#s1 drabbles

[longlivelindanny]

Drabble Series

1x22: The Blue Templar

“I don’t like you doing this, Danny. Any of you,” Linda looks up from the table to the Reagan men and Erin. “It’s too dangerous.”

“We’ve got back up. Eyes and ears everywhere,” Frank says in his stoic manner. 

“We’ve done this kinda thing before, babe,” Danny says in a soothing tone. But Linda won’t be soothed. 

It comes out before she can stop it, really. “And so had Joe! And he—“

She closes her eyes and swallows the tears. She shakes her head, “sorry.”

Danny glances at his family before kissing his wife’s forehead. He wishes he could squash her fears. 

“This is scary, Linda, but we have to do it,” Jamie tells her with unchecked confidence. “For Joe.”

#linda reagan #danny reagan #lindanny #danny and linda #danny x linda #Blue Bloods drabbles #Drabble series #S1 drabbles #Season 1 drabbles

[sexyxdylanxobrien]

imagine just getting absolutely railed in a mating press by rafe

#rafe cameron #outer banks #drew starkey #obx rafe cameron #rafe obx #rafe cameron smut #outerbanks rafe #rafe outer banks #rafe cameron outer banks #rafe imagine #rafe smut #outer banks rafe #rafe cameron thoughts #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron obx #rafe #rafe cameron drabble #rafe cameron imagines #rafe x you #rafe cameron x smut #outer banks imagine #obx #obx imagine #obx s2 #obx s3 #obx s1 #outer banks smut #lover #rafe lover #i love rafe cameron

[sluttygallavich]

Galladrabbles: bones

This week's @galladrabbles is based on the prompt "bones" from @heymacy.

_________________________

“Aye! Gallagher!”

Ian’s head snaps up as Mickey storms into the store like a hurricane.

“Got a fuckin’ bone to pick with you,” he barks, cracking his knuckles with deadly intent.

The customer Ian is ringing up grabs her purchases, beelining for the door before he can even count out her change. Both boys watch her disappear down the sidewalk before Ian steps around the counter and crowds Mickey up against a magazine rack.

“A bone, huh?”

Mickey smirks, hand snaking between them to cup Ian through his jeans, fingers gentler now but no less deadly.

“Yeah, a big one.”

#it was either this or an archaeologist au LMAO #galladrabbles #smut? i've forgotten the meaning of the word #ian x mickey #feral s1 babies #gallavich #fanfic #drabbles #mickey milkovich #ian gallagher #shameless

[written-in-flowers]

After Tonight...(AemondxReader)

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x plussize!reader

Genre: Smut, fluff, childhood friends to lovers,

Word Count: 4k 

Warnings! :oral sex (m and f receiving/giving), fingering, gagging, slight choking, creampie, roleplay(?), multiple orgasms. 

Summary: After a false compliment reignites tensions, you confront your husband about his actions. He confronts you about something else.

A/N: finally, a fic of my own design! Lol, it’s really just smut tbh. Hope you guys like it, and feedback’s always appreciated <3 

****

“How could you say something like that? In front of those people? Are you mad?” 

You rounded on him the moment you sent your servants away. Aemond stood on the other side of the room, pouring himself a cup of wine and taking a drink. You wanted to smack it from his hand. You took in your husband’s cool and collected demeanor from across the room. Long silver hair tossed back over his shoulders, a glint of amusement in his single pale blue eye made you even more upset. 

“Is this amusing to you?” you asked, glaring at him. “Do you find it amusing that you’ve broken any form of peace we might’ve had with-”

“-Oh, what peace, Y/N? Those people have no desire for peace with us,” he said, continuing to drink and not looking at you. “Did you see their faces?” he asked in a chuckle, malice glinting in his eye. “Hilarious.”

“It was not hilarious,” you retorted. “Your father asked for all of us to sup together and make amends. It’s the only way to stop all this infighting and squabbling. Rhaenyra will be queen someday whether you like it or not. Your father named her heir to the throne. I think it’d be best if we started meding bonds with her instead of burning them, before she decides-”

“-My father named her heir before he had Aegon,” he replied coolly, standing by the table, firm and still with his feet apart. “He didn’t think he'd remarry until he married my mother. He had no choice. The realm forced his hand, so he named her his heir. Then he had Aegon, and Aegon should’ve become his rightful heir. Her and her Strong boys have taken that from us.”

‘Strong boys’. The two words that ignited the kindling fires beneath the table. You scoffed, shaking your head, “Do not pretend as if that is what made you act, Aemond,” you snorted. “All because the boy laughed in your direction?” you saw his pointed avoidance of your gaze. “Luke wasn’t laughing at you, Aemond. He was laughing at the pig.”

“No, he was laughing at you.” You heard the growl in your husband’s voice. “That little bitch Rhaena muttered something to him, looked at you, and laughed. I won’t tolerate it.” 

You should’ve expected as much. Many boys at court poked fun at you for your size. You’d always had your wide hips, thick thighs, fatty arms and stomach since you were small. Your mother thought sending you to court might curb your appetite, but anxiousness made you eat more. You’ve tried. You honestly had, if not for yourself then for Aemond. Tough, strong, intimidating warriors like him should have pretty, slim wives who light up rooms with their smiles and are the envy of everyone at court. He never cared what other people said; you tried feeling the same, yet the creeping sensation that you simply weren’t enough came. Prince Aemond Targaryen could have his pick of any woman in Westeros, but, instead he married you. The girl Aegon, Jace and little Luke made jokes about behind her back. You pushed aside these feelings, poured your own wine and forced yourself to swallow it. 

“The jests of a boy mean nothing to me.” You hesitated, brief flashes of memories coming to you. 

You recalled the roasted pig the servants placed in front of you both. Yes, how witty. So witty. You rolled your eyes. It reminded you of the Pink Dread they’d presented Aemond with in their youth. A large pig they’d gotten from the pen with dragons wings tied to its sides, Aemond told you about it during a walk you took together. He’d initially had trouble taming a dragon to bond with. All the Targaryens ride dragons, and your husband suffered teasing and bullying for not having his own. You supposed the Pink Dread coupled with being betrothed to you caused double the damage. 

A sinking feeling came through your chest as the realization came. How must it feel for you? Jace and Luke only laughed whenever Aegon made snide comments about you. They’d done worse to Aemond. They’d blinded him. You couldn’t imagine the pain it must’ve brought him seeing them again after so many years. Instant guilt filled your stomach, taking up any room your wine might’ve filled. 

“I’m sorry, my love,” you said, looking into your cup. “I can’t imagine how you must be feeling. After all the cruel jokes and then what happened with your eye…” you shook your head, “I’m being so selfish.”

You felt his eyes on you as you looked away from him. People often stared at Aemond when he walked into rooms. They saw him as a sort of monster, to be feared and never approached. So, he played into that. He became a fierce warrior and battle tactician. You knew he overheard the men in the training yard: “Aemond would’ve made a great fighter, but that eye’s gonna work against him”. He hated the stares. He hated the whispers. You worried that dinner would set him off, but you’d insisted you both attend. You’d seen him grinding his teeth, and staring daggers into the two boys in front of him. Gentle squeezes of his hand, and reassurances did nothing to calm your husband’s simmering anger. He never forgave easily, and he never forgot a slight whether real or imagined. 

“I’m sorry I pushed you to go to dinner,” you said. “I knew it’d be difficult for you, but it’s the last supper we might ever have with your father, and I knew it’d make him happy to have you there. I should’ve suggested we leave or use one of the children as a reason to-”

“-I’m not upset we went. I’m glad. You have nothing to apologize for, Wife.” 

