#“ The prayer is all of me. ” oh okay. just rip my soul out of my body i guess. no big deal !!! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

goodnightmemes · 2 years ago

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EVIL DEAD (2013) SENTENCE STARTERS

trigger warning for violence, foul language, and horror. feel free to change pronouns / terms / tense as needed!

❛ Only the evil book can undo what the evil book has done. ❜

❛ Please. I just want to go home. ❜

❛ [name]'s dead. You know that. You killed her. ❜

❛ No, why are you saying these things? ❜

❛ I'll rip your soul out, you pathetic fuck! ❜

❛ I will kill you like I killed your whore! ❜

❛ You were supposed to be here two hours ago. ❜

❛ I'll be damned. You actually came. ❜

❛ I know I look like road kill. ❜

❛ You're a charming liar, as always. ❜

❛ We always loved this place, didn't we? ❜

❛ I thought you didn't believe in that kind of stuff. ❜

❛ Promise me you'll stay with me until the end. ❜

❛ Looks like someone broke in. ❜

❛ Some teenagers probably just broke in here to drink beer and bump uglies. ❜

❛ Let's make this place livable. ❜

❛ I don't think you need sad memories in your head right now. ❜

❛ I wanted to be there. Okay? I did. ❜

❛ This time the only way is the hard way. ❜

❛ Look, we all need to be together on this. Otherwise it won't work. ❜

❛ I came here to make things better with my sister, not worse. ❜

❛ I can't stand that fucking smell anymore. ❜

❛ Withdrawal's kicking in hard. ❜

❛ Oh, is that blood? ❜

❛ Careful. These steps are old and rotten. ❜

❛ What the fuck happened here? ❜

❛ No, no, no. Voodoo is more about dolls and personal artifacts. This is something different. ❜

❛ You shouldn't have touched anything from that basement. ❜

❛ I'm going insane here. I feel like I'm losing my mind. ❜

❛ We can't lose you again. ❜

❛ Oh, my God. I'm such an idiot. To think for once in my life, I could count on you. ❜

❛ She's talking about a woman in the woods. How the forest attacked her. ❜

❛ Well, don't you think we should take her to a hospital? ❜

❛ I feel like we're in over our heads here. ❜

❛ If we leave now, all of this mess will have been for nothing. ❜

❛ Please. You have to get me out of here. ❜

❛ There was something in the woods. And I think it's in here with us now. ❜

❛ Look, you know it's all in your head. Just try to get it together. ❜

❛ Please, would you just get rid of that thing? ❜

❛ Open the fucking door! ❜

❛ Well, nobody could have known she would do something so twisted! ❜

❛ No, you should have known! We've all been following your lead since we got here. ❜

❛ We should have left when [name] wanted to. ❜

❛ Everything's gonna be fine. ❜

❛ I don't know if you've noticed this, but nothing has been fine. And everything's been getting worse every second. ❜

❛ Put the gun down, please. Put the fucking gun down! ❜

❛ One by one, we will take you! ❜

❛ You are all going to die tonight. ❜

❛ This is impossible. I just gave her enough sedative to put a horse to sleep. ❜

❛ I gotta get the shrapnel out of my arm. ❜

❛ I don't think a tranquilizer's gonna do shit. 'Cause I don't think we're dealing with a freaking panic attack here! ❜

❛ I'm scared that what's happening to [name] has something to do with the fucking witchcraft in the basement! ❜

❛ Oh, my God! Why the fuck did you do that? ❜

❛ I did something terrible. ❜

❛ That thing I killed was not [name]. ❜

❛ I read a passage from that book. It was... It was some sort of prayer. I released something. I released something evil. ❜

❛ Why did you lock me down here? ❜

❛ You got violent and we didn't know what else to do. ❜

❛ Look, something really terrible has happened and we have to get out of here now. Okay? ❜

❛ He's not gonna let you leave! And he's not gonna stop till he has you. Until he has all of you! ❜

❛ I can smell your filthy soul. ❜

❛ [name]'s not here, you fucking idiot! ❜

❛ I don't know why, but I thought this would end it. ❜

❛ There's some translations, but...just scattered notes. They all refer to some... evil entity. A taker of souls. A demon. ❜

❛ This thing is attached to [name]'s soul like a leech. It's becoming her. ❜

❛ If we want to stop this, if we want to help [name]...I think we're gonna have to kill her. ❜

❛ We're not gonna fucking kill anybody! Are you listening to yourself? ❜

❛ It doesn't matter where we go. If we don't do something right now, we're all gonna be dead by then! ❜

❛ We're gonna get you ❜

❛ I had to do it. And I feel much better now. ❜

❛ These inscriptions are confusing, sometimes contradictory, but they're consistent about one thing. In order to stop this, the possessed must be cleansed. Purified. ❜

❛ Am I sure? Of course not. This is not a science book! ❜

❛ If she dies, then this thing is gonna die with her. ❜

❛ You're just a fucking coward. You know exactly what we have to do, but you're too scared to go through with it. ❜

❛ I'm gonna burn this fucking place down. And I'm gonna end this nightmare. ❜

❛ Why don't you just run away? Go hide beneath some rock somewhere. You know you're great at that. ❜

❛ Why are you hurting me? ❜

❛ Don't die on me, please! ❜

❛ Dying wouldn't be so bad right now. I just don't want to become the devil's bitch. ❜

❛ I'm gonna do what I gotta do. Okay? ❜

❛ Why do you hate me? I know you do. ❜

❛ You're gonna burn in hell for trying to kill me, you motherfucker! ❜

❛ I'm so sorry. I should have been there. I should've been there for you. ❜

❛ I've had enough of this shit. ❜

❛ I will feast on your soul. ❜

❛ Feast on this, motherfucker! ❜

#rp meme #sentence starters #roleplay meme #roleplay prompts #inbox meme #horror rp meme #horror meme #horror prompts #*Movie #in honor of evil dead rise lol

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taechaos · 4 years ago

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New Idea

pairing: Step-brother!Taehyung x Fem!Reader

warnings: non-con, bondage, pseudo-incest, sadism, smut, mentions of killing

synopsis: You wished to hang out with your brother Taehyung when he wasn't home, only to realize he was better off staying away.

word count: 3.2k

It was late at night. Rain flooded outside, drops trickled down your window and puddles formed on the roads as they reflected the neon lit storefront signs beautifully. The tears from the clouds splashed against the cement loudly, and you watched the empty streets in boredom. With your cheek leaning on your palm, elbow propped up on the round wooden table across your window, you miserably yearned to feel some sort of sugar rush with a deep frown on your face. Things have been mundane, repeating the same old routines as days quickly went by. You wondered what Taehyung had been up to in the time that he’d been gone. You knew he could resolve your boredom instantly had he been right beside you.

Taehyung – your step-brother who was the embodiment of adrenaline, and was most likely awake with you right now. The man never slept, always staying up at night brainstorming ideas for what to do during the day that was no doubt just as exciting as the day before. Bags adorned his eyes that somehow fit his wild persona that never needed asking for permission to do things that were illegal most of the time. It was especially daring when having strict parents, and the only reason he wasn’t locked up in a mental institution was because he was the pride of your family with excelling grades in college that he rarely ever attended. They never approved of anything he’d done, especially not the teal hair he was currently rocking. You on the other hand, looked up to him as a role model.

What you’d do to see him right now. Sometimes he tagged you along with his adventures, such as exploring abandoned buildings and getting matching tattoos on your forearms that he chose. Despite the rebellious acts he put you through, he always defended you against your parents and got away with everything with a light scolding from his smooth tongue. Admiration wouldn’t begin to describe the amount of respect you had for him, though he was rarely ever around. Unbeknownst to you however, he never failed to go a day without pecking your cheek while you were unconscious.

He was everything you aspired to be: a carefree soul with a creative mind and a heart filled with exhilaration. The only thing he hadn’t done was probably murder. It was a shame that absence made the heart grow fonder, because throughout the time you’d known him since your early teens, he hadn’t changed one bit with his disappearances that could go on for days.

Taehyung never changed.

Was this what they called depression? Feeling numb and hating your life for how ordinary it was? You didn’t know, but what you knew was that you really needed Taehyung right now. It was 3AM and your parents were sound asleep in the apartment while you moped over how much you missed your step-brother’s presence. Not a single moment was dull with him, while you were too much of a coward to go through with any of your desires.

And as if your prayers were answered, a pound came on the door. The loud knock instantly gave away the person behind the door; Taehyung, who never cared for how loud he was unless he was on a stealthy mission.

Your heart skipped a beat as the door swung open and the silhouette of your step-brother entered before it was slammed shut with a lock. “You’re awake?” he asked in a whisper without moving an inch when he noticed your seated form.

“Can’t sleep,” you breathed, unable to hide the joy you felt upon seeing him in your tone. He couldn’t have picked a better time to visit you.

“Why not?” he walked over to you before kneeling. There was a smile on his face that matched yours, instantly giving away he came to your room with purpose. It was expected, for he never approached you if not to tell you about one of his newer ideas.

“Was bored.”

“So was I,” a mischievous smirk graced his face. The street lights outside illuminated his messy hair that your hand itched to ruffle. “But I found us a solution.”

Your eyes gleamed with hope, your grin never faltering. “Tell me,” you impatiently urged, your knees already bouncing up and down with excitement.

“I’ll give you a hint: we’ll both be having fun. But you need to listen to me,” he cautioned with a raised finger. You nodded frantically, willing to do whatever he needed you to do. “Okay, stand up.”

You obeyed him and only then noticed the bag slung over his shoulder once you stood before him. “Let me do all the work, yeah? You just stand still.”

“I really want to know what it is,” you whined and bounced on your feet.

Taehyung held onto your tits that bounced with you and you quietly gasped. “Better not be acting like this with anyone other than me. Naughty,” he scolded before unzipping his small pouch.

“I don’t go out without a bra,” you rolled your eyes playfully. Taehyung was notorious for doing and saying things without a filter, uncaring of the effect it had on others. This was simply him looking after you without any boundaries, because he never set any with you.

He pulled out a duct tape from the mystery bag. “Turn around and hold your hands behind you.” You complied without protest, the ripping of a duct tape resounding in the room as he tore it with his teeth. He taped your wrists together like cuffs before facing you again by the pull of your shoulder.

Confusion washed over you, but not a trace of fear. “What’s this about?”

“Now go lie down,” he ignored you and nodded at your bed. You sat on the center, your sheets already rumpled from all the tossing and turning you’d done in an attempt to sleep. His figure loomed over you and your heart raced in anticipation. “Don’t move, okay?”

You silently watched him with piqued curiosity as he pushed you down. The soft mattress dipped under your weight and you didn’t move a muscle until you felt him tug at your flannel pajama pants. “Taehyung? What are you doing?”

“Just trust me,” he ignored you again and you furrowed your brows as he undressed you. “You’re going to like it.”

Without a single clue of his intentions, you expected him to change your pants after he took them off, but definitely didn’t expect him to aim at your panties next. The second he held onto the hems, you crawled away from him and repeated more firmly, “Taehyung, what are you doing?”

He yanked you back to him by your ankles. “Don’t you trust me? You said you’d listen to me.”

“I don’t think I want to do this,” you strained and tried to pull your knees to your chest, but he tightened his grip on your ankles.

“It’ll be fun, just sit still,” he spoke airily, his tone unbothered compared to your worried one. “I would never do anything to hurt you.”

Once you felt somewhat reassured, you relaxed your legs and lied back down. The discomfort swallowed you whole when he undressed your bottom half completely. The chilly air hit your bare legs and left goosebumps in its wake.

“You shouldn’t be shy about being naked with me,” he chuckled and tapped your pussy carelessly. You yelped and bent your knees again.

“Taehyung, this isn’t right,” you stressed and clenched your thighs together. You were growing wary about this ‘idea’ and you weren’t sure whether his pupils were dilated because of the dark anymore. He could be high. “Let’s try something else, please.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” he scoffed and spread your thighs apart, hovering over your loins. “You’re going to love this, just calm it.” He grabbed the duct tape again and tore off a smaller piece before placing it on your mouth, making your efforts of leaning away fruitless. Your voice was muffled behind the sticky tape as you shook your head. “Don’t make me tape your legs too,” he warned as you tried pushing him away. He sat on your knees as he began unzipping his washed denim jeans, ignoring your babbling.

“Been watching a lot of porn lately,” he began casually as tears brimmed in your eyes. “I usually find it boring, but I came across a video that I couldn’t resist reenacting. Plus you were bored too,” he defended, “it’d be mean if I spared my little sister of this fun.”

You didn’t know whether he was joking or not, but you were ready to start crying if he was actually doing what you were thinking. You sighed in relief when he reached for his pouch for a pair of scissors. It had to be a joke then–

Taehyung began cutting your shirt from the middle, and you whimpered when your tits were on full display. Your nipples hardened as a result of the exposure, and tears immediately began streaming down your face mixed with muffled sobs.

“Oh come on, it’s not that bad,” he exclaimed, “we’re not related by blood. It should be fine.”

When you continued crying, he said, “I’ll take off my shirt too, if it helps.” He heaved his t-shirt over his head, his firm chest hard to make out in the midnight dark. “I was thinking kissing would ease you into it, but only if you’re quiet.” Your cries grew louder instead. He sighed exasperatedly, “You can be such a crybaby sometimes.”

He started leaving open-mouthed kisses on your neck, and you whimpered at the feeling. You were ticklish and though you were completely terrified, the kisses were a bit soothing. “This is me being nice to you, because oh boy, that guy in the video was a fucking monster,” he laughed while going down the valley between your breasts. A finger flicked your nipple while his other hand rubbed over your folds. “Want me to eat you out first? You’re not wet enough.”

You shook your head in refusal, so he merely shrugged and began circling your clit instead, his fingers now pinching your nipple. His mouth latched onto your other nipple and he swirled his tongue around the areola, clashing pleasure with pain. The rain drowned out your involuntary moans but Taehyung caught them anyway; it wasn’t hard to miss when your arousal began coating his hand. He released your nipple with a pop and locked eyes with you. “You’re enjoying this? Not gonna lie, I was expecting you to cry longer but... you're a little slutty, aren't you?” He slapped your pussy experimentally and smiled when you moaned loudly. “Keep this up and I might just take off the tape.”

For a moment, he wondered if this was why people enjoyed sex so much; your moans were like music to his ears and your body was making his cock throb even more. He could really get used to this, he thought as he slapped your pussy over and over, the sound echoing in the room along with your high-pitched whines.

“Shit, I need to record this,” he mumbled before reaching for his phone on his back pocket. Your protests went to deaf ears as he began recording your pussy and spanked it, the microphone picking up all your sounds of pleasure. Once it reached the one-minute mark, he threw his phone on your pillow and took out his erect length from its restraints, giving it a few pumps as the tip oozed with pre-cum. “I never thought fucking you would be this easy. Thought about it every time I touched myself.”

You went quiet at the revelation and he smirked at your raised brows. “Why are you surprised? Whenever I’m home, you come hug me with your bare tits pressed up against me. Not that I’m complaining of course,” he chuckled hotly. “Want me to kiss you now?”

When you didn’t respond quickly enough, he ripped the tape off of your mouth without mercy and your eyes teared up at the pain with an ouch. He didn’t waste a second in enveloping his lips with yours as he cupped your pussy, smearing his pre-cum on your labia. He swallowed your moans as his mouth moved vigorously, tongue meeting yours as he explored your cavern. The smacking of your lips caused you to clench your hole, the sound arousing to your ears as you kissed him back.

“You going to stay quiet for me?” he murmured against your lips, his cock poking at your hole teasingly. You hesitated but nodded nonetheless. “Good girl,” he praised with a grin and lightly pecked you before properly positioning himself.

The reason why Taehyung was so eager to have sex with you wasn’t just because he was horny, but also because really wanted it to be your pussy that he fucked first, and maybe second, and third. He was a virgin who watched too much porn when he wasn’t outside, and now that you were 18, he thought it to be the perfect timing for you to lose your virginity to him like he’d imagined when he was 15.

Due to his experience, he didn’t ease into your pussy and instead shoved his cock entirely. You screamed and he instantly put a hand over your mouth. “Too much?” he asked with a strained voice. His cock was just begging to be thrusted into you, but he couldn’t have you screaming and waking your parents. When you nodded with eyes shut in pain, he groaned to himself. He was twitching inside you, and after a few seconds, he began moving.

You were crying and bitching again, but he paid no mind to it as he pressed his hand onto your mouth while gently slamming his hips into you, his courtesy for now. You'd adjust sooner or later, but the stretch was excruciating; your walls stung and you started to bleed on him.

"Oh fuck," he giggled sadistically once he noticed the crimson fluid, "that didn't happen in the video." He gazed into your glossy eyes before quickening his pace, growing rougher. "You're crying again; what's new?"

Taehyung was laughing as he was moaning, but you couldn’t hear anything except for the ringing in your ears. Your heart pounded and you were struggling to breathe through your nose as he fucked you relentlessly.

“I kind of feel bad for you,” he panted with a sinister smile. “Does it still hurt?” He took your sobs as a yes. “Poor baby,” he cooed with a pout before moving his free hand to your clit. “This might help.” You were struggling with your bound hands, but you couldn’t move your legs because of how much it hurt. Your fighting was useless, and your body was growing numb except for the thumb that made it less painful.

Taehyung removed his hand from your mouth to hear your moans clearly. Whether it was from pleasure or pain, he didn’t know, but he loved it. He wanted to be the only one to see you in this state. He’d gauge out any eyes that got to see you naked and stab any ears that got to hear your pretty sounds.

But it was a little difficult to savour it when he was reaching his climax so soon; damn inexperience and the low stamina that came with. He had enough self-control to pull out of you to finish himself off with his hand. He missed the warmth and tightness of your pussy and how it kept clenching down on him quickly, but it had to come at a cost – not cumming inside you.

“You fucking monster!” you yelled hoarsely, eyes blurred with tears and face covered in tears.

“Too loud,” he sighed and forced your mouth open to shove his length inside. “Try anything, and I’ll fucking kill you.” His cock was heavy on your tongue as you gagged on it every time he thrusted. It wasn’t long before he released in your mouth and you choked, swallowing his cum without a choice. Another loud moan erupted from him as his hips stuttered while gently slamming into you for the last time.

“Fuck,” he exhaled before collapsing on you with his palms holding up to not smother you completely. “Shit, you’re such a good fucking girl.”

When he raised his face from your shoulder, you spat on him. He laughed hysterically before wiping off your saliva from his cheek. “I’ll make it up to you, damn.”

“You’re the fucking worst Taehyung,” your voice wavered as you insulted him. “I hope you rot in hell. I always saw you as my role model, but now I understand why everyone fucking hates you.”

