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@faerykingdom
most recent fic: day thirty one
˗ˏˋ masterlist ´ˎ˗
╰┈➤ ⋆·˚ ༘ *
LIBRARY ACCOUNT → @faerypalace
BOUNDARIES
block #tw caps to avoid caps
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requesting rules
ALL. OF. THIS.
study break
clark kent x chubby!fem!reader
18+ mdni
original asks <3 | ao3
summary: you are trying to study, but clark can’t teach when you’re so pretty, and you can’t focus when he’s so pretty, so it ends up being an unproductive tutoring session…
word count: 2.1k
contains: smut & fluff. clark’s math brain + you = sex… LOL. slightly dumbified reader, clark’s got a bit of a mouth on him. *riding/piv, lots of praise, a bit more bunny kink than usual. *no use of y/n
a/n: a quick & freaky one... breaking from my sweetheart country clark for a minute bc of the feminine moon tides… yeeesssss….. mwahahhahahahahha… hope u like, my requesters !
————————————͙͘͡★———————————
Clark could not keep his eyes off of you, and the worst part was that you didn’t even seem to care.
.✦ ݁˖ Of Winter Roses and Lions Gold .✦ ݁˖
⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ Alternative Universe where the war of The Five Kings never occurs and everyone is alive and happy.
There are some maesters who say the realm was saved not by swords, nor dragons, nor kings, but by a girl with golden hair smiling beneath the boughs of a heart tree.
The singers would tell it differently, of course. They would speak of fate and romance, of a young wolf seeing a lioness amongst the snows and losing his heart before the feast was done. They would speak of vows whispered beneath red leaves and northern winds, of two great houses bound not through conquest, but affection.
But the truth, as ever, lay somewhere in between.
When King Robert Baratheon rode north to Winterfell with all the splendor of the south at his back, he brought with him more than queens and princes and courtly poison. He brought change.
Lord Eddard Stark expected politics. Cersei Lannister expected insult. Tywin expected opportunity.
None expected Robb Stark to fall helplessly in love with Y/N Baratheon before the second night’s feast had ended.
She had entered Winterfell wrapped in pale gold velvet trimmed with white fox fur, southern beauty against northern stone, all soft smiles and watchful green eyes. Too refined for the North, many thought at first. Too delicate. Too much lion and too little wolf.
And then she laughed. Not politely. Not cruelly. Freely. Warmly.
The sound carried through Winterfell’s halls like sunlight breaking across snow.
Robb Stark was doomed from that moment onward.
By the time the royal party departed Winterfell, Robert and Ned had already sealed the match between them with wine, roaring laughter, and the stubborn certainty that perhaps — perhaps — this union could heal what years of mistrust between lion and wolf had broken.
And strangely enough… it did.
The wedding took place beneath the heart tree in Winterfell’s godswood, witnessed only by family and a handful of sworn men. No grand sept. No courtly spectacle. Just snow upon the ground and old gods listening silently through carved red eyes.
Y/N wore pale gold silk sewn with tiny silver direwolves at the sleeves, her cloak lined with white fur gifted by Lady Catelyn herself. Her hair fell in soft curls beneath a circlet of woven weirwood branches and golden thread.
Robb Stark wore dark grey wool and black leather, his Stark cloak heavy upon his shoulders, though his face looked almost boyishly awed as he watched her walk toward him.
Those present would later swear the North itself seemed gentler that day.
When their vows were spoken, Lady Catelyn wept quietly. Ned Stark smiled for the first time in weeks.
Robert Baratheon drank enough ale for six men and declared it the happiest day he’d seen since the rebellion.
And Joffrey—Joffrey looked as though someone had carved out his heart with a dull knife.
⸻
A Realm Rewritten
The marriage accomplished what councils, wars, and threats never could.
The Starks and Lannisters, once wary allies at best, became inseparable pillars of the realm. Trade flourished between North and West. Northern timber and furs flowed south while gold and grain traveled northward.
With Y/N in Winterfell and Robb forever welcome at court, old suspicions softened. Even Cersei and Catelyn learned a sort of careful peace through shared love for the same girl.
Either way, the realm did not bleed for it.
There was no War of the Five Kings. No Red Wedding. No shattered North.