‘Wife’. The word still held sway over you six years and two children later. 

“You look beautiful tonight,” he told you, softness and love behind his words. You heard him step over to you, stopping until he was inches away from you. “This dress…” you felt warm hands start at your hips and slide up your sides, kneading at the rolls there, “Did you mean to tempt me with it?”

A slight warmth came to your cheeks. You’d worn a dress of dark blue-green silk with gold embroidered birds, flowers and vines along the seams. You admitted it was a bit lower cut than you’d originally intended. Your bosom pushed against the neckline, but you managed to not let it spill over. Sitting on his good eye’s side, he would’ve seen you perfectly. You’d tied up your hair with the silver comb Aemond gifted you for your nameday. It matched the sapphire he wore in place of his missing eye. He said he liked it when your jewels matched his. Had you worn it hoping it’d stir desire in your husband? Yes. Always. You hoped in vain it might distract him from any rash actions he might make. 

“You know how much I love this gown,” you said innocently. “It’s one of my favorites.”

“Or,” he brushed his lips against your ear, “You wanted me to rip it from you and ravage you as I do whenever you wear it…”

You giggled, but simply stayed in his arms as he began kissing at your neck. Nimble fingers deftly untied your dress. “You better hope your father doesn’t hear what you said tonight,” you said, knowing he wasn’t really listening, “He’ll be so upset.”

“I only paid them a compliment,” he replied, pushing your sleeves down your arms. “It’s not my fault if they think they’re not strong.”

“That is not what you meant, and you know it,” you accused. 

“It is no secret what they are,” he said. “You’ve seen them.”

Yes, you have seen them. Jacaryes and Luceryes should’ve had the dark skin of their Velaryon father or the coloring of their silver-haired Targaryen mother. Instead, the two princes had brown hair and dark eyes; much like that of Harwin Strong, the former commander of the city watch. The sworn sword and champion of Princess Rhaenyra. But, nobody dared to say it out loud; it was an act of treason. For your husband to say it, even laced in a false compliment, soured things quickly. You had no real love for their family, but you’d promised your mother-in-law you’d keep things civil. You congratulated Rhaena and Baela on their betrothals to Jace and Luke. You asked Jace how his Valryian lessons were coming along, and asked Baela about going on at Driftmark. You wanted to be friends with them, putting aside the bitter memories of your youth. 

Once your dress fell at your feet, Aemond worked on the lacings of your undergarments. The thin layer of cloth kept Aemond’s hands from your delicate skin. You could feel every digit caressing your body, molding it and pressing on points he knew made you gasp. You turned to face him, staring into his face and seeing the lust in his eyes. Carefully, you cupped his cheek. Your thumb grazed over the scar peeking out from his eyepatch. He only wore it when at court, to not disturb the other ladies who might be more squeamish. It never bothered you. You lifted his eyepatch off. He flinched for a brief moment, but a gentle touch of your hand calmed him. In the eye socket where a pale blue eye should be, was a dark sapphire. The jeweler who’d made it rounded it to resemble an eye, but Aemond asked for it to remain its natural color. 

“I remember thinking you’d die,” you huffed a laugh. “The wound was so terrible and bled so much.”

“It wasn’t so bad,” he said. “I got Vhagar in return.” He paused, “I got you.”

Heat came around your neck and cheeks again, bringing on a smile. You remember the moment vividly. The morning after his injury he'd come to your quarters at Driftmark. Unannounced, uninvited, the prince stood in your chambers, pale and silver with determination on his face. Claiming his own dragon brought out a fire in him that never went out. You recalled studying him there. You’d gotten wounds of your own, little scratches and cuts, but nothing compared to his pain. The stark contrast of the stitched wound on his ivory skin was more shocking in the morning light. You somewhat liked the effect. 

‘My prince, you should be resting.’

‘There is something I wanted to tell you, my lady, before we depart home.’

‘What is it?’

“An absurd thing for a twelve-year-old boy to say,” you said softly, unbuckling his belt from his waist. You unbuttoned his doublet and lifted it off him. “‘I have my dragon’,” you quoted, “‘Now, I want my wife.’ I believe that is what you said.”

“And I got you,” he said, pecking your lips. “I told my mother I would never want another girl. No girl would do for me what you did that night.”

“Blatantly lie to the king about what happened in the tunnel?” 

“No…defend me.”

You did recall tearing Rhaena off Aemond as she and the others began hitting him. The both of you tussled around on the ground, pulling at each other’s hair and scratching each other’s faces. You’d never fought before, but your weight and size certainly worked in your favor. Her sister eventually joined the fray, pulling you off to punch at you, but the three of you stopped once Jace pulled out his blade. 

“I never thought I’d have anyone on my side,” he said, “But you were there. You always are. You tore at them. You hit them. You made them pay, in what little way you could. Then you told my father they attacked us. You defended me.”

“And I’d do it again, if I had to.”

Sliding his hand on the nape of your neck, he brought you to his lips. The taste of the vintage wine lingered on both your tongues, sweetening the already heated kiss. You untied the fastenings of his clothes, removing them piece by piece until nothing separated you. His hard body stoked a fire inside you. You ran your hands down his chest to his stomach, finally landing just above his cock. A low rumble from his chest beckoned you to keep going as he pressed himself to you. Warm, with the faint smell of violets lingering on his skin from his clothes, you fell further into your bliss as his hands slipped down your waist to your backside. Plump and soft, his hands kneaded them so that you whimpered against his lips. 

“I liked it,” you said between kisses, running your hand over his member and feeling it twitch on your palm. 

“Liked what?” he asked. He brought one hand up to your breast, palming it and squeezing gently. 

You broke your lips from his, licking his bottom lip, “Watching you mock them. I liked seeing their eyes flicker with fear when you stood up, staring them down with that hard look of yours.” You grabbed his shaft just to hear him grunt, “Being the strong, clever, slightly intimidating man you’ve become. I’ll admit,” you slowly began pumping him, watching his head roll back, “It aroused me for a moment.”

“I know,” he smirked, eyes still closed. “I know it isn’t by chance that you end up in the training yard some mornings.”

“I quite enjoy watching you fight. I always have. I love my strong,” you pecked at his neck, “Handsome,” you pecked the other side, “Clever husband who fucks me like a whore and treats me like a queen.”

“Which would you like tonight?” he suddenly grabbed your hair and yanked it, “A whore or a queen?”

“You’re a smart man,” you brought him over to the bed and straddled a corner, “You figure it out.”

His cock at level with you, you carefully lifted it to your mouth and slid your tongue underneath. Aemond did not respond with anything except a soft sigh. You kept your eyes on him as you licked him from base to tip, and then back down. Veins pump blood into his member, which pulsates against the flat of your tongue each time you traced over them. Blond hair curtaining his face, the shade darkened his features leaving his sapphire eye standing out more. You didn’t focus on it. You focused on the pink, bulbous tip that gradually turned red when you swirl your tongue around it. By the time you slid him into your mouth, moaning softly, Aemond’s hands already grasped your hair. He did not force you down immediately; he let you start the pace, enjoying your lips sucking his throbbing cock. Hands grasping his muscled thighs, you kept yourself steady while you slid him towards your throat. 

