burning bs and vimes is mad as fuck #Weird year that never was protecting people during sourcery #And when we start catching up with where he left #Oh ho ho you can't to forward to something that doesn't exist but maybe you can go sideways to a place that's got a tear in it #A sam vimes shaped tear #And his pregnant wife from 30 years ago in the other trouser leg #AND that's not even mentioning how carcers trial got taken to a...higher court

360 notes · View notes

perfinn · 2 months

Text

you're out of touch, i'm out of time

aegon ii targaryen x reader

wc: 3.3k

summary: you have a tendency to pick up strays, but when you pick up the king of westeros (who was supposed to have died hundreds of years ago), things begin to get a little complicated

cw: NSFW, f!reader, aegon being a creep (shocker), aegon being deeply pathetic (also shocker), aegon is drunk or possibly hung over, attempted sex (aegon begs for a handjob but doesn't get one)

read on ao3, divider by saradika

You’ve always been too nice. You’re aware of this unfortunate fact, though you staunchly refuse to admit it’s a weakness. Has this trait left you without necessities from time to time because you gave them to someone who needed them more? Yes, but you sleep better at night knowing that that homeless girl had sturdy new shoes, even if you had to walk home barefoot. You can always handle a bit of discomfort if it means improving someone’s day marginally. It’s not as though you’re without any sense of self preservation– you know when to say no, or when to walk away. When someone is out for their own self interest, or just plain dangerous.

You’re smart about it. Mostly. Sometimes, though, your sympathy gene takes over, and you approach the danger because you feel there’s more beneath the surface. So far, it hasn’t put you in any troubling positions. Still, first time for everything. And as you stand on the edge of the pavement, toes of your shoes swinging down into the gutter as you sway back and forth, you wonder if you’re about to break your successful streak.

There’s a man in the busy city street, raving and desperately trying to get someone’s attention. Usually, he’s the type you’d regretfully ignore for your own safety, but he seems different. He doesn’t seem like the usual King’s Landing crackheads. He’s dressed too nice, for starters. Strange, yes, but still nice. In fact, it looks to be better quality than anything you own. And he’s young– which isn't uncommon in this situation, but it always makes your heart ache when they’re young.

He looks desperate, terrified, and as another person ducks their head and walks past him, you feel yourself moving toward him. You don't know why. Maybe because you know if you leave now, you’ll not sleep tonight for the sheer guilt of passing him by. He spots you making your way over and turns to you, seeming to hope against hope that you’re going to acknowledge him.

“Hi,” you say in a calm, even voice. It's a tone you’ve gotten quite good at. You’re not professionally trained by any means, but these things generally come with the territory. “Let's get you out of the road, okay? You could get hurt.”

“What the fuck are those things?” He demands of you as a car stops to let you take him across. You wave your thanks to the driver, who looks mildly disgruntled, and take the young man gently by the arms to get him onto the pavement. “Where are the horses?”

You know he must be confused, so you’re gentle with him. “There's no horses,” you say, still holding his arms as he finally looks away from the disappearing car and into your eyes. He looks so deeply afraid, but you notice he does take a moment to look you over. You let him, trying to see the best in him and hoping it's just curiosity. It doesn't matter right now anyway, you tell yourself. “Are you okay?”

“No!” He snaps. “Course I’m not bloody okay! Where am I?!”

“You’re in King’s Landing,” you say. “Let's get you somewhere quiet, okay? Are you hungry?”

“This,” he laughs in disbelief, looking around. “Is not King’s Landing, I know what King’s Landing looks like!”

“Okay,” you nod. “I believe you. Let's go sit down, I’ll buy you something to eat.”

The man looks at you with what you think is an offended scowl, but the offer of food does seem to intrigue him. “And wine?”

“No,” you say, and he deflates.

He scratches at his chin, but nods in agreement. “Yes, fine.”

You smile, a bit of relief easing the worry in your ribs. Sometimes people won't cooperate, or they’ll turn you away when you say you won't buy them booze or give them money outright. This young man seems to be content enough without wine, so you wave your hand and lead him down the road toward the nearest fast food joint.

He follows behind you, panicked eyes still looking around as though he's never seen the world before. It's not wonder, but something close to anger, indignation maybe. You make it to a diner you like, opening the door for him. He's clearly astounded by the ugly cacophony of colours inside, but you can't blame him. You don't come here for the aesthetics.

