#LET THAT MAN ACT WITH HIS OWN ACCENT GOOD LORD

[pfhwrittes]

we all know tiktok is the place of the devil but i have never shut that app so fast as when i read "i just think barry sloane sounds better with an american accent" in the comments

[moodymisty]

Hey Misty, hope you're having a good week :) Could I request something fluffy(or as fluffy as this stinky man can feasibly be) with Konrad's lover bathing with him? We will unstink the stinker :3

Author’s note: Kind of went a soft but, teeny bit angsty vibe. Hope you enjoy.

Relationships: Konrad Curze/GN!Reader

Warnings: Brief mentions of blood and violence

The last time you remember Konrad having a formal bath, was when Fulgrim had forced him to. You were both visiting the Phonecian’s flagship and the primarch had recoiled at Konrad’s smell and overall look; Hair slicked with grease and grime.

Filth and decay was always Fulgrims bête noire, as you've learned. The Pride of The Emperor was always immaculate, as was he and his legion.

He had then turned to you, and asked how you were able to deal with such a stench. You had replied that in all honesty, you had stopped smelling it quite awhile ago. The Nightfall was entrenched in the scent of rotting flesh, the coppery smell of blood; It wasn't a thing unfamiliar to you. You didn't have the ability to complain about it, or leave.

Fulgrim had been more than a bit blunt at first, but had softened overtime on his offended tone. He knows even better than you Konrad’s relationship with himself is, fractured at best. It oftentimes seems as if he merely treats his body as a tool, a side effect of his corporal sentence.

You decided to try and help him form a habit, and make the action something to look forward to. Fulgrim loved this idea and gave you no shortage of things that smelled wonderful, though they were a bit out of Konrad’s comfort zone. At least you enjoyed them, the few times you've managed the time to use them.

The comb skips through Konrad's hair smoothly now, slick from the water. Your bare skin presses against his own, but in a way that doesn't feel erotic.

Konrad has a low drive for that sort of thing, you’ve learned. His time on Nostromo probably had something to do with it. When those feelings strike him it is often random and intense- you've learned violence often triggers it, like there's a part of his brain when the two intense emotions overlap and entangle with each other like a spiders web. More often than you'd like to admit he's taken you in the pitch dark and when you've touched back, you can feel the stickiness of what can only be blood.

You haven't said anything at all during this; There isn't much you could say that wouldn't potentially ruin the situation that you've so carefully crafted. Konrad is at his most figuratively vulnerable, even if he doesn't want to admit it. Rarely does he let that maniacal, bloodthirsty side of him step aside for this other half.

Completely drained in the face, eyes staring off into space. He's either thinking, or a vision is just about to take hold of him. Though his head turns down to you, and confirms it wasn't the ladder.

"Water was always worth killing for, on Nostromo." Konrad looks at the massive bath, his Nostroman accent twisting and sluring the sentence and it's multiple w sounds. "And now there seems to be ample surplus."

You don't know if he's getting to something, or merely commenting; You choose to stay silent as you ring out his hair, the water droplets sliding down his pale skin and the sinewy muscles of his neck and shoulders.

Standing up high to reach the top of his head you begin to braid the top half of his hair back, slicking it away his face. He looks far less greasy and unkempt with it out of his eyes. It’s not too much for him either- he accepts the mild change when you tie the end and pull away from him.

"Lord Fulgrim offered us dinner on his flagship, are we going?"

Looking at you with his now slicked back hair, you see in Konrad where Sevatar and Skraivok- you think of the ladder's name with no small amount of unrest- get their looks from.

"Do you want to go?"

Anytime Konrad asks you a question, it feels like a test. You don't know if it's a self protecting act by you to keep yourself safe around the Night Lords, or if he is actually looking for something in you each time.

"I," You think for a moment- how to word this. "I would like to go and at least say hello, and show how well you cleaned up."

Konrad hums, his tongue catching on the first two letters in then, slurring in into a soft z sound. The ends of his hair just barely brush against the highest parts of his shoulders, curling upward as they dry fluffier and far cleaner.

"Then go get dressed."

[mychoombatheroomba]

Lessons Final and Familiar

Between the Bones (Leon x GN! Reader) - Chapter 46

You and Leon tell your squad mates the truth of Raccoon City, and you are cleared to train fully again. Out of practice and in your own head, you seek help just as Leon once did.

(Cross-posted from Ao3)

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Chapter Index

They read the reports in silence, their own letters at their sides - easy cover, should someone step into your little room in the infirmary. You acted as something of a lookout, your fingers twisting pins into lock after lock, all while you kept an eye out for them. That was your ritual over the next few days, whenever your little group met to study. It had taken weeks for you to get through all of the reports Krauser had given you, all of the secrets, but you would give your squad mates what you could. More importantly, you would give Leon what you could. 

You would look over at him and the others, seeing horror or confusion or rage crossing their faces with each line they read, every word they processed. You watched them doing what you’d done; putting together the picture of all that had transpired. Even if you didn’t give them the report of what happened to you, or what happened to Leon, you knew that the timeline was becoming clearer to them all the same. 

“So, let me get this straight,” Alenko’s French was almost flawless - a skill he’d learned far before STRATCOM. It made him difficult to understand when he spoke with fluent speed, but that was the whole point, wasn’t it? To be able to understand? Besides, even if some of his words were lost in his quick speech, his disbelief was easy to understand. Besides, speaking in a mix of different languages they were teaching meant a slightly lower chance of someone walking by and learning what you were all talking about. Training through treason. If they wanted you to trade in secrets, then you would. “They knew about all of this for months? We lost a base, and they still wanted these weapons?” 

You gave him a simple answer in Mandarin. “Yes.”

Leon carried on the sentence, albeit in a flawed Russian. “And Umbrella learned about it. They killed Birkin after.” 

Valeria piped in, shaking her head and answering in perfect Spanish. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

Williams cut her off, giving her a look that was a little too familiar. “Hey, it’s not practice if you’re fully fluent in it.” 

A pointed look heralded a sharp response - though even you could see the affection in Valeria’s expression. “If Alenko gets to do French, I get to do Spanish. Besides, it’s practice for you. Lord knows you and the pretty boy can use all the help you can get.” 

“I’m not that bad,” Leon defended, and even you frowned a little at his pronunciation, even if the words were right. 

Valeria beat you to voicing the brutal truth of it. “Your accent is shit. But good try, blanquito. You’re getting there.” 

Leon pursed his lips but took the criticism just as Alenko spoke again. “Are we going to brush over the fact that our government was willing to make a deal with a man who killed thousands? Even if indirectly? That we could have a cure if they’d just waited a little bit longer?” 

“We’re not ignoring it,” Williams answered in Spanish, her accent a little better than Leon’s though she took longer to think of the words. “But we can’t do anything about it. Unless those papers gave a name . . .” she switched back to English after a moment, not sure how to say what she wanted to say otherwise, “then we can go fuck someone up.” 

“But speaking of names,” Alenko shook his head. “This scientist - Birkin - he knew a lot about US internal affairs.”

“Umbrella soldiers were at Dorne Base,” you reminded him. “They told their . . .” you struggled to think of the right word in Mandarin - something you were thankful for, giving you something to think about other than the soldiers in question. In the end, you couldn’t think of the word you needed and resorted to English. “Higher-ups.” 

“Sure,” Alenko nodded, “but then . . . how did Umbrella find out? Who ratted him out about the deal with the CIA?”  

You frowned, because you’d thought of the same thing on many nights as you poured over the reports Krauser had given you. 

Leon weighed in again, his brow furrowed. “I don’t know.” He’d been the one to see the emails damning Birkin - but he’d told you they were from someone else in Umbrella sending his own correspondence back to him. No hint as to who it was that he was talking to, or if the tip had come from within Umbrella. 

You hoped it had, because the alternative . . . 

“And nowhere in these reports does it say who he was in contact with in the US government?” Alenko asked again, holding up one of the papers you’d given him. 

Your frown only deepened, then, and you shook your head. “No name.” Or, at least, not one that you could read beneath the black ink. No name for you to hate for making a deal with the devil, no name to loathe for dragging Leon by the throat into something he should have been kept safe from, or destroying Raccoon City and the cure it housed. 

And that presented a problem, because the only thing left to hate was the government behind it all. The one you’d sworn your life to. The one that had been your life and livelihood for years. The one that had offered you the chance to avenge those you loved. 

That was why you sat here, spreading the truth of their actions to those who deserved to know. You’d told Leon that you’d been a bit of a handful, once. That you had a disregard for authority or rules. Stealing the radio from Commander Cortez had proved that part of you to still be alive, but this? This was something else. A side of you that you weren’t used to . . . 

Well, you couldn’t exactly say that either, could you? Not when you’d been breaking regulations for months just to steal a few moments of peace with the man at your side. 

A man you wanted to give every advantage, even if it meant reinforcing what he already knew of the people pulling his strings. 

A man who, like you, was full of righteous anger at the people in power - for all that had happened because of them. “It’s not right, what they did,” he said, his gaze downcast but steady. Resolute. “But we can stop Umbrella.” He spoke the rest in English, his voice so steady and sure you could hardly believe it was the same boyish recruit you’d knocked to the dirt all those months ago. “That’s what matters.” 

Williams, Alenko, hell even Valeria all nodded. All set on a warpath you were barred from . . . but one you would be allowed to claw your way back to, in just a few days. Your ribs healed for a second time, your muscles aching to get back in the fight . . . 

And Williams spoke your next thought aloud. “Just have to make it through this place, first.” 

And you . . . you had farther to go than most, now. As the lock in your hands clicked open, regardless of what questions Alenko had posed, your thoughts were on that training and that training only. 

⧫⧫⧫

The mid-June sun was unrelenting, and so were you. 

The minute Doc had cleared you for full training again, you’d thrown yourself back in, full force. An attack dog given the signal, you sank your teeth into the training you’d been barred from for so long. And you did so viciously. 

You were sloppy. That was what you noticed in yourself, what you lingered on as you sparred with the lower-level recruits. Every error, every misstep, every mistake that could mean death in the field - you cataloged all of it. Filed it away, demanding that you do better. You were a harsh teacher and always had been, but you were harshest on yourself. Had to be.

The recruits you were helping to instruct ended up getting harsher instruction as a result, and you regretted that in part. You knew that your frustrations with yourself were coming out and biting into them instead, but you couldn’t help it. Not when you demanded nothing less than perfection in yourself, and when the man who was actually supposed to be teaching these men and women didn’t seem to be bothered. 

Reed would give notes, sure, but for the most part he just let the recruits fight, his focus on them but his thoughts unspoken and unknown. You’d watched him for two weeks now, not giving notes when he should. Keeping silent while you handled the squad.

Before now, it would have been alright. You’d had the ability to watch everyone, but now you needed to focus on yourself. So, three days into your return to training, you finally had enough. 

“You’re an instructor while you’re here, aren’t you?” You said, your temper getting the better of you as you looked over at an impassive Reed. “Some instruction for them would be good.” 

The agent’s head turned towards you, all too slow, his face just as impassive as ever but for a flicker of annoyance. 

“You want instruction?” He raised a brow and stepped forward, holding his left hand out towards another recruit. The young soldier looked between the hand and him before hesitantly placing the knife on Reed’s outstretched palm. “Let’s give them a demonstration.” 

With that, Reed took up a position against you, and your brow furrowed. 

You hadn’t seen him fight yet. It occurred to you then - he’d demonstrated moves on occasion, but you’d never actually seen him cross blades with someone. 

Size him up. What are his strengths?

Tall, lean, precise with his movements out of combat . . . and strong. Strong enough to break your bones. To knock you out of training for six weeks-

Stop it.  

You forced yourself to focus again, lifting your own practice knife and-

He gave you no more time to prepare. 

Reed advanced, his knife reaching for your right side and, with a sharp exhale and a stab of instinct, you blocked. Your body jolted with the action, combat an old friend that you weren’t sure how to greet any more. Your eyes widened as the agent moved, not letting you hold the defense for more than half a second before he was moving again, lighting fast. Low leg, right side. You blocked again, nearly too late, feeling the knife brush the fabric of your fatigues. 

Then, as he moved, you realized how Leon must have felt that first day against you, as your brain and body went into overdrive. You blocked another strike almost too slow, this one a stab as he switched his knife to his right hand, thrusting it at your chest.

How was he so fast? 

Or were you just slow? 

Had those six weeks really weakened you that much?

Control the blade-

Smaller arm movements-

Use more than your knife-

You reached across your body to block, so that hopefully you could free your right hand to strike at him. In doing so, you realized your mistake too late. 

His knee moved up, his body close to yours, and you only just moved in time to avoid the worst of it. Still, his knee connected with your left side. With your newly healed bones. You suppressed the yelp in your throat, eyes bulging in fear as you felt the pain and alarms rang out in your mind because no, God, no, please don’t be-

Your retaliation was instinct more than anything else. A thrust forward with your knife as you sucked in a breath, anger and terror making you lash out clumsily. Reed moved - still so fast - and blocked with his free left hand. 

His knife hooked at the back of your neck, and with his leg braced in front of one of yours, he leveraged you forward. You grasped at him, nearly taking him down with you, but it wouldn’t matter in a fight. Your spine would have been severed, or at the very least you would have been thrown onto your stomach as you were now, dry dust kicking up around you as you landed. 

And there, on the ground, you felt nothing but rage. 

You reached for your ribs, gingerly checking for any lingering pain, huffing furious breaths. Not broken. You could tell that, at least. Though not for lack of trying. You wanted to scream and curse as you pushed yourself part way up. Part way, before Reed’s words made you look over your shoulder at him. 

“A demonstration for you all,” the CIA agent said, his words callous as ever. “Exploit an opponent’s injury, if they have one.” He spared you a glance, but no offer of help up before he stepped away, tossing his knife back to the recruit he’d taken it from. “Back to it.”

You seethed there on the ground, your grip tightening on your knife. 

Stupid. Useless. Fucking pathetic-

“Here, Sarge,” a hand came into view, and you looked up, seeing one of the recruits you’d been working with offering it to you. Offering you a hand you felt you didn’t deserve. He was your age. Not bright-eyed as Leon had been, but with a smile of someone who knew the struggle. Someone who’d been through boot camp and gotten their ass kicked, same as you. 

It wasn’t comforting to you, though, because he didn’t know yet what awaited him. You did. And, even as you took the hand up, you knew that you were far from ready. 

That needed to change. 

⧫⧫⧫

Leon had been hesitant when you first brought up the idea - not because he didn’t want to spend time with you, but because of the other company the two of you would be keeping. 

But then, if Leon was hesitant, Krauser was even more so. 

Leon supposed he couldn’t blame the Major, entirely. It was, well, damned awkward as the three of you met in the training yard one evening - the night when Leon would have sparred with just Krauser alone. Even if Krauser had given Leon a rest with the insults about you, seeing the stone-faced man there that night made Leon on edge, at first. It was a smart move, having someone else there, both to keep suspicions off of you and to have a more experienced pair of eyes observing, but that didn’t make Leon any more thrilled with the idea. He could see the harsh line of the Major’s brow, the way he looked between the two of you with something like disdain . . . 

But in the end, he, you and Leon all found focus elsewhere. 

Namely, in the way you were moving. 

Leon had been able to win against you often enough before Fort Benning. He was still nowhere near as quick as you’d been, but his skill had been improving with each fight. He was almost a match for you, then. Now . . . Leon found no sense of victory each time he slipped his knife past your guard, or when he managed to twist your wrist and disarm you with a move that you’d so often used on him. With each loss, he could see despair growing in your eyes and it led him to moving a little slower. Leaving openings for you to attack, blocking just a second too slow . . . 

It made him smile when you took advantage of the little accommodations, even if each of them made your brows pinch closer together. 

“Stop holding back,” you hissed a plea after you stabbed at his side and landed - a move he, admittedly, could have blocked. You retreated from him, taking steadying breaths to calm your frustrations. 

“You heard the Sergeant,” Krauser nodded off to the side, thick arms crossed over his chest and his expression dour. Normally, there would have been an insult to follow up the order, but this time, Krauser just turned to you, his voice detached. “And you - what am I going to say?” 

He didn’t have to wait long before you gave him the answer he sought, offered with a tight jaw. “Go with your gut, don’t think.” The words Leon had heard on his first day, all those months ago. 

Words that you yourself had spoken to him in some way or another to Leon on so many occasions. 

Words that you struggled to recall, it seemed, as you attacked first this time. You were still strong, fast and skilled, but those six weeks spent doing so little . . . they had dulled you. Leon could see it as he batted your attack away. Even as you let his deflection shift you into switching hands, the knife coming up towards his right shoulder, then down when he parried. You almost caught him with that, but his own retaliation came in the form of a blade to your neck. 

Leon saw your eyes flash, and heard you exhale as you both lowered your blades. 

“You left yourself open,” Krauser pointed out, giving voice to what you already knew. 

Just as he voiced the next mistake you made. “Close distance.” 

“Watch your footwork.” 

“Don’t over-commit.” 

Mistake after mistake until, at last, Leon saw your frustrations boiling over. You got hit with a slash to the stomach and immediately you stepped back, turning your back to both of the men in the training yard with you, shoulders rising and falling. Leon thought he heard you swear beneath your breath, and then, concern for you overcame any hesitancy or lingering animosity he had for the Major. He looked Krauser’s way now that your back was turned, letting that worry be known. 

Leon wasn’t surprised when he saw a glint of that worry reflected back at him, then. Valeria hadn’t been far off, last week, after all. Favorite or not, Krauser had pulled you from the snow in Finland. He’d saved your life and given you the tools you needed to safeguard it in the future. He’d given you no mercy, but he had given you care, Leon could see it in his expression now. 

And for all their disagreements, Leon found himself smiling a little when the Major took a breath and spoke. “Kennedy, remind me what happened that first day I had you two fight.” The order was spoken with a now-familiar brashness, and it made you turn back to face Leon and Krauser both. 

Leon glanced your way, before looking back at Krauser as he gave his answer. “Got my ass knocked into the dirt, sir,” he said. He’d never thought to be sentimental over such a thing, but . . . well, these were strange times. 

He’d never thought to be trying to cheer you up with Jack Krauser of all people, either. 

The Major nodded once, very nearly smiling at the memory - smug bastard that he was. “You did. Several times. But you also landed a hit on one of my best men. You know why that is?” He turned towards you, this time, making it clear he expected an answer from you instead. 

Your answer was weighed down by self-loathing. “Because I was too slow.”

You were right - those had been the words Krauser had spoken to you, Leon remembered. Even so, the Major shook his head. “Because shit happens,” he corrected, and Leon felt a strange mix of emotions in his chest as Krauser took a step forward. “You made a mistake. Happens to the best. Your problem is that you get in your own head about it.” He looked back at Leon gesturing to the younger man’s eye - the one that you’d lined with purple and blue in that first fight so long ago. The strike you’d delivered out of anger and shock, that you’d apologized for the next day. “Made you bruise up that pretty face back then, and it’s making you sloppy now.”

Leon did his best not to react to that comment, even if the Major’s word choice made him blink. Instead, he focused on your expression, still a storm of self-pity and guilt. “I know,” you murmured, not meeting Krauser or Leon’s eyes as you did. 

Krauser tilted his head to the side, but his words didn’t hold their usual edge. Just tough love - something that Leon was becoming more and more familiar with from the Major. “If you know, then breathe and get your shit together.” Instead of making you angrier, you nodded and tried to smile. Didn’t quite get there, but you tried. The next comment, though, was the winning blow in that battle. “Now go on. Think Kennedy’s itching for you to knock him down again, isn’t that right?” The taller man gave a wolf’s grin as he looked Leon’s way - a silent challenge. 

Well, if that’s how it was gonna be . . .  

Krauser stepped back and out of the way as your expression shifted from disbelief to a grin. You rolled your shoulders back and stepped up to face Leon once more, but before either of you moved, Leon gave you his own devilish smirk. What he did next might have surprised him, not so long ago. You and Krauser had always had a rapport, but now, whether it was spurred by that twinge of something prickly in his chest or even the rapport that Leon himself had been building with the Major, Leon wasn’t sure. He didn’t know if it was because, as all that happened in Raccoon City and beyond came to light, he realized that the list of people in power that Leon could trust was well and truly bare, save for the man who had taken so many opportunities and risks to do his best by his men. He didn’t know if maybe, just maybe, he’d come to like Krauser just a little bit over the course of the last few months, and that was part of why his mind set him on this path. What he did know was that he wanted you to smile more, and he had one hell of an idea on how to do it. “You feeling up to a real challenge?” he asked, raising a brow, the one visible under his now-grown-out hair. 

Your expression sharpened as you tilted your head to the side. “Not sure I’d put up a good showing unarmed today,” you said, but Leon just shook his head. 

“Not what I meant.” 

Your own brow rose, then. “Oh?” 

Leon just gave you a smile and a wink, and then he whirled around, knife raised high. 

Krauser almost didn’t block in time. 

When he did, when he raised his hand and his arm felt the force of Leon’s blow, the once-rookie cop couldn’t help but smile wider. He never thought he’d have the pleasure of seeing Krauser so surprised, but those wide blue eyes spoke for themselves. 

“What the fuck do you-” 

Leon hadn’t been sure that you’d join in. Not until he saw the flash of your knife at Krauser’s other side, forcing him to lean back into a retreat. He looked between you and Leon, his arms coming up on instinct as he processed what was happening in the blink of an eye, and then . . . 

Well, Leon knew you were both fucked because Krauser smiled. 

