#But I know exactly how it feels to be a hopeless mistress to a man

[daydreamdoodles]

Kerry Washington sinks to the floor holding a phone in her hand that she just dug from the paper bin and says in the most Broken whisper of a voice "you're calling me" and you see how this powerful amazing woman is so human and can be brought to that flawed humanity over this damn married man is just so. Soooooo

[writefasttalkevenfaster]

Aaron Hotchner / Ready for More

Summary: Aaron had married Haley right out of high school. He didn’t need a second or a third -- he just needed her. But things change. And after she’s gone, he’s finally ready for another relationship -- he’s finally ready for you. 

Prompts: Aaron’s first time after Haley (second time overall)

Warnings: E, smut, oral sex (m receiving), dirty talk, 

Word Count: 3,387

Aaron Hotchner rarely felt nervous. But the few times he did, he was always grateful for the feeling — the jitters deep in his stomach, the adneradline that flooded his bloodstream, that occupied his muscles, and roused his mind — as this feeling kept him alive. However, right now — he adjusted the collar of his shirt, smoothing the stray hairs on his head — he wished he could be rid of the feeling. Right now, it wasn’t keeping him alive — in fact it was close to killing him, eating away at what semblance of cool he had left, and that was already too little. He scrubbed at his face, holding his forehead, feeling the brush of his fingers against his skin, noting the notable absence of cool metal of his wedding band. 

It had taken him far too long to stop wearing it. It had taken him even longer to put it away. It felt like another part of him at this point, a part of his heart he was ripping from himself, hiding away in a drawer. But it was necessary. It was needed. He had to move on. He owed it to himself. And, he glanced at his phone — your last text still on his lockscreen: Looking forward to tonight! :) — he owed it to you too.

But still, his nerves remained on edge. And he knew exactly why. 

It had been a long time for him. A long time since he had dated. He had the love story everyone wanted. He had met Haley in high school, high school sweethearts who married out of school, and stayed together for years. But no love story was perfect, and many didn’t have a happy ending. And nothing about his ending was happy. But it ended, nonetheless. 

But that’s when he met you. A coincidence really. 

He was shopping for Jack’s school supplies on his own, with only a list of things to keep him company. Jack was spending time with his grandfather and Jessica, his last day to do so before schools opened up, and here he was doing last minute school shopping by himself. Well, until you wandered by. 

“Do you need help?” a knowing smile on your lips, your eyes flitted from the sheet to his seemingly hopeless expression, "I saw the list and figured—" 

"Is that obvious?" You laugh, shaking your head, as he notes the absence of your nametag, “Do you work here?” 

You nod, “I own the store,” you gesture around, “we have a lot of parents coming in today since all the big chain stores are fresh out of supplies and now they are trickling into the smaller ones.” 

“Must be good for business,” and you shrug. 

“Doesn’t hurt,” you hold out your hand, “let me take a look, we can have you out of here and back home with your—?” 

“Son,” you smile, “his name’s Jack.” 

Your eyes scan the list with a nod, “So we have everything, except one of these things, those three ring binders went fast today,” he frowns, his head throbbing at the prospect of hunting a three ring binder down today, “but I have a friend who owns a shop not to far from here. I’ll make a call and see if he can hold one for you.” 

“You don’t have to—” 

You shake your head, another smile graced your lips, and he felt his heart thump against his ribs, “I want to,” 

“I don’t think I caught your name,” he says, and you hold your hand out. 

“Don’t think you asked,” you offer your name with a ghost of a chuckle in your voice, and little did he know that’s not all you would offer him. 

You offered to accompany him to pick up that binder. You offered a few suggestions for Jack’s reading list over coffee. You offered comfort. You offered friendship. Eventually, you offered him love. And more importantly, you offered him the time he needed to take with this. Patience for your first kiss. Patience with labels. Patience with your heart, which he knew he held so delicately in his hands. And patience with something else as well. 

He hadn’t slept with anyone, but Haley. Ever. She was his first and his last — for everything. First kiss, first love, first lover. And last. 

But now he was ready — he was ready for more. He was ready for —- the doorbell rings — he was ready for you, for all of you. 

“Always right on time,” he says as he opens the door, finding you in a black number that rode dangerously above your knee, his eyes skimming your bare legs before flicking up to the smirk across your scarlet lips. 

“I have to be, don’t I?” Your arms wrap around his neck, tugging him closer, his hands finding your waist, “don’t know when you’re going to be mysteriously pulled away by your lover.” 

“My lover?” he feels your laugh fan across his fan, as you press your lips to his. 

“Work, obviously,” he buries a laugh in your neck, pulling you even closer. 

“So does that make you my mistress?" He swore he felt you shiver under his touch, your words practically whispered against his ear. 

"I like the sound of that," you kiss his cheek, lingering a moment longer, before pulling back and smiling at him, "but I was promised dinner, wasn't I?" 