“Go sit down?” You tell him gently, framing it like a suggestion as you point to your favourite booth. He scowls, but does as bid.

The teen behind the counter takes little notice of your strange company. It's King’s Landing, he's probably seen something ten times as strange already today. Once you’ve paid, you join your new stray, sitting down across from him and folding your hands on the table.

“So, what's your name?” You ask him, and he looks away from the bustling street outside the window to stare at you in what you assume is disbelief.

“What’s my name?” He echoes, leaning slightly over the table. “Are you serious?”

You blink. That’s… not a question anyone’s ever been mad at you for. You learned quickly which questions to steer clear of to avoid pissing people off.

He scoffs, leaning back in his seat and tapping a dirtied fingernail against the peeling surface of the table. “Aegon,” he says, almost experimentally. Like he's testing the waters.

You nod politely, and tell him yours.

He stares at you. “Nothing? Aegon? You’ve not heard the name Aegon?”

“Well, of course I have,” you say, confused smile pulling at your lips. “It's a common enough name. I think I knew a guy in school named Aegon–”

“You have been to school?” Aegon asks, eyebrows shooting up and a laugh spilling from his mouth. He leans back, dragging his hands over his clammy face. “Have I been drugged?!”

You’d put serious money on that being a resounding yes.

“This is crazy,” he says, leaning forward again. He says your name slowly, glancing around before his eyes land on you. “Can you tell me what's going on?”

You bite your lip, thankful when the cashier calls out your order number. You rush to get up and get it, fearing you may be way out of your depth this time. He talks like he’s never seen the world before, and his comment about you having gone to school… none of it makes any sense. You’ve never even had the thought of dropping someone off with someone who’s better equipped to handle problems of this magnitude, but Aegon has you really considering it. When you return with the tray of food and set it down, Aegon has the specials menu in hand and is squinting at it.

“I got you what I usually get,” you say, setting the tray down and placing his wrapped burger in front of him, leaving the fries on the tray. “Aegon, I want to help you, but I’m at a bit of a loss.”

“That certainly makes two of us,” Aegon says, unwrapping the burger curiously. “What meat is this?”

“It’s beef,” you tell him, unwrapping your own. He watches as you take a bite of yours, and he nods as though in satisfaction before taking a hefty bite of his. “Aegon, I want to understand what’s going on in your head. Can you just…”

You’re not sure how to say it, really. It’s invasive, and you don’t want him to feel like you believe he’s crazy, or lying.

“What’s your deal?”

He chews slowly on his burger, eyeing you suspiciously. “My deal,” he echoes, lips turned down in a scowl. “Is that I’m the King of Westeros.”

You nod slowly, biting into your burger so you don’t have to answer right away. You hope if you stay silent long enough, he’ll feel compelled to keep talking.

“King Aegon,” he says slowly, like you’re the deluded one. “Aegon Targaryen, Second of His Name, Protector of the Realm, all the rest. Are you serious?”

You swallow your mouthful and nod. You’re not particularly well versed in history, but the titles ring a bell. It’s some sort of messiah complex, you’d wager. Trying your best not to seem dismissive, you pull out your phone. “Let me see,” you say.

“What’s that?” He asks, leaning forward and trying to snatch it from you. You move it out of his way, yelping softly in contrition.

“My phone!” You say. “I’m just looking you up, Aegon.”

“You’re what?” He says, looking horrified. “Give me that!”

“Dude, no! Let me just–” You stand up from your seat to be out of his reach, hurriedly typing the name he’d told you into the search bar. “Look, I know the name Targaryen, that’s the Conqueror's name!”

“Yes! Aegon the Conqueror!” He cries. “You’re finally making sense!”

“What? No, I mean Daenerys!”

“Who!?”

“Aegon, sit back down!” You snap, and he pauses in his pursuit of your phone, stunned into silence by your firm tone. Slowly, he returns to his seat, picking up a fry to eat it.

“Only because I want to,” he says childishly.

You frown at him, shaking your head before looking back at your phone as it pulls up the results for your search.

‘Aegon II Targaryen, also known as Aegon the Elder, was the sixth Targaryen king to sit the Iron Throne, succeeding his father, Viserys I Targaryen, as Lord of the Seven Kingdoms.’