Instead, Westeros suffered a far stranger fate: prolonged political stability.
⸻
Winterfell Under Lady Stark
Y/N became beloved in the North in ways no southerner ever had before her.
At first, the northern lords distrusted her silks and soft manners. They expected arrogance. Fragility. Southern vanity.
Instead they found a woman who remembered every servant’s name, learned northern customs without mockery, and listened more than she spoke.
She hated cold weather passionately. Complained about snow constantly. Required at least three fur blankets at night.
The North adored her instantly. Children followed her through Winter Town because she always carried sweets in her sleeves. Old women blessed her in the markets. Even the roughest Stark bannermen softened beneath one of her smiles.
And Robb?
Robb Stark looked at his wife like a man who had personally won a war no one else knew he’d been fighting.
He worshipped her openly and without shame.⸻
Meanwhile in King’s Landing…
King Robert was ecstatic.
His favorite lord and favorite girl had married each other, the realm was peaceful, and feasts became significantly more entertaining whenever the Starks visited court.
He spent years loudly proclaiming:
“See? THIS is diplomacy. Gods, Ned, we should’ve married our houses sooner!”
Cersei remained fiercely protective of her daughter but slept easier knowing Y/N was far from courtly vipers. Tommen and Myrcella adored visiting the North.
Arya idolized Y/N instantly.
Sansa thought her marriage to Robb was the stuff of songs.
And Joffrey— Poor, miserable Joffrey.
Forever bitter. Forever furious. Forever forced to watch the entire realm adore the sister who had “abandoned” him for a Stark.
Every time Robb touched her waist at feasts, Joffrey nearly bit through his goblet.
The court noticed.
Everyone noticed.
No one spoke of it.
Years later, maesters would write that the peace of King Robert’s later reign rested upon three things:
Lord Eddard Stark’s honor.
Tywin Lannister’s gold.
And Lady Y/N Stark’s impossible ability to make enemies love her despite themselves.
In songs, they called her:
The Golden Wolf
The Rose of Winterfell
The Lion Who Tamed the North
But in private, Robb simply called her his wife, usually with the awed expression of a man who still couldn’t believe she had chosen him at all.
═══ ❅ 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐖𝐨𝐥𝐟’𝐬 𝐁𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 ❅ ═══
The camp was waking. Somewhere beyond the tents, men sharpened swords against whetstones. Horses stamped their feet against frozen earth. Armor rattled. Fires crackled.
War never truly slept. It merely closed one eye.
Y/N Stark stood outside her tent wrapped in a heavy fur cloak, watching dawn creep across the horizon. The sky was pale blue. Cold. Beautiful.
For a moment, she pretended they were home. Not in a war camp. Not surrounded by thousands of men. Not waiting for another battle. Just her and Robb. Winterfell. A quiet morning. No blood. No crowns. No duties.Just them. The fantasy lasted all of three seconds.
Then a familiar voice called her name.
“My lady wife.”
She turned. And immediately smiled. Robb. Gods. Even after all this time. Even after marriage. Even after months of war. The sight of him still made her heart stumble. He stood in partial armor, his fur cloak hanging heavily from broad shoulders.
King. Commander. Warrior. The Young Wolf. Yet somehow when he looked at her— He was just Robb. Her Robb.
His face softened instantly. As if every burden he carried vanished the moment he saw her.
“There you are.”
“I’ve been standing here the entire time.”
“You could have wandered off.”
“I have nowhere to wander.”
His grin appeared. There it was. That smile. The one that had ruined her life. The one that had made her fall in love with him. The one that still made her stomach flutter like a foolish girl.
“Come here,” he said. Y/N laughed.
“Such a romantic invitation.”
“Come here anyway.”
She did. Of course she did. She always did. The moment she stepped close, his hands found her waist. Natural. Instinctive. Like breathing. Robb pulled her against him with a sigh that sounded suspiciously relieved. Almost desperate.
Y/N rested her hands against his chest. Steel beneath leather. Warmth beneath steel. His heartbeat steady beneath everything.
“You look tired.”
“So do you.”
“I asked first.”
His mouth twitched.
“I slept.”
“You lie terribly.”
