#I have never drawn John seriously

[ghost-qwq]

something something they're all bisexual or whatver

[johnwickb1tsch]

bittersweet ~ a yandere!John Wick x fem!reader sunshine/grump coffee shop AU... Part 7 all chapters

I knew the pleasure of vexing and soothing him by turns; it was one I chiefly delighted in.

–Jane on Mr. Rochester, Jane Eyre, Charlotte Brontë

-It's no real mystery, why you dig out your beloved old copy of Jane Eyre. From the early 1900s, it had seen better days when you’d scored it in the local used book store, many years ago. You’d been a teenager then—and those days were long behind you. It seems you never outgrew your liking of a dark and broody anti-hero.

It’s safer to read about it though, than pursue the real thing.

Lately every time Mr. Wick comes into the shop you feel slightly agitated, as though you don’t quite fit into your own skin. You remember the sensation of his fingertips on yours, like a burn.

Mr. Wick sees you reading your tattered novel on your break, but doesn’t comment. You’ve seen him with old classics in hand and reckon he must be something of an aficionado.  

You put it away in your shoulder bag in the back after the break.

The next day, it’s gone.

You know you left it in your bag. Where the fuck could it have gone? Why would someone fucking steal it?

A couple of weeks later, it reappears on the counter by the register you favor.

You hardly recognize it at first, for it has received an encompassing makeover. It has new leather covers with gorgeous embossed gold lettering, and marbled end papers, and the tattered thread of the binding repaired. There are gilded arabesques on the spine and delicately drawn climbing flowers on the cover. You wouldn’t have even thought it the same book, if not for the intricately printed title page unique to your edition, with an old pencil mark in the corner you recognize.

Such a restoration would have cost a fortune.

You knew, because you’d looked into it.  

Further compounding the mystery, there is a beautiful jacquard embroidered ribbon bookmark inside. It’s on the page where Rochester has sat Jane down in the arbor, and is telling her that she has rejuvenated him from his unhappy existence without actually admitting anything, asking in the most roundabout way possible if it would be so very bad to take a second wife who would make him a new man, while his first is still living, the big idiot.

“Is the wandering and sinful, but now re-seeking and repentant, man justified in daring the world’s opinion, in order to attach to him for ever this gentle, gracious, genial stranger, thereby securing his own peace of mind and regeneration of life?”

Jane tells him, of course, that a man shouldn’t base his redemption on another person, but within himself. You are not sure you would have had the strength to speak so frankly to a man you secretly loved.

Well, maybe you would.

You are utterly mystified by the whole thing, to say the least.

But later, you are browsing the local book store, and the owner is reading Anna Karenina in what looks like freshly bound leather. The style looks familiar.

“Did you have that restored?” you ask, feeling like Nancy Drew hot on the trail of a fresh lead.

“Yeah, that new guy in town, John Wick did it for me. He says he’s just a hobbyist, but he does amazing work. Usually you have to send off to Florence for quality like this, seriously. It’s a dying art.”

Darren lets you look at the book, and you are impressed by the craftsmanship.

The spine decoration matches yours. There is a plate in the back that proclaims: Bound by John Wick.

The sneak.

You are touched to the tips of your toes, your heart filled with butterflies. Was the bookmark purposely left on that page, or just a random placement?

You hardly dare hope, and tell yourself it’s an invention of your own fancy. The gift of the book is magnificent enough. No need to further muddle things with secret communications that aren’t really there.

The next day you approach Mr. Wick’s table with hands on your hips, affecting annoyance. “You stole my book.”

He actually has the grace to look sheepish about it, casting those lovely dark eyes downwards.

“Yeah.”

“Thanks. I really love it.” It’s the understatement of the century.

He looks up through his hair, the surprised sparkle in his eyes taking your breath away. Suddenly, he looks ten years younger.  

“Yeah?”

The corners of your mouth twitch. This man speaks like he’s paying five cents per word, you swear. “Yeah. Why didn’t you tell me you bind books?”

He just shrugs, and you cannot help but laugh.

“I’ve never owned anything so fine. Thank you, truly.”

 He nods again, and you sense that you’re maybe making him uncomfortable with your gratitude. You suspect it’s not why he did it at all.

“Will you show me sometime? How you do it?”

There is a flash of something dark in his eyes before he turns his attention back down to his own book. It feels like dismissal, but you have no idea what he’s hiding underneath it all.

Still waters run deep.

“Anytime you want,” he offers as you turn to go.  

You smile at him over your shoulder as you go back to your station, a secret lightness fluttering in your heart. On your break you flip through your refurbished book once more, taking even more pleasure in it knowing that John poured over every detail of it. You don’t know much about bookbinding or leather work, but you suspect he freehanded the little flowers on the front, and that moves you to your toes.

You flip to one of your favorite scenes because you find it so funny, when Jane puts out the fire that nearly burned Rochester up in his sleep, because undoubtedly he’d drank too much earlier to easily rouse, the lovesick scoundrel. Afterwards he doesn’t want her to leave but can’t outright keep her in his room without behaving an absolute blackguard.

“Strange energy was in his voice, strange fire in his look.”

You cannot help but glance up at your tall dark bookworm in the corner, an aching warmth spreading in your heart for the sight of his furrowed brow, his concentration (you think) focused on the tome in his hands.

You know you are a ridiculous thing.

[unhetalia]

"A Love Without A Name"

Word Count: 3,408.

Rating: Mature

Summary: Alfred's freedom hinges on his ability to guess a magical creature's name. He doesn't take the task very seriously.

Notes: Written for @usukweek Day 1 - Fairy Tale AU. Because I was late to starting, this fic is current unedited - I'll post it on AO3 once I've cleaned it up.

***

“So… do you know what my name is, darling?” England asks, his expression is mild as if he were out on a midday stroll, as opposed to fucking his hips in and out of Alfred’s willing body.

In contrast, Alfred lies beneath him gasping out his pleasure. His nails are clawing at England’s back, desperately trying to pull him closer. His heaving gasps are England’s only answer.

England has asked him this same question every day for a hundred years; Alfred hasn’t bothered answering in fifty. 

***

There is a story about a beautiful maiden who made a deal with a Creature. Her first born child for all the riches in the world. The beautiful maiden had no plans to marry or have children and believed she was tricking the creature, but it wasn’t even two years later that she fell in love and became pregnant. Eventually, she gave birth to a beautiful baby boy.

The story goes that when the creature came for her son, the woman was prepared. Cunning in her own way, and unwilling to let the creature get the upper hand again, she convinced the creature to make a bet. I bet you that I can guess your name, creature, she crowed.

The creature disagreed, and was so sure she would never know his name that he agreed that if she was able guess it, he would renege his claim on her son and let him stay with her.

What the creature hadn’t realised was that the woman had known his name all along, though at first she had pretended to guess a variety of incorrect names. Is it Frederick? Or John? Blake? Bud? Bowser?

Eventually, though, she said, I think I know your name, Creature and said his secret name, and the creature wailed and screamed but had no choice but to leave the woman and her baby alone.

And of course, the woman lived happily ever after, and her son grew up healthy and strong, and they never saw the creature again.

Or so the story goes.

***

Alfred is newly eighteen when England comes for him. He is walking home from work - a small school with only eight students where he teaches basic reading and arithmetic - when he notices a horse drawn carriage beside him. It’s odd, because he’s pretty sure that the carriage wasn’t there a second ago. I must be really tired, he thinks.

A man steps out of the carriage, and the first thing Alfred notices is that the man is exceptionally handsome, with messy light blonde hair, striking green eyes, and even more striking eyebrows.

The second thing he notices is that the man must also be exceptionally wealthy. He’s dressed in the way of aristocracy, wearing a dark suit and white gloves that would surely be stained in any other occupation than ‘sitting around and being rich’. 

Alfred instinctively smiles at him, even though his mother had always warned him about doing such a thing. The man smiles back and says, hello, Alfred.

Which -

“How do you know my name?” he asks. He is suddenly alert, because his mother has spent years warning him of many things, to the point that Alfred doesn’t quite remember what all the warnings were, only that strangers knowing his name must be one of them.

The man keeps smiling, and steps closer. Alfred tries to step back, but finds that he can’t.

“I know your name because you’re mine,” the man says.

And then Alfred’s world goes black.

***

Alfred is England’s because the stories are wrong, and the creature - call me England, creature gets a bit tiring, don’t you think? - and the fair maiden never made a deal for riches, and she never knew his real name.

Instead, the true story is still about a beautiful maiden, but this one gets pregnant out of wedlock. The father is a noble already engaged, who would never leave his comfortable life for a kitchen maid. The maiden was fine with this, and fine with raising her child on her own, because she had loved them as soon as she knew they existed.

Everything was going perfectly fine, until the day she started bleeding and bleeding, and she knew that if it didn’t stop, she and her baby would both die.

This is when England comes in. He doesn’t know how she knew about him - only that one day a woman summons him in order to bargain for the life of her child. 

I have a sister who will care for them, and so I can die. But please, let my child live.

Young maiden, you are not destined to die today, England had said. Only your child.

The young maiden was not happy with his answer. 

Let me die instead, she begged. 

That’s not the way it works. No single life is the same, and so no life can be traded for another. He paused. But I can make you a deal. It comes with a guarantee - eighteen years with your child. - a son, by the way. If you win, you get his full life. If you lose, he will be mine after his eighteenth birthday. I will treat him like one of my Court, and he will be safe, but you will never see him again.

Desperate, the maiden agreed readily, though she made him repeat his promise to take care of her son - a son, she was having a son.

If you figure out my name, maiden, he is yours. If you do not, he is mine.

***

Alfred’s mother had been obsessed with names when he was younger, he remembers. She had pieces of paper all around their little cottage, filled with names from books and stolen from travellers who passed through. Jeremiah and Josiah. Kallen and Maurice. 

A real name, though, is made of more than one name, but of multiple stuck together. One does not guess anyone’s true name.

His mother’s obsession had petered out when he'd turned seven or so. Instead, she had made herself fully available for Alfred. They weren’t wealthy, but she was a doting, loving mother. She taught him to cook, and bake, and clean. Most importantly, she taught him to read and write - a luxury not afforded to many in their village.

He knows now that the disappearance of her interest had come with the realisation that one cannot guess a name. Instead, she had decided to make every second with her son count.

England offers Alfred the same deal. Of course, if you figure out my name, you can leave and go back to your mother and your job and your small life. Until then, you are mine.

***

Is your name Dylan Parkinson?

No, Alfred. That is not my name.

***

England’s aristocracy is a facade. He dresses well, and the one room they stay in inside the giant castle he takes him to is furnished well enough, but when Alfred explores the rest of the castle, he finds it dilapidated and dirty, empty of anything that makes it a home. 

The one livable room has a giant, four-poster bed shoved in one corner, with a cot laid out at the foot of it meant for Alfred. The cot isn’t nice, especially not compared to England’s bed, but to Alfred, it;s better than the scratchy collection of hay and linen he was used to back home.

England doesn’t seem to actually want to do anything with him. Mostly he sits around while the man goes through paperwork. Paperwork for what, he doesn’t know. Was there some kind of Creature bureaucracy?

Alfred tries to escape a total of one time, wherein he twitched slightly with intention and England said don’t even think about it, then put him to sleep for an hour. It doesn’t seem worth it to try again.

“What am I even here for if I’m just gonna sit here and watch you stare at pieces of paper?” he complains. 

“Look,” England sighs. “Unfortunately I don’t actually have a use for you yet. Maybe a spell will require a human sacrifice at some point, then you’d be handy, but as of right now just. Sit still.”

Alfred carefully ignores the mention of human sacrific and stands up, hands on his hips. “How about I clean your house and like, cook for you and stuff? You eat, right? Sitting still is impossible for me - my mum used to say I needed to be walked like a dog.”

England waves him off. “Yes, do that, if you want. Just remember that I’ll know if you try to escape and that I can’t be poisoned.”

Alfred, who had never even considered poisoning another huma - err, living being, balks at the statement. “What the - I don’t posion food! That’s sacrilege! And just you watch, this castle is going to look amazing!”

He doesn’t think England really cares what he does as long as he’s not constantly hovering and bothering him, so Alfred decides it’s perfectly alright for him to make all the decisions regarding what to do with the rest of the non-England occupied castle.

He needs to take whatever freedom he can get, after all. 

***

Is your name Aaron Baker?

No, Alfred, my name is not Aaron Baker.

***

Alfred knows he’s a good cook. His mama was a kitchen maid for royals, and she’d taught him everything she knew. Still, the awed look on England’s face when he tries Alfred’s stew is worth more than every compliment the villagers had given him over the years. This is a being of magic, and yet he still looked at something Alfred created as if it was out of this world.

“Maybe I won’t use you for human sacrifice,” England says, two bowls later. Alfred takes it for the compliment it is, and grins back at him.

***

He doesn’t know when or how it starts, but Alfred starts eating with England. Then, he starts talking with him. He asks questions about what England does when he’s not making deals with desperate women, and finds out that there is Creature bureaucracy, and that England somehow leads it.

“Wait, you’re the King? Why are you living in an abandoned castle?”

“Our royalty do not work in the same way yours does. I must always be alone, except for my intended and my Court. The Court is made up of … well, individuals that I own. Since I prefer not to do that whole ownership thing - well, before your blasted mother wrangled a deal out of me - here we are.”

“And what, you don’t have enough juice to spruce up the castle by yourself?” Alfred asks, incredulous. A castle didn’t seem like much compared to bringing a dying unborn baby back to life. 

“There are … rules. Strange hospitality rules. It’s very stupid and not worth explaining. That is to say, I can not use magic on a home, even if it’s mine.”

“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Quite.”

***

Is your name Rumpelstiltskin?

Rumpel - what? What kind of name is that? No, that’s not my name!

I saw it in a book and thought it’d be good to try it!

***

It takes three years for Alfred to complete the castle renovation to his exacting standards. Every day, England asks him if he’s figured out his name, and Alfred takes a guess. A lot of the time, they’re names of people he once knew, though sometimes they’re names he reads from books in the large library he’d found on the fifth floor (of eight, which is honestly just excessive, no one can blame Alfred for taking three years to finish everything). Mostly Alfred doesn’t put as much effort into it as he should. If his mother couldn’t do it, there’s no way he can. 

The day he finishes, he barges into his and England’s shared room to demand he see the fruits of Alfred’s labour, since he knows England would never see any of it otherwise. When he needs to leave, England just pops out of existence and to where he needs to be, no need to take the door. He hasn’t seen a lick of the work Alfred’s been doing.

Honestly, Alfred expects England to hum and feign disinterest. Well, you’ve certainly kept yourself occupied, he’ll say. Now we need to find you another hobby so you don’t bother me while I’m trying to work

That’s not what happens. England sees the clean floors and walls and the furniture Alfred had either built himself or bought from the nearby village (with money from the part-time teaching job he’d gotten himself, because England truly did not care what he did as long as he came back at the end of the day), and whispers you’ve built me a home, then turns around and shoves him against the nearest wall in order to kiss him senseless.

***

Apparently those dumb ‘can’t use your magic to build your own home’ rules are due to courtship rituals. Alfred still has no idea what exactly those rituals are, because how exactly is he supposed to remember anything when England is biting at the junction between his neck and shoulder just enough for it to hurt so good?

***

“Uh, Beef Stew.”

“You think my name is Beef Stew?”

“What? No, I’m thinking about what to make for dinner.”

***

Five years after the day England ravished him against the wall of their newly renovated castle, Alfred realises he hasn’t aged.

“My darling, I despair for you,” England admonishes. “How could you not notice you haven’t aged? It’s been eight years!”

“Wh - I’ve been busy!” I’ve been getting fucked silly every night, I’ll have you know, he carefully doesn’t say. England is too smug already.

“Well,” England begins. “Technically, I own you, so you’re tied to my life force. And because I’m immortal, well… I’m sure you can extrapolate.”

