#Oliver Sills

[dinnerboness]

no doubt this has been done before but it hasn't been done by me yet so

[insanefemme]

Man, I miss him

He was so special

[hopefulomens]

HELL HEAH

I am in love religiously raised William wisp headcanons do you think he lost faith after he died? do you think he felt betrayed that he didn’t go to heaven or hell or anywhere? do you think his family tried to come up with excuses to stop him from losing faith? ‘This is is clearly a test of your faith’ ‘the lord has given you a gift’ ‘god has chosen you’

they probably hated all his paranormal bullshit and the stuff he claimed he saw. even after he died they didn’t want to believe him

[petaltexturedskies]

And what did you think love would be like? A summer day? The brambles in their places, and the long stretches of mud? Flowers in every field, in every garden, with their soft beaks and their pastel shoulders? (…) In one room after another, the lovers meet, quarrel, sicken, break apart, cry out. One or two leap from windows. Most simply lean, exhausted, their thin arms on the sill. They have done all that they could.

Mary Oliver, from West Wind: Poems and Prose Poems

[michelle-is-writing]

Concussions, Greg House

Word count: 1.7k~

Warnings: mentions of vomit, concussion, hospital rooms.

Arguing with your boss is one of the worst things you can do with your boss. For my boyfriend of almost a year, it was nothing new. Plus, in Greg's mind, there were worse things one could do with their time. Like argue with me, his girlfriend - that was much worse than arguing with his boss, according to him.

Still, that didn't mean that he could always get away with arguing with his boss. Especially around Christmas time when the hours were needed and he just so happened to be an asshole. Anyone could figure out why I was upset when he told me he was unable to get Christmas Day off. He just had to be rude to Cuddy the day before he asked, and because of it, we both have to suffer.

Despite him promising to call me almost every hour, I still felt lonely when it came to Christmas Day. I woke up without the love of my life beside me, and I'll be alone until he gets home around nine in the evening. When Cuddy told him she couldn't give up the hours, he was especially rude in response, therefore earning more hours to work that day.

Right now it's around eleven in the morning, and even though I've put on a Christmas movie and made myself hot cocoa, I still feel sad. I have no one to spend this great day with, and it sucks. Maybe a nice walk outside will help me feel better. It's cold and snowing, but I can always wear a heavy coat and boots - no biggie. Besides, I may even see a pair of cardinals flying through the white sky like a holiday card straight from the hallmark section, and it would make the weather all the worth it.

Slipping on my fuzzy black boots that Greg got me at the beginning of our relationship, I throw on my fleece coat before heading out front. The lights strung on everyone's apartment are lit up, and the people that have their Christmas trees in front of their windows have them lit up as well. The green and red bulbs are a nice contrast to the white snow that fills every window sill and yard, making it look almost like a floating blanket on all the little segments of grass. It's such a beautiful sight to see, but it makes me miss Greg even more. He's always pessimistic, but even he would be happy with the looks of everything.

Stepping off the steps and onto the pavement, I take a few steps forward, only to look up and see a pair of cardinals flying above me just like I wanted. I marvel at the beautiful red shade of the male next to the equally beautiful olive colored female floating next to it. When they find their mates, a pair of cardinals can never be separated as they are mated for life. The idea of such a thing makes you smile, but the idea of finding your own true mate? It feels nearly impossible.

I seem to find the cardinals very distracting as the next thing I see is the pure white sky above me as I feel myself slip, my arms and legs flailing to grab onto something as I fall backward. However, they don't, and I end up landing on my back with my head colliding against the ice I slipped on. Everything happens so fast that I barely recognize the pain rushing to my cranium or mine and Greg's elderly neighbor rushing toward me as concerned words flow out of her mouth. Despite wanting to respond, I can't, and instead, my eyes close as I feel myself slip into a vast sea on unconsciousness.

It isn't until I finally wake up once again that I register the pounding pain in the back of my head. It nearly makes my eyes roll back, but before I can even do that, I quickly lean over the edge of the surface I'm lying on and feel the contents of my stomach empty. I soon feel a pair of hands gently pull my hair back as I do so, my eyes clearing up enough to watch a nurse’s legs in purple scrubs quickly push a trash can in front of me to finish vomiting into. However, it doesn't take long before I’m done and I almost fall back onto the slightly stiff surface I'm on, a damp cloth wiping at my mouth once I do so. Flashing my eyes throughout the room, I recognize the bright fluorescent lights above me as ones used in a hospital room and the surface I'm on is one of the uncomfortable beds in a hospital room. Great.

Turning my eyes over to the source of the hand holding the wet cloth, I find it to be the man I've been wanting to see all morning, a worried look etched onto his face. I want to fling myself in his arms and hug him, but my almost drunken haze prohibits me from doing so. Instead, I languidly smile and tiredly reach a hand up toward him, to which he takes in his own hand with a small smile.

"How in the hell," he begins, his voice taking over the almost stuffy noise in my ears. Gently running his thumb against the back of my hand, he takes the damp rag away from my face before tossing it onto the lid of the biohazard bin a few feet away. "Did you get yourself a grade two concussion just by walking outside?"

"I didn't mean to," I defend myself, trying to sit up a little, despite the deep pounding in my head. Greg helps me, but not before pushing my head back against the pillows to angle my face upward. "I just wanted to go for a small walk, and see some cardinals maybe! I did, by the way, and man, were they beautiful."

"You seem to be doing better than I thought," Greg points out, hovering over me to look into my eyes with a flash light. "No confusion or seemingly dizziness," he lists off. "You just seem fatigued and dazed, which is to be expected. The good news is you don't have memory loss."

"Who are you again?" I quickly throw at him, earning a downcast face with a frown. I immediately laugh at his reaction while reaching up to take his face in my hands, but his hands catch mine before they're even halfway there. I really am tired.

"I would say you're also having some psychological disturbances, but it's nothing different from usual," Greg jokes back, making me laugh again. At this, he smiles, but continues on. "How bad is your head pain?"

"Compared to the constant headache you give me, it's nothing," I tell him, once again, earning an eye roll in response. I know he's wanting to throw playful insults back at me, but he's trying to keep the moment as serious as he can. Don't get me wrong, I understand how severe my situation is, but I just can't help but take the chance to banter with Greg like he usually does with me.

With a sigh, Greg sits back in the armchair beside my hospital bed before taking something out of his pocket. "You just had to hit your head so you could end up in the hospital with me today," Greg chides, holding the rectangular box in his hand as he stares at it. "I guess irony plays a huge part in life's never ending game of... slipping and falling on ice!"

With his sarcastic comment, Greg pushes the box toward me as I smile at him, my hand reaching out to take the box from him. "Open it," Greg tells me, scooting his chair beside me to be closer to my bed. Doing as he says, I shakily unwrap the green ribbon from the box before slightly struggling to open it, my hands trembling from being asleep for so long.

With the maroon velvet box now open, I gasp upon seeing the diamond tennis bracelet shining back at me with the bright hospital room lights causing each beautiful crystal to sparkle like a thousand pieces of glitter. "Oh my God, Greg," I mutter, my eyes flashing over to him beside me. "This is... beyond gorgeous."

Smiling, Greg lifts one of his hands to brush my hair away from my face before using the other to take the bracelet out of the box and secure it around my wrist. "Merry Christmas," He tells me, leaning over to kiss my cheek. "I thought you would like this."

"I-I love it, Greg," I tell him, looking over at him with a frown. "But I don't have my gift for you! They're at the apartment and-and I wanted to give it to you so bad-"

Greg cuts me off from my rambling, an almost flabbergasted expression washing over his face. "Are you kidding?" He sarcastically asks me, reaching over to take my now diamond covered hand in his. "You ending up in the hospital with me is possibly the best thing you could do today, as morbid as it sounds," Crinkling my face at him with amusement, I shake my head at his demented words as he continues on. "This means I don't have to do what Cuddy says and stay in here with you and watch I Love Lucy."

Just as he says this, Greg takes the remote from the side table and turns the TV on, flipping through the channels before finding the show mentioned seconds earlier. Glancing away from our intertwined hands, I smile at Greg as he turns to look back at me as well. "I love you, Greg," I tell him, receiving a smile back before he leans over once more and presses a kiss to my cheek.

Sitting back in his chair, Greg keeps my hand in his as we both look over to the TV and watch as Lucy banters with Ricky just as Greg and I did moments ago. At this, I smile and ignore the pain in my head as I enjoy the positives of today despite being in a hospital. My loving partner beside me, a beautiful diamond bracelet on my wrist, and I Love Lucy reruns on the TV in front of us. As long as I'm with Greg, it doesn't matter where I spend my Christmas - just as long as he's by my side, I'll be fine.

