#i’ve never made so many of these before

[vroomvro0mferrari]

LN4 | Dutch Courage

Summary: When Max Verstappen invites Lando to celebrate King’s Day with him, he can hardly refuse. Especially when it’s a great opportunity to spend time with the Dutch man’s sister.

Lando Norris x Verstappen!Reader

WC: 2.9K

Warnings: Alcohol (over)consumption

Masterlist

The first time Lando really came in contact with the Dutch culture was during his first Dutch Grand Prix. The atmosphere of the race, the enthusiasm of the people, and the taste of stroopwafels immediately made him like the Netherlands. When Max introduced him to more Dutch traditions and told him about the extreme celebrations of the King’s birthday, he couldn’t believe it. His experiences with the Queen’s birthday were completely different, much more sophisticated and ceremonial than the Dutch celebrations. You could say he was gobsmacked when he saw the videos; people dressed all in orange, filling the streets and canals, drunkenly partying like it was a festival. When Max extended an invitation to join him next April, Lando accepted straight away, eager to experience the unique tradition.

And so, next April 27th, Lando found himself in Amsterdam. He was passing tons of people stalling out their stuff on blankets, sitting on folding chairs by their improvised shops. They were all dressed in orange, of course. Lando, himself, had also adhered to the dress code. Sporting his orange hoodie, he’s ready to party all day long.

Lando made his way through the city, Google maps opened on his phone as he navigated the streets of Amsterdam. Luckily, Max’s apartment building was easy to find. Lando rang the doorbell, grinning when he spotted his Dutch friend. Lando could already hear the noise coming from the apartment while he greeted Max, the sound of music and singing passing through the walls.

“Hey man, what’s up?” He asked.

“Nothing much. What about you?” Max responded while welcoming Lando into his second home, leading him into the hallway.

Lando was about to answer his question, but the unexpected sight in the living room disrupted his train of thought. A confused frown etched itself onto his face, and he asked, “Why are there so many girls in your house? Don’t you have a girlfriend already?”

Max laughed at the question, “Oh yeah, they're my sister’s friends,” he responded nonchalantly as if they weren’t appropriating his apartment.

“You sister’s friends? Why are they taking over your place?”

“They’re getting ready to go out in a bit. Since I live closer to the centre than Y/N, they’re leaving from here. I told them to stay the night too, I don’t want Y/N and her friends to travel home in the middle of the night when they’re all drunk.”

Lando nodded as he observed the herd of girls getting ready. It was a mess – even compared to how his sisters got ready. They were doing lots of things at the same time: passing the phone around to pick music, singing along to whatever Dutch song was playing, taking pictures, talking, doing their makeup, fixing their hair, picking out accessories and putting flags on their faces; it was complete chaos, but they didn’t seem to mind.

“I’ll get you some water, mate,” Max said before walking to the kitchen, leaving Lando alone with the women. 

It took a while for Y/N to spot Lando, but when she did, she came over right away. “Lando! How are you? I haven’t seen you in such a long time!” She said excitedly as she pulled him in for a hug.

“I’m good. It’s your fault we haven’t seen each other in so long, you never come to races anymore,” 

“Yeah, sorry about that. Life’s been busy. So, I hear today’s your first King’s Day, are you excited?”

Lando chuckled, “Ah, yes it is. Of course, I’m excited. I’ve been told it’s quite the experience!”

“It certainly is. I would’ve expected you to wear more orange though, isn’t it your team’s colour?” She questioned him teasingly.

“Is my hoodie not enough?” He asked, looking down at his outfit.

“Oh Lando, you know it’s not! Didn’t Max show you the videos? Come, I’ll put some flags on your face,” she said as she pulled him into the group of girls. 

They all greeted him enthusiastically as Y/N searched through the pile of orange and red-white-and-blue-coloured accessories, looking for something that would fit Lando. She pulled out a ribbon of the Dutch flag and grinned widely. Lando stood still as Y/N wrapped the ribbon around his head like a headband and tied it with a bow. “Very coquette, I’m sure your lady fans will love it,” she murmured and grabbed his jaw to turn his face to the side. A look of focus overtook her features as she gently applied the face paint to Lando’s cheeks. 

Lando was caught off guard at the situation he found himself in. He had barely stepped foot in the apartment and he was already being pulled in all kinds of directions as the whirlwind of women fussed over him, dressing him up for their sacred holiday. He caught Max’s eyes over Y/N’s shoulder, silently pleading for rescue, but Max merely laughed at the situation in which Lando had trapped himself, not offering any assistance. Instead, he stood by and watched with amusement as Y/N picked out things for Lando to wear and offered him an orange poncho for the rain that would probably come later today. Lando had no choice but to go along with it, accepting everything as it came. It was only a small effort for him, and it seemed to make her happy.

Y/N only let Lando go once she was satisfied with his outfit. He quickly rushed to Max, who offered him a glass of water with a big grin on his face, “She got you, eh?”

“Apparently, my orange hoodie was not enough,” he responded.

Max pat him on the back, “Don’t worry, I was a victim earlier,” he replied, pointing to his cheeks covered with face paint.

Not much later, the girls finally settled down. They were nearly ready to leave, the only thing they needed before heading off was a decent meal. If they were going to get wasted, they should at least have a good base. Y/N and her friends had organised a feast that could feed everyone and then some, with food left to spare. After the generous lunch was consumed, the women had some drinks to get a headstart before they packed their purses, making sure they had all the essentials covered. They divided the tiny bottles of alcohol they had bought in advance, and Lando watched in shock and disbelief as every girl shoved at least two tiny bottles down their bra. Meanwhile, Max seemed entirely unimpressed – as neutral as one could be.

Y/N and her friends had gotten tickets to Kingsland and the alcohol there was way too expensive to get drunk. If they needed to sneak in some alcohol to get properly pissed, that was a problem easily solved. The girls said goodbye and headed out the door, leaving silence in their wake.

The men didn’t leave that much later and headed over to the boat where they would meet Martijn, aka, Martin Garrix, with whom Max and Lando were both good friends. They would spend their time partying on the boat, getting just as drunk as Y/N and her friends before joining Martijn for his performance at Kingsland, where they’d meet up with the girls.

It was hours, and a shit ton of drinks, later when Max called Y/N to let her know they arrived at the festival grounds. In the meantime, a lot had happened: Y/N’s group of friends had gained at least three more people, Lando had cut his nose open on a glass bottle, and Max, somehow, managed to fall off the boat.

Y/N was dancing with her group of friends, going crazy for the songs the DJ was playing when she suddenly felt hands on her shoulders. She turned around immediately, surprised at the presence of a new person and ready to defend herself against whoever decided to touch her. That is, until she noticed the person behind her was Lando. As soon as she recognised the man, she, very drunkenly, jumped onto him. Y/N claimed she hadn’t seen him in so long as she put her entire body weight on the man who, unsuspecting of the move and unstable from the amount of alcohol he had consumed, nearly fell over. Y/N giggled innocently at the interaction, holding Lando’s arms tightly to prevent their fall. She looked up at his face while she did so, noticing the bandage on his nose.

“What did you do?” She slurred, frowning concernedly while running a hand along his face. That wasn’t a good choice; she lost her balance as soon as her hand left Lando’s arm. Lando, his own state not much better, grabbed her waist, trying to stop her wobbling.

“Got hit in the face with a broken beer bottle,” he replied with a grin and Y/N giggled at the image forming in her mind. 

“That’s so stupid. Did it hurt?” she asked.

Lando laughed loudly, “No, I’m too drunk to feel anything.”

Even though the comment is not that funny, Y/N couldn’t help but laugh, nearly toppling over.

The group, now including Max and Lando, stood in the crowd, dancing to the music playing as it became busier in anticipation of Martin Garrix’s performance. The field they were standing in became more crowded by the second, pressing them closer to each other. There was barely any space left to move, packed like sardines in a can. When there were people who tried to pass, Y/N’s back was pressed tightly against Lando. So tightly that she could feel the warmth radiating off his body and his breath hitting her neck; so tightly that it made Max send Lando a warning glare. But it didn’t matter when everyone was drunk and there were too many people between them for Max to do anything other than stare angrily.

When Martijn began his set everyone cheered and moved along to the music. In Y/N’s current position, she was nearly grinding against Lando, but he didn’t seem to mind, holding her close with one hand while the other held his drink in the air. Nevertheless, she turned around, wanting to avoid conflict between her brother and Lando, and any pictures and rumours that would most likely arise when people spotted the world-famous Formula 1 drivers. That didn’t mean she’d avoid his touch, though; throwing her arms over his shoulders while he held her waist, they kept dancing together.

Martijn’s set ended way sooner than they would’ve liked it to, and it was only a while longer before the group left Kingsland for his penthouse. After all, when you’re invited to Martin Garrix’s after-party by the man himself, you cannot refuse. 

Somehow, they managed to get to his penthouse safely, where they kept the party going until at least midnight. Most of the people Martijn invited left after the fireworks, leaving a smaller group of people occupying the rooftop. After standing, dancing and jumping all day and night, the group finally found somewhere to sit for a while – just to let their legs rest. But, as luck would have it, there weren’t enough seats, because when are there ever? Before Y/N could even suggest she’d stand, Lando, in his drunken stupor, had already pulled her down to sit on his lap.

He smiled triumphantly as she sat, “You looked tired,” is all he said to justify it.

Despite her surprise, Y/N welcomed the closeness and leaned into Lando, resting her body against his while she sipped her Aperol and joined the ongoing discussion. It was the perfect way to end her night – surrounded by her friends, joking around and enjoying her drink. She enjoyed the drunken conversation, giggling whenever Lando would whisper a funny remark in her ear about whatever stupid comment someone just uttered. His commentary was so distracting that she didn’t even notice when he put his hand on her thigh and tightened his hold on her waist, pulling her closer.

Max, however, did notice. He had been keeping an eye on Lando since their interaction at Kingsland when Y/N was basically grinding on Lando. Knowing a warning glare didn’t do much last time, Max was ready to do just about anything to make his objections clear if Lando decided to take things too far in his presence. Especially when he saw Lando’s hand moving higher up Y/N’s leg while she solely giggled in his arms. It’s an understatement to say the alcohol made Lando bolder – he felt fucking fearless as he kept his gaze locked on Y/N, not removing his eyes for even a second, not until a loud voice interrupts the conversation, at least.

“Hey, mate, let’s keep it PG, yeah?” The tone of Max’s voice made the words sound a lot less casual and jovial than they usually would and Y/N’s cheeks flared up when she noticed he was referring to her and Lando. Lando’s hands shot up, as if Y/N’s warm skin burned his hands, lifting them in a gesture of surrender.

“Sorry man, didn’t even notice it,” he replied.

Max glowered at him, showing he was not messing around before returning to his conversation.

When Max’s attention shifted away from them, Lando tentatively placed his hand back. The alcohol running through his veins made him ballsy and fearless as he continued to make comments in Y/N’s ear. This time, she noticed his moving hand, a blush rising to her cheeks in anticipation of Max’s reaction. But he wasn’t paying attention to the two of them, not until he heard his sister laughing boisterously. Startled at the sound, his eyes darted over to the pair, widening in disbelief when he spotted Lando’s wandering hand edging closer to the hem of your skirt once again. Max’s instincts immediately kicked in at the sight – the audacity of this man.

“That’s enough, Norris. Hands off,” he commanded, his tone firm..

Lando’s confidence faltered under Max’s scrutinising gaze, and he removed his hand immediately. “Sorry, man,” he said, blushing at the attention. Max, too, had been drinking all day, and Lando didn’t want to risk another injury; the cut on his nose was enough for today.

Lando’s sudden change in behaviour was obvious to Y/N; his uncertainty and reluctance to touch her were palpable. In an attempt to reassure him, she leaned her head against his shoulder, cuddling into him while she kept the conversation going. She made eye contact with her brother, whose unrelenting glare softened at her comfort. All he wanted to do was to protect Y/N, but it now felt unnecessary as she seemed entirely at ease with Lando.

At some point during the night, Y/N took the initiative and grabbed Lando’s hand, placing it on her thigh. Lando was apprehensive at the gesture, looking over at Max to see his reaction, but he was focused on his sister. He watched her play with Lando’s hand, fiddling with his fingers and giggling into the crook of his neck. Max shifted his eyes to Lando, nodding at him before returning to his conversation – a sign of approval. If his sister was okay with it, initiating and encouraging it even, then he would accept it.

They stayed in the same position until people started to leave. When Y/N’s friends mentioned heading home, Max suggested everyone should go back, not wanting the girls to walk home alone while they were wasted. It took little convincing to get everyone into the elevator and out to the street to start the short journey (although much longer when drunk) back to his apartment. 

Lando and Y/N were walking next to each other, rounding up the group while Max was busy herding Y/N’s friends through the city. They were leaning on each other as they stumbled through the streets, laughing at Max who was frantically chasing the girls to make sure they took the right turns.

When they finally got back to Max’s apartment, the chaos of the night followed them inside as Max helped everyone to their beds. He had basically adopted Y/N’s friends as his sisters by now, fussing over them throughout the night. Occupied with the girls, Max doesn’t notice Lando following his sister into her bedroom. He sprawled himself out on the bed, barely kicking off his shoes, while Y/N got herself ready to sleep. 

She stumbled over to the bed while Lando watched her, both of them giggling as she nearly tripped over the shoes scattered around the floor. She curled up next to him on the bed, her body fitting perfectly against his. As they drifted to sleep, their whispers slowly faded into silence until the only sounds that remained were the soft snores from the cuddled-up couple, and the quiet stomps of Max trying to catch Y/N's giggling friends.

#Lando Norris #Lando #Norris #Fanfic #Fanfiction #Lando Norris fanfic #Lando Norris fanfiction #Lando fanfic #Lando fanfiction #Lando Norris x reader #Lando Norris x Y/N #Lando x reader #Lando x Y/N #Formula 1 #Formula 1 fanfic #Formula 1 fanfiction #F1 #F1 fanfic #F1 fanfiction #LN4 fanfic #LN4 fanfiction #LN4 x reader #LN4 x you #LN4 imagine #LN4 one shot #LN4 #Lando Norris one shot #Lando Norris imagine #Verstappen!Reader #Lando Norris x Verstappen!Reader

[lowkeyerror]

The Family Business Ch.12

WandaNat x Reader

Word count: 2.7k

Ch. Notes: It's a converstion so dialouge heavy, non-sexual nudity

Summary: Natasha and Wanda reveal their feelings.

An: Ok... ok late again, but tell me it's not worth the wait. (Please don't) Hopefully you love it because it's 2:25am but I'm still doing this for yall and yes if everything goes right new ch. on Monday

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

Wanda couldn’t look at you when she was speaking. You could see she was trying to find the words, but you didn’t know how to help her.

Natasha knowing what her wife is trying to say tries to take over.

“ Before I met you I was a little jealous. Seeing the love of my life light up talking about someone who was quite literally thousands of miles away, was a hard pill to swallow. I haven’t known you as long as Wanda, but I can see now why she had always spoken so highly of you.”

You want to interrupt the red head and say anything back to her, but you don’t. They had said they wanted to tell you everything before you spoke so you intended to let them.

“When Papa sent me away, I resented him for it. It was a great opportunity and a show of good faith, but I was angry with him because I didn’t want to leave you here. I thought we had grown quite close, little krolik. You were the best part of all my days. So much so that even thousands of miles away I couldn’t shut up about you. Even after I fell in love, you’d always find a way into my mind,” Wanda plays with her wedding ring as she speaks.

You look between the two woman silently urging them to continue.

“I’ve been many places, lived many lives, and have met many people, but I've never met anyone like you. There’s this light inside you that you keep so close to your chest. I can feel it behind all the walls you put up. I see it in how intensely you care about your family and I admire it. I admire you,” Natasha isn’t scared to take your hand in hers.

Wanda continues, “It’s hard not to admire you. If Natasha has seen it in these few months, it’s safe to say I’ve always seen it. I saw it before you put all these walls up, when you let it be known to everyone. I think that’s what startled me so much when I came home. I felt like a soldier come home from war to see his home was no longer his.”

The woman begins to get emotional. You reach out your other hand for her to take, not knowing what else to do.

“When I saw Wanda interact with you for the first time, I felt something. It wasn’t jealousy or hatred or anything like that. It was this overwhelming warmth. Seeing her hold you as if you’d disappear, seeing her smile as big as our wedding day, it made me happy,” Natasha recounts.

Wanda sighs, “When we were in my old room at the dinner I was terrified. I thought you were going to tell me the same thing everyone else had when it came to you, but you didn’t. You held me, dried my tears, and I think things really started to fall into place for me then.”

