#11/10 bloke

[screamingoverfiction]

So, This Is Love?

Fred Weasley x f!-reader. House mentioned as Slytherin but not super important. Reader isn't described except as having dimples. 18+ Smut ahead. Minors DNI! Not Edited.

I totally didn't start writing this over the summer and then forget about it in my drafts...totally.

Word Count: 4.25k

"You seriously don't have a date?" Madelyn questioned, raising a brow as she continued curling her blonde hair.

"I don't need one. I'll just pick up some bloke on the sidelines if I want to dance," Y/n said, smoothing her dress and checking herself in the mirror a final time.

Y/n had been looking forward to the masquerade ball for a while, eager to be unknown to all, free from her burdens, and able to dance her heart out without worry.

She was now descending the stairs into the common room, her face concealed by a beautiful masquerade mask. Her lips broke into a wide grin. No one could recognize her.

She practically skipped down the halls, not caring about anything or anyone, happy to be free from her life, even for only a night.

When she arrived at the great hall, her eyes went wide in awe. It was beautiful. Colorful banners hung around every wall, and the floor was converted into a ballroom.

She descended the stairs, still smiling from ear to ear. She was unable to hide her joy. It was like she was a little girl again.

She stepped into the great hall, eyes scanning over the seemingly hundreds of students, and she didn't know any of them. It was exhilarating. 

As she looked out the room, her eyes connected with someone else's, a tall boy with beautiful brown eyes and fiery hair wearing a black mask.

She tilted her head with a small smile, and he copied her, the grin on his lips making her heart jump. Y/n raised a brow, and he once again copied her, the silly, childish smile on his lips making her laugh.

She bit back a smirk, glancing around before wading through the crowd, her heart skipping a beat when he made his way toward her as well.

They met in the middle, staring at each other behind masks, neither knowing who the other was. 

"Care to dance?" The boy started, offering his hand, a sly smile twitching on his lips. She knew that voice, somehow- somewhere, but she just couldn't place it.

"You sound familiar," Y/n said, placing her hand in his, her heart rate increasing as he positioned his other on her waist, starting to dance.

His smile widened. He twirled Y/n around to the soft orchestral tune of the song, eyes never leaving her. He didn't know a girl this beautiful existed.

"So do you," He spoke, hand returning to her waist, gaze flickering down to her perfect lips before snapping back to her eyes.

"What's your name?" The boy asked between songs, his brown hues staring deep into hers.

"That ruins the fun. Don't you think?" Y/n laughed, flashing him her infamous grin, her dimples shining through. 

He swore he knew that smile, those dimples…

"I suppose you're right," The boy replied, smirking, sliding his hand into hers once again as the song started.

They danced for what seemed like hours, song after song, asking each other various questions between the music, wishing the moment would never end. Yet, by the end of the night. Neither had a clue who the other was.

"Attention, students," A booming voice Y/n knew as Dumbledore called out over the room, stopping everyone in their tracks.

The boy and Y/n looked up. Brows furrowed in confusion at the headmaster's words.

"At exactly 11 p.m., your masks will no longer be enchanted. You are free to leave before then if you wish to remain anonymous, or the dance will continue for thirty minutes afterward if you wish to stay," Dumbledore announced, causing gasps to leave almost everyone's lips.

Y/n quickly whirled to see the clock. It read 10:49 p.m. She had ten minutes to leave.

She turned back, meeting the boy's gaze. His eyes were unreadable, his handsome features locked in an expression of indecisiveness. 

"I guess we have a decision to make," Y/n said quietly, swallowing thickly and pursing her lips.

They stared at each other silently for a moment, neither having the courage to speak until he finally opened his mouth.

"You can leave if you want," He said, his eyes still curious about who she was, but he wouldn't force it.

Y/n bit her cheek in thought, reminiscing the night, how he made her laugh, his charming and witty personality, and his somehow proper yet clumsy dancing. And it was a plus that he was divinely handsome, even from the little features she could see.

"I don't think I want to," She finally answered, her lips forming into a slight smile.

His eyes visibly lightened, breaking out into a grin; he glanced around before tugging her through the crowd, hand in hand.

He led her outside near the archway into the courtyard, his hand still tightly gripping hers.

"Privacy," He spoke, eyes flickering to her lips, his adam's apple bobbing in his throat as he swallowed.

Y/n stepped closer until they were almost chest to chest, her heart beating incredibly fast. Her hands were resting on his shoulders, eyes unable to leave his.

She glanced at the clock behind him: 10:59. It was now or never.

"Kiss me," She whispered quickly, surprising even herself with the desperation in her voice. 

He didn't hesitate to lean down, crashing his lips against hers, his hand cupping her cheek as the masks magically disappeared from their faces.

But neither pulled back, too entranced by the kiss to even remember to breathe. It was as if their lives depended on the sweet taste of the other's lips.

The boy leaned further into her, his hand on her hips, drawing her in. Y/n parted her lips, welcoming him with equal passion, her hand traveling from his shoulder to the back of his neck, lacing her fingers in his soft hair.

After what felt like hours of kissing, they slowly pulled away, equally terrified of what was to come.

Y/n couldn't open her eyes. Their foreheads rested against each other while they waited for their courage to brew.

He was the first to step back, and then Y/n opened her eyes, finally locking onto his beautiful- beautiful face. 

Her jaw went slack, her expression paling as she stared at his equally mortified face.

Frederick Weasley.

The infamous prankster of Gryffindor, along with his twin. Notorious for picking on Slytherins, Y/n included- not that it wasn't reciprocated, but still. 

Fred Weasley.

"You've got to be fucking with me," Y/n said, stumbling back, an expression of horror taking over her features.

She ran her hands along her face and through her hair, eyes wide while she tried to process exactly what was happening.

Fred could only stand there, shocked, his mouth unable to form a coherent sentence. He wasn't sure of anything anymore.

“Anyone but you!" Y/n said again with a groan covering her face and glancing back, making sure that she wasn't hallucinating.

"I should've known from the dimples," Fred finally said with a dry laugh, rubbing the back of his neck and looking away, swallowing thickly.

"You get that if anyone finds out about this, we're dead," Y/n hissed, pointing a malicious finger in his direction.

Fred rolled his eyes, clenching his jaw and leaning against the nearby pillar, an expression of deep thought on his face. His freckles seemed to shine in the moonlight.

"Don't say fucking a word," She spoke sternly, not looking back as she walked away.

"You know, for a second, I thought... Fred sighed, shaking his head, his posture tense.

Y/n froze in her tracks, her eyes softening slightly before returning to a scowl. She turned around, their eyes connected, and she couldn’t keep the mask up any longer.

"In another world, Weasley," Y/n said quietly, but he heard. She could tell by the way his features softened.

He huffed a sour laugh, rubbing his jaw and then running that same hand through his messy red hair, flashing her a quick smile. His brown eyes were lighter now, a twinge of that mischief she knew him for.

"See you around, Y/n," Fred called back, lowering his head and walking in the other direction.

Y/n rolled her eyes, biting back her smile as she walked down the corridor, back to the Slytherin common room, and away from Fred.

Or so she thought.

Before she'd even reached the portrait door entrance, he was sprinting down the hallway, but Y/n didn't hear his rapidly approaching footsteps until he was directly next to her.

She turned her head as he slowed to a stop, cheeks tinted red from running, breathing heavily. His eyes bore an unreadable emotion.

"What are you-?" She started to ask, but his lips were on hers before she could finish, his hands on either side of her face.

The kiss was short and plain, simply testing the waters. He pulled back, swallowing thickly and searching her eyes for any sign of anger, ready to take a slap if needed.

Y/n blinked once, scoffing slightly.

"You're an idiot," She breathed, shaking her head, grabbing him by the collar, and yanking him down until their lips connected.

Fred kissed her back almost immediately, one hand cupping her cheek and the other resting on her hip.

Y/n knew it was wrong, knew that she was putting them both in danger, but oh, how she felt so warm in his embrace.

Her mind was screaming for her to pull away and slap him across the face, but her heart, her body-her soul wouldn't let her.

Y/n always thought there was no room for anyone in her heart except herself, but he was slowly changing her mind, cracking open the stone casing of her soul and weaseling his way inside without lifting a pinky. Many suitors had tried and failed to break down her walls for years, and he'd done it in three hours.

Gathering her thoughts, she pulled away, wide-eyed and dazed. Her chest rose and fell with each rapid breath she took.

Fred stared into her eyes with a soft, warm sincerity she'd only seen in movies and read about in fictitious novels, and now it was real. She wasn’t thinking coherently anymore. She wanted him, and he wanted her. 

Why couldn’t they have each other?

They were practically running through the Slytherin common room, trying and failing to shield Fred’s identity from the other students.

“I’m pretty sure at least three first years saw us,” Fred whispered to her as they reached the top of the steps.

“Fuck. I’ll just scare them into not snitching,” Y/n sighed, peering down the hall before unlocking her dorm.

Fred laughed at her mumbles, smiling wickedly as she pulled him inside the dorm with her by his tie.

Their lips met before the door was even shut. Fred had to quickly push it shut before deepening the kiss.

His hands were on her hips, inviting her into his arms, which she eagerly accepted. Fred spun them around, pressing her back to the door.

Y/n couldn’t suppress the small, almost whimper-like gasp that escaped her lips when his lips trailed down her jaw.

Fred smirked against her skin, softly kissing and biting her exposed throat, leaving hickeys and open-mouthed kisses wherever he could.

Her breaths were more so moans and pants at this point. Her eyes closed to bask in the pleasure of his lips.

He skillfully lowered to his knees, propping her legs over his shoulders, her dress bunched to almost her waist.

Their eyes met again. Hers looked down at him through hazy lust and his piercing into hers with burning desire.

“May I?” Fred asked, gently tracing circles and kissing her inner thighs, waiting for her permission.

Y/n quickly nodded, the yearning heat in her core already pooling wetness in her panties.

“I need words, angel. Please,” He said again. Those warm pools of brown were entirely focused. Not a single thought behind them wasn’t about her.

Y/n closed her eyes, knocking her head back and swallowing thickly before slipping her eyes to his again.

“Yes, Fred, please,” She whispered, choking down her pride and letting herself fall apart for him.

Fred smirked, lowering himself further down and cupping her heat. The sudden jolt of her body and the gasp she emitted made his cock strain against his trousers.

The apex of his palm pressed into her clothed clit, making her bite back moans. His lips attacked her inner thighs, marking hickeys, and then kissing them better.

“So wet, and I haven’t even touched you,” He murmured into the soft flesh of her thighs. Oh, how he could die a happy man between her legs.

Y/n hand flew to his hair, lacing her fingers in the red strands as his lips made their way to the place she wanted them most.

His fingers hooked in the waistband of her underwear, slowly pulling them down in an almost teasing manner.

Y/n clenched her jaw, glaring down at Fred as he smirked back, his grin widening at her disdain.

“If you want me to do something, all you have to do is ask nicely,” He spoke, quirking a brow and rolling his tongue along his cheek to hide his enjoyment.

Y/n huffed, shaking her head and shoving her shame into a deep dark corner.

“Do something…please,” She replied in an almost whisper.

“What was that? Speak up, love,” Fred said, even though he’d heard her every word.

“Oh fuck off you-” She started, but he cut her off with his tongue, slipping it inside her aching slit.

Y/n let out a loud, gasping moan, knocking her head against the door and arching herself further into Fred.

“Shh. I thought you didn’t want the others hearing us?” Fred cooed, a hint of mischief lacing his tone.

His tongue worked against her clit, flicking over the sensitive little bud while he slipped a finger inside her entrance, adding a second once after a few moments, curling them up against her g-spot.

“Fuck you,” Y/n breathed, her mouth hanging open as his tongue and fingers worked magic between her legs.

Fred smiled into her cunt, hitting the perfect places with each stroke and thrust, tongue lapping up the juices of her arousal as they leaked from her needy cunt. One of her hands was in his hair, the other covering her mouth to muffle the erotic sounds threatening to spill from her lips.

Suddenly, the knob beside her hip began to turn, making her quickly uncover her mouth and stop whoever it was from coming inside.

Fred quickly shot up at the noise, his eyes going wide.

“What the hell-? Y/n, are you in there?” Madelyn called from the other side of the door, jiggling the knob again.

“Uh, yeah, but I’m uh-” Y/n tried to think of an excuse, but nothing came to mind. She looked down at Fred for help, but his lips simply turned into an evil smirk. Pressing a finger to his lips before continuing to eat her out, flattening his tongue and running it up her slit to her clit before closing his lips around the nub and sucking.

Y/n gasped out, clasping a hand over her mouth before uncovering it to hold the door again.

“Hold on. Are you getting fuck-”

“Madelyn, I think you should find someplace else to sleep!” Y/n shouted, cutting Madelyn off.

Y/n heard a snort from the other side, along with a mumble of something incoherent.

“Enjoy your night, Y/n. Don’t get pregnant,” Madelyn snickered, walking down the hall without another word.

“You are a complete and utter imbecile-” Y/n hissed at Fred, moaning out in pleasure as his fingers hit her g-spot, her gummy walls clenching around his lanky digits as she neared her orgasm.

The knot in her core was tightening faster than she could comprehend. It was burning and coiling- seconds away from breaking.

“Freddie-” She whimpered his name, her fingers tightly gripping his hair, making him smile against her cunt, his brown eyes staring up at her with mischief and lust.

The knot in her stomach snapped. Her legs tried to close around his head as her back arched against the door. The waves of pleasure coursing through her veins enough to make her eyes roll into her head.

Fred forced her legs apart, letting her ride out her high, his tongue lazily stroking her clit as her thighs shook with pleasure, chin dripping with her juices.

Y/n swallowed, her chest rapidly rising and falling as she struggled to regain her breath. One of her hands was still in his hair, loosely grasping it.

She lowered her eyes, looking at him through a hazy lidden gaze. His hair was messy and falling over his forehead, his tie was now loose, hanging half-hazardously around his neck, and his eyes were staring into hers with pure passion and devotion.

“Hi,” Y/n spoke. Her mascara was runny and smudged, and her forehead had a slight shine of sweat, but Fred thought she was beautiful. He was completely and utterly enamored.

Fred laughed, smiling up at her and shaking his head, the corners of his eyes creasing as he smiles.

“Hi,” He replied, setting her carefully back onto her legs and rising to his full height, looking down at her once again.

There was silence for a moment, and then Y/n brought her hand to the back of his neck, connecting their lips.

Fred kissed her back, lifting her into his arms again and carrying her to the closest bed.

“Ah- no, this is Madelyn’s,” Y/n quickly said.

Fred rolled his eyes and carried her to the other, setting her down before hovering overtop and kissing her deeply.

Y/n started unbuttoning his shirt, fumbling with the buttons until she could remove it from his body.

Fred threw the shirt, not caring where it ended up. Y/n’s hands ran down his torso, tracing from his broad shoulders to his abs. It was safe to say he was muscular and toned with muscles, but not obnoxiously.

Y/n kissed along his jawline as he unzipped her dress, leaving a hickey directly on his jaw.

“If you get me a detention-” Fred muttered as he started to drag her dress down her shoulders. 

“Oh, hush,” Y/n spoke, tenderly kissing the fresh bruise and leaning back to admire her work.

If she were a patient woman, she’d take her time to kiss every freckle dotted across his pale skin, but her mind was clouded with lust. She’d kiss them later.

Y/n finished taking off her dress, not caring where it fell to. Fred was kissing along her throat, one hand snaking around her back, unclipping her bra with concerning skill and tossing it to the side.

“Done this much?” She inquired, smirking when he lifted his gaze to hers.

“I’ve had my fair share of practice,” Fred replied, matching her teasing energy. Reaching forward to her face, he brushed a stray piece of her hair away, smiling softly.

Their eye contact felt intimate, as if it meant more than a night of lust. 

“Fred,” Y/n said quietly, her hand reaching up, fingers dancing along his jaw.

“Yeah?” Fred answered. Even if he didn’t know it, he was completely, and utterly hers. It was as if she’d enchanted him.

“Your eyes are beautiful,” Y/n whispered, brushing her thumb along his cheekbone. Her pupils dilated, longingly staring into his eyes, his beautiful eyes.

Fred swallowed, adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as his mouth opened to speak- but no words left his lips. He couldn’t answer her. There were no words to describe how he felt.

So instead of speaking, he dipped down, connecting their lips again, kissing her with so much force and passion that their teeth clashed together, but neither seemed to care.

Her makeup was a lost cause at this point. Her lipstick was smeared everywhere, across his lips, along his cheek, and down his jawline.

His hands ran along her body, massaging her chest, his mouth leaving hers to start kissing her breasts, tongue flicking over sensitive nipples, teeth nipping softly.

“Oh- Fred-” She mewled, her eyes squeezed tightly shut, hand lacing into his hair, small sharp whimpers flying from her lips.

Fred groaned as she reached down to his trousers, her fingers hooking into his belt loops and pulling him even closer.

He skillfully unbuckles his belt with concerning ease, tossing it to the floor and returning his lips to hers.

Y/n pushed her hips up against Fred’s bulge, still covered by his boxers, and he couldn’t help but rasp out a low noise from his throat, almost a moan.

Y/n slid her hands down his toned abdomen, her nails lightly scratching his v-line as she dipped her fingers into the waistband of his boxers, starting to tug them down impatiently.

Fred lets out a breathy laugh at her impatience and quickly helps her pull his boxers off, freeing his already-hardened cock. The red tip leaking pre-cum.

Y/n’s eyes widen slightly. She expected him to be above average, but not this big- he was at least 8.5 inches in length with a pretty sizable amount of girth as well as a slight curve to the right. 

Fred noticed her expression and laughed, taking her chin in his hand and bringing her lips back to his as he hoisted one of her legs up over his shoulder, the head of his cock teasingly rubbing up and down her slit, bumping at the hood of her clit.

Y/n let out a soft whine, biting her lip and pressing her cheek against Fred’s freckled shoulder as she bucks her hips against his dick, practically begging for him to thrust inside. 

“Fred, please-” Y/n says breathlessly, her leg hooking around him.

Fred, detecting her neediness, kisses her on the cheek before slowly and gently easing his cock into her wet and aching pussy, but no matter how ready she thought she was the stretch of his size made her tense up. 

“Fuck- you’re tight. You gotta relax f’me, sweetheart,” Fred says through gritted teeth, the squeezing of her walls around his cock almost enough to make him burst on the spot.

Y/n lets out a shaky breath, adjusting to his size and letting out a moan as he pushes all the way in, her insides feeling so full as he starts to move. 

Fred thrusts in and out of her cunt at a moderate pace, not wanting to hurt her by being too rough. It was her first time taking a cock this large.

The head of his cock nudges against her g-spot just right, causing her to let out a string of whimpers and whines, occasionally bumping against her cervix, which was only slightly painful. His pelvis grinding against her clit in just the right way to stimulate the bud.

