#but to face what happened to her at 11 years old is hard so ignoring it and hoping Rowan magically dies is the best choice in her opinion

[nateriverswife]

Jessica gives me so many problems with her many aliases when I have to talk about her and L, because L knows about Rowan but she tries to bury her completely; L lived some months with Elio but it is an alias she was forced to assume & their interactions at the Wammy's weren't the friendliest; L interacts mostly with D for Detective, but it was born under very special circumstances because it is a tool that ensures L's safety and her power over him; L works with Mei during the Kira case so it means nothing outside that & Ryuga is Ellie's classmate but it's not them them; Jessica is the only identity she has chosen for herself — the first time she has ever felt like she could be herself for real, even if in the beginning she used it to run away from Rowan — BUT Jessica is virtually no one to L (they interacted once, even if it's very significant). And the thing is that she has such a rigid way of thinking about her different identities — she compartmentalises them. They do not exist outside their own context or reason for existing, but to L, she's each one of these identities, that influenced him in so many different ways. However, he's forced to pretend that she is just D for Detective, and so he has a hard time understanding her. She's right there in front of him but so out of reach, and it's painful.

#they are both hurting over this lmfao #lovely how she's doing it all herself & she could just process her trauma and be happy #but to face what happened to her at 11 years old is hard so ignoring it and hoping Rowan magically dies is the best choice in her opinion #like she's passively waiting for her to die while actively protecting her behind Jessica #the duality of this woman - being the best agent but can't find a way to deal with anything that requires a bit of emotional vulnerability #d.exe #the last part might not make sense to anyone but me right now but yeah #I'm just very anxious about my exam and needed to think about something else #I don't even know how to tag this because who I am talking about exactly

[rustedhearts]

just friends (roommate!steve harrington x fem!reader)

summary: you and steve have been just friends for years now. but how long can you convince everyone you're 'just friends' before it becomes a lie? or steve harrington is your super hot roommate and everyone thinks it's stupid you guys aren't dating yet.

uses she/her pronouns and female anatomy.

✶ the library

tags: roommate!steve, kinda shitty boyfriend!eddie, pining, fluff, angst, casual dominance from our casual dominance king steve, honestly going to try so hard not to make this a series but you know me.

a/n: i've wanted to write roommate!steve for so ages. you can thank a much-needed new girl binge and my tendency to take my frustration out on my mop for this.

The bass-heavy bump of music came at Steve full force before he even stepped out of the elevator. He paused, staring down the door of your shared apartment knowing that the sight that would welcome him would not be pretty.

In the kitchen, you were hunched over the handle of a mop, furiously dragging it over a sliver of tile. Teeth gritted together, face flushed and damp with sweat, hair disheveled and pulled away from your face, a pair of cotton shorts and an old t-shirt rolled up to the shoulders—you were a mess.

You were sad.

"Uh-oh." Steve stepped into the room, calling over the booming music. "What happened?"

You jumped a little, accustomed to the quiet of the apartment on Saturday nights. Steve almost always spent weekend nights at the bar down the street hitting on girls too sweet for him. You usually had until at least 11:30 to do whatever you wanted before some random girl came scampering in, clinging to Steve and giggling as they fumbled to his room.

But he was home early. And no matter how long you'd lived together, or how well he knew you, you still hated being seen like this.

So, you never took your eyes off the mop, scrubbing away a sauce stain on the tile.

"Nothing." You shrugged, flicking wisps of hair out of your eyes.

Steve watched you whirl around to drag the mop toward the bucket again. You stabbed it into the soapy water with a vengeance, nose scrunching with every slosh and splash. Steve leaned against the doorway and quirked a brow.

"Yeah? You're playing your sad music, though."

Your sad music consisted of a handful of hard rock records that most people would consider music for a dive bar—but you only ever played it when you were staving off tears. The louder you played it, the more upset you were.

Steve knew you a little too well.

This comment went ignored as you slapped the mop back on the floor and continued an angered scrubbing. Steve sighed, scratching at his temple. Most of the time, it was best to leave you alone. Sometimes, you needed to talk it out. It took a little coaxing—a pizza and a cold glass of Coke with a straw usually did the trick—but eventually, you'd spill.

And Steve would fix it.

Calm you down, help you figure it out, offer some advice. He gave pretty good advice for someone still struggling to get his own shit figured out.

Steve could tell from the way the song went unsung, the way you huffed every time the mop head flipped, the way you started stomping your foot when you found a stale French fry under the stove—you needed him to step in.

Pushing off the wall, Steve crossed the room and placed his hand over yours on the mop handle.

"Hey. Hey, come on."

You struggled at first, scowling at him as you tugged on the handle. "Stop it."

He sighed again. He was always sighing at you like a disappointed teacher.

"Hey." A little firmer this time, accompanied by a sharp snatch of the handle from your grasp into his. When you dropped your hands and obliged, the furrow of his brow relaxed. "Thank you. Now, why don't you go take a shower. The house is clean enough."

You frowned, wiping at the sweat on your head. "I just—"

Steve pressed his hand flat into the small of your back, steering you toward the door. "Seriously, honey, it's fine. You do stink, though."

That made your lip twitch—a semblance of a smile—with an amused little huff. You took a step toward the door, slippered feet scuffing. You looked over your shoulder toward Steve standing where you left him, still holding the mop.

He waved you off. "Go on. Take a nap, too.”

You nodded, flashing a tight-lipped smile. "Thanks, Steve."

He watched you shuffle away, shoulders slumped and eyes down as you went. He propped the mop against the kitchen counter and shook his head at the mess of cleaning supplies on the table.

When he heard the bathroom door clamp shut and the hiss of the shower head turn on, Steve rushed the front door again.

He opened it a smidge, enough to fit his head in and smile sweetly at the girl waiting in the hall picking at her nails. She perked up, stepping toward the door eagerly.

"Hey," Steve cooed, voice dripping with honey. "I'm so sorry, my roommate got sick all over. I think s-he needs to go to the doctor, so...would you mind if we raincheck?"

The girl—Sarah, as he would recall later on—broke into a concerned pout, clasping her hands over her chest. "Oh my god, that's terrible! You're so sweet taking care of him."

Steve chuckled, a breezy smile on his mouth. "Yeah, yeah. Thanks for understanding."

She tipped her head, adjusting the purse strap on her shoulder. "Of course. Call me when he's feeling better?"

Steve nodded, knowing the phone number in his back pocket would dissolve in the washer in a week, and he had no intention of ever calling her to begin with.

"Yeah, for sure. Night."

"Goodnight."

He waited until the elevator dinged, watching the doors close on her grinning face, before pulling back into the apartment and locking the door. He blew a sigh out of his cheeks, head shaking as he headed toward the hall.

The shower had stopped, and he could hear the soft, wet patters of your feet behind the door when he leaned against the wall beside it. He knocked two knuckles gently into the wood.

"Honey?" he called. "Need anything? Wanna order a pizza?"

He waited, adjusting the hem of his shirt to spread out a wrinkle in the fabric. He knew what the answer would be, but he couldn't always be so obvious. He had to pretend that he didn't know you like the back of his hand, because everyone started telling him how weird it was.

"You've lived with this girl for two years and haven't boned? You're either gay or dumb as a box of fuckin' rocks," is what Max told him when they met for lunch a few months ago.

Everyone said the same thing. His sister, who teased him at birthday parties and summer barbecues that you were always his date for. Sabrina did everything in her power to push the two of you closer together at family events, ensuring your seats were always paired and your activities were always coupled up.

"You look at her like a dog with a bone," she teased last Fourth of July.

But Steve only shook his head, glancing your way where you were helping his mother decorate cupcakes. You were dating some guy in IT at the time. Total fucking nerd. He made you pay for most of the dates.

"Nah...we're just friends. She's got a boyfriend."

We're just friends was probably Steve's most popular sentence in the English language since the day he met you. A pair of college graduates who had no clue what the hell they were supposed to do with their lives, roommate-matched by the apartment complex and so content with each other that you just kept renewing the lease.

When you finally replied to his question, your voice came like a small, pipping whisper behind the door. "Yeah...but with mushrooms this time?"

This time, as if you didn't order a mushroom and sausage pizza every time. Steve smiled, pushing off the wall.

"Okay—"

"And—"

"And sausage, I know. I'll call 'em."

"Okay."

While Steve called the pizza place a few blocks over, you clutched a towel to your chest and padded to your room. You pulled on the softest items you owned and sat on the end of your bed. A long day of cleaning certainly tired you out, but that wasn't what ailed you.

It was the fight with your boyfriend last night at the bar, when he yelled at you for laughing at Steve's jokes even though you always did. He thought you were too close, too "chummy" to be just friends.

Unbeknownst to Steve, we're just friends was one of your most common phrases, too. You should've had it engraved on your forehead at this point.

"Hey." Two knuckles on your door this time before it skittered open. Steve popped his head in and grinned at you. "Wearin' my favorite sweatpants? Must be feelin' better."

You glanced down at the black sweatpants on your legs, snickering softly. Steve thought they hugged your ass perfectly, and loved the way they flared at the calves. The logo right on your left ass cheek was especially beautiful.

When you opted to leave that soft noise as your reply, Steve stepped into the room. He flopped beside you on the bed, springs squeaking shrilly.

"Wanna talk about it?" he asked.

You shook your head down at your lap, rubbing at your eye. You hated crying, and so far today you'd been doing well swallowing them down. Steve had only seen you cry once, and you avoided him for three days after.

Something about vulnerability made you cower.

"Okay...wanna watch a movie?"

You sighed, shifting a little away from him. Steve clocked it with a brow-furrowed frown.

"Steve...you don't have to make me feel better. I'm fine."

His lips parted to reply—most likely in protest—but the door chittered on its hinges once more with the small butted head of your tuxedo cat, Ted.

Steve immediately stood and scooped Ted up, turning to bring him to the bed. He scratched under his chin and brought forth a low humming purr immediately.

Not even cats could resist that pretty boy charm.

"Well, I reckon this lil guy will do a better job of cheerin' you up," Steve cooed, plopping Ted beside you.

A quiet giggle slipped from your mouth as you reached to swoop his tail. "Reckon?"

Steve shrugged, a sheepish grin on his mouth. "Just came out. I turn Southern in a crisis, darlin'."

He was just trying to make you laugh now, and he couldn't help but mirror the sound when it proved effective. Though, it also proved temporary. You soon settled on your side, tugging Ted to your chest with a fading smile.

Steve ran his fingers through his hair, gathering a chunk of it at the top to pull. A stress tick. You tried not to feel guilty for causing it.

"Well...alright." Steve shuffled backward toward the door. "Pizza in fifteen."

You nodded into the pillow. "Okay. Thanks."

Steve lingered a beat too long, eyeing your balled up form on the bed before slipping into the hall. You'd been sad plenty times over the years: breakups, let-downs, missed jobs.

But the guy you were dating now...you really seemed to like him. He was over all the time, practically living here at one point. Steve didn't really understand what you saw in the guy—Eddie. Steve scoffed to himself, head shaking. Stupid name.

You met Eddie at the auto shop where he worked. He gave you a discount on your oil change, and his tire talk was so smooth that you went on a date two days later. Six months later, and things still seemed to be going smoothly despite the pair of you having very little in common.

Usually, you dated harmless little nerdy guys. Steve actually laughed in the face of a five foot eight finance bro who threatened to "hurt him real bad" if he got in the way of your relationship. You dumped him that night, and the pair of you still laugh about it to this day.

But Eddie was...different. Sleeves of dark ink and a chainlink on his belt. A handful of chunky silver rings and another one in his nose. He always clinked in with a nod Steve's way and a hand on your ass, and it seemed that every time he kissed you in front of Steve, he looked him right in the eye while he did it.

Steve didn't like how small you made yourself around Eddie, and he didn't like how much Eddie seemed to enjoy it.

For everyone's sake, he hoped it wasn't Eddie that made you sad. For once, he wasn't sure he'd win that fight.

✶ ✶

There were many things about your behavior that night that concerned Steve.

Number 1: You only ate three pieces of pizza, and he got one small mushroom-sausage with extra cheese just for you.

Number 2: You didn't let Ted in when he scratched at your door, and Steve had to bring him to his own room for bed.

But worst of all.

Number 3: You didn't say goodnight.

So, Steve went to bed with Ted curled at his feet and a lump in his throat. Whatever you were upset about was bad, he could just tell; and everything in him was itching to make it better. He had this terrible, stupid ache to make life easy for you, and it never really went away.

He opened all your jars, refilled all your water bottles, made sure your phone was charged when he saw the little red bar. He bought more of your favorite snacks when he saw them running low, picked up things that "felt like you" when he saw them at the store. You had an abundance of miscellaneous yellow items sitting on your windowsill because you told him it was your favorite color two years ago.

In Steve's eyes, everything yellow in the world belonged to you.

Steve stirred in a half sleep for hours, kicking at his covers and offering murmured apologies to a miffed Ted who meowed at him. His concerns, however, came to a head when the sound of muffled shouting startled him completely awake.

He grabbed his phone from the nightstand and tapped the screen, rubbing his eyes clear to read the 1:15. He wondered which couple in the building was fighting this late. His bet was on Jax and Monica in 1F who were always on the outs.

"You think I'm a fuckin' idiot? I see the way he looks at you!"

But that was Eddie's voice.

"I don't understand where this is coming from."

And that was yours.

Steve shot up, fumbling for his glasses in their case somewhere in his nightstand drawer. He shoved them over his eyes, swinging his legs over the bed.

"I'm tired of competing with your fucking roommate."

"You don't—you aren't! Eddie, please, you know we're just friends."

"Spare me. You're a shitty liar. Hey! C'mere, I'm not done talkin'."

Oh, hell no. Pants abandoned, Steve swung his door open with banging force and rushed into the hall.

He found the pair of you in the entryway, Eddie's hand around your arm and your cheeks soaked with tears. You still had your pajamas on, and those little yellow slippers Steve bought for you last Christmas.

Both heads turned when Steve hurried into the room, tailed by a confused Ted butting at his leg.

Eddie huffed, motioning toward Steve. "Oh, great, of course you're here."

Steve braced his hands on his hips, glaring at the raven-haired man. "I live here, dick-wad. Remove your hand."

Eddie ignored him, still wringing your arm out. You cast your eyes away from Steve, ashamed by the state he found you in.

"You live up my girlfriend's ass, Harrington. And I'm kinda tired of you being there all the fucking time."

"Remove. Your. Hand."

"Stop," you sniffled, wiping the tears from your cheeks though it wouldn't do much to hide the pink rims of your eyes. "Eddie, he's my friend."

"If he's gonna be your friend, then we're done."

You gaped up at him, more hot tears bubbling over and stinging your eyes. "W-what? Eddie, that's—"

Eddie shrugged, smug and uncaring. "You heard me."

Steve's eyes moved your way, and he could only stomach the absolute heartbreak on your face for a split second before he was stepping forward.

"Alright," he barked, and then he was shoving the arm Eddie was holding you with. "Let her go, Aerosmith, and get the fuck out."

Eddie let you go, but spun sharply to face Steve. You weren't sure whose glare was more frightening.

Eddie stepped until he was toe-to-toe with your roommate. "You like fuckin' another man's girl? You like my sloppy seconds, you pussy bit—"

Steve might not have been much of a fighter, certainly didn't fare well with a man who lifted cars for a living—but he certainly excelled at being discrete.

Which is how he got a right hook in before Eddie could fight back. Which is also how Eddie ended up on the ground, and unable to stand again for a few moments.

"Jesus, Steve," you scolded, peering down at your boyfriend with wide eyes. “You knocked him out!”

Steve cleared his throat, ignoring the buzzing pain in his knuckles as he swept them through his hair and motioned toward Eddie.

“Hm? Nah, honey, he’s just…he’s takin’ a nap.”

Though still numbed by shock and worry, you couldn’t help the amused snort that rippled through you. Steve’s lip quirked, and he glanced at Eddie when he groaned on the floor.

“Um, well…let’s get you up, bud. Yeah, you’re okay, c’mon.” Steve began talking to Eddie like a child, cooing as he helped him to his feet by the arm.

And maybe he wasn’t nice about walking him to the elevator, watching him crumble to the floor as the doors closed. Maybe the shiner swelling on Eddie’s cheek filled Steve with incredulous joy.

But he swallowed all of it down when he returned to the apartment and found you standing right where he left you. If you were ashamed of your tears this time, it didn’t show. You grew inconsolable, and Steve had no other thought in mind that didn’t involve picking you up and taking you back to bed.

So he did just that, letting you soak his bare chest with tears as he went. When he sat you on the bed, he tipped your head up by the chin and wiped your cheeks.

“He’s not comin’ back tonight, sweetheart, it’s okay.”

Sniffling, you let him dry your tears and pull strands of hair from the sticky residue. “He thinks we were cheating. I t-tried to tell him…that we’re just friends.”

You deflated with a hiccuped sigh, and Steve’s smile was full of pity and pain. He rubbed his thumbs into your cheeks, nodding his agreement.

“Yeah. Just friends, honey.”

Your eyes fluttered with exhaustion, and Steve swallowed thickly. He pinched the edge of your pillow to pull it down, and gently coaxed you down by the shoulders. He pulled the covers up to your chin and plucked Ted from the ground to join you on the bed.

“He ain’t worth your tears, honey. Get some sleep.”

Sniffling again, you nodded quietly. Steve flashed another smile, and stepped back toward the door. As he reached for the light switch, he glanced over his shoulder to find your eyes again.

“Goodnight, Steve,” you whispered.

He shut the light off so you wouldn’t see the way he closed his eyes, like it pained him to hear you with another cry in your throat.

“Goodnight, honey.”

