#War Horse fanfiction

[smolvenger]

Miss Narracott and The Captain, Chapter One

Fandom: War Horse

Pairing: Captain James Nicholls x fem! Reader

Summary: It is 1912. You are Y/N Narracott, the older sister of Albert Narracott. You must do what you can so your family can keep their farm. And so your brother can keep his beloved horse. Under financial struggles, you never expect romance to come into your life...until you have a chance encounter with James Nicholls- a Captain with a knack for drawing. But the threat of war lingers in the air...

A03//My Ko-Fi//My Etsy Shop//Masterlist//Wattpad

Chapter Word Count: 4K

Taglist: @evelyn-kingsley @jennyggggrrr @five-miles-over @fictive-sl0th @ladycamillewrites @villainousshakespeare @holdmytesseract @eleniblue @twhxhck @lokisgoodgirl @lovelysizzlingbluebird @raqnarokr @holymultiplefandomsbatman @michelleleewise

Warnings: A horse ALMOST gets shot but lives. Landlords being landlords. Period Typical Attitudes. But very fluffy with cottagecore vibes and a meet-cute with the captain.

A/N: You can decide if you want to be a member of the family by birth or adoption. I try to make Reader fics as neutral in appearance as I humanly can. I hope you like this! It won't get too super sad or angsty and will have a very happy ending- so enjoy! Comments, asks, reblogs, and messages about my works are always appreciated!

“If the rent’s not paid by October, the farm is foreclosed. And I take the horse, too!” the Landlord had threatened in your kitchen, finishing his tea.

Gritting your teeth, you let your arms fall to the sides. Your mum cleared his cup and saucer. Then she met you where you stood, a frown on her face. You tried to slip your hand in hers. Your younger brother, Albert, was slowly heaving beneath his flannel shirt and overalls.  And your dad only sat at the table, his fingers twitching to get the flask you knew was in his pocket. But even his white whiskers couldn’t hide his own frown.

Those words made stiff and haunted you- all of you.  Just as the Bible verses in embroidery decorated about the house, those words were about you. Staring at you.

Foreclosed. Foreclosed. Foreclosed.

You decided to get a job as a shop girl in the town nearby. Dad and Albert had to work the fields constantly. Too much to mend and do for any other occupation. Mum ran the house with an iron fist. She’d say she’d have to stay at home. She’d say the place needed at least one woman. Not two, you noted-one. You were available. You could do it.

The day you announced you got the job, and that the paychecks would help go to rent, your mum wiped happy tears.  She kissed you.

“All of it’s going to the rent,” you promised her.

“No-keep a little!” she shook her dark head. Strands kept falling form her bun- she was an active woman, always thinking, always working. Even her own hair would not stay still.

“No- all! We all need it!” you refused.

It would be a sacrifice. But a sacrifice that would keep a roof over your heads. Hopefully.

“Whatever you pick- it’s your choice. I’m proud of you, my girl. All of us are…” she said before sweeping you into a hug.

After all, It was what you could do to bring money in. To keep that word from ringing in your head.

Foreclosed. Foreclosed. Foreclosed.

That was the word that motivated you to get up from bed in the morning. You shivered from the chill in your little room. Not that you were unused to getting up early. You lived with your family on a farm after all.

Besides, you loved the farm you lived on. It was a beautiful place. You and your family stayed in a stone house, two stories, thatched with a roof. The rolling green and brown hills could be seen from your bedroom window. You loved watching the sun rise and shine past your lacy white curtains. Stone gates trailed all over the place separating the gardens, shed, laundry area, crop fields, chicken coop, and backyard.

And there was no shame in being farmers, as dad would say. Farmers kept the country going and would for all eternity.

 As you looked up, the morning was shining pink. Peeking down, you could see Dad and Albert, going about distributing hay and making sure the animals were fed. Dad had some hay while Albert was filling his bucket with oats.

After washing yourself with a cloth and hot water, you dressed into socks, corset, shoes, petticoats, skirt, and blouse. You double checked to make sure there were no mud stains on your checked, white and blue blouse and blue skirt. You had to look presentable.

That morning, you sat at the table. Mum ate fast and ran off to begin a mountain of laundry. You were eating breakfast and drinking coffee from a beautiful porcelain cup with a painted flower on it.  Enjoying a moment of peace before your shift began.  There was the sonatas of birds and the rooster outside of a country morning. Accompanied by the clucking of chickens that wandered about the stone pathways on the grass. Albert walked in from outside, wiping off his hands on his pants.

“Y/N! Morning” he cheered. Already his cheeks were ruddy from the exercise and air.

“Albie! Good morning! How’s all the creatures?” you asked.

“All well-all well. Wish us luck- gonna start training Joey today! Gonna put the plow on him. If anyone can, it’s me!” he announced.

He sat down, slabbed a slice of bread with butter, and stuffed it in his face.

It was always dark inside the house. The stone blocked the sunlight except for the windows. Pots were on the ceiling over your head. Your embroidery was decorated over the walls. Over the crackling fireplace was a bookshelf with a book and a tiny clock. You kept peeking at it to make sure you weren’t going to be late for the nine am shift. fireplace. Little potted plants and flowers sat everywhere- inside the house on tables and counters and outside on windowsills. You and mum did you best to make sure the place was cozy. Pretty even. She taught you how to garden and put flowers into little clay pots. You both spent that early spring down on your skirts. Patting the dark dirt over the seeds and watering them.

Albert went to the corner of the kitchen section of the room. On the counter, right before the window overlooking the garden, was a bowl of fresh fruit. He grabbed an apple, shined it on his vest, and bit into it. Then he peeked outside and gasped.

“Y/N-come! Look at the garden! Your flowers!” he cried.

It was a lovely spring day. Looking about, you were glad to see the crocuses you had planted were in bloom. So much beauty even amidst the great stress. You kept only ten percent of the wages and decided to use it on crocus seeds to put in the flower section of the garden. Now it was speckled with the pretty flowers across the grass, nearby the carrots and tomatoes.  

Albert pointed to the window. You got up and your eyes followed his finger.

A little brown rabbit was in the flower garden. It went to one blossom and was chewing away.

“Hmm, should we stop him?” you teased.

Albert shook his brown head. Part of you predicted he would answer this- bless Albert! His soft heart for animals was his best quality!

“No! Don’t!” he cried.

“Well good thing I agree! He looks quite content- cute little fellow!” you commented.

Looking more carefully, it was quite small. Perhaps still a baby. Both you and Albert paused to admire the adorable intruder.

“What should we name should we give him?” you asked.

The rabbit finished the bloom of one crocus. It then hopped forward and began chewing on another. His miniscule mouth nibbling on the leaf of the stem.

“His name should be Peter- just like the old stories!” Albert decided.

“That’s a wonderful name! You always have the best names for the animals, Albie! But… if it’s a girl?” you pointed out.

“Then let’s call her after one of the sisters- let’s call her Mopsy!” Albert said.

“Good idea! That fits the theme!” you laughed in agreement.

Besides,  you were glad the rabbit ate the flowers. Glad it wasn’t one of the crops that would serve as both income and supper. Mum would have had a fit. Dad might have shot it for lunch.

But both of you smiled as you watched the creature breakfast along with the two of you. The little bunny finished his stolen meal and hopped off. It easily squeezed through the wooden gate and escaped.

“I should plant more- give it a whole salad bowl!” you suggested.

“I wouldn’t complain if you did- invite all the rabbit sisters and the mum too!” Albert added on.

It was a lovely day. The air was cool, the sun was out, the sky was blue, and the field was green. All this beauty even amidst such fear. Such stress. Some even whispered of a war. Didn’t the landlord say something about a war? No, that was too much. That must have been your imagination.

“Don’t be late- Y/N! Good luck! Maybe this might be the day you meet a handsome stranger at work!” Albert teased, he wiggled his eyebrows.

You rolled your eyes.

“Oh, the only strangers I meet nowadays are customers! And the men aren’t handsome-I’ll tell you that! And Albie-does he like carrots?”

He nodded, handing you a leftover carrot.

“One tip- offer it to him by turning backwards!” he added.

“Put it in my basket-I’ll see you later,” you said.  

After putting a carrot into your lunch basket, Albert returned to the table. He scooped up more of breakfast and ate a second helping. As you walked out to the stone pathway through the ground, there was a sudden honk from below.

The proud goose, more intent on making mischief than productivity, strutted your way. He blocked your path. He raised his head and flapped your wings as if he was the king of England. He ran- flipper before your feet.

“Oh, please! Let me through! Shoo!” you scolded.

He had to chase anyone and everyone on the farm. And that didn’t stop at the residents. Last week, he charged the landlord and his posse as they left. They fled to their motorcar like he was a giant bull and not a little goose. Both you and Albert tightened your lips at the sight and then laughed about it later.

You, however, were used to Goose’s antics. No other name fit him, according to Albert. He was what he was-Goose. You let him take his beak to nip a bit of your skirt and shake it with his flexible, goosey neck. Then you gave a light tug, and he relented and released. He then flapped his wings again around you. He began honking out again as if urging you to work.

“I have five minutes before I need to get walking! But I’m going to say goodbye to Joey first!” you replied to the gander.

As you made your path to the backyard you heard him honk behind you. Intent on nipping more of your petticoats per his own Goose ritual. But as you got closer, there was the sound of a whinny and the clutter of hooves in the back yard.  The goose gave a goodbye honk in surprise and eyeing the much bigger creature in the backyard, fled.

It was the newest addition. Joey. A beautiful young colt. On his way to growing into a magnificent stallion.  Joey was brown as a rich tree trunk with the white diamond on his snout. Every time you went out to see the young horse, he would neigh loudly and break into a run. It made you back off every time, your hands up as if to calm him. Throughout the day, you and your parents often had to jump back to avoid getting run over as Joey dashed through the yard. Albert insisted he was spirited, but good.

Joey was an Irish Hunter- not the usual breed for farms. Your dad noticed his strength and energy at an auction and bought it, claiming he would become a  plow horse. And how did he buy it? With Rent money. And Joey by now had become the apple of Albert’s eye. The house was at stake based on if Joey could be trained to plow. That is if your own shopgirl wages could not save the farm from foreclosure.

  Dad tried to put a plough over Joey and the horse bucked away. You cried when Dad got his gun to kill the beautiful animal. You, Mum, and Albert all yelled at him to keep him from shooting it that day. You tried to physically hold him back by hugging him, tugging the trigger out of target. Mum let out a scream when Albert got between. Thankfully, he gave in when Albert announced he would train the horse. He was the one Joey would listen to the most.

It cheered you to see Joey alive this morning. Galloping about freely. You knew how happy he made Albert. You wondered if such a wild, free creature would even shine to you. From your basket, you got out the carrot. You leaned your arm over the gate and clicked your tongue to get his attention.

“Here, Joey…how about a treat?” you offered.

Joey clopped forward.

“Here, Joey, come on! Come on, love!” you urged.

He went, but then backed off, shaking his head and long, black mane with a brush of his lips. You let out a sigh. Then you turned around, leaning your hand backward.

“Come on, Joey- you’re going to learn to plow today. You’ll need a little extra strength! I’m not dad-I’m your friend!” you urged.

If you made no sudden movements, it wouldn’t scare him to raise his front hooves and kick your head You heard his feet trotting close to you. Then you felt his wet mouth open and accept the carrot. As you turned around to see him eat it, you smiled.

“Oh-you took it for once!  Good boy! Good boy! And keep being a good boy today- I got to work today… and so do you. But between us, we can help keep the farm afloat- can we?” you wondered out loud.

The horse blinked in response. To think there was something in common you shared with the colt. You gently reached out a hand, and he let you pet his nuzzle.

“See-even letting me pet you for once! Every day you’re improving! You better do what Albert says-I’ll see you later, goodbye Joey!” you wished.

As you walked up the tiny slope to leave, you picked up your petticoat and tiptoed around the mud. You had to look as presentable as you could for a farm girl. Opening the wooden gate, you made your way to town.

You walked down into town, keeping to the sidewalks away from the motorcars. People busied about you, ready to begin their own jobs. You walked right to the shop. Even before opening there were already customers waiting to buy things just outside. Their noses touched the front windows. You went inside to the counter, tied an apron around your skirt, and switched the sign on the window to “OPEN.”

So began another day. Today, you made sure there were catalogues displaying a new selection of dresses for women. It was hard not to drool over them from the corner of your eye. Not to envy the daughters of lords of the land who had the surplus allowances to order them here. You sometimes saw them enter the shop with their maids by their sides.

How you wished you could be a lady! They couldn’t come from a farming family. And even more importantly, they didn’t work. You heard all about them. How you daydreamed about it night and day.

You could live in a giant manor house. You’d have a maid to do your hair and drape you in dresses and pretty jewels. So would mum! And how handsome both dad and Albert would look in tuxedoes at dinner! Mum would have to present you at court. You would come out and get to briefly meet the king and queen themselves! Then you’d go to fancy balls. There would be handsome suitors who would wait in lines outside your door to kiss your gloved hand with their unworthy lips. You would have no concerns except for which pair of gloves to wear. And which eligible bachelor to marry. Then he’d ask for your hand and there would be a giant wedding full of pomp and splendor. Then you’d move into another manor and eat breakfast in bed every day! You would relax and not have to do a minute of work!

Perhaps…you would meet someone if you moved out…or if by a miracle, you got a scholarship to a university or lived in another town, far from Devon…

You knew you did not have enough to move out on your own. Besides, even if you did- how could you? How could you abandon your family when they needed you? When they needed help? Especially since dad had a weakness for wasting money on booze until he drunkenly stumbled to bed in the wee morning hours. The landlord would sigh and remind all of you he ran a business, not a charity. Every time.

But sadly, you had to go back to reality.  You could only fantasize in catalogues and magazines showing off the latest overpriced fashions from London. You did grab an issue to look at during your minutes off. You went down for the post-lunch break. You began to sip on tea, look at the catalogue, and rest your weary feet from hours of standing.

But after you returned the shopkeeper, Mrs. Snow, went up to you in a hurry. And the shop was filled with eager people eyeing all the half-off sales.

“Oh, Miss Narracott! Look what I found!” she cried.

She brought forth a little black book.

“A gentleman was just here-I saw him with it! He placed it down on the table and left without it! He should be right outside- And it’s so busy now- could you please run off and get it to him?” she instructed.

“How will I know it’s him?” you asked.

“You’ll see him in a uniform- like a sore thumb! Please return it to him!” she pleaded.

“What kind of uniform?” you asked.

Immediately, a lady was at the counter with five spools of ribbons. She was frowning and tapping her gloved hand on the wooden surface.

“Just go! Go, girl!” Mrs. Snow urged. She pushed the book into your hands.

You nodded and hurried outside. But you looked around and noticed the people outside. Bowler hats and blouses blended in around you. None of the men seemed concerned about anything. They only got out the pocket watches from their waistcoats to check the time.  

What uniform- a university uniform? A police officer uniform? A chef’s uniform, even? You saw none of those as you looked about.

Curiosity hit you- what was in this book? Maybe he would return. And you could steal a little bit of time to rest your mind from work again.

The book was thin, so it couldn’t be a novel. Perhaps it was a short story? A photo album?

You opened it and saw a pencil drawing of a woman at a piano-it was a sketchbook. But her hair, her dress, and the doily over the instrument was perfection in its attention to detail.

They were some of the most realistic drawings you had ever seen. You flipped past one to find another more beautiful than the last. You saw one of a willow tree- it was as if the tree the were drawn merely shrunk in size. When you saw an old man’s face, each wrinkled line was as if he jumped into the drawing or was in frtont of you. They were nearly perfect. Why weren’t these already in a museum?  You flipped another page-the most impressive of all. It was the drawing of a large stallion,  colored to be a rich black. He was on his back hooves, raising his might front legs into the air.  He was like a mythological beast rather than some common horse. And at the bottom, was some writing.

“TOPTHORN- CPN J. N.”

You were so invested in admiring it, a baritone voice had to break you out.

“Excuse me miss-“

Jumping at the sound, your head went up.

You saw a gentleman. A tall gentleman. And yes- an astonishingly handsome gentleman. He took off his hat, perhaps to show respect in the presence of a lady. His eyes were absolutely piercing in their blueness, as if he could see right through you to your guts. But they were soft, like two sapphires on his lovely ivory face. He had a uniform on- a soldier’s uniform.

“Miss…what is your name?” he asked.

“Y/N Naracott. And you are?” you replied.

“Nicholls. Captain James Nicholls.” He answered.

“Is the sketchbook yours? Left in that shop?” you asked, holding up the book.

“Yes, it is,” he answered.

“I’m so sorry- I work for the shop and was intent on returning it. But I got curious and peeked inside,” you blurted.

With his gaze on you, you felt warm. Suddenly aware of every bit of your appearance and movements. It was everything in your to not go into a giddy panic and flee from bashfulness. You forced your feet still.

“Don’t be, you did nothing wrong…” he said.

Turning to the page with the black horse, you lightly traced it’s outline.

 “The drawings they’re…they’re beautiful! Was it a gift?” you questioned.

“It’s mine. My drawings…” he explained.

“Oh! I’m so sorry! I should have guessed!” you babbled out.

“No, don’t be at all!” he replied. He grinned at you.

Smoothing your skirt, tucking in the blouse, you felt the wind knock out of you at his smile.

“I just thought they were…they were beautiful! My favorite’s the horse here! Horses are so hard to draw- but the way you got his shape, his legs, his body-he’s so lifelike! I thought a real artist must have them- not a soldier!” you added on.

“That’s Topthorn. He’s my Major’s horse. An impressive beast- I had to capture him,” he explained.

He took a step closer. Goodness, the uniform really did make him even more attractive! It made you dizzy. Your mouth moved faster than your brain.

“You should meet my brother. He’d love the horse drawing. We have a new horse and he’s obsessed with-“

 The same lady walked out with a bag of her purchased ribbons from the corner of your eye. It shut you up. Captain Nicholl’s turned to glance at her, and then back at you.

“I don’t wish to keep you from working, Miss Narracott, here- I’ll walk you back,” he offered.

It was not a very long distance at all. But you were grateful. There were worse things than being accompanied by a pleasant, gallant, handsome young captain.

“Are you new in town?” you asked him at the door.

“Just stationed. Staying here for the moment.” he explained.

“Then, welcome to Devon! I hope you like it,’ you greeted.

