#2 of wood thirst

[hazeltarotreading]

sigil for January 2025: we are stronger together

nothing can stop a tidal wave.

the base drumming is the anthem we step to the heartbeats of our granddaughters and grandsons and rise together we rise together

-Flobots, Rise

[gotmyass2marz]

tomcat disposables came on shuffle

[lalunanymph]

MARRY THE TRAITOR ; gojo satoru

⟡ the day you met your demise is the same day you met gojo satoru, your betrothed from a world so different from yours—a cruel prince who is undoubtedly in love with someone else. as the stakes rise and you race against the clock to beat your brutal fate, can you make the ultimate choice between your heart or your happily ever after?

includes: suggestive content, toilet talk, mentions of injuries, hostility, tension, repressed emotions, isekai-ed reader, reader is in princess cerena's body, arranged marriage, enemies to lovers, unrequited love, slow burn, yandere!gojo, prince!gojo

⟡ masterlist

ACT 2, SCENE 1: THE INFIRMARY

The fading sun spilled over your mother’s deep set smile, the sight of paddy stalks swaying in the wind instantly bringing relief to your worried soul. 

You found yourself lying on the engawa with her, the veranda stretching out as far as your gaze could comprehend; your eyes lazily following the last of the brilliant orange sunset rays weaving through the idyllic pink and purple skies. Your mother laughed at something you said, and you clinked your cup of rice wine with hers, drinking deeply and heartily, content and fully at peace with where you are now.

“Wake up,” she suddenly whispered into your ear, nudging your shoulder. 

Like a mirage in the middle of a shimmering desert, her face disintegrated in front of you, warm eyes turning a crystalline, cold blue.

The magnificence of the splendid skies fade into timbered ceilings, flickers of shadows from the fireplace belching out heat dancing across the latticed wood, drawing your bleary focus towards the pockets of dark intermingling with light.

You groaned, shifting on the hard mattress, and heard a rustle from your right. 

The same blue eyes that haunted you in your dreams wavered into view, Satoru’s face hovering above yours.

You screeched, grappling for something—anything to defend yourself with—pure fear lighting up every nerve ending in your body with a vivid cocktail of adrenaline and terror.

“Calm down, woman,” Satoru mumbled, gripping your scrambling hands, trying to ease you back onto the bed.

But, your mind was filled with the rampant memories of him chasing after you through the thick foliage, the sword brandishing against your bare neck. Your pupils turned into pinpricks from the fear and your breaths came out as labored exhales, the delayed shock leaving you cold and hot all over.

“Stay away from me.” 

You tried to put some distance from him, using what little strength that was left in your limbs to push yourself further up the bed, curling your shoulders inward like a prey trying to make itself smaller in front of an apex predator.

His lips twitched in the corners, those oceanic, cold eyes freezing over with distaste.

“I spent three whole nights trying to keep your fever at bay, and this is the gratitude that I get?” 

Satoru’s incensed words barely stirred a flicker of guilt from you, your weary eyes fastened on to him, refusing to let him out of your sight. He took one look at you, this unruly princess with perspiration dewing on her brow, and sighed, reaching for a glass of water by your bedside. His grip on your chin used less considerable force than before, and reluctantly, you parted your lips, drinking from his hand deeply. 

Once you satiated your thirst, Satoru set the glass back on the hardwood side table, his crystalline gaze scrutinizing you all over. 

Closer this time, you took a good look at him. 

Dark circles bedraggled his usual princely countenance, and his frosty white hair was sticking up at odd ends, as if he had frustratedly raked his fingers through them over and over again. The scruff of a five o’clock shadow darkened his chin, and you resisted the urge to touch the fading red lesions on his face, suddenly feeling immense guilt for how you had jumped at the opportunity to harm him.

“Wasp stings,” he scoffed, raising a brow. “I knew princesses were delicate, but to faint from such a common insect bite? You are far weaker than I imagined.” 

Whatever pity you felt for him in that split second of humanity shattered at his careless and callous words. Narrowing your eyes, you scoffed, turning your face away.

“Yes, I am allergic to wasp stings,” you sneered. “I apologize that I forgot to mention that when you were literally chasing after me with a broadsword, Your Highness.”

There was little doubt of the derision at the utterance of his title, and Satoru tensed, his own eyes narrowing at your impertinence.

“Astounding. After everything I’ve done for you, Cerena—”

He turned his face away from you abruptly, as if he could not comprehend why he was here in the first place. The Prince stalked over to the fireplace, hands behind his back, watching the flames lap at the charred pieces of firewood. 

Not wanting to interrupt his thoughts, you eased from the bed, trying to stand on your shaky legs while using the headboard for support.

As if he had a beacon on you, Satoru was instantly at your side, gripping your elbow and supporting you back into bed. 

“Stay where you are, Cerena,” he hissed, the frustration in his tone unmistakable. “Do not strain yourself and hurt yourself again, you foolish girl.”

In retaliation, you glared at him, feeling the urge in your bladder overtaking your common sense to keep your distance from him. “I need to relieve myself in a toilet, you sick sadist. Let me go.”

Unperturbed by your choice of colorful words, Satoru nudged a blackened pot closer to you with the tip of his hunting boot, gesturing at it. 

“What in the world is a ‘toilet’? You shall use a chamber pot like everybody else.”

However, he didn't expect your eyes to widen as you took in the strange, earthenware. “That… is a chamber pot?” You haven’t exactly seen one before, though you had read about it in fantasy novels.

Satoru’s brows knitted together, and he looked at you as if you had sprouted two heads. 

“Do not tell me you have not seen a chamber pot before?” 

His words rang hollowly in your heated ears, and you turned your gaze from the intimidating object and back to him again, the questioning look in your eyes apparent even in the low, firelight. 

“I just… relieve myself in there?” 

You knew what this must look like to him: if you were confronted by the sight of someone who couldn’t even use a toilet bowl, you might be questioning their motor skills and mental capacities. The skepticism on his face spoke loud volumes to his consternation and faltering patience.

“Yes, Cerena. You… relieve yourself in there.” 

Unbeknownst to you, the prince was blushing, his face turned away from his befuddled fiancée, staring at the wall as if it could tell him the secrets of the universe. 

Right. You had to go and since Satoru was stubbornly rooting himself in this room, you made a sound of consternation in your throat and tried to fight off the heat threatening to burn your entire face off. 

“Could you… give me some privacy?” Politely, you added, “Please?” 

To your utter frustration, Satoru snorted, shaking his head. “So you can escape again and force me to hunt you down? No. You will relieve yourself right here with me in the room together with you.” He spun his head around to raise a brow, as if to goad you into challenging his edict. 

Flushing, you curled your upper lip over your teeth, attempting to fix a snarl on your face that you hoped would keep him at bay.

“Excuse me? And since when were you allowed to encroach into my privacy? This is insane…” 

Trailing off, you did not expect Satoru’s sneer to deepen, the flame of hatred igniting in his blue eyes, taunting you with cerulean vindication. 

“Insane? Perhaps. Smart? Yes,” his nostrils flared. “I cannot risk having you evade me for a second time, Cerena.” 

You wanted to argue that you weren’t the woman he despised, but nature’s call was hard to ignore. Huffing, you crossed your arms over your chest, trying not to think too hard about how thin the nightgown was to bring attention to your curves hidden underneath the see-through linen.

It appeared as if Satoru, too, was trying hard not to flicker his gaze to your chest, playing the role of a gentlemanly prince well enough, despite the lack of spectators here to denounce his poor treatment of you. 

Staring him down, you fought to keep your natural urges under control, needing to shake him up with your determination. But, whatever stubbornness your actions were made up of, Satoru’s were multiplied by tenfold as those icy blue eyes bore into yours with the chilliness of an ocean in the middle of an icy tundra. 

Eventually, your need to go won out and you let your arms fall to your side, exhausted sigh echoing across the infirmity. 

“Fine. But, can I be spared some privacy, please?” 

You didn’t have to ask him twice. Satoru turned around, clasping his hands behind his back as he stood to the side of the room, giving you a wide berth to conduct your bodily eliminations in private. 

Hiking up the hem of your nightgown, you finished your business, finding it extraordinarily hard to keep your balance while squatting over the earthen receptacle. Satoru, having heard you clean up after yourself, turned back around, and if you dared to look closer, you would’ve seen the splotches of red adorning his cheeks betraying his natural instinct of shame at having been in close proximity to such a private occurrence. 

You struggled to get back into bed, surprised to find his hand shooting out to steady your arm, letting you lean on his strength. With barely a hitch, you flopped back onto the bed, gasping in mild pain when your aching body met the mattress.  

Now that you were far more level-headed after relieving yourself, you could give the matter at hand your full attention.

“Why are you here, Satoru?” 

Barely mincing your words or stopping to consider the delicacy of his presence right in your infirmary room. Your glare spoke volumes of your distaste and confusion; if he were a lesser man, Satoru might indulge in your obvious confusion, gloatingly holding it above your head.

“I have told you,” he uttered. “It is because I am here to watch you.” 

You glanced around, noting the quiet room and the lack of human presence which wouldn't lead to any trouble. 

“Um. Alright…” 

Without warning, he advanced closer to you, grabbing your shoulder and forcing you to look right into his glacial eyes, a terrifying glare etched on his face. 

“Your antics in the forest were beyond idiotic, Cerena. I have not forgiven you for what you did to me—” pointing at the reddened swellings on his neck and face, the thunderous look in his eyes could have consumed you alive with his pure hatred for you. “—and you will pay for this once you get better.” 

The sharp gleam of his toothy grin made you flinch, the bloodthirsty look on his face enough to make you assume the worst: that Prince Gojo Satoru was going to call for a harsh enough punishment to debilitate and agonize you. Images of a flogger hitting your bare skin, or your body dangling from the gallows flashed in your mind and you inadvertently took a step back from him, your eyes wide and fixated upon his face with a look of pure horror.

“Satoru…”

Like a great white sniffing out your weakness, the blasted man advanced closer to you, never relenting upon his frightsome smile.

“Why the sudden fear in your eyes, Cerena? Are you regretting how you treated me? The crap you put me through!” His voice rang throughout the room like a gunshot and you struggled to your feet, stumbling backwards against the wall, slapping a palm to your mouth to keep your shriek of fear from slipping past your trembling defenses. 

“Satoru, stop!” 

But, he would not listen to you. A murderous glint had overtaken Gojo’s usually stoic blue eyes, stinking of retribution and retaliation in payment for whatever Cerena had done to him. 

You could not stand for such accusations hurled into your face again, the burning need to know the wrongs the Princess had committed that earned her such wrath from Satoru disintegrating the last of your hesitation as you blurted out: 

“I am not Princess Cerena!” 

As if your words were a magical incantation, he paused. You could see the cogs turning in his head, the implications of your declaration working through his brain. 

“What do you mean you are not Cerena?” Astounded and frustrated, Satoru’s blue gaze froze over, threatening to leave you in the roiling of its frigid waves. “That is absurd. Have you gone mad? Or, did the venom of the wasp stings affect your brain?” 

You had just noticed the thin, white linen shirt he wore which exposed a sliver of his pale chest, the frosty white tips of his hair falling across his face, shading his eyes in their disarray.

Never in your life had you felt this helpless, unsure of how to piece together your words. 

“I am not her,” you finished in a quiet tone. “I am from another world. A world which is different from yours.”

Satoru scoffed, as if finding the very idea disturbing. “What other world? You know what, maybe you need to speak to the physician. This is getting out of hand.” 

Unexpectedly, you stomped your foot, training your baleful glare onto him. 

“Get it into your thick skull, Satoru! I am not Princess Cerena!” Huffing, you decided to lay all your cards on the table, uncaring how he would receive your words. Maybe he might punish you or send you to a lunatic house, keeping you far away from court. But, there might be the slim chance that he would believe you, if only you could convince him. 

“My name is Y/N and I am from Earth. I work as a florist in a family-owned shop, and before I arrived here, I was struck on the head by a thief and I woke up in Cerena’s body just as you were berating me for hurting your precious Miri.”

His nostrils flared, probably not enjoying how you brought his lover into this conversation. 

The disbelief and distrust on his face was not hard to sense. 

“What do you mean by that?” His demands were laced with agitation. “Are you trying to deceive me? That will entail a punishment far worse than when you tried to assault me, Cerena.” 

You were shaking your head before he could even finish. “No, I am not trying to deceive you, I promise. What I’m saying is real and true.”

Yet, he looked like he could scarcely believe you. 

Your quick mind came up with the idea on the fly. “Quick, tell me something only Princess Cerena would know.” 

