#I am JUST NOW coming out of the sedation

[godtier]

here's a PSA for u

if ur dr ever tries to prescribe u hydroxyzine for anxiety or panic attacks

don't fuckin take it bc it does nothing for anxiety. it just knocks you out like a sack of bricks. it won't actually calm you, it's a legit sedative that makes you functionally a zombie for at least 36 hours

so if ur like me and need to take smth like in the middle of the day... such as during work or school... it's not gonna help at all lmao you'll be incapacitated

this has been a PSA from me, mr not a doctor

[kiki-strike]

PTSD is so stupid saw a jar of biscoff cookie butter at the store and went ha that’s the brand they had in res. (Completely unaffected). Then went home and had a panic attack about it (????)

[imwritesometimes]

I am good at stuff. I'm good at cooking. It may not be michelin star restaurant level food but it's good. I'm good at baking. I'm good at taking care of my family. I'm good at some computer stuff. I'm good at taking care of my cats. I'm good at making ppl laugh. I'm good at helping ppl. I've written stuff ppl have enjoyed.

[mod2amaryllis]

im just gonna be petty ignore me

are you ever training someone and eventually it gets to a point where you just like

give up on them lol

[pellucid-constellations]

Trial and Error (4)

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: Based on the request: "Azriel with single mom reader? I feel like being a single mom in ACOTAR would be tricky as hell… reader comes from autumn court and flees to night court because she got pregnant out of marriage? 😯 the shame"

Word count: 2.5k

Warnings: Illness, Azriel's pov 👀

a/n: Someone sedate me at this point. Also I'm posting this earlier than planned because I am susceptible to peer pressure

Read part one | part two | part three | part five

Main Masterlist ♡

~~

Azriel sat at the table for breakfast, his attention occupied by the window to his right. A plate of eggs, bacon, and toasted bread sat forgotten and untouched before him. To be honest, Azriel was unsure of how it even came to be in front of him. 

Cassian was saying something, the rest of the table humoring him with sleepy mumbles and raised brows. He was always so lively in the mornings, a sentiment not shared by the rest of the inner circle. 

Azriel was typically one of the more responsive people, but his shadow was late today. It had been a few weeks of sending one out to check on you every night, and this one was late. The rest of them swarmed around his feet in anticipation. 

“Az?” Mor’s voice had him breaking his stare from the window. “What are you looking at? You’ve been checked out all breakfast.” 

Azriel cleared his throat and readjusted in his seat. “Nothing. Just distracted.” 

She snorted. “That’s an understatement. You’re been distracted for weeks now. What’s been going on with you?” 

“Nothing,” Azriel repeated. He picked up his fork despite his stomach protesting, the nerves twisting it to the point of unease. 

“Hate to concur, Az, but you have been rather absent. I think this is the first time you’ve had a meal with us this week,” Rhysand chimed in. 

From beside him, Feyre shot her mate a look. 

Azriel, feeling eyes on him, glanced to his left to find Cassian leering at him with narrowed eyes. His brother leaned his head back and hooked his arm over the back of his chair, analyzing Azriel amidst his lax posture. 

Azriel rolled his eyes. “What?” 

With his tongue pressed into his cheek, Cassian let out a disbelieving huff. “You’re seeing someone,” he concluded. “Who is she? Why haven’t you said anything?” 

“I’m not seeing anyone. Why would you come to that conclusion?” 

“You answered that way too quickly to be believable.” 

“Azriel, are you seeing someone? There wouldn’t be anything wrong with that,” came Mor’s soft tone—trying to play the opposite side of the coin. 

“No, I—“ 

“He is. I know he is.” Cassian, with his assured pestering. “And don’t think I don’t notice how Rhys is being silent here. And Feyre. The only two people in the room that can read minds.” 

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Feyre defended. 

“Yeah!” Nyx yelled, quick to defend his mother. “Nothing!” 

But Nyx’s interference only made Cassian turn his attention to the small child and knock his head to the side. 

“Nyx—“ Cassian began. In response, Nyx shoved a fork full of eggs into his mouth. “Azriel’s been taking you to school an awful lot, hasn’t he?” 

“Mmhmm,” Nyx nodded. 

“And he’s been going to all of your school events?”

Nyx nodded again, this time with a mouthful of juice. 

“Does Azriel talk to anyone when he’s at your school?” 

“He talks to Ms. Fern.” 

Cassian let out a barking laugh and turned back to Azriel with a wide grin. “Ms. Fern? Okay, Az, if that’s what does it for you. You should bring her to the house.” 

Although he felt an immense pride for Nyx keeping his secret (because Nyx had seen him talking to you countless times) a strange, hot anger licked at the bond hanging loose in his chest. 

He wasn’t seeing Ms. Fern. The reasonable part of his mind told him that it was better this way, you would feel safer, but the unreasonable side wanted to knock Cassian across the room.

You were so much better than Ms. Fern. The teacher didn’t “do it for him” and never would. It was insulting to you. 

Azriel ground his teeth. He knew this reaction was more borne from the fact his shadow hadn’t returned and the worry he was feeling was paralyzing, but reasoning with himself did nothing. 

“I will not be—“ 

Sick, sad, help. 

A whisper at his ear made Azriel rein in his words. 

Alone, alone, alone. 

Azriel snapped his head to the side to find his missing shadow whisking down to join the rest, the hoard of them now rising to leave. To get to you, he realized. He had to— 

“What is it?” Rhysand asked. 

Azriel could feel his talons scratch along the barrier of his mind, but there was no time to let Rhysand hear what he’d heard. In one fluid motion, Azriel was up from the table and out of the house, his wings spread wide behind him as he flew to the outskirts of Velaris where you resided. 

One of the first things he would suggest after he got you to trust him was for you to move. 

He’d already reinforced your locks and checked your neighbors, but you were still so far and that side of Velaris wasn’t the best. 

He’d ask you to move into the House of Wind, but he knew that’d be pushing it. Obviously. 

His back ached as he pressed his wings further, desperate to make it to you. He flung his body one way and then the other to dodge buildings as he went, flying low to save time. Luckily, the streets were barren this early. 

But it wasn’t early enough for your shop to be closed, an all too alarming fact when faced with the “closed” sign on the front door. He yanked on the knob anyways, but the door wouldn’t budge. 

He cursed himself for ensuring their stability. 

He started knocking next—soft at first and then with a blistering urgency. He knocked and knocked and was moments away from flying up to your window and possibly scaring you off for good when the door wrenched open.

You looked beyond disheveled, bone-tired, and frankly gaunt as you stared up at him with an incredulous gaze. Your gaze softened a fraction when you saw it was Azriel beating down your door, but a tinge of irritation remained hazing your eyes. 

“Azriel, we’re closed for—” 

“Are you okay?” he rushed out.

Since the open house, Azriel had been more open with his vies to take care of you. If he were being honest, the intrinsic need to protect you and Melanie was overwhelming and he was barely scratching the surface of all he wanted to do, but you became guarded any time he got too intense. So, he walked you home and asked you about your family and he didn’t care if he got a stonewall in response. 

But right now, you did not look well. 

Right now, there was no Melanie peaking behind your legs as you stood at the apothecary door. 

So, right now, Azriel didn’t have a mind to be subtle. 

“Where is Melanie? Are you hurt?” he asked before you could formulate a response. 

He watched your knuckles pale as you gripped the door. You breathed in deeply. “Mel has been sick all night. I’m not sure what it is and I’ve been trying everything. I’m about two seconds away from calling a healer but…” 

Azriel knew that tell—the way your eyes shifted and your expression pinched. 

More people. 

Anytime you were confronted with introducing more people into Melanie’s life, you crumbled. 

“Let me come see her,” Azriel requested, the tension leaking from his voice into a softer tone. Now that he knew the two of you weren’t dying, there was some relief. Some. 

You shook your head, pressing your lips into a firm line as you deflated. “I don’t want to get you sick. I think I'm already a lost cause, but you—you have important things to do.” 

If only you knew how important you were to him. 

Azriel felt his fists clench at the defeated look in your eye. “If you’re sick, you can’t take care of her. Just let me come in. Let me help, y/n.”  

“Azriel…” 

“Please. Let me take care of you.”

He wanted to take the words back as soon as they left his mouth, afraid of you drawing back in fear, but they were already lingering in the space between you. Azriel decided you must have been truly exhausted because your only reply was a pained sigh followed by your door swinging open to let him in. 

You didn’t even send him a sidelong glance. 

Azirel’s hand twitched as he followed you up the stairs to your apartment, the urge to press his fingers along your back stifling. 

One step at a time, Azriel—you were only just letting him into your house. 

Any examination of your apartment abruptly halted as soon as his feet met the threshold of the sitting room. Melanie was lying on the couch looking worse for wear with a cloth along her forehead and a flush to her cheeks that did not sit well with the Shadowsinger. His chest caved in at the sight, a feeling that intensified when her small voice filled the space. 

“Mr. Azriel?” she croaked, attempting to lift her head. You rushed over to press her back down, running your fingers through her hair. “He’s always at my house,” Melanie said, turning to look at you. “Always.” 

You let out a breathy laugh as Melanie shut her eyes and began to softly snore against the arm of the loveseat. Azriel’s shadows rushed to the girl and brushed against her forehead and arms, offering the cool wind they provided. 

In a few steps, Azriel took a knee beside you. He looked at you first—at the way you hovered over your daughter with furrowed brows—and then let his gaze wash over Melanie. Against his better judgment, he wrapped his scarred fingers around her tiny hands. 

No poison, his shadows reported, although he didn’t expect it to be. She was feverish, hadn’t eaten since last night, couldn’t keep anything down; it was rare for fae to get so sick, and he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t concerning. 