He nodded his head. He opened the door for you to walk inside.

“I already do,” he replied.

There was a whistle. Captain Nicholls turned his head to the outside. There was another group of men in army uniform nearby. One tall gentleman with a mustache called out.

“Hey! Jim! Stop flirting with the girl and get back!”

You flinched and saw his cheeks turn a little pink. You dipped your head down. Would that phrase cause a scandal- even a small one? On one hand, flirting was completely discouraged between men and women. There was no flirting until you were engaged. Then one could be absolutely sure a gentleman had pure intentions. You could be sure a gentleman wasn’t a skirt chaser and seducer.

But on the other hand- you both weren’t a duke and debutante at a ball. Just two village people having a chat. And flirting…maybe…maybe he did already…notice you…liked you…

“Well, I’ll see you around, Captain,” you said.

“And I you, Miss Narracott. Thank you again for returning the book,” he replied.

He dipped his head, put his hat back on, and left.

“Bless you, girl! Took you ages to find him! But you did! Now- it’s time to get back!” Mrs. Snow urged from the shop counter.

The busy crowd kept you on your feet, but you felt ready. The hours flew until closing. You could deal with even the most demanding customers with a smile on your face. As you flipped the sign to close and returned home, you found yourself looking forward to tomorrow.  Besides, maybe the new captain might return for a visit.  

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[virtie333]

Hey!

So, I've gotten quite a few new followers thanks to the Palpatine Returns meme, and from the looks of it most of you share similar interests so welcome! If you are a Star Wars and/or Oscar Isaac fan, I think you'll enjoy my blog!

On that note, there are a few things you should know. Despite my use of the meme with the infamous line from The Rise of Skywalker, I am a lover of ALL things Star Wars. I adore the sequel trilogy and will not tolerate any bashing of it. Along that line, I ship Rey and Poe hard. Very hard. I am not necessarily anti-Reylo, but you will always find a Damerey endgame with me.

I am a devout Catholic who is not afraid to share my faith but will never attack anyone else for theirs. I would appreciate the same consideration.

I love horses even more than Star Wars, and animals in general are my life, so you'll find a lot of animal posts. I hike with my Bluetick Coonhound in the beautiful Black Hills of South Dakota, so you'll occasionally get pictures of that. You'll see Jackson (my coonhound), Chester (my Thoroughbred ex-racehorse), and my 3 cats often as well.

Last but not least, this is an 18+ blog. I write and share a lot of spicy fanfiction and art. I generally don't police it, because that is not my job, but I will tag appropiately. Mind the tags!

#intro #about me #damerey #star wars #oscar isaac #poe dameron #horses #animals #catholic stuff #fanfiction

[severussnapedamagedlove]

Beyond My Worth

Eomer x OC (she gender, no specifics)

----> pregnancy, family, oneshot, Eomer, king of Rohan, after war of the ring, fluff

“Eomer!” A voice screamed. Her scream split with lofty breaths. “Where is he? Why isn’t he here? He promised he would be here.”

Her hands fisted the sheets. A swelled belly laid at the base of her body, painfully pulling her apart with each wave, at the center of her sprawled legs. Sweat coated every inch of her flesh. Rugged tension moved through her body like the gallops of a horse, constant and steady.

The midwife looked down at her with matron irritation. “This is not the place for our men. It is one thing we, women, do alone.”

Alone had been her life. Alone was all she knew; she had no one else. No one else in the world except for Eomer, King of Rohan.

And she needed him there.

              “I want Eomer,” she panted.

              “You can do it, my queen.”

Her face twisted, heartbroken and in pain. “No. Not without him.”

She was a newly crowned queen. Her marriage was young, not yet reached a year. There were many things she was not yet accustomed: constant servants asking after her needs, living in a palace with daily expectations, and having Eomer leave her side.

They were headfirst in a love match that upset some believed matches for the eligible king of Rohan. King Eomer ascended the throne unexpectedly. His uncle and cousin were killed during the War of the Ring. Both were older men, prepared for a throne their whole lives. Eomer was never expected to find himself there. And thus, a proper royal match was not made important.

Eomer was stubborn. He did not care when his advisors told him to marry a better suited match. The moment they said abandon her, he found a ring and asked her to wed him as soon as possible.

Now, their first child was just as stubborn to be born weeks early, without its father present.

              “Man of Rohan, this one.” She groaned out after another long, hard contraction. “It is going to be a father’s son. I feel it in my heart.”

The labor was fierce and strong. It refused to calm.

Eomer and her discussed what the moment would be like when their child was born. He spoke at length of how he’d wrap them in his own royal blanket that he was placed in as a newborn and bless them as a child of Rohan. How longing his eyes would be as he lost himself in those moments, those future visions, the promise of what happy end might come to them after so much loss.

Her head lulled back. Tears welled in her eyes. “Please. Please. I need him. Eomer must be here.”

The midwife touched at her belly. The spread of long fingers across the stretched skin. “My dear lady. The king is not here.”

              “No,” she sobbed. Her heart fell. Most of her energy already spent, she could not focus on what to do. Pain rippled up through her body, taking her breath away, silenced her cries. “He has to be. He has to.”

*-*

The steady rainfall blinded riders to the distance. Their horses slipped in loosening earth. Sounds of what they pursued were lost to its applause. It bounced off their metal helmets and rolled into their eyes as they scanned the blur on the horizon.

A pack of wargs was seen heading across the Kingstead. They worried after the crops. Their country was still battling the War even if it has been won.

Rohan was not victorious until it survived a season without great loss.

Fear steamed up from the kingdom. Hope broken and splintered to the edges of the continent.

Firefoot shifted anxiously beneath King Eomer. He frowned. The night’s pursuit had only caught the path in which the wargs traveled, soon to be lost to the rising mud of the lands.

He exhaled deep. He missed Edoras. Meduseld. The woman he loved.

Thrust into a position above his station, Eomer had longed for days of open country with his Eored. The blowing winds of the Riddermark through his hair, the rhythm of his horse’s elopement, chasing the taste of sweet green, filled his mind through the long days in advisement with men older than the dirt they stood on, recounting the dire need of a king to restore their people to glory.

Now, those days were not what he longed for most.

It was time with his wife. The love of his life and the family they were to create was all he dreamed of. He thought endlessly of time outside the walls of Edoras, on open plains teaching his children to ride their own ponies and running free in the grasses of the Kingstead.

He liked the idea of sun across his homeland. Edoras drenched in morning light. Little innocent eyes that looked up to him and he, without fear, knowing they were home safe.

Little did his wife know how much he thought of her. How often he yearned to feel her hand in his, just to stay the fear in his heart that she might be gone. His mind pictured what a loving mother she would soon be. The sweet kindness in her smile with that slight dimple in her cheeks was enough to break open the locked away heart inside his chest, and with it, make him believe that love was possible.

Many years had passed since he’d known family. War had torn what little family he had apart at the limbs until they were all disjointed.

Eowyn’s marriage had her kept far away from him now. All the way to Gondor, many days journey just to gaze upon her sunny face. The only constant in his life.

              “My lord Eomer,” a voice called out in the blowing winds of the rainstorm. He turned his head. “Over here.”

Firefoot marched through the damp ground to the rider’s side. Down below them was a faint impression in grass, almost lost at the swell of water beneath the soil.

              “The trail,” he announced for the other riders. It took force to break the cover of rainfall. “Follow it. They can’t be far.”

They were a few miles passed the initial prints when a banner of green and red broke through the haze. It traveled fast to their party. Swords were drawn, despite the friendly colors shown.

Eomer held his steed steady.

              “My lord. My lord.” The rider urgently rode to him. His breath struggled in between his words. “You must return to Edoras at once.”

              “What’s happened?” He asked.

Thoughts to being misled away from his home city as a distraction for attack entered his mind.

The rider quickly dispelled those fears with much larger ones. “It is the queen. Her waters broke. The child is on its way.”

His throat clenched taut. It was early. Too early.

Eomer urged Firefoot with a strong kick. The urgency at which his horse moved convinced him that it understood more than just command. It ran its hardest across the lands. Even as the rising waters held the ground in slippery hands, Firefoot rode through without break of haste.

The ride was agony. It was not for rain nor chill, but terror.

Edoras’ outer gate was opened as to not break stride until the outer steps of the Golden Hall. He threw himself off the horse without care of its secure. His legs bounded to the entrance of his palace nearly on the edge of coming out from under him.

He entered the hall to the sound of screams. It echoed through the resounding emptiness of Meduseld.

              “Eomer!” She screamed.

It chilled his bones. The powerful clench of his heart tightened harder in his chest.

              “Where is my wife?” He demanded.

Gamling, whom he’d left in absence of his guard, jumped from his post. “My king.” He bowed.

Eomer yanked the helmet off his head and tossed it to the ground. “The queen.”

              “She’s gone to the chambers.” The man spoke in confusion and fear.

              “Take me to her,” Eomer commanded stronger still.

              “But the chambers. They’re for -.”

He did not hear it. His feet marched through the halls of his palace, followed the sound of his beloved’s horrifying screams. Over and over he heard his name parted from her lips. A nightmare he lived in real life.

A woman carrying a basket of linens exited a door. Her hurried steps caught his attention.

She noticed him and suddenly bowed. “My lord.”

              “I’m here to see the queen,” he said.

Her eyes went kind of wide with surprise.

It was custom that men not be welcomed in the birthing chambers. Women were in the realm of childbirth that no man knew to be part of. It was their comfort that stayed fixed between them.

His wife was different. She looked to him for her comfort. They, the only two left of their families.

              “King Eomer, she’s -.”

              “I know,” he said. “She wants me there.”

Again, her screams broke through the walls. The door almost rattled under the power of her voice.

This time, he did not wait. He entered the forbidden chambers with faltering courage.

She was on the edge of the bedside with a midwife perched between her spread legs. Her strength was gone. She bowed forward. Tears dripped from her eyes in silence.

              “Why isn’t he here?” Her voice now cried gently. Her body was but a quivering mess slumped over her large belly. “Eomer,” she whimpered.

The state of his wife was worse than he imagined. She was tired and broken and in pain. Her face was red from exertion. Dried rivers of tears stained her cheeks.

He marched forward with a heavy heart. “I am here, my love.”

The tears fell stronger now. Her eyes found his across the chambers.

The midwife turned a foul eye to him. “Men aren’t permitted here, my lord. It is women’s business.”

              “Oh hush you,” his wife gasped out.

A hollow calling spread through her face. It called out to him.

              “Here comes another one,” the midwife declared.

A wave of pain washed over the queen. Her body was thrown over itself, screams from her mouth shuddering the very skin off his bones, as she was forced to endure it.

He made quick work of his armor and chainmail and boots. They were tossed in the corner and he climbed into the bed behind her. She was so exhausted; she barely had the strength to return upright.

Eomer lined his body with hers. He placed her head against his shoulder, loaning his strength to hers.

Her eyes remained closed as her body fell into his embrace. His arms held her close.

              “Where have you been?” She whimpered. “I needed you.”

A tear dared prick his eye. “Forgive me, my love.”

He grasped her hand with his. There was slight motion through her fingers slowly curling in between his. What weak frailty he held against him. He pressed a hard kiss against her temple.

              “She has to use all her might, my lord. All her strength, but I fear she’s tired herself already.” The midwife held his wife’s knee firm to the bedframe. Small red smears stayed on her skin. “She must find it all now.”

Eomer kissed his wife again and then whispered in her ear. “Our babe is almost here.”

              “It is?” She asked. A hopeful upturn to her voice.

              “One last show of force, love.”

              “I have none left.”

That he knew. There was no strength for her to sit.

For all the terrors of battle and the horrors that laid in the wounds there, Eomer felt more fearful for what would become of his wife in that moment. Her body was spent. She had given her all, and still not won.

              “That is why I have come. You are to use mine. Hold me tight,” he told her.

              “Now, my lord,” the midwife said.

A ripple traveled up her spine. Her face winced. Pain escaped her lips in the wave.

              “Hold to me,” he muttered in her ear. “Use my strength, love. You are bearing our child to the world.”

Her hand clenched his with force. She released a strong cry. Her body held up by his, but still managed to move a child through.

              “Very good. The next push may be the one.”

The queen fell back to his hold. Her eyes lazily opened to the sight of his face so absorbed with her. She moved her face closer to his neck, pressing gentle into his cheek.

              “I have waited so long,” she murmured.

              “As have I.”

              “If it is a son, we should name him Eohric. For he is most like his father. Powerful and fierce.”

              “He has shown a good fight,” he agreed.

A small smile curled her lips.

              “Alright, now. My lady. Bear down with all you can give.”

Eomer braced himself, willing all the strength inside his body to go to hers, as he wanted nothing more than her to return to her normal self than the weakened body he held now. He had control of her chest, bringing her forward. He instructed her to breathe through the pain. It helped him with war injuries. Eased the pain, in the very least.

There was a sudden change within her as she pushed. A sound of relief gasped from her lips.

              “Here they come,” the midwife sounded happily. She moved away from his wife to hold up the waxen white infant before them.

His tear finally fell down his cheek as he pulled his wife higher. He held her shoulder against his to keep her tall. “See, love? You’ve done it. My good girl.” He kissed her once more. “You are a mother of Rohan. I am forever in your debt.”

Her mouth whimpered as the babe began to cry. It swollen little face was moist and angry at its displacement.

It was wrapped in a cloth blanket and handed over.

Eomer’s arms held it against his wife’s chest from behind, allowing her the moment’s rest.

              “Oh Eomer.” She cried happy tears. Her fingers ran against the lips of their newborn child. “It is your face I see in it. Those large eyes and strong brow. A child of Rohan indeed.”

Another wave went through his wife. She was given a loan of strength. Her arms found weight in them as she took hold of the swaddled infant herself.

He helped his wife move from the edge of the bed. Her body pulled gently to her pillows and given a comforting back support of more fluffed pillows.

A servant entered the room. She held a pitcher of water. They pressed it to the queen’s lips. A cloth was used to wipe the sweat from her brow.

Eomer was beholden to a woman whom he loved deeper still. For she’d just managed an impossible feat that struck fear through his person and yet she was absorbed with the face of their child she could not care after her own body.

They cleaned her up as best they could. Bloody water filled a bucket. So much blood it gave him pause.

              “What was it?” The servant asked the midwife. “Pray tell what has our queen given birth to?”

              “A shieldmaiden,” the midwife replied.

Eomer was struck with surprise. He blinked several times. A girl. A daughter…

              “There will be more, King Eomer. An heir you will have.”

He gave a look to the midwife who’s forearms were still covered in his wife’s blood.

              “Allow me a moment with my wife,” he said.

His words were heeded. The doors closed behind the two women, though the midwife’s dour frown spoke to her displeasure at his authority in the birthing chambers.

King Eomer looked on at the sight before him: his wife and child. Long had it been since the days were warm despite the piercing cold of the wind. Shadows passed over Meduseld with long stays. His city laid quiet as if still in mourn.

He forgot to remember all their struggles as he found place for himself in a life not imagined.

His wife’s longing eyes looked up at him. “Do not despair.”

              “Despair.” His brow raised. Long slow strides marched to his wife’s bedside.

Her stare caught against their daughter’s slender features, beauty beyond words, and precious love held in such a small body. “She did not know your preference. It is not said out of disappointment.” The smile returned to her face. A small cry came from within her arms. “Your heir is a shieldmaiden, my king. Come. Look to her now and give her blessing.”

Yes, it was true. In his heart he hoped for a daughter like his wife. It was she who freed him from the alone future he pictured for himself all those years ago at Pelennor Fields. For a daughter of untold strength was what he desired to help him forget woes of old.

The small infant swaddled in a royal stitched blanket with the colors of red, green and gold. Its white flesh stuck out against the fabric. A patch of golden hair atop its small head. Two eyes rested in peace. Pink lips the shape of a bow were together in peaceful slumber.

              “You are a father, Eomer.”

Her voice rang clear through his mind.

              “By your efforts, my love. You have once again given me something for which I cannot return.” Eomer pressed his lips to her warm cheeks. “I am blessed beyond my worth.”

And Rohan rejoiced in their king’s happiness. The merry songs of their celebrations filled Meduseld for a week. Lands spread forth from Edoras sent gifts of every caliber to the Golden Hall for the realm’s new princess who bore the name, Philippa. In her honor, there were feasts throughout the land.

Even King Aragorn hosted a lively night of celebration at the birth of his friend, King Eomer’s daughter.

Celebrations then commenced of the queen. Eomer boasted his wife with loud praise. There were seldom who knew a man so in love with his wife as King Eomer was with his. Even fewer questioned his love of his daughter. The little girl was lavished with her father’s attention, the unending adoration by her people, and the sight of two parents who loved one another like the world had only been made for them.

#pregnacy #family #one shot #Eomer #Rohan #King of Rohan #riddermark #war of the ring #lotr #Fluff #Romance #Horse #Meduseld #Kingstead #Eored #The hobbit #Eowyn #Eomer x OC #Fanfiction #theoden #fanfic #fic #aragorn #frodo and sam #Eowyn x faramir #quotes #Tolkien #Queen #Riders of Rohan

[professorbussywinkle]

Idk I'm certainly not a moral authority in any significantly meaningful way on anything in this life really, I'm just some person, so like I don't get how some people in fandom get to a point in their head where they believe they have the credentials to act as the moral arbiter for who gets shipped with who, or the type of content fics are allowed to contain

Like I just read what I enjoy to read, and write what I enjoy writing, and ship who I like to ship, there's honestly no use assigning arbitrary moral value to a creative work in order to enjoy it, you don't need to fulfill moral requirements in order to be allowed to enjoy things, you can just enjoy things

#fandom #the shipping wars #fanfiction #disc horse #discourse #writing #moral handwringing

[kazytka]

Longshot like any army man walked the thin line between being superstitious and coldly calculating. Yes he was the type to say he makes his own Luck, but he wasn't about to deny himself a small luck token tucked under his armour. just in case he was wrong. 

Many clones witnessed repeated feats of wonder and strength performed by their generals that could only be described as magic. lifting boulders as big as tanks , levitating and moving faster than the aye cud follow.  But NOBODY. and he couldn't stress this enough. NOBODY. 

Cud do what the 212 General Kenobi did. 

Which apparently was pulling out the most fantastical and gigantic things out of Kriffing air like it was nothing. 