Satoru huffed, but played along, which was a good sign. 

“Fine. Say I believe your demented words. One thing only she knows about me…” Satoru trailed off, and for a brief moment, you swore you caught a look of grief flitting across his expression.

“Tell me when is my birthday.” 

You floundered, having no idea when he was born. The prince was a mystery to you, and this was the perfect question to prove your identity that you were not the princess. 

Tossing a random date, you murmured, “December the 7th?” 

You had expected him to scoff and tell you that getting such a simple question wrong wouldn’t prove anything, when you noticed he had stiffened, those crystalline blue eyes growing wide.

“Wait… did you just say December the 7th?” 

You nodded, gnawing on your lower lip. 

“See, I told you, I am not the Princess–”

“That is my exact birthdate.” 

Satoru’s words made you come to a hard pause. You looked up at him with horror inscribed on your features. 

“Wait, I can explain–”

“Even Cerena did not know when my real birth date was…” he added reluctantly, “Royals aren’t allowed to share the precise moment of our birth and we have a fictitious date made up for the general public’s knowledge.” 

Satoru’s fixated gaze upon you burned as if you were touched by glowing embers. 

“How did you know when my real birthday was?” 

Suspicion lined his tone now, and you were well-aware that you had stepped into a different territory with a different arena of mistrust now. 

You shake your head. “It was merely a lucky guess.”

His derisive scoff burned your ears. “A lucky guess? Hardly. You know something I do not.”

Raising your hands, you tried to placate him. “I swear to you, I had no idea my guess would be correct.” 

Once more stumped at how to prove your innocence, you were struck by the contemplative thought that if you were in her body, perhaps there was a blemish of Cerena’s that only Satoru might know about.

“Okay. Since I cannot prove my innocence to you, let us try this.” You took one wobbly step towards him, his skillful cerulean gaze pinpointing your every movement with a sharp gaze. 

Standing chest-to-chest with him, you narrowed your eyes. 

“Tell me what blemish Cerena has on her body and I will show you that it is missing on mine.”

You had done a thorough examination of Cerena’s body back in Aeva’s hut, combing through your reflection in a mirror to assess who you truly were. You made the discovery that her skin was spotless, barely a mole or a wart. If Satoru had intimate knowledge of what flaws she had on her body, perhaps when she had mentioned it to him back when they were courting, you could dissuade him by proving that you were unspotted and taintless. 

Growing pensive at your suggestion, Satoru touched his forehead, trying to get his confusion under control. 

“Fine,” he relented. “Cerena has a birthmark right on her inner thigh. If you can show me it does not exist on your body, perhaps I may be swayed to believe you.” 

Perfect. You didn’t hesitate to sit on the edge of the bed, hiking up the hem of your nightgown to display your unmarked skin, the firelight throwing a warm, orange glow over the smooth expanse of your shin, like the flames were intimately caressing you. 

“See?” You uttered triumphantly, and bared yourself further to his wandering eye. “No birthmark. No blemish. I am not Cerena.” 

What you hadn’t expected was his cheeks to brighten with a blush. Satoru coughed and looked away, averting his eyes out of respect for your honor. 

“You didn’t… you did not have to show off yourself in such a brazen way.” 

Cocking your head to the side, you regard him with a confused countenance.

“What do you mean by that, Satoru?” 

He cleared his throat, the pink flush on the apples of his cheeks refusing to abate.

“You are a princess, despite who you believe you are.” The rasp of his fingertips brushing your hand sent a jolt up your spine. Satoru brushed your fist from the hem of your nightgown away, taking it upon himself to tug it back down and make you decent once more. “And princesses do not go around baring their bodies to other men… even if he is her betrothed.” 

Your brow furrowed in befuddlement, thrown off by such a chaste idea.

“Hang on,” suspicion flooded your next question. “If you claimed you were as moral as you are now, how did you know Cerena has a birthmark on her inner thigh if you had never seen it before?” 

He raised a brow, knowing something you didn’t. “It is customary for the matchmaker to scrutinize a princess from head to toe, taking in her countenance, her health and her virtue before recommending her to another royal family. I know details about Cerena’s body despite never having seen it myself.”

Oh. You supposed that made sense. 

Circling back to the topic at hand, you purse your lips. “So, do you believe me now? Believe who I am?” 

Despite the distrust swimming between the two of you, Satoru cannot deny that there was a sliver of truth in the bullshit you laid out for him; a kernel of understanding thrown in this confusing haystack of this sudden revelation.

“Say I believe you, What are we to do now? Where can I find the real princess and bring her back?” 

Satoru’s cerulean eyes glimmered with an undeniable hope, one which you regretted having to douse before it could fully bloom. 

You have no reply for his earnest question, unsure if you even knew how to get Cerena back.

“I… don’t know, Satoru. I’m sorry. I cannot answer your question. I suppose we just have to… wait for her to reappear back and claim her body.”

The next question he sprung up on you took you completely off guard. 

“So, does it mean once she returns, you will be gone?” 

You had never given much thought to your fate after leaving Cerena’s body, but you supposed it was plausible that the both of you will return to your rightful vessels once this whole fiasco was over. 

“I believe so. Though, I cannot be sure. I still don’t have any answers.”

At a mindless movement of your arm, you winced at the sudden stench you caught wafting from your body and you balked, wondering if he was being polite by not bringing up the fact that the unclean and unpleasant odor was emanating from you.

“I need a bath.” 

Despite how he wanted to continue the conversation, Satoru knew your comfort had to come first if you were to be in the right mind to give him the answers he needed. 

He stepped out of the door, barking an order for the maids to bring a tub and a fresh wash of clothes for you to change into. 

At his behest, two young brunettes rushed in, carrying a solid wooden receptacle lined with iron accents which they tipped hot water inside, letting the steam mingle with the dry humidity of the room. 

Glancing at him with a furrowed brow, you asked, “Aren’t you going to give me some privacy?” 

Again, Satoru did not relent on his compulsion to observe your every movement, his rapt gaze catching onto your discomfort. “And risk you leaving again? I told you, Ce—Y/N… I will not let you go again that easily.”

The maids continued to work, pretending to be deaf and blind to the building tension between the two of you. 

Heatedly, you retorted, “Satoru, I am injured and sick. Why would I run away from you when I am not feeling well? You are making no sense.”

He retaliated with a glare. “Sick or not, you have proven to be a thorn in my side, woman, and I will not let up my guard only for you to slip away again.”

Sensing there was no room for him to budge, you sighed, reluctantly agreeing to have in the room while you bathed.

“Can’t you at least turn around, Satoru?” 

A huff. He spun around, hands clasped behind his back, gaze fixated on a water stain upon the otherwise pristine white walls, fighting hard to ignore the stuttering beat of his heart, how he could hear every rustle of your infirmary gown melting from your body, the breath of relief you exhaled once you stepped into the warmed water.

The maids made quick work of the grim on your body, scrubbing you hard enough to make your skin shine and squeaky. They yanked through the dirt in your pink locks, brushing out the stiff clumps with a horsehair brush, tipping fresh water from more buckets by the tub atop your head and body to wash off the soap. The water was pleasantly fragranced with the scent of lavender and roses, the oils clinging to your skin and perfuming your hair. 

By happenstance, a moan slipped past your clenched teeth when they started to scrub your back, and Satoru tensed, the sudden sound sending an unmistakable thrill through his body.

The stoic prince trained his focus on the water stain, ignoring the flush of heat dusting his cheeks.

“Are you feeling better?”

His sudden question took you by surprise, and you noticed the rigid set of his shoulders, the tension underneath the seemingly innocent question. 

“I am,” you quipped, allowing the maids to grab your arms and gently hoist you out of the tub and to your feet. They wiped you down with a pair of fluffy, cotton towels, and dressed you in a new linen gown, careful to avoid the lesions on your hands. 

Once Satoru was sure you were done with your bath, he hesitantly turned back around, his cerulean gaze raking up and down your refreshed coloration, how there was more warmth on your cheeks.

A soft grunt emitted from the back of his throat, and he stiffly approached you, bearing down on you, the fire in his eyes drawing you up short.

“Now, we have to speak about the matter of your unwelcome visit to this world.”

You steeled yourself for this discussion, your mind going a mile a minute, wondering what else this detestable man might want to bring up.

Satoru, too, seemed to brace for the topic at hand, taking in a deep breath. 

“I want you to know that such a situation is not ideal, but I am willing to overlook this oversight of your presence here in court,” his curt words made you bristle, as if you had begged to appear overnight in another woman’s body—hounded and despised by the man you were engaged to. 

Your lips twisted in a glare, and you stared him down, unwilling to bend from his contempt. 

“You speak as if I wanted to be here in the first place—I do not have a wish to remain here, Satoru. I want to go back home, too.”

At the mention of home, you cursed the tremble in your voice, schooling your features to be neutral and unimpeachable. Satoru, however, was determined to paint you in a disdainful light, scorning your presence before him despite how none of it was your fault.

“Perhaps I may believe you on this, but for this moment, I am not swayed.”

You swore steam could pour out from your ears and your throat would bleed dry before this bastard of a prince would believe you. 

Echoing his maliciousness, you scoff. 

“Satoru, no offense, but you overestimate your worth to me. I am not enjoying a single moment here and if I had the chance to choose, I would never have met you in the first place.”

Dripping with poison, each word was an affront to his hubris, a dart to his superior ego and excess pride.

However, you did not anticipate those cold blue eyes to waver at your venomous declarations, a brief flash of hurt appearing across his face.

Before you could look further, he closed himself from you once more, a chilling look clouding over his entire visage.

“That is fair and reciprocated. I do not wish to burden you for a second longer with my presence, either.”

He turned his face away, and you wondered what had gotten into him; why he was being so defensive and argumentative when you were trying to help him understand where you were coming from. 

Shaking your head, you tried to dismiss those troublesome thoughts, focusing on the matter at hand.

“So, you believe me?”

Tinged with hope, you dared believe this new reveal would make him considerably friendlier towards you, or at least civil enough to not try and harm you when there was no good reason to. 

For a second, he didn’t say a word, the room filled the sounds of your soft breaths, the crackling from the fireplace.

“Hmm. A bit. But, as it stands, I have a duty towards my country and so do you.” His tone brokered no room for an argument. “While we wait for a solution to present itself, I need you to perform as Cerena—that means learn how to be an actual princess, to speak like us and act like us so as not to rouse any suspicion.”

A fair deal. 

You nodded, and fixed him with your steady gaze. Unbeknownst to you, the traitorous strap of your nightgown slipped off your shoulder, baring the rise of your collarbone to his eye.  

“Anything else?” 

Satoru’s disgruntled expression caught you by surprise, especially when he leaned in closer to grasp the edge of your linen strap and drag it back up your shoulder.

“Nothing. Have a good rest, princess—I mean, Y/N.” 

Turning away, this infuriating prince left you to your own devices and ruminating thoughts, your mind landing on the brief memory of his fingertips brushing your shoulder, leaving remnants of heat tingling across your skin. 

You tried hard to bury the sensation, clambering back into the infirmary bed and lying down, your gaze circling the ceiling. As you slipped off into an uneasy sleep, you were once again struck by the callousness of his words, how he had practically warned you to play pretend as Cerena while you tried to find a solution and go home. 

Act and speak and think like them. So as not to arouse suspicion.

You believed you could do that—you had to believe you could do that because your entire survival hinged upon putting on the best pretense this court has ever seen. 

Down the hallway, Satoru took a second to himself, leaning against the wall as he tried to keep his breathing controlled and even.

The memory of the firelight playing with your skin and hair, the feel of your smooth skin under the pads of his fingertips burned through his mind, scalding him from the longing he had tried hard to bury since the day Cerena’s betrayal reached his ears. 

His cheeks were still warm from the unexpected physical contact and he balled his hands into fists, struggling to keep them from shaking.

Once he could breathe without feeling like he would combust in flames, Satoru reluctantly walked away from the infirmary and you—focused on putting on foot in front of the other.

Attempting with every fiber of his being to smother the rising need to return back to your side and be with you again.

MTT fun fact: citrus fragrance is hard to obtain in northern haleway and is thus the royal family's signature scent

dawn says: thank you for being patient with this update! here's to more gojoyn shenanigans

!! reblogs and feedback and asks about this series are so beloved and appreciated and will motivate me to update and write faster <3

©️ all rights reserve to lalunanymph. do not copy elements of my story, repost, claim as your own or feed my content into AI.

[flwrkid14]

The Tim Drake Heartthrob Conspiracy – Part 2: A Heartthrob with Loser Rizz

So, Tim Drake is Gotham’s newest heartthrob. Cool, right? Except, well… there’s one tiny problem.