You only ever told one person where you learned the intimate art of love making. It was considered unbecoming and inappropriate for a noble lady to wander into a brothel disguised as a street urchin to watch the women there pleasure their customers. You never let yourself be touched, yet you’d observed at a hefty price. Aemond nearly choked on his wine when you revealed it to him on your wedding night. Yet, he quickly got over his shock when you laid him back and let you show him what you learned. You never fully mastered taking it to the back of your throat like some women did, but Aemond never pressed you. He stood there and let you practice on him sometimes after training or dinner. He gave a low groan when his tip pressed there, the groan mixing with your soft choking each time you did it. You massaged your thumbs into his inner thighs, close to his ballsack; his hips pushed into your face slightly at the new sensation. The longer you went on, the needier your husband became. Soon, he fisted your hair to keep you still so he stuck himself further into your throat. You let him guide you along his considerable length, your own sex beginning to ache for his touch. He saw you start to slip your hand between your thighs before he snatched it by the wrist. Without a word, he took both your wrists and held them at his sides to bring you forward. 

“The only person,” he grunted, “Who touches your cunt is me.”

His words made your clit throb again. You slowly grind your hips into the bed, which he seemed to allow so you could whimper around his cock. You imagined him throwing you onto the bed, forcing your legs apart and taking you however he wanted. The strength and formidable aura he oozed at the dinner table came back to you. How he’d stared coldly at Jace when he stood up at the table, angry with Aegon for his crude comments to Baela. How he sparred with Ser Cole earlier in the day, moving quick and precise in each maneuver. You wished to feel him everywhere. You wanted to feel the hard muscles and lines of his body; feel his heart beating faster while you rode him. You tried saying his name with your mouth full, a thing you knew he enjoyed. He laughed when he heard your muffled words. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, laughing in his tone, “What was that?” You pleaded his name again, rocking your hips more and more for some form of friction. “Is there something you need?”

He slid himself far enough that his tip laid on your tongue still, and you said, “Your tongue, my prince. Your tongue,” you licked the underside, “Your fingers, your cock. Please, Your Grace.” 

“Hm, I don’t know,” he said, releasing your hands and taking hold of himself. You stuck out your tongue for him to rub overt, tapping his tip there before you sucked on it. “I quite like it this way. You look so pretty drooling and begging me for more…like a filthy whore who can’t seem,” he plunged back into your mouth, “To get enough.”

You moaned with him this time, continuing to rub yourself on the corner of the bed as he kept a slow pace. The light brushes of the soft sheets against your aching sex felt torturous. The right spot refused to be touched, so the same teasing feeling came each time. Eventually, seeing streams of drool and precum follow, Aemond withdrew from you fully and pushed you onto your back. 

“Which part did you aim to please, slut?” he asked, the slur dripping from his lips with seduction. He trailed two long fingers down your belly to the top of your mound. You flinched feeling them trail circles down to the crevasse of your folds. “Was it here?” he traced them lightly over the slit of your cunt, dipping his finger only to graze over the hood of your clit. “Perhaps underneath then?” he brushed it back up underneath the hard nub, making you tremble. He chuckled darkly at your response and continued doing it with his thumb. You gripped the sheets under you as his thumb then slid over your clit, “But what about right here? It seems to please you the most.”

“Do not act as if you don’t know…A-Aemond…” you breathed, the slow movements driving you crazy. 

“I only wish to educate myself on what pleases my whore the most,” he began making soft trails of kisses down your inner thighs, “Well enough that she’ll never want another.” 

The wetness that leaked from you made his thumb’s movements slicker. He did careful circles around your sex, sometimes sliding towards your entrance before coming back up. He knew exactly what made your toes curl, and had you longing for him. A drastic difference from your wedding night. You brought one of his hands to your breasts for him to fondle while Aemond buried his face between your thighs. He worked his tongue in languid laps against your open folds while his fingers pinched your nipple hard. The slight tingle of pain made you raise your hips to his tongue again. 

You yelped in surprise when he slid both fingers inside your cunt, dragging them along the walls in a soft, delicate pace. He kept licking your sensitive nub with the tip of his tongue while he focused on the fingers inside you. The sensations coupled together were too much to bear. 

"Aemond…Aemond…" you muttered his name, the tension inside you building tighter and tighter. 

"I know," he mumbled, kissing up your thighs, his thumb replacing his tongue's movements. "Let go for me."

Your body immediately obeyed. His fingers kept the same gentle speed as your walls squeezed them. You reached down to grab his wrist, keeping it in place for more. Smirking, Aemond let his fingers wiggle against the most sensitive of spots. You saw stars when you closed your eyes. Your body might've burst into a thousand and one pieces with every shuddering wave. 

He didn't give you a single second. Pushing you further up the bed, Aemond forced your legs further apart and slipped into you. Hands pinning down your wrists, his lips found yours as he started rocking into you. Your juices still on his lips and tongue, you licked them clean. You pussy throbbed from being stimulated again, but you could not let go. You didn't want him to stop. You'd needed him all night. 

"Such a good whore," he jeered, starting to slam his hips into yours, "Laying here like a good girl and letting me take it how I want."

"Only for you, Your Grace. Only…for…"

He knelt up, and you saw the sheer size of him. Long limbed, you gazed on the pale sculpted figure above you. Silver hair falling around him, dark sapphire glinting, he was otherworldly. You never thought you'd have a man like him. Women like you did not get what they wanted, it was plain and simple. Women like you took what they got and adapted, because otherwise, you ended up an old maid. You didn't want that. You began bouncing against him so your breasts moved, and his eyes immediately fell on them. Letting go of your hands, he bent down and grasped them. Sparks of pleasure coursed back through you as he kissed and bit all over them. You didn't think you could handle it a second time. It didn't stop when his thumb found your clit again, and he moved it in time with his thrusts. The oversensitive spot tingled throughout your body; his touch felt ten times more apparent than before. 

"Your Grace," you mumbled, your thoughts forcing themselves together, "I think I might…I…"

At this, he angled you upwards and kept short strokes. The tip of his cock touched right on it again, your eyes rolling back to the strong sensation inside you. It felt like a knot being tightened and tightened until finally it snapped, and you were rutting up against him like an animal. Your second orgasm hit you hard, a strong force that made you lose control. You felt long fingers rest against your throat, not squeezing but simply holding you there. This new restraint, and the struggle of oxygen it brought, strengthened your climax instead of softening it. Your screams came slightly gurgled, but nobody else needed to hear. Your moans were for Aemond’s ears only. 

Unable to withhold himself any longer, Aemond took a few more pumps before he came. The hot cum filling you brought on a blissful satisfaction. His held tilted back, eyes closed shut and lips parted, your husband resembled a sculpture. A beautiful one. You ran your nails down his chest to his stomach to feel his tense muscles spasm in every squeeze. He kept thrusting until he'd drained every drop into you. Would you feel soreness in your muscles tomorrow? Yes. Would you regret it? Not at all. 

He fell onto his side next to you, blond hairs stuck to his forehead from sweat and a hazy sleepiness in his eyes. You tried your best to regain your breath and strength to even move. You turned your head to see him; you looked over his profile for every detail you can point out. Nobody ever made you feel so safe; so secure and comfortable in your own skin. You rolled onto your side and draped your arm and leg over half of him. He welcomed the cuddle and let you rest your head on his arm, so his hand fell near your hair, where he played with the ends of it idly. Neither you spoke as you basked in each other’s warmth; only smiling and sharing a soft kiss before a voice broke out into the room. 

"Well, it's good to see my brother knows how to pleasure a woman."

“Aegon!”

“Aegon, you twat!”

With wicked quickness, Aemond grabbed the nearest object and flung it at his brother, who stood a few feet from your bed. The blond boy laughed as he dodged it. Seeing his brother’s flustered face and you scrambling to cover yourself with sheets, Aegon cackled. 