“Oh.” Alfred takes a moment to think. “So if you didn’t own me, I’d be mortal again.”

“Yes, you wouldn’t be part of the Court, then.”

And then England would be alone again, doing magical paperwork in the same room. He wonders if the castle would fall into disrepair again, without Alfred around to clean or to repair anything that breaks?

“Huh.”

***

Alfred finds England’s name by accident. 

The fifth floor library is one of his favourite places, and often he takes a few books to the school to read to the children. Quite a few of the villagers stop by to listen to the stories alongside the children, and there’s been talk of doing night classes for any of the older folks who want to learn to read themselves.

One day he finds a book that looks a lot older than the others. It’s made of brown, aged leather , and has a strange, gold symbol embedded on it that somehow looks like an infinite amount of intertwining circles. When he opens it, the first page proclaims it to be the property of Prince Arthur James Kirkland. It’s a child’s diary, though the contents are confusing, as if the child was writing about fantasies as opposed to any real places or events. Maybe Prince Arthur was never actually a prince, but a boy with a vivid imagination?

He decides to take the book to the school to show one of the other teachers, a woman by the name of Agnes who loves all things fantasy. Except when he tries to show her, she only looks confused and asks Alfred why he’s trying to show her an empty book.

He realises later what it means, and who the book must belong to. A magical book, in a castle owned by the King of Creatures, who must have once been a prince, a long time ago.

This is England’s, whose name is Arthur. This diary was a record of his childhood, before he was an all powerful king.

Alfred has found out England’s name, but finds he’s more interested in reading stories of what he was like as a precocious child, running away from nannies and scaring mortals against his mother’s orders.

***

When England - Arthur James Kirkland - asks him to guess his name that night, Alfred says, “Cinnamon Buns.”

***

England’s wrung all the pleasure from Alfred’s body that it can handle, and then some. Their last round had started with England on top, but eventually he’d maneuvered Alfred on top of his cock and made him ride him until he’d cried, cock unable to come with England’s magic wrapped tightly around it. Eventually, England had sat up and licked into Alfred’s mouth so he could swallow his lover’s cries as he undid the spell and finally, finally let Alfred finish. 

Now, Alfred’s arms are wrapped loosely around his neck, Alfred’s head laying on his shoulder. England lays him on the bed like a child, kissing his eyes, his nose, his lax mouth.

When Alfred is comfortable, England slides in beside him, chuckling when the other man immediately scoots closer in order to rest his head on his chest. Alfred’s clinginess after sex is a given; routine in the same way The Question is.

The thought makes England frown. He looks down at Alfred’s blonde head, and asks a question he’s been wanting to ask for ninety years.

“Are you ever going to answer with my real name?”

He feels Alfred tense against him. “What are you talking about?”

“About ninety years ago, I left my journal in the library for you to find,” England admits. “I wanted to give you the chance to go back to your village, see your mother again. But that night, when I asked you, you gave me a joke answer. And every day for the next forty years you never once gave the correct one - then eventually stopped even bothering to answer. I have to admit, I - I don’t understand.”

Alfred turns to look up at him, and to his surprise, he’s grinning. “Have I managed to stump The King of The Fae? Why, I think I should be proud of myself for such a feat.”

Alfred presses a kiss to England’s chin. “It’s simple, really, and you’d think that after what we’d just done you’d get it.”

His voice lowers to a whisper. “I’d already decided by then that I quite liked being owned by you.”

[thedovesaredying]

Flames of Green | CoD x GoT/HotD | Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader x John "Soap" MacTavish | Part 1.

Artwork by Elizabeth

You're the heir to the Iron Throne, the eldest child of the current king with the blood of the Targaryens flowing through your veins. Unfortunately, you're due to be married off to a mysterious Northern lord by the name of John MacTavish. At least your closest friend and member of your guard, Simon Riley, will be by your side throughout it all.

A/N: I'm back in my House of the Dragon era, so I'm mixing hyperfixations. The Cannibal doesn't get enough love, he's a nasty bastard and he deserves to cause some chaos. It will eventually be a Ghost x Reader x Soap relationship and likely a bit of a slowburn. Literally just for my own entertainment, but I hope y'all enjoy.

Warnings: None

Masterlist: CoD Masterlist

Next

It’s times like this that you mourn the loss of your youth. Forced to sit in silence while discussions are held by old men around a table, weighing up the advantages and disadvantages of your future marriage to every potential high lord in Westeros. Your opinion is never considered, let alone asked for by any of your father’s advisors, your compliance expected regardless.  

If you had been born a man you could have your pick of any woman in the kingdom to take as a wife, but instead, you’re forced to simply accept whatever man is placed in front of you. Such is the burden of being the princess and heir to House Targaryen. You will be made to give up the right to rule the kingdom to the high lord assigned to you, never to touch the ever-elusive Iron Throne that should have been yours by right.  

You had never really taken the prospect of marriage too seriously in your youth, always considering it a problem for the you of the future to deal with. You didn’t care to forge lasting alliances with other ladies and lords, too busy dragging your poor best friend, Simon, through the gardens and dirtying your extravagant dresses. 

But those days were over. 

Talk of wedding a powerful lord and bringing forth the next line of Targaryen children is all that fills your ears now. You’re forced to entertain every man, young and old, that wishes to gain your favour with a polite smile and feigned interest. You don’t even have your dear Simon to offer you his companionship and a break from the cruel realities of the world. No doubt he would have entertained you with his dry remarks about each man set before you.  

It has been years since you last saw Simon. He was taken from the Red Keep by his father and sent to squire for another lord in the hopes of teaching him the art of warfare. Lord Riley was a foul man, constantly berating his son for spending his time with the Princess rather than roughhousing with his fellow boys. He considered the boy too soft and squeamish at the sight of blood to make a good future lord of their keep.  

You disagreed, of course, Simon was perfect just the way he was; gentle and kind to all those around him. Your friend couldn’t hurt a fly, but he was still one of the bravest people you knew.  

You dread to think just how much he would have hated being drawn into battles, forced to kill other men with his own hands. The letters he occasionally wrote to you always steered clear of depicting the violence you were certain he must have been subjected to, but you’re far from naive enough to hope he has yet to participate in any bloodshed. As the years dragged on, word from him has grown scarce, however, to the point where you can hardly remember when you heard from him last.  

What you do know, is that he had been sent to offer assistance in maintaining peace throughout the Stepstones, killing raiders and pirates that would endanger trade routes to King’s Landing.  

But that was almost six months ago, and there has been little else to soothe your vexed nerves over his safety. He had made a promise to you the day he left, that once his training was done he would return to your side, this time as a knight who would offer himself to your Queen’s Guard once the time was right. Never again would he leave you, more than happy to forfeit the ruling of his own homeland if it meant he could keep you safe.  

You had clung to that promise every day for years after his departure, but with each passing moment it become harder to hold out hope of seeing him again. After all, what is one promise between children in the grand scheme of things?  

It’s a blessing when you’re finally relieved from the meeting, escaping from the suffocating air within the council chambers and fleeing to the safety of your room. You don’t even pause to ensure one of your guards is following you, getting straight to stripping from your dress and replacing it with your riding gear.  

As the carriage carries you away from the city and toward the Dragon Pit your nerves begin to settle. The constant odour of sweat and excrement quickly gives way to fresh air the further away you get. It’s a beautiful day, with hardly a cloud in the sky and wildflowers blooming all along the road. It’s a genuine shame that your day has started so poorly, otherwise you’d have loved to wander the palace gardens and enjoy the midday sun.  

The ground is rocky outside of the dragon pit, and you’re jostled around a bit until the carriage comes to a stop. Although this is your destination, the dragon you seek is not here. Your dragon is far too large to be housed within the Pit.  

Unlike your younger sister, you were not blessed by the Gods to have your dragon egg hatch while you were in the cradle. All throughout your childhood you sat next to it and prayed for the hatchling to come forth, promising you would care for the creature and love it more than anything. But the baby dragon never arrived.  

Many said that it was a sign from the Gods, that you were unfit to be the heir if even your own dragon refused to hatch for you. It was a heavy sentence hanging around your neck, weighing you down and making you feel as though you are worthless, despite the fact you have more power than most of the people laughing at your situation.  

None of them are laughing now.  

You see your dragon stretched out atop one of the nearby ridges. He’s so large that his wings and tail drape over the edge of the rocks, entirely unconcerned by the humans fearfully gathered beneath him as he snoozes away in the warmth of the sun. His scales are like coal, absorbing every ray of sunshine that he can.  

The Cannibal may not be as large as Vhagar, but he’s far older and, as many would argue, far meaner than the old girl. Where most dragons have vibrant, golden eyes, you’re greeted by a pair of sinister green the moment you draw near. His go-to reaction to most things is aggression, and you’ve seen many people meet their end in a blast of emerald flame for merely disturbing him.  

It’s for that precise reason you’re stunned to see someone standing beside the grumpy old beast. There’s only one person other than yourself who could get anywhere near the Cannibal without immediately being swallowed whole. The man pauses his rubbing of your dragon’s scales the moment he sees you, only to earn a displeased whack from the Cannibal’s snout. You bite your lip to force down the grin that’s threatening to spread across your face when the man drops down to one knee, his head bowed respectfully.  

“Lord Riley,” you nod, “I do believe that’s my dragon you’re touching.” That earns a groan from the Cannibal, his massive head twisting away from you both, as though already bored of the conversation.  

“A thousand apologies, princess,” Simon grins, his eyes sparkling with mirth, “your dragon was growing impatient.” The dragon in question huffs, his tail twitching like an agitated cat.  

Simon looks so different from the last time you saw him. He’s both taller and broader, completely filled out with muscles. When he stands again, you’re face to face with the rather intimidating bone mask adorning his face. You’re not certain if it’s real bone, but at that moment you could have cared less, throwing yourself at the large man.  

He catches you easily, holding you tightly against his larger body. It’s entirely improper and if anyone other than your guards witnessed such an interaction there would no doubt be whispers abound. Perhaps it’s a good thing Simon decided to meet you somewhere so private.  

“When did you get back?” you ask, leaning back just long enough to look him in the eye.  

“We docked late last night,” he answers, and you can feel the way his chest rumbles with each word. His deep voice soothes something within you, your stress dissipating like mist at dawn. “We received word that the King’s Guard now has an open position,” he continues, and then much to your shock adds, “I’m here to fill that position.”  

You pull away from him almost completely, only your hands still gently curled around his gauntlets, “but I heard that your father was recently taken ill, don’t you need to return home?”  

While the mask hides the majority of Simon’s face, you can still see the way the skin around his eyes crinkles slightly, “I made a promise to serve my future Queen,” he takes your hand from his arm and presses the back of your palm to where his lips are beneath his mask, “if you’ll have me, princess.”  

You can feel your face burning with the intensity with which Simon stares at you. “I’m certain my father will be delighted to have such a well-regarded warrior in his service,” you smile, gently pulling your hands away from the knight, despite the urge to keep holding onto him.  

Before you can continue the conversation, the Cannibal turns his head back to your again, nudging at you with an irritated huff. His breath is scalding against your skin, yet it doesn’t burn you, thankfully. You place your hand against the beast’s snout, feeling the thick scales shift under your leather gloves. “Gīda,” you coo to the dragon, waiting until he lowers his wing to the floor to provide you with a way to climb onto his back. He’s far too large for you to mount the same way you would a younger dragon.  

Once settling into the Cannibal’s saddle, you grin down at your friend, “I look forward to seeing you in the keep, my lord.” You only have the time to see Simon’s quick nod, before your dragon is leaping from the edge of the ridge, forcing an end to your conversation. You can feel his clear exasperation through your bond and ensure to give the old dragon a scratch to the neck.  

[asherloki]

Until I found you

Sherlock x reader

Word count:- 815

Fluff

"oh how wonderful indeed" I exclaimed as I touched each string of violin in order with my index finger, making it buzz. Sherlock was still stuck with his microscope, examining the specimen he's been given by Hopkins recently. This officer, Stella Hopkins, she's a huge fan of Sherlock and to our surprise Sherlock doesn't mind her, he says "this young officer has potential". I took his violin as no response came from the man with the microscope. Imitating how Sherlock holds his violin I took the bow in other hand. When I let it touch the strings, it made an awful sound. That's when I turned and found out the detective lifted his head from it.

"You didn't hold any chord did you?" he enquired getting up from his chair, leaving the kitchen table as it is, messy.

"I don't play violin detective, so I don't know the chords" I replied putting the violin down. As I turned back again I saw my man was walking towards me or was he walking towards the violin?

"perhaps you'd be interested in learning it?" he offered as he stood infront of me.

"how many times have I offered you to learn a bit of piano from me Mr Holmes?" I teased him and I was delighted at how he pouted at my teasing. Whenever we visit my mum's I always play my old piano, perhaps I've asked him to play it a thousand times and he didn't agree to do so for once. Even though I caught him once or twice admiring it, as he pressed a few keys with his index finger.

"I'm not a pianist, sorry Mrs Holmes" him referring me as Mrs Holmes has never failed to make me giggle, "guitar, Ukulele, all the instruments you own" he said walking past me and grabbing his violin, "I'm fascinated by you" he praised holding his violin over his shoulder, then spinning the knobs as he tuned it.

"you were?" I enquired, sitting on the arm of his chair as he faced the window.

"wrong" he replied taking the bow in hand, "I still am, very much fascinated".

I smiled, did he smile too? who knows. Even after being his wife I can't always tell what's going on in his head, the mystery that he is, the man that he is.

"I always wanted to learn violin next" I said for I've always been drawn to how wonderful this musical instrument sounds.

"why didn't you?" Sherlock asked staring at his dearest violin.

"here you are" I replied, the only musical instrument I knew not how to play, my husband does, and he does it wonderfully, "you can, maybe one day I'll have enough courage to ask you to teach me too".

He gave me a hum in response, as if he wondered 'when will you be genuinely willing?'

"what will you play Sherlock?" I enquired, wanting to know if he has prepared anything, he loves to compose sometimes, he did one for me, the day we were married, three years ago, twenty second November, he made a rather happy melody for me. It was so joyous that everyone asked about it, like what is the inspiration behind it. He replied "my sunshine", he named it so as well. For he says he's never truly been happy, until I came one day, while he was playing with Rosie, John's daughter. He says he felt as if the sunrise for which he waited for a long time, rose that day.

"something my wife would love" he replied turning a bit to me, his smile indicated he will play my favourite song. A song that sounds beautiful when he plays it for me. And then his bow touched the strings, and the buzz was perfect, for the man held the right chords, unlike me. With Swift movements of his fingers, as if they were dancing on the chords and the bow sliding over the strings he started the part that goes,

heaven, when I held you again....

I smiled widely as my guess was correct, the song he says is ours, for he never fell in love, true love, in his entire life until he found me. Seriously though, the cold, grumpy detective, melted for someone like me, immature they say, childish too, young, alot younger than him, but then, I love him, so does he.

"would you mind humming with me?" he asked turning to me, with a nod I agreed and started singing,

"I would never fall in love again until I found her" he hummed as I sung then the next line, he joined me,

"I said I will never fall unless it's you.."

"I'm falling to" I continued,

"I was lost within the darkness" we sung together, looking at eachother, for we dedicated these lines to one another, "but then I found her... I found you..."

[97keanu]

Premise: You were born a Slayer. It's in your blood, you've been trained to kill monsters your whole life. You have no mercy especially when it comes to Vampires, those blood sucking nightmares that lurk in the shadows. You've had no problems as a young Slayer so far, killing mostly young Vampires as well. That is until you meet John. He's so much more powerful than you, and he wants you for reasons he may not even understand. All John knows is that he's drawn to you, beyond even the sweetness of your blood. All you know is that he won't leave your dreams and you ache for his touch despite yourself. The strange connection between the two of you perplexes you both, and in a game of cat and mouse you end up more confused about your place as a Slayer than ever before...