You squeeze his hand, and he nods, fingers laced together as he let you in. Tonight was going to be the night. 

~~~ 

"I didn't know you knew how to make paella," you sip at your drink, smiling over your now empty plate, "or that you could make it so well." 

"Well I've been living on dinosaur nuggets for so long that I nearly forgot I could too," his hand brushes your knee before resting there, his thumb rubbing up and down, "I'm glad you enjoyed it," he murmurs, kissing you, and you taste the saffron on his tongue — it tastes even better on his lips. 

Something was different about tonight. 

He grabs your plate and his own, and you hop off the stool, "I can help clean up—" but he waves you off, pressing a kiss to your forehead. 

“Just relax,” he says, placing the dishes in the sink, and you sigh, leaning against your hand, as you eye him in the jeans you had helped him pick out the week before. They were...very flattering, which was part of the reason you had insisted on them. 

“Oh I am,” you hummed, as he shoots you a look over his shoulder, spotting your eyes entirely glued to his ass, “I’m enjoying the show.” 

“Oh are you?” you hear the smile in his voice, his gaze still fixed on the dishes, “well consider this a teaser.”

You raise a brow, “A teaser? So I can expect more later?” 

The clink of the dish against the dish rack, “If you’re good,” 

His tone was rough and husky, teasing even — the words raking over your body and sucking the air from your lungs. Oh something was definitely different, as a distinct heat settles over you, a tension coming into view that you hadn’t even noticed. Until now, as you shift in the stool, heat stoked between your thighs with just his simple words. 

Oh, something was definitely different. 

“In that case,” you slip from the stool, “let me freshen up in the bathroom.” 

The door clicks close behind you, and you cover your mouth, ‘Oh my god,’ you mouth silently, fingers nearly messing up your perfectly painted lips. 

He had invited you over tonight. No Jack. No kiddie food. He had dressed up in the collared shirt you liked, his arms on full display for you. 

He wanted to sleep with you tonight — the thought of it sent shivers down your spine. The pace had been achingly slow, almost painfully so, but only because you loved him. And you did — which is what made waiting so worth it for this man who deserved nothing but love, especially after all he and his son had lost. 

But, you resisted the urge to bite your lips, could you give it to him? 

You had told you he hadn’t been with anyone since Haley, not until you. You wanted it to be good for him, you wanted to be good for him, so badly, but — you fussed with the hem of your dress — it was a lot to live up to. 

You swallow the lump in your throat, but still nerves flutter in the pit of your stomach. But you choose not to focus on your shaking hands or jumbled feelings. He wanted this. He wanted you. And god knows, you’ve wanted him for so long. And each time he had pulled you into his lap, spread across his thighs, you’ve wanted him more — desire still burnt into your thighs, even though the bruises he left weren’t. 

You emerged from the bathroom, finding him sitting on the couch with two glasses in his hands. You rounded it with familiar ease, sitting right beside him, and plucking one of the glasses from his hands. His arm rested against the top of the couch, the other still holding his drink.

 “Welcome back,” he says, as you take a sip. 

“Was my absence noted, Agent?” you mumble, as he leans closer, stealing another kiss, his tongue flicking against your mouth playfully. 

"Of course," he takes the glass from your fingers, placing it and his own on a coaster, before his hand cups your cheek, thumb stroking the length of your cheek, "It always is." 

"Aaron," you breath mingles with his own, as he dares even closer, noses brushing. He finally kisses you, your hand finds his shoulder, grounding yourself. He swallows your soft moan eagerly, his teeth digging into your lip. His large hand rests on your hip, and you crawl into his lap, splayed across his thighs. His fingers graze your bare thighs, teasing the hem of your dress, before venturing where you wanted him. 

You part, his lips now lingering against the soft skin of your neck, all teeth and tongue, and your hips jerk against his, unconsciously, searching for some friction against the growing bulge in his jeans. Your touch soft, you pull him away, biting back a moan at his kiss ruined lips, “Are you sure, Aaron?” your fingers card through the hair resting on the back of his neck, “I don’t want you to do this if you’re not ready.” 

His fingers trace your jaw sweetly, “I am, sweetheart. I’ve thought about this, a lot,” he lifts your hand to his lips, pressing chaste kisses to each finger, “I love you. I love what we have, but I’m ready for more. I want this. I want you.” he adds softly with a kiss to your palm, “if you’ll have me.” 

Tears well in your eyes, as you cup his face and smash your lips to his, “I’ll always have you, Aaron. Again and again and again,” you murmur against his lips, and you pull a groan from him, as his arm winds around your waist, closing what little gap was left between you. 

Your fingers tug at the hem of his shirt carefully. You would take this slow — you waited this long, you would wait forever for him. But it seems you don’t have to, as his arms rise, allowing you to tug the shirt over his head. Your eyes rake over the expanse of his chest with reverence, slowly tracing over the dips and divots, your touch lingering on his scars. 

“Sweetheart,” he mumbles, as you shake your head, trailing kisses down his body, slipping down to your knees in front of him. Your lips dwelling over the scar on his stomach, the knife wound from the monster who had killed Haley, the very same one that almost took Aaron from you — before you even had him. His eyes grow sad, a sigh on his lips, “you don’t—” 

“Every part of you,” you mumble against his skin, and he shivers under your attention, “every memory, every scar, every bump — I want to know every part of you,” and you brush your nose over his nose, “because I love every part of you.” 

His adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, watching as your fingers now find themselves at the hem of his jeans, toying with the button, “Baby,” he groans, as your hand begins to massage him, staring up with wide eyes and a wide smile on your lips, “fuck, I won’t last very long if you—” 

“Then don’t,” you pop the button open, and he helps you pull these jeans and his boxers off, lifting his hips so he can then kick them off, “let me take care of you, Aaron. Let me be good.” 

You eye his cock, thick and long, pre-cum nearly dripping from his tip. He stares at you with half lidded eyes, mouth falling open as your lips brush his cock, "Sweetheart, your mouth," a guttural groan deep in his throat, as your fingers trace his balls. His hips thrust into your mouth, "fuck, sorry," but you squeeze his hip, attempting to shake your head, as your tongue traces the length of him. 

You peer up at him with wide eyes, and what assuredly must be drool dripping down the corner of your mouth and he practically whines, his fingers lace through your hair, tugging you closer, “Oh, what are you doing to me?” his hips jerk again, forcing his tip to brush against your throat, and you choke, “Fuck,” he hisses, shaking his head, trying to tug you off, but you don’t let him, his voice begins to crack, “Baby— I’m not going to last much longer—” And your fingers squeeze around his balls, as you hollow out your cheeks to suck, to let him know it was okay — that you wanted this. He pulls your hair, the sharp pain making you moan long and hard against the heavy weight of his cock, “where—” a low grunt rumbles in his chest, “where do you want to—” 

Your fingers splay over his thighs, doubling down as your tongue curls around his dick, before sucking again, hard. He groans your name, rough and extended on his tongue, as he cums, his thick release coating your mouth and throat, and you swallow every drop of it. It’s salty, and thick, and something undeniable so him. And you love way the taste of him lingers on your tongue. His breaths come in small pants, his head lolled back against the couch, as you press slow kisses to his thighs, enjoying how his muscles twitch under your touch. 

You shift, your heat throbbing in the confines of your clothes, blood roaring in your ears as he finally looks back down at you — utterly and completely ruined. His hand finds yours, fingers slowly intertwining as he smiles at you. His chest still rises and falls, as he gently urges you back up. You squirm under his gaze and touch, hands dragging over your curves. 

“Are you okay?” you bite back the sigh on your lips — still now, always concerned about you. You nod, licking your lips, as you squeeze your thighs, and his gaze flickers down, and his eyes become molten, “come here.” he rasps, voice thick and heady. 

His fingers guide you as he has you turn, unzipping your dress, his breath stuttering as he sees your bare skin, swallowing, “No bra?” he asks, in quiet reverence, as his calloused fingers trace down your spine, shivering under his attention, “were you that sure you’d get lucky?” he teases, a ghost of a laugh in his words. 

You look over your shoulder, smiling, “I never thought I’d get this lucky.” 

“You stole my line,” he says, pressing a kiss to the small of your back, his nose brushing against it. You help him slip the dress from your shoulders and frame, falling to a crumpled heap on the floor. You turn, heat climbing up your neck, as you watch his eyes sweep over you, lingering at your panties — eyes darkening when they spotted the damp fabric. He pulls you into his lap again, and you both let out soft moans as your clothes pussy drags over his cock, “were you this turned on by sucking my cock?” 

Your breath hitches, his filthy words making your cunt twitch, “Fuck, yes,” he pulls you into a kiss, groaning when he must taste himself on your lips, “Please, Aaron.” His fingers brush your warmth through your underwear, rubbing up against your clit through the fabric, “just take me to bed, please.” 

He licks his lips, wordlessly nodding, “Are you sure?” 

You kiss him in reply, your arms looping around his neck,  as his hands dig into your ass, lifting you. He stumbles to the bedroom with you, nearly knocking down framed photos and an end table, before he reaches his bedroom. He fumbles with the doorknob, a strangled whimper falling from his lips as your teeth pull on his bottom lip, before throwing the door open. He growls, pressing you against the wall right inside the bedroom. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him impossibly closer as his hand teases your nipple, “Aaron,” you whine, and he only grins against your neck, sucking at the hollow of your neck, “not fair.” 

“When has anything you’ve done ever been fair?” he mutters, voice utterly thick and sinful, as his mouth closed around a nipple, sucking, “nothing about you is fair.” 

You arch your back into his touch, and you savor the way his dark eyes look up at you, like he can’t bear the thought to look away even for a second, “Aaron, please,” 

“Tell me what you want,” he sucks the skin above your breast, his voice growing soft, “I’ll give you whatever you want.” 

Your fingers find his chin, tipping his gaze back to yours, “I want you,” 

Your lips meet again, sloppy, messy kisses, as your tongue tastes him, as he slowly lies you back on the bed. He immediately crawls on top of you, pressing butterfly kisses up your body, lighting every nerve ending on fire, until he finds his way back to your lips. Your hands guide his own to the waistband of your underwear, and his fingers roughly drag the impeding clothing article down your hips, before you kick it off unceremoniously. 

Your breath stutters in your chest when you see him eye your body, now on full display, squirming underneath his intent gaze. His hand cups your face, “You’re beautiful,” he breaths, before leaning to press his lips to your inner thigh. 

You pull him back up into another kiss, your fingers finding his way to his semi-hard cock, stroking it until he is ready, “Are you ready?” you ask, licking your lips, as he stares down at you, eyes lidded, “if you aren’t, we don’t have—” 

“You know for a long time, I didn’t know what I wanted, but now, I know what I want,” he smiles softly, pressing a kiss to your knuckles, “I want you.” 

You blink away the tears in your eyes, a quick kiss to his lips, as he guides himself to you. You whine as his head brushes your cunt, “Aaron,” you swallow, and his hand finds yours, as he parts your folds with his cock. 

Every part of you burns under his touch, as he pushes himself, inch by inch into you, and you both find each other’s gaze. Eyes glassy, you meet in a kiss — and all you can think of is him: his mouth moving against yours, his hands pressing you needlessly closer, and his cock now finally seated inside you. 

“Aaron,” a high pitched moan you barely recognize bubbles up, and he replies with a growl, rumbling against you, “please, move.” 

“You’re so fucking tight,” he pants, the expletive making you writhe against him, shaking his head, “I don’t know if I’ll last—” 

You shake your head, cupping his cheek, “It doesn’t matter, just move.” 

He presses a kiss to your lips, just as he begins to thrust, swallowing each other’s groans, your mouth falling away as you arch into him, “Aaron, I love you,” his fingers dig into your thigh, lifting it over his shoulder, your skin slapping together, his lips pressing a kiss to your knee, “fuck, you feel so good.”

He shakes his head, a choked grunt escaping his throat, “I needed you,” he whispers, as his hips begin to slow, “I needed you, because I was dying without you and I didn’t even know that I was.” 

“Aaron,” his low grunts fill your ear as his hips take languid strokes, “I needed you too. I still do.” 

He presses impossibly closer to you, as his fingers drift to your clit, “I need you to cum for me, sweetheart,” he swallows, slick sweat dripping down the hollow of his throat, “I need to feel you cum on my cock. Want to see you fall apart for me. Need you to fill you.” 

His fingers rub at your clit, and you’re gone, his name a whisper on your lips, as your blood turns to lava, pleasure thrumming through every vessel, toes curling. You keen under him, as his hips stutter, before he finally fills you, languidly thrusting until he presses himself to you, fingers still thumbing your clit. 

He buries his face in your neck, still twitching inside of you, taking solace in your slowing pants and in the simple rise and fall of each other’s chests. He eventually lifts his head, and your lips find each other, lazily exchanging chaste kisses, as your fingers curl against the small of his neck, as you smile up at him. 

“Are you okay?” you ask, as your fingers trace his cheek and his lips catch them, pressing a kiss to each fingertip, sending a ribbon of warmth through your body. 

“More than,” he murmurs, as he reluctantly pulls himself from you, as you whine in protest, “do you need anything?” 

You hum, as you shift on the bed, before freezing, “A towel,” and he bites back his smile, but you catch it anyway, “this is your mess.” 

“Our mess,” he corrects, “or did you forget you begging me to move?” 

You scoff, “I was not begging,” and a smile pulls at his corners of his mouth, as he opens the bathroom door, throwing a look over his shoulder. 

“You will be,” your eyes glint in the low light of the bedroom, as you lay back. 

“I’ll be waiting,” he shakes his head, grabbing the towel, as he pauses with a smile. 

He wasn’t just ready for sex with you. He was ready for everything. He was ready for a life. For a house. For a family, even. A small chuckle leaves his lips, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror. A few years ago he didn’t think he would ever smile again, but because of you, he glances at the finger where his ring once was — he was ready for so much more. 

[atinyarmyzen]

what type of bf I think they are » taeyong

boyfriend!nct series >> lee taeyong

warning: contains nsfw content 

a/n: sorry I’ve been seriously slacking on this series but here’s boyfriend!yongie ♥

- this boy gives me chest pain

- I think he is the most hopeless romantic ever

- definitely the type to get himself into an unrequited love situation 

- also the type to be completely oblivious to anyone else’s advances

- I feel like when he crushes, he crushes v hard and on one person for a long time 

- if he’s crushing on you he will clam up immediately and want to disappear into the wall whenever you’re around

- if you talk to him first oh lord he won’t know what to do with himself

- cue lots of nervous laughter 

- his eyes probably get huge and do the sparkle thing

- y’all know exactly what I’m talking about when I say that lol

- like wtf tho how is this the same man we see on stage??? science, please explain??

- anyway, moving on

- you might have to make the first move on the poor boy

- even if you just approach him as a friend, if you ask him to hang out he will probably look at you completely stunned for a minute 

- you might have to bring him back to earth lol but he will be so giddy omg

- he will be on cloud nine and be smiling like a fool all the time

- all the members are like: is he ok??

- I feel like when he confesses how much he likes you he’ll get so nervous and then just kinda blurt it out 

- you will look at him a little surprised and the he’ll start panicking and backtracking

- until you smile and pull him in for a kiss

- to which he responds in complete shock which then turns into pure happiness

- from then on he follows you around like a lost puppy

- he looks at you like you hang the stars in the sky

- acts of service and praise are very much his love language

- never wants you to be sad or worried and is constantly taking care of you

- will never let you take care of him

- which is actually a downfall of his

- you have to really push him to let you take care of him

- bc we all know how tough his job is

- sometimes he’s in so much pain from constant practicing 

- he’s too exhausted to fight you on it

- so he lets you get him food and rub his shoulders and cuddle him 

- to which he responds with absolute content- his favorite person giving him all their attention 

- lots of his cute little sound effects

- can be just v goofy and sometimes just straight weird but it’s so damn cute

- he’s also the absolute best person to talk to 

- such an attentive listener, and doesn’t give unsolicited advice

- but when you need his input, he shares such wise and comforting words with you

- I think this really speaks to his gemini venus- the way he expresses love is through words 

- very good at articulating his thoughts and feelings

- now, this boy his a sub

- like, yes on stage he looks like he could break your back like a glowstick

- but I just don’t know if he has it in him to really dom you

- can DEF see him being into femme dom 

- but also just any dom honestly

- but the idea of you ordering him around?

- yes

- that’s literally his dream

- might like calling you mistress

- maybe mommy?

- lots of cute whining and whimpering

- “Mistress please let me cum, I promise I’ll be a good boy”

- I need to calm the fuck down

- anyway this boy is literally the human form of 🥺

- would actually die for you

- pls take care of bubu he’s a softie and he works so hard

[vampire--dad]

Only The Sweetest Words

Based on a prompt for the October prompt bingo - a soulmate AU.

——————

Eskel remembers the morning of his sixteenth birthday like it was yesterday— and it certainly wasn’t bloody yesterday. But he remembers it as clear as day, waking up to find his soulmate’s first words on the skin of his wrist.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

Classy.

Geralt thought it was hilarious. Eskel tried to act like he did too. In truth, the connotations began to haunt him. It was because he was a witcher, wasn’t it? Somebody was going to look into his yellow eyes and be repulsed by their apparent soulmate. As the years went on, those thoughts weighed even heavier on his mind whenever he saw someone with their lover. The scars across his face certainly didn’t help. Whoever it was, they’d think he was hideous. He can’t say he disagrees.

Jaskier can’t help but feel like destiny has pulled a cruel joke on him. Up until the age of sixteen, he had dreamt of seeing the most romantic words on his wrist, a prophecy of a lifetime of romance and fulfillment. His cousins were blessed with the most beautiful words upon their skin. And what did the poet get?

“Oh, fuck. Sorry.”

His mother had almost cried at the obscenity on her son’s skin. His father had tried not to laugh for fear of his wife’s wrath, but the boy saw the mirth in his eyes. Jaskier was distraught. His dreams of romance were shattered. Not to mention it was such a common phrase that many a-times he had gone stumbling after people, asking to see their wrists, only to be turned away once again. It had made his love life quite the travesty.

———

“Geralt? Geralt!”

Eskel stands from the rickety chair in the corner of the room. That head of white hair is unmistakable. That’s his best friend. Two pairs of yellow eyes meet from across the room accompanied by grinning and delighted laughter. Geralt makes his way to the corner and practically throws himself into his brother’s arms. Eskel does not notice his travel companion, but he hears a sweet voice and the familiar sound of a lute as he and Geralt share stories of their travels and a drink.

Geralt has a more… complicated relationship with destiny. He doesn’t have one soulmate, not one destined romantic partner to see him through his years. It came as a relief to him, he was never particularly fond of the idea of romance. Instead, he has upon his wrist a neat vertical line made up of four letters— the first initial of each of his platonic soulmates. E was the easiest to decipher. It was none other than Eskel, the boy he had been raised alongside, the boy who had become like a brother to him. The next letter is L, for Lambert. At first, he wondered why the feisty young redhead was tied to him, but as he grew into a man, it became clear. He might be an asshole, but he’s loyal to a fault and would defend his brothers with his life. It took almost seventy years for the mystery of the third letter to come undone. That was when he met Jaskier. After the third time they had crossed paths across the Continent, Geralt had asked for his real name. Julian, although he despises that name, was clearly destined to walk the Path with a witcher. At first Geralt hated the thought of putting him in danger, but time and time again the bard proved he wasn’t so useless with a blade. The fourth letter, A, remains a mystery.

As Eskel recounts the days he spent tracking down a griffin just south of Crinfrid, gesturing wildly in the excitement of seeing his brother again, his arm collides with a tankard grasped by a calloused hand. Ale spills over the edge and onto a pale blue doublet.

“Oh, fuck. Sorry,” Eskel says.

A pair of bright blue eyes glare at him, the same colour as the doublet on the man’s chest. Jaskier has heard those words many times, hoping he’s finally met the one, but when they fall from the lips the tall, yellow eyed, absolutely dashing man before him, he knows. He knows he’s looking at the man who cursed him with such unsophisticated and painfully common words. Not only that, but he’s spilled ale on his new doublet. He never expected to be angry when he finally met his soulmate, but he’s fuming.

And then he says those words. Those words that Eskel has dreaded hearing his whole life. The first words his soulmate would ever say to him.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

Eskel winces and seems to shrink into himself. All of the thoughts he’s had about those words begin to form a terrifying reality. The man before him, his soulmate, thinks he’s a monster. Of course he does, he’s a witcher. Yellow eyes, riddled with scars, nothing compared to the well dressed beautiful man glaring at him. After a moment of pause, the man continues and what he says isn’t what Eskel could ever have expected.

“I have had those damned words on my wrist for fourteen years. My parents were disgusted that their little boy had such obscene language on his wrist and my cousins— sweet Melitele, my cousins howled with laughter. They’ve all got something quite poetic, haven’t they? And me, the aspiring little poet I was, I had ‘Oh, fuck. Sorry’ on my wrist. I suppose I can get them back for it, seeing as my soulmate is far more handsome than any of theirs. Seriously, you should see Darla’s husband. But that’s besides the point. You really couldn’t have come up with something a little… classier? Something a little more creative, romantic even?”

The white haired witcher scoffs.

“You weren’t exactly romantic yourself, Jaskier. Cut him some slack.”

“Shut up, Geralt.”

Eskel stares at him, dumbfounded.

My soulmate is far more handsome than any of theirs.

You really couldn’t have come up with something a little… classier?

Of all the things Eskel expected him to be upset about, it certainly wasn’t that. But never mind that, he thinks he’s… handsome? That doesn’t sound right, yet he said it with such conviction that the witcher can’t argue. There are too many things that Eskel wants to say at once. But only one thing comes out.

“Huh?”

Geralt laughs and shakes his head. He stands and claps a hand on each of their shoulders. Idiots.

“Allow me to be of some assistance. Eskel, this is Jaskier. He’s the bard I told you about. Forgive his little outburst, he’d really been hoping for something more romantic and if I’m guessing correctly, he’s rather upset that he’s spilled ale on his new clothes.”

“Well yes, I was getting to that…” Jaskier mumbles, earning him a pointed look from his travel companion. He falls silent again.

“Jaskier, this is Eskel. He’s my brother, one of my other soulmates, and he’s terribly sorry about your doublet.”

Geralt stands from his chair and places it behind Jaskier, pushing the two down into their seats.

“Try again.”

Geralt watches from across the room as Eskel and Jaskier get to know each other, a soft, amused smile on his lips. It’s an awkward affair at first, his dear brother has no idea what to say. But the bard, ever the charmer, coaxes him out of his shell and has him grinning from ear to ear within minutes. He apologises for his harsh words. Eskel thanks him with a smile.

Jaskier, having forgotten about the ale on his new doublet, is positively captivated by the man and he’s not afraid to say it, if only to see how flustered Eskel gets. The witcher doesn’t know how he can say such sweet words about a face like his, but Jaskier reassures him that he thinks he’s beautiful, scars and all.

Their hands touch for a moment across the table between them. Even through Eskel’s thick gloves, it feels like an electric shock. They both recoil. Eskel looks at his hands with alarm, but Jaskier laughs, soft and melodic. Eskel silently promises himself to do whatever he can to hear that laugh again.

“The same thing happened to my mother when she met my father,” Jaskier says. “Their hands met as he passed her a glass of wine. Of course he dropped it. She was too excited to even be mad about the stain on her dress.”

He looks down at the dark stain on his doublet.

“Destiny really is a wicked mistress…” he chuckles

Eskel laughs and without thinking twice, slips his gloves off and lays his hand over Jaskier’s. Their skin tingles and buzzes where it meets, but it’s a pleasant sensation. The witcher could stare at the soft smile Jaskier offers him all damn day. Eskel has never felt so comfortable with someone before. It’s wonderful. He doesn’t feel like he has to hide anything from Jaskier. Not his scars, not his past, nothing. He can be himself.

Jaskier finds his eyes wandering across Eskel’s handsome face as he speaks, only half paying attention. The bard can’t help but admire him. His hair brushes against his nose when he looks down at their hands. Jaskier begins to wonder what it would feel like to kiss him, how his stubble would feel against his cheek, what the scars across his lips would feel like against his own. What a hopeless romantic he is. He’s barely known the man for an hour and he’s already thinking about kissing him. But everything about Eskel feels… right. It’s only natural that he would want more.