“Sheesh,” he snorted, “I told you I’d make it up to you, didn’t I? It might hurt now, but it’ll feel a lot better when we do it again.”

“If you try-” he cut you off by going down on you, taking his clit into your mouth and immediately emitting a moan out of you. “Stop, stop, stop,” you chanted in gasps, trapping his head with your thighs and contradicting your words. He chuckled against your swollen pussy, making it feel even better and yet worse. This euphoric sensation wasn’t what you needed after being traumatized by your own step-brother, but it was what your body wanted after getting a taste of his tongue.

He was slurping up your juices and spitting on your folds before abusing your clit again. The bastard knew how to distract you from your newfound grudge, but you weren’t going to forgive him after your orgasm. Your hips moved against him on instinct as his tongue ran up and down your labia. A knot formed in your stomach, your tears long forgotten as you became more persistent in riding him in this awkward position. He heaved your thighs over his shoulder to take full control, and with his vigorous sucking and pulling, you came undone with a spasm.

“Feels good, right?” he asked rhetorically and fell limp next to you.

“I’ve never hated someone as much as you,” you seethed while recovering from your high.

“You’re going to tell me that wasn’t fun? No way,” he stared at you in disbelief.

“You hurt me,” you sniffled and covered your face.

"I'm sorry princess," the nickname felt foreign on his tongue as he held your arm. "I'll leave forever if you want me to."

He hummed when you stayed silent with a runny nose. "I'll clean you up and go, okay?"

"No," you huffed. "You become my slave for a whole month."

"You want me to stay home with you?"

You nodded while rubbing your eyes with your fists. "You can't do that and just leave, and I hate you but I miss you."

Taehyung resisted the urge to squeeze your cheek and coo. He knew you'd regret asking him to stay, but he wouldn't say no to spending time with you 24/7.

Chuckling through his nose, he said, "I miss you too." He traced the tattoo on your forearm, a minimalistic mockingbird with an arrow slicing through the middle. He picked it because it represented you; an innocent little thing who didn't even look down at her wound, only focused on flying back to Taehyung, a hawk that waited with open arms - ready for his meal.

If you wanted him to stay, then that's what Taehyung would do. You'd fallen for his trap twice, the third wouldn't be so bad. He'd make sure you enjoyed it this time.

#bts #kim taehyung #bts x reader #taehyung x reader #kth #thekpopnetwork #taehyung smut #bts smut #bts imagines #bts scenarios

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hlizr50 · 3 years ago

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Willow

TW: Nightmare at the beginning is of Gwyn's SA. Nothing detailed, but definitely more than I've done in the past

After a week of cuddling together when they sleep, Azriel and Gwyn spend their first night apart. At least, that's what they try to do. Spoiler alert - it doesn't work.

Read on AO3

She was shaking.

Large, rough hands roamed over her skin. Unwelcome. Unyielding.

Pain.

A scream ripped past her throat.

God, it hurt. It was unimaginable – a searing burn that reached straight into her soul, shattering her into shards so small that surely she would be broken forever.

“Feels good, huh, little red? You’ll never forget me now, will you?”

Gwyn sat up with a shriek, panting, hands frantically pushing away the sheet and the lingering spiderwebs of that unwanted touch. Thin t-shirt cotton clung to her freckled skin, damp with sweat as the nightmares purged from her.

Sucking in deep, heaving breaths, she covered her face with her hands. Hot tears coursed from the corners of her eyes.

She’d had a full week completely unbothered by these demons. A full week, every night spent in the arms of Azriel Aphelah. She had never felt so safe, so at peace.

But now…

She reached to her nightstand and found her phone, raising it to her face to check the time.

2:23am.

“Fuck,” she whimpered, opening her messages and finding the goodnight texts they’d exchanged hours earlier. She froze there, thumbs poised to start typing.

She shouldn’t bother him. She could deal with it. She had plenty of times before. But…

But she wanted him. Gwyn wanted him to be here. With her. She wanted to curl up in his arms and feel his long fingers tracing lines up and down her back, soothing her until she was pieced back together. Teal eyes stared at the phone as she pondered the conversation they’d had when she dropped him off.

“It feels… wrong. After a week, this will be the first night we won’t spend together,” Azriel murmured, leaning in her rolled-down window.

“Aww, you think you’ll survive without me?” she teased, nose scrunching. He flicked it before grasping her nape and leaning in to brush lips over hers.

“If you need anything, Gwyn, you call me. You understand?”

“You worry too much, Azriel,” she scoffed, even as her heart squeezed at his tenderness.

“Promise me, Gwyn,” he demanded, fixing her with a pointed look that screamed ‘I don’t trust you with this’. She tilted her chin up, earning another light kiss.

“I promise, Az,” she whispered.

“Okay. Drive safe, sunshine. Text me when you get home.”

And even with that assurance, even though she had promised, Gwyn hesitated with her thumb hovering over his name, glowing in the night. She didn’t want to be a burden to him. Didn’t want to seem broken or needy.

You don’t have to deal with this alone. Let us be here for you. Let me.

Promise me, Gwyn.

She took a big gulp of air and tapped on his name before bringing the cellphone to her ear as the tone began to sound.

“Gwyn?” The deep, rich voice on the other end seemed to instantly sooth the aching wounds around her heart. Her breath sawed in and out, voice unable to form words. “Gwyn? Are you okay, sweetheart?” The tears began rolling again at the endearment. God, if he knew what one word could do to her. What would he think?

“Az. I… I’m sorry. I didn’t… want to wake you. But-“

“Don’t apologize, sunshine. Just tell me what’s going on. Was it a nightmare?”

“Uh huh.” Gwyn choked on the sob that slowly bubbled up.

“Do you need me, sweetheart? I can come over,” he offered.

“No.” Yes. “No, that’s okay. I just… can we just talk for a little bit?” Gwyn swung her legs over the edge of the bed and rose to her feet before padding out of her bedroom and into the kitchen.

“Of course. What did you do when you got home? Get all that laundry loaded?”

She couldn’t be more grateful for his ability to immediately settle her, to give her exactly what she needed. A quiet giggle escaped her lips as she opened the fridge and fished out her water pitcher.

“I don’t appreciate your insinuation about the amount of laundry I created over the week,” she grumbled, pouring some to help soothe her throat and her mind.

“You had a suitcase full of dirty clothes, Berdara. It is not an insinuation, it is a fact,” a throaty chuckle rumbled through the phone, along with something that sounded like rushing air.

“Are you outside? It sounds… windy?” she asked.

“Nah, I just opened my window. Needed a little fresh air.” Gwyn shrugged as she returned the pitcher to the refrigerator door, finding comfort as he continued to talk as if they were just having a normal, daytime conversation. As if she hadn’t just roused him from deep sleep because she was now somehow too weak to spend a night alone. “I’ll be honest, I didn’t do a single scrap of laundry. I threw my bag on the couch and then just started looking at emails, then got distracted by the pictures Nesta sent.”

She grinned to herself, remembering the texts she’d received from Azriel about them. How he adored her smile. How beautiful she was. There was a picture of her sitting between his legs, her head tilted back laughing. His crooked smile so serenely painted across his handsome face. He’d said it was his favorite. She was inclined to agree, although she was sure it was for a different reason.

“You still in bed?” he asked softly.

“No, I came out and poured a glass of water,” Gwyn replied. “So I’m just sitting on the couch sipping on that. Trying to calm my nerves. Hopefully I’ll be able to get back to sleep in a little bit. Maybe I’ll put on a movie or something.”

“You mean you’ll watch The Little Mermaid for the thousandth time?” he teased.

“Do not judge me! I like singing and I like shiny things, okay?”

“I know, I know. I would never truly judge your comfort movie,” he laughed, the sound a light piercing through the night. “Hey. Speaking of singing, why don’t you sing a song for me?”

“What?” Gwyn balked, eyes wide. As if he were asking her to her face.

“Sing for me, sweetheart. You’re always so joyful and carefree when you sing. Maybe it’ll help.”

“Hmmmm.” Gwyn chewed on her lower lip, pondering. He’d heard her sing before. Many times. But somehow this felt… different. But, much like the decision to call him, she didn’t give herself time to question it.

I'm like the water when your ship rolled in that night Rough on the surface but you cut through like a knife And if it was an open-shut case I never would've known from that look on your face Lost in your current like a priceless wine The more that you say The less I know Wherever you stray I follow I'm begging for you to take my hand Wreck my plans That's my man

Life was a willow and it bent right to your wind (oh) Head on the pillow, I could feel you sneaking in As if you were a mythical thing Like you were a trophy or a champion ring And there was one prize I'd cheat to win The more that you say The less I know Wherever you stray I follow I'm begging for you to take my hand Wreck my plans That's my man You know that my train could take you home Anywhere else is hollow I'm begging for you to take my hand Wreck my plans That's my man

A knock sounded at the door and she gasped, turning toward it.

“Az… someone just knocked on the door,” she murmured, heart racing with barely contained panic. The answer she heard didn’t come through the phone, though. She heard it from the other side of the threshold.