Even more worrisome was the fever emanating from you. Azriel could feel the heat on his shoulder and he could tell you hadn’t stopped to rest. 

“I know a healer that can help. She wouldn’t say anything to anyone,” Azriel said after a beat of silence. 

You paused your fingers in Melanie’s hair. “Do you promise?” 

The sickness had worn you down, taking the fight and fear right out of you. 

“I promise on everything. I wouldn’t bring someone here that wasn’t safe.” 

Azriel called Majda. 

Majda arrived in a few minutes, much to your surprise. Azriel had gotten the door upon her knock, his eyes catching the way your knees shook as you went to stand. 

Majda kneeled in front of the couch where you and Azriel once were, her healing magic lighting up the room. Behind her, Azriel stood with you and he watched. 

He watched your worried brow and the way you picked at your fingers. He watched the flush on your face get worse and worse as your daughter’s illness gradually got you sicker. He watched the way you tracked each of Majda’s movements, ready to jump in at a moment’s notice. 

He watched your body shake as it held you up. 

He watched his mate and saw how alone you were. 

Azriel reached up and tucked a hair behind your pointed ear, using the ploy to feel for the temperature on your cheek. You turned to look up at him and he felt the way his expression strained. 

“You should let her look at you too,” he said, voice low and calm.

You shook your head. “I’m okay. I’m fine.” 

“You aren’t.” 

You turned back to your daughter, looking on. 

Azriel no longer cared for the farce he’d been putting on. He stepped closer and let his palm rest on the small of your back if only to support you from collapsing. He saw you glance at him from the corner of your eye, but you made no move to step away. 

It took Majda 13 minutes to come to a conclusion. Azriel knew that because he had been counting. 

“Well, first of all, she will be okay. As will you, as I see you may have the same illness,” the older healer spoke, rising from the ground with a grunt. “It is most unusual—what ails you. Do you have Autumn's blood?” 

The fingers you had pressed to your mouth were abruptly dropped. You looked up to Azriel with panic in your eyes, a question clear in your expression. 

He hadn’t known where you were from, but he had guessed, and you were looking at him as if he knew—as if he knew and you wanted to know if it was safe for the healer to know as well. 

Azriel nodded his head and ignored the bittersweet feeling in his chest. 

He had wanted you to tell him when you were ready. 

“Yes,” you uttered, shaking your head much faster than you spoke. “We both are. Is that—does that have something to do with it?”

Majda offered you a thin smile. “You have Autumn fever. Something to do with the fire that lingers in your blood. Sometimes it does not align with the other courts and your body revolts. It will pass in a few days as most. Uncomfortable bugger to be sure, but nothing that cannot be managed.” 

You sagged against Azriel in relief, the shadowsinger catching your weight as your knees buckled. He pulled you closer to his front but didn’t feel complete until he guided you back to the couch and leaned over Melanie as she slept. 

“She’ll be okay?” you asked. 

Azriel thought the question was for Majda, but when he looked to his side you were staring directly at him, fear and fever in your gaze. 

He lost his breath and captured your face in his hands. “She’ll be okay,” he assured. You were so hot against his skin. “You will too. I’ll fix it.” 

Something righted in your expression—something softened. For the first time since he entered your house, you let out a full breath and allowed your eyelids to drop. It was barely thirty seconds before your head fell as well, your forehead landing on Azriel’s collarbone. He trailed his hand up to rest against your hair and placed his other on Melanie’s knee as he stayed beside the couch. 

“I hope you know what you’re doing, Shadowsinger,” Majda crooned. “That’s a whole lot of responsibility. A lot of secrets.” 

Azriel tightened his hold on you. “Do you have herbs that would help? To lessen fever or pain?” 

Majda hummed. “I will leave a few.” A pause. The floorboards creaked as Majda went to make her exit. “Heed my words, Azriel.” 

“I know what I’m doing—what I’m getting myself into.” He dropped his nose to your temple, listening to your breath as you slept. His shadows continued their mission of cooling Melanie’s feverish skin. 

“Do you?” 

Azriel considered the question, and no, he didn’t know. 

But he couldn’t find it within himself to care.

part five

[bluebellhairpin]

Cregan Stark X Wife!Reader

Summary: Preparation to leave to Castle Black for the winter months is well under way, and you're reluctant to be left alone in Winterfell. Cregan, having had the same worry, provides what could be a solution. A solution with a name. And fur. (wc. 2.3k>)

Warnings: Reader has she/her pronouns + fem bodied. Pregnancy. Assassination attempt. Unnamed character death. Blood + gore. Cregan wants to be a girl dad. Unedited (lol).

Listening to: 'Wolf at Your Door' by Chole x Halle - "When you're laying in your bed at night, when the air's just a little too quiet, better hope that you're saying your prayers."

Series Masterlist || Masterlist || Ko-Fi || AO3 link

Winterfell was a somber place when the cold rolled down from the north. 

Although only ten men were sent to the wall every winter, everyone left behind knew someone who was sent away. No matter how short of a life you lived, you also always knew someone who died there. Indeed, life on the wall was as harsh as the force it existence kept at bay. 

For you though, the man you lost always returned. The last three winters had you spend upwards of three months without your husband - and in turn rising to take his place as custodian of Winterfell. No matter how busy the role kept you, it never helped you miss Cregan Stark any less. 

With winter approaching once more, each moment with him seemed to not be enough. Yes, the Wall was dangerous, and even Cregan was never guaranteed to return, but this year there was something else that willed you to want him to stay. Something else that made him want to stay too. 

“Each day my resolve seems to crack,” he told you one night, fire cracked in its hearth as you both lay under blankets of fur. His hand rested protectively over your belly. “Already now I can see our babe grow, and I know I’ll not only be missing you but her too.”

“‘Her’?” you hummed, head turning to nose his cheek. “Such a confident tone, my lord.” 

“I am confident.” he replied, turning to press a soft kiss to your lips as his hand idlily rubbed along your stomach. 

“And if you needed an heir at the end of this cold winter, what then?” 

“If my lady wife deems me worthy, we might try for one again.” he said, sedating what could’ve been the start of your mood change with words almost too sweet to be coming from the frosty king in the north. “But that is something we can decide once all three of us are safe together when summer rises.” 

Cregan’s soft words and warm breath on your cheeks made your mind wandered to a time not so far away where you wouldn’t have his heat so close. A time when his comfort was going to be gone. 

“I’m going to miss you.” you said, turning into his hold more, and he let you snuggle into his chest. “This time will feel longer than all the others.”

“I doubt that will be the case for you.” he said, lips moving from their place pressed into your hair. “Winterfell will keep you busy, between that and resting for the babe’s sake, you won’t have time on your hands for much else.” 

“I may not want to rest.”

“You will. The Lord of Winterfell commands it.” 

“The Lord of Winterfell won’t be here, he cannot have a for sure say in what I do or do not do.” You felt him smile into your hair, and you pulled away with a twitch of your own mouth. “What?”

He pulled away a little too, shyly smiling down at where you still laid. He was acting far too coy to be considered normal. 

“I might not be leaving you completely alone.” 

“... Cregan.” you started, sitting up on our elbow. 

“I was going to show you on the morrow, but since you’ve forced my hand -”

“-I? Forcing your hand?”

“- Since you forced my hand,” he said, pressing a kiss to your forehead as he slipped out from the bedcovers, “I will be right back.”

“What…” You tried, but your voice tempered out as he swiftly made his way from your bedchambers. 

Sighing, you sat back in your pillows, arms folded, and refraining from pouting. It wasn’t long into your settled position of guessing what in the seven kingdoms your husband was doing before he was back. 

Cregan had clearly gone outside, snow settled on the top of his hair and along the shoulders of the fur cloak he snatched before leaving. In his arms was something squirming. You frowned, eyeing the movement under the cloak as he strode over. 

“What is that?” you asked. 

“A protector for the Lady of Winterfell, as per the orders of her lord husband.” Cregan said, and let the squirming mass break free from his hold onto the bed. 

It was a… pup? No not possible, it was too big. From how it acted it was a few months surely, but it was just so big. Then you thought some more. Could it really be? 

“A direwolf?” 

“Not any direwolf. Yours.” Cregan said, rounding the bed and settling back at your side. “A protector to be at your side when I cannot. I’ve been training him and he follows commands well already. By the time I leave he should be grown to the size of any regular dog - then at least twice that when I return.” 

While he spoke, the pup sniffed around your bed covers, curiously wandering on unsteady feet. You had to admit, he looked gorgeous, all black fur, with green eyes, and you didn’t doubt he would grow to be a fierce thing. But sometimes that wasn’t always good. 

“Cregan, are you sure about this?” you asked. “It’s… he’s a direwolf, not a dog.” 

“I’m sure,” he said, lending his arm out. The pup stepped closer, licking Cregan’s fingers and settling on its belly with its nose on Cregan’s knee. “They’re our house symbol. The direwolf are as Stark as I am, they know who we are, and they can be as loyal as they are fierce. That’s why I wanted to introduce you before I left. He’s going to be yours, loyal to you.” 

His arm wrapped around your shoulder, and like second nature you made yourself comfortable by his side. The pup shifted too, now his nose was itching closer to you, wanting to know who this new person was. 

“I supposed you ought to tell me what I'm going to be calling him then.”

“You can call him anything you like,” Cregan said, “But I’ve been calling him Striker.”

Five months passed, and Cregan was right. You were never without anything to do. 

The babe growing inside you made mornings rough, and you often weren’t seen before noon, especially in the earlier months. The rest of your day was spent catching up on what you’d missed while resting, and then catching up on what you missed while catching up. Then the evenings were spent with Striker. 