Hours spent in training scenarios just like this - and the too-brutal memories of the fight at Fort Benning - gave you and Leon the right instinct to press your attacks. The trouble was that the Major had taught you both how to do that. He’d instructed you on how to move, how to seek out weak spots, and even if you weren’t a little slower than usual in that moment, Krauser was still faster and stronger than you both. 

With the two of you, though . . . it was almost a fair fight. 

You and Leon had time enough to find your rhythm, and there were a few times when your knife or Leon’s nearly had Krauser. So many times where a blade would come so close to achieving that victory, only for the Major to bat it away. 

And as soon as he did, the attacker either had to get clear or be faced with a punch or a kick as punishment. 

“Pretty sad showing. I expected more!” he called out, and Leon could swear that the man was actually having fun. 

He directed the flow of combat as the three of you moved, turning just in time to catch Leon’s thrust as the two of you tried to flank him, using the momentum to toss Leon into the wall of the officer’s barracks. Vaulting far too acrobatically over the table where the rest of the training knives were to arm himself, all while hurling the spare, dull blades at you as you tried to rush after him. 

“Use your surroundings!” the Major reminded the two of you, and as Leon rushed to rejoin you, he heard you grunt in frustration. 

A knife came spinning Leon’s way, then, and instinct made him raise his own blade - only to be met with a shing as metal met metal. Knife meeting knife. The blade Krauser had thrown landed in the dirt at Leon’s feet, and the younger man’s eyes widened in shock and excitement at what he’d just done. 

Even Krauser looked a little impressed - right before you rushed forward and raised your leg to kick forward. The table between you and Krauser shot forward then, hitting the Major hard in the thighs, making the man double over a bit, his hand bracing on the table’s surface. 

Leon took the moment of distraction you’d bought him, boots hitting the dirt hard as he dashed into the fray. He went for the Major’s unarmed left side, not surprised when his strike was blocked a little clumsily, the dulled blade scraping Krauser’s forearm. That was fine, if not the intended result. He quickly went for another, one that was similarly deflected. Just as well. All Leon needed to do was make you an opening. If he couldn’t land a hit, then maybe you could.

Or you could have, if it wasn’t Krauser that the two of you were facing off against. As soon as you got close enough, Krauser looked over his shoulder and kicked his leg back, catching you in the stomach - and very clearly low, avoiding the ribs that had just healed - before you were in range of striking with your knife. With you stumbling away, Krauser was free to answer Leon’s next attack, balancing focus between the two opponents effortlessly. 

Until, at last, it seemed like he’d had enough. 

When you came back in with an attack not too long after, Krauser blocked high in an arcing motion, spinning just as Leon stabbed out towards the Major’s neck. Or, at least, where it had been. Leon didn’t have enough time or space to move as Krauser ducked low, his leg outstretching with a viper’s speed. 

The leg that was forward in Leon’s stance was kicked out from under him and, with most of his weight having been on it, the younger man felt himself falling. Not for long, though, before he hit the ground hard. 

He didn’t see what happened next fully. All he knew was that his attempt at hooking Krauser’s legs to knock him down too missed, leaving him to raise his knife and try to roll to the side and away . . . only to see a shape moving his way. 

No, not moving. Falling. 

The weight of another person crashed into him, and both you and Leon had the wind knocked out of you as Krauser threw you down, right on top of Leon. Your chest against Leon’s back, your arms bracing awkwardly against the ground. Leon’s newfound strength was enough to keep him from being flattened into the earth, luckily, but fuck did you landing on him like that hurt. You were both shaken from the crash, and even if you landing on top of Leon didn’t press him down, Krauser’s weight added to that sure as hell did. Leon grunted as the Major forced him down once more, kicking one of Leon’s arms out from under him and delivering two stabs once his opponents were subdued. One to you, and the second to Leon. 

The three of you breathed in the dust that had risen around you, and Krauser . . . well, Krauser just chuckled. “Even if you have the numbers in a fight,” he said, still holding the two of you down, “those numbers can be used against you.” 

Leon huffed - or tried as best he could with your weight on him, but he nodded all the same. “Thanks for that, sir,” he groaned, and his heart soared when he heard you laugh the tiniest bit from above him. “You gonna let us up?” 

“You gonna learn?” 

“Eventually.” The answer came from you, snarkier than Leon would have expected for when you were talking to Krauser of all people.

Still, the Major hummed in mock-disappointment. “If you two fought half as smart as you talked, you’d be the best fighters I have.” His weight came off of the two of you, and Leon saw him extend a hand towards you. A moment later, you were hoisted to your feet, and Leon began to push himself up . . . only to have a callused hand offered to him as well. Leon looked up at Krauser as he reached for that hand, and he felt strange seeing the older man offering help even while wearing a smile. A grin that, once, had meant only harm was coming Leon’s way. 

“And who are your best?” You asked, and Leon could have sworn you chased the dark away even with the smallest smiles. Enough to make him and Krauser both smile a little wider. 

“After assessments, I’ll tell you,” Krauser shot back, matching your wit a little too well. Leon saw it in the way the corners of your mouth fell, ever so slightly. Because you wouldn’t be taking part in those assessments. Not any time soon. Leon didn’t need to read your thoughts to know that was what sobered you. Krauser must have seen it too, because his own good humor faltered like guilt had kicked the back of its knee. “Go on,” he said, his voice softer, “get some rest. Both of you. I’ll finish up here.” 

With you back in training proper, at least Leon was able to walk with you back to the barracks . . . but it was a walk that went by in almost complete silence. 

“You’ll catch back up, you know,” Leon finally said, not far from the barracks. He could see you grimace as he looked over at you, but he went on because he needed you to hear it. “You were already doing well tonight.” 

“I was shit tonight.” Your response was a brutal and self-inflicted wound. 

“Give yourself a break,” Leon insisted. “You’ve got time, you can work with Krauser-”

“I don’t want time.” You stopped walking, your lips pressed tight together, your fists clenched tight. “I should be going with you.” 

“Hey-” Leon shook his head, turning to face you. “I’ll be okay,” he promised once more. “You’ll be out there soon enough.”

You just frowned, not saying anything, but clearly not convinced. 

Still hurt, even if your bones had healed. 

He’d been seeing you like this too often as of late, so he stepped forward, his mind set only on one thing - the need to reassure you. His arms closed around you and you froze, even as he all but crushed you into his body. You were silent, even if he could practically hear your worries fighting to break free . . . but before long, Leon felt his heart stir as you returned the embrace. You held him tight for a few precious moments, ones that Leon knew he needed to savor. 

After all, there might not be too many of those moments left. 

⧫⧫⧫

“Do you think he’s ready?” The question forced itself from your lips before you could stop it, breaking the near silence of the woods around the base. Krauser looked over at you, lit only by his flashlight. Even so, you could see his expression curve into a frown. “Leon-”

“I know who you’re talking about,” Krauser grumbled. “You’re still in your own head.”

“And you didn’t answer my question.” 

“No one’s ever ready.” He never held back with you in training, you knew he wouldn’t hold back with the truth of this, either. You could see that much in his eyes as he rose from where he’d been kneeling, turning to face you fully. “You know better than anyone that you can’t ever prepare for everything out there. Especially not now.” 

“But do you think that he’s-” it was you that cut yourself off this time, because you knew the Major was right. Still, you needed to know. “Do you think he has a chance? That any of them do?” How could they, when their own government might hang them out to dry? When they were going to be sent against monsters and horrors beyond reckoning?

Krauser studied you, his jaw moving a bit as he thought of what to say. When he did speak at last, his words were quiet but honest. “He had no right to make it this far, but he did. He’s got a chance.” 

That, more than anything else, soothed your worries. It didn’t erase them, but hearing Krauser affirm that . . .

“But take it from someone who knows,” the Major went on, his voice more grave, his words broken up by a heavy breath. Like he was gathering strength, almost. Saying something he didn’t want to say. “Don’t waste a moment if you can help it.” 

You felt your lips part as your jaw dropped a little, surprise on your features as you looked at the man in front of you. Not so long ago, you’d heard him give you ice cold advice, telling you to forget the pipe dream of what you and Leon shared. “What happened to ‘not being stupid because it feels good’?” you asked, cautious and incredulous because this was in no way the advice that Krauser should be giving you as a superior officer. 

And yet . . .

“If you’re going to be stupid, better to be stupid here than out in the field.” It sounded like a half-logical and half-hearted reason, throwing you all the more for a loop. “You’ll have enough regrets as is. Don’t leave here with more.” 

You stared at him in the dark for a moment longer, trying to understand. Trying to make sense of the conflicting warmth and emptiness in your gut. In the end, though, all you could do was ask one thing. “Why? Why give a shit at all?” 

Another beat of silence met you before Krauser answered, deflection clear in his tone. “It’s all you ever talk about,” he accused with an attempt at humor. “Maybe this’ll finally get you to shut up about it.” 

You scoffed at that but smiled a little anyway. “Bullshit. We haven't been talking about anything for weeks.” 

Krauser just raised a brow. “You want something to talk about? Fine.” You were sure he was going to chew you out. To give you a lecture about how you’d been moping again, or how you needed to ‘get your shit together’. Something of substance, of weight and importance. Instead . . . “You really like that Spice Girls shit?” he asked, and you balked at the words. 

You, once again, spoke faster than you could really process your own words. “Rich, coming from the man who played bluegrass for weeks on end.” Krauser snorted at that, and you found yourself enjoying the sound. “But yes, I do like them.” 

The Major just rolled his eyes and set back to work - though this time, there was a steady conversation between the two of you as you finished up. One you were grateful for, but one that gave way to a single thought, when you returned to the barracks for First Call. 

A thought that pressed against you as the day carried on - one of the last days you were guaranteed to share with the man you loved. 

Krauser was right. You had enough regrets. Enough what-ifs. 

You hadn’t gotten to say a proper goodbye to so many people you loved. 

You would be damn sure Leon would get one. 

Before he was thrown into the fire, you decided that morning that he would have as much of you as you could give. 

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Chapter Index

A/N: Idk gang, I was feeling extra gay this time around.

That said, the next chapter will be NSFW, because goddamn it, these two deserve it after all the shit they've been through.🫡

[9haharharley1]

Trick or treat!! Happy Halloween!!

A Happy Halloween to you too!! Have some Golden Age wip:

"It's a wonder anyone can sleep with all that light," a silky voice spoke from his right, and Nightlight jumped in alarm. His glow lit up the whole hall, the moonmice spooking in fright and skittering off down the hall. Nightlight held his staff at the ready, diamond tip pointed in the direction of the voice. The hair on his neck rose as that feeling of being hunted settled over him. But he was not afraid.

A dark chuckle made him shiver, his light dimming so he could get a good look at General Pitchiner. He was leaning against the door to one of the sitting rooms, arms crossed, wearing an elegant robe and dark pants that were tucked into his military boots. His dark hair was slicked back, his gold eyes bright from Nightlight's glow. His lips quirked in a smirk.

"You ran off before we could be properly introduced," he said with that same smooth voice. Nightlight didn't know if he bristled from the accusation of cowardice... or from the accent he heard lacing the man's words. The General straightened. He placed a hand on his chest and bowed low before Nightlight, and Nightlight's glow brightened once more.

Why couldn't he control it today?!

"My name is Kozmotis Pitchiner, and it is lovely to meet you." And he sounded so sincere as he said it. Nightlight bit his lip as he fought to get his light back under control. Kozmotis Pitchiner stood tall and approached him. Nightlight held his ground. "I've never met a Brother of the Nightlights before." He stopped a few paces away, holding out his hand. Nightlight stared at it in curiosity. "It is an honor to meet you."

Hesitantly, almost nervously - which was odd because Nightlight didn't get nervous - Nightlight held out his hand to shake Pitchiner's own. His hand felt so small in the General's, and he was so warm, near scalding with how hot his skin felt, and Nightlight had the sudden urge to move closer, to bury himself in that overwhelming heat, use the man as a blanket and take a nap.

Those thoughts were scattered like spooked moonmice, however, when General Pitchiner adjusted his hold and lifted his hand to his face. Nightlight's eyes widened, his light pulsing, as for the first time in his long life he was given a kiss. Not five minutes had passed since he had thought of this very act, and now the Lord High General was giving him a kiss! It was quick, and it was chaste, but it was a kiss nonetheless, and even as Pitchiner let go, Nightlight could feel heat on his palm where their hands had touched, and the spot on the back of his hand...

It burned.

[thewritersaddictions]

House Dimitrescu: Bela Dimitrescu- Green Eyes

Pairing: Karl Heisenberg X Lady Bela Dimitrescu

Pov: Lady Bela Dimitrescu

Warnings: fluff, smut, falling in love with the wrong person, disapproval, falling in love, kissing. Making out, a little bit of fighting, Bela being disgusted with men, Karl being a dick, lady dimitrescu's disapproval, enemies to lovers, Mother Miranda Mentioned, BJ's, P in V. Sex.

Summary: She doesn't mean to fall in love with the worst of the worst. He's just so damn attractive and dark. Mother Miranda loves the idea of them together.

A/n- @ firefly-graphics for dividers. '

WC- 4.3k

Resi 8 Master List // House Dimitrescu Master List

Grey Eyes

My mother had always taught me that men were only here for my enjoyment. For my torture, to watch the life drain out of their eyes. But what if those eyes are covered with dark sunglasses and are tempting me in the worst way? 

I wondered why he was even here at the castle. Mother never liked the grim and dirt that Heisenberg brought along with him, but the loud voices of Mother Miranda bounced around the castle walls. 

I didn’t give shit now. At least that was how I was acting, he had cornered me in a section, a rather recluse area of the castle. His hands barred me into the wall. My mind went haywire, everything was on high alert, but regardless of the feeling in the pit of my stomach I still let him kiss me. 

Let him bring his lips towards a rapid pulse point in my neck. He was no longer caging me in with his hand that was, now it was his whole body pushing me further into the wall behind me. He was so big, sure I had seen him at dinners. I had seen him just a few moments ago when he was pissing Mother off with his insistent chewing, and loud laughter. All while he kept his eyes on me. It sent a raging fire through me. I tried my hardest to not look at him, mothers orders. 

“Men are disgusting creatures, and only want you for one thing.” 

“My daughters aren’t good enough for any man out there.” 

“Don’t you let any man touch you? You’re my precious babies.” 

Mother would mutter into our ears when we were younger. She was hellbent on us knowing that, it was all we thought about, so anytime a random man would come to the castle doors. Enter without permission we had a rather fun time with him. Beat him till he was purple, and bleeding all over the place. 

But there was something different about Heisenberg. He was stronger, bigger, and taller then any other man I had ever seen. My attention drew to him throughout the night, and now here I was trapped between his chest and the wall. With his mouth licking, and sucking at my skin. He was ravaging me and without a second thought, I pushed his hat off. Running my fingers through grey hair that felt so heavenly smooth. 

I was fighting the urge to not fall deeper into Heisenberg’s touch. As his tongue left long trails of salvia down my neck to the top of my dress. I could hear my heartbeat, and I’m pretty sure Heisenberg was able to feel it up against his tongue. His arms moved fast, and all of a sudden the weight on my feet was gone, and the weight of him picking me up and slamming me rather hard into the wall I felt explode into my backbone. I moaned out in a mixture of pain and excitement.

Sharp and Green eyes that widden with excitement as I can’t control my own mouth. His voice is thick with almost a german accent. “Oh doll aren’t you a vocal one.” He’s teasing me like we’ve been together for such a long time. As if Lord Heisenberg, as been taking me to the darkest part of the castle and fucking me like I was his and his alone. 

This all felt to real, to deja vu for this to be happening. I wondered why he had followed me so close, his boots practically hitting the back of my heels. Why had I dragged him towards the most recluse section of the castle. I did it rather unintentionally. I wanted him to follow behind me right? Maybe to go against my Mother as her rather controlling nature was getting worse and harder to deal with on the daily basic. 

The only other male person I’d ever met was The Duke. He was always in the castle selling rather interesting things to Mother. Only having met him once it was a complete and drastically different expression when I first saw Lord Heisenberg. 

He had more muscles, thinner in every single way. He was darker almost has dark as the night sky during the summer nights. He was something that I had been told to not look at, touch, or even speak to. He was out of bounds in ever aspect, and that made the feeling of having him chasing after me even better. 

Everything in my body was tingling. Everything felt it was on fire, like was going to burn to death just from his hands on my skin. His hands moved and pushed my legs to go around his hips. The groan that fell from his lips was hard to ignore, especially when I could feel the vibrations of his groan through my body. “Such a wet little pussy you’ve got. Can you feel it?” His voice dripped with cockiness as he thrusted into me pushing me further into the wall. 

I was a mumbling mess. “I… You… we can’t” He teased winking at me even though he was so close, and thursted again. His rough jean material pressing further into few layers of clothes that was covering my pussy. My eyes rolled into the back of my head as I felt the edge of stress fly away.  “Oh are you enjoying yourself? Are you enjoying the way my cock is teasign at your entrance.” He was coaxing me. Trying desperately to get me to say the words. 

Stubborn as always I wouldn’t dare give him the damn staifcation of knowing or even thinking that he was giving me any sort of high. “GET YOUR FLITHY HANDS OFF MY DAUGHTER THIS INSTENT!!”  My mother is shouting from behind Lord Heisenberg back. My eyes are closed but I can’t see her, maybe she’ll think that this was all Heisenberg fault. 

I can hear him scoff into my skin. My mother is starting to tip over, getting to her boiling point much to soon. I open my eyes not yet daring to look at my mother. Much to aware of the setting that’s she found me in. He looks up at me, there’s a deep look in his eyes. 

He bites down on his tongue and winks at me. Dropping down to the floor with the most softness I’ve ever been touch with in my life. My mother isn’t the sweetest, nor nicest person on the planet. She’s harsh, loud and at her core she’s manipulative. She makes you feel like shit and then gives you the whole world right out of her hand. 

“I can’t believe I told Bela. I told you never talk to this man, or even go near him. Just as always the one that acts like a damn fool. Cusres the Dimitrescu house name.” She grabs my wrist hard and tight, and drags me far away from Lord Heisenberg. She turns, and I look over my shoulder. “As for you Lord heisenberg, you are to never come back to my castle. I will tell Mother Miranda what you’ve done. Do you understand? You absolute traitor.” 

He’s picking up his hat dusting it off, and over the brim of his glasses he looks at me. For the first time, or maybe the first clear time I’ve really seen him eyes. Green, deep and enticing in every single possible way. 

I don’t hear the end of it until the night ends, and I’m laying in my bed. For the rest of the night my mother, held me close by her side. She never manages to shut up, all she does is talk. Talks about how horrible men are, how great she is, how much we should love and take care of her. 

A ramble off of questions she asks go through my head as I lay down on my bed. 

“Did he hurt you?” 

“How did you two end up alone?” 

“Did you… Did you enjoy his touch?” 

Her last question is revolving in the back of my head. Did I enjoy his touch well maybe. I don’t know. He’s not romantic like any of the books in te library are. His hands are rough, but his lips are soft, and the way he say things causes my knees to go weak. 

FUCK 

I miss him already, I shouldn’t miss him. I shouldn’t even want to see him again. I shouldn’t have wanted to let him chase me. I let him chase me around this damn castle. I should… I don’t know what I should do, but the summer air the drifts through my open balcony makes me walk over. Mother always talk about the useless factory that Lord Heisenberg runs. I can seem the smoke stacks that are wafting into the nights sky. The grey puffs of air, it’s all but causes a strong of shocks to run down my spine. My skin prickles at that the thought of running, jumping off the balcony. 

Mother Miranda did hear all about Lord Heisenbergs adventure with me. She called my mother, Lord Heisenberg, and I to the church that mother was at nearly every week. “Alright, I have heard you Alcina. I do think that in efforts to be the best he possibly can, along with your sweetheart of a daughter. They might have come up with the most brillitantly wonderful idea.” Mother Miranda speaks. My mother has never been able to shadow her facial expression. Never able to keep her pocker face, she’s like a person who wears their heart on their sleeve. Expect her heart is a knife, and maybe a few other dangerous items. I can’t manage to make out Lord Heisenberg’s face, with been seated next to my mother the furthest away from Heisenberg. 

“What;s are you talking about… Mother miranda you must know that Lord heisenberg isn’t actually trying to shit right?” My mother speaks with sincreity. Her voice is level as it’s going to get for being so close to Lord Heisenberg. I can hear him over ther scoffing under his breathe, making fun of my mother’s show of frustration and aggervation. 

“Now if you’re done. I have a new plan for finding myself a new daughter. I think that your daughter. Bela, and Lord Heisenberg should have this grand of a new relationship. I think this might work out very well for all of us.” With that Mother Miranda was gone, into a hundreds of black birds. 

My mother was more then enraged by how simply Mother Miranda had tried absolutely nothing to stop him. Heisenberg I think was more then excited to come back to the scene we had been forced to leave so soon. 

Heisenberg was so casual about everything like my mother wasn’t going fully ballistic on the other side of the room. He got up with ease, and made his way over to my mother, and I. His even cocky in the way he stands infront of my mother and I. I can’t help but strip him mentally of all of his clothes. There’s an urge to leap into his arms and get back to the kissing, and soft feelings of his lips on my skin. My hands combing through his hair. 

He drops the edges of his glasses. Eyeing me, and winking before looking over at my mother. “So Alcina are you in the helping mood for Mother Miranda?” He questions her. I let my mind wanderer for a moment, a helping hand for Mother Miranda. Mother scoffs, and her faceds changes for a second before looking more regal in her white dress. Her shoulders are taller, wider. “Anything for Mother Miranda isn’t that right Heisenberg.” She says simply. 