Steve sat awake until 6 a.m waiting for Eddie to come to his senses and return for vengeance. But he never came. In some way, Steve knew that would hurt you even more.

So in the morning when you woke, he greeted you with a handful of sunshine yellow daffodils and your favorite coffee. A soft kiss on the head and a scratch at Ted’s chin on his way out.

“Gonna meet up with a friend today. Call me if you need me, ‘kay?”

He went home with the first girl he met at the bar that day just to get you out of his head, and lied about it when he came home.

Just friends. Yeah, right.

#rolly! #steve harrington #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fic #steve harrington angst #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington au #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x fem #steve harrington comfort #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington one shot #roommate!steve harrington

[sunshine-theseus]

Everything’s Changed | Andrea Medina x Reader

Words: 1.7k Summary: your childhood best friend just disappears, then comes back like nothing happened. Warnings: angst, i think that's it Requested by @liverpoolfan96

The world was still after she left. Well for you at least. Birds didn’t sing as you made the walk to her house, winds didn’t rustle through your pale pink hair or the now dull green leaves of the trees that littered the side of the roads, and there was only a ghost of someone who should’ve been clung to your arm.

The gold necklace that gleams in the sun feels like a noose around your neck, only seeming to grow tighter with every step as you encroach on her parent’s door. You carefully place your foot on the sparsely spread stones that lead you through the decadent garden, similar to how you would when you were a child. The same journey had been made every day for the past 15 years of your life, but there was something that hung in the air that made this one different.

Memories of the girl you’ve found hard to forget, laughing and rushing past you as her parents call for you both to come inside for dinner, flash through your head. 5 years old, 11, 14. You both grow, maturity slowly taking over your rounded cheeks and toothless smiles, but the dynamic never changes; two girls so obviously meant to be in each other’s life.

The memories end abruptly when the door is swung open, and you’re met with someone you don’t expect.

“Andrea-” your lips can’t stop the gasp that tickles your throat as the familiar brunette beams down at you, light reflecting off the identical gold chain that rests against her collar bone.

All other words seem caught in your throat and Andrea doesn’t seem intent on saying anything, so you stumble through the open doorway and into the kitchen where you know you’ll find her parents. They have similar smiles as the girl who now trails behind you. You were never supposed to see her again, why on earth is she here.

“Surprise!” echoes through the house that is suddenly lacking the warmth you associate it with.

“Qué está sucediendo? Por qué has vuelto?” (What is happening? Why is she back?) it feels a little hard to breathe as your eyes dart between the three bodies that surround you, none of them rushing to answer.

“¡Tuvo un tiempo libre y volvió a casa!” (She had some time off and came home!) it’s difficult for you to feel the anger and sadness in the pit of your stomach when the woman who is a second mum to you is so bright with joy.

“Sí!” Andrea finally chimes in, simply to support her mum’s statement, but she says nothing else.

“Ah, well I actually, um… I completely forgot but I won’t be able to uh… to help with your garden this evening. A lot of university work to do… you know.” Her face saddens and you almost tell her that you can cram it all in later tonight, another lie despite yourself, but you don’t.

Turning around to leave after pressing a kiss to her cheek, its embarrassing how quickly you forgot Andrea was looming behind you as you almost run straight into her. An awkward shuffle takes place before you manage to take a step around her and make your way today the door. The wood slots into its frame rather loudly behind you, but is closely followed by a familiar silence that blankets the town, not unlike the one that had taken over your life after Andrea left.

The aforementioned girl stalks closely behind you, barely sliding through the gap before the door to her family’s house closes.

“Y/N! Wait!” she reaches for you, but the pleas are ignored as you make your way down the street, a short walk to your own family’s house, but not short enough.

Andrea jogs to catch up, the exercise not phasing her in any way before she grabs your arm and spins you around.

“Would you just wait a second? Where are you going?”

“Home.” You tug your arm, trying to escape her steel grip.

“I thought you’d be much more excited! You can stay over and we can stay up and talk all night like we used to.” She’s so happy it almost makes you sick.

“Why would I want that Andrea?” the anger comes bubbling back when her face morphs into shock. How does she act like things are normal?

“W- what do you mean?”

“Why would I want to act like everything hasn’t changed? Everything changed when you left and never fucking bothered to tell me. When you blocked my fucking number. When you broke our promise. Everything changed.”

“I did it for a reason! Hear me out!” her voice carries through the empty street, but you continue your walk home.

“I don’t fucking care!” a sharp turn left and you’re pushed up against the brick wall of Señora Estrella García’s house, a lovely cook who would give your dad and you any leftovers she made on the weekends.

“Would you listen to me!?” Anger is present on her face but desperation and sadness float in her eyes.

“If you think this will get me to listen you are severely mistaken. Gilipollas” (shithead). You push against her, something that once was quite effective when the two of you were roughhousing in the streets, but clearly the professional training had given her an advantage as she doesn’t budge.

“No seas estúpida por favor.” (don’t be stupid please) you groan but sit against the wall, clearly not being able to escape any time soon.

Andrea takes a spot in front of you, your knees pressing against each other.

“Óscar, my head coach, he made me promise there would be absolutely no distractions. It was your birthday, when I spent a lot of the day checking my phone to talk to you between workouts and training drills. Coincidentally I was playing really badly that day anyway. Well he pulled me aside at the end of training and told me if I kept it up, they’d have to let me go, that maybe I wasn’t actually a good fit for the team.” Her hands rest on her knees, palms facing up, and you slowly inch your own towards them as she speaks.

“I planned to just ghost for a couple days to get back in the zone. I’d explain it to you and I’d fix my performance then we’d go back to normal. But it seemed he always had something to criticise me on, so I kept extending the time frame. Until like two months passed by and I hadn’t answered any messages from you. I thought maybe even receiving the messages and calls was what was distracting me. So I blocked your number.” Andrea’s voice shakes but seems to relax when your fingertips graze her’s.

“Okay well you then also didn’t come home for a year and a half. Every time you had a break your family went to you instead. And you could have had one of them explain it to me. There is no excusing what you did Dre.” Andrea suddenly looks awfully similar to the girl from your childhood. The furrowed brows and downturn of her lips an exact replica of the face she made when her parents told her off for eating too many lollies before a game.

“I know-”

“And you broke our promise. ‘No matter what happens, where we go, we’ll find our way back to each other, we’ll always keep in touch.’” You can feel the tears welling up and blink furiously to fight them back.

“I know. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” you both lean forward and rest your foreheads against one another.

“I’m home for the summer, I want to make it up to you in any way I can.” You find yourself staring into her eyes in the same fashion you always had. A soft gaze filled with pure love, hard for anyone to ignore.

With one glance at her lips, Andrea lifts her hand and loops a finger around the chain that no longer feels like it may carry you to your death, and pulls your lips to her’s. The kiss isn’t anything special, but you can feel the love that surges between you with every movement of your lips and your own pointer finger similarly wraps around the matching chain around her neck, pulling you impossibly closer to one another.