After there disastrous Cras landing, the man walked into the nearest tree line and came back with three  ‘Shire Horses’ to help transport the wounded.

Case and point . Longshot was now perched atop of a hulking hairy beast of a mount , clearly suffering from the ‘I'm too big to give a Kriff’ syndrome. The furry behemoth that might as well be a slightly larger wookie on all fours dragged its legs in a steady, slow and down right bored pace. And yet it was still keeping up just fine with the marching group of soldiers, whilst dragging behind itself makeshift stretchers with a less fortunate brother that was rendered unconscious  during their crash landing. 

Longhsot eyed the beast wearily and casted a worried look to the shiny that was way too excited to be given the rains of this thing . The kid was not leading this thing, if anything he was walking alongside it petting the massive neck every now and then. 

Longshot sighed and tried adjusting his hurting ass and broken leg in to a more comfortable position. If something this big decided it didn't want to go somewhere or that it wanted to change course it wasn't like the kid could do anything even if he tried  actually leading it. 

‘You okay sir?’ asked the Shiny to his side with a concerned voice. This was his first mission and it started rough. 

‘Am fine… ‘ Longshot sighed’ But ill tell you this , as much as i love the vantage point...Clone plastoid asses were not made for horseback riding.’ 

As if it understood the best, threw its head back startling the clone and nayed. it had the audacity to look back at him and look annoyed.

‘Well apparently horsebacks weren't made for clone plastoid asses either, sir’ The shiny laughed as the horse gave an agreeable huff before  turning its head back to the road ahead. 

‘Apparently’ Longshot  snorted. ‘Hey kid, you got a name?’

‘Not at the moment.’

‘Anything in mind?’

‘Well...Shire sounds nice.’ He admitted sounding a bit whimsical as he patted the beast on the neck. 

#Clone Troopers #Clone Wars #longshot #212th battalion #clone boys #fanfiction #shire horse #starwars fanfic #my art #Unused bit from a story

[wolverina2002]

Run Wild

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Category: Gen

Fandoms: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Bad Batch (Cartoon)

Relationships: CT-9904 | Crosshair & CT-27-5555 | ARC-5555 | Fives, CT-27-5555 | ARC-5555 | Fives & CT-5385 | Tup, CT-6922 | Dogma & CT-27-5555 | ARC-5555 | Fives, CT-6922 | Dogma & CT-5385 | Tup, CT-9904 | Crosshair & CT-5385 | Tup, CT-9904 | Crosshair & CT-6922 | Dogma, Padmé Amidala/CT-7567 | Rex

Characters: CT-9904 | Crosshair, CT-5385 | Tup, CT-6922 | Dogma, CT-27-5555 | ARC-5555 | Fives, CT-5597 | Jesse, Clone Trooper Hardcase (Star Wars), CT-0292 | Vaughn, Ahsoka Tano, CT-7567 | Rex, Padmé Amidala, Clone Trooper Coric (Star Wars), CC-2224 | Cody, Clone Trooper Hunter (Star Wars)

Additional Tags:, Characters as Horses, Alternate Universe - Animals, Escape, Wilderness, Good Friend CT-5385 | Tup, Protective CT-27-5555 | ARC-5555 | Fives, Protective CT-9904 | Crosshair, CT-9904 | Crosshair Misses Clone Force 99 | Bad Batch, CT-9904 | Crosshair is Bad at Feelings, Blood and Injury, Animal Abuse, Injury Recovery, Major Character Injury, CT-7567 | Rex is a Good Bro, CC-2224 | Cody is a Good Bro

Language: English

Summary: Crosshair didn´t think he´d get out of this. He didn´t expect to end up on the periphery of a small group of others either. But he sticks close.

Images below the cut.

Crosshair

Fives

Tup

Dogma

Jesse

Hardcase

Vaughn

Rex

Padme

Coric

Cody

Hunter

Tech

Wrecker

Omega

Created with this generator

#fanfiction #star wars #ao3 #the bad batch #tbb crosshair #horses

[aurora-light-blog]

The tidbits of “the Far Outsider”

This story has several references included in it. I mentioned three off the bat. The prepose storyline concept and preposed new character of the Clone Wars were elements of my fanfic. The character of Nyx Okami was supposed to tag along with Ahsoka, who had just left the Jedi Order, though recent canon removed this idea and replaced it with two sisters. I’m actually okay with this change because why have a forced love interest.

I’m also fine with the Clone Wars series never tackling the Yuuzhan Vong storyline, since I figured they would butcher it. Mostly, it’s due to the cartoon format. No way the censors would allow for such violent content, so it would be watered down. Even my story with no graphic description was violent.

The violence came from two sources. The first was Darth Krayt’s backstory from Star Wars Legacy of being tortured by the Yuuzhan Vong. I kept one aspect of it, but nothing else. I didn’t like the idea of A’Sharad Hett turning to the Dark Side. Instead, I did have him experience a brush with it. I don’t like carbon copying another reference. With the help of new Outer Limits episode "Quality of Mercy, I morphed the Yuuzhan Vong experiment onto poor Xiaan Amersu. What would be worse than being tortured? Watching someone you love being tortured.

Being a fan of Dark Horse’s Star Wars Republic series, I have the side characters of Master Sian Jeisel and Master K’Kruhk. A lot of my background characters aren’t made up except for Captain Jace. The Yuuzhan Vong Riina’s name was stolen from the novel series Tahiri Veila’s split alter ego.

Now to the embarrassing part of the fanfic, it had been my fifth story posted online and the poor middle child of three long fanfics. Years later, I read through and found some paragraph missing. See, I cut and paste all my fanfics, and I must have accidentally missed a small part of it. I guess you live and learn ☹

Anyway, this story inspired a few later tales such as “Following Orders,” “Daughter of the Dewback,” “Exposed,” and “Tales of the Jedi Temple” that has a deleted chapter reincorporated into this tale.

The Far Outsider - Chapter 1 - DarthChocolate - Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types [Archive of Our Own]

#star wars legends #yuuzhan vong #a'sharad hett #xiaan amersu #star wars fanfiction #star wars the clone wars #dark horse comics

[adventures-in-mangaland]

I'm going with 10 All Time Classics from the Captain America (MCU) fandom. I mean, they're all classics to me, at least. In no particular order:

1. This, You Protect by owlet

First installment in the Infinite Coffee and Protection Detail series, which are all amazing. It's a “Bucky escaping Hydra and rebuilding his sense of self” fic, which he does while spying on Steve. With eventual Avengers Family and a lovely cast of OCs bonding with Bucky in the meantime. It has a very distinctive perspective and writing style; Bucky's in constant internal (and sometimes accidentally external) dialogue with himself, making it hilarious and tragic all at the same time. I love it. I've recently been getting into The Murderbot Diaries by Martha Wells and this Bucky has a similar sassy-but-vulnerable vibe? Read this if you like that, anyway.

2. The One Who Knows by Dira Sudis (dsudis)

This is a Political Animals AU, in that no-powers Steve is inserted into the Political Animals world and Bucky is TJ. Discusses being outed and depression but is ultimately hopeful. The author is one of my all time faves and has written lots of great stories for this and many other fandoms.

3. Blue Scales by chaya

Steve is a merman AU. He's still Captain America, though. It's crack with heart, I love it.

Best line: "May your scales and your love story be our weird secret forever.”

4. Our Lingering Frost by eyres

AU where Bucky is rescued from Hydra in the 50s (?) and so is around for Steve to be found.

5. Assets Out of Containment by follow_the_sun

It's a classic to *me*, OK? Bucky goes undercover at Jurassic World just as that movie's plot kicks off. They're Hydra dinosaurs! It's just great. Also has a podfic and crossovers with Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.

6. Not Easily Conquered (series) by dropdeaddream and WhatAreFears

Some of the greatest fanfiction I've ever read, the whole series is epic. Anyway, it's a "Steve doesn't go into the ice" AU with added queer angst when (never sent) love letters from Bucky resurface. I particularly like the second installment in the series The Thirteen Letters, which are just Bucky's letters and are insanely well-written.

7. to memory now I can't recall by Etharei

Time travel AU! Featuring post-CATWS Bucky accidentally switching places with CATFA era Bucky.

8. If Wishing Made It So by Leveragehunters (Monkeygreen)

Genie!Bucky AU! This author is great at writing AUs with fantasy/genre elements, it was hard to choose. They've also written an excellent werewolf!Steve AU and a horse!Steve AU that I really love.

9. Into That Good Night by Nonymos

An Interstellar AU! Very angsty and tragic but with an eventual happy ending.

10. Goodbye Piccadilly, Farewell Leicester Square by Speranza

Speranza must be one of the best writers in the fandom, so it was hard to pick just one of their fics. Other strong contenders were All the Angels and the Saints and The Fifties, so check those out too! But this one has a special place in my heart. Steve, Tony and Natasha accidentally time travel to WW2 London, leading to an accidental run-in with CATFA-era Bucky. The author does tragic and romantic time travel tropes so well, but with a happy ending.

I now realise that most of these are AUs, so here’s a bonus rec for a non-AU in-universe story that’s severely underrated and deserves more love:

+1

Heart, Have No Pity on this House of Bone by Sena

This story follows Bucky in-action in the Pacific Theatre. It’s very well written and, from what I can tell, well researched. Steve only appears in Bucky’s imagination and the story focuses on the horrors of war rather than romance, but it’s gripping! And it explores unrequited love, being closeted and period-typical homophobia, which I also enjoyed. I’m still holding out hope for a sequel.

#wow throwback #found this in my drafts #originally intended for international fanworks day #yikes #anyway #fic recs #fic rec friday #international fanworks day #captain america #fanfiction #mcu #stucky #nostalgia #kind of an old fandom for me now #but still #classic fics #fandom classics #stucky fic recs #stucky fic #my fic recs #my fic rec posts

[ebaylee422]

I Want Your Video

Steve x Fem!Reader

Author’s Note: Steve won the poll, when I first started really reading fanfiction on tumblr early 2020-2021 there was a fic with mutual masturbation with BestFriend!Steve Harrington and this plays into the very heavy. I’ve been wanting to fuck you forever part for inspo. Also just love Djo’s music so a lot of my WIPs have titles of his music. Requests are open if you want more sexy Steve, thank you for reading!

Summary: Family Video just became a little less family friendly with the new addition of the 18 and older erotic video room. You are more curious than your co-workers about what a dirty movie includes, the sexual tension between you and dreamboat Steve Harrington does nothing for your pent up frustrations. 

Characters: Steve Harrington, Robin Buckley, Family Video Worker!Reader, Dustin, Lucas, Mike, Max, El and Will love to pester Steve at his jobs, and gross mentions of Keith. 

Warning/Tags: SMUT (Minors DNI), Steve has a huge cock, dry humping, marking, fingering (f receiving), blow job, overstim, small nubbins of insecurities with reader and Steve, Steve and reader share playful banter, a ruined Armchair, dirty talk, pet names, riding (save a horse ride Steve Harrington), we all love boobies, creampie, cum play?  As always lmk if I forgot anything!

Word Count: 6.2k

"Well I knew they called it Family Video for a reason, I just never thought they'd take it so literally." You said as the three of you looked to the closed door with the new 18 plus warning sign, taking away your break room.

"Please stop mentioning it.” Robin pinches at the bridge of her nose

"What? At least people don't like, deal porn or try to find it at a public library." Steve adds setting the return tapes on the counter.

"Why would someone go to the library for PORN?" Robin boasts turning to her best friend,

"I don't know Buckley, people are stupid when horny." Steve admonishes

“Does that mean your always horny?” You tease, Steve opens his mouth to retaliated but Robin stops him. 

"No, now we just have Keith, who was already always in the back room. Potentially watching adult films on the clock and putting them back." Robin shakes in disgust.

"Like a trial run, he’ll be able to give great recommendations." You add nose scrunched with laughter bubbling in your chest.

"Ew gross." Robin said nauseated 

"Look he's creepy, but Keith is not that brave. Any one of us could walk back there." Steve says pointing to the ever closed office and backroom where Keith either naps or throws together a schedule. 

"Maybe he wants to be caught?" you nod, taking new tapes to stock in the romance section.

“Maybe he wants you to catch him?” Steve wiggles his eyebrows following you,

"Maybe you want me to smack you in the face-" You turn to find him closer than you anticipated only a few inches separating your body from his. 

"What? Don't be a prude now, you're the one who made the conversation interesting." Steve cut you off, chest puffed in challenge. His woodsy, ash, and vanilla smell intoxicating you as the spearmint on his breath floated you back to reality.

"That's because I'm interesting." You dare with a raised eyebrow, as his eyes flicker to your cherry lips.

"God please stop flirting in front of me or I'll get a cavity." Robin whines behind the counter. 

"We're not flirting-" You scold, "Okay-" Steve holds his hands up in defense at the same time. You huff and continue down the aisle to stock, red in the face with embarrassment. 

Towards the end of your shift the school rush dying down, you sit on the counter with Robin inventorying returns in the computer. Steve is holding the door open for a blonde girl popping her bubble gum with glossed lips. Giggling as Steve makes a fool of himself her chest rising with the laughter, over a Star Wars joke she didn’t understand. Explaining how she had been looking for the film in Alderaan places, and how he was always happy to help a pretty girl like her. 

You understood the joke, just because he didn’t know what Ewoks were didn’t mean he never paid attention when you talked about your favorite sci-fi series. 

“Stupid.” You mumbled under your breathe, rewinding tapes.

“Huh?” Robin asked, her doe eyes floating along the computers interface confused her mouth hung open. 

"Robs, have you ever watched an adult film?" You asked, aggravated and pent up.

"Yeah but there's not a lot in my area of attraction so I just stick to the magazines." Robin motioned toward herself, still clueless to your annoyance.

"Uh-huh, well I want to watch one." Finally being decisive on the embarrassing topic,

"Are we seriously still talking about this?" Steve chips in

"Did you seriously just strike out? You talked with her for like 30 seconds." You said infuriated, turning around to see him leaning over the counter with his stupid fluffy hair and tight polo. Sans a phone number written on his arms or a torn piece of notebook paper.

"Just remember Y/N that's all a man can give sometimes, porn isn't realistic." Robin added knocking her head into your leg in frustrated groan.

“How would you know that?” Steve scrutinized his best friend,

“Is it true?!” Robins eyes were blown wide in astonishment, they immediately started arguing with you the only barrier between them.

"Okay, I'm just gonna go back there and pick one." You slide from the counter, move Robin out of your way, they paused mid-argument to poke at you.

"Go for it, have fun." Robin called

"But not too much!" Steve yelped when she pinched him,

Opening the cliché room, of neon lights with each film had it’s own space on the shelves you began to read some of the titles. Private Teacher, Taboo, I Like to be Watched, Educating Nina, Talk Dirty to Me 1 and 2, 8 to 4, there's honestly too many. So let's just say that the first one, Private Teacher, sounds like it has some plot. You slip it into your vest, walking out of the room to find Steve surrounded by his children.

“Please Steve what’s back there?”

“We just want to take a quick peak!”

“For the millionth time, no. You’re barely 13!”

“We’re actually 14 and or older Steve.” Max says deadpan standing arms crossed next to a girl you think was named Jane or El you weren’t 100% sure. 

“Yeah kids leave the guy alone just because he would sneak you into the movie's at Scoops does not mean you get free rain of the porno’s.”

“Porno’s?!” Dustin yells as the rest of the kids shush him, looking around the other Family Video patrons.

“Yeah that’s enough Steve’s posse, your scaring away paying customers.” You shush them out the door, 

"Come on, I bet you have some criticism about at least one of these dirty movies." Robin asks Steve who is using every fiber in his being not to embarrass himself in front of you.

"Actually, I haven't watched any of them yet," Steve says while he re-faces the horror films the kids probably messed with earlier.

“Bullshit-” You butt in, Steve turns to defend himself but is saved by Robin’s blabbermouth. 

"I do but mostly for the... well you know, porno's aren't progressive in my territory yet." Robin held up the one, where the woman's boobs were almost completely out of her bra and there was a string of spit from her mouth to them.

"Well we could change this week's movie night at my place? This one seemed well loved. 3 rents already, and it’s only been a few weeks." I grabbed 'Private Teacher' walking over to Steve, the man had the woman bent over the desk, one of his hands pulling her hair so show her face for the camera. Her school girl costume left a tasteful amount of skin on show just for the cover. The tagline read ‘Sometimes A Little Private Instruction Is All You Need To Make The Grade’

He only glanced at the cover, "Yeah I'm good, I get my fill with my right hand and watching sappy some romance movies over and over again."

"Ewwww," Robin drones behind the counter. You laugh at his in response holding onto your sides while walking back over to her.

"Obviously, not in that order!" He follows, you pull out some rental money setting on the counter as Robin rang it up.

"Oh come on now, Stevie don't be the prude of the group. Robin will be there too and I know you don't have anything better to do. Since you're always at my house anyway." He scoffs hiding the tape under his elbow when another customer walks in.

"Yeah to get away from my asshole Dad, not to watch porn with you." 

"I think he would enjoy the fact you're actually finding a hobby," Robin says, putting the tape into a plastic bag, brushing some hair out of Steve's face. He sticks out his tongue mocking her. 

"Yes Robin, you're a truly hilarious comedian of the century. What do I have to do for you both to drop this? Especially as my best friend and basically my boss." You giggle at the obvious answer.

"Just come by tonight, Steve. I don’t wanna watch this alone. And like always bring your tissues for the movie," Robin almost falls over laughing, when you lean over the counter pressing a kiss to his heated cheek before waving goodbye. You spend the rest of your night picking up the apartment, filling the fridge with your friends favorite snacks, and vacuuming. You thought about lighting a candle, debating if that was too romantic to watch a Porno with your co-workers. Lighting it against those thoughts because it made the place smell nice. A knock at the door took you away from the sink of dishes from your breakfast.

“Come in! It’s open guys!” You yell turning off the faucet,

“What if I was a serial killer, Y/N? You’d let me wander about your living room?” Steve brushed his front past you setting a six-pack in the fridge.

“The only serial thing you are Steve is a serial pain in my butt.” You stick you tongue out, head lurching towards the direction of the living room only to find it empty.

“Ha-ha, ha.” Steve mocked, taking off his grey jacket to lay it across the counter before nose diving into the fridge again.

"How was your day? Where’s Buckley?" You pondered wiping your wet hands, the moving his jacket to a chair at the small four person dining table.