The search pulls up a picture as well, one of those terribly done paintings from the dark ages. It’s hard to say whether the Aegon in front of you looks much like the one in the painting, but he does have the same pale blonde hair and violet eyes. He’s a lot more pathetic than the portrait, too. He has the qualities of a wet cat, and you hate that it’s somewhat endearing. When you keep scrolling, you find a painting that can’t have been contemporary. This is a more detailed portrait, likely from half a century ago, where Aegon is covered in burns and lies dead in a carriage.

You look up, meeting the wary eyes of the confused but un-burned man before you, and slowly sit back down. You know that he isn’t actually the king from nearly a millennium ago, but there’s an uncanny quality about him that makes you want to doubt the logical truth. His clothes, for one. You don’t know many homeless guys with such fine embroidery on their clothes. And there’s his features… you know them to be Valyrian, but rarely does anyone still pop up with the stark blond and violet irises. You remember well enough from your high school history classes that the Targaryen dynasty had those features.

“What does your little brick do?”

You blink, looking down at it and pulling up the contemporary portrait – part of you tells you not to show him the other. He scowls at it, but nods. “Seven hells, that’s not flattering. Where did you get this miniature? You have this and yet claim not to know me? What game do you play?”

You sigh. He truly doesn’t understand, does he?

“Aegon, what year do you think it is?”

He rears back and regards you with more suspicion. “129 AC,” he says.

“And what were you doing before this?”

“I will not tell you that,” he says. “You’re one of Rhaenyra’s spies, aren’t you?”

“I don’t know who Rhaenyra is,” you say softly. “I’m sorry, Aegon, I’m not a history buff.”

“History–” He stops, and goes deathly silent for a long moment, as though the whole situation is finally processing for him. You wonder if it’s the stench of wine that hangs off him explains his slow processing. “What year do you think it is?”

You tell him the year, even tack today’s date on for him. He stares are you, and you can see his brain buffering yet again.

“Seven hells,” he murmurs. You find you share a similar sentiment.

He picks up his burger and begins to eat it slowly. He’s silent for a long while, eyes seeming far away as he contemplates. You try not to stare at him, but it's no easy task.

“This is going to sound crazy,” he says after a long while. “But I believe I may have travelled… through time.”

“I’d say so, yeah,” you respond. At this point, it's the only explanation. You’d usually say something about eliminating all the impossible options, but that just doesn't work here. Time travel is impossible, or it should be. And it's possible Aegon is just suffering from a deeply intense messiah complex. But that doesn't seem right. Your instincts haven't led you wrong before, you’re not about to ignore them now.

“What am I going to do?” asks Aegon.

You want to tell him you’re going to try to find a way to get him back to his own time, but you’re struck once more with the image of him burned and twisted, dead in a carriage. How can you send him back to his fate knowing his grisly end?

You take in the man in front of you, this historical figure you’d never heard of until five minutes ago, and bite your lip. “We’ll figure it out,” you promise him. “You… can stay with me until we do.”

That’s probably dumb, and you’ll probably regret it. But not more than you would regret leaving him out on the streets.

“I suppose,” sighs Aegon like he’s spoiled for choice. You get up to ask for a bag for your food, glancing back as Aegon chews sadly on his burger.

You get Aegon back to your place, and he wanders into the flat ahead of you. You watch him go with a soft huff, rolling your eyes. If everything else hadn’t convinced you, his attitude is proof positive that he’s from the past. He has all the entitlement of a prince and none of the consideration of those around him that modern men have (sometimes) gained.

Your flat isn't much, two bedrooms and mostly paid for by your university. You had a flatmate for a time, but their sudden withdrawal left you without anyone and the school doesn’t seem to have noticed. Aegon can stay in the empty room until you figure him out.

Aegon’s standing in your living room, staring in wonder at the decor you’ve collected over the course of your degree, at your television, maybe he’s just looking at all of it. He’s turning in a slow circle, eyes narrowed.

“This is very nice for a commoner. Very strange, but it is not… disgusting.” He pauses in his assessing, looking between you and the ridiculous tapestry you purchased one night after far too many drinks. “Who is this man?”

“Oh, he’s this guy from a movie,” you say, not really processing that he won’t understand what a movie is. He stands there, dumbstruck, while you go to put your leftover food in the fridge.

“A what?”