He had grown on you, just as he had grown physically. Cregan was still able to lift the wolf when he left, but now you doubted it. He was already well on his way to rivalling a regular wolf in size. Despite how intimidating that might’ve been, you couldn’t be more fond of Striker even if you tried. 

Your belly swelled, and with it so did the direwolf’s protectiveness. Your handmaids were tolerated, your guards struggled to be in the same room, and when the maesters dared tough you Striker had to be sent out of the room. Walks around Winterfell were soon out of the question, at least if you were to bring the direwolf along, since he took to growling at everyone who stood too close. 

Cregan really picked well, Striker surely was serving his purpose, and soon he earned his namesake. 

Word came from Castle Black that Cregan was going to return, that the Winter had been fended off once more. That brought joy foremost to you, but really all in Winterfell knew what that meant, even if Westeros didn’t. It was cause for celebration when they returned. 

It also gave a false sense of security. Winter was gone, and so was the evil - but evil didn’t just come from the north. It could come from anywhere. 

You’d settled into bed for the night, Striker laid beside you, head facing towards the door, and your hand rested on his flank as you looked over one last paper. He growled, and you petted his fur, silently reassuring him that it was just a guard passing outside - but then his head lifted, and turned toward your window. His sudden, still alertness put you on edge. 

He’d been hostile before, but this was aggressive. 

Candle flames flickered, Striker’s fur stood on end beneath your palm, the latch on your window clicked open, creaked open, and you could hear your heartbeat in your ears. A cloaked figure slipped into your room, and you couldn’t even bring yourself to cry for help - nor to remember anything Cregan had taught you. But you didn’t have to.

The figure, a man, unsheathed a knife, and with the glint of steel in the candlelight Striker struck. He surged off the bed with a vicious bark and bit into the man’s arm, snarling all the while and all but went to tearing the man to shreds. 

The commotion had people coming in through the door, and the sight had you still rendered motionless and speechless. 

The man’s cloak was torn away, and by now he was pinned to the floor, blood pooling on the stone as he fruitlessly tried to get Striker off him. You barely registered your guard, Gunther, asking you what was happening.

“He came in the window. He had a knife.” was all you could say. You could guess he was saying things to calm you down as he pried your fingers off your bedsheets that covered your swollen belly - he was probably trying to get you out of the room so you didn’t see the mess. It was too late for that. The man was a whimpering, bloodied mess on the floor by now, and no one had yet been brave enough to pry Striker’s jaw off his shoulder. 

Gunther had an arm around you with your hand in his, guiding you away. Others attempted to move closer, either to help the man or take him away - but Striker was still growling. 

“Striker, here.” you called, just finding your voice enough for it to carry over the commotion. The direwolf looked up, and seeing you being led away, he relented, fitting into your side with ease. 

The three of you walked away. Now you were away from the scene you could think again and guess you were going down the hall to another room, one you decided you’d stay in until Cregan returned. 

You looked down at Striker, threading your fingers though the fur at his neck. 

“Good boy.” you said, stroking between his ears. 

“He sure is, my lady.” Gunther said, “Who knows what could’ve happened if he didn’t act so fast.” 

You smiled a little at that, at how right Cregan was in leaving the direwolf for you. He was meant to be company, a protector second - but tonight he proved to be as good, as loyal as any of your guards. He proved to be the real sigil of House Stark - just as Cregan told you he was. 

You reached the door of your new room, and as your hand lifted off Striker’s back you noticed it chill with the cold night air. Turning your palm over, you saw red - and Striker’s nose made home in your fingers, licking away every drop as if it wasn’t ever there to begin with.

A week later, Cregan returned. 

You had been in a foul mood for the past three days, since the maester had put you on strict bed rest because of the babe. Therefore you had been deemed unfit to greet your husband at the gate as he finally came home. In your defense, it definitely seemed like a good reason to be sour. 

So you waited, sat on a chaise, with Striker’s head in your lap pressed to your stomach. 

You could hear a commotion outsider, which only made your face scrunch in annoyance - not just at missing out but also at the pity looked you knew your handmaiden would be giving you. She offered to go fetch Cregan, and you nodded her leave with a wave of your hand. 

“He will be here soon.” you said, cradling Striker’s muzzle in your palms. 

“Indeed he will.” Cregan said. 

“Oh, Lord Stark!” your handmaid said, startled. Your head turned, and you saw him standing in the doorway. 

“Cregan!” you said, grin covering your face - and even after such a long time away, Striker seemed to recognize him, for he didn’t growl, and his tail started thumping against the rug. 

“My love,” he said, shedding his great sword carelessly, and sunk to the floor beside where you sat. You heard your handmaid mumble a goodbye before stepping out and closing the door behind you. “Are you alright?” 

“I couldn’t be better now.” you replied, feeling tears welling in your eyes as you took in your husband's face for the first time in months. He looked tired, older, but as you took his face in your hands his cheeks felt exactly the same as they were when he left. “I missed you so much.” 

“I heard about what happened the other night. I -” he said, mouth hanging open in what could’ve been shock, in his eyes there could’ve been anger. Vengeance would do nothing now, the man was dead, he bled out before anyone could decide to give him mercy - undeserved or otherwise. But as Cregan leant forward to hold you into his arms, his warmth felt like nothing else except fear. “I can’t believe I could’ve lost you.” 

“You didn’t.” you said, taking an arm away from being wrapped around his shoulders to pull his face away from your chest. “You provided the means for me to stay safe long before you left. Striker was better than any guard. He was fearless when I was frozen. I owe him my life, all because of you.” 

Cregan’s face turned soft, and he smiled at you. He leant forward and kissed you. For the first time in too long, his lips move against yours. You felt his jaw move beneath your palm as his fingers grazed your neck and held onto your hip. When he pulled away, he kept your head cradled close to his. 

“I love you.” he said. 

“I love you too.” you replied, and he smiled, pressing another kiss to your lips, then your cheek. 

“Now tell me all about how my little girl is growing.”

[pigaletta]

Man FUCK THIS.

[i-cant-sing]

Okay but I need yall to help me figure out the character(s) for the following scenario:

Imagine a romantic yandere falling for reader, and ofc reader isn't in love with yandere for obvious reasons like red flags. Maybe they did try dating, Yandere is a charmer, comes from a rich family, he's smart and hardworking and oh so head over heels in love with you. He's always taking you out on best dates, HAS to get you the largest fucking bouquets (excellent taste in flowers) and buys you expensive but well thought out gifts.

But for whatever reason, things dont work out and you break things off hastily and most likely over the phone before leaving the country. And yandere just- breaksdown. I mean my man does not have a good mental health as is, but you leaving, actually leaving him just breaks him down and he has a full blown panic attack.

I'm talking about yandere falling to his knees, clutching his chest and gasping for air, tears streaming down his face as he screams your name like a mad man. His family, they love him, they adore their son/brother/grandchild sm, it pains them to see him in such a miserable state. Yandere man is so delirious that he has to be sedated, tranquillised by medical professionals because he's just losing his fucking mind, babbling your name over and over again like a mad man. His condition only worsens as time passes, and so his family decides to take drastic measures because they can't see their beloved son/brother/grandkid so fucking dead and depressed and a shell of a once bright man. They love him so much, they only want ti see him happy, so they use their money and influence to track you down and try to convince you to return and take yandere back. When you refuse, they take the high way and force you to come with them, dragging you kicking and screaming to their private jet and fly all the way home, where yandere is.

You're in a dishevelled state, tears running down your cheeks as you struggle to free yourself from their grasps as they take you to yandere. And when yandere sees you... for the first time in months, his family sees the light return in his eyes as the yandere reaches out for you, scared that you're just his mind playing tricks. When he finally touches you, he is immeadiately pulling you into a hug, arms tightening around your body like a gilded cage as he cries into your shoulder and thanks his family for bringing you back. His family only smiles with tears in their eyes as they lock the door behind them when they leave, so that you don't go running away. Meanwhile, yandere has pulled you into his lap and he's looking at you with such sad eyes, staring at each feature of yours over and over again as if to memorise it all again. He can't help the tears that continue to slip out of his eyes, maybe he's crying that you're finally here, or maybe he's crying for all the time that's been lost when you weren't here. You fall asleep soon due to exhaustion, but yandere doesn't sleep a wink that night because he continues to stare at you and play with your hair very gently, finally closing his eyes when morning comes and he wraps his arms around you and traps your legs with his.

By now, you guys realise that the yandere's family is not only yandere for their son/brother/grandson but also for you. They are yandede for you too, but they're not allowing you to leave them or their son or even make him unhappy ever again. Some members are willing to let all you "tantrums" slide, while others are not so kind. BUT one thing is for sure, you're ALWAYS safe with yandere s/o, no matter what.

Now, for the characters I've had in kind for this scenario are:

Halim Mehmet Shah and the Shah Family (my ocs)

Dabi/Shotou and Todoroki clan (I am the OG creator of Yandere Todoroki Clan)

I wanna say Naoya or Toji but the Zenin clan hates them both....

Dick Grayson/Jason Todd and Batfam

What do you guys think?

Mood board for this scenario^^^(I love Pinterest)

[zoro-chwaan]

Oh my god. I know I promised that I was gonna post last week. But I got hella busy. I went to a Shrek rave which was fun. Also I am BEGGING, PLEASE ASK WHAT YOU WANT TO SEE FROM ME!! I’m planning on doing characters from shows sometime soon.

Word count: 1.6k (GOD DAMN)

Fem/fem aligned dni!