“I know.”
“You always have.”
“Only to you.”
She rolled her eyes. His smile widened. Gods. War had changed him. Made him older. Sharper. Harder. But around her? Pieces of the old Robb remained. The boy she met beneath Winterfell’s skies. The boy who stared at her for an entire feast and thought nobody noticed. The boy who fell in love far too quickly. The boy who never stopped. Never once. Not for a single day.
His gaze drifted over her face. Lingering. Greedy. As it always did now. War had made him greedy for her. Greedy for every smile. Every touch. Every moment. As if he feared fate might steal them away. Perhaps he did. Perhaps they both did.
“You’ve been staring.”
“You are beautiful.”
“There it is.”
“What?”
“The line.”
“It’s not a line.”
“It absolutely is.”
His hands tightened slightly around her waist.
“No.”
His voice dropped softer. Warmer. More honest.
“It’s the truth.”
Y/N felt heat creep into her cheeks. Even now. Even after all this time. Robb Stark could still make her blush. The unfairness of it.
“You’ll make me vain.”
“I think that battle was lost years ago.”
She gasped. Robb laughed. Actually laughed. The sound made something inside her chest ache.
Because it had become rare. Too rare. War stole laughter first. Before blood. Before lives. Before everything. It always stole laughter. So she treasured every piece he gave her.
Every grin. Every laugh. Every moment.
His forehead slowly lowered against hers. The movement so familiar now neither thought about it. Forehead against forehead. Breathing the same air. Sharing the same space. The same heartbeat.
Y/N closed her eyes. And so did he. The camp vanished. The war vanished. Everything vanished. Only this remained. Only them. Robb exhaled slowly.
“Gods.”
“What?”
“I missed you.”
She laughed softly.
“You saw me last night.”
“I know.”
“You spent half the night refusing to sleep.”
“I know.”
“You are impossible.”
“I know.”
Another pause. Another breath. His nose brushed hers. Tiny. Gentle. Affectionate. The sort of touch nobody else ever saw. The sort of touch that belonged only to them.
“Stay with me today.”
Her eyes opened. She smiled sadly.
“I cannot ride into battle with you.”
“You could try.”
“Your lords would be horrified.”
“My lords are horrified regardless.”
That earned another laugh. Robb looked victorious. As if making her laugh was an achievement greater than any battle. Perhaps to him it was.
“I hate this.”
The words slipped out before she could stop them. Immediately his expression softened. Not pity. Never pity. Understanding. He knew. Gods, he knew.
Y/N hated war. Always had. Always would. She hated what it took from people. What it made them become. The fear. The waiting. The uncertainty. Every battle felt like standing at the edge of a cliff. Waiting to discover whether the person you loved would return.
Robb’s hand rose. His thumb brushed her cheek.
“I know.”
She swallowed.
“Be careful.”
“I always am.”
“That’s a lie.”
“It isn’t.”
“You charged cavalry down a hill.”
“It worked.”
“It was still stupid.”
His grin returned.
“There she is.”
“Robb.”
“Y/N.”
“Stop smiling.”
“I can’t.”
She sighed dramatically.
“I married an idiot.”
“You married a king.”
“I married an idiot who happened to become king.”
He looked delighted by this. Absolutely delighted. The fool. Her fool. His eyes wandered across her face again. Like he was memorizing it. Collecting pieces of her. Storing them away. For later. For battle. For courage. For survival. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet.
“I need my blessing.”
Y/N stared. Then rolled her eyes immediately.
“There it is.”
“What?”
“Your ridiculous superstition.”
“It isn’t ridiculous.”
“It absolutely is.”
“I won three battles.”
“You also have an army.”
“I won because you kissed me.”
She laughed. Robb looked entirely serious. Which somehow made it worse.
“You cannot genuinely believe that.”
“I do.”
“Robb.”
“I do.”
“You’re impossible.”
His grin flashed.
“And yet.”
“And yet?”
“You keep kissing me.”
The audacity. The confidence. The complete certainty. Y/N shook her head. Then reached up. Touched his face. Softly. Gently. The way she always did. The way nobody else ever could. Robb leaned into the touch instantly. Like a starving man finding bread. Gods. She loved him. So much. Too much perhaps.