“I met Wanda when she was technically on a job. She was leading and in charge of operations. I had seen her get angry or upset on multiple occasions, but I don’t know if I ever saw her as mad as that night. I could almost see the steam coming out of her ears when she had Pietro against the wall. As far as I knew, I was the only one who could calm her down, but then you did it like it was second nature.”

You speak quietly, “She’s always had a temper.”

You think the woman will roll her eyes, but she doesn’t, “I have and you have always been there to calm me down. I don’t know how to say this, Y/n. When I met you, you were just my little brother’s best friend, but then you became my friend and then a part of my family. You were so delicate back then, you weren’t even 18 for Christ sake.”

Natasha tries to help her wife find her bearings, “But by the time she left you were 22 and you had grown into a young woman.”

Wanda shakes her head a bit, “You had done a lot of growing, that I didn't want to see, that I was trying to ignore because I didn’t want you to think that I had intentions of taking advantage of you. I felt like at the time I was too old, you were too young, and we were too close.”

You look at her with confusion on your face. There’s only one thing that she could be talking about in your mind, but this can’t be happening.

“What are you saying Wanda?”

For the first time in the conversation her eyes meet yours. You see the fear in them, the uncertainty, the desperation. Her hand let’s go of yours and finds itself on her bouncing knee.

“I don't want to ruin this and I'm so scared of losing you, but if you would’ve died in that alley not knowing that I’m in love with you it would’ve destroyed me.”

You feel your heart beating against your chest. Your mouth opens and closes a few times as you try to find your voice. You find yourself stuttering for the first time in years, “Y-you w-what?”

Wanda stands abruptly trying to run from the conversation. This makes you panic and try to stand as well. However, you forget about your ankle and yelp at the weight you put on it.

Wanda’s arms are quick to steady you before you do anymore damage to yourself. She’s close to you and you swear you can hear her heartbeat.

“D-did you s-ay-” you give up frustrated with your reappearing stutter.

Wanda’s grip on you tightens slightly, “I’m in love with you.”

“Wanda I- you’re married,” you look back at Natasha only to find her staring at you.

She stands from her place on the couch, and closes the gap between the two of you.

“I have my own feelings for you Y/n,” Natasha is confident as she speaks.

Her assertion makes you turn red, “Y-you also?”

Natasha smiles sweetly, “Maybe not love just yet, but I could see myself falling for you.”

This situation was short-circuiting your brain, it felt like you were dreaming. This couldn’t be real. As you stood between the two woman it felt like less of a dream.

“I loved you before they sent you away,” you blurt out to your friend’s sister.

Once you start it’s like the words just pour out of your mouth, “You were way out of my league. You’re still out of my league, I mean does it get more taboo than falling for your best friend’s older sister. You’re just so easy to love, but I never thought I had a chance and then you came back with a wife; a very beautiful, very intelligent, ex-Russian spy of a wife, and I just knew I didn’t have a chance.”

“The chance is now. Admittedly, we don’t know how something like this works, but I think we can figure it out together,” Wanda levels with you.

“If you're interested,” Natasha adds on, leaving the ball in your court.

“It would’ve been nice if you guys had told me before I got a cut on my lip. I could’ve done the whole dramatic kiss to cut you off,” you tease them.

Wanda rolls her eyes, “If I could shove you and you wouldn’t fall over, I would.”

“You talk to every woman you’re in love with like that?”

Natasha chimes in, “You get used to it after awhile.”

You share a laugh and when it dies down Wanda speaks, “So we’re doing this?”

“I want to try, but I don’t want to ruin your marriage,” you speak honestly.

“You won’t,” Natasha declares with certainty.

“How do you know?”

She thinks for a moment, “The love Wanda and I have for each other is endless, I’ve never for a moment thought anything could break it up. We’re not changing the way we love each other, we’re just adding you into the already existing dynamic. Eventually it should end with the three of us loving each other endlessly. Does that make sense?”

You nod slowly, “It sounds perfect.”

Natasha places a kiss on your cheek like it’s second nature to her, “Good.”

Your ears heat at the contact and before you can respond Wanda places a light kiss at the corner of your lips.

The movement leaves you wanting more. Against better judgement you try to lean down and kiss her. You succeed in placing your lips against hers for a brief second but as you pull away you almost fall again.

Natasha is the one to steady you this time. She teases you, “Someone is eager?”

“My ankle doesn’t want me to be great.” you pout.

Natasha hesitates, but delicately she touches her lips to yours. It’s as quick as your attempt at kissing Wanda.

“Your ankle won’t stop us, bunny,” Wanda looks at you with shining eyes.

Your face heats at the nickname that’s only familiar to you in the woman’s native language. The women chuckle at the pigment of your skin.

“We’ll see who’s laughing when my lips don’t hurt and I can kiss you properly,” you try once again standing on your own.

“I’m looking forward to it,” Wanda lets her eyes fall to your lips.

You roll your eyes, “Stop teasing, and help me get ready for bed. This has simultaneously been one of the best and one of the most painful days of my life. Truly unforgettable.”

Natasha speaks first, “I’ll get some stuff ready for a shower.”

“I’ll help you to the bathroom,” Wanda finishes.

It’s an all too similar feeling as you find yourself perched on the bathroom counter with Wanda standing between your legs.

Her fingers play with the end of your shirt. She looks at you for permission and you give her a light nod.

Slowly as to not aggravate your injuries she takes your shirt off. She’s careful as she unwraps the bandages from your torso.

“You’ll need help in there,” she speaks softly as her eyes scan your body.

“I know,” the pain starts to catch up with you.

Leaning forward slightly you rest your head on her shoulder. She smells good and it calms your nerves.

Wanda can’t help herself as she speaks up, “Isn’t this a familiar scene?”

You raise your head off of her shoulder and smile, “It’s ringing a few bells.”

Natasha enters the restroom with some towels and pajamas, “I’m going to get some food going, if you guys are alright in here?”

Wanda nods, “I’ve got her, Nat.”

Natasha nods and proceeds to exit the bathroom, “Just holler if you need me.”

Wanda steps away from you to turn the shower on. She’s back in front of you in no time.

“How do you want to do this?”

You feel nerves as you speak, but you try to sound objective, “I think you should join me. Not because I want to see you, not that I don’t want to see you. Its just I can’t really stand and-”

She quiets you down by pulling her own shirt over her head. Her feet pad against the bathroom floor as she makes her way back over to you. Wanda’s hands place themselves on the top of your pants. Her movements are slow but sure as she begins to pull them down. She takes extra care when they're around your ankle.

Once they’re off she takes a step back swiftly removing her own pants. The only thing left on both of you is your underwear.

The sound of the shower rings heavily in your ears as you watch Wanda take her bra off. You can’t move even if you want to. Your eyes glance over her chest before following her hands path lower. She’s not teasing as she removes her panties.

Once again you find yourself with her standing between your legs, but this time there was significantly less fabric in the way. She reaches behind you back to place her hands on your bra clasp.

“Y/n, do you mind if-"

“Take it off,” you finish for her.

She does as you say, a shaky breath releases from her. Your bra falls off your shoulder, but you keep looking in her eyes. Her hand slides down from your back and her finger hooks around your underwear.

“Take it off,” you repeat in a hushed tone.

She follows your instructions. Her eyes snap back to yours. The two of you stare in silence. There’s an underlying tenderness to the moment.

Wanda’s hand reach for your waist, “Ready?”

You nod and she assists you off of the counter. The water hits your skin and you sigh. You enjoy the heat against your bruised skin. Wanda’s hands stay in place for a moment just keeping you steady.

It's a silent delicacy as Wanda soaps up a towel and begins to gently clean your skin. You marvel at the lightness of her touch.

She turns you around so you face her. You look down at her and can’t help but brush your nose against hers. You hear her breath hitch. Carefully you use your hand to guide her’s across your body.

Neither of you dwell as she cleans every inch of you intimately. You lean against the shower wall a bit so Wanda has room to wash herself. You take in the details of her body as she cleans herself.

She gets out first and then helps you put the pajamas laid out for you on before dressing herself.

“I love you,” you say it easily when everything is done.

Wanda places a kiss on your forehead, “I love you too.”

Wanda helps you to the kitchen table. Your eyes find Natasha moving about in the kitchen.

“Almost done, I know you’re tired lisichka. We can eat then get in the bed,” Natasha speaks to you.

“Thanks Natty,” you look at her with your hand on your chin.

“Did you re-wrap her torso detka?” Natasha asks her wife.

Wanda snaps her fingers, “I knew I forgot something.”

“Take over here, and I’ll do it?”

Wanda agrees to these terms. Natasha goes to fetch the medical wrap and quickly returns. You’re sitting down, so Natasha kneels to be level with your torso.

Carefully with tentative hands, she lifts up your shirt. Her hand finds the small of your back, to encourage you to sit straight. You follow her instructions.

“Tell me if it’s too tight, okay?”

You’re looking down into her eyes and you momentarily get lost in them. The hues of green draw you in like emeralds.

“Baby,” she says again a little more firm.

You snap out of it and nod, “I’ll tell you if it’s too tight.”

She brings the wrap around your torso multiple times, each time looking for any extensive discomfort in your expression.

When she’s done with your torso, she quickly does your ankle. Your ankle was more sensitive, so she made sure to be extra gentle.

“All set, lisichka,” the woman places a kiss on your forehead as she stands up.

“Food is ready,” Wanda announces bringing plates for the three of you to table.

At this point exhaustion was knocking at your door. You eat in comfortable silence and once you’re finished, they help you to bed.

When your head hits the pillow, you almost fall asleep instantly.

“If I didn’t want to kill him for what he did to my father, I’d kill him for this,” Wanda says to her wife.

“The men involved have been dealt with already,” Natasha relies to her Wanda.

“You work fast malyshka,” Wanda places her hands on Natasha’s hips.

Natasha looks at your sleeping figure, “I’d move at the speed of light for either of you.”

Natasha ends her statement by kissing Wanda.

“I love you,” Wanda pulls the woman closer to her.

Natasha smiles pecking the woman’s lips once more, “I love you too.”

The two of them climb into the bed, making sure to give you adequate space due to your injuries.

“Why does this already feel so natural?” Wanda questions.

Natasha answers instantly, “It’s just meant to be like this. This feels like the final piece to our little puzzle."

Wanda was more than content with that answer, closing her eyes, unable to fight rest.

Somewhat like before, but entirely different at the same time, the three women lay together.

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#lowkeyerror #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff imagine #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #wandanat x reader #the family business

[flemingsfreckles]

Personal Shopper

Jessie Fleming x Reader

Synopsis: based off this request of reader helping Jessie shop for new clothes

Warnings: nothing, it’s fluffy

WC: 1.2k

A/N: here’s some fluff to ease your mind with all the angst I’ve put out recently :)

“I feel like I look silly.” Jessie voice came over the top of the dressing room.

“Just show me.” You were sat outside on a bench, waiting patiently for your girlfriend to try on and show you the mountain of clothes you had picked out for her.

“No.”

“Jessie come on!” You encouraged her. “Just let me see.”

It was no secret to anyone that Jessie could use some wardrobe help, you had heard her teammates tease her for years, she even mentioned it herself on numerous occasions. She was quick to pick up a sweatshirt and throw on the same black Nike shirt and black hat that she always wore. When it came to fancier clothing, she was even worse, owning a couple of plain button ups and a few pairs of solid color slacks.

After she had complained one too many times about her wardrobe and not knowing what to wear, for your own liking. So you had taken her to various stores, spent hours looking through racks and piles of clothing, trying to find something for the Canadian.

She cracked open the door. Peaking out at you, “Don’t laugh please.”

You shake your head at her, “I won’t, I’m never going to laugh at you for trying something on.”

She opens the door fully for you to see her outfit. She had thrown on a plain black shirt, more tightly fitting than her regular choice of shirt. The shirt showed off more of her figure than her standard Nike black shirt. She had also put on a nice pair of pants. Black and white in a small checkered print.

“Oh wow.” You can’t help but let the words fall out of your mouth when your eyes scan Jessie head to toe. It wasn’t often that you got to see her dressed up.

“Stop.” She gives you a firm look.

“No babe, it looks so good.” You admire her for another second before looking to her face. She looked uncomfortable. “You don’t like it?”

“I don’t know, it’s just,” she turns back to the mirror to look at herself. “It’s different.”

“Okay.” You come up to rub her shoulders. “If you’re uncomfortable in it, don’t buy it because then you’ll never wear it. But it looks nice, so if you’re just uncomfortable because it’s new, then that’s okay.”

“I like the shirt.”

“Jess it’s a plain black shirt of course you like it.”

“Yeah but the fit is different, it’s tighter.” It was, her biceps were being restrained by the fabric, it was tight across her chest and shoulders, it looked good, a little too good given you were in public.

“Alright, try it on with another pair of bottoms then.” You push her in the direction of the changing room. She out a huff but closes the door and changes again.

Jessie hadn’t been super thrilled when you dragged her from store to store, she knew she wanted new clothes, a new style but it was the actual act of shopping and trying on that she hated so much. You on the other hand were thrilled Jessie had finally asked for your help.

You didn’t mind her clothes, they were never an issue to you, but they were an issue to Jessie which then made them your issue when she would come to you asking to borrow your clothes because she didn’t want to wear anything she had. You liked seeing her in your clothes, but you decided it was time she was happy with her own wardrobe.

The issue was not just having clothes but it was the fact that Jessie didn’t know how she wanted to dress. To be fair to her, the majority of her life is spent in athletic clothing, a game kit, training kit, or in some form of a team branded shirt, sweatshirt, or sweatpants. When she’d get home from training or a game she’d usually slip into another pair of athletic shorts or sweats, only throwing on jeans and a simple shirt if you were going out.

“I think I like these better.” Jessie opens the door, she’s got on the same black shirt, now paired with a pair of maroon dress slacks.

“Those look nice on you.” You let her look at herself in the mirror again, she turns looking at the back of the pants. “They make your ass look good, don’t worry.” You give her a smile in the mirror as she rolls her eyes.

She looks at them for a couple more seconds, contemplating the pants. “I think I’ll get these.” She finally decides. “And the shirt.”

“Okay take them off, put your jeans back on and try this on.” You had her a couple of linen button up shirts.

“Ughhh.” She groaned as she turned back into the dressing room, the linen shirts in her hand.

Jessie comes out in the sage green shirt, her jeans from home back on. She’s got a smile on her face.

“You like it?” You ask, hopeful based on her smile.

“Yeah, it actually feels comfortable, it doesn’t feel like I’m wearing a costume or someone else’s clothes.” Jessie looks at you for your opinion.

“That color looks good on you.”

“Yeah it’s different but I like it.” You could see the genuine smile on her face, it made you happy, seeing her satisfied with something she was trying on. She spins in the mirror one more time before closing the door behind her.

She comes out a moment later with the maroon pants, black shirt and linen shirt in one hand. The black and white checkered pants in the other. Jessie places the black and white pants back on the rack and then makes her way over to the display of linen shirts. You watch as she picks up one in white, blue, black, and a coral color adding them to the pile of clothes she was holding.

Jessie must’ve noticed the strange look you gave her as she turned around with the shirts in her arms. “What?”

“Nothing.” You say with a small shake to your head.

“I like the shirt, it’s comfortable. I’m ready to check out.” She knew you were questioning the fact that she just grabbed four identical shirts to the one already in her hand.

“I know.” You hold your arms out to her to offer to hold the shirts. “Whatever you want babe.” Sure it wasn’t what you had in mind when you had taken her shopping but at least she was walking out with something new that she liked, you couldn’t complain too much.

You watched as Jessie checked out, refusing to let you pay for any of the clothing for her. She did however make you carry the bags with all the clothes, which you did happily.

#jessie fleming #jflem #jessie fleming x reader #jessie fleming imagine #woso imagine #woso x reader #jessie fleming blurb

[yandere-writer-momo]

Yandere Baki Series Finale:

Twilight Torture 

Yandere Harem x Fem Reader

TW: horror, yandere behavior, stalking, kidnapping, dark themes, etc.

(Your name) began to recieve numerous gifts after the first bouquet. Roses, jewelry, extravagant dresses, if it cost more than her paycheck, it was gifted to her. And she just couldn’t figure out who brought her those gifts and left them in her home. There was never a sign of break in either… had someone swiped the key?

Turned out they had. Some stranger had her spare key on their clutches and she had been none the wiser for weeks… maybe months. Was that why (your name)’s lips were so swollen in the morning and her hair a tangled mess? Oh god, she didn’t want to think about it… and she didn’t want to believe the midnight man was Hanayama. (Your name) was almost 100% positive he had better things to do than stalk her.