“It’s me, sunshine. Now open up and let me take care of you.”

~~~

It wasn’t so much the ringing, but the vibration against the wood of the nightstand that woke Azriel from his admittedly light sleep. He squinted, pale face and teal eyes meeting his bleary gaze. Gwyn was calling, at… 2:24 in the morning? Worry twisted in his stomach as he answered.

“Gwyn?” All he could hear were her jagged breaths on the other end. He had a feeling he knew why she was calling. “Gwyn? Are you okay, sweetheart?”

“Az. I… I’m sorry. I didn’t… want to wake you. But-“

Immediately Azriel was up and moving, tossing a hoodie over his head and stalking toward the door. “Don’t apologize, sunshine. Just tell me what’s going on. Was it a nightmare?”

“Uh huh.” Her voice sounded so strained. As if she was holding on by a thread. Grabbing his keys and wallet he slipped out of the apartment.

“Do you need me, sweetheart? I can come over,” he offered.

“No. No, that’s okay. I just… can we just talk for a little bit?” Azriel thought to pause for a little, but then thought better of it. He had decided that night he found her screaming in her bed that he would not let her suffer alone. And he would hold to that.

“Of course. What did you do when you got home? Get all that laundry loaded?” He tried to keep his tone light, act like they were just having a normal, everyday conversation. As if she hadn’t just called in the middle of the night on the verge of tears. He climbed into his car as quietly as he could. He knew Gwyn would likely protest if she knew he was heading her way when she’d already said he didn’t need to. She didn’t seem to notice when the car started and he began driving down the road, but he was sure she might hear something in the background.

“I don’t appreciate your insinuation about the amount of laundry I created over the week,” she grumbled. A chuckle bubbled up from his chest.

“You had a suitcase full of dirty clothes, Berdara. It is not an insinuation, it is a fact.”

“Are you outside? It sounds… windy?” she asked.

“Nah, I just opened my window. Needed a little fresh air.” Azriel paused for a moment, breathing a silent prayer of thanks that she seemed to accept the explanation. “I’ll be honest, I didn’t do a single scrap of laundry. I threw my bag on the couch and then just started looking at emails, then got distracted by the pictures Nesta sent.”

He had been far more enamored with them than he cared to admit. His chest tightened when he saw her bright smiles and crinkled eyes. And the picture where she was laughing in his arms? It was like gazing into heaven.

“You still in bed?” he asked softly.

“You mean you’ll watch The Little Mermaid for the thousandth time?” he teased. She’d always had a soft spot for the movie, and he knew the music helped lull her to sleep.

“Do not judge me! I like singing and I like shiny things, okay?”

“I know, I know. I would never truly judge your comfort movie,” he laughed. But he needed a way to keep her on the phone until he got to her place. Something that wouldn’t be suspicious. “Hey. Speaking of singing, why don’t you sing a song for me?”

“What?” Gwyn balked. He could imagine the pink staining her cheeks under wide, innocent eyes and couldn’t contain the grin that tilted his lips.

“Sing for me, sweetheart. You’re always so joyful and carefree when you sing. Maybe it’ll help.”

“Hmmmm.” She seemed to contemplate on the other, the silence stretching. Perhaps it was too much to ask.

But even as he had the thought her sweet voice began drifting through the phone. It was a song her didn’t immediately recognize, but it didn’t matter. The melody was pure magic, settling him as he pulled up to her building and dashed out of his car and up the stairs. And when he heard her take a breath he rapped his knuckles on her door.

“Az… someone just knocked on the door.” He heard her voice through the phone. Lowering it from his ear, he called gently from the hallway.

“It’s me, sunshine. Now open up and let me take care of you.”

He heard her gasp and lope to the door. The knob jiggled, as if she was struggling with it. Then the door swung open and there she was, teal eyes wide and shimmering with unshed tears.

“Az?” she whimpered.

In one step he gathered her in his arms, ushering them into her apartment and pressing the door closed behind them.

“What are you doing here?” Gwyn’s voice was muffled against his chest. He could feel her shuddering, tears soaking into his sweatshirt.

“Gwyn, sweetheart,” he pushed her back gently so her could lift her chin and look into those ocean-deep eyes. “I made a promise to myself that first night that I would not leave you to suffer through this alone. Never again.”

The dam seemed to break, and she launched herself against him, arms curled around his neck and face tucked against his neck. He pulled up at her thighs, carrying her back to her room as her legs wrapped around his waist and her body continued to tremble as she released those pent up emotions.

“Gwyn,” he murmured as he reached her bed. “I need you to let go. For just a second.” She unwound herself from him, and he found himself entranced by her flushed face. Wetness shimmered over her freckles and eyes swirled with emotion. Azriel’s mouth tipped up. “Hi,” he whispered.

“Hi,” she hiccupped. He lifted his hand and brushed his fingers over her cheekbone before cupping her jaw. Dipping his chin, he captured those full pink lips with his. It was a feeling he could ever get over, never get tired of. He pulled away and crawled over the mattress, sitting himself up against her pillows and spreading his arms to her.

“Come here, sunshine.”

His girlfriend practically leapt into the bed and curled up against him, seemingly trying to press herself as far into him as she could. He wrapped her in his arms, letting his hand stroke down her back and over her shoulder.

“I know I’m no Little Mermaid, but I hope this helps,” he offered, lips pressed to her hair.

“I didn’t realize how much… how much this week had changed things. I feel safe with you. And trying to sleep without you…” Gwyn’s voice trailed off, so he gave her an encouraging squeeze.

“I wasn’t sleeping that well either, if I’m being honest.” He sighed, glad to have her in his embrace again. He hadn’t wanted to leave her earlier, anyway. “What do you think we should do about it?”

Gwyn was quiet against him, and he might have thought she had fallen asleep if it weren’t for her fingers tracing patterns against his toned stomach. Azriel swallowed. He could be the vulnerable one, for her.

“I think… I would very much like it if I had you in my arms every night. If… if you think that might be something you want,” he offered. “I’m not saying you have to move in, but you could if you wanted. I know this is all moving really fast, and I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable. But I also want to make sure you feel safe, to make sure you can sleep-“

“Azriel.” Her voice was soft and sure and he felt her fingers along his jaw. He looked down just in time for the redhead to press her lips against his. When she pulled away she brought up her other hand, cupping his cheeks. “I… it is fast. But I trust you. You make me feel safe and treasured. I would like to spend every night in your arms, too.”

Azriel grinned down at her, the woman who was just his friend little more than a week ago. But she had been stealing his heart, piece by piece, for some time. It had just taken him awhile to admit it. He tenderly brushed his mouth over her forehead.

“Let’s get some sleep, sweetheart. We can figure out the rest in the morning. Okay?” He reached out to grab the sheet and pulled it up over them as they settled into the mattress, Gwyn tucked snugly against him. He could feel the exhaustion weighing on both of them, their first night apart in over a week a clear failure. But was it truly a failure if it brought them back together? Back to this?

“Thank you, Azriel. For knowing how much I needed you. For taking care of me.” The sleep was heavy in her silky voice as she relaxed against him. He let his lips brush over her head one more time.

“You’re not alone, Gwyn. Never again. I’m here now, and I plan on taking care of you as long as you let me.” And he let his eyes close, lulled by the rhythm of her steady breathing – the assurance that she felt safe and was resting. That he was the reason for that. That they would never spend another night apart.

Tag List: @tealnymph-writes @trashforazriel @secretlovelybeauty @meher-sumedha @imsointobooks @positivewitch @tanvee1231 @imwritingthesewords @camreadsum @vikingmagic33 @shisingh @gwynrielsupremacist @sagureads @katiebellf @deedz-thrillerkilller16 @sv0430 @live-the-fangirl-life

#gwynriel #gwynriel fanfiction #gwynriel fanfic #gwyn x azriel #gwynriel supremacy #ao3 #ao3fic #azriel x gwyn #azwyn #gwyneth berdara #azriel shadowsinger

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blush-and-books · 4 years ago

Text

always you-shaped thoughts inside my head

so, we found wonderland, the amazing fanfic by @pink-flame ended this week. as a result of my deep and sorrowful mourning, i wrote a fanfic for a fucking fanfic. yes, everyone, we have reached that point. so if you’re one of the unfortunate souls who hasn’t read it then you can start here and do not read this if you don’t want spoilers babes!!!!

anyways, i don’t want to talk about how much i cried when i wrote this. moving on. title from find u again by mark ronson ft. camila cabello and once again THANK YOU @pink-flame FOR THIS WORK, I LOVED IT, I LOVE YOU, ENJOY

A/N: the first part of this is a reimagining of a scene from the story, and the second part is more of a deleted scene. grab tissues if you’re one who cries easily. also tagging @bluefirewrites because i kept texting you while writing this

Julie doesn’t know in what timeline she thought that going to the bookstore would be a good idea.

Even with her back flat against the wall and Luke’s book clutched identically between her hands and the palms of every other eager fan in the room, she felt like she was too close. Like this was a mistake.

She was the one who insisted they don’t look for each other.

But here they were. Him, with a poem that crossed time with the silent, lost plea for her to come back to him; her, who chose to answer the call even if she knew she shouldn’t have. Julie should have realized that she couldn’t avoid him forever. Their paths were meant to cross in every universe.

When he takes the stage, she doesn’t shatter. Yet.

People are swamped beside her and Flynn on all sides, and she still feels like it’s just the two of them. Once he’s in her line of sight, it’s only him in the room, only him that exists.

In a world where she’s jumped to and from across time, Luke may be the most real thing she’s ever known.

The words he says as he reads and answers questions hit her ears as just a series of tones and syllables that are achingly familiar. He’s laughing through one of the book’s anecdotes and suddenly she’s back in the arcade, laughing with him at the pinball machine. He’s talking about the rush of playing their first sold-out show, and she’s back in the greenroom as he heatedly kisses her up against a wall after she spent so much time fighting for him to love her again.

He’s reading about his parents, and she’s back on that pull-out couch that was only comfy when he was in it; listening to him whisper about their fragmented relationship.

But then a 20-year-old pokes him about the poem. And he says he loves her -- well, not explicitly, but he says it’s about love -- and the other shoe drops.

Tears inundate her eyes.

“I have to go,” her voice shakes as a sob threatens to rip through her words. Flynn offers to join, but Julie needs fresh air and to be alone and to just let her tears fall onto the asphalt of an alleyway without feeling the need to explain herself. She will always be alone in these emotions, in this heartbreak, and that’s okay -- she just doesn’t want anyone to act like they get it.

So she passes her book to Flynn, urges her to get it signed, and flees out the side door.

Right before she’s out, the 20-year-old presses on about Find Me: “Well, what if they came to you now? What if they found you? Wouldn’t you be happy to see them?”

The exit slams shut behind her and she doesn’t get to hear his answer.

“Well, what if they came to you now? What if they found you? Wouldn’t you be happy to see them?”

Flynn watches intently as Luke’s eyes darken. The book feels heavy in her hands, and she feels like she is suddenly intruding on an intimate moment between Luke and Julie -- even with Julie gone.

She didn’t always understand what happened with her best friend. But this was clearly a mind, body and soul situation.

Luke has to clear his throat and blink rapidly before answering. “God, sorry, that one caught me a little!” The audience chuckles. “No one’s asked me that so far on this tour. That’s a good question. I probably think about it more than I should, but… I mean, first of all, they wouldn’t come and find me. I know them well enough to know that Find Me just… Went out into the universe with no expectation of a response. But if they decided too, I… I’d wanna make sure they were happy. And I’d probably thank them one more time for everything they did when I was younger. I would probably be in shock, honestly. I haven’t seen them in a long time.”

Flynn is wiping her nose with a stray tissue from her purse before she can even register that she’s started crying.

The random people in the back row with her send her strange looks, wondering why she’s getting so emotional, but hearing Luke talk about her best friend like that…

“Do you still love them?”

God, this person won’t give him a break!

The rockstar visibly tenses up, and the easy grin plastered on his face breaks. That’s when his manager hustles onstage and announces that they are going to start the signing; and everyone needs to start lining up.

Flynn has to fight to get farther up in line, but it’s worth it when she reaches him.

“Hi,” he smiles, “who should I make it out to?”

The word makes her tongue feel like lead. “Julie.”

His head snaps up, and he’s fully looking at her for the first time. There are a thousand Julie’s in the world, but he knows it’s his.

“I’m her best friend,” Flynn continues, shifting her teary eyes down to her converse because fuck Julie wasn’t kidding when she said his eyes were intense sometimes.

“Flynn.”

“Oh... She told you-”

“Where is she? Is she here?”

She’s not even looking at him, but he sounds so desperate, and the water in her eyes swells as she glances at the exit off to her side. “Not right now. But she wanted me to get this signed for her.”

Luke’s Sharpie doesn’t move across the inside cover. In fact, he’s frozen; staring off in the distance with what Flynn is sure must be a whirlwind of emotion that he didn’t ask for. Flynn isn’t sure how to handle it -- they’re in public, and she’s minorly concerned she just sent him spiraling, and they don’t even know each other -- but she feels the need to relay a message since he’ll never get to hear it from Julie himself.

“She…” Luke looks back up at her; eyes boring into hers in a way that could tug the truth out of anybody. As she blinks, an enthusiastic tear drops onto her cheek, and she instantly lifts her index finger under her eye to catch anything else. “Fuck, my eyeliner. Sorry. Anyways-”

The words get caught in her throat again, so she has to take another deep breath. Helping star-crossed lovers communicate when they are almost thirty years apart is more emotionally taxing than she anticipated.

“She’s really proud of you,” Flynn finally manages with a voice squeakier and higher than she ever wants to hear it again. Another tear falls from her other eye. “She loves y- your music, and hopes that you have everything you wanted and she’s so proud of you for everything you’ve built.”

At this point, the crumpled tissue in her hand has been helping her dry her eyes because standing in front of Luke Patterson and trying to tell him that the love of his life still cares -- still watches from afar, still wants the world for him -- is making her realize the emotional turmoil that Julie must have been feeling all this time.

How did she do it?

In front of her, Luke is rubbing his hands over his face and audibly takes a deep, sniffly breath in. Turning to the same woman who got onstage to transition the event before, he informs her: “I need to get some air.”

“Luke, where are you-”

But he’s already forcefully pushing himself back in his chair, grasping the book off of the signing table, and darting out the same exit that Julie stormed through ten minutes ago.

When the manager turns to look at Flynn -- she bolts away and towards the front entrance. If Julie and Luke are about to meet in that alleyway, she doesn’t want to intrude. Even if she already fucked up both of their plans to never see each other again.

Julie is still hyperventilating and sobbing in the alleyway when the emergency exit loudly flings open against the wall of the bookstore. Her arms are wrapped tightly around herself with a childish prayer to have Teddy Luke in her arms, because at least then there would be a little piece of him to stay with her when the rest of him is gone.

She’s expecting Flynn, or an employee on their smoke break, but not-

“Luke.”

“Julie.”

A whimper leaves her lips at hearing him say her name for the first time in so long. His own eyes are glassy, and even though he’s so much older his eyes are still the same. He’s still her Luke, and that’s such a dangerous idea to touch in this timeline but she can’t let it go.

“I’m so sorry,” she wails, trying to avoid looking at his heartbroken expression for too long. “I know, I said we can’t do this, I just-”

“Julie.”

“Did you want me to find you?”

Air puffs from his mouth in a harsh sigh as he takes a few steps closer to her; incredulously focused on the fact that she’s there, in front of him, real. “I- Of course, of course I did, Julie. I just didn’t think you’d come. But I wanted you to know I was looking.”

Her eyelids fall shut. More tears are pushed out, and she doesn’t know if she’s crying or laughing because of course Luke would look even when she told him not to. He respected her, and he respected her wishes, but he could never help himself from pushing the boundaries.

Achingly, she’s always been so grateful for that trait in him.

But now the two of them are awkwardly standing only a few feet away, and the urge to just feel him, assure that he’s solid in front of her is becoming all too real.

Gravel rolls under the soles of her shoes. “I loved the book,” she confesses. “All of the stories. I mean, I’m sorry about the- About your splits-”

“I shouldn’t have even tried with them-”

“But everything else, just…”

How does she say it?

“When- Back when, in the other timeline, and you guys were ghosts… Those stories were the kind of thing you had always wanted. You were so determined to get it, and-” She sniffles. “I’m so glad you got it.”

His lips turn downward. It’s a flash of the familiarly frustrated Luke who is trying to make a tough decision, but in this case, she doesn’t know what that decision is. All she sees is the wince at her saying it was what he wanted, and how happy she was that he got it, and-

A conceited part of her contemplates if he’s about to correct her, tell her that life hasn’t been great, say that he would have rather had it differently; but he doesn’t want her to think her sacrifice was for nothing.

Oh, God, please say he’s happy. She doesn’t think she could handle anything less.

“It’s thanks to you,” he responds instead, gulping down any more that threatens to come up. “You saved me.” Beat. “Are- Are you happy? Is everything in this timeline okay?”

Well, in her head, not exactly. Of course she still had her dad and brother and Flynn, but Sunset Curve never stayed together, she erased Carrie’s entire existence, and everything felt just a little tilted on its axis. Julie felt like a stranger in a world of her own creation.

She yearned for the days back in Wonderland where everyone belonged. They were a little scarred and a little broken, but they were home. Her house from the original 2020 timeline was her home. Luke was her home, and he was right in front of her; the only security blanket she has right now.

Once again, she finds herself bursting into tears and wanting so badly to reach out to him, to give him a hug and tell him she wishes that she stayed in bed in Wonderland with him forever. She wants to jump back down the black hole and go back to 1995 when things made more sense than they did now and Luke could be hers again; and not a distant love that could never materialize in the present.

Julie, miraculously, holds herself back. But watching Luke’s hands flinch at the sight of her crying doesn’t make things easier.

“Please don’t cry.” His voice is a whisper but the words hit with a force that almost buckles her knees. “Julie, please, take a deep breath.”

She takes in a breath that makes her lungs expand into her ribs. “I’m happy,” she lies through her teeth as she breathes out slowly. “I’m happy. We’re happy.”

“Good.”

Tears are running down his face. She recalls a time where it was easy for her to hold his face and swipe under his eyes with her thumbs until there were no more tears for her to kiss away.

In unison, they clear their throats and shift their eyes. The air changes; they know they’re in a public place again, and Luke is an adult musician, and he’s with a fan. He holds his hand up, the one that has the book, and shakes it a little back and forth.

“Flynn said you wanted this signed?”

A watery smile blooms on her face in spite of the bitter moment. “Yeah,” she nods. “Thought it could be another memento.”

To put emphasis on the idea, she lifts up onto her tiptoes and tilts her voice up. Make it a more positive moment. Don’t dwell. Stop crying.

You can’t change things now.

Luke pops the cap off with his teeth, and toys around with it in his mouth like it’s one of his marked-up guitar picks as he holds the book open and scribbles something (probably illegible) on the inside of the front cover.

Then, once he’s done there, he starts flipping the pages around like he knows where every detail of the story is and marks up certain pages with… Something. She doesn’t know. After he’s made his wanted notes, he writes something out on the last page before firmly shutting it and returning it to her possession.

“Thank you,” she smiles simply as she pulls the book from his hands and carefully assures that their hands don’t overlap. If she touches him, she falls apart.

Luke hums in response.

Stupidly, Julie decides that moment to open up the book and see what he wrote while he’s standing right in front of her. But she isn’t thinking about him, or looking at him -- she’s looking at the inside cover.

We were always meant to find each other. Don’t forget that - please.

Yours,

Luke

When a tear drops on the page, she quickly turns farther into the book because she doesn’t want her feelings to ruin his beautiful, even if messy, words. These words are all she’ll have after today.

The few pages in the book that he made notes on were just little things that she never knew she needed to hear.

The chapter about his first sold out stadium show? Thought of you the whole time

When he heard he was nominated for a Grammy? Wanted to call you first

The night he won his first Grammy? Almost thanked you in my speech

The last page he wrote on was the Acknowledgements page. Unsurprisingly, it wasn’t that long. Luke kept a core circle of people and that was that. But below that short list, in bold, black letters:

To Julie Molina, who sacrificed everything so that I could be able to tell these stories. I wish she could have been a part of them.

Her tears slip from her face so clear and quickly that she’s surprised her tear ducts are generating such a mass amount. The words replay in her head, in Luke’s voice, over and over. The affirmation that he wanted her with him all this time.