[shhhsecretsideblog]

Your prompt request #13 "not here... not now..."

In the midst of a battle between two kingdoms, you go into labor. While the city breaks into chaos, you try to escape while trying to deny the birth.

Female character can either deliver the child deep in the woods while on the run or hiding in the rubble, trying to keep quiet as she births her child.

You choose! And thank you for choosing to make an account for your wonderful work! Obsessed with your first fic! 🫶

Not Now… Not Here…

[This was one of the first asks/prompts I received and made me so happy to have created this side blog. Thank you so much Anon for your request and your kind words at the end. Hope you enjoy! 💜 Fpreg 2917 words & Beta’d by the wonderful @gravid-transluna ]

Marion stood by the open window in her bedroom, hands braced against the window sill, as she watched the billows of smoke and the sounds of screaming get closer and closer to home. Tensions had been building between Alleria and its neighbouring kingdom for many years and it had only been a matter of time before one of the Kings ordered their troops to attack. The battle had been raging for days… weeks now, with news from the frontlines making it back to the city as the wounded returned. Unfortunately for the residents in Alleria the battleground was moving ever closer towards the city, and for Marion this was even more unfortunate for she was currently deep in the throes of labour.

She gripped the wooden ledge below her window and bounced her knees and hips through the latest contraction.

“Mnnnnhhhhh… oh little one, you have a terrible sense of ti— ohhhhhh… timing.” Marion moaned softly, her hips swaying instinctively as the tightening coursed across her middle while the weight of the baby’s head filled her pelvis.

When the contraction had faded back into a dull ache Marion looked up again at the city slowly falling to the destruction of war. The smoke seemed closer than it had an hour ago, the battleground was heading right across the city in the direction of her home. The pains had started yesterday but were manageable back then - she could continue moving around and getting everything prepared for the birth. The war was far from the city at that point and it did not occur to Marion that she would not be safe to labour and birth here - Alleria had never allowed their borders to be penetrated before, but the invading Kingdom’s forces were too strong.

Marion held the underside of her heavy and tight belly, her thin olive green dress stretched around her enlarged middle. She had never given birth before but had helped in many a delivery around the town. It was a rite of passage for a woman to deliver her children - the men-folk would almost never be present while the labouring mother would be supported by female friends, family or neighbours.

Marion didn’t have any of those but she wasn’t phased to be doing this alone - she preferred things that way. However, as she looked down through her window at the empty and deserted street below, fear and panic began to claw at her thoughts. Perhaps she should flee the city as well. A loud scream and sound of metal against metal echoed through the streets. The battle was getting closer, she needed to leave. Now.

Grabbing a canvas bag Marion quickly threw some items inside; blanket, clothes, water, food. As she was frantically waddling around her small rented room another contraction hit out of nowhere only minutes after the last.

“Hoooooooo— oh fuck….” Marion doubled over and braced her thighs as the pressure and pain skyrocketed. Her pelvis was being pulled apart as the baby’s head shoved its way through, almost certainly at the top of her cervix by now. The immeasurable weight and pressure was overwhelming and Marion found herself grunting against it.

“Mnnghhhh!!!” Marion growled, but the sound was swallowed by a loud explosion coming from a few streets away.

“Ooooh… so— so low. Don’t come now baby, just a— a little bit longer.” She pleaded to her rounded belly, holding it with both hands as she straightened back up. Grabbing her bag of supplies Marion bolted for the door to the stairs at the back of the building. She had to get out of here, get herself far away from the incoming battleground before she delivered this babe.

The stairs were awkward and difficult to descend with her dangerously wide gait from an extremely low baby. But Marion eventually made it down to street level and looked around; there was no one left - everyone had already fled. She waddled as fast as she could in the opposite direction from the rising cries of battle, her hands holding up her taut and tensing belly as if her grip alone could stop her labour. Marion was too busy worrying about safe routes out of the city to realise the next contraction was fast approaching and when it struck she found herself dropping into a deep squat in the middle of the cobbled street.

“Grrrrrrrhhhhh….! Oh Gods… So— so much pressure!” She groaned, her bag of supplies slipping from her shoulder as she squatted and grabbed her knees. Instinctively she mooed and growled her way through the latest wave, each one seeming to strike with more ferocity than the last. Marion would be self-conscious making such a public display of her labouring but with the streets deserted she allowed herself to make whatever noises she needed to get her through the pain of childbirth.

Eventually it passed, but the delay in her movements meant the sounds of battle were only a stone's throw away. The harsh sounds of doors and windows smashing echoed off the buildings and Marion thought she could hear incoming heavy footsteps. If the owners of the heavy stomps were just of Allerian troops then she would be okay but, if they were of the invading forces there was no telling what they would do with a woman wandering alone on the streets. The clinking of swords colliding got louder. Both troops were getting closer. Marion could not get caught in the crossfire - she’d be as good as dead.

She ran, as fast as her wide legs could carry her, away from the brutal fighting. She barely made it round the corner down a narrow side street when she was forced to stop once more. Slumped against the brick wall, Marion curled around her hard belly and trembled as she struggled to stay upright. The heavy boulder of a baby’s head was right there, filling her birth canal with so much pressure she thought she might explode. There was no stopping the primal grunt that rattled her throat as every muscle seemed to contract and squeeze the baby towards its exit.

“Nnghhhhh!!!” She roared against the pain and it was immediately followed by a gush of warm liquid running down her thighs and splashing the beige cobbles underfoot. At the tail end of the contraction she felt it - deep in her genes an instinct was telling her to start pushing.

“No….” She whimpered. “Not now… not here… hoohoo-hoohoo…” Marion panted erratically, fighting against her body’s advancing labour.

When the contraction somewhat eased the mother-to-be staggered bowlegged down the deserted side street, the large head shoving its way through her cervix. She made it through to the next street over but Marion had no clue where she was going, no planned destination she was trying to reach. Instead she was just desperately waddling as far away as she could from the noise of battle. She thought she had more time to find an alternate place to give birth but the increasing weight and pressure between her legs was soon proving her wrong. Out in the open of this new street she doubled over against a shop window - palms flat on the glass, her hips jutting backwards and her heavy belly hanging towards the floor.

“Ohhhhhh… no, don’t push… don’t— mnghhh don’t p-p-push…” she chanted over and over, panting and sweating and shaking while the baby inside sank lower and lower.

Running and shouting and screaming could be heard from the end of the street. Marion, still caught in the midst of a powerful contraction, glanced down the road towards the sound and saw at least a dozen men rounding the corner. Their metal plated armour, the colours of their tunics, their pale faces - none of it was familiar. These were enemy soldiers. The labouring mother slipped around a corner to hide down another side street, her legs stuck so wide it looked like she was about to drop the kid any second. And it felt that way too. With one hand holding onto the wall, the other disappeared under her dress between her thighs. No baby yet, thankfully, but she was starting to bulge into her underwear.

Deep and gruff shouting echoed from the high street, the invading warriors were jeering and smashing everything in their path. Despite the continuing contraction, Marion shuffled a little further into the alleyway, into the shadows and tried to hide behind some broken wooden crates. The soldiers were shouting in a language she didn’t understand, but the tone of their rough voices were clear - they were winning this war.

One… three… seven… Marion looked through the gap in the crates counting the foreign soldiers as they stomped past the entrance to the narrow side street, the burly and primitive men kicking and smashing and destroying every single thing they passed.

The next contraction ramped up before the last had even faded away and Marion slapped a hand over her mouth to stop any sounds escaping. Her baby was insistent, desperate to be born. The pressure screamed at her to push and her stance instinctively widened, but as she moved her foot she kicked something hard and metal sending it tumbling across the cobbles with a clang.

Her heart stopped, her breathing seized. Marion’s eyes flared with panic and looked nervously through the gap in the wooden crates towards the entrance of the side street. There was no way that sound wasn’t noticeable, a second later Marion’s fears were realised when two strange looking men stood at the archway of the dark sidestreet, staring into the shadows looking for the source of the noise.

Push!

Marion stayed perfectly still, her hand squeezed over her mouth, her nose breathing as silently as humanly possible. She could not let them find her, Gods only knew what they would do to her, especially if they had conquered Alleria.

Push!

The contraction still tore across her body, her belly contorted into a solid, hard ball beneath her dress as it tried to deliver the child. The pressure between her thighs was making her eyes water, the weight was pulling everything downwards, and her vagina was starting to burn. And yet Marion remained still, not moving an inch.

Push!