“F-Faster-” Y/n says in an exasperated voice, needing Fred to go faster, her second orgasm already building in her stomach, the white-hot feeling causing her to curl her toes

Fred doesn’t hesitate to follow her command, picking up the pace and groaning against her neck as she clenches around his cock, telling him she’s close to finishing, as is he.

“Fuck- Y/n. I don’t think I can last much longer-” Fred manages to say through heavy breaths, sweat rolling down his skin as he grips the sheets until his knuckles go white.

The sound of skin slapping together consumes the room as Fred’s thrusts become more sloppy and desperate as he nears his orgasm, his breathing uneven and rushed.

“Ah- Fred, I’m coming-” Y/n says, her climax building up fast and crashing over her hard, back arching, hips spasming against his as her legs shake. Her eyes seemed to roll into the back of her head as the hot waves of pleasure hit her like lightning.

Fred finishes a few seconds after, barely managing to pull out before he comes, hot ropes of white cum shooting from his cock onto her stomach as he rides out his high.

Fred collapses beside her, both of them breathing heavily as they recover from the previous activity. 

Fred is the first to rise, grabbing his boxers and sliding them on before kissing Y/n softly on the forehead. He walks to the bathroom and grabs a towel, wetting it with warm water. 

The feeling of a warm damp towel on her stomach jolts Y/n from her little trance, and she looks up at for a moment Fred as he cleans her up before laying back down with a tired sigh. 

Fred simply smiles and sighs, biting his cheek as he gets up and starts to root through her closet for a shirt she can wear to bed, finding one with a picture of a Hippogriff on it and then handing it to her so she can slip it on.

Y/n lays in her bed, makeup a disaster and her hair a mess, but Fred thinks she could never be more beautiful.

“Are you staying?” Y/n asks from her bed, finally managing to sit up, drinking the glass of water Fred had fetched for her. 

“I can if you want me to,” Fred says, stopping in the middle of gathering his clothes, not expecting her to want him to stay.

Y/n bites her lip and shifts a little on the bed her face flushing slightly as she murmurs. “I want you to,”

----

Hope you all enjoyed it and have a wonderful day!

[the-kr8tor]

Starlight and Seafoam

Pairing: Pirate! Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Word count: 6.9k

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader, TW blood, CW food mentions, TW death, CW injury.

Between the Devil and the Sea Masterlist

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CHAPTER 10 >>> CHAPTER 11

The street is bustling and teeming with people as you pay for the new mortar and pestle that you've been saving for a long time. The coins clink on the counter as you drop it on the wood. You hate to see your hard earned money go but you're glad that you have your very own mortar and pestle in exchange.

“Careful now it's heavy.” The old shopkeeper smiles at you.

“I've got it, thank you!” You heave the heavy stone in your small arms, waddling towards the door, struggling to open it with both arms occupied, a kind gentleman opens it for you and you smile politely, your mother didn't raise you to be rude after all. “Thank you, sir.”

“You're welcome.” The stranger says with a gruff voice, his large frame casts a shadow over you, fancy clothes making you gawk. Gold threads sewed into the finest cloth. His brown eyes only spares you a quick once over, tufts of chestnut hair flowing in the breeze, chiseled face turning towards the shopkeeper.

Walking out of the store, the door shuts closed behind you. Eyes still glued to the rich man, someone taps you on your shoulder.

“Careful, kid, that one can and will buy you if you don't stop gawking.” Sherry, an old neighbor of yours warns you. Her husband shushes her, eyes rolling at her gossiping. “Don't you shush me, Mickey, I'm right y’know!”

“The bloke's right there, love!” Mickey whisper shouts, he turns towards a customer, scowl disappearing, smiling politely over the vegetable stand.

You notice some people whisper too, from the butcher across the street to the florist on your right. Their main topic is the mysterious rich man in the store you just left.

Sherry clicks her tongue, slyly beckoning you over, whispering close in your ear. She smells of lettuce and cigars.

“Listen, girl,” you nod, trusting the adult. “you better get home ‘cause word around town is that wanker right there is a skin trader.” She says the word with malice. “See his fancy dancy clothes? He got ‘em from selling children like yourself.”

“What's a skin trader?” You ask, eyes wide and concerned. The mortar and pestle gets heavier in your arms.

“Didn't dear old mum warn you about ‘em?”

“Stop scaring the poor child, Sher.” her husband warns, busy with a line of customers while his wife gossips with a thirteen year old.

“This ‘ere is a private conversation, Mickey!” She turns back towards you, “Jus’ be careful, kiddo. I like you, you've got ‘em magic hands with them herbs. I don't want you gettin' sold off to a noble house, yeah?” you nod, “Stay away from him and you'll be good.” Shrugging, she pats your head.

“I don't think my mum would sell me.” You say with a small voice, fingers grazing over your necklace that's tucked under your blouse.

She scoffs, “tell that to little John, he was sold off for a bag of coins a few days ago.”

“Sher.” Mickey warns as your blood runs cold.

You know John, you've played with him a few times even though he runs his mouth like a sailor. Now you know why you haven't seen him around town. Nerves alight, you stay away from the shop's door.

Home calls for you, but you still have other errands to run.

“I've gotta go, thank you, Sherry.” You start to walk away with heavy strides and worry written on your face. She won't do that right? You thought. She loves me like her own, she can't— won't do that to me.

Mickey calls you back, “oh Y/N, grab a few of these for you and your mum, yeah? I know they're your favourite.” he smiles, putting a handful of cherry tomatoes inside the mortar.

“Thank you!” You smile, “It's her favourite too!”

“Aye, I know.”

His wife slaps him upside the head, “the fuck you mean ‘you know?’”

You leave before you get stuck in the middle of their argument. In your peripheral, you see the well dressed man leave the store without buying anything, he walks over to Sherry and Mickey. You don't stay long to hear their conversation.

—

Despite hurrying home, you end up walking towards the cabin with the sun already setting. Leaves crunch under your foot as you yawn, but your smile stays on your lips, happy enough that you have your newly purchased instrument in your arms, even though it's extremely heavy combined with the old canvas bags on your shoulder full of supplies you and your mother needed for the rest of the month.

Finally seeing the small cabin makes you weary, wanting to lay down in bed until she calls you for supper. Based on the smoke billowing from the chimney, you guess she already started cooking for dinner.

The heavy door creaks open as you push it open with your shoulder. “Mum, Mickey gave us cherry tomatoes! And you can't believe what I just heard—”

You freeze in the doorway, your mortar and pestle falls in your arms, clanging loudly on the wooden floor, it splits in half as the cherry tomatoes tumbles out of the mortar.

There he stands, the same well dressed man handing your guardian that you call mother, loved like your own mother, hugged like your own mother a bag of coins. They both pause in their movements.

The man cages you with his stare, an unreadable expression on his face, hazel eyes reflecting the fire in the hearth, turning it to crimson.

“Mum?” you frown, tears brimming in your eyes.

She can't, she won't but she still did it.

“Y/N, this is—”

“How could you?” You ask, broken, heart left split in half like the mortar on the floor.

She looks at you apologetically, hand reaching towards you instinctively. Your home seems to suffocate you.

The man exhales sharply like he's in pain. “I passed by her a few hours ago. She looks just like—”

You don't let him finish.

Bolting away with only the clothes on your back and the spare change in your pockets, you run as fast as you can without looking back.

“Love?” Hobie says it tenderly that you thought he was calling for someone else, again. “Love?” He calls a bit louder.

Hobie wakes you up back to reality, back to his hold. His thumb wipes the tears sliding down your cheeks, eyes glazing over. He sits on the edge of the pool, the fire next to him warming his drenched clothes whilst you float with only his hand anchoring you near him.

“I'm sorry.” He whispers.

You twist around in the water, arms placed on the ground next to him, fingers twisting around the frayed thread on his pants. Chin resting atop your elbow, you watch the fire crackle and burn timber.

Hobie's hands slide over to your nape, caressing softly, hoping it would make up for what you've lived through. He knows it doesn't, but he still wants to try.

After minutes of silence and listening to your soft sniffles, the warmth of the afternoon sun and fire illuminating your deep frown and tear stained cheeks. Hobie breaks the quiet.

“MJ—” for a second you thought he's calling you by her name again, and it shatters your heart all over again. “She…she was—”

“Don't tell me just because I told you mine.” You look up at him with sadness underneath your eyes. “Only tell me when you're ready.” He nods, squeezing you in thanks. “I told you mine because someone else has to know, just in case—”

Hobie knits his eyebrows. “In case of what?”

In case I die, in case I decide to stay on the island and you leave. In case, in case. You have a lot of them but you spare him the heartache. He'd do the same. Someone has to know your story, that's how you can live forever, you remember her old words.

You shake your head, “nothing.”

He understands, “alright, keep your secrets.” flicking his eyes down, he observes your fingers mindlessly playing with its thread. “Stop tryin’ to take my trousers off, you can just ask.”

You chuckle softly, the first time he's heard it since you sobbed in his arms a week ago.

“You wish, Hobie.”

He dramatically clasps his hands together, eyes closed like he's in prayer. “I wish Y/N would just ask me to take my trousers off.” He laughs, almost not finishing his own joke because of it.

You pinch his leg, earning a yelp from the pirate captain. “You always say something that ruins the moment.”

“You were chuffed though”

“Mm-hmm.”

He looks towards the beach right in between the trees. “It's finally low tide. C’mon, scuttlebutt, I've got somethin' to show you.” He stands up, giving you a helping hand.

“I swear if it's another pair of crabs fucking—”

“That was one time, get up or we might get stranded.”

“We're already stranded.” he frowns at your words.

You've been down since the night you cried in his arms. He's worried, properly so, used to the embers in you, used to the loud banter, it's only right that he worries. You're on your last legs, everything that has happened managed to catch up to you, and for him it's crawling up his neck like a swarm of ants, biting and nipping at him. But you're the priority, his priority, if you fall then he would tumble harder, landing on his face with a sickening crunch.

He doesn't mind, not finding it cumbersome, because you'd do the same for him too. Or he hopes you will.

Hobie has tried everything to make you feel better, caught fish the right way even though it made his blood boil with impatience and frustration. Shot at a seagull with the last of his bullets for a variety of meat that only made you sob for how tough it was. Not even chocolate can brighten your mood nowadays. He even postponed leaving the island until you're back to your usual self. But he knows you two can't stay here forever or the ants might finally reach his head, gnawing at his cheek, eating through his skin. Or worse, kill the fire inside you.

As a last resort, he has thought of a plan, although it's a gamble, a toss of a coin, whether or not it might make you feel worse or better then it all depends on how he acts. Hope is his main choice of weapon yet hope can kill you too.

Hobie huffs, crouching down to face you. His voice is soft. “We're not stranded, we're leaving tomorrow but before we do I have somethin’ to show you.” You look up at him with a frown.

You don't even want to leave anymore. What's waiting for you once you get on land? Nothing, nothing's waiting for you, just more longing for a family you might have and you might never have. And you're frightened at what awaits you.

“Do you want to really leave?” You ask forlornly.

“As much as I love our days here surviving, we have to leave eventually.” He's not sure either, he wants to stay with you but he has responsibilities to the crew and you. He knows you can't stay here or he might never see the fire blaze inside you again. “All I know is my crew might be waitin’ for us, yeah? Now get up.”

Might and Us, the words are a mind killer for you recently.

“Y/N, I know it's hard,” he cups the back of your head. “But you have to stand up, could you do that for me? I'll walk with you the entire time, I promise.”

“What if—?”

“Don't, remember what I told you? Don't let ‘em kill you for the second time.” His eyes bore into you. “Please? C’mon you even got me sayin’ please.”

With an exhale, you manage to clasp your hand in his. Hobie lifts you up to your feet. Water sloshes as you leave the pool, clothes drenched, air making you shiver.

“You hang around me too much.” Hand still in his, he leads you out to the eastern side of the island. “You've become too polite.”

“Is that supposed to be horrible?” Hobie takes his hand away for a moment to grab his vest that's hanging from a branch. “You're not even that polite.” he drapes it over your shoulders, taking your hand back in his hand.

Your heart thuds loudly in your chest, his scent clinging to you like the heat on your cheeks. You put your arms inside, wearing his vest proudly like a medal. Laying your cheek on his shoulder, he laces his fingers around yours, squeezing it tenderly.

It all seems natural to you now, all the wordless affection and care that you both act upon. You know this won't last the moment you two leave the island. So you savour it as much as you can, letting all of it linger in your mind, tucking it away until you need to relive it along the way.

“I'm polite,” you walk on soft leaves to grainy sand, the low tide providing a way towards a smaller island with rocky terrain. The sun beams just behind it, it's a beautiful sight but Hobie's eyes are on you. “If I want to.”

“Sure you are.”

He moves your intertwined hands behind him so he could exchange it with his unoccupied hand, holding you close. Like a moth to a flame, you half embrace him, hand on top of his waist, grasping softly at his skin, memorizing every indent. His warmer hand rests atop yours, while the other has managed to snake around your shoulder, pulling you impossibly closer to him.

Like broken pieces of a shattered glass, you fit together.

Hobie drowns in all of you. Your scent and touch leaving a mark on him, not like a scar that says that you've hurt him in the past, no, it's much more like a wound, a wound that he'd gladly let fester just so he can revisit you, revisit how you look like when you smile or cry, revisit how your soft palms touches his marred flesh.

He'd poke, prod and bleed the wound just to feel your touch again.

It's a lot harder to walk entangled together on the sandy bridge that connects your island to the other, but you two don't seem to mind as you leave your footprints on the sand.

“We have a couple of hours to explore before high tide or we'll get stuck here for an entire day.”

Would that be so bad?

You hum, “explore what?” Voice muffled by his shirt, he rubs softly at your upper arm, warming you.

“You'll see, I know you'll like it.”

“Great, you're gonna kill me.” You joke monotonously.

“Never,” he whispers into your hair. “I'd do it on our island instead.”

You chuckle, “how would you do it?”

“Stake to the heart.” You almost didn't understand him whilst his face is buried in your hair. “Classic.”

“Or you could choke me with the pomegranate seeds.”

“You'd like that, huh?” you can feel his smirk atop your head and you swear he kissed you faintly like a feather landing on you.

“I don't mind dying by fruit. Better yet, death by chocolate.”

“I'd mind, it would be hard to do that. Just think of the bloody logistics.” you two stop walking, finally reaching the tiny patch of land.

“For a second there I thought you didn't want me to die.” He leans away, hand still clasped in yours.

“That too.” You smile at him genuinely. Hobie enters the crevice in the wall, jagged rocks against his calloused hands. “C’mon then.” He holds his hand out to you and you don't hesitate to take it.

“Oh you're definitely gonna kill me.”

His laugh bounces around the cavern as you two shimmy towards the light at the far end of the tight alcove. Darkness soon envelops your vision. His piercings shine, acting as your guide. Like a ship to a lighthouse.

“It's a bit dark, Hobie.” Your voice echoes, concern laced in your voice. Not questioning your trust in him but concerned for what the dark could reveal to you.

“I've got you, just keep holding on to me, yeah?”

You sniff a reply, the dampness from the stone makes your nose itch from the musk.

Your feet splashes on a puddle, almost yelping at the sudden wetness. He holds on to you tighter while the rocks scratch at your back.

Hobie pauses before making way for you to pass through, making sure you don't trip on the way out.

The light almost blinds you as you finally make it to the end. Eyes adjusting, you squint at Hobie's gleeful face.

“We're here.”

Just behind Hobie is a massive ship, half of its hull is missing, mast broken, white sails fluttering aimlessly. There's something eerie about it, from how the sun's light filters through the cracks in the cavern ceiling, to the chipping golden paint that decorates the sides; barnacles have made a home on the broken bottom and crabs skittering away to its crevices. The sodden wood is inflated from the currents, wear and tear evident on its oak. It's gorgeously morbid when you think about the people who might've perished right there.

“Whose ship is this?” Your words echoes and bounces off the cave. You'd be lying if you didn't think it was the revenge for a split second, if not for its unfamiliar figure head, you'd collapse right on the spot.

“Don't know, I think It's navy but it doesn't have their flags so probably a merchant ship.” He comes closer to you, palm brushing over yours. “Look over there.” He glances behind you.

Turning around, you see several tally marks on the wall, an indication that someone survived. You glide your hands carefully over the marks, eyes curious and in disbelief.

“I counted, they were here for six months.”

You whirl around, “six? Fuck.”

“They got out though.”

You knit your brows. “How'd you know?”

“Come with me?”

“To the ship? It looks like it's about to collapse any second.”

“I tried climbing it, it's stable.” Hobie reaches for you, and again you take his hand.

“If I fall I'll blame you.”

“Thought you're good at climbin’?”

“Houses and trees, not a dilapidated ship that's more than ready to be scrapped. That thing looks older than us combined.”

“Fine, I'll climb up first and I'll help you up. Deal?”

“Christ, fine, but you owe me the rest of the chocolate.” you watch him climb a crate, effortlessly reaching the ledge of the deck, hauling himself up quicker than you thought. “Show off.” You say under your breath.

“Heard that.” Hobie peeks down, “the chocolate's all yours, now get your arse up here.” he crouches down, hands at the ready to help you up.

Copying his movements, you jump up, he immediately grabs you. Putting your foot up in a crack for leverage and with Hobie's help, you manage to get up onto the deck.

You sit next to him, stretching your wrists.

“See, not too bad, right?” The wood creaks right as he says it. “Maybe we shouldn't sit or stand on the same floor board.” He stands up but before giving you space to lessen the strain on the old wood, he helps you up once again.

“Thanks, I can stand up on my own y’know.” Yet you still take his hand.

“I know, I just don't like it when you're on the ground, you always look like you're about to bite my ankles.”

You laugh and he smiles triumphantly. The sound echoes, it reminds Hobie of the days spent together on the revenge.

“That's true, It takes every bone in my body not to.”

He smiles lopsidedly, shaking his head at you. “I have to show this to you.” He exclaims excitedly. “Just be careful of where you step.”

You pause in your movements, “shit, alright.” testing the floorboards, you slowly clamber your way towards him. “How'd you even find this place? Did you go spelunking without me?”

“Found it on our second day, thought you wouldn't like to see a broken ship like this so soon.”

You smile softly at him, heart reaching towards him and he thinks he chose right.

Hobie opens a barrel, “Look at this, found it when I actually explored the place.”

You take a peek inside, hands leaning on the barrel. “Dried pomegranates? Look at that, your murder weapon.” flicking your eyes towards him, a teasing smile on your lips.

He huffs with a grin, hands placed on his hips. “So violent. You've been hanging around me too much eh, captain?”

“Hmm, I like the sound of that, Captain Y/N. It has a nice ring to it” chuckling, your hands instinctively inch over to his. He meets you halfway on the rim of the barrel, pinky intertwined with yours. “You wanna sleep separately from now on? Since we spend too much time together and all that.”