But she had to go again. This had to be a one-time thing. This hurt too much for her to put either of them through it again, and besides -- now she had closure in his own writing; with her tears notarizing each word.

“It’s time, Julie,” she mutters to herself. “It’s time.”

To say goodbye. Again.

But Luke never answers. It’s dead silent, even though cars should be racing on the road behind them. When she looks up, Luke is frozen to the spot. Everything is, except her.

“Time is a funny thing isn’t it? Just when you think you have a handle on it, it manages to surprise you.”

It’s Willie, but not actually Willie. The one who was giving her the clues and trying to lead her in directions all over 1995; the one who she hasn’t seen in a really, really long time. For a moment, she doesn’t believe it.

But he tells her that fate is in her hands. This is her choice. And despite the doubt that lingers uneasily in her chest, she can’t help but be desperate for this to be real.

“Why not you? Who better than Julie Molina? Teenage girl with a good heart and music in her soul. Braver than most. Why not you?”

Julie jumped across time to save her boys, and now she is willing to make the trip again if it means there’s a chance of saving them all.

But there’s one more thing she wants to do. Just before everything either is perfect again or goes to complete shit.

Spinning away from Willie, she takes a second glance at Luke’s still frame and softens her face into a smile. He had been looking down at her while she was reading his notes with tears in his eyes and a sad grin on his face.

No one is looking or judging anymore -- so she stands on her toes and throws her arms around his neck, squeezing him close even if he can’t hug her back. She’s been dying to do this since she saw him in the bookstore.

And it feels like coming home.

“I’ll find you again,” she whispers into his ear that probably isn’t listening. “I promise.”

And without any more hesitation, she turns back to Willie with her chin up and shoulders back.

“What do I have to do?”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The book never finds its way back to her the way that the bear does or the way that the ring does.

But that’s okay, because the bookstore does, and she’s with Luke when she registers that they are walking by the bookstore on their way to meet everyone at one of their favorite diners.

By now, Luke had been told everything. She felt herself starting to fall in love with this third Luke just as she had all the others, but could never tell if he was falling back in love with her. Julie found herself -- while this timeline was infinitely better than the old one -- pining for Luke to come back to her and love her like he did in two other lifetimes.

Their hands were brushing each other’s on the sidewalk when the bookstore sign met her eyes.

“Jules?”

Her feet are glued to the cement; her eyes are glued to the alleyway. Luke approaches behind her and lays a hesitant hand on her shoulder.

“Jules, are you- Is everything okay?”

“Can we take a detour, really quick?”

And suddenly, he’s letting her lace her fingers through his and pull him through traffic -- no crosswalk in sight -- across the street to stand in front of a bookstore that has zero meaning to him whatsoever. Julie selfishly revels in his calluses rubbing her knuckles and doesn’t make a move to let go unless he will.

He doesn’t. At least, until they hit the alleyway.

“Julie, what is this place? Why are we out here? Is this… Did I like it here, or something?”

They never spoke much about the Luke’s of other timelines. Julie quickly caught onto the fact that he got uncomfortable when she talked about guys with his name and face that he knew virtually nothing about even though he felt pressured to know everything.

But he dealt with her when she had moments like these. She never thanked him properly for it.

“It wasn’t like that,” she shakes her head, “we were here in the other 2020. The one where you were older, and this huge Grammy-winning solo musician. The one that was a result of what I did in 1995.”

The exit door is still rusty on the hinges. The brick is the same shade of red, and-

“Okay… And? What did you guys do?”

His use of third person is a clear message. “Him and I had made this promise in ‘95 that we wouldn't find each other, right?” “Because he would be old.”

“Yeah. But he published this book and had a whole signing tour called Find Me, and Flynn told me we should go, and… Basically, I had a mental breakdown at seeing him, and then he came back here and signed the book for me, and we talked, and-”

Her voice cracks. Her eyes feel wet.

Fuck.

Can’t she make it one timeline without sobbing in an alleyway?

A familiar hand rubs up and down her back as she stares, firmly, at the spot where her and Luke were so vividly standing and talking and pining for the other.

“Jules, hey, look at me.”

Because it’s Luke -- because it’s her Luke -- she listens to him, and rotates to face him. The soft fabric of his shirt hits her cheeks as he presses his fingers into the cotton and lifts his hand to wipe the tears from her face in a gesture that tempts her to cry more. Instead, she tries to laugh it off. “God, I really need to stop having meltdowns in alleyways, huh?” He stays quiet; looking at her in a recognizable Luke way that reminds her of all of their loving times in other lives. But she can’t get her hopes up. “I’m sorry. I know you don’t like when I talk about it. Sometimes I just-”

“You need to,” he nods. “I get it.”

Her feet are planted identically where they were in alternate-2020. But Luke is in a different spot, because this is a new Luke. One that’s right in front of her, lightly holding her arms; not one that’s a few feet out of reach.

“He told me that we would always find each other.” Her voice is watered down, and quiet, but Luke is close enough to hear it.

“Well, he was right, wasn’t he? We did it. For like, the fourth time, according to you.”

And then, she’s hit with a Luke Patterson smile. She sees it all of the time now but it never gets old because he’s young, and he’s happy, and he’s here.

Her lips turn up to reflect it, and in a shocking turn of events: Luke instigates the hug.

They are nearly best friends, so they’ve hugged before. But this one is different.

His arms fold around her shoulders and tug her close and snug into his chest so that his chin is nearly resting on her hair. This leaves her able to press him close to her with her arms wrapped tightly and lovingly around his waist -- almost, dare she say it, like he was a teddy bear.

“I never said I’m sorry,” he murmurs into her forehead. “Or thank you, for that matter.” “For what?” “I’m sorry you went through so much for me. For us. It still affects you a lot and I’m sorry you have to carry that alone.” His chest rises and falls under her cheek as he takes a deep breath, and she doesn’t think she’ll ever get tired of feeling him breathe or hearing his heartbeat. “And thank you for loving us enough to do it. You sacrificed a lot.”

She is too choked up to verbally comment -- but she squeezes him tighter, almost tempting her arms to swish through him.

They don’t.

And Luke continues talking after a moment of a peaceful silence. “It’s kind of cool, though, for me to think about this person I have in the universe. You know? The whole thing with us finding each other. I always have you, no matter where I am. You’ll be out there.”

“Always,” she sighs into his chest, because she can’t help it. It took them a few tries, but here they are: In the same timeline, with full family and friends and lives, in a reciprocated hug.

“Always.” Luke repeats the word, almost feeling it out in his mouth. “Well, thanks for doing it again. Maybe let me do the work next time. You need a break.”

God, this Luke is always so good at making her laugh. Ghost-Luke was, too, but the other Luke’s and her were always swept up in emotionally-taxing situations for her to be laughing like she could when she was with this Luke.

It was almost as if this one had practice. Maybe those other lives were kicking in.

He was her final Luke, hopefully.

As she props her chin up on his chest, she gives him the widest grin she’s worn all day. “I would appreciate that. Just don’t take too long.” Her forehead nuzzles itself into his neck as she settles herself back into his arms; fully content to be wrapped up in him for as long as he will let her stay. “I’ll get worried.”

A soothing hand over her hair is all the confirmation she needs.

“Don’t worry, Boss. I’ll be there.”

#jatp #julie and the phantoms #juke #jukebox #jatp fanfic #juke fanfic #we found wonderland

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problematicfavesareproblematic · 4 years ago

Text

Boys Who Speak With Silver Luck

Joe Liebgott x Reader

Ok, so THIS is more what I was intending to write for you, @itswormtrain! Hope you can learn to forgive me!!

This one is a soul sister/unofficial sequel to ‘You’ve Been Sad (Because I’ve Been Lonely)’ bc I’m bad at doing one shots

Warnings: SMUT, domesticity, fluff, healthy dynamics, poetry being an aphrodisiac, feels(?)

All poetry mentioned is from the anthology No Thanks by ee cummings, and the title is from the song (inspired by 44 by ee cummings) comes from The Boys Are Too Refined by The Hush Sound

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“I still don’t see how you can read those things.”

You smirk to yourself, nudging his thigh with your foot as he sits at the foot of the bed.

In retaliation, Joe lightly traces the tip of his finger up the arch of your right foot and chuckles when you flinch at the tickle of it, the chuckle becoming a laugh when you lower your book and frown at his mirth.

“And here I thought you were actually wanting to do something nice for me,” you tease, letting him pull your foot back into his lap and watching him smirk as he returns to massaging the sore muscles there. “Should’ve known you were gonna betray me eventually….”

He scoffs at your theatrics, mumbling a soft apology when you hiss in discomfort as his thumb works on a particularly tight knot just above your heel.

“Why do you wear those things if they hurt your feet so badly?”

You furrow your brows at him, resting the book on your stomach as you let a smile play on your lips.

“They’re called heels, and I wear them because they make my legs look amazing.”

Joe tilts his head to the side as his face takes on a contemplative expression.

“‘This is true…” he says with a nod. “You look fuckin’ gorgeous in ‘em.”

You offer a hmph in smug agreement, picking your book back up and continuing where you left off.

Tonight had been the night of Chuck’s family’s yearly holiday party, the one night where both you and Joe dressed to the nines and got to rub elbows with people Joe and Chuck lovingly referred to as ‘rich snobs with inherent mommy fetishes’.

Joe never failed to leave you starstruck when he wore his nicest uniform, and even though you didn’t wear yours, Joe always managed to convince you to pin your Purple Heart and as many unit citations you could fit to the breast of whatever dress you picked out.

“Fuckin’ love watching those ignorant fuck’s faces when they realize what a badass my wife is,” he had growled in your ear as you had gotten ready that night. “Gets me harder than a goddamn rock, you got no idea…”

The two of you had danced and drank and laughed over some of the most amazing food you’d ever tasted. It had been perfect.

More and more things were becoming perfect as time went on and the dark horrific shadows of war began to shrink away under the bright California sunshine.

It was heartbreakingly nice to see Joe happy, truly happy. He deserved it- you all deserved it.

A groan of frustration is the only warning you get before Joe crawls up your body and plops himself atop you, the suddenness of the action making you release a grunting giggle. Undeterred by the obvious fact that you’re trying to read, he kisses at your chest through your shirt.

“Pay” kiss “attention” kiss “to meeee” kiss

You take one hand from the book to scratch lightly at his scalp, smiling at the sound of him humming in annoyance.

“What’s in that dumb book that’s got you glued to it, huh? What can big words give you that my big—OW.”

You cut him off by clunking the book gently against the back of his head, giving him a soft smile when he looks up at you with a frown.

“You’re so needy,” you chastise hollowly. “Never thought you’d get jealous over something as silly as poetry—”

Joe rolls his eyes. “Poems are for kids and nerds, don’t get what it is about-” he sits up a bit more so he can see the cover of your book. “Whatever an ee cummings is that’s got you so gaga over it…”

You raise an eyebrow at him. “Believe it or not, Joseph, I think you’d actually like this guy’s poems—”

Joe snorts before bringing his head back down to rest on your chest. “Yeah, okay—”

“Hey,” you challenge, scooting up on your pillows so you can sit up, the movement bringing his head to your ribcage. “I’m serious! If you were to like any sort of poetry, you’d need it to be as sexual and swear-y as you are…. Here, listen-”

Before he can protest, you flip to the one you had in mind: 44.

“the boys i mean are not refined

they go with girls who buck and bite

they do not give a fuck for luck

they hump them thirteen times a night

one hangs a hat upon her tit

one carves a cross on her behind

they do not give a shit for wit

the boys i mean are not refined…”

“Gimme that!”

Suddenly, the book is ripped from your hand- and before you can protest you are shocked to see Joe turn the book so he can bury his nose in it. Careful not to be smug about it, you bite back a smile as you watch him mouth the words as he reads.

The fact that you’re able to hold in a laugh when his eyebrows shoot up in surprise should make you eligible for another Purple Heart.

When Joe’s eyes flick up to meet yours, he’s looking at you as if you’ve just done some suspicious slide of hand- intrigued but still somewhat cautious.

“Well?” you ask. “What did you think?”

Joe flicks his gaze down to the book again, like he thinks it may have changed somehow when he wasn’t looking.

“Are they….all like this?”

You do smile now. “Well, I’m not sure- I haven’t read them all yet.”

An idea pops into your mind as he flips through the pages of the book.

“If you give it back, I can see if I can find another—”

Joe suddenly smirks, and when he lifts his face so you can see him, he’s looking like the cat that ate the canary.

“Read this one.”

Now you’re the hesitant one, taking the book back from him as if it could suddenly turn into a snake.

The poem he’s picked is one you haven’t read yet, but if it’s one that Joe picked out you can only imagine what the subject matter is.

“Okay then,” you say slowly, clearing your throat as you cast him a brief look of suspicion before beginning.

“may i feel said he

(i'll squeal said she

just once said he)

it's fun said she”

(may i touch said he

how much said she

a lot said he)

why not said she….”

As you read, Joe’s hands come up to hold your sides as he kisses slowly across your chest, your stomach. Every so often, his thumbs smooth upward to rub across your shirt-covered nipples, and you can feel him smile as he kisses at you.

Your shirt has bunched up, revealing your hips and the sensitive skin between them. Your cheeks feel hot, and your mouth suddenly becomes dry as his lips drag between your hip bones promisingly.

His hair tickles your skin when he begins mouthing lower, to the waistband of your underpants.

“Y/N?”

“Yeah?” you sigh, tongue wetting your bottom lips as you begin to breathe heavier.

“Keep reading.”

Oh. You hadn’t realized that you’d stopped.

Clearing your throat, you blink a few times before finding the place you left off.

��“Uh, (let's go said he

not too far said she

what's too far said he

where you are said she)

may i stay said he

(which way said she

like...like this said he

I-if you kiss said she- shit, Joe….”

Joe’s warm hands have worked your underwear down your hips and around the swell of your bottom, and the heat of his breath across the thinner skin that he’s exposed has you losing focus again.

Because he’s nothing if not a consummate tease, he doesn’t do anything more than kiss only a sliver of the newly revealed skin.

“Y/N…” he reminds you, nipping lightly at you when you groan in frustration. “I think there’s still some to go—”

Your heart is thrumming in your chest, and it takes you a few seconds to find where you left off this time.

“M-may i move said he

is it love said she)

if you're…..uh, if you’re willing said he

(but….. you're killing said she….”

The words have started to dance across the page, a whine coming from somewhere deep in your chest at the first touch of his fingers to the slick lips of your sex.

You’ve officially lost your place, now. You just pick the stanza your eye catches first and hope for the best.

“(tiptop said he

don't stop said she

oh no said he)

go slow said she- fuuuuuck…..

I-(cccome?said he….goddamn it Joe, please!”

You throw the book off to the side, sweat beading on your brow from how deliberately cruel Joe is being as he continues massaging at you. When Joe sees that you’ve started to shake, he lunges up the bed to wrap a hand around the back of your neck and kisses you messily- your teeth clacking together briefly as he buries his fingers inside of you and immediately finds the place that never fails to ruin you.

Clinging to the front of his shirt, you squeeze your thighs together as a delicious tremor rolls up your body from where you’ve trapped his hand. You’re so worked up you almost want to cry, the heat in your lower belly almost bowing your back.

“Does that feel good, Baby?” he mumbles against your lips. “Who is it that’s making you feel this good, huh?”

You make an incoherent noise, quickly wrapping am arm around his shoulders to try and bring his mouth back to yours, mewling in frustration when he refuses to do so.

“Ungh! Joe, I’m begging you!”

“Say it again,” he says darkly, and if you had the strength to open your eyes you’d see just the power-drunk way he is looking down at you. “Do it—”

“Joe! Joe Joe Joe Joe Joe….”

You chant his name like a prayer, your voice dying in your throat as he starts using his palm to stimulate your neglected clit.

With a silent scream, you come apart, head lolling back as he continues to coax you through your orgasm, dimly aware of the praise being kissed across your chin as he refuses to relent the punishing paste he’s established.

Your face is throbbing with the strength of your thudding heart when he finally starts to slow down, your body still bowing and writhing as he begins to coo down at you sweetly, capturing your lips with his as your shaking starts to subside and your sweat begins to cool.

“Good girl,” he sighs into your mouth. “You’re such a good girl for me….”

You don’t reply- can’t reply. Joe’s reduced you into a boneless mess of a woman.

When you do eventually open your eyes, Joe is smiling down at you with an obvious affection that threatens to get your heart racing once more. Not taking his eyes from yours, he gently slides his fingers from your still-fluttering sex and makes a show of licking them clean.

With a mischievous wink, he uses his other hand to smooth your hair from your forehead before carefully rolling so he’s laying beside you, his shoulder pressed against your as he chuckles.

“Huh, whaddaya know,” he says after he releases one of his fingers from between his lips with a lewd pop. “Guess poetry isn't that bad.”

Using all of your energy, you turn your head to give him the weakest glare you think you’ve ever given.

“When….when I can breathe witho’ havin’ to think about it so hard, I’m gon’ make you cum til you pass out.”

Joe gives you a smiling kiss.

“And I’ll let you….once we finish round two.”

Well, looks like I’ll be going back to the bookstore sooner than I thought.

~ ~ ~ Taglist: @mrseasycompany @itswormtrain @mrsalwayswrite @happyveday @sunsetmando @teenmagazines @liebgotttme

#band of brothers imagines #band of brothers x reader #joe liebgott x reader #joe liebgott imagines

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bracedfangirl · 3 years ago

Text

Calling your soul

Heck yeah here's a weird post Seabound AU fic that has lots of my unique lore and probably none of y'all are gonna understand...

Gonna tag some angst lover mutuals here: @anxiousworm @vlanderzine @rosiehunterwolf @fishybehavior @serpentfever

When Nya first heard the call, she'd written it off as the prayers of sailors about to be taken out by a storm. She hasn't really been paying much attention to people lately, not that she really minds.

Being detatched and just happy with marine life is much more fun anyways.

But then the call returned. Like a shrill, gutted cry, it tore through her very soul, louder than anything else, even the sea. It wasn't really a sound, rather a feeling, but the agonized cry of something desperate and dying is what she could compare it to.

It couldn't have been a creature of the ocean calling for her aid, as it always came from the direction of land. Some part of her thinks it could be coming from one of those people she loved but left behind...

And why? Because every time this call, this cry strikes her, she knows its voice. The cry is coming in an awfully familiar voice, she just can't place where the hell she knows it from, stupid fuzzy memories-

It always stops if she ignores it, but it also always returns, louder and more desperate each time.

--------------------------------------------------

She decides to follow it when it abruptly changes direction.

All this time, it's been coming from the direction of the land, Ninjago... But this one came from the completely opposite direction, so she's decided she's had enough and is going to investigate.

It was also way louder this time, and for some reason she suddenly felt deeply worried, flashes of a blurry face in her mind.

After hours and hours of just going, she reaches land, uninhabited and with an awful, dark vibe that makes her want to flee from near the shores. The cry has long stopped, but she's determined to finding out where it's coming from... Or who it's coming from rather.

Before she could even think about stepping out on land, the cry starts again, much rather sounding like a beg, a call this time.

She can finally pinpoint its location, which is far up on the cliffs of the island, a place that fills her with light by even just thinking about it.

--------------------------------------------------

Nya doesn't even get to react as out of nowhere, a thick beam of light strikes her, ripping her free of the ocean surface.

Whatever it is, it's making her feel heavy and dense, taking away her freedom and carefree state-

Thoughts and memories flood her mind, blinding and loud.

She remembers everything. Every last detail of the fight with Wojira and every last detail of her life. The faces of her family clear up, and she wants to burst out crying because oh FSM she abandoned them-

The familiar voice of the cries echoes in her mind as the world turns dark.

"It's either you forever or me for a lifetime... I'm sorry..."

--------------------------------------------------

When Nya wakes up, she's in a field, covered with weird, golden flowers. Something rubs off as very wrong about that one, but everything is fuzzy again, preventing her from figuring out why.

A large, black dragon is sprawled in the grass in front of her, wingless and heaving. It's covered in glowing green wounds as it wobbily stands up and limps up to her with curious and happy eyes-

Eye. Just one eye... The right eye of the weird dragon is cracked across, blinding it.

"Uh hello?"

It responds with a happy chuff, pushing its nose to nuzzle her. The motion almost knocks Nya over, the now purring shadow like dragon seemingly unaware of its own size.

There's tiny stubs on its neck, and one of them is glowing a beautiful blue, for what Nya doesn't know.

Out of nowhere it pulls away, gaze now sad as the dragon gives a loud whine, nudging her away.

"What? Why do you want me to leave all the sudden, you were cuddling me and everything earlier, who or what even are you?!"