The men were talking to themselves, grumbling incoherently in their foreign tongue, pointing and staring down the narrowed cobbled strip. Marion’s legs were trembling, her knees sinking, and as she held her breath in fear of discovery she realised too late that her body was pushing. Without instruction or permission the baby was shoved down the birth canal, feeling like it was seconds away from falling into her underwear. But she couldn’t help it, couldn’t stop herself from bearing down. Behind her sweaty palm Marion’s mouth opened in a silent scream as she pushed and immediately could feel her labia starting to part beneath her clothing.

Oh fuck! Marion thought, trying to stop the impossible. Please don’t come out now!

She fought against her instincts for the longest minute of her life, desperately trying not to push and trying to stay silent. Eventually the strange men lost interest, deciding nothing was hiding down this side street, and continued to ransack the surrounding shops with their fellow soldiers. Marion slumped back against the wall when the soldier's departure coincided with the slight easing of the contraction. With heavy breaths quieter than a whisper, she tried to regain a normal rhythm in her lungs.

This baby could not be born now, here, it had to hold on for her to get somewhere safe. Away from the carnage of war and away from her foes. Then there was a sudden bang, a moving wall of heat, and a victorious cheer coming from the adjacent street - the enemy had started burning buildings causing a giant explosion.

Debris flew through the air, shards of brick and building raining from the skies and Marion spun around, curling around her bump, to protect herself and the baby. She staggered, bowlegged, deeper down the dark alleyway to try to get away from the destruction but with the contractions almost on top of each other she barely made four unsteady steps before she had to pause. The baby was right there, she could feel it. Her hand dived between her legs to check and felt with her fingertips the spherical shape between her folds peaking into her undergarments. The primal need to give birth took over once more and whether she wanted to or not, Marion found herself bearing down with the contraction.

This baby could not be born, not now and not here. If she could not stop pushing she would have to find another way. With her hand wedged between her thighs she clamped it firmly over the mass in her sodden underwear, and with a low grunt she was uncontrollably pushing against the palm of her own hand.

“Nnghhhh— noooo.. don’t c-come o-outtttt…” she growled, her body pushing ferociously and she could feel the head slip forward.

In the shadows Marion grunted and heaved and pushed. Against these efforts she tried to keep her palm over the emerging head to prevent it coming out any further. Her legs were wide and trembling, the heavy mass between her hips forcing her pelvis apart. It was hell, being stuck like this, her labia stretching around the emerging head, the desperate need to get this over with - to deliver this baby. The placement of her own hand proved futile, her body outright refusing to do anything that could delay or prevent the birth. Instead her knees buckled, sinking into a deep squat, and her free hand flew forward to brace her labouring body against the rough bricks of the dark alley while the other hand cupped the head of the incoming babe.

“Ohhhhh fuck…” her groans barely audible, all efforts going into birth. “Oh Gods… help me… it’s coming— it’s coming o-outtt!”

The hand at the apex of her thighs was supporting the head rather than stopping it from coming out. She gasped, sucking in a desperate breath, and leaned into the push giving everything she had into bearing down. She sobbed as the head reached a full crown in her underwear, its large shape undeniable and filling her small palm. The clothing was damp and stretched but she couldn’t remove them, both hands were occupied - one holding her upright in the squat the other holding the emerging head. “Grrnnnhhhhh!!” The low and primal groan of effort rattled the back of her throat and ever so slowly the head was born into her palm.

Smoke was filling the city, homes and shops were on fire, the enemy’s army was tearing her home apart. Loud and sudden blasts echoed down the alleyway, shaking the streets and buildings all around her. Marion fell forward, scrambling on all fours to get away from danger, all the while her baby’s head hung from her body filling her underwear. The rough cobbled street grazed and cut her knees as she crawled further down the side street, desperate to find some shelter. Fluids were leaking from her opening leaving a trail of damp in her wake. She found a door, indented slightly into the brick wall. She tried the handle but it was locked. A cry of fear and frustration left her lungs as she pounded and pushed against the wooden door.

The baby wasn’t waiting for safety or shelter, the next contraction was soon taking hold and she rocked on all fours in the alcove, humming an instinctual noise as the baby’s shoulders started to press against her opening.

“D-don’t…. No….” Marion panted and pleaded with her body.

But her hips sank backwards and she was uncontrollably pushing once more, grunting with every wave as her body worked on expelling the child. “Mnnnghhhhhhh it— it’s coming… I can’t— stop p-p-pushingggggg!!!”

Marion clawed at the door bringing herself up on her knees as the shoulders stretched her opening wide. The baby was waiting for no one and it was coming out right into her underwear. Her fingernails dug deep into the wooden door, her hips sinking towards the floor and she roared with the effort of bearing down, of pushing the baby’s shoulders out of her body. She could feel everything as it slipped out - one shoulder, the next shoulder, its arms and hands and torso as it emerged into her undergarments. Marion managed to prise her hands from the door and scrambled with her clothing to free the path for her baby to enter this world. Pulling the underwear down a few inches she grunted with the desperate final push and the baby suddenly slipped from her body into her hands.

“Ahhh oh Gods… you’re here, you’re out….” Marion gasped, pulling the newborn straight to her chest and sitting back onto her heels. “Hello little one.” The baby shifted and squirmed in her arms and released the softest cry of a first breath.

Exhausted, Marion turned and slumped against the doorway, babe in arms. The sound of crying soon travelled down the side street and footsteps approached. Fear filled Marion’s heart, the enemy was approaching and both she and her baby were defenceless.

“Oh my goodness, is that a baby?” Came a gruff voice above her. She looked up frightened, but when she saw the familiar uniform colour and the warm caramel skin of an Allerian soldier Marion let out a relieved sob.

“Come on Miss, I’ll get you and your baby out of here.” He said kindly.

[apomaro-mellow]

King&Prince 11

Steve had spent the rest of the day alone in his room. He had a feeling the only reason that happened was because the king himself had given an order to the kids not to bother him at all. Most of the hours he sat at the window sill, looking out onto the land that was supposed to be cursed.

But it was quite the same as the land he'd been raised on. What other lies had his family told about this place? About these people? There were still things Steve didn't understand. It felt like a puzzle had been formed with mixed pieces that no longer fit together.

He wondered how long his father took to make his decision to abandon him. Had he paced around? Had he weighed his options at all? Or had it been an immediate breath of relief when he was able to rid himself of his son? Then he thought about his mother.

She was always softer on him, but in the end never failed to side with her husband. Steve felt he couldn't begrudge her for that, but still wished to know if she argued with him even the smallest bit when he did this.

Steve thought he had known his worth. He might not be the son his parents wanted, but he was still a son. Still a crown prince, born and raised to one day rule. They had put so much work into him. They wanted to send him away, yes, but to be trained and come back even more prepared for his future role as king. They were tossing him away like it all meant nothing.

Well they could always make anoth-

He felt the burn of tears coming on before the thought even finished. They would, wouldn't they? They'd just start over with another child. One that they'd bring up right. They would forget all about Steve. They might even go as far as to strike his name from the record. What need would they have to remember him? He had accomplished nothing under their parentage. Nothing of note to them anyway.

So what was next then? What could he accomplish here? Suppose the king wasn't playing a trick and actually meant what he said. That Steve would be under his protection. What would he be allowed to do? What could he pursue?

Well, he made a pretty good pack mule. Maybe manual labor was in his future. Steve laughed to himself at that. From royal heir, to prisoner, to humble servant. He didn't realize how long he'd been in thought until it started to get dark around him. He turned away from the window, about to start getting ready for bed when he heard a tapping and caw.

There was a raven at the window.

Its wings flapped and it was carrying something in its talons, wrapped in paper. Steve looked at it warily and then the bird cawed again in what sounded like annoyance. Steve opened the window and the bird flew in, dropping its package onto the bed. The bird nudged it towards Steve with its beak.

"You brought that for me?", Steve asked.

The raven cawed.

Steve opened it up carefully and inside was a sandwich. His stomach growled, reminding him he hadn't eaten much today. He then looked to the bird. "You must be one of the king's messengers?"

The raven's expression was unreadable, but then again he supposed most birds' were. Steve sat on the bed and reached forward to pet the top of its head then under its chin. The raven leaned into it like it was enjoying the scratches.

"You can tell your master...thank you. And here." Steve opened the sandwich and took out some of the meat. "Your delivery fee."

The raven took it carefully into its mouth, cawed at Steve, and then left out of the window into the darkening sky.

This felt like another olive branch. The king assuring him that he was safe here. Steve didn't know what his role would be, what he could accomplish or pursue. But he had the feeling that he might be given the time and the space to decide that for himself.