For all the brooding good looks, the sharp jawline, and that mysterious allure that has Gotham swooning, Tim Drake has absolutely no game. Like, zero. Nada. It’s a full-blown mystery how this man, who looks like he belongs on magazine covers, can be such a disaster in the romance department.

It all started with his date after that iconic moment when he rolled into the Batcave in that tailored suit. Everyone expected the night to go smoothly. It was Tim, after all—Mr. CEO, Mr. I-Can-Run-A-Multi-Billion-Dollar-Company. Surely, that would translate to his love life, right?

Wrong.

The next morning, Dick was the first to catch Tim yawning over his third cup of coffee. “Rough night?” he asked with a knowing smirk.

Tim just groaned, “I fell asleep on the rollercoaster.”

Dick blinked. “Wait, you fell asleep? On the rollercoaster?”

Tim sighed, rubbing his eyes. “I hadn’t slept in two days, and it was… kinda relaxing? The adrenaline and all.”

And that was just the beginning.

Steph found out later that Tim had somehow managed to spill soda on his date twice—once while trying to explain a complicated merger (because who doesn’t love business talk on a date?) and then again when he tripped over his own chair. By the end of the night, his date probably thought she was being pranked.

Cass, being Cass, summed it up perfectly: “Tim is Gotham’s biggest heartthrob, but he’s also Gotham’s most awkward date.”

Jason, of course, had to weigh in. “This is the same guy who walked into a glass door because he was distracted by a text.”

Let’s not forget the infamous “flower shop incident.” Tim, trying to be romantic, went to pick up flowers before another date, but things quickly went south. How? Well, let’s just say, when you knock over five vases, trip into a display of roses, and end up covered in petals, it’s hard to look suave.

By the time the Batfam heard about that little misadventure, Damian had had enough. “Drake, how is it that you have the charisma of a plank of wood?”

Still, Tim doesn’t mean to be such a disaster. It’s just, well, life seems to have it out for him when he’s trying to impress someone. He once spent an entire dinner talking about the intricacies of encryption algorithms—his date didn’t even make it to dessert. And don’t even mention the time he thought bringing homemade spreadsheets to a movie date would be cute. (Spoiler: It wasn’t.)

Yet, somehow, despite all of this, the mystery of Tim Drake continues to deepen. People are still thirsting after him. The forums are still buzzing with talk of his “quiet charm” and “endearing quirks.” Even his awkward moments somehow manage to add to his appeal, giving him this relatable, down-to-earth vibe that no one in Gotham can seem to resist.

And so, the Batfamily remains baffled. Tim may be Gotham’s biggest heartthrob, but when it comes to actual dating?

He’s a disaster wrapped in a perfectly tailored suit.

[leavemealoneplsandthx]

Okay everyone in the cod fandom thirsting over mw characters, it’s time to introduce u mfs to the black ops world cuz honestly I’m tired of the lack of appreciation and fanfics (mostly fanfics) these people get.

Lemme introduce you to some of the main baes

This mf right here is a grade a ASSHOLE but it’s why we love him. Honestly if you love effed up relationships and angst you should read some of the bell x adler fics going on. Bell is YOU. It’s the customisable character in Cold War who Russell Adler brainwashed and it’s a whole thing and it’s toxic af to pair them but I fuggin loveeee itttt (second pic posted by @adlerboi)

Alex Mason <3333 my wifey for lifey

He was brainwashed by the Soviet’s and he’s our fave lil mentally scarred old man. Seriously tho it’s criminal the lack of love this guy gets he is so handsome

Ahhh mr frank Woods. Asshole but not in the same way Russell adler is. He’s the kinda guy who would act annoyed when you ask him to hold your drink but would protect that mf with his LIFE. Would treat you right but it’s a whole ‘dick to everyone else but sweet as pie to you’ kinda vibe yk?

Miss Helen Park. Honestly we should hate her. She manipulated and brainwashed us alongside adler but would I kiss her on the lips? Maybe possibly yes. Nuff said

The CRIMINALLY underrated navy seals commander david mason. Yes he’s alex masons son yes we keep it in the family here. He has some mental scars like his father but honestly who doesn’t?! Handsome as fuck, and so kind and respectful <3 I luv him

So please guys I beg you!! Play black ops 1, 2 and Cold War so we can get some love for these guys!!

If you like the sound of it please read this fic about adler x bell omg my heart

[writememysticfalls]

Predator (Part 2) | Elijah Mikaelson

Summary: You're trapped in a room with a hallucinating Elijah. The problem? You look just like Tatia - the woman he loved, and murdered.

Pairing: Elijah Mikaelson x Petrova doppelganger!reader

Genre: Suggestive, angst

Word count: <1k

Part 1 | Part 2 ⭐️

When Elijah woke up again, his face hadn't changed, and yet he looked a thousand years younger. Like a teenager.

You were expecting Elijah to look cruel or predatory, but he looked… innocent. Like he couldn't hurt an ant.

He fiddled with his daylight ring. “Why do you ignore me, Tatia?” he said.

You crouched. It was impossible to fear this innocent boy. “I haven't ignored you, Elijah,” you said, playing along.

Elijah pulled you to him, and suddenly, his head was resting in your lap.

You were amazed. You couldn't believe a thousand-year old-vampire in a Ralph Lauren suit was lying dreamily on your thighs right now.

You toyed with his hair, and, to your shock, Elijah blushed.

As you touched him, you were hit by another vision.

-

Elijah, lying on Tatia’s lap on a riverbank. She was plaiting daisies in his long hair, giggling as she tried to make him look as girly as possible.

Elijah frowned. “Did you kiss my brother Klaus to make me jealous? Or because you really love him?

“What would you prefer?” Tatia asked.

“To make me jealous,” he said. “Because that means your heart is mine.”

“Then… I did it just for you, Elijah,” Tatia said, laughing.

She bent down and kissed his lips the wrong way around, a quick sweet imprint.

-

The vision suddenly changed.

-

Tatia, in the woods.

Elijah, now a vampire, standing before her. His boyish body had hardened into something dangerous. Predatory.

Yet, in his glistening eyes, there was still love.

-

“Run away, Tatia,” Elijah said. His back was pressed against his bedroom wall. His shirt stuck to his body with sweat. “Now. Before… I lose myself to my thirst.”

You followed his gaze on your body. At first, it had seemed that he was staring at your chest, as men often did. Then, you realised he was watching your neck.

You swept your hair over your throat.

Elijah shook his head sadly, and yet, you realised, with animal pleasure. “Oh, Tia,” he murmured. “As if that would make any difference.”

Elijah took a step towards you. “Your scent, little kitten, is mouth-watering,” he murmured. “Did you always smell so tasty?”

You spun around, and started rattling the door handle.

“Help!” you screamed, your voice breaking. “Somebody!”

You felt Elijah appear right behind you.

You became very still. Your hand slid down and fell limply by your side.

In the little mirror by the door, you saw Elijah’s eyes turn red. He took off his jacket, and began rolling up the sleeves of his rich cream shirt.

You knew you had seconds to act. Seconds before it was too late.

You kicked the door as hard as you could. You grabbed a shard of wood in her fist, and turned to face Elijah.

For a moment, realisation flashed in Elijah’s eyes. A tear slipped down his cheek.

“Y/n,” he breathed. “I tried to resist,” he said. “I want you to remember that I tried to resist.”

You lifted the stake, and Elijah gave you a tiny nod.

Then, his face twisting into an an inhuman snarl, he pounced.

And you plunged the stake deep into his heart.

--THREE DAYS LATER--

You were brushing your hair before bed when you felt Elijah appear behind you.

Adrenaline pumped through you at his presence. You forced yourself to put the hairbrush down and face him.

“I cannot express my sorrow at what I did,” Elijah said.

“It wasn't your fault,” you said. In reality, you were shaking with anger. You knew you would never be comfortable around Elijah again.

“My only defence,” he said, his eyes narrowing in kindness, “is that the Petrova doppelganger is powerful magic. Even now, you have Tatia’s rosy cheeks,” his eyes caressed her face, “Katarina’s… charm,” his eyes lingering on her body, “and something completely new.” He smiled. “You have the courage to take on an Original - and win.”

Elijah reached into his inside jacket pocket, and pulled out a sparkling pearl necklace. “An apology gift. You see, to the human eye, all pearls appear identical. But to our kind, each one is unique. Just something to think about.”

He moved forward, like he was going to put the necklace around your neck, then stopped. He laid the necklace gently on the table.

He knelt, and kissed your hand. “It was a pleasure being defeated by you, Y/n,” he said.

Then, with a gust of cold air, he was gone.

—

Read Part 1 Here...

MAIN MASTERLIST

Let us know what you thought in the comments or on anon! 💋

[slimybeth69]

Hello- this is my complete master list. (Things will be added as I write them.) It's 18+ ONLY, as almost all of my stories have a sexual theme or undertone.

Some of my work like my series Venus in Furs and A Small Spark vs A Great Forest can be rather dark, so check the tags and chapter warnings to save yourself some angst!!

If you're not a fan of the things I write, or the way I write-- please kindly move along! I still appreciate you.

AO3<- All of my fics can be found here.

My requests are on if anyone wants to send me some prompts! I love to see them, and it's a challenge- which I love. Send 'em my way. Don't be shy.

One Shots

Pretty Pink Nails - (Joelxf!reader)Joel gets you a special treat but it comes at a price. (smut, DD/lg dynamics, dark!Joel, referenced non-con, weird and uncomfortable age gap-- but legal)

Crybaby- (joelx f!reader) A foul mouthed Joel and you meet in the woods. And the things he does to you are filthy. In the best way possible. (Rough sex, spitting, humiliation, anal sex, anal virginity, dirty talk.

“i’ll be here”- (joel x f!reader) Joel makes sure your new years isn’t as lonely as your christmas. (pure fluff)

Longer Reads

Such Small Hands - (Joelxf!reader)The events that take place after Crybaby. (smut, graphic depictions of violence, referenced/implied SA, blood/gore, canon to the show)

Venus in Furs- (joel x f!reader) After saving your life and getting you back to Jackson, things with you and Joel feel different. While navigating this new life, raising a teenager with a man you think you know-- you run into someone unexpected. A sequal to Such Small Hands. (dark!joel, liar!joel, drunk!joel)

Que Será, Será - (au!joelx f!reader)It's almost twenty years after some weird outbreak almost happened but the CDC took care of that... Now you're living in Austin, Texas as an adult. What happens when you meet Joel Miller who hasn't been hardened and ruined by twenty years of murder and loss?

Girl Dinner - (kidnapped!Joel x crazy/unhinged!reader) -Summary: After the civilized world you once knew came to an end-- the men that survived... well they just take, take, take. Growing tired of having things taken from you-- you have a hankerin' to take somethin' for yourself... and make him perfect. (dub-con/non-con/DDDNE/dark)

A Small Spark vs A Great Forest - frankie morales X +18 lady reader (no descriptions but has background) warnings: excplicit/smut (Minors DNI) toxic relationships (not frank), alcohol/smoking mentioned and used, twin flame connections, unhealthy obsessions, the use of little girl or Niñita (with no real defied age gap), other sad shit :(

Touch- (touch starved! din x reader) The Mandalorian is quite interested in what you've been doodling. What happens when he finds out?

COMING SOON

Thirst- (Marcus x f!reader) You were paid for... not uncommon in these times.... he want's you to do what though?

Director Dave- (Dave york x f!reader) Dave uses some interesting directing techniques to make sure that this years production of the community center play "A Christmas Carol" is the best show your small town has ever seen. Rating: Explicit Warnings: Corny smut. Fingering. Teasing. Weird dirty talk.