With the help of some friendly faces, you can conquer anything.

Tags/CW: KEANUVERSE (multiple keanu characters in one), Vampire!John Wick, Slayer!Reader, enemies to ???, hunted/hunter dynamics, prey/pred dynamics, age gap (21/???), dubcon, power dynamics, John Constantine is your best slayer friend, asshole!Constantine, protective!Constantine, love triangle?, roommate!Ted Logan, himbo!Ted, sensitive!Ted, Best Friend!Ted, childhood friends ted Logan x you, loser!neo, witchy!neo, past lives, reincarnation troupes, part one.

Author's Note: That's it. We're doing it, folks. Full Top 5 Keanuverse supernatural AU. We got Vampire!John Wick, Slayer!Constantine, Roommate and ???!Ted Logan, Demon!Kevin, and last but not least, Hacker!Neo to help you along the way. This is the Halloween 2023 finale of the ages. Hope to see you all there ʚ♥︎ɞ

You could sense it. You knew you were being hunted. That's what made you different from all the other humans that walked this city alone at night, like helpless sheep or cattle grazing about from one place to the next. Instead, the hair on your neck raised, the tingle on your back reverberated throughout your body, and you could feel the cold stare like two little pin pricks on your shoulder blades. A vampire was hunting you.

You know not to fret, not to show any sign that you know it's back there, the monster that seeks you out. No, you must play pretend, act as if you're no different from the other humans that walk sporadically alongside you on this chilled October night. The leaves play along, rustling with your step, crunching despite the fact that you know, if you really wanted, you could walk as silently as the night. You let your body stay fluid and calm, walking and looking ahead towards your destination, an alleyway. You turn into it, and you feel the coldness spread across your shoulders, knowing the vampire is nearer than ever before. You slide your hand into your leather jacket, pulling out your wooden stake and turning, aimed and ready.

You see him, the monster that's hunted you. He's older, at least by his human looking age, but you have no idea how old he may be in vampire years. He wears a black on black suit, and his eyes gleam red at you. You can see the bloodlust in his eyes, and by the lack of surprise at your stake, he must have known you were a Slayer. You lower your stance, ready for his attack, but he looks at you with intrigue.

"I have never smelled a Slayer so...delectable..." His voice is deep, husky and mature.

He raises an eyebrow at you while you grit your teeth at his comment, clearly taking this much more seriously than his nonchalance.

"Too bad you won't get a taste." You chide, trying to make your own voice sound as in control and threatening as his.

You watch as your breath materializes in the cold of the night, while the Vampire across from you shows no such signs. The moments tick by as you consider what to do, questioning if you should strike first, but knowing that's what he wants.

"Go ahead, Slayer, take your best shot..." He tempts you, and your body stiffens, rigid and ready to strike.

"You first," you throw back.

"If you insist..." The Vampire replies.

Before you can say any other snide comments, he's dashed forward, so fast you can barely detect it. You let out an aggravated breath and launch back, away from what's chasing you. The Vampire laughs and before you can fight him off, he's grabbed your neck, pressing you into the brick wall of the alley.

"I like a woman who tells me what she wants..." He whispers into your ears, a deep chuckle resonating.

The feeling of his cold breath across your neck sends chills down your body, you feel as if it's just you and this creature, your vision tunneling to the two of you. The way your throat is being held sends butterflies to your stomach, and you squirm in his grip. You usually aren't defeated so quickly. He must be very old, and very powerful, that much is evidenced by how fast he was able to move and pin you. You can't believe you underestimated him. You hope you won't pay for it.

"What are you waiting for..." You grimace, knowing the Vampire is so close to your neck, but making no move to bite.

Your only hope now is that if he does bite you, maybe he'll be distracted enough by your taste for you to use the stake you still grip in your hand. Your hand hurts from how tightly you're holding it.

"I like to play with my prey, dear..." You hear his deep voice answer finally, a cold hand stroking the side of your cheek. You flinch away, but he keeps going, looking deeply into your eyes.

"Why don't you just submit to me..." his voice is smooth like velvet now, his red eyes mesmerizing.

Slayers are harder to hypnotize than regular humans, but with a vampire this powerful, you feel his mind probing yours, dancing along the outside, looking for a way in. You've trained enough to know how to keep your mind locked, but your stomach turns while you squirm, wondering if it's enough. You're young for a Slayer, only just turned 21, and you're certain a Vampire this old will use any trick he has picked up over the years against you. You turn your head, trying to look away from that sultry red gaze. Your heart quickens and your breath gets away from you.

"I love it when they resist...it makes it that much more entertaining." He keeps your head in place, a grip on your chin now, stopping you from looking away.

You shake, your body frightened, unable to control the fear that courses through your veins right now. You can't believe you were stupid enough to let this happen. You try to keep your eyes away from his, but the world behind him darkens until there's nothing but him holding you to anything. You feel as if the universe has floated away, and the creature before you is your only hope to stay grounded. You blink as much as you can, trying to get away, but it's happening, he's found a way in. He begins to flood your mind, and you want to scream when you sense what he's doing to you.

"I want you to like this as much as me..." His voice is no longer coming from his mouth, instead directly surfacing in your mind.

The Vampire tightens his grip on your throat just so, in the perfect way, and you can't stop the moan that escapes your mouth.

"I can tell every little thing that turns you on...so predictable for a human such as yourself to want to be dominated. I don't know why you resist so much when even your most basic instincts want this..." You want to thrash against him, yell out, spit in his face if you could.

Instead, you find yourself growing wetter between your legs as the Vampires hands move to roam your body. One draws all the way down your neck to your breast, sizing them up and enjoying the feel of them. Another moan escapes you, floating up into the night air quietly. The worst part was, somewhere deep down, you knew you have craved to be touched like this. You fight the thought, you hate that he can hear them, and you hope with anger that he knows it was never a monster that you wanted to be touched by.

"So busy, learning how to kill creatures like me, never having any time to make the connections necessary to get this far with anyone else." He teases you, a smile showing just how large his fangs have grown.

His long, dark hair tousled by the chilly night breeze, he and the night are both uncaring for your torment. You hate how hot your body becomes from his freezing touch. You can only melt there, like liquid in his grasp, whining out as he touches you more and more. You feel a hand snake between your thighs, and your eyes waiver from how good it feels.

"Submit, and I will make this all be over..." The voice commands, asking so perfectly you consider agreeing. The vampire's mouth opens, fangs inhumanly long, claws wrapped around your neck, eyes glowing red, hungry for you.

Just as you're on the verge of it all, the edge looking so comforting to jump from, you hear a voice call out. A tiny voice, that of a child talking to their mother.

"Mommy! Look! A monster!" The child has spotted the vampire, and as you look to see the creature's reaction, you see that there's no one holding you to the wall anymore. All presence of the Vampire is gone, only the shadowy memory of his grip on your mind remains.

"That's not very nice to say about her." The woman responds to her child after seeing you in the alleyway, still a bit dazed.

The woman ushers the child along, and disappears, onto her own life. You try to regain your body. The world is becoming brighter and bigger all at once, and the feeling makes your stomach sick. You feel the vertigo from the experience wash over you, but you know you have to keep going before he comes back. You stumble forward, each step becoming more controlled until you're breaking out into a run towards your apartment, mind not thinking over if that's a good idea or not. You head inside feeling more lost than ever about what's happened.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

"I don't know, it's like nothing I've ever faced before..." You whisper across the coffee table, not wanting to admit your defeat tonight.

Your confidant about the slayer world, Constantine, sips his black coffee thoughtfully. He's the only other person in this new city you moved to that you know you can trust with such things. Unfortunately, he had a tendency to be an asshole as well.

"I don't know why you would go into that alley by yourself," he chides. "You should have called me at least..."

He adds the last part, and you remember that as much as he can be a dick about things, he also tends to be quite protective of you, in his own way.

"I know, I just..." You pause, looking for the right words. "I didn't think it would be such a powerful Vampire, I haven't seen one in the city since..."

You begin to speak, but the words fall in the air.

"Since," Constantine finishes. "Since the night we met..."

It was a disaster. You ended up accidentally messing up Constantine's biggest kill of his career. He has hunted the Old One for almost a year before you decided to move, and here you are, waltzing in at the wrong time. Constantine had to choose between saving you, a Slayer who was a stranger to him, or finally finishing off what he had started.

You owed him big time.

"Well, in the spirit of not having it end like last time, maybe you better let me take over the case." He says sarcastically, his voice gruff to try to get his way.

"I prefer it if we work on it together..." You admit.

"And you get your ass almost chewed up and spit out again? I don't think so." He scoffs.

"I doubt he will stop hunting me, you could even use me as bait if you really wanted." You were always great with coming up with ideas, but acting on them was a different matter.

"Hm..." Constantine thinks for a moment. "We'll see about that one."

He stands, walking over to your kitchen, which was basically in your living room of the tiny apartment, and pouring out his cup in your sink. He walks towards the door and grabs his long black trench coat, getting it on.

"I'll look into this vampire, see if I can't get a read on who he is in the monster world." Constantine says.

"I want you to make sure you stay inside tonight though." he continues, then looks at you before leaving. "And please, next time give me a call if something like that is going on."

He leaves before you can respond, and soon enough you're left all alone in your tiny apartment.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

You toss and turn in bed all night, sweaty despite the cold October air slipping through your bedroom window. You try to sleep, but every time that darkness takes you, you dream of red eyes. Red eyes that hunger for you, sharp teeth that desire your flesh, you feel as if you're on fire from the touch of such cold hands.

You wake once more with a jolt as you dream of those fangs piercing your tender neck. As you look about your dark bedroom, eyes unfocused, your breath seizes in your throat as you think you see him. That long hair, well kept beard, tempting eyes. You blink, rubbing sleep from your tired eyes, and when you look to the corner of your dark room, nothing is to be found. You think for a moment, and wonder if that gust of cold air was just the wind, or...?

You shake your head, trying not to be silly, and slipping from your damp from sweat sheets. You check the clock, and can hardly believe it's only half past 4 a.m.

Your bare feet pad across the cold wood floors of your apartment, and as you flick on the light in the living room, you hear the front door jingling.

You immediately feel your heart pick up, and you search the room for something to defend yourself with. You settle on a giant encyclopedia you keep on the bookshelf, wielding it and hiding just out of sight as the door opens.

As the intruder rounds the corner, you take them by surprise, your hands clutching the book and aiming for the head. You let out a yell as you go, and the intruder yells back, hands already out and grabbing the book from yours.

"Jeez! What's gotten into you?" You hear the familiar voice of your roommate, Ted.

You stare at him, the sleepless fogginess of your head starting to clear as you see him. You could cry after the night you've had, and Ted can tell just from looking at you. He takes the book, gently and softly, and places it on a nearby table. Then he slowly, ready for you to say no at any time, wraps two big arms around you, his sweatshirt soft and comfortable, his warmth radiating.

"I'm so sorry, Ted..." Your voice quivers and tears begin to flow from the stress and how kindly Ted is treating you after almost bashing him.

"Shh..." His voice is deep, soothing. "It's okay. You don't have to talk right now."

And you don't. You let Ted lead you to the couch, settling into him and his musky scent. You have always been able to count on him, even though he knows nothing about the slayer world you live in. He's been your best friend since forever, meeting you as children in school. He is no stranger for being a shoulder to cry on, and he never expects anything in return besides your own support and friendship. That's what you've always loved about him.

And now, you're glad for his presence more than ever. For some reason, despite Ted being only human, you feel so safe in his strong arms. You always have.

Ted relaxes you, petting your back and hair softly. He puts on your favorite movie, knowing it by heart by now, and let's you slowly drift back to sleep while laying on his chest. Listening to his deep, rhythmic breathing soothes you more than you knew you needed it. You fall back into a dreamless sleep, no nightmares of fangs or flesh to be found, and you are grateful.

You don't know when, but sometime near sunrise, Ted gently picks you up, taking you back to your room, and tucking you in. You sleep well despite how late in the day it's gotten.

When you awake, it's well past noon, and you groan, stretching and shaking off the deep sleep. Your body thanks you for taking it slow this morning, or afternoon really, and you once again pad back out to the kitchen. This time with less nightmare fueled stress.

When you do, Ted is eating the largest bowl of cereal you can imagine out of a mixing bowl. When he sees you, he grins, trying to swallow his mouthful of Reese's Puffs.

"Hey, Sunshine!" He greets you using the nickname he gave you as a kid.

"Morning, Moonbeam..." You reply with a yawn and another stretch you didn't know you had in you.

You feel better in Ted's presence, even now. You shine his goofy smile right back at him and hop up on the counter next to him.

"So, any plans for the day?" Ted asks, still housing his bowl of cereal.

"Not really, taking it easy I guess." You lie, knowing that in reality, you have to prepare after last nights attack, but Ted can't know that. Even if you wish he could...

"Sounds like a plan! Me and Bill are going down to the arcade later if you want to join!" He always offers to let you get in on his "bro time" with Bill. Sometimes you accept, but you have a lot of work to do today.

"You guys go on ahead, I think I need to recoup after last night." Ted nods, and you know he won't ask, but you can tell he's curious about what happened. You keep your mouth closed, instead hopping off the counter to start some coffee.

The two of you enjoy the rest of breakfast talking about normal topics, like how Ted is ready to finally get that high score in Tetris. You enjoy being able to talk about such things with someone, it makes you feel normal again, if only for a few moments.

Soon enough, a knock comes to the door, and you jump, despite yourself. Ted looks at you with a sympathetic smile, and starts off to the door.

"I'll get it, Sunshine..." Ted says softly as he walks by you.

You know immediately as the door opens, it's Bill. The two boys woop and woof at each other, practically barking like dogs as they amp each other up to finally win at this or that game. Ted bounces back into the kitchen, grabbing his keys as he does.

"You call me and let me know if you need anything, okay?" Ted says, waiting for you to nod, then smiles and says his goodbyes before excitedly heading out with Bill.

You can hear them bolting and howling down the hall until the sound fades away to silence.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

You've spent the rest of the day trying to find anything to keep your mind off of the vampire and what he might be doing right about now. You would say sleeping, as the day wanes on still. It's hard to imagine such an evil creature could sleep, though. You watch out the window as the sky turns to orange, the fall season setting the sun so early now. Orange turns to pink, and then purple, and before you know it, darkness has set upon the world once again.

You hate waiting around. You feel restless, and as you pace your apartment, you begin to feel strange. Your body feels so different, as if it's not even your own. You decide to go to the bathroom, flicking on the yellow light, and walking before the mirror over your sink.

You catch sight of your face, and how gaunt and thin it looks. It's you, you know that's you looking back at yourself. On a deeper level, you know that's just not true. You feel so confused, and reach up to touch your face when you see the other woman in the mirror move.

You stumble back, and as you do, she mouths something at you. You can't quite catch what she's trying to tell you, but you think you see her say, "Help him..."

You rush from the bathroom, and your eyes try to stay away from anything reflective.

You call Constantine, even as your stomach clenches from the idea.

"What?" His voice answers and you feel the strangeness start to subside.

"I just...I thought I saw something." You blurt out, not knowing what to say, or how to explain.

"Saw what? The vampire?" He asks, and the concern is obvious in his voice.

"No, not him..." You bite your lip, holding the phone to your head with a grip, your body curling up into the couch. "I thought I saw...well, it doesn't matter."

"Alright, well, I'm still working on figuring this all out, I'll be back over when I can." You can tell he's trying to be reassuring, but it's not really helping.

"It's okay...I think," you pause on what you want to say next, feeling conflicted inside. "I think I just needed to hear your voice..."

Constantine's line is silent for a moment, then he speaks.

"I'm glad it helped then. I'll be back soon." He seems genuinely surprised by your comment, but happy to have made things easier on you either way.