NSFW, content warning: weed, having sex while high, overstimulation, pet names, reader was called a slut like once (please let me know if I missed something)

•◦•◦────✦◦•✙•◦────✦◦•◦•

Stoner emo boy who loves to hot box the dorm room. You entered your shared dorm and was immediately hit with smell with weed. You looked to your left to see your new roomie laying his head back on the bean bag, holding a bong on his right hand and a lighter on the other. The LED lights changed to the color red.

You sighed and took off your coat and grabbed a change of clothes and went into the bathroom to shower. After an hour of a hot shower, you got out and were about to change when you realized that you forgot a change of boxers… fuck. You quickly wrapped your towel around your waist and prayed that your roommate was asleep. You opened the door and if he was asleep.. well it doesn’t look like he’s up.

You quickly went to your closet and opened it to grab a pair of boxers. “Well aren’t you a bold one? Walking around the dorm room with just a towel. Were you like this with your old roomie?” You heard a raspy voice from behind you. It startled and slowly turned around, you see him eyeing you up and down. You apologized and tried to go back into the bathroom.

“Woah woah, where you going? I don’t mind the show.” He smirked and stood up. He made his way towards you and wrapped his arms around your waist. You tensed up which made him chuckle, his lips moving close to your ear. “Come on, let’s have some fun, yeah?” He whispered and blew air in your ear. You shoved him away and dashed to the bathroom and locked it.

꒦︶꒷︶︶꒷꒦︶︶꒷꒦‧₊˚・

A couple of weeks has passed since the incident, he hasn’t really bothered you unless it was to ask for a spare pencil or if you wanted to smoke. He made sure to respect your boundaries and space, which you were thankful for.

One day you entered your dorm room to see him changing shirts. Your eyes widened and jaw dropped, he didn’t looked built with the shirts that he wears. But golly, can looks be deceiving. “You’re staring, Angel. State any longer and you might burn holes through me.” He chuckles. You looked at him, then turned around and apologized.

“Don’t worry about it, Angel. I think that was a fair trade from when I eyed you.” He spoke smoothly as he puts on another shirt. He told you that you could turn around now. You nodded and closed the door and made your way towards your desk. “So, how was class for you today?” He asked. You let out a loud groan of frustration, and replying with how the lecture itself wasn’t the issue, but the fact that your professor thought you should partner up with one other person.

You of course didn’t mind that, but he decided that he’d do a little ‘spin the wheel’ to partner you up. You ended with the class asshole who tries to slug his way through the project, that or sleep with the person who he’s partnered with. You sat down on the chair and you heard your roommate laughing loudly. You looked at him and glared. “Sorry, I just find it hilarious who you ended up with.” You laid your head back and sighed, agreeing with him.

.

Another week has passed and your project partner was being a jackass, not surprising. He tried to sedate you, and when you turned him down, he called you a bitch. He then left you alone to do the project all by yourself. You, turned it in and made your way to your dorm. You opened the door and entered then slammed the door shut. You made your way to your bed and flopped down on it.

“Well hello to you too.” Your roommate said. You groaned in response. After a while, you sat up and looked at him. Only to see him staring at you. “You okay, Angel?” He asked sitting down on the beanbag. You whined and told him the whole fiasco, as you slid down your bed onto the floor. He just nodded, as you both sat there silently. “Well I know a way to help you ease that stress.” He took out a joint. You shook your head and told him you don’t smoke.

“Then how about an edible? It would have the same effect as smoking, kinda.” You thought about it for a moment, then agreed. He smiled and stood up and grabbed his bag. He dug around in it for a bit, then pulled out a container the held brownies. He opened it and took one out and broke it in half. He walked up to you and handed to you, but before he did he warned you that it’ll take 5 to 10 minutes for it to hit and also said for you to be careful with it. You nodded and grabbed the brownie.

You looked at it, then looked at him. He made his way towards the beanbag and sat down. You contemplated for a bit, then you spoke up. You asked if he could get high with you. He chuckled and nodded, “Sure Angel, I wouldn’t mind.”

꒦︶꒷︶︶꒷꒦︶︶꒷꒦‧₊˚・

10 minutes has passed and you felt light. You feel relaxed and calm, happy and comfortable. You looked at your roommate and saw him smoking. He grabbed the LED lights control a few minutes ago and turned the colors red.

“How do you feel?” He asked you. You replied with saying how you felt thirsty. He chuckles and stood up and went to the fridge and pulled out a cold bottled water. He tossed it to you, but you failed to catch it. Only with it hitting your head and landing on the floor next to you. Your roommate cackled out loud, and you looked at him and laughed with him.

You grabbed the bottled water and opened it and took a sip. “Refreshing?” You nodded, and closed the bottle. You placed it next to you and you stared at your roommate once again. You smiled, then laid your head back onto your bed and closed your eyes. You both entered a comfortable silence. This felt nice, you could understand why people liked getting high. It’s a nice feeling. You opened your eyes and looked at the ceiling. Without realizing, you said that you’re still a virgin. A couple minutes passed, which left like an eternity, and you looked at your roommate.

He was looking at you with shock. You don’t what got over you, but you crawled towards him and laid your head on his lap. He tensed up, “Listen, you’re completely in cloud 9. I don’t want you to do anything that you’ll regret later. I think-“ You pressed your lips against his to shut him up. You closed your eyes as you continued to kiss him, you moved closer to him. You were about to pull away, when you felt his hands on your waist and his lips chasing yours.

.

.

.

♡

You covered your mouth with your hand to try to muffle the moans. “Nuh uh, don’t do that, Angel. Let me hear those pretty moans.” He whispered softly as he thrusts deeply into your cunt. He moved your hand that was once on your mouth and held it. He moved his head towards your neck and starts kissing it.

He continues to pound into you as moaned out his name, which in turn made him groan. He felt you tighten around him, and moved his head towards your ear and started to moan softly. “Fuck.. you feel so good.” He grabbed one of your thighs with his other hand and lifts it up. When he did, he hit a part the made you squirt around his cock.

“What a good boy, doing so well for me, my pretty slut. Taking me so well.” He thrusts deeper and faster into you, which made you whine. Tears falling down your face as your eyes rolled up. Not being able to think straight. He hums in satisfaction and continues to hit that spot.

He lets go of your hand and moves it down to your clit, he started rubbing it the same speed as his thrust. You moaned with a high pitched voice. “Oh that was a beautiful noise, Angel. Can you do it again”. He asked as he rubbed your clit faster. You shook your head as your back arched. “Awe come on, Angel. I know you can. You want to come again, don’t you?” He said seductively, you nodded and begged him. He stops thrusting, which made you whine at the loss of friction. You tried to move, only for him to pull out and turn you around. Making you lay on your stomach.

He lifted your hips up, and without hesitation slammed back into your cunt. You moaned loudly as his hand made his way to your clit once again. “I’m about to cum, Angel. Do you want it in or out?” His lips close to your ear. You begged that you want it in. He chuckled and pounds your hole faster as he rubs your clit. After a couple more deep thrusts, you both came.

He pulls out and grabs his shirt to clean you up, he then threw his shirt on the floor. He turns you around and lays next to you. “How do you feel, Angel?” He waited a couple minutes and was about to speak up only to hear soft snores. He chuckles softly and whispers, “I finally got you for myself.. my Angel”

[mclqren]

SPORTING SECRETS ★ CL16

PAIRING ✦ charles leclerc x fem!footballer!reader

SUMMARY ✦ you are a famous footballer & you have been dating charles in secret for some time, but your fans start to piece together the clues when they spot him at one of your matches [ SMAU ]

WARNINGS ✦ cursing

REQUESTED ✦ here!

NOTES ✦ reader plays for the arsenal women's team. the fc i've used is alessia russo, but feel free to picture whoever you want! my requests are open so feel free to leave a request :)

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

liked by leahwilliamsonn, bethmead_, and 214,990 others

yourusername match ready for this weekend ❤️

view all comments

user1 i literally aspire to be like you when i get older

user2 she does it againnn!!

user3 london is RED ❤️❤️

liked by yourusername

bethmead_ my girllll 💘

yourusername love youu!!

user4 i look up to her sm

user5 sameee!!

user6 HOW IS SHE SINGLE STILLL

user7 literally NO CLUE HOW

charles_leclerc

( caption one: guess where i am 😍 | caption two: london 🇬🇧 )

liked by kimlittle1990, charles_leclerc, and 252,111 others

yourusername walking back after a victory this weekend:

view all comments

user12 LETS FUCKING GOOO

user13 KNEW YOU COULD DO ITTT!!

leahwilliamsonn ❤️❤️

yourusername foreverrrr! ❤️

user14 is no one going to talk about how CHARLES LECLERC is in her likes??

user15 i swear he's been following her for a while, though?

user16 yup!! but this is the first time they're actually interacting with each other on the internet

liked by bethmead_, charles_leclerc, and 292,400 others

yourusername best end to the weekend!! ft millie 💘

view all comments

user17 MILLIE IS BACKKKK!!

user18 ugh y/n is such a cutie i can't

user19 OKAY BUT WHO IS THAT GUYYY??

user20 Y/N HAS A MAN??

user21 i'm kindaaa surprised but not really bc LOOK AT HER

bethmead_ so who's the man that's replaced me

yourusername shhh look away ❤️

charles_leclerc millieee!!

yourusername my fav 💘

user22 THE COMMENT FROM CHARLES HELLO?

user23 my two worlds colliding is this a fever dream.

liked by yourusername, carlossainz55, and 1,101,767 others

tagged yourusername

charles_leclerc my y/n - aka the best footballer i've ever met (other than myself, of course) i'm so happy we can finally share our love with the rest of the world. forever and always, i love you ❤️

view all comments

user25 WHERE IS THAT GIRL ON TWITTER BC SHE MUST BE PUNCHING THE AIR RN.