“Jaskier?”

Eskel is looking at him curiously. He had a feeling Jaskier wasn’t fully paying attention to him, only to discover that he was staring at his lips with a dreamy expression. It’s endearing and baffling to think someone can be so enchanted by him, of all people.

“Can I kiss you?” Jaskier blurts out.

“Is that why you’ve been staring at me?”

“Yes.”

“Then… yes.”

Jaskier decides this table between them won’t do. He stands, slipping around the edge of the table to take Eskel’s strong jaw into his hands and press their lips together. That same shock fizzes through his body and down his spine, but this time he doesn’t pull away. The witcher’s arms wind around his waist, pulling him closer. Their first kiss is far too short. Eskel pulls away only to stand, pull Jaskier against his chest, and kiss him again, utterly entranced by the feeling of Jaskier’s lips moving against his own. A sweet taste clings to them, the bard’s breath hot against his lips. This time Jaskier is the one to pull away.

“This is not the place for what’s going to happen next if you keep kissing me like that,” he says softly, a cheeky grin on his face.

Eskel chuckles. Geralt smiles from across the room and looks down at the letters on his wrist. Destiny can be kinder than she seems sometimes.

——————

Tags: @lovelyeskel @patchwork-doublet @jaskierswolf

[daydreamingatnight209]

Okay I am so excited to share this with you all! I’m so proud of it! I hope you all like it too. 

(Also I’m not used the UK getting sunny days and honestly rn it’s sooo warm 😩 legit sat in my room with the fan on and my window open as far as it can go)

Feedback is always welcome! ✨💞

“Chopstick Failure”

Matthew Gray Gubler x Female Reader

Warnings- None, Fluff 💕

————————————

You’d spent all day getting ready for the 12th season premiere of criminal minds.

It was 7pm and you had to be there in half an hour.

You had your hair and make up done. You just needed to dress.

It had already been picked out for you weeks ago and you were in love with it , yet you couldn’t help but worry that would be slightly over dressed. After all you were a guest, supporting your boyfriend.

Speaking of, Matthew calls out your name, dragging you out of your thoughts.

“Come on babe, we are going to be late!” He calls from the other side of the bedroom door.

You rush around and slip yourself into the gown, pushing down the material into place as it hugs your body and floats to the ground.

You were hesitant to step outside of the room, scared of the reaction you would get.

Matthew’s mouth was agape as soon as he saw you and his eyes involuntarily began to tear up.

You couldn’t gauge his reaction.

“Is it to much?” You cringe, fidgeting with your hands.

“No, no, no” he breathes out, taking your hands and holding them, to stop your shaking.

“My darling you look breathtaking”

You wanted to cry, no man has ever looked at you with so much awe as Matthew was right now.

You head out together to the car that is waiting out front, you and him will both meet the rest of the cast on the carpet.

You arrived all too soon and the nerves began to creep up on you once more.

“You got this my love, I’ll be by your side the whole time” Matthew you reassures you befits stepping out of the vehicle, helping you along the way.

You felt as ease when familiar face starting appearing around you.

AJ was the first of the ladies to arrive, followed by Paget and Kirsten. The boys also started to pour in and you were to see Shemar with Adam (Rodriguez) and Joe Mantegna. You missed Shemar on set as a regular but happy that he was able to still do a couple of guest appearances.

You received many compliments over the course of the evening and soon it came to an end. Although you enjoyed the night, you were secretly happy to be rid of all the flashing lights and cameras. Yes everyone knew that you and Matthew had been dating for a number of years now, 4 to exact; but scenarios like this were still a lot for you deal with them sometimes.

———————————

Tradition as of every year, requires you and the cast to have a late night meal together after every premiere and this year was no different. It was nice to see the newbies of the cast to experience this and make them feel as welcome as possible.

This year called for Thai. It wasn’t a favourite of yours but you weren’t one to complain so you went along anyways. You wasn’t expecting your dish to arrive with chopsticks but you still didn’t say anything, instead you followed everyone else lead in an attempt to use them. You failed miserably and internally groaned as the food constantly slipped though the device.

It didn’t go unnoticed by your boyfriend who eventually hops up from his seat and walks over to you. He places himself behind you and leans over. He takes the chopsticks and guides your hands to show you how it should be done.

AJ watches the interaction and couldn’t help but smile. She loved you and your relationship with Matthew. She’d watched you and his best friend grow together into something wonderful. How he would visibly light up when you were around and cling to you when you had to leave and he had to stay on set. She was surprised he hadn’t asked for your hand in marriage, you were most definitely his soulmate.

She watched as you laughed as a noodle flew across the table and landed on the floor.

“This is hopeless” you cried, laughing at the multiple failed attempts, even with your boyfriends help.

AJ takes off her spare hair tie off her wrist and hand it to Matthew.

“Here try this”

You look up at him confused and he clarifies for you.

“It’s the rubber band trick, here” he wraps it around your sticks, making it easier for you.

Paget groans playfully at the both of you , as Matthew goes back to his seat.

“You too are adorable, it’s disgusting”

You blush lightly as the table laughs.

The night continues and soon, one by one everyone begun to say their goodbyes. You and Matthew were one of the last couples to say goodnight and soon you were off to your hotel.

Matthew turns to you, now in the privacy of a car.

“You didn’t eat much at the meal my lovely. Are you alright?”

You smile warmly at his concern. He always payed attention to you.

“The food wasn’t exactly my favourite but I didn’t want to be rude, plus did you see me trying to use those chopsticks? I was hopeless” you whisper, leaning on his shoulder.

You wraps his arms around you in comfort.

“You know, I saw a pizza place near the hotel? Wanna grab something there?”

You nod eagerly as Matthew informs the driver of your new plans and the next minute you know your walking into a takeaway shop dressed like a princess, ordering a double pepperoni pizza.

Matthew covers your shoulder his blazer as you walk hand in hand back to your hotel room.

“I love you Gube”

Tag List- @purple-scarf-mistress

[kombatea]

Only Mine / Sub-Zero

Warning: 18+!

Note: Based on request. Gifs are not mine. If you are/know the author, contact me for proper credit.

***

„Maybe today.“  you say while you are sitting in front of your vanity brushing your hair.

„Honey... I know that you like him but he... Well, let´s say that he´s a busy man and have no time for anything serious.“ Says your friend bringing you back on earth from the dreaming clouds. „If he´s that busy then he doesn´t need more than one concubine.“ you argument while applying a light red tint on your lips that Kuai likes on you. „You´re using logic... Man thinks with their dicks not with that brain.“ You chuckle but you know that he is different. Sometimes doubt creeps on you in the worst timing. You want to be smart and not open your heart. He chose you as his mistress, not his girlfriend and you are aware of that. Everything changed when the rumor about another woman started to spread around the temple. No, that´s not Kuai that I know. „I will ask him. I want to know clearly where I am at. There is no way that I will share.“ „What´s that? Is that... Jealousy?“ she laughs. „I mean everybody knows that he is all in one but to fall for a guy that wants you only for sex? Isn´t that a little bit cliche? Romantic dinners and sex for the rest of the night. There is probably not one other guy left that will show you that you are only his secret mistress. He even said it right into your face!“ „I thought you are my friend.“ you say as you are checking your outfit in the mirror. „I´m not. I am your BEST friend and sister too. It´s my duty to tell you everything like it is.“ she stands up and hugs you from behind. „You deserve much better. Wasn´t there enough heartache for you? End it.“ „Give me one night.“ you turn around and look her in the eyes. „I want to hear his side of the story and then I will do what has to be done.“ „Aren´t you the prototype of the hopeless romantic?“ she sighs and rolls her eyes as she grabs her purse. She doesn´t want to be home when he will come. „No awkward small talk in the kitchen after you two had sex for me.“ as she likes to say after that one unfortunate incident. You think you are ready for the evening with Kuai. You´ve done this so many times. But tonight is something off. You try to figure it out but the knocking on the door interrupts you. Your heart starts to pound like crazy and your hands are shaking. „Good evening Y/N“ smiles Kuai as you let him in. „I thought that I would bring you something.“ You step aside as he uncovers a huge bouquet hiding behind his back. „Those are...“ you gasp. „Peonies, your favorite “ he smiles even brighter. „They are stunning, thank you so much!“ „Just like you.“ he chuckles right after he said it and frowns. „I´m sorry. I am just trying to be nice and it always ends up sounding so cheesy.“. He kisses you on the cheek as he handles you the heavy bouquet. „But it´s true.“ „I don't mind your cheesy compliments.“ you smile and breathe in the flowery scent that filled your whole hallway. „Make yourself comfortable while I will try to find a vase that will be big enough for these beauties.“ When you come back from the kitchen, you find him in the living room. He sits in your reading armchair in the corner. „I´m so ready for dinner. I thought that they´re booked out for the rest of the year.“ you think out loud. „Let me take my trenchcoat and I´m ready to go.“ You are tying up your wrap dress when you realize that he is silently staring at you the whole time. Comfortably reclined and legs wide open. Watching every single move of yours without any specific expression. You know what he´s thinking about. Your body and how he will play with it later. He´s focused and caught in his imagination. Probably doesn´t hear a word you just said. „Come to me, please“ he suddenly ends his silence. You quietly come to him. Kuai puts his cold arms on your hips and starts to caress them. Then he takes your hands in his placing kisses all over them. „You always smell so good.“ he whispers as his hands trace from the back of your knees right under your dress. „This ass... Why are you so irresistible?“ You push him deeper in the armchair and sit in his lap. Kissing his neck exactly how he likes it. How he told you he likes it on the first night you spent together. You just brought it on another level that makes him crazy. He knows what he wants. But you know it even better. As you start to undress him he stands up. „I´m so happy to have you just for myself.“ he whispers while kissing you everywhere from the face to the collarbone. „Kuai.“ you moan. „While we are at that... Can I ask you something?“ „Of course. Anything.“ he answers into your skin busy with your breasts. „There was this rumor... About you and other women.“ „Y/N...“ he stops and sighs as he sits down on the couch. „If it´s about that childish joke how I have a harem of women...“ „What?!“ you say shocked without thinking. „Kids are bored. Can´t train, can´t go anywhere...“ „So it´s their fault that you fuck everything that moves?“ you are unable to think clearly. Jealousy is tearing you from inside out. „SO they are joking around because they see how I leave every weekend just to spend some time with you.“ „And with other women.“ you quickly add. „You are being unreasonable.“ Kuai says as he looks at you. „Tell me exactly what´s the problem.“ He reaches for you but you push him away. „You are jealous.“ he realizes after a moment. You regret everything when he says it out loud. „Kuai..“ you want to defend yourself but it´s too late as he pins you down to the couch. „Y/N you know that you have no right to control my life.“ he looks you in the eyes. He´s right in your face. „Yes. Yes of course. I am sorry...“ you stagger. „I didn´t want to...“ „Are you scared?“ he frowns. „No... I mean... Maybe a little.“ „Please, don´t be. I didn´t mean to scare you.“ he offers you his hand. „I´m just shocked that you don´t trust me. I thought you know that we are... That you are the only woman that I care about. There´s no space for another one in my... bed.“ He sits down looking betrayed. „Is this some kind of show to make me feel worse? Because I don´t want to play any games.“ „Please, stop it. I don´t want you to be mad. Allow me to cool your anger.“ „Don´t use this on me. I am not one of your students. I will not obey you. Not anymore.“ „Y/N! Stop it. Right now.“ he looks at you with surprise. „Or what? I didn´t sign for this just to be one of many. If you want to fuck me whenever you feel like... Am I not enough?!“ You say it louder than you anticipated. He jumps out from the couch and grabs you by your neck. You are shocked but also without any worry. You know that he wouldn´t hurt you no matter what. „Stop with this nonsense and let me show you who I want to fuck.“ he growls as he grabs you by your arm and drags you into your bedroom. He shoves you on your bed face down and rolls up your dress just enough to see your lower back. He places kisses on your spine as he takes off your panties. One finger in your pussy while his thumb is playing with your ass. You moan as he proceeds to insert another finger in you and pleasures you with the faster movement. „You are dripping wet.“ He smiles satisfied. „Just for you.“ you moan when he quickly pulls fingers out from you and spank you while his other hand is holding you on the back of your neck. „Oh god, yes! Harder!“ you beg for more because Kuai knows exactly how rough he can go to cause you pain and pleasure at the same time. But the second you said it he stops and leans to your ear as close as possible. „What did you say?“ he growls. „Say it again.“ „I want it hard... harder, please.“ He places a long and cold kiss on your temple as he doesn´t need to hear more. First slap, second slap within a second. He doesn´t mess around as he continues. It takes him just a moment to make your ass hurt. You feel stinging pain on every inch of your skin that he spanked. Kuai´s grip on your neck tightens. You know that he is getting eager. He lets you take a break while he gets undressed. „Don´t go away from me.“ he smiles and pulls you back to him by your hips as you try to get up. Without waiting for your reaction he carefully pushes his tip in your cunt fucking you just to stretch you out a little. You aren´t a master of control as he is so you impatiently push closer to his pelvis. You both moan with pure pleasure. You can finally feel his whole cock in you and it´s so addictive. There´s no way that you will get enough. Ever. Kuai´s fingers get deeper in the skin of your hips as he fucks you slow and deep with the full length of his impressive cock. „What are you doing to me?“ you whine. „Tell me you don´t like it.“ „I love it!“ you smile with pure pleasure. „Let me sit on that dick, please.“ It takes you just seconds to sit in his lap riding him in the circulate motion while he´s holding you tight moaning into your shoulder. Your hands wrapped around his neck. As his body starts to shake a little you know that he is close. But you will not give it to him so easily and starts to bounce up and down in the intermittent cycles. Quick, slow, quick, and slow. Frustrated by the inconsistent pleasure he impatiently lay you down on the bed without leaving your cunt and starts to fuck you fast and hard with his forehead pressed against yours. „Are you ready?“ he moans „I need to cum.“ „Yes... Yes... Cum for me.“ you whisper. He growls with pure pleasure and you gasp for the air as the fingers on your toes curl with the intense satisfaction. His cum is surprisingly hot for such a cold guy. You have to ask him about it. How it´s even possible. But obviously not now because you are busy with feeling drained and pleased at the same time. His dick is moving slowly in and out causing his cum to drip down your ass. For a small moment, he totally loosens up letting you feel his whole body weight on yours. He quickly rolls over with you in his embrace as you gasp for the air one more time under the pressure. You rest on his chest without any movement for a while listening to his slowing heartbeat. After some time he lays you down on your pillow just to quietly stand up and open the window to let the fresh night air in. You don´t even realize that he disappeared until he came back with the glass of water that he puts on your nightstand next to you. Then he lays down to you and covers you with the blanket. He kisses your neck while spooning you from the back. You take his hand in yours as he protectively puts his arm around you. „I want you to be mine. Only mine.“ You whisper on the edge of falling asleep. „Then we have the same goal.“

[musicalluna]

disaster duo

i think this was for last last year’s birthday and I’M VERY SORRY. but here’s an unbirthday fic @flange5 i wanted to make you something super good so this took me 1230948302 years. i hope you like it even if it’s not super good. ily!!

--

The sound of Steve's voice coming down the hall from the kitchen is enough to make Tony's heart jump a little higher in his chest. He feels himself start to bounce with each step and mentally covers his face. God, he's embarrassing.

“I know I'm probably putting my foot in it, but I don't know who else to ask.”

“Did someone tell you you were doing that?”

Ah, Pepper. Pepper is a good person for Steve to ask things. She's far too used to Tony to bat an eye at anything Steve might ask.

“I've been told I have no idea how to talk to women.”

Pepper laughs and covers up Tony's snort of amusement. He buys that without needing to be sold. “Well, why don't you ask me and I'll help you remove it if it gets wedged in there.”

“It's...a little personal,” Steve warns, an edge of shyness creeping into his voice.

Tony pauses outside the kitchen door, curiosity piqued.

“Well, that's all right,” Pepper says, a warm smile in her voice. “I like to think we're friends.”

“You do?” Steve says and then goes quiet so fast Tony knows he's turning beet red.

“Oh, Steve, yes. Absolutely.”

“Then I guess that makes my question a little less out of line,” Steve says. His voice is doing that uncertain, self-depreciating thing that does things to Tony.

“Hmm,” Pepper says thoughtfully. “Well, we'll never know if you don't spit it out.”

There's a brief pause and then, rushed: “I want to go on a date.”

–

Tony steps backward without a conscious thought, his heart plunging to his toes.

“Oh,” he hears Pepper say, surprise thick in her voice. Clearly she hadn't realized either, that Steve—that Steve was interested. In her.

Tony's hand comes up to rub at the arc reactor, which suddenly feels like it's being twisted agonizingly in his chest. Steve's interested in Pepper. Of course. Why wouldn't he be? Pepper's…Pepper, and, okay, wow, Tony had gotten his hopes up higher than he thought.

Stumbling back down the hall, he barely hears himself mutter, “Hey,” as he passes Natasha. Tony thinks she says his name, but he doesn't answer, doesn't stop, just numbly makes his way back to his room and shuts the door behind him.

His best friend-cum-crush and his ex.

That's fine. That's great. If it makes Steve happy—

Tony makes a noise, a horrible, wounded noise, and presses his back to the door, sinking down to curl up against it on the floor. It feels like the reactor's been torn out of his chest, hollow and empty and excruciating.

Steve is one of his best friends. That should be enough. It should be enough that Steve is there in the wee hours of the morning when Tony's staring down a bottle and it should be enough to see his smile, limned in blue in the workshop when Tony's showing him his latest work, it should be enough when Steve slumps sideways into Tony's shoulder on movie nights, but it's not, it's not, Tony can't stand the thought of seeing Steve with someone else. Even someone like Pepper.

Maybe more because it's someone like Pepper. At least if he didn't know them he could hate them.

His tears are hot as they streak down his cheeks, tickling as they slip into his beard and Tony burns with mortification. Steve was never his to begin with because he'd been too much of a pansy to say anything and now—

Tony buries his face against his knees, smearing snot and tears on his jeans. His breath is coming in sharp, shuddering waves that hurt down into his gut.

How much false hope had he built up that it hurts this badly?

Whatever.

It doesn't matter. He'll let himself grieve until he's sick with it and then he'll be fine. He'll be okay with being Steve's best friend and giving him advice on how to be less awkward for Pepper in a few days.

Tony presses a hand over his mouth, throat working convulsively.

Okay, maybe a week.

But Steve deserves this, to be happy, to have someone who enjoys art the way he does, and who told Tony that they couldn't date anymore because she couldn't be Iron Man's mistress.

Oh, god.

So now she's going to be Captain America's mistress. It's just him she can't stand by—bullshit, the reasonable part of Tony's brain spits. The only person who's stood by him longer is Rhodey.

Then—what if she turns him down?

Tony hates himself for the wave of cool relief that washes through him at the idea. She'll break Steve's heart and...the thought makes Tony's stomach turn.

Why can't Steve be in love with him? He'd work so hard to make Steve happy. He wants to say that's all he wants, but he doesn't want to see Steve happy with someone else. Thinking about it makes him feel cut open. He wants Steve happy with him.

Too bad, he thinks, letting his head fall back with a thunk against the door and feeling his sinuses start to drain.

Steve wants to be happy with someone else.

–

Tony doesn't come out of his room for two days.

He tells Pepper he's sick and he must sound pretty awful because she just says, with a faint air of concern, “Okay, Tony. Let me know if you need anything.”

The part of him that's still in love with her—that will probably always still be in love with her—aches.

When he finally emerges, he's showered and put on fresh clothes and he's cried long and hard enough that he can put the masks up.

His resolve is immediately tested, because he nearly runs into Steve in the hall.

“Tony!” he exclaims and then his brow dips, mouth pulling into a frown. His gaze sweeps over Tony from head to toe and Tony very carefully reins in the urge to build something from that look. “Are you okay? Pepper said you were feeling under the weather.”

Tony pulls on a smile. “Yeah, caught a little something, but I'm all good now. Just needed some rest.”

Steve's expression softens and warms, piercing Tony through like a shard of glass. “Good. Glad to hear it. Say, speaking of Pepper—”

Tony freezes, smile fixed on his face. Jesus, already?

“I'd like to get Pepper a gift. Do you think you could recommend something?”

“Sure,” Tony says stiffly. “Why don't you get her a massage? That's—” He can't make himself say 'romantic'.

Steve's expression flickers. “Really? You don't think that's—well, you know her best.”

“Yep.” Tony's very proud of the fact that he doesn't scream or otherwise do something unreasonable.

Steve smiles at him, Sunday morning sunshine, and Tony dies a little inside. “Thanks, Tony. I appreciate it. Feel better, okay?”

“Do my best,” Tony croaks and Steve moves past him.

After a moment, Tony coaxes stiff joints into movement and heads down to the workshop.

A distraction, that's what he needs.

–

The distraction doesn't work.

Tony's pulled up at least half a dozen different projects he's been neglecting, but all he can think about is Steve going to get Pepper a gift. Are they already dating then? Like, in an official capacity? They’re at the point where Steve is getting her gifts?

Dammit.

–

The next week is like a waking nightmare.

Tony can’t focus on anything he’s supposed to; all he can think about is Steve and Pepper. Steve keeps checking on Tony, giving him these worried looks. Every time he looks like he wants to say something, but decides better of it. Tony can’t help but be grateful, he doesn’t want to hear about how Steve feels about Pepper—it was bad enough listening to him talk about Peggy and she’s been dead for three years. Christ, he’s a piece of work.

It can’t last though. Steve finally says, “Hey, Tony, can I talk to you?” one morning in between sparring. Tony isn’t even coming close to holding his own—he’s too distracted.

He chews his lip and nods. “Sure thing.”

They move over to the little set of bleachers on the side of the room and Tony sits down, deliberately occupying himself with drinking from his water bottle. Steve sips out of his own, pacing in front of him. He’s wound up for some reason.

Steve blows out a breath. “I talked to Pepper and she said I should just talk to you.”

Tony’s stomach drops out his ass. He swallows hard, barely managing to keep from choking on the water halfway down his throat. Oh god. Pepper knows, of course she knows, and she told Steve oh god.

“Look,” he blurts, “my feelings don’t matter. I’ll get over it, I’m used to it. Just—don’t tell me what you and Pepper are getting up to on dates and for crying out loud, don’t ask me for anymore gift ideas.”

Steve stops, back going stiff, and then turns to stare at Tony. “What Pepper and I get up to on dates—” His eyes go wide. “Tony, no!”

“What do you mean, ‘no’?”

“Tony, I’m not dating Pepper! She’s great, don’t get me wrong. I gave her that gift as a thank you for giving me advice about how to ask you out.”

Tony feels like Steve just cold-cocked him. “What? You asked her on a date! I heard you!”

Steve puts one hand on his hip, pressing the knuckles of the other to his forehead. “That’s what you thought?” His head comes up with a jolt. “You told me to get her a massage!” He turns bright red. “I thought that seemed strange, but I don’t know enough about the 21st century to know for sure.”

“I thought you were trying to give her a romantic gift!”

“That explains her face when I gave it to her.” Steve groans.

Tentatively, because he still can’t believe what he’s hearing, Tony says, “You were asking for her advice on me?”

Steve softens and he smiles the crooked, self-depreciating smile that gets Tony every time. “I don’t exactly have a good history with these things and all the experience I do have is with women. A woman,” he amends.

“Oh my god,” Tony says faintly. “I had a meltdown for nothing.”

Steve rubs the back of his head. “Guess I’m hopeless even with help.”

Tony holds out his hands, hope and happiness rising inside him like a warm tide. “Lucky for you, I’m into that.”

Steve huffs and gingerly puts his hands in Tony’s, his smile solidifying a little when Tony squeezes them and pulls him closer. “So...do you want to go on a date with me?”

Tony pulls him in until he can press his forehead to Steve’s, and he grins, all but bubbling over with euphoria. “Absolutely, I do.”

Steve beams at him.

“Oh, and Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“We are never telling anyone about this. Ever.”

“Agreed.”

[let-the-dream-begin]

A Place to Belong (Chapter 5: Incomplete)

Read on AO3

It was impossible to say how long they’d wept, bore their broken hearts to each other. Where, in the beginning, Claire was hyper aware of strange, insignificant details, now, she was hardly aware of anything. Time was either rushing by faster than she could grasp or it was not moving at all. She hadn’t remembered Jenny leaving her side, when she’d come to be alone in her room. And she certainly couldn’t remember a particular boy entering the room and sitting beside her. When he spoke, it was as if he’d appeared out of thin air.