You hang up, and sit there on the couch, dazed and unsure of what to do with yourself. Eventually, you turn on some television, and find yourself falling asleep, despite how hard you try to keep your eyes open.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

You don't know when it started, but you're walking, moving with your eyes closed, and your body finding it's way towards the door of your balcony. You want to wake up, will yourself to stop, but you continue, and the hold on your mind is such an iron grip that you know you're too weak to stop it. You can only just barely open your eyes, seeing through your long lashes as you unlock the balcony door, the wind picking up and opening it.

Outside, in the night, he stands there, looking for you.

The vampire is on your balcony now, his dark hair whipping in the wind. He wears his dark suit, and he reaches out a gloved hand to you. You want to run from him, but your body betrays you. You come closer as he coaxes you with two fingers. It's as if something else has taken over your mind, and is making the decision to go forward for you. You hate how helpless you feel, as if your own body is just a shell that you're residing in. As you get closer you can see him clearly standing there, as if he was some sort of prince of the night, coming to rescue his fair Juliet.

You feel his arms snake around your waist, bringing you in. He smells of pine and metal, a smoky scent mixed somewhere in the middle. The one holding your mind swoons for the smell, and you can't help but feel enchanted as well. You find your body leaning into his, holding on as if he could be your salvation.

But when you look up into those red eyes of his, you know you have everything to fear in his presence.

"My sweet...have you returned to me?" His voice is tender, but he looks at you hungrily.

You open your mouth to say something, and what comes out is not your voice, not your words.

"Yes, my love..."

The vampire grins, and you feel as if the spider has truly captured the fly, unable to unweave yourself from his web.

As you try to will yourself to wake up, wake up, wake up...

John dips you lower, moving your hair from your neck, and his fangs baring sweetly.

"And now, we shall never be apart again..." His eyes look deeply into yours, and it feels as if he's speaking to your very soul. You gasp and he leans in, dragging his teeth across the sensitive flesh of your neck.

Just as he's prepared to bite, you jolt awake. You're still on the couch, the TV still running, and you try to find your bearings. You have no idea how it felt so real, how you felt like a prisoner of your own mind. You tell yourself it was just a dream, but you're scared to fall back asleep at this point, despite being so exhausted by the whole situation.

You look about the room, still feeling so watched, and see that the balcony door is ajar, just slightly, letting the cool breeze in.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

You hear a knock at the door. You stand cautiously, and carefully tiptoe to see who's there through the peephole.

It's Constantine, standing in his usual dark trench coat and suit, finishing the end of a cigarette.

"I know you're there, let me in already." He grumbles, and you remember that he's a much older, more trained Slayer than you.

You sigh, your small piece of a normal morning fading away as you unlock the door.

"Good morning, Constantine." You say with a smile, and he stops and takes a long look at you.

"Rough night, huh?" He assesses then, without waiting for you, barges into your apartment. Typical.

"Oh yes! Please after you!" You say sarcastically past the fact, rolling your eyes.

"We have a lot of work to do, and you're still in your pajamas. Please save the sarcasm for someone who's not helping your sorry ass, Princess." He throws the last word at you, a nickname he's been using on you to your great displeasure.

"Fine," you grumble under your breath, your arms folding across your chest. "What have you got for me?"

"So," Constantine starts, already in your kitchen and helping himself to his own black coffee. "I talked to Neo and he got me some info on the vampire who wants to take a bite out of you."

Constantine says the last part as he sips on his drink, obvious now that he's as tired as you.

"And?" You sit in the living room and Constantine joins you before continuing.

"And you're lucky to have made it back with your skin, Princess." he scoffs.

"That bad?" You look at him with sheepish dread.

"You seem to have drawn the attention of John Wick. A vampire they nicknamed Baba Yaga, or The Boogeyman." You feel a chill run through you at the name, Constantine continues.

"Looks like this vampire is pretty old. Almost getting near a 1000 years if our research was right. We looked into what people are saying about him, and it seems he is an overly skilled hunter, usually working as an assassin within the vampire hierarchy. What he wants with you, I have no clue." Constantine takes another deep sip as you digest what he's told you.

"So why call him the Baba-? What was it again?"

"Baba Yaga, it's Russian." Constantine interjects.

"Yeah, Baba whatever, Boogeyman and all that."

"Because besides being a nightmare to fuck with," Constantine starts with a scoff. "He also is highly skilled in mind manipulation, particularly dreams."

That explained the dreams you've been having lately, at least. The fact that he can so easily manipulate your mind makes your stomach churn. You stay quiet for a moment, contemplating all this new information. You're happy you had a light breakfast, your stomach now turning at the thought of how easily you could have died last night. It sours more as you think about what Constantine has told you.

"So...." You start, afraid to speak it.

"So, is he after you?" Constantine speaks it for you, and you nod, afraid to know the answer.

Constantine's face drops a little, concern sullying it.

"I'm afraid so. It looks like whatever this vampire begins hunting, he has a near perfect track record of obtaining." His voice is deeper, softer, lacking any sarcasm or wit that he usually holds. You watch as he swallows hard, looking at you with pity.

"What, you're already giving up on me?" You say with dismay at his attitude. You've never known him to be one to act like this.

"No! Of course not!" He seems to try to snap out of the somber tone. "But, it's not going to be easy. We will have to think up a perfect way to either kill him or at least get him to stop hunting you."

"How do we know he's still hunting me now?" You blurt out, wanting this to already be over.

"I could smell the scent of him even a block away. He's been patrolling your apartment all night." Your stomach drops. You can't believe you didn't pick that up. What lousy Slayer skills you have in comparison, you're suddenly very grateful to have Constantine on your side. Even if he is an asshole most of the time.

"Right. So...what do we do?" It's the only thing to say at this point.

"First off, I don't want you anywhere at night alone, you got that?" You can tell Constantine is going into protector mode as he talks, his voice stern and his face gravely serious. You nod.

"Second, Neo gave me some runes and tools to try out. From his research, it seems that these should work for warding off vampires and evil presences. We'll start with that today, then head over to his place to do some more research." You feel better knowing Constantine has this planned out.

You trust him enough to keep you safe, especially since his saving of your life is what your whole relationship is built on.

You two get started, etching runes and sigils in the wood work of the doorframes and floors. You pass smoldering herbs around the apartment, and take the time to say all the Latin spell work correctly. By the time you're done, the house smells wonderful and you feel a bit more at ease.

You change into a more acceptable outfit for a Slayer, consisting of thick blue jeans, and your signature black leather jacket. Your jacket, of course, has all you will need should you encounter another vampire. You made sure to packet properly this time. You hope you won't need to use it.

As soon as you're ready, Constantine takes you to Neo's place.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Apartment wasn't really a good word to describe Neo's place. It was more of a hovel. It was cramped, and placed in the sub sub-basement of a real apartment complex. You were half sure it was only there for storage and somehow Neo had taken up residency without anyone's knowledge. He had it packed with computers and tech, the other half scribbled with sigils and runes across the walls. It was somewhere between a witchy tarot shop, and a one man internet cafe. The lights from his computer displays cast a neon green glow across the cramped hole, and you had to watch for stacks of old tomes as you walked in behind Constantine.

Like Constantine, Neo loved cigarettes, one hanging out of his mouth, one behind his ear at the ready. He leaned back in his computer chair, looking at the two of you with deep bags under his eyes but a grin on his face. He looked like he needed a month's worth of sleep and a clean shave at the very least, his stubble's shadow well past 5 o'clock.

"Hello, hello, my Slayer friends...what brings you here this afternoon..." He yawns between a few words, stretching and standing from his chair to greet you.

"Same as last night." Constantine says gruffly, he's never really had the time for Neo's antics.

"Ah, yes. Baba Yaga..." He says with fake fright of the name. "What do you wish to know?"

"How to get rid of him!" You speak up, more than ready to find a solution to all of this.

"Hmm...and what do you mean by that? You want to know how to kill him? Stake through his heart, you know that much, Slayer." He chides you and makes a 'tutting' noise.

Constantine slams a hand down on his desk.

"You know what she means, now what else have you found out about the bastard? I didn't pay you to work all night for nothing." He growls, but keeps his teeth at bay. He's not ready to get completely on Neo's bad side.

"Alright, alright." Neo lifts his hands up in defense, and continues. "I found only one other slayer who had come in contact with him and lived."

"And..?" You don't think your eyes could get bigger, you look at Neo with such hope for a good answer.

"And...they're dead now. Not from John Wick however, natural causes..." Neo gives the bad news with sympathy.

"Great, so you've learned nothing." Constantine grumbles and takes out his own cigarette to anxiously and stoically light.

"Not nothing." Neo informs. "I think from my research I may have found some field notes about the encounter. It seems that Wick had hunted this slayer, but was finally deterred from killing them. I have no clue how, but supposedly I know a guy who might just have that journal. It seems the other Slayer was really big on keeping notes, thank god..."

Constantine seems to have simmered down with that reveal, blowing out a long held puff of smoke.

"Alright, so who's got the notes?" You ask, once again starting to feel hopeful about the whole situation.

"Kevin Lomax." As soon as Neo utters the name, Constantine is swearing again.

"Not goddamn Kevin fucking Lomax..." He grumbles as he begins to put on his trenchcoat.

"You know the guy?" You ask quizzically.

"Know him? I've tried to slay his demon ass for the past ten years. Fucker always gets the better of me..." He's already headed out the door, tossing Neo a money clip as he goes.

"Hey! Wait up!" You say, quickly headed for him as he continues to curse this Kevin Lomax character under his breath.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Midnight's bar was somewhere Constantine has banned you from, both verbally and with the bouncer. You'd tried before to go and found yourself more than embarrassed when the bouncer laughed at you. Constantine scolded you, telling you it was no place for a slayer so young. You knew this is where the best tips came from though, and were eager to get a look inside.

As Constantine walked up to the bouncer, he held a card, not facing the two of you. Constantine clearly spoke what was on the other side of the card, he was so much better than you at using his slayer powers. When the bouncer tried to stop you at the door, Constantine stepped in.

"She's with me."

"Alright, you sure she's ready to head in there?" He asked, looking you up and down with a face of disbelief.

"She's going to have to be, no other choice..." Constantine said simply, and the bouncer nodded, on to better things.

The bar was seedier than you imagined. You walked in, and saw so many different types of supernatural's mingling. You were surprised that they were allowed to coexist here. You spotted demons, horns and tails all out in the open, greedily drinking at the bar. Angel's sat next to them, soft feathery wings flapping gently as they spoke. Vampire's danced and a few turned to look at you, smelling the air as you walked in.

"Is it safe for me to be here...?" You asked, now seeing why Constantine didn't want you to come earlier.

"There is a strict rule of peace here. That doesn't mean a demon or a vampire couldn't tempt you into saying 'yes' to whatever sick ideas they cook up." He says over his shoulder at you as he walks.

"So if they say yes..." You say as you eye a vampire slowly draining a young angel in a dark corner of the bar.

"Then you're free game." Constantine says with distaste for the sight you're looking at.

"Oh..." You say nothing else and follow him into a back room.

He goes through velvet doorways until he comes to one with the words "Mr. Lomax" printed on them in gold. It must be his office.

Constantine pounds on the door.

When it opens, you're surprised to see that the demon is younger, maybe early thirties by his look. He's well dressed, a black, expensive looking suit with snake skin cowboy boots as well. He smiles widely, a toothpick hanging out of his mouth.

"Well, howdy there Constantine, come for another round?" His speech is filled with a southern drawl, the sound warm and full. He seems cocky, especially with how he meets Constantine.

"Not now, Lomax." Constantine seems put out by the demon. "I've come to ask you a favor."

"A favor! Out of my dear old slayer friend? From little ol' me? Why...I never!" He sure was dramatic. He really was ready to make this hard on Constantine.

"It's not for me, it's for her." Constantine nods to you, and you see the demon's eyes run across your body. You shiver as your mind finds itself fantasizing about what's under that suit of his, then shake it off, knowing his black eyes are making the thoughts dance around in your pretty little head.

"Well, anything for a pretty woman such as yourself, darlin'..." He winks and let's the two of you into his office.

It's black, with shades of brown and red sometimes making it into the design. Gold accents any metal and you get the sense Mr. Lomax enjoys the finer things in life. You sit down next to Constantine in chairs across the desk. The demon props those cowboy boots up on the desk and leans back in his chair, hands behind his head.

"Well, what can Mr. Lomax do for you?" He says, seeming relaxed and cocky.

"We have the need for a journal. I know you love collecting different magical items, and I heard you might have it." Constantine speaks as if he's playing a game of poker with the other man, never quite letting him see everything.

"And what journal might that be?" Mr. Lomax raises an eyebrow and chews thoughtfully on his toothpick.

"That of a slayer who had an encounter with John Wick." Constantine says carefully, unsure if he is giving away too much.

"Please tell me you haven't gotten mixed up with thee John Wick, Constantine..." The demon sits up, taking his feet off the desk and leaning in with concern. He puts the toothpick down in a nearby golden ashtray.

"We just need the journal." Constantine tries not to get off topic.

The demon then looks at you, and looks back at Constantine, then doubles back to you. A grin swipes across his face. He slaps his knee and laughs.

"Don't tell me...SHE'S got John's attention!" Kevin laughs and Constantine says nothing. "She DOES! Oh my..."

Mr. Lomax looks at you with pity.

"Oh, dear. You've barked up the wrong tree, one that you can't even see what lurks at the top, haven't you?" He scans your face with interest. "Of course Wick is after you, you look just like her..."

He says the last part softly then sighs. Constantine seems to be getting irritated by the whole thing.

"Look, we need the book. That's all. Not your commentary." Constantine's words are pointed.

"Constantine...you'll need more help than just a book. Let me see what I can do for you." Suddenly, the devilish man is much softer as he speaks.

He picks up his phone and rings for someone, then when they answer, asks for the journal to be brought. He sets the phone down carefully and looks at the two of you with concern.

"It won't be easy, what you're going to need to do, darlin'..." He addresses you again, his hands neatly folded on the dark, wooden desk.

"And what is that...?" You say with confusion, glancing at Constantine for help, but he's lighting another cigarette angrily.

"Well, you'll have to find his soft spot. But doing that to someone like John Wick is no easy task." He seems to be trying to gently tell you.

"What are you on about? Just get it out!" You've become fed up with the games and running about. You want to know how to defeat John Wick and now!

"Well, my dear...You'll have to seduce him." He says plainly with a sigh, as if there's no other answer.

"SEDUCE him? What kind of advice is that!" you spit, throwing your hands in the air. "Oh yes, let me go ahead and seduce thee Baba Yaga!"

You say the last part with sarcasm that could rival Constantine's, and they both look at each other before Constantine sighs.

"I was afraid this might happen..." He starts, smoke slipping out of his lips slowly.

"What!" You look at him with fury, your face reddening. "You're kidding me, you knew??"

"When I found out it was John Wick, and he had let you go...well, I had heard of this happening before, but only under one circumstance." Constantine says, his voice regretful from not confiding in you sooner.

"And that is?" You growl back at him, still so confused and angry.

Before he can respond, there is a knock at the door, and Mr. Lomax gets up to answer. A young woman hands him a book and he thanks her with a smile. He turns back to you two, holding up the book.

"This might answer your question... It's the diary of Elena, a once fellow slayer..." He says, holding out the book to you. "Flip until you find the photos..."

You do so and you heart drops. You look up at the two men, more confused than ever before, staring back down at the picture when they offer you nothing. What you see is, well, yourself.

That is to say, if you had been photographed in the late 1800s. And when you turn the page, there you are again, in a different decade. It continued on, until the last one, in the 90s. It could have been your mother, or a sister you didn't know you had, the women all looked so close to you. But you had never seen any of them in your life. What was this supposed to mean?