user26 SOMEONE GIVE HER A MEDAL

user27 AHHH SHES SO CUTE!!

user28 NEW PARENTS UNLOCKED

user29 wait can someone tell me who she is??

user30 y/n l/n!! she's a footballer for the arsenal wfc and she's sooo fucking perfect!

user29 ahh!! she's so gorgeous! 💗💗

yourusername the way you posted this without my permission is crazyyy...

charles_leclerc had to let the world know at some point 😘

yourusername i love you tooo! (the caption abt you being better is def a lie but okay!)

charles_leclerc excuse me i dominated the game??

yourusername how - by falling flat on ur ass??

user30 OKAY THEIR DYNAMIC>>>

liked by charles_leclerc, bethmead_, and 401,928 others

tagged charles_leclerc

yourusername charlieee my love!! thank you so much for supporting me for just over a year (crazy how no one managed to clock us for it until now), you mean so so much to me! p.s. if you ever want to say ur better than me at football, take a look at the last pic. you're welcome. 😊😊

view all comments

user31 STILL CAN'T BELIEVE IT TOOK US SO LONG TO FIGURE OUT

user32 FR like we're meant to be so diligent??

user33 AW MY HEARTTT

user34 icl him in that first pic>>> WOW

bethmead_ still can't believe you replaced me :(

yourusername no one could ever replace you, come over rn 😘

bethmead_ omw!!

charles_leclerc i love you

yourusername LOVE YOU MORE

user35 my heart can't handle this sedate me now.

charles_leclerc WHY THE LAST PIC

yourusername i get to insult you every once in a while 💘

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

[batfam-my-beloved]

AU where Batman has a "no killing" rule but that only applies to Batman

Bruce understands that people have their own form of morality and justice. He's not going to fault a soldier for doing what they have to do to protect people. It's just that he personally would probably never go that far. Not that he can't, mind you, he's fucking Batman! Just that the mental and emotional toll would fuck him up so bad he'd be a danger to himself and society.

So when it comes to his murder happy children his rule for them is: "Wait until you're 18."

Bruce: "Dickie, I know Tony Zucco killed your parents and he deserves WAY worse than a punctured lung, two broken legs, a fractured skull, and a dislocated shoulder. But you're also 10 yrs old and the parenting books say that murder at such a young age is not good for a child's emotional development. So how bout we keep him locked up in jail, good and tight, and if you're still mad about it when you turn 18 then you can have at it. Sound good chum?"

Dick, pouting and kicking rocks: "I guess."

Tim "forever 17" Drake is just counting down the days until his 18th birthday because that mother fucker has a list. He doesn't mind waiting because he god damn knows there are worse things than death one can do to someone.

Damien has been killing since he could walk and hold up a sword, so when he comes to live with his father under the "no killing until 18" rule he is NOT happy about it. Until his brothers start poking fun at him.

Damien, pouting: "It isn't fair! Todd gets to go out and kill people!"

Bruce: "Jason is over 18 yrs."

Jason: "Yeah! And besides, its not my fault you're just uncreative in how you beat up bad guys!"

Damien: "What is that supposed to mean!"

Tim: "It means that there are worse things than death but you're just too dumb to know it."

Damien, furious: "Am not!"

Jason and Tim, teasing: "Are too!"

Damien: "AM NOT!"

Jason and Tim: "Are tooooo!"

Dick, tired: "Guys, stop making fun of him. He's just gunna take it as a challenge."

Damien, determined: "Well I accept this challenge! I'll provide my superiority as a vigilantly by taking out the enemy in non-lethal yet appropriately brutal ways of punishment! Just you watch!"

Bruce, weary yet appeased: "Well at least he's not gunna attempt murder for a while."

Jason didn't come with an automatic kill switch so Bruce didn't really have to worry about it. But then Jason died and Dick got to see first hand as to why Bruce had a no killing rule for himself. The insurmountable destruction, the overall apathy for the harm to others around him, the deep seated rage ready to just destroy everything he comes in contact with. Alfred tells Dick that they need to stop him because Bruce won't just stop at the Joker, he'll go after Jason's mother (in this au I'm making Sheila live for the extra angst factor)and whoever else he deems even remotely responsible for the death of his son. Bruce won't care if it starts wars and conflict across nations, he will NOT stop until he gets his revenge.

So they stop him, practically have to sedated Bruce with enough tranquilizers to put down an elephant 10x over. And then they lock the Joker up in the deepest underground pits of Arkham with a broken spine and enough security measures that it's very much impossible to brake him out least you're the Batman himself. Bruce isn't happy about it at first but Alfred and Dick are there with him through it all and it helps a lot.

When Jason comes back he still doesn't know about the "no killing until your 18" rule, nor does he know the reason WHY Batman doesn't kill. So he's still angry and does his whole thing as Red Hood but when he reveals himself to Batman as Jason Todd Bruce is just so happy to see him again. And Jason is confused cuz like: "I just killed a bunch of people, aren't you disappointed?"

And Bruce is like: "I am a bit mad that you hurt Tim but other than that you are technically over 18 yrs old now so I'm going to assume you understand the weight and responsibility that is put upon you when killing someone."

Jason, softly: "What...the fuck?"

Then Jason quickly snaps back into gear with his plan, demands Bruce to choose between killing the Joker or him and Bruce hits back with: "Oh, I'd like nothing more than to kill Joker but I promised Dick and Alfred I wouldn't after almost starting an international war that one time."

Jason, extremely frustrated that his plan isn't going how he wanted to: "What. The. Fuck!"

So Jason dips and tracks down Dick so he could explain what the hell was going on. And Dick does explain. He explains the absolute monster Bruce almost turned into when Jason was murdered and how Bruce would most definitely not stop at the Joker if given the chance.

Dick: "You don't understand Jay, it was bad! Like really, really bad! He was going to kill your mom!"

Jason, shocked: "The fuck?!"

Dick: "He still has her on a tracker! We found him just before he killed Joker, but he still managed to paralyze him from the neck down!"

Jason, slightly disturbed: "That was him!"

Dick: "He was beating Joker's ass with a crowbar! And even after we managed to sedated Bruce and pull him off the clown we still had to make sure that Joker was locked up good and tight underground because if Bruce even caught a glimpse of him in a photo he'd go into another spiral!"

Jason, horrified: "What....the fuuuuuck???"

[emmyrosee]

“How come you get to ride in the cart?” He says, a pout in his voice but a smirk curling at his lips. Your hip cocks up as your arms cross over your chest, more than willing to duke this out with him in the entrance of the store.

“Uh, because I’m adorable?” Your words only make his grin spread even more, he knows he’s supposed to make an argument against that but he can’t bring himself to; it’s true, you’re perfect in every trace of the word.

But who was he to go down without a fight?

“But baaaaabe,” he whines further, folding his torso into the cart. “I’m so sore from practice and ‘Samu hit me with the ball and I’ve been walking funny since, and I just want my perfect, stunning, and oh, so smart-“

“Oh my god, fine, just get in the cart!” You snort, the giggles bubbling from your lips. He merely grins victoriously before scrambling himself up and into the cart, other shoppers watching in annoyance and amusement as you watch his knees fold up to his chest.

“Comfy?” You snort, to which he nods over enthusiastically. You roll your eyes before folding yourself over the front of the cart to plant a kiss on his head.

“What do you even need, anyways?” He hums, his head turning back and forth in the superstore, sharp eyes glazing over the shelves. You lean on the handles of the cart, looking around and making a beeline straight to the snacks, giving him a dramatic sigh as you do so.

“Well,” you hum. “I know you wanted m&m’s and popcorn, but I also wanted to grab a few bags of Doritos and since the fuckface I decided to let spoon me at night ate the last of my cookies,” your eyes glare dead at him, only to be met with a wide, toothy grin. “I need to buy more.”

“The guy who spoons you at night sounds hot.”

“The guy who spoons me at night sounds like I’m going to smother him with a pillow.” With that, you two make your way to the snack aisle, your eyes glazing over the contents of the shelves hungrily. “You want any drinks or anything?”

“Nah, I’ll just take whatever you buy.”

You glare at him, “that’s kinda the reason we’re in here in the first place, you clown.”

He snorts at the nickname before hooking his chin over the side of the cart, his sharp eyes flicking over the colored bottles and cans. “Toss me a grape soda.”

“Grape?”

“Yeah.”

“Mid,” you scoff, grabbing him a can to put in the cart. He blinks unamused at you, but ultimately keeps his mouth shut while you make your choice.

“Oh, but my choice is mid,” he teases as you plop a can of lemon lime in his lap.

“This flavor has been worshipped all over the world- you just like the taste of cough medicine or something.”

“My mom only buys the bubblegum flavored cough medicine.”

“Feral.”

The little back and forth you share passes the time as you turn the cart to the chips and Candy, and without sparing a second, you grab the Doritos and toss them carelessly into the cart, smirking as you hear them crunch against his head and body.

“You know, I may annoy you, but I am still in the cart,” he says, shielding himself from another bag of chips that you swat in the cart. When he turns his head up to glare at you, he sees the goofy smile spread over your cheeks, and he’ll happily get beat up by your snacks if it meant he could see it forever.

It’s simple. It’s comfortable, annoying each other throughout the aisles and laughing when the other makes a stupid jab, but Rintaro knows that this is all he’s worked up for. A domesticity that had to be crafted carefully, and he’s honored that you decided to map it with your love.

It’s nothing all like he’d expected love to be like- and now, it’s love he’d never change for anything.

“Get your cookies and lets get the hell out of here.”