The young woman quickly changed the locks to her home… yet that did little to stop her midnight man.

(Your name) was riddled with paranoia. She now spent the night with Katsumi more often… yet she’d come home to find her sheets in disarray and her door handle changed to a new one. Someone had been angered by her absence… and they changed her locks and left a new key on her counter for her. (Your name) was eager for escape and she always went to Katsumi for that… yet he was off too. He was no longer her sweet first love, but an obsessive beast.

Although she found some solace with Katsumi, he had started to become strange. His grip on her would tighten whenever other men would walk past them. A brief look of possessiveness would flash in his eyes before he was back to normal. His arms no longer felt like home, but like a noose that tightened around her neck. And it terrified her…

Katsumi often tried to push her boundaries to not only be intimate, but to have unprotected intimacy… (your name) had an irrational fear of childbirth and he constantly glossed over her fear for his fantasy of the ultimate claim… a baby.

“We’ve known each other for so many years… we can get married and have kids! I don’t mind if the kids came first, then everyone would know you’re mine!” (Your name) began to spend less time with Katsumi after he told her that… yet that only made the

Jack often lingered around (your name)’s home like a shadow, the blonde always gave her a pointed look.

“If you need me to help you, just say the word. I told you that everyone is weird… my address is xxx.” It seemed Jack knew what was going on… an acquaintance knew more about the strange happenings around her than she did. It made (your name) feel even more helpless.

It was the night (your name) broke it off with Katsumi after she had enough of Katsumi’s attempts to start a family that she came face to face with her midnight man.

(Your name) was fresh from the bathroom, a thing nightgown her only cover from Hanayama’s starved eyes. The yakuza sat in the chair in the corner of her room, completely unbothered by her pure terror.

“I’ve come to collect you.” Hanayama told her matter of family, the yakuza adjusted his glasses. “Since you’re done playing house with the Orochi boy, you can be my wife.”

There was only a few times she ever interacted with Hanayama and that was whenever he’d be horrifically injured in some outlandish fight he’d land himself in. The man was always taciturn despite her attempts at small talk while she gave him was basic care… what had she done to deserve his twisted affection?

“Hanayama, I-“ (your name) gasped when Hanayama closed the distanced, his large hands pulled her into his even larger body.

“You don’t have to say anything. I know how you feel.” Hanayama bent down and pressed a shaky kiss to the top of her head. “You want me…”

(Your name) threw herself away from him as if she’d been burned. The young woman quickly scrambled out of her home, which left yakuza in shock for a few moments before he gave chase.

(Your name) ran into the night with no destination in mind, a few tears fell down her face. She felt like a rabbit pursued by a wolf. She knew she didn’t stand a chance, but she had to try…

“Did you finally come to your senses?” (Your name) nearly jumped out of her skin when she saw Jack. When had she arrived in his neighborhood? Was this some sort of instinct? “You must have been in a rush since you’re dressed so… improperly.”

Jack threw his jacket over (your name), the scent of pine and musk swallowed her in a tiny bit of comfort.

“I can hear your heart beat from here… you’re terrified.” (Your name) was shocked when Jack scooped her up into his arms. “I’ll take you somewhere safer.”

(Your name) tucked herself into Jack as her body shook like a leaf. She felt a few sobs rack through her, but Jack’s jacket shielded her face from being seen. Who knew this giant could be so kind?

If she would have taken the jacket off her head, she would have seen the subtle, lovesick smile on Jack’s face.

(Your name) was exactly where she belonged… with him. And Jack would protect her with his life.

#baki the grappler #baki hanma #baki son of ogre #baki x reader #baki the grappler x reader #yandere #yandere imagine #yandere fic #yandere baki #female reader #yandere horror #yandere short story #yandere baki x reader #hanayama kaoru #baki orochi katsumi #baki jack hanma #baki hanayama #baki dou #baki #baki headcanons #katsumi orochi #baki kaoru hanayama #jack hanma #yandere x reader #tw.yandere #tw.stalking #kaoru hanayama #orochi katsumi #hanma jack

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Hello! In one of your previous posts you mentioned the game purposefully hiding the faces of figures who play a significant role in each OB boy’s trauma. So do you think this applies to Idia's parents as well (they have masks to cover their faces and they don't even have separate sprites but the default STYX members' sprites)?

[Referencing this post!]

There’s a lot to unpack here, so I’ve put my thoughts under the cut!! I hope you enjoy reading ^^

***Note: Many spoilers for books 6 + 7 of the main story!!***

I definitely wouldn’t put the Shroud parents into the same category as like… Mrs. Rosehearts, who was basically the origin from which other issues stemmed. The Shroud parents themselves were not the “root cause” for Idia’s trauma, the “cause” was Ortho’s death and Idia feeling immense guilt and shame about it. Not once has Idia blamed his parents or implicated them for this misfortune (not counting the Shroud curse, which is really the fault of their ancestors and not the Shroud parents in particular). I guess where some fans feel there is an issue is the implication that the Shroud parents did not seem to be there emotionally for Idia or offer him healthy coping mechanisms for his issue??

Before I give my thoughts on why the Shroud mom and dad obscure their faces (and how this does or doesn’t fit into the “purposefully obscuring the faces of those significantly related to each boy’s trauma), allow me to offer a different perspective to those who find fault with Idia’s parents. Firstly, consider that we know very little about the period of time between Ortho’s death leading up to Idia enrolling at NRC. Even then, most of what we know of this period comes directly from Idia, which provides us with a biased and limited perspective. Idia views most things negatively and does not seem close with his parents, so it makes sense that he would describe them in an inflated and unflattering way.

I think where a lot of the initial thoughts about the Shrouds being bad parents (a sentiment I myself had prior to their book 7 reveals) predominantly comes from them not being present in Idia’s post-OB flashback and Idia stating that his parents care more about results than their son’s feelings. We also learn from later that the family used to go out a lot as a group, but those trips stopped after Ortho died. These heavily imply his mom and dad were not there for Idia after the… incident. But let’s back up for a moment; where does the flashback pick up after Ortho died? Over two years later. That’s a large gap to not be knowing what the Shroud parents were doing during it. The STYX employees present also state that Idia has “completely withdrawn” ever losing Ortho, and this could be inclusive of the parents. So… we don’t really know for sure if, during this expanse of 2 years, the parents never made an effort to reach out. Even if they did, it seems highly likely that Idia rejected them. It’s possible that the flashback didn’t feature the parents because Idia largely shut them out of his life or did not deem them to be deeply linked to his trauma; he laments only the general family curse and the loss of Ortho, he does not direct hate at either parent in the flashback.

What we also have to remember is that it wasn’t just Idia that lost a brother that terrible day. Mr. and Mrs. Shroud their sons; Ortho literally (he passed away) and Idia figuratively (as he started to emotionally distance and isolate himself). That’s tough for any parent, but the world cannot stop for them just because they experienced a tragedy. Unfortunately, life moves on and the Shroud parents are in such important positions that they need to work. This is especially true of Mr. Shroud, who oversees all of STYX operations and is burdened with a curse that demands he constantly be surrounded by blot or else the curse will start to chip away at his own magical energy. They need to do this while juggling their own sadness over losing Ortho. There’s only so much time the Shroud parents can try to comfort Idia when they have work, their own emotional trauma to work through, and their surviving son who doesn’t seem to welcome any efforts they put in. You could even theorize that the Shroud parents (particularly the dad) threw themselves into work to try and bury their own feelings. The Shrouds do obviously have a responsibility to Idia as his parents, but parenting is not so easy of a task. They’re still individuals who have other things to balance alongside parenting and they realistically cannot dedicate 100% of their time or energy to Idia.

Now, please do not misunderstand me. I don’t want my words to come off like I’m pointing fingers or victim blaming. What I’m trying to say here is that it isn’t Idia OR his parents’ fault that they grew distant; to me, both parties were busy dealing with their own complicated emotions and their coping methods didn’t seem to align (because different people can have very different trauma responses) and ended up hurting Idia even more in the end. Making mistakes is human and normal. We've seen other characters also falter with their past actions and what they were or were not able to do at the time (Trey not standing up for or to Riddle, Lilia acting callously towards his children, etc.). This by itself is NOT necessarily a bad thing or something to hate on them for; I'd argue that what matters much more is how those matters were dealt with and what the results of those efforts have been. In the case of the Shroud parents, they do not appear to have bad blood with Idia or Ortho in modern day and the game has really done little to indicate that the Shroud parents should be viewed in a morally grey light. They've welcomed Ortho as a part of their family, openly refer to him like a third son, supported his official enrollment as a NRC student, and worry about his safety when Ortho tries to rush headfirst into danger. As for Idia, though he sometimes grumbles about his parents and tends to their actions as coming from a place of not caring, his peers have pointed out that being scolded is proof of his parents’ love for him. For example, Idia complains that his parents have sent him back to NRC so they don’t have to deal with a “nuisance” like him. He also says that there has been public interest in STYX and demand for accountability, which has specifically put his father under fire. We could view the situation like Idia has—that has parents wanted him out of their way. However, as Rook so tactfully pointed out, Idia’s parents must hold deep affection for him. This implies that the Shrouds chose to send Idia back to school for his own safety, and Mr. Shroud was willing to take the full brunt of the heat himself rather than let people suspect his son, whom Mr. Shroud must know is socially anxious. Idia has plenty of other stories about how his parents punished him for dangerous tech modifications he made, and how they’d take away his gadgets as punishment. Again, because they care about their children and their safety, even if they (especially his more stern and work-oriented father) may not show it in conventionally affectionate ways. Idia has pessimistic views that color his parents as annoying and isn’t as close to them anymore as he used to be, but this doesn’t condemn the Shrouds to the eternal hall of bad parents who never ever learn or refuse to change their ways.

Now, about their outfits! Mr. and Mrs. Shroud wear the same robes as NPC staff at STYX. This much is true!! … But I don’t think there is any deep meaning in this, seeing as Idia too wears the same robes?? I believe this is just the default work uniform for STYX researchers, regardless of the position they’re in (so this uniform detail does not technically contribute to the “intentional obscuring” of the Shroud parents’ designs).

We don’t really know what the reason for them wearing the helmets is, and nor is there very strong implication as to why. There have been plenty of fan speculations and theories including but not limited to: special personal protective equipment, magical enhancement gear, general Shroud family shyness, cost/time saving measure for the devs, etc. I can’t really say one way or another which is the “most correct” idea 🤷‍♂️

What I will say is that I do not think there was an intent to hide the Shroud parents’ faces for the same reasons that Mrs. Rosehearts’ face was. Why? Well:

Their faces are not censored in the same way as Mrs. Rosehearts was in the manga; she has her face shaded out by black, but we can still see the details of her outfit. The Shrouds, meanwhile are making the conscious decision to wear helmets—and highly personalized helmets at that. (Mr. Shroud’s helmet is different in colors and design than Mrs. Shroud’s.) This indicates individuality and wanting to make the Shroud parents stand out, not to homogenize them as anonymous black blots at which the OB boys’ trauma finds its roots.

To build off of my previous point, the comment about purposefully obscuring the face of the "source" of Riddle's trauma was ONLY said in the context of the manga, NOT the game. Therefore, in-game assets cannot be considered reliable for "the Shroud parents wear helmets to hise their faces; hidden faces = source of an OB boy's trauma" theory. If you doubt this, then please refer to each boy’s post-OB flashback. In the game, it is not just the sources of their trauma that are blotted out in black, it is literally every character (even the ones with positive memories or experiences associated with them). This includes Trey and Che’nya, whose younger form faces ARE openly depicted in the manga. So again, the “obscuring the faces of characters who are major trauma sources” thing only applies to the manga and the game does not follow this.

The Shrouds are largely depicted in a positive light. The negative aspects of them tend to come from Idia, who tends to have a pessimistic slant to his perception of the world and other people.

Idia’s personal accounts and even his post-OB flashbacks do not attribute or credit his parents for any aspect of his trauma. Much of the guilt and shame he feels is self-imposed and directed at himself.

As I’ve pointed out earlier in this post, we are assuming a lot of things about what happened in Idia’s life following Ortho’s death. The downside to this is that it doesn’t grant the parents any grace and takes everything we see (as little as it is) at face value without considering alternatives or how the parents could have changed in recent years.

Again, we don’t have a lot of information on why the Shrouds wear the helmets. I don’t think it’s wise to assume it’s for a bad reason when most of the canon has indicated we are supposed to “like” the Shrouds (or, at the very least, they’re supposed to be “redeemed” compared to the initially negative comment we were given of them).

In conclusion: no, I don’t think Idia’s parents are wearing their helmets because they’re associated with their son’s trauma. To me, the helmets feel like something they must wear for some in-universe purpose such as additional protection or to indicate their role within the organization.

#twisted wonderland #twst #Idia Shroud #Ignihyde #Ortho Shroud #book 6 spoilers #book 7 spoilers #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #notes from the writing raven #question #twst theory #twst theories #twisted wonderland theories #twisted wonderland theory #twst manga #twisted wonderland manga #Trey Clover #Che’nya #Chenya

[eurydia]

I requested a Cameo from Glen McCready of Zevlor accepting a romance with Tav during the celebration. I cried! I'm so happy, I also lack the words to fully express how much I love this. It fulfilled my dream of romancing Zevlor, a dream I think I share with many others here ❤️ Transcript and more thoughts below. Artwork mentioned at the end: [Home] [Lord Byron poem only]

“Hello Tav. Hello Christine. I understand you would like to hear Zevlor accepting a romance at the celebration. Well, how would that play out?

As you know I am, and have always been, through some work of fate or some curse, or some magical interference, I’ve always been unromanceable. And yet, standing before you now, in the firelight, I feel…feelings I’ve never felt. Never dared imagined I would feel. I lack the words to fully express all that is within my heart but there is a poem I’ve always loved by Lord Byron. “She walks in beauty” and for me it describes you more perfectly than I could ever dare hope. And it reads like this:

She walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that’s best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes; Thus mellowed to that tender light Which heaven to gaudy day denies. One shade the more, one ray the less, Had half impaired the nameless grace Which waves in every raven tress, Or softly lightens o’er her face; Where thoughts serenely sweet express, How pure, how dear their dwelling-place. And on that cheek, and o’er that brow, So soft, so calm, yet eloquent, The smiles that win, the tints that glow, But tell of days in goodness spent, A mind at peace with all below, A heart whose love is innocent!

Now, before my courage ups and flees, I beg you: kiss me.

How was that? It’s hard, it’s hard when the character is not romanceable but I did my best. And your artwork is stunning. Absolutely stunning. Thank you for sharing it. Take care, and remember, should you ever need it, you have family in Baldur’s Gate.”

...

I did not expect him to quote a poem at all. I love poetry, it's how I started my writing journey, and they hold a special place in my heart. This made me very emotional. I'm over the moon right now!! I have this hc where Zevlor usually doesn't verbalize what he wants. He puts everyone else above himself, and his own needs are an afterthought. So for Glen to play him as begging for a kiss from Tav? My heart is full. Overflowing with love for Zevlor and Glen for playing him so perfectly 😭❤️

#bg3 #zevlor #glen mccready #baldurs gate 3 #tavlor #zevlor bg3 #zevlor x tav #someone hold meee this is everything to me ❤️!! #i must draw something inspired by this!! i'm screaming!!

[buckyownsmylife]

let the games begin - sebastian stan smut

The one where you ask him to explain the pepsi cup scene to you

Warnings: best friends to lovers, best friend!reader, hopelessly in love!Seb, reader has hair long enough for Seb to “play with” but do with that as you wish, innocent!reader, smut.

WC: 1.8k

A/N: this is just a sweet little smutty one-shot of best friend!Seb realizing you feel the same for him. I didn't delve deep into the smut because to be honest, this has been in my WIP list since the movie came out and I just couldn't be bothered to write more than what's here, yet I hope you'll enjoy it anyway!

Seb’s P.O.V.

“You ready for this? You know we don’t have to watch it, right?” I tried to convince her one more time, and still, she just rolled her eyes and pulled me to the sofa next to her. Oh, how I loved to feel her smaller frame tightly pressed against mine.

“Don’t be silly, of course I want to watch it. I’ve seen everything you’ve ever done, I can’t let one slightly scarring movie keep me away from this long standing tradition.” It warmed my heart to think that she’d been doing this way before we even met.

I kissed her temple before adjusting so her body would rest against my chest, and settled in for the film. I knew it would be an experience, to say the least, watching this with her, so I tried to prepare myself for anything that could happen.