"I don't..." You start, then look up again to see the pity in both men's eyes, Constantine's more than just pitiful, but frightened as well.

"Do you believe in reincarnation, darlin'?" Mr. Lomax speaks, being able to break the news to you better than Constantine could ever.

"You've got to be kidding!" You say, standing without realizing it, completely in disbelief.

"Afraid not..." Mr. Lomax clears his throat before continuing. "You see, John Wick once took a wife. Her name was Helen. They lived a life of happiness, or so I've heard. That was until she was taken from him."

"And then what? She's just been reincarnating since?" You still can't believe what's being shared with you, and Constantine stands to steady you, your body shaking without realizing.

"Yes..." Constantine's rough voice whispers next to you. "And now that he's found you again, he won't let up until he has you..."

"But why would he want to harm me if that's true?" You say softly, looking back down at the photographs.

"A life of eternal pain and damnation can drive a man mad..." Mr. Lomax begins. "Believe me, I know."

You feel yourself sinking into Constantine deeper as the reality of all of this hits you harder. His body is lean, and chillier than you expected. He wraps an arm around your waist and holds you up.

"So, you're serious then. I have to seduce him and find his weak spot..." You whisper to no one in particular, your thoughts running from your mouth.

"If you need any help figuring out how to seduce a man, I am always at your service..." Kevin smiles and winks once more and Constantine shoots him a glare that could kill.

"Thank you for your help, but we will be on our way." Constantine said through gritted teeth as his hands moved to your shoulders to guide you out.

"Suit yourself! You were more than welcome to join in, Connie!" Kevin calls from his desk, once again alluding his incubus tendencies.

You two are already out the door however, and Constantine is grumbling about how he could kill "that idiot" in a heartbeat. You vaguely wonder about their history, but are more preoccupied with your place in all this.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Constantine drops you back off at your apartment, and of course, goes off on his own to try and figure all of this out. You're not surprised he thinks you're too fragile to bring with him, but you wish he would let you handle your own fate a bit more. You also wish he wouldn't leave you alone right now when you need him so much. You wish you could tell him how deeply you feel for him, and how safe he makes you feel, but that's not something you think you can talk about with him. You're scared, and worst of all, you're scared if you show it too much and lean too heavy on him, Constantine might just run off. You know in your heart it's unlikely, but any attempt you'd made in the past to get close to him than the arms length he keeps you at, has been met with a frosty nature.

You sigh, trying to get your mind off Constantine.

You end up at your computer desk, your desk lamp illuminating the journal, and you begin to look into what Elena may be able to tell you...

"October 24th, 1992.

My heart is beating so fast, even now, as I write this. I know what I am doing is wrong, but John is irresistible. That man, no monster, has overtaken my mind, body, and soul. I feel such a deep connection with him, and I know Slayer's are not to mingle with the creatures they're supposed to kill, but how could I not?

He floods my mind, even when I sleep, and I dream of being her once more. The real Helen, the Helen that John originally fell in love with. That's the only reason he continues to torment me as such. If only there were a way to exorcise her spirit from my body, or split our souls from one another. I wonder still, if he would have nothing to do with me after, or if he can truly love the me I really am..."

You feel chills run down your spine. You wonder if Helen had the right idea. Are you two souls fused as one? Or are you simply Helen's soul that has forgotten where she came from? You wonder if Neo would be able to help with this at all, but read on nonetheless.

" October 27th, 1992.

My worst fears have come true. John feels for me, my soul, my mind, nothing. He only desires to break into my mind to restore his former love, Helen, into me. I feel so used. But I still feel love for him all the same and it hurts even more to know this. I need to talk to someone who knows about all this past life stuff, then maybe I can find my answers.

Either way, he beckons me, every night polluting my dreams with promises of love that I know are not true.

I need to speak with Helen. "

You wonder if John plans the same with you, and you feel sick. How easy it has been for him to play with you. And you have done nothing to stop it.

You go to the last entry.

"October 31th, 1992.

I held a mirror in front of the candle, just like the old witch informed me to do. I watched as the light flickered over my face, and finished the incantation she had told me. What I saw frightened me to my core. I saw my face change, subtly, then all at once I was someone else. Someone who was breathing different breaths, and thinking different thoughts. I called out to her, and asked her what she wanted from me.

She said "Do not be led into temptation, for my husband's heart hath grown wicked with grief and time. Save him, or save yourself. You cannot do both in this lifetime..."

I chose to save myself."

You stare at the page, then reread it to make sure you've truly understand what's being said. You wonder what she could have meant, and something deep inside of you stirs, it already knows.

You must decide the same for yourself.

Your curtains flutter at your window, and you feel a pull in your heart. You walk slowly over, peeking out into the cold night, and you know he's calling you. He can feel it, the part of you that's awakening after so long. And he wants you all the more for it. You gaze out into the darkness, and think you see the shape of him, of glowing red eyes that watch you with a thirst that's been building for ages. When you look deeper, you can only see shadows, and John's presence in your mind fades and dulls, but doesn't vanish.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

That night, you dream of him. His hands are on your body, but they don't take from you. They touch you softly, sweetly, and when you moan, it is in her voice. You see the memory, and see how different John used to be. His face holds no darkness, only love, and he whispers such sweet things to you as he kisses up your body. You don't feel the terror in your flesh as you did the night you met him. Instead you feel a love that seals up that hole inside of you. You've been searching for this your whole life. That's why you never ended up with anyone else, you couldn't. Not when half of your heart was taken by another. Not when her half of you will always be in love with John.

You dream of tenderness and light filled touches, and when you awaken, you feel so confused on what you're supposed to do.

You know John Wick is not going to go back to that, not easily at least.

And a part of you feels guilty for how much you wanted that feeling, that feeling of being so wanted and loved by John, when you know you also love another. You lay there in bed, contemplating what to do.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

You go to Neo on your own. He's the only person you know who wouldn't question your morality on the matter. You arrive at his apartment once more, and he looks you over with curiosity.

"You're different." He says plainly, eyes searching over your body.

"And what's that supposed to mean?" Your hands cross over your chest as you ask.

"Nothing." he starts with a raised eyebrow. "Or maybe everything depending on your view."

"I don't have time for games, Neo. Please just help me with what I called you about." Your anxiety rises by the minute, and you start to feel like Constantine the way you're short with Neo right now.

"It's just...your aura's different." He keeps inspecting you and you remember that he is, indeed, apart of a long line of witches. "It's as if there's two colors dancing for dominance right now."

"I think I can guess why..." You say, looking to the floor as your fears are being realized.

"Ah, yes. The reincarnation you talked about on the phone..." Neo looks about his computer, the stands, trying to find something specific in his room.

"Here, come, sit..." He motions to a small table topped with a velvet cover.

You sit in a chair that's since better days, and finally Neo returns, sitting next to you. He lights a candle in the middle of the table and pulls out a deck of cards.

"I said I don't want to play any more games-" You begin, and Neo cuts you off with a look.

You keep your mouth shut and wait for him to help you. He lights a stick of incense, the smell deep and warm, you watch as he waives it across the deck, then himself, then you. You don't question him this time.

He whispers something to the deck, then knocks on it three times. He closes his eyes and speaks to you.

"I want you to think about what answer you're looking for. Think on it long and hard, and I will channel the answer for you." He seems so different than the computer nerd you're used to seeing. You're surprised by his skill.

You consider things carefully, then begin to think of your question. Neo waits, and finally he pulls some cards and places them around the candle.

"She wants you to know that if you're willing, she is as well." He mutters, and you listen carefully, the candle flickering as he speaks.

"That if it's love you seek, you may find it within him, but she can sense your heart feels safe elsewhere as well."

"You will have to make a choice, do you desire to be loved for an eternity, an immortal love that lives on within you. Or are you ready to break the tie and go forward on a new path with a love you may not know has bloomed or not."

You consider the words, and you feel just as lost as when you walked in. You know you should listen right now, but you have to speak.

"Please, Helen if that's you, I don't know what to do here..."

Neo's voice changes, and you feel as if Helen herself is speaking to you now.

"I am a drift, caught between the living and dead, my spirit living on within you, as a part of you. Some of you is me, and some of you is all the choices you've made in this life, all the mistakes and right things that have made you who you are. Please decide if you are ready to join as one and go forward, or if you wish to sever my connection to you so that you may be free. I cannot go on in this limbo, this purgatory, no longer..."

The sadness in the voice is overwhelming, and you feel it in your own chest. You watch as Neo comes down from his channeling, and he looks at you gravely. He says nothing, but looks at the cards laid out before him.

"You are in for a hell of a time, kid." He says, shaking his head.

"I think I know what she wants from me..." You whisper out and Neo nods.

"You do. Now, tell me what you will choose." He looks at you, and you can tell he cares for your opinion the most.

"I am a slayer after all." (Slayer route.)

"I have always felt as if I was missing something." (Sacrifice route.)

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Taglist: @emacarrigton @sunnythebunny7 @worldsgreatestsinner @discoscoob @nwheregirl @slutforsoldierboy @sughcashsaiki @sebastianstanisahotmf @iovesia @brooxie3 @generalkenobee

Be added to future updates here!

Ask to be taken off at anytime via message <3

[rdr2stories]

"Those fucking hairs." A rdr2 fanfiction.

A fanfiction about young Arthur and John.

John’s hair was itchy, or more like his entire back and shoulders itched from the many small hairs Susan had cut off and although tried to keep away from his neck, had still managed to drive him crazy. He was about a second from jumping up and running into the lake by the small camp, at that point he didn’t care if he would drown, it would be way better than the annoying itching.

Hosea, Arthur and Dutch were out doing… Something, he didn’t really know, something criminal, something that he wasn’t allowed to help with because he was ‘just a kid,’ yeah just a kid who had already murdered someone! Sure it wasn’t his fault but he could handle himself! Instead he was stuck with Susan as she yapped about his bad hygiene which was the reason he had needed his hair chopped in the first place, lice she said. Well it wasn’t like he had had the time or resources for hygiene when he lived on the street, or that he had cared.

He groaned, the small hairs prickling on his back. He hated it, hated it, hated Arthur too, god he hated that man. He was nine years older than him and then he was just allowed to do everything? John was stuck in camp like a kid and that Arthur was out, and he was never even happy about it! He was rarely happy about anything, always annoyed, always frustrated, Hosea said that he never outgrew his delinquent stage and that was why he was always angry. John hated it, mostly because it always went out on him, never Hosea, never Susan, certainly never Dutch, Arthur was after all Dutch’s golden child and John was some random kid they picked up because why not.

God those hairs, John was seriously about to jump in that lake, fuck they were annoying. He twisted his arm, reaching underneath his shirt to try to brush off the hairs on his back, it wasn’t working, they were still there, those fucking hairs were still there. Seriously he needed them off, he needed them gone. For fuck sake! He concidered just taking off his shirt and rolling on the ground but then Susan would go at him with a knife, for a moment the knife seemed better.

Nope he needed to stay alive, to outlive that damn Arthur, to grow up and become better than him- Arthur, horses, Arthur always had another brush laying in his side of the tent that they unfortunately shared. He could use that!

John had never been on his feet so fast, storming by Susan who shouted at him to slow down. He ran into the tent, crossing over the clear line that they had made down the middle and searched Arthur’s bag laying in the corner, clothing, Revolver- Uuu revolver- Wait brush, he could look at the gun later. Did Arthur even have the brush in that bag or was it the other? Damn that man had a lot of bullets. No the brush was definitely in this bag. Is that knife even sharp? Why did he keep it? BRUSH!

He pulled the brush out of Arthur’s bag, immediately pulling off his shirt and starting to remove the annoyingly small hairs with the rough brush. He hadn’t even heard the sound of Arthur and the others returning home until the flap to the tent was drawn back and Arthur’s eyes widened in utter anger at the sight of his stuff spread all over the tent, John sitting on his bed, using his brush on his on bare back.

“What the fuck do you think you are doing?!” Arthur exclaimed as he grabbed John by the back of his neck and hurled him out of the tent to the ground, for a second seeming annoyed that he didn’t have anything to grab onto as John had neither shirt nor hair.

“I just needed to use the brush!” John spat back at him, trying to sit up but being kicked back down by Arthur’s hard boot, and almost as if a button had been hit, John’s head got loud, really loud. Alarms were going off, screaming and shouting at him to get up and run, but his body wasn’t allowing it, he was frozen in place, stuck, stuck back on the street, curled in on himself as he tried to protect his head as the older boys kicked and punched him black and blue for whatever silly excuse they could find.

He could feel all the boots, five, ten, twenty, a punch to the head, a kick on his back, the brushing on his side, his lungs heaving, blood running out of his ear, he knew it wasn’t there, he hoped it wasn’t, he at least knew that it was just Arthur’s boot kicking him and not twenty more, yet, it was there, the blood was there.

“John! John!”

Someone was screaming his name, it wasn’t like they used to scream it, mockingly, angrily, oh poor little John who can’t steal an apple without getting caught, oh John who had cigarette burns on his arm because his dad thought he was stupid, oh little John who couldn’t even see a hanging without crying. This voice, it was confused, worried, panicked.

“John!”

A hand touched his head and he screamed, frantically hitting out at the gentle hand that now laid around his wrists, trying to calm him.

“John!”

No, no, his head screamed as arms wrapped around his, making it completely impossible for him to move. Let me go! He was stuck, he was caught, they were going to place the noose around his neck again, Dutch wouldn't be there this time, he would be hanged, hanged like his father had been hanged.

“I got you kid.”

… Was it mocking? The lawman had said the same thing… But this voice… It was calm, it was… Comforting. Hosea?

John blinked, arms were wrapped around him in a tight embrace as Hosea held him close, breathing heavily. Dutch was standing behind Hosea, his eyes narrow with pity as he looked at John. Arthur was standing way back, his eyes wide in confusion and… Was it regret? John had never been good at reading people.

“I got you son, you are okay.” Hosea said as John melted into the embrace, his body slowly starting to shake as sobs tore through his body. “You are safe.”

--

I accidently posted this on my spam🧍

[topsyturvy-turtely]

JOHNLOCK FIC REC/ MUST READ!!!

last year (2022, not that long ago) i read this absolute genius fic by @totallysilvergirl and it is long overdue to recommend this beauty out to my fellow johnlockers!

Drawn to Stars by Silvergirl

Explicit, Words: 109.272, Chapters: 60/60

Additional Tags (selection): Angst with a Happy Ending, Sherlock's Italian adventure, Jealous John, Mutual Pining, mutual misunderstandings, finally they talk about the Fall, First Time, First Kiss, can requited love last?, TFP never happened, Fanart, Multiple Pov, Seriously a REALLY happy Johnlock ending, Idiots in Love, Roberto Zanardi (OMC)

SUMMARY:

“Romantic entanglement, while fulfilling for other people—”

“—would complete you as a human being.”

After the Culverton Smith case Sherlock is clean, working, and looking for a romantic partner—since John has told him that’s what he needs. Shame John didn’t mention he was interested in that role himself, before Sherlock went off to Rome with a gorgeous Italian copper to try to fall in love and become a complete human being.

---

it is an absolute masterpiece. it got everything: angst, fluff, deep talks, intimacy, communication, jealousy, art talk (yes hello i love that okay?), (love) letters, writer john, beautiful description of the surroundings, fanart... do i need to keep on?

it captured me from the first chapter, i cried, i laughed - i felt it all for my two favorite bois. it broke my heart into a million pieces only to pick them all up and put them back together and cover it with a fluffy & healing layer of magic. basically binge-read this. yes it is long, and i've honestly been hesitant to read it because of its length but let me tell you it is 100% worth it and in the end it was over in no time (too soon!)

you already read Drawn to Stars?

-> check out all the lovely sequels!

Winter Light by Silvergirl

Explicit, Words: 7.742 , Chapters: 21/21

SUMMARY:

This is a hermetic universe, which for a few minutes a day has only two inhabitants. They don't even need names.