“Why? Afraid we’ll miss another episode that we’ve seen forty-eight thousand times?” You jeer, steering the cart to the back wall, where all the cookies are tucked away. He decides to say nothing, merely letting your own joke make you chuckle.

He says you're easy to sedate like that. Really, he does it because the way you get the last word makes you happy.

He watches your lips pull back into an almost relieved smile, grabbing the box of cookies and nodding happily, all before turning back to him in the cart.

“Now be careful,” you warn, clutching the sweet to your chest protectively. “Suna, I’m trusting you with the most precious cargo in the cart. Do not blow it.”

“God, no need to bring out the government name, just give me the damned cookies,” he scoffs, making grabby hands and rolling his eyes when you hesitate. “And for the record, I’m the most precious cargo in the cart. Don’t even start with me.”

“You’re like. Fifth, on the tier list.”

“I’m going to fart on your pillow. Give me the cookies.”

You do, with another small smirk. "You want anything else, baby?" You ask, though you proceed to the checkout.

"Nah, I think I'm good, booger."

You hum and steer him to the self checkout, letting you bag the snacks while he passes them to you, citing you both as the "dream team"- which briefly collapses when you refuse to take his card to pay for everything and chuckling as he scrambles for the wallet tucked in his back pocket.

"You're annoying," he grumbles at your lack of acceptance for his chivalry.

"And you're squishing my snacks- you trying to sleep on the couch?"

Regardless, you push him out of the store and into the night air, and even if he'd rather chew on glass than admit it, the way your face relaxes at the feeling of fresh air makes him melt, and he smiles dopily until you jerk the cart.

"Okay. Get out."

"Huh?"

For a moment, just a moment, it's possible that Suna Rintaro forgot he's in the cart.

"Get out. I'm not wheeling you home, babe."

He sends you a playful glare before using massive hands to grip the side of the cart for leverage. He tries to push back, but his legs can't extend much farther out.

At this point, you're just watching, one brow cocked in amusement and tongue licking the corner of your mouth victoriously. If you didn't look so hot, Rintaro would be furious.

“Babe?”

“What's up, player?"

There’s a silence between you both. You're the absolute worst in this situation by barely even acknowledging his struggle. his lanky frame, still in the wired shopping cart, looks so cramped, and maybe, just maybe, if one of the Gods loved him, they would smite him down from the face of the earth right now.

You smirk, “problems?"

"I'm gonna cheat on you with Kita-San."

"Like he'll he's gonna want you when you're stuck in a cart you begged to be in."

He gnaws at his lip in focus, trying to will his knees to unbuckle from their position and out of the cart.

But they refuse.

He whimpers in his throat while you point and finally cackle at him, loudly, rudely, being absolutely no help in this scenario, and he finally hides his face in his bent knees in embarrassment.

“I’m stuck in the cart.”

[askinkiskarma]

^^^ this right here??? made me slide up a wall in need. now imagine dilf!jake, cause that's all i can imagine. enjoy x

wc: 660 words

smut under the cut, minors DNI 🔞

You loved days with Jake, you really did. He was a good leader - strong and fearless, compassionate and patient, he made everyone feel secure and at ease, made everyone feel included and heard. You loved training with him, hearing him talk, watching him listen. You loved his demeanour and his wit, and how he sacrificed so much and lost a planet and a bond to his own kind in order to protect yours. He was a good mate - considerate and thoughtful, funny and giving, he made it his life purpose to make you happy, and you appreciated him every single minute of your life.

You loved days with Jake… but nights… Eywa, the nights were the best, and you had a perfect example as of why right now, laying sideways on the bed, your head pushed so far back, it was resting in the crook of his neck, drawn out moans and skin slapping together the only sounds you could hear in the quiet of the dead of night. You haven't slept through the night once since meeting Jake. How could you, when more often than not, after a thorough fucking, he loved to fall asleep with his cock still buried deep inside of you, loved for the feel of your tight cunt and smell of your scents mingled together to be the last thing on his mind before he passed out for the night... or at least for a few hours, until you inevitably woke up, needy and desperate once more, grinding on his half-hard length until he was rock hard once more, his body unable to resist you, even asleep as he was.

Now, here you were once more, three orgasms in, crying as he slipped in and out of you with ease, your cum and slick allowing him to bottom out in you, bulging up the skin of your lower abdomen. He loved to sneak his hand from your hip, where it was rested in order to pull you further down his length, and reach around and press on the spot, until you squirmed and whined, until the tears flowed freely down your face into your ears.

"You feel how deep in you I am, angel? That's daddy's cock pushing your pretty skin up, mm? You're taking it so well, aren't you? Always so good for me."

"D-daddy... pl-please!"

His words pushed you closer and closer to the orgasm you knew would take you out for the night, the intensity of the last couple of hours taking a toll on your mind, until you were just a mess of words and incoherent babbles, drunk of his cock and the soft kisses he was peppering on the back of your neck. You could hear the smile in his voice as he spoke.

"What do you need, baby? Need daddy to let you come on his cock?"

His thrusts sharpened momentarily as he was hitting the spot that made you see stars and cry out in unadulterated ecstasy, until you were sure the whole clan could hear how well the Olo'eyktan's mate was getting fucked night after night. Right now, you couldn't find it in you to care.

"There you go, baby girl. Come for daddy so he can fill you up, mm?"

The promise of being marked by him, of his cum dripping out of you and down your thighs for days to come was enough to push you over the edge, and you came, making a mess of the mat, that needed to be changed daily anyhow, as you squirted all over him, gushes of warm liquid mixing with his own, and, spent and filled to the brim as you were, you allowed him to pull you closer and whisper sweet nothings in your ear as you drifted off to sleep.

"Daddy loves you, sweet girl."

You knew, and yet, you couldn't wait until tomorrow night, when he'd more than willingly prove it to you again.

somebody sedate me honestly

[henrycangelbaby]

In which: Y/N pulled back slightly, wiping her tears gently away. “But you didn't; that's what matters," Y/N responded. “You fought so hard, baby, and I am so proud of you."

Or

Abby is reunited with her family.

A gunshot rang through the air. Ellie let up, pulling back in surprise. Abby gasped for air, grounding herself as she was suddenly released from under the water.

"Put your hands in the air," the voice was trying to be firm; it wavered at the end.

"Ellie," the voice continued.

Ellie turned around at the sound of her name; she recognized the source of the voice instantly. When Tommy had told her where Abby was and how to find her, he had referenced this girl. Y/N had been described as a best friend and right-hand woman of Abby's. Ellie had known better than to assume that this girl, who Abby just happened to share a life (and bed) with, was simply only a friend.

But their shared dating preferences hadn't brought her any sympathy; perhaps it had secretly angered Ellie with a slap-in-the-face reminder that Ellie was more like Abby than she wanted to be.

"Ellie, you need to listen to me," her voice became clearer as it moved towards them. The now visible girl's rifle was clutched close to her. She looked over at Ellie, pointing the gun at her head.

"If you move, I will kill you."

Ellie nodded along.

"Put your hands in the air and leave them there, I swear to God."

Her gun was still pointed at Ellie as she moved to raise her hands above her head, keeping them there as the girl walked past her. She placed the gun strap over her body, her face falling when she saw Abby.

"Christ."

Y/N dropped down, pulling the injured girl close.

"My love, oh my honey."

Ellie's chest tightened with a feeling she was unsure of as she watched Abby grab onto Y/N’s t-shirt, pulling her down to her knees, wanting to have her girl impossibly close. Y/N pulled her head close into her chest, rocking Abby for a moment. A tear escaped her eye as she ran her hands through the rough hair that had been brutally slashed off.

Abby spoke weakly.

"Lev, he u—"

She was gently shushed.

"I know, my love, we're going to get you two out of here safe, okay? He's coming home with us," Y/N told Abby gently.

The water around Ellie sloshed gently as she moved to stand. Y/N was quick on her, flipping around and pointing the gun right back at Ellie.

Y/N stood up, her once loose shirt now wet and clinging to what seemed to be the unmistakable curve of a pregnancy bump.

This had to be a joke—a cruel sick joke that was being played on Ellie. She felt ill—something more than regret settling in the pit of her stomach. She had come all this way for revenge. She had been so sure that she was going to kill Abby, that it would sedate the longing and grief inside her.

It hadn't.

She felt diseased with the thought of what she had left to come here—her family. She was more than angered by the cruel truth—a painful reminder of her wrongdoings. Abby had a family—a growing one at that—a family that Ellie had been ready to tear apart when she had walked down to this beach.

Ellie had left her family behind. She knew deep down she probably wouldn’t be returning to it either. She had left all of it behind only to become a killer. Abby had a family—a family that was here with her now, ready to take her home. Abby had a pregnant girlfriend that had fought to come save her.

Ellie had no one.

"Don't move," Y/N ordered, standing in front of Abby. "Ellie, you need to leave, okay? You can walk out of here unharmed by me. End this."

Ellie went to yell, adrenaline coursing through her veins, angered by her realization, her jealousy.

"OR!" Y/N was quick to yell over her. "If you don't leave my family alone, if you try and win this fight, I will kill you right now."

She moved closer to Ellie, who, despite her protests, still had her hands in the air. Y/N stepped close, placing the rifle against Ellie's chest. She spoke lowly.

"You've already killed enough people and ruined enough families; you don't have to ruin this one too."

"Go home, Ellie."

She used the rifle to nudge her back towards the shore. Ellie wasn't sure why she was compelled to listen. Perhaps, deep down, she knew that this girl was right. The circle of violence she had created would follow her around forever if she didn't cut it off at some point.

Ellie couldn't tear her eyes away from Abby, from Y/N. She sits in the shallow water, allowing the saltwater to burn her open wounds. The sting aids her anger; it distracts her from the pain inside her, the ache in her chest that won't let up.