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

The next morning, Steve got ready and was about to leave his room in search of breakfast only to find the king, fist poised to knock.

"Your Majesty?"

"Y-your Highness. Good morning. Didn't expect you to be up so early."

"I'm an early riser by nature", Steve said.

"Then you're just in time for breakfast."

Steve was led down the halls but this time instead of going towards the kitchens, they went into a different room. There was a grand table and at it Robin and Nancy already sat. There was the man from the ambush that Steve recognized but didn't know the name of. King Edward-no Eddie, his name was Eddie, wait, was Steve allowed to call him that? Safer to keep it formal for now. Anyway, the king took his seat at the head of the table.

The only open seat was at the other end, so Steve took it. Nancy didn't look too happy to see him but it wasn't so much that Steve worried about poison in his food. Breakfast was served and the other four mostly kept the conversation going while Steve sat silently chewing. They seemed to be discussing the proceedings of an event happening soon.

It reminded Steve of the festivities happening back home. People would be coming out more, having picnics, and the seasonal fruits that could be enjoyed now.

"So you're not even going to put a leash on him?", Nancy asked, getting Steve's attention.

Eddie grinned. "I'm rather certain his bark his worse than his bite."

"Care to put that to the test?", Steve asked with a raised brow.

"I'd advice against stepping into an arena with Eddie", Jeff said.

"I know I look like a wispy thing, but I can be a heavy hitter", Eddie said, twirling a fork full of egg around.

"I'll believe it when I see it", Steve said. One of the few things he was confident in was his ability to fight.

"I think your time is best spent tutoring someone less trained", Eddie said.

"...You mean Lucas?"

"You want him training Lucas?", Robin asked, jabbing her thumb toward Steve.

"Why not?", Eddie shrugged. "One couldn't ask for a better teacher than a prince."

Steve didn't think it was meant as a compliment. But something warm in his body swelled like it was. Right as breakfast finished, Nancy produced a sheet of parchment and walked it over to Steve, placing it in front of him.

"Your new schedule."

"You made me a schedule?"

"It was the only way she'd allow you free reign of the castle without a binding spell", Eddie said.

Steve had been looking over the assignments when Eddie's words sunk in. He looked up, feeling a mix of awe, confusion, and gratitude. "You're...giving me free reign of the castle?" Of his home?

Eddie smiled in a way that seemed more genuine. "I see no harm in it. Like I said, you're not a prisoner. Think of it as something like an exchange program. Princes travel abroad all the time, don't they?"

Steve looked at the schedule. He noted that each thing had someone with him, almost like a chaperone, sometimes multiple people. If Nancy was the one making this, he was sure it was intentional. But he understood. He hadn't fully proven himself as trustworthy. For the first time, Steve considered if he might kill Eddie if given the chance.

Would his father welcome him back with open arms then?

He shook off the thought, already knowing the answer. If he killed Eddie there was nothing good in it for him.

"When do I start?"

Part 13

Tag Team

@thesuninyaface @only-evanescent @snakeorsquid @ignoremyworld @theclichefortunecookie @goodolefashionedloverboi @just-a-tiny-void @0body0disphoria0 @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @samsoble @jamieweasley13 @y4r3luv @xtkxkrzrizir @un-knownperson @greekgeek24 @justdrugsformethanks @potato-of-the-lord @notaqueenakhaleesi @swimmingbirdrunningrock @queenie-ofthe-void @nebulainajar @lil-gremlin-things @nicememerino @robininblue @hornedqueenofhell @anne-bennett-cosplayer @moomkin77 @here4thetrama @bookworm0690

[itwasthereaminuteago]

|| Stray ||

Gif by @briefcasejuice - full set here

Matt Murdock x gender neutral reader

Tags/warnings: fluff.

He enters through the living room window, careful to avoid knocking over the array of knick-knacks perched on the windowsill. He has a key of course but he just prefers this way. He knew from blocks away that you were deep in sleep, a smile hooking up his lip when he could hear your little snorts and snores.

His body is remarkably free of hurt and bereft of bruising for once, it had been a rare quiet night. He slides both his mask and shirt off, sitting on the edge of your couch to unlace his boots. He strips down to his black silk shorts, moving quietly on his bare feet as he pads into your kitchen to the fridge. He opens it, feeling along the containers on the shelves. Sure enough he finds there's a braille label that reads 'Matt' on one. He takes out the container, placing it on the counter and opening the lid a crack to investigate its contents. Tomato, garlic, basil, olives and oregano fill his nose before he puts it into the microwave for a few minutes to heat it up. You'd always leave some dinner for him if you thought he'd be out late and he loved you for it. Your pasta was the best.

He sits at the table eating straight out of the tub, more famished after patrol than he realised. He'll wash everything up in the morning but he walks around your apartment picking up and folding your hoodie over the back of the couch and tidying away some other detritus, putting his own clothes in a neat pile before heading to the bathroom to quickly wash and brush his teeth. You always left everything where he can easily find it, including a pack of Tylenol just in case.

When he slides into your bed he smiles softly as your arms immediately seek him out, wrapping around him as you snuggle your warmth into his cooler skin to equilibrate. You reply with a small hum when he kisses your forehead gratefully.

"Thanks for dinner sweetie." He whispers, and you mumble something half incoherent about lizards and he has to really stop himself from laughing at you.

Your fingers sleepily find his and he gently squeezes your hand, kissing the top of your head again.

"You're like a stray." He hears you murmuring into his arm.

"Hm?"

"... someone should adopt you." you continue, and he does let himself chuckle at that.

You feebly shove at his chest, waking up a bit. "M'not joking. Come 'n live with me."

Matt strokes his other hand down your arm, breathing in your sleepy scent. It's true that he could get used to this but you were just babbling.

"Shh, go back to sleep."

He can feel the brush of your eyelashes on his skin. "Matt, I wanna wake up every morning with you here like this."

His heart swells with the thought that you'd really want to take him in.

"What's there to talk 'bout? You don't wanna?"

"Let's talk about it in the morning sweetheart." is what he says.

He hears the small measure of hurt in your grizzly voice as you blink open your eyes in the dark. He puts his hand to the side of your face, thumb smoothing over your cheek. Then he captures your lips, slow and soft.

"Yeah I want to." He assures, and you smile and kiss him back.

"Good. S'settled then." And you nuzzle back close against him. "I love you Matty. I'll keep the sill clear."

Okay, his heart was definitely going to burst.

"Love you too, sweetheart. Thank you."

Matt tags: @saintmurd0ck @mindidjarin @castlesnchurches @peterman-spideyparker @pastafossa @mattmurdocksscars @mattmurdockspainkink @marvelswh0re @munsonownsmyass @hellskitchenswhore @pedrito-friskito @sweetieswiftie @briefcasejuice @shedaresthedevil @freshabogados @e-dubbc11 @father4giveme @idrinkcoffeeandobsess @imperfxctly-me @stress--relief @murnsondock @stupidthoughtsinwriting @whistle1whistle @tea-and-wine @emiemiemii @imherefordeanandbones @m0nster-fvcker @creatingjana @echos-muses @lazyxsquirrel @messymissy @evilbubu @chvoswxtch

[theseshipsshallsail]

Summary:

“There’s no need to apologise,” Oliver tells him - when what he really wants to say is I’m here, I’m listening: please don’t suffer alone.

INTERMEZZO

A thunderous deluge batters their East Village brownstone when Oliver jolts into fitful consciousness; the red, flashing numbers of their digital alarm clock reading 2:27 a.m once he knuckles the grit from his swollen eyelids. Next to him, the mattress is empty - crumpled sheets already cool to the touch - but levering up on his elbow he casts about for his missing maestro: breathing a sigh of relief as he eventually spots him; limned by the bright neon awning directly opposite the casement windows.

“Elio…” he murmurs, instantly wary of his stiff demeanour.

He’s donned the teal-green Oxford Oliver wore to dinner - alongside a pair of loose, cotton boxers - but the shocking contrast to his ashen skin is deeply concerning as he haltingly turns towards him. 

“Couldn’t sleep?” 

Elio blinks - hollow and haunted - his pulse thrumming rapidly at his neck. “Couldn’t sleep,” he repeats, fingers drumming an abstract rhythm where they rest on the wooden sill. “Désolé… I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“There’s no need to apologise,” Oliver tells him - when what he really wants to say is I’m here, I’m listening: please don’t suffer alone.