They wouldn't want to live always in such isolation, but in the winter light, when time cracks open, there are always—only—two of them.

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winter fluff! i repeat! winter! fluff! my heart is happy remembering this :)

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Teach Your Children Well by Silvergirl

Explicit, Words: 12.662, Chapters: 4/4

Additional Tags (selection): Angst with a Happy Ending, mutual misunderstandings, Old unhappy far-off things will bite you in the butt, Established Relationship, can requited love last?, POV John, A grown-up wedding

SUMMARY:

John decides to send Rosie to the local school a year early. Sherlock assumes he doesn’t want her becoming solitary, hyper-intellectual, hyper-focused—in other words, like Sherlock. It doesn’t help that Rosie’s prospective teacher is a dead ringer for Nicole Kidman, and is making overtures to John by text. But both fathers are wide of the mark: well, there’s always something, right?

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silly bois being equally dumb but good at parenting/relationships in their very own way. Silver's version of Rosie is a kid you will admire for both: her intelligence and capability of love. (what can i say she is her fathers' daughter!)

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The Nearer Your Destination by Silvergirl

Explicit, Words: 18.949, Chapters:6/6

Additional Tags (selection): Established Relationship, Wedding, Honeymoon, POV Sherlock, can requited love last?, Parentlock, Jealousy, No plot beyond sex holiday and personal growth, and lots of talking

SUMMARY:

After a December wedding, Sherlock takes John to Venice for a February honeymoon. It's absolutely perfect, up until the moment he hears John growl, "What the hell is Zanardi doing here?"

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a wedding told as a memory, and a honeymoon in italy. who wants more? oh, and they TALK! their conversations always have at least one quote in them you could live by!

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The Ever Circling Years by Silvergirl

Mature, Words: 15.735, Chapters: 29/29

Additional Tags: Rotating POV, Mostly Fluff

SUMMARY:

Snippets from different Decembers in the Drawn to Stars universe. (They'll make sense on their own, though.) Each chapter ends with Miss Davis's prompt for the day.

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decembers from 2013 all the way to 2045 (not each but a bunch)! there is a lot of fluff, lots of Rosie content, and - as so often - very amazing fanart!

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dear @totallysilvergirl i love this universe with my whole heart. your writing style is beautiful, the plots amazing, the characters complex and lovable. thank you for writing this! you would have at least thrice as many kudos if ao3 let us give more, and girl do you deserve them!

*throws badly cut out paper hearts*

tagging some people so this gets spread around (ik lots of you probably already know this universe but... i can't think of a but)

@justanobsessedpan @helloliriels @fluffbyday-smutbynight @inevitably-johnlocked @hisfavouritejumper @rhasima @forfucksakejohn @ohlooktheresabee @turbulenttrouble @7arantellgrrl @ssmeowl123 @so-youre-unattached-like-me @peanitbear @train-mossman @loki-lock @smulderscobie @timberva @grace-in-the-wilderness @chinike @pansherlock @the-smol-bean-libby-blog @jawnn-watson @whatnext2020 @escapingthereality @missdeliadili @kettykika78 @musingsofmyown @7-percent @speedymoviesbyscience @astudyin221b @francj15 @almosttinycowboy @ladylindaaa @we-r-loonies @mxster-jocale @sherlockcorner @noahspector @our-stars-graveside @jobooksncoffee @baker-street-blog

[astranite]

Here's a few questions lmao

3. What’s your favorite fic that you’ve written?

5. What’s a fic idea you’ve had that you will never write?

6. Are there any fics from others you reread all the time?

10. Is there a fic that got a different response than you were expecting?

20. What’s a favourite title for a fic you’ve written?

27. Is there a fic you were nervous to post/share? Why?

Thank you!!!

3. Edges of the Universe is definitely my favourite fic because it explores both John and Scott's relationship and who John is and how that is interwoven with being autistic. All of my neurodivergent Tracies fics have a special place in my heart because even though in my head they always are I love exploring it on a textual level. Though I actually love all of my fics for their own reasons!!

5. Hmmm I am often trying to write all the ideas I am having but some are fun just to play with and imagine! For a very random one I've got some ideas for a crack treated seriously body swap trope fic mostly because giving them each other's strengths and weaknesses quite literally has the capacity to be interesting for characterisation. I might write up some notes to post if people were interested but its not something id write as a fully fleshed out fic. Though I do enjoy a plot-device mad science we dont explain makes things happen presmise!

6. So many fics I love!!! There is Suffering in Silence by @janetm74 which has John and always gives me emotions, Nowhere Else by @silverstarfics because its scott and john and my birthday fic and i adore it, Trochilidae by @idontknowreallywhy for ADHD Scott that I am very fond of, and Sweet Chariot by @edutainer2022 particularly CH2 Puzzles for a beautifully described cuddle pile.

10. It would probably be that my fic of John and Virgil got more of a reaction of many people enjoying it than I expected as its not really a combination i have seen very often (but if anyone has any recs!!!).

20. Two titles of note are Protective is an Emotion because that encapsulates the core of the fic in John protecting Virgil, and Respite (Spun Glass and Golden Light) because of both poetic and metaphoric reasons. Though I occasionally use song lyrics or single words, I enjoy finding the right set of words for titles particularly in a phrase.

27. Again probably that would be Edges of the Universe most as it is very close to my heart, intensely emotional and personal from the experiences it is drawn from and I'm very proud of it.

[procrastinatingsoicanreadfanfics]

ch. 9 — behat (to promise)

notes: timeskip of a few months! also, guysss so ummm i really hate the last two chapters i wrote so i'll have to scratch them and start again... but im also in the middle of some pretty important stuff so yah. sorry about that.

summary: alethia meets thorunn. athelstan and ragnar talk about ragnar, promises are made.

warnings: mentions of depression, ppd and other mental health issues, ragnar is a bit of a dick tbh

tagged: @levithestripper @demon-of-the-ancient-world @grantairescurls

series masterlist | general masterlist

Alethia

It was getting colder in Kattegat. The temperatures had dropped in the past week, and Alethia could not help noticing that the days were shorter as well. But, there was a prolonged sense of gentleness within the cold days. Aslaug had given Alethia proper furs, Ragnar returned an old sword to her. She looked as if she was back in Winterfell, right after taking the castle back from the Boltons.

Sometimes, her heart tugged when Alethia thought of the North. Kattegat was similar to it, though the people were not. When Alethia woke up in Athelstan’s longhouse, she sometimes thought that she was back there, in Westeros. The thought seldom filled her with distress.

Still, Kattegat was a place that she thought she could call home. And as word spread that she was taken, that she really was Athelstan’s woman, Alethia had the sort of automatic respect she never did receive in England. 

That morning, she was the first free woman to push into the Great Hall. A few thralls were already working, setting the table and cleaning the floors. Alethia felt guilty each time she met the eyes of any of them. She was saving money to free them, but she knew it was a pointless endeavor.

But she and Athelstan agreed that they would never buy a thrall, or make someone a slave.

Hvitserk bounced up to Alethia before she could see him, crashing into her. Alethia stumbled backwards, landing on her back, and Hvitserk giggled, hugging Alethia tightly. While she was supposedly just a guard to Aslaug, Alethia had quickly become caretaker to Ubbe, Hvitserk and Sigurd. Aslaug was too preoccupied with Ivar, and Ragnar…

Alethia lost some respect for him each time she thought on the matter. His three middle sons exhausted her thoroughly every day. It was not her responsibility, and yet, Alethia reveled in taking care of them, just as she had with Clothilda, Godwin and John in England.

“Are we going to play today?” Hvitserk asked.

“Like always.” Alethia promised. Hvitserk took her by the hand, pulling her to the table. He was always hungry, always the first to eat. Alethia had given up on trying to teach him any tablemanners, not that the Northmen took those particularly seriously.

“What are we going to do?”

“I was thinking of taking you hunting. Your brother’s skills with a bow have improved considerably, and Sigurd loves climbing the trees in the woods.”

“But it’s cold!” Hvitserk complained.

“Your mother bought new furs from the merchant three days ago. I’ll bundle you up so you stay nice and warm. And if your brother shoots a rabbit, you could have stew for dinner. How does that sound?” 

Hvitserk’s eyes brightened at the thought of his favourite food, and Alethia smiled. While Ubbe was responsible, taking himself quite seriously for a boy of eight, and would no doubt make it his mission to provide for his brothers tonight. Hvitserk, however, was the sort of playful that reminded Alethia of Rickon and Arya sometimes.

He was a wolf-child. 

Alethia hoped life would be kind to him. She tried to make it as much as she could. 

And Sigurd… however little the small boy liked to admit it, he was the one that took after his mother most. Already, Sigurd was drawn to bouts of anger and frustration, the only thing seemingly able to soothe him being when his mother sung to him. But Aslaug did not do that often.

Alethia sighed, handing Hvitserk a bowl of porridge.

“Where are Siggy and Thorunn?” she asked.

Hvitserk took a bite, gulping down his food without eating, before he answered. “I don’t know. Thorunn was crying again yesterday. She’s always so sad.”

“Okay. Do you know where she is?”

“No.” Hvitserk said. “I don’t really like her. She looks scary.”

“That’s not very nice.”

“You also look like her, but you don’t scare me.” Hvitserk continued anyway. “You aren’t so gloomy all the time.”

“I’m about to be very fucking gloomy.”

Hvitserk giggled, smiling widely as he saw his brother trudge towards the table. Ubbe was wearing a frown, hands rubbing his eyes.

“What is it, Ubbe?” Alethia asked.

“Ivar was crying again. I couldn’t sleep.” Ubbe complained. He climbed the bench next to Alethia. It did not escape her that he leaned against her, his hand searching for hers. Her heart broke a little.

“I will try to find something to help your little brother. And we are going hunting today.” Alethia said. “Is it alright if Thorunn comes along? I cannot take care of all of you at the same time.” 

Hvitserk frowned. “She’ll ruin it. She’s like Sigurd when he’s angry.”

“Will she be crying?” Ubbe said.

“Maybe.”

“I want her to be happy. She is our sister-in-law.”

“That’s right.” Alethia smiled. “Good job, Ubbe.”

“Maybe we can just send her back if she is very sad.” Hvitserk suggested. “Then it won’t be so scary to take her along.

“I promise you, you will have a great day.” Alethia said. “You two finish dinner, and help Sigurd get dressed, alright? Make sure he eats too, and give him some pears for his porridge. Ask the thralls for more in case you finish all the fruit. It’s important he has some. Can you do that?”

“I can!” Ubbe said.

Alethia ruffled his hair, and the boy hugged her quickly, before he looked away. Hvitserk stared up at her from his spot at the bench, before a cheeky grin appeared on his face.

“I hope you’ve gotten better at archery since last time.” he said, sticking out his tongue. Alethia raised her brows.

“Careful little man, or I’ll have to eat all the rabbit stew in the world by myself.”

Hvitserk’s insulted gasp was the last thing she heard as she slipped out of the Great Hall again. In the center of Kattegat, around the Great Hall, merchants were setting up their stalls. Alethia took note of one merchant who displayed little trinkets. As she stepped closer, her heart skipped a beat. There, amidst mostly worthless playthings and souvenirs, was a small collection of coins with what had to be Chinese symbols.

Alethia bought one of them quickly. She slipped the coin into her pocket, turning it over in her hand as she walked. 

Perhaps she could hide it somewhere, with a message of some kind. Perhaps archeologists would find it in a century. Then, she would have been here.

No. It was too dangerous.

Alethia stepped up to Bjorn’s longhouse. She knew that Bjorn would be away. He had been sleeping at Rollo’s house for the past two weeks, taking Siggy with him. Thorunn was alone here.

She knocked. There was nothing, not a single sound from within the house, but still, Alethia waited.

She knocked again. And again, there was nothing. But then, Alethia caught a quiet sniffle.

“I’m coming in now.”

No response. Alethia opened the door slowly, but closed it behind her as fast as she could. Inside the longhouse, it was dark, but there was a rank smell that permeated the walls. Alethia lit a candle, walking towards Thorunn. The girl was a little younger than her, and so similar to Alethia in so many ways. Alethia thought that, maybe, she could understand her.

If anyone.

Thorunn was backed into a corner like an animal, and as Alethia raised the candle, she cowered away. Alethia sat down a few steps away from her, putting the candle onto the ground. Thorunn shielded the scarred side of her face, knees drawn up to her chest. All she was wearing was a shift, and that was crusted with dark red blood. It was around her abdomen, and so, Alethia guessed that it stemmed from some kind of complication with birth. She tried to ignore the smell, tried not to focus on the way that Thorunn’s hair had turned into a matted mess.

Had no one taken care of her, Alethia would have been the same.

“Hello, Thorunn.”

“Who are you?” Thorunn asked. “Are you real? Did the Gods send you to mock me?”

“I am real. I am Alethia.” she said quietly. “Athelstan’s woman.”

“The priest has a woman?”

“Now he does.” Alethia replied. “And you are Thorunn, right? Bjorn told me all about you.”

At the mention of his name, Thorunn looked away. “He does not love me anymore.”

“I think he does. I think he simply does not know how to handle… you.”

“I warned him about that when I was still a thrall. He didn’t get it.”

“Lothbrok men.”

Thorunn’s expression changed. It wasn’t a smile, not yet, but Alethia was getting there.

“Would you like to come hunting with me? I’m taking care of Ubbe, Hvitserk and Sigurd for today. I hear you’re good with a bow.”

Thorunn eyed Alethia suspiciously. “Bjorn set you up to this, didn’t he? He wants me to feel better about myself.”

“I don’t know Bjorn very well. All I know is that he’s an angry young man with a babe he does not know how to care for. You said it yourself, you thought the Gods sent me to mock you. I came because…  I had a feeling we were similar.”

“You’re not a monster.” Thorunn whispered.

“And what makes you one?”

“Have you seen my face?”

“Have you seen mine?” Alethia countered. “You have done nothing that would make you a monster.”

“I abandoned my daughter.”

“Not yet.”

“I don’t want to take care of her. I’m scared I’ll mess things up.”

“Every mother is.”

“Do you have a child?” Thorunn asked.

“I lost mine.” Alethia admitted. “I have no child that came from my own body, but I have been raising those of others, those that are lost for many years.”

“Can you raise my daughter?”

“You can do that yourself.”

“I cannot.”

“Yes, you can. Whatever I do for those children, it is never enough. I am never quite right. That is because I am not truly a mother, only a stand-in. And I don’t want that for Siggy.”

“I cannot do it. Look at me! She’ll grow up afraid.”

“Because of what? That scar?”

“Yes!” Thorunn cried out. “Do you not see what we are? How ugly and deformed we look?”

“Rude.” Alethia mumbled. “But I am loved. I know it. And not in spite of my scar, but because it is part of me. Bjorn will love you with or without it.”

“How do you know?”

“Just a feeling.” Alethia replied. 

“And what if I don’t deserve it? He’s the son of Lagertha! He could have anyone!”

“Your beauty does not make you any more deserving of love.” Alethia countered. She shuffled closer, and took Thorunn’s hand. “And even if we are monsters, are we not still women? We feel pain just as we feel love, and hate, and anger, and happiness. We are human, and therefore, we love. Let them point fingers. Dare them in your defiance of holding your head up high. Therein lies strength some will never understand. Do not let them take your spirit.”

“Them?”

“Those that would tear you down. You are a fortress, Thorunn. It is alright to feel weak, to want to hide away and never see the sun again. But the sun is beautiful, Thorunn. Outside is beautiful. Life is beautiful, just as it is terrible. You have a daughter, and you have the chance to raise her in a way that she shall always feel safe and loved.”

“It is so much.”

“I know it is. I am not asking you to feel alright. All I am asking is that you come hunt with me and the boys today. Let me help you. Let Aslaug, and Bjorn, and everyone else help you. I know asking for that help is hard, and so I will do it for you. All you must do is accept.”