Abby lifts Lev gently into the boat; despite her weakness and her injuries, he feels light; everything was going to be okay. Everyone she cared about was accounted for. Lev was laid down in the boat, her lover placing a jumper under his head. Abby watches as Y/N leans close to a barely conscious Lev, pushing his hair back gently. He reaches up towards the older girl in a weak attempt to put his arms up, wanting to be closer to her. She smiles at him in a way that makes Abby's heart ache; she can hear Y/N promise him something, leaning down to kiss his forehead gently afterward. Lev appears to settle after that, allowing himself to relax, finally safe, back with those who love him.

The attention falls to Abby next; she knew that it would have fallen to her first had Lev not been there. Y/N had taken quickly to looking after Lev; she had a maternal instinct that Abby had taken longer to learn, taking care of Lev in a way that confused him. He had confessed to Abby that he was unsure what to do with the doting; it had made Abby laugh. It was a sentiment that she understood; she had been unsure what to do with Y/N's caring nature back when they had only been friends. It had only gotten worse when they had begun dating. Abby had yet to go hungry or have a neck ache from sleeping funny since they had begun dating what seemed like forever ago.

Abby feels Y/N pull her close; she was weakened by the torture, holding her with as much strength as she could. Abby was used to holding her girl close, crushing her into a hug. It had become a joke between them. Abby's strength was a source of fun between them. Abby throwing Y/N over her shoulder or lifting her off the ground during an innocent hug (it was also a source of something else when they were alone). She had let up when Y/N had fallen pregnant.

Abby had always been protective, but it had gotten far worse when they had come to the realization of her girlfriends pregnancy. It hadn't exactly been a positive realization, but after the initial shock and horror, Abby had become more than eager for her expanding family. Their search for the fireflies had been less than successful, and it had put Y/N in far more danger than Abby had been willing to accept.

Abby had been so scared and worried for her family that she had considered stopping. Searching for an abandoned gated community or farm, taking her family there and ensuring that they could always be safe, protected within the walls of somewhere she could control.

“I thought,” Abby spoke quietly.

Y/N shook her head, imploring her not to speak, but Abby continued, “I thought I was going to die.” She began to cry, wetting Y/N's shoulder. “I was going to leave you all alone.”

Y/N pulled back slightly, wiping her tears gently away. “But you didn't; that's what matters," Y/N responded. “You fought so hard, baby, and I am so proud of you."

Abby could barely nod in response, her body shutting down from relief.

“We don't have to think about that anymore, okay? We can move on,” Y/N stated firmly as she led Abby towards the boat. “We can leave in one second, okay?” Y/N spoke after Abby was situated, walking back towards the shore.

Ellie flinched as she felt a hand land on her shoulder. Her body was immediately put into fight or flight, but for some reason, she remained still; she knew who it was.

Y/N crouched down beside her, a little awkwardly due to her protruding belly, but Ellie didn't want to think about that right now, the thought made her feel sick.

She spoke lowly to Ellie almost as if she were a child, a child who had just learned a hard lesson.

“Go home, Ellie,” Y/N spoke, “go home and live to see another day."

Ellie couldn't respond; Y/N had sounded so sincere it made her head hurt and her eyes wet. She nodded in response, rendered silent by everything.

It seemed to be enough for Y/N, who walked away, back towards her boat. Toward her loving family.

[penkura]

My friend and I have been talking about the idea of Law ending up with a partner who's scared of Doctors/hospitals. Either as a general fear or they had a past of being used as a lab rat. Think it makes an interesting dynamic

I agree greatly! It would be so very interesting to see Law with an SO who is afraid of doctors or hospitals.

Law would notice something is up when you first join the Heart Pirates and hear that he's a doctor. You suddenly quiet and look worried about it, but he doesn't bring anything up at first. White coat syndrome and fear of doctors in general is common enough, he's not hurt by it or anything. He expects you'll move past it as you spend time with him and the crew, coming to realize they aren't going to hurt you or anything, you'll just have routine check ups when it's time and help you through any illnesses.

But when you start to avoid any check ups, even the most basic ones to just make sure you're doing well, Law knows there's something else and he's almost afraid to ask. His worries for you get worse when you actively fight him and Shachi one day when he's trying to check on a wound you got during a fight against another pirate crew. When he merely mentions possible stitches and sees how your eyes widen, he knows there's something very wrong. The fact you start crying, shoving him and Shachi away, telling them not to touch you. Law's about to tell Shachi you need to be sedated so he can check your wound before the red head takes your wrists gently in his hands and gets eye level with you.

"Shh, it's okay, I promise. Captain won't hurt you, he'd never do anything to cause you pain unless it was absolutely necessary. No one's going to hurt you, I promise."

Shachi keeps talking to you until your eyes start to close and you've slumped forward into his arms, Law wondering for a moment if you've worn yourself out before he sees Penguin’s sedated you like he'd originally wanted. It might make you more upset to know they'd done that without fully asking, but it's better so Law can check your wound and you fight him if you do need stitches.

He doesn't ask anything nor does Shachi tell him what's going on yet, not until he's checked you over and your wound is covered. You made it with no stitches, it wasn't that deep in the end.

"What--"

"She was used for medical experiments by some people who said they were doctors. They weren't, they just lied to her, took her to a fake hospital and all that, but..." Shachi sighs a bit, shaking his head and scratching the back of his neck, "She's trying, Captain, she's just scared--"

"Of doctors," Law nods while Shachi looks down, you're still asleep, and it feels weird to talk about you while you're unconscious, "because people lied to her, she doesn't trust me since I am one."

"But she does, Law, she likes you and she trusts you. She needs more time, and help, to know that everything is okay."

Law stays with you after Shachi leaves to give help Hakugan with something else. His first worry was medical negligence had scared you away from doctors, but knowing you'd been lied to and treated like a science experiment angered him. Not knowing about it until now made him believe you didn't trust him enough to tell him, but he wants to change that.

He'll have to apologize for your sudden sedation after you wake up, but at least you weren't too badly harmed during the fight. He's going to do what he can to help you believe that he won't hurt you just because he's a doctor.

(I might have to come back to this later, who knows. 👀)

[see-arcane]

The trains go only so quick

The weather’s only so calm

For the people are all out

For celebration’s a balm

Our good friend sighs in shelter

Barred from revelry and fear

A storied local greets him

As a thunderhead draws near

Preface: For maximum effect, give, “Dracula’s Guest,” a read before proceeding.

The PDF version of the preview is here.

2

Walpurgisnacht

Munich held onto him longer than he would have liked. Had he been marooned in the place as a mere visitor he would never have opted to haunt the station rather than milling around through the celebrating streets. There was as much reveling as reverence at work due to the holiday. The far end of it, anyway. Jonathan had tucked a note on it in his schedule. Celebration meant delays even in the most sedate locales and there was every chance that this one’s might postpone his conveyance. He smiled tiredly at the shorthand, if only so he did not torture himself with looking at his watch for the third time in as many minutes.

‘Walpurgisnacht. Walpurgis Night. A holy day held in respect to Saint Walpurga, the 8th century abbess who warred with illness, pestilence, witchcraft and grim spirits. A time of grave superstition by dark and relieved gaiety by sunup with the witches and the dead all banished. The date has a predecessor in the form of the May Day festivals of old, making the time one of bonfires and fear, beauty and feasting.’ And apparently keeping the trains held up so that any wandering spirits cannot flee too far from the cemeteries.

Jonathan tucked the note away with the rest and battled with himself over whether he dared to stray from the platform or not. His train was meant to arrive at seven o’ clock, which meant that for safety’s sake he ought to be ready and waiting by six, even if the train was more likely to appear closer to eight. But the hour was now half-past five and he had taken his lunch early that day. He was down to rationing mints from their tin lest he give in to hunger and try to elbow his way through the crowded streets to find a restaurant. One that he would not even have time to truly enjoy, needing to eat speedily and flee back to the tracks. His stomach pinched him in protest. He held a fist against it to muffle a growl.

“You can wait.” He could. If there was no dining on the train, he would still make time for breakfast in Vienna. Or if not breakfast, lunch in Klausenburgh. Or… “Or I could just break and get a room for the night.” The words were a sigh. He had spied a hotel sitting in a picturesque spot near a spread of wild greenery that bled into woodlands. What was the name? “Quatre Saisons, I think,” he said under his breath. This, like the rest of his murmured commentary, was meant for no ears but his own. The festivities had left the station remarkably barren. Everyone who had traveled to or from the area wouldn’t be packing up until at least the next morning. So it came as a surprise when he heard a voice behind his head:

“You are an Englishman?”

Jonathan turned to see a man almost as young as himself peering down at him. A cluster of wild roses at his breast was the only flourish to his apparel. His expression was unreadable apart from an angle of suspicion to the brows.

“I am,” Jonathan allowed, grateful that he didn’t need to strain his tongue or the man’s ears with his fragmented German.

“You have come from the Quatre Saisons?” The suspecting angle deepened.

“No, but I was thinking I may have to book a room if the train comes too late.”

The man’s face softened at this, his posture relaxing an increment as he insisted, “The train will come late. Not too late, but still late. You must not bother with the Quatre Saisons either way.”

“Is it full?”

“Most rooms always fill in advance of these days. Inns and hotels shall all be swarmed from now until the seventh of May. But Herr Delbrück’s Quatre Saisons must not be tried. The place is not well this time of year.”

“I do not quite follow,” Jonathan said, his nose just catching the whiff of past toasts to the date on his companion’s breath. “How is it not well?”