Coming Soon

drabble #1 - Joel/you drabble #2- Din/you drabble #3- drunk best man!Joel/ you crybaby universe drabble #1- Joel/you

[giannaheartspink]

You don’t matter anymore part 2

Lottie is haunted constantly by the thought of you and where you could be

When Lottie sobered up she immediately ran to apologize to you, and when you were nowhere to be found she panicked. She screamed your name outside till her throat burned

The day after she searched everywhere, she sobbed out your name, she walked and walked until her legs gave out, and she sat there letting her anger towards herself grow she hated herself you were always her rock and she made you run away

Days later you were still nowhere to be found, Lottie had dreams of you all types of them, in some it was a memory of you two in others she could see your smile, smell your perfume, feel your skin but in most, it was your face the night she drove you away she would wake up sobbing from them and you weren't there to comfort her anymore

Taissa would wake up to find Lottie outside the cabin staring into the woods that seemed to go on forever she knew that Lottie was just hoping to spot you

Lottie swears she saw you everywhere. She saw your hair behind a bush, she saw your face peeking from behind a tree, she heard your steps behind her, she could smell the perfume you used to wear in the wind, she could hear your laugh among the other girls, she heard you hushing her back to sleep after a nightmare which slowly and noticeably to the others drove her crazy.

the only thing that she had was a hoodie you left, but the smell of you had faded away a long time ago. She didn't take it off for two weeks straight until the girls convinced her that if you came back you'd want it to smell good. so she happily washed it imagining your face seeing that your devoted girlfriend cleaned it for you

Eventually, she started hallucinating you fully. she knew it wasn't you but it was close enough, she'd talk to what sounded and looked like you for hours. in her mind you would tell her how much you missed her, and wouldn't leave her again the girls looked on in horror watching Lottie talk to a corner in whatever room she was in.

Lottie would always tell Natalie that she could feel your presence that you were alive that you were gonna come back and everything was gonna be okay nat worried for her condition as it got worse the more days you were gone

Lottie begged and cried for the wilderness to give her a vision of where you were, or better yet to bring you back to her. She gave so many animals in hopes it would be enough for your return

One day Lottie had been looking for you all day from 4 in the morning till 2 in the afternoon. She couldn't stop her legs were shaking her throat burned with thirst, but she had to find you she was so dehydrated there were no tears left in her eyes. eventually, her body gave out and she passed out in the middle of the woods

You had just got back from gathering firewood when you stumbled upon Lottie, you looked around cautiously before lifting her head seeing she was out cold you moved a hair from her face feeling your heart beat fast at the face of the girl you were still so in love with.

Deciding it'd be best to take her back to the cabin you cautiously dragged her back. When you both arrived she slowly started to wake up, she thought you were just another vision as you looked down your eyes widened and you quickly moved away. Lottie noticed immediately that you were you, she jumped up and then fell straight back down due to her utter exhaustion you sighed and put her arm over your shoulder walking up to the cabin and knocking on the door

A surprised misty opened the door she smiled quickly at the sight of you then seeing Lottie she frowned, she looked lost in thought before her eyes lit up “Just come in for a bit please” You sighed but nodded walking in slowly laying her down on her makeshift bed

Lottie stroked your face repeatedly whispering your name “the wilderness brought you back to me” you cocked your head at her remembering her rant the day you left and you quickly stood up “well this has been nice but I have to go” you quickly turned towards the door

Before you can take a step misty hits you in the back of the head with a rock “sorry but Lottie needs you and we need Lottie” Lottie quickly pulls you into her smiling down at you as your eyes flutter shut “its okay the wilderness wants us together your safe now I'm never letting you leave again” she frowns at the last part looking towards the door

The last thing you hear before going out of consciousness is Lottie repeating “I love you” and “never again”

Lottie after Misty successfully kidnaps you

I don't really like this idk sorry

[togrowoldinv]

Heat Wave

Natasha Romanoff x Female Reader

Natasha works outside in the heat and you watch on with (innocent) eyes

Warnings: Smut! 18+ please! Kissing, cursing, oral (N receiving), thigh riding, so much thirsting for Nat’s muscles hehe

Note: I am once again here with working out in the heat with Natasha. This one is fun. Enjoy!

Natasha Romanoff Masterlist 1, Natasha Romanoff Masterlist 2, Main Masterlist

It’s the first truly hot day of the year. As much as you hate the heat, the weather does have some perks.

One of them being that your wife works outside with little to no clothing on. And god does she look good.

You watch her from under the temporary shade Nat made you this morning because she knows you get hot and need to cool down.

She’s shredded her shirt from this morning and wears only a sports bra and shorts as she moves wood piles and digs in the garden.

“Do you need anything, babe?” You ask her, noticing the way the sweat drips off her muscles. Everywhere from her shoulders, her face, and even her abs are glistening.

“Maybe a drink break. And just for you to keep looking at me like that,” Natasha says. A smirk is on her face.

“Oops,” you mumble.

She walks over to your shade and you hand her a water. Nat takes it while leaving a kiss to your lips. You watch the way her body moves as she gulps down the water. It shouldn’t be as hot as it is.

“I know you enjoy looking,” she says once she’s swallowed the liquid.

“Respectfully, yes,” you reply.

“Hm, sure. Give me another hour and we can shower?” Nat suggests.

“Yes please,” you say.

Natasha leaves you with another kiss. This one is long enough that it leaves you wanting more.

You watch as she takes an axe to a piece of wood and her muscles flex. She chuckles at you with every swing.

When she’s finally done working, she walks to you again and this time when you hand her a water she pours some of it on her head.

“Babe, what are you doing?” You ask her.

“I’m cooling down,” she says with a shrug. “You like it, don’t you? Me being all wet?”

Your eyes go wide as you don’t know how to respond. She takes your hand and leads you towards the house.

“Nat, what about cleaning up?”

“That can wait until tomorrow,” she says.

You two practically jog into the house and it doesn’t take long for her to start taking your clothes off.

She starts with your shirt and you’ll never get over how she memorizes your body with her eyes every time she sees you like this.

By the time you’re in the bathroom, you’re only left in your underwear and Natasha is completely naked.

She turns the shower on and you both get inside. Nat lets the cool water run over her body before she pulls you flush against her.

Her thigh slots itself between your legs and you gasp.

“You’re so hot,” you tell her as she moves her thigh. You let her move against you at her own pace.

“Mhm, I’ve been thinking about this all day. How good it would feel to have you on my thigh,” Natasha says. Her words always spur you on further.

“Fuck Natasha,” you gasp as she picks up the pace. Her hands on your hips move you against her.

She kisses you deeply as she brings you closer and closer to your peak.

“Are you going to come for me, baby?” Nat asks.

“Yes, god, fuck Natasha,” you moan out as you come hard against her thigh.

“Good girl,” she coos as she helps your hips return to their normal pace.

“Your turn,” you say. You kneel in front of Nat and she backs up so the water is falling down her back.

You look up at the sight and it’s so beautiful the way her red hair is getting wet as you prepare to dive into her.

Natasha gets impatient and reaches for the back of your neck. She pulls you into her center and you lick through her folds. You find her soaking.

“You loved me watching you today, didn’t you?” You ask her, pulling away to tease her.

“Yeah, I did babe. Fuck me,” she says as you dive back in.

You take her clit into your mouth and she practically goes weak in the knees. She holds onto the side of the shower as you continue to eat her out.

“Fuck, detka, I’m going to come,” she says. She knows you like it when she’s this vocal.

You hum against her and that shoots her over the edge. She comes hard against your tongue and you clean her up.

When you stand again, you kiss her deeply and she holds you tight. Your breasts press together as you fall in love over again.

“I love you,” you tell her once you’ve broken for air.

“I love you too, detka,” Natasha says. “And I’m definitely going to work outside again tomorrow.”

You share a giggle and fall into a calm rhythm of conversation and actually taking care of showering duties.

Life with Natasha is absolutely perfect. Especially on days like today.

[shinjisdone]

𝑇𝜎 𝑆𝜎𝑓𝜏𝜀𝜋 𝛼 𝑊𝛼𝑟𝑟𝜄𝜎𝑟’𝑠 𝐻𝜀𝛼𝑟𝜏 (Vinland Saga; Thorfinn - 𝑺𝒍𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝑨𝒓𝒄, 𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒕 4)

In which you have joined Askeladd’s band…and grow closer to the Son of Thors - though as your future seemed promising, his thirst for revenge devastated all that you had left.

[Headcanons of how it would be like to meet Thorfinn again after he shattered your heart (based on season 2; both platonic and romantic)

Sᴇᴀsᴏɴ ₁ ﹙Wᴀʀ Aʀᴄ﹚ is here

Part 1: - (Thorfinn as a slave and his struggles) Part 2: - (Thorfinn trying to accept your existence as a slave)

Part 3: - (Thorfinn finds a reason to live, you finally see him)

Tag list:

@luopenis , @jinsecho , @mitsureigen , @theknightssecrets , @lana-del-stan , @theghostofanficpresent , @night-shadowblood-writes2

[Mentions of murder, death, war, slave trade, harrasment against women and whatever awful things happened in the viking era. Slavery will be a main subject throughout the entire arc. Mostly gender-neutral examples but female-leaning ones are there, too.]

[TW: This part will specifically mention: depressed tension, attempted murder, suicidal thoughts, lots of talking, lotsa dialoge, short but detailed description of strangulation, finding reasons to still keep living including being begged to]

Mighty River, Release My Soul...

Your arms were as warm as they were on that winter day.

You scolded him back then too, though he reckoned it was far more vicious than your prattling now.

The way you looked at him, were so focused on tending him even if it was for a mere moment, was like breathing in fresh, icey cold air that he has been deprived from for weeks. It coursed through him and stung each limb. It only found an end after Pater cleared his throat.

Immediately you let go of Thorfinn, spinning to the man with a confused noise and a gasp. He smiled. "Thorfinn is fine now, you don't need to worry. These two boys just need to take the rest of the day off. Now that you are willing to talk...I believe we'd best have a conversation. Not with Master Ketil, do not worry."

Still, that flustered panic did not leave your face as you meekly nodded and followed him. Pater waved Thorfinn and Einar one last goodbye before motioning you to follow with an easy gait. You looked back to Thorfinn before tailing after Pater.

Einar let go of his baited breath. "How..strange. They...you really know them, don't-" The brunette chocked on his breath as Thorfinn was disappearing into the dense forest. Work had to be done, injured or not. Perplexed and with a huff of irritation, he ran after him.

First he doesn't know how to show gratitude and say 'thank you' and now he is shrugging off - someone who was scared to death for him!

What the hell is this guy's problem?!

The way to the forest was easier than the last few weeks. The both of them were able to cut down quite a lot of trees, clearing the path, but the stumps remained, leaving the woods like a rugged wasteland of dead trees.

Einar didn't even noticed his stomps and the way his bruisened feet dug into the soil. Narrowed blue eyes watched Thorfinn swing down the axe again, again, again. Cut, cut and cut.

His movements were fluid as he observed him, as he wasn't threatened this day at all. As if he wasn't a second from throwing his life away at all.

But he dodged. He sprung out of the way and didn't seem to be aware to have tried to kill Snake. He seemed so...light and out of it. Like a drunken bird.

"Hey, Thorfinn." The blonde barely showed any sign of listening to him, continuing to cut. "Have you ever been to war?"

Thorfinn chopped once, "I have."

Einar's gaze darkened. He answered him clearly and with focus.

"Have you ever killed people?"

Again, he cut. The tree fell down swiftly. "I have."

"How many? A few? Five, ten?"

"Why do you want to know? Don't you hate war?"

His blue eyes snapped up as the blonde halted. If he stalled or wanted to hear his answer, he didn't know. He just knew that each and every day of being with him confused him more, made a tiny flame in him flick, made the gall in his throat come up.

"I'm asking because...if you went to war and killed, then how-"

Einar took a deep breath and swallowed the gall that threatened to spit out, "-How can that person be worried about you? Why do they want you to live if you killed?"

The axe hovered above his head before he slowly lowered it down - and having it fall with a thud to the ground. His dull eyes oversaw the mess he left. "I don't know...", "Why not? They seem to know you. Are they like you?"

"No." Thorfinn quickly and sharply answered. Though his next words fell flat and soft again, "They aren't a dog like me."

Not when you looked at him like that. Not when you were so heavily relieved by seeing him breathing and battered, like his father was back then.

...I Need To See The World...

Waged war since he was a child.

Ever since he was a wee lad, he said, but he couldn't remember the exact age. He is only about eighteen, so how long ago was it that he can't even remember? Could he even recall it?

It sounded...ridicilous as Einar walked back to the little barn they called their home - or beds, he wasn't sure - back hunched and steps sulken, though his face was as dark as thunder.

He pillaged and killed and stole of people's hard work. Their land, wheat and loved ones. And he can't even remember who, when and why?

Let that fool cut away at the last standing trees as roughed up as he is. Einar is allowed to rest and he'd rather drown in his thoughts alone, bundled up in hay than look at Thorfinn for another minute.

Falling asleep alone feels somewhat sad...but at least he'd fall asleep without any screaming waking him into the early night.

It was the sound of spilled water that made him shoot up his gaze up at the person holding a bucket and rags with them. You shuffled awkwardly to the side, standing right in front of the barn.

Einar was quick to wipe the glare off his face. "Oh...good evening."

"...G-Good evening." You struggled to reply, he thought.