“Mother sent me to come get you,” Aegon said through his laughter, “But, um, I’ll tell her you and Lady Y/N are indisposed right now.”

“You prick, Aegon! Don’t you know how to knock?!” You launched a pillow at him, which hit the man square in the face. 

“I didn’t want to interrupt!” he laughed, cheeks red as he walked backwards. “You two seemed to be having a good time!”

“Get out!” you and Aemond yelled in unison. 

You watched him leave. You both continued to hear him laughing even after he shut the doors. Aemond flung back onto the pillows in a sigh and you rested next to him. 

“Seven Hells,” you cursed, “He’s never going to shut up about it now.”

“Well, if he does, I can just casually remind him in front of a group of people how I once found him in a brothel tied to a pole blindfolded with a woman and a sheep in the room.”

“I’m sorry, but you found him doing what?” you asked in pure disgust. 

“Yes,” he nodded, “He claims that the sheep just happened to be there, but I don’t think anyone would believe him.” 

The both of you met each other’s gaze and then laughed. You curled back up to him again, his warmth keeping the chill from coming over you, and rested on him. You felt his seed stick between your legs. You hoped. You prayed that, maybe, a child would quicken there. You worried about what tonight’s events might rekindle, and the fallout from that dinner. It was nothing; a snide remark that can be forgiven if done at the right time. Perhaps Alicent will smooth things over, and the king will never hear of it. He is so old and very ill. You hated thinking Viserys died knowing his last effort to mend his family was broken so carelessly. 

“You worry too much,” Aemond’s voice broke through your sleepiness. “Don’t let it bother your pretty head anymore.”

“You don’t worry enough,” you replied, shutting your eyes and letting him pull the sheets over you both. 

“I do worry. I worry about you,” you felt his lips peck the top of your head. “Now, sleep.” 

And so you did in your husband’s arms, the place you were meant to be. 

#aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #aemond x you #aemond one eye #aemond the kinslayer #aemond smut #aemond fluff #house of the dragon #hotd #hotd s1 #hotd drabbles #hotd fanfiction #hotd fanfic #hotd imagines

[ohtobealady]

I saw that you were asking for one-word prompts... my suggestion is:

Accident

However you want to interpret that.

Thank you!

Well I am sorry. This is angst, pure angst. Season 1 terrible awful angst.

Missing scene from S1E7.

—————-‘,——————

Accident

“I’m alright,” she softly insisted again as she tied the dressing gown sash loosely around her still-damp body. Beneath it, the chemise the woman had dressed her in stuck to her back. She’d not dried herself well enough.

“Milady—“

“I’m afraid I’ll look a-fright come tomorrow. His Lordship will suspect I’ve taken up boxing.”

“Please, milady,” Cora could feel O’Brien untie the silk she’d wrapped her hair in before the bath. Half of her hair hung from it now, anyway. Had she fallen that hard? “If you’ll only let me send for Doctor Clarkson.”

Cora let her hand probe softly at the places she’d hit—her hip, her elbow. And her stomach. Now that the shock of it had gone, her entire body felt immediately bruised and tender. Her hand lingered at her middle. “No. Really. I don’t think there’s any real damage done.” She wasn’t even certain if she believed herself, and she glanced at her maid and sighed. “My clumsiness is no reason to disturb him. After all, he can’t mend embarrassment.”

She forced a small chuckle, but stopped short: her abdomen was immediately too sore to laugh that way. She cleared her throat and shook away a quick sting of fear.

When she glanced up, O’Brien stared at her without blinking.

“Truly,” she lied to her maid. “I’ll be fine. I’ll have a lie down, and I’m sure that’ll sort it. Now go. I don’t want to keep you any longer than I have.”

She turned away from O’Brien to appear to search for the book on the small table beside the chaise, and her pantomime achieved what Cora had hoped: with a small “Very well, milady,” the woman left her.

Looking behind her at the click of the door, and determining O’Brien had gone, Cora turned slowly back toward her mirror and gently pulled up the dressing gown and chemise under it to inspect her left hip. It was as she expected: a red and already purpling oval. And then swallowing, she lifted her clothes higher and to her stomach. She’d hit it there against the rim of the tub—nearly in the center—as her foot had slipped as she stepped from the bath. Her middle had caught all her weight, and it had nearly knocked the wind from her before she fell upon the floor. She looked closer, to find the evidence of the accident, and in the morning sun, found a faint pink blotch below her navel, but nothing more. It was only the little swell O’Brien could still tug into her corsets, but that she and Robert had chuckled at last week.

Cora smiled at that, and dropped her hems. Yes. Everything appeared well, and this settled her fear enough for her to really retrieve her book.

She slowly settled onto her chaise. She slid her book from her little table and into her grasp. She leaned forward and reached behind her to straighten her pillow, but stopped. She inhaled at the quick tenderness of her belly. She blinked, still, and then forced herself to exhale. It was only a bruise; she’d inspected it herself. If the injury was worse, then it would’ve looked like her hip and, she assumed, her smarting elbow. Wouldn’t it have?

Yes.

So she opened the cover of the book; she flipped through a few pages to find her place; she tried her best to make her eyes read the words printed there, but found she could not. The soreness she felt when she leaned forward to adjust her pillow, it hadn’t subsided. Her abdomen felt tight. And then tighter still. And then her muscles—-those muscles low in her belly—-began to burn as they tightened.

Oh.

The fear Cora managed to assuage earlier prickled back again, and reminding herself to be calm, she pushed out a small exhale through pursed lips. She was alright. She was bound to feel a little sore, to have a small cramp; it was quite a blow. And perhaps she was thinking of it too much.

She made her eyes look back at the novel. They scanned the letters and words, dutifully, line by line as she worked her way down the page. But she couldn’t make her mind pay attention. For there was another tightening pain. And this time, it lasted longer than before, as if making itself known.

Cora closed her eyes and evened her breathing. If there was another, she told herself, she’d ring for O’Brien.

But there won’t be.

Her self-reassurance was weak however, and she let her fingers go to her middle, cradling the little life there. She indulged herself by looking at the small mound beneath her housecoat. She let her fingertip touch it. And, quite suddenly, she felt emotion begin to choke her.

“Of course I’m pleased.”

He’d been so happy; shocked, yes, but Robert had been so happy this last month.

And the letters. He’d written so many letters. Telling Rosamund. Shrimpie and Susan. Dickie. Murray. Jarvis.

Cora was sure that Lady Shackleton knew. Harold. Mother. She’d wanted to come over.

She closed her eyes. Please move, she pleaded. She willed it. Move, she prayed. She’d felt it last evening. Yesterday. She’d been able to feel it for a few weeks now, since right after Clarkson had confirmed it, the little flutters and then soft bumps inside of her. Just two nights ago, she’d taken Robert’s hand and pressed it to her middle. “Can’t you feel it?” she’d asked. His face had gone pink, but he smiled

Oh. Oh, it was another. She pulled in a deep breath and held it as the lowest muscles in her abdomen tightened, burned. And then—-Her eyes opened at the sensation of something—fluid—coming in a small gush between her legs.

There was no more suppressing the fear. She waited for the pain to pass, tears threatening her vision, and she moved to the pull to ring for her maid. Her head throbbed —-had she hit her head?—-every muscle now felt sorer than before, and she felt her stomach begin to roll as if she may retch.

She took deep breaths, and she pulled the cord again. Then, her fingers trembling, she made herself pull the fabric of her chemise beneath her dressing gown toward her, the back to the front, and she looked at it.

Wet. And pink.