“Maman?”

His voice sounded like it was underwater. She knew he needed her comfort, knew he’d lost him too…but she couldn’t move. She was paralyzed.

Fergus had seen her lost in her grief once before. After Faith, when Jamie was in the Bastille. She thought she’d lost them both back then. Oh, and he was so good to her, even through his own suffering. He could set aside his youth to be strong for a woman nearly triple his age. Now she could not bring herself to move to give him even an ounce of comfort, for fear her fragile shell may shatter.

She truly didn’t deserve him.

But she had made a promise. A promise to Jamie. Jamie, the man whose loss had made her this way.

She’d promised to be a mother to him.

Mothers weren't afraid to look at their sons and see pain in their faces. Not good mothers, at least.

I’m not strong enough, Jamie. I can’t carry his pain as well as mine.

I’ve failed him.

But even as she thought it, she second guessed herself. Jamie knew he would die on that moor. He knew it when he said goodbye, and he knew it when he asked her to be a mother to Fergus. He knew exactly the burdens she would have to carry, precisely how difficult a time it would be for her. And he still asked it of her.

Because he believed in her.

He believed in her capacity to love, above all else, even when she was hopeless.

I will not let you down.

She forced herself to pick her head up and focus her vision on Fergus’s face. It almost broke her. His eyes were red, swollen. His face was splotchy and stained with dried tears.

At Prestonpans, when he’d confessed to killing an English soldier, and he melted into her panicked embrace, she’d been overcome by the reminder of how young he was. It was easy to forget, the way he carried himself, the things he was capable of.

With trembling hands, she cupped his dear face, then ran a hand over the length of his beautiful curls.

“Oh, my darling…” she whispered, her chest tightening.

Jamie was the only father he’d ever known, his friend, his hero.

“My poor darling…” She pulled him into her, cradling his head to her chest. She could feel him weeping anew as tears trickled over her skin, and she gently rocked him.

“He loved you, Fergus.” Claire willed her voice to not tremble. “You were his son.” She pressed a tender kiss to the top of his head. “Even without him here…you will grow to be a remarkable young man, just like your father was. He will…” She breathed a deep, shuddering breath, steeling herself. “He will always love you. And you will forever make him proud.”

There it was. Proof that Jamie was right. He’d believed she was strong enough and possessed enough love in her heart to be able to give what little strength she had left to those around her.

“Will you die without him?” he said suddenly, tightening his grip around her middle.

“What…?”

“Will you die of a broken heart? Please do not, Maman…I will do anything to make you happy, anything.”

“Oh, Fergus.” She held him tighter, if that were even possible. “My heart is broken…into a million pieces. I am in…so much pain. I won’t ever be the same again.” She released her grip on him enough to tilt his chin up so she could meet his eye. “But what will always be the same is how much I love you. I will never leave you, Fergus. No matter what happens…” She swallowed thickly, recalling words that seemed a lifetime ago. “You will never be alone again.” She caressed his cheek.

“You will never be alone either, Maman,” Fergus said, dutiful even through his tears. “I will take care of you. I promised him.”

“I know. You are such a good boy.” She stroked his hair again, then kissed his forehead. He leaned into her embrace again, curling into her lap.

“You know, when my parents died when I was little, my Uncle rocked me to sleep every single night. I slept right next to him for months. Now when I think back on it, I think he needed the comfort from me as much as I did from him.”

“Like us,” Fergus said. “You need me and I need you.”

“That’s right, love.” Fresh tears trickled down Claire’s cheeks. “And if you need me to hold you until you sleep, right here in this bed, I will do it for as long as you need.”

“Will it bring you comfort, too?”

Claire sighed. “Yes. It would.”

“Then I will.”

Claire settled into the pillows, and they adjusted themselves until they were both lying down, nestled into one another as mother and son.

She had no concept of what the time was as she slipped into a surprisingly peaceful sleep, Fergus’s even breathing lulling her into a sweet oblivion.

——

“Maman?”

She awoke to Fergus’s gentle shaking. She peered up at him through squinted eyes.

“Mrs. Crook has brought us supper.”

“Just some broth,” Mrs. Crook’s voice took Claire by surprise. “It’ll be easy to keep down.”

Claire’s head was splitting. Even the small amount of candlelight in the room was killing her. Candlelight…it was broad daylight when she’d fallen asleep, wasn’t it?

“Mistress Murray told me to insist that ye eat it,” Mrs. Crook continued. “And that she’ll be in later to make sure ye have. Both of ye.”

“Yes, Madame,” Fergus said.

Mrs. Crook turned to leave, but stopped herself. “I’m…I’m heart sorry, Mistress Fraser. Yer husband was a fine man. God be wi’ ye.”

So it’s real, then.

Claire’s head was turned away from her, covering her eyes with her hands to block out the light. Fergus nodded to Mrs. Crook on Claire’s behalf, and she left, gently shutting the door behind her.

“Maman?” Fergus gently touched her shoulder. “Did you hear me?”

Every single limb weighed thousands of pounds. Her head was throbbing. She couldn't move.

“Will you eat the broth, Maman?”

She was trying to move, trying to make sound in her throat, but she couldn’t.

“Maman, you must eat.”

After waiting briefly for an answer, Fergus gently took Claire’s hand in his and pulled it away from her face. She winced in pain.

“Food will help your headache,” Fergus said.

Finally, Claire was able to muster enough energy to turn her head and open her eyes so she could look at him.

“I understand…I am not hungry either.” Fergus squeezed her hand. “But you have to eat, Maman. Please. For mon petit.”

Claire blinked slowly, painfully. As much as she wanted to, she could not let herself waste away. To let herself get away with telling herself she was too upset to eat even one time could put her child in danger. If it all came back up right away, then at least she could say she tried.

Claire nodded, and Fergus helped her sit up. He carefully picked up the tray that held two bowls from the nightstand and put it on the bed between them.

“I eat, you eat,” Claire said groggily.

“Fair is fair.”

They both ate slowly. It tasted like nothing, like a tasteless liquid heat sliding down her throat and landing heavily in her stomach. Fergus was watching her carefully all the while, waiting for her to swallow before taking his own spoonful.

There was a knock on the door, and whoever it was didn’t wait for a response before opening it.

“Glad to see yer eating,” Jenny said. “Ye’ve got to keep yer strength up even when ye don't want to.”

Claire nodded silently, putting down her spoon.

“And ye’ll be finishing it,” Jenny said pointedly.

“I will make sure of it,” Fergus said.

Jenny approached the bed and hesitantly sat down. “I just wanted to tell ye,” she said to Claire. “Ian will be sending for Jamie’s body come morning. We won’t be leaving him to rot on the moor.”

Claire very nearly lost all the food she’d just forced down, her stomach turning at the phrase Jamie’s body.

“We will bring him home to rest, Claire.” Jenny’s voice was thick with emotion as she closed her hands around Claire’s. “I swear it.”

Claire closed her eyes, heavy, silent tears rolling down her cheeks. Jenny sighed heavily. She pecked Claire on the cheek, briefly caressed Fergus’s head, then made for the door.

“Make sure it’s finished.”

“Yes, Milady.”

She shut the door behind her as she left.

Claire had no concept of how much time had passed; it very well may have taken her five hours to get through a single bowl of broth. Either way, she finished it, and Fergus put the tray back on the nightstand.

“Would you like a nightgown, Maman?”

Claire nodded, and he wasted no time retrieving one from the wardrobe. “I will help you with your laces and then turn so you may have privacy.”

Claire numbly swung her legs over the edge of the bed and allowed him to do just that. After he'd turned around, it was a struggle to finish undressing herself with how her fingers trembled. Somehow, she managed.

“I’m done,” she said, surprised by how croaky her voice sounded. Fergus got back into bed, having removed his vest and socks. This time, they actually got under the covers. They each lay on their pillow, looking at each other in silence for a long while.

“Have I told you how lucky I am to have you?” Claire said, cupping his cheek.

“Perhaps.”

“Well I am. And so is mon petit.”

“I am lucky to have you, too.”

It baffled her that he could be grateful for her when she’d become this empty, hollow shell, yet it also comforted her. This boy was grateful for her, every part of her. He wasn’t grateful for her despite what she’d been through, the losses she’d suffered, he was grateful for her because of it.

And that made her all the more grateful for him.

——

Days and days passed in a similar manner. Claire could not get out of bed. Broth would be brought to her, and Fergus or Jenny would see to it that she ate it. The morning sickness was becoming more and more frequent, which certainly wasn’t helping her already dwindled desire to eat.

She spent her days alternating between staring at the wall or the ceiling, feeling numb and feeling anguish. She couldn’t remember a time where her existence consisted of any more than this.

Fergus hardly left her side, comforting her when she was ill and fetching her water immediately after. He brushed her hair as he had in Paris. Fergus could be credited for being the one to actually get her out of bed. His insistence on brushing her hair and wiping her face and neck with cold water and just a dab of sweet smelling oils is what eventually made her feel somewhat human again.

Her sleep during those days she stayed in bed was fitful. She was constantly tired no matter how many hours she spent asleep. She neither dreamed nor completely blacked out. It was a horrible lingering between worlds, and it was exhausting.

There was a particular day where Fergus had asked to be held; he was overwhelmed with grief. As she rocked him back and forth, she was shocked to realize that she was not crying, not at all. Her chest felt tight, her stomach was churning, but her mind was blank, and not a single tear came. Even as her son wept for his father, her husband, she felt nothing.

Perhaps it would have been different if he’d died right in front of her. If she’d spent hours trying to tend his wounds or ease his fever, only for him to weakly take her hand in his, stopping her.

“It’s alright, Sassenach,” he would say. “You can let me go now.”

Then he’d drift away in her arms, and she’d shout at him, curse him for letting himself leave her, she’d spend hours trying to revive his long dead body before she’d collapse on top of him, fist his shirt in her hands, kiss him all over his dead face, stroke his hair. Someone would have had to pry her off of him, kicking and screaming. Almost like how they’d had to pry Faith out of her arms.

Perhaps then it would feel different. She would have those final moments to remember, horrible, painful memories, but concrete nonetheless. The way it had really happened, she could not fathom that he’d been alive when she last saw him. She could not fathom that he was dead and rotting without her having tried to save him. She could not fathom that he was just…gone.

After the initial shock had worn off, it didn’t feel like he was gone at all. She was not going mad; she knew what she’d heard and she knew it was true. But logic and what she felt in her soul were two different things. The week she spent lying in bed was not really grief or mourning. She literally didn’t know what else to do. With nothing to cling to, nothing to bury, there was nothing to do.

Now instead of grief, there was this emptiness, this complete helplessness, almost restlessness. It was what finally drove her to get out of bed and rejoin the household for breakfast one morning. She knew she looked haggard, though Fergus insisted she was beautiful.

She entered the dining room with Fergus, and all heads turned.

“Claire,” Ian said, a small smile on his face. “It’s good to see you, lass.”

Jenny offered a small smile as well. Feeling a stranger in her own home, Claire mechanically stepped into the room and sat down. “Good morning, everyone.” Her voice was small and scratchy.

“How is the morning sickness?” Jenny said, desperate to avoid awkward silence.

“It’s alright,” Claire said. “That might change after this meal, however.”

Jenny chuckled softly.

“Is there…” Claire began, averting her gaze from looking directly at anyone. “Uh…the body…”

“No news yet,” Ian said quickly. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s…it’s alright,” Claire brushed it off. “I was just…curious.”

“It’ll take some time,” Ian said.

“I understand,” Claire said, finally looking up at him.

“Do ye need any herbs, Claire?” Jenny said suddenly. Claire looked at her, her brows furrowed together. “All those herbs ye use for medicine. Are ye needing any?”

“I…I don’t know…”

“I was thinking we could set aside a section of the garden fer yer herbs,” Jenny said.

“That’s…that would be lovely.”

“I thought we could gather some things today on the grounds that ye’d like to have closer to ye. If anything is missing we can take a trip to Edinburgh tomorrow.”

Claire hadn’t thought about herbs or healing in weeks. It had seemed futile to do so, knowing that so many were mangled and dead and she’d been powerless to stop it.

“Be nice to get out of the house,” Jenny continued when Claire didn’t answer. “Fresh air would be good for you, and the bairn.”

“I…I suppose,” Claire said.

“It’s settled then. I’ll have Mrs. Crook pack us a lunch and we’ll be off. Back by supper.”

Claire nodded. Breakfast continued rather silently.

She’d been hesitant to agree to a long day out of the house, but as usual, Jenny had been right. It felt good to be in the fresh air, and it felt good to feel useful and productive. There were even moments where she found herself genuinely smiling. It felt good to be able to teach Jenny as they went along, tell her what they were looking for, describe the medical uses for everything. She hadn’t met anyone besides Jamie in this time who was so eager to learn from her. Of course it occurred to her that Jenny could be simply humoring her, using this as a device to get her outside and have normal interactions with someone her age, but Claire wouldn’t have minded if that were true. But it helped that that didn’t seem to be the case. Surely that was Jenny’s motive, but she did seem to be expressing genuine interest, which did Claire’s heart good.

They did end up taking a trip to Edinburgh the next day to fetch some things they couldn’t find on the grounds that Claire would have liked in her garden. It was a small gesture, really, but Jenny’s insistence that Claire designate a piece of the Lallybroch garden for herself was another way that she was made to feel welcome, like this really was her home. And though she had lost so, very much, perhaps she could someday, with time, find comfort in the things that she’d gained.

[letsperaltiago]

we’ll sweep out the ashes in the morning |CHAPTER 7|

Even in the middle of New York's freezing month of February, a scandalous familiar fire is ignited within Jake and Amy when they run into each other after years apart. Luckily there's nothing wrong with being caught up in a fire that has to die out soon, right?

Read chapter here or on AO3 

CHAPTER MASTERLIST HERE

Being a cop, experiencing so much harm, hopelessness, chaos and everything in-between, was the hardest thing he’d ever have to handle.

Or that’s what he thought right up until the moment Jake stood on the doorstep to Sophia and, weirdly, his apartment in an attempt to get himself to come forward and confess to what he’d done - or just knock on the door would be a good start. For the last minutes, he didn’t even remember how many at that point, he’d been restlessly pacing back and forth outside the front door to their, his and Sophia’s, so-called “home”. But it being Brooklyn it was probably just a matter of time before someone would call the cops on him since he did look kind of disturbed and creepy: he couldn’t keep pacing forever.

His heart was beating so fast; so fast he was absolutely persuaded of having never experienced any similar feeling before. Another thing he noticed, he could’ve sworn, was that he could hear every pumping movement his heart uttered, which made no sense considering he simultaneously felt lightheaded and like no oxygen was getting to his brain. Man, he had messed up so hard. Not only with Amy, but with Sophia too.

Nevertheless he didn’t get much more time to consider, suffer and make up his mind, in reality none at all, because a loud repetitive knock from inside the apartment beat him to it and completely threw him off guard.

“Who’s there!?” he could hear a woman’s voice yell from inside the apartment: Sophia, of course. Her sounding upset was an understatement. “I’ve been hearing pacing and mumbling for the past 5 minutes so don’t act like no one’s there! I can and will call the police!”

Oh, shit - no more time to think. He had to just jump, head in first and… do whatever he could. Either that or cops, probably from his own precinct, would be there to arrest him within 5 minutes.

“No no no, please don’t! It’s me Jake!”

The yelling and warning bangs from her side of the door seized but probably not because, if he knew her well enough, she was relieved. Not that he’d expected her to be though; he couldn’t even begin to imagine how she was feeling, abandoned by the person whom she thought she would spend the rest of her days with, and now, without her knowledge, he was back to make it even worse.

“Can we talk?” He called out.

Silence. 5… 10… 15… seconds.

“I don’t think we have anything to talk about, Jake. I think where you stand has been made very clear.”

Venom coursed through her voice, every syllable, word and sound, which Jake couldn’t even blame her for: he deserved it. All she’d done was love him, saying yes to loving him forever when he had asked her to marry him, and all it’d gotten her was being left on her wedding day; being cheated on though she wasn’t even aware of this. Yet.

“You don’t have to say anything; you don’t even have to look at me… I just need to-“ he cut himself off trying to think of the right words to say though he knew nothing would ever be perfectly right. “I need to come clean: lay it all out on the table. I’m a the world’s biggest dick, and I’m not here to try to convince you of the opposite… Let me just explain a few things, okay? Please, Sophia…”

A sigh full of regret put a period to what he had to say; what he could say as he stood outside the gates to confession waiting to learn if his admission of guilt would be welcomed. On top of this he also felt deep regret knowing he’d hurt an incredible woman, knowing he could’ve acted so much more wisely, but also at the same time not regretting every moment he’d gotten with Amy.

Then, to his surprise, the door swung open revealing an exhausted-looking Sophia clad in sweatpants and being the exact opposite of what he knew her for: put together, cool, always on the move, determined. He’d done this to her and, if possible, he now hated himself even more.

“Hey,” to say smiling felt inappropriate was some understatement as he put on a weak one, but he didn’t know what else to do. Scream? Cry? He sure did feel like it. The smile ended up being the less weird option although it didn’t earn him one in return and that was okay.

Another tense silence, one more than before now that the door was no longer present as a buffer between them, crept up the stairs to where they were by the front door. It immediately let Jake know that no, he probably shouldn’t expect to be let in.

“I don’t have time for small talk, Jacob. Get to the point.”

Jacob. Oh, he was in so much trouble.

“Eh- okay,” his hands shifted uncomfortably in his jean��s front pocket, he took a deep breath and then jumped into the freezing ocean of truth: eyes closed, head first, can’t lose.

“So, first of all, I know this must mean nothing to you which is far beyond understandable, but just wanna say, again, how so very sorry I am for what I did to you - to us…” he paused to see if he should expect some kind of answer, reaction, the bare minimum but alas no. The only moving she did was crossing her arms defensively in front of her chest as if she was gearing up for war. His most qualified guess was that this was his cue to continue.

“…and I’m not here to rub salt in the wound and this might be selfish, I’m not really sure anymore, but I need to tell you the truth. The whole truth.”

This to some extent seemed to catch Sophia’s attention, a sudden curiosity lighting up her darker than usual eyes as if she was a kid who’s just been told they’re going to be let in on a secret. Only this secret surely wouldn’t make her feel any good.

“A few months back, in February, something happened and I already should’ve told you back then but I didn’t because I was a confused and a huge stupid coward and I didn’t know how to tell you.”

From the look on her face Jake could tell that Sophia was slowly starting to put the pieces together. It was only a matter of words, no matter how carefully picked they were on his part, before she would crack the code and know. The secret would be out with taking it back being no option.

“Remember that night I said I was going to Shaw’s with a friend from work?” he tried, not expecting an answer but hoping she’d recall which would allow him to spare her from the details.

Then a look of realisation, the last puzzle piece falling into its designated spot consumed the look on his almost-wife’s face. He could physically see the microsecond it all came together in her mind and it felt like witnessing someone pulling the safety pin of a grenade, and now he had to stay, stand his ground, and handle the explosion.

“Y-you…” she stammered before closing her eyes as to compose herself after the shock of the truth bomb. “You… cheated on me?” he could tell the word was laced with venom, tasting horridly in her mouth as she couldn’t believe she had to say it. “And you didn’t even have the balls to tell me!?” within seconds her voice transitioned from disbelief to loud, ringing anger.

What else could he do but comply? He knew he was the traitor; the culpable; the one in the wrong.

“I’m so sorry.”

“I don’t give a shit about your apologies! I was here, by your side, working my ass off for this wedding and us, meanwhile you were out and about screwing some chick?”

The flinch Jake’s face upon hearing Amy be put on a par with ‘some random girl he’d just screwed’ was in no way discreet, and Sophia of course noticed. It was indeed inevitable that their relationship was over Jake knew that Sophia knew him well - they’d been together for long and about to get married after all. Also, she was a lawyer so there was really no where for him to hide. Her entire demeanour quieted down upon internally analysing the facts.

Jake Peralta, a good guy with no scandalous past, goes out to get drinks with “someone from work” and cheats on her, flinches when she belittles this other woman…

“I know her, don’t I?”

Perhaps yes he was coming clean about everything but still he didn’t exactly feel like exclaiming the mystery woman’s identity. Alas the silence he met Sophia with was enough of an answer. The wheels continuously turned inside her mind, so loud that Jake could’ve sworn that he could actually hear it.

Jake Peralta. Good guy. No scandalous past or track record. Drinks. “Someone from work”. Flinch.

There must be feeling involved. She knows her.

“Someone from work,” Sophia repeated out loud as to speed up the answer coming to her. It was all one big mess in her head but somehow comes together forming a perfectly clear answer.

“Amy… “ she tasted the name on her tongue trying to find the second half of it. “… Amy Santiago. The girl you used to work with back at the Nine-Nine.”

Another silence; another answer; another soundless yes. Suddenly Jake wished he’d never told Sophia about Amy. The two women had never met, but of course Jake couldn’t enter a relationship without bringing home a lot of shop talk, which involved anecdotes and pictures about his squad: ex-partner Santiago who’d by then moved on to work with Major Crimes included

“I can’t believe you went out and screwed an old colleague while I sat at home like the good, naive wife-to-be!” She cursed loudly after having gotten over the big blow of the mistress’ reveal. Jake flinched having no defence as he knew very well that he deserved the rough treatment. What he’d done to her was inconsolable and unforgivable.

“Fuck you, Jake,” her eyes and words were equally life-draining as they dug into him like daggers. “Fuck you for being with me, fuck you for telling me you loved me, for you for building a life with me, fuck you for proposing and the biggest of all fuck yous for almost leading me into a what was already a dead-end marriage.”

By then, having already threatened moments ago but had only actually fallen in the midst of her last outburst, tears were falling on her cheeks.

“I deserve every single ‘fuck you’ you have to offer and I’m so sorry, Sophia. Really, I truly deeply am and, not that it matters now, but I did love you and still do… It’s just-“

“I’m not her,” she finished his sentence for her making it much simpler than whatever long, intricate explanation he would end up forming. And she suddenly looked very calm; upsettingly calm and settled even.

Jake froze. He knew he was thinking it but didn’t exactly expect Sophia to catch up on it so fast.

“You might be the world’s worst person to me right now, and I’m not about to forgive it…” Her eyes for the first time tonight, through the tears, showed a sign of sadness, regret even, rather than anger like she’d come to realise something. “… But I also know that you’re a man who does love and probably did love me, even though it doesn’t feel like it right now, which is also why I know you would never do this to me if there wasn’t someone you…” she halted as if the words didn’t want to come out of her. “… if there wasn’t someone you loved even more, and I don’t want to be with you if there’s someone out there you love more than me. I don’t want to waste my life being someone’s number two: I jut wish you’d told me earlier… Or simply in a way that didn’t include screwing around.”

Jake had never considered the fact that perhaps he had what resembled love for Amy, but hearing Sophia somehow explain his mess to him though she was the victim, it suddenly seemed more clear and obvious than ever before.

“You’re worth much more than I can offer you, Sophia… And I’m sorry I didn’t communicate that properly.”

“Well…” his almost-wife had seemed to calm down although the clenching feeling in his gut, guilt, would surely stick around for some time. “Just make sure to at least offer that Amy something equal her worth. Don’t be an idiot twice.”

Jake nodded trying to change it all in; the switch in tone and mood, all the new facts hitting him harder than a storm.

“Did she know?” Sophia quizzed again after a moment of silence.

“What?”

“That you had me?  That you were engaged?”

“Oh, uh…” Jake frowned hating that he knew the answer. Even though it didn’t matter he didn’t want what she did that night to represent Amy. But he couldn’t lie. Not anymore. “Yeah, I think… I believe I mentioned it.”

“Well,” Sophia took a moment to compose herself, grabbing the door as to get ready to close it. “Then perhaps you’re already offering her something equal to her worth.”

-