“Just… don’t worry about it. There’s going to be a lot for you to take in, but with any luck you won’t be here too long.” You come back over to him, taking him in. He looks out of place standing here in his king’s threads. “Let me get you something to wear.”

“There’s nothing wrong with this,” he says, shifting and taking in your clothes. “Where is your father? Your husband?”

“My father is in my hometown, and I don’t have a husband.”

“You live without a man?” He eyes you suspiciously. “A whore?”

“Okay,” you say, gently grabbing him by the shoulders and walking him over to the sofa. “Sit here, I have some men’s clothes lying around. Do not move.”

Aegon huffs, rolling his eyes and sitting back with folded arms. You wonder, as you go into your room to find something for him, if he’s heard the word ‘no’ very much in his life. It wouldn’t seem that way, but sometimes the way he reacts to you telling him off leaves you thinking otherwise. He’s a bigger mystery than you’ve ever faced, but something tells you he’s worth it.

You emerge after a while to see him flicking through the book you’d left on your coffee table, frowning. He looks up when you enter, setting the book down. “Your home is peculiar,” he informs you.

“I know,” you say, handing him the soft clothes you’d found. “Student housing is kind of a lottery. You can get changed in the spare room, if you want. I’m going to go shower. If you get hungry, your leftovers are in that big white box there, okay?”

“Yes, yes, whatever.”

You watch him enter the near-empty bedroom and shut the door, heaving a heavy sigh before you go off to your own room. You don't shower. Instead, you pull out your computer and set out to learn all that you possibly can about Aegon.

What you learn twists your stomach into knots so tight you feel that they would trap the nausea that grips your throat from escaping. Aegon was no saint, no, but what you find is that his life is steeped in tragedy. If he believes himself to be king now but remains unburned by his cousin’s dragon, he must be near the end of his life; but the worst of his troubles have yet to begin.

It is strange to think of the pathetic and bratty man in your flat as growing into the role of a king, if one could say he ever did. He seems nothing but a lost young man, unloved but for the power he afforded his Hightower family.

The reports on him are so extensive and exhaustive that an hour has passed before you realise you haven’t been disturbed. You get up from your desk, wondering if Aegon has somehow wandered out of your flat and back onto the street.

When you open the door, you’re greeted by the sight of your kitchen cabinets strewn open, and your cheap bottle of vodka now empty on the counter. Aegon is sprawled on your sofa, cradling a novelty ceramic beer mug you won in a pub quiz in your first year.

“Seven hells,” you mumble, going over to him and snatching the cup from him to be met with his whining protests. You sniff the cup, nose scrunching in disgust at the acetone-y smell. “Not even a mixer…”

Aegon looks up at you, trying to reach for the cup and whining your name. At least he changed into the sweats. The King’s Landing University jumper rather suits him, actually.

“Please,” he says, looking even more closely akin to a wet cat. He seems on the verge of tears. “You’re pretty, do you know?”

“I’ve heard,” you say, setting the cup down on the coffee table and turning to him.

He grabs your wrist, tugging you closer with surprising strength considering how sloshed he is. “You’re so pretty,” he whispers. He almost sings your name. “Will you get me off?”

“Wh- Aegon!” You snap, tearing your wrist away. “No!”

“Please! Just your hand, you’ve got such soft hands!”

“Aegon,” you hiss. “No. You’re drunk. Even if I wanted to, that wouldn't be okay. You don't know what you're saying.”

Aegon pouts at you, falling back against the sofa and letting out a soft hiccup. “That doesn't make sense.”

“Maybe not in your time,” you say, grabbing him a blanket and laying it over him. “Gods- just- just try to get some sleep, okay? We’ll talk in the morning when you're fully sober.”

“I’ll die before that,” he says, snuggling up to the soft blanket with a ridiculous cartoon of a wolf on it. Another of your decor purchases you thought would be hilarious in the moment. You grab his cup and pour what’s left of the vodka into the sink before gathering up your remaining bottles and vowing to take them to the cabinet in your room with a lock.

“Maybe. But if you vomit on my carpet, you’ll be paying the cleaning bill, your grace.”

#don't love this but i need to get it out of my system in the hopes that someone else will #my work #aegon #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x reader #aegon ii targaryen x reader #i cant be fucked adding more tags #aegon ii targaryen fanfic #excet thst one #yootioot

301 notes · View notes