Hobie scoffs, sucking in his teeth. “Please, you can't sleep without me now.”

It's true, you've spoiled yourself with his warmth next to you every night.

Rolling your eyes, feigning offense, you change the subject. “What's with the pomegranates?”

“They planted it, using their own supplies.”

“Cute, they left a piece of themselves on the island.”

“More than that, because of ‘em we get to eat the fruit they planted. They helped us survive.”

You shake your head, “no, you helped us survive. You did all the work, Hobie.” Taking his hand, standing toe to toe with him, you stare at his eyes for too long that you drown in his eyes. “I never got to thank you for…everything. Thank you, captain, truly.”

His breath hitches in his throat. Warmth emanating from you, eyes sparkling under the sparse light and sand clinging to your hair, he feels himself carve your name on his skin; right next to hers, right next to the scar she left.

“I rendered the great Captain Hobie Brown speechless. I think I deserve some kind of medal for that—”

Hobie cups your cheeks with both hands, leaning in, the act has you shutting up immediately.

You hear wood cracking underneath your feet. You were above deck then a second later, you're groaning on the floor, laying on his chest, facing a skeleton.

“Oh fuck!” You flinch back, Hobie holds you in place with a hand on your waist. Straddling him, you look at the decaying skeleton on the floor. “Shit—” you notice the body under you. “Oh shit!” Holding his face, you roam your eyes for any visible injuries.

“You should write poetry, you have a way with words.” He says with a wince, peeking at you through his eyelashes, he pats your thigh and you get off his aching body.

“Are you alright?” you ask frantically, checking the back of his head for blood, thankfully you find none. Panic sets in your bones, crawling on all fours, you smack his leg.

“Ow! What the fuck was that for?” Hobie sits up, with his legs moving, you can finally breathe.

“I thought your legs—” the wood creaked above, eyes widening at the barrel tethering on the edge, threatening to fall.

With Hobie still shaky from the fall, you grab him quickly, dragging him away from the falling object at the last minute before it collapses on both of you.

He grips your arm, staring at the space where you two were just in a second ago. The heavy barrel now occupies it, dried pomegranates spilling out from the split wood.

“Holy fuck.” He heaves.

You drop next to him, sliding down on the rotten walls. “Holy fuck is the right word for it.” he cranes his neck to look at you. “Death by pomegranates.”

You two watch your faces morph into a smile then into a grin and then to full blown laughter.

The loud noise scares the crabs away, dust flies around and there's splintered wood laying on the floors. Despite it all, you and Hobie continue to laugh. His head laying on your chest, hand around your middle and the vibrations from his chest making you laugh harder. With your hands around his torso, fingers splayed on his back, the both of you meld together in laughter.

“Mystery solved, that's how I could die by pomegranates. Take notes, Hobie.”

He inhales before leaning away, “you saved my arse.”

“Well you saved me too, we're even.”

Hobie thumps his head on the wall just like you have. His hand searches for yours while he stares at the skeleton left next to the barrel.

You find him first before he does, immediately weaving your fingers around his, you smile despite the near death experience.

“How would you do it?” He breaks the quiet.

“Do what?” you turn your head to look at him, he's calm, face relaxed.

“Kill me.”

“Hobie—” you groan.

“Humour me, love.”

“Fine,” you sigh, “poison probably.”

“Poison? Really?” Chuckling, he clasps your hand. Your stomach somersaults at the simple act.

“Mm-hmm, I figured that I can't possibly fight you, I can't shoot you so I'd do it in a subtle way. So, poison.”

“Fuckin' hell, I'll never let you cook.” Hobie turns his head towards the skeleton again like it would suddenly stand up and attack.

“You never let me cook anyway.”

“It's because you always burn it.”

“‘It's because you always burn it’” you mock his tone, “fuck off.”

Hobie guffaws which makes you laugh too.

The laughter subsides once again, he taps your thigh, leaving his warmth embedded in you.

“He has a nice hat,” groaning, Hobie stands up, stretching his back, giving you a glimpse of his skin.

You turn away, watching the pomegranate seeds tumble down. “Who?”

“This bloke.” He bends down, taking a tricorn hat off the dirty floor. “See? There's even a bird on it. Is that silver thread?”

“Let me see.” You stretch your hand up, he lifts you up with one tug.

“There, stitched around the bird.” Hobie points at the fading design.

You can barely make out the emblem, its beak barely there and wings almost indistinguishable. The silver thread weaves around it, the only fully visible thing.

Brushing the pads of your fingers around it, you tilt your head at Hobie. “I think it is, and it's incredibly filthy. Put it back, it's been here for more than twenty years or more.”

“How would you know?” He stares at you, perplexed.

“Judging from the decay,” you gesture around the skeleton, figuring it's too rude to point at it. “and adding the fact it's exposed to the elements, it's been here a long ass time.”

Hobie’s eyes brighten, “you fuckin' bookworm.”

Sticking your tongue at him, cheeks warm, “How'd you know the survivors got out of the island then?”

He shrugs, hands still holding the musty hat. “They left a note on top of a couple of graves just behind the ship.”

“Bullshit, now you're just making shit up.”

He chuckles, the sound similar to a giggle. “‘m not lyin’, cross my heart!”

“Sure, and I'm a selkie.” Sarcasm rolls off your tongue, “I'm going outside.” You begin to walk away, finding the space stifling from all the dust and death that surrounds it.

He quickly places the hat on top of your head and you jump away, flinging it off your head then throwing it at the perpetrator.

“What?” He laughs, “It looks better on you! He clearly doesn't need it anymore!” joking, he tries to put it on you again and you push him away as a warning.

Your smile betrays your true emotion. “Don't—”

“Alright” Hobie surrenders, placing the hat back where he found it, hands next to his head, he slyly inches towards you.

“Thank you, now can we go? High tide’s coming—”

He suddenly lunges for you, picking you up as you yelp and wiggle in his arms. His arm is underneath your knees, the other is around your torso, hands placed right above your ribs. You drown in him once again. Cackling, he walks towards the hole in the wall.

“Put me down!” you bunch up his shirt in your hands, “Hobie!”

“What? I'm taking you outside, it's clearly not safe here, love!” Your squirming has him holding onto you tighter. He grins widely, carefully squeezing out of the broken hull and into the light and fresh air.

Being this close to him, you notice the small dimples on his cheeks. Restraining yourself from poking it, you can't help but stare up at him like he's the sea himself. Deep and full of secrets, secrets that you're more than willing to dive for. A terrifying force on the surface but once you're underneath the tides, you see his true self, all the love he harbors for the people, all the hate that has made him who he is.

With his waves crashing against you, he smoothens your edges with his touch, if you're not careful, he'd erode you until you're nothing but a speck of sand.

Hands atop his shoulders, Hobie stops laughing the second he sees your eyes gleam over, nails digging into his shoulders, leaving half moons on his skin. He doesn't mind, he'd let you mark him if that's what you truly want.

“You alright?” He whispers, staring down at you like the sky above, beautiful and out of reach, a cloud soft and fleeting, stars that guide him in the night. A hurricane that has sunk ships. He thinks he's one of those ships.

You wonder if he used to look at her like this too. Your hold on him loosens.

“Don’t look at me like that.” You say, voice quivering. His face goes slack, eyebrows furrowed. “Like I'm her, you know I'm not her.”

You've struck him with lightning.

You leap off his arms, wobbling on your feet. He stretches his fingers, ghosting over the shape you've left.

“What do you mean?” He asks even though he's afraid of what you're going to say.

You smile bitterly. “I remind you of her. And I'm not her, Hobie.”

“I— where is this coming from?”

Sniffing and shaking your head, “nevermind” you begin to walk towards the exit.

“Y/N,” Hobie grabs your hand, letting go immediately when you flinch like he has burned you. “Not bloody nevermind, what's wrong?”

Gwen and Hobie's arguing finally escapes its cage, their angry words thrown at each other have finally eaten through the back of your head, revealing a wound that hasn't closed. Together with the numerous times he has called her name instead of yours, you collapse under all of it.

He loves her and not you.

You avoid the swirling greys, arms crossed, head down, staring at your worn out shoes. It's better this way you think, cut it off like a lame limb before it spreads to your heart. You're letting him go, and it pains your soul to do so.

“You only like me because of the circumstances.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” Hobie's not mad at you, he's angry at the conversation and the idea that you've dug up.

Does he? Does he only like you because of her? Did he only let you in at the start because of her? He only knows what he currently feels for you right now.

“You like me because of the circumstances! If we weren't stuck here together you wouldn't be.” A thunderstorm has broken through.

“After all this time together do you really think that?” He asks the question for you and for himself.

Your hands shake, tears almost spilling over. You don't let it, not in front of him. “You tolerate me.” twisting to face him, you regret the words you've thrown, but it has to be said or the relationship would've been built on lies and love for another. “You called me by her name when I fell and when you slept. I–I don't know, Hobie, I really don't know.”

There it is, the knife that was made to split skin and bleed. Instead of Hobie holding it, it's you. But he helps you bury the steel in his body, helping you twist it, helping you bleed him.

“You were there?” You nod, “I— you do remind me of her… it's uncanny sometimes.” You stifle a sob, head held up high. “And I don't fuckin' know, Y/N. All I know is I like you despite the bloody circumstances.”

Hobie closes his eyes, rubbing it with the heels of his palms. “I'll see you back at the island.” He leaves, and you just watch.

Falling to the ground, you hug your knees, letting it all crumble around you.

—

You haven't slept, bags under your eyes, headache pounding in your head, the sound of soil getting dug out behind you has become a comfort not a nuisance.

You haven't looked at the source of the sound since he started, letting his quiet curses and groans fill you with sadness and guilt. With the sun rising, and a new day coming, you sit up, palms raw from your clenched fists.

He tried to do something nice and you threw it back at him with venom.

Heading towards the shore, kneeling down, you let the salt wash over the crescent wounds. Wincing at the stinging pain, you lift your hands away from the water, lingering, watching the sun rise with heavy eyes. The humidity stifles you, choking you almost.

You clutch at your chest, imagining that your necklace is still hanging around your neck. Wishing for the comfort it brings, but the gold isn't there and the only comfort you have is now cold around you, avoiding your presence since yesterday. The closest thing you have is the pearl in your pocket, so you place your hand inside, rolling the smooth edges around your fingers, letting the cool surface ease you.

With a shaky sigh, you trudge towards the grove, grass grazing along your legs, you stand stiff at the sight.

Graves, he's digging graves.

Covered in dirt and sweat, Hobie digs a hole in the ground using a sharp stick. Lips wobbling, you let a tear fall before wiping it away.

“Hobie.” You call his name softly, voice breaking. He doesn't look up, you notice his arms shaking from fatigue. “Hobie.”

He pauses mid dig, “what?” Asking sharply, his eyes are dark, worse for wear. “Don't ask me to stop, Y/N, because I won't.”

“I was gonna ask if you needed help—want my help.”

Hobie tosses a stick at you, “this is the last one.”

Nodding, you grab the stick from the ground. Jumping down the hole, you wordlessly dig across him. The rough wood opens the scratches on your palms, dribbles of blood rolling down like the tears you've shed.

“Is this Finn's?” you ask with apprehension.

Nothing.

“Ned’s?”

Still nothing, he swallows thickly.

“Mine?”

Hobie stops, sighing, “Do you really think I can do that just because of yesterday?” Do you think he is a monster?

“No. I was trying to lift the mood, I realize now it's in poor taste.”

“I would have laughed if we weren't digging a grave.”

“Graveyard humour.” you say flatly, stabbing the ground, digging even when your palms bleed, even when your blood falls inside the grave.

Hobie exhales, eyes heavy with fatigue, dirt underneath his nails.

“You want to stay.” he says with certainty, cutting the uncomfortable silence.

“I do.”

“You won't survive here alone.”

“I know.”

“Then we'll come back here, once everything is said and done.” He looks at you, “we'll come back here.”

“Hobie—”

His eyes flicker down to your hands, the stick now red from your own hands. “You're bleedin’”

With concern he drops the makeshift shovel to cross the small distance, slowly taking your hands away from the tool. Your skin clings to it like the roots of a tree.

“It's fine.”

Hobie clutches your hands, palms above your own, trying to stop the bleeding. “No, it's not.” No, you're not fine.

“It's just from…everything. I'll clean them so they don't get infected.” you try to leave but he still holds you tight.

“I'll clean it.” Let me help, please. He screams inside his head. Just this once, let him stop the blood instead of the one bleeding you dry.

You glance at him, lines marring his face, grey eyes laid upon a bloodied field. Lips pursed into worry.

“Alright.”

—

The silence makes you squirm in your seat, watching the waves on the shore, you let him clean your hands, trust him to clean your wounds.

Hobie carefully wraps your hands with a tattered part of his shirt. He smells of the familiar herbs and soil, eyes glued to your bandaged hands, he finally speaks.

“She was killed in front of me.” His voice lacks the usual tone, grief weaved around the sentence. “When the black helion sailed next to us I knew that she was already gone.”

You look at him, it's the least you could do.

“She called for me while Mathias had his sword right next to her neck. And I cowered under the deck until she asked with a smile if she could see me.”

Listening with tears in your eyes, Hobie avoids yours.

“The second I showed myself…he cut off her head. At first I thought it was her last attempt at hurting me, seeing her dead. But after a while I… I think she wanted me to be the last thing she ever saw because she grinned like she used to when she saw me.”

He raises his head to meet your tearful eyes, “Mary Jane, that was her real name.” He chokes before inhaling deeply. “An orphan like me but she got the wrong end of the bloody stick.” He spits the words angrily. “She wanted an out, that's why she went to Mathias. We fought when she told me she was navy, but I knew…I think I just didn't want to believe it.”

Your heart breaks for him.

“I want to avenge her not just for MJ but for everyone else who got the wrong end of the bloody stick. Thirty of my men died that day, I can grieve for them everyday for the rest of my life but it wouldn't be enough. It will never be enough.”

Hobie lets your hands go softly on your lap.

“It's better to be angry than to wallow in myself. They wouldn't like that if I did so I let myself be angry for their sake.”

You reach for him, surprising himself, he welcomes your touch. Holding his face like you hold the entire world in your palms, you kiss the corner of his eyes softly, encouraging him to cry.

Laying your forehead against his, you whisper the words to him like a secret shared between two lovers.

“Let me be angry for you just this once, e–even if it's just for today, let me carry it for you. And I'll be angry for you if you ask. Just ask me, Hobie.”

“Just for a minute.” He whispers back.

“Alright, just for a minute.”

Hobie drops his head on your shoulder, hiding his face from the world, arms enclosed around your torso, you let him cry.

—

You help Hobie bury the empty graves. Pomegranates and colourful flowers on top of each one except for the three at the very back. You whisper goodbyes to each one, giving Finn's, Ned's and the crew he lost with extra attention and extra love.

You leave a bar of chocolate on top of Finn's grave, his name written on a piece of driftwood. ‘beloved friend’ you've written under his name then you realize it's not enough to describe him, so you write ‘best chef in the world’ next to it, laughing to yourself once you finish it.

“I think he'd like it” Hobie said whilst he places the folded sail on top of Ned’s empty grave. He wrote next to his name, ‘a shit lyricist but a good friend, beloved by everyone’ and you sobbed wetly at the words.

You just stare at the graves for the men you killed, imagining them rotting under it. They were once children, you thought, but you don't regret it, because you lived because of what you did, lived because of what you endured.

Just as you're leaving the thicket, giving the crew one last goodbye, you watch Hobie write her name and you leave, giving him privacy.

You wait for him patiently under the trees, right next to the raft full of supplies you've gathered. Eyes downturned, cheeks stained with tears, you hear the rustle of leaves from behind and you don't mention the missing necklace from his neck.

“Ready to go?” He asks.

No.

“Yes.”

Hobie goes around the raft to push, you copy him.

“Is that—?” He stops, hand above his eyebrows, shielding it from the sun. “Holy shit.”

You follow his line of sight, perplexed, until you see five figures waving wildly at you.

“It's them” Hobie looks at you with relief and you almost weep once again.

“It's them.”

A/N: Before you all get mad at me for Miguel, all will be revealed in the next chapter. Thank you for reading!

[rubeau-art]

I had my exhaust fan in the bathroom replaced today, and the two blokes who came to install it were just absolutely delightful~

Here's some of the choice things I overhead while they were struggling for their lives:

A wild ride from start to finish for me just sitting in the next room.

[Ithey did an immaculate job and I have a fan again! 11/10]

[lunamoonbby]

Cult!141 x Fem!Reader

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT MDNI

⚠️Warnings⚠️: Dark Content, Manipulation, allusions to past abuse very brief not in depth, female reader, swearing, pregnancy, birth, poly relationships, smut, Cult AU, the use of lord in terms to worship, Price being referred to as Father, *Kidnapping, Murder, Violence, Animal Masks, Allusions to Gore.* (if I miss any warnings for this chapter let me know)

If you or a loved one is experiencing abuse, know that there is help, and please help anyone that you know to help them escape from that abuse.

⭐️Author's Note: The religion that the villagers follow is not defined, but it is NOT associated with Christianity, Judaism, Islam, or any other type of religion there is⭐️

Chapter 7: Double Sacrifice

Price left the Tavern Inn to go back to the Tavern Restaurant. "I wonder what John is going to do the guy that yelled at bonnie." Johnny looked at and Simon. "Strange someone yelled at lovie in my shop, took everything in me not to butcher the bloke." Simon looking at his plate. The bell to the Tavern Restaurant jingled, "boys, little birdy is asleep I love how devoted she is to us, I also don't think it's coincidence that the flowers are our favorite colors." John takes out the flowers that y/n placed in the offering bowl and gave the flowers to the men. Johnny got a pink flower, Kyle got a purple flower, Simon got a dark blue flower, and Price had a peach color flower. "Awe our little sweetheart loves us." Kyle smelled his flower. Simon looking at his flower, "So what are we going to do to the men that yelled at our lovie?" "Glad you asked Simon; we're going to meet at the church and then we'll head out to our meeting grounds outside of this village and then we'll sacrifice them." John looking at Simon, Kyle, and Johnny.

"Then I better go back to my shop and meet you guys at the church." Simon got up taking his leftovers and his flower. "Johnny, Kyle, I'll see you both at the church." John got up and left with his leftovers and flower. "Alright Johnny I'll get the wagon for the body, you make sure the guy is knocked out, gagged, and has a burlap over his head." Kyle left to get the wagon. Johnny went down to the basement. "Please, please, I didn't mean to tell you how to run your shop I-" the frightened customer got cut off by Johnny. "This isn't about my Tavern Restaurant. This is about you yelling at my bonnie lass." Johnny looked at the customer. "This is very personal." Johnny knocked out the customer, gagged him, and put a burlap over his head. "Johnny the wagon is ready!" Kyle yelled. Johnny picked up the body and threw him over his shoulder and place him in the wagon. "Let's head to the church." Johnny said. "Thank goodness John has a curfew that starts at 10:00pm." Kyle stated. "Besides us, our bonnie lass is the exception she went back to the Inn at 11:00." Johnny smiled. Kyle and Johnny made their way towards the church.