It’s starts off simply. Mother Miranda encourages, comes over to the castle and practically grabs me from my mother hands but not before draping me the nicest thing around. She pulls me from my mother grasps. Taking me away and towards the factory. The air is somewhat different when we cross the bridge, but the smile that is beaming from Mother Miranda face is contagious. 

My body is pumpingwith excitement as i realize one of two things. First off my mother is the furthest she’s ever been from me. She can’t control my every move, or tell me what to or not say. Two, Mother Miranda is leaving the two of us once I’m settled. “The two of you will work fast at this right?” She asks me. I humm not ever looking at her. “That’s good, just what I want to hear. You do prefect for my project. Now listen carefully child. I’m leaving you here with Lord Heisenberg. I’m having your mother gather your things and you’ll stay here with him. No need to give you and chance to abbadon this wonderful idea of yours right?” Her smile is creepy as shit, sending me wanting to go back the other direction. She’s right, she does exactly as she says. She brings me straight to his large garage door. 

He meets us there. His eyes are dark, and his hat sits a little lopsided on his head, but he’s the definition of sexy. “Ah, Lorg Heisenberg. You and Bela are going to make a lovely fa… a lovely couple.” With that she yet again poofs into a few hundred black birds. It leaves Heisenberg and I staring at each other. 

I go to say something, anything that will drop from my lips. Nothing falls, not even has he get’s closer. Not even has his hands touches my skin. His hands are cool, against the hotness of my skin. The sun roasting me through the layers of clothes. He drags me into the garage. His drag isn’t hard, or mean it’s just soft. “It’s not great, but’s home buttercup.” He said thickly. My heart stops if only for a second. The nickname is cute, scratch into the back of my head. I want him to call me ‘buttercup’ more. “Also, the names Karl. None of that Lord bullshit or heisenberg bullshit” His voice is husky, is go stragiht to my core. The wetness that causes my spine to tingle. 

“Bela I assume is still okay?” Karl asks. I hum, his hand is no longer around my wrist rather holding my hand. His hands are rough, but not hard. Calluased by the work that I can only assume he does in the large factory. I look down at the part where the two of us are connect, and his eye follow along. He coughs, and lets go. I try to not look displeased, but follow behind him as he’s already on the move. 

“I’m going to show you around the factory Mind you this isn’t your prefect little cushy castle you’ve got up there. This place is dangerous and you can get lots and hurt very easily I don’t need either women I hate tearing down my walls looking for you. Do you understand?” So much authority comes from his words, but’s different. 

He different now. 

He different even from the night he chased after me in the castle 

He just simply different, now that’s it just the two of us… atleast I think he is. 

“Do you understand?”

“I understand lor… Karl.” 

The tour goes by quickly and the further we go down the darker, the creppier, and scariest it get’s. I can’t help but keep close, and keep grabbing onto Karl’s biceps, or his hand when he walks to fast for me to keep up with his long legs. 

It isn’t until we make it up the upper levels that I feel safer. “Why do you always wear your glasses?” I ask almost involuntarily. He turns and looks at me. I can’t see his eyes. “Why Bela?” I ramble to get an answer out of my mouth, “I… You… I just think you’d… You’re eyes are very pretty is all. They’re all I think about, ever since that night in the castle. How you looked at me in the church.”  “You like the way I look at you” Karls words make me float again, my minds goes somewhere else, I don’t notice hoe close he’s managed to get to me. 

“Look at you a trembling, wordless mess Buttercup.” 

I hum, it’s the only thing I have. He’s in reaching distance, so I close the distance between the two of us. Out chest pressed up against each other. I can feel his heart beat. Loud and fast. “I asked you a question Karl.” He pulls the glasses down and then off compleety before throwing them off into the distance. 

“And I asked you one, now are you going to answer.” He looking down at me with such force behind his green eyes The firs time, I’ve seen them so upclose, so clear for me to see ever notch in the iris. How the green dips and get’s darker the longer he keeps his attention on me. 

“I’m sure you’ll figure out soon enough. I want to get back to what was rudely intreuptted by your mother.” Forcely he picks me up. “What do you think Bela, huh?” His question is more rhetorical as he walks us somewhere. His hands are resting on my ass, my legs having wrapped themselves around his hips almost on instinct. As he walks us I can feel the growing erection that’s begging to get out of the bounds of his trousers. My arms are wrapps around his neck, so I take advantage. 

I rip his torn, dirty hat from his head. Keeping it in my hand. One of my hands goes to run a few fingers through his hair. It causes a bit of fault in karls steps. A moan. A quiet moan slips from his lips, but he contiues on. Before I know it I’m dropped onto a rather uncomfortable mattress, but it’s large. Large enough for Karl to have me and him sprawled together. 

He looks down at me. 

“You’re such a brat you know that?” 

I don’t say anything back, but shake my head. Before I know it Karl’s unzipping his trousers, and letting them fall short of his knees. His boxers are filled out, the tent looks huge under my gaze. I wonder 

I hope, and wonder if it will even fit. I’m not dumb to how sex works. My mother just didn’t explain the all of the rules. Or how most of the things work. “Oh don’t worry buttercup I’ll make it fit.” So damn cocky. When he pulls himself out of his boxers the gasps that leaves my lips is faster then I can control, and the smirk I see on Karls face is only a further push into his ego. 

“You know how to suck cock right?” His questions is blod and straightforward is the hottest way possible. I mumble a quite ‘no’. He rolls his eyes, and almost throws his boxers up. “Wait don’t… show me Karl.” I mutter out softly almost like I can’t talk at all. “Fuck buttercup… alright I’ll show you.” He get’s close as possible. “Don’t close your eyes at all I want you looking at me during the entire thing okay?” I shake me head, and he coniutes.” Open” I do as he says. My mouth opens not wide enough for him, so his calluased fingers invade my mouth. My jaw aches as Karl’s fingers leave my mouth and try to follow them. 

His cock is the next thing that enters my space. I lick my lips with antipiation. “Okay relax your mouth, and take me slow buttercup.” his accent thick with heat as he looks down at me. Once, finally once his cock nudges into my mouth I can’t help the urge that overcomes me to take him fully. His cock hit the back of my throat and I look up at him through my lashes. He groans out, and bucks into my face. “Fuck, I told you slow buttercup. But whatever you want I see.” Some how his voice is deeper thicker as words drips from his curse ridden mouth. 

As he bucks into my face I can feel ever ridge and bump his cock as to give. His pubic hair is ticklish under my nose, but the breathing isn’t my issues. It’s wanting to feel every curve of his cock in my mouth, on my hand. In my pussy. 

I want to feel him in every possible way. 

The cursing that drop from karl don’t stop and when his rough calluased hands reaches down to my hair I roll my eyes back and maon with excitement. His hold on my hair is hard and his finger tangle into my hair. His moans and grunts become raggaed and faster, somehow shorter all together. “Fuck Buttercup.” He’s still fucking my face, but as he pulls out his cock from my mouth I can’t help but suck on the head. 

Karl doesn’t warn me as he spunk shoots out and down the back of my throat. I’m finally able to breathe normally, but as Karl continues to fuck my mouth. Cum contiunes to trickled down, and my eyes rolls back at the euphoric feeling that crosses my hot and mess body. The ruge to strip out of my clothes over takes me. 

“Fuck, karl can I get out of my dresses. I hot as shit, and I need…” he stares me with such admiration. “Fuck yeah. Sorry. Give me a second.” he pleas with me. He barely strips ouit of his other clothes. All while he keeps his eyes on me. He stares at me, and my mouth. When he comes over his thumbs runs over my lips, then dip into my mouth. 

“Such a good girl.” He mutters softly, before he’s ripping my dress. Ripping into the clothing and throwing them across the room. My breasts don’t have to react to the coldness of the factory. His mouth, Karls mouth is sucking and tugging at my sesitive nipples. His other hand is pulling my closer.

Skin to Skin 

He makes my mouth water. As he moans and flicks a harder nipple with his tongue. He stands much taller then I. His neck is craning to reach and play with my breasts. “Fuck buttercup. Such a good lookin’ pair of tits you’ve got. So tiny and squeezeable.” His hands are rough, but that’s okay I like the comparison. 

He moves us gentle and as my knees hit the back of the bed. It’s causes me to fall backwards. Karl is ontop of me within a second. His cock is already hard again and pressed up agasint my thigh. My pussy is dripping, and has been dripping since I walked across the the stone bridge. 

Fingers dancing on the edge of passion. 

He brings his lips close to mine. Breathe mixing together. 

“Karl” It’s like I’m begging, but I’m not sure for what. 

“Such a pretty girl. Such a pretty girl that’s all mine.” Karl shifts his weight, now he’s somehow caging me back onto the mattress. He slips his hands down my sides, and gives me shivers as his fingers, and hand rest nicely on the dip of my hips. It’s only when I feel his rough padded fingers playing with my pussy. Soft and gentle touches like I’ll break if he isn’t careful. 

I look down between my open legs. Karl’s stance is laughable, at best. His hair is a mess, sticking to parts of his forehead, but tongue stick out of his mouth as he looks down at my body. He’s looking down at my soaking pussy as he plays more. More and more until he satisfied with his ‘work’. 

Finally the tip of his head nudging yearning to enter. Like the walls break and a flood of water comes in. The words fall out of my mouth. ‘I’m a virgin, Heisenberg.” I said loudly almost to loud. His eyes flash up to mine. “I was assuming so buttercup, do you not…” “NO! I do want your cock. I promise I just you… I just wanted to tell you before…” My words die in my thraot as Karl doens’t give any warning. He thrust hard and fast. 

The pressure wells up in my belly, and the scream that rips through my throat I’m sruprised I can still breathe. “Fuck, Shit… Karl… That hurt…” It’s a mumble of words. Theres tears in my eyes at the edge of falling off onto the sheets. Before they can karl is wiping them away with a rough padded thumb. “I’ll move in a second. I just couldn’t wait any longer. I should have just taken it back in that big dumb castle. Should have let your mother find me fucking you. I wanna hear your moans. I wanna hear my name on your Buttercup.” He whispers into my ear. 

The pain is less, the feeling of being full is what’s etched into my mind now. “I want… I want you to move please… Please just move already Karl” Begging for him to move I buck into his cock. Fresh tears fall. The tears of feeling full. 

“Alright, calm down. I’ll start movin’ now buttercup.” He whispers before coming back up and his hand rest neatly on my hips. Large fingers sprayed against my skin. 

Rough vs soft 

I remember the feeling of his cock falling out and then back in with a hard thrust. I remember the feeling of wanting to scream, cry, and everything else you can do. How his skin felt as I created half-created moons into his skin. How good he smelt his head bent into the crook of my neck as the time passed. How tight I felt as he stuffed me full of cum. How hard he gripped onto my hip as he cum. How my name flaoted off his lips with such ease. 

Most importantly I remember the green eyes that stared back into my own. As he rolled them back as he sputtered into a giant mess above me, as he came crashing down on me with the last thrust. How his fast, racing heart felt agaisnt my bare chest. 

Green eyes were what I fell asleep and woke up to all over again.

Completed on: 03/26/23

Posted on: 03/26/23

House Dimitrescu-

[chamomileteainabuttercup]

Steve loves a good story but has never really been able to get into the books his Party friends love. I imagine him a bit dyslexic; he can read but it's a constant mental effort to decode the words that just isn't rewarded by what he can follow of the story. He doesn't want to admit how tiring and confusing he finds it, because nobody else seems to think it's hard, and brushes it off, saying he's waiting for the movies.

Eddie is not having this (he was really rooting for Ralph Bakshi to succeed but after that mess it seems unlikely any decent Lord of the Rings movie will be made in his lifetime). He loves telling stories. He insists on Steve letting him come over to his house and read him at least The Hobbit. Steve agrees to this primarily because it appears to be a nerdy strategy to get him alone for a while and he assumes it'll just mean listening politely for a chapter or so before making out ensues.

He isn't prepared for the sheer charisma and energy of the one-man show he's treated/subjected to. Eddie has distinct character voices and accents for not only Bilbo and Gandalf but all thirteen dwarves. He's written his own tunes for all the songs ("Fifteen Birds in Five Fir-Trees" and "Down in Goblin Town" in particular get the heavy metal treatment). He bounds around the room and climbs on furniture acting everything out. Steve is equal parts baffled and spellbound. Making out definitely needs to ensue, but he'll let Eddie read just one more chapter first.

[andontheseventhday]

I'm not even sure what this is. A drabble, I guess? This was going to originally be fleshed out into more of a one shot, but I'm tired of editing it. I'm trying to get back into the swing of writing again but it's been hard.

If you do read, this isn't an explicitly sexual fic. And TW:

Brief mention of non-sexual bondage, predator/prey, non-consent, gagging with fingers.

------------------

The butler who brought you in through the large front door forced you down onto your knees before the giant, plush chair. It was currently vacant, but the deep red velvet cushion was indented in such a way that suggested that the owner occupied the seat more frequently than not. You bowed your head under the gaze of the haughty butler, shifting your weight carefully and watching your bare knees grow red from the hardness of the uncomfortable, wood floor. Your arms were bound tightly with rough rope, which wasn't ideal. But it wasn't the worst situation you'd ever been in.

You heard the heavy footsteps behind you before you saw him, the hem of his dark slacks and shiny black dress shoes gracing your vision while he settled into his seat. You didn't dare look up into his face. "Well, well, well. What do we have here? A little rabbit in a den of wolves. How did a meek little thing like you get in a predicament like this?" You knew, of course, but his question was rhetorical.

The butler who had been silent until now cut in hesitantly. "My Lord, I don't think she's-"

"Hush, Barbatos." While there was annoyance in his tone, it was overshadowed by amusement, "I am aware of what she is." He leaned down and grasped your chin tightly with his strong, ring-laden fingers, tipping your head back until your gaze met his.

It felt like you had been punched in the gut. This man was more beautiful than you could have imagined. His golden eyes were sharp and accented by shallow laugh lines set permanently into his tan skin. It was obvious from his demeanor that he was intelligent and cunning; he'd have to be, given his position of authority. You'd definitely regret killing him.

Your confidence must have shown on your face and he let out a booming laugh, eyes glittering, "Oh, little rabbit…Don't you realize how helpless you really are? You snuck in here believing that you were the predator. How cute."

Narrowing your eyes, you bared your teeth. You weren't cute. You were a trained assassin who had killed many men twice your size. Men who were trained in combat; who were killers in their own right. You were a predator. He'd learn that soon.

"Oh come now, darling. Don't act like that." The man knelt down in front of you, removing his hand from your chin to run his knuckles down your cheek. "You came into my house to do what…to kill me? And you have the gall to get mad at me? Now, that doesn't seem very fair." His gaze traveled down your body, stopping briefly at your breasts, to your reddened knees. "Ah, it doesn't look like you're too comfortable, does it?"

He stared at you expectantly, waiting for your answer. "No," you said harshly, through gritted teeth, "I'm perfectly fine."

"You know, I can't hear that angelic voice very well when you're snarling at me like that. Let me help you open that mouth of yours."

An unexpected pang of arousal stirred within you and before you even realized what was happening, the gorgeous criminal in front of you was prying your mouth open with his fingers. Your eyes fluttered shut subconsciously at the sensation. A low chuckle sounded and your eyes snapped open again, as a dark blush crept across your cheeks.

His face was inches from yours, eyes alight with obvious enjoyment. "You look so pretty like this. What a good girl."

You averted your eyes in embarrassment as lust coursed through you. How dare he make you feel like this. Suddenly you remembered that his fingers were in your mouth; surrounded by teeth. You bit down as hard as you could, waiting for the distinct taste of blood to fill your mouth. But that taste never came.

Instead, he laughed again, shoving his fingers deeper into your mouth until you gagged. The force of your bite should have been enough to sever his fingers. Why is he not in pain? "You know, I was going to be gentle with you, but I'm starting to rethink my choice." Fingers still sheathed in your mouth, he grabbed a fistful of your hair and pulled your head back hard. He leaned in, lips pressed to your ear. "I'm not your run of the mill criminal, you know. You may have been a big fish in your pond, but you've made your way to the ocean. And there are sharks here."

He pulled away, withdrawing his fingers from your throat and stood, grinning, his unnaturally sharp teeth forming perfect, white rows. "Barbatos, I think it's time to teach our little rabbit a lesson."

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Hue and Cry XVI

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape (series), pain/wounds, mild violence.

This is dark!medieval!Bucky Barnes x reader and explicit. 18+ only.  Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Synopsis: Barnes lashes out in his grief.

Note: So, it’s not over but most of you guessed that :)

Thanks to everyone and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

The sun cast a sardonic light on the cold winter morning. The first flakes of snow fell the night before but glistened as they melted away with the unexpected bloom of light on the horizon. The men began digging at dawn for the interment, a pit to be unmarked and unseen. The woman would be buried as any servant was; without any formality or fanfare.

Lord Barnes dressed in black, the sole attendee of the service. He had dragged a priest from the castle chapel to say some ordained words. The men climbed out of the six-foot hole as the cart was led over by two others, the wooden box atop it.

They lifted it, lifted her, and maneuvered it down into the grave with ropes. The holy man recited his verse but the duke did not hear them. He was only torn from his own grief as he heard footsteps on the crisp grass. He looked over as the foreign baron came to stand beside him, his dark eyes ahead of him as the men began to shovel dirt onto the wood. The sound was harsh in the early hour.

“Go,” Barnes growled, “you aren’t welcome here.”

“Well,” Zemo said, “how is that? After all Werner did for you; for her. I should like a proper farewell.”

“You didn’t know her,” Barnes hissed.

“Oh, I didn’t, but are you so sure that you knew her so well?” Zemo challenged, “you knew what you wanted from her--”

“Shut up! You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Barnes lifted his chin and turned to face his foe, “I will not tell you to leave again.”

“I owe you no obedience, my lord,” he said flaty, “I think you’ve misunderstood that entirely. The ground we stand on is even. I am beholden to you for nothing. Given that it was my physician who saw to her comfort in her last hours, I’d say you--”

His voice was cut off by the hand at his throat. The duke throttled the Baron with his only hand and backed him away from the grave as the dirty continued to rain down. He marched him across the grass as his blue eyes burned with a selfish sort of hurt.

“I am not stupid. I know you came to rile me and you’ve done just that so go! Go before I put you down beside her,” Barnes shoved him away so that he stumbled.

Zemo stood and touched his throat as a rare glimmer of anger flashed across his features. He raised his chin and fixed the fur collar of his cloak. He nodded as he set his jaw and peered past the furious duke.

“She is free now,” Zemo said, “from you most of all.”

The baron turned away and strode from the green. The duke turned and watched the diggers as they kept at their work. A lump lodged in his throat and he lowered his head. He could not deny Zemo’s words, in fact, they sank so deep his heart ached. He knew as all did that her death was bloody on his hands.

🏰

Lord Barnes watched from the window as the line of carriages rolled through the castle gates. He was smug at the Baron’s premature departure but he didn’t truly feel any better than he had the day before. He expected the knock at the door and he was not surprised by who drew him away from the window.

The door opened before he reached it and his sister blustered into the chamber. Rebecca snarled as she came to face him, of the few who could match his own temper. Her nostrils flared and hardened her soft features as she glared at him.

“You’ve ruined it!” she spat, “you’ve ruined it all! He’s gone and it’s all your fault, you dunce!”

“I ruined it? You really think you could have trusted him? I merely saved you time and gold,” Bucky scoffed as he shrugged her off.

“You are so conceited. Don’t you realise we need this alliance? It’s much bigger than your little maid!” She barked, “oh, all this just to fu--”

“No, no! Shut up!” he spun and pointed at her face, “you don’t speak of her. Your or anyone else.”

She reeled and chortled. She rolled her eyes and put her hands on her hips. She licked her lips sourly and shook her head, “Better yet, I will not speak to you again. You have until the end of the day to leave the capital.”

“Are you mad?”

“I’m serious,” her brows arched, “Samuel agrees with me. You will go and you will not return. Go back to your castle and be alone and bitter as you always wished.”

Barnes huffed and mirrored her own fury, “fine. I told you, I never wanted to come here.”

“So it is my fault now?” she snipped.

“No, your majesty,” he said dryly, “how could anything ever be your fault?”

“Don’t,” she warned.

“Oh, queen’s are so powerless,” he rebuffed, “how every woman in the realm must pity you.”

“You’re a bastard,” she sneered.

“We both share the same blood, the same flaws,” he slowly walked back to the window, “you will see in the end that I did you a favour. That man cannot be trusted.”

“Oh, do get over yourself, brother,” Rebecca snapped and the slam of the door marked her exit.

Lord Barnes stared down at the wintery grounds then up at the grey sky. It was due time he went home. To be alone. For good this time.

🏰

Flickers of light skimmed beneath your eyelids. Distant memories, dwindling dreams, and unheard words. 

The pain came first. The agony down your left arm and hip, the way it rippled through you like a crashing ocean against the shore. The ragged breaths grew to groans as the ground moved beneath you, rattling like your bones and your head. The noise of horses and wooden wheels in the dirt. The smell of leaves and oak. The feeling of life come back to you.

You could not move your left arm, it was bound and even if it was not, you couldn’t have lifted it. Your left leg was in similar shape and your entire body was bound in pain. The confusion laced your mind and kept you from thinking too deeply as you realised you were in a box, the darkness broken only by the thin wisps of light between the hammered boards.

“Hello?” you called, your throat dry and sore. It hurt to speak and your lungs squeezed terribly.

You bent your right arm, your shoulder straining as you did, and hit the lid. It did not budge and you hit it harder. Your uncertain strikes turned to a steady and frantic pounding as the blackness began to suffocate you. You had to get out. You would die in there. Or were you already dead. You realised what you lay in; a coffin, and your stomach dropped like a boulder.