An ugly gravity tugs at his chest, and Elio looks both torn and devastated as he bites his bottom lip; shivering - in part - from the harsh, December air. It’s a bit like being trapped underwater - the numbing helplessness that shrouds their moonlit apartment - but the news of Samuel’s hospitalisation was a bolt from the blue, and they’ve each been a bundle of nerves since their harrowing phone call with Annella.  

“Come to bed, huh?” Oliver urges, smoothing the covers in gentle invitation. “Your goosebumps will get goosebumps by that draughty pane.” 

It’s a simple enough suggestion - though evidently the straw that breaks the camel’s back - and Oliver curses the cruelty of the human condition when Elio sobs like it’s torn out of him; crossing the Rubicon in three loping strides to throw himself into his arms.

“I’m scared…” he gasps, chestnut curls tickling his nose as a car horn blares on the street outside. “My dad, Oliver -”

“- is strong as an ox,” he reassures quickly, kneading the bunched-tight muscles of Elio’s heaving shoulders, attempting to warm him up. “With access to some of the best doctors Europe has to offer.” The Policlinico di Milano is indeed a lauded institution. “You’re mom and Mafalda are with him right now, and there’s a direct flight to Malpensa leaving at noon.” Oliver swallows hard; reluctant to name the nebulous dread swirling beneath his ribs. “No matter the diagnosis, we’ll get through this, yeah?”

“But what if it’s serious?” Elio asks plaintively. “What if he doesn’t?”

A beat.

“Then we’ll find a way to get through that too,” he swears: much the same as they’ve weathered every storm these past sixteen years. “Together.”

“Together,” Elio repeats - voice devoid of all emotion - and Oliver makes sure to hold him even closer; whispering words of broken comfort amidst the gut-wrenching tears that follow. 

Notes:

Sorry. I know this isn't my usual festive fare, but I wrote this back in the summer when things weren't so great, and just rediscovered it on my hard drive. I'll get something lighter up for New Years, promise ❤️

[leonardcohenofficial]

as is tradition here are my top nine new-to-me watches of the year—in no particular order (l-r, top row to bottom row):

the african desperate (martine syms, 2022) not a pretty picture (martha coolidge, 1975) anatomy of a fall (justine triet, 2023) the girls (mai zetterling, 1968) network (sidney lumet, 1976) the year of the cannibals (liliana cavani, 1970) all the beauty and the bloodshed (laura poitras, 2022) straight on till morning (peter collinson, 1972) microhabitat (jeon go-woon, 2017)

i hit 150 total films and my continual goal of half of the films by women and nonbinary filmmakers, and still definitely need to keep up with deliberately seeking out films by directors of color! feel free to tell me your faves if you’ve seen any of these 🖤👀🎬🍿🎥

i'll tag @privatejoker / @wanlittlehusk / @majorbaby / @edwardalbee / @draftdodgerag / @lesbiancolumbo / @frmulcahy / @nelson-riddle-me-this / @firewalkwithmedvd and anyone else who'd like to share their top watches of the year!

full list of films for the year is included below, favorites are bolded in red:

Farewell Amor (Ekwa Msangi, 2020)

Hell Camp: Teen Nightmare (Liza Williams, 2023)

Blacks Britannica (David Koff, 1978)

New Year, New You (Sophia Takal, 2023)

Family Band: The Cowsills Story (Louise Palanker and Bill Filipiak, 2011)

The Color Purple (Blitz Bazawule, 2023)

The Apology (Alison Star Locke, 2022)

Close (Lukas Dhont, 2022)

Unintended (Anja Murmann, 2018)

Other People’s Children (Liz Hinlein, 2015)

Omega Rising Women of Rastafari (D. Elmina Davis, 1988)

The Gypsy Moths (John Frankenheimer, 1969)

Be My Cat: A Film for Anne (Adrian Țofei, 2015)

Insomnia (Christopher Nolan, 2002)

Chowchilla (Paul Solet, 2023)

Intimate Relations (Philip Goodhew, 1996)

Monument (Jagoda Szelc, 2018)

After Sherman (Jon Sesrie Goff, 2022)

Remnants of the Watts Festival (Ulysses Jenkins, 1980)

Network (Sidney Lumet, 1976)

The Taking of Pelham One Two Three (Joseph Sargent, 1974)

Down Low (Rightor Doyle, 2023)

Our Father, the Devil (Ellie Foumbi, 2021)

The Zone of Interest (Jonathan Glazer, 2023)

Youngblood (Noel Nosseck, 1978)

Joy Division - Under Review (Christian Davies, 2006)

Being Frank: The Chris Sievey Story (Steve Sullivan, 2018)

Sun Ra: A Joyful Noise (Robert Mugge, 1980)

Fanny: The Right To Rock (Bobbi Jo Hart, 2021)

Depeche Mode: The Dark Progression (Alec Lindsell, 2009)

Kraftwerk And The Electronic Revolution (Thomas Arnold, 2008)

Blank City (Celine Danhier, 2010)

Oliver Sacks: His Own Life (Ric Burns, 2019)

Monster (Hirokazu Kore-eda, 2023)

Black Is Beltza (Fermín Muguruza, 2018)

Werewolf (Ashley McKenzie, 2016)

The Humans (Stephen Karam, 2021)

Relative (Tracey Arcabasso Smith, 2022)

The Believer (Henry Bean, 2001)

Lost Angel: The Genius of Judee Sill (Brian Lindstrom and Andy Brown, 2022) 

Animals (Collin Schiffli, 2014)

Scott Walker: 30 Century Man (Stephen Kijak, 2006)

Novitiate (Maggie Betts, 2017)

Hunger (Henning Carlsen, 1966)

Late Night With The Devil (Cameron Cairnes and Colin Cairnes, 2023)

The Stunt Man (Richard Rush, 1980)

New York Doll (Greg Whiteley, 2005)

The Iron Claw (Sean Durkin, 2023)

Your Fat Friend (Jeanie Finlay, 2023)

Scarred Justice: The Orangeburg Massacre 1968 (Bestor Cram and Judy Richardson, 2008)

Targets (Peter Bogdanovich, 1968)

Uptight (Jules Dassin, 1968)

Messiah of Evil (Gloria Katz and Willard Huyck, 1973)

Plastic Paradise (Brett O’Bourke, 2013)

You Hurt My Feelings (Nicole Holofcener, 2023)

Pretty Poison (Noel Black, 1968)

The Shout (Jerzy Skolimowski, 1978)

Shakedown (Leilah Weinraub, 2018)

Class of 1984 (Mark L. Lester, 1982)

Betty: They Say I’m Different (Philip Cox, 2017)

Beautiful Boy (Felix van Groeningen, 2018)

Anatomy of a Fall (Justine Triet, 2023)

Gimme Shelter (Albert Maysles, David Maysles, and Charlotte Zwerin, 1970)

The Beach Boys (Frank Marshall and Thom Zimny, 2024)

High and Low (Kevin Macdonald, 2023)

Brats (Andrew McCarthy, 2024)

I Saw The TV Glow (Jane Schoenbrun, 2023)

The Talented Mr. Ripley (Anthony Minghella, 1999)

Altered States (Ken Russell, 1980)

This Closeness (Kit Zauhar, 2023)

How To Have Sex (Molly Manning Walker, 2023)

American Commune (Rena Mundo Croshere and Nadine Mundo, 2013)

Look In Any Window (William Alland, 1961)

Private Property (Leslie Stevens, 1960)

We’re Still Here: Johnny Cash’s Bitter Tears Revisited (Antonino D’Ambrosio, 2015)

The Wobblies (Stewart Bird and Deborah Shaffer, 1979)

Last Summer Won’t Happen (Tom Hurwitz and Peter Gessner, 1968)

Goodbye Gemini (Alan Gibson, 1970)

Keyboard Fantasies: The Beverly Glenn-Copeland Story (Posy Dixon, 2019)

The Most Beautiful Boy in the World (Kristina Lindström and Kristian Petri, 2021)

The Passenger (Carter Smith, 2023)

The Boys Who Said No (Judith Ehrlich, 2020)

Synecdoche, New York (Charlie Kaufman, 2008)

Karen Carpenter: Starving for Perfection (Randy Martin, 2023)

...And Justice For All (Norm Jewison, 1978)

I Used To Be Funny (Ally Pankiw, 2023)

Badlands (Terrence Malick, 1973)

Straight On Till Morning (Peter Collinson, 1972)

The Same Difference: Gender Roles in the Black Lesbian Community (Nneka Onuorah, 2015)

Thanksgiving (Eli Roth, 2023)

Sorry/Not Sorry (Caroline Suh and Cara Mones, 2023)

Am I OK? (Tig Notaro and Stephanie Allynne, 2022)