Between the confessing to Sophia and trying to win Amy back (is it ‘back’ if he never really had her?) Jake’s having a week from hell, and it very quickly turns out that talking to Sophia very surprisingly comes down to being the easiest task of the two.

It was a dark evening with clouds assembling threatening to spill rain and thunder covering the sky. Perhaps the weather knew how he felt; hopeless, somber, alone. After obviously not being able to stay in his and Sophia’s apartment anymore he’d offered to take the high road and move out - or at least move himself out along with a bag of clothes and bare necessities. The rest of his stuff would come around once he’d found a new place to call his own.

Until then he crashed at Charles’ which both he, Genevieve and especially nephew Nikolaj immensely enjoyed. Although he seemed not as happy and joking as usual, Nikolaj noticed, there was nothing better than spending evenings playing with his priceless collection of trucks and uncle Jake who always impressed him with conniving truck-sounds.

But as soon as the darkness and the moon reigned over New York, when Niko and his parents were fast asleep and the apartment was dead silent, Jake was left to himself in the guest room to ponder endlessly and hating himself so much more. At least during the day he could repress and distract himself from these thoughts and feelings.

The end of him and Amy, though he barely even knew what that meant anymore, suddenly seemed inevitable. Turned out that getting back in contact with a person whose trust you’d lost was harder than one would think - especially when you were obsessed, dying to be with said person, and she wouldn’t answer any calls, texts or voicemails which would allow you to explain.

Jake experienced this first hand as he dialled her number only to be met with her by now all too familiar voicemail.

“Ames, it’s me for the…” he took a brief glance at his phone immediately feeling slightly embarrassed by the sight of call list. “… 4th time today (20th time this week). Please, I’m begging you, pick up. I talked to Sophia and I’m-“ he searched his mind for the perfect words to say but they seemed so far gone, used up and meaningless by now. It already felt like he’d tried every way of wording possible to explain his renewed, honest intentions.

A deep sigh filled the pause before he preceded, slowly feeling himself slipping and giving up. “I miss you. I never meant to hurt you, and I know nothing will undo that I in fact did but please let me explain. I’m at Charles’. I’m staying here until I can find a new place to live and, yeah, Sophia is no longer in the picture. It’s just you, Amy. I just want you. Please call me back - or even just a text would be good too.”

He hung up before putting down his phone and turning over to lie sleeplessly, one more night to add to the list, in his lonely borrowed bed.

To no one’s surprise, least of all Jake’s, this declaration and plead number 20 wasn’t the one to convince Amy of giving him the time of day either. There was no way over, under or around the fact that she simply didn’t want to hear from him, and even less let him hear anything back. Though he was dying to explain himself, wanting nothing more than run to her apartment and kick down her door, tell her he wanted her,  he also knew that wasn’t the way things worked. Maybe in movies but not in real life with real people, real feelings and real consequences.

No matter how badly he needed and missed her he respected her wishes, which seemingly was not seeing him. Giving up on her felt wrong, unreal and excruciating when just five days ago he’d been lying in bed with her in his arms in the warm morning sunlight. And though he wasn’t officially about to back down and give in to the screwed up circumstances that had gotten them here, there sure wasn’t much motivation left in him but one thing: Amy.

Seeing Amy. Talking to Amy. Apologising to Amy. Admiring Amy. Touching Amy. Loving Amy, someday when that word seemed rational. Anything with Amy, he wanted it and would go to great lengths to earn it.

That, all that, he hoped, would be enough to mend them again someday hopefully soon.

[ne-fe-li-bata]

Aye yo CORPSE!  ...

Dead ass;

You can't convince me that Corspe was/is/does ; 

in no particular order..

• Deserve to be held ( I would smother him with my chest and hold him tighter than he has ever been held) & protected from this world

• Pyro! Mans loves🔥🔥🔥 - mostly his fav elemental  (Leo is a fire sign); “WOOO... now that’s a fire!”

•  Loves knives/weapons- has a collection (quite a nifty 1, ay thank-a-you) & even knows how to use butterfly knives/ tackle combat.

      Has a collection of weapons (brass knuckle, daggers, swords, knives,etc.)

•  Highly interested in combat/training. Most likely has training in some sort of combat. Loves any form of physical combat < UFC,MMA, Boxing, any type of martial arts>

•  Absolute proper gentlemen / clearly has the utmost charm/cunning

      I.e holds the door open & will slap yo ass on the way in, moves you away from street side when walking, pulls chairs, defends your honor, etc.

• Takes A . L . O . T  to truly capture his attention- but once you have it ..%100

•  With his person; protective/obsessives/ possessive/ sensual/ affectionate .

              < mine is mine. me no share -like absolutely not at all>

             “ You want the moon? Just say the word and I'll throw a lasso around it and pull it down for ya“

• RP'er on DeviantArt/chats had his own OC. (also prob had his fav person to RP with) 

         <prob even talked to them in MSN or private chat>

•  Watched mostly nothing by anime/cartoons (nick/CN) as a kid & also mostly watched certain shows/movies as a kid well into his teens

         (could recite quotes/scenes as second nature)

•  Not a major musical theatre type of kid. But musical movies/shows was 1 of his favs- but still highly interested/ in love with theatre/musicals/preforming arts none the less.

-EYES DON’T LIE

•’staring problem’ he’d just stare at you -deep in his head (both good & bad) you’d have to bring him back to you ..”babe- eh, come *snap*back to me. What’s on your mind my love?’

•  Genuinely a really warm person- but only to certain people, but comes across cold & distance 

•  Grew up in the internet & knows the way around the 'business' & 'faceless' YouTubers/celebrities

•  His teens/ late adolescents consisted & grew up on YouTube O.G videos/ video game commentary/content;

  Cry.. <Cry was a huge part of my life & still hold a special place in my heart. Corspe just like I was most likely devastated with the shit that went down> 

Jack

Nova

Sp00n

Jontron

Smosh

Nigahiga

Shane

Jenna

Hanna Hart

Phil/Dan

KevJumba

Ray William Johnson

Pewds

Machinima

EMT

ERB

Wassabi Prod.

VlogBros, 

-etc

• Has an oral fixating (lovebites indefinitely <like dead ass ya’ll be chillan/ out & he’d attack you> & just needs something in his mouth always)

• Fidgety af, always need to be playing with something in his hands/playing with 

•  Is a goddamn absolute certified freak--but also super soft bean boi. (can't stress how this boi needs& deserves to be protected)

• Constant hand/arm touching/stroking for comfort.

• Daddy{papi} / Mommy(mamá) . Master . Sir  kink - hard control kinks- but highly sub. 

hard(er) kinks

• Lovebites = M I N E 

obvs fishnets/ crossbody straps/ lingerie

lace

collars/ restraints 

toys

     •RP

degrading/praising

sub/dom switch

showing/proving your actually/completely & utterly his/ he’s completely & utterly yours..

& of course you know it's go time when 1 - if not both of you has kitty ears on. 

over stim 

*no touchy/ don’t let me go*

“look at what I’ve done to you”

“you kno only I can do this to you”

“look how greedy you are for me”

“look at the mess you’ve made because of me’ 

“cum on my face”/’cum for me”

“who do you belong to” / “you belong to me & only me”

100% all black clothing 🖤

*that once we get home / I swear I’ll deal with you right here, right now* look 

primal play  “when you run from me, it only makes me want you more” “you know imma find you kitten”

pet names (beast< i feel like you call this man “ (a) beast”-he about to lose his absolute fucking mind> , “oh Corpse/______, you absolute fuckin’ beast- my God” kitten, babyboy/girl, baby(e), bae, my love, lover boy, my darling, slut, needy little bitch, cum slut, lil’ whore, master/mistress, king/queen”

“only yours” “just ______” “ no-one but _____” “only____” “only you” 

‘I’ll keep you so no one can find you or bother us’

“that’s my girl” / “that's my boy”

“would you like to/ I saw----”

“look at me” “don’t look away from me”

GROWLING / talking through clenched jaw

not breaking eye contact 

     • his name & ‘Corspe’ being cried out 

“cry out my name for me baby. know who you belong to”

video/sexing/teasing 

breeding kink

voyeurism

abrasions

aftercare af 

impact play 

24/7

edging 

accidental stim; “holy fuck- I’m so turned on by you rn”

rope bondage 

begging 

worships 

•  But also soft kinks; 

MEME SENDING

head on lap/chest

naps

playing with hair 

matching outfits

voice messages 

always touching (somehow)

no space between bodies

picture taking together/ just of you

body rubs, head rubs

massages

competition 

play fighting

“this reminded me of you”

“I remember you said” “I know you...”

“you know I love you”

“I can tell by your eyes”

“ugh- I swear to shit imma marry you 1 day”

“nothing really made sense until you”

“do you wanna watch”/ “WAIT!? YOU HAVEN’T SEEN?!”

“damn- you really do love/like me, eh?”/ “you are SO fucking mine”

“that’s my girl”/ “that's my boy”

pet names/ “MY_______” “YOURS”

long stares

dates- stay at home dates are his fav, as your attention/focus is just on him 

choker/necklace/ jewelry (that 1 of you bought- NOT LIKE HIGH PRICE TAG, but like seen it & was like ‘omg ____ would so wear...’) 

cuddles with movies /anime watching time

just being in the same room/on call- even in silence 

* emojis*- just some sort of communication 

inside jokes/ puns/dark humor

seeing 1 another with kids

future kink (family, travel, etc)

playing video games 

dancing/ singing with 1 another

Sitting on the ground, wrapped around his leg when he streams/edits

Nerf gun fights 

Watching him record (tracks/editing/streaming)

•  Loves- loves surprises <like dead ass would set up a surprise date/ do a scavenger hunt for you/ surprise you with your fav thing>

•  Loyalty is everything & his best attribute (& pride) 

• The music that he make is from the soul/heart. He pit everything has has/what he has left into his art

•  No one has seen the real him - a side he truly hides

•  He's both book & street smart

           Taught himself through YouTube/Reedit/online 

•  Fav actors; Jim Carrey/Robbin Williams/Will Smith (?)

•  Man’s straight up dangerous. we only know like a  quarter of him & people fall at his feet. ( h e . i s . n o t . t o . b e. F U C K E D . w i t h) 

•  Hates silence 

         ( constantly needs background noise)  <also can't fight me on this babyboi cuddles pillows/blankets for night-night time>

•  People don't understand the pain he is in every day, unless they have fibromyalgia/GERD/high functioning (sever social)anxiety/depression/ agoraphobia 

(my mom suffers with fibro/depression <I myself have GERD/ sever social amenity/depression>& I wouldn't wish those illness on my worse enemy...)

• Over all pain has changed him

• Has dealt with self harm since a young age- most likely 9- 11 yrs old. (as someone else who’s suffered with SH for years- when you become so numb it 1 of the only ways to feel some sort of anything/makes you feel like you’re alive)

• Addiction (drugs/people/things)

•  Wrote & read a lot of fanfiction

        (most likely his main source of reading in pre/teenage years)

• Is a hopeless romantic but has his guard way up

•  Obsessed with Japan / Studio Ghibli

• Doesn't think he deserves any of the recognition/ fame he's gotten--but definitely deserves it all as he's creative & inspirational as fuck. Also he’s worked so hard for it & had put himself through so much

    Contrary is highly appreciative of those that are supporting

• Doesn't do it for the fame but for the fact he know how he's gotten people through hard time (just like those on the internet got him through)

• Was a scene boy that vibe’d of myspace/ listens to a lot of  ‘scene’ pop-punk, emo/ scene band shit (band?)

•  Also is/was a major tumblr boy

•  Would be a phenomenal father

•   His love language: physical touch & words of affirmation 

• He would flinch at touch movement but would melt in your hands

• Face caresses would trigger anxiety/ tears.. but once he’s calmed/comfortable would burry his face in your touch. neck & chest

•  Still caught up in daydreams

•  A part of him is still never satisfied even if it’s exactly to the pin point detail of what he wanted  

•  Has at least 40/50(ish) songs he hasn't released

•  Mommy & daddy issues (not saying his home life was really- really  fucked - but non the less- it certainly wasn't the best).. Also wants to protect/provide for his family (especially his sister) & was prob closer to a grandparent/aunt/uncle)

•  Definitely prefers to be by himself, as every time people come around, it's like;‘"this is why I'm okay (ish)with being alone" 

• lost an important person to him due to O.D/ suicided..

•  Also most likely to of heard his "friends" shit talking 'Corpse' or something correlated with him

•  His pride is his biggest sin (next to lust)

•  Has single-handedly defined a huge part of 2020 ( in the best way)

•  Went through a fighting stage where he was ready to fuck anyone up on a drop of a dime (middle/'high school'/street fights- possibly even under ground)

          but also a stage where he cut absolutely everyone off for a solid couple years

•  Most likely obsessed with 1 of 3 creatures; lion, dragon, wolf ( 5ish- possibly bear/fox)

•  Dinosaur obsessed 

• Internet & video games raised him

• He raised himself

Quick to adapt to surroundings/situations.

•  Mighty Morphin Power Rangers was his shit ( I CAN SO SEE YOUNG BABYBOI RUNNIN AROUND THE HOUSE IN A POWER RANGER SUIT) "IT'S MORPHIN' TIME MOTHER FUCKER"

              fav ranger- green 

•  Has up until next year planned out & is working on the next 'version of corpse' ( PR, vids, music, etc)

•  Also med/high key this man was most likely in a physcward (more than once) ..

•  This man deserves more than he'll ever give himself recognition for & knows in the back of his mind--people will hate just to hate

•  Rose is his fav flower  🌹

•⛈️🌧️. >🌞.  Loves storms/ rain & prefers them over sunny days

•  Loves the moon/stars/space (?) < observatorium dates = fuckin mint>

• Pixar/Disney lover

        <still believes- deep down in happy ever after ... but thorough an twisted yet not so twisted- simple(??), dedicated process(?)>

•  Fav Pixar movie.. either Wall.E or Toy Story 

    •  Pixar > Disney

         •  But fav Disney movie- Beauty & the Beast (?)

• Most likely had a Jackass obsession's (doing dumb hoodshit)

•  Fall is his fav season (?)

•  Horror/ thriller movies/shows over everything (obvs)

•   Had an escape place in town where he’d hide from the world- that absolutely no one knew about. 

•  Was really into graffiti/ street art 

•  Arested as a youth - but charges dropped- or was still considered a mirror (either fighting/ possession/ trespassing/ vandalisms)

• Arrested on heavier charges (also same as above - but not tried as an minor)

•  also-ALSO ... thou he feels like he owes people something. HE DOESN’T OWE ANYTHING TO A N Y O N E . His mental & well being is the most important.

•  On a side & major note. You can't deny that this man single handily is a (in my opinion) the 2nd biggest “C” that define 2020.

•  Was most likely really into skateboarding/BMX

• Late night drives/impulsive road trips & playlist/ sitting at lookouts, just in silence & touching 1 another. 

• Clingy af-.. but could also be distance & cold af- especially on high pain days. stormy brain days. PTSD episodes.

• Slow dancing/ dancing around the apartments. with or without music.

• Rocking out with each other- screaming lyrics in each other face.

• “hey baby- how you feelin” 

         *grunting* *shuffles over & lays on chest* 

• Huge comforts for 1 another;

      Especially when going out, being wrapped around him for comfort & reassurance. Even being at home alone together- panic attacks are shit, PTSD episodes are even more shit. helping each other with bathing & caring

     When he’d be hiding from his reflection- or stares just a little too long. Going up behind him & worship him (vise versa)

• He’d be your biggest hypeman/ #1 fan (vise versa)

• Would LOVE you wearing his clothes/jewelry & would love to wear you things.

Was probably engaged to his ex (that's why he gets offt when people mention "corpse wife"

There'd be days where he'd be so distance & cold.. & tell you to leave but wouldn't let you.

He'd sit in the bathroom with you when you shower/have a bath.

As he doesn't sleep most night. He'd be up just watching you sleep & caressing you.

Lil spoon > big spoon.

<more to be added>

I love you... genuinely . turly.  madly. deeply.

[magnoliasinbloom]

The Midwife - II

AO3 :: Previously

IV

“I’d have to fracture the bones again,” I said softly. “’Twill have to stay like this. Likely your hand will always hurt when the weather turns cold.”

I marveled at the stretch of the phalanges, his skin covering them. The calluses reminiscent of the hard farm work he had been used to and that drove me wild when I felt them against my body. Jamie was beautifully made, the long, lean lines of his body drawn against me.

“You’re a brave, braw lass,” he said, kissing my temple. “But despite yer formidable skills, I’d rather not have my hand broken again, I thank ye.” He shifted, cradling me from behind. He snuffled into my hair and I laughed briefly, lifting the mass of curls away from my neck.

Neither of us slept, savoring these hours we had together. We spoke softly in the small hours of dawn. He would have to go back to his chambers soon. Rupert and Angus watched him too carefully, and we could not arouse suspicion. Reluctantly, I gave him the ring back; Mistress Beauchamp was not married. Jamie wouldn’t have it. He told me to keep it, safely hidden away.

“Sassenach… I ken well why you chose to change yer name.” Jamie traced patterns on the skin of my belly. “I meant what I said, before. Ye have my protection, in whatever way ye may need it.”

“I know, Jamie. We will just have to bide our time, and get away to Lallybroch as soon as we can.”

“With the Gathering, Dougal has sentries posted all around Leoch. Afterwards, perhaps we can make our way out when all the clans leave.”

The sky outside the window was tinged with grey, signaling the oncoming dawn. With a groan, Jamie rose from the small cot. In between dressing himself, he placed kisses on my body, anywhere he could reach. Finally, he put on his boots and with a parting embrace, left to sneak back into his rooms. I dressed myself, and found a hiding place for my ring. I slipped it inside a green glass-stoppered bottle, corked and stowed behind similar bottles full of tonics and remedies.

Until it was safe to declare ourselves to the world, I would hide it and my feelings for Jamie. Until then.

* * *

With help from the kitchen girls—Iona and Morag—the Beaton’s dispensary was ready in no time. Already, that day, I had tended to the blacksmith with a nasty burn along the forearm, and a milkmaid with cramps. I set about claiming part of the kitchen garden to plant herbs, with Mrs. Fitz’s blessing.

“Some of these grow wild, ye ken, dearie,” she said, fingering the mint. “But others require a helping hand.” She lowered her voice. “The wise-woman in the forest, Maisri, has some rare herbs, should ye have need. I heard she helps the married lassies conceive, and does love-potions and such. A helping hand.”

I smiled. “I do not think I have a need for any of that just yet, Mrs. Fitz. But thank you.” I wiped my hands on my already grubby apron. “Is there anything I can do for you, ma’am?”

“Actually, dearie, if ye wouldna mind… I send food every day to the lads who work the stables. Can ye take the basket to them?” I jumped at the chance. I knew Jamie took care of the horses and had not seen him since he’d left at dawn. Wielding the heavy basket on my hip, I crested the hill beyond which the stables were kept. I could glimpse the glare of Jamie’s hair from a distance. He wore a shirt and kilt, pitching hay onto a cart. He spoke to someone I couldn’t see, his back to me, but I heard the soft murmur of his voice. A higher-pitched female voice responded. As I approached, I caught sight of a young girl, blonde hair waving in the wind. It was the girl who had welcomed me yesterday, a simpering smile on her face, clearly flirtatious. Oh, this would not do.

“Mistress Beauchamp!” She greeted me once more, and Jamie whirled, apprehension on his face. I nodded briefly at them and raised the basket.

“Mrs. Fitzgibbons sent lunch for the stable hands. Where shall I set it?”

“Och, here is fine, lass. Let me help ye.” Jamie took the basket off my hands, shaking his head minutely. I did not understand the meaning of this, but I turned to the girl.

“I am sorry, but I do not think your grandmother introduced us yesterday,” I said. “You know my name, of course.”

“Aye, mistress, the laird is fair pleased to have a healer on the castle grounds once more. I am Laoghaire MacKenzie.” She bobbed her head in half a curtsy. “Do ye ken Mr. Fraser?”

Jamie had been bustling about, spreading the heavy hamper’s contents on a clean plaid blanket and calling down the stable boys. His eyes were wary when he heard Laoghaire’s words. “James Fraser. A pleasure, Mistress Beauchamp.”

“Jamie is my betrothed,” said Laoghaire.

My heart stopped. Jamie’s own countenance flushed dark red, and it seemed his whole head was on fire. My hands shook, and I hid them in the folds of my skirt. “Indeed. Congratulations.”

“Laoghaire… ye ken it’s no’ official yet. Dougal has not—”

“But my da has accepted, and so have I!” Laoghaire smiled smugly, crossing her arms stubbornly across her chest. I felt like slapping the grin off her face.

“Laoghaire, I’m afraid your grandmother wants you in the kitchens.” I gave her a smile of my own, and she nodded, scampering off; as she swept past Jamie, she caressed his shoulder in a proprietary way that was not lost on me. He shrugged off her touch, his pleading eyes on me. Two scrawny boys fell upon the food with alacrity, and Jamie gestured for me to follow him to the stables.

Once inside the fragrant coolness of the stables, Jamie took my arm gently and led me inside an unoccupied stall. “Alec is off in the pasture fields, we shouldna be disturbed for awhile yet.”

I yanked my arm out of his grasp, and he backed away, hands held up in the air. “So, when exactly did you plan on telling me about your betrothed, James Fraser? After you bedded me, your wife, or not until you stood before the priest and married Laoghaire?” I could not keep the venom from my voice.

“Sassenach, ye ken I—”

“Do not call me that!” I burst out, kicking hay out of my path and folding myself into a corner of the stall. I heard snorting and stamping from the adjacent stalls, the horses uneasy in the presence of a stranger such as myself.

“Claire. Ye must know, I would never play ye false. Yes, Dougal wishes me to marry Laoghaire. I told him when I first arrived that I was already marrit, to you! When I received the letter with news of your death, he pushed harder still for me to be wed. I have refused time and time again, Claire, ye have to believe me!” Jamie approached me slowly, like a skittish mare.

“I went through hell and back to get to you, Jamie. Perhaps I should not have bothered.” My voice was small and hopeless. I thought I could go back to l’hôpital, I thought Mother Hildegarde would receive me with open arms. And I could begin to forget. “I’ll leave tomorrow.”

“Sass—Claire, heed me. I thought I lost ye once, I dinna think I can do it again. Do ye not trust that I will do right by ye?” Jamie said desperately.

“I trust what I see—that all odds are against us, your own family wishes to see you wed to another, and that there is no place for me here.”

“Do ye have errands to run in the village?”

“What?” I was caught off guard by his non-sequitur.

“There is a man called Ned Gowan. He’s a solicitor, and an old friend of my father’s. I bid ye go to Cranesmuir tomorrow at noon to his offices. He will draw up a marriage contract. We will be wed in the eyes of the law as weel, and naught Dougal can do about it.”

I was rendered speechless. Jamie stood before me, arms crossed, regarding me warily. There was nothing I could say against his plan; it gave us what we wanted, a degree of protection that could prove indissoluble. I covered my face with my hands, and rubbed my eyes.

“How will you get away from your keepers?” I asked finally.

“Dinna fash about that, Sass—Claire.” He stepped closer, and put his hands on my arms carefully. I will make them drunk tonight on my uncle’s good whiskey and they will sleep it off come morning.”

“Of course I fash, Jamie, as you so charmingly word it.”

“Trust, Claire. I love ye. I will let nothing harm ye.” Jamie pulled me into his arms, his hands smoothing over the unruly curls and kissing my hair. “Now, dinna mind Laoghaire and her ideas. Like I told Dougal, a wedding’s no wedding if I dinna say aye.”

“I am willing to try anything. I will meet you in Cranesmuir tomorrow.” I gave him a brief kiss, as delighted shrieks came from outside. I assumed the lads had discovered the sugar buns Mrs. Fitz had so thoughtfully included in the basket. I walked out of the stable, pulling my hands away from Jamie’s, who did not want to let go, with a playful grin on his face.

“Alright, Mr. Fraser,” I called out loudly. “Come fetch coneflower salve later for the sore on the mare’s leg.”

“I will, mistress, I thank ye.” He attempted what can only be described as a wink, but he could not close the one eye; he blinked both and looked like a bright red owl.

For the first time in months, I laughed with all my heart.

[lenezdansleruisseau]

Turning

(My contribuition to Barricade Day, the day after)

Did you see them going off to fight?

A mob of people had created around the cart in its way from the destroyed Inn to the morgue. Curious, bored, worried, loud, crying, shouting people. All of them trying to get a look inside the small cart where the bodies of the revolutionaries had been amassed.

“Traitors,” one young woman commented even though she was walking on her toes trying to get a pick over the sides of the cart.

“Don’t speak ill of the dead, Emma,” her friend reprimanded.

“I’m just stating the truth,” Emma replied shrugging.

“Have you heard that one of the soldiers that shot them said there was an angel among them. He had a halo and a flaming sword,” another girl whispered to them excited.

“Don’t be ridiculous, if there had been an angel amongst them, they wouldn’t be on that cart right now,” Emma said annoyed.

“Well, Christ was the son of Our Lord, wasn’t he? And he still decided to die for our sins,” Emma’s first friend reasoned.

“Are you really comparing Our Lord Christ with one of these traitors?” Emma asked feigning herself more scandalized that she actually was.

“Have you seen poor Sara?” the third friend asked allowing the first one to avoid answering the uncomfortable question posed by Emma.

“What about her?”

“She’s there crying like a fountain, I think this is the first time in my life I don’t see her with a smile on her face” she answered nodding towards the other side where other headset-covered heads were visible. “I’ve heard that she was suspiciously friendly with one of the young men up there.”

“Wasn’t she engaged with that lawyer?” Emma asked. He friend smiled maliciously instead of replying.

“Lawyer would be an exaggeration really. I’ve heard my own Thomas’ friends say that he barely showed up for classes,”

“Oh! You two are horrible. How can you talk like that in such a moment?”

“Shut up, Catherine, if you were really so respectful you would be at home sewing not here mudding your petticoats,” Emma commented harshly.

Children of the barricade who didn't last the night