Einar couldn't help but make a long and wide face, pursing his lips as his blue eyes took in your uncertain form. You finally met his eyes with your own. "Are you waiting for Thorfinn?" Your brows rose as you nodded. He must've figured it out quick - or you are just that predictable.

"Pater allowed me to go see him quick. For his ear. Just to make sure the wound didn't fester through the day." "He's still back in the forest chopping. If you wait too long, you might get in trouble."

Shuffling a bit, you hesitated. "I'll wait a bit more. He's stubborn."

The brunette's shoulder sank. With a sigh, he swiftly sat down on the boulder next to the barn's entrance and crossed his arms. "I'll wait too, then."

He sat there on the right, while you stood on the left side. You stared at him briefly, confusion written on your face. The sky turned even darker, with the stars shining through their hiding spots. The moon was nowhere to be seen but the lights from the master's estate still offered some solace. It was illuminated enough for both people to see each other and perhaps recognize an possible incomer.

The silence did not feel heavy yet pressuring. As if any moment, something was waiting to happen.

You glanced at the man and took a deep breath. "...Are you hurt somewhere, too?"

"Uh, what?" Einar jumped and whipped his head to you. "You were there too, right? With the guests. They must've hurt you, too." "Oh! Well - I'm fine enough. Just a few bruises," He rolled his shoudler while chuckling dryly, "The real unlucky bastard is Thorfinn."

You hummed and rose the bucket in your hand. "Pater didn't give me any balms or medicines but the water should cool the bruises." "Ah, uh," Einar waved with his arms, laughing as he shook his head, "No, no, I'm okay. Honestly I...got really off scott-free. Really, the one who has it the worst is...Thorfinn."

You pulled a face - Einar could not decipher what it meant - and went back on being on the look out. "I'd figure. He likes getting in trouble."

The man glanced in your direction, taking in your unreadable, narrowed expression briefly, before staring back down the hill as well, though halfheartedly. "You know him?" He dared to glance to you again, "That he's like that?"

The grip on the bucket tightened and your eyes darted around the cool meadow below. For a moment, you shifted aimlessly but decided to give in. "Yes. He...is an old friend."

There was no need to pretend. To act coy and unknowing when you so foolishly started to speak and cradled him in your arms. Not when you were waiting here like an idiot for him to return and see him again just this once for tonight.

As if he was deserving of it. Thorfinn did not return when you ran after him, did not stay as you lead him to Leif's boat and now you are waiting for him again - and the only certainty you had was that he had the order to do so as a slave.

You yourself needed to oblige.

Lying here will bring you nothing but punishments and you had to be on your best behaviour, even if it meant not being with Thorfinn for however long you were allowed to. But for now, you could use Pater as an excuse and do all that you could - even if this whole place, Thorfinn himself and your own actions didn't make any sense to you.

You are a slave here now on this farm. Why should you even try?

Back with Askeladd you could fight back. But here, your hands are only untied by Ketil's orders.

"There he is." Einar lowly let out and made you snap your head up to see the short blonde march towards you with a hunched back and one arm holding the other bandaged one. His own lidded gaze was focused on the ground before they widened upon your sight.

"Your friend has been waiting." Einar got up with a start, his voice stern and certain, "I'll be just outside. Let's head to bed soon after." Thorfinn barely had the chance to utter a protest as the brunette simply turned around the corner of the barn, staying a few steps away from it. Though his eyes quickly went back to you, wide and unsure, before he walked into the barn and sat down on the hay. You kneeled down next to him, dunking the cloth into the water.

Wordlessly, you got up and went around to his side, pulling his greasy strands away to observe his ear. Thorfinn felt the gentle, almost ghostly tips of your fingers graze his shell as he unblinkingly hung his head, sitting cross-legged. His hands were clutched and the fingers would tense around one another, slightly, as if shivering from the cold.

There was nothing to see. No festering, no tissue. A clean cut that won't affect his hearing at all. You knew, but wanted to see him anyway. Perhaps it was the paranoia, perhaps you didn't trust Pater's word, felt like you couldn't, or you truly just wanted to see him again. This ghost of a man from the past.

You didn't know. But you knew you were a fool for feeling drawn to him after all this time, for wanting to see if he is really alright.

Gaze remained on the wound for a while before you let his hair slip off your hold and kneeled down next to him again. Watching him, Thorfinn didn't meet your eyes, not even when you brought the wet, cold cloth up to pat his face.

His jawline felt thinner. The short stubbles tickled your skin and bent back against the cloth. You couldn't remember him with any stubbles, let alone a sliver of what seems to be a beard ever appear on his grimsome mug. Blonde hair heavy and stringy tickling his shoulders - he used to hate having long hair. It bothered him so that he'd cut it whenever it got too long for his tastes, leaving him with this disheveled, wild look. But here, he was downcast, downtrodden, like nothing he has ever been before or wanted to be. Yet his eyes stayed the same. The sorrow you saw reflected in the deep brown, the same you saw that winter day.

Still, Thorfinn didn't want to look at you.

...To The Unknown, I'll Go Against My Sorrow...

"What are you doing?" Was all he muttered instead, staring holes into the ground. The cloth hung in the hair before you dapped it in water again. "I don't know. I think I wanted to see if you're still...here."

Pressing the water out, you took his limb hands and gently glided the cloth over his course skin. "You shouldn't. You'll get in trouble and..." For a moment, Thorfinn glanced to the side, "...I'll drag you down with me."

You couldnt help the frown as you focused back on his hands and picking out the splinters of wood. Thorfinn dragged you down with him ever since you met him. Drowning together seemed like fate, a curse that befell upon you the moment you so foolishly returned his dagger.

Is it punishment for not being like Askeladd and letting him die? For not being like Canute and letting him be? Are people like you just meant to suffer in this world, all caused by your own actions?

It felt like it. Yet here you were with him again. Was a reunion another form of punishment, prolonging your suffering just a bit more before you die?

Was sitting here and tending to him suffering as well?

"I can't be dragged lower than this. There's nothing else." Finally, Thorfinn looked at you and the action was as painful as he thought it'd be. Your hair was longer, face bearing more and you've grown, too. Lidded eyes were focused on his calloused hand, the shadows of the night consuming you, not even the stars were bright enough. Hesitation would flicker within every minute, every moment, if it's really you - yet then his eyes would unwittingly search for the familiar injuries you had in the past, that one uniquness you wore, a certain pattern of speech and it would ease all doubts he had, eliminate them with the memory from just today. When you embraced him. When you told him he should be back in Iceland.

Thorfinn turned his hand around, grabbing one of yours, while the other one swiped the cloth in your hand off, as if it meant nothing in this, as if his injuries meant nothing at all, and held both of your hands in a tight, suffocating grip. With every passing second, they trembled more.

"You shouldn't be here. You should be somewhere far away, somewhere that isn't here. I'm doing this to you." He glared at your hands with an anguished frown, gripping them as if they could be swept away any second while yours were lying limbly in his. "I thought if I could be here...it'll be fine. But I'm still finding ways of doing this to you. Even after all I did...I'm still managing to hurt someone, and that's you."

Suddenly, he whipped his wide-eyed stare to you, taking in your own frustrated and chagrin-filled face. Your dry, pressed lips, the frown etched onto your visage, your bulging eyes. Thorfinn felt like he needed to continue before you began tearing up. "I'm...still me. But I will be here tomorrow. And the day after that." The blonde hesitated - before deciding to not promise it. He can't tell how much faith you can still put in him and neither can he.

Your watery gaze narrows before looking back over your shoulder. The house's lights are out and you'll need some to find your way back.

Slowly, weakly almost, you got on your feet. Hands still clung to Thorfinn's as they slowly slipped out of his grip. With one last look you offered to him, you hoarsely whispered, "You'll be here."

The man could only nod with wide eyes as you finally let go and went back. The darkness of the night swallowed you whole, only the sound of splashing water letting him know you're still nearby before only the sound of critters were left.

As Einar turned towards the entrance of the barn, he saw Thorfinn lying on his side. He watched him, the blonde almost motionless but the rise of his chest was a relief. He wondered how on earth Thorfinn could've fallen asleep so quickly but he didn't care enough to ponder for a minute more. This...guy. He was another beast, wasn't he?

He killed and pillaged and caused people like him and Arnheid and Pater to end up in places like this. Though Master Ketil was a kind trader, he was an exception to the rule. Anywhere else, and he might have it worse. And you seemed to be just like this guy.

One by one, the brunette took a step closer. How many has he killed? And have you taken lives as well? Can any of you remember?

The hay glided off his legs like snow. Have you caused fires, burned down fields and houses, flung spears and arrows into people?

He stood in front of him. The hay was warm around his knees. This murderer is now cutting down trees to make a field, to plant, to grow, to thrive. To feed people. To still their hunger, use the wood for houses and tools and use the wheat to bargain and trade.

His thick, scarred hands fit around his neck. The anger burning inside him and filling the hole in his chest made it easy to clam them around tightly. Einar could feel his pulse, steady and clear against his skin. Further back was part of his spine, feeling every movement of each inhale. Yet it feels so surprisingly soft when he puts pressure. Soft as his fingers curl around the back of his neck, squeezing the spine in, feeling his pulse quicken and his breath labored. The peaceful snores turned into winces, into pleas for the pain to stop.

Just a bit more. More. The blonde gasps, wiggling around in the hay as his whimpers turned into groans of pain. Somehow he could still breath.

"...Shit."

The throat was warm but Einar could feel his palms getting sweaty. In an blink of an eye, he surprised himself of how quickly he let go. His squatted legs trembled and stumbled back. Thorfinn didn't stop screaming.

Shit. He can't do it. Einar can't kill someone!

It's scary. The feel of someone's neck around your hands is terrifying and daunting, like a weight itself is put on his chest even though he is pretending to be the predator. To be stronger. To be the winner. He can't do it. He doesn't want to do it. He doesn't want to hate. He doesn't want anyone to die.

Suddenly his hands whipped out into the air, wailing around for help. Thorfinn gasped for air, only to screech out more. Even when Einar tried to kill him, he's still throwing a tantrum.

Quivering with hitched gasps, coughing and panting. It's the same every night.

A man like him. It's all nightmares, every night, and he knows it but now - now he wants to live to keep dreaming and live to keep seeing you and live to keep chopping down trees. Yet still, he feels so out of place here.

A desperate inhale and he reckoned he wanted to call for someone. His sweaty hand stiffened. In an blink of an eye he could feel it coil to a fist, pressure forcing his fingers down and he snapped his gaze wide open. Einar's hand clung around his.

"...You..." Thorfinn could finally feel the coolness of the air, the way the hay prickled his back as he desperately sucked in deep breaths like a man starved of food.

A good minute passed, at least to Einar, and Thorfinn shuffled around to sit up. He wiped the sweat off his face before glancing towards the brunette's back. Finally he calmed down, and noticed how dry his mouth was while swallowing. "...Why..." The blonde licked his lips, "...Why do you wake me...everytime I have a nightmare?" He took another breath and could clearly hear the crickets, hiding among the high grass, now. "...I...killed people, too." Propping his knee up, he leaned his elbow on it and his face against his hand - scarred and big enough to cover half his downtrodden visage. "I helped pillage and kill in each village I passed by. People like you. For years. I am...I am as despicable as the warriors that killed your family. And I'll just drag you down, too. So why-!"

Suddenly, Einar shot up, like a predator seeing his chance. Swiftly he snapped to him, a steel-tight grip on his tunic and a glare as dark as thunder as tears welled up in his eyes. "So, you wanna die, huh?!" He gave him a good shake and Thorfinn let it happen, "You wanna die here in the woods you chop down?! You and your - listen," His tone turned dark and Thorfinn's eyes widened, "I don't know exactly what happened to you. And I don't wanna know! I can't even imagine it!" Another rock, "But even if we are far down in our lowest point, there are - there are still some things we can be glad about to experience! Even if we just eat, work, sleep and shit all day, it's worth something! Never had anything good happen to me, my ass! When you get cleaned up all nice, even when its with a stinky, worn out rag, it's still something good! By someone...someone that cares about you! And all of that...all of that is only possible because someone let you live!"

Through gritted teeth, he swallowed his snot and fought against his tears. Images and voices of his mother and sister flashed by and Einar bit his lip to focus on the pain. He shook Thorfinn again.

"So be grateful for that at least! Do you hear me?!" He couldn't help but let a shaky sigh escape him. He didn't even have the strength to throw the blonde to the ground - he'd let that happen, too. So his grip grew softer and in defeat, Einar slumped down on his side of the barn. "Besides," He muttered, "It's not like you were the one who killed my family."