The wheels stopped and the ground stilled. You were on a cart of some sort and footsteps tramped into the dirt and murmurs stirred outside. There was a thump on the lid and suddenly it lurched upward as it was pried off. 

Swathes of light flowed in and blinded you. You stilled and stared up as a figure stood above you and another appeared at the other side of the casket.

“Ah, finally,” the accented tone slithered, “I feared the dose was mistaken.”

You blinked until Baron Zemo came clear to you and shielded your eyes as they watered. You gasped as another shattering pain overtook you and gasped at the sheer torment. The other man, thin and tall with lines around his eyes and across his forehead peered down and reached to check the bandages around your left arm.

“She cannot sit in the carriage but we can arrange for her to recline in there, yes, my lord?” he asked as he felt your forehead, “there is no fever. She is past the worst of it.”

“We can arrange it,” Zemo nodded, “do get her a blanket. We really should have done so before we nailed the top on.”

“Yes, my lord,” the tall man hopped down from the cart and returned with a thick fur coverlet. Zemo tucked it gently around you and as he brushed your arm, you cried out.

“I… I should be dead,” you rasped, “how--”

“A trick. On the gods, on fate… on your Lord Barnes,” Zemo smirked, “oh, do not fear, he hasn’t any idea of your miraculous perseverance. Let me assure you he is most miserable to believe you dead.”

“Why?” you asked as the lid of the coffin was moved away and you heard others moving around. The stench of the horses made you shudder and brack back the scene; the clopping hooves, the roaring crowd, the pulsing of your heart, your maddened laughter.

“You know, I never desired anything more from Lord Barnes. What happened between us was an act of war. We were soldiers but he could not see it that way. I am an understanding man but I am not without reason. If he cannot be civil, why then should I?” He said smoothly, “I came to your kingdom to serve my own and I cannot do that with him snapping at my throat, so I will go home.”

“But why--”

“Patience,” he bid as he lifted a gloved hand, “I could not have factored you in if I tried. You are the most unexpected creature. What you did… well, that sent a very clear message to me, one that I heard.” He looked around and clasped his hands together as he leaned his elbows on his knees, ”I will not claim it to be entirely selfless in my deed, in fact the idea of the deceit does more for me than it could ever do for you. To think of Lord Barnes in his misery, that pompous man.”

“What--Where are we going?” you asked weakly as the wariness crept up on you once more.

“The Tower Zemo,” he said plainly, “in my homeland. You should recover there and then we will decide what to do with you.”

“What to--”

“Nothing too nefarious, I assure you. I should like to avoid the depths of Barnes…” he sniffed, “I don’t expect you to trust me, lady, you would be a fool to and you do not seem one to me. Foolishly brave and perhaps obstinate but not a fool.”

“I--how am I to thank you?” you croaked.

“Don’t do that just yet,” Zemo rose as men approached and suddenly the coffin was slid off the cart.

You were carried around the side of a carriage and set down again. The men worked carefully to remove you from inside the casket and you screamed as they did. Zemo spurred them on and apologised for your discomfort as they transferred you to the lid of the coffin placed to stretch between the seats of the carriage.

The tall man draped the fur over you again and checked your splints and the layers of bandage hidden beneath the loose wool gown. He called for some water and helped you drink. Then he was handed a chest and stirred around for a vial.

“This is Werner,” Zemo said as he sat on the empty part of the bench and the carriage door shut, “he did see that you survived and that you died in the eyes of your master.”

“Oh… thank you,” you looked to Werner as he urged you to drink from the vial.

“Just a sip, miss, for the pain,” he bid.

You did as he told you and reclined again with a grumble. He sat opposite Zemo who watched you with a cryptic expression.

“It will be a long journey,” he said, “and likely longer for you. It would be best if you kept calm and did not stress yourself. You are still… fragile.”

“I feel it,” you closed your eyes as fatigue shrouded you.

“You would,” Zemo said, “sleep is best for it, isn’t that so, Werner?”

“Sleep numbs the pain,” Werner assured, “sleep lets the body heal itself.”

“And sees the time through,” Zemo yawned, “besides, what else is there to do?”

Your breath eased along with the pain and slowly you sank back into the void. You let it embrace you as you forgot about the Baron and his odd physician, about the Duke and the life before. You welcomed sleep as you had death and yet, you were relieved to be alive.

[smutsonian]

Dark!bucky X pregnant reader with someone else’s baby

dark!bucky x pregnant reader with someone else’s baby

warnings: darkish, smut, obsession, possessiveness, some violence, stalker!bucky, manipulation, asshole ex, i dont do crack but i was on crack when i wrote this but i dont do crack, not prrofread 

word count: 1.4k 

an: so i have no idea how to make a headcanon so this is an attempt pls go easy on me im a lil bitch

masterlist

- Dark bucky with a pregnant reader having a baby that’s not his will probably be an obsessed dark bonky barnacle

- Like fresh out of hydra bucky who’s so lost but then he sees you, a pregnant woman all alone, carrying bags of groceries.

- He’d be so mesmerized by your glow that he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from walking towards you and helping you.

- It’s like he’s never seen something so pure but then there you are, walking around with this light surrounding you. Like a goddess in Bucky’s eyes.

- He would be a terrific actor because you wouldn’t even notice his accent and how does this guy able to speak a lot of words just like that? He’s suddenly a friendly dude. Far from the assassin described all over the news.

- He won’t ask about the lack of a partner by your side but he can easily manipulate the conversation to that topic. 

- “How come a lady like yourself is all on your own?”

- And just like that, you tell him your life story. Maybe it’s because of the hormones that you just wanted to rant about your horrible partner that left you the minute you told him the news or maybe it’s because you felt so safe with this hot stranger… A big mistake on your side, to be honest. Or is it?

- Bucky would listen to every word you’d say while he memorizes every single detail about you. The way your lips move when you talk, the way you would lick your lips when you’ve been talking nonstop. How you smell; he’ll inch closer to you just to get a whiff and he’ll be so intoxicated.

- He’ll be walking you back to your home and that will be the start of something…

- Bucky would be watching your every move. He’d call it watching over you but dark bonky is bonkers.

 - And he’ll see you interacting with children at the cafe, at the bakery, anywhere and his heart will melt at how you’re so good with children.

 - Then he’ll see how your stomach will grow bigger as the child inside grows and this guy’s protectiveness will grow as well…

 - Obsessed and protective bucky is a lot to take in

 - BUT obsessed, protective, jealous, AND horny bucky will be the death of all vaginas.

 - He’d watch as your asshole ex-boyfriend comes back, trying to win you back and bucky would just wait for how you’ll react while his whole body heats up with anger, hungry for murder. Preferably your ex-boyfriend.

 - But then bucky would be all giddy and would wear a grin all the time when he sees you reject the asshole, telling him that you’ve fallen for someone else.

 - That grin would soon fall when this asshole of an ex of yours calls you names such as a slut, whore, and whatnot.

 - That grin comes back when bucky finally deals with that ex-boyfriend.

 - Would you look at that? Bucky answers your call the next day, crying your heart out because your asshole ex came back which hurt your feelings and a very hormonal pregnant woman can’t just go through all that.

 - Bucky is there to the rescue because he’s at your door in a blink with a lot of comfort food.

 - Your heart melts at that and you’d fall for him deeper every moment he’s with you.

 - How can a guy be so perfect?

 - You’d secretly wish he’s the father of your unborn child.

 - That wish wouldn’t be much of a dream because bucky would confess his love to you and dadadada would you look at that! You’d fall even MORE because of how he kissed your bump, promising you and the baby that he’ll take good care of you.

 - Could you be more in love? This man would always talk to your bump and will always be at your service.

 - You whine from back pain? This guy will give you the best massage ever.

 - Cravings? No problem because this guy will fill your pantry until the whole grocery is moved into your home. The home that became bucky’s as well.

 - Of course, due to pregnancy hormones, you’d be hungry for some action and you best believe that bucky will not let his girl wait.

 - He’d give you everything.

 - He’d see you whining, noticing how you’ve been grumpy the whole day and he’ll act oblivious but he exactly knows what’s happening. He can practically smell your fluids, duh.

 - “What’s wrong, doll?” His voice would be extra sultry and you would just blame it on your hormones but this mf is doing it on purpose.

 - You’d try to play it cool but this man will do everything that’ll make you so very hot and bothered.

 - “How about a massage?” He’ll over, already running his hands over your stiff shoulders and earning a moan from you.

 - He only smirks as he plays your body like a fiddle.

 - Then all of a sudden, you’re naked.

 -  He’d cloth you with oil, claiming that it’ll feel good and lord have mercy it does feel good.

 -  He’d start from your back, going lower and lower until his focus is on your ass. 

 -  Bucky’s pants will get tighter as the smell of your arousal invades his senses and how about that? Now bucky is naked as well.

 -  He spreads your cheeks before inhaling your scent more.

 -  He’d admire the sounds you’re making as he devours that pussae.

 -  Cumming once will not be enough because he wouldn’t stop until you’re begging for his cock.

 -  “PLEASE BUCKY! I need it!” You’d scream out but that’s not enough for this fucker.

 - “Tell me what you want, baby…” He’ll be sucking on your neck, continuously pulling moans from you.

 - “I need your cock in my pussy…” You finally whisper, breathing heavily and squealing in ecstasy as his cock finally enters your begging cunt.

 - “AAHH fuck!” Bucky would be having visions inside his head as soon as he gets that magical pussy skkskksks because he’s never felt this way before.

 - He’d be rutting into you like a starved caveman and you’d be rutting your ass back against him, just as hungry as he is.

 -  You just feel so good around his cock. Your walls are so snug and so wet, bucky would fucking die for that pussae.

 - After a few minutes, or maybe hours idk y’all are a different type of horny… 

 - You’ve cum a lot of times and bucky has spilled his seed inside you over and over…

 - You’d be cuddling and this man is wrapped around you like a fuckin’ koala.

 - He won’t let you get away unless you’re in an uncomfortable position. He’d let you adjust but then he’ll be back to cradling you.

 - He’s palm would be stroking your belly.

 - “I can’t wait for our baby to come,” he’ll whisper in your ear and you know you’ve already fallen in love with this man but fuck it. You’re deeper in it so gluck.

 - You’d let him kiss your face and you’d tell him how thankful you are that you’ve met him.

 - Then he’s like ‘no IM thankful for YOU’ kind of shit.

 - “You know… After giving birth…” You’ll trail off, making bucky wait in anticipation but he already knows what’s coming.

 - “I would want to have your baby…” You’ll say shyly but bucky’s having none of that. He’ll be peppering kisses all over your face, almost crying in joy at the words you just said.

 - “I fucking love you. I love you more than you’ll ever know.” He’ll stare at you and you’ll stare right back at him.

 - “Marry me.” He’ll say suddenly.

 - Bucky almost feels guilty when you start to cry but you assure him that those were tears of joy and you’d just keep nodding your head.

 - “Yes, I’ll marry you!” You’d share a kiss before going back to cuddling.

 - Bucky would be watching you as you doze off and he’ll be admiring you as you start to fall asleep.

 - “I love you,” he’ll say before he lets his cheeks fall on the top of your head.

 - “I love you too, bucky,”bucky’s heart melts at your sleepy voice as he sleeps peacefully which he was only able to do when he’s with you.

 - Bucky would be proud of himself for being able to orchestrate everything and he’s not even guilty about it because, in the end, he was able to have you.

 - And soon enough, you’ll be having a big family with him. He’ll make sure of that.

----

an: i think i fucked up at some point lol sorry

taglist

General: @readermia @unlikelygalaxygiver @xoxabs88xox @anncutamarica @chaoticfiretaconerd @i-love-superhero @caffiend-queen @coconutqueen21 @jtargaryen18 @jennmurawski13 @mushyjellybeans @ninjabucky @evnscvll @buckstaybucky @donutloverxo @rebloggingeverything @adriannajackson @la-cey @awaywithtime @gotnofucks @littlegasps

Bucky Fics: @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123

Chris and seb: @harrysthiccthighss

Marvel: @jemzeraion

[broken-balance-baby]

Where The Gears Are Turning (snippet)

excerpt from chapter 6 of my fic, let down your hair and i'll let down my gun

She hadn’t seen many foreign faces in Kyrat; but when they came she was eager to meet them. 

“Who’s that, Sabal?” Bhadra asked, pointing to the dark skinned man who seemed to preach to those interested in listening. 

“His name is Longinus. He’s our weapons dealer.”

“Shouldn’t he be back in the other camp?”

“He makes his own time,” Amita said, reaching out to hold Bhadra’s hand as she looked on at the man. He was theatrical— enthusiastic and most importantly was livelier than the silent and brooding atmosphere the people of Kyrati tended to leave. She let go of Amita’s hand to approach him, and up close now she heard the man as he spoke, telling a story about a giant. The man had hailed from Kenya�� his voice was framed by his thick, charming accent. 

“And when David took his slingshot,” Longinus made a gesture, pulling back against imaginary rubber as he shut one eye and aimed into the sky, “and without a sword in hand he struck down the giant and killed him!” 

The kids let out resounding gasps, engaging in the story as Longinus acted on a heart attack and dropped to his knees and onto the floor. For a second, it was quiet, but as soon as Longinus opened an eye the children cheered. Bhadra stood among the kids who sat down, arms folded as he took out a thick book and said, “Now, remember what I had taught you today, children! In the words of Ecclesiastes chapter three, verse twelve to thirteen: I have concluded that the only worthwhile thing for them is to take pleasure in doing good in life; moreover, every person should eat, drink, and enjoy the benefits of everything that he undertakes, since it is a gift from God! Go, play, the day is for you!”

As Longinus dismissed them, some children stayed behind and went up to his little stage to embrace him before leaving. He hugged them back, then met eyes with Bhadra. 

“Ah, the Tarun Matara!” He said, putting his hands together, “You’ve enjoyed my little story of David and the Goliath, I’m sure?” 

She pulled back the urge to frown at the title, so she smiled instead. “Bhadra is good,” followed by a, “yes, I did. Where did that story come from?”

Longinus perked up at the question. “My child, it is from the Bible!” he chimed, bringing back the thick book. “It is filled with many ancient texts from thousands of years ago, ever since the Lord created the Earth. I was brought here upon this land to spread the word of the Lord, and so you shall be enlightened, even as the Tarun Matara!” 

Bhadra felt her eyes crinkle at that. “Tell me about it!” she said, and so Longinus wrapped his arm around her as they started to walk. 

Days later, at that very night, she went into the camp, feeling heady and high from adrenaline, but she managed to make it. She treaded lightly along the place, stopping by the little church surrounded by targets and knocked on the door. As Longinus opened the door, he was greeted by the sight of her stumbling down into his arms, slightly bloody but not as damaged as they’d both thought. 

“Please don’t tell Amita or Sabal.” She whispered, and Longinus paused before nodding. 

[fandomhopped]

Amorous Little Girl

Pairing: Uhtred x fem!oc

Summary: The royal family disappointment and the Coccham group meet through an accidental run-in, sprouting into a kidnapping:)

Warning: toxic daddy issues, aethelflaed slander, one swear word—i think that’s it (unless you want to add terrible writing as a warning-😭i’m sorry in advance)

Word Count: 5k

“Father, why am I never allowed to meet these men?” Magnhild asked King Alfred after he sent her out of the room upon the arrival of Uhtred of Bebbanburg.

“Because you are a young woman,” he answered and flicked his wrist as if to tell her to leave.

“Aethelflaed has met them,” she retorted and crossed her arms with a pout.

“You and Aethelflaed are nothing alike,” he told his daughter.

“She is my sister,” Magnhild responded.

“Aethelflaed is educated, and refined, and independent on her own accord. You are an amorous little girl,” her jaw went slack at his accusations.

“An amorous little girl?” she questioned, “Are you joking?”

“Magnhild, we will speak of this later. I have king duties to tend to,” he dismissed her.

“Fine,” she muttered and slung open the doors to go into the hallway.

She was angry, blind rage took over her body. She hiked up her dress so she could walk faster down the corridor, fuming. She wasn’t paying attention to where she was going, she knew the halls like the back of her hand. Her jaw clenched and unclenched over and over as she thought of what her father called her.

An amorous little girl? He could not have been serious. She did not speak up about politics nor the ways of war and domination, but only because that was what her mother taught her to avoid. However, that did not mean she did not understand and have her own opinions of the matters. She only ever tried to obey and please her parents, but she could never be Aethelflaed.

As she came to the realization that she will never receive her parents love, she began to cry. She always cried when she was mad—something she hated she did and probably why her father thought of her as a little girl.

Oh, how her blood boiled as she thought of how much they paraded around Aethelflaed and obviously showed her more affection. Aethelflaed with her perfect face, and her perfect etiquette, and her perfect, moral, Christian heart, and her knowledge of the ways of war, and her sweet attitude, and her independence.

She became distracted when these thoughts came forward, running right into another person in the hallway. It was a very muscular man, because she was nearly knocked onto the ground.

“Oh, God, I didn’t see ya. I’m sorry,” he apologized quickly and put his hand on her shoulder.

“Finan, why are you hitting women? Is that not a sin?” another man next to them spoke, causing another man to laugh.

“Pardon me,” Magnhild excused herself and took a step to walk away, sniffling.

“Wait, are you hurt? Why are you crying?” the same man that hit her asked.

“I am fine, forgive me for running into you. I wasn’t paying attention,” she apologized.

“Well, why are you crying?” the man, who has not spoken, asked, he looked as if he were a Dane.

“Family issues,” she told them hostilely.

“Your family issues involve the king?” the accented man asked and Magnhild scoffed, crossing her arms.

“My family is the king,” she spoke, annoyed with their ignorance. Everyone knew her mother and father, everyone knew Aethelflaed, everyone knew Edward—even at his young age—yet, no one knew Magnhild.

“The king has another daughter?” the tallest one asked.

“Yes, but my father thinks I’m an amorous little girl, so I don’t meet too many men when they visit him,” she told them, “why are all of you here to see the king?”

“We have a report from East Anglia,” the tall replied.

“Ah, a battle for Beamfleot is soon to come,” she nodded to show her understanding, wiping the tears that had fallen down her cheeks, “I must be on my way, but if you need to find me, which you probably won’t, I will be somewhere in the courtyard.”

“Wait, what is your name?” the accented man asked.

“Magnhild,” she told him and looked to all three men, “and yours?”

“Finan,” he introduced himself, but you had already heard his name when you first ran into him and the tall one said it.

“Nice to meet you, Finan,” she shook his hand and looked to the quiet one.

“Sihtric,” he said and she shook his hand next.

“Sihtric, I love your name,” she complimented and looked to the last one, “and yours?”

“Uhtred,” he answered with a crooked smile and grasped her hand, kissing the back of it. He looked into her eyes, the smile not leaving his lips.

“Uhtred,” she repeated and smiled her beautiful smile that usually had men crawling after her.

“We were going to the ale house after we speak with King Alfred,” Finan chimed in, the two not breaking eye contact.

“I might join you,” she told them and turned on her heels with an excited smile gracing her lips.

Once sun set, Magnhild went to the ale house—without telling her parents, of course. They would have her sent to the chapel with the priest to be cleansed, if they knew she was going to drink with unmarried men.

She walked into the ale house and looked around for the three men she had met only that day. As she stood at the bar, waiting for the woman to give her her drink, she felt an arm sling over her shoulder.

“Aye, Lady Magnhild, I thought you weren’t going to join us,” he spoke and laughed. Magnhild grabbed her drink and walked with Finan to Uhtred and Sihtric along with another man she sort of recognized.

“Ah, here she is,” Uhtred said as she sat next to Sihtric, “Alfred’s secret daughter, meet Alfred’s bastard son,” he introduced and Magnhild’s eyes widened, her head snapping to the boy.

“Magnhild, family disappointment,” she introduced herself and shook his hand with a smile.

“Osferth…family reject,” he greeted awkwardly.

“Well, I do not have much time until my sister realizes I’m gone and tells my father,” she told them and downed what was in her cup, “shall we, gentlemen?”

“We shall,” Finan held up his cup and the others hit their cups together before drinking down the ale.

After many, many pitchers of ale and laughs, the group resorted storytelling.

“You let him trap you for a year then with Mildreth?” Magnhild asked as she laughed along with the rest of the men besides Uhtred, “everyone knows of Mildreth’s debt.”

“Okay, time to go,” Uhtred interrupted and stood up to go pay for his ale.

“No, Uhtred,” Magnhild whined and poked her bottom lip out. He looked down to her and got the dirtiest of thoughts, but quickly pushed them away, “I’m sorry for laughing, please stay,” she begged and grabbed his hand to pull him back down to sit beside her. She poked her lip again and tilted her head down to look at him through her lashes. He pulled his lip between his teeth with his tongue, looking down to her poked out lip then back up to her eyes, and sat down.

“We have already spoken of my misfortunes, let’s speak of yours,” Uhtred prompted and looked to woman, “why does your father think you’re an amorous little girl?”

“He…,” she snickered, “caught the guard and I… in bed and my sister told him that of our various acts before that,” she answered, then laughed before her next statement, “he threatened to sell me to the whorehouse,” she laughed harder this time.

“You have not waited for your wedding day?” Osferth asked as the men only stared at her.

“Not all of us are strong in our faith, but I did pay for my sins once Alfred found out, he—,” she stopped when she saw royal guards sent by her father, “shit,” she hissed and turned her head away, “what do I do?” she asked the group, who quickly became serious, as they watched the guards walk around the ale house.

“Sit on my lap,” Uhtred told her.

“Is this the time?” she asked him and sent him a look of confusion.