The dragon only responds with a louder whine, backing up before turning away.

"Hey hey come back what the hell is going on-"

Nya really should've expected the world going back to nothing again.

--------------------------------------------------

When Nya next came to, it was to loud crying, and someone warm clutching her tightly.

Blearily opening her eyes she notes that the crying belongs to her brother, who still hasn't noticed her waking up. Everything's still fuzzy to her, but Kai should know what's going on, right?

"Hnnngh whas'goin'on?"

Kai's eyes snap open in shock, and he can only stare, mouth slowly turning to smile with each wheeze. He leans in for a tight hug again, laughy sobs spilling out of him.

"Oh thank FSM Nya I-I thought I lost you too- You can't do that to me ever again sis, you can't-"

"I'll try not to in the future, don't worry."

Behind him, Nya can already see Jay's fainted, all the others, fussing over him as he wakes again in shock.

Nya's gonna have to make this whole deal up to him too won't she-

Wait

Something's not right. Something's missing-

The memory of those cries that wrecked through her soul explodes into her mind, and now she's painfully aware whose voice it was.

Suddenly everything makes sense. The cries, the dragon, the beam of light, everything.

It was Lloyd, of course it was him, Nya's stupidly selfless little brother.

She's suddenly filled with blinding panic, forcing out words so she can chase a particular awful thought from her brain.

"Where's Lloyd? Is he okay? He did all this where is he Kai?"

"We-We don't know... We just saw the light show and everything but then he just disappeared and-"

"It's most likely that his powers burst out and evaporated him..."

Zane's words burn more than anything, and the previously confusing words now echo painfully clear in her mind.

"It's either you forever or me for a lifetime... I'm sorry."

#ninjago #ninjago au #ninjago lloyd #ninjago angst #ninjago kai #ninjago nya #tw death #seabound followup au #ninjago fanfiction #my fic #ninjago seabound #ninjago s15 spoilers #ninjago s15 #good luck figuring this out peeps

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toothpastecanyon · 3 years ago

Text

We Creatures, Chapter 3

When Alcor felt Mizar calling to him, he came to help. Perhaps, this one time, he should have stayed asleep.

See most updated version on Archive of Our Own.

______________________________________________________________

“I spy with my little eye… something beginning with e.”

“Is it elves?”

“What? No!”

“Just checking,” Mizar sat back in her seat. “Just checking, uh… electricity! From the lights?”

“No.”

“Elm tree! I see some elms over there.”

Alcor grinned. “Nope.”

“Okay… fuck, I give up. What is it?”

“Okay, are you ready? You’re gonna kick yourself: Everest.”

“Ev… Everest?” She raised an eyebrow. “Like the mountain in the Himalayas?”

“Yeah!” He chuckled to himself. “You know, I’ve gotten a not-insignificant number of summoners over the years who wanted me to teleport them to the top of Everest and back. Some of them worded it better than others, but you humans are just obsessed with that place - it’s so funny to me!”

“That’s great, but this is the third time you’ve named something only you can see.” She crossed her arms. “I don’t think this Eye Spy game is working.”

“Oh… that’s okay! I have other road trip games! How about twenty questions - we pick something in the environment and, uh, the other person asks you twenty questions about what it could be…”

He launched into an explanation. In the back, Mizar rolled her eyes. She was grinning, though.

______________________________________________________________

They rounded a curve on the interstate, radio blasting.

“We gotta hooooold on to what we got!”

“It doesn’t make a difference if we make it or not!”

Mizar was using a soda can as a microphone. “We got each other, and that’s enough for noooow, we’ll give it a shot!”

“OHHHHH, we’re halfway there!” Alcor swerved in time to the music. “OOOH-OHHH, livin’ on a prayer! Liiivin’ onnn a prayyyy-aaa-err!”

______________________________________________________________

“And so I told her, you can’t ride a pig into battle, Mabel. Waddles - his name was Waddles - is too small, and let’s face it, he’s not really a fighter. He rolls - rolled - in the mud all day, he ate carrots, he’s not really down to charge through a cultist’s basement and strike fear in their hearts”

Mizar was slumped in the back, methodically ripping up gummy worms. “Mmmhm.”

“But, uh, a bit of a size change, and boy was I wrong.” Alcor chuckled, one hand on the steering wheel as they cut through a forest. The sun was still up, but it was blocked by the trees; every so often he’d squint as a ray peeked through. “Kind of glad that didn’t become a regular thing. A horse-sized pig is, uh, more intimidating than you’d think.”

“Mmmhm.”

“But yeah, she did funny things like that… all Mizars tend to do stuff like that… but always a different thing, you know?”

“Yeah…”

“I dunno, maybe I’m explaining it weirdly.” His smile faded a bit. “It’s been a long time since I thought about her… too long. I just… I sort of forgot, I guess? It feels like I can’t’ve - she was my sister, but… I guess time does that to you.” Alcor stared forwards. “Everything fades. In time.”

The silence stretched, and Mizar frowned a bit. She glanced over at him.

“Dude?”

“Huh?” He blinked. “Oh, sorry! Think I blanked on you for a second there.”

“Always encouraging to hear that from your driver.”

“Heh, yeah…” Alcor nodded, and then looked back at her. “So what about you?”

No reply. He looked back, and saw she’d gone still.

“Mizar?”

“What do you mean, what about me?” Ostensibly nothing had changed about her, but Alcor could feel a sort of carefulness in her choice of words now. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, and Alcor made a face.

“I didn’t mean anything serious by it. I just thought I’d get to know you a little bit more!” He shrugged. “You know, uh… oh, what’s your name? I never asked you that.”

“You’ve been calling me Mizar, right? That works.”

“Well, Mizar’s your soul’s name. You have a name apart from that, right?”

“Sure I do.”

“Yeah?” There was a pause. “Uh, what is it?”

“…Smith.” Mizar ripped a gummy worm in half. “John Smith, there you go.”

Alcor struggled to keep a smile. “Okay, Mizar, uh… so you lived in New York, huh?”

“Yeah. You gonna make me give you an address now?”

“No, I- ugh. Forget it.” Alcor rolled his eyes. “I wasn’t trying to pry, I was just trying to get to know you. Why are you so against that?”

“Why do you want to know so bad?” Mizar sat up a bit. “Look, genuinely? I’m sorry that’s frustrating for you. When I summoned a demon, I wasn’t exactly thinking I’d have to make small talk with them.”

“What does that mean?”

“Means I actually kind of like you, dude! And I feel bad, but I can’t risk…” she trailed off, then cleared her throat. “How about this. Once we get to the desert, you can ask me anything you want, okay?”

Alcor frowned. “Okay… I’ll wait for the desert, then.”

“Thank you.” She sat back a little. “Thank you, Alcor.”

He didn’t quite know what to say to that. The conversation seemed like it had reached its end, and he started fiddling with the radio again. Most of it was adverts, though; it felt like sometimes the stations were coordinating to all go on break at the same-

“Look out!”

Mizar’s voice shot through him like a knife. He looked up and noticed there was something in the road - a deer! He swerved hard, and then he tried to swerve away from a tree right at the bend in the road but it was coming up too fast and-

The impact broke on him like a wave slamming against a hard cliff, and the sound of glass and metal shattering split his body’s eardrums. He felt his head crack against the steering wheel, and when he looked up he had to blink through the blood.

There were… legs? Legs through the windshield, and a sweatered body wrapped around the tree, and Alcor felt a raw fear flood through his being.

“Mizar?” He tried to get up, get out of his body, but something held him in place. “Mizar!”

And then she moved. He froze.

“Ugh…” Mizar shifted, and moved her neck off the right-angle it was making with the tree’s trunk. She rubbed her head. “Ow.”

Alcor watched with wide eyes as she shook herself off, and started extracting her legs through the opening. All the broken glass on the hood hadn’t left a scratch on her, it was…

“Impossible,” Alcor breathed. He saw her eye settle on him, her face flash through a million expressions before turning carefully blank. “You’re not human.”

“It…” She hesitated. “It doesn’t matter right now. We need to go.”

He tried to sit up, but something was keeping him rooted in place. It was more than being trapped; he tried to step into the Mindscape, but something had tethered itself to his very soul and bound him to the Earth.

“I can’t.” He frowned. “I’m… trapped?”

“You’re trapped?”

Bound to the Earth… Alcor lifted up his shirt, and found a branch impaled through his abdomen, skewering him to the seat. It was young, thin, but before his eyes, he watched it grow thicker, watched bark form on its trunk, and creep up his skin.

Mizar saw it too. “Shit,” she said, and backed up. “They’re here. They want you.”

“The elves?”

“Yeah… I have to go now.” She jumped off the car’s hood. “Sorry, dude.”

“Mizar? They want me? Wh-what does that mean? Mizar!”

But she was gone - vanished into the darkness. Alcor gritted his teeth, then he summoned a flame and tried to burn the branch. Nothing happened; if anything, a couple leaves sprouted where it should have turned to ash. The bark kept climbing up his chest, and he felt… strange. A little drowsy. It was easy to resist - for now.

But there were voices, and he pushed all that to the side.

“...No, child.” Elvish - spoken softly, like a song. “Do not chase the startled bear into its cave. Have patience, patience…”

He could see three pairs of feet, approaching. Two of them were clad in bark armour - the middle wore a long, flowing robe, and continued forwards where the other two stopped. It walked right up to Alcor, and for the first time in a very long while, he could feel a little bit of apprehension.

It was just an elf, he told himself. Just a mortal. Whatever it was, he’s a demon, he could take it…

The feet stopped in front of a mangled car door. Then they leaned down a little, and a face appeared through the broken glass. By the ears, they were elven, and by the locks of brilliant white hair framing their face, they were ancient indeed.

“Greetings, demon.” said the elf in a quiet tone. “You’ve made a mistake.”

Then they smiled. Alcor did not like the way they smiled.

“You’ve made a mistake,” He growled. “I don’t know how you’ve got me bound, but you can’t keep it up forever. If I get out and you’ve hurt one hair on Mizar’s head… what are you doing?”

The elder was waving at the other two. In unison, they kneeled on the ground, and started whispering to it. The bark creeping up Alcor’s chest started accelerating.

“Alcor the Dreambender,” the elder turned back to him. “You don’t know what a Sanctuary is, do you?”

“Wh-”

“No, you wouldn’t. Thus far, you’ve been a wise demon; you’ve stayed out of our affairs, and we’ve stayed out of yours.” They smiled. “Or perhaps, you’ve just been a lucky one. If you were wise, you wouldn’t have meddled last night, would you?”

“Meddled?” They leaned back as the elder leaned in close. “You were trying to kill Mizar, you- get back!”

“Let me educate you, child.” They whispered in his ear. “We will grow a great forest over your body. We will live in this Sanctuary, we will walk these woods, and our every thought will keep you bound, will keep you aslumber. And your wistful dreams will cause flowers to bloom in the springtime.”

With a smile, they stepped away, and spoke again.

“Now, do you see? Do you see why you should have been wise, demon?”

Alcor growled. After a moment, he got his claws under the bark encircling his neck. With a little effort, he ripped it away, and glared up at the elder.

“You can’t bind me forever. I’ll get out - you’ll regret this!”

“Hmm… perhaps. But not in time to protect that which you travel with. This… Mizar, you say?”

“Don’t you dare.” Alcor lunged at him. “Don’t you dare! D̞̖̟̱͉O̡͖͇̫N̳̦̳̫̮͎̯'T̹̼̮̤̠͢ͅ ̻̼Y̮͖̜OU҉͙̠̪̭̞̭ ͙̥͍̙͚̹̻D͈A̵̞̠̫̙̲̝R̠E͚̜̺̫̬!̦̤̬͉̪”

“A Mizar…” They stroked their beard. “So that is how it enlisted your help.”

“She҉ is̡ ̵mi͠ne͘!͜ S̸h̸e ìs mine̢!̕ ̷You̧ ̷hu̴rt̢ my̕ Mi͘zar,̴ ̸I ̢W̨ILĻ ͢ḰĮLL͢ ̨Y̵OU̧!”

“But she is not your Mizar.”

Alcor frowned. “Don’t you tell me who my Mizar is - I can feel it. I know!”

At that, the elf… laughed. He growled.

“What? What’s so funny?”

“Oh… it’s not funny.” They sighed; for once, the smile seemed to dip. “It’s not funny. I suppose it just… to see it happen again, it’s strange, is it not?”

Alcor watched the elf look into the distance. In their eyes were a thousand memories, and in their furrowing brow, a thousand pains. It seemed like an eternity before they spoke again.

“I had a daughter, once,” they started. “Long ago. Before I was one of the elders. Before the Transcendence. Shalana, her name was.”

Alcor watched the elf smile.

“And she was so full of life. She loved to dance with the wind and the leaves. And she loved everyone around her.” They shook their head. “She trusted everyone around her, and… she was mistaken.”

Alcor frowned. “What happened?”

“This is why you outsiders shouldn’t meddle.” They glanced up at him. “You ask me what happened - any elf would know what happened, but you are…” they sighed. “You don’t know of the Blighted Ones - they are hunters of us. Very specialized hunters; humans would see through their tricks, but we-“ they gestured at their visor. “We cannot. And you cannot, either.”

“What do you mean?” Alcor raised an eyebrow. “I have enough magic to see through any illusion-“

“And it is your magic that prevents you from seeing the truth! These creatures feed on magic - they twist your Sight, you cannot trust what you see!” The elf clenched their fists. “Just like Shalana could not See. She thought it was a friend who wanted to walk the forest with her; instead it was her doom.”

Alcor made a face. “I’m… so sorry to hear that.”

They looked at him, and did not smile. “You dare apologise to me?” They hissed, and leaned in closer. “You dare apologise to me when you saved her murderer last night!”

Alcor felt the elder grab his suit and wrench him in close. He was too stunned to resist.

“I spent millennia pleading with the Elders to hunt this creature down! Now I am one, and you dare interfere? You dare deny her justice? And for what?” They dug angrily in his suit pocket, and drew out the dewdrop. “For this?! This is what I’ll lose my retribution over?!”

Alcor couldn’t respond. The bark creeped up his neck, and he was fighting to keep his eyes open. The elder was only a blur as they pushed themself off of him.

“No…” they said. “Calm. Be calm. The mountain does not sway like the wind around it.”

He tried to sit up, but he was rooted to the seat. Nothing budged.

“I should not be surprised by this,” said the elf. “I should not. After all, what does a demon know of love?”

The bark was stretching over his jawline. Alcor could hardly summon the strength to panic anymore.

“Sleep well, Dreambender. You will wake to a better world- what is that?”

His closing eyes rolled over to look, and he saw something drop from the trees. There was a snarl, a cry, and the two elves stood up; suddenly the sleepiness fell away from him, and he jolted awake.

Mizar - or whatever she was - was the first thing he saw. She had the elder pinned, and with the back of her hand she slapped the visor off his face. They pushed her off and jumped away, covering their face.

“No! No! My eyes deceive! You’re not her!”

The two elves drew their swords and closed in. Mizar danced back as they slashed, glanced to the car, and then ripped off the side door and used it like a shield. One elf stabbed and stuck their sword in; she twisted it out of their hand, bashed them to the floor, then pounced on top and ripped out their throat.

The other elf raised their sword and drove it down through her back. She let out a cry, but in a flash she was on her feet again, eyes on the blade. They tried to slash at her; she caught their arm, twisted it back, and slammed them into the dirt.

Then it was silent, but for the quiet whimpering of the downed elf. Alcor watched her slowly, slowly kneel down to their level. She gripped their shoulders, and turned them over to face her.

He couldn’t see their face - only a sweater, and jangling bracelets on her arms. But the elf saw something else; he saw them go rigid, saw their feet kick up leaves as they struggled to get away, heard their groans turn to a desperate cry -

“No, no! No! Help! Tarathiel, aid me! I-”

Then Mizar struck. Alcor flinched at the scream, at the crack of bone and gristle; a deep pit formed in her stomach as he heard her begin to eat. Yet the more he watched, strangely, the fuzzier she seemed. Whatever she was doing, it was like the world around him had formed a kind of censor, and even the sounds of it faded sharply.

Like something was twisting his Sight… Alcor looked down at the visor that had landed on the front seat. He took a deep breath, and then ripped his hand out of the bark that had encased it, grabbed the visor, and put it over his eyes.

Now he saw without Sight. Now he saw the Creature that he had called Mizar.

It wasn’t human, no. It was much taller, and so, so thin. It was covered in a layer of fine yet shaggy hair, lending a greyish tint to the pale skin beneath; around its legs it was matted and grimy with dried sewage. Its hands were curled, clawed things at the end of its sticklike arms, and it was digging them into the elf to scoop out meat and dripping organs.

It was… oh, stars. Alcor felt a rush of primal fear at the sight of it, and he couldn’t help but gasp.

The Creature heard that; it froze, and then its head snapped around. Its face: its eyes were up where its forehead should’ve been, and the rest was all mouth, dripping with blood. Its jagged teeth glinted like broken glass as it turned and knuckle-walked towards him.

Alcor couldn’t help it; he growled, he leaned away as far as he could. “No… stay, stay back!”

He threw a blast of fire its way. It melted the side of the car, but nothing happened to the Creature - no, worse than nothing. His fire swirled around the narrow, bloodless hole in its chest, and sealed it.

“I’m warning you!” Alcor watched it squeeze itself through the opening in the car; it was so much larger than it looked. “Don’t come any closer, don’t - d-don’t touch me! What are you...”

It was reaching its filthy claws towards his face. He stiffened as they scraped against his forehead… then carefully closed around the visor, and took it off. The glow-eyed, primally terrifying being that hunched before him suddenly-

-just looked like a Mizar again. Felt like a Mizar again. If he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes, there wouldn’t have been a doubt in his mind that this was his sister smiling sadly at him.

“I’m sorry,” said the Creature, with her voice. “I did lie to you. But… look, if I’ve built up any goodwill with you since we met… can you just hear me out? Please?”

Alcor didn’t move, didn’t speak. He didn’t know what to say. He watched the Creature’s eyes flit down, and fix on the branch that was keeping him in place. It reached out a lie of a hand.

“Here, let me get you out of that.”

#transcendence au #alcor the dreambender #magic lore #elves #worldbuilding #toothwrites

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bellakitse · 4 years ago

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Love In This Club - part {2/2}

Part One

TK runs into someone familiar on the job.

When I first wrote this story, my partner in crime said that if I wrote it, I would need to write a follow up of Tarlos seeing each other at work. As always, @beka1820 was right.

With this being the last thing I post for the year 2020, I want to wish everyone a Happy New Year and thank each and every one of you who have read my stories, left me messages, reblogged, commented, etc.

You have all been wonderful, and your support not only helped me be more creative, but it helped me survive this hard year. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for the love, it has meant everything. I hope to continue to bring you all more stories to enjoy in 2021. 💗💗💗

There have been times in TK Strand’s life that have shown him if there is such a thing as a higher power, it’s laughing at his expense. Proposing to the person he once thought was his soulmate only for said person to tell him he was cheating on him with his trainer – yeah, the universe had a good laugh that day.

He imagines, as he stares at the shocked but familiar face of the police officer answering his father’s questions, said higher beings are laughing their mystical asses off right now too.

They get a call to an overturned car on a wet and miserable Thursday night. His team, now fully assembled, is more than eager for some action. TK understands the eagerness. The last few weeks in Austin have been about getting the firehouse to standard and helping his dad with their crew’s recruitment.

In the end, he likes all of them. Mateo is like an excited puppy, invoking all the protective instincts in TK. While Paul is an old soul, mixed with an all-knowing eye that both impresses TK and freaks him out at how easy he reads them all. Finally, there’s Marjan. She is a kindred spirit, he realizes after her smartass answers during the interview. He can recognize a fellow adrenaline junkie when he sees one. Seeing it too, his dad had rolled his eyes and muttered a prayer for patience. It makes him and Marjan share twin grins every time.

There are police and news crews already at the scene when they get there, the heavy rain making it harder to see, but the moment he hears his voice addressing his dad, TK instantly recognizes it. It shocks him still for a moment, flashes of their night together just a few days ago playing at full speed in his mind.

Carlos, the man from the club who used his mouth to make TK see stars. The man who then took him back to his place and showed him for the rest of the night that a talented mouth wasn’t all he had to offer.

TK feels himself go warm despite the intense rain coming down as he remembers how Carlos touched him, with almost reverence as his fingertips danced over TK’s skin. He pulled practically desperate moans and gasps out of him as he pushed deep into TK, his intention clear – he wanted to make sure TK would remember him.

He has, despite trying to focus on his new team, his new firehouse, and still new city, TK has found himself more than once thinking about the handsome man before him, regretting more and more having slipped out of his apartment while the man slept, not even leaving his cell number behind.

He sees the shock in Carlos’ soft brown eyes the moment they land on him. It’s there for a second, and then it’s gone as he jumps back into his police officer role, continuing to explain the situation to his dad.

After the assessment, his team springs into action; he, Paul, and Mateo get the overturned car pried open enough for Marjan to squeeze in and start to work on the victim. TK’s heart drops to his stomach when the woman tells them about her infant son; it falls to his toes when they see where the little boy has landed.

He watches with his team and Carlos as his father climbs up the ladder to get the child out of the tree. A shout rips out of his throat as the car chair comes tumbling back to the earth, and he feels a familiar hand gripping his shoulder when he lets out an exhale at the image of his father climbing back down the ladder with little Henry in his arms, safe and sound.

He feels an immense sense of pride for his dad as he walks away, calling his team to wrap it up.

“He’s an impressive guy.”