She took calming breaths, but she knew better. She knew what was happening.

Another pain. More fluid with it, but this time it ran down the insides of her legs. She moved her eyes to her bare feet and waited for the little rivulets to stop.

Pinker than before. And then as the rivulets lingered on, there was red.

It was that, the bright color, that moved her to the truth at last. Her head felt too light, there was a ringing in her ears, and Cora fumbled her way to sit upon her bed and waited. The pain kept going this time, only growing tighter and burning more—sharp and twisting—and Cora clung to the side of her bed and did her best to breathe. The minute it let up, she moved to the washroom. She needed a towel. She needed water.

“Milady?”

She heard O’Brien, but she couldn’t make herself call to her.

“Milady?” She heard her nearer and then as she pushed open the washroom door.

And all the composure she tried her best to have vanished when she saw O’Brien, her maid whose face had gone white as a sheet, and Cora began to weep. “Oh.”

“Come,” her maid ushered her, but Cora could hear the emotion in her voice—high and wavering—even through her own. “Come and lie down.”

“Wait, oh.” She felt another pain creep itself into her belly. But this time there was no small trickle of fluid. This time it came quickly. “Oh, no. No. No.”

She heard O’Brien begging her to lie down again. She heard O’Brien leave her room as she did so, and then, through a blur of pain and the tears she blinked back, she saw as Mrs Hughes rushed into her room.

•••

“Nearing six now,” Robert watched as Doctor Clarkson closed his pocket watch and replaced it. The metallic click reverberated around the gallery, and it sounded strangely too loud in the quiet. “The bleeding isn’t stemming as much as I would expect. It is difficult to say if her injuries don’t go beyond the delivery—“

“She—“ he managed to begin, even if he felt his throat was too tight to move a single word from it. There was blood on Clarkson’s oversleeve. “But she isn’t—”

“No, your lordship. At least not yet. ” His voice interrupted, sparing Robert the word, but it lacked the quick pace of before. Robert felt the doctor eyeing him, and the gentle interlude felt like thunder before rain.

“But?” he asked, though the question made him afraid.

“At the stage of her pregnancy, it is important to know that her recovery may be as difficult as if she’d given birth at nine months. She will need rest. And her body may experience the…changes, for lack of a better word,” Robert felt his face flush, “that it would in ordinary circumstances.”

He wasn’t sure what Doctor Clarkson meant, but he wouldn’t ask. He couldn’t. His mind kept going back to Carson’s words two hours ago.

“My lord, there’s been an accident since you’ve been out. It’s her ladyship.”

“I am happy to speak with Mrs O’Brien and Mrs Hughes about what to expect in the coming weeks. And I can provide a list to Mrs Hughes of items that can be helpful.”

His good manners listened though every other thought was elsewhere—-in the room with her—-and he nodded his head. He thanked the man.

“And, please forgive me, Lord Grantham, but there is the matter of …”

Silence. Enough silence for Rober to pay attention. And he lifted his eyes at the doctor’s pause.

“Of the body.”

Robert blinked at him. “The … body?”

Doctor Clarkson nodded slowly. Solemnly. “I am sorry.”

But Robert couldn’t make himself comprehend. “Cora—That is, her ladyship is well? That is…I apologize I’m not sure—-“

“Of the child, my lord.”

“Oh.” He felt all at once foolish and ill, his stomach turning over itself. “Of course.” The child. Their child.

Clarkson spoke so softly. Too softly, but her room was just there. Her door was opened a crack. Robert could see light filtering in from where she lay. “In these situations, the hospital does offer to arrange burials in the churchyard amongst the others—“

“Others?”

“—though, should your wishes be different…yes.” Again, Doctor Clarkson paused. He lowered his voice again. “The other stillbirths and infants, Lord Grantham. Of the village.”

Robert shook his head, again his mind whirling, not understanding. “But it wasn’t as far along as that? It couldn’t be—“

“Not fully there, no. But …” He didn’t imagine the way Doctor Clarkson grimaced. “She’d made it to her fifth, nearly her sixth month. The child did—“ He stopped, and he quieted. “It did live. For a moment.”

In the following quiet, Robert felt as if he’d somehow grown smaller. There was no other feeling. Only that.

“I know that this is very difficult, and you have my sympathies, Lord Grantham.”

“Yes,” Robert blurted, strangely relieved in a painful way, as if the doctor’s words were a sort of excuse to let his chin tremble the way it needed to. To let his eyes sting with tears. “Thank you. I will speak with her ladyship about the—“ he took a small breath. “Burial.”

Clarkson, however, opened his mouth but didn’t speak. Robert watched him move his jaw, as if searching for the words.

It frightened him. “Yes?”

“Only, I’m not certain it best to—-” The doctor shifted his weight from his left to right foot, and Robert stood straighter, dread gnawing away at his nerves. “It may be best to make the decision on your own. She isn’t…”

“She isn’t what?”

The doctor nodded again, though at what Robert didn’t know.

“She is going to be alright, isn’t she?” Robert heard the waver in his voice, but he didn’t care. “You mentioned the bleeding, but otherwise, she’s not in any danger, is she?”

“No. No, I don’t think so. It’s only … well, it may be too distressing for her to speak of the burial.”

Robert furrowed his brow.

“You may consider making the decision on your own.”

“I—“ he shook his head. He couldn’t. “I don’t believe I could keep that from her.”

Doctor Clarkson drew in a long breath, and Robert watched as the man looked to the door behind them and then back to him. He frowned. “I did my best to hide the child from her sight, but …” another dreadful pause. Robert clenched his jaw.

“What is it?”

“You had a son, Lord Grantham.”

He stood still. He stared at Clarkson who spoke on, but Robert couldn’t hear what he said. The doctor nodded at him as he returned through Cora’s door, but though Robert’s heart ached to see her, to hold her and press a kiss to her head, he could not.

Robert walked from her door and into his dressing room. He stood at the window. And he stared.

Outside the afternoon was golden.

#cobert #cobert drabbles #tw: miscarriage #thank you for the prompt #there is a line from Julian in the S1 script book that says something along the lines of #the intimacy between bates and Robert allows Robert to ‘mourn for his dead son’ #and that’s always been very moving to me #Julian you rascal

[womanipulatorr]

s1 mean!steve who promises you to only put the tip in who ends up thrusting his whole cock into you making you scream out and grab onto whatever you can reach, digging your nails into his tan freckled skin.

“shh baby, you can take it.. i know you can. you wanna be daddy’s girl don’t you?”

#stranger things #steve harrington #steve stranger things #steve harrington x y/n smut #steve harrington smut #drabble #steve harrington x reader #s1 steve harrington #daddy k!nk

[withacapitalp]

Quiet

For the STWG Daily Prompt today! This one is a little roundabout, but I just wanted to write some of the boys being goofy little besties!!!

-----

“Class, this is Dustin Henderson. He just moved here all the way from Arizona, isn’t that interesting?” Mrs. Wren said, gently nudging the boy further to the front of the room and giving him a soft smile, “Dustin, why don’t you tell us about yourself a little?” 

Dustin looked like he would rather eat raw goat brains, and Mike couldn’t blame him. If Dustin was a kid who looked like Jimmy or Troy, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, but Dustin was a chubby short kid with a shock of wild curly hair and two missing front teeth. His shirt was black with a picture of a microscope with the words ‘Enjoy the little things’ underneath it, and he was wearing a wide brim hat with Einstein's theory of relativity stamped on it. 

The new kid was a total nerd, and Mike’s heart went out to him. 