“Pretend you’re a whore,” he told her with a smirk and pulled her into his lap, “don’t look at them, keep your face at my neck when they come over here,” he instructed and she nodded, “Finan, toast to something.”

“Uh…t-to Baby Monk,” he said quickly and everyone hit their cups before drinking.

“Gentlemen, have you see the Lady Magnhild?” a tall guard asked and Magnhild kept her face in Uhtred’s neck, pretending to kiss it. Uhtred’s arm snaked around her waist and pulled her closer.

“Dark hair, blue eyes, and warts all over her face?” Finan asked the guard and he shook his head, “then I have no idea,” the men laughed as their drunken state returned.

“Who is Lady Magnhild?” Uhtred asked as he tilted his head to give the girl in his lap better access to his neck.

“King Alfred’s daughter,” he spoke and Uhtred furrowed his eyebrows.

“His daughter name is Lady Aethelflaed,” he corrected the guard.

“He has another daughter,” the guard responded.

“You lost the king’s daughter?” Finan asked and the guard looked away from Uhtred, “Should we help find her?”

“We cannot do everything for Wessex,” Sihtric shook his head and laughed.

“I am finding a room for the night,” Uhtred stood up abruptly and threw an arm over Magnhild, hiding her face in his side, “with this one,” he smirked and gestured to the girl, “sleep well, we leave midday.”

“I think we should be telling you to get some sleep, Lord,” Finan chimed in and they all laughed. Uhtred slapped Finan in the back of the head and walked out with Magnhild.

Once they were outside, he pulled her into a darker area, “Do you think they saw you?” he asked.

“Not at all,” she laughed, “oh, that was the most exciting thing I’ve ever done.”

“Your family knows you’re gone, we need to get you back,” he told her and looked around.

“They care not, they only do not want the ones who know of me to be confused when they do not mourn my sudden disappearance,” she told with a bright smile, “I want to do something else exciting.”

“It is late, you need to sleep,” he shook his head and tried to reason.

“No, Uhtred, they can wait a little bit longer before they know I am back,” she brushed it off and jumped eagerly, “let’s sneak into my bedchamber.”

“That is not a good idea,” he rejected the thought and shook his head.

“Why?” she asked and swayed a little bit due to the ale still in her system.

“For the same reason it is not a good idea for us to be alone right now,” he stressed and looked around again.

“Oh, that is—,” she was interrupted.

“Lord Uhtred!” a deep voice called from a close distance. Uhtred sighed and grabbed Magnhild, pushing her against the side of a close building and connected his lips to hers, “Lord Uhtred!” the voice called again, even closer.

Magnhild’s hands went to the side of his face and pulled him closer, completely forgetting why he even pushed her against the wall. She was pretty sure he forgot as well, because he reached for her hands and held them above her head.

“Lord Uhtred,” the voice called again, meekly this time, after clearing his throat. Uhtred pulled away but kept his face right in front of hers for a second before turning to the man.

“What?” Uhtred seethed and moved forward a little to make sure the man couldn’t see her face.

“King… King Alfred wants to see you,” the man said and gulped at the sight of Uhtred so mad.

“I will be there in a moment,” he told the man, causing him to leave quickly. Uhtred turned back to Magnhild, “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable, I did not want him to see you.”

“It is fine, Uhtred,” she told him and then gestured back to the town, “uhm, I should get back to my…,” she trailed off.

“Alfred will ask me to help find you,” he told her, “stay here and I will come back for you.” Magnhild nodded and Uhtred left her against the wall. She brought her fingers to her lips as she smiled.

What seemed like a long while after Uhtred left her, she heard loud stepping approaching her, so she pushed herself against the building.

“Lord Uhtred, we’ve already looked back here,” one man said as the light of a torch shone around the corner.

“We are looking everywhere more than once, this is the king’s daughter,” Uhtred responded.

“I didn’t even know the king had another daughter,” one man said and Magnhild threw her hands up in defeat. The men stepped around the corner, she jumped in fake surprise looked across the group.

“Lady…Madgefeld, we have been searching for you,” one of the guards spoke.

“It is Magnhild, you arse,” she corrected him and stood in front of them, “I know that you were looking for me, because none of you know silence nor surprise,” she insulted them, “take me to king, it is back to hell for me.”

The guards and Uhtred led her to the courtyard before Uhtred turned to the men and told them he could take her to her father.

“Did you hear that, Uhtred? They didn’t even know name,” she crossed her arms, “that man has been working for my father since I was born, and he did not even know my name.”

“You cannot worry yourself with that,” he told her and rested his left hand on the small of her back, “maybe it is better to not be known at all, than to be known by all.”

“I do not wish to hear your wise quotes,” she told him and laughed.

“I am not wrong, if you are to mess with something, you will not be held accountable by the kingdom of Wessex and possibly beyond. If…Aethelflaed is to do so, all of Wessex, Mercia, and Northumbria would know of the princess of Wessex’s mistake,” he reasoned with her. She stopped walking and turned to the man.

“Friends are not supposed to give solutions to problems they complain about,” she told him with a scowl.

“We are friends?” Uhtred questioned playfully and pulled a look of mock confusion.

“You have lied and covered for me more times since I met you earlier today than anyone I’ve ever known, I consider that to be a friend,” she said with a smile, “do you not agree?”

“ ‘Friends’ is so constrictive, it takes away the chance of being anything more,” he spoke confidently and tucked a strand of hair behind Magnhild’s ear, running his thumb down the shell of her ear before pulling away.

“Are you under the impression that there is a chance of anything more?” she asked in return with a teasing smile.

“Well, you seemed to enjoy what was happening earlier,” he shrugged and looked over her body shamelessly.

“You are not married?” she asked him and he cleared his throat.

“No,” Uhtred shook his head.

“I would have assumed women throw themselves at your feet,” she tilted her head to one side.

He furrowed his eyebrows, “They do, but I do not marry the first attractive lady I see,” he told her, “otherwise I would already have you in your house of God.”

“Was that attempt to flatter me?” she asked and leaned against the wall behind her.

“That depends… did it work?” he asked and looked up and down the hallway before placing his hand next to her head on the wall and leaning against it, “oh, come on, Magnhild, give me a chance.”

She let her head hang loosely before looking up to him, “Fine, this is your chance,” she shrugged, “woo me, Lord.”

“W-woo you?” he questioned and down the hallway again.

“Yes, do what you believe will win me over,” she told him and smiled.

She knew what she was getting into…or, at least, she thought she knew.

She felt as though she knew the Lord Uhtred and what his next play would be: to win her over with lame attempts to get her to swoon.

She definitely was not expecting him to lean in and bring her lips to his. Taken by surprise, she did not move at first, she only stood against the wall with Uhtred towering over her.

Right as he was about to pull away and apologize, thinking she was uncomfortable, Magnhild came to her senses pulled him closer to her. With one hand remaining against the wall, his other crept up the side of her body and to her neck.

She placed her hands on either side of his face as he held his body against hers. His tongue tasted of ale as it slipped into her mouth, a wave of pleasure washing over Magnhild.

Their moment was cut short when Uhtred quickly pulled away at the sound of a door closing.

They looked to see priests walking toward them, Magnhild grabbed Uhtred’s hand and ran toward her bedchamber quickly, escaping the view of the priests.

She pulled him into her room and held him against the door, reconnecting their lips and picking up exactly where they left off.

Magnhild hadn’t been with anyone since the guard that her father caught her with, so she wasn’t sure if it was the act or the person that had her wanting more than what was happening.

Uhtred seemed like a good person, but she only just met him that day. It felt wrong, but that feeling did not stop her from letting him pick her up and placing her on the bed.

Once she untucked his tunic, a knock came from the other side of the door.

“Magnhild,” a voice called, but the girl did not move from her spot nor stop her actions with Uhtred, “Magnhild, I know you are in there,” she recognized the voice as her mother’s.

“I need you to hide,” she told Uhtred and he groaned quietly before hiding behind the door. Magnhild opened it and looked to her mother, “hello, Mother.”

“Magnhild, why do you need to disobey your father and I over and over?” she asked as walked into the room. Magnhild gestured for Uhtred to sneak behind her mother and leave the room.

“I do not,” Uhtred heard her say before he walked quickly down the corridor and to the guards that remained in the courtyard.

He cleared his throat and rolled his shoulder before speaking to the men, “the princess has returned to the queen.”

“What took so long, Lord?” one of them asked and the rest laughed. Uhtred only walked past the group in silence.

“You ‘ought to be careful, we all know what happened to the last man that got caught in the princess’ bed,” another one spoke.

“Aye, poor Bjarte,” another commented, “and his wife.”

“What, uhm, what happened to Bjarte?” Uhtred asked before continuing his path to seek out Finan.

“Beheaded in front of all of Wessex, ‘t‘s a shame—he was the best of us,” the same man answered and hung his head.

The Dane-slayer looked over the men and back in the direction of Magnhild before finding a place to sleep for the night with the words of the royal guard on his mind.

The next day, Uhtred settled his affairs in Wessex, he saddled his horse and readied himself for his trip, as did Sihtric, Finan, and Osferth. He had no intent of speaking to, or even seeing, the princess which he shared an intimate moment with the previous night.

He had worked too hard for his land and the right to keep his life for a girl to mess that up. If Alfred had had his best warrior beheaded for being seen with her, he has no doubt in his mind Alfred would do the same to him.

Uhtred rode to the gate of Wessex, before hearing someone yelling after him. Of course he turned to see what the commotion was. He saw Magnhild quickly making her way toward the group.

“Wait!” she called as she ran toward their leaving horses, “take me with you.”

“I will not,” Uhtred shook his head, hoping Alfred did not see what was happening.

“My father is putting me in nunnery, because he said I am not Christian enough. Please, Uhtred, I cannot bear the life of a nun,” she begged and grabbed his leg.

“You cannot leave Wessex, you are a princess,” he reasoned and glanced to Finan for him to help. Finan only shrugged at his lord before Uhtred looked back down to Magnhild.

“They do not care for me here, most of the people of Wessex do not even know of my existence,” she told him with pleading eyes, “please, Uhtred.”

“You cannot pretend that you do not have a life here,” he told her and got off his horse to guide her back toward her father. He put his hand on her shoulder and started to walk her back.

Magnhild pushed his hand away from her and stood tall in front of him, “Uhtred, I’d rather pretend that I’m something better than these broken parts, pretend I’m something other than this mess I am, and I want get away more than pretend that I am loved and happy here,” she told him and he sighed, looking back to see no one is even watching the princess beg to leave her home.

“I know that you wish for my help with this,” he let out a long breath, “but bringing you with us is too much of a risk for yourself and for me.”

Magnhild let her jaw hang loosely, “where is the Uhtred that I was with last night?” she asked and crossed her arms.

“We were drunk,” he excused and put his hands on his hips.

She scoffed and slapped his arm, “you were as sober as you are now,” she told him.

Uhtred sighed and said, almost painfully, “We must remember it differently.”

“Well, then,” she scoffed and took a step away from him, “this is good bye, I wish you unsafe travels, I must be off to my long robe and headdress.”

“Magnhild—,” he began.

“If I were Aethelflaed, would your answer be different?” she cut him off, yet he stayed silent, “of course,” she threw her hands up before walking swiftly away from the man.

Many, many morning later, Magnhild sat with Abbess Hild on a pew before a cross.

“If God loved me, why would he give me a family who does not love, nor like, me?” Magnhild asked with anger, they had been on the topic of conversation for a bit of time now.

“He loves you, God does not give His people anything He knows they cannot handle,” Hild responded and held the princess’ hand in hers.

Magnhild wiped her eyes, “does He punish me, because He knew I was going to have sinful relations with Bjarte last winter? Did He know before I was going to lay with him, so he cursed me with an unloving family?”

“I assure you, He did not.”

“It is all so confusing—the sinful relations. I know he had a wife, and I know we were not married when I invited him into my room, however, why does it matter so much? It is only pleasure, is it not?” Magnhild spoke quickly, “I just do not understand.”

“The act is saved for man and woman after they’re wed,” Hild explained vaguely.

“But, why?” she asked, “for example, if man and woman are already said to marry, why do they have to wait until after they are married before a priest?”

“Man and woman are supposed to be united before God, then they can go to their next step—having children. One leads to the other, if you perform the act with other man besides your husband, you will have bastard children running all over Wessex,” Hild told her, then muttered, “which is a Dane’s way.”

“Abbess, is it wrong to marry a Dane?” she asked next, with the same look of begging for guidance.

“I do not see why it would be, as long as you raise your children to be Christians as well,” Hild shrugged, “but surely your father will not marry you off to the Danes.”

“And if I want to marry a Dane without my father’s knowledge?” Magnhild questioned and looked to her feet to avoid eye contact.

Hild furrowed her eyebrows, “Lady, Danes are cruel, and unforgiving, and merciless, and will mock our God,” she told her.

“But this Dane is not cruel, he does not hate Christians,” Magnhild defended and looked back up to Hild.

“I have only ever met—,” a look of realization overtook her face, “oh, Magnhild, you don’t mean U—.”

“May I interrupt?” a deep voice with a hint of a smile in the tone called from the doorway. The women turned quickly to the voice to see the man in question standing there, staring back at them.

“Uhtred,” Hild greeted and welcomed him with a hug as Magnhild stood far back behind Hild, “why are you here?”

“I have come to visit someone,” he told her.

Hild pulled a look of confusion, “you visit a nun?” she questioned, “a woman of God?”

“Eh, if that is what she is telling herself now,” Uhtred chuckled to himself briefly, “do you know where Lady Magnhild could be found?”

“Uhtred, if you have come to pull one of these women into sin while she is in a volatile state, then I beg you to leave,” Hild spoke sternly, yet Uhtred still watched her with a crooked smile—the one that Magnhild saw every night she fell asleep. Well, the crooked smile and the look on his face when he left her to her version of torture.

“I would never do such thing,” he said and laughed.

Hild sent Uhtred a look that the princess could not see, “Magnhild, please join us.”

Magnhild drug her feet as she walked over to the pair, “Yes?”

“Lord Uhtred would like to speak with you,” she spoke and took a step to leave, then looked back to Magnhild, “I will excuse myself, but remember what I told you,” Hild nodded to her before leaving the two.

“Lord Uhtred,” Magnhild greeted.

“ ‘Care to take a walk with me?” Uhtred nodded his head to the door.

Magnhild stared at him for a moment before agreeing, “Only because I want to speak of something other than my un-Christian acts,” he laughed before following her outside.

“Do you have a normal dress?” Uhtred asked and looked around suspiciously.

Magnhild gave him an odd look, “I have the dress I wore before I was sent here, why do you ask?”

“We are taking you with us,” he shrugged and put his hand on the small of her back, looking back one more time before leading her behind a building to find his three loyal men.

“Excuse me?” she looked over the group then sent a glare to Uhtred, “Why are you doing this? Is this a test to see if I have changed into a better Christian?”

“What? No,” Uhtred shook his head, “Is this not what you want? To leave?”

“You are joking,” she stated, “I cannot just leave.”

“Why not?” Sihtric asked.

“Because… well, because… what happened to your safety and mine?” she changed the subject.

“Your father will not kill me, I know of this now,” he told her and grabbed her hand, “we came back for you, you can stay here if you wish—but if you are to go with us, we must leave before Hild returns.”

Magnhild sighed, rubbing her temples with her fingertips. She could go with this group of men that she barely knew, or she could stay in torment.

She knew what she wanted to do, but was that the right choice? She only wanted someone to love her, care for her, not ignore her or her feelings—Uhtred came back for her, that had to count for something, right?

“Ugh, give me a moment,” she looked around the corner and left the group.

“That went well,” Sihtric muttered and looked to Finan.

“Why are we doing this again, Lord? Will this not result in treason?” Osferth spoke up.

Uhtred refused to face his men, “We will be fine.”

“Forgive me, Lord, but why this girl? You have done nothing other than speak and think of this one since we left Wessex,” Finan asked with a voice of concern.

“I do not know yet,” he admitted and looked around the corner, “she is—.”

“If you say she is different because she is not loved by her father, I’m going to leave,” Finan spoke jokingly and ran his hand over his face.

“I was not going to say that,” he sent the Irishman a glare, “she is…an amorous little girl that interests me.”

“Okay, we must go quickly,” Magnhild appeared before the men with a bright smile on her lips.

She was finally getting away, she was finally free, and no one would care about her absence.

“You ride with Finan and you keep your head down until we are out of sight,” Uhtred directed and helped her onto Finan’s horse, “I am going to speak with Hild, you all to the woods until I join you.”

They did as Uhtred said. Hild knew as soon as Uhtred began to answer cryptically that he had Magnhild with him. She knew what they were doing, yet even after he left with Magnhild, she did not speak of it to anyone, not even the king—but then again it wasn’t as if the king came to check on his daughter.

Hild knew the princess would be happy with Uhtred and his men.

And that she was, Magnhild used the skills her mother drilled into her brain, so she couldn’t be the best wife. She cooked for the men, she helped with cleaning, and she helped Uhtred with his needs…all his needs.

The two had had the talks, and Magnhild made it very clear that she did not want to get married yet, however she would not reject being a significant other to Uhtred. After a brief temper tantrum from the man, he agreed.

Magnhild lived with Uhtred in peace and happiness…until Alfred called for Uhtred once again.

[i-ate-the-whole-entire-pie]

Call Me Mother, Chapter One

I languidly drained the last breath from my cigarette, the drag filling my lungs. My garter straps hung down lazily, tickling my thighs, as they awaited their purpose. Music thumped rapidly, and whoops of delight resounded through the hall. The dressing room door swung open; a small, but curvaceous woman behind it.

Her eyebrows were tweezed to perfection, eyes deeply shadowed, eyelashes false and curled into large feathery swoops; her mouth was like a plump strawberry. I’d always harbored a mild curiosity about how it tasted.

“Mary, you’re up in 10 minutes. I want you at the curtain in five," Cristella said, her hispanic accent thick.

“Is that a new corset?” I asked. Cristella turned me around, and yanked the laces of my corset together. Thank god I haven’t needed to breathe for the last 150 years, I thought. I floated a small influence her way. Gentler, please. She complied, unwittingly. They always do.

I don’t normally use my influence on people I like, but I’m far too hungry to risk her pinching me with this corset. I couldn’t forgive myself if I lost control. She was far too kind to die a death that violent.

“It is. This papí chulo I’ve been seeing said he wanted me to wear it for him. Maybe he’ll tip better," she said, carefully pulling the slack out of the lower half of my corset. I placed my hands over my belly, holding everything in place.

“What’s the crowd looking like?” I tucked the ties away. She jutted a hip out, and began counting off on her impeccably manicured fingers.

“The usual crowd. Old Man Carraway, that one divorcee who drinks like a fish. College kids. Oh, there’s also these dudes in silver masks. Low-key kind of demonic. And some weird guy in like, face paint? He’s painted up like a calavera. I figured they came from that concert that was in town. You know, the one that church was protesting? Say they like worship Satan or something?”

“Sounds about right." I bent down to attach my straps to the garters of my stockings.

“They’re probably here for a private room, so I figured I’d put you on now. You’re good at handling the weirdos." Cristella giggled, watching me struggle to get the backs of my stockings attached. She and I broke into fits of giggles, as she chased me in circles, trying to help me attach my stockings.

“Let me get that. Hurry up and get on stage!” she said, giving me a playful smack on the ass. I pranced out of the room, trying to avoid her grasping mitts.

“Hey! No bruising the merchandise!” I giggled, linking arms with her as we strutted backstage, perfectly in step with one another. She grabbed the microphone from Mike the Mic Guy, gave me a wink, and stepped through the curtain.

“Aaaaand we’re back! Now, this next lady I’ve got lined up for you is quite a treat. She’s as pale as cream, thicker than a bowl of oatmeal, and will definitely step on you. Well, she might if you tip well. For legal reasons, we can’t call her “Elvira,” so I guess we’ll settle for… MOTHER! MARY!” That was my cue. I sauntered through the curtain, my hips moving like a figure eight. I moved across the stage, “Lullaby” by the Cure playing. I always chose various genres of rock for my acts. Not that I have anything against the other girls’ music choices… but there’s only so much female rap you can play in one night. As I began to dance, I noticed the group that Cristella had mentioned earlier. They were sitting front and center, near the edge of the stage.

Seven of the masked figures sat around the Painted Man, as I had labeled him. Two of the masked figures seemed effeminate, and the other five seemed more masculine. They all ranged in different shapes and sizes. Maybe the masks are a fetish thing? Cristella did say that they came from a concert�� Something about them seemed off. I did a swing around the pole, dropping into a fireman, trying to catch a scent. It was a whirlwind of scents, none of them too out of the ordinary. Except the beefy one. He smelled like midnight. I don’t know how to explain it. What really caught my interest though was the Painted Man. Specifically, his eyes. One of them was grey, the iris almost black. The other eye had a pale, white iris. It suited him, and it was beautiful, in an eerie way. Those eyes looked at me, as I danced around the stage, and they knew me. If I had a working heart still, it would be racing.

As Robert Smith crooned, I descended the stairs of the stage as sensually as one could in Pleaser heels, making my way to the Painted Man. If I wanted to know what these people were, I’d have to get a closer look. The Painted Man patted one of his legs with a gloved hand, and cocked his head to the side. I took the invitation, but not before I teased him. I crouched between his legs, running my hands up his thighs. As I rose, I walked my hands up his thighs, bringing my face closer to his. His breath graced my skin, smelling faintly of licorice. As he leaned in, for what I could only assume was a kiss, I rose again, strutting over to one of the masked beings. It was the smaller of the male ones. I sat in his lap, letting him run his hands over me as I began to grind on his lap. His growing erection told me I was going to have a busy night.