“I want to have my best friend back.” you murmur against her lips.

~~~~~

Three weeks pass by, and Andrea and you meet at the fountain at the crossroad of your two streets every morning at 10:19am. Your particular streets have always been suspiciously deserted apart for the cars that line the driveways and the rush of people on their way to and from work.

The first hour of your daily meeting is usually spent making out on the lip of the fountain, before Andrea escorts you to whatever she has planned for the day. Most of her ideas revolve around things you loved to do together as kids. Sneaking to the roof top of the corner store to watch over the people below you, playing in the fútbol field before sitting under the giant carob tree and eating random snacks, the arts museum.

“You’re paying!” you laugh as you run past Andrea into your tía’s restaurant.

“Again?” a joking groan escapes her lips as she pulls your chair out for you.

“I mean if you don’t want to make up ignoring me for years then I can pa-”

“No! No no I’ve got it.” A cheeky smile pulls at your lips as her forehead wrinkles in worry.

“I’m only joking bebita.” You lean over the table and peck her lips, taking a hold of her hand.

“Thank you for the past few weeks, I really appreciate it.” She beams down at you as you thank her.

“I’d do anything for you.”

“Like get the paella to share?”

“Ay bebé you know I hate seafood.”

“Is this enough of an incentive?” you lean over the table once again and take a hold of her chin between your thumb and pointer finger, ghosting your lips over her’s before pressing against them firmly.

“Sí.” It’s a breathless agreement after you pull away.

“Te amo. Estoy feliz de que hayas regresado.” (I love you. I’m happy you’re back)

“Me too.” You share a smile, hearts fluttering as you gaze at each other.

Always meant to be.

#woso x reader #woso #woso fanfics #womens soccer #spanish footballer #spain wnt #andrea medina #andrea medina x reader

[svu-ncis-criminalminds]

Learning To Trust Part 4

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Aaron Hotchner x Reader

Words: 1386

Series Summary: Things with your boss were becoming complicated, but they became even more complicated when an Unsub sought you out and began targeting you. Can a relationship that hasn't even officially begun survive this?

 “I…” You started, “I have good news.” You whispered, not looking away from the man’s face. The room remained quiet around you, “I know our list of victims.” 

“But?” Emily pressed, seeing the panic and fear in your eyes. You looked away from the man and to her, swallowing thickly. 

“It’s the same list of suspects.”

The room was silent, at least, you thought it had to have been, because the only thing you could really hear was the pounding of your own heart and the blood rushing through your veins. There was a squeeze once more on your shoulder - Aaron - and you became more aware of your current surroundings. Of your team, of the uniformed officers looking on. You stepped away from Hotch and he allowed you the dignity of releasing you. 

“What do you mean,” Rossi stepped forward, into your line of sight, looking at you seriously. Rossi and you butted heads the most out of anyone else on the team. He was hard on you - there was no doubt of that. You also disagreed, frequently, on a lot of things. What evidence is relevant, profiles, reasons behind actions, the moral behind actions. But mostly books - he had some pretentious haughtiness when it came to authorhood. However, despite that, and often because of that, he was the best person to bounce ideas off of. 

But this situation didn’t require the bouncing of ideas. You knew what this was now - and you felt foolish for missing it.

“I mean,” You started, trying to ignore the burning gazes of the rest of the room. You glanced to your left, spotting a rookie with a camera, who had paused and was now eavesdropping on the group. Rossi followed your eyes, catching on. 

“Are you done with the camera?” He asked, striding over to the man, who couldn’t have been 25. 

“I-Yes, I mean-” Rossi took the camera from him and was met with no resistance as he guided the younger man from the room. He threw the other local officers a quick look and they afforded them their privacy. Once your team was left alone in the room, the corpse of an old friend, from a lifetime ago, laying feet away, Rossi turned back to you.

“When,” You started before trying again, “I mean I-” How do you explain this in words? So many years, so much. Watered down into bits of information that your team can chop up even smaller - tearing their teeth into each morale you give them. They waited. “When I was 16 I got a scholarship for a university.” You finally decided, the best place to start was the beginning. 

“To the MF Norwegian School of Theology, Religion and Society.” Your companions remained quiet, allowing you to struggle your way through the tale. You were grateful for the lack of interruptions, you weren’t sure you would have gotten it out with them. “After 9/11 happened the Norwegian Intelligence Service started to come into the universities for recruitment. I wasn’t a citizen but-” You trailed off again, “I am good at what I do.” No one could deny that of you. You understood people, on a deeper level. More so sometimes then your coworkers could - as in the end most of the time they could only ever really view it within the lens they had crafted. However, you, even with some of the most putrid of suspects, allowed yourself to bask in humanity. You must have been silent for longer than you meant to, your eyes floated back towards the body only for your view to be obstructed by Hotch, moving between you.

“I worked on a top secret team for my first few years out of school.” You finally said. Your colleagues knew you had worked aboard before coming back to the US and eventually to your unit. But not in detail. Come to think of it, most of them probably wouldn’t have even been able to tell you the country you worked from. 

“Mostly internationally. Intelligence gathering. Sometimes domestic, depending on where the targets moved. The United States isn’t the only country that turned to fear mongering during that time.” Your voice was shaking slightly as you continued, feeling entirely too exposed. You pointed to the man behind Aaron. “Paul Clausen” Finally, the name left your lips and it burned like bile on the way out. “We went to school together… he joined the NIS with me.” Your eyes were glassy and your gaze far from the room surrounding you. “Paul. Ana. Jakob. Hugo. Lizbeth. Annete. Henry. Gal. Elise. Iver. Christopher. And Ronny.” Ronny’s face passed before your eyes momentarily and you shuddered before adding, “And me.” 

“Thirteen people.” Reid supplied.

“Thirteen roses.” Emily added on.

“Thirteen suspects.” Rossi signed. 

“Twelve.” Hotch looked at him pointedly, eyes briefly glancing towards you. You appreciated the backup but you knew what he meant.

“Eleven,” Morgan corrected once more, motioning to Paul’s corpse. It was harsh but true. Though, it would have never been Paul.

“Ten.” You corrected quietly, drawing back in the attention of the room. “Ronny, he passed long ago.” 

“What makes you think the victim pool must also be the suspect pool?” Reid asked. That was harder to sum up in a few sentences. 

“They are the only people who would know killing Paul would mean anything to me,” You simply supplied, and Reid nodded, stapling his fingers beneath his chin as he fell back into deep thought. You avoided Hotch’s gaze but you could feel the weight of his eyes on you regardless. Once again silence filled the room, each person on their own journey of thought, but most winding up at the same place. 

“So we make a list of their names and track them down.” Reid offered, you laughed, it was a jarring sound in contrast to the silent stretch before.

“Goodluck.” Bitterness dripped from the comment, though you didn’t mean for it to. “Some of those are aliases. We didn’t always share our real names. And even when we did? They could have stopped using those years ago.” It was the unfortunate truth. 

“Why don’t we get back to the office.” Hotchner finally decided, speaking for the first time. His voice was tighter than usual, but only so. You finally took a small breath and allowed yourself to look at the man who was still blocking you from the horror beyond. He offered a half smile, the corner of his lips barely turning, and you tried your best to return it. 

You entered the conference room and walked immediately to one of the sparse boards, picking up an eraser. You cleared the board before grabbing a pen and writing out a list of eleven names, leaving space to add more information to the 11 names. You were determined now more so than ever, to figure out who was doing this, who thought it was okay to drag your past up and out into the open like this.

“Y/N?” Spencer asked, catching the attention of Emily and Hotch who were waiting for you to finish, questions burning on their tongues. 

“Hm?”

“Why is your name up there?” He asked, and that got the attention of Rossi and Morgan. JJ and Garcia came into the room, completing your little family. You wanted to scream. But the facts were the facts, and it was too late to put pandora back into her box. It was time to address the elephant in the room. 

“Because. This is a group of highly intelligent, highly skilled, and frankly, highly dangerous people.” You addressed the room as a whole, putting the cap back on your pen with a ‘pop’. “And they’re also people I have not seen in close to a decade. We’re going to have to profile each and every one of them then,” You gestured around you,” And now,” you let your arms drop down to your sides, feeling naked you immediately crossed them in front of you offering your audience a rueful smile, “And unfortunately, I’m not naive. I know this is about me, for whatever reason, so. We will profile me too. At least me then.” Rossi was the first to acknowledge the statement, nodding and walking past Hotch to stand beside you. 

“So who do we begin with?”

#criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds x reader #cm reader #cm x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #hotchner #hotchner x reader #hotch #hotch x reader #hotch x you

[chuuyaandreaderkilldazai]

Ranking JJK Characters I Don't Like

Ranging from mild dislike (14) to LOATHE WITH EVERY INCH OF MY BEING (1).

14. Mai: I don't hate her. I sympathize with her. I just wish she wasn't the way she is.

13. Junpei: I do have compassion for him, but ... school shooter vibes. Not a fan.

12. Noritoshi: Bad vibes.

11. Toji: Bad dad. And he's so nosy, too. Why does he always insert himself into situations with his fists swinging? Actually, now that I think about it, that's kind of iconic behavior. But all it ever really did was create more problems. If he had never inserted himself into the plot, Geto would have probably never turned mass-murderer-cult-leader--WE COULD HAVE HAD EVERYTHING. So it's a pass for me. Also, his haircut is off-putting for reasons I cannot articulate. It's like one day in middle school he got a haircut and just never changed up the style ever again.

10. Jogo: Ugly.

9. Uraume: Character design: slay. Helping Sukuna: not slay.

8. Like every adult from the Zenin clan: BECAUSE THEY SUCK.

7. Tengen: Old and entitled.

6. Kenjaku: Old and entitled part two. What gives him the right?

5. Sukuna: Horrid, nasty man. I feel like I shouldn't have to elaborate.

4. Ui Ui: Annoying. Literally, why are you even here?

3. Mei Mei: First of all, how am I supposed to take you seriously with that stupid braid hanging in front of your face? From the very instant her character was introduced, I did not like her, but I thought maybe I was being a woman hater for no reason, so I really did try to tolerate her. But when we finally saw that scene in season two. PRISON!!! I was right. She's the worst. We are not gonna ignore that. Check her files.

2. That thing with the blond side ponytail: I hate him so much I don't even know his name. I don't care to know it. I would say why do you as a man look like that, but honestly why do you as a HUMAN BEING look like that? Why do you act like that? Why are you skipping around wearing a poorly made DIY toga? Whole nip is hanging out, and no one asked to see that. Why are you HOLDING HANDS with your blade? Freak. There is something so intrinsically, inherently, ONTOLOGICALLY wrong with him, you can't even blame it on childhood trauma or a personality disorder. The only time I ever supported Sukuna was when he bullied this emaciated Jo Jo Siwa lookin' thing in Shibuya.

Mahito: I hate him so much. I hate him more than I've ever hated any character. I actually lose the ability to speak coherently when I think about him because I hate him so much. I think it's so cringe when try-hard dudes say, "When I'm angry all I see is red." But when I think about Mahito it really is like blood and pure rage cloud my vision. He is literally the embodiment of if you gave an edge lord psychopathic eleven year old the power to kill people. "Wee, I'm so powerful and killing people is just SoooOoOoOoOOOo much fun!!" SHUT UP!!!!!!!! SHUT UPPPPPPPPPPPPP!!!!!!! YOU ARE NOT FUNNY. YOU ARE NOT CUTE. YOU ARE NOT SPECIAL IN ANY WAY. He is genuinely the most irritating character I have ever come across. And as the story progresses, he just gets worse. What do you mean he can duplicate himself? Now we have to deal with TWO of this wretched creature? What do you mean he can be decapitated AND HIS HEAD WILL SPROUT LIMBS AND SPRINT AWAY? STOOOOOOOOOP. AND DON'T EVEN GET ME STARTED ON WHAT HAPPENED TO NANAMI--I DON'T WANNA TALK ABOUT IT. Mahito is such a nasty, slithy, bothersome, despicable, nauseating little cockroach. "Yuji, you and I are the same." Huh? You thought you did something there, didn't you? You thought you ate and came up with some kind of deep, revolutionary concept? It's giving pretentious philosophy dude who thinks he's superior for being a little contrarian, nihilistic Nietzsche butt licker. When Yuji finally humbled him, I cannot tell you how much I enjoyed seeing the fear in his eyes. For one brief, fleeting moment, I could finally understand what sadists must feel like. Honestly, we deserved to watch him suffer, and I wish he would have suffered far more for far longer. Rot in anguish, Mahito. You will not be missed nor forgiven.

#long time no see #life been lifing #i need surgery :( #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #mai zenin #junpei yoshino #noritoshi kamo #toji fushiguro #jogo #uruame #tengen jjk #kenjaku #ryomen sukuna #ui ui #mei mei #mahito #hater

[popcornforone]

Monday Moods

A Pre-Outbreak Joel Miller Fan Fic

I was struggling what as to what I could write next. You all know I have so many in draft but I had a few people go oooh a new Joel… So here we are posting about Joel before his world fell apart. It’s been a while since I’ve written him. I do have another Joel in draft but I’m just not feeling it at the moment.

Synopsis: Your night shift is over & Sarah is off to school, what can you & Joel do to make this less of a moody Monday.

Word count:2550

Warnings: DO NOT READ IF TOU ARE UNDER THE AGE OF 18! PURE SMUT piv sex, stimulation, licking, nipple sucking, teasing, swearing. Slight age gap but not huge, mentions of loss of virginity. This is also based on Pedros Joel & it is before the events of the show. Basically it’s full on sex.

Thanks as always for the read peoples, it’s always really appreciated. All feedback is always welcome, it’s helps me grow as a writer. Enjoy.

“I hate Mondays” slam the front door goes. Sarah might have marched her way out of the house onto the school bus, but she left part of the Monday mood behind with her. Your night shift means you’re already cranky ready for 4 nights off, before the next shift rotation starts. It’s only the sight of your partner coming downstairs that makes you smile. Not even the decaf coffee has done that.

“Was Sarah mean to you?” Joel asks sounding genuinely concerned that the two of you may have fallen out & it’s not even 8am. You’re not her mum. He can see the glazed eyes staring back at him. They are trying to care & be alive for him, but he can tell you’ve just had it now, they need a rest. He slurps on his orange Juice straight from the carton as he leans on the kitchen counter. His morning hair all over the place, not even brushed.

“You’d hate Mondays too if you had double math at the age of 15” you say with a frown as he drinks. He clocks your stern look. The free hand apologising as he then starts to hunt for a glass.

“Fair point, it’s why they teach them advanced math, isn’t math just enough?”

“Clearly not” you reply slurping your coffee, trying not to smirk at his remark. You want to be tired but not angry when you got to bed in a little while. “How many shifts have you got today?” You genuinely ask your lover with care. You’re slowly becoming a bit more like you.

“Just the two, first one doesn’t start until

Mid-day,so I’ve got time to spend with the other special girl in my life” he says as he comes across to you, kissing up your arm.

You look around.

“I don’t see a special girl in here” you joke letting him pepper you with kisses. A nip here or there, making you shudder.

“Well that’s because all the curtains are pulled & there’s no mirror to reflect your special face back at you” his juice & breakfast are no longer what he had an appetite for. His smile insinuating he wants much more than that.

“Joel? really? now?”

“Yes now or it won’t be til I’m dirty & sweaty tonight” he says. His neck kisses always make you give in. You’ve always been putty in his hands.

“Maybe I prefer you like that”

“I think you do, my specialty is to be as scruffy & rough as you want me”

“Speaking of which baby, your T-shirt’s inside out” you chuckle.

You fling your arms around Joel & your lips meet his. He might be rough & rougged, but those hands that he always has to clean, make you feel like the dirtiest thing of all. At just His touch, you feel like you were 17 again, the age you were when he first asked you to babysit his 4 year old 11 years ago. He still gives you butterflies each time he kisses you, like when you first saw him. A teenager with a fantasy when he would drive you home. You were not the reason for Sarah mum leaving but once you came back from college each summer, it was hard for him to not ignore you. You just happened to be in the right place at the right time.

The kiss breaks & he then stands up & you wrap your legs around him. “I know where this is heading mr miller” you giggle as you bite his ear lobe.

“If you keep biting my earlobe, we won’t even get to bed baby.”

“Well the lounge curtains are still pulled” you raise an eyebrows & Joel reverses into his arm chair before he lowers himself into it. This arm chair is where he watches the big games on a Sunday from. You cook him dinner & then leave for your night shift safe in the knowledge that American football will be the only thing distracting him those nights. His hands even if he wanted them to, don’t wonder else where, only on you.

The rattle of his belt being undone is a noise that always makes you smile. Joel’s never one for foreplay. A few words here & there but if he’s even slightly in the mood, you can guarantee that sex is on its way. You stand up for a few seconds to remove your work trousers & knickers, you wore your pink lace ones to work as a treat for you, but you see the smile creep across Joel’s face when you fling them at him.

“I brought you those last year for Valentine’s Day”

“That you did baby”

“I do believe…” he says as he glides his trousers & his briefs around his ankles & beacons you to come take your seat in his lap again”… that I made you lick yourself out of them that night”

“I would never do that Joel Miller” you exclaim in reply as you smile. It was a wonderful night of love making, thank you to high school for a week long residential trip, so Sarah couldn’t hear the two of you having sex all night. But your mind is back in the present when you see him cock his two fingers at you calling you over . The other hand is leisurely stroking his length looking at you naked from the waist down, wondering just how wet he still makes you. The tip leaking already, as you lick your own bottom lip. You are about to be more than satisfied.

You put your hands on the back of his arm chair & position yourself ready to lower onto his lap & his throbbing meaty cock. When you were still at college & you dated other boys while you were there, none of them had what Joel did, none of them made you scream in pleasure like him either. They all wanted a long blow job, & never finished you off when they’d cum far too soon. You’d had a taste of a manly moody Miller & now it was yours every day if you wanted it. Right now being filled by him is all that’s on your mind. He slowly nudges at your entrance, his length gliding through your arousal. He tuts & shakes his head mischievously.

“I have no idea why I buy lube baby, you’re always so wet for me darling, so eager, so ready” it’s growled from the back of the throat these words as he lowers you into his cock.

“Fuck… me.. Joel” you whimper, as you adjust to his size & the way it stretches you. Your body wanting to cum straight away & make you explode all over him, but you slowly regain your composure. Your eyes filled with desire when you open them & look at the man you love. His eyes light up from seeing your own enjoyment of this moment. The smile across his face is one of desire. Your hands graze across his jaw line. Each prickle of his hair making you want to get lost in your kisses again.

“So tight baby, made for me this pussy, you saved your Cherry for me all those years ago, & im always very grateful for that” Joel lightly slaps your bum which makes you gasp, before his hands go for your hips. They grip on to you ready for you to start to grind & rive on this cock.

“Only you Joel, only you” you gasp as you start moving now you’re comfortable. Your own hands trialing his T-shirt with the other messing up his morning hair even more. He might have had a hair cut recently but it’s still thick & lots to play with. “Your T-shirt is still inside out baby” you groan as you lean in to take his lips again. Succulent & full of love.