“Hanging out with a girl. And other than this chick at work begging me to watch porn with her, it was actually really busy." He threw a grape at where you were at the table, tossing a handful into his mouth with a crunch.

"I totally forgot about it until I was grabbing my wallet at the store, I was kinda embarrassed when I rediscovered it. The lady probably thought I was high as a kite!"

"Because you are," he drooled a little bit, speaking with a full mouth, raiding the fridge full of groceries.

"There's nothing wrong with blowing off some steam with a bit of erotica. Everyone does it," you turned tossing the soiled grape back at him, joining him in the kitchen again.

"Yeah that's gross, it's unspoken. Even creepy old men who can't get it up do it." He swallowed his mouth full then making an obscene gesture with his hand.

"Ew, gross Steve.” You say hands held up in disgust,

"See-"

"Well I'm not a creepy old man," You argued, taking the tape out of your bag. "Besides, it can't be that good or bad. Almost like a true neutral, just people going at it like animals." Walking into the living room, you closed the blinds and navy curtains before setting the tape into the already plugged in VCR.

"Okay hang on a minute, there's way better ways at blowing off steam." Steve interrupts, the fridge slams as his steps grow louder.

"Name a few for me, Lover Boy." You scoffed still bent at the waist, setting everything up at the entertainment center. Round shape of your ass in those acid wash jeans begging to be released. The sight made Steve’s own tighter around his crotch.

"I don't think you want to know mine," he says breathlessly, voice a bit deeper. You stood up and turned to where he stood, his back up against the archway that separated the two rooms. The tape started playing in the middle of the stars going at each other, extremely loud feminine moans rang from the Television. It broke you from the stare down, rushing to turn it down. He came up behind you on the rug, turning everything off altogether. After a pause of shock, you rolled over laughing against the entertainment center, covering your red face with your hands. Steve huffed sitting back on his calves, laughing at it as well. Eyes drifting to the swell of your chest as the laughing made it rise a fall. Dragging the hands down your face, leaning against the shelves. You clocked his stare immediately, his pupils are blown wide, lips slick as if he just wet them. Polo tight across his shoulders but untucked showing off a flash of his soft tummy. You swallowed hard catching your breath.

“Steve?” You reach out to him, his arms grip back at your elbows pulling you up on your knees towards his knees. “I wanna know, I want to know.” His nose pressed to your cheek, lip grazing over yours as he spoke. 

“I can show you.” His voice broke, husky and deep exhale along your skin. Your resolve faltered lips fitting like a puzzle against his. You pulled far enough away to split for air, only Steve followed pressing you closer together. Hand resting along your neck, holding you to him. 

"What's wrong?" You looked at him worried a line creasing your forehead he reached out to soothe.

"Nothing, you're just so...beautiful." He let his eyes wander, admiring that you’d even gave him the time of day.

“I want you. I want you to show me.”

“Okay.” Connecting again fireworks exploded behind your eyes. He pulled your top lip between his, you returned by licking the slope of his bottom lip from an open mouth kiss. Steve groaned, allowing you in. He tasted of the grapes from moments ago and spearmint of the gum he chewed to stop smoking, it was sickly sweet. My hand from his thigh came up to brush away the free fallen hair from getting in our way, the strands of hair were so soft, surprising, no matter how many times you’d wished to touch them. Pushing your chest against his, raising up on your knees deepening the kiss. He sunk down to a seated position, crossing his legs and leaning his head back to a lower level. It gave more access, he kept his hands in nice places like; nape of your neck, tangled hair, cheeks, small of the back and waist. You nipped his bottom lip, pulling gently then watched it fall back in place. He gripped one of your thighs, sending shocks of anticipation up your core. He kneaded, silently wanting for sometime. Everything was too good to break away and use words. You just obediently moved one leg at a time to sit on his lap. Using his shoulders to steady, lowering onto his lap. He whimpered in anticipation in you mouth, your heat grazed the zipper of his jeans. At the friction you gasped, lips swollen and lungs out of air, as you pressed foreheads together. Eyes opening to see him staring with hopefulness, eyes wide open. You teased lightly trailing lips over his. Waiting for a reaction, but he stayed firm. Hands on the ground by his sides holding you upright. Breathing as one for a moment before he spoke,

"I've thought about this moment for a very long time," He said only for the two of you, your fingers rubbed the five o’clock shadow of his jaw in your waiting hands "I want to, so terribly. I don't know where to go from here..." 

He smiled a dorky smile into your skin, keening at the contact of you against him.

"Then stop talking and kiss me again." He obeyed, trailing his lips down to your jaw, throat and to your collar, moving the fabric slightly he started softly sucking and rolling his tongue over the area. Your hands desperately clung to the back of his head, he moved closer to the pot of your collarbones and throat leaving wet kisses. He stopped his mouth looking up, with those caramel eyes so full of devotion. Mind going fuzzy, seeing the way he not only looked but saw into you. The way he always has. "Don’t stare at me like that,"

"Like what?" He let the collar of the shirt scrunch back in place the movement made you squeeze your thighs around his middle, eyes rolling back in his skull.

"Like you want to kiss me or something." His hands both came up to brush his thumbs along your ribs, fronts pressed against each other.

"I will never stop looking at you like that, no matter what happens.” He smiled, “I gave you my heart long ago." You kissed him more primal this time, needing to taste him and etch the feeling of him into your mind. He was moaning into the embrace, he still barely touched as you tugged at his shirt below, when he broke contact to pull it over his head you stopped the kiss to admire his chest.

"Steve..." You wheezed through bloated lips. "Touch me, it's okay. You can't hurt me" He kissed back hard, slipping his hands underneath your tight work shirt, his hands cold against the hot skin covering your spine. Breaking free from his lips pressing kisses on his face, down his throat cooing into him when he unclasped your bra with one hand in a single fluid motion. Running his hands over your bare back, unknowingly while you rotated your hips in small circles against his wanting more. Craving the contact and friction of him against you. He daintily ran his hands down your body hesitantly gripping the plush of your ass adding more pressure to the growing friction. His zipper felt so good against your own, letting go of your lips on his neck throwing your head back. As the feeling of his hard-on pressed up against your clit. Putting both hands on the floor behind you while he moved your hips against each other in sync, panting and grinding seeking release. Steve's abdomen flexed as he twitched under you, he was cumming loudly moaning your name from his pink lips. It sounded like a song when he said it, his release came fast, his chest heaving heavily as he pulled your body back against him. Hugging each other till lips grazed, as he came down from his high. You tried to suppress the giggle as his hands traced shapes along the small of your back.

"What are you so giddy about? You just made me cream my pants like a middle schooler." You shook your head tracing at the mark I left on his shoulder,

"Well since we're already past the point of no return. I didn't think you would be so loud." you pulled back lip bitten between teeth,

"Maybe if you weren't mauling me like a hungry lion, I could've stayed quiet." He tucks his head under your chin,

"I told you, I’m a lion girl not a ninja.” He laughed across your throat warming you as he kissed the flesh again. “Maybe I should pounce effectively, so I can really hear you scream my name." Steve stopped abruptly to meet your eyes, pupils blown wide, you felt immediately self-conscious blabbering out an apology before he could turn you down. "I’m so sorry, was that too much?"

"No...” He purred, this close you could tell the scent of him was distinctly cedar.  “I've actually never been more turned on." He pushed his lips to mine, rolling our tongues against each other, knowing exactly what you liked. He tightened his grip on on the fat of your hips and making you moan into him, pulling away his lips, forehead glistening, his eyes full of lust. He trailed his fingers up to help the offensive fabric of your shirt off, the bra slowly falling the rest of the way off your shoulders. His length twitched against the inside of your thigh again, he was entranced by the image. Still as a statue until guiding his lips down to the spot on you chest that made the world melt. He kissed everywhere, you kept each hand in his hair scratching at his scalp pleasantly. Leaning forward he placed your back against the carpet, hovering on top of but keeping himself slotted between your legs. Involuntarily moaning when he licked at erect nipple, he mirrored the same to the other one. His dick throbbed against the stain of cum, straining against the fabric. Kissing each while he unzipped the high waist of your jeans. You bucked your hips and helped him pull them down, he took them off your trapped ankles, restarting his descent to kiss down the length of your body again. Wet open mouth kisses making shooting sparks through your body at the intimate contact, grabbing his hand on the ground. 

“You are even more beautiful than my dreams ever allowed. Everything, you are everything.” His eyes silently asking for permission. As he slid a hand under the fabric of the green panties. You gasped loudly at the unbridled new contact of his palm, lowering to gather the dampness, trailing it up to your clit. He circled twice as his other fingers began to slowly plunge inside. You keened, calves dug into the bare flesh around his waist, “You're so wet for me,” sighing, hands finding purchase on his biceps, he hissed as his face fell into your neck.

“Uhh… Harder.” You held his arms with such intensity, leaving crescent marks into the skin digging hard into his muscle. Turning you chin down to find his lips to kiss, and silencing moans together his thumb began to swirl faster, his middle and ring finger able to go a little deeper with the changing hand position. Not being able to control the heat coursing through, you squeezed his hips harder. He whimpered, pressing himself up against your thigh rutting the fabric against himself for some contact. “Your fingers feel so good…” Moving lower, spreading wider to move your hips against his fingers, they worked expertly to consume all your senses. He pushed in a little further and harder, forcing you to look at what he was doing so wonderfully between your legs. Moaning obscene words, as your back arched further his fingers scissoring to stretch your walls. Clenching around his fingers that disappeared inside. “Holy shit- don’t stop.” Your hands fell to the floor grabbing the shag of the rug underneath, as muscles tensed unlike anything you’ve felt before. You came hard without warning, the orgasm spread through you, completely overwhelming, your legs shook out your high as he kept going, pressure building through your bladder before you felt a light gush.

"Fuck" He whispered in you ear, you could feel the shit eating grin off of his body language. 

"I haven’t done that before," you tell him.

"Yeah me either, ya know to a girl… I do that every time," he said into your neck, your cheeks instantly flushed. Laughing at his dorkiness, he moved your panties back in place. His fingers parted his lips, licking them clean of your arousal. You felt him throbbing against your thigh as you lightly pushed off the ground. Taking Steve's hand, you pushing him back to climb on the Lazy Boy you'd recently bought.

“What are you thinking, Sweets?” his voice was dark, he moved up the chair and sat. Spreading his legs for you, like the good boy he’d been.

“I just want to clean up my seat, Lover Boy.” You knelt down unbuckling his jeans, pulling them down and his ruined underwear. Letting him finally be free from the confines of the fabric, his cock flung back up pre leaving a pearlescent trail on the course hair of his happy trail. Steve was massive, how he’d fit into those jeans daily made your head spin. You would make him fit, even if his cock impaled your insides. 

“You don’t have to, no one’s been able to take all of me before.” He took your wanderlust as fear, and shit now you had to prove him wrong too. Your nails ran up his thighs as you collected some spit in the front of your mouth. Letting it drip onto the head, nails gripping his thigh to hold him in place you took the other hand and ran it across his length. Hitting the large vein along his shaft with your thumb, he pushed his head back against the plush chair. Fighting to buck up into you with everything in his body and mind not to blow his load again or buck up into you. He was breathing extremely heavily now, you gently kissed his red tip and watched as his fingers dug into the armrests. He held his breath a bit before you squeezed his thigh, then he exhaled. You then licked a long stripe down his shaft, you came back up to the tip flicking it with your tongue.

“Jesus, stop with the teasing Sweets,” You smiled like a siren, before holding him with a hand stroking up and down with your lips wrapped around the tip. He accidently to bucked his hips, you pressed his pelvis down taking in his full length.

“Holy shit!” Steve gasped. Hollowing your cheeks, you worked him to a pulp as your jaw went slack. His hands reached out to grab the hair that fell covering how you looked sucking him. Pulling it all to one hand, he didn’t need to guide your head, you were able to bob your head down him with a fair amount of ease with how wet you’d gotten his shaft. Tearing up and gaging if you went too slow, but it was well worth the noises coming from his beautiful lips. He watched in awe as you swallowed around him, eyes watery and spit slick chin, moving your second hand under his heavy sack you massaged them with each upstroke. HIs eye closed tightly as he twitched inside your mouth throwing his head back warning you. You took it all with a delightful swallow, helping him ride out the rest of his high with a hand. The only time he pulled his makeshift ponytail was when he could’ve cried from the stimulation. You relented with a pornographic pop, wiping your chin with the back of your hand and slowly stood going to straddle him, he playfully grabbed your body and pulled you to him on the lounge chair.

“That was way better than any other girl or me just watching porn.” you looked at him mouth agape, he was eye level with your bare chest.

“See, I knew you watched porn. A shit ton of it.” you slapped his chest.

“Yeah, but nothing compares to the real thing,” he began to kiss the marks he already started on your chest, in places only he’d only been allowed too. Your hands cupped his face for him to look at you. He smiled his beautiful heartfelt smile,

“Why didn’t we do this sooner?”

“I don’t know but Robin is the best wing women ever. She told me if I didn’t kiss you tonight I shouldn’t even bother showing my face at work tomorrow.”

“Wait, what is Robin doing?”

“She cancelled so we could in her words ‘either fuck away the tension out or kill each other’ .”

“Well she is definitely my favorite lesbian. That multi-lingual B is a genius. I would’ve let you do this even if you’d just. I don’t know asked me on a date.”

“Bullshit-, really?”

“Are you kidding?! You are so out of my league Steve, I’ve never been in your ballpark ever in my life.” He grimaces, thumb tracing idling along your hip bone.

“I’ve always thought you were the most beautiful, smart and caring girl. I’ve ever had the privilege of knowing, and I selfishly want you all to myself.” he whispers with affection you’d never heard from him before. Adam’s apple bobbing with his thick swallow of emotion.

“Then you have me.” he bit back a smile as his lip clashed with yours passionately kissing you, he faintly pulled your hair. You moaned at the action, spine tingling as you roamed your hands around his frame. Mapping out ever mole and divot along his heated skin. Trailing them back and forth on his chest like a sensual massage. He moved his hands to get a better angle on your hips, and began rowing them against himself. You both groaned at the friction, “Look who’s the tease now,” you pouted at him as a finger inched it way  to your clit tracing tight consistent circles. Your nails tear at his shoulders with pleasure, making him shudder under you. ‘God how many rounds could you go with him’ “Please… uh. Tell me you're ready.” you push your head into his neck, his fingers had already fine-tuned your pleasure. He stopped, fingers yanking your scalp to crash your lips to his. He still rowing you against his length, until his lungs screamed for air.

“I’m always ready, how do you feel about this?” he stops his motions, you felt unfulfilled when the movement ceased. You brain finally grasping some clarity, Steve would stop everything here if you wanted him too. Helping you re-dress and seeing himself out. Never telling a soul if you’d asked, he’d be celibate if you’d ask. Buying you the finest ring until your wedding night then ravishing you in your honeymoon bed. 

“This doesn’t change the way I feel about you. You’re perfect to me Steve.” he gave you a sinful smile, reaching his hand under your adjoined hips pushing you up onto your knees. While he finished working himself up, you waited as patiently as you could by marking his neck.

“God you're so wet for me, these panties are drenched after sucking me. We should’ve gotten rid of them, already.” His eyes were playful, and needy for more and all of you. He helped you stand, putting your hands on his shoulder to balance you as you took them off. Just the sight of you fully naked made his heart ache, he kissed your arm lips too far for his liking. Wanting even more contact, he grabbed your waist again leaning back into the chair. You kissed him lazy, you both were fucked out of your minds already. Now it was just comforting, you had all the time in the world. It was slow, sweet, his lips were so soft you still felt them all over your body. His hands roamed but craved to rest on your chest above your heart. You pressed your forehead against his, catching your breath. His hands on your hips, guided you gently down as you felt him at your entrance.

“Take your time, Sweets. I want us to enjoy this,” nipping at your forearm while sitting himself farther up the chair, feet still planted on the ground.

“You want me to top, you?”

“Is that a problem?”

“I haven’t done that… Before.” You told him shyly, 

“Well, well. Looks like we're about to enter a new realm of pleasure for you…” Licking his lips, “just take me in your hand and guide yourself down at your own speed, Sweetheart.” His comforting words sent a tingle down your spine, you put your hands on the soft skin where his pelvis lies. He just observes your movements gripping your hips like a steering wheel, mouth awestruck as you lower yourself down onto him. His hands dig into you, as you let him fill your insides. Immediately he’s touching things you’ve never felt, it’s painful in the most remarkable way.

“Shit, babe. Oh my god. Didn’t-Didn’t think you’d take all of me on the first go.” he shifts pulling your chest so he can latch on to his dark purple mark there. It causes a rush inside you even just the slight motion making you want to explode.

“Feels so full, god your fucking humongous Steve.” You whined, high pitched and needy. The ach of his cock started to morph from a burn to a stretch faster than you thought as your arousal dripped down your thighs. In brief circles you moved your hips against him, keeping him completely sheathed inside. Your eyes roll to the back of your head, he moves his hands to your thighs squeezing hard making you grind faster. He comes up for air from you chest and lets out a gracious moan,

“Stevie, pull the handle.” you whimper at him,

“What?” he mutters breathlessly.

“Holy shit, just…” you're on the brink of another powerful orgasm, pussy gripping him like a vice ”pull the handle back, trust me.” he lets go of one of your thighs frantically looking for the handle on the side of the recliner. He finally finds it and pulls hard, sending his lower body up into yours and your upper body over his. You both moan in ecstasy, his hand going back to your thigh. Sitting back up, you place one hand on his lower abdomen and the other on his hairy thigh behind you. He continues to groan affirmations and your name at the changed position, sending you over a small cliff. Only adding to the larger knot in your stomach, running up your body.  

“Keep going I want you to cum, cum around my fat cock.”

“Don’t stop, stay right there. I want it all.” You pant feeling him twitch inside you, moving your hips with his.

“God you're so wet, and you ride me so good Sweetheart.” he playfully smacks your ass, you change your position again to bring your lips to his. He moves your body up and down while kissing you, letting you dominate his mouth while he starts to push harder into you. Propelling himself up, while his hands push you down into him in an erratic give and take. This is what you’ve needed, this was perfect but not even the start for both of you. He continues to praise you through breaths of pleasure “I got you” , “I can make you feel so good, Sweetheart.”, he gets filthier and louder and you keep moving, riding each other to passionate oblivion. Your mind ventures to his lips all over you, yours on him, the coil in between you wraps him tightly inside you. Your body starts to shake from the high, you press your upper body against his chest the hair rubbing against your hardened nipples.