She could end up traumatized and unable to look me in the eye. At the very least, it would certainly serve as ammunition for her to tease me for years to come, and that was one turn of events I could deal with. The first one was my real concern.

So I settled in to watch the movie, because I figured it would be best to be around than to wait for her reactions afterwards. What if she never wanted to see me again? I knew it was just my anxiety coming up with the worst possibilities, but it still scared the crap out of me.

I couldn’t imagine my life without her anymore. And maybe one day I’d grow the courage to tell her about it, but for now, I was perfectly happy just sitting here with her and offering some support when my character started to freak her out.

“Hey, there you are!” She giggled in excitement, pointing at the TV like I wasn’t watching it with her. It made me chuckle, seeing her act like a little kid when it came to me doing my job. God, she was precious.

“Yeah, there I am,” I agreed, leaning over her to deposit a quick kiss against her temple, but much to my surprise all I got was a nudge and a hush. “Are you shushing me?” She finally unglued her eyes from the television to look at me with disappointment all over her features.

“Seb, I love you, but if you keep interrupting the movie, I’m gonna kick you out and there’s nothing you can do about that.” I wanted to point out that if she did, she’d have to watch it by herself and there was no way she’d be able to sleep, but I didn’t want to risk her fury. So I just sat back and pulled her with me, playing with her hair as I watched the story unfold before my eyes.

For whatever reason, I seemed to forget that I looked a bit… different in my role at some point, and as I gained weight before our eyes, she turned around to look at me with a look I couldn’t figure out. It made me nervous.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” I had to ask, but she didn’t immediately answer me. I felt embarrassed, it was almost like she was comparing me to the man on the screen, and I didn’t know which one she preferred. 

Could it be that now that she’d seen me like that, she couldn’t unsee it?

“I’ve always thought you looked better when Don wasn’t trying to make you look like some sort of bodybuilder, but this role just confirmed it to me. You’re even sexier with some weight on your body.” 

My cheeks burned, and I didn’t know what to say. So I just cuddled her to me once more, focusing on the screen as I tried to work through my emotions - and there were many. Desire, barely concealed lust, something the hardening member inside my jeans wouldn’t let me forget - but also something warm and comfortable, settling deep inside my chest.

I didn’t want to give it a name. So I just pulled her to me yet again, kissed her temple and pretended to go back to watching the movie, while I waited for her attention to be redirected to it once more. When I was sure she wasn’t noticing me anymore, I got back to analyzing her reactions, chuckling under my breath at the way hers hitched at every little thing, and how she squeezed my thigh when she thought something scary would happen.

And then the car scene started. My muscles immediately froze underneath her, having completely forgotten about this particular part of the movie.

“What’s going on?” She asked, first surprised and then confused. “Is everything okay?” I couldn’t answer her. I couldn’t even look away from the screen, flinching as it developed right before my eyes. It was like my own self-made train wreck: unavoidable and paralyzing.

“Seb…” She reached out for my hand, asking for my attention, and I licked my lips and took a deep breath before turning to give it to her.

“I don’t get it, what’s going on?” I was about to tell her that I was just embarrassed, but the confusion in her eyes as they darted from the TV to my embarrassed self suddenly made sense to me.

“Wait,” I started, holding her jaw so she’d fix her eyes on mine and forget about the movie for a second. “You don’t understand the scene?” She hesitated for a second before nodding, biting her lower lip in that way she did when she was nervous.

It made the warmth inside my chest expand and take over my entire body, shooting straight to my lower belly, where it began to burn. 

Fuck. Who would have thought that she was so innocent?

“Do you want me to tell you?” The question left my lips before I could ponder if my concern came from a valid place - my desire to help her, always. 

But maybe things happened for a reason - maybe it was some sort of ungodly gift the idea of watching this movie together, because as I watched her glance over at the screen again and then lay her eyes on me, I saw it with perfect clarity:

She was aroused by it.

“Or would you like me to show you?” Another question that slipped from my lips unintentionally, another sentence I didn’t regret speaking. This… tension, it had always been here, between the both of us. I’d been too much of a coward to act on it before so if the ball was on my court now, it was time to let it roll.

“’Cause I’d be more than happy to.” With my last reassurance, the thread between us broke, and in a second, we were kissing. Who made the first move, I’d never know. All I cared about was her taste, how sweet she was, and the tiny little whimpers I could hear escaping her when I had to pull back to take a breath.

My body still acting of its own accord, I got up from the couch to take my pants off, hand immediately going to my hardness to release some of the frustration she was causing me. Thankfully, she didn’t seem scared - just hungry, looking at me with doe eyes and biting down on her lower lip before I pulled her closer so that her hand rested over mine.

“Fuck…” I whispered against her neck at the first contact of her hand on my naked dick, but for some reason that was all it took for the spell to break.

“Seb, I can’t…” She pulled away from me, chest still heaving from desire, but I felt so damn guilty I couldn’t even feel good about it. “I can’t do this and then pretend that it didn’t happen.”

Y/N’s P.O.V.

His face softened up instead of becoming angry, like I expected it would. “Come.” He got up from the couch, offering me his hand, which I took without second-guessing myself.

His eyes told me everything I needed to know.

He took me to his bed, where he kissed me deeply once again. “Don’t worry, I’ll be patient.” How could I say that I’d let him do anything to me?

Within seconds, I was naked. It was unlike any other similar experience I’d ever lived, and the way he stared at me only had me falling deeper into the cloud of comfort that only Seb could provide me.

“Spread your legs for me, honey.” I did so instinctively, also closing my eyes in nervousness at what was happening.

“Keep looking at me,” he asked, and so I reopened my eyes, finding him staring at my most private spot with hunger in his. “Fuck, you’re soaked.”

Before I could comprehend what was happening, he’d yanked me to the edge of the bed and proceeded to kneel down before me, lips kissing my inner thighs and navel while I panted softly.

“Fuck, I can’t believe that I get to taste you,” he uttered before his tongue stuck out and he did just that… He tasted me, and nothing had ever felt quite as great as that simple gesture.

“How does it feel, sweetheart?” He asked in the midst of attacking my clit with his tongue and lips, the hot muscle swirling over it and making my head spin. “Do you like this?”

“Yes, yes!” I nodded, hand flying down to hold him by the hair and keep him attached to me. “More, I want more.”

“What?” He teased me, the devious thing. “You want what?”

“More,” I insisted, pushing him down so his face would connect with my pussy once more. He didn’t keep up with his pretense and kept on licking me until I saw stars behind my closed eyelids, screaming his name for dear life.

“Kiss me,” I begged breathlessly once I was able to speak again, and he leaned over me to grant me my wish, allowing me to taste myself for the first time in my life.

“You know…” I struggled to find the courage to say what I wanted, but I knew I could trust Sebastian. “When we actually do it, you don’t need to be so gentle…”

He bit my shoulder in response, shaking his head at my antics. I thought I was dreaming, being naked in his bed, having just had the best orgasm of my life.

I wanted to do this for the rest of my life.

“I don’t want to go to sleep tonight,” I confessed, watching as the most beautiful smile opened up in my best friend’s face.

“Lucky for you, there are a ton of things we can do to pass the time.”

#my fics #sebastian stan smut #sebastian stan #smut #rpf #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan reader smut

[piratecaptainscaptainpirates]

I forgot about the 1k prompts. I will love you forever (not that I do not already) if you would write something sweet about neurodivergent Ed and Stede caring for each other in that special sweet disabled4disabled way <3 also as usual I love your writing so so so much whether it’s actual fics or just the thoughts you have to share on here :)

yes!!! whohooo! love this prompt with all my heart!

--

“Alright, love, you’ve got your bag?”

“Right here!” Ed took a moment to stretch as they stepped out of the car, swinging his travel backpack up onto his shoulder.

They were across the country on business, and they’d been looking forward to the vacation days they’d get on this trip for months. They’d been to all the aquariums within a few hours’ drive of home - hell, they had annual passes to three of them - so the chance to get to visit a new one was a rare thrill.

“Alright, you’ve got your knee brace…” Stede tilted his head to make sure he could spot the brace poking out under Ed’s shorts, and Ed lifted his leg to make sure he could see it was on and fastened appropriately.

“You’ve got your headphones.” Ed reached out to straighten Stede’s shirt collar, but he just wasn’t able to resist how cute Stede looked, slightly sunburned and with his sunglasses resting adorably on top of his head, and he hauled him in by the shirt for a kiss. “And I’ve got a pack of disposable earplugs if you need ‘em.”

“I shouldn’t, I did call to make sure they’re sensory -friendly,” Stede said brightly, automatically reaching up to make sure he could still feel the noise- canceling headphones around his neck anyway. “Did you put everything in the bag?”

Ed knew Stede wasn’t nagging, he was just making sure - he’d had so many travel nightmares with Mary and the kids thanks to things getting left behind accidentally. He pulled his bag off his shoulder, resting it on the hood of their car so he could reassure both of them they had everything they needed.

“Got water and snacks…” They always carried a few snacks when they went anywhere like this. Ed could get grumpy and irritable when he was hungry, and even calling ahead didn’t always mean they could be sure there would be reliable Kosher options for him. Stede, too, was prone to not noticing he was getting hungry until he already felt like shit, so the trail mix was a lifesaver. “My foldable cane, your earplugs. We’re set!”

“Perfect,” Stede said, taking Ed’s hand and pressing a kiss to his cheek before they headed across the parking lot.

When reading up on this aquarium, they’d read that it wasn’t usually crowded on weekdays (perfect for Stede), but it was big and had a lot of walking, so Stede had bought their tickets online so they could skip standing in line. Ed wasn’t always the best at realizing when his knee pain was getting bad enough he should use the cane, so he knew to expect Stede’s check- ins.

The aquarium was a bit smaller than some of their favorites back home, but being able to see so many animals they’d never seen before made up for it. Stede grabbed a map for them at the information desk, circling the areas the employee had pointed out to them where there were places for Ed to sit or quiet corners if either of them felt overstimulated.

It felt, sometimes, like Ed would never stop falling in love. As they went through the aquarium, reading the informational signs next to the exhibits out to each other and trading cool facts back and forth, he felt like Stede’s joy and enthusiasm was lighting up the whole world.

Ed’s favorite aquarium animals were the sharks. Stede adored the stingray touch pools, but he never got mad when Ed didn’t actually want to put his hands in the water. They got lots of pictures, Ed made Stede laugh by imitating a little penguin waddle in front of the penguin exhibit, and Ed was nearly bouncing with excitement as they got closer to one of the last exhibits at the aquarium: the sea lions. 

Things went a bit south near the end of the aquarium, though.

They’d specifically visited on a weekday morning to skip the crowds, just because crowded aquariums could feel so claustrophobic and that really freaked Stede out. But they caught up with a huge crowd of kids there on a field trip, and Stede ordinarily liked kids, but it was a very slow-moving, loud group, and Ed could practically feel Stede getting more anxious and stressed by the second.

“I’ll be alright in just a moment,” Stede promised him, taking the water bottle Ed passed him after Ed guided him back towards one of the quiet spots marked on their map.

Ed looked back over his shoulder. Not the kids’ fault they were excited, but he could hear the crowd from here. “Wanna call it a day?”

Stede frowned down at his water bottle. “But the sea lions! Want to go without me?”

Truthfully, Ed was a teeny bit disappointed about missing the sea lions. But he could see videos of sea lions any time. He only had one of his Stede, and he wouldn’t be able to enjoy it worrying about Stede feeling anxious and upset back here without him.

“Nah,” he said, taking Stede’s elbow, starting them towards the exit. “You know, I saw a few food trucks outside.”

“That sounds perfect for lunch!” Stede hooked his elbow through Ed’s. “I’m really sorry, love.”

Ed leaned over for a quick kiss. “Don’t you dare apologize to me, babe. I’ll steal your desert.”

Stede snorted. “You will anyway.”

Yeah. Ed absolutely would. He knew that just as surely as he knew Stede would need to go back to the hotel to decompress after lunch, and he’d be able to get Stede to give him a foot massage, and they’d need to take an hour to just hang out and let their brains take a break, Stede playing on his phone and Ed reading his book. Just as surely as he knew they’d be taking care of each other for the rest of their lives, just as he knew either of them would ever have to worry about hiding hurt or discomfort ever again.

#ofmd #our flag means death #ofmd fic #my fics

[cassieuncaged]

All That Matters (Wyll Ravengard + Female Reader)

BG3 Reader Insert

Summary: You impatiently await the arrival of your betrothed the eve before a masquerade ball.

Warnings: None :)

Word Count: 3.5K

A/N: A gift for @chadillacboseman. The Wyll lovers out there need to be fed too :) Please enjoy this offering of fluff!

p.s: i'm dabbling in reader inserts again. Do with this what you will...

“Have you heard from Wyll?” Ulder’s gaze doesn’t meet your own as he carves into a thick slice of glazed ham. While the Grand Duke has been kind enough to allow you to stay at the Ravengard Estate while your beloved is away, he remains painfully stoic. You oft try to melt his icy demeanor to no avail.

“I received a letter yesterday!” You add cheerily, swallowing another mouthful of such a lavish breakfast. Years of dwelling in the pits of Rivington has made your new life of luxury all the more rewarding. The man’s brows rise steadily, lips an unmoving line. “I was surprised you didn’t know; the foyer stunk of the cinders from Avernus itself.”

“I had my suspicions,” he hums, a smile ghosting across hard features. “Though yesterday was rather hectic for me.”

You nod, actually thrilled you can understand his plight. Rebuilding the city was no small feat. Any leader would be rightfully overwhelmed. You joined the many citizens in removing the wreckage the Elder Brain wrought across the city. It was the least you could do. Not to mention that you were the most active of the three heroes that remained in Baldur’s Gate. Shadowheart was busy attending to the many refugees with Aylin and Isobel while Astarion preferred watching you work instead of chancing a splintered fingernail.

“Understood,” you say with a full mouth, forcing honeyed ham and fresh berries down your gullet. As a child who begged for scraps on the streets, you ate as though the feasts consistently served would vanish if you didn’t immediately gorge yourself. The Grand Duke found your lack of manners primitive. “The Blade of Frontiers and the Fury of Avernus are to arrive home on the morrow.”

There was a long pause as you continued to gobble down salted meat and foraged fruit, wiping sticky fingers on the simple peasant skirt you insisted on wearing. Afterall, this grandiose lifestyle felt so foreign. You never wanted to completely relinquish your personality and had insisted on securing a simple wardrobe from clothiers across the city.

Ulder studies you silently, fingers steepled as his dark eyes follow every manic move you make. He knew your nerves were jumping ferociously, long awaiting the return of your betrothed. You still wore the woven acorn ring on one finger, refusing the finery of plated gold.

“You’ve missed him.” It isn’t a question, merely an observation. You nod vigorously, thinking about how painfully empty your chambers are when you settle in for the evening. The memory of being curled in the warmth of his tent invades your mind, a muscular arm wrapped around your middle protectively. “I have too.”

There’s a passing thought of Ulder’s years without Wyll, likely stewing in the regret of banishing his only child. Surely he had his reasons, even if you’ll never understand them. The Grand Duke’s gaze is wistful, staring through you.

“He’ll enjoy the masquerade,” you say suddenly, breaking the man’s concentration. This time a stern expression softens into a grin, followed by a nod encouraging you to proceed. “He taught me courtly dance, when we were in the wilds.”

“Rather different than the lavish ballroom at High Hall,” he chuckles before growing serious once more, pushing a fancifully etched plate aside. “Though we’re lucky the Sashenstar’s have volunteered to host the ball; it will be a long while until most of the halls and citadels in the city are rebuilt.”

“Even in ruins, it’s all more luxurious than I’ve ever known.” You remember the days of grovelling for coin, sleeping on the cobblestones of narrow alleyways to hide from the Rivington Rats that enjoyed terrorizing you for sport.

“I often forget the life you led before the rise of The Absolute.” he hums as he thinks, rubbing his chin. “See Leticia in The Lower City. She’s a dressmaker that prepares garments for practically the entirety of Manorborn. Get anything you’d like and have her forward all charges to me.”

“Really?” Your eyes widen to the size of planets, shocked by the Grand Duke’s generosity. Providing you a simple wardrobe was an act of kindness. But offering a custom gown from one of the most popular clothier’s in the city? That was astonishing. “I’ve heard she uses only the most exotic and luxirous fabrics that Faerûn can provide.”

“Indeed.” A proud smile lightens his face; it’s becoming obvious that The Sword Coast’s leader admires you greatly. “I’d like you to experience all of the finery the nobility of this city can offer you. It’s the least I can provide for the city’s savior. For my savior.”

“Thank you, sir.” You consider scrambling to your feet to curtsey before pushing the thought away.