Joan Baez: I Am a Noise (Maeve O’Boyle, Miri Navasky, and Karen O’Connor, 2023)

No Direction Home (Martin Scorsese, 2005)

Shutter Island (Martin Scorsese, 2010)

Water Lilies (Céline Sciamma, 2007)

The Strings (Ryan Glover, 2020)

The Crucible (Nicholas Hytner, 1996)

Woman of the Hour (Anna Kendrick, 2024)

The Platform (Galder Gaztelu-Urrutia, 2019)

Tabloid (Errol Mark Morris, 2010)

Will & Harper (Josh Greenbaum, 2024)

Miller’s Girl (Jade Halley Bartlett, 2024)

Give Me Pity! (Amanda Kramer, 2022)

Landlocked (Paul Owens, 2021)

Perfect Love (Catherine Breillat, 1996)

Not a Pretty Picture (Martha Coolidge, 1975)

Seeking Mavis Beacon (Jazmin Jones, 2024)

Renfield (Chris McKay, 2023)

Compulsion (Richard Fleischer, 1959)

An Angel At My Table (Jane Campion, 1990)

Longlegs (Oz Perkins, 2024)

Rare Beasts (Billie Piper, 2019)

Nightman (Mélanie Delloye-Betancourt, 2023)

The Changin’ Times of Ike White (Daniel Vernon, 2020)

The Substance (Coralie Fargeat, 2024)

The Year of the Cannibals (Liliana Cavani, 1970)

Fanatical: The Catfishing of Tegan and Sara (Erin Lee Carr, 2024)

The Loneliest Planet (Julia Loktev, 2011)

Marjoe (Howard Smith and Sarah Kernochan, 1972)

Witches (Elizabeth Sankey, 2024)

Angela (Rebecca Miller, 1995)

The Morning After (Richard T. Heffron, 1974)

Beach Rats (Eliza Hittman, 2017)

Last Summer (Catherine Breillat, 2023)

The Fits (Anna Rose Holmer, 2015)

Hold Your Breath (Karrie Crouse and Will Joines, 2024)

What Comes Around (Amy Redford, 2022)

Dear Zachary: A Letter to a Son About His Father (Kurt Kuenne, 2008)

Priscilla (Sofia Coppola, 2023)

The Girls (Mai Zetterling, 1968)

Sweetie (Jane Campion, 1989)

Victim/Suspect (Nancy Schwartzman, 2023)

The African Desperate (Martine Syms, 2022)

Les Nôtres (Jeanne Leblanc, 2020)

A Sacrifice (Jordan Scott, 2024)

All the Beauty and the Bloodshed (Laura Poitras, 2022)

My Name is Not Ali (Viola Shafik, 2011)

Committed (Sheila McLaughlin and Lynne Tillman, 1984)

Chained (Jennifer Lynch, 2012)

The Hour of Liberation Has Arrived (Heiny Srour, 1974)

All Power To The People! (Lee Lew-Lee, 1997)

Night Moves (Kelly Reichardt, 2013)

Destroyer (Karyn Kusama, 2018)

Late Night (Nisha Ganatra, 2023)

The Year Between (Alex Heller, 2022)

Loved (Erin Dignam, 1997)

Girl In The Picture (Skye Borgman, 2022)

Microhabitat (Jeon Go-Woon, 2017)

Dear Ex (Mag Hsu and Chih-yen Hsu, 2018)

[dinnerboness]

[lenoraah]

𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘨𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘸𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴

pairing - dennis hauger x reader

summary - reader and Dennis decides that even though they’re not together, they can still surprise each other on Valentine’s Day + named best friend action

a/n - this man doesn’t get enough love

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“I am not letting you mope around on Valentine’s Day again, you understand-”

Olive pauses as she walks into the couple’s apartment. She thought that while Dennis was gone that Y/n would be moping around wearing one of his sweatshirts and scowling while eating a tub of ice cream.

“What is going on?” Olive is left with a dumbfounded look on her face as she sits down on the couch.

Y/n has a giant grin on her face as she grabs two cans of sparking juice out of the fridge while humming.

Olive holds in a breath as she looks around the living room. There is vase of roses on the counter and coffee table. The heart vintage heart shape snow globe that she had gotten the couple is sitting on the window sill next to the strawberry candle.

Y/n is wearing beige linen pants and a baby pink sweater with a heart on the middle. The expression on her face makes Olive open her mouth with no sound coming out.

“What?” Y/n asks as she reaches for the TV remote.

“Why are you so happy?” Olive replies as she squints Serendipity being turned on instead of 10 Things I Hate About You or The Notebook.

“Because it’s Valentine’s Day and I will not let it be ruined again just me and Dennis aren’t together.”

Oh wow.

“You know what, good for you.” Olive pats Y/n on the back before opening her drink.

“I know,” Y/n smiles as she leans against her best friend’s side with a sigh.

The two get the middle of the movie before Y/n’s phone starts ringing. The sound makes both of them scowl as Olive pauses the movie and Y/n answers.

“Hello?”

“Hi baby, where are you?”

The sound of Dennis’s voice makes Y/n smile like an idiot. She twirls a piece of hair around her finger and Olive rolls her eyes.

“Home, with Olive, watching a movie.” Y/n leans the couch as she watches her best friend eat popcorn whiling listening to their conversation.

“Okay, I left something for you in my nightstand drawer. I got it for you a couple-” Dennis gets cut off by someone speaking in Italian. “I got to go, love you. I’ll call you soon,”

“I love you too,”

Y/n looks at Olive with her mouth open just a little before the brunette shoos the y/h/c girl out of the living room and into the couple’s bedroom. Y/n waste no time running into her bedroom.

Olive unpauses the movie and keeps sipping her drink before hearing an excited shriek.

“What? What is it?” The brunette spins her head around as Y/n runs back into living room.

Y/n holds a stuffed bunny in her hands with a pout on her face. Olive squints to see the petite gold watch around the pink bunny’s arm.

“Olive, look.” Y/n shoves the bunny in Olive’s face and Olive nods.

“Yes, very romantic, now please stop reminding me that I’m single and that you and Dennis have one of the most cheesiest relationships I know of.” Olive teases as Y/n unclamps the watch and clasps it around her wrist.

“I know, I know, ugh he’s too sweet.” Y/n says as she notices the engraving on the inside of the watch. It’s her initials and his together. Oh, the cheesiness and sweetness at the same time.

“You did something for him right?” Olive ask as she watches Y/n admire the watch with the bunny cuddled against her chest.

“Um, duh.”

————————————————————————

“Delivery for- Dennis Hauger.”

“Uh, thank you.”

The delivery man raises an eyebrow as he hands the confused Norwegian a bouquet of white roses with a card attached.

“Long distance?”

“Yeah, something like that.” Dennis smiles as he thinks about Y/n.

He thanks the delivery man before closing the door and squinting at the roses.

What was happening.

Dennis leans against the counter as he gently lays the flowers in the marble countertop. He carefully takes out the card without untying the flowers.

He can’t keep but smiling like an idiot as he reads the letter.

Dennis sighs as he gently touches the petals of the roses.

Here he was, thousands of miles away from his girlfriend. Unable to be with her and hug her.

But you know what, they’re making it work and that was that. That was they needed. A little sprinkle of affection and love.

And they both know that they were going to have so many moments together. So many Valentine’s Day to spent together and so many holidays.

They both knew that.

Dennis smiles faintly as he reaches for his phone, just can’t wait to hear Y/n’s voice.

[butts-bouncing-on-the-beltway]

By the way, if you want to level up your chef vibes by about 5000%, you can buy a four pack of oil cruets for like $20, and then what you do is you pack each one with cracked whole spices and a fancy oil like olive, avocado, grape seed, cotton seed, etc. Set the bottles on a window sill in direct sunlight for about 24 hrs, and now when you want to season stuff, you just pour a lil fancy infused oil on it. Truly it was a small luxury when I bought them, but it has rapidly become load bearing to my mental health lmao

[concidineart]

@fwhimmy-week AO3 link above and fic below the cut!

PROMPT: Ghost

Three headstones all in a row. Jimmy is dead and fWhip's not sure how he feels about that.

Three headstones all in a row. Rain drizzled over the grass and pooled in the crater below. Droplets gathered, ran together, and slid down stone faces. Rough hewn  signs with various epitaphs painted on the cherry wood leaned against the headstones.

fWhip leaned against the now exposed interior wall of the cabin, arms folded, waiting. Pix sidled up to watch the gravestones with him.

“They’re all going out together.”

fWhip looked up, past the cracked roof to the shifting clouds. “The rain feels appropriate.”