TK turns his head at the comment to find Carlos’ curious gaze on him. “He’s my dad,” he answers, causing the corners of Carlos’ mouth to quirk upward. He knows Carlos hears the pride too.

Carlos looks at him up and down, his expression turns reluctantly amused. “I guess we should have done some small-talk about work after all.”

TK feels himself flush at the comment, remembering the almost out of control need he had for Carlos that night, the desire to taste him more powerful than common sense.

“Probably,” he answers with an awkward chuckle. He makes a face in response that causes Carlos to smile tenderly back at him.

“I wished you had stayed,” he says quietly, taking a step closer to TK, using his body to give them a moment of privacy, pressing TK gently into the side of a firetruck. It causes TK’s pulse to uptick at the sudden closeness, and he’s sure he can smell Carlos’ pleasant scent despite the protective gear and rain still coming down around them.

“I would have made you breakfast,” Carlos continues, trying to lighten the mood, making TK wonder what kind of deer caught in the headlights look he has on his face. It’s endearing and reminds TK that while their night together had been hot, it had also been sweet. Fun, as they giggled through kisses when in their rush to get naked, they got tangled in their clothes.

The way Carlos looks at him now tells TK he is thinking about it too, and wouldn’t mind a repeat.

“What would you have made me?” TK asks, surprising himself. What he should be telling Carlos is to forget their night together. That it was fun, but just a one-time thing. He shouldn’t be wondering what breakfast the officer would make him and how nice it would be to wake up to that. He shouldn’t be thinking about taking Carlos’ silent but clear offer.

Carlos grins widely at him, opening his mouth to speak, only to be interrupted as Paul walks up to them.

“Cap says we’re ready to go, TK,” Paul informs him, his eyebrow ticking upward as he looks at them.

TK looks back at Carlos and blushes. In the time they have been speaking, he and Carlos have gravitated closer, almost pressed against the other. It makes their familiarity with each other pretty evident.

“Right,” TK answers, clearing his throat awkwardly. “Give me a sec?”

Paul’s eyebrow raises even further as a hint of a smirk takes over his face. “Sure, Romeo,” he answers with a laughing shake of his head. “But make it quick. Everyone is wet and cranky.”

TK rolls his eyes but nods his agreement anyway. He waits for Paul to leave them alone before turning back towards Carlos. “I gotta go,” he says pointlessly, startled at how disappointed he actually feels at the thought of walking away from Carlos again.

“Michelle is going to invite your crew to a local bar we usually hang out at,” Carlos says in response, surprising TK with the change of conversation.

“You know Captain Blake?” he asks, at a loss for anything else to say. It earns him a grin.

“She’s my best friend,” Carlos informs him. Still smiling, he takes a step closer once more. “I’m going to be there.”

“Oh?” he questions quietly, gasping softly when Carlos reaches out, his index finger running over the back of his hand.

“Will you come?” Carlos asks him hopefully. He turns his hand to lock his pinkie with his. “We could have a dance, maybe have that breakfast afterward.”

“I – “ TK stalls; he knows the answer Carlos wants. It’s one even he wants to give. “I’m a mess,” he says instead, needing Carlos to understand. “Relationship wise, I mean. I had a recent implosion, and I’m still picking up the pieces,” he continues with a meaningful look.

Carlos returns the expression along with a sympathetic one. “Okay,” he says softly, his tone kind. Another smile just as caring takes over his handsome face. “I’ll take the dance then. We can work up to breakfast when you’re ready and only if you want.”

The easy understanding and acceptance warms TK, and he finds himself smiling back. Almost helpless to stop himself in the face of the beautiful man before him. TK can’t deny he wants him, but what’s more, he can’t deny the connection he already feels to Carlos, even if he can’t entirely explain it either.

“Come,” Carlos whispers again, giving his fingers a small squeeze.

TK exhales slowly. The rain is still coming down around them, and his crew is waiting for him, yet for TK, there is nothing but Carlos in front of him asking him for a dance and maybe a chance.

“Okay,” he answers, his heart beating faster at the possibilities being created from the simple word. “I’ll see you there.”

#911 lone star #tarlos #911 lone star fic #tarlos fic #tk x carlos #my writing

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eyeofthedrgn · 3 years ago

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A Heavy Battle Symphony Chapter 11

Trigger Warning: language, mental abuse, verbal abuse, physical abuse, violence, depression, anxiety, panic attacks, self harm, self-esteem issues, sexual abuse (only alluded to briefly in future chapters), drinking (comes up late in the story) just a lot of trauma, angst, smut

Word Count: 1917

Notes: Surprise! I couldn't wait until Tuesday. Chapter 12 will be released tomorrow instead. Also, first real smutty chapter!

Chapter 11 - Into You [Dead By Sunrise]

Like a crutch you carry me without restraint

Back to a place where I am not alone

I'm a man whose tragedies have been replaced

With memories tattooed upon my soul

Lorcan had his back up against Rowan's chest. An arm draped across his waist. Rowan couldn't help but press soft kisses to Lorcan's shoulder.

They had a wonderful dinner and finished decorating. Now, they were laying in Rowan's bed. Lorcan was exhausted. He was always exhausted. But panic attacks always made it worse.

His life was always more complicated than he thought it should have been. That frustrated Lorcan to no end. His past, it seemed, would always haunt him. Always try to ruin a good thing. Always make him feel like he wasn't good enough.

"Do you want to try something?" Rowan was quiet, unsure. His warm breath skirting across his neck, sending shivers down his spine.

Lorcan turned onto his back so he could look into those lovely green eyes. "Like what?"

"I tell you that I'm going to put my hand under your shirt and then rest my hand on your skin. It would help you get used to me touching your skin. And you could do the same to me. But only if you want to."

The caring that Rowan showed for Lorcan's mental health was always staggering for him. Lorcan had never been cared for. At least not in a time that he could possibly remember.

"I would like to try," he said, nervously. Rowan gave him a soft smile and a chaste kiss.

"Okay. I'm going to put my hand under your shirt now, my arm will also touch your skin. I would like to rest my hand on your heart. Is that okay?"

Lorcan nodded and stared into those bright green eyes as Rowan's hand lifted the hem of his hoodie and slid his hand up his stomach and chest, resting above his heart. His muscles had clenched and he stopped breathing, but the touch was warm and soothing, slowly his muscles relaxed and his breathing evened.

"How's that?" He asked as he pressed a kiss to Lorcan's shoulder.

"Warm," he chuckled. Rowan smiled. "It's nice."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." Lorcan put his hand over Rowan's and pressed it against his chest, the extra weight was comforting. But even that comfort couldn't stop the thoughts that intruded his mind. They never seemed to cease.

He was worthless after all. How could he possibly deserve Rowan?

He closed his eyes and a tear escaped, falling down his temple into his hair.

"Love, hey, what's wrong?" Rowan propped himself up on his elbow, concern etching his face as his eyes roamed over Lorcan’s face. He went to remove his hand, but Lorcan held it still. "Love?"

"I'm sorry," his voice cracked, eyes still closed. Swallowing, he continued, "I'm sorry I'm so broken and worthless. I'm sorry we can't just be a normal couple. I'm sorry that we have to take it so slow. I want you so much, but you have to tell me you're going to touch my skin. I-" A soft sob broke through Lorcan. "I don't deserve you." Another sob ripped through him.

"Hey. Shh," Rowan pressed a kiss to his temple. "You are not worthless. I wish she hadn't ingrained that into you. You are worth everything to me. Everything. Sure, sometimes it's hard knowing what I can and can't do, but that's okay. I’m learning. And you are beautiful inside and out. Lorcan, honey, I love you-" Lorcan's eyes shot open. "-and I want you, too. More than anything, but I'll take care of you the way you need. Yes, you may be broken, but I don't care. I'm going to do my best to help you fix yourself. Whatever you need."

"You- you.. love me?" Complete disbelief filled Lorcan's face. No one loved him. He wasn’t even sure if his mother had loved him. His heart was racing, he knew Rowan could feel it, his hand was still resting above it. Lorcan's eyes searched Rowan's face, searching for deceit, but he only found sparkling eyes and a soft, loving smile.

"Yeah, yeah I do. I love you, Lorcan Salvaterre." Their lips met, soft at first, then turned heated. Tongues tangled, teeth occasionally got in the way, lips were sloppy and urgent. Lorcan felt alive. He was loved.

Lorcan pulled away to pull his shirt off, forgetting about his scars. He needed to feel closer, he needed Rowan's hands to roam over his skin. Rowan loved him. And he loved Rowan.

"I want you to touch me." The beautiful silver haired man that he loved obliged. His hand moved to pull Lorcan against him and then their lips met once more. Everywhere Rowan's hands touched burned leaving an icy trail in their path. His back, his chest, his sides. Hellas below.

They parted, but only just, noses still touched, both panting. Lorcan needed more skin. Desperately, he tugged at Rowan's shirt and it disappeared, the only clothes left were their boxers. Time slowed as Lorcan's eyes feasted on Rowan's newly exposed skin. He had seen it before, but not this close. His fingers touched Rowan's sculpted chest, delicately letting his fingers roam over the hills and valleys of the muscles. The gorgeous tan skin beneath his fingers was soft and warm, it gently rose and fell as Rowan breathed shallow breaths.

His onyx eyes flicked up to meet green ones. Rowan's eyes were soft and full of wonder as they watched him. They lit up as soon as Lorcan spoke, "I love you."

Rowan gently pushed Lorcan back against the bed and crawled on top of him. Careful not to make him feel caged, he held his weight with his forearm next to Lorcan's head and proceeded to play with his hair. The other hand still rested above his thundering heart. A leg slotted between Lorcan's. "Tell me to stop and I will."

Rowan wasn’t without his flaws, but how he treated Lorcan in times like these made him feel special and cared for. Lorcan could only nod before Rowan took his lips.

++++

The kiss was soft and loving, they both parted their lips and let Rowan’s tongue swept in and lazily explored the expanse of Lorcan’s mouth. Rowan knew he would never get enough of him. He claimed his mouth and his tongue and his lips. A moan leaked from Lorcan's throat and Rowan felt satisfaction from that noise. He wanted Lorcan to make more noises, to say his name as he came.

But he has to keep his head. He can't lose Lorcan like he did this morning. The beautiful man below him was fragile and Rowan had thought that he had broken him earlier, pushing back his amazing progress. It hurt to think about. Lorcan had been through enough, he didn’t want to be responsible for any more hurt or regression.

So, he claimed his mouth over and over. His fingers combing through beautifully silky midnight locks. It made Lorcan writhe under him, small whines and moans vibrating against his lips. He felt his own cock twitch against the warm leg under him and he let out his own moan.

Rowan hoped it wouldn't ruin anything, luckily it had a positive effect. Lorcan's hips started rolling against his thigh. The kiss broke and a long groan escaped the very sexy man beneath him as his head fell back exposing that gloriously long neck of his.

"Can I kiss your neck?"

Lorcan breathlessly agreed, keeping his head back. His mouth open, chest rising and falling quickly, hands gripping Rowan’s shoulders.

He placed a kiss to his cheek, along his jaw, just under his ear. Lorcan gasped. Rowan smiled against his skin. He whispered against his skin, "I'm going to lick you." Lorcan whimpered as he licked up his jaw. He pressed a wet kiss again to the tender spot below his ear. And slowly made his way down to his collarbone with soft open mouthed kisses. Taking his time, he licked up the line of kisses he had made down his neck.

"Rowan." Lorcan was breathless. His hands didn't know what to do, they were gripping his shoulders, then roaming his back, dipping into his hair and gripping hard. His hips were bucking against his leg. Rowan gently pressed his leg down to give the man more pressure. That made Lorcan say his name again.

Lorcan's thrusts were getting erratic. Rowan pulled away from his neck so he could watch his lover come. "Ro- oh!"

"Come for me." He kissed the corner of his mouth, Lorcan was so lost in the throes of intimacy, a proper kiss was impossible. "I love you."

Lorcan pressed his hips hard into Rowan's leg, Rowan felt the throbbing and pulsing against his leg as the man beneath him stilled, a silent scream etched on his face, eyes shut tight, a crease between his brow. Lorcan whispered his name like a prayer as his body went limp in a post orgasmic state. Rowan had never seen anything so amazingly hot or sexy, his own hips had been moving of their own accord, a few more thrusts had him chasing Lorcan's high. Seeing and feeling Lorcan come so undone was his own undoing. "Lorcan. Lorcan..."

---

He hadn’t thought he would like the weight of Rowan on top of him, but it was comforting, like a weighted blanket. A soft hand still rested over his heart. It felt like home. He felt wanted and needed. That was his deepest desire. The way Rowan made him feel was more than he could have ever hoped for.

Every touch, every roll of their hips, every sound was a symphony. And Lorcan never wanted it to end. It felt like he couldn’t breathe, but in a good way, not in an approaching panic attack sort of way. He felt loved and taken care of. Lorcan loved the feel of Rowan’s skin. The feel of it against his own skin made a warmth bloom inside of him, something he hadn’t felt before, he wasn’t sure what it was, but he liked it.

Lorcan was so close and the softness of Rowan’s touches made him feel so wanted. His senses were on overdrive. One hand was fisted in Rowan's hair, the other digging into his shoulder. It felt like he was going to burn up. The pressure was building deep in his gut. Hellas below, he was going to explode. He’d never felt like this before. His body stilled and it felt like he was floating before he fell back against the mattress.

He heard a voice, a soothing voice. He loved that voice. And that smell, he loved that smell. Snow and pine. Home.

"Lor. Lorcan, my love. Come back to me." Soft fingers were caressing his cheek, his temple and brow. His eyes slowly fluttered open. "There you are." A sweet smile spread across Rowan's beautiful face. He loved that smile, he felt a similar one stretch over his face.

They were panting, Rowan rested his forehead against his and bumped their noses together, his smile only grew, eyes sparkled. Hellas below, he was the most beautiful being he had ever seen. Their lips met in languid kisses, noses bumped together between the gentle open mouth kisses.

Lorcan couldn't keep his eyes open any longer. At barely more than a whisper, Lorcan said against his lover's lips, "I love you."

"I love you, too."

____

Thanks for reading! Let me know if you'd like to be tagged.

@thenerdandfandoms @starlightorstarfire @tanvee1231

#rowan x lorcan #rowcan #rowan whitethorn #rowcan fanfic #lorcan salvaterre #linkin park #crackship #throne of glass #heavy battle symphony

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caranfindel · 4 years ago

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Fic: The whirlwind is in the thorn tree

wincest | about 3000 words | R for language and adult themes | characters: sam winchester, dean winchester

synopsis: My first and probably last stab at Wincest. No actual sex, just post-coital angst.

Flowers in the Attic is a cheesy gothic novel featuring four children who are locked in an attic by their scheming mother who hopes to hide their existence; the oldest son and daughter eventually begin an incestuous relationship.

The title is from "The Man Comes Around" by Johnny Cash, which I never heard until recently but am now obsessed with.

. . .

Part 1: Dean

It doesn't start with romance or lust. It doesn't start with that little flash of bare skin visible above his jeans when he raises his arms (it makes you crazy and you don't know why; you see him shirtless all the time but for some reason that little strip of skin that isn't meant to be showing just brings you to your knees). It doesn't start with you staring at that perfectly sculpted spot at the base of his throat and finally setting your mouth to it and marking him up the way you've dreamt about for years (you've bruised him when you were sparring, and you've battered him in anger, but you've never left a mark for the purpose of saying hands off, he's mine and oh, what you would do just for the chance). It doesn't start with you too drunk to keep holding it all in and Sam too drunk to say no (you would never, you would never).

It starts with terror. Pure balls-to-the-wall terror that you're about to lose him. A horribly fucked-up hunt where you almost die, but more importantly, you almost watch Sam die, and you stumble into your motel room, both still out of breath, still not quite sure what happened out there, and you're checking him for injuries and every breath is a silent mantra, I almost lost you, I almost lost you, and nothing is enough, you want to crawl under his skin, you want to open him up and cradle his heart in your hands to make sure it's still beating, you're holding him tighter and tighter and he's clutching you just as tight, looking into your soul with those big wet eyes and saying “Dean, Dean," like your name itself is a prayer, a request. A plea. Whatever he is pleading for, you will give it to him. And it turns out the only thing he wants is all of you.

Which is convenient. Because the only thing you want is all of him.

. . .

But then comes After, and you have to face what you've done.

When you wake up (his arm is still flung over you, it's so wrong, it's so wrong), you quietly crawl out of bed and hurry into the shower. There is no water hot enough to scrub you clean, no soap strong enough to wash away your sins (watch out for your brother, it's your most important job). When you give up and turn off the water, you realize you didn't bring any clothes to change into, and you sure as hell weren't wearing any when you fled into the bathroom. There's nothing you can do but wrap a towel around your waist and hope he's still asleep.

He's not. He's sitting up in the bed you shared. His hair is a tousled mess, a silky brown cloud, and your fingers twitch with the craving to be tangled in it again. He doesn't look disgusted, or repulsed. He looks… hopeful. Like he hasn't caught on yet that you are a monster.

(He will be the death of you.)

(He is your reason for living.)

You sit on the other bed and try not to stare at that hickey that you finally managed to put at the base of his throat. (There are other marks. Don't look at them either.)

He speaks first. "Look, I know this is some crazy Flowers in the Attic kind of shit—"

"Oh, this is so much worse than Flowers in the Attic."

"Why?" His brow furrows. "Because it's gay?"

Which stops you in your tracks, because of course that's not the problem. But also because you haven't even thought of this as gay. It's not that you're interested in guys. You're not thinking about random guys when you jack off in the shower, or when you can't fall asleep, or when your life sucks and your heart hurts and you need an escape. It's not guys. It's not anyone else. You've chased a lot of tail over the years, trying to convince yourself otherwise, but it's just Sam. Only, always and forever, Sam.

But now he's looking at you like you're some kind of monster, like being a homophobe is somehow worse than being a sick bastard who wants to fuck his little brother. So you quickly say "No, dammit, you know that's not it."

"Then what? Why is it worse?"

And it's not fair that Sam is both your victim and the priest who will hear your confession; it's not fair that you're going to have to say the thing that will make him hate you, make him walk away from you again, but, well. Life stopped being fair when you were four years old. He would have figured it out anyway. He's too damn smart not to eventually realize whose fault it all is.

"It's worse because I raised you, Sam. I did this to you. I made you want this."

"What?" Sam's voice goes up an octave, incredulous. "You're saying you groomed me?"

"Not on purpose! But yeah, subconsciously, I must have done something! I must have screwed you up somehow. Otherwise, you wouldn't… there's no way you would have…"

"Slept with my brother? So there's no way I would have wanted to have sex with my brother unless someone snuck into my brain and planted the idea there? Someone must have made me want it? Is that what happened?"

Oh, Jesus, Sam just needs to stop talking, because he's making it worse. Yes, obviously you planted that idea in his sweet, trusting little head. Who knows when or where or how, but obviously you did that. Obviously you took him, the brother you were supposed to watch out for, you took his innocent love for you and twisted it into something awful and self-serving.

But he's not looking at you like he just realized what a monster you are, like he finally saw the darkness you've managed to hide all this time. He's smiling.

"You're an idiot," he says. "But okay, let's say you're right. Let's say the only reason I would want to have sex with my brother is because someone raised me wrong. Someone screwed with my head when I was little and made me want this. Then who did it to you?"

No, wait. That's not. You stare at him, mute.

"If you raised me to want this," he continues, "who did it to you? Dad? Is that what was going on, all those times you guys went off on a hunt and left me at a hotel? Dad spent the whole time convincing you that at some point you were going to have to throw me on the bed and have your way with me?"

"Dammit, Sam, that's not funny."

"I'm not trying to be funny, Dean. I'm just trying to show you how ridiculous it is to blame yourself. No one made you want it, and no one made me want it. It's just a product of our fucked-up lives. There are no victims here."

Is that possible? You want (so much, so much) to believe it. But even if he's not your victim, he still has to see how wrong it is. You've ripped your heart wide open and he's staring right at its dark, festering core. Surely he sees that.

"It may be a victimless kind of fucked up," you say cautiously, afraid to break whatever spell has been cast. "But it's still pretty fucked up."

"I'm not saying it's normal," he says. "You and me, this is definitely not normal. But we left normal behind a long time ago. We were never gonna have that. And this is something we do get to have."

Oh, okay. Sam can't have normal, so he's settling for Dean Winchester, the world's shittiest consolation prize. Well, that's the only part of this that makes sense. And you're not too proud to accept that role. You look at the carpet (you can't look at him) and nod. He will leave you again someday, when he does find normal, but for now? This is enough. This is still more than you ever thought you'd have. More than you deserve.