"Good girl, milk my cock. Feels so good, gunna cum. You gotta move Sweets."

“Want to feel you, feel you dripping out of me Steve.” He mewls, clinging to you.

“Shit. Beg me for it, tell me how bad you want me to cum inside you.”

“Oh Steve,” you open your eyes, pressing your forehead down to meet him, his open too. You clutch your walls around him harder as he tries to finish riding your orgasm, “Please.” You whimper. That’s all it takes he gasps and finally bursts in you. Lips soothing against yours for that other contact. You feel the hot liquid inside you, wringing him dry of everything that he could possibly have left.

Separating for air out of the kiss, feeling his hot breaths against your cheeks, he groans, swallowing hard at the sensitivity. You brush your hair off of your sweaty face, holding onto the back of his neck to see him better. His eyes gleamed with passion, you smiled back.

“My legs are jelly,” you laugh in his face,

“I’ll take that as an answer to my question then,” he smiles, lifting your hips up. He easily slips out of you, you groan in frustration at the emptiness between your legs. Hissing at the loss as well, his abs quiver against the softness of your soft tummy. He pushes the foot rest back, so he can sit upright in the chair. Capturing his lips in yours, leaning you back as he holds you manhandling your hips, rotating you forward to help you stand.

“I could kiss you forever.” He admits kissing your shoulders as you put your feet on the cold floor, pushing off of his knees. You wobble slightly, 

“See,” you turned to face him again, pulling him up to stand together face to face. He stumbled a bit too, “completely fucked out of my mind.” He wraps his arms around your waist swaying you slightly in an embrace.

“You did so good, Sweetheart. We should get cleaned up.”

“I did good, how did you not run out of cum? Three rounds your insatiable.”

"Told you, I don't joke about my porn." He winks, kissing the corner of your mouth as he picks up your discarded clothes on the floor of the living room. 

"No wonder you're idolized by 14 year old boys." You roll your eyes, picking up your panties. This time when you bend own he can see his spend dripping down your slit. He chuckles from behind you a free hand, coasting down your stomach to your heat. You gasp as his fingers collect his cum from your thighs, you spin in his hold to meet his eyes.

"Open." Steve commands, eyes clouding with lust as he watches you stick your tongue out for him. His fingers slide along your tongue covered in each other's spend. It's comforting, salty, and heady against your tongue. You moan around him, sucking the taste clean from his fingers. He fingers slip out tongue replacing them, as he tips your chin up to meet his lips deeper, tongue kneading yours as he memorizes you. Inside and out.

“You know,” You murmur into his mouth as his mouth strays from yours coasting to mouth down your jaw. “I have a camcorder somewhere in my closet.” He freezes lips parted and eyes wide.

“Yeah? You don’t want to finish the movie? I was just starting to enjoy it.” You pout your lips, while he picks up all of the clothes from various places you threw them.

“Yeah... We could or..?”

“Or?”

“If you wanted we could make are own video?” Steve doesn’t even dictate your question with a response only hoisting you over his shoulder and burying you in the mattress for the rest of the night. 

Masterlist

#steve harrington smut #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #family video #lesbians are the best wing women #robin buckley matchmaker #stranger things smut #stranger things season 4 #no minors allowed #reader insert #oneshot #stranger things

[myocsfanfictions]

THE WRATH OF FIRE

House of the Dragon Fanfiction

MASTERLIST

Princess Ysilla Targaryen is the only daughter of Prince Daemon Targaryen and Lady Rhea Royce. The affection that she felt for her mother was strong, while her father had never been there, acting as if Ysilla was not even his. But she was. The dragon egg that had been put in her cradle hatched. An outcast of a dragon was born. A dragon with no legs. An outcast of a dragon for and an outcast of a dragon rider. Ysilla’s hair was dark but streaked with white. She was a Targaryen, and her wrath was not different from the one that burned inside the members of the House of the Dragon.

CHAPTER 1

Runestone the seat of ancient House Royce and the Bronze Kings. Ysilla descended from two lines of kings; the Royces and the greatest of them all, the dragon lords, the Targaryens.

Runestone is the seat of ancient House Royce and the Bronze Kings. Ysilla descended from two lines of kings: the Royces and the greatest of them all, the dragon lords, the Targaryens.

Ysilla’s mother was the Lady of Runestone, and her father was Prince Daemon Targaryen, the brother of Viserys Targaryen, the King of the Seven Kingdoms. Her father was never in Runestone; Ysilla knew that he had matters to attend to in King's Landing.

"Mother," she said, running to her mother, who had just come back from her hunt.

"My sweet," her lady mother greeted her, getting down from her horse.

"My egg hatched, Mother!" Ysilla said happily, unable to stay still. A strand of her streaked black and white hair fell against her face.

Her mother seemed not to like those words as she moved so that her back was facing her daughter, tending to her horse. Ysilla was only five, but she could understand that her mother had no love for dragons. Or Targaryens.

"I have to write to Father," she insisted, hoping that her mother would turn to her. He'd want to know that my egg hatched."

"Stop wanting to please him, Ysilla." The girl lowered her eyes, fixing her gaze on her feet. "He adores King's Landing more than both of us." Ysilla felt her eyes stung with tears, and to keep herself from crying, she bit her lips hard.

"I thought that he was not coming back because of the war," Ysilla said with pain in her voice. It was because she remembered that her father was fighting on the Stepstones.

"Yes," her mother answered, "It's been three years now. But there was no war before."

That was true. Ysilla had seen her father very few times, and when her uncle, the King, invited her to King's Landing, she had little memory of him.

"It is because of my hair," Ysilla muttered. He does not love me because of my hair." She knew that she was different from other Targaryens, with their long silver hair. Ysilla did not have it. She was different, and she knew it was the reason why her father never went to Runestone for a visit. But she thought that her dragon could have changed it, that maybe her father would have loved her for that.

"Look at me," her mother said sternly, but Ysilla did not move, "Look at me, Ysilla." When her mother insisted, the girl did as she was told, hoping not to cry. "You are more than him. In your veins flows the blood of the First Men. Be proud of that as you are of your dragon."

"I am proud, Mother," Ysilla complained.

"Then stop seeking your father's approval," her mother said, standing strong. You don't need him; remember this."

Ysilla lowered her eyes again, "I will."

We remember those were House Royce's words. They were strong and full of will, as her mother was.

Ysilla didn't feel strong. She felt lonely and forgotten. Her name was Targaryen, and the blood of old Valyria flowed in her veins as much as the First Men's did. But nobody cared about her, not even her own Father.

The little lady went back to her chamber, holding her tears because she knew that she was not supposed to cry. Her mother didn't want her to shed tears for her Father. Ysilla closed the wooden door with carved runes in it, sliding down until she found herself sitting on the ground.

She wanted to be strong like her lady Mother. She wanted for her to be proud of her daughter, but she missed her Father. She wanted to talk to him. She wanted to hold him. And she knew that he wanted the same thing. He was only busy with the matters of King's Landing.

Suddenly, she heard a low noise and a little growl. Drying her tears, Ysilla walked towards the little cradle next to the fire. Her dragon was there. She thought the Maester was tending it.

"I don't think it is going to make it, my lady," Ysilla frowned when she heard the voice of the old man from behind the door. He was talking with her mother.

"And why's that?" Ysilla's mother said while the girl kept looking at the cradle. From where she was, she could only see the little black wings moving.

"The beast is deformed, my lady," Ysilla frowned, standing up from her position. What was the meaning of that? That was her dragon. After so long her dragon egg had finally hatched, it could not die.

She got closer, and there it was. He was as big as a cat, with dark scales and purple reflections, as purple as its eyes. It looked at her, his eyes fixed on her as if he was looking inside her soul. It was beautiful.

The little hatchling made a sound before trying to get closer. At that point, she noticed. It was struggling to do so because it was born without legs.

"We have to find a way to tell her it won't survive."

Ysilla's eyes remained fixed on the little dragon. No one believed he could survive because he was different, only because he was like her.

After a moment, the hatchlings found a way to get closer, moving more like a snake than a dragon, but he was fighting.

"You will survive," she promised, reaching out so that her fingers could brush his scales. "I'll make sure of that."

___________________________________________________________

Next 》

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#house of the dragon imagine #house of the dragon fanfiction #house of the dragon #asoiaf #fire and blood #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x oc #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen imagine #aegon targaryen x oc #aegon targaryen fanfiction #aegon targaryen imagine #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen #aemond targaryen #daemon targaryen #rhaenyra targaryen #alicent hightower #viserys targaryen #haelena targaryen

[smolvenger]

Miss Narracott and The Captain- Chapter Eight Finale (!)

Fandom: War Horse

Chapter Warnings: Mentions of sex, death, and violence but nothing brutal other than one brief mention that gets a bit vivid. But LOTS of fluff and emotions and crying and hugging. A Happy Ending.

Chapter Word Count: 3K

Series Summary: It is 1914. You are Y/N Narracott, the older sister of Albert Narracott. You must do what you can so your family can keep their farm. And so your brother can keep his beloved horse. Under financial struggles, you never expect romance to come into your life...until you have a chance encounter with James Nicholls- a Captain with a knack for drawing. But the threat of war lingers in the air...

Part One//Part Two//Part Three//Part Four//Part Five//Part Six//Part Seven

A03//My Ko-Fi//My Etsy Shop//Masterlist//Wattpad

A/N: Thank you guys so much for sticking with this story for a character who we saw only briefly but deserved much more <3!! I hope you enjoy the finale!!

Taglist: @evelyn-kingsley @jennyggggrrr @five-miles-over @fictive-sl0th @ladycamillewrites @villainousshakespeare @holdmytesseract

@eleniblue @twhxhck @lokisgoodgirl @lovelysizzlingbluebird @raqnarokr @holymultiplefandomsbatman @michelleleewise @wolfsmom1 @infinitystoner @12-pm-510 @meowmeow-motherfucker

November, 1918

It was another long day at the hospital. Not another overnight, but still long. You had an hour to go for your time, as you checked the clock. You headed over to make sure there was a glass of water on each bedside table.

It was simple training. It didn’t take long to get a First Aid and Home Nursing certification. They gave you a uniform of a white cap, a dark dress, and a white apron with a red cross stitched over the chest. Your first days as a VAD were full of fixing cups of tea and changing sheets.

But by now you had sewn flesh together. You had seen men die with their eyes open. You had seen infections that made you feel queasy to look at. Once, you were asked to hold down a man’s leg as it was amputated. You never forgot his screams. They rung in your nightmares for a week. Compared to that, sewing together flesh was easy. Many of the other volunteers were women from families who were not accustomed to hard work. They were in for a large shock and were forced to adaptation. Only a few came from labor or farms, as you did,and could tolerate work for long hours. But it was as if the sight of death had bonded and toughened you all.

With the young men in town away to fight, it was mostly women you ran into. They were glad and grateful friends. Your weekly knitting club for the troops led to much baked goods, playful gossip, released sobs, and vulnerable confessions. You valued the women you met and befriended in your circles, your fellow VAD’s, and neighbors and new in-laws.

But none of them could replace James, of course. James with his occasional visits when he was discharged- visits that ended too soon every time. James with his constant, beautiful letters filled with sketches. Just the last one read.

“My dear Mrs. Nicholls,

Joey is doing well. He’s as fit and stubborn and spirited as can be, no wonder he’s lasted so long. He’s racing alongside Topthorn-not that I’m too surprised about the speed of his gallop. Jaimie sends you his love and good wishes as well.

 I’ve been thinking of you in Somerset. Of the reward to come-to come back to my wife, to come back to you. I hope you recall the Teddy Bear I sent you for your birthday. Yes, it is a children’s toy, but when you miss me, you may embrace him as you would me and kiss him on his head as you would me.  It is a bit of love I send back to you to console you. At least until I can return to your arms and kisses for real.

Do not think of me as less of a man, but I confess, that is what moves me- a future of ours. A house of our own.  Children of our own playing around the living room and getting into trouble. We can play music on the phonograph all we want without the cacophony of guns around us. We will laugh and talk over any silly old thing over every meal. Then we’ll go to bed, and I’ll take you as I did in the grass and we’ll make love without any fear or shame, only how much we adore each other…”

But now it was not only James and Joey you had to worry about. That first year, Albert ran off to join the army. When you found out, you ran to your parents and sobbed as you hugged them. Only sometimes you got a letter from him and you would press your parents for updates.

It only pushed you to work harder as a VAD and take it seriously. Knowing these soldiers groaning in their beds were someone else’s James or Albie. That someone was going to lose their husband or brother or son. And if you hurried and focused on the tasks at hand, you could help save someone’s life. That was what was on your mind when one of the doctors walked into the room.

“Everyone, there is an announcement- all staff must hurry into the lobby,” he declared.

Finishing pouring the last glass of water, you set the pitcher on a table and hurried there. All of you gathered in your uniforms, heads turning with whispers of what it could be. The head of the hospital stood there in the center of the room with a newspaper, he took off his spectacles to face you all. There were tears in his brown eyes.

“Everyone…England is going to sign an armistice this month with Germany and the other countries on the eleventh of this month. It will be the last day of fighting. In short, the war is about to end.”

There was silence. You could hear a few gasps. Every bit of you was vibrating and the breath in your lungs stopped. Finally, there was a cheer and an applause that broke out. Your colleagues wrapped their arms around you and hugged you and you hugged back.

You couldn’t believe it. Had it all been so fast? Yet so slow? It’s over…it’s over…the war is finally over!

But, from that last letter…James sent it just last month. Things could have changed. He still could have been killed! Or Albert too! All you had to do was wait for a final letter or telegram. One last one and it would confirm if James and Albert survived. Or not. In your heart, the war was not yet done. Just a few more days of fear…then it would be settled.

November 11th arrived, and the bells of the church rang louder than any Christmas you had seen. People danced in the streets, threw confetti, and cheered. There was no telegram. But no letter either.  You shook every time the mail was delivered that month. But nothing crucial so far. 

You were enjoying one of your free days eating luncheon with Mr. and Mrs. Nicholls. There was a knock on the door that made you jump.

“This isn’t when the postman arrives- it’s two hours early. Are we expecting visitors?” asked Mr. Nicholls.

“No, Mrs. Hayter isn’t arriving until tomorrow…” Mrs. Nicholls answered.

“I’ll get it,” you offered, getting out of your chair.

As you took a few steps closer to the door, you heard a sound.

A whinny. A horse’s whinny. A very familiar horse’s whinny. A whinny you had not heard since…since…

Your steps to the door became a run. You threw it open and let out a scream at the sight.

It was James in his now dirtied green uniform. He was standing outside leading Joey by the leash and giving you a salute. Without another word, you ran towards him, almost tackling him into a hug.

“James…James…is it you? Please tell me if this is real! Please-please tell me it’s you!” you begged, your voice breaking into tears.

You felt a hand reach your back. You could smell him, feel him, and hear that voice you loved so much.

“Yes, my darling…it’s me…and I’m not leaving anywhere, I’m staying with you for a very long time…” he answered.

There were footsteps and a shout from his parents behind you. You grabbed his face and pulled him in for a kiss. He smelt of wind and the smoke of travel as well as the horse and could feel his hands wrap around your back. You hugged him again and began to sob into his uniform, not caring anymore if it stained. He wrapped his arms around you and hugged you back so tight. Then he let go and greeted his parents, taking off his cap. Mrs. Nicholls kissed her son’s face a dozen times. Mr. Nicholls was weeping so badly his back shook as he hugged his son, James let him cry and rocked him as he stood. Assuring him, “it’s alright, father-I’m here. I’m back…”

You then turned to Joey and hugged his muzzle. The younger colt in the Narracott farm would have run away the second his leash was freed. But Joey, now a beautiful stallion in his own right, stood still. He accepted you just as he did the last day you saw him.

“I missed you, old boy. I missed you so much! I’m glad you made it- I’m so glad! Albie’s missed you most of all-he’ll be beside himself!”  you whispered to the horse.

You kissed his long snout with its white diamond. He leaned back into you as if to hug you back.

To think, James was back home. Every single neighbor visited to see him all afternoon.  Already at dinner, he was here to eat and compliment the cook. He finished his plate, cupping his wine in his large hand with one palm.

 “Good God, I’ve missed all of you so much…the things I’ve seen…things I’ve heard…I don’t know if I can be in another war after this…” he said.

“This one is over…it’s all bad memories, James…you can rest now…” Mrs. Nicholls said.

“And how is the prettiest volunteer in England? I hope she can rest as well?” James asked, turning to you.

“I was thinking…I do like being a part of the VAD…if they still need help, I’ll volunteer…”

“Oh, of course you can, Mrs. Nicholls,” he replied with a smile.

“You can always tell us what you saw…what was it like-fighting?” your mother-in-law questioned.

James became still and his face was white.

“I saw everything ….my first battle, I saw a man blasted to pieces-his guts flying from the shot of a machine gun…”

He opened up as much as he could. The horrors and violence he had seen. The deaths too many to name. A friend one day was a corpse the next hour. All of you were silent as he recounted.

Both of you planned to return Joey to the Devon farm tomorrow. You both laid in bed after dinner. Too tired for anything more than simply holding each other. You put your fingers through his blonde-red hair. Traced each feature of his to memorize it.

“You didn’t fool around with some French girl, I hope!” you huffed.

His voice was earnest.

“I swear on my grandfather’s grave, there were no girls from any country anywhere near me all that time! Jaimie will tell you likewise…Y/N…may I confide something to you?” he asked.

“Yes…”

“I remembered the promise I made you when I left. When it started…”

“Yes, I recall, my dear…”

He turned over to you. Adjusting himself on the pillow so he lay right in front of you. You retreated your hands.

“I kept it. I talked to my superiors. Told them we needed to consider the German’s weaponry and plan accordingly. At first, they said no. I asked them again. They said no again. Then another major came in. He agreed. Then the more they talked to, the more it was agreed. Like common sense. They got permission. They sent spies. We fought with guns when we knew there’d be guns…no surprise attacks. Nothing without strict preparation and knowledge…”

“Did you ever charge your calvary?” you asked. You shifted to be in the blankets from the cold November night.