“Your boss is a little too eager," I whispered, getting a good whiff of him. He smelled faintly of smoke. I put my hands on his chest, trying to keep my balance. No heartbeat.

“What makes you think he’s my boss?” The being asked petulantly. He grabbed onto my waist, as he began to grind with me. I moved his hand to the small of my back, and leaned back in a dip. The being ran his other hand over my belly, in between my breasts, and up to my throat, bringing me back up to his masked face.

“You’re the one wearing a uniform." I darted my tongue out to lick my lips. What is he? My mind raced as I tried to run through every supernatural creature I’d ever known. But then I heard it. I barely even understood it. All I picked up was price and one night. It was Ghoulish. The taller female ghoul was asking about what I can only assume was my hourly rate. Most strip clubs in this part of Vegas were just fronts for brothels. However, it’s hard to sell the idea of prostitution to Mid-Western vanilla tourists. So most of my income was made from stripping. I usually had one or two clients I went to bed with a night. It wasn’t very stable, but then again, I had less expenses than the average stripper, considering my “condition."

“Tell your friend my basic hourly rate is $500. My Ghoulish isn’t any good." I stood up, and made my way to the female ghoul’s lap.

“How do you know Ghoulish?” she asked, a bit of surprise in her tone. I bent over in front of her, shaking my ass for her. She put a couple of bills in the waistband of my panties, punching my previous ghoul in the arm. He forked over some cash as well.

“I’m not human. I’ll leave it at that," I said, stuffing the cash into the top of my corset. Dear lord… All hundreds… The female ghoul rubbed my thighs, turning me back around slowly, so as to admire my ass.

“Could we get a room after your number? I think a private dance is in order," she said, in broken Ghoulish. I nodded, and as if on cue, the lights and music began to fade out. As I began to walk back up the stairs to the stage past the Painted Man, his hand darted forward to smack my ass. God, it really is not the night for this shit. My more animalistic nature took over, and before I could stop it, a hiss left my lips. As if of their own accord, my fangs sprung painfully through my gums. I heard a snap, and looked over to see the largest ghoul stand up. He shook his head. Thank god the lights were low. Embarrassed, I covered my mouth, and made my way across the stage.

“What the fuck was that all about?” Mike the Mic Guy asked, handing a mic to Cristella. I still had my hand over my mouth. Cristella looked worried.

“Are you okay Mary? I can get you some tea if you’re keyed up." I shook my head.

“Please get a room ready. The Freak Parade wants a private dance," I said as I walked away, silently cursing myself. Once back in the dressing room, I threw open the mini-fridge I normally kept padlocked. I looked to the last bottle I had left in my stash. Hopefully it hasn’t clotted, I thought, throwing the bottle back. This wouldn’t end my thirst, but it would certainly quell the burning in my throat. You nearly lost it. You need to bag one of these stupid fucks tonight, or else. I hadn’t had a bad case of blood lust in decades, but the combination of winter holidays, my strict schedule, and FOSTA-SESTA had really cut off my food supply.

The door opened, and Cristella came in with a cup of tea. She looked at the flask in her hand and cocked a brow.

“And you didn’t offer to share. What is that? Cuervo? Henny?” she said, reaching for the flask. I shook my head, and put it back in the fridge, closing the padlock.

“It’s cough syrup. I keep it under lock and key because of that bitch Ronnie. She’s not fooling anybody. You ever see how much her hands shake? Too much caffeine? Yeah, right. We all know what the DTs look like." I began changing into a burgundy velvet bra and panty set, pairing it with some burgundy gloves and stockings. Finally, I found a pair of sparkly Loboutins Lydia had left me. My mind rolled back through the streets of Paris to 1991, when Louboutin opened its first salon. Lydia smiled, as I kissed her shin, helping her into the heel. She looked down at me, her eyes full of love, and the corner of her mouth hiding a kiss just for me.

“Yeah, she is pretty suspish. What happened with those weirdos out there?” Cristella interrupted my memory. I shook my head. Are you just imagining your heartache?

“Oh the big guy was just mad because I didn’t get around to him. That’s why I wanted you to get the room. Plus, I might be able to secure a nice check from these guys. They all seemed absolutely randy," I said. Cristella shook her head, giggling. The gloss in my hand made a popping noise, as I pulled the wand from the bottle. It was my favorite flavor, watermelon.

“I can ask one of the boys to sit in, to keep them from getting too handsy," Cristella said. I shook my head. It would only keep me from getting too handsy, I thought to myself. Bless her heart. I could never make a kill here. I loved the crew here far too much. Plus, I didn’t have a coven. No one to protect me when I fucked up. They kicked me out long ago. It’s the main reason I ended up in Vegas, avoiding the sun when I could, doing my best to keep a legal and convenient profession. Where else could get a job with only night shifts, and a never-ending supply of useless assholes no one cared about?

“I’ll be okay Crissy. Even if they do try something, we have a panic button in there. Don’t worry." I gave her a slimy, glossy kiss on the cheek, earning a shriek from her strawberry mouth. She batted at me, narrowly missing me as I bounded out of the room.

As I approached the bigger of our three private rooms, I noticed two of the larger male ghouls standing outside the door. All of the ghouls dressed similarly, including the female ghouls. But I now noticed the alchemical symbols dangling from their belt chains. The shorter one had a quintessence symbol, the other larger one, an earth symbol. The earth one opened the door, and the quintessence one escorted me in.

“Thank you, Aether. Back to the door with you. Come, have a seat. Dewdrop says there is more to you than meets the eye. Let me pour you a glass of wine, cara," a thick, Italian accent beckoned to me. I walked to the ottoman in the middle of the room, where I usually found myself during private dances.

“I don’t drink during work hours, love. Now, what should I call you?” I looked into the mismatched eyes of the Painted Man.

“You can call me Papa. I’m Papa Emeritus, the fourth. My close friends call me Copia, but I suppose we are not quite there yet, sí?” he said, leaning forward to take my chin in his hand. I nodded.

“While I would love to marvel at your undoubtedly exquisite body, There is some business we should take care of first, piccolina. Do you like Type O Negative?” Cue the record scratching. The dreamy look I normally adopt when with my clients evaporated.

“Excuse me?” I whispered. Papa laughed.

“The band, cara. I was going to have you dance for me later. However, you must have a preference."

“I really don’t understand what you mean," I whispered. Papa laughed again, a big booming laugh.

“I know your secret cara. The ghouls told me. One of my predecessors, Papa Nihil, told me if I were to ever come across your kind, I should try to win your allegiance. Your kind have interesting abilities, specifically the power of influence." Of course that’s what he’s after.

“I don’t do that," I said, looking down to avoid his gaze. Papa tsked.

“I think you will. The ghouls say you smell lonely. Where is your famiglia?” He asked. I shook my head. Lydia’s pained screams echoed in my ears, our last moment together wrenching my heart out of my chest decades later.

“We split because of artistic differences," I said softly. Dewdrop and his companions giggled behind me.

“Forcing people to allow you to exsanguinate them for sport is not ‘artistic differences,’” Dewdrop hissed. The other ghouls laughed. Papa shook his head, and raised a hand to silence them.

“Now now, Dewdrop. It is hard to control one’s basic nature. Sí, tesoro? Tell me, how long has it been since your last drink?” He looked at me with concern. I couldn’t meet his eyes. I knew what he saw. Weak, pathetic, useless… The words were like a disgusting mantra, swirling through my mind, angry and acidic.

“Weeks… It’s been weeks," I whispered. He tsked again. I heard the ghouls chatter amongst themselves. Their pity made me feel disgusting, like a child with sweaty, clammy hands, and odorous armpits.

“What if I told you I could offer you a job and a home? A home where you wouldn’t have to hide your nature. A home where you’d never go hungry again?” I looked up at him.

“What kind of job?” I asked. The ghouls laughed again. Papa shot them a glare.

“I would make use of your gifts occasionally. Nobody would get hurt. You would warm my bed whenever I asked. Maybe pick up a trade or two once back with the Clergy. And in turn, you would get protection, and all the blood you could ever need," he said. I finally mustered the courage to look him in the eyes. What do you have to lose? Besides, you’ve done infinitely worse things.

“You swear on your life, nobody will get hurt? Not a single person?” I asked. Papa nodded.

“I’ll do it. I’ll also require a salary as well," I said, extending my hand. Papa nodded, taking my hand in both of his.

“Anything you need, cara. But first, I think you need a drink. And then we will get the night I paid for," he said. He waved his hand towards the door, which the shorter female ghoul scurried to open. I noticed she sported a pocket chain with an air symbol.

“Bring in one of the more rosy siblings, Cumulus. I suspect our new friend will need the sustenance before we get too far into our plans for the night," Cumulus nodded, and shut the door behind her. Papa stood up, and began removing his suit jacket and gloves; rolling up his sleeves. I could see his blue veins pulsating, causing me to become aroused in a way I cannot quite explain. Involuntarily, my pussy throbbed, and my mouth watered.

“Now now, little one. Be patient. Your drink will be here soon enough. But for now, you will seal our little deal with a kiss, so to speak. On your knees," Papa ordered, gesturing to the floor. I slipped from the ottoman to the floor, crawling on all fours to him. His breath hitched as I slid my hands up his thighs. I didn’t break eye contact as I unbuckled his trousers, nor when I reached into his pants to pull out his sizeable cock.

The door opened, and I heard mumbles, as well as a struggle, and a thud. Of course, both my hands and mouth were preoccupied. I watched Papa intently as I sucked him off. His eyes were rolled back, his mouth slack, and his hands threaded into his hair, as he let out an ungodly moan. I kitten licked his frenulum, stroking his shaft, earning another moan. He bucked his hips into my throat. Sit still, I whispered in the back of my mind. Papa grabbed my hair, and pulled me off his cock.

“Never again, my little bat. Continue," he said, grabbing either side of my face as he began to fuck my throat rigourously. Someone behind me cleared their throat. I wasn’t able to look up, due to my current predicament.

“Can’t you see I’m busy, Cirrus? What is it?” Papa let out a grunt, as his cock twitched in my mouth. I began to fellate him with my hands, wrenching more breathy sighs and groans from him. Within seconds, his warm seed was flooding my throat. I heard Dewdrop cheer, and then a slap, which I assumed was a high five. Papa rolled his eyes and smiled, as I dabbed away the bit of cum that had spilled over my bottom lip.

“Just in time. I needed something to wash down all that salt," I stood, and walked over to the person Cumulus and Cirrus stood in front of. It looked like a plumper woman. She was wearing what looked like a nun’s habit, her red ringlets spilling out from under her wimple.

“All for you cara. Come find me when you have finished your meal," Papa walked out, which left me with the ghouls and my prey. Dewdrop, and the other male ghoul, who sported a water symbol, helped the little nun onto the couch.

“You’re going to let me fuck that tight ass later, right? Nearly busted watching you and Copia earlier," Dewdrop said to me, softly enough for just me to hear. I giggled and nodded, batting him away after he began nibbling on my neck. He patted my ass, and began to pull the wimple from the nun’s head.

“I’ve got this. Why don’t you and the rest of the ghouls get started? I’ll be done pretty quickly." Dewdrop nodded.

“C’mon, Rainy. Come play with my cock, while we watch Mary drink," The water ghoul nodded, grabbing Dewdrop’s hand. I turned my attention back to the nun. She began to stir. I pushed back her hair.

“This is going to hurt a little bit. But I will make this quick and painless. You deserve an easy death." The nun, barely awake, nodded, and turned her head. I cradled her head, and brought her throat to my mouth. With a final kiss to her soft, peachy flesh, I sank my teeth into her throat, not letting a single drop of her blood go to waste.

It felt like drinking water after being stuck in a desert for a week. Her blood was sweet, clean, and thick, and it quenched my thirst quickly. Her body began to go limp in my arms, and her skin turned cold. It’s still not enough. I had to force myself to stop. Never drink the last drop. It might just be the last thing you do, my old mentor’s voice reminded me. I let the little nun drop back to the couch, and turned to face the ghouls. Cirrus sat with Cumulus, each with a hand in the other’s pants. Rain was bobbing his head up and down slowly, as Dewdrop played with his hair. Dewdrop looked up at me.

“Hot," he said. Cirrus nodded, and refocused her attention on Cumulus. Rain moaned, causing Dewdrop to hiss. I looked at them all, lust clouding my gaze.

“Make room. It’s my turn," I said. Dewdrop pulled my mouth to his, not fazed one bit by the blood coating my lips. Cirrus began to explore the space between my thighs with her long, gorgeous fingers. Rain held my hair, kissing and nipping at my neck. A girl really could get used to this...

Hours later, after all of the ghouls had had their turn, even the two from the door, I was back in the dressing room. I opened the envelope the earth ghoul, Mountain, had handed me on the way out. My eyes grew like saucers as I counted the money inside. I had only expected eight grand; two hours, eight clients, multiplied by $500. But as I counted, I realized I had 15 grand in my hands. The door opened, breaking my wealth-induced trance. It was Papa.

“If you would really like the job, come to this address in two weeks. Bring only what you must. Put everything else in storage," he said, handing me a card. I was confused.

“Why two weeks?” I asked. Papa smiled.

“Because it’s polite, cara. Don’t forget your letter of resignation."

--------------------------------------------

This is the first thing I've wrote in years! I hope you all enjoy it! A special thanks to @gasolineghuleh for all of their help!

[cloudy-leonhart]

Marleyan Warriors with a Filipino S/O!!

[Author Note: this is literally a re-do of my headcanons bc tumblr’s being mean and deleting my drafts, anyways trying to rush another finished bc outta here 😭 also! Reminder that my requests are OPEN, don’t be afraid to send in any requests!!]

Summary: Marleyan Warriors with a Pinoy S/O!

Recommended Song: Titibo-Tibo by Moira Dela Torre

TW: Swearing.

Theme: Fluff, Modern AU.

Characters: Reiner, Bertholdt, Annie, Zeke, Pieck, Porco.

Annie Leonhart

Annie knew, she actually met you at an event for those with cultures, and saw you dancing with your friends to traditional filipino folk music.

She was kinda hesitant to go when you asked her to accompany you to the Philippines, she didn’t like traveling.

She was kinda shocked on how welcoming your family was, your mom and dad hugged her out of nowhere and she just let out a squeak.

Your little sister forced her to go to SM mall with her omg- She literally came home with bags of candy.

Yes, Annie has a soft spot for your family, she probably almost spent all her money on them.

Buchi rivals her love for donuts. She looked like she discovered a new universe after eating one of them thangs.

God, help her when she’s watching filipino movies, your family encouraged her to watch movies with them, and by the end of it she was a mess, pretty sure she cried into your shoulder after watching Seven Sundays.

BUT LIKE SHE ENDS UP BEING ABLE TO COMMUNICATE WITH YOUR PARENTS.

You see, Annie is a really fast learner, she was bound to learn to be able to speak some point in her stay.

You were shocked when she spoke back to you in tagalog, like ‘dropped my stuff out of shock’ kinda way. 

IT WAS A PAIN GETTING HER INTO A BARO’T SAYA. But bribing her with Buchis got her to keep it on for like 2 hours so like..good enough.

Her favourite filipino song is Porque.

Everybody acts like it’s a concert for every karaoke night because she’s there, like she’s just THAT good.

Reiner Braun

This man was so awkward. He went on a trip with Bertholdt to the Philippines, and met you.

He didn’t think you would understand him, so he just stared at you while you talked with your friends, until you were creeped out enough and asked him if he had a problem.

When you and him started dating, you convinced him to travel all around the country. 

Firstly, you guys visited your family, your dad absolutely loved him, your mom was a little bit hesitant in letting him in the family, he was blonde, big and buff. Filipinos are bound to worry. Until Reiner cooked with her, then she started to warm up to him.

Okay but why did your family’s chickens like him so much??

He likes the feeling of being around your family, him not having a dad left an impact on him and he felt complete being with you and your family, he swore to himself that he’d marry you.

He almost fainted when he found you battling with one of the kids with your pet spider, mf was deathly afraid of your spider, it was like the size of your hand pls-

I think he’d be fairly good at speaking tagalog, he’s got an accent but people can understand him. 

He eats like a tito omg- You lost him at a party once and when you found him, he’s already eaten half of the barbecue. 

Everyone thought he was really old, because of his beard so everyone called him tito Reiner. 

He’s somewhat good with the village kids, you could see Reiner playing soccer with the kids or goofing off.

He says he doesn’t like watching Manny Pacquiao but it’s his guilty pressure.

He doesn’t really listen or watch anything filipino, but he will listen to old filipino bands if you play them in his car.

Bertholdt Hoover

HAHA PLs- you got mad at him for eating your cake and started cursing in filipino. He was confused because he thought you were just blurting out nonsense.

One second you’re explaining what you were saying and the next second y’all are on the way to the Philippines.

He sweats like a waterfall, LITERALLY. Everyone would like move away because he sweated that much.

You had a private island..because y’all were RICH rich. he was kinda awestruck, you literally just said out of nowhere.

“oh yeah, we have a private island.” ‘YOU HAVE A FUCKING WHAT??”

Poor baby was kinda intimidated by your basket-ball player of a brother, he was taller than Bertholdt omg-

You’re always worrying him somehow, he’s be on the toilet and he’d just hear you scream and he comes running down with his boxers, just to see you watching a telenovela and you had to tell him that you were just gushing over the drama.

He has never felt so embarrassed.

Am I the only one who thinks he looks amazing in a Barong?? Like he’d rock that shit- 

He loves eating filipino food, he likes when you guys stay in the country and you go out to buy bread at the nearest bakery.

Like every filipino, he too, dips his bread in coffee.

He ended up learning guitar while he’s in the Philippines, the country’s filled with people who can sing amazingly, he’s bound to learn guitar.

His favourite filipino song to play is Tadhana, it’s also the only song that he knows to sing to, like he absolutely butchers pronunciation for words but this man covers it up with this song.

Zeke Jaeger

He bumped into you and you cursed at him in tagalog, he basically just fell for you at that point.

I just know your family secretly hates this man, he slapped your ass once around your mom and your dad, it’s always tense when he’s around now.

You don’t have the heart to tell him your parents saw because one afternoon, he was gushing and praising your family, you didn’t want to ruin his happiness, his dad’s barely around and his mom passed away. he’d obviously be attached.

Yes you had to talk to your parents about it, a lot of filipinos are very kinds and forgiving, so your parents were very understanding, and made sure he felt loved around the family.

He actually almost cried when your dad told him to marry you already.

He calls your parents nanay and tatay.

You got him to buy a pet spider please- You would catch him fighting a kid’s spider to the death in a match, he’d feel bad though so he buys them new ones after.

Hey this man looks so hot in a Barong, please. You guys had to book a hotel for a night for some alone time yk.

Lord help this man, he tried to do the tinikling dance and he tripped, in front of everyone.

Every night, he comes to bed all shirtless, you could just hear the air conditioner buzzing as he tells you how fun it was playing with the village kids, or talking about he and your titos had a drink while watching a boxing match.

He more so listens to various artists, he doesn’t have a favourite.

but he will replay Joseph Vincent’s filipino covers.

Pieck Finger

She was on a business trip in the Philippines, and you were coincidentally at the same bar they were celebrating at. You were by the karaoke section and she kinda just, fell in love with you. right there and then.

Honestly some people thought you guys were siblings, Pieck can be mistaken as a filipino easily so, you guys expect it from time to time.

She likes to ask from time to time to teach her guitar, your mom probably has a lot of pictures of you and Pieck.

She loves eating the food in the Philippines, she thinks the adobo is great and if you lose her in public she’s probably by a street vendor eating food.

You guys dance to old filipino songs, a replaying song for you guys is Mabagal by Daniel Padillia and Moira Dela Torre.

She learnt Moira’s Part while you had Daniel’s part. 

GUys she looks so beautiful in a Baro’t Saya. And she knows it, she flaunts it so well.

You guys probably have a vacation house in the Philippines after leaving with her to go back to her country.

She helps you with packing balikbayan boxes for your family, she makes handwritten letters, she’s both good at writing and saying anything in tagalog. 

Her favourite artist is definitely Moira Dela Torre, she just loves her airy voice.

Favourite Filipino Movie? Yes.

You cannot tell me she doesn’t have a shelf full of filipino movies you guys watch.

Her favourite street food is probably qwek-qwek. She likes the sauce she dips, and she probably bought almost twenty bucks worth of the fishballs.

Porco Galliard

UGh honestly he’s a little cringey when it comes to the culture, for some reason I can see him accidentally disrespecting it somehow, I can’t help it.

Your family owned a sari-sari store, and he could not help for the love of him, he ended up being the one stocking it up while you chatted with the customers. 

Like Pieck, he and you dance when you’re alone, he probably learnt from Pieck too.

He listens to modern filipino artists, like Ex Battalion, Skusta Clee.

He tries hard to really be respectful, he butchers the way he says nanay and tatay but your parents appreciate the effort.

I can see him being able to secretly make amazing filipino desserts, his ube cake is bomb.

He watches Basketball with your dad, and they both drink during the match.

I can also see him being the type to scream out curses when he hurts himself, a ‘PUNYETA’ comes out of his mouth.

he doesn’t enjoy the hot weather in the Philippines, and due to that, he wears sandos all the time at home, and when he goes out, every girl always looks at him because he’s ripped, yes you’re jealous, but as you should, he’s your mans-

He also knows how use a barbecue grill? You can find him helping your family members while they’re selling barbecue.

he hates going to SM?? He just really hates going, because you genuinely just go for the food court. They sell hella good food.

One time he got chased by the village dogs, so he doesn’t go out without you or a family member.

He secretly loves watching telenovelas with you.