Joel’s not bothered. He’s not saying much at all. A few just like that & oh fucks escape when it’s not heavy breathing & panting from him. He’s watching your body roll onto him. Showing your pelvis work, wondering how he got so lucky to have you & that a girl like you would be bothered by him at all, especially when they were younger. Desire takes over him & his lips leave your mouth & the kisses pepper your own jaw line making you whine more. Your body grinding down on his cock more, enjoying all the pleasure he is providing as you drag him through your walls. But your moans get louder. One simple lick up your neck as he tastes your sweat send your body into convulsions of pleasure. A tongue that often satisfies you by lapping at your cunt for hours is now gliding up you neck.

“J…J…Joel…” it’s a groan, it’s deep & it’s filled with lust as he starts his next neck lick, your bodies nerves driven into override. It has him gasping before he licks down your neck & starts to suck the crook of your neck before he kisses your collar & shoulder. You clamp around him & he hisses, the excitement building up inside him as well.

“Ooh my love” Joel is in charge & is admiring how well you take his firm thrusts. Each one firmer, more fervent, faster & becoming more frenzied. He’s lost in your body, He finally removes your top from the hem upwards over your head, your hair still tied up. His head straight away burys into your cleavage the bra makes, as you unhook in from the back for him. You cry out once your breasts are free as he take your nipple into his mouth sucking it, like he would an ice pop. Your hand goes to your clit, furiously after friction, feeling insane that your man makes you want to do everything with him still after all these years.

“Yes Joel, yes” you moan “don’t stop, don’t stop, never stop” you’re losing control as you grip onto his arm. “Oh fuck fuck fuck fuck”. His mouth might be occupied with your breasts moving onto the next one, but he’s pulsing more, getting even harder, holding you so tight. Your body bouncing, feeling his penis get harder if that was possible as it hits that spot inside you, the one that when he finds it shocks your system. Makes you bounce more. Makes your hands grip around whatever they are on. He briefly comes away from your chest to growl.

“Fuck year baby” it’s deep & longing his words before he latches back into your tit. Like all men Joel enjoys all types of sex, but there is something about sucking your nipples & teasing your breasts that Joel adores. They aren’t the biggest breasts in the world, but they are more than a handful. & if someone held a gun to Joel’s head & asked what was his ultimate turn on he would say his head buried in your chest. You may not have any kids of your own but you know any you & Joel might one day have will not offer the satisfaction or feeling that this man’s lips do as they suck at your erect nipples. It makes you get lost in your own mind as your body crushes him & pushes him back into the arm chair even more.

“God Joel fuck”

“Oooh baby”

“Joel… Joel… fuck yes yes yes”

“Come on daring”

“Ooooh fuck”

All these word flow out of your mouths as the thrusting reaches its climax & you let go as Joel nibbles your nipple, drenching his penis, your walls fluttering around as they clamp around him, the follow up motion he fills you, breaking away from your breast. His own eyes rolling into the back of his head as he cums. Both of your body’s shaking in desire, longing looks no longer being met by each other. The smell of lust in the air, which the only sound is of you both breathing heavily as you come down from cumming so hard & ferociously.

You eventually rest your head on Joel shoulder, before looking up into his big brown eyes while he strokes your naked back, he is still inside you. You sigh looking at him before you tenderly kiss his lips. He strokes your hair with his spare hand.

“Joel?”

“Yes my darling?”

You giggle “your T-shirts now not only very sweaty but inside out still” you smile before you kiss him again.

“Ha” Joel laughs. “Maybe I wanted it that way, so then when I turn it around your sweat that dropped on me will be closer to my skin” he does a mischievous look at you.

“That is disgusting Joel Miller” you scoff & try & look shocked at what he’s said but you can’t hide that this turns you on slightly.

“Well maybe I will go change” he says as he slowly help you off him & makes sure your steady on his feet before he pulls his briefs trouser back up, which we’re still around his ankles. “But I’m not gonna shower, I want to smell of you when I sweat.” Before you can protests he’s put his large thumb over your mouth to silence you “thought you liked me sweaty & dirty?” He says before embracing your lips. His tongue not even asking permission, gliding to meet your own before he then finally removes his tshirt.

Time passes & you have showered & slept while Joel has left for work. You’re in the kitchen backing cookies when Sarah gets home. She looks stressed.

“Is it still a Monday Miller mood?” You ask her as you hear the bag slump down in the hall way.

“Urghhh”comes the cry from Sarah. “Advanced math is hell why do…” she’s interrupted by the smell of you baking cookies. “Are you making…” her head pops around the door frame. She sees your frazzled state. You’re held together by your nap,shower & sex. Your hair is no longer tied up & is frizzy & you are in your baggy shorts & one of Joel’s T-shirts for comfort.

“You know you sounded just like your dad when you started asking about advanced math” you say which makes her laugh.

“& you…” she says as she comes & sits at the counter ready to offer a hand knowing you are making her favourite cookies to get her out of her moody Monday “look like dad, your T-shirts inside out” you hadn’t even noticed the grey top wasn’t on properly.

“Well I guess that means I fit right in” you say as you pass her the bowl to stir.

“That you do”

“That you do” it’s echoed after Sarah said it as Joel is standing in the door way admiring you both getting on. You both turn & smile, before Sarah’s goes to hug her dad. Even at 15 a daughter needs a hug from her dad.

“How is my special girl?” He asks as he stroke Sarah’s hair.”did she have a good Monday?”

“She’s fine” Sarah’s replies & then she smiles at you & winks like her dad does “& im okay too”.

#fanfic #my fics #smutt #pedro pascal #no minors #over18 #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal cinematic universe #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal fan fic #pedro pascal fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller #joel tlou #joel x reader #joel the last of us #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fan fiction #hbo the last of us #the last of us #tlou fanfiction #tlou x reader #hbo tlou #tlou fic #tlou

[sgstories123]

It all started with a pack of Marlboro

It was almost midnight when Ryan walked out of the MRT station. There were so many overtime work this month. He was tired but happy that he is going to get some extra cash. Maybe he will take a short trip to Bangkok. He missed the girls there. The last time he went there was almost 3 years ago before the COVID pandemic.

As he walked towards his HDB flat, he went inside a 7-11 to buy a can of beer and some snacks to reward himself for his hard work. He spotted a young Malay couple outside the store through the glass panels. He had seen both of them several times this last couple of weeks. Both of them were young, in their early twenties at most. The man was tall and thin, often wearing black t-shirts with loud, garish pictures of metal bands.

Ryan was more interested in the woman though. She was slightly rounded but considering the size of her breasts and ass, she was well-proportioned. Like most of the times that he had seen her, today, she was wearing another tight tube top, her cleavage showing clearly. She had on a short, black skirt today, with black stockings and red heels. It reminded Ryan of street walkers often depicted on old Hollywood movies.

As he paid for his food, he started whistling “Pretty woman, walking down the street…”

He pushed open the door to the convenience store and was about to walk off when he heard someone calling out to him.

“Abang! Can help?” The Malay man asked.

“What is it?” Ryan turned to him. The Malay man had a cute, boyish type of face. This type of boyband material breaks many hearts, Ryan thought to himself.

The Malay man looked around furtively before pushing two ten-dollar bills into Ryan’s hands. “Help me buy a pack of Marlboro, can?”

Ryan looked around. There was no one to be seen. He sighed. It was much easier during his time when he wanted a smoke. Now the laws are so strict that he pitied the young man. He took the money and went into the 7-11 again. The cashier looked at him suspiciously, obviously aware of what was happening. Ryan simply ignored him.

Walking out of the 7-11 a second time, he passed the cigarettes and change to the Malay man.

“Thanks, Abang.” The Malay man started tapping the cigarettes pack hard onto his palm, before opening up the pack. He lit a cigarette, and sucked on it slowly, enjoying himself.

Ryan was watching the Malay woman instead. She had thick luscious lips and smooth, dark skin. An image of those thick lips on his cock sprang to his mind, his cock suddenly hard and uncomfortable in his jeans.

“She quite pretty, right?” The Malay man grinned when he caught Ryan staring at his girlfriend.

“Yeah. You are such a lucky guy.” Ryan tried to be nonchalant.

“Look at those lips. She is a damn good kisser.” The Malay man continued, drawing another round of air through his cigarettes. “She is even better with her blowjob. Cannot tahan. You want to cum immediately inside her mouth.”

Ryan cursed the man inwardly. This dirty talk is only fuelling all sorts of images in his mind and his cock was hurting, begging for release from his jeans.

“Yeah. Good for you then.” Ryan muttered. “Have fun. I gotta go.” He needed to reach his home quickly.

“Abang. You help me, I help you. How about $50 for a blow job? Discount for you because you nice guy.” The Malay man pulled Ryan back.

“Thanks. I not gay. I don’t need blowjobs from you.”

The Malay man laughed. “Sorry. I meant she gives you the blowjob.” The man shoved a thumb in the woman’s direction.

Ryan’s interest was piqued. “$50? You sure?”

The Malay man looked around and pointed to the staircase in a nearby block of flats. “Follow me.”

Ryan followed the Malay man with the woman walking slowly behind. Throughout, the woman did not say a word, seemingly oblivious to the whole discussion.

They walked up a flight of stairs, at the landing between the ground and second floors. Ryan fished out a $50 bill to the man and without another word, the woman knelt in front of Ryan, slowly stroking his hard cock through his jeans. It seems that this is not the first time that she is doing this.

Ryan’s cock was hurting so much that he did not really care for foreplay. He unzipped his jeans and pulled down his briefs. His hard cock sprang up, finally released from its prison. The woman took in his whole length in a practiced move, twitching her head slightly to align with the angle of his cock. Ryan sighed in pleasure. The thick lips enveloped his cock warmly. As her lips moved along the length of his cock, they left a trail of warm saliva, like footprints in the sand. She was not shy, like some of the other women who had given Ryan’s blowjobs, taking bits of his cock at a time. She simply swallowed it whole, his cock hitting the back of her throat on its first entry. Ryan held on to her head as she sucked on his cock expertly. The boyfriend was right. She was really good. His cock was begging for release, his muscles in his ass clenching tightly, trying desperately to last longer and prolong his pleasure.

“Stop for a while. I need to sit down.” Ryan pushed the woman off his hard cock. Her saliva was glistening on his cock, dripping down and darkening the cement floor. He sat down on the stairs, two steps up from the landing, catching his breath. His cock was quivering in anger. It wanted to be back in the warm mouth. Perhaps the woman understood his cock better than he did. She crawled over on her hands and knees. Holding his waist for support with one hand, she leaned forwards. With her other hand, she grabbed Ryan’s hard cock and guided into her mouth again. Ryan surrendered to the pleasure. He could not fight it any more. His $50 is going way too fast.

The Malay man grinned and walked behind the woman. He lifted her skirt and pulled down her panties. He licked his fingers and pushed it into her pussy. The woman flinched momentarily but continued sucking on Ryan’s cock. Man, this is one professional cock sucker, Ryan thought to himself. He patted the woman’s head, giving his approval to her professionalism.

The man then dropped his pants and revealed his erect cock. It was long and thick. As the man was rather skinny and with a boyish face, his large cock seemed to be disproportionally large. God was unfair, Ryan thought. Good looks and large cock. Everyone’s wet dream.

The man spit on his cock, lubricating it quickly before pushing it into the woman’s pussy. This time, the woman could not remain passive. She paused, moaning softly as the man’s large cock entered her. Ryan could feel her arms hugging him even more tightly for support as she arched upwards to allow the man to enter her even more deeply. But she only took a moment for her own enjoyment. She returned quickly to her task, sucking Ryan’s cock even more deeply. She seemed to be enjoying herself even more now. Her breath was interspersed with grunts of pleasure.

Above the soft groans of pleasure emanating from the three of them, Ryan heard several loud voices. It was coming from a group of people walking along the void deck below them. Ryan heaved a sigh of relief when the group walked away. There was a small chance that this was their block of flats and they have decided to use the stairs. Be healthy, take the stairs. That was one of the government’s latest campaign.

The danger passed and he relaxed. Without focusing on holding back, the floodgates opened and he released everything that he had been holding back into the woman’s mouth. He jerked forward uncontrollably, holding onto the woman’s head to prolong his pleasure. The man was ejaculating too. He gave several hard thrusts, squeezing the woman between the two of them. Ryan laid back on the hard stairs, exhausted but plainly satisfied. The woman was must have swallowed his cum because she was now licking his cock clean. Gosh, she was really professional. The man sat next to the woman, smiling at Ryan.

“Wah, not bad. You last quite long leh.” He pulled the woman upwards, giving her a kiss on her cum-drenched lips. Looking at Ryan again, he commented “And your cock also quite nice.” Without another word, he leaned downwards, licking Ryan’s cock, taking over from the woman.

Ryan’s cock sprang alive, harder than ever before. He knew he was not gay but the man was even a better than the woman. A moan escaped from him.

“Round 2? I won’t charge you for it.” The man winked at Ryan.

[squgs]

Alicent and Rhaenyra as Parents

Ok so a pretty common oppinion is that Rhaenyra is a good, loving mother and that Alicent is a bad, borderline abusive mother. While that reading is understandable, I think a more interesting and accurate one is that both Alicent and Rhaenyra make the same mistakes as their fathers, furthering the cycles of harm in their family.

Viserys is a neglectful, lenient father who seemingly doesn't prepare Rhaenyra to rule. We don't see Viserys mentoring or working with Rhaenyra on political matters, that could have concievably happened in the 10 year time jump, but we don't really see Rhaenyra having the political expertise and confidence that would come with that, mainly she just uses the power of Viserys and the throne to force everyone to do what she wants. Viserys is entirely willing to throw his weight around to that end and ignores all of Rhaenyra's mistakes, most importantly her bastard children (to be clear this isn't a moral failing, it's a political mistake that destabilizes the entire realm).

Otto is a much more controlling father who, while loving in some ways, treats Alicent as a pawn to further their family's political power. He forces her to grow up too quickly and to face hard truths. He tells his teenage daughter that her best friend is going to murder her children, which while a reasonable political read of the situation, is a really painful thing for Alicent to hear.

Both Alicent and Rhaenyra do the same things as their fathers. Rhaenyra never talks to her children about their bastardy, never acknowledges what is obviously true and never helps them learn how to come to terms with their identity besides dismissively telling them that them being Targaryens is all that matters. Alicent on the other hand forces her children to face the realities of their situation and grow up way too soon. She tells Aegon that his half sister is going to kill him and allows or makes him and Heleana marry when Heleana is as young or younger than Alicent was when she married.

Both of these aproaches have problems and benefits. Rhaenyra's kids are seemingly much happier than Alicent's which is good. Aemond and Aegon seem pretty miserable for most of their screen time, but Alicent's kids are far more competent than Rhaenyra's, and have enough of an understanding of the world around them to be nearly competent actors in it.

This all is best shown on Driftmark. Rhaenyra's children don't know how to grieve their father, and Rhaenyra is only telling them to hide it (obviously she can't have her children publicly grieving, but there needs to be a private conversation about that grief and why it's valid even if it can't be public). As such the only way to express it they have is violence, getting into a fight with Aemond. Then when Aemond says the truth aloud, something he knows because he is less sheltered (whether Alicent specifically told him is another question), the only way Jace knows how to respond is to lash out with lethal violence, but even then Aemond is the superior fighter and had the opportunity to brain both Jace and Luke with the rock, something he wasn't quite bloodthirsty enough to do. Then in the aftermath of the eye gouging we again see the vast differences in competence. Jace and Luke are just spectators in that room. The only thing they do of note is voicing the allegation aloud, something that was probably a bad idea, and that made Rhaenyra to go full scorched earth, threatening a 10 or 11 year old child with torture. Aegon and Aemond though? They are players in that room. They both understand that their father is looking for an excuse to hurt their mother (cause who else could he think they heard those rumors from), and band together to defy him. They successfully outmaneuver the king who is their father and probably the most powerful person in the world.

Now I'm not trying to say that Alicent is the better mother. Her children are fucking miserable, and Aegon doesn't even believe that she loves him. What I might be arguing is that Alicent's parenting is better suited to the world that both she and Rhaenyra are living in. Westeros is a cruel and evil place which Alicent's children seem far more equipped to survive than Rhaenyra's. Of course Alicent in the course of preparing them for the world is being cruel and perhaps evil. There's maybe an argument to be made that Rhaenyra's parenting is working to make the world a better place and fighting the cruelty of the world, but I don't buy it because at least through episode 7 her children aren't significantly kinder than Alicent's (and after that Aegon's ludicrously evil actions compared to the slightly dickish actions of Aemond makes it hard to make conclusions about the effects of Alicent's parenting).

There are also probably things to say about the circumstances around Alicent and Rhaenyra becoming parents and the people they have coparenting (Criston and Otto vs Laenor Harwin and Daemon), and how they add to these patterns, but I don't really have any coherent thoughts on that.

Anyway, stop saying Alicent is a terrible mother, she is definitely above average amongst house of the dragon parents and so is Rhaenyra.

#alicent hightower #rhaenyra targaryen #hotd #pro alicent hightower

[samaraannhan20]

Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw Imagine: Drunk Sailors

Warnings: agegap(around 11 years, I’m making Bradley a little younger than he would be in TG:M), anxiety, depression, non-sexual nudity