“Only a few times. But, Y/N, I remembered…I remembered you. And I did my best to survive without disobeying orders. Somehow…well, to be honest, I never went against major orders and even then, I don’t think I was ever caught to be killed as a traitor! But I survived. I thought of you…of how sad you were and how you told me you didn’t want to spend your life a widow. I wanted to keep my word…”

He swallowed. You saw one tear in the duct of his eye.

“You did, James, you did…”

He took both of your hands. He smiled down, seeing you both still wore your wedding bands. Then he placed a kiss on them.

“I wanted to thank you, Y/N…if it wasn’t for that…for you, your promise-if I never met you, never loved you, never married you…I don’t know if I’d be here…” he confided.

You gave him a kiss on the lips. It was probably your fiftieth of the day. But after four years of deprivation, you were glad to be caught up. You positioned him to rest against your chest, wrapping your arms around him.

“My parent’s will cry when they see you tomorrow…when they see Joey, too. We’ll have to ask them if they heard any word on Albie…I can only pray he’s alive now,” you said.

“He’s a natural soldier. There’s a chance he did…” James mused.

You stared up at the white ceiling. The house creaked with the nighttime settling over it.

“To think, James, we have one part of our lives ending. Now there’s a new one. No guns, no violence. A peacetime-just beginning….”

He got up from how you held him, then pulled the blankets over the both of you.

“As long as that peacetime is with you, then it will be worth it…” he said with a smile.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

April 1920. A year and almost a half later.

A new spring was born to match the new decade. Today, it was the perfect temperature of not too hot and not too cold. The tulips, daisies, and crocuses were in bloom everywhere. The field between Somerset and Devon was stunning. You noticed how it rolled on as James drove the motorcar down to visit your family. The brown rabbits hopped around the fields. The river, Innocent’s grove, was such a bright blue it seemed to sparkle in the sunlight. Soon it turned to the wide, sloping streets of your hometown. You waved hello to your old shop friends- Mary, Ida, and Alice all had found loves, marriages, or occupations of their own and were smiling. Of course, you made a quick stop to admire the painting of your husband in the town hall. On one corner, you could read its inscription.

’Joey’- Cpn. Nicholls, Fall, 1918.

All of you then finished the drive to the Narracott farm for a picnic.

Your family, along with a much alive Albert, welcomed you each. You, your husband, and baby sitting up in your arms. She thankfully didn’t make one cry the whole trip!

Dressed in her little white frock and little tufts of hair that looked just like yours, Little Rose Nicholls was the picture of infant health. Named after her grandmother, your mother.

There was never a happier night than when she arrived.  She was born in October of 1919. She arrived and cried her first cry when the clock struck eleven. James ran up to the room the second he was allowed, and her crying calmed down when he held the small baby in a white bundle. He teared up and kissed her forehead, never letting her go until she needed to be fed.

James told you he was glad he survived the war just for that day. He got to live to have her, to see her, to hold her in his arms, to love her.

The newly crowned Uncle Albert took her in his arms and blew a raspberry on her cheek. She turned with wide eyes.

“Can we introduce her to Joey?! I don’t think they’ve met yet!” he offered.

“Yes, of course we can!” you said.

Out all of you walked to the backyard. Harold still waddled about. The War To End All Wars came and went and Harold was still biting everyone’s legs. He did make a few threatening nips of his beak that made Rosie a little scared and she cried. But she stopped when they passed him, and you approached Joey’s field.

“Oof- she’s already getting’ heavy!” Albert commented. “She’s a big girl now!”

“Here, let me have her,” James offered.

Her father scooped her into his arms. Albert whistled like an owl as Joey trotted closer, swishing his long, black tail.

Would Joey make a sudden noise to frighten her? No. The creature seemed to know that she was young and had to approach her with gentleness. How incredible animals had a sense like that, Albert would say! Joey slowed his steps and moved his nuzzle close. Only his breath tickling her cheek.

“Here-this is a horse. His name is Joey, darling. What do you think?” James asked, holding her up and closer to the animal.

Her eyes went wide, and she made a small coo. Joey leaned forward. She reached out a grubby hand and touched his nose, petting him.

“There…there’s my girl, Rosie, you pet him like that,” James nudged.

She kept reaching for him, petting him again and again. Then Joey got out his large, pink tongue and licked her hand. Rose Nicholls smiled and began squealing in delight. Joey let her pet him with her grubby hands. And once she was done, he turned away. James carried her over to show her the farm and the animals.

“Here’s the garden mummy grew up in. She’d see rabbits eating her flowers, like the naughty rabbit eating the vegetable garden in your storybook! If you look, we might see one!”

You couldn’t help but smile. Your daughter was worth every sleepless night and disgusting diaper. James was always there by your side to help you. He knew your child needed her father as much as she needed her mother. In fact, he was already beginning to spoil her! A room in your new house dedicated to her nursery. It had the teddy bear in her cradle as well as any little cloth dolly and book and dress he would splurge on for her.

James decided to retire from being a soldier. The War to End All Wars had done too much for him to endure another. Sometimes he even awoke from a nightmare or jumped at a loud sound. He did find work as a schoolteacher. His gentle authority and calm voice of reason was one his students adored him for. And it meant you could still volunteer as a VAD on weekends. He would grade his papers next to Rosie’s cradle in the evening.

You turned around to see Albert smoothing the corners of the picnic blanket out on the grass. Your father brought over a picnic basket. He looked healthy and cheery-he told you he was going to quit drinking and was on his second month without a sip.

“Here! Foods ready! While it’s hot everyone!” Your mother announced, bringing out the savory pie, fresh from the oven.

All of you sat on the blanket. James handed you little Rosie as you sat down. You bounced her on your lap. James made you a plate and passed you yours. Savory pie, sliced bread, berries, cheese, and fresh produce and jam cake too.

Then your father lifted a glass of lemonade.

“Here-let’s have a toast, eh?”

 You all lifted a glass with your free hand.

“Here-to us. Our family!” he cried.

“To us!” all of you repeated.

James turned to you and clinked your glass again.

“And our little family as well,” he cheered.

“To the three of us,” you agreed.

You received him with a peck on the lips. Then all of you began to help yourselves. Rosie herself was beginning to enjoy the small bits of bread you gave her. She gave a laugh like music and you, and James beamed at her. You took a deep breath. Enjoying the spring weather and the picnic with both families. The one who raised you and the one you had. A family, a happy life full of peace with a living husband who loved you.  

#war horse #war horse fanfiction #war horse fanfic #tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston imagine #tom hiddleston fluff #tom hiddleston fanfiction #captain james nicholls #james nicholls #captain james nicholls x reader #captain james nicholls x fem! reader #captain james nicholls x you #captain james nicholls x y/n #carrie writes #tooth rotting fluff #fix it of sorts #captain james nicholls fanfiction #fix it fanfiction #meet cute #james nicholls x reader #james nicholls x fem! reader #james nicholls x y/n #angst with a happy ending #james nicholls x you #fluff #light slow burn #slow burn #fanfics #fics #capt. james nicholls

[arecaceae175]

Linked Universe Character Guide

I made this LU character guide for my friends and I thought it might be useful for any new LU fans out there! And also for anyone else who wants to info dump to friends about LU. So here you go :D

These characters are of course based on @linkeduniverse by Jojo! But, disclaimer, this does include some non-canon stuff (primarily the fandom nicknames and some War of Ages things) that’s common in fanfiction :). I made this for fun and for my friends so it includes my favorite tropes, canon and fanon.

Edit 4/4/23: Alt text and image descriptions added. Alt text only describes the official character art image (descriptions of all the images were too long for alt text and they were being cut off by my screen). Image text and other image descriptions are at the bottom of the post.

(key at the bottom)

Key:

Image text:

Hero of Time – Time – Old Man, Ancestor (by Twilight), Sprite (by Warriors)     |     Zelda: Lullaby

Games: Ocarina of Time, Majora’s Mask

Character Traits:

Oldest of the Links

Mental age unknown, physical age is probably 30s

Leader of the group, also group Dad

Very decisive and stoic when he’s being leader

Youthful sense of humor

Views the Master Sword as a curse/burden

Twilight’s mentor – Animated skeleton in the Twilight Princess game called Hero’s Shade

Loves his wife Malon so so so much

Important Game Facts and Items:

Majora’s Mask was a 3-day time loop basically, Time was the one to control the movement of time though

He has masks that give the wearer powers

His facial markings come from the Fierce Diety Mask, which gives him god-like fighting power, but he can’t always tell friend from foe

Had a fairy companion named Navi in Ocarina of Time

Image descriptions:

Image 1: Time is holding up Wild's version of Majora's Mask even with his face. His injured eye is open slightly and is completely white, and his facial markings are in focus. His text box says "Besides, with a legend like that, I'd be more afraid of what destroyed the demon."

Image 2: Time has his arm around Malon and is smiling happily. Malon is a middle aged white woman with long red hair. She is wearing a farming dress. She is smiling back at Time.

Image 3: Text above the image says "Post-Games, Pre-LU Time." It is a black and white sketch of Time when he was a young man. His hair is long and braided over his shoulder with fringe coming down around his face. He is wearing a simple undershirt.

Image 4: Time is smirking mischievously. He is seen shoulder-up.

Image 5: Time is smiling talking to Wind. Wind is putting his sword back in his sheath. Time's text box says "In every battle, you have a little more of the look of a hero." Wind is smiling sheepishly and his text box says "…"

Image 6: Time is scowling. He is holding his sword with both hands out to the side as if he was just attacking. There is smoke and debris in the background. End descriptions.

Hero of Twilight – Twilight – Twi, Pup (by Time), Rancher, Ordonian, Wolfie     |     Zelda: Dusk

Game: Twilight Princess                                                          

Character Traits:

Started his journey as an older teen/adult, now early 20s

Good sword skill & marksmanship, best on horseback, animal whisperer

Physically strongest Link

Grew up in a small town, Ordon Village, on a ranch

Brother bickering relationship with Warriors

Big Brother of the group

One of the most emotionally mature Links

He often comforts the others as Wolfie

Wild’s mentor (because Wolf Link can show up in Breath of the Wild)

Mentored by Time (Hero’s Shade) and Time’s blood descendant

Important Game Facts and Items:

One of the only ones to start his journey as an older teen/adult

Was cursed with Shadow Magic and can now turn into a wolf at will using the artifact he wears as a necklace (Shadow Crystal)

His horse Epona sometimes accompanies the group

Had a companion named Midna that he loved but can never see again

Image descriptions:

Image 1: Twilight is scowling and has his arms crossed.

Image 2: Twilight is in his wolf form. The wolf is large and primarily black, with grey fur on his chest, paws, and face. He has the same forehead markings as Hylian Twilight, but they are grey instead of black. Wolfie has his eyes closed but his head up and is laying on the ground. Wild is asleep on his back with one arm draped across him.

Image 3: Twilight as Wolfie at the end of his transformation. There are black cubes surrounding him, signaling the transformation. Wolfie has a metal shackle on his left front leg. His hackles raised and he is growling.

Image 4: Twilight has his shield at the ready. His brows are furrowed in concentration. Light is shining from the upper left corner and it makes his hair look more blonde than usual.

Image 5: Image from Wild's Sheikah Slate. Twilight is wearing his undertunic and none of his other usual clothes. He is smiling at the camera. In the background there is a lake with light shimmering on the water.

Image 6: Twilight is grinning widely. He is holding a staff diagonally in front of him. End descriptions.

Hero of Warriors – Warriors – Wars, Captain, Pretty Boy (by Legend)     |     Zelda: Artemis/Athena

Game: Hyrule Warriors

Character Traits:

War of Ages started when he was an older teen/adult, now mid 20s

Military man, but the good kind, Captain in the Hyrulean Army

Weird relationship with Time- Time is team dad, but during the War of Ages Warriors was his big brother figure

Wind’s mentor

Looks are important to him

Prefers to be in groups, good at communication

Best at strategizing and battle plans and such

Doesn’t trust easily because a lot of his soldiers betrayed him

Emotionally mature

Loves to bicker with Legend

Most likely to have actual field medic training

Important Game Facts and Items

War of Ages

Time and Wind were technically present

Image descriptions:

Image 1: Warriors is showing off the burn scar on his left arm. It covers his hand and forearm. He is sitting next to Wind and Warriors' scarf is over both their shoulders. Wind is holding a mug. He is leaning forward and looking at Warriors' scar in shock.

Image 2: Warriors during battle. The art shows lines from the swing of his sword, but the sword is not in the frame. He is mid-swing. His scarf is billowed out behind him.

Image 3: Warriors is smirking and shrugging. There is a text box, but it is cut off and unreadable.

Image 4: Warriors is speaking, but the text box is cut off and unreadable. The image is zoomed in on his upper body.

Image 5: Warriors during battle. He is crouched down and his shoulders are pointing towards the viewer but he is looking to the side. His sword and shield are both up. His sword is pointing in the same direction as he is looking.

Image 6: Warriors is holding out a cloth covered in black blood. He has a cut above his left eyebrow that is bleeding. There is a text box but it is cut off and the only visible word is "creature." End descriptions.

\Hero of the Four Sword – Four – Smithy, Little One (by Time)     |     Zelda: Dot

Games: Four Swords, Four Swords Adventures, Minish Cap

Character Traits:

Smallest but not the youngest, probably mid teen age now

Only one in the group with a functioning braincell

Very skilled blacksmith

Confident, quiet, calm

Often strategizes with Time and Warriors

Important Game Facts and Items

Friends with Minish, which are a race of small mouse-y creatures that can only be seen by children

Wields the Four Sword, which can split him into four versions of himself: Red, Green, Blue, Vio

Each color displays an aspect of Four’s personality

Keeps this a secret and in LU canon just recently revealed it to Wild. Time also knows

Never wielded the Master Sword, doesn’t have the Triforce of Courage

Image descriptions:

Image 1: Four is split into his four colors: Vio, Red, Green, and Blue. They are standing in a semi-circle and looking at something outside the image. Vio looks contemplative, Red looks upset, Green looks surprised, and Blue looks angry.

Image 2: Four is blacksmithing. He is sitting in front of the forge. He is holding a hammer in his left hand and tongs in his right hand. Both hands have thick leather gloves. In the tongs, he is holding up a horseshoe to inspect.

Image 3: Four is standing next to time with his arms crossed and brows furrowed. Wild's legs are in the frame, and he is on the ground in front of them recovering from an injury. Four's text box says "You think this is gonna (read: going to) be a pattern?"

Image 4: Four during battle. He is leaping backwards out of the way of an axe. He is holding his sword in his left hand and his shield in his right hand. His eyebrows are furrowed. His hair is flying forward as he jumps backward.

Image 5: Four is laughing as he stands next to the Master Sword. Sky is holding the Master Sword with the tip on the ground. The Master Sword is only a few inches shorter than Four. Wind's hand is above Four's head measuring the height difference. End descriptions.

Hero of the Winds – Wind – Sailor     |     Zelda: Tetra

Game: Wind Waker, Phantom Hourglass, Spirit Tracks (?)

Character Traits:

Youngest Link, started his journey at 12, now almost 14

Very fun personality and very expressive

Good at stealth and navigation

Is a pirate

Has a little sister named Aryll

The others look out for him since he’s the youngest, but he wants to be able to prove himself as a capable hero

Likes joking and pulling pranks

Important Game Facts and Items

He can control the wind with his Wind Waker, though this has never been used in LU canon

Started his journey because his sister was kidnapped

Was not originally gifted with the Hero’s Spirit of Courage, he assembled the Triforce during his journey

Killed Ganon at age 12 by stabbing him in the face

Image descriptions:

Image 1: Wind during battle. He is holding a huge two-handed sword and it mid-swing. His eyebrows are furrowed and his mouth is open like he's yelling.

Image 2: Wind is grinning widely and watching a fairy fly. He is holding a bottle in one hand and pulling the cork out of the bottle with his other hand.

Image 3: A full body image of Wind. He is standing like the standing man emoji meme. He is scowling and his frown is squiggly.

Image 4: Wind is gasping in surprise. His eyes are very wide.

Image 5: Ain image of Wind from the side. He is leaning back sightly. He is holding a shield. He looks very much like a child in the image.

Image 6: Wind is grinning widely. He is leaning toward the viewer and his eyes are focused on something off screen. He has one hand curled against his chest. End descriptions.

Hero of the Wild – Wild – Cub (by Twilight and Time), Cook, Champion     |     Zelda: Flora

Games: Breath of the Wild, Tears of the Kingdom

Character Traits:

117 (17 physically)

Survivalist, best archer, crazy good stamina

Only Link that is actually good at cooking

Very prone to injury, a bit reckless, breaks his weapons a lot

Has insecurities about being the only Link that ‘failed’ their mission (this is obviously not true)

Lost his memories when he died, still getting them back

Used to be a knight pre-Calamity Ganon

Mentored by Twilight

He and Hyrule often run off and get lost together

Important Game Facts and Items

Has the Shiekah Slate, the inventory works, bombs and stasis are the only runes still functional. Technically in LU canon he has an enchanted bag, but in fanfics his storage is usually the slate

Scars are from when he died during the Calamity. Shrine of Resurrection fully healed his body internally

Wolf Link (older version of Twilight) helped him on parts of his journey

Image desriptions:

Image 1: Wild is holding his bag tightly with one hand and a soup ladle in the other hand. There are lines on the art implying he was just swinging the ladle. He is scowling. The phrase "grrr" is above his head.

Image 2: Wild is frowning and is very anger. The lines on the image imply he just stood up very quickly. The scars on his face, ear, and neck are purposefully in focus.

Image 3: Wild during battle. He is leaping through the air and his hair is flying behind him. He is holding a sword in one hand and the Sheikah Slate out in front of him with his other hand.

Image 4: Wild is shrugging, grinning, and his eyes are very wide. His expression is very comical. His text box says "SO?"

Image 5: Wild is sitting in a chair in front of a Time and Malon's dining table. He has one hand gently braced on the table. He is smiling sheepishly at something off-screen.

Image 6: Wild is holding his bow with one hand. With the other hand he has three arrows at once nocked on the bow's string.

Image 7: Wild is shrugging and grinning widely at something off screen. There is a text box but it is cut off and unreadable. End descriptions.