 The lifeless bodies of almost children were exposed on a bare wooden table in the middle of the cold room, limbs overlapping, empty eyes staring at the ceiling, blood darkening their clothes. The captain didn’t miss the irony of those boys dressed for a funeral: they had hoped to start a new world from the death of Lamarque, but they only managed to walk towards their own end. A pity, really. He was sure they were smart kids.

They could have become doctors, lawyers, artists even, had they just learned to accepts the world for what it was: unjust.

He remembered being young, though, that desire to being different and make the difference.

“Captain, what do we do with this one?” the voice of one of the youngest cadets distracted him from his thoughts. Copeu was his family name, he had started active service not even a month ago, he was younger than most of the young men laying on the table.

“Which one?” he asked tiredly.

“The prisoner they shot during the fight? He was executed after the first attack.”

The captain nodded, he remembered that one. The other captain, the one whose battalion had been responsible for the deaths of those same boys that he was in charge of guarding as if they could still be a threat to their precious monarchy, well, he told him he had died professing his loyalty to his traitorous cause.

“Not even a finch when we blindfolded him. I doubt even half of my men would be as brave,” he had told him with admiration. The captain had thought that a quite stupid comment: not half of their man fought for anything else than to be paid at the end of the month.

“What about them?” he inquired turning his attention back to the young soldier.

“Should we treat him in the same way? He was executed after all, should we make him an example or…”

“And how to you propose to do that?”

The young man froze with his mouth open and then closed it suddenly lowering his gaze.

“I didn’t mean to overstep, captain.”

The captain sighed.

“Make him an example, soldier, and you make him a symbol too. He’s dead and soon there will be no one to remember his name or his sacrifice. Isn’t that enough?”

“Of course, captain,” the kid said and turned back to his companions.

 Did you see them lying where they died?

 The firsts to arrive were always the Parisians, of course. Mothers, sisters, wives, and daughters in some cases, they all come in. Some crying, some angry, some frightened as if the soldiers were there to kill them too for the crime of losing a loved one.

Mistresses were the easiest to spot. They always remained near the entrance, afraid to disrupt the grief of the families, almost as if they didn’t deserve to feel the same heartbreak of the mothers or sisters.

That day one, in particular, caught the keeper’s attention: she was small and smartly dressed, but her eyes were the feature that more peculiar: they were round and amber, the sort of eyes you would expect on a fortune-teller’s face. They were also red and wet with tears.

She was frozen at the entrance, her eyes fixed on the bodies lying on the table. She seemed to find the courage to move almost suddenly, without warning. Still, she walked slowly, uncertain on her legs. Her hands were trembling and were clutching a white handkerchief so hard her knuckles were almost as white as the piece of fabric.

She stopped at the edge of the table, then she bent and laid one gentle kiss on the foreheads of two different boys.

Well, that wasn’t the strangest thing the keeper had ever seen in his life.

She whispered something and slowly more and more tears started flowing down her face.

The young woman tore her handkerchief in two pieces and then folded the two parts neatly into the two boys’ breast pockets, then she dried her eyes with the back of her hand and she gave her two lovers one small smile. She moved towards the door, but her eyes fell upon one of the other body. The short one with the black curls and the crooked features, not that those were visible at the moment being half hidden by one of the other man’s arm.

“May I… Would it be possible for me to turn him, monsieur?” the young woman asked to no one in particular, her voice barely more than a whisper.

“Of course,” answered the keeper and moved to help her turn the body. When the face became completely visible, the small composure she had been able to maintain disappeared in an instant. Two identical rivers of tears started flowing down her face while she shook her head incredulous.

“No, no, no, no, this is not possible. He wouldn’t… He didn’t…” she murmured between sobs.

“He did, mademoiselle. He was one of the leaders, he declared so himself before getting shot with his friend,” he replied, remembering what he had heard from the two young soldiers who had brought them all in.

At those words, she looked at him with surprise and then started laughing, and empty and bitter laugh, probably a result of the shock.

“No, he wasn’t,” she insisted shaking her head and no one had the strength to insist. “You said they died together?” she went on gesturing between the body of the two leaders.

“Yes, mademoiselle. Holding hands or so they told me.” Answered the keeper. He thought he could be a comforting thing to know: that your loved ones didn’t die alone, lost and hopeless.

She nodded. She seemed almost serene after that piece of information and the man was happy to have given that to her, at least.

“Well, R, there are worst ways to die, aren’t there?” she said turning to the lifeless body. “Adieu, mon cher,” She added before passing her hand through his bloodied curls and go away without turning back.

 Someone used to cradle them and kiss them when they cried

 Sometimes there were very strange clients at funeral homes. Monsieur Brumont, after twenty-five years of honored work in the field, knew that well.

A young woman entered the shop. She was the first one of the day, but she wasn’t going to be the last. She wasn’t crying, but she had a lost expression on her face while she looked around at the caskets exposed.

“Do you need help, mademoiselle?” Brumont asked her after long minutes passed without her doing anything at all.

“Madame,” she whispered.

“What?”

“Madame, I got married a couple of months ago.”

“I didn’t mean to offend, madame. I was just wondering if you needed help.”

She nodded. She looked resigned.

“My husband, he was in the National Guard before marrying me. He used to come at the Cafè Musain every day with his friends, exactly like all of them,” she told him pointing outside the shop’s window which was respectfully covered with a heavy black curtain. “Drunk the same wine, told the same jokes, he was a little less educated, but who notices after a couple of bottles of wine, right? He could have easily been fighting today had I refused to marry him, but I was just the dishwasher, with no better prospects, how could I say no?”

“Are you all right, madam?” the same soldier asked with a worried look.

She startled as if she had forgotten of their presence during her little speech.

“Yes, of course, I’m sorry. I mumble when I’m nervous. Like most people after all,” she replied quickly and blushing profusely. She started searching for something inside the pockets of her coat and doing some kind of math under her breath. Brumont didn’t comment further. Who was him to judge somebody’s way of mourning?

When she seemed satisfied with her counts she turned once again towards him and asked: “I’d like to purchase a, uhm, one of…”

She couldn’t bring herself to say the word casket, that was pretty clear.

“Just tell me which one, madame,” he said gently. The young woman took a sigh of relief and pointed to the simplest one.

“Is it for your husband, madame?” Brumont asked with just the right amount of interest that could be considered respectful. “In this case let me give you my most sincere condolences.”

She shook her head.

“No. My husband is at work right now. It’s for… one of the men who died today. He didn’t have anyone except for those who died at his side. He was a good man. I can’t bear the thought of him in a mass grave.”

Did you see them lying side by side?

 The night fell on that day of misery.

A girl was entering the morgue through a window left slightly open for aeration. She walked in the dark with the certainty and the calm of a cat, but in her eyes, there is more of the wilderness of a wolf. After nearing the table where the bodies are exposed, she took something from the pockets of her threadbare coat and a moment later a cheap candle is lightening the motionless faces.

She started moving around the table, searching for something or someone, and she stops in front of the only girl among the corpses, not that anyone realized that. She put one hand inside one of her pockets and fished out a battered yellow rose, she looked at it for a moment thoughtfully before tucking it in one of the buttonholes of her sister’s coat.

“Who’s there?” the voice of the keeper called from the darkness.

But the light had disappeared when he entered in the room and so had the young girl.

  Who will wake them? No one ever will

On the ruins of what was once the Corinthe children were playing. It was surely not a safe place where to play and had the kinds, anyone, to care for them they would have been reprimanded and sent to bed without dinner. Things being as they were they weren’t going to be reprimanded but most of them were probably going to sleep without eating.

But they didn’t care for that at the moment. They were playing.

Navet had found a top hat near the rests of the barricade next to the Corinthe and he’s telling the other gamins all about the original owner.

“He was a really fancy one, he was. But he was all right. He would always give me some sous when he saw me and he invited me to breakfast sometimes. He let me buy pastries and all those kinds of stuff.”

“Yeah, me too!” exclaimed another gamin while dangling quite dangerously from a pole stuck in the barricade.

“He also had ninety and three lady friends and he would always buy them chocolates and flowers and treat them like they were all the queens of France,” Navet continued.

“That is not true,” commented another who had found a bottle of wine and was quite decided to open it.

“It is, I tell you! I heard it from the dressers at Theatre Lyrique.”

“Well, I heard that he was making laughing at the faces of the soldiers even while they were fighting and that he was still making jokes when they shot him. He laughed at the angel of death itself when it came collecting him,” a fourth gamin said climbing down the barricade.

That information was much more impressive than the one about the lady friends and Navet felt the need to answer it with something as interesting.

“There was also a boy like us on this barricade fighting.”

“They said he died,” confirmed one of the others trying to sound mournful. He was pretty sure it was the right tone of voice one should use for such occasions.

“He didn’t die,” Navet revealed with a secretive whisper, loud enough to be heard by all the other gamins playing around.

“Yes, he did. I saw his body brought into the morgue this morning with all the others’,” a gamin protested.

“No, you didn’t! He didn’t die because he’s the son of a witch and when they tried to hit him he transformed in one of those black and white birds that steals stuff and fly away.”

“A magpie?”

“That one.”

The theory seemed interesting enough not be contested.

The gamin with the wine bottle got tired of trying to open it and just smashed it against the rests of a wall just to brandish it as a sword while climbing over the barricade.

“I’ll fight too at the next revolution. I’ll have a top hat and I’ll make jokes at the angel of death like that fellow who gave us brioches,” he declared solemnly.

“And I’ll have a sword and a musket and I’ll write down with the king on the walls and when we won I’ll say that we gamins should be in charge,” Navet added wearing the top hat on his head and started sauntering away from the barricade.

After all, they had already played there almost all day and it was starting to become kind of boring. There well way more interesting places in Paris.

“I think there should be more eggs, we should say that once we’re in charge,” one of the gamins said following Navet down the road.

[friendlyneighborhoodmadscientist]

Settle in folks, here’s a story from my most recent gaming session, it’s pretty long but it was such a transcendent moment I have to share it with all of you. Due to length I’m going to try to put it under a cut.

So a bit of background information. We are playing a Kingdom Hearts game and have been for… A while. We can’t quite remember exactly how long. It’s a custom system of the DM and my design (THAT I WOULD LOVE TO SHARE BUT CAN’T GET DISNEY OR SQUARE TO TALK TO ME ABOUT IT).

Our PCs:

Lonnie Clawford, a snow leopard from Zootopia, with an affinity for Ice, and focused on Power abilities (like Terra). Lonnie is functionally immortal in combat, kind of anxious, and grew up in Zootopia’s foster care system until she was like 12 and was picked up by our Master. Played by @thepioden​

Lydia, a young woman from The Corpse Bride (in our defense, we knew it was Tim Burton and forgot it wasn’t Disney until we finished the world) with an affinity for Moon (blame Saïx) and focused on Speed abilities; her combat style focuses especially on aerial tricks and abilities. Gravity is a suggestion at best for Lydia, she’s a hopeless romantic (“MISSION OF LOVE” is a common refrain from her), and she grew up an orphan on the streets until she was about 5-6 and was adopted by our Master. Played by @tsukidoesthething​

Polaris Caelestis, a young man from ??????????? (likely a Final Fantasy World; we didn’t learn my last name until halfway through the campaign so far) who was found as an infant by their Master in the void between worlds (earning him the nickname “Space Baby” from his friends). He has an affinity for Thunder and is focused on Magic abilities. Pol has spent the most time with his Keyblade, tends to try to solve every problem with his knowledge or magic (earning him the nickname “Mage-Wrists” from his friends), and he tries to be a Fixed Point for his friends. I play Pol.

By this point, we have journeyed through so many worlds. Atlantis, The Rescuers, Wall-E, Princess and the Frog, Wreck-It Ralph, Secret of Mana’s Japan-only Sequel, Zootopia, Corpse Bride, Treasure Planet, The Incredibles, Monster’s Inc. And we have ended our first ‘lap’ in Chrono Trigger. We arrive in the bleak, dead, post apocalyptic future, and pick up Robo/Prometheus as our companion. Together, we visit the remains of human civilization, lightly perform a few miracles for the survivors, and end up making our way up to Death’s Peak. All the while, an oppressive feeling of despair, desolation, and Darkness is mounting. At the summit, we find ourselves face to face with a Lavos-Spawn. A horrible tick-like monstrosity the size of a bus that at least in our game was ALSO a variety of Heartless.

So, it’s already not looking GREAT for us. As the boss fight begins, our DM starts this music:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nReqeBSp_WY

Our DM hands us each two notecards taped together along the edges; on one side was a Whisper of Darkness, and the other was a new keyblade (with some flavor text) the Darkness forced us to use.

Lonnie declined to share the Whisper of Darkness she received, but she was forced to use Shattered Steel: 

“If someone has to take hits, let it be you, because you deserve them. Maybe you will be remembered fondly if you keep real heroes alive. Better to spend yourself until you’re battered, broken, and shattered, than to let them see what you really are.”

It lightly corrupted her heart with Darkness if she gave or received a buff, which she does automatically when she stands next to an ally.

Lydia heard this Whisper of Darkness:

“Your mother would have lived if you had not abandoned her and run to spare your own petty feelings. You always have, and you always will flee when you fear pain, and it will always harm those you claim to love and protect.”

And she was forced to use Broken Wings:

“Only unburdened hearts can soar. When you think about what you could have done differently, you only drown in doubt and loathing; cast it aside, and the guilt and regret hang around your neck like unseen weights. Better to give up the skies before you crash, broken, to the ground.”

It lightly corrupted her heart with Darkness if she went into the air or used an ability while aerial.

Polaris heard this Whisper of Darkness

“You spout the tenets of hope, desperate to distract yourself from the ugly truth. Your identity is staked upon it; if there really is no hope, no redemption, then you yourself are a cruel lie to those around you.”

I was forced to use Endless Night:

“Light brings not hope, but casts how much is lost and beyond relief into painful clarity. You cannot heal all wounds, and insufficient healing does more harm than good. Better to do nothing, and turn away from a night you cannot dispel.”

It lightly corrupted my heart with Darkness if my MP pool changed.

With each boss fight thus far, our DM showed us an “Information” notecard that gave a hint to the boss fight’s gimmick.

This one was completely redacted out in permanent marker.

Needless to say, the boss had abilities that forced us next to each other, knocked us aerial, and drained our MP. On top of this, our characters could not communicate.

It was bad.

We fought futilely for a time, and I did crit the bastard with a melee attack to the face, but after we dealt about 100 damage, the boss rewound time and healed itself to full. We were on the ropes; I had nearly been knocked out, Lonnie had nearly been halfway corrupted, and Lydia … well she was actually kind of the MVP but it was still Not Great.

Prometheus spent most of the fight trying to get our attention and was very concerned about how atypically we were behaving. He pulled us back, out of the fight and out of the worst of the boss’s aura. Prometheus started playing some recordings of his creator, a Professor Ashtear (likely a descendant of Lucca, but our DM created the character from whole cloth). As the recordings played, the music swapped to: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FvEJSvgl9Us Our DM’s delivery of the below was quite frankly superb.

“Okay, diagnostics are complete; everything’s in the green. Ready to go offline and get some upgrades?”

“Professor? I have a concern.”

“What’s up, 66?”

“I understand the mission and I will assist to the best of my capacity, as always. However, my calculations all project that I am insufficient for the role I have been given.”

“That’s what all this preparation is for.”

“Acknowledged, but am I not a sub-optimal model for integration? A military unit such as a mobile defense platform--”

“--Wouldn’t have what you have. It’s nothing in the numbers, 66, it’s something you’ve got to feel in your heart.”

“I am a robot. I do not possess a heart.”

“You don’t think so? I’m sorry to hear that. Maybe one day you’ll understand, but in the meantime I guess you’ll just have to trust that you’ve been chosen for a reason. Do you trust my judgment?”

“Of course, Professor.”

“Then believe in my trust in you. Fate has a way of putting us all where we are supposed to be. And if you have doubts, check in with me, or Lumie, or the people you’ll be helping. You won’t ever be alone. Not really.”

“Acknowledged, Professor.”

“But not really understood, right? Hm, maybe a good first step would be to give you a proper name... I think I’ve got just the one. See you again when you wake up, Prometheus.”

 “No. I appreciate the thought, Prometheus, but we can’t cut out the groundwork we’re laying for short term gain.”

“But if we do not take any measures to accelerate our action plan--”

“I’m under no illusions. The work ahead of us will exceed my lifetime. Even optimistically, I will never live to see the fruits of our labors. Neither will Lumie, nor any child of hers or grandchild. The world’s going to get worse --a lot worse-- before it gets any better.”

“...Regretfully, I have reached the same conclusions. You are not perturbed?”

“Of course I am. I’m a problem-solver. It’s what I do, and I’ve always been very good at it. To be confronted with something like this, where there’s no possible way I can see it resolved? Especially when it’s so important? It’s a bitter pill to swallow, some days. But I’ve come to peace with it, because I know my efforts won’t go to waste. What I do now, I do to fling a light into the future. Every step I take is one that Lumie can follow forward. She can take what I’ve started and advance it a little further. The rest, we can entrust to you, and to those who come after us.”

“Future generations may not be as capable as you are. How can you be certain that they will know how to use what you will leave behind?”

“I can’t. All I can do is have faith. I won’t be the last good man in the world. Where there’s life, there is always hope. Besides, you’ll be there to tell them what I’ve done, right? Our legacies live on in the hearts we influence. If I know that, through you, my example will continue to guide and inspire --even if it’s in ways that I can’t expect or imagine-- then I can rest easy in the knowledge that I’ve done all I can do.”

“Understood, Professor. I will remember.”

“Registration complete. Administrative access and privileges have been successfully transferred to Mistress Illumina Ashtear.”

(coughs) “Excellent. Thank you, Prometheus. When you go down, would you mind sending Lumie up alone, first? There are some things I want to make sure to tell her before I say goodbye to the rest of the family.”

“...As you wish, Professor.”

“Something on your mind, old friend?”

“Regret. If I had returned to escort you here sooner, your condition would not have degraded so acutely. If I had prioritized repairing the medical facility over stabilizing the foundation, Mistress Illumina might have had time to treat your symptoms or cure them.”

“Maybe. Or maybe we’d have lost a promising young mind to that mutant attack that we’ll need in the future. Maybe the building would have collapsed, and all the functioning medical equipment would have buried Lumie and me both. Or maybe all of that would have worked out and we would have learned that there was nothing that could be done for me anyway.”

“Those are only negative hypotheticals. There are an equally infinite number of positive alternatives, and the only concrete data I have to analyze is from this negative outcome.”

“Listen to me, Prometheus: we all make mistakes, believe me, I know. Heated words regretted, or necessary words left unspoken; time not spent, or misspent. Things we’re not proud of, and can’t do over, and good intentions that don’t work out the way we thought they would. But what do we do when we break something?”

“Attempt repairs.”

“And if we can’t fix it, make something new from what you learned. The only way a mistake leads to a wholly negative outcome is when you choose not to face it. It can hurt. Sometimes it can hurt like hell, but that pain will shape you, whether you acknowledge it or not. It can slow your hands from doubt, or it can guide them with purpose.”

“I do not understand, Professor.”

(coughs) “That’s alright. You will, one day. For now, let me just say this: don’t forget me, but don’t let me haunt you. Keep moving forward, Prometheus, even if you stumble. Be who you are meant to be and do what you’re meant to do. Live on. It’s all I’ve ever hoped for you.”

As these recordings wrapped up, Prometheus turned and addressed the monster directly, (DM’s robot voice is exquisite), and the DM swapped the music track to his leitmotif from his original game:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eaUNpJAgD4w

“I understand. You are not the creature that has taken so much from this planet. You are its offspring, leaching from our remains as you prepare to invade another world and repeat this heinous tragedy. Defeating you will not restore our resources, or the people we have lost. It will not save our planet; it will only spare a host of strangers I will never meet. And I understand now, that this is a worthy cause.”

“I am a robot. I was not designed or built for this battle. I still have reservations about my aptitude for the role and responsibilities I have been given. I have no statistical evidence to prove that I can prevail. But fate has a way of putting us all where we are meant to be. I have no compunction in my code to fight this battle, but I feel an imperative to achieve victory. It is irrational, but I understand it. Logic and concrete analysis compel me to doubt. My belief in those who chose to invest their hopes and dreams in me instruct me to ignore the odds.”

“I understand now. I am Prometheus, and I am alive. When we prevail over you, I will take what I have learned down off this mountain, and I will get back to work. I will let myself feel loss. I will let myself hurt, and I will grow to be more than I have been. I will continue on, as I know those I have left behind would want me to. I am alive. Their memories are alive in me. There are still people I have to protect. This world is still alive.”

The Professor’s voice sounds one more time. “Where there is life, there is hope.” A woman’s voice answers. “Where there is life, there is hope.” (The phrase echoes again and again, on down through the generations. Finally, the whole host of voices, Prometheus’s among them, rings out in a shout.) We were offered the opportunity to roll an Insight check to join in. Lonnie and Pol rolled first, and we BOTH got nat 20’s; with that, he didn’t even make Lydia roll, and we three joined our voices to the chorus: “WHERE THERE IS LIFE, THERE IS HOPE!”

With this, the DM said we were fully healed, the corruption to our hearts gone in an instant, and the DM instructed us to open the sealed notecard-packets. On the back of the corrupted keyblades were new purified (and mechanically magnificent) ones for each of us (also with flavor text).

Lonnie received Resonant Glass:

“No one voice can sing a chord. If I fear I am unworthy for the melody, then let me be the harmony. If I doubt the character of my soul, let me raise my voice with those that know me best, that I may hear my heart resonate with theirs.”

Lydia received Reclaim the Wind:

“Hopes and dreams have ever been the wind beneath our wings. If I sin, then let the hope to mend what may yet be righted and lift my face to the skies --not to avert my eyes, but to pursue the dream of my better self.”

Pol received First Light

“Not even the brightest star can light the void alone, and a beacon saves only those that pursue it. If my spark must pass before the Darkness, let it seed an ember in the hearts of those that chase the Dawn, a reminder that every night ends.”

 Prometheus addresses the boss one last time before the fight begins anew: “Now, Spawn of Lavos. (Dukes up) Prepare for termination.”

It was electric; we all could perfectly visualize the moment. I think we all had tears in our eyes at one point or another.

The DM changed the music one last time (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oWSB3qL5qs8) and showed us an Information card about how we could disable the boss’s temporal rewinding. Furthermore, any Dual-Tech/Team Attack we performed with Prometheus would automatically critically hit.

We kicked its spiny ass.

[geek-patient-zero]

Part 1, Chapter 3 (Pt. 1)

Or: Mage Chat at The Club Diabolique

Blood War: Masquerade of the Red Death Volume 1

This chapter features a scene most V:TM fans will be familiar with: important vampires meeting in a seedy nightclub to talk about vampire shit.

Thanks to some reckless driving, Dire McCann arrives at Club Diabolique’s front door at exactly midnight. We also learn that he has a late-model Chrysler, but since I’m not a car guy I don’t know if that means anything about him as a character.

Originally an abandoned warehouse, the building had been converted into a disco by several ambitious young capitalists ten years earlier.

There were still discos in 1984? Wait, when did Xanadu come out?