“I moved here from Flagstaff. Um that’s a city in Arizona-” Dustin started to mumble, his eyes firmly on his shoes. 

“Wow. We thought it was in Canada,” Troy interrupted with a mean little laugh. 

A twitter went around the class, which was completely stupid in Mike’s opinion. It wasn’t even a funny joke, just something mean to say, and it made Dustin cringed back like he had been physically hit, his shoulder curling inward as he reached up to tug at the brim of his cap. 

“Shut up, Troy,” Mike said without really thinking. He kind of wished he could take it back when Troy’s entire desk clump turned to him with murder in their eyes, but the tiny grateful look Dustin shot up at him made it worth it. Sort of. 

“Boys,” Mrs. Wren droned, calling them both out even though Mike hadn’t done anything but defend Dustin when she should have. She sighed and shook her head, turning back to their newest student, keeping him on the pyre when she could have just let him go free. 

“What was your favorite part of Flagstaff, Dustin?”

“I really liked going hiking with my dad,” Dustin answered, slightly perking up, “There’s this mountain called Humphrey’s Peak by us, it’s the biggest mountain in Arizona and it’s the start of the San Francisco peaks! There’s these lizards there called Gila Monsters, they’re the only venomous lizards in North America, and-” 

Mike was leaning forward, drawn in by curiosity about the strange creatures, but oddly enough Dustin cut himself off with a sudden jolt, going back to his curled up turtle position from before. Their teacher waited for a second more before sighing again and adjusting the papers on her desk. 

“Well, we don’t have much in the way of lizards here in Hawkins, but hopefully your classmates will help you to explore some of the local wildlife. We’re going to have some silent reading time now students, so take out your books. Dustin do you need me to help you pick one?” She asked, finally cutting him loose. 

“No I’m okay,” Dustin said as he scurried to his seat, immediately opening his backpack and digging in it, conveniently not looking up at any of the boys near him. He pulled out a huge book, burying his face in it effectively cutting off any attempt to catch his eye. 

Maybe he just needed another push. Mike was still pretty curious about those monsters. 

“I’m Mike,” He offered. 

“My name is Lucas,” Lucas added, catching what Mike was thinking immediately and following through like always. 

“I’m Will, it’s nice to meet you,” Will rounded off, holding out his hand for Dustin to shake. 

“Hi,” Dustin said shortly, still nestled tightly into his book. 

Mike’s brow furrowed, and he looked away from Dustin to his friends, seeing if they had a plan. Lucas shrugged, and Will turned his face down to where he was secretly doodling under the book their teacher had assigned him. They were both just giving in that easily, which was just not acceptable. 

Not when the prospect of information on a giant lizard was at their fingertips. 

“What are you reading?” Mike tried again, still not willing to admit defeat. 

“Oh this is Blackmoor. It’s a rule book,” Dustin explained, holding the book so they could see the front cover picture of a huge castle on a tall rock and a smaller picture of a wizard. Will was instantly intrigued by the wizard, leaning into Dustin’s space to point at the title above the castle. 

“What’s Dungeons and Dragons?”

It was like a switch flipped. Dustin’s eyes lit up and he put the book flat on the desk so they could see inside, giving them all an eager little grin as he scooted his chair closer to the desks. 

“It’s this super cool thing where you make up characters and adventures and use dice to decide what happens. My character is a bard who has a flute that can put people to sleep and this badass dagger!” Dustin exclaimed, pulling out a notebook so they could see a rudimentary drawing of a man holding a knife and a flute. Mike was sure Will could’ve done a much better version, but it was still pretty awesome. But Dustin wasn’t done, pulling out a tiny figurine and putting it in the middle of their desks. 

“The game has got all these monsters like a mimic that pretends to be a treasure chest and this one is called the demogorgon-”

And then it was just over. Dustin jolted back, snatching his hand back like it had been caught in a cookie jar and pulling his hat practically over his eyes.  

“I mean, it’s just a game,” Dustin murmured, playing with his fingers and tucking his chin to his chest. 

Damn! Again! Now Mike was getting pissed. 

“Why do you keep doing that?” Mike asked, frustrated that twice he had missed out on something fun. 

“What?” Dustin replied, looking confused. 

“Start talking about something cool and then cut yourself off right in the middle,” Lucas explained, already aware of what was annoying Mike. That was why they were best friends- Lucas just always seemed to know what was bugging him, “It’s weird.” 

Weird was apparently the wrong word to use. All of the joy in the air instantly vanished, and Dustin’s shoulders were at his ears. Mike shot Lucas a tiny glare, the two of them having a silent argument as Dustin gathered up the courage to explain. 

“Oh, um…My dad told me that I should try to be quieter if I wanted to make friends,” Dustin whispered, his cheeks beet red as he stammered out the words, “He um- he said it’s uh rude, you know? To not to let other people talk once in a while?” 

Ouch. 

Mike’s chest instantly seized up, and he looked down at his own desk, his copy of Tuck Everlasting staring back up at him. A quick sneak peek up at Lucas and Will revealed that they were doing the same, Will’s lip caught firmly between his teeth and Lucas’s mouth in a thin straight line. 

It wasn’t exactly the same, but all three of them knew what it was like to be told to be quiet. They knew how hard it could be to have everything you love ridiculed or talked down to. Usually it was Troy or Jimmy or some of the other boys in their class doing it though, not their own parents.  

“Tell us about the demogorgon,” Mike declared, speaking for all three. Judging by the looks he was being given not only by Lucas and Will, but also by Dustin, he had said the exact right thing. 

#stwgdailyprompt #dustin henderson #mike wheeler #Lucas sinclair #will byers #st #stranger things #st drabble #pre season one #I think it would be so fun if Dustin was the one that got them into DND #and also s1 had such good characterization #and I miss it #so I'm bringing it back lmao #the party #the party stranger things

[erwinsvow]

I know this isn’t the usual speed around here but slightly pathetic whimpery s1 Rafe is to die for!! He’s obviously cocky and entitled but it’s in a more spoiled and almost bratty way so he throws his little temper tantrums when he doesn’t get his way… I think s1 has seriously overlooked toxic Rafe potential

- 💓

wait i know im allllll about season 2 rafe like hes loml seriously but i just started rewatching season 1 and i dont like his hair lol but hes so toxic and gross. i know everyone on here has been talking more about him and like fratboy rafe and i usually refrain but something about being his gf through all of season 1..... im hornee.

in particular im thinking of like how he acts so douchey with everyone in public but its so visible he has a huge soft spot for you.. waves you over when he's just hanging out with his friends to check in that you're doing okay, goes and gets you a fresh drink before giving you a kiss and sending you off back to ur friends.. makes some gross comment about how you were screaming for him in the back of his truck last night after you walk away... kelce is like bro. i always sit in the back.

you'd be lurking in his bedroom when he goes down to 'have a chat' with his dad, like when he gets yelled at about the generators. comes back all angry and literally folds you in half and fucks you until you cry because you are his favorite way to calm down <3 ... (i have no idea what the vibes on this blog are and i dont wanna make people mad but he gets so manipulative... esp if you're just like i don't feeling like fucking again right now or esp in public!!!! which he looooves.... starts going on a tangent about how he provides for you and takes care of you and he's the man of the house and if he needs to relax you should be on your knees already.... sorry omg if ur reading this n youre starting to hate me i apologize in advance. i never talk about scummy scummy rafe but hes real and hes so hot. fully wants you to be like a hyperactive horny bunny just waiting for his dick at all times.... i would 110% start doing it too... ANYWAYS)

he's so spoiled so he likes spoiling you with anything you want... most of the stuff he gets you is pretty much for him tho... gets hard because you wear an RC necklace.. lots of pretty lingerie and babydolls that he likes to rip up...handcuffs because duh.. it's almost always you in the handcuffs but every once in a while he can be convinced to get in them lol

but the temper tantrums are soooo real like especially if you're out with friends or made plans with your parents. like he seriously loves making you abandon your plans to come see him. but then youll show up and hes at a party and selling or ignoring you and ofc you cry because it's like he made you come here and not even giving you any attention... then he'll drag you out by your hair and fuck you SOOO mean in the back of his truck talkin about "just needed this dick, yeah? s'okay, dad's gonna give it to ya hard. then you'll be good as gold won'tya?" ugh. hes so mean.