His brown eyes observed his hunched back, the way his body curled into a ball. Quiet and steady were his breaths as Thorfinn looked back to his hand. His scarred, calloused hand Einar took to get him back to the waking world, to the cold and dark night, the crisp air as crickets played their songs. It was better. Calmer than any other place he had ever been to.

"...Thank you, Einar." His voice was a mere attempt to utter his gratitude but it made Einar's heart beat faster. "Thank you for always waking me when I have a nightmare."

"...Yeah. Can't get a good night's sleep with you brailing around. Just go to sleep, Thorfinn."

"I will. I'll get up with you tomorrow."

Mighty River, Release My Soul, Out To The Open Gold...

He did wake up first.

Washed his face, stretched, got his axe. Waited for Einar to finish his chatting with Arnheid as you came around the corner.

It seemed like Pater was not angry last night nor did you get in trouble. Thorfinn couldn't help but let out a sigh of relief.

Einar noticed you as well and tried to give his best welcoming smile. "...Good morning!" The brunette noticed the crack in his voice but tried to brush off his embarassment with a wider grin. You blinked and gave a somber reply. "Oh...good morning." Your eyes immediately went to the shorter blonde, seeing him ready with the axe over his shoulder. His locks hid the shine in his gaze. He, too, greeted you. "Good morning."

The sound of your name on his tongue felt foreign. Like a hometown meal he hadn't had in ages, or learning a melody from his long-gone childhood. He saw your eyes widen as you struggled to instantly give a response. "G-Good morning, Thorfinn..."

His back was straighter, you weren't sure if he even noticed that himself, and his steps were heavy. The deep rise and fall of his chest was...relieving in a way, but before you could glance at him again, Einar sucked in a baited breath and stepped forward. "Well, we'd best get going, haha!" His laughter was too forced and so was his goofy grin, "Trees don't chop themselves! Uh, have a good, productive day, you two! See you later!" He marched away with a comedic wave towards Arnheid, and with Thorfinn in tow.

The woman chuckled before looking at you. "We're lucky to have such sweet and funny guys as our neighbors, don't we?"

The sun slowly went her way down across the sky but Thorfinn was more eager than ever to drop his axe, rope and knife to walk towards the edge of the decreasing forest. Einar rose a brow but brushed his confusion off, believing the blonde wanted to greet the master. "You're up and about, you lads, aren't you? Very good work ethics, I must say."

"Thank you, Master Ketil." Einar noted Thorfinn's quick and serious reply but kept his mouth shut. As fair as Ketil was, here on his high horse, it wasn't like Thorfinn to be so eager for conversations with him. "I do plan to turn this place into a field in about three years," Thorfinn added with an determined tone, his words cut and clear. Ketil, too, rose a brow. "Oh? Have you planned for that exact time?" The shorter man shook his head. "No. But I will get it done by then."

Look at that guy. Talking all high and mighty, confident like a carpenter as if Einar isn't doing half the work, too!

"And when it is done, Master...I'd like to ask you for a favor." The elder straightened his back and took a sharp inhale. Thorfinn making any suggestions piqued his interest - yet rather in puzzlement. "What did you have in mind, boy?"

Now, he, too, straightened his back, widened his eyes as if trying to pierce through Ketil's soul, wanting dearly for him to understand the utter necessity that bore in his words, that tore apart his heart. He had to say it and the man had to understand. Please.

"If you would so kindly allow, I'd like to work as much as I need to till this soil and grow its crops here. But instead of buying myself, I'd like to sell you the produce in order to buy their freedom back."

"What?!"

Both Einar and Ketil jumped at the boldness of his words. Thorfinn didn't blink an eye as he kept his expectant stare on the master. "Thorfinn...do you know what you're saying? Three years, at the least, all for this...one, one person? You don't mean the shy, new one?"

"I do." Thorfinn did not falter, "I want to work to buy their freedom back. To get somewhere else, far away from here. I want them to be free."

I Can't Stay Here Forever In This Hollow...

----

okay, so, this took too long-

ngl, I didn't get his speech at first - but pondering it about it more, Einar had already gone through a tragedy as a child with his father fighting off warriors/vikings to defend their village and not being sold off as slaves. After the huge amount of damage vikings have done (I imagine), there was prbly a lot of things to recover and rebuild again where all he, as a child, could do was work to rebuild, eat what they had, sleep as much as he could, and shit all day until their village recovered and they could enjoy their peace again - aka Einar being rather hopeful and ready to do that all over again as a slave and buy his freedom back.

first of all, I noticed way too late that Einar is, in fact, not a brunette;;;;his hair is rather dark reddish...oops. i'll pay more attention to that in the next

also, i read a few posts of manga-onlys/those who read the manga first that they didn't like Einar's confrontation with Thorfinn in the barn after their drama with Snake. That he's too violent, put in a bad light and I do get that - considering how incredibly kind and open-minded the guy actually is and even called Thorfinn his friend in that very chapter (in the anime it happened way later).

this is...complete bias on my part but I don't mind the scene in the anime. its scary, almost unnecessarily so in some regards considering how long the strangle goes on, like wtf - but I do like that it allowed Einar to be angry and grief in a rather negative way and realise in the midst of the action that what he is doing is wrong and that he physically does not have the guts nor want to kill someone. Imo not even giving into the thought of hurting Finny (like in the manga) shows more maturity but I don't mind both scenes. Plus, I like his speech of finding even the smallest things worthwhile and letting go of his anger in the moment to wake up Finn, cause he knows its wrong - that he isnt doing anything helpful or good, despite not liking Finn during that time at all.

[vesanal]

‧⋆‧₊˚✧Perci✧˚₊‧⋆‧ 

   A Character Introduction

“…It sure seems like a huge world out there. I can’t wait for it to show me everything that it’s worth! Nothing is holding me back now.”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽ ☆ ☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

‧⋆‧₊˚✧Information✧˚₊‧⋆‧

Name: Perci D’raah Tarros

Nicknames: Perce

Gender: Male

Pronouns: He/Him

Orientation: Demiromantic-Heterosexual

Age: 21

Birthdate: November 11th

Birthplace: Bostad, Pytharios of Khri

Species: Iceling-Elf

Occupation: Member of the Queen’s Army, rank Rooke

Education: Educated at the Queen’s Academy for Young Learners of Magic in Haukrosen, Pytharios of Khri

Current Residence: Haukrosen, Pytharios of Khri

‧⋆‧₊˚✧Personality✧˚₊‧⋆‧

Perci Tarros can be quite an outgoing and bright spirit. Staying calm during intense situations and having limitless courage to take anything he wants exemplifies this trait. He is also inquisitive, a bit too much for his own good. As well, he can be very overconfident about his abilities and put way too much trust in himself. He can always be seen getting into some kind of trouble, albeit unknowingly. But, due to his quick wit and endless creativity, he manages to squeeze out any trouble that comes his way. He is one to always question the why of things and how they happen, despite never really outgrowing the naive child who doesn’t question further. Because of that, he believes everything that is told to him by a trusted authority figure. Thankfully, he hasn't been led astray or down dangerous paths, but into becoming the best he can be. Though, maybe as he develops his worldview, he can stand strong on his own.

MBTI Type: ENFJ-A

Alignment: Lawful Good

Likes: His family, his friends, expanding his worldview, providing for people, his growth, doing things that he is good at only, excelling in new things, the stars in the night sky, sparring with others, and learning about the world around him

Dislikes: Bossy people, doing things he is bad at, burnout, liars & manipulators, and jerks

Goals: Prove himself to others and himself that he is just as capable as the rest of them and to improve to be the best he can be, learning everything he can about these strange new areas he is exploring on their journey

Hobbies: Practicing his spells (better known as Allurements & Virtues), venturing out in the woods beyond in search of new things, astronomy & stargazing, and cooking

‧⋆‧₊˚✧Appearance✧˚₊‧⋆‧

Height: 5’ 10” or 177cm

Weight: 135

Build: Long and lanky; with quite of bit of muscle mass, but not enough to not get underestimated on his immense skill in magic

Hair: Tousled, brilliant white hair with flowy bangs that obscure his forehead, the back of his hair is much longer than the front, capping off at his shoulders

Eyes: Strikingly blue in color and rather sharply set, thirsting for answers

Skin Complexion: A pale blue, one that blended in perfectly in the ice surrounding him, with small spots of youthful blush on his cheeks and nose

Scars: None

Piercings: 2 small spikes on each ear that jut out on the top of his ear, along the edge

Tattoos: No tattoos but he wears black ceremonial face and body paint that stains his skin, called Rekkala, located on his forehead, down his sloped nose, under his eyes, across his cheekbones, & covering his neck, and spiraling down his arms, ending on his lower back.

‧⋆‧₊˚✧Extra✧˚₊‧⋆‧

Want to see more Perci?

More here!!

Check out the story here!

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽ ☆ ☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

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[angelicsjn]

JOSHUA WHITE.

A N: Not a request, I'm just a whore for a religious man, I fear.

A B O U T: Joshua is a man of purity, and you're testing that statement.

W A R N I N G S: Sexual themes, MDNI! Religious themes, but well, that's expected.

It wasn't the first time that you noticed his gaze linger your way ever so slightly longer than the average attendee at the congregation.

Perhaps it was because you were looking first — he was the reason you attended at all, after all. It's embarrassing to admit it, right?

His kind eyes, deep and warm, honey and hot cocoa. His smile that shone a light in only a way that God could provide. Some sick part of you revelled in it with thighs that tightened with each glance, your fingers playing against one another after your touch left his. A simple handshake. Politeness. But it lingered. It created a craving so much worse than ever.

It felt wrong. It was wrong. It is. But could you stop? No. You couldn't. Maybe some part of you began to pray with conviction to attempt to rid yourself of such desires — a thing that was foreign to you. But Joshua White was different. He was pure Wasn't he? Surely.

Funny; the feeling was mutual on his side.

His voice was held soft. His touch softer, yet. And yet his eyes never managed to gain control in terms of undressing you. The thirst in his gut sent him reeling, dizzy with a need he never knew he possessed.

After hours, in the darkness of his room, he would pray under candlelight, begging for a way out. For an answer. Was it God's test? A test of faith. Commitment.

But, by God, he wanted you. To feel your flesh upon his tongue.

"Watch and pray, that ye enter not into temptation: the spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak." He whispered, his lips ached against his fist.

Each word uttered burned, and Satan's spit coated his throat with his temptation. His hot temptation caused a shiver to erupt up against Joshua's naked spine.

But in his mind — deep inside of it — unravelled the thought of your fingers, tracing up his back. Tickling his spine with hushings against the curve of his neck, air blowing against hot tan skin.

"The flesh is weak." You'd say, tone dripping in desire. Soon enough, your lips would meet his neck, a soft kiss. Almost as if a feather fell, grazing his skin with fragility.

Your fingers, nimble and cold, feel him. His breath caught up in his chest, his lips open with unspoken words, deep hushed groans replaced his prayer.

"Forgive me, for I am a sinner." Remorse was found in his tone, spoken out into the empty room.

Oh, how he ached. Was this really God's test? Or was it His pleasure? A gift. For being such a...

"Good boy." You whisper, and a whine of need left past his mouth, the feeling of your fingers gliding across the wetness of his tongue.

He licked with anticipation, his mouth closed as his eyes rolled back, sucking the sin from your skin, making it his to bear.

His hand. No. Yours. Your hand. Soft. Delicate. Wrapped around his cock. Hard. So eager.

You felt him. Took him whole in your hand and created a new galaxy to meet his gaze. His knees hurt against the wood of his floor, but, fuck, his stomach flipped with each stroke that you fisted with silk-like motions.

'1 John 2:16 - For all that is in the world—the desires of the flesh and the desires of the eyes and pride of life—is not from the Father but is from the world.'

He needed more. He craved more. Joshua's grasp against the bedsheets locked his fingers, as his — your hand deliciously rocked against the sensitivity of his cock, feeling every inch of him as he pulsated against your tender flesh.

"God loves you." You murmured, your lips against his neck, tasting him as your fingers entwined with his tongue, still. "But not as much as I do, my sweet lamb."

His teeth grazed against your fingers, his licks grew in weight as he breathed with ragged lust through his nostrils.

"I want you to cum for me." You said. "Speak His name in vain, my boy, show Him how good I feel, instead."

His eyes rolled back, his balls tightened with unwanted angst as he thought of his sins. His powerless deceit against He as he succumbed to you.

The idea of you.

The thought of you touching him, everywhere your hands could possibly feel. To make a mess of his hardwood floor where he knees burned from hours of prayer, from less than than to cum simply over one thought that retracted any sort of hope he held before.