When that craze had died, so had the club. It passed through several hands and incarnations before being bought by the present owner, Oliver Pearson. After several months of extensive interior designing, the nightspot had reopened with a new name, The Club Diabolique, and a new attitude. Converted into a Gothic-Punk haven, with live music, a huge dance floor, and an exclusive “Members Only” upper level, the bar had quickly developed into the hottest place to be in town.

It wouldn’t be a Vampire: The Masquerade story without a shady nightclub in there somewhere. This one, despite its Gothic-Punk theme, has a mixed crowd of patrons. Most importantly are the vampires, as Alexander Vargoss holds court in that members only area, but obviously none of the mortals in the club know about them.

There were rich, middle-aged businessmen wearing expensive suits, accompanied by much younger women dressed to kill in skin-tight designer dresses and five-inch heels. Club Diabolique catered to mistresses and expensive ladies of the evening, not wives. Morals and inhibitions were checked at the door.

I have a hard time believing this club could remain the hottest nightspot in town for very long if they cater to creepy old stiffs cheating on their wives. It’d hurt the club’s image with the rebellious young goth generation the club’s theme is supposedly catering to. Speaking of, we of course have some goth kids. Most of page thirty-one is spent describing them.

They were punks with an attitude.

You can tell this was written in the 90′s because the word “attitude” here doesn’t really mean anything.

Generation X-ers without much money and without much hope, they felt cheated by a world spoiled by their elders.

The kind of subculture that doesn’t mind hanging out in the same club with creepy middle-aged businessmen and their mistresses, right?

This line could also be a good way to describe how many neonates, newly-Embraced vampires, might feel towards their sires and the older vampires. You can easily make a comparison between these fledgling vampires and the disaffected mortal youth they once were, and the connection could both say something about them and help them maintain their humanity when everything else about vampire life, nature, and society is pressuring them to be monsters. But Blood War is one of those V:TM stories that doesn’t focus on neonates.

Their quest for identity had led them down some strange paths.  Searching for meaning in a meaningless world, they turned to the 19th-century Gothic traditions for inspiration. Their look was a mix of black leather and Victorian finery.

A look that probably clashes with the “without much money” description. One disadvantage goths have when it comes to image, compared to punk and grunge, is that being able to afford their fancy outfits out them as suburban middle-class. There’s a whole paragraph describing their look, but I’m assuming you all know what goths look like.

McCann sympathized with the Goths. Most of them were bright, sensitive young men and women trying desperately to cope with a world of diminishing returns. Lonely and bored, they had created a whole new subculture based on a romanticized view of decadence and death.

After that “goths are punks with Attitude® “ line I was expecting the descriptions for goths to be Weinberg talking about how weird the youth of today is mixed with misconceptions like that they worship the devil or something. But this was pretty good. Their disaffection and feelings of hopelessness might be exaggerated, but that’s justified given the World of Darkness’s generally bleak setting. And there’s no mention of the music scene the subcuture came up around, but I don’t think McCann’s much of a modern music person, so it makes in-character sense. And if it’s not perfect, who are we to judge? How many of you on this hellhole of an internet know the goth subculture as anything other than a meme and a fetish?

The most relevant thing about the narration’s description of goths is their view on (the pop culture version of) vampires, and how that clashes with reality. It’s what you’d expect.

Many of them, not realizing the bitter truth behind the legends, fantasized about becoming vampires. Sometimes it happened, turning their dreams into nightmares.

[...]

Their view of the undead came from erotic novels and movies, not the Kindred. As he strolled past them, he uttered a silent prayer that they forever remain ignorant of the truth.

Aw, that’s sweet of McCann. Maybe under that master schemer detective persona beats the heart of a big old softie. Well, no, not at all, but despite being secretly really old he isn’t a dick about young people.

Club Diabolique has a doorman who’s described as “a giant of a man,” even compared to Dire McCann, who is merely big.

Dressed in undertaker’s garb, he exuded an air of restrained menace. This was Brutus, nicknamed the Arbitrator of Souls. In more mundane terms, the ex-wrestler worked as the doorman.

I wonder, does he have that nickname because goths are over-dramatic, or because vampires are over-dramatic?

Brutus is one of those unbribable club doormen who picked who can get in based on a certain criteria beyond “is the person old enough to be here” and “is this guy gonna start shit if he gets inside?” Thing is, no one knew how Brutus decided who gets in and why, and since he’s a huge scary motherfucker no one asks. Given some of the patrons, and the fact that Brutus is one of Vargoss’s ghouls, I’m guessing he judges based on who looks like they have the tastiest blood.

McCann doesn’t have to worry about Brutus, though, since they both know he has an appointment inside. There’s two paragraphs describing the club, but since the plot doesn’t spend any time here, just know that the music’s too loud to talk over and everyone’s there to dance, drink, and sin. And the band playing is called the Children of the Apocalypse, which McCann finds darkly amusing given the news he received last chapter.

Instead we’ll skip to upstairs, at the door to the member’s only area, guarded by a young “looks-eighteen-but-is-actually-a-hundred” vampire named “Fast Eddie” Sanchez, named so due to his skills with a knife. McCann asks him what’s up, and we learn that Vargoss’s guest is “some big shot Tremere sorcerer” and that “word on the street is that bad times are coming.” McCann says that it sound like a good reason for Eddie to keep his knives sharpened.

“I always keep my knives ready, McCann,” said Eddie, seriously, as the detective walked past him and into the next room.

You notice how that quote’s in italics? There’s several different instances in this chapter where lines are randomly written in italics and I have no idea why. The first thing I assumed is that it’s a subtle way of showing that a vampire is using a speech enhancing discipline, like maybe Eddie’s using a Presence power here to sound more intimidating? That’d explain lines of dialogue, but there are lines by the narration that’re randomly in italics too. You can see that here, since the description of McCann walking into the next room is also italicized along with the dialogue. I have no idea what the writer was doing here, and this is the only chapter where this happens.

McCann describes the members only vampire part of the club:

There were a dozen round cocktail tables scattered about the private chamber, with perhaps fifteen Kindred and twice that number of ghouls present. A small bar served whiskey for the ghouls and blood, both human and animal, for the Undead. Neonates, recently embraced vampires, worked as the waiters.

One criticism I’ve heard about the earlier versions of the Vampire: The Masquerade tabletop game is that players, despite being big tough vampires with cool powers, are usually railroaded into being neonates doing low-level schmuck work for the actually powerful Count Dracula level vampires, rarely in a position to do much politicking or even hunting. Superpowered errand boys instead of, you know, vampires. These poor waiters here reminded me of that, though in the tabletop’s defense I doubt you’re expected to work a minimum wage job instead of something more exciting and action packed. In the end, it depends on the storyteller. Also, as the book goes on, I think it unintentionally makes an argument for why campaigns about elders and methuselahs might not be the best idea.

To the rear of the room, on a small raised stage, an undead trio of jazz legends were playing some of their greatest hits for a small but appreciative crowd gathered nearby.

I hope those poor bastards aren’t Toreador, but given that they’re just playing their greatest hits about sixty years after their embrace...

Alexander Vargoss hated rock music and refused to have it in his domain.

Unlike McCann, Vargoss is not down with the youth of (about forty years ago up to) today and hates their “rock” “music.” I was also going to ask why Vargoss holds court in a room over a place he can’t stand, but I figure since he’s a Ventrue he’s compelled to follow the money regardless of where it leads. The member’s only area’s soundproofed, anyway.

They kept the noise outside, and, sometimes, held the screams inside. Humans other than McCann had entered the private chamber. But he was the only one who had ever left alive.

Kindred can drink from humans without killing them, so either the humans killed here are Masquerade threats being dealt with discreetly, Vargoss is a low Humanity bastard, or everyone in the club has bad luck with frenzy-stopping dice rolls.

A stunning redhead was singing with the band tonight. Wearing a green sequined dress that sharply delineated a near-perfect figure, she possessed a deep, syrupy voice that blended in perfect harmony with the three musicians.

Of course she’s hot.

McCann’s never seen the singer before, but she looks “vaguely familiar”, so he asks one of those vampire waiters who she is. Turns out she’s a ghoul belonging to a Toreador named Iverson, whose been visiting St. Louis on business for the last month and is sitting nearby watching her. We’re also reminded by the narration that Toreador are known for their “obsession with the arts.”

“He watches her real, real careful. Doesn’t like anyone else taking an interest in the lady. Can’t say I blame him. She’s good.”

“She’s terrific,” said McCann. “I’m surprised he’s left her mortal. Having her as his childe would really boost his prestige in the clan.”

“I think he’s worried she might lose her sultriness if Embraced,” replied the waiter.

See? Even the Toreador know their art sucks.

The waiter advises McCann to stop gawking and get over to Vargoss’s table. Vargoss is getting impatient and that flashy Around the World in Eighty Days style “arriving at your destination at the exact time” entrance only counts if you arrive in the exact room you’re supposed to meet in. So, somewhat unceremoniously given that this is the Prince of St. Louis, McCann walks over to Vargoss’s table, apologizes for being late, and that’s that. The Prince is there, sitting with his back against a brick wall because he’s paranoid about attacks from behind, along with his bodyguards, ~*~The Dark Angels~*~ Fawn and Flavia, at either side of him, and their guest, a little rat-faced Tremere wizard. We get more random italics.

“You delayed our conversation until this kine arrived?” the wizard snarled at Vargoss, making it quite clear he considered McCann a step below a monkey. The Tremere Clan were not noted for their social graces.

The Tremere guy’s an asshole. No surprise there.

Vargoss seems to ignore him and asks McCann what he thinks of the singer, who we learn is named Rachel Young, but his “icy tone” implies that the wizard’s bad manners have offended him as a host, and the wizard realizes this and shuts up. We also learn that a “closely trusted Tremere councilor” had tried to betray Vargoss a few months ago, but McCann uncovered the plot and stopped him, so Vargoss is especially pissed at he Tremere’s sudden dickishness and general presence.

After some banter about Rachel Young, during which she meets McCann’s gaze from the stage and smiles enigmatically at him, Vargoss chews the Tremere out, warning him to watch his manners or else. He also says that McCann is no ordinary human.

The Prince showing off his pet human, thought McCann sarcastically.

And now the random italics are showing up halfway through sentences. What’s with this? Was there no editor?

What makes McCann “no ordinary human” to Vargoss has nothing to do with his detective skills. Instead, McCann traces “a certain proscribed cabalistic phrase” on the table, presumably with his finger but I’m not ruling out a nearby spoon. The letters he made glow red for an instant before disappearing. It’s not very impressive given the vampire powers we’ll see elsewhere in the story, but it’s enough to prove that McCann is magic. And one of the biggest conversation derailers in the franchise.

“You’re a mage?” he whispered. “Of what tradition?”

“Euthanatos.” replied McCann, naming the infamous Death cult. Several of their number cooperated with the Kindred, lending credence to the detective’s lie.

Hoo boy, mages.

Mage: The Ascension is another game that’s part of the World of Darkness franchise. I can’t tell you much about it since I’d only ever been interested in V:TM. But from what I’d been able to understand from online chat, there’s one important thing to keep in mind when it comes to mages in relation to Vampire: The Masquerade.

You should NOT. TALK. ABOUT MAGES IN RELATION TO VAMPIRE: THE MASQUERADE.

Mages tend to be way, way more powerful than vampires thanks to having fantastic cosmic reality warping powers or some shit. They’ve also got technology. The Technocracy, which I’ve seen get brought up a lot, have orbital mirrors that can create sun-powered space lasers, and goddamn space travel. On top of the obvious power level arguments this’d cause, the nature of mages tend to lead to more “high-minded” concepts like the nature of reality and finding a way for all of humanity to “Ascend.” Compare that to the Kindred’s pettier goals like hiding their existence from the average mortal, manipulating each other, and seeking individual power. When there’re all these factions of magic mortals reshaping reality and burning things with sun lasers in space, it makes the Kindred and their petty earthly squabbles seem pretty damn stupid and unimportant.

So when you’re chatting about Vampire: The Masquerade, bring up mages at your own risk, unless you want to cause long derails about what the mages would do, how they could solve any big problem for vampires without even trying, why they wouldn’t get involved, how something contradicts the lore of one of the two franchises, why are the Antediluvians a threat in the first place when the Technolocracy can sun laser them from space (and they actually do this to one, read up on The Week of Nightmares), and of course, why someone’s pet vampire can totally beat a mage in a fight. And lore dumps. Pages of ‘em.

Hell, I’m derailing right now, and this post is long enough. Back to the story.

The rat-faced Tremere, shocked and more than little scared to have insulted a mage, apologizes, introduces himself as Tyrus Benedict, and assures that he meant no disrespect to McCann or his “order.” We also get this little bit.

Like most Kindred, he was extremely wary of mages. Those beings foolish enough to cross magicians usually ended up perishing in peculiar fashion. Including the Undead.

Also remember that the Tremere used to be mages, so that’s a another group of even more dangerous people who’d like to stick a foot up the Tremere’s asses.

McCann’s trying not to laugh at the easily fooled vampire. See, he’s lying about being Euthanatos. He isn’t even a mage. He just knows a few simple “parlor tricks” like creating glowing red runes with his finger/spoon to fool vamps like Vargoss and Benedict here into thinking he’s a mage.

The Kindred were masters of deceit and deception. Yet they much too easily accepted the unbelievable when confronted with the obvious. They saw complications where none existed. It was a basic character flaw that Dire McCann understood and exploited quite effectively. And had done so, in various guises, over the milennia.

So. He’s at least a thousand years old, but he’s mortal, not a Kindred. He knows some minor magic, but he’s not a mage...

Also, I’m not seeing how “I’m a Mage, I can do magic” is any more complicated than the truth here.

Vargoss and Benedict have some “blood cocktails” (the whiskey here’s too smooth for a big tough guy like Dire McCann, and the twins, edgelords that they are, prefer drinking from the source) and they finally get down to business. The Camarilla elders sent Tyrus to St. Louis to inform Vargoss of current events in the former Soviet Union. Why Vargoss is important enough to bother informing I don’t know, but McCann has to find out somehow, so here we are.

It all started about three years ago, a year before the prologue.

“...at the height of Boris Yeltsin’s unexpected rise to supreme authority in Moscow, all communications with the Kindred inside the former Soviet Union ceased. In the period of a few days, an Iron Curtain of silence descended across Russia. It was as if the Earth itself swallowed up our brethren.”

According to the wiki, this was called the Shadow Curtain.

The European Ventrue and Toreador clans sent some spies into Russia to find out what’s going on, but none returned. Vargoss doesn’t find this very mysterious.

Vargoss shrugged. “Obviously it was a Sabbat takeover. The Brujah elders in Moscow underestimated the discontent among their kine. Their puppet rulers spent too much money on weapons and not enough on food. Without a strong leader like Stalin to keep the commoners in line, discontent and anarchy flourished. The fall of the government, and the Brujah with it, was inevitable. No mystery there. We saw it take place on television.”

How topical for the early 90′s... I have some opinions about Vampire: The Masquerade’s use of historical and current events, and how vampires were involved with them, but that’ll wait until I get to a more offending example toward the end of the book.

Vargoss thinks that the Sabbat, experts at staging revolutions, caught the Brujah unaware and took over. Benedict says the Camarilla elders thought so too, but their spies within the Sabbat revealed that they lost a half dozen of their own people when the curtain fell. They sacrificed dozens of “packs” to break the “barrier of silence,” but they got nothing. Whatever’s causing the Shadow Curtain is stronger than both the Camarilla and the Sabbot. Vargoss asks what could be stronger than the Camarilla, and Benedict answers. Still in italics, of course.

“The Army of Night,’ said Tyrus Benedict, his voice rising in intensity. An unholy band of demonic Kindred belonging to no clan, they are allied with the forces of hell. The fiends belong to the brood of the most feared sorceress of all time—the Hag, Baba Yaga.”

No, not him.

“She awoke from torpor several years ago and has now reclaimed Russia as her own. Armageddon approaches. The Nictuku are rising!”

The legendary Baba Yaga’s a vampire in this setting, the one responsible for the Shadow Curtain, and yet another one of the Nictuku. When Benedict mentions Armageddon here, he doesn’t just mean because some old and cannabalistic methuselahs are waking up just to annoy them. The rising is said to be a sign that Gehenna, the end of the world for vampires and mankind, is starting.

Again, the Nictuku are 4th generation Nosferatu, completely loyal to their sire, the Antediluvian Absimiliard. And Absimiliard apparently hates his descendants, since he was a vain handsome bastard before Caine cursed him and the ugly little rat people living in the sewers remind him of his curse. It’s said that when the Nictuku rise, they’ll wipe out the later generations of Nosferatu, just as their sire wants. Except, funny enough, for Baba Yaga here. She’s apparently a rebel among the Nictuku, and is said to even be the direct vampiric ancestor of all modern Nosferatu, done just to piss Absimiliard off. Seems she just wants to gain power for herself, which is what she’s doing in Russia.

In short: If the Nictuku are rising, they’re probably going to do Absimiliard’s bidding. And if they’re rising, maybe Absimiliard is stirring too. And if he’s beginning to rise, so are the other Antediluvians. And if that’s happening, boom. Gehenna. Everyone’s fucked.

Going according to Camarilla policy, Vargoss angrily denies that the Nictuku (and what they represent, though that’s left unsaid) exist, that they’re just myths “invented by the Nosferatu elders to frighten their rebellious childer.” But turns out Benedict has photographic evidence. He hands over some photos, informing Vargoss that many bothans Tremere wizards met the Final Death getting them. The Sabbat and the rest of the Camarilla couldn’t figure out what was going on in Russia, but somehow the sneaky fuck blood magic clan managed to get pictures of the cause.

McCann doesn’t get to see them, and thus neither do we. But Vargoss tells us all we need to know.

Vargoss’s eyes narrowed as he stared at the photos. Raising up one particular picture, he showed it to Fawn and Flavia. “She has teeth of iron and six-inch claws,” he stated in hushed tones. “Just as the legends claim.”

It’s enough to shut down any more “Nictuku aren’t real” talk.

McCann, meanwhile, notices that Benedict hadn’t said anything since he revealed the photos, which, come on McCann, it’s not even been a minute. But this is supposed to hint that something’s off, because Benedict is staring at the stage with Young and the jazz trio. Who’ve stopped playing.

Suddenly, they hear Young scream.

McCann and the vamps at the table (except Benedict, the wimp) jump up and face the stage, forming a neat little group action pose that’d make for good promotion material if this were a visual media and not a book.

In one hand, he gripped his machine gun pistol, ready for action. At his side were the Dark Angels. Each of them held a pair of short swords they were capable of wielding with deadly efficiency. Right behind them stood Alexander Vargoss. The Prince of St. Louis was no coward.

Says the book after specifically describing him as standing behind the other three. But, alright, I know what Weinberg’s going for.

“Who in hell’s name is that?” whispered McCann ... “What in hell’s name is that?”

Time to meet the bad guy.

Tall and gaunt, a lone figure dominated the center of the chamber, a few feet in front of the stage. It had not been there a moment ago. Somehow, it had materialized out of thin air. That was what the Tremere wizard had seen. It was a magical feat that challenged even the most powerful of Kindred.

You sure he didn’t just reveal himself after deactivating Obfuscate? Or turn into an animal, sneak in, and change back at a dramatically appropriate time? Or-

The newcomer wore a single garment consisting of a ripped and tattered shroud held tightly in place about his body with moldering white bandages. His chalk-white face was that of a long dead corpse. Ancient, decaying skin stretched tightly across a hairless skull. Paper-thin lips, a beak-like nose, and hollow, gaunt cheeks combined in a look of utter malevolence. Huge unblinking eyes, like the black pits of hell, took in all those in the chamber.

A creature of blacks and whites, streaks of brilliant crimson marked his face, his hands, and his arms. Hands and fingers glowed ghostly red. The bright scarlet of fresh blood. There was no question in McCann’s mind that here stood the Red Death.

And his body seems to be generating great heat, and not in the fun wrestling terminology kind of way.

The floor surrounding the walking corpse sizzled. The vinyl bubbled like lava beneath the creature’s feet. Waves of superheated air rose around the figure, giving it an eerie, unearthly vagueness. The Red Death blazed, but did not burn.

Fire’s a fatal weakness for vampires, and that presumably goes for heat so intense it should make things burst into flame too. If you’re playing the tabletop game, you gotta roll to see if your character will freak out and run from fire or not. So this corpse-looking guy generating heat that can melt the floor with no harm to himself is a big deal. Benedict and McCann hype him up a bit more for good measure.

“In three hundred years I have never seen its like,’ muttered Benedict, still seated. ‘How can such a monster exist?”

McCann wondered the same thing. And he based his observation on a much greater span of time.

Vargoss speaks up, trying to live up to that “no coward” description from earlier.

“Who are you?” The Prince’s voice rang like a bell through the silent chamber. “And how dare you violate the traditions and enter my domain without permission?”

“This is how you face the devil straight up, McCann, you wuss.”

The figure raised its head until its eyes glared directly at Vargoss. “I am the Red Death,” the monster declared in slow, deliberate tones. “I go where I want. Your petty territorial claims mean nothing to me. My will is the only law.”

We’ll stop here for now, with McCann and the vampires about to take on the titular Red Death. He acts tough and yeah, he made quite an entrance, but in the end, who knows? Maybe McCann and the vamps’ll do alright.

[flaminggildedrose]

6. Tell us about their best and worst sex experience?

Sinday Asks {Accepting}

           🌹  There was a soft cough as the knight cleared her throat trying to collect herself to the question. An unsettled thinking groans before her brain tried to actually reel back and think. 

                 “I wouldn’t say worst on the matter I would just have to say that when Jarlath and I started our relationship I was not aware of the physical stress one could have after sex. Or really I should say I was not used to the strain after catering to a Witcher. Sure there is nothing but pleasantries in the action and it’s almost like having an out of body experience……I see why people tell their neighbors to hide the women when one is in town now……” She paused her cheeks going red,” However, my hips hurt so bad after the first time, I had constant cramping, I wouldn’t even ride on my horse…….walking didn’t help either. I guess ‘rough’ wasn’t what I was expecting, and though I’m quite used to it now, at the time, not even my healing magic could fix the ache. He of coarse figured it out and aided…..it was really sweet ……or maybe I was just still a baby …after all that was my second time laying with a man and the two experiences were drastically different. Of course, now things are different and I know how to use all the power he has to my advantage….. ” 

               It was weird to talk about these things but with her drink, in hand, she thought she’d at least continue. Digging deeper as she went about taking her sips. 

               “Also I wouldn’t say ‘best’, after all, there’s always room for a possibly better time,  but something that a good experience at least at the top of my list. Though I don’t know why anyone wants to listen to my life…… I’ve only been with three men ( 4 or 5 based on aus ) so it’s all limited. However, have you ever had a deep intellectual conversation before with another person? Sometimes before any actions are made conversation before the act can lead to a better time. Not that and unspoken agreement is a bad thing …..Jarlath and I have our own ‘language’ I would say…..but …….before my first time with Foltest we just sat talking and drinking wine for hours. We spoke of the country, mostly it’s history, change in the land and the people upon it …..eventually it just dissolved into ourselves.” Maria lightly ran a finger around the edge of her wine glass and let out a little sigh. 

                “ It was the most stimulating moment only on the matter that I was viewed with respect and equality, with a King of all people. I was a pretty face to him , for sure, but he picked my mind and tried to understand before even taking any advancements. I guess it makes sense after all …..take a mistress is not exactly a light matter even if it was just a lead to figure out if i was a waste of time or not ……most men just hit and run but that’s what it usually is. Every time I would see him he’d ask me how things were and make light talk before taking me to bed…………” The knight let out a laugh at herself, “I’m a hopeless romantic but ……he makes/made me feel like everything would always be ok…….that the world was just us even in passion…….any women would be happy to be with him and as sad as that makes me at least I have these moments……silly as they are…..” 🌹