im still in my rewatch but the scene where him and topper beat up pope:( this especially hits sooo hard w my pogue reader but i can just imagine that being the cause of your first real fight, like you're so upset he can be that cruel but there goes his manipulation tactics.. telling you he needs to be a proactive man to protect you and his friends and his turf. he's not letting anyone walk all over him, regardless if you like them or not. fucks you until you forget all about your pogue friends, and then you end up bandaging his bloody hand for him.

ooohh and when they go to that movie showing.. can just imagine curling up on a lawnchair with him under a blanket, him n the boys are on high alert for jj and pope but he keeps a tight arm around you, goes and gets you a soda and popcorn which you two share.. you don't want him to leave and you whine when he does.. can just imagine the scene where jj and pope turn back to look at him when kie tells them rafe is right behind them. rafe is staring so hard at them while ur tryna feed him a piece of popcorn. LOL

#waiiiit i love you babe you just made me actually want to write for s1 rafe. bye HAH #do you prefer like these long winded explanations or a real full on drabble in reply? #love u ! #📮 asks #💓 anon

[interstellar-wanderer]

Fading

Characters: Cooper Howard AKA The Ghoul, Lucy MacLean, Maximus, Janey Howard. Summary: No matter how much he tries to outrun it, everything comes to an end. A/N: This is a gift for @beetlebabe for their magnificent art, VERY short drabble.

Cooper stared slowly and fearful to every person in the room, his memories fading and blinking through his eyes, a lifetime seems now fleeting and distant.

They had just come to the main cryo chamber...

Realizing what is about to happen, he holds onto his handgun staring one last time at the daughter he thought lost, hiding herself behind the woman who once believed him a monster but now was asking him something, with concern in her eyes. Beside her, the soldier and brotherhood deserter knew better, slowly putting himself between the two women and the ghoul.

"Cooper... are you okay?"

"I am..."

He swallowed, fighting the urge to jump forward, to chase and kill, he stepped back, toward the doors, pleading to the soldier to do what was best, and to do it quickly.

"I am... Cooper"

#im sorry #the ghoul #cooper howard #lucy maclean #max fallout #maximus fallout #janey howard #fallout amazin #fallout tv series #ghoul fanfic #fanfiction #fallout fanfiction #drabble #beetlebabe #fanart #fallout s1 #myfic #ghoulcy

[dspd]

Head cannon for why Loki's face shape changes so much from the first Thor to the end of season 2 of the Loki TV show when it's been canonically not that long and he's already at least a thousand years old:

Well Loki was born a boy she was more often than not a girl as a child when she was closer to and wanted to be more like Frigga. Then, as Loki grew up and was more influenced by Thor and Odin and everyone else wanting to be a warrior, Loki reluctantly started shapeshifting into a boy more often. But since he was more inclined to be like Frigga he'd be uncomfortable and subtly alter himself to a more androgenous look that's closer to how he felt. He thinned his jaw, grew long curly hair, and gave himself a muscled but svelt look.

And as much as he liked the look - and as much as he adored his brother back then - Thor, in that thoughtless cruel way that even Asgardians can have, would poke fun with painful jokes that pricked the back of his eyes and sent him crying to his mother's strong, sheltering, loving embrace more than once.

Still, Loki is still more inclined to quietly rebel against Odin and it becomes a favored form.

But then, after he sees how fruitless it was in the Sacred Timeline, when he sees how they still lost and died painfully and Odin never acknowledged them for who they were to his end, Loki just...stops caring so much about rebelling against the closest thing they'd had to a father figure.

He's so tired.

Loki keeps his male persona up in the TVA, feels the smallest bit more protected, and has that slight advantage of sexism in all its forms even in as peculiar a place as Mobius' side. It helps that Mobius seems enamored with the more masculine parts of his current form. At first, when he's still terrified for his life, he's tense, nerves screaming as Mobius places a hand so high on his shoulder, that his fingertips slip beneath the ring around his neck.

Later Loki finds himself softening, sliding between the wary "he" that he'd become before becoming a Variant and the more amorphous self he'd enjoyed as a child, learning seidr at his mother's knee. Something about the easy touches Mobius gives reminds him of his less frictious childhood. Soothing.

And when Loki meets Sylvie, a less lucky Variant who managed to stay true to her self, changing fluidly between she and they (and sometimes him) but always keeping a face that reminds him of Frigga, he feels like he can try it himself. It's more than unsettling to walk down the hallways of the TVA in a shape, any shape other than the one known as Variant L1230 and she's ready to bolt as her face rounds, her body shrinks and curves, hair lightening closer to the shadowed strawberry gold she'd preferred when female. But she's still recognized, Casey grinning and pausing to tell her that he got a pet fish and they're really cool.

Oh. Right.

TVA.

Loki somehow forgot they don't look at the surface if they look at you at all. Her temporal aura is the same, regardless of the flesh that houses it.

And if that isn't the most effervescent, bubbling affirmation she's ever had.

An indeterminate amount of time later, as time is different in the TVA, Loki ends up chasing a Kang variant who's closing in on the formula to start the interdimensional war He Who Remains...remained to prevent. Loki is panting, chasing him, dashing madly between pedestrians in the crowd, losing to the Variant and -

He's bounding forward, faster than ever on all fours, leaping up onto the parked cars, pushing off with his hind legs, claws digging in and swiping, severing the tendons in the Variant's legs.

The metallic smell of blood is bright and heavy and heady and -

Mobius is sliding between him and his prey, crowding in towards Loki's snout, one hand reaching for his wet muzzle. "Hey, buddy," Mobius murmurs, smiling that signature easy, appreciative smile, crooked nose wrinkling a little. It doesn't reach his eyes. Loki isn't sure why Mobius seems so hesitant, but he pushes his head forward anyway, accepting the touch with a slight rumble.

It feels nice.

When Mobius's hand slips off the back of Loki's skull, he nearly whines, scrabbling around to shove his head under those wonderfully scratchy nails again. When Mobius finds the best spot under his jaw, Loki melts into a loud, rumbling puddle, eyes sliding shut and head dropping into Mobius's hand.

Mobius grunts. "Damn, Loki, your head is heavier than an entire ten year old."

Loki flicks an ear and doesn't move.

As it turns out, unlike with Odin's exacting expectations in Asgard, Loki doesn't doesn't even have to be human to be accepted for who they are.

#this has been sitting in my drafts and I finally accepted that I'll never edit it #marvel's loki #loki s1 #loki s2 #loki laufeyson #loki friggasdottir #genderfluid loki #shapeshifting loki #tva #mobius m mobius #casey #is casey officially casey c casey like mobius??? #my writing #nonbinary affirming drabble #lokius #a teensey bit

[thecoziestbean]

Author reveals today for the spring round of Seasons of Drabbles. I wrote two including this Haladriel drabble set during s1e8 where Sauron considers what to do with Galadriel.

drag me out, destroy me

Haladriel | G | 100 words

For @myrsinemezzo

Read on ao3

#otp: bind yourself to me #haladriel #saurondriel #galadriel x halbrand #galadriel x sauron #haladriel fanfic #cozy writes #drabble #seasons of drabbles #rings of power s1

[longlivelindanny]

Drabble Series

1x21: Cellar Boy

“His Dad really called him that?”