Thorunn withdrew her hand, hiding her face in her palms, and for a moment, Alethia was afraid.

“Alright.” she said finally. “But I do not know where to start.”

“I do.”

Alethia stood, her joints aching as she did, and she thought that she was getting old. How silly, considering that she was only twenty. The thought of it excited her. Growing old! She never really thought she would, not even when she had still lived in her time. A life beyond twenty seemed unfathomable, and yet, here she was. Living. Breathing.

She took the bucket that stood in the corner of the longhouse and carried it outside, filling it with water. Returning to the longhouse, Alethia opened the shutters to let some light inside. It took time, but the wooden tub filled with cold water. When it was full, Alethia helped Thorunn up. She ignored the smell, the blood, the dirt.

Thorunn sat in the water, and Alethia threw the shift into a corner with dirty bedding and molding food. While Thorunn scraped the dirt off of her skin, Alethia took to work with her hair. Slowly, the mats disappeared. They weren’t as bad as Alethia thought they would be, and she thanked every higher power that Thorunn was a blonde, and not a brunette, where her hair would have been thicker, and likely impossibly tangled.

Alethia wanted to shriek as lice crawled onto her hands, and her scalp felt itchy while she flicked them off, crushing them under her boot. Using a comb, Alethia tried to rid Thorunn of the rest of them. Finally, she handed the other woman a towel, letting her dry herself while Alethia set out new clothes.

When Thorunn was dressed, the sun was considerably higher in the sky, and she looked like she was going to be okay. Hopefully.

“We’ll take care of the house later, but the boys are waiting for us. It’s almost noon already, and they’re likely fighting.” Alethia said.

“Thank you.” Thorunn replied. “I don’t know if I…”

“It’s nothing. I had help as well.”

“Can we be friends?” Thorunn blurted out. “I don’t really have… friends. I don’t think Bjorn counts – he’s more than that after all.”

Her eyes were so wide as she grabbed Alethia’s hands again, holding them in the space between the two of them. For the first time since they’d met, Alethia saw Thorunn smile. It suited her. As Alethia looked at her, she felt like a girl again. God, how she loved that. 

“Yes. I would like that.” Alethia replied.

Thorunn linked her arm in Alethia’s, strolling out into the street as if she was alright, and Alethia felt her heart beat in her throat out of happiness. She had a friend! How she’d missed that.

And Thorunn looked like she felt the same way.

Athelstan

Ragnar sat on the beach, watching as Athelstan drew up the walls of Paris. When he looked at Ragnar, Athelstan knew that his friend was somewhere else in his mind. Somewhere where there were no children, no wives, no kingdom, only Ragnar and the boat.

Then, Ragnar hissed through his teeth. “Tell me about Paris.”

Athelstan rolled his eyes. Paris, Paris, Paris. Since they’d returned from England, Paris was all that Ragnar wanted to talk about. “Again?”

“Please?”

Athelstan shook his head, smiling lightly. “I only went there once.”

“Continue.”

“I was visiting a monastery in Frankia, right outside of Paris, and one day, the monks there took me to see it.”

Ragnar had closed his eyes. He looked like he was sleeping, but Athelstan knew exactly what to say so that he would pay attention again. “But what I remember more, is the beautiful women.”

He had a feeling Alethia would not have liked those words. Alethia. Athelstan wanted to disappear into his mind, but then, Ragnar leaned forward with so much interest that Athelstan had to continue. “I almost… questioned my vows of celibacy.”

“You never told me that part before.” Ragnar said. And then, a wolfish grin appeared on his face. “Speaking of celibacy…”

Athelstan sighed. “Yes?”

“You and her… hmm?”

“I have no idea what you mean.” Athelstan lied.

“She lives in your house. You have to have done something . Or did you get a second bed, you sad, sad man.” Ragnar teased. Athelstan considered his choice of words for a moment.

“What do you think?” 

Ragnar squinted, blue eyes disappearing momentarily. “Two weeks ago.”

Athelstan could not help but laugh, and Ragnar’s eyes widened. “You did not tell me?”

“The night we returned to Kattegat.”

“AND YOU DID NOT TELL ME?” he shouted.

“I thought it unimportant.”

“Next you’ll tell me you plan to make her your wife.”

“I am, actually. Planning it, I mean.” Athelstan mumbled. Ragnar’s eyes widened slightly, before he huffed.

“Why? Why bind yourself in such a way?”

“Because I love her.”

“I love Lagertha. And yet, I never should have married her.”

“You and I, Ragnar, we are not the same.”

“I know.” Ragnar replied. “Then you have my blessing. Though Kattegat does not have a church, so I do not know how…”

“She would refuse to marry me in a church. The Christian way, it binds her too much.” Athelstan shrugged. “It would have to be a Norse marriage ceremony anyway.”

“Good. Good. And now you have to tell me, what did you do when… you know?”

“Well, we uh…” Athelstan began. He knew he was reddening. At the same time, there was the warm feeling of satisfaction at the base of his stomach when he thought back to that first night. And all the nights that followed. “We did it, and then we did it again.”

Ragnar rolled his eyes. “You are such a Christian sometimes.”

“What is it precisely that you wish to know?” 

His friend’s eyes gleamed, and Athelstan regretted ever saying anything. “Has she ever gotten on her knees for you?”

Athelstan’s mouth turned dry. “I’m not- I am not answering that.” He stuttered out, and Ragnar laughed.

“I knew it. She’s corrupting you! My Athelstan, corrupted by some godless girl from England!”

“She is not from England.”

“No? Where then?”

“It is… complicated.” Athelstan sighed. “I suppose the land is comparable to Eastern Frankia.”

“Perfect. Then she’ll know how to help us with Paris.”

“Ragnar, no.” Athelstan said firmly. Ragnar froze, before he turned to stare at Athelstan.

“What do you mean, no?”

“Do not involve her in your raiding plans. Don’t. Do not offer her to plan it, to come to Paris, or to fight. I will not be your friend if you do.”

“You’re afraid she’ll die.” Ragnar mused. An itch of annoyance spread through Athelstan. Ragnar was being too unserious about this.

“No. I know her body would survive. But… if she goes to Paris, she will not come back the same. She has fought enough, Ragnar. And I suppose, in that way, you and her are the same. I know you take no joy in it anymore.”

“I am a Northman, of course I take joy in it.” 

“You do not have to lie to me, Ragnar. And I know I do not understand, but she will. You can talk to her. Many soldiers have.”

“What does she do with them? Some magic ritual? Or maybe she is a witch, and sleeps with them to wipe their memory and make them her slaves?”

“You’re trying to rile me up. You don’t believe in any of that.”

“Well maybe I do.” Ragnar said, raising his hands in mock defeat.

“Stop it.”

“Alright, fine. What does she do with them? Why do they go to her if not for… her womanly charms?”

“I hear she listens to them. Not that you need that, Ragnar. You talk so much anyway.”

Ragnar snorted, but Athelstan could see the emptiness behind his eyes. He knew that Alethia would be talking to him tonight.

Then, his friend scratched the back of his head, quickly changing the topics again. “So, marriage. What comes next? Children?”

“I haven’t thought about that.”

“But you want it.” Ragnar noticed. His eyes bore into Athelstan’s, and it felt as if he could read his mind.

“I do.” Athelstan said. There was something in his heart that ached when he thought of it. His own family.

“Perhaps your sons will fihgt alongside mine one day.”

“I want daughters.” Athelstan blurted out. “I want them to be like her, like Lagertha, like Siggy when they grow up. Like Aslaug and Judith.”

“Why?”

“Because they are stronger than we are.”

Ragnar paused for a moment, before he looked down at the sand. HIs hands dug into the ochre, disappearing below the surface that rippled like the ocean.

“If I do have a daughter…” Athelstan began. “I want to name her Gyda.”

When Ragnar looked up again, there were tears in his eyes.

Alethia

Thorunn was smiling by the time that dinner was being served by the thralls. Alethia watched as she talked to Aslaug, Sigurd tugging at her hand. Alethia was glad that she had gotten to help her. The look of deference slowly disappeared from Thorunn the longer she spoke to Aslaug, and, when Bjorn entered the Great Hall, trailed by Lagertha, who had Siggy in her arms, Thorunn did not turn away.

Alethia sighed with relief, picking up Hvitserk, who was attempting to fight Ubbe over her shoulder.

“If you want to hit your brother, try not to hit my head as well.” She told Hvitserk. He had the audacity to pout, crossing his arms before his chest.

“And why are you two fighting anyway?

Hvitserk only shrugged, stomping his foot to emphasize his point. Alethia tried to bite down the laughter that bubbled up her throat.

“He’s your brother, Hvitserk. I know Ubbe can be overbearing, but he means well.”

“Fine. I won’t hit him I guess.” Hvitserk complained. “I’ll play with Bjorn instead.”

When Athelstan walked into the Great Hall together with Ragnar, Alethia could not help but smile at him. Athelstan turned her way almost immediately, as if he was a dog that could sniff her out.

Ragnar followed Athelstan as he made his way towards Alethia, and now, Alethia was a little concerned. Ragnar never bothered talking to her.

“Hi.” Alethia said, and Athelstan hugged her without another word. He was uncharacteristically quiet, even for him. 

“He’s planning a raid.” Athelstan whispered in the hug.

“It’s okay. Thank you.” Alethia replied. She let him go, smiling amiably at Ragnar.

“Your sons are admirable hunters.” She said.

“I’d hope so.” Ragnar replied. His tone was so dry, so flat, so uninterested, that Alethia felt reminded of her own father.

“It wouldn’t hurt to take some interest.” She hissed. “They notice that, you know.”

Ragnar raised a brow, looking over to Athelstan as if they were sharing some kind of inside joke. Alethia was glad that Athelstan did not try to reciprocate his all-knowing smirk.

The king of Kattegat stared at Alethia a moment longer, as if he was trying to read her soul, eat her heart. Alethia tried not to look away as best she could, but when Ubbe tugged at her hand to gain her attention, Alethia did not care enough to continue their little contest. 

Ubbe was holding out a bowl of stew, filled with the prizes of their hunt today.

“Thank you Ubbe.” Alethia said. “Would you like to eat with me and Athelstan today?”

Ubbe nodded shyly, and Alethia patted the free space next to her. Athelstan sat, taking a bowl of stew out of the hands of one of the thralls. Alethia ate quietly, waiting until Athelstan had finished his quick prayer. It was the kind of domesticity they could only begin to afford.

Alethia’s hands found purchase in Athelstan’s and as she looked to him, she had a moment of peace between lifetimes of war. Athelstan was quick to kiss her cheek, before anyone could catch them in their little display. Alethia’s hand stroked his jaw automatically, and Athelstan smiled at her with such adoration that she thought she might die.

So much, for her. God, had there ever been a sweeter joke?

She ate her stew, and Alethia knew that, months earlier, she would not have tasted it. But there it was, and it satisfied her. She wasn’t hungry anymore.

There was a thought in the back of her mind, one that Alethia had not thought explicitly, but one she thought she’d known about for a while. She smiled at Athelstan, who did not know.

Later, Alethia helped Aslaug settle Ubbe, Hvitserk and Sigurd down. The hunt had exhausted them, but they were brothers, and in such, always found a reason to fight. Aslaug had only a tired smile to spare Alethia as the three of them had finally fallen asleep. Ivar was still in Aslaug’s arms.

“Thank you.”

“I enjoy taking care of the boys.” Alethia assured.

“I meant Thorunn, and me. We did not want to ask for…” Aslaug began. “You have a place in my queendom.”

“And I shall defend it as if it were my own.” 

Aslaug smiled, nodding at Alethia as she made her way out of the Great Hall. It was starting to darken in Kattegat, and Alethia’s hand was never far from her belt. Athelstan’s longhouse was on the outskirts of town, where it became quiet. Alethia knew it was there not only because of the tranquility, but also because the forest reminded him of home.

Out of the corner of her eye, Alethia caught Ragnar, staring at her from afar. His eyes were unfocused, and Alethia knew he wanted something from her. Comfort, perhaps. 

In Wessex, Alethia would have opened her home to him. But Hagar had been nothing, had had nothing, and Alethia had used up all of her energy today already. She wanted to go home, to Athelstan. 

“Tomorrow.” Alethia called.

Ragnar jumped, as if he had not expected Alethia to speak to him. Then, he nodded through the fog that had to cloud his mind. Alethia closed her eyes, breathing out. Whatever Ragnar carried with him, Alethia knew it hurt. She had watched the king enough to know he felt about his crown the same way that Jon had. 

She did not feel guilty forgetting about that when she stepped into her and Athelstan’s house. 

And there he was, sitting at the desk, charcoal scratching over parchment.

“What are you drawing?” Alethia asked.

“You.” 

Alethia smiled, hugging Athelstan while leaning over him. She put her chin on his shoulder, her own face reflected on the parchment. It was her from a few days ago, hair still wet from swimming in the bay of Kattegat. Alethia knew that it would be the last swim she would take for a while. It was getting too cold for her to swim.

Winter was coming.

The thought of House Stark’s words no longer made her heart ache for Jon. There was the dull echo of a boy she’d loved as a girl, but no more. Not when Athelstan was right there with her.

Athelstan seemed to read her thoughts. “When it gets cold, we’ll be forced to spend more time inside.”

“The boys will be a lot.” Alethia sighed. 

“I was thinking… with all the time we’ll be spending inside,” Athelstan began. “Could you teach me? Your language, I mean.”

“Why?”

“I want to love you in your language.” Athelstan said. He seemed to hesitate for a moment, before he pushed his chair back and stood in front of Alethia. There was a trace of fear in his eyes as he looked at her. 

“What is wrong?” Alethia asked.

“Nothing.” Athelstan replied. “Nothing at all. But, the truth is, my reasons for learning your tongue are more selfish than not.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because I want to sing to my children in the language of their mother. If she’ll have me.”

Alethia’s mouth turned dry, and suddenly, her heart was beating in her chest. It was kissing Athelstan the first time all over again. “What are you saying?” she whispered. Athelstan’s hands grabbed hers a little more tightly, and he let out a shaky breath.

“Will you marry me?”

The sound Alethia let out was a half-laugh, half-sob, half-squeal. She threw herself around Athelstan’s neck, laughing. “Yes. Yes, I’ll marry you, and I’ll have you. Just as you are, speaking my language or not.”

Athelstan enveloped her, hands holding her tight, safe, warm. His lips brushed her cheekbone, dusting a kiss there where a scar split her face. Alethia felt loved.

[thewhynotpod]

Welcome to Why Not?!, Episode 7: “Borealis; or The Twins”! Spotify

Apple

As you may have guessed by the title, this is the one we’ve been talking about, where we “chat” about Aurora and Northstar and…a lot of what’s been going on there.

So! We called in some backup and are joined by Sara Netzley! Sara is a professor of communication by day and a romance author and freelance entertainment writer by night. Her first exposure to comic books were the X-Men posters on her brother Chris' (this is how we were able to get her) walls in the '90s, but since then she's read a bunch and watched a whole lot more. Sara teaches classes on journalism, fake news, conspiracy theories, and representation in the media, and she definitely has an opinion about your favorite TV show. You can find her on all the socials under Sara Netzley (Instagram and Threads), and she publishes her rom-coms as Sara Whitney (Instagram and website).

Having competent folks on this early in our existence is…gratifying? Neat? Sure? But, seriously folks, we have A LOT of fun.