“Hey, barkeep!” I hear someone shout from the other end of the bar. “Where’s my drink?” I just ignore him because I am currently helping someone else, and he never actually ordered anything. Just walked into the bar already drunk. “I asked where my drink was!” he yelled again, and I turn towards him, grabbing a random bottle of beer. “Here you go sir,” I say, handing it to him. “This isn’t what I wanted!” “I’m sorry. What can I get for you?” “Nothing you bitch. I’ll drink this until the next waitress gets here. She’ll know what I want. She’ll actually know how to do her job,” he says, angrily, and then stalks off. I look around the bar, see no one there, and then sink down to the floor behind the bar, wrapping my arms around myself and quietly crying. I notice my co-worker come around the back of the bar and look down at me. “Y/N, what happened?” he asks, squatting down to eye level. “Um nothing new. Just another drunk guy yelling at me. That guy out there called me a bitch and said I don’t know how to do my job because he was yelling at me without actually telling me his order, so I just gave him a random beer,” I tell him, and hear him scoff, before he gives me a pat on my shoulder and stands up, quickly walking in the direction I assume the drunk guy is. “Hey! You!” I hear him shout, but I don’t move. “Get out! You don’t walk in drunk and then treat the bartender like that! Get out!” he shouts again, his voice getting smaller as they shoo the guy out of the bar. “Hey, Pen,” he shouts when they get close again, “can you come out here?” I hear my mom vaguely reply, before he walks away and it gets a little quiet again. Before long I hear my mom’s voice. “Y/N, where are you?” my mom, Penny Benjamin, asks as she walks behind the bar, only to find me sitting on the floor with my arms wrapped around my knees, tears in my eyes. “Why don’t you head on home? You opened today, and Tara will be here for her shift soon. You go on home, go see Bradley.” “He’s not back with Dad yet. They went out this morning for training and haven’t come back yet. Besides, I’m fine,” I say, and then sigh heavily and lift myself off the ground. “I just need a second and I’ll be ready to face another customer.” “Honey,” my mom quietly says before pulling me into a hug. “It’s okay. You leaving early doesn’t mean you’re weak. It means there have been at least three drunk old men who yelled at you today, plus however many from yesterday, the day before, and so on and so forth. You haven’t had a day off in two weeks. Go home.” “Are you sure? I can at least wait until Tara gets he-” I abruptly stop because my mom slapped her hand over my mouth. “Go. Home. To your apartment. Out with Bradley. Anywhere but here, or my house. I don’t care. Just go. Take a few days. I’ve got it here. You need a break,” she finishes, before kissing me on the forehead and shoving me out from behind the bar. “Thanks, Mom,” I say, before turning to go to the office to grab my stuff. When I enter the office I take a second to sink down in the chair and open the drawer that mom hides the scotch in, and pull the bottle out. I take a swig, and then set the bottle down. “Ew. I don’t even like scotch,” I say to no one but myself,  and then pull out my phone to check and see if Bradley has texted me since he got to work this morning. Brads🥰🐔 Hey hun, I’m on my way to the Hard Deck with your dad, he asked me to drop him off. See you there. Sent 20 minutes ago I read the message again and then look at the time, before grabbing my bag and running out of the office, turning the corner and running smack dab into someone. “Sweetheart, move a little slower,” I hear my dad say as he catches me. “Sorry Dad. Did Brads leave?” I say as I give him a quick hug before pulling away, and frantically looking around. “No, he’s talking to your mom. I came to find you because your mom told me about what happened. Your mom is sending you home early because some customer yelled at you?” he says, looking at me as though he is willing to hurt anyone who dared yell at me. “I’m fine, Dad,” I reply, already over this conversation. “I’m used to it. Drunk dudes, especially sailors, tend to be mean whenever they have to wait for something. They have just been especially mean the last week, and I hit my limit today. Mom found me crying on the floor behind the bar,” I say, quickly, and with a slight shrug of my shoulders as I tuck my hair behind my ear.  “I’m gonna go find Bradley, see if he’ll take me home. Love you pops.” “I love you too, kid,” he replies before leaning down and kissing the top of my head, and turning towards the office. “What are you going to the office for?” I ask with a small chuckle. “Oh, I told your mom I would finish filing the paperwork she left out.” I just nod in response and turn back towards the bar area, focusing back on finding Bradley. I feel my phone buzz in my pocket as I step into the main area, but before I can pull it out, I hear him call my name. “Y/N! There you are,” Bradley says as he walks over to me. “Yeah, sorry I was hiding in the office. Did you talk to mom?” I ask him, looking up and tucking my hair behind my ear again. “Yeah. Let’s get out of here before some other drunk dude says something and I have to punch him,” he says, leans down and kisses me on the forehead, wraps his arm around me, pulling me into his side, leading me towards the front door. “Bye honey!” I hear my mom shout from somewhere behind me. Bradley lifts his hand in a wave as I shout back, not even bothering to try to turn and see where she is. When we get outside Bradley opens the door to the Bronco for me and helps me in, before shutting the door and walking over to his side. He climbs in and starts the car, and then leaning over me to grab my seatbelt. I make no motion to help, because he does this every time we get in any car, and it just makes me feel incredibly safe and loved, so I stopped fighting it after our third date. Before he leans back into his own seat, he grabs my chin and pulls me in for a kiss. I laugh and we both smile into the kiss, and then he pulls back and puts his own seatbelt on. He turns out of the parking lot and places his hand on my thigh, and I zone out tracing the veins on his hand as he drives. “... you want to go?” he asks me, and I snap back to reality. “Um, well I thought we were just going home. Are we not doing that?” “Baby, I just asked you if you wanted to get some food before we head back to your apartment. Are you okay?” “Um. No. But yeah, let's get some food. Can we go get Chipotle?” “Yeah of course. Here, take my phone and order it ahead so we can get home quicker,” he says, and hands me his phone. I unlock it and open the Chipotle app, putting both of our orders in and closing out of the app. “Hey, can I send a snap in the Dagger Squad group chat?” I say with a small smile on my face. “Yeah of course. Nat was just telling me she missed you. Do you wanna hang out with them tonight?” he asks right as I take a selfie and send it to the squad. “Um. No, it’s been a rough couple of weeks. I just want it to be us tonight. Is that okay?” I ask, and curl up into my seat, handing him his phone back. “Sweetheart, of course that’s okay. It’ll be nice to have a night with just the two of us.” I mumble a response, and lean against the window looking out of it. When we arrive at Chipotle, Bradley leaves the car running and runs inside to get our food. When he comes back he puts it down in the backseat, hands me my drink, and then grabs his phone. I pay no attention to what he is doing, until suddenly a song I know that he never listens to, and I only listen to when I turn on my anxiety playlist,  is playing through the car. I look up at him as he places his phone down and then reaches his hand over, grabs my hand, and then rests our intertwined hands on my thigh. I lean away from the window, and reach my available hand to grab his phone. “Is this my anxiety playlist?” I ask him as I grab it, quickly unlocking it to see what playlist is playing. He chuckles and nods as I look at his phone, and see that it is. I scroll through the list to find another song I would like to listen to, and he laughs as it starts to play, and we both sing along. When we pull up to our apartment, Bradley turns the car off and then gets out, grabbing the bag of food and coming around to my side of the car, just as I open my door. He holds his hand out to help me down, because the Bronco is just a bit too tall for me to casually get out of it, and the process typically ends with me falling over. We walk inside and Bradley takes the food to the kitchen while I head to the bedroom to change out of what I had worn to work. I stand in front of the closet for a second, and then ultimately decide on a pair of biker shorts and one of Bradley’s t-shirts. When I walk back into the main area of the house, Bradley has pulled a movie up on the tv, and is sitting on the couch with a beer in front of him. “I wasn’t sure if you would want one of your drinks, but I have your soda over here,” he says, turning to me as I walk in. “Okay, thanks,” I reply, walking over and joining him on the couch. “What movie did you pull up?” “Your favorite. Now, let’s eat and watch this movie,” he says, and hands me a fork, and we both sit and watch the movie and eat our dinner.

By the end of the movie I’m laying in between Bradley’s legs with my head on his chest. I stare at the television as the credits roll, just zoning out. Before I know it, I’m thinking about what happened today again, and I sit up really quickly with tears in my eyes, and walk to the bedroom before Bradley can notice. I shut the door and cross over to the bed, sliding down on the side of it until I’m sitting on the floor. I just sit there, crying, not paying attention to how long it’s been or anything else that is happening. Eventually, Bradley knocks on the door, before slowly opening it. “Honey?” he says, leaning his head in the room. He looks down and sees me on the floor, and crosses over the threshold quickly, and picks me up, sitting down on the bed with me in his lap. I start crying even more at his kindness, and I bury my face in his neck, with him rubbing my back as I cry. Slowly I stop to cry, and as I begin to move Bradley speaks up. “Honey, do you want to take a bath? I can run one for you if you want.” “Yeah, I think that would be good,” I respond with a sniff, standing up from his lap. “Okay. I’ll go run the bath, you find a nice pair of pajamas you want to sleep in,” he responds, and stands up, kissing me on the forehead as he heads out of the room to the restroom. I cross to the dresser that holds our pajamas, and grab my favorite pair, before heading out of the room towards the bathroom. When I walk in Bradley is finishing pouring bath salts and bubble bath in the tub, and stands up as I walk in. “Okay, bath is ready to go. Do you need anything?” “Um, no. Wait!” I say as he turns to leave. “What are you going to do while I’m in the bath?” “I’m going to change our sheets, because we’ve needed to for a while and what better time than when one of us is having a bad day. And then I’m going to dig your old “magic” nap blanket from whatever cabinet we have it shoved in. Then, I’ll do whatever you need me to do. Sit in here with you, wait out there until you’re done. Whatever you need,” he says, and then walks closer and pulls me into him. “Now, you enjoy your bath, and I will leave you to it. I love you,” he says, and then kisses me before pulling away and heading towards the door. “I love you,” I respond, and then sigh as he closes the door behind him. I strip down and climb into the bath, just laying there in silence, feeling the stress of the day work its way out of my body. I sink lower and lower into the bath, just relaxing.

I lose track of how much time I’ve spent in the bath when I hear a knock at the door. I mumble a “come in” and as I do so Bradley steps into the bathroom. “Hey kid. How’s it going?” he asks, squatting down by the edge of the tub, and dipping his hand below the water to rest on my knee. “It’s going well. I feel a lot better,” I say, and sit up a little in the tub. “I think I’m almost ready to get out. I don’t see any reason to keep marinating in dirty water,” I say with a little chuckle. “Okay darling. What do you want to do when you get out?” “I think I want to shower. Then watch a movie in bed,” I tell him, and grab his hand to move it so I can stand up. I carefully stand up and step out onto the bathmat. “Do you want to shower with me?” I ask him while I walk from the tub to the shower. “Do you want me to?” “Yes, I would love you to,” I tell him, and then slip into the shower and turn the water on. Before too long I hear his belt hit the floor, and the shower door opens to let him in. He reaches around me to grab the shampoo, and then pauses. “Here, turn around, I’ll wash your hair,” he tells me, and I oblige, turning so my back is to him. I hear the shampoo come out of the bottle and go into his hand, hear the lid click shut, and then feel him begin to rub the shampoo into my scalp. After he rinses the shampoo out, I turn around and wrap my arms around his waist, and bury my head in his chest, and he reciprocates the motion. “I’m really tired of having shitty days,” I mumble into his chest, and he squeezes my waist tighter. “I know. But, your mom just essentially gave you the rest of the week off, and if you take longer she won’t care.” “I know,” I mumble again, before pulling away. “Wanna go to the beach tomorrow?” I ask him with a sly smile on my face. “Of course I do. Why that look though?” “I,” I start, as I turn around to turn off the water, “may or may not have bought a new swimsuit the other day. And a new picnic basket. And maybe some stuff to make a picnic,” I finish as I wrap myself up in a towel and cross into our room to start digging around in our pajama drawer for a pair of comfortable pajamas. “A beach picnic tomorrow? Sounds good to me,” he says as he pulls on a pair of boxers and climbs into our bed. “Thank you for everything,” I quietly say as I cuddle into him after climbing into bed. “You deserve nothing less,” he says, as he wraps his arm around me and keeps me close to his side after pulling the covers up. “I should be able to handle one person yelling at me,” I whisper, beginning to let the thoughts I've been having all day come out of my mind. “Really. A normal person wouldn’t cry because one drunk guy yelled at them.” “Okay, let's entertain that thought,” he says, sitting up in the bed, not allowing me to go to bed still thinking that it was my fault. “How many days in a row this week did a drunk guy yell at you?” “Um. Maybe four. Or three. I’m not sure. They all started to blend together,” I respond, looking up at him. “And on average, how many days in a row do you think normal people are yelled at by drunks?” “Well. It depends on if they work in a bar or not. Why?” “Because, kid, it doesn’t matter that you have anxiety. That is not what caused you to cry today. What caused you to cry today, was an asshole that decided it was okay to yell at someone for no good reason. I remember exactly how many days in a row a drunk guy yelled at you, because I was there for all of them except this one, and it was five,” he says, and then pauses to pull me into him, leaving not an inch of space between the two of us. “You deserve a break. You handled yourself fine. And I am so proud of you, and shocked that you were able to make it through four days of people yelling at you. I am so proud of you, I know I already said it, but I’ll keep saying it until you believe it.” “Bradley,” I say with tears in my eyes, and then realize that I don’t have any words to say, so I just say “I love you,” and then wrap my arms around his neck and pull him into a kiss.

#bradley bradshaw x mitchell!reader #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #rooster bradshaw

[funeral-grayy]

every single day since you were twelve, you wished twice a day. your eyes would flutter shut and you’d make a wish. it was the same wish every single day. the most painful wish, one you knew would never happen but you still tried. you still wished. despite the universe giving you clear signs it wasn’t meant to be, you still wished. you’d been doing this since you were younger, much younger. it all started on a sweltering summer day..

“hey, what time is it?” he had asked. we had been sitting in his tree house for the past two hours. comic books strewn across the old creaky floorboards. he’d begged his dad to build the tree house, claiming he needed his own private place, free of adults. of course his dad didn’t even hesitate. a week later, a few scrapes and bruises and the tree house was built. the three of you had built it together, shinsou’s dad insisting it’d help the two of you grow. the both of you spent your summers locked away in that tree house. time didn’t exist when you were there, it was special or it had been for you, since it started that whole tradition. you had blinked out of your daze, setting down the deadpool comic you’d been reading and picked up your silver flip phone.

“it’s 11:11”

“make a wish then” he whispered to you.

so you shut your eyes as tight as possible. you took slow breaths and thought for a moment. you knew what you wanted to wish for because its what you wished for every birthday. without hesitation, every birthday you blew out your birthday candles and wished with all your might. you thought if you wished hard enough and kept it up long enough, it’d eventually come true. at least that’s what you’d tell yourself. but now you could wish every day? at a special time? you weren’t about to question it because you needed all the help you could get. finally opening your eyes, you smiled and nodded.

“what did you wish for?”

“i can’t tell you or it’ll never come true, silly”

but little did he know, every year you wished for the same thing. you wished he’d be yours. wished he’d look at you differently and not as his younger best friend. even at twelve years old, you knew. and over the years, your heart never wavered, always beating for him. so like clock work, once a year you made that very same wish with your entire being.

you watched as the clock changes to 11:12, after you’ve made your wish. letting out a deep sigh, you push yourself out of bed. you’d been sulking all morning long, refusing to get out of bed and face the day. you had woken up much much earlier in the day but something told you to just go back to sleep and stay put. as if sensing you were awake, a knock sounds at your door. you could ignore it, yeah you could totally ignore it. another knock sounded, followed by a voice.

“i know you’re awake, it’s almost noon, get your ass outta bed!” mina yells through your door. ah yes, your ever persistent roommate turned best friend. you love her, you really really do but my god she was the most annoying morning person ever. up at the crack of dawn and ready to go, with way too much energy. and she was always insistent that you didn’t waste away in your room. always bugging you to hangout or go out to do something. you loved her, but god why today? you really want to just spend the day in bed but you know mina, she’d give you roughly an hour to get your shit together before she barges in there and drags you out. your limbs feel heavy as you drag yourself out of bed and over to your closet. like something heavy had settled in your chest. ugh, you didn’t even want to get dressed. looking down at your attire, a yellow oversized crewneck sweater and bike shorts, you shrug to yourself. mina couldn’t win every battle, so she’ll just have to settle with the fact that you actually left bed. you gather your hair and toss it into a makeshift bun, not even bothering to brush it. doing one final once over, you figure you might as well get this over with. you quickly grab your phone off your nightstand table and leave your room.

“i was about to send denki in to drag your ass out” mina says as you round the corner to the living room. of course she wasn’t alone and didn’t bother to warn you. both couches were occupied by your friends. denki, mina and kirishima on one couch, shinsou and sero on the other. you can hear pots banging around in the kitchen, so you can only assume bakugo is making something. without any thought, you walk over to the couch shinsou and sero are on, and plop yourself down on top of them. your head in shinsou’s lap and thighs draped over sero’s.

“you ruined my day, just so y’all know” you grumble to yourself, not really saying it with the intent on being heard. of course the ever so perceptive shinsou hears you but before he could speak up, sero starts to tickle you behind your knees. you try so hard not to laugh and hold a stern face but it was no use. everyone knew that was your weak spot and seemed to always use it against you. you finally snap and start giggling uncontrollably, telling sero to stop please. finally he smooths his hand over the top of your thigh, letting you breath.

“c’mon princess, you really mean to tell me you’d rather be cooped up in your room??” you know he was right, of course you’d rather spend time with your friends but that didn’t mean you’d admit it. you just felt off today. the minute you had woken up, something felt odd. your mind screamed at you, telling you to just stay in bed and call it a day. you really had been set on not leaving your room, but of course that didn’t happen. interrupting your thoughts, mina sat forward on the couch and spoke up.

“babe! it’s october first! it’s officially halloween month, so obviously to celebrate i invited everyone over for horror movies and popcorn!” she claps her hands excitedly, this after all was her favourite month. the apartment was already decked out to the nines in halloween stuff. deep purple fairy lights were strung around the living room, a bunch of different halloween and fall decor scattered throughout the apartment. honestly, it looked like spirit halloween had thrown up all over the place. bakugo finally emerges from the kitchen, two big silver bowls of popcorn in each hand. he’s the type of guy who refused to buy microwave popcorn, always insisting it needed to be stove top or it wasn’t real. with a grumble, he hands shinsou a bowl and then hands the other one off to kirishima.

“oh! oh! bakubro! turn the cool purple lights on and turn off all the other ones?” kirishima asks.

“pleaaaaaase bakugo! we gotta set the mood for horror movies!!” mina begs. despite bakugo’s cold demeanor, he did actually care for his friends. grumbling, he got up and did exactly what was asked. the room was now dark with a purple glow. the curtains had already been shut and it felt like it was more night than day. once everything was finally set up and everyone was comfortable, mina tosses denki the remote to pick the first movie.

overall, you were usually okay with horror movies. sure, you didn’t go out of your way to seek them out or watch them but you could handle them. at least that’s what you were telling yourself. still on top of both of the boys, you reach your arm behind shinsou and snatch a pillow. he gives you a pointed look but says nothing. you set the pillow down under your head on his lap and shift your position slightly. you got this, you weren’t going to get scared. the main character on the screen shrieked suddenly and you jump. ok maybe you didn’t have this. thankfully the only people to notice your sudden movement were the two men you were currently on top of. shinsou doesn’t acknowledge it but sero gently starts to rub the top of your thigh. It’s soothing but at the same time distracting. you were too aware of his gentle touch, the way he caresses your thighs lightly. you were used to denki being touchy feely with you, heck even kirishima toed the line from time to time but sero had never touched you in anything but a friendly manner. maybe this was friendly and you were just reading too much into it. your thoughts were interrupted by the gentle touch gradually getting higher. he gently traces his finger up your thigh and then back down, each time going a little bit higher.

thankfully, the sound of bakugo’s ringtone went off, startling the both of you. it was a blessing, your body was already reacting to the innocent touches and you needed to put some distance between the two of you.

“i’m gunna grab a blanket from my room and plug my phone in!” you say as you ever so gracefully roll off the couch. a chorus of ‘oks’ from your friends and you all but ran out of the room. once inside the safety of your room, you try to steady your heart beat. you’re probably overthinking this, right? those touches were super friendly and not at all suggestive. except they were getting to be suggestive. what would have happened if bakugo’s phone hadn’t interrupted? it doesn’t even matter, sero wasn’t the one you wished for every day. you must’ve been taking too long because shinsou appears in your doorway.

“what the fuck was that about?” his tone almost felt accusatory, like you had done something wrong.

“excuse me?” you whisper yell, trying to figure out what he was insinuating.