Sam throws back the covers. He is still very, very naked. Bruised from the hunt, and bruised from what happened after the hunt. (And so goddamn beautiful. He doesn't even know.) He gets out of bed and sits next to you. Not touching, but close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating off him. When you do finally force yourself to look at him, he smiles at you again, that fond smile that stabs you right through the heart. You would give anything to have him sitting next to you, smiling that smile at you, for the rest of your life.

"You know," he says, "all those years I spent chasing normal, it was because I didn't think I could have what I really wanted. This, Dean. You and me. This is what I want. I wouldn't trade it for normal. I wouldn't trade it for anything."

If that's true. Oh God, if that's true.

"So," he continues, "maybe we just appreciate it. Maybe we hold onto it. I mean. Only if you want to."

Only if you want to. Like there's anything you want more. Sam is offering you all you've ever wanted, and all you have to do is reach out and take it.

You've lost the ability to speak, but whatever words you came up with would surely fuck it all up anyway. You take his hand and entwine his fingers in your own. He squeezes. You squeeze back. It's just one more in an endless history of wordless conversations, but it's the most important one you've ever had. You both sit there quietly for a minute, and you are very aware that you are wrapped in a towel and he is naked and you're holding hands and… it's not weird. It's okay. It's better than okay.

"You know," he says, "the most disturbing thing about all of this is that you just admitted you read Flowers in the Attic."

You have to clear your throat before you can answer. "It was a book? I saw the movie on TV once, when I couldn't sleep."

It's a lie. He knows it's a lie. He was there with you, that awful winter in Nebraska, when Dad dumped you at that weird old house for a couple of weeks and the only thing to do was pick through the pile of ragged paperbacks some teenage girl left behind. He knows you read it. He doesn't know you got to the incest scene and tossed the book away, no, no, I would never do that to him. I would never. He doesn't know you picked it up again, later, hoping it had a happy ending.

He knows you're a liar. He knows you're twisted and wrong. He loves you anyway. And maybe you don't deserve it, but you'll take it anyway, and hold onto it for as long as you can.

Part 2: Sam

Something about almost losing Dean puts everything into perspective. And yes, you almost died too, but it's hard to see your own death as comparable. Dean's near-death is what matters, the thing that paints everything in stark black and white.

There's no time to talk, no time to wonder, no time to check each other for injuries and try to figure out how you escaped this time. He shoves you into the Impala and speeds away from the scene, and you stare at his (beautiful) profile and think I can't do this any more, I can't die and not tell you how I feel, I can't let you die without knowing what you mean to me, I can't do it, I won't.

But it's not the first time you've told yourself that, or the second or third. And you know you'll fail, in the end, as you always have. Except. Except that when you finally make it into the room you're both still a little panicky, still having a hard time catching your breath, hearts pounding, and he says are you hurt, are you hurt as he paws at you, and then holds you tight and won't let go (you don't want him to, oh God you don't want him to) and you grab him, hold him just as tight and this is it, this is the moment, use your words, dammit, but all you can do is keep repeating his name like an idiot and you finally just kiss him and it turns out neither of you needs words after all.

. . .

Dean's hasty exit wakes you, and your heart leaps panicky into your throat for a minute. You fucked it up, he's running; all those years you held your feelings in check and now you've fucked it up and he's running. But he simply rushes into the bathroom and turns on the shower. He showers for a long time, which gives you time to think about what to say. Because you know he's going to be freaked out. You know he's going to say this is wrong, this is bad, we can't do this again. But there is no going back now; you can only go forward. You salted and burned just brothers last night. The only option now is brothers plus whatever this is. You'll have to make your way through whatever objections he has.

When he finally comes back into the room, every speck of his normal bravado is gone. He looks frightened and guilty (and beautiful, so damn beautiful, with the morning sun peeping through the flimsy curtains highlighting him in gold, picking out each eyelash as if God himself were directing it) and your heart melts like it always does. You are so fucked.

He clutches the towel wrapped around his hips tightly, and you're pretty sure the only reason he hasn't already put three layers of clothing between you and him is because in his hurry to get into the the shower he didn't take time to grab his armor. So, yeah. He's freaked out. It's okay. You'll talk him down (there is no choice, there is no other option) and it will be okay.

But it turns out you are not at all prepared for what his real objection is. Not at all.

You could tell him the truth. Yes, you made me want you. Just by being you. By being beautiful and brave and smart and funny and strong and exasperating. You made me love you in a way you are not supposed to love a brother, just by being you.

Or another truth is this. You think you were grooming me? When I was thirteen? When I was a gangly, clumsy, morose little barely-a-teenager? Because that's when it started, Dean. It wasn't anything you did. You weren't grooming me, you were busy chasing anything in a skirt. I had just turned thirteen years old and all I wanted was you.

But there is another very important truth, which is that you're both kind of irreparably fucked up. And this is possibly a silver lining to that. The fact that you're fucked up the same way, together.

"I'm not saying it's normal," you tell him. “You and me, this is definitely not normal. But we left normal behind a long time ago. We were never gonna have that. And this is something we do get to have." He has to see that, right? He has to understand that you two cannot measure yourselves by other peoples' yardsticks.

His reaction is to withdraw a little bit. Does he not believe you? Can he not tell, even now, that you love him so much it burns? You have no choice. There is no going back. You get out of bed and sit next to him. "You know, all those years I spent chasing normal, it was because I didn't think I could have what I really wanted. This, Dean. You and me. This is what I want. I wouldn't trade it for normal. I wouldn't trade it for anything. So, maybe we just appreciate it. Maybe we hold onto it. I mean. Only if you want to."

You gave him an out. You pray he doesn't take it. He doesn't. Thank God (or no, probably not God), he doesn't. You sit next to him, naked as the day you were born, and he doesn't flinch, doesn't lean away, doesn't say no, Sam, this is weird, this is bad, this is wrong. He just looks up at you like he's dumbfounded, but in a good way. And then he takes your hand. He's clasped your hand thousands of times, shepherding you across busy streets as a child, hauling you out of freshly dug graves as an adult. But this is the first time he's actually held your hand, and it feels like something greater; like a vow.

You need to change the subject pretty quickly, before you make a goddamn fool of yourself.

"You know, the most disturbing thing about all of this is that you just admitted you read Flowers in the Attic."

Dean's voice is hoarse. "It was a book? I saw the movie on TV once, when I couldn't sleep."

It's a lie. You know it's a lie. You made sure he saw you reading it, and you watched him pick it up after you were done. You had a thousand imaginary conversations where he said what did you think about that book and you said siblings locked in an attic for years, all they had was each other, it makes sense that their relationship would transform into something else, it wasn't hurting anybody, and after all, incest is only taboo because of the risk of birth defects, and many civilizations actually encouraged marriage between siblings, it's not really a big deal, and he said exactly, especially in a situation like that where they're literally in their own little world, and I've been thinking, and then and then and then.

None of that happened. What happened was he turned 18 and then 19 and then 20 and grew more and more maddeningly insane and reckless and beautiful and you realized that either he was going to die, or he was going to keep breathing but remain forever out of your reach, and either way you couldn't live like this any more.

But now he's sitting on the bed next to you, almost as naked as you are, holding your hand.

"You want to get some breakfast?" he says.

"I would love some breakfast. Let me shower first."

He gently swats you on the back of the head. "Go on then, Princess. Wash your pretty pretty hair."

The knot of fear that's been squirming in your stomach since you woke up quietly unclenches. And for the first time in a very long time, you think everything might be okay after all.

#my fic #spn #wincest #sam winchester #dean winchester #sam/dean #i don't even know who i am any more

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lilacandladybugs · 4 years ago

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hey since youre talking about christianity, i was wondering if you could answer a question ive been curious about. if god cares about people and if jesus died for our sins, then why does hell exist? and if god cares about us then why did he let so much bad stuff happened in his name, and even cause it, like with the noah’s arch story?

sorry if any of this is wrong ive never read the bible, but ive had bad experiences with christianity in the past and the way you talk about it seems much nicer than the way i know it

I don’t think I can answer this question in a way that doesn’t come across as pretentious or like I’m asking for an argument or just being straight up unsatisfying. But I just am going to try anyway because i'm hoping that maybe this will be comforting or helpful to someone. I’m sorry if this is offensive I am really trying my best, please take this all in the best possible way and be gracious with me

The thing about this ask is that it’s actually a bunch of different questions, and since each of them individually is really hard to answer so I’m going to narrow it down to just one ( im sorry ;-; ) . The one I’ve thought about the most is “Why does God let bad things happen if he loves us?”

When this question first really occurred to me, I was already a believer. So I was already pretty convinced that God exists logically, from the perspective of history, philosophy, science, and my personal experience. I believed in the /existence/ of the God who is represented in the scriptures. (I doubt anyone wants it but I can give you a list of resources if you want to look into any of that.) The struggle for me was whether or not all that evidence held true in the face of this moral dilemma; the problem of evil in the presence of a loving God.

But I just couldn’t turn my back on the concept of a moral grounding in God. I had a philosophy professor tell me that people are mortal and so we shouldn’t grieve them like they’re immortal, that grief is a choice, and that trauma is a choice. I respected her so much, but I just couldn’t accept that. There’s nothing more unsettling to me than suggesting that cruelty and death and suffering are only wrong because you think they are, and not because they’re violating sacred ancient laws. My friends dying, people hurting me, that isn’t just in my head. It’s /real/. They’re really dead, and it really matters. People really did something wrong when they hurt me, and it isn’t my fault for being hurt. It’s their fault for being cruel. And their cruelty is objectively morally wrong.

I realized that if I became an atheist I would have to accept the fact that there isn’t /objectively/ any difference between right and wrong. There isn’t any theoretical “right way” that the world should be. But to me, there is a right way it should be. There is a right way and it was lost because of sin.

It was I guess comforting that Christianity provided the premises I needed to ask a question like this. Evil exists. And love exists. So how can God exist? What a comforting question, in a way. To get to grieve, to be angry, to wonder what’s going on, to want things to be different. It was validating i guess

Don’t get me wrong i was FURIOUS i was so angry. I was so angry and so conflicted I kind of thought I might just like rip apart at my seams but I just felt caught between a rock and a hard place to be either abandoned by God or to not even be able to think about my experiences in a way that felt coherent.

He showed up though. I remember swearing at him, and laying up at night thinking he wasn’t there, I told him I wouldn’t have to have trauma if he would’ve stepped in, that my friends wouldn’t be dead, that he let it happen to me, that he just /witnessed/ it. And man idk he just showed up. He showed up every time. I almost walked away like five times that summer. And every time he sent someone, there was always someone that showed up and talked to me like out of nowhere. Or music, or scripture, or something someone said in passing.

The night that it was really bad was when I realized that the only person who could save me was God and I cried out to him, and I just idk I’ve never been so desperate. I went to church the next day against my will and the sermon felt like it was written for me specifically. I cried through the whole thing.

If God is goodness, then how can I say he isn’t with me and around me constantly? In the sunrise and sunset, in the stars, in flowers, and in kind words. In sermons. In friends and family. In all the coincidences that stopped me from becoming an atheist, all of the answered prayers and the impossibilities. That’s why my side blog is called @in-the-whisper. Because I felt him there, even though it hurt, he was with me in the quiet and in the silence, in his whisper in a thousand different ways.

I was posed this question by someone who was there for me in one of those moments where I almost walked away from God, “Is sufficiency abundant?” I guess I thought it was. Where was God? In the peace that surpasses understanding. In the knowledge that everything is finished, that he died for us, that he didn’t abandon us. That whatever terrible things happen, he was willing to take all of the consequences for that onto himself in the person of Jesus. That one day he will set things right, even though it isn’t right right now.

It comes down to the Gospel (good news, core story of the Christian faith); humanity actively chose to walk away from God in an act of rebellion. We had free will because God created us tenderly to be in a loving relationship with him, and loving relationships must be based on free will and they must be two way. So he let us walk away from him, and away from the sustainer of life our bodies break, our world crumbles, and we die. In order to bridge that gap, he chose to die in our place, so that we could re enter that free will relationship with him if we so choose. He died on the cross, descended into hell, and then in three days he rose from the grave, defeating death. And one day he will return on a white horse to rescue us and to take the world back as his own. If I believed that to be true, then I believed in the greatest intervention in human history that has ever occurred. The God of the Bible isn’t a distant God, "God showed how much he loved us by sending his one and only Son into the world so that we might have eternal life through him." 1 John 4:9 He did the unthinkable for us.

Living in light of the gospel helped me to understand the way that God is present in my life, my present, past, and in my future. It gave me peace. When Horatio G. Spafford’s two daughters and wife died in a shipwreck, he wrote this,

“When peace like a river attendeth my way, when sorrows like sea billows roll, whatever my lot, thou hast taught me to say, it is well, it is well with my soul."

“Though Satan should buffet, though trials should come, let this blest assurance control: that Christ has regarded my helpless estate and has shed His own blood for my soul.

“My sin, oh the bliss of this glorious thought. My sin, not in part, but the whole, is nailed to the cross, and I bear it no more praise the Lord, praise the Lord, O my soul!

“And Lord, haste the day when my faith shall be sight The clouds be rolled back as a scroll The trump shall resound, and the Lord shall descend Even so, it is well with my soul!

“It is well with my soul, it is well, it is well with my soul.”

I don’t have an answer for your question. What I know is that I am willing to rest in the knowledge of my personal experiences and my research that God exists, that he is loving, and that he is powerful, just, and wise. Even the winds and the seas obey him, the mountains are like pebbles to him, thunder rolls at the sound of his voice. He had thought before time began, he gave all knowledge and all wisdom to us.

Why do bad things happen also brings up the question, why do good things happen? Who do we have to thank when we get up in the morning and can see or hear or move or are alive in general? Why are we so blessed as to have two days and not just one? Where do mornings and complexity and beauty and wonder come from? They come from him. Not because we need it, but because he wants to give it to us. Enjoyment, existence, love, laughter, thought, beauty, heartbreak. The world is just as beautiful as it is terrible, and why should it be beautiful? Because he wants it to be that way.

God is so patient. He is so patient and kind and powerful, and he wants to hear your questions. Some of them, like this one, are in my opinion something that you have to talk to him about directly. He gives us thought and logic and reason and wisdom, and he asks for us to engage him. He will answer.

If any believers are reading this, I want you to know that it is enough to cry out to him in pain. It is enough to want to want to believe in him. He would so much rather hear from you in your anger than never hear from you at all. Seek him out, he will find you. He will chase after you.

I bet that he would chase after me, bet my life on it. I might not know the answer, but I am confident enough in what I do know that I’m willing to bet my existence that God will come true on his promises, that he will deliver me, that everything will be okay, that he is bigger than my trauma, and that he will hold me.

“For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways,” declares the Lord. 9 “As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts. 10 As the rain and the snow come down from heaven, and do not return to it without watering the earth and making it bud and flourish, so that it yields seed for the sower and bread for the eater, 11 so is my word that goes out from my mouth: It will not return to me empty, but will accomplish what I desire and achieve the purpose for which I sent it. 12 You will go out in joy and be led forth in peace; the mountains and hills will burst into song before you, and all the trees of the field will clap their hands. 13 Instead of the thornbush will grow the juniper, and instead of briers the myrtle will grow. This will be for the Lord’s renown, for an everlasting sign, that will endure forever.” Isaiah 55:8-13

And I’m holding him to that promise.

#christianity #religion #christianity tw #religion tw #god #grief #grief tw #ask to tag #anon #this is definitely insufficient and im sorry #this is all i have to offer right now #its a hard thing to articulate ig #not mcyt

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nandolonso · 5 years ago

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BEDTIME STORY (Henry Cavill x Reader)

Summary: Hearing Henry’s reading out the Witcher turned you on more than you wanted to admit. Word Count: 1767 Inspired by: this video, God have mercy on my soul Warning: smut, smut, SMUT Author’s note: Gosh, I’m so done with this man. I needed to write this out of my system, I hope you’ll like it. Please keep in mind that English is not my native language so I’m sorry for any kind of mistakes. I would be glad if I could read your suggestions or comments about my story! ♡

MERRY CHRISTMAS TO YOU ALL! I HOPE ALL OF YOUR DREAMS COME TRUE AND GET WHAT YOU WANT. ♡

Henry was sitting in a black wind’s chair when you came to your room. Your towel was covering your body, while you were tried to dry up your hair with another one. Your eyes shoot up at him and you saw that he was reading the Witcher. It was part of his daily routine now since he finished the shooting of the series. He started to reread the books and it turned you on more than you wanted to admit. But you just couldn’t help not seeing his eyes as they illuminated with excitement, as his lips slightly parted while he read the lines. You were just watching him as his eyes soaked up the adventures of Geralt. He was so sexy and nerdy at the same time that your core started to pool with emotions that you tried to suppress.

“You like what you see, darling?” he started with a dangerously low voice and you involuntary rubbed your legs together underneath the towel. He noticed it, he noticed every single detail about you, even though you thought he didn’t.

You tried to turn away as you continued to dry your hair with the towel. This way you couldn’t see that a cheeky grin passed on his lips.

“The witcher rode slowly,” he started to read out the lines and you froze on your spot as you’ve heard his beautiful voice which was now filled with desire. He was like a predator, who tried to seduce and hunt you down just by using his voice. He wanted to leave your shyness aside and wanted to drive you insane with his words. He wanted you to beg. To form what you want. To form what you need. “without trying to overtake the hay cart obstructing the road.” he continued as you turned back towards him, now just standing there and watching him as he continued the story. “A laden donkey trotted behind him, stretching its neck and constantly pulling the cord tied to the witcher's pommel tight.” he looked up and seen the most beautiful woman ever, your cheeks were flushed, your hair was messy and wet after you’ve washed it. After seeing you a state like this it was hard for him to hold himself back, but he had to keep his composure.

“In addition to the usual bags…” he swallowed hard and started but you interjected.

“Henry, stop,” your voice was hoarse, trying to do something with your hands because you felt so uncomfortable just standing there, mesmerized by his voice.

“What’s wrong, darling?” he asked, looking at you with his beautiful eyes. Since you didn’t answer he looked back to his book and continued to read.

“The stranger was not old, but his hair was alm-“ you started to get closer and closer to him. You didn’t even know what you did until you were standing by his legs. His voice was haunting you that he could play your body like an instrument.

He stopped and looked at you once again.

“Henry, please…” you whimpered, so he put down the book and pulled you into his lap. He was looking at you with so much passion that his gaze was burning every inch of your skin. Not to mention his hands… oh, his hands. He firmly and delicately grabbed your ass which was so perfectly fitting in his lap. You moved closer to him and you could feel him getting hard underneath you.

“You can turn me on just by using your voice,” you whispered into his lips and he tried to suppress a smile, but it was impossible to do.

“How turned on are you right now?” he asked, slowly unwrapping the towel off your body as he was opening a gift. He wet his lips as his fingers found your core underneath the fabric. Due to his touch, you suddenly became wetter than you already were. He just hissed, pressing his lips together.