Enough to terrify her. Enough to make her understand every song ever written. Enough to make war feel crueler. Because now she had something precious to lose. Something irreplaceable. Him.
“You’ll come back.”
It wasn’t quite a question. Not quite a command. Something in between. Robb’s eyes held hers. Steady. Certain.
“I’ll come back.”
“You promise?”
“I promise.”
The words settled between them. Sacred. Simple. Real. His forehead touched hers once more. Neither moved. Neither wanted to. A few more moments. A few more breaths. A few more heartbeats. Always a few more. Never enough.
Then finally— Finally— Y/N rose onto her toes. And kissed him. Softly. Warmly. Tenderly. A kiss filled with everything she couldn’t fit into words. Love. Faith. Hope. Home.
Robb made the faintest sound. Almost helpless. His hands tightened around her. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to keep her close. As if the world might steal her away otherwise.
The kiss deepened. Not hurried. Not desperate. Slow. Sweet. Familiar. The kiss of two people completely and utterly in love.
When they finally parted, Robb rested his forehead against hers again.
Both breathing a little harder. Both smiling.
“There.”
“There?”
“My blessing.”
Y/N laughed.
“You’re ridiculous.”
“And yet.”
“There is no yet.”
“There absolutely is.”
She rolled her eyes. He looked absurdly pleased with himself.
A king. A commander. A warrior. Reduced to this whenever she was near. And somehow she loved him even more for it. A horn sounded somewhere in camp.
Once. Then again. The army was gathering. Duty calling. Reality returning. The moment shattered. Slowly. Cruelly.
Robb sighed.
“I have to go.”
“You do.”
Neither moved. Another few seconds. Another stolen heartbeat. Then finally— Finally—He kissed her forehead. Lingering. Gentle. Reverent. Like she was something precious. Something holy. Something worth surviving for. His everything.
When he stepped away, the cold felt immediate. Wrong. But his smile remained. Bright. Certain. Young. For a moment, not a king. Not a warrior. Just the boy who fell in love with a Baratheon girl in Winterfell.
“I’ll see you tonight.”
“You’d better.”
His grin widened. Then he turned. Walking toward the gathering army. Toward banners. Toward steel. Toward war. Halfway there, he glanced back.
Only once. Just once. And found her still standing exactly where he’d left her. Watching. Waiting. Loving him. Robb smiled. Touched two fingers briefly to his lips. Then rode away.
And for the rest of the day, as swords clashed and banners flew and men shouted his name—
The Young Wolf carried his blessing with him. Not in his armor. Not in his sword. Not in his crown. But in the memory of soft green eyes.
A warm forehead pressed against his own. And a kiss from the woman he loved more than victory itself.
. 𝜗𝜚 ⋆ ₊˚ CATCHING PRINT
━━ ⋆ . 𐙚 ̊ . jack abbot x morgue tech!reader ; after your shift, you go upstairs to the er looking for jack and you run into a few of your boyfriend's coworkers, they bring to your attention just how large jack abbot really is ━ 4.2k
field trip ⋆ . 𐙚 ̊ . to THE MORGUE
By the time you finished shift change down downstairs, the hospital had already begun its slow transition from night to morning. The morgue never changed much regardless of the hour.
THE DRAGON’S DOE—Maekar Targaryen
Maekar Targaryen x Baratheon!wife!reader
content: The Tourney was suppose to be a fun time to relax until your husband lost the two children he was in charge of.
words: 2.5k
cw: MDNI 18+ p in v, fingering, cockwarming, a pussy slap, slapping, pussy pronouns, breeding (shocker), OOC Aerion (he is better behaved as Maekar is not a single mom)
a/n: this was originally just going to be them hooking up at tourneys, but I decided to make them married for the plot. I lokwey might do an origin story if anyone is interested lol.
You were not sure what had possessed you to want to visit home, but that slowly died after spending a whole day with your mother, but the girls seemed to be having a fun time being closer to the water, while Aerion sulked as he had lost another round of sword play to his uncle.