“don’t fucking pretend you didn’t feel hanta basically molesting your thighs.” he seethes out, taking a step into your bedroom. his arms were crossed, brows furrowed. what even was deal? he’d never said anything before now. not when denki constantly slapped your ass or when kirishima’s touches lingered. now he has a problem? nah, that wasn’t going to fly.

“molesting? molesting?!”

“that’s sure what it looked like from where i was sitting. and just so casually? in front of our friends? i didn’t know you could be that slutty.” his venomous words slice through you. it feels like all the air has been sucked out of the room, all that was heard was the muffled movie in the background. you’ve seen shinsou mad, you’ve seen him livid but never was his vicious words ever directed at you. he’s never raised his voice or ever said anything hurtful towards you. he knew how sensitive you could be, so even when he joked around he was careful with you. your sight began to blur as you felt angry tears build up but you refused to acknowledge them.

“get out. get the fuck out!” you yell at him and harshly push him through your door, slamming it in his face. forehead pressed against the cold wooden door now, you jump as the front door slams shut, signifying him leaving your apartment. you hadn’t heard any exchanges of goodbyes, you knew he left without saying anything to anyone. so someone would eventually come check on you. god, you should have fucking stayed in bed, you should have trusted your gut. the tears wouldn’t stop now that the dam had broke. you couldn’t believe he’d say something like that to you. you slumped against the wall next to your door, sliding down and sitting on the floor. pulling your knees to your chest, you rest your forehead on your knees and continue to let the tears flow. you have been best friends since you were both very young and this was your first real fight. sure, you had minor disagreements here and there, but nothing like this. it felt like hours before there was a gentle knock at the door.

“can i come in?” you let out a sigh of relief upon hearing mina’s voice. if it had been anyone else, you would have said no.

“yeah”

the door slowly creaks open and she scans the room for you, not realizing you’re right next to her feet. once she sees you on the floor, she lets out a startled gasp and then an awkward laugh to cover it up. without saying anything, she slid down on the floor and gathers you into her arms. the tears had long dried up but your eyes were red and swollen, a sure sign you had been crying earlier. she ran her fingers through your hair and just sat with you until you were ready. taking a deep breath, you sat up properly and turn towards her a bit.

“hitoshi called me a slut or i guess insinuated i was acting like one???” saying that out loud was baffling. it was such an out of character thing of him to do. you could tell by the confused look on mina’s face that she was thinking the exact same thing. shinsou knew what it was like to be bullied and be called names. the both of you had gone through it in your younger years. so for him to say something so out of left field? it didn’t sit right with you. of course you were absolutely livid but you knew there was more to it.

“what the fuck?” still not being able to comprehend what you had just said, mina stands up and starts pacing. she hates when anyone in their group fought and always took on the responsibility of making things better. a few serious arguments here and there had happened in the past but mina was always right there, to help pick up the pieces and fix things. you knew her brain was working overtime right now. trying to figure this out and what she could do to fix it. for once though, you didn’t want that.

“i know what you’re thinking but i’d really appreciate it if you let me handle this.” she opened her mouth about to object, when you put your hand up to indicate you weren’t done talking. “i know this group is important to you but i grew up with hitoshi. we’ve been best friends for years, so please let me handle this at my own pace.” you could see the inner turmoil mina was going through but in the end she just nodded and agreed. you were glad she was so understanding because you really didn’t have it in you to argue with her. standing up finally, a wave of tiredness hit you like a freight train. glancing over at the clock, barely anytime has passed and it was only 2pm. it didn’t matter though, you were crawling into bed anyways and not leaving for the rest of the day. you told mina this and she understood, leaving you to it. once you hear the click of your door, you collapse on your bed. you bury yourself into your comforter and shut out the rest of the world. you’d deal with shinsou tomorrow.

part two

#shinsou hitoshi #shinsou x reader #shinsou hitoshi x reader #sero hanta #sero x reader #sero hanta x reader #bnha #my hero acedamia #love triangle #maybe? #part one #idk what this is but yolo

[camillafanfiction]

Love changes everything - Chapter 11

No matter how much Charles had begged Camilla to spend Christmas with him, though he knew it was impossible, she had spent Christmas Eve and Christmas Day with her parents before she’d travelled back to Bolehyde Manor on Boxing Day when her parents went to see Annabel and her little wholesome family. Camilla, of course, had been invited too, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to cope with the family bliss at Annabel’s house. She was happy for Annabel, of course, but it would be too much to take, especially with Andrew’s birthday coming up the next day. Christmas had been more of a torture anyway and she was glad to escape the baubels, the trees and the herold angeles everywhere. Her house wasn’t decorated for Christmas at all, a harsh contrast to the glitter and gold and the ethereal legions of angels that had been everywhere last year. Though she’d been heavily pregnant and barely able to move at all she’d decorated even the smallest corner of the house last year. Baby’s first Christmas was supposed to be perfect after all. But now the rain pouring heavily outside matched her mood far better. She had tried hard to put on a happy face for her parents and Mark, but it had worn her out. And she wasn’t sure how she was supposed to live through tomorrow. The thought of Andrew’s birthday almost made her sick. Just why was he not allowed to turn 36? Why did he have to play the hero again and be killed? What utterly sick game was the God above playing? It had not always been easy with Andrew, his affairs had silently killed her, but why, just why, did such a horrible thing happen? What had little Tom done to deserve this? What had she done to deserve this? 

She was missing Charles, too, and a part of her had wished they’d be able to spend Christmas together. They’d spoken briefly on the phone on Christmas Eve and she regretted having declined his offer, or more his plea, to be able to see her on Boxing Day. Maybe he would still come like the last time she’d forbidden him to come on Tom’s birthday? But time passed and there was no Charles, so she just played with Tom and wrapped herself in a blanket in the living room once she had put him to bed.

The darkness outside came early and the raindrops on the window looked like ink-spiders. God, this really didn‘t feel like Christmas at all. Over and over she pondered if she should try to ring Charles but then again it was only half past four, though outside it looked like witching hour. Oh well maybe she just shouldn’t be so grand, she decided. With quick steps she walked to the hall where the telephone was standing and dialled the direct line to Charles' room which he had given to her in wise foresight. In nervous anticipation she dialled wrong two times before she was lucky and the call got through.

“Hello?“ asked a young voice that definitely wasn‘t Charles‘. Somehow the voice sounded familiar, but she couldn’t quite recall of whom it reminded her.

“Ummm… hello… I’d like to speak to Cha… umm, the Prince of Wales, please.“

“Sorry, Miss, you missed him. He left quite some time ago… to see his new girlfriend.“ The boy made a retching sound and suddenly it dawned on Camilla who it was.

“Edward?“ she asked, ignoring the clenching of her heart. Was she the new girlfriend? Or did Charles, indeed, have someone new? Deep down her Camilla knew that this wasn't how Charles would handle this, but the years with Andrew had traumatised her and of course she knew that Charles had to date other girls as well. He had to find a wife, someone worthy to bear an heir.

“On the phone, Miss,“ the eleven-year-old replied, clearly not remembering her voice.

“This is Camilla, we used to do two or three go-kart chases a few years ago.“ Camilla smiled, living from that memory. The memory seemed to be from someone else’s life, not her own. A life that was light and carefree and the only trouble in the world was which party she was going to go to the next day.

“Oh right!“ There was a sound of enlightenment in his voice. “I d-” there was a rustling and some voices in the line and suddenly Edward seemed to be eager to hang up the phone. „Merry Christmas, Camilla!“ he said and hung up before Camilla had the slightest chance to reply. 

That had been a lovely surprise, but it hadn’t really helped her find out if she was going to see her prince today or not. Charles would surely have told her about a new girlfriend, so it was almost safe to say he’d be here anytime soon. It was a four hour drive from Sandringham to Bolehyde Manor and probably even longer today with that bloody rain. Why on earth did it not come down as snow? It surely was cold enough outside. With her heart feeling at least a little lighter she made herself a hot chocolate with two shots of rum. It would surely warm her up from the inside as well.

An hour later she heard a car rolling over the gritty grounds and her heart made a jump. This had to be Charles! With her plushy slippers on she made her way to the entrance hall and before Charles could ring the bell Camilla opened the door and it only took Charles a second to get to her and fling her in his arms. What a man he was! Camilla didn’t know quite how he did it, but he always knew exactly what to do (well… mostly…).

“Happy Christmas,” Charles whispered and placed a light kiss on Camilla’s nose.

“Happy Christmas, darling,” Camilla breathed back in return, wrapping her arms around him tightly. It felt so incredibly good to have him in her arms, but after a few moments she pulled away. “Come inside! You must be freezing!” With that she ushered him inside the living room. “Do you want to eat something? Or maybe drink? I’m sorry I didn’t bother to lighten the fireplace,” she bubbled, not quite knowing where it suddenly came from. 

Charles chuckled, she was just so adorable. “Darling, relax,” he told her and flashed a smile at her that turned her knees into jelly. Despite the circumstances Camilla found herself to be head over heels in love with the prince again, a thing that still felt unreal. Being with him made her forget the uneasy feeling she’d had the past few days and she didn’t think about tomorrow, which she dreaded.

“Right!” Camilla exhaled loudly, then laughed and flopped down on the sofa, pushing Charles down with her. “Thank you for coming,” she placed a soft kiss in the middle of his perfect mouth and cuddled against him. 

Charles smiled, happy that his appearance apparently made her very happy. “You didn’t seem surprised, though,” he mused and looked at her with a quizzical expression.

“I simply knew you wouldn’t listen to me.” Camilla gave him a soft poke in the ribs. “And Edward told me about your new girlfriend…” With lightheartedness she told him about her call at Sandringham House and how she’d hoped he’d come. It was wonderful to chatter and cuddle and kiss and make up for the missed days. After a while they exchanged Christmas presents - they hadn’t really talked about it, but both of them had something for the other. Camilla received a lovely light blue silk scarf and a pair of whopping diamond earrings that she’d probably never be able to wear, though they were immensely beautiful and she loved them so very much. She’d gotten Charles a new record and a Barbour jacket, so that he’d finally get rid of his old one. The last time he’d worn it he’d been soaking wet because it had so many patches. Her presents felt a bit lousy compared to Charles’, but she knew he loved them and that was the main thing. This Christmas was very far from perfect, but with Charles in her arms and the laughter they shared, this Boxing Day finally felt like Christmas, no matter what tomorrow would bring.

#King Charles III #king charles iii fic #queen camilla #queen camilla fic #prince edward #royal fanfiction #royal fic #au #love changes everything #camilla fanfic #charles fanfic

[jackoshadows]

There’s just so much dishonest bothsidesing in the discourse about Arya and Sansa in this fandom.

For ex. I saw this post on the tag that got a lot of likes and reblogs and I felt it was so disingenuous regarding what happens in the fandom as well as in ASoIaF.

At no point, have I ever seen any Arya fan on here say that Arya is better than Sansa because she is ‘masculine’. Quite the opposite - we have critiqued this characterization of Arya as being a misogynist take on what it is to be a woman and how characters should not be constrained to patriarchal definitions of femininity and womanhood. Arya thinks that the woman is important too. Arya is just like other girls. Just because she likes to learn sword fighting she is ‘masculine’? How utterly idiotic is that?

On the other hand, you know who is constantly harping on about Arya being ‘masculine’? Sansa stans:

I am not linking to the above post - suffice to say that it’s from a popular Sansa blog. I mean, look at the nonsense above - Arya is ‘masculine’ because her hair is described as a nest?!

We have also never, ever said that Sansa is worthless because she is feminine. Never. This is the gaslighting that is very popular in this fandom and used frequently to give the impression that Sansa is unfairly targeted and hated on because she’s feminine. When in actuality, readers have only ever critiqued her for actual flaws the character has - like her treatment of her younger sibling, her snobby classism, her idealization of beauty rather than the person underneath appearances etc.

It’s Sansa stans who continue to argue that Arya cannot ever be Lady of Winterfell because she’s not the right kind of women. It’s Sansa stans who argue that Arya will never find love, have a romance or be pretty because she’s not the right kind of woman (Has nothing to do with age considering 11-13 year old Sansa is shipped with every Tom, Dick and Harry). It’s Sansa stans who devalue Arya’s political education and participation because she’s not the right kind of woman. It’s Sansa stans who deny Arya is also kind and compassionate because she’s not the right kind of woman.

Book Jonsa as a ship - where they basically take everything from the Jon/Arya relationship in the books - exists because Arya is not the right kind of woman for Sansa stans.

So while Sansa stans argue that Sansa is better than Arya in all ways because she’s ‘feminine’, I have never seen the opposite where readers argued that Arya is better than Sansa because she is ‘masculine’.

This is true when Sansa is a Lannister hostage and Arya is on the run from enemies. Yes, it does not matter whether Sansa adheres to partriarchal notions of femininity and Arya does not - they are both beaten and threatened with rape and suffer hardship.

However, again, the above is being disingenuous by ignoring Sansa and Arya’s childhood in Winterfell. There is a clear difference in how Sansa and Arya were treated in Winterfell because one of them conformed and the other did not.

We see this difference in Arya’s low self-esteem and having low self worth. In Arya feeling like she did not belong. In Sansa and Jeyne Poole mocking Arya as being ugly and horse faced, in her Septa saying she has the hands of a smith because she could not do needle work properly, in her mother telling her that she had to be like Sansa in looks and behavior - making Arya question if her mother would want her back while on the run in the Riverlands.

“…my hair’s messy and my nails are dirty and my feet are all hard.” Robb wouldn’t care about that, probably, but her mother would. Lady Catelyn always wanted her to be like Sansa, to sing and dance and sew and mind her courtesies. Just thinking of it made Arya try to comb her hair with her fingers, but it was all tangles and mats, and all she did was tear some out.“  - Arya, ASoS

Sansa conformed to patriarchal ideals of femininity because she liked it, she was good at it and she thought it an indication of high class and stature (For ex. she thought Arya should have been a bastard because she was not good looking and behaved differently). Arya was unable to conform because she can’t fundamentally change who she is as a person. We are who we are.

As Sam says:

His eyes met Jon’s and darted away, quick as frightened animals. “I… I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t mean to… to be like I am.” - Jon, AGoT 

As Arya says:

Sansa was two years older; maybe by the time Arya had been born, there had been nothing left. Often it felt that way. Sansa could sew and dance and sing. She wrote poetry. She knew how to dress. She played the high harp and the bells. Worse, she was beautiful. Sansa had gotten their mother’s fine high cheekbones and the thick auburn hair of the Tullys. Arya took after their lord father. Her hair was a lusterless brown, and her face was long and solemn.- Arya, AGoT

As Jon says:

Lord Randyll couldn’t make Sam a warrior, and Ser Alliser won’t either. You can’t hammer tin into iron, no matter how hard you beat it, but that doesn’t mean tin is useless. Why shouldn’t Sam be a steward?” - Jon, AGoT

The Septa and Catelyn couldn’t turn Arya into another Sansa because one can’t hammer tin into iron no matter how much one beats it - one of the central themes of GRRM’s story.

Sansa was the favored, beautiful, eldest daughter of the Lord of Winterfell. In canon, in the text, she was not jealous of Arya or sad that Arya did not play with her. Her only problem with Arya is that Arya is not graceful and elegant and beautiful like her, that Arya played with the lower classes like the stable boy and butcher boy, that Arya picked flowers from the marshes and gave it to Ned.

All this is right there in the text:

Sansa knew all about the sorts of people Arya liked to talk to: squires and grooms and serving girls, old men and naked children, rough-spoken freeriders of uncertain birth. Arya would make friends with anybody. - Sansa, AGoT

Why couldn’t Arya be sweet and delicate and kind, like Princess Myrcella? She would have liked a sister like that. It would have been easier if Arya had been a bastard, like their half brother Jon. She even looked like Jon, with the long face and brown hair of the Starks, and nothing of their lady mother in her face or her coloring. And Jon’s mother had been common, or so people whispered. - Sansa, AGoT

Sansa threw back her head in disdain. “You? You couldn’t sew a dress fit to clean the pigsties.” Sansa, AGoT

“Hodor!” Sansa yelled. “You ought to marry Hodor, you’re just like him, stupid and hairy and ugly!”  - Sansa, AGoT

“I’m not like Arya,” Sansa blurted. “She has the traitor’s blood, not me. I’m good, ask Septa Mordane, she’ll tell you” - Sansa, AGoT

Sansa had once dreamt of having a sister like Margaery; beautiful and gentle, with all the world’s graces at her command. Arya had been entirely unsatisfactory as sisters went. - Sansa, ACoK

“Arya Underfoot. Your sister used to call you Arya Horseface.”  - The Prince of Winterfell, ADwD

Take this post on the tag that bothsides the sisters’ antagonistic relationship as being due to ‘different interests’ and ‘life philosophies’.

Arya being unable to conform and be good at sewing and singing and not being beautiful and playing with the serving girls is interpreted as her being ‘immature’ and having an ‘ego’...

So what would it take for the sisters to meet in the middle?

Despite Septa Mordane being a terrible teacher, Arya forces herself to spend time sewing, hangs out with Sansa and Jeyne enduring their taunts (Because she can’t change how she looks!), stops playing with whom she wants like the grooms and serving girls, stops hanging out with her father, forces herself to live up to Sansa’s standards of beauty and elegance and being delicate and sweet.

What would it take for Sansa to meet Arya in the middle? Nothing! Because Arya has no expectations on Sansa. Arya doesn’t want Sansa to change the very essence of her being in order for them to be siblings. Arya doesn’t want Sansa to look different or be good at horse riding for her to love Sansa as a sister. Just like Arya loves Jon as a brother despite Jon being a bastard. 

Sansa wants Arya to change and conform, Arya doesn’t want Sansa to change. This is important and the root cause and core reason for why the sisters have a contentious relationship. There can be no discussion or discourse on the relationship of the sisters without acknowledging this important aspect. Fans can go on overhyping the same few lines about ‘Sun and Moon’, however ignoring the discord between them and the why of it is just ignoring a large part of their story, themes and narrative arcs.

These themes are important for Arya’s story. That’s why Arya fans include it in their theorizing about Arya’s story and in discussions about the character’s current and future plot points in the series. That is not Sansa hate. Arya is the outsider, the outcast, unable to fit in because she can’t conform to patriarchal standards.

I’ve always had a soft spot for the outsider, for the underdog. ‘Cripples, Bastards, and Broken Things’, as the title of one of the (TV series) episodes goes. The angst that they have in life makes for more conflict, makes for more drama, and there’s something very attractive about that. My Game of Thrones is told by outsiders of both types. None of them fit comfortably into the society into which they’ve been born, and they’re all struggling to find a place for themselves in which they’re valued and loved and respected, despite what their society considers their deficiencies. And out of that, I think, comes good stories. - GRRM

Arya’s relationship with Sansa, Jeyne, Septa Mordane and Catelyn also resonates thematically with Hans Christian Anderson’s Ugly Duckling. It tackles issues of identity, loneliness, not belonging, bullying, feeling low and worthless. It’s about embracing and accepting oneself and loving oneself and Arya’s story is leading towards her being a swan raised among ducks.