“Call me Ulder, my dear.” He chuckles, a deep rumble ruminating from his chest. His timbre is comforting, almost fatherly. “You’ve earned it.”

“I thought you didn’t like me,” you admit bashfully, shoveling a spoonful of berries off of your plate. It’s must better than the fish head and potato stew the seven of you had once shared the morning after a particularly brutal battle.

“I must admit,” he sighs, smoothing the lapels of his doublet. “I was wary. But I’m in a position where I need to be. A street urchin and former member of The Guild Hall was the last person I thought I’d be inviting to stay at my grand estate, to be promised to my only child.”

The words stung in your ears, painful as you stared at the normally brusque man. His demeanor had softened, venom no longer lingering in his voice like when he saw Wyll’s bedeviled form. No, this was a man seeking to repent his misgivings.

“You have proved yourself a valiant defender of this city, even when it has been so unkind in the past. There are many who would’ve abandoned me in my position, to let me drown with a plethora of innocents at the command of a tyrant. But whatever prejudices you may have of nobility were swallowed as you came to the aid of those who needed you. For that, I’ll be eternally grateful.”

“And I’ll be endlessly indebted to you for such generosity.” It feels strange to accept so much from such a powerful man. But when his lips finally stretch into a pleased smile, you know you can believe his every word.

“You’ll never be indebted.” He pulled his plate close again, fork spearing another slice of ham. “Afterall, you’re practically family now.”

……

Leticia’s boutique is inviting and warm, filled with polished antique furniture while beautifully woven rugs cover the slatted floor. A bell chimes as Astarion enters the shop after you.

“I could’ve gone alone, you know.” You remind the elf who hungrily eyes the endless bolts of expensive fabrics.

“True.” He considers this for a moment, “Though I think it’s only fair you bring your most fashionable confidant with you for such an outing. Afterall, your current wardrobe leaves quite a bit to be desired.”

You want to argue but know the haughty vampire is being surprisingly truthful. Astarion is rather educated considering clothing fads. Even the cloak he wears to ward off the sun is decadently embroidered velvet. Your simple clothing consists of a plain cotton blouse and scuffed leather boots. But clothing in itself has always been a luxury, no matter how homely the garment.

“Hullo!” A gnome appears from a curtained doorway, long face punctuated by pink cheeks and golden curls. She looks more like a jovial mother ready to bake a treacle tart than the city’s most sought after couturier. “What an honor to serve two heroes of the Gate!”

Your ears burn while Astarion excitedly preens at the unexpected praise.

“Th-thank you,” Never in a millenia would you even entertain the thought of stepping into such a beautiful and undoubtedly expensive shop, “I believe Duke Ravengard spoke to you on my behalf.”

“Mine as well,” Astarion chimes in with that roguish charm, ready to take advantage of Ulder’s kindness.

“He only mentioned the one.” Leticia winks knowingly but doesn’t seem to mind the ruse, “But I’d be happy to offer my services to you both. Free of charge. It’s the least I can do. My livelihood still stands because of you..”

“Are you sure?” You cock your head, earning a jab to the ribs from your companion.

“But of course!” The woman sashays further into the parlor, perusing her own inventory. “Dressing the city’s saviors for the masquerade is an absolute honor. Besides, I’ve already made a bundle for this event. Anymore, and I’d feel like a miserly dragon hoarding my fortune.”

“Yes. Let’s not question Leticia’s generosity.” Astarion adds pompously before swaggering forward, “Do you have any periwinkles? I think a generous brocade with silver stitching will compliment my pallor quite nicely.”

“As you wish,” Leiticia chuckles, obviously acclimated to dramatic and demanding customers. “And you my dear?”

“Um, I don’t know.” You shrug, fighting the burgeoning anxiety creeping up your spine. This was all so overwhelming. Destroying a bloodthirsty cult felt simple in comparison to rubbing elbows with the upper echelon. You hadn’t the slightest which color would compliment your skin tone best. Wondering where the next meal would be coming from was far more important a thought for street wise orphans.

“Hmmm,” Leticia circles you like a predator might its prey before stopping toe to toe. Her round eyes narrow, round chin resting atop a curled knuckle as she peers upwards. Astarion stands behind the woman, staring at you with amusement, “How do you feel about green? A deep, rich emerald?”

“I like green,” And you did, enjoying its beauty in the leaves decorating trees like baubles or the lush blades of grass sprouting in sprawling meadows. Small hands clasped together excitedly.

“Perfect!” Leticia practically squeals. “I could craft a matching doublet for the young Ravengard. Perhaps a lush onyx with emerald embroidery. In velvet.”

“That sounds absolutely perfect.” Astarion coos, , enjoying how pink you’d become, not unlike a ripe sunmelon. “You’ll be the most lavishly dressed couple the city could ever hope to boast.”’

“Your friend is right,” Leticia’s warm smile gleamed upon you, golden curls shimmering beneath tendrils of sun. The vampire adjusted his cloak thoughtfully; you were grateful, preferring not to sweep your friend up in a dust pan. “You and Wyll shall be dazzling together. I have his measurements stowed away. But yours I’ll need to get. Same with your rather fanged companion.”

“Have you draperies in the back room?” Astarion piped up as the gnome wrapped a warm hand around your own, propelling a rigid body forward. Leticia chuckled slyly:

“Don’t worry, dearie. You shan’t burn to cinders today.”

……

His body is tense when the threads between Avernus and Faerûn are breached, frayed edges ripping apart time and space when he and Karlach are devoured by a pool of molten darkness. Mizora’s lip quirks as his patron disappears amongst blazing hellfire. His body fizzles as though he’s on his own blazing pyre. Yet mortal skin doesn’t burn, still smooth ochre when blade and fury reimerge.

“Holy shit.” Karlach looks down at her chest, a flame inside no longer glowing. Beneath the gnarled skin is a beating heart like the one that had been brutally carved out. “This is bonkers. I can actually feel my own pulse. Not sputtering or flaming.”

It’s nothing short of a miracle, one that Mizora owed him after violating many terms of their agreement. Besides, the cambion was the closest to her mistress and was more likely to convince Zariel to accept their offer. To free Karlach from the binds of Avernus and allow her the freedom Gortash robbed her of.

Wyll continued to sacrifice his own freedom to avenge those who deserved it more than he.

“Congratulations, Kar,” Wyll smiles with a grin only a jaded nobleman could sport, proud yet lacking any arrogance. A large hand flattens on the center of the tiefling’s back, patting at her gnarled leather armor. “You deserve the best that this life can give.”

“You amazing bastard! C’mere!” she squeals before pulling her companion into a back breaking hug, easily lifting him from the ground. Their horns clack for an instant before Wyll lets out an unrestrained chuckle. “I owe you my fucking life.”

“Nothing is owed,” He gently pats broad shoulder, signifying that he was ready to be sat down. Fine leather boots collide with cobblestones outside the Elfsong. “Unless you’d like to treat me to a pint.”

“It’s a deal, mate,” an amber eye winks mischievously before her arm bent gallantly. The warlock smirks, shallowly bowing before he loops his arm in hers. A few stragglers outside the tavern gawked at the literally blazing arrival of two more of the Gate’s heroes before Karlach led the way into their old stomping grounds. Flagons of mead sounded unapetizing, especially as he longed to see only the face of his beloved.

The thought of you plagued him nightly in Avernus as ravenous imps chittered outside his tent. All he craved was to have his love safely wrapped in his arms once more. With the Elder Brain relinquished and the Dead Three destroyed, he knew no harm would come to you while he was away. So he wrote every other day, to assure his own safety.

He blinks hard, finding a gaze locking on his own. Familiar and warm, your eyes. His heart shudders with excitement; by the hells below, he conjured you. You fling yourself from a rickety chair as Astarion and Shadowheart roll their eyes. You had likely been a terror to the most emotionally witheld of the group, blubbering about his long awaited return. He chuckles at the thought of how many sending stones Gale received concerning the matter.

“Wyll!” you screech in excitement, practically launching yourself into his arms. He catches you quickly, arms looped beneath your thighs as ankles knot at the small of his back. Your own latch around a lean neck before kisses are peppered across face and horns alike. “You’re early!”

“Karlach and I were able to make a deal with Zariel and Mizora sooner rather than later.” His nose nuzzled against your own, brows plastering together as he sways beneath your weight. “I’ve missed you.”

“And I, you.” A calloused thumb swipes an unshed tear from your cheek. The barbarian silently slinks away, joining her friends at their table. Afterall, you and Wyll were lost in your own world.

……

You wake the next morning, swathed in buttery bedclothes you’ve become accustomed to. A warm figure lays sleeping at your side, chest rising and falling delicately. Its surreal to see him again, safe and plastered at your side.

Breaths are expelled through flared nostrils, arm covering closed eyes. A grin whispers across your lips, heart fluttering as you study your betrothed. He’s stunning, scars and horns be damned. A rugged prince who deigns to wed you.

I’d forgo the decadent weddings that are tradition for the noble folk of the Upper City. His gaze was wistful as you strolled the gardens, arm and arm. It was a well known fact that the blade harboured a prominent distaste for his inherited wealth and power.

Where would we elope to? You’d hummed contently, watching as nimble fingers unwound a blushing rose from a wrought iron trellis. Wyll carefully tucked the bloom behind your ear.

That clearing in the wilds. Where we camped. He leaned back, studying you as though he gazed upon a masterpiece. Our druidic friends could decorate the lands with wreaths of flowers and laurels. Shadowheart could bind our hands with ribbon and declare us one, Karlach and Lae’zel would out drink each other on fire whiskey while Gale bore us all with droll stories…

You had giggled though the image had your heart skipping a beat. You could wear a flowing dress complete with ribbons and eyelets, a crown of wild daisies and violets resting atop wild hair. A sprawling ceremony with lavish garments attended by droves of strangers sounded ghastly.

Maybe we could convince your father that tradition isn’t always necessary. You’d cooed, stroking a muscular arm covered by a simple jerkin. Sour laughter reverberated through his body.

You act as though you’ve never met Ulder. He tried to hide deep seated bitterness yet failed.

I think I’ve grown on him. You concurred sweetly, feeling that you were slowly melting the Grand Duke’s exterior. He could be convinced.

You’re as sweet as you are naive. It had been a sweet sentiment, one shared in the quiet dusk as fireflies began to twinkle to life. Wyll had brace your hands in his and pressed a kiss to a clammy brow.

It had taken a long while before returning to your chambers. Even then you only passed the time sharing stories, tucked cozily in his lap. A calloused finger traced unintelligible circles in soft skin. The same fingers that had taken countless lives for a cruel patron, the same that caressed his beloved gently.

You smirk at the thought, eternally amused by the incongruity of him. Not unlike the shallow dimples and cheeky grin offset by horns and a blazing red eye. Wyll Ravengard would never be the devil Mizora had attempted to stitch together.

Becoming a monster was an impossibility.

So you press a kiss to his upturned palm, watching as long fingers flexed.

“Tickles…” he mumbles groggily, voice gruff with sleep. So you repeat yourself, this time tracing the skin with the tip of your tongue, “Heathen.”

“Not all of us were born to high lords,” you reason before gently straddling his hips. “Some of us were raised without manners.”

“Maybe I’ll teach you some,” his good eye winks before large hands swallow your own. “Starting with not rousing your lover from a pleasant dream.”

“I’m sorry,” you groan dramatically, reeling back before careening into a broad chest. “You’re just so sweet. I couldn’t help myself.”

“I suppose I’ll forgive you,” he chuckles before burying a long nose in a nest of sleep sodden hair. “Hells, I’ve missed this.”

“We’ve never really had this.” a small hand runs a hand across a muscled chest, scars raised beneath the pads of your fingers, “At least not yet.”

“Come to think of it, you’re right.” he hums, lost in thought. “Karlach and I did leave right after the brain fell. Though I hope you’ve been enjoying your new luxuries.”

“It’s strange,” you wrinkle your brow, enjoying the steady thud of a strong heart beneath a flattened ear. “I’ve dreamt of living with such riches but it feels so out of place. I’m hoping you’ll help me adjust.”

Wyll’s about to answer when there’s a deafening knock at the door.

“May we enter m’ lord and m’ lady?” One of the servants announces cheerily, “It’s time to prepare for the evening’s festivities.”

It’s fortuitous that he arrived in time for the masquerade, that Leticia was likely up until dawn finishing his doublet. Regardless, you don’t want to leave the warmth of his arms. So you bury your nose in the crook of his neck when Wyll calls out:

“Five more minutes!” ……

You feel like a princess, swathes of emerald velvet heavy on your limbs, a string of pearls dripping down exposed shoulders. The mask hiding your face looks like a raven, accented with a sharp beak and sable feathers.

It’s a relief that no one recognizes you, no small talk required with stuffy aristocrats as you watch the dense crowd from the marbled balcony. Your companions dot the ballroom, though Aylin is the easiest to spot with golden tinged wings. Lae’zel and Shadowheart enjoy endless goblets of wine while Karlach has convinced Astarion to join her for a dance. Intricate masks enjoy their faces though your favorite is Gales: feathered and cat like, not unlike Tara the Tressym.

“My, my,” his voice is a whisper in the shell of one ear, sending a shudder up your spine. “You are gorgeous.”

You spin on one heel, grin broadening at the sight of his gorgeously gilded lion mask. It perfectly matches the deep green and golden threads decorating his black velvet overcoat. His teeth are pearlescent in the light of flickering candles, hands tucked at the small of his back.

“So do you,” you practically salivate, craving him more than you have the entirety of the day. “Utterly gorgeous.”

“You’ll make me blush brighter than the fires in the hells.” he extends a bent elbow. “Shall we, my dear?”

You say nothing, linking your arm with his, floating as he leads you down the yawning staircase. The prying eyes can hardly be felt prickling on your skin because all the matters is the man at your side.

All that has mattered is Wyll.

#bg3 fanfiction #bg3 #fanfiction #fluffy oneshot #oneshot #wyll ravengard #wyll ravengard x reader #wyll x reader #female reader #reader insert

[miller-n-morgan]

Take Me Home

PART ONE: TEXAS RED

Arthur Morgan x Gunslinger!Reader

18+, mdni

Summary: From the town of Agua Fria rode a stranger one fine day. Never spoke to folks around him, didn’t have too much to say. No one dared to ask his business, no one dared to make a slip, for the stranger there among them had a big iron on his hip. (Reader is based on Texas Red, from the song Big Iron)

Warnings: reader is female but is disguised as a young male (use of masc pronouns towards reader for this chapter), guns, violence, duelist behavior. Reader is described to have a masculine outer appearance (for show) and is mentioned to have reddish hair (for the sake of the storyline). A fake name is used but otherwise can be read completely as a reader insert.

Word Count: 6.5k

Howdy y’all ! I’m really excited about this story (arthur is my main comfort man) and this is just a story that I’ve been cooking up since I finished the game. This part (and a lot of the story’s future plot) is HEAVILY influenced by the song Big Iron by Marty Robbins and reader even goes by ‘Texas Red.’

“Men learn fast not to poke fun at me,” you told him, partially as a threat, but followed it up quickly. “I s’pose I’d better compose myself around here.” Arthur laughed, genuinely. He seemed to find you amusing, or maybe he found you to be annoying. Either way, you earned these hearty chuckles to enjoy for yourself.  “You may be quick with a gun, kid… but just know, that pistol on your hip couldn’t save you from me,” his voice was in a lower register when he said it, and you didn’t know whether you should be intimidated or completely and totally enamored. He wasn’t completely serious, unwilling to scare you away for Dutch’s sake. But he did want you to understand where you stood with him, and you did

The light from the outside window is what wakes you first, the brightness pooling over your closed eyelids before they even open. You’re still in Agua Fria, the place you've made a name for yourself. Charlie Brooks, but that's not the one that comes to mind. 

Texas Red. The unkillable. Nothing more than a duelist to many, and even less so to those who don't care for that sort of thing. But to those who dare challenge the big iron on your hip, you are not anything short of a quick handed master. Only eighteen years old, or so they say - it’s what you’ve told them, but like your name, it isn’t true. Whichever way you spell it out, your reputation is the reason people know you; You have the fastest draw on this side of anywhere. 

For someone who's known near and far as the kid who never lost a match, the nickname is a little less than favorable. Texas Red isn't for the blood on your hands, it's for the ginger of your hair. It's factual, not demeaning… but still unfavorable. You do not care much what they call you anymore, just as long as they know what comes with it. Too many men have underestimated your ability, one and nineteen more. 