The Hero of Legend – Legend – Veteran, Vet     |     Zelda: Fable

Games: A Link to the Past, Link’s Awakening, Oracle of Seasons, Oracle of Ages, A Link Between Worlds, Tri Force Heroes

Character Traits:

Older teen age

Most experienced Link, but chooses not to be a leader

Closest to Hyrule and Warriors, bickering relationship with Warriors

Very magically inclined

Mature for his age, very reliable

Very snarky, tries to act emotionally unaffected by his adventures

Truly loves adventuring and travelling

But likes to do things the right way and know where he’s going

Important Game Facts and Items:

One of his adventures may not have been real (Koholint), and he has a lot of issues surrounding that and the woman he fell in love with during it

Has so many items, has a tool for everything (bit of a hoarder)

Can turn into a pink rabbit sometimes

Ravio is his counterpart from Lorule, they live together

Image descriptions:

Image 1: Legend in his bunny form. It is a very cute pink rabbit and he is still wearing his red sleeveless tunic in bunny form.

Image 2: Legend is smirking and in the middle of telling a story. He has his hands out in front of them as if he is using them to portray his story. There is a text box and it has a lot of words but they are cut off and unreadable. His hair is primarily pink.

Image 3: Legend is smirking and elbowing Wind. Wind is mostly cut off of the frame.

Image 4: Legend is pointing at the viewer and yelling in surprise. His hair is mostly pink, but his roots are growing out blonde. His text box has extra pointed edges to show he is yelling but the words are cut off and unreadable.

Image 5: Legend has a confused look on his face. He is holding his shield but it is resting by his side. His text box is cut out of frame.

Image 6: Legend mid battle. The lines in the art imply he is running toward the viewer. His shield is hooked to his back and he is holding his sword with both hands. His sword has a blue hilt and a red blade.

Image 7: Legend has his chin pointed up and out and looks contemplative. The image has a regal vibe. His text box is cut out of frame. End descriptions.

Hero of Hyrule – Hyrule – Traveler, Rule, Roolie     |     Zelda: Aurora & Dawn

Game: The Legend of Zelda, Zelda II: Adventures of Link

Character Traits:

Mid-teen age

Soft-spoken, kind, just a humble traveler

Doesn’t think he’s as much of a hero or warrior as the others

Handles himself well in battle despite having no formal training

Never gives up

Very magically inclined, and has healing magic

Looks up to Legend since he is Legend’s successor

Loves exploring with Wild

Grew up in a cave

Important Game Facts and Items

Original two Zelda games

His world is kind of a wasteland

Monsters in his world want to use his blood to resurrect Ganon

Never used the Master Sword

Has the entire Triforce

Image descriptions:

Image 1: Hyrule is looking down on the viewer and his hands are glowing with his healing magic. His eyes are closed in concentration. In the bottom of the frame, there are bandages on Twilight's chest.

Image 2: Hyrule is grinning widely and has one arm locked with Wild's. Wild is cut out of the frame. Hyrule is pointing over his shoulder with his thumb. The text is cut off, but the readable part says "curiosity sure doesn't!"

Image 3: Hyrule is standing in the center of the frame. The lighting and his stance make him look very young. Both his arms are extended out of the frame, and on one side there is a sliver of his shield visible.

Image 4: Hyrule during battle. He is running at something out of frame and yelling. There are scratches and dirt smudges on his face. He is holding his sword with both hands and it is on fire.

Image 5: Hyrule shoulders and head are centered. The lines in the art imply he quickly turned his head. His text box says "?" and he looks confused.

Image 6: Hyrule is grinning mischievously. His shoulders are facing away but his head is turned towards the viewer. He is snapping his fingers, there is a "SNAP" written next to his fingers, and there is lightning coming from his fingers. He is holding his sword with his other hand and his shield is strapped to his back. End descriptions.

The Chosen Hero – Sky     |     Zelda: Sun

Game: Skyward Sword

Character Traits:

Started his journey in mid-teens, now early 20s

Best swordsman- don’t get on his bad side

Skyloftian Knight

Kind, joyful, bashful, emotionally mature

Loves cuddles, loves comforting the others and making them smile

Very low stamina, needs more resting time, loves sleep

Very very in love with his Zelda

Friends with the soul of the Master Sword (Fi) and view the Master Sword as a blessing

Important Game Facts and Items:

Chronologically the first hero

Grew up on a floating island called Skyloft

He and his Zelda are rebuilding the Surface, and their kingdom will one day become Hyrule

Never actually fought Ganon- fought Demise, who cursed the hero’s spirit to be tied to his own

Image descriptions:

Image 1: Sky during battle. Sky's back is to the viewer and he is looking over his shoulder. His text box says "?!" He is holding his sword with one hand and his shield with the other. His shield has a very ornate metal design. His sailcloth is flowing behind him like a cape. There is black debris in the background.

Image 2: Sky is smiling kindly. His textbox says "Well I think it's neat."

Image 3: Sky during battle. He is holding the Master Sword above his head in the position for the Skyward Strike from his game and the sword is glowing brightly. His brows are furrowed in anger. He is holding his shield in his other hand.

Image 4: Sky is smiling bashfully and blushing. He has his head resting on a hand and is looking towards the Sky. There are hearts surrounding his head.

Image 5: Image from Wild's Sheikah Slate. Sky is asleep against a tree and there are hands in the image stacking sticks on his head.

Image 6: Sky is smiling up at the sun. Sun says are shining down on him. His hair looks especially fluffy. End descriptions.

#ace's lu analysis #for any new LU fans!!! :D #linkeduniverse #linked universe #lu time #lu twilght #lu twilight #lu warriors #lu four #lu wind #lu wild #lu legend #lu hyrule #lu sky #linked universe time #linked universe twilight #linked universe warriors #linked universe four #linked universe wind #linked universe wild #linked universe legend #linked universe hyrule #linked universe sky #lu ref #the lu boyos

[yoshitsuno]

Mistletoe - Ariane x Sebastian

For the Day 16 of @hazyange1s, I wanted to illustrate a scene from my fanfiction 'The Secret Keepers'. It's the reconciliation scene between Sebastian and Ariane.

You'll notice that Sebastian has a scar over his right eye. He got it after a violent fight with Marvolo, Ominis' older brother.

Ariane had been kidnapped and taken to Gaunt Manor to satisfy Marvolo's desires. Naturally, like the wicked sorcerer that he is, he uses Imperio on Ariadne to easily dominate her. Sebastian got wind of what had happened and, despite being in a relationship with Nellie, he didn't hesitate for a second to risk his life to save Ariane. Well, I'd say it was his feelings for her that drove him to do what he did. During the fight, Marvolo could see that Sebastian was beginning to get the better of him and found Sebastian with an eye injury.

In the end, everything went according to plan: Sebastian managed to get Ariane out of the mansion. Of course, she blames herself.

Here's an audio of their reconciliation ♥️♥️ Music : The Reunion · John Williams (War Horse)

#hogwarts legacy fanart #hogwarts legacy #fanart #hogwarts legacy fanfic #hogwarts legacy mc #sebastian sallow #sebastian hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian x mc #sebastian sallow x reader #hogwarts legacy sebastian #sebastian sallow fanfiction #mistletoe

[campingwiththecharmings]

okay so, i'm hella behind on reading, and for some reason it's so fucking hard for me to find time/energy to read much these days, but i still want to highlight at least some of the fics i've been able to read so, i'll be doing fic recs quarterly this year instead of monthly. hope y'all enjoy 🪷💜

**please be sure to read any/all warnings attached to recommended fics prior to reading**

🔥 - explicit/mature content

PART ONE (bc tumblr is being a bitch and won't let me post all of them in one post)

Star Wars

Seeds of Love (Poe Dameron x Reader) - @moonlight-prose

🔥Best Ride in the Galaxy (Poe Dameron x F!Reader) - @lotusbxtch

size doesn't matter (Poe Dameron x Reader) - @hoedamn-eron

🔥Come Back to Me (Poe Dameron x F!Reader) - @reallyrallyauthor

Ex Machina

🔥In Plain Sight (Nathan Bateman x F!Reader) - @spacecowboyhotch

Assembly Required (Nathan Bateman x Reader) - @reallyrallyauthor

Skittish (Nathan Bateman x Reader) - @spacecowboyhotch

🔥Again (Nathan Bateman x F!Reader) - @spacecowboyhotch

Triple Frontier

🔥Room's on Fire (Dark!TF Boys x F!Reader) - @romana-after-dark

I'll be the silence ringing through and through and through (Santiago Garcia x F!Reader) - @eyelessfaces

Personal Issue (Santiago Garcia x F!Reader) - @spacecowboyhotch

🔥The Worst (Tom "Redfly" Davis x Dark!Reader) - @toxicanonymity

The Dead Horse (Santiago Garcia x Black!F!Reader) - @spacecowboyhotch

🔥Tag-Teaming (Santiago Garcia x F!Reader x Frankie Morales) - @fettuccin-e

Spiderman: Across the Spiderverse

🔥The Sweetest Fruit in the Garden (Miguel O'Hara x Older!F!Reader) - @missdictatorme

🔥Through the Window (Miguel O'Hara x F!Reader) - @spacecowboyhotch

Sucker Punch

🔥Good Boy Blue (Club!Blue Jones x F!Reader) - @reallyrallyauthor

🔥Just Be Good (Orderly!Blue Jones x F!Reader) - @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction

🔥Private Dances (Club!Blue Jones x F!Reader) - @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction

Inside Llewyn Davis

again (llewyn davis x reader) - @eyelessfaces

don't let go (llewyn davis x reader) - @runa-falls

keys (llewyn davis x reader) - @eyelessfaces

Misc

🔥my ex's tapes (Ex!Basil Stit x F!Reader x FWB!Jake Lockley) - @runa-falls

🔥Sweet Like (Modern!Leto Atreides x F!Reader) - @reallyrallyauthor

Thank you to all the wonderful writers for sharing their stories with us 🥰❤️

*For more recs, please feel free to check out my fic rec tag.

**If you’d like to have your fic removed, please just let me know.

[FIC RECS PART TWO]

#poe dameron x reader #nathan bateman x reader #santiago garcia x reader #frankie morales x reader #will miller x reader #benny miller x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #blue jones x reader #llewyn davis x reader #basil stitt x reader #leto atreides x reader #fic rec

[thatflatenedfrogontheroad]

I made a tier list...

please make your own!! I need to see boomer nations opinions on our man!!!! I know the tiers are actually so vile so change them if you desire :)))

OK so my quick blurb on why they are their!! (working worst to best)

28. Identity Crisis #5 - HE WOULD KILL ME FOR THE FUN OF IT. It did bring about the most random rivalry between Tim drake’s fandom and boomer's which is very funny

27. Black Lantern - Oh no… he's back… like a boomerang. Ate his own son... RIP…. L skill issue

26. Sliver Age - Would actually call me a slur and say that I don't deserve rights. He would hate crime me and then solicit me for sex. He looks like he's wearing a dress… what a pretty lady.

25. Flash TV Show - EWWWWWWWW, he though he ate...

24. DC Online - He looks like he would punch me in face at a NYC bus stop

23. White Lantern - Don't look at me like that… stop. He's back from the dead like a boomerang?? Something about most of the New 52 boomerangs don't hit the same. the bride all in white :’)

22. Young Justice - Gave me the ick. You might be thinking... he looks identical to SS hell to pay, why is he down here?? Great question… HE WAS SO CREEPY TO ONE OF THE GIRLS IN YOUNG JUSTICE….. WHO IS A MINOR!

21. Injustice Movie - Just because your in the background… doesn't save you from this list!!!

20. New 52 - Ok he's kinda hot if you look through your peripherals…Why are you wearing skinny jeans… you millennial

19. Harley Quinn TV Show - He's fine… just fine. “We’ll stack out bingo… Boomer loves an older woman” NO HE MUST LOVE ME! I AM VERY VERY MATURE FOR MY AGE

18. Flash: Sins of the Father - Can you please stop talking in the 3rd person… you are starting to sound crazy.

17. Most Wanted - I know jack shit about him. That's probably because he is barely in a comic issues THATS NAMED AFTER HIM!

16. Flash Point Paradox - His fight scene actually ate. I'm a sucker for Boomer being with the Rogues. If cyborg can take his belt off… so can I

15. Suicide Squad 2021 - Wow they somehow gave him even less lines than his first movie. 1. He doesnt look like boomer. 2. His accent is so bad… and hes AUSTRALIAN 3. His acting low key kinda mid 4. They killed off two of the only OG suicide squad members they had on the cast 5. He dies in the first 20min and in the most disrespectful way

14. Suicide Squad 2016 - The only good thing to come from this man is the fanfiction he brought. THIS FUCKING MOVIE MADE HIM A CANON BRONY WHICH I CAN NOT FORGIVE. GET THIS OUT OF MY SMUT BEFORE FREAK THE FUCK OUT >:( Fuck him and pinky too, you son of a bitch!!!! (its not that serious lol... i just want him to stop fucking a toy horse... please guys)

13. This Goober Alien Guy - I know nothing. He just kinda showed up… and I'm not mad just a little confused. He looks like he needs a hot chocolate and a hug :)))) 

12. Lego Batman Movie - Low key an icon. What I would do to get my hands on one of these sets… I would come close to killing someone for it

11. DC Lego Super Villains - If he wasn't Lego I would propose (Shane Dawson style) Once again what I would do for the very discontinued Lego set tie in…

10. Batman: Brave and The Bold - Those cheekbones could cut someone. Why are you wear a mini skirt… take it off ;)

9. Suicide Squad (comic) - Yes I know he was drinking and driving but he's not real so it doesn't count!!! The beginning of the Boomer Mobile! THE GAP TOOTH DUDE!

8. Justice League Unlimited S1 - AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA! Ok the hairline is… bad…. But so is mine twin!! I LOVE THAT THEY GAVE HIM PROPER CLOTHES AND NOT RAGS DUDE

7. Agent of Oz - is this picture is my school profile pic...yes… and??HE'S COVERED IN BLOOD AND IM GIGGLING!!!!!!!!!!!

6. Stjepan Sejic's Boomer - Choke hold and choke me...  I want to hear his voice but he can't break his mewing streak…The ungodly things I would let him do to me

5. Dark: Apocalypse War - Constantine! Boomer! GIRLS! GIRLS!! ILL SLEEP WITH BOTH OF YOU!!! I was not expecting him in this movie so I started to freak out when he showed up DUDE. PLEASE LET ME SIT ON IT

4. Suicide Squad: Hell to Pay - I'm a ride he wouldn't survive… I DONT HAVE WORDS TO DECRIBE HOW I FEEL DUDE… I WOULD DO ANYTHING HE ASKED FOR NO JOKE. Dead on the floor

3. Justice League Unlimited S2 - The glow up in REAL... had me on my hands and knees as a 3rd grader… and still on my knees today. I have never wanted someone to fuck me in the back alleyway of a shit bar so bad in my life

2. Batman: Assault on Arkham - The one that started it all… he is the reason I am this way. no lube, no protection, all night, all day, from the kitchen floor to the toilet seat, from the dining table to the bedroom BUT GREG ELLIS IS PUBLIC ENIME NUMDER ONE. YOU KNOW WHAT YOU DID!!!!

AND THE BEST ONE!!!!!!!! WE ALL SAW IT COMING

1. Suicide Squad: Kill the Justice League - I AM GNAWING ON THE IRON BARS OF MY ENCLOSURE!!!!!! He has it all, the face, the VOICE, the look, the character!!!!! It is hands down the most consistently good representation of captain boomerang out their… and its canon that's he has a big dick :D I would sell my first born to get one night…

Thank you all for reading this word vom, I am sick in the head <3

if any of the comic issues are off or something please let me know :)

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE make your our and tag me!! i need to see them <3<3<3

#captain boomerang #dc villains #digger harkness #george digger harkness #rouges #kill the justice league #captain boomerang x reader

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Now I’m Covered In You [Chapter 1: Afternoon Light]

Series summary: Aemond is a prince of England. You are married to his brother. The Wars of the Roses are about to begin, and you have failed to fulfill your one crucial responsibility: to give the Greens a line of legitimate heirs. Will you survive the demands of your family back in Navarre, the schemes of the Duke of Hightower, the scandals of your dissolute husband, the growing animosity of Daemon Targaryen…and your own realization of a forbidden love?

Series title is a lyric from: Ivy by Taylor Swift.

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+), dubious consent, miscarriage, pregnancy, childbirth, violence, warfare, murder, alcoholism, sexism, infidelity, illness, death, only vaguely historically accurate, lots of horses!

Word count: 3.9k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

A/N: Not me pulling a Tom Brady by announcing my retirement only to immediately un-announce it. 😂😂 I regret to inform you that I am apparently incapable of not writing fanfiction. I had no ideas for a grand total of 1 week before this story showed up and possessed me entirely against my will...and then I fell in love with it. I’m still working on my book, but I had to get this out of my system too. I hope you enjoy it. 💜 I’ll tag some of my past readers, but I WILL NOT TAG YOU AGAIN unless you ask me to! 🥰

@elsolario @ladylannisterxo @doingfondue @tclegane @quartzs-posts @liathelioness @aemcndtargaryen @thelittleswanao3 @burningcoffeetimetravel @poohxlove @borikenlove @myspotofcraziness @travelingmypassion @graykageyama @skythighs @lauraneedstochill @darlingimafangirl @charenlie @thewew @eddies-bat-tattoos @minttea07 @joliettes @trifoliumviridi @flowerpotmage​ @thewitch-lives​ @tempt-ress​ @padfooteyes​ @teenagecriminalmastermind​ @chelsey01​ @anditsmywholeheart​ @heliosscribbles​ @killerqueen-ofwillowgreen​ @narwhal-swimmingintheocean​ @tillyt04​ @cicaspair418​ @fan-goddess

He’s thrusting into you, but you’re miles away: a speck of an island in the Mediterranean Sea, the glimmer of an unnamed star.

His rhythm is clumsy but never rough. He smells like wine and sandalwood, lavender and bleak perspiration. You moan when he expects you to. Your body moves with his, compliant, complicit. You roll your hips and tug at his white-blond hair, corollaries of ecstasy you wish you felt. You’ve learned to feign pleasure convincingly. Aegon will stop if he thinks you’re not enjoying yourself, and you need this to be over. What do you want me to do to you? he’ll ask, cerulean eyes drunk and muddy, words slurred, body repositioning. Do you like it this way? How about this? You can’t bear his curious consideration, his invasive hands. You don’t really like it any way. You’ve grown to accept that. You’ve had time to get used to the idea.