[smaidjor]

i know they're losing (chapter 2)

Hello everyone! Since the last chapter received such a positive response (well, if screaming could be called a positive response), I've decided to not make you all wait long for the second chapter of this fic. Also, I have no self-control. Anyways!

Once again obligatory disclaimer this is characters not people, don't ship real people, etc.

Chapter Title: over snow and winter's morn

Chapter Wordcount: 3203

Content warnings: more discussion of death, also quite a bit of Scott being a bit of a dick. He's going through it, besties.

AO3 Link

Chapter 1

Actual fic under the cut:

Jimmy doesn’t get a chance to return the ring any time in the next few weeks. Scott must have told Katherine that he visited, since she doesn’t come to bother him about it, and every time Jimmy tries to go to Rivendell, something gets in the way. Demon attacks, urgent business in his empire, once even Scott’s own guards turning him away. Apparently Scott is a ‘busy elf’. Jimmy doesn’t doubt he is, but he also doesn’t doubt that Scott’s actively trying to avoid him. Scott is a petty man, ultimately, and Jimmy knows this, used to love it like he loved all his husband’s flaws, all his imperfections that were perfect to Jimmy. Now, though, it just hurts that Scott’s turning that pettiness on him.

Finally, something changes. Jimmy gets an invitation (in person!) from one of his closest allies; Lizzie wants to hold a ball, and she wants as many people as possible to come. It will be fancy and formal, with dancing and politics and all the things Jimmy’s just a bit awkward with, but he is an extrovert at heart, and well...Scott will be there, as Lizzie warns him.

“I know you and him don’t really get on, so I get if you don’t want to come. I really hope you will, though, it’s going to be a fun night!”

Jimmy nods. “I’ll be there! I need to talk to Scott anyways, actually, got to return this ring to him. It’s important, I think.”

“Gotcha! See you there,” Lizzie says with a broad smile. Jimmy appreciates that she doesn’t ask any questions about the ring, especially given that it’s the one thing holding together his emotional state right now.

And that’s how he finds himself frantically searching for something fancy enough to wear to a formal ball, wishing he’d had the forethought to plan for this a bit better. Scott would have planned, he thinks, would have had an outfit laid out for each of them and the time it would take them to get there exactly calculated.

He shakes that thought off, settling for a green tunic with copper accents. It’s not the most elegant thing in the world, especially when you take into account the slime that’s dripped onto it, but it’ll have to do. It’s representative of his empire for sure, and the copper is a nod to his ally. It’s good enough, and that’s what matters, Jimmy thinks.

Lizzie greets him when he enters the ballroom, smiling widely with her new fiance by her side. “Jimmy! Glad you could make it!”

“Yeah, yeah, I did make it! Here I am!” The smile he gives her is genuine; he likes Lizzie. She's fierce and kind all at once, the best kind of ally.

Joel offers him a brief wave, which Jimmy happily returns before Lizzie drags him off to chat.

“So, heard from a little birdy you’ve actually been visiting Scott,” Lizzie says, a grin like the cat that got the bird on her face.

“As a favor to Katherine,” Jimmy quickly clarifies.

She nods. “She did say that, yes. She also said she heard about the visit from Scott himself.”

Jimmy hates himself a little for being pathetic enough to ask “What did- did she say what he said? Was he talking about me?”

“She didn’t say exactly, but he seemed ‘shaken up’, apparently...and a little wistful.”

“Oh, no. Lizzie, no.”

“Say, why did you have his ring?” She’s still grinning, a little more evil this time.

“It’s a long story!” Jimmy blurts, and flees. How’s he supposed to say ‘oh we were married on a server where we thought we were going to permanently die and then we respawned here and now Scott’s refusing to talk to me because the grief over my last death is slowly killing him’ tactfully? There’s just no way to do it! Nice one, Jimmy, now she thinks you’re in love with him or something, he thinks ruefully. Not that he isn’t- wasn’t. Wasn’t. Scott’s made it very clear that he and Jimmy are through.

Still, even with his depressing thoughts, the ball is pretty okay. No one’s gotten assassinated, there haven’t been any demonic appearances, Lizzie’s already showing off her engagement ring, and he’s pretty sure Joey’s going off about how hot demons are. It’s a decent party, by empires standards.

Scott makes an appearance some twenty minutes or so later, stepping into the ballroom with typical elven grace. He’s not a very elven elf, as he once told Jimmy, short and sarcastic with a love for mortals, but he still looks twice as elegant as everyone else in the ballroom. The shakiness in his step from a few weeks ago seems entirely gone, and for a minute, Jimmy’s heart leaps in hope. Maybe he’s getting better?

Well, only one way to find out. Jimmy swallows the complicated knot of emotion in his chest as he crosses the ballroom, coming to an ungraceful stop in front of Scott. Up close, the elf looks worryingly pale, and there are dark circles under his eyes. He looks like a strong breeze might sweep him away.

“Lord Codfather,” Scott greets.

“Elvenking,” Jimmy returns, dipping his head a little. Look, Scott, he can be formal too, alright? “Care for a dance?”

Scott stares for a long moment before giving a single nod. “I suppose I wouldn’t mind.” He takes Jimmy’s outstretched hand in his own gloved one, letting Jimmy put a hand on his waist as they start into a simple waltz.

Now, Jimmy is a terrible dancer, and he’s not too proud to admit it. He steps on Scott’s feet, gets off-rhythm once or twice, and nearly crashes them straight into Lizzie and Joel. But despite their current status as enemies(ex-spouses?), Scott says nothing about it. He’s silent, in fact, seemingly caught up in the music. There’s something wistful about his expression, something soft and gentle hidden under his icy facade. If Jimmy tries hard enough, he can almost pretend that the two of them are back in 3rd life, dancing under the stars, and Scott is looking at him like he’s the most precious thing in the world.

The illusion is shattered, however, by how heavily Scott is leaning on him by the end of the dance. He’s unsteady on his feet, grip like iron on Jimmy’s hand and shoulder. Though Jimmy can’t feel his hands though the gloves, when he brushes against Scott’s arm, it’s still a little too cold to be entirely right.

The music slows and then pauses before the next song, and they head for the edge of the dance floor.

“Thank you for the dance, Codfather,” Scott says. He steps away, face falling back into the emotionless facade so quickly it’s hard to be sure the tender expression of a moment before wasn’t a dream.

That’s the final straw for Jimmy’s fragile self-control. “Can we please stop acting like we don’t know each other?”

“What else do you want from me?” Scott snaps back.

“I- something! Anything! Just acknowledge that I exist, won’t you?”

“Acknowledging you exist doesn’t mean I’m still in love with you, you know.”

“I know,” Jimmy says, a little softer, a little bitter. “I know, trust me. I just want you to stop- to stop hurting yourself to try and avoid pain!”

“That’s not what I’m do-”

“Then what are you doing? Enlighten me, o wise elf!” They’ve kept their voices low enough, but people nearby are still starting to stare at them. Jimmy can’t bring himself to care. “You told me it would destroy you to lose me, but you’re losing me now by pushing me away!”

Scott’s expression is pained for a moment before he covers it with a glare. “I’m trying to do what’s best for the both of us, Jimmy.”

“No you’re-”

“I am an elf, and I cannot love a mortal. Humans are quick flames, burning and changing quickly. You’ll fall in love again, and you’ll forget me. There will be a mortal who loves you- I’m sure there are many already.”

“But I don’t want a mortal,” Jimmy protests. “I want you.”

“You can’t have me.”

“But why? Why, Scott?” His voice breaks, embarrassingly enough. “You said you loved me, you promised me all the time we’d be able to- to carve out, to steal from the universe.”

“I can’t give you that!” Scott snaps. “You’ll live sixty more years, maybe, a fraction of my life, a blink of an eye to an elf, and I can’t even give you that long! Not when I have to be the elvenking before anything else. Nothing I can do will ever be enough for you.”

“Enough for me? For ME? All I want is for you not to die to your own dumb plan and acknowledge my existance once in a while!”

“And all I want is for you to realize I can’t love you again!”

“Why can’t you care about me?”

“Why can’t you move on?” Scott counters.

“You’re not moving on, you’re just trying to forget!” Jimmy shouts.

In the silence that follows, he realizes that most of the ballroom must have heard the end of their little lovers’ quarrel. In fact, Lizzie’s somehow appeared next to him, laying a hand on his arm.

“Is everything alright, boys?” Her tight smile says that they will most certainly get kicked out of the ball if they continue this, and Jimmy can’t blame her.

“My apologies, Ocean Queen,” Scott says, switching to a formal tone with ease that Jimmy envies. He dips his head in respect, and only Jimmy sees how his hands tremble. “Everything is alright, but I am afraid I will have to leave early.”

She smiles again, dangerous this time. “No need to worry, Lord Smajor. Do try to avoid picking fights with my allies, next time, though.”

“It won’t happen again,” he promises, and sweeps away.

“Coward!” Jimmy shouts after him, anger making him bold. “You’re a coward, Scott!”

“Stop it,” Lizzie scolds. “You’ve already made quite the scene, and I did essentially kick him out. I’m not sure how much further you really want to carry it.”

“He is though, Lizzie, he’s a coward! Doesn’t want to face me because that means facing- well, facing everything that’s happened!”

“What do you mean, everything that’s happened?” Lizzie turns to the gathered audience of people who have been watching the spat, shooing them off as best as possible. They slowly disperse, thank goodness. “You and he are enemies, right?”

Jimmy almost winces. “It’s a bit- it’s a bit more complicated than that.”

“I can see that. Jimmy, that looked like a messy breakup!”

“It, um, well, it was. Sort of.”

“Oh, Jimmy.” Lizzie’s giving him a sympathetic look, which she follows up with a tight hug. “Next time, how about we don’t invite him?”

He nods against her shoulder, rage leaving him as quickly as it came. Instead, he just feels...tired. “Thanks, Lizzie.”

“Of course. We look after each other, yeah?’

“Yeah.”

Jimmy leaves the ball exhausted, still reeling from everything that happened. The few lingering bits of anger are what gets him home, a bitter taste in his mouth from the bitter words he spat. Coward! You’re a coward, Scott! He refuses to regret them.

Scott’s ring nearly ends up in the swamp again, but Jimmy’s cooled down enough by the time he gets back that he can’t bear to throw it away. Instead, it goes in a box which he tucks into his old storage chest, somewhere he’ll never have to see it again. Scott can go to hell if he wants the ring back after all that.

-

For a while, Jimmy’s plan to tuck the ring and never think about Scott again seems to be working. Lizzie visits a few times to check on him, but she never asks specifically about Scott, and Jimmy doesn’t say anything about him. He receives radio silence from Rivendell, and he tells himself that it’s good, that he doesn’t want to hear from Scott.

So yes, his plan is working, up until he gets a knock on his door and opens it to find Scott there.

The elf looks terrible, frankly, almost worse than he did at the ball. His hair, which is usually so nicely done, is a mess, cyan strands falling all across his face. His clothes are wrinkled and have swamp mud on them, his eyes have dark circles as violent as bruises, and he’s swaying a tiny bit. In short, he looks like he didn’t sleep for a week, chugged coffee, and fought god in a denny’s parking lot.

Jimmy thinks he’s kinda hot.

No, he doesn’t. Fake news, brain.

“Hi,” Scott says.

“Scott? What- why are you here?” Jimmy’s voice rises, in shock or outrage even he doesn’t know.

“I came to apologize.” Though he looks like he’s going to pass out at any second, Scott’s voice is steady. “I was scared- I am scared. I’m terrified to lose you again. But I shouldn’t have pushed you away and hurt you.”

“No, you shouldn’t have!” Jimmy snaps, but there’s little real rage behind it.

“I know. I- uh- fuck.” Scott’s hands are shaking as he pulls out a little box from some hidden pocket. “I brought a gift as an apology.”

Jimmy takes it, curious despite himself, and finds that what’s inside is a silver bracelet with little crystals embedded in it. Flowers are the predominant design; he recognizes roses, hyacinths, irises, anemone, and poppies. On the underside, there’s elven lettering, though Jimmy has no clue what it says. The whole thing is a little clumsy, not quite as professionally made as the ring Scott once gave him, and Jimmy looks up at Scott. “Did you make this yourself?”

“Mhm. I did my best, but it’s not as nice as I’d like.”

“It’s pretty,” Jimmy says.

Scott’s shoulders slump with relief. “It’s spelled, too. Protection, good fortune, that sort of thing.”

“Do the flowers mean something?”

“They do.”

Jimmy doesn’t press for details.

“I-” Scott starts again, a tremble in his voice that wasn’t there before. “I’m sorry, Jimmy, I really am. I won’t ask you to forgive me, but I needed to apologize before my time ran out.”

“Is it that- that dire?”

The barest nod. “This is what I chose to do with it. Making that, coming here. You deserved an apology.”

There’s a moment of awkward silence, Jimmy staring down at the bracelet.

Scott breaks it. “It wouldn’t be fair of me to ask you to love me. I can’t promise you eternity. I can’t promise you happiness. I can’t promise you that I won’t have to be the elvenking first and a husband second. But I am yours still, if you’ll have me.”

A part of Jimmy is very tempted to throw both Scott’s gift and his love back in his face. He can’t bring himself to stay mad, though, not when Scott’s looking at him like that, with so much raw vulnerability. So much devotion, like Jimmy’s the most precious thing he’s ever seen. It would be so, so easy to break that last strand of fragile hope in his expression; he’s offering up his heart on a silver platter, ready to shatter. Jimmy could- should- yell at him, reject his gift, tell him that he’s ruined any chance he has at Jimmy’s love.

Jimmy kisses him instead. It’s messy and it’s sudden and he very nearly drops Scott’s gift in the swamp in his haste to tangle his hands in Scott’s hair and press their lips together, but it’s real.

The little startled noise Scott makes gets cut off by Jimmy’s mouth on his. Scott’s lips are chapped and taste a little of glowberries, but Jimmy doesn’t care. He’s going to kiss his damn husband, something he thought he was never going to get to do again.

When they finally have to separate, Scott’s breathing hard, cheeks flushed. It’s a good look on him, Jimmy thinks, much more alive than his pale, rigid expression from before.

“So, I’ll take that as you want to stay married?” Scott’s voice is wry, collected, but his blush ruins the smooth effect.

“Of course I do! You absolute idiot!”

“Just checking.”

Jimmy kisses him again, just to shut him up. Scott goes with it easily, leaning into Jimmy’s embrace without complaint.

They pull apart quicker this time, and Jimmy holds the bracelet out. “Can you help me put this on?”

Scott nods. His hands are cold against the skin of Jimmy’s wrist when he fastens the clasp, but Jimmy grabs them and holds them in his own warm ones until they don’t feel quite so much like ice. It’s something. It’s a beginning.

“Come in and catch up with me?” Jimmy offers.

Scott nods again, and he doesn’t let go of Jimmy’s hand when Jimmy turns to go inside.

They talk about a lot of things. Empires, 3rd life, nightmares. Pufferfish, cake, flowers. They talk about the trials and tribulations of ruling; really, Jimmy complains that people keep attacking him and Scott nods in sympathy.

Eventually, though, the sun is starting to set.

“I need to get home,” Scott says. “You need sleep, not to stay up all night talking.” He goes to get up, and Jimmy immediately lunges, catching his sleeve.

“Don’t go! Please,” he adds, feeling his face flush at how desperate he sounds.

“Jimmy, darling, we both need to sleep.”

“We can sleep! I just….nevermind.”

“No, no.” Scott kneels back down, peering at him like Jimmy’s a puzzle that needs solving. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Jimmy.”

“I don’t want to be alone!” Jimmy blurts, and immediately flushes again. “It’s just, I’ve been alone for a long time, and there’s this demon thing that keeps showing up, and I’ve only just got you back, I’m not ready to let you go, and-”

“Hold on. What was that about a demon?”

“There’s this demon creature that I keep seeing, and it’s really messing with me,” he manages. “It sounds like you, sometimes, but all distorted, and I can’t handle it! You know me, I’m not brave or smart or anything, I’m just Jimmy!”

Scott’s frowning, worry wrinkling his brow. “Alright. How about you come to Rivendell for the night, then? I can protect us both easier there.”

Jimmy nods, feeling especially pitiful as Scott helps him to his feet. “Thank you.”

“Always. Do you still have the ring I gave you?”

“I do, I just….give me a moment to remember where I put it.”

“Good. It’s important.” Scott doesn’t elaborate, and Jimmy is too distracted looking for the ring to ask what he means.

Scott’s offer of protection feels flimsier when he has to lean on Jimmy as they travel back to Rivendell, but even then, it’s impossible to feel quite so afraid now that Jimmy isn’t alone anymore. And it’s even harder to fear anything that could happen when he’s safe in a warm bed, his head tucked against his husband’s chest. They’ll be okay, Jimmy thinks. They’ve been given another chance, and this time they’re going to get it right.

[imbellarosa]

Let’s Talk Calm-ly about Two Loves

OR: When you’re a grown man who writes stories for a living, you definitely wrote your own weird bedtime story, too. 

The TLDR here is that H has taken one specific listener around the globe, notably to Tokyo and Jamaica. He quotes an old Victorian Poet who was an awful human but who’s lasting legacy is the phrase “a love that dare not speak its name” which is - you guessed it - a reference to queer love. He also is super excited to spend what seems like the foreseeable future with this listener and has bought a little house with a garden of daisies with them and it’s very sweet and domestic. Anyways this is a wild time and it’s all under a cut because it’s...really a lot. 

Anyways I think the people I owe thank yous this times around to are @queenlokibeth​ who had to listen to me scream about this for a while, Astrid, who screamed with me when this came out, and “M” who convinced me to finally get to work in this fandom. And, of course, all of the lovely people tagged below who’s work I used to build my argument. 

1.) Who Wrote “Dream With Me”? 

Well, not H, or so the story goes. Two other people (Steve Cleverly and Sanj Sen) did! I mean, right, okay, for a while I was like...that seems like an odd choice for a man who didn’t want to hand Two Ghosts over to his own band because it seemed too personal. He wrote on every song in both albums’ he’s released thus far, because he seems to be passionate about telling the stories he wants to tell (even if he won’t tell you explicitly what they’re about). But for a while, I was totally going with the flow there, and the rest of this analysis would still stand: the writer of this story definitely referenced a poem by Lord Alfred Douglas and Harry’s own songs. 

However, I then read this fun quote from the Co-founder and CEO of Calm: 

“Well,” he said, “The the Harry Styles one is interesting because that came purely from Harry Styles himself...we took the approach of creating a sort of musical epic poem – he doesn’t sing, it’s spoken with poetry, but there’s a sort of musical sound bed to it and it’s pulling on things and themes that Harry’s fans really adore about him and associate with him. So his story was driven really by him – we really created a concept around him.” 

-  Chris Advansun, July 7th, 2020 via @hlupdate​

And I thought, hmmm. This does not sound like a project that he was not involved in creating. From this point on (July, 7th 2020), I began to think of it as a three way co-collaboration between him and the other two authors. But this confused me a bit, because there was largely a nonreaction from the fandom. I was waiting for an actual transcript, because I always fall asleep to these meditation stories, but it was being referenced to as some sort of Y/N fic, which was...honestly not what I expected, but also not implausible, thanks to the ~lovely~ image this man has had since the age of sixteen. But also, twitter seemed to be concerned by other things at the moment, and no one was analyzing the story. . 

In fact, I messaged a friend the day that this story dropped, because it had been kind of a shit show day on Twitter. Rumors were sort of flying about everyone and everything: had Liam shaved his head? Was he engaged? Had he and Maya broken up? Were Zayn and Gigi engaged? Had they broken up? Did Niall have a girlfriend? (this one was true lol). Were Elounor engaged? Were they pregnant? Had they broken up??? My personal fav was the bald Liam rumor, which he promptly put to rest in LP Act 1 by...having a huge mane of hair. 

So then I thought - huh. Why has today looked like this? I’m not saying that there aren’t days that twitter goes wild because of boredom, because there definitely is - the articles about secret meetings in Italy that are coming out this week (8/12/2020) are proof positive. So that definitely does happen, but it doesn’t usually happen on the days that there’s a lot of content. And maybe I’ve just been starved for content in this fandom, but I would consider a 40 minute video quite a bit of content. 

Then the transcript dropped. I’m using two as references - this one on Wattpad and also @carl-and-pearl ‘s version here (thank you so much for the transcript!!). We’re going to get into a more detailed description of what’s going on in the story, but the first thing I recognized immediately is that it was first person POV. I knew that going in, based on the number of Y/N jokes going around on twitter. Then I read it aloud, and I realized that it read like a letter. Like an experience specific to the writer and the reader. And while that’s not super uncommon to write about an experience from the author’s POV - I listen to a podcast called Nothing Much Happens: bedtime stories for adults which has a similar concept - I thought it was odd that they were trying to include both the author and the listener. I completely understood why the y/n jokes were pertinent. But at the same time, it felt like something had snagged in my mind - like a particularly annoying splinter. 

The conversations I was having around this story - completely based on the content, concept, and my own instinct - was that this story contained specific references to one person. I thought that it did read like a love letter, and that most identifying features would have been taken out, but the essence remained. Which, once I thought about it, was something that H excelled at doing. Think about Sunflower Vol 6 and Adore You and Canyon Moon and even Watermelon Sugar and Golden.  Ask yourself, What do I know about the person they are about? They have skin that browns, they have a secret, they have mesmerizing eyes, they’re willing to dance in the kitchen with him (to dancehall), they have a belly, they’ve been through hard times, they’re witty, they have an accent, and they have lips. I know - super specific right?