Here in Agua Fria there's folks that will come from far and wide, just to test your trigger finger. Today is no different. You've spent the night in a hotel above the saloon, so by the time you reach the bottom of the stairs, you know there ought to be a man there, ready and willing to die. 

“That's him.” 

You hear from under the breath of the bartender. He served you only last night, one drink of silky whiskey before bed, nothing more. You told him your name, but not the one people know. Word gets around, you suppose. Your pistol has twenty notches on the handle, folks can tell enough from that alone. One of the outlaws that hangs around here does the same thing… except he takes pride in those marks, as opposed to you. You make those marks to remember the weight of your pistol, heavier every time a notch is made.

The man before you is tall and strong, likely a farmer that does heavy work. He has a sly look about him, but you don't feel bothered too much. You think his hands, worn by the sun and weathered by his work - whatever it may be - will not draw fast enough to even graze you. They are too stiff where they hang by his side, probably from pushing a plow, or milling a field. 

He hasn't spoken a word to you yet, but that's what you assume. He's here to challenge me, they always are. No one asks after you otherwise… except for maybe some working women, but that never ends well.

“You're the kid?” He looks you over, a furrowed brow and a smirk brush his features, but it doesn't last. Yes, you think. I'm the kid, and this is my gun.

“Yes sir,” your voice is a little lower, the early morning is stuck in the pitch of it. 

His question was so vague, but having been asked about eight times out of twenty ‘are you the kid?’ makes you a pretty damn good guesser of what your answer ought to be.

He takes another once over after a step forward, and now you can see that he stands about a head taller than you. He's not quite intimidating, but you can admit, the anxiousness of a man initiating a duel is always a thing that prickles your skin, warms your very fingertips. Maybe that's why you shoot so fast. 

“You don't look like a killer,” he looks down, but his nose is somehow still in the air. He wants to prove something, to someone or to himself you can't be sure, but only the most foolish of men dare your gun this way. 

“I'm not one.” 

And he laughs. You don't even think to look up at him, you keep my face forward. I don't have anything to prove, but of course you know you’ll have to.

“You shoot folks, got a name for it,” he settled his hands on his belt. It's a gun belt, sure, but the rounds don't even match the gun at his hip. They look bigger, as for a rifle. This farmer likely shoots ducks. Sitting or flying, that’s not the relevant point. 

He has experience, and that's what clouds his mind. He thinks you’re a sitting duck. 

“I do, but I ain't no killer,” you paused, rounding the man, stepping up to the bar and pointing for a glass of water. This early in the morning, any form of alcohol shouldn't be legal. You reckon it's the very thing that made this gentleman bold and eager enough to try what he's about to. At least you’re pretty darn sure that he's about to, otherwise he’s just an adoring spectator. “I shoot folks as need shootin’, but they always ask for it. I ain't malicious or nothin’.” 

“Maybe you's the one that needs shootin’.”

Atta boy, getting to the point. You have to smile. He looks confused by it and he very well should be… people don’t normally crack a grin when being threatened.

“S’pose you wanna be the one that does it,” You take a drink of the water you’re handed, but it does little to wash away the tickle in your throat, trying to climb its way up in the form of the chuckle. 

“If I gotta be.” 

You’ve never seen this man around town. Being here in this area almost two months, you’ve seen more of the traveling recluses than any of the farmers. Seen more of the local outlaws, too. They never stay long, they cause a little trouble here and there… but never the farmers. They come into town maybe once, twice a month. They harbor most of their own supplies on their land. No need for the town. 

“And you think you'll hit me?” 

“I've never missed.” 

And then that chuckle finally does escape you. 

“I knew twenty men who hadn't, either,” but the other's words were a bit more out of ignorance. They wanted to show off, thought they had nothing to lose. You were just a skinny kid with red hair and a heavy gun that you could barely stand to carry. 

“I like my odds.” 

So you turn to the bartender. He watched this same charade last month. A different man, not quite as tall, but just as confident. He stops wiping down an empty glass, and looks to you with a look of annoyance. What did you do to deserve it? You haven't the slightest clue. When he looks at the challenger with sincerity and condolences, you know what he thinks behind those eyes.

This is a fine young man, he may have a wife and some children. He doesn't know what he's doing, he had a strong drink. He only heard one story, it isn't fair. 

But of course, you can't back out. You’ve never backed out. Never having anything to lose, and like today, no one has ever tried to convince you otherwise. If you die now, you can go out a hero of sorts, the gunslinger of Agua Fria. If you live, then you'll someday die a legend. Texas Red, the unkillable.

You will have to step outside, and you will have to shoot this man, but for the first time, you feel you oughta know his name. You stepped to meet him and offered your hand. It's smaller compared to his. 

“What’s your name?” 

“Robert Sims.” 

He shakes your hand tightly, he wants to show how strong he is… as if that somehow makes him shoot faster.

“Glad to meet ya. I'm-” 

“The infamous Texas Red,” he finished for me, but every time you hear that nickname it somehow gets worse. Why on earth did the good Lord above curse you with something so nasty as ginger hair?

“Infamous? Don't know about that,” you lean back against the bar for another drink of water when your hands drop to your sides. “I'm just a kid. Name's Charlie Brooks.” 

He scoffs, his eyes falling to the floor. Maybe he doesn't wanna do this. He seems to be rolling it over in his head. If he wins he kills you, a scrawny kid with an ugly hat, and not a friend in the world. If he loses, well… he dies. 

But as if foolishness ruled his mind, he settles on his thoughts, and you can see it clear as day when he decides. 

“Are you ready to step outside?” 

And you smile again. He could've been your friend. He seems like a kind enough man, a little arrogant, but a man of honor in himself. He even struck you with a slanted smile of his own, but for no reason other than your reputation alone, he wants to kill you. Always a shame. 

“S'pose so.”

And he doesn't say another word… Ever. 

Thirty paces apart on the dirt road outside, the poor man never even cleared leather, but a bullet rests between his collarbones, and he himself rests on the ground. He’s got a pouch on his hip you noticed earlier, so while everyone around is frozen in place, you carefully go up to his body, stripping the valuables from him before moving on your way. To the winner go the spoils.

You holster your weapon, turn around and face the folks that stopped their journeys to watch. Some had seen the last one, they expected the outcome. Others were a bit surprised. David beat Goliath. The bigger opponent fell. 

You took a walk around the block to settle down, find a nail to notch your pistol yet again. You’ve never forgotten your earlier opponents, but something about this one makes you sadder than the rest. One and Twenty more, and whoever else is stupid enough to have the same idea.

Once you feel at rest you land back in the saloon, but it's not as empty as before, your single friend Robert Sims being the occupant. Now there are three men. There is a tall dark haired man with a mustache and a bowler hat, a darker skinned man beside him against the bar, and a young man that looked all too similar to yourself in complexion and hair color. It was nice to know that you weren’t the only one God would curse that way. 

You don't plan on letting yourself be bothered, so you sit down one stool over, beckoning a whiskey you can shoot to chase the adrenaline. You thought you had calmed down, but sitting here it feels as though you’re in the middle of a footrace, with the speed accelerating instead of decreasing. 

“Charlie Brooks?” The tall man with the mustache was the first to speak, and directly to you. 

These men have guns on their hips, and you hope they are not thinking what the last man thought. You’ve barely calmed down enough from Robert Sims, and your head would hurt having to shoot twice in one day. 

“Yes,” your confusion forced through. 

“I'd like to talk with you. This man here tells me you're quite the gunslinger,” he gestures to the bartender and you give him a glance, seemingly just doing his job minding his business when he's not running his mouth about you. 

“He told ya? Or were you outside?” 

The man had a laugh that seemed comforting almost. It was hearty and full of actual joy. He pat you on the back and you had half a mind to turn away from it for a moment, unsure of why he was so friendly or if you appreciated it yet. It’s been a while since you felt the comforting or friendly touch of someone who didn’t later try and shoot you.

“I did in fact see your show of skill, but I wasn't sure if approaching you after a fiasco like that would end up poorly for me.” 

And so you smile, because his sense of humor is alike yours, and he looks to be unphased by your violent acts of earlier. You technically didn’t break any laws. Didn’t do anything wrong, even by killing a man. He had threatened to shoot your first, if no one claims they saw the duel, you can write it off as self defense… but this man doesn’t seem too deterred. In fact, he looks all too happy having witnessed your properly provoked quick draw.

“I ain't jumpy, if that's what you're worried about.” 

But he had a different point on his mind, so the subject was changed in an instant. 

“Look, son. I'm gonna cut to the chase,” he pointed at your pistol, the newest twenty-one mark shining where it peaked out of your holster. “You have a gift for using that. I could use some talent like yours.” 

And suddenly you’re confused again. Who is this guy? What does he want? 

“I ain't a bounty hunter, sir.” 

“I can very well see that. I'm not looking for a temporary gun, kid. I need someone long term.” 

And suddenly your interest is piqued. The other men haven't said a word, and yet they seem to be a part of this offer, whatever it is. They are fully invested in your answer, on the edge of their seat - metaphorically, since they’ve been standing - while waiting. It’s strange, as if it’s all been plotted.

“Not sure I quite understand,” You slide the empty glass back after taking the second shot of whiskey, but hold your hand over the top, keeping the bartender from refilling a third. 

“If you'd be so kind as to follow me and my friends, I would be happy to explain in further detail,” he steps away from the bar, his hand outstretched to the door. This situation reads danger in every which way, but you don't stray from it. You can’t believe you’re doing it, but you follow along, an open mind. 

Nothing to lose.

-

Your horse was in the stables, an older stallion that was probably bred from war. His coat was full and black, like a starless night sky. Fury, you called him. These other men had put their horses up in the stables as well, but they were quite a bit stranger when it came to interacting with the horse hand. They paid him off so he’d forget any of you had been here. 

These men must be outlaws. Dutch, Charles, and Sean… From the time of their introductions, you were watching them with vigilance. You had started to gather that much from the way people ran inside when they passed, but the other behaviors lead you to believe that they weren’t the typical type. They weren’t just bad men looking for trouble and fun. They had reasoning, and they had qualms about who they spoke to about what. They were careful, if that word can even describe an outlaw. 

You followed them out of town, and down a road a bit. Agua Fria was a bit drier than other parts of Texas, but it had some nice trees here and there, with ponds and hills to break up the dusty roads. When you came to a clearing, a full on campsite set up, you immediately looked around, taking in who you thought would be the most imminent threats. 

“Right over here,” Dutch said, dismounting his horse and leading it to a hitching post. You followed him and the others, and the redhead, Sean, took your horse off your hands. 

“Thanks,” you mumbled. 

“This is the camp, ain’t much to look at but we’re all very tight knit, here.” 

You followed behind Dutch, he was the ringleader of all of this, as far as you could tell. He gave the orders, and the others followed. You couldn’t say you didn’t see why. He had all the capabilities of a natural born leader. His presence, his personable way with words, and even his ability to convince a random stranger to follow him. 

“S’cozy,” you said, nodding to each person you passed. He didn’t bother introducing you to them yet, and you figure it’s because he wants to see how well you fit first. No point in getting anyone attached. 

“It is indeed. I’ll have you wait here for just a moment, you can mingle, if you’d like. I’m gonna talk to a few friends of mine,” he told you before ducking into a tent, the flaps falling behind him. 

You huffed a breath, turning to the first face you saw and tipping your hat. 

“Howdy, Ma’am.”

The young woman looked up to you, a sweet smile on her face. She had lovely dark hair and beautiful blue eyes that reflected a clear sky. 

From within the tent, tensions were a bit higher. 

“First Mack and Davey, now this… kid? You can’t keep picking up people like they’re stray dogs, Dutch…” Hosea Matthews, Dutch’s right hand man was the one to speak first. He’d just heard quite a story - which to be fair, Dutch liked telling grand stories - that seemed to be impossible. 

“I know, I know… but you wouldn’t believe it even if you saw it. Hell, even I don’t.” 

“Let me get this straight,” another voice piped up from the corner, standing to make his presence more known. “This eighteen year old kid, who can barely hold up a gun… is the fastest draw you’ve ever seen?” 

“I blinked and the man was dead,” Dutch furthered his point, hearing a low whistle from the youngest man in the tent. They began to peak through the open tent flaps, not letting anyone else see them. 

“Abigail seems to like him.”

“Abigail likes everyone except John these days,” Hosea joked around, sitting himself back down when he’d taken his look at the kid. He was a spry little thing, but looked like a boy still in adolescence.

“Listen,” Dutch began, his hands raised to calm the air. “This kid could mean the difference between life or death in some of our upcoming jobs.”

The younger man looked to Dutch, then to Hosea, and then to the ground, shaking his head. Dutch was like his father, but these fantasies he conjured up sometimes to justify his antics could be wild. 

“He can shoot faster than me?” 

“My boy, I’d let you challenge him yourself if I wasn’t sure he’d drop you where you stand.” Dutch clapped a hand on his shoulder before turning to Hosea. 

“If he’s really as fast as you say, we should keep him. He can’t be of any harm otherwise.”

-

A moment lasted longer than you thought it would, but you’d garnered the attention of not one but two ladies whilst sitting in the shade of the trees. 

Abigail, the heavily pregnant young woman you’d started conversation with, and Tilly, a young lady who seemed to be swooning with every word you said. You didn’t have the heart to say nothing to her, you weren’t even sure you’d be sticking around. 

“And then what happened?” Tilly asked, scooting closer. 

“Well, I guess I shot him. S’how most these stories end, sadly.”

You suddenly felt a bit sorrowful. You’d shot a man down only today and here you’d moved on so quickly. The time of self recovery was getting shorter and shorter. Maybe you ought to stop shooting folks, then you could make some ground on a normal life… but that’s never really been your way, not since you left home. If you stay with this gang, though… the shooting gets worse, and you know that for a fact. 

“But you’re a good shot, probably why Dutch wants ya,” Abigail lifted a brow, nodding towards the tent. You were sure he’d liked you well enough, and you liked this whole tight knit unit well enough. If you shoot enough folk, you reckon you get to stay. 

“Speak of the Devil,” Tilly smiled behind where you were standing, and you took it as a queue to turn around yourself. 

“We sure as hell want him,” Dutch said, clapping a hand on your shoulder. “I have some people I want you to meet. This is my partner, Hosea Matthews.”

And the man - Hosea - smiled and waved. He seemed nice, and gentlemanly. He had a kind face, like that of a dedicated father. 

“And this,” Dutch stood aside, revealing another man stood behind him… “Is Arthur Morgan. My enforcer, and right hand man.”

You froze when he lifted his head, hat tipping upward enough to see his face. Your breath hitched in your throat as you scanned his features, falling to the stretch of his body and then roaming back up to the brim of his hat. You weren’t sure if it was from fear or from awe, but the tenseness in your body was thick and unwavering. He had all the toughness of a rugged outlaw, but his eyes were calm, serene. Like pools of oasis water against a dry and scorching desert. A beautiful man by anyone’s standard, but completely unaware of himself. 

Standing before you now, he nodded in greeting, and you had to snap out of the haze that even now surrounded you, clouding your mind and blocking out anything that wasn’t him. 

Sweet Lord above, help me look away… and finally you did, begrudgingly. 

“He’s gonna show you around, give you the rundown of how things are around here,”

“Sounds-” you coughed once, trying to play off your strange behavior as you cleared your throat. “Sounds just fine.”

“Alright then,” Dutch leaned in towards Arthur at the last second, nudging his arm as he did. “Don’t test ‘im before he’s had a chance to settle. I don’t feel like losing two fast guns on the same day.”

You heard the tail end of the conversation, but pretended it passed over your head. You were standing quietly, still halfway in awe of the man. Sandy strands of hair that fell over the corners of his eyes, his strong jawline stubbled in the same lovely color. He let his hat fall over his eyes again, but you were certain if you’d been able to see them again, you’d not be able to look away.

He fell into a slow walk beside you, beginning to lead through the campsite.

“What’s your name, kid?” 

Kid, as if you were actually one… 

“Charlie Brooks, sir,” You replied, holding a firm hand out. This was reflectant of a similar introduction you’d made earlier this morning. Didn’t matter what happened though, you wouldn’t be shooting the man before you. Not even if he begged. 

“Dutch says they call you Red.”

You dropped your pleasant expression, huffing a fast breath to match the new look on your face.

“Texas Red… But I ain’t even from Texas, so,” and it was true. You’d only earned that nickname here. 

“The red part still fits,” Arthur was teasing you. Perhaps this is what Dutch meant by ‘don’t test him.’

You sighed, realizing that you’d found the downside to this ruggedly handsome stranger… “My name is Charlie Brooks.”

Arthur laughs, shaking his head. “Don’t get upset, boy… I’m only poking fun.”