And finally, analyzing the effect of the patriarchy on Sansa and Arya from a Watsonian and Doylist perspective is also not hating on Sansa for being feminine. From a Watsonian perspective, Sansa is the favored, high born daughter of the Warden of the North, who could do well in a court of Lords and Ladies. However, the patriarchy - especially in the North - restricting women into what they can and cannot do, means Sansa and Arya are denied the education that Robb and Bran receive.

It’s only because Arya wants different things and does different things that she spends time with her father eating with his men, interacting with his men, listens to him teach his sons, and gains an understanding of the North. So from a Doylist perspective, Arya has the wisdom and knowledge that Ned imparted to his sons, to be a leader of the North.

This is not saying that Sansa is less than for her version of femininity. This is not hating on Sansa for the kind of woman she is. This is saying that because of the constraints the patriarchy places on what girls can and cannot learn, while from a Watsonian perspective Sansa got the happy childhood, beautiful and graceful and excelling in activities assigned solely to the Ladies, from a Doylist perspective Arya’s inability to conform leads to her making choices that could lead to her possibly becoming leader of the North.

This is a critique of the patriarchy in Westeros that puts constraints on what a woman can and should be  - this is something that GRRM tackles in Arya, Brienne, Cersei, Arianne, Asha and Daenerys’ stories, where these characters question and challenge the patriarchy in various (Good and bad) ways. It’s only by breaking existing societal rules and challenging the status quo that female characters can do what their male counterparts get so easily.

Like I mentioned earlier, these are all important plot points that GRRM is weaving into a larger story. The bastard, the cripple, the girl who can’t fit in with her peers, the exile, the dwarf - five central characters will make it through all three volumes, however, growing from children to adults and changing the world and themselves in the process. In a sense, my trilogy is almost a generational saga, telling the life stories of these five characters, three men and two women.

I ended up writing a lot here, but coming back to my point - Sansa fans need to stop bothsidesing and gaslighting the fandom on discussions of the character and the relationship between the sisters.

Again, no one, repeat no one is attacking Sansa for being feminine or liking songs or being good at sewing or having good manners. What is being criticized is her treatment of her younger sibling - that has no relation to Sansa’s femininity. Sansa liking romance songs has nothing to do with her mocking Arya’s appearance or wanting her to be a bastard or siding with Joffrey against her after Joffrey attacks her with a sword.

Don’t be dishonest. Don’t twist what people are actually discussing and saying on the tags into something else. If you don’t have anything to contribute, at least don’t lie and make up stuff.

#Arya Stark #Fandom discourse

[saxxxology]

Lost n’ Found | Oneshot

PAIRING: Sam Winchester x Reader

WORD COUNT: 3,023

WARNINGS (by chapter): angst, breakup, timehop, smut, rough sex

⭒ become a patron for just $3 ⭒

I do not consent to minors (17-) reading my work. This story is 18+ only. Do not save, download, or repost my work on any other sites.

Of all places he’s expected to find her, the snack section of a 7-11 isn't one of them. 

He’s just passing through Elko on his way to meet Dean for a job, and his bus doesn’t leave until noon the next morning. The seedy motel next door is completely devoid of refreshments other than the beer he’s brought with him, and he’s slipping the last twenty-dollar bill he’s got through his fingers when he rounds the corner and bumps into a woman half his size.

“Sorry!” he excuses, watching as she stumbles forward, catching herself on the rack. “Are you okay? I didn’t mean to—”

He stops when you turn around and he sees your face. You’re older, obviously, all the baby fat gone from your cheeks. Your lips are slightly chapped, and you’ve got a scar dashing one eyebrow in two. But it’s definitely you. 

Your eyes go wide, brow furrowing as you analyze his features, searching for any sign that it isn’t him.

“Y/N?”

“Sam?”

***

1999: Tucson

“No.”

“Y/N, I swear I don’t wanna—”

“You said you wouldn’t leave me!”

You’re standing, fists clenched by your sides. Tears stream down your face and tint the rims of your eyes pink. Sam’s sitting on your bed, helplessly watching as you fight the urge to break down completely. A hunter’s child as well, you’ve been brought up to be tough, to stick your emotions up your ass and take life as it comes, but you’re still a sixteen-year-old girl, deeply in love and unable to help yourself. Sam’s older, almost eighteen, and John wants him to break their little fling off before things get too complicated. 

“I…” Sam sighs and twists his fingers into your bedspread. “Y/N, I’m sorry, I just… I can’t, my dad wants—”

“You promised that you’d take me away,” you cut him off, more tears sliding down your face. “Last week you said that as soon as we had enough money you’d take me away and we could be together!”

“I’m gonna be too old for you.”

“Two years isn’t a big deal!”

Sam rubs his face, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. He hates this. If he’d had his way he would have taken the hundred dollars in his wallet and skipped town on a Greyhound with you the minute he’d promised you a life you could only dream of. But he can’t—one way or another John’ll find them, and when he sends you back your father, he’ll be less than kind about it. 

“It wouldn’t be safe,” he says, trying to convince you to take his side. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I can protect myself.” Your voice grows small and light as he stands, eyes fixed on your bedroom door. “Sam, please… please don’t leave me here.”

He grits his teeth and steps up to you, cupping your face in his big hands and pressing a warm, gentle kiss to your lips. He can taste the wet salt of your tears and takes a shaky breath as he steps back. “I love you,” he says, “I really do, Y/N, I promise I won’t… I won’t forget this. I won’t forget you.”

***

You storm past him, leaving bags of chips scattered on the floor as you head for the door. Sam ignores the cashier calling after him as he drops his own items and races after you, following you across the parking lot as you head for what looks like your dad’s beat-up blue pickup truck. 

“Wait!” He jogs in front of you, holding a hand up so he can stop you in your tracks. “Y/N, wait, lemme—”

You slap him hard across the face. He’s not expecting it, and the blow sends him back a couple steps. “Don’t,” you spit, “you don’t get to just show up and act like you can explain what happened.”

“Just listen to me,” Sam protests, “come on, I—”

Tears brim in your eyes as you try to push past him. “Just leave me alone.”

“No!” He grabs your wrist and spins you around, making you look at him. “After my dad died I went back to your house and you and your dad were gone. I’ve been trying to find you for years, Y/N, for years. Don’t think I’m just gonna let you walk away, not after what you and I had.”

Your lower lip trembles as you pull your wrist from his grip. “You really messed with my head, Sam. You were my first guy, you got my first kiss, hell, you even got my fucking virginity, you remember that?”

He nods, glad that the streetlights don’t show his cheeks going red. “I thought I could make it all work out.”

“And then you just listened to your dad and left me in the dust,” you continue, “you didn’t even try to fight it, you just let him call the shots no matter who got hurt in the process.”

“I never thought that we would get that far!” Sam raises his voice, towering over you. He’s a lot bigger than you remember, but you don’t cower, just puff your chest out and glare up at him like he’s nothing. “We were living in a damn fantasy, Y/N. We didn’t know what we were doing, we were stupid and impulsive and we got messed up because of it. You’re not the only one who was hurting after that.”

Wiping your eyes, you sniff quietly and fold your arms. “I’m sorry… you just… after you left I thought I’d never see you again.”

Sam backs down, biting the inside of his cheek as you stare at his boots. “I’m staying at the motel here,” he says, “wanna walk back with me? We can catch up, I’ve got some beer, if you want.”

You take a few seconds to consider, and then nod slowly. “Okay.”

“All right.” Sam pulls the keys to his room from his pocket and walks with you to the row of dimly lit rooms. Once inside, he heads to the mini-fridge. There’s three beers still inside, and he twists the cap off of one before handing it to you. You take a long swallow and sit down at the table to kick your boots off. 

“Been a long day,” you sigh, stretching your legs out. “Where are you headed? Dean still around?”

Sam nods. “Yeah. I’m actually supposed to meet him in Albuquerque tomorrow night, there’s a vampire nest and he needs backup.”

“I thought you guys would be traveling together.”

“We do,” Sam replies, lowering himself onto the edge of the bed, “I just needed a weekend off, I’m catching a bus at noon tomorrow.” He gestures up towards your face. “That scar. How’d you get that?”

“Bar fight.” You grit your teeth. “Some dude got a little too handsy with me and his girlfriend didn’t like that, so she smashed a beer bottle on my head.”

Sam winces. “Yikes.”

“Yup. Eight stitches.” You run a finger over the small line. “Coulda been worse though. Doctor said another half inch down and she would’ve got my eye. Now I just think it looks cool.”

He chuckles, elbows braced on his knees as he smiles over at you. Despite trying to appear comfortable, he’s anxious. At any moment you could stand up and walk right out of the room, and then be lost forever. 

“So, what’re you doing now?” he asks, trying to keep the conversation flowing. “Still hunting, or…?”

“On occasion.” You tip back another swallow of beer. “When I’m needed or catch something simple, I chip in. Mostly I just… drive. Don’t like to stay in one place too long, since dad died.”

“Oh?” Sam straightens up. “When did that happen?”

“‘Bout six years ago?” you shrug, “he got cancer.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

“Don’t be,” you reply, “fucker was always smoking two packs a day since I was a kid. By the time he got the diagnosis he only had a few weeks.”

Sam frowns. “You and him didn’t get along?”

“He was a tough-love parent, y’know?” you reply, “he was sweet up ‘til momma died, then he started getting nasty. That’s why I wanted to get the hell outta that house with you, I figured if I’d stay he’d eventually beat the crap out of me, and he did. Couple times, now that I think about it, after you left.”

Tears sting Sam’s eyes. He hasn’t given a thought to what he’d left behind for a long time. “I’m sorry,” he says, “I never meant… I never meant to leave you for that, I thought I was—”

“Doing the right thing?” You scoff, biting your lower lip as your cheeks flush. “I’m not angry, Sam, I’m way past that. But I won’t deny that I’m still sad, and I still cry thinking about you sometimes. I can’t sleep with men without thinking about you, I can’t listen to all the songs we used to play on the radio without hearing your stupid voice singing along.” Tears brim and spill over your eyes. “I hate how deep you’ve gotten into me but I can’t bear to let it go.”

He bows his head. Truthfully, he feels the exact same way about her. She’s wormed her way so deep into his soul that he can’t forget a minute of their time together. Other women break the tension form time to time, but he’ll never get over the delicious wet squeeze of your virgin pussy around his cock.

“Then stay the night,” he says, “stay the night with me, here.”

“We can’t—”

“What other chance are we gonna get? We bump into each other after fifteen years, Y/N. I don't want to just let you go. I wanna make up for all the shit I did, everything I put you through.” He stands up, walks slowly over to you, and takes your hand. “Please.”

You blink more tears out of your eyes. “I… this isn’t just sex to me, Sam. You know that.”

“It’s more than just sex to me too,” he replies, “you ever think it was that for me?”

Shrugging, you lower your eyes to the floor. “Are you really sure you want to do this?”

“Yeah.” He nods and wiggles his fingers. “C’mon, Y/N.”

You take his hand, and he pulls you up from the chair and right into his arms. He’s so big… bigger than you remember him. All warm skin, firm muscle, stubble dotting his jaw, he’s grown from the lanky teenager who fucked you long and slow in the twin-sized bed you’d had since you were a kid into the perfect specimen of a man. 

He kisses you slowly, his lips moving in a soft, passionate rhythm. Your free hand floats up to land on his waist, just under his shirt, and he stiffens at the feeling of your palm against his skin. 

You undress each other slowly, exposing each inch of skin with a mixture of desire and apprehension. When you’re stripped down to your panties and Sam’s rocking a pair of red Saxx briefs, he pauses.

“Do I need anything?” he asks.

You shake your head. “I’m on birth control, we’re good.”

Sam lets out a low huff as he lifts you up and carries you over to the bed. It’s low to the ground, and when he drops you onto it you bounce up just a little. He grins as he lays himself over you, hips slotting between your legs. He grinds himself against your pussy, watching your eyes widen.

“Jesus, you’ve gotten big,” you say breathlessly, a smile playing on your lips.

“Mmm, I think you can take it,” he replies, reaching down to tug your panties over your hips. “Bet you’re still just as tight as you were.” He shucks his boxers off and kicks them over the edge of the bed. His cock’s longer and thicker than you remember, tinted light red and weeping precum from the tip. 

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” you joke, “been long enough.”

“Shut up, I’ve had practice.” Sam guides himself to your entrance and pushes in, watching your face for any sign of discomfort. He feels you stretch around him and almost immediately begins to thrust. The soft, gentle motion helps him enter you, slightly deeper and deeper every time. 

“Oh, God…” you wrap your legs around his waist and reach up to tangle your fingers in his hair, “you’re not gonna fit—”

“I’ll fit.” He spreads his knees apart and uses the leverage to push forward. You whimper as he seats himself fully in you, stretching your pussy around his thick, heavy shaft. 

“Gimmie a minute,” you whisper thickly, “Goddamn…”

Sam chuckles and kisses the side of your neck, steadily grinding the hot skin above his pubic bone into your clit. The sensation makes your clench around him, almost as if you’re greedily sucking him in deeper. You whimper and moan against his lips when he shifts to take the weight of his hips off of yours. 

After several minutes, you run your hands down his sides and dig your nails into the firm flesh of his ass. “Fuck me,” you rasp, “hard.”

Sam grabs the covers over your head and braces his other hand over your shoulder. Your tits bounce when he pulls back and shoves in, and he closes his eyes, tipping his head forward. You feel all snug and warm and wet on his bare flesh and he can barely stand it. You don’t feel any different than when you were younger.

“Oh, God,” he breathes, “yeah, that’s… shit, you feel really good, Y/N…”

He fucks a little faster, a little harder, and your nails scrape down his sides, digging deep enough to leave long red welts. The sting and ache makes his balls tingle, and he lets out a low growl that makes you shudder.

You slide your free hand down between your bodies and rub your clit, arching your back up off the bed. Sam huffs loudly and pushes his forearm under the back of your neck, curling over and caging you in underneath him. He’s hot and sweaty and the sound of his hips slapping rapidly against your ass fills the room. 

Sam loses himself in the atmosphere, not stopping even as your whimpers escalate into high-pitched cries and moans of pleasure. His hips burn and ache, and he has to pause briefly to adjust his position and swallow to quench the dryness in his throat. You cough, head falling back on the mattress.

“Water?” he asks. When you nod, letting your eyes flutter closed as you stretch, he pulls out and climbs off the bed, walking stiffly to the sink to fill a plastic cup with water. He downs half of it before coming back to offer the rest to you. You take a long gulp and slump back, panting heavily with one hand still between your legs. 

Sam wastes no time in climbing back on top of you, easing slowly back inside. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, holding him close as he falls back into his rough, heavy rhythm.

“Don’t stop,” you pant, “keep doing that, Sam, don’t stop…”

He nods frantically, crashing his lips against yours. Your kisses are wet and messy, interrupted when he shifts positioning to thrust deeper. You quicken your fingers on your clit, eager to cum with him still inside you. 

“I can feel you,” he growls, “you gonna cum?”

“Yes.” You slap your palm down on the coverlet, fingers curling into the thick fabric. “Oh, fuck, I’m almost there…”

Sam snarls and fucks you faster. The headboard slams against the wall, and you squeeze tight around him, nails digging into his bicep. The motion of his cock slamming repeatedly into your cunt is enough to drive you over the edge, and you let go with a choked sob of his name. Sam lets the repetitive pulsing around his cock drag his own orgasm out of him, and he buries his face in the crook of your neck. You squirm at the feeling of him cumming inside you, the thick wet spurt of his seed against your walls and cervix as he fucks sloppily though his climax.

“Oh, Jesus,” he breathes, pulling out and falling to lie beside you, “I can’t… fuck…”

You squeeze your thighs together, trying as hard as you can to not let his cum drip out onto the covers. It’s been so long since you’ve been well and truly fucked like this, and with Sam… Sam’s here, lying next to you, inside you. “I need a minute,” you sigh shakily.

“I know, me too.” Sam places a hand on your thigh and turns to kiss your shoulder. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” You clear your throat. “I’m… I just didn’t expect to end up like this tonight.”

He chuckles. “If it makes you feel better, I didn’t expect it either.”

You lie there in silence for a good ten minutes, breathing and kissing and lazily running shaky fingers over each other’s skin. When Sam’s phone rings, he gets up with a groan and rummages in his jeans on the floor before pulling the device out and answering the call.

“Yeah?” He pauses, holding up a finger when you tilt your head inquisitively. “It’s… oh, you’re done? Okay… yeah, I’ll just wait here, then… yeah… yeah, bye.” He hands up and tosses his phone on the end of the bed.

“Who was that?” you ask.

“Uh, Dean.” Sam clears his throat. “They finished the job, he said he’d just head back here tomorrow.”

You nod slowly. “Oh… do you think I should go?”

“No.” Sam answers almost too quickly and catches himself. “Just stay tonight, please.”

You stretch, wincing as the covers below you grow warm and sticky. “Yeah… too late to hit the road anyway.”

Sam holds out his hand. “Shower?”

Smiling softly, you take it, allowing him to pull you up and into his arms. “I think I’d like that.”

💕 Comments are lovely 💕

Wanna get tagged? Click here!

FOREVER TAGS: @atc74 @anaelsbrunette @chenshemesh @comicmcfly @deanwanddamons @defenderrosetyler @emberocrpblog​ @emoryhemsworth​ @ellen-reincarnated1967​ @fandom-princess-forevermore​ @kittenofdoomage​ @kickingitwithkirk​ @katbratsupernaturalwhore​ @lunarsaturn88​ @mariekoukie6661​ @neii3n @percussiongirl2017​ @ssworldofsw​ @supernatural-bellawinchester @starsandasteroids @spnwoman​ @spnbaby-67​ @serpentbaby​ @stoneyggirl​ @thecleverdame​ @tumbler-tidbits​ @zombiewerewolfqueen​

#sam winchester fanfiction #sam winchester x reader smut #sam winchester x reader #spn fanfic #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural reader insert #Sam Winchester

[sukunasbabygirl]

It’s only just fully clicked for me that in the Uncle Philip AU, he’d be fully aware that Eda and Lilith are likely direct descendants of his brother. That… certainly adds another layer to their dynamic.

At the beginning, he despises them for it, notably Eda who he’s of course living with. She is a constant reminder of everything that happened with Caleb, and the witch he fell in love with. He lives with the fact he might be her great great something, and with Lilith it was easy to ignore that due to the professional nature of their relationship, but with Eda they’re in a causal environment, constantly interacting.

Over time, he begins to treat them more like Caleb would have wanted him to without even realising. On one occasion he ruffles Eda’s hair out of habit to which she swats him away and teases him for acting so old when he’s only ‘twenty years older or something’. Ah, if only she knew. It’s after Elsehwere and Elsewhen that the ancestor reveal comes to light, and Lilith finds out she punched her ancestor in the face. On one hand he deserved it, on the other hand she can still see the bump she caused now…

Luz tries so hard to work out the family tree and fails. Eda asks Luz why she’s listed as ‘mother figure’ and Luz spends a whole hour explaining the found family trope to her.

The Uncle Philip AU is really just Clawthorne-Noceda-Wittebane family drama AU and this proves it.

The news somehow gets to Gwendolyn and Dell a few days after they’ve left, and by somehow I mean Luz after she and Philip start talking again, who sends a letter explaining the wonders of the Clawthorne family tree and asks if this makes her apart of the found family™️ officially. Eda jokes that this means Philip has to go to the Clawthorne family gatherings to which he replies ‘not again’ ominously.

I don’t know what I’m saying at this point these are just my random AU thoughts at like 11:30pm. I was going somewhere with this but I completely lost my thought track so alas, no angsty Philip-Eda friendship stuff for y’all today, and no Lilith absolutely hating Philip for five minutes straight either. Dammit brain.

#the owl house #toh #the owl house au #toh au #emperor belos #philip wittebane #edalyn clawthorne #lilith clawthorne #uncle philip au

[autumntouched]

What do you think made Nat want to be a pilot?

Day 3 of Ode to Phoenix:

The story of why Natasha becomes a Navy pilot is much darker so keeping things light for now and sticking to her first desire to fly.

Also, so sorry in advance! I'm turning these around in less than 24 hours so there won't be much research or editing. Please let me know if there are any glaring/ignorant mistakes. Just a note that this story takes place in pre-9/11 airports when Natasha's parents would have been able to walk them to and pick them up from the gates.

For you @sylviebell

Inspired by real life pilot Beverley Bass featured in the song "Me And The Sky" from the musical Come from Away.

Summary: In the wake of her parents' divorce, a five-year-old Natasha adjusts to having to travel to see her dad and gets a lesson in flying.

Nothing Between Me and the Sky

Natasha presses her face and hands to the glass, watching the bags being loaded onto the plane. She looks for her brand new pink suitcase among them but can’t see it yet. What if it gets left behind? 

Luca stumbles into her, and their heads knock together.

“Owee!” she complains, momentarily distracted by her brothers’ shoving match. “Say sorry Luca!”

“Don’t be such a baby, Nasha,” Sebastian taunts. “He barely touched you.” 

Natasha looks for Mama to tell Sebastian and Luca to stop, but she’s chasing down Gabby who’s wriggled out of her stroller once again. Sebastian used to be nice. He used to let her play with him and read her his Tintin books. But he hasn’t been that way since Daddy decided he didn’t want to live with them anymore. 

Luca will do anything to be on Sebastian’s side, so he sticks his tongue out at her. “Baby! Baby! Nasha is a baby!”

She turns to face them fully, her hands curling into fists. “I’m not a baby!” 

“Are too,” Sebastian says, a mean grin spreading across his face. His dark eyes dare her to argue with him. 

Natasha’s cheeks and neck heat with anger. “Am not, stupid!” 

“Sebastian!” Mama’s back with Gabby on her hip. “You’re supposed to be in charge of your brother and sister. And Natasha, what have I told you about calling people names?”

Their mother glares at all of them, but none of them will break sibling code and point fingers at who started it. Even at five, Natasha knows better than that. “It’s not nice,” she mumbles. She drops to the floor and pulls her knees up to her chest. No one’s nice now that Daddy’s gone, even Mama sometimes. Before she would have given each of them a chance to explain what happened. At least, Mama doesn’t make her apologize. She’s distracted by the gate announcement over the PA. 

Gabby kicks her legs and stares down at them with her thumb in her mouth. It’s not fair that she gets to have Mama all to herself while the rest of them go to Colorado to see Daddy.  

Natasha crawls over to the window and sits back on her heels. She already misses Mama, even though she misses Daddy too. Her throat hurts like she’s going  to cry, but Sebastian will start to make fun of her again if she does so she stares hard at the cart of luggage. What happened to her pink suitcase?

Natasha rests her forehead against the glass and glances over at the American Airlines plane. How does something so big get in the air? It looks heavy. 

It’s not long before Mama touches her shoulder and holds up her red Hello Kitty backpack. “My suitcase isn’t on the plane!” Natasha tries to tell her while putting her arms through the straps.

“They’ll put it on, sweetheart, and it’ll be there when you get to Denver. It’s time to board.” She motions Luca over. “Hold your sister’s hand, please.”

Natasha snatches her hand behind her back, still mad at him for stepping on her. “I don’t need to hold his hand. I’m not a baby!” 

Luca doesn’t look like he wants to hold hers either and glances pleadingly up at Mama. Gabby kicks Natasha’s shoulder twisting to look out the window. “Airpane!” she shrieks, pointing at the plane. “Airpane.”

Everyone’s hitting her, and Mama doesn’t care. Natasha crosses her arms and marches toward the door that leads to the plane. She wishes she could fly away by herself and never have to see any of them again. 

Luca runs up beside her. “Mama says you have to hold my hand,” he grumbles. “Or you’re going to get in trouble.” 

“I don’t like you! You didn’t say sorry,” Natasha refuses, keeping her arms crossed. She steps out of the way of a man hurrying to the desk before his duffel bag hits her in the head. 

“Mama said—.”

“Mama said,” she repeats. It’s what Sebastian does when he wants to annoy them.

“Stop it, Nasha!”

“Stop it, Nasha!” 

“You’re going to get in trouble.”

She glares at him. He’s not supposed to tell on her. “You’re going to get in trouble,” she dares him.

Luca frowns, his blue eyes calculating, and then lunges at her. Natasha turns and runs for the gate. He’s right behind her and faster. A tug on her backpack pulls her up short and nearly off her feet. “Stop it, Nasha! You’re going to make Mama mad.” 

Before she can turn around, a pretty woman in a blue uniform leans over the desk. “Are you the Trace family?” 

“Yes,” Mama says, hurrying up behind them with a crying Gabby kicking in her stroller. “Luca, Natasha, and where—Sebastian!” Sebastian drags his feet to join them. The passengers lining up at the gate are looking at them in mild annoyance. One woman rolls her eyes in disgust. 

“I hope they’re not sitting near us,” she complains loudly to the man in a business suit beside her. 

Natasha moves closer to Luca. Sebastian must have heard the lady because he steps in front of them, a hard look on his face. 

The pretty lady introduces herself as Tanya and tells them she’s going to help them onto the plane once they’ve said goodbye to Mama. Mama hugs and kisses each of them. Natasha hugs her back hard. She doesn’t want to let go. “I love you, Mama!”

“I love you so much, sweetie pie.” Mama cradles her face, her eyes a little shiny like she might cry too. Mama kisses her cheek and draws her in for one last hug. Natasha presses herself into her mother’s softness and inhales the smell of her perfume. It smells like flowers and princesses. “Be good for Daddy and look out for each other, okay?”

Natasha nods and squeezes tighter. When she lets go, Natasha blows a kiss goodbye to Gabby and takes Luca’s hand. They follow Tanya and Sebastian down the gangway to the plane. She looks back over her shoulder to see Mama waving to them until the people lining up behind them block her view. 

While they wait at the front of the plane for the flight attendant to seat them, Natasha peaks into the cockpit and is surprised to see someone with shoulder length blonde hair bent over a clipboard.

“Are you a girl?” she asks in surprise. She’s never seen a girl fly a plane before! 

The woman turns, a large smile on her face. “I am,” she says with a funny twang in her voice. “Are you flying with me today?”

“I think so,” Natasha says shyly. She looks around at all the buttons and knobs. There are so many. She wonders how the woman knows which ones to press. “Is that how you fly the plane?” she asks, pointing to the black yoke in front of the pilot. 

“Want to come take a look? Be my co-pilot for a little?”

Natasha nods eagerly. She lets go of Luca’s hand so she can step into the doorway that leads to the tiny, mysterious room. The woman waves her closer. “I’m Captain Bass. What’s my co-pilot’s name?”

“Captain Natasha.”

That makes Captain Bass smile and deepens the laugh lines around her eyes. She looks very nice and brave. “A pleasure to be flyin’ with you today, Captain Natasha. Want to see how we’re going to take off?”

Natasha nods eagerly, resting her hand on the chair so she can lean forward to see all the things the captain points out to her. The actual co-pilot is a girl too! They let her touch some of the buttons and tell her about the big engines that will help them get in the air. 

“See this, Captain Natasha?” asks Captain Bass, pointing to the yoke. “This is what steers the plane. When the plane’s going fast enough, we’ll pull back on this here to lift us off the ground. And when we’re ready to land, we push forward. Want to practice?”

Natasha nods eagerly.

The pilot gets out of her seat, and Natasha’s heart skips excitedly. Could she really get to see what it’s like to fly a plane? To look through the window and see the sky and the clouds in front of her? “Can I?” 

“Up you go,” Captain Bass says, and Natasha climbs reverently into her chair. She can feel how important it is, the sense of weight it holds to be at the helm of something so powerful. A thrill rushes through her as she settles into the captain’s imprint and imagines herself being tall enough to look through the windshield. One day she’ll know what all of the panels and controls mean and how to use them to send something so heavy soaring high enough to make the world below look like a landscape of toys. She could fly other girls to see their daddies or mommies. 

The pilot crouches beside her and shows her how to hold the yoke, and Natasha can hardly believe that something so small moves something so big. 

Captain Bass holds up a headset. “And this is what I use to communicate with air traffic control. They’re the ones who know everything that’s going on and keep us all safe. One of the most important things about becoming a pilot is learning to be a good listener because you need a whole team of people to help you do your job well. Are you a good listener?” 

“I’m a good listener,” Natasha promises, staring seriously into the pilot’s kind eyes. They’re as blue and clear as the sky. Natasha hopes she grows up to be just like her one day. It feels like this woman could do anything. 

Captain Bass smiles and reaches into her bag. “Then looks like you’ve earned your wings, Captain Natasha. These mean you’re a pilot now too.” She hands Natasha gold wings like the ones on her chest and helps her out of the chair. “Maybe your parents can help you put these on.”

“My parents aren’t here,” Natasha says sadly, looking longingly at her new wings. 

Understanding passes over the captain’s face. “Maybe we can see if Miss Paula can help you put those on, then.”

“I’d love to,” Miss Paula says. Natasha looks up to find another nice looking woman waiting for her in the doorway. The flight attendant takes the wings and pins them to her sweater, careful not to stick Natasha’s skin. “If you need anything during the flight, sweetie, you just let me know, okay? Let’s get you seated with your brothers.” She puts a hand on her shoulder to steer her down the aisle. 

“One more thing,” Captain Bass says. She extends her hand and Natasha shakes it like a grown up. “Good to have you aboard, Captain Natasha. Thanks for your help getting everyone safely to their destination today.”

Natasha smiles proudly and touches the wings on her chest. She waves goodbye to the pilots before Miss Paula leads her to her brothers’ row and helps her put her backpack under the seat and buckle up between them.

“Where did you get those?” Luca asks, pointing to her wings.

Natasha sits up straight just like Captain Bass. “The pilot’s a girl like me! She made me a pilot too.”

He frowns and argues knowingly, “You’re too little to fly a plane.”

“Am not!” 

“Are too!”

Sebastian looks up from his book. “It’s just pretend, Luc. Leave her alone.” 

“It’s not pretend,” Natasha insists. “I am too a pilot! I just flew the plane.”

Luca laughs at her and shakes his head. Her oldest brother shrugs, bored. “Okay, whatever. Just stop arguing about it. Why are you being so annoying?”

She bites her lip and looks down to hide how much that hurts. She doesn’t like when Sebastian is annoyed with her. Luca looks at her haughtily and mouths, “Are not.” Then he pulls out some of his coloring books and ignores her. With no one to play with, Natasha cranes her neck to look out the window over Sebastian’s shoulder.

The airport and Bay slide by as they taxi from the gate. She knows Captain Bass wouldn’t leave without her suitcase so it must have made it onto the plane. When the plane pauses on the runway, Natasha closes her eyes and imagines the cockpit. As the plane gathers speed, she pretends she’s there, hands on the controls with the open sky in front of her. And when the nose lifts off the ground, she’s the one pulling back aiming the plane to the clouds. 

Ode to Phoenix Masterlist

#natasha trace fic #phoenix fic #phoenix headcanons #natasha trace headcanons #monica barbaro #ode to phoenix #natasha phoenix trace #28 days of phoenix #talk to me #i love your notes

[istumpysk]

Operation Stumpy Re-Read

ASOS: Davos VI (Chapter 63)

The nightfire burned against the gathering dark, a great bright beast whose shifting orange light threw shadows twenty feet tall across the yard. All along the walls of Dragonstone the army of gargoyles and grotesques seemed to stir and shift.

This is your daily reminder that we should always be thinking of Daenerys during a Stannis chapter.

+.+.+

King Stannis stood beside her [Selyse], jaw clenched hard, the points of his red-gold crown shimmering whenever he moved his head. He is with them, but not of them, Davos thought. Princess Shireen was between them, the mottled grey patches on her face and neck almost black in the firelight.

Ugh.

+.+.+

The voice of Ser Axell Florent rang loud as a trumpet. He stood barrel-chested and bandy-legged, the firelight washing his face like a monstrous orange tongue. 

Will Ser Axell Florent be burned alive? How appropriate.

+.+.+

When he was a boy, the septons had taught Davos to pray to the Crone for wisdom, to the Warrior for courage, to the Smith for strength. But it was the Mother he prayed to now, to keep his sweet son Devan safe from the red woman's demon god.

I know you're a lost cause, but have you ever considered sending your 11-year-old son home?

+.+.+

"Fire is a living thing," the red woman told him, when he asked her to teach him how to see the future in the flames. "It is always moving, always changing . . . like a book whose letters dance and shift even as you try to read them. It takes years of training to see the shapes beyond the flames, and more years still to learn to tell the shapes of what will be from what may be or what was. Even then it comes hard, hard. You do not understand that, you men of the sunset lands." Davos asked her then how it was that Ser Axell had learned the trick of it so quickly, but to that she only smiled enigmatically and said, "Any cat may stare into a fire and see red mice at play."

Ser Axell Florent stares into the fire and sees what he wants to see.

Unlike Melisandre, who has it down to a science.

+.+.+

He had not lied to his king's men, about that or any of it. "The red woman may see what we intend," he warned them.

"We should start by killing her, then," urged Lewys the Fishwife. "I know a place where we could waylay her, four of us with sharp swords . . ."

"You'd doom us all," said Davos. "Maester Cressen tried to kill her, and she knew at once. From her flames, I'd guess. It seems to me that she is very quick to sense any threat to her own person, but surely she cannot see everything. If we ignore her, perhaps we might escape her notice."

I think the author just established a new rule. Melisandre can sense any threat to her life.

I'll die of laughter if she's shown a vision of her killer and misinterprets it. Is that what happens? Oh man.

+.+.+

The maester broke off. "That will be enough for now, Edric."

The boy was puzzled by the intrusion. "Lord Davos, Ser Andrew. We were doing sums."

Ser Andrew smiled. "I hated sums when I was your age, coz."

"I don't mind them so much. I like history best, though. It's full of tales."

Edric and Sansa are endgame!

I couldn't make sense of this Jaime -> Davos chapter transition, until I realized this is the chapter Davos orchestrates an escape mission for Edric Storm. Jaime will do the same for Tyrion.

+.+.+

Pylos touched the chain of many metals he wore about his neck. "My place is here on Dragonstone. Go with Lord Davos now, and do as he says. He is the King's Hand, remember. What did I tell you about the King's Hand?"

"The Hand speaks with the king's voice."

Unless his tongue has been cut off?

Jokes, jokes.

+.+.+

"I shall go with you, Cousin," Ser Andrew assured him. "There's nothing to be frightened of."

"I am not frightened," Edric said indignantly. "Only . . . is Shireen coming too?"

"No," said Davos. "The princess must remain here with her father and mother."

Please take Shireen.

+.+.+

"He does not want to see you." Davos had to say something, to get the boy moving. "I am his Hand, I speak with his voice. Must I go to the king and tell him that you would not do as you were told? Do you know how angry that will make him? Have you ever seen your uncle angry?" He pulled off his glove and showed the boy the four fingers that Stannis had shortened. "I have."

It was all lies; there had been no anger in Stannis Baratheon when he cut the ends off his onion knight's fingers, only an iron sense of justice. But Edric Storm had not been born then, and could not know that. And the threat had the desired effect. "He should not have done that," the boy said, but he let Davos take him by the hand and draw him down the steps.

One more reminder that Edric Storm is a good lad.

And he likes history best! He knows history! The author loves that.

+.+.+

He went to one knee before Edric Storm. "I must leave you now," he said. "There's a boat waiting, to row you out to a galley. Then it's off across the sea. You are Robert's son so I know you will be brave, no matter what happens."

"I will. Only . . ." The boy hesitated.

"Think of this as an adventure, my lord." Davos tried to sound hale and cheerful. "It's the start of your life's great adventure. May the Warrior defend you."

Edric and Sansa Arya are endgame!

+.+.+

"And may the Father judge you justly, Lord Davos." The boy went with his cousin Ser Andrew out the postern gate. 

[...]

May the Father judge me justly, Davos thought ruefully. But it was the king's judgment that concerned him now.

Uh oh. I haven't verified, but I don't think you ever want that said to you.

+.+.+

If he survived this night, he would take Devan and sail home to Cape Wrath and his gentle Marya. We will grieve together for our dead sons, raise the living ones to be good men, and speak no more of kings.

He didn't. He didn't do it.

This is the first Davos chapter that I've read where I've felt a strong sense of his doom.

+.+.+

A half moon was sliding in and out amongst thin high clouds, and Davos could see familiar stars. There was the Galley, sailing west; there the Crone's Lantern, four bright stars that enclosed a golden haze. The clouds hid most of the Ice Dragon, all but the bright blue eye that marked due north.

There's an Ice Dragon that points north, and another star called Galley that sails west... Lmao.

+.+.+

The wings of the stone dragons cast great black shadows in the light from the nightfire. He tried to tell himself that they were no more than carvings, cold and lifeless. This was their place, once. A place of dragons and dragonlords, the seat of House Targaryen. The Targaryens were the blood of old Valyria . . .

Bad news, they're hot and full of life, and Crazy's coming home.

+.+.+

"Your Grace." Davos stepped forward. "Lady Melisandre saw it true. Your nephew Joffrey is dead."

[...]

Melisandre moved closer. "Save them, sire. Let me wake the stone dragons. Three is three. Give me the boy."

"Edric Storm," Davos said.

Stannis rounded on him in a cold fury. "I know his name. Spare me your reproaches. I like this no more than you do, but my duty is to the realm. My duty . . ." He turned back to Melisandre. "You swear there is no other way? Swear it on your life, for I promise, you shall die by inches if you lie."

Here's a guy that just agreed to burn an innocent child alive - his own nephew (Hello, Daenerys?) - and nobody in this stupid ass fandom holds it against him.

I'll eat a table the day the author gives this man the glory of winning back Winterfell.

+.+.+

Stannis made a fist. "Tommen is gentler than Joffrey, but born of the same incest. Another monster in the making. Another leech upon the land. Westeros needs a man's hand, not a child's."

Sorry everyone, we had to abandon that time gap.

A child it will be.

+.+.+

"Gone?" Stannis turned. "What do you mean, gone?"

"He is aboard a Lyseni galley, safely out to sea." Davos watched Melisandre's pale, heart-shaped face. He saw the flicker of dismay there, the sudden uncertainty. She did not see it!

There's also the possibility that someone games the system, and she never sees it, but I lean towards her being shown her own demise. That's so much more fun.

+.+.+

Her red eyes made him squirm. "I should have left you to the dark, ser. Do you know what you have done?"

"My duty."

"Some might call it treason." Stannis went to the window to stare out into the night. 

Mental note, Stannis accused his Hand of committing treason, because he wouldn't let him burn someone alive.

+.+.+

"Your Grace, you made me swear to give you honest counsel and swift obedience, to defend your realm against your foes, to protect your people. Is not Edric Storm one of your people? One of those I swore to protect? I kept my oath. How could that be treason?"

Stannis ground his teeth again. "I never asked for this crown. Gold is cold and heavy on the head, but so long as I am the king, I have a duty . . . If I must sacrifice one child to the flames to save a million from the dark . . . Sacrifice . . . is never easy, Davos. Or it is no true sacrifice. Tell him, my lady."

+.+.+

"She talks of cows," Davos told the king. "I am speaking of a boy, your daughter's friend, your brother's son."

"A king's son, with the power of kingsblood in his veins." Melisandre's ruby glowed like a red star at her throat. 

A king's daughter, Davos! With the power of kingsblood in her veins! Davos, the daughter! Please!

+.+.+

Stannis slid Lightbringer from its scabbard. Its glow filled the chamber. "Say what you will, but say it quickly." The muscles in the king's neck stood out like cords.

Davos fumbled inside his cloak and drew out the crinkled sheet of parchment. It seemed a thin and flimsy thing, yet it was all the shield he had. "A King's Hand should be able to read and write. Maester Pylos has been teaching me." He smoothed the letter flat upon his knee and began to read by the light of the magic sword.

If Starks melt when they ride below the Neck, what happens to southron lords like Stannis and Littlefinger when they travel north?

Final thoughts:

Edric is still hiding in Lys, most likely waiting to be given Storm's End at the end of the story.

Sorry Gendry, you can't read and you don't know history.

-> return to menu <-

#operation stumpy re-read #asos #davos vi