So the splinter grew into a thorn - what was I missing? And then - when I was looking for something completely different - I stumbled upon this old interview Harry did with Zach Sang and the Gang Show back in 2017.  For context, he was being asked about Sweet Creature. As you can imagine, it’s hard for people to believe he wrote such a beautiful love song when he hadn’t ever really had a long term relationship (two hearts in one home?? Who did you move in with, you can imagine them asking. When did you have time?). So what did he have to say about this?

"In my opinion,” he explained, “I think most songs are written for one listener. Maybe there's one thing in there that only they'll notice about them.... It's so much easier to say something in a song than it is to say it to someone and I think it's really amazing to be able to communicate through that and be able to wrap up everything that you want to say in three and a half minutes and say it in a song."

- HS, May 3 2017

By this time, please believe that I was screeching. Seeing this felt like he put into words the exact feeling I had about “Dream With Me”. It felt like a nod to someone that I didn’t know, which made the story hard to listen to, tbh. Although, I will say that when I did finally listen to it, it knocked me out and gave me odd dreams so. Once was enough for me haha! 

So my new operating theory is exactly what Advansun said: I think that H was the primary writer/the driving force behind the story. Because of the references I’m about to run through, because it feels like the way he tells stories, and because they admitted to him being more involved than they originally claimed. That’s going to be how I write the rest of the analysis - under the impression that H had a direct hand in the story that was being put forth. However, I think that the analysis itself would stand whether or not he wrote any of it. It would just be a more tenuous reflection of him than I believe it to be. 

2.) How Do I Love Thee? In Two Ways. 

Before I jump into the story, let’s talk a little about the poem that I want to compare it to: Two Loves, by Lord Alfred Douglas.  Let’s be clear this is not at all a defense of who Bosie was - he was a terrible person, particularly in his later years, when he’d converted to Catholicism and turned his back on his younger self, and his partner, Oscar Wilde. He was violently anti-Semitic, and turned his back on his own community. I want to get this out of the way because I very much believe that we should examine artists for who they are. That is, after all, what I am trying to do here. 

But his poem Two Loves has often been used - much to his disappointment, I’m sure - as an exploration of queer love in Victorian times. A line that I will be exploring more deeply in a second was in fact used against Oscar Wilde in his trail for indecency . He attempted - unsuccessfully - to explain it away, but it was too blatantly about their relationship for even the British Victorian society to ignore. I really, really recommend a read of this poem, because it is - despite it’s author - a good piece of work, which explores the themes of shame and love and longing between two men in that time. 

I’m going to start with my own background, as someone who’s analyzed fandoms before. I first came across this poem in the Sherlock fandom, with this analysis by @the-7-percent-solution​, when I was running in that fandom, and she explains the poem brilliantly in just a few lines. I’m going to take a little longer to run through it, but if you want a concise explanation and a brilliant meta, I encourage you to run to their blog and check it out. That fandom taught me most everything I know about catching symbols and recurring themes and “clueing for looks” and I love it desperately, still. 

But we’re here to talk about this fandom, so on with the poem! Essentially, the poem outlines a dream the speaker had: In his dream, he’s standing in a field with flowers - beautiful ones of all kind - and he meets this young man with clear blue eyes and bright red lips and they kiss a bit and have a picnic, and it’s all lovely. If you think I’m kidding, I’m really not. Please, read it for yourself. 

Anyways, after they did they did the whole picnic thing, the speaker and his date go on a walk in this field, where they come across two figures. The first is described as, 

“...fair and blooming, and a sweet refrain Came from his lips; he sang of pretty maids And joyous love of comely girl and boy, His eyes were bright, and 'mid the dancing blades Of golden grass his feet did trip for joy; And in his hand he held an ivory lute With strings of gold that were as maidens' hair, And sang with voice as tuneful as a flute, And round his neck three chains of roses were.” 

- Two Loves, 1894

The speaker, however, was drawn to the second figure: 

“He was full sad and sweet, and his large eyes Were strange with wondrous brightness, staring wide With gazing; and he sighed with many sighs That moved me, and his cheeks were wan and white Like pallid lilies, and his lips were red Like poppies, and his hands he clenched tight, And yet again unclenched, and his head Was wreathed with moon-flowers pale as lips of death. A purple robe he wore, o'erwrought in gold With the device of a great snake, whose breath Was fiery flame..”

- Two Loves, 1984

Of course, the speaker immediately asks the second man who he is. The second man says, “My name is Love”. The first man corrects him quickly: 

“ He lieth, for his name is Shame, But I am Love, and I was wont to be Alone in this fair garden, till he came Unasked by night; I am true Love, I fill The hearts of boy and girl with mutual flame.”

-Two Loves, 1984

The second man sighs and acquiesces, “Have thy will. I am the love that dare not speak its name.” 

It was, of course, this last line that really gave the meaning of the poem away. It was the line that was put to Oscar Wilde as proof of a romantic relationship, it was the line that went down in history as a way to refer to queer love, and it was the line that first stuck out to me when I was reading “Dream With Me”. 

The reading here is clearly that “Love” is the love that is acceptable to society - easy, sweet, and cherished. “Shame” is the love that happens in secret - beautiful, alluring to the speaker, passionate, anxious ( as can be seen in the clenching and unclenching of his hands), and proud. He refuses to call himself as anything but what he is. The first man may call him Shame, but he refuses the name, and instead, offers a qualifier to his own descriptor. He is still love, he is just the love that can’t be spoken about. 

3.) Walking in Golden Fields of Sunflowers

Now let’s talk about “Dream With Me”. I’m ignoring the first few stanzas (from the line “Have you ever wondered” to “What the two of us can find”.) because those are pretty standard introductory paragraphs to a guided meditation. So we start with the line “Let’s travel now to moonlit valleys...”. 

I’m going to do the same thing I did with “Two Loves” first. I am going to describe literally, in general terms, what happens in the story. Warning, I change pronouns from “they” to “you” because the whole thing confuses me, but note that I’m always talking about the speaker and the listener: 

So after doing the standard intro, the speaker and the listener take a walk through the woods enjoying nature, particularly the grass, the trees, and the blue sky above. You’re already clearly in love. Then you’re magically on a raft, with cherry blossoms all around you. If you want a good visual for that, here’s a site that has pictures from a boat rental in Tokyo where you can snuggle on a raft in the  Chidorigafuchi moat. And then suddenly it starts raining, and they (you) watch the rain for a hot second, and then the scene magically shifts again, and you’re under a porch (although I guess it could be the boat rental’s porch. They do usually have covered areas). 

Kind of furthering that theory, they then lounge by the shoreline, skipping stones and hanging out, looking at the snow capped mountains. In case you’re curious, because at this point I sure was, you can see mountains from certain areas in the city of Tokyo. 

Anyways, then it’s snowing, and you’re magically in a cabin, just chilling by the fire, and you fall asleep again. You wake up somewhere else.

Where are you now? Well, you’re on a tropical island filled with palm trees. As an American, my mind immediately jumps to the Caribbean, but I suppose it could absolutely be in the Mediterranean as well. The island has white beaches, mangroves, a turquoise ocean, and a gorgeous, peaceful atmosphere. 

If you’re curious as to what a mangrove looks like - and I certainly was - they are a group of trees and shrubs that live in the coastal intertidal zone and Jamaica is doing a massive restoration project involving primary school children to regrow this vital part of their ecosystem. More interestingly, there currently exist no mangrove forests in the Mediterranean, so my initial feeling that this scene would take place in the Caribbean was correct. On that note - again, because I was curious - Jamaica has gorgeous white sand beaches with turquoise oceans. 

But I’ve gone off topic again! After you’re minds are “in tune” once more (trying to find a heartbeat, anyone?), you reappear in a meadow, with beautiful flowers of all kind, where you are now walking hand in hand through a field of sunflowers, which give the feeling a “warm and golden hue”. Then you come across a little farmhouse with daisies poking out (clearly I have no way of locating this anywhere in the world, but I assume that the UK has both sunflowers and daisies). It’s an empty house which was loved and left because of the passage of time, which inspires my favorite line in the poem: “ The thought of passing time inspires/A feeling that grows stronger”. It’s just...really sweet to me. 

So, of course, they do what anyone would do when they come across an empty farmhouse, they go inside. And there, they begin to fall asleep, reflecting on all they have just seen, referencing other scenes of the poem: “ Moonlit valleys, Burdened forests, Gazing at the ocean. Summer meadows, Tranquil sunsets steeped in emotion”. 

The next few stanzas are just going to be copy-pasted, and then I’ll go into them a bit, but this is the end of the poem, so they’re the final reflections;

“The tenderness we feel When we are close Two minds as one Surrounds us and connects us But we’ve only just begun.

For now we dream together Of all there is to follow. And know that sleep will keep us safe From now until tomorrow.

Maybe all the memories That we’ve gathered here tonight Are all dreams now remembered Or wishes in plain sight.

No matter what They’re with us now. For this night and forever. And every time we close our eyes They’re yours and mine to treasure.” 

- HS, Dream With Me, via @carl-and-pearl​

And that’s it! The literal story, in short, is that you started in a forest, then went to Tokyo (maybe) and then Jamaica (perhaps) and then back to a field of sunflowers and daisies in the UK (which is also a guess, it could be Italy or France or Idaho for all I know, but let’s call it an educated guess). 

4.) My Dream Journal

So now that we know what happens in the story, how do we interpret this? Well, There are a few lines in the poem that I want to draw your attention to: the first takes place in the first part of this story, when you’re still in the forest. This is, I must say, the most direct reference to Two Loves in the whole poem/song/story. Both works are describing a walk in the woods with your loved one, and, in a fun reference in the middle of the story, Dream With Me says

The shimmering reflection Shows us smiling from above. But what we think But dare not speak is L-O-V-E love.

-Dream With Me, 2020

Remember that line I mentioned before? I am the love that dare not speak its name. Right, so that’s almost a direct quote. It also has a really fun nod to “I Would” (Would he say he’s in L-O-V-E?/Well if it was me then I would), but I digress. 

This first part of the narrative, I feel, really sets up what the rest of it will look and feel like, in the same way that “Golden” sets the tone for Fine Line. (You didn’t think I was going to make a post about Harry and NOT mention Golden, did you?? If you did, I’m disappointed!!). So  let’s take a look at what’s happening, and the language he’s using to describe it. 

One of the best things about this poem is how vivid it feels. Of course, I’m about to argue that it’s vivid because it was based in reality, but let’s talk about the sheer amount of detail he uses to describe the place he’s walking through. The valley (canyon lmao) is moonlit, the grass and the leaves make mosaics of green, you’re walking by the heather (the symbolism of heather is good luck, admiration, and protection), the sepia sunlight breaks through the trees. 

You know what it kind of sounds like? Sweet Creature. You’re about to roll your eyes at me! I can feel it! But listen, okay?  

“Sweet creature Running through the garden Oh, where nothing bothered us But we're still young I always think about you and how we don't speak enough”

Which, to be honest, sounds like what they’re doing. They’re walking through the garden in the sun, not daring to speak about the Love that he (they both) feel, and instead refering to it in veiled Victorian terms. 

And then we head to Tokyo! I know that you’re about to ask me why I think it’s Tokyo versus...idk, anywhere else? Well, for one, he went to Tokyo (to let it go) publicly in 2019. He was there for a few months, and there are some great pictures of that time: 

Look! Here he is with his club owner friend and his dog, and a fun red bandanna! But let’s be honest, the dog really steals the show here. But wait! there’s more! More dog content, too!

This was on Jan 31st, 2019, and he’s taking the dog for a walk! Very cute! If nothing else, he spent a lot of time with dogs in Tokyo! And the city fits the description of the story. So I feel rather comfortable with my interpretation that this first date is a memory of this trip - or another - to Tokyo. 

So what did “you both”do in Tokyo? Well, chill on a raft while the cherry blossoms flutter around you, clearly. You also refocused your purpose. What did he do in Tokyo in 2019? Well, he took time to think about and write songs for the album he was about to go record. Kind of like refocusing on what’s next, right? And then, in the story when “you both” had time to think amongst the lake and the water and the rain and the moon, and you’d come to the conclusions you needed to, you left. What did he do when he did the things he needed to? Well, he left, too. 

And where did he go? Well, in real life, I suppose he went to do his job. But, in the story, you’re meant to be falling deeper and deeper into sleep, so it’s sort of like traveling backwards, you see? Like counting down to one. So you end up on this island with turquoise ocean and mangrove forests. I’m calling this Jamaica. Why? Well, the description fits, for one, down to the four types of mangroves that exists within its ecosystem. 

And - probably the biggest reason - I can place him there, too. Here’s him in 2017:

I added this picture because the water around him....looks rather turquoise, doesn’t it? Kind of like he’s enjoying his time on a tropical island by the beach?? Oh, and here’s another one!: 

The red bandanna makes a comeback! 

So what are you doing in Jamaica, according to the story? Well, you’re hanging out, basically. Enjoying the beach and each other, of course!  What else? To be exact, “[Your] thoughts dovetail and unify/ In tune two minds together”. I’m so glad that you’re tuned like an old guitar now! Congrats! Really happy for you! 

What was he doing in Jamaica three years ago? Why, he was recording his first album, or so the story goes. I’ll tell you something: finding press for that album was literally the most difficult part of this whole analysis. I got a fair bit of the tattoo roulette with Kendall Jenner, and some things about Carolina, but the interview with Zach Sang took me like an hour and a half to find again to link. The fact that a lot of it has been buried is...not great, for posterity purposes. He’s going to want that one day. 

But I’ve gotten off track again! We gotta go back and finish our story, right? What happens now? Well, this does: 

hahahaha okay, I’m really sorry, but I had to. I’m not, actually, making it up though! According to the story: 

“ As minutes turn to hours We drift off somewhere new. And visualize a stairway To a door we now walk through”

- Dream With Me, 2020

So maybe Louis was just...demonstrating for you. 

Anyways! Where do you walk out to? A golden field full of sunflowers. You walk for a minute, then come across an old house with daisies popping up out of the garden. And that’s where the story ends. I guess you’ve made that farmhouse feel like home. 

Now to the little reflection he does on the outro. The lines I want to bring your attention are: “The tenderness we feel when we are close two minds as one surrounds us and connects us but we’ve only just begun” and “Maybe all the memories that we’ve gathered here tonight are all dreams now remembered or wishes in plain sight.”

Let’s talk about the first sentence first. In the context of finding a home that could be a shared home, and a future, this is very much an “end of the story, beginning of our lives” sort of thing. You’re back from all over, and it’s time to settle down, and see what’s next. 

And now the second sentence. I think this is the one that really drives my point about this story being a collection of memories he has - that’s what he calls it. The story is “gathered memories” that might also be called “remembered dreams” (think of how people say of vacations, “oh it was a dream!”) or you might call it “wishes in plain sight”. This feels in line with the rest of the story. In this stanza, he’s sort of letting you in a bit. If I’ve read this right - and I really think that I have - he’s giving the larger context for the story. It’s a collection of memories he’s had with someone he loves. 

5.) Cool! Can you prove it? 

I mean, I’d argue that if you read this far, I have proved it, but let’s make some more links, shall we? This was called a “muscial epic” that was “driven by him”. I’d argue that if I know my Victorian literature (thank you, Sherlock!), then he definitely does. Then there’s the fact that he quoted it, so. That did happen. And he knows what it means. And even if he didn’t, there were two other people on the story. Someone was more than capable of catching that one, and the fact that they didn’t speaks to intent. They want you to think of that phrase when you read this poem. They want you to think of that walk in the woods while you’re going on this one. 

And, as for my assumption that this is for and about one person, well. Think about it. He said that he writes his songs for a single listener. I’m not saying it’s the same listener each time, let’s get that right, but it is always just for one person. With that, and with the assumption that he’s been involved in the writing of this story, I’d say that the same rule applies. He went with someone to Japan and Jamaica (J^2 haha). And, if I had to guess, it was the same person. 

Why, you ask? Well, for one, if that weren’t the case, then this poem would no longer be for one listener, it would be for multiple. And, for another, imagine how awkward it would be to listen to it with his current partner and have to explain “oh, yeah that was the super romantic vacation I took with someone else” . And, I suppose that because I think that attitude of “refocusing” and “dovetailing” and “tuning” and getting excited about imagining all of the tomorrows with your partner speaks to a long term relationship breathing easily, you know? 

I’m also going to argue that describing the aura around the house as “golden” was intentional, especially when paired with the location - in the middle of a field of sunflowers. Those are both direct references to his songs. And those two songs are particularly linked by the number 28. The third song that features 28 is Fine Line the song, but that’s a different story. Anywho! “Golden”’s bridge just repeats the word ‘golden’ twenty eight times (if you go here , you can count the bridge) and “Sunflower Vol. 6″ ends the song with 28 “boops” (believe me, I wish I was making this up. I’m not.). So then, once again, you’ve linked a story to two already linked songs. 

And, even if you don’t buy the intentional repetition, they’re linked another way, aren’t they? The color scheme and the sun symbol. Sunflowers were named because of their sun-like appearance. They turn to face it. They symbolize loyalty and adoration. And then, of course, the sun is - say it with me - golden. And it - like the person in golden - waits in the sky, beautiful and dangerous and constant. And here that symbol is, in a farmhouse in the middle of nowhere. At home. 

This whole story feels like you’re taking the time to find that heartbeat that you think you might have lost, and sort of coming back to a space where you understand that this is what you want, now and forever. It feels like finding a home that could be yours forever, and it feels like walking through some of the moments that remind him of that. 

It really is rather lovely, if you think about it, especially since he has a tendency to attribute “home” to people rather than place, in his songs. So it’s like. Going all around the world and always being at home. 

[itsclydebitches]

If you are still taking the fanfiction mashup asks, may I request ozqrow with awful first meeting + historical au?

Rules: Send me two (2) tropes from this list + a ship and I’ll describe how I’d combine them in the same story.

I’m still disappointed that the new Downton Abbey movie was pushed to next year, so!

Ozpin is the Lord of a mansion and its crazy big estate. He’s a real man of the people, known not only for the little town of Remnant nearby that he takes excellent care of, but also the never-ending stream of guests he hosts. I’m talking non-stop, insane expense, “Don’t these people just live here now?” hospitality. Given that he’s unmarried with only his adoptive son Oscar for company, Ozpin has slowly accumulated everyone from the injury stricken army general taking up residence in the east wing (Ironwood), to the two street urchins who sneak through the kitchen every day and Ozpin pretends not to notice out of fear of scaring them off (Nora and Ren). What all this means is that he’s developed a reputation for hosting almost anyone, which is where homeless perpetual guest Qrow Branwen comes in. He’s made a living off of pretending to be long-lost relatives and rarely seen nobility, bumming a couple months’ worth of food, board, clothing—“My luggage was lost as sea. Tragic, isn’t it?”—and entertainment off of these wealthy fools before moving on. It’s surprisingly easy in the age of snail mail and rare photographs. Most people don’t know what their cousin actually looks like, or whether that local Lord developed an accent while abroad. The gentry are also far too wrapped up in their conventions to say no without good cause. People are easy to con and when they’ve got money? It’s fun too.

So Qrow is feeling supremely confident when he’s let into Lord Ozpin’s drawing room on a bright, Summer morning. Intel says the Lord has a long-standing pen pal he’s never met in person. Better yet, the locals say he’s a bit… eccentric. Prone to both distraction and thinking the best of people, no matter the circumstances. A little memory loss, some more snooping, the occasional, well worded question, and pretending to be this Taiyang will be a walk in the park.

That is, until Lord Ozpin greets him with a pissed-off blonde at his side.

“My dear Tai?” he questions, warmly taking Qrow’s hand.

“Yes. It’s so strange, finally meeting in person like this.”

“I couldn’t agree more, especially considering that this man,” Ozpin nods towards the now lethal looking blonde, “says he’s Tai too.”

Whoops.

Thus begins Qrow’s incredibly awkward stay at Beacon Manor. Because Ozpin insisted that he as least “Recuperate a bit” before setting off again, despite the deception. It is, theoretically, even more than Qrow could have asked for, considering he’s getting his cozy stay without any of the work involved, but the fact that half the household would like to personally strangle him puts a damper on things. Tai, most notably, is out for blood, not at all expecting his impromptu visit to be marred by an imposter. The General upstairs was yelling something about spies. There’s a matron type wandering about for god only knows what reason, giving Qrow the scare of his life every time he rounds a corner.

The really weird thing though is that all the kids around are… nice? Tai’s two brats seem to adore him for whatever strange reason of their own, as do the kitchen rats. The noble families Schnee and Arc both have heirs who seem to have taken a shine to him when they visit (Winter being a notable exception) and there’s a village girl who, when not smiling shyly at Yang, seems utterly enthralled with his stories. Even Oscar acts as if he’s a legitimate member of the household, rather than some vagabond Ozpin is letting stay because…

Why is he letting him stay?

If the situation weren’t so undeniably absurd, Qrow might admit to himself—and only himself—that he was staying for more than just the free luxury. Even putting the money aside, there was nothing about Ozpin that a man wouldn’t want, even one such as Qrow who had vowed, more due to a practical nature than anything else, that he’d never settle down. But that was too ridiculous to indulge in even as a fantasy. Even if Ozpin were to ignore the lie they’d started out on and the fact that half his mismatched family wanted to murder him, their stations were wider than the moon was far away. It just wasn’t done.

Besides, Ozpin clearly wasn’t interested. Qrow had no love for societal expectations, but even he knew when he was out of someone’s league. This Lord wasn’t the type to indulge Qrow's drink or laugh as his bawdy jokes.

Ozpin: [proceeds to loose it over a joke he has no business understanding, let alone finding funny]

Qrow: Oh? 👀