You drop the tension in your shoulders… you didn’t like being teased, but perhaps it wasn’t as bad coming from this Arthur character. 

“Men learn fast not to poke fun at me,” you told him, partially as a threat, but followed it up quickly. “I s’pose I’d better compose myself around here.”

Arthur laughed, genuinely. He seemed to find you amusing, or maybe he found you to be annoying. Either way, you earned these hearty chuckles to enjoy for yourself. 

“You may be quick with a gun, kid… but just know, that pistol on your hip couldn’t save you from me,” his voice was in a lower register when he said it, and you didn’t know whether you should be intimidated or completely and totally enamored. He wasn’t completely serious, unwilling to scare you away for Dutch’s sake. But he did want you to understand where you stood with him, and you did. 

You only nodded, and kept walking. 

He had shown you the laundry areas, where the girls nearly strip the boys down just so they have something to do in the daytime. He showed you to Mr. Pearson’s ‘kitchen,’ if you could even call it that. He showed you where the weapons are kept, but not where to refill them. He isn’t sure if he’s supposed to yet. You take in every word he says, committing it to memory, not only so you can fit in around here, but also so you can recall the sound of his voice on a whim. 

He shows you down to the sloped rim of the pond, where usually one at the time, members of the camp come to bathe in their spare hours. You wondered how far down the way you would have to bathe, just on the off chance someone might come and see. 

“Bill takes care of the horses, mostly. I’m sure he’ll add yours to his rounds if you ask ‘im,” he mentioned, walking back past the horse rails and troughs. Your horse was standing happily in the sunshine, enjoying the blue skies and grass compared to the dusty and dark stables you always put him up in.

“I’ll remember that,” you say, as if you’ll forget anything else. So far you remember everyone’s name - everyone you passed by, at least - and every individual location of the camp. 

“Miss Grimshaw and the others should have a tent for ya by sundown… if not, just bunk with me until tomorrow,” he offered, hands sat steadily on his gun belt. Your face flushed, but lucky for you, he was much taller and couldn’t see under the brim of your hat when you tilted your head. 

“That’s kind of you,” you nodded in reply, saying nothing more. 

He began to back away, needing to attend to something else, but he stopped short. 

“You’re alright, kid,” he complimented, as best as he could give one, anyway. “See you ‘round.”

And you stood still, watching him walk away with your hands at your sides. 

“I’m in deep shit…”

-

Early to bed, early to rise, yatta yatta yatta. You still hate mornings. The camp wakes at the crack of dawn, and you stir just as some folks are leaving, mounting their horses and setting off for the adventures ahead. You’re fairly certain it’s Dutch, Bill, and that other man Hosea, the one with the kind face.

You did end up taking Arthur up on his offer to bunk for the night. He was kind enough to set up one of the spare cots for you, unwilling to argue about sleeping on the ground and all that. He pegged you for the arguing type and wanted to leave well enough alone. 

He was gone from the tent-like structure by the wagon, away somewhere probably having a cup of that coffee you smelled. They must have had a pot brewing somewhere, because it was the only thing willing you to leave the shaded area you were resting. The sun wasn’t high in the sky, but you could already feel the effects of the heat swirling in around the camp. 

It was strange, going about your morning routine with others present. Washing up your face in one of the water barrels, raking your hair back over your head with your wet fingers to let the hair sit flat before you crushed it down with your hat. You’d been nearly presentable, good enough for the morning, anyway. 

It wasn’t long before you were sitting close to the congregated group, a cup of coffee in your own hands. It wasn’t the best you’ve had, but hey, it helped you keep your eyes open. You didn’t dare interject into the conversation, unknowing of it they would accept it. Not that it mattered, because you liked hearing them interact as is. They were a rowdy bunch, but they had some wit here and there.

After a while, you zoned out during talks of events you hadn’t been to, people you hadn’t met, things you didn’t get to see before coming here. You watched a bunny that leapt across the camp, running into the wilderness ahead only to disappear behind some rocks. You realized by then you were at the end of your coffee cup. You stood up to take it back to Mr. Pearson, but were interrupted by one of the others in the circle. You remember his name is John. 

“How about you, Brooks?” He asked, catching you off guard, for you had absolutely no clue what the conversation was. 

“How about me?” you replied, a furrowed brow as you stopped in your tracks and waited. 

“Are you really as fast as people say?”

You scoffed, a slanted eyebrow to the man when he seemed in disbelief. You don’t blame him, he’s never seen you shoot. 

“Faster.”

“Boy’s got some pride on ‘im. Shouldn’t be too hard to break it down,” the only other redhead in the gang reared his accented voice. “Ay, Arthur?” 

You turned to the man, stoic and quiet, his hat covering most of his face so you couldn’t see what his features were saying. 

“If Dutch says he’s faster than me, I won’t push my luck.”

Except for he wanted to. He really wanted to, and you were curious to see his skill as well. Maybe not against you, because hell… you ain’t never lost before but there’s a first time for everything, and you like it here too much to throw it away. 

“I don’t buy it. That’s just Dutch telling tales like he does,” John stood up and clapped his hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “Never in my life have I seen someone with Arthur’s shootin’ speed.”

“Never?” 

You knew it was probably not in your best interest to boast your ability on the first day, but shit, it was the only thing you had going for you. You had to make way in this group somehow. 

“Never.” 

“Alright,” you nodded. “I propose a game. Two bullets, our names carved in. We set up a can to shoot and whoever’s bullet gets trapped inside s’the one that got there first.”

Arthur lifted his head, and for the first time this morning, you saw his eyes. Your face instantly got red, but no one seemed to notice, too caught up in the heat of the exchange. 

He nodded once, a slow and decisive nod. He was thinking it over. 

“Sure,” he said, his thick accent coating the word. “Guess I’ll play along.”

And the group dispersed, grabbing everything needed. Arthur took it upon himself to carve the bullets, and strangely, you trusted him not to tamper with yours. He didn’t seem like the type to play dirty. He didn’t look like he needed to be. 

Sean set up the can on a log, a crudely drawn X out of charcoal on the rusty front of it. There were words being exchanged as you both stepped up, opening your guns to drop out all the bullets before Arthur handed yours over. His etching wasn’t too bad, but you dropped the smug look on your face when you saw what he actually put on it. 

“I told you my name’s not Red,” you huffed, taking it anyway and dropping it into the cylinder, giving it a quick spin to line it up. 

“Doesn’t matter, no one’s gonna see it but you,” he teased, loading his own gun and standing beside you, about five yards away from the can. 

“Need me to count?” you joked back, hopefully not in vain. You wouldn’t be pridefully wounded if you lost in all honesty. You’d been waiting for your talent to fail you for a long time now, and without any stakes on the table, you suppose today could be the day. 

Both guns now strapped to your hips, you waited in silence, and so did everyone else. It wasn’t something that needed cheering on, but it was definitely something to be on the edge of your seat for. 

You saw Arthur drop his hand out of the corner of your eye, so you cleared leather as fast as you could in hopes that your shot would land, and it did… or at least, you thought it did. The can went flying and both guns had been fired. 

“Who won?” John yelled over in question to Sean, who went to kneel down by the log, picking up the can. 

“Uh…” He held up the can, showing two bullet holes, before dumping out both bullets from the inside. “Both of em’.” 

And for the first time in any shoot out you’d ever participated in, you were too stunned to speak. You never doubted this man’s abilities as a talented gunslinger, but given you’d never seen him shoot, and knowing your own track record… it was surprising to see. 

“Well,” Arthur turned to you, as the others continued to chat amongst themselves, not sure how to split the bets they had made beforehand. “You beat me.” 

He offered his hand to you to shake, but you shook you head, you didn’t understand. 

“It’s a draw, both bullets hit,” you tried to reason, but he was set on his own explanation. 

“You hit first. Mine went through the top as it was fallin’.”

You shook his hand anyway, but froze in place when he spoke. Could he really tell? Was he that detail oriented when shooting? You’d never known much of your craft, just that you could do it, just that you’d practiced a bunch and got pretty damn good… but you didn’t even think to make that observation. 

“That don’t count,” you tried to absolve him, still feeling as though from what he said alone, he was the better gunslinger. “I’ve never said this before… but I would not duel you, Arthur Morgan. You’ve scared me somethin’ awful with that gun.”

He had a chuckle in his exhale as he let it fall from his lips, a nod and the drop of your handshake. “Guess we both met our match today.”

“I’d say so.”

-

The day was slow. When Dutch and Hosea and Bill returned in the evening, there was some wind of a job coming up, the first one you’d inevitably be invited to. It was discussed quickly and not in great detail, and the heads of the camp still had some ideas churning about it. Hopefully you’d be able to keep up in the heat of the moment, as you’d never done anything like this before. Never robbed folk - alive folk, at least - or taken something as a means to survive. You’ve lived off of bets and fools you shot dead. It was a lousy way to live but it had never gotten as low as stealing or cold blooded murder. 

The thoughts turned over in your head and for some reason you couldn’t seem to lose them, but at the end of the night they were momentarily stalled when Arthur helped you carry the already assembled cot into your new tent. It was simple, just a double sided narrow-pitched tent, no room inside for anything but a cot and a single human. You could just kick your boots under the cot when you slept, that would be the extent of your storage space. At least it had the privacy of the two flaps at the front, current parted like curtains to allow entrance. 

Once everything was set up, Arthur took a step back, but didn’t leave yet. 

“Thank you, Arthur. I’ll owe you one,” you promised, trying to be as casual about his genuine help and concern over you the past day. No one had ever shown this much attentiveness to you, and though you know he’s only acting on orders from Dutch, it feels like he really cares. He’s kind and he’s gentle, despite his rugged appearance and reputation. 

“S’no problem,” he scratched the back of his neck, looking from side to side to make sure everyone had either retired for the night or was too occupied to listen in. “I wanted to tell you something.”

You furrowed your brow, crossing your arms. 

He sighed and met your eyes again, debating his words in his head. Out with it already…

“I know you’re a lady,” he tried to speak evenly, but the tail end of his sentence got caught. 

Your eyes widened before he even finished his sentence. You looked around as well before shoving him inside your tent, too small for one person let alone two. 

“You don’t know anything,” you assured him, suddenly self conscious of how he perceived you. What was it? Your voice? The way you walked? Your body? Was anybody else going to notice? 

“I wasn’t pryin’, I swear,” he said, reaching into his satchel, still on his hip after a long day. “Bill left early this morning, I took care of your horse. These fell out of your saddlebag…”

He held out to you the most damning piece of evidence there could possibly be. Long cotton wraps and a sanitary apron, the brand new woolen padding you’d gotten was pressed inside and ready. 

Shit. You didn’t even think twice about hiding the contents of your saddle bag when arriving here. No one had ever been kind enough to care for your horse, so you didn’t worry. 

You looked into his eyes, firm but not judgemental. When you looked at him just a second too long they turned to a silent fear. Like he was a child getting caught stealing sweets. 

“Don’t tell Dutch,” you begged, and he huffed a sigh, unsure of what to do. 

“I can’t lie to im’,” he shook his head, shrugging his shoulders. You were new, this wasn’t just about loyalty, it was about hierarchy. You, the new soldier, could not dare ask the second in command to deprive his leader of the truth. 

“I’m not asking you to. Just don’t tell him, yet. I’ll think of a way to let him know…”

You knew it was a stretch, but he was wonderful with the women of the camp, a man of high honor among the ladies. Surely he would help you, just until you were ready to share your secret. 

“We’re different, y’know? If you’ve been hidin’ all this time out there, that’s one thing… but you ain’t gotta do that here.”

“I don’t want them to look at me differently…” you trailed, silently pleading with him. 

He nodded, the look in your eyes nearly breaking his heart. There’s a story within you, but he’ll wait to hear it. For now, he just complies, hearing your voice at it’s softest point, the feminine silkiness flowing through. You only ever spoke to yourself like that anymore.

“Okay,” he placed a warm hand on your shoulder, giving a gentle squeeze, before maneuvering out of your small tent. “Just until you tell ‘im yourself, ya hear?” 

You nodded in understanding, a thankful and sweet smile dining your features. “Goodnight, Arthur.”

“G’night, Red…”

-

tags are open

#arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x original female character #arthur morgan x you

[stillfertile]

she said she's only gay for me‼️ and idk what to believe‼️

dewey drabble below

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope, had it since I was five.”

Brandon and Middsy are bickering about… something or other. Connor is still half-asleep, so if they don’t start quieting down soon he’s going to throw his tape at them.

“I’ve seen pictures of you as a kid–you’ve shown me pictures of you as a kid! You’re obviously lying, dude.” Brandon shoves Jake’s arm a couple times just for extra effect. 

“No, I'm serious!” Jake says with a shit-eating grin. Connor can hear Zuccy trying to swallow his giggles. “You can ask my doctor, she’ll tell you: Heart problems since age five; Must wear a heart monitor to track it,” Jake nods.

“Fuck off, dude. And what?? If you don’t wear it you’ll keel over?” Brandon snipes. Even though he looks like the most confident man in the room, he’s gullible as shit. Kirill was trying to convince him just last week that the Russians landed on the moon first. It was harder to trick Brandon with that one, being a good, patriotic, Florida-born, boy. Kirill was pretty damn close though.

“Not really, but if I don’t wear it for like a week then you should start worrying about me fainting on you,” Jake says, calm as ever. His poker face is on-point. 

Brandon jabs him in the ribs and now it’s devolving into full on wrestling, as many arguments with Brandon do. Connor is his road buddy, he’d know. Brandon is so fucking squirrely with energy pre and post games, and getting into brotherly tussles is one way he expels it. If they’re watching TV, playing mario kart, laying around doing nothing, doesn't matter. Brandon is going to end up pushing him. Thankfully for him, Connor indulges, and pushes back.

Connor finds himself abandoning his untied skates at his feet and watching the scuffle. Jake has him in a headlock now, and is attempting to shove him into the stall. Brandon is trying to knee him in the stomach, but the attempt is looking pretty fruitless. He’s gripping Jake’s arm tight, though, his fingers are all white, knuckles jutting out, and the veins that crawl up his arms bulge out of his skin. 

Brandon isn’t good at fighting, no matter how hard he tries. Connor can always pin him down. Only a month ago did Connor find out how much Brandon enjoys it. He had him on the scratchy hotel carpet, both of them sweaty from wrestling for a stupid amount of time. Connor was on top of Brandon and fisting his shirt collar and pressing it to the floor so he couldn’t sit up. Brandon was shoving his chest to push him off, his veins big and angry just like now. So to get a better grip Connor wrapped one hand around his throat. Little did he know, it was a string to his fucking dick. Connor can’t forget how blissed out Brandon looked. He told Brandon he was only this desperate because he doesn’t talk to women enough to pick up. He helped him, though. He couldn’t leave him like that.

Jake lets Brandon go, even though Brandon was still egging him on to keep fighting. He never taps out, never. Connor is still trying to find where his breaking point is. 

Jake pushes him back, still grinning like a maniac. “I’m surprised you haven’t asked sooner, how long have we been teammates?”

“I just assumed you wore it to make your pecs look perkier,” Brandon snaps back.

Jake huffs out a laugh. He doesn’t miss a beat, “Why are you looking? Are you gay?”

Brandon’s mouth slams shut and his jaw clenches, and for a moment he fumbles. It’s just a second, really, but Connor can see Brandon shrink back for the time it takes him to decode that Jake is joking. He’s not actually accusing Brandon, he doesn’t know anything. They’re not even doing anything–why is this even catching him off-guard? What they do together isn’t–it’s just easier.

Connor rips his eyes away and ties his skates. He’s heard gay jokes before, he’s made gay jokes before. This shouldn’t be bugging him.

Brandon recovers fast, and flashes a smile at Jake. “Nah, I’m only gay for Dew.”

Ok. What the fuck.

Connor’s head snaps up and he glares at the back of Brandon’s head till he swears he’s going to leave holes in it. What the fuck.

Jake is laughing, multiple people are laughing. But they don’t–they don’t know. He and Brandon agreed it wasn’t anything like that. They agreed. Brandon said himself that Connor’s too socially awkward to pick up, so it’s easier. Brandon’s the one that’s the freak, getting a boner from a simple hand around his neck. He’s the one that’s–He’s–

Brandon doesn’t look at him, just walks out of the room. Clearly he doesn’t give a fuck about who he throws under the bus as long as it isn’t him. 

No–No. Nobody knows.

But for a moment, it felt like they did.