He couldn't hold back anymore.

[drakaripykiros130ac]

“The Greens are political masterminds compared to the Blacks.”

How many times have you heard this bullshit?

Their political incompetence is exactly what cost the Greens their victory in this war, and what gained Otto Hightower the gold medal in the “worst Hand in the history of Westeros” Olympics. And if you ask me, Criston Cole should have the silver for that one.

So, we’re talking about a faction who has been plotting to usurp the rightful heir, Rhaenyra Targaryen, for many, many years. They had so much time to prepare, and so many advantages: Alicent being queen and Otto being Hand, not to mention Rhaenyra and Daemon were away on Dragonstone for many years.

The Hightowers could have swayed things in their favor before Viserys’ death, and failed. They had to shuffle about, beg the Tyrells, send Aemond to Storm’s End with marriage promises etc. all after Viserys died. Lol. What have they done during those 10 years Rhaenyra was away on Dragonstone? They sat on their asses and did nothing. Not even prepare their puppet, Aegon Hightower.

Now, let’s list the Greens’ many, many mistakes:

1. Usurping the throne, instead of minding their own business and returning to Oldtown. Alicent doomed her entire line (children and grandchildren) with her schemes and thirst for power.

2. Not having Aemond and Daeron married by the time of the Dance. Boy, they really blew it with this one. Aemond was 20 when the Dance started and Daeron was 16. They could have been well married by the time Viserys died, and the Hightowers could have secured great alliances in time.

Rhaenyra’s sons were much younger than Alicent’s, and yet years before the Dance, she had Jacaerys and Lucerys betrothed to Baela and Rhaena, securing the Velaryons (a great power House) on her side for good. And certain people still have the nerve to say she did nothing.

Not having Aemond and Daeron married by the time of Viserys’ death, was a missed opportunity, which proves Otto and Alicent’s stupidity. They had the power, and Viserys was easily swayed, and they still screwed up big time.

3. Failing to get the support of their own liege lords, the Tyrells.

4. Failing to get the support of the Red Kraken and by extension, the Iron Islands. I mean, so few people realize that Daemon was the politically savvy one, knowing how to turn the Red Kraken against the Greens by appealing to his thirst for bloodshed. The Greens offered him the position of Master of Ships and he refused them, in exchange for a chance to stick it to the Lannisters. So basically, Daemon offered the Red Kraken nothing, compared to the Greens, and still managed to sway him to his side. That must have been so embarrassing for the Greens 😂.

5. Killing Lucerys. *claps* Well, done, Aemond One-Eye idiot. Before this, Rhaenyra was still determined to make peace with her half-brothers and half-sister, despite the usurpation, but not after they shed first blood and murdered her son. Hell no. Even Alicent and Otto were angry with Aemond for this one, because they knew how badly they screwed up.

The problem is that both Otto and Alicent lacked the intelligence to keep a bloodthirsty, idiotic maniac like Aemond in line. Not to mention that the one on their team holding their only ace-card, Vhagar, was this bloodthirsty, idiotic maniac.

6. Aegon Hightower choosing Criston Cole as his Hand. 😶 When I first read this part in the book, I was shocked. Definitely did not see that coming. Dismissing Otto as Hand (for the second time), I understand, considering that he really exudes incompetence. But what exactly went through the usurper’s puny brain when naming Cole as his Hand is beyond me. He is a military man. He is no political mastermind. Far from it. He is dumb as wood. He spent his entire career life kissing Alicent’s behind and only rising in ranking because of his hatred for Rhaenyra (because a young girl of 14 refused his advances).

There is a reason why Rhaenyra chose Corlys as her Hand, and not Daemon (like everyone expected her to).

Criston Cole led his forces in the Riverlands and got himself killed when facing the Winter Wolves. He didn’t even use his position as Hand. He just wore the pin.

Seriously, this has to be one of their dumbest moves. If I were in this usurper’s position, I would have chosen Tyland Lannister as my Hand, certainly not the overly subjective and creepy Incel who kisses my mother’s behind for a job.

7. Burning the Riverlands…for no good reason. *claps* Once again, let’s applaud Aemond’s idiocy. Basically, he decided to burn the Riverlands because their lords sided with Rhaenyra. That’s it.

Because of his stupidity, he basically secured the entire Riverlands on the side of the Blacks even after Rhaenyra’s death. The Riverlords fought for Rhaenyra’s son instead of agreeing to make peace with the Greens.

8. Choosing the Triarchy as an ally. What exactly made them think that they would gain any points by allying themselves with a great enemy of the people of Westeros? These are foreign savages that Daemon and Corlys have been fighting for years, and the Greens got in bed with them. Bringing an army of dangerous foreigners in a civil war is high treason against the Realm.

9. Burning Bitterbridge. The Reach was the Hightowers’ home, and not only did they fail to gain the support of the Paramount House there, but they also turned many of their bannermen against them. Well done. *sarcasm*

10. This one is one of my favorites: trusting the Goldcloaks. Otto Hightower knew perfectly well that the Goldcloaks were Daemon’s men, and despite making some changes and putting his son, Gwayne, as second in command, Otto still managed to get played and the Goldcloaks turned on the Greens when Daemon arrived in the capital.

The smart thing to do would have been to disband the Goldcloaks when the usurpation happened. The decision to keep them lost the Greens the capital.

11. Proposing to call a Great Council only when realizing that they were losing. So, once Rhaenyra took the capital, only then, did Alicent propose to call a Great Council. Why couldn’t she suggest that before usurping the throne? Alicent’s stupidity got her the nickname “Queen of Chains”.

12. Trusting the Dragonseeds who betrayed Rhaenyra. Seriously…how stupid could they be? Don’t they know that people who betray once have a tendency to do it again??? The Two Betrayers wasted no time and turned on the Greens soon after because they wanted the throne for themselves.

13. Trusting Larys Strong. This creep got his own family killed for the sake of power. He has no morals and is just like Littlefinger. Once he realized that the Greens were losing, Larys turned on them and most likely participated in poisoning Aegon the Usurper.

14. Refusing to name Aegon the Younger heir and sue for peace with the Black armies after Rhaenyra’s death. This basically guaranteed the Greens’ permanent defeat.

15. Trying to convince her eight year old granddaughter to kill her husband lost Alicent any freedom rights after she lost the war, and she spent the rest of her life in isolation and madness.

So, seriously, people who say that Otto and Alicent are politically intelligent need to get a clue and read the book.

[lizzieisright]

Moon peppers (1)

were!Abby x witch!reader

Summary: Abby runs away from her (former) pack and into your forest. You're not happy with your new (woods?)mate.

Tags: fantasy au, sloppy worldbuilding (fuck it we ball), fem!reader, alpha!abby, witch!reader (so not an omega), sentient forest, stubborn idiots in love who annoy each other.

A/N: This is basically God of War 2 x Witcher fics (i didn't watch it) x Tolkien x some of my original worldbuilding for my own stories x kinda omeraverse. I have no idea where this is going, but I'm having fun.

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Abby runs. Her speed is fueled by adrenaline and fear. She is hurt and her fur is so red from blood that it's impossible to see her sandy coat at all. Abby is not sure she will survive even if she somehow escapes Isaac and his dogs: she is getting dizzy and tired. 

The Moon shines on her and Abby tries to see any path she can follow and shake Isaac off, but Abby knows the smell of her blood is so prominent nothing will hide her. 

If Abby was in human form she'd have probably given up by now, but she is a wolf now and her instincts push her forward, push her into survival, no matter what it will take. So Abby keeps running through the fields, hearing Isaac’s wolves from every direction as if they're circling her. Abby speeds up, not feeling her wounds, and follows the Moon. 

The Moon shines on the dark tall forest: it looks intimidating. Any other time Abby would avoid this forest because she is not insane, she can feel this forest is not just woods. This forest is alive and will swallow her if she goes inside, but between her former pack trying to tear her apart and slowly getting killed by the forest, Abby chooses the forest. 

She can't be sure it will kill her anyway: nature is odd and has a mind of its own. But her packmates will kill her, there's no doubt.

And all for what? For her standing up for her friends who refused to kill innocent people so their pack would have more resources? Isaac really didn't like hearing his killings and raids are nothing more than cruelty and despotism than any kind of holy war on humans who hate werewolves and want them dead. 

(Humans rarely care as long as you stay human around them and don't go on a rampage.)

So Isaac wanted to make an example out of them. Abby held off while others escaped - she is the strongest in the pack and can take a few wolves at once in the fight - but then she had to escape as well. 

And now she is getting closer to the edge of the woods and her heart is trembling from anxiety. She has no idea what will happen when she crosses the line, but if her pack follows her, the forest won't be kind to them either. 

So Abby takes a deep breath and runs into the forest. 

Inside the forest Abby hears nothing. Well, she hears rustling and can feel the wind, but there is no sign of the outside world. Her ears can't pick up on the footsteps of her pack that were deafening when she ran. No smell of them either, no heartbeats, nothing. As if they just disappeared. It's uncanny and Abby is scared, but nothing comes at her. 

Abby cautiously goes on a trail in front of her - she is not questioning this, this forest is weird - and her tiredness catches up with her. Her paws are barely moving but she pushes herself forward anyway, trusting this place to guide her since it didn't go hostile immediately. Abby looks back just to be sure and yes, the trail is still there, the forest isn't tricking her. 

Her heart is still beating crazy, but she feels safe from the chase and doesn't try to run anymore. The trail leads her to the river which shines strangely - or that what Abby thinks until she sees this is just the Moon reflecting in the water. Abby lies on the shore and laps at the water until her thirst goes away - she doesn't turn into a human, too weak and too scared: the wolf is stronger and heals faster. She feels so tired, she lost so much blood it scares her, she feels like she is very close to death now, but somehow Abby finds some strength to quickly bathe in the river and clean her injuries. 

She is also hungry, but she just can't. Abby sniffs around and catches some damp smell that feels like the inside of the cave and she follows it. There's indeed a den, probably used by a bear before, but the scent of it is so weak it's not coming back. So Abby curls around herself and falls asleep, trying not to think about not waking up ever again. 

The woodpecker starts knocking on the trees and you try to ignore it, but then the sun shines through your window and this is it, no sleep for you. You huff half-heartedly, but you don't mind forest's games. Sometimes they're grumpy and you wake up in a damp hot fog that clots your lungs, so the annoying woodpecker is not bad at all. 

The morning is beautiful: it's quiet, sunny and warm, even though the summer is ending. Probably this is why the woods are in a sweet mood - they're already mourning, which means they're celebrating the beginning of something new. 

This is the last day of the full moon and you plan on collecting some of the flowers that bloom only under the moonlight. It's not your favourite activity, since it's so dark and this forest is living its own life - they don't really care if there is a witch or not and if this witch is alive or not, you're just a passing in their lifetime. 

Useful passing though - you know the woods like you because you keep them clean and healthy when they can't; you keep the passing people from hurting them and the villagers from exploiting them. 

You've lived in the village for a few years before moving here - the call of the forest was too strong, and the times when you'd come to harvest some of the ingredients they wouldn't let you out. At first you thought they were mad at you - but then they saved your ass multiple times from animals (or, in one particular case, a werebear who really wanted to rip your throat out). So you went there for a few nights one time and lied in the bog, trying to connect with them - and they did, and told you they want you to be here. So you stayed, knowing better than arguing with a sentient forest.

The villagers were not super happy about losing their witch to the forest, but you visit them almost every other day, healing people and getting food in return, or clothes or anything which is available to your patients. They rarely come to you - they're wary of the woods, since some people got lost there and some only returned after a week, almost driven mad. The forest is not some kind of god or deity, their mood changes with wind, and by the end of the day, they really don’t care who gets hurt, unless they’re in the mood to save you. Or if they’re in the mood to kill you, then there’s no escape.

You get ready for the day, putting your salves and tinctures in your basket to head out to the village - there's always someone who is hurt and who needs some kind of help. Plus, sometimes it's nice to just be around people - and around your people, since this village is not entirely human. There's a dwarf and an elf who live close by - you have no idea why they're here, especially since the elf comes from an important old family, she is not just a peasant. But you don't ask questions, and they don't ask you questions about your past. 

You leave the forest at noon and walk to the village, enjoying the weather and the sun that warms you. Children see you and run towards you, putting their curious noses into your basket, so you spare some flower milk for them, since this is what they're looking for. They ramble about anyone who needs help and lead you to the houses. It's not a busy day, but you get stuck with an old lady whose back is hurting her. 

“Wow.” You sigh when you feel the knots in her muscles. “What were you doing yesterday? Carrying rocks?”