Meanwhile at the Butcher Shop, Simon was in the basement sharpening his butcher knives and cleavers. "P-pl-please don't *hiccups* h-hu-hurt me I didn't *sniffling* *hiccups* m-me-mean to tell you how you s-sh-should run *gasping* y-yo-your business." The customer in distress said. Simon slammed down the cleaver he was sharpening and punched the customer in his gut and grabbed him by the hair. "This isn't about my shop. This is about you yelling at my lovie, and yes this is all personal." Simon knocked out the customer, gagged him, and put him in a body bag. Simon slinged the customer over his shoulder and made his way towards the church. 'I'm grateful that Jonathan placed a curfew in this village.' Simon thought to himself.

Simon reached the church where John, Kyle, and Johnny were waiting for him. "Took you awhile to get here mountain man, also I hope you didn't kill the guy here." Johnny looking at Simon. "At least I didn't need a wagon to carry the bloke who yelled at our lovie, and no i didn't kill the bloke I just grabbed the first thing I saw which was this body bag I use to bring back my hunts. I need to throw this one way anyways." Simon looking at the wagon. "Boys please we need to get this sacrifice done and over with before people start waking up." John said looking at Johnny, Simon, and Kyle. All four of them made their way to their secret spot outside of the village. They arrived at their spot and Kyle took the burlap off of the customers head, and Simon took the customer out of the body bag.

John, Simon, Johnny, and Kyle were wearing all black and had put on a skull mask. John was wearing a deer skull mask, Simon was wearing a ram skull mask, and Johnny and Kyle were wearing a crow mask. The two customers woke up and tried to scream but it came out muffled. "Oh, look they're awake." Simon said to Jonathan, Johnny, and Kyle. "I think we should get this done and over with." John said. "Simon you can kill your guy however you see fit, and you Johnny and Kyle can kill your guy how you two see fit." John looking at him men. "I'm going to have fun with you." Simon grabbing his cleaver looking at his customer. "This is the price to pay in making sure our sweetheart is loved." Kyle said handing Johnny the dullest knife they had.

Simon butchered his victim till he couldn't be recognized, and Johnny and Kyle's victim were slashed unrecognizable. It was like a scene from a horror movie. They all took off the masks and made their way back to the church. They made it back to the village just before the people started to get up. "Alright guys lets go freshen up I'm going to hold a mass about welcoming guests." John said to his three men. They all walked their separate ways to take a shower and to wear their best dress. After Simon got ready, he made his way towards y/n room and knocked on the door.

Taglist is open comment if you would like to be added

@yourloverslost @tabbslouuformer @angelrissa @freefallingup13 @readingcatinacorner @sylvanasthebansheequeen @casualunknownrunaway @thatpersonnamedrook @rip-cod-brainrot @hoodiepandaninja16 @spacecrawllerr @kopi-nes

[daddy-issues-galore]

Let me fly you to the moon... Chapter 10/?

<Chapter 9< / Oneshot / >Chapter 11>

Warnings: none really

“Love! Alan’s ‘Ere!” Noel shouted up to you.

“Yeah, comin’!” You answered, grabbing your jacket from Noel’s bed and began making your way down to him.

Last night had been the last of Noel’s London shows and like all the others, it had been mega. The only downside had been the constant bother with the press. The two of you had decided to avoid social media as much as possible as to not be drowned in the harsh comments or idle gossip of reporters or fans.

As expected, they’d found out your name. Some ‘friend’ from your school days had happily answered some questions spilling all the gossip (mostly made-up bollocks) but made sure to give your name and the name of ‘the flower shop she still works in’. The bitch – she was always a cunt. Thanks to that little piece of information your poor mum had to be rescued from the shop by her friend’s son due to the press bothering her, wanting to know all the gossip about you and Noel. You almost returned home early, worried about your mum having to deal with the bullshit by herself but she made you promise to stay and have fun because she could ‘tell the press to piss off for you’.

You came to the bottom step with a grin as you thought about your phone conversation with your mum. Noel was sat beside you on his sofa with his arm around your shoulders as the pair of you laughed at your mum as she ranted about the ‘wankers’.

“Right, let’s-” Your brow furrowed as you looked at Noel. He was staring up at you with his mouth hung open. “Noel.” You waved your hand in his face.

He gulped and looked down to the band t-shirt you were wearing. It was just an old Stone Roses t-shirt your dad had given to you. It looked a bit ratty now because you’d had it for so many years, but you loved it. “I’ve seen you in that before.” He nodded to it.

You looked down at it with a frown, “You can’t have. This is the first time I’m wearin’ it-”

Noel gasped and clicked his fingers, sudden realisation hitting him. “You wore it to see Oasis, dint ya’?”

Your eyes widened, surprised Noel would remember something so minor. “How do you remember that?”

Noel began smiling, “You were with that old bloke-”

“Me dad, yeah.” You nodded.

“And… were you with some other bird? Or a lad?”

You nodded again, “Mates from school.” You smiled.

Noel’s smile stretched into a grin as he stepped forwards and placed his hands on your hips. “I remember spotting you ‘cause of the shirt.” He smiled as he looked down at it. “There weren’t many fit young birds wearing owt like it.” Noel licked his lips as he looked down to your chest. “You know why else I remember it so well?”

You shook your head, “Why?”

Noel grinned, “Your dad left ya’ for a bit, dint he?”

“To go for a piss, I think.” Your brow furrowed. “Why do you remember that bit so well?”

“’Cause… No sooner had he turned his back, you fuckin’ flashed us!” Noel smirked at you.

Your eyes widened, “Oh no...”

“You did, dint ya’?”

Yes. “You must have had hundreds of birds flash you over the years.” You scoffed and folded your arms over your chest. “How the hell do you remember me doin’ it?”

Noel shook his head with a chuckle, “R’kid always did… I didn’t get many young birds screamin’ me name, wearin’ a Stone Roses top and flashin’ me.” He chuckled making you blush even more.

“Yeah, well... me mates knew I fancied ya’, so they dared me, dint they....”  You shook your head with a groan and dropped it on to Noel’s shoulder, “Such an idiot.” You stood back up with a pout.

“Nah, you’re perfect, you are.” He gave you a crooked smile that made your chest flutter. “That was probably one of the only things me and r’kid agreed on.”

“What?” You looked at him confused.

“How great your tits were.” He grinned cheekily at you making you roll your eyes with a huff.

“Oh my god.” You groaned but laughed.

“Still are.” He added with a smug grin as he gave your backside a smack making you yelp. “Do you remember what happened after you did it?” He winked at you and stepped back from the stairs.

You walked towards the door and nodded blushing. How could you forget, “Liam shouted out, ‘nice tits, love’.” You said with a giggle as Noel rolled his eyes with a scoff. You looked up to him as you felt your face heat up as you said, “And you pointed at me, winked and said-”

“Think I’m in love.” Noel nodded; his eyes bore into yours. “How come you dint mention it?”

“I dint think you’d remember somethin’ so silly... besides, it would have made me sound like a proper stalker if I just blurted it out, ‘oh, by the way I flashed you me tits and you said you were in love with me’.” You deadpanned making Noel laugh.

“Fair point.” He nodded and reached for the front door and opened it, “C'mon, we’ve places to be.”

You rolled your eyes and stepped outside. You scowled at the sight of the awaiting paps. “Still?”

Noel glared towards them as he locked up. “They’ll find somethin’ else to gossip ‘bout soon, love. Promise.” Noel took your hand and lead you to the car. “Ignore ‘em for now. I wanna show ya’ somethin’.”

You nodded and got in the car. You we’re only going to be in London for a couple more days before you had to return home, you wanted to enjoy your time with Noel as much as you could.

“Where are we?” You asked as Noel helped you out of the car.

“The studio I record at.” Noel said then thanked Alan as he handed him his guitar case. Noel smiled at you and placed his free hand on the small of your back and began to lead you inside. “I’ve had this idea stuck in me head for a few days, wanted to get it down before it vanished. That alrigh’, love?” He asked as he opened the door and let you in first. You nodded with a smile. “Good. Plus, thought you’d like to see where the magic happens.”

“Whoa, careful,” You held your hands out in front of him, “Can your head fit through the door with that ego?” You joked making Noel grin.

“Comedian you are.” Noel slipped his arm around your waist and leaned down but before he could kiss you someone behind you cleared their throat.

“Hey, Noel…” A woman, slightly older than you, smiled sweetly at Noel. “I wasn’t expecting to see you so soon. You can’t keep away, can you.” She giggled.

You screwed your face up in annoyance as you watched her practically drooling over Noel.

Noel hummed as he pulled you a little closer to his side, “Uh, yeah, sorta last minute thing.” He nodded and smiled at you. “This is my- Y/n. She’s come to help me with somet, haven’t ya’ love?” He winked at you making you blush.

The woman looked at you, trying to hide the scowl as she looked you up and down. “I see…” She gave you a fake smile. “Well, I’m Tammy. Pleasure to meet you- sorry, I didn’t catch your name.” She said as she held her hand out to you.

You raised your eyebrow at her, “Y/n.” You shook her hand. “Nice to meet you, Sammy.” You smirked at her as she scowled at you.

“Right. This way.” Noel took your hand and began leading you away from the woman as you glared at her over your shoulder. He slipped his arm around your shoulders and pulled you into his side with a chuckle. “Behave.” He whispered then finally kissed you as the two of you came to a door. He pushed it open, letting you in first before he followed, closing the door behind him. “This is it.” He smiled. “There’s not much ‘ere now with us bein’ on tour, usually there’s instruments and wires all over the fuckin’ place but you get the idea.” He explained as he put down his guitar case. “This is the control room. This is basically the nervous system for the whole thing.” He gestured to the large board that consisted of various buttons and switches. “Through there,” He pointed to the room on the other side of the glass, “Is the live room, where we record vocals and instruments.”

“Wow.” You were in awe as you looked around the room. You turned around to face him with a grin. “So, what’s this idea, you’ve got?” You asked.

“Ah, well, I don’t really know.” He blushed a little as he rubbed the back of his neck. “I still need to have a mess ‘bout with it.”

“I see.” You nodded, “What’s it called?”

Noel shrugged with a chuckle. “No idea.”

“What’s the melody?” You asked with a raised eyebrow.

“I’ll be straight with ya’, love. I don’t really have a clue. It’s just... bit of a riff, I’ve got... but I know there’s somet there, y’know?” Noel let out a frustrated sigh as he sat down the small sofa.

You nodded and walked towards him. “So, what do you need me to do?” You asked as you sat beside him.

Noel placed his arm behind you on the back of the sofa. A small smile curving at the corner of his lips. “Talk to me.”

Your brow furrowed, “Aye?”

Noel chuckled softly, “Just talk to me. I wanna know everythin’ ‘bout ya’.”

“You’ve already written a song about that.” You joked making Noel roll his eyes.

“I’m hopin’ if you keep me distracted whilst I play this,” He tapped his guitar case with his foot, “Then it’ll just come to me.”

You nodded slowly. “So, what? I’m like your muse?” You asked with a playful smirk making Noel’s cheeks flush.

“I never said you were me muse.” He answered quickly and reached over to his guitar case. “You’re me distraction.”

You hummed and folded your arms across your chest. “Whatever you say, babe. Bet you end up writin’ a song ‘bout me. Number one hit – you singin’ a love song ‘bout the beautiful distraction that once flashed you her tits.” You teased making Noel roll his eyes as he stood up and slipped his guitar on.

“You’re a knobhead, y’know that?” Noel asked with a playful smile.

You shrugged with your own, “Takes one to know one.” You giggled. “Shall I go get us some coffee before we start?” You asked.

Noel shook his head as he began tuning his guitar, “Nah. I’ll get that bird to sort it.”

You frowned, “Who is she anyway? I assume she works here.”

Noel nodded. “She’s one of the receptionists and Mark’s PA. He co-owns this place with his brother Tom.” Noel explained.

“I see…” You chewed the inside of your cheek.

Noel smirked to himself as he walked over to you as he strummed his guitar. “Y’know, ya look fuckin’ sexy when yer jealous.”

You scowled at him, crossing your arms over your chest, “I am not jealous. I just, saw how she was lookin’ at you.”

Noel smirked, “And how was she lookin’ at me?”

You rolled your eyes making Noel chuckle. “You know how she was lookin’ at you.”

Noel shook his head, “Nah, tell me.” He smirked at you.

You glared up at him. “Don’t you have a song to be writin’.” You pouted and looked away from him making him chuckle.

“I only care how you look at me...” He leaned over and kissed your cheek making you smile to yourself and blush. “Right, I’ll call reception and get ‘em to grab us somet from the cafe, then we’ll start talkin’ bollocks, yeah?” He winked at you making you smile.

“Alrigh’. I’m off to the ladies though whilst you fanny ‘bout.” You stood up and began making your way towards the door. “Try not to let your ego get too big whilst I’m gone.” You called out as opened the door and left. You giggled to yourself as you heard Noel shout back something along the lines of ‘piss off, ya’ cheeky sod’.

As Noel hung the telephone back up on the wall after making a quick call to reception, his own phone went off in his pocket. It was a text from you. He opened it and began grinning. There was a picture of you holding your bra.

Y/n: If this song is any good, I’ll flash you later ;P

Noel shook his head as he smiled to himself, “Bloody pest.” He chuckled and sat down on the edge of the sofa, settling his guitar in his lap.

He began strumming the familiar chords to ‘If I Had A Gun’, smiling to himself as he thought of you. There was no doubt in Noel’s mind that he would have written that song about you if he had met you sooner. The lyrics perfectly explained the way he was feeling. And it scared him.

Noel stopped playing and let out a frustrated sigh. “I’m fucked.” Noel covered his face with his hands and fell back into the sofa, groaning.

After his last relationship ended, Noel hadn’t expected he’d find someone like you. He was aware of his age, and he was aware he was a lot to handle. He was bloody grumpy, and he liked things done a certain way. According to his ex, he was no fun, he kept things bottled up, he didn’t show his love or that he cared for anyone else but himself. That wasn’t true; he loved Anais, and his mam and his family; he thought he loved his ex and in a way he did but obviously it wasn’t that soulmate kinda love.

You brought out a side of him that he’d lost a long time ago. Maybe your age had something to do with, but you were that type of person. You were lovely, kind, caring, funny, smart, naughty – you’d made him smile and laugh more than anyone else could in a small period.

Fuck, he was screwed.

The door opened and you walked in laughing, holding a paper bag and take away cups. “I intercepted your little fan girl on me way back.” You kicked the door shut behind you. “I don’t think she likes me.”

Noel chuckled as he watched you place the stuff onto the coffee table. “Not everyone likes me, love.” He winked at you making you grin.

“I do… a lot.” You said and pulled your bra out of your pocket and chucked it towards him, hitting him in the face and making him laugh loudly.

After spending a couple of hours talking whilst Noel played his guitar, he put his guitar down and sat back on the sofa with a frustrated sigh. The song was nearly there, just missing… something.

Noel rested his head on the back of the sofa, his knees spread as he slouched down. Your head was resting on your bent arm that was on the back of sofa with your legs tucked under you with Noel’s right arm draped over your knees.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, yeah?” Noel said as he turned his head to look at you.

You raised your eyebrow at him with a hum, “This sounds like you’re ‘bout to put your foot in it.” You teased making him chuckle.

“I know you love bein’ a florist and that, but is that what you’ve always wanted to do?”

“Oh,” You cleared your throat before shaking your head. “I got into it by accident. The shop’s been in me dad’s family for years. I’d always helped out durin’ summer and breaks from school. But when I was ‘bout to go to university it hit a proper rough patch. Me mam and dad had to let the employees go and were workin’ all hours, so I decided to hold off a year to help. One year turned into two and before I knew it, I was just at the shop permanently.” You shrugged.

“What were you goin’ to uni for?” He asked shifting in his seat to face you.

You began smiling to yourself as you thought back, “I wanted to study photography and media.”

Noel’s brow furrowed, “You dint wanna be one of them fuckers, did ya’?” He asked referring to the press.

You shook your head with a scoff, “Fuck, no… I wanted to design album covers and that.” You smiled.

“Seriously?” Noel smiled at you. “That’s pretty cool.” He nodded. A thought popped into his head, but he quickly pushed it to one side. “Do you regret not goin’?” He asked.

“I dunno…” You shrugged. “Maybe a bit. I lost touch with most of me mates from school… and I still had plenty of good times with me mates that I kept in touch with. But I couldn’t just leave me mam and dad when they needed me. I can take photos without a degree.”

Noel looked at you with a soft smile. He’s adding you’ve got a heart of gold to the list of things about you he loved.

You looked up to him and gave him a small smile, “Do you regret goin’ off bein’ a roadie?” You asked him.

He shook his head. “Nah. It was great. Had a laugh, learnt loads, drank way too much… plus, it got me out of mam’s hair and with our Liam ‘round causin’ havoc it was probably for the best.” He chuckled. “Do you wish you had siblings?”

You shook your head. “Nah, I grew up with all me dad’s mates’ lads so, I had loads of brothers without the hassle of living with ‘em.” You smiled to yourself before you looked at Noel. “Would you have liked a sister?” You asked.

Noel’s brow furrowed, “Fuck no. I won’t have been able handle the stress.” He chuckled.

You laughed with him. “Yeah, I get that. One of me mates from school had a little sister, seemed like hell.”

Noel nodded, “Any younger siblings are. R’kid was a right pain in the arse…” He sighed and sat up. “Then again, I guess I was to our Paul, so-” He chuckled. “Guess that’s karma, ain’t it?”

You hummed, “Guess so.” You smiled. You leaned forward to grab your drink only to groan when you realised it was empty. “You empty too?” You asked him.

Noel peered into his cup and nodded, “Afraid so. I’ll call-”

“Nah, I’ll go. I wanna stretch me legs anyway.” You let out a tired groan as you stood up and stretched your back muscles.

Noel frowned and stood up. “I’ll come with ya’. I don’t want you bein’ pestered by-”

You pressed your lips against Noel’s cutting him off, placing your hand over his cheek as you did. You smiled softly and pulled back from him. “I’ll be fine. I’ll tell ‘em to fuck off.”

Noel chuckled, “Good girl.” He kissed you again before you headed for the door.

“I’ll be on my way… I want that song written before I get back, Mr Gallagher.” You winked at him over your shoulder as you walked out the door.

You walked out of the front door of the building to be met by Alan opening the door to Noel’s car. You raised your eyebrow at him, “Uh, hi.” You looked at him in confusion.