#wrote this so fast #anyways listen to gay 4 me by g flip #still writing

[arandomaquarius]

Kay so before I get into this rant I just wanna say that I’m definitely back on my bullshit again and to take this post with a grain of salt lmao it’s late and insomnia has struck once again warnings in tags

So! I want to point out something I’ve noticed in Transformers: Prime. Specifically about Knock Out and his relationship with Megatron and Starscream. Specifically about the abuse he endured on the Nemesis.

Now, it’s common knowledge that Megatron was physically abusive towards Starscream. However, I’ve seen a few fan made things saying that he was abusive towards Knock Out. Now while we have canonical proof of this in the case of Starscream, we do not have any for Knock Out. The closest thing we get is that one scene where Megatron picks Knock Out up from underneath his chassis (much like you would pick someone up by their shirt). But that happened when dark energon was coursing through his body, changing his actions and thought patterns. There was also the time that he shot at Knock Out after he retrieved the shield, but I’m not sure if that counts. Otherwise, Megatron never laid a servo on Knock Out (as far as I can remember right now.)

Of course, physical abuse isn’t just hitting someone. It’s using your body to threaten and intimidate another being or to make them feel inferior. There are many examples of Megatron doing this to all of his troops (save the Waves and Predaking). So as for that part of being physically abusive, Megatron fits the bill!

The type of abuse that Megatron uses the most is verbal abuse. The demeaning remarks, the intentional mentions of past events that have clearly left a mental mark, insults, threats, everything. He is degrading Knock Out (because this post is mostly about Knock Out not Screamer sorry Screamer enjoyers) with his comments and he knows it. He’s doing it on purpose, and that’s what makes it abuse. This is a very common type of abuse, despite the media focusing on physical abuse the most. Megatron never lays a servo on KO, but his words do enough.

Starscream, however, does both. He insults and demeans Knock Out the first episode he appears in! He obviously learned this abusive behavior from Megatron after serving under him for so long, but he ramps it up. The way Starscream gets in KO’s personal space; the way he used the spark extractor to scare him more than once; the time he hurt Knock Out after he street raced; when he hit KO after the Omega Lock got destroyed; how he threatened him in Thirst; and more that I’ve probably missed.

Point is, out of the two, Megatron has treated Knock Out better. Starscream has been more manipulative and abusive towards him than Megatron was. Megatron very rarely got physical, while Starscream didn’t hesitate to get in Knock Out’s face and use his (not by a lot) superior height to intimidate and threaten him. Megatron made snide remarks and brought up painful reminders, and he was abusive in this way, but not really physically. And I say really because he was still shit, but he didn’t physically hurt KO as much as Starscream did.

This is important for their dynamics because Knock Out kept aligning himself with Starscream when it came to betraying Megatron. Despite Megatron not being as physical as Starscream. I dunno if it was ever explained why Knock Out did this, but I do know that abusive relationships are difficult to get out of and that many stay because it is familiar and they believe that they deserve it. I don’t think KO thinks he deserves all the pain he gets from Starscream: he just doesn’t strike me as that mech. However, I think Knock Out was comfortable where he was and felt he could correctly gauge whether or not he was in enough danger that he would need to leave the safety of the Decepticon ranks. The Decepticons were in control of the energon supply, therefore the winning team and where Knock Out was safest and most comfortable. He likes luxury, so it was a no brainer for him: security, a place to keep up his finish, and plenty of energon; or no security, no way to keep his finish flawless, and barely any energon?

Anyways, all this to say that Knock Out suffered abuse at the hands of Starscream and Megatron, although Megatron’s was less severe than Starscream’s. We need to talk about it more and acknowledge that Starscream, while being an abuse victim, is also an abuser. You can be both. Just because you are/were abused doesn’t excuse you if you are also abusive. Knock Out could have continued this cycle, but he didn’t. And as far as I’m concerned, post-Predacons Rising Knock Out is living his best goddamn life on Cybertron.

thanks for coming to my Ted talk! If you have any additions, feel free to add them

#arandomaquarius #tw abuse #tw abuse mention #transformers #tfp #tfp knockout #tfp knock out #tfp starscream #tfp megatron #maccadam #transformers prime #knockscream #koss #does this count as shippy?? #gonna tag it just in case #megaknock #megout #idk what the ship name is #character analysis #analysis

[the-algid]

DOG/WOLF JOHN ANALYSIS!!!!

I’ve been going crazy for this idea. I knew I had to wait until part 41 “The Windmill” came out before I could post this (I am a patron). But now I can!!

First off John is narratively a wolf, but from my knowledge he is behavior wise more doglike. I am not an animal or dog or wolf behaviorist, but that would be sick.

Analysis, and some screenshots of the transcript below :3

So for narratively a wolf: he's one of the first wolves. He was enthralled by the campfire, he wandered closer, he found a human and a human found him. And through necessity he was softened, and tamed. He is no longer the viscous, cruel, arrogant wild thing he was, but a loyal, devoted, sometimes kind, curious thing. He isn't a sweet obedient pup and he won’t, he's in the process of being tamed. He's becoming a domestic wolf.

Now dog behavior: He acts alot like a dog that hasn’t been thoroughly trained yet. Acting out when pushed into a corner, being desperate for attention. He behaves exactly like a dog that doesn’t understand the world. He’s pampered aggressive lap dog, never learned no to bite. Now Arthur is showing him the consequences, he’s teaching him how to behave.

My friend made a good point on fear aggression (I would at then but they don't have Tumblr). Some dogs react really badly when scared, biting and barking. This seems the exact reason he used Faroe against Arthur when he brought Emily up. He wa scared of the consequences so he bit back, and made it worse. He fell back on his violent ways because he doesn’t know anything different.

He’d do anything for his keeper (calling Arthur his owner is weird) make a deal with the devil to come back to him. He’d draw him to safety by his teeth, even if that meant dragging Arthur by the neck. He could never see him loose himself, or die. He’d even give up the luxurious life he used to live to be by his side, and keep him safe.

He latches to ideas and will not let go until satisfied, like a particularly stubborn dog. Even if hi assumptions are childish, especially if they’re childish. He sees a movie advertisement like a dog sees a squirrel. At the same time he’s quick to jump to killing, he sees a threat and bites first ask questions later, ho many times has he seen a threat and immediately demands Arthur kill it?

Like alot of dogs I know he only wants Arthur, he’s slow to trust, and feels jealous easily. Like a dog using their muzzle to get you to pet them, especially after petting another dog. (this is targeted) He doesn’t like Lily, or the bright bug like creature in the caves, he only appreciates Lily after he found kinship. He only trusted Noel after he was able to be known.

In some ways in season 4, John is akin to a dog with owners who don’t understand dog behavior. He has no voice no matter how loud he barks, only getting a reaction when he gets really loud or physical. Arthur doesn’t understand his needs, because they don’t have the means to communicate (a place where they won’t look insane talking to each other)

Just like a child being new to the world, he’s a dog abandoned on the streets after living in pent houses. He’s gonna be clueless and misguided.

Now some specific moments that helped me form this theory/metaphor/symbolization: there's more, but I either can't remember them or they're overarching stuff that can't be simplified with one screenshot

#malevolent #malevolent podcast #arthur lester #john doe #john malevolent #john doe malevolent #dog john doe #wolf john doe #wolves #dogs

[starogeorgina]

𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐠𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬

Warning: Swearing

Pairing: Helena Targaryen × OC

1.04

To celebrate the betrothal between yourself and Cregan Stark, your older cousin Gerold Royce threw one of the finest feats Runestone had seen in years. The halls were vibrating with an electrical charge while fine wine and various delicious-smelling foods were brought out, but your favorite part of the night was reuniting with your former lady in waiting, who was due to give birth within the next moon. As she tells you about her experiences of pregnancy, your mind continues to go back to Helaena, and you wonder if she has anyone to share these moments with within the Red Keep.

As the hours turn late, most of the lords and ladies retreat for the night. You are sitting with a handful of knights who are off for the night when you notice the perplexed look on Jacaerys face while he speaks with Lady Waynwood, an older lady of the court who was known for her sharp words. Concerned, you excuse yourself and go over to him. Linking your arm with his, you ask, “Can you walk me back to my chambers? It’s getting late, and we need to get up early tomorrow.”

Jace raises his brow, surprised but nodding. You say goodnight to the few drunken fools that remain in the hall before you begin to walk back. One of your protectors lingers far enough back so he’s not intrusive in your conversation.

“Did Lady Waynwood say something ill-mannered?”

“No, uh, she says she knew Queen Aemma well. Lady Wayneood said I remind her of my grandmother, that I have a similar softness to what she did.”

“Princess Daella and Queen Aemma are remembered fondly in the Vale, and I’ve heard many times how both mother and daughter were extremely kindhearted. I vaguely recall my own grandmother saying how all the ladies at court would dote on the then princess Aemma; everyone loved her,” you say, offering him a sympathetic smile. You wondered how many times in Jacaerys life he’s been told he looks like someone from his Targayren bloodline. “After Queen Aemma gave birth to Princess Rhaenyra, everyone in the Vale gathered for one of the largest feats that has ever taken place in Runestone, before many of the lords and ladies traveled to King's Landing to join in on the formal celebrations.”

“That I could imagine,” he says. “Although I’m surprised to hear you say it so casually.”

“How so?”

“You don’t like my mother.”

Hearing those words come from Jace’s mouth makes your stomach drop. “That’s not true... I just dislike being around anyone who loves my father so much.”

You value your friendship with Jacaerys far too much to risk losing it by telling him the real reasons you couldn’t take Rhaenyra. It was no secret in the Vale that your father would go to King's Landing to give gifts to the realm's delight and would read her poetry, and they would sneak off during the hour of the owl to brothels together, all while your mother was still alive. Your father would laugh and call her a bronze bitch and say fucking sheep would be a better option than her. They had no respect for anyone in house Royce, but you would never tell Jace that.

—

Before you even step foot on the sandy beaches of Dragonstone, you feel immediately homesick, as a sense of regret lingers inside you. In Runestone, you had friends; you had kin from your mother's side who adored you. You were respected and made to feel wanted and loved. And yet, you found yourself back on the island, trying to fill the void of emptiness of not having a parent. Despite all the horrid rumors of your father cheating on your mother, you still wanted him to care for you.

Jacaerys notices your mood dropping and slows his pace, so he’s walking beside you as you make your way along the beach to meet the knights who are waiting to escort you back into the castle walls.

“They adore you, you know?” Jace says. “You’ve never mentioned how they call you the dragon of the Vale before... I wonder if the Starks will call you the dragon of the north once you’re married.”

Forcing a smile, you nod, “Perhaps they will... When I’m married to Lord Stark, can you watch over Runestone for me? I don’t want to leave my people defenseless, as nothing keeps those who would cause them harm at bay quite like a dragon.”

Jace links his arm with yours, then presses a kiss to the side of your head. “You maintain that you care about nothing, but I see right through it. And I know you care about your family on Dragonstone, even if you don’t like us much.”

“Whatever you say, my prince.”

—

As Jacaerys fills his mother in on his experience in Runestone and how highly the people spoke of the late Queen Aemma, you notice Lucerys eyes keep flickering between the plate of food in front of him and yourself.

Eventually, in a quiet voice, Lucerys asks. “What’s it like to ride a wild dragon?”

“Very painful since he’s not saddled,” you say jokingly, but feel bad when Luke looks disappointed by your answer. The younger boy usually seems scared of you, so it was something that he made the effort to speak with you first. “The only dragon I've only ever ridden on is the cannibal before.“

“Lies.”

Hearing your father’s voice, you roll your eyes and pretend you didn’t hear him. “I don’t really remember a time when I wasn’t bonded with my dragon; I first saw him when he flew to Runestone to feed on sheep.”

Luke’s eyes lit up with curiosity. “Aren’t you terrified?”

“Not that I can remember,” you smile, remembering the memory fondly. “My cousin Gerold's lady wife had joined him on a hunting party, so I could go as well. I was being taught how to shoot an arrow when the cannibal swooped down and began picking sheep from a nearby farm with his claws and tossing them into the air to burn.”

“I took you flying on Caraxes when you were a baby, just as I did Baela and Rhaena,” your father scoffs.

“How touching.” Since this was the first time he had mentioned that he took you flying on his own dragon, you doubted it ever happened.

You try to continue telling Luke how you claimed your dragon, but your father cuts in again, “Rhea put a stop to it.”

“Don’t mention my mother!”

“I think it’s time for everyone to retreat for the evening,” Rhaenyra says sternly. Even she seems surprised by your father's urge to provoke you.

Luke holds his hand out for Joffrey to take, “Come on, Joffrey. Time for bed.”

You smile sadly at the young boys; a perfectly fine evening and meal were ruined. When you stand to leave, Rhaenyra stands up as well; she twists the ring on her finger. “Vissera, I’m going to have dresses fitted tomorrow; maybe you’d like to join me. We can sample different fabrics for your engagement and wedding dresses.”

The princess's offer was a kind one, but a knot twists in your stomach, and you're not sure why. Perhaps it was because you felt disingenuous about befriending her. “Yes, that would be lovely. Thank you for the offer.”

—

“I’ve never seen you in a dress before. I bet you’ll look beautiful,” Helaena muses, then abruptly sits up right. “Not that you don’t usually.”

A small smile pulls on your lips. “Thank you, princess.”

Comfortable moments of silence pass with nothing but the sounds of dragons squealing in the distance and the sound of waves crashing nearby as you and Helaena embrace each other in the small cave, sitting in front of a small fire.

Helaena’s lips meet the side of your neck before she lets out a soft sigh, “The sun is starting to rise. I’ll need to return soon to wake my children and then join my mother in breaking fast.”

“Is the queen excited to have another grandchild?” You ask, using Alicent’s official title so as not to offend Helaena.

“She’s happy I’m performing my duty and giving Aegon another heir.” She stares into the flames of the now-dead fire for a few moments before speaking again. “I hope it’s another boy, so that I don’t need to lay with him again for some time.”

Not knowing what to say, you kiss your silver-haired princess on the forehead. It was easy for you to forget how much Helaena has been through by being pressured into having a baby so young because she hardly ever speaks about how much it affects her. Your heart bleeds for her. Helaena was far too kind and innocent; you’d do anything to take her pain away.

#house of the dragon #Helena Targaryen x oc #Helena Targaryen fanfic #house of the dragon fanfiction #heart of glass #house of the dragon fanfic #Helena Targaryen x you #Helena Targaryen x fem oc #Helena Targaryen/oc #Helena Targaryen/you #Helena Targaryen fanfiction #house of the dragon x oc

[duckciferthecg]

Alright. This is going to be a long one, but I feel it needs to be said, so

Thank you.

You started this blog a little over a month ago. March 29th. That's it. In under 40 days, you have been able to conjure up a community unlike any I've seen. In under 40 days, you have sparked 20+ other Hazbin cg blogs, 10+ Helluva cg blogs, 10+ Helluva-verse cg blogs, and 15+ other fandom cg blogs. Those are just the ones on Charlie's list! Countless little blogs, including my own!

You have sparked a movement of people like me, too afraid of their regression to go out and show it proudly, to become indulgent in their regressions, have fun with it, and be comfortable in their own skins. Even amongst the anonymous hate, you have brought together a beautiful group of people who most likely never would have interacted with each other if you hadn't started this blog.

I always ignored the childish feelings I had, until I stumbled across your blog in early April. It made me realize I'm not alone, I'm not a creep, I'm not insane, I'm normal. That there are other people, who feel the same way I do, and that it isn't weird to express it, and, I'm going to be honest, I haven't felt this seen and happy in years. I'm finally learning how to be me again.

Lucifer, whatever your name is beyond the screen. Thank you. So much, for creating a space I and probably hundreds of others feel safe in.

@cloudscaregiverservice / @cloudsageregression / @lunaeclipse1057-ao3

Oh…

I-

Hold on-

Let me go cry real quick-/pos

I’m so happy to have helped to many people!

I honestly thought this blog would go no where and that it would just be something silly but it’s actually been super useful to not only others, but myself

I-

Helping other people is amazing and it’s literally my life’s goal (Irl I want to be a therapist) and knowing that I’m actually helping people is amazing!

You guys have helped me so much too

I’ve learned more about myself

I’ve re-established my main goal in life

Because of your guys’ love and support

I have people in my life that I’m not only friends with, but I am close with. I haven’t had such amazing people in my life before and it’s honestly been so amazing

Throughout everything, my inspiration for the next thing in life has shifted from floating around in the unknown to being able to help you guys

I love you all so so so much

So much more than you can possibly imagine

Thank you

❤️✨

[o-bromio]

Quantum Leap as text posts part 1

(part 2)

#i’ve never made so many of these before #do you. do you guys like them #quantum leap #queap #sam beckett #al calavicci #scott bakula #dean stockwell