In this episode, Chris:

almost pulls a Jean Reno (listen to the outtake)

makes fantastic points re: how we understand characters and stories and how reading the things we love at different points in your life can really peel back some layers

has a great time interacting with his older sister (like, folks!, it’s really quite sweet)

Sara:

wonders why she agreed to come on here

gives a crash course in media theory, specifically re: queer representation

brings up the appropriate amount of information vis-a-vis slash fiction (Tom here: I never thought I’d write such a phrase but here we are)

Tom:

does his favorite thing: a lot of accent work

engages in some unfortunate internet research

also wonders why Sara came on here

really wants a livestream of Thanksgiving at the Baker household this year

Issues covered:

Alpha Flight #7 - The Importance of Being Deadly - cover date February 1984

Written and drawn by John Byrne

Colored by Andy Yanchus

Lettered by Michael Higgins

Edited by Denny O’Neil and Jim Shooter

Alpha Flight #8 - Cold Hands, Cold Heart - cover date March 1984

same creative team as #7

Alpha Flight #9 - A Stranger In My Mirror (specifically the backup story) - cover date April 1984

same creative team as #8

Alpha Flight Issue #10 - Family Ties (specifically the backup story) - cover date May 1984

same creative team as #9

We jump around a fair bit in this one as we pull from 4 different issues to build this tapestry of Aurora and Northstar. We get into queer coding, possibly some incest coding, and address the use of Aurora/Jean-Marie’s split personality. So there’s a lot we address but damn if we don’t keep it as light as possible!

As indicated in the bullet points above, we’ve started to include some outtakes! So please listen to the end for a peak behind the curtain.

We’ve had a lot of fun making this and we really do hope you enjoy it, too. And even if you don’t, a great rating and review costs you nothing. Literally nothing. Not even five seconds, right? Less time than it takes Guardian to cross Canada. (Still can’t believe they did the math that…wrong.)

Check us out at The Why Not Pod to see the full art clips for this episode and leave us a comment; we love to (try to) answer your questions about Alpha Flight!

Special thanks to the Excelsior Embroidery Co. for helping make this project a reality.  Here's this episode's Featured Design: the Sasquatch face patch! You can see this and more at the GeekCraft Expo in St. Louis on July 27 and 28. Mention the podcast and Chris will have something nice for you.

Follow us on these platforms:

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[classpectchronicler]

how about an heir of blood :0?

Finally, a blood ask!!! Oh I've been waiting, hehehe... I have many thoughts on blood >:3 I considered making the text red anytime I said Blood, but in the spirit of Karkat, you get white. Or black, I guess, depending on your browser.

But also, Heir, thinking about it, was never defined, so! Research time!

Heir: There were a lot of ideas, but I settled on: One who inherits/(protects using) aspect, or is inherited/protected by aspect. John is protected by the windy thing, even when he didn't mean to. He inherits freedom (Breath) by gaining the ability to defy the narrative. Equius inherits irrelevance after he's killed. So, as a passive class, it makes sense.

Blood: Blood, as far as I'm aware, does not have a physical manifestation. It does not relate to literal blood, I think. It's more akin to the term "blood brothers"- The interpersonal bonds between a blood player empower them. Unity, attachment, friendship, and potentially love are all cornerstones of Blood players. Blood also, I think, is related to stability, as it opposes Breath's philosophy of freedom and change. I also personally associate blood with memory, but ignore me :3

Heir of Blood: One who inherits/(protects using) Blood, or is inherited/protected by Blood. I could not think of a better combo, personally. If you have a large session, I pray you have an Heir of Blood to keep people from killing each other. An Heir of Blood is the heart of the group- They're who everyone confides in, and they take this job VERY seriously. They find friendships/trust forming in the blink of an eye, and people seem to be drawn to them. They have a knack for calming people down, and getting people to talk things out. In short, they're the ultimate mediator/therapist. They will not hesitate to protect their friends, and in turn, their friends protect them with their life. They're never seen alone, always talking to someone or another- Or, they're always seen alone, but are always there when you need them.

Abilities:

Charisma: Genuinely? They're just wonderful to be around. No matter their personality, they get along with almost everyone, and people would die for them. And they would do the same.

Personality traits:

Impostor syndrome: And here's the idea I've had since the start: They might feel like their connections stem entirely from their classpect. If they weren't an Heir of Blood, would people still be their friend? Would they still be liked? A few ways this could end would be with them realizing that there's no use worrying about it: They are who they are. Or, that they were destined to be an Heir of Blood, and thus it doesn't really matter.

And really, you can do anything with their personality. They can be terrible and mean (See: Karkat), and people will still like them.

Strife Specibus: Heirs have used Hammers (John), Bows/half bows (Equius), and Blood players have used Sickles (Karkat). So, use a hammer and sickl- I mean. Maybe use like. A melee weapon of some sort.

Land: Land of Marionettes and Fields

[inafieldofdaisies]

2 in 1 uquizzes (choose one or both, idk) | Tagging @socially-awkward-skeleton @direwombat @fourlittleseedlings @g0dspeeed @trench-rot @nightbloodbix @aceghosts @strafethesesinners @poisonedtruth @adelaidedrubman @purplehairsecretlair @josephslittledeputy @jinfromyarikawa @euryalex @madparadoxum @detectivelokis @josephseedismyfather and anyone that would like to do the uquizzes <3

What kind of complex does your OC/ship have? | uquiz

Sabrina:

Savior Complex

.... oh man. Go take a nap, buddy. they're not your responsibility.

she needs a nap, for sure. and good luck convincing her people aren't her responsibility. This sounds like John talking, ain't gonna lie.

John:

god complex

holy shit... you just seriously wanna control everything and make all the choices... it never was a choice between God and Satan, for you, it was always a choice between God and Self.

i mean... what do i say to this. ironie in french? *in my best nicholas hoult voice*

martyr complex

no comment. stop dying on every hill.

calahan be breaking my heart at times &lt;3

Why do people love your OC? | uquiz

Sabrina:

because you love them

people are drawn to you because you loved them first. they love the feeling of being adored, and you show it wholeheartedly. you've been taken advantage of in the past, but you haven't let it break you. it's an amazing thing to have been hurt like that and still love so loudly.

*coughs* why is this so on point.

John:

because you keep them guessing

you're a mysterious type. people can't quite figure you out, and they're drawn to you because they desperately want to. they can never tell if you're pulling them in or pushing them away. the games get tiring after a while, though. have you ever had someone stay? do you want them to?

THE GAMES. *laughs in accurate*

because they can depend on you

you aren't the warm fuzzy type who says "i love you" all the time, but you take care of the people you love by always being there. they know they can always rely on you, from making dinner reservations on time to changing their oil when they're due. you can't stand to see your loved ones struggling. don't forget that you're allowed to accept help in return; it's not a one-way street.

Calahan. My dude. :(((( stooop

[last-laments]

Last time I posted this, I was asked to explain myself! I’m going to take this as an excuse to be deranged for a minute and draw braindead parallels because I think finding similar themes in wildly different medias is fascinating Okay so since I am definitely going to sound insane, I'm going to list from weakest connections to strongest and scariest. This is just for fun by the way! I’m not taking this chart too seriously and neither should anyone else

Jesse

Starting with Jesse and Zephyr Breeze. I honestly put this one on there within the first few seasons of the show after seeing the way Jesse's parents treated him for the choices he made in life but even so still chose to let him back into their home apparently several times even before the show starts. Along with this, they do both have a sibling much more talented than them that their parents are clearly very proud of. This is my weakest connection because despite the obvious stoner energies Zephyr has, the show is for kids and they would never acknowledge that.

Moving on, we have Mallick from Saw 5 who I've also drawn comparisons to. Between being forced to take lives whether it be accidental or intentional, Jesse and Mallick both commit murder despite clearly not wanting to. Along with this, they both have histories of drug abuse which end up being directly correlated with loss of lives which end up being directly or indirectly their faults. They have similar personalities as well, both being very emotional people who desperately don't want the blame to be placed on them toward the beginning of their respective medias but eventually accept it. I don't believe either of them necessarily deserve to be placed under complete blame, but alas.

Finally, with my comparison between Jesse and Amanda, they actually both follow incredibly similar narratives. Like Mallick, Amanda also suffers from drug abuse toward the beginning of her story, but is forced to overcome it at some point ironically which both come after the death of someone important to them. They both have an older man in their life who they end up viewing as a teacher and who are both incredibly controlling toward them (more on this later).

Walter

For Walter, my weakest connection for him is The Doctor, specifically being the Twelfth from what I remember of him. For as much shit as I’m going to give Walter, there’s no denying how resourceful he is. He seems to rise above the odds many times throughout the show with seemingly very little on his side. To his credit, he was able to get through things many times with very little in his favor, for better or worse. This was something I remember actually appreciating with The Doctor, however. The reason this is the weakest is because USUALLY The Doctor isn’t just doing everything he does for personal gain and this is honestly kind of an insult even if he really isn’t perfect.

Next, we have Eichi Tenshouin. I’m really just being mean with this one, but they do have some things in common. First of all, they both serve as manipulative masterminds of sort towards everyone around them. While Walter’s manipulation seems to extend primarily toward his family and Jesse, Eichi’s is toward.. pretty much everyone in the story including his own unit. Both of them have also decided that because of their poor health and limited time to live, they aim to do as much as they can with the time they have. On top of this, they both have seemingly convinced themselves that their actions are for the greater good despite ruining the lives of many surrounding them. But I’m sure Eichi isn’t as bad as Walter. Probably.

Finally, we have John Kramer. Like the connection with Eichi, John and Walter are both master manipulators who are using the limited time they due to their poor health for what they believe is the greater good. Again, nothing John or Walter do is for anyone’s benefit regardless of what they may have convinced themselves of. They both have ideologies they claim to stick to which are actually fairly flimsy once you look at them for more than a few seconds.They’re both huge hypocrites when it comes to what they deem as morally okay or not, and neither are above letting someone innocent die as long as it furthers their own goals. On top of this, I mentioned already their connection when I analyzed Jesse and Amanda, but they both do seem to view their respective “students” very similarly. I’ll never forget when Walter told Jane’s dad that Jesse he was his son, but I do mean this as negatively as possible. It made me feel a little sick. John seems to view himself in a similar position with Amanda despite everything he put her through. Both of them saw someone who was struggling and decided to use them for their own gain up until the very end. And that’s the real tragedy of it all.

[merluvlee-sims2]

Pleasantview - Burb: Prologue #5

Jennifer got home, all giddy from her kiss with Melissa, and was surprised to find John awake and waiting for her.

"Jen, can we please talk now? We were supposed to talk earlier and you kinda bailed on me."

Jennifer sighed. She supposed that she really was the asshole in this situation. She gingerly sat down next to him.

"I'm sorry, John. I'm just figuring some stuff out—"

"—what do you mean, "figuring stuff out"? What happened to all those plans we made together? I'm not asking for much, Jen—"

Jennifer interrupted him, cold and distant: "—you're right. You're not asking for much. Just to use my body so you can satisfy some twisted primal urge of yours to breed—"

"—that's not fair! You're twisting my words! I just want to have a big, happy family, okay? And I'm not saying you need to give birth again! I'd love to adopt kids! Hell, I'd even be happy to take in Lilith and Angela since your brother and Mary-Sue won the prize for World's Shittiest Parents—"

"John. Raising kids is hard work. I just would rather focus my energy on my career right now and pour all of our resources into giving Lucy the best childhood she can possibly have—"

"—well, I think that the best childhood possible includes having siblings..." John took several deep breaths before continuing.

"Jennifer, I feel like we don't want the same things anymore. And that scares me."

Jennifer sighed.

How can I tell him that I never wanted the same thing that he did? It would break his heart. Why did I ever think I would change my mind?

"I'm sorry, John. Maybe I haven't been fair to you. I want you to have everything you want."

John smiled, "Thanks for apologizing. And I'm sorry too. C'mere."

As her husband wrapped his arm around her, Jennifer felt conflicted.

I do love him...in a way. He's my best friend. I care about him a lot. I mean, I'm married to him! Maybe we could make things work, for the sake of Lucy. It's not like he is abusive or mean. Don't I want him to be happy? Doesn't he want me to be happy? Isn't that enough?

"John. Let's try for a baby tonight."

John smiled, "Seriously?"

Jennifer nodded.

Just as she was about to get undressed, Jennifer's phone rang. She hoped it was Melissa, and immediately answered it.

But it turned out that it was Dina Caliente, calling her to tell her that she was engaged to Mortimer Goth. She hadn't heard from Dina in ages—they used to be friends in college but had since lost touch.

"Well, maybe we could catch up over lunch sometime. I'm, uh, actually kind of busy right now so I have to let you go. But congratulations!"

Alright, let's do this.

After what felt like the most boring, drawn-out sex of her life, John finally rolled off of her and fell asleep. Jennifer got out of bed and made herself a tomato sandwich while her thoughts ran wild.

That was a huge mistake.

For better or for worse, Melissa had opened her eyes to a brave new world. She could no longer pretend to be John's suburban heterosexual wife. It wasn't fair to him.

Even though her and John cared for each other deeply, they ultimately couldn't make each other happy. And so she would have to let him go.

[authortobenamedlater]

@ladyknightskye tagged me.

Your name: Around here I go by AuthorToBeNamedLater or ATBNL.

Your first fandom(s): In terms of interest, Star Trek TNG. In terms of fandom engagement, seaQuest DSV.

Your current fandom(s): I measure “current fandom” in terms of “currently writing fic,” so Halo and The Mandalorian. Fandoms I love and post about here in rotation: Star Trek, Star Wars, MCU, Babylon 5, NCIS.

How did you first get into fandom? I honestly don’t remember a time when I wasn’t “into fandom” in some way? I suppose I really jumped in when I found FFN.

How long have you been engaging in fandom spaces?: Before you were born 😂 I found FFN very shortly after its launch in 1998.

How often do you read fanfics?: More often than I should LOL.

Top three characters from your current fandom(s): Is this three from each fandom or three altogether? I’ll go with the latter.

Cortana + John, Roland + Lasky (AIs and their humans are a package deal in my world), Kai.

Mando, Bo-Katan, Cara Dune because Cara is still in my Mandalore’s Reluctant Royals AU and if I ever get past the mental block of losing all my WIPs, she has a very important role to play.

Have you ever written fic for a fandom?: Only close to 100 between my FFN and AO3. Not counting the little snippets and micro fics I’ve shared only on Tumblr.

Have you ever drawn fanart for a fandom?: Aside from the Shadow vessel sponge painting I did in eighth grade art class, no. I’d like to change that though, because some of my off the wall AUs could do with visual content.

Share a personal headcanon that you feel very strongly about: Captain Shaw is married with kids and is a Chicago deep-dish pizza snob.

Tim McGee had an FFN account and probably has an AO3.

Thel ‘Vadam mixes up his English idioms Ziva David-style.

You’re trying to convince a friend to get into your current fandom(s) with you. what episode, clip, or scene are you showing them?: I am not showing ANYONE Halo, unless you come to me saying you want to watch it. And then I’m going to give you a bunch of caveats about how I’m obsessed with it but it’s really not that great except for when it is and you shouldn’t take it too seriously. Buckle up and grab your adult beverage of choice.

For game-verse Halo I’d show Johnson’s speech about the tank in Halo 2 because that’s what Mr showed me to rope me in.

Mandalorian, the first episode.

Babylon 5, I would start with the pilot movie if I could find it and then not let up until you’d watched five seasons of emotional roller coaster. I’d tell you what JMS said in the commentaries for Shattered Dreams and Sleeping in Light and Deconstruction of Falling Stars and how many of the actors died too young. After War Without End I would show you the video where JMS drops the bomb about why Michael O’Hare left the show. By the end of it you’d love the show but you might not love me anymore. 🤣

And finally, what does fandom mean to you?: A place where I can explore the highs and lows of the human experience in a safe environment. Sometimes I can put a little broken piece of myself into a fanfic or headcanon and not feel so broken anymore. I can “talk” about things in fiction that I can’t in real life.

A place where I can meet cool people whose paths I never would have crossed had we not been abnormal about a certain show or character. ❤️

Tagging all who see this!