Alan chuckled, “Mr Gallagher asked me to escort you to the coffee shop.” He smiled.

You rolled your eyes. “I told him I’d be fine.”

“He doesn’t trust them to leave you alone.” He gestured towards the other side of the road.

You looked over and frowned, spotting the two blokes with cameras. “Bastards.”

“My thoughts exactly.” Alan chuckled as he closed the door and walked around to the driver’s side and got in.

The trip to the coffee shop didn’t that long and before you knew it, you were making your way back to the studio without any problems. You thanked Alan after giving him his coffee and lunch (your way of thanking him) and headed inside.

As you began to walk through the reception area, a tall, plump man that looked to be in his fifties approached you.

“Excuse me, Miss?”

You stopped in your tracks and narrowed your gaze, assessing him. Is he press that’s snuck in? “Yeah?”

“I’m going to need to see some ID.” He said as he clasped his hands in front of him.

You raised your eyebrow at him, “You gonna show me yours then?” You challenged.

His brow furrowed. “Excuse me?”

“I don’t know who you are, mate. I ain’t showin’ me ID to just anyone. Sorry, but you could be some nut job.” You shrugged.

He glared at you, “I’m Mark, sweetheart, the owner. Now show me your ID or piss off.”

“No need to be a prick, is there. And saying you’re the owner isn’t proof.” You frowned and fished around in your bag for your ID. You handed it to him with scowl.

He looked down at it, “Right… And you’re here because?”

“I’m going back to the studio I’ve been in all mornin’.” You frowned at him and took your ID back from him.

He shook his head with a chuckle, “Nice try. We don’t just let people walk in here off the street. You need to be someone to record here. And you’re not. So, get out.”

Your mouth hung open in disbelief. “I’m with Noel.”

“Gallagher?” He scoffed. “Don’t give me that bollocks. We get desperate groupies like you all the time trying to get in here.”

“Excuse me.” You looked over to where that stuck up cow (what the fuck was her name) was sat watching the two of you with a smug look. “She knows me. Don’t you...”

She shook her head faking innocence. “Sorry. Never seen you before.”

You glared at her. “You fuckin’ bitch.” You huffed and looked back at the bloke. “Look, let’s just go to the studio and Noel with explain-”

“I’ve had enough of this.” The bloke grabbed your upper arm and began pushing you towards the door. “Get out.” He gave you a harsh push towards the door.

The coffees in your hand sloshed around in the paper cups, some spilling out of the opening and getting onto your hand causing you to drop them. “Hey! Ow! Get off me!”

“I’m serious. Get the fuck out or I’m call-”

“Oy!” Noel shouted as he appeared around the corner, his face filled with anger as he marched towards you. “Get your fuckin’ hands off me missus, Mark!”

You let out a relieved sigh as your eyes met Noel’s. You felt a weight in your chest as you looked at him. “Noel.”

“She’s your, missus?”

“Girlfriend, missus, bird; pick one, just get your fuckin’ hands off her before I make, ya’.” Noel all but growled at him as he came to your rescue and pushed Mark away from you. He put a protective arm around your back, pulling into his side, careful not to knock the coffee out of your hand. He reached up and brushed your fallen hair back from your cheek. “Y’kay, love?”

“M’fine, Noel.” You whispered. You suddenly felt very vulnerable and embarrassed by the whole situation. You felt the beginnings of tears fill your eyes and quickly hid your face against his shoulder.

Noel tensed with anger and turned slightly to look at Mark. “Who the fuck do you think you are, mate?”

“She didn’t say she was-”

“Piss off. I heard what you were sayin’ to her. Both of yous.” He glared over to the ‘stuck up cow’ and shook his head. “You’re a fuckin’ liar. And you,” He glared at Mark, “You’ve just lost me business.”

The colour in Mark’s face drained, “No, please, Noel. Don’t let some silly misunderstanding-”

“Fuck off.” Noel jabbed his chest again. “This ain’t just some misunderstanding. You fuckin’ manhandled me missus. Look at her.”

“Noel, stop,” You pleaded, worried he was going to get himself in trouble. “Let’s just go. Please.” You sniffled.

Noel let a deep breath out through his nose and stepped backed from Mark. His expression softening as he looked at you, “’kay love. C’mon,” He pressed a kiss to your temple and led you back to the studio.

Once inside you sat down and dropped your head into your hands. “M’sorry, Noel.”

“What are you sorry for?” He asked as he sat beside you.

“I’ve made you look like an idiot, haven’t I?” You sniffled, your tears finally falling as you sat up.

“Hey,” Noel slipped his arm around your shoulders and pulled you into his chest. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “You haven’t, ‘kay?” He rested his head on top of yours. “Don’t you worry ‘bout those cunts. I’ll sort ‘em out.”

You pulled away and looked at him, “Don’t get yourself into trouble for me, Noel. I’m not worth it.”

Noel frowned at you. “Of course you are, love. You’re worth, everything. You didn’t deserve what they did to you. You’re perfect.”

You scoffed, “Don’t be daft.”

“I’m not.” Noel placed his left hand over yours. “Look, you’re great, yeah? You’re… proper lovely and that.” He let out soft chuckle as he rubbed the back of his head. “Fuck, I’m shit at this.”

You grinned at him, “You’re lovely.”

Noel shook his head, “Nah, I had this whole thing planned and…” He drew in a deep breath before he picked his guitar up. “Let me play the song for you, and you’ll get what I’m tryin’ to say.”

Your brow furrowed, “The song? The one you were trying to write?”

Noel nodded, “I pretty much had it written before you left.” He admitted with a blush and began to strum his guitar.

You held your breath as you watched Noel.

“Many’s the time when I found I’d lost my way, love

I was stranded inside of the silent city walls

With my hand on my heart, I couldn’t tell you if I’d been dreaming

Take me to my lover’s arms, I won’t wake up this time

Maybe I believe in magic, love

I find it in the moon and stars above

I’ll drag you from the one-horse town that’ll bring you down

And I’ll love you for all time

But it’s alright

And you know we can’t go back

I said it’s alright

To know we can’t go back

You know we can’t go back

If that’s the time then I guess I must be leaving

Gone are the days and the dreams we screamed out loud

With my heart in my mouth I couldn’t tell you what just hit me

Take me to my lover’s arms, I won’t back down this time

Maybe I believe in magic, love

I find it in the moon and stars above

I’ll drag you from the one horse town that’ll bring you down

And I’ll love you for all time

And it’s alright

To know we can’t go back

I said it’s alright

To know we can’t go back

You know we can’t go back

And it’s alright

To know we can’t go back

I said it’s alright

To know we can’t go back

I said it’s alright

To know we can’t go back

I said it’s alright

To know we can’t go back

We can’t go back.”

The studio fell silent as you and Noel held each other’s gaze. You quickly wiped away your fallen tears and looked down, drawing in a deep breath.

“Wow,” You let out a breathy chuckle as more tears fell. “It’s... beautiful, Noel.” You smiled at him.

Noel smiled softly and looked down. “You were right.”

Your brow furrowed, “About what?”

“I ended up writin’ a love song ‘bout me beautiful distraction that once flashed me her tits.” His smile widened as the pair of you laughed. “Only, yer not me distraction, Y/n... yer me muse.” Noel cleared his throat and placed his guitar down. “You don’t have to say anythin’. You don’t even have to acknowledge that I have, I just wanted-”

You quickly moved forwards, wrapping your arms around Noel's neck and crashing your lips against his. Noel was quick to recover from his surprise as he fell back into the sofa with you in his arms.

This time as you kissed and you felt the same funny feeling in your chest, the same one you had been so quick to push aside, you let it consume you. You let yourself get lost in the hunger and the passion.

You pulled back from Noel and drew in a deep breath. You slowly sat up and giggled as Noel laid there breathless and looking dazed. “I do too.” You whispered.

Noel began grinning and sat up. “Yeah?”

You nodded grinning. “Yeah.”

[drarryspecificrecs]

Unleashed! Fest 2023 : Masterlist of DRARRY fics

@unleashed-fest || official masterpost || AO3 || stats : 20 works The Mods : @getawayfox & @stavromulabetaaa Banner © : @the-houseryn's how the hell...

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1. Birds Behaving Badly by @peachpety [E, 10k]

For eight years, Draco has been content living a quiet life of anonymity in Brighton, dodging pesky seagulls and enjoying the ephemeral boys of summer. And if these summer blokes just happen to resemble Harry Potter, it’s a mere coincidence—despite what his friends say. But when a repeat one-night stand challenges him to face his desires, Draco thinks he’s finally over his years-long crush. A seagull named Kevin thinks otherwise.

2. Harry Potter And The Dubious Rescue Of His Ferrety Boyfriend by Animamundi [T, 8k]

Draco Malfoy always ends up getting bullied by other animals while in his Animagus form. Harry must rescue him again. Or must he?

3. It’s Me or the Peacock by harrows [T, 4k]

They’ve been together for two years when Draco finally moves into Number 12 Grimmauld Place. Only, Harry didn’t know he’d be bringing a pet with him.

4. No capacity for feelings by @fastbrother [T, 2k]

Draco's Basilisk might or might not be depressed. Whatever the case, he would never ask Harry Potter for help.

5. Of Magical Beings Being - Magic by @rockingrobin69 [E, 30k]

Out of the blue, Potter's letter says: I need you. And Draco, ever a fool, goes. Cue magical houses, fluffy Beings with a sweet tooth, mutual pining level: infinity, and a truly outrageous amount of tea.

6. Peacocks of the Bride(groom) by @apricitydays-lazynights & @tempestuousblue [T, 7k]

The Big Day is here! Draco and Harry are finally getting hitched. Will the wedding be a smashing success or will peacock-induced chaos ensue? (It’s the latter, for sure)

7. Slithering up the Garden Path by @flightinflame [G, 1k]

Draco just wants to read in the garden. He's not sure why there are so many snakes around.

8. the strays by @owl-of-fandom [T, 13k]

Draco befriends stray animals in his back garden, unknowing that one of them is actually an animagus.

9. Sun Shower by @moonmanatee [T, 5k]

Each afternoon, Harry and his cat lounge in their sitting room, make an elaborate snack, and then head out for a walk. When they run into a certain tall, pale-haired man and his scruffy dog, they find their routine shifting.

10. Waiting for the Moon to Rise by @wolfpants [E, 8k]

When Harry and Draco move into Grimmauld Place straight out of Hogwarts, the last person they expect to find taking up residence is Bill ‘divorced, dishevelled, and dangerous’ Weasley. But what if their new, furry little problem is the help they need to finally bring them closer? Stranger things have happened, Draco supposes.

11. Wings and Slings by @steampunkserpent27 [T, 24k]

After the war, Draco Malfoy decides to turn over a new leaf and in doing so, opens an animal sanctuary for sick and homeless magical creatures. Everything is going well, until he is given a feral herd of hippogriffs and has to ask for outside help to be able to get anywhere near them. Only, it's the very last person he would have asked for help from.

---

✔ other fests in 2023 ✔ fests in other years

[thalialunacy]

[for the @calaisreno May Prompts-all-the-Time; just a wee silly interlude today]

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (10) (11) (12) (13) 14: eavesdropping (15) (16) (17) (18) (19) (20) (21) (22) (23) (24) (25) (26) (27) (28) (29) (30) (31)

Greg Lestrade has tried only three times, in the several aggravating years of their acquaintance, to surprise his friend Sherlock Holmes. It has yet to work, even when Sherlock was off his tit. The bastard.

But Greg has a new plan. Time has passed; he'd like to think he's learned a thing or two. And he has a new ally: Rosie Watson. 

Sure, she's too small to be a super spy--yet--but she is a very excellent excuse to come round the flat. 

She's undoubtedly getting spoiled, this one, as if everyone involved is trying to miraculously compensate for a lost mum, even though they know it's futile. 

But also? Kids are fun when they're little. And Greg has no issue admitting he misses those days. Especially when he can hand the kid back when the nappy needs changing. It's brilliant.

And it's nearly John's birthday, so he figures he can kill two birds with one stone. Surprising Sherlock is just a bonus, a personal challenge he lays out for himself every once in a while. To keep his mind sharp. Like sudoku, but one where the sudoku insults you afterwards.

Today, he's prepared: He's bribed Mrs Hudson with some (completely legal, thanks) CBD sweeties. He's noted which stairs squeak. He's planned it for a time he reckons Rosie will be home and awake. He knows Sherlock isn't on any case for the Yard.

Yes, there's a chance John will be at his day job, or Sherlock will be on a private case, but those are chances he just has to take.

He holds the carefully wrapped package under his arm and starts up the stairs. He can hear music, immediately recognisable as Frozen II, but not much else.

One he gets to the landing, he considers the two doors in front of him. He listens again, harder, and thinks he can hear Sherlock and John conversing under the soundtrack, and thinks they're in the sitting room.

So he just goes for it. Opens the kitchen door slow as treacle, then peeks round.

He blinks, then pulls back. Has he just seen-- 

He peeks around again.

Yep. Yep, he has definitely seen Sherlock and John standing in front of the fireplace, in between their well-loved chairs, and kissing like the world is theirs to command: That feeling of a new relationship, which is a bit of luck considering how long those two blokes have known each other, but…

He rubs his eyes, then goes back for one more look.

Same picture, only this time-- Sherlock, eyes closed and expression intense as he holds John's face in one hand and explores his mouth without shame, uses the other hand to make two fingers in Greg's direction behind John's back.

Greg almost laughs out loud. Instead, he leaves the gift on the landing and heads back out. There's only so much a man wants to know about his mates.

He grins to himself. New new plan: Never try to surprise Sherlock Holmes again.

[ <3 ]

[chaoticbardlady99]

Darling, Never Stop Haunting Me, MDNI 18+

Chapter 11: Lullabies for the Restless

Astarion x Ghost! Reader

Synopsis: You and Astarion run into trouble in Daggerford. With both of you separated and Astarion being God's only knows where- you are forced to comply with a Priest of Lathander to save him.

CW: Violence, blood, kidnapping, dead dove, smut, PIV sex, fingering, bathtub sex

Chapter 10: Chapter 12 : AO3

“Excuse me, Miss?”

 You turn in the direction of the voice and don’t see anything. You have to be losing it- that’s the only explanation. 

“Goodness- DOWN HERE MISS!”

 You look down and see the smallest Gnome you have ever seen. His eyes are bright green with a hint of worry and his hair stands out on all ends- he has either just woken up from a bender, in the middle of one, or he is preparing for one. He reeks of booze and it takes everything within you not to gag.

 Daggerford has easily become one of your least favorite towns. Everyone is self-important and they seem to think they are a big City and not the sneeze of a former dynasty. It’s quite literally a farming town- yes, the market is nice and there are quite a few vendors, but other than that, there isn’t much else. 

 You were waiting for Astarion outside the only tavern and inn in town when this Gnome approached you. Where is the man when you need him?  

“I apologize,” you say awkwardly, “uh what can I do to help you?”

 The Gnome hiccups and points at your violin laying in it’s case.

“It’s too damn quiet in there- I am piss drunk and can still hear myself think!”

“Oh, that sucks. I’m sorry.”

 The Gnome looks irritated.

“You aren’t even going to offer to help?”

Oh. OH!

 You don’t even squeeze the words out of you as you go racing into the Tavern- people cheer upon your arrival and the sight of the violin. It smells like the Gnome died in here- the smell of Booze is horrific. 

 You probably should have thought to wait for Astarion, but you are sure he will find you. 

 Right?

 You take center stage and breathe deepily through your nose- the butterflies have surged to life in your stomach and if you were capable of throwing up, truly throwing up, you probably would have the moment you stepped up on the stage. 

 You feel dizzy, alive and yet you are barely present when you strike the first note on the violin. The music flits through the air and grabs at people’s hands, pulling their stumbling figures towards the dance floor. 

 Lovers swing around with each other, friends goofily dance while trying to attract the attention of a lovely patron goer, but the best sight in the Tavern is when Astarion steps in and smiles at you from the door. He looks so proud of you and you would be lying to yourself if you said it doesn’t make you happy. You like that Astarion is proud of you- proud to be with you. 

  The adoring eye contact certainly makes it even better.

 Song three, four, and five go by without any issues- the energy is still lively and everyone seems happy. A few individuals came up to ask you if you would sit with them for a drink afterwards and you awkwardly stumble through the conversation- most of them going.

“I uh have an Astarion- sorry.”

 No one has any idea what that means so it hasn’t really deterred them, but Astarion coming up and kissing you in front of the whole crowd after one of your songs seemed to pass the message along. You can hear some people whispering about how jealous of you they are- apparently quite a few people had had their eyes on Astarion this evening. 

  It feels like a fairytale- you finally get to perform in a Tavern again and this time, you won’t be drained by a Vampire! 

 The note of your last song rings through the air and you bow, but the majority of the tavern goers are begging you for an encore.

 Minus one.

“Thank GODS- my ears can finally STOP BLEEDING!”

 A drunk bloke at the bar leers at you and the entire tavern goes silent. Everyone looks quite furious, but they don’t want to say anything. They all look nervously at the very nicely dressed Human man as he continues to sling insult after insult at you.

“You are a homely little thing, aren’t you? You look like you need a good fuck- you are looking a little blue, Moss Licker.”

 The one problem with being tinted blue- everyone thinks you are a half-drow and it has definitely caused quite a few people to walk away from you with a broken nose- courtesy of Astarion, of course. 

 You clear your throat, “I am sorry you are insecure in your masculinity that you feel the need to insult me in front of an entire crowd that was just enjoying my music.

“I bet your penis is as small as your vocabulary,” you leer back at him, “I bet it’s miniscule.”

 The human male stands up and storms over- his face bright red with anger and alcohol. 

“I should have you hung-”

 And that was apparently Astarion’s cue. He grabs the man by the back of his shirt as he tries to climb the stage and he promptly throws him to the ground. The tavern erupts with chaos. Guards rush forward to help the Human Male and when they go to grab Astarion- you send them flying back across the Tavern- the patrons barely ducking in time to avoid the rush of wind. 

 You jump down and try to run towards Astarion who is trying to get to you and drag you out of the Tavern so you can both make a quick escape, but a woman is suddenly in front of you and blows a powder into your eyes.

 The world becomes dark, but blurry and time moves slowly. The last thing you hear before going completely under is the sound of a door being closed. 

             **********************************************************************

 You sit up with a jolt- your eyes hurt from whatever powder that had been blown into them and your body feels like a lead weight. The room is dark- darker than any room you have been in lately and Astarion is nowhere to be found. 

 You weakly get yourself up off the floor and you notice the door is barred, but there are some stairs that are poorly lit as well. The woman who blew the powder in your face stands on the other side of the bars- a wicked grin on her lips.

“Whe-where is-” you try to sound ferocious, but you are too disoriented.