Maekar seeing how well you do with his kids and wanting to add another Maekarling
and you don’t need much convincing
18+ (smut, breeding duhhh)
he watches you from across the courtyard where you sit on a low stone bench, surrounded by blooming spring flowers and a gaggle of excitable children that are not made of your blood. but someone of lesser understanding would not have known that.
the deep crimson of your skirts pool out around you, an unfurling magnolia with velvet petals, as you perch on the seat with rhae curled in your lap, head tucked beneath your chin. aemon sits beside you, his head on your shoulder as he reads softly aloud, and daella sits at your feet, fingers running up and down the smooth expanse of your skirts. aegon stands on his toes behind you, pushing yet another small flower into your hair.
maekar pauses in the doorway, leaning against the stone arch as he observes. his children speak kindly to you, and you speak to them much the same, and as you soothe rhae with one hand, pet daella’s hair with the other, whilst listening to aemon’s muttering and allowing aegon to turn your hair into a garden, maekar realises something. he realises he wants this life with you.
and when he corners you that evening, his children put to bed and tucked out of sight, he realises you want the same thing.
text: [ “Some of you have forgotten that only three years ago you were perfectly capable of writing an essay, writing a eulogy, telling a bedtime story to a child, and it should worry you that powerful companies have convinced us we can’t do things we’ve been doing for 5000 years.” ]
And they're absolutely specifically pushing it, make no mistake. It's not just a matter of "it's there, it's convenient, so people are going to take the path of the least resistance", it is a legitimate and concerted effort on the part of these companies to get people to outsource all these things to their models.
They're preying on insecurities to do it. Yes, you can write an essay - but can you write a good essay, they ask you. Do you not want to improve your output? Do you not want people to think of you as competent and very clever? Why go through the mortifying process of failing and failing and failing until you succeed if you can just skip the "learning" part of doing, and simply generate a ready-made product?
I'm preaching to the choir here obviously but it's a concerning thing to witness nonetheless. My kid is 6 next week and I've been teaching her that failing at things is morally neutral and in fact necessary even before the advent of AI, but it's becoming ever more important that we teach the kids that criticism and failure and discomfort aren't necessarily bad things, but just a part of the growth process.
AI companies are heavily invested in making themselves relevant. They want people to believe they can't do the things they have done unaided before and to make them become reliant on the AI models, so the AI models' existence is artificially justified.
Shy!reader get sick and she visit the pitt at night
okay so this is set before they are a couple!!
thank you anon! i hope u enjoy <3
—
the waiting room was packed and sticky from the humidity.
almost every single chair was occupied as the television mounted on the wall played quietly over the constant murmur of conversations, ringing phones, and coughs.
she had been sitting there for nearly three hours.
at first she'd thought someone would call her back quickly.
and when an hour had passed, she decided to open her kindle app.
Sunday morning
Modern girl dad Baelor Targaryen x wife reader
summary: baelor tryna navigate his sunday morning with his precious (feral) toddler
c/w: fluff
notes: this man is a girl dad through and through you cannot convince me otherwise
The morning sunlight seeps through the window, slow and warm. You feel your husband's arms wrapped tight and comfortable around you so you snuggle closer. However, that peace seems to last only a short while when you hear the sound of the sharp hiss of your cat outside your bedroom.
Baelor seems to hear it too, his body moving slightly. You tilt your head to look at him. His hair's messy, eyes heavy with sleep, and his arms are tightly reluctant to let go of you. But then he kisses your forehead.
"It’s still early, go back to sleep, my love. I'll go check on our daughter."
You hum, still fixed in your cozy position.
"I'm more worried about the cat."
He huffs as he sits up on the bed and puts on his shirt.
"That's fair. Our daughter has a deadly grip."
He gives you a small, gentle smile and disappears behind the door. You decide to sleep in for more minutes, savoring your peaceful morning while your husband saves the household.
Baelor almost doesn't believe the sight in front of him. Your daughter at 6 am in the morning, sunday morning nonetheless, already sprinting through the living room. A bunch of puzzles, dolls, and plastic tea cups are scattered around the floor.
Sure he knows your daughter is growing and toddlers have a lot of energy at their age. But he just doesn't expect his to be so... Energetic. And feral, that one he can't deny.