“My grandson came to play. We ran around a bit, he jumped everywhere, such a naughty darling!” Mari laughs. “I felt like I was a young lass again.”

You chuckle at this and press at her muscles, releasing tension. Mari squeals and twitches in pain, but she is a tough lady, so you keep massaging her with a bit of magic to make her feel better. 

You like lazy days - lazy days mean everyone is okay and you won't have to stand at another funeral: your magic is not some kind of miraculous cure, not for humans, anyway. It doesn't connect with them the way it connects with non-humans, so your help is still limited. 

You go around, giving people some tinctures for the upcoming cold season - children are especially vulnerable during autumn, so you want to prevent their illnesses as best as you can. 

The sun is slowly starting to set when you make it to Vi and Caitlyn’s house: it's on the edge of the village and it's odd. You don't know why, but looking at the clash of elven grace and dwarven coarseness makes you feel funny. It doesn't belong together, but then it does, and you always giggle when you visit them. 

They're an odd pair as well: Caitlyn opens the door, elegant and tall, and hugs you.

“Oh, darling, I hope your day was easy on your heart.” Caitlyn speaks as if she only knows poetry, while...

“Well she doesn't look like shit today.” The short, buff Vi comes into your view and you laugh. 

They don't belong together, but they do, and you can't help the flutter of your heart when you see Caitlyn caress Vi’s head gently, tracing her tattoos with her pretty fingers while Vi flexes her big biceps.  

Caitlyn makes tea for you while Vi takes her special tincture (read: magic booze) from your basket. 

“Best one yet, witch.” Vi smirks and sits next to you and Caitlyn. “Make me a few of them and I'll make you something nice.”

“Deal.” You do need a new dagger, and Vi is an amazing smith. 

It's been a while since you visited them, so you spend the whole evening in their house, catching up, listening to Caitlyn's complaints - which they never sound like, because she is the most graceful person you know - and sharing your own struggles. Vi for the most part works in her workshop, but now and then she'd come and give you her thoughts as well. 

You leave their house when the Moon is full and bright in the sky, and you make your way back to the forest. 

They don't greet you this time, but you don't mind - the mood of the woods is not your business. You cast a spell that will lead you to the moon peppers and follow it carefully: you can see pretty well in the dark, but you don't want to fall with a full basket of elven treats and dwarven booze, and your new tunic from Mari. 

Moon peppers - and they're not, in fact, peppers, they're flowers that look like peppers - are on the other end of the forest, and it takes you some time to finally get there, but you can't help your pleased gasp when you see them. The flowers shine in the moonlight, fully fluorescent - they're beautiful. You look up to the Moon and nod to her for her wonderful work.

You crunch in front of the bush and take your knife out, cutting the beautiful blooms - not only do they look nice, but moon peppers save the moon magic in them forever, and you can use them in truly powerful potions that can help with serious illnesses. 

You cut almost all of the blooms when you hear rustling behind the bush, and you look curiously: usually it would be a hedgehog going on his way. 

Then the bush gets separated in half and you freeze in terror. 

You blink at the wolf. 

The wolf blinks back. 

You scramble to your feet, take your basket and start moving away slowly, not sure of the wolf's intentions. The eyes of the wolf are golden - it's a were - and it snarls at you, baring the sharp teeth. 

Oh fuck no, you think as you swallow. Not fucking again.

The wolf growls and you don't need another cue, you run for your life - you don't know how lucid this werewolf is and you don't want to wait to find out; you have scars from the last encounter with a were and you're not eager to repeat it. 

The wolf chases you, low growling is loud in your ears, but you know these woods and you pray they won't play you now as you run to your hut. Your lungs are on fire, but you only need to make it to the protective circle that the wolf won't be able to cross. The basket is clinking and you somehow make a spell to save the contents when you hear the wolf getting closer.

“Fuck off!” You yell, annoyed and terrified. “Leave me alone, wolf!”

The wolf just growls again and you hear it right behind you, so you send a pulse of magic to trip the wolf. It hurts, why the fuck does it hurt? You don't know and don't care right now, just running as fast as you can. You won't be able to take a werewolf in a fight - haven't been able for quite some time now - but you can slow it down. You hop over the branches like a trained horse, looking ahead and making shortcuts whenever you can, because your home is a long way from the moon peppers and your stamina is nothing compared to the stamina of a werewolf. The wolf however struggles to catch up, and you’re grateful - is it forest helping you or the wolf being stupid doesn’t matter.

You see the hut and speed up, crossing the line of your circle and immediately falling down on the ground, coughing out your own lungs. It takes a few seconds for the wolf to get to you, and it pounces - and even if you know it won't cross the circle, it's terrifying. You close your face instinctively and shriek in fear, but of course, nothing happens: the wolf smacks into the invisible wall and falls down. You use this moment to get up and run to your house, closing the door and casting a few spells just to be sure there's no weak spot in your shields. You walk to the window on your shaking legs, all covered in mud, and you look out. The wolf is circling your shields, growling and scraping the walls with its gigantic paws. It sees you and gets more aggressive, so you move away from the window and sit on the floor. 

You're still panting, and even your shields don't make you feel better - last time the werebear broke them and maimed you until the forest actually intervened and dragged the bear away from you. It was nasty and took so long to heal, but the scarring was minimum - most of the injuries healed without a trace. 

You calm down, your breathing is getting normal again, and you look at your basket with a bunch of moon peppers in it. 

The wolf will not get away with it, you decide. You'll show it who is the boss here.

[lumhos]

tomarry x beauty and the beast

in which the “serpent” is a touch more monstrous, “belle” has a thirst for vengence, the servants are more manic, and the town is slightly relieved.

a man cursed to look like a serpent lives at the edge of the woods in a lavish manor. the once blooming gardens are overgrown with weeds and thorns. the shiny fountain is replaced with a rusty hunk of metal. the busy ballroom now echoes with the loud sounds of silence.

he angered a wandering fairy, who cursed him and his men (and bellatrix) to have different forms. they became (in)animate but he? a walking serpent like creature. furious and embarrassed, he stays locked up in his mansion, searching for a cure to kill that blasted fairy.

harry is a young man who lives in his peaceful little town with his godfather. he never fit in with the other boys, being shorter and leaner. despite that, he matched the others with his pride and hunger to prove himself. everyday, sirius had to patch harry’s wounds back up when he came home from another brawl.

“you should see the other guys!” he’d say with a smile.

scrawny enough to evade most attacks, witty enough to get out of rough situations, and equipped with a sharp tongue that got him into most rough situations, it was no wonder that he would garner the attention of the most eligible bachelor in town.

it was a shame that harry despised draco malfoy.

fortunately, harry wouldn’t have to deal with that because he had to go rescue his kidnapped godfather!

unfortunately, harry had to go rescue his kidnapped godfather.

swapping places with sirius meant that harry was locked away in a cold, leaky cell. only having the sound of dripping rainwater to keep him company. this was better than listening to malfoy drone on about his achievements, sure, but everyday harry could feel his sanity start to thin.

the moment that he escaped this cell, he would be killing that snake and skinning him for his hide.

(if anyone likes this enough i’ll make a pt 2..)

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

THTH 2

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Ransom Drysdale

Summary: You have a secret, but what do you do when it threatens to come out.

Part of the Backwoods AU

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

Bored brainless, you sneak out after your parents shut off their bedroom light. You don’t risk alerting them by borrowing the car so you light up your cell phone and use it to guide your way through the dark. Some people might call you stupid, it’s not exactly safe with all the breaking twigs and rustling in the trees. There are bears up here. You know, you’ve seen them too. Whatever. 

You come in sight of The Horn, annoyed by the dew that wets your ankles. You’re almost too tired for fun now. God, you hate this place. You want to be like those women in the movies who can catch a yellow taxi or even just walk to a club or a restaurant or a salon. Here, you can’t even get a good haircut. 

You smile at the bearded man who watches the door. Al knows you and his rocky exterior cracks just a little. You push inside, met by the castle of yellow lights and the garble of voices. The clink of glass awakens you and you approach the bar, eager to sate your sudden thirst. 

You wait for the bartender, Bill, as an old drunkard in plaid rambles at him. Is that Loretta’s husband? You thought they were such good people. That’s the thing about Hammer Ford, it’s all fake. 

Finally, Bill heads in your direction. Before you can greet him, a shadow slides in next to you, planting and elbow on the trim as his other hand hovers menacingly on the stool at your other hip. The man pens you completely. 

“Gin and tonic and whatever the lady wants,” he says. 

Bill gives him a look. You do too. It’s the same man from the cafe; the newcomer. There’s been a few of those lately. The designer emblem on his sweater staves off your instinct to send him away. 

“You know what I like,” you say to Bill as you face the stranger, “thanks.” 

“Mm,” he looks you up and down, still crowding you, “and what do you like, bunny?” 

Your cheek twitches and you swallow, “what?” 

He smirks and peeks over the bar. His gin and tonic is set on the wood as he reaches into his pocket to pull out his wallet. You’re frozen there, mind racing. It has to be a coincidence. Your drink is put up next; rum and coke, with three maraschino cherries in a highball glass. The man pays and faces you with a wink. 

“Those ears suit you,” he holds up his wallet with one hand. 

“How...” your breath wisps out between your lips. 

“I didn’t expect the real thing to be even better,” he takes the highball glass and offers it to you, “and I rarely admit when I’m wrong.” You take your drink, speechless as you watch him. He reaches for his own glass and whistles at Bill, “can I get a lime for this?” 

The bartender growls. He doesn’t appreciate being spoken to like a dog. He plunks a lime wedges into the glass and huffs. The stranger is entirely unbothered. 

“How did you... find me?” The question spurrs the startling epiphany. He’s one of them. A fan. 

“I can’t tell all my secrets,” he turns to the bar and brings his hand to the small of your back, “let’s sit. Chat. How about it, pinky?” 

You take a gulp of the drink. Oh boy. Pinky... part of your username is the colour pink with and exclamation as the i. It’s definitely one of them. You’re heart is racing. This is an actual nightmare and yet it’s exciting. The very sort of thrill you’ve been longing for. 

He ushers you across to a table and you sit in the wobbly old chair. He takes the one across from you, agitated by it’s crooked stance, and sets his drink down. You keep your hands on your glass, stirring it with the skewer of cherries. You watch him, trying to figure out what to say. 

He’s not bad looking. Thank god for that at least. His hair is combed back tidily away from his clean shaven face. His jaw is square, his nose romanesque in a way, and his clothing betray wealth. It could be a lot worse. 

“Why are you--” 

“You haven’t been online. At least I know you’re not lying. Service is shit around here.” 

His tone makes you wince. You’re not shy. Sometimes, that has been your greatest flaw, like now. Being so bold on the internet has dug you quite the hole. 

“How do you know it’s me?” You’re still reeling, questions bubbling up one after the other. 

“I’d know your ass anywhere,” he bites his lip and leans forward. 

“But why--” 

“Why am I here? Well, I was bored... and I hate waiting,” he sneers, “I’m not that type. I don’t wait.” 

“Wait... for?” 

“The pictures, the videos, it’s getting a little dull,” he hisses, “figured I’d have some of the real thing. You know, I see a resort on Insta, I usually get a flight. I see a new bagel joint, I got down and try the cream cheese, I see you...” 

His smirk remains. You talk a big game but you’re not prepared for this. For him. In the flesh. 

“_ransom_ware_?” You utter. 

“You know me,” he chuckles, “people call me Ransom. You can call me Mr. Drysdale, bunny.” 

“Ransom--” 

“Ah, what did I just say?” He taps his ear, “I know you can be a good lister...” he drawls your real name and you nearly choke. 

“How--” 

“Keep asking all these stupid questions and I’ll have to shut you up,” he warns, “go on, enjoy your drink, loosen up.” He leans on his elbows and looks around, “tell me I’m not a hundred times more intersting than these redneck fuckers.” 

You stare at him. You flutter your lashes and follow his gaze around the room. Others watch. You know this will be on the tongues of the town by morning. If your mom finds out... 

You look at him and find him staring. He sips his drink and tilts his head, “you really are too pretty for this place.” 

“Um, thanks,” you give that smile you give, the one that gets you a your three cherry special from Bill. 

He scoffs, “that doesn’t work on me, bunny.” His eyes drift down to your shirt, a checker halter with buttons down the front. “I came all this way. For you. That means you owe me...” he clucks and pokes his tongue into his cheek, “I mean I am your best tipper, aren’t I?” 

You take another gulp. You’ve got maybe one mouthful left. He eyes the glass. 

“Thirsty?” He winks.