“Your violence happy leech Lover?” she smirks, “don’t worry, he’s safe and still has his fancy sunwalking ring. I suppose we will find out if he’s meant to be in this world still or not, together.”

 You feel absolutely frozen. Who is this woman and what does she wish to do with Astarion?

“My name is Maeve- I am a Priestess of Lathander- and you, you wretched, disgusting creature, insulted Daggerford’s Duke and your undead leech broke his nose.”

“Ple-”

“I’m not finished talking,” she snaps.

 You gulp and the panic in your chest is overwhelming. Where is Astarion? Is he okay? What is going to happen to him?

“There is a yearly tradition here in Daggerford,” Maeve begins, “after the warm weather ends, a Bard of Lathander usually enters the tunnels, plays a little song, and soothes the spirits of the restless Undead as they wander about these halls.

“Luckily enough for you creatures, our Bard was stripped and experimented on by a Necromancer that has decided to make a home here. We can’t risk sending more people down there.”

 Alive people, right. You think with a grimace, I suppose that means Astarion and I are fair game. 

 “Sooth the restless undead and I will tell you where I buried your lover- for safekeeping. I can assure you that he is still alive,” she says with another wicked grin, “but comfortable? Well- he was certainly screaming for your help as more dirt was piled on.”

 No. 

 That is Astarion’s single worst fear- being buried alive was the most horrific thing that has ever happened to him and you weren’t there to save him last time and now you aren’t there this time.

 You failed him.

 Tears are falling down your face without your permission and you swear you see a flicker of empathy in the woman’s eyes as you fall to your knees.

“Pl-please,” you beg, “I will take his place- he knows how to sing at least, surely-”

“No- get rid of the necromancer and soothe the dead. That is the only way you will ever be able to see him or the light of day again.”

 The woman walks up the stairs, leaving you in shock and fear. 

 The catacombs are beginning to become more and more present in your reality now that the initial shock is gone. The air is tepid and silent, the only thing you can hear is the creaking of things far away and you know that sound well enough as is. 

 Skeletons. Your least favorite, but maybe you should consider yourself lucky that you don’t hear a trumpet tooting in the background.

 You look to your left and see a beaten up flute- it smells clean and obviously hasn’t been used in a while. You are grateful you are multi-talented when it comes to music- you just have a preference like every other Bard. 

 Your hands shake as you slowly make your way into the depths of the catacombs and you clutch onto the Flute like a lifeline.

 The sooner you get this over with, the sooner you can save Astarion, and the sooner you can both get out of here. 

  And maybe you should stop playing at Tavern’s entirely- they seem to be bad luck for whatever reason. 

 Your footsteps don’t even make a sound as they hit the cobblestone floor- this place is immaculate, too immaculate. It is very well taken care of, you can’t imagine any undead are restless here. 

 “Miss?”

 You whirl around to see a young child holding onto a stuffed bear- her throat is slashed and her eyes are bleeding. You have to resist the urge to gag.

“I- I am looking for my mommy,” she says with a serious face, “do you know where I can find her?”

 Ow.

 You walk over and kneel down in front of her- you look just past her and see her gravestone with the name of the woman you can only assume is her mother’s. They have the same date of death.

“All I remember is that daddy became really really angry,” she whispers, “and I couldn’t sleep so I went downstairs.”

 Her memory flows through your soul like a poison and weight- you watch her dad kill her, both her and her mother, but she doesn’t realize it’s her father’s doing.

 “I-I am so sorry that you went through that,” you barely get the words out, “I think your mommy is asleep, but would it be okay if I played a lullaby for you so you can see her when you wake up?”

 The little girl nods excitedly and disappears into her coffin. You bring the flute to your lips and let your tears fall as you play the tune of a wood elf lullaby- you can hear your own mother singing the words in your head.

Ter i lóme, nai lye ómanya rahtuva, (through the night, may my voice reach you)

Or i súre, nai lyenna órenya wilyuva… (over the wind, may my heart fly to you)

Nai loruvalye, (may you sleep)

Hendu holine… (eyes closed)

Nai loruvalye, (May you sleep)

Éli calime… (Stars luminous)

Á sasta ingalya or telcunyat, nanwie nauvar ilye olorilyar (Rest your head over my lap, all your dreams will be reality)

Á pata ter fend' ex’ Ardanna, (Step through a door to another Realm)

Á papátu mina tyelepta cala (Slowly walk into the silver light)

Nai loruvalye, (May you sleep)

Hendu holine… (Eyes closed)

Nai loruvalye, (May you sleep)

Éli calime… (Stars luminous)

Á sasta ingalya or telcunyat, nanwie nauvar ilye olorilya (Rest your head over my lap, all your dreams will be reality)

 A blinding white light peeks out of the coffin and you can feel the little girl’s peace within your own restless spirit- it makes you happy, it makes you warm.

“I will see you later, little one,” you whisper, “when your next life comes, I hope it is kinder than this one.” 

  You continue your trek into the Catacombs- finding terrified Soldiers and helping them realize they are no longer in danger, you reassure Priests and Clerics that their God still loves them, and you come across more children, losing themselves and their loved ones to the Werewolf infestation that had taken over the outskirts of Waterdeep. 

 You have no idea how you are going to find a Necromancer down here- nothing looks out of the ordinary and you believe you are now at the end of the Catacombs. There is nothing at the end- just a wall- which doesn’t make any sense to you. 

 Remember, the obvious answer is usually not the answer.

 You look around your environment- looking for a secret entrance or maybe a portal- but you don’t see anything. Anger bubbles up inside of your chest and you resist the urge to throw the flute and scream.

 You don’t even know how long you have been down here and you need to get to Astarion- what if you can’t find the necromancer? Will Astarion remain underground or will they kill him?

 No, you shake your head, don’t let your mind go there. There has to be an explanation- hells, she could have even been lying to me. 

 But she seemed genuine about her deal when she was describing it to you. 

 You will your mind to relax and sit on the floor- your ears flick with every little sound that enters your brain, but you remain there and don’t move. Something will show you the way- you can feel it in your soul. The hard part is swallowing your panic and impatience. You are worried about Astarion, but the longer you panic, the longer he will stay in the ground. 

 What do people normally do in this situation? You suppose they typically pray, but it’s not like any of the Gods have ever done you any favors. However, there is the possibility that Oghma might be ‘tuned in’. 

 Please, you think, Oghma, show me what I am missing- if not for me, then for Astarion? He did only save the world two separate times and lifted a Shadow Curse. He suffered for 200 years- please get us both out of this alive!

 Something in the air changes and the ghost of another Bard is standing in front of you, he taps the instrument. The flute glows warmly and begins to play a tune all on its own. The wall in front of you is revealed as an illusion- there is far more to this Catacomb than you initially thought.  

“Than-”

 The ghost is gone, the air is filled with peace and you feel like you are meant to take this flute with you even after the Catacombs. It will help you stay safe and it’s pretty much the only weapon you have right now. 

 And maybe it’s experienced enough darkness for a lifetime. 

  You step past the wall and are immediately offended by the environment. The smell is awful- it smells like the place you had been held prisoner and there is gore all over the floors, the walls, and now your shoes. It’s absolutely filthy and any sight of white hair makes you halt like a statue. 

 He is safe- you know he is safe. He is buried but he is safe.

  You continue your trek into the disgusting bowels of the Necromancer’s work space. You can hear him talking to himself and cackling wildly. 

 Your chest gets tighter and tighter as you walk down the stairs. Your body feels like it’s on fire while you are simultaneously drowning in your own air. You feel like you are right back in that room again, sitting next to the spawn monster, and unsure if Astarion would save you in time. 

 You feel numb as you walk into the room and the Necromancer is none the wiser. He is cutting away at something or someone trying to struggle against him and you consider turning back and calming down. 

 I can’t do this- I can’t.

 “The sooner you stop your squirming, Spawn,” the man says while running a finger down the person’s chest, “the sooner you will be unaware of what is happening.”

 He walks away and your worst fear has come to life- Astarion is on the table, fighting for his life and his skin is extremely cut into. A dirty coffin sits broken with Maeve staring widely into the darkness- unblinking and no longer alive. 

 Astarion’s eyes are covered by some kind of ick and he has his mouth rendered useless with a gag. The only thing he can do is wildly lash around, but you can even see where his tendons have been cut.

 You are blinded by rage and the need for revenge when you put the flute in your mouth, the Necromancer turns to you and smiles.  

“It’s not often a Ghost wanders down here!”

 The thrashing from Astarion increases and his skin is burning against the silver chains around his feet and wrists. He screams through the cloth- surely telling you to run.

“You will be a fine experiment- tell me, how long ago did you-”

 You play a single, sharp line of music and the man looks at you with confusion before his eyes grow large. His skin begins to fall off his body in chunks and blood pours to the floor as his eyeballs melt. He screams until he can’t anymore- his vocal chords falling out onto the floor.

 Numbly, you walk over to the necromancer- still barely alive. You get close to his bleeding ear.

“I hope you suffer.”

 And like that, he is a puddle on the ground and no longer exists. 

  You are dissociating still as you get the gag untied and wipe away the sealant over his eyes. Astarion is in tears, there is still dirt in his hair, and his body is trying to heal, but you can’t imagine that helps with the emotional trauma that just occurred.

 You remove the silver shackles, burning your own skin in the process, but Astarion’s pleas for you to stop aren’t registering. Your hands are raw by the time they are all off and you are barely able to play heal wounds. 

  Astarion sits up with a significant amount of effort, his body is still healing, but he can move now and the rest will be healed with his vampiric regeneration.

 You hug him- trying to be as gentle as possible- but you need to know he is here and he is real. Astarion holds you with equal amounts of strength and you can feel his tears falling onto your shoulder. There isn’t a single word you feel like you can say that will make this feel better, that will help him at all. 

  When he finally lets go, you walk over to Maeve and cast Speak with the Dead.

“Why did the Necromancer kill you?”

 “I… was… going.. To… kill… spawn.”

  As if this day couldn’t get anything worse.

“So you lied to me.”

“Unnatural… should be… destroyed.”

“How?” your voice sounds foreign to your own ears, you hear Donella’s clipping of words in your tone.

“Sun… burning… sell… ring…”

 For whatever reason, you decide to take your anger out on the corpse and use just about every heavy object you can find to hit her with. You are screaming words that are unintelligible and pissed off more than words can say.

 He was going to be dead by the time you had killed the necromancer- if anything, he is the one Astarion should be thanking for saving him. 

 She lied, you feel your bitterness crawl up your throat, she lied and I would have lost him forever all because of fucking Lathander. 

 “We should light Lathander’s church on fire,” you say rather aggressively, “then raise them all up and turn them into the thing they-”

“My love,” Astarion says the pet name firmly and takes your shaking hands, “I know you don’t mean that- that is more of a suggestion I would offer up. 

“I want to get out of here,” he pleads, “the sooner we can get out of this dreary filth pit, the better.”

 You don’t remember leaving the Catacombs or the awkward pardon from the Duke, but you finally seem to come back to yourself as you stare into the fire of the free room you were given for your troubles. You wanted to leave, but Astarion isn’t in the best shape and you wouldn’t get very far without running into danger. 

 You definitely arcane locked the door and windows. Astarion had looked at you like you were a mad man as you made him drink at least three healing potions to jump start the process. He doesn’t say anything, just watches you work. 

 When it seemed you were done, Astarion had asked you if you wanted to bathe with him and you said you needed to keep watch. He frowned, but respected your choice. Astarion has been in there for 10 minutes and you still haven’t heard any water being sloshed around.

 Maybe you need to check on him- was there a window in the bathroom? You can’t remember. Maybe you should check just in case- at least for your own sanity. 

 “My Love?”

 You jump when Astarion places his hand on your shoulder and you struggle to steady yourself.

“Don’t scare me like that!” you get up with angry tears on your face, “I am trying to keep watch- what if I hurt you!? Or worse!? Do you have absolutely no respect for your life!?”

 You expected him to give it back to you- he is the one suffering, not you, but instead he just pulls you into a tight hug and kisses the top of your head.

“I knew you were on your way,” he whispers, “I was scared, but I never doubted you, not even once.

“Please, come and take a bath with me. We are safe, my Sweet, I promise.”

 Ugly sobs leave your mouth and you bury your face in his chest. How can he say any of that? You failed him. He was buried again and you failed him like you did when Cazador had buried him. 

“I-I’m sorry,” you gasp, “I should have fought harder- I should have saved you faster.”

 Astarion hushes you like one would do for a hysterical child and you only begin crying more. 

“You saved me as fast as you possibly could,” Astarion states confidently, “it’s not like I had to wait here for three days- it was merely hours- and I heard the flute playing from up the stairs. 

“My love- you, as always, are perfect. You smell a bit musty right now, but perfect.”

 You laugh away the remainder of your tears at his last statement, they pour down your face in a waterfall motion, but you feel some of the tension release itself from your body. 

“Something tells me you really want me to take a bath.”

“I have only been hinting at it for the last several moments,” he teases, “and your braid definitely needs to be redone.

“So? Can we please go take a bath?”

 You nod tiredly and let Astarion guide you to the bathroom- you make sure to check for windows and thankfully there aren’t any. 

 The water is made up and steaming- there are candles lit and scattered around the bathroom instead of the sconces being lit. There is something in there that makes the water smell like roses and spring- you aren’t exactly sure what is happening, this may be the fanciest bath you have ever seen.  

“I-I wanted to do something nice for you,” he says with an awkward chuckle, “I bought the soap and rose petals from that shop I went into. Granted, I wasn’t expecting there to be such a dramatic detour, but I thought it might help us both… relax?”

 You blink a few times before looking at him with a wide smile- his nervous expression washes away and smiles back.

“I love it.”

“I knew you would.” 

  Touching him and having him touch you makes your nerves calm down immensely. You are sitting in his lap, facing him as you rinse out the soap from his hair. 

 Astarion, on the other hand, is just staring up at you as your eyes are searching for any bubbles that may have gone rogue. 

  Waking up in a coffin again was terrifying, but he was significantly more worried about you. He tried to break through the wood, but there had already been a substantial amount of dirt placed on top of the lid and all he could do was call your name while the Clerics of Lathander laughed above him. 

 Astarion was determined though- he crawled out of his own grave once. Sure it wasn’t fun and it was awful, but this time is different. You were waiting for him above ground and you must be scared out of your mind or worse. He would really prefer to not make another trip to Manifest without you. 

  He had begun to make a serious dent in the wood, but it didn’t matter because when he broke it open, they had already dug him up. The sun was high in the sky and the Clerics looked genuinely confused that he wasn’t burning alive and that wicked priestess looked infuriated- she knew exactly what was happening.

 Karma, however, was on Astarion’s side this time- or so he thought. Someone had killed the clerics and knocked the priestess out, but that person also happened to be a Gods damn necromancer. 

 He had no doubt that you would save him and he would continue to fight back as much as possible. He had only been afraid when the Necromancer made it clear that you had arrived on scene. 

 As always, you are incredible and far more powerful than you give yourself credit for.

 “I think I got rid of all the soap,” you inspect his curls by tangling your hands into them, “I think-“

 Astarion’s fingers easily glide into your freshly cleaned tresses and he pulls you down to him. Your lips against his feels like Heaven every single time and he feels like maybe the Gods did hear his prayers after all.

 Maybe they just flew backwards in time or something- he isn’t sure, but he is so grateful for you and your bravery. 

  You may be the musician between the two of them, but Astarion can still coax the prettiest music out of you like a professional. Perhaps he is in this regard, but this could be the only instance that he appreciates this expertise.

  You break the kiss when one of his fingers slowly slides into you and your gasp is euphoric. Your lower lip trembles as you tease it with your teeth and he places sweet, loving kisses across your jaw as you continue to sing for him. 

  Your moans aren’t loud- you think they are, but they really aren’t. He adores it. It makes it feel real and not like an act- you aren’t trying to put on a show for the handsome ‘Magistrate’ who approached you at the bar.

 You are moaning for him and him only- your gasps and keens are genuine. It’s his name that is tumbling from your lips- not some name he came up with once upon a time. 

  And after? Astarion will curl up with you in bed for a cuddle and rest until the sun comes back up. 

 The sun and he gets to enjoy seeing you in the sun. 

 Dim lighting does you a significant amount of favors too, of course. If anything, you are the only reason the lighting is attractive at all. 

 Your eyes are blown wide with lust and your forehead leans against his when he adds another finger. His thumb circles your clit and Astarion feels his cock twitch when you groan with pleasure into his mouth. 

 “Gods,” he whispers, “you are beautiful.” 

 You whine and buck your hips, he can feel how desperate you are for more. Your walls clench around his fingers and it takes everything within him to not give in. 

  He isn’t done teasing you yet, he finally has you all to himself again. No more weddings, no more campaigns, and hopefully no more necromancers. 

 Astarion can have you whenever he wants and he is going to take every opportunity he can to watch your pretty little face keen for him as he chases your pleasure. 

“A-Astarion,” your hands are holding onto the tub behind him and your face is in the crook of his neck, “ins- side me- ple-“

  He cuts you off by finally spearing you onto his cock. A guttural moan tumbles out of your mouth. You kiss and nip at the skin on his neck while softly whimpering with each movement. 

  You ride him slowly and Astarion continues to explore your figure with his hands- one of them teasing your clit. 

 Your own hands explore him, avoiding his back like you usually do. 

 Astarion trusts you- he trusts you more than anyone. You won’t hurt him and if it’s too much, you will stop. You have shown him that time and time again. 

“You can touch my scars, my Darling,” his eyes meet yours while you sink back down, his , “I trust you.” 

 You smile brightly at him and place a chaste kiss on his lips.

“Let me know if you need me to stop, okay?”

“I will.”

 Astarion pulls you back to him for another kiss and your hips pick their rhythm back up in response. He could be lost with you forever like this. 

 He never thought sex would be a pleasurable experience for him, but love seems to change a lot of things. 

 You have changed his entire life.

Tag List: @n3rdybirdee @fandomarchiveilyd @dajeong @hotmesshobbit @godoffuckedupcats @bitchstarion @hereliesblackdragon @pebble-bb @preciouslittlebhaalbae @lavvyan @beepersteeper

[snarryauctoberfest]

The Week 1 roundup can be found here. The Week 2 roundup can be found here.

Week 4 commences posting on the 21st of October.

Day 10

Title: After the Orchard Creator: ??? Prompt: Prompt 2024-110: Newly widowed Harry has trouble getting his son to sleep. One night Hermione sends him a podcast of Severus Snape talking about his time during the war, and it puts his son directly to sleep. Even though the man had never answered any of Harry’s letters through the year, he decides to reach out and tell him about this new development. Rating: Mature Word Count: 20.8k Summary: Same as prompt.