The air is sharp with the mineral ether of sex. Spots on the sheet beneath you are wet, clinging, cold. When Aegon kisses you—sloppily, carelessly—your lips and tongue follow his, willing him to finish, your eyes squeezed shut as he gropes your face with ungainly fingers. And at last, it’s done: he shudders, groans, flops down beside you on the mattress.

“Well done, wife,” Aegon pants. He gives your disheveled hair one absentminded stroke and then gazes up at the canopy, cloth embroidered with green roses and spiraling gold dragons. He yawns, his eyes dipping closed. The rise and fall of his bare, glistening chest is slowing.

“Aegon?”

“Hm?” He is inconvenienced; he is already half-asleep.

You roll onto your side, turning towards him. Aegon feels the mattress shift. Reluctantly, he rouses himself, sighs, swallows the rest of the wine in the cup he left perched on the nightstand. “I’m so sorry,” you say softly.

“About what?” He peers at you, groggy and half-listening, stray beads of red wine like blood on his chin. “Oh, yes. That.”

That. What he means is three miscarriages in one year, all early, all excruciating beyond words, all destructive to both the body and the soul. “You have no idea how hard I’m trying.”

“Don’t worry yourself, wife,” he says, yawning again. He always calls you that—wife—with a vague, impersonal fondness. Aegon doesn’t know anything about you. He doesn’t seem interested in remedying that. He doesn’t see it as something to be remedied at all. He attempts to set his empty cup back on the nightstand and doesn’t notice when it tumbles off and clanks against the floor. He burrows beneath the blankets like a hedgehog. “We’ll get it right eventually.”

Eventually, you think with horror, as you are left alone in the candlelight; Aegon plummets into sleep and is silent except for his snoring. How long will I have to do this?

Twelve months of marriage and you are no closer to fulfilling your purpose here. You are told what to eat, when to sleep with your husband, how to lie still afterwards so his seed can take hold, which saints to pray to. You are offered tender-voiced morsels of advice until they feel more like palms cracking across your face than gifts. Every second of your existence is consumed by the desperate need for Aegon’s heir, for the Greens’ future. And each time you lose a pregnancy, the clock starts over again.

How long can I do this before it breaks me, kills me, drives me mad?

~~~~~~~~~~

When a northern pike glides through cool rippling currents, yellow perch and bluegills scatter; and that’s exactly what the courtiers do to you. It’s a bit like living inside a glass bowl: people press their palms to the arched walls and stare like you’re a captive animal—a leopard or an elephant or a white bear from the Arctic—but they don’t speak to you. None of them know what to say. There are whispers flying, women in gowns and men in tunics gossiping about how last night was the first time the prince returned to your bed since your most recent miscarriage. The tentative speculation can begin again, glances at your waistline and delicate inquiries about your health. Bets are placed on whether you will at last produce an heir this time: boy, girl, white-haired or not, early, late, alive, dead. The clock has been reset.

You do not allow anyone to see your pain, your desperation. You have no true friends here. You are allied with the Greens, yes, but that does not mean they are your friends. The Duke of Hightower, chief advisor to the king, was insistent that you bring none of your ladies with you from your homeland; and so the women who attend you are English, polite but not particularly devoted, dutiful but not reliably discreet. He wanted no weak links, no chess pieces that he could not entirely control, no loyalties that ran deeper than his ambitions for Alicent and her children. Now, the Duke of Hightower is fiercely disappointed with you. He’s losing his ability to hide it.

As you traverse the Great Hall of Westminster Palace—an island, a lone cloud roaming across a clear sky—Prince Daemon, smirking and wolflike, stalks into your path.

“Hello there, Navarre,” he says, circling with one hand on the hilt of his sword, his strange deep-set eyes flicking all over you. He likes to call you this, a reminder of where you came from, of why Aegon married you: for an alliance, for advantages in the inevitable civil war when King Viserys dies, for heirs intrinsically linked with the Continent. You were one piece of a far grander design. Helaena was married off to Castile, you were brought west from Navarre, and thus the Greens gained supporters in the Iberian Peninsula. Helaena has given birth to one healthy son so far, and by all accounts has found great happiness in her new life across the Bay of Biscay. Daemon never tires of drawing attention to the fact that you have yet to fulfill your half of the bargain.

You bow your head swiftly, without conviction. “Prince Daemon.”

“My, that’s quite an extravagant gown. What have you got hidden under it? Your father’s famed archers, perhaps? Gold coins and steel daggers? I know what Prince Aegon would want under his skirts.” Daemon grins. “Lady Joanna Montford. Or is it Mountford? You must forgive me, I’m always mixing up the details.”

“I’ll defer to your better judgment, you have far more experience with whores than I do.”

He offers you a single rose, dyed black. “I regret that I did not have the opportunity to properly express my condolences after your most recent loss. It’s become difficult to keep up with them, they’ve grown so numerous. I’m sure you understand.”

You take the rose; untrimmed thorns bite into the defenseless flesh of your fingertips, but you don’t let it show on your face. “Only one from you? Your wife sent me a dozen.” They were red, the color of Navarre’s flag; though the resemblance to blood did not escape you.

“Yes, it’s true, her heart remains rather tender, much to my chagrin.”

“And yours remains nonexistent.” You pluck onyx petals from the rose one by one and toss them to the floor. Courtiers watch this, chattering spiritedly.

Daemon is still grinning. He has won. It never matters what you say, what you do; until you give Aegon a son, in every interaction Daemon walks away the victor. “I hope you enjoy the rest of this glorious July afternoon. And I hope you enjoy your evening as well. And the evening after that, and the evening after that…” He prowls closer, his voice dropping low and sinister. “And all those countless, blundering, long evenings you’ll spend under your mortifying drunk of a husband.”

You rip away from him—not his hands, no, even Daemon would not deign to touch you in front of an audience, but from his suffocating antipathy—and continue on your way to the royal stables, courtiers dispersing in your wake like startled doves. The cobblestones of the palace gardens are weather-beaten and craggy as you sail over them, warm summer wind in your hair, the hem of your gown dragging. Herbs and spices grow high and vivid green: angelica for digestion, feverfew for headaches, St. John’s wort for melancholy, betony to ward off evil spirits, chamomile to bring sleep, rosemary to quell nightmares, pennyroyal to induce a woman’s monthly blood. You have the opposite problem. All you seem to be able to do is bleed.

Inside the royal stables, the world is reduced to hushed subtleties: hooves thudding against straw, nickers and huffs, the swishing of tails, cascading sunlight dotted with whirling planets of dust. You drift by each of the stalls, inhaling the scent of horses and mid-summer. King Viserys promised you an Andalusian, brought by ship all the way from your homeland, for each child born to you and Aegon; alas, none of the animals housed here are yours yet. There’s Sunfyre, an Akhal-Teke, small-boned and shimmering gold. There’s Caraxes, a temperamental blood bay Arabian, and Syrax, a Marwari, cremello with blue eyes and delicate ears that curl in towards each other. Tessarion is a dappled blue-grey Percheron, young but gaining height and brute force each day. Jacaerys and Lucerys have Marwaris like their mother, Baela and Rhaena own volatile Arabians like their father. Joffrey is still riding a slow, potbellied pony; little Aegon III, Viserys II, and Visenya cannot ride at all yet. Every time you blink, it seems, the Blacks have added another child to their ranks, another inheritor to carry their claim forward. Your stomach sinks beneath your skin and scarlet ropes of muscle, a basket full of rocks.

You stop at the last stall, twice the size of any of the others. Vhagar towers over you. She is an English Great Horse, and the largest one that anyone can remember knowing of; her coat is a dark, lustrous brown, her massive hooves feathered, her muzzle sloped and velvety when you lay your palm against it. She lets you do this, as she always does; more than that, you think, she welcomes it.

You remove the letter from your bodice, your true purpose for coming here. You want to read it where you can be alone, where there are no prying eyes to report back to King Viserys, Queen Alicent, the Duke of Hightower, Aegon, Daemon, Rhaenyra the Crown Princess. You must keep your composure, your dignity. It’s all you have left.

You unfold the letter, your gaze skimming across your mother’s words, the slopes and summits of her letters heartbreakingly familiar, her fears loud through the ink-and-parchment silence. You expected this, and yet the weight of it stacks up in your ribcage like the splintered wreckage of a ship.

Think, my love, the Queen of Navarre writes. Think of everything you do, see, say, and feel. There is something that is poisoning the children inside of you. Do not trouble yourself with court gossip or bitter rivalries. You cannot serve your husband’s family—your family, now—if your attention is divided and your heart heavy with doubts. Shut yourself away from all things impassioned. Commit yourself to prayer and needlework. Purify yourself, dear daughter, prepare yourself in body and soul. God answers the cries of those who have won his favor.

You crumple the letter in your fists and then rip it to pieces, not out of wrath but so that nobody else might read it. The fragments flutter away like autumn leaves. You cannot resent your mother for her cushioned reprimands. She means well, but she cannot hope to understand; she bore ten children, eight of whom lived past the cradle, with no exceptional difficulty. Your father has taken mistresses on occasion, but not until years into his marriage, and regardless of his dalliances your mother remains his confidant, his greatest desire, his heart. Your life is nothing like hers. Your future has become something you didn’t know existed. You feel as if you have stumbled into a mirror, a duplicate world where everything is the same but the wrong way around. Where is your own satisfaction? Where is your soulmate?

There are footsteps, and you spin to see Prince Aemond standing in the doorway. He immediately turns to leave, and this is unsurprising; he never speaks to you, rarely looks at you, glides out of rooms as you come into them. You had once hoped to befriend him before his aversion to the notion became clear. He is palpably disinterested in you. But this afternoon as warm golden sunlight spills down on him, for reasons you cannot fathom, he hesitates; and now he’s waited too long, it would be rude for him to flee so obviously from you. Slowly, Aemond walks into the stable. He is so much like Daemon, though lighter: not in color but in gravity, his steps quieter, his hands graceful and precise. You’ve never seen him without his eyepatch. The Blacks call the cause of his maiming a sparring accident, the Greens call it an ambush, King Viserys doesn’t call it anything; perhaps he has forgotten it completely.

You expect Aemond to demand to know what you’re doing here, to scold you for jeopardizing your health with unnecessary excursions. “I’m so sorry for what you’re going through,” he says instead, his voice whisper-soft like pattering spring rain, like a leaf of lamb’s ear threaded between your fingers. “I hope my brother has been…kind about it.”

“He’s very kind. He doesn’t mention it at all.” Not once has anybody said those three words to you: I’m so sorry. They lift a million pounds from your shoulders, an eon of stones from your belly. “In fact, no one speaks of it with me. They speak in my direction, they tell me what to do differently, they assign blame…but no one has any interest in what I have to say back. No one asks me what it feels like to…to…”

It shocks you, knuckles to the gut: your breath hitches, your lips tremble, you swallow down tears like poison. It’s humiliating, this display of helplessness, this shattering of regal poise. You shield your face with both hands so Aemond cannot watch you war with yourself. And surely he is repulsed by you, this prince who has been mutilated and unavenged and overlooked since childhood. You have never known anyone as self-possessed as Aemond Targaryen. He endures all of life’s trials without emotion, without weakness. He must be appalled that you cannot do the same.

Yet when you are at last confident that you will not weep in front of him, you lower your hands to see that Aemond has silently obliterated the space between you. He is close enough to touch, his palm pressed to Vhagar’s monstrous neck. He’s looking at the horse, but he is listening to you. “She likes you,” he says gently. “She doesn’t like anyone.”

You’ve never been in such proximity to Aemond before. He’s taller than you remember; his eye is watchful and intent, a paler shade of blue than Aegon’s, more clear, a river rather than a sea riotous with storms. When you inhale, you taste pieces of him: leather, musk, the smoke of a blacksmith’s forge. There’s an abrupt weakness in your knees and ankles that you pretend not to notice. “Most of my friends have hooves these days.”

“I never see you go out riding.”

“I’m not allowed to.”

For an instant, his brow knits with confusion, and then he remembers. Horseback riding is thought to be calamitous for pregnancy, and your chances are slim enough already. “But that’s something that you once enjoyed, back in Navarre?” You flinch when you hear the name of your homeland, a reflex, Daemon’s taunts ringing in your skull like church bells. Everyone knows that’s what he calls you. “Forgive me, perhaps that word has painful connotations now.”

“It doesn’t sound so bad when you say it.” And that’s true: it’s not a dagger but a murmur, a musing, a dream. “Yes, I used to love riding horses. And dancing, attending hunting expeditions, reading poetry, plucking olives from the trees…my brothers and I would even knock swords together sometimes in the courtyard.” You smile wistfully, then lose it like a gull feather on waves. “And now I don’t do anything.”

“What brings you happiness here in England?”

“Nothing,” you reply, meeting his gaze for the first time. He studies you, his eye blue like the mid-summer afternoon sky, searching. And suddenly, you’ve never felt more interesting, you’ve never felt such raw hunger to unearth everything you’re built of. You skate your palm down Vhagar’s face and confess quietly, shakily: “I always thought I would teach my children to ride horses.”

“You will someday,” Aemond insists.

“When you’re little, five or ten years old, you dream about growing up and all the miraculous things you’ll be. And then you finally become an adult and you meet the rest of your life and…and…” You don’t like it. “It’s so different from what you imagined.”

“Yes,” Aemond agrees, soft and mournful.

“But I’ve interrupted you,” you say. “You came here to take Vhagar riding, I’m sure, and now you’re caught in my little web of nostalgia and self-pity. Please, accept my apology, and don’t let me delay you any further.”

“I was planning to go riding,” Aemond admits. He’s wearing a black leather messenger bag, you notice for the first time. He pulls at the strap that hangs from his right shoulder self-consciously. You have never seen Aemond betray any sign of self-consciousness before this moment. In many ways, you have never seen him at all. He asks you pointedly: “What if I took Vhagar out walking you accompanied me?”

“I told you. I can’t.”

“Not riding,” Aemond says. “Just walking. We’ll lead her down to the edge of the forest, let her stretch her legs a bit and eat some of the fallen apples. You’re allowed to walk, aren’t you?”

“I suppose so.” You stare at him, perplexed. You almost ask why he would offer to do such a thing, why he would feel inspired to raise your spirits. But you don’t want him to change his mind. You point to his messenger bag. “What do you have in there?”

“Parchment. Quills. A bottle of ink.”

“What do you write? Battle plans? Letters to marriageable foreign noblewomen?”

“Poems,” Aemond confesses in a whisper you can barely hear, not looking at you.

“Could I read some of your poems?”

“No,” he says immediately, startled.

“Never mind. It was wrong of me to ask.”

He doesn’t reply; he just fetches Vhagar’s halter from the hook on the stable wall, black leather studded with sapphires the size of ladybugs. She allows Aemond to place it on her without any resistance. He attaches the lead chain—heavy silver links—but he doesn’t need it. Vhagar follows him out of the stables, her colossal hooves drumming like distant thunder, her jet black mane whipping in the wind. Aemond matches his pace with yours as the three of you cross the emerald green field that separates Westminster Palace from the tree line of the forest.

After strolling for a while—Vhagar chomping on apples, you stepping gingerly over felled branches and gnarled roots—you and Aemond sit beneath a sprawling cedar that blots out the sun, its limbs like the wings of a dragon. He recounts myths and legends of England, things that Aegon has not thought to share with you once in the past twelve months, weeks of which you spent in bed bleeding out his would-be children: King Arthur and Beowulf, Robin Hood and the Rollright Stones, Saint George the guardian of the royal family. And as Aemond speaks, at some point you stop hearing him and start seeing him, everything that brought him here, everything that will happen next.

Once upon a time, King Viserys named his daughter Rhaenyra his successor. She was his only surviving offspring, the last vestige of his cherished wife Aemma, dead in fruitless childbirth and cold in her tomb in Windsor Castle. The king then promptly remarried and fathered four more Targaryens, closer to afterthoughts than assets in his eyes: Aegon, Helaena, Aemond, Daeron. Rhaenyra is still the king’s favorite, and is much loved in Northern England, where her mother hailed from. She has the support of Scotland as well. Her marriage to their Crown Prince Laenor Velaryon was meant to consolidate the two nations under one ruling family, one flag. To reinforce this alliance, her uncle Daemon wed Laenor’s sister Laena. But then Laena died, and Laenor did too, and all those tragic pieces fell together for Rhaenyra to get what she evidently wanted all along: Daemon in wedlock, in her confidence, in her bed. Her sons with Laenor will soon marry his daughters with Laena, and each new white-haired child she produces with her uncle gives the Blacks one more dynastic pawn to play in the game of thrones.

The merchants of Southern England—the Duke of Hightower foremost among them—are aghast at the thought of Rhaenyra’s ascension. No woman has ever successfully ruled England, and she is sure to be malevolently influenced by her uncle-husband. The Pope will not sanction their incestuous union, nor those of their children, though this does not daunt the Blacks. They will make a new order here in the British Isles; they will not play by the Continent’s rules. In reply, the kingdoms of Western Europe—to varying degrees of zealousness—support the Greens and the coronation of Aegon II upon his father’s death. King Viserys is in fine health now, but that could change at a moment’s notice: with a fall from a horse, with veins darkened by infection, with a vial of poison, with a resurgence of Plague. When the king is dead, Aegon must have every possible advantage to offer England, including a clear line of succession. This was supposed to be your role. This has become your greatest failure. Yet here under a hundred-year-old cedar tree outside Westminster Palace, Aemond makes you forget that for a while.

Hours later, you are back in your bedchamber when your husband arrives to fuck you. That’s a crude word for it, but that’s exactly what it is: something he does to you, not with you. You gulp down a cup of your apple cider, the drink you like best here in England, not as thick and bitter as ale, not a poor imposter of the Continent’s red wine. It is bright, sweet, sometimes vaguely minty. It makes you think of spring and summer, of rebirth. It fills you with the undying ambition to bear fruit of your own.

You turn to Aegon, who is yanking off his white shirt with his back to you, his hair in disarray, his pores sweating out wine and indifference. He crawls into the bed on all fours, slapping himself lightly across the face, forcing himself to stay awake until the act is done.

And you think, for the very first time: I wonder what it would have been like to marry Aemond.

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