"Hey, sweetheart. Good morning." Baelor tries to greet her with easy smiles. And calls her names many times. Apparently none of it is working, so he gotta listen to your advice you told when she enters her toddler age.
She runs so fast, unbothered by her surroundings and his dad standing there and calling her. Her focus is solely on the black-and-white cat running from her for life.
Baelor waits patiently and predicts her movement, then when the time comes, he puts both hands on her side and lifts her in the air.
She immediately screams and kicks her feet. Baelor even has to pull his face away so he doesn't get kicked. That's how dangerous her physical power is. He learns that not only her hand grip is deadly.
He coos at her and shushes her gently.
"Sweetheart, it's me, daddy."
She screams louder. "Mickey!" Her legs kick wildly as her hand gestures at the cat dramatically.
Eventually Baelor's soothing voice grounds her from whatever morning demon it is and her scream turns into whines.
"Daddy, Mickey doesn't want to play with me." She says in her sad voice as Baelor brings her to lay in his chest, her head between his shoulder and neck, rocking her slowly.
"I know, baby, but Mickey is still very sleepy and wants to spend his morning alone." He tries to give her an understanding.
"Mickey hates me." Her voice muffled in his neck.
Baelor shushes her and pats her back gently in an attempt to console her. He starts to walk around the living room and open the curtains, allowing the sun to make a presence in the room.
A moment later, you get out of the bedroom, already in your clothes and your hair in a messy bun. In his eyes, you couldn't look more beautiful. You approach them and give a quick kiss on your daughter's cheek, who's apparently still pouting. You give a questioned look at your husband and he immediately signals at the cat, already settling comfortably in his spot. You nod in understanding. It's not like it's the first time.
"I'm gonna make her breakfast. Do you want some coffee?"
"Yeah." He leans in and pecks your lips.
You go to the kitchen while Baleor tries to distract her by pointing at the birds flying outside the window.
After some moments, you approach them who's now sitting on the floor, Baelor's soft voice guiding her to arrange the puzzle. You smile at the sight.
Your husband always wants to be a father. You caught that longing looks of him more than you can remember, just looking at some kids playing around, or when he answers curious questions from his nephew Aegon, or when you pay visits in your friend's house and play with their kids. He never pressures you but you know he wants them. Badly.
And surely he didn't expect his first would be a daughter. A girl. Even in the early days of having her, he voiced his doubt and uncertainty to you, and you don't mind kissing any of them and telling him that he's gonna be a good dad. That he's gonna be good to her.
And he is. He always makes time for you and your daughter, however busy he is. He always is by your side through the pregnancy, the postpartum, and now the threenager phase. But if you're being honest, you feel like your husband underestimates how difficult and sassy your toddler can be, though not in a bad way. You know it's the phase where she tries to build her independence. But she's not so cooperative either.
You bring your toddler's breakfast and your husband's coffee, joining them on the rug. You bring yourself some bananas, because typically you don't have breakfast this early in the morning.
Your daughter's breakfast is scrambled eggs, potato wedges, and seasoned broccoli. You are already anticipating her not eating the broccoli, but your husband seems to be unaware... Yet. Cause your toddler is famous with her statement. He'll know soon.
She eats all the scrambled eggs and potato wedges, not leaving anything else. But the broccoli, the broccoli is untouched.
"Sweetheart, why don't you eat it?" Baelor tries to reason with her and talks her into it.
"It tastes bad." She replies unbothered.
"It tastes like broccoli. I promise you it's not that bad."
Then your toddler does the unexpected. She grips one piece of broccoli and brings it to her daddy. "Daddy eat this."
You see Baelor tries to dodge it but your girl is determined. Face completely serious and her stare is insistent, no doubt found in that little scrunch in her nose. You try not to laugh at your husband's expression.
"Daddy already has his coffee. And that's your breakfast, so you have to finish it, including the broccoli."
"Daddy eat this."
Baelor sighs and eventually takes the broccoli from her hand. He plans to do some tricks to make it like he swallows the broccoli, but she watches him like a hawk, completely determined, as if challenging him.
He swallows it, trying to not grimace at the taste. It's a toddler's meal, for god's sake.
Looking at his expression, she immediately laughs at his face and points at him, finding it completely hilarious. You eventually can't suppress your laugh and join her. Your poor husband only gives a surrender smile, both hands in the air signaling his defeat.