Pix nodded. “A sad day.” Then he tilted his head to give fWhip a sideways glance. “But they brought this on themselves.”

fWhip held in a shocked laugh. After a whole day of frantically scrounging fate coins, a whole day of putting off the horror so they could save who they could, an edge of hysteria clung to him. If he started laughing again, he might lose it. “They really did.”

Pix smiled wanly. “There might be a slight cheer when they die.”

Before fWhip could do more than nod, Oli glided in. “Do we know what happens? Do you know what happens?” 

fWhip lifted his eyebrows at Oli’s questioning stare. “That’s a great question! I genuinely have no idea.”

Pix and Oli exchanged a look . 

fWhip shifted his feet and frowned at the headstones. “You’d think some more people would turn up for their funerals, but that’s fine.”

Pix shrugged. “I mean, given what they’ve done, I’m not surprised.”

The three speculated about what items the tombstones might drop, from Fate coins to cobblestone, but eventually that conversation petered out. The glowing numbers floating above the three tombstones continued to tick down.

“Does anyone want to say some last words? Pay their respects.?” Pix offered.

Last words. To be honest, fWhip hadn’t gotten to spend that much time with any of the soon to be departed. But they were his friends. Once.

Oil flicked his fingers at the cherry wood signs. “I wrote my last words. I’ve done my bit.”

“Done that quite concisely. I like that.” Pix laughed.

fWhip’s words clunked together like blocks, one by one, forming in time with his thoughts. “This is the first world that I think I've ever been on, with everyone here, where Jimmy and I haven’t fought with each other. It was- it was a little weird. We didn’t get into the messing with each other phase, so this is- this is weird to see him go. …But also bad.”

A bit of a lame conclusion, but ‘bad’ was the best word for the heavy pall that had settled over fWhip since the explosion.

“Yeah, he was also bad.” Oli agreed.

Not what fWhip meant, but not wrong either considering what they’d done.

“Also bad.” Pix echoed.

Five. Four. Three. Two. One. The timers hit zero and the headstones blinked out. Oli’s signs flopped over. Lizzie, Joel and Jimmy were dead. They didn’t drop anything.

Pix brushed his hands off. “And just like that, they were gone forever.” 

-

Wind-worn sandstone walls, warm clay tile roofs, olive foliage spilling from window sills, and the burble of small fountains. Salty air blew in from the sea, beyond the lines of windbreak trees and massive oak corrals where ravagers and cows grazed contentedly. 

fWhip tucked around the stable seeking the doe-eyed company of his own emotional support moo moo. Mushy wasn’t a very smart or useful Fate assigned pet, but sue him, fWhip got attached. Mushy’s nose was soft. Fur a comforting brown. Smell a wet earthy musk. 

fWhip cupped the mooshroom’s big head with two hands. “Jimmy’s gone.”

Mushy flicked an ear.

fWhip sighed and plonked his forehead against Mushy’s.

Then Mushy stiffened; fWhip felt muscles tense under his hands. Mushy shuddered, mouth falling open, and Jimmy’s voice warbled from the cavity, “Aw, man, you miss me already?”

A horrified shriek leapt out fWhip’s throat. He scrambled back, then lunged forward in the same second to seize the edge of the stable gate, face twisted in anger. 

“Jimmy! So help me if you kill Mushy! I’ll-” fWhip cut himself off before he could make false threats. There wasn’t much he could do about a ghost. Ban him, maybe? fWhip’s admin access was a bit touch and go with the Fates about, but he’d been able to kick Sausage off-world a fair number of times.

Mushy wobbled to and fro, chest bashing into the gate before shuffling back like a drunken boxer, mouth still stretched open in that unnerving fashion. “I won’t! I promise I won’t.”

“Get out of my cow!” fWhip shrieked. “Get out! Get out!”

Mushy shuddered again. The mooshroom’s mouth closed then opened and a long frightened bawling came out as Mushy tried to huddle down in the stable stall. fWhip dug through his inventory and vaulted the gate. He ran a hand down Mushy’s side, coaxing with a carrot and shushing noises. After a couple minutes, Mushy stopped mooing so pitifully and fWhip felt he could stop to breathe.

“You’re really into cows this time around, huh?”

fWhip jerked his head up to find one of the town dogs sitting outside the stable, tongue lolling out, with vacant eyes. This shouldn’t have shocked fWhip so much. They all knew the ghosts in this world could communicate through animals. Possession was old news. But fWhip thought without the Fates headstone, without the hope of coming back, that Jimmy was gone gone.

“Don’t you have someone else you could be haunting?” fWhip snapped.

“Like who?”

“Oli for starters! You were about the hog and all that.” fWhip climbed to his feet, hooked the gate’s latch, and started stomping off. “Pix and his hole! Scott! Go bother someone else!”

“Scott’s kinda mad right now. Everyone’s mad actually. Didn’t seem safe to pop by just yet.” The dog trotted alongside fWhip with an offset gait that spoke of Jimmy’s inexperience commandeering four legs.

“Wow, Jimmy, I wonder why! Can you think of a reason why people might be mad at you?” fWhip reached his house and turned in the doorway. “Stop following me. You’re dead! I can’t help you anymore!”

He slammed the door shut before Jimmy could respond and went to bed.

-

When morning came and fWhip opened his door, the dog was gone. He had dark circles under his eyes from a night of chasing ghostly thoughts down rabbit holes. But said ghost was gone now. And fWhip had work to do. 

He stretched his arms behind his head and headed for his storage room. He hefted a bag of old potatoes into a wheelbarrow and began rolling it down the road to the pastures. Most of the moo moos were up by now, nibbling on dew covered grass and clover. fWhip tossed handfuls of potato through the gate beams, spicing up their breakfast. Once he’d emptied the bag, he parked the wheelbarrow by the shed and retrieved a rake. 

It was time for the trickiest part of ranching ravagers. Dragging cow pies. Ravagers were big. So were their bathroom breaks. To evenly fertilize the field and lower risk of disease, fWhip had to break up those patties. 

He started by luring the ravagers to the far side of the corral. He rocketed away, and once he was out of sight, veered down to the opposite end of the field. He stabbed the rake’s prongs into the cow pies, breaking up and spreading the chunks until from the corner of his eye he spotted a ravager charging toward him. He rocketed away, picked a new target and repeated the process. 

A few close calls, but so far he’d managed to keep a healthy distance between him and the ravager’s horns. Two ravagers ceded victory to the fence and began turning his way.

Wait, he was missing one. 

fWhip felt warm breath against his neck and yelped, fully expecting to be gored in the back. 

He wasn’t. 

Very very slowly, fWhip turned to face the ravager behind him. 

Wicked horns and gloomy eyes, it held perfectly stiff and said gleefully, “Look at me! Look, I’m a ravager! Raaaah! I’m huge!” Jimmy bounded in a thudding loop around fWhip, tossing the ravager’s head about and shaking the turf.

fWhip opened his mouth to yell. Hold on. He could work with this. “Jimmy! Hold still. Come and hold still.”

“What? What is it?” He ambled over. “This is wild, man.”

fWhip hadn’t ever been this close to a ravager without imminent pain. They were massively territorial and spiking their food with potions only worked some of the time. “No kidding. Right, don’t move.”

He peered into the ravager’s open maw, inspecting the nubby tusks, and poked a finger against its gums. “I can finally give these moo moos a proper check up.”

“I still can’t believe you got me and Joel to fight all those raids.” Jimmy’s voice floated out of the ravager’s throat.

“Ahh, you were fine!” fWhip smiled. Wrangling ravagers was a difficult feat any day, but bringing along Jimmy and Joel had made the whole job twice as fast and twice as fun.

The other two ravagers had spotted fWhip now and were preparing to charge. He stepped back and pulled out a rocket. “Okay, hop into a different one!”

“I’m not here to help you with your chores!” Jimmy sounded offended.

“Then you can leave.” fWhip flicked the Jimmy ravager’s nose and took off.

Jimmy griped and groaned, but he did play musical chairs with each of fWhip’s ravagers. fWhip checked them over for cracked hooves, gunky eyes, sniffly noses. No signs of rot. One or two had cuts from ramming the fence and each other, but nothing deep.

Once they were done, fWhip retrieved the wheelbarrow and headed back up the road. Jimmy’s ghost slipped into a poor barn cat and dragged it after fWhip. Cats were uniquely opposed to possession.

“Jimmy, get out of there. That cat did nothing to deserve this. You’re gonna kill it.”

“No, I’m not!” Jimmy said as he phased the cat through a solid block.