“Mhmm,” Danny nods sadly.

“Cellar Boy?” Linda shakes her head. “That’s horrible.”

“It was never a happy home. But, I don’t know. I guess we were blind to it as kids. Only started to realize things the older we got.”

“Are you… doing okay? This can’t be easy.” Linda shifts closer to him on the couch, ready to give comfort.

“Ronnie didn’t do it.”

“How do you know?”

“It’s too… thought out. Too methodical. Ronnie doesn’t plan things, he just… does. No thinking involved.”

“So who do you think did it?”

Danny takes a sip of his beer, “I think Al did it.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. Gut feeling.”

“Those are usually right,” Linda says with a sigh.

“I know.”

She feels like crying, but instead snuggles up next to her husband. She lays her head on his shoulder, both wishing things were different.

#linda reagan #danny reagan #lindanny #danny and linda #danny x linda #team linda reagan #i remember linda #linda my beloved #Lindanny my beloved #drabble series #s1 drabbles #season one drabbles #Blue Bloods drabbles

[sisterdivinium]

Shannon looked at her, trying to contain herself, but she laughed and shook her head, mirth and melancholy both making her blush, making her voice crack.

"I took vows, Mary."

Mary shrugged, smirking at her.

"I know. Why do you think I didn't?"

Shannon laughed again, looking around in search of any stern shadows that might drag them back to sparring.

"You're impossible."

"… Just me, then? And not us?"

Shannon turned serious.

"… I don't think we can go far."

"We don't need to," Mary pondered. "I'm already right beside you. I don't need to go anywhere."

Shannon kissed her cheek.

#warrior nun #shotgun mary #sister shannon #warrior nun drabble #narratives and similar #mini drabble regatta #based on that s1 flashback i have the feeling mary would be quite cheeky and we love it

[winterlovesong1]

falling (snow)

Inspired by the prompts: “I mean, my mornings are better with you around.” and “I've always wondered what it would be like to sleep with you.”

A little Nace potential snowed in at the Claw...read below or at A03

-/-

Flurries are falling harder, faster outside, canopying the wooden benches, the planks of the decking, the grassy area toward the forest that she often rested in between shifts, and the rooftops for miles across town.

But not the sea. The sea stays pristine. The sea stays untouched.

Lost in the scene she barely hears the ask the first time, only assuming he had to say it a second time because the volume of his voice at her back feels louder than normal.

“We could stay here for the night?”

She folds her arms across her turquoise apron, feeling her stomach sink at the thought of driving in this weather, while her cheeks bloom, radiating a blended pinkish hue of embarrassment and want upon her skin at his offer, at his question.

(at his save)

“Maybe we can wait it out for an hour…” her voice drifts like the snow falling outside the windowpane.

“Ok, but if at six o’clock it’s not slowing down, I’ll grab the sleeping bags out of my locker.”

She spins around on her sneakers upon the linoleum, her arms still crossed, but now her brow matches. “You have what in your locker?”

“Sleeping bags.” He smiles, pleased with himself, but not arrogant, not haughty. Pleased like the flurries outside that coat the earth with their beauty. Pleased like how he is at peace with himself most days. Pleased like how his expression is when she stands close to him in hopes he can show her how he does it. He thinks it’s research probably. Really, it’s how he stays at peace.

“Gotta be prepared, Nancy.”

She smiles back. “It’s like you planned this.”

He sits down at one of the empty chairs, careful as he leans back to not fall. “I mean, my mornings are better with you around.”

And I’m better when your around…she thinks, but instead, she quips, “Alright Ace, one hour.”

She’s still smiling when she turns back to look at the snow and admire the sea, untouched, glistening as the snow falls around it.

#nace and snow #nace fluff #nace early s1 vibes #nace drabble #nace fanfic #nace #tv: nancy drew

[thebennettdiaries]

Pairing: Tyler/Bonnie

Prompt: Childhood sweethearts

Drabble Requests Open

Her two best friends think they know everything about her.

But there is a part of her that Bonnie has always kept secret, kept hers. It is not that she goes out of her way to lie to her friends. She doesn't think they care or will see it like she does. It is a moment in her life that she wants to hold onto, especially now that the darkness seems to be surrounding them more quickly than they can fight it off.

She thinks back to those days, barely even understanding why it is that she likes to be around him. She remembers what it feels like to have his fingers slide through hers before they take off for the woods. She can feel the wind slipping through her hair and the brambles brushing into the skin of her legs. She doesn't know why she loved how that felt. Or why the sound of his laughter tickled something inside of her. She only knows that he has always had the urge to run and she just needs to be surrounded by nature,

Wolf and witch --- there is something intensely poetic about that.

They had been far too young to know any kind of romantic love. What they had was something that she still does not know how to put words to. A connection that cannot be broken. Not even now when she is fumbling to light candles and he is being far too hot headed to take seriously. They don't talk like they used to; they barely acknowledge one another's existence.

Except in those quiet moments when their eyes meet and they are both transported back to the beginning.

She thinks she would like to go back there, build on it. Make it something more.

By the look in his eyes, she thinks he would like to too.

#bonnie bennett #tyler lockwood #tonnie #drabble #set around s1

[fishybehavior]

Jay huffed as he balanced upside down on one hand on his balance beam, his other hand was against his back. Focused on keeping his back straight and pointing his toes, he held his pose. Arm shaking slightly as the exertion.

"Cool," came an unfamiliar voice. Looking up Jay saw an unfamiliar guy standing with Cole, they were standing just inside the door of the gym. The kid was wearing a baggy green hoodie and his hair was poorly bleached, his roots and several strands still a dark brown.

Jay raised an eyebrow at Cole. "New recruit we were talking about yesterday," Cole grinned, leading the teen into the small tent the circus performers used as a gym. "Lloyd this is Jay." Cole gestured to Jay, as the acrobat put down his other arm and landed behind the beam.

Jay smirked as he leaned against the beam. "Nice to meet you, or are you a performer or are you a new stagehand?" Jay questioned, emphasizing the second option, as the team needed a bigger team for their next target.

"Uh, I'm both," Lloyd answered nervously rubbing the back of his neck.

"Oh, you are?" Jay said, "Well so am I. What's your act, do you have any experience?"

"Don't worry babe," Cole cut in, "remember the news about those old masks going missing? Well here's the culprit!" Cole grinned, slapping Lloyd on the back, making him yelp in surprise and pain.

"Really?" Jay asked.

"Yeah, I knew I couldn't join the best without showing what I can do?" Lloyd mumbled, forcing a chuckle and a smile.

Jay looked the kid up and down, face scrunched in thought before breaking into a grin. "Kai and Nya are going to love you. Come on kid Nya and I are going to have to fix that awful mop and get you some actual clothes!" Jay smiled as he lead him and Cole out of the small tent.

#very tempted to make jay bitchy in this au #not sure yet tho #stage hand means thief #idk #ninjago #circus au #jay ninjago #cole ninjago #lloyd ninjago #fic #my fic #my writing #drabble #:P #bruiseshipping #also thinking that lloyd may or may not be undercover #c'mon lloyd being the only good one in a group of thieves and assassins #s1 but reversed lol