"Told you daddy it doesn't taste good!" She continues cackling, holding her stomach. You didn't know where she learned that from.
After her laughter fades, Baelor ruffles her hair and she naturally comes and does that adorable toddler parking to sit on his lap. He immediately revels in her little quirk and showers kisses on her hair.
"You don't really like broccoli, don't you, sweetheart?" She nods her head.
"Then what do you like? Spinach, carrot?"
"I like eggs, and potatoes, and pasta, and... Um, mac and cheese." She lists her favorite foods as she plays with her daddy's hand.
"You like mac and cheese?"
"Uh huh." She nods aggressively. Baelor chuckles at that.
"How about this, you eat mac and cheese for lunch, but you eat 4 broccoli now?"
She thinks about that hard.
"3."
"4."
"3."
"4." Baelor has the last word. She seems like she's considering it very seriously and nods like it's some important business. He looks like he's suppressing his laugh.
She does what the deal is, eating 4 broccolis. When she finishes, she looks at him.
"Good job. That's my girl." She bashes at his compliment.
"Now what do we say to mama?" He hints at your presence.
"Thank you, my love."
You chuckle at that. Your brains already process and know where it comes from. However your husband seems to be caught off guard but his heart is warm, knowing your daughter must be paying attention to how his daddy is calling her mama with such love and adoration.
"My love? That's daddy's love, not yours." He says with feigned protest.
She giggles with pride. "Mama my love, not daddy's." They argue at each other over and over again, and eventually Baelor tickles her and she laughs out loud in his arms.
"Daddy, it tickles!"
She escapes from his grips and runs to you. "Mama help!"
"Come here!"
Her cute little giggles echo in the living room, mundane sunday morning becomes core memory with you and your husband as you smile at their antics while holding a camera in your hand.
Cold water-Percy Jackson
“C’mon, it’s not that bad,” Percy coaxed from where he was floating in the water. You shook your head, and Percy chuckled at your resistance. He placed his cold, wet hands on your ankles, pulling you gently off of the dock and into his arms.
You squealed, hands flailing before Percy pinned them against his dripping chest. “See? Its warm!!” He says, pulling you deeper.
You knew that Percy wouldn’t let you freeze, even though the water was so cold, his body and powers kept you warmer then you were sitting. Your heavy winter clothes weighed you down, and Percy held up so you wouldn’t drown (like he would let that happen to you)
You grumbled something unknown, snuggling into his chest as you pulled off your hat and scarf.
“There we go, that’s my girl.” He said, grinning as he pressed a wet, sea-salt tasting kiss to your lips.
You sputtered, pretending to hate the flavor before you finally gave in, kissing him hard,
The water flowed around you as both of you got lost in the kiss, the waves moving in the same tempo as his tongue.Eventually, you two pulled away as Percy murmured: “You’ll always be warm in the water,”
Divider credits: @uzmacchiato
“oh but steve deserved a happy ending” and why couldn’t it have been simple and realistic instead of an assassin of his character? for example, passing the mantle to sam and going on a road trip with the man he’d spent years fighting to get back. after saying goodbye to sam, they get in beat up truck with nothing but two small packs, a few novels, and steve’s sketchbook. “so. where to first?” “I was thinking jersey” — they share a laugh, and drive
the worst part is steve rogers WOULDN’T. he wouldn’t leave sam with the responsibility of the shield without being there to support him. he wouldn’t go back to a woman who died of old age, had her own life and told him to move on. he wouldn’t have ever, not even once, considered leaving bucky — aka his entire world wrapped up in one person — alone, especially after just getting him back. and he wouldn’t have decided that he’d fought the good fight enough and retire in suburbia in the decade epitomes for traditional values aka an antitheses to everything he stood for. the real steve rogers would legitimately hate the man marvel put on the screen in endgame. and yet. and yet
Sleepless nights
A cute little Drabble from before Aemon was born
“Ow.” Baelor groans when he feels a weight of a five year old land on him. Before the boy clambers off him and snuggles up against you as you’re sleeping in the middle of the bed. “Hello Aerion, why are you awake?”