💚❤️ Read on AO3 💚❤️

Title: Blonde Tresses Creator: ??? Prompt: Prompt: 2024-115 - Severus had sworn never to kneel before another wizard again. But he had to try proposing one last time. Rating: Mature Word Count: 1.2k Summary: Same as prompt.

💚❤️ Read on AO3 💚❤️

Day 11

Title: Second Chance Inheritance Creator: ??? Prompt: 2024-232 - The Prince family has a different sort of inheritance, the secret to their success: When they come of age, members are taught the Second Chance spell. One chance to go back in time and fix things. Rating: Explicit Word Count: 32k Summary: Following a tragedy, Severus Snape is determined to tap into his estranged family's greatest legacy. He finds himself with more chances to woo the love of his life than he ever thought possible.

💚❤️ Read on AO3 💚❤️

Day 12

Title: Help Stepdad, I'm Stuck! Creator: ??? Prompt: 2024-67 - Help Stepdad, I'm stuck! Rating: Explicit Word Count: 6k Summary: After years of marriage, Severus can feel his relationship with Lily waning. He had already been contemplating ending things when his stepson, Harry, proposes something that he struggles to refuse, although will he ultimately come to regret it?

💚❤️ Read on AO3 💚❤️

Title: Leak Creator: ??? Prompt: 2024-165 - Harry is a plumber (hot daddy type with hairy chest - I beg for it). He was called to Spinner's End. The door was answered by a pissed off, soaked wet bloke in a silk robe and lace stockings. Harry had never been turned on by the sight of another man in his entire life. Well, until now. Rating: Explicit Word Count: 4.3k Summary: Same as prompt.

💚❤️ Read on AO3 💚❤️

Day 13

Title: (Not Quite) As You Wish Creator: ??? Prompt: 2024-124: After Nagini's bite, due to some unresolved life debt stuff, Severus becomes Harry's Genie in a Bottle… And he desperately wants to make Potter's life as difficult as he can - until he hears what Harry actually wishes for. Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Word Count: 6.5k Summary: It’s post-war, and Harry is still hearing voices. A voice. One, very specific voice. A voice that wants something of him. And it’s the one thing he doesn’t do.

💚❤️ Read on AO3 💚❤️

Title: Lively Days at Potter House by khaleesisophie - a Podfic Creator: ??? Prompt: N/a Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Length: 2:12:47 Summary: Podfic of Lively Days at Potter House by khaleesisophie

Harry, who has a misplaced understanding of his own skill in matchmaking, attempts to strike a match for his dear friend, Draco Malfoy. A tale of misunderstanding and romantic misadventures.

Or, the Emma Snarry AU we always needed.

💚❤️ Listen to on AO3 💚❤️

Day 14

Title: First Impressions Creator: ??? Prompt: 2024-216: Trope reversal: Snape was forced into multiple arranged marriages by his grandparents. The spouses kept dying. Very mysterious. But Harry isn't worried when he winds up the latest candidate. Rating: Explicit Word Count: 24.6k Summary: When Harry is forced to marry a complete stranger, he tries to make the best of things. After all, he's a Healer, he can take care of himself. And his new husband seems nice enough… But why, exactly, has Severus already been married three times before? And why have all three of those previous spouses died unexpectedly? Is Harry next? Or will he fall in love with his new husband after all?

💚❤️ Read on AO3 💚❤️

2024 Snarry AUctoberfest Entries || HOS Tumblr || Discord

[addisonstars]

"staring"

written for day 20 of december for @jegulus-microfic with the prompt "table" totaling 123 words

“James” Sirius waved a hand in front of his face. “James, James, Jamess.” He sang. 

“Huh.” He looked around, only to find all of his friends giving him odd looks. “Yeah mate?” 

Sirius glanced at the rest of the gang, then turned back to James. “What's so interesting over there at the slytherin table mate?” He shoved James' shoulder, “is there a girl or something over there that caught your eye, eh?” 

Remus laughed, “No, no, there couldn't be, he swore off girls after Lily rejected him a couple months ago, remember?” 

James swore off girls, but he didn’t swear off blokes. And there was one over there with black hair, grey eyes, a sharp smile that may have caught his eye instead. 

11 days to finish my reading goal. i can do it!! (i say as i have to read 10 books in 11 days to fill my goal of 150 HELP)

-a.s.

[thebibutterflyao3]

Day 11 - Prompt: Cauldron @jegulus-microfic

December Daily Series - 499 words

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10

“Sirius?”

“Hmm?”

Regulus tapped the window lightly to get his brother’s attention. “Is he alright?”

Sirius leaned up onto his knees from his bed and lifted his chin. A frown knitted his eyebrows together. As he studied the situation, Regulus watched James’s prone form.

Normally, when someone fell as dramatically as he had, it would be a cause for concern. However, the sheer number of times that James had lost his balance this weekend alone made him hesitate. The bloke was remarkably uncoordinated for an athlete.

“He’s fine,” Sirius decided, settling back against his pillows. “If he was hurt, Padfoot would be dancing around and barking like mad.”

Regulus hadn’t given the bear-shaped “dog” any consideration, but now that he mentioned it, the animal was sitting next to James rather calmly. In the short time he’d been around it, the dog had leapt on him a half dozen times and barked more than that. If it wasn’t so large, he wouldn’t mind giving it a pat, but it was too big to be so aggressively insistent.

“Is he always like this?”

Sirius nodded, then glanced up. “Wait, James or Padfoot?”

Regulus rolled his eyes and gestured at the window. “Your friend has spent more time on his back than upright over the last two days.”

When his brother cackled, Regulus threw a pillow at his face. “You knew what I meant, pervert.”

“Oof!” Sirius swatted the pillow away and huffed. “Considering you’re the reason he hit the ground at least twice, I’d say that’s more of a you problem.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning that he’s flustered around you. Pads likely tripped him up just now, but it’s certainly not a daily occurrence.”

Regulus watched as James finally hauled himself to his feet. Granted, he had contributed to his fall on the ice, but James’s trip into the bushes during the snowball fight seemed a bit more intentional. He accepted that the dog was a factor this time, but it was becoming a pattern.

Don’t you dare turn this into a puzzle.

He couldn’t resist a puzzle. It was a weakness that he indulged in selfishly, particularly when it was related to a fit bloke. That was his favourite kind.

“What are you up to?” Sirius asked, circling his hand in Regulus’s direction. “What’s this face?”

“I’m not making a face.”

“Mm-hmm. You’ve forgotten how well I know you. This reminds me of the face you made when you were whipping up ‘poisonous concoctions’ in your toy cauldron. You were…what? Six?”

Regulus smirked at the memory. “Four, I think. I loved that toy.”

“Never understood why mother bought it for you. She was adamantly against ‘improper toys.’”

“Uncle Cygnus and Aunt Druella,” he corrected. “I think Narcissa told them it was a chemistry set.” He shrugged as he leaned against the window frame. “Mother wouldn’t risk offending them by chucking it.”

Sirius rolled over and aimed a pointed look at him. “Right. So, why this current deviousness?”

“It’s nothing. Relax.”

“Liar.”

Liar.

Next Part>>>

[greattemptation]

I’m scared but… “Dying”? 😭

[news voice] Invisibility "I don't want any sad stories within 10 miles of me" Bloke asks for information on Dying. More at 11:00.

References to terminal illness (not drarry) below the break

After a long and happy life, Arthur Weasley has a terminal illness and is dying. Draco, from a somewhat-still-an-outsider perspective, observes changes and dynamics in the Weasley family.

"He sees a lot of things, he thinks, that the Weasleys don’t see. He’s been accepted at the Burrow for years, even welcomed for many of them, and loved for at least a few, but he’s not family. And that’s alright."

It is sad, but it's not tragic.

...does that help?

[moreagmorph]

goateeinknall

goateeinknall

Following you for less than a year

Like your last featured commenter, I’m also a bodybuilder who’s a heavy smoker with a smoking fetish. I cannot tell you how much I enjoy your content, mate. Cheers.

Oct 19 2:32 PM

Thanks. With the recent scramble to AI art, us Photoshop hackers aren't feeling much love. Your post is very much appreciated. AG

Today 10:27 AM

You do a superb job of it, mate! There’s so little for blokes with a smoking fetish out there… the AI feels like an explosion of creativity and horniness.

Today 11:29 AM

[beeeinyourbonnet]

Covetous | Chapter 14

Pairing: Nostelle or Macelle , who is to say which (I feel like it’s obvious which)

Summary: Father Joseph MacAvoy wakes up in a library across town with no idea of how he got there. When the kind librarian doesn’t kick him out immediately, he considers that maybe there’s more to life than alcohol.

[chapter 1] [chapter 2] [chapter 3] [chapter 4] [chapter 5] [chapter 6] [chapter 7] [chapter 8] [chapter 9] [chapter 10] [chapter 11] [chapter 12] [chapter 13]

[read on ao3]

To get the church ready for mass, Belle decided she should stay the weekend. It had nothing to do with being near Nosty. 

Friday, they all went out and had breakfast for dinner, and then Belle spent the evening simultaneously teaching Nosty how to use his new phone and Joseph how to use the office computer. By the end of the night, they had managed to print a sign for the church door about sunday mass being held and program three numbers into Nosty’s phone—Belle’s, Kathryn’s, and Joseph’s. 

Belle knew Nosty had seen a smartphone—she had one, after all—but he had never used one before, and she was surprised by his unbridled delight at the camera. He took pictures of her, the church, even one of Joseph glaring at the computer screen. 

Saturday morning, Belle woke early to find Nosty’s room empty. She swallowed the urge to panic. Nosty had told her that he slept lightly, and she had seen for herself that he was more often than not awake. She headed for the kitchen to make coffee and found a pot already brewed. Joseph’s door was still closed, so it had to have been Nosty. 

After making herself a cup, she threw a jacket on over her pajamas—pants and a t-shirt for staying in the church—and headed downstairs. 

Nosty sat on a bench out front, drinking coffee and smoking a cigarette. 

“Morning,” she said, not wanting to startle him. 

Of course, Nosty was never startled. Still watching the trees across the parking lot, he raised his mug to her.

“Can I sit with you?” she asked.

He patted the spot next to him and she sat, surprised when his arm came around her to pull her closer. They both watched the squirrels darting up and down the trees, birds chirping in the early morning light. She could envision doing this with Nosty every morning, on a little front porch that was all their own.

“Do you do this every day?” she asked.

He shrugged. “I used to sit and watch when I woke up, but I never had anything nice to look at. Never had hot coffee either.”

She laced her free hand through his. Belle had never liked the morning after sleeping with another person whether it had been sexual or not, but waking up with Nosty felt as natural as waking up alone. She wanted every morning to start with Nosty holding his arm out to her, drawing her into him as they watched the world wake up around them.

“You’ll be cleaning and tidying this morning, yeah?” Nosty asked.

“I think so,” Belle said. “I don’t want Joseph to do this alone.”

He traced his thumb along her hip. “Might go out for a bit.”

In the peace of the early hour, she found no hint of suspicion in her. There had been plenty of times where she’d thought Nosty was going to wander off and he hadn’t, and he certainly hadn’t since their reunion. Maybe she trusted him a little. 

“Where to?” 

“I want to take pictures of where they broke up the camp, now I’ve got a fancy camera,” he said. “Maybe it’ll help the solicitor.”

Belle was surprised at the logic of that, though she’d be even more surprised if the police had left anything of their camp intact. “Do you want me to drive you over there?”

He barked with laughter. “Absolutely not. You stay here.”

“Why is that funny?” She frowned. “I’d stay in the car if you wanted me to.”

He drained his coffee and set the mug down, still smirking. “Aye, and what if someone saw me get in your car, hey?”

“So?”

He tapped her on the nose with his now-free finger, and his amusement was contagious, but Belle fought to hide her own smile. 

“So, say a bloke sees King Nosty, the savior, getting into a nice car with a nice bird. What about my reputation?”

“First of all,” Belle pointed to her car in the parking lot. “That is not a nice car. That is an absolutely ancient car held together by luck. Second, your reputation as King Nosty? The savior?”

“Aye, I saved them, that’s what the solicitor said, remember?” He squeezed her to him once, then stood and stretched. “Besides, wouldn’t want anyone to follow you because they see us together. Could be dangerous.”

“Your friends would do that?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Dunno. Plenty of ‘em en’t in their right mind, yeah?” He mimed a syringe at the bend of his elbow. 

“Do you want me to drive you somewhere closer, then?” 

He picked up his mug and dangled it from one finger, watching it rock back and forth. “Fine, thanks.” He spun around and pointed at her. “But do not follow me.”

“I won’t, I promise!”

Half an hour later, dropping him off by the library, she wanted nothing more than to follow him. She didn’t know if it was her conscience that stopped her or the fact that Nosty observed everything and would see her, but she did convince herself to drive back to the church with the promise of picking Nosty back up when he called her. 

It was nice that he could call her now. Instead of worrying over him, she would think of that and that alone.

****

MacAvoy spent the first part of his morning curled around the toilet, wracked with a nausea that he prayed wasn’t food poisoning. It was amazing how much worse vomiting was while sober. Drunk, it was almost a relief, but gagging over a bowl in full control of his mind was like purgatory.

“Joseph? Are you all right?” Belle called. He groaned. Of course she’d found him like this. 

“Fantastic.”

“I’ll set some water outside the door, okay?”

He grunted a response, though it was another relief when the clink of glass told him the water was there. 

After another twenty minutes of sweat, retch, and watery eyes, he thought the worst of it was done, so he brushed his teeth and staggered to the kitchen. Belle sat at the table, drinking a cup of tea and eating a scone with jam while she read the paper.

“Where’s Nosty?” he asked.

“Taking some photos.” Belle set her paper down. “Do you feel up to eating? I made scones.” 

His stomach lurched and he shook his head, making for the coffee pot instead. On his way back to the table, he grabbed a bag of digestive biscuits to nibble on, though he wished he could stomach Belle’s scones. When had she even had the time to bake? Nosty’s presence had reinvigorated her spirit when his friendship couldn’t. Of course.

“So.” Belle leaned forward, hands around her mug. “I’m all yours for the day. What do we need to do to get the church ready for mass?”

****

He’d been concerned that he would forget something, would fuck it all up trying to do the right thing with his church for the first time in years, but it was like riding a bike. The muscle memory led him and Belle all around the church, gathering materials from closets that hadn’t been opened in years. 

At some point, as he set up the altar and refreshed all the candles while Belle swept the sanctuary floor, he realized he would have to hire some staff back. Even if he didn’t have a big congregation anymore, he’d need a janitor. No one would come to services if it was dusty, and he certainly wasn’t going to ask Belle to clean every weekend.

After three solid hours, everything but Father MacAvoy himself was ready for the public. His stomach had calmed enough for him to eat, so he sat at the table with one of Belle’s scones and a cup of tea while she diced up a zucchini. 

“How are things with Nosty?” he asked. He’d assumed that Nosty would attach himself to Belle like a shadow, and so was surprised to get this chance to speak candidly. He wouldn’t waste it.

“Good, I think.” She tossed the zucchini into a frying pan with a glug of oil, right next to a pot of boiling water. “The solicitor seems to think she can at least keep him out of prison.”

“That’s good.” Did that mean that Nosty was going to live with him indefinitely? Sure, he didn’t quake in his boots at the sight of him anymore, but the only time they got along was when Belle was there to mediate. Nosty did not like him.

“I’m sorry we haven’t gotten to spend much time together,” she said. “It’s kind of shocking, I feel like we were joined at the hip while I was miserable. How are you feeling?”

She had moved to chopping a fistful of herbs, but he had no idea what kind. He’d figure it out eventually when she put food in front of him. He knew Belle liked to cook, but he’d never seen her like this. She had never been this happy.

“Better than this morning.” Part of him wanted to stand behind her and run a hand through her hair, like she was cooking for him because they were a couple. He crushed that urge. If nothing else, Nosty wouldn’t hesitate to stab him. “Nervous.”

“Well, you know I’ll be right there in the audience.” Her knife stilled. “Congregation?”

“Congregation,” he agreed. “I’ll have to write a sermon tonight.”

She scooped her pile of chopped herbs into a bowl, then plopped a lemon on the cutting board before rooting through the drawers. 

“I’ll help however I can, though I don’t know much about scripture. What do you have to zest a lemon with?”

He shook his head. “I’ve never zested a lemon.”

She scoffed, but he saw the corner of her mouth from his angle which meant she was smiling anyway as she found a potato peeler in a drawer and set to work peeling off strips of lemon rind.

“How are you and Nosty getting along in the kitchen?” She tossed two of the strips in with the zucchini before lining the rest up to mince like the herbs.

“Horribly, but we’re both eating.” 

“Horribly? What’s the problem?”

Truly, it was both of them. MacAvoy was a miserable cook and Nosty was impatient, a combination that had thus far only ended in just-edible disaster.

“Big learning curve,” he said. “Neither of us is much in the kitchen. Great scone, by the way.” 

She flashed a smile at him before adding the zest into her herb bowl, and then her phone rang. “Shit, that’s Nosty, can you grab it?” 

He didn’t want to answer Belle’s phone if Nosty was calling, but it wasn’t an unreasonable enough request to say no.

“It’s me,” he said in lieu of hello.

“Where’s Belle? You fucking putting her to work while you lounge in your fainting chair all day?”

He gritted his teeth, but Belle had in fact been working on his behalf all day. “What do you want?”

“I’m about two kilometers from the library.”

“So?”

“Can you put him on speaker?” Belle asked, scraping her zucchini into a bowl. 

MacAvoy did in time for Belle to hear, “—fucking so? I called her, not you, you useless fucking shite, what’s the point of having a mobile if—”

“Nosty, you’re on speaker!” Belle called, looking far more amused than MacAvoy felt.

“Belle, I’m about two kilometers from the library and this eejit wants me to sit and rot there.”

Amazing how Nosty could carry on at him and then somehow make him look like the eejit. 

“You’ll probably be there before us, but we’re leaving in a minute.” Belle covered her herb bowl with a wet paper towel and her zucchini bowl with a dry one, then turned off all the hobs on the stove. 

“We?” Nosty asked. “He’s coming?”

“Sounds like it,” MacAvoy muttered.

“Oi, Father, cheer up, you been moping all week about missing your library wank ti—” 

MacAvoy jammed the speakerphone button so that Belle wouldn’t hear whatever Nosty was going to say, especially since he obviously did not wank in the library, or anywhere for that matter—except for his brief indiscretion in the shower all those weeks ago, but since that was clearly the work of Satan, it didn’t count.

“We’ll be right there!” he said, voice cracking like a pubescent boy, and hung up without another word.

“Joseph, you know that I know he’s teasing you, right?” Belle asked, somehow already wearing a sweater. 

“He’s rude.” MacAvoy stood, dismayed that he’d only managed to eat half a scone. Would he ever enjoy food again?

“I know, but it’s not like I take what he says about you as gospel.” She took his elbow, guiding him out of the kitchen so he could grab his own jacket. “I’m not judging you based on what he says.”

