Darling, you know I am ALWAYS ready for some Superhero Boyfranz.
Punk/Cena - Passing the torch
The path is treacherous, but he never falls, never loses a step. On the throne, high and lonely, the false idol waits for the true king to save them all. John smiles.
# shes-a-voodoo-child # AHHHHH SUPERHERO BOYFRANZ # ALL THE KING ALLEGORIES # ALL OF THEM # the antihero and the superhero who loves him # my fic
for the ask box meme (you don't have to do these all, i am just greedy for crossovers and your wordssss): gillian/cersei, theon-in-mad-men, joan/littlefinger (ugh i am obviously insane feel free to ignore this prompt)
OH I WILL DO ALL OF THEM. ALL THE CROSSOVERS.
Gillian/Cersei - Kindred
The world whispers of golden-haired pariahs; their shared looks whisper, “Take it all.”
Theon in Mad Men - Mirror Images
Starved for attention, Pete knows this place will gorge on Theon’s bones. A pity, really.
Joan/Littlefinger - Challenge
She’ll never be tamed, or broken, or molded just the way he likes, but isn’t red hair all the same?
Boardwalk/GoT: Brienne/Angela/Catyn, Tyrion/Nucky, Mallasandre/Jimmy
HOLY FUCKING SHIT I NEVER THOUGHT ABOUT THESE AND YEAH THEY’RE LONGER THAN 12 WORDS THIS IS HARD OKAY?
Brienne/Angela/Catelyn - Ghosts
She is both soft yet hard, a reminder to both women of long forgotten dreams and long lost daughters.
Tyrion/Nucky - Proposition
The dwarf’s lust for power is too familiar, but Nucky will ignore it…for now.
Melisandre/Jimmy - Destiny
“I never meant-“
“Irrelevant, Your Grace. The prince who was promised always means it.”
Stannis/Davos. DUTY AND HONOR AND BITCHFACE OKAY ASHLEY FINE YOU WIN.
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA DREA I LOVE YOU JUST COME FOLLOW ME ONTO THE S.S. JUSTICE
Stannis/Davos - Hunger
He bites down, and an older, more primal hunger is awakened.
Spartacus - War All The Time, Chapter 1 (Agron/Nasir)
Title: War All The Time
Summary: Modern AU. The longest-running and strongest government in history is engaged in a war with an enemy they can’t even find, let alone eradicate. The world as its known is on the brink of destruction, and one man must choose what side to stand on.
# fic # spartacus # agron # nasir # nagron # fanfiction # the most perfect ship in the otp sea # spartacus: vengeance # war all the time # my fic
Spartacus - From Ashes, He Rises (Agron/Nasir)
Title: From Ashes, He Rises
Summary: It is a heavy thing, to live enough for two. (Because I don’t believe for a moment that Nasir would suddenly wilt and not be able to survive if anything ever happened to Agron)
# fic # spartacus # agron # nasir # fanfiction # because nasir would find a way to survive without agron # this is head canon and i won't be swayed # the most perfect ship in the otp sea # nagron # spartacus: vengeance # my fic
[FIC] Richard standalone- Expectations vs. Reality
Based on next week’s episode, the scene that is going to drown Tumblr in all the creys.
This isn’t how it was supposed to be.
He’s running, and the only thing he can hear are not the leaves being crushed beneath his shoes, nor the ripping of his jacket as it catches on stray tree limbs, or even the sound of his heart, beating like a drum against his chest. What he hears is a voice that he hasn’t been able to recall in the years since he came home, a voice that’s just a relic of a time that feels like a dream, just like the right side of his face. Even now he can’t quite place it. It should feel familiar, it should feel comforting, but it has the opposite effect, and he just keeps running, hoping that if he just keeps going, it’ll fade away like his scars.
There’s a small part of him that still wonders just where he went wrong. He did everything he was supposed to; he was a good son, obedient and helpful, fulfilling every chore that was required of him. A good brother, one that took his role as the big brother seriously, despite only being seven minutes older. Taking care of his sister, finishing his tasks first so that he could help her with hers, letting her have the last piece of pie that Mother baked. Maybe that was why he ended up enlisting; he already had practice in protecting others.
It was never supposed to be like this. He did everything right; he always did what he was told, even in combat. He followed all the rules, he was supposed to come home a hero.
A hero. That’s what everyone called him, even when they could barely say the word. Even when he would look at them, and they would turn their head away. That’s what Jimmy calls him, even when he ought to know better.
Quickly he realized that they called him a hero because they couldn’t bear to call him by his name. His sister was the only one who did; even as the footsteps close in like a clap of thunder, he can still hear her voice, floating through the air, clear as the birds chirping above him. Richard, she would say with the tenderness he could no longer muster. She would look him in the eye, smile at him like he was still her brother underneath the purple, mangled flesh. He never could tell her what everyone else had already figured out; that it wasn’t a hero that came home. That it wasn’t even little Richard Harrow, the farm boy, that came home. That what came home was the very thing he had tried to protect the country from, to protect her from; a monster.
No, this wasn’t how his life was supposed to be. But it is, and now he has a choice. He could duck behind a tree, pull out his gun and wait. He could conquer his enemies the way he can never conquer his demons. But there’s nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, and he would rather face the enemy than the thing that wears half of his face.
And in the end, it’ll be better this way. He won’t be a liability to Jimmy (and one day, he will be, if he isn’t already), he won’t be the monster lurking in the corner of the society that promised him more, he won’t be the dark cloud hanging over his family, hanging over his sister and preventing her from having all the things he once wanted for himself.
He stops running, and he is numb to even the gun that’s slammed into the back of his head. The ground is cold and brutal (just like his mask, just like war), but when he rolls over and the barrel of the gun slides into his mouth, he doesn’t taste metal. He tastes relief, the promise of something more, something better.
And instead of hearing the click of the gun, he hears his own voice, the way it used to sound, full of life and hope and free from all the scar tissue that surrounds his vocal chords.
This is the way it’s going to be.