[unfolded73]

A Seed of Hope (2/2)

Yeah, I couldn’t wait to post this any longer...

Summary: Two Emmas from different points in time switch places. Inspired by a classic (if unfinished) Doctor/Rose fanfic by rallalon entitled “Of Love and Waffles”.

Word Count: 10,770. Rated Teen.

Betaed by @j-philly-b​ even though I promised her fic for her birthday, and then all I sent her was an early draft of this and ended up making her work on it on top of that.

(Part 1)

Part 2

Emma eyed the Wicked Witch of the West from the other side of the living room. She couldn’t believe the way Hook just welcomed her into his house, as if none of the past had happened. As if this woman weren’t responsible for Neal’s death.

Of course, she didn’t look much like the Wicked Witch right now, she just looked like the harried mother of a rambunctious daughter. The daughter in question was currently armed with a Nerf bow and arrow and had taken cover behind the sofa after shooting Hook with several harmless Nerf darts. He took it completely in stride like it had happened many times before, and something about that fact made Emma’s heart clench.

“Sorry to be in such a rush, but I’ve got about a million errands I need to run today,” Zelena said, pushing her hair off of her face. “What did you need?”

“Have you ever heard of a spell that caused someone from the past to suddenly replace themselves in the future?”

Zelena laughed. “To suddenly what?”

Emma approached now. “I woke up this morning, and I was nine years in the future,” she said bluntly. “Sound familiar? Like something that you did to me, maybe?”

Bristling, Zelena reached out and stopped her daughter from racing through the room. “Walk, Robin,” she said automatically. “What exactly are you accusing me of?”

“You were…” Emma glanced at Robin. Even hating Zelena as much as she did, she wasn’t willing to poison the woman’s daughter against her. “In the past, where… when I came from, we were on opposite sides. And you were collecting ingredients for a time travel spell. Is that how I got here?”

Zelena finally seemed to notice Emma fully, and she took her in from head to toe before turning back to Hook. “Where’s our Emma?”

“We don’t know. Perhaps in the past?”

“So they might have switched places?” Zelena looked thoughtful at that. “That does sound familiar, but it’s not a spell I’ve ever come across, and certainly not one I ever cast.”

“Well, if you can think of where you’ve heard of it, please let us know,” Killian said, just as another Nerf dart hit him square in the chest. “Curses, I am slain!” he said with an exaggerated stagger before giving Robin a wink and flipping the dart back in her direction.

“Come on, darling, collect your projectiles and let’s get to the hardware store,” Zelena said, halfway to the door before she stopped and hit the heel of her hand against her forehead. “Oh, I know where I’ve heard of switching places in time like this before! Unfortunately, it was just a story.”

“Surely I don’t have to tell you that there can be a core of truth in stories, love.”

“Good point. Let me think,” she said, tapping her chin. “It was a legend about a ruler whose kingdom was being assailed by some kind of horrible beast. Many knights tried to defeat the beast, but they were killed to a man.”

“I am no man!” Robin shouted, letting loose with another volley of arrows; she seemed to have inserted herself into Zelena’s story.

“Would that you had been there, Robin,” she said with an indulgent smile. “The king summoned an old fortune-teller and asked for her advice. How could they possibly defeat this beast if his best knights had been slain? She told him that the problem was that no one who had faced the beast had done so with a pure heart. Well, the king knew he didn’t qualify; he was a philanderer with mistresses strewn about the kingdom, and he was filling his coffers off of the labor of slaves. She said, no problem, take this wishing stone and make a wish. Wish that you may face the beast with a pure heart.”

Hook smirked. “Don’t the villains in these stories know not to trust random soothsayers?”

“Well, this one didn’t. He descended into the cave of the beast and at the critical moment, he made the wish that he could face the beast with a pure heart. And at that moment, he found himself in his nursery in the palace, surrounded by all the toys he recognized from when he was a boy. Meanwhile, back in the beast’s lair, the six-year-old future king faced the creature, because at six, he was indeed pure of heart.”

“And the kid defeated the beast?” Emma asked.

Zelena laughed. “No no no, the beast swallowed him whole because children are terrible swordsmen.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “Cool story.”

“Could this wishing stone be real?” Hook asked.

Shrugging, Zelena shouldered her purse as Robin dashed out onto the porch and down the walkway toward the street. “Not that I’ve ever heard of, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t.”

“Because what if someone in the past wished for Emma to be stronger? Wished for her magic to be stronger?”

Zelena nodded. “Her pregnancy does seem to have augmented her power; she demonstrated it for me last week. But if the source of the spell is in the past, then there’s nothing we can do about it from here. In these sorts of situations, usually only the person who made the wish can reverse it. They’ll have to figure it out themselves.”

“And what if future me with her pregnancy-induced power kills you first?” Emma asked through clenched teeth.

“She won’t,” Zelena said with a shrug. “She’s my friend.”

“Come on, Mom!” Robin shouted from where she was fidgeting next to an extremely green car parked in front of the house.

“Good luck with all this,” Zelena said to Hook, gesturing vaguely at Emma.

When he had shut the door, Emma turned on him. “How can you be friends with her after everything she did?”

“We’ve accepted her because she changed. The same way I was accepted. The same way Regina was.” He shrugged, going over and picking up some books that Robin had knocked off of the coffee table. “We forgave her.”

Emma huffed. “Okay, whatever. So what do we do, just sit on our hands and wait for someone else to figure out how to fix this? I’m not good at that.”

“Don’t I know it.” Hook faced her. “I phoned your parents, and they’ll be over as soon as they finish up some things at the farm. Perhaps they will have some insights.”

“What farm?”

Hook explained that her parents had moved out to the edge of town, and that the old loft apartment was now occupied by some girl named Violet and a roommate. He seemed to think for a second that she’d know who Violet was, but then he checked himself when he realized that she didn’t.

“It’s harder than you would think, remembering what you know about and what you don’t,” he said, rubbing the back of his head.

Emma glared at him. “Yeah, you’re the one this is hard for.”

“Fair point, love.”

~*~

“So what should we do while Regina’s trying to figure out what happened?” her mother asked when they returned to Granny’s. It wasn’t lunchtime yet, but Emma already felt like she was starving and she made straight for one of the diner booths, intent on ordering a second breakfast.

“Maybe we could talk to Belle?” Emma suggested. “She might have read about a spell like this.”

“Good idea, honey,” David said.

Deciding it was best to limit the number of people who saw this older Emma out in town, her parents urged her to rest while they visited Belle. She wanted to argue, but she also really wanted a nap, so Emma agreed. She wasn’t sure what had become of Killian; as soon as Snow had parked, he had been out of the car and gone. Emma had to admit that towing him along to Regina’s had probably been a bad idea. He hadn’t had anything useful to contribute, and from his perspective, it must have seemed like she was rubbing his nose in the fact that she had a happy life in the future with some other guy.

Lying on her bed, all Emma could see when she closed her eyes was his hopeless expression. He’d brooded a lot back then, she knew that, but it was one thing to know it and it was another to see it now that she was used to a much happier man, settled into his life with her.

When her parents knocked on the door of her room an hour later, she hadn’t slept a wink.

“Well, we figured it out,” her mother said as she sailed into the room, a frustrated tone to her voice.

David was pleading with her. “I told you, I had no idea what I was doing, sweetheart. I didn’t think it was magic, I thought it was just… a wish.”

“David, how can you be so naive about wishes?” Snow snapped.

“What are you guys talking about?” Emma interrupted. “You know why I’m here?”

“Your predicament reminded Belle of a legend she’d read once, about a king and a beast and… it doesn’t matter,” Snow said, blowing her bangs out of her face. “There was a wishing stone, that’s the important part of the story. And then David—”

“I remembered that after Neal’s funeral, I went over to Gold’s shop to help Belle move a couple of heavy objects — she’s been trying to organize the place. And I found this rock, but see, the inventory card said it was non-magical—”

“Your father wished you here,” Snow concluded.

Emma blinked, looking back and forth between the two of them. “You wished for… what exactly? An older version of me?”

“No, I wished that if you have to face Zelena, that your magic would be strong, that’s all.” He held up his hands in surrender.

“And my magic is stronger now than it was back… now,” Emma said, wrinkling her nose at her own phrasing. “It’s been particularly potent since I got pregnant. So what do we do to reverse it?”

“Fortunately, that part’s easy. David destroys the stone.” Snow pulled her hand out of her pocket and held it out, palm up. A nondescript gray rock rested on it.

“Oh,” Emma said, feeling a sense of anticlimax that it was that easy. “Okay, but what about the fact that you guys have information about the future after talking to me? Should we ask Regina to whip up some memory potions?”

“No need,” David said. “When I destroy the stone, it will be like none of this ever happened. The wish won’t just be undone, it will be unmade, according to Belle.”

“So no one will remember anything I’ve told them?” Emma asked.

“Nope.” David picked up the stone and weighed it in his hand. “I figure one of the dwarves’ pickaxes should do the trick.”

“Hang on,” Emma said, pulling her coat on quickly and stepping into her shoes. “Before you go unmaking your wish, I need to talk to Hook.”

Snow frowned. “Why do you need to talk to Hook?”

Emma opened the door, looked back at them, and smiled. “Because in the future, he’s my true love. And if there’s no consequence to anything I tell anyone here, I want him to know it. Even if it’s just for a few minutes.”

Before they had a chance to react, she fled the room.

Figuring she knew where he’d been headed when he left, Emma made her way toward the harbor. Sure enough, she found him there hunched on a bench like a great, dark bat, staring out at the water.

“Hey,” she said, out of breath as she approached. “Swan.” Killian stood, frowning at her. “You should be resting, love, not running around town.”

“Not you too, I get enough of that at home.” She dropped onto the bench, patting the seat next to her. “Sit with me for a minute.”

He grimaced, looking up at the sky as if for strength. “I appreciate that you must look for assistance to get back to your happy life wherever you can find it, but I’m not going to be of any use to you. This doesn’t fall within my area of expertise.”

“Oh, Belle and my parents figured it out,” she said, waving her hand dismissively. “If they’re right, I’ll be back home by nightfall and none of you will remember this happened. Apparently I won’t even remember this happened.”

Killian collapsed next to her. “Well, I’m glad things will be set right, for your sake.”

Emma looked at him for a long beat. Now that she was here, she didn’t know how to tell him something so momentous, and perhaps it served no purpose to do so. “Things are gonna get better, you know,” she said softly.

He just snorted. “You don’t know what I’ve…you don’t know everything.”

“Oh, you think so?” She almost laughed. “Have you forgotten that I’m from the future? I know Zelena cursed your lips, hoping to steal my magic. I know you’re trying to figure out how to save Henry right now, and you feel like no matter which way you turn, you’re trapped.”

His face showed naked surprise, and then just as quickly it shuttered. “You must have been furious with me when you learned that.”

Shrugging, Emma put her hand on his shoulder. “At first, yeah, but I got over it.”

“I appreciate your kindness, love.” He continued to gaze out over the water.

“It never even occurred to you that it might be you, did it?” she murmured.

Killian turned to her with an arched eyebrow. “What are you talking about?”

“You learned that in the future, I have a husband, my true love and the father of this baby I’m carrying, and never once did it occur to you that it might be you. That you might be the man I’m so anxious to get back to.”

He squeezed his eyes closed. “Please don’t taunt me, love, I can’t bear it.”

She put her hands on either side of his face, forcing him to look at her. “I’m not taunting you, Killian. I’m telling you that in the future, we fall in love.” She felt tears welling up, and she gave him a watery laugh. “Or, I guess I fall in love, because I’m pretty sure you’re already there. And I’m not gonna lie, we go through some rough times. But we weathered it because it’s true love between us.”

He looked back and forth between her eyes, and she could see the moment that a spark of belief, of hope, ignited. “Emma…”

“You have a long road to travel, Killian Jones, but I promise you that at the end of it…” She sort of laugh-hiccuped through her tears. “Not the end of it, that sounds like you’re dying. God, I suck at these speeches; you are so much better at these speeches.” Pulling in a deep breath, she attempted to get back on track. “Our marriage is… it’s more wonderful than I could have hoped. And now we have this.” Taking his hand in hers, she brought it up under her sweater and pressed it against the swell of her belly.

This was why she was doing this, Emma thought as she looked at Killian’s shocked expression, positively brimming with awe: to give him this moment of happiness, even though it was fleeting. Although perhaps a selfish desire to experience his reaction figured in as well.

“The babe you’re carrying… it’s mine?”

She nodded, tears spilling over and running down her cheeks.

“How could I possibly be so lucky?” he asked.

Emma didn’t know how to tell him that it wasn’t luck, that it was work and determination and the magic of true love that had allowed them to be together. Instead she just pressed her forehead against his, breathing him in. “If your lips weren’t cursed, I’d totally kiss you right now.”

He laughed, and she could hear the tears in his voice. “You’ll just have to kiss me in the future, when you get back.”

“Oh, I’m gonna do a lot more than kiss you when I get back.”

She felt him shiver at that, and he pulled away to look at her again, a little bit of his trademark smirk showing through. “I very much look forward to that.”

“I wish you could… look forward to it, I mean. Obviously you can’t know your future, it would screw everything up. But I just wish that…” She reached up and combed her fingers through the hair at his temple, caressing the tip of his ear. Then realizing that her lips weren’t cursed, she leaned over and kissed his cheek. “I wish there was a way to plant a tiny seed of hope, so that a part of you knew that you and I are meant to be together.”

“Perhaps that’s exactly what you’ve done, love. Who knows what might linger in my mind after you’ve returned to your proper time?”

Emma smiled, tilting her head as she studied him. “I hope so.” Finally letting go of the hand she’d been pressing against her abdomen, she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him. “I love you,” she whispered. “Don’t give up on me.”

“How could I ever?” He clung to her in return, his hand and hook pressed against her back. “I lo—”

“Don’t,” she said, pulling away and grinning sheepishly at her own silliness. “Don’t say it yet. Don’t say it until we’ll both remember it.”

He inclined his head in agreement. “As you wish, darling.”

“Nope, no wishes. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that wishes are trouble.” Emma rested her head on his shoulder, tracing her fingers over the embroidery on the cuff of his coat before she gripped his hook in her hand.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, just being close to one another. “When must you break the spell?” he asked.

“I probably should go take care of it now.”

“Then, thank you for giving me this gift.” Emma lifted her head to watch him speak. “I haven’t felt joy like this in… I don’t know how long.”

“I promise there’s a lot more joy in your future.” She took his hand and kissed the back of it.

His eyes filled with tears again. “I hope that I appreciate every moment.”

“You do. You absolutely do.”

~*~

The visit from her parents — her future parents — left Emma feeling strange and out of sorts. It was odd to see them showing their age finally, and odder still to realize that the tall boy with sandy blonde hair they brought along was her brother. He begged Killian for a sword-fighting lesson for a full minute (Next time, my boy, I promise, Killian had said, before her mother finally suggested he go watch TV in a back room); it was clear he idolized the pirate. Unbelievably, her father didn’t seem to mind.

None of their brainstorming led anywhere useful, although David expressed his hunch that things would find a way to work themselves out. When her family left, promising to return the next day, Emma breathed a sigh of relief.

Left at loose ends, she wandered around the house, looking at their belongings and trying to imagine the story behind them, the collection of stories that would combine to make the picture of this marriage. Why had she and Killian chosen the overstuffed chair next to the fireplace? Which one of them had put the wedding picture into a frame and hung it on the wall? Did Killian vacuum the floors? Did he scrub the toilet?

She found a small study on the first floor of the house, a room that seemed to be more Killian’s than hers; it was devoid of any electronics, and several shelves above the desk were filled with rolled up maps. As she traced her hand over a nautical map of Maine’s coast that hung on the wall, she noticed the wedding and engagement rings on her finger again. For some reason, it hadn’t occurred to her to take them off since that very first moment when she saw them in the bathroom, and it made her wonder if underneath her knee-jerk aversion to the ideas of marriage and children, perhaps she had a desire for those things.

Continuing to explore upstairs, she discovered a room that she hadn’t noticed before. The door had been closed, and she’d thought it was just a linen closet next to Henry’s old room, but when she went in, it appeared to be the beginnings of a nursery. Boxes labeled ‘Baby Things’ in her mother’s careful script were stacked in one corner, and paint sample cards with a variety of bright primary colors were taped to the wall.

When Killian found her, she was holding a stuffed bear that had been resting at the top of one of the boxes and crying.

“Emma, what’s wrong, love?” He started to move toward her like he was going to take her in his arms, and she could see the moment he reined himself in. It made her want to cry harder.

“I wasn’t planning to stay here in Storybrooke. I didn’t feel like this was my home.”

“Aye, that’s so, but you changed your mind. You made a home here after all.”

“What if we never fix this? What if you’re stuck with this broken version of me forever?” she asked.

“I’m sure we’ll fix it, and Emma, this so-called broken version of you is the woman I fell in love with, you mustn’t forget that.”

She shrugged. “It just seems like there’s this huge canyon between who I am now and who I turn out to be. With the house and the… paint swatches,” she said, gesturing at the wall.

“Both of us have grown a lot in the last nine years. Loving and being loved, it’s changed us.”

Emma didn’t know how to respond to that, and she looked despondently at the bear, setting it back down where she found it.

“You look tired,” Hook said. “Would you like to have a nap, perhaps?”

She didn’t feel particularly sleepy, but escaping into sleep did sound appealing. Emma nodded.

“If you aren’t comfortable in our bed, you can sleep in Henry’s room,” he offered.

Raising an eyebrow at him, she crossed her arms. “I bet the bed in your room is the most comfortable, though, right?”

“I can’t say I’ve ever tested Henry’s bed, but probably.”

“I’ll be fine there, then. It’s where future me sleeps every night, right?”

Hook smiled. “Aye.”

Emma started to head down the hall as Hook moved toward the stairs. On impulse, she whirled around. “Hook? Killian?”

He turned back, expectant.

“Would you…? Would it be weird if I asked you to lie down with me for a little while? Just until I fall asleep?”

Surprise flashed briefly across his face. “Not at all.”

“I just…” She blushed. “I don’t know. I could use some comforting, I guess.”

They lay on top of the quilt, fully clothed (and Emma wondered when, in all of the chaos of the day, Hook had taken the time to make the bed). She turned onto her side, inching close enough to tuck her head under his chin. Hook tentatively rested his arm across her waist and she nuzzled closer still, her hand resting on his chest. It was nice, being in his arms, but it certainly wasn’t conducive to sleeping.

“I do have feelings for you, you know,” she said after several minutes of silence.

“I know.”

“Did you know then?”

Hook paused a beat, thinking. “I hoped, sometimes. In my darker moments, I knew that it didn’t matter; that a pirate like me was never going to be worthy of your regard. But other times, I imagined that something between us could be possible.”

“I guess it was.”

“Aye.” She felt his hand come up and stroke her hair.

“It’s a nice house; I can see why future me feels at home here,” she said, inhaling and breathing the scent of him in.

“I’m glad, although I don’t think it’s really about the house. I could make a home in a cardboard box on the side of the road if that’s where you were.”

“Please, I saw your map room; you love this house.” Killian chuckled. “I suppose I do.”

Their comfortable conversation relaxed her, making her speak more freely. “I’ve gotta tell you, it’s pretty weird to think that you’ve had sex with me, like, hundreds of times probably.”

He huffed out softly through his nose. “That does make this situation rather strange.”

Emma shivered. He probably knew exactly what she liked in bed, knew every minute detail of her sexual responses, and once she thought that, she couldn’t stop thinking about it. She’d had sexual fantasies about Hook before, but she’d never imagined a version of him who would already know her so intimately. She’d never allowed herself to think in terms of a long-term relationship at all.

“I want to know what it’s like, being with you,” she whispered.

She could sense him tense up. “What?”

Emma looked up at him, and she felt her cheeks warm. “I want to feel… I want to understand what makes us good together.”

Killian’s eyebrow arched. “It’s a lot more than sex that makes us good together.”

“I know, but that’s part of it, right?”

He nodded, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed.

Pressing in closer, she felt a throb of desire pulse through her. “Show me.”

Continuing to stroke her hair, he leaned in and pressed an almost-chaste kiss to her lips. “That’s a very tempting offer, Swan. But I don’t think it would be right.”

She pulled back far enough to bring his face into focus. “Why not?”

Killian rolled away from her and onto his back, rubbing his hand over his face. “For one, I don’t think I’d be able to shake the feeling that I was being unfaithful, even though technically I suppose I wouldn’t be. But more than that, I don’t think you’re ready.”

Emma almost laughed, even while she burned with embarrassment that Killian Jones was actually turning her down. “I can be the judge of that.”

He turned to her again, his hand returning to her waist. “Sex wasn’t something you and I rushed into. We didn’t wait inordinately long either, but we did date for a little while first, even though most of our so-called dates were spent dealing with dastardly foes. When it happened, it was…” His eyes went unfocused as he remembered. “It wasn’t perfect; we were at Granny’s in one of her uncomfortable beds, trying to be as quiet as we possibly could. But at the same time, it was perfect. We were both ready for that kind of intimacy.” He kissed her again, just a brush of his lips against hers. “Even if you won’t remember being here with me, even if you go back to your time and everything happens exactly as it did, I don’t want to do something that would muddy the memory of that wonderful night. For either of us.”

It was hard to feel rejected when he put it like that. “Okay.”

They held each other in silence for another minute.

“You’re really good at it though, right?”

Killian chuckled. “Oh, darling, trust me when I say that I leave you completely shattered on a regular basis.”

Emma closed her eyes, relaxing into his embrace. “Good.”

~*~

Emma was a heavy sleeper and woke slowly, so it took a minute for her to become aware of a knocking on the door.

She sat up, grimacing at the pain in her back from another uncomfortable night at Granny’s. Noticing that Henry’s bed was empty, she figured he must have gotten hungry and gone downstairs to the diner to eat.

Padding across the room in her X-wing pajamas, Emma opened the door to see Snow standing there, holding out a steaming cup of coffee for her.

“Oh my god, coffee, you’re a lifesaver.” She took the cup and stepped back to admit her mother into the room.

~*~

Emma stared up at the ceiling of her bedroom, gasping to catch her breath. “Jesus, Killian.”

He crawled up beside her, running his hand down over his mouth and beard. “Yes, darling?” he said innocently, as if she hadn’t been so obviously reduced to a puddle by his efforts. As if he didn’t know exactly how good he was.

Killian flopped down on his back, and Emma rolled over and rested her head on his bare chest, her legs tangling with his. She combed her fingers through his chest hair, humming with contentment. They lay together, enjoying the quiet closeness, neither of them in too much of a rush to start the day. She could feel her small baby bump pressing against his side, and it made her smile.

“I had a dream about us last night,” Emma said.

“Oh?” His fingers trailed up and down her arm, raising goosebumps in their wake.

“Yeah, it was right before we got together, when Zelena had cursed your lips. And in my dream, you were running away from me, and I kept chasing you because I needed to tell you something.”

“Did you catch me?”

Emma shook her head. “I can’t remember.”

“You were hardly chasing me during that time in our lives, love. I was the one chasing you. Trying to get you to see that this could be your home if you allowed it to be.”

“Hey, I was chasing you in my heart.” She tilted her head and pressed a kiss against his chest. “And you did get me to see that this was my home. I think I knew it; I was just in denial. As soon as I admitted it to you, it was like this little voice inside my head quieted down. Like I’d finally made the right decision and it could rest.”

Silence descended again, and Emma continued to think about those times with him, just before she began to open her heart to the possibility that they could become something together.

“I was cruel to you back then. Why didn’t you give up on me?”

“Because I was in love with you.”

“Yeah, but really.”

He seemed to contemplate that for several seconds. “I don’t know, Swan. For some reason I just had hope.”

Hugging him with her whole body, Emma leaned up and kissed him on the cheek. “I’m glad you did.”

“Me too.”

END