He supposed that did make him feel better, but he didn’t quite believe her. Nosty had her wrapped around his finger—if he said it would make him happy if she jumped, she’d ask how high. It was only a matter of time before he turned her against him. Everyone else had always turned against the pathetic, drunk priest. 

****

MacAvoy was going to have to find a minute alone to confess privately about the savage pleasure he took in Nosty riding in the backseat on the way back to the church. He’d almost thought that Belle would make them switch, but either she didn’t notice Nosty’s pout or she wasn’t as wrapped around his finger as MacAvoy thought.

“Did you get what you were looking for?” she asked.

“Nah, you were right,” he said. “Nothing left.”

“What were you looking for?” MacAvoy asked.

Belle and Nosty’s eyes met in the rearview. You’re in the front seat, MacAvoy reminded himself. 

“You tell him,” Nosty said. “Did you bring me anything?”

Belle smiled, and MacAvoy felt like they were speaking another language. What had Belle even had time to bring him? They’d all but run out of the church.

“In my purse,” she said. “Nosty went to see if he could get pictures of the camp that the police destroyed, but they’d already removed all traces. Did you see any of your friends?”

“Friends?” Nosty ripped into a packet of trail mix with his teeth. Did Belle have a grocery store in her bag? “You mean my legions of devoted subjects?”

“Oh, the jury won’t like if you get a swelled head, will they?” 

Nosty grinned, tossing a handful of nuts and raisins into his mouth.

“So did you see anyone?” MacAvoy asked. 

“Sure, I saw ‘em.”

“Is that a good thing?” Belle asked. 

Nosty shrugged. MacAvoy understood—if he could have held services and known that no one who had ever seen him drink would be there, he would feel a lot less nervous. There were stakes to fucking up in public. What had Nosty said to him the first time they met? Once a fuckup, always a fuckup?

“You didn’t speak to them,” MacAvoy said. 

“No point, is there?” Nosty’s trail mix bag sat half-full in his hand, but he just stared at the window into the greying afternoon. “They all think I’m in jail. Won’t be happy to see me clean and fed and taken care of.” 

MacAvoy sat back in his seat, only vaguely aware of Belle responding. It had never occurred to him that Nosty had friends on the street, that to come with Belle meant leaving people behind. And not just leaving people behind, but leaving them in a bad spot. Perhaps Nosty felt guilty for being clean and fed and taken care of?

He watched Belle’s profile as she chatted. She was so unwaveringly kind, and her kindness had saved every man in that car. Who was he to feel bitter and resentful?

A piece of shit who’d gotten off to the idea of having to be her savior, that was who. 

Belle didn’t need saving, he did. Maybe he and Nosty had more in common than he thought.

****

Once the idea was in his head, MacAvoy could not carry on with his mass preparations without clearing the air. After sending Belle into the church’s pitiful library to find a theology text for him that he guessed he would have to reference, he cornered Nosty outside his bedroom.

“We need to talk,” he said.

Nosty folded his arms and stared down at him. They were about the same height, but somehow MacAvoy felt meters shorter than the other man.

“About what?” He spread his feet. “You here to finally admit you want Belle for yourself?”

MacAvoy swallowed. What if he did admit that? What would happen then? But no, that wasn’t what he’d come here for.

“No. I wanted to propose a truce.”

Nosty raised an eyebrow, teeth bared as usual, but MacAvoy stood his ground. Well, he took a step back, and then he stood his ground. 

“A truce?” 

“Yes.” MacAvoy nodded and his stomach roiled. Perhaps anxiety and withdrawal did not mix. “We both owe our current fortunes to Belle, so we should make an effort. For her.”

Nosty licked his lips, staring off somewhere over MacAvoy’s left shoulder. He hoped Belle wasn’t there, or she’d put together that he’d sent her off on a fool’s errand. 

“Fine,” Nosty said. “For her.” He grabbed a fistful of MacAvoy’s shirt and pulled him closer. “But if you cause her even an ounce of harm, hot sauce is gonna be the least of your worries, ken?”

MacAvoy shook with fear, but something else peeked through—what right did Nosty have to menace him? About as much right as MacAvoy had to be jealous. “Oh, because you’ve never hurt her?”

“I would never lay a finger on her.” Nosty released him, then folded his arms again. 

MacAvoy spluttered. “And you think I would?”

“Joseph, I found it!” Belle’s voice floated out to them from closer than was comfortable.

“I do not trust priests,” Nosty hissed, jabbing him in the chest once before sliding away from him. 

“Great!” MacAvoy called, hoarse. He rubbed his chest. What just happened?

****

Even though he was trying to think nicer thoughts, MacAvoy still left their conversation convinced that Nosty was going to do something to mark his territory. 

It turned out he didn’t need to because MacAvoy didn’t even have a chance to claim her time. Belle’s only concern was that MacAvoy write his sermon, so she set him at the table in the rec room with a bible, the book he’d asked her to find, her laptop, and a legal pad, then sat on the couch with a book. Nosty had joined her immediately with a book of his own. 

He tried to work on his sermon, he really did, but it was so hard when Belle and Nosty were right in front of him, sharing a blanket so he couldn’t see if their legs were tangled together, couldn’t know how often they looked up and smiled at one another unless he was watching.

Then, all at once, that wasn’t why he was watching. Belle relaxed into the couch while she read, brow furrowed in concentration, but he’d seen that before. What he hadn’t seen was Nosty, face smooth and carefree, shoulders back and head against the couch, wearing a sweatshirt for the uni that MacAvoy was pretty sure Belle attended. Relaxed. He wanted to memorize the image to draw upon it any time the bitterness threatened. 

Nosty was just a man who’d fallen on hard times, just like him. He wasn’t a monster. 

“Fucking hell.” Nosty slammed his book shut, and MacAvoy jumped, but Belle just laughed. 

“So you got to the tower?” Belle asked.

“I got to the fucking tower.” 

MacAvoy had no idea what they were talking about, but Belle was laughing and Nosty’s smile wasn’t mean at all, and for a second, he understood. He understood who Belle saw when she looked at Nosty, why his absence had destroyed her. 

What he didn’t understand, as Belle went back to her book and Nosty only pretended to while he watched her over the pages with an expression akin to reverence, was how Nosty had just thrown it all away.

“Having troubles, Father?” Nosty asked, and MacAvoy jumped. 

Belle looked up. “Do you need help?”

“Probably,” he said. “But neither of you studied theology.”

“How d’you know?” Nosty said. “Maybe I went to fucking Catholic school.”

“Did you go to Catholic school?” Belle asked before he could.

“Aye, I did, when I was seven. Foster family knew the headmaster.” 

“That was a long time ago,” MacAvoy said while Belle’s gaze drifted away. What was she thinking about? “And they don’t teach theology to seven-year-olds.”

“Why don’t you talk about getting sober?” Belle said.

MacAvoy shook his head. “I’m still too much in the thick of it. I wouldn’t know what to say.” And privately, he thought that was too good a sermon topic to waste on a service that he figured he’d be lucky to see five people attend.

“Talk about temptation,” Nosty said. “Don’t Jesus freaks live for that shite?” 

MacAvoy clenched his teeth. Was he a “Jesus freak?” “I could do that.”

“Let me know if I can help,” Belle said, but she was already turning back to her book. “I can look for quotes or read articles or just bounce ideas.”

“Yeah, thanks.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. This was going to be a long night. 

If only he could write about the way Belle’s hair kept falling into her eyes, and how, after three or four times of her moving it, Nosty shut his book and scooted to his knees so he could tuck the strands behind her ear, then brush his fingertips along her jaw.

They stared at one another, Belle’s ears reddening, and then Belle thanked him and he leaned back. MacAvoy was an intruder on this moment, but neither acknowledged him. He was just a fly on the wall, an observer in their love story. Thank god his cock didn’t twinge.

****

Belle laid in bed in her church pajamas, staring at the ceiling. Nosty’s room was just across the hall. It would be so easy to tiptoe over, to tap on his door and see if he’d been lying awake for the last hour thinking about her too.

With Joseph there as a chaperone, Belle had resisted the urge to crawl into Nosty’s lap while she read, to settle herself between his knees and be held again. Now she had no chaperone. No one would stop her except herself, and the longer she laid there, the less resolved she was to stay in her own bed.

Was it brave to go to Nosty now? Or would it be braver to deny herself?

A soft bird noise floated through the crack under the door and she frowned. What did that mean?

But when it sounded again, she leapt out of bed, biting back a grin. Opening the door revealed Nosty, just as she’d hoped. He rested a forearm on the frame and leaned in. 

“Thought about throwing pebbles at your window, but this was faster,” he said, voice low.

“I don’t think Father MacAvoy would be happy if I let you in my room so late.”

“Would you be happy?”

In response, she opened the door wide and sat on the foot of the bed. He shut it behind him so quietly, even she barely heard it. 

When Nosty sat next to her, the mattress groaned, and they both glanced at the wall that adjoined Joseph’s room. 

“You couldn’t sleep either?” Belle asked.

He shook his head. “Too loud.”

Belle’s brow furrowed. “Loud? It’s silent as a grave here. It doesn’t even feel like London to me.”

“Not outside.” He tapped his head. “Loud.”

She took his hand and squeezed. “How can I help?”

Closing his eyes, he tilted his forehead against hers. “You could let me throw you on the bed and fuck you senseless.” His grin told her he was teasing—although she was sure if she’d agreed, he wouldn’t have said no—but that didn’t stop the heat that flared between her legs.

“Nosty.”

“Bet it would be the best sex the Father’s ever had, listening to you come on the other side of his wall,” he murmured, and this time, it didn’t seem to be a joke. “By the third or fourth time, he’d probably pass out.” 

“The third or fourth?” Her body remembered how it felt last time, how spent she’d been laying in his arms. “I don’t think I could.”

He threaded his free hand through her hair and rubbed his nose against hers, so close their lips almost touched. 

“I think you could.” He didn’t kiss her, and she craved it, but she held herself still. “I’ll bet he wonders what you’d sound like.”

“Nosty, stop.” 

He didn’t pull back, but he didn’t speak again. Belle swallowed to get her breathing under control. 

“Why are you so stuck on him?”

“He’s a fucking priest.”

Belle leaned back so she could breathe. “So?”

“I hate him.” 

“I don’t think you do.” She grabbed his face in both hands, leaning further back to look at him. His jaw pulsed under her palms, and when he opened his eyes, she almost cowered. But she knew the rage wasn’t at her, and she knew he wouldn’t hurt her.

“What are you hiding from?” she asked.

“I’m not hiding from anything.” He kissed her palm. “I’m telling you how much I want you.”

“Nosty, I’m not going to sleep with you tonight,” she said. 

He squeezed his eyes shut. “Belle, please.” 

“Nosty!”

“I’m sad, all right?” He opened his eyes, and whatever fire had been there turned to anguish. “I don’t want to be in here anymore.” He tapped his head again. “Please.”

She let go of him and climbed to the head of the bed, turning the comforter down before holding her arms out to him. He crawled toward her, and once he was in her arms, she tucked them in together.

“You know, I read somewhere that holding hands can help ease the sadness.” She groped around until she found his hand, and then he clutched her fingers between his. “Why don’t you tell me what’s wrong?”

He shook his head.

“Why not?”

“Can’t you just pretend I’m sad because I want to fuck you?” he whispered into her neck.

“I will not pretend that.” 

He clung to her so tightly, she was afraid he’d hurt his injury, but she could deal with that if she had to. She stroked his scalp between his locks, then twirled one around her finger.

“You’ll be angry,” he said.

“Nosty, you can always tell me how you feel, and I promise I won’t be angry.” 

He nuzzled into her neck and mumbled something.

“What?”

“They destroyed my home.”

She swallowed. Of course. He’d gone back to his camp that morning and found nothing. “I’m so sorry.”

“I know it wasn’t much of a home. I know this one’s better. But it was mine, and they crushed it.” 

She wished she had wisdom to offer, something useful to say. All she had was the sympathy tears building behind her eyes. “It’s awful, the way they treated you.” 

“Everyone thinks it’s just fine.” He pressed his eyes to her neck. “The coppers, the doctors. They think we’re fucking rats because we don’t sleep in a bed. You know, they didn’t even save me fucking shirt at the hospital? One fucking shirt and it’s on me back, and they toss it like a rag as soon as I take it off.” 

His shoulders shook, and he somehow clutched her even tighter. 

“They don’t even see me as human. I’m just a piece of fucking sentient rubbish.”

“I know you’re human,” Belle said. “And I’ve always known.”

“I know.” He swallowed, and she tried not to laugh when his Adam’s apple tickled her chest. “I tried to call you from the hospital.”

“What?” How had she missed him? “You did?” She’d been so available to him the whole time, how could he not have reached her?

“Aye.” Somehow, he burrowed deeper into her neck. “When they said I wasn’t getting a section two, I asked them to call your library because I didn’t know your mobile. They said just because you didn’t kick me out, doesn’t mean you want to hear me whinging.”

The fury that blasted through her surprised her. She’d never felt so hot with rage that she wanted to destroy something, wanted to find that doctor and crush their neck with her bare hands.

“Fuck them,” she said. 

Nosty rumbled with laughter, and then his shoulders shook again, and then he was sobbing into her neck. The rage bled out of her as she held him, stroking his hair and rocking him.

“I’ve got you,” she whispered. “You don’t have to worry anymore, Nosty. I’m here.” 

She didn’t know how long he cried, but she didn’t let go, and it wasn’t until he settled that she wiped the tears from her own eyes.

Nosty loosened his grip on her and pushed himself up. “Can I sleep here?”

“I thought that was a given,” she said. 

“Good. I want to hold you now.” 

“You don’t want to be held, just this once?” she asked. She felt bad that she was always the one who got to feel strong arms around her. She wanted him to get to be the little spoon.

“Nah.” He pulled away enough for her to shift comfortably onto her pillows, then wrapped himself around her. “I like knowing I have something worth protecting other than meself.” 

She bit her lip, wanting to turn around and kiss him, but settled for resting her hands on his.

“I’ll protect you too,” she said. “No one will ever treat you badly again if I’m there.”

He kissed the back of her head. “And I’ll shank anyone who lays a finger on you.”

She snorted. “A perfect team.”

“Aye. Perfect.”

She tried to stay awake until she knew Nosty had fallen asleep, but as usual, it was hard to keep her eyes open whilst being so tenderly cradled in his arms, and she fell asleep without another thought about the insomnia from earlier.

[charlesandmartine]

Saturday 2nd November 2024

A much better night has passed without the orchestra of unknown players turning up. It was entirely peaceful with no interruptions. Having said that, we had just watched a TV documentary covering the murder a couple of years ago of the British girl, Grace Millane in Auckland NZ.

So after breakfast, much more refreshed than yesterday, we followed signs for the Hot Springs on the outskirts of Katherine. These are naturally occurring warm water Springs, although as far as I can tell, they are not thermal Springs, just warm ground water from a high water table. Well, hey, they are very popular with the local non-indigenous population and with the added attraction of a pop-up cafe, what's not to like? Martine had a little dip before finding what was not to like. The Springs followed a bending course, and just around one such bend was a tree absolutely full of fruit bats! Well, you can't have everything I suppose. There was a very nice signboard at the top of the steps which read: "Time is like a river. You can never touch the same water twice because the flow that has gone by will never go by again."

Let's just leave this as sentimental philosophy and not go down the Carpe Diem route. Just an interesting reflection of life. It's hardly Socrates, Seneca or Thomas Aquinas after all. Move on from there. The coffee was good in the pop-up cafe. The cafe will only be there another week and then there will be the wet season. The cafe uses a converted shipping container. The man told us that in a couple of weeks the whole thing will be shipped out. The wet season has produced floods which came pretty much to the top of the container before now. We find this all very hard to imagine, but it does explain why, even in such manicured grounds and springs, there are crocodile signs up. Flood conditions permit crocodiles to swap locations and move house, Love it or List it style.

A storm was brewing at 2pm but it just missed us, passing slightly to the west of us. Our next appointment this afternoon was not until 5pm. We had been told the Ghan train would be in Katherine Station this afternoon, so we very much wanted to revisit the service that we have travelled on a few years ago. In the meantime, Martine managed a couple of episodes of the Archers. As soon as the title music came on, a cow mooed in appreciation. Martine is about 2 weeks behind, so no spoilers, please.

Well, once again, best made plans and all, we showed up with plenty of time to spare at the Katherine Passenger Rail Terminal, and no Ghan. Had it gone, you ask? Well, we didn't know the answer to that. I mean, it is not easy hiding a 30 coach train after all. We shall investigate the return train for later in the week.

Big excitement tomorrow. We have a 2hr riverboat cruise on the Katherine Gorge, but an early start, so we are hoping the orchestra doesn't show tonight. Back to the little apartment and SB with rubbery chicken.

ps. We met a Timorese Art Teacher doing a pastel painting of the pop-up cafe. Nice bloke, and really interesting talking to him about teaching art to year 10 and 11 students.

pps. Although it was over 40 today, it dropped later on to 34. People around here put a jumper on if it drops much more than that!

[thalialunacy]

[for the @calaisreno May Prompt Boogaloo, just a wee one today bc tomorrow's is a beast 😈]

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) 7: calm (8) (9) (10) (11) (12) (13) (14) (15) (16) (17) (18) (19) (20) (21) (22) (23) (24) (25) (26) (27) (28) (29) (30) (31)

The snow turns to rain about seven minutes after John steps into the clinic, but the Snow Day attitude has already taken hold-- A large number of appointments have been cancelled, and everyone's acting pleasantly restless. Anticipatory.

Everyone except John.

Which is odd, he thinks as he sits at a table in the canteen, aggressively ignoring a cup of tea while casual conversation flows around him. Because he's got the most to anticipate.

He'd had a bit of a think on the train in. Normally he'd read or check social media (meaning: normally he'd be that middle-aged man who falls asleep sitting up) but today, something about the snow had made him contemplative.

Because: John is not a bloke who holds back, statistically speaking. He's been good at sex for a few decades, good at romance for perhaps a decade less than that, and though he's made some rather poor choices in the last few years he likes to think he's still worth a go.

So why is he baulking? Why is he letting them be stuck in this holding pattern?

Well, listen, he's not a Holmes; he doesn't enjoy (over)thinking all possibilities until he's clicked together the situation like a Rubix cube in his head. So by the time his tea has gone cold and the canteen walls have started to close in on him, he's made a decision.

Does he have a plan? Not really. Is he going to let that stop him? Absolutely not.

The rain comes down rather insistently on his trip home hours later, and it obviously has finally soaked through the general good cheer of earlier in the day. But John feels clear and ready. Soon, he knows, adrenaline and fear will stitch him up good and proper, but for now, he's got peace. The calm before the storm.

[❤️]