“The land it sits with. It is bad to be near it, even after Walpurgisnacht has been and gone. There are…” the man seemed to catch himself on a word before pressing on, “…wild dogs that roam the forest and its valley. Strange souls who would take after the devils of last night, even as we light the fires against them. No, you must not stay there until at least the thick of summer. Better to try in the city’s heart if you must have a room.”

The rooms that were full of visitors already, according to the young man himself. Either way it still relied on Jonathan potentially spoiling the entirety of the client’s route as laid out and paid for from his own account. The idea of taking a room and gambling on a morning train was only a daydream. Jonathan almost said as much.

Instead, “I do not need a room, really. I can hardly risk missing the evening’s train by a minute. But I thank you for the advice, sir.” The young man frowned at Jonathan then, his eyes roaming the length of him in a searching way. “Are you waiting on the train as well?”

“I just purchased my ticket for the morning. It is better to travel by day. And to eat by it too.” He nodded at Jonathan. “You have not been in the city itself? You have partaken of nothing?”

“Sadly no. If I were here on my own account I should have liked to see more, but—,”

“The train will not come any earlier if you sit and starve.”

“Likely not. But I cannot risk wandering too far.” He regarded his luggage drearily. No, he dared not even risk a restaurant. Even the next stop would allow him only a glimpse of the city as he rushed from one point to the next. Perhaps he could find some time to wander when he reached the hotel, but not before. He clenched his belly against another snarl and popped another mint in his mouth. Only three left, but, “Would you care for one?”

The young man whispered something in his homeland’s tongue—it sounded to Jonathan like, “Better to have the leaves,”—but in English said, “I would. Thank you.” He laid it on his tongue as if it were a medicine pill. “But it is still not a supper. Take yourself away for a meal at least, Herr Englishman.”

So saying, the young man departed, perhaps for his own plate or hotel. Jonathan swallowed a sigh and put the tin away. Looking around he saw he really was the last one on the platform apart from one dozing woman playing chaperone to her family’s luggage. Her husband had taken the two sulking children back out into the streets to burn off some energy. With the surly toddlers and the brief conversationalist departed, the space felt oddly like an island. Even the clamor that leaked in from the mouth of the tracks was muted. Jonathan tried to bury himself in a book, but gave up as the text swam before his eyes.

What rest he had gotten was as thin as his last meal was distant. If he could only lay down and sleep through the hunger he might be satisfied, but that risked drowsing through the train whistle itself. He tucked the book away and took himself to the closest opening which showed the beginnings of twilight oozing over the tracks. His hand went again to the neglected journal at his heart and thought another apology at its pages. So far he’d only managed to jot his name within the cover.

“I am sorry,” he told the air. “My head is in no state for you yet.”

A sudden cold gust blew his words back. There was a rise of distraught voices from outside as the breeze whipped through. In the next moment there was a shift in the palette of the sky as a weighty cloud rolled over the last of the sun, plunging the outdoors into early dusk. After that came the pattering of hail. The last festive sounds turned to a disgruntled din before their noise was drowned entirely by the hammering on the station’s roof. Jonathan pulled his coat tight around him and wished luck out to the revelers.

Between one blink and the next, one of the latter manifested at the threshold below. She wore what would have been an immaculate costume of a bygone age if not for the burns that had assailed the fine old dress. Though perhaps that was merely a desired effect. She was likely going around as some witch or spirit who had escaped the bonfires’ efforts during the night. Between the platform’s glow and the outdoors’ new gloom she certainly possessed the half-lit look of a ghost.

The sort of ghost meant for a stage, he added to himself. She has an actress’ face.

Yes, an actress powdered and dressed to be a dead beauty. Her mouth was a full and somber curl of red against a carcass’ pallor. She carved it into a smile as she stared up at him, seemingly oblivious to the cold and hail at her back.

“Are you alright?” he asked in his stilted German. The woman only kept her faded eyes upon him. They had a pull to them that Jonathan couldn’t place. He found himself approaching the tracks’ edge before he realized his feet were moving. “Do you need help?” he added, wondering if the trouble was just a matter of shelter. The tracks were set deep and it would be a hassle to hoist oneself up to the platform’s edge.

“He tries again,” said the woman on the tracks. Possibly. Her German was almost as fractured as his own, albeit with a different inflection. “Another sent for. Another to travel with. Fast, fast, fast.” The sky growled at her words. A stage’s effects could do no better. With the thought in mind, he wondered:

Is this a performance?

Before he could ask, his stomach spoke for him. It was mortifyingly loud and the thunder’s next peal did not do enough to cover it. The woman’s expression cracked on a wider smile. She recited:

“Help, Heaven, help! who knows the Father

Knows surely that he loves his child:

The bread and wine from the hand divine

Shall make thy tempered grief less wild.”

Jonathan smiled back, glad to recall the verse. He and Mina had gone over it in the original text and the English for practice and preference’s sake. Lenore’s lines fell from him:

“Oh! mother dear mother! the wine and the bread

Will not soften the anguish that bows down my head;

For bread and for wine it will yet be as late

That his cold corpse creeps from the grim grave’s gate.”  

The woman’s grin now bared teeth. They were brilliantly white against the crimson of her lips.

“Are you meant to be Lenore?” Jonathan asked.

“Lenore sought her lover. I sought only death.” Her hand rose toward him. “Will you help me find it?”

Thunder boomed as a new wind rolled through the station like a howl. The woman’s ruined dress and hanging hair danced wildly on her, though she seemed not to notice. Jonathan went toward her, deciding whatever act she adhered to would be better performed out of the elements’ reach. His hand reached down to hers. There was a moment when their fingers brushed and Jonathan felt sick at how frozen she felt even through his glove.

In the same instant he saw the dancing of lightning without. The bolts seemed almost like a great weaving animal, snapping in closer and closer bolts along the blackened sky. Intuition tightened in his chest. Suspicion leapt to certainty. There was no time to speak—

Get off get off the tracks it’s going to—

—only to grab for her hand.

But not fast enough. Another gale of wind rushed through, this time angled in such a way that it seized and flung him back against the floor. Lightning struck in the same instant. Noise blasted his ears. It was a nigh deafening din made from the crackle of electricity dancing on the tracks and the rattling roar of a thunderclap. Under it, he swore he heard the woman scream.

God oh God oh God hospital what is the word for hospital I need the dictionary I need—

He scrambled to his feet and back to the platform’s edge. His breath stayed trapped in his chest until he looked down.

And saw nothing.

There was no woman, alive or dead. He gawped for almost a minute at the bare tracks. The hail thinned away as he stared and the thunder softened to a grumble.

How..?

“You are hurt?”

Jonathan looked up and found the dozing mother had left her heap of baggage to check on him.

“No, no, not hurt. But there was someone…” He gestured at the tracks and limped through a few lines of German before she shooed his words away with her hand, switching briskly to English. He explained the scene in full and the mother nodded with something between grave intensity and a sprightly eagerness.

“Yes, there would still be some who wander late. Walpurgisnacht is night and day. Probably she is drifting back to her tomb, sulking that she did not get company for her bier. If you had your gloves off and showed your ring she may have not bothered. Lovers who die before the wedding day, they are the greediest souls on these nights.”

This she said with great authority and Jonathan had no desire to mention that he wore no ring as yet. No more than he had any urge to voice his suspicion that the woman had been very much alive and somehow made it away from the station’s threshold before the lightning could do any damage.

The other explanation is that the woman was, in fact, a roaming ghost come to collect a new member for the graveyard. It is the time of year for such things.  

A call from the other end of the station turned the mother’s head. Father and children had come in from the storm, as had a smattering of other travelers. The train whistle bayed not long after. Jonathan looked to the tracks again as if the woman might suddenly rematerialize in the locomotive’s path. The only body that he could see was the outline of some animal at the edge of the platform’s glow. It looked like a large dog posed beside the tracks, tail still and eyes lambent. Jonathan held its stare for a moment. Then it was gone, loping off into the night.  

This. This is worth writing about.

And it was. At least once his seat had him in it and a wonderfully dense meal sat in him. He brought out his stationery pages for the cause, jotting the entirety of his time in the station up to the arrival of the train. These loose sheets were reserved specifically for storytelling and recipe preservation, the better to possibly be scrapbooked away at home. The journal still drowsed in his pocket.

Hold out for the hotel room. Almost there.

Jonathan cupped a hand to his eyes to keep out the glare as he watched the world go by in the window. The storm was left behind now and the sky was all stars above rooftops and treetops alike. A brilliant wedge of a moon shined out at him. He was still admiring the view when the steward came along to tap his shoulder. There was a smile on his face but a glimmer of anxiety in his eye.

“Herr Harker, yes?”

“Yes,” Jonathan managed before the steward produced a telegram.

“For you. Will you have another drink?”

“No, thank you.” But the glass was already stolen away and refilled before he could finish the sentence. The steward vanished in nearly the same instant, looking as if he meant to finish the bottle himself. Jonathan puzzled over this a moment before turning his attention to the telegram.

BISTRITZ.

My friend, I send all apologies to you on account of the trains and the time. We arranged our meeting during the heart of much fervor, and such will always meddle with travel. I send this in anticipation of your own frustrations with the hindered hours and my gratitude for your steadfastness. I hope it shall please you to know that the Hotel Royale has its finest suite reserved and waiting for you, and so too for the Golden Krone of Bistritz after them. May their hospitality be a balm against the troubles of a passenger at the mercy of fickle clocks. —Dracula

Jonathan marveled at the message. It was a rarity in itself to have a client who made no fuss when it came to snags that the firm had no control over. To have one who foresaw said snags and went out of his way to apologize to the solicitor himself was unheard of. And from a noble?

He added the telegram to his memoranda with a smile.