They argued all the way up the path, until the cat let out an aborted yowl of pain and jerked in two opposite directions with a sickening crack. It collapsed onto the dirt and fWhip flinched at the following silence.

For a moment, fWhip had forgotten Jimmy was dead. If he didn’t look too closely at the animals. If he just listened to his voice. fWhip could pretend Jimmy had come down from his tower for a visit. But that’s not what this was. This was a dead man unwilling or unable to move on to the next world.

In silence, fWhip returned the wheelbarrow to its place in the storage room. He stood there, dust motes trailing down, trying to remember what he was supposed to be doing.

A bird, yellow feathers and dark brown eyes, fluttered under the awning and landed atop one of fWhip’s chests. The off-set beat of the bird’s wings warned fWhip before it opened its beak.

Jimmy’s voice whispered, “I’m sorry about the cat.”

“I warned you.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

fWhip mechanically opened a chest, not really seeing its contents, but it made him look busy.

The yellow bird hopped forward, little feet feebly gripping smooth wood as it tilted its head sideways. “Who do you think is going next?”

“No one.” fWhip slammed the chest shut.

The bird slipped. Its wings whipped a messy tornado and it swooped up into the rafters. Jimmy’s voice drifted down. “C’mon, that’s not very likely. Who’s next?”

“No one had to die, Jimmy. You, Lizzie, Joel. None of you had to die.” fWhip glared at a pale feather that had settled on the storage room floor.

There was a long lull of silence. fWhip wondered for a moment if he’d scared off the ghost. 

Then Jimmy said, “We were going at some point. You know I was going to. We might as well go on our own terms. On a big win.”

There were no fate coins left after the stunt the pillagers pulled. There were a couple community events planned (means of plying the Fates into gifting some extra coins), but the price of life had gone up again. The next unfortunate accident… They almost hadn’t managed to bring Oli back.

“I’m not going out.” fWhip said. He couldn’t promise for anyone else, but he could keep himself alive.

“Your loss.” Jimmy said. Then soft tweeting echoed down the rafters and the bird darted from the storage room to the blue sky.

[oncethrown]

Steganography Cut Three

I am working on chapter 45, I just had an insanely busy spring at work and in life and a little writers block. This is sort of "get the juices flowing" prompt for me.

***

"Hey, babe," Oliver sighed when Percy walked in, looking up from the papers he seemed to have strewn all over their small corner table. 

"Hey," Percy responded. He hung his bag, crossed the flat and leaned down to kiss Oliver in greeting. "What's all this?"

"I askedPenny if she would take a look at my Tornados contract," Oliver waved a hand over the papers in front of him, which Percy could now see were covered in red ink. "And she… was extremely thorough. She wants me to go over these and meet her for coffee this weekend. How was your day?"

Percy picked some imaginary lint off of Oliver's shirt. "I lost my temper with the Memorial Committee."

Oliver touched the back of his hand. "You didn't make someone cry again, did you?"

"No. No one's brought up Dumbledore's Army again since what happened with Michael Corner," Percy said. "I'm gonna have a glass of wine, you want one?"

"No, thanks," Oliver tapped the rim of the mug in front of him. "I'm trying to get through at least half of this tonight"

Percy scritched his fingers against the nape of Oliver's neck softy before going to the kitchen and pouring himself a glass of riesling. He stared down into it for a moment, then took a fortifying sip. 

"Oliver?" he called. 

"What's wrong?" Oliver replied immediately. 

"What do you mean 'what's wrong'?" Percy asked, going to stand in the kitchen doorway. 

"That's your "Oliver, I asked you to do the dishes and you didn't do it" tone of voice."

"I have an "Oliver I asked you to do the dishes and you didn't do it" voice?"

In response, Oliver shrugged, grabbed his wand off the table and waved it toward the sink, where the dishes began to do themselves. 

"It's not about dishes." Percy leaned against the doorframe. "My mother wants me to go to the Burrow this weekend to celebrate my birthday with my family." Percy gripped his wineglass with both hands. "And I would like you to come with me."

Oliver looked up from his paper work and leaned back in his chair. "Oh."

Percy shrugged, dropped one hand to his side and took another sip of wine. "Just a Friday night. Dinner. Cake. Wine. Bill and Fleur will be there, Charlie's even coming in from Romania. Ginny is bringing Harry. Ron's bringing Hermione."

"And you want to bring me," Oliver said. "As… your best mate?"

"I don't know," Percy said. He went back to the table and dropped into the chair opposite Oliver. He set his wine glass in the window sill where the condensation couldn't smudge Penny's careful notes. "Last year was such a… " he made a strangled noise, trying to indicate the chaos of a somber birthday party just weeks out from a huge battle that had killed one of his brothers and the bizarre unfamiliarity caused by years of estrangement. 

Oliver nodded. "Right. I know."

"I just… I really want you there. It's been great when you've come to dinners with me, and I was just so fucking relieved when my mother invited you to Christmas and I… everyone else gets to bring their partner, and it's my fucking birthday and I want you there. I'm not saying we need to come out to them, and I'll be exactly as careful as you ask me to be-"

"Percy… we're never that careful, and they all seem pretty oblivious," Oliver said. 

"Is that "yes, I'll come to your awkward adult birthday party?" Percy asked, trying not to sound too hopeful. He didn't want to guilt Oliver into coming with him. 

Oliver smiled at him. "I would love to come to your awkward adult birthday party." He cleared his throat and picked up his mug. "But I think we might need to discuss our long term plan here."

"You know I'd never ask you to come out to my family," Percy said immediately. Oliver was a celebrity, Oliver was an athlete, and Oliver's war record was a little more complicated than Percy's own. 

"I know." Oliver knocked back a gulp of tea. "But what do you think we happen if we did?"

Percy stared at him for a moment before his instinct to answer a question kicked in. "I… I mean…After the bed expansion charm thing at Christmas… I feel like Dad at least is pretending not to know. Mum has asked me about Penny a few times. But they… You know how it is in the wizarding world. People don't have the context to understand. Do they… How alien would it be to them to be like "I'm bringing Oliver becausehe's my boyfriend. Yes, boyfriend like that, four almost five years. Yes, I really am planning for it to be him and only him. Forever."

"Him and Roger Davies sometimes, on special occasions," Oliver smirked at him. 

Percy went red so fast at the thought of explaining the concept of an occasional recreation gay threesome to his mother he was sure he could feel his blood vessels stretching. 

He cleared his throat. "Mum was asking George and I about girls the last time we were over for dinner, and I don't know. I don't like pretending I'm single. I don't think I'm very convincing at pretending I'm straight. Hermione has to suspect. Fleur… might be able to find out for sure. She must know what it means if a guy is immune to the Veela whammy."

Oliver blanched for a second. "I never thought of that. Do you think she's ever tried it on us and we didn't notice?"

Percy shrugged. "I… I've lost contact with my family over way less important things than this. If they want to cut me off over being with you." He shrugged again, fighting to find the words he needed. "That's what's going to happen sooner or later anyway. It's more important to make sure that it doesn't affect your career. So… I guess it's up to you."

"Okay," Oliver said. He looked back down at his contract, then shuffled all the paperwork into a pile. "Fuck it. I'm gonna pour myself a glass too, let's… sort of game this out."

"Wait, really?"

"Yeah, You're right. We'll have to talk about eventually, let's talk about it now." Oliver appeared with his glass of wine. "Also, Davies is going to be in London for work in a couple months, and maybe he'd want to help celebrate."

[littlefeather-wolf]

Naiche - Chiricahua Apache

Naiche 1856-1919

Naiche, the youngest son of Cochise, was born in 1856. His mother, Dos-teh-seh, was the daughter of Mangas Coloradas. As a young man he took part in raids on white settlers and in 1872 was with his father when he met Brigadier General Oliver Howard. This resulted in the establishment of the Chricahua Reservation in Arizona ... Taza, Cochise's older son, became chief when his father died in 1874. Two years later Taza died and Naiche became the leader of the Chiricahuas Apaches ... In September 1880, Naiche joined Geronimo and Juh in an attempt to lead their people from the San Carlos Reservation into the Sierra Madre. However, in 1883 General George Crook managed to persuade the Apaches to return to Arizona ... Naiche and Geronimo broke out again in May 1885. Once again General Crook was sent after them. Naiche lived in the Sierra Madre until he was caught by Crook in September, 1886. Natchez now joined the all-Indian "I" Company, 12th Infantry at Fort Sill, Oklahoma ... In 1897 Naiche worked as a scout for Captain Hugh Scott and the 7th Cavalry ... After leaving the army he moved to the Mescalero Reservation in New Mexico ...

Naiche died on 16th March, 1919