“Please,” you whispered; you were desperately trying to get some friction to satisfy your needs. He didn’t look at you, but he took back the book and started to read again.

“The stranger was not old, but his hair was almost entirely white.” he held the book in his one hand, while he started to caress you with his other one. You moaned at the sensation, how he stretched you with his fingers, how his voice was drenched with lust. His voice was so low, he was almost grunting as he was feeling every single movement as well. You could see his biceps bulging underneath his shirt, while he was working skillfully with his hand. “Beneath his coat, he wore a worn leather jerkin laced up at the neck and shoulders.” with every single word, he pushed. Your breath became faster and stuck in your throat as he was pulling and pressing with each sentence. You buried your head in the nape of his neck, moving forward thus giving better access to him.

“As he took off his coat,” he whispered into your ear, now using his hands faster, while he started to read in a raspy voice. “those around him noticed that he carried a sword, not something unusual in itself, nearly every man in Wyzim carried a weapon, but no one carried a sword strapped to his back as if it were a bow or a quiver.”

“Henry…” you moaned. You couldn’t even understand the lines now, you were just concentrating on his voice and hand. He suddenly put down the book and grabbed your neck to press a passionate kiss to your lips. He was firm and definite.

Your bodies moved in incredible sync, pushing and pulling. You were ripping off the shirt on him, as he grabbed your tights, standing up so he could lay you on the bed.

The two of you suddenly moved away, so you had the chance to see his figure. He was so broad and big that all you wanted to do is to explore his body. After all this time you still couldn’t get bored of him, you adored his body and he knew it well as you mentioned it every time.

“Gosh, destroy me with that body,” you uttered, which was so out of context that he started to laugh.

“Wait for a little, darling,” his voice was so filled with joy that you immediately smiled as you looked at him. He was finally naked, but your body was still somewhat hidden. His whole body tensed up, as he pulled the whole towel and tossed it to the floor.

“Much better,” he growled and took his right position between your legs.

“Henry, let’s just…” you couldn’t finish your sentence as you felt his lips and tongue already on your aching desire, trying to burst from the pleasure he was giving you. Heat washed your body over, as he was using his mouth to give you the best satisfaction he could, while his fingers started to search for your boobs and playing with them. You arched, giving better access to him and couldn’t help but let out a moan as how well he used your body.

“Let me hear it, princess,” he commanded, and you started to shiver at this word. His voice opened some places in you that you didn’t know it existed. Your whole body trembled, grabbing the sheets as he was pushing you over the edge more and more.

“Let me hear how much you like it,” your breath hitched at his words. “Let me hear how much you’re mine,” he continued, replacing his tongue with one of his fingers again. “And…” he started, pulling out and then pressing in with each word. “Only, mine.” as he finished the sentence you were done too. The world stopped for a minute as your whole body started to pulsate, sudden relief and pleasure burying you over. His name was like a prayer on your lips, you mentioned it over and over again, till you somewhat regained yourself after what he gave you.

Before you could react, he was already on top of you, pressing his body to yours, while he positioned himself between your legs. He looked at you, brushing a few hair strands out of your face, while he looked down to your lips… so softly, that it almost consumed you.

Then he looked deeply into your eyes, looking after your reactions. He couldn’t find anything but deep admiration, respect, and love. And he felt the same.

“I love you,” he started, getting closer and closer to your lips. “so much,” he added, before finally pushing into you. You cried out at the sudden sensation. Even though he gave the best warm-up he could, he was so long and wide that it took a few minutes to adjust to his size. But he filled you up so deliciously.

“I’m sorry, darling,” he said, slowly and carefully moving so you could get used to it.

“It’s okay,” you whispered while you got lost in his touch. Your lips melted together, while your fingers caressed his slightly wavy hair. He was constantly touching you, make you feel appreciated, your jaw, your neck, your sides. It was the best kind of making love and no one could make you feel this way, only him.

Your second orgasm of the night already started to pool between your legs, as well as Henry’s. You could sense how his motion became a little bit sloppy and out of movement when the two of you reached the skies together.

He grunted as he reached the top, grabbing your waist which would surely live an imprint on you, but you couldn’t care less, as you approached as well. His name was in your prayers again, while he continued to move a little bit to help you ride out your orgasm as well as his.

“I love you, too,” you said it back, constantly giving soft kisses to him. “I love you,” you repeated over and over, till he started to chuckle.

“I love you too, princess,” he said in an incredibly satisfied way as he got what he wanted. You were a moaning mess for him, who got what she needed. “I should read to you more often if I know this will be the end,” he added, and you couldn’t help but laugh as well.

“I agree with you, Mr. Cavill,” you said as you moved your positions and now you were top of him. “I agree…” you murmured as you pressed another kiss to his lips, which was just the beginning of the night.

#henry cavill #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill x you #henry cavill x y/n #henry cavill imagine #henry cavill oneshot #henry cavill fanfiction #my writing #nicole speaks #aghahhghag #my writings #mightyhemsworthy #im DYIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIING #i want to know what yall think

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forestwater87 · 4 years ago

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(first apologies if this is a duplicate; I got a "bad request" notification the first time I tried to send this ask) but anyhow; I saw your tags on my Lucretia post and i am not sure how to reply to tags?? but i want to see your version of that scene! (if you still want to share) I love Lucretia very much and love to see other peoples' takes on her. anyway, I hope you are having a good day!

OH MY GOD YAY!!

I mean, cool, whatever. I guess I could share a little bit of that fic. That’s fine.

(yayayayayayayay eeeeeeeeeee)

Okay, part of me wanted to blast you with the entire chapter, but that’s 25-ish pages so I’m forcing myself to show restraint here and only include the tail end. There’s a little bit of context missing, because it’s the last section of Chapter 10 of a fic that so far has at least 32 chapters, but I think it all makes sense. It’s basically just “here’s what happened in that cycle when everybody else was a statue person” and it was, you know, not a good time. (There’s some implied Magcretia, sorry not sorry.)

Plus it’s really good. I know that sounds arrogant, but I’ve spent the last 4-5 years hating every word I’ve ever written, and I’m going to enjoy this confidence for as long as it chooses to stay.

So anyway, I hope you enjoy!

There are no line breaks on tumblr anymore so this is the part where the actual writing starts:

When the Hunger arrived, it was a relief more than anything.

Lucretia had been in the middle of defending The Starblaster from a group of marauders climbing like ants all over the dented and hastily-repaired sides of the ship, trying to figure out if she could possibly shake them all free without having to resort to the magic she’d deduced made it possible for the court to find her, when the sky turned dark and everything went gray.

And her first thought was, Oh thank Pan. (She wasn’t a religious person at all, but enough time with Merle had made the casual prayers second nature.) This nightmare was almost over. In less than an hour, she’d have her family back.

She was so close to seeing Magnus again.

“Fisher, get back in your tank!” she shouted, abandoning the shield she’d been summoning and sprinting to the helm — she’d spent so much time this year running for her life that she could race from one end of the ship to the other without becoming winded. None of the marauders had made it onto the deck, but she felt the air above her head crackle with a spell that blazed past, and as she reached the controls she heard the now-familiar amplified voice call, “You are under arrest for multiple counts of evading the authority of the co — what the hell’s going on here?”

Oh, great. All her friends were here. Now all she needed was for the boar and crocodile to make an appearance.

As the officer began to interrogate the marauders (his side of the conversation still blaring loud and clear), Lucretia took advantage of the confusion to throw the ship forward. She’d had enough foresight to keep the way in front of The Starblaster clear for just this purpose, and while a few hundred yards of ash-colored grass were flattened, she was able to get the ship into the air.

She pointed it up, away from the Hunger — up into space, into nothingness, into any universe except this one, somewhere she’d stared at and imagined but now was finally going into . . .

If she could get the damaged, shuddering ship up to speed and break through the atmosphere, that was.

If not, everything ended here.

A tentacle of swirling darkness stabbed into the ground inches away from her ship, forcing her to swerve hard and nearly lose her footing. She threw all her weight on the acceleration as more of the Hunger’s tentacles latched onto the planet, the labored roar of the engines nearly drowning out the screams of panic from the people below.

As The Starblaster rocketed over a shining city with strange statues and up into the sky, a whisper made Lucretia look around — before realizing it had come from inside her own head.

We’ve been looking for you.

She frowned, clutching at the helm even tighter. Was this some sort of new thing the Hunger could do, or one last awful trick played by this hostile planet?

Another whisper, louder and lower-pitched: You’ve been evading judgement for some time now.

A massive column of the Hunger collided with the planet directly in front of her. It was so close, she had no choice but to try and blow through it, even though that meant taking the biggest risk she had all year. But The Starblaster’s momentum was impossible to halt, and the mile-wide column was impossible to go around, so she gritted her teeth, hunched over the controls, and slammed on the accelerator.

The second she crossed into the Hunger, everything went silent and black.

Everything, that was, except for the whispers:

Lucretia, you have always let others take action and responsibility while you sit back and watch. You tell yourself this is worthwhile, but you know it is a lie. And yet when it is smartest and safest to proceed with caution, you take the most reckless path, because you refuse to admit you might be wrong. Your past sins are sloth, envy, and pride. How do you plead?

How did she plead? She didn’t plead for much of anything, except to survive long enough to fly them into the next cycle. The Hunger buffeted at the ship, wrapping smaller tentacles around its sleek metal body and trying to keep it from plowing forward; it might kill her — kill them all — but not knowing what else to do, she used Mage Hand to open the nearest window without leaving the helm and cast Fire Shield around the ship. It was weak and flickering compared to the spells of protection Merle could create, but the Hunger fell back with deafening shrieks of pain as flames licked the air around The Starblaster.

The awful whispers weren’t letting up, though, digging cold fingers deep into her mind and sending a chill shudder down through her very soul.

Your present sins are no less grave. You kill without remorse. You have allowed yourself to become vindictive and spiteful. You have not abandoned your past failings, but have added new ones since our initial audit. We see fit to add to your current list of transgressions the crime of wrath. How do you plead?

Suddenly there was a break in the shimmering darkness, a bolt of ash-gray sky widening like a tear in heavy fabric — and then she was through, outside of the Hunger and so far above the doomed planet that she couldn’t see the ground below. She let out a scream of triumph, the noise tearing like sandpaper along her exhausted and dry throat, and angled the ship until it was almost vertical. The Starblaster shot forward as though with one last burst of strength, shuddering as its engines were pushed to the absolute limit . . .

The ship suddenly jolted to a halt, mechanisms whirring like a swarm of angry bees.

Lucretia turned to the still-open window and saw the entire view had been replaced with blackness, oily-iridescent tentacles spilling into the ship as others wrapped around it. She threw all of her weight on the acceleration, but it didn’t move; then, after a single grinding moment, The Starblaster began to fly backward, pulled back toward the core of the Hunger.

She could hear its gnashing teeth.

“NO!” The word exploded out of her, coming from somewhere far below conscious thought. She abandoned the helm just long enough to run to the window, ignoring the tentacles that curled around her ankles as she pointed her wand at the offshoot of the Hunger that had its hold on her, aiming for where the base met the rest of the massive column, and shot off a burst of lightning. There was another hideous wail and the tentacles around the ship shuddered and pulled away, just a slight loosening of their incredible grip.

Her entire body shaking with terror and fury, she pointed her wand at the same spot and cast Finger of Death.

The screaming was like a sonic blast — a thousand million voices filled with rage and pain and fear — knocking her onto her back and sending her skidding across the bridge. She scrambled to her feet, stumbling over her robe and lurching to the helm. The sound of the engines returning to full blast was like the roar of a furious animal loosed from its cage, and the last of the Hunger fell back as the ship threw itself up into space. It felt like the air was shouting with every conceivable emotion.

As the panic subsided and her head cleared, she realized it wasn’t the air screaming; it was those whisperers.

So much rage. So much wrath.

No remorse.

No different than the monster she tries to flee.

They were growing louder with every word, overlapping and running together until she struggled to pick out individual phrases —

She betrays the people she supposedly loves most

She destroys a family — destroys the memory of the family

Robs them of themselves

Who has the right?

No one has the right

The sound was becoming unbearable, deafening. Her ears felt like they were leaking; she lifted her hand to one and her fingers came back covered in blood.

It didn’t make sense — it wasn’t an external sound — it wasn’t an external force, but something ripping her apart from within.

It was the sound of going mad.

At that point she was barely able to understand anything

leaves him to die in agony in a hell she helped create

takes advantage of the innocent who make the mistake of believing in her

such a sweet boy, and all you do is lie to him

do you think you can make these decisions for the world?

the heartbreak you will cause

the betrayal

pride — such unfathomable pride

the deaths you will cause

the lives you will ruin

the blood that stains your hands

coldhearted — cowardly

wrath — envy — sloth

pride

PRIDE

Our judgement is decided.

You have been found wanting.

Something hardened in her chest, calcifying her lungs and making it impossible to breathe. Lucretia doubled over, her hands scrabbling to keep the ship moving, as her flesh turned hard, brittle, the feeling like casting Stone Skin but somehow it’d gotten inside . . .

She couldn’t move her tongue. She couldn’t breathe. Blackness crowded the edge of her vision — not like she was blacking out, but like her eyes just suddenly weren’t there anymore

everything went wobbly, the universe becoming untethered just for a moment

And when it stabilized, she realized she could move again, see again. She took a deep, tremulous breath and turned back from the helm, sliding to the floor in a heap.

It was less than a second, before the I.P.R.E. crew fully materialized, but she didn’t see it happen. As soon as the surreal, smoky outlines of her friends wavered into being, she dropped her head in her hands, a sob she’d been holding back for months finally escaping her throat.

She did it.

Magnus’s hands closed around her upper arms and he gently tugged her into an embrace. She could feel the cool steel of the bridge under her knees, heard the voices of all her friends speaking all at once. She was dimly aware she was talking, mumbling nonsense to herself as she waited for the world to stop spinning.

The last thing she was aware of before slipping into unconsciousness was Magnus’s breath on her forehead and his warm fingers combing through her hair.

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florbelles · 4 years ago

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5.) things you didn't say at all - for johnlyra? (ꈍ ꒳ ꈍ✿)

thank you lovely xx did not expect this to be how this got put on main but here we are! i am deeply sorry.

prompt i. pale white horse. ( previous )

words. 1.1k (approx.)

content warning. major character death, sustained angst, ideation of pain & body horror

She didn't say it when he did.

"Of course you do, everyone does," she laughed.

And then she’d seen the shift as if she’d slapped him, the tensing jaw, the shut-down behind his eyes, the red creeping up from his chest to his neck.

"You're serious."

He might as easily have punched her. The wind went out of her completely. Her hand went to her stomach.

"Yes, I was fucking serious," he'd snapped. Stopped when he saw her face, bloodless, stunned.

"Oh," she'd whispered. "Okay."

She hadn't been able to breathe. She'd felt the heat in her face, the constriction of her throat, the panic rising in her chest.

"Oh," she whispers now.

She can't breathe. She can't breathe, she's gasping in air that chokes her, and she thinks wildly that he's suffocating too, somehow; she rips off his coat, fumbles with the buttons of his shirt, he isn't breathing, he can't, too tight, everything's too tight, his shirt, her throat, her lungs —

She looks at his mangled body and thinks oh, love, they broke it. But it's fine, you'll be fine, your body has been broken before, has it not?

"Oh," she repeats softly. "Oh, you're alright. You're alright. You're alright."

It's a prayer, now, murmured, incoherent, she's rocking, can't think, can't remember anything, cradles him against her breast and hums, feels nothing but weight in her arms and the vibrations on her lips, a half-forgotten refrain in her head, over and over, Oh Mary, we crown thee, with blossoms —

She did not tell him that night, when he'd first said it to her and she could not say it back, when she'd left the shower trembling, wet hair clinging to damp skin, thinking please, please don't let him have left, please don't let me have lost him.

I'm sorry, she did not say, I cannot say I love you, I love you too much.

She loved him then. She loved him desperately. She loved him to the point it terrified her.

She was never a woman easily terrified.

She is terrified now.

Forgive me, she never said. I only know how to love violently.

“Don’t I know you?” He’d whispered. “I know you. I see you.”

Do you think I don't know what I chose?

His eyes are open. They don't see her anymore.

She strokes his face, his slackened face. "You need to get up, love. Alright? It's over. I'm going to take care of you. We'll go to the bunker. We'll wait there."

They had done everything right.

"It's fine, see? It's me. I'm here. It's going to be alright now." It must be. It must be. "You need to get up now. I've got you. I chose you. I chose you for life."

She didn't tell him, when she did. Did not tell him on their wedding night, when their hands were clasped and dripping blood; did not tell him before, when she'd looked at him and said, "are you not my husband? Am I not your wife?"

Then, even then.

"I love you," she whispers. "Is that what you needed? Is that what you need to hear? You knew that." she shakes him lightly. "You knew that."

Her hand rests just beneath his jaw, the place it always does, just at his pulse point. Because she could never sleep without it, without the steady beating, the blood pumping through his veins under her fingers.

Because it meant he was alive, hers and alive.

It isn't there.

Not by his throat, not above his heart, below his collarbone, the place she presses her lips when he sleeps, the place she inked her name when she married him.

Gone. Gone.

His skin is turning cold, already so cold, how long has it been, hours, hours, his lips are turning white.

He is not getting up.

"Okay." Her voice cracks. Her lips tremble. "Okay. That's alright. It's alright."

She lowers herself, slowly, slowly, down to the cold earth next to him, feels the wet grass beneath her cheek, stares into his sightless eyes, traces the crook of his nose. Still his nose.

She always loved it best.

She nearly told him, once.

"I wish I loved you less."

She'd whispered it once while he was asleep.

But that wasn't true. She never wished it, not even when she thought it would consume her, kill her, kill them both.

Let it, she'd thought. Let it.

And now it has.

It isn't possible for someone to survive this, she knows that, now, no one can feel this pain and live. It's mounting in her chest and she can't scream, can't release it, because her lungs have left her long ago; she's choking on her pain, it's in her throat, it's strangling her.

It is possible, she realizes, to be in too much pain to cry, to have a searing agony inside her chest that will not escape her; this is not the sweet relief of suffering, physical suffering.

That is the surest sign of life, and she is not of the living. Not anymore.

This is beyond any atonement she could conjure, this is beyond any pain she could inflict.

She feels it. The blood roaring in the back of her skull. She feels it in her spine.

Then I heard a loud voice from the temple saying to the seven angels —

She wants to be sliced open and shown her insides, the way she's shown others. That would be release. That would be an ending. That would be physical, tangible, true.

Mercy. That would be mercy.

There will be no mercy for her.

Go your ways —

Her eyes stay fixed open. She will not look away.

If she looks away she will not recognize him when she looks back.

If she looks away he will be lost to her.

— and pour out the vials of the wrath of God upon the earth.

She knows it isn't him anymore, not really, knows he's gone, knows it's only a stiffening of the limbs, knows it's only death, but his arms tighten around her, they do. They do.

I'm sorry, she doesn't say. I loved you too much. I loved you better than God.

And so he took you from me.

Her chest breaks, she feels it, and this is her soul leaving her body, this is how it ends, this is how she dies.

Finished. It's finished.

The seal is broken.

Dawn breaks and he is not him, and she is not her, and it's time for the earth to take them.

Her fingers sink into the dirt, into the cold earth, frozen in November.

She begins to dig.

#YIKETH!#oc: lyra fairbanks #prompt tag #x: from eden #tw blood #YES I KNOW THAT THIS IS PROMPT I BUT PROMPT II IS FIRST CHRONOLOGICALLY #v: she wrote in blood

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